101
one card short
Super Junior (Hankyung/Hyukjae, with peripheral Heechul/Donghae/Kibum(/Eeteuk))
2,352 words. PG-13. Third person.
Hyukjae isn’t sure exactly what he’d been expecting when he opened the door. Management had told them they were getting someone new, straight in from China, but really. He hadn’t been expecting anyone who looked so - bendy. Hyukjae blinks, and almost doesn’t notice when his hand falls from the doorknob, fingers numb.
Hankyung is. Well. He’s standing in the doorway with his duffle in front of him, staring at his knuckles like they can tell his future, and Hyukjae just. Stands there. Finally Hankyung looks up, and Hyukjae blinks again. Hankyung smiles. Hyukjae stops breathing.
“Um. Hi,” Hankyung says, and even in that short sentence, Hyukjae can hear his accent. It makes him shiver. There’s something smooth about his vowels, less curved and complicated.
“Hi,” Hyukjae says, and he steps back. Stumbles a bit on the carpet, but tries to pretend that it never happened. Hankyung just stands in the doorway. “Um. You can come in,” Hyukjae says, and Hankyung laughs, smiles, and Hyukjae needs to leave. Like right now.
“I’ll go get the, um. I’ll go get the guys,” he says, hurriedly, and flees.
*
In the morning, Hyukjae wakes up early and makes coffee. He spoons out grounds and pours in eight cups of water and turns on the machine, and then he looks for the newspaper. He’s just opening the real estate section when footsteps in the hallway make him look up.
“Um,” he says, and Hankyung smiles from the doorway, his hand on the door frame in a way that says can I come in?. Hyukjae is used to the sharp cut of Heechul’s teeth against his lips, the protective bubble of Kibum’s grin all around him, but Hankyung’s. Isn’t like that at all. It’s all soft around the edges, just like the sound of his words, and gentle in a way that doesn’t show his teeth. “There was. I was making. There’ll be coffee in a minute,” Hyukjae says, and Hankyung bobs his head, showing that he understands.
“I - thank you,” Hankyung says, and runs his fingers through his messy hair, sticking up and out at angles Hyukjae didn’t know existed. Hyukjae wants to run his fingers through it, tame it and feel it over his skin, so he looks away. He looks at his paper, instead, and ignores the slide of Hankyung’s vowels and they way they sit in the back of his mouth like round peppermint candies.
“It’s. I just do it. In the morning.” He furtively glances over the top of the real estate section. Hankyung is looking at the kitchen like he doesn’t know what to do with it, the magnets on the fridge holding the picture of them at the bar last week and at rehearsal yesterday and in places Hankyung doesn’t fit yet. And Hyukjae doesn’t know what to do about that. “You don’t want to see Heechul and Kibum before they get their coffee.”
“I didn’t. Oh.” Hankyung’s voice isn’t so much confused as resigned, tired, but he’s still smiling, trying, and Hyukjae puts down his paper.
“It’s okay. I mean. You’ll get used to it. It gets better.” Hankyung smiles with half of his mouth, the quirk of muscle, almost wry and half-grateful. He glances at the fridge and then sits in the chair across from Hyukjae’s.
“Thanks,” he says, and they wait for the coffee to finish brewing.
*
“You like him, don’t you?” Heechul whispers into Hyukjae’s ear, as if it wasn’t obvious. Heechul is lying, sprawled, next to Hyukjae on the couch, one hand tucked between Hyukjae’s body and the back of the couch, the other pulling on his shirt, long fingers stretching the hem. Hyukjae looks at his hands in his lap, and Heechul laughs. “Wow,” he says, voice almost incredulous, like he’s actually surprised. Hyukjae can feel the puffs of air against the side of his face, the rush of blood to his cheeks, and he. Avoids looking into the kitchen.
Heechul glances over Hyukjae’s shoulder, watches Hankyung cooking, three pans on the burners and vegetables on the cutting board.
“I don’t get it,” Heechul says. “He’s just so nice.”
Hyukjae just tries to avoid sinking into the couch.
*
On the phone, Junsu laughs.
“Just get him drunk,” he’s saying, and Hyukjae blinks. He’s sitting on his bed, toes burrowing under the covers, and pretending that he’s not hiding. “That way you can do whatever you want with him.”
“Junsuuuuu,” he whines, “I can’t do that!”
“Why not?” Hyukjae can hear the arched eyebrow in Junsu’s voice, just under the thick layer of amusement and just above the honestly earnest helpfulness.
“Be-because! What kind of impression would that make?” Junsu laughs again, and if he were here, Hyukjae knows that he’d shrug, slap Hyukjae on the back, careless and comfortable.
“Who cares? You’d still get to kiss him.” Which is true, but Hyukjae isn’t sure that would go over well. Plus, it might make things awkward afterward which would be - awkward. Not that Junsu would understand.
“I guess.” He looks at the wall, wiggling his toes farther under the covers.
“Trust me,” Junsu says. Which is never a good thing.
*
In the end, it’s not really up to him.
Kibum and Heechul and Donghae come home carting two bottles of something that smells like licorice and is apparently expensive and Greek. It warms all the way down, and spreads out like pure heat, tingling under his skin. It makes him want to wiggle his fingers, extend them to see how far the warmth will go, and he sits on the floor with his back against the couch, watching his fingers spread, the tendons stretching under his skin.
Heechul is handing Kibum his cell phone, fingers splayed on the back of his neck, and Kibum is giggling into the receiver, his smile stretched as far as it will go. Donghae has his forehead pressed against Heechul’s spine, his hands balled into his shirt in the front, and Heechul is glancing at Hankyung, who is curled up against the armrest of the couch. Hyukjae can’t remember if Hankyung has had anything to drink, or even how much he’s had himself, but Kibum is gasping as Heechul bites into his earlobe, and he’s talking to Eeteuk over the phone, and Hyukjae can feel the warmth pool down into his stomach. He feels vaguely dizzy, and Hankyung. Is smiling at him.
“Hankyung,” Hyukjae says, and his voice is low, breathy, just a little slurred and tinged with licorice. He can taste it on his tongue and in the back of his mouth. He wonders if Hankyung’s mouth will taste like his, and if Hankyung will kiss him, and what Hankyung’s words would feel like in his mouth. “Hankyung,” he says again, almost pleading, but he doesn’t know why.
He feels dizzy when he pulls himself onto his knees, his head light and floaty and sending off sparks into the air. He tips forward a little, hands on the seat cushions of the couch, and his tries to catch his breath, just manages to keep himself from pressing his face to the couch and just breathing in. How much has he had to drink? He just remembers the fire and sweetness of it as he tipped it back and swallowed it down.
He crawls up into the couch unsteadily, and Hankyung is still looking at him, his smile just a little wider than usually, rounder, less closed up tight and half nervous. Hyukjae looks at his fingers on the upholstery and almost falls on his face, swaying forward until he’s blinking right at the white fabric, his nose pressed to it.
“Hyukjae?” Hankyung asks, and Kibum is gasping as Donghae pushes three fingers into his mouth, and Kibum still has the phone up to his ear, moaning into it, Heechul’s face buried into his neck, and Donghae is biting into Heechul’s shoulder, his chest pressed to Kibum’s arm. Hyukjae pushes himself up, and looks at Hankyung, curled up with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. Hyukjae scrambles closer, presses his hand to Hankyung’s knee to steady himself and feels warmth through denim. He tilts closer before he can help it, unsteady and unable to stop himself.
“I,” he says. “I - want. I want.” And then he leans closer, half falling until his chest is pressed to Hankyung’s arm and he. Kisses the corner of Hankyung’s mouth, misses his lips, mashes his mouth against cheek and lip and skin. Hankyung smells like licorice and rice and tastes like salt. Alcohol. His skin is soft and warm under Hyukjae’s mouth and Hyukjae.
Doesn’t remember anything after that.
*
He wakes up with hands in his hair and a pounding head and breath against his cheek. Hankyung is still asleep, and Hyukjae almost doesn’t want to dislodge him for fear of. Something. Happening.
Mostly because he can see Hankyung’s bare chest in front of his face, bite marks trailing down the side of his neck, and Hyukjae really, really just kind of wants to lick him, the column of his throat and the bruises already fading from his skin. His skin is a golden brown against the white couch and - Hyukjae needs to get up. The trickle of warm breath against his cheek makes him shiver and he swallows a whimper as he pulls himself upright. Hankyung’s hands fall from his hair, and he curls in on himself, tucks his hands under his head. He makes an indistinct noise, smacking his lips twice before settling back in. His toes, Hyukjae can see, are curled up in the hem of his pants.
Hyukjae wants to touch Hankyung’s hair, and he really needs some aspirin, and he hopes that someone made coffee.
He is also very, very relieved to be wearing all of his clothing.
*
Kibum is in the kitchen when Hyukjae stumbles through the doorway. He’s leaning against the counter with his pajama pants and his tank top and his smile, and Hyukjae hates him.
“I hate you,” Hyukjae says, and collapses into a chair. Kibum shrugs and hands him an aspirin, shoving a mostly full mug of coffee into his hand. Hyukjae winces as it sloshes over the rim and splashes onto his hand. “Ow,” he says. Kibum takes a sip of his own cup of coffee, and raises his eyebrows.
“I kissed Hankyung,” Hyukjae says.
Kibum nods, and presses the rim of his mug to his lips. Hyukjae knows this means he’s smirking and doesn’t want him to know it. Kibum’s eyes squint half-lidded when he’s trying not to laugh.
“A lot?” Hyukjae asks, voice higher than it means it to be.
Kibum nods again, and snorts. Hyukjae glances at the door to the living room. He can see the back of the couch, and the curve of Hankyung’s bare shoulder.
“A lot, a lot?”
“A lot a lot, Hyuk,” Kibum says, and Hyukjae can hear the laugh in his voice, and -
“I really, really hate you,” he says. He hopes the aspirin will kick in soon. Like, immediately.
“At least he seemed to be having fun,” Kibum gets out, slightly choked, before he starts laughing in earnest. Hyukjae tries to take a defiant swig of his coffee, but it’s still too hot so he swallows as quickly as possible, and instead he gets a burned mouth and even less dignity than he had before.
“No forgiveness for you,” he croaks out. “Ever.”
*
The first thing Hyukjae does when he gets back to his room is call Junsu. He’s already hitting the send button when he lands on the bed.
“H’lo?” Junsu says, voice rusty and thick with lethargy.
“I made out with Hankyung,” Hyukjae says all in a rush. He wiggles his toes and wants to pull the covers up over his head so he won’t have to think about it anymore.
“I’m glad for you?” Junsu’s voice is still sleepy, this time coupled with uncertainty, saying it’s, like, ten in the morning, why are you on the phone with me?.
“Kibum said it was a lot. Junsu, Kibum said a lot!” Hyukjae’s voice is more than a little panicked, and he knows that Junsu doesn’t really care that much, and would probably much rather just go back to sleep. Junsu sighs on the other side of the phone.
“A lot for you, or a lot for Kibum?” he asks, and Hyukjae pauses.
“I. Don’t know?”
“Were you wearing most of your clothing?” Hyukjae can hear the sound of Junsu sitting up, the crinkling of his sheets as he moves. The rest of his band must be up if he’s talking that loudly in the bedroom.
“Um. Yes?”
“A lot for you, then. Why are you freaking out, again? Didn’t you want to make out with Hankyung?”
“Well, yeah. But not when I was drunk! That’s just. Awkward. Junsu, I’m never going to be able to even look at him again!” Junsu snorts. Hyukjae tries not to hyperventilate.
“You’re a big dope,” Junsu says, and that’s really all Hyukjae hears, because at that point he drops the phone. Because. Well. There are hands in his hair, tugging him around, and he’s so surprised that he loses control of his fingers, and.
Hankyung is smiling at him. His hair is mussed, and he’s still not wearing a shirt, and Hyukjae makes a sound that’s some cross between a squeak and a groan except strangled in the back of his throat. Hankyung laughs, and Hyukjae can feel the blush that spreads across his cheeks, red and hot.
“I got - cold after you left,” Hankyung says, all smooth around the edges, concentrating on unfamiliar syllables, sweet and soft like the sound of his voice. Hyukjae shivers, and remembers that Hankyung’s fingers are still in his hair. And he’s kind of really confused.
“Sorry?” he says, and hopes it’s the right response. Hankyung laughs and kisses him, chaste and quick, on the lips. Hyukjae squeaks.
“You are cute,” Hankyung says, and tugs him forward again.
Hyukjae forgets to hang up his phone.
Super Junior (Hankyung/Hyukjae, with peripheral Heechul/Donghae/Kibum(/Eeteuk))
2,352 words. PG-13. Third person.
Hyukjae isn’t sure exactly what he’d been expecting when he opened the door. Management had told them they were getting someone new, straight in from China, but really. He hadn’t been expecting anyone who looked so - bendy. Hyukjae blinks, and almost doesn’t notice when his hand falls from the doorknob, fingers numb.
Hankyung is. Well. He’s standing in the doorway with his duffle in front of him, staring at his knuckles like they can tell his future, and Hyukjae just. Stands there. Finally Hankyung looks up, and Hyukjae blinks again. Hankyung smiles. Hyukjae stops breathing.
“Um. Hi,” Hankyung says, and even in that short sentence, Hyukjae can hear his accent. It makes him shiver. There’s something smooth about his vowels, less curved and complicated.
“Hi,” Hyukjae says, and he steps back. Stumbles a bit on the carpet, but tries to pretend that it never happened. Hankyung just stands in the doorway. “Um. You can come in,” Hyukjae says, and Hankyung laughs, smiles, and Hyukjae needs to leave. Like right now.
“I’ll go get the, um. I’ll go get the guys,” he says, hurriedly, and flees.
*
In the morning, Hyukjae wakes up early and makes coffee. He spoons out grounds and pours in eight cups of water and turns on the machine, and then he looks for the newspaper. He’s just opening the real estate section when footsteps in the hallway make him look up.
“Um,” he says, and Hankyung smiles from the doorway, his hand on the door frame in a way that says can I come in?. Hyukjae is used to the sharp cut of Heechul’s teeth against his lips, the protective bubble of Kibum’s grin all around him, but Hankyung’s. Isn’t like that at all. It’s all soft around the edges, just like the sound of his words, and gentle in a way that doesn’t show his teeth. “There was. I was making. There’ll be coffee in a minute,” Hyukjae says, and Hankyung bobs his head, showing that he understands.
“I - thank you,” Hankyung says, and runs his fingers through his messy hair, sticking up and out at angles Hyukjae didn’t know existed. Hyukjae wants to run his fingers through it, tame it and feel it over his skin, so he looks away. He looks at his paper, instead, and ignores the slide of Hankyung’s vowels and they way they sit in the back of his mouth like round peppermint candies.
“It’s. I just do it. In the morning.” He furtively glances over the top of the real estate section. Hankyung is looking at the kitchen like he doesn’t know what to do with it, the magnets on the fridge holding the picture of them at the bar last week and at rehearsal yesterday and in places Hankyung doesn’t fit yet. And Hyukjae doesn’t know what to do about that. “You don’t want to see Heechul and Kibum before they get their coffee.”
“I didn’t. Oh.” Hankyung’s voice isn’t so much confused as resigned, tired, but he’s still smiling, trying, and Hyukjae puts down his paper.
“It’s okay. I mean. You’ll get used to it. It gets better.” Hankyung smiles with half of his mouth, the quirk of muscle, almost wry and half-grateful. He glances at the fridge and then sits in the chair across from Hyukjae’s.
“Thanks,” he says, and they wait for the coffee to finish brewing.
*
“You like him, don’t you?” Heechul whispers into Hyukjae’s ear, as if it wasn’t obvious. Heechul is lying, sprawled, next to Hyukjae on the couch, one hand tucked between Hyukjae’s body and the back of the couch, the other pulling on his shirt, long fingers stretching the hem. Hyukjae looks at his hands in his lap, and Heechul laughs. “Wow,” he says, voice almost incredulous, like he’s actually surprised. Hyukjae can feel the puffs of air against the side of his face, the rush of blood to his cheeks, and he. Avoids looking into the kitchen.
Heechul glances over Hyukjae’s shoulder, watches Hankyung cooking, three pans on the burners and vegetables on the cutting board.
“I don’t get it,” Heechul says. “He’s just so nice.”
Hyukjae just tries to avoid sinking into the couch.
*
On the phone, Junsu laughs.
“Just get him drunk,” he’s saying, and Hyukjae blinks. He’s sitting on his bed, toes burrowing under the covers, and pretending that he’s not hiding. “That way you can do whatever you want with him.”
“Junsuuuuu,” he whines, “I can’t do that!”
“Why not?” Hyukjae can hear the arched eyebrow in Junsu’s voice, just under the thick layer of amusement and just above the honestly earnest helpfulness.
“Be-because! What kind of impression would that make?” Junsu laughs again, and if he were here, Hyukjae knows that he’d shrug, slap Hyukjae on the back, careless and comfortable.
“Who cares? You’d still get to kiss him.” Which is true, but Hyukjae isn’t sure that would go over well. Plus, it might make things awkward afterward which would be - awkward. Not that Junsu would understand.
“I guess.” He looks at the wall, wiggling his toes farther under the covers.
“Trust me,” Junsu says. Which is never a good thing.
*
In the end, it’s not really up to him.
Kibum and Heechul and Donghae come home carting two bottles of something that smells like licorice and is apparently expensive and Greek. It warms all the way down, and spreads out like pure heat, tingling under his skin. It makes him want to wiggle his fingers, extend them to see how far the warmth will go, and he sits on the floor with his back against the couch, watching his fingers spread, the tendons stretching under his skin.
Heechul is handing Kibum his cell phone, fingers splayed on the back of his neck, and Kibum is giggling into the receiver, his smile stretched as far as it will go. Donghae has his forehead pressed against Heechul’s spine, his hands balled into his shirt in the front, and Heechul is glancing at Hankyung, who is curled up against the armrest of the couch. Hyukjae can’t remember if Hankyung has had anything to drink, or even how much he’s had himself, but Kibum is gasping as Heechul bites into his earlobe, and he’s talking to Eeteuk over the phone, and Hyukjae can feel the warmth pool down into his stomach. He feels vaguely dizzy, and Hankyung. Is smiling at him.
“Hankyung,” Hyukjae says, and his voice is low, breathy, just a little slurred and tinged with licorice. He can taste it on his tongue and in the back of his mouth. He wonders if Hankyung’s mouth will taste like his, and if Hankyung will kiss him, and what Hankyung’s words would feel like in his mouth. “Hankyung,” he says again, almost pleading, but he doesn’t know why.
He feels dizzy when he pulls himself onto his knees, his head light and floaty and sending off sparks into the air. He tips forward a little, hands on the seat cushions of the couch, and his tries to catch his breath, just manages to keep himself from pressing his face to the couch and just breathing in. How much has he had to drink? He just remembers the fire and sweetness of it as he tipped it back and swallowed it down.
He crawls up into the couch unsteadily, and Hankyung is still looking at him, his smile just a little wider than usually, rounder, less closed up tight and half nervous. Hyukjae looks at his fingers on the upholstery and almost falls on his face, swaying forward until he’s blinking right at the white fabric, his nose pressed to it.
“Hyukjae?” Hankyung asks, and Kibum is gasping as Donghae pushes three fingers into his mouth, and Kibum still has the phone up to his ear, moaning into it, Heechul’s face buried into his neck, and Donghae is biting into Heechul’s shoulder, his chest pressed to Kibum’s arm. Hyukjae pushes himself up, and looks at Hankyung, curled up with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. Hyukjae scrambles closer, presses his hand to Hankyung’s knee to steady himself and feels warmth through denim. He tilts closer before he can help it, unsteady and unable to stop himself.
“I,” he says. “I - want. I want.” And then he leans closer, half falling until his chest is pressed to Hankyung’s arm and he. Kisses the corner of Hankyung’s mouth, misses his lips, mashes his mouth against cheek and lip and skin. Hankyung smells like licorice and rice and tastes like salt. Alcohol. His skin is soft and warm under Hyukjae’s mouth and Hyukjae.
Doesn’t remember anything after that.
*
He wakes up with hands in his hair and a pounding head and breath against his cheek. Hankyung is still asleep, and Hyukjae almost doesn’t want to dislodge him for fear of. Something. Happening.
Mostly because he can see Hankyung’s bare chest in front of his face, bite marks trailing down the side of his neck, and Hyukjae really, really just kind of wants to lick him, the column of his throat and the bruises already fading from his skin. His skin is a golden brown against the white couch and - Hyukjae needs to get up. The trickle of warm breath against his cheek makes him shiver and he swallows a whimper as he pulls himself upright. Hankyung’s hands fall from his hair, and he curls in on himself, tucks his hands under his head. He makes an indistinct noise, smacking his lips twice before settling back in. His toes, Hyukjae can see, are curled up in the hem of his pants.
Hyukjae wants to touch Hankyung’s hair, and he really needs some aspirin, and he hopes that someone made coffee.
He is also very, very relieved to be wearing all of his clothing.
*
Kibum is in the kitchen when Hyukjae stumbles through the doorway. He’s leaning against the counter with his pajama pants and his tank top and his smile, and Hyukjae hates him.
“I hate you,” Hyukjae says, and collapses into a chair. Kibum shrugs and hands him an aspirin, shoving a mostly full mug of coffee into his hand. Hyukjae winces as it sloshes over the rim and splashes onto his hand. “Ow,” he says. Kibum takes a sip of his own cup of coffee, and raises his eyebrows.
“I kissed Hankyung,” Hyukjae says.
Kibum nods, and presses the rim of his mug to his lips. Hyukjae knows this means he’s smirking and doesn’t want him to know it. Kibum’s eyes squint half-lidded when he’s trying not to laugh.
“A lot?” Hyukjae asks, voice higher than it means it to be.
Kibum nods again, and snorts. Hyukjae glances at the door to the living room. He can see the back of the couch, and the curve of Hankyung’s bare shoulder.
“A lot, a lot?”
“A lot a lot, Hyuk,” Kibum says, and Hyukjae can hear the laugh in his voice, and -
“I really, really hate you,” he says. He hopes the aspirin will kick in soon. Like, immediately.
“At least he seemed to be having fun,” Kibum gets out, slightly choked, before he starts laughing in earnest. Hyukjae tries to take a defiant swig of his coffee, but it’s still too hot so he swallows as quickly as possible, and instead he gets a burned mouth and even less dignity than he had before.
“No forgiveness for you,” he croaks out. “Ever.”
*
The first thing Hyukjae does when he gets back to his room is call Junsu. He’s already hitting the send button when he lands on the bed.
“H’lo?” Junsu says, voice rusty and thick with lethargy.
“I made out with Hankyung,” Hyukjae says all in a rush. He wiggles his toes and wants to pull the covers up over his head so he won’t have to think about it anymore.
“I’m glad for you?” Junsu’s voice is still sleepy, this time coupled with uncertainty, saying it’s, like, ten in the morning, why are you on the phone with me?.
“Kibum said it was a lot. Junsu, Kibum said a lot!” Hyukjae’s voice is more than a little panicked, and he knows that Junsu doesn’t really care that much, and would probably much rather just go back to sleep. Junsu sighs on the other side of the phone.
“A lot for you, or a lot for Kibum?” he asks, and Hyukjae pauses.
“I. Don’t know?”
“Were you wearing most of your clothing?” Hyukjae can hear the sound of Junsu sitting up, the crinkling of his sheets as he moves. The rest of his band must be up if he’s talking that loudly in the bedroom.
“Um. Yes?”
“A lot for you, then. Why are you freaking out, again? Didn’t you want to make out with Hankyung?”
“Well, yeah. But not when I was drunk! That’s just. Awkward. Junsu, I’m never going to be able to even look at him again!” Junsu snorts. Hyukjae tries not to hyperventilate.
“You’re a big dope,” Junsu says, and that’s really all Hyukjae hears, because at that point he drops the phone. Because. Well. There are hands in his hair, tugging him around, and he’s so surprised that he loses control of his fingers, and.
Hankyung is smiling at him. His hair is mussed, and he’s still not wearing a shirt, and Hyukjae makes a sound that’s some cross between a squeak and a groan except strangled in the back of his throat. Hankyung laughs, and Hyukjae can feel the blush that spreads across his cheeks, red and hot.
“I got - cold after you left,” Hankyung says, all smooth around the edges, concentrating on unfamiliar syllables, sweet and soft like the sound of his voice. Hyukjae shivers, and remembers that Hankyung’s fingers are still in his hair. And he’s kind of really confused.
“Sorry?” he says, and hopes it’s the right response. Hankyung laughs and kisses him, chaste and quick, on the lips. Hyukjae squeaks.
“You are cute,” Hankyung says, and tugs him forward again.
Hyukjae forgets to hang up his phone.