[exo] sunday morning / billboards and bright lights
Two quick ficlets.
Title: Sunday morning
Rating: G
Wordcount: ~1k,
Pairing: BaekYeol
Summary: Steal some covers, share some skin
“Uuhgh?” Chanyeol awakens to a familiar weight shifting on his chest. Baekhyun’s limbs are still sprawled across his body; arm over torso, belly to hip, legs intertwined. He groans loudly when Baekhyun fidgets on top of him and Chanyeol hooks his leg around Baekhyun’s waist firmly, trying to flip them over so he can pin Baekhyun to the bed.
“Go back to sleep, Baek.” Chanyeol mumbles, words slurred from the drowsiness still hanging heavy behind his eyes.
He whines indignantly when the smaller one wrestles his way back on top, making sure to wind Chanyeol when he lets his body fall onto his.
“Wake up,” Baekhyun pouts, poking his nose into his boyfriend’s cheek. Chanyeol’s hands creep up his sides to lock Baekhyun in place, and he frowns for a second before a fond smile plays at his lips as Chanyeol shakes his head adamantly, tightening his grip on Baekhyun. “Nooooo.”
“It’s Sunday, Yeol,” Baekhyun mumbles, giving in a little, snuggling closer.
“Precisely.” Chanyeol leans up to press a quick kiss to Baekhyun’s nose, who giggles in response. “Now sleep, my sweet.”
A comfortable silence falls between them then. Baekhyun relaxes into Chanyeol’s warm hold, allowing his eyelids to close, resting his head in the crook of Chanyeol’s neck. He grimaces when he nuzzles his boyfriend’s jaw, scrunching his nose at the tiny bit of scratchy stubble that’s beginning to show.
“You need to shave,” Baekhyun yawns, laughing softly.
The taller one lets out a happy chuckle - it isn’t often that Baekhyun actually listens to him, and he’s going to hold on to this moment for as long as he can. Sleepy, contented Baekhyun is something he relishes dearly, pliant and squishy, soft and his, an endearing change from his usual daytime demeanour full of spunk. Manoeuvring his leg awkwardly, Chanyeol somehow manages to toe the blanket and pull it up just past Baekhyun’s calves, earning himself an appreciative kiss on the cheek.
It’s quiet, still, but the air is gentle and full of light. Moisture wafts in from the tiny crack in the window in a fine mist, the drizzle cool to the touch.
Baekhyun props himself up with one elbow, the other hand reaching up to thread delicate fingers through Chanyeol’s bedhead, patting pretty bangs back into place. “I miss your curly hair, Yeol.”
“Hmm?”
“It was fun waking up to your explosion every morning,” He teases. “It also bounced when you laughed. That was cuter than I’d like to admit.”
Chanyeol huffs, squinting.
Baekhyun slips his hand under the pillow, searching for the tiny bottle of Chanyeol’s prescription eye drops. His grip on Baekhyun’s waist loosens when the smaller one makes to sit up, squirming into a comfortable position before twisting the cap. Chanyeol tries to hold still while Baekhyun carefully pries his eyelids open one by one, letting a few drops of the liquid fall in each. Chanyeol tries to nibble on his palm while he’s at it, and Baekhyun snorts at his kissy faces when he pulls his hand away, tucking the bottle safely back under the pillow.
“Thanks, love.” Chanyeol rolls over to face Baekhyun, opening his eyes with a wide grin. “What do you want to do today?”
Baekhyun shimmies down so his head is resting on their pillow, eyes level with Chanyeol’s. “I want to run away with you.”
“That’s so cheesy, Baek,” Chanyeol chuckles, finding his hand to hold under the covers, interlocking their fingers.
“I’ll drag you out of bed, blanket and all,” Baekhyun continues, serious. “I won’t even let you brush your teeth.”
“How awful,” He watches pink tint Baekhyun’s cheeks when he lets his hand travel, slipping past the hem of his shirt and up his back, tracing every bump of bone under flesh.
“We’ll grab our wallets and slip on our sneakers, and then we’ll make a run for Manager hyung’s car in our boxers.”
“No pants, Baek?”
Baekhyun sighs contentedly as Chanyeol continues to trace shapes on his skin, shivering into their kiss when Chanyeol draws a smiley face on the sensitive spot behind his neck.
“No pants, Yeol,” He smiles coyly, letting his own hands wander playfully up Chanyeol’s abdomen and torso. “We’ll still have the blanket though, we’ll need that later.”
“You’re going to have to drive, since I don’t have a licence, and I’ll get to pick the music, you pick the place. And on the way we’ll stop by a convenience store and we’ll play a game and the loser has to go buy us ice cream in boxers.”
“Then we’ll go wherever you drive us to, and you’ll hold me tight and kiss me until our lips are tender and bruised. We’ll huddle under the blanket and we’ll keep each other warm, and you’ll promise - ”
Chanyeol interrupts him then, pressing chapped lips to Baekhyun’s soft ones eagerly, shifting so that he’s staring down at Baekhyun, flushed and breathless and beautiful. “I promise, Baekhyun.”
He holds out his pinky for Baekhyun, who guides his hand to his heart instead.
“And when we’re tired and hungry we’ll go to a carwash and sing obnoxious girl group songs at the top of our lungs.” There’s a spark of excitement in Baekhyun’s eyes that makes Chanyeol’s heart skip a beat.
“Today we’ll laze in bed and later we’ll go cycling with the guys, but tell me, now, where will you take me, Park Chanyeol, next Sunday morning?” Baekhyun asks, fearless.
Chanyeol gathers him into his arms, takes a deep breath, and begins.
Title: Billboards and Bright lights
Rating: G
Wordcount: ~1.2k,
Pairing: KrisYeol
Summary: Supermodel Park Chanyeol meets his resident vandal.
kris is an art senpai
Every Friday, Park Chanyeol waits with gleeful anticipation for the horrendous masterpieces that will be slathered across his face, much to the chagrin of his agency and the poor, hardworking photography staff in charge of his shoots. It’s been happening consistently for the past three months, and he’s decided to take things into his own hands this time. Smirking as he scrolls through the blog dedicated to his ruined billboards, Chanyeol picks out last week’s picture, saving it and setting it as his lock screen image.
When he’s done for the day his manager stares him down as he leaves, brows furrowed and lips stern, already picking up on the slightly crazy idea that popped into Chanyeol’s head while he was waiting for his turn in the studio.
“Bye Hyung!” The model laughs as he darts through the door, ignoring the warning shouts that follow him as he brushes past the security guard at reception - after all, he’s always been one to let his curiosity get the better of him.
Chanyeol skateboards around the weather worn rooftop, dressed down in a loose black hoodie and baggy jeans, snapback pulled down low over his forehead, wondering if his favourite vandal will fail him this week. It’s already half past ten, a good fifteen minutes over the usual time a new photo gets uploaded onto the internet, and he can’t help but worry.
He stops when he hears the tell-tale tinkle of ball bearings clattering inside aluminum cans and hides, crouching down in a dark corner while he watches his resident vandal peer cautiously over his shoulders.
He's tall, taller than even Chanyeol, and he finds his eyes trailing up over long limbs and well set bones, lean and muscular, an impressive figure that even the man's casual clothes cannot hide. Chanyeol thinks he belongs in a suit and tie: jawlines, collarbones and shoulder blades framed and contained in heavy wool and linen, angles accentuated by crisp heat pressed lines.
When the graffiti artist removes his cap (well, Chanyeol's not sure if artist is the most appropriate title, though his creations are quite something) the model has to clamp a hand over his mouth to stifle the guffaws that threaten to slip past his lips. He loses it when the moonlight catches his hair, casting a halo around the stranger's handsome features because Chanyeol's pretty damned sure that shade of honey blond is the exact shade that he has, right now, on his own head, and in all the magazines and billboards across Seoul and Korea.
His vandal is a fanboy.
Chanyeol hears the can of spray paint fall to the floor in a clumsy clatter as he steps out of the shadows and into heat of the halogen light, his eyes twinkling as laughter paints his features. Readjusting his cap, chanyeol runs fingers through his hair before setting it down backwards, making his face purposefully visible to his...fan. He watches in amusement when the tall man stumbles backwards in shock, large palms held up in surrender. There's a glint of panic in his eyes, clouded with confusion over and tinted with undeniable admiration.
"You don't usually have to run away from someone who's laughing at you, you know." Chanyeol chuckles as he takes slow steps towards the frightened man.
"I- Its not that I h-hate you or anything," He stutters out, shaking his head, back stepping. “I don’t have anything against you, I swear.”
The vandal blinks dumbly when Chanyeol speaks again. "I think you should stop it with the googly eyes. My eyes are googly enough without your, um, tasteful editing. Stick to the animals, please."
The model reaches for the forgotten can on the ground. Its nozzle bleeds black. Chanyeol picks it up and presses the can into the handsome vandal's palm, observing the way his pupils trail his actions.
"The animals were much better. I liked the animals, ...?" Chanyeol trails off, smiling jovially.
"Kris. My name is Kris."
"-- Kris. Nice to meet you. Also, my preferred colour is red, for future reference. Or blue. Blue’s good. Blue matches my eyes.”
*
Kris furrows his brows, head tilting to the side. He never thought Park Chanyeol would be this queer. Then again, he never thought he'd ever meet his victim in the flesh, decked out like the young adults they were, grown up but not quite, awkward in their attractiveness, hiding behind warm folds of cotton and buoyed by worn out sneaker soles.
The vandal can't think of anything to say, so stays quiet, watching the loose tufts of Chanyeol's hair tickle his cheeks, unconsciously reaching up to run his fingers through his own short locks, mimicking the model’s habit. His tongue peeks out and he licks his lips quickly when Chanyeol's pout morphs into a smirk.
He fiddles with the can in his hand nervously, half drawn eye long forgotten. Kris has seen Chanyeol's face hundreds, probably thousands of times since he's started this personal mission, in varying qualities and quantities of print; seen him constructed out of pixels and spots of cyan, yellow, magenta and photo black, but nothing compares to the solidity of flesh, of pursed lips and animated brows, the twitch and pull of muscle under smooth, pale skin.
As Chanyeol moves towards him with his skateboard tucked under his left arm, Kris revels in the mixture of cold and warm light that filters his features and he regrets, if only for a fraction of a moment, for ever having thought of desecrating beauty.
Kris forgets to breathe when he feels Chanyeol's chest pressed close to his, the model's large ears brushing past his own, shivering against the cool metal of Kris's silver piercings. His arm rests lightly on his waist while curious fingers search through Kris's backpack for a spare can of spray paint.
He pulls back all to soon and Kris wants to protest, but what place does he have to claim something so mesmerizing as his own?
"Come on," Chanyeol taunts, uncapping the bottle, giving the nozzle a tentative press. He sprays a big, deformed circle onto his printed cheek, complete with dripping paint and wobbly lines. "We should finish this."
They slay the billboard together, laughter keeping them warm despite the cold autumn wind, speckling the large banner with vivid
That’s how their adventure begins.
The night ends with Chanyeol whispering a series of numbers into Kris' ear, and they resume when they meet the next week, and then the week after, again and again, on assorted rooftops, in front of Chanyeol's latest photo shoot billboards.
Years later, in their home of shared aesthetics and rather odd tastes, with their limbs entangled under the shelter of soft blankets and lazy sheets printed with patterns of Kris’ animals, Chanyeol threads his fingers through Kris' hair, still identical to his after all this time and rolls over with a mischievous spark in his eye.
It’s bright as fire and Kris has to look away as he feels the heat rising in his cheeks, hiding his smile with a casual cough and yawn.
"What's on your mind, Chanyeol?"
"You know what, Kris," he starts, tracing Kris’s awkward interpretation of a dragon onto the other’s upturned palm, looking up with a cheeky grin when he’s done.
"I think you draw better with your tongue."
a/n im sorry if anyone got email spammed because i failed at lj;;
Title: Sunday morning
Rating: G
Wordcount: ~1k,
Pairing: BaekYeol
Summary: Steal some covers, share some skin
“Uuhgh?” Chanyeol awakens to a familiar weight shifting on his chest. Baekhyun’s limbs are still sprawled across his body; arm over torso, belly to hip, legs intertwined. He groans loudly when Baekhyun fidgets on top of him and Chanyeol hooks his leg around Baekhyun’s waist firmly, trying to flip them over so he can pin Baekhyun to the bed.
“Go back to sleep, Baek.” Chanyeol mumbles, words slurred from the drowsiness still hanging heavy behind his eyes.
He whines indignantly when the smaller one wrestles his way back on top, making sure to wind Chanyeol when he lets his body fall onto his.
“Wake up,” Baekhyun pouts, poking his nose into his boyfriend’s cheek. Chanyeol’s hands creep up his sides to lock Baekhyun in place, and he frowns for a second before a fond smile plays at his lips as Chanyeol shakes his head adamantly, tightening his grip on Baekhyun. “Nooooo.”
“It’s Sunday, Yeol,” Baekhyun mumbles, giving in a little, snuggling closer.
“Precisely.” Chanyeol leans up to press a quick kiss to Baekhyun’s nose, who giggles in response. “Now sleep, my sweet.”
A comfortable silence falls between them then. Baekhyun relaxes into Chanyeol’s warm hold, allowing his eyelids to close, resting his head in the crook of Chanyeol’s neck. He grimaces when he nuzzles his boyfriend’s jaw, scrunching his nose at the tiny bit of scratchy stubble that’s beginning to show.
“You need to shave,” Baekhyun yawns, laughing softly.
The taller one lets out a happy chuckle - it isn’t often that Baekhyun actually listens to him, and he’s going to hold on to this moment for as long as he can. Sleepy, contented Baekhyun is something he relishes dearly, pliant and squishy, soft and his, an endearing change from his usual daytime demeanour full of spunk. Manoeuvring his leg awkwardly, Chanyeol somehow manages to toe the blanket and pull it up just past Baekhyun’s calves, earning himself an appreciative kiss on the cheek.
It’s quiet, still, but the air is gentle and full of light. Moisture wafts in from the tiny crack in the window in a fine mist, the drizzle cool to the touch.
Baekhyun props himself up with one elbow, the other hand reaching up to thread delicate fingers through Chanyeol’s bedhead, patting pretty bangs back into place. “I miss your curly hair, Yeol.”
“Hmm?”
“It was fun waking up to your explosion every morning,” He teases. “It also bounced when you laughed. That was cuter than I’d like to admit.”
Chanyeol huffs, squinting.
Baekhyun slips his hand under the pillow, searching for the tiny bottle of Chanyeol’s prescription eye drops. His grip on Baekhyun’s waist loosens when the smaller one makes to sit up, squirming into a comfortable position before twisting the cap. Chanyeol tries to hold still while Baekhyun carefully pries his eyelids open one by one, letting a few drops of the liquid fall in each. Chanyeol tries to nibble on his palm while he’s at it, and Baekhyun snorts at his kissy faces when he pulls his hand away, tucking the bottle safely back under the pillow.
“Thanks, love.” Chanyeol rolls over to face Baekhyun, opening his eyes with a wide grin. “What do you want to do today?”
Baekhyun shimmies down so his head is resting on their pillow, eyes level with Chanyeol’s. “I want to run away with you.”
“That’s so cheesy, Baek,” Chanyeol chuckles, finding his hand to hold under the covers, interlocking their fingers.
“I’ll drag you out of bed, blanket and all,” Baekhyun continues, serious. “I won’t even let you brush your teeth.”
“How awful,” He watches pink tint Baekhyun’s cheeks when he lets his hand travel, slipping past the hem of his shirt and up his back, tracing every bump of bone under flesh.
“We’ll grab our wallets and slip on our sneakers, and then we’ll make a run for Manager hyung’s car in our boxers.”
“No pants, Baek?”
Baekhyun sighs contentedly as Chanyeol continues to trace shapes on his skin, shivering into their kiss when Chanyeol draws a smiley face on the sensitive spot behind his neck.
“No pants, Yeol,” He smiles coyly, letting his own hands wander playfully up Chanyeol’s abdomen and torso. “We’ll still have the blanket though, we’ll need that later.”
“You’re going to have to drive, since I don’t have a licence, and I’ll get to pick the music, you pick the place. And on the way we’ll stop by a convenience store and we’ll play a game and the loser has to go buy us ice cream in boxers.”
“Then we’ll go wherever you drive us to, and you’ll hold me tight and kiss me until our lips are tender and bruised. We’ll huddle under the blanket and we’ll keep each other warm, and you’ll promise - ”
Chanyeol interrupts him then, pressing chapped lips to Baekhyun’s soft ones eagerly, shifting so that he’s staring down at Baekhyun, flushed and breathless and beautiful. “I promise, Baekhyun.”
He holds out his pinky for Baekhyun, who guides his hand to his heart instead.
“And when we’re tired and hungry we’ll go to a carwash and sing obnoxious girl group songs at the top of our lungs.” There’s a spark of excitement in Baekhyun’s eyes that makes Chanyeol’s heart skip a beat.
“Today we’ll laze in bed and later we’ll go cycling with the guys, but tell me, now, where will you take me, Park Chanyeol, next Sunday morning?” Baekhyun asks, fearless.
Chanyeol gathers him into his arms, takes a deep breath, and begins.
Title: Billboards and Bright lights
Rating: G
Wordcount: ~1.2k,
Pairing: KrisYeol
Summary: Supermodel Park Chanyeol meets his resident vandal.
kris is an art senpai
Every Friday, Park Chanyeol waits with gleeful anticipation for the horrendous masterpieces that will be slathered across his face, much to the chagrin of his agency and the poor, hardworking photography staff in charge of his shoots. It’s been happening consistently for the past three months, and he’s decided to take things into his own hands this time. Smirking as he scrolls through the blog dedicated to his ruined billboards, Chanyeol picks out last week’s picture, saving it and setting it as his lock screen image.
When he’s done for the day his manager stares him down as he leaves, brows furrowed and lips stern, already picking up on the slightly crazy idea that popped into Chanyeol’s head while he was waiting for his turn in the studio.
“Bye Hyung!” The model laughs as he darts through the door, ignoring the warning shouts that follow him as he brushes past the security guard at reception - after all, he’s always been one to let his curiosity get the better of him.
Chanyeol skateboards around the weather worn rooftop, dressed down in a loose black hoodie and baggy jeans, snapback pulled down low over his forehead, wondering if his favourite vandal will fail him this week. It’s already half past ten, a good fifteen minutes over the usual time a new photo gets uploaded onto the internet, and he can’t help but worry.
He stops when he hears the tell-tale tinkle of ball bearings clattering inside aluminum cans and hides, crouching down in a dark corner while he watches his resident vandal peer cautiously over his shoulders.
He's tall, taller than even Chanyeol, and he finds his eyes trailing up over long limbs and well set bones, lean and muscular, an impressive figure that even the man's casual clothes cannot hide. Chanyeol thinks he belongs in a suit and tie: jawlines, collarbones and shoulder blades framed and contained in heavy wool and linen, angles accentuated by crisp heat pressed lines.
When the graffiti artist removes his cap (well, Chanyeol's not sure if artist is the most appropriate title, though his creations are quite something) the model has to clamp a hand over his mouth to stifle the guffaws that threaten to slip past his lips. He loses it when the moonlight catches his hair, casting a halo around the stranger's handsome features because Chanyeol's pretty damned sure that shade of honey blond is the exact shade that he has, right now, on his own head, and in all the magazines and billboards across Seoul and Korea.
His vandal is a fanboy.
Chanyeol hears the can of spray paint fall to the floor in a clumsy clatter as he steps out of the shadows and into heat of the halogen light, his eyes twinkling as laughter paints his features. Readjusting his cap, chanyeol runs fingers through his hair before setting it down backwards, making his face purposefully visible to his...fan. He watches in amusement when the tall man stumbles backwards in shock, large palms held up in surrender. There's a glint of panic in his eyes, clouded with confusion over and tinted with undeniable admiration.
"You don't usually have to run away from someone who's laughing at you, you know." Chanyeol chuckles as he takes slow steps towards the frightened man.
"I- Its not that I h-hate you or anything," He stutters out, shaking his head, back stepping. “I don’t have anything against you, I swear.”
The vandal blinks dumbly when Chanyeol speaks again. "I think you should stop it with the googly eyes. My eyes are googly enough without your, um, tasteful editing. Stick to the animals, please."
The model reaches for the forgotten can on the ground. Its nozzle bleeds black. Chanyeol picks it up and presses the can into the handsome vandal's palm, observing the way his pupils trail his actions.
"The animals were much better. I liked the animals, ...?" Chanyeol trails off, smiling jovially.
"Kris. My name is Kris."
"-- Kris. Nice to meet you. Also, my preferred colour is red, for future reference. Or blue. Blue’s good. Blue matches my eyes.”
*
Kris furrows his brows, head tilting to the side. He never thought Park Chanyeol would be this queer. Then again, he never thought he'd ever meet his victim in the flesh, decked out like the young adults they were, grown up but not quite, awkward in their attractiveness, hiding behind warm folds of cotton and buoyed by worn out sneaker soles.
The vandal can't think of anything to say, so stays quiet, watching the loose tufts of Chanyeol's hair tickle his cheeks, unconsciously reaching up to run his fingers through his own short locks, mimicking the model’s habit. His tongue peeks out and he licks his lips quickly when Chanyeol's pout morphs into a smirk.
He fiddles with the can in his hand nervously, half drawn eye long forgotten. Kris has seen Chanyeol's face hundreds, probably thousands of times since he's started this personal mission, in varying qualities and quantities of print; seen him constructed out of pixels and spots of cyan, yellow, magenta and photo black, but nothing compares to the solidity of flesh, of pursed lips and animated brows, the twitch and pull of muscle under smooth, pale skin.
As Chanyeol moves towards him with his skateboard tucked under his left arm, Kris revels in the mixture of cold and warm light that filters his features and he regrets, if only for a fraction of a moment, for ever having thought of desecrating beauty.
Kris forgets to breathe when he feels Chanyeol's chest pressed close to his, the model's large ears brushing past his own, shivering against the cool metal of Kris's silver piercings. His arm rests lightly on his waist while curious fingers search through Kris's backpack for a spare can of spray paint.
He pulls back all to soon and Kris wants to protest, but what place does he have to claim something so mesmerizing as his own?
"Come on," Chanyeol taunts, uncapping the bottle, giving the nozzle a tentative press. He sprays a big, deformed circle onto his printed cheek, complete with dripping paint and wobbly lines. "We should finish this."
They slay the billboard together, laughter keeping them warm despite the cold autumn wind, speckling the large banner with vivid
That’s how their adventure begins.
The night ends with Chanyeol whispering a series of numbers into Kris' ear, and they resume when they meet the next week, and then the week after, again and again, on assorted rooftops, in front of Chanyeol's latest photo shoot billboards.
Years later, in their home of shared aesthetics and rather odd tastes, with their limbs entangled under the shelter of soft blankets and lazy sheets printed with patterns of Kris’ animals, Chanyeol threads his fingers through Kris' hair, still identical to his after all this time and rolls over with a mischievous spark in his eye.
It’s bright as fire and Kris has to look away as he feels the heat rising in his cheeks, hiding his smile with a casual cough and yawn.
"What's on your mind, Chanyeol?"
"You know what, Kris," he starts, tracing Kris’s awkward interpretation of a dragon onto the other’s upturned palm, looking up with a cheeky grin when he’s done.
"I think you draw better with your tongue."
a/n im sorry if anyone got email spammed because i failed at lj;;