SKZ Imagines

TASTE - Lee Know

Author's Note: Listen to the song while reading for a better experience :)

Now let's all take a moment to appreciate the supremacy of the Danceracha performance to this song. Everything was just so on point during that performance and they just ATE so hard!

🔞 WARNING: Mature content, not suitable for all readers 🔞

The practice room was too hot that night. Or maybe it was just him—Lee Know, shirt clinging to his back, sweat glistening at his throat as he repeated the same move for the tenth time. You'd offered to stay late and help him practice and perfect his moves, but now you regretted it. The air between you had shifted, thick with something you couldn't name. 

"Again," he panted, catching your eyes as you reached for the speaker to rewind the song. Lee Know always looked different and intimidating while he was on dancer-mode. "Watch me closer this time. Tell me where I'm lacking." He commanded, unaware of the effect that had on you.

You swallowed. "I am watching." His lips curled. "No. You're blushing." You simply ignored his taunting. The song TASTE pulsed through the room speakers. Lee Know moved with predatory grace, his eyes locked on yours. 

Fake eyes open, the lyrics taunted, and you wondered if he knew how perfectly they fit him—how his gaze could feel like a touch even from across the room. "You're staring," he murmured, mid-dancing, as he stepped closer. The scent of his cologne—something dark and addictive—wrapped around you. "You asked me to watch, so I'm watching" you breathed. He then stopped dancing and crouched down to you. He hummed, trailing a finger down your arm. "And if I asked you to touch?". You shivered under his touch, but pretended to stay cool and brushed him off. "Focus, Mr. Lee."

"Oh, you want me focus? Fine. Come over here." He guided your arms as you stood up from the floor and walked together towards the center of the dance studio. "Correct me when I'm dancing wrong." His hand guided yours to his waist, "Here, feel the angle." And he started dancing.

The proximity tortured you. You felt his heavy breathing, standing this close to him. You felt his hips move with every beat under your palms. You couldn't even concentrate on his dancing. His breath hitched as you moved your hands from time to time to turn his hips the right angle. Soon the night dissolved into something else entirely. 

"It's like bad red roses," he sang along to the song against your ear, voice rough. "Thorns hidden in beauty." You shivered. "Poetic for someone who hates poetry.". "Mm. Only for you." His lips brushed your jaw. "Kiss me or leave me. Choose." And you chose. 

The mirror fogged behind you as he backed you against it. Everywhere he touched—your hip, the curve of your neck, the inside of your wrist—burned. "Don't make me bad," he warned, but his teeth at your collarbone said otherwise. You gasped, fingers tangling in his hair. He laughed—low, dangerous—before capturing your mouth again. The song faded and Lee Know's lips were relentless—hot, demanding, something darker, something hungry. The mirror behind you was cold against your back, a sharp contrast to the feverish heat of his hands sliding under your shirt.

You gasped as his knee pressed between your thighs, pinning you in place. The music had stopped at some point, leaving only the sound of your ragged breaths and the slick slide of his tongue against yours. "Lee Know—" you moaned. "Say my name again," he growled, pulling back just enough to watch your face. "The real one." Your fingers tightened in his hair. "Minho."

Something wild flashed in his eyes before he crushed his mouth to yours again, swallowing your moan as his hands mapped every inch of skin he could reach. The night quickly turned sensual as both your clothes fell to the floor.

Later—much later—when you were both sprawled on the practice room floor, limbs tangled and sweat cooling on your skin, he traced idle patterns on your hip with his fingertips. 

"This was a bad idea," he said finally, voice rough. Your heart stuttered. "Why?". Minho rolled onto his side, propping his head on one hand to look down at you. "Because now I will remember," he said simply. "Every time I come back to this practice room, I'll remember how you tasted. How you sounded. And I'm not sure I can concentrate anymore on dancing after this."

The raw honesty in his voice made your chest ache. You brushed his damp bangs off his forehead. He caught your wrist, pressing a kiss to your palm. "You know, I'm not easy to forget either." He said. "Good thing I like a challenge." You said back with a smirk on your lips. 

Minho's laugh was low, surprised. "Yeah?" You tugged him down until his lips were a breath from yours. "Kiss me or leave me, remember? And you already made your choice." And you kissed him deep.

The next morning, Felix found you both asleep in the studio—Minho curled around you like a possessive cat, your head pillowed on his chest. 

"Oh my god," Felix whispered, already pulling out his phone. "Channie Hyung's gonna lose it". Minho's eyes flew open. "Delete that or I'll air fry you like I did Hyunjin.". Felix paused. "...Blackmail accepted." 

You buried your face in Minho's shirt to muffle your laughter, and his arms tightened around you. "Yesterday was so worth it," he muttered into your hair.