oneshot; chansung/wooyoung; customer service
Customer Service
Chansung/Wooyoung; nc-17
Wooyoung treats his customers the best he possibly can.
♣3,672 words
note: written for music_loner's birthday. Sorry, this doesn't exactly go with what you asked for, I'll write you something better, I promise! Thanks to x_ebolarama for betaing! ❤
Wooyoung's breath was ragged, his body convulsed against his hips. Chansung moaned as Wooyoung's nails scraped his back and left harsh red marks. His mouth found Wooyoung's pulse and he bit down hard.
"N-no marks!" Wooyoung cried as he jerked himself away from Chansung's teeth. Chansung found the tip of his ear instead. At once Wooyoung hissed at him and dropped his head back, lifted his hips and came hard and fast against his stomach. Rasping in his ear, Chansung released his seed inside of him and fell on top of his panting, sweaty body.
Wooyoung took Chansung's face in his hands and pressed their lips together, breaking apart when his strength gave out. He collapsed on the silk sheets with an exhausted breath.
"How much time is left?" Wooyoung murmured as Chansung caressed his face and let his fingers trail over the harsh red bruises that were starting to form on his neck. He felt only slightly guilty--let the other customers know that Wooyoung was his, he didn't care.
"Five minutes," it felt like a dream that was ending as he said it. Wooyoung pushed himself up off the sheets and covered Chansung's wandering hand with his own.
"We're getting longer," Wooyoung's laugh was light. "I remember when you barely lasted five minutes."
Chansung struggled to pull himself out of the sheets. "It's just that you don't have the same effect anymore." He grinned, groping for his jeans on the floor.
He yelped when Wooyoung yanked him back against the covers. Wooyoung's breath brushed against his face as the prostitute fondled his member through the sheets. "I'm sure I can make you come again in two." He caught Chansung in an open mouthed kiss and slid his hand along his already semi erect shaft. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth and slid his legs slowly up Chansung's lanky form.
Chansung whined, trembling against Wooyoung as the prostitute slid his fingers up the base of his spine. Chansung's fingers clenched the bedsheets hard and swallowed, fighting the tongue that bewitched his mouth. He gasped as Wooyoung swirled the soft blankets around his member. His body arched against the hand shamelessly as he gasped against Wooyoung's tongue. He flushed with embarrassment as he found that he was hard already and it was barely more than a minute. Just when he thought he was about to faint from the strain of his body, Wooyoung retracted his hand from the sheets, his fingers wandering up to his abdomen and gently scraping his nails over his skin.
He gave a choked cry as the meandering fingers flicked his nipples. A moment later his cry turned into a shout as he came in a flood against the sheets. He gasped against Wooyoung, panting and feeling a sticky wetness around his groin. His face was red from a mixture of embarrassment and awe as Wooyoung gave him another gentle kiss.
His chest heaved beneath the covers, unable to feel his legs and sure he wouldn't be able to walk anywhere anytime soon, not that he wanted too. He closed his eyes and inhaled Wooyoung's scent, feeling his soft hair brush against his face.
"I don't want to go," he choked out, even as the beeper sounded from Wooyoung's watch on the bedside table.
"I know," Wooyoung murmured, slipping his fingers through Chansung's long hair. "You should get a haircut."
Chansung pouted up at him, raising his head to try and catch his lips in a kiss. Wooyoung pulled away as though struck, pulling himself off the bed and walking towards the showers. "Your time's up," Wooyoung sighed, jerking on his pants. "I doubt you have money for another hour tonight."
Sitting up seemed like too much effort, but he managed, and gave the man a pout. "You're more than just a whore to me, you know." He murmured before he left, his long disheveled hair hidden under his beanie.
"I know," Wooyoung murmured and watched his back fade away as Chansung walked out of his life again.
Until next weekend anyway.
-
Life liked to pass by Chansung like a blur, or so he felt. It always seemed to be raining, and each day he felt like he lost more than he gained. His meager job as a delivery boy was enough to pay for his one room apartment and his extensive diet. And an hour reserved for Wooyoung on Saturday night. He knew he was being pathetic when his heart staggered in his chest as he thought of the man, when he thought of those lips caressing his neck or those nimble fingers slipping his jeans down his hips.
But he knew Wooyoung was chained to his life and Chansung knew he was chained to his own lack of a life. He hated shutting the door behind himself every Saturday, leaving Wooyoung behind to receive the next customer who wanted him the same way Chansung wanted him. And yet, no one could ever want Wooyoung the way Chansung wanted him.
He felt like it was some sort of disease--indeed, his weekend practice assured that he would get a disease in the future. As much as he wanted to deny it, he would never have Wooyoung, the chained bird who he would never have the power to free. He'd come home disoriented and dizzy, and he'd drink until he fell asleep, waking up with his face in the floor, murmuring the name of a person he could never fully have.
The next morning he'd wake and wash his face off in his bathroom sink, staring up at his sunken eyes and pale skin in the reflection. "I'm not going back," he'd tell himself, until the weekend came around and he was standing in front of that door again.
He'd enter in a haze and nearly fall upon the expectant Wooyoung, slipping money into the pocket of jeans that would be off the moment they staggered into a free bedroom. His kisses would always be hot and frantic and his erection would already be straining against the jean's they were trapped behind before he hit the sheets.
Time would always be up before Chansung would be ready. He wanted to stay, he wanted to spend a life time with Wooyoung. He kissed Wooyoung again, desperately as he pulled on his undershirt and zipped his jeans. They lingered for a moment, his fingers touching Wooyoung's against the sheets.
"See you next week," Wooyoung swallowed, turning away.
"Of course," Chansung smiled, squeezing the warm hand once more before letting their fingers trail apart. "I'll be here." As he walked away again, he told himself that no, he would not be back, he could not come back because doing this constantly was going to murder him.
It wasn't until he reached his apartment that he remembered leaving his sweater on the floor.
"I'll just get it next week," he sighed, pulling a cold beer from the fridge and resigning himself to his fate.
-
Wooyoung stripped the sheets and blankets off the bed in his assigned room and dropped them onto the floor to be picked up during the day by the cleaning maid. He sagged against the mattress, feeling the sweat and cologne of men that he'd serviced that night. His eyes flickered shut, a weariness in his bones that made him feel older than his years.
He dragged himself to his feet with a groan, thoughts on anything but his occupation. The best way to live with this life, he reckoned, was to remember all the things that could be happening to him if he weren't here. At least he wasn't trapped back at home, where his father beat him or where his mother would scream day and night. At least there weren't guns going off every five minutes outside his front door or people breaking in at night.
In all ways, this was the better life. Wooyoung couldn't help but wish for something better though, some sort of life that wasn't servicing others but just having one person--one lover to love and care for instead of pretending for countless people. He made to leave but his eyes caught on a red heap of fabric. It was soft in his fingers when he lifted it, the lingering smell made his breath catch on his throat.
Of course there was one customer that he secretly looked forward to every weekend. Of course it was Chansung, the young kid who couldn't afford more than an hour every night and would always be wasting his life away and never getting ahead just to see him, over and over again. Wooyoung buried his head in the soft fabric and inhaled the soft scent of spice and a musk of fresh air that made butterflies dance in his abdomen.
He supposed he would see Chansung next weekend, but it wasn't soon enough anymore.
-
Chansung woke with an intense headache and his phone ringing in his ear. Moaning, he rolled over to grab at it and only managed to knock himself off the bed. Yelping, he rubbed his face and answered it with an unhappy greeting.
"Morning sunshine!" Chansung grit his teeth, recoiling from the phone as the cheerful voice stabbed at his aching head.
"Whaddaya want?" He moaned crawling back under the covers. "Jay, it's early."
"It's three in the afternoon!" The voice on the other end of the line was indignant. "It's early," Chansung whined, curling up under the covers.
"Whatever you say. Where are your spare keys?"
"They're in the mailbox like always," Chansung scowled. "Bring the mail with you." He snapped the phone shut and tried to go back to sleep, but decided against it and slunk into the bathroom.
The door burst open as he was brushing his teeth and he choked on toothpaste, sure that he just bruised the inside of his cheek with his brush. Jay ran into the room, waving an open envelope around like a maniac.
"Look!" Jay nearly screamed, shoving it into his hands. Chansung spat out toothpaste and glanced down at the letter. "It's from your parents!" With a frown, he started reading the slanted script but after a few sentences of how much they missed him he crumbled it up it up and threw it in the trash.
Jay protested behind him as he started for his dresser and looked for a clean shirt. "Why do you always do that?" Jay asked, uncrumbling the letter.
Chansung pulled a sweater over his head. "I don't care." He brushed his fingers through his long hair and groped around for a hair tie. "And they don't care either."
Jay scowled at him from the doorway, hands on his hips. "You can't stay here forever, doing this. You'll have to go back and talk to them eventually."
Chansung scoffed. "They don't approve of me, why should I go back?"
Jay rolled his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. "Of course they ain't going to approve of you! I sure wouldn't approve of you if you were my son."
Chansung gave him a boyish pout that made Jay scoff. "But you love me!" Chansung grinned, latching onto Jay's back as the older man dragged him out of the bedroom and towards the apartment door.
"No," Jay wrestled the lanky boy off his back. "I hate you, really."
Chansung fell on the floor with an "oof" and held his aching head in his hands. "Really Chansung," Jay snapped. "Look at yourself, how do you even think you can have a life this way? Spending all your money on a prostitute? Get a boyfriend, they're fucking free." Jay slammed a six pack down on the counter. "I'll be in the car, finish getting ready."
Chansung winced as Jay slammed the door behind him. He sighed at the silent room. "I can't." he told the silence. "I think I love him too much."
-
When Chansung arrived the next weekend he was completely sober. It seemed strange to Wooyoung how gentle he was when he ran his hands through his hair this time, how instead of alcohol there was mint on the breath that brushed across his cheeks, how his body shuttered and sagged. When sex was over, Chansung wrapped his arms around Wooyoung and hid his face in his shoulder, his chest shuddering.
"I'm an idiot." Chansung's voice was thick, and Wooyoung was surprised to realize that he was crying. "I've let all my friends and family down, they all hate me."
Wooyoung ran his fingers through his hair awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He'd just be lying, no matter what. Chansung was a customer after all, and Wooyoung was just there to service him. There were boundaries that he was afraid to cross--emotional boundaries especially.
Chansung looked up into Wooyoung's face with tears in his eyes. "Do you hate me?" Wooyoung opened his mouth, stuttering. "I-What?" He flushed. "No one asks me that." He remembered the sweater that was lying under the bed. "This is a business, I don't love anyone." He lied, biting his lip.
"So I'm just a customer?" Chansung asked, voice shaking. "Is that all we are?"
Wooyoung didn't know what to say so he just pressed his lips desperately against Chansung's cheek. Chansung tore himself away, nearly falling off the bed. "That's really all this is, isn't it?" Chansung choked on his breath, dressing in such a hurry that he forgot to zip his fly.
Staring after him, Wooyoung wasn't sure why his heart pounded so hard in his chest or why there was a sickening falling sensation in his stomach. Chansung was just a customer, Wooyoung was a professional. He licked his lips nervously, "see you next weekend?" He tried to smile.
"No," Chansung whirled around, hair whipping around his face. "I'm not coming back this time." There were tears in his eyes and his face was an odd blotchy red. Wooyoung thought it strange--he'd never seen a man really cry before.
Suddenly Wooyoung was alone in the room, eyes glued to the door as though Chansung would come bursting back in and hold him close and kiss him and make him feel like he wasn't living in a cage.
But he didn't. Wooyoung pulled Chansung's sweater out from under the bed and as he hid his face in the soft fabric and smelled that familiar scent, he realized that he didn't hate Chansung at all. Instead, he loved him; the worst taboo he could ever commit.
-
Chansung hunched over the phone in a phone-booth, tapping his fingers on the top of the phone box. Wind whipped around the box, howling past his ears and sending rain stabbing at the glass as though it were trying to break right through. The other line picked up and he closed his eyes at the familiar voice sounding on the other side of the line. "Hi, mom?" He scratched his head through his beanie. "I'm ready to come home." The sun hurt his bloodshot eyes.
"Yeah," he gave an empty smile. "I've learned my lesson, I promise." He hung up the phone and sagged against the glass, wishing for some sort of miracle to happen and for Wooyoung to tap on the glass and just be there, waiting for them to go run off into the sunset.
A hand pounded on the glass suddenly, and Chansung's heart jumped to his throat. For a moment he thought it might be--but no, it was just some old impatient man. He left the booth with slumped shoulders and started down the street for work.
-
Wooyoung took the rest of the week off, assuring Nichkhun that he had a cold and just needed to sleep it off. He spent his days burying himself in his own bed in the room he shared with the other boys. He curled around the sweater, unable to keep his tears from soaking it or his pillow. At dawn, when the other boys came in and fell asleep in their cots, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Wooyoung?" He stilled at his name, holding his breath and pretending the owner of that voice would disappear. His barrier of blankets disappeared and Nichkhun stood above him. A breath of dawn sunlight bathed the edge of his face and made the man seem almost angelic. Wooyoung scoffed at his own train of thought, Nichkhun was anything but magical. He tried to pull the covers back up but had them ripped off him.
"Come on," Nichkhun scowled, "get up and go away." He yanked Wooyoung up off the cot and made him tip off onto the floor with a crash. "Go after him and go live your life like you should have done years ago." Nichkhun winked at Wooyoung. "I don't want you hear wasting my time anymore."
"What?" Wooyoung sat up, gaping. "You can't be firing me." His hands fisted in the fabric of Chansung's sweater. "I haven't done anything wrong!"
Nichkhun snorted. "Of course you haven't, but you're still miserable." Wooyoung opened his mouth to protest. "Get your stuff together." He pressed an address into Wooyoung's hand. "And go get a life."
Wooyoung glanced down at the paper and found it was one of the customer cards they made all clients fill out. "Hwang Chansung," he read off the address to himself, his stomach doing flip flops.
He pulled the sweater on and got dressed so fast that he mismatched his socks. He didn't care anymore, packing his few belongings in his shoulder bag. He was out of the house in a hurry and he caught a taxi to the address on the paper. He got there just as an elderly man and a very familiar young man with tall shoulders were carrying out a large dresser.
Chansung's eyes flickered up at Wooyoung and he dropped the dresser in surprise, the furniture falling on his dad's toe. The dad howled in pain as the two boys stared at each other. Wooyoung was surprised to note that Chansung had gotten his hair cut short against his skull.
"Wooyoung?" He asked, gaping. "Why are you here? You're not allowed to come out--" Wooyoung grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him so hard that Chansung's nose stabbed his cheek.
"Chansung!" A woman shrieked, and Wooyoung assumed it was his mother. Chansung's hands clung to Wooyoung's waist, desperately returning the kiss.
"I thought you weren't allowed to see your customers outside of work," Chansung murmured, touching his forehead to Wooyoung's to look into his eyes.
"What work?" Wooyoung smiled, arms wrapping around his neck. "I was fired." The moment would have been perfect if Chansung's mother wasn't gasping and screeching behind them.
"Really?" Chansung gaped, pulling Wooyoung closer and holding him as though afraid the other boy would run away at any moment. "But you're so good!" There was a thump from behind them as Chansung's mother fainted.
When they broke away, Chansung's father was standing there with his hands folded against his chest. "Now see here, boy--"
"Sorry Dad," Chansung gave a guilty smile, his fingers clinging to Wooyoung's hand. "I changed my mind, I'm staying here after all."
"What!" The man grabbed his collar. "You're giving your life up to another boy so help me, Chansung don't you dare throw your life away I will send you to the military ten years early!"
Chansung scoffed, yanking himself away. "You can't," he grinned. "I'm gay."
The dad, speechless, gathered Chansung's mother in his arms and drove away in a furry, leaving Chansung's things scattered around the sidewalk in front of his apartment. Chansung scratched the back of his neck with a heavy sigh. "That didn't go well," he glanced at Wooyoung. "They've hated me since I came here for you."
Wooyoung frowned. "You should be nicer to your parents."
"Yeah," Chansung shrugged, putting a hand on the dresser. "Will you help me carry this stuff up?"
"Sure," Wooyoung dropped his shoulder bag on the steps and held onto the other side. "If I can stay here."
Chansung grinned, sending sparks through Wooyoung's heart. "Of course."
That night as the two curled around each other on the couch, Chansung laughed against his ear. "That shirt looks good on you." He kissed Wooyoung's temple.
"Yeah, it's perfect." Wooyoung smiled sleepily, breathing in the scent of warm spice and mint. "I know I said you should get a haircut, but I miss your long hair now." He tugged on the short strands. "It's not as fun."
Chansung yelped, his fingers twitching around Wooyoung's abdomen. "Pulling hair hurts no matter how long it is," he whined.
"Really?" Wooyoung pulled himself up and grappled Chansung's waist between his legs. "I remember you liking it." Chansung gave a nervous laugh as Wooyoung placed his hands against the sides of Chansung's face and caught his lip between his teeth, biting down hard. He could already feel the effect beneath him. "And I remember how easy you are."
Chansung moaned against him, fingers grating against Wooyoung's waist. They were undressed and groaning against each other when Wooyoung suddenly stopped, inhaling and staring at Chansung with wide eyes. "We're together," he told Chansung. "Right?"
Chansung panted down at him. "Yeah, if you want to be." Wooyoung's chest filled with a warm light and he arched into Chansung, making the boy shout from the pain.
After, when sweat still glistened against their naked skin, Wooyoung stroked Chansung's cheek. "I want to be with you." Chansung smiled sleepily, burying his face in Wooyoung's shoulder. Wooyoung waited until his breathing evened out as he fell asleep.
"I love you," he whispered, his heart bursting with euphoria as he finally said what he'd been meaning to say for ages. Chansung's smile was unseen, but his heart jumped with happiness at the confession, butterflies danced in his stomach, and sunlight kissed his face.
He could get used to this, and hey, he finally got himself a boyfriend.
fin.
Chansung/Wooyoung; nc-17
Wooyoung treats his customers the best he possibly can.
♣3,672 words
note: written for music_loner's birthday. Sorry, this doesn't exactly go with what you asked for, I'll write you something better, I promise! Thanks to x_ebolarama for betaing! ❤
Wooyoung's breath was ragged, his body convulsed against his hips. Chansung moaned as Wooyoung's nails scraped his back and left harsh red marks. His mouth found Wooyoung's pulse and he bit down hard.
"N-no marks!" Wooyoung cried as he jerked himself away from Chansung's teeth. Chansung found the tip of his ear instead. At once Wooyoung hissed at him and dropped his head back, lifted his hips and came hard and fast against his stomach. Rasping in his ear, Chansung released his seed inside of him and fell on top of his panting, sweaty body.
Wooyoung took Chansung's face in his hands and pressed their lips together, breaking apart when his strength gave out. He collapsed on the silk sheets with an exhausted breath.
"How much time is left?" Wooyoung murmured as Chansung caressed his face and let his fingers trail over the harsh red bruises that were starting to form on his neck. He felt only slightly guilty--let the other customers know that Wooyoung was his, he didn't care.
"Five minutes," it felt like a dream that was ending as he said it. Wooyoung pushed himself up off the sheets and covered Chansung's wandering hand with his own.
"We're getting longer," Wooyoung's laugh was light. "I remember when you barely lasted five minutes."
Chansung struggled to pull himself out of the sheets. "It's just that you don't have the same effect anymore." He grinned, groping for his jeans on the floor.
He yelped when Wooyoung yanked him back against the covers. Wooyoung's breath brushed against his face as the prostitute fondled his member through the sheets. "I'm sure I can make you come again in two." He caught Chansung in an open mouthed kiss and slid his hand along his already semi erect shaft. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth and slid his legs slowly up Chansung's lanky form.
Chansung whined, trembling against Wooyoung as the prostitute slid his fingers up the base of his spine. Chansung's fingers clenched the bedsheets hard and swallowed, fighting the tongue that bewitched his mouth. He gasped as Wooyoung swirled the soft blankets around his member. His body arched against the hand shamelessly as he gasped against Wooyoung's tongue. He flushed with embarrassment as he found that he was hard already and it was barely more than a minute. Just when he thought he was about to faint from the strain of his body, Wooyoung retracted his hand from the sheets, his fingers wandering up to his abdomen and gently scraping his nails over his skin.
He gave a choked cry as the meandering fingers flicked his nipples. A moment later his cry turned into a shout as he came in a flood against the sheets. He gasped against Wooyoung, panting and feeling a sticky wetness around his groin. His face was red from a mixture of embarrassment and awe as Wooyoung gave him another gentle kiss.
His chest heaved beneath the covers, unable to feel his legs and sure he wouldn't be able to walk anywhere anytime soon, not that he wanted too. He closed his eyes and inhaled Wooyoung's scent, feeling his soft hair brush against his face.
"I don't want to go," he choked out, even as the beeper sounded from Wooyoung's watch on the bedside table.
"I know," Wooyoung murmured, slipping his fingers through Chansung's long hair. "You should get a haircut."
Chansung pouted up at him, raising his head to try and catch his lips in a kiss. Wooyoung pulled away as though struck, pulling himself off the bed and walking towards the showers. "Your time's up," Wooyoung sighed, jerking on his pants. "I doubt you have money for another hour tonight."
Sitting up seemed like too much effort, but he managed, and gave the man a pout. "You're more than just a whore to me, you know." He murmured before he left, his long disheveled hair hidden under his beanie.
"I know," Wooyoung murmured and watched his back fade away as Chansung walked out of his life again.
Until next weekend anyway.
-
Life liked to pass by Chansung like a blur, or so he felt. It always seemed to be raining, and each day he felt like he lost more than he gained. His meager job as a delivery boy was enough to pay for his one room apartment and his extensive diet. And an hour reserved for Wooyoung on Saturday night. He knew he was being pathetic when his heart staggered in his chest as he thought of the man, when he thought of those lips caressing his neck or those nimble fingers slipping his jeans down his hips.
But he knew Wooyoung was chained to his life and Chansung knew he was chained to his own lack of a life. He hated shutting the door behind himself every Saturday, leaving Wooyoung behind to receive the next customer who wanted him the same way Chansung wanted him. And yet, no one could ever want Wooyoung the way Chansung wanted him.
He felt like it was some sort of disease--indeed, his weekend practice assured that he would get a disease in the future. As much as he wanted to deny it, he would never have Wooyoung, the chained bird who he would never have the power to free. He'd come home disoriented and dizzy, and he'd drink until he fell asleep, waking up with his face in the floor, murmuring the name of a person he could never fully have.
The next morning he'd wake and wash his face off in his bathroom sink, staring up at his sunken eyes and pale skin in the reflection. "I'm not going back," he'd tell himself, until the weekend came around and he was standing in front of that door again.
He'd enter in a haze and nearly fall upon the expectant Wooyoung, slipping money into the pocket of jeans that would be off the moment they staggered into a free bedroom. His kisses would always be hot and frantic and his erection would already be straining against the jean's they were trapped behind before he hit the sheets.
Time would always be up before Chansung would be ready. He wanted to stay, he wanted to spend a life time with Wooyoung. He kissed Wooyoung again, desperately as he pulled on his undershirt and zipped his jeans. They lingered for a moment, his fingers touching Wooyoung's against the sheets.
"See you next week," Wooyoung swallowed, turning away.
"Of course," Chansung smiled, squeezing the warm hand once more before letting their fingers trail apart. "I'll be here." As he walked away again, he told himself that no, he would not be back, he could not come back because doing this constantly was going to murder him.
It wasn't until he reached his apartment that he remembered leaving his sweater on the floor.
"I'll just get it next week," he sighed, pulling a cold beer from the fridge and resigning himself to his fate.
-
Wooyoung stripped the sheets and blankets off the bed in his assigned room and dropped them onto the floor to be picked up during the day by the cleaning maid. He sagged against the mattress, feeling the sweat and cologne of men that he'd serviced that night. His eyes flickered shut, a weariness in his bones that made him feel older than his years.
He dragged himself to his feet with a groan, thoughts on anything but his occupation. The best way to live with this life, he reckoned, was to remember all the things that could be happening to him if he weren't here. At least he wasn't trapped back at home, where his father beat him or where his mother would scream day and night. At least there weren't guns going off every five minutes outside his front door or people breaking in at night.
In all ways, this was the better life. Wooyoung couldn't help but wish for something better though, some sort of life that wasn't servicing others but just having one person--one lover to love and care for instead of pretending for countless people. He made to leave but his eyes caught on a red heap of fabric. It was soft in his fingers when he lifted it, the lingering smell made his breath catch on his throat.
Of course there was one customer that he secretly looked forward to every weekend. Of course it was Chansung, the young kid who couldn't afford more than an hour every night and would always be wasting his life away and never getting ahead just to see him, over and over again. Wooyoung buried his head in the soft fabric and inhaled the soft scent of spice and a musk of fresh air that made butterflies dance in his abdomen.
He supposed he would see Chansung next weekend, but it wasn't soon enough anymore.
-
Chansung woke with an intense headache and his phone ringing in his ear. Moaning, he rolled over to grab at it and only managed to knock himself off the bed. Yelping, he rubbed his face and answered it with an unhappy greeting.
"Morning sunshine!" Chansung grit his teeth, recoiling from the phone as the cheerful voice stabbed at his aching head.
"Whaddaya want?" He moaned crawling back under the covers. "Jay, it's early."
"It's three in the afternoon!" The voice on the other end of the line was indignant. "It's early," Chansung whined, curling up under the covers.
"Whatever you say. Where are your spare keys?"
"They're in the mailbox like always," Chansung scowled. "Bring the mail with you." He snapped the phone shut and tried to go back to sleep, but decided against it and slunk into the bathroom.
The door burst open as he was brushing his teeth and he choked on toothpaste, sure that he just bruised the inside of his cheek with his brush. Jay ran into the room, waving an open envelope around like a maniac.
"Look!" Jay nearly screamed, shoving it into his hands. Chansung spat out toothpaste and glanced down at the letter. "It's from your parents!" With a frown, he started reading the slanted script but after a few sentences of how much they missed him he crumbled it up it up and threw it in the trash.
Jay protested behind him as he started for his dresser and looked for a clean shirt. "Why do you always do that?" Jay asked, uncrumbling the letter.
Chansung pulled a sweater over his head. "I don't care." He brushed his fingers through his long hair and groped around for a hair tie. "And they don't care either."
Jay scowled at him from the doorway, hands on his hips. "You can't stay here forever, doing this. You'll have to go back and talk to them eventually."
Chansung scoffed. "They don't approve of me, why should I go back?"
Jay rolled his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. "Of course they ain't going to approve of you! I sure wouldn't approve of you if you were my son."
Chansung gave him a boyish pout that made Jay scoff. "But you love me!" Chansung grinned, latching onto Jay's back as the older man dragged him out of the bedroom and towards the apartment door.
"No," Jay wrestled the lanky boy off his back. "I hate you, really."
Chansung fell on the floor with an "oof" and held his aching head in his hands. "Really Chansung," Jay snapped. "Look at yourself, how do you even think you can have a life this way? Spending all your money on a prostitute? Get a boyfriend, they're fucking free." Jay slammed a six pack down on the counter. "I'll be in the car, finish getting ready."
Chansung winced as Jay slammed the door behind him. He sighed at the silent room. "I can't." he told the silence. "I think I love him too much."
-
When Chansung arrived the next weekend he was completely sober. It seemed strange to Wooyoung how gentle he was when he ran his hands through his hair this time, how instead of alcohol there was mint on the breath that brushed across his cheeks, how his body shuttered and sagged. When sex was over, Chansung wrapped his arms around Wooyoung and hid his face in his shoulder, his chest shuddering.
"I'm an idiot." Chansung's voice was thick, and Wooyoung was surprised to realize that he was crying. "I've let all my friends and family down, they all hate me."
Wooyoung ran his fingers through his hair awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He'd just be lying, no matter what. Chansung was a customer after all, and Wooyoung was just there to service him. There were boundaries that he was afraid to cross--emotional boundaries especially.
Chansung looked up into Wooyoung's face with tears in his eyes. "Do you hate me?" Wooyoung opened his mouth, stuttering. "I-What?" He flushed. "No one asks me that." He remembered the sweater that was lying under the bed. "This is a business, I don't love anyone." He lied, biting his lip.
"So I'm just a customer?" Chansung asked, voice shaking. "Is that all we are?"
Wooyoung didn't know what to say so he just pressed his lips desperately against Chansung's cheek. Chansung tore himself away, nearly falling off the bed. "That's really all this is, isn't it?" Chansung choked on his breath, dressing in such a hurry that he forgot to zip his fly.
Staring after him, Wooyoung wasn't sure why his heart pounded so hard in his chest or why there was a sickening falling sensation in his stomach. Chansung was just a customer, Wooyoung was a professional. He licked his lips nervously, "see you next weekend?" He tried to smile.
"No," Chansung whirled around, hair whipping around his face. "I'm not coming back this time." There were tears in his eyes and his face was an odd blotchy red. Wooyoung thought it strange--he'd never seen a man really cry before.
Suddenly Wooyoung was alone in the room, eyes glued to the door as though Chansung would come bursting back in and hold him close and kiss him and make him feel like he wasn't living in a cage.
But he didn't. Wooyoung pulled Chansung's sweater out from under the bed and as he hid his face in the soft fabric and smelled that familiar scent, he realized that he didn't hate Chansung at all. Instead, he loved him; the worst taboo he could ever commit.
-
Chansung hunched over the phone in a phone-booth, tapping his fingers on the top of the phone box. Wind whipped around the box, howling past his ears and sending rain stabbing at the glass as though it were trying to break right through. The other line picked up and he closed his eyes at the familiar voice sounding on the other side of the line. "Hi, mom?" He scratched his head through his beanie. "I'm ready to come home." The sun hurt his bloodshot eyes.
"Yeah," he gave an empty smile. "I've learned my lesson, I promise." He hung up the phone and sagged against the glass, wishing for some sort of miracle to happen and for Wooyoung to tap on the glass and just be there, waiting for them to go run off into the sunset.
A hand pounded on the glass suddenly, and Chansung's heart jumped to his throat. For a moment he thought it might be--but no, it was just some old impatient man. He left the booth with slumped shoulders and started down the street for work.
-
Wooyoung took the rest of the week off, assuring Nichkhun that he had a cold and just needed to sleep it off. He spent his days burying himself in his own bed in the room he shared with the other boys. He curled around the sweater, unable to keep his tears from soaking it or his pillow. At dawn, when the other boys came in and fell asleep in their cots, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Wooyoung?" He stilled at his name, holding his breath and pretending the owner of that voice would disappear. His barrier of blankets disappeared and Nichkhun stood above him. A breath of dawn sunlight bathed the edge of his face and made the man seem almost angelic. Wooyoung scoffed at his own train of thought, Nichkhun was anything but magical. He tried to pull the covers back up but had them ripped off him.
"Come on," Nichkhun scowled, "get up and go away." He yanked Wooyoung up off the cot and made him tip off onto the floor with a crash. "Go after him and go live your life like you should have done years ago." Nichkhun winked at Wooyoung. "I don't want you hear wasting my time anymore."
"What?" Wooyoung sat up, gaping. "You can't be firing me." His hands fisted in the fabric of Chansung's sweater. "I haven't done anything wrong!"
Nichkhun snorted. "Of course you haven't, but you're still miserable." Wooyoung opened his mouth to protest. "Get your stuff together." He pressed an address into Wooyoung's hand. "And go get a life."
Wooyoung glanced down at the paper and found it was one of the customer cards they made all clients fill out. "Hwang Chansung," he read off the address to himself, his stomach doing flip flops.
He pulled the sweater on and got dressed so fast that he mismatched his socks. He didn't care anymore, packing his few belongings in his shoulder bag. He was out of the house in a hurry and he caught a taxi to the address on the paper. He got there just as an elderly man and a very familiar young man with tall shoulders were carrying out a large dresser.
Chansung's eyes flickered up at Wooyoung and he dropped the dresser in surprise, the furniture falling on his dad's toe. The dad howled in pain as the two boys stared at each other. Wooyoung was surprised to note that Chansung had gotten his hair cut short against his skull.
"Wooyoung?" He asked, gaping. "Why are you here? You're not allowed to come out--" Wooyoung grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him so hard that Chansung's nose stabbed his cheek.
"Chansung!" A woman shrieked, and Wooyoung assumed it was his mother. Chansung's hands clung to Wooyoung's waist, desperately returning the kiss.
"I thought you weren't allowed to see your customers outside of work," Chansung murmured, touching his forehead to Wooyoung's to look into his eyes.
"What work?" Wooyoung smiled, arms wrapping around his neck. "I was fired." The moment would have been perfect if Chansung's mother wasn't gasping and screeching behind them.
"Really?" Chansung gaped, pulling Wooyoung closer and holding him as though afraid the other boy would run away at any moment. "But you're so good!" There was a thump from behind them as Chansung's mother fainted.
When they broke away, Chansung's father was standing there with his hands folded against his chest. "Now see here, boy--"
"Sorry Dad," Chansung gave a guilty smile, his fingers clinging to Wooyoung's hand. "I changed my mind, I'm staying here after all."
"What!" The man grabbed his collar. "You're giving your life up to another boy so help me, Chansung don't you dare throw your life away I will send you to the military ten years early!"
Chansung scoffed, yanking himself away. "You can't," he grinned. "I'm gay."
The dad, speechless, gathered Chansung's mother in his arms and drove away in a furry, leaving Chansung's things scattered around the sidewalk in front of his apartment. Chansung scratched the back of his neck with a heavy sigh. "That didn't go well," he glanced at Wooyoung. "They've hated me since I came here for you."
Wooyoung frowned. "You should be nicer to your parents."
"Yeah," Chansung shrugged, putting a hand on the dresser. "Will you help me carry this stuff up?"
"Sure," Wooyoung dropped his shoulder bag on the steps and held onto the other side. "If I can stay here."
Chansung grinned, sending sparks through Wooyoung's heart. "Of course."
That night as the two curled around each other on the couch, Chansung laughed against his ear. "That shirt looks good on you." He kissed Wooyoung's temple.
"Yeah, it's perfect." Wooyoung smiled sleepily, breathing in the scent of warm spice and mint. "I know I said you should get a haircut, but I miss your long hair now." He tugged on the short strands. "It's not as fun."
Chansung yelped, his fingers twitching around Wooyoung's abdomen. "Pulling hair hurts no matter how long it is," he whined.
"Really?" Wooyoung pulled himself up and grappled Chansung's waist between his legs. "I remember you liking it." Chansung gave a nervous laugh as Wooyoung placed his hands against the sides of Chansung's face and caught his lip between his teeth, biting down hard. He could already feel the effect beneath him. "And I remember how easy you are."
Chansung moaned against him, fingers grating against Wooyoung's waist. They were undressed and groaning against each other when Wooyoung suddenly stopped, inhaling and staring at Chansung with wide eyes. "We're together," he told Chansung. "Right?"
Chansung panted down at him. "Yeah, if you want to be." Wooyoung's chest filled with a warm light and he arched into Chansung, making the boy shout from the pain.
After, when sweat still glistened against their naked skin, Wooyoung stroked Chansung's cheek. "I want to be with you." Chansung smiled sleepily, burying his face in Wooyoung's shoulder. Wooyoung waited until his breathing evened out as he fell asleep.
"I love you," he whispered, his heart bursting with euphoria as he finally said what he'd been meaning to say for ages. Chansung's smile was unseen, but his heart jumped with happiness at the confession, butterflies danced in his stomach, and sunlight kissed his face.
He could get used to this, and hey, he finally got himself a boyfriend.
fin.