Prank Call (Yesung/Ryeowook, Ryeowook/Henry)

[warmboys]

Fandom: Super Junior
Character/Pairing: Yesung/Ryeowook, Ryeowook/Henry
Rating: R for inexplicit sex
Word Count: ~1700
Summary: Yesung's boredom drives him to prank-call the other members.
A/N: In which things deteriorate very quickly.


Prank Call

It started as a joke. Yesung would be bored, and Ryeowook would stay with him on the days they were both free. They read books, or Yesung did, while Ryeowook sat at his computer trying to compose, some days more inspired than others. When that got boring, too, Yesung made his way over to Ryeowook and suggested that they prank call people. “You have a voice changer on your computer, right? Let’s use that,” Yesung said, already moving his hand over Ryeowook’s to control the mouse. Ryeowook didn’t see why they had to go that far for a prank, but he recognized in Yesung the need for perfection he often found in himself.

“Let’s call Kangin,” Yesung declared.

“Why?”

“Because he’s sleeping.” Yesung grinned, and Ryeowook grinned back although he was thinking that maybe Kangin-hyung deserved the little rest he could get.

Kangin picked up after four rings. His sleepy “Yeoboseyo?” was mildly laced with irritation.

“Kangin-sshi,” Yesung whispered into the microphone connected to the computer, and it came out high-pitched and girly.

“Yes?” Kangin brightened at the sound of the feminine voice. “Who is this?” He rattled off the names of a couple female celebrities they weren’t aware he was even friends with.

“No,” Yesung said, shyly. “I’m a secret fan of yours.”

“Oh,” Kangin said, disappointed. “Is there a reason you called? Oppa was sleeping.”

“I’m sorry, oppa. I just wanted to let you know that you’re fat and ugly and you have the biggest head in all of Super Junior.” Yesung hung up quickly and collapsed into a fit of giggles, nearly rolling over himself on Ryeowook’s bed.

Ryeowook had heard it all on speaker phone, and he tried to keep pace with Yesung’s giggles, although he had trouble finding the humor in what Yesung had said. Kangin-hyung wasn’t really fat-Ryeowook knew how it felt to be that size. He also understood the need to shrink and was thankful that hyung chose to be healthy. For his sake, as well as the band’s.

But Yesung was just bored. He needed some mindless entertainment. It was fine. Ryeowook laughed some more.

The second time, Yesung called Heechul after hearing from everyone that he’d been depressed lately. Ryeowook thought it was sweet but didn’t know why he needed the voice changer for that. Was he going to pretend to be a fan and cheer Heechul up with a spontaneous declaration of love? That would be a nice gesture, although Ryeowook couldn’t tell if Heechul was the type to appreciate nice gestures.

“Hello,” came Heechul’s voice plainly from the other end of the line. “Who is this?”

“Hello, Kim Heechul,” said Yesung, this time in a deeper, richer tone.

“Who is this?” Heechul asked a second time, carefully now.

“You don’t know me, but I know you. I hear you’re depressed lately.”

There was a brief silence, but no indication that he’d hung up. “Who. Are. You,” Heechul repeated. “Or I’m calling the cops.”

“Is it because Hankyung fucked Siwon in China?”

“Yah!” Finally he exploded. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“And not just Siwon. Basically anyone. Anyone but you. Pretty Chinese girls with boobs and ass you’ll never have. I know you think you’re the hottest thing to walk this earth, but you’ll never be girl enough for Hankyung. Or man enough, either.”

Heechul had hung up sometime after the first two words but Yesung had just kept talking. In a moment of quiet resolve, Ryeowook placed his fingers over Yesung’s knuckles and wrenched the microphone away.

“Did you hear him, Wookie?” Yesung was laughing hysterically, rocking back and forth in his seat. “Did you hear him curse at me? And the ‘Yah!’” He laughed until he had difficulty breathing. Ryeowook stayed with him, rubbing his back until he finally returned to himself.

A week later, Leeteuk and Eunhyuk had a special caller ring in to Sukira. He claimed to be a devoted fan since their pre-debut days. They were curious and flattered, because he sounded like a prepubescent boy, and they rarely ever got boys, period.

“Hello? Mystery Fan, are you still there?”

They could hear his heavy breathing. “Yes.” The voice was so pure and young. He must’ve been only ten years old.

“Leeteuk-sshi says you’ve been a staunch fan of ours since before we even debuted,” Eunhyuk asked into his mic.

“Yes,” the boy breathed.

“Is that true? You sound very young. How old were you when we debuted?”

“21.”

Eunhyuk and Leeteuk looked at each other and burst out laughing. “That can’t be right, Mystery Fan! Don’t joke with us now.”

“I’m not joking.” He sounded so earnest they decided to change the subject.

“You said you wanted to tell us something on the air?” Leeteuk asked with a smile.

“Yes.”

“What might that be?”

They could hear the boy breathing deeply, as though collecting himself. He must’ve been nervous.

“It’s about Kibum-sshi,” he finally said.

“Kibum-sshi? What about him?”

“I have him here. Do you want to hear his voice?” Faintly in the background, Kibum called, “Hyung--!”

“I don’t understand. Why are you with Kibum-sshi?” Eunhyuk asked, his eyes not leaving Leeteuk’s the entire time.

“I raped him and broke both his legs. He’ll never be able to perform on stage again.”

The line went dead.

Fifteen minutes later, after twenty frantic texts to Kibum, who finally texted them back after the eighteenth that he was sleeping and what was wrong hyungs couldn’t it wait until the morning, Eunhyuk, Leeteuk, and all of the Sukira staff breathed a sigh of relief and chalked it up to another nasty prank by an anti-fan. So many people were trying to break their spirit these days.

Ryeowook came home to find Yesung at his computer, laughing again.

“Wookie, you won’t believe what I-“

“No, hyung,” he said firmly, gripping the mouse away from Yesung and pressing the power key to turn off the laptop. “You need to stop.”

He took both of Yesung’s hands and held them tightly in his own. “Let me help you.”

Yesung stopped laughing and he rested his gaze on Ryeowook’s face. His eyes were narrow when he said “Okay.”

That was the first time they slept in the same bed. The next morning Sungmin noticed that Ryeowook seemed subdued at breakfast and gave him an extra slice of bacon to cheer him up. When the other members had left, Ryeowook quietly brought his sheets to the laundry room and waited there as they churned around and around in the machine.

Since that day Yesung’s bed was rarely ever unmade.

Then it was time for China again. If Ryeowook had any qualms about leaving Yesung alone, he didn’t want to face them. It’d been a month, and Yesung seemed calmer these days. He had more schedules and didn’t complain about being bored. At night he fucked Ryeowook into the mattress, the younger boy’s hand pressing against the wall until he ripped it off and laced their fingers together. Ryeowook pushed his face deep into the pillow to silence his moaning and hide his tears.

They hugged goodbye, Yesung pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead when the others weren’t looking. On the plane Ryeowook did crossword puzzles and fell asleep on Henry’s shoulder.

China was even better this time than last, because Ryeowook knew more Chinese now, and so did Henry, and together they went to restaurants, trying out the new phrases they learned on apathetic waitresses, feeding each other bites of meat buns, playing the fanservice game even when no one was watching, no one cared. And then when people were watching, with waiting cameras, they played it all the same, finding places on the other’s body to rest their hands, moments to lean and touch and whisper and flirt. It was comfortable and distracted him from the past month, although he still thought about what Korea had that China didn’t. Who Korea had.

So when Yesung finally called, Ryeowook immediately recognized his voice, even if it seemed to belong to a girl. It was soft, barely audible, and calling, “Oppa.”

“This is Yesung, isn’t it,” he said, smiling into the phone. “You can’t fool me.”

There was silence on the other line, and then strange crackling sounds as though the mic had brushed against fabric.

“I guess you’re calling because you missed me. It’s about time,” he added.

“Oppa,” whispered the girl. “Oh, yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Please. Yes. God. Oh, please…” The girl continued, and Ryeowook realized she was moaning in pleasure.

He didn’t know what this meant until twenty seconds later when he made out Yesung’s heavy staccato breathing in rhythm with the girl’s whimpering.

He hung up.

Five minutes later his phone rang again. This time it was Yesung, out of breath.

“What do you want?” Ryeowook asked angrily.

“I know you fucked him.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re both whores.”

“What the fuck are you talking about.” He couldn’t keep the tremor out of his voice but willed himself to be calm and reasonable. “Look, if you wanted to go out and have sex with some random girl, you could’ve just told me. No need to play these games, Yesung.”

“You’re a fucking whore, Wookie. I knew it when you let me fuck you. But I found one better than you. That girl-she let me come all over her face. And she was still begging for more--”

Ryeowook hung up but immediately wished he hadn’t. When Henry knocked on his door later to ask if he wanted to try this new restaurant he found online, Ryeowook told him to go away. He was imagining Yesung at home in front of the TV, watching with narrowed eyes every touch, every shoulder rub and back hug between Ryeowook and the younger boy, Yesung’s knuckles turning white, Yesung’s fist against the wall, Yesung’s head in his arms. Ryeowook’s arms.

He knew that he had done wrong. It was his fault, he realized with a gasp. He needed to apologize. He needed Yesung to know that it was a mistake, accidental, and that he would accept any punishment when they returned to Korea. He deserved it, just as he deserved Yesung hard and thrusting inside him.

He scrambled for the phone and his fingers trembled as he scrolled through the phonebook for the number he knew by heart.

I'm not sure what I was thinking starting this but perhaps someone on my f-list mentioning dark fic (and eating disorders) might have registered in the back of my mind somewhere. :P This is probably not what she had in mind XD;;
Also, wrote most of this on paper because I was tired of being in front of the comp. Yay for handwriting practice 8D