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[personal profile] fourcoldpaws
taemin/kai. r. 963 words. fluffy winter porn.

On the eve of December’s first Friday, snow starts falling. It keeps falling, during the night and during the next morning and during lunchtime – big lazy flakes calmly making their way downwards, numerous and consistent to the point where they’re just a perpetual, grey wall outside the window – and when four o’clock comes along to bring dusk and an importunate craving for some tea and a snack of some kind, Taemin rolls off Jongin, rolls off the couch and all but rolls across the floor; three and a half artless spins, each accompanied by a little ouhff, until his back hits the radiator under the window. His eyes slide shut and then his temple taps down against the floor with a little bonk.

Jongin pulls himself up and wipes over his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I thought we were in the middle of something here,” he says and tries not to sound too disappointed but his front is suddenly feeling kind of cold and kind of lonely, and his boner too.

“Hmneuurh,” Taemin says and flaps a hand in Jongin’s general direction. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, only wriggles closer to the radiator and sighs heavily. “And bring me a pillow while you’re at it.”

“Why do you have to complicate everything all the fucking time,” Jongin grumbles but still tosses a cushion into Taemin’s face, crawls over and lets himself be pulled close by a finger hooked into his belt-loop. Taemin grins lazily, squints up at him through barely open eyes from where he’s reclined on his side and wriggles the same finger in under the protruding fly of Jongin’s jeans to poke along his zipper.

“Because my cock-sucking skills decline alongside the temperature of my ass,” he says, finding the slider and, with some difficulty, managing to coax it down. “The two are intimately connected.”

He grins again (Jongin decides it’s an affectionate grin) at the clothed, dick-shaped bump now peeking out between the zipper teeth, fingering at it for a moment before leaning up and pressing a little kiss to its summit. With some assistance from Jongin, who notes a risk of having the elastic of his underwear slapping back over his poor genitals under Taemin’s drowsy fingers, the dick in question is finally freed and receives another little kiss for the effort.

“My knees hurt,” Jongin says. A third kiss, a fourth. A lap. Jongin’s eyes follow the movements of the little tip of tongue sticking out between Taemin's lips.

“Shut up,” Taemin says. Two cold fingers curl around the base of Jongin’s cock. “I’m doing this for you.” A languid swirl of tongue melts into a kiss again. Taemin opens his mouth.

Truth to be told, half-asleep Taemin tends to be better at sucking cock than fully-awake, hot-and-eager-and-impatient Taemin, because whereas half-asleep Taemin is all soft lips and warm tongue and slow, thorough sucks around the tip; alert, horny Taemin is quicker, wetter, rougher, deeper – which, Jongin supposes, has its charm but also its time and place. He watches Taemin’s eyelids, his drifting attention, his lips tensing, tightening; and then softening again when they come up to meet, molding plump and pliant over his tip.

If anything, it’s a whole lot more appealing to watch like this.

Taemin glances up from the corner of his eye when Jongin reaches back into his jean pocket, and pulls away to laugh when Jongin’s cellphone comes into his view.

“Can I?”

“Whatever,” Taemin snickers, and picks up where he left off.

Jongin props up his elbows against the windowsill to steady the small tremor of his hands and notes with a strange flash to his belly that Taemin doesn’t even care to pose. His head stays rested against the cushion and his mouth sucks gentle nips across the underside of Jongin’s cock; down the base, up again – Jongin draws in a breath between his teeth and clicks a shot – up to suck the head into his mouth – clicks another one – to tongue the slit – one more –

Taemin pulls his lips back to laugh at him.

“Me too,” he says.


“Touch me too.”

Jongin’s right hand leaves the windowsill and finds a stiff shape through the fabric of Taemin’s sweats. Taemin hums in his throat. Jongin measures the length, traces its outline, maps out its shape, locates all the spots that has Taemin twitch. He grins through his breaths; trails his fingers upwards, under the hem of Taemin’s shirt and up over a warm stomach, and Taemin resolutely squirms in protest until he’s back on his groin again; sucks a little tighter in retaliation.

“Can I…” Jongin says. He started out with a whole sentence but the second half of it got lost somewhere on the way.

“Mm,” Taemin hums, and swallows everything Jongin offers him. He cracks an eye open and wipes over his mouth when Jongin slides down next to him and tugs at a corner of the pillow. “You owe me one.”

“Yeah,” Jongin grins. “Yeah, sure.” He presses Taemin a little tighter into the radiator and lets his fingers find Taemin’s stomach again, find the edge of his pants, but Taemin swats him away and rolls over to his back.

“No, I want something to keep my mug company,” he says and stifles a yawn. Jongin also tips over to his back and frowns up at the ceiling. It has a cold, grey color, much like a consistent downpour of snow. “Preferably something with shameful amounts of chocolate chips.”

Jongin sighs. “Will you brew, then?” he asks and pulls himself to his feet.

“Yeah, sure,” Taemin says. His eyes remain shut.

“Don’t fall asleep!” Jongin calls out from the hallway as he laces up his shoes.

The response lags a bit. “…Yeah, sure.”

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