Like Money (Prologue - EXO AU Multi-shot)
Title: Like Money
Author: himawarixxsandz
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): KrisHan
Summary: It's the only thing he loves.
A/N: this is the definition of spontaneous because i had no clue this was coming. got hooked onto the song and this spilled out and jfc i should've been packing but yeah so i guess think of this as a goodbye fic while i disappear for 3 weeks. and usually when i travel i get more inspiration for random ass stuff so yeAH ENJOY AND BYE [Edit] 3 weeks later and this spawned into a full on AU during my vacation so yeah, that's the explanation for how this oneshot is now a multi-shot.
Prologue // Part 1
Hold me like diamonds
Treat me like a star
Love me, babe, wherever you are
He likes to go by Kris because he’s a little bit of an asshole, but attractive enough for that aspect of him to be overlooked. He refuses to go by Wufan, he won’t respond to Wufan-won’t turn or glance at any other combination of his real name. He likes to go by Kris because he ignores anything and everything else.
He’s kind of an asshole.
But he’s attractive, so it’s always overlooked-ignored the same way he ignores the people stupid enough to call him by his real name.
(because it closes the distance, they say-because Kris sounds too cold-because, offstage and behind the scenes, it’s good to use real names to bridge gaps-they say)
When the interviewer concludes with a hand outstretched towards the camera and Kris flatters the lens with a last smile, the director calls it a wrap and everyone stands up. Kris straightens his suit as he gets to his feet, eyebrows raised and appraising as the interviewer meets his eyes. She stretches out her hand and he shakes it briskly.
“There’s an after-party,” she says, looking up at him through thick, false lashes-caked with dark mascara.
He blinks slowly, and then turns slightly, making eyes with his manager from across the studio. “Okay,” Kris says, following a brief pause during which his manager gives a short nod.
She smiles brightly-less-than-white teeth shining between overly red lips.
It’s nothing special-nothing that Kris hasn’t endured through time and time again before. There’s too much confetti in the air, the music is too loud, too many people are smoking too closely to him, the drinks are shitty, the bartender s are slow, the dancing is obnoxious, there are too many clubbers hanging off of him and he’s already signed five too many autographs-taken seventeen too many pictures-smiled twenty-three too many times.
He lets his face do most of the explaining-most of the warding away. People avoid him for the most part because of the default expression his face falls to when he isn’t forcing himself to smile. It’s a good face for a magazine, they say-which is why his face is already on hundreds as it is. It’s not a terribly good face for movies, they say-but his face is already in hundreds of those too.
He drinks as much as he can stand because the alcohol is that horrible, but he needs something in his system to keep himself from going batshit. The liquid trickles with a sting down his throat but he’s learned to ignore that-once he turns the trickle into a rush, everything goes down seamlessly.
“That’s my drink.”
A doll’s face on a young man’s body-a small upturned nose, round eyes with long lashes, full childlike lips, golden-dyed hair swept up off a pale forehead-everything contained in a tight, classic dark suit. His eyebrows are raised as he meets Kris’s gaze.
“I ordered the beer,” the young man explains with Kris instinctively recognizes as the standard industry smile-necessary for success in entertainment. “And you ordered the fancy ass, thousand-dollar champagne.” The young man holds up the glass flute in one hand and points at the bottle of beer in front of Kris with his other hand.
Kris takes the champagne and the young man reaches over to grab the bottle of beer. “Sorry,” he says.
“Don’t be,” the man says, and the smile changes a little-less standardized and more genuine (as genuine as Kris ever expects anything to be in this business). “It was the bartender’s fuck-up, not yours.”
He licks his lips and swallows, wondering if maybe he’s had a little too much to drink but there’s an accent underneath the young man’s otherwise perfect Korean (most likely undetectable to anyone but Kris). “Are you Chinese?” he tries in his mother tongue.
A tilt of the head and the young man holds his hand out to Kris. “I’m Luhan,” he says in Mandarin, hints of white, perfect teeth flashing between his pink lips.
Kris carefully shakes Luhan’s hand. “I’m-”
“A super rich and famous asshole,” Luhan finishes, wrinkling his nose playfully. “Really hot and knows it-Kris Wu.”
Kris stares.
Luhan tilts his head again-this time in the opposite direction-another pretty, childlike smile curving his lips. “Your new movie looks good by the way-you can’t act for shit though.”
“Who the fuck are you?” spills out of Kris’s mouth before he can stop it.
“Luhan,” he says, “I said that already, remember?”
The colored lights play tricks against the pale skin of Luhan’s face, against the warm darkness of Luhan’s round, doll-like eyes. Kris isn’t sure when Luhan stepped forward-closing the distance between them. Their thighs brush, their belt buckles clink, and Kris puts his champagne glass down at the same time that Luhan puts down his beer.
At this distance, Luhan has to nearly tip his face back completely in order to meet Kris’s eyes. “I saw your apartment once,” Luhan chirps, hands gripping the edge of Kris’s open suit jacket. “There was a special done on it, right? Like-top ten most expensive somethings in Seoul?”
Kris slips a hand beneath the back of Luhan’s own suit jacket, gripping through the folds and puffs of the white shirt until his fingertips press against the arch of Luhan’s back. “D’you want to see it?”
Luhan smiles.
Kris has a lot of one-night stands.
He likes to think that it comes with the job description.
Luhan isn’t much different-something to get him out of the party, something to close his night down with and maybe make for something nice to wake up to in the morning. Leaving early with someone also closes off chances of Kris drinking too much from boredom or irritation thus giving himself a hangover that could interfere with his schedule the next day (and get his manager on his case again).
They kiss the entire way, taking Kris’s car because his chauffeur is paid on an hourly basis for his silence (even though Kris’s career has never been a foreigner to scandal). By the time they’re locked away in the elevator, slowly rising through one of Seoul’s most expensive buildings to inhabit, both of their shirts have been yanked from their waistbands-belts only loosely still sitting in their loops. Luhan’s skin is sensitive, pliant, and Kris savors every sound that Luhan buries against Kris’s neck.
Luhan’s breath only smells slightly of alcohol and Kris supposes that the other man is only as buzzed as Kris is-just enough for a high to float on, but not enough for their movements to become clumsy and sloppy. Everything is perfect as Kris kisses Luhan back into his apartment, through the doorway, walking without separating their mouths all the way into the bedroom.
As far as one-night stands go, as far as sex goes, Luhan is lazy. He lies there, moaning a mix of Mandarin and Korean, and lets Kris do most of the work-lies still and lets Kris’s tongue and lips trail paths of worship and praise up and down all over the thin, pale body. He keeps fingers in Kris’s hair and soft, pale thighs on either side of Kris’s face. Luhan doesn’t do much until Kris lifts his mouth away from the other man’s cock and to shush Luhan’s whine with a kiss.
“So,” Kris breathes as Luhan pushes him down on the pillows, and straddles his waist, “who are you?”
Luhan smiles breathlessly, hair stuck with perspiration to his flushed cheeks-his eyes are over-bright with lust in the darkness. He strokes the underside of Kris’s cock for a moment (Kris digs his fingers into the mattress-and then opts to dig his fingers into the sides of Luhan’s hips) before stretching a condom over the tip-gently pulling it down. “Your memory,” Luhan says as he lifts himself up on his knees, body quivering, “is really shit.”
Kris’s head nearly collides with the headboard when it’s tossed back as Luhan drops down, fitting Kris into himself inch by inch-maddeningly slow and gradual.
“I’m Luhan,” he whispers into Kris’s ear, thin arms twining around Kris’s neck as they both try to catch their breaths for a moment
(before Kris can’t stay still any longer and flips Luhan onto his back, legs wrapping around Kris’s waist like a vice and-)
The morning is met with Luhan already showered and dressed, sitting on the edge of Kris’s bed as his eyes flutter open. Luhan’s fingers dip into Kris’s hair. “Where’re you going?” Kris asks sleepily, hand instantly gripping Luhan’s hip. He lifts his head from the pillow, groggy with half-lidded eyes.
“Stayed by to say bye,” Luhan murmurs playfully, “and thanks for a great night.”
Kris doesn’t let go, switching to hold Luhan’s free hand-the one that isn’t buried in Kris’s hair. “Where’re you going?” he repeats, sitting up and coughing the sleep out of his voice.
Luhan raises his eyebrows, blinks-smiles. He leans down and brushes his lips over Kris’s. “Sorry,” Luhan whispers, dragging his mouth softly over Kris’s cheek, right up against the shell of the taller man’s ear, “but I can’t compete.”
Confusion immediately swirls rampant and Kris is left staring blankly again as Luhan pulls away and walks towards the door. Kris doesn’t have time to gather himself-instinct pushing him out of bed and out into the living room, following Luhan without even putting any clothes on.
“Can’t compete with what?” Kris grabs Luhan’s wrist as they stand right at the door.
Luhan blinks, unfazed, smiling oddly and directing his eyes suddenly to the left-at Kris’s kitchen counter, laden with magazines with the tall man’s face slathered on their covers, leftover champagne bottles from nights before, credit cards that Kris hasn’t bothered putting into his wallet. Luhan looks back up to Kris, and then glances over to the right-at the sofas, nearly buried underneath messy piles of designer clothes, all sponsored and some given as presents from Kris’s multiple photoshoots.
“You don’t even like acting,” Luhan says, reaching up and stroking Kris’s face. He laughs. “And you think modeling is boring, don’t you?”
Kris swallows. “Who are y-”
“You’re Kris Wu,” Luhan gently pulls his wrist out of Kris’s grip, “and I’m Luhan.” He turns around and opens the door-walks out and away.
The door snaps shut with a resounding click and Kris can’t seem to move his feet for a good five minutes. Each step away from the door and into the living room is heavy, and he sits down on the couch-and nearly misses the small piece of paper on the coffee table, sitting beside a half-finished bottle of soju.
It’s a phone number.
And, in messy, hasty scrawl-
when the competition eases up
Love me like money
Love me like cars
Love me, babe, wherever you are
Author: himawarixxsandz
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): KrisHan
Summary: It's the only thing he loves.
A/N: this is the definition of spontaneous because i had no clue this was coming. got hooked onto the song and this spilled out and jfc i should've been packing but yeah so i guess think of this as a goodbye fic while i disappear for 3 weeks. and usually when i travel i get more inspiration for random ass stuff so yeAH ENJOY AND BYE [Edit] 3 weeks later and this spawned into a full on AU during my vacation so yeah, that's the explanation for how this oneshot is now a multi-shot.
Prologue // Part 1
Hold me like diamonds
Treat me like a star
Love me, babe, wherever you are
He likes to go by Kris because he’s a little bit of an asshole, but attractive enough for that aspect of him to be overlooked. He refuses to go by Wufan, he won’t respond to Wufan-won’t turn or glance at any other combination of his real name. He likes to go by Kris because he ignores anything and everything else.
He’s kind of an asshole.
But he’s attractive, so it’s always overlooked-ignored the same way he ignores the people stupid enough to call him by his real name.
(because it closes the distance, they say-because Kris sounds too cold-because, offstage and behind the scenes, it’s good to use real names to bridge gaps-they say)
When the interviewer concludes with a hand outstretched towards the camera and Kris flatters the lens with a last smile, the director calls it a wrap and everyone stands up. Kris straightens his suit as he gets to his feet, eyebrows raised and appraising as the interviewer meets his eyes. She stretches out her hand and he shakes it briskly.
“There’s an after-party,” she says, looking up at him through thick, false lashes-caked with dark mascara.
He blinks slowly, and then turns slightly, making eyes with his manager from across the studio. “Okay,” Kris says, following a brief pause during which his manager gives a short nod.
She smiles brightly-less-than-white teeth shining between overly red lips.
It’s nothing special-nothing that Kris hasn’t endured through time and time again before. There’s too much confetti in the air, the music is too loud, too many people are smoking too closely to him, the drinks are shitty, the bartender s are slow, the dancing is obnoxious, there are too many clubbers hanging off of him and he’s already signed five too many autographs-taken seventeen too many pictures-smiled twenty-three too many times.
He lets his face do most of the explaining-most of the warding away. People avoid him for the most part because of the default expression his face falls to when he isn’t forcing himself to smile. It’s a good face for a magazine, they say-which is why his face is already on hundreds as it is. It’s not a terribly good face for movies, they say-but his face is already in hundreds of those too.
He drinks as much as he can stand because the alcohol is that horrible, but he needs something in his system to keep himself from going batshit. The liquid trickles with a sting down his throat but he’s learned to ignore that-once he turns the trickle into a rush, everything goes down seamlessly.
“That’s my drink.”
A doll’s face on a young man’s body-a small upturned nose, round eyes with long lashes, full childlike lips, golden-dyed hair swept up off a pale forehead-everything contained in a tight, classic dark suit. His eyebrows are raised as he meets Kris’s gaze.
“I ordered the beer,” the young man explains with Kris instinctively recognizes as the standard industry smile-necessary for success in entertainment. “And you ordered the fancy ass, thousand-dollar champagne.” The young man holds up the glass flute in one hand and points at the bottle of beer in front of Kris with his other hand.
Kris takes the champagne and the young man reaches over to grab the bottle of beer. “Sorry,” he says.
“Don’t be,” the man says, and the smile changes a little-less standardized and more genuine (as genuine as Kris ever expects anything to be in this business). “It was the bartender’s fuck-up, not yours.”
He licks his lips and swallows, wondering if maybe he’s had a little too much to drink but there’s an accent underneath the young man’s otherwise perfect Korean (most likely undetectable to anyone but Kris). “Are you Chinese?” he tries in his mother tongue.
A tilt of the head and the young man holds his hand out to Kris. “I’m Luhan,” he says in Mandarin, hints of white, perfect teeth flashing between his pink lips.
Kris carefully shakes Luhan’s hand. “I’m-”
“A super rich and famous asshole,” Luhan finishes, wrinkling his nose playfully. “Really hot and knows it-Kris Wu.”
Kris stares.
Luhan tilts his head again-this time in the opposite direction-another pretty, childlike smile curving his lips. “Your new movie looks good by the way-you can’t act for shit though.”
“Who the fuck are you?” spills out of Kris’s mouth before he can stop it.
“Luhan,” he says, “I said that already, remember?”
The colored lights play tricks against the pale skin of Luhan’s face, against the warm darkness of Luhan’s round, doll-like eyes. Kris isn’t sure when Luhan stepped forward-closing the distance between them. Their thighs brush, their belt buckles clink, and Kris puts his champagne glass down at the same time that Luhan puts down his beer.
At this distance, Luhan has to nearly tip his face back completely in order to meet Kris’s eyes. “I saw your apartment once,” Luhan chirps, hands gripping the edge of Kris’s open suit jacket. “There was a special done on it, right? Like-top ten most expensive somethings in Seoul?”
Kris slips a hand beneath the back of Luhan’s own suit jacket, gripping through the folds and puffs of the white shirt until his fingertips press against the arch of Luhan’s back. “D’you want to see it?”
Luhan smiles.
Kris has a lot of one-night stands.
He likes to think that it comes with the job description.
Luhan isn’t much different-something to get him out of the party, something to close his night down with and maybe make for something nice to wake up to in the morning. Leaving early with someone also closes off chances of Kris drinking too much from boredom or irritation thus giving himself a hangover that could interfere with his schedule the next day (and get his manager on his case again).
They kiss the entire way, taking Kris’s car because his chauffeur is paid on an hourly basis for his silence (even though Kris’s career has never been a foreigner to scandal). By the time they’re locked away in the elevator, slowly rising through one of Seoul’s most expensive buildings to inhabit, both of their shirts have been yanked from their waistbands-belts only loosely still sitting in their loops. Luhan’s skin is sensitive, pliant, and Kris savors every sound that Luhan buries against Kris’s neck.
Luhan’s breath only smells slightly of alcohol and Kris supposes that the other man is only as buzzed as Kris is-just enough for a high to float on, but not enough for their movements to become clumsy and sloppy. Everything is perfect as Kris kisses Luhan back into his apartment, through the doorway, walking without separating their mouths all the way into the bedroom.
As far as one-night stands go, as far as sex goes, Luhan is lazy. He lies there, moaning a mix of Mandarin and Korean, and lets Kris do most of the work-lies still and lets Kris’s tongue and lips trail paths of worship and praise up and down all over the thin, pale body. He keeps fingers in Kris’s hair and soft, pale thighs on either side of Kris’s face. Luhan doesn’t do much until Kris lifts his mouth away from the other man’s cock and to shush Luhan’s whine with a kiss.
“So,” Kris breathes as Luhan pushes him down on the pillows, and straddles his waist, “who are you?”
Luhan smiles breathlessly, hair stuck with perspiration to his flushed cheeks-his eyes are over-bright with lust in the darkness. He strokes the underside of Kris’s cock for a moment (Kris digs his fingers into the mattress-and then opts to dig his fingers into the sides of Luhan’s hips) before stretching a condom over the tip-gently pulling it down. “Your memory,” Luhan says as he lifts himself up on his knees, body quivering, “is really shit.”
Kris’s head nearly collides with the headboard when it’s tossed back as Luhan drops down, fitting Kris into himself inch by inch-maddeningly slow and gradual.
“I’m Luhan,” he whispers into Kris’s ear, thin arms twining around Kris’s neck as they both try to catch their breaths for a moment
(before Kris can’t stay still any longer and flips Luhan onto his back, legs wrapping around Kris’s waist like a vice and-)
The morning is met with Luhan already showered and dressed, sitting on the edge of Kris’s bed as his eyes flutter open. Luhan’s fingers dip into Kris’s hair. “Where’re you going?” Kris asks sleepily, hand instantly gripping Luhan’s hip. He lifts his head from the pillow, groggy with half-lidded eyes.
“Stayed by to say bye,” Luhan murmurs playfully, “and thanks for a great night.”
Kris doesn’t let go, switching to hold Luhan’s free hand-the one that isn’t buried in Kris’s hair. “Where’re you going?” he repeats, sitting up and coughing the sleep out of his voice.
Luhan raises his eyebrows, blinks-smiles. He leans down and brushes his lips over Kris’s. “Sorry,” Luhan whispers, dragging his mouth softly over Kris’s cheek, right up against the shell of the taller man’s ear, “but I can’t compete.”
Confusion immediately swirls rampant and Kris is left staring blankly again as Luhan pulls away and walks towards the door. Kris doesn’t have time to gather himself-instinct pushing him out of bed and out into the living room, following Luhan without even putting any clothes on.
“Can’t compete with what?” Kris grabs Luhan’s wrist as they stand right at the door.
Luhan blinks, unfazed, smiling oddly and directing his eyes suddenly to the left-at Kris’s kitchen counter, laden with magazines with the tall man’s face slathered on their covers, leftover champagne bottles from nights before, credit cards that Kris hasn’t bothered putting into his wallet. Luhan looks back up to Kris, and then glances over to the right-at the sofas, nearly buried underneath messy piles of designer clothes, all sponsored and some given as presents from Kris’s multiple photoshoots.
“You don’t even like acting,” Luhan says, reaching up and stroking Kris’s face. He laughs. “And you think modeling is boring, don’t you?”
Kris swallows. “Who are y-”
“You’re Kris Wu,” Luhan gently pulls his wrist out of Kris’s grip, “and I’m Luhan.” He turns around and opens the door-walks out and away.
The door snaps shut with a resounding click and Kris can’t seem to move his feet for a good five minutes. Each step away from the door and into the living room is heavy, and he sits down on the couch-and nearly misses the small piece of paper on the coffee table, sitting beside a half-finished bottle of soju.
It’s a phone number.
And, in messy, hasty scrawl-
when the competition eases up
Love me like money
Love me like cars
Love me, babe, wherever you are