post #13

[seoulfulness]

Fics ( #12).

How Hard Was That? GLAM, Zinni/Trinity
Safehouse SNSD, Taeyeon/Seohyun
Intriguing Secret, Hyosung/Sunhwa [warning: murder]
Six and Seven Girl's Day, Minah/Hyeri
Approved Block B/B.A.P., Jaehyo/Himchan
Fiction EXO, Kai/Suho
Untitled Infinite, Myungsoo/Sungyeol
One Sequin at a Time EXO, Suho/Kai
Why don't we measure the coefficient of

Comments

shut up and let me pay the rent, exo, baekhyun/d.o [1/2]

[anonymous]

People who own the stage always have ulterior motives.

(Kyungsoo had learned that in high school, albeit rather crudely, with Jongin and his dark kind of dance that charmed every music history teacher in sight-learned never to let himself get too close, be pulled in too far by those kinds of people, those staged kinds of people.)

And in the beginning, three years ago, it was regular, requirement-filling Byun Baekhyun who’d offered Kyungsoo surprisingly low rent on the apartment just off campus when Kyungsoo had transferred colleges. But it’d turned out that Baekhyun just wasn’t one for petty music classes, no-so by the time he’d informally introduced Kyungsoo to his stage, they were already sliding down a steep slope. Kyungsoo doesn’t know why he still lives in that same apartment, still lets Baekhyun pay 80% of the rent, still insists that Baekhyun come home every night as if he were a normal, rich college graduate, as if he worked in financing or something. Kyungsoo doesn’t know when or how Baekhyun gets home every night, doesn’t know why Baekhyun always seems to be in bed by the time Kyungsoo gets up.

“There aren’t many people in the world who love you,” Kyungsoo says, inexplicably miffed one afternoon when Baekhyun emerges from his shell of a room, just having woken up-with a concert starting in some three or four hours.

“There are millions of people who love me,” Baekhyun mumbles, and Kyungsoo isn’t quite sure if Baekhyun himself believes it. “I’m fucking famous.”

And that’s usually what sends the tower tumbling-the fact that Baekhyun always has to make it obvious that he’s adored by half the people in South Korea, that he does rock and throws it into Kyungsoo’s life as if he needs Kyungsoo to tell him how proud he is. “You don’t have to point it out,” Kyungsoo says, and when Baekhyun eyes the cold breakfast on the table, Kyungsoo moves away from the microwave, clearing the path.

Baekhyun looks up then, giving Kyungsoo a stare from under his plain, hooded eyelids that no one can really see from hundreds of feet away, anyway, that no one can really see when they’re run over, hundreds of times, like roadkill, with dark, thick charcoal. “Come to the concert tonight.”

“I don’t know why you keep asking me,” Kyungsoo says, sliding into the chair across the table from the untouched breakfast. He’s never been to one of Baekhyun’s concerts in three years of living with him.

“Because I think you really need to see it to appreciate it,” Baekhyun says.

“What, your music or your fame?”

The corner of Baekhyun’s mouth quirks up a little. “Free backstage passes.”

Kyungsoo opens his laptop and thumbs at his lower lip while waiting for it to start up. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Do your worst,” Baekhyun says with a grin, spreading his arms out wide in front of him and letting his bathrobe fall open in the process. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “Drag me home and take me to bed. Literally.”

“I have work tomorrow.”

shut up and let me pay the rent, exo, baekhyun/d.o [2/2]

[anonymous]

“Oh, indulge me,” Baekhyun continues, ignoring the breakfast and falling into the chair next to Kyungsoo, still stark naked under a thin, untied bathrobe. He’s close enough that Kyungsoo can see the bits of stubble dotting his chin (that no one can really see from hundreds of feet away, anyway).

Kyungsoo lets out a cough and types his password in, clearly aware of Baekhyun’s eyes on his fingers. “What, you or your fame?”

“Why do you work?” Baekhyun asks, poking at the laptop keys. “I work hard enough for both of us.”

“Yeah, cancelling your tour because you had no clothes to wear, such a productive group of people, you and your fucking-famous bunch,” Kyungsoo says, and Baekhyun grins-and Kyungsoo knows that Baekhyun’s won, because he’s gotten Kyungsoo to do just that, to indulge him.

Baekhyun digs out a half-smoked cigarette from his robe pocket. “Why do you work?” he says, his voice a husky drawl, and Kyungsoo shrugs.

“To pay the rent.”

And then Baekhyun’s suddenly there, right in front of him in all his half-smoked glory, looming over Kyungsoo with dry, scraggly hair pressing into Kyungsoo’s face, a hot, thick breath in his ear murmuring, “Just shut up and let me pay the rent.”

People who own the stage always have ulterior motives, because for Kyungsoo, living with Baekhyun is far too easy, because letting himself get pulled into spoiled lives and searing hot kisses, smoke-filled and suffocating, with Baekhyun dragging his tongue all over Kyungsoo’s lips with this insistent push, like Baekhyun wants something that Kyungsoo doesn’t know that he has. Ulterior motives.

(When Baekhyun pulls away, his fingers are still ice-cold on Kyungsoo’s neck, sending a shiver down his back and a soft but uncontrolled moan from his lips.

“How do you hold the microphone with that shitty circulation of yours?” Kyungsoo says a couple minutes later, watching Baekhyun rummage through the refrigerator for a bottle of beer.

“Oh, easy,” Baekhyun says, his fingers wrapping slowly around the neck of the bottle, drops of condensation slipping through the cracks. Kyungsoo swallows. “With just the right amount of effort.”

You trick it into holding you.)