my heart, it ain't runnin right

Fic (Free!) - Love Me Lights Out

2014-07-15T16:43:19Z

Title: Love Me Lights Out
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Reigisa
Word count: 4101
Summary: Nagisa and Rei have been planning for their first night alone together for a while. Rei is more than a little anxious.
Notes: I basically just wanted to make my first smut fic for this pairing extraordinarily shmoopy as usual but also a little fumbly and very consent-conscious. Thank you so very much to F and Traci for the invaluable betaing help, and thanks to Eszter for the ego-stroking! ♥_____♥

/casually titles all my fics after the same Beyoncé song

"Hi," Nagisa says when he throws open the door, no more than four seconds after Rei's first knock. He's wearing a grin that makes Rei's palms feel sweaty.

"Hi," Rei replies, gripping the straps of his backpack tight. He can only meet Nagisa's eyes for a moment before he has to look away.

"Come in!" Nagisa takes his elbow and pulls, and Rei barely has time to kick off his shoes before he's stumbling into the entryway, then the kitchen, then up to Nagisa's bedroom.

"Everybody just left," Nagisa says. His entire family is going out of town to visit his grandparents, but Nagisa convinced them to let him stay home alone, supposedly for a swimming obligation. He and Rei have been planning tonight for over a month.

"Ah." Rei lowers his backpack to the floor, stiff and awkward. Nagisa steps forward and presses right up against his chest, arms looping around his neck.

"Are you excited?" Nagisa breathes against his mouth before kissing him.

"Yes," Rei says, shakily, when Nagisa gives him space to answer. It's not entirely a lie, but currently "terrified" would be a more appropriate adjective.

"My dad made curry!" Nagisa transitions just like that, stepping back and taking Rei's hand, pulling him along again.

He only releases Rei's hand when they reach the kitchen. There's a simmering pot of curry on the stove, and Nagisa lifts the lid to poke at it with a spoon. "Do you want to watch a movie while we eat?"

Rei feels like his reactions are groggy and delayed tonight, but he manages to nod and voice his agreement, "Sure," before too much time passes.

"Maybe something romantic," Nagisa says with a sly smile. Rei swallows, probably visibly, but Nagisa turns to dish out the curry and rice into two bowls and doesn't notice. He hands Rei a bowl and leads the way into the living room, and Rei follows; he always follows.

They settle on Titanic—or, rather, Nagisa settles on it and Rei nods in acquiescence—and tuck in on the couch side-by-side, balancing their bowls in their laps even though Rei knows Nagisa's parents don't allow food on the sofa. It's normal enough for a Friday night that Rei feels himself start to relax incrementally, soothed by Nagisa's warmth against his side and the hum of the movie, which he hasn't done a very good job of following but at least makes for nice background noise.

After his third helping of dinner, Nagisa finally decides he's had enough and abandons his bowl to snuggle in close under Rei's arm. Rei sets his bowl down too and starts to stroke Nagisa's hair, and it's familiar, easy; he could almost fall asleep.

Then Nagisa turns his head and presses his mouth to Rei's neck, and with a sharp jolt, Rei remembers exactly what he came here to do tonight.

"Do you wanna go upstairs?" Nagisa says against Rei's skin, kissing his jaw and under his ear, snaking an arm around his waist. His fingers toy with the hem of Rei's shirt and Rei's entire lower half feels like it gets an electric shock.

Rei glances at the clock. It's 8:02 p.m. The movie is less than half-finished. "Okay," he says, hoping the tremor in his voice isn't as noticeable as it seems to him.

They leave the movie on pause and don't pick up the dishes. Rei finds himself glancing at the mess over his shoulder, but he knows it would only buy him a few minutes at most even if he were to insist they clean first. He focuses on walking instead, one foot in front of the other, all the way up the stairs until he's standing half a meter away from Nagisa's bed. Nagisa closes the door behind them and turns off the light. It's light enough outside that Rei can still see, but dark enough that everything is somewhat muddled.

"I didn't know what to get exactly," Nagisa says, breezing past Rei toward the bedside table and crouching to pull open the drawer, "so I just got a bunch of stuff." He tosses a box of condoms on the bed, followed by a purple tube of something called "Astroglide" and a smaller, clear bottle of something Rei can't immediately identify.

Nagisa looks up through his bangs and asks, as if he implicitly trusts Rei to know the answer, "Do you think that's all we need?"

"I imagine so," Rei says, amazed he can even speak when his mouth is this dry.

Nagisa beams, like he's just received a hard-earned compliment, and jumps up to take a seat on the edge of the mattress. He pats the spot beside him.

"C'mere."

Rei does, although when he sits down the mattress bounces too much. Nagisa doesn't seem to mind, however; Rei has no sooner sat down than Nagisa's hand is on his thigh, his mouth hovering close to Rei's face.

"Kiss me," Nagisa says.

Rei kisses him. He pushes Nagisa's hair away from his face, touches his cheek and kisses him hard, and it's good because it's easy. They've done this a thousand times before, so Rei knows what Nagisa likes. Nagisa knows what he likes, too, although truthfully Rei isn't convinced there's a wrong way Nagisa could kiss him. His hands start to tremble but Rei ignores them, resting them on Nagisa's shoulders, kissing him until Nagisa makes a gentle noise under his mouth and he has to back off. Nagisa regards him curiously.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," Rei says, maybe too fast. He covers for it by surging forward to kiss Nagisa hard again, and Nagisa must be convinced, because he kisses with equal fervor, only breaking away at length to pull his shirt over his head. His hair gets mussed in the process, which is a beautiful enough sight that, for a second, Rei almost forgets he's so scared he's nauseated.

"Rei-chan," Nagisa says, shifting forward. He crawls into Rei's lap and takes his glasses off—gently, which is something they've had to talk about—setting them on the bedside table before kissing him again. Rei tilts his head back to let Nagisa deepen the kiss, and Nagisa does, drawing their bodies closer together. For a moment, Rei is distracted by the feel of Nagisa's bare skin under his hands, and he explores it a little, tracing lines across the small of his back. But then Nagisa's thigh works its way in between Rei's legs and starts to grind, and Rei can only bear it for one heartbeat before he gasps and jolts, turning away from Nagisa's mouth.

"Rei-chan?" Nagisa's thigh retreats.

Rei avoids his gaze. "Sorry," he says. He tries to catch Nagisa's mouth again, eyes still turned away, but Nagisa evades him.

"What's wrong?" Nagisa asks.

"Nothing."

"You're shaking."

There are a thousand potential believable explanations for that, and Rei opens his mouth to produce one—low blood sugar maybe, or a sudden cold—but even as he does so, Nagisa crawls off his lap. The temperature in the room drops ten degrees. Rei wants to protest but he finds he can only sit, face burning, and stare down at the dark silhouette of his feet silently willing his erection to go away. He wonders if Nagisa will break up with him right away or if he'll wait a few days to do it. He wonders which would be worse.

"Rei-chan." Nagisa brushes Rei's hair away from his face now, and it startles him, but he finds himself leaning into the touch, wistfully. "You don't want to, huh?"

"I'm so sorry," Rei says in a rush of breath.

Nagisa laughs a little, probably out of force of habit rather than actual amusement. "It's okay," he says.

It's not, but Rei closes his eyes and tries to will himself to believe it. "I just," he starts, faltering as he searches for an explanation. "I have no idea what I'm doing," he says eventually.

This time, when Nagisa laughs, it does sound a little amused, although not cruelly so. "But, Rei-chan," he says, "neither do I."

"I know, but you're—" The word perfect won't quite come out, so instead Rei decides on, "—different," and that probably does the trick.

"Mm," Nagisa says neutrally. "I think I'm just not as hard on myself as you."

Nagisa drops his hand then, but instead of standing up and walking away, he also drops his head to rest on Rei's shoulder and twines their fingers together.

It gives Rei a little courage, anyway. He clutches at Nagisa's hand and murmurs, "I do want to, just. . . ."

He doesn't know how to verbalize any of this, and it's immeasurably frustrating, since he's not used to words failing him quite so spectacularly. Which means, of course, that when he finally opens his mouth, everything in his brain tumbles out in an incoherent stream of consciousness.

"I've read about it and I've tried to work it all out, but it's not—it's not something you can just study for, and I don't have any instincts at all but I don't have any practice either so I know I'll ruin it. It's like swimming, I kept studying and trying but nothing I did made any difference—"

Nagisa interrupts him, lifting his head and favoring Rei with a genuinely perplexed look. "But, Rei-chan," Nagisa says. "You went from not being able to swim at all to doing a perfect butterfly in a week. That's kind of amazing."

Rei furrows his brow and opens his mouth to retort, but once again words fail him. Still, the atmosphere in the room suddenly feels a little less oppressive and his hands a little more steady; it's like being woken up from a bad dream. Nagisa kisses him on the cheek, and Rei relaxes even more.

"Anyway," Nagisa says, "you should stop feeling bad. I can wait as long as you want." He lets go of Rei's hand and bends to pick his shirt up off the floor.

Rei stares at Nagisa's bare, curved back, disbelieving. "That's all?" he says. "Really?"

"What did you expect?" Nagisa glances up from turning his shirt right side out again and lifts an eyebrow. "That I'd be mad?"

It does seem a little ridiculous now, facing Nagisa, who's moody and easy to rile but so slow to real anger it's occasionally worrisome.

"Thank you," Rei says again.

"Stupid Rei-chan," Nagisa says, gently, with a smile. His expression shifts quite abruptly to something more impish, and he asks, "Do you wanna make out instead?"

"Yes," Rei says, releasing a breathy laugh. Nagisa grins, and before he can pull his shirt back on, Rei catches his wrist. "It's fine," he assures him, so Nagisa tosses it back to the floor, still grinning, and falls back against his pillows, kicking away the condoms and lube, tugging Rei down on top of him.

"Kiss me," Nagisa says, and Rei is happy to, but first he has to press their foreheads together, just for a few breaths, just because he's so glad it's a little dizzying.

Rei wakes up briefly disoriented, blinking around at his surroundings, although they would be blurry even if they weren't dark. Nagisa is curled with his back pressed close to Rei's chest. At first, Rei can't figure out why he's awake. Then he shifts slightly and realizes he has a hard-on that's digging directly into Nagisa's hip.

Rei shifts again, heart pounding, trying to move away because he feels immediately guilty, but Nagisa's bed is small and Nagisa, even in sleep, is persistent; as soon as Rei moves he moves with him, letting out a small, drowsy noise of protest.

Faced with either staying where he is or falling off the side of the bed, Rei goes still. "Nagisa," he says quietly, still guilty. Nagisa doesn't stir, so he puts a hand on Nagisa's shoulder and gives him a gentle shake. "Nagisa."

Nagisa groans and actually manages to press himself even more inconveniently against Rei's erection.

He really is about to fall off the bed now, so, getting desperate, Rei tries another method. He nuzzles in close to Nagisa's ear and says his name again, a little louder, before kissing his neck.

Immediately, Nagisa stirs. Rei kisses his neck again, and Nagisa turns so he's flat on his back, opening his eyes to blink at Rei in obvious confusion.

"Rei-chan?" he says. He lifts a slow hand to touch Rei's face.

"Can you move a little?" Rei asks. "I'm about to fall off."

Nagisa scoots to his left and Rei follows, but they're still close, bodies flush together, and Nagisa's movements are more awake now.

"Rei-chan," he says again, shifting his hip just enough to indicate that he's noticed Rei's erection.

"Sorry," Rei says. He can feel his face heating but he can't look away from Nagisa's eyes.

"It's okay," Nagisa says. Then, hesitantly, "Do you want to go back to sleep?"

Rei considers this. "Not really," he says, almost surprising himself.

Nagisa exhales, breath hot and close to Rei's mouth, and rolls onto his right side, so this time they're lying chest-to-chest.

"What do you want to do?" Nagisa asks. His hands drift to Rei's chest and then he kisses him, but lightly, without much heat. Rei recognizes that Nagisa's trying not to pressure him into anything, and he's touched by it, but he doesn't feel like he needs the reassurance anymore; rather, he feels eager now, exploratory.

Rei closes his eyes and breathes. "Can we just—" he stumbles a little, embarrassed, but he knows he has to actually communicate this time so he doesn't get derailed. "—Can we just use hands?"

"Yes," Nagisa says, exhaling again, but this time it sounds a little shaky. They move in for a kiss at the same time, not light at all now, mouths open and wet, and Nagisa hooks a leg around Rei's thigh that forces them closer. When their hips meet, Rei can instantly tell Nagisa is hard, too, and they both gasp.

"Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?" Nagisa has dropped a hand and it's inching lower, hovering at Rei's waist to trace the line of his boxers, maybe to tease him, or maybe as a way of asking permission.

"Don't stop." Rei grips Nagisa's shoulder and they kiss again. He can't open his eyes, but this time it's not because he's scared; he just wants to feel everything without distraction, and it's working, because when Nagisa's hand slips all the way under his waistband and brushes across his dick for the first time, he's aware of absolutely nothing else.

Nagisa is surprisingly hesitant, slow to actually wrap his fingers all the way around, and Rei finds himself fighting not to thrust into his fist when he finally does.

"Oh," Rei breathes out, clutching Nagisa's shoulder tighter.

"You have to tell me what you like," Nagisa says. He's exploring a little with his thumb but not moving his hand much, and it's frustrating. Then his thumb drags across the head, and Rei does thrust, completely instinctively.

"That," Rei says, shuddering. "And—faster."

It takes a little while. Nagisa isn't a natural, which Rei would pause to be amazed by if he were capable of doing anything but gasping and shaking right now, but then, incrementally, he improves. Nagisa's grip tightens and his clumsiness fades, fingers growing more deft, until Rei is a tangled-up mess of panting, helpless, weak-limbed arousal, and Nagisa kisses his neck and pets his hair with his free hand until he comes, so forceful he sees spots behind his closed eyelids.

Nagisa keeps petting Rei's hair but takes his hand out of Rei's boxers, not bothering to do much about the mess other than slide his sticky hand over Rei's stomach. If he weren't already shuddering, Rei probably would again.

"Was it okay?" Nagisa kisses him on the lips once, then again, and when Rei finally manages to open his eyes he finds Nagisa looks genuinely concerned.

"Very okay," he says, still breathless, still weak. And it was okay—more than okay—but not, Rei reflects, perfect. Something about this realization gives him renewed courage.

Nagisa glows like he's just won a race and kisses Rei again, more fiercely now. Rei kisses back and hugs him close, ignoring that Nagisa's hand is still sticky when it travels up to his jaw, maybe even liking it a little.

"Rei-chan," Nagisa says, with an entirely different tone than before—now he's asking for something other than permission, Rei understands, and he likes that; he could get used to it. Rei sucks in a deep breath and rolls them both over, so Nagisa's flat on his back and Rei is leaning over him, at least steady enough to support his own weight now.

He doesn't immediately do anything, a little self-conscious, wondering what Nagisa would like best. Nagisa grabs onto Rei's forearms and whines, lifting his hips a little so he rubs against Rei, and the neediness of it spurs him into action.

"Sorry," he murmurs, carefully slipping a hand into Nagisa's pajama pants, grateful it's dark enough to obscure his face, which he's sure must be as red as it's ever been. But Nagisa's eyes snap closed anyway, and he arches into Rei's touch, letting out a not-particularly-quiet "Ah" when Rei finally wraps a hand around him. He strokes with his thumb and fingers, experimentally, and Nagisa whines again.

It's difficult at this angle to figure out how to move, Rei thinks, remembering Nagisa's initial clumsiness with renewed understanding. He tightens his grip and tries to find a steady rhythm.

"Is that—okay?" Rei asks.

Nagisa is certainly making sounds like it's okay, and his fingers are digging into Rei's biceps in a way that's encouraging, but what he says is "Faster," so Rei tries to obey. He leans in closer and tries, but it still doesn't feel quite right, he can't get the hang of it. He's about to get anxious again when he has an idea.

"Nagisa," he says, removing his hand, which elicits an impatient groan. "Roll onto your left side."

Surprisingly, Nagisa doesn't question him at all. He wordlessly does as he's told, shifting sideways to give Rei more space to slide in close behind him, chest pressed to Nagisa's back. This time, when his hand finds Nagisa's cock, the angle is much more natural, and it's no problem at all to move faster.

"Ah!" Nagisa reaches back to tangle a hand in Rei's hair, grip tightening so much it's a little painful. Rei kisses his ear, is about to ask if he likes it, but then he thinks he doesn't have to, because the way Nagisa starts grinding his ass into Rei's crotch, writhing against the touch of his hand, doesn't leave much room for interpretation.

His moans are getting louder, too, and Rei wonders how long it takes the average person to get hard again after coming, because he might be nearly there already. He grinds back because he can't help it, which Nagisa seems to like also, judging by the hitch in his breath, the scrape of his nails against Rei's scalp.

"Don't stop," Nagisa gasps, too loud, as if Rei could even if he wanted to. He tries to mouth wet kisses against Nagisa's neck because he knows Nagisa loves it, but he can scarcely do anything with his mouth other than gasp anymore; he feels as if he barely has control of his actions, his body is moving of its own accord, his arm hurts but he can't stop, his entire lower half is trembling but he has to keep moving. He hooks his thigh over Nagisa's and draws them even closer, and in one final burst of reasoned thought, Rei remembers how good Nagisa's thumb felt on him and he tries it, dragging his own thumb across the head in one firm swipe, and Nagisa is finished. He lets out something between a groan and a shout—way, way too loud—and shudders before going very still in Rei's arms.

Rei buries his face in Nagisa's neck and doesn't move—he doesn't think he can move, truthfully, his hand is even still in Nagisa's pants. Nagisa slowly releases his fistful of Rei's hair and shifts his hips experimentally. He's noticed that Rei is hard again now, he must have, and Rei is about to pull away and apologize, but before he can Nagisa's hand works its way behind and down, between them, to palm Rei through his boxers. Rei jolts, not expecting it, and comes again.

"Oh, God," he chokes out. He thinks he's probably embarrassed, but he's momentarily forgotten how any emotion other than warm, buzzing satisfaction feels.

"Rei." Nagisa guides Rei's hand out of his pants and rolls over so they're facing each other. He lifts both hands to Rei's face and then just rests them there, cradling Rei's jaw, watching him through foggy eyes. Something in Rei's throat constricts and he has to open his mouth to suck in air, lightheaded.

Nagisa looks like he's working himself up to saying something important. He frowns, grazing Rei's cheekbones with his thumb. Then, just as the tension between them is getting so charged it's becoming unbearable, Nagisa closes his eyes and drops his head, forehead pressing to Rei's collarbone. They both exhale unsteadily.

"That was really good," Nagisa mumbles eventually. Rei can tell it's not what he was about to say, but it's okay, because maybe he understood anyway.

"Yes," Rei agrees. He kisses the top of Nagisa's head, and then Nagisa moves again and they kiss for real, even though they're still out of breath and their lips are too dry. When he can't ignore their mutual dehydration anymore, Rei finally pulls back, letting out a shaky laugh.

"I need water," Nagisa says before Rei has a chance to. Rei laughs again.

"Me too," he says.

"And new pajama pants," Nagisa adds.

"Me too," Rei says. Now that his head has cleared somewhat, the cooling, damp mess in his boxers is significantly more uncomfortable.

"Be right back." Nagisa kisses him one last time, a quick peck, and then rolls off the bed.

Rei closes his eyes and listens to the sounds of Nagisa opening his dresser, rifling around for clean pajamas, and then his footsteps as he pads out of the room, the distant sound of the tap running in the kitchen downstairs. He opens his eyes upon Nagisa's return, just in time for a wadded-up pair of pajama pants to hit him in the face.

"There you go," Nagisa says, sipping from a glass of water.

"Thank you," Rei says, drily. They haven't turned on any lights, but even in the dark he can still make out Nagisa's grin. He smooths out the pajamas, staring down at them as he runs his hand over the fabric, and Nagisa climbs back into bed beside him, holding out the water glass.

"Here," Nagisa says.

"Do you want to get an apartment together?" Rei blurts.

Nagisa freezes, the glass of water hovering between them in his outstretched hand. Rei feels his neck start to heat, then his face, finally his ears. The silence stretches out endlessly, until Rei can clearly hear the ticking of a clock in another bedroom and the pound of blood in his ears.

Then it breaks. Nagisa lunges forward, water sloshing over the edge of his glass, mostly into Rei's lap, and pulls him into a hug. Rei yelps at the cold, but already he's relieved.

"Rei-chan," Nagisa says, voice wavering, obviously trying and failing to fight back tears. He wraps his arms tight around Rei's neck, a headlock more than a hug, and buries his face into Rei's shoulder. He's still holding the glass, miraculously; Rei can feel trails of water dripping off it, rolling down his back.

"Is that a yes?" Rei asks, softly, close to Nagisa's ear. His hands fall to Nagisa's back and he trails his fingers up and down.

Nagisa nods, but otherwise doesn't move.

". . . Nagisa," Rei says, after a beat. "Are you going to stop hugging me at some point?"

Nagisa shakes his head. Rei nearly laughs, but then feels himself softening, the tightness in his throat returning once more. He stops stroking Nagisa's back and hugs him instead, arms wrapped tight around his middle, until they're so close he can feel Nagisa's pulse. He closes his eyes and breathes in deep and doesn't let go.

Fic (Free!) - Lost in Transmission

2014-07-15T16:39:27Z

Title: Lost in Transmission
Rating: G
Pairing(s): Reigisa
Word count: 1432
Summary: Nagisa and Rei chat over winter break.
Notes: Written for Reigisa Week 2014! This was originally gonna be for the Winter prompt but I decided to post it for First Kiss instead. :D Tysm to F and eszter for betaing/feedbacking this! ♥

Dec 27 3:58 PM

IwatobiChanXO: rei-chan

IwatobiChanXO: are you there?

IwatobiChanXO: reiiiiiiii-chan

IwatobiChanXO: lame

BeautifulButterfly2718: Yes

BeautifulButterfly2718: I'm here.

BeautifulButterfly2718: What is it?

IwatobiChanXO: hi!! ^^

BeautifulButterfly2718: Hello

IwatobiChanXO: how are you??

BeautifulButterfly2718: I'm fine, thank you

BeautifulButterfly2718: How are you?

IwatobiChanXO: booooored

IwatobiChanXO: winter break is always so boooring

BeautifulButterfly2718: Oh?

IwatobiChanXO: what are you doing?

BeautifulButterfly2718: Reading, currently

IwatobiChanXO: you aren't doing homework alREADY are you

IwatobiChanXO: that's so lame rei-chan we've been off school for two days

BeautifulButterfly2718: Yes, well, forgive me if putting all my work off until the night before it's due and then begging my friends to come over and help me finish isn't my preferred way of doing things

BeautifulButterfly2718: And I'm not going to help you with your math this time if you do that again, by the way.

IwatobiChanXO: you're so mean

BeautifulButterfly2718: It's for your own good.

IwatobiChanXO: whatever

IwatobiChanXO: so does that mean you're super busy?

BeautifulButterfly2718: I'm almost done with this chapter.

BeautifulButterfly2718: Why do you ask?

IwatobiChanXO: would you wanna go see a movie or something?

IwatobiChanXO: ^^?

BeautifulButterfly2718: Now?

IwatobiChanXO: yeah! or in a little bit

IwatobiChanXO: it's couples day so if you go with someone tickets are half price~

IwatobiChanXO: hello?

IwatobiChanXO: are you there??

BeautifulButterfly2718: Yes

BeautifulButterfly2718: Sorry

BeautifulButterfly2718: . . . Can we . . . get couples tickets?

IwatobiChanXO: yeah of course

IwatobiChanXO: it's just a name they don't care if you're really dating or not

BeautifulButterfly2718: I see.

IwatobiChanXO: I wanna see the doraemon christmas movie!!

BeautifulButterfly2718: . . . Really?

IwatobiChanXO: yeah!!

IwatobiChanXO: can you go?

BeautifulButterfly2718: Yes.

BeautifulButterfly2718: What time

BeautifulButterfly2718: ?

IwatobiChanXO: yayyyyyyyyyy

IwatobiChanXO: o(≧▽≦)o

IwatobiChanXO: if you leave now you can make the 4:15 train

IwatobiChanXO: I'll meet you at my stop

IwatobiChanXO: ok?

BeautifulButterfly2718: Ok.

IwatobiChanXO: see you soon! ( ^_^)/~~~

BeautifulButterfly2718: See you.

Dec 27 11:37 PM

IwatobiChanXO: rei-chaaaaaaan~

IwatobiChanXO: sorry again about forgetting my wallet ;__;

IwatobiChanXO: I'll make it up to you next time!

BeautifulButterfly2718: It's ok.

IwatobiChanXO: I'm glad you came

BeautifulButterfly2718: Thank you for inviting me.

IwatobiChanXO: breaks are more fun now that I have you!（＾ν＾）

IwatobiChanXO: are you there?

BeautifulButterfly2718: Yes

BeautifulButterfly2718: Sorry

IwatobiChanXO: it's ok

IwatobiChanXO: well I'm gonna go to bed

IwatobiChanXO: night night rei-chan! <3

BeautifulButterfly2718: Good night.

Dec 29 9:56 AM

BeautifulButterfly2718: Good morning Nagisa-kun

BeautifulButterfly2718: Are you awake?

11:37 AM

IwatobiChanXO: heyyyyyyyy

IwatobiChanXO: sorry!

IwatobiChanXO: I slept 11 hours last night ^^;

IwatobiChanXO: what's up?

BeautifulButterfly2718: You should be careful

BeautifulButterfly2718: You're going to ruin your sleep cycle and end up having trouble re-adjusting for school

IwatobiChanXO: ok ok

IwatobiChanXO: you sound like mako-chan

IwatobiChanXO: anyway what's up

BeautifulButterfly2718: I was just wondering if you would like to accompany me to the skating rink.

BeautifulButterfly2718: I just thought. Since you said you were bored

BeautifulButterfly2718: You might

IwatobiChanXO: yes!!

BeautifulButterfly2718: And it would be good exercise

BeautifulButterfly2718: Oh

BeautifulButterfly2718: Great.

IwatobiChanXO: when??

IwatobiChanXO: I have to shower

IwatobiChanXO: and eat breakfast

BeautifulButterfly2718: We could meet at 12:30 and eat first?

IwatobiChanXO: yeah!!

IwatobiChanXO: I'll try to make the 12:12 train

IwatobiChanXO: I'll text if I don't

IwatobiChanXO: see you soon!! ( ^_^)/~~~

BeautifulButterfly2718: See you.

Dec 29 9:05 PM

IwatobiChanXO: ahhh today was so fun（＾∇＾）

IwatobiChanXO: I'm still laughing

IwatobiChanXO: I can't believe you knocked over that old lady

BeautifulButterfly2718: Please . . . stop. . . .

IwatobiChanXO: lol

IwatobiChanXO: it's ok she didn't seem to mind

IwatobiChanXO: I think she was kind of excited to get knocked down by a handsome teenager

BeautifulButterfly2718: Handsome?

IwatobiChanXO: yeah of course

IwatobiChanXO: I think she was jealous when I pulled you off

IwatobiChanXO: are you there?

IwatobiChanXO: hello?

IwatobiChanXO: rei-chaaaaan

Dec 30 12:02 AM

IwatobiChanXO: ok I'm gonna go to bed

IwatobiChanXO: night! <3

Dec 30 11:40 AM

BeautifulButterfly2718: Nagisa-kun.

BeautifulButterfly2718: Are you there?

IwatobiChanXO: hi! <3

BeautifulButterfly2718: Hello.

IwatobiChanXO: how's it going!

BeautifulButterfly2718: Fine

BeautifulButterfly2718: Nagisa

IwatobiChanXO: hmm?

IwatobiChanXO: hello??

BeautifulButterfly2718: Sorry

BeautifulButterfly2718: I was just wondering

BeautifulButterfly2718: What are your plans for New Year's Day?

IwatobiChanXO: oh, I usually go to a shrine with my family

IwatobiChanXO: it's kind of a thing

BeautifulButterfly2718: I see.

IwatobiChanXO: why?

BeautifulButterfly2718: No reason.

IwatobiChanXO: did you wanna go??

IwatobiChanXO: I could go with you at night!

IwatobiChanXO: I've always wanted to go when it's lit up

BeautifulButterfly2718: Well

BeautifulButterfly2718: If you'd like to

BeautifulButterfly2718: You certainly don't have to

IwatobiChanXO: let's do it!!

IwatobiChanXO: then I'll have an excuse not to watch kohaku with my sisters too ^_－☆

IwatobiChanXO: will your parents let you go out after midnight?

BeautifulButterfly2718: I think so.

IwatobiChanXO: ok, should we meet at the shrine at 12?

IwatobiChanXO: I'll bring you some of my grandma's mochi

IwatobiChanXO: it's really good

IwatobiChanXO: rei-chan?

BeautifulButterfly2718: Ok.

IwatobiChanXO: ok see you on nye!!

IwatobiChanXO: I'm excited ☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

BeautifulButterfly2718: See you

BeautifulButterfly2718: Me too.

Jan 1 1:52 AM

IwatobiChanXO: rei-chan

IwatobiChanXO: are you there

IwatobiChanXO: please call me back

IwatobiChanXO: or at least answer my texts

IwatobiChanXO: UGH

Jan 2 10:04 PM

BeautifulButterfly2718: Nagisa

BeautifulButterfly2718: I'm so sorry

BeautifulButterfly2718: I fully understand if you never want to see me again

BeautifulButterfly2718: But I hope

BeautifulButterfly2718: You might be able to forgive me

BeautifulButterfly2718: I swear I will never do something like that ever again

BeautifulButterfly2718: If we could just

BeautifulButterfly2718: Pretend it never happened

IwatobiChanXO: REI-CHAN

IwatobiChanXO: WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN

IwatobiChanXO: OH MY GOD

IwatobiChanXO: I'VE CALLED YOU 1000 TIMES IN THE PAST 2 DAYS

BeautifulButterfly2718: I'm sorry . . .

BeautifulButterfly2718: I just

BeautifulButterfly2718: I didn't know how to explain

IwatobiChanXO: REI-CHAN

IwatobiChanXO: YOU'RE AN IDIOT

BeautifulButterfly2718: I know

BeautifulButterfly2718: I know I've been horrible and completely betrayed your trust

BeautifulButterfly2718: I just

IwatobiChanXO: oh my god STOP IT

IwatobiChanXO: HOW DO YOU HAVE THE HIGHEST GRADES IN OUR CLASS

IwatobiChanXO: YOU'RE THE DUMBEST PERSON I'VE EVER MET

BeautifulButterfly2718: Nagisa . . .

IwatobiChanXO: DID YOU HONESTLY THINK I DIDN'T WANT YOU TO DO IT

IwatobiChanXO: I DID EVERYTHING EXCEPT ACTUALLY ASK FOR IT

IwatobiChanXO: WHY DID YOU RUN AWAY

IwatobiChanXO: YOU'RE SO STUPID

BeautifulButterfly2718: I

BeautifulButterfly2718: What?

IwatobiChanXO: AGHHHHHH

IwatobiChanXO: I'VE BEEN TRYING TO GET YOU TO KISS ME FOR FOREVER

IwatobiChanXO: I COULDN'T TELL IF YOU WERE REALLY THAT DENSE OR IF YOU JUST DIDN'T LIKE ME

IwatobiChanXO: I WAS ABOUT TO GIVE UP

IwatobiChanXO: AND THEN YOU FINALLY DID IT AND YOU FUCKING RAN AWAY

BeautifulButterfly2718: Nagisa . . .

BeautifulButterfly2718: Are you

IwatobiChanXO: AGHHH

BeautifulButterfly2718: Really?

IwatobiChanXO: YES REALLY

IwatobiChanXO: WHAT ELSE DID YOU THINK IT MEANT WHEN I PUT MY HANDS IN YOUR POCKETS

IwatobiChanXO: OR WHEN I SAID YOUR LIPS LOOKED CHAPPED

IwatobiChanXO: I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU

BeautifulButterfly2718: I thought

BeautifulButterfly2718: You're

BeautifulButterfly2718: You're always just so friendly

BeautifulButterfly2718: With everybody

IwatobiChanXO: I HAVEN'T SEEN ANYONE ELSE ALL BREAK

IwatobiChanXO: JUST YOU

IwatobiChanXO: I HAVEN'T EVEN TRIED TO SEE ANYBODY

IwatobiChanXO: MAKO-CHAN AND HARU-CHAN ASKED IF WE WANTED TO SEE A MOVIE AND I TOLD THEM WE WERE BOTH BUSY SO I COULD HAVE YOU TO MYSELF

BeautifulButterfly2718: Nagisa

BeautifulButterfly2718: Does this mean

BeautifulButterfly2718: You like me?

IwatobiChanXO: of course I like you you STUPID IDIOT

IwatobiChanXO: if you'd waited 3 seconds before running away you could have heard me SAY IT IN PERSON

IwatobiChanXO: GOD

BeautifulButterfly2718: I'm sorry

BeautifulButterfly2718: I just

BeautifulButterfly2718: I got scared . . .

IwatobiChanXO: rei-chan

IwatobiChanXO: I'm coming over right now.

BeautifulButterfly2718: But

BeautifulButterfly2718: My parents are asleep

IwatobiChanXO: then I'll have to kiss you quietly.

IwatobiChanXO: I'm getting on the next train

IwatobiChanXO: don't you dare run anywhere this time

BeautifulButterfly2718: Ok.

Jan 4 3:22 PM

IwatobiChanXO: hi~

IwatobiChanXO: (´∀｀)♡

BeautifulButterfly2718: Hi

IwatobiChanXO: I miss you

BeautifulButterfly2718: Nagisa

BeautifulButterfly2718: We just saw each other last night

IwatobiChanXO: so? I miss you anyway

BeautifulButterfly2718: I miss you too.

BeautifulButterfly2718: I always miss you.

IwatobiChanXO: REI-CHAN

BeautifulButterfly2718: What??

IwatobiChanXO: THAT'S SO CUTE

IwatobiChanXO: YOU'RE SO CUTE

IwatobiChanXO: (｡♥‿♥｡)

BeautifulButterfly2718: Nagisa . . .

BeautifulButterfly2718: You're embarrassing me . . .

IwatobiChanXO: sorry but it's true~

IwatobiChanXO: you're the cutest~

BeautifulButterfly2718: Not accurate.

IwatobiChanXO: is too accurate

IwatobiChanXO: also

IwatobiChanXO: um

IwatobiChanXO: I have a question for you

BeautifulButterfly2718: Ok?

BeautifulButterfly2718: . . . Nagisa?

IwatobiChanXO: sorry

IwatobiChanXO: I was just thinking

IwatobiChanXO: since it's the last day of the break

IwatobiChanXO: I was wondering

IwatobiChanXO: if you'd like to come over

BeautifulButterfly2718: Of course

IwatobiChanXO: …and help me with my math homework…

IwatobiChanXO: ^^;

IwatobiChanXO: did I mention you're the cutest

BeautifulButterfly2718: . . . Nagisa.

IwatobiChanXO: ( ˘ ³˘)♥ ( ˘ ³˘)♥ ( ˘ ³˘)♥

BeautifulButterfly2718: You're

IwatobiChanXO: hmm?

BeautifulButterfly2718: . . . Nevermind.

IwatobiChanXO: is that a yes?

BeautifulButterfly2718: Yes.

IwatobiChanXO: also my parents are gone until 9:30

IwatobiChanXO: soooooo

IwatobiChanXO: ^_－♥

IwatobiChanXO: rei-chan?

IwatobiChanXO: are you there??

BeautifulButterfly2718: I'll be on the next train.

IwatobiChanXO: see you soon <3

BeautifulButterfly2718: See you.

BeautifulButterfly2718: <3

Fic (Free!) - Rules of Affection

2014-07-15T16:34:38Z

Title: Rules of Affection
Rating: G
Pairing(s): Reigisa
Word count: 1028
Summary: When Nagisa sets the box of chocolates—pink with red hearts and topped with a red bow—in Rei's lap, Rei can only stare at first.
Notes: ugh this is short and unbetaed and kind of dumb but I JUST COULDN'T LET VALENTINE'S DAY GO BY WITHOUT WRITING SOMETHING FOR THESE TWO BECAUSE THEY'RE STUPID IDIOTS AND THEY'RE RUINING MY LIFE.

When Nagisa sets the box of chocolates—pink with red hearts and topped with a red bow—in Rei's lap, Rei can only stare at first.

"Nagisa-kun?" he says after a moment, feeling a little warmth rise to his cheeks. "What's this for?"

Nagisa gives Rei a slightly exasperated look, like he's being particularly simple. "It's for Valentine's Day, Rei-chan."

Rei has a few possible responses to that—primary among them, Boys aren't supposed to be the ones giving chocolate on Valentine's Day, Nagisa-kun—but he predicts any such objection would be completely lost on Nagisa, so he just says "Thank you" instead.

Nagisa smiles brightly, turns toward the cubbies and starts changing for swim practice, and Rei stays seated on the club room bench, already changed but waiting for Haruka and Makoto to arrive; he's curious as to what kinds of ridiculous boxes and bows Nagisa has prepared for them.

But when Haruka and Makoto appear, Nagisa doesn't give them anything at all.

"I'm gonna beat you to the pool, Haru-chan!" Nagisa chirps, completely changed and showing no sign of producing any more chocolates as he tugs on his swim cap and runs out the door, impervious to Haruka's scowl.

"Don't run by the pool, Nagisa!" Makoto calls after him. Then, after a pause, "Rei! You got chocolates!"

"I—" Rei sits frozen for a handful of seconds before jolting upright, tossing the box into his cubby and rushing out after Nagisa (which he'll have to remember to apologize to Makoto for later).

"Nagisa-kun," Rei says, approaching the edge of the deep end of the pool and peering down. Nagisa surfaces from underwater, fixes his goggles on his forehead and peers right back up. "You didn't give Haruka and Makoto anything."

Nagisa manages to tread water in a manner that appears somehow mischievous. "Yeah . . . I know."

"But—" Rei pushes his glasses higher up his nose and struggles to get the words out. "Why did you only give them to me?"

Nagisa tilts his head and puts on a great show of considering the question carefully. "Hmm," he says. "I wonder."

Without another word, he positions his goggles back over his eyes and submerges again, completely without regard for the fact that he's left Rei standing alone by the side of the pool quietly having a panic attack.

Nagisa checks his phone at 11:13 and tries not to let the fact that he doesn't have any more unread text messages than he did five minutes ago make his stomach hurt any worse.

"I guess not, then," he mutters, falling back against his pillows and letting his phone drop to his chest. At least Rei didn't confront him and make him go through a humiliating rejection speech. It's probably better that they just pretend it never happened.

The thought isn't that reassuring, but Nagisa closes his eyes and tries to force himself to fall asleep even so, because sleeping is easier than thinking too hard about how he's going to look Rei in the eye tomorrow.

At 11:48, his phone buzzing against his collarbone makes Nagisa's eyes snap open, which is fine seeing as forcing himself to sleep wasn't really working out anyway.

"Hello?" Nagisa puts the phone to his ear on instinct, even though if he had taken a moment to really register the name Rei-chan flashing across the screen he might have hesitated.

"Nagisa-kun," Rei says, sounding weirdly out of breath. "Are you awake?"

"Ah—" Nagisa decides not to point out what a dumb question that is. "Yes?"

"Can you—come outside?"

Nagisa jerks upright and tears jumps off the bed to peer out his window; sure enough, there's Rei, looking up from the driveway, hard to make out in the dark but definitely underdressed for the weather, in only a sweatshirt and pajama pants.

"Rei-chan!" Nagisa almost trips over everything he's neglected to pick up off the floor of his room in his hurry to get out the door and down the stairs, only realizing once he's outside that he's barefoot and his phone is still pressed to his ear. He slips the phone into his pocket as he approaches Rei and tries to ignore the cold burn of the pavement against the soles of his feet.

Rei, normally the world's biggest nag, doesn’t even seem to notice Nagisa's feet. He fumbles in his sweatshirt pocket for something and finally pulls out a simple Dars bar, which he holds out to Nagisa with two visibly shaking hands.

"I'm sorry," he says, breath puffing out in front of him, "I had to get whatever they had at the convenience store in the station—they were out of the Valentine's stuff already—"

Nagisa accepts the chocolate bar and stares down at it. When he looks up again, Rei's hands are back in his pocket and his head is bowed. "I'm sorry it took me so long," he adds, in a quiet voice.

That's when all the giddiness that's been building inside Nagisa in the past sixty seconds bubbles over and explodes. He laughs, surprised and delighted, and launches himself at Rei, who barely has time to free his hands before Nagisa is hugging him tight, burying his face in Rei's sweatshirt and laughing again when Rei finally starts to hug him back.

"Thank you, Rei-chan," Nagisa says, tilting his head back to grin at Rei, who looks flustered and anxious but not at all unhappy. "It's perfect."

Nagisa figures the last few minutes of Valentine's Day is basically the best possible time for a first kiss ever, so he snakes his arms around Rei's neck and edges closer, stepping up on the toes of Rei's shoes to give himself a boost as he leans in.

"Nagisa!" Rei exclaims, stopping Nagisa's advances with two firm hands on his shoulders. "Your feet! You're going to catch a cold!"

"Rei-chan," Nagisa whines, letting his forehead fall forward to hit Rei's chest, because now the moment's totally ruined.

Until Rei insists on picking him up and carrying him all the way inside, and Nagisa decides this might not be such a terrible end to a Valentine's Day after all.

AO3, Tumblr

2014-06-02T19:03:46Z

hey kids, just an FYI that i'm a little slow cross-posting to here these days--my AO3 is actually the best place to go if you want my most consistently updated fic. i do intend to try to keep posting here but it won't be nearly as consistent (i'm already behind!).

longleggedgit @ A03!

i also tend to link to fic on my tumblr, lesbiopteryx (not a fic-only tumblr though)

♥!

Fic (Shingeki no Kyojin)- Four-Point Play

2014-02-07T01:54:00Z

Title: Four-Point Play
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Ymir/Christa
Word count: 4441
Warnings: College AU
Summary: The first time Ymir sees her, they're at a party, and Ymir isn't the most sober she's ever been in her life.
Notes: I wrote this mess entirely in one sitting while drunk. The fact that it is even remotely coherent today is thanks entirely to furiosity's betaing prowess omg ty girl ♥ This is totally set at my undergrad university, bonus points if you catch the not-so-subtle hints as to where that is!

The first time Ymir sees her, they're at a party, and Ymir isn't the most sober she's ever been in her life. She's actually just about two drinks short of shitfaced, which might explain why she allows herself to lean against the wall a few feet to the left of the blonde girl who looks too straight to be queer and too pretty to be single, but hey, Ymir can dream. The girl cuts her eyes sideways so Ymir quickly pulls out her phone and pretends to be busy texting someone, which is hilarious considering that she only has two friends and they're both probably passed out somewhere in this house.

"Um," the girl says after a moment. Ymir is too drunk to act cool, so of course she almost drops her phone in her urgency to stuff it in a pocket and focus all her attention on those blue eyes. "You play basketball, don't you?"

Ymir blinks back her surprise and tries not to slur when she speaks. "Yeah," she says, not slurred exactly, but weirdly gruff. "You, uh—like basketball?" Which is the stupidest thing to say ever.

The girl doesn't look like she thinks it's stupid, though. Her eyes widen and she smiles, and Ymir digs her nails into her palms.

"You're really good," the girl says, staring up at Ymir like she's Michael Jordan, and fuck, Ymir doesn't give a shit if this girl does have a boyfriend. She moves a step closer, so there are only a few inches between them.

She's even shorter than Ymir had previously realized, and the kind of pretty that radiates without the impression of even putting that much effort into it. Her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail and her hands are clutched around a red plastic cup that's more than half full of what smells like a rum and Coke. Up until a minute ago, she looked lost, like she would rather be anywhere other than a sketchy undergrad house party on a Friday night, but all of a sudden she's lit up, and it twists something sharp in Ymir's gut.

"Thanks," Ymir says, doing her best to sound like a normal human being and not a creepy asshole who picks up drunk straight girls at parties. She's probably the drunker one right now, at least. "Uh—what's your name?"

"Christa." Christa smiles bright, like she's flattered to have been asked, and offers Ymir her hand. Ymir shakes it. She's about to give her own name when Christa's smile falls away and she says, "Do you know the address of this place?"

Ymir lets go of Christa's hand and frowns. "You need to get somewhere?"

"Just home . . . my friend brought me here but she left without me. . . ." Christa trails off and glances around, brow furrowed.

What the hell, Ymir thinks. She hates house parties anyway. "I'll walk you home," she says, and the way Christa's eyes shine again is so sickening Ymir has to look down before she does something stupid like blush.

Christa's dorms turn out to be only about half a mile away. Ymir gets them there easily, careful to guide Christa away, one hand at the small of her back, from any stumbling-down drunks or puddles of vomit they pass. There's a home game this weekend, so that's not infrequently.

"Thank you so much, Ymir," Christa says when they finally reach the front of her building, turning to face Ymir in a way that's nice, since she gets to see those blue eyes again, but also not because she has to let her hand drop.

"It was on my way anyway," Ymir lies. Her apartment is about a mile in the opposite direction. She scratches the back of her head, unsure of what to say next, and then jolts with a delayed realization. "How'd you know my name?"

"Oh—basketball," Christa says, looking down at their feet suddenly. Ymir stuffs her hands in her pockets and has no idea what to say.

Eventually, she decides on, "Well—uh—I'll wait to make sure you get in." Christa beams like Ymir just said she was going to buy her a kitten or something and then she's walking away, pressing an I.D. card to a reader that opens the door and turning to wave at Ymir before disappearing through it.

Ymir waves back, still holding up her hand long after Christa has gone, and when she finally uproots her legs from where they've attached themselves to the pavement she stumbles away in a rush, suddenly lightheaded.

"You are such a fucking moron," she mutters to herself as she goes, very knowingly allowing a shoulder to collide with every drunken bro who thinks he has a right to take up the entire sidewalk that she passes. Most of them yell at her; she wishes one would pick a fight, but none do. She ends up at home a little later, too exhausted even to make it to her bedroom before she collapses and passes out on the couch.

The second time Ymir sees her, she's mopping sweat off her face after killing Iowa State in overtime and taking a moment to rehydrate amidst all the cheering. Her teammates already made her do one of those stupid victory cheers she hates and she's finally managed to slip away to the bench and her water bottle, and that's when she spots Christa, about fifteen rows up, jumping up and down and waving and drawing Ymir's attention like a homing beacon.

Ymir blinks, stunned to be making eye contact with the girl she's only had guilty wet dreams about since walking her home weeks ago, and eventually waves back. Christa looks almost as happy to have gotten Ymir's attention as Ymir is starting to feel at seeing her face again, and in a moment of recklessness she spreads the fingers of one palm and holds it out to Christa in what she hopes is a clear gesture—wait, just wait right there—then lets herself be carried by the momentum of her teammates out of the gym toward the locker rooms. She strips, showers, and changes into clean clothes faster than she's ever done in her life, and finally she's shouldering her gym bag and barging out the door with only a quick shouted apology at her protesting coach—"Sorry, family emergency!"—to mark her exit.

Still, it's been at least ten minutes since the end of the game, and surely Christa isn't still going to be there. Ymir reminds herself of this as she tears down the hall outside the locker rooms, up the flight of stairs to the main floor, then around and up again, into the stadium, taking steps two-by-two until the moment that Christa could conceivably see her again, at which point she slows to a gentle jog. When she finally risks looking up, her stomach leaps to her throat because Christa is still there, still waving and beaming, and there's no question that it's Ymir she's fixated on.

"Hey," Ymir says, jogging up to Christa's row, unable to hide the fact that she's wildly out of breath. Christa has two people with her, it looks like, and one of them is a boy, which Ymir notes with a sour taste in her mouth.

"You were amazing!" Christa chirps, jumping forward suddenly to pull Ymir into a hug. Ymir melts into it, forgetting for a moment about the boy, forgetting that she's probably worked up enough of a sweat running up here that she stinks again, to let herself breathe in the smell of Christa's shampoo.

"Thanks," Ymir says when they finally have to pull away, although not by her choice. "Thanks for coming."

"These are my friends, Sasha and Connie," Christa says, gesturing to the girl and boy in turn, and relief pools in Ymir's stomach to hear the boy described as merely "friend."

"Nice to meet you," Ymir grunts, although she doesn't waste a lot of time really looking at either of them. "Uh—we're having an after-party at Studio 13, if, uh—you're 21, right?"

Christa looks crestfallen. "20," she admits. The look on her face is so devastated that Ymir has to bite her lip to hold back a laugh.

"Honestly, it's fine. They won't care if you're with me," Ymir says, and almost immediately regrets. They don't usually card after the team wins a game, but it's not like she's actually such hot shit that she has an arrangement with the bar or something. Still, Christa is smiling again, and now all Ymir can do is pray nobody calls her bluff.

And that's how she ends up inviting an underage near-stranger and her total-stranger friends to a bar that thankfully doesn't notice their entrance to dance to music she hates, only to stand awkwardly against a wall next to the hottest girl she's ever met in her life without even being able to look at her directly.

"Do you want me to get you something?" Ymir asks, still not quite looking at Christa, who's hovering close to her elbow. Her friends have long since abandoned them to dance with some of Ymir’s teammates, and Ymir is glad, although it hasn't really done anything to improve her conversation skills.

"Oh—it's okay, you don't have to," Christa says, hesitant even though she obviously wants something, which gets Ymir flustered for some reason.

"Just tell me what you like," Ymir huffs. She ends up buying them each a rum and Coke, and then they stand in the same places against the wall still not talking or making eye contact but at least with the benefit of drinks to distract them now. Christa thanks her about a thousand times and Ymir can't even look at her when she says "You're welcome" because she's a fucking loser.

"Ymir," Christa says after a few minutes of sipping on her drink. Ymir risks a glance sideways and doing that proves to be a bad idea, because Christa's eyes suck her right in. "Do you wanna dance?"

"I hate dancing," Ymir says, so within five minutes they're both on the dance floor, Ymir stiff and awkward and trying to balance both their drinks without spilling while Christa presses up close to her side.

"You need to finish this so I can use my hands again," Ymir says.

"Okay," Christa says, taking the glass from Ymir's left hand, and Ymir is about to argue—it's the wrong drink—but decides it doesn't matter when Christa finishes it in one impressive swallow and then sets it behind her on the nearest flat surface, the top of a large dusty speaker. "Now yours," Christa says, getting so close that Ymir's thigh ends up between her legs.

Ymir is determined not to go into cardiac arrest or pass out or do anything else even a little bit uncool to ruin the moment, so she tosses back the rest of her drink as well and, naturally, starts to choke. Christa's fingers slip in between Ymir's, cool and smooth, to take her glass, and with her other hand she rubs circles into Ymir's back.

"Are you okay?"

Ymir just closes her eyes tight and nods. Maybe if she doesn't open them again she won't have to acknowledge that any of this ever happened. Maybe everyone will just disappear and she'll wake up alone on her couch like usual, annoyed and sexually frustrated but at least not acting like a total fucking tool in front of this goddess who for some unfathomable reason wants to dance with her.

Then that goddess presses her mouth to Ymir's collarbone, and Ymir's eyes snap open while the rest of her body goes absolutely still.

Christa takes advantage of Ymir's momentary paralysis to wrap arms around her neck and slide even closer, nuzzling again at Ymir's collarbone, then her throat. Ymir's skin is on fire and the pounding in her head is starting to actually hurt, but she lets her hands drop to Christa's waist, because they're starting to get heavy and she can't figure out where else to put them.

"You looked really good playing tonight," Christa says, turning her face up toward Ymir's, and Ymir's heart stutters, maybe stops.

"Fuck," she mutters, and then she surrenders, darting down to catch Christa's mouth with her own. Christa swells into the kiss, pulls Ymir in, and Ymir stumbles forward until she's accidentally backing Christa into a wall. Christa doesn't seem to mind, though, judging by the way she makes a happy little Mmph noise and wraps one leg around the back of one of Ymir's, forcing their hips closer, basically making Ymir grind against her.

Ymir opens her mouth to gasp and Christa opens hers at the same moment, sucking at Ymir's lip first, then her tongue, right down to her breath, until Ymir is dizzy and suffocating but she doesn't care. Her hands find their way to Christa's ass and squeeze—because at this point, why the hell not—and Christa moans and lets herself get hitched up until she's high against the wall, riding Ymir's leg.

"Ymir . . ." Christa hisses, tilting her head to regard Ymir with suddenly dark eyes, and Ymir is instantly, acutely aware of how wet she is, how desperately she wants to drag this girl into the nearest bathroom stall and fuck her until neither of them can stand anymore.

"Do you wanna—" Ymir starts, breathless, just before one of Ymir's teammates jostles into them from the side and Christa's feet land on the floor again with a solid smack.

"Woah," Zoe laughs, regarding Ymir with a wolf grin. "Is this your family emergency?"

Ymir scowls, which only makes Zoe's grin widen. "Watch yourselves, cuties. Don't forget student athletes have a reputation to uphold."

It's not meant as anything more than a friendly warning, but even so, it brings Ymir reluctantly back down to Earth. Zoe slips away and Ymir takes a step back, bringing a hand to her forehead.

"Shit," she says, only daring to look up when Christa stays silent. Christa's still breathing a little fast to be natural and her cheeks are red and blotchy, her hair a mess. Ymir reaches forward to tuck a loose strand behind Christa's ear before she can help herself.

"I'll walk you home if you want," Ymir says, pulling her hand back self-consciously and adjusting her ponytail.

Christa frowns. "I live in the dorms," she says.

"I know," Ymir says. "So?"

"So . . . wouldn't it be better to go to your place?" She levels serious eyes on Ymir and Ymir feels like looking away, only she's too stunned to even blink.

"You—wanna come home with me?"

Christa flushes a little more but doesn't back down, lifting an eyebrow. "I thought that was obvious."

"I just—" Ymir trails off, unsure of what to say. Just thought you were a straight girl getting her kicks on a Saturday night? Just thought you wouldn't want anything to do with a mute giant who can't dance? She eventually goes with, "Aren't you drunk?"

To her surprise, Christa laughs. "I had one drink, Ymir. Are you drunk?"

She's starting to feel like it, with how buzzed Christa is getting her, but suddenly it's a promising kind of buzz. Ymir shakes her head, and then Christa takes her hand and pulls her away from the wall, across the dance floor to the exit, only stopping briefly to let her friends know she's leaving. They give both Christa and Ymir slightly offended looks but Ymir doesn't give a fuck, not when Christa is still holding her hand even after they're outside, not when they arrive in front of Ymir's apartment—if Christa notices her dorms aren't even remotely on the way, she thankfully doesn't say—and Ymir is actually shaking with the effort of getting her key in the door.

"Sorry, it's kind of a mess," Ymir says, turning on the light and kicking off her shoes. Christa doesn't say anything, so Ymir turns around and then Christa is on her, attacking her with so much force Ymir's back hits the wall, kissing her hard and hungry and nothing at all like a straight girl.

Ymir's hands fall to Christa's waist and fist in her jacket, pulling Christa as close as she can, tilting her head to get the angle of the kiss just right. Christa wraps her arms around Ymir's neck again and sucks Ymir's tongue into her mouth, and Ymir can't help the surprised little grunt that escapes her.

"Ymir," Christa says into her mouth, darting back just for a moment to bite at her lip and gaze up at her through her eyelashes, like a fucking porn star or something.

"Where the hell did you come from?" Ymir chokes out, stunned that this hasn't yet turned out to be another wet dream she's just woken up from, and Christa gives a breathy little laugh that fills Ymir with adrenaline. She half-picks up Christa, half-guides her to the living room, kissing and clutching all the way, where they collapse to the couch, Ymir on her back and Christa on top, both struggling to free themselves from their jackets. Christa throws hers on the floor before starting on the buttons of Ymir's shirt, which makes Ymir's tongue go dry pretty much instantly. It's almost alarming the way Christa is looking at Ymir with an expression that exactly mirrors how Ymir feels inside, disbelieving and worshipful and horny as hell.

They make short work of their shirts and then Christa is in nothing but jeans and a black bra, one strap falling down her shoulder. Ymir wants to lean back and appreciate the sight but Christa swoops in for another kiss, slow and greedy and hot enough that Ymir's hands spasm against the skin of Christa's waist.

"Ymir," Christa hisses, and the way this girl says her name is rapidly turning into the biggest turn-on Ymir has ever encountered. Ymir's hands drop to Christa's jeans and fumble with the button, clumsy in her enthusiasm, only steadying once Christa's fly is open and Ymir can see her underwear—black, too. She runs a thumb down over Christa's hipbone and then under the black waistband.

A shudder runs through Christa's body and she rocks her hips just slightly forward, encouraging. Ymir doesn't need the encouragement. She tugs down the slipping strap of Christa's bra and mouths at her chest, tongue dragging across her exposed nipple, and in the same movement slips one hand into Christa's underwear. Christa's wet, so wet it makes Ymir suck in a sharp breath, which Christa echoes when Ymir brushes two fingers over her clit, only teasing there for a moment before sliding lower, pushing in.

Christa arches her back and lets out a sound somewhere between a moan and a gasp that might be even hotter than the way she says Ymir's name. Ymir uses her free hand to clutch at Christa's shoulder, kissing her chest as she curls her fingers and strokes, reveling in the hot wetness pressing against her palm. Christa writhes and rubs against her and keeps making that noise, louder than Ymir was expecting, and Ymir finally risks a look up at her. She almost immediately regrets it; she's greeted by the sight of Christa's hair, tangled and sticking to her face with sweat, some of it catching across her lips or in her mouth, and it's too much. Ymir closes her eyes and starts to really fuck her, fast and persistent, which Christa responds to by getting even louder.

Ymir is starting to struggle against the restrictions of Christa's underwear and jeans, so she shifts and tries to tug them lower, noting when her hands move that Christa jolts a little and starts to tremble. She takes that as a sign and returns her attention to Christa's clit, rubbing at a similar pace but with half as much pressure, until Christa is writhing and trembling so hard it feels like she's going to fall apart.

"Come on," Ymir whispers, moving to suck at Christa's neck and dragging a hand up the back of her head to tangle in already tangled hair. She keeps her right hand working furiously until Christa's fingernails find her forearms and dig in, hard enough that it'll definitely leave marks, and she gives a choked cry and rocks forward, shuddering against Ymir's hand. Ymir helps her ride it out with only a little pressure, barely anything at first, but it's not long before she can't help herself—she starts rubbing hard and fast again and Christa, hesitant for only a second, is rocking against her in no time.

She shudders and stills much more quickly this time, and Ymir kisses her neck over and over, and then lets Christa call the shots, lifting both hands so she can settle in close to Ymir's chest.

"Where did you come from?" Christa says at length, still breathless and shaky, and Ymir would laugh but suddenly Christa's mouth is on hers again and her hands are everywhere, hot on Ymir's neck and smoothing down her sides, reminding her exactly how turned on she still is.

Christa tugs at Ymir's sports bra until Ymir reluctantly shifts to help her pull it up and off—she's embarrassed at how awkward and unsexy it is, but Christa only seems entranced and starts to mouth a wet trail down Ymir's collarbone, along the path of her freckles. Ymir's head tilts back against the armrest of the couch and she bites down a curse at the feel of Christa's mouth tasting first one of her nipples, slow and deliberate, before moving on to the other, her hands simultaneously working to undo the button of Ymir's jeans.

She gets them undone and tugs them down below Ymir's hips along with her underwear, insistently, until Ymir, flushing all the way down to her chest, lifts her hips and allows Christa to pull both off. Ymir wants to protest—or at least finish stripping Christa before they continue—but then Christa shifts lower on the couch, dragging her mouth across Ymir's stomach and lower, trailing through her pubic hair, and wraps her arms under and around Ymir's thighs, pulling her close. Any protest Ymir had dies unspoken as Christa drags her tongue slow and hot over Ymir's cunt, once, then twice, then starts lapping with more persistence, right up against her clit.

"Fuck," Ymir gasps, unable to stop herself from grinding against Christa's mouth, which luckily Christa doesn't seem to mind at all. In fact, she just makes an approving sound and tightens her hold on Ymir's thighs, and Ymir wants to keep watching but she can't anymore, can't do anything but make humiliating noises and arch her back and bury her face in her hands.

Usually she takes a while to come with another person, but after what feels like no more than a minute Ymir's legs are already trembling and she can feel herself getting closer and closer, hyper-aware of the wet sound of Christa eating her out. Christa doesn't let up for a second, not even when Ymir's hands find her hair again and tangle her fingers into it, tugging in a way that's far from gentle. One of Christa's hands slides up to grasp at Ymir's wrist and at that moment she's finished; she can't fight it anymore. She chokes back a sob and grabs Christa's hand, rolling against her mouth as she shudders and comes, only capable of withstanding the pressure for another millisecond before she has to pull away because it's too much, she's too sensitive. She tugs at Christa's hand and hair, urging her upward for a kiss instead, which Christa agrees to easily, and Ymir tries not to succumb to the dots threatening to black out her vision at the wet slide of Christa's mouth on hers, the taste of her own cunt on Christa's lips, which is almost too much, too.

"So, you're definitely not straight then," Ymir observes when she's found her voice, stroking a hand down one of Christa's arms, still not quite sure this is happening.

Christa snorts and kisses her once more in answer, and then the cool air making the sweat on their skin go cold urges them off the couch and into the bedroom. They easily fall together under the covers, limbs tangling and bodies pressing close in a way that Ymir usually hates because it's so detrimental to sleeping but tonight doesn't bother her, and she's drifting off before she knows it, lulled by one last soft kiss to her chest.

Ymir is terrible at morning-afters so she's terrified when she wakes up, the events of the night before washing over her before her eyes are even open. When she does open them, she finds Christa still in bed next to her but a little farther away, curled on one side with her back to Ymir. She wants to reach out a hand and trace Christa's shoulder blades, but already doubt is gnawing at her insides and she forces herself to stay still, because what if Christa wakes up and thinks Ymir is a creep? What if she was drunk after all and this was all a huge mistake?

When Christa stirs and starts to roll over, Ymir bites the inside of her cheek and wonders if she should pretend to be asleep—is it going to freak her out that Ymir was staring? But then Christa's eyes are on her and she's smiling sleepily.

"Morning," Christa says, sliding a little closer.

Ymir lifts an arm to let her settle under it and swallows. "Morning."

"I think I should probably tell you something."

Ymir freezes, ready for the worst, except that there's nothing really regretful in Christa's tone—if anything, she sounds a little bashful. Ymir clears her throat.

"Oh?"

Christa tilts her head to stare right up into Ymir's eyes, and Ymir gets stuck there again; this is really starting to become a problem.

"I have a poster of you hanging in my bedroom," Christa admits, eyes darting away all of a sudden. She only glances back to ask, "Is that creepy?"

It can't be half as creepy as the grin that's starting to spread across Ymir's mouth against her will, threatening to split her face in half.

"Creepy as hell," Ymir says, feeling Christa relax as she pulls her in for a crushing hug and buries her face in her hair. At least she knows she's in good company.

end

Fic (Free!) - XO

2014-01-26T19:09:45Z

Title: XO
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Rei/Nagisa
Word count: 5545
Warnings: This is seriously so saccharine y'all oh my god I'M SO SORRY
Summary: The one where both Rei and Nagisa are so completely dense that they continue to believe their mutual affection is unrequited even while literally sucking on each other's faces.
Notes: I was gonna sit on this a little while longer and maybe tweak a few things but then Season 2 got announced and I just got so excited!! Thanks to reallycorking for looking it over for me ♥ Also, if you suspect this title might be sorta kinda partially inspired by a certain Beyoncé song, you aren't wrong.

"Rei-chan," comes Nagisa's voice from the floor where he's perched, pretending to do homework, back against Rei's bed.

Rei, on top of the bed with a textbook in his lap and a stack of pillows propping him up, says without taking eyes off the page, "Yes?"

Nagisa hesitates for a moment—which Rei will recognize, in the future, to be a warning that he is about to say something Earth-shattering—before asking, "Do you have somebody you like?"

The page Rei was about to turn tears in his fingers and he goes absolutely still, feeling the blood slowly drain from his face. Nagisa turns his head to blink up at him, and even though nothing in his expression indicates an ulterior motive, Rei feels faintly sick, the persistent mantra of He knows, he knows, he knows beating over and over in his head.

"I—" Rei says, meeting Nagisa's gaze and swallowing hard, wondering distantly if throwing up might actually get him out of answering this one. Knowing Nagisa's tenacity, it's doubtful.

Nagisa cocks his head in that endearing cockatiel way he has, which Rei blames for the momentary lapse of sanity when he answers, "I do."

Nagisa's eyes go wide and Rei's stomach plummets to somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles. "Really?" Nagisa scrambles up onto the bed and leans in toward Rei, far too close. "Who is it? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Rei recoils, shrinking back into his mountain of pillows, textbook sliding off his lap, and wishes he could cut out his own tongue. "I don't—" Rei stammers, feeling the blood rush back to his face with alarming speed, "—it isn't—I don't want to talk about it!"

The way Nagisa's face twists into a frown is almost enough to make Rei want to relent, but it's not as if telling the truth would actually make things better.

"No fair, Rei-chan," Nagisa whines. "I would tell you."

"I wouldn't want to know!" Rei snaps. Nagisa's frown gets even poutier.

"I think you should at least give me a little hint—" Nagisa says, but Rei actually can't endure anymore, so he interrupts.

"Homework, Nagisa. You came over because you're failing math, remember?"

"Fine," Nagisa says, sighing, but to Rei's dismay, he doesn't return to the floor. Instead, he scoops up his textbook and notes and tucks himself in neatly against the mountain of pillows, close to Rei's side. Rei would shift away so at least their shoulders aren't touching, but then he would fall off the bed. He considers it briefly anyway.

Nagisa actually seems to return his attention to his exercises, though, and it gives Rei a few minutes to calm himself, closing his eyes and breathing deep as his heart rate and body temperature slowly return to normal. There's nothing to worry about now. Nagisa dropped the subject and Rei won't ever be so stupid as to almost let it slip again. He might have actually successfully diverted Nagisa for the first time in memory.

"Hey," Nagisa says after no more than five minutes, dropping his pencil and snapping his book shut, "what about kissing?"

All Rei's relaxation techniques go out the window and he swears he can almost hear his synapses fizzle and die. "What?" he squawks.

"What are you gonna do if the perfect moment presents itself with the person you like and you have to take it but you don't have any experience and you try to kiss her and it's terrible?"

Rei can't even find words to respond, opting instead to gape, open-mouthed, at Nagisa, whose eyes have a sudden sparkle to them that's simultaneously chilling and adorable.

"I think we should practice," Nagisa says. The pencil in Rei's hand snaps.

He stares down at the pencil halves in his palm and forces his mouth to work, even though his tongue is dry and he feels like he's choking on something. "Excuse me?"

"You know," Nagisa says, ducking his head so he's directly in Rei's line of sight, drawing his attention reluctantly away from writing utensils. "If we practice kissing and stuff, then we'll get really good, so when we're ready for the real thing we'll be perfect at it! It's like training for a tournament!"

Rei decides against asking what exactly Nagisa means by and stuff, but maybe only because his stomach is twisting so miserably at the real thing. "I see," he says flatly.

It's a terrible idea for about a million reasons, chief among them that Rei has been taking great care to conceal his growing crush on Nagisa for months now, even though the force of it has become so staggering some mornings he can't do anything but lie in bed staring at his ceiling and ache. Nagisa is only suggesting this as an innocent diversion, something silly to pass the time while maybe also helping out a friend; what could be more Nagisa? If Rei takes him up on it, he'll be knowingly deceiving him, taking a genuine attempt to be helpful and using it for his own selfish, decidedly not innocent purposes.

"So, what do you think, Rei-chan?" Nagisa smiles sweetly and Rei closes his eyes.

"Let's do it," he says, hating himself for the spike of heat that flares in his gut.

"Really?" Nagisa appears both surprised and delighted by Rei's easy acquiescence. He shoves his book and notebook away and shifts closer, taking Rei's book—as well as the pencil halves—for him as he goes, pushing them all to the side of the bed. Maybe he can sense that Rei is ready to bolt, because he takes both his wrists and tugs, so Rei has no choice but to face him.

Nagisa peers up at him thoughtfully and Rei wonders what he's studying so closely—is he already reconsidering? Is Rei blushing so much that Nagisa has guessed the truth?

"Have you ever kissed anybody?" Nagisa asks.

"N-no," Rei says.

"Me neither," Nagisa assures him, and it does make Rei relax just a touch. "That's okay."

And then Nagisa is leaning in, and Rei can't move, can only watch as Nagisa's nose, eyelashes, mouth get closer and closer. Nagisa's lips brush his and hover there for a few seconds, barely any pressure at all, before pulling away. Rei can feel his pulse jumping wildly at his throat but still he can't move, can only stare at Nagisa through lenses he's shocked haven't fogged up.

Nagisa is staring at him too, but Rei genuinely doesn't know what to make of his expression.

"Hmm," Nagisa says. "Do you want to try again?"

"Yes," Rei says, probably a little too quickly.

This time, he leans in at the same time as Nagisa, and when their lips meet it's a little less gentle, a little more jarring. Nagisa pulls away after barely any time at all, licks his lips, and then he's back and they're kissing again, and again, little kisses that get softer and slightly wetter as they go. They kiss ten, maybe a dozen times, and it's not anything mind-blowing really except that it is, because Rei can feel his limbs turning to jelly and everything in his brain grinding to a slow halt. He closes his eyes and doesn't ever want to stop, just wants to keep feeling Nagisa's breath ghosting against his cheeks every time they lean in for the rest of his life.

Just as he's thinking it, the books slide off the bed and hit the floor. Nagisa and Rei both jolt, then pull apart slowly. Rei can feel the heat that was already creeping up his neck flush straight to his cheeks and ears.

"That wasn't bad," Nagisa says. His cheeks look a little red, too.

Physical response to a physical stimulus, Rei reminds himself, before he can get his hopes worked up.

"No," he agrees.

"Ah—my mom," Nagisa says, pulling his phone, flashing with an unread message, out of his pocket. Come to think of it, Rei thought he felt something vibrate a few seconds ago, distantly. "I have to go."

"Okay," Rei says.

Nagisa jumps off the bed and starts to pick around for his things, scattered here and there across the floor, stuffing them into his bag as he goes. He seems to be avoiding looking directly at Rei, and Rei wants to say something, wants to draw his attention back in some way.

Before he can, Nagisa turns, and there's nothing but the usual mischief and glee written on his face. "We can try again next time!"

He grabs his jacket and waves on his way out the door— "Bye, Rei-chan!" —and then he's gone, and Rei immediately flops forward to bury his face in the bedspread.

"I'm doomed," he mutters.

Nagisa invites himself over again three days later, and Rei doesn't know whether it's relief or terror that makes his hands tremble and his footwork clumsy, all the way from the train station up the stairs to his room. He enters stiffly and Nagisa closes the door behind them, stopping for a moment to drop his things and drape his jacket over Rei's desk chair while Rei hovers, unsure of what to do with himself, between the door and the bed, fingers twitching.

"Do you want to practice again?" Nagisa asks, as if it's nothing at all. Rei's bag slides off his shoulder onto the floor.

"I thought—maybe—homework first," he stammers, even as Nagisa takes his left hand and guides him directly to the bed, both their book bags forgotten by the door. They sit down heavily on the bedspread, Nagisa cross-legged, Rei's feet still on the floor.

"No, like this—face me," Nagisa says, taking Rei by the shoulders, forcing him to turn until he's cross-legged, too, gazing directly into Nagisa's eyes. Nagisa smiles. "That's better."

Rei doesn't respond, but only because his tongue appears to have glued itself to the roof of his mouth.

"This time, maybe—" Nagisa reaches forward, and before Rei can stop him, carefully lifts the glasses off his face. He folds them and stretches an arm out to set them on top of a nearby bookshelf before settling in front of Rei again. "Hmm," he says with a blurry head tilt.

"What?" Rei says, finding his voice at last. It cracks.

"Your eyes look bigger like this."

Panic washes over Rei and he wants to shout a million questions at once—What does that mean? Is it a good thing? Should he get contacts? Should he put his glasses back on?—but he doesn't have time to ask any of them, because Nagisa is leaning in and putting hands on either side of his face. He draws Rei toward him, so Rei shouldn't be surprised when their mouths meet, but there's something startlingly earnest about the way Nagisa tilts his head and breathes in deep at the touch of their lips.

Rei has to inch a little closer so he doesn't tip them both over, and one of his hands drifts up to Nagisa's wrist and takes gentle hold. He's waiting for one of them to pull away, but he can't seem to make himself do it, and Nagisa isn't moving either. Seconds tick by and Rei's palms start to sweat—they never had a kiss go this long last time and something seems wrong somehow. Was he supposed to do something? Did he ruin it?

Just as he's thinking it, Nagisa opens his mouth, nudging at Rei's he does so, exhaling slow right across his lips. Rei has no idea what he's doing, just follows Nagisa's lead blindly, lips parting and heart pounding and fingers clenching. Nagisa makes a faint noise—hopefully approving—and scoots even closer, on his knees hovering over Rei suddenly, drawing his face up and sucking Rei's bottom lip into his mouth. Rei's entire body shudders.

"Nagisa-kun!" he gasps, unable to stop himself, tilting away just enough to get the name out.

Nagisa just grins, hands never leaving Rei's face. "It's good, right? I saw it in a movie."

Rei wants to ask exactly what kinds of movies Nagisa has been watching lately, but then Nagisa is bearing down on him again, sucking any further protests right out of him along with his breath, and he finds he doesn't mind at all.

The next time it happens, Rei is prepared, and he's appalled with himself for it.

They're in Nagisa's room this time, and it's a weekend, so Rei has no reason to say no when Nagisa invites him to sleep over. No desire to, either, although the guilt that's been gnawing at him since the moment he first typed perfect kissing technique into his search engine hasn't really abated over the span of several days. If he were a good person, he would end things before they got even more out of hand than they already have. But they're here now, and he knows even before Nagisa draws him toward the bed exactly how much willpower he possesses—that is, none—and exactly how likely it is that he will do the right thing in the face of his own wants—that is, not at all.

"Definitely glasses off," Nagisa says, apparently to himself, because he doesn't wait for consent before sliding them off Rei's face again and setting them on his bedside table. Nagisa settles in against the pillows at the head of his bed and tugs until Rei is crawling toward him, almost in his lap before he stops.

"I think we're getting better," Nagisa says brightly.

Rei nods once and then he's moving in, cheeks burning, not having intended to initiate exactly but unable to stop himself now that Nagisa's mouth is within reach and Nagisa's arms are on his shoulders. Their noses brush, and they hover just shy of actually kissing for two seconds, maybe three, before Rei lifts his hands to Nagisa's neck and closes in. Nagisa starts to suck on his lips again, which Rei expected, and he lets him for a little while. Then, just as Nagisa begins to relax against him, Rei swipes his tongue across Nagisa's mouth, grazing his teeth on accident and feeling a little dizzy for it.

"Rei-chan!" Nagisa pulls back, blinking wide-eyed and lifting a hand to his mouth.

"I'm sorry!" Rei says. "I thought—I didn't—"

"No, it was good," Nagisa reassures him, recovering from his momentary shock and drawing Rei in closer, sliding a hand up the back of his skull. He nips at Rei's lip once and then, as if Rei's stomach weren't already tangling itself into an unworkable knot, breathes against his mouth, "Show me again."

They end up lying on Nagisa's bed, Rei on top, both of Nagisa's hands tangled in Rei's hair while Rei's stroke slowly over Nagisa's cheekbones, making out in a way that's dizzying and heated and probably exactly like a scene out of one of the movies Nagisa has been watching. Rei has no idea how long they stay like that, but by the time they draw back it's in some sort of wordless agreement, both fighting for breath, cheeks flushed and lips swollen.

Rei can't handle hovering above Nagisa and looking down at those lips anymore so he rolls off, collapsing on his back to Nagisa's right, and closes his eyes.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Nagisa asks after a little while, when they're both breathing normally again.

". . . Internet," Rei admits, trying not to get too offended by how hard Nagisa laughs.

"Whoever you like is going to be lucky to have you," Nagisa says, wiping tears away from his eyes. He pats Rei's hand and smiles at him, and Rei can only meet his eyes for a moment before turning away.

"Right," he mutters. He feels the weight of the bed shift as Nagisa stands up and says something about the bathroom, and after the bedroom door opens and closes Rei stays in the same place, staring up at the ceiling he can't quite see.

Right.

They start to get good at it.

Really good at it, Rei thinks, lying next to Nagisa on top of his bed and kissing easily, lazily, one of his hands curled around Nagisa's ear, one of Nagisa's fisted in the collar of his shirt. They've found a rhythm that works, for all that sometimes Rei suspects the best rhythm is none at all. Usually it starts with Nagisa's hands in his hair, his teeth on Rei's lips—he really has a penchant for biting, Rei has learned, and reflecting on that for too long always makes his stomach jump in nervous excitement. From there, it dissolves fast into sucking and licking and, eventually, gasping, and on the good days Rei doesn't even remember that it's all a ruse and can almost believe they're doing this out of mutual desire.

Today—the eighth or ninth time they've done it, Rei thinks, although whenever he tries to stop and really count he usually gets too flustered remembering the details to continue—Nagisa is even more persistent than usual. After what could be ten minutes or half an hour of kissing at their usual pace, he makes a frustrated noise against Rei's mouth and shifts until he's on top of him, weight pressing heavy against Rei's chest.

Rei doesn't protest, just sighs appreciatively and makes room for Nagisa, their legs tangling together, warm and persistent. He shifts his hips and Nagisa breathes out shakily against his mouth, and a little bit of the fog around Rei's head starts to lift. He feels his brow furrow even as Nagisa's mouth slides away from his lips, down the side of his face.

"Nagisa—" he says, voice weak, lurching reluctantly back into reality.

"Mmm." Nagisa's nose drags down Rei's jaw and he presses a kiss to Rei's neck, close to his adam's apple, which bobs nervously when he swallows.

"Nagisa," he says, sharper this time.

Nagisa looks up. His pupils are dilated—Rei can only tell because their faces are so close that his myopia is actually keeping things in focus for once—and his cheeks are red. Rei wants nothing more than to flip him over and kiss him harder and harder, to try really pressing their hips together and see how long it takes them to get the hang of that. But now that he's coming back to his senses, the guilt is back full force, almost crippling, and he knows this is his last chance; if he doesn't stop now, everything is going to come rushing out of him, and then it won't just be bi-weekly make-out sessions with Nagisa that he'll lose.

"We should stop doing this," Rei says, although he can't help the way his thumb brushes across Nagisa's cheekbone as he says it—Just one last time, he tells himself.

Slowly, Nagisa's eyes go from hazy to clear, and the color on his cheeks darkens.

"Oh," he says, like he's waking up from a dream. He rolls off and leans over the edge of the bed, back to Rei, running a hand through his hair.

"It's just—" Rei says, stumbling, "—since it was just for—practice, I think—I think we've gotten pretty good, so—"

"No, you're right!" Nagisa's voice has a high, forced quality to it, but after a few seconds he looks back over his shoulder and smiles, and it seems mostly normal. "You have to start thinking about kissing the person you really like."

"That's—" Rei starts, but Nagisa jumps up, chirping "Bathroom!", and Rei is left alone in his room, waiting for the relief at having finally done the right thing to wash over him.

It never does.

Relief doesn't come on Monday, when Nagisa barely looks at him all through classes and swimming practice. It doesn't come on Tuesday either, when the same thing happens. On Thursday, Makoto holds him back in the locker room to ask if they had a fight. Rei doesn't know how to answer, so he just shakes his head and apologizes before hurrying out to the pool.

On Friday morning, Rei wakes up and stares at his ceiling, and he realizes that the ache is infinitely, infinitely worse than usual, and this isn't right at all, he was supposed to be making things better. He throws on his clothing with far less than the typical care for color coordination and storms out the door without eating breakfast, and when he gets to school he's half an hour early, so he just has to sit and wait, leg jiggling furiously, at Nagisa's desk until he rolls in five minutes before the bell.

"Rei-chan," Nagisa says, frowning at him and stopping just short of his desk.

"Nagisa-kun," Rei says, "would you like to come over tonight?"

A couple of their nearby classmates snicker, and Rei sounds like such a complete fool that he can't blame them, although he still takes a moment to shoot them a sideways glare.

"Sure, Rei-chan," Nagisa says, and Rei's attention immediately snaps back to Nagisa, because that tone isn't like him at all. He's utterly listless.

"Oh—okay, great," Rei manages. Nagisa doesn't say anything else, so Rei jumps up from his seat and returns to his own desk haltingly, like a giant, awkward robot, legs and arms only moving because they were hardwired to.

The rest of the day ticks by so slowly it's tortuous, and the sinking realization that he must have been too late, he's already ruined his relationship with Nagisa irreparably and nothing will ever be the same again, makes every minute drag on worse. Nagisa is undoubtedly only coming over as a last farewell; Rei almost wishes he were generous enough to tell him not to bother, but he’s just selfish enough that he can’t, no matter how much he’s anticipating it will crush him when he has to hear Nagisa tell him it’s over. By the time swimming practice lets out and they begin their slow walk to the train station together, Rei is so twisted up with unhappy anticipation he can hardly speak, and Nagisa, to his left, doesn’t look much happier, probably struggling to find the right words to tell Rei gently, since it’s Nagisa and he cares about these things.

They ride the train and walk all the way to Rei’s apartment in total silence. Rei can’t remember the last time he’s known Nagisa to be quiet for so long, and for once he’s actually grateful when they get home and Rei’s parents pounce on them, ecstatic as ever that Rei has finally started bringing a friend home for the first time since he was in elementary school.

"Rei, you’re not burdening Nagisa too much, I hope?" his mother nags.

"Mother," Rei groans.

"Don’t let him get make you study all the time. Make him have some fun once in a while!" his father says.

"I do fun things!" Rei snaps.

"Rei’s never any trouble. He takes care of me," Nagisa says, smiling in a way that looks, to Rei, a little sad. He feels his cheeks go inexplicably warm.

"We’ll order sushi for dinner!" his mother calls as they make their way upstairs. Nagisa waves his thanks and Rei holds the door for him, and once they’re both inside he shuts it with perhaps a little too much force.

He doesn’t turn around right away, opting instead to take his time setting his book bag on the desk chair and hanging his coat, carefully, on its hook on the back of the door. He’s not expecting it, then, when he turns around and finds Nagisa seated on his bed, shoulders shaking as he fights to wipe away the tears running silently down his face.

"Nagisa!" Rei darts forward and is before him in an instant, crouching on the floor at Nagisa’s feet, hands coming to rest on either side of his knees. "What is it? What’s wrong?"

"I just—" Nagisa pauses, hiccups, and wipes both eyes with the cuff of his sleeve before sobbing, "—I just like your parents so much!"

Rei blinks, dumbfounded. "Oh . . ." he says after a few moments. "Are you . . . worried about them?"

Nagisa can't answer right away, just shakes his head furiously and keeps hiccup-sobbing. Without thinking about it, Rei brushes the tears away from his cheeks his thumbs.

"No, but I—I don't wanna stop seeing them!" He grabs both Rei's wrists but keeps his eyes scrunched tightly closed, although it doesn't stop more tears escaping from them. "And I don't wanna stop seeing Rei-chan!"

Now Rei's heart is pounding, uncontrollably all of a sudden. "You don't have to," he says, trying not to get his hopes up too high and failing all in the same instant.

"Yes I do," Nagisa says, sniffling. He—probably unconsciously, although with Nagisa who can be sure—wipes one of his eyes on Rei's trapped hand, which Rei would find gross under any other circumstances, with any other person.

"But—why?" Rei says, quietly, not sure he wants to hear the answer.

"Because," Nagisa says, voice still unsteady, breath still coming in intermittent gasps. "Because I lied to you and I tricked you, and you're not gonna wanna be friends with me anymore."

Rei is so stunned he can't reply; he doesn't know what to do so he just bites his lip and waits for Nagisa to go on, wondering why he feels a tiny spark of something glowing inside him.

"I told you I wanted to practice kissing for—for girls, or for someone else, but I didn't want to practice at all. I was tricking you."

"But—why, Nagisa?" Rei asks at last, heart still pounding wildly.

Nagisa's eyes finally open, although they're still welling over with tears, to the point that Rei can hardly even make out the color of them. "Because I was jealous," he sniffs. "I didn't want you liking somebody else. I wanted it to be me."

Then he dissolves into truly heartbreaking sobs again, and Rei would almost feel terrible for how long it takes him to snap out of his momentary daze and start comforting him, only he's too busy bursting with quiet, terrified elation to do anything at all.

"Nagisa-kun," he says at last, once he's finally found his voice again, lifting his hands—taking Nagisa's with him, still clutching at his wrists—to cup Nagisa's face. "It is you."

He kisses him once, fiercely, on the mouth, and then, while Nagisa is still blinking tears away and gaping, kisses him again and again, on one cheek and the other, on the forehead, finally on the mouth again. "It's you," he repeats, "it's always been you."

And that, finally, is when the relief hits him, all at once, like a hurricane.

It seems as if Nagisa might be broken, Rei just has time to think, frowning at Nagisa's conspicuously still everything, before he erupts, launching forward like a second hurricane and wrapping his arms around Rei's neck, burying his face against Rei's jaw and sobbing, if possible, even harder.

"Rei-chan!" he chokes out through the tears, and Rei can't help it; it's all so ridiculous that he starts to laugh.

"I thought I was tricking you," he says, surprised to realize there are tears leaking out of his eyes now, too. He tries to lift an arm to brush them away but Nagisa's hold on him tightens and he gives up.

"Rei-chan," Nagisa says again, leaning back just enough that they can really look at each other. "I need a tissue."

Rei laughs again. He tries to scoot back far enough to reach the box on his nightstand, but Nagisa still won't let go, and in the end he ends up falling flat on his back on the floor with Nagisa on his chest and the box of tissues tumbling somewhere behind his head.

"Thank you," Nagisa says, reaching over him to pluck one out, and he takes a moment to dry his eyes and blow his nose before also pulling one out to drop on Rei's chest. Rei takes it but can't quite make himself do anything but watch Nagisa.

Nagisa notices him watching and tosses the tissue over his shoulder, which Rei would object to except that then Nagisa leans over him, plucks the unused tissue out of his hands, and uses it to dab at Rei's eyes.

"I think this time is when it really counts, Rei-chan," he says, tossing that tissue aside, too, to rest one hand on either side of Rei's neck as he presses in close.

"Right," Rei agrees, a tiny flutter of nervousness lodging in his throat. Then Nagisa's lips are on his, and Rei's hands are on Nagisa's waist, and he realizes he has nothing to be nervous about, because they've done it a million times before and they're good at it.

Really good at it, he thinks, as Nagisa's teeth briefly graze his top lip before their tongues meet inside his mouth. Nagisa is pushing, prodding, devouring him suddenly, not allowing Rei to get the upper hand even for a second. He seals his mouth over Rei's and sucks at his tongue, bites at it, and when Rei gasps he sucks that right out of him too, until Rei feels a rush of lightheadedness and has to turn away, only for a second, only to draw a breath of air.

But Nagisa will only allow a quick respite before he's on him again, attacking Rei's mouth, and Rei responds in kind, surging up to meet him, accidentally-or-maybe-a-little-on-purpose rolling them both over so he's on top. Nagisa whisks his glasses off and tosses them with as little care as he showed the tissues, and Rei should really object to that but he can't, can only nip at Nagisa's lip and then at his jaw as well, down to his ear, where he decides to linger when Nagisa lets out a particularly breathy Oh.

He focuses his attention away from Nagisa's mouth after that, on his ear and soon his neck, down to his collarbone, mouthing and sucking just like when they kiss, except this is more dangerous, he's sure, because there's the risk of someone being able to tell later. He finds he doesn't care, though, especially once Nagisa rolls them both over so Rei is on his back again and shows him the same treatment, leaving both Rei's lungs and his brain gasping for oxygen after only a few minutes, at which point he has to gently push Nagisa away.

"That's—let's just—" he stammers, and Nagisa doesn't need to be told twice. He beams and abruptly transforms from a crazed sex-beast into an innocent, cuddly rabbit, snuggling right up close to Rei's chest and sighing deep and slow. Rei drops a hand to Nagisa's hair and strokes a foot along his ankle and wonders if this is what having everything you want in the world feels like.

"I was right, though," Nagisa murmurs after no more than a minute or two of silence, just as Rei's beginning to decompress enough that he feels like he could drift off to sleep.

He forces himself reluctantly back toward consciousness. "Hmm?"

"Whoever you like is lucky to have you," he says, and Rei can hear the grin on his voice even before he sees it, tilted up toward him, managing to come off at the same time as both cheeky and cherubic.

Rei wants to say something but can't, too flushed and flustered to even process everything that's happened in the past twenty minutes, much less articulate a response to it. He settles for planting a kiss to Nagisa's forehead, which seems to placate Nagisa, too.

"Hey, Rei-chan," Nagisa says after another beat has passed, "do you think—"

At precisely that moment, Rei's mother's voice sounds from downstairs, startling them both.

"Rei! Nagisa-kun! Dinner's here!"

Nagisa immediately jumps up. "Yeah! Sushi!"

"Nagisa," Rei says, sitting up far more slowly, head still spinning. He can't quite fathom how Nagisa can be acting so normal right now, like the entire planet didn't just change axis under their feet.

"Hmm?" Nagisa turns and offers him a hand, which Rei takes, allowing himself to be pulled upright, close enough that their chests are nearly touching. A mischievous something sparkles in Nagisa's eyes.

"What—were you going to say?"

"Oh," Nagisa says, eyes going half-lidded and, somehow, even more dangerous. He lifts a hand to brush a little lint away from Rei's shoulder. "I was just wondering if you'd wanna start practicing some other stuff sometime."

And then, just like that, with one final flash of a grin, he's gone, out the door and down the stairs, calling out to Rei's parents, "Let's eat!", and Rei is left alone in his room on wobbly feet, struggling not to choke on his own saliva and die.

"I'm doomed," he mutters, not for the first time, but he's smiling when he bends down to grope for his glasses and, finding them, takes off, out the door and down the stairs, to catch up with Nagisa.

end

Fic (Big Bang) - Spring, Summer, Fall

2014-01-17T00:17:57Z

Title: Spring, Summer, Fall
Rating: R
Pairing(s): GD/YB, GD/Soohyuk, YB/OFC
Word count: 7548
Warnings: Mentions of drug use
Summary: Some relationships take longer to figure out than others.
Notes: This was written for fandomaid and fond_of_pin, who very generously donated even more than the asking amount to Typhoon Haiyan relief! ♥ I hope this fic is something like what you were wanting, Dorothe; it got a little unwieldy for a bit there, but I think I'm satisfied with the final product. A big thank you to Traci for the beta as usual ♥ The title is from Taeyang's I'll Be There, which felt appropriate, and for those who might now know, this is Lee Soohyuk (and I'll eat my hat if he and GD didn't have a thing at one point). Thanks so much again for your generous donation and your patience, Dorothe!

Soohyuk throws a magazine at Jiyong while he's in the middle of rolling a joint and Jiyong pauses to glare at him, letting the magazine slide off his lap and onto the floor, since his hands are otherwise occupied.

"Your boyfriend confessed his love to you again," Soohyuk says by way of explanation, picking up the magazine and folding it back to a page with a bent corner, featuring a photo of Jiyong and Youngbae from the set of Ringa Linga.

"The fuck are you talking about," Jiyong says, lifting the joint to lick the paper closed and glancing sideways at the article.

Soohyuk pulls the magazine toward him and clears his throat before beginning to read. "'Jiyong and I have a special relationship. It's like we're made for each other. I feel like I should marry someone like him.'"

Jiyong licks the paper one final time, then holds it in the air between them until Soohyuk digs a lighter out of his pocket.

"We're close," Jiyong says, watching as Soohyuk sets the paper on fire, waiting for it to burn down. "We've always been close."

"He's obsessed with you," Soohyuk says.

"He's not." Jiyong takes the first drag and then hands it to Soohyuk, who follows suit.

"He is," Soohyuk says after a pause, through a mouthful of smoke. "Even his style lately. It's like he's trying to be you."

Normally Jiyong would tell Soohyuk to fuck off, but something makes him go quiet. He stares at the magazine, still rolled up in Soohyuk's hand, and thinks.

"When's the wedding gonna be?" Soohyuk asks as he hands back the joint.

"Jealousy is really unattractive on you," Jiyong says smoothly, and after his next drag he blows the smoke directly in Soohyuk's face.

From there they dissolve into messy making out and, later, even messier fucking on the couch. After Soohyuk leaves, Jiyong finds the magazine again, bent and torn from getting trapped underneath them and between two cushions. He opens it back up to the page with Youngbae's interview and tries to focus on the words, but he's high and pretty quickly forgets what he was looking for.

In the dance studio on Monday, Jiyong watches Youngbae flirting with one of the coordi-noonas and gnaws unhappily at a hangnail. They're rehearsing for Tokyo, and Youngbae is lively to the point of being almost manic, laughing and jostling the girl in a way that's annoying the living shit out of Jiyong. The coordi-noona seems receptive enough, though, giggling and batting playfully at Youngbae's shoulder. Girls have been more receptive to Youngbae lately than they used to be. Youngbae's eyes cut over to Jiyong, almost as if he's seeking some kind of congratulations for hitting on somebody they work with, and Jiyong can't help the unimpressed stare he sends back. Then one of the backup dancers Jiyong has slept with on more than one drunken occasion steps into the studio and starts to stretch, and Jiyong has to guiltily acknowledge he can't really judge.

Something about Youngbae and the noona still leaves a sour taste in Jiyong's mouth, though, and when the choreographer calls for everyone to get into place, he slides in next to Youngbae and can't help the words that simultaneously slide out of his mouth.

"Getting awfully comfortable with the coordi-noonas, aren't you?"

It's obvious from his tone that he doesn't mean it as a compliment, and Youngbae blinks at him in apparent bewilderment, bordering on hurt. Jiyong stares straight ahead at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror and stretches his arms behind his back.

"You're one to talk," Youngbae says, bewilderment transforming into something angrier.

He never used to talk back, no matter how much Jiyong pushed him.

Jiyong just shrugs and finishes stretching, and eventually Youngbae looks forward into the mirror too, his expression blank.

After rehearsal, Jiyong hangs back to flirt with his backup dancer, checking in the mirror to make sure that Youngbae notices. But Youngbae leaves the studio without so much as a backward glance, arm slung around the coordi-noona's shoulders, and Jiyong is the one left behind feeling frustrated and petulant.

When they were both fifteen and killing themselves trying to balance training and studying, Youngbae once burst into Jiyong's room scrubbing tears out of his eyes and slumped to the floor at the foot of Jiyong's bed.

"Hey," Jiyong said, closing the notebook he'd been scrawling lyrics into and scooting across the bedspread so he could look down at Youngbae. "What happened?"

Youngbae was pressing the heels of both palms into his eyes and shaking his head, obviously trying hard not to lose it. Jiyong reached down to stroke his hair.

"I don't know," he mumbled after a few seconds, his shoulders rising with a hiccupping sigh. "I just feel so stupid."

"You're not stupid." Jiyong started to massage Youngbae's scalp instead, as comforting as he knew how, and he smiled to feel Youngbae relax a little under his fingertips.

"I am around girls," Youngbae said. "I can't even talk to them. I'm just. Stupid."

Jiyong had seen Youngbae around girls a few times by now, and he had to admit Youngbae had a point. It seemed like Youngbae's goofy, immature side switched from cute to obnoxious in record time the second a girl their age stepped foot in the same room as them, which had always confused Jiyong. He never really cared much about impressing anyone who wasn't directly involved in making decisions about his future.

"All the other trainees have been teasing me because I haven't kissed anyone yet," Youngbae went on, while Jiyong was still mulling over the problem.

"Who cares what they think," Jiyong said, suddenly fierce. "None of them are gonna make it, anyway. And when we're both famous idols and they're all working at a Family Mart somewhere they'll be sorry."

Youngbae sighed again, but he seemed a little calmer when he looked up to meet Jiyong's gaze. "I guess," he said. Then he smiled. "At least I know you haven't kissed anyone, either."

Jiyong tried to keep his face neutral, but Youngbae knew him too well to be fooled.

"You have?" He twisted around to face Jiyong directly, betrayal reflected in his eyes. Jiyong shifted back on the bed and started to pick feebly at a loose thread on his pillowcase.

"Who? Was it a girl from back home? When did it happen?"

Jiyong wanted nothing but to change the subject, but Youngbae was obsessed now, climbing onto the bed next to Jiyong so he couldn't escape. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Jiyong kept picking at the thread when he answered, "Because. It wasn't a girl."

He looked up after Youngbae didn't say anything for a solid minute.

"Oh," Youngbae finally replied, cheeks coloring.

They stayed quiet for another minute or two, Jiyong going back to picking at the thread, before Youngbae broke the silence again.

"But—how did you know?"

Jiyong looked up again, finding Youngbae's cheeks even redder, and frowned. "I just know," he said. Youngbae was the one to eventually get too embarrassed and turn away.

"You've never been unsure about anything," he said, softly, and then he stood up and left, and Jiyong had no idea whether he'd just received a compliment or not.

Youngbae calls unexpectedly at 11 on a Friday night, and Jiyong feels guilty that he considers not answering all the way until the fourth ring, at which point he finally gives in.

"What's up?" he says, causing Soohyuk, sitting to his left on the couch, to look up from his dinner of leftover curry.

There's a pause long enough on Youngbae's end that Jiyong pulls the phone away from his face to check that they're still connected. Then Youngbae says, "Hey," and something in his tone makes Jiyong frown and stand, heading to the bedroom for privacy. He doesn't miss the way Soohyuk lifts an inquisitive eyebrow.

Jiyong ignores him and closes the bedroom door. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Youngbae sounds drunk, which would have surprised Jiyong a year ago but doesn't so much anymore—he's drinking more heavily these days than he used to.

"Okay," Jiyong says, not believing him for a second but unwilling to play a guessing game. "Then what's up?"

"I was just thinking—" Youngbae stops for a second, like he wants to rethink his wording, and starts again. "I haven't seen your new place yet."

Jiyong is about to argue before he realizes it's true; his new apartment is high security, difficult to access, and only a handful of people have been inside since he moved a few months ago. Most of them have been one-night stands.

"Oh," Jiyong says at length. ". . . I actually have someone over right now."

"Oh."

Youngbae doesn't hazard a guess or ask who Jiyong is with, and for some reason that makes Jiyong feel worse. Soohyuk and Jiyong aren't anything like boyfriends, but they've been spending a lot of time together lately. Youngbae has probably noticed, but he hasn't said anything; he never comments much on Jiyong's romances.

"Uh, we can plan for something a little later—like, next week maybe—"

"Don't worry about it," Youngbae says quickly. "I'll talk to you later." He sounds much less vulnerable suddenly, more closed off.

There was a time when Jiyong would never let a conversation with Youngbae end this way, but he finds he has no idea what to say right now to make it better. Something awkward and twisted is growing between them and Jiyong doesn't know where it came from or how to make it go away. He says "Sorry" and hangs up, and then feels so disgusted with himself he has to sit gnawing at his nails for a few moments before heading back to the living room. Soohyuk regards him, both eyebrows raised now, but seems to know better than to comment.

When they fuck that night, it's fast and hard and a little angry, to the point that it doesn't even feel very good. It's already three by the time they're done, and Jiyong knows he should invite Soohyuk to stay over, but he never does and Soohyuk never asks.

Jiyong had his heart broken for the first time at seventeen, and he hated himself for how weak it made him. He pushed through dance practice and voice lessons and tutoring without breaking, holding himself together by sheer force of will, but with every passing day he could feel his strength pulling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. He didn't think anyone could tell. Then, six days after the thirty-year-old who had fucked him for the first time told him they couldn't see each other anymore because he had a wife and kids to think about, Jiyong went out back behind the dorms for a smoke and found his solitude interrupted.

"That guy did something to you, didn't he." Youngbae appeared from behind Jiyong, who was perched with his cigarette on a curb, quietly and without warning, and Jiyong had to quickly swipe his sleeve across his eyes.

He didn't say anything, in part because he hadn't realized Youngbae knew. Youngbae lowered himself to the curb at Jiyong's right.

"You shouldn't be smoking," he said after a moment.

"Shut up," Jiyong said.

He finished his cigarette and then snuffed out the butt with his shoe, and without something to focus his attention on he became fidgety and irritable, wishing Youngbae would just leave him alone. He sniffed and wiped his eyes again.

"I don't know much about it," Youngbae said, and Jiyong had to use all the self control he possessed to not snap Yeah, you fucking don't, so why don't you fuck off already. "But I know he was married, and that's not fair."

And Jiyong really did almost snap then, because how dare Youngbae come out here and lecture him, how dare he try to make him feel like a homewrecker or some bullshit when he doesn't even know—

"It's not fair to you," Youngbae clarified, and the angry rant building up in Jiyong's head died before it could reach his mouth. "You deserve someone who's only going to love you."

Jiyong looked at Youngbae for the first time since he'd sat down, and suddenly a different place in his heart was hurting. Youngbae put his arm around Jiyong's shoulders, and Jiyong leaned into it and cried so hard he ended up with snot running down his face. He cried until he ran out of tears and could only gasp and hiccup and sniffle against Youngbae's jacket, and when Youngbae finally led him back inside and to his bed, he drifted off easily for the first time in days.

He never directly thanked Youngbae for it, but he figured maybe Youngbae understood.

Jiyong is in a good mood after their third Tokyo Dome concert, which went off without a hitch and filled him with the kind of pride and energy that always reminds him why he got into this business in the first place. He's pleased when someone suggests an outing to a night club—Liquidroom, one of their old Tokyo favorites—and everyone unanimously agrees to go. There was a time when going out for celebratory drinks after a concert was a regular occurrence, but lately everyone has been so exhausted after performances that they generally just go to bed. This is probably a sign they're starting to get old, but Jiyong never likes to think about that possibility for very long, and he dismisses it quickly tonight.

They end up in the largest VIP room at the club in a group of about fifteen, complete with every member of Big Bang, several coordi-noonas, and a few other support staff and back-up performers. Soohyuk is there too—he was going to be in Tokyo anyway for a photoshoot, so Jiyong invited him to their concert, not for the first time. Jiyong is happy enough, sipping on an amaretto sour between Soohyuk and Seungri, until he notices Youngbae and his coordi-noona friend a few seats away, giggling about something and sharing a tall glowing drink complete with two straws. He gulps down the rest of his drink in one angry swallow and elbows Seungri.

"What's the name of the girl who's been hanging all over Youngbae lately?" Jiyong asks.

Seungri can usually be depended on to remember names and gossip. He wrinkles his nose and squints in their direction for a moment before answering, "Mihyun, I think." Then he laughs. "Why? Planning on having her killed?"

Jiyong frowns at the question. "No. What do you mean by that?"

Seungri laughs again. "Only that you've been glaring at her for about three weeks straight."

"I have not," Jiyong snaps.

"Hyung," Seungri calls, leaning across Jiyong and Soohyuk to get Seunghyun's attention. Both Seunghyun and Daesung, who were previously looking at photos on somebody's phone, turn their way. "Remember the year we caught Youngbae and that trainee kissing at Bom's birthday party?"

Both Seunghyun and Daesung burst into riotous laughter in unison. Jiyong feels his neck getting hot and waves over the waitress to order another drink.

"Didn't you have to physically hold Jiyong back until she could escape?" Daesung asks Seunghyun, although he's grinning in Jiyong's direction.

"That's an exaggeration," Jiyong says hotly, but everyone is laughing too loudly to hear him. Everyone except Soohyuk, who merely listens with an unreadable expression on his face and occasionally sips at a whiskey.

"It wasn't as bad as when those rumors started going around about Youngbae and Yuri," Seunghyun snorts. "I don't think they'd even met yet and Jiyong was ready to arrange SNSD's disbandment."

They all dissolve into laughter again and slap Jiyong's back while he scowls and accepts his new drink from the waitress. Then he risks another glance in Youngbae's direction, only to get tripped up when he finds Soohyuk watching him evenly.

"You're very protective," Soohyuk comments, in a tone that could be completely innocuous, except Jiyong knows better.

Thankfully, Daesung responds before Jiyong has to. "Youngbae's mom told me once that she never worries about Youngbae dating the wrong girl because she'll have to go through Jiyong first," he says, grinning.

"I'm protective of everyone in Big Bang," Jiyong says, in one last attempt to salvage some of his dignity.

"That's true," Daesung agrees, "but—"

"Youngbae's special," Seunghyun says. Daesung and Seungri both nod.

"You couldn't care less who I date," Seungri adds.

"Maybe he's just signed you off as a lost cause," Daesung teases, and he and Seunghyun start snickering at Seungri's affected outrage.

While Seungri's arguing, Jiyong's focus returns to Soohyuk, who is draining the last of his whiskey, and then, because he can't help himself, back to Youngbae. His stomach turns at the sight of Youngbae and Mihyun making out in the booth, ignoring everything and everyone around them. He jolts when Soohyuk's hand suddenly touches his shoulder.

"Bathroom," Soohyuk explains. Jiyong obediently nudges Seungri and they make way for Soohyuk to slip away from the table and out the door. After a few seconds, Jiyong jerks out of the booth and follows him. He takes care not to look directly at either Youngbae or Mihyun when he passes, but he could swear he catches Youngbae glancing up in his peripheral vision.

Soohyuk is at the sink when Jiyong opens the door to the bathroom, and their eyes meet in the mirror as the door swings closed behind him. There's nothing in Soohyuk's face or composure to indicate he's upset, but Jiyong knows Soohyuk shares his ability to wear a mask of cool indifference in almost any situation, regardless of circumstance. It's a skill learned through a lifetime of having cameras trained on you.

At length, Soohyuk turns so they're facing directly and smiles.

"You look lost," he says.

Jiyong can't reply. He wonders what would happen if he just crossed the space between them, grabbed Soohyuk and started kissing him now—if that would be enough to distract them and they could go on pretending nothing had happened in there, or if it would only make things worse. He settles for an uncertain half-step forward.

Soohyuk's smile falters. "You don't have to look so guilty," he says. "Listen. It's fine. I know this was just fucking around to you. I'm not going to break down crying."

Jiyong furrows his brow, because that's not what he came in here to say and that's not what he was thinking. He does feel guilty, but it's not like he has any real reason to, when they're all so wrong about Youngbae and he's busy sucking on that girl's tongue, anyway. He can't seem to verbalize any of that, though, so he just keeps staring at Soohyuk, who finally laughs.

"They warned me about you, you know," he says.

Finally, Jiyong manages to choke out a word. "Who?"

"Everyone. You've got a reputation." Soohyuk sighs and closes the space between them, surprising Jiyong with a hand on his cheek. He kisses Jiyong in a way that's not passionless, exactly, but feels somehow like a goodbye, and before Jiyong can even lift a hand to touch Soohyuk's neck he's stepping away.

"They told me you were only looking for sex," Soohyuk says, still smiling like this is nothing more than pleasant small talk. "But I think maybe you're looking for something else."

Then he's turning away, reaching for the door, and probably Jiyong should try harder to stop him, but he can only ask, "What?"

Soohyuk pauses with his back to Jiyong. "Let me know if you ever find out," he says, and then he's gone. Jiyong has no idea what answer he was expecting, but the one he got is bitterly unsatisfying.

When he returns to their VIP room, Soohyuk is gone, and so are Youngbae and Mihyun. Seungri wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at Jiyong, gesturing toward Youngbae and Mihyun's empty seats, and Jiyong forces a laugh. As soon as the waitress returns, he orders another drink.

The second time Jiyong had his heart broken, he was twenty, and Youngbae found him on the floor of his room next to an empty wine bottle, which was almost melodramatic enough to be funny.

"Hey," Youngbae said, bending over Jiyong to touch his shoulder. "You okay?"

Jiyong blinked up at Youngbae, smiled, and lifted a hand to pat his cheek. "I'm fantastic," he said, then laughed, imagining how pathetic he looked.

"Okay, why don't you sit up," Youngbae said, ignoring Jiyong's hand but helping to hoist him off the floor and lean him against his bed. Jiyong let himself be hoisted but immediately plastered himself against Youngbae's side, sliding his hand from Youngbae's cheek down to his neck and nuzzling into his shoulder.

"Mm. You're warm," Jiyong said.

Youngbae cleared his throat. "How much did you drink? Just the one bottle?"

"'N something else before that. A shot. Two shots." Jiyong nuzzled in closer because Youngbae really was warm.

"You're going to kill yourself." There was no bite to Youngbae's words, but he was tense under Jiyong's touch. Jiyong wanted to do something about that. He started stroking up and down Youngbae's shoulder and arm, enjoying the way he could make Youngbae's muscles twitch.

"I'm an idiot," Jiyong sighed, barely a mumble against Youngbae's skin.

Youngbae was starting to relax incrementally, and at that he put a hand in Jiyong's hair and ruffled it a little.

"No you're not. He's an idiot. Whoever he was."

Jiyong laughed again. "'Whoever he was,'" he repeated. "God. You must really think I'm a fuck-up."

"I don't think you're a fuck-up." The words sounded strange coming from Youngbae's mouth; he rarely swore. "I just wish you wouldn't put yourself in a position to get hurt so often."

Something in this accusation made Jiyong frown; it was hard to articulate why, but he tried anyway. "I don't, actually," he said, slow and slurred. "I mean, there's a lot of guys, but they don't mean anything. Mostly they don't mean anything."

"That's kind of what I mean," Youngbae sighed.

Jiyong wasn't listening. "They're not like you," he went on, and the buzzing in his brain told him to keep going, he was doing good. He kissed the pulse of Youngbae's neck and ignored the way it made him go immediately still. "Why aren't any of them like you?" He kissed again.

"Jiyong," Youngbae said. His voice was hovering between a warning and a question, and Jiyong didn't want to acknowledge either one. He shifted with a burst of energy that startled even himself and slid into Youngbae's lap, kissing his lips next, smoothing fingers down his chest.

"Kiss me back," Jiyong ordered fiercely. He grabbed both of Youngbae's hands and arranged them at his waist, then nudged at Youngbae's mouth with his nose.

Youngbae licked his lips, and Jiyong thrilled at the split second when he felt the warmth of Youngbae's tongue. But still he didn't kiss him. "Jiyong," he said again.

Jiyong groaned and lurched forward, sucking Youngbae's bottom lip into his mouth. Youngbae gasped and Jiyong took advantage of it, probing into Youngbae's mouth with his tongue, licking at his tongue and teeth. He grabbed two handfuls of Youngbae's hair and held him fast, sucking and panting and grinding into him, waiting for Youngbae to do anything but tremble and clench his fists in response.

"Please," Jiyong tried when Youngbae still didn't move, and he slowed the grinding of his crotch against Youngbae's stomach to a gentle roll, so Youngbae could feel how hard he was.

Youngbae looked at Jiyong through half-lidded eyes. "Jiyong, I—"

But Jiyong could see that he wasn't going to say anything he wanted to hear, so he cut him off, kissing Youngbae hard on the mouth again, reaching down between them to palm him through his jeans. Maybe Youngbae was horrified by everything that was happening but he was only human, and it made Jiyong's heart skip a beat to feel his dick stiffen under his touch. He squeezed and stroked and Youngbae's hips jolted hard.

"Let me suck your dick," Jiyong whispered against Youngbae's mouth. "I'm good at it."

Youngbae's eyes closed and he sucked in a sharp breath. Jiyong squeezed harder.

"I'll let you fuck me." He tugged up the hem of Youngbae's shirt with his free hand and splayed fingers across his abdomen, which was tense and blazing hot. Youngbae grabbed his wrist but didn't pull it away.

"They all beg to fuck me." He didn't realize it was the wrong thing to say until Youngbae's grip on his wrist tightened, and then he did pull Jiyong's hand away.

Jiyong let Youngbae peel him off, and he stayed put on the floor, cheeks burning and blood pounding, while Youngbae stood and caught his breath.

"I'm gonna get you some water," Youngbae said, straightening out his shirt and avoiding Jiyong's eyes. He slipped out the door and Jiyong didn't move a millimeter until he returned.

"Come on." Youngbae offered a hand and Jiyong took it, allowing himself to be pulled upright and guided into bed. Youngbae handed him the glass of water, and Jiyong drank from it as Youngbae untangled the mess of sheets and blankets at the foot of his bed and spread them across his lap.

"Sorry," Jiyong muttered, reclining against the pillows and setting the glass on his bedside table.

Youngbae tugged the blankets up to his chin and gave him a soft smile. "You'll feel better in the morning," he said, touching Jiyong's cheek. Jiyong lifted a hand to cover Youngbae's but then it was gone, and Youngbae was, too. Jiyong rolled over, buried his face in his hands and prayed he wouldn't remember anything tomorrow.

Jiyong senses something is wrong at the New Year's party when Youngbae shows up drunk at 10 o'clock. He's drinking more these days, but not to the extent that he gets wasted and belligerent before the official party has even started. The way he stumbles through the door and almost bowls over the doorman taking jackets doesn't leave much to speculation, however. Jiyong excuses himself from conversation with Seungho and Teddy and makes his way across the long, dimly lit event room YG reserved for the occasion, toward Youngbae, who has wasted no time draping his arms across the shoulders of two female music executives. They don't look upset, exactly, but still they seem grateful when Jiyong appears to draw away Youngbae's attention.

"Jiyong!" Youngbae shouts, peeling himself away from the women and lurching toward him. He trips on nothing and Jiyong darts forward to catch him, sloshing some of his wine on them both in the process.

"Woah," Jiyong says, steadying Youngbae with two hands to his chest. Youngbae just laughs and tilts his face in uncomfortably close.

"Where's the champagne at?" he demands. His breath reeks of something stronger than champagne; vodka, if Jiyong's right, and he usually is.

"You don't need any," Jiyong says. "Come on."

He leads Youngbae to the bathroom, which is thankfully private, with a door that locks. Once they're inside, he takes a clean hand towel from an artfully arranged pyramid next to the sink and wets it under the tap. He focuses on dabbing at the wet wine stain on Youngbae's shirt first, because it's right down the front and more conspicuous, as opposed to the stain on his own shirt, which is luckily limited to his sleeve.

"Seems like you started your own party somewhere else," he says, not bothering to make eye contact.

"Miyung says we should stop seeing each other," Youngbae says, and Jiyong does look up at that.

Youngbae's too drunk, eyes half-closed and hazy, to be able to read much in his expression. Still, Jiyong can hear the hurt in his voice.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"'S fine. There are other girls out there, right?" Youngbae laughs, then twists away from Jiyong's hands on his shirt. "Can I go now?"

Jiyong straightens up and tosses the towel to the used basket under the sink. "I don't know if that's a good idea."

"Why?" Youngbae's voice has an unusually sharp edge to it despite the slur. "That's what you do all the time, right? Break it off with one person, get drunk and find another one? I just thought I'd take a hint from you in how to get over someone."

The words feel like a slap across Jiyong's face, particularly coming from Youngbae's mouth. "What the hell, Youngbae?" he demands.

"Sorry," Youngbae says. "You're right. That's not fair. You don't even always break it off first."

And then Jiyong is the one who slaps Youngbae, but for real, with his hand rather than words. The smack echoes loudly in the little bathroom, and Jiyong's hand burns from the impact, just like he's sure Youngbae's cheek must be burning now, where the red imprint of his hand is already starting to show. Youngbae blinks at him, wide-eyed, looking about as stunned as Jiyong feels. Then he lifts a hand to touch his cheek, and his eyes go half-closed again.

"Fuck you," he snarls, and then he's fumbling with the lock and Jiyong is alone in the bathroom, swallowing down something welling up in his chest that feels an awful lot like panic.

Jiyong composes himself and leaves the bathroom a few minutes later, and the next hour passes in an unhappy blur. He doesn't dare approach Youngbae again, but shadows him as best he can, sipping on a glass of wine he can't taste and nodding along distractedly to whoever happens to try and talk with him. Youngbae is drifting from group to group at the party, inhaling drinks as he goes and flirting with practically everyone. Mostly everybody humors him—it's obvious he's well past the point of being just drunk—but a few look annoyed, particularly Dara when he plants a wet kiss on the side of her face. Youngbae wisely slides away from her before he can end up on the receiving end of another slap, and Jiyong excuses himself to move on following him at a distance.

"What's up with Youngbae?" Seunghyun asks when Jiyong falls in next to him and Daesung, who are hovering near a tray of appetizers.

"I guess things didn't go well with Mihyun," Jiyong mutters, eyes still trained on Youngbae as he accepts yet another flute of champagne from a waiter.

Seunghyun hums. "That's too bad." There's a pause while they all watch Youngbae nearly knock over an expensive-looking vase next to a group of concerned caterers, but then he moves on, and Seunghyun turns to Jiyong, forehead scrunched up in concern. "Shouldn't you be doing something?"

Jiyong narrows his eyes at his wine glass and swirls it around absently. "What am I supposed to do? He's being an ass. I can't talk to him like this."

He can feel the heat of Seunghyun and Daesung's eyes burning into him, but Jiyong continues to swirl his wine, refusing to look up. After a few seconds, the heat becomes too much and Jiyong excuses himself again; Youngbae has moved on and is almost out of sight at this point.

As he's struggling to slip past a particularly tight-packed cluster of drunk music executives he'd love to avoid talking to just now, Jiyong realizes with a start he's lost Youngbae. He turns, scanning the room as far as he can see, and is just considering standing on a chair when he spots a flash of unkempt bleached hair disappearing into the bathroom. He hurries after him, crossing his fingers that Youngbae is too drunk to remember to lock the door.

"Youngbae?" Jiyong knocks gently on the door once before trying the handle, which he is relieved to find unlocked just as he'd hoped. Upon slipping inside, he finds Youngbae kneeling on the floor with his forehead resting on the toilet bowl, eyes screwed tightly shut, looking absolutely wrecked. Jiyong clicks the lock on the handle and sets his wine glass next to the sink, hurrying to kneel at Youngbae's side.

"You okay?" he asks, rubbing a gentle circle into Youngbae's back. The touch makes Youngbae jolt as if he'd been asleep, and then he almost immediately gags, leaning directly over the toilet bowl.

"Hey, shh, it's okay, just get it out." He continues rubbing circles as Youngbae vomits, forcing himself to stay at Youngbae's side even though this kind of thing repulses him. He's feeling decidedly sick himself at the sight and smell of everything Youngbae has had to drink in the past few hours coming back up, but he keeps rubbing and whispering reassuring words as best he can until Youngbae's retching stops. Then he leans forward to flush the toilet, which does nothing to deter Youngbae from resting his forehead on it again.

"Here." Jiyong stands, dumping out the contents of his wine glass in the sink and then rinsing it briefly before filling it with water. He kneels back down to the floor and offers it to Youngbae.

Youngbae accepts the glass and first uses it to rinse his mouth, spitting into the toilet bowl. Then he takes a few small sips before blindly handing it back to Jiyong, who sets it somewhere on the floor behind them.

"Feel better?" Jiyong asks.

Youngbae groans and turns his head away from Jiyong's gaze, resting his left cheek on the toilet seat so Jiyong can only see the back of his head. "I'm sorry," he mumbles.

"Don't be." Jiyong starts to rub his back again, more slowly now, up and down.

"No, but really," Youngbae says. It's hard to hear him through the slur in his voice and while his face is turned away, but still he sounds remarkably earnest. "I was—"

"You weren't anything you're not allowed to be," Jiyong says quickly, scooting a little closer. "I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have hit you. You have every right to be upset about Mihyun—"

Youngbae interrupts him this time, with a little barking laugh, and finally turns his head back again to gaze through foggy eyes at Jiyong. "Her name's Miyung."

Jiyong grimaces. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Youngbae closes his eyes and furrows his brow, and Jiyong is about to ask if he has to be sick again when he says, barely audible through a sigh, "It doesn't matter. She's not like you."

A spark shoots up Jiyong's arm from where his hand rests on Youngbae's back and he swallows, hard. "What?"

Youngbae's next words are mumbled into the toilet, barely above a whisper, but they seem to ring extra clear in Jiyong's ears somehow. "Why aren't any of them like you?"

Jiyong feels a sick, familiar twist in his chest and leans in closer, as close as he can, sliding his hand up Youngbae's back to slip into his hair.

"Youngbae," he whispers, kissing the side of Youngbae's head, just above his ear. Youngbae stirs but doesn't otherwise react. "Let's go home."

He calls his driver and helps lead Youngbae carefully, very slowly down the stairs and out the back door of the building, figuring the cool outside air while they wait will do him some good. Youngbae just slumps against him, clinging to the lapel of his jacket, his face buried against Jiyong's shirtfront, until the van arrives, and then slides down horizontally across the seats and pillows his head in Jiyong's lap. He sleeps for the entirety of the drive and seems marginally perplexed when Jiyong finally shakes him awake to tell him they're here.

"Where are we?" Youngbae says, rubbing his eyes with his free hand as Jiyong leads him by the other, pressing his thumb to the security reader in the lobby of his building and then pulling Youngbae past the guard in the second lobby, who nods in recognition of Jiyong and thankfully never asks questions, no matter how many drunk men he drags home.

"My place," Jiyong says, drawing Youngbae into the elevator. The doors close on them, Jiyong presses his thumb to another reader and finds the seventeen button, and Youngbae staggers when the elevator starts to move, so Jiyong pulls him close.

They stay pressed like that as the elevator climbs, sliding slowly past the seventh floor, then tenth, then thirteenth. Somewhere around fifteen Youngbae's hand twitches against Jiyong's, and Jiyong laces their fingers together. Then the doors are opening, and Jiyong is pulling him again, heart beating fast all the way up in his throat.

Once they're inside, Youngbae just stands and sways for a few seconds. Then, noticing Jiyong removing his shoes, he cautiously starts to bend over to do the same.

"Let me." Jiyong kneels to work Youngbae's laces and Youngbae says nothing, but after a few seconds his fingers slip into Jiyong's hair. Jiyong looks up and Youngbae's eyes are clearer than before, but darker, too, like he's been possessed by something.

He's still drunk, Jiyong reminds himself, biting his lip and wondering if he cares. He forces himself to stand up and take a step back, though, turning toward the kitchen and waving in the direction of his bathroom.

"Go brush your teeth," he says.

"I don't have a toothbrush."

"Use mine." Jiyong doesn't turn around but he can hear Youngbae obey, shuffling across the wide living room slowly and eventually turning on the light and fan in the bathroom.

It's not until Jiyong has been sitting on the couch with two glasses of water waiting for a full five minutes that he realizes Youngbae isn't coming back out. He might not even be in the bathroom anymore—it connects to Jiyong's bedroom through a second door, and Jiyong wonders if Youngbae has already passed out in his bed. He gets up, taking the waters with him, and passes through the bathroom, which is indeed empty, to turn off the light and fan before entering his bedroom.

Youngbae is curled up in Jiyong's bed, just like Jiyong suspected, and for a second Jiyong thinks he really is passed out. But then he stirs under Jiyong's covers, and Jiyong thinks he catches a flash of bare shoulder—did he take his shirt off?—and Youngbae is mumbling something.

"What?" Jiyong says.

"'S nice. Your new place."

"Oh." Jiyong wants to move forward but he can't seem to do anything but stand there. "Thanks."

"Can you turn off the light?"

That spurs Jiyong into action. He flicks the switch and moves toward the left side of the bed, where Youngbae is huddled, to set down the water on the side table.

Youngbae grabs him and pulls him to the bed before he can step away.

"Youngbae," Jiyong says, sharply, almost dropping the second glass but just managing to set it on the table next to the first. Youngbae doesn't reply, just slides a hand up Jiyong's neck and pulls him down again, in, and Jiyong doesn't really need much coaxing to meet his mouth halfway, which thankfully tastes like mint now instead of vodka and bile. The kiss is still sloppy, though, and a little jarring, their teeth and tongues meeting with surprising force.

"Youngbae," Jiyong says again, more a hiss this time, hot breath ghosting into Youngbae's mouth, but he's not trying very hard to get away. Youngbae's hands are burning on his neck, then scrambling down to the front of Jiyong's jacket, which he obligingly shrugs out of and tosses aside. He's never seen Youngbae look this fierce before and he likes it, likes the way it sets a fire in his stomach and makes his dick jump in his pants. He leans back to continue undressing himself and Youngbae uses the opportunity to push the covers aside. Jiyong almost chokes to find him already naked.

"You're drunk," Jiyong says, sliding forward to straddle Youngbae's lap anyway, dropping one hand to trace Youngbae's abdominal muscles while using the other to finish unbuttoning his shirt.

"Don't care," Youngbae says. He helps Jiyong jerk the shirt off his shoulders and then mouths at Jiyong's collarbone and neck, hot and messy. It lacks expertise but turns Jiyong on anyway, and he groans and tilts his head back to allow easier access.

"We should wait 'til tomorrow," Jiyong says, voice catching when Youngbae's hands meet his at the fly of his pants, and he lets Youngbae finish unbuttoning them even though his fingers are clumsy. "Oh, fuck," he adds when Youngbae doesn't hesitate in cupping him through his underwear.

"No more waiting," Youngbae begs. Jiyong's just about to give in and shimmy out of his pants and underwear when Youngbae says, voice quiet, "You won't want me tomorrow."

Jiyong's heart stutters, and for a moment hurts so bad he can't do anything, can't move or breathe or think. Then he catches both Youngbae's hands in his own, pulling them away from his lap, and presses his mouth to them.

"Youngbae," he says, blood pounding in his ears. "I've always wanted you."

Something flickers in Youngbae's eyes. Then they soften, and Jiyong kisses his knuckles before crawling off his lap and tearing his eyes away from Youngbae's naked everything, which is one of the harder things he's ever done.

"We have to wait," he says through gritted teeth.

"But—" Youngbae protests, voice wavering, "—you never wait."

Jiyong faces him again, but keeps his eyes very carefully trained on Youngbae's, refusing to dart any lower. "Exactly," he says.

Youngbae doesn't seem to have a reply to that. Jiyong leans forward to kiss him once more, but gently, just a brush across the lips, and coaxes him back under the covers, sliding up behind to press his chest to Youngbae's back. He determinedly ignores his aching hard-on to wrap arms around Youngbae's waist and burrow his face against his neck. Finally, he feels Youngbae relax against him, incrementally, over the space of several minutes.

"Jiyong," Youngbae whispers, right as Jiyong was beginning to wonder if he was asleep. "We're not just going to pretend nothing happened tomorrow, right?"

"Right," Jiyong says. He hugs Youngbae closer to his chest, and Youngbae sighs, and Jiyong's last thought as he drifts off is that he can't remember the last time he let someone spend the night.

It takes a few seconds after Jiyong wakes up for him to remember everything that happened last night, but once he does he's jerked rudely into consciousness. He blinks his eyes open and finds the space in the bed next to him empty, although there's his jacket and shirt still crumpled on the floor, so he knows he didn't just dream everything. There's a sound of running water coming from the kitchen, so he slides out of bed, does up the fly of his pants, and makes his way into the living room, fighting the ridiculous urge to crawl back under the covers and never come out again. He has no idea what he'll do if Youngbae doesn't remember what happened last night, but worse would be if he remembers everything and regrets it.

Youngbae is dressed again, although looking distinctly disheveled in his clothes from the night before, setting a pot of water on the stove. Their eyes meet over the pot, and Jiyong knows right then and there that he remembers. He wonders if the wave of nausea that suddenly hits him is because of drinking or nervousness.

"You don't have a tea kettle," Youngbae says after a beat.

Jiyong looks away, running a hand through his bedhead. "I'll get one," he says, feeling heat rise to his face inexplicably. "If you think you'll be staying over more often."

It feels like the heaviest question Jiyong has ever asked, and he didn't even ask anything, exactly. After another beat of silence, his eyes cut back to Youngbae.

Youngbae smiles. "Okay."

And then a flood of relief washes over Jiyong, so disconcerting he nearly staggers. He wants to grab Youngbae by the shirt collar and kiss him, wants to drag him to the bed or the couch or the floor and start doing things he's never allowed himself to even think about before, other than in a few rare moments of weakness. He wants to fuck Youngbae and get fucked by him, hard, on the counter and the table and against the wall, so bad he doesn't know why they haven't started already. But just when he takes his first step forward, Youngbae speaks again.

"Do you want tea?"

Jiyong hesitates. Youngbae is busying himself digging through the cupboards, probably looking for tea that isn't expired and a mug that isn't coated with dust on the inside, and Jiyong feels his shoulders start to relax.

"Sure," he says, heading for the table instead of Youngbae, clearing enough papers and other miscellaneous junk away that two people could comfortably sit and have breakfast and talk. They can have sex later. They can have sex anytime they want. Nobody is going anywhere.

He takes a seat at the table and ducks his head to hide the breathless relief he knows must be playing across his face. He folds his hands and rests them in his lap and waits patiently, because he knows eventually Youngbae will come.

end

Typhoon Haiyan Fundraiser

2013-11-12T17:07:07Z

My fic offer is up at the fandom aid Typhoon Haiyan fundraiser! Go go go!

Fic (Free!) - Down to You

2013-09-30T23:27:12Z

Title: Down to You
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Rei/Nagisa
Word count: 4827
Summary: Rei is off. Nagisa is confused.
Notes: I just couldn't let these two cuties go without another little fic :'D Thanks once again to furiosity for her awesome betaing services! ♥ As usual I stole the title from whatever song I happened to be listening to at the time.

Nagisa doesn't like Rei's off days.

It's easy to tell the difference between normal Rei--who is crabby pretty much all the time but not really and secretly loves being teased out of it--and off Rei, who tunes out conversations and stares distantly at things and hardly ever smiles, even when Nagisa jumps on him. Everybody has a right to be sad and quiet sometimes, but lately Rei has been exercising it almost more often than not, and that makes Nagisa want to be sad and quiet too, except he's not very good at being either of those things. (Sometimes he tries to stay sad about things longer just because he feels like he should, but it doesn't usually work.)

Today is Friday and the weather is beautiful and swimming season is just about to pick up again—their final year, the first without Haru and Mako on the team—but when Nagisa opens the door to the roof to meet Rei for lunch like usual, he can tell right away that today is off.

"Yo," Nagisa says, trying for extra-cheerful just to compensate for the way Rei is moping. "I got to the line before they ran out of pork nikuman!"

He holds out the nikuman he bought for Rei and Rei just stares at his hand for a few seconds—which is really a little rude—before accepting it.

"Thank you," he says, to the food instead more than Nagisa. Nagisa drops down beside him, unwraps his own nikuman and tries not to mind.

"Hey," Nagisa says through a mouthful of pork, suddenly spotting another pair of figures on the roof, eating lunch in a far corner. "Isn't that Kendou and Yamamoto?"

Rei glances in the direction Nagisa is looking and then back down at his food. "Yeah."

"They were in your class last year, right? Should we invite them over?" Nagisa starts to wave but Rei grabs his hand so forcefully it almost hurts.

"Ow," Nagisa says. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just . . . don't really want to talk to them."

Nagisa blinks and studies Rei, who is still very determinedly not making eye contact and seems a little embarrassed. This is probably one of those situations Mako was trying to explain to Nagisa where he should let matters drop rather than pushing them when something is obviously making people uncomfortable . . . but now he's so curious!

"Why not?" Nagisa says, mentally apologizing to Mako.

He has to mentally apologize to Rei after that, too, because the way he struggles to come up with a response really does make Nagisa feel a little guilty.

"No reason, I just—"

Rei cuts off and stares ahead, so Nagisa looks ahead too and sees the boys heading in their direction. They're in his class as of this year, although he doesn't know either of them particularly well yet. It looks like they're only heading this way to use the exit, but when Kendou sees Nagisa he stops in surprise.

"Hazuki-san," Kendou says.

"Nagisa is fine," Nagisa chirps. He can feel Rei stiffen next to him. "What were you guys doing up here?"

"Just eating," Kendou says. Nagisa is about to ask if Kendou did his math homework, but that's when he notices both him and Yamamoto studying Rei with strange expressions. Rei is pretending to be engulfed in a book he pulled out of nowhere.

"Ah," Nagisa says, wondering what he missed. He can sense that Rei wants this moment to be over, though, so instead of making small talk he says, "Well, see you in math!"

They take the hint and leave.

"Rei-chan, what was that? Why were you all so weird?" Nagisa turns to face Rei but he still won't look anywhere but at the pages of his book, even though he's clearly not reading (his eyes aren't moving at all).

"I don't know what you mean," Rei says.

"But they were both in your class last year, right?" A sudden thought occurs to Nagisa, and he leans in and earnestly grabs Rei's wrist. "Hey, they weren't mean to you, were they?"

"No." Rei snaps his book shut and turns to stuff it back in his bag, shaking off Nagisa's touch. It's hard to tell if he's lying or not.

"I forgot something I have to finish up before next period," Rei says, standing and brushing his pants off. Maybe he notices and feels a little bad about the way Nagisa pouts at being blown off, because his expression softens and he adds, "Sorry. See you after school?"

"Okay," Nagisa says. Then Rei is gone, and now Nagisa feels a little off too, even despite the nikuman and nice weather.

Nagisa was trying to figure out a tactful way to approach Kendou and find out what all the weirdness was about before math, but when he gets there he's in luck; Kendou jumps up and approaches Nagisa's desk right away, and he doesn't waste any time getting to the point.

"So, you're friends with Ryugazaki?" Kendou asks.

Nagisa cocks his head. It wasn't exactly the question he was expecting. "Well, yeah. We've been friends for a while now, we're both on the swim team. . . ."

"I just always thought you guys hung out with him because of swimming, not like . . . because you wanted to."

All of a sudden, Nagisa gets a rare twinge of dislike. Always thought? You guys? "We're friends," Nagisa repeats. "Makoto and Haru, too."

Kendou seems to sense that he's crossed a line; he raises his hands defensively. "Hey, no, that's cool. I don't even really know the guy. I'm just friends with Yamamoto, and he has some weird stories. They used to be close."

Yamamoto is in class, too, although he's several desks away, digging through his bag and looking a little flustered. "Okay?" Nagisa says.

"All I'm saying is, you might wanna ask Yamamoto about it sometime. I just don't want people saying weird stuff about you, too." He says it like he's really doing Nagisa a favor, and probably he thinks he is, but Nagisa still can't turn off the dislike.

"Thanks," he says, trying not to sound too icy. Kendou's eyes narrow, though, so probably he doesn't do a very good job. Luckily, the teacher walks in and they're spared the awkwardness of having to end the conversation on their own terms, and Nagisa spends the rest of class even less focused on math than usual. He's burning up with curiosity, but he'd rather eat dirt than ask Yamamoto about it.

He'll have to figure out how to get the details from Rei.

"Rei-chan," Nagisa says sweetly, sidling up to Rei and grabbing onto his arm. "Do you want to come over tonight?"

They're walking to the train station from school, after having talked with Gou a little about the start of the season—only a few more weeks before the pool will be ready. Rei perked up considerably while they were talking training and logistics, so Nagisa figures now is as good a time as any.

Still, Rei doesn't look thrilled by the idea, and his arm goes stiff under Nagisa's touch. He's been doing that a lot lately.

"I don't know," he says. "I have a lot of homework."

"It's too early in the year to have a lot of homework," Nagisa whines. "Please, Rei-chan? My mom's making curry!"

Rei loves Nagisa's mom's curry. "Well . . ." he says, looking sideways at Nagisa, who starts to hug his arm so earnestly that Rei's crabby demeanor finally cracks. "Okay," he says, with a hint of a smile. "I'll call my mom."

Nagisa's time-tested technique of shouting at Rei's mom through the phone that they'll be having a sleepover ends up working once again—although Rei looks particularly pained about it today—so Nagisa relaxes, knowing he has the whole night to get Rei loosened up and talking. Curry helps, as do video games; by the time they're back in Nagisa's room, it's almost like hanging out with the old Rei, who didn't get sullen and quiet so often and didn't make excuses all the time for not coming over.

"Don't you have to do some homework?" Nagisa asks, rifling through his dresser for the pajamas he usually lends Rei when he spends the night.

"I'll do it during math. They're just covering stuff I already know anyway."

Nagisa grins privately at the drastic change of heart and turns around, having finally found the pajamas. Rei is lying flat on his back on Nagisa's bed, arms spread out to his sides and eyes closed. He looks so peaceful that Nagisa has to join in. He jumps on the bed and squeezes in close to Rei's side, leaning over him a little to blow softly on his face. Rei's eyes snap open and he looks like he's just swallowed something.

"What's wrong?" Nagisa asks.

"Nothing," Rei says quickly. It makes Nagisa sad how weird he's been about touching lately, because he never used to mind. Not that it's really stopped Nagisa from doing it.

"I found your pajamas!" Nagisa drops the shirt and shorts on Rei's chest.

"Thank you," Rei says. He's looking right at Nagisa instead of shifting his eyes away for once, and it's unexpected enough that Nagisa's smile fades and he looks right back. After a few seconds, a weird shivery feeling shoots down the back of his neck.

For whatever reason, the shiver makes him feel panicked. He didn't mean to do it this way, but all at once he blurts, "What happened with you and Yamamoto?"

Rei jolts and the weirdness shatters; Nagisa is relieved and sad at the same time.

"What do you mean?" Rei says. "Did he talk to you? What did he tell you?"

"No," Nagisa says, growing sorrier by the second that he said anything at all. Rei looks miserable. "Kendou just told me you two used to be friends—"

Rei shifts away from Nagisa and sits up. It leaves Nagisa feeling especially cold.

"It was a long time ago," Rei says.

"I was just wondering," Nagisa says, "because you don't really hang out with anyone other than us—you never seem to talk to anyone from your class—"

He wasn't trying to be unkind, but Rei looks like Nagisa just slapped him. Nagisa feels so awful he puts a hand over his mouth to stop it from doing anything else stupid.

"Please don't listen to them if they tell you anything," Rei says quietly, staring straight ahead at the wall.

"Rei-chan—"

"I should go."

Rei jumps up from the bed and Nagisa wants to, too, but he feels frozen to it. Instead he just watches as Rei gathers his bag and jacket and hurries to the door.

As soon as he's gone, Nagisa feels like running after him, and for a few seconds he means to, but then he remembers the shuttered look that Rei gets when he wants to close himself off and knows even if he caught him it would be pointless.

He settles for texting him, instead—just a brief I'm sorry, Rei-chan—and stays up hours past his bedtime waiting to hear anything back, but Rei never responds.

Nagisa starts to worry, over the course of the next week, that Rei is stuck in off mode for good. More than that, he starts to worry it's his fault.

Rei doesn't show up for lunch at all on Monday, and he doesn't meet Nagisa after school to ride the train with him. On Tuesday, he shows up for lunch, but Nagisa can barely get three words out of him the whole time; mostly he just buries his nose in a notebook and says he has to study. Nagisa texts him on Wednesday to see if he's going to ride the train and he never answers. By Friday, Nagisa has only seen Rei a handful of times and spoken to him less than that, and he's feeling worse than he can ever remember.

He hadn't realized before this week just how dependent he had become on his friendship with Rei. It's funny that he brought up Rei only hanging out with the swim club, Nagisa realizes now, because these days he's no different; he's friendly with just about everybody, but that's not the same thing, and now that Mako and Haru are gone he feels Rei's absence especially, like an ache in his head, stomach and heart all at the same time.

Usually P.E. is Nagisa's favorite class, but today he can only trudge into the locker room and start to change mechanically, staring off into space. He barely notices Kendou until he bumps into him while pulling on his track pants. Kendou jumps and backs away.

"Oh, sorry," Nagisa says. He realizes Yamamoto is right there, too, and is about to turn away and close his locker when he notices they're both looking at him in horror. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Kendou says quickly, but his voice is weirdly loud, almost like he wants everyone to hear him. "It's just—don't you think you should change in the bathroom or something?"

"Hmm?" Nagisa turns around to face them completely, dumbfounded.

"Just leave him be, Kendou," Yamamoto says, going red and staring at the floor.

Kendou ignores him and keeps talking in a loud voice. "I mean, we're all guys here, and since you're—you know."

Nagisa stares. "Huh?" Half the locker room is watching now, and he still doesn't really get what's going on.

Kendou makes an annoyed scoffing noise. "Come on. Don't make me say it."

"Kendou," Yamamoto hisses.

"I'm what?"

"Gay," Kendou practically spits.

The second the word is out, all the people who have been listening either laugh uncomfortably or turn away and pretend they weren't eavesdropping. Nagisa doesn't know what to say. He's a little embarrassed, and he doesn't think he's ever disliked anyone more than he dislikes Kendou in this moment, but suddenly his thoughts have snapped back to Rei.

"Oh," Nagisa says out loud, mostly to himself, but Kendou is looking expectant, so he just says "You can change in the bathroom if you want," toes on his shoes and walks out to the gym.

The whole time they do the three-minute jog his mind is whirring so frantically he doesn't even care that all the boys are whispering and staring at him. He needs to figure out how to catch Rei before he goes home after school.

As it turns out, catching Rei is easier than Nagisa was anticipating—all he has to do is stand by his locker after last period and wait. By the time Rei spots him, it's too late for him to run away.

"Hey," Nagisa says, feeling strangely flustered now, even though he's been rehearsing what to say all afternoon. "Wanna ride the train together?"

"Okay," Rei says, opening his locker and removing his books with the utmost concentration. He never once looks Nagisa in the eye.

They walk in silence for the first couple blocks, but Nagisa screws up his courage as soon as the other students have thinned out and they're mostly alone.

"I'm sorry I hurt your feelings," he says, because that's the most important thing to say first.

Rei finally looks right at him, obviously surprised, and then his cheeks get red. "No, you didn't—it's fine."

"You're my best friend, Rei-chan," Nagisa says. "I don't want us to stop being friends."

Now Rei looks positively pained. He frowns at Nagisa with his eyebrows screwed up so tight for a second Nagisa thinks he's going to cry.

"No—me too," Rei says finally, instead of crying. "I—I'm sorry about this week, I've been—"

"It's okay," Nagisa says quickly. He doesn't want Rei to feel like he has to explain, especially now that he thinks he might actually get it.

They walk the rest of the way to the station and board their train in silence, but it feels friendly instead of uncomfortable, which is a nice change. Then, just as Nagisa is about to stand up for his stop, Rei says in a rush,

"Do you want to come over?"

Nagisa almost falls off his seat he's so excited. "Yeah!"

Everything gets much easier from there. Things are starting to feel so much like old times that Nagisa bounces on his heels and chatters about everything he can possibly think of the whole walk from the station to Rei's house, and he doesn't even worry Rei will get annoyed. Rei is actually laughing by the time they reach his entryway, and Nagisa blames the rush of happiness from hearing Rei's laugh again for not thinking about what he's saying.

"Anyway, I don't blame you for not wanting to be friends with Yamamoto. I don't think anyone who hangs out with Kendou could be very nice."

He realizes right away he shouldn't have brought it up. Rei pauses in the process of untying his shoes, startled. Or maybe that's concern?

"What do you mean? Did something happen?"

"Ahh," Nagisa says, hesitant. He wonders if he should make something up, but he's never been a very good liar. "It wasn't really a big deal," he says, waving it off, hoping Rei will let it drop.

But Rei doesn't. "What did he say?"

"He said I was gay in P.E.," Nagisa admits, trying for an airy and casual tone, but just like he knew would happen, Rei's jaw goes rigid and the color drains from his face.

The apartment feels extra quiet all of a sudden—Rei's parents get home late on weeknights and even though they're both used to it, Nagisa wishes there were someone else around to distract them. He tries to be distracting instead.

"Hey, can you help me with my math homework?" He heads straight to Rei's bedroom and opens his bag on the bed, rifling through it for his book. He feels rather than sees Rei appear behind him in the doorway.

"Oh . . . never mind, I guess I forgot it at school. . . ." Nagisa tries to find something else in his bag that he can use as a distraction, but apparently he forgot everything. He's left with nothing else to do but look up.

"I knew something like this would happen," Rei says, still standing in the doorway. He looks unusually small and self-conscious with his arms crossed in front of his chest, and Nagisa has to bite his lip and fight the urge to rush back and hug him.

"Rei-chan," Nagisa says. "I don't care."

"It'll just get worse if you hang out with me all the time," Rei says, like he didn't hear him. "It was all right when Makoto-senpai and Haruka-senpai were around too, but now, with just the two of us—"

"Rei-chan," Nagisa says, more firmly this time, "I don't care."

But Rei doesn't seem reassured. He does, however, look straight at Nagisa, and Nagisa's chest tightens a little, in a nice way—he hates seeing Rei miserable like this, but at least he's sharing it instead of closing off.

"What happened?" Nagisa asks at last. At this point, he thinks maybe Rei will feel better just telling him.

It seems like he's right, because Rei doesn't take long to start speaking.

"Yamamoto and I were friends in middle school," he says, adjusting his glasses in the nervous way Nagisa recognizes from swim meets and final exams. "We started track at the same time and we both liked science fiction, so we ended up hanging out all the time. I didn't . . . really have very many other friends. After a couple years I started—"

Rei stops short, and Nagisa holds his breath, trying to send as much silent encouragement as possible.

"I started—I started to think maybe I liked him." Rei's face has gone a deep scarlet, but he's still talking. "And I thought maybe he liked me, too."

Nagisa's heart skips a beat. He stays stock-still.

"So I—" Rei stutters off, glancing at Nagisa as if for reassurance. Nagisa just nods once, and maybe he succeeds in making it a supportive nod, because Rei does seem to relax a little.

"I kissed him," he finishes. He pushes his glasses up his nose and clears his throat.

Nagisa swallows and tries to figure out what to say. Everything about this moment feels serious and important, and he's not always good at serious but he's determined not to ruin this.

"What happened then?" he prompts at last.

Rei actually laughs at that. Just once, and it doesn't come off as very amused. "Can't you guess?"

Nagisa can, and at once he feels angry. Angry and something else—he can't name it, but it's almost familiar, a sharp little twist in his stomach.

"Well, I think he's a jerk," Nagisa says, more passionately than he intended. "Even if he didn't like you back, he didn't have to go telling people and stop being your friend."

"No. It's my fault," Rei says, frowning at the floor. "I shouldn't have presumed—I ruined everything."

"It's not your fault!" Nagisa snaps so fiercely that Rei blinks up at him, obviously astonished. "It's not your fault," Nagisa repeats, "and he didn't deserve you."

Now Rei looks more flustered than astonished. "Nagisa. . . ."

He seems to be on a roll, so Nagisa doesn't stop himself, even if he does feel his face burning up as he says, "Why haven't you ever tried kissing me?"

The silence Nagisa noticed in the entryway is nothing like the silence that falls now, thick and oppressive, like being underwater. Rei's arms drop and so does his jaw. Nagisa feels similarly stunned; he didn't know he was even thinking those words until they slipped out of his mouth, but he feels better having said them—now that they're out there and the twisting in his stomach makes more sense, he feels strangely light and excited. He counts a dozen heartbeats pulsing loud in his ears before Rei finally says something.

"I thought—I thought—"

"You think too much," Nagisa says, exasperated, and then, because he's still riding on an adrenaline rush and he knows Rei isn't going to be the one to do it, he crosses the room and presses Rei against the doorframe.

To his surprise, though, that's all it takes—Rei's typical resolve seems to crumble as soon as Nagisa is within reach. He grabs Nagisa's shoulders and kisses him, hard enough that Nagisa makes a surprised, happy sound against his mouth.

"That's better," Nagisa says, pulling back to take in Rei's face, which looks about as flushed and breathless as Nagisa feels. His hands are trapped between them and he uncurls his fingers, enjoying the sensation of spreading them across Rei's chest and watching Rei's eyelids shudder.

"When did you—" Rei stammers, but speech seems tricky for him right now, so Nagisa takes pity and doesn't wait for him to finish.

"It would've been a lot sooner if you'd just said something," he huffs, but then feels a little bad because of course, Rei had plenty of reason to be worried about saying something.

Sure enough, the next thing out of Rei's mouth is, "I'm sorry, I was just so scared that you would never want to talk to me again—I couldn't—"

"I know," Nagisa says quickly, "It's okay."

But Rei's face is still so tragic that Nagisa has to do something about it. He leans in and kisses the bridge of Rei's nose, meaning to dart away again and find somewhere else to kiss, only Rei doesn't let him. One of Rei's hands slips to the side of Nagisa's neck, the other to the small of his back, and then suddenly Nagisa is the one being pushed against the doorframe, and their mouths are locking together and sliding open and he's not positive but he's 90% sure this is called making out.

Nagisa likes making out, he discovers. He likes the touch of Rei's tongue and the noises that keep escaping from both of them, even though they're breathy and needy and should probably be embarrassing. He likes the way Rei's leg ends up in between both of Nagisa's and their hips end up pressing together in a way that makes him dizzy. He likes the way Rei's glasses go askew—although actually, even though it's cute, they're starting to get in the way. Nagisa lifts them off Rei's face, which makes them both pause, and then they just stay like that, breathing into each other's mouths. Rei is looking at him with such open wonder and adoration that it's kind of hard to keep from squirming, but Nagisa can't pretend he doesn't like it.

"Do you wanna lie down?" Nagisa asks, not really because he's suggesting they do that, but because he's starting to feel like his knees are going to give out. Still, he doesn't exactly make the request sound innocent, especially when he follows it up with a little tug on Rei's waistband.

Rei just nods. Nagisa sets his glasses on the desk and then Rei practically tackles him to the bed; it makes Nagisa laugh, but not for long, because then they're making out again, and maybe it's a little messy and over-enthusiastic but he's pretty sure they're starting to get the hang of it. Maybe they're starting to get the hang of it a little too fast, actually—it's not long before they both jerk away, almost in unison, because what with their hips pressing and hands everywhere there was no denying what was about to happen otherwise.

"Sorry," Rei says softly, shifting slightly away and taking a few slow, deep breaths. Nagisa shakes his head and does the same.

"No, it's okay," he says, but still he's glad they stopped, at least for now. Things have been going pretty deliriously fast. He doesn't want to stop touching Rei, though, so he nuzzles his nose up against his chin. Rei lets a hand drift into Nagisa's hair and breathes out a sigh that sounds so content it makes Nagisa feel a thousand degrees warmer.

A thought occurs to Nagisa suddenly; he props himself up on his elbows so he can see Rei's face better. "Does this mean we're boyfriends now?"

He'd thought he'd already seen the extent to which Rei could get red today, but apparently not. Rei's hand freezes in Nagisa's hair and he looks like he's choking on his tongue. Nagisa is about to take that as a no, but then Rei finally seems to recover himself.

"I—think one of us is supposed to ask first," he stammers.

Nagisa snorts. Of course Rei has to do it by the rules. "Okay. Rei-chan, will you be my boyfriend?"

Instead of immediately answering, Rei pulls Nagisa in to an unexpectedly fierce hug. Nagisa lets out a little "Oof" of surprise, then feels himself start to melt at the warmth of Rei's forehead buried against his shoulder and the force of Rei's hold around his back.

"Yes," Rei says, muffled into Nagisa's collarbone. He squeezes him tighter and Nagisa squeezes back.

They stay like that, pressed close against each other but not too close, for about as long as Nagisa can ever go without talking. His mind is in such a tangled-up haze of happiness that talking seems difficult, anyway, and he's enjoying all the new things he gets to notice when he's being quiet: he's never been so wrapped up in another person's scent before, or felt somebody else's pulse beating almost in time with his.

When his mouth opens, he barely knows it's him talking at first. It was just a thought that came to him, and maybe out of force of habit it slips out:

"I guess I'll have to say thanks to Kendou for being a jerk now."

Rei starts, then shifts back to look Nagisa in the eye. "Are you planning to tell everyone?"

"No," Nagisa says quickly, worried he's just ruined everything. "We don't have to—I mean, at least not right away—"

Rei is frowning, eyes unfocused now, and for one terrible moment Nagisa wonders if he's about to switch off again. But then—

"It's fine," he says firmly. "I don't care if the whole school knows."

Nagisa beams, and then he decides he'd like to figure out what other things about Rei he gets to notice now, so he buries his face under Rei's chin again and wiggles in close. Rei sighs and presses his mouth to the top of Nagisa's head, and it's so shivery-nice that Nagisa has to fight to stay still.

Once he's comfortable, he lets himself sigh, too. He doesn't think he'll need to worry about Rei being off so much anymore.

end

Fic (Free!) - Fifteen

2013-09-20T19:30:04Z

Title: Fifteen
Rating: G
Pairing: Rei/Nagisa
Word count: 1402
Warnings: Spoilers if you're not caught up!
Summary: Being a teenager is mortifying.
Notes: I liked the idea of writing something leading up to Rei's burst of courage that led him to confront Rin. This ended up a little different than originally intended since I couldn't get it published before the most recent episode came out and then I had to rework stuff to be canon-compliant, but hopefully it still works! I just want to do this adorable pairing justice and I fear I never will :'( Endless thanks to furiosity for betaing! ♥♥♥

Logically, Rei knows when he's being ridiculous.

He's a teenager and he's read about what that means: hormones in constant flux, emotions running rampant, irrationality and sensitivity ruling where reason and sensibility should. He shouldn't be so upset about Rin--even though he is horrible, and Rei has been struggling since day one to figure out why the swim club is so infatuated with him--but even so, Rei fixates. A bitter obsession with Rin has been growing in him since before the night of the festival, and it just keeps growing, even after Haruka says he wants to keep swimming relay with them, even after they tell Rei about their swimming history.

Maybe it's because logically, he also knows that no matter how much of a jerk Rin might be, Rei is still the one who doesn't belong in the swim club. That's the thought that really stings, and what makes him act so embarrassingly volatile in front of all the others--he wishes he could turn it off but it keeps bubbling to the surface every time he opens his mouth, ugly and uncontrollable. It's worse when he's with Nagisa, for some reason; Nagisa perplexes Rei in the best of times, but his continual Rin-chans, the way he shrugs off everything Rin does and says with a dismissive tone of Well that's just his way, are both dumbfounding and infuriating.

Which is probably what makes Rei explode, like a giant tantrum-throwing child, on the train platform. Nagisa blinks up at him after, and Rei can feel the flush creeping up his neck, mortification already setting in. Why can't he control this?

"Rei-chan," Nagisa says, not upset exactly, but obviously confused.

"Sorry." Rei sits back down from his eruption and turns away from Nagisa's questioning stare, but he's still angry, no matter where he looks. His eyes flit from the vending machines to the train tracks to his feet before Nagisa speaks again.

"I didn't realize Rin-chan bothered you so much," he says.

Rei's hands curl into fists at his sides. "See, that's exactly--you're still calling him 'Rin-chan'! After everything!"

"But he's--" Nagisa starts, then cuts off with an "Oh!" so suddenly that Rei looks up.

"You're jealous," Nagisa says wonderingly.

The flush on Rei's neck burns hotter now, and higher, up to his cheeks. "That's not--" he stammers.

"No, it is!" Nagisa is gaping it him now, like Rei is a specimen in a lab; it's scrutinizing to the point that Rei twitches. "You think we'd rather have Rin-chan on the team than you."

The words hang there for a few moments, and whatever ill-thought out, emotional retort Rei was about to make dies before it even reaches his tongue. He deflates with a sigh and focuses on his shoes again. Hearing it said out loud makes denying it seem so pointless.

"Rei-chan," Nagisa says sympathetically. He slides over so he's in the seat next to Rei, jostling him with a shoulder bump. "We love having you on the team with us!"

"Only because you couldn't find anyone else," Rei grumbles, fully aware his pout is actually audible in the way he speaks. Being fifteen is so embarrassing. "Only because he wasn't around."

Nagisa doesn't immediately respond with a denial, and that causes Rei's stomach to knot up unpleasantly, wondering if what he already knew has just been confirmed true. Nagisa is quiet for so long, in fact, that Rei finally has to glance sideways just to see what he's doing. Naturally, Nagisa is staring at him, but instead of looking awkward or pitying, his brow is furrowed tightly, like he's considering something very, very hard.

"What," Rei says sharply. Nagisa leans in close--uncomfortably close--and Rei tries to pull away, but Nagisa stops him with a sticky ice cream-stained hand to the shoulder and kisses him with equally sticky ice cream-stained lips. Just once on the cheek, the tiniest little peck imaginable, before pulling back.

Rei can't move. He sits cold and rigid as a corpse as Nagisa smiles benignly and switches his ice cream from one hand to the other, taking one final lick before placing the stick in Rei's hand, wrapping Rei's fingers around it when they don't move of their own accord.

"I like you best, Rei-chan," Nagisa says sweetly. Rei's brain is scarcely functioning but he does note, through a haze of blood- and oxygen-deprived observation, that Nagisa looks a little pinker than usual, too, and his hands aren't entirely steady when they brush Rei's over the ice cream stick. "And we're all happy to have you on the team. Nobody would trade you for anyone, especially not Rin-chan."

The impending lights of their train's arrival provide a satisfactory enough distraction that Rei doesn't have to respond; he should, surely, but his head feels as sticky as his hand (and shoulder, and cheek) and he's grateful for any excuse not to try and formulate words. Nagisa stands first, raising eyebrows at Rei when he doesn't immediately follow, so Rei jerks to his feet and stumbles into the car and tries very hard for the rest of the ride not to think about how well the fluorescent lighting of the train must be illuminating his blush.

They're silent all the way to Nagisa's stop. Then the train is suddenly grinding to a halt and Nagisa is standing to take his place in front of the door and saying goodbye and Rei still hasn't spoken. Desperately, he runs through a catalog of things he could say before the doors open--he has to get something out--and gets as far as opening his mouth when the ice cream bar, forgotten but still clenched in his hand, collapses off the stick and onto his forearm. He curses and has to one-handedly dig through his bag for tissues to clean up the mess.

"You okay?" Nagisa asks. Rei can only see his feet, but they turn back in Rei's direction.

"Did you mean it?" Rei blurts.

There's a pause in which Rei--bravely, he thinks--forces himself to meet Nagisa's gaze, even as he unceremoniously mops pink mess off his shirt. Nagisa looks surprised for a moment, but surprise shifts quickly into a smile--warm and genuine, all the way up to his eyes.

"Of course," Nagisa says, and then the doors open and he has to step onto the platform. Even though he's never felt more mortified in his life, Rei feels the corners of his mouth start to perk up, too. "Bye, Rei-chan!"

Rei realizes belatedly he should have specified what he meant by "it," exactly, but then, he's not entirely sure he knows. He stuffs the ice cream stick and wad of soiled tissues into a plastic bag he keeps for just such emergencies and is in the process of rinsing his hands with water from his bottle when he feels his phone vibrate.

and just so you know, I've never ever kissed Rin-chan!

Nagisa's message is complete with a string of heart-eyed emoticons that Rei can only look at for half a second before he has to pocket the phone again and close his eyes out of sheer humiliation. He's grinning now, though--he can't help it--and by the time his stop arrives he's composed an adequate response in his head that he quickly keys back on his walk across the platform.

Good is the first word, and typing that alone is so nerve-wracking that he has to will his thumbs to stay steady. Then, I might not be at practice tomorrow. I have something to do.

Rei then puts his phone away before he has an accident--he's already almost walked into two people on his way toward the exit. He's still feeling a little volatile, but somehow the adrenaline pumping through his veins feels like it's channeling that in a much more productive direction; all that anger is starting to feel a little more like protectiveness, and maybe he has a right to feel protective of this team.

His phone buzzes again, and Rei is only a little surprised by Nagisa's reply:

say hi to Rin-chan for me!

He doesn't respond, but he feels almost recklessly brave all of a sudden. Just because he can, he runs all the way home, and he even lets himself look at Nagisa's emoticons one more time before bed.

He falls asleep still holding his phone, and somehow when he wakes up it doesn't feel ridiculous at all.

end

Fic (Oofuri) - Disproportionate Retribution

2013-06-04T22:58:55Z

Title: Disproportionate Retribution
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Haruna/Mihashi; past Haruna/Abe and one-sided Abe/Mihashi
Word count: 4749
Warnings: Frotting? Is that something you warn for??
Summary: The only thing Haruna has on his mind when he decides to seduce Mihashi is vengeance. Really.
Notes: This is set post-high school, so everyone's college-age and there are references to games/events that haven't happened in canon. This also ended up a lot filthier than I initially intended, so um. Sorry/you're welcome? :D Thanks as usual to reallycorking for the read-through and feedback ♥

Haruna spots the Nishiura pitcher at a convenience store and stops dead in his path toward the cash register, a trail of condensation already running down his arm from the bottle of Pocari Sweat in his hand. The kid is scrawny as ever and looks at least two years younger than Haruna knows he really is, especially hunched over a baseball magazine like that, shoulders up around his ears, scanning the pages nervously like it's a porn mag he doesn't want to get caught reading.

That scrawny kid kicked your ass last time you played him, Haruna reminds himself, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth at the memory. Even after more than a year, it still stings. Nishiura's victory hadn't been just the pitcher's doing, of course; Haruna knows Takaya well enough to know he was instrumental in every single pitch thrown that day, but still, none of it could've happened if this kid didn't have such impeccable precision. The least Haruna can do is use his real name.

"Yo, Mihashi," Haruna tries, fairly certain he's got it correct but faltering when the kid doesn't immediately respond. But then the baseball magazine clutched in his hands slowly starts to lower, and he turns his head haltingly, almost like he's too stiff to move like a normal person.

"Uh--it is Mihashi, right?" Haruna squints to make sure but yeah, he definitely has the right guy, he'd recognize that weird face anywhere--and then Mihashi is flailing to stuff the magazine back in the rack and trying to bow to Haruna at the same time, extra-fast all of a sudden.

"Mihashi! Yes--Haruna-san! L-long time no see!"

Not much has changed since the last time Haruna talked to him, then. Haruna shifts a half-step away and wonders how the hell Mihashi can still be staring up at him with obvious stars in his eyes when Haruna's the one who was defeated spectacularly last time they had an encounter. It's weirdly flattering, though, and Haruna feels himself flush a little with gratification.

"Yeah, seriously." Haruna switches the bottle of Pocari Sweat from his right hand to his left and wipes his damp palm on the side of his pants. "You're at Rikkyo now, right?" He credits himself with only half a second's pause before he adds, "With Takaya?"

Mihashi nods enthusiastically, still staring at Haruna awe-struck, like he can't believe Haruna would have any idea what he's doing with his life. Truth be told, Haruna only knows because he keeps tabs on Takaya more than is strictly necessary, but he's long since come to terms with the fact that Takaya is an itch he'll never be able to scratch.

"How is he?" Haruna asks. Now that his thoughts have strayed down that path, he can't help himself. For whatever reason, this kid is the one Takaya chose over him; Haruna focuses his gaze a little more intently on Mihashi, scanning up and down, trying to get a good estimate of his weight and height. There's no question Haruna has him beat for looks, but he can see how Takaya would get a power trip out of such a meek, obedient personality.

Especially after me, Haruna thinks, with a little twinge of something not so much sad as bitter.

"Abe-kun is still helping me become a stronger pitcher," Mihashi replies.

"Ha," Haruna says, fully aware Mihashi is being one-hundred percent genuine but unable to keep from scoffing a little anyway. "Yeah," he says. "And other than baseball? You two are good?"

He's intending to embarrass Mihashi--not because he dislikes the kid, but because he's fucking human and he's allowed a little mean streak in light of everything--but instead of going even redder and wringing himself up into a knot like Haruna is expecting, Mihashi just blinks at him.

"Other than baseball?"

Haruna narrows his eyes. There's no way he's wrong, is there? Takaya and this kid have obviously been on the verge of marriage since their first year of high school, and he figured by now, in university, with no parents around and probably sharing a dorm room or something, they must be fucking. The last time Haruna was alone with Takaya, it had been made abundantly clear that whatever they were doing was over, anyway.

Haruna can't help the smirk that spreads across his mouth. Suddenly it's like the game is shifting in his favor.

"I'm at Waseda," Haruna says, ignoring Mihashi's questioning stare and changing the subject.

Mihashi takes the bait. "I know!" he says. "It's amazing--you have a really great baseball team!"

Rikkyo isn't too shabby either, but Haruna doesn't say so. "Yeah," he agrees smoothly. "It's only until I go pro, but still, they have an awesome campus. There's a huge field right on the grounds by my dorm. You should come see it sometime."

It looks like Mihashi's been struck by lightning, the way he jolts. "That would be amazing!"

Hook, line, and sinker. "Give me your phone," Haruna says, reaching out his free hand.

Mihashi's phone very nearly ends up shattered on the ground when he fumbles to pull it out of his pocket, but it finally ends up with Haruna, who keys his name, number and email in while a hot bubble of anticipation starts to burn in his stomach. He sends himself Mihashi's contact information, snaps the phone shut and hands it back.

"I'll let you know when's a good day," Haruna says, smirk splitting into a grin. Mihashi hasn't stopped gazing up at him like a teenage girl for the past five minutes.

"I'll tell Abe-kun!" Mihashi chirps, and Haruna bristles.

"It's better if you don't. We aren't really on great terms at the moment."

Predictably, Mihashi looks devastated by this news; he starts to squirm, and Haruna knows it'll take finesse to convince a kid like this to do anything even remotely deceptive. He leans in even closer, wrapping a strong arm around Mihashi's shoulders. They're still way too bony, but maybe a little more on the wiry side than the last time Haruna saw him.

"This'll just be between pitchers," he says with a wink.

He knows he's won when Mihashi's eyes go wide and starry again. Way too easy.

"Okay!" Mihashi chirps, and Haruna lets go just like that.

"See you soon," he says in farewell, and he doesn't even bother to look back after he finally buys his Pocari Sweat and strolls out of the store. He knows Mihashi is watching.

It's not like Haruna has an explicit desire to see Takaya suffer. He doesn't even hate him, although he's not sure Takaya would say the same if asked about Haruna. But he'll be damned if a little revenge doesn't sound sweet now that it's fallen right into his lap, and anyway, it's not like he's actually doing anything wrong. If Mihashi and Takaya really aren't dating, then there's nothing to feel guilty about.

He reminds himself of this when he texts Mihashi the weekend after their encounter and invites him over. Saturday night, 8:30. If Rikkyo is anything like Waseda, their baseball practice starts a little later on Sundays. Mihashi's affirmative reply even comes off as a chirp in text format, which is almost as impressive as it is annoying. Haruna makes sure he's showered and changed and the place is picked up before Mihashi's arrival, and he stocks enough beer in the fridge to take the edge off the kid's inevitable nervousness. By the time Mihashi texts to be let in, Haruna has already had a beer and a half and is buzzing from that among other things.

"Come in," Haruna says with a smile as he opens the door, and Mihashi stumbles over the threshold, bowing and stammering his gratitude. Haruna watches closely, trying to figure out the appeal, as Mihashi takes off his shoes and lines them up by the door with exaggerated care. Does Takaya actually get off on all that simpering? Is it the red hair?

"Is that the field?" Mihashi asks, darting to the window and gazing out with wide eyes.

Haruna studies the side of his face now, surprised to feel a little heat rise to his cheeks. There's something to the complete and utter innocence of Mihashi, Haruna decides--it makes him feel a little dirty, in a way he could get used to.

"Yeah," Haruna says, turning away to grab Mihashi a beer and popping it open. "I'll take you out there after this," he lies. He has no intention for them to leave this room.

"Oh," Mihashi says, turning around and accepting the bottle from Haruna, even as he looks at it doubtfully. "Abe-kun says we shouldn't drink beer--"

"Well, I already opened it," Haruna says, expecting this. "One won't kill you. I drink them all the time and I can still pitch."

Most of Mihashi's worry seems to melt away at this--God, the kid really is too easy--and he lifts the beer to his mouth, only a little hesitant, and takes a swig. He doesn't spit it out, but he does look uncertain about the taste.

"Is this your first beer?" Haruna asks, incredulous.

Mihashi looks a little bashful when he nods yes, and Haruna swallows, beer and something else burning all the way down to his stomach. There's no way Abe isn't fucking this kid.

"Cheers, then," Haruna says. He leans forward to clink bottles, and Mihashi thrusts his forward too eagerly, to the point that they're lucky the glass doesn't chip. Haruna rolls his eyes as he takes another drink.

"It's--not bad!" Mihashi says after another cautious sip or two. It occurs to Haruna, watching Mihashi start to take progressively bigger mouthfuls, that this is probably the first time the kid has had alcohol, period.

"Drink up," Haruna says. "I've got plenty."

Mihashi nods seriously and seems to concentrate even more on drinking after that, like Haruna has given him a direct order. Yeah, okay, he's definitely starting to get what has Takaya so obsessed. Mihashi might be frustrating as hell, but he's equal parts compelling; something about his aggressive earnestness makes it hard not to get sucked in.

The thought makes him feel weirdly, momentarily overwhelmed, so he turns away from Mihashi, draining his beer and retrieving another out of the fridge (his third, and whatever he told Mihashi, he's going to regret this at practice tomorrow).

"Sit down," Haruna says, gesturing toward the couch. Mihashi does so, and Haruna takes a seat next to him. "How's training going for you?"

Mihashi sits up a little straighter, his face screwing up in a weird, pained expression--is that Mihashi's version of resolve?

"I--won't talk about baseball with you," Mihashi says, his voice only quivering once.

Haruna stares, lost for words, and Mihashi shifts around a little.

"We're rivals," he explains, less emphatically.

He can't help himself; Haruna lets out a surprised bark of laughter. Rivals? Their universities, or does the kid actually mean him and Haruna?

His laughter dies out when Mihashi just blinks and Haruna realizes, frowning, that maybe that's exactly what Mihashi means. Maybe that's exactly why Haruna arranged all this in the first place.

"Okay," he says, recovering by running a hand through his hair and leaning just a little closer, invading Mihashi's personal space enough that he pulls back. "No baseball talk. How's Takaya?"

Mihashi looks relieved. "Abe-kun is good," he says. "We're roommates now."

Ha. "I knew it," Haruna says, taking a triumphant swig of beer. "You are fucking."

The shade of red that washes over Mihashi's face is actually a lot closer to purple--he looks like he's losing oxygen, he's so mortified, and he scrabbles away from Haruna to clutch the arm of the couch, splashing beer on his lap in the process.

"F--" Mihashi stammers, but that's all he can get out for a few seconds. Haruna just grins, drinks, and waits for him to continue.

"No," Mihashi manages at last. "We're--not. We--I--" Mihashi stops to take a deep breath and licks his lips nervously. "Abe-kun wouldnt," he finishes.

Just Abe-kun?

Haruna is surprised for a number of reasons, but especially because it has to be the truth; he's pretty sure this kid couldn't tell a lie if the Koushien championships depended on it.

"Okay," Haruna says slowly. "But you're dating, right?"

Mihashi's head shakes so violently it looks like it's going to fly off his shoulders.

"Abe-kun isn't . . ." Mihashi says, trailing off. Haruna knows what he's trying to say, but--

"Bullshit," he says. "We were messing around on and off all the time in high school."

He didn't mean for it to just get dropped like that, exactly, and Haruna at least has the decency to feel like shit for the way Mihashi's heart pretty much visibly shatters all over his couch.

It feels like a year before Mihashi finally says, "Oh." Just once, quietly and without stammering.

"Ah. Sorry." Haruna leans away, giving the kid some space again. His head is reeling, but probably not half as bad as Mihashi's. "I guess I just assumed he dumped me for you."

When he dares look sideways again, Mihashi is watching him in absolute disbelief.

"He wouldn't--" Mihashi says, tapping nervously at the mouth of his bottle. "You. For me."

That's when the guilt or whatever it is that Haruna is grappling with turns to something angrier. What the hell is wrong with Takaya, anyway? How many people's heads does he have to fuck with before he'll be done playing mind games?

"Well, good," Haruna says, setting his beer on the coffee table with swift resolve. "Then you won't mind."

"Mind--"

It's as far as Mihashi gets before Haruna's looming over him, gripping one of Mihashi's shoulders firmly so he can't escape and kissing him hard so he won't want to. Predictably, Mihashi struggles for a moment, but only a moment, and then he's just frozen there, letting Haruna press him further into the couch.

Haruna uses Mihashi's moment of paralysis or whatever to remove the beer from his hands and blindly set it on the table, and only finally breaks the kiss when it becomes apparent that Mihashi isn't going to kiss back or move or possibly even breathe if Haruna doesn't do something.

"Has he taught you how to kiss?" Haruna asks in a low voice.

This does the trick of breaking Mihashi out of his stupor, at least a little bit. He sucks in a deep breath, fixes doe-eyes on Haruna, and shakes his head no. Haruna was already flirting with a hard-on, but he can practically feel all the blood rushing to his dick right then.

"Lean back," Haruna instructs. Mihashi does so, and Haruna settles in, straddling his lap. He draws a thumb over Mihashi's mouth, encouraging it to fall open, which it does easily. "Just follow my lead," he says. "Don't use too much tongue, but some is good."

Mihashi's pulse is beating fast against Haruna's hand where it falls on his neck. Haruna doesn't take it slow. He sucks at Mihashi's lips until he can get inside his mouth at his tongue; after sucking there for a while, Mihashi gets the hint and tries to imitate his technique. He's hesitantly responsive rather than overzealous, which is weirdly sexy. Haruna is already grinding against Mihashi's stomach without even thinking about it.

"Lie down," Haruna says, out of breath, pulling away to allow Mihashi to follow orders.

Mihashi looked about ready to fall over anyway, and he lands on the cushions with a soft sigh, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. All Haruna's earlier annoyance with this kid is forgotten now, and his head fogs over with want. What is it about that bewildered face that's so fucking hot? Does he look at Takaya like this?

Haruna stretches over Mihashi's body, covering him and then some, and locks their mouths together, burying a hand in Mihashi's hair. After a few seconds of unrelenting face-sucking, he can feel Mihashi start to tense up in panic, so he pauses. Mihashi gasps like he's coming up from underwater.

"Just breathe with me," Haruna says, nudging at Mihashi's lips encouragingly, and it takes a little bit, but finally Mihashi gets it. In through the nose, out through the mouth, with occasional breaks to lick in between. Haruna bites once and the way Mihashi shivers all the way down his body totally undoes him; he starts to frot against Mihashi's hip relentlessly. He can feel Mihashi's hard-on, too, but Mihashi doesn't lift his hips to meet Haruna once.

Frozen again, Haruna thinks, and for some reason that makes him mad at Takaya again. He surfaces from their make-out session, looks Mihashi directly in the eye, and reaches down to palm him through his jeans. Even Mihashi can't stay still at that. He yelps, closes his eyes, and finally starts to move with the motion of Haruna's hand, just a little bit. As a reward, Haruna starts sucking on his neck greedily. He wants to leave a million marks on Mihashi's body, so Takaya sees him and knows exactly what happened and who it happened with.

"Ah--" The same thought seems to have occurred to Mihashi, who suddenly tugs at Haruna's hair, almost as if to pull his head away. Then his hand relaxes, and it's just fingers curling against Haruna's scalp.

"You don't have to feel bad," Haruna says, looking down at Mihashi's neck to survey his handiwork. Just as he suspected, Mihashi's skin bruises easily. He bites at the hickey for good measure, then darts lower to add another. Mihashi gasps again, writhing even more against Haruna's palm, and fuck, this kid is pressing every single one of Haruna's buttons all at once.

"It's Takaya's fault for not doing anything sooner."

Mihashi tenses at this, but Haruna doesn't let him stay tense for long. He thumbs open the first button of Mihashi's jeans and slides the zipper down, not waiting for Mihashi to protest before plunging a hand down his shorts and grabbing his dick. Mihashi's hips jerk; his fingers in Haruna's hair twist painfully tight.

"You can pretend I'm him if you want," Haruna says, abandoning a second hickey to return to Mihashi's mouth so he can suck the moan right out of him. He starts to jerk Mihashi fast, without any lead-up at all. The kid's probably never even had a handjob before, is probably going to come in fifteen seconds, but even that idea is a huge turn-on.

Haruna tugs up Mihashi's shirt and gets to work leaving marks on his chest, just so Takaya will be extra pissed: first the nipples, biting until they're swollen, then underneath, sucking an angry red trail all the way down to just above his hipbones.

Mihashi has managed to avoid coming so far, which Haruna gives him credit for. A wave of fondness overcomes Haruna suddenly, and he hardly knows what to do with it. Sure, part of this arose from wanting to piss off Takaya, but he wants to help out Mihashi, too. After all, maybe Mihashi is the only other person who really gets the way Takaya works under your skin and then just burns there, always present but never in the way you need him to be. Mihashi makes a soft, needy sound just as Haruna thinks it, and he starts to jerk as fast as he can, lowering his face centimeters from Mihashi's.

"Pretend you just won a huge game and he's rewarding you," he encourages, breathing hot against Mihashi's mouth. "Pretend you just kicked my ass again."

A different noise rips out of Mihashi's throat at that--something closer to a groan--and that's it, fuck it. Haruna lets go, slides down Mihashi's body, and starts to suck him off. He's bigger than Haruna was expecting--circumcised, too--and the smell of him is so dirty and good, like sex and sweat, that Haruna actually likes it, in stark contrast to the few other times he's given head. Both Mihashi's hands are in his hair now, tangling in a way that would hurt if Haruna had time to think about it. Haruna doesn't waste time licking and teasing anymore, just bobs up and down, as good a rhythm as he can manage, and he can tell by the way Mihashi's legs start trembling when he's about to come, but he doesn't stop. Instead, Haruna just lets it happen, swallows around Mihashi's dick again and again until there's nothing left to swallow.

Mihashi is boneless when Haruna finally pulls back. Haruna, on the other hand, is on fire, hard-on still twitching from the wet sound of Mihashi's dick slipping out of his mouth. He can't let Mihashi fade away just yet. He kisses him just as brutally as before, and there's nothing hesitant about it anymore: Mihashi kisses back, sucks back, even tries to nip at Haruna's lip when he turns away.

"Okay," Haruna says, starting to feel crazy with how much he wants this. There's a wet spot from his leaking dick that he doesn't have to see, he can feel it, and even the shift of fabric against it is starting to be painful. "Okay, now--I need--"

Mihashi seems to perk up a bit. After all, Haruna reminds himself, this kid basically lives to please people. It only takes a little coaxing, a little tug of the wrist, and then Mihashi's hand is working its way into Haruna's pants, wrapping around his hard-on with fingers that are impossibly cold, in light of everything.

"Fuck," Haruna says, lifting himself up on his knees and elbows to allow Mihashi better access. "Fuck, yeah, just--faster--"

It's not Mihashi's strength. His handjobs seem as slow as his pitches, but sloppy and inexperienced in a way his pitches never are. After a few seconds of frustrated thrusting into Mihashi's fist, Haruna can't take it anymore. He bats Mihashi's hand away, furiously pulls down his pants, and then tugs down Mihashi's, too.

"I'm not gonna do anything, I'm just gonna--like this--" Haruna's too impatient to really explain himself, but it should be self-evident what he means when he finally gets his dick in the right spot, between Mihashi's cheeks but not actually fucking him, just frotting against the line of his ass, which is tight and hot in its own right. He guides Mihashi's legs a little higher on either side of him until Mihashi's heels are digging into the small of his back, and that helps somewhat--Mihashi's ass cheeks clench together around Haruna's dick like an invitation, and it's almost as good as the real thing.

Mihashi is gasping, but not out of pain or anything more than exertion, Haruna's pretty sure. He can't quite get the friction he wants but still it feels good, Mihashi is hot and breathless underneath him and maybe this is better than the real thing, actually--it's definitely better than it ever was with Takaya. Haruna is making noise now, he knows it and he can't stop; he grunts and curses and pants and tries to suck a few more marks onto Mihashi's skin but gives up eventually, just breathing hot against his neck instead.

When he finally comes, it's so overpowering he can't stay on his knees anymore. They tremble and give out beneath him, so he just stays there, dick going limp and cold against Mihashi's skin, as he slowly becomes aware of the painful places where he's probably going to have rugburn later from too much friction with the couch.

He's almost asleep when Mihashi's hands stir, drifting down from his hair to his back, curling very gently there, almost like a reassurance, as if he's the one worried about Haruna. The thought is embarrassing, so Haruna lifts himself onto only slightly shaky elbows and looks Mihashi in the eye, hoping to appear collected and in control. In the end, looking at Mihashi right now isn't the best strategy for collecting himself. A dozen red and purple marks are vivid across his exposed skin, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and dark, leveled on Haruna in a way that makes him feel braindead. He can't think of anything to say at all.

After a few seconds, Mihashi twists a little under him. "My--leg," he says, quietly. Haruna sits back, allowing Mihashi to scoot out from under him and straighten up on the couch, although not before bashfully tugging his jeans back up his hips, buttoning them despite what must be a terrible wet mess inside.

"Hey," Haruna says, realizing that, eloquent or not, he has to tell Mihashi something, anything; he can't let Mihashi retreat into whatever kind of fucked up stuff goes on in his head without talking first. "I, uh--"

"You're a good person," Mihashi says, effectively killing any train of thought Haruna had.

"Huh?" Haruna's pretty sure he was already plenty red, but he must be blushing anyway, because his face feels extra hot.

Mihashi can't meet Haruna's eyes, but he's strangely emphatic, less stilted than the way he usually talks. "It's nice of you to--try and help me. Since Abe-kun doesn't feel like that."

The hell he doesn't Haruna thinks, glaring, but he's too ashamed of Mihashi's misconstruing of what were originally not even remotely good intentions to argue that point right now.

"Mihashi," Haruna starts, although he still doesn't have a thing to say.

"I'm sorry," Mihashi says, standing up and tugging at his shirt, trying in vain to look like he didn't just get fucked into a living room couch. "I shouldn't have--I need to go."

For a few seconds, while Mihashi struggles to get his shoes on, Haruna runs through all the things he could do to make him stay. It might work, even. There's a soft spot quickly growing in the pit of Haruna's gut for Mihashi's stupid face, and it's not like he owes Takaya any favors. But then, Mihashi wouldn't be tripping over himself to leave right now, looking half-panicked, if he didn't think he'd just made a huge mistake.

If he wasn't thinking about someone else instead.

"Hey," Haruna says again, tugging his jeans up and hurrying over to the entryway, before Mihashi can escape out the door. Mihashi straightens up and looks at him not fearfully, but maybe regretfully; maybe he's wishing this had happened another way, too.

"It'll be okay," Haruna says, leaning forward to kiss Mihashi one more time, chaste, on the mouth, before stepping back to give him air.

Mihashi looks at him with eyes filled with nothing but admiration and gratitude, and then he's out the door, and Haruna's alone.

He returns to the couch in a daze, picks up Mihashi's only half-empty beer and drinks from it, running through the scenario of what will happen when Mihashi gets home in his head. It'll probably take approximately ten seconds before Takaya gets everything out of him, and then he'll be furious--but at who? All the details, from the secret meeting to the beer, point to an encounter very carefully orchestrated by Haruna, and as long as Mihashi just tells it like it is, Takaya should be able to recognize it as such. It's irrelevant that somewhere in the course of the past hour, Haruna started to wonder if maybe seducing Mihashi was about something more than just getting revenge. As long as Takaya's rage at Haruna for intentionally seducing Mihashi overshadows his rage at Mihashi for going along with it, this might even end up being a good thing for them. Maybe a harsh dose of reality is exactly what Takaya needs to finally do something about all his stupid, obvious pining. Haruna doesn't give a shit if Takaya ends up happy or not, but what he has infuriatingly come to realize is that maybe he does when it comes to Mihashi.

He has to be the bad guy, then. Haruna sighs and gropes around in the couch cushions until he finds his phone, flipping it open and searching for Takaya in his contact list. He keys out a message, fast and angry, in no time at all, and stops to read it over.

thanks for letting me borrow your pitcher for a little while tonight. he should be on his way back now. hope he's not too worse for wear.

Something even sharper than bile rises to the back of Haruna's throat then, and he has to wash it away with a mouthful of beer.

You don't deserve him, he thinks bitterly, just before hitting send.

Fic (2NE1) - 10 Fingers

2013-02-27T15:18:25Z

Title: 10 Fingers
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: CL/Minji
Word count: 6563
Warnings: None? I think?
Summary: Chaerin comes out during a game of 10 Fingers, and Minji doesn't exactly take it well.
Notes: Well, two days before the end of February I finally make good on my promise to post femslash. This was supposed to be a roughly 2000 word fic with like, maybe a little making out in it, so naturally it ended up 6500 words and NC-17. I am a creep. Thank you soooo much to reallycorking for the speedy betaing and the cheerleading. This is a little rough because I banged it out fast and I am in grad school, so any remaining issues are totally my fault.

Chaerin has a habit of getting herself into trouble at clubs. She should have taken it as a warning sign when Teddy suggested, after buying everyone a round of drinks, that they all play Ten Fingers, a game he and Bom know from the U.S., but the rum and Coke buzzing through Chaerin’s head—it’s affecting her more than it should be, but she hasn’t eaten all day so she has an excuse—made saying yes easy.

Teddy, Seungho, and the rest of 2NE1 are all squeezed together in a big booth in one of their regular clubs with strong drinks and loud music. Minji only turned old enough to start coming out with them recently, and CL has been pushing regular outings ever since, because getting Minji tipsy is both easy and fun. Tonight, though, Chaerin is looking to get drunker faster.

"I still don’t get it," Dara says, even though they’re two rounds in. "Do I put a finger down or up if I’ve done it?"

"Down," Chaerin, Teddy and Bom say in unison.

"And then drink," Teddy adds.

Dara pulls a face. "I don’t like this game."

"You haven’t even had to do anything yet," Chaerin says, annoyed, maybe because she’s down two for two. It's time to play dirty. "I’ve never been in a talent competition in the Philippines."

The noise of outrage Dara makes is so high-pitched Chaerin almost regrets it. "No fair!"

"That's how you play the game," Chaerin says. "Now drink!"

Dara does, still scowling, while Teddy and Seungho laugh appreciatively.

"Don't laugh or I'll get my revenge on you," Dara warns, after knocking back a mouthful. She likes to pretend to be sensitive to alcohol, but Chaerin has noticed that drinks always seem to go down surprisingly easy for little Sandara.

"Scary," Seungho deadpans. Teddy keeps snickering.

"Fine," Dara says, sticking out her tongue. "I've never made out with a girl."

Bom and Minji burst into laughter while Seungho and Teddy make a few obligatory groans of complaint. It's as good a distraction as Chaerin's going to get, so she casually folds down a finger and takes a small sip from her Coke. For a few moments, it even seems like she's going to get away with it.

"Hey," Seungho says, wiping his mouth after a swallow of one of those sugary cocktails he loves. He points at Chaerin and she tries not to flinch. "I thought you only had two out?"

"Hmm?" Chaerin pretends to be suddenly invested in stirring her drink with its little straw.

"Didn't you just take a drink?" Bom asks. She's probably genuinely clueless and not actually trying to ruin everything, but Chaerin can't help glaring sideways at her.

"Holy shit. I fucking KNEW IT." Teddy is jostling Seungho's shoulder suddenly and grinning the most shit-eating grin Chaerin has ever seen. "Tell me I'm awake. Tell me I'm not dreaming. This is the best moment of my life."

Seungho can't tell Teddy anything; he's too busy staring, open-mouthed, at Chaerin, along with everyone else at the table. Chaerin has never felt more scrutinized in her life, and she's posed for photo shoots in some pretty fucking revealing outfits.

"Whose turn is it?" Chaerin asks, hoping—futilely, she knows, but she's got to try—to change the subject and just move on.

"Details," Teddy says, not diverted for a second. "Who was it? That chick from f(x)? She's kinda butch."

Chaerin shifts in her seat and stares anywhere but at her bandmates' faces, feeling an anger boil in her gut she's rarely felt for anyone before, and never for Teddy. "God, shut up," she growls, not playful in the least.

"Chaerin? You're joking, right?" Dara is half-smiling, half-gaping, and Chaerin should probably just be grateful Dara doesn't look disgusted, but she's not, somehow. Why the hell did she decide to be honest, anyway?

"It's not a big deal," Chaerin says, although she knows it's too late for that to be true now. At her left, Bom is blinking bewildered doe-eyes at her, and Minji, across the table, is frowning like she's trying to do complicated calculations in her head. "It was just messing around during training." The lie makes her feel a little sick.

Teddy cackles like an overjoyed kid, jostling Seungho even more violently. "Shit," he says. "Fucking training? Did you get this from a fan fiction or something? What was her name? What did she look like? Did she—you know—" He gestures enormous phantom tits in front of himself, and now Chaerin feels really sick.

"Fuck you," she says. She hates how hot her face feels, how inexplicably mortifying this night has become.

"Gross," Bom says, thankfully snapping out of it and leaning over to smack the brim of Teddy's baseball cap. "Who talks like that? There are girls here!"

"I dunno," Teddy says, settling back and readjusting his cap, still grinning like a total dick. "I feel like Chaerin's just one of the guys now."

"She couldn't be as disgusting as you if she tried," Dara pipes in.

Chaerin should appreciate the support, but she can't help but notice Minji's conspicuous silence. She feels shaky with anger and embarrassment all of a sudden, and this club is the last place in the world she wants to be.

"Whatever. I'm gonna go," she says, standing and finishing off her rum and Coke in one enormous swallow. Bom takes a moment to realize this means she has to get out of the booth, then almost knocks her glass over in her effort to scoot across the vinyl.

"Are you sure, Chaerin?" Bom says gently.

"Come on, don't be like that," Teddy says, trying to laugh everything off, like he doesn't even understand this is nothing like one of their stupid little studio jokes. "Look, I'll stop bugging you about your little bi-curious phase, okay? Don't be so sensitive."

"I'm tired," Chaerin says, honestly. "I'm just gonna call Manager for a ride. I'll see you all tomorrow."

She doesn't stay to hear any more protests. Chaerin strides across the bar and out the back door without a glance behind her, but all the same, she can't stop seeing Seungho and Minji's faces frozen just as they were when she left them—open-mouthed and stunned silent, like they'd never heard anything so ridiculous in their lives.

Her name was Hyejin, and she didn't make the cut. It didn't surprise anyone; Hyejin always said herself she wasn't meant for this idol stuff, didn't have the discipline to diet and study and train for days on end with no sleep, and she was only there because her parents wanted it for her. Chaerin was a hard worker from the start and knew what she wanted, but that didn't stop her from liking Hyejin. She was a year older than Chaerin and cool in a way Chaerin could only hope to emulate someday. She had chin-length hair with harsh bangs most girls in training would never risk and she was constantly breaking curfew and sneaking out of the dorms, buying illicit sweets and cigarettes at convenience stores that she'd only share if she liked you. The first time she invited Chaerin out to the nearby park for a smoke, Chaerin couldn't bring herself to admit she'd never touched a cigarette in her life.

"Do you like it here?" Hyejin asked, smacking the pack of cigarettes against the flat of her hand before pulling one out for Chaerin. It was dark, probably after midnight, and cold. Chaerin watched her breath puff out in front of her in the light of a streetlamp and tried to will the concrete wall they were leaning against to cut the wind more effectively.

Chaerin took it and held it unsurely between finger and thumb. "Yeah," she said after a little pause. "I mean, not everything. I don't like the dieting and all the curfews and crap. But I'm grateful to be here. I wanna do this."

Hyejin's smile was crooked, but not, Chaerin noted with relief, scornful. "You might make it, y'know," she said. "I could see you making it."

"Yeah right."

Taking a cue from Hyejin, Chaerin put the cigarette between her lips and leaned over so Hyejin could light it. By some profound miracle, she managed not to choke out anything worse than a weak little cough on the first exhale.

"I'm gonna make my parents send me to college after I drop out." Hyejin puffed at her cigarette expertly and Chaerin tried not to marvel too openly at the side of her face. "They could afford it if they'd stop pouring all their money into this place."

"What do you want to study?" Chaerin asked, swallowing.

"Hell if I know," Hyejin said. She smirked and Chaerin's mouth went dry; she started hacking, finally, just the kind of embarrassing thing she'd been hoping to avoid.

"Your own too much for you?"

Hyejin pushed off the wall and stepped in front of Chaerin, plucking the cigarette from her fingers and dropping it on the ground. She stepped on it in the same movement that she pressed Chaerin against the wall, kissing her with a mouthful of smoke. Chaerin put both hands on Hyejin's breastbone and kissed back. She'd been expecting this, as much as she'd tried not to admit it to herself; everyone in the dorms had heard the rumors by now about what it meant when Hyejin took a shining to you.

"How'd you know I'd like it?" Chaerin had asked Hyejin later, after their third or fourth make-out session, her face burning with the question even though Hyejin's hands were up her shirt. She was being vague but she knew Hyejin would understand.

Hyejin had just shrugged. "I didn't."

Everyone is terrified of her at the studio the next day. Chaerin is glad, in a way; Teddy is completely businesslike and doesn't test her once, and even YG seems to understand, when he pops in to check on their progress, not to make any comments about Chaerin's lack of make-up today. She's starting to enjoy the unprecedented space everyone gives her, in fact, until she accidentally snaps at Bom for singing while they wait for Teddy to sync a few cuts together on the computer—for singing, of all offenses—and feels immediately horrible.

"Sorry, Unni," Chaerin sighs, squeezing her temples. "I'm kind of—I'm gonna go get some coffee."

She slips out of the studio and takes her time walking to the elevator, not in any hurry to get back. When Bom appears just in time to stop the elevator doors from closing and slips in next to Chaerin, Chaerin can only stare, at a loss.

"I want coffee too," Bom says innocently, stabbing the button to the sixth floor, where the kitchens are.

"Unni—" Chaerin says.

"I don't care, you know," Bom says, blinking at the ceiling like there's something interesting up there.

Chaerin flushes.

"There were a lot of gay guys at Berklee," she says, looking at Chaerin now, and it's so earnest Chaerin's embarrassment immediately melts into amusement.

She lets out a surprised laugh and then covers her mouth. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, Unni."

Bom smiles with her eyes and gestures, once the elevator stops and the doors open with a ding, for Chaerin to exit before her. They get coffee out of the vending machine—Bom going for one of the sugary lattes Chaerin distinctly heard her swearing to Hwang-ssabu she wouldn't touch ever again—and wait for their drinks to cool in comfortable silence.

"Dara said she doesn't care either," Bom informs her, blowing on her latte.

When Bom doesn't go on, Chaerin has to ask, stirring her coffee and trying to look like she's not really that interested: "And Minji?"

Bom's eyes fall a little, and Chaerin feels her stomach fall with them. "I don't think she gets it," Bom says. "You might want to talk to her."

Talking to Minji about sexual preferences is the last thing Chaerin wants to do in this century, but she swallows around the lump in her throat and nods anyway.

"Thanks," she says. "We should probably get back."

It's hard not to notice, once they're back in the studio and Chaerin takes a seat on the couch, the way Minji shifts just slightly to the side.

Chaerin has a photo session that runs late the next night, and when she gets home, bone-tired and sore, her feet suffering from her heels more than usual, it's already after 2 a.m. An earlier text from Bom informed everyone she would be staying at her mother's tonight, and when Chaerin pokes her head in the bedroom to drop off her bag, she confirms that Dara is fast asleep. Minji, however, is conspicuously absent. Chaerin goes into the kitchen and pours herself a glass of barley tea, and when she hears the door to the bathroom open and shut she tries not to turn around too quickly.

Minji is in her pajamas and toweling off her hair, and she looks a little startled to see Chaerin.

"I thought maybe you weren't coming home tonight," she says, cinching the towel into place on top of her head.

Chaerin shrugs. "Just a late night."

Minji nods and they both stand there, the atmosphere so awkward and weighted that Chaerin can't take it for more than a few seconds. She turns around and grabs the pitcher of tea to pour herself another glass, even though she knows if she drinks much more she'll just have to pee in an hour.

"Um," Minji says, in the kitchen suddenly. Chaerin turns around again and raises her eyebrows.

"Can you pour some for me too?"

Chaerin pauses, but in the end takes another glass out of the cupboard and hands it to Minji, who holds while Chaerin pours.

"Thanks," Minji says. Then, in a rush, "Are you a lesbian, Unni?"

It takes every ounce of grace Chaerin possesses not to spit tea all over herself. She chokes on it instead, muffling her coughs into the sleeve of her shirt until the fit dies down and she can breathe again.

"Sorry," Minji says. Her towel is starting to droop, so she shrugs it off and drapes it over her shoulder, wet lavender hair falling in front of her face. "It's just—kind of weird."

Chaerin's eyebrows raise again. "Weird?" she repeats.

"I mean," Minji says quickly, "that we never knew. Or I never knew, I guess."

"Look," Chaerin interrupts, impatient even though she knows she should be trying harder; this is Minji and she's only just twenty and Chaerin is the leader, which means she has certain responsibilities. It's just— "I'm exhausted. If you're going to have some big freak-out right now, I'd rather save it for the morning."

"I'm not freaking out!" Minji says. Her voice has certainly taken on a much higher register than usual, however, and she's starting to look a little flushed.

"Okay," Chaerin says. "Can I go to bed, then?"

Minji steps out of the way, frowning, and Chaerin puts her glass in the sink and starts making her way toward the bathroom, her heartbeat suddenly wild.

"Have you—" Minji calls out from behind her, and Chaerin stops but doesn't turn around. "You know—like—with a girl?"

Chaerin is glad Minji can't see her face right now; she squeezes her eyes shut tight and counts to five under her breath, willing away a burst of sadness or panic or something in between.

"You don't have to worry, Mingkki," Chaerin says at length. "I'm not gonna molest you or watch you changing or anything, okay?"

She resumes her path to the bathroom then, and Minji calls after her again, but she doesn't stop. By the time she's finished showering and getting ready for bed, Minji is buried beneath her covers and the lights are off.

On Thursday, Chaerin has a recording session alone. Alone except for Teddy, that is, who hasn't made direct eye contact with her since the night they played Ten Fingers. It's awkward for both of them, but Teddy seems to be handling the tense silence between recordings worse than Chaerin. He keeps clearing his throat and bouncing his knee, and sometimes when Chaerin looks up from her magazine he's clicking back and forth between windows on the computer screen without actually working on anything.

"Okay," Chaerin says, unable to take it anymore, setting her magazine down on the couch next to her. "If you're gonna say something, just say it. You're fucking stressing me out."

Teddy spins around in his chair, looking startled and guilty all at once. "Huh? I'm not—"

Chaerin levels him with a stare and Teddy balks.

"Alright. Fine. It has—come to my attention—that maybe I was a little. Inappropriate. The other night."

Chaerin snorts but doesn't interrupt. Teddy seems to have been hoping for Chaerin to say something, but when she doesn't, he clears his throat again.

"Seungho said—" This is obviously the hardest thing Teddy has ever done in his life; his face is getting redder by the second and he keeps tugging on his hood as if it might hide his shame if he just tugged hard enough. "Fuck. Sorry, okay? I'm sorry."

It's hard to stay mad with Teddy when he's all mortified, but Chaerin makes sure to keep her face expressionless just so he doesn't think he's off the hook yet.

"Okay," she says.

Teddy shifts in his chair. "Okay?" he says. "That's it?"

"I'm not gonna say 'It's fine' or whatever. You were an asshole. But okay, I accept your apology." Teddy still looks guilty enough that she allows a slight smile then. "Seungho really told you to apologize?"

"Dude," Teddy says, his voice going suddenly very earnest as he leans forward in his chair. "Did you know Seungho's gay?"

Chaerin manages to keep a straight face for about a second and a half before she bursts out laughing.

"You're joking, right?" She covers her mouth and laughs again. "Have you met Seungho? How could you have ever thought for a second he was into girls?"

"Shut up," Teddy says, but he's grinning now, finally relaxed. "I'm bad at this kinda thing, alright?"

"Obviously." Chaerin wipes her eyes on her sleeve and stands up from the couch. "Are we gonna finish this song or what?"

A few minutes later, once Chaerin has warmed up in the sound booth and settled the headphones on her ears, Teddy's voice comes over the speaker.

"I made out with a dude in college once," he says, nonchalant.

Chaerin lowers the headphones and squints at Teddy through the glass. He's trying to look cool, but she can see his fingers drumming nervously on the desk.

"Yeah, okay," she says, rolling her eyes. "I'll try to remember it's your internalized self-loathing talking next time you say something stupid and homophobic." The second the words leave her mouth, she sucks in a sharp breath, having a sudden epiphany.

"Shut up," Teddy says. "See if I ever open up to you again. And we were really high, just so you know."

Chaerin laughs again, but she's distracted now. Teddy lets her out early in the end, and she's glad they're good again, but she's especially glad to be heading home. She needs to talk to Minji.

It's dark by the time Chaerin makes it back, nearly out of breath from her rush to get there, and she's relieved when she opens the front door to find Minji sitting on the couch alone, watching TV and eating dried seaweed.

"Hi," Chaerin says.

"Hi," Minji says, stiffly.

"Where's everyone at?"

"Bom's at her house again and Dara's still doing the spread for CLIO." Minji grabs a throw pillow and starts to pick at it.

Chaerin takes her time kicking off her shoes, lining them up against the wall before slowly making her way to the couch. She sits down heavily, a few inches to the right of Minji, who keeps her gaze fixed ahead at the TV.

"Yes," Chaerin says, keeping her gaze fixed ahead too.

Minji turns, head cocked. "Huh?"

"Yes, I've had sex with a girl. More than one girl, actually." It makes Chaerin's stomach jump to say it but her voice holds steady, and then she turns too, meeting Minji's gaze dead-on. "Does that bother you?"

Minji's face is transforming before Chaerin's eyes from faintly pink to lipstick-red. "No," she says, fingers tightening around the pillow clutched in her lap.

"Good," Chaerin says. "Because it's not something that's gonna go away now. We're gonna have to either be okay or not be okay."

"We're okay," Minji says, quiet, breaking their eye contact to look down at her pillow. Chaerin is about to say something else, but she promptly forgets what when Minji goes on, "I had sex with a boy."

Something strangely bitter, maybe protectiveness, flickers in Chaerin's chest, but she doesn't let it show. "Oh," she says, frowning. It's not like any of them actually believed Minji was some innocent little girl who would never grow up, but it does surprise her that she didn't know. "Uhh—"

"Back at home," Minji elaborates. "When I was 16."

Chaerin has to choke back a little shout of outrage at that, but she collects herself, if only by digging her fingernails into her palms.

"I didn't know that," Chaerin says, stupidly, but Minji's fallen silent now, and she looks dangerously ready to bolt, eyeing the bedroom sideways, like she doesn't know Chaerin would just follow her if she tried to escape at this point.

"That's—okay?" Chaerin adds, wondering suddenly if approval is what Minji is looking for. Minji's face scrunches up at that, though, like she's about to cry, and Chaerin scoots closer on the couch on instinct, putting a reassuring hand on Minji's shoulder, because if there's anything she can't stand, it's watching her girls cry.

"It wasn't okay," Minji says, her voice raspier than usual. "It was terrible. We were so awkward and it hurt and it was over really fast and once we were finished I didn't even want to look at him. I just wanted to disappear."

"Sweetie," Chaerin says, squeezing her shoulder, not sure what else to say.

"It wasn't even nice when we kissed." Minji finally ditches the pillow to pull her knees in to her chest and rest her chin on top. "I never liked it. But I thought I was supposed to, so I kept seeing him, until we had sex. And then he kept calling me but I wouldn't call him back and finally he just stopped."

Chaerin feels like her breath is caught in her throat. She swallows thickly and starts to rub small circles into Minji's shoulder, at a loss. "I'm sorry," she says. Minji sniffs and wipes her nose across the back of her hand.

"But hey," Chaerin says, "you didn't do anything wrong, okay? You don't ever have to like someone just because they like you."

Minji sniffs again, but she looks just the tiniest bit reassured when she tilts her chin to look at Chaerin. "Do you like me?" she asks, causing Chaerin's hand to freeze in place.

"What?" Chaerin says.

"Do you like me?" It sounds so casual, the way Minji says it, but the way she shifts so she's facing Chaerin more directly is somewhat less so.

"If I did," Chaerin says, choosing her words carefully, "you wouldn't have to worry about it. I wouldn't do anything to make you uncomfortable."

Minji scoots closer to Chaerin on the couch then, so their hips are touching, and that's definitely not casual. "You could if you wanted," she says, meeting Chaerin's eyes with surprising boldness. "I wouldn't mind."

Things are rapidly careening down a very dangerous path, so Chaerin takes both Minji's shoulders in hand, keeping her at a firm arm's length.

"Minji," she says, using her sternest leader-voice. "Stop."

"Why?" Minji takes hold of Chaerin's wrists.

"Because," Chaerin says, "this isn't a joke to me. I'm not just gonna kiss you because you didn't like kissing a boy." Better not to address what other things she could do better than a boy, she thinks.

"It's not just that," Minji says, starting to tug at Chaerin's wrists now, trying to get her to release her grip.

Chaerin's hold is fast but she doesn't know how much longer she can keep it up in the face of Minji's unwavering gaze, the slight downward curve of her lips. "Then what?" she asks.

"You're pretty," Minji says. "I can't stop looking at you all the time." Chaerin's hands do slip at that, but she finds a new grip quicker than Minji can pry them away.

"Shut up," Chaerin says, warmth creeping up her neck.

"You are," Minji says. She shifts her legs so she's kneeling now, leaning over Chaerin slightly, and Chaerin knows if she just let her arms go, Minji would be on top of her in a second. "And you're the coolest person I know. I want to be around you all the time."

"What the hell, Minji?" Chaerin snaps. "Two days ago you were calling me weird for kissing a girl and now you're trying to crawl into my lap?"

That gives Minji some pause, finally; she rocks back on her heels and frowns, releasing Chaerin's wrists. Chaerin keeps her hands in place on Minji's shoulders, just in case.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't mean that."

Chaerin's head is starting to seriously throb. "It's fine," she says, not unaware she's letting Minji off a lot easier than Teddy. "I'm just having a hard time wrapping my head around the sudden change of heart."

Minji's frown tightens, wavering dangerously on the border of a pout. "I just thought it wasn't okay," she says. "Since we're idols and everything—"

For a second, Chaerin is ready to be offended again, but then Minji elaborates, "I thought we had to like boys."

"Fuck, Minji," Chaerin says, heart breaking a little. "They can tell you what to eat and what to wear, but don't ever, ever let them tell you who you love, okay?"

Minji levels her with a look, and before Chaerin has time to reflect on the fact that at some point she let her arms drop without realizing it, Minji is lunging forward, pushing Chaerin back against the armrest with a kiss.

The kiss itself isn't so mind-blowing—just a press of lips to lips, a little readjustment until they fit together better—but the feel of Minji pressing warm against Chaerin is. Minji places one hand on Chaerin's cheek and one on her neck, and Chaerin's skin feels like it's burning up under her touch. She hesitates for a few seconds before letting her hands fall on Minji's back, hyper-conscious of the way they're shaking.

"Minji," Chaerin says gently, pulling back just enough to break the kiss. "We—we need to think really hard about this, before—"

"I already have," Minji whines, darting in to try and kiss Chaerin again, letting out a small noise of exasperation when Chaerin evades her. "I've been thinking about it nonstop since Friday."

Chaerin would laugh at the way Minji can make a week sound like forever, but this is anything but funny. Still, it gives Chaerin a surprised sort of warmth to hear it, and she can't help the smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth.

"A whole five days, huh?"

Minji successfully swoops in for a second kiss this time, maybe out of punishment for Chaerin's joke, and this time it's longer, a little harder to break off.

"Longer than that," Minji amends while Chaerin is catching her breath, hovering just above her mouth. "I think about it sometimes when you're singing. Especially when you rap."

A stab of mingled surprise, embarrassment, and want hits Chaerin, causing her to breathe out a little more shakily than she intended. One of her hands finds its way into Minji's hair, fingers curling against the back of her head. "Really?" she manages.

She's had her share of guilty moments watching Minji during music video shoots—the ones where they dress her up men's clothes or leather and spikes especially—but she's always done her best to deny them, even if that meant not looking up from her phone for 40 minutes.

"Yeah," Minji answers, breathing out slowly against Chaerin's mouth. "What about me?"

The only answer Chaerin can produce is to pull Minji in for another kiss, this time on her terms. She sucks on Minji's bottom lip first—and to be perfectly honest, it's not the first time she's thought about it—before nudging her mouth open with a bite, digging her fingernails into Minji's scalp when Minji lets out a moan. Chaerin licks at Minji's tongue teasingly and Minji gasps, so Chaerin retreats, although not by much.

"You okay?" she asks, remembering too well Minji's story about her first kiss.

Minji lets out an impatient sound and presses even closer, if that's possible, her thigh dangerously present between Chaerin's legs. She bites Chaerin's lip right back and soon they're kissing in earnest, Minji giving no indication if she's inexperienced at this, sucking at Chaerin's tongue with at least as much enthusiasm as Chaerin herself. In her head, Chaerin was plotting a course of action—maybe a little making out but nothing beyond that, because they need to talk about things first, dammit—but Minji makes the sweetest, breathiest little gasps of pleasure when Chaerin angles her thigh just right, and it's too easy to dissolve into full-fledged grinding from there, their legs tangling together and hips arching off the couch.

"We should stop," Chaerin says, breathless, in between sucking on Minji's mouth and the side of her neck, where she can already see a purplish bruise forming.

"Don't," is all Minji responds, and Chaerin has to agree when Minji's eyes fall shut and she starts riding Chaerin's thigh in earnest, her gasps turning into quiet little Ahhs and moans. Chaerin slips her thumbs under the waistband of Minji's pants—not too low, but low enough to make Minji shudder, especially when Chaerin starts to rub small circles into the skin there, just to the side of Minji's hipbones.

The urgency with which Minji rubs against her is starting to become increasingly obvious, and Chaerin feels at once filthy and extremely possessive, drunk with the pride of being the one to make Minji act like this.

"Don't stop," Minji urges again, like that's even a consideration at this point, but just to make absolutely certain, she takes one of Chaerin's hands and drags it up to her chest, forcing Chaerin to grab her hard, letting go only when Chaerin has taken initiative to start rubbing in rough circles. It makes Chaerin feel dizzy for several reasons, primary among them that Minji has hands down the best tits Chaerin has ever seen and she's not wearing a bra, and Chaerin can feel the way her nipple gets rock hard through her t-shirt, can drag her thumb across it as slow as she wants.

"Chaerin," Minji says, urgently, sounding a little lost, her hips starting to tremble. Chaerin completely gives up on restraint then, because she is anything but a saint, and she lets the hand at Minji's hip slip all the way under her waistband, trailing slow through the coarse hair there, causing them both to gasp when she pushes inside Minji's underwear and finds her fingers immediately wet.

Minji starts to lose it, groaning loud and jolting her hips forward, when Chaerin just barely strokes two fingers across her cunt, just enough to get them nice and slick. She circles Minji's clit, first gently, then with increasing force as Minji rocks against her encouragingly. Chaerin wants to watch the expression on Minji's face but it's almost too much, so she goes back to sucking at Minji's neck instead, letting Minji set the pace as she rubs progressively faster and harder. Minji is cursing now, finding a firm hold in Chaerin's hair, tugging in a way that would hurt if it weren't so damn hot.

"Chaerin," Minji pants again. She readjusts, spreading her legs enough that Chaerin takes it as an invitation—she starts to finger her just a little, still keeping up the pressure and pace against her clit with the palm of her hand. Minji bucks against her twice, three times, hard and rough, and that's it—Chaerin can both hear and feel her come, the way she whines and shakes, then slowly wilts, collapsing forward and burying her face against Chaerin's neck.

Chaerin helps her ride it out, backing off slightly but still caressing with a light touch, until Minji's breathing is almost back to normal. That's when Minji lifts her head again and takes Chaerin's face in her hands. They kiss, hard and messy, Chaerin's heart beating faster than Minji's at this point, because she can't believe how perfectly destroyed Minji looks, how fucking turned on Chaerin is just from looking at her.

Minji pulls back shortly, her hands still on Chaerin's face, and says, "Will you teach me how to go down on you?"

It's naturally at exactly that moment, as Chaerin is trying wildly to figure out how to produce coherent language, that they hear the sound of the front door opening. Minji hesitates for a nanosecond before jerking off of Chaerin and over to the opposite side of the couch, pulling a pillow into her lap. Chaerin can only really force herself to sit up halfway straight.

"Aigoo, I'm so tired," Dara sighs, bursting into the entryway and bending down to untie her shoes. She doesn't look up at either of them once, instead launching into a monologue. "I didn't have any dinner and it went three hours longer than they said. Three hours! I wonder if Hwang-ssabu will kill me if I'm late tomorrow. . . ."

Chaerin glances to the side, notices the giant hickey on the side of Minji's neck, and raises her eyebrows, gesturing at the same place on her own neck quickly. Minji rips a blanket off the couch and around her shoulders, and that almost covers it.

"I'm going to take a shower," Dara says, walking past them both to the bedroom. She disappears inside briefly, then reappears with a towel and robe. "Will you make me something to eat, Mingkki? You're the best cook."

"Ah—okay," Minji says, looking at Chaerin desperately. Chaerin just shrugs her shoulders.

"Hey," Dara says, pausing to frown at Chaerin, who goes immediately rigid. "Don't you have a super early session tomorrow?"

Which is how Chaerin ends up in bed ten minutes later, wide awake and horny as hell, while Minji makes green tea and rice in the kitchen. She's starting to feel a little pissed about it, even, but when Minji comes in and climbs into bed a little later, she pauses to give Chaerin a bashful smile, and somehow, stupidly, that makes up for everything.

The next day is the longest work day of Chaerin's life, for a lot of reasons. Somehow she manages to pass everyone who has ever frequented YG Studios by the time evening rolls around except for Minji, but that doesn't stop Chaerin from obsessing over her; she hasn't been able to stop replaying the events of the night before in her head since she woke up, and it's wreaking havoc on her ability to get shit done, which everyone from Hwang-ssabu to Teddy has made note of.

"Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you today? You sick or something?" Teddy waves a hand in front of Chaerin's face and she stops chewing on her thumb and faces him guiltily.

"Yeah," Chaerin says, trying not to glance too obviously at the clock on the wall of the studio, taking this as a possible means of escape. "Yeah, I don't know, I'm feeling kind of off. Maybe I am getting sick." It's 7:45. Chaerin knows all the girls' schedules pretty much by heart, and unless her workout is going over, Minji should be home in another hour at the latest.

Teddy sighs. "Fine," he says, not sounding even remotely convinced but waving a dismissive hand at her anyway. "You're useless to me like this. Go home and watch TV or whatever, I have shit to do with Tablo anyway."

"You're the best!" Chaerin jumps up from the couch and grabs her bag, pausing by Teddy's chair to give him an overly enthusiastic hug. "If YG comes around tell him I look really bad, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Chaerin releases him and waves before slipping out the door. She shrugs into her coat, scans the hall just to make sure YG isn't anywhere in sight, and then takes out her phone to text her manager for a ride. She starts walking while she types, and as she turns the corner toward the elevators, she runs into someone walking the opposite way.

Her phone drops to the floor with a clatter but Chaerin doesn't bend down to pick it up, because Minji is only centimeters away, grinning.

Chaerin feels a smile start to creep across her face. "Aren't you supposed to be working out?"

"I told him I was sick," Minji says. "Aren't you supposed to be recording?"

"Yeah, I think I might be coming down with something too," Chaerin says.

They both laugh. Chaerin wants to kiss her more than anything, but this is the last place in the world they should do it, so instead she reaches out and takes Minji's hand—they can at least get away with that—and squeezes her fingers lightly. "Wanna go grab dinner?" she asks.

Minji's eyes light up. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"Do you want me to be asking you on a date?" Chaerin's smile splits into a grin. She knows the answer by now, but she really just wants to hear Minji say it.

"Duh." Minji darts her face in close to Chaerin's, fast enough that Chaerin doesn't see it coming, and plants a kiss on her cheek. Chaerin can feel her cheeks get red, but she supposes, even if someone saw, it wouldn't have to be anything more than a friendly gesture. They do stuff like this all the time.

Then Minji puts her mouth closer to Chaerin's ear, whispering, "I looked up how to go down on girls on my phone during lunch today." She gives Chaerin's hand a little stroke with her thumb and then pulls away, smirking.

Without another word, she turns and starts to lead the way to the elevators. "I'll text Manager and tell her to pick us up."

It takes a minute for Chaerin's brain to start working again, but when it does her body stumbles to catch up, hurrying in Minji's wake.

"Sounds good," Chaerin says, trying and probably failing to keep her voice from sounding too much like a pubescent boy. She pulls out her own phone, even though it's hard to stop staring even for a second at Minji's back, and starts furiously composing a message. She needs to text Dara and offer her every incentive in the world to sleep over at Bom's house tonight.

Fic (Big Bang) - Do the Trick

2012-08-06T18:37:12Z

Title: Do the Trick
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Daesung/TOP
Word count: 14809
Warnings: Futurefic; some gratuitous liberty-taking with the futures of Big Bang's respective members.
Summary: Five years after disbanding, Seunghyun decides to catch up.
Notes: This fic owes soooo much to my lovely betas, reallycorking and butterflyweb. ♥ Title comes from this song by Dr. Dog, which pretty well sums up how ridiculously sappy I've gotten about this pairing.

Sorry in advance for the cross-posting!

Seunghyun is nervous despite himself, waiting at a back corner table for Seungri to join him at the barbecue restaurant they chose for dinner. It's a small, quiet place, and late enough that there are only a few other diners, but he still feels weirdly conspicuous sitting alone. He's downed a beer and a half already by the time Seungri shows up, predictably late but, less predictably, apologetic about it.

"I told them I had somewhere to be at ten," Seungri greets him, removing his sunglasses and gesturing angrily at no one. "I'm really sorry."

"It's not a big deal." Seunghyun stands awkwardly, unsure of how to greet the maknae who's not really his maknae anymore. Thankfully, Seungri doesn't seem quite as uncomfortable with the situation; he claps Seunghyun on the shoulders before pulling him into a hug, and it gets easier from there.

"It's been too long," Seungri says.

It has. "I know. A year?"

"Too long. Where have you been, anyway?"

"All over the place," Seunghyun says, hoping to let it drop there.

They press the button on their table and the waitress shows up to get Seungri's drink order, then, tripping briefly over her words, his autograph. It's to be expected, but still a little jarring, that she doesn't even realize who Seunghyun is at first.

"That's T.O.P. from Big Bang," Seungri says helpfully, gesturing at Seunghyun with his pen when he's done signing the waitress's planner.

She gasps. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize—"

Seunghyun smiles tightly, fighting the urge to smack Seungri upside the head. At least that's familiar.

"It's fine," he says. "My hair's pretty different these days." He keeps it black and relatively short now, a probably futile attempt to recover from all the years of bleach.

"You're fatter, too," Seungri says with a grin, but now the waitress wants his autograph too, and Seunghyun ignores him in favor of obliging her.

"Ass," Seunghyun says once she's finally bowed herself out of the room.

Seungri just laughs. "So, really. What have you been doing?"

It's a hard question to answer coming from anyone, but especially Seungri. They haven't kept in touch very well, and seeing Seungri in his present state—well put-together and still comfortably in the limelight, the host of his own variety show—is admittedly hard on Seunghyun's ego.

"I haven't been doing much," Seunghyun admits, chuckling and fidgeting with his watch.

They disbanded officially five years ago, but the other members have kept busy. Seungri is hosting his show and engaged to a member of one of the newer girl groups—she's way too young for him, but they look happy enough from what Seunghyun has seen on the internet. Youngbae is YG's new Master Hwang, and in some ways also the new Sean, already settled down with a wife and kids at home. Jiyong worked a solo career for three years, but even now that he's on hiatus he's writing and producing half the music YG pumps out. Daesung's solo career is still going strong.

Other than a handful of collaborations and a lot of traveling, Seunghyun hasn't done shit.

"Jiyong keeps saying you need to go back to YG and produce with him," Seungri says at length, his expression consolatory.

That's way too embarrassing. When did Seunghyun get so pathetic that the brattiest maknae in the world has started to pity him?

"I'm still considering my options," Seunghyun says, so forced he can feel his face burning. Seungri lets it drop, though, in a display of maturity Seunghyun wouldn't have thought him capable of a few years ago, and he at once feels guilty for letting so much distance grow between them. The fact that the change is so noticeable means he's been away too long.

"We're talking about a June wedding," Seungri says to change the subject, after his drink has arrived and they've ordered enough meat for four. "I'm assuming you'll be available?"

Seunghyun scowls and Seungri just smirks. "Yeah. I still have to meet Aecha, though."

"Are you going to be in Seoul for a while? You can come for dinner whenever you want. Jiyong comes sometimes."

"I'm not sure how long yet, but yeah, we'll make it happen soon." Seunghyun avoids Seungri's gaze and toys with his watch again.

Part of the reason he's back is to answer that very question; he's still hovering on the brink of giving up his villa, since he hasn't been around enough in the past year to justify having it. But considering that the other reason is because he seems to have run out of places to run away to, maybe he should keep it.

"Good," Seungri says.

A silence falls and soon grows heavy and awkward, to the point that Seungri mutters an apology and pulls out his phone to text something.

"Do you know how Daesung is doing?" he asks as he puts it away again.

The question makes Seunghyun jolt. "I have no idea," he says, a little too quick.

Seungri considers him for a few seconds before resting his chin in his hand. "He's the hardest one to get a hold of these days, other than you. But I assumed you two would still be in contact, at least."

Out of the corner of his eye, Seunghyun sees the waitress approaching with their bowl of meat, and he's immensely grateful for the distraction. He keeps his eyes trained on the bowl when he says, "What do you mean?"

The waitress bows away again with Seungri's thanks, but the bowl just sits untouched between them until Seunghyun reluctantly looks up.

"Why are you doing this to yourself, Hyung?" Seungri seems genuinely confused, rather than accusatory, but still Seunghyun feels like he's lost his appetite.

"I'm not really your hyung anymore," he mutters.

Seungri sighs before picking up the tongs and laying the meat slowly, strip by strip, to sizzle on the grill. "I always looked up to you the most, you know."

Seunghyun frowns. "Me? What about Jiyong?"

"I liked Jiyong best," Seungri says—it's good to see he's at least as unabashed about speaking his mind now as ever— "but I looked up to you. You were the coolest person I knew. I wanted to be you, most days."

There's nothing Seunghyun can think to say to that. He blinks for so long that Seungri starts to laugh.

"Don't look so surprised," he says. "I was always so pissed we had to share a name. I couldn't stand being compared to you."

"That must have been a hard burden to bear," Seunghyun agrees, recovering a little.

After giving him an obligatory kick under the table, Seungri says, "I only bring it up because I always thought you could do anything."

Seunghyun tenses a little. "So?"

"So, live up to it. It's depressing seeing you like this."

There's nothing Seunghyun can think to say to that, either. He shifts his eyes away from Seungri's, down to the table.

"You cooked all the meat," Seunghyun says suddenly, finding his plate full of perfect, sizzling beef and pork.

Seungri grins. "We all have to grow up sometime."

~

"Seunghyun!"

Youngbae opens the door to his apartment and immediately pulls Seunghyun into a crushing embrace, which he struggles against only briefly. There's never been any point in trying to fight those biceps.

"It's so good to see you," Youngbae says quietly, close to Seunghyun's ear. "Are you finally done disappearing on us?"

The welcome is so heartfelt that Seunghyun starts, ridiculously, to tear up. "It's good to see you too," is all he can manage in return, but he tries to wrap his arms just as tightly around Youngbae's back. For the most part, Youngbae is exactly the same as the last time Seunghyun saw him, although even after a couple years, Seunghyun doesn't think he'll ever get used to the fuzzy, close-cropped hair. It took disbanding and getting married for Youngbae to finally lose the mohawk.

Youngbae's daughters race in to greet Seunghyun next—three-year-old twins, if Seunghyun is remembering right, both girls. He's not great with kids, but Youngbae's offspring are fucking adorable.

"Say hi to Uncle Seunghyun, girls," Youngbae says.

They chant in practically perfect unison, "Hi!", and Seunghyun covers his mouth to hide his laugh.

"They're better trained than Boss ever was," he says.

"If Youngbae had his way, they wouldn't be," says Sunhee, Youngbae's wife, turning the corner. "He can't discipline to save his life. I'm always the bad guy."

Youngbae smiles guiltily and Seunghyun laughs, moving to give Sunhee a hug. He's liked her since even before she and Youngbae started dating, and because she was one of Big Bang's regular backup dancers, they're actually pretty familiar. When Youngbae first told them, everyone was a little stunned; Sunhee is tough as nails and about as fundamentally opposite Youngbae as humanly possible. Once Seunghyun realized she's basically the female Jiyong, though, it kind of all came together.

"Should we come in and help clean up?" Youngbae says.

"What, so you can rile them up before bed? No way. You two are banished to the balcony."

Which Seunghyun is pretty sure is just a subtle way of giving them some alone time. He smiles and gives Sunhee a nod.

"Thanks," Youngbae says, kissing her on the cheek. The gesture makes Seunghyun feel unexpectedly strange, something twisting painfully in his gut, but he shakes it off when Sunhee rolls her eyes and pushes Youngbae away.

"Please make him talk about something other than work for a few minutes!" she calls after Seunghyun, who waves his acknowledgement and follows Youngbae onto the balcony. It's spacious but simple, with just two pristine-looking chairs and an awesome view of the city. Seunghyun privately makes a note to check out the state of his own patio furniture when he gets back.

"So, how's work?" Seunghyun asks, after sliding the glass door shut. They both laugh.

"It's good," Youngbae says. "The new kids are hard workers, for the most part." As soon as Seunghyun pulls up a chair, Youngbae jerks to his feet. "Oh, sorry—you want a drink?"

Seunghyun raises an eyebrow. "Uh—what do you have?" He knows Youngbae isn't much of a drinker, especially now that he's got kids, but Seunghyun would kill for a beer.

"Just about everything." Youngbae laughs. "It's Sunhee's. She says after I give birth to twins I can talk to her about drinking habits."

Seunghyun grins. "Beer, then."

Youngbae ends up bringing back one for himself, too—"It's a special occasion," he explains—and they toast to nothing in particular, watching the sunset over the city quietly for a while.

"Do you miss it?" Youngbae asks, once Seunghyun has already finished his beer but is trying to pretend he hasn't so he doesn't look like too much of an alcoholic.

He sets down his can with a hollow clunk, and a look of amused understanding crosses Youngbae's face. From his left, he mysteriously produces another, which Seunghyun accepts, only sort of embarrassed.

"Thanks." He takes a good swallow before answering, "Yeah. Not all of it, but a lot. Especially lately, I—" He cuts himself off, dangerously close to making himself sound too pathetic again. "I miss all of you guys," he covers, giving Youngbae a smile.

Youngbae smiles back, a little sadly. "I still feel bad sometimes. Like it was my fault."

It's true that Youngbae's sudden engagement came at a time that marked the beginning of the end. But—"That wasn't why," Seunghyun says, genuinely. Big Bang's time was coming to a close no matter how much they all wanted to pretend otherwise.

"Yeah." Youngbae looks out over the city again and Seunghyun wishes more than anything he could scrub some of that guilt off his face. Out of all of them, of course Youngbae would be the one to try and carry the burden of their breakup on his shoulders.

"Hey," Seunghyun says, intending to change the subject, but just then the balcony door slides open and one of the twins pops her head out.

"Daddy, Mommy says it's bedtime so you and Uncle Seunghyun have to leave." She turns her gaze on Seunghyun then and asks, "Did you bring presents?"

"Jinae!" Youngbae snaps. "Don't be rude!"

"Oh, right," Seunghyun mutters. He left a bag of souvenirs from his recent trip to America in the entryway.

They decide to take the dog for a walk—Youngbae immediately got a new Boston Terrier after Boss died, several years ago now—and finish their beers quickly. Seunghyun hands over the bag of gifts to the twins as he's putting on his shoes, and the ensuing chaos makes him simultaneously sorry for Sunhee and glad they're getting out of there.

"It never really gets any quieter," Youngbae sighs once they're outside, letting the dog pull him toward the nearest bush, but Seunghyun doesn't miss the peaceful expression on his face.

"It's exactly what you always wanted," Seunghyun says.

Youngbae smiles dopily. "I know."

The twist in his gut comes back but Seunghyun does his best to ignore it, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets and feeling annoyed with himself. Seeing Youngbae this at ease, all the sleeplessness and worry lines gone from his face, should only make Seunghyun happy, but he selfishly can't help but resent the sharp contrast with his own post-Big Bang life. When he notices Youngbae studying him, Seunghyun flips his hood up and starts to walk faster.

It's a nice night out, warm for the fall, and Seunghyun lets his mind wander as they follow the dog nowhere in particular, down steep embankments alongside the river, stopping frequently for pee breaks. The calm is only occasionally broken by a passing jogger.

And then Youngbae, when he abruptly asks, "Have you been talking to Daesung?"

Seunghyun's shoulders tighten up. "Not in a while," he says, words clipped.

"Hmm."

There's a lot going on behind Youngbae's hum, but Seunghyun grits his teeth and doesn't comment.

"I feel like it'd be a lot easier for you to be happy right now than you think," Youngbae says.

He wants to scowl and give the cold shoulder for a while—his tried and trusted method for dealing with Youngbae when he's in judgmental mode—but Seunghyun can't help but reply, "Who says I'm unhappy?"

Youngbae scoffs. "Come on, Seunghyun. How long have we known each other?"

After that, Youngbae lets it drop. The rest of the walk is nice enough, and by the time they return to Youngbae's building they're even making idle conversation again, but Seunghyun's thoughts are scattered and he has a hard time focusing on the words.

~

Seunghyun is embarrassed by how nerve-wracking a simple trip to YG Studios has become to him, but he can't help the way his palms are sweating as he looks up at the building, phone unresponsive in his pocket. He was hoping to get Jiyong to meet him outside to avoid any awkward encounters, but his last several texts have gone unanswered. After one final glimpse at his phone, just to make sure he hasn't missed a message, he squares his shoulders and forces himself to walk inside.

It's a familiar and easy enough journey to the recording studio where he guesses he'll find Jiyong, but he keeps looking over his shoulder the whole time, like he's snuck in somewhere he's not supposed to be. Jiyong is at the computer when Seunghyun opens the door, and despite Seunghyun's efforts to slip in noiselessly and not distract from anything important, when they make eye contact Jiyong jumps up from his chair.

"It's Bingu!" he cheers, launching himself at Seunghyun and scrambling up into an off-kilter piggyback.

"Get off me," Seunghyun chokes. Jiyong doesn't, so he plays dirty and falls backward onto the couch.

"I surrender, get up before I die," Jiyong groans, voice muffled into Seunghyun's shirt. Seunghyun allows himself to crush Jiyong for just a few more seconds before finally rolling off, grinding his butt into Jiyong's stomach for good measure.

"You need to gain weight," Seunghyun says. "You're skinnier than the last time I saw you."

"I'll take some of yours," Jiyong says, grinning. He jumps away just in time to avoid Seunghyun's punch.

A kid whose name Seunghyun should definitely know—his stage name is Destiny, but that's all Seunghyun can remember—opens the door to the booth cautiously, eyeing Jiyong and Seunghyun like they're dangerous. "Uh, Jiyong-Hyung, should I stay or . . . ?"

"Get out of here," Jiyong replies, moving to tousle Destiny's hair affectionately. "Good work today, are you up for more tomorrow?"

The kid nods, then mutters a respectful greeting to Seunghyun before grabbing his bag and escaping from the room. They wave until he's out the door, and then Jiyong is climbing all over Seunghyun again, crooning into his ear, "Bingu Bingu, stop switching your words . . . why are you confusing me, why are you playing with me—"

"Do you want to die?" Seunghyun says, but only out of habit. He can remember hating it back when all the other members started serenading him by changing the Bingle Bingle lyrics to "Bingu Bingu," but it's been so long since he last heard it even he has to admit it's kind of funny now.

"Bingu Bingu, my head hurts, oh oh oh . . . I can't help it, I missed you!" He loops his arms around Seunghyun's neck again, and Seunghyun reciprocates by rubbing Jiyong's head.

"What are we going to do tonight?" Jiyong asks cheerfully. "Dinner? Drinks? Clubbing?" He emphasizes the last word by jostling Seunghyun back and forth, until Seunghyun bursts into laughter.

"You're the one who has work tomorrow. You decide."

Jiyong disengages himself and waves Seunghyun off, standing to collect his things scattered around the room—a hat, his wallet, a pack of cigarettes. "I start whenever I want. No one cares if I'm showered or just wearing pajamas, either. Producing is sweet."

Seunghyun decides not to take the bait, changing the subject. "Is anyone else around?" He says it as nonchalantly as possible, but Jiyong misses nothing.

"Daesung's not in today," he answers immediately. Seunghyun feels his cheeks get hot. "Youngbae should be home by now. I think YG might still be here, if you want to talk to him about producing—"

"That's fine," Seunghyun interrupts. "Another time."

Jiyong pouts. "I wish you'd just come back already. It'd be a lot more fun with you around."

It's not that Seunghyun doesn't want to. Helping to make music while staying mostly out of the spotlight and spending time with Jiyong and some of the other faces he's missed from YG sounds nice. But part of the reason he took time off and started traveling was to sort his life out, and until he does, going back feels like stalling, playing pretend.

"I'm not quite ready yet," Seunghyun says, apologetic. "I've just gotta figure some stuff out."

Jiyong looks at him like he knows exactly what Seunghyun needs to figure out, but unfortunately, he doesn't share. "Okay," he says. "But I'm gonna bring it up again when you're drunk."

Seunghyun knows Jiyong is as good as his word, so as soon they sit down at the bar in the first club of the evening—some newer place Jiyong insists they'll be able to hear each other talk at, with an exclusive enough clientele that they'll be left alone—Seunghyun begins implementing his plan to get Jiyong drunk first.

"So yeah, I guess I've slept with like five of the trainees," Jiyong says blearily, already six drinks in to Seunghyun's three and a half. His technique is to pretend to knock them back while secretly only taking sips so Jiyong has to hurry to keep up.

"Good to know some things never change," Seunghyun says. And some really don't: Jiyong is back to chain smoking again, although he insists he's going to quit soon, for good this time. His hair is still bleached blond, which he's mostly stuck with since going on hiatus, for reasons Seunghyun can't fathom. He has a different bedmate every night of the week. "Aren't you getting a little old for seducing everyone you meet?"

The grin Jiyong gives him is way too self-satisfied for his own good. "Nobody keeps track of my age anymore. I'm on hiatus, remember?"

"Fair enough." Seunghyun snorts and takes a real swig of his drink, the beginnings of a comfortable buzz just setting in. The blinding lights flashing around them are making him wish he were drunker, though. "You really like producing that much? Aren't you ever gonna go back?"

It's probably kind of a rude question to ask upfront, but Seunghyun figures he can get away with it, especially when they're drinking. He's never stopped wondering why Jiyong cut his solo career off when he did; his ratings were off the charts and his sales were still breaking records, even into the third year.

Jiyong doesn't seem offended, though, just shakes his head and finishes his drink. "One more of the same, please," he says to the bartender, before returning his attention to Seunghyun. "Nah. I don't know. Those were probably the hardest years for me since debuting. I was miserable all the time."

A pang of guilt stabs at Seunghyun. He's stayed in contact with Jiyong the best out of everyone, but somehow this news is still a complete shock to him. "I didn't know," he says thickly. "But—you always wanted to go solo so bad?"

"I know." Jiyong's smile is a little sad, even through the alcohol. "But once I really got it, it wasn't right." He pauses to accept his next drink from the bartender, taking a sip before elaborating, "I think maybe Big Bang was it for us. It was exactly what we were meant to do. But that doesn't mean it was supposed last forever, and it doesn't mean we have to be unhappy now."

His gaze sharpens suddenly, and Seunghyun hastily looks down into his glass as Jiyong jabs a finger in his direction. "Seunghyun. You're making yourself unhappy."

"What are you talking about?" Just so he'll have something to do with his hands, Seunghyun sloshes some of his drink on the bar top and starts mopping it up with a napkin. "You're the one who just said you were miserable."

"I was miserable. Before. Then I made some changes to my life and now everything's fine again. Everything's great. What are you changing?"

There's nothing left to mop up, but Seunghyun pushes around the mess of soggy napkins in a circle, tracing a pattern onto the bar. The lights reflecting off his glass are starting to give him a headache. "I don't know what needs changing," he mutters. "That's the problem."

"God, you're an idiot," Jiyong groans. "You could start by calling Daesung."

Seunghyun bristles, tearing the puddle of napkins in half. "Why the hell does everyone keep saying that?"

When he dares to meet Jiyong's eyes, he falters at the unexpected pity in his expression. "Really, Seunghyun?" Jiyong says quietly. "Even now?"

It dawns on Seunghyun that despite getting Jiyong drunk faster, he's still been cornered into a conversation he never intended to have. "Let's go dance," he suggests, the only diversionary tactic he knows will always work on Jiyong. He finishes the rest of his drink in one swallow and stands, waiting for Jiyong to do the same.

"You're hopeless," Jiyong says, clapping him on the back, but he's cheerful and distracted now, guiding Seunghyun toward the small but busy dance floor. "Hey, I wrote this song!"

"I need another drink before I can dance to this crap," Seunghyun says, earning him a kick to the shins, but he darts back to the bar and grabs another anyway. Jiyong doesn't need to know that he wants to drink himself into oblivion for a different reason entirely.

~

The next day is hell. Seunghyun wakes up at 1:30, head throbbing and mouth dry, to a text from Jiyong:

fuck you this is the worst day of my life

It hurts too much to laugh, so Seunghyun just gropes on his bedside table for the glass of water he wisely poured himself the night before and takes a long drink.

haha. you have a job, he texts back.

not today i don't. calling in sick. you can do that when you're a producer ^^

Seunghyun chuckles at that, but regrets it a second later, setting down his phone in order to massage his temples. He picks it up again after the next buzz.

02-822-3828

Seunghyun blinks at the screen, stupidly perplexed, trying to figure out if this is code for something.

what's that? he finally responds.

daesung's new number. i'm sure he sent it to you but i'm sure you also didn't save it.

Maybe Jiyong rightfully predicts that Seunghyun doesn't reply because he feels sick all of a sudden. He struggles out of bed as quickly as he can manage, stumbling to the bathroom to take the longest piss of his life, but once he's decided he's not going to puke just yet, he returns to find another text.

what's the point of being rich and famous if you never even get what you really want?

There's nothing Seunghyun can say in reply, so he carefully, achingly lowers himself back onto his bed, closes his eyes, and remembers.

~

The first time it happened was after Seunghyun visited Family Outing, while watching the airing with Daesung the following Sunday. Jiyong and Youngbae couldn't make it home in time, and Seungri had said he'd watch with them but ended up passing out on the living room couch ten minutes in, so after dragging him to bed Seunghyun and Daesung were alone for the broadcast. That suited Seunghyun fine; he liked spending time with just Daesung.

"Look at you, you're so cute, Hyung," Daesung said, pinching one of Seunghyun's cheeks and beaming at him.

"I'm so awkward," Seunghyun corrected, swatting Daesung's hand away but then catching it in his own on second thought. Daesung was draped almost entirely on top of him on the couch, head pillowed on his chest, and even though there were no cameras on them, Seunghyun started rubbing Daesung's hand with his thumb. Lately he couldn't seem to turn off the affection no matter where they were, which would be worrying except that it never seemed to exactly bother Daesung.

"That's what's cute." Daesung hummed against Seunghyun's chest and Seunghyun liked the feel of it, cozy and warming, buzzing right down to his stomach. "I wish you could be our guest every week."

Seunghyun chuckled and squeezed Daesung's hand. Daesung seemed to be focusing on the show again, but Seunghyun couldn't: he kept honing in on Daesung's breathing and the feel of his heartbeat, his own blood pumping fast in his ears. It made him anxious when he got like this, because it was sloppy and obvious, and it would only take Daesung asking why Seunghyun seemed so tense for something to come tumbling out.

Instead, Daesung started laughing, clutching at Seunghyun's sweatshirt with his free hand and burying his face in it. "I forgot how bad you were with the fish," he said giddily. "Look at your face! You're so scared!"

Glad for the distraction, Seunghyun pretended to be indignant. "It was huge! Its mouth was bigger than my head!" He sat up straighter and gave Daesung a look of outrage, but Daesung only curled into his shirt and laughed harder. "It's not like you were volunteering to pick it up," Seunghyun added, pushing him away.

Daesung let himself be pushed, dramatically flinging onto his back. "Why isn't anyone else here?" he moaned. "I need to tell them you're secretly a huge baby."

"You've told enough secrets about me to people lately," Seunghyun said, recalling all too clearly his least favorite nickname being leaked on national TV. Gripped by something reckless, or maybe just stupid, he moved to straddle Daesung's lap, pinning him to the couch. "Which I haven't paid you back for yet, come to think of it."

"Yes you did! On the show, and then—" Daesung dropped his protest with a yelp as Seunghyun went right for the armpits and started tickling. Sometimes Seunghyun wondered if Daesung let him win these fights, because Daesung's struggling was pathetically futile and Seunghyun definitely wasn't the stronger of the two, but that thought only made his stomach knot up in a nice sort of way.

"Say you're sorry," Seunghyun demanded, one hand still in Daesung's armpit, one under his shirt now, tickling up the side.

"It was an accident! They tricked me!" Daesung gasped, almost unintelligible through his laughter.

"I don't care! Apologize!" Seunghyun lowered his face so he was talking close to Daesung's ear and tickled even harder. Something in the air might have shifted a little, but it was easy to ignore with the TV still blaring in the background and Daesung laughing and wriggling under him.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!" Even after Seunghyun stopped tickling and collapsed on top of him, giving in to his own laughter, Daesung went on, "You're the smartest hyung in the world! I'll never call you Bingu again! Especially not on TV!"

"All right, all right." Seunghyun knew he should move but couldn't bring himself to, enjoying the sensation of nuzzling in next to Daesung's ear too much. When he accidentally exhaled, a little too slow and hot, against the side of Daesung's neck, he felt Daesung go still beneath him.

They were having all too many moments like this recently. Seunghyun didn't know what to do so he froze, mind whirring, searching desperately for a way out. Sometimes he would do something extra obnoxious, like blowing a raspberry on Daesung's stomach or pinching his nose, to distract them. Sometimes he would roll away and make a jumbled, forced excuse, which was sort of the opposite of smooth but at least gave him a means of escape. Today, Seunghyun was feeling strangely emboldened, a dangerous edge to his thoughts continually repeating What if you tried it just once?

He braced himself against the couch and lifted his head, just enough to really take Daesung in. Daesung was still smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes, and that barest hint of recognition was what made Seunghyun's decision for him. He sucked in one last breath to clear his head, shifted his weight onto his elbows, and kissed Daesung, quick and hard and with his eyes closed.

What was so terrifying was that it wasn't a joke. Seunghyun couldn't laugh his way out of this one, not even with Daesung, because it was too real and too big. So when Daesung responded without half a moment's pause, sliding his hand up the back of Seunghyun's neck and curling fingers in his hair, holding him firmly in place, Seunghyun nearly jerked off the couch in disbelief.

"Daesung," he said sharply, pulling back, scandalized even though he was the one who had started it in the first place.

Daesung just looked at him through half-lidded eyes. "What?" he said, trailing fingers up and down Seunghyun's neck like it was nothing at all, like this was the most natural thing for them to be doing on a Sunday night.

In a moment, the panic that had been steadily building in Seunghyun's chest deflated. He shifted his weight to settle himself more comfortably, which Daesung accommodated by shifting as well, resting his free hand on the small of Seunghyun's back. Then Seunghyun went in for another kiss, almost suspicious of how easy it was, his heart skipping when Daesung met him halfway. He sucked at Daesung's upper lip until Daesung sucked back, and it was Daesung who encouraged Seunghyun, with a nudge and a lick, to open his mouth wider.

"What are we doing?" Seunghyun murmured against Daesung's mouth, in between licking and sucking, although he hadn't intended to speak. He was so foggy and dazed it was as if he had no control over anything anymore, least of all his brain.

Daesung had the nerve to laugh. "Isn't that obvious?" he said, but his voice wasn't entirely steady. He emphasized the words with a slight roll of his hips, and Seunghyun was suddenly aware that he was hard—so hard it was painful, maybe more turned on than he'd ever been in his life.

"Fuck." Seunghyun buried the word into the side of Daesung's neck, then started sucking there, brutally, intending to leave a mark. Daesung swore and dug nails into Seunghyun's scalp, which didn't do anything to help his hard-on. It was pressing into Daesung's hip now, persistent, and he actually wasn't trying to rock forward but it happened, again and again with increasing urgency, until he was unabashedly humping Daesung's side.

"Oh. . . ." Daesung was surprisingly quiet other than a few breathy gasps, maybe remembering Seungri in the other room, but he wasn't shy about keeping up with Seunghyun. He let his legs fall apart, making room for Seunghyun's thigh, and soon they were grinding against each other in the same rhythm, Seunghyun forgetting Daesung's neck to pant against his shoulder, Daesung sliding one hand down the back of Seunghyun's jeans, grabbing his ass.

Seunghyun had had plenty of sex by this point—in relationships and casually, with ordinary women and celebrities, under the influence and sober—but it had never been like this. Dry-humping his bandmate on the couch was hardly the most exciting thing he'd ever done but he was drowning in the feel of it, desperate for it to keep going but at the same time almost wishing it would end because it was too much, his skin was too sensitive, he couldn't breathe. When he finally came it sounded like a sob, and he couldn't stop trembling against Daesung's chest as he buried his face in his shirt, too overwhelmed to think. Daesung kept moving against him, clutching his scalp and ass more tightly until his breath hitched and Seunghyun felt him come too, relaxing slowly, in increments. It was only a few seconds before reality hit Seunghyun hard and he was at once terrified. He had no idea what happened next.

"Hey," Daesung whispered, long before Seunghyun had regained the ability to speak. Seunghyun reluctantly lifted his head and Daesung kissed him, smoothing down his hair, rubbing small circles over his back like he knew he was scared. After a few minutes had passed and their breathing had calmed, Daesung shifted again, helped Seunghyun to readjust more comfortably, and pulled a blanket up over them.

"Stop thinking," Daesung said, closing his eyes and continuing to pet Seunghyun's hair. Seunghyun closed his eyes too, but even pillowed on Daesung's chest he felt like he was suffocating, his panic returning as he drowned in the realization of what they'd just done. This wasn't a dream and it wasn't reversible, and there was no way it could work. He felt like he was going to be sick.

After a little while, Daesung's hand stilled and his breathing fell into an even pattern, but Seunghyun couldn't turn his brain off. He was pretty sure he would never sleep again.

Family Outing had long since ended by the time Jiyong and Youngbae came home. It wasn't that weird to find Seunghyun and Daesung passed out together in front of the TV, so Youngbae just came over to gently rouse them, and Seunghyun put on a good show of pretending to have been asleep.

"You two should get to bed," Youngbae said, looking exhausted himself.

They had no choice, with Jiyong and Youngbae watching, but to go their separate ways, although Daesung gave Seunghyun's hand a squeeze before they stepped apart. Seunghyun watched Daesung go, torn between immense relief and nauseating disappointment, before muttering a good night to Jiyong and Youngbae and heading to bed himself.

He didn't sleep a minute that night, but it still wasn't an excuse for the next day. For the most part, he acted like he'd never seen Daesung before in his life. When that didn't make him feel any better, he got wasted with Jiyong, went to a club, and slept with the first gorgeous woman he could find.

Daesung never brought it up once.

~

The second time didn't happen until years later. It shouldn't have happened at all, but Seunghyun let his guard down, maybe partially because things had healed over too smoothly after Family Outing. Once Seunghyun stopped being awkward all the time Daesung mostly warmed up again, and they got back to the place where they could at least touch and be affectionate on camera. Seunghyun told himself that was enough.

But he was too stupid to stay safe for forever, and that night they were riding on the high of one of their best performances ever of their first world tour, giddy and excitable backstage. The encore was just finished and every stagehand, makeup artist and coordi-noona had already given Seunghyun a hug or a handshake or a clap on the back, congratulating him on a job well done. Somehow, in the whirlwind of stripping out of sweaty costumes and finding water bottles and searching for an available bathroom, he and Daesung had gotten lost together.

"It's definitely this way," Daesung said, pointing down a dark hall with creepy exposed pipes in the ceiling, wiping sweaty bangs out of his face even though they always fell right back into his eyes.

"That's not a bathroom, it's where they keep the Minotaur," Seunghyun said, and even though it was a stupid joke they collapsed together laughing. They proceeded down the hall like that, snickering and falling against each other, until they reached a dead end.

"Storage closet," Daesung said. For whatever reason, he tried the knob.

"They don't keep toilets in those," Seunghyun said, but when the door opened and Daesung stepped inside, Seunghyun didn't hesitate to follow him.

"It's dark," Seunghyun said. Which was a stupid comment for a lot of reasons, but especially because he was the one who had shut the door behind them.

Daesung reached across Seunghyun's shoulder—there was enough space in the closet for two people to stand, if they didn't mind the various mops and buckets, but not a lot beyond that—and tugged on a chain next to his ear, making Seunghyun wince at the sudden brightness.

"See any Minotaurs?" Daesung asked.

Seunghyun tried but couldn't quite manage a straight face, squinting at a point beyond Daesung's shoulder. "I think that's just Taeyang."

They collapsed into each other in laughter again, wheezing and wiping away tears even though the joke hadn't gotten any funnier, and that was when something went wrong. The next moment, Seunghyun was taking a step backward, the backs of his legs hitting the shelves behind him, and he and Daesung were kissing, hard and messy and unrestrained. He tangled his fingers in Daesung's hair and Daesung pressed hands to either side of his neck, stroking thumbs over his jawline, breathing heavy into his mouth.

"You look so hot after concerts," Daesung murmured, abandoning Seunghyun's mouth briefly to kiss at his neck. It made Seunghyun's skin flush even hotter—not just the kissing, but the idea that this was something Daesung noticed often, something he'd been continually thinking about.

"Daesung—" Seunghyun felt dizzy, couldn't get out another word.

"Don't tell me to stop," Daesung said quietly, hands sliding down Seunghyun's chest. The tone of his voice made Seunghyun's stomach hurt.

"No, I—" Seunghyun tried again, but that was exactly when the closet door started to open.

"Daesung-Oppa?" came someone's voice. "Are you—"

Seunghyun and Daesung sprung apart an instant before one of the coordi-noonas could open the door all the way, but between the tiny closet and their flushed lips, their labored breathing and guilty expressions, it couldn't have been more obvious what they were doing.

"Sorry!" she said quickly, backing out and mostly closing the door, leaving just a crack open to talk through. "Sorry, I saw the light and thought—everyone is looking for you two, so I—I'll just wait back by the dressing rooms!"

The sound of her hastily retreating footsteps echoed briefly through the crack, faded, and was gone before either of them could reply.

Seunghyun buried his face in his hands. "Fuck," he said, smacking his forehead soundly against a shelf.

"I'll talk to her," Daesung said quickly. His eyes were wide and scared, and Seunghyun felt like he could see everything that could possibly go wrong reflected in them. "I don't think she'd say anything," Daesung added, looking to Seunghyun now, maybe for reassurance. "She's really nice—"

"Daesung," Seunghyun said, surprised at how much his voice was wavering. "We can't."

For one horrible, gut-churning moment, Daesung looked like he was going to cry. Then it was over, and his expression was unreadable again, calm and collected.

"I know," he agreed. He smoothed back his bangs, straightened his shirt, and put his hand on the doorknob. "I'll go first. You come back a few minutes later, maybe."

Seunghyun felt himself nod, numbly, and watched as Daesung made to open the door, then seemed to suddenly change his mind. He stepped sideways, put a hand on Seunghyun's shoulder, and kissed him just once, light and quick, on the cheek. A second later he escaped without a word, closing the door behind him.

Not running after him was the hardest thing Seunghyun had ever done.

Part Two

Fic (Big Bang) - Do the Trick pt. 2

2012-08-06T18:35:24Z

Two days after drinking with Jiyong, Seunghyun still isn't convinced he's completely over his hangover, although he's at least keeping down solid food again. He decides to leave his villa for a while because it's depressing him; there are still plenty of old decorations and toys to give it some character, but it feels like being in a museum now, somewhere out of the past. If he does keep the place, he'll want some new furniture, so he leaves to do some casual browsing. If he doesn't keep it, at least he'll have gotten out for a few hours.

In the taxi on the way to his favorite shopping district, Seunghyun feels his phone vibrate and takes it out. Seungri is texting him, which is rare but makes Seunghyun glad, like they're getting a fresh start.

heard you and jiyong had a good reunion~ who are you going to see today?

Seunghyun snorts and keys back, smartass. no one, going shopping

what about daesung? is Seungri's next message.

Some of Seunghyun's warm amusement fades. It's becoming painfully obvious that everyone knew more about him and Daesung than Seunghyun ever gave them credit for, so he's less vague than usual in his reply, although it still takes him a while to work up the nerve to actually hit send.

i was a dick, okay? he wouldn't even want to see me.

Seungri is quick to shoot back, why, because you slept with that girl? that was like, a million years ago. anyway everyone knows he wants to see you

Seunghyun's stomach drops. It's one thing if the other members figured out a few details, but the idea that they knew this much is freaking him out. It never even occurred to him that maybe Daesung would have talked to them about it. The taxi reaches its destination while he's still struggling to formulate a response, so he decides not to send one at all, stuffing his phone back in his pocket as he digs out payment for the driver.

Daesung's face greets him as soon as he steps onto the curb, larger-than-life on several TV screens in a storefront window. It's a promotion for his latest tour, which, Seunghyun is reminded as he watches, starts in a couple hours at the Olympic Arena.

His phone buzzes again shortly thereafter, and Seunghyun mutters "Give it a rest, Seungri" before pulling it out to find Youngbae's name on the screen.

why do you think you were a dick, seunghyun? you know daesung has forgiven you. :( he misses you.

do you guys have some group email where you just swap gossip about me all the fucking time? Seunghyun angrily texts back, and then he turns off his phone, because enough is enough.

He stomps down the street toward the nearest Starbucks, abandoning shopping for some much-needed time to sit down and be pissed at his bandmates. Ordering the tallest latte available and sulking at a tiny corner table doesn't really help, though, because he still can't turn the memories off.

It's better this way, Seunghyun reminds himself. Acting on it—whatever it was—only ever made things worse, and anyway, it's been too long. The past is over and he's got to stop living in it, because nobody else is—certainly not Daesung.

"Excuse me . . . aren't you T.O.P.?"

Seunghyun looks up, surprised, not because he's particularly well-camouflaged today but because he's gotten used to not being recognized much anymore. There are two women standing next to his table, probably not a lot younger than he is, looking expectant.

"Yeah," Seunghyun says, trying to remember his old fan-smile.

The woman who first spoke covers her mouth with her hands and elbows her friend. "I knew it! I told you!"

Her friend looks stunned. "I'm sorry, I just thought—"

"We were both huge Big Bang fans," the first woman interrupts.

Seunghyun's smile spreads, a little more genuine. "Thanks."

"Could we maybe get a picture?" she asks. "Or an autograph?"

He's happy to oblige them, and an older man at the next table is willing to snap a picture with their phones. Neither of them has any paper, so Seunghyun signs two napkins, giving his autograph extra flourish just because they seem nice.

"I heard you weren't living in Seoul anymore," the friend says as Seunghyun hands her a napkin. "Are you in town for Daesung's concert?"

Seunghyun freezes in handing off the other napkin. The first woman doesn't seem to notice, though, taking it gratefully from his outstretched arm. "We're going there after this! See?" She flashes a small Daesung bracelet at him, definitely Big Bang-era, and grins.

"Yeah," Seunghyun says, startling himself. "I'm going tonight."

"Maybe we'll see you there!" The women laugh, embarrassed, and when Seunghyun doesn't reply, they politely thank him and leave. Seunghyun watches them go, then lets himself zone out, staring into his cup. He looks up at the wall clock thirty minutes later, surprised by the passage of time, then shakes himself out of his daze and turns his phone back on.

Three unread messages from Jiyong flash on his screen as soon as it's done rebooting.

have you decided to stop being a dumbass yet?

hello??

okay, i'm done being mr nice guy. man the fuck up, choi seunghyun, and go talk to him. he wants to see you. also, don't be a dick to youngbae and seungri, they're just trying to help.

They really do have a group fucking email, Seunghyun thinks, snorting despite the fact that he feels suddenly nervous, full of adrenaline, like he's about to do something dangerous.

you've never been a nice guy in your life, Seunghyun shoots back, unable to help himself. He knows he should leave it alone, but needs to ask, because it's been nagging at him: why hasn't daesung contacted me if he wants to see me so bad?

Jiyong is quick to reply, probably because he's been waiting on Seunghyun's text. because he's being a giant fucking baby too? i don't know, ask him yourself after you kiss and make up, but please just do it already because you've both been driving the rest of us nuts for years.

Seunghyun takes a deep breath. how do i get into the concert?

text me your address, i'm sending a van

He does, and then the reality of what he's about to do hits Seunghyun hard. He stands up so fast he trips on the table leg and knocks over his chair. After righting it, he swallows down the rest of his coffee, wishing it were something stronger, and tries not to knock over anything else on his way out. Once he's brought himself to a halt outside at the curb, Jiyong sends another text.

20 minutes. you'd better not back out now.

Seunghyun swallows, puts his phone away, and waits, rocking back and forth on his feet, until a black van pulls up beside him.

The ride passes in a fast, sweaty blur. He remembers the driver and manages to carry on some meaningless small talk in the beginning, but it's pretty obvious his head is elsewhere and soon they both fall silent, not speaking again until the stadium is in sight.

"Here you go," the driver says, pulling up to a back entrance Seunghyun remembers well. "We called ahead so they know to be expecting you, you shouldn't have any trouble getting in."

Seunghyun thanks him and steps out, heart beating fast in his throat. A glance at his phone tells him they're already several minutes into the concert, so he hurries, wiping his hands on his pants before knocking on the door. A security guard opens it and lets him in without a second glance.

"You know where to go?" the guard asks. Seunghyun nods and starts up the nearest flight of stairs, his eyes adjusting slowly to the dark.

The sound of cheering greets him when he opens the door at the top of the stairs. It's so deafening that for a brief, dumb moment he wonders if he's accidentally stepped onstage, but really it's just been so long since he was backstage at a concert he's forgotten what it's like. A few familiar and unfamiliar faces pass him as he stands stock-still in the hall, wondering where to go.

"Seunghyun?" One of the old coordi-noonas spots him and smiles, stepping over to pat his arm. "They said you might come but I didn't believe it!"

All Seunghyun can manage is a tight smile in return.

"He's just about to start the next song," she says, giving Seunghyun a little nudge toward backstage right. "Go!"

He walks like he's in a trance. A few other people hovering around the peripheries either nod in acknowledgement of him or, when they're too focused on the show and their jobs, don't. Seunghyun finds a spot with a decent view behind a shorter stagehand and plants himself. He'd be able to see better on one of the green room monitors, but he can't help but want to be here for this live, even if the angle means he's partially obstructed by curtains and screens.

The next song is a ballad—something newer that Seunghyun is familiar with, just like everyone else in Korea, but not as familiar as his Big Bang-era material. He can just see Daesung, a tiny white figure at the far end of stage left, walking slow in a spotlight and hitting every note spot-on. Seunghyun has never been very into ballads, but the way Daesung sings them he can understand the appeal. Fans are visibly wilting as he goes past, and Seunghyun closes his eyes, suddenly embarrassed. He feels like just another lovesick stranger in the audience.

"Costume change in one minute," one of the noonas to Seunghyun's right says quietly to another, who nods. Seunghyun steps aside to allow them easier access to a nearby wardrobe rack, and it's not until the song is over, the screaming deafening, that it occurs to him what exactly it means that he's standing right here right now.

The lights go out and Daesung is there before Seunghyun can duck away, two noonas jumping to help him shrug out of his jacket.

"Careful, I think it has a tear," Daesung says, wiping sweat from his eyes as they hurry to get him into his next outfit.

"Thirty seconds," one of the earpieces near Seunghyun informs them all, just as Daesung looks up and sees him.

They both go completely still, which makes one of the noonas exclaim, "Oppa, your boots!", but he's not paying her any attention.

"Seunghyun?" he says, eyes wide. He looks older than the last time Seunghyun saw him, but in a nice, mature sort of way, kind of like a professor or something if not for the idol clothes. His hair is dark, closer to his natural color than Seunghyun has seen in a while, and not too long. It suits him.

"Hey," Seunghyun says, not sure if he should smile or bolt.

Daesung decides for him, launching at Seunghyun and pulling him into a fierce, sweaty hug that splits Seunghyun's face into a grin.

"What are you doing here?" Daesung says, laughing, hugging him tighter. Seunghyun just buries his grin into Daesung's shoulder and clutches at his back like he'll never let go again.

"Daesung, you need to go!" One of the noonas grabs Daesung by the shoulder, but Seunghyun frowns and holds on tight, tempted to punch her even though she's a girl because he'll be damned if he's letting anyone take Daesung from him now.

But then Daesung peels himself away, cupping Seunghyun's face in his hands for just a second, looking at him like he's a ghost. "You're not leaving?" he says, dropping his hands and letting himself be pulled toward the stage. "You won't go before it's done?"

Seunghyun shakes his head, tries not to look like too much of an idiot with his dumb smile. "I'm not leaving," he says.

"Forget the boots, get him out there," someone hisses, and Daesung is whirled around and practically thrown onstage.

"No more distractions until the show's over," the noona who was so concerned about boots tells him, jabbing a stern finger in Seunghyun's face.

He nods, willing to agree to anything, lightheaded and giddy. He hadn't even realized until now just how worried he'd been that Daesung would take one look at him and tell him to get lost. It's like years of anxiety have flown right out the window, and suddenly he's more cheerful than he's been in as long as he can remember, free to stop worrying and enjoy the concert.

Daesung sings an old Big Bang song next, which is weird to hear performed as a solo piece but not bad. Seunghyun likes that he can sort of sing along, although he gets jumbled up at parts that are supposed to have a rap but have been changed. Then Daesung transitions into another old song—one of his solos this time—without a costume change, and Seunghyun has to wait, disappointed, until three entire songs later to see him again.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Daesung calls over his shoulder, as three people assist him in stripping down to his pants. "Hearing the Big Bang songs with just me?" He gets shushed by a noona trying to stuff his head through a shirt, but it only makes Daesung laugh.

"I was disappointed you didn't rap," Seunghyun says, laughing right back.

Daesung's onstage again moments later, and it's the last time they talk for the rest of the concert. Seunghyun feels impatient, as much as he's enjoying the show, eager to really start catching up now that he knows it's possible. By the time they get to the encore, he's bouncing in his shoes, craning all over the place to try and get a better view. He doesn't think he's ever clapped as hard in his life as when it's finally all over and Daesung is being herded, amidst high fives and congratulations, back toward where Seunghyun is standing.

"Nice job," Seunghyun says, handing Daesung a bottle of water he stole off a table.

Daesung accepts it gladly, sucking down half the bottle before replying. "Thanks." He's still fighting to catch his breath, but he doesn't stop smiling at Seunghyun the whole time, in a way that's so familiar Seunghyun has to pull him into another hug. This time it's more playful, full of hair-tousling, like in the old days.

"How come you're still so good, huh? If I tried to go out there again I'd probably pass out."

"That's cause you're old," Daesung says, laughing even as Seunghyun flicks his ear.

A cameraman spots them having a probably headline-worthy reunion and hurries over to start filming, which Seunghyun doesn't mind, exactly, but it does make him bristle, remembering himself. Daesung notices the way he goes tense and glances sideways at the approaching camera.

"Will you come over to my place for a while?" he asks, quickly and quietly, before the camera is close enough to pick anything up.

"What?" Seunghyun stops burying his fingers in Daesung's hair and pulls back to look at him.

"Come to my place," Daesung repeats. "I have to stick around here for a while but not too long—my manager can drive you, just—come? Please?"

There's nothing Seunghyun can do but nod.

Daesung lights up like a firework and then his attention is on the cameras, as easy and practiced as any seasoned idol.

"My hyung came to cheer me on," Daesung says happily, shaking Seunghyun back and forth without breaking their hug. "You're the best, Hyung!"

Seunghyun rubs Daesung's head and shakes him back, then has an awkward, less-practiced exchange with the camera, trying to dredge up something the fans will like but only really managing a few jumbled compliments about the performance. Soon enough, Daesung starts to get pulled away again, and the cameraman thanks them and leaves.

"Just wait right here," Daesung tells him, almost urgent, like he doesn't believe Seunghyun is as good as his word. "My manager will come get you in a minute, okay? Just don't move, and I'll see you soon."

"Okay." Seunghyun tries to look reassuring. "See you in a bit."

"Okay." Even as he goes, Daesung keeps looking over his shoulder, like he can't believe Seunghyun hasn't disappeared into thin air yet.

An hour later, Seunghyun is sitting alone on Daesung's oversized living room couch in his apartment, bouncing his leg and frantically wishing he could disappear after all.

"This was a bad idea," he mutters, getting up to peek out Daesung's eighteenth story window for the dozenth time, like he'd be able to see him from all the way up here anyway. All his confidence from before disappeared within minutes of finding himself here, Daesung's beaming face no longer around to distract him, and now he can only wonder what the hell he was thinking when he agreed to meet like this. He has no idea what he's going to say when they're actually alone together.

He doesn't get much more time to think about it, either; maybe half an hour after getting dropped off, Seunghyun hears Daesung's key in the door and jumps up from the couch, standing at attention like a guilty soldier.

Daesung pops his head in before even getting his key out of the lock, scanning past the kitchen to the living room and looking relieved to find Seunghyun there.

"You came!" he says, smiling one of his brightest smiles. Seunghyun's stomach twinges in painful fondness.

"I said I would," he says, like he wasn't just thinking about jumping out the window.

Daesung kicks off his shoes, hangs his keys on a rack by the door, and hurries over. Even bracing himself doesn't quite prepare Seunghyun for the impact, and he lets out a quiet Oof when Daesung hits his chest, wrapping him into yet another hug.

"I know," Daesung says. "I just wasn't sure." His tone is tender enough that Seunghyun gets a little nervous, resting his hands loosely on Daesung's back, wondering how much affection is too much, how far is too far.

Thankfully, Daesung steps back, breaking the silence before it can get too weighted. "Sorry it's so messy," he says.

"It's not that bad," Seunghyun says instinctively, although now that he mentions it Seunghyun starts to notice the papers strewn over every visible table and countertop, clothes tumbling out of the doorway to what must be the bedroom, a full bag of garbage waiting to be taken out by the front door.

"Do you want something to drink? Eat? Anything?"

Drinking too much is definitely a bad idea, but Seunghyun could use a little liquid courage right about now. "What do you have?"

"I know just the thing." Daesung heads to the kitchen, pausing and looking over his shoulder expectantly when Seunghyun stays rooted to the same spot. He takes the hint and follows. The apartment has a lot of open space, which Seunghyun likes, the living room and dining area flowing right into the kitchen, but it's obviously not as luxury as his own villa. Daesung never did care as much about that sort of thing.

"It was a present from Jiyong for my last album release," Daesung says, taking a bottle of expensive-looking wine off the counter and feeling through a drawer for an opener. "I've been saving it."

He finds the opener but then struggles to get it to work, until Seunghyun finally snorts and shoulders him aside, taking over the task.

"Still not a big drinker, I see," he says, trying to ease the awkwardness with a joke.

Daesung takes two glasses off a shelf and lines them up on the counter. "I'm in fact a very worldly drinker these days," he says. "That opener's just messed up."

"Uh huh."

He pours and they toast, clinking the glasses before drinking. Seunghyun wonders if he should be concerned about how quickly the wine helps, calming his nerves with the first swallow, like wrapping up in a warm blanket.

"I thought maybe you weren't going to come see me," Daesung says, fiddling with the cork on the counter, eyes downcast. "When I found out you'd been visiting everyone else."

Seunghyun swallows and inhales slowly. "I was just saving the best for last," he says.

That makes Daesung brighten up again. He laughs and abandons the cork. "Wanna sit down?"

At Seunghyun's nod, Daesung leads the way back to the couch. Just to be on the safe side, Seunghyun picks up the bottle of wine and brings it with them, setting it on the ottoman, which looks flat enough and sturdy. Daesung lifts an amused eyebrow but doesn't comment.

"You did a really good job tonight," Seunghyun says, after another drink.

Daesung laughs and rubs the back of his head. "I guess," he says. "I couldn't really concentrate after I saw you were there."

They both fall silent for a few uncomfortable moments; Daesung apparently realizes he went too far and takes a big mouthful of wine, and Seunghyun looks away, having just finished his.

"Hey," he says, struck by a memory and grasping for conversation, "remember the Love and Hope concert in Nagoya?"

"The one where those girls made that dirty sign about Seungri?" Daesung says, reading Seunghyun's mind. His easy smile is already returning.

"And he couldn't stop bragging about it, and then he—"

"—tried to find them after the show," Daesung supplies, before bursting into a fit of laughter that Seunghyun can't help but join in. They curl a little closer together on the couch, and it feels like old times without making Seunghyun immediately want to puke, which he takes as a good sign.

"Oh God, and then Youngbae freaked out because we couldn't find him, but it was just because Jiyong told him to go the wrong way and locked him in the green room!" Daesung can barely get it out before he's buckled over and wheezing, very nearly sloshing wine over the side of his glass in his amusement.

It's funnier now than Seunghyun remembered. Everything seems funnier when Daesung is laughing, the sound of it contagious, so Seunghyun wipes his eyes and keeps going. "What about the time Youngbae thought he had appendicitis?"

Daesung chokes on his wine, and Seunghyun has to pat him soundly on the back, although he can barely contain his own laughter long enough to do so. They go on making each other hysterical with memories until the wine is gone, and gradually Seunghyun forgets to be anxious. It's too easy to pick up right where they left off, especially by the time Daesung is shaking out the last drops from the bottle sadly.

"Do you want more?" he asks, giving Seunghyun a mischievous look.

"Have you even eaten yet?" Seunghyun asks, although yes, he really wants more.

Daesung pauses to think. "Good point. Delivery?"

Which is how they end up with several containers of stir-fry and rice and, courtesy of a quick stop to Family Mart, a new bottle of wine, a mere half an hour later. The venture outdoors is brief, but by the time they get back Seunghyun feels more clearheaded, the breath of fresh air having done him good. He's warm and at ease when they settle in on the couch again, and Daesung pours wine and starts to dish out food onto a pair of plates.

"How long are you gonna be in Seoul, Hyung?" Daesung asks out of nowhere, flipping Seunghyun's ease upside-down.

Seunghyun takes longer than necessary to swallow his mouthful of wine, frowning as he searches for the right answer. "I don't know," he admits at last. He knows he should say more, but it's all too jumbled on his tongue, so he just looks at Daesung helplessly.

"I was just thinking," Daesung says, lifting his chopsticks, "that it'd be nice to see you more. You know. If you're around."

"Yeah," Seunghyun agrees, head pounding. "No, I'd—like that, too."

The look Daesung gives him is warm, but not, Seunghyun notices, very hopeful. He's probably gotten used to being disappointed.

"I mean," Seunghyun stammers, sick with guilt, "I am thinking about it. Moving in again, maybe . . . maybe working with Jiyong." He glances sideways and Daesung is staring like he can't believe his ears, so Seunghyun goes on, feeling his face heat. "He said they need some help producing, and maybe, I don't know . . . I'm sort of sick of traveling."

Neither of them has taken a bite of food yet, so Seunghyun is confused when Daesung lowers his chopsticks and sets his plate on the ottoman.

"Daesung?" Seunghyun asks, worried he's said something wrong.

For the third time that day, Seunghyun is almost knocked over by Daesung's hug, which hits him so hard he can only struggle to balance his plate in one hand and pat Daesung's back with the other, laughing weakly.

"I'm not sure of anything yet," he's quick to remind Daesung, but he still nuzzles in close to his neck. "I haven't even talked to YG."

"Please don't go again," Daesung says. It's quiet, almost lost against Seunghyun's shoulder, but there's no mistaking the words, and his fingers tighten in the back of Seunghyun's shirt in a way that feels sort of sad.

Seunghyun closes his eyes and grimaces, hating himself. "I'm sorry," he says. "For everything."

Daesung just shakes his head. Neither of them moves for what feels like forever—the food is probably cold by the time they pry apart, laughing shakily, the change in the air undeniable. Food is the only subject Seunghyun can grasp at from there so he does, desperately, afraid of what might happen if the silence lasts too long.

"What's this, exactly?" he asks, holding his dinner up to his face to look at it closely. It's pretty brown and unidentifiable.

"Oh, you know." Daesung waves a hand vaguely. "Shrimp something."

Seunghyun starts to laugh, which distracts him at first from realizing what Daesung is doing when he gently lifts Seunghyun's plate out of his hands and sets it aside. There's no mistaking what it means, however, when he pulls Seunghyun in by the shoulders and kisses him.

Despite the fact that he can feel his hands trembling, Seunghyun grabs Daesung's bicep and holds on, twisting to meet him. Daesung lets himself be pushed back against the couch, and what was at first a fairly cautious kiss quickly turns into making out, open mouths and tongues and teeth. Seunghyun feels like he's pushing too hard but he's helpless to stop, moaning when Daesung slips a hand around the back of his head and pulls him closer, until Seunghyun is half in his lap.

"I've missed you," Daesung says, once Seunghyun breaks the kiss to mouth at his jaw.

"I've missed you more than anything," Seunghyun mutters, hoping his words are muffled because they're too honest, too embarrassing.

Daesung sighs to hear it, though, craning his head back for easier access as Seunghyun moves on to his collarbone.

"I'm sorry I didn't try to contact you," Daesung goes on, curling fingers into Seunghyun's scalp. "I knew you were around, I just—"

"It's fine. I was being an idiot." Seunghyun's not sure why Daesung seems so intent on talking, but he wants to distract him, to save that stuff for later. This already feels way too fragile, like one wrong move will make everything come crashing down around their heads.

Luckily, a well-placed bite to the hollow of Daesung's neck seems to do the trick. His breath catches and he shifts his hips, hard-on pressing against Seunghyun's thigh. Seunghyun's experience with men is strictly limited to what he's done with Daesung, but he feels oddly confident when he drops a hand to Daesung's crotch and grabs, rubbing in insistent circles.

At that exact moment, right when Daesung gasps and presses his forehead to Seunghyun's shoulder, someone's phone vibrates.

Daesung jumps and their heads knock. "Sorry," he says, breathless, laughing a little. He fishes his phone out of his back pocket and presses the top button to turn it off. "I've told Manager not to text me late."

He glances up to give Seunghyun a smile, but it falters when their eyes meet. Seunghyun feels like a spell has been broken; he backs off of Daesung's lap and leans against the couch cushions, scrubbing his face with his hands, heart pounding.

"Fuck," he says.

"Seunghyun?" Daesung touches his shoulder but Seunghyun doesn't move. "I'm sorry . . . I turned it off. . . ."

"We can't, Daesung," Seunghyun says, knowingly echoing himself from years before. He peeks through his fingers to see Daesung looking first hurt, then just confused and angry.

"What—why?" he demands. "God, Seunghyun, how many times do we have to get this far?"

"You still have a career," Seunghyun says, wondering if he sounds half as crazy as he feels. "There's no way—it'll never work."

Daesung's expression goes from mad to furious, and he pushes away from the cushions and gets to his feet. "Are you seriously still that scared?" he says, whirling on Seunghyun, towering over him. "God, it's not even your career you have to worry about anymore."

Seunghyun wants to be offended, but he knows he doesn't have the right. He frowns at his lap and doesn't say anything.

"Do you know how long I waited around hoping you'd grow up?" Daesung goes on, obviously gaining momentum, probably running on material he's been saving up for years. "Do you know how hard it was watching you do the playboy act all the time?"

"It wasn't all me," Seunghyun says. He can practically hear the pout in his own voice and he hates it, but taking criticism, even hard-earned, isn't Seunghyun's strong point. "You said it was too risky, too. And I never said you had to wait for me. You could've dated other people."

"I did date other people," Daesung says, and the way Seunghyun's eyes go wide must look pretty pitiful, because some of the anger seems to leave the hard line of Daesung's shoulders. "I just didn't rub it in your face."

Seunghyun tries valiantly not to look too dumbstruck, but he knows he's visibly shaken. "Oh," he says. For a few seconds, neither of them speaks. Then, because he can't help it, he asks, "Who?"

"It doesn't matter." Daesung sighs, unfolding his arms, and takes a seat next to Seunghyun on the couch again, leaving a few inches of space between their thighs. "But if you didn't know, that tells you nobody else did either. And my career didn't burn to the ground."

Nothing gives Seunghyun the right to be hurt, but he feels absolutely gutted. "Oh," he says again. He can't help it when he starts to chew on his thumb, mentally flipping through everyone he's ever seen Daesung interact with in the past ten years, trying to figure out how he missed something so momentous.

"Hyung," Daesung says, a little more gently, taking Seunghyun's hands away from his face. "It's not the same as it was back then. People don't care about my personal life anymore." Seunghyun nods to show he's listening, but really he's still obsessing—Jiyong must have known, why didn't he say anything? Was it that back-up dancer Daesung always complimented on his timing?

"Anyway," Daesung continues, "I've been thinking about retiring." Seunghyun jerks his head up, distracted at last, ready to argue—this is exactly the kind of thing he was worried about—but Daesung silences him with a look. "And it's my decision, okay? Let me make it."

"You shouldn't retire," Seunghyun says, mouth dry.

"Maybe I won't right away. I'm just getting kind of tired." He squeezes Seunghyun's hands. "I've been doing this for a long time. I know what's at stake. But I also know what I want."

Seunghyun wets his lips. He can feel the way his brows are knitted together, tight with worry, and it's hard making eye contact with Daesung right now, but he knows he can't look away.

"What if—" Seunghyun starts.

Daesung interrupts him. "Please," he says. "Don't write us off before we even get a chance to try, please?"

Seunghyun can count the number of heartbeats that pass—two, four, ten—before he finally comes to life and moves, dragging Daesung in by the hands, cupping his jaw and kissing him hard. Daesung melts into it, resting one hand on Seunghyun's stomach and one on the side of his face, and Seunghyun lets himself fall back, flat on the cushions, Daesung crawling on top of him.

"It's about time," Daesung sighs into his mouth. Seunghyun bites his lip.

That earns him a hiss and a roll of Daesung's hips, and soon they're grinding against each other, hot and urgent and dredging up more memories. Then Daesung unbuttons Seunghyun's jeans, slips a hand into his underwear, and grabs his dick, and Seunghyun reminds himself that this time is different.

"Ah—" Seunghyun shivers, propping up onto to his elbows and closing his eyes as Daesung shushes him and starts to stroke. He can't believe it already feels this good, four seconds into a hand job, like he's a teenager doing this for the first time. Daesung's mouth on his ear makes it even better, nipping at the lobe as he starts to pump faster, and Seunghyun groans and digs his fingers into the couch.

When Daesung stops abruptly, it's all Seunghyun can do not to cry out.

"Bedroom," Daesung says by way of explanation, taking his hand out of Seunghyun's pants.

There's no arguing with that. They stand, Seunghyun almost tripping over himself in his eagerness to follow, which at least makes Daesung laugh. He pulls Seunghyun by the hem of the shirt and walks backward toward his room, kissing as he goes. Seunghyun drops his hands to Daesung's waist and kisses back. It's a staggering, awkward journey, occasionally interrupted by tripping over laundry or falling against a wall to make out, but it feels hard-earned when they finally get there.

Daesung drops to a seat at the edge of the bed, unmade but big and inviting, and before Seunghyun has a chance to join him, he takes Seunghyun by the hips and guides him forward. He tugs at Seunghyun's belt loops, dragging still-unbuttoned jeans down just enough that the bulge in his underwear is exposed. Seunghyun feels the pit of his stomach drop when Daesung starts to mouth his dick through the fabric.

"Fuck, Daesung," Seunghyun grits out. Daesung's fingers are kneading his ass as he pulls his underwear down, and the image of his lips wrapping around Seunghyun's cock is hotter than any fantasy he's ever had about this moment. He's had a few.

Judging by his eagerness, Daesung might have had a few as well. He doesn't waste any time now, wrapping fingers around the base of Seunghyun's cock like it's nothing and finding a good rhythm, sucking and jerking him off tight and fast. Seunghyun is usually better about not moving but he can't help thrusting into it, grateful when Daesung seems unfazed.

It's taken them years to arrive at this point, but it still feels like too much too soon. Seunghyun's legs are trembling with the effort to stand and he can tell he's on the edge already, embarrassingly close, but the last thing he wants is to ask Daesung to stop and wait. They've been waiting since the day they met and Seunghyun's had enough, so instead of using words he tightens fingers in Daesung's hair, the only feeble warning he can manage.

In response, Daesung slides his free hand up from Seunghyun's ass to his lower back and sucks harder, and Seunghyun's glad for the extra support when he comes, because his knees buckle and he collapses forward.

"Fuck," he says again. Daesung swallows and then scoots back on the bed, making room, drawing Seunghyun in for a breathless, messy kiss.

"Off," Daesung says, pressing his mouth to Seunghyun's jaw and pulling at his sweaty shirt. Seunghyun feels vaguely delirious but knows better than to disobey, yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. He's put on a little weight since disbandment, but it's too late to get self-conscious, and anyway, Daesung doesn't seem too put-off by it.

"You too," Seunghyun urges. He kicks his pants and underwear off the rest of the way and watches intently as Daesung strips, almost unable to believe he's allowed to stare as much as he wants.

When they're both naked, Seunghyun has to pause, sucking in a breath and running his hand down Daesung's chest and stomach, which are just as toned as he remembers. Daesung's eyes flutter closed and his skin twitches under Seunghyun's touch, but it's only a few seconds before he starts to get impatient.

"Seunghyun," Daesung begs, catching his wrist.

That draws Seunghyun's attention downward, to where Daesung is still hard and obviously dying to be touched. He flattens his palm on Daesung's chest—Daesung lets go of his wrist, falling back on the bed readily—and leans over him, sucking a bruise into the side of his neck and taking hold of his dick.

Immediately, Daesung's hips jerk forward and he swears, covering his eyes with an arm. "Hyung," he says, voice raspy in a way that makes Seunghyun feel dizzy. "Move, please move—"

Seunghyun does. He could have guessed that Daesung would be loud, but it's sexier than he expected when he starts pumping and Daesung starts moaning, gasping with every twist of Seunghyun's wrist, biting his lip when Seunghyun swipes his thumb across the head. Thinking about sucking another guy off has always intimidated Seunghyun a little, but it feels so easy now, with Daesung writhing and encouraging him, to slide lower and drag his tongue carefully along the underside of his cock.

Daesung's whole body shudders and suddenly both his hands are in Seunghyun's hair, pulling.

"Fuck, Hyung," he says. Seunghyun wants to tell him to drop the formality, but it's pretty hot, so he stays quiet. Instead, he tries taking Daesung all the way in his mouth, and is rewarded with a new string of curses when he slowly bobs his head.

The rhythm is definitely hard to get down at first, and Seunghyun is embarrassed, not used to being awkward and inexperienced in sex. He hopes Daesung isn't faking any of the sounds he makes while Seunghyun experiments, finally deciding Daesung had the right idea and settling on a combination of hand and mouth to get the right suction. The sound of spit and come on skin is completely filthy and Seunghyun likes it, surprised at how much he's getting off doing this—but then again, maybe that's what happens after waiting this long to actually have sex with someone, after obsessing over the idea of a person for what feels like a lifetime.

And there's no faking the way Daesung's thighs tense, after no longer than Seunghyun made it, and he hisses a warning that Seunghyun has to decide whether or not to heed in a split second. He gives it a try in the end, swallowing inexpertly, just managing not to gag. It doesn't taste bad, exactly, but it's weird.

Then Daesung's hands are groping for him, dragging him up and in for another kiss, and Seunghyun doesn't feel self-conscious anymore. He sucks at Daesung's lower lip, feels Daesung's breathing start to slow against his mouth, and relaxes. For what might be the first time in years, Seunghyun really relaxes, all the anxiety bleeding out of him. Daesung starts to stroke the hair at the base of his neck and Seunghyun breaks the kiss to press their foreheads together.

"I hope this isn't how your reunions with everybody ended," Daesung says after a little while, making Seunghyun choke out a laugh.

"Only you," he says, lacking the energy even to joke, and then he lets himself give in to sleep, because there's nothing left to worry about.

~

Seunghyun wakes up the next morning confused, unable to remember at first where he is or how he got there. When he sees Daesung dead asleep and naked in bed next to him, his first instinct is to panic, but memories of the night before wash over him slowly, along with the realization that there isn't anything to be afraid of. He lets his head fall back against the pillow and waits for a wave of anxiety that never comes. The only emotion he can identify right now is giddy excitement.

For a while he just lies there, drifting in and out of sleep, listening to the sound of Daesung breathing. Then he hears, distantly, from somewhere on the floor, the vibration of his phone. He considers ignoring it, but curiosity eventually gets the better of him. Carefully, without waking Daesung, he slips out of bed, fishing his phone out of the pocket of his pants. Then, because he figures Daesung might have a few obligations he's supposed to be at this morning, he goes into the living room and grabs his phone, too.

He snorts at the sight of their completely forgotten dinner before returning to the bedroom and turning Daesung's phone on. As he suspected, there's a slew of missed calls, mostly from Manager, but after a glimpse of Daesung's peaceful face, Seunghyun decides they can wait a little longer and checks his own. He has just two messages, the most recent from Jiyong.

YOU DOG. i knew you had it in you ;)

Seunghyun sits down again and gapes at the screen, trying to figure out just how the hell Jiyong seems to actually know everything all the time. While he's working on that, he checks his other message, this one from Seungri.

when are you coming for dinner? you can bring daesung~

He's too embarrassed to respond right away, trying to ignore the hot flush rising up his neck by rubbing the bridge of his nose. Finally, curiosity again wins over and he types to Jiyong,

are you having me followed??

To Seungri, he's less accusatory, simply because he'd bet money Jiyong was the one who told him.

brat. He feels emboldened enough to end with, i'll ask daesung about his schedule and let you know.

Then, smiling to himself, he lies back down and pulls up the covers.

"What's so funny?"

Daesung's voice startles Seunghyun, enough that he drops his phone rather than setting it nicely on the bedside table, but he recovers fast.

"You talk in your sleep," Seunghyun lies, rolling over so they're face-to-face. Daesung's hair is a mess and his eyes are barely open, but he's smiling in a way that probably mirrors Seunghyun's expression nicely. "You told me all sorts of embarrassing stuff."

"Aish, I did not," Daesung says, smacking Seunghyun on the shoulder. Seunghyun catches his hand and pulls him in, which Daesung allows without resistance, immediately burying his face against Seunghyun's shoulder and pressing a kiss there.

Seunghyun presses his own mouth to the top of Daesung's head. "Really embarrassing," he says. "I'm gonna make a lot of money selling this stuff to the tabloids."

Daesung snorts but wraps an arm around Seunghyun and hugs him closer, and Seunghyun is just starting to wonder what the best way to initiate morning sex might be when his phone buzzes again.

"Who's that?" Daesung asks.

"Probably Jiyong," Seunghyun says, muffled into Daesung's hair. Daesung lifts his head.

"Jiyong? What does he have to say?"

Because Daesung seems so interested, Seunghyun gropes behind him for his phone.

"He says," Seunghyun reads once he's found it, "'No, but Youngbae told me Daesung missed his session this morning.'"

"Oh shit." Daesung groans and sits up, rubbing his face blearily. "He's gonna make me do extra chin-ups all week."

It's so absurd, thinking of Youngbae actually getting to order Daesung around in a gym, that Seunghyun barks out a laugh. Daesung glares.

"Sorry." Seunghyun covers his mouth but continues to snicker, until Daesung gets fed up and shoves him over. He's happy to let himself fall, especially once Daesung leans over and starts to nip at his neck.

"Do you have a lot of work stuff to do today?" Seunghyun asks, sucking in a sharp breath when Daesung bites harder, maybe as punishment for bringing it up.

"Mm," Daesung mumbles against his skin. "Kind of."

Seunghyun means to follow up on that but loses his train of thought briefly as Daesung slides a hand down his chest and over his stomach, stopping to rub teasingly at his hipbone.

"You, ah—" Seunghyun hisses when Daesung's thigh presses in between his legs, wondering what the hell is wrong with him that he keeps trying to be responsible right now, "—you had a few missed calls—from your manager. . . ."

Daesung goes still, heaving a weary sigh before rolling off of Seunghyun and scowling at him.

"I just don't want to get you in trouble," Seunghyun says, already regretting it, itching for contact again.

"I guess that's noble of you." Daesung rolls his eyes, but he's smiling now. He reaches for Seunghyun's hand and threads their fingers together. "I can probably be home by eleven or so tonight, if you wanna wait for me."

The way Seunghyun's chest tightens up at the mere idea of being home to greet Daesung after work can't be good. He tries to keep from smiling too stupidly when he says, "I'm probably gonna go out for a while today, but I can come back."

"What are you gonna do?" Daesung asks.

Seunghyun shrugs, wondering how to say this without making it into too big of a deal. "I was thinking maybe I'd go talk to YG about some producing stuff."

If Daesung's resulting grin is anything to go by, Seunghyun didn't do a very good job of downplaying the news. "Okay," Daesung says, leaning forward to kiss Seunghyun quick on the lips. "You wanna ride with me to the studios?"

"Is that a good idea?" Seunghyun knows sleeping over at Daesung's after a late night doesn't necessarily need to be suspicious, but if it becomes a regular thing—

"I told you," Daesung says sternly, cutting that train of thought off before it can get very far. "Nobody cares about my personal life anymore. Least of all my manager."

He's done more than enough worrying for one week, so Seunghyun lets that be enough. "Okay," he says.

Daesung grins and kisses him again, slower this time, drawing it out until they're both breathing harder and Seunghyun is foggy with lust. Of course, just as he slides a hand down to Daesung's ass, Daesung rolls away and climbs out of bed.

"I need to shower," he says, laughing at the look on Seunghyun's face, which is probably pretty pathetic. "You could use one, too," he adds, lifting an eyebrow.

Seunghyun scrambles out of bed so fast his feet get tangled in the sheets. He nearly faceplants, but Daesung is there to catch him, laughing harder as he helps him find his footing.

"You're such an idiot," he says fondly.

"I know," Seunghyun says, but walking to the shower pressed close to Daesung, eagerly anticipating the day ahead, he privately thinks this is the smartest he's felt in a long time.

end

Back to part one

Fic (Big Bang) - Good Vibrations

2012-05-21T17:03:29Z

Title: Good Vibrations
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: GD/YB
Word count: 1578
Summary: Jiyong buys a vibrator for Youngbae. Youngbae is confused.
Notes: Uhhh, this is pretty much just shameless PWP and I have no apologies. Thanks as always to reallycorking for never complaining about reading over my porn!

"Do you like it?" Jiyong asks, eagerly enough that Youngbae has to work very hard to keep his expression neutral.

"It's—" he starts, then stops and frowns.

"It's a vibrator," Jiyong offers helpfully.

"I know what it is," Youngbae says. He turns the red silicon over in his hands, embarrassed by his inability to control his blush while Jiyong grins at him like a crocodile. "But—why did you get it? We already. . . ." He trails off, helpless.

Jiyong leans in and presses his smile to Youngbae's neck, closing a hand over Youngbae's—and the vibrator—and nipping at his pulse. "They're not just for girls," he says.

This is news to Youngbae. He shivers as Jiyong shifts closer, straddling Youngbae's lap, sucking at his jaw.

"But what do you want to do with it?" Youngbae finally asks. He's getting better at not being humiliated by this sort of thing, but his face is still burning.

"I'll show you." Jiyong breathes hot into his ear, and just like that, Youngbae is flat on his back and Jiyong is on top of him, plucking the vibrator from his hands.

"Jiyong. . . ."

It's all the protest Youngbae can manage, and to be honest it feels like nothing more than a formality at this point. Jiyong always gets his way, especially when they're like this: dicks already hard in their pants, Jiyong wriggly and eager to rid himself of his shirt, Youngbae's hands moving on instinct to grip Jiyong's hips. Youngbae moans like a slut when Jiyong grinds his ass down against his dick, and he can't even work up the energy to feel resentful of the smug look it earns him.

"Where's the lube?" Jiyong works fingers under Youngbae's tank top and pushes it up, bending low to mouth at Youngbae's nipples, which always makes his brain go dead.

"Uhh," Youngbae says, twisting a little.

"Hmm?" Jiyong bites one nipple, impatient, and Youngbae's head jerks off the pillow.

"Fuck! Bedside table, Jesus."

Jiyong is laughing when he leans over to rifle through the drawer—and where else would someone keep the lube, honestly—but Youngbae is too turned on to work up any real annoyance. His heart starts to beat a little faster as Jiyong settles back on Youngbae's hips, unscrewing the cap with his teeth and immediately coating two fingers.

"Take your pants off." Jiyong's words are muffled by the cap, which he spits onto the floor a moment later, but Youngbae still obeys immediately. He gives his hips a little jerk and Jiyong rises to allow him some room, lifting an amused eyebrow at the haste with which Youngbae undoes his fly and pulls both jeans and briefs down and off.

This is exactly the kind of thing that Youngbae once found so mortifying he could barely stumble through sex with Jiyong—his cock is hard, leaking and utterly exposed, and Jiyong stares unashamedly, like he's dying for it. But the thing is, Youngbae is the one dying for it. Jiyong loves getting fucked, but Youngbae loves it too; so much that sometimes it feels like it's all he ever thinks about anymore, all the different ways and places Jiyong could be fucking him at any given moment.

"Move." Jiyong forces a knee between Youngbae's thighs, nudging them apart, and Youngbae spreads easily. He can remember a time when Jiyong would have to work on him for an hour or more, kissing and teasing and begging, to get to this point. Now, with Jiyong's fingers sliding into him without hesitation and Jiyong's mouth sucking a bruise into his neck, Youngbae wonders how he was ever so stupid.

"Fuck." Youngbae lifts his hips again as Jiyong starts to finger-fuck him, quick and hard, almost sloppy. He's almost forgotten about the vibrator until he hears it humming on. His eyes snap open.

It's bigger than Youngbae feels entirely comfortable with, but he can't deny how enticing it looks in Jiyong's free hand, pairing nicely with his wild eyes. Jiyong tosses sweaty bangs away from his face and starts to trail the vibrator along Youngbae's inner thigh, up and down, slow and deliberate. He never stops watching Youngbae's face, so Youngbae lets his reactions show because he knows that's what Jiyong likes. When the vibrator gets close to Youngbae's ass, he bites his lip and shifts. When it gets nearer to his knee again, he exhales shakily.

"God," Jiyong says appreciatively, fingers faltering in Youngbae's ass. "I love it when you're a total slut."

Youngbae closes his eyes against his aroused mortification. "Are you going to use that thing or not?"

Jiyong chuckles, but Youngbae is pleased to note there's a definite tremor to it. He pulls his fingers out without warning, making Youngbae whine even as he slides down, kissing and biting at Youngbae's stomach on the way.

"Try not to come too fast," Jiyong says, which would piss Youngbae off except it seems like extremely warranted advice just now. Jiyong doesn't waste much time slicking the vibrator up before he pushes it in, making Youngbae writhe, fingers twisting in the bedsheets.

"Oh—God, Jiyong," Youngbae pants, arching his back. The vibrator is a little harder and heavier than he was expecting, but it feels good, fucking him slowly while Jiyong kisses his thigh.

"Good?" Jiyong starts to suck a hickey just under Youngbae's knee.

"Yeah," Youngbae says, breathless. Still, he doesn't totally get it. "But—why not just fuck me like normal?"

There's a moment when Jiyong's hand goes still, letting the vibrator rest and just hum inside Youngbae's ass, and Youngbae wonders if he's in trouble. Then Jiyong abandons his thigh, licks a long, slow path up Youngbae's dick, and sucks him down.

Youngbae's heart stutters in his chest. He can't move, can't speak; just lies still as Jiyong starts to fuck him with the vibrator again, harder this time, in the same motion as his mouth bobbing up and down over Youngbae's cock. It only takes a few tries before he hits Youngbae's prostate, and Youngbae can't help the way his hips jerk forward. Luckily, this is one of Jiyong's many talents—he barely even chokes when Youngbae's cock hits the back of his throat.

"Good?" Jiyong asks again, only pulling back long enough to flash a wicked smile up at Youngbae. There's a trail of spit and come still connecting his lips to Youngbae's cock, and Youngbae wonders suddenly if this is how he's going to die.

"Good," Youngbae says, and, in the same rushed breath, "fuck, Jiyong, don't stop—"

Jiyong silences him by wrapping lips around his cock again. Youngbae loves watching Jiyong do this, the way his cheeks hollow and his eyelashes flutter, but he can't keep his eyes open anymore. It's too much and not enough all at once—he feels like he's suffocating, scrabbling at the bed and then at Jiyong's hair, begging in broken, gasped sentences for more, harder, don't stop. Jiyong slams the vibrator into him with jarring force even as he sucks him deeper, a reward, maybe, because he loves reducing Youngbae to this and they both know it.

"Ask me for it," Jiyong says, pulling away but still breathing hot around Youngbae's cock, still fucking him nice and hard.

"Please," Youngbae says immediately. He's way too close to be embarrassed.

"Beg," Jiyong orders. He laps at Youngbae's head, taunting.

"Please," Youngbae says again, his voice absolutely wrecked, reduced to a strained groan. "Please—oh God, fuck, please, Jiyong, let me come."

It's the end for both of them. Jiyong moans, like he's the one whose prostate is being slammed into relentlessly, and sucks Youngbae down just in time for Youngbae to come in his throat. Youngbae can't remember ever feeling this drained or brain-dead after sex; he rolls his hips through the aftershocks and then goes limp, sucking in air greedily as Jiyong crawls up his chest and kisses him with sticky lips.

"That was the hottest thing I've ever seen in my fucking life," Jiyong mumbles against Youngbae's mouth. Youngbae can't answer, but he does give a surprised little "Ah" when Jiyong slides two fingers into his ass and guides the vibrator out. He turns it off and sets it on the bedside table, resting his head on Youngbae's chest with a sigh.

"What—" Youngbae says, once he's reasonably certain he's not going to pass out, "what gave you the idea to do that?"

He can feel Jiyong's smirk against his chest. "I've just been thinking about it for a while."

The idea of Jiyong fantasizing about Youngbae is enough to make him feel dizzy all over again. "You've been thinking about fucking me and giving me a blow job at the same time?"

"Mm. Not exactly." Jiyong sits up and Youngbae blinks, surprised. It's only now, as Jiyong starts unzipping his jeans with deliberate slowness, that Youngbae realizes they never even got Jiyong's pants off.

"I've been thinking about you doing it to me." The clarification hangs in the air between them, but Jiyong doesn't hesitate in sliding his jeans down his hips, letting Youngbae's gaze linger on the wet spot on his underwear before pulling those down as well.

"You are such a bigger slut than me," Youngbae says, but it's not really a complaint. He grabs Jiyong by the hips and forcibly flips him onto his back.

Jiyong lets out a breathy laugh. "As if there was ever any doubt," he agrees. Youngbae decides to count it as his victory anyway.

end

Fic (Big Bang) - Producing Youngbae

2012-05-04T02:17:19Z

Title: Producing Youngbae
Rating: R
Pairing: Daesung/Youngbae
Word count: 7361
Summary: Daesung takes it upon himself to help Youngbae get a girlfriend, which goes about as well as can be expected.
Notes: When I started writing this, I wasn't even sure I shipped it. 7000+ words later, I apparently ship it like burning! These two are just kind of endearingly sweet and fun to write together. A million thanks to reallycorking for once again hand-holding me through this! ♥ Maybe now that I've officially written Daesung in every combination with the rest of the group I can tackle a few new pairings. . . .

Sorry in advance for the cross-posting.

Youngbae is late when he gets to the recording studio, behind schedule because of an interview that dragged on for way too long, so he slips in with his manager quietly, hoping not to interrupt anything. It's a relief to see just Jiyong in the booth, Teddy working the computer and the other members gathered at the break table in various states of exhaustion. Seunghyun has earbuds in and his eyes closed. Seungri is texting or maybe playing a game on his phone. Daesung has his head in his hands and is staring at a book with glazed-over eyes; Youngbae feels similarly. He decides to take the open chair next to Seunghyun, because it's tucked back in the farthest corner, and grabs a bottle of water for himself.

"That took a while," Seungri says without looking up from his phone.

"Yeah," Youngbae agrees. He twists at the ring on his little finger until the silence in the room feels weirdly heavy, and eventually looks up to find both Seungri and Daesung watching him. Seunghyun is, as far as he can tell, asleep.

"Didn't it go well?" Daesung asks.

Sometimes Youngbae hates how transparent he is. "It was fine," he says, twisting his ring more urgently.

"Did they make fun of you again for not having a girlfriend?" Seungri puts down his phone and grins, like it's a joke they haven't all heard a million times before.

"They didn't make fun of me," Youngbae says.

Daesung looks over his shoulder for confirmation from Youngbae's manager, who offers, "They were asking a lot of questions about girls."

Youngbae visualizes throwing his water bottle at his manager's head, and it helps a little. "It wasn't a big deal," he says, getting up so he can nonchalantly survey the table for snacks. The only thing there is shredded squid—too salty for his diet, but he takes some anyway.

"Don't worry, Hyung," Seungri says, slapping Youngbae on the back in a mockery of reassurance. It makes him choke on squid. "You'll find the right girl. Not all of us can be so gifted at dating."

Youngbae visualizes throwing his water bottle at Seungri's head next, and when that doesn't help, something heavier, like a chair.

"Seungri's just extra full of himself because he's seeing that cute bartender from Double Eight tonight," Daesung says, rolling his eyes.

"You're seeing her again?" Jiyong emerges from the booth, sweaty but bright-eyed, and flashes a grin at Seungri. "Lucky. I love her style, she wears the greatest shoes."

Teddy swivels around in his chair before Seungri can preen too much under the attention and says, "Okay, we only need Taeyang and Seunghyun now. The rest are free to go."

Jiyong and Seungri cheer, and Jiyong kicks Seunghyun's chair so he jerks and pulls out his earbuds. "You're up," he says. "Better work hard if you want to be done in time for your hot date."

Seunghyun stands, looking embarrassed but also plenty pleased with himself.

"Does everybody have dates tonight?" Youngbae asks.

"Jiyong and Seunghyun are going clubbing," Daesung clarifies, but they all know that essentially means a date, only with more girls. "I'm going back to the dorms."

Youngbae nods, a little dazed.

Daesung shoulders his bag and pulls out his headphones before pausing to ask, "Do you want me to wait to work out with you?"

"Yeah," Youngbae says, "sure. If I'm not too late."

"Wait." Jiyong grabs Youngbae by the shoulders and whirls him around so they're face-to-face. "What happened? Did they tease you about girls again?"

It's an immense relief when Teddy calls Youngbae into the booth first.

"You know," Daesung says breathlessly, stepping off the treadmill next to Youngbae's, "not to let them get to you, right?" He dabs sweat away from his face with his shirt and adds, "Especially Seungri."

Youngbae frowns and keeps his eyes straight forward, knuckles gripping the handlebar. "I don't care if they go on dates," he says.

Daesung nods as he takes a drink of water, sits down on the floor next to Youngbae's treadmill, and then lies down next to it, arms sprawled out at his sides. "Aish, I don't know how you do it, Hyung."

He wants to be crabby with Daesung, but Youngbae can't help but smile down at him. "You can't be tired already," he says, amused.

"You're not even human." Daesung flicks him off and covers his face with his arm in the same motion and Youngbae laughs, hard enough that it throws off his pace completely and he has to stop. He sits down on the treadmill and mops his own face off, and Daesung rests his head against Youngbae's foot.

"Is it still your goal to get a girlfriend this year, Hyung?"

Youngbae's stomach drops and the smile fades from his face. Why does it always have to come back to this? "Yeah, I guess," he says.

"Okay," Daesung says. "From here on out, it's our shared goal."

"You want to get a girlfriend too?" Youngbae doesn't know why it seems odd to him, but Daesung never really talks about dating; it's never seemed to concern him much.

"No," Daesung says. "I'm going to help you get a girlfriend."

Youngbae rubs the back of his head, swallowing. "I don't think that's really a good idea," he says thickly.

Daesung rolls onto his stomach and beams at him, with such intensity that Youngbae looks away. "No, it's perfect! I'm secretly really good at this kind of thing. I just let Seungri and the hyungs have all the girls because it makes them feel better."

"Right." Youngbae can't help it; he snorts out his laughter and then can't stop, his entire frame shaking with it.

"I'll choose not to be offended by that," Daesung says coolly. He stands up and shakes damp bangs out of his eyes. "Okay, it's settled. Tomorrow I start to produce you. You'll have girls knocking down your door by next month."

"Daesung . . ." Youngbae says.

Daesung waves him off, heading toward the showers without another word. Youngbae should keep going for another fifteen minutes at least, just like he should put a stop to whatever Daesung thinks he's doing before it gets out of hand. But Daesung has a strange pull about him and Youngbae feels himself giving in to it, following him to the showers just a few seconds later, resigned.

Youngbae is an early riser, especially on nights he doesn't sleep well, which occur all too frequently these days. He's surprised, then, when he rises the next morning to find Daesung in the kitchen, not only up before him but dressed and ready for the day, leg jiggling impatiently as he pages through a book.

"About time!" Daesung says, snapping the book shut. "I was just about to wake you up!"

"Did we . . . have something scheduled?" Youngbae opens the fridge and goes for the eggs, but Daesung jumps up and grabs the carton away from him, stuffing it back inside and shutting the door.

"Hey!" Youngbae protests.

"Get dressed! We're going out for breakfast and then we're going shopping."

"I'm too tired," Youngbae moans, but forty minutes later they're in Daesung's car driving to a place Daesung assures him he's going to love, heavily layered so as to be incognito as possible.

It's a tiny restaurant on a back street behind a shopping center, but Youngbae is surprised at how charming the setting is; the street has lots of trees, cobblestone sidewalks and a little creek running alongside it, and the restaurant itself is hidden away but quaint, with big bright windows and mismatched china. For now at least they're the only people there, which is ideal for idols trying to have a quiet meal.

"It's run by just the one guy, so food takes forever," Daesung informs him, after they've sat down and placed their orders. "But it's really good, and there's almost never anybody else here."

"It's great," Youngbae says approvingly. He picks up his plate and tries in vain to read the English printed around the sides.

"This is the perfect atmosphere for a date," Daesung says, startling Youngbae enough that he almost drops the plate. "Here, I brought your notebook so you could write some things down."

"What?" Youngbae laughs, uncomfortable. "When did you get this?"

"While you were in the shower. Here's a pen."

Youngbae isn't sure if he should feel flattered that Daesung is taking such a serious interest in his romantic life or annoyed, but he accepts the notebook with a half-smile. "Thanks?"

In lieu of a response, Daesung wags the pen in Youngbae's face until he takes that, too. "It's important, especially on the first date, to go somewhere like this, where you can be relatively private and not run the risk of a lot of fans mobbing you."

"Uh-huh." Youngbae twirls the pen in his fingers and stares, transfixed, at this Daesung he's never met before.

"And even though it's kind of smokey, the environment is good, you know? It's quiet so you can have a real conversation, and it has character so she'll be impressed by your taste." He pauses and points at Youngbae's notebook. "Why aren't you writing this down?"

"Oh." Youngbae bows his head and starts to write as quickly as he can.

The restaurant owner brings their food shortly thereafter, and Youngbae continues scratching out notes as he eats until he's satisfied he's got the important points down. When he looks up, Daesung is watching him closely.

"What?" Youngbae asks.

"Nothing." Daesung smiles. "It's nice, isn't it?"

"What is?"

Daesung looks awkward suddenly, and he averts his gaze to the window, finger-combing his hair. "Just being out like this."

For some reason, Youngbae gets the sense he just hurt Daesung's feelings. "It is nice," he agrees, hoping to make up for whatever he did. Daesung's smile shifts back into place and everything feels right again.

They finish their meal but linger at the restaurant for a long time after, chatting mostly about music and a little about superhero movies. Youngbae feels more relaxed than he has in a while, and when they leave and start strolling down the sidewalk he's almost forgotten why they went out in the first place.

"We're going in here first," Daesung says, pointing at a tiny boutique Youngbae would have passed up without a second glance if he wasn't looking for it. "I think we need to make a couple slight adjustments to your style."

Youngbae's shoulders droop at the reminder of the task at hand. "I have a team of personal stylists in charge of how I look, Daesung," he says, sharper than intended. "Do you really think you're going to do something for me they can't?"

"But they're in charge of Taeyang's style," Daesung says. "You need to have a distinct Youngbae style, too, so she can see there's more going on beneath the surface." Youngbae looks at him sideways, but Daesung doesn't seem to think he's said anything ridiculous at all. "It's all about the element of mystery," he adds.

By the time they've finished browsing boutiques, three hours have passed and the only thing Youngbae has to show for it is a couple new white t-shirts and a baseball cap. Daesung is obviously disappointed, and no matter what he says, Youngbae can tell he's definitely offended that Youngbae rejected the jacket Daesung wanted him to buy on the grounds that it was "mortifying."

"We can work on fashion another time," Daesung sighs as they climb into the car. Youngbae just shakes his head, but he takes some belated shopping notes while Daesung drives anyway to improve his mood, and it seems to work.

"Do you want to watch cartoons when we get home?" Daesung asks excitedly, and Youngbae can't really think of a better way to end a surprisingly enjoyable day.

On Sunday, Youngbae wakes up to Daesung shaking him and leaning in way too close.

"Hyuuuung," he whines next to Youngbae's ear, "you've been asleep for forever."

Youngbae rolls onto his side and blinks at his alarm clock, surprised to have slept as soundly as he did. He and Daesung were up kind of late watching One Piece, but after going to bed he didn't wake up with anxiety once. Maybe it's because they actually have two days off in a row for the first time in as long as he can remember.

"I'm not going clothes shopping again," Youngbae says, yawning and wiping sleep from his eyes.

"Fine," Daesung huffs. "But we're trying out more date places today, so you should hurry up and get dressed. It's okay if we don't work out until later, right?" He doesn't give Youngbae enough time to answer before he starts rifling through the closet.

"What are you doing?"

Daesung doesn't respond, just pulls out item after item and spreads them over Youngbae's desk. "You should wear one of these shirts," he says thoughtfully. "And the green high tops would look good with this jacket."

"Get out and let me dress myself!" Youngbae throws a pillow at the back of Daesung's head, but when he emerges a few minutes later he's obediently pieced together an ensemble from Daesung's selections, for reasons he can't fathom.

"You look really good," Daesung says earnestly, as they bid farewell to Jiyong and Seungri, who are sitting at the breakfast table looking utterly perplexed.

Youngbae might not be sold when it comes to Daesung's fashion advice, but by the end of the day he has to grudgingly admit Daesung is really good at dates. They start out the day in an arcade, a location he would never have thought to bring a girl before now.

"Girls love playing the music games and stuff," Daesung assures him, after their fourth consecutive round of Taiko: Drum Master. "And you can show off your dance moves with Pump It Up."

"But I'm terrible at Pump It Up," Youngbae says.

"We'll have to work on that," Daesung agrees. "Maybe next time."

After a quick lunch at a street stall by the river—they run into a little trouble with fans recognizing them there, but it only takes a few pictures and autographs before they can make an escape—they go on to the National Folk Museum, which Youngbae also never would have picked for a date. It's actually a lot more interesting than he expected.

"This way she can see you're kind of cultured, too," Daesung explains, bending over to closely inspect a dangerous-looking piece of ancient farming equipment. "It's better to go on a weekday, but there's only so much we can do about our schedules."

"That makes sense," Youngbae says. He wonders for not the first time today why Daesung doesn't go on more dates with girls, but can't think of a way to ask without sounding rude.

"Shoot," Daesung says, glancing at his watch. "We have to hurry."

"For what?"

Daesung only grins and takes him by the arm, and Youngbae doesn't fight it, entirely trusting by this point to let Daesung lead him wherever he wants to go.

The last date event turns out to be a scary movie. Of all Daesung's excursions, it's the last Youngbae would have chosen, not least of all because he doesn't like seeing horror movies in theaters. He doesn't tell Daesung this, though.

"Matinees are good because there aren't as many people," Daesung tells him. He grabs Youngbae's shirt when he starts walking up the aisle and directs him to the very back row. "More private," he says, "so you can. You know."

Youngbae's eyebrows shoot up.

"What? It's the second date."

After the movie starts, Youngbae decides this would be more of a third or fourth date activity if he were with a real girl. Daesung ends up practically sitting in Youngbae's lap, clutching his arm until it's numb and yelping so much the scant few other people in the theater keep shushing them. It's actually a relief that Daesung is so jumpy, though, because it distracts from the number of times Youngbae jolts and chokes on a shout himself. And if Daesung grabs his hand once or twice, Youngbae is gracious enough not to mention it, which is more than could be said for how any of the other members would've handled the situation.

"I'm never going to sleep again," Daesung moans on the drive home. The sun is setting and Youngbae can't wipe the peaceful smile off his face.

"Your idea, not mine," Youngbae says. He has his notebook open so he can pretend to take belated notes but is mostly just doodling loopy designs in the margins.

"Hey, I'm making a lot of sacrifices for you here," Daesung says with a glare. "I hate those kinds of movies. I would never have done that if not for educational purposes."

Youngbae laughs. "Well I recommend you never do it on a real date either, because you'll end up screaming more than she does."

It might be his imagination, but Youngbae thinks Daesung looks just the slightest bit sad at that. They drive the rest of the way back to the dorms in silence, even Youngbae's doodling petering out.

After returning, the looming reality of Sunday night hits them both, and they part ways to prepare for tomorrow. Youngbae doesn't see Daesung when he goes to work out—doesn't see him at all, in fact, until he's about to turn out his bedside lamp and go to bed, when a timid knock sounds on his door.

"Come in," he says, and Daesung pokes his head inside.

"Um," Daesung says.

Youngbae waits a beat, trying futilely to read Daesung's troubled expression. "What is it?"

"I can't stop thinking about that dead girl when I turn off the light," Daesung says in a rush, fixing Youngbae with pitiful eyes. "Can we have a sleepover?"

Youngbae makes it maybe two seconds before bursting into peals of laughter—the kind where you can't see through the tears—and Daesung shushes him but takes it as an invitation, shuffling inside and closing the door behind him.

"You brought your pillow?" Youngbae says when he can speak again. "What were you going to do if I said no?"

"You can't say no. You owe me," Daesung says, making a face. He jumps into bed and Youngbae scoots over to make room, bizarrely pleased with the situation. It's been so long since he felt this warm and amused; he can't seem to stop snickering, even after they've turned the lights out and rolled over so they're lying back-to-back.

"Quiet," Daesung hisses. "Some of us have to get up early in the morning."

Youngbae elbows him in the ribcage and Daesung retaliates by kicking him in the leg, which results in a jostling fight that doesn't die down until almost half an hour later. Still, it's the easiest Youngbae has drifted off in as long as he can remember, his mind blotting out all the usual work anxiety with a haze of contentment. The last thing he remembers is the steady rise-fall of Daesung's breathing, the way it lends a background noise to the room that fits just right.

It's still dark out when Youngbae opens his eyes, wondering dimly if he's having an insomnia attack again, even after falling asleep so easily. But a glance at the clock tells him it's almost 5:30, only minutes before the alarm is set to go off, and then he takes in the weight of the bed, the warmth at his side, and remembers. He turns his head and Daesung is right there, mouth pressed into the crook of Youngbae's neck and shoulder, one arm slung across Youngbae's stomach. It burns hot on Youngbae's skin; every part of him that Daesung is touching feels hot, including and especially the breath that ghosts against his neck. He itches to move away but at the same time has the urgent sense he shouldn't.

The alarm starts to buzz before he can make a decision, and Youngbae quietly panics as Daesung scrunches up his face and groans, hand clenching over Youngbae's abs.

"Not yet," he murmurs, burrowing his face down deeper, pressing his mouth close enough to Youngbae's neck that it's almost a kiss; isn't that a kiss? He curls a leg around Youngbae's calf, forcing their bodies even closer, and right when Youngbae feels something hard against his hip, at the same time, they both freeze.

Daesung moves first, because he has to. Peeling himself away from Youngbae's side, he looks up, eyes wide and frightened.

"Sorry," Daesung says, as quiet as Youngbae has ever heard him.

Youngbae's tongue is thick and heavy and won't move. He just watches as Daesung wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and scoots away, eyes still locked on Youngbae like he's worried he's about to get punched.

"I'm gonna," Daesung says, jerking a thumb toward the door, and then he's gone, pillow completely forgotten in his rush to escape.

The week is grueling, which is one reason, maybe, Youngbae doesn't get around to returning Daesung's pillow. He's still not sure he understands what happened, but every morning when he wakes up with his face smashed into the foreign pillowcase he tries hard to figure it out. Daesung is polite and not unfriendly at work but distant and awkward, and every time Youngbae thinks back to the weekend his stomach gives a painful twinge. In retrospect, it was more fun than Youngbae has had in a long time, and he feels like he's lost that now, before he could even really start to appreciate it.

By Saturday night, Youngbae has never been more relieved to get back to his own apartment. They're facing only light activities scattering the group schedule in the coming week, so everyone's free to live away from the dorms. He starts to unpack his bag and stares at Daesung's pillow, which ended up getting zipped in with his clothes despite Youngbae's better judgment. After turning it uncertainly in his hands for a while, he sets it down amongst his own pillows and heads to the kitchen to feed Boss, who's been whining for fifteen minutes solid.

Daesung calls before Youngbae has finished setting down the dog dish.

"Hello?" Youngbae says, glancing into his bedroom at the pillow guiltily, irrationally fearful that Daesung knows.

"Hi, it's Daesung, I," Daesung says, too fast, before he slows down and tries again. "I'm downstairs. Can you let me in?"

"Downstairs?" Youngbae trips over Boss's bowl and curses, kibble flying everywhere.

"Hyung?" Daesung says nervously.

"Sorry—here." Youngbae lurches to the intercom and buzzes him in, then, unsure of what to do, hangs up without saying goodbye.

Youngbae has barely pulled open the door for Daesung before he's inside, babbling in a nearly incomprehensible stream of words. "Hyung, I'm so sorry the interview didn't go well, but I hate that you're upset—you shouldn't let it bother you. It doesn't matter if you haven't dated a lot of girls, you're great the way you are and when you do find the right girl it's going to be perfect. And I'm sorry I tried to teach you about dating—I didn't want to make you think you need to change anything about yourself, because the way you are now—" Daesung finally pauses to take a breath, hesitating. "Anyone would be lucky to have you," he concludes.

"Daesung," Youngbae says, dumbstruck. "What are you talking about?"

Boss, having finished cleaning up the kibble mess, chooses that precise moment to notice there's an intruder and starts barking. The distraction is a welcome one, though; for a second, Daesung looked like he was ready to cry.

"Can I have a glass of water?" Daesung asks, breathless, bending down to give Boss a distracted pat on the head.

"Yes," Youngbae says. He's relieved just to be able to understand something Daesung says and be proactive about it.

Once they've relocated to the kitchen, Youngbae takes down a bottle of soju as well, shaking it questioningly.

"Yes please," Daesung says. Even though neither of them are big drinkers, Youngbae thinks the occasion calls for it. He pours them each a glass.

Of course, Youngbae is learning all sorts of new things about Daesung lately; he throws his back in one go. "So you weren't upset about your interview?" he gasps, setting the glass down hard enough that Youngbae winces.

"I didn't even know it aired," Youngbae says, after a more moderate swig from his own glass. "I'm guessing by your reaction it's not very good, though."

"It's fine, it just—focused on the girlfriend stuff a lot," Daesung says. He pours himself another helping without asking and Youngbae only barely suppresses a laugh. There's nothing funny about Daesung upset, but now that he's here Youngbae feels strangely lighthearted.

"Then why were you so weird all week?" Daesung asks.

Youngbae chokes on his next swallow of soju, and it goes down the wrong pipe burning. "Me?" he rasps.

"You were all moody and silent and wouldn't make eye contact with anybody!" Daesung insists. He seems a little offended that Youngbae is so incredulous.

"Well you were the one who wouldn't stand within four feet of me even if we were in an elevator," Youngbae shoots back.

Daesung looks down, turning his glass in his hands. "That's different. I thought you were mad."

"Why would I be mad?" Youngbae feels like they're on the verge of something, but still he's teetering uncertainly on the edge of understanding.

"Because," Daesung says, face reddening even as his voice wilts. "I was trying to—and in the morning—I'm sure it bothered you." It's as much as he can get out. He takes another swallow of soju and looks anywhere but at Youngbae, who, for his part, is also feeling a little hot in the face.

"It didn't . . . bother me."

They make eye contact at long, long last, and at the same time, they both smile.

"Okay," Daesung says with a shaky laugh.

"Do you wanna—" Youngbae says, gesturing at the couch, and Daesung stammers "Yeah, sure," stuffing his hands in his pockets and leading the way into the living room.

It looks like they're going to need all the help they can get stumbling through this exchange, whatever it is. Youngbae grabs both glasses and the bottle before following.

"For the record," Youngbae says, taking a seat next to Daesung and pouring fresh drinks, "I liked the dates. I had fun."

He doesn't think he's said anything monumental, but when Youngbae looks up Daesung is studying him intently, like he just spoke another language.

"You didn't mind?" Daesung asks, accepting his glass from Youngbae's extended hand.

The way Daesung says it, Youngbae can't help but get flustered. "Of course I didn't mind," he manages. "It was nice." His own words startle him when he adds, "I think the main reason I was weird this week was because I missed you."

And just like that, Youngbae, who can admittedly be a little slow sometimes, thinks maybe he gets it.

The words hang in the air between them for too long, but Youngbae can't bring himself to glance sideways and gauge Daesung's reaction. He has, however, almost worked up the courage to throw himself out the window, right when two things happen.

First, Daesung touches Youngbae's shoulder and says, "Hyung. Who do you want to date?"

Second, and only a second later, Boss emerges from Youngbae's bedroom, proudly growling as he drags Daesung's pillow across the floor.

"Shit," Youngbae says.

He jumps off the couch and lunges for the pillow, but that's exactly what Boss was hoping for; he snarls excitedly and darts in the opposite direction. They engage in the most humiliating game of chase imaginable, over chairs and under tables, Youngbae continually being outsmarted by a dog the size of one of his biceps, until Boss leaps right into Daesung's lap and Daesung simply plucks the pillow from his mouth.

"This is mine," he says dumbly, as Youngbae comes to a stop just in front of him.

"Yeah," Youngbae says. One glare and Boss slinks off of Daesung's lap, scurrying out of sight.

"You brought it here?" Daesung asks.

"Yeah," Youngbae says. He sits down heavily next to Daesung, wiping the hair out of his face. His mohawk has started to wilt.

Daesung puts the pillow down on his other side, turns, and looks Youngbae straight in the eye. "Do you want to date me?" His voice is steady when he says it, but Youngbae has seen this expression on Daesung's face before, always on the cusp of a high-stakes performance.

It's good to know they're both terrified.

"Yeah," Youngbae says. He closes his eyes and falls back against the cushions, covering his face with his hands, steeling himself.

He feels rather than sees Daesung fall back against the cushions next to him; feels rather than sees Daesung pressing in close, his face burrowing against Youngbae's neck, strangely familiar. A hand slides up Youngbae's neck to his jaw, batting Youngbae's arms away so they fall, one at his side, one across Daesung's shoulders.

"Okay," Daesung says, voice muffled by Youngbae's skin.

"Okay what?" Youngbae is trying his hardest to follow the train of conversation, but he's considerably distracted by the way his stomach is trying to crawl out his throat.

"Okay, I'll date you," Daesung says. "On one condition."

Youngbae shivers. "What?"

"Kiss me."

Youngbae opens his eyes. He shifts slightly so he can better face Daesung, and Daesung guides him closer with the hand on his jaw, encouraging. This is the single most frightening moment of Youngbae's life, but even though the only sound he can hear is his own heart beating wildly in his ears, his hands move with a strange confidence to cradle the back of Daesung's head.

At first he just brushes his lips over Daesung's, trying to get a feel for it. It's weird having his face this close to another person's, but Daesung's sigh is reassuring. Youngbae pulls back, tries again—presses harder this time, tilting so their mouths fit better together, and Daesung, eyes fluttering closed, sucks on Youngbae's bottom lip.

That sends a jolt through Youngbae's entire body, mouth to toes. Without thinking, he pushes Daesung down so he's flat on his back on the cushions. As an immediate reward, Daesung hooks one leg around Youngbae's ass and exhales into his mouth.

"C'mere," Daesung urges, dragging his hand up the back of Youngbae's neck and skull, in a way that makes the hair there prickle straight up on end.

Youngbae moans, which Daesung takes as an opportunity to catch his mouth while it's open. It works better than Youngbae would have expected, kissing like that: even though it's louder and messier he starts to like it, especially the way it keeps surprising him. The first time their tongues meet it's weird but not at all bad, and the first time Daesung nips at his top lip he jerks his hips hard, gasping.

Daesung's fingers clench around his biceps. He looks a little winded. "Do that again."

He doesn't need to be told twice. Youngbae rolls his hips, Daesung presses more insistently with his leg, and they both shudder with the force of it. Another experimental shift—Youngbae grabs Daesung's thigh, hitching it higher up, rolls again—and something inside him snaps.

"Oh, God." Youngbae crushes Daesung's mouth under his, forgetting to be self-conscious that it's too much, too messy, and he has no idea what he's doing. Daesung slips his hands under Youngbae's shirt and digs nails into Youngbae's back and they grind together, fast and hard, until they're panting into each other's mouths. Youngbae has sweats on but Daesung's still wearing jeans, and it almost hurts, except for the fact that it feels so good.

"Hold on," Daesung hisses, about the two last words in the world Youngbae wants to hear right now. He grunts but doesn't actually stop what he's doing, until Daesung works a hand between them and under the waistband of Youngbae's underwear and he goes shock-still.

"Daesung," Youngbae says, but it's the last word he can get out for a while. Daesung doesn't wait for permission. He finds Youngbae's cock and starts to work it, confident, sucking at the side of Youngbae's neck and the hollow of his throat, occasionally gasping almost as loud as Youngbae himself.

Youngbae's never felt anything half this good in his life. He's helpless to do anything but breathe—can hardly even manage that—head tilting back as Daesung jerks him faster, pulls up his shirt, mouths at his chest. With a final swipe of Daesung's thumb across the head Youngbae comes, too overwhelmed to make a sound, trembling with the effort to stay propped up and not collapse right there.

"It's okay," Daesung says, reading Youngbae's mind, so Youngbae does collapse, burying his face in Daesung's chest and breathing deep as Daesung strokes his hair. The air around them smells like sweat and something sharper, and all Youngbae can think is, he wants to make Daesung feel just as good.

When he drags a hand down to Daesung's crotch and grabs, unself-conscious, Daesung jerks in initial surprise. Even through his jeans Daesung is so hard and hot, and Youngbae presses the heel of his palm in and rubs, over and over, strangely aroused even by his part in this.

Daesung isn't quiet at all. He writhes under Youngbae's hand, legs falling apart, and moans. Youngbae gives an experimental squeeze and Daesung moans louder, scrabbling at his shoulders. Then, in a burst of aggression that surprises him at least as much as it does Daesung, Youngbae grabs the hem of Daesung's shirt, jerks it high up his chest, and uses all his strength to press him down to the cushions, biting at his newly exposed stomach.

Youngbae doesn't need to hear Daesung's sharp cry to know he comes in his pants.

They fall together again after Youngbae crawls back up, trading places so Youngbae is underneath, making out until his lips hurt and his brain is cloudy. Daesung's hands trace patterns across Youngbae's chest, and it feels so nice he forgets to care about the mess trapped between them, even once they give up on kissing and just lie there, eyes closed, waiting for their breathing to return to normal.

"I felt like I was tricking you," Daesung says after Youngbae doesn't know how long; his voice sounds strange and distant in the stillness of the room.

"Hmm?" Youngbae opens his eyes reluctantly, but Daesung's are still closed.

"With the dates," Daesung clarifies. "I wanted to help you, but not as much as I wanted to have you to myself."

Maybe he should be retroactively affronted, but Youngbae can't see why. "But you did help me," he says, a little stupidly.

Daesung hums his smile, and the vibration of it feels good over Youngbae's heart.

They don't leave Youngbae's apartment the entire next day—not even to work out—a fact which makes Youngbae flush with shame and a few other emotions later, although he'd do it all again, unfailingly, if given the choice. Whenever they have to show up for activities the next week, Youngbae is constantly nervous and embarrassed, like everyone can see exactly what they've been doing with one look at his face. Of course, he's still not entirely convinced this is real life anyway; the first time Daesung went down on him, late Sunday night while they were taking a shower, was so good Youngbae has started to wonder if he didn't go into a coma and has been dreaming everything since.

"You're awfully smiley today," Jiyong says on Wednesday, startling Youngbae's attention away from his phone. He's been texting nonstop with Daesung while they're in separate studios, and fewer than half the messages are entirely appropriate. Trying not to look too guilty, he slips his phone into his pocket.

"I guess," Youngbae says, shrugging in a way he hopes is nonchalant. When he dares look up again, Jiyong is staring, open-mouthed.

"Oh my God," he says. "You got a girlfriend and you didn't tell us!"

Youngbae jerks to his feet and backs away from Jiyong on instinct. "No," he says, completely unconvincing. "No, I didn't—"

But Jiyong is like a cat on the prowl, circling Youngbae dangerously. "Come on, Youngbae. You think you can hide anything from me?"

Seunghyun looks up from his seat on the green room couch, curiosity piqued. "You have been grinning and texting a ton this week," he says suspiciously.

"So?" Youngbae says, momentarily distracted. Jiyong takes the opportunity and pounces, grabbing the phone right out of his pocket.

"Jiyong, don't—" Youngbae begs, but too late. Jiyong has perched himself on top of an easy chair, fending Youngbae off with an extended leg as he scrolls through his text history. Youngbae watches as realization slowly dawns and the color drains from Jiyong's face.

"Well?" Seunghyun says. "Who is it?"

Jiyong tosses Youngbae's phone back to him but doesn't meet his eyes, carefully adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. "No one," he says. "My mistake."

Youngbae is pretty sure this is it—the end of his longest friendship, the end of his career, hopefully not the end of him and Daesung but who knows—but he's a little thrown off when Jiyong stands and pats him, just once, on the back.

"I'll be right back," he says, disappearing out the green room door.

Now Seunghyun looks more intrigued and confused than ever, shifting upright. "What the—did you steal Jiyong's girl or something, Youngbae?"

"Jesus," Youngbae moans, and he sinks down into a chair and has to spend the rest of the shoot trying not to throw up all over his designer shoes.

Daesung hasn't been answering texts since Youngbae returned home, so when his intercom finally buzzes he says a silent prayer of thanks and hurries to it, pressing the button to open the door eagerly.

"What happened?" Youngbae says once Daesung is in his entryway, pale and wide-eyed. "Did Jiyong talk to you? Did he—"

Daesung shakes his head wildly, but too late—a second later, Jiyong enters just behind him.

"What's up," Jiyong says, casual.

Youngbae and Daesung are both still, eyeing Jiyong warily, but for his part, Jiyong acts like nothing is out of the ordinary at all. He slips off his shoes, muttering something about a scuff on one toe, and straightens up with a leisurely stretch, flashing Youngbae a smile.

"Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"

There aren't words to express how confused Youngbae is right now. He nods once, jerkily, and makes his way to the kitchen, groping for glasses like a blind man.

Jiyong moves to the living room to stretch out on the couch, calling over his shoulder, "Something strong, if you have it. It's been a long day."

"I'm sorry," Daesung mutters, slipping in beside Youngbae to help. He holds the glasses steady as Youngbae opens a new bottle of wine and pours. "He made me bring him here—he even took my—"

"Oi, Daesung!"

Daesung whirls around just in time to catch the phone Jiyong tosses at him.

"Sorry about that," Jiyong says, not sounding sorry at all.

Catching Youngbae's gaze, Daesung lifts an eyebrow, as if to say, See?

Youngbae just sighs and leads the way to join Jiyong in the living room. He's not sure what's about to happen, but he knows his best friend, and there's no getting around this confrontation. It's going to happen, now, and God help them all if Jiyong is feeling ruthless.

"Thanks," Jiyong says when Youngbae holds out a glass of wine. He closes his eyes as he takes a sip, breathing slow and deep, and when he opens them again, he's a different person. "Sit," he orders.

Out the corner of his eye, Youngbae notices Boss stop in his tracks on the kitchen tile and immediately drop to the floor. Youngbae follows his good example on the couch.

"You too," Jiyong says, harsher still, pointing at Daesung. Daesung takes a seat on the other side of Jiyong and stares at the floor like his life is flashing before his eyes.

"I only have one question for you," Jiyong says, directed at Youngbae, who quickly takes a swallow of wine. "Are you happy?"

Youngbae thinks maybe he's misheard. "Sorry?"

"Are. You. Happy," Jiyong repeats.

It feels like there's a lot weighing on his response, but at least it's not a hard question to answer. "Yes," Youngbae says, embarrassed but firm.

The smile Jiyong gives him is a rare one, unguarded and fond. "Good," he says. He pats Youngbae's knee a few times before turning on Daesung. "As for you," he says. "Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?"

Maybe Daesung had been expecting something a little less frightening, after Youngbae's question; he looks startled. Youngbae can only cringe in support. "I—"

"Mark my words, Kang Daesung," Jiyong interrupts, jabbing his finger right into Daesung's chest. "If you mess this up, I will end you."

To his credit, Daesung doesn't cry, just nods a million times in earnest understanding.

Jiyong waits an eternity to let his words sink in, never letting his eye contact with Daesung falter for a second. Then, as quickly as it came, the mood passes, and Jiyong grabs Daesung around the neck, pulls him in, and administers a vicious noogie.

"Agh!" Daesung sloshes his wine on the couch, but Youngbae is too relieved to care.

"You two are such idiots," Jiyong says with a laugh, standing up and finishing off his wine so quickly it can't have been very pleasant. "I can't believe you thought you could hide something like this from me."

"Well, it has only been like, four days," Daesung mutters from the couch, trying to repair the damage to his hair.

Youngbae stands up to take Jiyong's now-empty glass and follows him to the entryway, where he starts to put his shoes back on. "Do you want to stay and eat?" Youngbae asks.

"No, I'm good. I have a super early day tomorrow." With a parting pat on Boss's head, Jiyong stands up, smooths out his jacket, and meets Youngbae's eyes. "Come here," he says, wrapping arms around Youngbae's shoulders in a hug.

Between his one half-full and one empty wine glass, Youngbae's hands are full, but he does his best to return the embrace, smiling against Jiyong's shoulder.

"I'm glad to see you happy," Jiyong says, so soft only Youngbae can hear it.

"Thank you," Youngbae says.

"See you tomorrow, Daesung!" Jiyong offers Daesung a cheery wave and then he's gone, and from the sound of it, Daesung slides off the couch and collapses with a thump to the floor.

"Oh my God," Daesung moans. "You have the scariest best friend in the entire world."

"I know," Youngbae says, but even when he turns around and confirms that yes, Daesung is indeed a puddle on the carpet, his face is splitting with his grin.

"You can smile," Daesung snaps. "You didn't have your life threatened. You should've heard the things he said to me in the car."

But Youngbae can only laugh as he makes his way over to the couch, slumping down in weary relief and lifting an arm to make room as Daesung crawls up to meet him. "It could've been a lot worse," he says.

"Whatever." Daesung snuggles in close despite his pout. "Let's watch a scary movie. I need something terrifying enough to scrub the image of Jiyong's face out of my brain."

"Is that date number three, technically?" Youngbae asks.

That finally earns a grin from Daesung, followed by a kiss, slow and deliberate like they're getting good at.

"I think so," Daesung says when they break apart. The look he gives Youngbae makes his stomach tangle up in the nicest way possible. "And you know what happens on the third date."

Later, when Youngbae's pants are around his ankles and Ju On is being ignored in the background, Youngbae is glad he didn't admit he always thought number three meant holding hands.

end

Fic (Big Bang) - Mixed Reviews

2012-04-26T20:14:24Z

Title: Mixed Reviews
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Daesung/TOP
Word count: 3239
Warnings: SPOILERS for Daesung's drama, What's Up!
Summary: Daesung and Seunghyun decide to watch Daesung's drama together. Seunghyun has opinions.
Notes: This fic is pretty much just me channeling my own feelings about What's Up through TOP, but with more sexual tension. Thank you to reallycorking for looking it over! ♥

"We should watch your drama," Seunghyun says over dinner one night, his mouth full of noodles. Daesung blinks at him until he's done chewing his own mouthful, swallows, and grins.

"Really?" he says.

Seunghyun knits his eyebrows together in that perplexed way Daesung really likes. "Why wouldn't we? You all watched IRIS. I don't know why we haven't watched yours yet."

Daesung lowers his eyes to his bowl, recalling guiltily how he kept falling asleep when he tried to watch IRIS. Seunghyun's parts were really good, though. "I guess it's just all been a little hectic since I finished What's Up," he says softly.

They both fall quiet, and Daesung immediately feels awkward—this sort of thing is what's been hardest about coming back, the necessary dancing around the accident all the time, nobody ever knowing what to say. Daesung had been hoping that staying and doing activities in Japan might distract him and everyone else for a while, but it looks like it's going to take more than just a change of scenery.

Seunghyun clears his throat and takes a drink of water. "Okay," he says decisively, slapping his palms flat on the table and standing up. "Tonight. Let's start. What's everyone else's schedule?"

"I think Jiyong and Youngbae are late tonight," Daesung says, struggling not to burst with his smile. It's sweet when Seunghyun gets so earnest about making him feel better. "I don't know about Seungri—"

"'Date night,'" Seunghyun reads off the schedule on the wall. He snorts and adds, "Guess that means he's at a maid cafe again."

Daesung giggles appreciatively.

"Just the two of us, then—" Seunghyun trails off and Daesung holds his breath, hoping he's not about to suggest they wait. He loves movie nights with just the two of them, maybe more than he should admit, so he's relieved when Seunghyun turns to him with a mischievous tilt to his eyebrow. "You know what that means."

"Popcorn!" Daesung cheers. He leaps up from the table and high fives Seunghyun on his way to the pantry. Truthfully, Seunghyun gets a lot more excited about secret diet-breaking than Daesung does, but Daesung will never point that out for fear of spoiling it.

Once Daesung has successfully not burned the popcorn, they settle down on the couch together, legs folded under a blanket and the bowl between them.

"We have two hours to eat this and completely dispose of the evidence before Leader gets home," Daesung says, shaking the bowl at Seunghyun gravely.

"Acknowledged," Seunghyun says. They snicker at their own dumb joke through the opening credits, only pausing long enough for Seunghyun to catcall and jostle Daesung by the shoulders when his name flashes across the screen.

"Why aren't you listed first, anyway?" Seunghyun demands. "I turned down this role so you could have it. I expect you to be headlining."

Daesung elbows him and laughs. "You know I'm not the main character!"

"Should've been."

Daesung laughs again and shushes him, but secretly he's buzzing, warm and happy. Seunghyun falls obediently quiet—even seems fairly enthralled as the first episode progresses—but the buzzing doesn't go away.

By episode three, Seunghyun is so thoroughly engrossed in the show, and Daesung is so thoroughly engrossed in observing Seunghyun, that they forget to dispose of the popcorn bowl. It earns them hell when Jiyong comes home, although luckily he seems to be in a more indulgent mood than usual.

"You're doing extra crunches for that tomorrow," is all he says, jabbing a finger first at Seunghyun, then Daesung. Just before disappearing down the hall, he adds, "And don't stay up too late!"

They make it about fifteen seconds before Seunghyun turns to Daesung and smirks. "One more?"

Daesung nods.

It must be close to two, judging by how late it feels, when Daesung wakes up to Seunghyun shaking him, the familiar ending credits of another episode echoing in the background.

"Time to go to bed, Hades," Seunghyun says. Daesung reluctantly untangles himself from Seunghyun's side, blinking against the light of the TV. If Seunghyun notices the drool stain on his t-shirt, he thankfully doesn't say.

"Sorry I fell asleep," Daesung yawns. "Did you watch the whole thing?"

Seunghyun, Daesung can see even in the blue glow, looks suddenly embarrassed. "Two more, actually," he says.

"Two? What time is it?" Daesung spots the digital clock on the DVD player—its hazy blue numbers read 2:55—and yelps. "Hyung! We need to go to bed!"

They gather up their dishes and throw the blanket back over the couch as quickly as they can, pausing before parting ways to their rooms.

"Thanks for watching with me," Daesung says. "Do you like it so far?"

"It's good," Seunghyun says, but Daesung thinks something sounds off about his voice. Before he can ask for elaboration, Seunghyun reaches forward to pat down a part of Daesung's bangs that's sticking up. "Go to bed, Daesung."

Daesung nods and shuffles away. The last thing Seunghyun says, before they're entirely out of earshot, is, "Wanna watch more tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Daesung calls. When he falls into bed at last, he's still sort of buzzing.

It's not until they're watching episode nine together that Seunghyun finally says something critical about What's Up, but it spills out of him in a way that seems almost involuntary, like it's been building.

"He's not very nice to you," Seunghyun blurts. It's dark and they're up too late on a work night again, but Seunghyun had been insistent.

Daesung shifts his gaze from the screen to Seunghyun's face. "Who? Jaehun?"

Seunghyun furrows his brow, eyes still fixed forward, and nods. "I don't get why he has to be such a jerk all the time. You're never mean to him."

"Dosung," Daesung says, causing Seunghyun to finally look away from the TV.

"Huh?"

"Dosung," Daesung repeats, amused. "The character. Not me."

"That's what I mean," Seunghyun says, but he flushes a little.

On Sunday morning, Daesung is blearily fixing himself breakfast when Seunghyun comes up behind him and says, "Who's gonna get the girl? You or the other guy?"

Daesung struggles, to his credit, for only a few seconds to piece together what Seunghyun is talking about. "Wh—you mean Dosung and Jaehun?"

"Right." Seunghyun waves a hand like that's exactly what he said.

"Hyung! I'm not going to spoil it for you!" Daesung shakes his head and sticks a piece of toast in his mouth, even though it's hard to chew around his grin.

But Seunghyun sounds entirely serious when he says, "It had better be you."

"Hyuuuung." Daesung knocks their shoulders together and says, still chewing, "This is really getting to you! It's just a drama."

Instead of lightening the mood, Daesung's words seem to have the opposite effect; Seunghyun scowls more deeply. "What's that guy like in real life, anyway? Is he still a jerk?"

"Joohwan? No, he's really nice." Daesung smiles fondly in memory of filming; it was a welcome break from his idol activities, which he loves but can sometimes still get a little monotonous.

"What about the girl?"

Seunghyun's face is unreadable, but Daesung thinks he gets it now. "Oh," he says. "Did you want me to introduce you, Hyung? Jiwon's really fun, but I think Jooeun might be more your type—"

"That's not what I was asking!" Seunghyun protests, his voice a little higher than usual.

"Then what—" Daesung starts, but Seunghyun interrupts him.

"Let's go watch some more," he says.

Daesung swallows and picks up his cup of coffee. "Now?"

"Do you have plans?"

It's a rare full day off, but all Daesung really had on the agenda was a shower. "No."

"Okay then."

He follows Seunghyun's stiff march into the living room, feeling oddly like they're in a processional, but Daesung is secretly pleased, if a little confused. He hasn't seen Seunghyun get this passionate about something in a while, and he doesn't think he's ever seen him get this passionate about something as silly as a drama.

"Have you had breakfast?" Daesung asks after Seunghyun starts the episode. "Here, you need to keep up your energy if we're going to have a marathon."

He stuffs the rest of his second piece of toast—there's only two bites out of it—into Seunghyun's mouth without waiting for a response. It's fun watching Seunghyun fight to eat and not choke with laughter; it's fun to have an excuse to watch Seunghyun's face anytime.

"Thanks," Seunghyun says, smiling sideways at Daesung. His smile falters a little when their eye contact lingers too long, and Daesung wonders if he was a little too obvious in his watching.

"I forget what even happens in this episode," Daesung says quickly, yawning and resting his head on Seunghyun's shoulder to ease the tension.

"Hopefully this is the one where you get the girl." Seunghyun's voice is a quiet hum near Daesung's ear, and as always, it makes Daesung laugh.

Dosung doesn't get the girl in that episode, or the next. Seunghyun keeps going, queueing up episode after episode with barely enough pause for a bathroom break in between, and as they continue watching Daesung feels more and more uncomfortable. Seunghyun obviously hates it. He isn't even trying to hide it, really, with the amount of glaring and scoffing he gets in per episode. It's not that Daesung minds—IRIS wasn't exactly his cup of tea either—but what he can't figure out is why Seunghyun keeps insisting they watch more.

"Hyung," Daesung says gently, after they've finally paused long enough to grab some late lunch (maybe more like dinner) before starting episode 18. "You know, we don't have to finish it. My feelings won't be hurt."

Seunghyun just stares at him like he's crazy. "What? We're almost done! I wanna see what happens."

"If you're sure. . . ." Daesung trails off.

"Sit down," Seunghyun orders, even as he takes his spot on the sofa and presses play. Daesung was considering changing into something he hadn't slept in the night before at some point today, but Seunghyun's side looks awfully inviting right now. He squeezes in next to him and curls up close.

"We're going to get hell for doing nothing but sit on the couch and eat all day," Daesung says with a faint smile. Jiyong, Youngbae, and Seungri have all already greeted them in passing and gone out for the afternoon, but he can only imagine the reaction when they come back to find him and Seunghyun still in the exact same spot hours later.

Seunghyun just hisses at him to be quiet. "Don't wanna miss anything," he says, and maybe he's joking, but it makes Daesung smile more broadly and snuggle in closer anyway.

In retrospect, Daesung falling asleep might just be a drama thing that has nothing to do with content or quality. He wakes up sometime during the ending credits to another What's Up episode and groans as he rubs his eyes, trying to figure out what time it is. Somehow the sun has gone down, which means he's probably been out for a while.

"What did I miss? What episode are we on?" Daesung asks, tilting his head to peek at Seunghyun's face. He dozed off with a pretty tight grip on Seunghyun's arm and his head heavy on Seunghyun's shoulder, which is probably a little stiff by now. He doesn't feel too bad, though, since Seunghyun obviously didn't try very hard to move.

"It's done," Seunghyun says, completely stoic, still facing forward.

Daesung sits up. "What?" He glances at the TV to see, sure enough, the clip show accompanying the ending credits of the final episode. "I'm sorry," laughs. "I can't believe I slept so long. Did you—Hyung?"

It's only after pulling away that Daesung notices the twisted, angry expression on Seunghyun's face, and it's honestly a little scary. "What's wrong?" Daesung asks, hesitant.

"What's wrong with the people who made this stupid drama?" Seunghyun explodes, gesturing angrily at the TV.

He might not mind if Seunghyun doesn't love his drama, but this seems a bit much, and completely out of character. Daesung frowns and crosses his arms in front of his chest, trying to hide how much the words sting. "What do you mean?"

"Where were you the whole time they were rehearsing the musical?" Seunghyun demands. This isn't what Daesung was expecting; he relaxes his arms and tilts his head. "How come you were the only one not practicing with all your friends? What happens with your mom? How come that horrible girl has to blackmail you in order for you to become Hades again?"

Daesung can't hide his disbelief now. He's gaping at Seunghyun openly, and based on the coloring in his cheeks Seunghyun seems to realize he's being ridiculous but can't stop.

"None of the other characters were half as interesting as you were—or half as talented—but they were the total focus by the end! You hardly got any screen time at all! The main guy was a jerk, but everybody loved him and he—you—" Seunghyun's rant dies out a little when Daesung has to cover his mouth to hold in his snickering, but he still finishes lamely, "You should've gotten the girl."

"Hyung," Daesung manages, but he doesn't get any further than that before breaking down into hysterical laughter. When he finally calms down a little and wipes the tears from his eyes, he can see Seunghyun is thoroughly humiliated; his face is close to purple and he's scowling at his lap.

"Hyung," Daesung says again, crawling forward because he can't help it, only stopping when he's practically on top of Seunghyun. He loops his arms around Seunghyun's neck in a loose hug, not unaware of the fact that Seunghyun looks positively terrified when they both fall back against the armrest. "It's not me, remember? It's just a character I played in a drama. None of that stuff actually happened to me."

He rests his chin on Seunghyun's chest, and Seunghyun swallows audibly, staring at Daesung with wide eyes. For some reason this is all making Daesung's heart beat like crazy. He wets his lips before continuing, "But I like when you get all defensive of me."

And then, because he's completely crazy, Daesung kisses Seunghyun right on the mouth.

It's nothing like a passionate, drama-romance kiss; just a little peck on the lips, really, before Daesung realizes what he's done and jerks back, scared of himself, stunned at his own audacity. But the damage is done, and Seunghyun looks like he's about to pass out or run away or throw up, or all three at the same time if it were possible.

"Sorry," Daesung says quickly, pressing a hand flat on Seunghyun's chest so he can get enough leverage to pull back, to make an escape. "Sorry, I don't know—"

Seunghyun doesn't let him finish. With an exhaled breath that sounds like it's been trapped inside for forever, he slides a hand up the back of Daesung's neck, pulls him down, and kisses him hard.

This time it's a lot like a drama-romance kiss.

Daesung lets his arms stay trapped between them, more focused on his mouth right now anyway, the way Seunghyun coaxes it open and for a moment they just breathe like that, in and out in the same rhythm. Then Seunghyun's other hand slides down to the small of Daesung's back, gripping like he's terrified Daesung will slip away, and just to prove he never would Daesung licks at Seunghyun's teeth. After that it's a whirlwind. They're sucking at each other's lips, biting, making out like horny kids in a movie theater, and Seunghyun's hands are everywhere: on Daesung's collarbone, his jaw, tangled in his hair. When Daesung finally frees one of his hands and presses fingers to Seunghyun's Adam's apple, Seunghyun moans; when Seunghyun responds by grabbing Daesung's ass, Daesung gasps.

"Hyung," Daesung says at length, struggling with the effort to keep his voice from wavering as he opens his eyes. He meets Seunghyun's gaze and immediately wishes he hadn't—Seunghyun's lips are swollen and slick and his eyes are burning, like he's ready to eat Daesung alive. Daesung swallows before trying again. "How long have you—" He finds it too embarrassing to finish the question, but guesses Seunghyun can figure out what he was getting at, anyway.

"Jesus, Daesung," Seunghyun says, eyes softening. "Forever."

That, Daesung thinks, is quite enough talking for now. His cheeks flare hot and he kisses Seunghyun again, quick but thorough, before actually breaking away and retreating far enough that Seunghyun can't reach his mouth anymore. Seunghyun grunts his disapproval.

"We can't do this here," Daesung says, grinning because he can't help it. He's probably not going to stop grinning again until the day he dies.

"I don't give a shit if the others watch," Seunghyun says, but it's only a few seconds before the universe calls his bluff. They hear the sound of the door unlocking and mutually jerk upright and apart, Daesung fixing his bangs, Seunghyun straightening his shirt.

"Wh—you two are still watching TV?" Jiyong says shrilly, dropping his shopping bags on the floor so he can better plant his hands on his hips. Youngbae and Seungri enter close behind him, both wearing nervous expressions, like they wouldn't change places with Seunghyun and Daesung for anything.

"We just finished my drama," Daesung explains, because one glance at Seunghyun confirms he's way too flustered to talk just yet.

Jiyong lifts an eyebrow, as if to say You call that an excuse? but doesn't immediately jump down Daesung's throat. "Well?"

Everyone's quiet for a few seconds. Seunghyun finally breaks the silence with a hasty "Well what?"

He couldn't be more obvious if he tried.

"Well, how was it?" Jiyong clarifies, rolling his eyes.

Daesung and Seunghyun make eye contact for the briefest of moments, and if Daesung isn't mistaken, Seunghyun's mouth quirks in the barest hint of a smirk.

"I fell asleep," Daesung admits, at the same time Seunghyun says, "The payoff at the end made it worth it."

They stare at each other and Daesung thinks his heart is probably going to break from happiness. He tries not to beam too hard when Seunghyun brushes his knee under the blanket.

"Good," Jiyong says. "Now you're done, and Daesung doesn't have to feel bad about falling asleep in IRIS." He picks up his bags and starts toward his room, calling over his shoulder, "But you're going to have hell to pay making up for it this week!"

Youngbae and Seungri follow in Jiyong's example and slip away to their rooms, offering Daesung and Seunghyun sympathetic glances as they pass, but Daesung barely takes notice. He's too busy trying to keep his stomach from jumping out his throat right there in front of everybody. Once he and Seunghyun are alone again, Daesung starts to busy himself cleaning up the carnage from their marathon, bending over to kiss Seunghyun quick on the lips as he fluffs a pillow, because he can't help it.

Seunghyun accepts the kiss gladly, but when Daesung steps away, he's frowning. "Wait. You fell asleep in IRIS?"

Crap.

"This is your blanket, isn't it, Hyung?" Daesung says, a little too loud. "Should we take it back to your room?"

"That's not—" Seunghyun begins, but he stops at Daesung's weighted look. "Oh. Okay, yeah."

It's one of his favorite things about Seunghyun, Daesung reflects, as they hurry down the hall toward his bedroom. He's easily distracted.

end

Fic (Merlin) - Some Sunny Day

2012-04-06T01:13:13Z

Title: Some Sunny Day
Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin, Lancelot/Merlin, Arthur/Gwen
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, Reincarnation
Word Count: 10921
Summary: Just when Merlin is ready to give up on a second chance with Arthur and make a fresh start, Arthur starts to notice.
Notes: Written for merlin_games 2012. So much heartfelt thanks to my betas and Britpickers, without whom this would be a much cruddier fic indeed. ♥ Based on the prompt: "You don't realize how much you care about someone until they don't care about you."

Merlin gets flashes of the old Arthur with startling regularity, but they're especially vivid on days like this, with the sun shining hot and Merlin watching from the sidelines as Arthur kicks a football around with his knights.

Not knights, Merlin reminds himself. But Gwaine and Elyan and Percival don't look so different in football socks, and when it's this hot out the lines always start to blur a bit.

"Water, Merlin!" Arthur yells, wiping off his face and throwing the sweat-soaked towel on Merlin's head.

Merlin tries not to breathe too deeply as he pulls it off. "Yes, Sire," he says, standing to grab a water bottle, and luckily Arthur's breathless laugh means he thinks it's a joke.

He used to think Arthur remembered everything, too, when they first found each other in secondary school and Merlin almost tripped over himself in excitement. It made it harder, then, when Arthur not only joined the ranks of Merlin's tormenters but started to lead them, and his mother was beside herself when he would come home biting back tears but refuse to let her do anything about it.

"If you'd just let me speak to your teacher, Merlin—"

"Don't," Merlin said. "You can't."

"It helped when that Rogers boy was writing on your locker," she reminded him.

"Arthur's different," Merlin mumbled. She never understood, but quietly helped Merlin cover up the insults scrawled on his notebook with masking tape.

The hardest part was never being able to hate Arthur, no matter how hard he tried, even though he remembered hating him Before, for a little while at least. Every time Arthur knocked Merlin's books to the ground or loudly mocked his skinny legs in PE, Merlin blinked away a flash of Arthur's hand on his back, Arthur's forehead against his. There was anger there, but love, too, overwhelming and far too much for an eleven-year-old to comprehend. The love was what made him cry most nights, more than anger, more than QUEER printed across his trainers in permanent marker.

When Gwen transferred in in year nine, Merlin tried but immediately failed to dislike her. She was pretty and smart and confident, in a way that startled him as much as it impressed him. Merlin didn't know if he'd ever met a thirteen-year-old as confident as her; even Arthur's posturing reeked of insecurity, but nothing Gwen said or did ever felt dishonest.

"Careful, Merlin," Arthur said one morning, and Merlin turned reluctantly, just in time for Arthur to shoulder him into the lockers, jarring Merlin into dropping his books. "You're walking on the wrong side of the corridor again."

Merlin didn't say anything but stooped down to scoop up his things. Today he was reminded of another time Arthur had said "Careful, Merlin," pressed him to a tree and kissed him like it would be the last time. He couldn't help his face burning with the memory even when Arthur stepped on Merlin's hand and pressed down, hard enough that he couldn't jerk away.

"What's this, then?" came Gwen's voice from behind Merlin. Arthur's foot relaxed and Merlin grabbed his hand to his chest and craned around to look. Her eyes were trained on Arthur like he was an insect, and she looked lovely, even then; Merlin could never deny that she was lovely.

Neither could Arthur. "What?" Arthur snapped, defensive, his face coloring. "I was just talking to my friend Merlin. Wasn't I?"

Merlin quickly looked down again and nodded, once, feeling Gwen's eyes on the back of his neck.

"Good," Gwen said. "If he's your friend, then you can help him with his things."

Arthur froze, surrounded by his real friends, and Merlin wished more than ever that he still retained some hint of the magic he knew he had once, so he could make himself sink into the floor and vanish. It seemed so pointless, being reborn with all these memories but nothing that was good or right from the first time around; no magic, no Arthur, not really. "It's fine," he said quietly, starting to stack his books. "I dropped them."

"Help your friend with his things," Gwen repeated.

There was silence for seconds that dragged like minutes. When Arthur dropped down to his haunches and brushed Merlin's hand away impatiently, gathering his books for him, his face was at least as red as Merlin's, and the crowd of boys behind him laughed and crowed.

"No harm done, mate," Arthur said, through gritted teeth. Merlin's heart leapt into his throat and he couldn't speak, but he nodded again, and they both stood. Arthur presented his books, holding on for an uncomfortable moment longer than necessary. When he finally let go, Merlin stumbled backward, nearly into Gwen. His friends laughed.

"You're pathetic," Gwen said, and Merlin was sure she meant him until he glanced at her sideways and saw her eyes still fixed on Arthur.

"Whatever," Arthur growled, but it was the first time Merlin had ever seen him look so rankled.

Gwen sat at Merlin and Will's table at lunch that day, their first lunchtime companion in two years.

"You don't want to do this," Merlin warned her quickly. "They'll never talk to you again."

"Who?" Gwen said. "Arthur Pendragon and his idiot friends? Who cares."

Merlin couldn't help but smile at that, because Gwen's smile brought its own flashes with it, and he had always loved her as well, in his own way, in spite of everything. When he looked across the room, he saw Arthur staring at her like she was already a queen, and Merlin knew in that moment, with crystal clarity, that this time wasn't going to be any different from the last.

It's a busy Friday night in their favorite pub and Merlin is happily buzzing with his favorite level of intoxication: drunk enough to be cheerful and at ease but still more sober than his friends, so he can ridicule them for the things they won't remember later.

"Merlin," Gwaine croons, draping himself across Merlin's shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his neck. "Merlin, Merlin, I love you. Why don't you love me back? Run away with me, Merlin."

"Gerroff me," Merlin says, laughing as he ineffectually shoves at Gwaine's shoulders, which are about twice as broad as his own.

"It's Friday night," Percy sighs. "Gwaine's turned gay for Merlin again."

Arthur, Elyan and Gwen laugh but Gwaine just moans like he's in pain. "I'll never touch another woman again, Merlin, I swear!"

"You've never touched a woman anyway," Elyan says, and Gwaine kicks him but doesn't stop trying to make out with Merlin's neck.

Arthur, his arm around Gwen's shoulders and a put-upon look on his face, says, "Stop molesting my best mate, would you? I'm going to be sick and I haven't even had a full pint yet."

"You stay out of it," Gwaine says, abandoning Merlin's neck to glare at Arthur. "It's your fault he keeps rejecting me, anyway, since he's too busy wasting his life hopelessly in love with your sorry arse to pay attention to anyone else."

The table falls quiet and Merlin takes the opportunity, heart racing and ears burning, to shove Gwaine off of him. "I'll get another round, shall I?" Merlin says, and he doesn't wait for anyone's assent before squirming out of the booth, half-crawling over Percy's lap, and escaping to the bar.

"Nice," he hears Gwen say sharply, and the accompanying Oof must be Gwaine when she smacks him across the chest. "Have some tact, would you?"

It's busy at the bar so Merlin has to wait behind a queue of people to get his order in, rocking on the balls of his feet and trying to swallow down his humiliation along with the flashes that always accompany the words Arthur and love, snippets at random of late mornings in Arthur's chambers and overnight hunting trips. Arthur had a way of curling his fingers into the hair at the back of Merlin's neck in his quiet, unguarded moments, and Merlin rubs the back of his neck now, breathing shaky and deep.

Someone turns around and Merlin, tripping over feet in the crowd, runs straight into his chest. "Sorry," Merlin says. Then, looking up, "Oh!"

It's Lancelot's face that greets him, familiar and handsome, somewhat younger than Merlin remembers but otherwise the same. Merlin stands too close, wide-eyed and blinking, for so long that Lancelot frowns and tilts his head.

"Hello," he says. "Do I—"

"Sorry," Merlin interrupts, coming to his senses. "Thought you were—someone else." It's hard to remember, when another character from Before drops abruptly into Merlin's life, that they won't recognize him like he does them. "Six pints of Newcastle, please," Merlin says, leaning over the bar so he can be heard. When a few seconds pass and Lancelot doesn't move, Merlin hesitantly faces him again.

"Hi," Lancelot says with a crooked smile, offering a hand. "I'm Lance."

"Oh!" Merlin says again, struggling to unfold his arms and shake Lancelot's—Lance's—hand, so close that it proves a difficult task to accomplish. "Right. Merlin! Hello."

"It's funny," Lance says, "but you looked familiar to me at first, too."

No one has ever, in 19 years, given Merlin even the barest hint of recollection. He can't help the grin that splits his face, even though it's coincidental at best; it feels like validation that he's not crazy, which Merlin desperately needs some days. It emboldens him, too. If this is Lancelot, after all, isn't he meant to be one of the knights? Some of his fondest memories that aren't centered around Arthur are centered around Lancelot: the warm, comforting feeling of being able to share a secret with someone trustworthy.

"Are you alone?" Merlin asks.

"Afraid so." The bartender interrupts them to pass Merlin his round and take Lance's order, after which Lance continues, "I just transferred here Monday. Haven't quite found my footing yet."

"You can join us, me and my mates, if you want? We're just over there," Merlin offers, pointing. He notices with some surprise that Arthur is watching them with a curious expression on his face, like he's vaguely annoyed.

"Cheers," Lance says. "If it won't be an imposition."

"Course not!" Merlin says. "Anyway, I could, er, use a hand with the beer." Lance obliges, and as Merlin leads the way back to their table through the crowd his embarrassment feels lessened, distracted.

"Everyone, this is Lance," Merlin says, after they've set their pints down on the table. "Lance, everyone."

Lance, Merlin does not fail to notice, is letting his gaze linger just a shade too long on Gwen. Merlin feels a tickle of worry, but brushes it away; if Arthur is going to fall for Gwen in this lifetime, then it only makes sense that Lance is at least going to check her out, and there's nothing Merlin can do about any of it.

After introductions, everyone shifts over in the booth to make room. It's a bit snug but Merlin feels pleased and comfortable pressed against Lance's side, like another piece of his life-puzzle has been fitted together.

"What're you studying, then, Lance?" Gwen asks politely.

"International relations," Lance says. Everyone nods politely, until Lance happens to add, "I'll be joining the football team, too."

The group roars. "No way!" Arthur leans forward and slaps his hand on the table. "You've just met half the team!"

Everyone bombards Lance with questions and excitement and repeated handshakes and back clapping and Merlin listens, content and buzzing, proud of being proactive in his fate for once.

Football practice is brutal on Monday, perhaps as a way of welcoming the team's new recruit. Merlin feels exhausted just watching and is quicker than usual with his water duties, lining up bottles in neat rows and handing them off one by one.

"My hero, Merlin," Gwaine says, emptying one bottle on his head and taking a second to gulp down. "I'm still waiting for you to run away with me."

"Wait until the season's over, at least," Elyan grunts from behind him, but he too claps Merlin on the shoulder gratefully.

"Thanks," Lance says when he reaches the table, nearly draining his bottle in one go.

"Sure," Merlin says, a stupid smile crossing his face; he keeps forgetting for a moment that he's found Lance and then being reminded with a pleasant jolt that he doesn't just exist in memory anymore.

"All right, Merlin?" Arthur appears before him and Merlin starts, grabbing the nearest bottle and thrusting it forward.

"All right," Merlin says. He falls silent as he watches Arthur drink and feels uncomfortable suddenly, oddly aware of Lance's lingering presence beside him.

"Water's warm, Merlin," Arthur says once he's caught his breath. "Why don't you try taking them out of the ice box once break starts instead of leaving them to sit in the sun for half an hour?"

"You can take out your own water if you're so particular," Merlin says with false haughtiness, and Arthur shakes his head and wanders back toward the pitch, muttering about having him replaced.

"You two've known each other long?" Lance asks, making Merlin jump a little.

"Er. Yeah." Merlin takes one of the bottles for himself and keeps his eyes fixed on Arthur, who's snuck up behind Percy and put him in a headlock while Tristan and Gareth look on and laugh. "Since secondary school. We're best mates, actually."

Lance nods and seems to be watching Arthur, too, although his brow is creased and his mouth is drawn in a frown. "How'd that happen?" When Merlin blinks at him, dumbfounded, Lance elaborates, "You two becoming best mates, I mean. You seem very different."

Merlin forces a laugh and looks down at his empty water. "Yeah. He used to be a real prat, actually. Tormented me all the way through year nine, but Gwen really shaped him up."

Lance turns toward the benches and Merlin follows his gaze to where Gwen is sitting, studying out of a textbook and intermittently chatting with Elyan's girlfriend.

"They've been together that long?"

"Oh, no," Merlin says. "They didn't get together until uni, actually—towards the end of last year. But we've all been mates since we were kids. Gwen's great. Arthur'd probably still be making my life miserable if she hadn't brought him around." He regrets the words the moment they escape him, but thankfully Lance doesn't comment, just sips his water until the coach hollers and the team starts to gather.

"Thanks again for the water," Lance says, and he tosses his empty bottle into the bin before jogging back into the fold.

On Tuesday night, Arthur barges into Merlin's room at 11:45 without knocking and collapses onto his bed with a dramatic sigh.

"That's it, I'm dropping out," Arthur says. Merlin scoots over to allow Arthur more room on the mattress and doesn't look up from his laptop.

"Mmm," he grunts.

"I mean it," Arthur says, rolling onto his stomach to pout at Merlin. "You don't understand what it's like, trying to balance football and studying. I'm drowning."

Merlin snaps his eyes shut and shakes away a flash—Arthur, soaked and gasping, wrapped in Merlin's arms as he drags him out of a lake—before biting out a response. "Right. Because I'm not at every football practice, same as you."

"That's not the same," Arthur says. "It's not like you're actually doing anything. You could study if you really wanted to. You just like watching all those tight little footballer bums too much."

"Shut up," Merlin says, smacking him over the head with a folder.

"I only speak the truth, Merlin."

"Did you come in here for any reason other than to prevent me from finishing my neurology assignment?" Merlin takes off his reading glasses and feels his mouth go dry when Arthur again rolls onto his back and grins at him upside-down.

"Not really," he says. "You look like such a dork when you wear your glasses."

"So I've been told," Merlin sighs. He saves his current document and closes his laptop, lowering it to the floor. "Want to have a game of Mario Kart?"

They sit shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor and try to jostle one another into driving off the track for the next hour, Arthur finally giving up after his fourth consecutive loss and tossing his steering wheel across the room.

"Hey, Merlin," he says, as Merlin crawls forward to turn off the Wii, "you aren't still sore at me about secondary school, are you?"

"What?" Merlin sits back down at Arthur's side and frowns. "Why are you bringing that up all of a sudden?"

"Because Lance was drilling me about it after practice today! Christ, you'd think he never took the Mickey out of someone in his entire life, he's so serious."

Merlin feels his shoulders go tense but tries to act casual. "Why was he asking about that?"

"I don't know, do I? And Gwen was there, and she told him the story about the pudding in your trainers—which was funny, even you have to admit that was funny, Merlin—and I looked like the world's greatest prat!"

"You are the world's greatest prat," Merlin says, standing up and throwing a pillow at Arthur, who sputters and throws it right back. "Get out of here, I have to get some sleep for my exam tomorrow."

"Such a dork," Arthur says, by way of bidding him goodnight, and he closes the door just in time to deflect Merlin's second pillow assault.

Merlin dreams about Lancelot that night, burning in his grave on the water, drifting out of sight as Merlin hugs his knees on the shore. He wakes up and can't remember, for the first time in ages, if Arthur turned up in his dreams at all.

"Want to have a drink with me after practice?" Lance asks on Thursday. Merlin fumbles with the bottle in his hands and it drops to the grass, to the jeers of several impatient footballers.

"We don't have all day, Merlin, come on!"

"Piss off!" Merlin says, denting the next two bottles on purpose when he slams them down on the table. Everyone laughs; the footballers seem to find it endlessly amusing when they incite Merlin to curse. He turns back to Lance, who's on the other side of the table with his own bottle, watching Merlin with an inscrutably neutral expression. "A drink? Tonight?" Merlin asks.

"Sorry, you're probably busy," Lance says.

"No!" Merlin can't look anywhere other than at his hands as he digs through the ice box, but he's strangely elated at the prospect. "No, I can have a drink! Just—just you and me, you mean? Or is everyone going out?"

Lance smiles, and Merlin wonders why he never reflected on how lovely that smile was before now. "I was thinking just you and me."

"Great! There's a place not far from here with cheap whisky on Thursdays?"

Lance lifts his water in a toast and finishes it off. "I'll find you after practice," he says, before heading back to the field.

Merlin stares after him, perplexed but stupidly happy. He doesn't realize he's forgotten about the water until someone clears his throat behind him.

"What was all that about?" Arthur is watching him with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't know what you mean," Merlin replies coolly, ignoring Arthur's glare when he hands him a bottle.

"You shouldn't shirk your duties. I can have you sacked, you know."

Merlin shrugs. "I'm only here for the tight bums anyway, remember? I can watch those from the benches."

The coach yells before Arthur can formulate a proper response, and it pleases Merlin to no end to watch him jog off flustered and annoyed.

Practice ends around seven and Merlin waits for Lance on the benches, trying to focus on studying but struggling to actually take in any of the words. He's only turned one page by the time Lance approaches, hair damp and sweet-smelling from the showers, a duffel bag over his shoulder.

"Lead the way," Lance says, and Merlin does, almost as if they're on a quest. He loves those memories especially, all the knights and Merlin on horses passing through the woods, teasing each other and bobbing in and out of patches of sunlight.

"First round's on me," Lance says once they're seated in a corner of the pub, and Merlin allows it with minimal protest. They each swallow down a shot of some whisky Merlin's never heard of, which he nearly chokes on when Lance says, apropos of nothing, "What made you forgive Arthur? For being so horrible to you in school?"

Merlin boggles at him, clearing his throat as he pounds his own chest and struggling to recall if Before Lancelot was quite this off-putting all the time. Lance just watches him with keen eyes, and once he's collected himself Merlin manages, "I—I dunno, exactly. He has a way about him. Makes it hard to hate him."

Lance frowns like it's a wrong answer, and Merlin hastens to explain himself.

"It's not as pathetic as all that. We really are mates now, you know. He's been a good friend to me, once he grew up a bit."

"How so?"

The manner of Lance's asking makes Merlin feel as if a lot is weighing on his response, so it embarrasses him a little when the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, "He got me a scholarship here, for one."

There's a brief moment where Lance doesn't acknowledge the words, doesn't move in any way, and then his mouth relaxes into a smile. "Well, that is generous."

"He's done plenty more than that," Merlin adds in a rush. "But his dad's the vice-chancellor, so he, y'know. Talked me up a bit." He smiles guiltily. "Might've exaggerated my good marks to an extent."

Lance tsks in mock disapproval and they both laugh, Merlin turning his glass round and round in his fingers. "He helped me figure out a degree, too—I'd no idea what I wanted to study, or—"

"What are you studying?" Lance interrupts.

"Physiotherapy," Merlin says. "I thought, you know—this way I can help out at club practices, and if Arthur keeps playing I could—" he cuts himself off abruptly, and even though Lance doesn't say anything, Merlin flushes anyway. "I've always liked football," he finishes lamely.

Lance just nods, then flags down the bartender. "Two more of the same, please."

They don't talk about Arthur for the rest of the evening, and Merlin feels himself relax into the conversation in increments. Lance's questions about Arthur are always so pointed they feel like an accusation, but even if they weren't, it's surprisingly nice to talk about himself and leave Arthur out of it for a change. Most of his friends are footballers or footballers' girlfriends, and it seems like conversations always inevitably return to Arthur, either his game or stories about his youth, which Merlin willingly volunteers but can't help but resent. Secondary school was in some ways the hardest time in either of his lives he can remember, obsessing quietly over the gentle Arthur of his dreams while hiding from the cruel Arthur of his school days.

It's after one when they finally emerge from the pub, both a little unsteady on their feet but bubbly with conversation and amused at everything.

"I still can't believe you prefer DS9 to TNG," Merlin slurs, shaking his head in disapproval.

"I don't think I've ever met anyone who speaks in abbreviations as much as you," Lance marvels. "I can't even remember what that stands for anymore."

Merlin laughs harder than strictly necessary and takes care not to trip over the curb as they make their way toward campus.

"Merlin," Lance says after a beat, "I—have no idea how to get to my halls from here."

This makes Merlin laugh even harder, until he's wiping tears from his eyes. "I'll escort you, Sir Lancelot," he assures him, patting him on the shoulder but retracting his hand when Lance freezes.

"What?"

Merlin continues walking even though Lance has stopped, because obviously Lance just believes he's speaking nonsense, but still it feels like he's been caught in a lie. "Nothing," Merlin says, with a shrug he hopes is casual. "S'just a nickname I've made up for you. Just now."

They walk the rest of the way to Lance's halls in silence, Merlin tense and coming down off the high of the evening, wondering if he's ruined everything already.

"It's just funny," Lance says once they arrive at the back entrance, digging in his pocket for his key. "That's my full name, only I never tell anyone."

Merlin wants to swallow his own tongue. Stupid, stupid, he thinks. It's been a long time since he made a slip-up that big. "Oh," is the only thing he can say.

"Oh," Lance agrees, and then suddenly Merlin is having a heart attack, because Lance is pressing his back to the brick wall and kissing him without any warning at all.

Lance is careful and relatively chaste about it, cupping Merlin's face in both hands and gently sucking at his bottom lip, breathing slow and deep like he's savoring it. Merlin can't move for so long he worries he's lost control of his motor functions, but they come back to him with a jolt and he finally lifts his hands, resting them on Lance's shoulders. His heart is racing so fast he feels on the verge of a panic attack, but he's not sure he wants it to stop. He should be focusing on the kiss itself but bizarrely his brain is working like mad, struggling to sort through his memories and explain this; surely there's something he forgot, some hushed moment in the woods alone with Lancelot that he's been neglecting all this time. But at length the past becomes too foggy to grasp at and he digs his heels firmly into the present, letting slip a little gasp of regret when Lance chooses just then to break the kiss.

"Don't sell yourself short, Merlin," Lance says, his voice hushed, and he brushes his thumbs across Merlin's cheekbones before backing off and pressing his key to the reader, disappearing into the halls like he didn't just do something world-shifting.

Merlin makes it back to his own halls without recalling the journey there, and barely blinks an eye when he opens the door to his room and Arthur is there, playing Wii by himself.

"Where the hell have you been?" Arthur says, falsely accusatory, but his face goes serious when he catches sight of Merlin. "Bloody hell, what's wrong with you?"

When Merlin forces his eyes to focus on Arthur's face, he gets a flash, jarringly vivid, of Arthur's wedding. It's a scene he's replayed over and over again in his head, but for the first time in memory, instead of making him sad, it makes him angry.

"I was just out drinking with some mates," he says, noncommittal.

Arthur laughs, infuriatingly. "What mates? You haven't got any mates other than me and Gwen and the team."

"I've got plenty of mates," Merlin snaps. "Where is Gwen, anyway? Shouldn't you be in her room at two in the morning instead of mine?"

Arthur goes still and scowly, in that way he has when he's hurt but trying to pretend to be above it all. "God, you're such a bitch when you're drunk. I'll leave you to wank off in peace, then."

Merlin doesn't look as Arthur slams the door, but he does continue to watch the Arthur in his head, climbing onto Merlin's bed the night after his wedding, drunk and apologetic and whispering I'm sorry, I'm sorry as he presses their foreheads together and breathes.

The next day, Merlin can barely keep himself rooted in the present. He only just wakes up in time to stumble to his exercise therapy class—he'd been up until some ungodly hour trying to make sense of the evening—and might as well not have shown up at all, for all that he pays attention. Then it's neurology, which he follows about as well as exercise therapy. He has a brief break in the afternoon between the end of classes and the start of football, and when he stumbles into Gwen completely by chance outside Albion Hall he grabs onto her like a lifeline.

"Gwen!" he says. "Please tell me you're not doing anything important right now."

"I was just going to get some reading done in a coffee shop—are you all right, Merlin? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

I've been seeing ghosts all day, Merlin sorely wishes he could say. "Care for an afternoon pint instead? I'll buy if you'll put up with me for an hour."

Gwen is a good sport that way, so she follows Merlin into the first bar he can find, some tacky sports-themed place that mostly only first years frequent. They sit in the farthest corner at the tiniest, most out-of-sight table, and when Merlin can do nothing but stare into his glass Gwen finally puts her foot down. Quite literally, on top of Merlin's.

"Ow!" he says.

"Are you going to talk to me or just pass out in your pint with your eyes open?" Gwen demands.

"Sorry," Merlin says. "It's just—it's been a weird couple of days. Week?" Lifetime.

When he looks up, Gwen is eyeing him in a manner that comes across as both sympathetic and about three seconds away from a smack upside the head.

"Lance kissed me last night," he blurts.

"He what?" Merlin desperately shushes her and looks around to make sure no one is listening, but it is, of course, 1:40 p.m. in a bar on a weekday, and the place is largely deserted. "When? Where? Did you like it?"

"Outside his halls, around one in the morning, and of course I bloody liked it, have you looked at the man? You'd have to be some kind of asexually reproducing sea slug not to like kissing that."

"Slugs don't reproduce asexually," Gwen says with a dismissive wave, and Merlin takes a moment to hate people studying environmental science. "But seriously—what brought this about? I mean, you've only known each other a few days, right?"

There's no way Merlin can say More like millenia, so he doesn't. But that's only true for his part, anyway. "Right," he says. "And I have no idea why he would be interested in me even if he'd known me all his life, much less a week."

"Stop it." Gwen glares at him for a moment, then turns serious. "But really, Merlin—do you like him? This could be a big thing for you! I mean, it's been since, what—"

"Will," Merlin finishes for her, cringing. He could tell her about that one anonymous, blond footballer-type in a gay bar on a particularly bad bender of a weekend last year, but copping to fucking his only childhood nerd friend is far less embarrassing than copping to fucking an Arthur lookalike. "I know. It's just—I'm not sure yet. What to do. It all feels so tangled up and confused."

Gwen looks pitying now, which Merlin would resent more if he weren't firmly aware of how pitiful he is. "I'm sure it's a lot to take in all of a sudden, Merlin, but . . . well, wouldn't it be nice to try and . . . distract yourself a little?"

She could mean any number of things, but Merlin isn't fooled. Gwen has blissfully never directly addressed Merlin's lifelong, obvious infatuation with her boyfriend, but Merlin has never deluded himself for a second that it's because she doesn't know.

"Yeah," Merlin mutters, dropping his gaze to his beer again. "Maybe."

It's the same question he's been asking himself all night and all day, but the prospect of trying to forget this ever-present truth he's always known with the deepest surety is terrifying. Would he even be the same person anymore, without this hopeless, one-sided adoration of Arthur holding him to the ground? He's often wondered if Before Merlin wouldn't be ashamed of him, wasting this one last chance to be together with Arthur and make it work, before their souls die out for good.

But, Merlin reminds himself stubbornly, it's not his fault this lifetime hasn't been working out. Maybe instead of sitting around miserably wishing for his present and past to change all at once, he's supposed to do something about it.

"He is terribly handsome," Gwen says conspiratorially, giving Merlin a nudge. "Definitely cuter than Gwaine."

"But Gwaine will be so heartbroken," Merlin sighs, even as his mouth twists into a smile.

They finish their pints and head to the football pitch together. Merlin's stomach is already doing nervous somersaults at the sight of Arthur, who is probably still pissed at him for last night, passing the ball to Lance, who—well—Merlin can't think too hard about Lance just yet.

Gwen touches Merlin's arm and says into his ear, "I'll propose we all go out tonight, and then you can get some time with Lance in a group so there's less pressure. How does that sound?"

"Yeah, all right. Thanks," Merlin agrees. Gwen gives his arm a squeeze and then climbs the benches to take her customary seat near the top. Merlin makes for the shed to grab the ice box, rolling up his sleeves.

"You're late, Merlin!" Percy calls. In perfect unison, both Arthur and Lance jerk their heads in his direction. Merlin feels his face go scarlet.

"Sorry, sorry," Merlin calls, which probably makes everyone else on the pitch turn to stare; normally he'd just tell Percy to bugger off. He doesn't know what everyone else on the pitch does, however, because he's too busy trying to hide behind the ice box.

Friday practices are always extra-long, and the air is considerably cooler, the sun considerably lower in the sky by the time the coach tells everyone to call it a night. Merlin packs up the water table and meets Gwen on the benches and they wait, along with a few other girls, for the team to emerge from the showers.

"Here they are!" Gwen says at the first sighting of everyone striding toward them. Arthur's in the lead, and the sight of him walking forward so purposefully, flanked by men, instantly brings to mind some tournament, Arthur wearing armor Merlin helped strap him into. Merlin closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He doesn't open his eyes again until Gwen says, "Merlin and I were thinking of having a night out with the whole crew! Weren't we, Merlin?"

Merlin looks up to see Arthur watching him, even as he bends down to peck Gwen on the cheek.

"Yeah," Merlin says.

"We need to give Lance a proper welcome, after all," Gwen adds, peeking around Arthur's shoulder to beam in Lance's direction.

"That's thoughtful of you." Lance smiles in a charming way that makes Merlin's head threaten to fog up again.

"Less talking then, and more drinking!" Gwaine says, and, after briefly throwing out ideas and choosing a destination, a group of nine branch off together.

Lance falls into step beside Merlin almost immediately, and Merlin stuffs his hands in his pockets and tries not to go too flustered—it's the first time he and Lance have made eye contact since the night before, and it's certainly not helping matters that Gwen keeps peering over her shoulder and smirking at them.

"How was practice, then?" Merlin asks.

"Fine," Lance says. "Merlin, I want to apologize, if my behavior last night was at all inappropriate."

"No!" Merlin blurts, burning with humiliation but also maybe a little bit of something nicer. "I just—God, you do cut to the chase quickly, don't you?"

Ahead of them, Merlin could swear he sees Arthur's shoulders tense, his head tilt slightly back, but he's too focused on studying the side of Lance's face to determine if it's his imagination or not. Lance's is a very nice face to study, after all, especially when he seems to be struggling not to smile too broadly.

"Not generally," Lance admits. "It's just—" he trails off then, and it's all Merlin can do to bite his tongue and not shout What? Just what?, but he's glad he waited when Lance finally concludes, "I feel like I've known you for a long time."

Merlin ducks his head and smiles, tight-lipped, at his feet.

"I know that sounds strange," Lance says.

"No, I feel the same way," Merlin says. Lance looks relieved, and the rest of the walk passes in silence, Merlin constantly forcing himself to stay in the present instead of in some long-ago nighttime walk through the forest.

By some miracle, they find a booth big enough to seat the entire group at the pub, and thanks to some quick thinking on Gwen's part ("Gwaine, Merlin's had quite enough of you molesting him publicly for a while, you sit by Elyan."), Merlin ends up between Arthur and Lance.

"I'll grab the first round; I'm on the end," Lance says, and Percy, the other end, volunteers to go with him.

The table goes quiet; beside him, Arthur is still tense and grouchy, refusing to acknowledge Merlin to a point that's getting awkward, so Merlin decides to take the opportunity to make amends.

"Arthur," he says, fighting not to roll his eyes when Arthur lifts his eyebrows and very slowly turns Merlin's way. "Sorry about last night, mate. You're right; I'm a bitch when I'm drunk."

It takes a few seconds, but some of the friendliness bleeds back into Arthur's face. "You can say that again," he says snippily, but Merlin knows that's just Arthur for Oh all right then.

The first round of beer goes down quickly and everyone is in good spirits, pleased to have made it to the weekend at last. Merlin and Lance happily pick up where they left off with conversation the night before, and there are several rounds of darts and an unexpected game of Kings when Percy unveils a deck of cards. Before he knows it, Merlin has surpassed his usual state of drunk-but-not-too-drunk and is well into the realm of absolutely-and-completely-hammered.

"Nine—rhyme?" Merlin clarifies, frowning at the number on his card. "Uh, all right, how about: 'verbally.'" He grins cheekily at Lance, who's next in line. "You may as well just take a drink now, there's no rhyming that."

"'Hyperbole,'" Lance says thoughtfully, and it's probably not that wonderful of a rhyme in all honesty, but Merlin's mouth drops open in awe nonetheless.

"You're amazing," he says, and Lance flashes him a gratified look before turning to laugh with the rest of them at Percy, who just knocks his pint back rather than try.

When Merlin happens to set his sights to his other side, he's surprised to see Arthur giving Lance a death glare. Gwen also seems to have noticed, judging by the way she's studying the back of Arthur's head curiously.

"Fancy a game of darts, Lance?" Arthur says, too loud and out of absolutely nowhere. Merlin, like a child, stares wide-eyed first at Arthur, then at Lance, and back again.

"Uh." Lance furrows his brow, in the middle of reaching into the mess of cards to select one for himself, but seems unable to refuse. "Sure, okay." He slides out of the booth, and after Arthur elbows him in the ribs Merlin follows suit, trailing after the pair of them helplessly as they make their way to the nearest available darts board. Merlin chances one look back at the table to see if anyone has noticed the abrupt exit, but the only one looking is Gwen, whose troubled expression quickly fades into a smile of encouragement. She gives him the thumbs up, and he smiles weakly back before facing the board.

"You play a good game," Arthur says, handing Lance his darts and stepping back behind the line. Merlin wonders if this statement perplexes Lance as much as it does him.

"Sorry," Lance says, "what are we talking about?" Merlin breathes a little sigh of relief.

"Football," Arthur clarifies.

"Thank you," Lance says, obviously still wary.

Arthur throws the first dart, and it lands just to the right of bull. Merlin's never really understood scoring for this game, but he's pretty sure that's good. Lance steps in and takes the next throw, mirroring Arthur's spot almost exactly on the left side. When Arthur throws next, Merlin half expects his to split Lance's dart down the middle, but it goes a bit wider this time.

"You two seem to be getting on well," Arthur says, a little quieter, and it takes Merlin a moment to realize it's directed at him.

"Oh!" he says. "Lance and me? Well, yeah—" he watches as Lance lines up for his next throw. "He's nice."

"Be careful, there," Arthur says, lowering his voice so that only Merlin can hear him.

Merlin goes tense, not lowering his voice in the slightest when he says, "What? What are you talking about?"

Arthur seems flustered, and it makes his next throw go incredibly wide. He curses and steps back, waiting for Lance to step up before going on. "I'm only looking out for you," he says, hushed. "You don't know anything about him. What's a guy like Lance doing cozying up to somebody like you?"

It feels as if Merlin's been slapped. He stands up from the stool he's precariously perched himself on and hisses, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Merlin," Arthur says, laughing a little, although there's no humor in it. By this point, Lance seems to have noticed something's amiss; he stands frozen on the line with the next dart suspended in his hand, frowning at both of them. "I mean, look at him! He could be on the cover of a bloody magazine."

"Look at me, you mean," Merlin says, slamming his stool underneath the nearest table. "Jesus, you really are a fucking prick, aren't you?"

Arthur doesn't try to stop him when Merlin stalks off, past their booth without so much as a word of goodbye, ignoring the calls of Gwen and several others as he storms out the door. The cool night air feels good on his overheated skin and he's glad for it as he sets off toward the halls at a brisk pace, trying wildly to calm down.

He's hurt because Arthur insulted him, of course. It always hurts to be so jarringly reminded of how low Arthur's esteem for him really is, but there's something more than that tonight. A flash comes swirling into him from behind, and Merlin braces himself against it, wishing he could block it out: Lance and Gwen, all furtive glances and hushed conversations; something he's recalled from the beginning but tried to dismiss.

"Merlin!" It's Lance who comes jogging after him from behind, which pisses Merlin off to no end. Because isn't that just so perfectly Arthur, to make a mess but leave someone else to come and clean it up for him?

"What do you think of Gwen?" Merlin demands, whirling on Lance with such ferocity that Lance looks, in a word, terrified.

"What?" he says.

"Are you only interested in me because you're trying to forget about someone else?"

He feels uncomfortable the moment he asks it, not just because it's entirely out of left field but because it's maybe more than a little bit hypocritical. But he can't help but wonder; Lance might not remember like he does, but not remembering hasn't stopped Arthur from choosing Gwen over Merlin again, and if Lance is going to be secretly in love with her too, Merlin needs to know about it now, not later.

"Wait. I'm sorry. What?"

Merlin wilts under the dawning knowledge that he's being unfair, on top of just being ridiculous. "I'm sorry," he says, dropping down to sit on the curb and running his hands through his hair. "It's been a long. Well. Life, really."

Lance drops down next to him and snorts. "Well, that's a bit melodramatic." Merlin doesn't say anything at all, so Lance, probably at a loss, changes subjects. "Arthur. What a dick."

"I'm immune," Merlin lies, and he's the one who leans in to kiss Lance this time, slow and searching, uncaring if the entire campus or even Arthur himself sees.

The next day, Lance invites him out to dinner. A real date, probably the first official one Merlin's ever had, and he buzzes with nerves and excitement for hours leading up to it, trying but failing horribly to do any of his homework. Since Lance doesn't know the campus well yet, Merlin picks the restaurant, an all-vegetarian curry place he craves daily, and just before leaving he texts Gwen a grainy phone picture of him in front of the mirror.

does this look ok for a date at masala?? he asks. He spent an embarrassingly lengthy amount of time stressing over finding the right balance between too casual and too dressy.

perfect!, she replies, not long after. have a wonderful time.

It's a little less enthusiastic than Merlin was expecting, but he shrugs it off, pockets his phone, and sets out a full fifteen minutes earlier than he needs to. When he gets there, Lance is early, too. They look at each other and laugh, mutually embarrassed, until Lance pulls the door open and Merlin ducks inside, flushed and tripping over his thanks.

Merlin advises Lance on what's good, and once the orders have been put in he finds himself completely at a loss for conversation. He sits and wrings his hands, finally glancing up to find Lance watching him, eyes shining with amusement.

"I'm sorry," Merlin says quickly. "I haven't really—that is, this is actually my first. Kind of. Date?" He's so mortified as soon as he confesses it that he wants to bolt from the table, but Lance stops him with a quiet laugh.

"I haven't had too many, myself," he says. "Relax. We can talk about Star Trek some more, if you like."

"Nothing more romantic than that," Merlin says, quirking his lips into a tiny smile, but he does relax, and starts to enjoy the evening. He doesn't even slop curry all over himself or drop his cutlery while they eat, which currently feels like his greatest life accomplishment to date.

"Tell me more about what you were doing before transferring here," Merlin says, once they've split the bill diplomatically and moved on to a pub for a drink.

Lance laughs. "I played football a lot," he says. "And studied, and drank some, and was very generally a hermit." He looks startlingly handsome when he gazes off into the distance and talks wistfully, Merlin notes. "Honestly, even though I just got here, it feels like things are falling into place now. Like I was always meant to come."

Like you've found the people you're destined to spend your life with, Merlin thinks, resting his chin in his hand. The thought is both reassuring and troublesome, somehow, and Merlin frowns as he tries to sort out what seems off about it.

"You'll really like Arthur, when you get to know him," he says unthinkingly, recalling Lancelot's and Arthur's easy comradery, the mutual respect and allegiance that always so awed Merlin about all the knights. "And everyone else on the team, and Gwen."

When he looks up, Lance is frowning at him with real concern, and Merlin immediately shrinks. "What?" he says.

"Explain it to me, Merlin," Lance says, "because I can't understand. What is this hold he's got over you? Why do you forgive him so much?"

It's the most terrifying thing Merlin can ever remember being asked. He takes a long drink from his glass, using it as an excuse to organize his thoughts, and maybe because he's got a bit of a buzz going on, or maybe because Lance is the first person he's ever met who seems to almost get it, he goes with the most honest answer he can.

"It feels like," Merlin says slowly, "my whole life—from the very beginning, from before the beginning—I've been destined to be with him. I mean," he scrambles, aware of the weighted choice of words, "to be at his side. Like until I met him I was just waiting, and no matter how hard I try, no matter what happens, I can't shake him, because he has to be there. Something's missing otherwise, and even when he's awful, even when it's painful to be around him, it'd be worse if he weren't there. I wouldn't be a whole person."

He trails off, and wishes right away he could stuff all the words back down his throat; it was too much, too true, and Lance has to know now, if he didn't already. Lance, however, appears to be lost in thought more than he is angry or accusatory. His eyes are cloudy and distant and he seems to be considering Merlin's words very, very carefully.

"I understand," he says, quite a while later, after emptying his pint. Merlin should be relieved, but it sounds too sad, the way Lance says it.

He reaches over to touch Lance's shoulder. "D'you want to—" Merlin starts.

"I'll walk you to your halls," Lance interrupts him. Merlin doesn't know what that's code for at the end of a date, if it's a good sign or bad, so he just says "Oh" and hurriedly polishes off his beer.

It's dark but not later than 11 when they leave the pub, and Merlin struggles to keep up with Lance's strides all the way to his halls. They don't speak once.

"I have coffee?" Merlin offers once they reach the front doors, shyly.

Lance smiles, but it feels hollow. "Great," he says.

Merlin never even gets around to heating the water. As soon as he's opened and closed the door to his room the space feels too narrow, too charged. He turns around and Lance is right there, and at precisely the same moment they move toward each other, Merlin's skin on fire and his brain working far too quickly to keep up with. He pulls Lance in by the hem of his shirt and Lance cups Merlin's face in his hands again, and when they kiss it's entirely different from the first two times. This time is messy and heated and, Merlin can't help but admit, a little forced, desperate.

"Damn it," Lance mutters against Merlin's lips, which Merlin responds to by rocking forward on his feet to deepen the kiss, clutching at him so they don't topple over in the middle of the room. Lance licks Merlin's mouth open and the sound of it is so obscene it makes Merlin's stomach ache. He knows with absolute certainty that if he lets go he'll never get the moment back again, so he keeps trying to hold on tighter and tighter, hands sliding up Lance's back, fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

It might have gone on forever, but Lance pulls back with no warning, his hands still tender and hot on Merlin's face and neck, his lips close enough that Merlin can almost taste his words.

"God, Merlin," Lance says, his eyes closed, his face twisted and unhappy. Merlin wants to make the sadness go away but doesn't fully understand it, feels powerless to do anything but clutch at Lance and breathe hard. "It might have worked, you know."

"What," Merlin starts, but Lance cuts him off with a sharp shake of the head.

"Leave it," Lance says urgently, and he kisses Merlin once more, hard enough that Merlin whimpers into his mouth, before taking a full step back. Merlin's hands drop to his sides and he feels cold, bereft.

"Thank you for the lovely evening," Lance says. Then, without another word, he slips out the door and closes it gently behind him.

"Fuck," Merlin exhales, sitting down heavily on his bed, and he falls asleep a long time later, lost and frustrated, as far from finding an answer as he is from identifying what the question is.

Merlin jolts awake when it's still black outside, blinking blearily at his alarm clock in some surprise, reading the numbers 3:22 without really comprehending them. At first he thinks it's a Before nightmare that's jarred him out of sleep, but he can't recall any details, and then the pounding comes on his door, loud and relentless. He jerks out of bed and stumbles forward to unbolt the lock, too dazed to even check through the peephole first.

"Arthur?" he says, weakly.

Arthur doesn't move for a beat, and then he shoulders his way into the room, obviously unsteady on his feet. Merlin hesitates, locks the door behind him, and finally darts to his bedside table to turn on the less abrasive light. They both blink against its brightness anyway, mutually disoriented. Arthur appears for a moment as if he's going to turn around and bolt.

"Arthur," Merlin repeats, stepping forward.

"How was your date?" Arthur asks.

Merlin bristles, freezes in place. "How did you—"

"I read Gwen's text." Arthur offers the information like it's nothing at all.

"What the hell!" Merlin exclaims, but Arthur just pushes forward until Merlin's legs are backed against the bed frame, grabs fistfuls of Merlin's shirt collar.

"Shut up," Arthur says, slow, like he's exhausted. "Just. Shut up."

Merlin doesn't move. He couldn't, even if he wanted to; the flashes hit him hard and fast, like a migraine. They're overwhelming and blinding in their intensity, almost more real to him now than the feel of Arthur's chest pressed close to his, the smell of alcohol on Arthur's breath. It's like a montage of every moment he and Before Arthur ever shared, but all at once: brushes of hands against shoulders; playful teasing; a few quiet confessions that unfolded with inevitable surety, like a story book. Cold kisses on winter mornings, Merlin crawling into the warmth of Arthur's bed; fucking hot and fast in a tent, an armor room, against the stone wall of Arthur's chambers, rarely saying anything even though the words were always on the tip of Merlin's tongue; quick hints of understated tenderness, like Arthur darting in front of him in battle, never even realizing Merlin was the one protecting him, in the end.

"Oh God," Merlin says—in this lifetime, he registers belatedly. Arthur presses their foreheads together, so hard it hurts, and it feels so familiar, there's no way it can be the first time.

"Merlin," Arthur chokes out, his eyes closed tight. He lifts his hands to tangle them in Merlin's hair, and it makes Merlin want to cry, the way they go right for the nape of his neck. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." These words are expected, but Merlin finds he's forgotten how to breathe when Arthur finishes with, "I fucking love you."

Arthur crushes Merlin's mouth beneath his, which is just as well, because Merlin needs someone else's breath right now, someone else's guidance. He feels utterly lost to do anything but try to keep up, mimicking Arthur's hands to run his own, cautious at first but increasingly confident, through Arthur's hair. It's soft and inviting under his fingers, and Arthur's mouth opens in an easy, comfortable way, and when Arthur groans Merlin follows close behind him. He's not expecting Arthur's hips to grind so urgently against his, not expecting the hardness there, the desperate hitch when Merlin hesitantly rolls his own hips back.

"I want," Arthur tries, then licks his lips, breathes, tries again. "I've wanted—" He seems to grow impatient with words, and with a low noise in the back of his throat he whirls Merlin around, slams him against the wall hard enough that the wind gets knocked out of him.

"Fuck," Merlin hisses. He lets Arthur suck urgently at his neck, tilts his head back to make it easier even as his legs part to make room for Arthur's insistent thigh. The thought of Arthur leaving a mark on him turns Merlin on so much that he moans out loud, and the sound is filthy to his ears. Arthur must agree, because he lifts Merlin by the hips then, forces him to ride Arthur's thigh rough and fast, and Merlin knows he can't last long, neither of them can, it's going to be over with almost as suddenly as it began.

"Arthur," Merlin says, wrapping his arm possessively around the back of Arthur's head, breathing deep into his hair. This is when Arthur stops moving, all at once. For a moment they just hover like that, and then Arthur jerks back, like he's been badly scared.

"I," Arthur says, lowering himself slowly to his knees on the floor. "Think I'm going to."

Merlin credits himself that he comprehends as quickly as he does, with the way his heart is beating wild in his throat, and he moves like a man possessed. "Here, here," he says softly, fetching his rubbish bin and dropping down to rub circles into Arthur's back. "It's okay. You're okay, Arthur."

He keeps rubbing as Arthur retches endlessly into the bin, occasionally brushing the sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead. It seems like a thousand years before Arthur is finally spent, making a sound that rings suspiciously like a sob as he shoves the bin away. He presses his head against Merlin's chest, pitiful, and Merlin helps lift him up by the armpits, leads him to the bed.

"Rinse," he instructs, holding a glass of water to Arthur's lips. Arthur sucks in a mouthful, spits into Merlin's dirty coffee mug; sucks in another mouthful, swallows.

They fall asleep—Arthur in bed, Merlin on the floor next to him—without another word. If Merlin dreams, he doesn't remember at all.

The first text Merlin reads, when he wakes up at 9:40 the next morning and grapples blindly for his phone, is from Gwen.

arthur and i broke up last night. don't want you to feel awkward but thought you ought to know.

Merlin jerks up and checks his bed, but Arthur is still there, snoring lightly and glowering in sleep. The timeline doesn't make sense in Merlin's head; he texts Gwen back, fingers moving rapidly, stomach twisting up with guilt.

when? i'm sorry, i don't know what to say

over dinner. i dumped him, really, I suppose.

His mouth tastes dry when he keys back, terrified of the answer, why?

For an endless, painful stretch, his phone doesn't buzz at all. And then it comes:

he doesn't love me. i don't think i love him. it all just feels wrong, somehow.

Merlin doesn't know if it's a relief or not, but he's strangely calm when he replies. i'm so sorry. we'll figure it all out. you're wonderful.

take care of him right now, is the last text Gwen sends, and Merlin doesn't know how to respond, so he doesn't.

Next, he reads an unopened message from Lance:

I'd love to talk, whenever you're awake.

They arrange to meet at the embankment by the river in half an hour and Merlin rises, struggling to pull on his clothes, marveling at the sight of Arthur, sleeping thick and undisturbed throughout all of it. He can't leave like this, so he tears out a sheet of notebook paper and scrawls a message for him, which he leaves on the bedside table, just inches from Arthur's head.

I'll be back soon. Please don't go.

Then he's out the door and walking brisk in the dreary morning air, the first hints of an Autumn chill making the hair raise on his neck. No flashes accost him on the way, and he feels strangely at peace and levelheaded, although logically he knows he should be in a panic. Nothing makes sense and everything is completely fucked, but it feels a lot closer to right than it ever has before.

"Hey," Merlin says, coming to a stop just behind Lance. Lance turns to face him and doesn't smile, not even falsely.

"Merlin, I need to tell you something."

"First," Merlin says, desperate to get the confession out. "First, I—Arthur came to my room last night, after you left. And he kissed me, and I let him, and I'm sorry but." The words die on his tongue and Lance doesn't react, doesn't flinch, doesn't acknowledge the news in any immediate way.

"Of course," he says at length, softly, almost as if to himself. Then, clearer, "Merlin, I remember."

"You remember?" Merlin repeats. He knows but doesn't feel like it can be right; maybe he's asleep still, and for once it's the present haunting his dreams.

Lance looks endlessly tired when he elaborates, "Everything. Like you. From before."

There's nothing Merlin can do other than gape at him, because his synapses seem to have collapsed. "How?" he croaks, mouth running on autopilot.

Lance shrugs. "No idea." He looks sorry when he meets Merlin's eyes, but Merlin's not sure if it's apologetic or just well-earned self-pity. "I always thought, when I found her, it'd be our second chance. But when I saw you, it was like—all at once, like—I remembered some happiness, something that worked." His voice is so quiet when he adds, "There wasn't a lot of happiness for me and her, Merlin. It was all so hopeless and unintended."

"I thought," Merlin begins, after Lance has been quiet for a while, "forever, I thought this time would just be exactly the same. But then when I saw you, it seemed like there was a different option. A new chance."

"To find happiness this time," Lance affirms, with a quiet nod. Then his smile returns, and it's so clearly, horribly genuine. "But you still can."

"That's not fair," Merlin says, swallowing thickly. "For you, it's not—"

"Don't be stupid, Merlin." Lance waves him off. "I'm not going to float away burning. There are options left."

Merlin is fighting very hard to maintain control of his voice now. "Gwen dumped him, last night. Maybe . . . ?" It feels too cheap to say out loud, so he just goes quiet, face burning.

Lance reaches out and musses Merlin's hair, an expression so fond Merlin wants to drown himself. "Don't bother, Merlin. I'll see you at football, all right?"

Merlin nods, but can't make his feet move, even though this is obviously goodbye. After too long, he lurches forward and wraps his arms tight around Lance's chest, hugs him because he's terrified, for some reason, that this is the last time they'll ever meet.

"Go," Lance says, quietly against his ear, and he gives Merlin one rough squeeze, and Merlin goes.

It takes several minutes, and every ounce of Merlin's courage, to make himself open his own door. For the longest time he just hovers outside, heart pounding, like this is the final test, something both he and Arthur have yet to pass. When he turns the knob, it's unlocked, and his sigh of relief is audible once he finds Arthur still there, face buried in his hands, sitting miserably on the edge of Merlin's bed.

"Merlin?" Arthur says, lifting his head slowly. The expression on his face is so fearful that Merlin wants nothing more than to rush forward, to kiss the lines out of his forehead.

"Hi," he forces himself to say instead. He closes the door and crosses the room at a careful pace, taking a seat at Arthur's side, their legs just touching.

Arthur is more stiff and tense than Merlin has ever seen him, so he lifts a hand and strokes it very slowly up and down over his back. The way Arthur melts into him is the best feeling Merlin's found in months, a warmth that washes over him like summer air.

"I've really messed everything up," Arthur says, his voice weak and wrecked.

Merlin considers this. "Me too," he says. "But I think it can all be fixed." No relief registers on Arthur's face, so Merlin adds, "Stop being so miserable and sorry, please? I hardly recognize you when you're not all priggish and self-satisfied."

Arthur's frown cracks. "You love it," he says.

"Of course I do," Merlin says.

The flash comes as a surprise, probably because this is the most firmly rooted Merlin has felt in Now for as long as he can remember. It's a quiet memory, just him and Arthur, a little older than they are today, standing side-by-side on one of the castle turrets under a bright sun. But now he recognizes it: just a few days after Merlin finally told him about the magic, the intertwined destiny, two sides of the same coin, all of it.

"Can't believe I'm stuck with you as my miserable companion until the day I die," Arthur grumbled, struggling to maintain a glower that kept threatening to split.

"How do you think I've felt, knowing secretly all this time?" Merlin asked. "It's been a terrible burden to bear alone."

They leaned into each other at the same time, Merlin resting his head on top of Arthur's, for barely a second; just as long as they could allow it. Merlin closed his eyes, and opens them, back to Now again.

"Merlin?" Arthur is watching him nervously, like Merlin is about to disappear.

"I'm not going anywhere," Merlin assures him, and for maybe the first time ever, when Arthur smiles, it seems like he knows exactly what Merlin means.

end

Fic (Big Bang) - Should Be Me

2011-07-22T02:17:57Z

Title: Should Be Me
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Daesung/TOP, unrequited Daesung/GD
Word count: 3271
Warnings: Angst
Summary: Jiyong sees too much.
Notes: I've been sitting on this fic for a while, and despite it being sort of disjointed and unbetaed, I think it's time to just get it off my hard drive. Probably this is my attempt at distracting myself from how miserable Daesung likely is IRL right now by torturing other members of Big Bang instead. :(

If the title came from anywhere, it's definitely not the acoustic version of Justin Bieber's That Should Be Me, which I happen to have a dl link for right here!

Jiyong witnesses Seunghyun and Daesung's first kiss, or what he assumes must be their first kiss, entirely by accident.

It's Seunghyun's birthday and Seunghyun is sitting alone on the patio when Jiyong spots him, sucking on the mouth of an empty beer bottle and staring into space. Jiyong only stepped out to have a cigarette, and he's about to move into the light and offer Seunghyun one when Daesung eases through the sliding door to Seunghyun's right, closing the door softly behind him and holding two beer bottles in one hand. For some reason, the sight of him makes Jiyong freeze in place, despite the sharp breeze trying to drive him back inside.

"Need a top off?" Daesung asks, dangling the bottles in front of Seunghyun's face. Seunghyun looks up at him without answering for so long Jiyong starts to feel itchy.

"Thanks," Seunghyun says at last, taking a bottle and obediently knocking it against Daesung's when Daesung doesn't pull his away.

"Do you feel wiser?" Daesung asks, taking a moderate sip of his beer. Daesung's never been a fan of the stuff, Jiyong knows; he wonders if Seunghyun has ever noticed.

Seunghyun, on the other hand, is bleary-eyed, blinking against a cloak of alcohol they've all seen him wear before. "Stupider, actually," he says.

Daesung chuckles and settles himself on the bench, draping his legs across Seunghyun's lap and tilting his head against Seunghyun's shoulder. It's nothing Daesung wouldn't do on any given day to any given member, with or without an audience, but as Jiyong watches Seunghyun goes rigid, his lips setting in a tight, unreadable line. Jiyong can feel his own lips get tight, too, and he only remembers the cigarette in his hand just before it burns down to his fingers. He flicks it to the cement and crushes it with his boot.

"Has it been a good birthday?" Daesung asks, quiet because his mouth is so close to Seunghyun's ear. Jiyong has to strain to catch the words.

Seunghyun pauses, and Jiyong can practically see the cogs turning in his head. He takes a swig of beer, enough to probably drain a quarter of the bottle, before answering, turning so he's eye-to-eye with Daesung. Jiyong is at once terrified. He wants to escape, but it's too late to slip away unnoticed and his feet are rooted to the spot.

"Could have been better," Seunghyun says. Daesung frowns but doesn't move. Their faces are so close Jiyong can see Daesung's hair flutter with Seunghyun's breath, and an image of Seunghyun brushing the hair away from Daesung's forehead comes to Jiyong unbidden, startling him.

A second later, Seunghyun does exactly that.

"Hyung," Daesung says, a deep warning to his voice. Seunghyun looks like he's going to be sick but doesn't stop. He strokes Daesung's jaw with his thumbs and brings their faces even closer together, so their noses are brushing and their mouths are centimeters apart. When Daesung breathes out, Seunghyun breathes in, like he wants to keep Daesung's air all for himself.

"What are you doing?" Daesung asks, but he's already shifting closer, arms looping around Seunghyun's neck, eyes half-closed.

"Something stupid," Seunghyun answers, before tilting Daesung's chin up and kissing him.

What kills Jiyong is how natural it looks—a perfect, inevitable fit, like they've been waiting to do this for years. He starts to flip through memories of the two of them since day one and realizes maybe they have, but the thought makes his stomach hurt so he pushes it aside. Daesung gasps suddenly and Seunghyun pulls away until Daesung touches his face and whispers something in his ear, and like he's been released from a spell, Jiyong's feet go unfrozen. He stumbles backward, making a little too much noise but confident Seunghyun and Daesung wouldn't notice even if he threw a cigarette at them, and escapes around the side of the house.

When he falls asleep that night, his head is swimming with someone's voice whispering unidentifiable words and the ghostly touch of fingers on his jaw.

It's hard not to feel possessive of his bandmates, and Jiyong tries to remind himself of this as he bites his nails and watches Daesung and Seunghyun flirting at a photo shoot. The difference between their interactions now and before is subtle, but Jiyong can spot it in the way their eye contact lingers, the way Seunghyun keeps watching for Daesung long after he's left for a wardrobe change. Jiyong watches, too, and feels guilty when Seunghyun catches his gaze and they both look away.

"Can we get TOP and G-Dragon out here, please?"

Jiyong and Seunghyun rise at the photographer's call and move in front of the green screen, Seunghyun's hands stuffed in his pockets, Jiyong still chewing on his thumb. He forgets what the theme of the shoot is today and glances down at his outfit to try and remember.

"Do you think you two could get a little closer?" the photographer suggests, miming with his hands that they close the considerable gap between them. From the side, Seungri and Youngbae laugh.

"Shut up." Jiyong grins and sidesteps into Seunghyun and thankfully things ease back into a familiar routine. Seunghyun relaxes, elbows Jiyong in the side, and they can work again, effectively if more quietly than usual.

That's when Daesung returns, drawing Seunghyun's attention like a magnet, beaming from behind the cameras and making Jiyong's palms sweat. The moment they're dismissed, Seunghyun and Daesung fall together, joking about something Jiyong doesn't catch, lost to the rest of the world. Jiyong finds his thumbnail and bites, pulls, tears.

"What are you doing to yourself, Oppa?" One of Jiyong's attendants grabs his hands, pulling them away from his face and inspecting the nails with a click of her tongue.

"Sorry," Jiyong says with a smile. He wishes he knew.

On Seungri's birthday, they go to a Japanese restaurant for teppanyaki. Seungri flirts with the waitresses and gets drunker than he has a right to be from a couple cocktails, and Jiyong tries to be happy for him but can't keep his focus off of Daesung and Seunghyun. They're all snug in a half-moon booth a shade too small for five people, and Jiyong's starting to get hot from the close press of thighs and shoulders. Seungri is in the middle with Jiyong and Daesung to his right and Youngbae and Seunghyun to his left, and from his vantage point Jiyong can easily watch Daesung and Seunghyun's interactions across the table.

It surprised Jiyong at first to realize they aren't showy, even remotely so, in their affections. For Seunghyun, private and shy in a way he wishes he could hide better, it makes sense, but Daesung is the one who takes something that makes him happy and flaunts it, like a kid with a new toy. Yet all Jiyong has caught so far, with the significant exception of the kiss, are lingering glances, maybe slightly more hushed conversation than usual. Until he excuses himself to go to the bathroom and notices, in the way Daesung stumbles getting out of the booth and Seunghyun has to cover his laugh with his hand, their ankles have been tangled together under the table.

He burns with a strange anger about it all the way to the bathroom, and once he arrives ignores the urinals in favor of the sink, splashing cool water on his neck and wishing he had an excuse to leave without forever ruining his relationship with Seungri.

Youngbae strolls in barely a moment later, also ignoring the urinals to stand next to Jiyong, by the mirror.

"It's a nice party," he says, fixing his shirt collar and smiling like Jiyong doesn't know him well enough to call an ulterior motive when he sees one.

"It is," Jiyong agrees, smiling right back, because two can play at that game.

"Seungri's definitely enjoying himself."

Jiyong rolls his eyes and nods.

"Daesung and Seunghyun seem really happy lately," Youngbae says. Jiyong is admittedly thrown off; it's unlike Youngbae to cut to the point so fast, but maybe he could see in the way Jiyong was drying his hands on his pants that he's ready to bolt.

"Yeah," Jiyong says. When he meets Youngbae's gaze he has to swallow down panic, because if Youngbae's already noticed this without even seeing a kiss, what else might he have noticed? But there's no reason to think he's trying to talk about anything beyond what it sounds like.

Jiyong leaves as quickly as he can anyway, and when he returns to find Seungri having a shot poured down his throat by their youngest waitress and Daesung and Seunghyun on the same side of the booth, tucked in together and sharing yakisoba, he finds he has no idea where to go.

Jiyong doesn't like group van rides on the best of days—Youngbae gets carsick and Seungri gets hyper, so it's always a test of nerves and patience—but today, strapped in the direct middle between Seunghyun and Daesung, it's close to unbearable. Youngbae has his head tilted against his cracked window and Jiyong wishes he had the option of mimicking him; the air in the back of the van is thick with something unspoken, and Seunghyun to his left is stiff and solemn, eyes fixed straight ahead, not speaking.

"Do you have any gum, Hyung?" Daesung asks, leaning over and causing Jiyong and Seunghyun to startle.

When they both reach into their pockets and everyone realizes it's unclear who Daesung was addressing, Daesung laughs.

"Whoever can get to it first," he says.

Seunghyun turns out to not have any at all, so Jiyong hands a piece of gum over to Daesung and tries not to feel too much like he's just won a competition. When he glances sideways at Seunghyun, he wishes he hadn't, because Seunghyun is looking at him with his brow furrowed, like he's thinking very hard.

"You two have been too tense lately," Daesung says sagely. "You need to stop thinking about work all the time."

As he speaks, he rolls up his gum wrapper, aims, and throws it at the back of Seungri's head. Seungri, singing off-key to something blasting from his oversized headphones, doesn't notice. Jiyong and Seunghyun take one look at each other and burst into laughter.

"That's better," Daesung says, grinning, and Jiyong has to agree.

"We should try something heavier," Seunghyun suggests.

"A wallet?" Jiyong says.

"I was thinking cell phone."

They dissolve into giggles again, and the distraction is what prevents them from noticing, at first, Daesung. Daesung, who has unbuckled his seatbelt and is now facing the wrong direction, bending in half over the back of the seat as he digs for something in one of the bags behind them.

"I think I have a Doraemon toy in here," he's saying, but his sentence ends with an abrupt yelp. At the same time, Jiyong and Seunghyun lunge for him, but Seunghyun is somehow the one who makes contact first, even though he's farther away. He jerks Daesung back by the waist of his jeans and forces him bodily into his seat.

"What the hell are you doing?" Seunghyun snaps, unbuckled from his seatbelt now, too. He's leaning over Jiyong's lap as he yanks Daesung's seatbelt back across his chest and buckles it for him, Jiyong's fingers twitching uselessly at his sides.

"That's dangerous," Seunghyun adds, a little sullenly, as he sits back down and attends to his own belt. No one says it, but they're all remembering the same thing: getting the unexpected call about Daesung and a van accident; going to the hospital and not being able to recognize his smile under all the bruises.

"Sorry," Daesung says. He's quiet but sounds more thoughtful than anything, and he can't seem to stop staring across Jiyong at Seunghyun with a sort of dazed wonder, like a fan meeting TOP for the first time.

All the lightheartedness from before is gone as quickly as it came. Jiyong inspects his fingernails as long as he can get away with before glancing in Seunghyun's direction, and when he does, just as he expected, Seunghyun is watching not Daesung, but Jiyong. In place of the confusion from before, Seunghyun now looks like he's figured something out, and Jiyong colors under the scrutiny.

"Switch places with me?" he mumbles, when it's getting to be too much. "I'm not feeling well."

Seunghyun obliges wordlessly, and Jiyong gets to follow Youngbae's example at last, cracking the window and closing his eyes as he tilts his head against the cool glass. He's fairly certain Seunghyun and Daesung were itching to sit next to each other, anyway.

Usually when he catches Youngbae or Seunghyun or any of the members on TV, Jiyong snorts, watches for a little while, and changes the channel. If it's Seungri, sometimes he'll watch a little longer just to make sure he's behaving himself, but the fact of the matter is it's just too jarring to sit through an entire interview. There's a sharp contrast between the people he rehearses with and records with and sometimes lives with and the people whose faces greet him on cell phone ads, whose voices follow him through convenience store speakers, and he tries to keep that wall up as much as he can, for self-preservation if nothing else.

Tonight, he's channel-surfing in the privacy of his own apartment, his first time home in almost a month, when he flicks past Seunghyun's unmistakable eyebrow quirk on the screen. Jiyong flicks back, leg bouncing with sudden energy and nerves, and turns up the volume. It's Seunghyun and Daesung together, he realizes, on an old rerun of a now-canceled talk show. They look so much younger it makes Jiyong feel nostalgic, weirdly homesick for a place he can't identify.

"Did it take long for the members of Big Bang to warm up to one another?" someone is asking them, causing Daesung and Seunghyun to turn to each other, amused.

"I think we got along pretty well right away," Daesung says. "But it was very stressful in the beginning, with the TV show and everything, so it wasn't until a little later that we really became close."

"Who did you grow close with right away?" the interviewer asks.

"Seungri, right?" Seunghyun asks Daesung, giving him a gentle shove. Daesung kicks him and hides his face; the audience laughs and Seunghyun kicks back and Jiyong wonders how it is that he can't place this interview at a particular moment in time. It seems so significant now, watching the easy way Seunghyun and Daesung feed off each other, have fed off each other from the start. He can hardly believe seeing Seunghyun like this, teasing and unrestrained on television, a complete disparity with Jiyong's mental image of his nervous, rigid co-idol preparing for interviews.

"It's hard to say." Daesung crosses his legs and backs away from his fight with Seunghyun. Jiyong's heart skips a beat when he goes on, "Maybe G-Dragon. He's very talented and confident; right from the beginning I felt like I could follow him."

The interviewer doesn't even have time to follow-up before Seunghyun says, "Me too. G-Dragon works hard and expects the rest of us to work hard, but he loves the group so much. It makes me feel reassured to work with him."

Rather than listen to more, Jiyong changes channels, the lump in his throat getting too big to linger. His head is swimming with so much grief and confusion that for a moment he doesn't realize what's playing on the very next station. Another rerun, this one from the very earliest days of Big Bang's conception, greets him, only now it's not Seunghyun and Daesung but Jiyong and Daesung appearing together. They're in a sort of dance competition, Jiyong remembers, but what strikes him now is his arms draped around Daesung, hugging him from behind, a sort of protective blanket not quite shielding them both as they watch their competitors and laugh.

He falls asleep still tuned into the same program, hoping for another glimpse of their past so he can take notes on what he's supposed to be doing, how to proceed from here.

They're on-site for a photo shoot but taking a break when Daesung pulls Jiyong aside, out of nowhere, apologetic. "Can we go for a quick walk?" he asks.

Jiyong nods despite the panic welling up in his chest and follows Daesung—away from Seunghyun, who watches them, and everyone else, finally coming to a stop behind a big, barren tree.

"Seunghyun saw you," Daesung confesses in one short breath, which ghosts out visibly in the air in front of him. "The night of his birthday, when we—" He pauses, wetting his lips. "He's been worried about it but I told him it's you, you'd never. Hyung. It doesn't bother you, does it?"

Jiyong can't find the words for how deeply it bothers him, how sharp the ache in his heart is. But when he looks at Daesung's face, tense with worry but also hope, what he says is, "Of course not."

Daesung relaxes and smiles, and for a second, it warms Jiyong just like it always has. "Thank you, Hyung," he says, and before he leaves he takes Jiyong's right hand and squeezes, just once. Jiyong sits down heavily once he's gone, rummages for a cigarette, and remembers.

Daesung and Jiyong's first and only kiss took place a year ago, on Daesung's birthday. They were both drunk, Daesung drunker, and it was late, the other members already long unconscious.

"I knew you were my only real friend," Daesung slurred as Jiyong snickered, stumbling arm-in-arm over the wreckage of the living room toward Daesung's bedroom. Seungri was passed out on the couch, but otherwise Jiyong can't remember who was where; it seems significant now that he can't place Seunghyun, because who knows if he secretly witnessed it all, just like Jiyong later, a sick cycle to be repeated on birthdays for years to come.

"I am your only real friend," Jiyong affirmed. He dumped Daesung down on his bed, intending to stumble away, but Daesung didn't let go so he fell with him, happy and buzzing, his face easily burying itself in the space between Daesung's neck and shoulder.

He still wonders what would have happened if he'd stayed like that, unmoving, until they both fell asleep. They would have woken up stiff and awkward but otherwise unscarred, and maybe things wouldn't seem half so miserable now.

Maybe they would seem worse.

Jiyong will never know because after a few deep breaths he pulled back, ready to go even if his body wouldn't obey, his face only a breath away from Daesung's, who smiled at him through barely-open eyes and lifted a hand to his cheek.

"This is what I wanted," he whispered, and maybe he moved forward first, but maybe Jiyong did. They kissed slow and slick until they both had to pull away to gasp and Daesung's head hit the pillow hard, and Jiyong said "Happy Birthday" and let him sleep, curled around Daesung's body, heart pounding with a terrifying happiness.

When he woke up, he was on the far side of the bed and Daesung was sitting in the middle with his head between his knees.

"Are you okay?" Jiyong asked, sliding a hand up Daesung's back.

Daesung started, blinked blearily, and said "You slept here, too?"

Jiyong didn't say anything else, but got up and came back with a glass of water and two painkillers.

He thinks Daesung really doesn't remember. He likes it better that way.

end

Fic (Big Bang) - Camera Shy

2011-05-24T17:12:59Z

Title: Camera Shy
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Daesung/TOP
Word count: 4710
Warnings: So fluffy-sweet your teeth will hurt.
Summary: TOP thinks he's fat. Daesung thinks he's stupid.
Notes: Written for aunt_agatha as a (super late) birthday present! We were discussing the weird phenomenon of TOP, of all people in the universe, having low self-esteem about his physical appearance, and this is what came out of it. Thanks to reallycorking for all the help along the way!

Seunghyun was the one who dragged his feet about going to the beach from the start, and he'll remember from now on to trust his instincts. Small islands in Japan are still islands in Japan, where they have tens of thousands of avid fans, but Seungri whines and Jiyong needles and Daesung and Youngbae just look generally disappointed until he finally agrees.

"I don't like swimming in public," Seunghyun mumbles in the van, clutching his bag on his knees and trying not to look anxious. Jiyong sees right through him, as usual, and laughs before shouldering him in a way that's supposed to be friendly but really just hurts.

"You're such a baby," he says. "Are you still worried about this?" As he speaks, he inches a hand down and grabs Seunghyun's belly through his tank top. Seunghyun twists away, pressing himself closer to the door, and gives Jiyong a death glare. It only makes Jiyong laugh.

From Jiyong's other side, Seungri leans in and quirks an eyebrow. "If you'd just work out once in a while, you wouldn't have to dress like an old man," he says sagely.

"Watch what you say to your hyung," Daesung advises from the front seat, saving Seunghyun the trouble of smacking Seungri in the face. He decides to do it anyway.

"Hey!" Seungri says, like he actually wasn't expecting it.

While Seungri's rubbing his nose, Youngbae tries to mediate. "We could probably all stand to improve our workout routines," he says gently. This only succeeds in making Seunghyun snort, because everyone knows if you tripped and hit your head on Youngbae's abs you'd get a concussion.

"We're here!" Daesung announces, just before the van slows to a stop.

Seunghyun presses his cheek against the window and tries not to resent the beach for how perfect it looks. There's not a soul in sight, at least; maybe he can handle being here if he just keeps his tank top on and goes right into the water. Jiyong whoops his excitement and climbs over Seungri's lap, launching himself out of the car before the rest of them have even gotten their seat belts unbuckled.

"Freak," Seungri says, but he has a hard time maintaining his cool as he fumbles with his belt and hurries to follow Jiyong's example.

Youngbae gets out next, checking at his feet and behind the seats to make sure no one's forgotten anything and then thanking the driver, awkwardly, because she's a woman. Seunghyun is still sitting in the exact same place, unmoving, as Daesung climbs out of the passenger seat. Daesung shifts his beach bag to his shoulder, stretches leisurely, and then whirls upon Seunghyun's door, smiling and pressing his face close to the window. Seunghyun only rolls it down because he knows if he doesn't Daesung will never leave.

"Coming, Hyung?" Daesung asks sweetly.

"I think I'll just stay in the car until I pass out," Seunghyun says. It's a black van, and a miserably hot, humid day. The air conditioning's only been off for about twelve seconds but already he can feel the sweat trailing down his temple.

Daesung surprises him by reaching over and catching said trail of sweat with his thumb, examining it thoughtfully. "Sounds fun," he says. "I'll be in the water."

Daesung's flip-flops kick up white sand behind him as he floats away, and Seunghyun hesitates for half a second before opening the car door and stalking after him.

Jiyong, Seungri, and Youngbae have already spread out their towels on the beach, but Youngbae's the only one still sitting on his, carefully applying sunscreen to every inch of his skin. In the water, Jiyong appears to be trying to drown Seungri, who appears to be enjoying it.

"If you get sunburned, the President is going to kill you!" Daesung yells at the water, hands cupped around his mouth.

"I never sunb—" Seungri starts, cutting off with a yelp when Jiyong trips him from behind and holds him underwater.

Seunghyun sits on Jiyong's towel and watches them with a glower, hating Seungri for his relatively toned body and hating Jiyong for being as gangly as a twelve-year-old but apparently not caring. He's not sure how Jiyong can turn off the superstar mindset and be so completely comfortable with himself, but he manages it wonderfully—maybe because, of everyone Seunghyun knows in the business, Jiyong is inarguably the best at it. He would take the time to hate Youngbae, too, but it's impossible to think badly about Youngbae for very long without feeling guilty.

"Coming, Hyung?" Daesung's voice, repeating his earlier question, snaps Seunghyun out of his resentment. He looks up at the same time Daesung strips off his shirt but quickly turns away, pretending the sun is in his eyes. Daesung's abs are second only to Youngbae's and Seunghyun doesn't need any more reminding.

"Yeah." Seunghyun tosses his bag onto the sand. He and Daesung turn at the same time to Youngbae, who is now lying on his back with his arms pillowing his head, by all appearances fast asleep. "Let's go," Seunghyun says.

Daesung laughs. "You're keeping the shirt?"

Seunghyun doesn't look at him but stuffs his hands in the pockets of his trunks. "Why not?" he says.

"Come on, Hyung." Seunghyun does look then, and Daesung is wearing an expression of mingled amusement and pity, which pisses Seunghyun right off.

"Why the hell does it matter?" Seunghyun snaps. "Why does everyone care so much what I wear or don't wear?"

"Hyung," Daesung says, whining, stepping in so he can grab the hem of Seunghyun's tank top and tug. "It's the beach. It's only us. Just let go for an hour."

Maybe it's the tone of Daesung's voice, or exhaustion at his persistence, or just the heat. Seunghyun tsks and removes his shirt slowly, like his muscles are stiff, before dropping it next to his bag.

"Happy?" he asks.

Daesung grins, then laughs, then jumps on Seunghyun's back, and Seunghyun makes it two steps before they both fall down and he ends up with sand in his trunks. It does succeed in making him forget his nakedness—at least until the next morning, when he wakes up, turns on the computer, and sees his picture on the front page of his bookmarked celebrity news site.

"T.O.P. TOPLESS," the headline reads, next to a picture of him and Daesung rolling in the sand. Daesung's stomach looks cut and flawless, as always. Seunghyun's spills over the waist of his trunks. He turns off his computer, crawls into to bed, and lies there, trying to get back to sleep so he can wake up and discover it was all a nightmare.

Jiyong comes in instead, about four minutes later. "Um," he says. "Probably you shouldn't turn on your computer today."

"Too late," Seunghyun says.

It's not the only Big Bang news item of the weekend. Seungri's fierce sunburn gets some flack, as do Jiyong's skinny legs, but the light remains undeniably focused on Seunghyun's flab. He tells himself to just leave it but can't help going back to the forums after Jiyong leaves, scanning comments while rubbing his temples miserably. Some, the more forgiving fans, are just condescending:

tabi looks so cute, like a chubby little kid ^^, writes one, to a chorus of agreement.

Others are not so kind. seriously, I thought TOP was over the baby fat thing? YG needs to whip that boy into shape, he's gonna embarrass the other members.

It stings, despite all the years Seunghyun has spent carefully building up his defenses to exactly this kind of attention. He slips into the shower without meeting anyone else, hesitating when he starts to remove his clothes because, even though he double-checked the door is locked, he's itching with stupid paranoia about hidden cameras. After a brief struggle, he settles with covering the mirror with a hand towel and tries to get himself clean as quickly as possible.

He forgot to bring a change of fresh clothes, so he puts his boxers and t-shirt back on before leaving the bathroom, with about the worst possible timing. Daesung stops two steps back from the bathroom door, eyes wide, taking in the sight of Seunghyun.

"Hyung," Daesung starts, softly.

"You just couldn't leave it alone, could you?" Seunghyun says, and his voice is surprisingly soft, too.

Daesung doesn't answer, so Seunghyun just towels off his hair one more time with an angry flourish and lets the towel drop to the floor. He leaves Daesung to pick it up, face burning at his own immaturity.

When they fly back to Korea that night, Seunghyun picks the window seat next to Youngbae and curls up immediately, pretending to fall asleep. He and Daesung have sat side-by-side on flights ever since Seunghyun once admitted they make him feel sick and Daesung offered to massage his head.

If Daesung looks hurt about it, Seunghyun never sees. He feels nauseous all the way home.

Being a pop star can't be put on hold for bad press or grudges against your bandmates, so the next week proceeds as usual, apart from the fact that Seunghyun is careful to pick the seat furthest from Daesung during rehearsals and meals. He's pissed at everyone, but looking at Daesung is what reminds him most vividly of the pictures that keep popping up online, all variations of the same scene but inspiring fresh humiliation with every fresh angle.

To their credit, everyone seems to understand there's no talking Seunghyun down right now. Jiyong is short and professional with him. Youngbae is kind, but not in such a sugar-sweet way that it comes off as condescending, and Seungri wisely keeps a very wide radius. Daesung doesn't try to confront him again, but Seunghyun can feel eyes on him sometimes, and he doesn't have to look up to know who they belong to.

They make it through Wednesday without incident, but Thursday is the day Seunghyun has most been dreading. He and Daesung are slated to appear on a new talk show together, just the two of them, since they were the only two free at the time of scheduling. When the morning of rolls around, they still haven't spoken since the morning after. Seunghyun feels sick all the way to the studio and can't bring himself to eat breakfast, sucking morosely on a cup of coffee instead and ignoring the way it burns, acidic and bitter, in his empty stomach.

Seunghyun needs to be in the make-up room but Daesung is being taken to wardrobe first, so they have to part ways inside. Before Seunghyun can disappear down the hall, Daesung catches his arm.

"Good luck," Daesung says. "It'll be fine."

Seunghyun swallows and doesn't look up. He's been trying not to think about it too hard, but it seems Daesung's figured out exactly what Seunghyun's been dreading: it's his first public appearance since the photo leak. Sometimes these things go completely unattended to by hosts and interviewers, but sometimes they're latched onto like a dog with a bone and can't be shaken. It's impossible to know which way Big Bang's TOP having a gut will go this week.

When Daesung lets go, Seunghyun feels strangely disappointed, and he's tempted to actually say something but never gets the chance. The head make-up artist steps in between them, introducing herself, and by the time they're finished bowing Daesung is gone.

They're onstage before Seunghyun sees Daesung again, from a chair near but not exactly next to his, angled at a curve so they can both be seen clearly by the audience. As the lights go up and the interviewer starts talking, Seunghyun is reminded why he's so grateful for Daesung's presence whenever he has to make a public appearance involving conversation. This kind of thing has always made Seunghyun nervous, whatever the circumstances, but in the past few years Daesung has become an expert at it, bantering so easily with interviewers that all Seunghyun really has to do is go along with it and laugh in the right places. It's part of his image, anyway, being reserved and a little reluctant to talk. Or at least that's what Yang Hyun Suk told him.

"We've hardly heard from TOP," the interviewer says, and Seunghyun covers his surprised jerk by uncrossing and recrossing his legs. "Do you have anything you want to address today?"

Seunghyun digs his fingers into the armrests on his chair and hopes this isn't going where he thinks it is. "Not really," he says. He realizes he's forgotten the interviewer's name, even though he's somewhat famous and they were introduced formally before the show. Sweat starts to bead on his face.

"No? Nothing about a recent day trip to a beach in Japan?"

The audience starts to chirp in excitement; they've clearly been waiting for the interviewer to bring it up. Seunghyun won't get off easy today. He tries to school his features into a cool mask but can't help looking to Daesung, just like always, when he visits variety shows where Daesung is a regular and he needs help. Daesung is still smiling at the cameras, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

He won't be getting any help right now, then. Instead of answering, Seunghyun covers his eyes and does his best to look embarrassed but amused. It's probably what they want.

"We have a very exciting beach photo here," the interviewer says. Seunghyun doesn't have to look up to know what they're flashing on the monitors, but he does anyway, bashfully, because it's expected of him. The audience cheers and his face burns almost as bad as the coffee in his stomach.

"Ah, don't tease us!" Daesung says. "I thought it was going to be 2NE1 in their swimsuits."

Everyone goes crazy, which gives Seunghyun a few seconds to get over his shock at Daesung coming to the rescue and laugh along with them.

The interviewer, however, is not so easily distracted, and once they've calmed down he gets right back to it. "But really, TOP, tell us about this. Don't you think it's bad for Big Bang's image?"

Daesung swoops in again, before Seunghyun can even open his mouth. "Why would it be bad for our image?"

"Well, the rest of Big Bang is really quite fit," the interviewer says, clearly a little startled by Daesung's uncharacteristic edge but going along with it like a professional. "I would think the other members would be embarrassed."

"None of us are embarrassed at all," Daesung says, so cooly neither the interviewer nor the audience seems to know how to react.

"But surely," the interviewer tries with a nervous laugh, "when you're revealing yourself like that—"

"What does your stomach look like?" Daesung interrupts him, impudent. The audience's reaction is immediate and surprised, but then they begin the catcalls, and the interviewer has no choice but lift up his shirt.

"That's way worse than TOP-hyung!" Daesung exclaims, clapping his hands together and laughing. The audience goes wild.

"It's true," the interviewer admits, patting himself on the belly. "I hate exercise."

"I think TOP-hyung's body is better than most people's," Daesung says. "He's just TOP so everyone pays attention and gives him a hard time about it."

Seunghyun's mouth feels dry, but he remembers to force a quick smile when the audience laughs again and the cameras focus on him.

"So the biggest member of Big Bang is being defended by the ugliest," the interviewer jokes.

It's lucky that the cameras turn to Daesung at this, to document his good-natured grin and shrug. From his chair, Seunghyun is frozen, struggling to contain his anger. And that's when he realizes: of all people, Daesung knows exactly what Seunghyun is going through. He's the last person in the world Seunghyun should be mad at.

"Daesung isn't ugly," Seunghyun says, before he can stop himself. First the interviewer, then the audience and cameras, and finally Daesung turn to stare. Seunghyun's shoulders tighten but he sets his jaw in a firm line and doesn't back down. "I don't get why everyone always says that," he concludes, a little lamely, but eloquence has never been his strong point.

Silence presses in from all corners of the room, and Seunghyun can't bring himself to meet anyone's gaze, least of all Daesung's. For once, he ends up feeling grateful to the interviewer, who changes the topic gracefully.

"I think TOP and Daesung are feeling a little sensitive today," he says. "Why don't we focus on your new single instead?"

The interviewer prattles on but Seunghyun drifts out, hoping the red in his cheeks and the sullen tilt to his chin isn't too obvious on TV. When he finally chances a look in Daesung's direction, Daesung's eyes are steady on him, shining above his smile. Seunghyun gives him the most imperceptible of nods, and it's the easiest way to say Thank you, I'm sorry he knows.

They ride back in the van together in silence, even though Seunghyun isn't mad anymore and Daesung knows it. Seunghyun just can't figure out what to say, and despite the fact that there's no more animosity he still feels weirdly on edge, unable to work the tension out of himself no matter how hard he drums his fingers on his leg. Once they get home, Daesung just smiles and climbs out first, and Seunghyun watches him disappear down the hall that leads to his and Seungri's rooms.

Seunghyun goes down his own hall and hovers in his kitchen for a few minutes, halfheartedly poking through the cupboards for something to eat. No one else seems to be back yet from whatever they're doing today; he could check the schedule in the living room but he doesn't really care. Eventually, he finds a package of crackers that aren't so stale he can't eat them. He takes one out, chews slowly, puts the package down on the counter, and walks with sudden purpose back the way he came.

"I was just coming to get you," Daesung says, opening his door after Seunghyun knocks only once. "Do you want to eat?"

He nods because his words still aren't working right, even though they've been offstage for a couple hours now. Daesung nods too and leads the way into his kitchen. Normally Seunghyun wouldn't eat something Daesung cooked without quizzing him extensively as to what's in it, but today he sits down at the table with his hands in his lap and politely thanks Daesung when he puts a plate down in front of him.

"This is good," Seunghyun says after taking the first bite, trying to mask his surprise but apparently failing, because Daesung takes one look at his face and bursts out laughing.

"It's leftovers from that curry restaurant," he admits. "I was going to try and trick you, but I guess it's just that obvious."

Seunghyun smiles. "Well, thanks," he says. Daesung sits across from him and they eat in complete silence, every bite growing more and more difficult as Seunghyun's stomach twists and lurches and his appetite dwindles.

"I'm sorry," he says suddenly, setting down his chopsticks and lifting his eyes to meet Daesung's, guilty.

Daesung sets his chopsticks down, too, so he can rest his chin on his hands and tilt his head to the side. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Hyung."

It's his complete calm that gets Seunghyun; the way none of this seems to faze him, none of it has fazed him from the beginning. "How do you do it?" he asks. "Doesn't it ever bother you?"

He's relieved when Daesung doesn't need to ask what Seunhyun is talking about. "Sure," Daesung says. "But if I listened to everyone who told me my eyes were too small to be a singer, I never would've made it this far."

Seunghyun sits back in his chair, scowling because he'd like to say something damning about everyone who's ever insulted Daesung's physical appearance but knows it would make him a hypocrite. Memories of his own words come back to him unbidden, to the same effect of what the interviewer said today: allusions to Daesung only making it into the group by the skin of his teeth based on talent alone, jabs about looking pathetic and uneducated. He can't believe he's never thought about it in these terms before, never even considered it might be a sensitive point for Daesung, who always seems so carefree and confident, who's never once thrown a tantrum about being mocked publicly for his physical appearance like Seunghyun has been doing for a week.

"Finished?" Daesung asks. Seunghyun thinks he's talking about something else for a moment, then realizes he means the meal. He nods and Daesung takes both their plates, scrapes them over the trash, and dumps them in the sink. When he turns back to face Seunghyun, he freezes, probably because Seunghyun can't tear his eyes away. "You're freaking me out, Hyung," Daesung says.

"When I first tried to get signed," Seunghyun says, "they said I was too fat."

Daesung is very still, on guard, like he doesn't know what to do with Seunghyun in this state. Seunghyun doesn't blame him. "I know," Daesung says, carefully. "But, Hyung—doesn't it just make you feel even more proud, now that you look like—" he trails off, gesturing at Seunghyun from head to toe.

"Like what?" Seunghyun says.

"You honestly," Daesung says, halting a little in his speech, "have no idea, do you?" He laughs, but it's not the usual kind where he throws his head back and brightens up the room. "God. Have you ever even seen a mirror?"

Seunghyun stares, then frowns, then clenches his hands into fists. "I don't understand what you mean."

"Look at yourself, Hyung," Daesung says. He seems exhausted now, almost sad. "You must know you're gorgeous."

The word hits him in the gut, so hard Seunghyun feels dizzy, sucker-punched. "You," Seunghyun says.

Daesung's cheeks are getting red and he can't meet Seunghyun's eyes, but still he manages to say clearly, "Why do you think I wanted you to take your shirt off, anyway?"

He should be used to feeling like an object of desire by now, but fans are different—they only see him after extensive hours of make-up, styling, photobrushes. They only see a carefully constructed image, exactly what YG wants them to see. The idea that Daesung—someone who really knows him, who's seen him at his worst—might feel that way is so alarming Seunghyun has to stand up and move, walking in a vague circle around the room. He stops in front of the couch and sits down heavily, and soon Daesung follows his example, taking a seat at a safe distance to Seunghyun's left.

"I used to think," Daesung says, staring straight forward with his hands balled on his thighs, "you were just really vain. I couldn't believe how much you fixated on one tiny flaw like that."

Seunghyun swallows back his instinct to protest, because he both wants to hear where this is going and doesn't feel he has the right to argue. Maybe Daesung's right; maybe he's become so obsessed with the image he worked so hard to construct that it's taken over his common sense.

"Now I think I get it. You're just an idiot."

Seunghyun blinks and Daesung laughs, to take the edge off. It's not exactly what Seunghyun was expecting to come next. "I don't know what I am," he says at length, because he feels it's his turn to say something.

"Well, it's not fat." Daesung's tone has an edge of reprimand to it, which Seunghyun supposes he deserves. "And it's not insecure, either. You know better than that."

He does, and he nods once to show he's at least trying. But now there's something new gnawing at him. "When you said—before—" he trails off, fumbling, wanting more than anything to run away, but the cameras are all on him now and Daesung isn't going to rescue him this time. "What did you mean?"

Daesung just sighs. "You know what I meant," he says, standing up and brushing himself off.

Seunghyun grabs his hand and Daesung freezes; they both freeze. Seunghyun is so panicky he's certain he'll throw up. He has no plan of action, has absolutely no forethought to clue either of them in as to what he's doing, but he knows this is important so he moves blindly, tugging Daesung back down to the couch. This time they're much closer, thighs pressed together, and Daesung's face is especially close when he turns to Seunghyun, wide-eyed and questioning.

"You're not ugly," Seunghyun says, fiercer than he intended, and he presses his forehead to Daesung's.

Daesung smiles, and it melts Seunghyun, eases him. He allows himself to close his eyes.

"I know," Daesung says, and kisses Seunghyun on the nose.

Seunghyun's actually shaking when Daesung shifts to bring their faces closer, which is embarrassing but somehow feels like a distant concern compared to Daesung's fingertips drifting across Seunghyun's face. They kiss slowly, getting the feel for it breath by breath, neither one taking control. It feels luxurious, to sigh and nudge at each other's mouths, like giving in to an indulgence Seunghyun has been denying himself for a long time. Then Daesung's hand slips under Seunghyun's shirt, fingers spreading across his stomach, and Seunghyun jerks and pulls away.

"What are you doing?" he asks, cheeks burning hot.

In answer, Daesung just cocks an eyebrow and continues to move his hand in slow circles. Seunghyun can't deny the way it sets his nerves on fire, his skin jumping at the contact like it can't get enough.

"I told you to stop with the insecurities," Daesung reminds him, curling his fingers so his nails just barely skirt across Seunghyun's stomach.

Seunghyun sucks in a shuddering breath, guilty under Daesung's gaze, and resolves himself. He grabs his shirt at the hem and pulls it over his head, tossing it behind the couch, completely awkward and more embarrassed than he's ever been in his entire life. Then Daesung beams, pushes him down on the cushions, and starts sucking on his neck like a horny teenager.

Seunghyun forgets to feel embarrassed after about a minute.

The next time they fly to Japan, it's for promoting instead of pleasure. They have six very full days scheduled including travel, but Seunghyun doesn't mind the rush as much as he usually might. He slips into an aisle seat next to Daesung, who prefers the window anyway.

"Nervous?" Daesung asks.

"Of course not," Seunghyun says, and means it.

Seungri, settling himself in the seat across the aisle from Seunghyun, can't help but slip in a snide little jab. "Not planning on a beach getaway this time?"

"We wouldn't be that irresponsible, Seungri," Daesung says, as quick and smooth as when he's on a talk show. "Your skin isn't even completely recovered from last time."

Seungri huffs and pretends to be less offended than he is. Seunghyun smiles and settles in against Daesung's shoulder, ready to doze the entire way there. It's as much physical intimacy as they're willing to show in public, which is no different than how they've always been, but Seunghyun thinks there's something exciting about it now, like having a secret in high school that's so good you're itching to tell everyone.

"Cold?" Daesung doesn't wait for an answer before spreading a blanket across both their laps.

Seunghyun twists toward him and waits for takeoff, and just like he's expecting, the wheels of the plane have no sooner left the ground than Daesung's right hand snakes across both their stomachs and under Seunghyun's shirt. It doesn't make him anxious anymore. Now he revels in it, the slow tickle against his skin, the way Daesung can still occasionally make his muscles jump by brushing against the sensitive places on his sides.

"That's so cute," comes Jiyong's voice from above them, and Seunghyun opens one eye when the sound of a shutter and a bright flash jolt him.

"This will be all over the internet tomorrow," Jiyong promises, probably not genuinely, but sometimes it's hard to tell.

Under him, Daesung chuckles, his fingers never faltering beneath Seunghyun's shirt. Seunghyun closes his eyes and doesn't mind at all.

end

Fic (Big Bang) - Intimate Night

2011-04-21T20:25:36Z

Title: Intimate Night
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Daesung/Seungri
Word count: 2745
Summary: In which Seungri is a drunk slut, and Daesung is annoyed.
Notes: This is set a year-ish before the episode of Intimate Note that Daesung and Seungri were on together. This isn't even remotely my OTP for this fandom, but after watching the episode, I was sort of inspired to write what seemed like a reasonable explanation for why these two are so damn awkward together. Many, many thanks to reallycorking and aunt_agatha for looking it over for me! ♥

Hardly a day goes by that Daesung doesn't regret the bad luck that threw him together in the same room with Big Bang's youngest member, and nights like tonight are exactly the reason why. It's well after two a.m. but Seungri, oblivious, slams the bedroom door against the wall when he stumbles through it, flicking on the overhead light before he kicks the door shut again. Daesung groans and pulls his pillow over his head, but Seungri either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Instead of turning the light off, he starts humming to himself and removing his accessories one at a time; Daesung can hear the click of his watch, then necklace as he places them on the bedside table.

It's not always this bad, but Seungri is clearly drunk tonight, and Daesung knows exactly who to blame for it. Jiyong and Seunghyun are terrible role models for a nineteen-year-old budding superstar desperate for attention.

"Turn the light off," Daesung moans when he's had more than enough, cutting off Seungri's humming abruptly.

"Oh," Seungri says, like he's just remembered Daesung is there. "Sorry." His speech isn't slurred exactly, but it's still obvious he's having trouble forming words; they sound thick and heavy on his tongue.

Once the light goes off again Daesung shifts the pillow back under his head and rolls onto his side, close to the wall just because he knows it's where Seungri likes to sleep. Serves the little bastard right.

"Are you sleeping, Hyung?" Seungri asks, surprising Daesung both because of the uncharacteristic attempt at conversation and the formality. Usually you'd think Daesung was the maknae, with how much reverence Seungri pays him.

"Yes," Daesung says. "And this is a bad dream that I'm waiting to wake up from."

He hears Seungri give a breathy laugh, then can't help but listen as Seungri starts to slip out of his clothes. First the t-shirt, over his head and tossed aside, probably to the desk chair where most of Seungri's discarded clothing ends up. Next comes the belt buckle, and the second it's undone the jeans drop to the floor, sliding easily down too-skinny hips. Daesung's sense of hearing might be heightened by the relative silence of the dorms this late at night, but he can even hear it when Seungri steps out of the puddle of jeans around his ankles and climbs into bed.

"You took my spot," Seungri complains immediately.

Despite himself, Daesung feels a little flare-up of annoyance. He's not sure exactly what it is about Seungri that makes it hard for Daesung to take him in stride like he does everyone else, but it seems like from day one it's always been like this: Seungri working his way right under Daesung's skin and itching.

"It's your spot until midnight," Daesung says. "After that you count yourself lucky if I leave any room for you at all."

Seungri heaves a weary sigh. "So selfish."

To his considerable credit, Daesung doesn't rise to the bait. "Good night, Seungri."

Seungri doesn't take the hint, though. Instead, he says as casually as possible, while working himself under the covers, "I was drinking. With Jiyong-hyung and TOP."

Daesung snorts. "TOP-hyung," he corrects.

"They told me a lot of things," Seungri says, ignoring him. He shifts closer under the covers and Daesung tenses, wondering if he should stick out an elbow. "Lots of things," Seungri repeats sleepily. His breath ghosts across Daesung's neck and the hair there stands straight up.

"Mm," Daesung replies, unwilling to ask even though his curiosity has been piqued.

Seungri laughs again, breathy and low, and the smell of alcohol is obvious now, making Daesung wonder just how irresponsible their hyungs were this evening.

"Things about you," Seungri says, as if it's nothing at all.

If that weren't enough to snap Daesung fully awake, it would be when Seungri's hand brushes forward to rest lightly on Daesung's hip, fingers so hot against the exposed skin there it almost hurts.

"Hyung," Seungri sighs. "Have you ever kissed a boy?"

Daesung freezes and tries to swallow down his panic, heart jumping to his throat and beating fast. What the hell did Jiyong tell him?

"Sure," Daesung says, trying to sound cool. If he's nonchalant enough, he can talk his way out of this through misdirection.

"I don't mean as a joke, like at a party," Seungri says, maybe a little less drunk than Daesung initially thought, since the diversion doesn't work for a second. "I mean because you wanted to. Because you liked it."

As he speaks, Seungri's hand spreads out flat on Daesung's stomach. It would be an almost comical attempt at seduction if it weren't working so well, setting a fire under Daesung's skin that shoots right to his groin. His mind runs desperately through possible explanations for what's happening: it has to be a joke, a dare. Jiyong and Seunghyun are probably crouched outside the door listening at this very moment.

"Jiyong-hyung put you up to this?" Daesung asks, voice barely above a whisper because that's all he can manage. Jiyong was the first person Daesung told, back when Daesung was the maknae everyone was intent on corrupting. He's never regretted it before now.

"He just said," Seungri says, letting the sentence drop there. Daesung barely manages to stay still as Seungri slides forward again, pressing flush against Daesung's back, his nose nuzzling at Daesung's neck.

"Hyung," he whispers, and Daesung licks his lips. "Will you kiss me?"

It's the breaking point. Daesung grabs Seungri's wrist, removing it from its position on Daesung's stomach and flipping them both over. Now Seungri's on his back, chest heaving and looking a little put-out with one hand pinned above his head. Daesung looks down at him, fluctuating wildly between being extremely turned on and extremely annoyed.

"Careful, Maknae," Daesung says. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

Seungri scowls, and Daesung has to admit it looks good on him like this, wearing nothing but a pair of navy blue underwear that are getting a little snug.

"Have you ever kissed a boy?" Daesung asks, leaning in so their faces are close. Seungri's breath positively reeks of alcohol and Daesung wants to suck it out of him, wants to lick his lips clean. "Have you ever kissed anyone?" he adds as an afterthought.

"I've kissed girls!" Seungri is quick to insist, cheeks reddening under Daesung's scrutiny.

"So why do you want to kiss me?" Daesung asks. It's an important question, somehow, and he holds his breath waiting for the answer.

"I just want to try." Seungri sounds like a child trying to pout his way out of something, and Daesung almost sighs with familiar exasperation.

"Fine," he says instead. Seungri's expression changes, and in response Daesung changes position, sliding fingers up Seungri's side to catch his other hand so both are pinned above his head, shifting his thigh so it's between Seungri's legs, present but not pressing.

He's watching Seungri closely when he leans in, and it's definitely gratifying to see Seungri's eyelids flutter shut when Daesung starts to suck on his lower lip, to feel the soft little sigh that escapes against his mouth. Daesung nudges Seungri's mouth open, intoxicated by how easily Seungri responds to his lead. Or maybe that's just the secondhand alcohol.

It's not long before Daesung ends it, licking along the underside of Seungri's teeth slowly before pulling away. Seungri tries to follow him, moaning his annoyance when Daesung keeps him firmly held down.

"Hyung," Seungri whines. Daesung's stomach twists uncomfortably.

"Now you've tried," Daesung says, meeting Seungri's gaze to convey how serious he is. "Is that what you wanted?"

To Seungri's credit, he seems to actually consider the question, furrowing his brow and looking away. Daesung releases his wrists and leans back, waiting. There's humoring your drunk and horny maknae in the middle of the night, and then there's taking advantage of him, and Daesung doesn't want either of them to have to remember this as the latter.

"I want," Seungri says, startling Daesung by looping arms around his neck, "this." He pulls and Daesung lets himself be dragged down, meeting Seungri in a kiss that's messier this time, less thoughtful. Seungri is inexperienced but eager, and it's undeniably sexy the way he meets Daesung every step of the way, licking into Daesung's mouth after Daesung does it first, moaning like he's desperate for it when Daesung bites his bottom lip.

"Hyung," Seungri gasps, making Daesung laugh despite himself.

"If I'd known this was all it would take to get you to show some respect," he starts, but Seungri growls and kisses him harder so Daesung stops there.

He's half expecting Seungri to chicken out along the way and tell Daesung to stop, but the reality turns out to be the exact opposite. When Daesung slides both hands down to Seungri's hips and rubs circles just above the waistband of his underwear, Seungri twists his fingers in Daesung's hair and hisses. When Daesung presses his thigh hard against Seungri's crotch, Seungri arches up and grinds against him. When Daesung leans back to tear off his own t-shirt, Seungri reaches out, begging pathetically, "Don't stop."

"Be patient," Daesung instructs, trying to hide the rasp in his throat making it obvious just how impatient he is himself. He's had a few quiet flings here and there, in and outside school, but nothing like this; Daesung can't remember ever being this turned on in his entire life, and the fact that it's Seungri making him want it this bad is maddening but maybe a little hot in and of itself.

Seungri responds to Daesung's command by doing the exact opposite. He scoots up a little to give himself room to strip his underwear off and throws them aside, and Daesung chokes at the sight.

"This is really your first time?" Daesung asks. He's never seen Seungri look like this, so entirely unself-conscious and wild-eyed.

Seungri grins. "That good?"

The last thing he wants to do is give Seungri more of a reason to fall in love with himself, so Daesung just rolls his eyes and pushes Seungri back down, cutting off his indignant huff by wrapping fingers around his cock and squeezing. Seungri's head hits the pillow and Daesung props himself up on his elbow, moving his face in close to Seungri's, giving the head of Seungri's cock an experimental stroke with his thumb. The noise Seungri makes is like he's forgotten how to breathe.

"Pay attention," Daesung instructs, mouth so close to Seungri's their lips are actually brushing. He sucks his way down Seungri's neck to his chest, pausing to mouth at his nipples just long enough for Seungri to moan about it before he continues his progression, giving Seungri's cock an occasional squeeze to reward him for staying still as he trails an obvious path down. Seungri's got good abs, and Daesung likes the way they feel under his tongue, quivering with the effort to maintain some semblance of control.

Daesung knows he should be setting a good example by using protection, but he's been tested and, unless Jiyong and Seunghyun were even more corrupting tonight than Daesung thought, Seungri is still a virgin. There will be time for that lesson later.

"Hyung," Seungri groans, lifting his hips impatiently, making Daesung realize he's been hovering a little too long.

He wants to make Seungri beg for it, but by this point Daesung is just as eager as Seungri. Rather than draw it out, he drags his tongue along the underside of Seungri's cock, pausing to revel in the shudder that overwhelms Seungri's entire body before he takes in the full length of him and sucks. Daesung is smug when Seungri's gasps are every bit as pathetic as he expected them to be, breathy and sharp, little moans of "Oh, God" punctuating every now and again.

It surprises him at first when Seungri scrabbles at the back of Daesung's neck and grips tight, urging him lower even as Seungri thrusts forward, too hard, forcing Daesung to dig his nails into the skin of Seungri's ass. Daesung never would have expected he would one day be letting his maknae fuck him in the mouth and liking it, but he is, and he hums around Seungri's cock in a way that Seungri obviously likes, too, given the way he curses and clenches everything, from his toes to his ass, so Daesung can feel it.

He comes too fast, which Daesung should have anticipated, but Daesung still swallows it all and lets Seungri ride it out in his mouth, the curses fading into panting as Seungri's hands slip away from Daesung's neck and his entire body seems to wilt.

"Fuck," Seungri says at last, melting completely into the pillows and covering his eyes with an arm as he struggles to catch his breath. It's a perfect image, and Daesung rocks back on his heels to admire, painfully aware of his own throbbing cock still trapped in his boxers but urging it to wait just a little longer. He smoothes hands across Seungri's stomach, causing the muscles there to jump but then relax, and massages. Seungri shivers and smiles a little, eyes still covered, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

"Want to learn how to do that?" Daesung asks, once he's sure Seungri is completely relaxed.

Seungri doesn't answer. Daesung leans in closer, hands running all the way up Seungri's chest, and freezes when he realizes Seungri's breathing isn't just relaxed; it's the steady rise-fall of someone fast asleep.

"No," Daesung mutters. "No way."

He smacks Seungri's arm aside but it doesn't do any good; Seunri's eyes are still closed, and instead of waking up he scrunches them tighter, whimpers, and rolls onto his side, curling into a ball.

"You little," Daesung starts, but he can't find words for what, exactly, Seungri is.

For a few seconds, Daesung seriously considers jerking off right there on Seungri's back, but in the end a reluctant, bitter fondness wins over. He curses Seungri again, climbs off the bed, and stumbles to the bathroom as quickly as he can.

When he gets back, Seungri is snug against the wall, just like he likes it.

~

Daesung wakes up in the morning and Seungri's still asleep, so he lies there for a while, flat on his back, decompressing. He glances over at Seungri's sleeping form, and the combination of remembering the events of last night and the sight of him—still completely naked, curved spine and ass facing Daesung—makes Daesung wet his overly dry lips and finally escape to the shower.

He jerks off twice while showering, knees trembling with the force of it, then just stands there until the water runs cold. It's humiliating how bad he wanted it, how bad he still wants it now, and he's more pissed at Seungri than he's ever been, which is saying something.

"Nineteen," Daesung reminds himself, grudgingly, as he turns off the faucet and grabs a towel. Seungri is nineteen, and it was his first blow job ever, and he was very drunk. By the end, he was even starting to talk to Daesung the way a maknae is supposed to address his hyung. Maybe, if he's properly repentant today and figures out a really good way to make it up to Daesung, Daesung can find a way to forgive him.

And then maybe they can do it again.

When Daesung returns from the shower, Seungri is no longer in bed. Daesung dresses carefully, pulling on fresh jeans, a new shirt, and finally attending to his face and hair before emerging again. It gives him no small amount of pleasure to see Seungri hunched over the kitchen table in nothing but boxers, nursing a tall glass of water and looking extremely hungover.

"Morning," Daesung says coolly.

Seungri barely looks up. "Morning."

Daesung waits for a groveling apology for approximately three minutes before Seungri says, "Have you eaten?"

"What?" Daesung says, dumbstruck.

"Have you eaten," Seungri repeats, slowly, like Daesung is the difficult one here.

"I'm fine," Daesung grits out.

"Will you make me eggs?" Seungri says. "I can barely see the stove right now."

Daesung stares at him for about ten seconds, turns on his heel without a word, and leaves, slamming the door to the kitchen and living room soundly behind him.

He doesn't come back until well after midnight, but even then, the apartment still smells like burnt eggs.

end

Fic (Natsume Yuujinchou) - Amnesic

2011-04-17T20:34:35Z

Title: Amnesic
Rating: G
Pairing: Very subtle Natsume/Taki/Tanuma
Word Count: 4074
Summary: Natsume has a crisis. Taki and Tanuma try to help.
Notes: Written for littlebutfierce for help_japan. It was lots of fun but also very nervewracking to write Natsume Yuujinchou fic for the first time! I hope you enjoyed, littlebutfierce. Thank you for helping Japan! ♥

Taki still wakes up some nights because of an invisible pressure on her chest, heavy enough to make her gasp even though at first she can't remember where it comes from. Sometimes it takes a full five minutes before she realizes the source, realizes she doesn't have to fear the passing of each day anymore. When she rolls over again, she can fall asleep now, which is a nice change from the days when she learned to give up even trying. She would get up and start her search early back then, scratching circles into the dirt while it was still dark out, stumbling through the school day in a cloud of exhaustion that never carried over to bedtime.

Some nights, just as Taki is about to drift off again, she wonders if this isn't what Natsume has felt like always, since he was old enough to understand the things he sees go unseen by everyone else. On those nights she prays to find a little bit of that old courage she hasn't needed for a long time, because so far she hasn't been able to ask him.

~

It's their final year of high school, and Taki feels good about it. She's made some friends now that she feels comfortable talking again, although the only two she really connects with are Natsume and Tanuma. There are things people go through that mark them separate for the rest of their lives, and seeing spirits, Taki thinks, must be among them. She spends time with Tanuma most afternoons, and Natsume joins them as often as can be expected of Natsume, quietly smiling and occasionally contributing to conversation.

Today is a warm spring day, one of the first where Taki didn't need to wear a coat over her uniform, and it seems like the most natural thing in the world to stop off at the lake on their walk home from school. No one actually suggests it, but rather as a unit they slow down and change course as soon as the water is within sight. Taki and Tanuma take a seat under a sakura tree struggling to bloom and Natsume stoops at the lake's edge a few feet in front of them, watching the water with an expression Taki can't read.

"Where's Nyanko-sensei today, Natsume?" she asks, her voice too loud in the quiet.

"Hm?" Natsume says, meaning today he's distracted. Taki wonders what he's seen recently; if he's seeing something now. "Oh, he's probably still sleeping."

Taki nods, having expected as much.

"I'm surprised he hasn't shown up yet," Tanuma says, and Taki and eventually Natsume turn to look at him, both questioning.

Tanuma's brow furrows, like he's worried he said something wrong. "Isn't there a youkai nearby, Natsume?"

Taki stiffens. It's her first, unavoidable reaction even after the dozens of youkai she saw with her own eyes during the curse year, even now that she can't see but can only hear talk of the others. She's not afraid of youkai in principle, but something about an invisible presence pressing near to her will always make her breath catch. It's worse this way than seeing them.

When she looks up, Taki realizes Natsume has stiffened, too. His eyes are unfocused but his shoulders are rigid, like a cat ready to either pounce or run away.

"Natsume," Tanuma says, reaching out a hesitant hand, just as Nyanko-sensei jumps from the tree above them and lands succinctly in Natsume's stiff lap.

"Sensei," Natsume says, startled.

Nyanko-sensei just looks up at him with slitted eyes and doesn't say a word. Taki is leaning in to scratch his ears before she even knows what she's doing, and when she realizes how close it brings her head to Natsume, still hunched and stiff, as well as Tanuma, leaning in to study Natsume's face, she feels suddenly embarrassed. Sensei twitches impatiently under her still fingers.

"I just thought," Tanuma says, quietly, when no one else speaks, "if I could feel it, it must be very close, or very powerful."

All three of them lean back. Taki's hands drop to her lap and she joins Tanuma in watching Natsume's guarded face.

"Ah," Natsume starts. Nyanko-sensei interrupts him with an impatient growl and jumps up to leave. "I guess we should go," Natsume concludes, staring after Sensei's retreating form.

It's not clear if he means just the two of them or everyone, but Taki and Tanuma stand up too, dusting off awkwardly. Taki's still not sure she understands what's going on.

"See you," Natsume says when they all reach the road, and he jogs after Sensei without waiting for a response. Taki waves anyway.

"He didn't see it," Taki concludes, looking to Tanuma at her side.

"I'm sure I just made a mistake," Tanuma says, but he frowns all the rest of their walk together.

After they part ways, Taki goes home and heads straight for the backyard. She searches under the trees for a good stick—she tossed out the old one because it scared her, propped up against the wall in her bedroom like an ugly scar—until she finds an acceptable replacement, and she starts to draw. It comes back to her like she never went out of practice, and once she's done she steps back to admire her work, nervousness competing with a strange twist of pride.

She falls asleep with her back to a gnarled stump, waiting for a glimpse of a spirit that never comes, disappointed even though she's not sure how she'd bring it up to Natsume and Tanuma tomorrow if she actually saw something.

~

Natsume is kind but distant at school for the rest of the week, and he always leaves at the end of the day before Taki and Tanuma have time to approach him.

"Sorry," he says after class on Friday, "I have to . . ." but he trails off as if he's forgotten he was speaking, slipping out the door like a sleepwalker.

Tanuma and Taki gather their things and follow him silently, down the dusty dirt roads behind school, staying back as far as allowable while still keeping him in sight.

"Do you feel anything?" Taki whispers when they come to the perimeters of a forest. They wait until the back of Natsume's bright hair is just barely visible through the dark cover of trees before following, careful of their footing over the twigs and leaves. So far, it's Natsume alone; Nyanko-sensei is nowhere to be found.

Tanuma hesitates before answering. "Lately," he admits, "when Natsume's around, I get confused."

Taki bristles but doesn't look at Tanuma as he speaks; she doesn't dare.

"I mean," he says quickly. "My senses. It's like there's spirits all around us, but it's different than that, too. Like I could reach out and touch something in any direction."

When Taki can't find the words to respond, Tanuma adds softly, "I guess I don't know how to explain."

He doesn't have to; Taki knows exactly what he means. These days it's like Natsume is emanating something himself, and maybe Taki doesn't feel these things the way her friends do but whatever is happening seems so thick it's tangible, like the air on a humid summer day.

"Natsume is floundering," a voice says out of nowhere, and Taki and Tanuma freeze in their tracks. There's a puff of smoke and Nyanko-sensei materializes just in front of them. "He stinks so much right now every youkai for miles must be dying to get a taste of him."

"Sensei," Tanuma says, questioning. Taki drops down and gathers him up in her arms, but it's less enthusiastic than usual, and Nyanko-sensei doesn't even bother struggling.

"He can't see me in my true form right now," Sensei tells them. Taki sucks in a sharp breath.

"Is it another curse?" she asks. She recalls with a fresh pang of guilt her youkai, drawing it right to Natsume with her carelessness, how close he came to dying with a rope around his neck in a cave. The details came to her in a dream the next night; she knew without having to ask that they were real.

Nyanko-sensei shakes his head. "I've looked him over up and down," he says. "This is different. It's like amnesia. Like his body is forgetting."

A chill runs up Taki's spine and she catches Tanuma's eye. He looks as grim as she feels.

"Where is he?" Tanuma says, bringing them all back to earth with a jarring urgency.

"Natsume?" Nyanko-sensei says. He jumps down from Taki's arms, starts running, and disappears in another plume of smoke. Taki and Tanuma waste no time in running after him.

"Head toward the old shrine," Taki gasps, remembering what her books said about gathering places for unnatural youkai energy, at the same time trying to force herself not to remember Sensei's words, Every youkai for miles must be dying to get a taste of him.

"There!" Tanuma slides to a halt and Taki slams into his back, both of them letting out a little rush of air.

Natsume is kneeling in the grass at the foot of the crumbling torii gate, his head hanging to his chest, his arms limp at his sides. He's so still Taki thinks he's asleep for a moment, until she realizes his eyes are open. She spots Nyanko-sensei in a tree, in cat form again, watching over the scene with a cold gaze. Tanuma's hand finds her shoulder and squeezes hard.

"There's something here," he says, more sure of himself than she's ever heard him. "There's--"

"Taki," Sensei barks. "Draw one of your circles around the gate. A big one."

She moves forward to obey automatically, picking up a nearby twisted stick. Natsume never looks at her once as she sketches in the dirt and grass, making a wide perimeter around him. She puts in the details with painstaking care, hesitating only on the last symbol. The moment she adds the final snakelike curve, a dozen figures fizzle into existence around them. Natsume neither looks up nor blinks.

The youkai aren't frightening, but what scares Taki is the way they're looking at Natsume, almost like they're confused, too. Some are big and gentle-looking, some small and eerie, some barely identifiable wisps of cloud. All are still, like servants waiting for a word from their master.

Without turning around, Natsume stands up, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He scuffs at the dirt in front of him and the figures flicker away in an instant, the circle broken.

"I don't know what to do," he says, laughing in a way that sounds more pathetic than any sob Taki has ever heard. "Without youkai--" he starts, but he can't even finish his sentence. "I'll see you at home, Sensei," Natsume says, and then he brushes past them and out of the clearing.

Once he's gone, Nyanko-sensei speaks, startling Taki and Tanuma both.

"Humans are the only beings in existence who do this," he says, tone reprimanding.

"Do what?" Tanuma asks.

"Dwindle their own talents away out of fear."

He disappears before Taki and Tanuma can ask what Natsume is afraid of.

~

Natsume doesn't show up to school on Monday, and Taki and Tanuma waste no time in going to his house as soon as classes are over. Fujiwara-san answers the door, smiling fondly and a little wearily at them.

"Checking in on Takashi?" she asks.

Taki nods and Tanuma says, "Yes."

"That's sweet of you." Fujiwara-san looks behind her toward the staircase and sighs. "I'm afraid he told me not to let anyone in to see him. He's feeling terrible and is worried it's contagious."

Taki can tell by the knit to Fujiwara-san's eyebrows that she's confused. Probably Natsume seems outwardly fine, but she believes him implicitly, because he's not the type to lie about feeling sick. And he's not lying, really, although Taki highly doubts it's contagious.

"I'm sure he'll be back to school in a day or two," Fujiwara-san assures them.

"Please tell him to take care," Tanuma says. Taki echoes him and they bid Fujiwara-san goodbye, turning away from Natsume's door numbly.

"What can we do?" Tanuma asks, hands stuffed deep in his pockets as they trudge back the way they came.

Taki doesn't answer because she can't. She's always felt like this, to an extent: concerned and frustrated, standing on the sidelines watching Natsume struggle with an invisible burden, wondering how long it will take before he buckles under the pressure of always having to face everything alone.

It's not until Wednesday, Natsume's third day absent from school, that an answer comes to her, snapping her mind to attention with a warm tingle of realization. Taki whirls on Tanuma once the bell rings and grabs his elbows, overcome with a frightening hope that this might actually work.

"Tanuma," she says fast.

He pulls as far away as possible without actually forcing her to let go of his arms. "What?"

"I think I have an idea." She doesn't need to clarify; Tanuma loses some of his tension and nods, letting her lead him out the school and in the opposite direction of their usual path home.

They walk at a brisk pace toward the mountains and Tanuma doesn't make her explain, which is good because Taki's mind is racing and she needs the time to think. Once they reach the foot of Higashiyama she turns to him and presses her palms together like a prayer.

"We need a place where lots of youkai go," she says. "I don't want to go back to the old shrine. It feels mean there."

Tanuma recoils, looking sideways toward the mountain with a pained expression on his face. "You know I'm not that powerful," he says reproachfully.

"I'm sure you can do it."

Taki gives him her brightest smile but Tanuma still appears intensely uncomfortable, rubbing at his arms like he's suddenly caught a chill. "I don't even know how to look," he says.

"Let's just start walking." Taki starts forward, tugging at his coat sleeve, and he follows with reluctant steps. "We'll both try. Just feel and listen."

It can't be too reassuring, Taki saying she'll try too. Natsume has his amazing gift and Tanuma has his sensitivity. Taki can only draw circles. It's not much, but it's what she was given, and she's grateful for it now. During the curse year, she wished every day and night that she'd never discovered her grandfather's old journals, that she could have lived a normal life like any other girl, blissfully unaware that youkai really exist. She doesn't feel that way anymore. If anything, she wishes she could have a fraction of even what Tanuma has, but she'll have to make do.

"I feel something," Tanuma says, hesitant but less so than before, when they're less than halfway up the winding trail of the mountain. He looks to his right and Taki turns her head to follow his gaze. There are thick trees on either side of them, but if she squints, she can just make out a footpath worn into the dirt.

"Let's go." She leads the way again and they stumble through the trees, brushing aside branches that block the way, a stillness in the air descending thicker and thicker the farther they get away from the main trail.

"There's a clearing," Tanuma says, before Taki spots it. He moves in front of her, pushes through a perimeter of chest-high bushes, and there it is. It's not terribly special, but it's big, and there's a certain peaceful feel to it. At the far left is a crumbling statue of a monk with a few green-stained coins rooted to its base with moss, and at the right is a small waterfall gurgling into a stream. The light seems to shine differently because the thick trees have parted to allow a view of the clear sky and sun.

She's almost afraid to ask, but the air feels hopeful here. "Are there youkai?" she wonders.

As if in response, a gust of unnatural wind twists around her, making her hat fly straight off her head. Tanuma catches it, looking dazed.

"Help me look for the biggest stick you can find," Taki says, and Tanuma's eyes shine in understanding.

~

It's dark by the time they make it to Natsume's house, and instead of going to the front door they sneak to the side, tossing a few carefully aimed rocks until one lands soundly on his window and a silhouette appears on the other side. For a moment, Taki is afraid he won't want to see them, but then the pane slides upward and Natsume leans his head out, smiling despite the bags under his eyes. Nyanko-sensei hops up and appears at his elbow.

"Taki. Tanuma," Natsume says in greeting, and the way he's obviously trying to sound enthusiastic makes Taki's heart ache.

"Come with us," Taki says, taking a firm stance on the ground below him, ready to not take no for an answer.

They've come this far but it will all amount to nothing if Natsume refuses now. Her fingers are sore from clutching the stick for well over an hour and her legs are coated in dirt from the toes to the knees. Tanuma looks similarly worn down, his shoulders and neck tense from standing on constant guard. He looks to Taki for a moment and smiles, maybe trying to tell her it'll be fine.

She's not sure until Natsume surprises her by saying, "I'll be right down."

Nyanko-sensei disappears and presumably nudges Natsume onto his giant back; Natsume looks more nervous than usual, unable to see what he's riding, but he's lowered gently to the ground in front of Taki and Tanuma in just a few seconds.

"It'll be faster if we can all get a ride," Taki says, trying to keep the sly smile off her lips.

A great sigh blows the hair around on her face, but then she's laughing as an invisible force lifts them into the air, one at a time. She grabs two handfuls of silky fur she can feel but not see and glances at the faces of her friends; Natsume, resigned but unafraid in front of her, and Tanuma, terrified but steadfast behind.

"Let's go," she whispers, and whether Nyanko-sensei was waiting for her word or not, he takes off.

She directs him and they're at the mountain in less than ten minutes, although the walk back took her and Tanuma over forty. Nyanko-sensei touches down on the main path and helps them down but doesn't change back into cat-form.

"What are we doing?" Natsume asks.

"Just follow us," Taki reassures him. She and Tanuma start forward confidently and Natsume falls into step alongside them.

The first thing they notice is Nyanko-Sensei snapping into sight nearby, when they're still a few feet from the entrance to the clearing. All three of them startle; Taki still can't get used to the way Sensei looks when he's not a cat.

"Sensei?" Natsume asks, disbelieving. "I can see you!"

"Keep walking," Sensei instructs him. Natsume looks dumbfounded but does as he's told, facing forward, undeterred when he meets the bushes Tanuma found first. He shoulders his way between them and then comes to a halt, sucking in a breath. Taki's heart is beating fast.

They can all see what Natsume's seeing, but Taki and Tanuma carefully don't comment on this fact. The clearing is swarming with youkai: a few smoking under an oak tree, some eating unidentifiable snacks out of banana leaves, others drinking from or washing clothes in the stream. Some must recognize Natsume, because they exclaim "Natsume-dono!" and wave excitedly.

"How—" Natsume stammers, still frozen.

"Tanuma said it felt like there were a lot of spirits here," Taki says, her mouth moving quickly without her bidding it. "We thought maybe it'd be a good place." She swallows before asking, "Can you see them?"

To Natsume's left, Nyanko-sensei steps forward, not saying anything but cutting a look at Taki. Taki feels her face go red but sets her mouth in a firm line. She knows Sensei understands; she saw him glance down at his paws just after he became visible to all of them, toward the intricate drawings underneath them, a small fraction of the largest pentagram Taki has ever drawn. Her fingers will probably have blisters for weeks from digging her stick into the ground as deep as she could, stumbling over weeds or under roots of gnarled trees.

To her relief, Sensei doesn't comment. Then Natsume falls to the ground next to her, and she and Tanuma let out a joint cry, crouching down to attend to him.

"Natsume?" Tanuma says. "Are you okay?"

Natsume's face is hidden at first, but when he lifts his head his eyes are wet. It's the most natural thing in the world when Taki pulls him into her arms and doesn't let go, resting her forehead above his ear. Natsume leans into the touch and then Tanuma is there too, one hand on either of their shoulders, all of them so close it feels like they're breathing in perfect unison.

"I was so afraid," Natsume admits, his voice rough.

"Why?" Taki asks, because she can't help herself.

"If I lose youkai," he mutters, "I won't have anyone." His voice sounds like he's ashamed, and Tanuma is the one who states the obvious.

"You'd have us," he says.

It's like watching the clouds part, the way Natsume's face changes. "I didn't think," he starts.

"Obviously," Taki says.

That's the end of the conversation. They stay there until it becomes uncomfortable and one of them shifts; the spell is broken and they slowly stand, brushing off their clothes, Taki and Tanuma standing back as Natsume moves forward to make small talk with a pair of friendly youkai he recognizes, a cyclops and a cow. It's more than an hour before Natsume turns back to them and smiles, tells them he's ready to go home. This is when Taki's stomach really starts to twist in worry. She's not sure what will happen when they step out of her circle. It was a long-shot that she has no real reason to believe will work.

"Humans are so slow," Nyanko-sensei grumbles, leading the way out of the clearing and trotting ahead. Taki wonders if he's secretly worried about what will happen in a few steps, too.

"It must have been hard," Natsume says, startling Taki when he appears next to her suddenly. She and Tanuma both shoot him puzzled looks.

"Drawing a circle that big," he clarifies, smiling with his eyes closed. Taki goes still and this time it's Tanuma's turn to smack into her from behind.

"You knew?" Tanuma asks, when he and Taki have untangled themselves.

Natsume only continues smiling and shrugs a little, turning his attention to the dirt under his feet. He smoothes over already fading lines until a large portion of the circle has been destroyed, certainly enough to protect the youkai within from any travelers who might stumble upon the same spot. "Thank you," he says. "It means so much, that you would do that for me."

Taki wants to say Why wouldn't we, but before she gets the chance they're back on the main path and Natsume is looking up to his right, smile spreading into a grin as he apparently stares at nothing.

"Can you give us one more ride, Sensei?"

"Ingrates," comes Sensei's voice from all around them. A warmth spreads from Taki's chest to her fingertips and her cheeks start to hurt from trying to hold it all in.

"I'm so glad," she says, wiping her eyes on the palm of her hand. Beside her, Tanuma ducks his head, but Taki isn't fooled when he pretends to brush the hair from his face.

A warm tail sweeps their feet out from under them and lifts them into the air, all three at once, and this time only Natsume holds onto Sensei's fur. Instead, Taki leans forward and rests against Natsume's back, secure with Tanuma close behind her. She dozes warm between them until they drop her off at the window of her bedroom, and she waves goodbye until long after their figures disappear into the darkness.

When she wakes up in the morning, Taki is smiling even though at first she can't remember why.

end

help_japan

2011-03-30T08:24:53Z

Hey all! Just one last reminder, help_japan auctions end tomorrow. My thread is here.

help_japan

2011-03-18T23:44:34Z

Hey all, this is just to let you know that I've thrown my name into the hat at help_japan. If you're interested in fic from me and donating money to Japan at the same time, please head over to my thread. 2000 words minimum, starting bid $15.

Fic (BSG) - Restitution

2011-01-31T12:12:34Z

Title: Restitution
Rating: R
Pairing: Gaeta/OMC
Word Count: 1685
Warnings: Violence, angst
Summary: Gaeta has a lot to atone for after New Caprica.
Notes: Another piece I wrote a couple years ago and just found on the hard drive. Back in the day, I even got this betaed by the very helpful incapricious before abandoning it again. I think I hated it or something, but now I think I like it. Set right after the New Caprica arc, so kind of mid-series; something about Gaeta's situation around then really got me hurtin. The only reason this is a fic about Gaeta and an original male character instead of being about Starbuck and an original female character is because the latter would have inevitably turned into a Mary Sue. :(

After he's almost blown out the airlock by his former friends and colleagues, Gaeta mostly keeps to himself. In the mornings he reports for duty on time and does his job, and when his shift is over he returns to his bunk and tries not to bump into too many familiar faces on the way there. Roslin may have issued a fleet-wide pardon, but that doesn't mean everyone's forgiven and forgotten the part Gaeta played in Baltar's administration. From what he can tell, it doesn't mean even half of everyone has. He doesn't strive for their forgiveness because he doesn't want it. Most days, he's pretty sure he doesn't deserve it.

Gaeta's not into self-loathing like Baltar and he's not into self-pity either, but it's hard. He likes being around people, always has, and he likes having friends. As far as he can tell, that's just called being frakking human. So by the time they're two weeks away from New Caprica, the stress of trying to perform his job at 110%—better than he used to be before Baltar was president, better than anyone they could possibly scrounge up to replace him—on top of discovering a new, bitter understanding of what it means to be lonely, is starting to get to him. He's sick of having no one but the Chief to eat lunch with every day—the Chief, who only stares at his food and refuses to speak anyway—and he's sick of starting to drink at five-thirty just so he can pass out sometime between eight and nine.

Which is why, when a civilian he's never seen before stops him in the corridor one evening just after Gaeta's shift ends and asks him where he's headed, he doesn't know what to do other than answer honestly.

"Just—back to my bunk," Gaeta says, trying not to appear as stunned as he is.

"I see you heading this way every day at the exact same time," says the civilian, who is young and fit and not unattractive when Gaeta stops to look at him right. "You always headed to your bunk?"

A pair of pilots pass them on the left side and slow down when they see Gaeta, just long enough for one of them to spit at his feet. His new civilian acquaintance shoots them a glare.

"Look," Gaeta says. "Probably you were just preoccupied on New Caprica with trying to stay alive or something and don't recognize me, but I'm definitely not the guy you want to be scoping out on this ship."

The civilian snorts. "Gaeta, right? I know who you are."

Unexpected, but not so much that Gaeta's actually thrown. He's had people pretend to be friendly before. Starbuck comes to mind.

"Then we have nothing to discuss." Gaeta's intention is to leave before getting hit, but the civilian blocks his path. Instead of raising a fist, though, he offers his hand.

"Graham," he says.

And even though he knows it's dangerous and stupid, Gaeta thinks about his empty bunk and falling asleep for another eight hours straight and can't swallow it down. He takes Graham's hand.

"You already know me," he says, a little awkwardly.

Graham laughs. "Yeah. But only by reputation."

They end up sharing a bottle of moonshine in Gaeta's abandoned quarters while he spills it all, everything, from enlisting in the military to his initial admiration of Baltar to the day he almost shot him in his own office.

"It's a pity you didn't go through with it," Graham mutters, looking darker than Gaeta thought possible, but when Graham notices Gaeta's troubled expression he immediately leans back and shakes the darkness away from his face. "I'm not saying," he begins. "You know. You did frakking everything right, okay? What else could you have done? The gods only know what happened to him after that. Hopefully he's rotting in a ditch back on New Caprica."

The subject is making Gaeta uncomfortable, so he changes it. "It's funny," he says, "how badly we wanted to get our feet on the ground at first. It's barely a year later and we're all so damned happy to be back in the air."

"New Caprica was never right for us," Graham says. "We'll find Earth."

It's the first time Gaeta's believed someone when they said it. He puts the bottle down and turns to look Graham dead in the eye, hoping to find something he doesn't have a name for, but Graham kisses him before he can even really begin to search. Everything logical in Gaeta is warning him Stop, bad decision, too reckless, but all he understands right now is the way that dull ache in his chest is dissipating with every second their lips are connected, the way something tight knots itself up in the back of his throat and refuses to let go.

"You really," Gaeta gasps, breaking apart as Graham fumbles with the hem of his shirt, "really, really—you don't want to do this."

"The frak I don't," Graham says. He kicks a chair under the handle of the door and that puts an end to all further arguments.

They frak on the floor because the bunks are too narrow and close and it seems like the next best thing, and then someone pounds on the door and they pry themselves apart only to find the intruder gone by the time they've tugged some clothes on and dragged the chair away. Graham puts it back and they frak again, this time against the wall, Gaeta too delirious with the sensation of being touched this intimately, of being wanted for the first time in the gods only know how long, to worry about this man who is still a complete stranger to him, who let Gaeta prattle on and on but shared nothing about himself, whose only distinguishing feature in Gaeta's mind turns out to be a series of burn scars on his side and chest.

"What're they from?" Gaeta asks when they're really finished, too exhausted to go on, tracing his hand down a place along Graham's ribs where the scarification gets particularly nasty.

Graham's taken one of Gaeta's cigarettes and he coughs with the first exhale, staring at the far wall through his haze of smoke.

"A fire," he says, and that's all Gaeta gets before Graham kisses him on the forehead, gets up to find his clothes and leaves Gaeta once again with nothing but his liquor and his thoughts.

They meet nine or ten more times, always in Gaeta's quarters or at some semi-public semi-private place, never at a site within Graham's sphere of existence. Every time they talk, or Gaeta talks and Graham listens, and every time they frak, usually at least twice, sometimes until Gaeta's so bone-tired he barely notices when Graham leaves.

It's pathetic, but on the day Graham finally asks Gaeta if he'd like to come see where he sleeps, Gaeta nearly cries with relief. Graham isn't embarrassed of him after all, this isn't just a pity or desperation or glory or vengeance frak, and Gaeta is ready to fully admit to himself just how much of his happiness has been riding on their short, brilliant liaison, the first thing he's had to hold on to maybe since Caprica got bombed. Maybe ever. It's too good to be true, and Gaeta's never thought that about anything before, but he likes it.

He shouldn't be surprised, then, when Graham leads them into a largely abandoned storage room with nothing in it other than a few crates and a few very large men who have been waiting for their perfect opportunity to beat the hell out of Felix Gaeta. They don't waste any time, forcing him down to the steel flooring with a few well-placed kicks, Graham standing back to watch. Gaeta lets them take turns sitting on his chest and punching him in the face without putting up much of a fight, but after the first round he closes his eyes, unable to bear seeing Graham's face anymore.

"You want to know how I got these burns?" Graham asks, stepping forward to land his first kick to Gaeta's ribs, which he's already fairly sure are broken. "I got them trying to pull my sister out of a fire the Cylons set in our ghetto to weaken the rebellion. I got them from letting my clothes burn while I watched her die."

He spits so it lands on Gaeta's cheek then and then drops to his knees and grabs a handful of Gaeta's hair, ready to pound his head into the floor, maybe, ready to put an end to this at last.

"I frakked you because I wanted you to know exactly what it felt like to have your trust completely betrayed and your ground pulled out from under you," Graham says, his mouth suddenly inches from Gaeta's. "I wanted you to know what it felt like to be us."

"What the frak is going on here?"

It's Starbuck's voice, which comes as neither a relief nor a shock to Gaeta. She sends Graham and his friends packing with a few choice words about what she'll do to them if she ever catches them pulling a stunt like this again, and somewhere in that time Gaeta manages to sit up, leaning back against the wall and wrapping one arm around his side where it hurts the most. Really, though, that's not where it hurts the most at all.

"Shit," Starbuck says once they're gone, tossing Gaeta a disgusted look. "Watch where you walk, Gaeta. Next time I'll let them finish."

She's gone then, too, which is just as well, as Gaeta doesn't really want an audience when he drags himself to his feet and realizes somewhere in the course of events he lost control of his bladder. And he knows she's right, of course, about watching where he walks, but that doesn't mean he plans on taking her advice. There will be a next time, and Gaeta will let it happen. There will be a next time, and when it comes Gaeta hopes Starbuck doesn't interrupt.

end