[oneshot] and i know i did damage ('cause the look in your eyes is killing me)
Title: and i know i did damage ('cause the look in your eyes is killing me)
Pairing: go namsoon/park heungsoo
Rating: nc17
Genre: slice-of-life, pwp
Warnings: swearing, sexual themes
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: ~extended scene~ from the beginning of episode 10. obviously spoilers for it are contained herein! 1,308 words.
Namsoon comes around to the sound of Heungsoo screaming obscenities at a locked door and thinks for a moment that he's been thrown three years into the past, when trouble was something they got into together on a daily basis, and shit like broken legs and transferring schools were never even on the table.
Then the throbbing pain in his knuckles makes itself known; his hipbone grinds against the dusty cement floor, and something that feels like a bruise is blooming on his side, a couple of inches above where last week's gangster lackeys had kicked him in the stomach. Go Namsoon: the world's punching bag.
He cracks an eye open and sits up slowly, wincing. "Why are you making such a fuss?"
There's a scrape from the door and then Heungsoo's staring at him, a strange expression twisting on his face, like he's not sure if he wants to strangle Namsoon for being okay or strangle him for not being dead.
"Did you forget? I have strong bones," Namsoon says, casual as you please. He levers himself onto one of the sturdier-looking chairs, sore knees protesting, and probes his wrist with his right hand.
"Did you get hurt?"
Namsoon raises his eyebrows. "I got hurt," he replies, brandishing his knuckles.
Heungsoo rocks back against the door, face closing off. "It serves you right," he mutters, utter lack of conviction laced through his voice, and Namsoon ducks his head.
"It was scary," he admits.
Heungsoo doesn't so much snort as he exhales in Namsoon's general direction. "You said you had strong bones," he points out.
All these tiny moments of wry, familiar Heungsoo keep peeking out through the layers of calculated stoniness, and Namsoon almost can't bring himself to speak. He fiddles with the cuff of his jacket. "I was scared of you leaving me and going to Seoul to play soccer," he blurts out at last, glaring at a streak of dirt on the ground.
"In the end, I couldn't," Heungsoo reminds him, like salt in the wound. A beat, and then: "Why did you run away?"
Which is, of course, the million-dollar question. "I was scared you would leave me," Namsoon says, schooling his features into something that he hopes resembles normalcy. "I was scared you would say that you would never see a jerk like me again. I only had you back then. If you said something like that back then I had no one to turn to." He swallows. "No one," he repeats, meeting Heungsoo's gaze, like it'll mean something if Namsoon says it over and over again.
Heungsoo finally looks away, mouth a firm slant downward, and slides his back against the cabinet until he's sitting on the floor, legs stretched out. He pulls his squished pack of cigarettes out of his jacket and shakes one out.
"I thought you quit," Namsoon murmurs.
Heungsoo sends him an exasperated look. "Let me see your hand," he says abruptly, beckoning Namsoon closer.
Namsoon stares at him blankly. "What?"
An annoyed noise drops out of Heungsoo's mouth, the one he always used to make when he couldn't figure out a fucking geometry proof, or his sister was being particularly naggy. "When someone finds us here what the fuck do you think they're going to assume when they see you all banged up like this?"
"Right," Namsoon says, breathing out. He shuffles forward and sits down cross-legged, knees smarting, as Heungsoo pulls his feet in.
Heungsoo inspects Namsoon's knuckles with practiced ease, probing each bruised finger with unnecessary force, cigarette still dangling from between his lips. Typical, really: you can fuck a soccer player's leg up beyond repair and still not shake his eye for superficial injury, every shade of cut and scrape under the sun.
He pulls at Namsoon's index finger and nearly pops it out of its socket. "Shit!" Namsoon bites out, shifting his legs and wrinkling his nose, and the corners of Heungsoo's mouth pull up a little despite himself.
Belatedly, he realizes how twisted up they've become in the cramped shed-Namsoon's ankle hooked behind Heungoo's sneaker, his elbow propped on Heungsoo's knee for better access, faces mere inches apart. It's difficult to focus when all he can smell is the goddamn laundry detergent Heungsoo's sister must still use on his school uniform.
Heungsoo's eyes flick up and go a little wide, his lips parting.
"It's nothing serious, you'll be fine," he says, dropping Namsoon's hand and nudging Namsoon's leg with his foot. "So don't say anything to Kang-songsaenim."
"I won't." Namsoon tilts his head to the side, throat going a little dry as Heungsoo digs his lighter out of his pocket and lights the cigarette, blows plumes of smoke into the air. "I thought you quit," he says again, leaning forward, hands braced against the floor.
"I wish I knew how," Heungsoo mumbles around the cigarette.
Namsoon plucks it out of his mouth with his uninjured hand and rolls it between his thumb and index finger. Heungsoo blindly reaches forward to snatch it back, which is how it happens: their mouths collide against each other-and it'd be disingenuous to call it a kiss, because it's more mixing saliva and teeth scraping skin raw than anything else. Namsoon's aching hand comes up to curl in the hem of Heungsoo's blazer, their knees knocking together.
Namsoon's not sure if he bends down on his own or if Heungsoo's fingers slide into his hair to push his head down first-just that one minute they're not-kissing and the next he's got Heungsoo's dick pushing against his tongue, like it was just yesterday that they were fooling around in Heungsoo's old house, warm hands and mouths underneath flimsy blankets.
He nearly gags around Heungsoo's cock as it slides deeper into his mouth, thick and solid, and somewhere in there Heungsoo must've stolen the cigarette from between Namsoon's loose fingers because it's hanging out of his mouth again, the tip of it burning bright orange as he sucks in a shaky breath. Namsoon hums experimentally around Heungsoo's half-hard erection and Heungsoo tries to swallow around the strangled sound that rolls out of his mouth, eyes sliding shut as Namsoon pushes his legs apart, elbows digging into Heungsoo's thighs.
Namsoon flicks his tongue against the underside of Heungsoo's cock and Heungsoo says, "Fuck," all low and rumbly, like the word got tangled up in his chest before it managed to slip past the cigarette. The blowjob's too wet and messy-Namsoon's jaw fucking aches and Heungsoo jerks his hips up too hard-but he keeps on going, takes note of all the little noises that Heungsoo makes when Namsoon hollows his cheeks or pulls back to suck on the tip.
It takes longer for Heungsoo to come than Namsoon remembers. He chokes on the semen that hits the roof of his mouth but swallows it anyway, scrubs his lips with the back of his hand and blinks away the soreness in his knees, the twinge in his side.
He retreats to the chair two steps away and watches Heungsoo pull his pants up again, face flushed pink. "You-" Heungsoo starts, making an aborted gesture at the tent in Namsoon's khakis, and-
And a loud rattling noise comes from the lock on the other side of the shed's peeling wooden door. Heungsoo's expression flattens out into impenetrable apathy again, his eyes shuttering empty. He vaults to his feet and throws the remains of the cigarette to the ground, tries to stamp it out with his feet. Namsoon shrugs his jacket off and starts fanning the secondhand smoke away before whomever it is comes barging in.
Nothing's changed-but at least Heungsoo got a blowjob out of it, which is something. It's in the little victories, really. If Namsoon keeps telling himself that, maybe it'll be true.
fin
A/N: I... DON'T... I GUESS THIS A THING FOR ME NOW HAHAHAHA BYE (watch school 2013 i highly recommend it, it isn't soul destroying at all ^__^v)
i wrote this in a fit of emotion and sleep deprivation induced delirium after i finished ep 11 late last night, so please let me know if there are any dumb errors. the title's from kanye west's runaway, because i am me. this is basically a gift to monica, who gave me the last push on twitter to watch this fucking show, and to maria and mandy who have joined me in this lovely pit of despair, and to the supportive anons who cheerleaded for me when i was feeling inadequate lmao!!! u all are the worst everything is ur fault!!!!! ok goodbye
Pairing: go namsoon/park heungsoo
Rating: nc17
Genre: slice-of-life, pwp
Warnings: swearing, sexual themes
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: ~extended scene~ from the beginning of episode 10. obviously spoilers for it are contained herein! 1,308 words.
Namsoon comes around to the sound of Heungsoo screaming obscenities at a locked door and thinks for a moment that he's been thrown three years into the past, when trouble was something they got into together on a daily basis, and shit like broken legs and transferring schools were never even on the table.
Then the throbbing pain in his knuckles makes itself known; his hipbone grinds against the dusty cement floor, and something that feels like a bruise is blooming on his side, a couple of inches above where last week's gangster lackeys had kicked him in the stomach. Go Namsoon: the world's punching bag.
He cracks an eye open and sits up slowly, wincing. "Why are you making such a fuss?"
There's a scrape from the door and then Heungsoo's staring at him, a strange expression twisting on his face, like he's not sure if he wants to strangle Namsoon for being okay or strangle him for not being dead.
"Did you forget? I have strong bones," Namsoon says, casual as you please. He levers himself onto one of the sturdier-looking chairs, sore knees protesting, and probes his wrist with his right hand.
"Did you get hurt?"
Namsoon raises his eyebrows. "I got hurt," he replies, brandishing his knuckles.
Heungsoo rocks back against the door, face closing off. "It serves you right," he mutters, utter lack of conviction laced through his voice, and Namsoon ducks his head.
"It was scary," he admits.
Heungsoo doesn't so much snort as he exhales in Namsoon's general direction. "You said you had strong bones," he points out.
All these tiny moments of wry, familiar Heungsoo keep peeking out through the layers of calculated stoniness, and Namsoon almost can't bring himself to speak. He fiddles with the cuff of his jacket. "I was scared of you leaving me and going to Seoul to play soccer," he blurts out at last, glaring at a streak of dirt on the ground.
"In the end, I couldn't," Heungsoo reminds him, like salt in the wound. A beat, and then: "Why did you run away?"
Which is, of course, the million-dollar question. "I was scared you would leave me," Namsoon says, schooling his features into something that he hopes resembles normalcy. "I was scared you would say that you would never see a jerk like me again. I only had you back then. If you said something like that back then I had no one to turn to." He swallows. "No one," he repeats, meeting Heungsoo's gaze, like it'll mean something if Namsoon says it over and over again.
Heungsoo finally looks away, mouth a firm slant downward, and slides his back against the cabinet until he's sitting on the floor, legs stretched out. He pulls his squished pack of cigarettes out of his jacket and shakes one out.
"I thought you quit," Namsoon murmurs.
Heungsoo sends him an exasperated look. "Let me see your hand," he says abruptly, beckoning Namsoon closer.
Namsoon stares at him blankly. "What?"
An annoyed noise drops out of Heungsoo's mouth, the one he always used to make when he couldn't figure out a fucking geometry proof, or his sister was being particularly naggy. "When someone finds us here what the fuck do you think they're going to assume when they see you all banged up like this?"
"Right," Namsoon says, breathing out. He shuffles forward and sits down cross-legged, knees smarting, as Heungsoo pulls his feet in.
Heungsoo inspects Namsoon's knuckles with practiced ease, probing each bruised finger with unnecessary force, cigarette still dangling from between his lips. Typical, really: you can fuck a soccer player's leg up beyond repair and still not shake his eye for superficial injury, every shade of cut and scrape under the sun.
He pulls at Namsoon's index finger and nearly pops it out of its socket. "Shit!" Namsoon bites out, shifting his legs and wrinkling his nose, and the corners of Heungsoo's mouth pull up a little despite himself.
Belatedly, he realizes how twisted up they've become in the cramped shed-Namsoon's ankle hooked behind Heungoo's sneaker, his elbow propped on Heungsoo's knee for better access, faces mere inches apart. It's difficult to focus when all he can smell is the goddamn laundry detergent Heungsoo's sister must still use on his school uniform.
Heungsoo's eyes flick up and go a little wide, his lips parting.
"It's nothing serious, you'll be fine," he says, dropping Namsoon's hand and nudging Namsoon's leg with his foot. "So don't say anything to Kang-songsaenim."
"I won't." Namsoon tilts his head to the side, throat going a little dry as Heungsoo digs his lighter out of his pocket and lights the cigarette, blows plumes of smoke into the air. "I thought you quit," he says again, leaning forward, hands braced against the floor.
"I wish I knew how," Heungsoo mumbles around the cigarette.
Namsoon plucks it out of his mouth with his uninjured hand and rolls it between his thumb and index finger. Heungsoo blindly reaches forward to snatch it back, which is how it happens: their mouths collide against each other-and it'd be disingenuous to call it a kiss, because it's more mixing saliva and teeth scraping skin raw than anything else. Namsoon's aching hand comes up to curl in the hem of Heungsoo's blazer, their knees knocking together.
Namsoon's not sure if he bends down on his own or if Heungsoo's fingers slide into his hair to push his head down first-just that one minute they're not-kissing and the next he's got Heungsoo's dick pushing against his tongue, like it was just yesterday that they were fooling around in Heungsoo's old house, warm hands and mouths underneath flimsy blankets.
He nearly gags around Heungsoo's cock as it slides deeper into his mouth, thick and solid, and somewhere in there Heungsoo must've stolen the cigarette from between Namsoon's loose fingers because it's hanging out of his mouth again, the tip of it burning bright orange as he sucks in a shaky breath. Namsoon hums experimentally around Heungsoo's half-hard erection and Heungsoo tries to swallow around the strangled sound that rolls out of his mouth, eyes sliding shut as Namsoon pushes his legs apart, elbows digging into Heungsoo's thighs.
Namsoon flicks his tongue against the underside of Heungsoo's cock and Heungsoo says, "Fuck," all low and rumbly, like the word got tangled up in his chest before it managed to slip past the cigarette. The blowjob's too wet and messy-Namsoon's jaw fucking aches and Heungsoo jerks his hips up too hard-but he keeps on going, takes note of all the little noises that Heungsoo makes when Namsoon hollows his cheeks or pulls back to suck on the tip.
It takes longer for Heungsoo to come than Namsoon remembers. He chokes on the semen that hits the roof of his mouth but swallows it anyway, scrubs his lips with the back of his hand and blinks away the soreness in his knees, the twinge in his side.
He retreats to the chair two steps away and watches Heungsoo pull his pants up again, face flushed pink. "You-" Heungsoo starts, making an aborted gesture at the tent in Namsoon's khakis, and-
And a loud rattling noise comes from the lock on the other side of the shed's peeling wooden door. Heungsoo's expression flattens out into impenetrable apathy again, his eyes shuttering empty. He vaults to his feet and throws the remains of the cigarette to the ground, tries to stamp it out with his feet. Namsoon shrugs his jacket off and starts fanning the secondhand smoke away before whomever it is comes barging in.
Nothing's changed-but at least Heungsoo got a blowjob out of it, which is something. It's in the little victories, really. If Namsoon keeps telling himself that, maybe it'll be true.
fin
A/N: I... DON'T... I GUESS THIS A THING FOR ME NOW HAHAHAHA BYE (watch school 2013 i highly recommend it, it isn't soul destroying at all ^__^v)
i wrote this in a fit of emotion and sleep deprivation induced delirium after i finished ep 11 late last night, so please let me know if there are any dumb errors. the title's from kanye west's runaway, because i am me. this is basically a gift to monica, who gave me the last push on twitter to watch this fucking show, and to maria and mandy who have joined me in this lovely pit of despair, and to the supportive anons who cheerleaded for me when i was feeling inadequate lmao!!! u all are the worst everything is ur fault!!!!! ok goodbye