Fic: From Far Away As Stars Can Go
Title: From Far Away As Stars Can Go
Pairing: Xiumin/Luhan
Word Count: 4900+
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Minseok finds it hard to let go when they were never really given much of a chance to begin with.
From Far Away As Stars Can Go
Minseok thinks Jongdae has more money than he really knows what to do with. Most people would hire out maybe just the lounge for the night, not the entire floor (including lounge and bar) of one of Beijing's most expensive hotels. This was meant to be just a meet up of old friends, a celebration of new beginnings and future endeavors, but instead it's turned into an exposition of extravagance and indulgence with a dash of desperation. There are less than ten people invited but the amount of bar and waiting staff seems to the fill the void in the large expanse of space.
The lounge itself is well-appointed. Split-level flooring separates multiple settees, though they all seem to congregate around the center. The smell of cigar smoke is sickeningly sweet and heavy and it seems to hover above them like a cloud while Wufan idly tips the head of his Cuban Cohiba into the carved ivory ashtray. Minseok makes his way to the bar and is stopped halfway by an over-eager waiter with a tray stocked with glasses of Dom Pérignon. He says something as he tips his head, lifting the platter to Minseok's eye level but the sound of chatter and music seems to drown it out. Minseok takes one, nodding in thanks. His Mandarin is still beginners at best so he doubts he would be able to understand him even if the room were silent.
He lingers by the bar occasionally sipping at the champagne and watches Jongdae flutter between conversations.
“It's different than Korea,” he remembers him saying, “-the Chinese love the over-the-top decadence.” And they do seem impressed, really. Minseok takes a quick glance around from the plush leather sofas, to the Swarovski stemware they each clutch, to the rich red dupioni silk curtains that line the windows, and how every stained mahogany detail on the furniture is polished to perfection and yeah- they should be impressed. There's still one of them missing though, the man with the face of a boy that Minseok would rather forget.
But he would be lying to himself if he said Luhan wasn't part of the reason he'd come to this party. Most of it is for Jongdae, sure, but this kind of extravagance isn't really Minseok's style. He'd rather sit in his small apartment, blankets strewn across couches and pillows and flicking through TV channels, watching shows he can't understand so he makes up his own words for them. And maybe that isn't really what he'd rather be doing, but it's what he does, it's what he's become comfortable with. The loneliness that comes with it is something he'd never ask for, but it's too familiar for him now.
He decides to sit back down and busies himself by debating between the lettuce wrapped caviar versus what looks to be some sort of transparent film holding together pieces of crab. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Jongdae sidles in next to Zitao on the sofa, tipping his head as they engage in what can only be described as an exchange of broken language. He doesn't miss though, the way Zitao, with his long arm slung across the back of the couch, lifts his hand to trail his middle finger down the hollow of Jongdae's nape. And when he catches the shiver Jongdae seems unable to hold back, he wonder if it's really Zitao that loves the decadence. Minseok smirks at the thought and lets his gaze fall back to the trays of hors d'oeuvres in front of him and his blood runs cold at the sight of who is now sitting opposite him.
Luhan sort of fell into Minseok's lap really. He hadn't been moved in for more than a month yet, Jongdae was eager to introduce him to his business partner along with their tight-knit group of friends. And they say it's common to get sick when you move here. Adjusting to the air can be tough on your system, the city will do that to you. And Minseok did get sick, for a few weeks actually, with little knowledge on how to keep his body afloat without being able to ask for help. He could have called Jongdae, but Minseok never wanted to be a burden on him.
So when the boy (later to be found out he was actually the same age as Minseok) who he'd only met two or three times, showed up on his doorstep with a box of tea, some sort of medicine that he couldn't read the label of, and a smile that was frighteningly comforting, Minseok found it all too easy to accept the kindness. They seemed to understand each other, and that was more than just the fact they both could speak the same language. Maybe if it hadn't abruptly ended before it could really start, Minseok might not be dreading to look at his face once again.
Minseok tries to keep his eyes down but can't help but watch as Luhan calls over one of the waiters, signaling him down to his level so he can whisper almost obscenely close to his ear. The waiter boy stands, cheeks flushed, to fulfill Luhan's request and Minseok wonders if Luhan has that effect on everybody. The music seems louder now and is starting to get obnoxious and Minseok doesn't have to look up to know that Luhan's eyes are on him.
He glances over at Jongdae again and he's turned on the couch now, facing Zitao. He can't see the dark-eyed Chinese boy's face but he can see that his long fingers are now threaded into the back of Jongdae's hair and from this angle it's hard to tell if he's reeling him in or pulling him away. The bass from the music is too loud and consistent, low distorted beats with uneven piano laced over the top. Minseok can almost feel his bones rattle and he wonders if it's just the music or the alcohol, or the combination of both. He breathes deep to steady himself and unintentionally inhales a waft of heady cigar smoke and tries to push down the urge to vomit. He decides that since he has no intention of staying the night in one of these rooms that he may as well take a walk around and look at them.
He picks up a fresh glass of Dom before making his way down the corridor towards the rooms. The walls are lined with gold leaf framed mirrors and Minseok avoids his own reflection for fear of seeing how tired and pallid his skin looks. He stops at the end of the corridor to run his fingers over the surface of the precariously placed writing desk and he doesn't have to look in the mirrors to know he's been followed. He hears Luhan clear his throat and, against his better judgment, turns to face him while leaning back on the desk. Luhan lifts the bottle of champagne he's holding by the neck, a bottle of Bollinger that he must have asked the waiter for.
“Would you like some?”
Minseok lifts his half empty (or is it half full?) glass in response, muttering an “I'm good, thanks.”
The air isn't as stuffy back here and Minseok is already feeling a buzz from the alcohol, his stomach still a little rattled from the heavy bass. And Minseok sort of wants to just sit in awkward silence instead of attempting to make conversation, but Luhan makes that decision for him.
“So- you didn't bring your wife along, huh?” Luhan's eyes are shining with something like a challenge.
“You know this was just meant to be for the boys,” Minseok sips at his glass, keeping his eyes down, “-and we aren't married, I've only been dating her a couple weeks.”
“The boys,” Luhan laughs into his champagne, finishing whats left of it in one gulp. He looks up, “You look married though. You know- you have that kind of miserable, almost bored, look about you.”
Minseok refrains from telling him he only looks miserable because of him and chooses to say nothing instead.
Luhan never liked silence. “What's her name?”
Minseok rolls his eyes, “You don't want to know her name.”
“You're right,” Luhan smiles at him and it feels almost genuine, “-I don't.”
“Is she local?” Luhan tilts his head innocently as he asks.
Minseok nods, trying to speak as little as possible lest he say something he regrets.
Luhan grins, “Does she speak Korean?”
“Nope,” Minseok sighs.
“No wonder you look so bored,” Luhan chuckles. Minseok feels a twinge of anger twist around his gut and he sort of wants to tell Luhan that being bored is better than being alone but he bites his tongue.
There's about a quarter of the champagne left in the bottle Luhan is still holding and Minseok wonders if he really drank it all himself. It would explain the slight stagger and slurred words, at least. Minseok has seen Luhan drunk, but not like this.
“You should take a look at the rooms,” Luhan coughs, he's probably started smoking again, “They're really nice.”
Minseok shrugs with well rehearsed indifference and enters the nearest room with Luhan trailing close behind.
The room is massive. Large canopy bed on one end facing two large windows lined with the familiar red silk, studded leather couch in the middle facing an electronic fireplace with a 52inch LCD hung above it, and on the far end of the room is a mini bar with two chairs adjacent to a wooden table. Minseok moves to the windows while Luhan plops down on one of the chairs, setting his nearly empty bottle on the table. The view from this height is stunning, the lights from the buildings and the cars below seem to blur together and the sky in turn seems to reflect this, aglow with soft purples and reds. The night sky is never black in Beijing and Minseok sighs, finding himself missing home.
“You knew I was going to be here,” Luhan breaks the silence, “-so why did you come?”
“Jongdae is my friend,” he says, heart rate quickening and keeping his gaze on the cityscape below.
“You sure you didn't just want to see me?”
Minseok turns at this and isn't surprised to see Luhan now stood right in front of him.
“You made it very clear that I was just a recreation for you, Luhan.” Minseok finds it actually hurts to admit this, and he sort of hopes it isn't true but it's the only explanation he allows himself to believe.
Luhan pouts at him, alcohol slurring his words, “You always take things so literally, Baozi.”
Minseok cringes at the nickname, squeezing his eyes shut and ignoring the sudden wave of nostalgia.
“Why do you call me that?”
“What? Baozi?”
Minseok nods.
Luhan chuckles at this and Minseok wants to kick himself for thinking it sounds beautiful.
“It's your cheeks,” Luhan puffs his face out in immitation, or maybe mockery. Luhan lifts his hand and strokes Minseok's cheek affectionately, biting at his own lower lip as he does.
“One night was never going to be enough,” Luhan mutters under his breath.
Minseok feels the heat rush to his face and also down in his stomach too. He isn't sure if he was supposed to hear that, but he absently nods his head in agreement.
Luhan's hand is still on his face and he really doesn't look as young this close up. There are small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, more prominent when he smiles, and his skin looks a little worn around the edges, but he's still beautiful. Minseok wishes he took more time to take this face in, it had become a blur since he last saw him however many months ago.
Luhan says nothing now, and it makes Minseok nervous because Luhan is hardly ever this quiet. He lets his hand fall from Minseok's face, unconsciously snapping his fingers down by his sides. Luhan seems to make some sort of internal decision though, and then he turns and makes his way towards the couch as he unbuckles the belt of his pants, sliding them down.
“W-what are you doing?” Minseok stutters, heart racing.
Luhan pauses, turning to shoot Minseok a smile before slipping his pants down the rest of the way.
“I'm giving you back what you gave me.”
The room seems to be spinning but it could be the champagne. Minseok almost asks him why, but he doesn't think Luhan is in any fit state to answer. He doesn't understand why Luhan feels the need to do it this way, though. They could have started somewhere new, fresh, instead of picking up almost exactly where they left off. Minseok wonders if maybe Luhan is a little bored too.
Minseok moves over to him tentatively. He does not want to get caught up in the moment, but the supple pale skin of his backside is too inviting, and Minseok's head feels light and he tries to convince himself that his judgment is impaired by alcohol. So he runs his hands up the backs of Luhan's thighs instead of telling him to put his pants back on, like he knows he should. Luhan leans over the back of the couch, exposing himself completely and Minseok lets his hands continue to roam the expanse of skin. He crinkles up Luhan's crisp white shirt as he runs his hands up the sides of his back, leaving it to sit in a bunch up near his shoulder blades. His skin is surprisingly cold to the touch and Minseok wants to wrap his arms around him, warm him up and keep him there, but he knows now that Luhan is not the kind of man anyone gets to keep.
“How are we going to-”
“In my back pocket,” Luhan interrupts.
Minseok bends down, leaving Luhan where he is, as he searches the pockets of the pants now at his ankles. He moves to stand again when he's gotten hold of a small silver packet of clear gel.
“Why do you have this?” Minseok whispers out, trying to hide the hint of shock in his voice.
“I knew you were going to be here,” Luhan says, and his voice sounds muffled by the skin of arm, his face is pressed into where his bicep and forearm meet at the elbow.
Minseok has half a mind to walk away from this now, save himself the hassle and guilt and then he realizes he hadn't even though of her since Luhan had last mentioned her in the hall.
All sense of sanity seems to leave him though because Luhan is rolling his hips against the back of the couch, rubbing his cock against the leather and whimpering out “touch me, please.”
Minseok exhales shakily, wondering if he's drunk enough to blame this on alcohol before tearing open the packet with his teeth. He squeezes some onto his fingers, coating them completely before trailing his middle finger down the cleft of Luhan's ass. He swipes his finger quickly over Luhan's entrance and revels in the gasp it manages to pull from Luhan's parted lips. Minseok slowly rubs his finger in small circles before Luhan rolls his hips back, gasping out “please, please”. Minseok slides his finger in, sighing slowly at the heat that envelopes him as he lets Luhan adjust. It isn't but a few moments before Luhan's pushing back again, whimpering out “more- fuck, please more,” so he slides in another finger.
He slowly fucks him open, his free hand steady against the curve of Luhan's spine and he's entranced in the way the muscles on Luhan's back shift beneath the skin every time he moves to stretch him. He adds a third finger now, twisting and pushing as he goes and when Luhan lets out a loud, hoarse moan Minseok freezes. He presses down again, hoping for the same response, which he gets. He then, almost relentlessly, begins to stroke at the soft bundle of nerves, and Luhan's moans are so loud they could be screams if his voice didn't keep breaking beneath them. Minseok's own erection is now painfully throbbing with need so he withdraws his fingers before depositing the rest of the gel onto his hand, discarding the silver packet to the floor once it's empty.
He's thrown inhibition completely out the window now as he undoes his own pants with one hand, pushing them down just enough to free his cock before stroking himself down with the slippery gel. He lines himself up before slowly and easily gliding into him as Luhan muffles a sob into his forearm. His thrusts are slow and deep and every push tears a cry from Luhan's throat. It's not long before Luhan's skin is covered in sweat and he begins to slip down off the couch, his legs trembling too much to hold his own weight. Minseok holds him up by the hips but his body is limp and weak and he's probably still too inebriated to notice. Minseok leans over his back, lifting him up with arms wrapped around his chest and he whispers into the back of his neck, “There is a bed in here, you know.” He's not sure why, but he presses a soft kiss to the skin where he'd just spoken.
Luhan seems to regain control of his limbs, standing now and grunting as he pushes Minseok off of him. Minseok stands back, looking rather bewildered, and he wonders if maybe the kiss had crossed the line. He watches though, as Luhan clumsily kicks off his boots before peeling his pants off from around his ankles. Minseok bites back a laugh because honestly, Luhan looks a bit of a mess. Mussed up hair from being bent over and almost completely nude, except for the now sweat-dampened shirt still bunched up around his chest.
Luhan strides over to Minseok, pinning him to the wall, and then Luhan's hot and eager lips are on his. Luhan's tongue is a little sloppy but it's probably because he's been drinking, and he still tastes like champagne. Minseok helps remove the shirt from Luhan's chest and Luhan follows by frantically stripping Minseok, starting with the pants sitting down the middle of his thighs. Once Luhan is satisfied with his handiwork he pulls Minseok's face back into his by gripping the sides of his hair, before pulling back again with an “-ah, ah, ah, wait.”
He stumbles over and grabs the leftover champagne from the table, swigging it from the bottle as he returns to Minseok. He grins when he pulls the bottle away from his face, tilting up Minseok's chin before cooing “open up”. Minseok eyes him wearily but tilts his head back anyways, opening his mouth wide while Luhan pours the remainder of the alcohol down his throat. Most if it he swallows but some of it misses, dripping out of the corner of his mouth and down his jaw. Luhan giggles uninhibitedly and Minseok has to bite down on his lip to keep from grinning.
Luhan jerks Minseok's chin down, following the trail of alcohol with his tongue as he licks up his neck, all along the line of his jaw before stopping at the corner of his mouth. There's a small pause there before Luhan presses a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. Minseok's heart flutters and he's trying to push down the overhwelming feeling of hope that's flooding his chest before nuzzling his nose against Luhan's, breathing out “come on, bed”.
Luhan crawls to the center of the bed, sitting on hands and knees as he waits. Minseok follows, tugging at the underside of Luhan's hips.
“Turn over, on your back.”
Luhan flips over, spreading his legs in anticipation and it feels like less than a breath of a moment and Minseok is driving into him again. His arms cradle under Luhan's shoulders and his face is buried in the crook of Luhan's neck as he pounds into him.
The expensive silk sheets stick to their sweat slick bodies but the quality of the fabric is so high that it's anything but uncomfortable. The thin fabric feels like a second luxurious skin, and Minseok finds that Luhan's smell is familiar, comforting. Luhan presses his head to Minseok's, moaning a soft “-harder” against his hair. Minseok shifts slightly, pulling himself up and lifting Luhan's leg to sit atop his shoulder. He thrusts in slowly the first few times, testing out the new angle but Luhan moans out another “harder” before he can even pull back. Minseok rams into him experimentally, Luhan's moan turning into a choked sob, but he's practically chanting the words like a mantra now, “harder, harder.”
Minseok is pounding into him and before long Luhan's leg slips from off his shoulder but he doesn't care, and he's so close so he doesn't pause for anything. Luhan's got his own hand around his cock, lazily stroking himself between broken moans and shouts and Minseok makes to pull out when he's ready to come. Luhan quickly stops him though, grabbing his hips and “-come inside me. please”. Minseok means to question him but he's too close to release to be able to form words. He leans down and presses their foreheads together, struggling to hold back a whimper as he comes in pulses. Luhan's hand is between them, furiously stroking himself until he finishes not long after.
Minseok slides off Luhan, laying on his side and Luhan makes a move to wipe the come off his stomach with the sheets before Minseok grabs his hand, “No, no, don't use the sheets- jesus.” And Luhan's laugh is sharp and resounding and Minseok finds himself laughing too and wishes he could hear the sound every day. Minseok grabs a wad of tissues from the bedside table, tossing them over at Luhan as their laughter slowly dies down.
They fall asleep like this, tangled in silk, hushed whispers and dying laughter. Luhan's head fits a little too comfortably against Minseok's chest, and Luhan keeps pushing his knee into Minseok's now malleable cock. And it's sort of annoying but he giggles every time he does it, so Minseok lets him.
They're both moments away from sleep, Luhan tracing a circle around Minseok's stomach and he's murmuring out nonsensical things like “you could leave her, you know,” and “I'm sorry,” and “your skin is really soft”. And it all takes Minseok back to a week he had long since pushed to the back of his memory. Days and nights of learning a new country, a new culture, with only Jongdae and the four Chinese men he had introduced to Minseok. And the hours of sitting with the man with the face of a boy, talking over hot tea and cold noodles, being made fun of for his lackluster knowledge of Chinese tones and never getting an answer as to why Luhan's Korean was so close to perfect.
And then days of holding hands and stolen glances and smiles that were meant only for him all boiled down to one night. One night that seemed to never end, and at the same time it could have never been long enough. Waking up from that night, much like they are now, limbs a tangle and Luhan sleepily mumbling out nonsense. So when Minseok got up to prepare breakfast, Luhan's favorite tea already steeping in a small mug with a deer on it, and he turned to see Luhan already heading out the door he figures maybe he should have seen this coming. He swears that Luhan almost looked like he was regretting this, but Minseok never cared to figure out if it was regret for leaving or regret for ever being there in the first place. He spoke slowly, being sure to enunciate every syllable, “do not expect to see me again.” Minseok's stomach dropped, along with the wooden chopsticks covered in oil.
And it's sort of a similar feeling, when he wakes to the bright light glaring off the windows and a bed that's empty except for himself. He lifts his head to look around the hotel room, seeing nothing, before letting it fall back with a groan, cursing himself for ever thinking this would be anything but a horrible idea.
He hears a door click though and watches Luhan saunter out with towel wrapped around his hips from the bathroom that he hadn't even noticed the night before. He tosses the towel over the back of the couch before shuffling into his clothes which are now wrinkled and strewn across the floor. Minseok leans up on his side and stares at him, wondering if there's anything that should be said or even could be said at this point.
Luhan strides over to the bed once he's dressed, leaning over Minseok and pressing a soft kiss to each cheek and Minseok thinks his heart skips a beat.
“Morning,” he says, and his smile is so bright it hurts to stare at it.
“Morning,” Minseok replies, and their eyes have yet to leave each other and he feels like something needs to be said, because he doesn't think he can handle this happening again.
“Is this the part where you tell me not to expect to see you again?” He cringes at the desperation in his voice, but he figures they are past the point of beating around the bush, or they should be.
Luhan's still smiling as he idly brushes hair away from Minseok's eyes, “That all depends on you.”
Luhan is looking at him expectantly and Minseok feels like screaming, because why should he make the effort when it was Luhan who cut them short.
There's something else in Luhan's eyes though, something that makes him feel almost shameful and then he remembers her. And the sole fact that he had forgotten her to begin with becomes a cause for concern and he's suddenly wracked with guilt but Luhan is still smiling and it feels like maybe there's a promise hidden somewhere in there.
Minseok opens his mouth to speak a few times but he isn't sure what he should say, because now it's him that's the bad guy, but Luhan once again speaks for him, leaning a little closer to his face as he does. “If you leave her,” he licks his own lips, speaking slowly, “-you call me, okay?”
Minseok starts to nod but stops himself, “Will you actually pick up if I call?”
Luhan nods his head now, leaning ever closer as breath ghosts across Minseok's lips, “I promise you. If you call me, I will pick up.” And then Luhan's lips are on his, soft and slow and fleeting and before Minseok can open his eyes, he's walking out the room.
Minseok meets Jongdae down in the lobby to help with check out and payment, all of their Chinese friends having left already. Jongdae looks exhausted, but not unhappy, and Minseok spots a faded reddish bruise on the back of his neck. Minseok playfully flicks at the mark, causing Jongdae to flinch and whip around.
“I guess the party was worth the expense then,” Minseok jokes.
Jongdae chuckles, voice hoarse, “I think it was.” He looks up at Minseok, a smile playing at the corner of his lips, “Wouldn't you agree?”
Minseok shoves his shoulder, “I'm not the one who paid for it.”
Jongdae shrugs, smiling as he accepts the receipt from an overly considerate and thankful member of the hotel staff before making their way out of the hotel. Jongdae's smile looks almost cat-like and Minseok wonders if he's been spending more time with Zitao than he lets on.
“Thank you, though.” Minseok adds quietly as they reach the entrance to the parking garage.
Jongdae pats his back and asks him if he needs a ride, to which Minseok politely refuses. He has to get home now, and weigh the pros and cons between companionship and boredom versus comfort and happiness and potential heartbreak. He also wonders what an acceptable amount of time would be to wait before calling him. It hits him though, that he doesn't actually have Luhan's number. Luhan had always just shown up, and at the time Minseok didn't have a cell phone yet so it's something that never crossed his mind. He turns to ask if Jongdae has it, but he's already out of sight, so he flips open his phone in a panic to try and catch him before he leaves. When he does, he sees an unread text from an unknown number, opening it while trying to ignore the nagging pull of anticipation.
“Hey, it's Luhan. Keep this number. I meant what I said by the way :)”
Minseok flips his phone shut again, smiling down at the device and he decides that maybe getting lost while trying to navigate the extensive metro system in this city might be fun for once. If anything it will give him time to plan on how to deal with a potentially angry Chinese girl he can hardly understand.
an- for Yan (marsly) because she is lovely and lets me have late night drunken rants about basil infused cocktails and why layhan is such a lovely couple.
an2- I ACTUALly dont know what this is otl, this was meant to be straight porn from the ceci shoot and then emotions happened and idk im sorry imsorryimsorry
Pairing: Xiumin/Luhan
Word Count: 4900+
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Minseok finds it hard to let go when they were never really given much of a chance to begin with.
From Far Away As Stars Can Go
Minseok thinks Jongdae has more money than he really knows what to do with. Most people would hire out maybe just the lounge for the night, not the entire floor (including lounge and bar) of one of Beijing's most expensive hotels. This was meant to be just a meet up of old friends, a celebration of new beginnings and future endeavors, but instead it's turned into an exposition of extravagance and indulgence with a dash of desperation. There are less than ten people invited but the amount of bar and waiting staff seems to the fill the void in the large expanse of space.
The lounge itself is well-appointed. Split-level flooring separates multiple settees, though they all seem to congregate around the center. The smell of cigar smoke is sickeningly sweet and heavy and it seems to hover above them like a cloud while Wufan idly tips the head of his Cuban Cohiba into the carved ivory ashtray. Minseok makes his way to the bar and is stopped halfway by an over-eager waiter with a tray stocked with glasses of Dom Pérignon. He says something as he tips his head, lifting the platter to Minseok's eye level but the sound of chatter and music seems to drown it out. Minseok takes one, nodding in thanks. His Mandarin is still beginners at best so he doubts he would be able to understand him even if the room were silent.
He lingers by the bar occasionally sipping at the champagne and watches Jongdae flutter between conversations.
“It's different than Korea,” he remembers him saying, “-the Chinese love the over-the-top decadence.” And they do seem impressed, really. Minseok takes a quick glance around from the plush leather sofas, to the Swarovski stemware they each clutch, to the rich red dupioni silk curtains that line the windows, and how every stained mahogany detail on the furniture is polished to perfection and yeah- they should be impressed. There's still one of them missing though, the man with the face of a boy that Minseok would rather forget.
But he would be lying to himself if he said Luhan wasn't part of the reason he'd come to this party. Most of it is for Jongdae, sure, but this kind of extravagance isn't really Minseok's style. He'd rather sit in his small apartment, blankets strewn across couches and pillows and flicking through TV channels, watching shows he can't understand so he makes up his own words for them. And maybe that isn't really what he'd rather be doing, but it's what he does, it's what he's become comfortable with. The loneliness that comes with it is something he'd never ask for, but it's too familiar for him now.
He decides to sit back down and busies himself by debating between the lettuce wrapped caviar versus what looks to be some sort of transparent film holding together pieces of crab. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Jongdae sidles in next to Zitao on the sofa, tipping his head as they engage in what can only be described as an exchange of broken language. He doesn't miss though, the way Zitao, with his long arm slung across the back of the couch, lifts his hand to trail his middle finger down the hollow of Jongdae's nape. And when he catches the shiver Jongdae seems unable to hold back, he wonder if it's really Zitao that loves the decadence. Minseok smirks at the thought and lets his gaze fall back to the trays of hors d'oeuvres in front of him and his blood runs cold at the sight of who is now sitting opposite him.
Luhan sort of fell into Minseok's lap really. He hadn't been moved in for more than a month yet, Jongdae was eager to introduce him to his business partner along with their tight-knit group of friends. And they say it's common to get sick when you move here. Adjusting to the air can be tough on your system, the city will do that to you. And Minseok did get sick, for a few weeks actually, with little knowledge on how to keep his body afloat without being able to ask for help. He could have called Jongdae, but Minseok never wanted to be a burden on him.
So when the boy (later to be found out he was actually the same age as Minseok) who he'd only met two or three times, showed up on his doorstep with a box of tea, some sort of medicine that he couldn't read the label of, and a smile that was frighteningly comforting, Minseok found it all too easy to accept the kindness. They seemed to understand each other, and that was more than just the fact they both could speak the same language. Maybe if it hadn't abruptly ended before it could really start, Minseok might not be dreading to look at his face once again.
Minseok tries to keep his eyes down but can't help but watch as Luhan calls over one of the waiters, signaling him down to his level so he can whisper almost obscenely close to his ear. The waiter boy stands, cheeks flushed, to fulfill Luhan's request and Minseok wonders if Luhan has that effect on everybody. The music seems louder now and is starting to get obnoxious and Minseok doesn't have to look up to know that Luhan's eyes are on him.
He glances over at Jongdae again and he's turned on the couch now, facing Zitao. He can't see the dark-eyed Chinese boy's face but he can see that his long fingers are now threaded into the back of Jongdae's hair and from this angle it's hard to tell if he's reeling him in or pulling him away. The bass from the music is too loud and consistent, low distorted beats with uneven piano laced over the top. Minseok can almost feel his bones rattle and he wonders if it's just the music or the alcohol, or the combination of both. He breathes deep to steady himself and unintentionally inhales a waft of heady cigar smoke and tries to push down the urge to vomit. He decides that since he has no intention of staying the night in one of these rooms that he may as well take a walk around and look at them.
He picks up a fresh glass of Dom before making his way down the corridor towards the rooms. The walls are lined with gold leaf framed mirrors and Minseok avoids his own reflection for fear of seeing how tired and pallid his skin looks. He stops at the end of the corridor to run his fingers over the surface of the precariously placed writing desk and he doesn't have to look in the mirrors to know he's been followed. He hears Luhan clear his throat and, against his better judgment, turns to face him while leaning back on the desk. Luhan lifts the bottle of champagne he's holding by the neck, a bottle of Bollinger that he must have asked the waiter for.
“Would you like some?”
Minseok lifts his half empty (or is it half full?) glass in response, muttering an “I'm good, thanks.”
The air isn't as stuffy back here and Minseok is already feeling a buzz from the alcohol, his stomach still a little rattled from the heavy bass. And Minseok sort of wants to just sit in awkward silence instead of attempting to make conversation, but Luhan makes that decision for him.
“So- you didn't bring your wife along, huh?” Luhan's eyes are shining with something like a challenge.
“You know this was just meant to be for the boys,” Minseok sips at his glass, keeping his eyes down, “-and we aren't married, I've only been dating her a couple weeks.”
“The boys,” Luhan laughs into his champagne, finishing whats left of it in one gulp. He looks up, “You look married though. You know- you have that kind of miserable, almost bored, look about you.”
Minseok refrains from telling him he only looks miserable because of him and chooses to say nothing instead.
Luhan never liked silence. “What's her name?”
Minseok rolls his eyes, “You don't want to know her name.”
“You're right,” Luhan smiles at him and it feels almost genuine, “-I don't.”
“Is she local?” Luhan tilts his head innocently as he asks.
Minseok nods, trying to speak as little as possible lest he say something he regrets.
Luhan grins, “Does she speak Korean?”
“Nope,” Minseok sighs.
“No wonder you look so bored,” Luhan chuckles. Minseok feels a twinge of anger twist around his gut and he sort of wants to tell Luhan that being bored is better than being alone but he bites his tongue.
There's about a quarter of the champagne left in the bottle Luhan is still holding and Minseok wonders if he really drank it all himself. It would explain the slight stagger and slurred words, at least. Minseok has seen Luhan drunk, but not like this.
“You should take a look at the rooms,” Luhan coughs, he's probably started smoking again, “They're really nice.”
Minseok shrugs with well rehearsed indifference and enters the nearest room with Luhan trailing close behind.
The room is massive. Large canopy bed on one end facing two large windows lined with the familiar red silk, studded leather couch in the middle facing an electronic fireplace with a 52inch LCD hung above it, and on the far end of the room is a mini bar with two chairs adjacent to a wooden table. Minseok moves to the windows while Luhan plops down on one of the chairs, setting his nearly empty bottle on the table. The view from this height is stunning, the lights from the buildings and the cars below seem to blur together and the sky in turn seems to reflect this, aglow with soft purples and reds. The night sky is never black in Beijing and Minseok sighs, finding himself missing home.
“You knew I was going to be here,” Luhan breaks the silence, “-so why did you come?”
“Jongdae is my friend,” he says, heart rate quickening and keeping his gaze on the cityscape below.
“You sure you didn't just want to see me?”
Minseok turns at this and isn't surprised to see Luhan now stood right in front of him.
“You made it very clear that I was just a recreation for you, Luhan.” Minseok finds it actually hurts to admit this, and he sort of hopes it isn't true but it's the only explanation he allows himself to believe.
Luhan pouts at him, alcohol slurring his words, “You always take things so literally, Baozi.”
Minseok cringes at the nickname, squeezing his eyes shut and ignoring the sudden wave of nostalgia.
“Why do you call me that?”
“What? Baozi?”
Minseok nods.
Luhan chuckles at this and Minseok wants to kick himself for thinking it sounds beautiful.
“It's your cheeks,” Luhan puffs his face out in immitation, or maybe mockery. Luhan lifts his hand and strokes Minseok's cheek affectionately, biting at his own lower lip as he does.
“One night was never going to be enough,” Luhan mutters under his breath.
Minseok feels the heat rush to his face and also down in his stomach too. He isn't sure if he was supposed to hear that, but he absently nods his head in agreement.
Luhan's hand is still on his face and he really doesn't look as young this close up. There are small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, more prominent when he smiles, and his skin looks a little worn around the edges, but he's still beautiful. Minseok wishes he took more time to take this face in, it had become a blur since he last saw him however many months ago.
Luhan says nothing now, and it makes Minseok nervous because Luhan is hardly ever this quiet. He lets his hand fall from Minseok's face, unconsciously snapping his fingers down by his sides. Luhan seems to make some sort of internal decision though, and then he turns and makes his way towards the couch as he unbuckles the belt of his pants, sliding them down.
“W-what are you doing?” Minseok stutters, heart racing.
Luhan pauses, turning to shoot Minseok a smile before slipping his pants down the rest of the way.
“I'm giving you back what you gave me.”
The room seems to be spinning but it could be the champagne. Minseok almost asks him why, but he doesn't think Luhan is in any fit state to answer. He doesn't understand why Luhan feels the need to do it this way, though. They could have started somewhere new, fresh, instead of picking up almost exactly where they left off. Minseok wonders if maybe Luhan is a little bored too.
Minseok moves over to him tentatively. He does not want to get caught up in the moment, but the supple pale skin of his backside is too inviting, and Minseok's head feels light and he tries to convince himself that his judgment is impaired by alcohol. So he runs his hands up the backs of Luhan's thighs instead of telling him to put his pants back on, like he knows he should. Luhan leans over the back of the couch, exposing himself completely and Minseok lets his hands continue to roam the expanse of skin. He crinkles up Luhan's crisp white shirt as he runs his hands up the sides of his back, leaving it to sit in a bunch up near his shoulder blades. His skin is surprisingly cold to the touch and Minseok wants to wrap his arms around him, warm him up and keep him there, but he knows now that Luhan is not the kind of man anyone gets to keep.
“How are we going to-”
“In my back pocket,” Luhan interrupts.
Minseok bends down, leaving Luhan where he is, as he searches the pockets of the pants now at his ankles. He moves to stand again when he's gotten hold of a small silver packet of clear gel.
“Why do you have this?” Minseok whispers out, trying to hide the hint of shock in his voice.
“I knew you were going to be here,” Luhan says, and his voice sounds muffled by the skin of arm, his face is pressed into where his bicep and forearm meet at the elbow.
Minseok has half a mind to walk away from this now, save himself the hassle and guilt and then he realizes he hadn't even though of her since Luhan had last mentioned her in the hall.
All sense of sanity seems to leave him though because Luhan is rolling his hips against the back of the couch, rubbing his cock against the leather and whimpering out “touch me, please.”
Minseok exhales shakily, wondering if he's drunk enough to blame this on alcohol before tearing open the packet with his teeth. He squeezes some onto his fingers, coating them completely before trailing his middle finger down the cleft of Luhan's ass. He swipes his finger quickly over Luhan's entrance and revels in the gasp it manages to pull from Luhan's parted lips. Minseok slowly rubs his finger in small circles before Luhan rolls his hips back, gasping out “please, please”. Minseok slides his finger in, sighing slowly at the heat that envelopes him as he lets Luhan adjust. It isn't but a few moments before Luhan's pushing back again, whimpering out “more- fuck, please more,” so he slides in another finger.
He slowly fucks him open, his free hand steady against the curve of Luhan's spine and he's entranced in the way the muscles on Luhan's back shift beneath the skin every time he moves to stretch him. He adds a third finger now, twisting and pushing as he goes and when Luhan lets out a loud, hoarse moan Minseok freezes. He presses down again, hoping for the same response, which he gets. He then, almost relentlessly, begins to stroke at the soft bundle of nerves, and Luhan's moans are so loud they could be screams if his voice didn't keep breaking beneath them. Minseok's own erection is now painfully throbbing with need so he withdraws his fingers before depositing the rest of the gel onto his hand, discarding the silver packet to the floor once it's empty.
He's thrown inhibition completely out the window now as he undoes his own pants with one hand, pushing them down just enough to free his cock before stroking himself down with the slippery gel. He lines himself up before slowly and easily gliding into him as Luhan muffles a sob into his forearm. His thrusts are slow and deep and every push tears a cry from Luhan's throat. It's not long before Luhan's skin is covered in sweat and he begins to slip down off the couch, his legs trembling too much to hold his own weight. Minseok holds him up by the hips but his body is limp and weak and he's probably still too inebriated to notice. Minseok leans over his back, lifting him up with arms wrapped around his chest and he whispers into the back of his neck, “There is a bed in here, you know.” He's not sure why, but he presses a soft kiss to the skin where he'd just spoken.
Luhan seems to regain control of his limbs, standing now and grunting as he pushes Minseok off of him. Minseok stands back, looking rather bewildered, and he wonders if maybe the kiss had crossed the line. He watches though, as Luhan clumsily kicks off his boots before peeling his pants off from around his ankles. Minseok bites back a laugh because honestly, Luhan looks a bit of a mess. Mussed up hair from being bent over and almost completely nude, except for the now sweat-dampened shirt still bunched up around his chest.
Luhan strides over to Minseok, pinning him to the wall, and then Luhan's hot and eager lips are on his. Luhan's tongue is a little sloppy but it's probably because he's been drinking, and he still tastes like champagne. Minseok helps remove the shirt from Luhan's chest and Luhan follows by frantically stripping Minseok, starting with the pants sitting down the middle of his thighs. Once Luhan is satisfied with his handiwork he pulls Minseok's face back into his by gripping the sides of his hair, before pulling back again with an “-ah, ah, ah, wait.”
He stumbles over and grabs the leftover champagne from the table, swigging it from the bottle as he returns to Minseok. He grins when he pulls the bottle away from his face, tilting up Minseok's chin before cooing “open up”. Minseok eyes him wearily but tilts his head back anyways, opening his mouth wide while Luhan pours the remainder of the alcohol down his throat. Most if it he swallows but some of it misses, dripping out of the corner of his mouth and down his jaw. Luhan giggles uninhibitedly and Minseok has to bite down on his lip to keep from grinning.
Luhan jerks Minseok's chin down, following the trail of alcohol with his tongue as he licks up his neck, all along the line of his jaw before stopping at the corner of his mouth. There's a small pause there before Luhan presses a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. Minseok's heart flutters and he's trying to push down the overhwelming feeling of hope that's flooding his chest before nuzzling his nose against Luhan's, breathing out “come on, bed”.
Luhan crawls to the center of the bed, sitting on hands and knees as he waits. Minseok follows, tugging at the underside of Luhan's hips.
“Turn over, on your back.”
Luhan flips over, spreading his legs in anticipation and it feels like less than a breath of a moment and Minseok is driving into him again. His arms cradle under Luhan's shoulders and his face is buried in the crook of Luhan's neck as he pounds into him.
The expensive silk sheets stick to their sweat slick bodies but the quality of the fabric is so high that it's anything but uncomfortable. The thin fabric feels like a second luxurious skin, and Minseok finds that Luhan's smell is familiar, comforting. Luhan presses his head to Minseok's, moaning a soft “-harder” against his hair. Minseok shifts slightly, pulling himself up and lifting Luhan's leg to sit atop his shoulder. He thrusts in slowly the first few times, testing out the new angle but Luhan moans out another “harder” before he can even pull back. Minseok rams into him experimentally, Luhan's moan turning into a choked sob, but he's practically chanting the words like a mantra now, “harder, harder.”
Minseok is pounding into him and before long Luhan's leg slips from off his shoulder but he doesn't care, and he's so close so he doesn't pause for anything. Luhan's got his own hand around his cock, lazily stroking himself between broken moans and shouts and Minseok makes to pull out when he's ready to come. Luhan quickly stops him though, grabbing his hips and “-come inside me. please”. Minseok means to question him but he's too close to release to be able to form words. He leans down and presses their foreheads together, struggling to hold back a whimper as he comes in pulses. Luhan's hand is between them, furiously stroking himself until he finishes not long after.
Minseok slides off Luhan, laying on his side and Luhan makes a move to wipe the come off his stomach with the sheets before Minseok grabs his hand, “No, no, don't use the sheets- jesus.” And Luhan's laugh is sharp and resounding and Minseok finds himself laughing too and wishes he could hear the sound every day. Minseok grabs a wad of tissues from the bedside table, tossing them over at Luhan as their laughter slowly dies down.
They fall asleep like this, tangled in silk, hushed whispers and dying laughter. Luhan's head fits a little too comfortably against Minseok's chest, and Luhan keeps pushing his knee into Minseok's now malleable cock. And it's sort of annoying but he giggles every time he does it, so Minseok lets him.
They're both moments away from sleep, Luhan tracing a circle around Minseok's stomach and he's murmuring out nonsensical things like “you could leave her, you know,” and “I'm sorry,” and “your skin is really soft”. And it all takes Minseok back to a week he had long since pushed to the back of his memory. Days and nights of learning a new country, a new culture, with only Jongdae and the four Chinese men he had introduced to Minseok. And the hours of sitting with the man with the face of a boy, talking over hot tea and cold noodles, being made fun of for his lackluster knowledge of Chinese tones and never getting an answer as to why Luhan's Korean was so close to perfect.
And then days of holding hands and stolen glances and smiles that were meant only for him all boiled down to one night. One night that seemed to never end, and at the same time it could have never been long enough. Waking up from that night, much like they are now, limbs a tangle and Luhan sleepily mumbling out nonsense. So when Minseok got up to prepare breakfast, Luhan's favorite tea already steeping in a small mug with a deer on it, and he turned to see Luhan already heading out the door he figures maybe he should have seen this coming. He swears that Luhan almost looked like he was regretting this, but Minseok never cared to figure out if it was regret for leaving or regret for ever being there in the first place. He spoke slowly, being sure to enunciate every syllable, “do not expect to see me again.” Minseok's stomach dropped, along with the wooden chopsticks covered in oil.
And it's sort of a similar feeling, when he wakes to the bright light glaring off the windows and a bed that's empty except for himself. He lifts his head to look around the hotel room, seeing nothing, before letting it fall back with a groan, cursing himself for ever thinking this would be anything but a horrible idea.
He hears a door click though and watches Luhan saunter out with towel wrapped around his hips from the bathroom that he hadn't even noticed the night before. He tosses the towel over the back of the couch before shuffling into his clothes which are now wrinkled and strewn across the floor. Minseok leans up on his side and stares at him, wondering if there's anything that should be said or even could be said at this point.
Luhan strides over to the bed once he's dressed, leaning over Minseok and pressing a soft kiss to each cheek and Minseok thinks his heart skips a beat.
“Morning,” he says, and his smile is so bright it hurts to stare at it.
“Morning,” Minseok replies, and their eyes have yet to leave each other and he feels like something needs to be said, because he doesn't think he can handle this happening again.
“Is this the part where you tell me not to expect to see you again?” He cringes at the desperation in his voice, but he figures they are past the point of beating around the bush, or they should be.
Luhan's still smiling as he idly brushes hair away from Minseok's eyes, “That all depends on you.”
Luhan is looking at him expectantly and Minseok feels like screaming, because why should he make the effort when it was Luhan who cut them short.
There's something else in Luhan's eyes though, something that makes him feel almost shameful and then he remembers her. And the sole fact that he had forgotten her to begin with becomes a cause for concern and he's suddenly wracked with guilt but Luhan is still smiling and it feels like maybe there's a promise hidden somewhere in there.
Minseok opens his mouth to speak a few times but he isn't sure what he should say, because now it's him that's the bad guy, but Luhan once again speaks for him, leaning a little closer to his face as he does. “If you leave her,” he licks his own lips, speaking slowly, “-you call me, okay?”
Minseok starts to nod but stops himself, “Will you actually pick up if I call?”
Luhan nods his head now, leaning ever closer as breath ghosts across Minseok's lips, “I promise you. If you call me, I will pick up.” And then Luhan's lips are on his, soft and slow and fleeting and before Minseok can open his eyes, he's walking out the room.
Minseok meets Jongdae down in the lobby to help with check out and payment, all of their Chinese friends having left already. Jongdae looks exhausted, but not unhappy, and Minseok spots a faded reddish bruise on the back of his neck. Minseok playfully flicks at the mark, causing Jongdae to flinch and whip around.
“I guess the party was worth the expense then,” Minseok jokes.
Jongdae chuckles, voice hoarse, “I think it was.” He looks up at Minseok, a smile playing at the corner of his lips, “Wouldn't you agree?”
Minseok shoves his shoulder, “I'm not the one who paid for it.”
Jongdae shrugs, smiling as he accepts the receipt from an overly considerate and thankful member of the hotel staff before making their way out of the hotel. Jongdae's smile looks almost cat-like and Minseok wonders if he's been spending more time with Zitao than he lets on.
“Thank you, though.” Minseok adds quietly as they reach the entrance to the parking garage.
Jongdae pats his back and asks him if he needs a ride, to which Minseok politely refuses. He has to get home now, and weigh the pros and cons between companionship and boredom versus comfort and happiness and potential heartbreak. He also wonders what an acceptable amount of time would be to wait before calling him. It hits him though, that he doesn't actually have Luhan's number. Luhan had always just shown up, and at the time Minseok didn't have a cell phone yet so it's something that never crossed his mind. He turns to ask if Jongdae has it, but he's already out of sight, so he flips open his phone in a panic to try and catch him before he leaves. When he does, he sees an unread text from an unknown number, opening it while trying to ignore the nagging pull of anticipation.
“Hey, it's Luhan. Keep this number. I meant what I said by the way :)”
Minseok flips his phone shut again, smiling down at the device and he decides that maybe getting lost while trying to navigate the extensive metro system in this city might be fun for once. If anything it will give him time to plan on how to deal with a potentially angry Chinese girl he can hardly understand.
an- for Yan (marsly) because she is lovely and lets me have late night drunken rants about basil infused cocktails and why layhan is such a lovely couple.
an2- I ACTUALly dont know what this is otl, this was meant to be straight porn from the ceci shoot and then emotions happened and idk im sorry imsorryimsorry