Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4195389.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      SHINee
  Relationship:
      Choi_Minho/Lee_Taemin
  Character:
      Lee_Taemin, Choi_Minho, Kim_Kibum_|_Key
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Drama, Romance, mentions_of_drug_use, some_violence, Implied/
      Referenced_Rape/Non-con, Age_Difference, taemin_is_17_and_minho_is_26, i
      lessened_the_age_difference_between_them_but_there_is_still_underaged_sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-06-24 Words: 6702
****** Inked ******
by taetastic
Summary
     It’s a on a Wednesday when he meets Lee Taemin for the first time.
Notes
     Sort of inspired by the piercing Taem had in his MV. Wrote this a
     while back but I'm cross posting some stuff from AFF.
     Please read the tags, and be aware of the warnings. My intention
     isn't to glorify any of these issues, please don't read if you're
     triggered by any of them.
It’s a on a Wednesday when he meets Lee Taemin for the first time. He’s sitting
back in his favorite chair, feet kicked up onto the counter and a cup of
noodles in his hands as he stares at the small TV he keeps on top of the dirty
cabinet. He just finished with a client; one that had only taken about 30
minutes. She wanted something simple, just a small butterfly above her ankle.
As much as he was sick of tattooing generic butterflies and hearts and
ridiculous quotes, money was money, so he gave her exactly what she wanted.
Just as he stuffs his second bite of noodles into his mouth, the door bangs
open and he’s so startled, he spills some of the hot juice on his pants and
hisses in pain.
A young teenager in a school uniform stands at the doorway, face flushed and
smudged with dirt, and his torn school bag hanging off his shoulder. The kid’s
windswept hair is a bright, bleached blond and Minho can see where the black
roots are growing in again. The hot soup on his pants is momentarily forgotten
as he stares at the teenager’s face. The kid’s got a baby face, that’s for
sure. Even with his features scrunched up into a look of determination, you
couldn’t miss those chubby cheeks and pouty lips. He’s probably the prettiest
kid Minho’s ever seen – even with the dirt smudged on his face and the small
scrape on his cheek - and he wonders what the hell a kid like this could be
doing in his tattoo shop – or at this side of town, for that matter.
“How much does a piercing cost?”
His thoughts are answered, but he’s still baffled by the question, and simply
stares at the kid, eyebrow raised.
“Well?” The kid insists with a huff.
Minho slides his feet off the counter, stands up, and places his noodles on the
counter, already feeling pissed that he wasn’t able to finish his dinner. “Why
are you asking?”
The kid looks at him like he’s stupid. “I want one, obviously.”
He can’t help but laugh. “And how old are you? Fourteen?”
“Nineteen,” the teen says quickly.
Minho simply stares at him, highly amused by his attempt at lying. He crosses
his arms, and raises an eyebrow, “I guess you’ll have an I.D. to show me then…”
The kid glares at him, his eyes defiant and angry as he realizes his lie isn’t
going to work. “Why does it matter how old I am?”
“Because I’m really not in the mood to have some angry parent charging in here,
yelling at me for sticking a needle through her precious son.”
The teen falters for a moment, his gaze falling to the floor as he takes in
Minho’s words. But when he looks up again, he has that same defiant look in his
eyes. “No one will care, I promise.”
“How old are you, kid? Really?”
He hesitates. “I’m seventeen.”
Minho walks around the counter with an irritated sigh and approaches the kid.
He’s got a few inches on him at least, and as he gets closer, he can see how
thin the boy really is. He’s all long, lanky limbs and awkwardly wide
shoulders. It’s probably just his body type but Minho can’t help but think he
may be a little under-fed, especially if he actually lives on this side of
town. “Why don’t you come back a year and I might reconsider.”
He gives the boy a little nudge, attempting to push him toward the door, but he
stands his ground and stares up at Minho with that same defiant expression.
“I’m not leaving until I get one.”
Minho snorts in amusement, and shrugs. He doesn’t have the energy to fight
annoying, stubborn teens out of his shop, so he doesn’t. “Suit yourself.” He
walks back over to the counter, picks up his noodles, and continues where he
left off before the kid so rudely interrupted his dinner.
The kid plops down on one of the leather chairs and stares at him. “My name is
Taemin.”
“Good for you,” he slurps his noodles loudly, not looking away from the TV.
“Do I get to know yours or will I have to call you ajusshi?”
When he looks over, Taemin is smiling at him mischievously, and his annoyance
only grows. “Minho,” he grumbled with a mouth full of food. “Brat.”
Taemin gives him what is supposed to be an innocent smile and is anything but.
“Can I get a tattoo?”
“No.”
“Come on. Just a small one. Where no one can see it.”
“No.”
“At least let me get a piercing where no one can see it, then.”
“No.”
Taemin comes to his shop almost every day now. On weekdays, he’ll barge in with
his school uniform still on, but when the first weekend comes around, Minho is
surprised to see him in regular clothes. He wears a lot of black. The pants are
way too tight, and the shirts are big and loose on him. Half of them have rips
and tears in them, and Minho wonders whether Taemin bought them like that or if
it happened as he wore them.
The kid comes in with a new injury almost every day. A shiner on Thursday, a
busted lip on Friday, scraped knuckles on Saturday. Minho doesn’t ask him where
he gets them because he’s still trying to convince himself that he doesn’t give
a shit about the annoying kid.
As annoying as Taemin is, Minho grows fond of him. Not that he’d ever admit it
to anyone.
Taemin tries so hard to come across as tough, with his dark clothes and snarky
attitude, but he’s naturally cute – there’s nothing he can do about it, it’s
just his face – and often very absentminded. Minho finds one of his belongings
stuck in the edges of the chairs at least once a week, and he’s left his bag
there countless times.
The customers stare at him strangely when they come in, and when they ask,
Minho simply shrugs. He honestly doesn’t know what this whole thing is himself.
Taemin never stops pestering him about a piercing or a tattoo, and by now,
Minho is passed being annoyed, and has simply gotten used to it.
“What kind of piercing do you even want?”
Taemin stares, his sparkly eyes going wide with surprise as Minho voices his
question. It isn’t often that he will ask Taemin anything. The kid is usually
the one talking his ear off every day, or shooting questions at him left and
right.
“I don’t know. I’d like to get a lot pierced, I guess. Maybe my lip, my nose,
my tongue, or my belly button, or even my nipple.”
Taemin shrugs and Minho swallows thickly. All too sudden, there is an image of
Taemin in his mind that he has no control over. His thin torso is exposed and
there’s shiny metal stuck through his belly button. He stares at Minho with a
heated, lusty gaze, his lips stretching into a smirk. There’s a metal ring
stuck through his lip, and when the boy licks his lips, he sees another
piercing right through the middle of his tongue.
Minho snaps out of his imagination and stares at the now very normal-looking
Taemin – with his frizzy blond hair and his chubby cheeks – with horrified
realization. He did not just imagine that. No. Nope. He didn’t. He did not just
imagine a seventeen year old kid like that.
Taemin is too busy babbling on about the tattoos he wants to even notice
Minho’s dilemma, or the fact that he’s walking away. When he does notice, he
yells at Minho for leaving in the middle of their conversation, but Minho is
too busy running into the back room to care.
“If you want a piercing so bad, why don’t you find someone who will give you
one?”
“Maybe I would’ve weeks ago, before I started coming here. But now I only want
you to do it.”
Taemin smiles that smile that is supposed to look innocent and is anything but.
Minho is a fairly normal 26-year-old man. Okay so, he’s a little strange for
some people’s standards. His countless piercings and the tattoos that cover
both of his arms throw some people off. But he can say with complete honesty
that he’s never had some weird obsession with teenagers. He’s not like that.
Yes, he’s gay, and he doesn’t bother to hide it. But he’s always dated older
men. That’s usually his type; older, stronger, tough. Taemin doesn’t fit in any
of those categories. Taemin is a twig of kid, he’s unrealistically pretty, he’s
a bit of an airhead, a bit of a weirdo, and he’s nothing like anyone Minho has
ever met. It frustrates Minho to no end. He wants to find Taemin as annoying as
he did the first day he met the kid, but he can’t. All he can think about is
Taemin’s stupid gasping laugh, and his stupid smile, and how amazing he would
look with those stupid bits of metal sticking through his skin.
“Do all of your tattoos have a special meaning?”
Taemin is staring at the myriad of tattoos on his arm, his eyes shining as he
takes in the sight of each one. His fingers brush against Minho’s wrist just
slightly and Minho suppresses the shiver that almost runs down his spine.
“No, not all of them. Some of them do, but I don’t think all tattoos have to
have some special meaning. If you like something and you want it on your body,
that’s your choice.”
“Sooo, does that mean you’ll give me one if I really like it.” Taemin smiles at
him eagerly, the cut on his lip nearly opening again.
“Nice try, but no.”
“Tilt your head back. It’ll help a little.”
Taemin obeys immediately, holding the bloody tissue to his nose and titling his
head back until he was staring at the ceiling. Minho stands close to him just
in case he gets dizzy and drops.
“Why the hell do you keep showing up at my shop all bloody?” It’s his
roundabout way of asking who was hurting him. He didn’t want to know more about
Taemin. He knew enough to like the boy more than he should. It was too much
already. He shouldn’t get involved.
“I get in a lot of fights with kids at school. It’s not a big deal, really.”
It doesn’t sound like Taemin is lying, but Minho doesn’t think he’s telling the
whole truth either.
He tells Kibum about Taemin eventually. Not about his little fantasies or his
strange feelings, of course. He’s not a fucking idiot.
He just tells Kibum about the persistent kid that comes to his shop and bothers
him every day. And what do you know, Kibum knows exactly who he’s talking
about.
“Skinny? Blond hair? Pouty lips?”
Minho’s nods, still getting over the surprise of finding out that Kibum knows
his Taemin. Wait. Not his. Shit.
“He’s in the dance class I teach. He’s been in it for a few years already, and
honestly he’s advanced way past the level I offer, but I let him stay anyways.
He helps the other kids a lot so he’s more of a help to me than anything. I
don’t have money to pay him but I’ve never charged him anything for the classes
so he says he doesn’t need me to pay him.”
“You never charged him anything for the classes?” Minho takes a sip of his beer
and twists his stool around to face the other man.
“Nah. The poor kid has it hard enough. He’d never be able to afford it with his
mother the way she is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Major druggie. I don’t know the details, but I know his home life isn’t the
best.”
“Shouldn’t you be doing homework while you’re here or something?”
Taemin is lounging on one of the chairs, a bag of chips in his lap and a can of
soda in one of his hands. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll never graduate anyways.”
“And why is that?” Minho doesn’t know when he started asking Taemin questions
about his life, but he can’t bring himself to resist.
“School doesn’t matter much to me. I just want to dance,” Taemin gets that
faraway look in his eyes. That look Minho knew he used to have every time he
stared at his own successful tattoo sketches or any other art he was proud of.
That day, he learned that it was hard to get Taemin to shut up about dance once
he started talking about it. For some reason, Minho didn’t mind.
They’re sitting side by side on one of the big leather chairs, watching an old
drama on his tiny TV, when Taemin falls asleep. Taemin falling asleep isn’t
really problem, but when the kid’s head falls to rest on his shoulder, he
starts to panic.
Taemin smells like a strange mix of fresh shampoo and grass. He had probably
taken a shower that morning before getting in another fight and rolling all
over the ground. Strangely, Minho likes it.
He has to remind himself that he is a badass tattoo artist, covered in
piercings and scary tattoos. He’s a grown man. He’s climbed into bed with more
men than he can count on both hands. He’s got more dirty kinks than he can
remember and he isn’t embarrassed by them.
But the way Taemin rests his head on his shoulder and the way the boy’s hair
tickles his jaw is getting him ridiculously flustered.
Taemin is a pretty cheerful kid. He comes in every day, smiling widely and
talking Minho’s ear off, even when he’s covered in scrapes and bruises and
dirt.
One day, Minho hears the door crash open, and he doesn’t need to turn around to
know it’s Taemin. He doesn’t get the chance to even turn around before he feels
a body crash into his back and lanky arms wrap around his middle.
The boy’s hands are shaking as he clutches the front of his shirt. They’re
covered in dirt again and his knuckles are still scabbed up from a few days
before. Minho feels him bury his face in between his shoulder blades and murmur
inaudible words into his back.
He hears sniffling and knows immediately that Taemin is crying.
He has never seen Taemin cry, not in the few months he has known him. It’s
weird and it’s not right, because Taemin should be smiling like he always does.
This horrible feeling gathers in his gut as he listens to Taemin crying, and he
hates it. He fucking hates it because he knows it means he cares.
He has the strong urge to strangle whoever made this boy cry, but instead he
stays there and let’s Taemin ruin his favorite shirt with tears.
Their days mostly go back to normal, but sometimes Taemin acts strange and
distant. Minho doesn’t want to ask why and he isn’t sure if it’s because he
doesn’t want to know Taemin any more than he does, or because he’s afraid of
the answer.
Taemin doesn’t show up one day, and Minho tries to act like he doesn’t care and
like he isn’t glancing at the door every 5 minutes. Taemin eventually comes in,
much later and much drunker than usual.
He’s got a half empty bottle of vodka clutched in his hand as he crashes in and
immediately runs into one of the chairs and starts to laugh.
“Minhoooo,” Taemin calls his name in the middle of his incoherent mumbling and
Minho steps out from behind the counter with a sigh. Taemin tries to meet him
half way, but he stumbles, and Minho catches the boy right before he can fall
to the floor.
“Where did you even get this?” He heaves an exasperated sigh as he takes the
half empty bottle from Taemin’s hand and sets it on the table. The boy doesn’t
have much weight on him, so this much alcohol could easily get him trashed, and
it clearly has.
“Minho,” the kid whines, wrapping clumsy arms around his neck and leaning on
him. “Mmmm you smell really good.”
Minho tries to ignore the stir of arousal in him as Taemin moans into his neck,
and drags the boy over to one of the chairs. It doesn’t quite go as planned,
and Taemin collapses right on top of him when he falls back onto a chair.
“Do you think I’m gross? Is that why you won’t kiss me?” Taemin asks in a
slurred voice, head resting on his shoulder.
“What?”
Taemin’s knee is right between his legs and the boy’s hand is tugging at his
hair just slightly, and it’s making it hard to think.
“I know I’m disgusting- I’m ugly- I’m the last person you’d want to fuck. I’m
all used up,” he finishes with a pop of his lips for the ‘p’ and a hopeless
laugh.
“Taemin, what the hell are you-“
Taemin lifts his head from his shoulder and kisses him before he can finish.
It’s sloppy and wet and tastes like vodka but Minho doesn’t give a shit because
god Taemin is kissing him. His lips are soft and full and better than Minho
could ever conjure up in his imagination. The boy’s lithe body is pressed up
against him and his hands find the boy’s hips and he grabs him tightly. Taemin
licks at his lip ring and he shivers. Taemin always did love his piercings.
Just as logical thought - he’s seventeen and you’re kissing him, he’s seventeen
and your hand is on his ass - is beginning to creep its way into his muddled
thoughts, Taemin’s movements slow. The boy’s jaw goes slack and he passes out
right in the middle of the kiss.
Minho is left with an awkward boner and an unconscious, drunk teenager in his
lap.
Weeks later, Minho dreams about Taemin hovering over him, blond hair sticking
to his sweaty forehead and pretty eyes clouded with lust as he stares down at
him. His pale skin glows in the moonlight coming from the window and the myriad
of bruises all over his body are more visible than ever - blues, purples, and
greens staining his pretty skin.
The boy is riding him, his movements slow but eager as he lifts himself and
comes back down. The heat of Taemin around his dick, the softness of skin, the
sound of Taemin screaming out his name, is the most magnificent thing he has
ever experienced.
When he wakes and turns over to find a very naked Taemin with very cute bed
head sleeping next to him, he realizes that it wasn’t just a dream and that
he’s done something very illegal.
It’s hard for him to face Taemin after they start having sex because he doesn’t
want to keep repeating the same mistake - it wasn’t a mistake, it was wonderful
and perfect and oh god when did he become such a sap. But it’s hard when Taemin
still comes there every day and smiles that smile that is supposed to look
innocent and is anything but. He still talks Minho’s ear off, but he’s also
become bold with his affection. He clings to Minho constantly and sneaks kisses
onto the side of his mouth, close to his lip ring, when he least expects it.
Minho wants to hate it but he can’t.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know I could get arrested for this shit, right?”
“You won’t. I wouldn’t let that happen.”
“This is a mistake, Taemin.” Minho regrets the words as soon as they’re out of
his mouth. Taemin’s smile falls into a frown, and his hands slip away from
Minho’s arm. He looks absolutely crushed and Minho never wants to see that
listless look in his eyes again. Taemin walks out of his shop without another
word, and doesn’t turn around when Minho calls his name.
Minho realizes he doesn’t know Taemin very well. He knows that Taemin loves
dance like nothing else in this world. He knows the boy can down a whole pizza
himself if he’s given the chance. He knows Taemin loves it when he plays with
his hair or brushes his fingers along his skin lightly, tickling him just
slightly. He knows the spots on Taemin’s body that will make him squirm with
pleasure. He knows about the birthmark on the back of Taemin’s thigh. He knows
Taemin loves to stare at his tattoos and brush his fingers over his piercings
for hours after they make love. “Why won’t you give me one? I should be able to
make decisions about my own body too, right?” “Nice try, Taemin. You’re still
too young.”
He feels like he knows all the important things, but he still doesn’t know who
really gives Taemin those scrapes and bruises, or where he lives and goes to
school. He doesn’t know a lot of things about Taemin.
He doesn’t see Taemin for a week, and he wonders if the boy is really that
angry with him. Or simply hurt.
He hates to admit that a week without Taemin is torture. He’s bored out if his
mind, and the shop is way too quiet without Taemin’s voice.
He tries to keep himself busy with clients but it doesn’t help, and he wonders
how the hell he’s fallen so hard for this kid.
“Have you seen Taemin recently?”
Minho looks over at Kibum with narrowed eyes. “No, not for over a week. Why?”
He hadn’t spoken a word about Taemin being gone. Mostly because he didn’t want
to let it slip to Kibum that he’s in love with the damn kid and misses him so
fucking much. Kibum probably knows though. He’s always been able to figure that
shit out no matter how close-mouthed you are about it.
“He hasn’t come to class for over a week either.” Much to Minho’s surprise,
Kibum looks concerned. It’s then that he realizes Kibum cares for Taemin;
something Kibum has never done easily. He’s been hurt a lot, by friends, by
lovers, and he doesn’t trust easily. One day he stopped taking shit from
anyone, he didn’t let people walk all over him anymore. Sometimes he acted like
a dick just to keep people away. Minho is probably his only real friend. But
Kibum has actually found a friend in Taemin, and somehow that doesn’t surprise
him because Taemin is easy to like. “I’m getting worried. I keep
hearing…things.”
Kibum looks away but Minho can see that the color has drained from his face.
“What things?” He asks with apprehension.
Kibum hesitates, and then swallows thickly before he looks back at Minho with a
frightful expression. “His mother needed drug money…And she’ll do anything to
get it.”
It isn’t difficult to find out where Taemin lives. He and Kibum ask around and
find out within the hour. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, driving
Kibum’s car to Taemin’s house with Kibum in the passenger seat, but he can’t
stop now. He never planned to be some messed up kid’s savior, but Taemin isn’t
just some messed up kid. He’s Taemin.
Kibum never went into detail about what could be happening to the boy, but
Minho isn’t an idiot. He just hopes the ideas he gathers for himself are wrong.
He lets his anger simmer silently as he drives, and Kibum knows better than to
try and speak to him.
The area looks worse and worse the farther he goes, dirty and dark and full of
homeless druggies. Taemin’s apartment building looks as dingy and trashy as he
expects it to. Minho doesn’t live in the nicest apartment around, but it’s
heaven compared to this place.
“Stay in the car,” he orders before slamming the car door. Kibum doesn’t argue.
He was lucky enough to get the apartment number from someone at the bar, but he
doesn’t want to think about why the man knew it so well. He doesn’t bother
knocking when he gets there, and the door is already unlocked, so he walks
right in. The living room is a disaster; beer bottles and old food strewn all
over the dirty, worn carpet. There are needles all over the table, next to a
woman who is sprawled out on the couch, staring up at the ceiling with a dazed
expression. He assumes she’s Taemin’s mother and he resists the urge to
strangle the woman. That’s not what he’s here for. Taemin is his only concern.
She doesn’t seem to notice he’s even there, so he walks right past her without
a second glance.
“Taemin!” His voice is loud inside the small apartment, but he gets no
response, so he heads for the first room he sees.
He opens the door to sight that will haunt him for a long time.
Taemin’s messy blond hair is the first thing he spots in the room. He’s lying
on the bed, his hands tied messily to the headboard with pieces of clothing.
Not that it’s really necessary, seeing as the boy is completely out of it. His
eyes are half-closed and his expression is dazed. His head is turned toward the
door, but he doesn’t seem to even recognize that Minho is there.
When Minho spots the man hovering over Taemin, his disgusting lips all over the
boy’s neck, he sees red. He bounds forwards, grabs the man by the back of the
neck, and throws him off the bed.
The man lands harshly on his back. “What the fuck!? Who the hell-“
“Leave,” he growls through clenched teeth, glaring at the disgusting scum of a
man, with his fists clenched at his sides. The man simply stares up at him,
taking in his appearance with wide eyes. He doesn’t hold back when he kicks the
man across the face, and blood spurts from his nose, all over the carpet.
“Now.”
The man scrambles away from him and runs out of the room with a hand over his
broken, bloody nose.
His eyes are back on Taemin immediately, taking in the current state of the
boy. He’s stripped down to nothing, his body exposed to the cold room. There
are bruises as there always is, and the sight of them makes Minho sick now that
he knows what they’re from. He’s sweating profusely, and his breathing is harsh
and fast as though he is sick. His face is white as a sheet and his lips are
dry and cracked. Minho wonders when the last time he even had water was, or how
long he’s really been here.
The blankets are soiled with things Minho doesn’t want to think about, so he
doesn’t look again and focuses his attention on the younger boy.
“Taemin,” he leans forward and strokes the boy’s burning cheek. “Taemin, can
you hear me?”
Taemin’s eyes move slowly around the room, as though he hears Minho’s voice,
but doesn’t know where it’s coming from. He only groans softly.
There’s no way Taemin will be able to walk out of there, so he turns around to
rummage through the closet in search of another blanket. He finds a small,
dingy blue blanket, but it smells clean, so it’ll have to work. He walks back
over and pulls at the clothing that keeping Taemin wrists tied to the
headboard. It’s tied tighter than he expects and he has to pull at it,
completely ripping it apart. Taemin’s arms fall limply at his sides when
they’re free from the restraints. He lifts the boy and wraps the blanket around
him the best he can, and Taemin hardly responds to being moved. The boy hangs
limply in his arms, his eyes moving across the room as he mumbles incoherently.
He seems completely delirious by now, and Minho wonders what the hell they gave
the kid to make him like this.
He rushes through the living room and out the door that was left wide open.
When he walks outside, Kibums eyes widen at the sight of them and he jumps out
of the car. He doesn’t need to say anything. Kibum is already opening the
backseat and helping him place Taemin inside the car. “I don’t know what the
hell they gave him, but he can hardly keep his eyes open.”
Kibum takes his phone out of his pocket and turns on the flashlight, before
lifting Taemin’s eyelids and shining the light into them. He also checks the
boy’s pulse, and Minho waits beside them impatiently. Kibum had trained to be a
registered nurse before he quit to go against his parents and open his own
dance studio. Minho couldn’t be more grateful that Kibum has that training.
“He’s not overdosing, and that’s the most important thing. Whoever gave it to
him at least knew what they were doing. It should wear off within a day.” Minho
sighs as Kibum stands up straight again. “You can take him home for now, but it
would be a good idea to take him to a hospital soon.”
Minho nods and wastes no time before he crawls into the backseat with the
younger boy. Kibum doesn’t comment and simply drives them straight to Minho’s
apartment. The silence in the car is tense the entire way.
By the time he is carefully lowering Taemin into warm bath water at his
apartment, the boy is a little more coherent. He’s speaking, but Minho doesn’t
think he’s even aware of what’s going on.
“No no no no,” he mumbles continuously, eyes half-closed and his head shaking
weakly. “Please stop, please. Where is Minho? Where is he?”
“Shhh, I’m right here, Tae. I’m right here.” He pushes the boy’s wet hair out
of his face and tries to soothe him. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so gentle
with someone, but Taemin isn’t just anyone. He’s Taemin.
It breaks his heart to know that Taemin called for him while he was stuck
there, and Minho was too busy being a fucking dickhead to even look for him.
He wipes down every inch of the boy, being careful of the scrapes and
fingernail marks he finds all over him. There is blood in places it really
shouldn’t be and Minho wants to cry as he watches Taemin trying to silence his
pained whimpers.
But he’s too fucking pissed to cry. He wants to kill them. He wants to track
down every god damn last one of them that dared to touch the boy. He wants to
take the 9mm gun he keeps in his drawer and shoot every one of the sick
bastards in the face. He wants to strangle Taemin’s mother for doing this to
him.
But none of that will take back what has been done to Taemin. He’d feel damn
good about it. He’d feel satisfied to pull the trigger on all of them, but it
would change nothing.
Besides, Taemin is more important than his anger. Taemin will always be more
important.
He realizes he’s in too deep to back out now, but he doesn’t really give shit.
He has no desire to go back to a life without Taemin.
When he lifts Taemin out the now dirty bath water, he sits him on the toilet
seat, and bandages the worst of the cuts with gentle hands. Taemin is too
quiet. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Taemin go so long without speaking and
it feels wrong.
Taemin falls asleep in his arms as he carries him out of the bathroom and into
the bedroom. He carefully dresses the boy in one of his t-shirts and a pair of
his sweat pants, and lays him on the bed.
He lays down next to the boy, but keeps his distance, and spends his time
studying his features. After a few hours, his eyes begin to burn and he has to
fight sleep. He doesn’t want to be asleep when Taemin wakes up. He is also
afraid of the things he may see if he closes his eyes.
Taemin wakes up after sleeping for about 5 hours, and he looks over at Minho,
relief in his eyes, before he shifts closer and clutches the front of his
shirt. With hesitance, he places his hand over Taemin’s and feels as the boy’s
hand slowly stop trembling.
“Hey,” is all Taemin says, his voice weak and raspy. His blond hair shines in
the moonlight that is coming in through the window, and it doesn’t quite look
the same as it has every other time Taemin has been in his room, but it is
still a familiar and comfortable sight. The room is quiet and peaceful and with
them together like this in his room, it feels like the past few hours never
happened.
Taemin’s eyes are different. The brightness is not there. They look hollow and
haunted and it pains Minho to look at them because Taemin – playful, strange,
precious Taemin - should not look like that. The kid that bounded into his shop
every day with dirt on his face and a giant grin is still there, but Minho
can’t see him
At least, when he looks at Minho, there is recognition, and maybe even a little
hope.
“Hey.”
“Do you think…”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think I could get that piercing soon?” Taemin shifts closer and burrows
his way into Minho’s arms, burying his face into his crook of his neck.
“Yeah…,” Minho swallows the lump in his throat and nods. He doesn’t want to cry
because he doesn’t want Taemin to cry. “Yeah, sure, whatever you want. You can
get whatever you want.”
He feels like an idiot for not realizing why Taemin wanted a piercing or a
tattoo so badly.
“If you like something and you want it on your body, that’s your choice.”
“Why won’t you give me one? I should be able to make decisions about my own
body too, right?”
Taemin just wants to know that his body is his own, and Minho will help him
gain back the control and he will make him see that he still belongs to
himself. He will cover every inch of the kid’s skin with tattoos if that’s what
Taemin wants. He will pierce whatever Taemin wants him to pierce. He will do
anything to give Taemin everything that was taken from him.
When Minho puts an arm around Taemin and pulls him close, he feels the boy
begin to tremble and then there is nothing but the sound of his loud sobs as he
cries into Minho neck.
It’s the second time he sees Taemin cry and he hopes it’s the last.
"Who’s the cutie at the counter?"
Minho is very tempted to screw up the tattoo he’s giving the woman on the top
of her back, but he tells himself he’s more mature than that, and continues his
work. “Taemin,” he mumbles grumpily.
“He looks a little young to be working here.”
Minho ignores her after that, because he is not being paid to tell this woman
Taemin’s business. She huffs with irritation when he doesn’t answer her, but he
doesn’t pay any attention to it, and continues working on the tattoo.
Having Taemin working at the front counter is great. The kid gets to drive him
crazy every day, when he isn’t helping Kibum teach dance at his studio, and
actually gets paid for it. He does help to keep the place clean, though – much
to Minho’s surprise, because honestly, the kid is a slob – and keeps the money
sorted and the customers entertained when they have to wait.
It’s a huge step up from the place Taemin was at a year ago. He hated seeing
Taemin sit on his couch all day, staring at the walls with a blank expression.
He was too silent, too sad. He wasn’t Taemin. So, Minho helped him bathe and
dress, and took him to his shop to give him his first piercing. It wasn’t an
easy road, helping Taemin move on and be happy, but they took it one day at a
time. Taemin is smiling now, and that is enough for him.
The woman leaves eventually, happy with her tattoo, and walks out with a smile
after chatting with Taemin. Minho approaches the front counter grumpily,
watching Taemin wave goodbye to her with a polite smile. “You two looked
chummy,” he grumbles.
Taemin turns around to glance at him, his lips stretching into a smile. “Are
you jealous?”
“Tch no.” Maybe. “I’m not jealous.” Okay, yes. Definitely.
Taemin wraps thin arms around his neck, still smiling slyly. “Aww you’re
totally jealous.” The kid doesn’t even give him a chance to defend himself
before he’s leaning forward to kiss him. His lips are warm and soft and eager,
but the moment he presses too close he winces and pulls away. “Ow,” he whines,
fingers hovering over the ring of metal through his bottom lip.
“I told you it would be sore for a while,” Minho reminds him.
Taemin’s lip piercing is his most recent one. His first was on his nose, and
almost every kind piercing that could fit on his left ear. He often wears a
chain that travels from his nose ring to his earring, and it drives Minho crazy
in the best way possible. The first tattoo Minho gave him, a small wing on the
side of his wrist, healed months ago and Taemin is already eager to get
another.
Minho often has to remind Taemin that he is still a teenager. A messy,
absentminded, careless teenager that falls into bed at night without properly
cleaning his piercings and tattoos. The amount of times Minho has had to clean
the tattoo on his wrist or the piercings in his ear while he’s dead asleep is
ridiculous. He doesn’t really mind doing it, but he still doesn’t want any
piercing or tattoo he gives the kid to get infected, so he’s a little hesitant
every time Taemin asks for another one.
But he’s got to admit, the kid looks damn good with the new lip piercing.
He can tell it’s Taemin’s favorite also. He plays with it constantly, tapping
it with his fingers and sticking his tongue out to rub it along the metal ring.
Minho has to swat his hand away from it constantly, partially because he
doesn’t want it to get infected, but mostly because it drives him fucking
insane.
Taemin has been begging Minho to pierce his belly button for weeks, and as much
as he would really like to see that, he wants to wait for the boy’s lip to
heal. He doesn’t want to have to worry about making sure Taemin cleans both of
them every day.
Between Taemin working there, helping Kibum at the studio, and being able to
get any piercing or tattoo he wants, the kid is pretty happy. He’s not exactly
the same kid that came into Minho’s shop on that Wednesday so long ago, but
that’s to be expected. He’s happy, and that’s enough. In the past few months,
he’s looked happier than Minho has ever seen him. Taemin is a strong kid, and
while Minho is proud to have helped Taemin gain back what was taken from him,
he knows Taemin is really the one who picked himself up and moved on.
He’s happy too. He never expected things to turn out like this, when Taemin
barged into his shop that day, but he can’t say he’s disappointed with what his
life has become. He can’t imagine his life without Taemin now.
Taemin pulls away from him and lifts himself up onto the counter, swinging his
feet back and forth and scuffing up the cabinets underneath even though Minho
has told him at least ten times to not do that. Taemin gives him that smile
that is supposed to look innocent, and is anything but. “So I was thinking,
after that bellybutton piercing, I could get my nipple pierced.”
This kid would be the death of him.
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