#summerof5hinee | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saltskinandasociopath · 4 years

Text

in plain sight

summary: He looks at himself in the mirror, and tries to picture what Jinki feels when his eyes find him, when they trail over his body. His hands had fluttered to the bottom of his shirt when it started to ride up, Kibum remembers. Even as Kibum had swallowed him down, his reticence to be seen, to be bared, was paramount. In the mirror, his eyes are dark, sharp - exactly as he had always known them. They were always something to highlight or enhance. He takes a deep breath, and changes his perspective.

blindfolding to help out your boyfriend with his body image issues

pairing: onew/key

notes/warnings: written for the summerof5hinee kinktober event: blindfolds, nipple play.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

When Jinki mumbles into his shoulder, sleepy and punch-drunk in the aftermath, “I have to close my eyes sometimes, when you’re looking at me,” Kibum’s heart leaps into his throat, and stays there the rest of the night. But first he has to say something back, hearing the absence of snores, the absence of a deep, unbothered breathing. He swallows down the petulant demand for clarification.

Kibum can still feel the dampness of the tissues they’d used to clean up, the water swished around his mouth after Jinki came. And, yes, he remembers glancing up to see Jinki’s face, hopeful to see brimming pleasure within his eyes, and satisfied to see them squeezed shut instead. His assumption was a stupid, self-serving one, and he bristles internally in anger. On the outside, he plays with the long sleeve of Jinki’s shirt, rubbing the material between his fingers.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he says. Jinki snuffles into Kibum’s collar and nods. The pace of his breathing evens out. He sleeps, and Kibum stews in the background noise of that. The electrical wires draped just outside the apartment window hum unevenly.

It’s hard not to take it as a rejection of Kibum himself, the sting of it ripe, but there’s no sense there, no cohesion with everything that’s comprised their relationship so far. Jinki had wandered into his life, and resolutely refuses to wander out, even after seeing the havoc that periodically rips through Kibum’s life. He’s kind, and with that Kibum realizes why it’s taken so long for Jinki to admit it, because he was precisely afraid of this kind of reaction, wary of giving Kibum any sort of distress.

A part of him sniffs defensively at the thought, but lying in bed at three am leaves little room for pretense.

Jinki is self-conscious, embarrassed to be seen, even by Kibum, and the fact that he wouldn’t lie to Kibum and pretend he was an exception, that’s a level of trust he won’t mismanage.

He lies in bed, his thoughts eliding into dreams as the sun comes up.

-------------------------------------

It takes a few days. They don’t live together, but it’s become normal for Kibum to sleep over on weekends, for them to meet after work on Fridays for shopping. They head back to his place with bags full of ingredients, as well as snacks and drinks in case a lazy Saturday morning turns into a lazy Saturday night. Kibum is growing more fond of those lately, a hazard of his late twenties that Jinki surrendered to much earlier.

Kibum unpacks his bathroom bag while Jinki sings in the kitchen. The dishes from dinner clatter as he moves them from the sink to the drying rack.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and tries to picture what Jinki feels when his eyes find him, when they trail over his body. His hands had fluttered to the bottom of his shirt when it started to ride up, Kibum remembers. Even as Kibum had swallowed him down, his reticence to be seen, to be bared, was paramount.

In the mirror, his eyes are dark, sharp - exactly as he had always known them. They were always something to highlight or enhance. He takes a deep breath, and changes his perspective.

When they tumble into the bedroom a few hours later - when Jinki is pressing kisses against his neck, his hand warm and solid against the small of his back - Kibum sits himself at the edge of the bed and holds Jinki at bay when he moves to join him. His eyes go wide and questioning.

“Do you remember what you told me the other night, about me looking at you?” he asks without preamble.

The immediate discomfort in Jinki’s face, the way his eyeline slides away from Kibum’s, tells him enough, has him squeezing his hands quickly before he releases. He turns away as Jinki starts to talk.

“I’m sorry, Kibum, I didn’t mean anything - “

He stops talking when Kibum turns back, when he pulls the length of a pretty, dark blue scarf taut. The last view he takes in of Jinki, the startle evident in his eyes, the slight parting of his lips, has no trace of rejection or confusion. He doesn’t give hesitation the room to take root; instead, he loops the scarf around, ties the knot quick at the back of his head. He finds Jinki’s hands again in the darkness.

“You meant something by it, baby. I’m glad you told me,” he stresses. Jinki’s palms feel clammy and nervous. He tries again. “If you’re not comfortable, then we should find a way to help you feel comfortable. So - let’s try.”

The tempting rush of nerves, he expels ruthlessly. He wills himself to be patient, even as it’s not in his nature to simply wait for a response. Jinki doesn’t say anything, but there’s the nervous sounds of motion, like he’s shifting from foot to foot. He’s likely biting his lip, as he mulls over what to say.

“Is it comfortable?” Jinki asks, and Kibum squeezes his hand and nods, intent to let Jinki ask any questions that he sees fit. The fact that he asked after Kibum’s feelings validates those first hours’ conclusion, that the confession was butting up against his desire to avoid hurting Kibum’s feelings, even inadvertently.

The subtle sounds of his shifting, when no further questions come up, is only amplified in the dark blue chasm now composing Kibum’s world. He starts to feel a little off-put, like he calculated wrong otherwise, that there was something else in Jinki’s admission he couldn’t decipher.

“We don’t need to do anything,” he says in a rush, pulling his hand back and moving to release the knot, but Jinki’s hand tumbles after him. It misses him properly but lands on Kibum’s arm instead. He pauses and waits, his patience growing thin under the stress of confirming he’s navigating this right. He doesn’t want to mess this up, to make Jinki only regret telling him.

“I love you, you know? It has nothing to do with you. I want to be with you,” Jinki says. “It’s hard for me to - to be seen like that.”

“I know,” Kibum says in a rush. In his relief he pulls Jinki forward, forgetting his clumsiness, and they land in a tumble on the bed. Jinki curses beneath his breath, his stomach catching the sharp angle of Kibum’s elbow. Kibum moves to pull the blindfold off and make sure he’s okay, but Jinki catches him at his wrist. His lips meet Kibum’s unexpectedly, if a little awkwardly as Kibum had no sense of the motion.

“You stay stop, I stop,” Kibum says for the i love you in return. He waits for Jinki to nod back, to feel the movement beneath his hands. The slide of his brow against the scarf is unfamiliar, but their kisses meander in an easy duet.

When Jinki moves his hand to cup Kibum’s cheek, he starts in surprise. He had always kissed with his eyes closed, but there was nothing from stopping him to see, to check how he and Jinki had moved their bodies against each other. Being blindfolded had left him with his strong intuition, but he hadn’t realized how much of that was supplemented with the little peeks here and there. He settles beneath Jinki’s touch as best he can, keenly and abruptly aware of the startled nerve endings pulled tight beneath his skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jinki breathes out in a gasp. His lips are brushing at the hollow space created where the scarf pulls across his nose. It’s a subtle sign of change, for him to voice such sentiments. Jinki loses himself to sensation so easily, and here is what Kibum wasn’t able to anticipate: that letting Jinki operate unseen would let him feel more free to voice as well.

“God, just everything about you,” he continues, even before Kibum can think of what to say next. He lets his lips move down, gentle and reverent in every point of contact between him and Kibum. He moves his neck to give Jinki access there, indulgent to shiver as Jinki sucks a bit of skin between his teeth, sure to be purpled over in the morning. “I can’t believe I get to touch you.”

Kibum gropes blindly as he finds his way up to Jinki’s shoulder, then to his back. He digs his fingers in encouragingly as his boyfriend nuzzles against his skin, muttering insensible flatteries. When he moves down further, his hands brushing at Kibum’s sides, the grip Kibum has on Jinki’s shirt pulls it up with him and he stutters to a stop. He breathes, wet and hard, against Kibum’s stomach.

The material is bunched up, awkward and tight in Kibum’s half-fist, before he carefully begins to release it, flattening it against Jinki’s back.

There’s a sudden dip of pressure on the bed, a change of position - Jinki pulls away, leaning back and away from Kibum. The change of air hints at something, but Kibum is baffled as to what until Jinki leans in close again, his lips once again finding Kibum’s. He puts his hand over Kibum’s and guides it forward until it finds Jinki’s skin, the soft layer stretched across his middle. He moves up cautiously, Jinki’s hand still over his, exploring the space between his pectorals, the shallow dip of collarbone, the hollow of his throat.

Kibum tries his best to keep his touches light, eager to commit to memory these first moments Jinki has permit himself to be known like this, yet wary of scaring him off. He traces his fingernails in lazy paths as Jinki braces over him; his tongue darts out between his lips to taste Kibum’s throat. As Jinki makes his way to move downward again, he disturbs the soft trails that will lead to Kibum’s navel, and scrapes his chest on Kibum’s nails. The change in direction injects another twist, another discovery. Kibum’s nail tweaks against the hard bud of Jinki’s nipple, and he chokes, sputtering a sloppy curse.

If there was a moment Kibum regretted the blindfold, it was this: the unclear impression of Jinki twitching helpless and hungry; the messy affections of the tongue spilling out of his mouth, wettening the dark curls that spring above Kibum’s cock.

“Come back up,” he pleads, because if Jinki takes him in his mouth he won’t be able to. He moves blindly until he finds hair, tugs gently at it until Jinki acquiesces. His other hand searches again, lands on his chest, and softly moves over his nipple once more. He can hear the moan Jinki bites back. Kibum licks at his lips and slowly pulls Jinki into his orbit, straining to hear for any request to stop, to feel for any reluctance.

But nothing comes. He replaces his fingers with his mouth, and begins to suckle gently at Jinki’s nipple. The thumb of his free hand moves to brush delicately over the other, and Jinki trembles in his hold.

A soft noise is shattering in Jinki’s mouth, muffled against Kibum’s head, as he ministrates. Jinki is a heavy weight that could collapse at any moment, but this new discovery strips away Kibum’s caution. Jinki mewls at every pull, every pulse that Kibum applies ruthlessly. Kibum’s tongue pulses against his nipple, his other hand tweaks and plays in between the wet breaths he catches against Jinki’s chest. The blindfold is being caught and knocked askew as they continue; Jinki presses in on him, eager for more in a way Kibum has never seen from him. His cock is a wet, leaking thing he pulls out in a clumsy, one-handed motion and drags across Kibum’s torso. His body is trembling with the effort of keeping upright, and Kibum lets his teeth capture the very tip of the bud.

“Kibum - Kibum, I,” Jinki sputters and Kibum slips his lips over his nipple once more. The teeth scrape against the bumpy surface and Jinki is cursing into his hair. His cock is wet and spent, pulsing uneven against his side, onto the sheets, before Jinki collapses beside him. The mattress dips down and Kibum rolls towards him. It’s a mess beneath his hip.

Fingers pull shyly at the blindfold, pushing it back into his hair and Kibum blinks to adjust to even the low level of light in the bedroom. It feels like a different space entire than what he entered just an hour ago.

Jinki looks at him, and Kibum lets him - lets him roam over his lips, his cheeks, his throat. He looks beyond him in return, just skirting over the top of his head, the loose strands of hair sticking out. Jinki’s touch, when it comes, is a hesitant, but happy thing as it reaches over to land once again on Kibum's jaw. His pinky slides against his throat.

He scoots, awkward and ungainly until their foreheads can press together. Kibum closes his eyes and breathes out in an effort to steady, to call upon the shallow reservoirs of patience. His own need is drumming steadily away, eager to be recognize, but he can wait. He can wait.

“Kibum,” Jinki whispers against his lips. His hand presses against Kibum’s stomach, his thumb grazing exploringly at the thatch of hair surrounding his cock.

“Look at me. Please.”

#salt writes #onkey #onkey fic #shinee fic #onew x key

11 notes · View notes

lala-pipo · 4 years

Text

Summerof5HINee dropped an overview on their Twitter account regarding prompts that were sent in for specific pairings, and as you can see a few pairings have received far less prompts than others.

So, if you want to increase your chances of seeing your favorite ships being written, you might want to send in more prompts. You still have a few days to do so (until May 18). ❤

Have a lovely day! 💎

Source summerof5hinee Twitter

#shinee #shinee fic #jongtae #jongkey #jongho #jongyu #2min #taekey #ontae #minkey #onho #onkey

10 notes · View notes

jongandthekey · 4 years

Link

Hello! I’ve stumbled across this event on twitter and I thought it would be nice to share it with you alll. I’ve seen they had an amazing response for this event and lots of prompts were submitted, a satisfactory amount of jongkey ones included. From what I’ve gathered though, JongKey prompts usually don’t get as much attention as others and many remain unclaimed, which I personally think it’s a pity. So to all of you jongkey writers who may be looking for a challenge or something to stimulate your inspiration and wish for writing, I warmly suggest you to go take a look at their rules and prompt sheet: you may find something that catches your interest ♥ Who knows, you could also help revive both your and other shipper’s attention to this pairing

Though I admit I made this post mainly having jongkey in mind (as it is fterall my favourite shinee ship), I suggest you to check this out in general: it’s a fun initiative, it seems to be very well organised and you may find prompts regarding other pairings that might inspire you to get writing.

Basically, just have fun and help spread the word!

#jongkey #key #jonghyun #shinee #keyhyun

4 notes · View notes

smoldinopup · 5 years

Text

My dearest SHINee fic writers and readers,

@summerof5HINee are currently holding a SHINee fan fic feast on Twitter. I think that’s a wonderful idea because it’s something from fans for fans. It’s not a competition, just an attempt to put more SHINee fics into this world. ^^

The feast is currently in in its prompt claiming phase, There are over 90 prompts to choose from with various parings, so please take a look when you are interested in contributing.

Here you will find the spreadsheet with all prompts and here the form you have to fill out when you want to claim a prompt. The prompts that are crossed out have already been claimed.

More information on the event you can either find on their Twitter page (as linked above) or on their summerofshineecarrd. ^^

104 notes · View notes

taemin-chan · 5 years

Text

Attention all Shawol fic writers!

If you love to write SHINee pairing fics please check out @summerof5hinee on twitter for a fic exchange fest between april & august of 2019!

There are a LOT of prompts left to claim! The deadline is supposed to be May 18 but it has been extended so hurry if you’d like to claim a prompt you would be interested in!

Here are some links below to help:

Prompt Spreadsheet

Claiming Form

Additional Info

Check out the official twitter for more information as well! @summerof5hinee

Help this summer be fun by participating! Please reblog if you are interested to spread the word :)

42 notes · View notes

jinkisbelly · 3 years

Note

Writing anything for Summerof5hinee?

I was thinking about it and there was one Onminkey I was really interested in, but I thought I had missed the deadline, but apparently it's open until the 26th... so I might if it's not taken. But that prompt was also explicit and I don't know if I want to put myself up to have to write sex.

0 notes

kaesm21 · 3 years

Note

Pls participate the summerof5hinee ficfest on twitter. there are so many beautiful prompts (°◡°♡)

Helloooo!! I’d be happy to check it out, thank you for letting me know! 💖

0 notes

rollercoasterwrite · 3 years

Text

JJONG’S MONTH 2021 (4th ed.) in collaboration with Summerof5hinee !!!!!!!!!!!!

April is around the corner, so you know what that means…

Like for the past 3 years, I’m calling ALL my fanfic writers out there to keep Jjong alive through our words.

SAME PRINCIPLE : for the whole month of April, let’s all write a one-shot titled after one of his songs or lyrics (can also be songs he wrote for SHINee or other artists).

NOVELTY : Jjong’s month is staying on Tumblr, but also branching out to reach more people! This year the creators of Summerof5hinee are hosting the event on Twitter to publish the stories on Ao3 as well!!!

All the information related to the collaborative event is available on this carrd. The event stays pretty freeform like in its original form, but it also allows you if you choose to submit prompts or get ideas from prompts other will submit so you can get your creative juices flowing!!

You can still proceed as usual and publish them on Tumblr as well or solely because I will be hosting the event here as well and keeping track of the stories in the #jjongsmonth tag to create a fourth masterlist. You can also tag me so I can find your stories!!!

Check out last year’s masterlist the second one and the first one.

If you have any questions you can contact me or contact the organizers of Summerof5hinee via their Twitter account

Happy Jjong’s month!! ^^

78 notes · View notes

rollercoasterwrite · 2 years

Text

JJONG’S MONTH 2022 (5TH ED.) IN COLLABORATION WITH SUMMEROF5HINEE !!!!!!!!!!!!

APRIL IS AROUND THE CORNER, SO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS…

This is the 5th edition guys, this is crazy to think about wow!!!

So in honor of this milestone, we are introducing a beautiful concept to honor Jjong through our words. I want to give a special thank you to @quagmireisadora for coming up with the theme for this year and summerof5hinee for collaborating with us again to host this precious event.

The theme is inspired by Galileo's theory that the dark spots on the moon are bodies of water. Each of these "seas" have distinctive names, which writers will use to inspire their stories.

Choose a sea with a name that inspires or compels you. Write anything you want in connection to the sea name, as long as it is Jonghyun-centric in some way!

All further information related to the collaborative event is available on this carrd.

You can sign-up to the event there and then submit your story and/or publish them on Tumblr as well or solely on here because I will be hosting the event here as well and keeping track of the stories in the #jjongsmonth tag to create a fifth masterlist. I recommend you also tag me so I can find your stories!!!

Check out last year’s masterlist the third one, the second one and the first one.

If you have any questions you can contact me or contact the organizers of Summerof5hinee via their Twitter account!

Happy Jjong’s month!! ^^

57 notes · View notes

katrinawritesthings · 3 years

Text

hey!! just a reminder that my favorite jonghyun challenge starts tomorrow!! if there's any jonghyun in any fanfiction you've ever read that particularly stood out to you or warmed your heart or stayed with you over the years, please participate and make a little ficrec for him either here on tumblr or on twitter @summerof5hinee : )

more information about the event can be found here!!

#jonghyun #jongkey #jongho #jongtae #jongyu #mfjs

5 notes · View notes

saltskinandasociopath · 3 years

Text

saturday inertia (m, onminkey)

summary: There’s more than one way to wake someone up, and Minho has his blood thrumming already, from the run, from the gentle intimacy of showering with Kibum, so perhaps he’s thinking more southwards than he should, but so he goes - propelling back into bad, ignoring Kibum’s noise of offense. He positions himself against the headboard and draws Jinki against his chest with little resistance - the older man gravitates towards warmth, towards tender touches and easy affection - and it’s a natural thing to push his legs open, to splay his fingers across that dusky skin, that particular thatch of hair, and watch Kibum’s eyes darken.

(onminkey sleepy domestic sex)

pairing: onew/minho/key

notes/warnings: ostensibly written for the summerof5hinee kinktober event: but - life.

———————————————————————

A Saturday, Kibum claims very fervently, is for relaxing. Jinki would serve as a handy example for his case, the earlier the better: facedown into the pillows, the marks of heavy sleep running up his cheek whenever either Kibum or Minho comes in to shake him awake.

Minho would tolerate their teasing well enough - once Jinki was properly caffeinated, of course - but nothing they’ve said has quite managed to stop him from his early morning habit of going for a run. There’s freedom in it. He’s especially partial to the foggy mornings, the early sunlight too weak to break it apart. The cool of it settles pleasingly on his skin, dissipating against the hot sweat that’s formed by the end.

The high of the exercise is buoyed further by what is the usual greeting on his return home: Kibum, freshly showered, appealingly grumpy at Minho’s relentless dedication. The smell of his shampoo, the warm wetness of the air, envelops Minho whenever he is fast enough on his run, or Kibum lazy enough in his ablutions, for Minho to interrupt his own wake-up rituals, to slip inside the bathroom. He will sneak a kiss against Kibum’s cheek, neck, the warring desire to press against whatever part of him is handiest versus whatever is the likeliest to earn a complaint about Minho’s sweaty state.

It’s a rare, rare Saturday for Jinki to not be the last of their triad to wake up. With time it’s become a point of fond familiarity.

Kibum could tease him about how they all work hard (true enough), but that Minho never has to pull Kibum bodily from bed (not as true as his tone would make it out to be). He could, but he won’t. The ground is too well-tread, for one, and he simply doesn’t have it in him to bite at Jinki for his indulgences.

(Minho is equally incapable of teasing Jinki for this fault, far too soft for their eldest, too doting by a half. He has no aspirations to hide his warmth, his tenderness.)

Regardless of the reasons they give, rare is it for either of them to break this ritual. Kibum will lure Jinki out with the smell of coffee brewing, begun while Minho takes his turn in the shower. Or, perhaps, Minho will wrap his arms around him and walk him to the couch, where the slow accumulation of sound will eventually stir him to wakefulness.

In either eventuality, Jinki’s form for a good portion of the morning is a pile of blankets, a pair of socked feet sticking out, a mug gripped in a half-hidden hand, his hair sticking out at crazed angles. It is one part of their triad, their relationship developed in fits and starts that has long since settled into well-earned domesticity. Minho will return home, pleasantly awake, revived by activity; Kibum will bring their home to life, leaving marks of his precision in the bathroom, the kitchen, the bedroom; and Jinki will be a comforting heartbeat, a cocoon of warmth and sleepy affection.

This particular Saturday is due to be an exception, with Jonghyun and Taemin coming in to visit for the weekend, planned to arrive around midday. This information is courtesy Jonghyun and their last layover, promising timeliness, and a request for immediate food.

At the very latest, they should leave by 10. Minho gets back from his run at 8, a little later than normal, a concession to the later night, but promisingly started out. When he had left at 7, Kibum was already rousing and had sloppily aimed a slap at Minho’s ass as he maneuvered his way over Jinki’s prone body. He was sure by the time he had returned, Kibum would have gotten the ball rolling with their eldest.

But when he heads into the shower, it’s dry as a bone, like Kibum failed to get up, or - more likely - something terrible happened to keep him from his morning routine.

A quick check in the bedroom, finds the solid lump that is Jinki, and Kibum pacing and periodically shaking him.

“He’s being ridiculous. And he’s supposed to be the eldest?” he gripes at Minho - but even so he’s not saying it to Jinki himself, one of those small signs of softness he tries to pretend he doesn’t have.

“I’ll get him,” Minho says, and Kibum sniffs at that too.

“You’re sweaty,” and he has a point.

“Join me, then,” he says, because Kibum hasn’t showered either, even as he’s managed to brush and floss already, the minty afterbreath.

He huffs - he will always huff - but casts a warning glance at Minho. He laughs and does little more than graze his fingertips along Kibum’s shoulder blades, kiss his temple as he reaches past him for the soap as they wash together. There’s carefully nothing more intimate initiated or teased out - but that wasn’t the point, the point was to slowly pry apart Kibum’s irritation until it lost its fuel, until he could uncurl the tight fist of his frustration.

When they step out, and Kibum is meticulously drying the tender stretch of skin beneath his ribs, Minho rubs his hair with the towel and considers Jinki’s half-hidden body from the bathroom.

“What are you going to do? Carry him to the train?” Kibum asks, a thin thread of honest curiosity invading his sarcasm.

Minho shrugs. They don’t have a huge amount of time, but he takes a moment to watch as Jinki snuffles and throws back the covers, in likely deference to the sunlight, and the steamy warmth of the shower, that has begun to infiltrate the room. It’s cute, but Kibum is fair to be frustrated, but Minho knows that any effort to wake Jinki up has to be of a certain caliber, especially if they are going to be travelling and entertaining their friends well into the night.

His mind still buzzing away, Kibum’s regular clattering, Minho’s eyes catch on the pull of Jinki’s boxers as he shifts to the side, the draw of his knee closer to his waist. The thin material so moved, it reveals the expanse of his thighs, the hair in dark thatches that become almost invisible against the duskiness.

There’s more than one way to wake someone up, and Minho has his blood thrumming already, from the run, from the gentle intimacy of showering with Kibum, so perhaps he’s thinking more southwards than he should, but so he goes - propelling back into bad, ignoring Kibum’s noise of offense. He positions himself against the headboard and draws Jinki against his chest with little resistance - the older man gravitates towards warmth, towards tender touches and easy affection - and it’s a natural thing to push his legs open, to splay his fingers across that dusky skin, that particular thatch of hair, and watch Kibum’s eyes darken.

“We don’t have time,” he protests, and Minho doesn’t really have an argument for that, so he instead concentrates on ingratiating his circled thumb and index beneath the hem of Jinki’s boxers. He finds the tip of his cock and envelops it, gently closing the circle into a squeeze.

“It’ll be quick,” Minho says, and Jinki’s eyelids are already fluttering, and Minho can see it in Kibum’s face, that quarrel between concession and stubbornness and which would be more satisfying.

“More fun,” he continues, and as if on cue and in support of Minho’s argument, Jinki moans, his back bonelessly slumping against Minho’s chest.

“Fine,” Kibum snaps, but when he approaches, when he starts to handle Jinki’s legs, he can’t help but let the facade slip in the way he tugs lightly. He leans up, in what would be a looming stance for any situation less domestic, and lays a large hand against Jinki’s face.

“Jinki - Jinki - “ he says. He shifts against Kibum’s palm, his lips drawing against his wrist, a imprecise kiss. “Can we - ?”

He doesn’t quite get the words out, for the twofold reason that Jinki lifts his hips in stuttering intention, drawing Minho’s circled fingers down to the base of his cock, and in the same motion turns his head to the side, capturing Kibum’s hand between Minho’s shoulder and his face. Kibum can feel his heavy, rickety breath. His free eye opens and searches to find Kibum’s face, to meet his gaze for the moment necessary for Kibum to feel confident in his awareness.

With that, he uses his free hand to start the work of pulling Jinki’s boxers down, Minho assisting as best he can from his impaired side. When Jinki’s cock is freed, bobbing in front of Kibum, Minho looks at him, clearly expectant to descend, to either join their hands around his cock, or perhaps to use his mouth, wicked and sharp in pleasure they both know well.

It’ll be neither, Kibum has decided, moving back and rearranging Jinki’s legs so he can pull the boxers off entirely. Once done, he pushes at the back of his knees, slow to avoid strain.

Minho catches on, and catches hold, halting his busy tending of Jinki’s cock. He instead helps to hold Jinki’s legs up, spread them open and wide in a way that makes the older man quake in sleepy anticipation.

Direct, for a multitude of reasons, Kibum licks his index finger and begins tracing the outer rim of Jinki’s hole. The bare suggestion of it invokes a whine, an aborted twist of the hips, and Kibum can feel the air in the room start to tighten, to close into their small, self-contained world.

“We’re going to hurry, aren’t we?” Minho says. His voice is already roughened with the pleasure of observing, from having Jinki squirm against the cage that is his body. Kibum is almost certain his cock must be pushing to be realized, a firm length against Jinki’s hip, but they’ll both be going untended to.

His finger, having circled multiple times around the arm, begins its exploration within, millimeter by millimeter. It’s out of no contrary desire getting the better of Kibum, to tease things out, but rather by knowing Jinki intimately well. The gradual rising tide of sensation will, nerve by nerve, alert him to his own body, making it impossible for him to ride the crest of orgasm, and fall back to sleep.

That’s the pragmatic reason, the reason he will give if either of his partners asks, but just as true is the keen sense he has, of wanting to satisfy and please the ones he loves.

Jinki is mewling, his sleepiness being methodically dissipated in sensation. They are small noises, helpless and drawn out past their capacity. Kibum holds him open for the space of a breath, and adds another finger, pressing solidly against his walls.

“Almost there,” he says. It would be casual, but they all know better than that, even Jinki, squinting up at him, unintelligible pleas dying on his lips. Kibum leans forward, lets his other hand find the base of his upright cock, rubbing gently, insufficient on its own.

It’s not on its own, however, as his other hand has the busy lengths of his fingers, motioning within him. They stretch apart from each other, creating a challenging, choking width that leaving Jinki wanting more, spurs him to inch downwards in an effort to give Kibum more access. Minho chuckles against his head, pressing his lips against his bedhead.

At last, the moment comes, the accumulations of small pleasures prove too much. The final pieces of Jinki are lit up with stimulation; he shudders and breathes and squirms, as Kibum works his fingers deep inside him. They press, precise and knowing, and set him off, spurting out into a hot pool twisting across his stomach and hip.

Minho breathes with him in the moments after, as Kibum carefully removes his fingers, reaching over both of them to a nearby tissue box and wiping them clean.

Jinki blinks quietly, only murmuring a thanks as Kibum grabs another sheet and hands it to Minho to start to wipe up the mess. He looks around the room, a pinkish color on his cheeks as he sees the clock, as Minho finishes and Kibum removes himself off the bed.

“Didn’t - “ he starts, suddenly shy and wide-eyed. “Didn’t we have to go soon? Are we late?”

Kibum sighs, shaking his head in mock disbelief, but Minho laughs, endlessly tender. His hands cup beneath Jinki’s ears, and he rocks him forward to press his lips firmly against the forehead.

“Not yet. Let’s get going, okay?”

Jinki nods in amiable agreement. Minho’s lips slide up into his hair at the movement, while Kibum suddenly sits on the bed next to him.

“This is the thanks I get?” he complains, and Jinki turns to him with a bashful smile. He leans forward, but Kibum is already there, already taking the kiss long overdue. Minho kneels to wrap his arms around both of them, his heartbeat rhythmic against Jinki’s back, his hands clasped softly atop Kibum’s neck.

Notes:

#salt writes #shinee fic #onew x minho x key #onminkey #onminkey fic

3 notes · View notes

saltskinandasociopath · 4 years

Text

welcome home

summary:

“I lied. I told him I was looking at a photo of my husband - my accomplished, intelligent husband who I didn’t deserve at all. Not a dumb, pathetic boy who can’t keep a thought in his head, " Kibum says.

The blood rushes to Jinki’s cheeks as he feels the familiar, overwhelming burn of embarrassment and insult. His whole world is turning soft and pink and malleable with him.

pairing: onew/key

notes/warnings: written for the summerof5hinee kinktober festival, for the spaces humiliation, dirty talk, and filming/picture/video kink.

The photo is abstract in close-up, a constellation of blurry moles and freckles across a pale swatch.

If Jinki lays it across the top of his naked thigh, it’s almost a perfect match.

1 reads the ink on the back, if he chose to look. Its edges are soft over the years, just over a decade since Kibum clicked the button. A sweet memento of their relationship: the only one of its genre Jinki gets to keep.

The rest of them are wherever Kibum sees fit. One morning he woke to find them laid out in neat rows and columns on the kitchen table. A chronological review showed the gradual dissolution of Jinki’s state of mind. All thoughts discarded from him at that moment, the plan executed as perfect as Kibum’s smile.

He’s made jokes about putting all his photos into flipbooks, something he can tuck into his back pocket beside his wallet and phone. A bland, generic cover to them, so he can review Jinki’s spread form in meetings and on lunch breaks. No one will know what’s behind his smile is his husband of ten years, deep in subspace, eyes glassy with arousal.

Jinki only gets to keep this one, this innocuous close-up. Beyond the edges is the hem of pale pink shorts pushed into a wrinkled mess. The story that preceded it: Kibum’s large hand sliding possessively up from his knee, his other hand clutching the camera and pressing the click . It doesn’t include Jinki’s pleading erection, highlighted by the bunched-up, thin material. It doesn’t include his furious sobs when Kibum finally lets him release.

Jinki clears his throat and puts the photo to the side. Kibum will be home soon enough from his latest trip, peppered throughout with texts and the more typical photos of the well-heeled traveler, sustained on long phone calls in which he complained loudly and often about the assholes he was forced to do business with, to start, and ending with quiet i love you ’s and the even sound of sleeping Jinki has to hang up on. Welcoming him home is enough of a pleasure on its own, regardless of the shade. They’ve toasted his return with soft nights in, cuddling in bed; going out to Kibum’s favorite restaurant and Jinki’s favorite bar, pleasant tipsiness and goofy flirtations like they’re near-strangers again, only imagining falling into bed together.

They could celebrate along the lines of the photo, which Jinki would prefer tonight. Kibum had sent him a photo of his own earlier, himself seated in the airplane. His eyes were sharp and intelligent above the mask. After the airplane would be the taxi that took him home to Jinki, and he had received a quick text assuring him he had landed safely over an hour ago.

Lost in his thoughts, he’s only brought out of it by the sound of a key turning in the door. The stiffness of his movements belie how long he had been adrift in his own wonderings; he sputters along in his mind trying to bring it back to the here and now. He slips on his socked feet, victim of the wood flooring Kibum praised when they first saw the place. The hallway is lined with picture frames of their life together, incredible artwork Kibum picks with care, and the odd plant. At the end of it he sees a dark head bent forward, no doubt setting his bags on the floor. Jinki’s heart patters that furious, familiar rhythm of relief and pleasure from seeing Kibum.

“Hey you,” Kibum says as soon as he sees him. He wears a small smile that Jinki meets with a bigger one that only disappears when their kiss takes its place. It reappears as soon as Kibum pulls away slightly, immediate need to touch satisfied. The bag still on Kibum’s shoulder is starting to fall down to his elbow. Jinki goes to save it and put it on the counter.

“Was your trip good?” he asks. “You want to go take a shower? I can start putting your things away.”

From behind him, Kibum makes a noncommittal noise that Jinki turns to decipher.

Kibum holds one of his photos in his palm, careful only to touch the edges. Otherwise it would grease up the image: a slightly younger Jinki, his lips bitten red, a tear formed at the corner of his eye.

“Oh,” he says. Kibum was never inclined to slow plays or insinuations, and his lack of patience is only amplified after weeks apart. He should have seen this coming, but Jinki always makes room for him to feel otherwise. Sometimes it makes him a little slow.

Kibum carefully reaches around him to put the photo on the counter. He lays a kiss at the side of Jinki’s neck, nosing away the soft collar of his sweater.

“Do you want to?” he asks. His breath skirts across Jinki’s skin teasingly. Jinki nods and Kibum closes the distance to press a chaste, sweet kiss once more before he pulls back and they begin.

“I was looking at that on the way home. I had to lie to the driver about what it was, when he asked. You know what I told him?”

Jinki shakes his head, and Kibum tuts.

“I told him I was looking at my husband - my accomplished, intelligent husband who I didn’t deserve at all. Not a dumb, pathetic boy who can’t keep a thought in his head.”

The blood rushes to Jinki’s cheeks as he feels the familiar, overwhelming burn of embarrassment and insult. His whole world is turning soft and pink and malleable with him.

“Can you do something if I ask you to?” Kibum says. Jinki’s tongue is dry, so he nods quickly, eyes to the floor. “I need to set something up and not have it spoiled by clumsy hands. Go get dressed for me the way I like. You can remember that, can’t you?”

“Yes,” he says. Kibum starts at his response, and Jinki can sense the doubting, incredulous curve of his smile, the burning edges of it.

“If you can manage that, then you can wait until I say so. You can come when you’re called.”

“Yes,” Jinki says again, and when Kibum kisses him in dismissal it’s hard, demanding. He hasn’t said a thing about if Jinki can touch himself, but Jinki is dumb but trained well, not about to take the liberty without Kibum’s explicit word.

Jinki fights the urge to ask for one more kiss, one more soft caress, because he’s missed Kibum so much, but the play has already started, and his options are limited. This is what he wanted, and there will be time for that after. There always is.

-------------------

His mind was already lodged in the past, so he digs out the pink shorts. The hem brushes the edges of his palm when he has his arms at his side. They leave his legs bare and shyly exposed, and what is covered is thin and wispy. He pulls his socks off next, flexing his toes cautiously against the cold floor. Last to adjust is his sweater and shirt, gone in a single swoop and deposited in a pile on the chair in the corner. He’s hungry for the embarrassment, the vulnerability and pathetic sight of his arms crossed protectively across his chest, the involuntary disclosure of his belly muscles jumping at Kibum’s knowing touch.

They both would like that.

The change only takes a few moments; it makes sense Kibum hasn’t called yet, but it doesn’t make his hunger any less. He leans his forehead against the wall, creating a strain that prevents him from wondering too expansively about what Kibum has in mind. It could be anything. Kibum is creative, and smart, even after the years they’ve spent together. This dynamic is reliable, trustworthy in how it plays on each of their needs - Kibum likes to tease, to push. Jinki likes to be diminished, naturally sensitive and retiring. Even so, Kibum tries to find new things that inject the sense of discovery once again.

It’s okay. They trust each other. They know their boundaries. And even if Kibum will put him off-balance, he will always pull Jinki back. It’s non-negotiable.

His palms are sweating, he realizes. He rubs them against his side and shivers at the cool brush of air conditioning against his wet skin. It wasn’t on earlier; Kibum must have turned it on. It has the effect he suspects Kibum was seeking - his nipples have stiffened and would brush, sensitive, against any shirt he dared to put on.

Maybe Kibum was trying to keep him from putting a shirt on, but Jinki latches onto this new idea, the awareness of how they would stand out apparent beneath thin, white material. He throws the shirt over his head and takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror, the bashful pale skin exposed on his legs, the dark suggestions dotted on his chest, begging to be tweaked.

He’s a dumb boy, but even a dumb boy can figure out the math that will get him fucked.

There’s a knock on the door, followed by Kibum’s voice.

“Come out for me.”

Jinki follows his summons, opening the door. Kibum’s hand closes around his and guides him out with determination. At first nothing seems different at all, focused as he is on Kibum, the freshly showered smell of him, the dusting of water around the shell of his ear. But then he pauses, beside their wedding photo.

Another photo has taken over its corner, Jinki, eyes closed, mouth open to accommodate Kibum’s slender cock. The tip of it rests on his fat bottom lip. The camera flush has illuminated the wetness of saliva on Jinki’s waiting tongue.

“Something wrong?” Kibum asks, as if he’s stupid for pausing at such a sight. Jinki hasn’t seen that one, but the memory of it comes in a rush. Kibum had been lounging casually on the couch, and Jinki bracketed by his knees, lazily nudging at Kibum’s zipper until he had feigned impatience and relented. The TV had buzzed with meaningless chatter behind him, reflecting off of Kibum’s glasses. The small sounds of the camera on the phone being turned on, the fake shutter sound and flash stuttering his eyes open for a moment. Stars into his vision, fading out into a red and pink miasma as Jinki sunk down the length of Kibum’s cock and swallowed.

The photo obscures most of Jinki’s body in the original image, replacing his public politesse, neat and purposeful in its placement.

“A good day,” Kibum says. His voice is so beige he could be talking about either scenario.

Jinki agrees mutely with a nod, and continues to be towed along, helpless in its Kibum’ wake. He’s given a similar treatment to the other hallway decor, and pauses occasionally to let Jinki stare. It reminds Jinki of a dog owner pausing to let the dog sniff at something utterly ordinary to the owner. So Jinki lingers at this image: of himself, supine, smearing at the corners of his mouth; his legs stretched out, his cock peeking out of his boxers. The last one is one Jinki hasn’t seen before: it’s mostly of Kibum, unlike the rest of them, his face in profile. It’s taken over Jinki’s shoulder, the line of it along the bottom of the frame. He must be seated in Kibum’s lap. He can barely see how his mouth is hanging open, a fringe of hair disarrayed and obscuring even that. Kibum in the photo looks up at him, tenderness in the lines of his face..

It’s the edge of Jinki’s climax, it must be - the moment before Kibum lets the interplay’s premise fall apart, the hands that catch Jinki’s descent gentle and tender.

Kibum took him from their bedroom centuries ago, it seems. The last photo is meant as an out, but Jinki doesn’t want it. Everything else has been steadily building up sturdy walls of self-consciousness in Jinki, like he can hardly bear to be in a body so faithfully and intimately documented.

They reach the living room, where Kibum’s bags have been replaced by more photos, placed with care among their daily items: another on the fridge, another leant against the television. There’s a small, polite display of them on the couch. When Jinki starts towards them silently, he sees the category of them: the dildo by itself, his own fingers spreading his cheeks apart, the slow, methodical entry of it. Jinki remembers the broken sounds that tumbled out of his mouth.

Kibum prompts him, asking if he likes it. By his tone it’s obvious he’s repeating himself.

“Yes,” he answers, looking at Kibum properly. The other man looks briefly pleased, and just as swiftly replaces it with an airy sense of dismissal.

“I can do a lot when you’re not here distracting me with your begging,” he says. Jinki flushes again, and Kibum looks at him more critically. His gaze sweeps up and down. He suddenly reaches out to pluck at Jinki’s nipple.

“I like this. You managed to keep blood flowing to what you call a brain long enough.”

Jinki squirms, uncomfortable with the compliment.

“Oh, you think you’re cute. Don’t you?” Kibum asks dangerously.

Jinki gives a shy shrug, blush crawling down his chest.

“And do you think being cute and dumb is reason enough to fuck you?” Kibum presses on. He pushes the heels of his hands against Jinki’s hips until he falls to the floor. He scoots clumsily backwards, the rug pulling at the elastic of his shorts, pulling them down and exposing a dark tumble of hair. Kibum only pauses once Jinki’s back is against the couch. He reaches down and out, like he’s going to run long fingers through Jinki’s hair. Instead, he skirts past the contact, an insubstantial phantom suggestion of soothing. One of the photos is plucked between his fingers when he pulls back. He flutters it in front of Jinki’s eyes too fast for him to tell what it is.

He’s already gasping from excitement, already crumbling into a pink haze.

“I spent my entire trip thinking about this. This - “ he pauses and lets Jinki’s eyes adjust to understand the photo, the half-moon circles left by Kibum’s hands into the thick flesh of his ass. “- pathetic, slutty boy who could barely speak to ask me to fill him up. I asked him what he wanted, and all he could say was yes, yes . Pathetic. How he manages to make believe he can function is fucking beyond me.”

A bizarre giddiness sweeps over Jinki. It’s circular, a perfect circular route that takes one moment of humiliation and builds on it. As soon as they knew their limits, and that first photo was taken, printed, pressed into Jinki’s hands by a curiously hopeful Kibum, they would be able to perpetuate. All the divots and grooves of pleasure are well known now, committed in ink that can be pulled out at any time, and send Jinki careening down again. Kibum loves to take the photos, a meticulous record Jinki delights in, knowing they are secure and safely entrusted to Kibum alone. It’s for the two of them, a constancy that shows with every shade their trust and love.

It roils within him, the eroticism of now, the warm memory of pleasures past, and the steadfast trust Jinki has in Kibum. The tight pressure points of Kibum’s finger against his scalp; the line of his arm as he braces forward; the glint of his eyes - they are all parts of what they’ve built together. And here is Jinki’s role: a pleasurable surrender to sensation, a yielding up of his body, a confession of inadequacy. It’s all Kibum’s to trigger; all Kibum’s to tease out.

In this space, it’s just Kibum and the disparate pieces that may reform into Jinki afterwards. Kibum uses the hand holding the photo to tilt Jinki’s chin back until it’s lying flat on the couch cushion. Distantly, he can hear the sounds of Kibum brushing away the other photos. His eyes focus as he begins to loom over Jinki. There’s a bulge in his pants. Jinki’s mouth starts to water.

His mouth is already open obediently, but Kibum squeezes, pressing his thumb and fingers on either side to force Jinki’s tongue out, pink and wet. With his other hand, he undoes his belt, button, and zipper. Jinki looks up at him.

“Too much coordination to ask of you,” Kibum says, and Jinki nods - of course. He can’t be counted on. He pushes his tongue out further.

Kibum releases the grip on his face and moves up to sweep Jinki’s eyelids down, gentle in his touch. His body relaxed, his mouth open and waiting, the first press of Kibum’s cock against his tongue is bliss.

His length is moved in gradual, deliberate motions; he raises to kneel partly on the couch and push his cock further in, to the back of Jinki’s throat. The change in position blankets Jinki’s sense - the smell and taste of his cock, the fresh smell of the shower and soap on his skin; his arm to the one side, balancing, and his leg to the other. Above Jinki is Kibum’s chest, his shoulders, his neck, his lovely face.

It’s what he wanted, when he was waiting, and he could always trust Kibum to know and to bring him to this place. He was more generous than he deserved, to not only press him into the headspace of comfortable dumbness and submission, but to do so in his own artful way that made the descent an easy, inevitable slide. His cock is a hard length in Jinki’s mouth, the weight of his presence intoxicating and smothering. Jinki doesn’t deserve the gift of it.

He lies there, embarrassed and humiliated just to be in Kibum’s impeccable orbit, even as he yearns to be used in some way, to have his face fucked, to be a cute, dumb afterthought for Kibum to indulge in. As frivolous and empty as could be asked for, that’s what he will be. The humiliation of it all, the unflinching documentation of how long Jinki has sought this out, how long Kibum has tolerated it: it’s warmth, it’s pleasure.

It’s what he needs, and he opens his mouth wider. He lays slack and free for Kibum to bury his cock in.

“There he is,” Kibum says roughly. He rewards Jinki with a sweet touch to his cheek. “There’s that sad, slutty boy of mine. You never can hide it, can you, Jinki?”

Jinki shakes his head. He can feel a tear bud to life at the corner of his eyes. Kibum’s thumb lurches out its path so it can streak his skin, another mark to his vulnerability in this moment.

“I missed you,” Kibum continues on. His voice remains tinged with roughness. Jinki fights not to gag, eager for more. “I missed you so, so much.”

Jinki breathes in through his nose, sharp and keenly aware of his own hardness, the dark streaks betraying his leaking cock. The lights surrounding Kibum’s head make it difficult to see the features of his face, and sting when Jinki tries to see.

He shouldn’t even be trying to see. He knows it’s Kibum there; he knows the weight of him, the smell of him, better than he knows himself. If Kibum’s here, if Kibum’s is deigning to use him, he has no right to ask for anything else.

He knows well the sound of Kibum approaching the finish, the near erraticism it brings about in his rhythm. There’s no denying it, and he hopes that this’ll be another photo, another memory to cherish and hide away for their future. Jinki’s head is full of fuzzy anticipation for the stagger-shot moment, when Kibum will gasp and fold over, press a kiss to the back of Jinki’s head, guide his cock out of Jinki’s mouth, ask him to swallow like a good boy. And then he can start thinking about his own relief, jerking himself off as Kibum watches, criticism lurking at the tip of his tongue.

It changes in a moment, though. Kibum pulls out of his mouth and kneels over Jinki’s bare legs. He roughly pulls at Jinki’s shorts, making him cry out in a startle as his own cock is revealed. Kibum smiles, breathless, wolfish.

“Let’s compare,” he says, and Jinki doesn’t understand, not until Kibum presses his own cock against Jinki’s and wraps his hand around it, pumping them both off at the same time. Jinki moans helplessly at the sight, at Kibum’s insistent placement of the two of them together. His cock next to Kibum’s is fat and purpled with pathetic need, and Kibum’s is slender and slick and primed to finish. He could have just let him come after, in the afterthought of Kibum’s usage, a scrap of his own pleasure, but Kibum is continuing to chase after Jinki’s orgasm, refusing to let him go until he collapses.

What can he do but accede, as humiliating as it is, his own issue pulsing out and coating his dusky hair right alongside Kibum’s. Kibum has his left hand wrapped possessively around the back of Jinki’s neck in a familiar motion even as he shudders through it. A few moments to breathe squeeze their way into this space. The fuzz in Jinki’s head is like steel wool, sharp in its conflicting feelings.

Kibum pulls his hand back and digs into his pocket. The disruption of it pulls Jinki into a sleepy, blinking awareness.

His other hand, the one sticky with their cum, is held out expectantly. Kibum is his steady ground, his rock. He puts Jinki back together again, when Jinki breaks apart in his hands.

Gravity is what it is. The shutter of the camera goes off as Jinki’s tongue flickers out to clean up the mess.

He wonders when he’ll get to see that one.

#salt writes #onkey #onkey fic #onew x key #shinee fic

4 notes · View notes