(Tell the Bartender) I Think I'm Falling in Love
Pairing: Sehun/Suho
Rating: nc17
Length: 5700 words
(Tell the Bartender)
I Think I'm Falling in Love
Joonmyun is sitting at a table on the patio of a café in the eighth arrondissement when a tall man a few years younger than him suddenly flings himself down in the empty chair across from him, out of breath. He’s Korean, Joonmyun’s pretty sure, and his hair’s dyed a few shades lighter than its natural black, though it disappears almost instantaneously under the red beanie he pulls on once he’s seated. He hunches forward, facing Joonmyun, gaze meeting his steadily. It’s a practiced-looking stare, as if he’s spent years perfecting the ideal way to make eye contact in order to convey what he wants in a situation, to set the stage even before the other person is aware of just why they’re conversing. He would, Joonmyun thinks to himself, do amazingly well in heated business room dealings.
“Parlez-vous coréen?” he asks, French syllables heavy and strange on his lips.
“Oui,” Joonmyun responds.
“Thank god. Look, would it be ok if I just sat here and pretended to know you in case this person I’m trying to avoid comes by? I don’t think they will but just in case.”
Joonmyun says “yes” before he really processes the question.
He grins at that, then pulls on a pair of sunglasses. It’s late September, the air slightly cool but still warmer than Seoul, sun high and bright in the sky. He doesn’t say anything, just takes a phone out from his pocket and starts scrolling through it. Joonmyun watches him for a couple of minutes, trying to figure out who exactly he’s hiding from and whether or not Joonmyun should be concerned for his life, but learns nothing other than the fact that his iPhone appears to be a few models outdated. He glances back to his laptop, a spreadsheet open in front of him. He’s supposed to be organizing revenue data in preparation for a meeting his boss is having with a Citroën executive in two days, but it’s tedious and more complicated than he had initially expected it to be. He stares at one cell on his spreadsheet for a moment, an obvious outlier, hoping he’ll figure out what to do with it to make it look less egregious in the final product, but he’s interrupted by his new table partner piping up again.
“I’m Oh Sehun, by the way. What’s your name?”
“Kim Joonmyun.”
“What’re you working on?”
“Revenue thing for my boss. It’s pretty dull,” he replies. His tone is a little more flippant than he intends it to be, but Sehun seems to like it. He grins, and his tone of voice when he responds is vaguely amused.
“That sounds awful. Also for the record I’m not trying to like, run away from the mob or something. There’s just a dude I had a fling with last summer who lives around here who I’m trying avoid and I think I saw him nearby just now.”
Joonmyun nods. It’s a lot of information being flung at him, and while he’s used to that, conceptually, he’s accustomed to it being details about car part sales and production costs, not personal information about someone he’s just met. There are a lot of questions dancing in his head, the product of years of training to respond to details with requests for more specifics, analyzation by constant skepticism: If you’ve spent time here, why is your French so bad? What do you do for a living that lets you have flings on the other side of the world? Why don’t you just act like a normal person and get on the métro and go somewhere else? He keeps his mouth shut, though, because it seems kind of inappropriate for the situation. Sehun stares at him like they’re negotiating mergers behind thick steel doors in a highrise office building, but they’re outside, the remnants of an espresso staining the white porcelain of the cup sitting between them. His laptop screen’s gone to sleep, and Sehun is looking to his right now, profile sharp against the black of the asphalt street that rises up behind him.
“So you’re in Paris on business?” he asks, turning back to face Joonmyun.
“Yeah. I work for a manufacturing company that specializes in car parts, and we’re currently revising our contract with Citroën.”
“And you do… revenue?”
“Something like that. I work way below the CFO, but in the same general department.”
“I was hoping you at least did revenue for something… I don’t know, interesting.”
Joonmyun laughs. He gets this a lot and it normally aggravates him to no end--he’s fully aware his job is boring but high paid and more or less useless to the greater good--but there’s something about the way Sehun presents it that doesn’t bug him much.
“Nope, I’m unfortunately terribly boring.”
Sehun turns back now, smiling very slightly, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. “Everyone thinks I’m interesting because of my job, but I spend most of my time sleeping and playing video games, so.”
The lead-in’s too obvious to ignore any longer. “What’s your job?”
“I model. Nothing very fancy, but every once in a while someone in Paris needs a tall skinny Korean dude and my agency likes to pretend it’s ‘multi-national’ so they jump on the offer to ship someone over here, and I have like, two years of high school French, so it’s always me.”
It’s not exactly what Joonmyun was expecting, but it doesn’t really surprise him. It explains the staring thing, for certain, and the repeated but transient presence in the city.
“How did you get into that field?”
Sehun shrugs. “I was doing dance stuff in university, but I wasn’t really that cut out for it. I started modeling to make some money on the side, and then I was good at it and took a semester off to do a couple up-and-coming designer shows in Korea and Japan, and then that turned into a lot longer than a semester and here I am.”
At that moment, the waiter stops by, clearing away Joonmyun’s plate and taking Sehun’s order for a café au lait.
“Anyway, yeah, I model. It’s alright. Good money, get to travel.”
“That’s kinda how I feel about my job, honestly,” Joonmyun says. It’s not an admission he usually allows, but Sehun makes him feel oddly comfortable and open, and doesn’t seem like the type to judge very harshly, either.
“Yeah, but you have to do like, math and shit.”
“Not really, mostly you just plug things into Excel and use some pre-made models. It’s pretty straightforward.”
“Still. Numbers versus walking around in weird leather, I’d take the leather any day.”
The image of Sehun, broad shoulders and long, thin legs, in leather jolts through Joonmyun’s mind, but he swallows it down before it settles. He doesn’t really know Sehun and even though he’s a model, he figures it’s probably slightly rude to start fantasizing about him when they’ve been talking for all of fifteen minutes.
“I’d take numbers. I don’t think… anyone really wants to see me in leather.”
Sehun raises an eyebrow, thick curve visible now over the rim of his sunglasses. “You’d look good in a leather jacket. If you maybe cut your hair a bit, it’s kind of… fluffy.”
Joonmyun’s hand shoots up to pat at his hair. It is pretty long, he thinks to himself. Sehun laughs at him, half bent over when the waiter returns with his coffee. He promptly dumps several spoonfuls of sugar out of the jar in the middle of the table into it, and this time Joonmyun doesn’t hold back a laugh.
“What? It’s normal to put sugar in your coffee.”
“But it already barely tastes like coffee, and that’s a lot of sugar.”
Sehun shrugs. “I don’t like coffee, but I need caffeine.”
He hasn’t, up to this point, seemed especially grown-up, but he’s downright boyish now, defending himself and half-grinning with embarrassment, half-glaring in a show of defiance. Joonmyun would be lying if he said he were anything but charmed.
They chat for another half-hour, Joonmyun explaining a little more about his job and Sehun interjecting with “God, that sounds boring” every few sentences. It’s almost four when the waiter comes back with their receipt, and Joonmyun offers his card immediately, not letting Sehun even try to pay.
“Oh come on, this isn’t a date and I make a lot of money too, you know.”
“Your coffee was about 2 euros, it’s not like it’s some great financial burden on me.”
“Still, you really didn’t have to.”
“But I wanted to,” Joonmyun replies, and Sehun gives up, instead fishing his phone out of his pocket.
“Would you want to get dinner or something later this week? I mostly work during the day, since I’m doing an indoors shoot.”
“Sure.”
“Do you have a number you can use here?”
Joonmyun shakes his head. “No, but I do have email?”
“Good enough,” Sehun replies and hands his phone over. Joonmyun types his name and email address in, then returns the phone with a grin.
“Do you think you’ve successfully lost the guy?”
“Oh,” Sehun says, startled, like he’d forgotten how he’d ended up with Joonmyun to begin with, “yeah, probably.”
“Ok. Well, I’ll, uh, look forward to your email.”
“So formal,” Sehun replies with a smile, before leaning in to kiss Joonmyun’s cheek.
“A bientôt,” he says, and darts off, bag slung over his shoulder and bouncing against his body as he moves.
Two days later, Joonmyun gets an email from Sehun asking him to dinner at a Thai restaurant in the eleventh. He’s in Saint-Ouën, in Citroën headquarters, trying to figure out the best route to get back to the studio apartment he’s staying in. He says yes immediately, then dallies a bit longer in the lobby to see if Sehun will get back to him before he has to get on the métro and lose internet for a while. The meeting had gone well, and there’s another one scheduled for Monday to hammer through the last of the details. He’s technically invited to a celebratory dinner, but his boss had indicated that it would be mostly high-ranking folks, and it wouldn’t be mandatory for him to attend.
Sehun doesn’t respond within five minutes and people are starting to give him weird looks, so he leaves the building to board the métro. It’s crowded and hot, even though the air outside has the distinct chill of autumn lingering at its edges. He transfers at Gare St. Lazare to the nine, which he stays on until he reaches the stop a few blocks from his building. His phone vibrates with a new e-mail once he’s inside the apartment. It is, unsurprisingly, from Sehun, confirming that they’ll meet at 8 at the restaurant.
He undresses and goes to take a shower. He’s a restless mix of excited and nervous, the high of his company’s successes today fading into anticipation of his dinner and worries about how it’ll go. It’s weirdly ambiguous, what their meeting is going to be, and that puts Joonmyun on edge. He’d been attracted to Sehun, of course, but he’d also been surprised by how fond of him he’d been, too, of his simultaneous naïveté and confidence, his bluntness and occasional shyness. He’s pretty sure this is a date--in fact, he’s pretty sure he’d be an idiot if he thought otherwise--but he’s in the dangerous time period of inherent doubt, when every minute seems to stretch to twice its length, letting every possible worry he could have bubble up to his consciousness. He’s been numbingly busy with work the past few days, but now that’s more or less over and Sehun has presented himself when he hasn’t had a chance to process what their first meeting was to start with. He showers and that helps a bit, eases the physical tension out of his body, but his stomach is still dancing, limbs restless and tapping against the floor of the nine as he rides it back to the eleventh, fingers playing out mindless rhythms on the thick fabric of his black jeans. He gets off at Oberkampf and backtracks to the restaurant itself, enjoying the evening bustle of the mostly-residential arrondissement.
The restaurant is tucked away on a side street, painted white and decorated with blue trim, the outline of an elephant adorning the side. Sehun is leaning against the painted brick, smoking a cigarette, which he stamps out as Joonmyun approaches. He smiles when he notices him walking toward him, straightens the collar of his red button down. There are no sunglasses this time, and no hat either, his hair ruffled by the wind. It’s even lighter now, definitively brown, and Joonmyun thinks it works quite nicely on him.
“How’s it going?” Sehun asks, “You had your big meeting today, right?”
“Yeah,” Joonmyun replies, a bit surprised but nonetheless flattered that Sehun remembered that fact, “it went really well.”
“That’s good to know. We should drink a lot of wine to, you know, celebrate.”
“You had nothing to do with it,” Joonmyun says, opening the door so they can step inside, “why do you get to celebrate?”
“Well I managed to convince them not to bleach my hair again, so that was a pretty big accomplishment. I hate getting bleached, and they were wavering back and forth but luckily this other guy kinda wanted to do it and I didn’t so it worked out.”
“It’s still lighter.”
“Yeah, but this is good light. They were talking platinum.”
Joonmyun considers how Sehun would look, hair near-white, as they approach the host. Probably pretty good, he decides, even if the dark eyebrows would be a bit out of place.
“Deux?” the host asks after greeting them, and Joonmyun nods. “Suivez-moi.”
They’re seated in the back corner, under a hanging lamp that sheds soft amber light on the otherwise dark interior. It’s a small table, made of dark wood, with elaborately carved chairs to match. They leaf through their menus, making small talk before the waiter comes by to take their orders: a bottle of wine for the table, a shared plate of appetizers, and then individual dishes.
“Pad Thai, really?” Sehun asks when the waiter’s gone.
“What? It’s a classic.”
“If by classic you mean boring…”
Joonmyun rolls his eyes. “It’s classic for a reason and the reason is it’s good.”
“By good you mean boring.”
Joonmyun gives Sehun a pointed look, and he giggles briefly before straightening up.
“Sorry,” he says quickly before changing the subject. “Tell me more about your meeting!”
Joonmyun laughs. “If you think Pad Thai is boring, trust me when I say that this is 10,000 times worse.”
“Try me,” Sehun says, voice playful but determined, and Joonmyun laughs again.
Joonmyun’s a little tipsy by the end of the meal, and Sehun won’t admit it, but he is, too, flush of wine dotted across his cheeks. Joonmyun is now certain that it’s a date, had been all along, tap of Sehun’s knee against his under the table and flirtatious half-innuendos too obvious to ignore.
“Do you want to go to a bar? The Marais maybe?” Joonmyun asks after they’ve paid. He’d tried to convince Sehun to let him foot the bill, but Sehun insisted on paying his half.
“Sure,” Sehun replies, standing up and stretching. “There’s a place I’ve been meaning to try for a while.”
“Do you know what métro stop it’s on?”
Sehun shrugs. “No, but I think we can probably just walk? The neighborhood’s like, less than half an hour from here and the weather’s nice.” He pauses, glancing down at the ground. “Plus I forgot my métro pass, so.”
Joonmyun laughs. “Alright, we’ll walk then.”
They walk mostly in silence--the night’s loud, crowded, people heading in multiple directions at every given moment, restaurants spilling onto their patios and morphing into bars. They’re at the Bastille when Sehun asks if Joonmyun would mind if he lights a cigarette. Joonmyun shakes his head once, then again when Sehun offers him one.
“You wouldn’t smoke,” Sehun says as he holds the lighter up to his cigarette, sheltered under the cup of his left hand.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sehun shrugs, tucking the lighter back in his pocket and taking a long drag. “I don’t know, it’s like gaydar, you can’t explain it but you just know.”
Joonmyun laughs. “I was worried you were just going to tell me it was because I’m boring.”
Sehun turns to him, eyebrow raised. “You’re not boring. Like, your job is boring and I will admit I don’t understand its purpose, but you’re plenty un-boring.”
Joonmyun can feel his cheeks flush, warm against the sting of night air. He’s not used to people being this straightforward: they always want something out of him, even if they’re staring directly at him. They’re trying to push him towards their goal, their purpose, weaving complicated webs for him to slip into without seeing and eventually become convinced of their necessity. And, he supposes, Sehun’s got a goal too. He’s trying to get into his pants, but for once this isn’t a project Joonmyun needs to be wary of, because he wants it, too.
“So why do you want to go to this specific place?” Joonmyun asks, changing the topic because he’s not really sure what he should say in response to an outright compliment.
“A few friends have said really good things about it. It’s not a gay bar exactly but it’s really queer-friendly, drinks are some of the best deals in the Marais, and apparently it’s just really well-designed. I don’t know, it’s just somewhere I’ve never been that sounds nice.”
“That’s as good a reason to go to a place as any.”
Sehun nods, smoke curling out of his lips in a wide arc. “I never learned how to blow smoke rings, it’s like my major regret in life.”
“You’ve got a pretty fulfilling life, if that’s the case.”
“Yeah I mean, hard to beat getting dressed up, walking around, and getting photographed as a career.”
Joonmyun laughs. “That’s probably my biggest nightmare. I look stupid in almost every picture ever.”
“You do make… interesting faces sometimes. Like, no offense, just… yeah, you wouldn’t do a good job modelling. Also,” he pauses and puts his elbow on Joonmyun’s head, “you’re kinda short.”
Joonmyun reaches up and pulls his arm off, pouting. “I’m not that short.”
“You kinda are.”
“You’re just too tall.”
Sehun laughs. “Maybe. I think we need to turn down this street.”
They follow the new street, lined with small clothing boutiques, falling back into silence. The clothes on display are high quality, quirky, specific styles shifting in each different darkened window they peer into. There’s noise around them, nearby streets evidently crowded with clubs and bars and music and people, but the road they’re on is quiet, dulling the sounds in the distance. They make another turn after a few blocks, spilling out onto one of the busy, loud streets. They press their way through the people, Sehun’s gaze focused up and over the crowd, scanning the placards for the name of the bar he’s looking for.
“Oh, it’s that one,” Sehun says suddenly, grabbing Joonmyun by the wrist and pulling him off towards a small, window-walled storefront.
It’s not loud inside, exactly, but there’s a constant hum of conversation mixing with low music, beats inobvious and lyrics muffled under layers of post-production and ambient noise. They make their way to the bar, crowded but still approachable, and wait for one of the bartenders to work around to where they are. Sehun orders a whiskey sour and Joonmyun goes for a negroni. Sehun turns to him, scrunching up his nose after Joonmyun makes his order.
“Seriously?”
“What?”
“Those are so… bitter.”
Joonmyun shrugs. “I like bitter drinks. It’s better than putting a ton of sugar in café au lait so that it doesn’t taste like coffee.”
“Don’t make fun of me for that, it’s normal. No one actually likes how coffee tastes, they just force themselves to like it.”
“If you can make fun of me for ordering Pad Thai, which is also very normal, then I can make fun of you for having the sweet tooth of a 5-year-old.”
“Fine,” Sehun says as the bartender slides their drinks across the bar and Joonmyun agrees to open a tab on his card. Sehun doesn’t try to stop him this time, just sort of watches Joonmyun dig around in his wallet.
They make their way to a small standing table at the edge of the open space in the middle of the room. It’s technically a bar, but it’s nearing midnight and people, not a lot of them, but still some, are dancing in the open center of the room. The music is still ambient, but it’s got more of a pulse to it now. Joonmyun’s negroni is strong, but delicious, and he sips at it slowly. Sehun describes the shoot he’s starting on Sunday--his last shoot, supposedly, before he goes back to Korea at the end of the next week--and Joonmyun listens, occasionally asking for clarification when he uses a term Joonmyun doesn’t understand.
Tipsy Sehun is nice, Joonmyun thinks. He’s always sort of free-wheeling, but it’s on full display now, his movements large and exaggerated as he speaks, face split by a wide smile instead of his usual near-blank expression.
“Second round?” Sehun asks as he finishes the last of his whiskey sour. Joonmyun’s takes a long sip from his and nods. They make their way back to the bar for refills, and Joonmyun closes the tab once they’re served.
“Do you want to go to a club after this? Dance a bit?”
Joonmyun shakes his head. “I don’t really like dancing that much.”
“Ok, this is the one time I can say you’re no fun.”
Joonmyun laughs. “I know. I’m really… bad at it so I don’t like it much.”
“Even when you’re drunk? Most people get better when they’re drunk. Or at least less ashamed.”
“I just get sort of clumsy and fall on people a lot.”
“Oh. That doesn’t sound good.”
“Trust me, it’s not.”
“What do you want to do after then? Just… head home?”
Sehun draws those last syllables out, like he’s parsing through what he means and how he thinks Joonmyun might interpret his words. Joonmyun swallows. He’d gladly take Sehun back, fuck him in the very nice and very large bed of the apartment his company has rented for him, but while Sehun has certainly been flirtatious and they are certainly on an extended date, he’s not entirely sure if Sehun would be up for it.
“I don’t know,” Joonmyun replies. “What arrondissement are you staying in?”
“Seventh. Fancy, I know.”
“I’m out in the sixteenth.”
“Oooh, also fancy.”
Joonmyun laughs. “Yes. They actually rented a studio apartment for me, it’s really nice.”
“Jealous. We’re staying in a hotel. I mean it’s in the seventh so it’s nice, but it’s very… well, tourist-y. You know.”
“Yeah, definitely.” Joonmyun pauses, takes a sip from his drink and rolls it around in his mouth before continuing. “You’re welcome to come by my place. I’ve got a bottle of wine that should get finished and some pastries a co-worker gave me yesterday.”
Sehun breaks out into a grin, but quickly tries to re-mask it. He’s mostly successful, but the upturn at the edges of his lips remains. “That sounds great. Let’s finish our drinks here first, though.”
Joonmyun nods.
They leave half an hour later. They’re both straddling the line between tipsy and drunk as they make their way back to the Bastille, and when Sehun reaches out to take Joonmyun’s hand, he lets him.
“People make out all the time on the street here,” Sehun says as they pass a couple curled around each other on a bench just down a smaller side street.
“Yeah, it’s weird. I’ve had people almost knock me over on the métro while we shared one of the standing poles.”
Sehun nods. “Have you ever made out in public? Like for real?”
Joonmyun considers for a minute before responding. “Do dance floor makeouts count?”
“No, those are like… a special case.”
“Then no, I don’t think I have. Have you?”
Sehun shakes his head. “Nope. I… I don’t know, it sucks if it’s on the métro or whatever, but if you’re not getting in anyone’s way I think it could be kinda fun.”
Joonmyun sees where this is going, and he shivers. “Yeah, I think it could be. So long as you weren’t falling on anyone.”
“Do you want to try it?”
Joonmyun nods, and Sehun leads the way down another side street. There aren’t any benches evident on this one, so they end up leaning against the edge of a building almost in an alleyway. Joonmyun kind of wants to giggle but he figures that would be a mood breaker, so he snakes his hand around Sehun’s waist and drags him in close, leaning up to kiss him.
Sehun’s lips are soft. His mouth tastes mostly of alcohol, but the cigarettes from earlier linger, too, and it’s not exactly pleasant but it’s not that bad, either. Sehun’s tongue is soft against his, too, pressing against his teeth and lips, lingering just as the kiss ends. When he pulls back, Sehun’s lips are bright red, a little puffy at the edges.
“Good?” he asks, and Sehun just nods, reeling him in for another kiss.
Joonmyun can feel Sehun’s cock against his leg, and it’s starting to get hard. He thrusts forward just a little and bites into Sehun’s lower lip. Sehun moans and pushes back, body lining up with Joonmyun’s, warm even in the cold.
“Hyung,” Sehun says, and it’s the first time he’s used that term of address with Joonmyun. Everything up until this point has been formal, or awkwardly absent. Joonmyun doesn’t try to process it any more than that, just smiles a little, trying to keep the edges of lips down so it doesn’t seem too obvious.
“Yeah?” Joonmyun says before he leans in to kiss him again.
“Let’s keep going.”
“Alright,” Joonmyun replies, and they leave the little cutaway alley.
“Are we taking the métro back?” Sehun asks suddenly, and Joonmyun nods.
“Can you just pass your card back to me when we get there then? I forgot mine, remember?”
Joonmyun hesitates. “We’ll definitely get caught.”
Sehun presses his body against Joonmyun, hard cock rubbing through his jeans to Joonmyun’s hip. “No we won’t. Plus I don’t want to walk home,” Sehun says, leaning in so his breath blows hot against Joonmyun’s neck. It’s deliciously desperate, and that, mixed with the whir of alcohol and the noise of the Marais, lingering behind them now but still audible, goads him on.
“Fine,” he says and grabs Sehun by the arm, pulling him towards the nearest entrance to the Bastille stop. They dash down the stairs and make their way to the gates, where Sehun stands to the side, ready to catch Joonmyun’s month-long pass in his fingers when he hands it over. It’s barely midnight and people are teeming out of the station, pressing past them in the opposite direction. Security is nowhere to be seen.
Joonmyun fumbles his card out of his pocket before holding it up to the sensor, a green light flickering and indicating he’s safe to press through the turnstile. Once he’s through, he turns and slides the card into Sehun’s hand between the round metal bars of the gate. In moments Sehun is beside him again, arm around his waist.
“Let’s go, hyung,” he says, and Joonmyun leads the way down to the six.
Several stops and a transfer later, they arrive at the studio apartment the company has rented Joonmyun in the sixteenth. It sits on a relatively quiet road of tall, 19th-century buildings, just clean and gilded enough to mark them out as the homes of the wealthy and proud. After ten at night the street approaches silence, the only noise coming from cars honking a few blocks over and the whispered voices of couples passing through, disappearing as quickly as they materialize. Joonmyun guides Sehun along, arm wrapped around his waist as Sehun keeps his over Joonmyun’s shoulder. It’s cold, and Sehun’s jacketless, shivering every so often under the red cotton of his shirt. His apartment, though, isn’t very far from the métro stop, so they’re inside before it much matters. Sehun presses into Joonmyun in the elevator and kisses him again, hot and straightforward. The door dings open on the sixth floor and they pull apart, Joonmyun leading the way to his apartment at the end of the hall.
Inside, Sehun doesn’t waste time, tugging Joonmyun down with him on the couch and kissing him.
“Are you still interested in the wine and pastries?” Joonmyun asks.
Sehun shakes his head. “After.”
Joonmyun laughs and leans back in to kiss Sehun, whose hands are sliding under his jacket, up and down the soft fabric of his shirt, cool against his back. He slowly works Sehun onto his back as they make out, lips working at a patch of his neck as he unbuttons the red shirt. Sehun’s hands are still on his back, but Joonmyun’s shrugged his jacket off and Sehun’s hands have managed to wrest his shirt out of his jeans, fingertips now skittering over bare skin. Sehun sits up to let Joonmyun tug the now-open shirt off him and then fling it aside, before bending down again to tongue at one of Sehun’s nipples. Sehun’s breathing is heavy, now, grainy at the edges, and he presses up into the leg Joonmyun’s got between his, thrusting gently against it. Joonmyun unbuckles Sehun’s belt and fumbles open the button of his jeans, stroking his cock through the cotton of his briefs before reaching under the elastic of his waistband and taking his dick in his hand. Sehun presses up into the touch, gasping lightly as Joonmyun leans back down to kiss him.
“Fuck me,” Sehun says after a few minutes. His voice is low, a little ragged, and Joonmyun kisses him again before removing his hand from his cock and replying, voice quiet, “gladly.”
He stands up and starts to unbutton his shirt, but Sehun joins him after he shuffles out of his pants, fingers settling on the bottom button of Joonmyun’s shirt while Joonmyun starts at the top. They meet in the middle and Joonmyun shrugs the clothing off while Sehun gets to work on his jeans, cupping his balls and stroking his cock a few times before yanking his pants down to his ankles.
“Do you want to go to the bedroom?” Joonmyun asks.
Sehun laughs, and its overloud, like he’s nervous. Joonmyun’s not sure what to make of that, exactly, but its endearing in its way, and Sehun leans into him, forehead pressed up against his own, before saying yes. He leads him to the bedroom, where Sehun sits on the bed and Joonmyun grabs a small bottle of lube and a condom.
“You need prepping?” he asks as he settles down on the bed.
“Yeah, it’s been a while.”
Sehun leans back on the bed and Joonmyun positions himself between his legs, spreading them wider before lubing up the fingers of his right hand and spreading Sehun open. He fucks him open slowly on one finger, then two, kissing him slowly as he does, occasionally using his other hand to stroke Sehun’s cock.
“That’s good,” Sehun says when Joonmyun pulls back slightly, ready to add a third finger. “Should be fine.”
“You sure?”
Sehun almost rolls his eyes, but catches himself and just nods his response instead. Joonmyun smiles and slips on the condom, using the access lube on his hands to slick his cock down. He slides into Sehun slowly, hands on either side of his head, dick easing in with a few thrusts. He fucks him gently before speeding up, bending Sehun’s legs back so the angle is better.
“Good?”
“Yes, fucking amazing,” Sehun replies, hooking his ankles together in the middle of Joonmyun’s back.
Joonmyun fucks him in that position for a few minutes, until Sehun releases his ankles and hoists his legs up further. Taking that opportunity, Joonmyun sits up, angling his body so he can lift Sehun’s left leg in the air, letting it rest over his shoulder.
“Shit,” Sehun moans, and Joonmyun closes his eyes, new position tighter and deeper than he’d expected.
“Gonna come,” he says after a several minutes, thrusting another few times before he collapses on Sehun, breathing heavy.
“Good?” Sehun asks, stroking his hair as he rolls off and wraps his fingers around Sehun’s cock.
“Yes, very,” he says, continuing to jerk Sehun off until he comes.
They wake up late the next morning, sun already high in the sky and streaming through the exposed top of the curtains in the bedroom. Sehun stays groggy for a long time, rolling around half asleep in bed while Joonmyun gets up to shower and make a pot of coffee.
“I don’t know if I have enough sugar and milk for your liking,” he says when Sehun finally wanders into the kitchen, wearing his underwear from the night before and a tshirt Joonmyun recognizes as one of his own. It’s too tight on him, looks like it’s about to burst open, but Joonmyun doesn’t really mind.
“Whatever,” Sehun replies, “just need coffee at this point.”
Joonmyun laughs. “You want to get brunch or something after this?”
Sehun pours himself a cup of coffee, back to Joonmyun, and turns around before answering. He’s got a heaping spoonful of sugar in one hand, mug in the other, and he dumps the entire spoonful in, stirring for a minute.
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
Joonmyun smiles, closes the space between them, and leans up on his tiptoes to kiss him.
oh look i wrote more self-indulgent seho. someday i'll write something serious. with a plot. or something.
shitty porn + shitty ending are shitty :( i'm terribly out of practice.
title ripped from ted leo and the pharmacists' "bottled in cork."
Rating: nc17
Length: 5700 words
(Tell the Bartender)
I Think I'm Falling in Love
Joonmyun is sitting at a table on the patio of a café in the eighth arrondissement when a tall man a few years younger than him suddenly flings himself down in the empty chair across from him, out of breath. He’s Korean, Joonmyun’s pretty sure, and his hair’s dyed a few shades lighter than its natural black, though it disappears almost instantaneously under the red beanie he pulls on once he’s seated. He hunches forward, facing Joonmyun, gaze meeting his steadily. It’s a practiced-looking stare, as if he’s spent years perfecting the ideal way to make eye contact in order to convey what he wants in a situation, to set the stage even before the other person is aware of just why they’re conversing. He would, Joonmyun thinks to himself, do amazingly well in heated business room dealings.
“Parlez-vous coréen?” he asks, French syllables heavy and strange on his lips.
“Oui,” Joonmyun responds.
“Thank god. Look, would it be ok if I just sat here and pretended to know you in case this person I’m trying to avoid comes by? I don’t think they will but just in case.”
Joonmyun says “yes” before he really processes the question.
He grins at that, then pulls on a pair of sunglasses. It’s late September, the air slightly cool but still warmer than Seoul, sun high and bright in the sky. He doesn’t say anything, just takes a phone out from his pocket and starts scrolling through it. Joonmyun watches him for a couple of minutes, trying to figure out who exactly he’s hiding from and whether or not Joonmyun should be concerned for his life, but learns nothing other than the fact that his iPhone appears to be a few models outdated. He glances back to his laptop, a spreadsheet open in front of him. He’s supposed to be organizing revenue data in preparation for a meeting his boss is having with a Citroën executive in two days, but it’s tedious and more complicated than he had initially expected it to be. He stares at one cell on his spreadsheet for a moment, an obvious outlier, hoping he’ll figure out what to do with it to make it look less egregious in the final product, but he’s interrupted by his new table partner piping up again.
“I’m Oh Sehun, by the way. What’s your name?”
“Kim Joonmyun.”
“What’re you working on?”
“Revenue thing for my boss. It’s pretty dull,” he replies. His tone is a little more flippant than he intends it to be, but Sehun seems to like it. He grins, and his tone of voice when he responds is vaguely amused.
“That sounds awful. Also for the record I’m not trying to like, run away from the mob or something. There’s just a dude I had a fling with last summer who lives around here who I’m trying avoid and I think I saw him nearby just now.”
Joonmyun nods. It’s a lot of information being flung at him, and while he’s used to that, conceptually, he’s accustomed to it being details about car part sales and production costs, not personal information about someone he’s just met. There are a lot of questions dancing in his head, the product of years of training to respond to details with requests for more specifics, analyzation by constant skepticism: If you’ve spent time here, why is your French so bad? What do you do for a living that lets you have flings on the other side of the world? Why don’t you just act like a normal person and get on the métro and go somewhere else? He keeps his mouth shut, though, because it seems kind of inappropriate for the situation. Sehun stares at him like they’re negotiating mergers behind thick steel doors in a highrise office building, but they’re outside, the remnants of an espresso staining the white porcelain of the cup sitting between them. His laptop screen’s gone to sleep, and Sehun is looking to his right now, profile sharp against the black of the asphalt street that rises up behind him.
“So you’re in Paris on business?” he asks, turning back to face Joonmyun.
“Yeah. I work for a manufacturing company that specializes in car parts, and we’re currently revising our contract with Citroën.”
“And you do… revenue?”
“Something like that. I work way below the CFO, but in the same general department.”
“I was hoping you at least did revenue for something… I don’t know, interesting.”
Joonmyun laughs. He gets this a lot and it normally aggravates him to no end--he’s fully aware his job is boring but high paid and more or less useless to the greater good--but there’s something about the way Sehun presents it that doesn’t bug him much.
“Nope, I’m unfortunately terribly boring.”
Sehun turns back now, smiling very slightly, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. “Everyone thinks I’m interesting because of my job, but I spend most of my time sleeping and playing video games, so.”
The lead-in’s too obvious to ignore any longer. “What’s your job?”
“I model. Nothing very fancy, but every once in a while someone in Paris needs a tall skinny Korean dude and my agency likes to pretend it’s ‘multi-national’ so they jump on the offer to ship someone over here, and I have like, two years of high school French, so it’s always me.”
It’s not exactly what Joonmyun was expecting, but it doesn’t really surprise him. It explains the staring thing, for certain, and the repeated but transient presence in the city.
“How did you get into that field?”
Sehun shrugs. “I was doing dance stuff in university, but I wasn’t really that cut out for it. I started modeling to make some money on the side, and then I was good at it and took a semester off to do a couple up-and-coming designer shows in Korea and Japan, and then that turned into a lot longer than a semester and here I am.”
At that moment, the waiter stops by, clearing away Joonmyun’s plate and taking Sehun’s order for a café au lait.
“Anyway, yeah, I model. It’s alright. Good money, get to travel.”
“That’s kinda how I feel about my job, honestly,” Joonmyun says. It’s not an admission he usually allows, but Sehun makes him feel oddly comfortable and open, and doesn’t seem like the type to judge very harshly, either.
“Yeah, but you have to do like, math and shit.”
“Not really, mostly you just plug things into Excel and use some pre-made models. It’s pretty straightforward.”
“Still. Numbers versus walking around in weird leather, I’d take the leather any day.”
The image of Sehun, broad shoulders and long, thin legs, in leather jolts through Joonmyun’s mind, but he swallows it down before it settles. He doesn’t really know Sehun and even though he’s a model, he figures it’s probably slightly rude to start fantasizing about him when they’ve been talking for all of fifteen minutes.
“I’d take numbers. I don’t think… anyone really wants to see me in leather.”
Sehun raises an eyebrow, thick curve visible now over the rim of his sunglasses. “You’d look good in a leather jacket. If you maybe cut your hair a bit, it’s kind of… fluffy.”
Joonmyun’s hand shoots up to pat at his hair. It is pretty long, he thinks to himself. Sehun laughs at him, half bent over when the waiter returns with his coffee. He promptly dumps several spoonfuls of sugar out of the jar in the middle of the table into it, and this time Joonmyun doesn’t hold back a laugh.
“What? It’s normal to put sugar in your coffee.”
“But it already barely tastes like coffee, and that’s a lot of sugar.”
Sehun shrugs. “I don’t like coffee, but I need caffeine.”
He hasn’t, up to this point, seemed especially grown-up, but he’s downright boyish now, defending himself and half-grinning with embarrassment, half-glaring in a show of defiance. Joonmyun would be lying if he said he were anything but charmed.
They chat for another half-hour, Joonmyun explaining a little more about his job and Sehun interjecting with “God, that sounds boring” every few sentences. It’s almost four when the waiter comes back with their receipt, and Joonmyun offers his card immediately, not letting Sehun even try to pay.
“Oh come on, this isn’t a date and I make a lot of money too, you know.”
“Your coffee was about 2 euros, it’s not like it’s some great financial burden on me.”
“Still, you really didn’t have to.”
“But I wanted to,” Joonmyun replies, and Sehun gives up, instead fishing his phone out of his pocket.
“Would you want to get dinner or something later this week? I mostly work during the day, since I’m doing an indoors shoot.”
“Sure.”
“Do you have a number you can use here?”
Joonmyun shakes his head. “No, but I do have email?”
“Good enough,” Sehun replies and hands his phone over. Joonmyun types his name and email address in, then returns the phone with a grin.
“Do you think you’ve successfully lost the guy?”
“Oh,” Sehun says, startled, like he’d forgotten how he’d ended up with Joonmyun to begin with, “yeah, probably.”
“Ok. Well, I’ll, uh, look forward to your email.”
“So formal,” Sehun replies with a smile, before leaning in to kiss Joonmyun’s cheek.
“A bientôt,” he says, and darts off, bag slung over his shoulder and bouncing against his body as he moves.
Two days later, Joonmyun gets an email from Sehun asking him to dinner at a Thai restaurant in the eleventh. He’s in Saint-Ouën, in Citroën headquarters, trying to figure out the best route to get back to the studio apartment he’s staying in. He says yes immediately, then dallies a bit longer in the lobby to see if Sehun will get back to him before he has to get on the métro and lose internet for a while. The meeting had gone well, and there’s another one scheduled for Monday to hammer through the last of the details. He’s technically invited to a celebratory dinner, but his boss had indicated that it would be mostly high-ranking folks, and it wouldn’t be mandatory for him to attend.
Sehun doesn’t respond within five minutes and people are starting to give him weird looks, so he leaves the building to board the métro. It’s crowded and hot, even though the air outside has the distinct chill of autumn lingering at its edges. He transfers at Gare St. Lazare to the nine, which he stays on until he reaches the stop a few blocks from his building. His phone vibrates with a new e-mail once he’s inside the apartment. It is, unsurprisingly, from Sehun, confirming that they’ll meet at 8 at the restaurant.
He undresses and goes to take a shower. He’s a restless mix of excited and nervous, the high of his company’s successes today fading into anticipation of his dinner and worries about how it’ll go. It’s weirdly ambiguous, what their meeting is going to be, and that puts Joonmyun on edge. He’d been attracted to Sehun, of course, but he’d also been surprised by how fond of him he’d been, too, of his simultaneous naïveté and confidence, his bluntness and occasional shyness. He’s pretty sure this is a date--in fact, he’s pretty sure he’d be an idiot if he thought otherwise--but he’s in the dangerous time period of inherent doubt, when every minute seems to stretch to twice its length, letting every possible worry he could have bubble up to his consciousness. He’s been numbingly busy with work the past few days, but now that’s more or less over and Sehun has presented himself when he hasn’t had a chance to process what their first meeting was to start with. He showers and that helps a bit, eases the physical tension out of his body, but his stomach is still dancing, limbs restless and tapping against the floor of the nine as he rides it back to the eleventh, fingers playing out mindless rhythms on the thick fabric of his black jeans. He gets off at Oberkampf and backtracks to the restaurant itself, enjoying the evening bustle of the mostly-residential arrondissement.
The restaurant is tucked away on a side street, painted white and decorated with blue trim, the outline of an elephant adorning the side. Sehun is leaning against the painted brick, smoking a cigarette, which he stamps out as Joonmyun approaches. He smiles when he notices him walking toward him, straightens the collar of his red button down. There are no sunglasses this time, and no hat either, his hair ruffled by the wind. It’s even lighter now, definitively brown, and Joonmyun thinks it works quite nicely on him.
“How’s it going?” Sehun asks, “You had your big meeting today, right?”
“Yeah,” Joonmyun replies, a bit surprised but nonetheless flattered that Sehun remembered that fact, “it went really well.”
“That’s good to know. We should drink a lot of wine to, you know, celebrate.”
“You had nothing to do with it,” Joonmyun says, opening the door so they can step inside, “why do you get to celebrate?”
“Well I managed to convince them not to bleach my hair again, so that was a pretty big accomplishment. I hate getting bleached, and they were wavering back and forth but luckily this other guy kinda wanted to do it and I didn’t so it worked out.”
“It’s still lighter.”
“Yeah, but this is good light. They were talking platinum.”
Joonmyun considers how Sehun would look, hair near-white, as they approach the host. Probably pretty good, he decides, even if the dark eyebrows would be a bit out of place.
“Deux?” the host asks after greeting them, and Joonmyun nods. “Suivez-moi.”
They’re seated in the back corner, under a hanging lamp that sheds soft amber light on the otherwise dark interior. It’s a small table, made of dark wood, with elaborately carved chairs to match. They leaf through their menus, making small talk before the waiter comes by to take their orders: a bottle of wine for the table, a shared plate of appetizers, and then individual dishes.
“Pad Thai, really?” Sehun asks when the waiter’s gone.
“What? It’s a classic.”
“If by classic you mean boring…”
Joonmyun rolls his eyes. “It’s classic for a reason and the reason is it’s good.”
“By good you mean boring.”
Joonmyun gives Sehun a pointed look, and he giggles briefly before straightening up.
“Sorry,” he says quickly before changing the subject. “Tell me more about your meeting!”
Joonmyun laughs. “If you think Pad Thai is boring, trust me when I say that this is 10,000 times worse.”
“Try me,” Sehun says, voice playful but determined, and Joonmyun laughs again.
Joonmyun’s a little tipsy by the end of the meal, and Sehun won’t admit it, but he is, too, flush of wine dotted across his cheeks. Joonmyun is now certain that it’s a date, had been all along, tap of Sehun’s knee against his under the table and flirtatious half-innuendos too obvious to ignore.
“Do you want to go to a bar? The Marais maybe?” Joonmyun asks after they’ve paid. He’d tried to convince Sehun to let him foot the bill, but Sehun insisted on paying his half.
“Sure,” Sehun replies, standing up and stretching. “There’s a place I’ve been meaning to try for a while.”
“Do you know what métro stop it’s on?”
Sehun shrugs. “No, but I think we can probably just walk? The neighborhood’s like, less than half an hour from here and the weather’s nice.” He pauses, glancing down at the ground. “Plus I forgot my métro pass, so.”
Joonmyun laughs. “Alright, we’ll walk then.”
They walk mostly in silence--the night’s loud, crowded, people heading in multiple directions at every given moment, restaurants spilling onto their patios and morphing into bars. They’re at the Bastille when Sehun asks if Joonmyun would mind if he lights a cigarette. Joonmyun shakes his head once, then again when Sehun offers him one.
“You wouldn’t smoke,” Sehun says as he holds the lighter up to his cigarette, sheltered under the cup of his left hand.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sehun shrugs, tucking the lighter back in his pocket and taking a long drag. “I don’t know, it’s like gaydar, you can’t explain it but you just know.”
Joonmyun laughs. “I was worried you were just going to tell me it was because I’m boring.”
Sehun turns to him, eyebrow raised. “You’re not boring. Like, your job is boring and I will admit I don’t understand its purpose, but you’re plenty un-boring.”
Joonmyun can feel his cheeks flush, warm against the sting of night air. He’s not used to people being this straightforward: they always want something out of him, even if they’re staring directly at him. They’re trying to push him towards their goal, their purpose, weaving complicated webs for him to slip into without seeing and eventually become convinced of their necessity. And, he supposes, Sehun’s got a goal too. He’s trying to get into his pants, but for once this isn’t a project Joonmyun needs to be wary of, because he wants it, too.
“So why do you want to go to this specific place?” Joonmyun asks, changing the topic because he’s not really sure what he should say in response to an outright compliment.
“A few friends have said really good things about it. It’s not a gay bar exactly but it’s really queer-friendly, drinks are some of the best deals in the Marais, and apparently it’s just really well-designed. I don’t know, it’s just somewhere I’ve never been that sounds nice.”
“That’s as good a reason to go to a place as any.”
Sehun nods, smoke curling out of his lips in a wide arc. “I never learned how to blow smoke rings, it’s like my major regret in life.”
“You’ve got a pretty fulfilling life, if that’s the case.”
“Yeah I mean, hard to beat getting dressed up, walking around, and getting photographed as a career.”
Joonmyun laughs. “That’s probably my biggest nightmare. I look stupid in almost every picture ever.”
“You do make… interesting faces sometimes. Like, no offense, just… yeah, you wouldn’t do a good job modelling. Also,” he pauses and puts his elbow on Joonmyun’s head, “you’re kinda short.”
Joonmyun reaches up and pulls his arm off, pouting. “I’m not that short.”
“You kinda are.”
“You’re just too tall.”
Sehun laughs. “Maybe. I think we need to turn down this street.”
They follow the new street, lined with small clothing boutiques, falling back into silence. The clothes on display are high quality, quirky, specific styles shifting in each different darkened window they peer into. There’s noise around them, nearby streets evidently crowded with clubs and bars and music and people, but the road they’re on is quiet, dulling the sounds in the distance. They make another turn after a few blocks, spilling out onto one of the busy, loud streets. They press their way through the people, Sehun’s gaze focused up and over the crowd, scanning the placards for the name of the bar he’s looking for.
“Oh, it’s that one,” Sehun says suddenly, grabbing Joonmyun by the wrist and pulling him off towards a small, window-walled storefront.
It’s not loud inside, exactly, but there’s a constant hum of conversation mixing with low music, beats inobvious and lyrics muffled under layers of post-production and ambient noise. They make their way to the bar, crowded but still approachable, and wait for one of the bartenders to work around to where they are. Sehun orders a whiskey sour and Joonmyun goes for a negroni. Sehun turns to him, scrunching up his nose after Joonmyun makes his order.
“Seriously?”
“What?”
“Those are so… bitter.”
Joonmyun shrugs. “I like bitter drinks. It’s better than putting a ton of sugar in café au lait so that it doesn’t taste like coffee.”
“Don’t make fun of me for that, it’s normal. No one actually likes how coffee tastes, they just force themselves to like it.”
“If you can make fun of me for ordering Pad Thai, which is also very normal, then I can make fun of you for having the sweet tooth of a 5-year-old.”
“Fine,” Sehun says as the bartender slides their drinks across the bar and Joonmyun agrees to open a tab on his card. Sehun doesn’t try to stop him this time, just sort of watches Joonmyun dig around in his wallet.
They make their way to a small standing table at the edge of the open space in the middle of the room. It’s technically a bar, but it’s nearing midnight and people, not a lot of them, but still some, are dancing in the open center of the room. The music is still ambient, but it’s got more of a pulse to it now. Joonmyun’s negroni is strong, but delicious, and he sips at it slowly. Sehun describes the shoot he’s starting on Sunday--his last shoot, supposedly, before he goes back to Korea at the end of the next week--and Joonmyun listens, occasionally asking for clarification when he uses a term Joonmyun doesn’t understand.
Tipsy Sehun is nice, Joonmyun thinks. He’s always sort of free-wheeling, but it’s on full display now, his movements large and exaggerated as he speaks, face split by a wide smile instead of his usual near-blank expression.
“Second round?” Sehun asks as he finishes the last of his whiskey sour. Joonmyun’s takes a long sip from his and nods. They make their way back to the bar for refills, and Joonmyun closes the tab once they’re served.
“Do you want to go to a club after this? Dance a bit?”
Joonmyun shakes his head. “I don’t really like dancing that much.”
“Ok, this is the one time I can say you’re no fun.”
Joonmyun laughs. “I know. I’m really… bad at it so I don’t like it much.”
“Even when you’re drunk? Most people get better when they’re drunk. Or at least less ashamed.”
“I just get sort of clumsy and fall on people a lot.”
“Oh. That doesn’t sound good.”
“Trust me, it’s not.”
“What do you want to do after then? Just… head home?”
Sehun draws those last syllables out, like he’s parsing through what he means and how he thinks Joonmyun might interpret his words. Joonmyun swallows. He’d gladly take Sehun back, fuck him in the very nice and very large bed of the apartment his company has rented for him, but while Sehun has certainly been flirtatious and they are certainly on an extended date, he’s not entirely sure if Sehun would be up for it.
“I don’t know,” Joonmyun replies. “What arrondissement are you staying in?”
“Seventh. Fancy, I know.”
“I’m out in the sixteenth.”
“Oooh, also fancy.”
Joonmyun laughs. “Yes. They actually rented a studio apartment for me, it’s really nice.”
“Jealous. We’re staying in a hotel. I mean it’s in the seventh so it’s nice, but it’s very… well, tourist-y. You know.”
“Yeah, definitely.” Joonmyun pauses, takes a sip from his drink and rolls it around in his mouth before continuing. “You’re welcome to come by my place. I’ve got a bottle of wine that should get finished and some pastries a co-worker gave me yesterday.”
Sehun breaks out into a grin, but quickly tries to re-mask it. He’s mostly successful, but the upturn at the edges of his lips remains. “That sounds great. Let’s finish our drinks here first, though.”
Joonmyun nods.
They leave half an hour later. They’re both straddling the line between tipsy and drunk as they make their way back to the Bastille, and when Sehun reaches out to take Joonmyun’s hand, he lets him.
“People make out all the time on the street here,” Sehun says as they pass a couple curled around each other on a bench just down a smaller side street.
“Yeah, it’s weird. I’ve had people almost knock me over on the métro while we shared one of the standing poles.”
Sehun nods. “Have you ever made out in public? Like for real?”
Joonmyun considers for a minute before responding. “Do dance floor makeouts count?”
“No, those are like… a special case.”
“Then no, I don’t think I have. Have you?”
Sehun shakes his head. “Nope. I… I don’t know, it sucks if it’s on the métro or whatever, but if you’re not getting in anyone’s way I think it could be kinda fun.”
Joonmyun sees where this is going, and he shivers. “Yeah, I think it could be. So long as you weren’t falling on anyone.”
“Do you want to try it?”
Joonmyun nods, and Sehun leads the way down another side street. There aren’t any benches evident on this one, so they end up leaning against the edge of a building almost in an alleyway. Joonmyun kind of wants to giggle but he figures that would be a mood breaker, so he snakes his hand around Sehun’s waist and drags him in close, leaning up to kiss him.
Sehun’s lips are soft. His mouth tastes mostly of alcohol, but the cigarettes from earlier linger, too, and it’s not exactly pleasant but it’s not that bad, either. Sehun’s tongue is soft against his, too, pressing against his teeth and lips, lingering just as the kiss ends. When he pulls back, Sehun’s lips are bright red, a little puffy at the edges.
“Good?” he asks, and Sehun just nods, reeling him in for another kiss.
Joonmyun can feel Sehun’s cock against his leg, and it’s starting to get hard. He thrusts forward just a little and bites into Sehun’s lower lip. Sehun moans and pushes back, body lining up with Joonmyun’s, warm even in the cold.
“Hyung,” Sehun says, and it’s the first time he’s used that term of address with Joonmyun. Everything up until this point has been formal, or awkwardly absent. Joonmyun doesn’t try to process it any more than that, just smiles a little, trying to keep the edges of lips down so it doesn’t seem too obvious.
“Yeah?” Joonmyun says before he leans in to kiss him again.
“Let’s keep going.”
“Alright,” Joonmyun replies, and they leave the little cutaway alley.
“Are we taking the métro back?” Sehun asks suddenly, and Joonmyun nods.
“Can you just pass your card back to me when we get there then? I forgot mine, remember?”
Joonmyun hesitates. “We’ll definitely get caught.”
Sehun presses his body against Joonmyun, hard cock rubbing through his jeans to Joonmyun’s hip. “No we won’t. Plus I don’t want to walk home,” Sehun says, leaning in so his breath blows hot against Joonmyun’s neck. It’s deliciously desperate, and that, mixed with the whir of alcohol and the noise of the Marais, lingering behind them now but still audible, goads him on.
“Fine,” he says and grabs Sehun by the arm, pulling him towards the nearest entrance to the Bastille stop. They dash down the stairs and make their way to the gates, where Sehun stands to the side, ready to catch Joonmyun’s month-long pass in his fingers when he hands it over. It’s barely midnight and people are teeming out of the station, pressing past them in the opposite direction. Security is nowhere to be seen.
Joonmyun fumbles his card out of his pocket before holding it up to the sensor, a green light flickering and indicating he’s safe to press through the turnstile. Once he’s through, he turns and slides the card into Sehun’s hand between the round metal bars of the gate. In moments Sehun is beside him again, arm around his waist.
“Let’s go, hyung,” he says, and Joonmyun leads the way down to the six.
Several stops and a transfer later, they arrive at the studio apartment the company has rented Joonmyun in the sixteenth. It sits on a relatively quiet road of tall, 19th-century buildings, just clean and gilded enough to mark them out as the homes of the wealthy and proud. After ten at night the street approaches silence, the only noise coming from cars honking a few blocks over and the whispered voices of couples passing through, disappearing as quickly as they materialize. Joonmyun guides Sehun along, arm wrapped around his waist as Sehun keeps his over Joonmyun’s shoulder. It’s cold, and Sehun’s jacketless, shivering every so often under the red cotton of his shirt. His apartment, though, isn’t very far from the métro stop, so they’re inside before it much matters. Sehun presses into Joonmyun in the elevator and kisses him again, hot and straightforward. The door dings open on the sixth floor and they pull apart, Joonmyun leading the way to his apartment at the end of the hall.
Inside, Sehun doesn’t waste time, tugging Joonmyun down with him on the couch and kissing him.
“Are you still interested in the wine and pastries?” Joonmyun asks.
Sehun shakes his head. “After.”
Joonmyun laughs and leans back in to kiss Sehun, whose hands are sliding under his jacket, up and down the soft fabric of his shirt, cool against his back. He slowly works Sehun onto his back as they make out, lips working at a patch of his neck as he unbuttons the red shirt. Sehun’s hands are still on his back, but Joonmyun’s shrugged his jacket off and Sehun’s hands have managed to wrest his shirt out of his jeans, fingertips now skittering over bare skin. Sehun sits up to let Joonmyun tug the now-open shirt off him and then fling it aside, before bending down again to tongue at one of Sehun’s nipples. Sehun’s breathing is heavy, now, grainy at the edges, and he presses up into the leg Joonmyun’s got between his, thrusting gently against it. Joonmyun unbuckles Sehun’s belt and fumbles open the button of his jeans, stroking his cock through the cotton of his briefs before reaching under the elastic of his waistband and taking his dick in his hand. Sehun presses up into the touch, gasping lightly as Joonmyun leans back down to kiss him.
“Fuck me,” Sehun says after a few minutes. His voice is low, a little ragged, and Joonmyun kisses him again before removing his hand from his cock and replying, voice quiet, “gladly.”
He stands up and starts to unbutton his shirt, but Sehun joins him after he shuffles out of his pants, fingers settling on the bottom button of Joonmyun’s shirt while Joonmyun starts at the top. They meet in the middle and Joonmyun shrugs the clothing off while Sehun gets to work on his jeans, cupping his balls and stroking his cock a few times before yanking his pants down to his ankles.
“Do you want to go to the bedroom?” Joonmyun asks.
Sehun laughs, and its overloud, like he’s nervous. Joonmyun’s not sure what to make of that, exactly, but its endearing in its way, and Sehun leans into him, forehead pressed up against his own, before saying yes. He leads him to the bedroom, where Sehun sits on the bed and Joonmyun grabs a small bottle of lube and a condom.
“You need prepping?” he asks as he settles down on the bed.
“Yeah, it’s been a while.”
Sehun leans back on the bed and Joonmyun positions himself between his legs, spreading them wider before lubing up the fingers of his right hand and spreading Sehun open. He fucks him open slowly on one finger, then two, kissing him slowly as he does, occasionally using his other hand to stroke Sehun’s cock.
“That’s good,” Sehun says when Joonmyun pulls back slightly, ready to add a third finger. “Should be fine.”
“You sure?”
Sehun almost rolls his eyes, but catches himself and just nods his response instead. Joonmyun smiles and slips on the condom, using the access lube on his hands to slick his cock down. He slides into Sehun slowly, hands on either side of his head, dick easing in with a few thrusts. He fucks him gently before speeding up, bending Sehun’s legs back so the angle is better.
“Good?”
“Yes, fucking amazing,” Sehun replies, hooking his ankles together in the middle of Joonmyun’s back.
Joonmyun fucks him in that position for a few minutes, until Sehun releases his ankles and hoists his legs up further. Taking that opportunity, Joonmyun sits up, angling his body so he can lift Sehun’s left leg in the air, letting it rest over his shoulder.
“Shit,” Sehun moans, and Joonmyun closes his eyes, new position tighter and deeper than he’d expected.
“Gonna come,” he says after a several minutes, thrusting another few times before he collapses on Sehun, breathing heavy.
“Good?” Sehun asks, stroking his hair as he rolls off and wraps his fingers around Sehun’s cock.
“Yes, very,” he says, continuing to jerk Sehun off until he comes.
They wake up late the next morning, sun already high in the sky and streaming through the exposed top of the curtains in the bedroom. Sehun stays groggy for a long time, rolling around half asleep in bed while Joonmyun gets up to shower and make a pot of coffee.
“I don’t know if I have enough sugar and milk for your liking,” he says when Sehun finally wanders into the kitchen, wearing his underwear from the night before and a tshirt Joonmyun recognizes as one of his own. It’s too tight on him, looks like it’s about to burst open, but Joonmyun doesn’t really mind.
“Whatever,” Sehun replies, “just need coffee at this point.”
Joonmyun laughs. “You want to get brunch or something after this?”
Sehun pours himself a cup of coffee, back to Joonmyun, and turns around before answering. He’s got a heaping spoonful of sugar in one hand, mug in the other, and he dumps the entire spoonful in, stirring for a minute.
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
Joonmyun smiles, closes the space between them, and leans up on his tiptoes to kiss him.
oh look i wrote more self-indulgent seho. someday i'll write something serious. with a plot. or something.
shitty porn + shitty ending are shitty :( i'm terribly out of practice.
title ripped from ted leo and the pharmacists' "bottled in cork."