also, cute and fluffy!

not fic: end of the year fic meme

onyu — Tue, 02 Jan 2018 12:57:15 GMT

fics i wrote in 2017

Total Word Count: 451389 words
Fandoms Written In: BTS, SHINee

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Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you'd predicted? definitely more, to be honest. i was going for a 500k word count for 2017 but sadly didn't achieve it, but i did write more compared to 2016. and i'm really glad i did, especially after the crazy rollercoaster that was life hit me. haha! no regrets finishing 2017 without hitting my 500k target, though. this year was all about refining my writing and writing what i love, so yeah c:

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? didn't think i'd write for SHINee again, tbh, but ficmix made me do it!

What's your own favorite story of the year? buzzed, definitey. it was difficult to write, but all the pain was worth it. (pun intended. haha!)

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them? wrote in script format for the first time since i graduated from uni, haha. made me realize how close my current style is to the format and, at the same time, how different they are. also, wrote a multiple endings fic again, in the form of 'boot theory'! that was such a pleasant experience.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? write more, write better. finish all my WIPs, then finally, finally, finally write portugal au, hopefully? hopefully c:

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From my past year of writing, what was…
My best story of this year: personally, i think it's seaside improvisation. i loved how the handling of the heartbreaks came out here and how the ending turned out. also, i've always wanted to write something like it, and i finally got the chance to do so! for namgi, too ;;

My most popular story of this year: buzzed. largely because it's a mahoosive fic that's still being update, but probably also because it's fun-filled and all about food? haha!

Most fun story to write: history repeats itself. keeping the word count low for the chapters sure was a challenge, but i do love how they were all linked and how everything came together, in the end c: been wanting to write something like for so long already, too c:

Story with the single sexiest moment: let's not talk too much because yay, public sex!

Most "holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story: none that i can think of, honestly. everything i've written this year is pretty vanilla o.o

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: boot theory, definitely. i haven't had the chance to write taehyung that much, and this fic allowed me to understand him a bit better.

Hardest story to write: buzzed. not only because of all the research i had to do for the fic, all the planning and plotting, but also because of all the emotions in the fic. chapter 25 was such a struggle because it was emotionally taxing to write (and even edit, istg), but i like how it came out. no regrets putting in so much time and effort into writing that chapter.

Biggest surprise: lol i have such a small pool of fics to choose from so it's hard to choose, but it's probably boot theory.

Most unintentionally telling story: quite possibly seaside improvisation. this fic touches on a lot of topics i often think about and is reflective of a lot of my views on life. it's also most reflective of my writing style, as well, i think? especially with all the quiet suffering.

Favorite Opening Lines:
- Namjoon used to be better at this whole being honest or being upfront with his feelings thing. Back in elementary, he tried to woo one of his classmates by sharing his biscuits with her and he ended up 'going out' with her up until the summer months hit. In his early years as a high school student, after realizing he'd always been a bit in love with his best friend, he started leaving little Post-it notes in the guy's locker, sometimes even slipping chocolates and boxes of Pepero and cards where he reminded his friend to never miss a meal despite spending all twenty-five hours of his day just studying for the big entrance exam. Granted, neither of the two really worked out, because apparently said girl thought he was just being friendly, but still — he managed to make them feel good about themselves, became the reason why they smiled for a few good months, and he generally walked away from rejection feeling, well, not as dejected as he'd expected he would.

Then he started training with Big Hit. Then it became nigh impossible to think of romance, because while Yoongi was charming in his own right he didn't want to complicate things with perhaps the only person who knew back then exactly how hard it was to suddenly step into these templated idol shoes after walking around barefoot for so long. Then Jung Hoseok walked into that goddamned door saying he was a new trainee, he needed help in rap, please treat me kindly, and turned out to be more than a decent guy.

Fast forward months after, and Hoseok ended up being the object of Namjoon's lewd fantasies. Fast forward years after, and Namjoon had somehow transformed the lust into lyrics cryptic enough that it didn't seem as if he was rapping about his handsome and hot bandmate. Fast forward to today, and all of a sudden he found himself faced with a very tough opponent in the form of Chris Martin and his band doing the opening notes for one of his and Hoseok's favorite songs. (confusion never stops; namjoon/hoseok)

- "This isn't a food show; this is season seven of a romcom featuring two idiots dancing around." Victoria heaves a sigh. Seokjin looks up from where he's been munching on his burger, risks Victoria a glance, then shifts his attention back to what he's eating for fear of being on the receiving end of a hard pinch on the arm if and when their eyes meet. He has has been avoiding Victoria's discerning gaze for the past few minutes already, after all. "Seriously, Jin, I don't have to know this guy personally to know he has the biggest crush on you, and I definitely don't have to know your elaborate history with him inside and out to know that you two should be dicking each other but aren't. Se-ri-ous-ly, what the hell are you two doing?" (INT. BURGER CHAIN IN BUNDANG, SUMMER 2017. NIGHT.; yoongi/seokjin)

Favorite Closing Lines:
- He takes a deep, shaky breath. He'll have to get used to this whole 'liking Taehyung and being liked in return' thing. If Taehyung is going to stick around for another then, damn, Yoongi is going to have to remind himself everyday that dreams do come true. He could write more songs about it, about them — he isn't in a rush. He can spend the next decade trying to figure out how he's lived four years of his life missing out on something as good as this — Taehyung looking at him with the fondest of gazes, smushing his cheeks with warm hands, and him losing the feeling in his legs because Taehyung hasn't gotten off of him yet and it's already been fifteen, twenty minutes. "You can get off of me now."

Taehyung shakes his head, sticks out his tongue, and rubs the tip of his nose against Yoongi's own. It's the grosses thing Taehyung has ever done, Yoongi's certain, but he kind of likes it. He likes it enough to ignore the ache in his thighs, and his back, and in his cheeks when he grins. He likes Taehyung enough to let him sit there and let him torture him with that wicked smile of his a little more. Who the hell even does eskimo kisses these days, he half groans, half laughs out at the back of his head, but whatever. It's cute, different. It's... Taehyung. It's then. So he only rolls his eyes in retaliation before Taehyung captures his lips in another kiss, and another, and another, this time softer. Warmer.

Their first date is in a convenience store, minutes after they've finally managed to disentangle themselves from kissing. Taehyung eats most of Yoongi's food, but that's okay — he isn't hungry, anyway. He just needs lots of water and maybe some coffee to sober him up some more, because he's dead sure he'll get drunk on Taehyung's mouth again later. He won't mind some kimbap, but yeah. He's more than okay with this, Taehyung munching on food right beside him and looking at him with the brightest eyes. Yeah, he's more than okay with this.

This is the end of the story, but this is also their beginning. Anyone who thinks otherwise can piss off. (boot theory; taehyung/yoongi)

- "Oh, wait, I gave— I gave you the wrong number?" Namjoon asks, voice cracking, then rushes to where Yoongi is. He reaches out, fingers curling around Yoongi's wrist as if on instinct, but he drops his hand to his side as soon as everything catches up with him — the three, four months stretched between them, and the fact that Yoongi is already holding up his phone, flashing the wrong number Namjoon had typed in his all his not-so-drunken stupor. "Wow. I didn't— I'm sorry, I thought I'd—"

Namjoon presses his lips into a thin, thin line. A beat, then he's scrunching up his face, wrinkling his nose like some kid—like the same kid Yoongi met months ago, at the beach, back in Busan where they talked about college degrees not mattering, in the long run, and growing apart being part of growing up. There are at least a hundred different things Namjoon could be saying — I thought I'd typed the right combination. I thought I was already sober enough to somehow make a way for us to keep in touch. I never thought we'd again and in JFK, of all places, but—

But here we are now, hums a voice in Yoongi's head. To Namjoon, he says as he shuffles by, arm brushing against Namjoon's own in an effort to check if this is actually happening here, in New York, "You were drunk. You probably threw up on your way home, I dunno. It's okay."

Namjoon continues to stare. It takes a few more seconds for something to crack across his features, for the subtle downward curl at the corners of his mouth to pull up and for color to come rushing back to his cheeks, then he's nodding, laughing, coughing out. "Just buy me lunch. I'm starving," Yoongi mumbles when he turns around, poised to walk off, but he waits for Namjoon to catch up, anyway. It's difficult enough to find a familiar face in a foreign land; he can't afford to lose his pass to free lunch in an airport as crowded as this, not for the second time around. "Come on. I swear to god, Namjoon: if we run out of seats because you're taking too long to say 'yes', I'm gonna kick your ass—"

"I'm buying you food if you're buying me drinks!" Namjoon calls out in a rush, then speeds past Yoongi brandishing just one bag. "Actually, make that drinks and dessert. You still owe me pudding from before, right?"

Yoongi rolls his eyes, then grips his things as tight as he can, as tight as the tiny smile tugging up at his lips. He's all bundled up and he's dragging his feet across the floor, but his luggages feel incredibly light. He keeps walking until he can catch up. (seaside improvisation; namjoon/yoongi)

Favorite 5 Line(s) from Anywhere:
- But Seokjin ends up putting off bathroom time even before Yoongi can react. Soon, they're slipping back into practiced personas, assuming their proper places in front of the camera, picking up where they'd left off. Yoongi still clutches his his shirt when Seokjin holds up the meat between them. Seokjin still goes through his elaborate appreciation of all the effort that went into producing the meat they're about to eat in a bit. Yoongi still wrinkles his eyebrows a little and shudders while mumbling Let's not go there, God— and the next thing he knows Seokjin is pressing ssam to his lips. For a second, he thinks of holding a hand up to cut the take short because he has to make sure Seokjin isn't planning to choke him with the sheer size of the ssam he's about to feed him, but soon he registers the little bubble of warmth popping on his skin, the way the food easily slides between his lips, the gentle coax of Seokjin hand on his thigh. None of it lasts for more than a few seconds, but it feels as if he's been stuck here for a while now, food lodged somewhere in his throat and making his chest ache and his eyes widen. Long enough for him to pick up the shift in Seokjin's expression, the ghost of a smile curled up at the corners of Seokjin's mouth, to register the tightness in his chest and how difficult it has become to breathe with Seokjin's pulse quick and heavy on his skin.

He gulps down hard, then, tries his hardest to swallow down the lump in his throat, then makes a decision: picks up the ssam he'd made for Seokjin and grabs Seokjin by his shirt with his free hand, then presses the wrap, warm in his cold, cold fingers, between Seokjin's even warmer lips. (buzzed.; yoongi/seokjin)

- "You volunteered to do the scoring this time, don't forget. So you're doing the mastering and not me," Seokjin reminds him, then he's bristling past Yoongi on his way to the camera set up. Or at least he would have, if he hadn't stopped about three steps into his journey and pressed the back of his hand to Yoongi's own. Here they are again, at tipping point, where the distance between them thins into no more than a deep, shaky breath, and Yoongi has to make a decision again — lean in or lean back? Push Seokjin 'til he has Seokjin backed up against a wall already, or pull away? Fight or flight? He's always been a bit scared of heights, but in all of the standstills he's run into with Seokjin, he's always chosen to take a step back. So it makes him a coward. So it makes him half the loser all those bullies back in grade school and middle school made him out to be. So who cares? There's no point in rushing into a fight, heart first, when he hasn't figured out a way to win yet. He can't win on will alone. (buzzed.; yoongi/seokjin)

Scenes from Anywhere You Would Choose to Have Illustrated:
- the entire daegu episode for 'buzzed'
- THE ENTIRETY OF 'CONFUSION NEVER STOPS'. namseok being cute ;;
- the part where taegi get dogs in 'boot theory'

New year's resolutions:
- FINISH ALL MY WIPS.

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Word Count Totals:

→ total finished, posted fic: 451389 words, 18 fics
→ longest posted fic: buzzed, 323465 words

list of completed stories:
boot theory (27700 words)
meanwhile (5415 words)
closer (is that alright?) (10770 words)
buzzed. (323465 words)
slip of the tongue (1025 words)
let's not talk too much (2210 words)
confusion never stops (1025 words)
super (1010 words)
seaside improvisation (29225 words)
i'll trust the rivers to lead me to your heart (645 words)
EXT. FOOD STALL IN HONGDAE, SUMMER 2003. NIGHT. (795 words)
holding my breath (650 words)
INT. LOTTERIA IN BUNDANG, SUMMER 2017. NIGHT. (3135 words)
trouble, after all (3390 words)
history repeats itself (13085 words)
discovering you (2190 words)
the roommate agreement (675 words)
INT. BURGER CHAIN IN BUNDANG, SUMMER 2017. EVENING. (2210 words)

not fic: end of the year fic meme

onyu — Sat, 31 Dec 2016 12:54:47 GMT

fics i wrote in 2016

Total Word Count: 376471 words
Fandoms Written In: BTS

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Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you'd predicted? A lot less, in terms of completed projects. I wasn't able to finish a lot of WIPs, I wasn't even able to write half of the 1M words I'd set as a target at the start of the year, and I generally had very little time to write this year… It's as if every single aspect of my life conspired against me to keep me from writing, haha! I got my inspiration and momentum back towards the end of the year, though, and I'm so glad I did.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? NAMSEOK. NAMJOON AND HOSEOK. Jesus, I just— At the start of the year, I was, "k what the hell is a NamSeok," but now I'm so, so in love with them! Enough that I've plotted out a 120k fic for them hinged on coffee and Pokemon connections, haha. Oh god.

What's your own favorite story of the year? I'd choose you make my heart beat (faster) in a heartbeat if I wrote more than 50% of that this 2016, but nope. I love love love house for rent, heart for the taking. I wouldn't say I took a lot of risks writing it, but I will say I struggled a lot with it because it's lighter and a lot 'simpler' than what I'd usually write so I'd be able to make the fic fest deadline. I reworked the plot a bit after reveals, though, revived the subplots I originally had to kill, and now I'm just… really in love with it. :')

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them? I tried writing with the 'chapter mindset' versus following my usual three-act structure. In my head, the plots still have a semblance of the structure, in that I know chapters x to x are the set up parts, chapters x to x are the build up parts, and chapters x to x are the 'taking away and regaining' parts, but choosing to write chapters instead of my usual big arcs has made finishing some of my bigger fics faster and easier.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? Write more, write better. Finish all my WIPs, then finally, finally, finally write Portugal AU? Publish two new books next year and have 'em out in bookstores, too. That's the goal. :)

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From my past year of writing, what was…
My best story of this year: all we need now is the dark. I love the emotions in this, how dark and painful it turned out, and how it moved me so much that I had to plan a sequel for it (coming sometime in 2017!).

My most popular story of this year: you make my heart beat (faster). Everybody loves some office romance!

Most fun story to write: show me all the scars you hide. SEOKJIN AND YOONGI TAKING CARE OF EEVEES, OKAY. THEY WERE TAKING CARE OF EEVEES.

Story with the single sexiest moment: The part where Namjoon actually takes Jeongguk through masturbating in all we need now is the dark.

Most "holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story: all we need now is the dark. I have never written a guided masturbation fic before, and this really… shifted… my perception… of Jeongguk.

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: all we need now is the dark, no doubt.

Hardest story to write: the more you hate, because I had no idea how to write Hoseok until I picked up that pinch.

Biggest surprise: running from the heart's responsibilities, because I never thought I was that invested in Taehyung and Namjoon until I wrote that fic.

Most unintentionally telling story: something was bound to go right sometime today, primarily because of the leads' backstories.

Favorite Opening Lines:
- The good news is that the new batch of cats that Yoongi has taken in has already calmed down considerably. Seokjin isn't the biggest fan of cats, would rather have a pet koala clinging to him all the time or cute little turtles poking out their heads when they feel they're safe to expose themselves, but when you have a best friend who has lived with you practically your entire life and has a heart too soft for the mewling little critters that he just can't say 'no' to them even if the flat Yoongi shares with Seokjin is already 90% cat and 10% Living Space For Humans, it's impossible to look the other way and kick them out, said best friend included. That and, well... Cats are nice. They're drama-free creatures who know the concept of black and white, yes or no. If they don't like you, then they don't, no questions asked. If they do, however, they'll demand attention and plop down on your feet and make sure their scent rubs off on you so that other buggers will know you're theirs. Which is actually touching and cute, if Seokjin thinks about it carefully and forgets the bit where 'touching' means 'yay, claws!' with cats, but it's a bit annoying that Yoongi, the biggest, slyest kitten Seokjin has ever known, has actually used the knowledge of Seokjin's ultimate weakness – that is, cute and fluffy things – to great success. To insanely great success. Multiple times.

The bad news is that there are hardly any people in the coffee shop for the cats to play with today. In fact, there have hardly been any customers picking up the kittens these past few days. (something was bound to go right sometime today; seokjin/jimin)

- Cold logic told Jeongguk that the most sensible thing to do right now was to just grab his coat and leave. Two in the morning with too many liters of alcohol sloshing around in his brain had never been a bad thing since he started drinking, ever since he entered university and started allowing himself to get dragged into parties, curse Taehyung and Jimin for being the worst possible roommates, but right now the pulse in his temples was throbbing too strongly and his knees felt a bit too weak. His stomach kept tossing and turning and lurching in several different different directions. His palms were sweaty and this throat felt too damn tight. And the heat pooling in his groin wouldn't ease even if it had already been some four, five minutes since he'd decided to break away from whatever silly dance it was that he found himself caught in with Namjoon, even if it had already been so long since he decided to save himself and push himself away from Namjoon before he could do strange, strange things with his hands.

Jeongguk scoffed. There had to be some rule against older brothers being friends with hot men whose brains made them ten times even more attractive. There had to be some law that–that could protect Jeongguk from the dangerous man that Namjoon was. There had to be something in the books about dealing with this. (all we need now is the dark; namjoon/jeongguk)

Favorite Closing Lines:
- Seokjin scrunches his face in an attempt to keep himself from grinning. He'll have to grow accustomed to this, getting what he finally wants, having Yoongi within an arm's reach and, sometimes, even closer. He'll have to get used to all the nice things in his life sooner or later, no matter what. So he buries his face in Yoongi's hair, laughs and leaves little giggles on Yoongi's skin, making Yoongi shiver. Meets Yoongi halfway and leaves a trail of kisses from his forehead to the bridge of his nose to the space where bare skin meets soft, warm lips. He pulls away for a little, looking around for an audience, then leans back in to hover, just hover, his lips barely brushing against Yoongi's own like he's still... taking everything in, trying to convince himself that this is no longer make-believe, that this is real, that his daily struggle will no longer be getting up early after rendering extra hours at work but challenging himself to do better everyday as a creative, challenging himself to look away everytime he catches Yoongi staring, gaze fond and soft and disarming. "You're not waiting for me to issue a job order on kissing me, are you?" Yoongi teases, voice lilting, and that's when Seokjin rolls his eyes in response, leans in to capture Yoongi's mouth in a warm, heated kiss, tracing the wicked contours of Yoongi's mouth with his tongue, engraving on his skin the subtle shifts in Yoongi's muscles when Yoongi pulls him down, urges Seokjin to make himself comfortable on his lap, pulls him closer. Part of Seokjin keeps thinking that this is a bad idea, that they're a bad idea, but he doesn't care anymore – Yoongi is the best bad idea he's had in months, years, his entire lifetime.

He threads his fingers through Yoongi's hair and laughs into Yoongi's mouth when Yoongi hiccups, when Yoongi mutters the softest 'sorry' that melts into a bubbles of laughter, a blossom of giggles, shaking and shivering in the fit of their bodies. He should get a fucking award for this, so he kisses Yoongi again, and again, and again, and rewrites every bad idea into a good one worthy of every damn award there is in the world, into Min Yoongi. Into them. (you make my heart beat (faster); yoongi/seokjin)

- Seokjin twists his mouth. Jimin's lips are a bit chapped and they're pulled up the corners and they're just as enticing as ever, and he doesn't really mind getting smacked by Jimin in the ass later on if he ever decides to lean in and lick the stretch of Jimin's lower lip so it can look a lot less chapped and so that Jimin's cheeks can be a bit more flushed with life, but nah, he won't give in yet. Besides, it's a nice excuse to go so torturously slow later, after work, when they can finally back each other up against the wall and kiss until they remember they haven't turned off the machines yet. It gives him a damn good excuse to suck on the corners of Jimin's mouth before attempting to pry Jimin's lips open, gives him a really good excuse to map out red marks along the column of Jimin's throat later before Jimin drops to his knees and keeps his word after losing in their little game of 'whose Instagram videos gets more likes by the end of the day?'. So instead, he kisses Jimin's fingers one by one, the press of his lips soft and gentle until he sucks on Jimin's pinky and gives it a tiny lick, and grins when it startles a gasp out of Jimin, a wicked smile, and a challenge in Jimin's eyes that says, You're going to fucking regret this later, hyung. I'm going to kiss you senseless later and make you repent for your sins and–

"Nope," Seokjin whispers, then winks just as Jimin huffs, purses his lips, shakes his head like a practiced stimulus to every damned bout of spontaneity from Seokjin. He can't stop grinning even as he hears more people shuffling inside the shop, as the group earlier stops just a few inches away from him to discuss the new drink all three of them want to try out, as he hears Jimin whisper in endless circles, You will be the death of me, Kim Seokjin. You're my sweet, sweet death. I am giving you the sweetest drink we have and I will make sure I'll be able to taste it on your lips later, until I finally decide to lose control. And Seokjin is about two seconds away from retracting his statement because nothing scares him more than coffee he isn't well-acquainted with, but he trusts Jimin enough that he wiggles his eyebrows in response, grins, and sticks with his decision.

Besides, he muses to himself as he sticks out his tongue at a Jimin grudingly waiting and waiting while drumming a beat on the counter, while fighting off a smile, it's not as if Jimin isn't already the sweetest thing he's ever gotten hooked on.

Seokjin laughs to himself. He's too far gone. And by the looks of the flush on Jimin's cheeks and the way Jimin won't let go of the tight link of their hands just yet, so is he.

"Surprise me." (something was bound to go right sometime today; jin/jimin)

Favorite 5 Line(s) from Anywhere:
- "Yes," he says after a while, when the low-hanging silence starts to make him shiver. Namjoon cocks an eyebrow in question — or maybe to challenge him, but he can't be bothered to figure that out at the moment. All that matters to him right now is this: to clear things up with Namjoon because it was never his intention to... hurt anyone, ruin the image of the coffee shop because he's being a rude barista who hits one of the shop's most valuable patrons to get back at said patron for teasing him to no end. He never wanted to make Namjoon feel as if he's just after his money — though this isn't far off, because what else should he want from a customer? Blind loyalty? Moral support? The assurance that when he wakes up tomorrow and drags his ass to work, he'll be met with the same faces in the same four walls of the shop instead of a thick sheet of emptiness and chairs turned upside-down? He can't demand for those. It makes sense to ask Namjoon to pay for things, but to ask for something less tangible than a couple of bills and coins, or a piece of plastic?

Strangers don't do that. (the more you hate; namjoon/hoseok)

- "That looks like a 'no'. Okay, then. Do you want to... I dunno, hold his hand? Curl up with him in bed? Pull him in for a hug when he looks too glum and grumpy and tired? Do you want to... talk to him for hours and hours even if he sounds like the type who only talks when he wants to? Do you want to make him proud by actually picking up art again and, well, joining his team? By doing more creative things? By doing what you want? Tell me, hyung: do you want to be the reason he smiles every breathing moment?"

Seokjin gulps hard and sucks in a deep, shaky breath. The stew is already boiling violently and it's closer to nine in the morning now than eight and he has adult responsibilities to attend to, but his knees feel weak. His chest is heavy and his throat is dry and the only thing that registers in his mind now is yes, yes, yes."

"Do you want to make him happy?" (you make my heart beat (faster); yoongi/seokjin)

- "You said your roommate was kinda cute."

Seokjin blinks. 'Kinda cute' doesn't quite capture the broad spectrum of Yoongi's charm, but it's the closest he can get to an actual description, for now. Yoongi isn't 100% adorable because there are times when Seokjin wants to knee him in the groin for being a smartass, but he does look really meek and shy when Seokjin presents him with food and coaxes him to stay still at the dining table, Eat your juk. It's for your own good. Or did you want me to feed you— There you go. Good boy. And, well, Yoongi has been mostly... helpful in the household? He helped install the new bidet in Seokjin's bathroom after the previous one gave out after five years of service. He's made improvements to the porch, as well, and turned it into something that resembles a work station during the summer months (and it isn't even summer). And Seokjin doesn't need to tell him to pick up after himself; Yoongi already does that, makes sure his things are contained in his room and aren't lying around. Granted, the room is an actual mess and Seokjin would sooner scrub the floors of both bathrooms thrice than stay in Yoongi's room for too long, but a little help goes a long way. Every chore lifted off of Seokjin's shoulders is a step closer to getting out of Seokjin's list of difficult people to deal with. And Yoongi isn't even that hard to deal with. (house for rent, heart for the taking; yoongi/seokjin)

Scenes from Anywhere You Would Choose to Have Illustrated:
- Yoongi cooking with the Eevees in 'show me all the scars you hide'
- The whiskey scene in 'you make my heart beat (faster)'

New year's resolutions:
- FINISH ALL MY WIPS.

☆ ☆ ☆

Word Count Totals:

→ total finished, posted fic: 324874 words, 15 fics
→ longest posted fic: something was bound to go right sometime today, 91863 words

→ total number of words written: 376471 words

→ wip word count total: 206494 words
→ longest wip: house for rent, heart for the taking (yoongi/seokjin; currently at 75000, total, with the unposted 30000+ words)

list of completed stories:
someday, we might (5239 words)
you make my heart beat (faster) (last 40% written in january, 41520 words)
something was bound to go right sometime today (91863 words)
your lips like sugar (7433 words)
all we need now is the dark (5224 words)
show me all the scars you hide (16493 words)
you've got a look in your eyes (1197 words)
i want to be close to you (1189 words)
you've got me in the mood (1483 words)
when you come close to me (i shiver) (487 words)
return to sender (1539 words)
send my love (through blurred lines) (1843 words)
old dogs, new tricks (793 words)
we can never meet again (as strangers who know each other so well) (2318 words)
random access memory (1351 words)

list of wips (not necessarily over 50%):
deep in my bones (i can feel you) (1/4 chapters, 7793 words)
running from the heart's responsibilities (2/6 chapters, 33873 words)
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bts: your lips like sugar

onyu — Fri, 25 Mar 2016 11:23:05 GMT

your lips like sugar
— Suga/Jin. NC-17. 7433 words.
— "You got a new desk?"

"I can get a new desk but I can't get a break," Yoongi grumbles, "How tragic is that?"

Yoongi is stressed. Seokjin has just finished conquering his deadlines. The logical next step? Stress-relief. (Originally posted HERE. Warnings: semi-public sex, office sex, blow jobs, mentioned fisting, Namjoon Knows What The Fuck Is Going On)

☆ A sequel to you make my heart beat (faster). Reading the first instalment is not required but encouraged. c:

☆ This is for Ninibear, as a present long overdue, and Lonio, the best enabler. "Dammit, March. The season of porn." - Lonio, 2016. There's a whole lot of plot in this one, surprisingly? It was supposed to be PWP, but alas ;;

"You got a new desk?"

Yoongi looks up from where he's been squinting at his monitor for the past hour or so and heaves a sigh. It would be dark all around him if it were not for the light coming from his screen and the drop lights just behind him, but for the most part his entire office is dim. Dim, in that if it weren't a familiar figure walking into his room, he'd have called for security already or kneed the intruder in the groin. Dim, in that he can't see anything past the twenty-inch diameter all around him, the only things that are clear being his laptop, his phone, the notification flashed on the screen that says, 'Let's go home before 9, please. I'm going insane. Insane is bad. Bad means you can't slave me around in the worst way possible. And that means one less reliable art director in your team.' But he knows these spaced-out footsteps, this voice, the rhythm to the newcomer's breathing. He knows all these well enough that the first thing he does in response is to slump in his chair, throw his head back, and say, "I can get a new desk but I can't get a break. How tragic is that?"

"Very," Seokjin answers, lips curled up at the corners in a small smile. Yoongi can make out the dark circles under his eyes, though, the light quiver of his cheeks, the slow drag of his footsteps that would otherwise be quick and purposeful if he weren't so drained. The way he half-sneers, half-smiles when Yoongi flashes a poor excuse for a wink in his direction and gestures for him to come closer. "How's the script for the credentials video coming along?"

Yoongi shrugs. The script is... pretty okay for something that took him only an hour or so to put together. The bare bones, at least. Lord knows he'll wake up tomorrow and feel the most insane urge to blow the whole thing up into a five minuter instead of three. He started working on it at around five in the afternoon. Now it's–

He shifts his gaze, squinting at the tiny clock at the corner of his phone. 7:48 p.m., it reads. Seokjin looks nothing like seven in the evening, though. He looks like... four in the morning after having rendered thirty-six straight hours of overtime work. He looks like ten in the evening when they're trying to make an 11 p.m. deadline to a client who stayed up to approve a print ad. He looks like six in the evening gone wrong because some asshole of a client decided to ask for an ad just before 'close of business' and he and Yoongi had to cancel their dinner plans with Hoseok and Soojung, one of the few people he kept in touch with after leaving digital publishing.

"We're doing them a favor," Seokjin had murmured that time, as he clacked at the keys of his laptop. Beside him, Yoongi snorted and shifted in his seat, moving closer to his computer. His right hand was busy with highlighting part of Heechul's copy that needed more polishing; his left hand was too preoccupied with rubbing slow circles on Seokjin's tense thighs. "I mean, come on, you think Hobi will be able to actually talk to Soojung about his feelings for her if we're around? He wouldn't want us to see them... I dunno, getting chummy or something. You know him – the last thing he'll do is to actually show people his weakness – both good and bad. And, well, his Rainbow Brite collection. I'm telling you, he kept it from me until auntie accidentally told me about it–"

"Your friends are taking after us," Yoongi whispered, then gave Seokjin a light nudge. It teased the corners of Seokjin's lips up into a small smile. "It's hilarious."

Seokjin snorts. He shifts his weight to the side just a little and leans his head on Yoongi's own, though, squeezes his eyes shut for a few sacred seconds, and just breathes. "You mean tragic, right?"

"Well, at least we know they'll have a happy ending sometime," Yoongi reasoned, then hiked his hand up Seokjin's thigh. He could hear Seokjin's sharp intake of breath, could feel Seokjin's muscles tightening under his hold. And he could see out of the corner of his eye Namjoon cringing and mouthing something that looked a lot like, Fuck, why did I even think it was a good idea to join you guys during overtime? "It'll just take time."

Seokjin hummed. "Mhmm, like what you're doing to my dick right now," he whispered, then sucked in his lower lip at the same time that Yoongi brushed the pads of his fingers along the length of Seokjin's cock, when Yoongi pressed his thumb to the tip of Seokjin's dick. "You're going to regret this, Min Yoongi–"

"Finish your work at once and make me."

Seokjin took a deep, shaky breath, and met Yoongi's eyes in a careful, careful gaze. He leaned in, hovered, then inched even closer until his lips were touching Yoongi's ear, until his chest was pressed flush against Yoongi's arm. His breath was hot and prickling; his hand on Yoongi's own, guiding Yoongi's palm to his crotch, unsteady yet warm. They were both shaking, there was no mistaking that, but neither of them wanted to give in just yet. It was hilarious as much as it was frustrating, this little game of theirs, but at the same time Yoongi liked it. And if the way Seokjin was leaving patches of heat with each heavy breathing against Yoongi's skin was an indicator or anything at all, then Yoongi was positive Seokjin liked it, as well. "Yes, sir. I'm on it."

In thirty minutes, Seokjin was clearing designs with Heechul. In the next ten, the two were securing approval and the green light from Yoongi to send the studies to their client. In another ten, Yoongi was sauntering to his room and shutting the blinds – all of them – before calling out, "I'm clocking out in a bit. You guys better get your shit approved before I leave." Then Seokjin dashed to Yoongi's room with props – a notebook, his favorite pen, a pad of sticky notes from Yoongi just in case – and his presentation perfect smile. The intent to make Yoongi repent for all the teasing he'd done while Seokjin tried so damn hard to focus on dropping out using the Pen tool the talent they'd shot against a while background instead of on how Yoongi kept working him up with easy strokes of his thumb on Seokjin's dick. He shut all of the blinds, didn't bother to lock the door, grabbed Yoongi by the wrist and dragged him to the couch at the far end of the room while muttering under his breath like a mantra, a prayer, "You'll be the death of me, Min Yoongi, I swear to God. You'll be the death of me–"

"It's... coming along," Yoongi answers now, then pushes himself away from the desk just a little. With this much space between himself and his work, he can breathe better, but there's no denying that it's Seokjin who makes it a lot easier to focus on the important things, the good things. The fact that Seokjin had the foresight to lock the door behind him even if his only purpose in paying him a visit was to supposedly get Yoongi's ass off the chair so they can have a yummy dinner before heading home. Two beats, then Seokjin stops when warm wood hits his sides. He reaches out, then, runs his thumb along the seam of Yoongi's lips, and pulls one corner of Yoongi's mouth into a lopsided smile. He does this a lot, when he wants to take matters into his own hands, even more when he doesn't trust his words to get Yoongi out of his silly ruts. He does it often enough that Yoongi has come to appreciate the little jolts back to reality over time instead of brushing away Seokjin's little attempts at getting him accustomed to real warmth. "Ow, that hurts."

"Because you're being mister grumpy pants again," Seokjin argues, pausing only to give Yoongi's cheek a pinch. It doesn't hurt, doesn't even sting at the slightest, but the warmth of Seokjin's fingers that lingers on Yoongi's skin long after Seokjin has dropped his hand to the jut of Yoongi's collarbones makes him shiver all over. Yoongi has never been fond of passing touches, of the accidental brush of skin against skin, but from time to time he'll want something more than the impersonal touch of a client's. Something... a lot more intimate than that of a supplier shaking his hand, hoping to do business with him in the future. Something akin to Seokjin's touch, warm and deliberate. It's been happening more recently, him craving even the subtlest brush of Seokjin's knuckles against his skin, during idle time or even when he's in the middle of a meeting, bored out of his wits and missing the soothing calm of Seokjin's voice, but he can't say he minds. He likes it. A lot. He doesn't even mind if Seokjin finds out. "And being mister grumpy pants means I'll have to teach you how to smile again because you're not used to smiling anymore. That's the best facial exercise, by the way. Helps keep you looking young and not stressed."

Yoongi snorts. "Unless you care about me looking young and fresh, I don't give a shit," he murmurs in response, at the same time that he hooks his pinky on a belt loop of Seokjin's pants. Months ago, Seokjin would have questioned him with wide, wide eyes and a peculiar curl at the corners of his lips, but now Seokjin only lets him tug, tug, tug even closer. Lets Yoongi pull him unbearably close until his knees are brushing against Yoongi' sides. From where Yoongi is, even with the harsh shadows lathered across Seokjin's features, he can make out all these: the gentle cock of Seokjin's eyebrow, the glimmer in his eyes, the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The challenge in the quirk of his lips, and the mix of disbelief and amusement in the way he narrows his eyes as if saying, Seriously, we're going to do this with some of the blinds still up? When you have a meeting in a few minutes and you know Namjoon and the others will be walking in on us? You really want to get into trouble with me?

You really need to ask? he's tempted to say, but Seokjin doesn't demand answers often. So Yoongi wiggles his eyebrows in response, hoping Seokjin will be able to read the answers scrawled between the lines. Yes, he doesn't give a shit if Namjoon, Joonmyun, or Heechul walk into them stripped to just their skin. He'll even have the laugh of his life if it happens. Yes, he doesn't mind getting into all sorts of trouble with Seokjin. They're already trouble, as it is. And yes, he's telling the truth, that if any other person but Seokjin cared about how young or old he looked, if it were any other person trying to convince him to smile, he wouldn't give in.

"Are you into young boys now?" Yoongi teases, giving Seokjin's belt loops one last tug. "Because if you are, I'd practice my 'corporate smile' more. Three times a day, five times a week–"

Seokjin sneers. "Yeah, of course," he begins, pausing to pinch the tip of Yoongi's nose and settle on Yoongi's lap. The fit is uncomfortable at first, makes Yoongi worry about the edge of the new table pressing too hard on Seokjin's back and leaving a dull ache on his skin. There's no trace of pain in Seokjin's features, though, not a hint of a sting in the way he rolls his hips so that he can straddle Yoongi in earnest. There's only a small smile on his lips, the strain of patience pulling up the corners of his mouth, and his hands sculpting Yoongi's chest before coming to settle on his nape. "The younger they are, the better. If Jimin were younger – like, seven, eight years younger – I'd totally be into him. Ask him out and all. Maybe even try to corner him in the stock room–"

Yoongi narrows his eyes. "How dare you– The stock room is our sacred place–"

"And I've never fucked anyone else there," Seokjin answers, thinning his lips before adding, "Yet."

Yoongi huffs. It's all for show, really – the only time he can ever get mad at Seokjin is when Seokjin won't fucking listen to instructions and, instead, will do things his way at the risk of his designs getting shot down – but he frowns, nonetheless. Even narrows his eyes and motions to cross his arms on his chest. He can't pull away, though, not when the fit of their bodies feels nice, when it's been a while since they last had time to walk away from their stations during work hours and just... hang out, stay close and in each other's orbit, breathe each other in. Sure, they have weekends to just laze around in Seokjin's flat or Yoongi's, and the remaining hours between after-office and before-office-again to just be around each other, but Seokjin makes it easy for Yoongi to miss warmth, closeness, intimacy.

You sound like Joonmyun when he's talking about Namjoon, groans a voice in his head. To Seokjin, he says, voice rough, raw, real, "I won't let you."

Seokjin laughs. It's light, soft, barely above a whisper, but Yoongi feels it in the light jerk of Seokjin's body, just the same. Yoongi tilts his head up, then, brushing rough lips to the underside of Seokjin's jaw, and that's when Seokjin stills, curls his fingers into loose fists on Yoongi's nape, holds his breath in. Throws his head back to reveal an expanse of skin, an invitation for Yoongi to move even closer. Teasing, Yoongi darts out his tongue, leaving soft little licks along the stripe of Seokjin's jaw, and pauses only to suck Seokjin's earlobe, to give it light nips, to draw a curve with the sharp lick of his tongue along the shell of Seokjin's ear. Seokjin lets out a gasp at that, bucks his hips on impulse, and seethes when Yoongi accidentally-on-purpose nibbles the soft skin again just before drawing another long lick.

"What if I tell you–" Seokjin's breath hitches when Yoongi laves his tongue on the skin just behind his ear, when Yoongi starts to leave a trail of sucks and kisses and little bites along the column of his neck. His chest is heaving now, the steady lifts and dips turning into shallow gallops, and Yoongi can't even deny that he likes this. He likes all of it – Seokjin holding, holding, holding back and trying to remind himself of restraints, Seokjin breaking his own rule of not making a mess of Yoongi's workstation just a little in the way he slides his hands down Yoongi's chest, fingers busy with undoing the buttons of Yoongi's shirt. Seokjin trying to keep himself together, trying to take control when he digs his nails into Yoongi's skin, and yet trying to tell Yoongi that he does want to give in when he rolls his hips and grinds down on Yoongi's tenting erection. And he likes the challenge it brings, the little game they play before they put the scores on hold and just lose themselves to each other. "–that I actually find Jiminnie hot–"

"You find his ass hot. Don't twist the facts," Yoongi murmurs, lips still pressed to Seokjin's skin, finishing with a soft suck. Seokjin makes a small noise at the back of his throat, something that sounds a lot like a choked moan, but fuck– Yoongi lets out a gasp, a whimper when Seokjin runs warm palms up his chest, thumbs ghosting over his nipples through his shirt. His thighs shake and his hands tremble where he's pulling Seokjin closer by the ass and Seokjin has to warn him for things like this because he might just pass out, but no. He can't– He won't pull away. He wants to get closer, wants to feel Seokjin's warmth bleeding onto his skin. He wants to feel Seokjin tremble under his touch at the same time that he, himself, loses control. And if Seokjin ever laughs at him for getting both of them into trouble then he'll take all the blame, it's fine. He'd get into all sorts bad things with Seokjin as long as they get out of it. Together. "You know what? I'll do those butt exercises you've been asking me to do with you. Make my ass firmer so you–"

Seokjin laughs a little, then leans in to catch Yoongi's lips between his teeth. "So I can what, stop checking Jimin out?"

Yoongi shakes his head. It's becoming increasingly impossible to focus on anything but the way Seokjin works a slow, torturous rhythm on his lap, on anything but the way Seokjin licks the corners of his mouth and nibbles on his lower lip and sucks on his tongue, again and again like he hasn't tasted Yoongi before, like he's kissing with the enthusiasm of a kid in the process of falling even deeper in love. Half of Yoongi wants to laugh at Seokjin raising the white flag now, little by little, giving in only a few minutes into their little challenge, but half of him feels scared. Terrified, maybe? Or a bit... unsure. He's always been certain of most things, of everything, but when Seokjin kisses him with so much passion and vigor he wonders if there will ever come a time when Seokjin finds the taste of Yoongi on his mouth a lot like blood and metal and everything he doesn't want. He wonders, without meaning to, if Seokjin thinks of the same things, if the same twist of inadequacy hits Seokjin and makes his insides turn in the most awful way possible.

"So you can–" Yoongi's breath hitches – at Seokjin leaving blooming marks on the underside of his jaw or at the image of Seokjin spending more time with Jimin flashing at the back of his eyelids, he can't tell at the moment, but he brushes that off before his thoughts can get the better of him. "So you can – fuck –actually grope my ass and stop looking at anyone else, especially that Jimin guy."

Seokjin chuckles. "You used to like him."

"When he didn't look at you with the most adoring eyes," Yoongi grumbles, then he's yelping when Seokjin pinches him in his waist. "I'm just saying, if there's anyone else in this agency who'd actually try to win you over, it's that kid–"

Seokjin flicks one of Yoongi's nipples with his thumb, and Yoongi lets out a loud moan. HE tightens his hold on Seokjin's ass, bucks his hips in the tight press of their bodies, shivering at the friction and the heat that blooms in the fit of their bodies. Sorry, Yoongi whispers, voice so faint he could have just been breathing. Seokjin could have missed it. He presses the pulse in his thumbs to Seokjin's skin, then, hoping Seokjin will hear–feel it this time. Sorry. For thinking too much all the damn time. For doubting when we both agreed to take the leap. For ceasing to believe in us for a few seconds. For a lot of things he can't articulate at the moment, the syllables escaping him as much as control does. Words come to him so easily, but Seokjin manages to steal all of them, somehow, even before he can swallow them whole. Seokjin would scoop him in his arms and breathe all of his worries in with a soft press of his lips, completely unlike the inelegant slide of their mouths right now, or the way Seokjin tugs at Yoongi's shirt until Yoongi is shucking it off, tossing it to the side. Seokjin would pepper the column of his neck, the expanse of his chest, and now the stretch of his torso with alternating sucks, licks, kisses, until all Yoongi can think of, all he can see is Seokjin sinking to his knees and brushing his cheek to his inner thigh. Seokjin will remind him, time and again, of all the trouble they'd gone through before they could dig their own grave and build a home there, little by little, by looking up at him through the slits of his bangs, gaze fond, discerning.

"I love you, regardless of your lack of ass," Seokjin whispers, then presses a soft kiss to Yoongi's inner thigh. Part of Yoongi wants to laugh at how impossible it is to concentrate on the gentle swell of warmth in his chest, on Seokjin's words, raw and real, with Seokjin's mouth just centimeters away from his crotch, but a larger part of him just... wants to cup Seokjin's cheeks, pull him up, kiss him until the only thing Seokjin can feel is the way they breathe each other in. But Seokjin gives him no time to speak, or act, much less breathe, when Seokjin leans in to catch the waistband of Yoongi's pants between his teeth. "Your ass looks good in these, by the way. And I love it that your pants don't have buttons."

Yoongi scrunches his face. "You're just lazy," he mutters, but runs the pads of his fingers along the curve of Seokjin's cheek, anyway. Pinches Seokjin's chin just before Seokjin drags Yoongi's pants further south, teeth scraping along the dip of his torso and leaving goosepimples and a powerful shiver in its wake. He can hear Seokjin's heavy breathing, can feel Seokjin's thundering pulse on his bare thighs where Seokjin is gripping him tightly, can see Seokjin's dark, focused gaze flickering up to meet his own, filtered only by the strands of his hair stuck to his forehead. Disheveled and in complete disarray, Seokjin still looks disarming, and frustratingly so. No one is supposed to breathe heavily against his dick and walk away unscathed. No one is allowed look this beautiful with cheeks flushed a bright red, beads of sweat trickling down the curve of his face, clothes caught between his teeth. And no one is allowed to keep Yoongi on the edge like this, nails dug in Yoongi's thighs and teeth grazing along the length of Yoongi's cock as Seokjin undresses him, goes further south, and coaxes him to break his resolve with soft whimpers and a plea– "Seokjin– Fuck–"

Someone knocks on the door. Seokjin pulls Yoongi pants off the rest of the way with a swift tug of his hands, then he's craning his neck, looking over his shoulder, looking up at Yoongi with a glimmer in his eyes. "You should get dressed," he whispers, hot breath catching on Yoongi's dick, "Namjoon and Heechul-hyung–"

"Fuck them," Yoongi groans, swallowing around the thick lump in his throat. "I'll just... shoo them away or something. Make them leave. It's not important–"

"They have to clear pitch stuff with you–"

"They can do that tomorrow, since they love working on weekends so much," Yoongi argues through gritted teeth. "Right now–"

"You should put on your top," Seokjin begins, tilting his head in the direction of Yoongi's forgotten polo. With an eyebrow cocked and his eyes sharp, commanding, Yoongi can see the Seokjin he'd welcomed to the creative team so many months ago, the same man who walked into doors of BBDO without anything but a cupcake stuffed in his mouth and sprinted to the next stage of his career as an accounts expert brimming with confidence. He hasn't seen this look on Seokjin in a while, not since work came flooding in and he, himself, got stuck in one too many pitches. And he misses it, the casual confidence in the way Seokjin tilts his chin up, in the way Seokjin addresses people with a focused gaze. So he complies, pushing himself away from his desk, reaching for his polo, slipping it on. Hurries to this seat when he hears the knob of his door twisting even before he can mouth at Seokjin to, Fuck– Give me my pants– I can't get the door like this! "And I should hide under here because I am not getting involved in that pitch of yours–"

"Seriously, Jin's birthday as a passcode? How cute can you two get?" Joonmyun mutters in a hollow tone, breaking the sudden silence in the room. He speeds past the pots near the door to Yoongi's room, looking over his shoulder only to beckon Namjoon and Heechul to hurry up. His lips are pressed together into a thin, thin line, but there's a faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes. He looks like he's just risen from the dead after an exciting sugar rush. Yoongi can't say Namjoon and Heechul look any different, though. Heechul... looks like Heechul on a really bad day, with his eyebrows furrowed in a tight knot and his mouth twisted in a suppressed scowl. Namjoon looks like he hasn't had coffee in a month and has started to question his existence without coffee running through his veins. Put the three of them in one pitch group and Yoongi can feel the pressure building already, crawling up his nape and prickling his skin in all the ways Seokjin breathing against his thigh don't.

And Seokjin looks too damn good even with his hair sticking to his face and sweat giving his forehead a bright sheen. Even in the dimmer lighting under the table. His warm mouth hovers Yoongi's dick, just a few centimeters shy of brushing against Yoongi's cock, but– You can't be fucking serious, whines a voice at the back of Yoongi's head as Seokjin tilts his head just a little. He swallows hard, bucks his hips, inches just a bit closer when Seokjin doesn't move and just smiles.

"Used to be my cat's birthday for the longest time. And, well, I have a new favorite now so I thought I'd change it," he says, voice incredibly steady and calm, but only until Seokjin chuckles against his dick, until he feels the light vibrations of Seokjin's laughter bleeding onto his sensitive skin. He drops his hand to his thigh for a moment, grabs a fistful of Seokjin's hair but doesn't tug yet. Whimpers against his other hand as he tries to maintain a semblance of calm and composure even with Namjoon, Joonmyun, and Heechul watching him with curious eyes while Seokjin moves even closer. He can feel his cheeks heating up, can feel the slow drag of his shoulders as Seokjin ghosts his lips over Yoongi's skin, but he doesn't care anymore. Joonmyun and the others made a conscious decision to barge into his room, and if Yoongi makes the happy mistake of letting out a soft whimper when Seokjin starts doing something, then Yoongi can always say, You brought this upon yourself, fuckers. "So if I ever find a new fave–"

Seokjin hikes his hands up Yoongi's thighs and gives his balls a gentle squeeze. Yoongi tenses all over at that, brings one trembling hand close to his lips and presses it to his mouth to give his skin a tiny bite. A nibble, maybe even a scrape of his teeth against the back of his hand? Whatever he can manage, really, what with the waves of pleasure coiling in his abdomen, making it almost impossible to breathe. He can call the meeting off now. He can make the three go away. He can... apologize to them for having to reschedule, just–just give me ten minutes and I swear to God you'll be able to talk to me again and I'll approve whatever it is that you want me to read through, even if it's a hundred pages long, but he can't even get a word out, can't get out a sound that isn't a whimper or a gasp or a low groan of Seokjin's name. All he can do right now is to take deep, shaky breaths in an effort to even still the thundering pulse at the back of his knees, his elbows, the base of his throat, the shaking of his fingers fisted in Seokjin's hair as Seokjin replaces warm hands that were once squeezing his balls with an equally warm mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the vicious swipe of his tongue that makes Yoongi's insides lurch.

Joonmyun snorts. It drowns out the low grunt Yoongi lets out when Seokjin gives him a long and hard suck, when Seokjin gives his balls a tight squeeze before going back to light fondling, teasing, pushing Yoongi closer to the edge. Namjoon cranes his neck and lifts his ass off his seat like the few added inches will help him see what's happening, like he knows something is up, but Joonmyun guides him back down with a gentle furrow his eyebrows, a faint 'Anything wrong?', and a chuckle as he says, "I'd like to see you try finding a new favorite. Pretty sure Jin won't let you. The kid's fucking competitive–"

"Hella–" Yoongi chokes on his words at Seokjin giving his ass a light knead, palms smoothing along the curve of Yoongi's cheeks. He presses down hard on his table with his elbows in thoughtless response, biting the inside of his cheek, and turns the low groan brewing at the base of his throat into rough laughter. He sounds like he's nursing a sore throat, and he might as well be – Seokjin keeps leaving scars and marks on his skin that leave him aching all over for more. "Competitive. Hella fucking competitive, oh God–"

Namjoon squints. "And knowing you, you'll actually fight him head on–"

"Oh no. No. I was just–was just kidding," he croaks out, "not changing favorites, ever." He swallows around the thick lump in his throat, trying to recover, but the most he can do is ease the burn in his chest, the one that screams, Kim-fucking-Seokjin, you will be the end of me– Seokjin keeps working him up, sucking on his balls, running his thumb along the length of his cock and rubbing slow circles on the tip of his dick in intervals and sometimes switching it up by gripping his ass tightly. It's already too much of a challenge to form coherent sentences, much less breathe. Still, Yoongi tries his hardest to answer, squeezes his eyes shut before resurfacing to say, "Anyway, you three need to get something fucking– You need to get something approved? For the–the upcoming holy pitch–"

"Just... initial ideas for the case studies. For the... holy pitch, yeah," Joonmyun answers after a while, eyebrows furrowed in a light knot. His eyes are narrowed just a little, as if he's trying to see through whatever cloak Yoongi had draped on himself by biting the back of his hand again, this time harder, finishing with a strained grin. He doesn't say anything, though, just keeps staring in the standstill, keeps worrying his bottom lip. The silence hanging around them is thicker now, almost deafening, and Yoongi would try to shatter it at once because they're all tired, drained, running out of time, and he's running low on restraint and resolve, but Joonmyun beats him to it, taking a deep, deep breath before saying, "Are you sick?"

Of waiting, of holding back, of having to keep himself in check even as Seokjin closes in on him, warm lips wrapping around his dick and Seokjin's merciless tongue curling at the tip of of his cock? He shakes his head, laughs a little, leans back and drops his gaze to where Seokjin is looking up at him with lazy eyes, with his cheeks flushed and hollowed out. He can feel Seokjin's shallow breathing on his dick. He can feel the slow-forming smile curling up at the sides of Seokjin's pretty mouth. And he can feel his breath catch in his throat when Seokjin adds the gentle scrape of his teeth along the sides of his cock. So maybe he isn't so sick of this whole game of holding back, of testing each other's limits when he can very well see the want and sheer desire for contact and friction in Seokjin's eyes. It just drives him insane, makes him feel weak when Seokjin starts working a slow rhythm on his cock, the bob of his head oh-so-torturous. It just makes him want to cup Seokjin's cheeks and kiss him, from the crown of his head to the expanse of his chest and eventually down to the inside of his thigh, while whispering secrets and promises and confessions he'll otherwise take to the grave, if it were anyone else's limbs tangled in his own.

"I'm fine. Dandy," Yoongi groans after a while, a sizzling heat rolling down his torso. He lifts his gaze, loosens his hold on Seokjin just a little, and takes a quick, shallow breaths, knowing full well that Seokjin won't let him catch a break. But Seokjin is a lot more merciless than what he makes himself out to be, leaning back and only short of pulling away until his lips are poised at the tip of Yoongi's dick. There's a menacing smile at the corners of his mouth, a peculiar glint in his eyes, a soft 'sorry' spilling from his lips, but fuck, it's all but inconsiderate. Yoongi hasn't spent months memorizing the shift of Seokjin's muscles, every single quirk of his lips, the way Seokjin moves to not know that this is Seokjin planning to up the ante, raise the stakes, excite Yoongi more. He hasn't spent all this time not trying to find ways to keep up with Seokjin because Seokjin just keeps surprising him, catching him unguarded, taking his breath away.

"So, case studies? What do you have for me–" Yoongi jerks one leg back at the feeling of Seokjin leaving little sucks along his shaft, at Seokjin brushing his teeth along Yoongi's skin before wrapping his lips around Yoongi's cock again, taking him whole, sucking him dry. His heel aches and his chest feels too tight and his hand balled into a tight, tight fist on the table is still shaking, but there are still a few more things left on his to-do list: to review the supposedly award-winning material Heechul and the others are trying to get approved, and to repay Seokjin in kind. To play their little game, keep up with Seokjin patiently blowing him in long and drawn out motions under the table while Yoongi splits his attention into an unfair 99-1. To try to win when he knows oh-so-well that the only way for both of them to go is down. So he tries to even his breathing – a futile, stupid attempt – and offers Namjoon, Joonmyun, and Heechul his best smile as he says, "SK Tel, right? How do you plan to oh God– blow them away this time–"

Joonmyun leans closer. "Are you drunk?"

"No?" Yes. On this guy hollowing out his cheeks and tapping a beat on my thigh even if he's clearly so close to losing control already– "Sober. Completely sober. I've been drinking nothing but water– come on–"

"High, then?" Heechul offers. Joonmyun shoots him a pointed look. "Ah, parched–"

Yoongi snorts. Or at least he thinks he does, because soon Seokjin is wrapping cold, shaking fingers around his cock, working an easy rhythm that falls into step with the bobbing of his head. It startles a breathy moan out of Yoongi, makes him shake all over, makes his teeth chatter at the same time that he lets his head fall forward. He's suspended, stunned by Seokjin's wicked tricks. He's aflame and hyper sensitive and too willing to give in. And he's close – he can feel it in the way his thighs shake and his abdomen burns with a strong, coiling sensation, in the way his chest gallops in quick heaves. In the way he answers each long, powerful thrust of Seokjin's hand and the purposeful lick of Seokjin's tongue with a jerk of his hips, with nails digging into Seokjin's scalp, with little tugs at Seokjin's hair that elicit a moan out of Seokjin.

"No, I don't think so," Namjoon whispers, then bites the inside of his cheek. He looks up, meeting Yoongi's gaze at the exact same time Seokjin chokes on Yoongi's dick, at the same time Yoongi lets out a broken whimper and widens his eyes. Namjoon has caught him in all sorts of weird situations before and has been cringing at half of the decisions he's made in life, but right now Yoongi can only make out realization breaking across his features, lighting up his eyes, amusement in the way they crinkle at the corners. The lilts in his voice when he hums, "He's– He's doing just fine."

Hardly, murmurs a voice at the back of his mind, whimpers when Seokjin pulls away and Yoongi feels a push and pull of warmth and cold crawl up his abdomen. It makes a shiver surge up his nape, his arms, wrap around his wrists, makes him tighten his hold on Seokjin but ease it just as quickly when Seokjin tenses under the touch. Seokjin looks up at him through the narrow slits of his bangs, hair clumped together by sweat and the sheen on his skin. And damn, Seokjin looks gorgeous with his spit-slick lips and his flushed cheeks and that blissed out look in his eyes. He looks beautiful with the way he's inching closer again, pressing his cheek to Yoongi's thigh, pursing his lips to press a light kiss to Yoongi's dick. And it's frustrating to be this close to Seokjin yet also seconds, minutes, a hitch of a breath away, but Seokjin makes the whole waiting game just a tad more bearable when he mouths at Yoongi, good boy, when the mischievous smile on his lips eases into an easy, disarming smile.

Yoongi's chest grows tight. A prickling heat crawls down his torso. Here they are again, at jump-off point, where all they have to do to meet in the middle and crash into each other is to take a wide leap of faith, to give each other a firm, a resolute nod, a soft 'yes'. A small smile because Yoongi can't feel his throat or his tongue or even his lips after worrying them the whole time. He'd been biting down on them in an attempt to not moan in endless circles, I can't believe you. I can't believe you. I can't believe I let you do this to me, but he trusts Seokjin to know, anyway. If Seokjin was able to dissect him months ago, to figure him out, to discover what makes him give in, then surely Seokjin will know, by just Yoongi's heavy, laboured sigh, what he's been trying to say for the past few minutes.

I'm going to die, Yoongi mouths, lips quivering as they pull up into a small smile at the corners.

Nope, not yet, Seokjin mouths right back, then brushes a kiss on Yoongi's thigh. His eyes are twinkling. Yoongi can't be happier to get into trouble with this one. Not when I haven't made you come yet.

Maybe Joonmyun and Heechul will stop making wrong guesses now, the same way Namjoon has finally seen the light. Maybe his unfocused gaze will now give him away. And maybe he'll make the wrong decision of giving the three the green light when he can't even digest Heechul's teasing or Joonmyun trying to talk about their ideas despite Yoongi breaking out into a cold sweat right in front of them, but all that registers right now is the slow drag of Seokjin's teeth along his cock, the prickling warmth of Seokjin's tongue on his shaft. Seokjin sculpting his thighs with shaky hands, the thundering pulse on Seokjin's palms leaving goosepimples in their wake. Seokjin starting out slow and torturous, even urging Yoongi to roll his hips, then building momentum until he's pulling back then leaning back in in rapid succession. His thighs shake and his fingers tremble where they're fisted in Seokjin's hair and he can feel Seokjin slowly losing control, so he meets Seokjin halfway with tiny jerks of his hips. Drops his gaze to catch a glimpse of Seokjin's features, the familiar smile he's never quite been able to conquer, to tell Seokjin that yes, he's still in this. To breathe Seokjin in.

Then he's spilling in Seokjin's mouth, his release coming in thick spurts as he loosens his hold on Seokjin. His palms feel sticky. His throat is dry. He feels boneless all over and he'd rather be curling up against Seokjin's warm body and tasting himself on Seokjin's tongue, but the crinkles and the challenge at the corners of Seokjin's eyes coax him to sit up, con him to hold out a little longer. Urge him to go, look up, meet your friends in the eye and tell them what just happened or what you want them to make happen–

"I–I'm not sure," Yoongi begins, breath hitching when the vibrations of Seokjin's laughter tickle his skin. There are still tiny knots in his chest that he's certain only Seokjin can ease with feather-light touches and a real kiss, but he presses on, anyway, swallowing hard and licking his lips before saying, "How that... thing ties in to the whole brand thing, but send me the one-pager when you leave and I'll revert to you with something by midnight. Stuff to improve on or something." Seokjin places a soft nip on his inner thigh and narrows his eyes at him, but hah, that won't make Yoongi back down. Not yet. So he addresses Seokjin with a small smile, inches closer to the edge of his seat, and runs shaky fingers through Seokjin's hair as he says, "Actually, make that 11 p.m.. I'll work with Seokjin on the case; he always has great ideas. Then let's regroup... tomorrow noon for the final touches so we can send something to client before the sun goes down and he gets drunk on soju again. How does that sound?"

Seokjin jabs Yoongi's calf. Yoongi's vision is still blurry, hazy at best, and every part of him is still hypersensitive, but he can make out the way Seokjin widens his eyes, the disbelief in Seokjin's gaze, the way Seokjin mouths, I'm going to fuck you so hard, you won't be able to open your email after and the way mischief pulls up the corners of Seokjin's lips into a wicked smile. The torturous teasing will come in a minute or two, maybe even less, but Yoongi doesn't give a damn. He'll only need ten, fifteen minutes to work out the case study with Seokjin, anyway; the rest of the time, he can spend mapping out Seokjin's skin with touches, kisses, and the occasional bite and suck as revenge for all the playful taunting Seokjin had done earlier.

"Sounds like a long night," Namjoon mumbles under his breath. The smile on his lips betrays him, though.

Yoongi brushes the pads of his fingers along the curve of Seokjin's cheek, hoping to give it a little pinch, but Seokjin bites back with a light lick on the tip of his dick.

It is going to be a long night. A long, long night, indeed. And for all of Yoongi's bad experience with overtime work, he doesn't mind this one. He doesn't mind spending endless, tireless nights with Seokjin, at all.

「overtime」

"The next time you plan to fist me as a reward, please tell me five days in advance," Seokjin grumbles. He sinks in his seat, draws the seatbelt across his chest, and shoots Yoongi a frown. "So I can actually find a way for us to end up fucking at home and not in the office. My ass hurts."

"Your ass is just fine. So damn fine," Yoongi singsongs, but soon his voice is breaking under the pressure of Seokjin's tickle attack. Never mind that it's three in the morning and they're in a mostly empty parking lot – Seokjin's laughter and little whines sound like music to his ears. They sound like the exact kind of symphony he'll listen to during long drives, during memorable three in the morning's, his favorite song to catch on the radio to keep him awake, breathing, alive.

bts: something was bound to go right sometime today

onyu — Fri, 25 Mar 2016 11:16:53 GMT

something was bound to go right sometime today
— Jin/Jimin. R. 91863 words.
— Seokjin’s been hearing a lot of rumours about the new cafe two blocks away: the menu has much more ‘experimental coffee’ than most cafes Yoongi has ever been to (and that says a lot, because Seokjin believes Yoongi has been to every single coffee shop there is in South Korea). The interiors are a lot cozier and warmer than what they have in their place, news that would probably make Hoseok throw a fit. There aren’t too many cats that the patrons can feed and play with, though, but that doesn’t change the fact that Seokjin has been losing his frequent customers, money, and patience to the new cafe in the area. And at an alarmingly fast rate.

So Seokjin decides to take off the apron one day, see what – rather, who – his once-loyal customers have been raving about, and develop a grand scheme to take down this asshole of a coffee shop owner, one cup of coffee at a time. (Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of minors making out under the influence, (albeit completely consensual), mentions of minor character death, mentions of family issues, clothed sex. Please take these warnings seriously.)

— Written for Bangtan Valentine's Day Exchange 2016.

not fic: end of the year fic meme

onyu — Mon, 11 Jan 2016 06:30:24 GMT

fics i wrote in 2015

Total Word Count: 951527 words (purely fic), 1080307 words (with original works)
Fandoms Written In: EXO, Infinite, f(x), BTS

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Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you'd predicted? Less in terms of actual number of fics, but more in terms of word count. I wrote about 750k last year, and this year I've written a million words (including original works; still counts as writing fiction without 'fan', right?). Never thought it was possible but hey, here we are. :)

To be completely honest, I wanted to write more 'tiny fics' so I can do a bit more exploration, try to write things I normally wouldn't, but the year has been exceptionally toxic in terms of work. I'm just grateful I can still write. It keeps me sane. :)

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? Definitely definitely definitely BTS. I didn't even know them until… until July or something! I have Frances and Rina to thank for getting me into Bangtan, and Corner for making me feel comfortable in my new little cubicle in fandom. Seriously, thank you for introducing me to such a fun fandom. I'm really having lots of fun. :)

What's your own favorite story of the year? Possibly not a surprise, but here’s a map; now let’s get lost together. It was a huge challenge to write and I do admit that there were times when I doubted if I was writing the right thing (I was getting too technical with things at the back of my mind, the Pokemon master in me was second-guessing everything and such), but I'm glad I powered through the whole thing. Huge thanks to my friends – specifically F, L, A, A, C, H, and J – for helping me get through this test. :)

Other close contenders are challenge the call and you make my heart beat (faster). These two challenged me in a lot of ways but I still had a lot of fun exploring the worlds I've built for these fics.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them? Outlining and actually following my outline. I'm a firm believer in free and wild writing, but there are times when I have to meet critical deadlines and simply cannot let my mind go wild and get too funky. So I learned to write proper outlines and try to stick to it as much as possible. I still add glue scenes that aren't in the outline, but for the most part I try to follow the 'structure' I've set for my fics. I still do do outline-less writing (hullo, 50% of my fics), but if I have deadly deadlines, having an outline helps me not panic. :)

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? Write more, write better. :)

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From my past year of writing, what was…
My best story of this year: here’s a map; now let’s get lost together., challenge the call, and you make my heart beat (faster)

My most popular story of this year: here’s a map; now let’s get lost together. because it's a 326000-word fic about a Pokemon adventure. Who the hell even writes something like that. :)) For BTS fandom, head first and no regrets.

Most fun story to write: these accidents of fate and nature. I wrote this as a pinch for Extrafic and struggled with the prompts at first, but the whole world was so much fun to explore! Possibly one of the quickest 25k fics I wrote, and that's a testament to how much fun I had with the fic. :)

Story with the single sexiest moment: kiss quick and head first and no regrets, more for the intimacy than the actual sex.

Most "holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story: oh, the things we invent (baekhyun/kyungsoo) because I have never written doppelganger sex before, much more a threesome with a doppelganger. Oh well! You learn something new everyday! :))

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: you make my heart beat (faster), which is surprising since Seokjin is supposedly someone I'm accustomed to writing, but– I dunno, writing this gave me a deeper understanding of him.

Hardest story to write: some air'd be good for you, the Suho/Lay I wrote for Suholiday. Other than having to write about weird magic and science shenanigans, I've always found it difficult to write Yixing. It was definitely a great learning experience, though. I love this fic a lot, despite the many struggles I've had while writing it.

Biggest surprise: running from the heart's responsibilities. I didn't even think I'd ever write V/Rap Monster! It was so much fun to write, though, and I'm definitely excited to write more for this universe. :)

Most unintentionally telling story: definitely you will never sleep alone. It's a fic on Lu Han leaving the band so… yeah. What else is there to say? :))

Favorite Opening Lines:
- Kyungsoo jolts awake to the sound of DBSK's Rising Sun blasting in his ears. He looks around his room, squinting hard when a sudden flurry of light hits him. He'd left his lamp open last night, and while the light isn't bright enough to blind it's still enough to shake off some of the sleep clinging to his eyelids. Enough to pull him out of bed and back on his feet, toes wiggling in his bedroom slippers. Enough for him to boot his brain and for him to register that – one, it's only five in the morning; and two, it's a Saturday.

Choikang Changmin is still singing in the background. Kyungsoo shakes his head, shivers when he feel his stomach give a funny lurch in his stomach. Now it's Xiah Junsu who's belting out.

Someone's calling. (just say yes; chen/kyungsoo)

- Kyungsoo looks around him and takes a deep breath. Sunlight hits his skin, leaves tiny spots of light that prickle him all over. He shivers. It makes him want to grab the sunglasses dangling from the collar of Seungsoo's shirt or maybe even blindfold himself until his eyes adjust to the new light. It makes him want to retreat to the back of that truck again, lumped with boxes filled with memories of Sinyuk-ri in it. He's supposed to be accustomed to this by now, being exposed to the sun, being blinded by it, but this feels different. He can't smell the scent of dried fish in the air, thick in his nostrils. He can't sway to the steady rhythm of waves crashing to shore or against each other. And he can't crane his neck in the hope of finding a familiar face just a few feet away. Instead, he finds buildings, a couple of houses here and there, too tall and intimidating. Wide streets donned with people who are lugging around plastic bags, baby Pokemon following them from one place to another.

Something heavy lands on his head. When he looks up, he finds thick white fur, and Wingull taps a quick beat on his forehead before flying off. (here’s a map; now let’s get lost together.; baekhyun/kyungsoo)

- Joonmyun looks around him one last time and takes a deep breath. The last time he stood in front of a crowd of hundreds, maybe even thousands, was a good seven years ago, tennis bag slung on his right shoulder and a face towel clutched with his left hand. He was wearing a head band then, to keep his hair away from his face and to keep every bad opportunity from foiling his chances at winning. And he was twenty-eight, not too old to be a sportsman who ran across a court that was sometimes a bit too big and overwhelming for experienced players, but not that young, either, to still be considered a threat especially with five to ten new players graduating from the juniors division into the master class, into professional tennis, every year. Even then, he hadn't been aware of the people around him. He recalls standing from his seat and walking towards the bright light filtering from the now-open doors, recalls hearing the first few bubbles of cheers from the crowd just beyond the walls. He recalls, without meaning to, the way he'd balled his hands into tight fists that time and told himself, you have to win this. There's no other way to go but up. Then his world fell blessedly silent, void of the noise that had once prickled his ears. He heard the points being called out, yes, heard the linesmen calling his shots in, out, long and short, but that was it. Anything beyond the dull thud of the ball making contact with the hard court and familiar cues for points and misplays that he heard everyday for hours on end dissolved into cracks of white noise in the background.

He was cruising his way to victory, landing one winner after another and making shots that he never thought he was capable of. He was in the zone. He was at the top of his game. Anyone who'd followed his journey as a tennis player would say that it was his greatest year yet, and the greatest match he'd ever played.

He was having the time of his life. (break of serve; suho/kai *WIP*)

- I love people, Seokjin reminds himself for the nth time that day and coaxes the corners of his mouth to pull up into a bigger smile. To anyone who doesn't know him, he probably looks like some overeager kid wanting to be friends with everyone and every single organism that breathes in this agency, but to people who can read him faster than they can say I'm gonna kick these fucking clients in the balls, he's pretty sure that it's obvious the last thing he wants right now is to have to present himself to another group of people, much more the creatives. After all, the lot's notorious for making the lives of people in accounts a living hell. He's had his fair share of bad experiences with the artists and designers back in his old company, has had to put up with the sickening attitude for nearly a decade; he can only imagine how the 'traditional creatives' – as Minseok, his former boss, had lovingly put it – act around accounts people like him.

And it's almost one in the afternoon. The last meal he had was at seven in the morning because someone decided to get extra paranoid with arriving at work late on his first day (and he's always paranoid that he'll punch in late at work by just a few minutes even if he leaves his house at least an hour and a half before starting time). He had been trapped in a meeting room for close to two hours, strapped to his seat as he listened to the Human Resource Manager ramble about company policies that are supposed to be a no-brainer already. Then he was summoned to the Finance Director's office for another orientation on finance policies, on how to properly file his timesheet and the repercussions of failing to submit it on time. He felt a lot like a kid being lectured by grown-ups on 'adult things'. It felt a lot like being strangled into submission. And now, he's being 'routed' in the office like an envelope being passed from one person to another to collect money for a big celebration. So it's warranted, right, his burning desire to just hide someplace else and curl up in a corner? It's normal to want to raise his arms in the air and cry out in a loud, deafening voice, Make them stop, right? Isn't it only normal to want to throw in the towel and just want to give up this early? He's cold and hungry and tired of grinning ear-to-ear. He's just about done with introducing himself to every single person in this agency.

He just wants to breathe.

His stomach grumbles. It feels like taking a hundred punches to the gut, or claws raking figures spelling out I'm hungry! in big, messy hangul. And he's always been told to trust what his gut tells him. (you make my heart beat (faster); jin/suga)

Favorite Closing Lines:
- It takes no more than five minutes to get from the garden at the back to the front door, no more than five minutes for him to regain some of his color. He can still see through his right hand, for the most part, and he still feels oddly light and a bit light-headed but every part of him feels warm, even more when he holds his hand up against the glass of the window by the door, splays the pale fingers on the cool surface, and sees the veins of Yixing's fingers on the other side. There are scars on Yixing's face from where he's touched Yixing too much, too long, but Yixing doesn't seem to mind – the situation they're in, the half-life they live, the burn of Joonmyun's touch on his skin, Joonmyun can't tell yet. All the knows is that they will always try to find holes in which they can fit, that they will always try to find ways to break down the glass keeping them apart. And that Yixing is smiling, the corners of his mouth stretched wide open, reaching up to the corners of his eyes and making them crinkle. Blinding Joonmyun, washing Yixing out. So Joonmyun closes his eyes and lets his face fall forward, forehead thunking against the glass, the soft thud mirroring on the other side.

He stays there and holds in his breath, listening to Yixing breathe. (some air'd be good for you; suho/lay)

- Baekhyun snorts, wrinkles his nose, shakes his head. Drops one hand to pinch Kyungsoo in his side, then rests the same warm hand on the small of Kyungsoo's back. The harsh white lights wash Baekhyun out for a quick second, blinding Kyungsoo and stunning him, and the next thing he knows Baekhyun's hands are all over him – sliding up his sides, curling around his nape, fingers brushing along the slope of his neck, palms cupping his cheeks and coaxing him to move even closer, to bring their bodies to a nice, perfect fit and their mouths in an inelegant slide of warm, willing skin. Suddenly, it all feels too real – every brush of Baekhyun's skin against his scar-stained limbs, every lick along the cavern of his mouth and every suck on his bottom lip, his tongue, the underside of his jaw. The loud thumping in his chest set to the beating in Baekhyun's own, Baekhyun's pattering pulse on his skin making him shiver all over, making him surrender. Every hitch of Baekhyun's breath when Kyungsoo seals his mouth on Baekhyun's warm skin and sucks a mark there, and another, and another, like he's mapping out a path to their next big destination, the next journey, the next big challenge. And the slow-forming smile on Baekhyun's lips that leaves marks on Kyungsoo's skin as they surface to kiss again, slow and languid, like they have no need for air.

"Still feels surreal?" Baekhyun asks when they part, lips swollen, slick with spit.

Kyungsoo laughs, bright and loud. He can nod, say yes, wave the white flag and surrender, but he can't give in just yet. So he shakes his head and leans in, capturing Baekhyun's lips in another kiss, and another, and another, finally reaching the harbor that he’s long been searching for. And Baekhyun keeps giving, stays in the warm fit of their bodies, dropping anchor once and for all. They are two powerful waves crashing into familiar shores, two powerful waves melding into one and submitting into each other's arms. They are not at the end of a journey – they’ve just begun, just unfolded a new map, ready to tackle new streets, towns, cities that seem oddly familiar, sort of like there’s a piece of them to be recovered from every place they’re just about to discover.

They are home. (here’s a map; now let’s get lost together.; baekhyun/kyungsoo)

- He kissed Seokjin. It wasn't anything grand, just a light brush of the lips, a tentative press of skin against Seokjin's damp, warm mouth, but soon Seokjin was tilting his head back, parting his lips, letting him in. Seokjin pulled him even closer until they were chest to chest, racing heartbeats catching up to each other as he was tangling his trembling fingers in Seokjin's hair. Seokjin caught his bottom lip between his teeth and teased it with gentle nips until he was moaning into the furnace of Seokjin's mouth, until he was giving back and licking the back of Seokjin's teeth, making Seokjin shiver. And Seokjin was memorizing every part of him, slipping hands beneath his shirt, skating cool fingers across the expanse of warmth and sucking harder on his lips like Seokjin was mapping out his most vulnerable spots – the corners of his mouth, the sensitive dip of his belly, the skin on his chest where his heartbeat echoed Seokjin's own. The cut on his lips where Seokjin laved his tongue and his only response was to kiss Seokjin deeper, harder.

They weren't the still waves of the sea during winter or the gentle breeze of spring tousling the green grass in the mountains. No – they were the storms of summer rushing to shore. They were the seasons coming together in a violent whip of the winds. They were two forces that were never supposed to meet but reached out for each other in the middle of the sea. They were the category five. They were each other's destruction.

"Less teeth, more tongue," Seokjin whispered, but gave Yoongi's lower lip a light nibble anyway. It was electrifying.

Yoongi laughed, warmth blooming in his chest. There was no turning back now. (these accidents of fate and nature; jin/suga)

Favorite 5 Line(s) from Anywhere:
- "You need your assistant, Nurse Jinri. I–" He looks to his side and fixes his gaze on Baekhyun. I can handle this, he was just about to say, but right now he isn't sure if he can even lay a finger on Baekhyun without thinking how he might break Baekhyun even more. He's tended to his Pokemon's wounds before at least fifty times already, sure, but it's different when you're trying to patch together someone human, much more a friend. It's difficult trying to stitch Baekhyun together, knowing that, in some ways, things will never be the same – he drives a needle through Baekhyun's skin and he'll leave marks there, leave scars, where he'd never touched Baekhyun before. He tends to Baekhyun's wounds and he knows he'll never be able to wash away the feeling of mapping out Baekhyun's skin with the light press of his fingers on Baekhyun's body. He saves Baekhyun right here, right now, and he knows he might not be able to save himself ever again. (here’s a map; now let’s get lost together.; baekhyun/kyungsoo)

- Kyungsoo takes a deep breath. Tries to not let his shoulders rise or his chest puff out for fear of Baekhyun figuring him out. If Baekhyun ever realized how much power he had over Kyungsoo, if he ever found a way to maneuver himself into that tiny, unoccupied vessel in Kyungsoo's heart, well, then, game over. (here’s a map; now let’s get lost together.; baekhyun/kyungsoo)

- In broad daylight, in front of all these people who he might have trained alongside with but have never even seen him lose control, it seems like an innocent gesture, but the upward curl of Baekhyun's lips say otherwise. This is smile number forty-four, Kyungsoo muses, one of those smiles of Baekhyun's that leaves him feeling torn between ripping that look off of Baekhyun's features or just kissing Baekhyun senseless so that Baekhyun learns his lesson. But Baekhyun has way too many tricks up his sleeve that Kyungsoo knows neither how or when to attack, pin Baekhyun down to the floor or to the wall to keep him in place and make him stop. Baekhyun is too fucking unpredictable that all the information that Baekhyun has catalogued at the back of his mind? Those are of no use.

So he takes a deep breath, tries to scour the surface for a nice retort. Something snappy and will make Baekhyun shut up, but will keep him hanging around long enough that Kyungsoo might have start wearing a mask because Baekhyun always gets too close with people. On a normal day, he's touchy at best, but have coughs and colds bring him down and he'll cling to the person closest to him like a cute little koala.

Kyungsoo's hardly the closest thing, but he's convenient. Doesn't move around too much because that requires so much effort and because Baekhyun always smells nice. A combination of mint and cucumber and melon. With a dash of trouble to taste. (notice me; baekhyun/kyungsoo)

- How can you be so sure that I do, he wants to ask, but then Lu Han's wearing that smile, just a small upward curl of the lip that makes the question he'd just posed more of a statement than an inquiry. Good for you, he almost says – it took Lu Han just a few hours of watching him and Yixing run around in circles, took Lu Han just an afternoon to know that whatever it was that they shared, it wasn't your usual friendship. They can't be the type of friends who'd hold hands just because they feel like it, or the type who'd brush their lips to the back of the other's ear as a show of moral support. Can't be the type of friends who'd curl up in the couch after a long day and fall asleep in each other's arms, expecting to wake up in the morning not feeling a weird, lurching sensation at the pit of their stomach. It's ridiculous. Who even spends hours upon hours sharing both pieces of themselves and a weird, comforting kind of silence with each other without at least hoping to feel a stronger, deeper connection? Who the hell even leans a bit too close for a kiss but holds back at the very last minute and expects to not fall in love? (some air'd be good for you; suho/lay)

- Moments breed memories and memories breed bonds. (you make my heart beat (faster); jin/suga)

Top 5 Scenes from Anywhere You Would Choose to Have Illustrated:
- Joonmyun and Yixing's tragic first kiss in "some air'd be good for you"
- the battles against Minseok, Jino, and Yura in "here’s a map; now let’s get lost together."
- the kabedon scene in "challenge the call"
- the entire scene in Seokjin's house in "you make my heart beat (faster)" (I call this the 'Butterfly sequence' in my outline)
- the actual pitch scene in "you make my heart beat (faster)"

New year's resolutions:
- No more advent thinggies, really. Just pinch and write for yourself, Ree!

☆ ☆ ☆

Word Count Totals:

→ total finished, posted fic: 1080307 words, 31 fics, 2 original works
→ longest posted fic: here’s a map; now let’s get lost together., 326000 words

→ total number of words written: 1080307 words
→ percentage of fics started and completed in 2015: 83.78%, 31 out of 37 fics

→ wip word count total: break of serve (suho/kai; 52000+ words)
→ longest wip: break of serve (suho/kai; 52000+ words)

Characters (posted fic only):

→ most common narrator: Kyungsoo (6 fics, 19.35%) (POV breakdown)
→ most common pairing: Suga/Jin (6 fics, 19.35%) (pairing breakdown)

list of completed stories:
january (79763 words)
start (of something new)
just say yes
oh, the things we invent (when we are scared and want to be rescued)

february (126395 words)
「シャッターチャンスは一度だけ」 (there's only one chance to take a picture)

march (17100 words)
you will never sleep alone

may (97287 words)
notice me
some air'd be good for you

june (326000 words)
here’s a map; now let’s get lost together.

july (16163 words)
can't fight this feeling
take me in, take me deeper
kiss quick

august (1090 words)
little loves

october (37072)
these accidents of fate and nature
head first and no regrets
not seeing the rest of you is getting the best of me
the moment i wake up
untitled
i look into the mirror and i see us
i found you in the gaps between my fingers
arester
alley-oop
inch by inch, we're moving closer
don't be wasting your time (on your own)
friends should sleep in other beds
WILD

november (108885 words)
challenge the call
TM 47

december (142267 words)
you know i'm such a fool for you
running from the heart's responsibilities
no one fucks it up like us
you make my heart beat (faster) (i wrote 60% of this fic before 2015 ended)

list of wips (not necessarily over 50%):
break of serve (suho/kai; 52000+ words)

bts: someday, we might

onyu — Mon, 11 Jan 2016 06:24:26 GMT

someday, we might
— Rap Monster/J-Hope. PG-13. 5239 words.
— When Yoongi said before that he would do everything to ruin Namjoon's life after Namjoon had 'gifted' him with a year-long membership in the gym that the 'object of Yoongi's wildest and kinkiest desires' frequented, Namjoon didn't think Yoongi was actually serious.
— Written for elfscouts 2015. Originally posted HERE.

☆ title taken from The 1975's 'fallingforyou'. many thanks to m for the consult and the quick beta! i owe you coffee ♥

When Yoongi said before that he would do everything to ruin Namjoon's life after Namjoon had 'gifted' him with a year-long membership in the gym that the 'object of Yoongi's wildest and kinkiest desires' frequented, Namjoon didn't think Yoongi was actually serious.

'Serious' meaning Yoongi dragging his own ass out of bed just so he could sign Namjoon up for a dating service and actually take time to fill out the form without bugging Namjoon for information. 'Serious' meaning Yoongi making time to sort through a long list of people who'd already liked Namjoon's profile just three hours after Yoongi had made it for him. "You're a hit among school boys," Yoongi yelled over his shoulder, and Namjoon's solemn response was to raise his middle finger in the air as he busied his other hand with typing the rest of the script. He had to send it off to Joonmyun for approval at four in the afternoon. It was already two. Joonmyun was going to kill him if he ever screwed up, but Yoongi was probably going to stage an even more painful death if he didn't listen to Yoongi's live commentary of the 'hits' Namjoon's dating profile was getting. "There's 'victorysecs' and 'parkyoutoo' from the same uni, then some... kid who looks way too young for a thirty-year-old like you, so nope. There's a 'bendyboy69' who seems to be pretty eager to talk to you, though. Hasn't stopped sending messages since–"

"Not interested. I don't want to know. And don't even describe how the guy looks. I don't care," Namjoon murmured, then waved Yoongi off. He dropped his raised hand back to his keyboard and rephrased another sentence. He was going to host a wedding, not an honor's convocation or an official government function or something. He made a mental note to send Joonmyun an email, saying, 'Unless the wedding you're organizing is an event involving the heads of state, you probably shouldn't say you would like to acknowledge the presence of our esteemed primary sponsors.' "And what the hell is that username even? Bendywhat?"

"Boy with a 'y', not 'i'," Seokjin called out, then reached over to fluff the tuft of Namjoon's hair. Namjoon shivered. On most days, he liked Seokjin enough to just speed walk past Seokjin and his flatmate making out on the couch, but when Seokjin and Yoongi were combining powers to plot Namjoon's ultimate destruction ("We're doing your dick a favor, okay. God knows it's all wrinkly and shriveled up already." "Excuse me! It is not–" "Of course, he'd know, honey," Seokjin had said, then offered Namjoon a solemn pat on the back. "Nice to know you're making an effort to keep the forest alive."), he hated Seokjin more than anything else in the world, Yoongi included. And that said a lot. "Come on, it could have been worse with an 'i'."

"I don't know you," Namjoon groaned. He hit the 'save' button faster than he could chuck a pillow at Yoongi. Or Seokjin. Or maybe he should throw something at the evil duo. That would make his life ten times better for the next two minutes. A brief respite from the two would do. "I do not know you. Why are we friends again?"

Seokjin shrugged. Beside him, Yoongi called out, "We're friends? I thought you didn't know us. How can we be friends when we don't even know each other?"

Namjoon heaved a sigh. It was only two in the afternoon and the event he was set to host was at six.

It was going to be a long day.

♥ ♥ ♥

Either the world hated him or the world really hated him – Namjoon had come to that conclusion a long, long time ago. It began when he met Yoongi back in university, during one of their sound classes. Yoongi was what some people would call a 'musical genius' – he could play the piano, the guitar, some obscure instrument Namjoon didn't even know existed, could even play with people's minds. And Yoongi was pretty good with words. The problem was that Yoongi didn't have rhythm in his lyrics, and apparently – or at least their sound professor thought – Namjoon was the best person who could fix Yoongi's lack of rhythm and somehow turn beautiful lines into meaningful lyrics. Namjoon was the best person to commiserate with Yoongi and Yoongi was, in turn, the person who could offer the best pats on the back and muted sympathy in the slow bob of his head as he said, Yeah, totally. I understand, and groveled over their lackluster music together.

Apparently, that also meant Namjoon having to decode Yoongi's thoughts and emotions by reading the lyrics he wrote and listening to the music he composed at least five times. It meant many sleepless nights filled with frustration and realizations. It meant... Namjoon having to help Yoongi coax those feelings out and translate them into words because the mofo wasn't comfortable enough stating emotions for what they were. The whole 'dealing with Yoongi thing' was difficult at first, primarily because Yoongi was a prick and deliberately made Namjoon's life hard by bombarding him with thoughts, concepts, ideas, but reading Yoongi became ten times easier as time went on. It had to get easier somewhere along the way, else Namjoon would have tapped out at the first opportunity and given up on understanding Yoongi completely.

Yoongi never gave up on him, though, stuck with him through the toughest challenges – in university, during internship, in all of the weird and twisted flings that they never knew they had because they were drunk off their asses half the time, and even as they moved from one employer to another. They'd started out in the same industry, but eventually took two different paths – Yoongi producing music for idols and for public consumption, and Namjoon playing those hit songs on the radio. So it made sense, didn't it, for Namjoon to say 'yes' to Yoongi the very few times that Yoongi asked for a favor? It made sense for him to actually agree to meet up with the guy – not 'bendyboy69', thank God – since the wedding got called off at the very last second because the bride had run off at midnight of the day of the wedding?

"I know it sounds like something straight off of a telenovela and an excuse to not pay you, but it isn't," Joonmyun had clarified over the phone earlier. Then, heaving a sigh, he added, "I'll make it up to you over coffee. You don't have anything planned tonight, right?"

Namjoon had reconsidered. He could use Joonmyun as an excuse to bail out of his 'date', but between refusing free coffee and facing Yoongi's disappointed face for the next few hours, turning down Joonmyun's offer was the better option. So he said 'no, maybe some other time,' and hung up on Joonmyun even before he could think of thunking his head on his equalizer. Poor knobs. Poor sound equipment. Poor him.

"Sorry for being late," said the man at the doorstep of Namjoon's little studio in the radio station. He bowed slightly before looking up to meet Namjoon in the eye, before stepping inside even if Namjoon had already opened the door for him. Namjoon had tried to ward off the man by telling him through the dating app – "I still can't believe you didn't reply to him until... two hours after," Seokjin had said, "All it takes is a few keystrokes." "The app was lagging, okay," Namjoon reasoned, but Yoongi was quick to mutter under his breath, 'your brain's lagging, yeah'. "Why don't people just text each other or something? Why do you even need mobile messengers? Do you have– His number should be in his bio thingie, right? Right?" – that he was 'kinda caught up in work' in his studio in Hapjeong, but the man didn't seem to mind, only replied with a smiley and a message that read, 'No prob. Send me your address? Or are you planning to make me go on some treasure hunt to keep things interesting?' Namjoon's first thought was I can't believe the asshole actually included that in my bio, can't believe he made an effort to make me sound cool. On a dating app or site or whatever. His second, I can't believe the guy in the picture and the guy right in front of me are actually real. "The directions to your studio were actually very clear, but–"

Namjoon gulped hard. The man was holding up two paper bags right in front of him, putting more space between them. It smelled faintly of the rough commute and smoke and yummy bibimbap. It smelled faintly of... hope.

"I promise they're good. And I remembered the extra yellow radish," said the man, then winked. "Made sure to double-check your profile. Nice touch to the bio, by the way. Makes you even cuter."

Namjoon snorted, but for the most part it sounded like a really ugly gurgle. He made a mental note drink as much water as he could as soon as they got settled down. He made a mental note to thank Yoongi after strangling him after this date-slash-poor attempt at pushing away someone he'd met in a dating site. And then, almost an afterthought – to stop grinning at the man when he caught his reflection in the mirror of the sound booth.

"Thanks," he whispered, then shut the door behind him. He made sure to click the lock and leaned back against the door as he watched the man make himself comfortable in his cozy little studio. It was strangely comforting.

You're not so bad, yourself.

♥ ♥ ♥

Namjoon should really stop calling the man' sk8erb0123' in his head.

To be fair, the man – Hoseok, Jung Hoseok, Namjoon had to keep reminding himself – kept calling him 'sapmonster' the first five minutes they spent waltzing around each other. "My friend's idea, not mine. And I told him not to go with my radio handle– Wait, wait, it's not actually my radio name. It's a really, really bad variation of it and–" Namjoon had reasoned then, and Hoseok only rolled his eyes in response and mouthed what seemed to be 'whatever, still cute, also pretty cool that you're actually doing radio stuff'. It could have been anything, though. Hoseok's mouth was stuffed with food and he seemed neither uncomfortable nor fazed by it. If anything, it was the gochujang sticking his lower lip that made Hoseok feel uneasy, if the way he kept twisting his mouth was any indicator of it. But for the most part–

Hoseok seemed to be completely at home in Namjoon's little studio, enough that he was sitting cross-legged on the computer chair.

Hoseok seemed to not be as disturbed as Seokjin was by the chaos sprawled all over Namjoon's work station.

Hoseok still seemed to find something peculiar or new about the studio even if it was the fifth, sixth time he'd looked around with squinted eyes and a curl of wonder tugging up at the corners of his lips. "I've never been to a music studio before," Hoseok began, pausing to swallow down whatever food was still left in his mouth, then cleared his throat. "And not once in my life have I ever met a radio jock before, but I never knew–"

"That jocks were into using dating apps?" Namjoon laughed. Hoseok's face scrunched up in thoughtless response and wow, that was really cute. Cuter that the kitten that Yoongi and Seokjin had recently adopted. Cuter than the intern who had recently taken a liking to working exclusively with Namjoon and bringing Namjoon coffee when he needed it most. Cuter than all the pictures Hoseok had in the app. They were supposedly the best he had in his arsenal. In Hoseok's defense, though, he'd posted workout photos and picture where he was either halfway through doing a dance step or halfway through taking off his shirt that stuck to his skin because of sweat. Not cute, but definitely hot. They had the same effect on Namjoon, though – they made him scream to the gods above, How the hell do I tell Yoongi that I hate this guy's face now? Why must life be so cruel to people like me? Why must this be the life I've been born to live? "Told you, it was my friend's–"

"Idea, yeah, I know. That's what I've been telling everyone for the past six months, until–" Hoseok shook his head. Slowly, he wiped the sauce off the corners of his lips with his thumb and licked its tip before sucking on it. Half of Namjoon wanted to yell himself hoarse and do hysterics and leave the studio in a mad dash, run straight to the flat he shared with Yoongi, and strangle his friend 'til Yoongi passed out in a fit of laughter. The other half of him, possibly the less sane between the two, wanted to lean in and lick the remaining sauce off of Hoseok's lips, instead. Both weren't really good ideas, but since when did Namjoon get the best ideas when he wasn't working on his music or running his radio program? Since when was he able to maneuver his heart the same way he was able to control his mind? "I mean, I never knew studios were actually this cool and... packed? Completely unlike the studios and booths you see in dramas. Those are always extra... I dunno, they seem... rigid or something. Like, if those were booths for news radio programs then fine, be serious and all. But the booths in shows just lack... personality."

Cool. Namjoon's insides lurched. His mouth quirked up a little, completely out of his volition. The last time he heard anyone call a studio and being a jock cool was... back in university, where everyone wanted to either produce music or make sure they rest of South Korea heard those beautiful beats. The drought in appreciation for the profession dwindled after graduation. It had shocked him at first, but after his first six months and first three failures as a drive-by jock in many different programs he'd already grown accustomed to taking the profession for what it was – a marketing tool, something to bolster idols to fame. Not an art.

He gulped hard. Hoseok didn't need to know that, though. What the hell did people do on their first date? Namjoon had no idea whatsoever; all the had in the past was one drunken hook up after another that never evolved into relationships.

"Booths are never that neat and organized, lemme tell you," Namjoon said after a while. He looked to his side, at the piles of papers on his workstation, then at the messy tangle of cords and cables on the other side of the booth where recordings were done. 'Personality' – that was it. The mess all around them was what made the studio so uniquely Namjoon. "I mean, sure, we're supposed to clean up after we board and stuff, take our scripts with us and all, but when you have the next set of jocks ready to board in a minute because the next show's supposed to start already, it's just... everything's just chaotic? Too many people in the booth, too many print outs of spiels lying around. Too much noise–"

"Music, I think you mean music," Hoseok offered, then nudged Namjoon a little in his side. There was a peculiar glint in Hoseok's eyes that, Namjoon was pretty certain, was supposed to be illegal. Strangers who wanted nothing but his body weren't supposed to be this attractive and endearing. It wasn't fair. "Or sound. Too many layers of sound in one song makes the whole thing sound... weird and chaotic."

Namjoon's breath hitched. You did not just call my mess 'music'. Who the hell even does that? he wanted to say, but instead he murmured, "Yeah, that." A heartbeat, then, "It's pretty complicated, but–"

"Tell me about it, then?" Hoseok said, voice lilting as he inched closer and propped his chin on his clasped hands. Half of Namjoon was concerned that Hoseok was going to lose balance and topple over, but the other half of him was worried that there was too little distance between them, that they were too close, too intimate. First dates weren't supposed to go like this, but then he had to be the worst judge of that.

Maybe it was time to change that.

"I mean, your job, producing music for broadcast and working with all sorts of sound directors when you board, so I can live vicariously through 'multi-awarded radio jock Kim 'Rap Monster' Namjoon'?" Hoseok leaned back a little, inched away, and Namjoon's immediate response was to choke on his own breath. "How does that sound?"

Dangerous, Namjoon was tempted to say, but he pushed that thought further back until the right words surfaced to his lips. He took a deep breath, nodded, and whispered to life, don't you dare cockblock me this time. "Fun."

♥ ♥ ♥

In all three decades of Namjoon's life, he had had many different definitions of 'fun'. The most common was probably diving into his bed after a long day in the studio or hosting too many events, both of which involved dealing with too many people and being zapped of all his energy. Another was waking up to the scent of Seokjin's cooking and of Yoongi's extra-strong coffee instead of to soft knocking on the door of his studio (courtesy of the kind security guards who knew he considered his studio his second home), reminding him that it was one in the morning, he was supposed to be home already and no longer working, and that shit, he should have sent the mastered music tracks to 'insert name of current demon of a client here' hours ago. Then, underlined thrice, seeing client approval emails flooding his inbox and the words 'you may pick up your check tomorrow' smiling at him in big, bold characters.

A new addition had to be going through his entire history as a radio jock and not feeling guilty about 'wasting Hoseok's time' talking about his humble beginnings because every single detail he'd dropped was met with a gentle bob of the head, a bright smile, a faint 'wow' that was more visible in the glimmer in Hoseok's eyes.

"You had to what?" Hoseok blurted out, face scrunching as he leaned even closer. Namjoon laughed a little and shifted in his seat, then flexed his fingers. It was funny the first few times, seeing Hoseok react to every single thing ("Y'know, I tried editing music before but the hell? You need to be able to read sound waves to do that properly? And wha– Okay, if this were dancing then I'd probably be ace already and I'll have to hold your hand through the whole thing but why do you even need to know where the faintest noise in the sound is? It doesn't make sense, but it does, but–") but after a while it had become more... endearing. He was so used to seeing people already accustomed to him magically trimming two whole minutes from a five-minute song. He was so, so used to hearing people pass off mastering sound and making music 'meatier' by adding more layers of instrumentals to it already. Making and selling music were already 'normal' and everyday things to him that he'd long lost the wonder he had for the many magical things that music was able to do to him, like breathing color into his otherwise insipid existence. And now Hoseok was performing tricks on him – simple tricks, but effective enough to coax him to keep talking, to dig up stories from his past and bare himself to Hoseok little by little. "So the extra layer of guitar in the band's latest track... that was the suggestion you made to the producers to improve the music?"

"Well, it was a minor fix–"

"A minor fix that helped the band sell millions of copies of their debut single, right. No biggie. Anyone can do that. You don't have to be a 'Kim Namjoon' to do something as amazing as that, of course." Hoseok rolled his eyes. He reached over, tapped a beat on the bridge of Namjoon's nose, then gave it a light pinch. "You should give yourself more credit, you know. Not everyone can produce music. People make sounds, yes, but music? Sounds that actually tell a story?" He laughed. It was low and rough, though, unlike most of Hoseok's laughs. Not that Namjoon had been trying to create a catalogue in his mind, but Hoseok sort of made it easy to focus, to tune out the noise and to just listen to the music of his voice. "It takes passion to create that. Passion and years of hard work and talent."

That I didn't think I had for the longest time because, y'know, we're made to think we're never good enough to be top-class producers, Namjoon groaned to himself. It was a small voice, though, faint enough that he could ignore it if he wanted to. He could push it down if he just made an effort to gulp hard, clear his throat, brush off the thought, but it was something that had been ingrained in him since his first day in university. Whether or not to push him – them, every single person who dreamt of producing music that could transcend languages and races and ages – hard until he was at breaking point, until he could break free from his own doubts and finally flap his wings, he wasn't certain. All he knew for sure was that old habits died hard, and his habit of continuously pounding his own hard work to the ground even if part of him believed it was outstanding already was going to gnaw at him, eat him up, and spit him out a complete mess.

He laughed to himself. He could feel his lips trembling. It probably wasn't the best first impression and he was probably much, much closer to driving Hoseok away now, but hey – the sooner he found out whether or not Hoseok was willing to stay and live with whoever he was, the sooner he could move on to the next person, then the next, then the next.

So you can hurt yourself again. Very wise, Namjoon. Really wise move. Thirty-something and still fucking yourself up. Screw feelings and emotions and attachments. Screw finding someone he could finally connect with, someone who actually showed interest in more than his long fingers and his dick. This was why he preferred casual hookups over dates. This was why he'd been attached to nothing but his own dreams in all three decades of his existence.

"Don't even try to deny that," came Hoseok's voice, calm yet firm, warm yet with sharp edges meant to tear down Namjoon's walls. And Namjoon was the weakest when he was tired from work, when all the wanted to do was to curl up in bed with his pillows and rest. "You know, your bio should have come with a warning–"

"About me being a drama queen? Sure, that would attract people. That would be perfect," Namjoon mumbled. He could feel bubbles of laughter spilling from the corners of his lips, but they felt more like acid trying to score lines and scars on his skin. "Leave, then, if it bothers you so much. Just– Walk away now while you still can–"

Hoseok snorted. He pulled away just a little and stared, his eyes tracing the contours of Namjoon's features. It was a bit unsettling and Namjoon could feel insides turning, but soon Hoseok was breaking the spell with a pinch to the tip of Namjoon's nose. Then Hoseok was leaning in, moving much, much closer until their foreheads bumped. From this distance, with nothing but the hitch of the breath between them, Namjoon could make out how Hoseok's bangs just brushed over Hoseok's eyelids, hiding some of the little red dots on his forehead, could make out how long Hoseok's eyelashes were, and how Hoseok couldn't–wouldn't stop nibbling his lower lip like he was trying to buy himself time – to think, to string his words together, to collect himself because Namjoon had a habit of breaking things, people, and never putting them back together. "'I stick to people like a fucking leech', that's what my profile said," Hoseok whispered after a while, then he was craning his neck and pressing a soft kiss to the crown of Namjoon's hair. What am I, a kid? Namjoon wanted to ask, but Hoseok was warm and the fit of their bodies felt... night. It felt right. "So if you're thinking of getting rid of me after telling me all those then sorry, you'll have to do better than that."

Namjoon froze. He took a deep, shaky breath, gulped hard in an effort to ease the tightness in his throat, but to no avail – the crippling sensation had already crept to his chest, making it grow heavier. Was it because Hoseok had a hand on his chest, or because Hoseok was pulling away little by little only to press a kiss to his forehead? Namjoon wasn't sure. The last time anyone ever held him like this was when he went home for Christmas and gave his grandmother a notebook filled with handwritten lyrics of songs he would never let anyone else hear.

That was five years ago. The last hook up he had was around that time, shortly after Yoongi stopped hitting bars with him and started penning songs for Seokjin, instead. He couldn't even remember the names of half of the people he'd found himself sneaking into some secluded place with, and maybe that was what made this, what made Hoseok, feel much more real – the fact that Namjoon didn't need to feel around blindly in the dark for a semblance of companionship, and the fact that Hoseok kept pulling him closer even if Namjoon's body language was screaming, go away, go away, go away because the moment I cling onto you, Jung Hoseok, I swear to God I'm not letting go–

"Like what, kill you?" he asked after a while, when the felt the thundering pulse at the base of his throat come to a gradual calm. Not for too long, though, because the next thing he knew Hoseok was laughing on his skin, the vibrations bleeding onto the back of his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, the corners of his mouth where Namjoon could slowly feel a violent tug maneuvering his lips into a smile. The tightness in his chest hadn't eased yet, but there was warmth blooming across his skin, coaxing the little loose nerves in his body to fall back into place. "Skin you alive and take away everything that matters to you–"

"Try again," Hoseok said, then shook his head. Namjoon could feel the slow-forming smile on Hoseok's lips burning on his skin. He found himself nodding in thoughtless response. 'Again' sounded really, really nice. "Try again."

("Would you... want to see a real, live broadcast sometime?" Namjoon asked much later, as they made their way to where Hoseok had parked his car. The streets were covered in snow and it probably wasn't the best idea to walk three blocks in only two layers of clothing ("I can't believe you actually get out of your house in just– Whatever. We can split gloves and you can have my bonnet, but you'll have to return those sometime. Those are my favorites. So you'll really have to–" "Yeah, I get it. You can't live without them." And yet you're lending them to me.), but the fit of Hoseok's fingers between his own in his pocket kept him warm enough to not freeze out in the open. "If you're free, at least. I mean, I can only imagine how crazy teaching dance to kid can be and–"

Hoseok stopped in his tracks. He looked to his side, furrowed his eyebrows, tilted his head. Gripped Namjoon tighter until Namjoon could feel the quickening pulse on Hoseok's palm. If this was code for 'what the actual' fuck then Namjoon was pretty damn proud for being able to decipher that even if they'd only met a few hours ago. Through a dating site or application or Yoongi's evil plans gone right. If not, then–

"Only if I get to board with you."

Namjoon bit the inside of his cheek. He probably looked stupid with the weird grin on his lips. But then, so did Hoseok.

"Deal.")

「おまけ」

"I can't believe you're even more gross than I am."

Namjoon looked over his shoulder and waved his hand, shooing Yoongi away. He made it a point to check and double-check if he looked presentable enough to people in the mirror before leaving for work, but today wasn't any other work day. It was the first day of his program running for three hours instead of the usual two. He was going to have SNSD on his show to promote their new album. Tablo was coming over for a visit, as well, which actually meant Namjoon getting to spend at least ten minutes on air with one of the greatest music icons he'd ever come to know. Maybe he could ask for an autograph and a special video greeting for one of his nieces during commercial break. Maybe he could even... ask Tablo if he was interested in a collaboration. Or maybe he should just answer his phone that had been buzzing in his jeans pocket for a good six, seven seconds now.

He was boarding with Hoseok on the second hour of his show, as well, and they'd prepared a special number that they'd been working on the entire week. So instead of slipping into his usual threadbare shirt and loose coat, he pulled on a sweater, then a cardigan, then topped off the ensemble with a coat thick enough to get him through even the coldest of Seoul temperatures in winter.

He deliberately tossed the gloves he'd stuffed in his coat pocket earlier back in his drawer, though, and instead took two scarves. There were some things that he could live without, and Hoseok's warmth wasn't one of them.

Another: the smile that bloomed on Hoseok's lips whenever Namjoon forgot to return his things but remembered to give something of his own, instead.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there," he said into the receiver when he drew his phone close to his lips, then shut the door behind him. Made a beeline for the front door even before Yoongi and Seokjin could call after him, keep us posted on the post-boarding sex! It was going to be a long and tiring day, but that was alright. He had music to get him through the crazy hours. He had the promise of another date, and another, and another, (and good cooking to come home to because Yoongi and Seokjin actually knew how to take care of him, especially in winter) to make his day better.

He had Hoseok. So maybe it was going to be a distracting day at work and it was probably going to be hell trying to keep his hands to himself, but hey – he didn't mind. Some people were worth going through hell. Hoseok was worth the long and sweet wait.

bts: you make my heart beat (faster)

onyu — Mon, 11 Jan 2016 06:19:28 GMT

you make my heart beat (faster)
— Suga/Jin. PG-13. 124347 words.
— Everything's going too fast. One step forward, and Seokjin's tendering his resignation from a company he's been servicing for eight years. Two steps, and he's going out for interviews, reviewing a job offer, signing a contract, on the first bus to Sallim-dong. Three steps, and he finds himself trapped in an elevator with an ex who ran away from him years ago and with his faith in humanity in tow.

Enter the agency's Chief Creative Officer, and everything slows the fuck down. (Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption and minor characters making out under the influence (completely consensual, though), mentions of minor character death, mentions of family issues and self-destructive tendencies in the past. Please take these warnings seriously.)

— Written for elfscouts 2015.

☆ hi nini! so initially, i was hoping to make this fic a combination of around 3-4 of the first meeting prompts, but somewhere between me plotting things out and crying over yoonjin, i... sorta... got carried away with one of the first meeting prompts. haha ;; that said, i really hope you enjoy this! i recommend keeping a box of tissues on standby because some parts may be hella #relatable. i tried not to be obvious, but oh well. /yoongishrug.gif #swag #thuglyfe

also, despite all the warnings, rest assured that 1) 95% of the fic is fun and games; and 2) the fic ends happily!

as always, thank you to the gang for always cheering me on, for the support, for lending an ear whenever i needed someone to work out plot points with. to c, for the beta work and consults and for generally being such great support, thank you so much! lastly, many thanks to z and s for letting me throw chunks of this fic at them on the regular. your squeals and screams are my delight. i love you!

☆ an accompanying playlist is HERE, and the ending song is HERE.

exo: you know i'm such a fool for you

onyu — Mon, 07 Dec 2015 03:37:58 GMT

you know i'm such a fool for you
— Chanyeol/Kyungsoo. PG-13. 5251 words.
— "You're taking Sound Prod for Theatre next term, right?"

"I thought we were taking Cinema Sound?" Chanyeol huffed. "We agreed on that ages ago!”

We? Kyungsoo swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. Two terms into their friendship and he still hadn't grown accustomed to Chanyeol assuming that his plans were also Kyungsoo's own. Which was probably stupid because they'd agreed to room with each other come sophomore year, which was in a little over a month.

— Alternatively: The problem with the whole 'getting too intimate' thing isn't that everything's happening too fast. It's that it's happening with Chanyeol, and Chanyeol's the last person Kyungsoo would want to push away if he ever felt that things were beginning to feel too real. (Warnings: kissing and making out under the influence of alcohol and, potentially, drugs)

— Written for kabexodon 2015. Originally posted HERE.

Three days ago, when Chanyeol walked up to him (more like ambushed him in his room after being pointedly told, I'm always busy, I'm forever busy) for what seemed to be the millionth time since Baekhyun's birthday bash-slash-massive drinking fest–slash–the biggest mistake of a party Kyungsoo has ever been to in years to ask if they could meet for lunch this coming Wednesday, in the basketball courts, I'll take care of the food; just show up. I'm serious, Kyungsoo made a long list of reasons why he should and shouldn't take the ten-minute walk from the Arts building to the sports complex on the biggest piece of paper he could find lying around. On the left, in the 'why I should show the fuck up' column, he'd written down: it's free lunch, who even says 'no' to that? Chanyeol won't stop capitalizing on every window of opportunity just so they could sort things out, so if Kyungsoo wants to live a peaceful life up until the end of senior year then say 'yes' to the food, Kyungsoo, please. It's just lunch. How hard could that be? And Chanyeol really was drunk to the bone that time, two weeks ago, when they'd shuffled to the far end of the couch and Chanyeol decided that it was probably normal for roommates to get a bit too intimate, for him to splay his fingers on Kyungsoo's stomach, for him to lean in too close until his mouth was on Kyungsoo's own. They'd both had one too many shots and bottles of beer already for them to even think straight. They'd just come from their communications theory midterms that time. They were both tired. And Kyungsoo kissed him back, tongue grazing the back of Chanyeol's teeth until he tasted the sick mix of tequila and brandy on Chanyeol's tongue. So really, if Kyungsoo had any intention of living through the whole encounter without a clawing sensation in his chest everytime Chanyeol looked at him differently when they passed each other in the corridor the following day then he should have just let Chanyeol kiss him until their jaws were sore and their mouths we swollen. They could have let the alcohol do the talking and submitted themselves to the allure of liquor. It wouldn't have meant a thing. They would have been okay.

But Kyungsoo had to pull away at the very last second, just before Chanyeol slipped his hands beneath Kyungsoo's shirt, and come back with an entire tray of shots, glasses filled to the brim. He matched every single focused gaze Chanyeol threw at him with a shot of tequila, or whiskey, or whatever it was that Baekhyun had poured for him. He set the tray between them when Chanyeol shifted in his seat so he was facing Kyungsoo and not the television showing Adventure Time in the loudest, most obnoxious volume ever. Chanyeol kept fishing for moments when they could talk, creating opportunities for himself, setting himself up for failure, and Kyungsoo kept ignoring them like the plague (along with the sinking sensation at the pit of his stomach – again, alcohol at work).

So on the list of cons to showing up, in no particular order: it's Chanyeol making lunch for him and he knows better than to trust Chanyeol not to go overboard with spices that might kill his stomach. They were – and still are, albeit not as obvious because they haven't exchanged words save for 'there's food in the fridge' and 'dibs on the shower' – living in the same dorm, separated only by little room but pulled together by the same common area, after all. Meeting in the basketball court means having to deal with a bunch of noisy players. Chanyeol makes it easy to focus on nothing, nobody else but him, with or without Chanyeol's tongue stuck down his throat. Last but not the least, underlined at least twice: Kyungsoo still can't get the way Chanyeol kept whispering Kyungsoo's name like a prayer that time, when it was cold all around them but their mouths were hot and heavy against each other, out of his mind.

"You're so fucked," Kyungsoo says to himself, then rips the paper into shreds. It makes his senses tingle as much as it calms him down. With a deep breath, he pushes himself off his bed and counts down to his untimely demise. At least he can be sure Chanyeol will attend his funeral. Chanyeol has always been there for him, after all.

He met Chanyeol back in freshman year, when both of them were still fumbling fools dashing from one class to another, too scared to come in late even for just a minute or two. There weren't too many people in Music Production and only a handful of them were freshmen, so it made sense for them to stick with each other – Chanyeol and Kyungsoo, the composer and the singer, the one who could make sense out of notes that weren't the ones on the board and the one who could find the right words for Chanyeol's tunes at any given time. Once, for Sound Design class, they had to come up with an entire verse of beats, and somehow Kyungsoo was the only one who found it easy to fill Chanyeol's music with lyrics.

"Because I'm so damn predictable and you know I totally took inspiration from Something Corporate. I mean, I've had 'em on loop the entire week. They're still stuck in my head, right here–" Chanyeol had said, then cracked his neck at the same time that he stretched out his arms in front of him. The veins at the back of his hands were strained, maybe even howling in pain, and the rest of Chanyeol's features looked more zombie than human, but there was no denying the lilts of his voice, the bubbles of laughter that were slowly making their way up his throat, ready for a clumsy enunciation. He sounded vaguely amused at the whole sound I.D.-ing thing. That, and he seemed to be getting excited again at the thought of one other person fawning over the same obscure band. It had been endearing the first few days, Kyungsoo mused, when they found out they'd been following the same band since 1998. After a while, the amusement had weaned off, turned into a reassuring knowledge that if anyone ever shit on SoCo, Kyungsoo would be able to trust Chanyeol to back him up or convince people that the band was at least worth listening to.

"You've had them on loop in your mind since you were born," Kyungsoo murmured thumbing through his notes. "Or since they were born. Whatever." He scratched the back of his nape, pressed down on it with his fingers until he could feel the tension lifting a little. Sound Theory was easier understood through application and not by sifting through readings from a professor who couldn't even remember that instrumentals, when paired with recorded vocals, must at least be 10 decibels lower than the main vocals. Basic shit. Kyungsoo learned about it from Chanyeol; Chanyeol learned how to be extra careful about it because Kyungsoo kept nudging him in his side whenever he made the mistake of having both sound layers at the same volume level. At least Chanyeol was blasting one of McMahon's project bands' music, though. That made studying sound rules and wave anatomy much more bearable. "You're taking Sound Prod for Theatre next term, right?"

"I thought we were taking Cinema Sound?" Chanyeol huffed. "We agreed on that ages ago!"

We? Kyungsoo swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. Two terms into their friendship and he still hadn't grown accustomed to Chanyeol assuming that his plans were also Kyungsoo's own. Which was probably stupid because they'd agreed to room with each other come sophomore year, which was in a little over a month. And that said a lot because while Chanyeol was a magnet for people, problematic or otherwise, he only let a select few into his life – Baekhyun, Jongdae, the genius transfer student-slash-composer from Changsha called 'Yixing', then a senior of theirs whom Baekhyun and Jongdae were always seen following around for 'free lessons'. If Chanyeol were a concert then everyone would get tickets to general admission, but only few would gain access to the patron areas and the backstage where Chanyeol was a bit more human and less of the vessel of warmth that he made himself out to be in front of everyone.

Kyungsoo got a patron seat for free and backstage access, to boot. He didn't even go to concerts that often.

"You can apply the same learnings to cinema sound, though."

"Noooo." Chanyeol huffed. "There are modules specific to cinema. You said we'll do cinema stuff together because no one else can master sound the way you do." He looked like a kid who was seconds away from throwing a tantrum. Or an adult who was fast realizing how unfair life was and how could his closest friend in university forget their agreement? If it were anybody else, Kyungsoo would just roll his eyes in response, but this was Chanyeol, Chanyeol who had decided on their first day in school that they absolutely had to be friends, Chanyeol who'd rewritten Kyungsoo's bad, bad reputation with keeping friends for more than five months because Kyungsoo was shit at communication sometimes, and some of his friends wanted to be in touch with him all the time.

Five months. That was two more than his previous friendship back in high school. Not that Kyungsoo had been counting; Chanyeol just made it easy to notice how time sped by so fast, how twenty-four hours in a day weren't enough to dissect Chanyeol's many layers and note down his findings on him. Chanyeol made everything feel like a piece of cake – packing a year's worth of readings and memorabilia in little boxes, dragging them up the stairs because the elevators were out of commission, doing a test run of the whole 'cohabitation thing' and sleeping on a rolled out sleeping bag with Chanyeol's chest warm and heaving in a steady rhythm against Kyungsoo's back, muscles tense, shaking, too aware.

"You promised," Chanyeol finished, bottom lip jutting out in accord. Part of Kyungsoo wanted to shove his readings in Chanyeol's face, but part of him wanted to lean closer, examine the gentle swell of Chanyeol's mouth, and pull away even before he could try getting a taste of the strawberry shake Chanyeol had been drinking earlier. Part of him wanted to do something stupid, but Kyungsoo was rarely ever adventurous. So instead, he leaned back a little, bit the inside of his cheek, waited until Chanyeol was saying, "And Do Kyungsoo never breaks promises."

Kyungsoo heaved a sigh. He could feel his insides turning. The last meal he'd taken was... last night? Chanyeol had 'summoned' him to eventually what would be their dorm and surprised him with takeout food from a Japanese restaurant they'd chanced upon a few days back. "I couldn't remember exactly what you wanted so... yay, ramen?" It was the best dinner he'd had in weeks. "Is this your version of 'ohana means family'? Because it sucks."

"No. It's my version of 'we already talked about this a hundred times–"

"Probably five." Kyungsoo shuffled the papers in his hands together and tightened his grip at the corners. Chanyeol narrowed his eyes at him, lips now poised in a scowl, but if Chanyeol ever thought of punching Kyungsoo or pushing Kyungsoo away, he didn't. Instead, he only stuck out his tongue. Kyungsoo could strengthen case, but that would take another five minutes. Chanyeol wouldn't back down easily. And Kyungsoo knew deep inside that there was only one way this would pan out. "Or just once. The afternoon schedule, right?"

Chanyeol grinned. "3-6 p.m., yes."

"You owe me coffee."

"Baekhyun says I make badass cold brew."

"A week's supply."

"Just a week's supply?" Chanyeol scoffed. "C'mon, Soo! You could've asked for more and I wouldn't have minded!"

Of course, you wouldn't, Kyungsoo had half the mind to say, but they only had fifteen minutes to spare 'til their next class. Online pre-enrollment was a pain in the ass and campus internet was slower than Baekhyun's thought process at ass o' clock in the morning. He had more important things to do than to photograph Chanyeol's smile and tuck it in his chest. So instead, he hit the 'submit' button for his new schedule and lifted his eyes, met Chanyeol's gaze across the table, and muttered, "Done," even before Chanyeol could make a sound.

You wouldn't have minded. But I would have. I do.

"If you're not going to touch your food then I'm taking that back."

Kyungsoo's body gives a violent jerk, his insides turning as if something big and heavy had been dropped to the pit of his stomach. Which is weird, considering he's barely touched the lunch Chanyeol had prepared (bought from the restaurant closest to the university, Kyungsoo's pretty sure, though it won't be the first time Chanyeol has cooked something for him – not that he's been counting), barely even had anything before went on the longest ten-minute walk of his life. Part of him is convinced it's just the fatigue from the midterm week that had just passed catching up on him, fucking up with his system, messing with his senses, but the other half of him knows better than to keep lying to himself about realities that keep shoving themselves in his face. It's silly – he'd bumped into Chanyeol this morning, on his way to the common bathroom, and didn't say a word, didn't even make a sound even if he knew very well that all he had to do to make Chanyeol stop saying 'hey' every five seconds in an attempt to get an answer, an explanation, from him was to look Chanyeol in the eye and say, I'm fucking going to the courts, okay? I'll meet you there. Now just shut it; I'm trying to think. And I'm trying to think of ways to get rid of this weird thing you make me feel.

He laughs to himself. It's stupid to even be trying to avoid any sort of interaction with Chanyeol when they're living in the same four, five hundred square feet of space separated only by wooden walls. He's just digging his own grave, making things difficult for himself like his coursework isn't doing a pretty good job at it already. Besides, it's just a kiss. And mischievous hands, yes, but still – there was a shitton of alcohol involved. Baekhyun may or may not have made them smoke something Kyungsoo wouldn't come within three feet of if he wasn't so far gone. That kiss could have meant anything and nothing.

"Are you going to do it or am I going to do it?"

"The taking back thing?" Chanyeol furrows his eyebrows. "Of course, I'll–"

"Don't–" Be stupid, act dense, don't be me, Kyungsoo's tempted to say, but those aren't part of the speech he'd carefully crafted in his head until two in the morning. He's supposed to say something nice, patch things up, 'It doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to' and 'Let's just forget the whole thing happened, alright? I need my old self back. I was us back.' "–pretend you didn't drag me all the way here just to feed me."

Chanyeol shrugs. The crease on his forehead eases into something a bit more relaxed, natural, but there's a peculiar glimmer in his eyes that Kyungsoo just can't I.D. at the moment. Not that he has a catalogue of Chanyeol's expressions at the back of his head, but– "You haven't been eating. We're supposed to be mastering the final output for sound class. I don't want you to die or something and have to be the one to clean up after everyone's shitty sound editing job." Chanyeol sucks in a deep, violent breath, hovers for a moment, lips parted, and he looks like he's seconds away from saying something, but instead he's popping a slice of kimbap in his mouth.

His lips are chapped, a bit bruised, but not the same brand of swollen they had been when he'd kissed Kyungsoo two weeks ago, when he'd pulled Kyungsoo close, too close, that Kyungsoo was almost straddling him and fisting his hands in Chanyeol's shirt and grinding against the burgeoning heat between Chanyeol's legs–

"I'm doing what any friend would, that's all I'm saying," Chanyeol mutters after a while. Kyungsoo shivers all over – at the sudden cracking of Chanyeol's voice or the ripple in the sound all around them, he can't tell yet. All he knows is that there are a lot of things he should be doing now, and thinking of drawing answers from Chanyeol's mouth with his own lips shouldn't be one of them. Surely, there are better ways to get answers. One that doesn't require much falling and taking big, risky leaps. "We... are good, right? No, wait, that's a stupid question to ask– Why are you– Why are we–"

"Why did you do it?" Kyungsoo asks, words tumbling from his lips in a tangled mess of syllables. When he looks up to meet Chanyeol's gaze, he adds, "Why did you kiss me back in the party?"

'Because I felt like it' is the most obvious answer, but Kyungsoo's certain Chanyeol knows exactly the kind of answer he's looking for – one that doesn't require more questions to fully decipher, one that can't be taken for anything other than what it is. At the start of the second trimester, Chanyeol buried his face in Kyungsoo's neck and Kyungsoo asked, 'What the hell are you doing?', and Chanyeol's only response was light laughter, the gentle brush of his nose against Kyungsoo's skin, and a deep sharp inhale before he said, 'You smell nice.'

Kyungsoo had only rolled his eyes in retort then, but his insides were turning so uncontrollably that time that he felt he would throw up any second. The wild thumping in his chest right now isn't any better, but at least he doesn't feel like puking what he'd just eaten from the meal Chanyeol brought for him anymore, not even when Chanyeol reasons, "They gave me tequila and you know that fucks up my system. Like, really fucks up with my system to the point that–"

Kyungsoo thinks back on one of those block parties they'd attended within the past few months and recalls all those times he had to drag Chanyeol back to his own room, Chanyeol giggling into the crown of Kyungsoo's hair and whispering things Kyungsoo would've heard and understood if he could only hear anything above the thundering pulse at the back of his ears. He remembers, without meaning to, the way Chanyeol would lean in a bit too close and breathe out against Kyungsoo's skin in hiccuped chuckles, sprayed and tainted with alcohol, even when they were deep in conversation. And he recalls so well the way Chanyeol would always pull away even before they both took a calculated risk, the few hitched breaths between their lips growing into inches, feet of space, but would keep his gaze, fond and focused, on the swell of Kyungsoo's mouth. "It makes you ten times hornier, yeah."

"And honest," Chanyeol adds, rough laughter spilling from the corners of his lips as he does so. He takes a deep breath, lets his shoulders slump forward when he exhales, then rests his chopsticks on the Tupperware where his lunch used to be. The dull thud sort of makes Kyungsoo shiver. He's always been hypersensitive to sounds, but today is one of those days when the faintest crackle of light in the air might startle him, make him blurt out words he'll regret later on. "Guess I should have spiked our water, huh?"

Kyungsoo swallows hard. "But you didn't," he whispers, coughs out when the tightness in his throat becomes a bit more unbearable than usual. "And you could have said 'no' to the tequila back then–"

"You think I would have?"

You should have. Then we won't have to be in this situation. Kyungsoo could have lived his entire lifetime not knowing how it would have been if he'd just suggested to Chanyeol that they push their beds together, scoot closer to each other when nights were too cold, if he'd just draped his arm over Chanyeol's stomach when Chanyeol was having bad dreams (and even when he was having good ones, the ones that always made Chanyeol smile the sweetest, most unguarded smile). He could have lived the next five, ten, twenty years not knowing how it felt to have Chanyeol's lips on his and why it felt so good. He could have missed out on a lot of things in life and not have any regrets, but he wouldn't have much to rejoice over, either.

He doesn't have regrets; he only has little wishes tucked safely at the back of his mind, ready to be pushed down when the thought becomes too powerful, overwhelming. He has words threatening to spill from his lips, knocking at the back of his teeth for a clumsy enunciation.

"No," Kyungsoo answers, as truthful as he can be. A deep breath, then, "Because you're weird and stupid and you like making things hard for yourself."

Chanyeol scoffs. "Wish I could disagree," he whispers, then heaves a sigh. He sucks in his bottom lip again, the way he does when he's running low on words, excuses, when he can't find a way out, when he's thinking and rethinking everything he wants to say. It's just me, Kyungsoo wants to argue, but how many times have they been at this point where they're both trying to push each other away and reel each other back in? Three, four times? Five, because Kyungsoo keeps deliberately forgetting that one time in the kitchen when Chanyeol caught him whipping up something for breakfast because "It's the least I can do for making you stay up until three for that stupid project– Hey, you like your eggs soft scrambled, right?" They were running on less than four hours of sleep and Chanyeol wouldn't stop shifting his gaze from Kyungsoo's eyes to the swell of Kyungsoo's mouth. And Kyungsoo couldn't bring himself to make Chanyeol snap out of the trance because goddamn if after all these months of trying to keep a safe distance between them, he never thought of just throwing in the towel and leaning closer for a kiss. "But I guess I can change that."

Kyungsoo bites the inside of his cheek. Half of him wants to taunt Chanyeol, tease him, try to lure out the Chanyeol who he knows has always been certain of everything, but soon Chanyeol's pushing his lunch box to the side, reaching over, inching closer. Kyungsoo takes takes a deep, shaky breath, then, air filtering through the gaps of this teeth, and he shivers when he feels Chanyeol's hot breath caging in on him, prickling his forehead, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. It's a bit uncomfortable, slowly backing away from Chanyeol until he hits the next flight on the bleachers, but Chanyeol makes it somewhat bearable when Chanyeol snakes an arm around his waist to rest a warm hand on the small of his back, when Chanyeol grips him by the wrist before pressing his palm to the surface of the back rest just behind him, leaving him without any room for escape.

It's not as if he ever meant to run away. He just needed time to collect pieces of himself that he keeps dropping whenever Chanyeol slots fractions of his smile in Kyungsoo's life. Kyungsoo just needs some time to breathe, and now he has enough air in his lungs to last him a few more kisses.

"I did it because I wanted to," Chanyeol confesses as he inches even closer, as he thins six, five, four inches of space into just three deep breaths. I get it, now just get on with it, Kyungsoo wants to lash out, but his throat is too tight and dry and his heartbeats feel like the beat of a drum, too loud for the sound of Kyungsoo's own breathing but not quite enough to drown out Chanyeol's words. "Have been wanting to for a while now. And because you looked really hot with your hair pushed back."

Kyungsoo snorts. "You've never called me 'hot' before."

"You never let me." A deep breath, then, "You even pushed me away even before I could–"

"Open your mouth again so I can stick my tongue down your throat, yeah. Sorry about that." Kyungsoo scrunches his nose, balls his fingers into loose fists on his lap, twists his mouth in an attempt to wipe off the impending smile fast crawling to the corners of his tightly-pressed lips, but to no avail – Chanyeol makes it difficult not to cackle or even chuckle with that shit-eating grin on his features. This is months of knowing each other, of having their bodies react to each other like a reflex at work. This is all those words he'd been keeping himself from telling Chanyeol since the start of the week, since that night when Chanyeol snatched a kiss from him and the rest of his sanity, rushing to the surface, pulling Kyungsoo forward until the tip of his nose is grazing Chanyeol's own. "In my defense, you bit my lip too hard–"

"Excuse me, I did not–"

"And sucked on my tongue too little," Kyungsoo finishes in a whisper, voice so soft he could have just been breathing. But he couldn't have been because now Chanyeol's curling his fingers against Kyungoo's shirt, widening his eyes, parting his lips in a small 'o', the quiver at the corners of his mouth dropped to the ground in favor of a bright smile. "But you can still change that."

Chanyeol chuckles. It sounds a lot like rock and roll. "I will."

Chanyeol presses his lips against Kyungsoo's own in a light, light brush, nothing like the kiss they'd shared back in that room that reeked of the scent of alcohol and smoke and secrets. It's shy, almost tentative with the way Chanyeol tilts his head in the slowest motion like he's still trying to maneuver his way into Kyungsoo's life. Which is silly because Chanyeol knows him better than he knows the shortcut from the College of Arts building to College of Science's building, or simply his way around the campus without having to check and double check street signs every few seconds. Chanyeol knows him like the back of his hand, or every discoverable mole kissing his warm, warm skin, but right now it feels like Chanyeol's mapping out a path to him, to world domination, to conquering Kyungsoo once and for all. Chanyeol teases the seam of Kyungsoo's lips until Kyungsoo's tilting his head back a little, catching Chanyeol's upper lip with his teeth, nibbling on it until Chanyeol's soft laughter turns into a low and choked moan. Chanyeol leaves soft, gentle kisses on the column of Kyungsoo's neck and Kyungsoo threads his fingers through Chanyeol's hair, takes a fistful and tugs, tightens his hold on Chanyeol when Chanyeol whimpers a little, laughs, sighs. The symphony sends a familiar sizzle of heat rolling down Kyungsoo's abdomen and shit, does that feel good. Chanyeol sucking long and hard on his bottom lip, Chanyeol licking the cavern of his mouth and tickling the roof just enough to earn a chuckle from Kyungsoo mid-kiss (that Chanyeol steals for himself; Chanyeol just keeps everything safely tucked in his chest) – every single touch, light or lingering, sets off explosions at the tips of Kyungsoo's fingers, toes, the back of his eyelids. Every hiccuped breath from Chanyeol, every little gasp and sigh and groan makes his insides lurch. And every knuckle Chanyeol digs into his skin feels a lot like a countdown to the crash, the part where they slip their hands beneath each other's shirts and throw all caution to the wind.

"Why didn't I ever do this ages ago?" Chanyeol asks when they part, lips slick with spit and still swollen. His eyes are dazed, a bit unfocused, but Kyungsoo can still see himself reflected in them, enough that he can make out the silly smile on his lips that makes him look like a grin had been punched on his lips more than anything. If Kyungsoo were with anyone else he'd be concerned, bothered, maybe even terrified, but this is Chanyeol. And for all of Chanyeol's being a flight hazard, Kyungsoo doesn't mind taking the leap with him at all. "I mean, we've shared a bed at least thrice–"

"Because you're too chicken to move your ass," Kyungsoo says, then steals the rest of Chanyeol's words in the slide of their mouths, in the fit of their bodies, in the way he memorizes every slope and curve of Chanyeol's mouth with his tongue. And he drinks up the slow-forming smile on Chanyeol's mouth against his skin, the knots in his chest coming off and the lurching sensation stilling into a simmering heat that is rivaled only by the warm press of Chanyeol's lips on his.

You are so fucked, groans a voice at the back of his mind. He laughs.

He doesn't really mind.

「おまけ」

"How do you feel about 'gourmet ramyun' for dinner?"

Kyungsoo looks up from where he's been groaning about codecs compatibility and bitrates for the past thirty minutes. It's eight in the evening on a Friday on finals week and they should be rewarding themselves with something that isn't the same brand of instant noodles that they've been for the past seven days, but Chanyeol seems to be so excited about the prospect of 'jazzing up common ramyun' with the spices his sister had given him as a present 'for being able to live alone' for a year already. So he holds two thumbs up, flashes Chanyeol the best smile he can muster at the moment, and says, "Only if we take it with–"

"Soju?" Chanyeol wiggles his eyebrows, then tilts his head in the direction of the fridge. Their fridge that's 70% Chanyeol's leftovers from cafeteria food and 30% Kyungsoo's assortment of pickled things and yellow radish. The move got pushed earlier after Chanyeol backed Kyungsoo against the tiled walls in the shower room a few months back. Luckily, Kyungsoo's already started packing. "Got you covered."

"You got beer, too?"

Chanyeol winks. "But of course."

"I–" Love you, Kyungsoo almost says, but he manages to bite down on his tongue before he can even blurt it out. Maybe he can slide that in one of their conversations tomorrow, early in the morning, over coffee. Maybe he can take Chanyeol out for lunch, drag Chanyeol to that dessert place that's been getting more buzz recently, and drop the big bomb on Chanyeol's lap. Or maybe he can casually mention that later, during dinner, slumped against towers of pillows arranged on the comforter they'd rolled out on the surface, knees touching, defenses down and heart laid down on the floor. "I'll take care of the mix later."

Chanyeol grins before ducking back into the kitchen. A few feet away, Kyungsoo cracks his knuckles, takes a deep breath, and smiles to himself.

Sounds like a plan.

exo: wip: break of serve

onyu — Thu, 19 Nov 2015 04:47:40 GMT

break of serve
— Suho/Kai, past Suho/Chen, past Suho/Jonghyun, with a dash of past Suho/Luna, Xiumin/Krystal, and Chen/Sunny on the side. PG-13. 52075 words.
— 0-15, joonmyun meets a university kid by the name of kim jongin. 0-30, he swings his racket for the first time in seven years. 0-40, he makes the mistake of watching jongin long enough for jongin’s shy smile to burn at the back of his eyelids. game, and their story begins. (Warnings: age gap, mentions of serious body injuries, self-destructive behavior)
— i originally wrote this for thegameseason but was never able to finish it ;; if and when i do continue it, most of the original plot will have to be reworked soooo, yeah! here's some sukai for all of you. have fun? c:

bts: challenge the call

onyu — Sat, 07 Nov 2015 10:59:47 GMT

challenge the call
— Suga/Jin. NC-17. 108460 words.
— yoongi didn’t miss the second serve; he made sure to aim it down the line. seokjin, that fucker, just got in the way. (Warning/s: mentions of minor character death, mentions of injuries, trauma due to bad experience with parents, discussions of homophobia/implied homophobia)
— Written for thegameseason. An accompanying playlist is HERE.

☆ i can't believe it – it's finally over. 'challenge the call' is finally over. i'd originally written this for thegameseason, but in the end it became more of a declaration of love for suga/jin and tennis. i have no regrets, though c: many, many thanks to Corner a.k.a. #theyoongiproblem a.k.a the best bangtan buddies ever, thank you so much for cheering me on. to f, thank you for the fantastic beta job despite your busy schedule. to l, thank you so much for the 4 a.m. jinga talks, for helping me with the outline, for being the best jinga buddy ever. to 2As, c, j, s, and n, thank you for all the support and for believing that this fic actually has An End.

bts: head first and no regrets

onyu — Mon, 19 Oct 2015 02:13:02 GMT

head first and no regrets
— Jimin/Jeongguk. NC-17. 10200 words.
— there are pros and cons to working with jeon jeongguk, jimin believes. on the cons, in increasing order of importance: jeongguk comes to work late 75% of the time, it takes jeongguk approximately an entire hour to boot his brain, and jeongguk always asks for extensions. on the pros, however... jeon jeongguk might as well be the 'pro', himself. (Also available on AO3 and Dreamwidth.)

☆ this fic was built on the premise of this line that has been swimming in my mind for days now – "our jiminnie works so hard!" was supposed to be built on that, at least, but then Feelings happened and this Thing turned into... passionate lovemaking. and rina dearest, i know i promised full on thigh-fucking but um. yeah. happy belated birthday, jimin? ;; /waves pompoms, anyway

☆ that said, many thanks to bts corner, adele, chels, and shii for untiringly cheering me on as i cried over porn! ♥ for maximum feels, please listen to kodaline's one day. title taken from walk the moon's aquaman.

The reality is that for all of Jeon Jeongguk's being a complete pain in the ass, asking for deadlines to be pushed back by hours, days, sometimes even weeks, he's still one of the best designers Jimin has ever worked with. Or the actual best, given that Ogilvy's creative team is two parts a bunch of assholes who don't know what deadlines are ("End-of-day? Close-of-business? What's that, food?" "If it were food then you probably wouldn't ignore them!") and one part a group of reliable designers who can dish out powerful visuals despite tight timings and impossible expectations from clients. If they are inspired, at least, but, half the time, Yoongi's too high on caffeine and whatever it was he'd sniffed the night before to even function before three in the afternoon. And of course, if you have a boss like that, it's difficult to get oneself out of bed by eight in the morning and to get one's brain working by nine. Expecting someone from the team to come in before ten just in time for an eleven-in-the-morning deadline is just asking too much.

Jimin heaves a sigh. He cracks his neck, sniffles as he wraps his blanket around himself even more and grumbles at the insanely cold temperature in the creatives' area. To Yoongi's credit, his works have always been top-notch, the type that can move even the most emotionally-detached of people to tears, but more often than not Jimin doesn't need just a tear-jerking piece, or design so inspiring it can make the clients shell out more money than they would usually be willing to. He needs to meet tight and crazy deadlines. He needs quality work delivered to his lap in the blink of an eye. And he needs someone to help him make the impossible happen. He doesn't need theatrics – he can pull off shit like that with his eyes closed and do a one-man show in front of prospective clients just to win a business. What he needs is actual output to pacify agitated clients with, one email at a time.

Such is the life of an account executive like him. And such is the life he has chosen to lead for the past five years that he's been working (or, in Taehyung's kind words, 'been a slave to') in Ogilvy.

"Alright, slave driver hyung," comes Jeongguk's voice, rough and low in the thick silence of the workplace. Jimin looks up from where he's been staring at dust mites, lifting his eyebrows when Jeongguk lets out faint laughter. Jeongguk sounds like he's wheezing, trying to cough out whatever had gotten stuck in his throat the entire hour he'd kept quiet as he worked on visuals due the following day, but for the most part he still sounds like the same 'bright and young Jeon Jeongguk' who had walked past the glass doors of the office two years ago. He still sounds like he's up to no good. "Here are your precious social posts for tomorrow's bitch."

"Pitch, Jeongukkie. Pitch," Jimin corrects, voice thinning to laughter as he inches closer to where Jeongguk is. He reaches over, lowering the brightness of the monitor with a few clicks, then makes himself comfortable in his seat again before getting straight to work. Jeongguk works wicked fast and produces great designs, but from time to time he'd miss minor builds from clients and the accounts team. And when that happens, it's another hour of revising and polishing designs. It's another hour spent working in the silence of the office, the sides of their thighs glued together as Jimin studies two things – the visual Jeongguk is finalizing and perfecting, and the subtle movement of Jeongguk's lips that speaks more than Jeongguk would ever tell. "Oh, good that you made the logo a bit bigger. I mean, I was okay with the teeny tiny version but you know clients and their thing about mega branding–"

"Same thing, though," Jeongguk mutters after a while, rubbing the underside of his nose. He looks like a kid about to throw a tantrum, or a cuddly koala looking subtly asking for a belly rub. The first thought that occurs to Jimin is cute; the second, can I take you home? "Pitch is a bitch."

Jimin snorts. "It's the bitch that keeps the company alive."

Jeongguk rolls his eyes and slumps in his seat. The dim yellow light in the room catches on the tip of his nose, the curves of his cheeks, before dropping to his collarbones and casting him a sickly glow. Right now, with only a few inches between them, he looks like he's aged by at least half a decade in the past two years that he's been with the company. The only thing that's softening the hard-angled shadows on his features is the way his bangs fall over his eyes. Then there's the way he breathes out in a heavy, heavy sigh, like he'd been carrying the weight of the world for the past hour and he's just too tired to press on with the same load. "The same bitch that wears us out all the fucking time, yeah."

Jimin leans back a little. In all twenty-four months that he has worked with Jeongguk, he's only ever heard the latter complain about certain things, none of them far off from each other – crazy deadlines, lack of free food from the account executives when the team has to render extra hours because of numerous job orders and requests, clients having zero taste when it comes to design but acting like they're an encyclopedia of art. Yoongi's fedoras and the fact that Yoongi has at least a dozen of them all in the same color and style, and the 'sad reality' that half of Jeongguk's brands are handled by Jimin.

"Can't you give me a different AE? Like, someone who actually feeds me during overtime?" Jeongguk had mentioned one time, and Jimin rose to the challenge and bought him tteokbokki, a waffle sandwich, and a bottle of energy drink. Jeongguk's first reaction was, "Are you planning to give me more work? Because it looks like you're preparing me for more days like this." His second, "And oh, uh, thanks. I... have the posts ready, by the way. The GSK ones, I mean, not the ones for Unilever. I just... haven't sent them yet."

"Oh, you mean everything's–"

"In the sharing drive, actually. Too big. I... didn't want to clog your email. Or mine, in case the thing got... stuck there," Jeongguk had muttered, then rubbed the tip of his nose. There was a smidgen of strawberry cream on the corners of his mouth. Jimin wasn't sure if he wanted to reach over and brush the cream off with his thumbs, or if he wanted to move even closer and lick them off of Jeongguk's lips. Or both. Or not, argued a voice at the very back of his mind. There were items in his to-do list to cross off and a pile of work to be done, and none of them were Jeongguk. "Yeah. So I– I just– I figured it we sent them to client at once, way ahead of time, they'd think we can do rush work for them all the time and they'll dump their requirements on us at the very last second all the time and–"

And Jeongguk didn't have to explain. And Jimin could have stopped him, could have said, Cool, kid. Thanks for thinking about my inbox, but it wasn't everyday that Jeongguk dropped hints of concern that weren't just sprinkles of affection here and there. And hell if Jimin was going to let that pass. So he listened, studied Jeongguk's expression as Jeongguk twisted his mouth and furrowed his eyebrows and huffed until the last dregs of his speech were no longer dangling from his lips. "Just... managing expectations, that's all. And doing your job. You should be paying me for this, you know–"

"Thank you," Jimin had said, then looked around for an audience. Yoongi was still in his seat, reading the script he'd developed for the first web series the company was going to create, and Namjoon was too busy finalizing artwork for billboards. Jeongguk was... busy fumbling with the hem of his shirt. They were alone, in a sense, but it wasn't as if Jimin was hoping they would be. He just needed to know if they were the only ones crazy enough to still be working at such an obscene hour. And if anybody would give him a weird look if he offered to take Jeongguk home at two in the morning. That was something good account executives did, right? "Do you... need more food or something? Drinks? A pillow? Or-or a ride home later? Since we still have to do mocks for the app?"

Jeongguk had blinked twice, then heaved a sigh. The look on his face was... different, almost unreadable, but it wasn't as if Jimin had spent hours studying Jeongguk's features. He was just good at reading body language, that's all; Jeongguk's, in particular, he already had memorized like the back of his hand. "A ride home would be great, thanks."

So he takes a deep breath now before leaning in, testing the waters and seeing if the slightest movement will cause a ripple strong enough to make Jeongguk inch away. Jeongguk doesn't budge, though, remains curled up in his seat, breathing soft and even and his lips parted just slightly. He isn't asleep yet, Jimin knows, but he looks like he's just seconds away from passing out, from submitting to the fatigue caused by the 'bitch of a pitch' that they had been working on for the past few hours. He looks as if he won't bite at the slightest touch anymore, like he's inviting Jimin to come closer, come on, hyung, if you want to hear more, just come closer–

"Work," Jeongguk growls, then chuckles. The corners of his lips are curled up into the nastiest shit-eating grin, but Jimin can make out the soft gaze through his bangs, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes bringing back the peculiar glint that Jimin thought Jeongguk had already lost the day he rendered extra hours at work for the very first time. And he can feel the cold pads of Jeongguk's fingers on his skin, tapping a slow beat on his knee through the material of his pants. It sounds a lot like rock and roll. "You still have to diss on my designs before we can go home and sleep."

"We?" Jimin gulps hard. Jesus, Jimin, it's just a fucking pronoun, grumbles a voice at the back of his mind. It's not a confession. Get a grip. He's no copywriter to breathe meaning into a syllable. He's an account executive and he's supposed to be making sure that Jeongguk hasn't missed any of the builds and comments he'd sent earlier, not trying to study the wicked grin on Jeongguk's lips. He's supposed to be making sure that the designs are aligned with the brand and not if their bodies are in a perfect fit. He's supposed to be fulfilling his part of the deal, doing his job instead of dwelling on the way Jeongguk hasn't stopped drawing figures on his knee yet – spirals, clouds, stars. Three dots each an inch apart, then a heart. "I was... actually planning to stay overnight and get shit sorted out since–"

"And present tomorrow looking like that?" Jeongguk scoffs. He gives Jimin a once over, gaze lingering on the dip of Jimin's shirt, then he's reaching out to thread his fingers through Jimin's hair. He doesn't ruffle it, doesn't even try to mess it up, but instead he curls his fingers at the base of Jimin's nape and smoothens the unruly tuft with his free hand. Part of Jimin wants to lean into the touch, forget that it's already late in the evening and they still have work to accomplish before midnight sets in in earnest, but he knows better than to tip over and crash into Jeongguk without preamble. Jeongguk plays by a set of rules that only make sense to him, and Jimin's never been much of a rule-breaker. Outside the office, maybe, where there aren't privy eyes to catch them during their unguarded moments, like this, but trapped in the four corners of office building, he's left with no choice to pull away.

So let me, Jimin wants to argue when Jeongguk keeps him in place with a shy yet steady grip. Let me do my job, let me go, leave me be– but Jeongguk's still busy undoing the little knots in the strands of his hair. His eyebrows are caught in a light knot and his lips are pursed in concentration and there's a small smile pulling up at the corners of his mouth like he knows he's won this little game of theirs again, this push and pull and pull some more that Jimin so desperately tries to triumph over every single time. And, "This is ridiculous," Jimin whispers, because what else is there say? Jeongguk's being weird. His insides are lurching. They're the only living, breathing creatures in this office and if Jeongguk really wanted to just tease him and push him away in the end, then he would have already done so minutes ago.

But they're still here, three, four safe inches apart, just a breath away.

"Not a chance," Jeongguk breathes out, voice barely above a whisper. He brushes his thumb along Jimin's lower lip, then drops his hand to his thigh. Jimin can see it, the question scrawled all over the gentle tilt of Jeongguk's head, and then more in the way Jeongguk lets his shoulders slump forward, leaning closer but not close enough for their foreheads to touch. It feels a lot like a dare, another test, like Jeongguk's drawing lines upon lines of boundaries between them and challenging him to dance along the thin strands. Let's see if you can do that without tripping and falling hard. But then Jeongguk hovers a little longer and all of a sudden everything feelings like an invitation. Temptation. "I'm not letting you make a fool out of yourself in front of those people–"

"Why do you care?"

Jeongguk looks up, eyes wide, dilated, almost unguarded. Times like these, Jeongguk looks like the fresh-faced twenty-four year old who walked into the office years ago and sucked in his bottom lip the moment Jimin welcomed him with a sleepy smile. Jimin had just come from overnight work then and he was aware he could have scared off the new kid, but no, Jeon Jeongguk wasn't that weak. Jeon Jeongguk was better than that, would prove to be tough enough to work for hours on end just to get the job done. So instead, Jeongguk peeked at him through the slits of his bangs seconds after, cheeks flushed and a small smile teasing the corners of his lips.

"Jeon Jeongguk, new hire," Jeongguk had said as an introduction. His hand was soft and warm.

Jeon Jeongguk, the bane of your existence, said a voice at the back of Jimin's head. Jimin said nothing, though, and gave Jeongguk's outstretched hand a tight squeeze.

"Well, the name of the company's at stake," Jeongguk replies in an instant, not missing a beat. He takes a deep, shaky breath, shoulders lifting in the slowest, most torturous manner. Then Jeongguk thins his lips into a straight, straight line, lower lip quivering under the pressure. Jimin has seen this look on Jeongguk's features too many times already – when Jeongguk misses a tiny detail in his designs and finds it only when he's already staring down a magazine advertorial in full color, when Jeongguk misses emails labeled 'urgent' and has to render extra hours on top of the ten he already clocks in with on a daily basis, whenever he screws up and he knows there isn't anything he can do anymore but to look to Jimin for answers to questions he doesn't even know how to ask. Only this time, Jimin doesn't have answers. All he has are more questions, realizations. "And you're presenting my design–"

And they must have done this at least a hundred times already, this sick tug-of-hearts, and on all occasions Jimin had only ever come out bruised and beaten up, strings of questions leaving red marks on his skin. On all occasions, Jimin had only ever walked away from the fight with his body sore from Jeongguk's soft, tentative kisses – to the forehead, the tip of his nose, his cheek, sometimes even the back of his hand when it's three in the morning and Jeongguk's too tired to go home or pull up his walls. Then there are times when Jeongguk would tilt his head and suck on the underside of Jimin's jaw when he was feeling particularly victorious about their most recent business win and he had to share his happiness with someone. (And it had to be Jimin. It always had to be Jimin.) Then he would coax Jimin to just drop the shields, drop the weapons to the floor, his arms to his sides so Jeongguk could color his chest with soft red patches through the light suction of his lips. Three in the morning and the only thing that was pushing them apart was hesitation and the irrational fear of falling. That would always, always be the case.

So Jimin takes the leap, curls his fingers around Jeongguk's wrist and tugs at it, forcing Jeongguk to look up at him. "Bullshit," he grumbles, then tightens his hold on Jeongguk even more. Never mind that his palms are sweaty and that he's shaking all over; he can always use fatigue as an excuse. Surely, a weary heart is the best pass he can use to bail himself out of trouble. "You don't do this with Taehyung or Jin-hyung or–"

"They're not you."

Jimin takes a deep, shaky breath. Touching, is his first thought. His second, bullshit. Whoever uses that silly excuse must be too lazy to come up with an honest explanation of his feelings or whatever it is taking root in his body. And Jeongguk's almost always lazy when it comes to the most important things: trying not to leave marks on Jimin's skin when he bites down too hard on Jimin's shoulder as Jimin fists his cock or shallowly fucks him with three fingers, trying not to be too kind and considerate when he tells Jimin shortly coming, "Let me– Let me help–" Remembering to take care of himself so he doesn't get sick, so he can come in day after day after day and stay long after he's rendered eight work hours and offer help whenever Jimin needs to most. Then, underlined twice, trying not make Jimin's heart skip a beat whenever he looks over his shoulder when he's already supposed to be walking away.

"That's it? That's your reason?" Jimin scoffs. He can taste blood and metal on the roof of his mouth, can feel his throat become tight and his chest grow heavy. And he can feel Jeongguk's pulse quicken where he's gripping him, can see Jeongguk shifting his gaze everywhere but on him. "You don't play with them because they're not me?"

"It's–" Jeongguk shakes his head. "Look: it's not a game. It's never been a game–"

"Then why the hell do you care so much?" Jimin blurts out, voice cracking even before he can finish. Jeongguk's eyebrows twitch. It almost feels like a victory, but Jimin isn't sure if he wants to take home the medal this time. "Why the hell do you always want to win?"

"Because you're you," Jeongguk breathes out, syllables tumbling from his lips one after another. His chest is heaving and his lips are parted and he looks like he's run a thousand miles just to get here, just so he can inch even closer to Jimin without making Jimin flinch, run away. "I care about you showing up to your meetings looking so harassed because I know you hate looking any less than your best. I care about you not getting enough rest because that means you getting sick and you getting sick means you blaming yourself again and again for things out of your control. And that's just stupid, you know that? It's fucking stupid because not everything's your fault, hyung. Shit just really happens sometimes. And when it does–"

"You kiss me," Jimin says, voice barely above a whisper. He looks up, meeting Jeongguk's careful gaze, and all of a sudden everything hits him hard, like taking a punch straight to the gut, then to the heart – Jeongguk claiming he'd forgotten to send an email and slipping back to his station so Jimin could ask him for help at nine in the evening, Jeongguk handing him an untouched bottle of energy drink because It's gonna expire tomorrow. Wouldn't want it to go to waste, yeah? Jeongguk staying in the conference room with him as he worked on his presentation deck for the Unilever pitch, cold, cold fingers dancing on his thigh and keeping awake until he was done creating multiple back ups of the file and bragging to Jeongguk again and again, Ah, isn't hyung great? Don't you think hyung will do well tomorrow, mhmm? Aren't you proud of me?

Jeongguk laughing and rolling his tired, weary eyes, but not saying 'no'. Jeongguk sliding an arm around him and pulling him closer until he was resting his head on Jeongguk's shoulder. Waking up to Jeongguk whispering, "It's showtime, sunshine boy. Get up," to Jeongguk's dreamy, unguarded smile. And Jeongguk looking around for an audience to plant the softest kiss on his lips before saying, "Go, kick some ass. Make me proud, hyung."

"Well, yeah. That," Jeongguk mutters. He drops his gaze to where Jimin's holding him tightly, to his knees, then to his feet. Jimin can still make out the faint blush on his cheeks, though, the hint of fatigue in the dark circles under his eyes, the shy twist of his mouth when he says, "And that you should just let it go and be a bit... kinder, to yourself? If that makes sense? Because hyung, there are only so many things you can control."

Jimin gulps hard. It's coming, now, he can feel it, the raucous laughter from Jeongguk, the teasing as Jeongguk slaps his thigh with one hand and says between hiccuped giggles, Hyung, you should've–You should've seen yourself! You looked hilarious! And he can feel his chest constricting even more because he knows he's going to lose again and he hates it. He hates keeping his hopes up only to end up crashing to the ground in a loud thud. He hates coming so close to victory only to trip on his own feet and fall flat on his face. And he hates Jeongguk even more – for staying so dangerously still, serious, sincere, for being honest now when he's expecting Jeongguk to say, Hah! Joke's on you! For being right in saying, there are only so many things you can control, hyung. So let go. Be a bit kinder to yourself and just let go.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have–" Jeongguk shakes his head and waves his hands in front of himself. He does this when he's nervous or uncertain. Or both. He'd done it right before he grabbed Jimin by his shirt and pulled him close for– "Just– Forget it. I missed a couple of things, right? Just list them down and I'll work on them in order and–"

And Jimin leans closer until their foreheads touch, until he can feel Jeongguk's words fading into the air prickling his cheeks. The tips of their noses graze each other, just a brief, feather-light touch, and Jeongguk gulps hard like he isn't used to this – the space between them, their shared warmth, the fact that Jimin's splaying his fingers on Jeongguk's chest and that Jimin's pulse beats strongly on his skin. But this isn't the first time they're kissing each other. They've already done this at least a hundred times that Jimin can map out the wicked contours of Jeongguk's mouth just from memory if he wanted to.

Still, Jimin asks, "Can I kiss you?" in a voice so soft, he could have just been breathing. Jeongguk peeks from his bangs, sucks in his bottom lip, and Jimin feels his breath catch in his throat. Can I keep you forever?

Jimin looks around for an audience. Jeongguk laughs a little, pinches Jimin in the stomach because, Hyung, everyone's gone home hours ago. It's just us here. We're in our own, little world. We're safe. Jeongguk giggles until Jimin presses his lips on his own in a soft, tentative kiss, muffling the sound, breathing Jeongguk in. It feels strange to be testing the waters like this, to be sliding his hands up Jeongguk's chest like he's memorizing the little bumps on the expanse of Jeongguk's skin, to be leaving teasing licks at the corners of Jeongguk's mouth instead of crushing their lips together in a heated, unruly kiss. It almost scares him a bit, the way Jeongguk sighs into the kiss and finally, finally, finally parts his lips like he's been waiting for this for so long – for the heat of Jimin's mouth to seep into his own, to get a taste of Jimin after a long day at work, to be so close to each other again after pushing and pushing and pushing each other away because every minute they spend together is a step closer to temptation – but Jimin pushes all his fears to the back of his mind as he sucks on Jeongguk's bottom lip, as he licks his way inside Jeongguk's mouth and reacquaint himself with its wicked contours.

Jeongguk threads his fingers through Jimin's hair and pulls him close, close, closer, onto his lap, until they're chest to chest. Jimin can feel the loud, heavy thumping where they're pressed to each other, can feel Jeongguk's hands tremble against his skin. And he can feel a dull ache in his back, making him shiver. The fit is a bit weird, almost painful, but nothing he can't can't manage – he leans back a little and sinks deeper into Jeongguk's lap until Jeongguk's chasing after his lips with little nips, soft bites on the corners of his mouth that bleed onto the underside of his jaw where Jeongguk sucks marks on his skin. For a second, he thinks of pulling away, of reminding Jeongguk that he has a presentation tomorrow, nine in the morning, and the marks and scars will stay there long after pitch is over, but he's never seen Jeongguk want him, need him this much.

He's never seen Jeongguk so willingly surrender.

"If they ask," Jeongguk whispers, pulling away for a second to breathe before pressing another kiss to the slope of Jimin's neck, leaving light, teasing sucks in a neat, neat line. His breath parts from his lips in little gasps, in whimpers of stay, stay and Jimin's name so soft on the corners of his mouth. "–why you have marks–"

"Hickies."

"Bite marks," Jeongguk counters, then lightly sinks his teeth in Jimin's skin, just enough to make him gasp and grind against the burgeoning heat between Jeongguk's legs. Jeongguk bucks his hips into the touch, and Jimin feels a prickling heat crawl down his abdomen. Every touch feels so unrehearsed, so juvenile, so electric that Jimin fears he might just tip over too soon. Lose himself in the moment and do something he might regret, like blurt out words that have been threatening to fall from his lips for months, since the day Jeongguk absentmindedly threaded their fingers together and didn't let go until minutes after, when breaching personal space was no longer an issue. "If they ever ask, tell them things got a bit rough last night–"

"A bit rough?" Jimin teases, laughter catching on his throat when Jeongguk bites on his shoulder a bit too hard. It's going to sting until the morning, he knows it. Jeongguk's touch will haunt him until the next time they come too close to each other and lose control, but part of him likes the feeling of raw desire and desperation in the way Jeongguk rakes his teeth along his sensitive skin. He likes the marks. And he likes knowing that Jeongguk likes them, too, as Jeongguk beams at the red patches blooming on his skin. "Just a bit too rough?"

"I... don’t break the things I love," Jeongguk whispers against the slope of Jimin's neck, rough lips leaving a trail of goosebumps where his warm mouth used to be. Jimin feels his insides lurch – at the thick blanket of cold settling on his skin that Jeongguk has just conquered, at the shy, tentative brush of Jeongguk's palm against his crotch, at Jeongguk's words, he isn't certain. All he knows right now is that his chest feels too tight like he's held in his breath for too long without him noticing, and that Jeongguk's next juvenile kiss, the next wild, wicked touch will be game over. And yet it feels a lot like victory. "And if I do, I... try to put them back together."

Jimin gulps hard. Between the two of them, he's always been the one better at words, giving direction, saying exactly what he wants and how he wants it, but right now it feels as if Jeongguk has stolen each and every single word threatening to spill from his lips the same way Jeongguk has snatched all the air in his lungs away. Unfair, half of him thinks, murmurs, grumbles; the other half whispers, what do I do with you? Here Jeongguk is, all of his walls down, coaxing him to come closer, and all he can think of is crossing the finish line with Jeongguk lagging behind because Jimin's pushed too hard, pulled too close, broken rules that Jeongguk has set and getting carried away. All he can think of is screwing things up, making a mess of their already tangled limbs, finally getting what he wants only to lose it even before he can hold it close to his chest.

He's not used to this whole 'happy ending' thing. In fact, he doesn't even like endings at all.

"You think too much," Jeongguk whispers, then leans even closer until their lips are touching again. This time, he cups Jimin's cheeks, pulse beating strongly against Jimin's soft skin, and leaves teasing licks along the seam of Jimin's lips until Jimin's opening up, tilting his head back, throwing all caution to the wind and giving in. This should be the part where Jeongguk drops his hands to Jimin's hips and blindly undoes the zipper of Jimin's pants, but none of that – Jeongguk takes his time tracing the slope of Jimin's neck with his fingers, lauds the column of his throat with kisses and licks and soft sucking that leaves Jimin's thighs quivering in delight. Jeongguk takes his time undoing the buttons of Jimin's shirt, pushing at the buttons one by one and grinning into the kiss as they come off. It's as if he's giving Jimin options, a way out, a chance to inch away. A reason to tell him, I'm not stupid. Who the fuck would even do that, except Jeongguk gives him no time to think as Jeongguk his polo off his shoulders and maps out a kiss-stained path down to his nipple. "Stop thinking and start doing."

"I can't. It's–It's my default," Jimin manages, choking on his own breath as Jeongguk wraps his warm mouth around Jimin's nipple.

"I figured," Jeongguk mutters, pulling away briefly as he laughs. "If you used your heart as much as you used your brain, hyung, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have had to ask me 'why'."

Jimin groans. "You're hard to figure out."

"Maybe, for some," Jeongguk confesses, then presses a light kiss on Jimin's chest. Jimin's breath hitches when he feels Jeongguk's hot breath curling around his nipple, when he feels Jeongguk running a hand down his torso but stopping just short of his pants. "But not for you."

"Whatever," Jimin whispers, but soon he's choking on his own words as Jeongguk bucks his hips against him. The first thing that occurs to him is fuck pants, fuck clothes, fuck everything keeping them getting too close; the second, we're not going to do this out in the open, are we? But Jeongguk has long stopped caring about the numbing cold, the darkness crowding in on them, about limits and restraints and the strain of grinding against each other in a cramped, cramped space. So he does his part, trails his hands down Jeongguk's chest and slips trembling fingers beneath the material of Jeongguk's shirt. He can feel the quick shifting of Jeongguk's muscles, the way they tense at the first touch then melt against his skin at the second. The way Jeongguk's gasps into the kiss when Jimin runs his thumbs along Jeongguk's nipples as he pulls Jeongguk's shirt overhead, and the way Jeongguk grips him tightly by the thighs and ruts against him in long, hard thrusts.

"Can–" Jeongguk gulps loudly when Jimin tilts his head and wraps his warm lips on Jeongguk's ear lobe, sucking lightly before leaving soft, gentle nips on the sensitive skin. Jimin pulls away, more to tease than to let Jeongguk speak, but Jeongguk's quick to catch on and latches onto that split-second of surrender. "Can I, please–"

"You've been touching me inappropriately for eons now," Jimin whispers, chuckling, but cants his hips until he can feel Jeongguk's warm palm on his crotch, stroking him leisurely before undoing his belt. "And you still feel the need to ask?"

"Just wanted–" You, always. "–to make sure–" Jeongguk yanks at one end of the belt and drops it to the floor, then smooths his palms along the curve of Jimin's ass. His hands are still trembling, shaking under the weight of Jimin's soft skin, of Jimin grinding against his warm palm like he cannot wait anymore. But they've always rushed into things, trapped each other against the wall with steady grips and confident kisses that they never had time to study each other's bodies, every curve and slope and marks and moles scrawled on each other's skin. It's high time they slowed down and mapped each other out with shy touches, kisses. It's time they stopped and watched each other breathe. "Because sometimes, you look as if you'll run away even before I can fuck you."

He probably means, you look as if you'll fall even before I give you the green light, before I'm ready, Jimin thinks. He can't say Jeongguk's wrong, or that you're lying, stop that. Stop fucking around with me. Part of him has always been a bit uncertain if he wants to be more than just too close for comfort but not quite intimate. But the part of him that knows better, the part that knows all too well that Jeongguk whispering into his ear, Tomorrow, hyung, tomorrow, we'll see each other again is the song that sings him to sleep and promises him better days to come, or that Jeongguk's playful teasing and light pinches on his cheeks are what get him through the toughest of times, keeps telling him to take the fucking leap and just drop all his apprehensions to the ground. So he slides off his pants at Jeongguk's request, at Jeongguk dipping his fingers beneath the band of Jimin's pants and tugging them down just before slips off of his clothing. And when Jimin pulls away so he can shuck off his trousers the rest of the way, he leans back in as quickly as he can and reaches over for a kiss.

"Not running away anymore," he whispers, then settles back into Jeongguk's lap. Jeongguk chuckles, laughs, voice so soft he could've just been whispering, but there's no mistaking the small smile on his lips as he marvels at Jimin's body, as he sculpts Jimin's torso with his hands and pulls Jimin closer in one swift motion. The friction of their bodies is prickling, electric, and the goosepimples on Jeongguk's skin haven't waned since they've been skin on skin, but Jimin likes this distance, likes that if every fiber of control in his body snaps and tells him to do the unthinkable, all he has to do is to lean closer and muffle those three words in Jeongguk's warm, willing mouth. "Ever."

"Good, because I'm–" Jeongguk chokes on his own breath as Jimin parts his legs, as Jimin shifts a little and dips his hand between his thighs so he can reach for Jeongguk's hardening cock and give it a nice, easy stroke. On a normal day, Jeongguk wouldn't make a sound even if Jimin was already stretching him open with three fingers and rubbing slow, soothing circles on the tip of his dick with Jimin's thumb, but this time Jeongguk doesn't hold back. He whimpers when Jimin pulls his hand away but breathes out a shaky sigh when Jimin touches him again, fingers warm and trembling against his sensitive skin. "Not letting go so easily," Jeongguk manages after a few quick breaths, then he's kissing Jimin as if to avenge himself. Like he's saying, You can't do things like that without warning, Park Jimin. You can't just take my breath away and parade around the room with my heart in tow.

"Kinda creepy," Jimin teases, then gives Jeongguk's cock a lazy tug. Never mind that his own dick feels so hot and heavy against his stomach, or that Jeongguk's rutting against him, impatient and wild and wanting – he wants to hear more of those soft whimpers, of Jeongguk humming his name under his breath like a prayer, of Jeongguk asking him to please, please, please touch me some more, hyung. So he tightens his hold on Jeongguk's dick, turning soft, careful touches into long, drawn out pumps. "What will people say if they hear–"

"Don't care. I'm a crazy, possessive boyfriend," Jeongguk mutters. His voice cracks when the tips of their dicks touch, when Jimin grips him a bit too tightly at the prickling sensation. Heats blooms in Jimin's abdomen and shit, Jeongguk looks beautiful like this, lips swollen and parted, hair sticking to his face, to his skin, eyes fixed on nothing, no one else but Jimin as he says, "Yours, I mean." Jimin has seen Jeongguk with all his guards down before, has seen him more wrecked than he is now, but Jeongguk has never looked at him like this, like he'll burst into flames if Jimin doesn't fuck him harder and explode if Jimin does. Jeongguk looks like he's seconds away from begging for release yet here he is, pinning Jimin with a focused gaze and words more prickling than the sticky slide of their skin. "Your crazy, possessive boyfriend."

"I–" Never thought you'd be this possessive, never thought you'd want me this much, never thought I'd get my happy ending, but hey, Jeon Jeongguk has always been a mixed bag of tricks and surprises. And Jimin loves surprises more than long, client-free vacations. The feeling of Jeongguk's dick sliding between his thighs, even more. "I–"

"–am thinking too much again," Jeongguk teases, thinning his voice in a way that, he's aware, will tick Jimin off enough to earn him a jab to the gut or a pinch on the arm. I don't sound like that! I'm not whiny! Jimin would say, would twist Jeongguk's nipples through his shirt as some weird invitation to the stock room later, eight in the evening, don't be late, but Jeongguk gets none of that. Jimin can't even feel anything but the friction between his palm and Jeongguk's skin, the thundering pulse along the vein on Jeongguk's cock and Jeongguk's heavy panting against the slope of his neck. Still, Jeongguk leans in for a kiss even before Jimin can utter a word or make a sound, presses his lips to one corner of Jimin's mouth, then the other, dragging them across Jimin's own as if in an attempt to silence Jimin. He pulls away for a second, taking a deep, shaky breath, then he's saying, "And I don't know how you can think at all when you're sitting on my dick, but seriously, just–"

"Just focus on you?" Jimin tries. He gives Jeongguk's cock a slick twist, shivers when he feels Jeongguk's thighs shaking against his own, then breathes out, "On... us?"

Jeongguk nods. He gulps hard, screws his eyes shut, and that's enough an answer for Jimin to press on, to pump his hand up and down the length of Jeongguk's dick at the same time that Jeongguk rolls his hips, craving more contact. It's almost surprising, the way Jeongguk's voice loses its usual confidence and cadence and thins into soft whispers, whimpers of Jimin's name where he has his lips pressed to the underside of Jimin's jaw, so Jimin savors every single moment of it, every hitch of the breath and tiny, indiscernible moan and groan and jerk of Jeongguk's hips. He can feel the strain on his muscles already, on his hands trembling around Jeongguk's cock, scrambling for purchase as he feels his arousal growing heavier between his thighs, and–

"Can I?" Jeongguk chokes out, tapping Jimin's thighs and peering through the narrow slits of his bangs in question. His gaze is heavy, almost clouded, but Jimin can still see himself reflected in Jeongguk's eyes, can still feel Jeongguk inching closer and closer and even closer like he means to drink up every inch of Jimin, means to breathe him in. And it's ridiculous because the fit of their bodies already feels more like limbs wrestling for space and comfort than anything else, but Jeongguk makes it work somehow, fastens his palms on Jimin's thighs and gives them a gentle squeeze as he says again, "May I?"

You're crazy, is Jimin's first thought; his second, and so am I for not pushing you away yet. And that makes me crazier of the two of us.

He nods and takes a deep breath, then leans back a little and rests the balls of his feet on the seat just behind them. He cants his hips, then, gently lifting himself off of Jeongguk as he pulls away. Cool air scrapes against his back, making him shiver and almost lose balance, but Jeongguk goes for the save and scoops him in his arms. It's a nice contrast to the numbing cold, to the thin sheet of goosebumps crawling up his spine, so he relaxes against Jeongguk's touch in a brief respite before sinking his ass back onto Jeongguk's lap. He can feel the slide of Jeongguk's cock between his thighs, can feel the hot, sensitive skin brush against his own dick, can hear Jeongguk's breathy sighs and moans and questions in the way his lips tremble. Jeongguk can be asking, Is it okay if I go harder, faster? or Does this make you feel good, as well? because for all of Jeongguk's casual indifference when it comes to most things, he isn't as heartless as he seems. He cares more about others than himself, whether Yoongi has already had coffee or not or if Namjoon has actually had breakfast before reporting for work because sometimes ideas are enough to tide him through the first few hours of laboring over brands. He cares more about whether or not Jimin isn't missing any visuals for his presentations, or if Jimin hasn't forgotten to at least drink water after four hours of non-stop work. He'll put himself last if he can, and take solace in the fact that people can't see through the thin veil of detachment he pulls up whenever he finds Jimin staring at him longer than usual.

But Jimin knows him, the shape of his body, the inner workings of his mind and the words he'll never say. So he does Jeongguk a favor and snaps his thighs even closer together as he lets Jeongguk guide him up and down, working a steady rhythm on Jeongguk's cock. He can feel the thundering pulse of the vein along the shaft of Jeongguk's dick, can feel his thighs quivering at every long and hard thrust, can feel his arms giving away slowly but surely, but Jeongguk helps keep him steady, keeps his eyes locked onto Jimin's own as he says, "You feel amazing. You're so soft, I–" Jeongguk's breath hitches at a particularly hard thrust, and Jimin feels himself dropping all his resolve even more when he feels Jeongguk slide his dick against Jimin's own. "I can come like this, hyung. You can make me come like this, if you want to."

"I want–" Jimin gasps, feeling the slide of Jeongguk's cock against his balls. He rolls his hips, yearning for more friction, craving more even as Jeongguk brings him closer and thrusts harder into the warmth of his thighs. I just want to take you, take you home, run away, he's tempted to say, but none of those words seem to suffice. He wants this warmth to take root in his body every single day, wants to feel Jeongguk's soft touches not only when they're alone, in the dark, but even in broad daylight. He wants to go to bed every night, lulled by the sweet sound of Jeongguk's humming in his ear, and wake up every single morning to Jeongguk's shy, unguarded smile, to the lazy drawl of Jeongguk's voice as he says, g'morning, hyung, to he lilts in Jeongguk's tone he giggles into their early morning kiss, drinking each other up, breathing each other in.

"I want–" Jimin begins, voice barely above a whisper. He lifts his hips and settles back down, rubbing himself off of Jeongguk's weeping cock and almost losing balance when Jeongguk wraps his slender, trembling fingers around their dicks, jerking them off in light, easy pumps. "I want you."

"Fuck,"Jeongguk groans, letting his face fall forward and burying it in the crook of Jimin's neck. His lips are wet and warm against Jimin's skin, sucking lightly where he can and when he can because Jimin hasn't stopped bouncing on his lap yet, hasn't stopped caressing the length of his cock with his soft thighs. And Jeongguk's close. Jimin can feel it in the way Jeongguk's body jerks at the next hard thrust, in the way Jeongguk sinks his teeth in the warm flesh of Jimin's shoulder. In the way he keeps whispering, Jimin, Jimin, Jimin– and grips Jimin's thighs like a lifeline, nails digging into Jimin's skin and leaving marks that will sting for hours. Jeongguk can easily tip over now, roll his hips against Jimin's own in reckless abandon until he comes all over Jimin's belly, but no. He peers through his bangs and tilts his head, capturing Jimin's lower lip between his teeth and teasing it a little before saying, "Together."

"What do I do with you?" Jimin blurts out, voice cracking as he chuckles. He chokes on his own spit when Jeongguk squeezes their cocks pressed so close to each other. "What do I–"

"You fuck me." Jeongguk laughs, raw and breathy, the same way he did when Jimin had casually dropped after Jeongguk's first all-nighter at work, "Oh my God, I love you– These designs are amazing!" And Jimin feels a familiar sizzle crawl down his abdomen as Jeongguk smiles, slow and languid, against his skin. "Now just let go."

Just let go means Jimin nodding as he leans back and grips the arm rest of Jeongguk's seat, means thrusting harder into Jeongguk's warm palm and relishing the slide of Jeongguk's cock between his thighs. It means smiling when he feels Jeongguk's thighs tremble at the friction of their limbs, but being generous with gasps and moans and whispers of Jeongguk's name every time Jeongguk rams into him harder. It means the two of them moving in soft, easy jerks, enough to rock their world but not make them tip over too fast, too easily. Two bodies falling into place, finding a perfect fit, like puzzle pieces finding their way home.

Jeongguk comes with Jimin's name on his lips, dangling from the corners of his mouth as he spills his release on Jimin's thighs. Jimin shivers at the sudden gush of warmth, at Jeongguk's heavy breathing thumping against his chest in the sticky slide of their bodies. And he expects Jeongguk to slow down, to still the racing inside him as he collects himself, but no. Jeongguk hasn't stopped moving inch by inch in quick, tiny jerks, coaxing Jimin closer to his release, into submission. Jeongguk is looking at him like he holds the answers to all the questions in the world, tracing the contours of his face with a heavy, focused gaze like they haven't mapped each other out yet. Like he wants to see more of the flush on Jimin's cheeks, the little bite marks on Jimin's lower lip, the way Jimin's chest heaves in tight breaths as Jimin whispers, "I'm close–"

"You're beautiful," Jeongguk whispers in Jimin's ear, breath prickling his skin, and that is what pushes him to the edge, losing all control and falling straight into Jeongguk's waiting arms. He comes in thick spurts in Jeongguk's fist, lets out a long, drawn-out moan as Jeongguk runs his fist up and down his length a few more times. He can feel every brush of Jeongguk's skin against his, every thundering beat of Jeongguk's pulse falling into step with his own, and everything is just too much, like explosions at the tips of his fingers and toes crawling to the rest of his body, making him shake all over until he's tumbling into Jeongguk's heart first.

"I'm gonna die," Jimin coughs out after a while, when Jeongguk, the devil that he is, runs his thumb lightly along the vein of his shaft. He hasn't unwrapped his arms from where he'd slumped against Jeongguk yet, still hasn't pried himself from the sticky slide of their bodies. And his legs still feel like jelly that if he so much as attempts to pull away from the tangle of their limbs, he'll fall flat on his face on the floor. On a normal day, it would be gross, the fit of their bodies still slick with their release, but there's something so strangely alluring about Jeongguk stroking his length leisurely with one hand and running a warm, soothing palm up and down his back with the other, about Jeongguk humming in his ear and mouthing words he'll never say out loud against Jimin's skin – that was fun, let's do it again. Don't let it end, hyung. Make this moment last forever. "Jesus Christ– Jeon Jeongguk, I'm–"

"Gonna come again?" Jeongguk teases, but he doesn't wait for Jimin to answer. Instead, he runs his hands up the shape of Jimin's body, settling one hand on the base of Jimin's nape and the other on Jimin's chest, where Jimin's heart beats the strongest. And he kisses Jimin, nibbles on Jimin's lower lip like he hasn't left enough marks on them yet to tell the world that Jimin is his, licks the cavern of Jimin's mouth like he still hasn't had enough yet and would like to taste Jimin over and over again. It's already half past might, they still have a workspace to clean up, visuals to polish, a pitch to design for victory, and this isn't part of the schedule, but then Jeon Jeongguk has never played by the rules. Jimin can't say he's surprised. He can't even say he minds.

And in a small, small voice, he admits: maybe, just maybe, he never will.

So he lets Jeongguk have his way, tilts his head back and lets Jeongguk pepper his skin with bright red marks that no amount of make up or layers of clothing can ever cover up. If anyone asks tomorrow, prods as to how he's gotten all those scars – Jeongguk's marks – on his skin, he can always say he'd just come out of his roughest night with battle scars worth a thousand victories. The ultimate prize? Jeongguk's blissful smile when Jimin chuckles into his mouth, reeling him in for a second round.

✪

"Hey, kid, why are you here?" Jimin whispers in Jeongguk's ear when he finds Jeongguk staring at the monitor the moment he gets back from the big presentation. "I thought– You said earlier you won't report to work."

Jimin heaves a sigh when he doesn't earn a response from Jeongguk. It's almost two in the afternoon now, and the blinds in the creative's area are still shut tightly. Yoongi's things are on his desk, but the owner's probably taking a stroll down some alley nearby for a violent breath of inspiration to pierce his lungs. Namjoon's laptop is booted up but he's nowhere to be found, either – probably going for a coffee run? His second for the day? And then there's Jeongguk who looks like he's three parts 'barely there' and one part 'actually alive but unwilling to move'. Half of Jimin wants to carry Jeongguk on his back and take him home, tuck him in. Take care of him until he felt strong enough to not slump against Jimin's figure in the car (and Jeongguk had been so reluctant to slip inside his own house that morning because, "You're warmer, hyung."). After all, they had gone home just a few minutes shy of four in the morning. Company policy dictates that Jeongguk stay curled up in the sheets until the following day so he'll be a more efficient worker when he reports to work again and not a designer who is in a deep, deep trance. Too deep, in fact, that even if Jimin nudges him in the arm, pinches him in his side, fluffs his hair and pokes his cheek a little, his breath doesn't even hitch.

"Hey, cutie pie. Snap out of it," Jimin says now, thinning his voice to a whisper and bending his knees a little. Jeongguk's eyes flutter for a second, but for the most part he is unmoved in the same manner that most of the things they had left lying around before going home are. There are print outs of job orders on the floor from when they'd had knocked over a pile of something when they went for another round. They had finally pinned down the final look for the presentation then, and Jeongguk suggested having a celebration. "Of what, limbs and love?" Jimin had said in reply, more to tease than to offer a suggestion, and Jeongguk looked at him with the softest gaze and the most beautiful smile. The next thing Jimin knew, Jeongguk was slipping his arms around his waist and pulling him close for a kiss. And he was melting into Jeongguk's touch, too tired to fight back but not enough to let Jeongguk pull away without returning the favor with a deeper, more heated kiss.

Then there are the crushed sticky notes of different colors littered on Jeongguk's desk from when Jimin had to hold onto the closest solid thing for dear life as Jeongguk slid his cock between Jimin's thighs again. Jeongguk had tapped a soft beat on Jimin's soft skin as he whispered right in Jimin's ear, "We should do this more often." Jeongguk had pulled out, then slid back in the slowest, most torturous motion, and Jimin could recall curling his fingers around papers, Post Its, a plush dolphin he'd given Jeongguk for Christmas a year ago. One of the notes he'd left Jeongguk a few months back that said, 'Thanks, best dongsaeng! This is why you're my favorite~ ♥', then a reply in Jeongguk's writing that was crossed out, but looked a lot like, 'Only for you.' That nudged Jimin closer to a second release; Jeongguk telling him "I wouldn't mind putting in more hours of work for you everyday," untied the tight knot in his chest altogether and made him give in.

Jimin takes a deep, shaky breath, then shrugs off the fleeting memory of the night that was. They were both tired then, vulnerable, too willing. They were craving release. Jeongguk's turning to him right now with weary eyes and tight-pressed lips that curl up into the smallest smile at the corners, but for all Jimin knows Jeongguk doesn't even remember anything that happened the night before. The poor kid can even barely remember to breathe.

"Oh, hey," Jeongguk whispers, then pats his lap as if in invitation. He blinks a few times, until his cheeks are lifting and color is seeping back into his eyes. "How did the presentation go?"

Jimin swallows hard. There are a lot of ways he can answer that question – It was alright, it was okay, did you actually think I was going to screw up, you asshole? – but the words keep pushing themselves back down, to the pit of his stomach where his insides lurch at Jeongguk patting his lap again and yanking him closer by the wrist when he doesn't say a word. It takes a while before he feels his tongue again, no longer numbed by him biting on it to hard. He manages a grunt, a low hum, a soft, "You... came to work for me?" and rubs the tip of his nose when Jeongguk meets his gaze with wide, wide eyes. "I mean, since you're asking, I figured–"

Jeongguk laughs – bright, almost raucous – and shakes his head. His shoulders jump in little hiccups long after his laughter has died down and the corners of his mouth are still pulled up into a silly smile, but the shadows of fatigue have already lifted from his features. All that's left are the scars of last night, the bright red marks on the underside of his jaw and that small cut on his lips from where Jimin had accidentally bitten him too hard when he thrust between Jimin's thighs in quick, rapid movements. And the familiar lilt in Jeongguk's voice when he says, "Of course, I would. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't support you in your crazy endeavors?"

Jimin's insides turn. "You're really going to call me that?" he asks, pausing only to look around, to check if they're safe from the privy eyes of Jimin's teammates and Jeongguk's boss from hell. He doesn't mind this whole 'coming out in the open' thing, not in this industry, but goddamit, Jeon Jeongguk, at least give me a heads up. "Here? In the office?"

Jeongguk lifts his eyebrows a little. The violent upward tug on the corners of his lips has waned, has dropped into something akin to a frown, but Jeongguk shakes that off even before the image can leave scars at the back of Jimin's eyelids. Instead, he heaves a sigh as he asks, "You have a problem with that?" Presses his lips into a thin, thin line before continuing, "It's– Well, I guess it's cute so I–"

"You haven't even taken me out on a date yet," Jimin argues. Then, meeting Jeongguk's gaze again and gulping hard when he catches the cute little smile coaxing Jeongguk's lips to pull up into a grin, he adds, "And you haven't really asked–"

"Will you go out with me after work, then?" Jeongguk casually mentions, but there's no mistaking the light tremble in his voice. That, and Yoongi's loud snort as he approaches and mutters just loud enough for Jimin to hear, get it, boy. "Or... later, for a quick bite? A snack? Coffee?"

Jimin chuckles. Maybe he should try to put up a fight, tease Jeongguk some more, see if he can make Jeongguk blush the brightest shade of red to match the hickies on his neck, but he's done playing games. They've already crossed the finish line, haven't they, when they took that blind leap of faith? They've already won the match. There's no reason to fight the feeling anymore. So he laughs, makes himself comfortable on Jeongguk's lap, and whispers just loud enough for Yoongi to hear, "I'll always say 'yes' to coffee."

"And to me?"

Jimin purses his lips. "I'll think about it."

Jeongguk snarls. "You only want me for my designs and my money and–"

"I want you," Jimin whispers for a last time, leaning in just close enough that he can nibble on Jeongguk's ear lobe. He can stay here longer, curl his fingers on Jeongguk's nape and brainstorm with Jeongguk on a few business pitches like this, but later, he tells himself. They have later. So he peels himself from Jeongguk, pulling away even before Jeongguk can reel him back in, before Jeongguk can remind him again of strawberry kisses and soft touches and the only reason he'll ever stay up until four in the morning. And he risks a glance over his shoulder when Jeongguk calls out, " 4 p.m.?," eyes brighter than the sun.

He has two materials due for submission at five, he can wrangle an extension for that. Love can't wait.

"It's a date."

bts: these accidents of fate and nature

onyu — Tue, 13 Oct 2015 01:11:32 GMT

these accidents of fate and nature
— Suga/Jin. PG-13. 23300 words.
— Somewhere between the Acapulco mission and the category five typhoon in Korea, Yoongi fails to tame the one storm that he never saw coming.
— Written for extrafictionary 2015 as a pinch hit.

exo: little loves

onyu — Fri, 07 Aug 2015 08:31:00 GMT

little loves
— Sehun/Lay, Sehun/Suho, Sehun/Xiumin. PG. 1090 words.
— Sehun falls in love twice... and finds himself sharing a plate of tteokbokki with a complete stranger.
— For my beloved xiukisses, on her special day ♥ Also available on AO3.

❀ carnation (sehun/lay; 173 words)

Sehun's first encounter with the concept of a 'crush' happens when he's ten, in summer camp. He meets this wide-eyed kid whose Korean he can't quite understand but whose smile speaks more than anybody ever can. It takes five minutes for them to successfully deliver introductions, five minutes for them to tumble into and out of each other's lives. In that small packet of time, Sehun learns these things: that the boy's name is Yixing and that he can either be five years younger or older than Sehun, depending on his mood; that the boy can sing and dance and giggle like one of those cute puppies on television. Sehun's favorite children's show, the type that he can watch multiple episodes of in a day. That the boy makes him feel like bursting into song everytime the boy looks his way to offer him a smile.

And the way the boy's soft laughter haunts him even until a week after, tickling his insides and making his cheeks flush an interesting shade of pink.

❀ crimson (sehun/suho; 253 words)

Sehun falls in love when he's seventeen. More like it hits him square on the nose with a realization when he sees Joonmyun grimacing in pain after injuring himself in a badminton match. His first thought is oh shit, we're going to lose. Our ace player's down and we are so going to fuck everything up. His second, I can't lose him. I don’t think I can bear to. So he rushes to where Joonmyun is on the court, a towel haphazardly rolled up in a tight ball in one hand and his heart crushed in the other. He can hear the coach calling after him, telling him that nobody but the medical team can touch Joonmyun right now, but to hell with that. Joonmyun's lying on the floor, playing hand shaking even as he guides it closer to his body with the other. Joonmyun's looking up at him with a soft, soft gaze and an even gentler smile. And his heart is aching. His chest feels so tight and he wants nothing but to hold Joonmyun in his arms and tell him that, 'everything will be okay, hyung. Don't worry, we'll be fine,' if it means it will lessen Joonmyun's pain somehow. So he lies to Joonmyun and says, from outside the white lines of the court, "You're going to be alright, hyung. Trust me." Doesn’t say, I'd give everything to make you feel well again. I'd give everything to save you.

Now open up your heart so you can be mine.

❀ carmine (sehun/xiumin; 665 words)

Love finds Sehun when he's nineteen, while he's stuck in a food stall just two blocks from the train station. It's been raining for close to thirty minutes now and he's been gnawing at the same piece of tteok for the past two minutes, trying to buy time. Making an excuse for his stay in the stall, in his temporary shelter form the storm. His tummy's grumbling again, but then he only has enough money in his wallet for the reload of his train pass. And maybe he should be on his way now because he's been taking up too much space in the stall for too long already, but then a young man with the brightest, brightest eyes walks in. "One order of tteokbokki, please," the man tells the ahjumma, before guiding his gaze to meet Sehun's own. Sehun blinks, gulps hard, takes a deep, deep breath when he sees the slow-forming smile on the man's lips. For a second, he considers looking away, but his stomach gets the better of him and speaks on his behalf, letting out a low groan.

The man chuckles. 'Fuck,' Sehun thinks. His stomach lurches again. He can't tell which he wants more of – food, or this man's soft laughter. "And one for him, as well."

"For... me?" Sehun asks, pointing his thumbs to himself. The man laughs a little. "But–"

"For the cute boy with the grumbling tummy, yes," says the man, humming some more. His smile burns like a thousand suns even at the height of the pouring rain outside. Sehun can't say he doesn't like it. "Unless he wanted something else?"

'Your name,' he's tempted to say. He doesn't. Instead, he counts his money at the back of his mind, licks his lips and says at the back of his mind, well, fuck this. My house is just a station away, anyway. "Can I buy you some odeng, then? As, uh, payment?"

The man widens his eyes, lips parted in question. He doesn't say anything, doesn't even utter a word, but he does inch closer to Sehun. Sehun can feel the pressing heat of their limbs, can feel their knuckles brushing each other in the tiny space they're both moving in. Can feel the faint rush of warmth to his cheeks as the man says, "Minseok. Kim Minseok. And you have... gochujang on your lips. Just–there." Minseok reaches out, then runs a thumb along the jut of Sehun's bottom lip. He licks the remnants off his finger as he says, "There. Much better."

Sehun feels his heart leap in his chest. He can't say he minds – how humid it is inside with all the steam and body heat sticking to his skin, how hard the rain is pouring down just beyond the plastic curtains. How Minseok is leaving pieces of himself in the tteok he's transferring to Sehun's plate like they've known each other since forever. So Sehun takes a whiff of the dishes, takes a deep breath, and drinks up the pretty smile on Minseok's lips as Minseok says, "So, my odeng?"

"Of course," Sehun says, laughing. He takes one of the bigger bundles and splits it between the two of them. He can't erase the image of Minseok's bright smile burning at the back of his eyelids.

He doesn't mind it at all.

(Later, Minseok teases him, saying, "So you have money to buy a stranger some odeng but you don't have money to buy yourself something to eat?"

"Found some extra coins in my pocket," Sehun mumbles as he moves closer to Minseok and holds up the umbrella they're sharing. He doesn't look to his side, but he does catch that cute little smile on Minseok's lips as Minseok shakes his head. There are a lot of puddles on the way home, but at least he won't have to run from the station to his house anymore. Minseok's here to keep him safe from the storm, to keep him warm.)

exo: kiss quick

onyu — Mon, 13 Jul 2015 12:50:58 GMT

kiss quick
— Lu Han/Kyungsoo. NC-17. 8450 words.
— there are two trophies to be won in end-of-the-year awards shows: the gold one that you receive on stage and the one you clutch tight under the dinner table, shielded from the rest of the world. (Warnings: semi-public foreplay?, rimming, fisting)
— march 8, white day advent calendar, for seafoamblues. also on AO3.
— p.s. kyungsoo didn't shove his fist up lu han's ass, fret not. no asses were harmed in the production of this fic. thank you ♥

Kyungsoo looks around him a few times and adjusts the bowtie he's wearing. There's got to be at least a hundred faces here he doesn't know, and then some fifty that are familiar but only just. Maybe a couple thirty he's seen more than once – in variety shows, guestings, on television or in movies, what have you – but the reality is that this place? Being in the midst of all these actors and actresses and flashing lights? It's all unfamiliar. Too unfamiliar, in fact, that as soon as he exits the red carpet, the first thing he does is to head straight to the comfort room to breathe and just be alone.

"Why hello there, little guy," comes a familiar voice, startling Kyungsoo out of his reverie. He widens his eyes, takes a deep breath, and holds all the air in his lungs right there as he swallows hard around the lump in his throat. His nose twitches in retaliation. "Didn't think I'd see you here."

Didn't think I'd see you here, Kyungsoo almost says when he looks to his side. He knows this face, has woken up to it a couple of time on the off chance that all twelve of them were staying in one dorm and not in two separate countries. He's seen it burning at the back of his eyelids after recordings in the booth that last for hours on end, has seen it swimming in his cup of coffee when the person hovers. And he's seen it so close to his. Too close, in fact, that at one point he knew exactly how many pimples there were on the man's cheeks, too close that he knew that the man's lips were almost always chapped, rough, not the type of lips you'd see idols licking in ice cream commercials or during performances when they had to be the best thing since sliced bread and win hearts over.

So he takes a deep breath. Gulps down hard, as well, and drops the hand he had pressed to the base of his throat down to his chest. "You'll get make up on your polo. You wouldn't want to do that," says the guy now, walking even closer to where Kyungsoo is. Two more steps and there it is again, the faint marks of the pimples stylists have spent minutes trying to hide, a touch of familiarity in the way the man's lips curl up at the corners as he smiles.

"You always ruin it with your smile," Kyungsoo mutters. He turns around, dropping his hand to the counter of the sink. He breathes out. "Seriously, hyung, drop the smile. Everything was much better without it."

Lu Han hovers. He's still wearing that weird smile on his lips, albeit a bit softer now. The corners of his eyes are still crinkled like he just can't contain his amusement behind his teeth. And he's still scrunching his nose a little in that weird look Kyungsoo has never been able to blink away. Months after Lu Han's retirement from the band and Kyungsoo still gets that weird, sinking sensation in his stomach that feels a lot like taking two, three punches to the gut when he sees Lu Han in the news, in old pictures as a band, in Chanyeol's Line contacts when Kyungsoo feels like snooping around, looking over Chanyeol's shoulder and just staying for a while. So when Lu Han moves closer, threading his hands through Kyungsoo's hair, Kyungsoo stills. Holds his breath and feels for the strong pulse at the base of his throat, the back of his knees and his ears, all of which aren't touching Lu Han.

"I missed you, too, buddy," Lu Han says, then closes his eyes into half moon crescents. Then he gives Kyungsoo's hair a light ruffle, messing up the back just a little. "A bit rougher and a lot more natural. That suits you better."

Kyungsoo snorts. He leans in for a bit, succumbing to the warmth, then he's turning on the faucet and drawing his palm closer to the foaming water to spray the stream in Lu Han’s direction. Some things are easier said in actions, anyway, like I didn't miss you, but I did miss us and but don't tell anyone I said that. They told me not to care. I'm not supposed to care. The next thing he knows, Lu Han's suit is drenched in front and Lu Han's eyes are blown wide, mouth hanging agape. Then Lu Han's grabbing him by the front of his shirt, twisting his fist in his clothes, pulling him closer. And then Lu Han's splashing water in his face – in retaliation or as a response to the unspoken message, Kyungsoo can't tell. All he knows right now is that they look like silly kids playing dress-up, set to sit in for an awarding ceremony too long as adults.

"The media's gonna have a field day," Lu Han says later, on their way out of the bathroom, suits still two shades darker than when they were dry.

Kyungsoo snorts. He feels oddly light and warm. "Let them."

♡

"You'll be alright all alone, right?" A small smile, then, "Cool. I'll just walk around for a bit. I'll be back!"

Kyungsoo waves over his shoulder and snorts. He was with some of the cast members of his debut film just a few minutes ago, talking about everything but the ceremony, but they'd all started disappearing one by one, probably to go look for other friends in the industry they hadn't seen in a while. Maybe even to take a dump or just take a break from being cooped up in a place for so long with the knowledge that they won't even be bringing home an award, anyway. Kyungsoo gets that, the crippling feeling of helplessness and uncertainty, of not knowing when the stupid ceremony would end and when their suffering would, as well. He's felt it too many times already – during those times when his voice would crack in the middle of recording, or when he just couldn't get the steps right during dance practice. When he couldn't nail the delivery for a scene he’d supposedly been practicing for days, weeks, months already during taping, couldn't even remember where he put that bloody script when he was so sure he was holding it tight just minutes ago. Little things like those pile up on you after a while, and when you're trapped in a dark place it's almost inevitable for you to feel like you're being forced to face those fears, one by one.

So when Lu Han decides to slip right beside him to take the unoccupied seat to his left, he isn't surprised. In fact, he’d been counting – the hours, minutes, seconds until Lu Han would show up behind him or even send him a text, a quick message telling him to go wherever Lu Han was, let’s make it quick. Besides, it won’t be the first time they’d be helping each other out during ‘work hours’. Friends do that – help each other out, provide a bit of warmth, a form of relief and release at the height to tension. He addresses Lu Han with a nod, then, a small smile, a soft whisper as he says, “Was beginning you’d fallen asleep already. "

Lu Han drops his hand to Kyungsoo’s thigh, then hums as he drags his seat closer to where Kyungsoo is. “Aww, that’s cute.” A long sigh, then, "Still a worrywart, eh?"

Kyungsoo snorts. Change isn’t easy, he wants to tell Lu Han, but Lu Han doesn’t need to be told twice – by circumstance and by a former bandmate, one of the people he’d spent the most number of hours locked up in the recording booth with. Old habits die hard, after all, like Kyungsoo rolling his eyes in response instead of saying ‘yes’ without another thought, like Lu Han drumming a beat on his thigh instead of saying more and making his voice soar above the commentary a few meters away from them. Some things, like the way Lu Han stops tapping his fingers there and instead splays them on the material of Kyungsoo’s pants before sliding his hand up the stretch of Kyungsoo’s thigh – these are familiar. Too familiar a song that Kyungsoo falls into step with it even before Lu Han starts rubbing tight circles on his pants and humming a tune under his breath.

He licks his lips, coaxing them to part, then takes a sharp breath. Then he looks to his side, cocking an eyebrow at Lu Han just a little, enough to steal Lu Han's attention and to make him stop. “Really?"

Lu Han lifts his eyebrows, lips curled up at the corners into a peculiar smile, but digs his heel into Kyungsoo’s skin to lift his fingers just the same. “Hmm? I dunno what you’re talking about."

“Right, Kyungsoo murmurs, shaking his head as he sinks back into his seat. Part of him wants to ask, who the hell are you kidding, but he knows better than to question Lu Han about such things. Off-cam and without performance adrenaline coursing through his veins, Lu Han speaks better with his limbs, with the goofy smile stretching across his lips and the gentle slide of his hand across Kyungsoo’s waist when Kyungsoo walks too fast, drifting from the group. Trying to extract words from him is like trying to sort grains of sand by color, by texture. So the first time Lu Han walked up to him with lips too red from being worried too much and his fingers busy with the hem of his shirt, he just furrowed his eyebrows, tilted his head, then asked in a quiet voice, “You okay, hyung?"

Joonmyun passed right behind them and clasped warm hands on their shoulders. “Everything alright?”

Lu Han gave him what could have been the ugliest grin and said, “Yeah, we’re cool,” before grabbing Kyungsoo by the wrist. Halfway through them running down the corridor, he whispered in Kyungsoo’s ear, sort of like they were spies on a mission, “Guard the door. I’m serious, you better guard the door or else. Make sure no one comes within a five-foot radius–"

“While you get yourself off in your stage clothes,” Kyungsoo’d finished, shaking his head. He stepped inside the comfort room, nonetheless, pressing his palms to the counter as Lu Han licked his lips. He needed to be away from the rest of the group, anyway, where everyone was either too nervous to move or too listless to stay still and just stay quiet. He had nowhere better to be. So he turned around, facing Lu Han in earnest now and looking at him more closely. Here, with the white, unflattering light shining down on Lu Han, he could see the flush on Lu Han’s cheeks better, his unfocused gaze that kept dropping from where Lu Han was looking at him in the eye down to his mouth and then back up in an instant. Could see his billowing chest and the way a drop of sweat trickled down the sides of his face, tracing the curve of his cheeks. He sort of understood it now, what people were saying about Lu Han looking a bit too good to be true – Lu Han had a face people like him would die for.

He had a face Kyungsoo would maybe be interested in tainting with a mark or two along the column of his neck and–

He gulped down hard, shook his head. Muttered under his breath as Lu Han sucked in his bottom lip at the same time that he licked the tension away from the corners of his mouth, “Yeah, sure, go ahead. Just… don’t be too loud or anything–"

“Do you… need to–“ Lu Han made these weird pumping gestures in the air that looked more like him sizing up a cucumber than anything else. “I mean, are you feeling, I dunno, tense or anything–"

Kyungsoo gulped hard, then traced a line from the swell of Lu Han’s lips down the column of his throat, and then further south to the beginnings of a bulge in his pants. His breath hitched. “I’m good,” he answered before he could say something else, then turned around to face his reflection once again. “Go, have fun. Fifteen minutes."

For a moment, he thought he saw a flash of disappointment in Lu Han’s features, but soon Lu Han was disappearing behind the door of the cubicle. Yeah. Have fun without me.

Lu Han leans even closer now, their thighs glued together in the sides and Lu Han's foot hooked on Kyungsoo's ankle. I'm not going anywhere, Kyungsoo's tempted to say, tempted to remind Lu Han, but soon he chokes on his own spit when Lu Han snakes his hand even higher, up, up, up his thigh. He can feel Lu Han's knuckles grazing his crotch through the material of his pants, can feel the thundering pulse at the back of his knees quicken even more when Lu Han presses hard there, grinds just a little, then withdraws his hand until just the tips of his cold fingers are prickling Kyungsoo's erection, hot and heavy between his legs. Part of him wants to grab Lu Han by the wrist – then drag Lu Han to the closest enclosed space so he can exact revenge by sucking Lu Han off, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of Lu Han's cock and tongue leaving long and purposeful licks, then pulling away just before Lu Han comes, or so he can push Lu Han away as soon as he feels his fingers again even before they slip into familiar suits, skins – but his palms feel too sweaty and his chest feels so tight. And the lights are dim, enough that the only thing he can make out in the darkness, on Lu Han's features, is the wicked grin stretched across Lu Han's lips. He doesn't need to see anything else – Lu Han makes sure to make him feel every single thing, from the slow and torturous way Lu Han drags a thumb along his tenting erection to the way Lu Han leans on Kyungsoo's shoulder, tilting his head just so until Kyungsoo can feel Lu Han's lips – chapped, always chapped, too warm and wet from being worried too much – pressed to his skin. On stage, the host is calling out another roster of nominees for some award Kyungsoo can't even make sense of anymore even with the characters flashing before him in big and bold strokes, but then Lu Han steals his attention again, licking the shell of his ear now before cupping a hand on his erection and cloaking it in warmth that Kyungsoo never thought he'd come to hate.

"Fuck–" Kyungsoo bucks his hips in stimulus, then clamps his hand on Lu Han's thigh in retaliation. Lu Han's chuckling, he knows it, can hear and feel it where Lu Han keeps giving the base of his ear light sucks, and he wants nothing more right now than to swallow that sound in the cavern of his much and run his tongue again and again along Lu Han's chapped lips, maybe whisper in his ear, don't do that, don't hurt yourself. I won't be around to lick you clean and kiss you all the time. He wants nothing more than to press Lu Han up against a wall, to run his fingers along the buttons of Lu Han's shirt and pluck each open just to see if Lu Han has changed a bit, if he still knows the wicked contours of Lu Han's body from when they'd last shared more than just a fleeting touch or a chaste kiss. He slides his hand up, then, making sure to score a line with his nail just a few centimeters shy of Lu Han's erection, and that's when Lu Han pulls away for a quick second, blowing hot air, a gasp, onto the sensitive skin of Kyungsoo's ear, and canting his hips until Kyungsoo's feeling Lu Han's warmth brush against his the back of his hand.

"You're going to torture me like this? Really?" Lu Han asks now, breathing out a groan when Kyungsoo ghosts his knuckles over his sensitive skin. His entire body gives a tiny jerk, just enough to tilt them off-axis for a moment, and make Kyungsoo laugh a little. Months after the split and Lu Han still reacts to the slightest touch with a full-bodied shudder. The good kind, Kyungsoo notes when Lu Han soon relaxes against his touch, letting his head fall back onto Kyungsoo's shoulder. And a kiss on the neck, as well, maybe a light suck there, as if disguised as a retaliation, a form of revenge. "You know, not once did I ever think that you're this heartless–"

Kyungsoo snorts. Wish I were, a voice at the back of his mind says. I wish it was that easy. He shuns that away, though, instead wrapping his fingers around Lu Han's wrist and giving it a light tug. Lu Han widens his eyes at that, looking up at him with big, big eyes and a small smile flaunted on the corners of his lips. Kyungsoo's stomach does this weird, tiny tumble. He almost wants to run away. "I... guess you can call this an apology."

"Oh," Lu Han whispers, lips parted into a soft little 'o'. Kyungsoo takes a deep breath. "Well, I guess this is a change I can–"

Kyungsoo looks around for an audience, then leans in to give Lu Han's bottom lip a gentle suck. "More action, less talking," he murmurs, then pulls away only to lift both eyebrows at Lu Han as if a reminder of the suggestion he'd only posed with a tug of the wrist. "So?"

Lu Han's lips curl up at the corners in approval. And then Lu Han's standing from where he is, pulling Kyungsoo forward, snatching him away from the scene.

They keep their hands in their pockets on their way to the parking lot, making it past eager fans waiting outside by slipping through the backdoor and making a beeline for Lu Han's car parked nearby. Kyungsoo feels strangely cold all of a sudden, at the gaping lack of warmth between his fingers where Lu Han held onto him earlier, just before twisting the knob of the door. But then nothing's changed, a voice at the back of his mind echoes as he settles inside Lu Han’s car. It's still a mess, receipts lying around along with candy wrappers and plushies that he's collected from fans during those trying times in many different airports. And the seats still smell so faintly but distinctly Lu Han, a mix of strong perfume with a hint of vanilla and then some mint. Then some of the cucumber and melon that's probably from Lu Han's shampoo. Kyungsoo snorts, laughs to himself, at himself. It's so silly, being able to unearth packets of memory just like that and breathe life into them like it hasn't been months since he's last seen Lu Han in the flesh, like it hasn't been months since Lu Han last cupped his cheeks with his sweaty palms and said, more like a goodbye note than a plea, will you please let me top this time around?

"Hey, focus," Lu Han whispers now, joining him at the back. The music in the stereo goes out first; second, the lights. Then Lu Han turns up the airconditioning, mumbling something about the car always being too cold when it's his driver taking him around instead of him exploring places with a car that holds too many memories for him. Kyungsoo shivers at the onset of cold, at the gush of cool wind against his skin, until Lu Han splays his fingers on his chest, guiding him down on the back seat. Lu Han's bracketing him with his arms and that bright smile stretched across his lips. Kyungsoo... sort of wants to wipe that off his face because Lu Han always ruins it with that childlike grin that bares not only his teeth but also his feelings. And he would if he could see better, if it wasn't so cold and if Lu Han wasn't hovering him, keeping him here in this moment, from running away. "Hey, I said, focus–"

"One question," Kyungsoo murmurs, but reaches out to hook his fingers on the belt loops of Lu Han's pants. A half truth, part of him says – he can list at least ten off the top of his head, but he's pretty certain, with the way Lu Han's already sliding his hands across the expanse of his chest, slipping thumbs beneath the material of Kyungsoo's blazer so he can toss that to the floor, that he can only ever blurt out one. Why didn't you ever go back like you said you would, why did you have to tuck me in bed before you left, why did you have to say goodbye when you could’ve just disappeared–

"Why do you keep that gift wrapper lying around?" he asks after a while, when Lu Han presses down on the first button of Kyungsoo's polo with his thumb, then slides it down when the button comes off with a dull 'pop'. "The checkered one. In your console–"

Lu Han hovers. He widens his eyes for a second, pulling away to look to his side, then he's shaking his head a little and breathing out packets of laughter. "Not lying around," he argues, then leans in to plant a soft kiss to the tip of Kyungsoo's nose. "That one isn't trash. It's... a lucky charm of sorts."

"Shut up," Kyungsoo whispers in response, breathing out in a low exhale. With the dim lighting from outside, he can only make out the wicked grin on Lu Han's lips, can only see a hint of Lu Han crinkling his eyes into half moon crescents, but that's enough a harbor for him to reach up to, shoving his palm against Lu Han's face until he can feel the slow-forming smile on Lu Han's lips stretch against his skin. "Just–"

Just stop, he means to say, but then he's reaching further up, curling his fingers on the base of Lu Han's nape and pulling Lu Han closer until he can ghost his lips on Lu Han's forehead, the bridge of his nose, the jut of his top lip. Lu Han parts his lips open more to laugh than in invitation, but Kyungsoo capitalizes on that split-second of surrender, anyway, licking along the seam of Lu Han's lips and sucking long and hard on his bottom lip. Lu Han breathes out a moan, balls trembling fingers into fists in Kyungsoo's shirt, and his knees are weakening. So Kyungsoo keeps pulling him in, pushes himself up against the door and reels Lu Han even closer until Lu Han has one knee pressed to his thigh and his other foot pressed firmly to the floor, keeping him in balance and in check. Half of him feels silly slipping back into a really bad habit, but half of him feels that this is right, somehow – Lu Han tilting his head back a little but whispering Kyungsoo's name like a prayer, Lu Han dropping his hands to Kyungsoo's thighs and coaxing them open, pushing them farther apart. Lu Han pulling away for a quick second, breathing long and deep, and asking, "Are you okay with this?"

Kyungsoo parts his lips, then shivers a little when he feels the cool air from the airconditioning catch on his lips. "Yes," he whispers, nodding as he plays with a button of Lu Han's polo with his thumb. Yes, of course. I'm more than okay with this.

It takes a while for them to slip out of their suits, careful still to not crinkle them too much but still in haste with the way Kyungsoo pushes his pants all the way down in a fluid motion until they're bunching on his ankles. Lu Han helps him slip off of them completely and sets both their clothes on the floor but tosses their polos in front, landing in a messy lump somewhere on the console. Maybe even the dashboard, Kyungsoo muses – Lu Han isn't so good at gauging just the right amount of power he needs to do things, to shoot a crumpled piece of paper into the waste basket, to pull Kyungsoo even closer until their limbs are sliding against each other, goosepimples scrawled all over their skin. Kyungsoo capitalizes on that, then, pushing Lu Han down on the seat and peppering Lu Han's chest with kisses, light sucks, leaving bright marks on Lu Han's skin. He hears Lu Han's breath hitch at the first contact, feels Lu Han trembling against the wet press of his lips on Lu Han's skin. And he feels like some silly kid feeling around for clues, trying to find his way home. Barely any light from outside reaches them, keeps them aglow, and he'd love to see the way the red marks bloom on Lu Han's skin – and then, tomorrow, how they'll burn and remind Lu Han of the things, the people he's left behind – but this will have to do, he tells himself. It's been so long he's been touched, since he's last tried to map out the wicked contours of Lu Han's body in his head, his own hands roaming his own body as he shuts his eyes and imagines Lu Han was touching him, instead. It's been so long since he's last felt Lu Han wrap his warm fingers around his cock, been so long since he's last melted into the touch and tried to hold back the sound and swallow it even before it can spill from his lips. So he bucks into Lu Han's touch, rolls his hips a little as Lu Han jerks him off, and leaves these little bites and sucks along the slope of Lu Han's neck in silent response.

"Missed this–" Lu Han chokes out, voice dropping to a throaty moan when Kyungsoo dips his head to lick along a nipple, then give it a light suck. He threads his fingers through Kyungsoo's hair soon after, grabbing a fistful when Kyungsoo pulls away just a little to look up at him, humming where his bottom lip catches on Lu Han's nipple. "Missed you so much–"

Kyungsoo gulps down hard, then breathes out a low exhale. Lu Han's body gives another jerk – at the sudden rush of cold or at the light prickling sensation curling around his nipple, Kyungsoo can't tell yet, but no matter, he says to himself. Lu Han's struggling to look up at him through half-lidded eyes and Lu Han's lips are trembling but he isn't saying a word, isn't taking anything back. It's almost as if he means it, and maybe he does because Lu Han would be the type to laugh at his own joke as soon as he delivers it but he isn’t joking now. And Lu Han feels warm. The air all around them is cold, almost chilly, and they're stripped to just their skin and there are months of being apart, of not having each other within an arm’s reach, miles upon miles of words left unsaid stretched between them, keeping them apart, and yet Lu Han still feels warm in the awkward fit of their bodies. So Kyungsoo keeps giving, wraps his lips around Lu Han's nipple again as he flicks the other with his thumb. He draws lazy circles on Lu Han's skin until Lu Han's canting his hips, until Lu Han's grabbing him by the ass again and pulling him up until their lips meet and until Kyungsoo can feel the slide of their dicks against each other.

"Fuck–" Lu Han manages to croak out in between gentle nips on Kyungsoo's bottom lip, manages to slip his hand between their chests to bring their cocks together in his grip. Kyungsoo groans at that, digging his nails into Lu Han's sides as he scrambles for purchase on Lu Han's chest, hips, his skin, but then he can feel Lu Han's thundering pulse against the underside of his cock, drumming a steady beat there that Lu Han drags up and down as he jerks them both off in easy strokes. He can feel his thighs trembling, can feel the dull ache in his jaw from kissing Lu Han too much and holding back too little, and he can feel the burn of each drag of Lu Han's palm against their skin. It's stings, maybe even hurts, but then each touch is electric. And Lu Han makes the pain more bearable with his heated kisses, with the way he sucks long and hard on Kyungsoo's tongue like he's trying to draw out every single confession that Kyungsoo has long pushed to the very back of his throat.

"Do you– Is this what you–" Kyungsoo chokes on his speech when Lu Han rubs on the tip of his cock, running his thumb along the slit then smearing precum on the sensitive skin. He tenses all over for a second, holding his breath in, then drops his hands to his sides so he can push himself up, regain ground, and find the equilibrium he'd lost when Lu Han guided him inside his car and backed him up against the door. He catches a few quick breaths, then, timed with the tight circles Lu Han is rubbing on his warm skin as he asks, "Was this what you had in mind–oh God, Lu Han–when you walked up to me earlier–"

"Yes. And no," Lu Han whispers, then presses even harder on the tip of Kyungsoo's cock like he's using that as a distraction, as his quick escape from the unspoken question he could have answered before he left or even before he pulled Kyungsoo into the cubicle that fine day, back in the comfort room before one of their first performances as a group, because he couldn't get off without visuals and Kyungsoo looked good in anything, even in his own skin and with the red marks Lu Han had sucked on his skin blooming across his chest. Lu Han'd offered to get him off then, said he'd drop to his knees right after he came if Kyungsoo could just touch him like he really wanted to because it feels different if someone else is doing it to me, you know what I mean?

Kyungsoo does him a favor, then, tries to ease the answer out of him by wrapping his fingers around Lu Han's dick and giving it a light squeeze. Only then does Lu Han stop, does Lu Han look up at him to meet his gaze and to widen his eyes at him. Only then does Lu Han begin to slot his fingers between Kyungsoo's own to guide Kyungsoo's hand where he wants to be touched, where he needs Kyungsoo most, where he wants to be kept warm. "I wanted to be fucked so badly because it’s been so long but it's cramped in here and I don't want to give you back aches and–"

"If you want something then say it," Kyungsoo mumbles. He drags his loose fist up, shivering when he feels the slide of his warm palm and Lu Han's cool fingers against their cocks, pressed so close together. "You can't keep people guessing all the fucking time–"

“Fuck me,” Lu Han breathes out, then, teeth clamping down on Kyungsoo’s bottom lip before giving it a light suck. Kyungsoo’s touch wavers for a quick second, then he’s gripping their cocks hard again, moving his fist up and down to the rhythm that Lu Han sets for him. “Just like old times, baby."

Kyungsoo laughs a little but kisses back, anyway, sucking on the corners of Lu Han’s lips before pressing their mouths together again in an inelegant slide. “Told you never to–call me that–“ he gasps out as he feels Lu Han slide a warm palm along his balls before giving them a quick squeeze. Told you to stop making me fall–

Kyungsoo motions for Lu Han to get up, to set them back in motion, to get on his knees and lift his chest up with palms pressed to the sticky leather beneath them. Lu Han does as he is told, then, pulling back his shoulders and cracking his neck as he gets up, but not without leaning in for a kiss first, wrapping his legs around Kyungsoo's waist for a few quick seconds to lick a stripe along the underside of Kyungsoo's jaw, to blow warm breath there, to assault the sensitive skin with feather-light kisses before leaving a long, purposeful suck. Kyungsoo digs his nails into Lu Han's skin where he's half holding Lu Han up and half keeping himself steady in response, afraid to lose balance and afraid to fall, still. He can feel the thundering pulse at the back of his ears, at the base of his throat, in his palms as he sucks two slim fingers in his mouth and coat it with saliva, as Lu Han marvels at him before turning around, holding himself up by his knees. "Come on," Lu Han groans, even jerks his foot back a little to hit Kyungsoo in the knee. And Kyungsoo knows he has every right to complain because he knows Lu Han isn't asking for an ordinary fuck, but then he's already lost all his words, dropped them to the back of Lu Han's throat when Lu Han kissed him just minutes ago like it was the only thing he could do to stay alive.

So instead, he laughs, leans in and presses a cool thumb on Lu Han's rim and rubs there for a few seconds before spreading Lu Han's cheeks apart. "Patience," Kyungsoo murmurs, then leans even closer until his lips hover Lu Han's entrance. "Only good boys get rewarded, remember?"

"Never bothered with keeping appearances–oh–"

Lu Han throws his head back at the first contact of Kyungsoo's tongue along his rim. Kyungsoo can feel Lu Han's muscles tensing where he has his cheeks pressed to Lu Han's ass, can feel the cool shiver that crawls down Lu Han's spine as he licks another time, then another, then another. It's been ages since they've last done this and when they did, it was just for demonstration, 'experimentation' purposes, but Kyungsoo can still recall the way Lu Han's body reacts to every single burst of pleasure from the pulsing suction of his lips sucking on Lu Han's rim – Lu Han would curl in and then jerk his feet back and then mumble a soft apology, but his pleas would always soar above the tiny whimpers that spill from his lips. Right now, Lu Han's saying, "Fuck, Kyungsoo– Fuck, I can't–take– Don't– Don't you dare–" Don't you dare dip your tongue inside, Kyungsoo almost asks, because the last time he did that Lu Han cried out in a throaty moan, reached south to touch himself as Kyungsoo alternated between licking and sucking and probing his tongue in Lu Han's rim? Because after that, Lu Han turned around even before he could reach his release, leaned in to give Kyungsoo a sloppy kiss, tasting himself there, before dipping his head to suck Kyungsoo off? Don't you dare stop, because the last time Kyungsoo did, Lu Han groaned in frustration and kept Kyungsoo from reaching his release even as he thrust one, two, three fingers in Kyungsoo, each five minutes apart, until he was twisting his fist inside Kyungsoo and feeling every jerk of Kyungsoo's body as his knuckles grazed Kyungsoo's hole? Don't you dare get too gentle, too intimate, because the last time they did, they fell asleep in each other's arms and almost missed the alarm because it was the best sleep they'd gotten in years? Kyungsoo can't tell at the moment. All he knows is that Lu Han keeps whispering words, sentences, confessions, things Kyungsoo has never head him utter, not once, during those three long years that they spent hopping from one schedule to another, conquering the world, conquering each other's heart.

"You're the only–" Lu Han's breath hitches when Kyungsoo pulls away, but soon Kyungsoo's replacing his tongue with a slick finger, probing Lu Han with a nice, easy thrust. "–one who's ever–"

Gotten it right, Kyungsoo finishes in his head. The next weekend following Valentines' day two years ago – Lu Han told him that before between choked whimpers. He'd contemplated then between pulling away to give Lu Han a kiss or to give him head as he pumped his fingers in Lu Han's entrance. He did neither, because the next thing he knew Lu Han was riding his face, eyes tightly shut and chin tucked where Kyungsoo could see Lu Han between his legs. It wasn't the most flattering of faces or of angles, but Lu Han made it work somehow, made it easy for Kyungsoo to keep going, suck on his rim again, and then wiggle a finger or two inside as he pumped Lu Han's cock with his free hand. You make everything feel right, Lu Han'd told him minutes after his release, face buried in the crook of Kyungsoo's neck, lips, wet and warm, leaving shallow marks on Kyungsoo's skin. I don't know how you do it. You just– There's something about you that makes me–

"More," Lu Han whispers, syllables drawn out, slurred. He's looking over his shoulder, trying so hard to look up at Kyungsoo through half-lidded eyes and a thick cloak of arousal draping over him, in the way darts out his tongue every so often to wet his lips, or the way he grinds against Kyungsoo's hand in an effort to feel more, so Kyungsoo responds right away, pressing one last kiss to Lu Han's rim before leaning back. Slowly, Kyungsoo coats his fingers with saliva again, and then he's pressing one cool digit on Lu Han's entrance before pushing it inside in light and easy jerks. Lu Han shivers all over at the intrusion, muscles clamping all around Kyungsoo's finger and, shit, Kyungsoo can feel the burn of the slide of his skin against Lu Han's own, can feel every jerk of Lu Han's body as he pushes even deeper, slowly pulls his finger out, and then thrusts back in in one fluid motion. For a few minutes, he hears nothing but the sound of Lu Han's heavy breathing, or the light squeak of the material of the seats when Lu Han shifts a little, presses back against Kyungsoo's hand, then rakes his nails along the seat even more when Kyungsoo tries to crook his finger inside. Lu Han feels a bit more loose now, a bit more relaxed even if he's bucking his hips back, yearning friction, so Kyungsoo introduces another digit, carefully slipping it in before twisting both inside Lu Han. He can feel Lu Han tense all around him again, but Lu Han keeps saying, "Go on, go on, just– More, please–" looks over his shoulder another time with a soft smile pulling up the corners of his lips and some beads of sweat trickling along the curve of his cheek. Kyungsoo can make out the faint image of the lines on Lu Han's forehead and he wants to reach over to smooth his thumb over those scribbles, maybe even pull up that smile coloring the corners of Lu Han's mouth even more (and then suck a mark on the underside of Lu Han's jaw, then on slope of his neck, then on base of his throat where he'll be able to feel the vibrations of Lu Han's whimpers the strongest), but Lu Han's voice echoes in his mind so loud and strong, rings in his ears until it's all that he can hear even above the low humming of the air conditioning. So he keeps giving, thrusts one more finger inside Lu Han, scissors them in slow, dizzying patterns as he tries to stretch Lu Han out even more.

"Can you take another?" he asks after a while, choking just before he ends. Lu Han gives the softest, most beautiful hum in response, and Kyungsoo feels a shiver crawling up his neck and curling around his nape all at once. He can feel his cock stir between his legs as he fits another digit inside Lu Han, as he twists his hand and pulls out slowly, only to thrust back in with much force. "Just– Just let me know if–"

"I can take anything–" Lu Han answers, syllables tumbling from his lips and into a faint gasp when Kyungsoo crooks his fingers just so. Breathing out, he adds, "–s'long as it's from you–"

Shut up, Kyungsoo almost says, but the sinking sensation at the pit of his stomach, the wild thumping in his chest, thenvoices all screaming give in at the back of his head all get the better of him. So instead, he keeps mum, keeps stretching Lu Han's, reaching over to stroke Lu Han's length with his free hand and shivering at the warmth slide of Lu han's cock in his palm.

He takes a deep breath after a while, then leans back in to lick along Lu Han's rim a few more times. He gives the pucker a light suck and hums when Lu Han groans, thin and reedy, chest billowing in accord. He can feel the cool pool of saliva on his chin now, can feel it making the slide of his fingers inside a bit easier. He pulls away, then, only halfway through, and introduces one last digit, slipping his thumb inside and guiding his hand in Lu Han with a slow, languid push. Lu Han screams at that, blurting out expletives between syllables of Kyungsoo's name, between moans and whimpers and whispers that Kyungsoo can't seem to make out anymore, lost in a frenzy of all the little sounds that Lu Han has been making. And he can feel Lu Han's thighs shaking against the back of his hand as he gives Lu Han's cock light, easy jerks, as he unwraps his fingers from Lu Han's arousal gently so he can steady his hand on Lu Han's abdomen, rubbing slow circles with his thumb as he peppers the small of Lu Han's back with kisses.

"Kyung–soo–" Lu Han gasps, lets his face fall forward until he's resting his forehead on the seat, keeps looking at Kyungsoo from between his legs like he wants to see if Kyungsoo's enjoying this as much as he is. If Kyungsoo's still doing alright because Lu Han's an asshole like that, making people feel like he cares when he really doesn't. When he shouldn't be giving a fuck at all. Lu Han breathes out, long and loud, then he's licking his lips in search of the words that keep eluding him. "You–" he begins, pausing only when his breath hitches at the next twist of Kyungsoo's fist inside him. "I want you–"

Kyungsoo takes a deep, shaky breath, then swallows around the thick lump in his throat that won't go away. If Lu Han says it one more time, then he might just believe it. He might just give himself away.

"Center con–" Lu Han coughs out, then tilts his head to his right. "Just beside the wrapper–"

Don't give in, Kyungsoo tells himself, yet he peels himself off of Lu Han, anyway, pulling his hand away in a slow, gentle motion, and shivering when the wave of cold wraps around his once warm skin. Lu Han's just gone without this for so long. Lu Han just needs another body to keep him warm. Lu Han's just looking for a good fuck, nothing more. Don't give in just yet. So Kyungsoo shakes off the strange voices at the back of his head, then reaches for the center console, rummaging through the things slotted in the little space there – letters from fans, dated 2013. More folded paper with titles written in front, possibly songs Lu Han had composed at random times, when he couldn't sleep and he'd call up Yixing to just get crazy thoughts out of his system. The gift wrapper from years ago, from Kyungsoo, and then condoms of different colors. He grabs one in haste – he knows Lu Han never buys the flavored ones, anyway, just collects different colors for variety, just in case, so it doesn't matter. All that matters now is the way Lu Han is looking at him, watching his every move, hands still pressed down on the seat instead of touching himself so that he can reach his release his already. Not the way the slide of his palm against his cock feels when he gives it a slick twist to ease the burn he'd been long enduring before snapping the condom in place, but the way Lu Han turns around so that he can watch Kyungsoo touch himself for a few quick seconds. Not the way Lu Han reaches south, sliding his palm along his thigh, but the way he bites the inside of his cheek in an attempt to keep himself from grinning but failing so miserably, just the same.

"You're really cute, did you know that?" Lu Han whispers.

"Not cute," Kyungsoo grumbles but inches closer to Lu Han, anyway. He runs his hands up Lu Han's thighs, then, and motions for Lu Han to lift his legs with cool fingers skating up Lu Han's back. "C'mon, help me out here–"

Lu Han leans in, then catches Kyungsoo's bottom lip between his teeth as he gets up on his knees, teetering forward. For a moment, Kyungsoo's convinced that Lu Han means to leave a mark there the same way that he'd littered scars on people before he left for something better for himself, but soon Lu Han's kissing him. Not a wild clash of tongues, or one of those juvenile kisses where everything is messy, uncoordinated, all teeth and no tongue – Lu Han reaches up to cup Kyungsoo's cheeks with trembling fingers as he eases himself down on Kyungsoo's cock, then gives Kyungsoo's bottom lip a gentle suck. Lu Han licks the cavern of Kyungsoo's mouth, presses staccato kisses on the corners of Kyungsoo's lips. And they're kissing, memorizing each other's mouths like the second they part they know they'll lose their way forever. Lu Han's rocking his hips now, grinding against Kyungsoo in easy jerks, so Kyungsoo meets him halfway. They fall into a familiar enough rhythm – Lu Han slowing down like he needs to feel the burn of Kyungsoo's cock stretching him even more open, like he's shivering in the cold and the only way for him to thaw out is by rolling his hips in tandem with Kyungsoo's own. Kyungsoo snaking one arm around Lu Han's waist then curling his fingers on Lu Han's nape so he can angle Lu Han's head better, for easier access, so he can leave more red marks on Lu Han’s skin. Any minute now, Kyungsoo muses when he feels Lu Han clenching around him yet still bouncing on his lap, when Lu Han buries his face in the crook of Kyungsoo's neck and breathes out little whimpers that prickle Kyungsoo's skin. When Lu Han lets out a strangled cry as Kyungsoo guides his fist up and down Lu Han's length in steady pumps set to the rhythm of Lu Han's heavy breathing. And he can feel himself nearing his climax as well, even more when Lu Han leans back a little to cup his cheeks with his hands again and just looks at him, weary eyes searching for clues before he widens them in a flicker of a surprise.

Kyungsoo comes first, spilling inside Lu Han and crushing their lips together as he rides the last waves of his release. Lu Han isn't far off, though, so Kyungsoo tries to move his hand faster, blurring between the tight press of their bodies and the prickling heat of Lu Han's chest pressed to his own. Soon, Lu Han's coming all over Kyungsoo's loose fist, his abdomen, his chest, some of his release even catching on his own chin, so Kyungsoo pulls away from the kiss for a quick second to lick that off, to taste Lu Han better, before leaning in to chase Lu Han's lips again. If Lu Han ever calls him out on his addiction, on his obsession for warmth and for wet lips and the way Lu Han's slow-forming smile carves a home for itself on his skin, then he can easily shrug it off as the need for air, to breathe. Lu Han stole all the air in his chest when he sucked on Kyungsoo's tongue like a man on a mission to etch his name on Kyungsoo's skin; it's only right for Kyungsoo to demand Lu Han to return what's his, to give it back and maybe toss his heart in, as well.

♡

"Nice car," Kyungsoo mutters later, when Lu Han already has his head rested on Kyungsoo's chest, fingers busy dancing steps on Kyungsoo's skin.

Lu Han looks around them for a quick second and groans when he spots the hint of cum on the backrest of the seats, when he gets a whiff of the scent of sex and Kyungsoo's perfume mixed in the air conditioning. "You're paying for my car wash," he says in retaliation, but he makes no effort to peel himself off of Kyungsoo. Instead, he stays there, tilting his head up, up, up until Kyungsoo's meeting him halfway to link their lips again in a kiss.

♡

("You look good in my clothes," Lu Han comments when he slips out of the hotel's bathroom, only to find Kyungsoo curled up in a bathrobe on his bed. Never mind that Kyungsoo'd promised him a second round, or that Kyungsoo'd promised to tell Lu Han what has been happening in the dorms since his departure – Kyungsoo looks perfect like this, face rid of the thick make up he'd worn earlier and instead painted with the softest, gentlest smile. For a moment, Lu Han considers snapping a picture of this but, instead, he only moves closer, taking careful steps to the bed and settling beside Kyungsoo, promising to himself to stay up for the next few hours or at least until they have to slip back into their separate lives again so he can watch Kyungsoo breathe.)

exo: take me in, take me deeper

onyu — Sat, 11 Jul 2015 15:21:20 GMT

take me in, take me deeper
— Baekhyun/Kyungsoo. PG-13. 6685 words.
— As far as Baekhyun knows, kissing his boss isn’t part of the job description. (Warnings: creepy stalkers, two people kissing under the influence of alcohol but completely consensual)
— for ebie and kitten! @ fake dating au week. alternate titles: icantwriteshortbaeksoo.txt, lolwhatwasithinking.txt, utriedreezautried.txt. Also available on AO3.

On a scale of one to ten, Baekhyun would probably rate his secretarial skills an eleven. For one, he actually comes in on time, way before his boss does. He's never been absent from work, save for that time when he woke up hungover the day after the Agency of the Year party. And he actually makes a to-do list every night, before clocking out from work. He's come to follow a system now, one he's crafted for himself to make full use of his work hours. The moment he arrives in the office, the first thing he does is to go through his task list for the day, resolving to himself to finish them in order. Booting his laptop always comes second; making sure that his phone is charged and that his boss will be able to reach him anytime between nine in the morning to six in the evening is third. Fourth comes going through his emails for five quick minutes and marking the important ones that aren't already flagged as 'URGENT!' then leaving to grab coffee for both himself and his boss. Kyungsoo almost always arrives in the office at nine in the morning, on the dot, after all. The only time he's even been 'late' was that instance when his car broke down just when he was about to take a right turn to the 88 highway on his way to work. And even then, Baekhyun still grabbed a cup each for them, half past eight in the morning, then took the first train to Yeouido. Grabbed one of those waffle treats along the way, as well, because if there was one thing that made Kyungsoo's grim days better without fail, it was the combination of yummy waffles and an even yummier cup of Americano.

And then fifth: doing whatever his boss asks of him, sometimes even after office hours. So nine in the evening in his and Kyungsoo’s favorite ’nondescript’ bar in Hongdae sees him returning to their table not with two cups of coffee in hand but, instead, with two rocks glasses and an entire bottle of whiskey that Baekhyun is positive Kyungsoo can finish it he just put his heart into it.

"Thanks," Kyungsoo mumbles as soon as Baekhyun sets the tray on their little table. He reaches out for the bottle, uncaps it in one slick twist, then pours a generous amount over the ice in Baekhyun's glass. Baekhyun reaches out, then, trying to stop Kyungsoo halfway through because this is part of my job, boss, but then Kyungsoo's shaking his head, laughing a little and looking up at Baekhyun as he says, "Whiskey on the rocks, still? What are you, twelve?"

"Older than you, actually. By a few months. But whatever," Baekhyun retorts, but whispers a soft 'thank you', anyway. Three years down the line and he still finds it difficult to tiptoe to the other side of the fence, to that realm where he and Kyungsoo aren't co-workers, where Kyungsoo isn't his boss but, instead, someone he can hold conversations that stretch past an hour with without tiring himself out or having to think through everything he wants to say. They've done this at least ten times already in the past quarter and then more in the years they've worked together – hang out somewhere after work, hopping from one street performance to another in Hongdae or maybe even ducking into a bar without any cover fee so they can sort of splurge on drinks. (Though Baekhyun's never had to pay for anything; Kyungsoo somehow manages to settle the bill even before Baekhyun can pull out a couple of bills from his waller.) He's had to drive Kyungsoo's car home once or twice already, during those few times when Kyungsoo'd make the mistake of not eating before drinking then end up a blubbering mess on Baekhyun's shoulder. Yet it still feels weird, sometimes, to saunter closer to the controls and flick off the work switch. To drop the entire 'you're my boss and I won't joke around with you unless you pay me to do exactly that' act and clink glasses with Kyungsoo. Only when Kyungsoo stares at him, an eyebrow cocked and a glass of whiskey tilted in his direction, does he find it sort of easy to detach himself from that thin line and just snap the string. "Didn't you know that adding a bit of water to your whiskey actually releases a smoother flavor–"

Kyungsoo snorts. He doesn’t put up a fight when Baekhyun snatches the bottle from him, though, even flashing a thumbs up once he’s satisfied with the amount of whiskey in his glass. “But that’s ice, not water."

"–and makes the whiskey taste better–I'm not done yet–" Baekhyun huffs, pressing his lips into a thin line at the first sign of Kyungsoo's shoulders shaking, at the slightest upward curl on Kyungsoo's lips. And then he’s setting the bottle down on the table, slapping Kyungsoo on the arm, light taps that soon bloom into heavy hits as Kyungsoo erupts into a lovely peal of laughter. "Why did I agree to go with you again–"

"You've finally thawed out," Kyungsoo whispers now, lips pressed to the rim of his glass as he meets Baekhyun's gaze. Baekhyun takes a deep breath, doesn’t thin his lips into a line yet, doesn't even let out all the air in his chest and instead just holds it there. He doesn't see this often – Kyungsoo unfurling, looking in his direction instead of just tilting his head to the side to acknowledge whatever he's is saying, Kyungsoo waiting instead of asking for things right now, urgent request, sorry. I'll make it up to you sometime. Kyungsoo just staring, almost like he's thinking of what to say next, instead of laying down the points he wants to discuss as soon as he enters the conference room because Kyungsoo's almost always prepared for anything. It makes Baekhyun's insides turn a little, makes his stomach lurch. And it makes his breath hitch, for some weird reason, his grip on his own glass tightening in accord.

"For a minute there, I thought I was the one who was going to have to distract you when it's supposed to be the other way around,” Kyungsoo continues after a while.

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. "With what, paperwork?"

Kyungsoo takes a sip of his drink, closing his eyes as the liquid spills over from the rim to his lips. Baekhyun drags his gaze along that, guiding his eyes down from the bridge of Kyungsoo's nose all the way to the gentle swell of his mouth. His throat feels so tight and dry all of a sudden, sort of like he'd chugged down a bottle of tequila in five minutes and didn't even drink water afterwards. He feels a bit silly, a bit... exposed. His first thought is, that thing probably stings without the ice to cool it down. His second, it's probably rude to stare, what with the way Kyungsoo's popping an eye open and cocking an eyebrow at him. Not that Baekhyun’s ever cared about rules.

A snort, bubbles of laughter popping at the corners of Kyungsoo’s lips, then, "Do you really think I'm that heartless?"

Baekhyun furrows his eyebrows. Not really, he’d say in a heartbeat if Kyungsoo wasn’t looking at him like he was posing a challenge. But then Kyungsoo is the only boss he's ever encountered who tells him to go home as soon as he's completed his eight hours at work, the only boss who makes it a point to ask if he's already had lunch, because I know you'll screw up if you keep working when you're hungry. And I don't like screw ups. So, where do you want to eat? Kyungsoo is the only boss he's had who'd sent flowers and a fruit basket over when he heard about Baekhyun's mother getting hospitalized. He even dropped by to visit... and again make sure Baekhyun had eaten. You do that when you're worried, skip meals. Not good, Byun.

And Kyungsoo coos at the sight of baby animals. So he isn't heartless at all. Maybe he's a bit too grump and listless on most days, but scratch the surface and you'll be rewarded with the sight of Kyungsoo being a complete marshmallow, weak to the mere sight of pandas, kittens, or cute little puppies, of kids whose cheeks he just has to pinch. The trick, Baekhyun muses, is to wait for Kyungsoo to drop the curtains, to wait for Kyungsoo to drop that thick wall of defense past work hours and to hang around long enough that he'll treat your presence as an invitation to talk.

Baekhyun snorts. Not that he's been studying Kyungsoo. He doesn't have time for that, what with the insurmountable workload that Kyungsoo gives him everyday. So he nods in response to Kyungsoo's question, sticks out his tongue when Kyungsoo narrows his eyes at him. Beams at his boss – no, at Kyungsoo who has one hand raised and balled into a loose fist, poised to land a jab on Baekhyun's arm.

Now you've thawed out, Baekhyun almost says. He doesn't. Instead, he mutters, "I don't just think you're heartless." A sip of his drink, then, "I know you are."

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, shakes his head, lands that balled fist straight to Baekhyun's chest, left and center. Baekhyun feels the impact, the soft 'thud' that thrums through his skin, but It doesn't hurt. It doesn't leave a dull ache in his muscles even if Kyungsoo's twisting his knuckles in his crisp polo now, pressing even harder with each motion like he means to etch something there, on Baekhyun’s skin just beneath the material of his shirt. "If this is your idea of revenge then it's bullshit," Baekhyun mutters now, just loud enough for Kyungsoo to hear, and that earns him a chuckle from Kyungsoo, a tiny jerk of the body. It makes Kyungsoo drop his hand to Baekhyun's thigh and drum a beat there for a few quick seconds before he pulls away.

Then Kyungsoo looks up, looks straight into Baekhyun's eyes at the same time that Baekhyun takes a deep, sharp breath. Or maybe the violent breathing came first; Baekhyun can't tell anymore. His mind's already a bit fuzzy. Whiskey always hits him harder and faster than most, after all. He's tired to the bone. And really, if Kyungsoo wasn't his boss then he would've declined the invitation in a heartbeat. If Kyungsoo hadn't shifted from wearing his bright corporate smile when he was facing the rest of the team after announcing that they'd won the account to him pressing his lips together, letting the corners pull down at the same time that his shoulders slumped forward a little as soon as he turned on his heel to head back to his office– If Baekhyun hadn't caught that then he would have looked the other way and told Kyungsoo that sorry, boss, I have plans tonight that totally don't involve having a marathon of all fifteen seasons of Case Closed. I can't let you make fun of me as I get ass drunk again. Don't you have other friends to bother or something?

"I do, but they're not as fun to talk to as you are," he recalls Kyungsoo mentioning one time, halfway through their shared bottle of whiskey. He snorted; Kyungsoo pinched him in his side and laughed. "And you're always on my Friday schedule. I can't change that. That's part of who I am already–"

"O–kay!" Baekhyun had said then, and clasped a hand on Kyungsoo's back. He could feel his pulse in the press of his palm to Kyungsoo’s skin. Kyungsoo’s body gave a tiny jerk, as if in recognition, maybe in retaliation. And he was looking at Baekhyun like he wanted to say something, but whiskey'd already pushed his words down his throat, back to the pit of his stomach. "We are going to dance and we're going to get you sobered up and–"

"I'm not drunk, Baekhyun."

"Yeah. That's what everyone says. Now, take my hand so you won't have to fall on your ass on our way to the dance floor–"

"The business is worth at least half a trillion won," Kyungsoo whispers now, then breathes out to blow bubbles into his drink. Baekhyun turns to his side, then, too quick and too sharp, that he almost regrets it when he feels a sharp sting score along the slope of his neck. At least Kyungsoo hasn't caught on yet, he muses as he watches Kyungsoo draws lazy circles on the table, the space just beside his drink. If Kyungsoo ever saw him zoning out again then he'd be taking a punch to the gut once and for all. "I've never handled an account this big. And I know we have a lot of people in the company but what if our resources aren’t enough? What if we’re lacking in technology? In… in knowledge, maybe? What if– What if we’re not ready for this kind of account yet?"

Kyungsoo breathes out and shuts his eyes again, but doesn’t take a sip of his whiskey this time. Then, after a breath, he continues, "What if I just screw things up?"

Baekhyun gulps down hard. Nine out of ten times, when they go out to drink, Kyungsoo tells him about clients who are a pain in the ass or meetings and presentations gone wrong. That one time he didn’t, Kyungsoo didn’t say a thing. Just told Baekhyun to order whatever he liked for the two of them and sat there with Baekhyun in companionable silence. Baekhyun didn’t mind, though – Kyungsoo spoke better like this, in the way he kept taking a deep, shaky breath, kept clenching then unclenching and then clenching his fists again like he was close to dropping a syllable and talking about whatever was bothering him with Baekhyun. Then he leaned his head on Baekhyun’s shoulder, shut his eyes, breathed out long and deep. Whispered before Baekhyun could even ask why, “Chanyeol got pirated by SMG. I can’t keep losing people."

That was a year ago, a few weeks after Baekhyun’d decided to maybe try applying for a different job, try to use his college degree and go for that copywriter job in an advertising agency once and for all. He was happy being Kyungsoo’s secretary, being able to write on the side and earn from that, as well, but part of him was yearning for something more, something new. Not the weird, lurching sensation that he got when Kyungsoo tapped a beat on his thigh the night before, or the way his chest felt oddly tight and his throat dry when Kyungsoo passed by his desk the following morning and set down a cup of coffee in front of him without saying another word. Still, when he got a call from the potential employer, he turned it down, said he was sorry, he’d changed his mind, I hope you find a better candidate. Then he barged into Kyungsoo’s office and said, “I don’t know how you got my coffee order right, but thank you."

Kyungsoo looked up at him through his glasses and smiled a little. His eyes were red and his lips were chapped and he looked like shit, but somehow the smile on his lips, the way sunlight filtered through the glass windows, the way the same rays softened the hard edges of Kyungsoo’s features made him look as if he hadn’t downed too many mojitos the night before. It was unfair, Baekhyun thought. Kyungsoo was unfair.

“Did you even shower? You’re a mess,” Kyungsoo’d said in response after a while. And then, standing from his seat and reaching out, he combed his fingers through Baekhyun’s hair in slow, torturous strokes, like he wasn’t supposedly rushing to meet a 10 a.m. deadline. “There, much better."

So Baekhyun shakes his head now, snorts, looks around for an audience before ruffling Kyungsoo’s hair. He can feel Kyungsoo tensing a bit in the fit of their bodies, can hear the hitch in Kyungsoo’s breathing, but soon Kyungsoo’s leaning in, tilting his head to the side, breathing out. “You’ve never screwed anything up,” he says, then, chuckling as he continues, “I don’t even think you’re capable of messing up."

“You’re just saying that because you want a raise,” Kyungsoo murmurs. A corner of his mouth is curled up, though. He feels a bit warmer than the usual.

“You mean you didn’t give me raise?” Baekhyun gasps, widens his eyes, presses the back of his free hand to his mouth when Kyungsoo turns to look at him. It’s better having that thin wall of defense up even when his fingers are still entangled in Kyungsoo’s hair, because he knows, he just knows Kyungsoo will be wearing one of those exasperated, helpless smiles again in a while and if that happens– "What kind of boss– What kind of human are you–"

Kyungsoo furrows his eyebrows. “Maybe I should get you acting classes, instead? You’re a really bad actor."

“You’re willing to spend that much money on me, really?” Baekhyun snorts. He can see Kyungsoo’s lips quirking up in response, maybe even in defense – he can’t tell at the moment. He can feel the pulse in his temples throbbing a bit too strongly, can feel his eyelids getting heavy, a burning heat pulling down at them. So he squints a little when Kyungsoo just stays there, when Kyungsoo just stares at him, lips parted, head tilted to the side, as if in question but not quite because no word, not a single sound is spilling from his lips. “Ah, you better not let the others hear that. They’ll start thinking you’re playing favorites and–"

Baekhyun’s breath hitches. From where he is, Kyungsoo looks like he’s moments away from saying something important, but there’s no mistaking the figure just a few feet away from where they are. He knows this man, has seen him every single morning of his life not by chance but by a choice that Kyungsoo has already made for him. Tall, lanky, lips pursed and almost pressed into a thin, thin line, aimless gaze glimmering with color only when the man snorts, giggles, laughs. A peculiar curl at the corners of his lips as their gazes meet even with a sheet of darkness enveloping them, even with all the distance in between them pushing them apart–

“Holy shit–” He grabs Kyungsoo by the shoulders and ducks, closes his eyes. He tries to breathe, tiny puffs of air slithering from his lips. If the gods of luck decide to play a prank on him today then he’ll probably be seeing that barista from Starbucks right beside him in the next minute or so, will probably have to lift his gaze and give the man a small smile because he can’t afford to get shitty coffee in the mornings to come. And then Sehun will probably drag him to the dance floor because Baekhyun distinctly remembers Sehun mentioning being good at dancing, my major, actually, except I haven't practiced it in a while– In fact, he recalls a lot of things about Sehun – Sehun showing off his dance moves behind the counter one time, half past eight in the morning, as he waited for a long shot to be extracted for Kyungsoo’s Americano, Sehun leaning on the side of the counter Baekhyun was waiting to be attended to by the barista at, Sehun scribbling these silly little notes on the cup that turned into creepy you've been haunting me in my dreams messages coupled with a heart at the end only two weeks after Sehun had been assigned to the branch closest to Baekhyun’s office.

He breathes out, long and loud, and presses his forehead to Kyungsoo's chest. Never mind that it probably isn't the most appropriate thing to do to your boss – they've long clocked out and Kyungsoo has already dropped the boss act, anyway. And Kyungsoo’s rubbing soothing circles on his back, closer to the side than to the center, fingers trembling a little. “Okay, forget the raise," Baekhyun begins, pausing only to swallow around the thick lump in his throat. "Just get me out of here. Bring the bottle. We are leaving–"

“Baekhyun, you’re mumbling.”

“I don’t care. You are going to take your beloved whiskey and we are going to sneak out of here and we are walking all the way to Hapjeong because I don’t trust you to drive–"

“Baekhyun–” Kyungsoo pulls away, shrugging off Baekhyun’s hands to grab Baekhyun by the wrists, instead. “What the hell is happening to you?"

"Creepy stalker," Baekhyun blurts out, choking on his own spit as he does so. He widens his eyes when he spots Sehun inching closer, wading through the crowd to make his way to where they are, and that's when he meets Kyungsoo in the eye. "Sorry, there's this–" He shakes his head, holds his hands up in defense for the quickest moment, and then he's dropping them to his sides when he sees Sehun getting whisked away by another tall guy. "There's this... creepy barista who keeps trying to get my number and has been writing creepy messages on the cups–"

Kyungsoo laughs a little. His grip is firm on Baekhyun's arms, though, but not enough for Baekhyun to wince in pain. "That explains the KKT I.D. written on my cup," he mutters after a while. He looks around him, then, over his shoulder and following Baekhyun's gaze. "Which one's he? Tiny guy over there?" Baekhyun shakes his head, tilts it even more to the right when he finds Sehun in the crowd again – it's not hard, not with Sehun sporting pink hair. "Ah, tall guy who's... gyrating his ass in the air?"

Baekhyun chokes on his own spit. From where he is, he can see Kyungsoo leaning back a little, mouth twisted into a scowl. "Yeah, the one and only."

"Well..." Kyungsoo scratches a line along the slope of his neck, then worries his bottom lip for a while. It's almost as if he's trying to find the right words for this – for Sehun, for the situation Baekhyun is in, for them actually having to stop drinking to be hyperaware of where Sehun is, of what he's about to do. "I guess his vacant expression's kinda cute if you're drunk."

"No," Baekhyun groans. He gives Kyungsoo a light jab to the cheek, knuckles grazing Kyungsoo's skin. "I trusted you–"

"Why didn't you just move to another Starbucks, though?"

Baekhyun gulps down hard. Part of him wants to just cock an eyebrow at Kyungsoo, shake his head, roll his eyes and tell Kyungsoo that come on, do you think it's that easy? It took him three years to find that one coffee shop that could get Kyungsoo's preference for Americanos right, and he'll just throw it away because of some persistent guy who wouldn't take a wry smile and a shake of the head for an answer? He'll put years of trying to find that one barista who could perfect Kyungsoo's cup of coffee right and consequently make Kyungsoo's day ten times better to waste just because he didn't have – and probably never will – have the courage to say 'no' straight to Sehun's face? Because he's too chicken to turn people down because he knows how it feels? It doesn't work that way, he wants to tell Kyungsoo. Taking the first flight out of the web of your problems won't solve things. It can't be that easy.

So he takes a deep breath, tilts his head back just a little so he can loosen his throat, so that he can feel the words clawing at the walls better. Kyungsoo's looking at him now, no longer sizing up Sehun with a focused gaze, and Kyungsoo's lifting his eyebrows as if reminding Baekhyun that he'd asked something. You're going to make me wait? You're going to do this to your boss?

"Because he's the only barista in three years who got your coffee right?" he begins, pausing only to rub the underside of his nose. He takes a quick sip of his drink and lowers his head a little when he sees Sehun walking in his direction, when Kyungsoo widens his eyes at him a little like Kyungsoo can't believe what Baekhyun is saying, at all. "Because his days off are usually weekdays so I catch a break from time to time? Because I know how important coffee is to you?" He laughs, shakes his head. Breathes out into the thinning space between them. From where he is, even with the lights around dropping into a dangerous dim, he can make out the quiver of Kyungsoo's lips, the subtle rise of his chest when he takes a sharp breath then lets it out at once in light laughter. Yes, Baekhyun wants to say, it is ridiculous, having to talk about this at all. Maybe he should go look for an alternative that won't get him into trouble with young baristas. Maybe he should tell Sehun 'no, I won't ever give you my number' once and for all. And maybe he should think of ways to get them out of this situation because Sehun's walking in their direction again, his strides bigger and this time around. "Because I don't want to screw up both your day and mine?"

Kyungsoo blinks – once, twice, thrice – and then he breathing out into the empty space between them. Baekhyun shivers a little when Kyungsoo's hot breath catches on his skin. It tickles the bridge of his nose, makes him too aware of the thundering pulse at the back of his knees. It makes his insides turn.

"Thanks. For thinking coffee's that important," Kyungsoo whispers after a while, then he's tugging at Baekhyun's shirt in light jerks of the hand. It's almost as if he's unsure of what he wants to do, just a wee bit uncertain, until he looks over his shoulder to survey the surroundings. "But you didn't have to, really–"

"Fuck, he's coming over," Baekhyun groans. He lets his face fall forward, into the crook of Kyungsoo's neck, and breathes out a long sigh. Nevermind that he can feel Kyungsoo tensing a little but soon relaxing into the fit of their bodies, or that Kyungsoo's snaking a hand up his back, all the way to his nape and then rubbing slow circles where Baekhyun's skin and the tips of his hair meet, and it feels right – he has to think of something, anything that can get them out of this mess. So he tries to go through a list of things he could tell Sehun – Barista from Starbucks, right? Have you been following me? Pretty sure I saw you camping out at the entrance of our office's building and you are aware that what you’re doing is creepy–

"Kiss me," Kyungsoo whispers in a rush. Baekhyun looks up in an instant, peeking through his bangs, taking a sharp breath. Then he tilts his head – to urge Kyungsoo to go on or in question, he can’t tell. All he knows right now is that Kyungsoo’s voice isn’t shaking, wavering, and he looks a hundred percent serious about what he’s just proposed. "I said, kiss me."

"What," is the first thing Baekhyun blurs out. The second, "What did you just–"

"You heard what I said," Kyungsoo groans, but for the most part it sounds like a gurgle with the way he has his face buried in Baekhyun's hair. Baekhyun shivers a little when he feels Kyungsoo's hot breath against his skin, when he feels the light brush of Kyungsoo's lips against his temples before Kyungsoo pulls away. At the sudden rush of cold that assaults him now that there are six long inches between them, keeping them apart, keeping them in check. Kyungsoo’s never had qualms with Baekhyun breaching his private space, save for that one time when–

No, Baekhyun tells himself. Don’t go there. Don’t look back. He gulps hard, then, trying to ease the tension in his throat a little and coax words to form on his tongue so he can–

“I mean, if he sees you kissing someone then maybe he'll stop bothering you,” Kyungsoo reasons after a while. He scratches a line along the slope of his neck. Baekhyun drops his gaze there, to the red mark flaunted on Kyungsoo’s skin in stimulus, an escape route that ends up being another trap. So he drags his gaze up, fixes his eyes on Kyungsoo, trying to see better through the narrow slits of his bangs. “Better yet, he’ll move away or to a new branch and then grabbing coffee won’t be such a chore anymore–"

Kyungsoo breathes out, leans back, cracks his neck. Laughs for a quick second before swallowing the sound in exchange for a sharp intake of breath. There's still the dregs of a peculiar smile on his lips, though, Baekhyun muses, one that Kyungsoo doesn't wear on most days, or in front of most people. Baekhyun catches that, sees that quick moment of weakness, but there's no trace of indecision in Kyungsoo's features. It's almost crazy, Baekhyun thinks, how sure Kyungsoo seems to be – of what he's asking Baekhyun to do, of the repercussions of what they'll be doing, of what he wants, because hadn't they made an agreement the first time they shared a kiss after splitting that last glass of neat vodka between the two of them? That was, what, a year and a half ago? Maybe even less? Still, Kyungsoo isn't the type who'd find it easy to just forget a contract and choke it up to being too busy, to having other, better things to worry about. They made an agreement then, that night they got a bit too drunk at the company's Christmas party, to not come too close to each other, to not come within six inches of each other if they didn't want the same thing to happen again. They both made it clear to each other that sucking face once more time would be the most ridiculous mistake they could ever make because too much teeth and no tongue, Baek, Didn't they teach you kids how to kiss back in college?

“Just– Just do it, okay?” Kyungsoo mutters. “I’m giving you a quick fix to your problem. Your creepy admirer will be here in a bit so if you want to save yourself then just–"

"Why?" Baekhyun asks now, probably for the first time since Kyungsoo bought him coffee for no apparent reason three years ago. He can feel his chest grow tight one second and then strangely light the next, like dropping that lone syllable has opened the gates and everything’s pouring out in big waves of questions, clarifications, realizations. “Are you out of your mind? We had an agreement– You said before that the last thing you’ll want me to do is–" He takes a deep breath, licks his lips, curls his fingers into loose fists where his nails catch on the material of Kyungsoo's pants but pulls away all at once when he feels Kyungsoo drop his warm hand to his side. “And now you’re suggesting that I kiss you just to–"

“–ward off some creepy guy you could’ve easily avoided if you just turned him down,” Kyungsoo finishes. He snorts, shakes his head, sits upright again and puts an even greater distance between them now. Baekhyun feels a bit cold. “And you were the one who… drafted that contract thing. I just signed it. Your idea, not mine."

One and the same, Baekhyun wants to argue, but he knows it isn’t. He was drunk then – on Kyungsoo’s warmth, that strange, sinking sensation at the pit of his stomach, at the way Kyungsoo looked at him, peeked at him shyly with a cute little flush on his cheeks as he worried his kiss-swolled lips – and not once has he made good decisions when he’s drunk. So let it go, he tells himself. They’re already halfway through their first glass and fatigue and alcohol have never been a good combination. They’re tired, stressed and distressed. They’re not making sense. It’ll take more than ice-cold water to sober him up from this. Or maybe a sloppy, vodka-stained kiss much like the one they shared–

"Baekhyun?"

Baekhyun takes a deep breath. Sehun is still a good three, four feet away, but his voice is loud enough that Baekhyun catches it even with the collective noise pounding on his eardrums. Sehun hasn't stopped walking yet, head tilted to the side, eyebrows furrowed, eyes fixed on nothing, nobody else but Baekhyun like he's asking for answers that doesn't involve Baekhyun's mobile number. And Kyungsoo's just opposite him, twelve long inches from where he is yet still just a breath, a kiss away. Part of him keeps screaming don't do anything stupid, but if he really wanted to just walk away then he would have yanked Kyungsoo by the wrist a long time ago, would have waved off Kyungsoo's suggestion as soon as Kyungsoo had given it.

And if he really wanted to never go down the same route that they did last Christmas then he would have already bitten the bait, jumped ship, left Kyungsoo's agency in exchange for the writing opportunity that he's always dreamed of. He wouldn't have stayed. And he still won't be here, marvelling at the light in Kyungsoo's eyes, at the way the pulse at the base of his throat quickens when Kyungsoo sucks in his bottom lip.

He meets Kyungsoo's careful gaze, then, licks his lips, bumps the tip of his shoe against Kyungsoo's own as if asking if the offer still stands. Kyungsoo snorts in response. Or maybe it's Kyungsoo parting his lips that's the answer. Maybe it's Kyungsoo shifting in his seat, dancing his fingers up Baekhyun's thigh but not quite leaning in yet that's his reply. Baekhyun decides to fill in the blanks, then, inching closer until he's near the edge of his seat, until Kyungsoo can splay his fingers on his thigh without stretching his arm too much. Then he's leaning in, breathing out, worrying his bottom lip as their foreheads bump and the tips of their noses touch. This isn't the first time they've come too close, isn't even the first time Baekhyun has replayed in his mind the way Kyungsoo kissed him that night, fingers entangled in his hair and mouth too wet, warm, willing, but it feels a lot like it.

"You don't have to do this," he whispers in the thinning space between them when he feels Kyungsoo snake a hand up his nape, fingers cold, trembling a little, but Kyungsoo shakes his head. Pinches him in his stomach with his free hand, then plants a soft kiss to the corners of his mouth, and then the other, then at the center before answering, "My idea, not yours." Baekhyun shivers at the prickling heat of Kyungsoo's breath against his skin, at the way Kyungsoo brushes rough lips against his own, at the way Kyungsoo just presses their lips together in a weird link like he's still waiting for those three letters to spill from Baekhyun's lips.

"Promise I won't bite too much this time around," Baekhyun mumbles against Kyungsoo's mouth, then darts out his tongue to wet his lips. Kyungsoo shivers at the cold graze along his chapped skin, but he still balls a fist in Baekhyun's shirt in thoughtless retaliation, twisting his knuckles and tugging Baekhyun even closer. Baekhyun takes a deep, shaky breath, then, tilts his head to the side just a little, and licks a short stripe along the seam of Kyungsoo's lips. Kyungsoo's first response is a hitch of the breath; his second, a jerk of the body and his grip on Baekhyun's shirt loosening. Baekhyun takes it as a sign to go on, an invitation, the end of that silly contract they both signed, and pries Kyungsoo's mouth open with the gentle coax of the tongue, nipping on Kyungsoo's bottom lip before giving it a light suck. He can feel Kyungsoo laughing in the slide of their mouths, can feel the way Kyungsoo melts into the fit of their bodies as Kyungsoo just drops his hands to Baekhyun's thighs, slides them up to grab at his shirt again but only ever manages to hook his fingers on the waistband of Baekhyun's pants. He can feel his knees weakening when Kyungsoo sucks on his tongue just before Kyungsoo breaks the kiss for a moment to suck marks along the underside of his jaw. And it feels good. Strange and odd and weird because this is still his boss, the person he swore he'd never look at for longer than five seconds for fear of seeing through that tough exterior to find the kid who's just afraid of being vulnerable in everyone's eyes, the same man who he swore he'd never kiss again because damn if he won't get hooked on that. Kyungsoo licks along the cavern of his mouth, the back of his teeth, teases him with light sucks on the lips, and he feels his hands shaking where he has them grabbing onto Kyungsoo's slicked back hair. And Kyungsoo isn't just kissing him – this is Kyungsoo mapping him out, memorizing every quirk, every wicked contour of his face, ghosting soft, gentle kisses on his skin and holding him with shaking hands like he's afraid Baekhyun might pull away anytime and break the spell.

Like he wants this as much as Baekhyun does, maybe even more.

So Baekhyun keeps giving, urges Kyungsoo to go on with soft ah's and low grunts, curls his fingers on the base of Kyungsoo's nape and pulls him even closer until they're chest to chest, heart to heart. He can hear the sound of Sehun's footsteps fading into the distance, dissolving into the crowd, and he's pretty sure there are a handful of people looking at them already, whistling, maybe even cheering them on, but it doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is the slow-forming smile Kyungsoo's etching on his skin as they kiss, Kyungsoo's laughter reverberating through every nerve in his body where they're linked, and the way Kyungsoo catches his bottom lip with his teeth when they pull away minutes after, only to reel him back in. There are no questions here anymore, just answers offered in the warm press of Kyungsoo's mouth and the fit of their bodies. And Baekhyun drinks it all up, gets drunk on it, meeting Kyungsoo halfway for a second round.

"I'm getting two orders of tteokbokki and you're paying for it," Baekhyun says later, massaging his lips with his thumb and index finger as they shuffle to their favorite pojangmacha just two blocks away. Kyungsoo doesn't say anything, doesn't even make a sound, and instead slows down in his pace and links their pinkies together. It's two in the morning in Hongdae and they're closer to forty years of age now than thirty, yet Baekhyun feels like a teenager all of a sudden, faced with a boy who's walking up to him with a confession long overdue on Pepero day. So he pulls Kyungsoo closer, slips his hand south, and threads their fingers together in a nice, snug fit as he breathes out.

"Charge it to the petty cash," Kyungsoo says as he looks to his side, meeting Baekhyun's gaze. "Or overtime. Yeah, overtime should be better. You won't need receipts–"

Baekhyun shakes his head and leans in a little until the tips of their noses touch. "Nah. I'll do this pro bono," he whispers, then inches even closer to press a soft kiss to Kyungsoo's lips. Screw overtime pay and a raise – Kyungsoo widening his eyes in surprise, light catching on his flushed cheeks, and that silly grin on his lips is worth it. It's all worth the wait.

exo: here's a map; now let's get lost together.

onyu — Fri, 10 Jul 2015 06:02:03 GMT

here's a map; now let's get lost together.
— Baekhyun/Kyungsoo, mentions of Suho/Luna, hinted Krystal/Kyungsoo, and Seungsoo/Boa. NC-17. 325700 words.
— So here's the plan: Kyungsoo goes to Mokpo-si and claims a Pokemon to start his journey with. He earns his trainer license and gets a PokeDex, to boot. He runs into a familiar face and falls flat on his ass, only to find out that this guy who'd just knocked him to the ground? It's the same guy he's spent the past decade of his life trying to stay away from. And it's the same person who has half of the Pokeball he carries around with him in his pocket wherever he goes. (Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, blood, animal/Pokemon-harming, serious body injuries, mentions of death in the family due to war, sex without protection. Please take these warnings seriously.)

☆ Kyungsoo takes another step forward and shuts the doors behind him. His Pokemon journey has just begun. ☆

notes:
☆ first off: this fic deals heavily with violence. you have been warned. also, the project name for this fic is ‘maps', hence the title in the tweet. the complete title is here's a map; now let's get lost together. feel free to refer to it as ‘maps', though!

☆☆ second, my biggest thank you to the exordium mods for holding this fest and for being such superstars all in all. to frances, my beta and my savior, the mac to my cheese, my partner in crime, thank you SO MUCH for everything. to jq who helped me with important pokemon choices for the characters, my endless thanks. thank you, as well, to the people who have kept me sane throughout the writing period, cheered me on, listened to me rant and rave about pokemon, sprinted with me and kept me awake, for the quick-consults-turned-lengthy-discussions – lonio, chelsea, hyemi, ansa, ren, adele, and jenn. when i say i wouldn't have made it through without you, i mean it. i cannot thank you enough. I LOVE YOU ♥ lastly, to team aster, for being such great sports and for powering through, you guys are the best! we made it, everyone. we finally made it c:

☆☆☆ here's an accompanying playlist for the story, split into two parts – wayward paths, # 1 and # 2. for a background theme, please listen to this.

☆☆☆☆ HERE's a padlet with photos of all the pokemon that were mentioned in the fic, listed in the order that they appeared. (high-res JPEG | low-res JPEG)

☆☆☆☆☆ and HERE's a map of the important places featured in this fic.

exo: can't fight this feeling

onyu — Mon, 06 Jul 2015 10:06:50 GMT

can't fight this feeling
— Baekhyun/Chen. PG. 1000 words.
— Break-ups aren't supposed to be called 'break-ups'. They're supposed to be called 'opening oneself to the probability of finally looking at that someone who's always been by your side in the eye and saying, ah, yes, I'm home'.
— ANSA MADE ME DO IT. @ fake dating au week. Also available on AO3.

The thing about break-ups is that they're not really supposed to be called 'break-ups'. They hardly feel like breaking free from something so suffocating, hardly feel like graduating from a dark phase in your life into something better. They feel worse than actually being in a relationship, to be completely honest. Baekhyun should know – he's had some of the shittiest girlfriends and boyfriends in the past, and he can say, with every ounce of honesty, that this particular break up feels ten times worse than being in a relationship with his recent ex.

"She cheated on you and ended up with an uglyass guy. You should be cackling right now," Jongdae says during lunch, then stuffs Baekhyun's mouth with a sandwich even before Baekhyun can utter a word. "Seriously, there are other things you can be doing. Case in point: your homework."

"Done. Finished it the night the prof gave it to us." Baekhyun swallows around the thick lump in his throat. He sticks his tongue out at Jongdae when Jongdae cocks an eyebrow at him and mutters, really, now? "I may be stupid when it comes to relationships but I'm a good student. You know that."

"How about your laundry? It's been taking up half of our dorm."

"Not true. I did your laundry the other day as part of my 'cleansing from evil exes ritual–'"

"Or maybe your own lunch," Jongdae mutters, licking the tips of his fingers as he finishes. "You should stop stealing my sandwiches."

"I do not–"

"Or actually borrowing the shit you have you get from the library–"

"Or you could just shut up–"

Jongdae takes a deep, deep breath. He presses his lips into a thin, thin line, but the corners still curl up into a small smile. It's both a blessing and a curse, Baekhyun remembers Jongdae saying one time. Most of the time, and Baekhyun's never told anyone this, it's a blessing. Sort of a harbor whenever Baekhyun feels like he's losing his way. "Now that's my champ," Jongdae says, voice so faint he could've just been whispering, then brushes his knuckles along Baekhyun's cheek. "I haven't heard you say a thing since the break up."

Not true, Baekhyun wants to say, but he knows better than to lie. It's silly, pathetic. And he feels even more pathetic now that he realizes, when Jongdae gestures at the curve of his top lip, that shit, hasn't shaved for a week. And that his evil ex is just a few meters from where they are, eyes focused on him and nobody else.

"Goddess of evil's right behind me, isn't she?" Jongdae asks, the corners of his mouth softening into an easy grin as he does so.

Baekhyun nods. Nods, then takes a deep, deep breath before inching closer to where Jongdae is. It's probably stupid to be even thinking of doing something like this because what is he, twelve? Wanting to get even with his ex but sucking face with his own best friend? It's hilarious. But then this is Jongdae, and if there's anyone in the world he trusts enough to kiss the pain away then it's this man right in front of him.

So he reaches out, balls his hands into fists in Jongdae's shirt and tugs the latter closer. "Oh, it's that time of the year again," Jongdae whispers, words fading into a chuckle like they've done this a thousand times before. Not true, a voice at the back of Baekhyun's mind says – they've only done this twice, and on both occasions they were too hungover the following day to even talk about it.

Still, Baekhyun asks, "Okay?" before leaning even closer. He waits – for Jongdae to nod, to smile, to snort, to take another deep breath and close his eyes, dropping his shields to the ground.

Jongdae gulps hard. His lips tremble. Baekhyun doesn't let his eyes travel south yet. "Okay."

Baekhyun leans in, tilting his head just so until he can feel Jongdae's soft lips against his. It feels... strange. He can't remember when he last kissed a man – ex number three, was it? – but he does remember the last time he kissed Jongdae. The slide of their mouths has always been a bit awkward, but this time it feels a bit more... natural. Sort of like their bodies are finally aligning and they're relaxing into each other's warmth, giving in. Jongdae slides a hand up his nape at the same time that he sucks on Baekhyun's bottom lip, and Baekhyun groans at the sensation. Baekhyun licks Jongde's lips open in response, then, trying to get even, trying to give back. Half of him feels like he wants more of this – Jongdae licking the cavern of his mouth, Jongdae sucking on the corners of his lips, Jongdae, just Jongdae – but– "Whoa," he says when he feels Jongdae's cool hands on his chest, sort of pulling him closer but eventually pushing him away. He opens his eyes, tries to even out his breathing, but the memory of Jongdae's cool fingers on his shirt still makes him shiver all over. And the look on Jongdae's face, his flushed cheeks, his kiss-swollen lips, make Baekhyun want to ask why, what happened, what's happening to us–

"Weird?" he asks after a while, when he feels his teeth no longer chattering.

Jongdae shrugs, snorts, laughs a little. He's still staring at Baekhyun's lips, though. "Yeah. A bit."

Later, on their way to their next class, Jongdae walks a bit closer to where Baekhyun is. Their knuckles keep brushing and they keep missing each other's gazes, but they keep walking, anyway, eyes finally settling on the path ahead. Only before they step inside the room does Jongdae finally say, "Not weird," and tugs Baekhyun much closer until he can hold Baekhyun by the wrist, until they can sort of lace their fingers together, but only by the pinkies.

Baekhyun doesn't pull away. And he finally breathes out.

exo: some air'd be good for you

onyu — Fri, 22 May 2015 05:27:24 GMT

some air'd be good for you
— Suho/Lay, past Suho/Baekhyun, mentions of Suho/Xiumin and Suho/Yura. R (for mature themes and scenes towards the end). 75000 words.
— Joonmyun makes certain changes in his schedule to accommodate certain people. And with that comes hollowing out a portion of his heart for someone to find a home in. (Warning/s: drama, mentions of character death and accidents, mentions of blood, hints of self-destructive behavior, weird medical practices, magic shenanigans)
— Written for suholiday 2015. Originally posted HERE.

ORIGINAL | (Best read on) AO3

exo: you will never sleep alone

onyu — Sat, 16 May 2015 14:31:10 GMT

you will never sleep alone
— Suho/Lu Han. NC-17. 17000 words.
— In the span of a year, Joonmyun loses two things: a co-leader when Kris asks for his contract to be terminated, and a portion of his sanity and his heart when Lu Han turns occasional late night talks into regular heart-to-heart sessions.
— Written for kpop_olymfics 2015. Originally posted HERE .

ORIGINAL | Dreamwidth | (Best read on) AO3

exo: notice me

onyu — Wed, 06 May 2015 00:54:24 GMT

notice me
— Baekhyun/Kyungsoo. PG-13. 22200 words.
— a fansite is supposed to be a repository of pictures, not feelings. clearly, kyungsoo still has a lot to learn.
— Written for prompt 85 for sooenaemoured 2015! Originally posted HERE. To b1 and b2, r, a, and h, thank you for the cheerleading and late night writing sessions ♥
— Note: In the part where Kyungsoo releases a compilation of his 'off-the-record' duets with Baekhyun and demos of their songs together, it might read as a bit problematic as, ideally, Kyungsoo should have asked for Baekhyun's permission before releasing the compilation. I apologize if this made some uncomfortable. :( In no way do I tolerate creepy/stalkerish behavior. Again, I apologize if this made some uncomfortable.

ORIGINAL | Dreamwidth | (Best read on) AO3

exo: oh, the things we invent (1/2)

onyu — Fri, 06 Mar 2015 02:32:57 GMT

oh, the things we invent (when we are scared and want to be rescued)
— Baekhyun/Baekhyun + Kyungsoo, eventual Baekhyun/Kyungsoo. NC-17. 16000 words.
— "prepare for trouble," baekhyun said. "and make it double," baekhyun – the other baekhyun – added.
— march 8, white day advent calendar, for drankcontrast. also on dreamwidth and AO3.
— this was the first one i ever finished in the white day advent calendar, but there will be another fic (or a couple) posted on the last friday of the month!
— a kind artist drew something for this fic HERE! please show her lots of love ♥

Kyungsoo has never experienced a stranger Monday his entire life.

It starts off relatively normal: he gets up ten minutes before the alarm goes off, but remains slumped against the headboard for another five minutes. Then he pushes the blanket down until it pools at his feet, until he can kick it off and kick himself off of bed. He stays at the foot of the cushion for a while, sitting still and surveying his surroundings. Chanyeol is curled up on his bed. The room is still dark. Sunrise isn't until 6 a.m.. He can feel the last dregs of fatigue spilling from his fingers onto the bedsheets as blood rushes to the tips of his fingers. As the last few traces of cold leave him and as warmth settles in. He coughs, sniffles, rubs his eyes and the drowsiness away. Then he stretches his arms overhead. It's normal enough a routine that he doesn't even realize he's already walking out of the room and down the hall until he hears something a few feet away.

He looks around him. Nobody ever gets up at five in the morning. It's exactly why he sets his alarm at five – so he can get some peace and quiet before the wave of noises in the form of nine other bodies settles in. The noise dies down after a while, though. He takes that as a sign to go on and resume his journey to the kitchen.

The silence dissipates after a while, replaced instead by a dull thud coming from nearby. He looks over his shoulder, to his sides. There's no sign of movement anywhere. He hears muffled voices soon after, coming from… the living room? Just outside the window? It's hard to tell. He hasn't even been awake for more than ten minutes yet. Straining his ears is a chore. Still, he yawns into the press of his hand to his mouth in an effort not to make any sound. Then the sound of the knob being twisted reaches his ears, makes a shiver crawl up his nape when he realizes where it's coming from.

He looks to his side and the knob moves.

Someone's in the bathroom.

A faint ssh, don't be– keep quiet–, then a low grunt in response. The voice sounds different, but sounds too close to the first voice Kyungsoo heard. He balls his hands into fists.

There are people in the bathroom.

He prepares to take a step back or forward, to walk as fast as he can to the kitchen or just dash, but to no avail. The door opens with a slick twist of the knob. Light filters from inside and hits Kyungsoo's eyes, blinds him for a split second. Then a familiar figure's slipping from the narrow opening of the door, stepping into Kyungsoo's personal space, bumping his shoulder. He looks up from where he's been staring at the knob but only catches the side profile of the man – fluffy hair, sleepy eyes, a mole just above his lip. Lips thin and pink and chapped. Eye bags the size of craters worn under his eyes like a natural extension of his features. He's seen this face before – in the same dorm, same company, opposite him in the recording booth. Right beside or behind him during performances. Choreography almost always puts them at the same side of the stage. So he whispers, "Baekhyun?" when he feels his tongue again, when the traitorous cold unwraps itself from his throat.

"Sorry," Baekhyun mumbles. His voice is low, scratchy, like he's been practicing too much and too long. Kyungsoo shrugs, takes another step back. This is normal.

Except it isn't, because there's another man stepping out of the bathroom who looks exactly like Baekhyun. The man's eyes widen and his lips fall open into a small 'o'. The man – this man who looks like the 'Baekhyun' Kyungsoo had just seen earlier – gasps. Kyungsoo swallows hard. It takes a good three seconds for Kyungsoo to think of looking at the other guy, to compare and contrast the features of these two Baekhyuns standing in front of him. Everything's the same from the crinkles at the corners of his eyes down to the mole north of his upper lip. It takes him another five to find the words to say, "There's two… of you." Baekhyun – both of them – shakes his head, looks at the other's mirror image, then looks back at Kyungsoo. He feels a jolt of electricity shoot up his spine, traveling to his temples as Baekhyun whispers, "Go." As the first Baekhyun looks over his shoulder before leaving, and as the second Baekhyun wraps his fingers around Kyungsoo's wrist.

"We are not talking about this," Baekhyun mutters, then drags him to the kitchen. His voice is scratchier, a bit pitchy. He sounds as if he's been running miles for the past hour. He hasn't. "You are drinking your coffee and I'll make pancakes and we won't talk about this," he continues. Then he presses his lips into a thin, thin line.

Kyungsoo gulps hard. Shrugs, because he's not yet awake for this. The grip on his wrist tightens like Baekhyun's reminding him of this agreement waiting for his sign off. So he mumbles, "Fine", and takes a deep breath, shaking off Baekhyun's hold on him. He walks over to where the coffee maker is, then, and resumes his morning routine.

Later, over breakfast, with eight other bodies crowding in on them, Baekhyun links their ankles under the dining table. It's as if he's asking, you don't break promises, right? I just had to make sure. You can't be too sure. For all of their training in SM, they've never been taught how to place complete trust in people. Believe that the weirdest possible thing like actually debuting with someone who has the ability to multiply is possible. So Kyungsoo looks up, meets Baekhyun's gaze, and addresses him with a nod. He takes a deep breath, holds all the air in his chest until he can feel his ears popping. When he looks to his side to cough and try to rid himself of the tickling sensation in his throat, Baekhyun pulls away with an easy smile.

From a corner of his eye, he sees Baekhyun staring. He keeps his eyes on his coffee and laughs at his reflection in the swirl of the black liquid: eyes wide open and lips trembling. Too calculated, awake, alive.

Comeback means insurmountable number of hours poured into one thing and one thing alone – practice. They're way past the recording stage, the tracks having been mastered weeks ago, but from time to time Kyungsoo winces at the sound of his own voice. He grimaces when he hears his tone get a bit too throaty just before Baekhyun's voice comes in. He sounded better in the demo, where his voice was velvety smooth and he wasn't too conscious of the number of takes it would take him to perfect his lines. He almost always sounds better on demo, without the pressure of having to be perfect weighing down on him, wrapping around his throat, giving it a tight squeeze.

"Let it go," Jongdae tells him, kicking his foot. Kyungsoo turns to his side. He doesn't bother to furrow his eyebrows in question; he's too tired for that. Instead, he tilts his head and nods in Jongdae's direction as if saying, go on, praise and please me. Jongdae's good with that, making people feel better even if, yes, he does agree to them being particularly shitty at that time. He just knows how to phrase his thoughts properly, in the best way possible. Like, "You can salvage yourself in the lives. They are making us sing life for comeback stage, after all," instead of, I know you sounded terrible in the final master but stop acting like a kid. Grow the fuck up.

Kyungsoo shrugs. Snorts. "Can't be too sure. The producers haven't forgotten Friday the 13th yet," he grumbles. Jongdae heaves a sigh and throws a light jab on his arm. It doesn't hurt a bit. It does jostle him out of fatigue, though. "What?"

"He's right, y'know," Baekhyun says, voice low and rough. He sounds like he's just come from running from Gwangju-si to Gangwon-do and then back. He hasn't. Traveling from being slumped against the door to where Kyungsoo is takes no more then ten steps. He slides next to Kyungsoo and holds out a hand, as if asking for a high five. Five days ago, this could've meant, I feel you, bro. We all make mistakes. Shit happens to the best of us. But after that incident that fine morning, after catching Baekhyun with a mirror image of himself in the bathroom, Kyungsoo isn't so sure how to read the gesture anymore. If things as strange as that can happen then maybe Baekhyun can electrocute him with a touch of his hand. So he stares at the outstretched hand, studies the lines on Baekhyun's palm. His skin is dry, cracking close to the webs of his fingers. And his hand is shaking. It's the same kind of shake Kyungsoo felt Baekhyun's fingers carve on his skin that night, when he found two of Baekhyun shuffled in the same room. "Hey, don't leave me hanging now–"

Kyungsoo shivers, jerks back. He blinks a few times. Baekhyun nudges him in his side, digs his elbow even deeper into Kyungsoo's gut like he's reminding Kyungsoo that he's still waiting for an answer. Kyungsoo relents after a while, giving Baekhyun's hand a light slap. No sparks, just the heat of Baekhyun's palm sticking to his own. The grin of Baekhyun's lips in blinding. "There, better."

None of this is better, though. It's been three years since they've debuted and their health situation isn't getting any better. Jongin's been complaining more about his back problem. Zitao fell again last night, during practice. Yixing hasn't been straining himself, but maybe that's because he can't test the limits of his body anymore. Joonmyun's been taking more calls from the management, reassuring the higher ups that EXO's doing fine, practice is and will always be exciting. Nobody's leaving. Three years in and they already have more scandals than SHINee has ever had. It's no surprise, though – the media's hyperaware of everything now, and virtually anyone can be an investigator. More badly put, a stalker. You can dig up someone's flight information and find out that they're heading to this location, just the two of them, via the internet. You can spread the information via the same channel, too. If, before, being an idol meant sharing a piece of yourself with the public, now it means opening yourself up, peeling off your layers for everyone to see. Shedding all your layers for everyone to see who you really are.

"One last round in ten minutes?" Joonmyun calls out from behind Baekhyun.

Chanyeol raises two thumbs up, then collapses on the floor. Jongin remains standing, still going through the routine but in smaller, more muted movements. "Gotta take this," Baekhyun says, fishing for his phone from his pocket and holding it up in the air. The screen isn't even blinking.

"Reception's bad in the fire exit!" Jongdae calls out. Chanyeol snickers like it's supposed to be funny. It isn't. Not to Kyungsoo. Not when he has an inkling of what might happen.

Kyungsoo slips from the room before the ten minutes elapse, saying he has to go to the bathroom. Chanyeol, ever helpful, tosses a pack of wipes in his direction because, "They ran out of tissue in there a few minutes ago. Some dude's probably taking a dump, took the whole ream or something. It smelled awful in there. Or maybe–" An exaggerated gasp, then, "–maybe someone killed somebody and he used the tissue to clean up the mess–" Chanyeol was watching some twisted sci-fi movie last night. He left it running until Kyungsoo was done with his shower. It was the exact same scenario Chanyeol was trying to replicate in real life. It would've been hilarious if Kyungsoo really didn't have to pee. So in reply, he sticks out his middle finger, hand raised over his shoulder until he steps out of the room. Chanyeol's fading laughter in a reminder of the distance between the practice room and everything else.

When they're in SM, preparing for a comeback, it feels as if they're in a different world. Much more toxic, the scent of sweat and tears thick and heavy in the room. It's almost sickening.

The bathroom is blessedly free from any trace of blood when Kyungsoo arrives. The last cubicle is occupied, so he takes the one in the middle, pulls down the seat cover before gripping the waistband of his pants. He's prepared to pull down his bottoms when a throaty groan fills the bathroom, bounces off its walls and rings in Kyungsoo's ears.

"Come on," says the voice. It sounds eerily familiar. "We don't have time–"

"You don't. I do," says a second voice. It sounds much like the first, except with more lilts. Less roughened by fatigue and more velvety, like Baekhyun had taken a shot of whiskey before belting out his lines in their new duet for the third album. "Just a bit more–"

Wet slapping sounds, a low grunt, then a thud against the door of the cubicle. "God-fucking-dammit–"

Kyungsoo leans forward, resting his forehead on the door. He closes his eyes.

Not this shit again.

This isn't the first time he's hearing anyone get off or fucking around with someone. An open secret in SM: almost everyone fucks with everybody during tours. Joonmyun gets around a lot, manages to lure girls into a stall or maybe backstage after a really great performance. "I can sing a lot of songs," is Joonmyun's standard pick up line; Jongin's is, "I… need help. Please?" It's almost normal to see someone backed against the wall that nobody minds anyone's business anymore during breaks. Idols need a form of release, somehow, something to get rid of the stress, and this is one of them. Once, Kyungsoo walked in on Sehun licking a stripe along Jongin's neck and sucking marks there. He was looking for Sunyoung then, meaning to practice his number with her, but instead he found Jongin rubbing up against Sehun. Sehun flashed him an amused glance and Kyungsoo took a step back at the first opportunity. Ten minutes after, Jongin emerged from the room with his top crumpled. Sehun's hair was a mess. Kyungsoo locked himself up in a cubicle as soon as he'd finished practicing with Sunyoung and touched himself, rubbed his thumb along the tent in his pants. Then Joonmyun came knocking on the door and said, "Kyungsoo? Kyungsoo! We're up in ten minutes."

Beat you to it, hyung, he wanted to say then. He didn't. Instead, he washed his hands and flicked water in his eyes. Asked the make up artists to retouch his eyeliner. Went up on stage and sang his heart out. Baekhyun, sensing the tremble in his voice, gripped him by the wrist and sang Kyungsoo's line in a faint, faint voice, just enough to cover the cracks in Kyungsoo's tone. Like he was saying, yeah, I feel you. And I can feel your pulse on my skin.

There's no Baekhyun to hold his hand right now, though, no Baekhyun to snap him back to reality because Baekhyun is elsewhere, two cubicles away. Kyungsoo can hear the rustling of clothes, can hear the slapping of skin on skin. Like someone patting the other's back except this isn't dance practice. And Baekhyun's a shitty dancer. He shivers all over when he hears a series of growls, groans. Gulps hard and digs his nails into his skin at the same time that Baekhyun lets out the most obscene moan. Get out, get out now while you can, a voice at the back of his mind says, but the sound gets drowned by Baekhyun's soft ah's, swallowed by Baekhyun's whimpers. It balls up into something that lodges itself in Kyungsoo's throat, keeps him from breathing properly and evenly. It sends a sizzle of heat straight down Kyungsoo's abdomen.

He takes a few quick breaths, matching that of Baekhyun's uneven breathing. "Jesus, fuck–" comes Baekhyun's choked voice, and that's what reels Kyungsoo back to reality, back to this moment where he's supposed to be looking for Baekhyun and not getting off to his voice.

He slams his fist into the door. Baekhyun's breath hitches a few feet away. "There's someone–" he begins, but his speech is soon cut off by a throaty moan, long and drawn out, like that's what does it for him: the knowledge that someone's watching, listening, that someone's getting off to the mere sound of his voice whittled down to these tiny whimpers and whispers.

A thick blanket of silence wraps around the room, fills its four corners with white noise and the occasional sound of heavy breathing. Kyungsoo can hear his own pulse at the back of his ears, can feel it behind his knees. In the warm and heavy reminder of arousal between his legs that twitches when the other door swings open, then shuts closed not too long after.

When Kyungsoo's well sure that Baekhyun is no longer in sight, he slips from the cubicle and splashes water on his face. It does little to keep him in check, does very little to still the warm thrum of arousal in his chest, but it does make his vision clearer than before. In the mirror, he sees two images: the wrecked look on his features, sweet and sickening, and the ghost of Baekhyun's bright smile hovering his shoulder.

(When he returns to the practice room, hair sticking up in several directions from when he'd mussed it up, Baekhyun cranes his neck and meets his eyes. There's an unspoken message somewhere there, in the tilt of Baekhyun's chin, scrawled on the giving slope of his neck. It's there in the way he holds Kyungsoo's gaze like he's saying, you didn't see what you saw earlier, didn't hear anything. You weren't supposed to know a thing. Kyungsoo's better with body language, so he drops his gaze, traces the column of Baekhyun's neck and fixes his eyes on the bloom of red on Baekhyun's skin.

Baekhyun adjusts his shirt, pulls it up by the collar. Kyungsoo adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his notes. Jongin counts to three and the music starts. Kyungsoo's body moves to the beat, like every verse is an extension of himself or a phantom limb he isn't even aware that he has. Every brush of his pants against his arousal stings. It's torture.

It's business as usual.)

Kyungsoo tilts his head up and lets the water from the shower prick his skin. The image of Baekhyun's stare still burns at the back of his eyelids, still burns and scores a line down his belly to send a funny tingle to the tip of his dick. They'd made eye contact again after practice, just before the van arrived. It could've meant, 'stall' or 'lemme know if we have to go already, then I'll try to cum– come as soon as possible'. They were still working out the details. What Kyungsoo was sure of, though, was this: he had immaculate timing. By the time Joonmyun looked over his shoulder to do a headcount, Baekhyun was back, not a hair out of place. Then Baekhyun sat right beside him in the van. Pressed thigh to thigh, there was very little that he could do when Baekhyun rested his head on his shoulder. So Kyungsoo let him. When Baekhyun scribbled 'thanks' on the back of his hand five minutes into the ride, Kyungsoo just snorted in response.

He laughs to himself now and presses his palms to his cheeks. He can still feel the sting of the characters Baekhyun had written on his skin, the figures Baekhyun doodled on his hand. He'd tried washing them off earlier, but to no avail. He'd just ended up with the skin on his knuckles white and dry.

He reaches for the soap and tries rubbing it off again. Still no luck.

There's a reason why he'd let the others shower ahead of him: it's hard to get off on the other side of the door knowing that there's someone's leaning against the wall, waiting for his turn. Knowing that someone might catch him. He can't be the first person to get off to the image of his fellow member, his friend on his knees and sucking him off, though. He can't be the only one cursed with the gift of photographic memory so crisp and clear that he can even hear the sounds Baekhyun would make if he thrust too hard into Baekhyun's face, fucked his mouth just so.

But he's the only one who knows about the other Baekhyun. Baekhyun – the one whose voice he's been dancing to for the past three years already – said so earlier, in the van, with his lips pressed to the back of Kyungsoo's ear. "It's a secret. Our little secret," Baekhyun had whispered. Their knuckles brushed against each other. Baekhyun jerked back, like he wasn't accustomed to anyone else but his double touching him. Kyungsoo shrugged his shoulders and said, "Not my secret to tell." He felt Baekhyun's muscles relax after that, the tight knot of tension on the corners of Baekhyun's mouth relaxing against Kyungsoo's cheek.

He feels the ghost of a hand slither around his waist, wrap around him like a quilt and drape on his shoulders. His chest tightens. The warmth travels from the tips of his fingers down to his toes, making them curl–

"Yah, Kyungsoo–" Three knocks on the door, unevenly spaced out. Kyungsoo jerks back, his entire body shivering under the spray. This isn't Baekhyun. This isn't an illusion. This is Chanyeol reeling him back to the surface, like a harsh splash of water to his face. "Hey man, you alive in there? Did the toilet swallow you whole or something?"

"I'll be out in a few," he replies. He tucks his chin, rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. He feels nothing but the slide of the strands against his skin, carving narrow slits along the length of his fingers. The soap's long been washed away by the water. "Five minutes," he promises.

"Cool," says Chanyeol on the other side of the door. "Want coffee?"

"Hot choco."

"Or tea– O... kay."

"Thanks," Kyungsoo mutters. He leaves it up to years of knowing each other to amplify the sound of his voice, magnify it tenfold. He tilts his head up again. His bangs stick to his face, slipping between the narrow gaps in his eyebrows. He brushes his hair away, then, and turns off the shower all the way. He doesn't leave until he sees the last drop of water fall to the trap, until he feels his hands again. Then he reaches for his towel, wraps it around his waist tight. Before stepping out of the bathroom, he doubles the knot, makes sure his towel won't come off. He can't take risks. He can't let his guard down.

He can't let himself down.

With only a few weeks left until the start of promotions, the practices start to stretch for longer hours. Minseok's been massaging his knees more, or at least whenever he can. Zitao stretches his back during the small windows of time when they can breathe. Jongin's complaints have dwindled to tiny whimpers, but that isn't to say that the pain's more bearable. It isn't. Kyungsoo has seen Jongin making occasional trips to his physical therapist. He's seen Jongin taking medication for the pain. Once, during breakfast, Jongin went into a fit of panic because he couldn't find his pillbox. So when Sehun dangled it in front of him, he snatched the box right away and kicked Sehun in the calf.

"Not funny," Jongin mumbled. These days, it translates to: this pain is fucking killing me. Someone call the doctor. "Really not funny. Let's see you feel the same thing and–"

"Okay, okay. Enough," Joonmyun interrupted. He shot them a stern look, then blinked at his food like he was trying to recall what he'd been doing before reprimanding the two. Two seats away, Kyungsoo tried picking the seaweed in his soup with his chopsticks, but his hands wouldn't stop shaking. It's the same shit day in and day out, three months before comeback. It was still worse prior to debut, though. So all in all, they're better off now.

He grips his bicep tight now, trying to massage it. His hands haven't stilled yet. The press of his palm is warm, though, a bit comforting, but just as soon as the tension in his limbs dissipates, his throat clenches. He can taste acid in the roof of his mouth. The last meal he's – they – had was breakfast, seven in the morning. The coffee was good, but caffeine unwraps itself from the drinker's body six hours after it's been consumed. And it's already five in the afternoon. They've all just been taking water ever since, too caught up in the desire to perfect the routine before they let their guards down and slack off. Jongin might have munched on a cracker or two, but he needs it for his medication. And they need Jongin in this team.

"Fuck–" Joonmyun huffs, throws his hands in the air at the same time that he groans. "Okay. Break time. Fifteen minutes!" he says in surrender. Chanyeol lets out the most unabashed 'yay!' and collapses on the floor. It sounds more like a llama drowning than anything else. "Just fifteen minutes, okay? After that, we run through the steps one last time–"

"And try to get things right once and for all. Yada yada yada." Yixing sinks to his knees, then lies on his stomach on the floor. He's more vocal when tired but, then again, who isn't? Yixing's patience and control isn't as immeasurable as most people think. He's human, too. "I feel like I'm practicing for fifty comebacks. Everything hurts."

Including your heart? Kyungsoo hears someone ask. Probably Zitao. Only he would have enough energy to joke around after too many runs of their routine. He snorts. "Last time, you said you felt like you were practicing for a hundred."

"A thousand," Baekhyun corrects. He looks around, then turns to Joonmyun to ask, "Can I pee?"

Joonmyun rolls his eyes. "Do whatever you want. Just come back in fifteen minutes. No extensions."

Baekhyun sneaks a glance at Kyungsoo before going on his way. Kyungsoo feels the hair at the back of his nape stand. He shakes that off, cracks his neck and pulls his knees closer to his chest. Fifteen minutes is enough for a nap.

He doesn't get to, though, because Chanyeol starts poking him in his side so he could extend his legs in front of him. So Chanyeol could use his 'squishy legs' as a cushion. There's no use trying to fight it, so Kyungsoo gives in and allows Chanyeol to offer him silence as a 'thank you'. It's enough to soothe the tension in his nerves, his muscles, to make his stomach stop lurching long enough to last until the last practice session before they call it a day. He threads his fingers through Chanyeol's hair, twirls a couple of strands in his fingers until Chanyeol's humming in his sleep. He rouses ten minutes after, unfolding from the curl of his body and burying his nose in the shallow groove between Kyungsoo's knees.

"You smell like shit," Chanyeol groans. He rubs the tip of his nose against Kyungsoo's jeans. Kyungsoo isn't sure yet what Chanyeol's trying to achieve, but whatever – he's too tired to figure this out. "Did you fart?"

From a corner of his eye, he sees Joonmyun shaking his head. "I can, now," Kyungsoo replies, then, standing from where he's been seated on the floor and squeezing his thighs. The rush of blood makes him shiver, almost makes him topple over when his blood reaches his calves. It makes the pulse at the back of his knees throb in heavy beats.

"Do it."

"Like hell, I would."

"All bark, no bite," Chanyeol says, sticking out his tongue.

Kyungsoo does a chomping gesture with his teeth. Chanyeol only laughs in response. A few feet away, Jongin asks, "Where's Baekhyun-hyung? He asked me to teach him how to land nicely after doing a pirouette."

Kyungsoo takes a deep breath. "I'll fetch the dog," he mutters. He draws his shoulders back. The dull 'popping' of his bones feels more like a go signal than a sign to take a break. "Be back in five."

Joonmyun waves him off and closes his eyes again in response.

He checks the bathroom first, swinging the door as quietly as possible so as to not startle anyone. The scent of lime and ocean water greets him. There's none of the thick scent of sex in the air, no closed doors or heavy breathing filling the four corners of the room. His reflection in the mirror glares at him, studies him from head to toe. There's no silhouette of Baekhyun over his shoulder this time, no other Baekhyun to make him turn around and do a double take. Make sure he isn't just imagining things. He feels a familiar sizzle crawl down his stomach, and he shakes it off even before it can make his insides turn. Even before the tingling sensation can reach his toes and make them curl.

He blinks a few times, cups his hands under the tap so he can splash water on his face. Reality, he tells himself. This is reality. It's just him here. He needs to find Baekhyun, on Joonmyun's 'orders'.

He checks the rooftop next, remembering how they used to share a stick up there between recordings in an attempt to calm their stomachs from growling. They were too young then, just a few months shy of debuting. They were naive, a bit foolish. They were irrelevant. Even if they went to Hongdae to get ass drunk or wasted, no one would recognize them, so it was okay to puff one stick after another in the open air. It's nice having that leisure and not having to be hyperaware of everything all the time. Nowadays, they can't even leave the SM building through the back door without having to check if someone's waiting to snap pictures at them outside.

He swings the door to the rooftop open. No Baekhyun in sight here, as well, not even a shadow of him. The air here is cool and fresh and clean. This isn't the air they're breathing back in the practice room, or even in the booth during recordings.

Closed spaces, a voice at the back of his mind says. He takes a different flight of stairs back down, takes one last deep breath of the air out here before heading back inside. He knows exactly where to find Baekhyun.

The fire exit isn't the most comfortable of places to be in. It's hot and humid here, and the air is so thin that Kyungsoo feels his chest constrict three floors in. His threadbare shirt sticks to his back, just along the column of his spine. He can feel the growing cold on the waistband of his pants, sweat from hours of practice collecting on it. Walking into a cold room is a disaster waiting to happen so he stays here, continues his journey south despite aching knees.

He grips the railing with his left hand and the area just above his knee with his right. Two more floors until he gets back to where he started. Two more floors until his limbs give up and out on him.

He lets out a breathy exhale when he catches sight of a tuft of hair from the railings. Baekhyun's voice is low, laboured, but it echoes in the fire exit nonetheless. Gets amplified with every step forward that Kyungsoo takes. Soon, he's seeing another body, hunched in the same manner that Baekhyun is – knees pulled close to his chest, chin rested on them. Bottom lip jutted out and eyebrows in a startlingly straight line even as one of them whispers, "This is tiring."

One of them looks up. This Baekhyun's hair is more messed up, bangs clumped together at the tips because of sweat and oil. Kyungsoo gulps hard. "So they sent a search party for me. How cute," this Baekhyun says, but it sounds strange, almost different. Almost like Kyungsoo doesn't know this voice, like he hasn't been practicing alongside Baekhyun for years. Hasn't been singing to his voice or sleeping to the cracks of it. "Or did you decide to go out on your own?" he continues to ask.

Kyungsoo runs a hand through his hair, grabs a fistful and pulls his hair back. He feels a pinch of pain in his scalp. There are still two Baekhyuns here. "Yeah. I– Well, Joonmyun-hyung was looking for you. Fifteen minutes is over." He drops his gaze to Baekhyun's wrist. He's wearing a wristwatch. Baekhyun hates wearing watches. He shifts his gaze to the other Baekhyun, then, craning his neck to check if he's wearing a band on his wrist. There's nothing there but the glow of fingernail scratches. This is Baekhyun."You can't keep disappearing on us during breaks. Pretty soon, they'll think–"

"I won't do it. I'm not leaving." Baekhyun number two scratches the slope of his neck, rolls his eyes. Growls, except he sounds more like a cat in a lion's costume, mewling again and again. "I just need time alone."

Kyungsoo snorts. Two bodies pressed thigh to thigh in a stairwell is hardly 'alone'. Two bodies sliding against each other in the van, at the very back where it's darkest and they have the leisure of doing anything and everything, isn't 'alone'.

A pregnant pause, then Baekhyun adds, "With myself, I mean. Sort out my shit. Calm down the voices in my head. It's that time of the year again." His shadow laughs a little, nudges him in his side with his elbow. Baekhyun doesn't flinch, but he does rub the underside of his nose. He looks up at Kyungsoo to meet his gaze after a while. A familiar tingle crawls from the back of Kyungsoo's knees down to his ankle. He loses the feeling in his legs for a moment, but it's back as soon as Baekhyun reaches out, as soon as Baekhyun curls his fingers at the cuffs of Kyungsoo's track pants. "They're too noisy."

Baekhyun means, I can't stop thinking about every single thing. Can't stop overanalyzing and being too self-aware, self-conscious. It's the same virus that consumed them before debut, during those six long months when they did nothing but practice how to make people fall in love with them with a coy smile. It's the same virus that nibbled on Kyungsoo's fingers when he accidentally dropped the microphone during a performance. He'd be traumatized by the event after that, scarred forever by the horrified expression on fans' faces. Those were the culprits, sickness and fatigue. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with. They were indestructible.

Alone, being sick of this routine was a sneaky little virus that ate people from the inside. Like a common cold left unattended for too long. A tiny vessel of 'Baekhyun' in Kyungsoo that blooms everytime Baekhyun's voice cracks or whenever he goes pitchy, like every misstep of Baekhyun's is an extension of Kyungsoo's failures. They are part of the same team, after all, part of the unofficial sub-unit called 'when all else fails, when the other members screw up, sing their parts as well.' EXO's caped crusaders when the burden of vocals is too much for Jongdae to bear.

Kyungsoo heaves a sigh. He looks at Baekhyun's fingers, then lifts his gaze to meet Baekhyuns' own. "Then make them shut up."

Both Baekhyuns laugh. One sounds more alive than the other. The twitch of the corners of Baekhyun's – the one he was talking to earlier – mouth is so subtle, barely there. He's the one with the rougher voice, more drenched in fatigue. "I think you know that I'm not good with the shutting up thing."

"Then practice."

"I'm tired of practicing."

"We're all tired," Kyungsoo grumbles. "But that doesn't mean you can just give up and hide wherever and expect us not to get any weird ideas."

Baekhyun cocks an eyebrow. He parts his lips like he's about to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, he blows at his bangs and yawns, open-mouthed, unabashed. "Weird ideas, huh?" he says after a while, seconds after the silence begins to ease in. Kyungsoo's body gives a tiny jerk. It feels as if he's just snapped his neck or something. "What sort of weird ideas?"

The type where someone leaves the group again – that's Joonmyun's greatest fear at the moment. Yifan and Lu Han's departure from the group didn't mean cutting ties with them completely. It just meant being more creative with finding ways to contact them, capitalizing on the small windows of opportunity to keep in touch. Yifan still listens to EXO's music and sobs a little whenever he hears Don't Go. Lu Han still steals Minseok and Sehun from noraebang plans to play soccer with them. They still enjoy samgyupsal as a group of twelve from time to time. The biggest difference lay in the image they had to portray, the hatred they had to harbor in their hearts everytime they went on screen. Every guest appearance was like giving the media opportunity to break the group up one talk show at a time. And every single time, they had to relive the feeling of uncertainty at the back of their minds like a dull ache they've never been able to get rid of.

And then there's Baekhyun being driven to tipping or breaking point, Baekhyun cracking under the pressure and losing his mind. EXO losing one vocalist after another and those talents losing their voice due to overwork. Their career going down the fucking drain without a chance of being ever revived. The rest of the group falling into the same pit of despair because 'we are one'. It's a silly slogan, but nothing quite captures the essence of their friendship like those three words. And EXO-L actually means EXO-Link, not Love.

"All sorts of weird ideas," Kyungsoo answers, instead. He holds Baekhyun's gaze longer, trying to look for an opening. At the slightest movement of Baekhyun's eyebrows, Kyungsoo gestures at the other Baekhyun beside him. He doesn't even get to finish, because soon Baekhyun is rolling his eyes and grinning and letting slip tiny bursts of laughter from his lips. "And ideas turned reality."

"He's both real and unreal. He's got a part of me in him," Baekhyun says, like he's talking about a real person, someone they've worked with in those three years that they've been promoting SM's songs as a group. He isn't. He's talking about this shadow of a person right beside him, the contours of his features fading out into tiny wisps. "He's just not as awesome as I am."

Kyungsoo laughs a little. Baekhyun's shaking his head now, his mouth twisting into a small, incredulous smile. It's as if he's saying, what the hell am I thinking? What did I really want to achieve? How can I still be me when part of me is with this other person beside me? He seems to struggle articulating that, so Kyungsoo echoes the sentiment for him, saying, "But he came from you. He can neither be better nor worse." He can feel light laughter bubbling on his lips, tickling his throat. He half scoffs, half snorts. The lines of tension on Baekhyun's forehead ease into a smooth plain. "It's as good as it gets."

As good as it gets means Baekhyun working hard and working other people harder. Rallying everyone to do their very best so that he won't have to pick up after someone's shit. Often, Baekhyun kids about being the hero, saving the faces of people whose voices crack at the most inopportune times, but after that incident where he went flat on live TV, the teasing dwindled to just sprouts of jokes. They were guests in a reality show that time, a comedy one. Baekhyun managed to turn that humiliating experience into the best joke of the year. The best comeback, as well, when he blew people away after his second performance. Still, Kyungsoo can't forget the look of horror in Baekhyun's features, his wide eyes, the tiny 'o' of his mouth. The way his fingers trembled on Kyungsoo's thigh and the way he almost hit Kyungsoo in the face with his fist when he nailed the high note in his comeback.

"You're not so bad," Kyungsoo says after a while, voice dropping down to a whisper.

Baekhyun cocks an eyebrow at him, challenging, but the corners of his mouth are quirked up. "Eh. I still have a lot to work on," is Baekhyun's response, the low volume of his voice rivaling that of Kyungsoo's. He locks his arms in front of him, stretching, but it looks more like him burying his face between his arms in an effort to not bare all his teeth at Kyungsoo in glee. It's there in the violent upward tug on his cheeks, in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he resurfaces. It's there in the warm flush coloring his cheeks. None of that shared resource of breathing air and blood between him and the shadow anymore.

He returns his hand to where it's been tugging on a leg of Kyungsoo's pants. Kyungsoo doesn't pay much notice to it, or at least he doesn't it show. "So come back to the practice room with me," he says after a while. It sounds like a plea. It isn't. It's a directive. He clears his throat. "There are people waiting."

Baekhyun holds his gaze for a moment, then looks down at this shoes. Kyungsoo cranes his neck and almost snorts when he sees Baekhyun's dirtied up Keds, his favorite pair even before they debuted. They're worn out, the tips of the shoes almost torn and tattered, but then it's been years. Anything that's been abused this much really will come out like it's been through the worst shitstorm ever. He hears a dull 'pop', then, and feels his entire body jerk. The figure beside Baekhyun dissipates into wisps of black, purified by the light filtering from wherever and making it disappear. Baekhyun looks more alive, though, lips a nice shade of red and cheeks tinted with a bit of pink. His back is no longer hunched, shoulders no longer slumped. His eyes are focused and discerning and asking, did you wait with the rest of the group?

Baekhyun unfurls his fingers from the tight fist on the cuff of Kyungsoo's pants. He drops his hand to his side, then says, "Right. Before hyung throws a fit."

"Right," Kyungsoo echoes, then extends a hand in Baekhyun's direction. Baekhyun looks up at him, just stares at him with an eyebrow cocked in question. Here he is again, reminding Kyungsoo that he's waiting for an answer, a tiny jerk of the body, the slightest gesture that can be a response to what he asked earlier. So Kyungsoo says, "Don't make me wait," shakes his hand a little like waving it in front of Baekhyun's eyes will snap Baekhyun out of his reverie.

Baekhyun slips his fingers between Kyungsoo's own. His palm is rough, callous. The fit of their hands is warm. It makes Kyungsoo shiver.

It makes his insides turn again, and again, and again.

"I can summon him at will when I'm sad. Or just not feeling well," Baekhyun explains one time, when Kyungsoo finds him at the rooftop during lunch. "I just have to say, 'hey Byun', and poof!"

Baekhyun makes this weird sort of gesture with his hands, brandishing them in the air. He even puffs his cheeks and purses his lips as if in concentration, as if he's really summoning his other self just by mentioning the key phrase. And it would've been funny if nothing happened and they ended up staring at emptiness, really, because how the hell does that happen? You don't just think of something and expect it to materialize in front of you. Kyungsoo presses his lips thinly together, then, trying hard not to laugh, but– Poof! The other Baekhyun appears, wisps of white weaving into something more solid. It's as if he's a genie who's just been summoned by his master, a master who looks strangely like him.

Kyungsoo feels his throat go dry. He parts his lips a little, presses them together again when the words escape him. Baekhyun's grinning at him as if saying, hah, you non-believer. He gulps hard.

"And he stays there for as long as he likes," he continues. He sways from side to side, tilting his head like a kid who's just won a bet. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"No?" Kyungsoo answers, earnest. He furrows his eyebrows. "And then what?"

Baekhyun hums, taking a deep breath as he leans back against the railing. He eyes Baekhyun – the other one, the real one – from head to toe, or at least until the other Baekhyun traps him against the steel bars, hands on either side of him. He shakes his head, slow and deliberate, then holds the other Baekhyun's gaze. He watches the subtle rise of Baekhyun's eyebrows, the slow rise and fall of the other Baekhyun's chest as he nods, each repetition three seconds from each other. It's as if there's a conversation going on, spoken through the language of quirks, the tiniest shift of facial muscles. And it feels like intruding. Kyungsoo feels a traitorous cold wrap around his throat, then sink to the bottom of his stomach. He feels it bloom inside him, making him shiver all over.

Then Baekhyun jerks back, shoulders hitting the railing. He lets out a low scowl. "Then he keeps me company," Baekhyun finally answers. He hasn't looked away from the other Baekhyun yet, hasn't lowered the raised eyebrow or pressed his lips together in a dangerously thin line. "However I want him to, for however long I want to keep him around."

That's sickening, that's sick, Kyungsoo wants to say, but Baekhyun doesn't seem to mind the whole arrangement. And the other Baekhyun is studying him, like Baekhyun – the real one, the one who's mouthing 'go' then cocking his head in Kyungsoo's direction – is the most interesting thing ever. Like he's the unexpected outcome of a science experiment, the biggest shock of the century. Kyungsoo can see it now, the headlines on broadsheets if this ever makes the news: 'Byun Baekhyun finds completion in... himself?' The subheading can be, '"I like myself a lot," EXO's Baekhyun confesses'. Kyungsoo will never admit to writing that article.

The other Baekhyun inches farther away from Baekhyun until he's hitting the wall. There's a good foot and a half between both Baekhyuns now, just enough space for Kyungsoo to slip into. Baekhyun gestures at him, then, and says, "C'mere, I don't bite."

Yeah, you just fuck yourself in a bathroom stall during breaks. Kyungsoo snorts, keeps his mouth shuts and just nods. Pretends that the whole arrangement makes sense. At least Baekhyun's voice hasn't crack yet despite the endless hours of practice and his dancing hasn't declined from passable to laughable. He sits next to Baekhyun, then, and looks the other way, studying the features of the other Baekhyun to his right.

A funny shiver crawls up his spine, makes his breath hitch. They have the same smile, the same glint in the eyes. And when they reach out to pinch his cheeks, Kyungsoo isn't able to tell the difference.

one | two

exo: oh, the things we invent (2/2)

onyu — Fri, 06 Mar 2015 02:29:28 GMT

Knowing Baekhyun's secret has its pros and cons. On the pros, in no particular order: he gets to observe a strange life form talk and walk and react like a human being, gets to order Baekhyun around and get free coffee from him every morning. There's also Baekhyun not getting tired so easily when they're rehearsing their duet for the upcoming comeback (KBS informed them of the new plan for their ten-minute stage only three days ago). On the cons, meanwhile: being the one assigned to 'fetch' Baekhyun because, "You're the only one who finds him," Sehun had said one time. He has to live with the knowledge that one other person lives among them, someone who's supposed to have all of Baekhyun's memories but isn't entirely Baekhyun. That this other Baekhyun can crawl under his covers anytime the real Baekhyun wishes. That he has to be the one to cover for Baekhyun every fucking time.

The last item, struck through at least three times: that there's always a 50% chance that he'd walk in on the two making out in the closest cramped space. Then under that, in tiny text, the fact that he has to ignore the strain in his pants every single time.

He catches them in the bathroom at ass o' clock in the morning. He isn't due for his early morning pee until another hour, but everyone got a little drunk after Joonmyun said he'd pay for the alcohol after a long and tiring day of practice (then deferred the food costs to 'best hyung, Minseok-hyung'). He had two, three bottle of beers that night, then one too many shots of soju, dove straight into his bed and didn't bother to freshen up before passing out on the bed. Fast forward three hours after and here he is, holding his bladder and padding closer to the common bathroom. They'd petitioned even before Growl promotions ended to have another bathroom made somewhere in the dorm, but the management fell on deaf ears. Shrugged them off like they weren't one of SM's most valuable assets of 2014. In hindsight, they should've seen it coming but then Zitao's optimism had already rubbed off of everybody.

He peels his bangs off his forehead and cringes at the slide of his hair between his fingers. His scalp's fucking oily. He's gross.

A dull thump against the door, then suppressed groans. He looks to his side from where he's been staring at the clump of hair between his fingers.

Baekhyun's probably doing this on purpose.

Only 'probably' because anyone can wake up at two in the morning to pee and then go back to bed. But then everyone's aware of Kyungsoo's routine. It's the same practice he's been following since all of them were tossed into one house and forced to live with each other. If Joonmyun woke up in the middle of the night for some strange reason then maybe he wouldn't bump into Kyungsoo even in his state of sleep. And Kyungsoo wouldn't make the mistake of snapping Joonmyun out of his trance to make sure that their leader doesn't walk into a door.

He shakes his head, shakes the fatigue from his limbs. He can hear the alcohol sloshing in his mind, making every part of his body feel sore. He can run to the kitchen, walk away from what's happening on the other side of the door, but he can't. There's something about knowing what's happening just beyond the door but not quite knowing everything that's going on that's keeping him rooted on his spot. There's something about the mystery that wraps around Kyungsoo's ankle and keeps him from moving, from even jerking his feet and shucking off the cool, tight circle around his ankles. And there's something about the way Baekhyun's moans get muffled by all the distance between them, the knowledge that Kyungsoo isn't seeing everything just yet and that if he just knocks on the door then maybe, maybe Baekhyun can show him how it's done–

No. He shuts his eyes. Takes a few steps back until he feels the back of his head hit the wall. It doesn't hurt. It should. And he should be walking away now before Baekhyun even gets wind of his presence on the other side of the door–

"Someone's–" Baekhyun mumbles something inaudible. Kyungsoo steps to his right, then left. He looks at either side of him. It's just him in the hall, just him and the knowledge that Baekhyun's fucking himself or being fucked by his shadow. And maybe the overwhelming strain in his pants, his arousal hot and heavy between his legs. He reaches south, cupping his dick through his bottoms.

He throws his head back and lets out a low groan at the first touch. He's too hot, too sensitive right now. Alcohol has made his limbs loose and logic more elusive. He gives his cock another squeeze, then draws a line along the length with his thumb. His breath hitches.

"There's someone– Wait–"

Kyungsoo opens his eyes. He can feel his fingers tremble against his cock, can feel warmth traveling down his belly all the way to the tip of his dick. He can't wait anymore.

The door swings open, revealing Baekhyun on the other side. Just one of him, the real one whose mole just north of his upper lip is darker than that of the copycat's. Kyungsoo drops his hand to his side. He bites his bottom lip, swallows down the whimper threatening to spill from his lips. But control has never been his best trait in tight situations, has never been something he's exercised off-stage or behind the camera. All the pretending and suppressing on stage just leaves him so pent up, craving and yearning for a touch less impersonal than that of a fan's, less familiar than the stroke of his own hand and the fingers of imagination wrapping around his dick, jerking him off in an easy rhythm.

"You're awake," Baekhyun whispers. Over his shoulder, the other Baekhyun tiptoes, cranes his neck. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are swollen. There's a bright red mark on his neck, the base of his throat, on the space just a few centimeters shy of his chin. And his eyes are unfocused, like Baekhyun had stolen all of his attention and never gave it back. Baekhyun loves marking his territory, making sure that everybody knows that he's got this game in the bag, it's game over. Stating again and again that between singing and his charm, it's the charm that wins people over. His talent is just a plus.

Kyungsoo nods. His dick twitches in his pants in acknowledgement. "I... had to pee."

"I was–" Baekhyun looks over his shoulder. The other Baekhyun catches his bottom lip between his teeth, sucks on it until Baekhyun's moaning into the open press of the other's mouth. "–am using it."

"I can see that," Kyungsoo mutters. He drops his gaze to his feet, kicks at the floor. "It's nothing important. I'll just–"

"Join us," the other Baekhyun says. Baekhyun – the real one, whose hair's a mess and whose lips are the brightest shade of red – pulls away, widens his eyes at his reflection. Kyungsoo gulps hard. "Since you're already in on the secret. This can be incentive to keep mum about it."

Baekhyun widens his eyes. "He's Kyungsoo."

"Exactly. He's Kyungsoo." The other Baekhyun laughs a little. "All the more reason to invite him inside."

What is that even supposed to mean, Kyungsoo wants to ask, but his body's betraying him right now. All his senses are acting against him. Maybe this is just a test. Maybe he's just seeing things, hearing things. Maybe abstaining from sex and getting off to Jongdae's shitty porn is working against him. Maybe this is all a dream and if he just kicks his feet hard enough, he'll jerk back to reality. But it isn't. Baekhyun's heavy gaze burns at the back of his eyelids. The warmth of Baekhyun's breath tickling the bridge of his nose feels too real. And the way his stomach lurches in several different directions is too consuming for this to be part of his wicked, wild imagination.

Kyungsoo lets his gaze trace the curve of Baekhyun's cheeks, lets it settle on the swell of Baekhyun's top lip. His breath hitches. This isn't test. This isn't part of the training program. When he signed a contract with SM, he signed himself up for months of vocal and dance lessons, personality development. Self-improvement. Nobody taught him – them – what to do when your bandmate walked up to you, a gentle, coaxing smile on his lips as he asked, "Do you want to get into a threesome with me?" And in all of Kyungsoo's years in SM, experience has never taught him how to deal with the sinking sensation in his stomach, the clawing pain in his chest as he convinced himself that kissing a bandmate, someone he has to trust with all of his life and his career, is the worst possible idea.

"You're kidding, right?" Kyungsoo croaks.

Baekhyun blinks a few times. He reaches out, curling his fingers around Kyungsoo's wrist. His fingers are cold and his pulse is beating strongly against Kyungsoo's skin. He isn't kidding. "Wish I was."

What Baekhyun probably means is, I wish we weren't in the same band. That way, we won't have to worry about being awkward tomorrow. That way, we can just forget about this and sit beside each other in the van and not think about anything at all.

"So?" asks the other Baekhyun, impatient as any version of Baekhyun would be. Kyungsoo takes a deep breath, takes a leap of faith, and takes a step forward. When Baekhyun shuts the door behind him and traps him against the door, he lays all logic to rest and succumbs to the whims of his limbs. To the muscle left of his chest. To the voice at the very back of his head saying, 'Be careful what you wish for, Do Kyungsoo. It might just happen to you.'

It's an early morning for them the following day. They have a radio guesting at seven in the morning, which means call time is at six. They have to get up at five. Kyungsoo doesn't fall asleep until four in the morning, when Baekhyun has stopped wiggling in his bed and has finally leaned into the press of his back to Kyungsoo's chest. There's still the sting of Baekhyun nipping his bottom lip, sucking on his top lip like he was on a quest to keep Kyungsoo from enunciating his syllables properly on broadcast. Every part of him that Baekhyun has touched burns. And there's still a dull ache in his jaw hours after, when they've already shuffled into the van and Baekhyun has slipped right beside him, head finding a nice fit on his shoulder.

Kyungsoo groans. Baekhyun chuckles. The vibrations tickle Kyungsoo's skin. They make his insides turn. "Sorry," Baekhyun mumbles after a while, once the door has already been closed. "Slept well?"

How, Kyungsoo wants to ask. He doesn't. Instead, he shrugs but only lightly, careful not to shake Baekhyun up too much. "Slept just fine."

Baekhyun hums. He rests a palm on Kyungsoo's thigh, then gives it a gentle squeeze. His touch is warm, gentle, unlike the way he'd pushed Kyungsoo against the wall just hours ago. Kyungsoo tries to relax into the touch, but it's hard. Every inch of his body recalls Baekhyun's touch as a tension trigger, an alarm. A warning that, hey, if you don't keep your guard up then you might just fall into the allure of Baekhyun's charms.

Kyungsoo leans back and closes his eyes. Baekhyun moves closer, murmuring into the press of his lips to Kyungsoo's chest. Too pliant, Kyungsoo muses. This could be number two. This might not be the real Baekhyun.

But then it's not as if he'd studied the way Baekhyun kissed him a few hours ago, or committed the way Baekhyun mapped the curves of Kyungsoo's body with his hands. Baekhyun's reflection is more gentle, less aggressive, more generous with light touches but fucks Kyungsoo's mouth in a motion so slow that it's torture. He takes time to peel off Kyungsoo's layers – traces Kyungsoo's lips with the tip of his dick at first before pushing at the seam of his lips. Cradles Kyungsoo's face in his hands as he thrusts into the giving cavern of Kyungsoo's mouth. And he likes looking at Kyungsoo in the eye like he has to make sure that Kyungsoo's focused on nothing but this moment, the feeling of his release spilling at the back of Kyungsoo's throat.

And Baekhyun – the real Baekhyun that he's spent nearly a lifetime breathing alongside of – Baekhyun rips his many layers of defense with reckless abandon, crushes their lips together and smiles against Kyungsoo's warm mouth like he's always looked forward to the collision. Baekhyun grips him tight by the shoulders until Kyungsoo's seething into the kiss, whispering expletives and saying, 'Baekhyun, fuck, not too hard– You'll pay for this–' And Baekhyun smiles at that, pulls away for the briefest of moments like he's saying, ah, that's right. This is the Kyungsoo I know. All the apprehension in his features when his reflection suggested that Kyungsoo join in the fun, all the uncertainty and a speck of something that Kyungsoo can't pinpoint just yet– Kyungsoo doesn't feel it in the slide of their limbs, in the way their bodies fit. It's as if Baekhyun has been rehearsing for this, a duet long overdue, and belting out all the important parts. All Kyungsoo has to do is to fill the spaces in between with his own voice, with his part of the song.

"Sleep," Baekhyun mutters now, pinching him in his thigh. Kyungsoo jerks a little. "Stop thinking and just rest a bit. We'll be on the road for close to an hour so. I'll wake you up when we're near."

'But I don't want to wake up,' a voice at the back of Kyungsoo's mind says. He shuns that away, silences it until it shrinks into an undetectable wave of noise. He closes his eyes, then, and takes a deep breath, takes in the scent of Baekhyun's shampoo – a sweet mix of apple and cinnamon – in Baekhyun's hair.

He lays his palm atop Baekhyun's own. Baekhyun's fingers tremble, freeze, then thaw out when Kyungsoo starts rubbing a line along the side of Baekhyun's hand. He doesn't stop until he feels the weight of Baekhyun's body settle against his side.

He leans into the warmth of Baekhyun's touch, wraps it up in special paper and tucks somewhere inside him where it's safe. He lets it consume him.

They talk about all sorts of things on air: Joonmyun's upcoming musical, Jongdae's new collaboration with Li Yin. Jongin starring in an action for the very first time. One of Chanyeol's compositions making it to the final roster of songs for the album. Minseok having to enlist for military service soon. Through it all, Baekhyun bumps his right knee into Kyungsoo's left, locks their ankles together under the table. It's inconvenient because Kyungsoo's trying hard to focus on the discussion and not the fact that his body feels as if he's just been tossed into an ice bath and then suited up for battle. At the same time, though, it keeps him awake, keeps him hyperaware of everything happening around him that Joonmyun can part his lips to say something funny and he'd be prepared to laugh. It keeps him on the edge, enough that the slightest shake of the table when Chanyeol slams his fist onto it in a fit of laughter makes him shiver.

He's just bored, Kyungsoo. Baekhyun's just bored. Let is rest, he tells himself, but then Baekhyun doesn't pull away even during the ten minute break. He doesn't even stand from his seat to grab a bottle of water. Instead, he asks Chanyeol to bring two for them. Or three, because Kyungsoo drinks water faster than he can breathe. 'hey dont 4get d water for ur favorite tinies tysm - your favorite midget mwah', Baekhyun texts Chanyeol as a reminder when the latter chats with Eeteuk for too long. The veracity of Baekhyun being Chanyeol's favorite is still subject to debate; Kyungsoo's positive that the title belongs to him.

"Can't believe you did it," Baekhyun mumbles when Chanyeol tosses the bottles in their direction. Luckily, Baekhyun catches them – two with his hands, the last one with his face. He places one just a few inches shy of Kyungsoo's clasped hands, then gives one to Kyungsoo. The remaining bottle, he presses to his eyes, cheeks, the underside of his jaw. Draws an arc with the bottom of the bottle around his neck and shivers when he accidentally tucks the bottle between his chin and his neck. He shakes his head, then, like he's shaking off fatigue from his body. Three seconds then he resurfaces, eyes brighter than before. Kyungsoo can see himself reflected in them. "And we should be practicing our duet. Can't be too sure. We might fuck it up."

Kyungsoo snorts. Baekhyun means, we're too old for this. We don't have the leisure of screwing up anymore. They've been doing 'the singing thing' for close to four years now that a minor fuck up may very well be setting themselves up to be the headlines of the entertainment section in every broadsheet. So Kyungsoo uncaps the bottle and gulps down a generous amount of water before turning to Baekhyun, promising, "We won't fuck it up."

"You sound so sure."

"I am sure," he replies. His voice cracks when Baekhyun drops a cold hand on his thigh, gives the giving flesh a gentle squeeze. He should've worn sweatpants or something thicker. Now the last few slivers of cold from Baekhyun's hands are seeping through his clothes, scoring lines along his skin. "We've been practicing for weeks."

"Months," Baekhyun corrects. He begins to rub patterns on Kyungsoo's thigh – a swirl, weird 'v' drawings that look like birds. A star, a circle, a heart. "We can practice right here, then. Just for my peace of mind."

Kyungsoo leans back a little, looking at Baekhyun from head to toe. His eyebrows are arched up, and the smile on his lips reaches his eyes. There's strain on his cheeks, though, in the tiny tremble of his muscles, of his lips. Baekhyun's fingers are still cold. He's nervous. So Kyungsoo lays his palm down on Baekhyun's own, slots his fingers between Baekhyun's slender ones. He presses down on the fit of their hands until he can feel three pulses – Baekhyun's, his own, and its echo, a three-part harmony that eases the tension in Baekhyun's muscles.

They do nail the high notes perfectly, nail the harmony in the chorus and the trickier one in the bridge. The host closes the program with a jubilant ending and Baekhyun pulls Kyungsoo into the warmth of his embrace, planting a soft yet warm kiss to his cheek shielded from the rest of the world by the thick tuft of his hair.

They're carrying out convenience store shopping duties today. It's already eleven in the evening, but Jongin asked (pleaded) Kyungsoo nicely to make ramyun for him (everyone) because, "Shouldn't hard workers be rewarded with ramyun?" Then Joonmyun craned his neck and mouthed, 'Yeah, I'm pretty hungry, too. Won't you do it for your favorite hyung?' Chanyeol looked at him like some overeager puppy with a new plaything or a really nice bone. So it made sense, really, for Kyungsoo to just give in. If he didn't, the others wouldn't let on.

"I'll come with you," Baekhyun offered, then snatched a set of keys from the rack. It was probably Joonmyun's. Or Kyungsoo's. Baekhyun's love affair with his scooter is so intense, it's almost hilarious. "I can drive, it you want."

Kyungsoo squinted hard, trying to make out the details on the keychain. Baekhyun reached for Kyungsoo's glasses deep in his pocket and pushed them up the bridge of Kyungsoo's nose. He could've done that, himself. No need for Baekhyun to invade his private space in front of all these people. He blinked twice, then, as the details on the keychain came to focus. That was his car key, alright. "Nah, I'll just drive."

"I won't ram your car into a wall or something."

"I'm driving. And you won't touch anything in my car." He snatched his key and reached out to grab Baekhyun by the wrist. "I'm serious. Touch anything and I'll break your neck."

Baekhyun cackled. It was a bad sign. It made Kyungsoo's insides turn and his chest constrict. "I won't be a bad boy. I promise."

And Baekhyun didn't. Still doesn't, even now that they're parked in a darker part of the road. Kyungsoo finally picks up the call, silencing the ringtone Joonmyun had set for himself on Kyungsoo's phone, and goes on about adding more items to the grocery list, 'take out the chocolates; I can't have Jongdae developing coughs and colds a week from comeback. And I think we're low on kim? Oh hey, you know what, just make some modern seaweed soup here. Hotdogs instead of pork. That's better than instant ramyun–'

Kyungsoo's breath hitches. He looks to his side and finds Baekhyun leaning closer, too close that he can feel Baekhyun's breath on his skin. Close enough that he can see the dots of red mapping out a constellation on Baekhyun's cheek. Stick to your beauty regimen, he wants to say, but the words get flushed down by Baekhyun sliding his one hand up Kyungsoo's nape, by Baekhyun snaking his free hand to Kyungsoo's inner thigh, fingers warm and tapping a weird rhythm on his skin.

"What are you doing–" Kyungsoo asks, voice dropping to a whisper, but promptly remembers that Joonmyun's on the other end of the line. So he says, "Just text me the list, hyung," looks at Baekhyun with a stern gaze and mouths, 'what the actual fuck?'

"Midnight snack," Baekhyun whispers, then dips his hand further inside. He brushes his knuckles against Kyungsoo's crotch and Kyungsoo almost steps on the gas. He doesn't. Instead, he grips the steering wheel tight with one hand, then steadies himself in his seat with the other. "Besides, traffic in Seoul's still bad at this hour."

Kyungsoo cranes his neck. No sign of traffic anywhere. The traffic lights are red. There are no pedestrians crossing. He takes a deep breath when his phone buzzes at the same time that Baekhyun scores a line on Kyungsoo's length with the hot press of his thumb.

He hits the hazard button and shifts in his seat.

There's a rule about covering one's tracks and making sure about not getting caught making out in public with anyone from another group, but there's no rule against fucking Baekhyun's face with easy jerks in the darkness of the night, here in his car with all the lights turned off. So he lets Baekhyun undo the button of his pants, wiggles out of his bottoms when Baekhyun looks up at him with a heavy gaze and a grin on his lips. For a moment, he contemplates on asking, is this really you? Are you Baekhyun? Or are you one of his reflections and the personas he's come to develop through the years? But Baekhyun gives him no time to think nor speak. Baekhyun wets his lips, makes a show out of it with the way he licks his top lip, tongue even grazing his teeth. Baekhyun sinks to his knees, then, tilting his head as he peppers Kyungsoo's dick with soft kisses. His back hits the compartment, but he's undeterred. If anything, it only fuels him more, makes him dig his nails into Kyungsoo's warm skin, gripping Kyungsoo's thighs tight. He can feel the slow-forming smile on Baekhyun's lips as Baekhyun presses the tip of Kyungsoo's dick to the tiny parting of his lips, giving his cock a light suck before leaning in, slipping his length between Baekhyun's lips like Baekhyun's trying to swallow him dick first.

He shivers. His breath hitches. He can feel his thighs trembling at the prickling warmth of Baekhyun's breath on his skin. Then Baekhyun pulls away only to take him back in in one fluid motion, then another, and another.

If the other Baekhyun is already pretty decent at giving head, then the real Baekhyun is even better. Baekhyun doesn't stick to just one pattern – he alternates between slow bobs of the head, a lick along the underside of his shaft, and rough jerks where he makes sure to make Kyungsoo gasp and whimper at the slightest graze of his teeth along the sensitive skin. He keeps a tight ring around the base of Kyungsoo's cock, loosening it a bit from time to time only to give Kyungsoo's dick a slick twist or a gentle squeeze, running teasing rubs of the thumb along his vein. Kyungsoo can feel Baekhyun's light laughter on his dick, against his thighs that haven't stopped shaking since Baekhyun took him in whole, but then he can just be imagining things. He can be getting himself off to the image of Baekhyun blowing him in the fire exit, the stairwell, the bathroom cubicle, in the dorm in the most quiet way possible, trying to keep eight other people from hearing them on the other side of the door. He can be imagining Baekhyun grinning at him before licking along his rim and sucking on it relentlessly the same way he did that night, when the other Baekhyun had invited him to 'join in the fun'. He can be hapless and hopeless and crazy, but then Baekhyun picks up his pace and sets every part of him aflame. Baekhyun's bobbing his head in a relentless motion, jerking him off with his hand whenever he pulls away. And Baekhyun's staring at him like he wants to see him get wrecked under the pressure of his warmth mouth, his skillful fingers. Baekhyun is wrecking him, making his insides turn with his skillful mouth and turning his whole world around with the way he gives his balls a light squeeze.

Baekhyun pulls away with a dull 'pop', but his hand remains in a tight circle around Kyungsoo's cock. He stares at Kyungsoo a while longer, rubs circles on Kyungsoo's balls, then sucks on them lightly until Kyungsoo says, "Baekhyun, please–" Please, we have other things to do so get this done and over with. Please, touch me. Please, just let me come – the right words for this escape Kyungsoo, stuck and pushed down by Baekhyun's tight grip on his dick. So he repeats, after a deep and shaky breath, "Please," looks at Baekhyun in the eye like in an effort to tell Baekhyun the other things he wants to say, all floating in a pool of arousal at the back of his mind. 'Do me, fuck me, I want to feel you more–'

"You're cute when you're nice. When you're begging," Baekhyun whispers, breathes against the sensitive skin of Kyungsoo's cock. Kyungsoo takes in a sharp breath, lips hanging parted when Baekhyun blows hot breath on his dick. He curls his toe and seethes. "You're really cute."

"Don't you ever call me–" He gasps when Baekhyun presses wet lips on the tip of his dick, but groans when Baekhyun pulls away. He feels a lot like the other Baekhyun, but there's something about the careful and steady grip on his thighs that feels so much like the Baekhyun he's come to live with, breathe with. The one whose voice he can wake up to and can lull him to sleep, just the same. There's none of the uncertainty that the other Baekhyun had, only years of familiarity and having each other's movements memorized like the back of their hand stretched between them. Like Baekhyun has been playing this scene in his mind for hours on end for the past four, five years, but has only ever looked over his shoulder and glanced at Kyungsoo's half-naked figure through the slits of his eyelashes. Like Baekhyun has been practicing SM's decree on never ever falling in love with anyone else but the fans like his very own religion, clinging onto it like a lifeline. (And then following the unspoken rule on office affairs: don't let yourself get caught. You must neither be felt nor seen–)

"Don't call me cute," Kyungsoo repeats. Baekhyun slides his hands up, settling on his hips. The pads of his fingers are cold; his palm, warm. "Baekhyun–"

"Alright," Baekhyun whispers. His tone is soft, almost like he's humming, singing. Kyungsoo tries to hum along with a shaky voice. Baekhyun laughs a little and presses one last kiss to the top of his dick.

Kyungsoo comes with a low groan, hands fisted in Baekhyun's hair. Baekhyun doesn't tear his eyes from his, keeps him pinned to his seat with a focused gaze, and he rolls his hips into Baekhyun's giving mouth one last time before spilling at the back of Baekhyun's throat. Baekhyun drinks it up, licks the remains of his release, swooping his tongue along the sensitive skin of Kyungsoo's dick. Kyungsoo shivers, thighs shaking and clamping on either side of Baekhyun's head, but Baekhyun doesn't complain. If he ever feels like gasping for air, he only presses a light kiss to the inside of Kyungsoo's thigh and sucks a bright red mark right there.

"So, the real meal?" Baekhyun asks, then cocks his head in the direction of the road ahead. The grin on his lips is big, blinding, infectious. It tickles Kyungsoo's insides. So Kyungsoo laughs a little, chest still heaving. He drops his hand on Baekhyun's thigh and slides it up until he can feel the warmth of Baekhyun's arousal against the tips of his fingers. He shakes his head.

"Later," he whispers, then leans forward to crash his lips into Baekhyun's own. The slide of their mouths is messy, inelegant. The vibrations of Baekhyun's laughter crawl down his throat, pound at his chest demanding release. And the fit of their bodies feels right, like they were always meant to gravitate towards each other. Just Baekhyun and Kyungsoo and nobody else.

Baekhyun shakes his head. Kyungsoo snakes a hand up his nape and takes a fistfull of his hair, keeping him in place.

He keeps the hazard signal on.

Kyungsoo gets it, the reason why Baekhyun doesn't want to tell anything else: it's weird. It's stupid, foolish. It's fucking out of this world. What he doesn't understand, however, is why it has to be him. Why does he have to be the one – the only one – to shoulder the burden of knowing Baekhyun's tiny secret? It could've been Chanyeol or Jongdae. They're closer to Baekhyun than he is. They won't kill Baekhyun or think of breaking his fingers every chance they get. And they won't tell anyone else. But it has to be Kyungsoo. If Baekhyun wanted Kyungsoo to forget about the whole thing at the very beginning then he would've shunned Kyungsoo away, condemned him to exile. Talked to him only when they had to work with each other. They are technically officemates, after all, and if Baekhyun so decides to keep things professional between them then Kyungsoo doesn't have qualms with that.

But Baekhyun keeps brushing his knuckles against Kyungsoo's own when they walk beside each other, steps in tandem with their easy breathing.

But Baekhyun keeps resting his head on Kyungsoo's shoulder or resting his forehead on Kyungsoo's back after practice like Kyungsoo's the only immovable rock in sight. Like Kyungsoo offers a twisted sort of relief by just being there.

But Baekhyun keeps touching him, hasn't stopped tugging at his shirtsleeve ever since he got the idea from his double to have Kyungsoo join in on the fun. But Baekhyun keeps fucking his reflection in the bathroom at three in the morning when he knows Kyungsoo has to pee at that hour. But Baekhyun keeps looking at him with a focused gaze and a small smile at the curl of his lips, the same smile that Kyungsoo has imagined, time and again, Baekhyun to wear whenever Baekhyun blew him under the conference table during meetings with the management in his dreams. Baekhyun keeps going to him, seeking him out, like there's nobody else in this house, the company, their industry who can understand the language of his body like Kyungsoo can.

And Kyungsoo keeps giving back, giving in. Giving up until he's spilling at the back of one Baekhyun's throat, until the other Baekhyun – the real one – is going limp against his back, release hitting him in waves of pleasure that make his knees go weak.

And he keeps letting Baekhyun get under the covers after that, clean and fresh from the bath they've shared at three in the morning. And Baekhyun keeps singing him to sleep, face buried in his chest and legs thrown over his own.

Logic eludes him as much as the feeling in his toes, the feeling in his fingers does when Baekhyun fucks him open with four fingers in the shower. So he doesn't hold back, lets out a throaty moans as he comes against the wall, his release riding the current of the water as it hits the tiles in spurts. He reaches from behind, grips Baekhyun's ass as Baekhyun grinds himself to completion.

Baekhyun lets out a hearty laugh that fades into a gasp. Kyungsoo strains his hearing and repeats the sound in his head again and again, until he can memorize the lilts in Baekhyun's voice when release is just about to hit him, or when Baekhyun whispers to him with his lips pressed to the shell of his ear, "You're amazing–" There's no use in doing things half-heartedly, after all.

Baekhyun wakes up the day of their comeback performance sounding hoarse and like a horse. His nose is red and his eyes are puffy as he says, "Jesus fucking Christ."

Joonmyun's first reaction is to shut his eyes; his second, to bury his face in his hands. Kyungsoo rummages through his everyday bag, then, looking for medicine. He has a pillbox for almost everything – vitamin C for everyone, a paracetamol for Joonmyun's regular headaches. Mefenamic acid for Jongin and Yixing's muscle pain. Candy for Chanyeol and Sehun. He has a couple of nasal decongestant tablets and antitussives here, too, but he zeroes in on the tiny green pill and a capsule. The ones he relies on the most when he absolutely can't get sick in the middle of promotions. He grabs Baekhyun by the wrist, then, and cranes his neck to look for Jongdae. "Warm water," he tells him, then turns his attention back to Baekhyun. "Take these."

Baekhyun sniffles. "Candy. Yay," he croaks.

"Yeah. Candy. Drink up," Kyungsoo mutters. He mumbles a soft 'thanks' to Jongdae when as he reaches for the glass of water, then hands it to Baekhyun. "All the way down."

Baekhyun snorts. Laughs a little, except the slivers of laughter come out strained and choppy. He coughs. "You're cute when you stop acting like you don't care."

Kyungsoo's breath hitches. He cocks an eyebrow at Baekhyun, then jabs him on the arm. "Stop calling me cute or I'll make you drink cough syrup."

Baekhyun pouts in response and sticks out his tongue. "You are the worst!"

Baekhyun's feeling 'normal' enough by the time they have to go up on stage. He hadn't been dancing much during rehearsals, but he didn't bump into anyone during the change in positions despite all the medicine he's taken. Kyungsoo kept a hand on the small his back whenever he could, but more for his peace of mind and to appease the perfectionist in him groaning at Baekhyun's missteps in distress than anything else. That, and choreography always put them on the same side of the stage and isn't this what teamwork is about? Looking out for each other and making sure the other doesn't screw up? Making each other look good on stage and then pointing out the flaws in each other's performance after the whole storm and whirlwind of events for today's schedule? It makes sense. If anyone ever called him out on being too careful, on caring too much, then he could always say, "I just don't want him to screw us up."

At the very back of his mind now, a voice whispers, 'You just can't bear to see him in pain.' He shrugs it off. Baekhyun's a friend. No friend would want to put his friend through pain, not even people as vile as he is.

Baekhyun isn't part of the intro sequence before the performance of their carrier track, but he stays at the side of the stage, giving the dancers a pat on the back before ushering them to the stage. He pinches Jongin in his side, gropes Sehun's ass. Says 'hwaiting!' to both Minseok and Yixing. To Zitao, he says, "Don't break your back, silly," but pinches Zitao's cheeks against Zitao's wishes. To Kyungsoo, he says, "Make me proud."

Kyungsoo cocks an eyebrow at him. He balls his hands into fists – or at least he means to, but Baekhyun slips his fingers between Kyungsoo's own and links their hands together. Kyungsoo's palms are drawn to Baekhyun's own, like polar opposites finding each other in the thick crowd. Like clockwork. Kyungsoo stares at their intertwined fingers for a while, then asks, "Why?"

"Why what?" Baekhyun says. The last word comes out like a cross between a croak and a burp. He clears his throat. "What do you mean?"

Kyungsoo gulps hard. He doesn't know.

What he probably means is, 'Why should I make you proud? Why do I have to?' He doesn't owe Baekhyun anything. Baekhyun isn't his mom or his dad, and is certainly isn't his brother. Seungsoo's so much better than Baekhyun. And he doesn't need to perform well for Baekhyun; he needs to give a good performance for the company, for the fans, with Baekhyun. They're part of a team; Baekhyun isn't a spectator. Baekhyun is his bandmate, one of those few people whose voice can rival his. The first trainee to make him stop and stare and gasp when he heard Baekhyun's audition piece.

Or maybe he means, 'Why are you doing this? Why do you keep holding my hand? Why can't I pull away?' Why is Baekhyun keeping him from getting up on stage and dancing his heart out there and keeping him here? There are so many questions in his mind at the moment and he knows very well that Baekhyun can answer with just hitch of a breath, a kiss, the warm fit of his body in Kyungsoo's own. But he can't stay long enough for that. There's a performance to be given, a song to be sung. They're here are EXO's D.O. and Baekhyun, not at just Kyungsoo and Baekhyun, two people who want their voices to be heard by people across the globe.

Kyungsoo shrugs after a while. "Just– Forget it," he says. He looks up, scratching his nape, the slope of his neck. They're set to take the stage in two minutes. There's work to be done. "I'll do my best–"

It's Baekhyun's turn to shake his head this time. When he resurfaces, his features are lighter, cheeks no longer pulled down by fatigue and his sickness. Like's he's been pumped with enough energy to last an entire day and maybe more. He looks around for an audience then gives Kyungsoo's wrist a gentle tug, pressing a soft kiss to Kyungsoo's cheek. Kyungsoo can feel the warmth of his touch, the light quiver of his lips, Baekhyun's pulse strong and heavy in the link of their hands.

"What–"

"Blow them away," Baekhyun whispers. He pulls away, a grin stretched across his lips. He finishes with a wink. "Go."

"Okay. Places!" Kyungsoo hears the floor director say, so he keeps his eyes on the path ahead. It's dark and narrow, but he can see the light at the end, can hear the cheers of the crowd just beyond the thin veil between these two worlds. So he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, then clenches his fists.

He touches his cheek, feeling for the part where Baekhyun had brushed his lips against his skin.

He takes one step forward, and then another. He lets the ghost of Baekhyun's touch guide him to the stage.

It's showtime.

The performance is a success. Jongin's grinning from ear to ear when they finish, when they head backstage to retouch their make up and take time to breathe. Joonmyun raises his fist in the air like a battle cry, and they all take it as a sign to converge at the middle. "This will be the best comeback ever," Joonmyun says, promising, then splays his fingers on empty air. Everyone follows suit, bodies recognizing this gesture. They've been doing this every single day for the past three years; it's not easy to forget something that has already taken root in your entire being. "We'll make it the best ever, yeah? What do you guys say?"

"You're ridiculous, hyung," Sehun mutters. Joonmyun cocks an eyebrow at him, perfect and perfunctory smile still on his lips. "Ridiculously correct, I mean. EXO, hwaiting!"

Minseok shakes his head but echoes Sehun's cry. Yixing follows suit, screaming it out in a register higher than his usual voice. Jongdae cackles and says, "Okay, we should really practice our live singing more."

"Hey, if I may say so, myself, that was our best yet," Baekhyun offers later, when they've already pulled away from the circle. He coughs into a folded tissue, then balls it up to shoot it into a waste basket. He whispers 'Byun goes for the threeee–' under his breath, then continues, "Maybe you're the one who needs to practice."

Jongdae tilts his head to the side. It isn't as intimidating as it should be, but this is Jongdae's best attempt at trying to come across as fearsome. Kyungsoo calls it Jongdae flashing his kitty claws but nuzzling his owner's leg. "We need to practice," he says, then, and nudges Baekhyun in his side. "One minute until we go live. You won't fuck up, right?"

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. The make up on his cheeks is uneven, but maybe it's the poor lighting at work. The MCs are still giving an intro to their duet track so they have time – maybe even more than a minute – but why put off something if you can do it now? So he moves forward, steps within Baekhyun's perimeter and inside his personal space, their knees bumping. He pulls down the sleeve of his suit from the inside, then reaches for Baekhyun's hand, the tips of his fingers, through the disguise of two sleeves touching each other.

"When did I ever?" Baekhyun asks, grinning. One side of his mouth is tugged up more than that the other. This isn't just a response; this is a challenge, and Kyungsoo loves challenges. He likes the feeling of being driven up against the wall and then fighting back with his own bag and brand of tricks. He likes going head to head against Baekhyun, testing each other's limits until there's nothing else to do but to relent and to give in.

And he likes it when Baekhyun pushes him against the wall, when Baekhyun slides his knee between his legs, and brushes his knee against his crotch just lightly. Like a gentle nudge jostling him back to life, reminding him to never be complacent and to never let guard his guard down. Baekhyun's good at that, capitalizing on people's weak spots and carving himself a niche there, leaving traces on himself on people's lives – a bright red mark on the skin above Kyungsoo's collarbone, on his nape. A bite mark on Kyungsoo's lips that forces him to wear the strawberry lipbalm that Baekhyun loves tasting on his lips. A dull ache in his jaw from when Baekhyun had kissed him too much or too little, from when Baekhyun had fucked his mouth in easy jerks set to the rhythm of his heavy breathing.

"Besides," Baekhyun whispers. He guides Kyungsoo forward, to a less lit up part of the backstage. The beam of light slithers past their moving figures. The shadows make the light in Baekhyun's eyes glimmer all the more. "I don't fuck up. Maybe I just fuck–"

"Shut up," Kyungsoo says. He reaches south, cupping Baekhyun's cock through his pants. Baekhyun's eyes widen, but soon the tight corners soften when Kyungsoo leans in to give his bottom lip a gentle suck. He wants to say more, but his words get lost in the swipe of Baekhyun's tongue along the cavern of his mouth, the back of his teeth. He tries not to ball his hands into fists in Baekhyun's shirt; they still have to perform. So instead, he snakes his arms around Baekhyun's waist, pulls him closer as he sucks harder on Baekhyun's tongue. Baekhyun gasps, pulls away, and just looks at him, his gaze so startlingly soft. For a moment, he remembers that Baekhyun's sick and contagious and that comeback promotions have just begun. Still, he leans in for a soft kiss, a lick at the corners of Baekhyun's mouth, a suck on his bottom lip. He keeps his gaze right there, where he can see himself reflected in Baekhyun's eyes the clearest, where he can see Baekhyun at the back of his eyelids.

This is Baekhyun, he tells himself. He can hear it in Baekhyun's thrumming pulse in his palms, in the wicked grin on Baekhyun's lips. And he can feel it in every part of him that Baekhyun has touched, every inch of his skin committing the press and slide and brush of Baekhyun's skin against his own to memory. He can't be mistaken. He's spent years studying Baekhyun like a music piece and memorizing all of curls of his voice, the lilts of his tone.

"Baekhyun and Kyungsoo– I mean Baekhyun and D.O.?" the floor director calls out. They look to their side at the same time, laughing a little when their noses almost bump. Slowly, the pull away from each other and straighten their stage clothes.

Baekhyun reaches behind Kyungsoo and gives his ass a light squeeze. "For good luck," Baekhyun reasons, ending with a wink, but karma hits him too hard when he starts coughing. So he jabs Baekhyun on the arm, laughing at the tiny yelp that mixes with Baekhyun's own laughter as they walk up the stairs.

Some things never change.

("So where's your friend?" Kyungsoo asks once they're shuffled in the van.

Baekhyun cocks an eyebrow at him in question, then laughs. "We just won mutizen for our comeback. He's not celebrating with us." A heartbeat, then, "Why, you want him to be part of the celebration?"

"Only if you need him around."

Baekhyun cranes his neck, looking over the backrest of the rows of seats in front of them. Nearly everyone's busy – Joonmyun's on his phone, texting his parents. Sehun and Jongin are playing on their phones. Chanyeol's playing with his PSP. Minseok, Yixing, and Jongdae are busy sleeping. And they're here, looking each other in the eye at the very back of the van. For a moment, he thinks of leaning in to nibble on Kyungsoo's lips, but now is not the time for that. Now is the time to answer a question with words, with a song. So instead, he slips his fingers between Kyungsoo's own and shakes his head.

"Nah," he says, voice dropping to a whisper. He's sure Kyungsoo will hear him, anyway. He tightens his grip on Kyungsoo's hand, then, and swallows the rest of his worries. The small smile on Kyungsoo's lips blooms, tugs at his heartstrings. "I don't need him anymore.")

one | two

infinite/exo: there's only one chance to take a picture

onyu — Fri, 20 Feb 2015 13:43:36 GMT

「シャッターチャンスは一度だけ」 (there's only one chance to take a picture)
— Baekhyun/Myungsoo, Woohyun/Myungsoo, and some others. NC-17. 126395 words.
— frame one: myungsoo resigns from red balloon and agrees to doing an exhibit with howon. frame two: he bumps into sunggyu on opening day and promises to meet up with him again sometime soon. frame three: he meets byun baekhyun, SM's rising star. and frame four… there is no frame four. baekhyun has already messed up with the shot list and, consequently, myungsoo's life. (Warnings: brief mentions of homophobia, rimming, gratuitous amount of drama)
— Written for cosmicfish in fulfillment of an exorelieffund bid! Tanya, thank you SO MUCH for being so patient with me and I apologize that this fic 1) is too long, and 2) took too long to write. T__T I really, really hope you like this fic! As always, many thanks to tlist for all the support, especially to F, L, C, S, and A for the constant cheering. You've all been instrumental in keeping me sane. ♥

Dreamwidth | (Best read on) AO3

exo: just say yes

onyu — Mon, 26 Jan 2015 13:28:52 GMT

just say yes
— Chen/Kyungsoo, past!Baekhyun/Kyungsoo. PG-13. 60000 words.
— as far as kyungsoo can remember, falling in love with the lead actor isn't part of the script. then again, he's shit at acting. he stays behind the lens for a very good reason. (Warnings: mentions of minor character death by fire, trauma)
— Written for jakeun for sooheaven 2015. Originally posted HERE. as always, thank you to b and for z the beta, hand-holding, and helping smoothen out some rough parts. you are my savior ♥ thank you to tlist for cheering me on ♥

ORIGINAL | Dreamwidth | (Best read on) AO3

infinite: start (of something new)

onyu — Mon, 05 Jan 2015 01:02:33 GMT

start (of something new)
— Myungsoo/Sungyeol. PG. 3140 words.
— With the help of post-Sooneung stress and some beer, Myungsoo takes a leap of faith and picks up the microphone again to sing with a complete stranger. (inspired by High School Musical)
— Written for infinitesanta 2014.

The last year of high school is sort of a mixbag of tricks for Myungsoo. On one hand, Sooneung's finally over. It means less late nights – sleepless nights – and less books to go through, less of his mother's doting and his father asking him every five minutes if he's already studied everything he has to for the night. On the other hand, there's very little to look forward to after the rigorous testing season. When you're made to pour your life and soul into just one thing and made to forget your other dreams, you tend to lose sight of meandering paths just beyond the landmark. You concentrate everything you have into that face of a dream, and you're left with nothing but the ghost of your goals once Sooneung has taken your thirst for life away.

So when Woohyun says, "There's a party later at my place. Apgeu, you remember that, right? Wanna come?" Myungsoo's first reaction is to shrug and say, "Why the hell not?"

The reason not to attend, Myungsoo soon discovers, is that Woohyun invited nearly the entire senior population. From the buffet table, Myungsoo can make out a few familiar faces – Lee Howon and Jang Dongwoo from the dance club, Lee Sungjong from the cooking club (spiking the drinks, from the looks of it. His eyesight is shit so he can't be completely sure). Kim Sunggyu, president of the student council and active member of the drama club, is helping Woohyun set up some big jukebox-looking thing on stage. Woohyun's tapping the microphone every so often, testing if there's any reception and–

"Mic test, one, two–" A shit-eating grin, and then, "Okay, karaoke time!"

The crowd erupts into cheers and Myungsoo turns around, just in time for him to take the soup being offered to him by one of the servers. He asks for a huge lump of kimchi, some kimbap and mandu. "And quiet time, if you even offer that," he mumbles loud enough for the server to catch.

The server looks at him with wide eyes. He gets a bottle of beer, instead.

It isn't so bad, he realizes fifteen minutes after, with a tiny piece of kimchi stuck between his teeth. Woohyun's not a bad singer – predictable, because he's the president of the drama club (a.k.a. he has the most drama among the batch). Sunggyu's voice goes well with Woohyun's, as well. At one point, they even did a duet and Myungsoo might have found himself singing along, but then it could've just been the work of alcohol. He's never had the best tolerance, after all, and when you're fresh from a nine-hour exam, fatigue and alcohol is never a good combination.

"Whoa, careful there, buddy–" comes a voice from beside him. He looks to his side, and only then does he realize that he has his beer tilted at a dangerous angle. A tiny twist and he might have already spilled alcohol on Woohyun's expensive couch. He sets the bottle on the table nearby, then, and focuses on dissecting his kimbap, instead. "You alright?"

"That's a loaded question," Myungsoo says. He gives up halfway through and takes the spoon and fork that he was given, then scoops the kimbap ingredients in one go to pop them in his mouth. "In the context of this situation, I'll say 'yeah'."

The stranger chuckles. "I can sense a bit of doubt there. You could've said 'yes' but instead you're saying 'yeah'."

Myungsoo snorts. "You'd be an okay linguist or psychologist." Or maybe someone who specializes in meddling with people who just want to eat their kimbap this way. Myungsoo reaches for his beer and takes another swig. "I hope those courses are part of your consideration."

There's a wave of silence for a while, broken only by Woohyun's voice when the mic catches it as he moves across the room. He's looking for someone to sing, coaxing people to get on stage. Telling them to, "Come on, let loose! Just relax and have fun with the music. Sooneung's long over, you hard-working people!" It almost sounds enticing. With the college entrance exams finally over and graduation just around the corner, nobody will care about image anymore. And Myungsoo really can't be assed about his image anymore.

There's just one thing.

"They actually are," the stranger replies. He chuckles. "Guess I'm not the toughest cookie to crack, huh? You figured me out in, what, a sentence?"

Myungsoo rolls his eyes. "It wasn't hard," he mumbles, then shifts in his seat so that he's facing the stranger. "And I got lucky. Half of that was a guess and–"

And the warm lighting just beyond the stranger's shoulder is extremely flattering. Light filters from above, passing through the man's short eyelashes and casting soft shadows on his cheeks. The bridge of his nose is a nice, subtle slope. And oh, there's a faint mole there, where the highlights fade into shadows. Sharp lines define the cut of his jaw. His eyebags aren't the size of craters. For a moment, Myungsoo thinks, this is unfair, but half of him is still stuck in the part where he can't recognize this face. He has the entire senior population memorized by face because that's part of his job. Recording people's facial expressions, every quirk of the lip or the eyebrow – that's what he's know for. And he does not know this person.

The furrow of his eyebrows is different, discerning, and his bottom lip it jutted out as if in question, or maybe in interest – what do you mean you just got lucky? This is it, Myungsoo muses, the type of face photographers find themselves getting drawn to. That one face that can–

"And you're zoning out," the stranger says, snapping his fingers in front of Myungsoo. Myungsoo jerks back, resurfacing, at the same time that the stranger pushes his bottle towards him with his fist. "You need help, kiddo. You can't even hold your beer upright."

"I'm not a kid. It's just–" Your face. "The lights." He narrows his eyes when the spotlight passes them on its way to scan the area. "It's blinding."

"Yeah, it is," the stranger says. Myungsoo looks up, searching for the man's gaze; he isn't even looking at the lights.

The next thing he knows, he's met with the same bright light he'd seen earlier, just over the stranger's shoulder. He gulps hard. He should've seen this coming. His entire high school life, Woohyun had been trying to coax him into joining the drama club, but to no avail. Academics over extra-curriculars, he'd always tell Woohyun. What he meant was his sanity above everything else.

"I'm gonna kill Woohyun," the stranger groans under his breath. He keeps the smile intact, though, like he's trying to see the brighter side of the situation. The one that doesn't scream NAM WOOHYUN IS AN ASSHOLE in big, bold letters. "You know how to sing?"

He does. He used to sing for a small band back in his hometown. He hasn't been to Gangwon-do in years. "A bit. I can hold a note."

"Great. At least you can save us," says the stranger. He pushes himself off the couch and picks himself up, then extends his hand in Myungsoo's direction. "C'mon, you're not gonna leave me alone there to suffer, are you?"

There are a number of ways to answer the question, but Myungsoo's brain summarizes them all in three letters – yes. He doesn't owe this guy anything. They just happened to sit beside each other while eating and Myungsoo just happened to be there when the spotlight hit the man's back. They don't have to do this 'thing' together. What they can do, if the man insists to jump into the hellhole together, is to make a run for it, past the doors of Woohyun's fancy house in Apgeujong and down the cold streets of Gangnam. Nevermind that his coat is somewhere in Woohyun's study; the cold never bothered him, anyway.

"Yes, I am."

"No," says the stranger. He tilts his head down, still holding Myungsoo's gaze. A sizzle of heat crawls down Myungsoo's abdomen. "We're doing this together. Just for fun. We don't even have to sing the whole song. We can say 'watermelon' if we don't know the lyrics."

"I haven't sung in years."

"Then we can change that tonight–" The man's lips hang parted, and then he's asking, "I'm sorry, I… didn't get your name. What–"

"Myungsoo. Kim Myungsoo." He shrugs off the crease on his polo and sets his plate down on the table. Takes a long swig of his beer, too, before moving two steps forward and eluding the perimeter of the man's hand. "If I sing with you once, will you stop bugging me?"

"I promise," the man begins, then flashes him a smile. There it is again – the spotlight, the bright lights that blind him. This time, it catches on the bow of the man's lips, the gentle swell of his bottom lip. It smoothens the tight corners of his mouth. "And if you're wondering, my name is Sungyeol. Lee Sungyeol. I'm one of Hyun's friends from somewhere."

'Somewhere' sounds ominous, much like stepping on stage and singing in front of a crowd. "You take the first verse," is all that Myungsoo says, and then he's walking past Sungyeol. Sungyeol's faint giggle doesn't escape his ears, though, and he holds onto the confidence in that laughter. Counts on it to get him through this singing test.

As soon as they're center stage, Woohyun keys in the code for a song that he's picked, himself. The title isn't familiar, but then that's the case with most songs – you forget the banner words, the important ones, because you get so lost in the melody. It's a mix of good and bad, Myungsoo muses, but his thoughts are soon cut off by the opening beats of the song. It sounds familiar, like a melody at the back of his head or something that he's heard in passing. Probably in one of those plays that Woohyun was in that the entire school population was forced to watch.

"Your hands are shaking," Sungyeol whispers beside him.

"Stop talking. You're singing first."

"Cool," Sungyeol replies, but the light tremble of his lips isn't lying. Myungsoo hasn't spent years studying people through images, studying the way people move and react and the message in the slightest shift of their muscles, to miss something like this. So he gives Sungyeol a light nudge with his foot, a tap on the shoe, hoping he can ease the nervousness somehow. "Relax. I won't let you down."

'For fun,' the words ring in Myungsoo's ears. The music soars high above the thumping in his chest, the pulse at the back of his ears. He takes one look at Sungyeol – poised to sing – and takes a deep breath.

"You're not a shabby singer."

Sungyeol shrugs, but takes two bottles of beer with shaking hands. He mutters something under his breath, but he goes for the save when he manages to steady his hold on the beer. Myungsoo takes one of them, gives him a curt not in acknowledgement. Good duets are supposed to be celebrated a high-five; really good duets should be celebrated with alcohol.

"I used to do theatre," Sungyeol answers. He sinks back into the couch, then folds his legs and sits on them. "Back in elementary. Hyun and I did a lot of plays before I moved somewhere south and studied there up until high school."

So he's not from the same school. It makes sense. Myungsoo's pretty sure he has the faces of all the people memorized down to the last detail, the tiny mole north of the upper lip or the pimple on the left side of the cheek. It makes sense, too, for Woohyun to invite people he knows even outside school. He has a wide network of friends, after all. Heck, he and Myungsoo don't even talk outside those times he's tried to get Myungsoo to sign up for drama club and yet Myungsoo is here.

Myungsoo shifts in his seat. He contemplates on copying Sungyeol's position but changes his mind halfway through. The result: one leg folded under his weight and the other dangling from the edge of his seat. "So you're just visiting Gangnam?"

"Sort of?" Sungyeol rubs the tip of his nose, then takes a sip of his beer. He seethes, and his body gives a tiny shiver. Lightweight, Myungsoo thinks. He sets his bottle down on the table. "I'll be moving again after high school, though. I don't think I can do three, four hours of travel everyday just to get to school. It sounds so–"

"Taxing," Myungsoo finishes. He laughs a little. "I commute from Ilsan to Gangnam everyday. A two-hour train ride is already torture, as it is."

"Everyday, two hours of your life–" Sungyeol shakes his head. There it is, Myungsoo muses, the beginnings of laughter – the slight parting of Sungyeol's lips as he shakes his head then tilts it, the way the corners of his mouth tug up and down then up again. "Man, how do you manage? That's around… an extra hour of sleep if you lived closer to school!"

Myungsoo shrugs. "I'm used to it. Travel will be longer after high school. Seokgwan's farther away from Ilsan than Gangnam is."

"Seokgwan-dong?" Sungyeol furrows his eyes for a bit. "You're… You'll be studying in K-ARTS?"

Myungsoo parts his lips to answer but never gets to it, because the next thing he knows Woohyun is pulling him in the direction of the stage again. So he looks up at Sungyeol, looks at him in the eye, and holds out his hand, counting down to the seconds when Sungyeol reaches out to link their fingers together.

Sungyeol remains seated, both a question and something else written in the quirk of his mouth.

Myungsoo unlocks his fingers and pulls away. Sungyeol reaches out just in time to catch him by the pads of his fingers.

He doesn't get the chance to talk to Sungyeol after the number. He does get to sing a few more songs with Sungyeol, though – trot, pop, a ballad, and a couple more whose genres escape Myungsoo's memory. Their duets aren't anything stellar, but something about the sincerity in Sungyeol's voice gets through him, gets him in all the right places. Sort of makes him want to pick up his guitar again and sing.

He doesn't.

When he gets home that night, he stares at the guitar case near his door. Sungyeol's voice is the one he falls asleep to at three in the morning.

Twenty years of age and the concept of having to meet new people still scares him. Old habits die hard, people say, but for Myungsoo it's more of having to recalibrate himself to know how he can relate with people. Connect with them on a different level. He spent his first year in high school just dissecting people's personalities and knowing what makes them click. It wasn't until second year that he was able to really make friends. There was Do Kyungsoo from the science club and Huang Zitao from his P.E. class, but somehow those weren't enough. Like he couldn't establish a connection with them that he could easily and, without a doubt, call them his friends.

He laughs to himself. Get over yourself, a voice at the back of his mind says. He fixes the strap of his bag and makes his way to the College of Multimedia building.

K-ARTS isn't the most difficult campus to navigate, but its sheer size is so intimidating that it's easy to get lost. It's just as easy to find one's way back, though – there are signages around the area, after all. So he follows the signages, looks around as he searches for a building that matches the one in the picture in his print out.

Instead, he finds something more familiar just a few feet away from a tall, white building. A lankly frame and easy confidence in the way he tilts his head, and the beginnings of laughter in the way a corner of his lips, just one corner, tugs up while the rest remains pressed in a thin line.

"Hey," Sungyeol says, voice barely above a whisper.

Myungsoo chuckles. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep more from spilling from his lips. "Hey."

Sungyeol stares at him, just stares at him for a few good seconds, like he wants to say something. Like he wants to say a lot of things. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again until Myungsoo snaps his fingers right in front of him.

"You're zoning out," Myungsoo says. He looks around, then cranes his neck to check the signage near the white building. "You're not lost, are you?"

Sungyeol leans back, tilts his head just so, and lets the rest of his mouth curve up to a smile. There it is again, Myungsoo thinks, the sunshine casting a warm glow on Sungyeol's face, lighting up his half-lidded eyes, lifting some of the fatigue in the his eyebags. Breathing color into his cheeks and coaxing his lips open into a bigger smile. Sungyeol hums for a while, a tune familiar enough that Myungsoo can continue it even with his eyes closer, until he settles on the words he's supposed to say.

"Nah, I'm good," Sungyeol answers. A heartbeat, then, "But maybe you are."

Myungsoo laughs a little. He unfolds the paper in his left hand and mumbles, "Caught me."

Myungsoo gives the campus one quick look. If he cranes his neck, he'll be able to spot the building he's looking for just beyond Sungyeol's shoulder. He's not in a rush, though. It's eight in the morning and his first class isn't until ten. He's a few feet away from his destination. He isn't in a foreign place.

"You know where the College of Multimedia building is?"

Something in Sungyeol's eyes flickers. A blink of an eye and then it's gone, replaced instead with a more familiar look, one that Myungsoo has seen that night, months ago, at the end of Sooneung. Then Sungyeol extends his hand, as if in invitation. He's just helping out, Myungsoo tells himself, but something about the way Sungyeol's fingers curl at the tips makes a familiar sizzle of heat roll down his spine.

He reaches out until the pads of his fingers touch Sungyeol's hands. Sungyeol laughs, but pulls Myungsoo closer. They start walking.

They don't look back.