a place to hide (my heart); baekyeol
Title: a place to hide (my heart)
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Chanyeol/Baekhyun
Wordcount: 5k~
Warning: sexual intercourse, very very mild voyeurism, unbetaed
Disclaimer: EXO belongs to themselves and SME
Summary: HP!AU. The Second Wizarding War has ended, Voldemort has won. But there are still people who hope, who resist, who fight. Chanyeol lies in the middle.
A/N: This fic has nothing to do with my other hp!au, it's a different universe with different characters. I've written this because I'm a huge hp nerd and because I couldn't enter exolliarmus since I'M VERY DUMB. I'm just indulging in my dark pleasures with bad plot, bad grammar and bad ficwriting in general.
- Title is a mix between Chapter 9 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (A Place to Hide) and an Adele song (Hiding my heart).
- Maybe there'll be a sequel, maybe not. The only thing I can be sure of is that the next thing I'll write is the idol&bodyguard!au because I need to update that one. I promised. So expect that one next~
Chanyeol forces back a yawn as his father starts over for the fourth time that evening. A house elf passes by with a shiny crystal trail holding several expensive looking bottles on it. The clinking of glass against glass piques Chanyeol’s attention and he raises the head, only to curse inside his head when he realises the relative lack of strong alcoholic beverages.
“Of course,” he thinks, his thoughts laced with irritation and bitterness, “that one time I bother to come here all the way from my room, the old man keeps the Firewhisky for himself.”
He wants to snap his tongue, but he knows better. His face has always been his favourite mask and armour, and today is not different. He remains impassable and cold, a marble facade of bored indifference.
Next to him, Yura checks her long, pretty, emerald nails. She’s wearing green, Slytherin, her own Hogwarts house, and Chanyeol’s. Their entire household has always been Slytherin. Yura’s husband, a member of the Wizengamot, hasn't arrived yet, but he’ll join them soon. This is not a dinner that can be easily dismissed, after all.
"Do you understand, my son?"
Chanyeol nods, more from habit than from real awareness of what his father has just said.
"I think you should pay more attention, sweetheart, for our family could be doomed if something goes wrong tonight."
Chanyeol's mother has always been stricter than her husband. She’s icy, haughty, elegant. Chanyeol and Yura have both taken from her in both beauty and stride, and there isn't a day when Chanyeol regrets being born as her son.
He doesn't answer, just takes his goblet and shakes it slightly, admiring the colour of the wine as it rolls inside the crystal. It’s a rosé, not his first choice. You can’t get drunk with a rosé.
"Chanyeol," warns his mother, until he nods again. “You will be very careful, tonight. You don’t want to make him angry.”
No, Chanyeol doesn’t want it. For a moment, the lavish furniture exhibited all around him, the curtains and the tapestries, all velvet and brocade and lush silk, slick and shimmery, seems to close over him. He forces air out of his lungs, hoping to ease the sense of discomfort that seems to oppress him everything he is named. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or You-Know-Who, like Baekhyun used to call him back when they were still in Hogwarts and everything was simpler, before the shadow of war begun to hang on them, when he was just a ghost in children stories.
He drops the crystal goblet on the first trail he sees parading under his nose.
It’ll be a long night.
Chanyeol’s family still owns the old-fashioned decadence of an ancient Pureblood line. In their veins only the richest, undiluted blood flows, and with that blood, the original magic. Or so they say, the people present at the party. Deatheaters, all of them. He bows his head for the umpteenth wizard in a new, shiny robe, congratulating his parents for having such perfect, nice children, and ask about their N.E.W.T.s, finally deciding to drown his desperation in something heavier than the considerate and almost useless Prosecco the elf houses were serving to the guest.
He surpasses the new Ministry of Magic, a tight collaborator - he can’t go as far as to say that the Dark Lord has friends - of Voldemort, and former roommate of Chanyeol’s father at Hogwarts. He doesn’t even stop to exchange formalities with Kris, who graduated three years before him and is now working in the Muggle-Born Registration Commission.
The main guest has not arrived yet, but Chanyeol knows he’ll be there. He wouldn’t lose this party, not when he was the one who organised it just to meet Chanyeol and ask him one single thing.
Chanyeol walks faster. He can’t disappear, but he needs to take a breath of fresh air before he meets the Dark Lord to be questioned about the whereabouts of one of the most wanted men of the country. A rebel, they say, a terrorist, a dissident, a dangerous enemy of the entire magic world who has merely escaped a lethal ambush a few days ago. Chanyeol has begged his sister long enough to know that he’s survived, wounded, weak, feverish, but he’s made an escape. And now they’re looking for him everywhere, even knocking to Chanyeol’s door to see if perhaps he knows where his former Hogwarts boyfriend may be.
His footsteps are soft but firm, the sound almost entirely swallowed by the heavy carpets that cover the marble. The door to his father’s private studio is open, and he almost heaves a relief sigh. He needs some Ogden’s Old from his father’s private canteen. Only when he steps inside he senses he’s not alone.
The Dark Lord - and Chanyeol wants to bite his lips until they bleed when he realises he has already started to call him like his parents, like his followers do - looks up from a batch of heavy parchments and Chanyeol gulps, pinned on the spot like a scared animal. His eyes are so empty, so dark, so… inhuman.
“I haven’t been human for a long while, Park Chanyeol.”
He resists the urge to turn on his heels and run, run as fast as he can, because there’s a voice in his head, a cold, slick, unctuous voice, that falls like a silky hiss down the folds of Chanyeol’s conscience, invading his mind. And the man, the creature, the spectre in front of him, hasn’t opened his mouth.
“Now, Park Chanyeol, don’t be shy. We both know why I’m here. Where,” he asks without talking, and Chanyeol feels the first billow of magic smash against the weak defences of his mind, “is he, then?”
He doesn’t even need a wand to cast the spell, and Chanyeol wavers under the force of the Legilimency.
“I don’t… I don’t know,” he says, and it sounds feeble, too feeble, almost like…
“A lie, my boy, and you know what happens to the people who dare to lie… to me?”
Chanyeol is ready this time. He knows what he must do. If he resists, then he is a traitor, and his whole family will be executed. He closes his eyes and lets Voldemort enter his mind.
“Where is he? Where is Byun Baekhyun?”
Images run through his mind. Baekhyun tripping into him the first day, Hogwarts Express, Baekhyun and his stupidly cute Gryffindor scarf, Baekhyun bursting into the Slytherin common room just to surprise Chanyeol. There’s so much to see, Chanyeol has spent five years hanging from Baekhyun’s pouty lips, begging for a word, a smile, a proof that Baekhyun cared about Chanyeol the way he cared about Baekhyun, too much.
The Dark Lord snorts, and Chanyeol is forcefully extracted from his own painful memories. The contact with reality is like a cold shower. He realises he’s panting, long, harsh breaths that leaves his throat raw. And that he’s slid on the soft carpet.
“A Slytherin in love with a Gryffindor. Love… What a pathetic, useless feeling, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t blush, not even in front of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Park Chanyeol doesn’t blush, doesn’t show weakness. Park Chanyeol is the cold prince of Slytherin, and the only joy of his life, his only weakness, the thorn that pierces his heart and his most precious possession, has always been a boy named Byun Baekhyun. It’s like any emotion he was born to feel has been devoted for Baekhyun, all of Chanyeol’s humanity, all of the warmth and the love, all the frustration, all the anger and fear, his entire spectrum of emotions begins and ends with Baekhyun, and nothing else remains for the rest of the world. Lord Voldemort not being an exception.
He is not reading his thoughts now, but the waves of Chanyeol’s impudent thoughts must have reached his mind anyway because the tiny, serpentine nostrils flare in indignation.
“Get up, boy, we’re not done yet.”
This time the contact is even more invasive. The dark mage ransacks Chanyeol’s precious chest of memories, his greedy, cruel eyes analysing, scanning, judging. There’s their first Hogsmeade trip, and the way Baekhyun jumped on the fresh snow in his drenched pants and cape. There are lazy mornings at the beginning of summer, after the end of classes and before the finals, when they were supposed to be studying but they only ended up napping under perfumed trees in the garden. There are stolen whispers in the darkness of the library, words murmured between the rustling of parchments swollen with magic ink and immediately chastised by Madam Pince. Baekhyun crossing the boundaries and sitting at Slytherin’s table to be near Chanyeol, sticking out his tongue at whoever dared to frown at the bizarre scene of a Slytherin and a Gryffindor eating together.
Baekhyun, Baekhyun, Baekhyun. The atmosphere changes, Chanyeol’s thoughts becoming frantic. He doesn’t remember very well those moments, too much fear, the weight in his chest that threatened to choke him. The first Muggle families killed in their beds, Minseok’s sister disappeared at the beginning of their fifth year, kidnapped on the Express in front of everyone’s eyes. Minseok was Muggleborn, just like Baekhyun, one of the first hit by the oncoming storm. Baekhyun’s lips, set tight, always bitten and tormented while he thought of his own family, of his own future.
Chanyeol had been at Baekhyun’s house once, when things were still amazing, and he had immediately fallen in love with Baekhyun’s mom and Baekhyun’s cool brother and he had found Baekhyun’s dad quite intimidating, but he had come to like the old man too. They were so different from his own family, so warm and caring and affectionate. Just looking at them, it was easy to understand where Baekhyun had come from.
“They’re dead,” says the cold voice in his head, and this memory too fades out, reality slowly taking form in front of his eyes again. The leftovers of the recollection linger at the corner of his vision, the distinct impression that, if he turned his head, he would still be there, in Mrs Byun’s pristine kitchen, listening to a funny story about how Baekhyun had managed to find himself trapped on the roof on a snowy day. Even those fragments of past disappear, at least, when Voldemort talks again. “I personally took care of them when their dear son decided to cross one too many lines, and if you help me, who knows, maybe they’ll be able to see him again soon.”
Chanyeol grits his teeth, fighting back a wave of nausea.
“Where is he?”
His head is buzzing so much he barely hears the world. It’s the effect of the Legilimency spell practiced on an unwilling subject, he knows, it’s perfectly normal. But why then he feels the sting of tears in his eyes?
“I don’t know,” he manages to croak out, and the Dark Lord’s eyes flash red in fury.
“Legilimens,” he shouts this time, and the force of the spell topples Chanyeol over.
Flashes of Baekhyun, of his delicate lashes fluttering lowered as he smiles to himself listening to his stupid indie alternative music, of his tanned skin after a summer spent chasing butterflies and girls, the freckles that run down his skin, his nose, his neck, the hollow of his collarbones, disappearing under a ruffled shirt. And Chanyeol is fourteen again, just out of his growth spurt, unnecessary tall, too many gangly limbs that he doesn’t know where to put, peeking from above inside the forever loosened collar of his good friend Baekhyun’s shirt in the hope to see the ghost of a nipple, and trying desperately to look inconspicuous about it.
The scene changes again. Chanyeol can almost feel Voldemort’s frustration, aimed right at him. He came here to find hints on the possible hideout of an enemy, of a rebel, not to marvel at the perks of high school romance.
When the new memory begins, Chanyeol instantly groans in distress. No, he thinks, everything but this one. He tries to think of something else, pierces his nails hard on the palms of his hands, hoping that the pain will overwhelm the imagines running through his head, but nothing would be able to erase this moment from his mind. It’s just too awesome and devastating. And he doesn’t want to hand it over, he protects it with all he has, even if he doesn’t stand a chance against the most powerful dark mage of his time, especially after he’s set his sights on something.
Voldemort easily overpowers him and he doesn’t even realise he has fallen, again, on his knees, that he’s holding his head with both hands because it feels like it’s breaking from the effort. There’s blood running from his nose down his face, the physical proof of the acute, piercing pain that he feels in his brain. But he can’t even feel it because his mind is lost.
They’re in Baekhyun’s bed, back at Gryffindor’s tower, during their fifth year. It’s Christmas. It’s not, surprisingly, snowing, but raining so hard the dungeons are flooded. That’s not actually the reason why Chanyeol is camping in Baekhyun’s bed. They’re alone, the rest of the students gone for the holidays. For some of them, it’ll only be the last time they see their families, because Voldemort will seize power in a few months, killing whoever dares to cross his path. For Baekhyun and Chanyeol, it just means that they won’t be disturbed, and Chanyeol can finally, finally, lean down and follow the trail of freckles down Baekhyun’s jugular with his tongue, nervously undoing the buttons of his shirt to kiss lower, where he’s never gone before, until he’s mouthing at Baekhyun’s heartbeat.
In reality, he blushes, violently, because this was supposed to be one of the best moments of his life and he doesn’t want to hand it over like this, without a fight, but there’s nothing he can do. He can only wait until the powerful mage who’s invaded his mind gets bored of the show of two fumbling teenagers exploring each other.
It seems like an eternity has passed when he’s let go, and he slumps on the ground, breathing heavily from the effort not to throw up. Everything hurts.
“You’re better than I expected at this game of hide-and-seek, but you can’t fool me, boy. I know you’re hiding something and I will find out the truth eventually. Do you really think we won’t catch him again? Oh, he managed to survive last week, but he won’t have such luck the next time. But we could make a deal. You help me, you tell me where he is, and I’ll let him live. You could keep him as a pet, if you wanted. What do you think?”
Chanyeol wasn’t expecting this final blow. The possibility floats in his mind, heady and dangerous. Baekhyun would be safe. Baekhyun would be alive. And Chanyeol would be able to keep him, forever. Then, reality kicks in. Oh, Chanyeol can’t do this to Baekhyun. He can’t. He would be so mad, so angry. But alive, but…
No, no he can’t. Chanyeol shakes his head pitifully, whimpering when the sudden movement causes his brain to throb. Voldemort raises to his feet, makes as if he’s leaving the room. Before he reaches the door, he stops next to Chanyeol’s prone form, curled up on the ground.
“He will die, you know? Your little friend. And that’s also one of the main reasons I am going to keep you alive.” He’s talking for real this time, with his mouth and not with his mind, but Chanyeol almost wishes he wasn’t doing it. It’s like having a snake tightening their spires on your naked chest. He just wants all of this to be over. “Honestly, given your disgusting tendencies, you would be better off dead immediately, but I want you to be there when I’ll kill him. I want you to watch what happens to greedy Mudbloods who try to defy my law. I will find him and I will let you play with his corpse afterwards. On the other hand, you could make that deal with me save his pathetic existence. Think about it. Good evening, Park Chanyeol.”
Chanyeol only waits until the Dark Lord has left to let himself fall down and break in wretched sobs.
The most difficult part is not going back to the party, after having cleaned his face and adjusted his crumpled clothes, smiling again to all the guests and sending reassuring, weak smiles to his father, who’s still chatting with Yura’s husband. The worst part is not looking in Yura’s eyes and lie at the silent question he can read in them, or dealing with his mother’s anxiety.
The worst part is waiting. Chanyeol waits until the party ends and all the guests have left, even the Dark Lord, disappeared in a flash of black smoke and a loud crack. He knows they’re controlling him, a Tracking Charm probably, to see if he tries to leave the house and meet Baekhyun somewhere else. He’d lead them straight to him.
But Chanyeol doesn’t intend to leave the house. He passes his room and crosses the old hall where the family portraits are hung, greeting his grand-grand-father Park who died falling from a broom and great-aunt Tiffany, who passed away old but asked to be portrayed young and beautiful, like when she was young. There’s an empty frame, where the portrait of his aunt Sunny used to be, before she died in war, killed by Voldemort himself. She had married a Muggleborn, and now her own portrait has been destroyed, the only trace of her existence being a couple of magic photos that Yura has managed to save from the fire, well hidden somewhere no one else will be able to find them.
Chanyeol points his wand to the frame and whispers some words that Aunt Sunny has taught him a long time ago.
He quickly checks if someone is coming, using a Revealing Charm, his shoulder slumping in relief when he realises he’s definitely alone. The frame moves to show a secret passage, and he disappears inside, in a private, hidden room.
Baekhyun hasn’t moved. He’s still there, laying on the bed, looking pale and defeated. The vicious looking gash on his arm shows the beginning of an infection, but it’s slightly getting better, thanks to Chanyeol’s cares.
Only when he hears sounds, the ruffling of Chanyeol’s vest as it gets stuck on the door, does the boy open his eyes and look for his wand. He’s standing on his feet and murmuring a spell before he can even recognise Chanyeol.
“You’re here,” he says, like he was expecting Chanyeol to never come back, or to come back bringing company. When he realises that he’s come alone he exhales and slumps on the bed with a tired of moan, stripped of all his fighting spirit.
“Did you expect a firing squad?”
Even despite his pitiful condition, Baekhyun manages to hint a tired smile. “Wouldn’t have surprised me. My popularity is raising, looks like Voldemort even threw a party in my honour tonight.” Chanyeol shakes at hearing that name, that dreaded name, slipping so easily past Baekhyun’s dry lips. “Oh, come on, don’t give me that face. The fear of a name…”
“I know the story,” he cuts him short. “Undress, I need to check your wound. Can’t stay too long or my parents will wonder where I’ve wandered off.”
Baekhyun gives him a docile nod and starts taking out his clothes. Chanyeol helps him, being careful not to put pressure on his bruised left wrist, on the sword wound on his chest or the wide burns on the side of his neck, where a Bombarda exploded. He’s lucky he didn’t lose his eyes.
“How did you manage to keep my location away from him?” asks Baekhyun, in a tiny voice. He’s still convinced that Chanyeol is lying and that they’re coming for him. He’s scared, and Chanyeol doesn’t know what to do because Baekhyun was never scared, not with Chanyeol, at least. Even when Filch threatened to hang them by their ankles in the dungeons, Baekhyun had always felt safe with Chanyeol. This time Chanyeol is scared too, deathly so.
“I’m a good Occlumens,” he shrugs. Baekhyun stares, like Chanyeol has just said that he has two heads.
“I had to learn how to counterattack Legilimens pretty quickly, Baek. You and Jongdae may think that this is your great adventure and that you’re risking your life against many perils out there, but don’t dare assume, not even for a fucking moment, that it’s been easy for us. Everyday, every single fucking day… I couldn’t even turn on the radio to check if you and your other stupid friend were alive, because I’m on the other side, you know?”
“I’m sorry,” murmurs Baekhyun, lowering his head until his guilty puppy eyes are screened by his black fringe, as if he doesn’t want to meet Chanyeol’s gaze.
Chanyeol bites his lower lip, already regretting the outburst. He’s being too emotional. Only in front of Baekhyun he can show this side of him, Baekhyun and no one else. But today he’s weary, he has fought the Dark Lord inside his head, he’s too weak for all of this. The hold on his emotions slips away, and he rests his head on Baekhyun’s shoulder, sniffling against his tickling hair. Too long, he should cut it. Maybe, before he leaves, he will ask Chanyeol to do it.
“I focused on us, me and you” he confesses, finally answering Baekhyun’s previous question. The boy blinks. “The trick is not just lying, because the Dark Lord can sense lies while you’re just thinking them. You have to give him some truth to feast upon, and keep the rest in your grasp or he’ll see it. I didn’t want him to find you, or to find if I knew where were you, so I thought of something else, to distract him. I let him see a very precious memory of you, of us. I let him see everything else, but I swear, Baekhyun, he doesn’t know that you’re here.”
Baekhyun nods, just once. He looks like he wants to say something, but there’s too much weight on his shoulders, too much weight on his heart. He lets Chanyeol hug him, finding solace in someone the warmth that Chanyeol won’t ever give to anyone but him.
There’s a tiny monster clawing at the insides of Chanyeol’s chest, playing with his heart. A question he must ask.
“Will it ever end, Baekhyun?”
He bites his lips. “Yes, it will. Jongdae is looking for the Horcruxes. We can win this war, we can do this Chanyeol.”
“You said that three years ago, and you almost got killed three days ago. And tomorrow you’ll leave, and they’ll find you again, and again. And one day, I’m afraid you will die, Baekhyun. The Dark Lord-”
“Voldemort,” rectifies Baekhyun, with a frown.
“All right, Voldemort,” says Chanyeol with a shiver, “he said that he won’t kill you immediately. He said that he’ll bring you here to kill you in front of me, to let me enjoy the show.”
“And what should I do, Chanyeol? How should I live the rest of my life? As a slave? As cattle? I’m fighting for what is right!”
You’re fighting a lost war, is what Chanyeol thinks but doesn’t dare to say. Not when he knows what this means for Baekhyun. Chanyeol is a Pureblood, whatever happens he’ll be alright, but Baekhyun…
Baekhyun’s lips tremble and he buries his head in Chanyeol’s vest to hide it. He shakes, once, twice, little sobs that wet the fabric and break Chanyeol’s heart. He seems so little like this, so lost, so frail. Chanyeol lulls him slowly, humming a song with closed lips, and revels in the contented sigh that Baekhyun lets out against his chest when the tears stop falling.
In the silence, Baekhyun’s voice is raw and throaty. “You said you couldn’t stay too long.”
He can’t. He should go back, talk to his parents, talk to Yura, make sure that Baekhyun can leave safely tomorrow.
He undoes the first button of Baekhyun’s pants, feeling Baekhyun’s eyes caress his fingers.
“You’ll be gone tomorrow. It’s not safe for you here so I hope you won’t have to come back for a while.” He doesn’t need to say that he hopes Baekhyun won’t be attacked by other Deatheaters for a long, long time. It’s a feeble hope, but it’s all Chanyeol has. He’d give an arm to be out there, helping Baekhyun and Jongdae, but now more than ever he knows that they need him here. At the centre of the storm, where no one would ever come looking for them, Chanyeol is a needed certainty.
But that means they can only have tonight. Baekhyun mirrors the action on Chanyeol’s robes.
“I want to ride you,” he says, but despite the mischievous look in his eyes he’s still too pale and worn out. Chanyeol kisses the bandages, right where they cover Baekhyun’s earth.
“Not today, today I’m dictating the rules, Baek,” he says, pushing him on his back. “You just lie still, I’ll do the hard work.”
“Lying still is not funny,” Baekhyun pouts. “I want to touch you. Can I scratch you?”
“No marks. Remember, you’ve never been there. I shouldn’t do this,” he mutters, more to himself than to Baekhyun. “Jongdae will kill me.”
“Forget about Jongdae, he nags like an old woman.”
Thank God Jongdae is indeed an old woman, deep down. The two of them wouldn’t be still alive if he wasn’t for his sense of self-preservation, since Baekhyun is clearly lacking in that department.
Baekhyun thrusts up against him, eliciting a moan of pleasure from Chanyeol and of pain from himself.
“Stay still, Baekhyun! You’re moving too much, the wound…”
“I like you when you’re so bossy,” moans Baekhyun, and does that again, ignoring Chanyeol’s warnings.
Chanyeol doesn’t have lube, and he’d prefer not to Apparate it from somewhere else. He doesn’t trust magic right now, because his wand too could’ve been marked with a Tracking Charm. Baekhyun nods towards his backpack, discarded on the floor.
Chanyeol’s hands tremble as he breaks the packet and coats his hand, even more as he climbs over Baekhyun, between his naked legs. Baekhyun’s thighs are soft under his hand, and he slowly, with infinite care, curves one around his hip, spreading him even more, until he’s laid in front of his eyes like a banquet. He feels himself growing hard just from this, and Baekhyun can see it as well. He smiles proudly and he looks so inviting, only waiting for Chanyeol to feast on him.
Chanyeol used to know this body better than his own, but now there are scars that he doesn’t recognise, stories that he’ll never be part of unless Baekhyun chooses to tell him. He leans down and kisses Baekhyun’s knee as his fingers play with the rim of his ass, hard enough to make him mad but not enough to breach inside.
Baekhyun growls, “Would you please just stop teasing?”
Something hasn’t changed. Baekhyun’s freckles, now even more pronounced after all the time spent outside running away from people who want to kill him, stand out on his skin. No amount of blushing could cover them, and like stars, they lead Chanyeol down on Baekhyun’s body, as he kisses the collarbones, the chest, stopping by the nipples just for the sake of hearing Baekhyun whimper. Chanyeol’s hand and tongue are quick to soothe away the distress that his other fingers are causing down there, when he finally decides to cut the chase and penetrates Baekhyun with one, two, and then three of them.
There’s a rush of power in being inside someone like this, feeling every spasm of muscles, every heartbeat, every shiver amplified. He feels Baekhyun respond to every twitch of his fingers, deep down, until all of his lover’s coherence is wrapped around him, all of him at his mercy. A subtle press of his middle finger, just a little shift of his hand, and Baekhyun is biting in Chanyeol’s hand and convulsing around him.
They can’t be loud, but that doesn’t prevent Baekhyun from being vicious. He drags Chanyeol down, anchors himself at him, one hand on his hip and the other on his back. He sighs when Chanyeol’s fingers leave his body empty and aching.
“Wait,” he says, stopping Chanyeol from leading his erection against his ass. It stops there, between his buttocks, just shy of his entrance.
“What?” asks Chanyeol, immediately looking for any sign of discomfort. The bandages are stained, bright red, and he starts retreating, already apologising, when Baekhyun pulls him down.
“You haven’t kissed me yet, stupid.”
“Oh, oh,” he says, and he leans down until their lips are meeting and Baekhyun is opening is mouth and drinking him in like he was dying without Chanyeol, taking all of Chanyeol from this one kiss. It doesn’t just take his breath away, it takes everything, his anxiety, his fears, his doubts, his patience, and when Baekhyun finally lets him go, with a final bite to his upper lip, Chanyeol’s cock is steadily thrusting against Baekhyun, demanding to be let inside.
“Again,” Baekhyun begs, “kiss me again.” And this time it’s Chanyeol who controls the kiss, invading the welcoming mouth and savouring a taste of euphoria, as he drives inside Baekhyun exhilaratingly slow, eating his lover’s moans out of his mouth.
When he’s inside, he pauses to take a look at Baekhyun’s face, all scrunched up in a mix of pleasure and distress. He’s so red and sweaty and beautiful, and Chanyeol loves him so much.
“I love you,” he tells, as he starts moving, like a mantra, like a spell or a charm. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
It’s been so long since the last time, so they won’t last. He can already feel the pinpricks of pleasure piercing his groin, and he can feel Baekhyun’s haste too, from the way he drapes himself all around Chanyeol’s body, with his hands and arms, with his legs wrapped around Chanyeol’s waist, sliding on the clammy skin, with his ass that constricts around Chanyeol’s shaft.
“I love you,” he hears again, and maybe it’s him, maybe it’s Baekhyun, he doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter because they’re both coming, blinded by the apex of pleasure, searching for each other’s lips to drown in one last kiss.
When Chanyeol wakes up, the morning after, Baekhyun is already gone. There’s a flicker of his smell on the rumpled sheets, the tingling of his lips on Chanyeol’s cheek, where he kissed him goodbye before Disapparating away. The echo of his laugh still haunts the room and Chanyeol's heart.
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Rating: NC17
Pairing: Chanyeol/Baekhyun
Wordcount: 5k~
Warning: sexual intercourse, very very mild voyeurism, unbetaed
Disclaimer: EXO belongs to themselves and SME
Summary: HP!AU. The Second Wizarding War has ended, Voldemort has won. But there are still people who hope, who resist, who fight. Chanyeol lies in the middle.
A/N: This fic has nothing to do with my other hp!au, it's a different universe with different characters. I've written this because I'm a huge hp nerd and because I couldn't enter exolliarmus since I'M VERY DUMB. I'm just indulging in my dark pleasures with bad plot, bad grammar and bad ficwriting in general.
- Title is a mix between Chapter 9 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (A Place to Hide) and an Adele song (Hiding my heart).
- Maybe there'll be a sequel, maybe not. The only thing I can be sure of is that the next thing I'll write is the idol&bodyguard!au because I need to update that one. I promised. So expect that one next~
Chanyeol forces back a yawn as his father starts over for the fourth time that evening. A house elf passes by with a shiny crystal trail holding several expensive looking bottles on it. The clinking of glass against glass piques Chanyeol’s attention and he raises the head, only to curse inside his head when he realises the relative lack of strong alcoholic beverages.
“Of course,” he thinks, his thoughts laced with irritation and bitterness, “that one time I bother to come here all the way from my room, the old man keeps the Firewhisky for himself.”
He wants to snap his tongue, but he knows better. His face has always been his favourite mask and armour, and today is not different. He remains impassable and cold, a marble facade of bored indifference.
Next to him, Yura checks her long, pretty, emerald nails. She’s wearing green, Slytherin, her own Hogwarts house, and Chanyeol’s. Their entire household has always been Slytherin. Yura’s husband, a member of the Wizengamot, hasn't arrived yet, but he’ll join them soon. This is not a dinner that can be easily dismissed, after all.
"Do you understand, my son?"
Chanyeol nods, more from habit than from real awareness of what his father has just said.
"I think you should pay more attention, sweetheart, for our family could be doomed if something goes wrong tonight."
Chanyeol's mother has always been stricter than her husband. She’s icy, haughty, elegant. Chanyeol and Yura have both taken from her in both beauty and stride, and there isn't a day when Chanyeol regrets being born as her son.
He doesn't answer, just takes his goblet and shakes it slightly, admiring the colour of the wine as it rolls inside the crystal. It’s a rosé, not his first choice. You can’t get drunk with a rosé.
"Chanyeol," warns his mother, until he nods again. “You will be very careful, tonight. You don’t want to make him angry.”
No, Chanyeol doesn’t want it. For a moment, the lavish furniture exhibited all around him, the curtains and the tapestries, all velvet and brocade and lush silk, slick and shimmery, seems to close over him. He forces air out of his lungs, hoping to ease the sense of discomfort that seems to oppress him everything he is named. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or You-Know-Who, like Baekhyun used to call him back when they were still in Hogwarts and everything was simpler, before the shadow of war begun to hang on them, when he was just a ghost in children stories.
He drops the crystal goblet on the first trail he sees parading under his nose.
It’ll be a long night.
Chanyeol’s family still owns the old-fashioned decadence of an ancient Pureblood line. In their veins only the richest, undiluted blood flows, and with that blood, the original magic. Or so they say, the people present at the party. Deatheaters, all of them. He bows his head for the umpteenth wizard in a new, shiny robe, congratulating his parents for having such perfect, nice children, and ask about their N.E.W.T.s, finally deciding to drown his desperation in something heavier than the considerate and almost useless Prosecco the elf houses were serving to the guest.
He surpasses the new Ministry of Magic, a tight collaborator - he can’t go as far as to say that the Dark Lord has friends - of Voldemort, and former roommate of Chanyeol’s father at Hogwarts. He doesn’t even stop to exchange formalities with Kris, who graduated three years before him and is now working in the Muggle-Born Registration Commission.
The main guest has not arrived yet, but Chanyeol knows he’ll be there. He wouldn’t lose this party, not when he was the one who organised it just to meet Chanyeol and ask him one single thing.
Chanyeol walks faster. He can’t disappear, but he needs to take a breath of fresh air before he meets the Dark Lord to be questioned about the whereabouts of one of the most wanted men of the country. A rebel, they say, a terrorist, a dissident, a dangerous enemy of the entire magic world who has merely escaped a lethal ambush a few days ago. Chanyeol has begged his sister long enough to know that he’s survived, wounded, weak, feverish, but he’s made an escape. And now they’re looking for him everywhere, even knocking to Chanyeol’s door to see if perhaps he knows where his former Hogwarts boyfriend may be.
His footsteps are soft but firm, the sound almost entirely swallowed by the heavy carpets that cover the marble. The door to his father’s private studio is open, and he almost heaves a relief sigh. He needs some Ogden’s Old from his father’s private canteen. Only when he steps inside he senses he’s not alone.
The Dark Lord - and Chanyeol wants to bite his lips until they bleed when he realises he has already started to call him like his parents, like his followers do - looks up from a batch of heavy parchments and Chanyeol gulps, pinned on the spot like a scared animal. His eyes are so empty, so dark, so… inhuman.
“I haven’t been human for a long while, Park Chanyeol.”
He resists the urge to turn on his heels and run, run as fast as he can, because there’s a voice in his head, a cold, slick, unctuous voice, that falls like a silky hiss down the folds of Chanyeol’s conscience, invading his mind. And the man, the creature, the spectre in front of him, hasn’t opened his mouth.
“Now, Park Chanyeol, don’t be shy. We both know why I’m here. Where,” he asks without talking, and Chanyeol feels the first billow of magic smash against the weak defences of his mind, “is he, then?”
He doesn’t even need a wand to cast the spell, and Chanyeol wavers under the force of the Legilimency.
“I don’t… I don’t know,” he says, and it sounds feeble, too feeble, almost like…
“A lie, my boy, and you know what happens to the people who dare to lie… to me?”
Chanyeol is ready this time. He knows what he must do. If he resists, then he is a traitor, and his whole family will be executed. He closes his eyes and lets Voldemort enter his mind.
“Where is he? Where is Byun Baekhyun?”
Images run through his mind. Baekhyun tripping into him the first day, Hogwarts Express, Baekhyun and his stupidly cute Gryffindor scarf, Baekhyun bursting into the Slytherin common room just to surprise Chanyeol. There’s so much to see, Chanyeol has spent five years hanging from Baekhyun’s pouty lips, begging for a word, a smile, a proof that Baekhyun cared about Chanyeol the way he cared about Baekhyun, too much.
The Dark Lord snorts, and Chanyeol is forcefully extracted from his own painful memories. The contact with reality is like a cold shower. He realises he’s panting, long, harsh breaths that leaves his throat raw. And that he’s slid on the soft carpet.
“A Slytherin in love with a Gryffindor. Love… What a pathetic, useless feeling, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t blush, not even in front of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Park Chanyeol doesn’t blush, doesn’t show weakness. Park Chanyeol is the cold prince of Slytherin, and the only joy of his life, his only weakness, the thorn that pierces his heart and his most precious possession, has always been a boy named Byun Baekhyun. It’s like any emotion he was born to feel has been devoted for Baekhyun, all of Chanyeol’s humanity, all of the warmth and the love, all the frustration, all the anger and fear, his entire spectrum of emotions begins and ends with Baekhyun, and nothing else remains for the rest of the world. Lord Voldemort not being an exception.
He is not reading his thoughts now, but the waves of Chanyeol’s impudent thoughts must have reached his mind anyway because the tiny, serpentine nostrils flare in indignation.
“Get up, boy, we’re not done yet.”
This time the contact is even more invasive. The dark mage ransacks Chanyeol’s precious chest of memories, his greedy, cruel eyes analysing, scanning, judging. There’s their first Hogsmeade trip, and the way Baekhyun jumped on the fresh snow in his drenched pants and cape. There are lazy mornings at the beginning of summer, after the end of classes and before the finals, when they were supposed to be studying but they only ended up napping under perfumed trees in the garden. There are stolen whispers in the darkness of the library, words murmured between the rustling of parchments swollen with magic ink and immediately chastised by Madam Pince. Baekhyun crossing the boundaries and sitting at Slytherin’s table to be near Chanyeol, sticking out his tongue at whoever dared to frown at the bizarre scene of a Slytherin and a Gryffindor eating together.
Baekhyun, Baekhyun, Baekhyun. The atmosphere changes, Chanyeol’s thoughts becoming frantic. He doesn’t remember very well those moments, too much fear, the weight in his chest that threatened to choke him. The first Muggle families killed in their beds, Minseok’s sister disappeared at the beginning of their fifth year, kidnapped on the Express in front of everyone’s eyes. Minseok was Muggleborn, just like Baekhyun, one of the first hit by the oncoming storm. Baekhyun’s lips, set tight, always bitten and tormented while he thought of his own family, of his own future.
Chanyeol had been at Baekhyun’s house once, when things were still amazing, and he had immediately fallen in love with Baekhyun’s mom and Baekhyun’s cool brother and he had found Baekhyun’s dad quite intimidating, but he had come to like the old man too. They were so different from his own family, so warm and caring and affectionate. Just looking at them, it was easy to understand where Baekhyun had come from.
“They’re dead,” says the cold voice in his head, and this memory too fades out, reality slowly taking form in front of his eyes again. The leftovers of the recollection linger at the corner of his vision, the distinct impression that, if he turned his head, he would still be there, in Mrs Byun’s pristine kitchen, listening to a funny story about how Baekhyun had managed to find himself trapped on the roof on a snowy day. Even those fragments of past disappear, at least, when Voldemort talks again. “I personally took care of them when their dear son decided to cross one too many lines, and if you help me, who knows, maybe they’ll be able to see him again soon.”
Chanyeol grits his teeth, fighting back a wave of nausea.
“Where is he?”
His head is buzzing so much he barely hears the world. It’s the effect of the Legilimency spell practiced on an unwilling subject, he knows, it’s perfectly normal. But why then he feels the sting of tears in his eyes?
“I don’t know,” he manages to croak out, and the Dark Lord’s eyes flash red in fury.
“Legilimens,” he shouts this time, and the force of the spell topples Chanyeol over.
Flashes of Baekhyun, of his delicate lashes fluttering lowered as he smiles to himself listening to his stupid indie alternative music, of his tanned skin after a summer spent chasing butterflies and girls, the freckles that run down his skin, his nose, his neck, the hollow of his collarbones, disappearing under a ruffled shirt. And Chanyeol is fourteen again, just out of his growth spurt, unnecessary tall, too many gangly limbs that he doesn’t know where to put, peeking from above inside the forever loosened collar of his good friend Baekhyun’s shirt in the hope to see the ghost of a nipple, and trying desperately to look inconspicuous about it.
The scene changes again. Chanyeol can almost feel Voldemort’s frustration, aimed right at him. He came here to find hints on the possible hideout of an enemy, of a rebel, not to marvel at the perks of high school romance.
When the new memory begins, Chanyeol instantly groans in distress. No, he thinks, everything but this one. He tries to think of something else, pierces his nails hard on the palms of his hands, hoping that the pain will overwhelm the imagines running through his head, but nothing would be able to erase this moment from his mind. It’s just too awesome and devastating. And he doesn’t want to hand it over, he protects it with all he has, even if he doesn’t stand a chance against the most powerful dark mage of his time, especially after he’s set his sights on something.
Voldemort easily overpowers him and he doesn’t even realise he has fallen, again, on his knees, that he’s holding his head with both hands because it feels like it’s breaking from the effort. There’s blood running from his nose down his face, the physical proof of the acute, piercing pain that he feels in his brain. But he can’t even feel it because his mind is lost.
They’re in Baekhyun’s bed, back at Gryffindor’s tower, during their fifth year. It’s Christmas. It’s not, surprisingly, snowing, but raining so hard the dungeons are flooded. That’s not actually the reason why Chanyeol is camping in Baekhyun’s bed. They’re alone, the rest of the students gone for the holidays. For some of them, it’ll only be the last time they see their families, because Voldemort will seize power in a few months, killing whoever dares to cross his path. For Baekhyun and Chanyeol, it just means that they won’t be disturbed, and Chanyeol can finally, finally, lean down and follow the trail of freckles down Baekhyun’s jugular with his tongue, nervously undoing the buttons of his shirt to kiss lower, where he’s never gone before, until he’s mouthing at Baekhyun’s heartbeat.
In reality, he blushes, violently, because this was supposed to be one of the best moments of his life and he doesn’t want to hand it over like this, without a fight, but there’s nothing he can do. He can only wait until the powerful mage who’s invaded his mind gets bored of the show of two fumbling teenagers exploring each other.
It seems like an eternity has passed when he’s let go, and he slumps on the ground, breathing heavily from the effort not to throw up. Everything hurts.
“You’re better than I expected at this game of hide-and-seek, but you can’t fool me, boy. I know you’re hiding something and I will find out the truth eventually. Do you really think we won’t catch him again? Oh, he managed to survive last week, but he won’t have such luck the next time. But we could make a deal. You help me, you tell me where he is, and I’ll let him live. You could keep him as a pet, if you wanted. What do you think?”
Chanyeol wasn’t expecting this final blow. The possibility floats in his mind, heady and dangerous. Baekhyun would be safe. Baekhyun would be alive. And Chanyeol would be able to keep him, forever. Then, reality kicks in. Oh, Chanyeol can’t do this to Baekhyun. He can’t. He would be so mad, so angry. But alive, but…
No, no he can’t. Chanyeol shakes his head pitifully, whimpering when the sudden movement causes his brain to throb. Voldemort raises to his feet, makes as if he’s leaving the room. Before he reaches the door, he stops next to Chanyeol’s prone form, curled up on the ground.
“He will die, you know? Your little friend. And that’s also one of the main reasons I am going to keep you alive.” He’s talking for real this time, with his mouth and not with his mind, but Chanyeol almost wishes he wasn’t doing it. It’s like having a snake tightening their spires on your naked chest. He just wants all of this to be over. “Honestly, given your disgusting tendencies, you would be better off dead immediately, but I want you to be there when I’ll kill him. I want you to watch what happens to greedy Mudbloods who try to defy my law. I will find him and I will let you play with his corpse afterwards. On the other hand, you could make that deal with me save his pathetic existence. Think about it. Good evening, Park Chanyeol.”
Chanyeol only waits until the Dark Lord has left to let himself fall down and break in wretched sobs.
The most difficult part is not going back to the party, after having cleaned his face and adjusted his crumpled clothes, smiling again to all the guests and sending reassuring, weak smiles to his father, who’s still chatting with Yura’s husband. The worst part is not looking in Yura’s eyes and lie at the silent question he can read in them, or dealing with his mother’s anxiety.
The worst part is waiting. Chanyeol waits until the party ends and all the guests have left, even the Dark Lord, disappeared in a flash of black smoke and a loud crack. He knows they’re controlling him, a Tracking Charm probably, to see if he tries to leave the house and meet Baekhyun somewhere else. He’d lead them straight to him.
But Chanyeol doesn’t intend to leave the house. He passes his room and crosses the old hall where the family portraits are hung, greeting his grand-grand-father Park who died falling from a broom and great-aunt Tiffany, who passed away old but asked to be portrayed young and beautiful, like when she was young. There’s an empty frame, where the portrait of his aunt Sunny used to be, before she died in war, killed by Voldemort himself. She had married a Muggleborn, and now her own portrait has been destroyed, the only trace of her existence being a couple of magic photos that Yura has managed to save from the fire, well hidden somewhere no one else will be able to find them.
Chanyeol points his wand to the frame and whispers some words that Aunt Sunny has taught him a long time ago.
He quickly checks if someone is coming, using a Revealing Charm, his shoulder slumping in relief when he realises he’s definitely alone. The frame moves to show a secret passage, and he disappears inside, in a private, hidden room.
Baekhyun hasn’t moved. He’s still there, laying on the bed, looking pale and defeated. The vicious looking gash on his arm shows the beginning of an infection, but it’s slightly getting better, thanks to Chanyeol’s cares.
Only when he hears sounds, the ruffling of Chanyeol’s vest as it gets stuck on the door, does the boy open his eyes and look for his wand. He’s standing on his feet and murmuring a spell before he can even recognise Chanyeol.
“You’re here,” he says, like he was expecting Chanyeol to never come back, or to come back bringing company. When he realises that he’s come alone he exhales and slumps on the bed with a tired of moan, stripped of all his fighting spirit.
“Did you expect a firing squad?”
Even despite his pitiful condition, Baekhyun manages to hint a tired smile. “Wouldn’t have surprised me. My popularity is raising, looks like Voldemort even threw a party in my honour tonight.” Chanyeol shakes at hearing that name, that dreaded name, slipping so easily past Baekhyun’s dry lips. “Oh, come on, don’t give me that face. The fear of a name…”
“I know the story,” he cuts him short. “Undress, I need to check your wound. Can’t stay too long or my parents will wonder where I’ve wandered off.”
Baekhyun gives him a docile nod and starts taking out his clothes. Chanyeol helps him, being careful not to put pressure on his bruised left wrist, on the sword wound on his chest or the wide burns on the side of his neck, where a Bombarda exploded. He’s lucky he didn’t lose his eyes.
“How did you manage to keep my location away from him?” asks Baekhyun, in a tiny voice. He’s still convinced that Chanyeol is lying and that they’re coming for him. He’s scared, and Chanyeol doesn’t know what to do because Baekhyun was never scared, not with Chanyeol, at least. Even when Filch threatened to hang them by their ankles in the dungeons, Baekhyun had always felt safe with Chanyeol. This time Chanyeol is scared too, deathly so.
“I’m a good Occlumens,” he shrugs. Baekhyun stares, like Chanyeol has just said that he has two heads.
“I had to learn how to counterattack Legilimens pretty quickly, Baek. You and Jongdae may think that this is your great adventure and that you’re risking your life against many perils out there, but don’t dare assume, not even for a fucking moment, that it’s been easy for us. Everyday, every single fucking day… I couldn’t even turn on the radio to check if you and your other stupid friend were alive, because I’m on the other side, you know?”
“I’m sorry,” murmurs Baekhyun, lowering his head until his guilty puppy eyes are screened by his black fringe, as if he doesn’t want to meet Chanyeol’s gaze.
Chanyeol bites his lower lip, already regretting the outburst. He’s being too emotional. Only in front of Baekhyun he can show this side of him, Baekhyun and no one else. But today he’s weary, he has fought the Dark Lord inside his head, he’s too weak for all of this. The hold on his emotions slips away, and he rests his head on Baekhyun’s shoulder, sniffling against his tickling hair. Too long, he should cut it. Maybe, before he leaves, he will ask Chanyeol to do it.
“I focused on us, me and you” he confesses, finally answering Baekhyun’s previous question. The boy blinks. “The trick is not just lying, because the Dark Lord can sense lies while you’re just thinking them. You have to give him some truth to feast upon, and keep the rest in your grasp or he’ll see it. I didn’t want him to find you, or to find if I knew where were you, so I thought of something else, to distract him. I let him see a very precious memory of you, of us. I let him see everything else, but I swear, Baekhyun, he doesn’t know that you’re here.”
Baekhyun nods, just once. He looks like he wants to say something, but there’s too much weight on his shoulders, too much weight on his heart. He lets Chanyeol hug him, finding solace in someone the warmth that Chanyeol won’t ever give to anyone but him.
There’s a tiny monster clawing at the insides of Chanyeol’s chest, playing with his heart. A question he must ask.
“Will it ever end, Baekhyun?”
He bites his lips. “Yes, it will. Jongdae is looking for the Horcruxes. We can win this war, we can do this Chanyeol.”
“You said that three years ago, and you almost got killed three days ago. And tomorrow you’ll leave, and they’ll find you again, and again. And one day, I’m afraid you will die, Baekhyun. The Dark Lord-”
“Voldemort,” rectifies Baekhyun, with a frown.
“All right, Voldemort,” says Chanyeol with a shiver, “he said that he won’t kill you immediately. He said that he’ll bring you here to kill you in front of me, to let me enjoy the show.”
“And what should I do, Chanyeol? How should I live the rest of my life? As a slave? As cattle? I’m fighting for what is right!”
You’re fighting a lost war, is what Chanyeol thinks but doesn’t dare to say. Not when he knows what this means for Baekhyun. Chanyeol is a Pureblood, whatever happens he’ll be alright, but Baekhyun…
Baekhyun’s lips tremble and he buries his head in Chanyeol’s vest to hide it. He shakes, once, twice, little sobs that wet the fabric and break Chanyeol’s heart. He seems so little like this, so lost, so frail. Chanyeol lulls him slowly, humming a song with closed lips, and revels in the contented sigh that Baekhyun lets out against his chest when the tears stop falling.
In the silence, Baekhyun’s voice is raw and throaty. “You said you couldn’t stay too long.”
He can’t. He should go back, talk to his parents, talk to Yura, make sure that Baekhyun can leave safely tomorrow.
He undoes the first button of Baekhyun’s pants, feeling Baekhyun’s eyes caress his fingers.
“You’ll be gone tomorrow. It’s not safe for you here so I hope you won’t have to come back for a while.” He doesn’t need to say that he hopes Baekhyun won’t be attacked by other Deatheaters for a long, long time. It’s a feeble hope, but it’s all Chanyeol has. He’d give an arm to be out there, helping Baekhyun and Jongdae, but now more than ever he knows that they need him here. At the centre of the storm, where no one would ever come looking for them, Chanyeol is a needed certainty.
But that means they can only have tonight. Baekhyun mirrors the action on Chanyeol’s robes.
“I want to ride you,” he says, but despite the mischievous look in his eyes he’s still too pale and worn out. Chanyeol kisses the bandages, right where they cover Baekhyun’s earth.
“Not today, today I’m dictating the rules, Baek,” he says, pushing him on his back. “You just lie still, I’ll do the hard work.”
“Lying still is not funny,” Baekhyun pouts. “I want to touch you. Can I scratch you?”
“No marks. Remember, you’ve never been there. I shouldn’t do this,” he mutters, more to himself than to Baekhyun. “Jongdae will kill me.”
“Forget about Jongdae, he nags like an old woman.”
Thank God Jongdae is indeed an old woman, deep down. The two of them wouldn’t be still alive if he wasn’t for his sense of self-preservation, since Baekhyun is clearly lacking in that department.
Baekhyun thrusts up against him, eliciting a moan of pleasure from Chanyeol and of pain from himself.
“Stay still, Baekhyun! You’re moving too much, the wound…”
“I like you when you’re so bossy,” moans Baekhyun, and does that again, ignoring Chanyeol’s warnings.
Chanyeol doesn’t have lube, and he’d prefer not to Apparate it from somewhere else. He doesn’t trust magic right now, because his wand too could’ve been marked with a Tracking Charm. Baekhyun nods towards his backpack, discarded on the floor.
Chanyeol’s hands tremble as he breaks the packet and coats his hand, even more as he climbs over Baekhyun, between his naked legs. Baekhyun’s thighs are soft under his hand, and he slowly, with infinite care, curves one around his hip, spreading him even more, until he’s laid in front of his eyes like a banquet. He feels himself growing hard just from this, and Baekhyun can see it as well. He smiles proudly and he looks so inviting, only waiting for Chanyeol to feast on him.
Chanyeol used to know this body better than his own, but now there are scars that he doesn’t recognise, stories that he’ll never be part of unless Baekhyun chooses to tell him. He leans down and kisses Baekhyun’s knee as his fingers play with the rim of his ass, hard enough to make him mad but not enough to breach inside.
Baekhyun growls, “Would you please just stop teasing?”
Something hasn’t changed. Baekhyun’s freckles, now even more pronounced after all the time spent outside running away from people who want to kill him, stand out on his skin. No amount of blushing could cover them, and like stars, they lead Chanyeol down on Baekhyun’s body, as he kisses the collarbones, the chest, stopping by the nipples just for the sake of hearing Baekhyun whimper. Chanyeol’s hand and tongue are quick to soothe away the distress that his other fingers are causing down there, when he finally decides to cut the chase and penetrates Baekhyun with one, two, and then three of them.
There’s a rush of power in being inside someone like this, feeling every spasm of muscles, every heartbeat, every shiver amplified. He feels Baekhyun respond to every twitch of his fingers, deep down, until all of his lover’s coherence is wrapped around him, all of him at his mercy. A subtle press of his middle finger, just a little shift of his hand, and Baekhyun is biting in Chanyeol’s hand and convulsing around him.
They can’t be loud, but that doesn’t prevent Baekhyun from being vicious. He drags Chanyeol down, anchors himself at him, one hand on his hip and the other on his back. He sighs when Chanyeol’s fingers leave his body empty and aching.
“Wait,” he says, stopping Chanyeol from leading his erection against his ass. It stops there, between his buttocks, just shy of his entrance.
“What?” asks Chanyeol, immediately looking for any sign of discomfort. The bandages are stained, bright red, and he starts retreating, already apologising, when Baekhyun pulls him down.
“You haven’t kissed me yet, stupid.”
“Oh, oh,” he says, and he leans down until their lips are meeting and Baekhyun is opening is mouth and drinking him in like he was dying without Chanyeol, taking all of Chanyeol from this one kiss. It doesn’t just take his breath away, it takes everything, his anxiety, his fears, his doubts, his patience, and when Baekhyun finally lets him go, with a final bite to his upper lip, Chanyeol’s cock is steadily thrusting against Baekhyun, demanding to be let inside.
“Again,” Baekhyun begs, “kiss me again.” And this time it’s Chanyeol who controls the kiss, invading the welcoming mouth and savouring a taste of euphoria, as he drives inside Baekhyun exhilaratingly slow, eating his lover’s moans out of his mouth.
When he’s inside, he pauses to take a look at Baekhyun’s face, all scrunched up in a mix of pleasure and distress. He’s so red and sweaty and beautiful, and Chanyeol loves him so much.
“I love you,” he tells, as he starts moving, like a mantra, like a spell or a charm. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
It’s been so long since the last time, so they won’t last. He can already feel the pinpricks of pleasure piercing his groin, and he can feel Baekhyun’s haste too, from the way he drapes himself all around Chanyeol’s body, with his hands and arms, with his legs wrapped around Chanyeol’s waist, sliding on the clammy skin, with his ass that constricts around Chanyeol’s shaft.
“I love you,” he hears again, and maybe it’s him, maybe it’s Baekhyun, he doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter because they’re both coming, blinded by the apex of pleasure, searching for each other’s lips to drown in one last kiss.
When Chanyeol wakes up, the morning after, Baekhyun is already gone. There’s a flicker of his smell on the rumpled sheets, the tingling of his lips on Chanyeol’s cheek, where he kissed him goodbye before Disapparating away. The echo of his laugh still haunts the room and Chanyeol's heart.
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