the set
It was late and he wasn’t answering his phone, again. You juggle your phone, bottled waters, and the bag of takeout you had just picked up as you enter the passcode to get into the SMent building, trying not to drop anything in your rush.
If he wasn’t there, then you give yourself permission to start worrying, until then, worrying wasn’t going to make the elevators move any faster.
No ones around, the building deserted at this late hour, so the quiet only seems to make the lights showing which floor the elevator was on move excruciatingly slower 3… 2… 1… the doors open and you’re pressing the button for the 5th floor before you’re even all the way into the lift. 3… 4… 5.
As soon as the doors open and your foot connects with the 5th floor you feel it and your tension fades and you can’t help but smile.
You feel it more than you can hear it at first, the subtle thumping echoing through the bottoms of your shoes and up through your legs, the beat growing stronger as you walk down the hallway to the only practice room with the light still on. Three feet away you stop and put the food and drinks on the floor, bending over to slip off your shoes and socks, discarding them into a messy pile. This close you can feel it vibrating through you, the sensation only enhanced by being barefooted.
Even though the instrument practice rooms are soundproof, when he plays, it seems like building doesn’t want to keep it totally hidden away in the small room, and even though you can’t hear the drums, you can feel them.
You close your eyes and feel him moving through different rhythms, gliding and twisting through different snatches of music. Some of the patterns are familiar to you, some from his music, some from other popular songs, some unfamiliar, all morphing together and flowing through different emotions, melodic yet raw. Reopening your eyes, you sneak forward to peek into the practice room, trying to make sure he doesn’t see you right away.
This was one of your favorite parts of your life with him, watching him play. Luckily, the lights were low and his eyes were closed, so you have time. As you lean against the wall across the hallway from the large window in the practice room, you feel the rhythm echo through your back as well, and you marvel at how strong the sensation is as it courses through you.
You take a deep breath focus on him; even though he’s lowered the lights to as low as they will go, it only accentuates his body form. He’s discarded his shirt and thrown it haphazardly over one of the extra chairs in the practice room.
You feel yourself smirk as you watch him, first his arms. He’s been playing for a while, his skin has a slight sheen of sweat, only accentuating the movement of his body, the light catching on the highlights and casting shadows only further defining his musculature and the veins in his forearms.
With each movement his muscles flex, the visual rhythm matching the vibrations running through your feet and back.
As he leans forward to hit the cymbal, the lights draw your attention to his shoulders, sinew taut and flexing.
As he leans back and twists towards you to hit the snare your eyes travel down his torso, the light barely feathering over his chest but just enough to show the definition.
He twists and reaches, his skin ripples over his muscles as they tense and relax.
His hair, starting to get too long, his bangs reaching his sharp jawline, was loose again, probably shaken loose from a hair tie earlier in the evening. It was mostly obscuring his face since his head was tilted down, a few strands sticking to his skin.
Even though his face was down, you knew his eyes were closed and his lower lip was being tortured by his teeth. After a few beats the atmosphere begins to change, the pace both slower and more frantic, the notes deeper, his movement slowing as the majority of his playing is now with his foot on the bass.
His arms are tense, his rhythm quick, working itself into a tizzy, faster and faster. Slowly, his chin lifts until his face is lifted towards the ceiling. His eyes are still closed, lips slightly parted, and swollen from his own abuse.
The soft lighting throws shadows under his jaw, defining it even more, but his adams apple catches the light, slowly moving with his heaving panting and the slight moans you knew were crossing his lips.
His chest expands and contracts with his breathing, speeding up with the pace of his playing.
You press your back and arms against the wall you’re leaning on, getting as much skin in contact with the waves of vibration as you possibly can, absorbing his energy as he plays. His crescendo is rocking through you, promising to peak soon as his face tilts back down, his body beginning to curl into himself as he gets closer and closer, faster, faster, faster, his moving becoming less precise with his music not showing a hint of how frantic his movements were.
Suddenly his head snaps back as he dramatically hits his last notes and his arms still, even though he’s panting, your eyes transfixed as he swallows.
Your feet carry you forward to the glass window separating you, and you gasp as his eyes slowly flutter open, immediately meeting yours. As he acknowledges your presence, his familiar grin takes over his face, but he catches a corner of his lower lip between his teeth, his grin turning into something slightly more mischievous. He beckons you into the room, and you stumble over yourself a little in your rush into his arms.
He’s still sitting as he pulls you between his legs to hug you. He wraps his long arms around your waist, and you feel secure in their strength as he squeezes you, and he rubs his cheek against your stomach as you intwine your fingers into his hair and lean over him. As if on cue, both of your stomachs growl in unison.
“Babe… please tell me you brought food,” Chanyeol looks up at you with those puppy eyes, ever present smile, and his breathing still heavy enough to make your heart flutter.
“I think that performance earns you some food!” you laugh, as you untangle yourself from him and walk into the hallway to grab the food you had brought.
if you accidentally find this please don't judge me i have no idea what i'm doing
also the rhythm is basically the same as this song by Beenzino that he's rapped a few times
If he wasn’t there, then you give yourself permission to start worrying, until then, worrying wasn’t going to make the elevators move any faster.
No ones around, the building deserted at this late hour, so the quiet only seems to make the lights showing which floor the elevator was on move excruciatingly slower 3… 2… 1… the doors open and you’re pressing the button for the 5th floor before you’re even all the way into the lift. 3… 4… 5.
As soon as the doors open and your foot connects with the 5th floor you feel it and your tension fades and you can’t help but smile.
You feel it more than you can hear it at first, the subtle thumping echoing through the bottoms of your shoes and up through your legs, the beat growing stronger as you walk down the hallway to the only practice room with the light still on. Three feet away you stop and put the food and drinks on the floor, bending over to slip off your shoes and socks, discarding them into a messy pile. This close you can feel it vibrating through you, the sensation only enhanced by being barefooted.
Even though the instrument practice rooms are soundproof, when he plays, it seems like building doesn’t want to keep it totally hidden away in the small room, and even though you can’t hear the drums, you can feel them.
You close your eyes and feel him moving through different rhythms, gliding and twisting through different snatches of music. Some of the patterns are familiar to you, some from his music, some from other popular songs, some unfamiliar, all morphing together and flowing through different emotions, melodic yet raw. Reopening your eyes, you sneak forward to peek into the practice room, trying to make sure he doesn’t see you right away.
This was one of your favorite parts of your life with him, watching him play. Luckily, the lights were low and his eyes were closed, so you have time. As you lean against the wall across the hallway from the large window in the practice room, you feel the rhythm echo through your back as well, and you marvel at how strong the sensation is as it courses through you.
You take a deep breath focus on him; even though he’s lowered the lights to as low as they will go, it only accentuates his body form. He’s discarded his shirt and thrown it haphazardly over one of the extra chairs in the practice room.
You feel yourself smirk as you watch him, first his arms. He’s been playing for a while, his skin has a slight sheen of sweat, only accentuating the movement of his body, the light catching on the highlights and casting shadows only further defining his musculature and the veins in his forearms.
With each movement his muscles flex, the visual rhythm matching the vibrations running through your feet and back.
As he leans forward to hit the cymbal, the lights draw your attention to his shoulders, sinew taut and flexing.
As he leans back and twists towards you to hit the snare your eyes travel down his torso, the light barely feathering over his chest but just enough to show the definition.
He twists and reaches, his skin ripples over his muscles as they tense and relax.
His hair, starting to get too long, his bangs reaching his sharp jawline, was loose again, probably shaken loose from a hair tie earlier in the evening. It was mostly obscuring his face since his head was tilted down, a few strands sticking to his skin.
Even though his face was down, you knew his eyes were closed and his lower lip was being tortured by his teeth. After a few beats the atmosphere begins to change, the pace both slower and more frantic, the notes deeper, his movement slowing as the majority of his playing is now with his foot on the bass.
His arms are tense, his rhythm quick, working itself into a tizzy, faster and faster. Slowly, his chin lifts until his face is lifted towards the ceiling. His eyes are still closed, lips slightly parted, and swollen from his own abuse.
The soft lighting throws shadows under his jaw, defining it even more, but his adams apple catches the light, slowly moving with his heaving panting and the slight moans you knew were crossing his lips.
His chest expands and contracts with his breathing, speeding up with the pace of his playing.
You press your back and arms against the wall you’re leaning on, getting as much skin in contact with the waves of vibration as you possibly can, absorbing his energy as he plays. His crescendo is rocking through you, promising to peak soon as his face tilts back down, his body beginning to curl into himself as he gets closer and closer, faster, faster, faster, his moving becoming less precise with his music not showing a hint of how frantic his movements were.
Suddenly his head snaps back as he dramatically hits his last notes and his arms still, even though he’s panting, your eyes transfixed as he swallows.
Your feet carry you forward to the glass window separating you, and you gasp as his eyes slowly flutter open, immediately meeting yours. As he acknowledges your presence, his familiar grin takes over his face, but he catches a corner of his lower lip between his teeth, his grin turning into something slightly more mischievous. He beckons you into the room, and you stumble over yourself a little in your rush into his arms.
He’s still sitting as he pulls you between his legs to hug you. He wraps his long arms around your waist, and you feel secure in their strength as he squeezes you, and he rubs his cheek against your stomach as you intwine your fingers into his hair and lean over him. As if on cue, both of your stomachs growl in unison.
“Babe… please tell me you brought food,” Chanyeol looks up at you with those puppy eyes, ever present smile, and his breathing still heavy enough to make your heart flutter.
“I think that performance earns you some food!” you laugh, as you untangle yourself from him and walk into the hallway to grab the food you had brought.
if you accidentally find this please don't judge me i have no idea what i'm doing
also the rhythm is basically the same as this song by Beenzino that he's rapped a few times