Spice Of Life -Nomin

Starry-eyed Magpie #pt1

Oh, hey, you can come to the meet with me!”

One leg shoved inside his jeans and a hoodie sagging around his neck, Mark Lee makes Jaemin Na an offer that alters the course of his young freshman life.

Neither of them realize the gravity of this moment then and there. Jaemin’s reaction is a delayed blink, eyes heavy after hours pretending to process his scribbled anthropology notes. “The meet?”

Mark nods.

“Who’re we meeting?

“No, not – ugh.” Mark manages a full sentence once he’s successfully zipped his pants. “The wrestling meet? Us against Northern State? I’ve been talking about it since the spirit rally! I only caught them on TV back home, but now I can bulk up a little and try out for the …”

Unless it’s the men’s soccer team, Jaemin habitually forgets their school’s athletics division exists. Even as Mark shares his passion, wild flourishes of his arms Mark instinctively shrinks away from, Jaemin’s brain is pouring the information out like stale decaf brew.

“Oh. Nah, I’m good,” Jaemin answers and nestles back into his bed, already back to struggling with his notebook.

Mark frowns at him. “Why not? You don’t have shit to do tonight.”

It’s true, Jaemin’s Friday evenings have been embarrassingly vacant since the start of the semester – he’s wholly committed to avoiding wild parties until spring semester – but he doesn’t need to hear it thrown at him. “So? Maybe I like studying.” A terrible lie. “Wrestling’s seriously boring anyway. Can’t we go somewhere else? Ooh, like the tropical smoothie –!“

“We go to the smoothie shack every Friday, man. C’mon!” Mark falls to his knees beside Jaemin’s bed, hands clasped and giant brown eyes freakishly large. “Be a pal. Support my dream. I’d do it for you…probably. Uh, I mean, definitely! Unless it’s hockey. You’re ass at hockey. And tennis. And volleyball, uhhh bowling, mini golf, Monopoly –“

“All right! Jeez,” Jaemin tosses his notebook at Mark’ face for a satisfying smack. “I’ll freaking go, just so you won’t be the only dork cheering for them,” he sneers, already off the bed and throwing on yesterday’s outfit.

Mark snorts. “You’ve never seen our team. We’ll probably have to fight for seats, those stands’ll be so packed.”

The stands are not packed.

“Shut it,” Mark grumbles under the peals of Jaemin's cackles. Ten minutes before the meet is scheduled to begin and, other than them, there are five other attendees scattered around the home side of the stands. Most look as disinterested as Jaemin feels.

“It’s because it’s the first meet of the semester.” Mark gives the other spectators a disappointed pout. Most of them are clicking at their phones, distracted and dry. “When we make it to national level, everyone’ll show up.”

“For sure,” Jaemin agrees, full-on sarcasm.

“Hey, you better come to all my competitions when I make the team.”

Jaemin raises his palm, “Only if you get me pre-game smoothies,” and Mark signs the contract with a high-five.

Despite his initial resistance, Jaemin actually tries to get into the sport once the meet officially starts. Mark is animated beside him, pointing out the top wrestlers on their team and their stats as the first match begins. From where they’re seated, Jaemin can only see the back of the team’s heads when they’re introduced so he commits nothing to memory, but he nods anyway for Mark’ sake.

Mark hadn’t boasted about their team for nothing, surprisingly. Eastern State dominates the first three matches easily and even Jaemin is applauding along with Mark by the end of the fourth – the first few only had Mark’ seal clapping. Jaemin isn’t fully invested in spectating the sport yet, but it damn sure beats studying about linguistic anthropology.

It isn’t until the fifth match that Jaemin’s world is tilted off axis. The announcer introduces a wrestler from one of the higher weight classes, Jeno Lee, and the stands bray with excitement. Jaemin can see his profile when he trots out to the mat, the scruffy brown hair and chubby cheeks, the built torso and round ass that could crush a walnut. Nothing in particular to set him apart from the other wrestlers.

Then Jeno faces the home section with a cheerful wave to his sparse public and Jaemin’s jaw unhinges from his skull.

By the oversight of Jeno’s skintight singlet, Jaemin is treated to a heart-stopping eyeful of the ridiculously massive bulge packed between Jeno's thighs. Jaemin rubs his eyes, shakes his head just to make sure he isn’t hallucinating, but the bulge doesn’t shrink to human size when he refocuses, somehow soft yet still thick enough to threaten the singlet’s elasticity, still long enough to sort of…coil loosely until it’s precariously trapped against Jeno’s thick thigh.

“Dude…,” is the first comment Jaemin makes once he lifts his chin off the floor. “Is that real?”

“Hnh?” Mark follows Jaemin’s gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, no, ‘course not. It’s just a dye job. You can’t see his roots?”

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “Not the hair, his…um…” A word shy of embarrassing himself, Jaemin realizes there’s no delicate way to point another guy’s crotch, not without sounding like a pervert. “Like, his…y’know, the…between…y’know!”

Mark stares blankly and Jaemin gets frustrated. How can Mark not notice when it’s so obvious, so eye-catching, so humongous? Even worse, none of the other spectators are thrown off by the lewd display when Jaemin surveys the gym, no aghast murmurs or shielded eyes. Surely Jaemin can’t be the only one surprised to see some guy’s giant wang ready to burst out of its spandex wrapping.

He leans close to whisper in Mark’s ear, cheeks pink. “Okay, so you really don’t see his…his junk?”

Mark recoils from Jaemin with a scandalized gasp. “Creep! Why’re you staring at his junk?!” And Mark’ obnoxiously deep voice travels like a cruise ship horn, Jaemin’s got several suspicious glares on him and his bright red face doesn’t clear his name any. He tries to cover Mark’ flapping mouth, but Lucas palms his face and shoves him back easily. “Quit trying to make wrestling horny, you’re ruining the match! We can talk about dicks later if you want.”

Jaemin shrinks in his seat and hides his burning ears behind his shoulders. The referee’s whistle signals the start of the match and thankfully all attention returns to the mat. Jeno and his opponent are already grappling for each other’s waists, heels dug into the mat to keep stable. Jaemin tries to focus on anything except that, like how deftly Jeno avoids swipes for his legs or how easily he hefts his opponent off the ground. If everyone else can ignore the national monument hidden in Jeno's uniform then damn it, so can he.

…but God, is it difficult. Jeno drops his opponent to the ground, pinned with his waist hovering over his opponent’s face, and Jaemin wonders how the poor guy can breathe with a face smothered in crotch. Jeno wins the match, climbs to his feet and pumps his fist toward the stands with giddy hops on his toes. Jaemin's eyes bob up and down, following the heavy bounce of Jeno’s nuts with every jump.

The obsession doesn’t end there.

credit goes to: yoonminology