SHINee, 2 Out of 8

Title: 2 Out of 8 [Minho/Key]
Rating/Warnings: R. DON’T JUDGE ME.
Summary: Minho’s a little grumpy about Key’s Iple.
AN: A trans of Minho and Key’s latest Iples went up, in which Key abused Minho roundly. This is so, so procreational‘s fault.

2 Out of 8

Minho looks grumpy when Key, Jonghyun, Taemin and Onew get home later that night. It’s a little hard to tell, because sometimes Minho is grumpy and sometimes that’s just his face, but Key’s pretty sure when Minho traps him in his bedroom and shoves him up against the wall by the shoulders.

“Minho-ah?” Key asks, wondering if Minho worked too hard at his fashion show and if he’s eaten properly. “Are you feeling okay?”

“2 out of 8?” Minho inquires, voice low and silky, and Key swallows.

“Hey, Minho-sshi…” Key tries to smile cutely, but Minho’s eyes just narrow further.

“And what exactly,” Minho continues, and the pitch of his voice makes Key shiver, “is wrong with my hairstyle?”

“N-nothing!” Key wills his face into utter innocence, thinking of Taemin when he wants freshly-baked cookies, or Jonghyun when Onew’s being particularly oblivious, but Minho doesn’t seem to be buying it. “Aw, it was just an Iple…”

“Don’t ‘just an Iple’ me,” Minho growls, but before Key can come up with a reply, his mouth is occupied by Minho’s, rough and demanding, making Key’s head hit the wall with a loud thunk.

“You aren’t killing Kibum, are you?” Onew’s voice drifts in from the hall, but it sounds cursory, and after a few seconds Key gives up on being rescued. Not that Minho is letting Key get enough air to call out for help anyhow.

Key gives up, goes pliant under Minho’s hands and lets his eyes flutter shut. That seems to please Minho, at least; Minho’s kiss eases up, not much, but a little, and his fingers stop digging into Key’s shoulders so tightly. One of his hands drifts up to palm the back of Key’s neck, and Key whimpers.

Minho pulls back suddenly, breaking the kiss, and when he opens his eyes, finds Minho watching him, gaze sharp. He opens his mouth to ask Minho’s name again, but Minho beats him to it.

“I think you’ve said enough for today,” Minho says, and then his hands are back on Key’s shoulders, pushing him down until his knees start to buckle. “But if you’re so keen on using your mouth, I can find something for you to occupy it with down there. After that, we can compare hairstyles.”

As soon as Key’s knees hit the carpet, Minho’s hands move up into his hair, sort it into messy whorls as he gets a good grip. Key darts a glance up to Minho’s face, licking his lips. It’s an only half-way nervous gesture, not that it isn’t something he enjoys doing, but Minho in a mood can be unpredictable. Key brings his hands up to rest on the front of Minho’s hips, and Minho shifts into the touch; they’re close enough that even the small motion nearly has the fly of Minho’s jeans brushing against Key’s face.

“Minho-ah?” Key asks softly, and Minho’s grip doesn’t loosen, but his eyes are a different kind of dark now.

“What are you waiting for?” he says, voice warmer than a second ago, and Key knows it’s okay to go on.

He rubs his cheek against the front of Minho’s jeans purposely as he shifts his weight on his knees to get more comfortable. Minho hardens under the touch, making Key smile a little and he repeats the action, until Minho growls a warning and tightens his fingers in Key’s hair. Key makes sure the breath of his silent chuckle brushes warmly over Minho as soon as he gets Minho’s jeans undone.

The first touch of Key’s mouth makes Minho shudder, and Key closes his eyes and focuses on taking it slow, on doing a thorough job of apologizing. He thumbs the sharp bone of Minho’s hip and splays his fingers over the warm, soft skin of Minho’s belly, feeling every shiver.

Minho starts to talk, low and stuttered, as though he can’t hold the words back, how sweet Key looks like that, how good it is. It gets Key hard as well, but he ignores it in favor of concentrating on Minho, on working Minho deeper into his throat without hurting himself.

“Key,” Minho finally warns, tugging on his hair, but he doesn’t really try to pull Key back, and Key stays right where he is while Minho shudders against him and comes, then collapses to his knees next to Key.

Key catches him, wincing as he takes a sharp elbow to the chest, but doesn’t have time to get his breath back before Minho is kissing him, pulling Key tight against his chest. Key’s lips feel puffy and raw already, and the roughness of Minho’s lips against them makes him gasp breathily. Minho doesn’t let up until he’s searched out the last of his taste from Key’s mouth, and Key feels dizzy when Minho finally pulls back to look him over.

“So,” Key says, clearing his throat after a moment, “apology accepted?”

Minho laughs, dark and rich and low, and he tugs Key to his feet and pushes him backwards, until Key stumbles and falls backwards onto Minho’s bed. Minho looms over him, a hand dropping to Key’s belt, and Key swallows hard.

“Not,” Minho grins sharply, “so much.”


When Key stumbles out of the room later, hair wild and clothing disarrayed, he only takes a half a dozen steps before he runs into Taemin, who has two tiny, inexplicable ponytails sticking up from his head at 90° angles.

“Ne, hyung,” Taemin tilts his head, “are you okay? And why were you in Minho’s room so long? And why are you wearing Minho’s shirt? And…”

“Taeminnie,” Key says, voice vague and tired, as he puts an arm around him, “if you don’t ask any more questions, I’ll make you pancakes, okay?”

Taemin considers this offer for a moment, eyes straying to a red mark barely uncovered by Key’s collar. “With blueberries?” Key nods and tugs his collar up higher. Taemin’s face breaks into a blinding grin, ponytails bobbing happily. “Sure, hyung!”

Key sighs in relief, and true to his word, Taemin doesn’t even say anything when he throws his arms around Key in a hug and Key grunts in discomfort.

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