saturday nights ; sechen ; [make-up artist/model!au]
Title: Saturday nights
Rating: R
Pairing: Sehun/Jongdae
Wordcount: 8,998w
Warning: unbetaed, word vomit
Disclaimer: EXO belongs to themselves and SME
Summary: There are hundreds of reasons why Saturday nights are Jongdae's favorite moments, and each one of them involves Sehun, in one way or another.
Jongdae likes to think of himself as an artist, even though his creations aren't splattered on the usual white cold canvases, and his creativity doesn't come from a place in his mind only he can visit. He works on porous mountains and sharp edges, tries to shape words into shades of grey and splinters of red, and even though he's sometimes bound by rules he can't get avoid, he still uses every ounce of his freedom in each flick of the wrist. He doesn't work with paint, but with powder, and his brushes are different than a painter's, but when it comes right down to it, Jongdae isn't sure the difference matters. He creates things that weren't there before, and that hit potential audiences with a strong feeling of rightness, like he couldn't have done it any other way.
In the rush that's always taking over the dressing room, the models he's working with -on- always seem to enjoy the break that sitting on his chair gives them. Jongdae lets them close their eyes and rest for a while, while he turns the concept of the day into a beautifully thought-out mix of colors on their faces. The crazy work hours have reduced his social life to a sometimes scary void and Jongdae misses talking and goofing around, but he still bathes in the silence every time his fingertips brush over skin. Sometimes he feels like he knows those models better than his own best friends.
Today's concept is somewhat between dark fantasy nights and mesmerizing creatures -Jongdae has never met a director that was able to put concepts into words- and he tries to not get distracted by the flicker of glittering clothes as he paints black feathers around a model's eyes. The young man -probably even younger than his apparence seems to hint- closes his eyes when Jongdae raises his index finger, used to make-up artists' every move. His name is Jongin, and with the way he walks, like he dances his way between rays of sunshine everytime you close your eyes, Jongdae can't help but think that he suits today's concept better than half of the other models in the room. Jongdae presses angry explosions of dark dark blue glitters on Jongin's cheekbones and makes them blossom in fake tears running down to his jawline. He hates the way his powder has taken over Jongin's golden complexion, but probably not as much as Jongin does. Fortunately, Jongdae knows him well enough to know that Jongin turns back into the overexcited kid he actually is as soon as he washes his face. He's just working now, pretending, and Jongdae supposes he does it well enough because, after all, the only feelings that can be seen on the runway are the ones coming from the clothes.
The next model is just as handsome as Jongin, perfect almond eyes that Jongdae outlines with an graceful flick of the wrist, but he looks as withdrawn and empty, his humanity hidden under layers and layers of detachment. Models are the emptiest canvases of all, and Jongdae has learned to paint a little bit of humanity before mixing it with oppressive make up to create mischief or longing or anything he's asked to. It's the same routine everytime, or almost everytime, since it always gets different when Oh Sehun comes into the picture.
Jongdae has always been drawn to arts, whether it comes from poetry or singing melodies, huge paintings or epic movies, but he's never witnessed a masterpiece like Oh Sehun. There's always a second of hesitation when Jongdae raises his brush, but he guesses he should get used to it since it's never going to be easy to feel like he's about to doodle on the perfect mix between Monet and Van Gogh's brushstrokes. There's nothing to create on that flawless skin, nothing that Jongdae can do about the humanity calmly radiating from Sehun, and he always feels like all the concepts fashion runways could ever use are already sleeping somewhere in Sehun's sharp features.
Sehun has his eyes closed right now, because Jongdae is perfecting a Venetian carnival mask on the upper half of his face, golden make up painting his fingertips, and he can't help but think about the legend of Midas. He smiles and presses his index finger on Sehun's cheekbone, to smooth the golden powder because he now has to draw delicate interlaced designs with the red liquid eyeliner, but his finger lingers on Sehun's skin a second too long -or is it two?- and Sehun opens his eyes.
They silently look at each other, Sehun's eyes standing like two dark planets in the middle of a dazzling galaxy until there's a faint smile pulling at the corners of his lips, and then his eyes are part of the galaxy, shining and twinkling like stars. Jongdae can't help but grin too as he turns to grab his eyeliner, his fingers leaving a trail of shooting stars behind. When he turns back to Sehun, the latter has his eyes closed again, but Jongdae still feels his gaze on him, strong and imperturbable. He still feels it when Sehun is on the other side of the room, fully dressed and patiently waiting for the hairstylist to finish fixing his hair, even though Sehun doesn't face him. Jongdae inevitably messes up Jinri's foundation make up.
Saturday nights aren't for barhopping with Chanyeol and Baekhyun anymore. Jongdae stays until the end of the show because it's not unusual for some models to come back to him for another make up style for whatever party they'll attend, and Jongdae gladly accepts. It's his job after all, and he truly enjoys it, plus he likes the people he works with even more, so helping them out makes him feel quite pleased with himself. He also stays to watch the show, and he always ends up being mesmerized even though it's nothing new for him. He's already seen the outfits, he knows the models, the hairstyles, everything, but it still takes his breath away. Tonight's show might be his favorite so far, despite the hundreds of shows he's seen, but that concept and the way it has been handled is really amazing, and he doesn't have any problem picturing the headlines in fashion magazines by Monday.
There's a slight lump in his throat but he swallows it down, and it turns into a knot in his stomach. He is proud to be a part of tonight's show, proud to notice that he guessed right about the dark blue glitters on Jongin face and how the lights would make them discreetly sparkle at each fluid movement of the model. The director actually pats him because all the looks he created tonight are near to perfection, but the amazed faces in the crowd are making it hard to ignore that, no matter how much he loves his job, it's not what he really wanted to do in the first place.
Dark thoughts that weren't actually dark, just a little bitter, quickly vanish into thin air and Jongdae gets back to work, fixing details on the faces of the models coming in and out. Sehun stops only once before him, and Jongdae unsheathes one of his brushes, his special belt hanging low on his hips, to wipe away some of the golden glitters on Sehun's cheeks. The younger male is the highpoint of the show, and he's sent one last time on the runway to display the designer's favorite outfit. Jongdae watches him, like he watched all the others before him, his heart pounding erratically in his chest. Under the light layers of dark red and black clothes, Sehun's body seems to move like liquid light, and Jongdae is reminded of a tale with a swan princess. He doesn't hear the loud clapping, the standing ovation as all the models join Sehun on the runway, nor does he register the pop that the champagne bottle does when the director uncorks it once the audience finally gone. His heart thumps in his ears, and he accepts the flute just because he's not sure what else to do with his hands. Sehun is on the other side of the room, looking like a strange apparition in his casual clothes, the Venetian carnival mask still covering half of his face. His eyes are scanning the crowd of excited people with that enigmatic dark vibe Jongdae gave them as he listens to whatever Jongin is telling him, and finally their gazes collide.
It's silent and totally unnoticed by the rest of the crew, but Jongdae still feels like they've just created the most magnificent supernova ever witnessed right where their eyes locked over thin air. Sehun smiles at him, the Venetian carnival mask moving along with his features to outline his now moon crescent-shaped eyes, and he raises his flute towards Jongdae with a slight wink. Jongdae chuckles softly and gives back the gesture.
Jongdae leaves the venue almost two hours later, after celebrating the success of the show with the rest of the crew and eventually helping removing the thick layers of make up. It's cold outside, the winter still strong enough to bite mercilessly every inch of naked flesh it can find so Jongdae buries himself deeper into the warmth of his scarf. He's about to hide his hands into his pockets, fingers still a little greasy after all the products he used tonight, when foreign fingers seizes his. They're long, bony, still warm, and actually not that foreign, but they're gone before Jongdae can lean into the touch, replaced by a strong presence by his side. They're in Seoul, South Korea, and it'll probably ruin both of their careers if the word friends turned into something else for them.
Sehun watches Jongdae, his skin as white as the snow under their feet.
“Let's go home,” he says and Jongdae simply nods.
They walk side by side, the silence between them louder than the noise coming from the city. The sky is of a dark shade of red -or maybe is it purple- glowing with that aura that buildings and light panels emit, and that turns the starry nightsky into what could be the backdrop of an eternal night. The city is slowly forgetting the rush of the day, the muffled insults and the hurried phone calls in the middle of the streets; it's now humming a whole new tune of laughter and joy. Jongdae has always thought that nights were more lively, but then again, he feels like his whole life happens between sunsets and sunrises, rays of sunshine often forgotten behind closed shutters. He feels at ease walking with his head thrown back, looking for stars he knows he won't find, Sehun's shoulder constantly brushing against his to guide him as they walk down the street.
Seoul's downtown is behind them when it starts snowing again, and they both stop to watch snowflakes spin around them. There's a slightly bigger one above their heads that seems to take all his time to come down. He slides along breezes only snowflakes can feel, glowing when he meets the light coming from the street lamp midway, and it finally becomes the most important snowflake in the world when he ends up his random spinnings between Jongdae and Sehun. They realise they were both watching the same drop of frozen water when their eyes meet, the now forgotten snowflake falling at their feet. Sehun smiles and Jongdae laughs. There's snow on their eyelashes and their cheeks are flushed because of the cold, but there's no rush in what is filling them right now. Jongdae can't seem to pull down the corners of his mouth, and Sehun lets his fingers brush against high cheekbone. When they finally get going again, the snow has covered their footsteps and their hips brush all the way home.
It's not the absence of stars in the sky that makes Jondgae feel like Saturday nights are verging eternity, it's the way Sehun kisses him when they're finally in his apartment. It's slow but deep, and Jongdae lets his body bend to fit against the curves and edges of Sehun's. He is craving the younger's touch, but he lets it come to him, because there is no need to rush things. The clock ticking in the living room has already slowed down, and the peacefulness beating through their veins is stronger than ever. Saturday nights aren't for clubbing and cocktails anymore, they're made of four walls and no outside world.
Sehun cups his face as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, his thumbs softly brushing along Jongdae's jawline. There is no noise when Jongdae's back hits the door, because it happens too slowly, and even the swishing of Jongdae's scarf when Sehun takes it off sounds muffled. Their eyes meet as they both remove their coats, and another smile is shared. Sehun leans down to kiss the corner of Jongdae's lips, covering them with familiar sparkles that have Jongdae's smile growing wider until it turns into a soft laugh. He feels Sehun's lips turning upwards against his skin, and it has him shivering under the impression of burning alive. He raises his hands and lets his fingertips dance along Sehun's sharp collarbones as his boyfriend's breath curls along his neckline. Sehun's touches turn more possessive when Jongdae undoes the first button of his shirt, and their lips crash, still cold from the walk but setting fire to their senses all the same. This time, Jongdae allows Sehun's tongue between his lips, and as large hands slide on his skin and drag his shirt up, he is reminded of hundred of masterpieces, Mozart's Requiem, Van Gogh's Starry Night, Baudelaire's Death Of Lovers, and it suddenly gets too much.
Sehun is already caging him with long limbs when Jongdae's knees give away and he lets himself be carried away to the bedroom. He trusts Sehun with his everything, for the younger boy has never let him fall, or even simply let him fear to fall. Jongdae's hands wander across Sehun's back, dig a little deeper under his collar, desperate to left their marks and Sehun's breath hitches in the back of his throat, only making Jongdae more eager to draw reactions from him. His lips lock with the sensitive skin where Sehun's neck meets his shoulder and the shudder he feels taking over Sehun's body has the younger's hold tightening around him.
Despite the lust and the want, there's no rush between them. Sehun lays Jongdae on the bed as if he was the most fragile and precious treasure in the whole world, and Jongdae undresses him while words he forgot after art school keep popping up in his mind. Sehun's skin looks so translucent and thin that Jongdae can make out the delicate web of veins and capillaries, and he realises it's probably what the moon would look like if the most talented artist in the world drip painted it. There's a red shading on Sehun's neck, right where Jongdae had his lips a heartbeat before, and a soft undulation under his skin that makes him hard to grip. Jongdae holds onto his shoulders or spreads his fingers in his hair while Sehun takes pieces of clothes off one by one, but no matter how sharp and prominent Sehun's curves are, he always feels like smoke under Jongdae's fingertips. If Sehun had been a model during the Renaissance, he would have been painted in shades of gold with a sfumato technique, and centuries later, he would have been the greatest painting of all, exhibiting such a delicate way of painting instead of Mona Lisa.
“I know what you're thinking,” Sehun whispers in Jongdae's ear, his breath hot and burning. “Stop it.”
Jongdae smiles, his eyes closed, as he presses Sehun tighter against his chest. Sehun's skin is burning under his fingers, gliding with sweat that comes from all the frictions between them, but his body seems hazy under his wandering hands, and soon enough, Jongdae finds himself unable to know whose hand is gripping who or who's softly moaning.
There's a rush of pain that invites itself in the boiling lava inside Jongdae's tummy when Sehun takes their embrace a step further. He tries to ease it by tilting his head back and pretending he doesn't feel it, but Sehun is the first one to get to the magma under his skin. Jongdae feels his boyfriend's tongue running on his thighs and his lips waking up the muscles in his belly one by one. His hot breath against Jongdae's navel tickles, and Jongdae ends up letting out a shaky laugh. Sehun raises his head with an amused smile, Jongdae's skin now erupting with need more than want. He whines but doesn't say anything, and Sehun doesn't ask. He just takes Jongdae in his arms as he straightens up and then sits on the mattress, and Jongdae instinctively locks his arms around Sehun's shoulders for balance.
Saturday nights are for long moans and shaky breaths, since the rest of the week only leaves place for quick, too quick, intercourses. Saturday nights are for limits that are constantly pushed back and pieces of themselves blowing up in every corner of the room. Tiredness creeps his way into Jongdae's arms but the fire burning him alive only makes him hold on tighter to Sehun. His moans are stuck somewhere in the back of his throat, and he hands the control of his own body to Sehun as he kisses the frown on his boyfriend's face. He knows that Sehun is trying hard to not let go of the last sparks of consciousness while his hand follows Jongdae's spine before closing on his neck, he knows that his boyfriend takes pride in breaking Jongdae apart before rebuildind him with lazy kisses and sleepy touches after sex, and Jongdae lets him. Everytime Sehun dismantles him, he leaves little pieces of him behind, as if he was the glue holding Jongdae together, and maybe he is. Maybe that's what Jongdae wants him to be.
Jongdae throws his head back when Sehun's possessive kisses scrape his neck, and he lets his own thoughts die under deep hip thrusts and possessive holds on his body. He cries out when Sehun peppers kisses along his jawline while he holds his hips still, refusing Jongdae the delivrance he's been running after. The frustration fills his eyes with tears that run down Sehun's skin when Jongdae presses his forehead against his shoulder. Sehun's hand is large and strong on Jongdae's neck and the touch turns out almost painful when Sehun stops kissing the side of his face, lungs too empty to allow him to do anything else than gasping for oxygen. Jongdae comes undone, and untouched, almost sobbing because of the violence of what's burning him from the inside. His nails scraches Sehun's shoulder blades, and Sehun comes next, his feverish lips forcing his own moan of pleasure into Jongdae's throat.
Their bodies give away and they collapse together on the bed, Sehun's feet hanging off the mattress. Jongdae nestles against his chest with a soft whimper, his hand instinctively spread out against Sehun's heart. He watches his shaking fingers going up and down, following the fast rythme of Sehun's breathing, and his mind fills with white balance settings and pictures of snow.
“I know what you're thinking,” Sehun blurts out, still out of breath, his eyes lost somewhere on the ceiling. Jongdae smiles and crosses his arms on Sehun's chest, resting his chin on his hands. Sehun throws him a glance. “Stop it,” he says with a fond look in his eyes and an adoring smile on his lips.
Jongdae hums, still smiling, and Sehun raises his hand to bury it in his boyfriend's hair. He lets his fingers wander, strokes softly one of his cheekbones before pulling him up for a sweet sweet sweet kiss.
Saturday nights are for feelings, too many feelings.
Sehun is spread out on the bed, his head tilted on the side and his eyes closed. Jongdae watches him with a warm smile from where he's laying, his body half on Sehun's legs, half between and his head resting on Sehun's tummy. He bites his inner cheek and finally looks away from his boyfriend to open the marker he just grabbed in his night stand. He darts out the tip of his tongue for focus purpose and starts drawning on Sehun's flat stomach.
“I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing,” Sehun grunts, his lips barely opening around the syllables.
“Depends,” Jongdae sniggers as he keeps drawning. “What do you think I'm doing?”
Sehun lets out a long sigh and Jongdae pratically hears him mentally giving up on sleeping (as if he was really planning on sleeping anyway) before he raises his head to check on Jongdae's new creation.
“Why are you drawning footsteps on my stomach?” Sehun asks, bewildered.
Jongdae shrugs and tilts his head as the marker comes closer to Sehun's side. “Don't move,” he hushes him. “You'll see.”
Jongdae can almost hear his boyfriend's eyes rolling in their sockets, but Sehun doesn't say anything. He reaches for a pillow to put under his head to be able to watch Jongdae in a more comfortable position and mutters some apologizes when Jongdae hisses at him -”Don't move!”.
“Do you even know that it's a permanent marker?” Jongdae glares at him and Sehun raises his hands. “Okay, okay, I was just making sure.”
Jongdae sighs, unable to contain the smile pulling at his lips, and he reaches to grab one of Sehun's wrists. He presses a soft kiss on the back of his hand as his only explanation and goes back to drawning tiny little footsteps wandering on Sehun's pale skin. They begin on Sehun's hipbone and 'walk' around his navel before going up to his ribs. Jongdae eyes the skin there, his heart pumping gasps of admiration and adoration instead of blood through his veins, and he finally brushes the skin with the tip of his index finger. Sehun is so skinny that his ribcage has created mountains and gulfs and it feels like it's trying to tear the skin apart under Jongdae's touch. Goosebumps bloom on Sehun's chest and follow his finger until he stops it on Sehun's heart. Fascinated, Jongdae leans down and blow air against the skin, leaving a new trail of goosebumps behind as he goes up to Sehun's neck. Goosebumps turn into a shudder that has Sehun's chest jerking ever so slightly under Jongdae's body, making the latter smile.
“Jongdae,” Sehun breathes, and Jongdae kisses the corner of his lips before getting back to his drawning.
He doodles the last footstep on Sehun's heart and adds neat hangul characters under the first, on Sehun's hip.
“Kim Jongdae was here,” Jongdae reads, pride heavy in his voice but mischief just as strong in his eyes. He beams at Sehun. “I'm just leaving my mark.”
Sehun shakes his head, the scowl on his face quickly turning into a soft chuckle when Jongdae keeps grinning at him. The contrast of black and white on his skin is mesmerizing, the street lights coming from the window make him glow, and Jongdae easily forgets that time keeps ticking by when he gets lost in the contemplation of the footsteps on Sehun's skin. They're growing when his boyfriend breathes in before getting back to their usual size when he breathes out, they cut through muscles and bones, step aside when they meet one of the few moles Sehun has on his body, and the more Jongdae looks at them, the more he feels like they're not really on Sehun's skin. They seem to fly only a few millimeters above the skin, as if not daring to touch it but unable to turn away from it at the same time, and Jongdae can only relate. He is so close that he sees, once again, goosebumps slowly erupting under his heavy gaze, so close that the skin doesn't even look like skin anymore and Jongdae gets caught up in the fear that bones and blood will finally tear it, for it looks so fragile and translucent. He has half a mind to follow the footsteps with the tip of his fingers when he raises his hand, but Sehun quickly grabs his wrist to stop him. Taken aback, Jongdae looks up with wide eyes that only get softer when Sehun links their fingers. He topples Jongdae over, their fingers still intertwined, and hovers him with dark eyes and breath hitching in the back of his throat.
“You're an idiot,” he mumbles before leaning down and pressing his lips against Jongdae's.
This time when they make love, it feels like an eternity before they reach together that state of bliss that blossoms in the small of their backs in burning needles. An eternity within an eternity, and even with Sehun's body hovering him, even with that moan so strong it's stuck in the back of his throat, Jongdae is still able to see the poetry in all of this. An eternity mixed with hundreds of others, like a hourglass in which each tiny grain of sand represents an infinity. Sehun is, obviously, the most timeless of all the masterpieces.
Saturday nights are for craziness when they suddenly decides to move the furniture in the whole apartment.
Jongdae hurts himself after carrying the nightstand to the other side of the room. The wooden corner of the furniture digs in his hip and he lets out a startled gasp of pain as the night stand falls from his hands. Sehun rushes by his side and makes a face when he see the scratch on Jongdae's skin.
“I think we should put on some shirts,” he says with a glance to Jongdae's underwear. “Just to make sure.”
He drags Jongdae to the bathroom and takes care of his wound -”It's barely a scrap, Jongdae.” “It still hurts like hell, be respectful.”- and they spend ten minutes looking for their shirts in the mess that the bedroom has become . The pain isn't that strong, but Jongdae still whines when he has to bend because it worries Sehun, and it earns him a peck or a soft pressure of the hand on his nape every time.
They're dragging the couch across the living room when the neighbor down below starts yelling. Sehun's eyes shoot wide open and Jongdae has to press his hands against his mouth to muffle his laugh. They stay silent for five whole minutes, eyes locked and teeth bitting inner lips before starting to push the couch again. The neighbor curses, Jongdae bursts out laughing and Sehun throws him a cushion in the face. They end up leaving the couch in the middle of the room and the rest of the furniture against the walls (they pushed them to have enough space to move the couch.)
Sehun gets hungry so Jongdae orders some food, but he ends up eating cereals since Sehun's appetite for french fries gets out of control. Sitting crossed-legs on the wooden floor, Jongdae watches his boyfriend licking his fingers before reaching for his cheeseburger, and it's gross but it still makes him smile so much that he feels like his face is going to break. Sehun's diet is strict, probably on the verge of torture, and Jongdae thinks he's too skinny. He can't really blame Sehun though, because Sehun didn't make the rules, and it's not like he's sick, like some of the models Jongdae has seen. Sehun truly enjoys his job, he's passionate et dedicated, but Jongdae still couldn't be more grateful to see his boyfriend take a break from those too severe rules.
Of course, when Sehun realizes what he's done, his eyes narrow with a mix of horror and disgust. It's an intrusion of Mondays in their Saturday night, Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and every day of the week, and it doesn't feel fair at all. Jongdae is quick to forget the bowl of cereal on the wooden floor, and even quicker to straddle Sehun and kiss the guilt away. Sehun's lips taste like salt, and Jongdae still tastes the milk and the sugar in his own mouth, but it's not that bad, he realises when Sehun welcomes his tongue his mouth with a needy whimper. It tastes like guilty pleasures.
"You know," Sehun begins with a thinking frown on his face. "I kinda like your living room better like this."
They're lying on the floor, but their legs are still on the couch, feet buries under the cushions. Jongdae admires the delicate mix of wood and white plaster that is his apartment, bathing in the feeling of his and Sehun's shoulders brushing. He glances at the rest of the furniture, particularly at the TV screen facing the wall.
"Yeah," he laughs. "I'm not sure about that.”
Sehun follows his glance and shrugs. “You never watch TV anyway. Not enough hours in a day, remember?”
“True that,” Jongdae admits.
Sehun throws one of his legs over Jongdae and crosses his arms behind his head. “You could paint a fresco on the ceiling. Michelangelo style.”
Jongdae snorts as he pictures The Creation of Adam on his ceiling. His apartment looks more like a loft, because he has enough money to live while enjoying a certain level of comfort, but he's still pretty far from the Sistine Chapel level.
“Why would I do that?”
Sehun shrugs. “I don't know. You're an artist, isn't that what artist do?”
Jongdae's smile falters a little. “A make-up artist.”
“I saw what you did tonight,” Sehun retorts, the first syllable coming out harhsly from his mouth as if he knew already that Jongdae would protest. “You could paint a whole scenery that would look like it came straight from a fairy tale.”
Jongdae bites his inner lip, suddenly feeling like he's being crushed by the white expanse of his ceiling. There's a reason why he's not a painter, and why he's working with powders and faces as canvases. He does draw, but he quickly found out that he didn't have that sharp look all the painters have and which turns into a sparkle of Oh! I didn't expect that! in their paintings. If he really had to buy brushes and paint to cover his ceiling with, he would probably end up drawing Sehun up there, in different shades and shapes sure, but it would still be Sehun in the end, because Jongdae doesn't know how to seek new sources of inspiration when he has an endless supply of it just within easy reach. He would use shades of gold, for he has come to learn that gold and Sehun have a lot in common. Sehun isn't made of iron or cold silver like people would tend to think, he is made of gold, because when you first touch him, fingers brushing the material with curiosity, he is cold, but he warms up quickly to your touch, and you soon learn to see that there's something about him that sparkles, so bright it ends up warm and comforting every time you catch a glimpse of it.
It's tempting, Jongdae realises, almost surprised when he really shouldn't be, to have Sehun all over his ceiling, but it's also absurd, and Jongdae's face cracks into an amused smile. It wouldn't even compensate for the absence of his boyfriend on his most busy days, just make Jongdae miss him even more. He struggles enough already with the sharp intakes of oxygen that feel like ice in his lungs when Sehun is away to not want to pass out on his couch to the sight of golden hair, soft skin and warm presence.
Next to him, Sehun is squinting at the ceiling, probably trying to picture his own version of Jongdae's talent splattered above their heads, and just like that, they fall back into silence. There is nothing that they could say that isn't already lingering on the surface of their skins when their thighs brush anyway, so Jongdae just makes sure it happens a lot.
Saturday nights are made of a lot of things, made of time -so much that each one of their thoughts is finally able to reach that state when it turns into words and then intonations-, made of laughter and soft touches and probably stupid game ideas too, but there's something that never happens on Saturday nights, and it's consequences. When Sehun jokes about Jongdae's living room being so spacious they could totally do a fashion show, he doesn't think about what his words could be triggering for Jongdae, but Jongdae's mind is devoid of any trigger buttons anyway. He just stands up and wraps the ivory blanket previously on his couch around his waist, and Sehun states that today's concept will be “Greek divinities”.
Jongdae tiptoes around the couch in large gestures and what are supposed to be ballet moves, and Sehun snaps hundreds of pictures with an imaginary camera, his usual low voice now high-pitched as he mimics some random eccentric photographer.
“That's it,” he singsongs, and Jongdae turns his back on him as he laughs. “Yes, a shot from behind, exactly what I needed! Such a talented model! Please, Kim Jongdae-sshi, act as if you were making love to the camera.”
Jongdae doubles up with laughter, his hands pressed on his stomach as he wriggles his butt towards Sehun. Sehun chortles and grabs another cushion to throw at Jongdae.
“Come on, it's 'Greek divinites', not 'Greek cheap whores,” he snorts, and Jongdae finally lets himself fall on the floor before rolling on his back to look at Sehun, his boyfriend peeking at him over the back of the couch.
“Haven't you heard?” he retorts, still out of breath from all his laughing. “Zeus was a horny bastard.”
Sehun only smiles as he shrugs. He leans down and presses his elbows on the back of the couch, resting his chin on his hands as he eyes Jongdae with a pensive look. He looks good in a low-angle shot, Jongdae thinks, and everything he knows about cinematography suddenly comes back to him. The floor-to-ceiling windows shows faint pink and orange splinters across the night sky, but the darkness is still ruling for now, and Jongdae sees it in the long shadows Sehun's lashes cast on his cheeks. The light that comes from the ceiling pendant slips through his messy locks like sunshine through leaves. It's like a black and white puzzle on Sehun's face, or maybe a maze, and his eyes are the hidden treasure. His eyes or his lips. Or both.
Sehun slightly tilts his head and the shadows on his face move to the side. He gets up from the couch and joins Jongdae on the floor. He slowly straddles Jongdae's hips and leans down to put his hands on the floor, this way bracketing Jongdae's face. Jongdae doesn't see the ceiling pendant anymore, but the light is still there, all around them, except that now, the white corridors of the maze have left Sehun's face. It's like watching an eclipse, when everything is still bright, but also pitch black in the center and Jongdae can't help but think that Sehun would look good in a black and white movie.
Sehun leans down, but the kiss Jongdae expects doesn't happen. Instead, Sehun lifts his shirt as he drags his hands up Jongdae's chest, and his lips finally press against Jongdae's hipbone. The shudder that curves along Jongdae's spine is violent, but not as violent as the lava that slowly pours in his veins, making them burst one by one, when he realises that Sehun's lips linger on his skin.
“What are you doing?”, he whispers, his fingers automatically curling into Sehun's hair.
Sehun doesn't answer, at least not right away, and when he finally stops kissing the skin of his hipbone, Jongdae feels like his heart is now beating down there, and he has no trouble picturing the angry red Sehun's lips must have left on his skin.
“I don't have any marker,” Sehun explains as his fingers smooth the burning sensation on Jongdae's skin. “And I don't want anybody to steal you away, so I'm leaving my mark too.”
Jongdae snorts, the sound somehow strained as Sehun fingers wander on his skin. “Why would someone steal me away?”
There's silence and Jongdae closes his eyes as Sehun's fingers stop next to his belly button. He expects the overwhelming sensation of his boyfriend's lips against his skin again, but when nothing comes, he opens his eyes to find Sehun watching him, gaze heavy and dark, so dark.
“I would have,” Sehun replies. “If you hadn't been single when we met, I would have stolen you without a second thought.”
Jongdae opens his mouth to retort, but words somehow remain stuck in the back of his throat. Sehun flashes him a faint smile before leaning down and pressing a long kiss on Jongdae's forehead. Jongdae tangles his fingers in the hair on Sehun's nape, closing his eyes to the soft pressure of lips against his skin, melting with the delicate touches of fingers along his jawline and then down his neck. He wants to protest when Sehun breaks the kiss and slides down his body to kiss the skin of his stomach, but he just manages to let out a soft whimper. He can make out the ceiling pendant behind his closed lids, but the darkness is still lurking from the edges of his vision, even when purple and violet mix with the feeling of Sehun's lips on his skin, and orange and pink splinters across the night turn into white needles on his eyelids. He imagines it's still snowing when Sehun leaves another mark on his chest, he imagines that Seoul is still sleepy and silent, because Sunday mornings are for silence and breakfasts in coffee shops, but before that, they're for Saturday nights leftovers and lazy kisses, lazy love and discreet explosions of want. Darkness always wins on Sunday mornings though, and Jongdae and Sehun both let it take over, huddled up together under the blanket, fully knowing that Sunday mornings only last one second, too short to be truly noticed, and that when they'll wake up, Sunday morning will be over, and it'll be time for work, for reality, for the rush of the other days of the week.
Jongdae glances at the window through heavy eyelids as the last sparks of electricity Sehun left in his stomach slowly die. It's still snowing outside, so he closes his eyes and hugs Sehun closer as the darkness takes him away. One thing at a time.
Tonight's concept is pastel colors, so Jongdae doesn't paint fairy tales on faces, choosing nude pallets instead of glittery ones to create detachment and cold beauty. Jongin is once again hidden by a thick layer of pale BB cream, and Jongdae sees Kyungsoo's eyes roll with disgust as Jongin sits on the chair before him to get his hair done. Jongdae spots Jongin winking at the hairstylist through the mirror though, and he can't help but smile as he smoothes Zitao's natural eyebags, because despite the layers of make up, Jongin's bright smile is still playfull, and it's what matters the most.
After Zitao comes Sehun. He sits on the stool wordlessly, eyes glued to the mirror as Jongdae leans down to apply moisturizer on paper-thin skin. There are dark rings under Sehun's eyes and the lack of sleep can be seen everywhere on his face, but Jongdae still sees perfection every time he lays his eyes on him. He takes his time to work on Sehun's foundation make up, fingers sliding along his jawline with a faint twitching and brushes brushing skin he kissed all night long. Pastel colors and nude concepts don't work that well on Sehun, not in the way Jongdae sees it anyway, because those kind of looks are supposed to make the model look distant, but stunning. The cold vibe and the metallic stare somehow work with the outfits, leaving the impression that they've reached perfection and that there isn't a single flaw left in them, but they also appear kind of robotic, and Sehun's humanity is still there, no matter how thick the layer of make up Jongdae applies is. There isn't a single director who complained though, so Jongdae thinks he's probably too used to a living and warm Sehun to get tricked by the patronizing curve of his eyebrows when he's done working on them.
He smudges down bronze cream shadow with his ring finger towards Sehun's temples before patting some gold cream shadow onto the center of his lids to create lights effects that don't exist. He can't help but smile as he runs a little of the eyeshadow along Sehun's lower lash lines with the tip of a small brush. In one way or another, gold always comes back when it's about Sehun, in the outfit, in the make up, in the discreet luminous shines of his hair, in his smiles or in his eyes. It's not something Jongdae creates with expansive eyeshadows, it's already there and all Jongdae has to do, in fact, is just bringing light on it.
Sehun brushes his thigh with his fingertips and Jongdae straightens with a start, surprised. Sehun's eyes are still closed, but there's a faint twitch of his lips when he opens his mouth and whispers.
“I know what you're thinking. Stop it.”
Jongdae hides his laugh in a sudden cough fit.
The show is another success, but Jongdae doesn't enjoy it as much as he did with the dark fantasy concept, mostly because he's starting to feel the effects of the lack of sleep. He still claps and jokes with everyone, and then helps to clean the place, his eyes constantly drawn to where Sehun is standing while he wonders if his boyfriend will be able to come to his place tonight. The fashion week starts in a few days, and there's still a lot to do, but the idea of being alone in his bed is still quite scary.
He's helping Kyungsoo to gather up his combs when someone grabs his arm, and he finds himself face to face with a now bare faced Sehun back in his casual clothes motioning with his head towards the exit. Behind his back, Kyungsoo chuckles, and Jongdae realises they're probably not as subtle as they would have first thought, but it's okay, because neither is Kyungsoo. Both of their secrets are safe.
“Go,” Kyungsoo says. “I'll finish.”
Jongdae flashes him a grateful smile as he puts on his coat. Sehun gently wraps the scarf around his neck. The dressing room is empty, if not for Kyungsoo, Sehun and Jongdae, and that pair of dark eyes Jongdae sees lurking behind the door. He lets Sehun drag him impatiently when he understands that Kyungsoo won't be alone, not really.
They end up in a cafe next door, but conversation isn't easy to make because Sehun doesn't stop fidgeting or checking his watch every five minutes. It's late, and it's the second cup of coffee that Jongdae gulps to push back the heavy strenght pulling down his eyelids, and he finally snaps when his question remains unanswered as Sehun glances at the door for the umpteenth time.
“Seriously, if you're not going to listen to me, just... just walk me home so I can finally go to sleep,” he whines and Sehun's head snaps right back at him before he furiously shakes it. He checks his watch again, and Jongdae hisses.
“I think we can go now,” is Sehun's answer. He leaves money on the table, generous tip for the waitress, and stands up with a barely contained smile on his face. “Come on. I have something for you.”
Sehun links their arms when they step out of the coffee shop, and Jongdae lets him. It's late and the streets are empty. Monday is coming, dragging five workdays behind, and most of Seoul's habitants are currently trying to gather enough sleep time to face them all. Jongdae knows that they should be doing the same, but excitation has replaced exhaustion on Sehun's face, and everybody knows Jongdae's biggest flaw is probably curiosity. He doesn't ask where they're going though, not because Sehun won't answer, but because he doesn't have the time to before they're back in front of the staff door of the building in which the fashion show happened a couple of hours earlier.
“What the--” Jongdae sputters before looking at Sehun with surprise when the latter takes a bunch of keys from his pocket.
He unlocks the door and gently pushes Jongdae inside by pressing his hand in the small of his back.
“Follow me,” Sehun whispers, his fingers now actively searching for Jongdae's hand.
He leads them to the main room where the runway still occupies half of the room, and even in the darkness, Jongdae can see that the seats are all gone.
“I'm gonna put on the lights, okay? Stay there.”
Jongdae nods and listens to Sehun's footsteps, nervous. He knows that room by heart, but he's watching it from a different angle right now, and he can't help but feel like he shouldn't be here but in the dressing room instead. He feels even more uncomfortable when the lights are suddenly turned on with a sharp mechanical noise. The runway lights up from the inside, as if set ablaze by the soft lights under the glass, but it looks kind of threatening, almost haunted to Jongdae. He looks away.
Sehun comes back into the room, his eyes glued to Jongdae as soon as he steps in, and he only blinks when he stops just before Jongdae.
“What are we doing here, Sehun?” Jongdae glances at the runway with a nervous look in his eyes.
“Don't worry, Junmyeon hyung gave me the key. It's okay as long as I don't forget to lock when we leave.”
Jongdae frowns. Junmyeon is the owner of the building, and a designer in his spare time, and even if the building is more often used for private parties, he likes to organize fashion shows, especially during the fashion week. He's nice and really friendly, but still, Jongdae can't come up with any reason why Junmyeon would give Sehun the key to his property.
Guessing his confusion, Sehun grins before pressing a soft kiss on his forehead. “I know what you're thinking. And it doesn't matter. I took you here for a reason,” he mutters, lips sliding along Jongdae's hairline before stopping on his temple. Jongdae buries his fingers into Sehun's scarf, pulling at the soft fabric. “You're gonna walk down the catwalk, baby.”
Jongdae's brows shot up in surprise and he raises his head to protest, heart already pumping too loudly in his chest, but Sehun easily shuts him down with an open-mouthed kiss, swallowing down the moan of surprise Jongdae lets out.
“I can't do that,” Jongdae panicks as soon as Sehun breaks the kiss, and his boyfriend smiles.
“Of course you can. They told you you were too short, Jongdae, not that you can't have fun.”
Jongdae glances at the catwalk, the bitter taste of rejection back in his throat as Sehun gently unwrapps his scarf. He's always loved fashion, as far as he can remember it, and he would organize fashion shows for every family meeting, sporting proudly his father's jacket or Jongdeok's ridiculous hats, but reality finally caught up with him with a simple 'I'm sorry, Kim Jongdae-sshi, but you're too short to be a model.' Of course, Sehun knows everything, and Jongdae is starting to regret confessing his dark secrets to his boyfriend.
“Listen, Sehun, I--”
Sehun chuckles before shaking his head as he arranges the collar of Jongdae's long coat. He smoothes out the wrinkles with the palm of his hands, pressing a little stronger as they slide down to Jongdae's abdomen.
“Today's concept is,” he declares as he raises Jongdae's chin with his fingers, thumb sliding along his jawline. “Sexy men in the winter.”
Jongdae gulps, fear clenching at his heart, and Sehun presses another kiss on the tip of his nose. The contact is soft and short, but it's enough to ease Jongdae a little. He slowly turns towards the runway and starts walking after Sehun presses a hand in the small of his back. He's going to make a fool of himself, because Sehun is a professional, probably one of the best, and Jongdae is just... just a make-up artist.
He watches with wide eyes the catwalk that lays just ahead of him, already feeling ridiculous just standing on it. The light coming from under his feet doesn't help, and there's a long list of make-up tips that runs through his mind, all of them about complexion and foundation to look your best even under unflattering lights.
“Just go for it,” Sehun cheers him. “It's like owning the world, and claiming that everything is yours.”
Jongdae blinks at Sehun's silhouette, a few meters ahead of him. Claiming that everything is yours. Jongdae can't do that, he's not cut out for that, he apologizes for everyone in the subway and still asks Chanyeol and Baekhyun for permission if he wants a snack when he's visiting them. He doesn't own the world, and he's perfectly fine with it because the only thing he truly needs, really, is Sehun.
“Look straight ahead of you,” Sehun keeps going, sparkles turned into fires in his eyes, and that's when Jongdae realises.
He doesn't have to claim that the whole world is his, because except for Sehun, the whole room is empty. He just has to walk as if Sehun is his, and Sehun is. Claiming him is something he does every day, whether it be by gentle looks or hungry kisses and desperate hands. The footsteps he drew are still under Sehun's multiple layers of clothes, even after two showers, they're still wandering on milky skin. Kim Jongdae was here.
Jongdae sighs and hides his face behind his hands. He can't believe he's going to do this.
His first steps are a little clumsy and unsure, and he makes the mistake to look down at Sehun. He immediately feels the red blooming over his checks, even on the tip of his ears, and it almost has him stopping, but then, he just thinks fuck it. He's seen it a billion times already, and it's not like Sehun would let him go until he's done it anyway, so Jongdae straightens up and raises his chin. He thinks about permanent marker and gold cream eye shadow and the Sistine Chapel, and he just walks. He doesn't look at Sehun, because he's afraid it will blow up the confidence he is gaining with each step, but he keeps walking to the end of the catwalk. His heart is thumping loudly in his ears, spewing pure adrenaline in his veins, and Jongdae just lets it take over him. When he finally reaches the end of the runway, he strikes a pose and blows a kiss at Sehun who bursts out laughing.
"Now turn around and go back!" Sehun shouts out with glee, and Jongdae can only comply, his lips pressed in a thin line to contain his smile. He's more than happy to play along.
Sehun's laugh is bubbling in the air but Jongdae still feels his eyes on him, so he walks all the way to the beginning of the catwalk, as seriously as he can. He thinks about Sehun asking Junmyeon for the keys, he thinks about their 'fashion show' in his living room and about Sehun's gentle hands as he wrapped the scarf around his neck. With every step he makes comes a new thought, like Sehun's hickeys still splattered on his body, or Sehun tugging at his sleeve to have his attention, Sehun hovering him and leaning down to kiss him with sparkles of eternity between his lips. He thinks about all the Saturday nights since Sehun first asked him out, and how they mean so much in his everyday life, like a breath of fresh air he couldn't live without, and he realises that they're not only made of time, or laughter or craziness, but mostly of Sehun. And the thing is that, luckily for him, Jongdae spends more than half of the week with Sehun, so really, he should be used to Saturday nights popping up during the oddest moments, like on a cold and dark Sunday night, for example.
Breathing is suddenly a little harder, and when Jongdae finally reaches his destination, he doesn't feel like laughing anymore, but more like crying, but it's only when he turns around that he realises that Sehun stopped chuckling. Their eyes meet, irises crashing over thin air in a silence so loud it's deafening, and the supernova is back between them. There are a hundred of colors and lights on Sehun's face, billions of emotions flickering in the gold of his eyes and Jongdae feels like he painted Sehun's face again, except that this time, he didn't use his brushes or his fingers. He drinks in the words and feelings written all over Sehun's skin and finds a little bit of himself in each one of them, and out of all the looks he's created, this is by far his favorite one.
“I know what you're thinking.” Sehun says as a soft and gentle smile pulls up the corner of his lips. Dazzling galaxies and gold, gold everywhere. “And I love you too.”
i'm sorry what? a plot? what is a plot?
why am i laughing so hard at jongdae being too short to be a model, i'm sorry jongdae i love you
obviously i know nothing about fashion and make up, the whole thing was just an excuse, i literally word vomitted that ... thing, so please forgive me
thank you cla for your usual support, like... really
Rating: R
Pairing: Sehun/Jongdae
Wordcount: 8,998w
Warning: unbetaed, word vomit
Disclaimer: EXO belongs to themselves and SME
Summary: There are hundreds of reasons why Saturday nights are Jongdae's favorite moments, and each one of them involves Sehun, in one way or another.
Jongdae likes to think of himself as an artist, even though his creations aren't splattered on the usual white cold canvases, and his creativity doesn't come from a place in his mind only he can visit. He works on porous mountains and sharp edges, tries to shape words into shades of grey and splinters of red, and even though he's sometimes bound by rules he can't get avoid, he still uses every ounce of his freedom in each flick of the wrist. He doesn't work with paint, but with powder, and his brushes are different than a painter's, but when it comes right down to it, Jongdae isn't sure the difference matters. He creates things that weren't there before, and that hit potential audiences with a strong feeling of rightness, like he couldn't have done it any other way.
In the rush that's always taking over the dressing room, the models he's working with -on- always seem to enjoy the break that sitting on his chair gives them. Jongdae lets them close their eyes and rest for a while, while he turns the concept of the day into a beautifully thought-out mix of colors on their faces. The crazy work hours have reduced his social life to a sometimes scary void and Jongdae misses talking and goofing around, but he still bathes in the silence every time his fingertips brush over skin. Sometimes he feels like he knows those models better than his own best friends.
Today's concept is somewhat between dark fantasy nights and mesmerizing creatures -Jongdae has never met a director that was able to put concepts into words- and he tries to not get distracted by the flicker of glittering clothes as he paints black feathers around a model's eyes. The young man -probably even younger than his apparence seems to hint- closes his eyes when Jongdae raises his index finger, used to make-up artists' every move. His name is Jongin, and with the way he walks, like he dances his way between rays of sunshine everytime you close your eyes, Jongdae can't help but think that he suits today's concept better than half of the other models in the room. Jongdae presses angry explosions of dark dark blue glitters on Jongin's cheekbones and makes them blossom in fake tears running down to his jawline. He hates the way his powder has taken over Jongin's golden complexion, but probably not as much as Jongin does. Fortunately, Jongdae knows him well enough to know that Jongin turns back into the overexcited kid he actually is as soon as he washes his face. He's just working now, pretending, and Jongdae supposes he does it well enough because, after all, the only feelings that can be seen on the runway are the ones coming from the clothes.
The next model is just as handsome as Jongin, perfect almond eyes that Jongdae outlines with an graceful flick of the wrist, but he looks as withdrawn and empty, his humanity hidden under layers and layers of detachment. Models are the emptiest canvases of all, and Jongdae has learned to paint a little bit of humanity before mixing it with oppressive make up to create mischief or longing or anything he's asked to. It's the same routine everytime, or almost everytime, since it always gets different when Oh Sehun comes into the picture.
Jongdae has always been drawn to arts, whether it comes from poetry or singing melodies, huge paintings or epic movies, but he's never witnessed a masterpiece like Oh Sehun. There's always a second of hesitation when Jongdae raises his brush, but he guesses he should get used to it since it's never going to be easy to feel like he's about to doodle on the perfect mix between Monet and Van Gogh's brushstrokes. There's nothing to create on that flawless skin, nothing that Jongdae can do about the humanity calmly radiating from Sehun, and he always feels like all the concepts fashion runways could ever use are already sleeping somewhere in Sehun's sharp features.
Sehun has his eyes closed right now, because Jongdae is perfecting a Venetian carnival mask on the upper half of his face, golden make up painting his fingertips, and he can't help but think about the legend of Midas. He smiles and presses his index finger on Sehun's cheekbone, to smooth the golden powder because he now has to draw delicate interlaced designs with the red liquid eyeliner, but his finger lingers on Sehun's skin a second too long -or is it two?- and Sehun opens his eyes.
They silently look at each other, Sehun's eyes standing like two dark planets in the middle of a dazzling galaxy until there's a faint smile pulling at the corners of his lips, and then his eyes are part of the galaxy, shining and twinkling like stars. Jongdae can't help but grin too as he turns to grab his eyeliner, his fingers leaving a trail of shooting stars behind. When he turns back to Sehun, the latter has his eyes closed again, but Jongdae still feels his gaze on him, strong and imperturbable. He still feels it when Sehun is on the other side of the room, fully dressed and patiently waiting for the hairstylist to finish fixing his hair, even though Sehun doesn't face him. Jongdae inevitably messes up Jinri's foundation make up.
Saturday nights aren't for barhopping with Chanyeol and Baekhyun anymore. Jongdae stays until the end of the show because it's not unusual for some models to come back to him for another make up style for whatever party they'll attend, and Jongdae gladly accepts. It's his job after all, and he truly enjoys it, plus he likes the people he works with even more, so helping them out makes him feel quite pleased with himself. He also stays to watch the show, and he always ends up being mesmerized even though it's nothing new for him. He's already seen the outfits, he knows the models, the hairstyles, everything, but it still takes his breath away. Tonight's show might be his favorite so far, despite the hundreds of shows he's seen, but that concept and the way it has been handled is really amazing, and he doesn't have any problem picturing the headlines in fashion magazines by Monday.
There's a slight lump in his throat but he swallows it down, and it turns into a knot in his stomach. He is proud to be a part of tonight's show, proud to notice that he guessed right about the dark blue glitters on Jongin face and how the lights would make them discreetly sparkle at each fluid movement of the model. The director actually pats him because all the looks he created tonight are near to perfection, but the amazed faces in the crowd are making it hard to ignore that, no matter how much he loves his job, it's not what he really wanted to do in the first place.
Dark thoughts that weren't actually dark, just a little bitter, quickly vanish into thin air and Jongdae gets back to work, fixing details on the faces of the models coming in and out. Sehun stops only once before him, and Jongdae unsheathes one of his brushes, his special belt hanging low on his hips, to wipe away some of the golden glitters on Sehun's cheeks. The younger male is the highpoint of the show, and he's sent one last time on the runway to display the designer's favorite outfit. Jongdae watches him, like he watched all the others before him, his heart pounding erratically in his chest. Under the light layers of dark red and black clothes, Sehun's body seems to move like liquid light, and Jongdae is reminded of a tale with a swan princess. He doesn't hear the loud clapping, the standing ovation as all the models join Sehun on the runway, nor does he register the pop that the champagne bottle does when the director uncorks it once the audience finally gone. His heart thumps in his ears, and he accepts the flute just because he's not sure what else to do with his hands. Sehun is on the other side of the room, looking like a strange apparition in his casual clothes, the Venetian carnival mask still covering half of his face. His eyes are scanning the crowd of excited people with that enigmatic dark vibe Jongdae gave them as he listens to whatever Jongin is telling him, and finally their gazes collide.
It's silent and totally unnoticed by the rest of the crew, but Jongdae still feels like they've just created the most magnificent supernova ever witnessed right where their eyes locked over thin air. Sehun smiles at him, the Venetian carnival mask moving along with his features to outline his now moon crescent-shaped eyes, and he raises his flute towards Jongdae with a slight wink. Jongdae chuckles softly and gives back the gesture.
Jongdae leaves the venue almost two hours later, after celebrating the success of the show with the rest of the crew and eventually helping removing the thick layers of make up. It's cold outside, the winter still strong enough to bite mercilessly every inch of naked flesh it can find so Jongdae buries himself deeper into the warmth of his scarf. He's about to hide his hands into his pockets, fingers still a little greasy after all the products he used tonight, when foreign fingers seizes his. They're long, bony, still warm, and actually not that foreign, but they're gone before Jongdae can lean into the touch, replaced by a strong presence by his side. They're in Seoul, South Korea, and it'll probably ruin both of their careers if the word friends turned into something else for them.
Sehun watches Jongdae, his skin as white as the snow under their feet.
“Let's go home,” he says and Jongdae simply nods.
They walk side by side, the silence between them louder than the noise coming from the city. The sky is of a dark shade of red -or maybe is it purple- glowing with that aura that buildings and light panels emit, and that turns the starry nightsky into what could be the backdrop of an eternal night. The city is slowly forgetting the rush of the day, the muffled insults and the hurried phone calls in the middle of the streets; it's now humming a whole new tune of laughter and joy. Jongdae has always thought that nights were more lively, but then again, he feels like his whole life happens between sunsets and sunrises, rays of sunshine often forgotten behind closed shutters. He feels at ease walking with his head thrown back, looking for stars he knows he won't find, Sehun's shoulder constantly brushing against his to guide him as they walk down the street.
Seoul's downtown is behind them when it starts snowing again, and they both stop to watch snowflakes spin around them. There's a slightly bigger one above their heads that seems to take all his time to come down. He slides along breezes only snowflakes can feel, glowing when he meets the light coming from the street lamp midway, and it finally becomes the most important snowflake in the world when he ends up his random spinnings between Jongdae and Sehun. They realise they were both watching the same drop of frozen water when their eyes meet, the now forgotten snowflake falling at their feet. Sehun smiles and Jongdae laughs. There's snow on their eyelashes and their cheeks are flushed because of the cold, but there's no rush in what is filling them right now. Jongdae can't seem to pull down the corners of his mouth, and Sehun lets his fingers brush against high cheekbone. When they finally get going again, the snow has covered their footsteps and their hips brush all the way home.
It's not the absence of stars in the sky that makes Jondgae feel like Saturday nights are verging eternity, it's the way Sehun kisses him when they're finally in his apartment. It's slow but deep, and Jongdae lets his body bend to fit against the curves and edges of Sehun's. He is craving the younger's touch, but he lets it come to him, because there is no need to rush things. The clock ticking in the living room has already slowed down, and the peacefulness beating through their veins is stronger than ever. Saturday nights aren't for clubbing and cocktails anymore, they're made of four walls and no outside world.
Sehun cups his face as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, his thumbs softly brushing along Jongdae's jawline. There is no noise when Jongdae's back hits the door, because it happens too slowly, and even the swishing of Jongdae's scarf when Sehun takes it off sounds muffled. Their eyes meet as they both remove their coats, and another smile is shared. Sehun leans down to kiss the corner of Jongdae's lips, covering them with familiar sparkles that have Jongdae's smile growing wider until it turns into a soft laugh. He feels Sehun's lips turning upwards against his skin, and it has him shivering under the impression of burning alive. He raises his hands and lets his fingertips dance along Sehun's sharp collarbones as his boyfriend's breath curls along his neckline. Sehun's touches turn more possessive when Jongdae undoes the first button of his shirt, and their lips crash, still cold from the walk but setting fire to their senses all the same. This time, Jongdae allows Sehun's tongue between his lips, and as large hands slide on his skin and drag his shirt up, he is reminded of hundred of masterpieces, Mozart's Requiem, Van Gogh's Starry Night, Baudelaire's Death Of Lovers, and it suddenly gets too much.
Sehun is already caging him with long limbs when Jongdae's knees give away and he lets himself be carried away to the bedroom. He trusts Sehun with his everything, for the younger boy has never let him fall, or even simply let him fear to fall. Jongdae's hands wander across Sehun's back, dig a little deeper under his collar, desperate to left their marks and Sehun's breath hitches in the back of his throat, only making Jongdae more eager to draw reactions from him. His lips lock with the sensitive skin where Sehun's neck meets his shoulder and the shudder he feels taking over Sehun's body has the younger's hold tightening around him.
Despite the lust and the want, there's no rush between them. Sehun lays Jongdae on the bed as if he was the most fragile and precious treasure in the whole world, and Jongdae undresses him while words he forgot after art school keep popping up in his mind. Sehun's skin looks so translucent and thin that Jongdae can make out the delicate web of veins and capillaries, and he realises it's probably what the moon would look like if the most talented artist in the world drip painted it. There's a red shading on Sehun's neck, right where Jongdae had his lips a heartbeat before, and a soft undulation under his skin that makes him hard to grip. Jongdae holds onto his shoulders or spreads his fingers in his hair while Sehun takes pieces of clothes off one by one, but no matter how sharp and prominent Sehun's curves are, he always feels like smoke under Jongdae's fingertips. If Sehun had been a model during the Renaissance, he would have been painted in shades of gold with a sfumato technique, and centuries later, he would have been the greatest painting of all, exhibiting such a delicate way of painting instead of Mona Lisa.
“I know what you're thinking,” Sehun whispers in Jongdae's ear, his breath hot and burning. “Stop it.”
Jongdae smiles, his eyes closed, as he presses Sehun tighter against his chest. Sehun's skin is burning under his fingers, gliding with sweat that comes from all the frictions between them, but his body seems hazy under his wandering hands, and soon enough, Jongdae finds himself unable to know whose hand is gripping who or who's softly moaning.
There's a rush of pain that invites itself in the boiling lava inside Jongdae's tummy when Sehun takes their embrace a step further. He tries to ease it by tilting his head back and pretending he doesn't feel it, but Sehun is the first one to get to the magma under his skin. Jongdae feels his boyfriend's tongue running on his thighs and his lips waking up the muscles in his belly one by one. His hot breath against Jongdae's navel tickles, and Jongdae ends up letting out a shaky laugh. Sehun raises his head with an amused smile, Jongdae's skin now erupting with need more than want. He whines but doesn't say anything, and Sehun doesn't ask. He just takes Jongdae in his arms as he straightens up and then sits on the mattress, and Jongdae instinctively locks his arms around Sehun's shoulders for balance.
Saturday nights are for long moans and shaky breaths, since the rest of the week only leaves place for quick, too quick, intercourses. Saturday nights are for limits that are constantly pushed back and pieces of themselves blowing up in every corner of the room. Tiredness creeps his way into Jongdae's arms but the fire burning him alive only makes him hold on tighter to Sehun. His moans are stuck somewhere in the back of his throat, and he hands the control of his own body to Sehun as he kisses the frown on his boyfriend's face. He knows that Sehun is trying hard to not let go of the last sparks of consciousness while his hand follows Jongdae's spine before closing on his neck, he knows that his boyfriend takes pride in breaking Jongdae apart before rebuildind him with lazy kisses and sleepy touches after sex, and Jongdae lets him. Everytime Sehun dismantles him, he leaves little pieces of him behind, as if he was the glue holding Jongdae together, and maybe he is. Maybe that's what Jongdae wants him to be.
Jongdae throws his head back when Sehun's possessive kisses scrape his neck, and he lets his own thoughts die under deep hip thrusts and possessive holds on his body. He cries out when Sehun peppers kisses along his jawline while he holds his hips still, refusing Jongdae the delivrance he's been running after. The frustration fills his eyes with tears that run down Sehun's skin when Jongdae presses his forehead against his shoulder. Sehun's hand is large and strong on Jongdae's neck and the touch turns out almost painful when Sehun stops kissing the side of his face, lungs too empty to allow him to do anything else than gasping for oxygen. Jongdae comes undone, and untouched, almost sobbing because of the violence of what's burning him from the inside. His nails scraches Sehun's shoulder blades, and Sehun comes next, his feverish lips forcing his own moan of pleasure into Jongdae's throat.
Their bodies give away and they collapse together on the bed, Sehun's feet hanging off the mattress. Jongdae nestles against his chest with a soft whimper, his hand instinctively spread out against Sehun's heart. He watches his shaking fingers going up and down, following the fast rythme of Sehun's breathing, and his mind fills with white balance settings and pictures of snow.
“I know what you're thinking,” Sehun blurts out, still out of breath, his eyes lost somewhere on the ceiling. Jongdae smiles and crosses his arms on Sehun's chest, resting his chin on his hands. Sehun throws him a glance. “Stop it,” he says with a fond look in his eyes and an adoring smile on his lips.
Jongdae hums, still smiling, and Sehun raises his hand to bury it in his boyfriend's hair. He lets his fingers wander, strokes softly one of his cheekbones before pulling him up for a sweet sweet sweet kiss.
Saturday nights are for feelings, too many feelings.
Sehun is spread out on the bed, his head tilted on the side and his eyes closed. Jongdae watches him with a warm smile from where he's laying, his body half on Sehun's legs, half between and his head resting on Sehun's tummy. He bites his inner cheek and finally looks away from his boyfriend to open the marker he just grabbed in his night stand. He darts out the tip of his tongue for focus purpose and starts drawning on Sehun's flat stomach.
“I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing,” Sehun grunts, his lips barely opening around the syllables.
“Depends,” Jongdae sniggers as he keeps drawning. “What do you think I'm doing?”
Sehun lets out a long sigh and Jongdae pratically hears him mentally giving up on sleeping (as if he was really planning on sleeping anyway) before he raises his head to check on Jongdae's new creation.
“Why are you drawning footsteps on my stomach?” Sehun asks, bewildered.
Jongdae shrugs and tilts his head as the marker comes closer to Sehun's side. “Don't move,” he hushes him. “You'll see.”
Jongdae can almost hear his boyfriend's eyes rolling in their sockets, but Sehun doesn't say anything. He reaches for a pillow to put under his head to be able to watch Jongdae in a more comfortable position and mutters some apologizes when Jongdae hisses at him -”Don't move!”.
“Do you even know that it's a permanent marker?” Jongdae glares at him and Sehun raises his hands. “Okay, okay, I was just making sure.”
Jongdae sighs, unable to contain the smile pulling at his lips, and he reaches to grab one of Sehun's wrists. He presses a soft kiss on the back of his hand as his only explanation and goes back to drawning tiny little footsteps wandering on Sehun's pale skin. They begin on Sehun's hipbone and 'walk' around his navel before going up to his ribs. Jongdae eyes the skin there, his heart pumping gasps of admiration and adoration instead of blood through his veins, and he finally brushes the skin with the tip of his index finger. Sehun is so skinny that his ribcage has created mountains and gulfs and it feels like it's trying to tear the skin apart under Jongdae's touch. Goosebumps bloom on Sehun's chest and follow his finger until he stops it on Sehun's heart. Fascinated, Jongdae leans down and blow air against the skin, leaving a new trail of goosebumps behind as he goes up to Sehun's neck. Goosebumps turn into a shudder that has Sehun's chest jerking ever so slightly under Jongdae's body, making the latter smile.
“Jongdae,” Sehun breathes, and Jongdae kisses the corner of his lips before getting back to his drawning.
He doodles the last footstep on Sehun's heart and adds neat hangul characters under the first, on Sehun's hip.
“Kim Jongdae was here,” Jongdae reads, pride heavy in his voice but mischief just as strong in his eyes. He beams at Sehun. “I'm just leaving my mark.”
Sehun shakes his head, the scowl on his face quickly turning into a soft chuckle when Jongdae keeps grinning at him. The contrast of black and white on his skin is mesmerizing, the street lights coming from the window make him glow, and Jongdae easily forgets that time keeps ticking by when he gets lost in the contemplation of the footsteps on Sehun's skin. They're growing when his boyfriend breathes in before getting back to their usual size when he breathes out, they cut through muscles and bones, step aside when they meet one of the few moles Sehun has on his body, and the more Jongdae looks at them, the more he feels like they're not really on Sehun's skin. They seem to fly only a few millimeters above the skin, as if not daring to touch it but unable to turn away from it at the same time, and Jongdae can only relate. He is so close that he sees, once again, goosebumps slowly erupting under his heavy gaze, so close that the skin doesn't even look like skin anymore and Jongdae gets caught up in the fear that bones and blood will finally tear it, for it looks so fragile and translucent. He has half a mind to follow the footsteps with the tip of his fingers when he raises his hand, but Sehun quickly grabs his wrist to stop him. Taken aback, Jongdae looks up with wide eyes that only get softer when Sehun links their fingers. He topples Jongdae over, their fingers still intertwined, and hovers him with dark eyes and breath hitching in the back of his throat.
“You're an idiot,” he mumbles before leaning down and pressing his lips against Jongdae's.
This time when they make love, it feels like an eternity before they reach together that state of bliss that blossoms in the small of their backs in burning needles. An eternity within an eternity, and even with Sehun's body hovering him, even with that moan so strong it's stuck in the back of his throat, Jongdae is still able to see the poetry in all of this. An eternity mixed with hundreds of others, like a hourglass in which each tiny grain of sand represents an infinity. Sehun is, obviously, the most timeless of all the masterpieces.
Saturday nights are for craziness when they suddenly decides to move the furniture in the whole apartment.
Jongdae hurts himself after carrying the nightstand to the other side of the room. The wooden corner of the furniture digs in his hip and he lets out a startled gasp of pain as the night stand falls from his hands. Sehun rushes by his side and makes a face when he see the scratch on Jongdae's skin.
“I think we should put on some shirts,” he says with a glance to Jongdae's underwear. “Just to make sure.”
He drags Jongdae to the bathroom and takes care of his wound -”It's barely a scrap, Jongdae.” “It still hurts like hell, be respectful.”- and they spend ten minutes looking for their shirts in the mess that the bedroom has become . The pain isn't that strong, but Jongdae still whines when he has to bend because it worries Sehun, and it earns him a peck or a soft pressure of the hand on his nape every time.
They're dragging the couch across the living room when the neighbor down below starts yelling. Sehun's eyes shoot wide open and Jongdae has to press his hands against his mouth to muffle his laugh. They stay silent for five whole minutes, eyes locked and teeth bitting inner lips before starting to push the couch again. The neighbor curses, Jongdae bursts out laughing and Sehun throws him a cushion in the face. They end up leaving the couch in the middle of the room and the rest of the furniture against the walls (they pushed them to have enough space to move the couch.)
Sehun gets hungry so Jongdae orders some food, but he ends up eating cereals since Sehun's appetite for french fries gets out of control. Sitting crossed-legs on the wooden floor, Jongdae watches his boyfriend licking his fingers before reaching for his cheeseburger, and it's gross but it still makes him smile so much that he feels like his face is going to break. Sehun's diet is strict, probably on the verge of torture, and Jongdae thinks he's too skinny. He can't really blame Sehun though, because Sehun didn't make the rules, and it's not like he's sick, like some of the models Jongdae has seen. Sehun truly enjoys his job, he's passionate et dedicated, but Jongdae still couldn't be more grateful to see his boyfriend take a break from those too severe rules.
Of course, when Sehun realizes what he's done, his eyes narrow with a mix of horror and disgust. It's an intrusion of Mondays in their Saturday night, Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and every day of the week, and it doesn't feel fair at all. Jongdae is quick to forget the bowl of cereal on the wooden floor, and even quicker to straddle Sehun and kiss the guilt away. Sehun's lips taste like salt, and Jongdae still tastes the milk and the sugar in his own mouth, but it's not that bad, he realises when Sehun welcomes his tongue his mouth with a needy whimper. It tastes like guilty pleasures.
"You know," Sehun begins with a thinking frown on his face. "I kinda like your living room better like this."
They're lying on the floor, but their legs are still on the couch, feet buries under the cushions. Jongdae admires the delicate mix of wood and white plaster that is his apartment, bathing in the feeling of his and Sehun's shoulders brushing. He glances at the rest of the furniture, particularly at the TV screen facing the wall.
"Yeah," he laughs. "I'm not sure about that.”
Sehun follows his glance and shrugs. “You never watch TV anyway. Not enough hours in a day, remember?”
“True that,” Jongdae admits.
Sehun throws one of his legs over Jongdae and crosses his arms behind his head. “You could paint a fresco on the ceiling. Michelangelo style.”
Jongdae snorts as he pictures The Creation of Adam on his ceiling. His apartment looks more like a loft, because he has enough money to live while enjoying a certain level of comfort, but he's still pretty far from the Sistine Chapel level.
“Why would I do that?”
Sehun shrugs. “I don't know. You're an artist, isn't that what artist do?”
Jongdae's smile falters a little. “A make-up artist.”
“I saw what you did tonight,” Sehun retorts, the first syllable coming out harhsly from his mouth as if he knew already that Jongdae would protest. “You could paint a whole scenery that would look like it came straight from a fairy tale.”
Jongdae bites his inner lip, suddenly feeling like he's being crushed by the white expanse of his ceiling. There's a reason why he's not a painter, and why he's working with powders and faces as canvases. He does draw, but he quickly found out that he didn't have that sharp look all the painters have and which turns into a sparkle of Oh! I didn't expect that! in their paintings. If he really had to buy brushes and paint to cover his ceiling with, he would probably end up drawing Sehun up there, in different shades and shapes sure, but it would still be Sehun in the end, because Jongdae doesn't know how to seek new sources of inspiration when he has an endless supply of it just within easy reach. He would use shades of gold, for he has come to learn that gold and Sehun have a lot in common. Sehun isn't made of iron or cold silver like people would tend to think, he is made of gold, because when you first touch him, fingers brushing the material with curiosity, he is cold, but he warms up quickly to your touch, and you soon learn to see that there's something about him that sparkles, so bright it ends up warm and comforting every time you catch a glimpse of it.
It's tempting, Jongdae realises, almost surprised when he really shouldn't be, to have Sehun all over his ceiling, but it's also absurd, and Jongdae's face cracks into an amused smile. It wouldn't even compensate for the absence of his boyfriend on his most busy days, just make Jongdae miss him even more. He struggles enough already with the sharp intakes of oxygen that feel like ice in his lungs when Sehun is away to not want to pass out on his couch to the sight of golden hair, soft skin and warm presence.
Next to him, Sehun is squinting at the ceiling, probably trying to picture his own version of Jongdae's talent splattered above their heads, and just like that, they fall back into silence. There is nothing that they could say that isn't already lingering on the surface of their skins when their thighs brush anyway, so Jongdae just makes sure it happens a lot.
Saturday nights are made of a lot of things, made of time -so much that each one of their thoughts is finally able to reach that state when it turns into words and then intonations-, made of laughter and soft touches and probably stupid game ideas too, but there's something that never happens on Saturday nights, and it's consequences. When Sehun jokes about Jongdae's living room being so spacious they could totally do a fashion show, he doesn't think about what his words could be triggering for Jongdae, but Jongdae's mind is devoid of any trigger buttons anyway. He just stands up and wraps the ivory blanket previously on his couch around his waist, and Sehun states that today's concept will be “Greek divinities”.
Jongdae tiptoes around the couch in large gestures and what are supposed to be ballet moves, and Sehun snaps hundreds of pictures with an imaginary camera, his usual low voice now high-pitched as he mimics some random eccentric photographer.
“That's it,” he singsongs, and Jongdae turns his back on him as he laughs. “Yes, a shot from behind, exactly what I needed! Such a talented model! Please, Kim Jongdae-sshi, act as if you were making love to the camera.”
Jongdae doubles up with laughter, his hands pressed on his stomach as he wriggles his butt towards Sehun. Sehun chortles and grabs another cushion to throw at Jongdae.
“Come on, it's 'Greek divinites', not 'Greek cheap whores,” he snorts, and Jongdae finally lets himself fall on the floor before rolling on his back to look at Sehun, his boyfriend peeking at him over the back of the couch.
“Haven't you heard?” he retorts, still out of breath from all his laughing. “Zeus was a horny bastard.”
Sehun only smiles as he shrugs. He leans down and presses his elbows on the back of the couch, resting his chin on his hands as he eyes Jongdae with a pensive look. He looks good in a low-angle shot, Jongdae thinks, and everything he knows about cinematography suddenly comes back to him. The floor-to-ceiling windows shows faint pink and orange splinters across the night sky, but the darkness is still ruling for now, and Jongdae sees it in the long shadows Sehun's lashes cast on his cheeks. The light that comes from the ceiling pendant slips through his messy locks like sunshine through leaves. It's like a black and white puzzle on Sehun's face, or maybe a maze, and his eyes are the hidden treasure. His eyes or his lips. Or both.
Sehun slightly tilts his head and the shadows on his face move to the side. He gets up from the couch and joins Jongdae on the floor. He slowly straddles Jongdae's hips and leans down to put his hands on the floor, this way bracketing Jongdae's face. Jongdae doesn't see the ceiling pendant anymore, but the light is still there, all around them, except that now, the white corridors of the maze have left Sehun's face. It's like watching an eclipse, when everything is still bright, but also pitch black in the center and Jongdae can't help but think that Sehun would look good in a black and white movie.
Sehun leans down, but the kiss Jongdae expects doesn't happen. Instead, Sehun lifts his shirt as he drags his hands up Jongdae's chest, and his lips finally press against Jongdae's hipbone. The shudder that curves along Jongdae's spine is violent, but not as violent as the lava that slowly pours in his veins, making them burst one by one, when he realises that Sehun's lips linger on his skin.
“What are you doing?”, he whispers, his fingers automatically curling into Sehun's hair.
Sehun doesn't answer, at least not right away, and when he finally stops kissing the skin of his hipbone, Jongdae feels like his heart is now beating down there, and he has no trouble picturing the angry red Sehun's lips must have left on his skin.
“I don't have any marker,” Sehun explains as his fingers smooth the burning sensation on Jongdae's skin. “And I don't want anybody to steal you away, so I'm leaving my mark too.”
Jongdae snorts, the sound somehow strained as Sehun fingers wander on his skin. “Why would someone steal me away?”
There's silence and Jongdae closes his eyes as Sehun's fingers stop next to his belly button. He expects the overwhelming sensation of his boyfriend's lips against his skin again, but when nothing comes, he opens his eyes to find Sehun watching him, gaze heavy and dark, so dark.
“I would have,” Sehun replies. “If you hadn't been single when we met, I would have stolen you without a second thought.”
Jongdae opens his mouth to retort, but words somehow remain stuck in the back of his throat. Sehun flashes him a faint smile before leaning down and pressing a long kiss on Jongdae's forehead. Jongdae tangles his fingers in the hair on Sehun's nape, closing his eyes to the soft pressure of lips against his skin, melting with the delicate touches of fingers along his jawline and then down his neck. He wants to protest when Sehun breaks the kiss and slides down his body to kiss the skin of his stomach, but he just manages to let out a soft whimper. He can make out the ceiling pendant behind his closed lids, but the darkness is still lurking from the edges of his vision, even when purple and violet mix with the feeling of Sehun's lips on his skin, and orange and pink splinters across the night turn into white needles on his eyelids. He imagines it's still snowing when Sehun leaves another mark on his chest, he imagines that Seoul is still sleepy and silent, because Sunday mornings are for silence and breakfasts in coffee shops, but before that, they're for Saturday nights leftovers and lazy kisses, lazy love and discreet explosions of want. Darkness always wins on Sunday mornings though, and Jongdae and Sehun both let it take over, huddled up together under the blanket, fully knowing that Sunday mornings only last one second, too short to be truly noticed, and that when they'll wake up, Sunday morning will be over, and it'll be time for work, for reality, for the rush of the other days of the week.
Jongdae glances at the window through heavy eyelids as the last sparks of electricity Sehun left in his stomach slowly die. It's still snowing outside, so he closes his eyes and hugs Sehun closer as the darkness takes him away. One thing at a time.
Tonight's concept is pastel colors, so Jongdae doesn't paint fairy tales on faces, choosing nude pallets instead of glittery ones to create detachment and cold beauty. Jongin is once again hidden by a thick layer of pale BB cream, and Jongdae sees Kyungsoo's eyes roll with disgust as Jongin sits on the chair before him to get his hair done. Jongdae spots Jongin winking at the hairstylist through the mirror though, and he can't help but smile as he smoothes Zitao's natural eyebags, because despite the layers of make up, Jongin's bright smile is still playfull, and it's what matters the most.
After Zitao comes Sehun. He sits on the stool wordlessly, eyes glued to the mirror as Jongdae leans down to apply moisturizer on paper-thin skin. There are dark rings under Sehun's eyes and the lack of sleep can be seen everywhere on his face, but Jongdae still sees perfection every time he lays his eyes on him. He takes his time to work on Sehun's foundation make up, fingers sliding along his jawline with a faint twitching and brushes brushing skin he kissed all night long. Pastel colors and nude concepts don't work that well on Sehun, not in the way Jongdae sees it anyway, because those kind of looks are supposed to make the model look distant, but stunning. The cold vibe and the metallic stare somehow work with the outfits, leaving the impression that they've reached perfection and that there isn't a single flaw left in them, but they also appear kind of robotic, and Sehun's humanity is still there, no matter how thick the layer of make up Jongdae applies is. There isn't a single director who complained though, so Jongdae thinks he's probably too used to a living and warm Sehun to get tricked by the patronizing curve of his eyebrows when he's done working on them.
He smudges down bronze cream shadow with his ring finger towards Sehun's temples before patting some gold cream shadow onto the center of his lids to create lights effects that don't exist. He can't help but smile as he runs a little of the eyeshadow along Sehun's lower lash lines with the tip of a small brush. In one way or another, gold always comes back when it's about Sehun, in the outfit, in the make up, in the discreet luminous shines of his hair, in his smiles or in his eyes. It's not something Jongdae creates with expansive eyeshadows, it's already there and all Jongdae has to do, in fact, is just bringing light on it.
Sehun brushes his thigh with his fingertips and Jongdae straightens with a start, surprised. Sehun's eyes are still closed, but there's a faint twitch of his lips when he opens his mouth and whispers.
“I know what you're thinking. Stop it.”
Jongdae hides his laugh in a sudden cough fit.
The show is another success, but Jongdae doesn't enjoy it as much as he did with the dark fantasy concept, mostly because he's starting to feel the effects of the lack of sleep. He still claps and jokes with everyone, and then helps to clean the place, his eyes constantly drawn to where Sehun is standing while he wonders if his boyfriend will be able to come to his place tonight. The fashion week starts in a few days, and there's still a lot to do, but the idea of being alone in his bed is still quite scary.
He's helping Kyungsoo to gather up his combs when someone grabs his arm, and he finds himself face to face with a now bare faced Sehun back in his casual clothes motioning with his head towards the exit. Behind his back, Kyungsoo chuckles, and Jongdae realises they're probably not as subtle as they would have first thought, but it's okay, because neither is Kyungsoo. Both of their secrets are safe.
“Go,” Kyungsoo says. “I'll finish.”
Jongdae flashes him a grateful smile as he puts on his coat. Sehun gently wraps the scarf around his neck. The dressing room is empty, if not for Kyungsoo, Sehun and Jongdae, and that pair of dark eyes Jongdae sees lurking behind the door. He lets Sehun drag him impatiently when he understands that Kyungsoo won't be alone, not really.
They end up in a cafe next door, but conversation isn't easy to make because Sehun doesn't stop fidgeting or checking his watch every five minutes. It's late, and it's the second cup of coffee that Jongdae gulps to push back the heavy strenght pulling down his eyelids, and he finally snaps when his question remains unanswered as Sehun glances at the door for the umpteenth time.
“Seriously, if you're not going to listen to me, just... just walk me home so I can finally go to sleep,” he whines and Sehun's head snaps right back at him before he furiously shakes it. He checks his watch again, and Jongdae hisses.
“I think we can go now,” is Sehun's answer. He leaves money on the table, generous tip for the waitress, and stands up with a barely contained smile on his face. “Come on. I have something for you.”
Sehun links their arms when they step out of the coffee shop, and Jongdae lets him. It's late and the streets are empty. Monday is coming, dragging five workdays behind, and most of Seoul's habitants are currently trying to gather enough sleep time to face them all. Jongdae knows that they should be doing the same, but excitation has replaced exhaustion on Sehun's face, and everybody knows Jongdae's biggest flaw is probably curiosity. He doesn't ask where they're going though, not because Sehun won't answer, but because he doesn't have the time to before they're back in front of the staff door of the building in which the fashion show happened a couple of hours earlier.
“What the--” Jongdae sputters before looking at Sehun with surprise when the latter takes a bunch of keys from his pocket.
He unlocks the door and gently pushes Jongdae inside by pressing his hand in the small of his back.
“Follow me,” Sehun whispers, his fingers now actively searching for Jongdae's hand.
He leads them to the main room where the runway still occupies half of the room, and even in the darkness, Jongdae can see that the seats are all gone.
“I'm gonna put on the lights, okay? Stay there.”
Jongdae nods and listens to Sehun's footsteps, nervous. He knows that room by heart, but he's watching it from a different angle right now, and he can't help but feel like he shouldn't be here but in the dressing room instead. He feels even more uncomfortable when the lights are suddenly turned on with a sharp mechanical noise. The runway lights up from the inside, as if set ablaze by the soft lights under the glass, but it looks kind of threatening, almost haunted to Jongdae. He looks away.
Sehun comes back into the room, his eyes glued to Jongdae as soon as he steps in, and he only blinks when he stops just before Jongdae.
“What are we doing here, Sehun?” Jongdae glances at the runway with a nervous look in his eyes.
“Don't worry, Junmyeon hyung gave me the key. It's okay as long as I don't forget to lock when we leave.”
Jongdae frowns. Junmyeon is the owner of the building, and a designer in his spare time, and even if the building is more often used for private parties, he likes to organize fashion shows, especially during the fashion week. He's nice and really friendly, but still, Jongdae can't come up with any reason why Junmyeon would give Sehun the key to his property.
Guessing his confusion, Sehun grins before pressing a soft kiss on his forehead. “I know what you're thinking. And it doesn't matter. I took you here for a reason,” he mutters, lips sliding along Jongdae's hairline before stopping on his temple. Jongdae buries his fingers into Sehun's scarf, pulling at the soft fabric. “You're gonna walk down the catwalk, baby.”
Jongdae's brows shot up in surprise and he raises his head to protest, heart already pumping too loudly in his chest, but Sehun easily shuts him down with an open-mouthed kiss, swallowing down the moan of surprise Jongdae lets out.
“I can't do that,” Jongdae panicks as soon as Sehun breaks the kiss, and his boyfriend smiles.
“Of course you can. They told you you were too short, Jongdae, not that you can't have fun.”
Jongdae glances at the catwalk, the bitter taste of rejection back in his throat as Sehun gently unwrapps his scarf. He's always loved fashion, as far as he can remember it, and he would organize fashion shows for every family meeting, sporting proudly his father's jacket or Jongdeok's ridiculous hats, but reality finally caught up with him with a simple 'I'm sorry, Kim Jongdae-sshi, but you're too short to be a model.' Of course, Sehun knows everything, and Jongdae is starting to regret confessing his dark secrets to his boyfriend.
“Listen, Sehun, I--”
Sehun chuckles before shaking his head as he arranges the collar of Jongdae's long coat. He smoothes out the wrinkles with the palm of his hands, pressing a little stronger as they slide down to Jongdae's abdomen.
“Today's concept is,” he declares as he raises Jongdae's chin with his fingers, thumb sliding along his jawline. “Sexy men in the winter.”
Jongdae gulps, fear clenching at his heart, and Sehun presses another kiss on the tip of his nose. The contact is soft and short, but it's enough to ease Jongdae a little. He slowly turns towards the runway and starts walking after Sehun presses a hand in the small of his back. He's going to make a fool of himself, because Sehun is a professional, probably one of the best, and Jongdae is just... just a make-up artist.
He watches with wide eyes the catwalk that lays just ahead of him, already feeling ridiculous just standing on it. The light coming from under his feet doesn't help, and there's a long list of make-up tips that runs through his mind, all of them about complexion and foundation to look your best even under unflattering lights.
“Just go for it,” Sehun cheers him. “It's like owning the world, and claiming that everything is yours.”
Jongdae blinks at Sehun's silhouette, a few meters ahead of him. Claiming that everything is yours. Jongdae can't do that, he's not cut out for that, he apologizes for everyone in the subway and still asks Chanyeol and Baekhyun for permission if he wants a snack when he's visiting them. He doesn't own the world, and he's perfectly fine with it because the only thing he truly needs, really, is Sehun.
“Look straight ahead of you,” Sehun keeps going, sparkles turned into fires in his eyes, and that's when Jongdae realises.
He doesn't have to claim that the whole world is his, because except for Sehun, the whole room is empty. He just has to walk as if Sehun is his, and Sehun is. Claiming him is something he does every day, whether it be by gentle looks or hungry kisses and desperate hands. The footsteps he drew are still under Sehun's multiple layers of clothes, even after two showers, they're still wandering on milky skin. Kim Jongdae was here.
Jongdae sighs and hides his face behind his hands. He can't believe he's going to do this.
His first steps are a little clumsy and unsure, and he makes the mistake to look down at Sehun. He immediately feels the red blooming over his checks, even on the tip of his ears, and it almost has him stopping, but then, he just thinks fuck it. He's seen it a billion times already, and it's not like Sehun would let him go until he's done it anyway, so Jongdae straightens up and raises his chin. He thinks about permanent marker and gold cream eye shadow and the Sistine Chapel, and he just walks. He doesn't look at Sehun, because he's afraid it will blow up the confidence he is gaining with each step, but he keeps walking to the end of the catwalk. His heart is thumping loudly in his ears, spewing pure adrenaline in his veins, and Jongdae just lets it take over him. When he finally reaches the end of the runway, he strikes a pose and blows a kiss at Sehun who bursts out laughing.
"Now turn around and go back!" Sehun shouts out with glee, and Jongdae can only comply, his lips pressed in a thin line to contain his smile. He's more than happy to play along.
Sehun's laugh is bubbling in the air but Jongdae still feels his eyes on him, so he walks all the way to the beginning of the catwalk, as seriously as he can. He thinks about Sehun asking Junmyeon for the keys, he thinks about their 'fashion show' in his living room and about Sehun's gentle hands as he wrapped the scarf around his neck. With every step he makes comes a new thought, like Sehun's hickeys still splattered on his body, or Sehun tugging at his sleeve to have his attention, Sehun hovering him and leaning down to kiss him with sparkles of eternity between his lips. He thinks about all the Saturday nights since Sehun first asked him out, and how they mean so much in his everyday life, like a breath of fresh air he couldn't live without, and he realises that they're not only made of time, or laughter or craziness, but mostly of Sehun. And the thing is that, luckily for him, Jongdae spends more than half of the week with Sehun, so really, he should be used to Saturday nights popping up during the oddest moments, like on a cold and dark Sunday night, for example.
Breathing is suddenly a little harder, and when Jongdae finally reaches his destination, he doesn't feel like laughing anymore, but more like crying, but it's only when he turns around that he realises that Sehun stopped chuckling. Their eyes meet, irises crashing over thin air in a silence so loud it's deafening, and the supernova is back between them. There are a hundred of colors and lights on Sehun's face, billions of emotions flickering in the gold of his eyes and Jongdae feels like he painted Sehun's face again, except that this time, he didn't use his brushes or his fingers. He drinks in the words and feelings written all over Sehun's skin and finds a little bit of himself in each one of them, and out of all the looks he's created, this is by far his favorite one.
“I know what you're thinking.” Sehun says as a soft and gentle smile pulls up the corner of his lips. Dazzling galaxies and gold, gold everywhere. “And I love you too.”
i'm sorry what? a plot? what is a plot?
why am i laughing so hard at jongdae being too short to be a model, i'm sorry jongdae i love you
obviously i know nothing about fashion and make up, the whole thing was just an excuse, i literally word vomitted that ... thing, so please forgive me
thank you cla for your usual support, like... really