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TL;DR RULES1. post anonymously unless linking to a fill posted somewhere else ( Read more... )
TL;DR RULES1. post anonymously unless linking to a fill posted somewhere else ( Read more... )
Jongdae signs up for the wushu class because 1) the gym's literally in the basement of his apartment complex and 2) it's one of the only things that he can do in Beijing without needing to speak. "That's weak," Baekhyun tells him over the phone. "Get out of the house and go soak up the culture. Take Chinese lessons."
"Wushu's part of Chinese culture."
"Yeah, but do you even know how to front kick?"
"It's an introductory course," Jongdae says defensively. "I don't have to know."
Baekhyun just laughs. In the fuzzy background, Jongdae can hear Chanyeol needling Kyungsoo for biology notes. "Listen, you'll be back in a semester. Take care of yourself, all right? We'll see you soon." A pause, and then: "Maybe you can show us some sick wushu moves. I hear heightened flexibility is a thing. You could use it-" His voice drops an octave, and in his mind's eye Jongdae can see Baekhyun waggling his eyebrows in a dorm room in Seoul-"for capital gains."
"I really hate you," Jongdae mutters.
Baekhyun laughs again. Jongdae hangs up.
Jongdae shows up to the first class in jeans and a blazer, which pretty much sets the stage for everything else. A guy in the back with big eyes and blond hair snickers when Jongdae walks in and realizes everyone else's in loose-fitting black clothing, worn tennis shoes on their feet. Jongdae glances down at his own half-laced Chucks and feels his face go hot.
He tries to back out the door again but someone's standing in the frame already, tall and thin and smelling faintly of laundry detergent and something floral. Jongdae turns and starts stuttering out a stilted apology in Chinese, but the first word dies on his lips.
This must be in the instructor, Jongdae thinks, a little dazed, taking in the gym logo emblazoned on the bag hooked over the guy's arm and the corner of his shirt. He's got severe eyes and thick lower lids and a high, wide nose. His hair's swept off to the side and there's a row of piercings along the shell of his ear. Absently, Jongdae thinks about what it might feel like to tongue them before he shakes the stray thought out of his head.
The guy's mouth curls into a cat-like smile. When he steps into the room, there's a feline fluidity in his movement, too.
The other students in the class call out familiar greetings. The instructor glances down at Jongdae. "You must be the new student," he says, and Jongdae finds his voice again.
"Yes," he scrapes out. "Sorry-I didn't realize-"
"It's fine," he says, extending a hand. "I'm Huang Zitao."
Jongdae shakes it, and hopes Zitao doesn't notice the clamminess of his palms. "Kim Jongdae."
Zitao raises his eyebrows thoughtfully as he unzips the bag. "Korean?"
"Yes."
Jongdae's about to mention that he can go upstairs to change, but Zitao pulls a pair of sweats and shoes out of his bag. "You can wear these today. There's a bathroom around the corner."
"Thanks," Jongdae squeaks, and edges past him out the door.
The pants, predictably, are way too long. He looks like he's playing dress-up with his dad's clothes. Jongdae grimaces at himself in the full-length mirror and rolls the fabric up to his ankles. The sneakers are also a little too big, but Jongdae laces them up tight and sprints back into the aerobics studio just in time for the beginning of warm-up.
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"Demonstration," someone calls near the end of the second hour, and the others pick up the chant. Zitao looks down and scratches the back of his head, suddenly self-conscious. Big Hands tugs Jongdae out of the way as they clear the front of the room. Zitao roots around in his bag and comes back up with an imitation sword. Sleepy Eyes with Dimples-Yixing, Jongdae thinks he'd heard Zitao call him, earlier-claps his hands. They sit down on the mats in the back and wait.
It's possibly the longest, most stifling two minutes of Jongdae's life. Zitao's face goes smooth with concentration and he becomes a blur of focused motion, every step and leap and turn bleeding seamlessly into each other. He thrusts with the sword and yells HA and Jongdae jumps every time, eyes pinned to the firm line of his shoulders and the bend of his knee. Zitao ends with an upright stance and bows to the raucous cheers that follow, face scrunching up with pleasure.
Zitao dismisses class and everyone else starts filing out, slapping each other on the back. Big Hands pats Jongdae's shoulder. "It gets better," he says, and Jongdae sends him an uncertain smile.
"Can you stay after for a minute?" Zitao asks over Jongdae's shoulder, still panting a little from the routine. "I have to get your contact information."
"Of course," Jongdae says, swallowing. Zitao yanks a towel out of his bag and wipes his neck with it. "Wait," Jongdae continues, as the last two students leave, "didn't the gym people already give you my-"
"Yeah," Zitao says, pulling the door shut. He steps closer and Jongdae tenses up. He smells sweat and deodorant as Zitao leans in. "I just wanted you to stay."
Jongdae licks his lips, throat going dry. "Why?"
Zitao just crowds in the rest of the way and kisses him. The backs of Jongdae's knees hit the long bench along the wall and he sits down hard. Zitao follows his lips and climbs over to slide onto his lap, knees framing Jongdae's hips. Something warm and hard comes to rest against Jongdae's thigh as he breathes into Zitao's mouth, teeth scraping against Zitao's tongue.
Zitao only pulls back to fumble with the insides of his bag and pluck out a condom and small tube of lube before leaning in to trace a tongue down Jongdae's jugular. "What don't you have in that thing?" Jongdae mumbles, and Zitao laughs against his collarbone.
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Jongdae slips back into his own clothing afterward. "Thank you for letting me borrow these," he says, handing the sweats and sneakers back to him.
"See you next week?" Zitao says, shouldering his bag. "You have a lot of work to do if you want to catch up." He fiddles with the strap. "Among, um. Other things. I could give you extra lessons after, free of charge."
Jongdae smiles, reaches up to press his mouth against Zitao's jaw. He's fucking blushing when Jongdae pulls back. "That sounds lovely," he says, and grins wider when Zitao ducks his head.
"How was wushu class?" Baekhyun asks over the weekend.
"Excellent," Jongdae says without missing a beat. "I'll pound your ass into the floor when I get back."
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"Maybe you can show us some sick wushu moves. I hear heightened flexibility is a thing. You could use it-" His voice drops an octave, and in his mind's eye Jongdae can see Baekhyun waggling his eyebrows in a dorm room in Seoul-"for capital gains."
cackled tbh because "for capital gains" SHUT UR MOUTH BAEKHYUN GO AWAY
tipping himself into the tall guy with the big hands to his left
fUCK "TALL GUY WITH THE BIG HANDS" AUTHOR ANON GO TO HELL IM CRYING kris is gross though yeah big hands
Big Hands pats Jongdae's shoulder. "It gets better," he says
lol shut up kris no one asked no one needs ur opinion kris actually just leave and dont come back again
"Excellent," Jongdae says without missing a beat. "I'll pound your ass into the floor when I get back."
not if all jongdae does is fuck because lbr
lbr
anyway this was nice your writing is nice i love your use of details and just how fast paced it was quick and easy to read and i could pick up on the little things and imagine them in my head idk ok idk bye
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I translated your fic and fully credited you :3
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thank youu~
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