[2PM; chansung/wooyoung]
title: there's a stranger in my bed
pairing: chansung/wooyoung
rating: nc-17
summary: pretty much nothing happens, except for a clean breakup (of a non-relationship)
1,631w.
It starts with flashing lights and bodies against one another, hands gripping and pulling, hips shaking and feet moving to the beat. It’s strange, how you feel lonely in such a crowd.
They’re lying in bed.
“Stay the night?” Chansung immediately regrets the words as they stain the moment and Wooyoung shifts uncomfortably next to him. His skin is burning but it’s not from an upcoming fever, it’s Wooyoung.
“I can’t. He’s waiting for me at home,” Wooyoung’s voice is soft yet he doesn’t hesitate, not even for a second, as his arms tense around Chansung’s upper body.
Chansung would like to ask him where’s home. “Maybe another time.”
“Yeah.” Weird, how it doesn’t even anger him anymore; Wooyoung’s blunt responses, that used to cut deep and leave his skin torn and punctured, are now only a dull twinge under his skin.
“Let’s take a shower, shall we?” Wooyoung asks, a finger dragging circles across Chansung’s chest while his tongue paints desire apparent onto the skin. He untangles himself from Chansung and there’s so much skin exposed, Chansung dies a little. The quiet moment turns deafening in a blink as Wooyoung gets up and heads towards the bathroom. (And Chansung follows suit, he always does.)
It’s really just ugly and nothing else, nothing more. How could it be anything, when the screams and moans are like that, sinful and swimming in lust? The water tries its hardest to wash down the dirt that’s stuck to their skin like a second layer, like something that’s alive, like something that has a say in this relationship, in this everything.
It always starts with something small until it grows bigger and stronger.
It’s another night, as the loneliness gets unbearable for him, when there’s suddenly a ghost in the middle of the living room. It’s standing on two feet, black running down its legs, ruining the carpet underneath its feet, and Chansung can’t help but stare, amazed but not scared. The ghost has eyes made out of glass, he notices, that don’t reflect light but sucks you into the depth of their darkness and might as well just hold you there forever. It’s ugly, Chansung decides, yet he’s intrigued; why is it here? What does it want from him? It’s a stranger in his living room but gives off no signs of hesitation or doubt as it stands there, still and lifeless, like it belongs there and has always been there.
He slides off the bed and shivers as his feet hit the cold surface of the floor. Spring is behind his window bright and fresh, so alive, it makes him hold his breath and cower under its malicious stare. The bed sheets are crumbled and messily spread on the bed spilling his secret out to the world: he’s a man who can’t take the spare space on the left side of the bed, cold and emptyemptyempty, so he makes it a habit to stretch his tired limbs across the space; an arm thrown over the pillow that’s missing a snore, a leg missing a thin waist to drape over-a heart without a beat to follow. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he promised to Wooyoung (but maybe not to himself, never to himself).
A quiet hum fills the kitchenette as the coffee maker comes alive. Chansung eases a yawn, drags his feet towards the fridge and yanks it open; of course, there’s nothing in there except for a lonely banana and some leftover Chinese take-out. He opts for the fruit with a groan and a hand running through his hair.
“I’ll come over tomorrow,” Wooyoung whispers against the sheets. It’s an empty promise but Chansung can’t help the child-like impatience of his that threatens to bubble over and dirty their bodies furthermore.
When Wooyoung arrives, he pushes Chansung against the wall right next to the coat rack where a few jackets hang from, and grasps the front of the other’s shirt attacking the lips. Chansung hesitates like he always does, but he doesn’t resist, he never does that. Instead, he responds to the kiss as Wooyoung draws his tongue out with his own, sucks on the soft muscle and bites back a moan trying to escape. He can feel Wooyoung’s smirk against his lips and he might just hate himself a little bit more than he did ten minutes ago.
On his knees, Wooyoung traces Chansung’s hipbone with his tongue and bites on the skin there.
They take it to the bedroom, (to Chansung’s bedroom, not Wooyoung’s, and never theirs,) as Wooyoung once again pushes him onto the bed and climbs on after, straddling the other’s hips. A moan breaks through but Chansung’s in too deep to grasp to whom, exactly, it belongs, so he settles for pushing his hips off the mattress, meeting Wooyoung’s hard length. This time, it’s definitely Wooyoung who moans as he throws his head back, his Adam’s apple glistening with sweat. His hands are on Chansung’s chest pressing the male down as he grinds his hips some more and rubs their cocks against each other. With their jeans still on, restricting the contact yet creating maddening friction, Wooyoung pants heavy and low as the sound waves travel straight to Chansung’s groin. Chansung closes his eyes and lets his walls crumble down, shooting colourful rockets behind his eyelids. Defenseless and weak, he moans and Wooyoung doesn’t miss the chance to slip his tongue into the heat.
The next time Chansung opens his eyes he’s towering over Wooyoung’s body that’s lying bare against the whiteness of the bed sheets. Wooyoung’s fisting the pillows, squeezing the puffiness away, and there are absurd pleas that escape his mouth, sneaky and dirty, driving Chansung mad. Their bodies slick and skin moist, he can taste the guilt and crime on Wooyoung’s body, sickening in their addictive ways. And as reality threatens to slip off his palms, he holds onto Wooyoung tighter; nails scratching the perfect skin as hands move in desperation with a tongue pressed hot and hard, tasting everything that’s Wooyoung.
It’s way too tight and the heat, the heat is unbearable, painful, yet he can’t stop kissing the shape of Wooyoung’s neck; trace the thick vein with the tip of his tongue, and tickle the skin with his eyelashes. He pushes in deeper as the noises Wooyoung’s making ring in his ears and drown him, eat him away after he’s cut into pieces and well chewed.
Wooyoung is shameless, he thinks. Wooyoung moans like it’s his first time, like he’s an amateur, like he doesn’t want it, but Chansung knows better; he knows just how much Wooyoung wants this, when he begs in a broken voice with fingers digging into skin and flesh. So he thrusts in harder, takes Wooyoung like a whore that he is, and forgets about emotions and affection and stuff that rip his chest open. He shoves his cock deeper, follows the noises Wooyoung make and finds the right spot without difficulty, hitting it time after time.
“Pl-please,” Wooyoung mutters into Chansung’s shoulder. And then he’s lifted off the bed and into the other’s lap, his cock trapped between their bodies. Chansung slides further in, deeper if possible, and it’s too much; Chansung filling him and the way his length rubs against their stomachs, Wooyoung is so, so close. He’s breathless and unraveled as he opens his eyes just enough to see Chansung caught on fire.
When Wooyoung comes, he does it in an extravagant manner with hands pulling on Chansung’s hair and fingers tangling in a mess, body shaking and mind blank from euphoria.
When Chansung comes, he grips Wooyoung’s hips harder and tries to bruise the skin there, just so Wooyoung will remember him better.
“It’s so bitter!” Wooyoung shrieks, his face scrunched up and teeth biting down on his tongue as if the action would take the bitterness away. Chansung’s reminded of the time when they first met a few springs ago (when there was no- no Junho). A chuckle escapes as he tilts his head to the side.
“What did you do? Did you add enough water?” he asks, amused at Wooyoung’s innocent look.
“Um, I don’t know? The coffee you made was so delicious, though,” he bites down on his lower lip and Chansung might just love him a bit more than he did five minutes ago (and a lot more than a few springs ago).
“I’ll make you a new cup,” Chansung smiles and can’t help the warmth that engulfs him as Wooyoung’s face lights up at his words. It’s moments like this when Chansung thinks they’re just two lost boys playing house in his apartment on the other side of Seoul, in the middle of a concrete jungle. (But then he smells the strange scent on Wooyoung’s skin, Junho's smell, that’s maybe not so unfamiliar anymore but almost- almost too familiar.) The room feels cold all of a sudden and his skin feels raw and his chest- there’s not enough space in there to hold his heart.
When Wooyoung leaves, he does it soundlessly without an ounce of regret. There’s nothing left (for Chansung there’s everything left; a mess) when he makes his way to the door and doesn’t glance back. Chansung stands still yet the room spins, spins so viciously, he feels like throwing up. But he doesn’t die. This time he won’t die, this time Chansung will stand as tall as he did at eighteen (before Wooyoung, before l o v e) with seawater in his hair and a dream to reach the sky or dive into the depth of an ocean.
이젠 멀리 돌아선 너를 찾지 않기 now I’ll no longer search for you who’s turned far away
ⓒ 2PM - Suddenly [trans. by Egle @ 2pmalways]