Debutantes and Disasters- YooSu
Title: Debutantes and Disasters
Chapters: Oneshot
Pairing: YooSu
Fandom: DBSK
Author: yomi_chan305
Rating: R
Genre: Romance, crack, almost smut? xD
Warnings: I came this close to smut! This close! >_>
A/N: Written for the_audio_mess Playlist 03- The Silent Soundtrack. For simply_emotion because she's been feeling simply awful lately. <3
Also this is really kind of similar in style to my most recent YooSu, Silent Confessions. Maybe it's becoming a series of sorts? O:
Summary: You look up and are about to bring her back around when your eyes find his again across the room. Half of your blood rushes to your face, and half to a lower region that you press yourself not to think about. You drop the hostess.
You see him at the very start of the ball.
You just entered the room and he’s dancing with the debutante who’s throwing the gala. She looks spectacular in her shiny vintage designer dress of a deep gold color with burgundy ribbons crisscrossing the base, but you think that he looks even more stunning. He looks pretty much the same as every other man there in his stiffly pressed suit, but unlike looking as if he was awkwardly forced into it by a maid, he seems to fit it perfectly. He moves and molds with it as if he were one. With the music, the dance floor, and the lady. The music touches him, you can tell, and you are completely transfixed. You watch him over your glass of champagne, your long feminine lashes lightly brushing the top of the glass every time you blink. He catches your eye once, and his gaze seems to smolder.
You drop the glass.
You see him ten minutes later.
You know that he saw you drop the glass, and your face flushes with embarrassment. Even though you can’t spot him anymore. You apologize profusely for dropping the flute glass, and the butler tells you not to worry, that it happens all the time. You bow to him a few dozen times and make your way to the middle of the dance floor, where you ask the hostess with her shining face and her lovely dress for a dance. After all, that is what is expected of you. She smiles when she sees you, kisses you on the cheek and thanks you for coming, and “Oh, how very nice it is to see you again Junsu.” You thank her and take her by the waist, proceeding to swing her around the room in a perfectly timed waltz. Towards the end you tip her back in a showy dip. You look up and are about to bring her back around when your eyes find his again across the room. Half of your blood rushes to your face, and half to a lower region that you press yourself not to think about.
You drop the hostess.
You see him halfway through the ball.
You apologize to the hostess a few thousand times. Luckily she’s a good-tempered young lady and assures you that she thinks nothing of it. You know her character and choose to believe it. You make your way to the men’s room to calm yourself down a bit. Clearly you’re overacting. Its just once glance from a stranger. A man, you remind yourself, shaking your head profusely. This can’t happen. Not again.
The bathroom you walk into is gorgeous. The soaps are all French, obviously, and the towels are real cotton. Not that you aren’t used to this, but you’re on the more conservative side of your class. You simply don’t see the point in spending double-digit thousands of dollars on decorating the place where you do the daily ablutions. The stately stalls, which look more like actual bathrooms than just a stall, are made out of expensive green frosted glass. You can see shadows moving behind them, but nothing more. Your mind immediately goes to dirty places as you somehow imagine that this would be a great place for public sex. You shake your head some more, trying to ignore the thoughts going through your already overwhelmed mind. You contemplate leaving the party all together, but now, how rude would that be Junsu, you ask yourself. You wash up quickly; splashing some cold water on your face, hoping it’ll draw you back to reality. You sigh as you feel the cold droplets running down your face and neck. You are significantly calmer than you were earlier. You grab a towel from the stack and sigh as you pat your face dry. You decide that you are ready to return to the party. When you look up, he’s propped himself up against the corner of the wall adjacent to you.
Your previous efforts all going to waste, your face goes red again, and you drop the towel.
At least you didn’t break anything this time.
You see him in places you shouldn’t be seeing him.
He’s got you pressed against the bathroom counter, tongue down your throat, and as much as you feel like you should push him off, you really, really don’t want to. Not when he’s got such a talented tongue. You gasp as his mouth releases yours with a ‘pop’, and he begins trailing his lips down the side of your neck. You can tell he’s leaving marks, and you find that you don’t particularly care. Neither does he apparently. He seems to be content with the moans and pants which are coming out of your mouth.
He pries open the top button of your shirt and starts molesting the rest of your neck and chest, lapping at your hardened nipples, biting them softly, laughing slightly as you whine a small, lustful “ouch…”
It’s completely shameless but when you feel his hands reach the button of your pants, your hips buck into him, and you moan softly, “Oh god, just get on with it already.” He laughs again and re-attaches his mouth to yours, quickly dominating the kiss as he slides both hands into your pants, one cupping your hardening member, the other, your ass. He bites your lower lip and mumbles, “God, you are so perfect.” You just groan in response as he squeezes you in all the right places and all of your coherent thoughts go out of the window. He gets down on his knees and is about to take you in his mouth when you hear the creak of door springs. You both whip your heads around and see another man standing at the door, mouth hanging open, and his eyes like teacups, face white. Suddenly he dashes out of the door, leaving you to put your head in your hands, groaning in shame. Apparently you had both forgotten that you were in what was essentially a public bathroom, and that there were over three hundred other guests downstairs, who were very likely to need to use the restroom at some point in the evening. You look back down at him, and his eyes are laughing at you. You glare at him as if to say, “Let me go, now.” Intimidation has never been your strong suit. He grins at you and says, “Whoops.” You resist the urge to slap him until he moves his hand again and you’re reminded why you’re pushed up against this counter in the first place.
He then proceeds to suck you off.
You see him when the stars are out, and the moon is high.
You both opted to leave early after all: at separate times, of course. You’re walking to where your butlers are waiting with your cars and his arm is slung casually around your waist. You feel like such a whore at the moment but you find that you really don’t care all that much. You get to your car and your butler opens the door for you, carefully getting back into the car and pretending to ignore what’s being said. You don’t mind, at least he isn’t blatantly staring at the two of you. Suddenly you find a pair of hands back on your waist and lips against yours, gentle this time.
“Junsu…” He murmurs, slipping a thin card into your pocket. Somehow he found out your name.
“Call me any time, beautiful.” He steps back, winks at you, and then he’s gone.
Your cheeks flush and you pull the card out of your pocket, looking at the shiny type, reflecting in the moonlight. You laugh heartily as you read what’s written there along with his number.
Park Yoochun
Gynecologist
You’re still chuckling as you tuck the card back into your pocket.
Yoochun...
You have the feeling that this is the start of a beautiful romance.