sky's the limit [minkey, nc-17]

sky's the limit
minkey, nc-17
sex, romance

She brought weekend boys home in her curls
She said, "My love is a fever.
Come on, touch my skin.
They all think I'm easy,
I'm easy, cause I let them win." »

There’s something in the way the lights are flashing, disguising everything in this dark, humid place that makes his heart race even faster and all the people he passes turn into his best friend. The burning in the back of his throat is hard to ignore, so he takes a lime and squeezes it into his mouth, sucking the juice and savouring the way the sour etches itself onto his face.

People sing and chant, so he joins in because he knows every single one of the songs banging beats against his eardrums. It’s like a dream, the haze of sweat, perfume, cologne and body odours is overwhelming. There are more guys then girls and he basks in it, uncaring whether or not they’re judging him for dancing the way he is.

Because there are people grabbing him, pressing his body against theirs’ and it doesn’t matter whether or not they’re male or female, all he cares about is whether or not they can keep up. The flow of body against body is intoxicating, so human and feral that it’s hard to comprehend one’s self compared to the mass that is a crowd full of pheromones, hormones and sex.

The bartender is tall and long, attractive with big, round eyes and long hair tied back in a loose ponytail that isn’t quite holding all of his hair together. The strands curve in close to his neck - just right – and around his ears.

“You’re drunk. I’m not serving you anymore.” The frown looks nothing like the smile he was given when he first entered the club.

“Why? It’s not like I can’t go to another bartender!”

I bet you know I won’t, though.

The taller man shakes his head and leans over the bar to a small girl with long, red-lacquered fingernails and a short bob. She presses her order to his ear and he turns away, not making eye contact as he pulls out the nozzles and fills the plastic cup with different liquor.

He doesn’t hide the smile that dances across his face.

+

His eyes are sharp and tongue even more so. His waist dips inwards in just the right way that makes one want to put their hands on his hips, wrap an arm around and just hold close. But the way he’s wreathing under the music’s pulse is intimidating. He was never much of a dancer.

The only time he ever dared to enter the mass of human bodies was when there was enough alcohol in his system to kill a few more brain cells then he had planned on losing in one night. But he’s drawn into the cold gaze of the other boy - a little too drunk and a little too cocky – and it’s like he’s fighting the lift of gravity, something baiting him.

I’m going to lose this one.

“You’re already at your limit with me, go to-“

“The sky is the limit, there’s no stopping me.”

“Oh?”

Cocking an eyebrow, it’s almost closing and everything’s hazy. There’s an odd, slightly off-beat pounding in his ears though and he can feel a slight burn along the shell of it, where the other boy’s lips had purposely brushed against. Kissed.

He leans back and shakes his head. He shouldn’t be doing this, thinking of taking a drunk customer home with him. Not that he hasn’t had that thought before. But this time around, he knows that other won’t leave him alone without an invitation.

“So when are you off?”

“Later.”

“I just might wait around until later.”

He lets the corner of his mouth quirk upwards as he continues with clearing off the bar of the empty cups and spilled liquids, catching the other man sway off towards the dance floor once again from the corner of his eye.

There is an itch that covers his body, hairs standing up unexpectedly and goosebumps tingling his skin. He can feel someone scrutinizing him. Chancing a glance across the crowd, he finds the other man staring at him while grinding shamelessly with someone. But he finds he doesn’t care who the other is as he watches his hips move and swirl.

Damn.

+

“You can call me Key.” he announces once the lights are on and the music dimmed to a low hum.

He stares relentlessly at the man on the other side of the bar, not caring to hide the confidence he’s brimming with tonight. Maybe it’s because he’s out alone, no one around to compare himself to and feel self-conscious over. Or maybe it’s because the two shots of tequila he had earlier in the night, he doesn’t know.

And even with the lights on and the air still a cloud of smoke and heat, he can’t fight the sudden urge to run his fingers along the plump lips of the sexy, tall man stood throwing cups into the large garbage bin.

“What can I call you?”

“Minho.”

He doesn’t care whether it’s blaringly obvious that he wants the other man to fuck him into the mattress. A smirk plasters itself to his lips - but he’s can’t be too sure, his lips are numb - and he stares at the long lithe body in front of him.

“So, Minho, how far do you live?”

*

They all told him he was an idiot for falling into the game so easily. But they didn’t catch the burn in the other’s hooded eyes as he swayed, fucking rubbed himself all over someone else on the dance floor while staring straight at him.

He smiles, lips pink and pretty - fuckable, “Do you live alone?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Just wondering how loud we can get.”

Shaking his head once again, he laughs into the silence of the taxi and wonders how awkward the driver must feel. He looks up to find the driver staring at them from the rear-view mirror. Actually, not at them per-say, but at the one sitting next to him. The aura he has is attention-catching, to say the least.

An arm curves under his and he can feel the smooth, paleness almost burn against his skin. Their hands intertwine and lock quite nicely.

*

He pushes his body against the taller man’s slender frame and sandwiches it between himself and the elevator door. Everything about him feels hot and hard.

He’s a good head taller, just tall enough for Kibum to glide an open mouth along his jaw line and down the side of his neck. Flicking his tongue along the smooth skin, he dares himself to find his pulse point. Just to make it even more fun.

The gasp he receives is enough to get him going, the curl of desire in his stomach swirls viciously. His pants are tighter in the front then he can remember it feeling earlier. There are hands on his ass, pushing him closer and kneading the flesh and muscle. He bites back a groan as he scraps his teeth along the other’s collarbone while pulling the low v-neck to the side.

“How often do you do this?”

Kibum glances up and catches him squeezing his eyes closed as he purposely grinds their hips together.

“Not often. Only when I find someone worth it.”

It sounds cheesy and romantic in a way. He wants to take it back, say something icy and aloof. But the other man’s mouth Is on his, lips moving sumptuously over his own and tongue running dangerous along the seam.

The moan pops and reverberates in his throat.

Shit.

*

Slipping form the shower, he steps into the hallway and looks down towards the only room with a light on and knows it’s the bedroom.

“Can you pass me a towel?”

“Yeah.”

A chill makes a wave of goosebumps sprout across his skin as he places his hands on his hips and waits with a grin on and nothing else.

“I-” Minho looks lightly taken aback as he stops mid-step out of the bedroom.

He watches his eyes glide down his body and he fights the shiver of anticipation that skitters down his spine and through his veins.

“Here”

He catches the towel, “Thanks”
Minho lowers his head as he walks into the bathroom. He smirks, rubbing the towel over his damp hair and heading towards the bedroom.

*

There’s nothing he can do but groan, staring down at the obvious bout of arousal sat pointedly between his legs as he attempts to adjust the towel in a way that’ll make it less obvious. But instead, the rub of fabric just makes it all the more painful.

Half limping, half strutting into the hall, he’s not surprised find Kibum splayed out over his bed.

But it does take him a second to register the other fisting himself lazily.

“It takes you too long to shower.”

*

He doesn’t know exactly how it happens or when but it’s not like he’s going to resist. Go with the flow.

But his hips push upwards urgently as he feels the smaller man swivel his body on top of his, looking ridiculously sexy. Like this is where he was always meant to be. A roar of want expands in his stomach as the other rubs their bodies together. He suddenly feels like he wants to own him, keep him forever and not let anyone else see this kind of thing.

Pulling him down for a kiss, he moves his hands dangerously over every dip and curve of the other’s body. Smooth and hot to the touch, he wonders whether the other guy’s would kill to do this. But tonight is his night.

“You’re pretty.” he sighs, as he straightens up.

“I know.”

*

He sighs, releasing Kibum from his mouth for a second and trying desperately not to let himself become too enveloped in the heat and tightness of the other’s mouth. Flicking out his tongue, he lick the slit of his cock. The taste of pre-cum lingers at the back of his throat as he takes as much of the other in his mouth once again, working his tongue around and around.

He’s thanked with a strangled moan.

“I want you to fuck me already.” he whispers to the head of his cock and proceeds to take him back between swollen lips.

*

On all fours on top of the bed, he groans into the silence as fingers press inside him in search of the spot. He pushes back, urging the other to continue spreading him open. But as two fingers press into his prostate, he clenches down.

His entire body feels like it tenses for a second - or more - as he’s touched and urged into saying something that’ll later embarrass him. So he doesn’t and instead gasps as the digits slowly undo him.

“You okay?” a hand smoothes over his lower back and along his hip.

“Just … hurry up.” he demands, glancing over his shoulder to glare at the other man.

But he supposes it wasn’t much of a glare because Minho’s face hardens and a third finger is being eased in.

“Fuck!” he groans, reaching down to touch himself.

*

He not sure who’s making the noise anymore and whether or not they’ve been doing this for far too long. The heat and pulse of the other filling him repeatedly makes his mind swim a losing fight against the constant waves of pleasure running through his veins. Grasping for anything and everything to hold onto, keep him grounded and steady, he takes to holding Minho’s forearms.

The air is stifling and it’s hard to catch a breath as they move. He feels awkward when he opens his eyes to find the other staring up at him like that. Like this isn’t quite what he expected but so much better. Like this was meant to be and not just a simple urge to release some pent up energy.

Maybe it wasn’t, maybe Kibum wanted to make his mark on the other.

His entire body is hit hard by a red flush of embarrassment. It feels heavy and unfamiliar,

“Could you be anymore exciting?”

“Sometimes.”

Leaning down, he presses his mouth to the sensitive skin of the other’s neck and this time he does find the vein. Pulsing, ringing inside the tubes of flesh straight from his heart.

But he’s not sure if it’s really his own pulse he feels in his tongue.

*

It’s bright, far roo early and he knows it as he squints around. He doesn’t remember seeing the various soccer jersey’s that hang from the back of the door, nor does he remember the few trophy’s topped off with golden figures kicking a little ball from last night neither.

Throwing the blanket over his head, he wonders if he should just leave. Collect his clothes and sneak out.

“Are you finally awake?”

He kicks the blanket in response, “Go away.”

“C’mon, get up.”

The blanket is tugged on. He grips it tighter.

“Let’s go get coffee. Then I’ll drive you home.”

Home. Oh yeah.

“Just … let me get dressed.”

There’s a moment’s silence. So he pulls the blanket down below his eyes. But as he does, the other man pops into view from the side of the bed and before he can even finish his yelp of surprise, the other man is yanking the blanket off.

“Stop it, pervert!”

They struggle for a awhile. It’s a losing fight, he’s tired and his body aches. As he yells at the other man, he finally let’s go.

“Fine.”

He glances over, gripping the remaining amount of blanket he possesses to his waist. Minho drops this towel, hands on hips and grin in place.

“Now we’re both naked. Just get off my bed so I can make it!”

He’s damp, obviously just got out of the shower, and looking like a fucking model. And Kibum doesn’t remember Minho being quite that fit last night. Then again, he can’t remember most of the night. He lets out a breath and makes eyes contact.

Letting a smile curve his lips, he quirks an eyebrow upwards and reaches out a hand.

“Fine, help me up.”

When the other’s hand connects with his, he yanks the taller man down. He momentarily regrets it once he gets the wind almost knocked out of him as the mass of flesh and bone lands on him. But the look of surprise is enough to make him smile. Tangling his fingers into damp hair, he presses his mouth to his ear.

“If you make your bed, you have to lie in it too.”

*

Breathing uneven and laboured, he presses their foreheads together and stares at the other man.

Fuck, he’s beautiful.

“Well, that was pretty lame.”

“Shut up, and just kiss me.”

He smirks as the other blushes, pressing his mouth to his.


*

You’re pretty.

Shut up.