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the unofficial lonely hearts club | r | 955 | baektao
for rheannah as part of the many kisses meme. a small part of a much larger whole we'd like to call rockstar au.
The show's long over, the liquor set in on each individual member of the process in its own way, Zitao especially, he notes as the heat of alcohol floods his cheeks. He wobbles his way to the bar, asks the bartender for four more, two for him, two for his newfound partner in loneliness. The bartender arches a perfect eyebrow, seems to shake his head, but goes right on ahead doing what he's paid to do, a fact for which Zitao finds a deep and emotional gratitude. He almost cries, but the purse of said bartender's mouth as he watches Zitao, unsteady, try to lift and balance a tray of vodka lemonades, wards him off it.
He wanders back to the corner of the room, where he and Baekhyun have been sitting for the majority of the evening, not really lost in each other so much as in the atmosphere, in feeling sorry for themselves, in copious amounts of alcohol above all else. This is something for which they both appear thankful. They don't make eye contact, barely even touch even as Zitao takes his seat back, pointedly ignoring the fact that Baekhyun has stretched his legs out where Zitao's ass had taken up space moments ago. When he sits, Baekhyun yelps, quickly takes back his limbs so as to not incur any more damage. "The hell was that for," he whines, rubbing at his ankle like he's really been injured.
Zitao rolls his eyes, sets the tray down between their bodies, cautious so he doesn't spill anything -- drinking is expensive since he's not with the band and he'd rather not spend so much money on something that isn't really a date.
"Drink," he commands, lifting one glass and thrusting it towards Baekhyun with a measured steadiness that denies his blood alcohol content. "We finish these, I get to mess up that eyeliner you worked so hard on."
Baekhyun scoffs, rolls his eyes, but does as he's told. "If I didn't know better I'd say you didn't like me."
"You know better?" Zitao lifts his brows, lip curled around the edge of his glass. "I don't." He takes a long draw of liquor and lemon, shrugs as it burns its way down the back of his throat. "You've been watching him all night, and he hasn't even looked at you." 'He' means Chanyeol, after whom Baekhyun continually pines. Zitao pokes his companion in the ribs with a talon of a jab, and Baekhyun's set to whining again. "You could, I don't know, pay attention to me or something."
"Nah, you'd like that," Baekhyun points out, taking an even bigger swallow of his own drink, as if it's a competition. (Everything between them is.) "You're one to talk about not getting noticed, by the way. Sehun's had his tongue down Jongdae's throat for at least the last hour. Does he even know your name?"
Zitao blushes, none too gracefully, and he knows it's not just the booze in his system causing it. "Do you mind not kicking me when I'm down."
"Aw, aw, baby Zitao's getting all sensitive all of a sudden," Baekhyun continues, eyes narrowed, voice set to 'jeer'. "Don't get in your feelings, alright, you know I don't--"
"Stop talking," Zitao mutters, rolling his eyes and finishing off this glass only to dive into another, fingers white-knuckled around it as he drinks it down, too.
When both of them have finished and they're idly chatting, never making eye contact considering they're too busy staring after other people, Zitao feels that familiar creep of tingles that rush his spine whenever he's close to Baekhyun and they're wasted enough to get away with it. He turns his body just so, a practiced dance that he knows the steps to just as well as Baekhyun, the one who taught him. He watches the other's profile catch in the dimmed stage light that shines down from before them, pouts his lips, bats his eyes. He reaches out a tentative hand, rests it on Baekhyun's elbow, inches closer, inseam dragging against the plush purple of the couch on which they sit.
"Oh, is it that time?" Baekhyun asks, flip, at long last turning his head to face Zitao, who's disappointed to see that trademark greasy smirk playing at the other's lips. "I was starting to think you just liked hanging out with me. Don't scare me like that again, kid."
And Zitao hates being called kid, hates being touched by people he doesn't like, absolutely hates Baekhyun and everything about him, but he leans in for his self-punishment anyway, lets Baekhyun's glossy lips hover over his own while he whispers something, probably something dirty or at the very least ignorant, between his teeth.
"No talking while we make out," Zitao insists, feeling nothing, not even a thrill of pleasure, as he messily mashes mouths with his drunken sort-of-sort-of-not friend. It's an ugly affair, made of equal parts loathing and disgust, Zitao's fingers fisting in the hem of Baekhyun's professionally-distressed t-shirt as he lurches forward, unable to keep himself balanced properly. Baekhyun's all fucking teeth, practically lapping at Zitao's mouth like a dog, too eager and too drunk to care about technique, more concerned with the potential of getting his dick wet.
"You know I can't stand you," Zitao mumbles when they break for air, fully aware that there are many sets of eyes on him, most of them probably disappointed. He hates that he'll have to explain himself to Junmyeon (again) later.
Baekhyun grins, the perfect portrait of a shit-eater. "The feeling's mutual. If you hate me, why don't you blow me over it?"
Shrugging, bored, kind of hollowed out, Zitao glances at the ceiling, as if divine retribution is coming for him for being a lying sack of garbage. "Sure, I'd love to."
for rheannah as part of the many kisses meme. a small part of a much larger whole we'd like to call rockstar au.
The show's long over, the liquor set in on each individual member of the process in its own way, Zitao especially, he notes as the heat of alcohol floods his cheeks. He wobbles his way to the bar, asks the bartender for four more, two for him, two for his newfound partner in loneliness. The bartender arches a perfect eyebrow, seems to shake his head, but goes right on ahead doing what he's paid to do, a fact for which Zitao finds a deep and emotional gratitude. He almost cries, but the purse of said bartender's mouth as he watches Zitao, unsteady, try to lift and balance a tray of vodka lemonades, wards him off it.
He wanders back to the corner of the room, where he and Baekhyun have been sitting for the majority of the evening, not really lost in each other so much as in the atmosphere, in feeling sorry for themselves, in copious amounts of alcohol above all else. This is something for which they both appear thankful. They don't make eye contact, barely even touch even as Zitao takes his seat back, pointedly ignoring the fact that Baekhyun has stretched his legs out where Zitao's ass had taken up space moments ago. When he sits, Baekhyun yelps, quickly takes back his limbs so as to not incur any more damage. "The hell was that for," he whines, rubbing at his ankle like he's really been injured.
Zitao rolls his eyes, sets the tray down between their bodies, cautious so he doesn't spill anything -- drinking is expensive since he's not with the band and he'd rather not spend so much money on something that isn't really a date.
"Drink," he commands, lifting one glass and thrusting it towards Baekhyun with a measured steadiness that denies his blood alcohol content. "We finish these, I get to mess up that eyeliner you worked so hard on."
Baekhyun scoffs, rolls his eyes, but does as he's told. "If I didn't know better I'd say you didn't like me."
"You know better?" Zitao lifts his brows, lip curled around the edge of his glass. "I don't." He takes a long draw of liquor and lemon, shrugs as it burns its way down the back of his throat. "You've been watching him all night, and he hasn't even looked at you." 'He' means Chanyeol, after whom Baekhyun continually pines. Zitao pokes his companion in the ribs with a talon of a jab, and Baekhyun's set to whining again. "You could, I don't know, pay attention to me or something."
"Nah, you'd like that," Baekhyun points out, taking an even bigger swallow of his own drink, as if it's a competition. (Everything between them is.) "You're one to talk about not getting noticed, by the way. Sehun's had his tongue down Jongdae's throat for at least the last hour. Does he even know your name?"
Zitao blushes, none too gracefully, and he knows it's not just the booze in his system causing it. "Do you mind not kicking me when I'm down."
"Aw, aw, baby Zitao's getting all sensitive all of a sudden," Baekhyun continues, eyes narrowed, voice set to 'jeer'. "Don't get in your feelings, alright, you know I don't--"
"Stop talking," Zitao mutters, rolling his eyes and finishing off this glass only to dive into another, fingers white-knuckled around it as he drinks it down, too.
When both of them have finished and they're idly chatting, never making eye contact considering they're too busy staring after other people, Zitao feels that familiar creep of tingles that rush his spine whenever he's close to Baekhyun and they're wasted enough to get away with it. He turns his body just so, a practiced dance that he knows the steps to just as well as Baekhyun, the one who taught him. He watches the other's profile catch in the dimmed stage light that shines down from before them, pouts his lips, bats his eyes. He reaches out a tentative hand, rests it on Baekhyun's elbow, inches closer, inseam dragging against the plush purple of the couch on which they sit.
"Oh, is it that time?" Baekhyun asks, flip, at long last turning his head to face Zitao, who's disappointed to see that trademark greasy smirk playing at the other's lips. "I was starting to think you just liked hanging out with me. Don't scare me like that again, kid."
And Zitao hates being called kid, hates being touched by people he doesn't like, absolutely hates Baekhyun and everything about him, but he leans in for his self-punishment anyway, lets Baekhyun's glossy lips hover over his own while he whispers something, probably something dirty or at the very least ignorant, between his teeth.
"No talking while we make out," Zitao insists, feeling nothing, not even a thrill of pleasure, as he messily mashes mouths with his drunken sort-of-sort-of-not friend. It's an ugly affair, made of equal parts loathing and disgust, Zitao's fingers fisting in the hem of Baekhyun's professionally-distressed t-shirt as he lurches forward, unable to keep himself balanced properly. Baekhyun's all fucking teeth, practically lapping at Zitao's mouth like a dog, too eager and too drunk to care about technique, more concerned with the potential of getting his dick wet.
"You know I can't stand you," Zitao mumbles when they break for air, fully aware that there are many sets of eyes on him, most of them probably disappointed. He hates that he'll have to explain himself to Junmyeon (again) later.
Baekhyun grins, the perfect portrait of a shit-eater. "The feeling's mutual. If you hate me, why don't you blow me over it?"
Shrugging, bored, kind of hollowed out, Zitao glances at the ceiling, as if divine retribution is coming for him for being a lying sack of garbage. "Sure, I'd love to."