This Korean isn't Going to Perfect Itself (Kris/Han Geng)
this korean isn't going to perfect itself | kris/han geng | nc-17 | 3105 words (jfc how many words is this) | pre-debut wu fan needs help in learning korean
I wrote this in like 2 hours yippeee!
Author’s note: this is really funny to me because Han Geng’s Korean doesn’t fully improve until Sorry Sorry era; so around this time he was in China with SJM and when he got back his Korean got worse or something. This probably would have been better with Zhou Mi but nyerp
●
Wu Fan doesn’t understand a word that comes out the dance instructor’s mouth the first week he settles into the hectic and strenuous routine of being an SM Trainee. That is to be expected, his first language is Mandarin and then his second is Cantonese, and what got him here was that he’s an Asian that understands and speaks fluent English, so of course he’s going to have trouble understanding rapid and- to be frank- insane Korean. Wu Fan was promised that he would not only be granted lessons in Korean during his training period, but also there would be vocal instructors, dance instructors, and just a whole bunch of people at SM who would be speaking and teaching Mandarin and would make Wu Fan’s training a whole lot easier.
SM’s a lying sack of shit, Wu Fan thinks, and the dance instructor launches off into a tirade and the older male sounds shrill, and Wu Fan believes any second the short male is going to transform into a soup ladle-wielding ajhumma and whack all of the trainees in the head with it. The instructor points to their feet, probably saying the angle and positions that they’re in are unacceptable. Who knows? For all Wu Fan knows the guy could be enthusiastically talking about how stylish their shoes look.
A girl in the far corner breaks into a jarring sob and Wu Fan whips his head around to watch her bolt out of the room. Or maybe the instructor insulted her high tops or something. He’s been dancing continuously for three hours with eleven other people, who are just as sweaty and exhausted as he is; their breathing labored and hair sticking in their sweaty faces. The instructor screams at them once more and Wu Fan snaps to attention, swallowing back the pain and fatigue because he’s got five more hours of this.
●
So Wu Fan attends Korean lessons four times a week for two hours, and he studiously pays attention to every word the teacher says, though her voice has the exact tone of an airplane engine, and the lessons are in a stuffy room and the lessons are at 5:30 in the morning, so Wu Fan tries his best not to nod off and drool all over his notes. He learns that Korean is far more relaxing in tones when it comes to Mandarin, and Wu Fan agrees, but there’s no v or f tones, and the d and t and the p and b are constantly switched, as well as the k and g and the s and ss tones. Wu Fan wants to keep pronouncing gaseum apa as gaseum apa and not kaseum apba, which the instructor constantly tells him, that the g is pronounced g when there are two of them.
Wu Fan thinks Korean needs to calm the fuck down please and thank you.
His Hangul is a careless scrawl regardless how slow he writes it. He doesn’t follow the rule of starting on the right and working his way to the left, but then again he doesn’t follow that rule when he writes in Chinese, so learning how to follow that rule is a lost cause. Wu Fan crams the vocabulary in his mind and his Korean improves, his accent still heavy and his voice sounds higher when he speaks it, but the instructor says that’s natural when learning a new language. Wu Fan thinks it’s because he’s got a female teacher and he’s trying to sound like her and it naturally comes out like that but Wu Fan decides that talking back would just be a no-no in this situation, so he agrees with the teacher.
Wu Fan practices his Korean every chance he gets. He learns how to order food by himself and he learns to greet his superiors and elders, also learns how to read most of the characters on the signs and the constant buzz and roar of the Korean language all around him is starting to sound familiar. It pleases Wu Fan that he can tell if someone is praising him or insulting him, and that he can finally tell that the dance instructor is not yelling sporadically about his fancy footwear but rather the way his legs look like long sticks and that his angles are too sharp and that Wu Fan needs to loosen up when he dances. He learns more about Korea’s culture and its people, and he learns that some words could mean a totally different way if he didn’t pronounce it with the correct tone. It’s challenging, the endless practices and the lack of proper sleep and the lessons stacked on top of each other but it thrills Wu Fan, and for the first time since landing in Korea he feels incredibly accomplished, and that overwhelming feeling of being unsure of whether he’s doing the right thing is outweighed with this foreign feeling that he hasn’t felt in months.
●
But there are times when Wu Fan just struggles. There are days he will wake up and he’ll forget all about how to conjugate verbs and even basic greetings. He greets his teacher in Mandarin instead of Korean and he has to endure an uncomfortable thirty minutes of students staring at him for his blunder. It happens at least a few times a month, and Wu Fan wonder if he’s coming down with something. He can’t advance on in his studies and everything is suddenly difficult for him.
“I probably have brain cancer.” He says aloud in the dance room when the other dancers go off on break and he remains there, sitting on the floor, limbs sore and heavy. The dance instructor isn’t there and the trainees have been left to fend for themselves today, some of them taking lead as they are far more experienced in dance, but they end up fooling around forty five minutes into it. Wu Fan racks the Korean grammar structure in his head, wonders if that preposition is supposed to dangle there and where does the verb go? He doesn’t get it after sitting there for three minutes wracking his mind if he gets it or not.
“Yeah,” he says. “Brain cancer. I have it.”
“What about brain cancer?” a voice comes from the door and Wu Fan whips his head to the door. To his surprise, it’s Han Geng of Super Junior and Wu Fan feels his jaw drop despite himself. He’s only seen Han Geng once and that was when Han Geng was performing onstage with his Super Junior brothers, and Wu Fan admired how well the Chinese man waltzed around on the stage and during his dance solo he was this whole different person- his moves demanded the attention of the audience and his steps were just perfect. Wu Fan’s jaw goes slack when he thinks about it, and he concludes that Han Geng just has that effect on people; jaws losing their hold and wishing they could rest on the floor or something.
Wu Fan finds himself scrambling to get up and he bows ninety degrees at the slender man in front of him.
“Han Geng seonsang-nim!” He blurts.
“I’m no teacher,” Han Geng chuckles, “but today I figure I’d help out with the trainees.” Han Geng looks around. “The instructor didn’t show up today, eh?”
He doesn’t know if it’s because of Han Geng’s thick accent or that Wu Fan really forgot his Korean that fast because he didn’t understand a word the elder man said.
Han Geng notices his confusion and repeats the question in soft, fluid Mandarin, and Wu Fan answers him back.
“Ah, okay. So I’ll teach you guys!” Han Geng smiles and Wu Fan’s chest has this weird swimmy feeling for some reason. “Say, how long have you been training?”
“About eight months.”
“Want to try that in Korean?” Han Geng leans against the giant speaker that’s propped by the wall. Wu Fan stumbles and almost forgets the word for eight.
“Are you having trouble learning Korean, erm, what is your name?”
“It’s Li Jiaheng, lao shi.”
“Is there anyone to teach you Korean?”
“There is but no one to really practice with.”
“Ah,” Han Geng nods solemnly and puts his hands in his pockets. Wu Fan may be a good five inches taller than Han Geng but there’s something about the man’s presence that makes Wu Fan seem so small, that makes the younger boy want to shrink back. He’s not scared, he’s intimidated?
But the older man’s eyes crinkle into crescents and that smile comes back on his face and that swimmy feeling is back in Wu Fan’s chest.
“Don’t worry, Jiaheng ah, you’ll get better at it, I’m sure of it! Here, I’ll even let you call me whenever to ask me whatever questions you have about the language.”
“Really?” Wu Fan finds himself beaming.
“Of course! After the lesson remind me to give you my number, okay? Gege is here to help you succeed.” The rest of the trainees file in and they are equally if not more surprised to see one of SM’s finest artists standing there. There is a loud ruckus from the kids and Han Geng raises his hands and asks for them to settle down and that he’s going to help them out. Of course he dropped back into Korean and Wu Fan could only understand five words but instead he felt pretty okay about it. He’s filled with a renewed sense of vigor and he eagerly pushes on through dance practice, suddenly remembering the verb to collect and how to conjugate it.
●
Han Geng leaves for China with Super Junior M two days later so Wu Fan doesn’t get to call him to ask him any questions about learning Korean. But he still presses on with his lessons, forgetting a few words here and there but he eventually gets the hang of it, and he desperately holds on to the knowledge and he has everything written down on his arms or on every scrap of paper. He starts speaking tangible sentences to other trainees and his accent is gradually disappearing. This Korean isn’t going to perfect itself, he tells himself one day.
But when Super Junior M returns to Korea for a week and Wu Fan finds him literally in close proximity of Han Geng, Wu Fan’s Korean just crumbles and fails spectacularly.
“Hello Jiaheng,” Han Geng says smoothly and Wu Fan has his hands firmly pressing under his chin so that it doesn’t go slack again.
“Hello Han Geng lao shi.”
“Did you forget your Korean again?”
Wu Fan’s face flushes and he looks down. Han Geng chuckles and claps a hand on Wu Fan’s shoulder. “Gwenchana, my dongsaeng. I’m here to teach you.”
“Won’t that be hindering to your schedule?”
“Oh, we’ll squeeze some time in. Perfecting your Korean is very important.” There’s something that glints in Han Geng’s eye and Wu Fan can’t pinpoint what it is, but it makes something flip in his stomach and that swimmy feeling he had months before is back.
“Very important indeed.”
●
Wu Fan is on his bed and his roommate is nowhere around which is good because Han Geng is somehow sitting on top of him with their shirts off and Wu Fan’s pants unbuckled. Wu Fan learns that the swimmy feelings in his chest and the way his throat clenches is called yoggu, desire. Han Geng leans down to softly mutter random words in Korean and Wu Fan makes note to remember them all because if he repeats them back to Han Geng correctly Han Geng’s hand will slip lower into the recesses of Wu Fan’s briefs and-
“List off the conjugated forms of the verb to attack,” Han Geng says, teeth tugging Wu Fan’s earlobe and the younger boy hisses at the pressure on his skin.
“Gwisbul,” he blurts out loudly and Han Geng looks at him with confusion.
“Yes, that is the Korean word for earlobe.”
“Sorry, hyung-“
“Seonsaeng-nim sounds more appropriate in this situation, wouldn’t you agree?” Han Geng’s slender hips shift, his cock brushing up against Wu Fan’s hips and Wu Fan gets rock hard from that. He just nods furiously and mumbles an araso, and recites the forms of the verb to attack and almost stumbles at the end, but he remembers.
“Very good,” Han Geng tugs down Wu Fan’s briefs, a soft thumb slightly pressing down on the slit of Wu Fan’s cock and a strangled moan escapes his throat. “If you get all the answers, seonsang-nim will reward you.”
Han Geng dips his head to plant kisses all over Wu Fan’s neck, each one slow and deliberate and incredibly soft. Between the eleventh and twelfth kiss Han Geng asks Wu Fan what he is doing to him and Wu Fan promptly replies that he is kissing him. His kiseu comes out as a loud squeak.
“Lower your voice,” Han Geng says softly; pinching Wu Fan’s right nipple and the younger boy throws his head back into the pillow at the feeling. “But yes, that’s correct.” Nearly forgetting that he has Wu Fan’s erection still in his hand, he gives the base of the shaft a light squeeze.
“Do you know what this is called?” Wu Fan moans and shakes his head. “It’s called gochu, but remember to be lighter on the o, because gochu is also the word for pepper. Like gochujang, yes?”
“Penis paste?” Wu Fan asks dumbly and Han Geng giggles.
“Precisely penis paste. That was an unbelievably cute thing for you to say.” He shifts back to take off Wu Fan’s briefs, never letting go of his cock, and Wu Fan swallows back an extremely loud moan because he wants to shoot his load already. Han Geng resumes kissing all over Wu Fan’s chest, his left hand slowly pumping his cock while his right hand is pressing down on Wu Fan’s torso. The ministrations are painstakingly slow and Wu Fan finds himself jerking his hips towards Han Geng, as if telling him to hurry it up so he could come.
But maybe this was a lost in translation moment, because Han Geng stops and pulls down his pants and briefs and that dark glint in Han Geng’s eyes is back again.
“I really apologize for teaching you inappropriate words and curses,” Han Geng says solemnly, spreading Wu Fan’s legs and reaching over to the nightstand to take lotion and squeeze a liberal amount onto his palm and Wu Fan understands what’s happening but he’s not even remotely afraid, in fact his dick strains even more and his heart wants to leap out of his chest. “But have you heard of the word ssibal?”
“Y-yes.”
“Where does the word derive from?”
“I don’t know, seonsang-nim.”
“Ssib-hada, which means to fuck. That’s what we’re going to do.”
“Oh.”
“Unless you-“ Han Geng’s voices hints at apprehension even though he has a finger already intruding Wu Fan’s entrance and Wu Fan groans at the foreign sensation. Han Geng coats his length in some more lotion and removes his finger. This is obviously not the best preparation and they both know it but Wu Fan remembers that his roommate is not here but could be coming back any minute and this lesson needs to come to a close.
“Jebal, seonsang-nim.” Wu Fan’s hips jerk toward him and Han Geng leans in to press his chest to Wu Fan’s and slowly enters.
There’s so much pressure and Wu Fan curses in Mandarin because it hurts a lot and yet that desire is curling and uncurling in his stomach and his toes flex. Han Geng is already buried at the hilt and snapping his hips up into him and Wu Fan thinks there isn’t enough lotion to salve ripping feeling he has in the most intimate of places. Han Geng steadily lists off random Korean words like how to order for alcohol and what to say to a taxi driver and it is eerie how level his voice sounds as he’s plowing Wu Fan into the mattress. It’s a testament to Wu Fan’s hearing that he can hear the older man’s soft voice over his incredibly heavy breathing and moans. Han Geng’s hand wraps around Wu Fan’s length once more and matches his strokes with his thrusts and Wu Fan is crying out in English, Mandarin, Korean, some garbled alien language that he made up on the spot. The searing pain in his ass has ceased and there’s suddenly a warm feeling pooling around his pelvis and it drips down to his toes and courses through his blood stream. Han Geng’s thrusts are expertly angled to hit some spot inside him and it makes Wu Fan’s voice go an octave higher.
“For God’s sake,” he breathes.”
“In Korean,” Han Geng grunts, flicking his wrist and pressing his thumb at the tip of Wu Fan’s cock and that’s it for him; Wu Fan comes hard all over Han Geng’s hand and their chest, panting heavily and feeling gooey. His jaw is slack and saliva drips off the corner of his mouth as he watches the older man continuously slam into him. After a few minutes Han Geng tenses and pulls out of the younger boy, coming all over Wu Fan’s blanket.
The air hangs humid and heavy around them and the room is filled with gasps and bated breathing. Han Geng weakly pats Wu Fan’s leg and the boy’s legs feel like jello.
“So did my lesson help?” Han Geng smiles and Wu Fan had to think what he was learning about again.
“Ne, gomapseumnida seonsang-nim,” Wu Fan breathes, wiping his mouth and smiling back.
Han Geng leans forward and kisses Wu Fan on the mouth. “If you ever need anything, do not hesitate to call me, araso?”
“Aegissumnida.”
●
●
To no surprise Wu Fan’s Korean improved dramatically and he was back to memorizing and remembering words and grammar with ease. To his surprise, his dancing started to stink and his limbs refused to cooperate.
But Wu Fan remembers that Han Geng’s specialty is dancing, so he doesn’t worry.
-
-
a/n: omg you sat through this drivel here have some tomatoes
can you believe I made him top? neither can I oh wait I can nyerp
congratulations on your face gege
I'm supposed to be writing Krisyeol but I'm really lazy when it comes to devoting to my OTP
I wrote this in like 2 hours yippeee!
Author’s note: this is really funny to me because Han Geng’s Korean doesn’t fully improve until Sorry Sorry era; so around this time he was in China with SJM and when he got back his Korean got worse or something. This probably would have been better with Zhou Mi but nyerp
●
Wu Fan doesn’t understand a word that comes out the dance instructor’s mouth the first week he settles into the hectic and strenuous routine of being an SM Trainee. That is to be expected, his first language is Mandarin and then his second is Cantonese, and what got him here was that he’s an Asian that understands and speaks fluent English, so of course he’s going to have trouble understanding rapid and- to be frank- insane Korean. Wu Fan was promised that he would not only be granted lessons in Korean during his training period, but also there would be vocal instructors, dance instructors, and just a whole bunch of people at SM who would be speaking and teaching Mandarin and would make Wu Fan’s training a whole lot easier.
SM’s a lying sack of shit, Wu Fan thinks, and the dance instructor launches off into a tirade and the older male sounds shrill, and Wu Fan believes any second the short male is going to transform into a soup ladle-wielding ajhumma and whack all of the trainees in the head with it. The instructor points to their feet, probably saying the angle and positions that they’re in are unacceptable. Who knows? For all Wu Fan knows the guy could be enthusiastically talking about how stylish their shoes look.
A girl in the far corner breaks into a jarring sob and Wu Fan whips his head around to watch her bolt out of the room. Or maybe the instructor insulted her high tops or something. He’s been dancing continuously for three hours with eleven other people, who are just as sweaty and exhausted as he is; their breathing labored and hair sticking in their sweaty faces. The instructor screams at them once more and Wu Fan snaps to attention, swallowing back the pain and fatigue because he’s got five more hours of this.
●
So Wu Fan attends Korean lessons four times a week for two hours, and he studiously pays attention to every word the teacher says, though her voice has the exact tone of an airplane engine, and the lessons are in a stuffy room and the lessons are at 5:30 in the morning, so Wu Fan tries his best not to nod off and drool all over his notes. He learns that Korean is far more relaxing in tones when it comes to Mandarin, and Wu Fan agrees, but there’s no v or f tones, and the d and t and the p and b are constantly switched, as well as the k and g and the s and ss tones. Wu Fan wants to keep pronouncing gaseum apa as gaseum apa and not kaseum apba, which the instructor constantly tells him, that the g is pronounced g when there are two of them.
Wu Fan thinks Korean needs to calm the fuck down please and thank you.
His Hangul is a careless scrawl regardless how slow he writes it. He doesn’t follow the rule of starting on the right and working his way to the left, but then again he doesn’t follow that rule when he writes in Chinese, so learning how to follow that rule is a lost cause. Wu Fan crams the vocabulary in his mind and his Korean improves, his accent still heavy and his voice sounds higher when he speaks it, but the instructor says that’s natural when learning a new language. Wu Fan thinks it’s because he’s got a female teacher and he’s trying to sound like her and it naturally comes out like that but Wu Fan decides that talking back would just be a no-no in this situation, so he agrees with the teacher.
Wu Fan practices his Korean every chance he gets. He learns how to order food by himself and he learns to greet his superiors and elders, also learns how to read most of the characters on the signs and the constant buzz and roar of the Korean language all around him is starting to sound familiar. It pleases Wu Fan that he can tell if someone is praising him or insulting him, and that he can finally tell that the dance instructor is not yelling sporadically about his fancy footwear but rather the way his legs look like long sticks and that his angles are too sharp and that Wu Fan needs to loosen up when he dances. He learns more about Korea’s culture and its people, and he learns that some words could mean a totally different way if he didn’t pronounce it with the correct tone. It’s challenging, the endless practices and the lack of proper sleep and the lessons stacked on top of each other but it thrills Wu Fan, and for the first time since landing in Korea he feels incredibly accomplished, and that overwhelming feeling of being unsure of whether he’s doing the right thing is outweighed with this foreign feeling that he hasn’t felt in months.
●
But there are times when Wu Fan just struggles. There are days he will wake up and he’ll forget all about how to conjugate verbs and even basic greetings. He greets his teacher in Mandarin instead of Korean and he has to endure an uncomfortable thirty minutes of students staring at him for his blunder. It happens at least a few times a month, and Wu Fan wonder if he’s coming down with something. He can’t advance on in his studies and everything is suddenly difficult for him.
“I probably have brain cancer.” He says aloud in the dance room when the other dancers go off on break and he remains there, sitting on the floor, limbs sore and heavy. The dance instructor isn’t there and the trainees have been left to fend for themselves today, some of them taking lead as they are far more experienced in dance, but they end up fooling around forty five minutes into it. Wu Fan racks the Korean grammar structure in his head, wonders if that preposition is supposed to dangle there and where does the verb go? He doesn’t get it after sitting there for three minutes wracking his mind if he gets it or not.
“Yeah,” he says. “Brain cancer. I have it.”
“What about brain cancer?” a voice comes from the door and Wu Fan whips his head to the door. To his surprise, it’s Han Geng of Super Junior and Wu Fan feels his jaw drop despite himself. He’s only seen Han Geng once and that was when Han Geng was performing onstage with his Super Junior brothers, and Wu Fan admired how well the Chinese man waltzed around on the stage and during his dance solo he was this whole different person- his moves demanded the attention of the audience and his steps were just perfect. Wu Fan’s jaw goes slack when he thinks about it, and he concludes that Han Geng just has that effect on people; jaws losing their hold and wishing they could rest on the floor or something.
Wu Fan finds himself scrambling to get up and he bows ninety degrees at the slender man in front of him.
“Han Geng seonsang-nim!” He blurts.
“I’m no teacher,” Han Geng chuckles, “but today I figure I’d help out with the trainees.” Han Geng looks around. “The instructor didn’t show up today, eh?”
He doesn’t know if it’s because of Han Geng’s thick accent or that Wu Fan really forgot his Korean that fast because he didn’t understand a word the elder man said.
Han Geng notices his confusion and repeats the question in soft, fluid Mandarin, and Wu Fan answers him back.
“Ah, okay. So I’ll teach you guys!” Han Geng smiles and Wu Fan’s chest has this weird swimmy feeling for some reason. “Say, how long have you been training?”
“About eight months.”
“Want to try that in Korean?” Han Geng leans against the giant speaker that’s propped by the wall. Wu Fan stumbles and almost forgets the word for eight.
“Are you having trouble learning Korean, erm, what is your name?”
“It’s Li Jiaheng, lao shi.”
“Is there anyone to teach you Korean?”
“There is but no one to really practice with.”
“Ah,” Han Geng nods solemnly and puts his hands in his pockets. Wu Fan may be a good five inches taller than Han Geng but there’s something about the man’s presence that makes Wu Fan seem so small, that makes the younger boy want to shrink back. He’s not scared, he’s intimidated?
But the older man’s eyes crinkle into crescents and that smile comes back on his face and that swimmy feeling is back in Wu Fan’s chest.
“Don’t worry, Jiaheng ah, you’ll get better at it, I’m sure of it! Here, I’ll even let you call me whenever to ask me whatever questions you have about the language.”
“Really?” Wu Fan finds himself beaming.
“Of course! After the lesson remind me to give you my number, okay? Gege is here to help you succeed.” The rest of the trainees file in and they are equally if not more surprised to see one of SM’s finest artists standing there. There is a loud ruckus from the kids and Han Geng raises his hands and asks for them to settle down and that he’s going to help them out. Of course he dropped back into Korean and Wu Fan could only understand five words but instead he felt pretty okay about it. He’s filled with a renewed sense of vigor and he eagerly pushes on through dance practice, suddenly remembering the verb to collect and how to conjugate it.
●
Han Geng leaves for China with Super Junior M two days later so Wu Fan doesn’t get to call him to ask him any questions about learning Korean. But he still presses on with his lessons, forgetting a few words here and there but he eventually gets the hang of it, and he desperately holds on to the knowledge and he has everything written down on his arms or on every scrap of paper. He starts speaking tangible sentences to other trainees and his accent is gradually disappearing. This Korean isn’t going to perfect itself, he tells himself one day.
But when Super Junior M returns to Korea for a week and Wu Fan finds him literally in close proximity of Han Geng, Wu Fan’s Korean just crumbles and fails spectacularly.
“Hello Jiaheng,” Han Geng says smoothly and Wu Fan has his hands firmly pressing under his chin so that it doesn’t go slack again.
“Hello Han Geng lao shi.”
“Did you forget your Korean again?”
Wu Fan’s face flushes and he looks down. Han Geng chuckles and claps a hand on Wu Fan’s shoulder. “Gwenchana, my dongsaeng. I’m here to teach you.”
“Won’t that be hindering to your schedule?”
“Oh, we’ll squeeze some time in. Perfecting your Korean is very important.” There’s something that glints in Han Geng’s eye and Wu Fan can’t pinpoint what it is, but it makes something flip in his stomach and that swimmy feeling he had months before is back.
“Very important indeed.”
●
Wu Fan is on his bed and his roommate is nowhere around which is good because Han Geng is somehow sitting on top of him with their shirts off and Wu Fan’s pants unbuckled. Wu Fan learns that the swimmy feelings in his chest and the way his throat clenches is called yoggu, desire. Han Geng leans down to softly mutter random words in Korean and Wu Fan makes note to remember them all because if he repeats them back to Han Geng correctly Han Geng’s hand will slip lower into the recesses of Wu Fan’s briefs and-
“List off the conjugated forms of the verb to attack,” Han Geng says, teeth tugging Wu Fan’s earlobe and the younger boy hisses at the pressure on his skin.
“Gwisbul,” he blurts out loudly and Han Geng looks at him with confusion.
“Yes, that is the Korean word for earlobe.”
“Sorry, hyung-“
“Seonsaeng-nim sounds more appropriate in this situation, wouldn’t you agree?” Han Geng’s slender hips shift, his cock brushing up against Wu Fan’s hips and Wu Fan gets rock hard from that. He just nods furiously and mumbles an araso, and recites the forms of the verb to attack and almost stumbles at the end, but he remembers.
“Very good,” Han Geng tugs down Wu Fan’s briefs, a soft thumb slightly pressing down on the slit of Wu Fan’s cock and a strangled moan escapes his throat. “If you get all the answers, seonsang-nim will reward you.”
Han Geng dips his head to plant kisses all over Wu Fan’s neck, each one slow and deliberate and incredibly soft. Between the eleventh and twelfth kiss Han Geng asks Wu Fan what he is doing to him and Wu Fan promptly replies that he is kissing him. His kiseu comes out as a loud squeak.
“Lower your voice,” Han Geng says softly; pinching Wu Fan’s right nipple and the younger boy throws his head back into the pillow at the feeling. “But yes, that’s correct.” Nearly forgetting that he has Wu Fan’s erection still in his hand, he gives the base of the shaft a light squeeze.
“Do you know what this is called?” Wu Fan moans and shakes his head. “It’s called gochu, but remember to be lighter on the o, because gochu is also the word for pepper. Like gochujang, yes?”
“Penis paste?” Wu Fan asks dumbly and Han Geng giggles.
“Precisely penis paste. That was an unbelievably cute thing for you to say.” He shifts back to take off Wu Fan’s briefs, never letting go of his cock, and Wu Fan swallows back an extremely loud moan because he wants to shoot his load already. Han Geng resumes kissing all over Wu Fan’s chest, his left hand slowly pumping his cock while his right hand is pressing down on Wu Fan’s torso. The ministrations are painstakingly slow and Wu Fan finds himself jerking his hips towards Han Geng, as if telling him to hurry it up so he could come.
But maybe this was a lost in translation moment, because Han Geng stops and pulls down his pants and briefs and that dark glint in Han Geng’s eyes is back again.
“I really apologize for teaching you inappropriate words and curses,” Han Geng says solemnly, spreading Wu Fan’s legs and reaching over to the nightstand to take lotion and squeeze a liberal amount onto his palm and Wu Fan understands what’s happening but he’s not even remotely afraid, in fact his dick strains even more and his heart wants to leap out of his chest. “But have you heard of the word ssibal?”
“Y-yes.”
“Where does the word derive from?”
“I don’t know, seonsang-nim.”
“Ssib-hada, which means to fuck. That’s what we’re going to do.”
“Oh.”
“Unless you-“ Han Geng’s voices hints at apprehension even though he has a finger already intruding Wu Fan’s entrance and Wu Fan groans at the foreign sensation. Han Geng coats his length in some more lotion and removes his finger. This is obviously not the best preparation and they both know it but Wu Fan remembers that his roommate is not here but could be coming back any minute and this lesson needs to come to a close.
“Jebal, seonsang-nim.” Wu Fan’s hips jerk toward him and Han Geng leans in to press his chest to Wu Fan’s and slowly enters.
There’s so much pressure and Wu Fan curses in Mandarin because it hurts a lot and yet that desire is curling and uncurling in his stomach and his toes flex. Han Geng is already buried at the hilt and snapping his hips up into him and Wu Fan thinks there isn’t enough lotion to salve ripping feeling he has in the most intimate of places. Han Geng steadily lists off random Korean words like how to order for alcohol and what to say to a taxi driver and it is eerie how level his voice sounds as he’s plowing Wu Fan into the mattress. It’s a testament to Wu Fan’s hearing that he can hear the older man’s soft voice over his incredibly heavy breathing and moans. Han Geng’s hand wraps around Wu Fan’s length once more and matches his strokes with his thrusts and Wu Fan is crying out in English, Mandarin, Korean, some garbled alien language that he made up on the spot. The searing pain in his ass has ceased and there’s suddenly a warm feeling pooling around his pelvis and it drips down to his toes and courses through his blood stream. Han Geng’s thrusts are expertly angled to hit some spot inside him and it makes Wu Fan’s voice go an octave higher.
“For God’s sake,” he breathes.”
“In Korean,” Han Geng grunts, flicking his wrist and pressing his thumb at the tip of Wu Fan’s cock and that’s it for him; Wu Fan comes hard all over Han Geng’s hand and their chest, panting heavily and feeling gooey. His jaw is slack and saliva drips off the corner of his mouth as he watches the older man continuously slam into him. After a few minutes Han Geng tenses and pulls out of the younger boy, coming all over Wu Fan’s blanket.
The air hangs humid and heavy around them and the room is filled with gasps and bated breathing. Han Geng weakly pats Wu Fan’s leg and the boy’s legs feel like jello.
“So did my lesson help?” Han Geng smiles and Wu Fan had to think what he was learning about again.
“Ne, gomapseumnida seonsang-nim,” Wu Fan breathes, wiping his mouth and smiling back.
Han Geng leans forward and kisses Wu Fan on the mouth. “If you ever need anything, do not hesitate to call me, araso?”
“Aegissumnida.”
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To no surprise Wu Fan’s Korean improved dramatically and he was back to memorizing and remembering words and grammar with ease. To his surprise, his dancing started to stink and his limbs refused to cooperate.
But Wu Fan remembers that Han Geng’s specialty is dancing, so he doesn’t worry.
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a/n: omg you sat through this drivel here have some tomatoes
can you believe I made him top? neither can I oh wait I can nyerp
congratulations on your face gege
I'm supposed to be writing Krisyeol but I'm really lazy when it comes to devoting to my OTP