Boy, can I be what you like
Title: boy, can I be what you like
Pairing(s): Chanyeol/Kyungsoo (brief mentions of Sehun/Suho)
Rating: NC-17
Length: 10k words
Summary: Chanyeol has to compose a whole song by the end of the semester for his music composition class. He has a bunch of melodies and beats stored on his laptop, but no decent lyrics to pair them up with. That is, until he stumbles around the city one day and finds his muse.
a/n: They say candles and flowers can help set a mood. Originally posted here.
It’s early in the morning, and Chanyeol is so tired. So. Tired.
Sehun is not helping.
“Can…you…not?” Chanyeol hisses, pitifully yanking his sheets over his head and breathing deeply to prevent himself from doing something he’ll (maybe) regret later, like leaping up and flinging a heavy book at Sehun’s head.
“What, it’s not my fault you decided not to go to class today,” Sehun scoffs, turning around and staring pointedly at Chanyeol as he pokes at the speaker sitting beside his laptop, making the awful rap music blaring from it even louder.
“Whater you talking about?” Chanyeol moans, wishing he could die. Or kill Sehun. Or kill Sehun and then expire from sadness and tiredness and what time is it anyway?
“You do know that it’s almost noon, right?” Sehun laughs, incredibly blasé given the extremely murderous thoughts Chanyeol is directing towards him currently. At least this is further evidence that Sehun can’t read minds, Chanyeol thinks grumpily to himself.
Unless Sehun can read minds and he’s good at not reacting, no matter what weird things you might be thinking, because he doesn’t want you to find out, a tiny voice in the back of his mind whispers. Chanyeol ignores it. Now is not the time to indulge his weird nerdy fears.
“Great,” Chanyeol sighs, finally managing to unclench his fists from the sheets and sit up, running a hand through his undoubtedly disgusting-looking hair. He hasn’t showered in...a little less than 36 hours, if his calculations are to be believed. Which they might not be. Chanyeol’s never been great at math.
“So did you manage to finish that music-whatever assignment you were out doing?” Sehun asks, abandoning his laptop entirely as he spins his chair around to face Chanyeol. “Also, I’d like you to know that everything I’m doing right now is vengeance for you slamming the door when you got back here at like 5:00am last night. This morning. Whatever. I was upset.”
“Oh, you’re upset!” Chanyeol laughs in what he hopes is a dramatically delirious way, but probably just sounds pathetic because he’s seriously dehydrated and he can already feel a terrible sleep-deprivation headache coming on. “But yes, I did finish, thank you so much for asking, you jerk.”
“You’re welcome,” Sehun replies nonchalantly, crossing his legs and flipping a pen back and forth between his fingers. “But actually, besides you rudely awakening me, it’s been a pretty good day. I woke up at 9am, finished my essay, started plotting my revenge, and now here we are! What a productive morning.”
“Well, since I’ve already missed my first two classes I guess there’s no point in me rushing to get ready,” Chanyeol sighs mournfully, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and sliding forward until they touch the floor.
“Be careful in the bathroom!” Sehun calls helpfully, as Chanyeol’s almost out the door. “Some kid came back from a frat party last night and threw up all over the floor next to the second toilet from the right. I honestly don’t know how he missed, the toilet was right there, like-”
Chanyeol cuts him off by swinging the door shut, and then continues his trek down the hallway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying to reconcile the fact that it’s afternoon with the fact that his brain is still stuck in early-morning mode.
Luckily, when he swings open the bathroom door and hears someone in the shower playing music on their phone, his entire mood shifts. They’re listening to some new pop song-Chanyeol doesn’t really keep up with boy groups, but this cheery, nanana-type of song is just what he needs this morning. He grabs his toothbrush from the shelf and bobs his head with the beat. He wiggles along with the harmony. He spits into the sink, pretends his toothbrush is a microphone, and mouths the chorus along with the music as dramatically as he can. He moonwalks over to the paper towel dispenser. He’s just spinning enthusiastically on his heel to toss the paper towel into the trash when the door to the bathroom starts to open. Which is when he jerks in surprise, brushes past the boy who’s just walked in, and shuffles hurriedly back to his room.
Sehun’s gone by the time he gets back, which isn’t really a surprise because Sehun needs to eat every few hours or else his blood sugar drops dramatically and he basically falls into a semi-catatonic state. Chanyeol’s almost impressed that he wanted to get revenge on Chanyeol so badly he was willing to wait a whole extra half hour before getting lunch.
His phone is buzzing on his desk, and Chanyeol doesn’t even need to pick it up to know who’s calling him. God, it hasn’t even been six hours yet. What could he possibly need? Chanyeol is not mentally equipped to deal with people who are that responsible.
“Chanyeol! Hey! Just wanted to let you know that I turned in the project this morning, since you weren’t in class. So don’t worry, that’s done. Thanks for being such a good sport about it. I’m sorry it took so long to finish!”
“Well, that’s not your fault,” Chanyeol replies, annoyed at the small smile that’s crept across his face. Junmyeon is ridiculous, but that only makes him more endearing. Junmyeon probably didn’t fall asleep in all his clothes. He probably brushed his teeth and put on his pajamas like a Real Adult.
“No, if it hadn’t been for my meeting, we could have started earlier, I’m really sorry-” Junmyeon continues, but Chanyeol cuts him off before he can get too ridiculous.
“No, seriously, it wasn’t your fault. What kind of professor only gives his students a week to transpose a piano solo for an orchestra? He’s lucky any of us finished!”
“A couple groups didn’t,” Junmyeon mentions casually, and Chanyeol dutifully ignores the notes of smug satisfaction that have crept into Junmyeon’s voice. Everyone has their vices, and on Junmyeon this particular one is just adorable. He sounds like a mom telling her friends that her kid placed first in the local taekwondo competition.
“See? Go us!” Chanyeol cheers, momentarily satisfied, but then he remembers that it’s now past noon and he really should have gotten up earlier. “Also, I’m really sorry about this…but could you send me the notes from class today? I. Uh. I woke up this morning feeling a little sick, so…”
“Slept through your alarm?” Junmyeon asks sagely, and Chanyeol pouts, though he knows Junmyeon can’t see him. How does Junmyeon just not need sleep? Chanyeol will never understand. “Sure, I’ll send them over as soon as I can.”
“Thank you!” Chanyeol singsongs, because he’s feeling much cheerier now that he’s not at risk of falling asleep while standing up, or sitting down, or doing anything really.
“Or actually…” Junmyeon stops, hesitating, and Chanyeol’s just about to ask what’s up when he continues. “Maybe I could stop by and drop them off this afternoon? Around 4-ish?”
“Ew, stop!” Chanyeol laughs disgustedly, shaking his head and sticking out his tongue.
“Well, can I?” Junmyeon asks, a little grumpily, which makes Chanyeol laugh even harder.
“Fine, fine,” he finally manages to say, grabbing his backpack off the floor and starting to one-handedly dump notebooks into it. “I was thinking about having dinner in the city today, anyway. Just…seriously, stop asking my permission every time you want to bang my roommate. It makes me feel like his dad or something, which is a misery I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”
“Speak for yourself,” Junmyeon says sweetly, “Sehun’s not that bad.”
“LALALALA I DON’T WANT TO KNOW,” Chanyeol bellows, grabbing his computer and manhandling it into his bag. “Okay, look, I’m heading out now. When you…visit…with Sehun later, remind him that he said he would take out the trash on Monday and he still hasn’t so if he doesn’t do it soon, I’m hiding all of his video games somewhere he’ll never find them.”
“Somewhere in the library?” Junmyeon asks knowingly.
“Somewhere in the library,” Chanyeol confirms. “All right, talk to you later?”
“Bye!” Junmyeon chirps, hanging up. Chanyeol sighs, rubbing his face with his hands as he looks despairingly at the mess strewn across his desk. Not that he has time to clean it up right now. Finals are in two weeks, which means he has two weeks to finish his final project for The Most Difficult Class He’s Ever Taken in His Life aka MUSIC140C: Contemporary Music Composition. And his final project-his first, completely original, so-professional-sounding-he-should-be-able-to-send-it-off-to-any-record-producer-without-embarrasment-or-so-it-says-on-the-class-syllabus song-is nowhere near being done.
Chanyeol’s always thought of himself as a pretty creative guy, and pretty good at music. But being pretty creative and pretty good at music is different from being able to write songs on demand. Chanyeol needs inspiration to strike! He needs that burst of creative energy before he can even start coming up with melodies, much less lyrics! Sadly, inspiration seems to have taken the week-month-off from striking him, and so he has absolutely no idea how he’s going to finish this project.
Which is where his plans for tonight come in. Chanyeol’s always loved walking. It’s something he was raised doing, as a suburban kid with a dog, and there’s just something about the repetitive motion of footfalls on concrete, the ability to stop and literally smell the roses, the way the sky looks so big and the cars whipping past feel so frightening, that just makes him feel alive. So, hopefully, if he spends the night walking through the city, he’ll find something-anything-that will help him write. It’s his only hope.
The first place he goes is the park. Chanyeol’s never really been the outdoorsy-type-the one time he and his high school best friend, Baekhyun, had tried to go camping they’d ended up forgetting all the food, breaking a couple tent poles, and ultimately giving up and spending the night in a crappy motel watching telenovelas. But everyone says nature is good for creative inspiration! Wind blowing through the trees, grass swaying like a giant green ocean, moon sparkling brightly overhead as the birds twitter sleepily in their nests. All that.
The only problem is that it’s really dark in the park. Like. Really dark. And Chanyeol is starting to fear for his safety because even though he’s pretty tall and makes negative one hundred dollars a week, someone might think he looks like the perfect target for a mugging. Chanyeol has a weak constitution. He doesn’t think he’d be able to survive someone pointing a gun at him and demanding money he wishes he had. So after wandering down a few dark paths, trying to see the sliver of waning moon between the thick tree branches, and jumping backwards twice to avoid snakes that turned out to just be tree branches, Chanyeol breathes a sigh of relief as he re-emerges onto the well-lit pavement of the city streets. So much for inspiration from nature. Now, where should he go from here?
Chanyeol’s always thought of himself as an okay wanderer, but the more he walks aimlessly up and down the streets, the more he realizes how untrue that is. Chanyeol never leaves his house unless he has a mission. Sure, sometimes that mission is to wander down a certain street or to find a certain-colored bird or to try every single curry shop within a two-mile radius of his apartment. But he needs a destination. This random wandering is…boring. And he keeps getting distracted every time he passes a lighted shop window-does he need to buy eggs soon? Should he even try to replace his school backpack, because he managed to fix that huge rip pretty well with duct tape and it’ll probably be fine?-and that is not helping his creativity at all.
After half an hour of wading through clouds of cigarette smoke every time he passes an alley, wincing every time his slightly-too-small sneakers rub against his heel, and hearing his stomach grumble every time he passes a nice-smelling restaurant, Chanyeol gives up. He’s done with this inspiration thing. Maybe he was never meant to be an artist! Maybe he should just give up and become a lawyer or a doctor or an engineer like his sell-out friends. Chanyeol can’t stop himself from snorting in laughter when that last thought enters his head. He wouldn’t last a day in any class not music-related. He’s been struggling enough in his Creative Writing and History of Art classes, and those are meant for kids like him who never want to solve a single equation or memorize a court case ever again. He’s not like Junmyeon, who takes hard courses, completely unrelated to his major, for fun, because he wants “depth” of education. Though he can’t exactly knock Junmyeon’s academic goals, because he would never have finished that last project without him.
He’s almost back to his apartment, trudging mournfully past his favorite grocery store, a couple dive bars, and that sketchy dark alley he always tries to avoid even during the day, when Chanyeol decides that he’s walked too far and too long not to get something good out of this trip. So he turns down a small sidestreet and ducks into his absolute favorite little Korean restaurant-they make up takeout orders ridiculously quickly, they always make their ddeokbokki just spicy enough, and it always tastes so comforting when he’s feeling tired and homesick.
The little bell above the door rings sharply when he pushes it open, and Chanyeol feels his heart flutter a bit in surprise. He’s never liked loud, sudden noises-unless he’s the one making them. But it’s also familiar, and comforting in its own way, and Chanyeol throws himself down in a chair at the counter with every intention of sleepily ordering food, heading back to his dorm room to devour it as quickly as possible, and then falling asleep pondering his inevitable failure in class/life. But that’s not what ends up happening.
Because when Chanyeol looks up to see someone approaching him, ready to take his order, his heart does a weird cough-hiccup thing that makes him feel a bit like he’s been kicked in the chest and then told to do a backflip.
“What do you want?” the boy asks, because why wouldn’t he, it’s his job to ask, and Chanyeol knows he should be answering but he’s too busy staring because this boy. This boy. And it still feels a little weird to think about-a little sharp and unwieldy, like a too-big chest of drawers shoved into the corner of a too-small apartment-because it was just last year that Chanyeol met the boy who told him that it was okay if Chanyeol wanted to kiss him. Who said that Chanyeol could kiss him even if, up until that day, Chanyeol had never even thought that kissing a boy was an option-had never wanted like that before. And since then, Chanyeol has been fine, has had a few short flings, a few nights of soft skin sliding against his fingers as he drops to his knees and smiles up through his eyelashes, smooths his hands up black stockings and under short, tight miniskirts, and he hasn’t wanted anything more, but this boy brings all those feelings bubbling to the surface again. Chanyeol doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he has to admit that this boy is beautiful.
“Are you okay?” the boy asks, dragging Chanyeol’s focus back to his face-back to his mouth-and Chanyeol is glad, for once, of his ability to talk endlessly about nothing because it allows him to order his food, to smile cheerfully, to put a straw in the glass of water the boy brings him and start to suck it down without having to involve any higher brain functions. Because he really doesn’t think he’s capable of any of those right now.
“Hey,” the boy says, catching Chanyeol’s eye without making a move in his direction. Shy, then. Kind of quiet. “Sorry, your food is probably going to take a little while. Ten minutes? Is that okay?”
“Sure, sure,” Chanyeol murmurs, flashing the boy another smile. He doesn’t return it-instead turning back to his seat behind the cash register, drawing a book out from a lower shelf and opening it to a bookmarked page.
It’s so quiet in the shop. It’s late enough that Chanyeol is one of only two or three customers, and none of them are being particularly loud. That’s another reason Chanyeol likes this place. It’s not a haven for rowdy drunk college kids out way to late-early?-at night, like most of the pizza places near campus. But now the quiet is making him itchy. He wants to talk…well, if he’s being honest with himself he wants to talk to that boy. But he doesn’t want to disturb him? Chanyeol’s been called annoying enough times to know that it’s far too easy to disturb the balance between funny and too-loud, cute and ridiculous, sweet and clingy. But Chanyeol’s never been one to back down from a conversation with a cute human, so he makes up his mind, gets up from his chair, and slides over onto the stool directly to the right of the register. The boy doesn’t look up from his book, but Chanyeol can see his shoulders tense slightly.
“So, what’s your name?” Chanyeol asks conversationally, flashing his best smile. Maybe it didn’t work last time, but his smile is his trademark. His sister always says it’s his most attractive feature-“draws attention from that whole ear situation you have going on,” she had laughed last Christmas, ruffling his hair.
“What?” the boy asks, and Chanyeol can tell he heard perfectly fine, but is giving Chanyeol a chance to rephrase or change his question. Unamused. Slightly irritated. Off to a bad start.
“Your name,” Chanyeol repeats, unperturbed. He’s used to people-especially introverts-being a little thrown off by his forwardness. No reason to let that stop him so early in the game.
“Kyungsoo,” the boy mutters, a little too quickly, as if he doesn’t really want Chanyeol to hear it. Well, now, that’s just rude.
“You’re Korean too!” Chanyeol exclaims delightedly, as the boy gives him a strange, slightly confused look.
“Well, I mean, I work in a Korean restaurant,” the boy-Kyungsoo-says with just a slight lilting sarcasm coloring his words. “It would make sense if I was Korean.”
“Not really,” Chanyeol counters, pleased that Kyungsoo is continuing the conversation. “I waited tables at an Italian restaurant all throughout high school, and I’m obviously not Italian.”
“Not that obvious,” Kyungsoo shrugs, letting his eyes drift down to his book though Chanyeol can tell he’s not really reading it anymore. “You could be half.”
“Nope, no exotic mixing here,” Chanyeol laughs-a bit softer than usual, because he knows his typical head-thrown-back style of laughter can frighten some people off. Then he decides to follow this truth up with a bold-faced lie. “Hey, do you go the university? I think I’ve seen you around campus before.”
“I’ve never seen you,” Kyungsoo squints suspiciously at Chanyeol, and Chanyeol has to smother a giggle because he looks so young when he does that. “But yeah. I do. Go there.”
“Major? Living off-campus? Sorry, you know I have to ask,” Chanyeol smiles, letting his grin widen a bit when Kyungsoo makes a mock-gagging sound and sighs long-sufferingly.
“I’m studying biology, considering a double major or minor in theater studies,” Kyungsoo says in a sarcastic sing-song. He’s obviously a upperclassman, then, been in school long enough to get tired of having to explain his interests to every random stranger. “I live somewhere around here, but it’s not like I’m going to tell you where, random stranger I have never seen or spoken to before.”
“You want to be an actor? Screenwriter?” Chanyeol asks, ignoring the pointed jab in that last sentence.
“Of course not, don’t be stupid,” Kyungsoo snorts before catching himself. Chanyeol can see his eyes darken when he realizes maybe he shouldn’t be this familiar with or this rude to someone who is, in the end, a customer. “Sorry. What I meant was, obviously being an actor isn’t a very stable career option. Hence the biology. I’ll spend my days pipetting and my nights standing onstage with a bunch of other bitter actor-wannabes pretending to be people we aren’t and talking about the way the world crushed our dreams like a bag of day-old garbage in a trash compactor at the dump.”
“Well, if you’re this poetic all the time, I bet you could write one of those depressing plays pretty easily,” Chanyeol muses, pleased to note that Kyungsoo’s head jerks up at that and he looks-really looks-at Chanyeol, for the first time. “I’m a music major. So I guess it’s kind of my duty to try to sway you away from the stupidly profitable but soul-sucking scientific fields.”
“Hey, don’t knock science,” Kyungsoo smirks, closing his book and resting his head in his hands. Chanyeol resists the urge to fist-pump the air in triumph. “Without it, you’d probably be married by now because your life expectancy would be 30 or 40 years, max. Then again, you seem like you might be one of those people no decent fifteenth-century 16-year-old girl would want to marry.”
“I’m hurt!” Chanyeol gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’ll have you know that I was the stud of my freshman dorm. I had a new girlfriend every month.”
“Really?” Kyungsoo laughs disbelievingly, and Chanyeol desperately hopes he hears a note of disappointment in his voice, but he could be making it up. God, Kyungsoo is so hot.
“No,” Chanyeol admits. “I had a girlfriend in high school, but when I got here I was too busy being confused about everything and making out with a hot boy from my piano theory class to really do the whole relationship thing.”
“I get that,” Kyungsoo grins ruefully, licking his lips, and Chanyeol’s eyes are drawn once again to the fullness of them, the thought of how they would feel pressed against his own, how easily Kyungsoo would fit against his tall, thin frame. No, nope, no, pay attention, stop thinking about those things.
“Really?” Chanyeol asks, and then, because he’s always lacked self-control and it’s been a really long time since…and Kyungsoo is so… “I would have thought you’d always have someone after you, trying to get you to hook up with them. You’re so…well, hot.”
“Thanks,” Kyungsoo laughs lightly. Unabashed, not a hint of a blush. He’s used to being complimented, likes it. And as Kyungsoo lets his gaze slide off of Chanyeol’s face, Chanyeol thinks he sees something shift in his eyes, dimly lit by the dusky overhead lighting. “But most people are too concerned with the getting to know my soul and the taking me out on cute dates to get around the to the fucking. Apparently I’m too cute for one-night stands. It’s a pity, really.”
Chanyeol’s not quite sure what to say to that-well, actually, he knows exactly what he wants to say to that, but he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t actually say it out loud-so he’s glad when the door to the kitchen suddenly opens, and a man comes out to hand a brown paper bag to Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo opens it to check the contents, then reaches out to hand it to Chanyeol. Except Chanyeol gets there first. Gets there and wraps his fingers around Kyungsoo’s, rather than around the crinkled paper.
Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow, but there’s just as much disbelief in his expression as there is amusement.
“You do have a phone number, don’t you?” Chanyeol asks slowly, letting Kyungsoo slide his fingers out from beneath Chanyeol’s. They ghost across his palm, slide smoothly against his skin. Kyungsoo has nice fingers. Chanyeol wonders idly what they would feel like inside of him.
“So was this all your weird version of hitting on me?” Kyungsoo asks indignantly, but Chanyeol sees that he’s reaching for a pen and smiles smugly.
“Maybe,” Chanyeol shrugs. But he drops his nonchalant grin when he sees Kyungsoo studying him thoughtfully. Apparently, he measures up, because Kyungsoo scribbles some numbers across the top of his paper bag of food before shoving the bag towards him.
“I get off at 10,” Kyungsoo murmurs, leaning against the counter. “You’re not coming to my place.”
“I live in a dorm room,” Chanyeol informs him, wincing slightly at Kyungsoo’s disgusted sigh.
“Then you better get creative,” Kyungsoo smirks, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head. He’s so comfortable, so in-control, and Chanyeol suddenly feels the weight of inexperience crashing down on his head. Not that he’s ever let that stop him before.
“I’ll let you know,” Chanyeol nods in response, waving his phone in Kyungsoo’s face like he’s trying to convince Kyungsoo he actually owns one.
It’s not until Chanyeol’s back out on the dark streets, about to let himself into his building, that he realizes what a completely insane thing he’s just done. Chanyeol Park is many things, and impulsive is most certainly one of them, but he’s never invited a random stranger back to his house before. It’s one thing to drag a guy out to the parking lot behind a club and press him against the hard brick, or to cling to some girl at a party and stumble into a convenient bathroom, let her blow him against the cold porcelain sink. But it’s quite another to propose casual sex to a waiter in one of his favorite restaurants when neither of them were under the influence of any kind of alcohol. Well, at least Chanyeol wasn’t. And Kyungsoo seems like the responsible type-the kind of guy who wouldn’t drink on the job, no matter how dull that job was.
Not that Chanyeol would really know what kind of person Kyungsoo is.
All he knows is that Kyungsoo’s lips are the kind he’d like to bite, and Kyungsoo’s eyes are deep and dark, and Kyungsoo’s throat is smooth and pale and Chanyeol would like to paint it with bruises, press his mouth into Kyungsoo’s skin and inhale.
It takes exactly five minutes for Chanyeol to convince Junmyeon to let him spend the night in his apartment. Five minutes. Either he’s losing his touch, or Sehun is. But, either way, it means that at exactly a quarter to ten he’s texting Kyungsoo-assuming Kyungsoo gave him his real phone number-the address to a clean, dark apartment in a fairly good part of town not far from where Kyungsoo currently is-assuming Kyungsoo actually does get off at 10 and he wasn’t just saying that to get Chanyeol to leave.
The longer Chanyeol sits, alone in that clean, dark apartment, the more surreal the whole thing seems. There’s no reason he should be doing this-should want to do this. But there’s just something about Kyungsoo. His eyes, maybe, or his mouth, or his fingers, that just makes Chanyeol’s skin crawl with excitement, with desire.
He hums a little melody to himself to pass the time. It’s not something he recognizes-either he’s making it up as he goes along, or it’s from something he watched or heard long ago and no longer remembers. Either way, it fits the mood of the evening. Heavy with mystery, with endless waiting, moments frozen in sticky, syrupy time that moves so, so slowly, the minute hand of Junmyeon’s nice, modern-looking clock trapped in amber or ice.
When someone knocks on the door, Chanyeol practically jumps out of his skin.
He’s not really the nervous type, not the type to worry and fret and wonder, but he can’t stop his hand from shaking a little when he pulls the door open to see-
Kyungsoo.
Damn, is the only thought Chanyeol can coherently form. That’s all. Because Kyungsoo is standing here, on Junmyeon’s doorstep, looking mildly relieved to see Chanyeol and not some creepy old man. And he’s just gorgeous. Made to be wanted.
“Thank god,” Kyungsoo murmurs, stepping inside and letting Chanyeol push the door closed behind him. The thud rings loudly in the muffled awkward silence hanging thickly between them. “I was almost afraid you were going to end up being a murderer and were just trying to lure me here so you could kill me.”
“What makes you think that still isn’t my plan?” Chanyeol laughs, as Kyungsoo takes off his jacket and drapes it carefully over the back of a chair.
“Well, now that I’ve actually gotten to see you up close, I know I can take you,” Kyungsoo teases, but something about his tone tells Chanyeol that he isn’t entirely joking. He’s more than a little worried about the fact that that turns him on a little.
“Well…” Chanyeol says slowly, drawing it out like he’s back in high school, still figuring out the best ways to fill up silences, make them friends instead of enemies, and not quite succeeding. “Are we going to do this or…?”
“Your dirty talk could use some work,” Kyungsoo laughs, but Chanyeol knows what an opening looks like, and he takes it. They’re so close together. And when Chanyeol steps forward, there’s no space between them at all.
And Kyungsoo does fit perfectly against him, and when Chanyeol leans down to kiss him, his lips feel like fire. Kyungsoo kisses like he talks-hiding certainty and heat behind pretended shyness, playing at coyness while steadily pushing Chanyeol backwards until his back hits the wall. Chanyeol gasps in momentary pain as his head collides with the hard wood, and Kyungsoo presses closer against him at the sound, curls a hand around the nape of Chanyeol’s head and rubs gently at the tender area. He’s already half-hard, and Chanyeol feels a streak of pleasure curl in his stomach.
Of course, just as Chanyeol’s getting into the swing of things, figuring out where to press to make Kyungsoo sigh, how to angle his head to slot their mouths more closely together, Kyungsoo stops, pulls away, wipes his mouth with one hand. His lips are so, so red.
“Look, if we’re going to do this…” Kyungsoo mutters, voice slightly strained, wrecked, beautiful. “Don’t be gentle with me. This won’t work if you treat me like some cute, pretty, breakable doll.” Like everyone else does. The implication comes through loud and clear.
“Okay,” Chanyeol says, letting his eyes meet Kyungsoo’s, willing him to understand that Chanyeol gets it. There’s nothing he hates more than people putting him in a box, categorizing and dividing before he even gets a say. “Let’s do this.”
It’s so quiet in Junmyeon’s stupid, clean, dark, tastefully-furnished apartment.
“Want you to suck me off,” Kyungsoo whispers then, so quietly Chanyeol almost misses the words.
“What?” Chanyeol asks instinctively, daring Kyungsoo to repeat, but Kyungsoo doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward, grabs a fistful of Chanyeol’s hair, and shoves.
It’s not much-not enough to force Chanyeol down if he didn’t want to go. But Chanyeol does go, drops heavily to his knees, lets a slightly-too-pathetic moan slip out of his mouth because, what with all the kissing, he’s so turned on.
He reaches blindly for Kyungsoo’s pants, fumbles with the zipper, hums discontentedly when Kyungsoo pushes his hands away, undoes the buttons himself and lets his pants fall to the floor, take his underwear along with them. But Chanyeol doesn’t stay unhappy for long, because then Kyungsoo’s stepping forward, and Chanyeol opens his mouth willingly, lets Kyungsoo slide his cock inside. Kyungsoo’s cock is gorgeous, just like the rest of him, and Chanyeol is completely and utterly hooked.
He licks sloppily up the underside, drags the flat of his tongue around the crown before taking Kyungsoo back in, swallowing hard around the hot, heavy weight. Kyungsoo groans helplessly, and Chanyeol would grin if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied.
“Can I?” Kyungsoo gasps, and when Chanyeol locks eyes with him, nods, he draws almost all the way out before pushing back in, fucking into the wet heat of Chanyeol’s mouth. Chanyeol lets his throat relax, focuses on Kyungsoo’s face, on the sounds that he’s making. On what Chanyeol can do to squeeze more of those sounds out of him. Chanyeol’s always been obliging-always wanted to make other people feel good-but with Kyungsoo, every sensation is heightened and Chanyeol’s cock is straining in his pants, left untouched.
He reaches down, pushes a palm against the crotch of his jeans, starts fumbling with his zipper, when suddenly Kyungsoo’s jerking backwards, out of his mouth.
“I can’t-it’s too-” Kyungsoo breathes by way of explanation, and then Chanyeol’s reaching up, grabbing Kyungsoo’s waist, and dragging him down until Chanyeol’s lying with his back against the hard floor, Kyungsoo straddling him, naked cock rubbing against Chanyeol’s clothed one. It’s intoxicating, and terrible, and just altogether too much.
“Please,” Chanyeol moans, reaching up to brush Kyungsoo’s sweaty bangs out of his eyes. Those eyes, glimmering strangely even in the darkness. “Please, please, please.”
“Table,” Kyungsoo huffs, stumbling to his feet and heading towards his jacket, yanking his shirt over his head as he goes. Chanyeol takes the opportunity to strip down himself, hoping Kyungsoo doesn’t notice how embarrassingly hard he is.
But then Kyungsoo’s drifting back into view, pressing cold, slick fingers against the swell of his own ass, and Chanyeol can hear himself begging Kyungsoo to hurry up, hear himself babbling as Kyungsoo presses one slender finger inside himself, starts fucking it in and out. Because that’s who Chanyeol is-he’s a talker, can never shut up, and luckily Kyungsoo seems to get off on that. Seems to enjoy hearing Chanyeol’s breath hitch when he works another finger in, when he curls his fingers and shudders with his whole body.
Chanyeol isn’t even coherent anymore-just an endless slurring repetition pleasepleasepleasepleaseKyungsoo-and that’s what does it. When Chanyeol gasps out his name, reaches down to fist his own cock because he just can’t take this pressure anymore-that’s when Kyungsoo rolls a condom quickly down Chanyeol’s length, slicks him up, and then leans back, lets Chanyeol start pressing slowly inside.
And Chanyeol hasn’t really-it’s not his first time, of course not, but there also haven’t been many-and that boy, the first boy he ever kissed, he would always go so, so slowly. Would press in inch by inch, drag out the pleasure, let it build and build and build until Chanyeol felt like he was going to explode. Always told Chanyeol to be gentle, to fuck the way he did. But, even if it led to some fantastic orgasms, it was never quite what Chanyeol wanted. What he wanted, he realizes now, choking on a moan of pleasure as Kyungsoo starts speeding up, lifting his hips only to drop back down, impaling himself over and over again on Chanyeol’s impossibly hard cock, hands pressing Chanyeol’s hips hard against the ground, was this. Someone who would fuck hard, rough, like they wanted him to split them in half.
Chanyeol wishes he could freeze this moment in time forever-Kyungsoo hovering over him, leaning down every so often to press wet, open-mouthed kisses to Chanyeol’s thighs, his stomach, his chest, as Chanyeol slams into him. This kind of pleasure isn’t a wave, it doesn’t crest and break. Instead, it’s all around him, absolutely everywhere, inside and outside, and it doesn’t take long before Chanyeol is coming, reaching out to blearily stroke Kyungsoo to completion as he gasps at the sudden spasms, the sudden tightness.
The floor is hard under his shoulders, his hips. He’s going to have bruises tomorrow.
He doesn’t really care.
>
Pairing(s): Chanyeol/Kyungsoo (brief mentions of Sehun/Suho)
Rating: NC-17
Length: 10k words
Summary: Chanyeol has to compose a whole song by the end of the semester for his music composition class. He has a bunch of melodies and beats stored on his laptop, but no decent lyrics to pair them up with. That is, until he stumbles around the city one day and finds his muse.
a/n: They say candles and flowers can help set a mood. Originally posted here.
It’s early in the morning, and Chanyeol is so tired. So. Tired.
Sehun is not helping.
“Can…you…not?” Chanyeol hisses, pitifully yanking his sheets over his head and breathing deeply to prevent himself from doing something he’ll (maybe) regret later, like leaping up and flinging a heavy book at Sehun’s head.
“What, it’s not my fault you decided not to go to class today,” Sehun scoffs, turning around and staring pointedly at Chanyeol as he pokes at the speaker sitting beside his laptop, making the awful rap music blaring from it even louder.
“Whater you talking about?” Chanyeol moans, wishing he could die. Or kill Sehun. Or kill Sehun and then expire from sadness and tiredness and what time is it anyway?
“You do know that it’s almost noon, right?” Sehun laughs, incredibly blasé given the extremely murderous thoughts Chanyeol is directing towards him currently. At least this is further evidence that Sehun can’t read minds, Chanyeol thinks grumpily to himself.
Unless Sehun can read minds and he’s good at not reacting, no matter what weird things you might be thinking, because he doesn’t want you to find out, a tiny voice in the back of his mind whispers. Chanyeol ignores it. Now is not the time to indulge his weird nerdy fears.
“Great,” Chanyeol sighs, finally managing to unclench his fists from the sheets and sit up, running a hand through his undoubtedly disgusting-looking hair. He hasn’t showered in...a little less than 36 hours, if his calculations are to be believed. Which they might not be. Chanyeol’s never been great at math.
“So did you manage to finish that music-whatever assignment you were out doing?” Sehun asks, abandoning his laptop entirely as he spins his chair around to face Chanyeol. “Also, I’d like you to know that everything I’m doing right now is vengeance for you slamming the door when you got back here at like 5:00am last night. This morning. Whatever. I was upset.”
“Oh, you’re upset!” Chanyeol laughs in what he hopes is a dramatically delirious way, but probably just sounds pathetic because he’s seriously dehydrated and he can already feel a terrible sleep-deprivation headache coming on. “But yes, I did finish, thank you so much for asking, you jerk.”
“You’re welcome,” Sehun replies nonchalantly, crossing his legs and flipping a pen back and forth between his fingers. “But actually, besides you rudely awakening me, it’s been a pretty good day. I woke up at 9am, finished my essay, started plotting my revenge, and now here we are! What a productive morning.”
“Well, since I’ve already missed my first two classes I guess there’s no point in me rushing to get ready,” Chanyeol sighs mournfully, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and sliding forward until they touch the floor.
“Be careful in the bathroom!” Sehun calls helpfully, as Chanyeol’s almost out the door. “Some kid came back from a frat party last night and threw up all over the floor next to the second toilet from the right. I honestly don’t know how he missed, the toilet was right there, like-”
Chanyeol cuts him off by swinging the door shut, and then continues his trek down the hallway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying to reconcile the fact that it’s afternoon with the fact that his brain is still stuck in early-morning mode.
Luckily, when he swings open the bathroom door and hears someone in the shower playing music on their phone, his entire mood shifts. They’re listening to some new pop song-Chanyeol doesn’t really keep up with boy groups, but this cheery, nanana-type of song is just what he needs this morning. He grabs his toothbrush from the shelf and bobs his head with the beat. He wiggles along with the harmony. He spits into the sink, pretends his toothbrush is a microphone, and mouths the chorus along with the music as dramatically as he can. He moonwalks over to the paper towel dispenser. He’s just spinning enthusiastically on his heel to toss the paper towel into the trash when the door to the bathroom starts to open. Which is when he jerks in surprise, brushes past the boy who’s just walked in, and shuffles hurriedly back to his room.
Sehun’s gone by the time he gets back, which isn’t really a surprise because Sehun needs to eat every few hours or else his blood sugar drops dramatically and he basically falls into a semi-catatonic state. Chanyeol’s almost impressed that he wanted to get revenge on Chanyeol so badly he was willing to wait a whole extra half hour before getting lunch.
His phone is buzzing on his desk, and Chanyeol doesn’t even need to pick it up to know who’s calling him. God, it hasn’t even been six hours yet. What could he possibly need? Chanyeol is not mentally equipped to deal with people who are that responsible.
“Chanyeol! Hey! Just wanted to let you know that I turned in the project this morning, since you weren’t in class. So don’t worry, that’s done. Thanks for being such a good sport about it. I’m sorry it took so long to finish!”
“Well, that’s not your fault,” Chanyeol replies, annoyed at the small smile that’s crept across his face. Junmyeon is ridiculous, but that only makes him more endearing. Junmyeon probably didn’t fall asleep in all his clothes. He probably brushed his teeth and put on his pajamas like a Real Adult.
“No, if it hadn’t been for my meeting, we could have started earlier, I’m really sorry-” Junmyeon continues, but Chanyeol cuts him off before he can get too ridiculous.
“No, seriously, it wasn’t your fault. What kind of professor only gives his students a week to transpose a piano solo for an orchestra? He’s lucky any of us finished!”
“A couple groups didn’t,” Junmyeon mentions casually, and Chanyeol dutifully ignores the notes of smug satisfaction that have crept into Junmyeon’s voice. Everyone has their vices, and on Junmyeon this particular one is just adorable. He sounds like a mom telling her friends that her kid placed first in the local taekwondo competition.
“See? Go us!” Chanyeol cheers, momentarily satisfied, but then he remembers that it’s now past noon and he really should have gotten up earlier. “Also, I’m really sorry about this…but could you send me the notes from class today? I. Uh. I woke up this morning feeling a little sick, so…”
“Slept through your alarm?” Junmyeon asks sagely, and Chanyeol pouts, though he knows Junmyeon can’t see him. How does Junmyeon just not need sleep? Chanyeol will never understand. “Sure, I’ll send them over as soon as I can.”
“Thank you!” Chanyeol singsongs, because he’s feeling much cheerier now that he’s not at risk of falling asleep while standing up, or sitting down, or doing anything really.
“Or actually…” Junmyeon stops, hesitating, and Chanyeol’s just about to ask what’s up when he continues. “Maybe I could stop by and drop them off this afternoon? Around 4-ish?”
“Ew, stop!” Chanyeol laughs disgustedly, shaking his head and sticking out his tongue.
“Well, can I?” Junmyeon asks, a little grumpily, which makes Chanyeol laugh even harder.
“Fine, fine,” he finally manages to say, grabbing his backpack off the floor and starting to one-handedly dump notebooks into it. “I was thinking about having dinner in the city today, anyway. Just…seriously, stop asking my permission every time you want to bang my roommate. It makes me feel like his dad or something, which is a misery I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”
“Speak for yourself,” Junmyeon says sweetly, “Sehun’s not that bad.”
“LALALALA I DON’T WANT TO KNOW,” Chanyeol bellows, grabbing his computer and manhandling it into his bag. “Okay, look, I’m heading out now. When you…visit…with Sehun later, remind him that he said he would take out the trash on Monday and he still hasn’t so if he doesn’t do it soon, I’m hiding all of his video games somewhere he’ll never find them.”
“Somewhere in the library?” Junmyeon asks knowingly.
“Somewhere in the library,” Chanyeol confirms. “All right, talk to you later?”
“Bye!” Junmyeon chirps, hanging up. Chanyeol sighs, rubbing his face with his hands as he looks despairingly at the mess strewn across his desk. Not that he has time to clean it up right now. Finals are in two weeks, which means he has two weeks to finish his final project for The Most Difficult Class He’s Ever Taken in His Life aka MUSIC140C: Contemporary Music Composition. And his final project-his first, completely original, so-professional-sounding-he-should-be-able-to-send-it-off-to-any-record-producer-without-embarrasment-or-so-it-says-on-the-class-syllabus song-is nowhere near being done.
Chanyeol’s always thought of himself as a pretty creative guy, and pretty good at music. But being pretty creative and pretty good at music is different from being able to write songs on demand. Chanyeol needs inspiration to strike! He needs that burst of creative energy before he can even start coming up with melodies, much less lyrics! Sadly, inspiration seems to have taken the week-month-off from striking him, and so he has absolutely no idea how he’s going to finish this project.
Which is where his plans for tonight come in. Chanyeol’s always loved walking. It’s something he was raised doing, as a suburban kid with a dog, and there’s just something about the repetitive motion of footfalls on concrete, the ability to stop and literally smell the roses, the way the sky looks so big and the cars whipping past feel so frightening, that just makes him feel alive. So, hopefully, if he spends the night walking through the city, he’ll find something-anything-that will help him write. It’s his only hope.
The first place he goes is the park. Chanyeol’s never really been the outdoorsy-type-the one time he and his high school best friend, Baekhyun, had tried to go camping they’d ended up forgetting all the food, breaking a couple tent poles, and ultimately giving up and spending the night in a crappy motel watching telenovelas. But everyone says nature is good for creative inspiration! Wind blowing through the trees, grass swaying like a giant green ocean, moon sparkling brightly overhead as the birds twitter sleepily in their nests. All that.
The only problem is that it’s really dark in the park. Like. Really dark. And Chanyeol is starting to fear for his safety because even though he’s pretty tall and makes negative one hundred dollars a week, someone might think he looks like the perfect target for a mugging. Chanyeol has a weak constitution. He doesn’t think he’d be able to survive someone pointing a gun at him and demanding money he wishes he had. So after wandering down a few dark paths, trying to see the sliver of waning moon between the thick tree branches, and jumping backwards twice to avoid snakes that turned out to just be tree branches, Chanyeol breathes a sigh of relief as he re-emerges onto the well-lit pavement of the city streets. So much for inspiration from nature. Now, where should he go from here?
Chanyeol’s always thought of himself as an okay wanderer, but the more he walks aimlessly up and down the streets, the more he realizes how untrue that is. Chanyeol never leaves his house unless he has a mission. Sure, sometimes that mission is to wander down a certain street or to find a certain-colored bird or to try every single curry shop within a two-mile radius of his apartment. But he needs a destination. This random wandering is…boring. And he keeps getting distracted every time he passes a lighted shop window-does he need to buy eggs soon? Should he even try to replace his school backpack, because he managed to fix that huge rip pretty well with duct tape and it’ll probably be fine?-and that is not helping his creativity at all.
After half an hour of wading through clouds of cigarette smoke every time he passes an alley, wincing every time his slightly-too-small sneakers rub against his heel, and hearing his stomach grumble every time he passes a nice-smelling restaurant, Chanyeol gives up. He’s done with this inspiration thing. Maybe he was never meant to be an artist! Maybe he should just give up and become a lawyer or a doctor or an engineer like his sell-out friends. Chanyeol can’t stop himself from snorting in laughter when that last thought enters his head. He wouldn’t last a day in any class not music-related. He’s been struggling enough in his Creative Writing and History of Art classes, and those are meant for kids like him who never want to solve a single equation or memorize a court case ever again. He’s not like Junmyeon, who takes hard courses, completely unrelated to his major, for fun, because he wants “depth” of education. Though he can’t exactly knock Junmyeon’s academic goals, because he would never have finished that last project without him.
He’s almost back to his apartment, trudging mournfully past his favorite grocery store, a couple dive bars, and that sketchy dark alley he always tries to avoid even during the day, when Chanyeol decides that he’s walked too far and too long not to get something good out of this trip. So he turns down a small sidestreet and ducks into his absolute favorite little Korean restaurant-they make up takeout orders ridiculously quickly, they always make their ddeokbokki just spicy enough, and it always tastes so comforting when he’s feeling tired and homesick.
The little bell above the door rings sharply when he pushes it open, and Chanyeol feels his heart flutter a bit in surprise. He’s never liked loud, sudden noises-unless he’s the one making them. But it’s also familiar, and comforting in its own way, and Chanyeol throws himself down in a chair at the counter with every intention of sleepily ordering food, heading back to his dorm room to devour it as quickly as possible, and then falling asleep pondering his inevitable failure in class/life. But that’s not what ends up happening.
Because when Chanyeol looks up to see someone approaching him, ready to take his order, his heart does a weird cough-hiccup thing that makes him feel a bit like he’s been kicked in the chest and then told to do a backflip.
“What do you want?” the boy asks, because why wouldn’t he, it’s his job to ask, and Chanyeol knows he should be answering but he’s too busy staring because this boy. This boy. And it still feels a little weird to think about-a little sharp and unwieldy, like a too-big chest of drawers shoved into the corner of a too-small apartment-because it was just last year that Chanyeol met the boy who told him that it was okay if Chanyeol wanted to kiss him. Who said that Chanyeol could kiss him even if, up until that day, Chanyeol had never even thought that kissing a boy was an option-had never wanted like that before. And since then, Chanyeol has been fine, has had a few short flings, a few nights of soft skin sliding against his fingers as he drops to his knees and smiles up through his eyelashes, smooths his hands up black stockings and under short, tight miniskirts, and he hasn’t wanted anything more, but this boy brings all those feelings bubbling to the surface again. Chanyeol doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he has to admit that this boy is beautiful.
“Are you okay?” the boy asks, dragging Chanyeol’s focus back to his face-back to his mouth-and Chanyeol is glad, for once, of his ability to talk endlessly about nothing because it allows him to order his food, to smile cheerfully, to put a straw in the glass of water the boy brings him and start to suck it down without having to involve any higher brain functions. Because he really doesn’t think he’s capable of any of those right now.
“Hey,” the boy says, catching Chanyeol’s eye without making a move in his direction. Shy, then. Kind of quiet. “Sorry, your food is probably going to take a little while. Ten minutes? Is that okay?”
“Sure, sure,” Chanyeol murmurs, flashing the boy another smile. He doesn’t return it-instead turning back to his seat behind the cash register, drawing a book out from a lower shelf and opening it to a bookmarked page.
It’s so quiet in the shop. It’s late enough that Chanyeol is one of only two or three customers, and none of them are being particularly loud. That’s another reason Chanyeol likes this place. It’s not a haven for rowdy drunk college kids out way to late-early?-at night, like most of the pizza places near campus. But now the quiet is making him itchy. He wants to talk…well, if he’s being honest with himself he wants to talk to that boy. But he doesn’t want to disturb him? Chanyeol’s been called annoying enough times to know that it’s far too easy to disturb the balance between funny and too-loud, cute and ridiculous, sweet and clingy. But Chanyeol’s never been one to back down from a conversation with a cute human, so he makes up his mind, gets up from his chair, and slides over onto the stool directly to the right of the register. The boy doesn’t look up from his book, but Chanyeol can see his shoulders tense slightly.
“So, what’s your name?” Chanyeol asks conversationally, flashing his best smile. Maybe it didn’t work last time, but his smile is his trademark. His sister always says it’s his most attractive feature-“draws attention from that whole ear situation you have going on,” she had laughed last Christmas, ruffling his hair.
“What?” the boy asks, and Chanyeol can tell he heard perfectly fine, but is giving Chanyeol a chance to rephrase or change his question. Unamused. Slightly irritated. Off to a bad start.
“Your name,” Chanyeol repeats, unperturbed. He’s used to people-especially introverts-being a little thrown off by his forwardness. No reason to let that stop him so early in the game.
“Kyungsoo,” the boy mutters, a little too quickly, as if he doesn’t really want Chanyeol to hear it. Well, now, that’s just rude.
“You’re Korean too!” Chanyeol exclaims delightedly, as the boy gives him a strange, slightly confused look.
“Well, I mean, I work in a Korean restaurant,” the boy-Kyungsoo-says with just a slight lilting sarcasm coloring his words. “It would make sense if I was Korean.”
“Not really,” Chanyeol counters, pleased that Kyungsoo is continuing the conversation. “I waited tables at an Italian restaurant all throughout high school, and I’m obviously not Italian.”
“Not that obvious,” Kyungsoo shrugs, letting his eyes drift down to his book though Chanyeol can tell he’s not really reading it anymore. “You could be half.”
“Nope, no exotic mixing here,” Chanyeol laughs-a bit softer than usual, because he knows his typical head-thrown-back style of laughter can frighten some people off. Then he decides to follow this truth up with a bold-faced lie. “Hey, do you go the university? I think I’ve seen you around campus before.”
“I’ve never seen you,” Kyungsoo squints suspiciously at Chanyeol, and Chanyeol has to smother a giggle because he looks so young when he does that. “But yeah. I do. Go there.”
“Major? Living off-campus? Sorry, you know I have to ask,” Chanyeol smiles, letting his grin widen a bit when Kyungsoo makes a mock-gagging sound and sighs long-sufferingly.
“I’m studying biology, considering a double major or minor in theater studies,” Kyungsoo says in a sarcastic sing-song. He’s obviously a upperclassman, then, been in school long enough to get tired of having to explain his interests to every random stranger. “I live somewhere around here, but it’s not like I’m going to tell you where, random stranger I have never seen or spoken to before.”
“You want to be an actor? Screenwriter?” Chanyeol asks, ignoring the pointed jab in that last sentence.
“Of course not, don’t be stupid,” Kyungsoo snorts before catching himself. Chanyeol can see his eyes darken when he realizes maybe he shouldn’t be this familiar with or this rude to someone who is, in the end, a customer. “Sorry. What I meant was, obviously being an actor isn’t a very stable career option. Hence the biology. I’ll spend my days pipetting and my nights standing onstage with a bunch of other bitter actor-wannabes pretending to be people we aren’t and talking about the way the world crushed our dreams like a bag of day-old garbage in a trash compactor at the dump.”
“Well, if you’re this poetic all the time, I bet you could write one of those depressing plays pretty easily,” Chanyeol muses, pleased to note that Kyungsoo’s head jerks up at that and he looks-really looks-at Chanyeol, for the first time. “I’m a music major. So I guess it’s kind of my duty to try to sway you away from the stupidly profitable but soul-sucking scientific fields.”
“Hey, don’t knock science,” Kyungsoo smirks, closing his book and resting his head in his hands. Chanyeol resists the urge to fist-pump the air in triumph. “Without it, you’d probably be married by now because your life expectancy would be 30 or 40 years, max. Then again, you seem like you might be one of those people no decent fifteenth-century 16-year-old girl would want to marry.”
“I’m hurt!” Chanyeol gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’ll have you know that I was the stud of my freshman dorm. I had a new girlfriend every month.”
“Really?” Kyungsoo laughs disbelievingly, and Chanyeol desperately hopes he hears a note of disappointment in his voice, but he could be making it up. God, Kyungsoo is so hot.
“No,” Chanyeol admits. “I had a girlfriend in high school, but when I got here I was too busy being confused about everything and making out with a hot boy from my piano theory class to really do the whole relationship thing.”
“I get that,” Kyungsoo grins ruefully, licking his lips, and Chanyeol’s eyes are drawn once again to the fullness of them, the thought of how they would feel pressed against his own, how easily Kyungsoo would fit against his tall, thin frame. No, nope, no, pay attention, stop thinking about those things.
“Really?” Chanyeol asks, and then, because he’s always lacked self-control and it’s been a really long time since…and Kyungsoo is so… “I would have thought you’d always have someone after you, trying to get you to hook up with them. You’re so…well, hot.”
“Thanks,” Kyungsoo laughs lightly. Unabashed, not a hint of a blush. He’s used to being complimented, likes it. And as Kyungsoo lets his gaze slide off of Chanyeol’s face, Chanyeol thinks he sees something shift in his eyes, dimly lit by the dusky overhead lighting. “But most people are too concerned with the getting to know my soul and the taking me out on cute dates to get around the to the fucking. Apparently I’m too cute for one-night stands. It’s a pity, really.”
Chanyeol’s not quite sure what to say to that-well, actually, he knows exactly what he wants to say to that, but he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t actually say it out loud-so he’s glad when the door to the kitchen suddenly opens, and a man comes out to hand a brown paper bag to Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo opens it to check the contents, then reaches out to hand it to Chanyeol. Except Chanyeol gets there first. Gets there and wraps his fingers around Kyungsoo’s, rather than around the crinkled paper.
Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow, but there’s just as much disbelief in his expression as there is amusement.
“You do have a phone number, don’t you?” Chanyeol asks slowly, letting Kyungsoo slide his fingers out from beneath Chanyeol’s. They ghost across his palm, slide smoothly against his skin. Kyungsoo has nice fingers. Chanyeol wonders idly what they would feel like inside of him.
“So was this all your weird version of hitting on me?” Kyungsoo asks indignantly, but Chanyeol sees that he’s reaching for a pen and smiles smugly.
“Maybe,” Chanyeol shrugs. But he drops his nonchalant grin when he sees Kyungsoo studying him thoughtfully. Apparently, he measures up, because Kyungsoo scribbles some numbers across the top of his paper bag of food before shoving the bag towards him.
“I get off at 10,” Kyungsoo murmurs, leaning against the counter. “You’re not coming to my place.”
“I live in a dorm room,” Chanyeol informs him, wincing slightly at Kyungsoo’s disgusted sigh.
“Then you better get creative,” Kyungsoo smirks, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head. He’s so comfortable, so in-control, and Chanyeol suddenly feels the weight of inexperience crashing down on his head. Not that he’s ever let that stop him before.
“I’ll let you know,” Chanyeol nods in response, waving his phone in Kyungsoo’s face like he’s trying to convince Kyungsoo he actually owns one.
It’s not until Chanyeol’s back out on the dark streets, about to let himself into his building, that he realizes what a completely insane thing he’s just done. Chanyeol Park is many things, and impulsive is most certainly one of them, but he’s never invited a random stranger back to his house before. It’s one thing to drag a guy out to the parking lot behind a club and press him against the hard brick, or to cling to some girl at a party and stumble into a convenient bathroom, let her blow him against the cold porcelain sink. But it’s quite another to propose casual sex to a waiter in one of his favorite restaurants when neither of them were under the influence of any kind of alcohol. Well, at least Chanyeol wasn’t. And Kyungsoo seems like the responsible type-the kind of guy who wouldn’t drink on the job, no matter how dull that job was.
Not that Chanyeol would really know what kind of person Kyungsoo is.
All he knows is that Kyungsoo’s lips are the kind he’d like to bite, and Kyungsoo’s eyes are deep and dark, and Kyungsoo’s throat is smooth and pale and Chanyeol would like to paint it with bruises, press his mouth into Kyungsoo’s skin and inhale.
It takes exactly five minutes for Chanyeol to convince Junmyeon to let him spend the night in his apartment. Five minutes. Either he’s losing his touch, or Sehun is. But, either way, it means that at exactly a quarter to ten he’s texting Kyungsoo-assuming Kyungsoo gave him his real phone number-the address to a clean, dark apartment in a fairly good part of town not far from where Kyungsoo currently is-assuming Kyungsoo actually does get off at 10 and he wasn’t just saying that to get Chanyeol to leave.
The longer Chanyeol sits, alone in that clean, dark apartment, the more surreal the whole thing seems. There’s no reason he should be doing this-should want to do this. But there’s just something about Kyungsoo. His eyes, maybe, or his mouth, or his fingers, that just makes Chanyeol’s skin crawl with excitement, with desire.
He hums a little melody to himself to pass the time. It’s not something he recognizes-either he’s making it up as he goes along, or it’s from something he watched or heard long ago and no longer remembers. Either way, it fits the mood of the evening. Heavy with mystery, with endless waiting, moments frozen in sticky, syrupy time that moves so, so slowly, the minute hand of Junmyeon’s nice, modern-looking clock trapped in amber or ice.
When someone knocks on the door, Chanyeol practically jumps out of his skin.
He’s not really the nervous type, not the type to worry and fret and wonder, but he can’t stop his hand from shaking a little when he pulls the door open to see-
Kyungsoo.
Damn, is the only thought Chanyeol can coherently form. That’s all. Because Kyungsoo is standing here, on Junmyeon’s doorstep, looking mildly relieved to see Chanyeol and not some creepy old man. And he’s just gorgeous. Made to be wanted.
“Thank god,” Kyungsoo murmurs, stepping inside and letting Chanyeol push the door closed behind him. The thud rings loudly in the muffled awkward silence hanging thickly between them. “I was almost afraid you were going to end up being a murderer and were just trying to lure me here so you could kill me.”
“What makes you think that still isn’t my plan?” Chanyeol laughs, as Kyungsoo takes off his jacket and drapes it carefully over the back of a chair.
“Well, now that I’ve actually gotten to see you up close, I know I can take you,” Kyungsoo teases, but something about his tone tells Chanyeol that he isn’t entirely joking. He’s more than a little worried about the fact that that turns him on a little.
“Well…” Chanyeol says slowly, drawing it out like he’s back in high school, still figuring out the best ways to fill up silences, make them friends instead of enemies, and not quite succeeding. “Are we going to do this or…?”
“Your dirty talk could use some work,” Kyungsoo laughs, but Chanyeol knows what an opening looks like, and he takes it. They’re so close together. And when Chanyeol steps forward, there’s no space between them at all.
And Kyungsoo does fit perfectly against him, and when Chanyeol leans down to kiss him, his lips feel like fire. Kyungsoo kisses like he talks-hiding certainty and heat behind pretended shyness, playing at coyness while steadily pushing Chanyeol backwards until his back hits the wall. Chanyeol gasps in momentary pain as his head collides with the hard wood, and Kyungsoo presses closer against him at the sound, curls a hand around the nape of Chanyeol’s head and rubs gently at the tender area. He’s already half-hard, and Chanyeol feels a streak of pleasure curl in his stomach.
Of course, just as Chanyeol’s getting into the swing of things, figuring out where to press to make Kyungsoo sigh, how to angle his head to slot their mouths more closely together, Kyungsoo stops, pulls away, wipes his mouth with one hand. His lips are so, so red.
“Look, if we’re going to do this…” Kyungsoo mutters, voice slightly strained, wrecked, beautiful. “Don’t be gentle with me. This won’t work if you treat me like some cute, pretty, breakable doll.” Like everyone else does. The implication comes through loud and clear.
“Okay,” Chanyeol says, letting his eyes meet Kyungsoo’s, willing him to understand that Chanyeol gets it. There’s nothing he hates more than people putting him in a box, categorizing and dividing before he even gets a say. “Let’s do this.”
It’s so quiet in Junmyeon’s stupid, clean, dark, tastefully-furnished apartment.
“Want you to suck me off,” Kyungsoo whispers then, so quietly Chanyeol almost misses the words.
“What?” Chanyeol asks instinctively, daring Kyungsoo to repeat, but Kyungsoo doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward, grabs a fistful of Chanyeol’s hair, and shoves.
It’s not much-not enough to force Chanyeol down if he didn’t want to go. But Chanyeol does go, drops heavily to his knees, lets a slightly-too-pathetic moan slip out of his mouth because, what with all the kissing, he’s so turned on.
He reaches blindly for Kyungsoo’s pants, fumbles with the zipper, hums discontentedly when Kyungsoo pushes his hands away, undoes the buttons himself and lets his pants fall to the floor, take his underwear along with them. But Chanyeol doesn’t stay unhappy for long, because then Kyungsoo’s stepping forward, and Chanyeol opens his mouth willingly, lets Kyungsoo slide his cock inside. Kyungsoo’s cock is gorgeous, just like the rest of him, and Chanyeol is completely and utterly hooked.
He licks sloppily up the underside, drags the flat of his tongue around the crown before taking Kyungsoo back in, swallowing hard around the hot, heavy weight. Kyungsoo groans helplessly, and Chanyeol would grin if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied.
“Can I?” Kyungsoo gasps, and when Chanyeol locks eyes with him, nods, he draws almost all the way out before pushing back in, fucking into the wet heat of Chanyeol’s mouth. Chanyeol lets his throat relax, focuses on Kyungsoo’s face, on the sounds that he’s making. On what Chanyeol can do to squeeze more of those sounds out of him. Chanyeol’s always been obliging-always wanted to make other people feel good-but with Kyungsoo, every sensation is heightened and Chanyeol’s cock is straining in his pants, left untouched.
He reaches down, pushes a palm against the crotch of his jeans, starts fumbling with his zipper, when suddenly Kyungsoo’s jerking backwards, out of his mouth.
“I can’t-it’s too-” Kyungsoo breathes by way of explanation, and then Chanyeol’s reaching up, grabbing Kyungsoo’s waist, and dragging him down until Chanyeol’s lying with his back against the hard floor, Kyungsoo straddling him, naked cock rubbing against Chanyeol’s clothed one. It’s intoxicating, and terrible, and just altogether too much.
“Please,” Chanyeol moans, reaching up to brush Kyungsoo’s sweaty bangs out of his eyes. Those eyes, glimmering strangely even in the darkness. “Please, please, please.”
“Table,” Kyungsoo huffs, stumbling to his feet and heading towards his jacket, yanking his shirt over his head as he goes. Chanyeol takes the opportunity to strip down himself, hoping Kyungsoo doesn’t notice how embarrassingly hard he is.
But then Kyungsoo’s drifting back into view, pressing cold, slick fingers against the swell of his own ass, and Chanyeol can hear himself begging Kyungsoo to hurry up, hear himself babbling as Kyungsoo presses one slender finger inside himself, starts fucking it in and out. Because that’s who Chanyeol is-he’s a talker, can never shut up, and luckily Kyungsoo seems to get off on that. Seems to enjoy hearing Chanyeol’s breath hitch when he works another finger in, when he curls his fingers and shudders with his whole body.
Chanyeol isn’t even coherent anymore-just an endless slurring repetition pleasepleasepleasepleaseKyungsoo-and that’s what does it. When Chanyeol gasps out his name, reaches down to fist his own cock because he just can’t take this pressure anymore-that’s when Kyungsoo rolls a condom quickly down Chanyeol’s length, slicks him up, and then leans back, lets Chanyeol start pressing slowly inside.
And Chanyeol hasn’t really-it’s not his first time, of course not, but there also haven’t been many-and that boy, the first boy he ever kissed, he would always go so, so slowly. Would press in inch by inch, drag out the pleasure, let it build and build and build until Chanyeol felt like he was going to explode. Always told Chanyeol to be gentle, to fuck the way he did. But, even if it led to some fantastic orgasms, it was never quite what Chanyeol wanted. What he wanted, he realizes now, choking on a moan of pleasure as Kyungsoo starts speeding up, lifting his hips only to drop back down, impaling himself over and over again on Chanyeol’s impossibly hard cock, hands pressing Chanyeol’s hips hard against the ground, was this. Someone who would fuck hard, rough, like they wanted him to split them in half.
Chanyeol wishes he could freeze this moment in time forever-Kyungsoo hovering over him, leaning down every so often to press wet, open-mouthed kisses to Chanyeol’s thighs, his stomach, his chest, as Chanyeol slams into him. This kind of pleasure isn’t a wave, it doesn’t crest and break. Instead, it’s all around him, absolutely everywhere, inside and outside, and it doesn’t take long before Chanyeol is coming, reaching out to blearily stroke Kyungsoo to completion as he gasps at the sudden spasms, the sudden tightness.
The floor is hard under his shoulders, his hips. He’s going to have bruises tomorrow.
He doesn’t really care.
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