Sweet Dreams Are Made of This (3/?)
Title: Sweet Dreams Are Made of This (3/?)
Author: enigmaxempress
Pairing: OT5
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incubi. And lots of literary liberties taken in writing about them.
Summary: Night, like a slithering veil, descends and it’s then the monsters come out to play. They’re everywhere, lurking at every street corner and peering from the shadows. You can’t hide from the darkness and there are those who don’t try to.
A/N: My little pet project for the longest time. Not complete yet, but it’s looking to be epic on all accounts. Sequel to a fic I wrote a long, long, loooooong time ago, Sweet Dreams, Beautiful Nightmares. You need to read that one first in order to understand this one.
“He so wants me.” Yoochun preens, handing out his round of shots. He throws around a few smiles and sends off a few winks. Changmin rolls his eyes.
“What?” he responds hurriedly between orders. He mixes a couple of drinks before getting back to Yoochun. “Who wants you?”
“Duckbutt at three o’clock.” Yoochun tilts his head almost imperceptibly to the right. Changmin follows discretely with his eyes and sure enough, at the end of the long counter is an attractive man with a very generous behind looking right at them.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not you he’s looking at, hyung. He’d be too blinded by the glare off your wide forehead to notice much of your face.”
Yoochun sputters in disbelief at the comment and Changmin just has to laugh. His eyes roam back to the man indirectly the cause of his current humor, and their gazes lock. The man’s mouth quirks up in a semblance of a smile and suddenly its déjà vu when his heart stops, breath stolen when those eyes flash and-
“I’m gonna go talk to him.”
“What? Wait, hyung, don’t-”
“Can I get a drink, please?”
Changmin looks away for a second and that’s all the opening Yoochun needs. He approaches the man with customary smile in place, warm and welcoming, the look in his eyes providing wicked suggestions his mouth can’t-yet. “What can I get you?” Yoochun asks, and the man smiles, a tiny one that’s more of a smirk really, but Yoochun can’t imagine it on a face like that.
“I’m not here for the drinks,” he answers. Okay so maybe Yoochun can. The man is eyeing him with a look that’s far from innocent. Yoochun gives him one anyway, something light and fruity - on the house.
“Can I ask what you are here for?” the man cocks his head to the side, seemingly thinking, and it’d be cute except he’s looking at Yoochun and licking his lips in the most unsubtle way possible.
“The view’s nice.” Then his eyes are gone, leaving Yoochun to skim the stage where skimpily clad women twist and turn on metal poles in time to a heavy beat. Oh. Well that’s kind of obvious.
“If there’s anything I can do for you, if I can get you anything - ”
“Just standing there is good actually.” The man focuses on him again, megawatt smile in place. Yoochun refuses to admit it, even to himself, but his breath catches. Like a tiny hiccup the air gets stuck in his throat and for a moment he almost can’t breathe. It’s as if the man’s smiling just for him.
“I look good horizontal too. Preferably on a bed. And naked. It’d be a bonus if you were there too. Also naked.” There’s a moment where Yoochun thinks he’s gone too far, because the man is silent, unresponsive, and it makes Yoochun just want to shove a foot into his mouth. Then the man laughs.
“You’re not very good at subtlety, are you?” the man asks between guffaws. Eu kyang kyang. Yoochun sighs in relief and rethinks that foot in his mouth.
“I’m not even trying,” he admits, confidence once again bolstered now that he’s sure he hasn’t offended anybody. “How’s this for unsubtle: your name is…?” The man never stops smiling but it’s been a different one every time. This one’s large, all teeth. A secret smile. Yoochun is intrigued.
“Xiah,” he breathes and Yoochun doesn’t know how he hears it said so low when the music is so loud. It’s like it echoes off in his head, bouncing off the walls of his mind, only to take root until Yoochun is sure he’ll never be able to forget. “You’re not going to ask me my number now, are you?”
“I don’t have to,” Yoochun says with a grin.
“Why is that?” Xiah asks, eyes bright, so bright, and lit with something more than curiosity.
“Because you’re going to give it to me without me having to ask.”
Xiah blinks, then shakes his head with a chuckle when the implication sinks in. “I should have seen that one coming.”
“Yes, you should have,” Yoochun agrees, smug. “But I charmed you with my wit and good looks, so your momentary lapse in judgment is understandable.”
Xiah laughs again, the sound becoming increasingly familiar, something Yoochun wouldn’t mind hearing on a regular basis. “Good answer. But that’s not it at all.”
“Oh? What ways have I charmed you then?”
“I’m sure that’s not very hard to figure out,” Xiah replies, words as coy as the way he slowly leans away from the counter. “We should continue this conversation.”
“We should. We definitely should.” Yoochun’s a little excited now, assuming Xiah meant in private. “Listen, I get off at-”
“But later.” Xiah shoots him a little mocking smile, and Yoochun has to scramble to hide the disappointment on his face. “Until next time…?” He disappears into the moving crowd, and Yoochun doesn’t even try not to stare.
“I suggest you pick your jaw up off the floor before it becomes permanently unhinged,” Changmin says all of a sudden, startling Yoochun with an elbow at his back as he passes from behind.
“Hey, can I get some drinks over here?” one of the servers calls out, noticeably irritated just as Yoochun opens his mouth to make an equally smart remark. He has to close it again before he can say anything, but that’s okay because when he picks up Xiah’s half-empty glass, a small strip of paper is underneath with a local number scrawled in red ink. Yoochun didn’t even have to ask for it.
He’s all smiles and more sleaze as the night progresses, the frequent flashing of his dimples in hopes that Xiah would come over to the bar again garnering him more tips and odd looks from Changmin. Yoochun wallows in his good mood, the little strip of paper burning a hole into the back of his jeans pocket on the way home. He’s itching to call but he knows he has to wait till morning at a decent hour when the rest of the world - along with Xiah - were most likely to be awake.
He’s physically exhausted and just a little drunk, the acrid smell of sweat and smoke seeping into his pores. He still has trouble sleeping but then again it’s always been that way. He figures all the lying awake he did as a child listening to his parents argue might have something to do with it. Tonight is no different. His body is tired but his mind is still racing and it takes a while for the thoughts to slow and take anchor.
The transition into sleep is smooth and uninterrupted. One minute he’s taking mental inventory of all the flip flops he owns when, all of a sudden, he’s sitting on a dark cloud, little wisps of red smoke curling around his fingers. Yoochun lifts them slowly, swirling red smoke with his fingertips. The cloud he’s sitting on ripples as if in a sigh, though how it could isn’t something Yoochun dwells on. He stretches his arms tentatively, feeling out the rest of what he’s sitting on. He runs his hands over what feels like a thick mist, solid but not. His fingers are able to move freely through the red smoke yet he’s still sitting in it.
Yoochun ponders this curiously, as you could only in a dream; he doesn’t notice the way scarlet wisps encroach on his chest and tangle with his legs. He doesn’t notice until he’s engulfed, a thin layer of crimson mist over every surface of his skin. Yoochun tenses at the realization but when the faint sound of music reaches his ears, he relaxes. Everything is suddenly familiar yet different: from the way his body tingles as it is enveloped in the fog to the warmth that begins to pool low in his stomach. The only difference is the color of the fog that wraps around him. It’s red now, like the color of dark wine, and the difference isn’t just in color but also intent. This time, not only is there comfort but arousal too. It’s as if he’s being caressed all over, special attention being paid to the sensitive nubs of his nipples and what feels like gentle hands cradling his cock. He sighs at the feeling and relishes the slow build of his orgasm. It simmers just beyond his grasp but he holds back and doesn’t rush it. He knows instinctively that the moment he comes it’ll be over and Yoochun isn’t quite ready for it to end just yet.
Instead he hordes it around him, gathering what he can and holding it to his chest, immersing himself in the haze until even his head goes under. It takes him in, moves against him, a corporeal form yet…not. The music resounds in and around his head. Rather than the usual, comforting lullaby-like melody, the sound comes with a rhythm that is almost hard - throbbing - and it sets Yoochun on fire.
His whole body becomes one with the throbbing music and it moves with him, pulsing through his veins and rippling through his muscles. Almost as if they’re being guided, Yoochun’s hands move across his chest and torso in agonizingly slow strokes - teasing and stoking the flames of his lust. The slight roughness of his palm rubs across his nipple and Yoochun gasps at the spikes of pleasure that go straight to his cock. His fingers pinch at the sensitive nub and he moans at the sensations. It feels so good, better than the other countless times he’s done something like this and yet even as he watches his hands drag tantalizingly over his heated skin, they don’t feel like his hands. His body doesn’t seem like his own as he writhes at the center of his hazy cocoon racing towards an explosive end that can’t possibly be his own doing.
No, there’s definitely something else there, Yoochun realizes distantly in the midst of the near mind-numbing pleasure that holds him captive. There’s the warmth of something solid beyond the red haze, something like another body, perhaps? A person?
Yoochun isn’t entirely sure until he hears the singing. Some dark, husky voice weaves him a spiraling web of need centered at his cock, aching almost unbearably for something to take him over the edge. And just as he’s about to come someone really is there: molding against his back, replacing his own hands with much cleverer fingers, and that voice. That sinfully exquisite voice whispering unintelligible but surely wicked words into his ear. Yoochun can’t understand what’s being said but the tone is urgent and entirely too persuasive. He grasps their meaning well enough.
There’s never been singing before, or a voice, or a body and the sudden additions have Yoochun coming hard - almost violently - as he writhes and twists, screaming his release. He continues to scream as the waves of pleasure crash into him not just once or even twice but continuously, like a vortex that just keeps pulling him under. He comes over and over in what seems like a never ending cycle until he’s exhausted and sobbing for the pleasure to stop. It’s so good it hurts, the pain that feels so real jostling him out of deep sleep and into a more wakeful state. He becomes stranded in that surreal in-between of dreams and reality: not quite awake but not quite asleep either.
Expectedly the shroud of scarlet pleasure begins to dissipate and though it leaves his body heavy like a dead weight, Yoochun is sad to see it go. That is, until he realizes that the solid warmth remains at his back. He doesn’t even have a moment to question its presence before that voice is whispering into his ear again, something soft and soothing meant to lull him back into a deep, almost drugged sleep. He’s cradled in arms that feel slender but strong and Yoochun’s last thought before being pulled under is that he’s never felt more safe or secure in his life.
Then, he sleeps like the dead.
A/N: Because I’m feeling generous and lazy, and don’t want to read my textbooks even if ‘pop quiz’ tomorrow is pretty much a done deal. *shrugs* oh, well. Such is college life. I’ll regret spending hours writing instead of studying but… 8D Keke will probably post a hazing fic before the end of the year.
As always, comments are ♥
Author: enigmaxempress
Pairing: OT5
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incubi. And lots of literary liberties taken in writing about them.
Summary: Night, like a slithering veil, descends and it’s then the monsters come out to play. They’re everywhere, lurking at every street corner and peering from the shadows. You can’t hide from the darkness and there are those who don’t try to.
A/N: My little pet project for the longest time. Not complete yet, but it’s looking to be epic on all accounts. Sequel to a fic I wrote a long, long, loooooong time ago, Sweet Dreams, Beautiful Nightmares. You need to read that one first in order to understand this one.
“He so wants me.” Yoochun preens, handing out his round of shots. He throws around a few smiles and sends off a few winks. Changmin rolls his eyes.
“What?” he responds hurriedly between orders. He mixes a couple of drinks before getting back to Yoochun. “Who wants you?”
“Duckbutt at three o’clock.” Yoochun tilts his head almost imperceptibly to the right. Changmin follows discretely with his eyes and sure enough, at the end of the long counter is an attractive man with a very generous behind looking right at them.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not you he’s looking at, hyung. He’d be too blinded by the glare off your wide forehead to notice much of your face.”
Yoochun sputters in disbelief at the comment and Changmin just has to laugh. His eyes roam back to the man indirectly the cause of his current humor, and their gazes lock. The man’s mouth quirks up in a semblance of a smile and suddenly its déjà vu when his heart stops, breath stolen when those eyes flash and-
“I’m gonna go talk to him.”
“What? Wait, hyung, don’t-”
“Can I get a drink, please?”
Changmin looks away for a second and that’s all the opening Yoochun needs. He approaches the man with customary smile in place, warm and welcoming, the look in his eyes providing wicked suggestions his mouth can’t-yet. “What can I get you?” Yoochun asks, and the man smiles, a tiny one that’s more of a smirk really, but Yoochun can’t imagine it on a face like that.
“I’m not here for the drinks,” he answers. Okay so maybe Yoochun can. The man is eyeing him with a look that’s far from innocent. Yoochun gives him one anyway, something light and fruity - on the house.
“Can I ask what you are here for?” the man cocks his head to the side, seemingly thinking, and it’d be cute except he’s looking at Yoochun and licking his lips in the most unsubtle way possible.
“The view’s nice.” Then his eyes are gone, leaving Yoochun to skim the stage where skimpily clad women twist and turn on metal poles in time to a heavy beat. Oh. Well that’s kind of obvious.
“If there’s anything I can do for you, if I can get you anything - ”
“Just standing there is good actually.” The man focuses on him again, megawatt smile in place. Yoochun refuses to admit it, even to himself, but his breath catches. Like a tiny hiccup the air gets stuck in his throat and for a moment he almost can’t breathe. It’s as if the man’s smiling just for him.
“I look good horizontal too. Preferably on a bed. And naked. It’d be a bonus if you were there too. Also naked.” There’s a moment where Yoochun thinks he’s gone too far, because the man is silent, unresponsive, and it makes Yoochun just want to shove a foot into his mouth. Then the man laughs.
“You’re not very good at subtlety, are you?” the man asks between guffaws. Eu kyang kyang. Yoochun sighs in relief and rethinks that foot in his mouth.
“I’m not even trying,” he admits, confidence once again bolstered now that he’s sure he hasn’t offended anybody. “How’s this for unsubtle: your name is…?” The man never stops smiling but it’s been a different one every time. This one’s large, all teeth. A secret smile. Yoochun is intrigued.
“Xiah,” he breathes and Yoochun doesn’t know how he hears it said so low when the music is so loud. It’s like it echoes off in his head, bouncing off the walls of his mind, only to take root until Yoochun is sure he’ll never be able to forget. “You’re not going to ask me my number now, are you?”
“I don’t have to,” Yoochun says with a grin.
“Why is that?” Xiah asks, eyes bright, so bright, and lit with something more than curiosity.
“Because you’re going to give it to me without me having to ask.”
Xiah blinks, then shakes his head with a chuckle when the implication sinks in. “I should have seen that one coming.”
“Yes, you should have,” Yoochun agrees, smug. “But I charmed you with my wit and good looks, so your momentary lapse in judgment is understandable.”
Xiah laughs again, the sound becoming increasingly familiar, something Yoochun wouldn’t mind hearing on a regular basis. “Good answer. But that’s not it at all.”
“Oh? What ways have I charmed you then?”
“I’m sure that’s not very hard to figure out,” Xiah replies, words as coy as the way he slowly leans away from the counter. “We should continue this conversation.”
“We should. We definitely should.” Yoochun’s a little excited now, assuming Xiah meant in private. “Listen, I get off at-”
“But later.” Xiah shoots him a little mocking smile, and Yoochun has to scramble to hide the disappointment on his face. “Until next time…?” He disappears into the moving crowd, and Yoochun doesn’t even try not to stare.
“I suggest you pick your jaw up off the floor before it becomes permanently unhinged,” Changmin says all of a sudden, startling Yoochun with an elbow at his back as he passes from behind.
“Hey, can I get some drinks over here?” one of the servers calls out, noticeably irritated just as Yoochun opens his mouth to make an equally smart remark. He has to close it again before he can say anything, but that’s okay because when he picks up Xiah’s half-empty glass, a small strip of paper is underneath with a local number scrawled in red ink. Yoochun didn’t even have to ask for it.
He’s all smiles and more sleaze as the night progresses, the frequent flashing of his dimples in hopes that Xiah would come over to the bar again garnering him more tips and odd looks from Changmin. Yoochun wallows in his good mood, the little strip of paper burning a hole into the back of his jeans pocket on the way home. He’s itching to call but he knows he has to wait till morning at a decent hour when the rest of the world - along with Xiah - were most likely to be awake.
He’s physically exhausted and just a little drunk, the acrid smell of sweat and smoke seeping into his pores. He still has trouble sleeping but then again it’s always been that way. He figures all the lying awake he did as a child listening to his parents argue might have something to do with it. Tonight is no different. His body is tired but his mind is still racing and it takes a while for the thoughts to slow and take anchor.
The transition into sleep is smooth and uninterrupted. One minute he’s taking mental inventory of all the flip flops he owns when, all of a sudden, he’s sitting on a dark cloud, little wisps of red smoke curling around his fingers. Yoochun lifts them slowly, swirling red smoke with his fingertips. The cloud he’s sitting on ripples as if in a sigh, though how it could isn’t something Yoochun dwells on. He stretches his arms tentatively, feeling out the rest of what he’s sitting on. He runs his hands over what feels like a thick mist, solid but not. His fingers are able to move freely through the red smoke yet he’s still sitting in it.
Yoochun ponders this curiously, as you could only in a dream; he doesn’t notice the way scarlet wisps encroach on his chest and tangle with his legs. He doesn’t notice until he’s engulfed, a thin layer of crimson mist over every surface of his skin. Yoochun tenses at the realization but when the faint sound of music reaches his ears, he relaxes. Everything is suddenly familiar yet different: from the way his body tingles as it is enveloped in the fog to the warmth that begins to pool low in his stomach. The only difference is the color of the fog that wraps around him. It’s red now, like the color of dark wine, and the difference isn’t just in color but also intent. This time, not only is there comfort but arousal too. It’s as if he’s being caressed all over, special attention being paid to the sensitive nubs of his nipples and what feels like gentle hands cradling his cock. He sighs at the feeling and relishes the slow build of his orgasm. It simmers just beyond his grasp but he holds back and doesn’t rush it. He knows instinctively that the moment he comes it’ll be over and Yoochun isn’t quite ready for it to end just yet.
Instead he hordes it around him, gathering what he can and holding it to his chest, immersing himself in the haze until even his head goes under. It takes him in, moves against him, a corporeal form yet…not. The music resounds in and around his head. Rather than the usual, comforting lullaby-like melody, the sound comes with a rhythm that is almost hard - throbbing - and it sets Yoochun on fire.
His whole body becomes one with the throbbing music and it moves with him, pulsing through his veins and rippling through his muscles. Almost as if they’re being guided, Yoochun’s hands move across his chest and torso in agonizingly slow strokes - teasing and stoking the flames of his lust. The slight roughness of his palm rubs across his nipple and Yoochun gasps at the spikes of pleasure that go straight to his cock. His fingers pinch at the sensitive nub and he moans at the sensations. It feels so good, better than the other countless times he’s done something like this and yet even as he watches his hands drag tantalizingly over his heated skin, they don’t feel like his hands. His body doesn’t seem like his own as he writhes at the center of his hazy cocoon racing towards an explosive end that can’t possibly be his own doing.
No, there’s definitely something else there, Yoochun realizes distantly in the midst of the near mind-numbing pleasure that holds him captive. There’s the warmth of something solid beyond the red haze, something like another body, perhaps? A person?
Yoochun isn’t entirely sure until he hears the singing. Some dark, husky voice weaves him a spiraling web of need centered at his cock, aching almost unbearably for something to take him over the edge. And just as he’s about to come someone really is there: molding against his back, replacing his own hands with much cleverer fingers, and that voice. That sinfully exquisite voice whispering unintelligible but surely wicked words into his ear. Yoochun can’t understand what’s being said but the tone is urgent and entirely too persuasive. He grasps their meaning well enough.
There’s never been singing before, or a voice, or a body and the sudden additions have Yoochun coming hard - almost violently - as he writhes and twists, screaming his release. He continues to scream as the waves of pleasure crash into him not just once or even twice but continuously, like a vortex that just keeps pulling him under. He comes over and over in what seems like a never ending cycle until he’s exhausted and sobbing for the pleasure to stop. It’s so good it hurts, the pain that feels so real jostling him out of deep sleep and into a more wakeful state. He becomes stranded in that surreal in-between of dreams and reality: not quite awake but not quite asleep either.
Expectedly the shroud of scarlet pleasure begins to dissipate and though it leaves his body heavy like a dead weight, Yoochun is sad to see it go. That is, until he realizes that the solid warmth remains at his back. He doesn’t even have a moment to question its presence before that voice is whispering into his ear again, something soft and soothing meant to lull him back into a deep, almost drugged sleep. He’s cradled in arms that feel slender but strong and Yoochun’s last thought before being pulled under is that he’s never felt more safe or secure in his life.
Then, he sleeps like the dead.
A/N: Because I’m feeling generous and lazy, and don’t want to read my textbooks even if ‘pop quiz’ tomorrow is pretty much a done deal. *shrugs* oh, well. Such is college life. I’ll regret spending hours writing instead of studying but… 8D Keke will probably post a hazing fic before the end of the year.
As always, comments are ♥