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[FIC]: i can show you the world.
i can show you the world, r, amber/min.
i always said true love never happened.
i'm falling into something real
and i cant stop it
i'm knocking over everything
and you just caught me
from start to finish
i promise i'm in this
don't want to let you go
i'm falling like a domino
brian joo, "domino (english ver.)"
I CAN SHOW YOU THE WORLD
amber/min
They give themselves an hour in the middle of the night to forget everything. Forget about agencies and contracts and concert performances; forget about bandmates and recording studios and fans and the word idol. Forget it. It doesn’t matter. They give themselves an hour in the middle of the night to pretend they’re just California kids, half-cocked and cocky, living the way they want to because they can.
Min never thought it would be Amber, but when she thinks about it, it makes sense. Amber doesn’t pretend to be anything she’s not (Min doesn’t think she could if she tried)—what you see is what you get, and what Min sees is this girl, a little crazy and sweet and surprisingly tender, when she wants to be.
“When I was a kid I was convinced that ‘I Can Show You the World’ was about sex,” Amber says. She has her arms wrapped around Min from behind, chin in the crook of her shoulder, fingertips edged just barely inside the front of Min’s shorts. She’s a tease, her hand a warm presence against sensitive skin. “You know. I can open your eyes, take you wonder by wonder...”
It’s about as obvious a come-on as Min’s ever heard (and she’s heard a few), but she can hear the laughter in Amber’s voice and knows she’s not sorry. Min thinks about this, spends a couple seconds worried about what it might mean—for their careers, their friendship, their coworkers. And then she thinks about midnight in Los Angeles and being a girl who does what she wants because she can.
“So are you gonna keep talking about it?” Min says. Amber laughs and tackles her to the bed.
They shed their clothes slowly, piece by piece, and the way Amber takes her time with every inch of skin revealed is absurdly decadent. She finds places Min didn’t even know were sensitive—the inside of her elbow, the dip of her sternum, the inside of her thigh just above her knee. The attention is embarrassing, almost—it makes her feel exposed, it’s too intimate, like she’s being taken apart piece by piece. But Amber straddles Min’s hips and sits back, all boy briefs and lean muscle and soft skin, and looks at her like she’s something to be treasured. Min decides she should stop thinking so much.
By the time Amber tugs her panties down and discards them over the side of the bed, Min is aroused enough that she forgets to be self-conscious. They’re nothing but skin and raw nerve endings, sliding against each other, and Amber’s fingers are very warm where they dig into the soft skin of Min’s thighs.
Min laughs. “Going to take me wonder by wonder?” she asks.
Amber presses her cheek against Min’s inner thigh and smiles up at her, eyes dark. “You have no idea,” she says.
“Promises, promises.”
When Amber slides two fingers inside her, curves them up against sensitive flesh, Min shivers and exhales and wonders why it took her so long to say yes. She should have been saying yes an age ago, a millennium, a lifetime ago. “Amber,” she murmurs, fingers clenching and loosening in the sheets. It’s a plea, or a promise, or something. Min stopped being sure a while ago.
Amber presses her hand against Min’s lower stomach and goes down on her, lips and teeth and tongue until Min’s writhing, panting nonsense against the back of her hand. It’s too much, Amber’s fingers deep inside her and Amber’s mouth against her—she grabs Amber’s hand, laces their fingers tight together, trying to anchor herself in something before she comes flying apart.
“Amber,” she gasps, lightheaded, her spine all fizzy electric. “Please—”
“Come,” Amber says, her voice low, rough, almost a threat. “Min, come.”
She does.
In the aftermath she tugs Amber up and presses her mouth to Amber’s throat, shivering with aftershocks. Amber’s hand is between her own legs, and Min slides hers down to join it, presses two fingers into Amber and laughs at Amber’s muffled curse as she shudders and comes. And then they lay together, curled into each other, sweaty and disheveled like they don’t care.
“I think,” Min says, her fingers tripping lightly over Amber’s stomach, “that you can consider my world expanded.”
“I showed you the world?” Amber says, wrapping an arm possessively around Min’s shoulders. “Wonder by wonder, or whatever?”
Min snorts. “Or whatever,” she says.
They have fifteen minutes before they have to return to the real world. Min rests her head on Amber’s shoulder and closes her eyes, traces patterns on Amber’s skin and thinks about this—about the feeling of normality, forgetting about thousands of eyes judging her, charts for her performance, people waiting for her to fail. This is nothing but her and Amber and the space between them. “I think,” she says carefully, “that we should do this again sometime.”
Amber hums, pressing her fingertips lightly against the side of Min’s throat. “Glad we’re on the same page,” she says, and that’s that.
i always said true love never happened.
i'm falling into something real
and i cant stop it
i'm knocking over everything
and you just caught me
from start to finish
i promise i'm in this
don't want to let you go
i'm falling like a domino
brian joo, "domino (english ver.)"
I CAN SHOW YOU THE WORLD
amber/min
They give themselves an hour in the middle of the night to forget everything. Forget about agencies and contracts and concert performances; forget about bandmates and recording studios and fans and the word idol. Forget it. It doesn’t matter. They give themselves an hour in the middle of the night to pretend they’re just California kids, half-cocked and cocky, living the way they want to because they can.
Min never thought it would be Amber, but when she thinks about it, it makes sense. Amber doesn’t pretend to be anything she’s not (Min doesn’t think she could if she tried)—what you see is what you get, and what Min sees is this girl, a little crazy and sweet and surprisingly tender, when she wants to be.
“When I was a kid I was convinced that ‘I Can Show You the World’ was about sex,” Amber says. She has her arms wrapped around Min from behind, chin in the crook of her shoulder, fingertips edged just barely inside the front of Min’s shorts. She’s a tease, her hand a warm presence against sensitive skin. “You know. I can open your eyes, take you wonder by wonder...”
It’s about as obvious a come-on as Min’s ever heard (and she’s heard a few), but she can hear the laughter in Amber’s voice and knows she’s not sorry. Min thinks about this, spends a couple seconds worried about what it might mean—for their careers, their friendship, their coworkers. And then she thinks about midnight in Los Angeles and being a girl who does what she wants because she can.
“So are you gonna keep talking about it?” Min says. Amber laughs and tackles her to the bed.
They shed their clothes slowly, piece by piece, and the way Amber takes her time with every inch of skin revealed is absurdly decadent. She finds places Min didn’t even know were sensitive—the inside of her elbow, the dip of her sternum, the inside of her thigh just above her knee. The attention is embarrassing, almost—it makes her feel exposed, it’s too intimate, like she’s being taken apart piece by piece. But Amber straddles Min’s hips and sits back, all boy briefs and lean muscle and soft skin, and looks at her like she’s something to be treasured. Min decides she should stop thinking so much.
By the time Amber tugs her panties down and discards them over the side of the bed, Min is aroused enough that she forgets to be self-conscious. They’re nothing but skin and raw nerve endings, sliding against each other, and Amber’s fingers are very warm where they dig into the soft skin of Min’s thighs.
Min laughs. “Going to take me wonder by wonder?” she asks.
Amber presses her cheek against Min’s inner thigh and smiles up at her, eyes dark. “You have no idea,” she says.
“Promises, promises.”
When Amber slides two fingers inside her, curves them up against sensitive flesh, Min shivers and exhales and wonders why it took her so long to say yes. She should have been saying yes an age ago, a millennium, a lifetime ago. “Amber,” she murmurs, fingers clenching and loosening in the sheets. It’s a plea, or a promise, or something. Min stopped being sure a while ago.
Amber presses her hand against Min’s lower stomach and goes down on her, lips and teeth and tongue until Min’s writhing, panting nonsense against the back of her hand. It’s too much, Amber’s fingers deep inside her and Amber’s mouth against her—she grabs Amber’s hand, laces their fingers tight together, trying to anchor herself in something before she comes flying apart.
“Amber,” she gasps, lightheaded, her spine all fizzy electric. “Please—”
“Come,” Amber says, her voice low, rough, almost a threat. “Min, come.”
She does.
In the aftermath she tugs Amber up and presses her mouth to Amber’s throat, shivering with aftershocks. Amber’s hand is between her own legs, and Min slides hers down to join it, presses two fingers into Amber and laughs at Amber’s muffled curse as she shudders and comes. And then they lay together, curled into each other, sweaty and disheveled like they don’t care.
“I think,” Min says, her fingers tripping lightly over Amber’s stomach, “that you can consider my world expanded.”
“I showed you the world?” Amber says, wrapping an arm possessively around Min’s shoulders. “Wonder by wonder, or whatever?”
Min snorts. “Or whatever,” she says.
They have fifteen minutes before they have to return to the real world. Min rests her head on Amber’s shoulder and closes her eyes, traces patterns on Amber’s skin and thinks about this—about the feeling of normality, forgetting about thousands of eyes judging her, charts for her performance, people waiting for her to fail. This is nothing but her and Amber and the space between them. “I think,” she says carefully, “that we should do this again sometime.”
Amber hums, pressing her fingertips lightly against the side of Min’s throat. “Glad we’re on the same page,” she says, and that’s that.
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