[fic] Laundry
//Pairing//: Junhyung x Hyunseung
//Prompt//: Laundry
//Rating//: R for language and some compromising situations
//Summary//: Junhyung takes it upon himself to do some laundry, but other things get in the way.
//Word Count//: 994
//Author's Note//: Un-beta-ed. Any takers? Specially for comicbookending.
Laundry
Junhyung hates laundry - definitely, definitely hates laundry. Everything about it irritates him; from its smell, to the way it looks, and most of all the fact that it is inevitable. Every time he looks at that pile of dirty clothes languishing in the corner of the bathroom, he feels queasy, like his stomach is doing flip-flops - in a bad way.
Oh, it wasn’t always like that. The laundry basket - quite sizeable to support the needs of six young men - was blue… no, wait. It was yellow - or was it sort of a mustardy-orange? Junhyung sighs and frowns at the very thought - he hasn’t physically seen the laundry basket in weeks, thanks to all the clothes that are piled up in, above and around that hapless cylinder of thin plastic. Heck, right now he can see a roll of sweaty fabric (gym clothes, courtesy of Kikwang) nudging Dongwoon’s t-shirt off the very summit of the laundry pile. With a grunt of disapproval, he calls out in the direction of the living room, loudly reminding everyone that the bathroom looks like a bombsite and if everyone was a bit more conscientious, maybe the living room wouldn’t smell like a locker room half the time.
The only answer he gets is a quiet grunt from Doojoon who is catching forty winks on the floor. To be honest, Junhyung isn’t sure if Doojoon was replying him or if the other man was just having a particularly vigorous dream. Resignedly, he turns back to the laundry mountain, shoulders sagging at the thought of carting all that stuff to the washing mach-
“Need a hand?”
He swings round to see Hyunseung grinning at him, arms folded and leaning against the doorframe in a devil-may-care manner. A lock of flame-red hair springs away defiantly from the confines of the headband circling the other man’s head. Hyunseung had warmed to the idea of headbands so much since one of the stylists plonked one on his head minutes before a performance, that he had taken to wearing them at home. Sometimes at quite a jaunty angle.
Fucking infuriating, they were.
Junhyung snorts, and shakes his head, already clutching an armful of dirty laundry to his chest. “You’ve still got that retarded headband on.”
“You’re retarded.” Hyunseung’s crystal-clear laughter pitches itself against the acoustics of the bathroom as he takes one - no, two - steps towards a teetering Junhyung, chuckling quietly to himself as he reaches for a handful of clothes, freeing one of the rapper’s hands. “Here, let me give you a hand…”
“Er… you wanna wash that?” At a loss of things to say, Junhyung hems and haws, before pointing lamely at the circlet of metal (okay, it was wrapped in fabric) around the other man’s head. Only after the words are out of his mouth does he realize what a dumb thing that was to say.
Hyunseung’s shoulders sag when he hears this, raising an eyebrow at Junhyung as he hoists his armful of clothes more securely in the crook of his arm. “Even I know you don’t wash headbands, Junhyung.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Junhyung nods, like that was what he meant all along, nevermind that it makes no coherent sense, nudging his bandmate accidentally on purpose as he pushes past him on his way out of the bathroom to the washing mach-
He never makes it there, because before he knows what is happening, his chest is pressed flush against Hyunseung’s, in their postage stamp-sized bathroom, arms taking leave of their station as he leans forward to press his palms against the cold, clean counter-top. Hyunseung’s have too, he figures, by the fact that the both of them are standing calf-deep in miscellaneous items of clothing (the arm of one of Yoseob’s hoodies is wrapped around his ankle and refusing to let go); definitely when he realizes that the other man’s fingers are clutching at the fabric of his wifebeater, narrowly missing skin by millimetres.
There is no time for how, or why, because someone makes a move - it could have been either of them, to be honest - and Hyunseung’s lips are soft, beautiful, delicious. He fully experiences the warmth of his mouth, and grunts in approval when the other man reciprocates with a soft moan that makes his skin tingle and drives him crazy. He wants to shut the door and shut everyone else out, so he can better focus on what - who - is in front of him. Junhyung briefly wonders what has gotten into him as he pushes away that offending (sort of) lock of hair, tucking it behind Hyunseung’s ear. His fingertips brush against a milky swatch of skin in the process, which make him lose all resolve and swear under his breath, before hoisting his companion onto the counter-top, wrapping the other man’s legs around his waist.
“Quit playing around,” Hyunseung’s voice sounds raspy in his ear, which sends a shiver down his spine, followed by a low chuckle, and a pinch in his side. “… Umma.”
“How many times do I have to tell you not-” Junhyung has every intention to complete his sentence, but Hyunseung doesn’t let him, covering his mouth with one hand and looking him straight in the eye, with the intended effect of shutting him up.
It works. Well, sort of.
“Same time tomorrow? Kitchen.” Hyunseung’s voice has a frustrating lilt to it as he whispers in his ear. Tease.
“That’s another household chore you’ve ruined this week. Small wonder shit-all gets done in this house.” Junhyung complains, only not really, because the grin on his face gives him away as his hands sneak under the cool fabric of Hyunseung’s t-shirt, making contact with warm, smooth skin.
Hyunseung, with his fiery, glorious blaze of red hair, only laughs, as he leans forward to kiss Junhyung again, this time harder than before, which makes him forget everything that he was intending to say.
Everything except, “Yeah, tomorrow. Kitchen’s good.”