[42] so many wild, so many browsin' (+ announcement)
So Many Wild, So Many Browsin’
fandom: Big Bang
rating: PG
relationship: Seunghyun/Jiyong
word count: 2.1k
author's note: Posted anonymously on kpopfickink to fill the request 'glasses!kink. without his glasses on top is a lot more tactile.' De-anon-ing so I have somewhere to post my announcement.
As much as Jiyong loves the way the stranger’s glasses work with his face, he has to admit that he loves the way the stranger is endearingly helpless without the huge, cream (Or is it taupe?) plastic frames far more.
The pair of glasses are a pleasantly stylish surprise that nevertheless complements the face it’s attached to (how Jiyong would love to be attached to that face): the snobbishly-arched brows, the straight nose, the prominent cheeks, the angular jaw-not to mention the clear and expressive eyes that would draw Jiyong’s attention even if there weren’t the huge, cream (Is it antique lace white?) plastic frames, well, framing them-all of this culminating in a sharp, exotic, regal face.
Jiyong isn’t one for studying, but he remembers the first time Youngbae dragged him into the library to at least feign interest in his own higher education. It had been the first time Jiyong saw the glasses-wearing librarian, Youngbae pointing him and his glasses out with a snicker.
Jiyong had only hummed absently in answer. But for the remainder of Youngbae’s study session (Was it world religions? Art history?), Jiyong had studied the librarian. Youngbae never specified what part of higher education Jiyong should be interested in, after all.
Since then, Jiyong’s made it a habit to pretend to study. It didn’t take long to figure out when he and the bespectacled man would be in the library at the same time (Monday and Wednesday mornings, Tuesday and Friday afternoons, late Thursday nights).
And each time, Jiyong would learn something new about the stranger: that he has a voice as deep as his eyes (from the time he told off a few females for giggling over some idol group’s music video), that he has a thing for large pieces of jewelry, that he has a yanggaeng addiction (from the time he told off a soccer player for eating over the microfiches before turning on his heel and drawing an open wrapper of the jelly candy out of his pocket to munch on), that he has an endless supply of sweatshirts and shoes-not to mention legs that go on for forever that he mercifully (Or is it mercilessly?) houses in form-fitting jeans.
Then, not two days ago, Jiyong’s studying of the librarian turned into outright checking out of the librarian.
Exam season had reached feverpitch, and Youngbae didn’t need to ask Jiyong twice to camp in the library (Youngbae surrounded by books, Jiyong conditioned air). An hour and thirty-seven minutes into his brain-wringing, Youngbae had elbowed Jiyong.
‘It’s a sad day when even the librarian needs help finding something in the library,’ he’d whispered.
Of course, Jiyong had already noticed the librarian in question wandering frantically between the aisles, muttering obscenities to himself, had already noticed the marked absence of the librarian’s glasses, relocated so they were nesting in the man’s gravity-defying hair.
Of course, Jiyong kept that observation to himself, along with his newfound desire to lick the bridge of the other man’s nose to see if the paler skin there is smoother from constant contact with the nosepiece of his frames compared to the skin elsewhere on his face-and the rest of his body.
Of course, that would entail first licking elsewhere on his face and body, and Jiyong has yet to even speak to the librarian.
Two hours and twelve minutes into Youngbae’s mind-stuffing, the librarian (and in turn, Jiyong) finally found the mysterious and desperately sought-after object.
The disheartened man had taken up his post once more, sitting on the stool behind the checkout counter. In the same moment the librarian made to heavily rest his furrowed brow on his forearms, Jiyong blinked curiously at what he’s still convinced were a sparkling of tears in the man’s eyes and at what he’s still denying was a sudden urge to kiss away those same tears, and the pair of glasses slipped off the man’s head and onto the wood laminate.
The very next moment, the librarian was silently but very physically rejoicing at the sight of the huge, cream (Maybe it’s chamois cloth white?) plastic frames-‘very physically rejoicing’ meaning ‘doing what could possibly be considered dancing if done on Pluto while drunk.’
In that moment, Jiyong decided that the librarian is a bit of an idiot, but more importantly, a blind idiot. A very cute and sexy blind idiot.
Which is how Jiyong ended up in the library today (Thursday night), with every intention of finally licking the bridge of the librarian’s nose. Or at least get the guy’s name.
Jiyong waits until the not-quite-stranger makes the announcement over the PA system that ‘the checkout counter will be closing in ten minutes, and the library in fifteen, thank you and have a good night’ with that luscious voice to hide in the restroom.
The fifteen minutes crawl by impossibly slow, Jiyong’s mind a total mess. Is he really crouching on a toilet seat to conceal his feet should someone go looking for ninjas? (Sadly, yes.) How long will it take for everyone to leave? What would the librarian’s voice be like moaning Jiyong’s name? (Orgasmic.) Should Jiyong invest in a pair of fashion glasses? Does he have an exam tomorrow morning? (Probably, shit.)
When the lights in the restroom switch off, Jiyong almost has a heart attack. Not because he also almost topples off the toilet, but because he knows that it’s the beacon to go in search of the librarian.
It’s rather easy work, Jiyong heading to the only lit section, but he still makes sure to keep his footsteps light on the old, dingy carpet. It’s also rather quick work, Jiyong only needing to go as far as the first row of shelves before spotting his four-eyed target in the middle of the aisle, dutifully replacing books. And even if Jiyong had terrible eyesight, he would still be able to see the delicious stripe of creamy skin that peeks over the librarian’s underwear whenever he has to reach for a particularly high shelf.
Jiyong’s heart hammers so hard and fast against his ribs, he can’t believe the spied-on man can’t hear it. No, it’s Jiyong’s shaky sigh that the librarian hears, and Jiyong watches as the man whips his head around so hard and fast that his glasses part company with his face and land mutely some several yards away.
“Who’s there?”
Jiyong has to clamp both hands over his mouth. Not because he’s afraid he’ll say something weird like ‘The guy who’s been fantasizing about you and those God damned glasses’ (okay, so maybe partly because of that), but because Jiyong wants more than anything to laugh: the librarian has started to slowly inch his way along the row, taking tiny dragging steps and using the rusty shelves as the only means of determining forward from back, his eyes squinting uselessly in Jiyong’s direction.
Somewhat out of pity, mostly out of fond intrigue, Jiyong approaches him.
“Hi, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, though unable to keep the laughter out of his voice.
Along the way, he picks up the huge, cream (Perhaps they’re more eggshell?) plastic frames. But he doesn’t return them, just musingly strokes the nosepiece. It’s still warm.
Now mere feet apart, Jiyong realizes just how tall the squinting man is. And just how good-looking, even with the indents on his nose.
“Er, right, well, what are you doing still in here? And do you see my glasses by any chance?”
Jiyong conveniently ignores both questions in favor of extending his free hand-his occupied hand tightening around the glasses and hiding them against the small of his back.
“I’m Kwon Jiyong. Pleasure’s all mine.”
The librarian humors him with a brief handshake then blinks rapidly for a moment before his eyes widen and stay open, staring unashamedly.
“You’re the guy who’s always in here for no reason with that mohawk guy,” he says bemusedly. “Are you even a student?”
“Of course, I am,” Jiyong sputters. “I’m majoring in business-fine arts-computer science-I’m interested in applying for a library job.”
The other man smirks, and if it had been anyone else (that is, anyone whom Jiyong didn’t have a disproportionate crush on), Jiyong would’ve immediately punched him in the throat. But he doesn’t, since that would risk breaking the precious pair of glasses, the man’s perfect nose, and Jiyong’s chances of getting into his Galliano boxer briefs. Or getting his name.
“I’d probably be a hell of a lot more useful than you,” Jiyong says, deftly pocketing the glasses and helping himself to the cart of unsorted books. “I have 20/20 even wearing sunglasses at night.”
Still, the other man seems content to play along, adopting an exaggeratedly critical expression as he watches Jiyong slide a book (GR74.6.G55 1998) in its proper place (between GR74.6.G32 1979 and GR74.7.G12 2002).
“You’re in luck, a librarian position’s opening up in a couple weeks.”
“That so?” Jiyong mumbles, peering over his shoulder to find the still-frustratingly-unnamed man petting the spine of one of the musty volumes with a long, slender, duck-ringed finger, and Jiyong feels his breath primetime drama catch in his throat when explicit images of librarian positions that involve sweeping papers and books off a desk with a flourish and librarian fingers doing all manner of filthy things swarm and blur his self-proclaimed perfect vision.
“Mm-hm,” is the only answer Jiyong gets, but it’s more than enough, the sound of it reverberating in his skull and belly and making him shiver.
And he shivers again when, shoving GR74.7.G82 1967 between GR74.7.G71 1995 and GR74.7.G94 1969, Jiyong feels the other man stand directly behind him while keeping their bodies determinedly separated, when the other man plants one of his hands on the edge of the shelf beside Jiyong’s.
“It does get pretty cold in here. Dunno if you can handle it.”
Jiyong maneuvers around so they’re face to face-‘face to face’ being more like ‘Jiyong’s eyebrows to Mr Bookkeeper’s chin.’ But Jiyong easily leers up at him.
“Like you said,” he murmurs, staring pointedly at the man’s parted lips, “I’m in here quite a bit. I’m pretty sure I can take it.”
Jiyong labors to show no reaction when he glimpses the man raising his other hand.
‘This is it,’ Jiyong thinks, his palms sweating and his pants stifling like a teenager’s.
But then it isn’t, the other man’s unnaturally cold fingertips playing tag with his impishly bright eyes, every inch of Jiyong’s face perused twice over by burning gazes and leisurely touches.
“The glasses give me 20/20, y’know,” Jiyong lip-reads as much as he hears the man say.
“Yeah, so?”
“So,” he breathes, leaning forward so their faces are an eyelash apart, “you should learn how to stare at me more discreetly.”
Jiyong feels himself blush, and blush a bit more when the librarian firmly cups his chin and tilts his face upward, firmly (that is, finally) presses their mouths together.
And Jiyong’s pleasantly surprised that the man tastes of coffee and cigarettes, not yanggaeng and pen caps, that the man kisses like Jiyong imagines a librarian should-gently but thoroughly, tongue teasing between his lips, sighs hushed and pensive. And when Jiyong feels the librarian slip a hand under his shirt and up his back, he imagines his spine to be a book’s because maybe the librarian does too, fingertips walking up the goosepimpled vertebra like a ladder to reach for the top shelf. But that’s what his other hand is doing, cradling Jiyong’s nape as if to protect the bindings of Jiyong’s sanity.
When the other man draws back, it’s with short, puffed breaths and flushed cheeks.
“I graduate in two weeks,” he says, squinting down at Jiyong once more. “I’ll put in a good word, and you can take my spot.”
Jiyong mentally shakes himself then gapes at the taller man.
“Yeah-You’re graduating?”
He gets a single nod.
“Then can I get your call-I mean-phone number?”
He gets a single lingering peck to the corner of his mouth, and he distinctly feels the pair of glasses being eased out of his back jeans pocket.
“Look me up under ‘Choi,’ ” the librarian says, replacing his huge, cream plastic frames on his face before taking the cart handle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we closed twenty minutes ago. You can exit where you entered.”
-----
author's note: and just to make sure everyone gets the memo
fandom: Big Bang
rating: PG
relationship: Seunghyun/Jiyong
word count: 2.1k
author's note: Posted anonymously on kpopfickink to fill the request 'glasses!kink. without his glasses on top is a lot more tactile.' De-anon-ing so I have somewhere to post my announcement.
As much as Jiyong loves the way the stranger’s glasses work with his face, he has to admit that he loves the way the stranger is endearingly helpless without the huge, cream (Or is it taupe?) plastic frames far more.
The pair of glasses are a pleasantly stylish surprise that nevertheless complements the face it’s attached to (how Jiyong would love to be attached to that face): the snobbishly-arched brows, the straight nose, the prominent cheeks, the angular jaw-not to mention the clear and expressive eyes that would draw Jiyong’s attention even if there weren’t the huge, cream (Is it antique lace white?) plastic frames, well, framing them-all of this culminating in a sharp, exotic, regal face.
Jiyong isn’t one for studying, but he remembers the first time Youngbae dragged him into the library to at least feign interest in his own higher education. It had been the first time Jiyong saw the glasses-wearing librarian, Youngbae pointing him and his glasses out with a snicker.
Jiyong had only hummed absently in answer. But for the remainder of Youngbae’s study session (Was it world religions? Art history?), Jiyong had studied the librarian. Youngbae never specified what part of higher education Jiyong should be interested in, after all.
Since then, Jiyong’s made it a habit to pretend to study. It didn’t take long to figure out when he and the bespectacled man would be in the library at the same time (Monday and Wednesday mornings, Tuesday and Friday afternoons, late Thursday nights).
And each time, Jiyong would learn something new about the stranger: that he has a voice as deep as his eyes (from the time he told off a few females for giggling over some idol group’s music video), that he has a thing for large pieces of jewelry, that he has a yanggaeng addiction (from the time he told off a soccer player for eating over the microfiches before turning on his heel and drawing an open wrapper of the jelly candy out of his pocket to munch on), that he has an endless supply of sweatshirts and shoes-not to mention legs that go on for forever that he mercifully (Or is it mercilessly?) houses in form-fitting jeans.
Then, not two days ago, Jiyong’s studying of the librarian turned into outright checking out of the librarian.
Exam season had reached feverpitch, and Youngbae didn’t need to ask Jiyong twice to camp in the library (Youngbae surrounded by books, Jiyong conditioned air). An hour and thirty-seven minutes into his brain-wringing, Youngbae had elbowed Jiyong.
‘It’s a sad day when even the librarian needs help finding something in the library,’ he’d whispered.
Of course, Jiyong had already noticed the librarian in question wandering frantically between the aisles, muttering obscenities to himself, had already noticed the marked absence of the librarian’s glasses, relocated so they were nesting in the man’s gravity-defying hair.
Of course, Jiyong kept that observation to himself, along with his newfound desire to lick the bridge of the other man’s nose to see if the paler skin there is smoother from constant contact with the nosepiece of his frames compared to the skin elsewhere on his face-and the rest of his body.
Of course, that would entail first licking elsewhere on his face and body, and Jiyong has yet to even speak to the librarian.
Two hours and twelve minutes into Youngbae’s mind-stuffing, the librarian (and in turn, Jiyong) finally found the mysterious and desperately sought-after object.
The disheartened man had taken up his post once more, sitting on the stool behind the checkout counter. In the same moment the librarian made to heavily rest his furrowed brow on his forearms, Jiyong blinked curiously at what he’s still convinced were a sparkling of tears in the man’s eyes and at what he’s still denying was a sudden urge to kiss away those same tears, and the pair of glasses slipped off the man’s head and onto the wood laminate.
The very next moment, the librarian was silently but very physically rejoicing at the sight of the huge, cream (Maybe it’s chamois cloth white?) plastic frames-‘very physically rejoicing’ meaning ‘doing what could possibly be considered dancing if done on Pluto while drunk.’
In that moment, Jiyong decided that the librarian is a bit of an idiot, but more importantly, a blind idiot. A very cute and sexy blind idiot.
Which is how Jiyong ended up in the library today (Thursday night), with every intention of finally licking the bridge of the librarian’s nose. Or at least get the guy’s name.
Jiyong waits until the not-quite-stranger makes the announcement over the PA system that ‘the checkout counter will be closing in ten minutes, and the library in fifteen, thank you and have a good night’ with that luscious voice to hide in the restroom.
The fifteen minutes crawl by impossibly slow, Jiyong’s mind a total mess. Is he really crouching on a toilet seat to conceal his feet should someone go looking for ninjas? (Sadly, yes.) How long will it take for everyone to leave? What would the librarian’s voice be like moaning Jiyong’s name? (Orgasmic.) Should Jiyong invest in a pair of fashion glasses? Does he have an exam tomorrow morning? (Probably, shit.)
When the lights in the restroom switch off, Jiyong almost has a heart attack. Not because he also almost topples off the toilet, but because he knows that it’s the beacon to go in search of the librarian.
It’s rather easy work, Jiyong heading to the only lit section, but he still makes sure to keep his footsteps light on the old, dingy carpet. It’s also rather quick work, Jiyong only needing to go as far as the first row of shelves before spotting his four-eyed target in the middle of the aisle, dutifully replacing books. And even if Jiyong had terrible eyesight, he would still be able to see the delicious stripe of creamy skin that peeks over the librarian’s underwear whenever he has to reach for a particularly high shelf.
Jiyong’s heart hammers so hard and fast against his ribs, he can’t believe the spied-on man can’t hear it. No, it’s Jiyong’s shaky sigh that the librarian hears, and Jiyong watches as the man whips his head around so hard and fast that his glasses part company with his face and land mutely some several yards away.
“Who’s there?”
Jiyong has to clamp both hands over his mouth. Not because he’s afraid he’ll say something weird like ‘The guy who’s been fantasizing about you and those God damned glasses’ (okay, so maybe partly because of that), but because Jiyong wants more than anything to laugh: the librarian has started to slowly inch his way along the row, taking tiny dragging steps and using the rusty shelves as the only means of determining forward from back, his eyes squinting uselessly in Jiyong’s direction.
Somewhat out of pity, mostly out of fond intrigue, Jiyong approaches him.
“Hi, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, though unable to keep the laughter out of his voice.
Along the way, he picks up the huge, cream (Perhaps they’re more eggshell?) plastic frames. But he doesn’t return them, just musingly strokes the nosepiece. It’s still warm.
Now mere feet apart, Jiyong realizes just how tall the squinting man is. And just how good-looking, even with the indents on his nose.
“Er, right, well, what are you doing still in here? And do you see my glasses by any chance?”
Jiyong conveniently ignores both questions in favor of extending his free hand-his occupied hand tightening around the glasses and hiding them against the small of his back.
“I’m Kwon Jiyong. Pleasure’s all mine.”
The librarian humors him with a brief handshake then blinks rapidly for a moment before his eyes widen and stay open, staring unashamedly.
“You’re the guy who’s always in here for no reason with that mohawk guy,” he says bemusedly. “Are you even a student?”
“Of course, I am,” Jiyong sputters. “I’m majoring in business-fine arts-computer science-I’m interested in applying for a library job.”
The other man smirks, and if it had been anyone else (that is, anyone whom Jiyong didn’t have a disproportionate crush on), Jiyong would’ve immediately punched him in the throat. But he doesn’t, since that would risk breaking the precious pair of glasses, the man’s perfect nose, and Jiyong’s chances of getting into his Galliano boxer briefs. Or getting his name.
“I’d probably be a hell of a lot more useful than you,” Jiyong says, deftly pocketing the glasses and helping himself to the cart of unsorted books. “I have 20/20 even wearing sunglasses at night.”
Still, the other man seems content to play along, adopting an exaggeratedly critical expression as he watches Jiyong slide a book (GR74.6.G55 1998) in its proper place (between GR74.6.G32 1979 and GR74.7.G12 2002).
“You’re in luck, a librarian position’s opening up in a couple weeks.”
“That so?” Jiyong mumbles, peering over his shoulder to find the still-frustratingly-unnamed man petting the spine of one of the musty volumes with a long, slender, duck-ringed finger, and Jiyong feels his breath primetime drama catch in his throat when explicit images of librarian positions that involve sweeping papers and books off a desk with a flourish and librarian fingers doing all manner of filthy things swarm and blur his self-proclaimed perfect vision.
“Mm-hm,” is the only answer Jiyong gets, but it’s more than enough, the sound of it reverberating in his skull and belly and making him shiver.
And he shivers again when, shoving GR74.7.G82 1967 between GR74.7.G71 1995 and GR74.7.G94 1969, Jiyong feels the other man stand directly behind him while keeping their bodies determinedly separated, when the other man plants one of his hands on the edge of the shelf beside Jiyong’s.
“It does get pretty cold in here. Dunno if you can handle it.”
Jiyong maneuvers around so they’re face to face-‘face to face’ being more like ‘Jiyong’s eyebrows to Mr Bookkeeper’s chin.’ But Jiyong easily leers up at him.
“Like you said,” he murmurs, staring pointedly at the man’s parted lips, “I’m in here quite a bit. I’m pretty sure I can take it.”
Jiyong labors to show no reaction when he glimpses the man raising his other hand.
‘This is it,’ Jiyong thinks, his palms sweating and his pants stifling like a teenager’s.
But then it isn’t, the other man’s unnaturally cold fingertips playing tag with his impishly bright eyes, every inch of Jiyong’s face perused twice over by burning gazes and leisurely touches.
“The glasses give me 20/20, y’know,” Jiyong lip-reads as much as he hears the man say.
“Yeah, so?”
“So,” he breathes, leaning forward so their faces are an eyelash apart, “you should learn how to stare at me more discreetly.”
Jiyong feels himself blush, and blush a bit more when the librarian firmly cups his chin and tilts his face upward, firmly (that is, finally) presses their mouths together.
And Jiyong’s pleasantly surprised that the man tastes of coffee and cigarettes, not yanggaeng and pen caps, that the man kisses like Jiyong imagines a librarian should-gently but thoroughly, tongue teasing between his lips, sighs hushed and pensive. And when Jiyong feels the librarian slip a hand under his shirt and up his back, he imagines his spine to be a book’s because maybe the librarian does too, fingertips walking up the goosepimpled vertebra like a ladder to reach for the top shelf. But that’s what his other hand is doing, cradling Jiyong’s nape as if to protect the bindings of Jiyong’s sanity.
When the other man draws back, it’s with short, puffed breaths and flushed cheeks.
“I graduate in two weeks,” he says, squinting down at Jiyong once more. “I’ll put in a good word, and you can take my spot.”
Jiyong mentally shakes himself then gapes at the taller man.
“Yeah-You’re graduating?”
He gets a single nod.
“Then can I get your call-I mean-phone number?”
He gets a single lingering peck to the corner of his mouth, and he distinctly feels the pair of glasses being eased out of his back jeans pocket.
“Look me up under ‘Choi,’ ” the librarian says, replacing his huge, cream plastic frames on his face before taking the cart handle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we closed twenty minutes ago. You can exit where you entered.”
-----
author's note: and just to make sure everyone gets the memo