[oneshot] a friendly kind of fighting
Title: a friendly kind of fighting
Pairing: chanyeol/chen
Rating: nc17
Genre: au, slice-of-life
Warnings: swearing, fisticuffs, sex
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: advent calendar day 4, for herocountry. hs varsity football au. 1,831 words.
It's the muddy cleat to the torso that does it. They're playing the last game of the season before the big tournament, tied 1-1 twenty minutes into the second half. Chanyeol's pelting down the field through the sideways rain and waiting for Minho's overhead pass to land at his feet-except it never happens, because Kim Jongdae from Yongsan International fucking kungfu kicks him in the abdomen instead of intercepting the ball.
Chanyeol goes down like a broken umbrella, legs collapsing beneath him, and any air left in his lungs is forcibly expelled through his mouth. He goes temporarily deaf on one side when his head smashes against the turf, grass tickling his left ear as it clogs up with mud.
"You aren't Nigel De Jong, motherfucker," someone roars (Baekhyun, possibly) as the shrill whistle blows. The rain's starting to beat down even harder. Chanyeol blinks dirty water out of his eyes. Hands reach down to steady him as he rolls over, his chest seizing when he tries to inhale.
Field doctor's prognosis: "Wind's knocked out of him." Longest two minutes of his life waiting for his breath to come back, but it gives Chanyeol enough time to think about exactly what he'd be doing to Jongdae when he was right side up again.
The tense numbness in his diaphragm thaws into a dull ache. Chanyeol waves his teammates off and clampers to his feet, hops on his left foot to clear his ear. The main referee is brandishing a yellow card. Baekhyun's protesting very loudly, filth splattered all down his front-"This is literally what happened at the World Cup, are you blind or something?"-and doesn't notice Chanyeol gesticulating at him until Yongsan's left back moves out of the way.
Baekhyun's gaze snaps to Chanyeol's two seconds before Chanyeol turns, makes a running start, and tackles Jongdae to the ground. Lands a good hit on Jongdae's jaw, but after that it's absolute chaos: slippery hands clawing at the back of his kit, Jongdae's teeth against the inside of his wrist, a knee slammed up into his gut, Chanyeol's elbow digging into Jongdae's bony shoulder-and the rain drenching everything, until his vision's so blurred he can barely see past the wide grin bobbing on Jongdae's face.
Eventually, someone pulls him off. There's a lot more yelling. Chanyeol's entire body feels like a bruise, arms hanging heavy at his side. He's sent off the pitch for instigating a fight while Jongdae gets to keep playing, never mind that he'd landed a flying kick on Chanyeol's chest in the first place. Chanyeol marinates in his kit and glares at the pitch through his dripping bangs, rattles off a torrent of obscenities every time Jongdae swings by the bench and has the gall to smile in his direction.
Yongsan wins. Their striker, Lu Han, nets a goal two minutes before the whistle and puts them ahead. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't really matter. Seoul American's qualified for the tournament already anyway; they're top seed on their side of the river. It's the principle of losing that stings, especially when Jongdae'd been fouling him the entire match and no one paid enough attention to notice. Because he was-what? Too little for the refs to see?
"Sorry," he mumbles to the locker room at large, while they're all waiting to wash up and go home. Minho claps him on the shoulder and squeezes. Baekhyun sends him a sort of pitying look, which Chanyeol both appreciates and bristles at.
"You okay?" Coach asks, as he emerges fresh and pink from his shower. Joonmyun, their team manager, hovers next to him, a concerned expression washing over his face.
"Yeah," Chanyeol grunts, looking down at his chest. There's a neat purple cleat imprint right beneath his left nipple. He shakes the water out of his hair and laughs when Baekhyun steps on his foot. "See you on Saturday."
He shoves his dirty kit in his duffel and dashes to the subway station, backpack thudding against his tailbone with every step. All he really wants to do now is go home and sleep it off.
Mom comes up to wake him at half past seven. "The Kims are here for dinner," she says, tapping him on the forehead. "Get dressed and come down."
Chanyeol tugs a pair of jeans on and drifts into dining room ten minutes later, hands shoved in his pockets. "Hey," Jongdae says from the other end of the table, and slides into the chair next to his.
Chanyeol stares at his plate with interest. Their parents come in from the living room before Jongdae can say anything more, and Mom makes him fetch more cutlery from the kitchen.
The food's good, at least: his dad's vegetable casserole and fried chicken, and pasta salad from the Kims, who also brought cheesecake with them. "How was the soccer match?" Jongdae's father asks at one point, looking back and forth between them over his chicken.
"Fine," Chanyeol says shortly, at the same time Jongdae glances sideways at him and says, "We won."
"Ah," Mom says. She pats Chanyeol's arm. "Better luck next time."
"At the tournament on Saturday," Jongdae supplies, mouth lifting into a smile. "You'll be there, right?"
"Of course," says Dad. Chanyeol takes a huge bite of his casserole to keep from speaking and nearly chokes when he tries to swallow too fast.
He dawdles at the table for as long as he can after everyone's finished eating. Mom finally shoos him away with a gentle push. "You're in my light," she says, hefting a stack of dirty plates in her arms. "Go upstairs, I'm sure Jongdae's waiting for you."
He is, of course. He's sprawled out comfortably across Chanyeol's bed like he's meant to be there, an idle hand flipping through Chanyeol's calculus notes. "You guys are still doing limits?" he asks, grinning up as Chanyeol walks in. "We finished that weeks ago."
"You are such an asshole," Chanyeol says, pushing a hand through his hair. He sits down heavily at the edge of the bed and reaches for the bottle of ointment on the end table.
Jongdae sits up and puts the notebook aside. "I really was aiming for the ball," he says, folding his hands in his lap.
"Uh huh," Chanyeol says. He peels his shirt off and winces at the burning pull of the skin stretched above his ribs. He isn't really that angry anymore; the heat of the moment's long past, and if he looks close enough he can see a bruise blooming beneath Jongdae's chin, too. "And those other tackles?" he asks, trying to keep a stern face on. The corner of his mouth twitches.
Jongdae rolls his eyes. He plucks the ointment out of Chanyeol's hand and pushes him back against the headboard. "Stop whining," he says, untwisting the cap. "It isn't even that bad."
"Easy for you to say."
"You kneed me in the stomach, like, four times, remember?" Jongdae's hand probes roughly at the cleat imprint. Chanyeol recoils and hisses at the sting. "Jesus. Don't be such a baby." He spreads a liberal layer of cream over the outline and wipes the rest on Chanyeol's bedspread. "Anyway," he continues, eyes crinkling into slits. "I'll make it up to you."
He only has time to throw out an unconvinced, "How?" before Jongdae climbs on top of him, fingers working at the button of his jeans. Oh, Chanyeol thinks drily. He should've known. He spreads his legs further to accommodate. Jongdae gets a hand around Chanyeol's dick and pulls it out over the waistband of his boxers, regards it quietly for a second, like he's staring down a goal kick. "This isn't rocket science," he says, and yelps when Jongdae pinches the inside of his thigh hard.
His head knocks back against the wood when Jongdae bends and takes the soft tip of Chanyeol's cock into his mouth. His tongue swirls slowly around the head, hand squeezing the shaft until it hardens beneath his fingers. Jongdae's eyes flick up to meet Chanyeol's, lips curling with amusement-and then they slip a little lower and suck.
"Fuck," Chanyeol mutters, stomach swooping. His knee thumps into the cabinet, the handle right against a sore spot on his knee, and he winces. Jongdae chuckles. Chanyeol feels it in his cock, a steady thrum from tip to base. He groans and slides a hand into Jongdae's hair, hips canting upward into his mouth.
Jongdae starts moving his hand, even strokes along his cock, lips inching further down until his mouth is stretched as far as it can go, a wet smacking noise materializing in the air with every bob of his head. Chanyeol's hand bunches at Jongdae's nape. Jongdae shifts against his sheets and introduces a bit of teeth, scraping lightly along the bottom of his dick, and Chanyeol kicks at his shin.
"Don't do-that shit," he moans, voice rumbling out half an octave deeper than usual.
Jongdae hums, licks at the tender spot, and sinks even lower. Chanyeol's dick hits the back of his throat. Jongdae coughs, two fingers between his lips and the base of Chanyeol's dick now, mouth hot and slick and tensing around the shaft, and then-
"I'm gonna come," Chanyeol gasps, so tense his shoulders ache. He thrusts in as deep as he can. Jongdae chokes again, nose pressed to his abdomen, throat swallowing. Chanyeol's legs clench around Jongdae's head, Jongdae's ears folding down funny as his free hand grapples with one of Chanyeol's hard thighs-and then Jongdae wrenches his head back enough for Chanyeol to come all over his face, jizz streaking against the smooth skin over his cheekbones and dripping off the strong line of his jaw. Fuck, he thinks, heel of one foot skidding against the mattress. He squeezes his eyes shut.
Jongdae squirrels out from beneath Chanyeol's legs. When Chanyeol opens his eyes again, Jongdae's wiping the cum off on the bedspread, mouth curled down into a frown.
"My bad," Chanyeol croaks, beaming widely. Jongdae makes another face, but he does let Chanyeol pull him up and kiss him. Their bodies relax into each other as Chanyeol unwinds from the buzz. His breath evens out slowly, legs burning with a phantom ache, like he's just run a marathon. Jongdae's hands slip underneath his shirt and dig into his ribs. Chanyeol hisses as the cleat imprint flares up again.
There's a mouth trailing along his collarbone when Jongdae's parents call up from the staircase. "We're gonna kick your asses on Saturday," he says leisurely, bounding up and smiling. He tries to fix his hair and only makes it messier.
"You fucking wish," Chanyeol says, stretching out. His leg hits a sticky patch on the bed. Jongdae snorts at the brief scowl that crosses Chanyeol's face. "Try to control yourself and refrain from kicking people in the chest, you punk."
"No promises," Jongdae singsongs, and waltzes out the door.
fin
Pairing: chanyeol/chen
Rating: nc17
Genre: au, slice-of-life
Warnings: swearing, fisticuffs, sex
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: advent calendar day 4, for herocountry. hs varsity football au. 1,831 words.
It's the muddy cleat to the torso that does it. They're playing the last game of the season before the big tournament, tied 1-1 twenty minutes into the second half. Chanyeol's pelting down the field through the sideways rain and waiting for Minho's overhead pass to land at his feet-except it never happens, because Kim Jongdae from Yongsan International fucking kungfu kicks him in the abdomen instead of intercepting the ball.
Chanyeol goes down like a broken umbrella, legs collapsing beneath him, and any air left in his lungs is forcibly expelled through his mouth. He goes temporarily deaf on one side when his head smashes against the turf, grass tickling his left ear as it clogs up with mud.
"You aren't Nigel De Jong, motherfucker," someone roars (Baekhyun, possibly) as the shrill whistle blows. The rain's starting to beat down even harder. Chanyeol blinks dirty water out of his eyes. Hands reach down to steady him as he rolls over, his chest seizing when he tries to inhale.
Field doctor's prognosis: "Wind's knocked out of him." Longest two minutes of his life waiting for his breath to come back, but it gives Chanyeol enough time to think about exactly what he'd be doing to Jongdae when he was right side up again.
The tense numbness in his diaphragm thaws into a dull ache. Chanyeol waves his teammates off and clampers to his feet, hops on his left foot to clear his ear. The main referee is brandishing a yellow card. Baekhyun's protesting very loudly, filth splattered all down his front-"This is literally what happened at the World Cup, are you blind or something?"-and doesn't notice Chanyeol gesticulating at him until Yongsan's left back moves out of the way.
Baekhyun's gaze snaps to Chanyeol's two seconds before Chanyeol turns, makes a running start, and tackles Jongdae to the ground. Lands a good hit on Jongdae's jaw, but after that it's absolute chaos: slippery hands clawing at the back of his kit, Jongdae's teeth against the inside of his wrist, a knee slammed up into his gut, Chanyeol's elbow digging into Jongdae's bony shoulder-and the rain drenching everything, until his vision's so blurred he can barely see past the wide grin bobbing on Jongdae's face.
Eventually, someone pulls him off. There's a lot more yelling. Chanyeol's entire body feels like a bruise, arms hanging heavy at his side. He's sent off the pitch for instigating a fight while Jongdae gets to keep playing, never mind that he'd landed a flying kick on Chanyeol's chest in the first place. Chanyeol marinates in his kit and glares at the pitch through his dripping bangs, rattles off a torrent of obscenities every time Jongdae swings by the bench and has the gall to smile in his direction.
Yongsan wins. Their striker, Lu Han, nets a goal two minutes before the whistle and puts them ahead. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't really matter. Seoul American's qualified for the tournament already anyway; they're top seed on their side of the river. It's the principle of losing that stings, especially when Jongdae'd been fouling him the entire match and no one paid enough attention to notice. Because he was-what? Too little for the refs to see?
"Sorry," he mumbles to the locker room at large, while they're all waiting to wash up and go home. Minho claps him on the shoulder and squeezes. Baekhyun sends him a sort of pitying look, which Chanyeol both appreciates and bristles at.
"You okay?" Coach asks, as he emerges fresh and pink from his shower. Joonmyun, their team manager, hovers next to him, a concerned expression washing over his face.
"Yeah," Chanyeol grunts, looking down at his chest. There's a neat purple cleat imprint right beneath his left nipple. He shakes the water out of his hair and laughs when Baekhyun steps on his foot. "See you on Saturday."
He shoves his dirty kit in his duffel and dashes to the subway station, backpack thudding against his tailbone with every step. All he really wants to do now is go home and sleep it off.
Mom comes up to wake him at half past seven. "The Kims are here for dinner," she says, tapping him on the forehead. "Get dressed and come down."
Chanyeol tugs a pair of jeans on and drifts into dining room ten minutes later, hands shoved in his pockets. "Hey," Jongdae says from the other end of the table, and slides into the chair next to his.
Chanyeol stares at his plate with interest. Their parents come in from the living room before Jongdae can say anything more, and Mom makes him fetch more cutlery from the kitchen.
The food's good, at least: his dad's vegetable casserole and fried chicken, and pasta salad from the Kims, who also brought cheesecake with them. "How was the soccer match?" Jongdae's father asks at one point, looking back and forth between them over his chicken.
"Fine," Chanyeol says shortly, at the same time Jongdae glances sideways at him and says, "We won."
"Ah," Mom says. She pats Chanyeol's arm. "Better luck next time."
"At the tournament on Saturday," Jongdae supplies, mouth lifting into a smile. "You'll be there, right?"
"Of course," says Dad. Chanyeol takes a huge bite of his casserole to keep from speaking and nearly chokes when he tries to swallow too fast.
He dawdles at the table for as long as he can after everyone's finished eating. Mom finally shoos him away with a gentle push. "You're in my light," she says, hefting a stack of dirty plates in her arms. "Go upstairs, I'm sure Jongdae's waiting for you."
He is, of course. He's sprawled out comfortably across Chanyeol's bed like he's meant to be there, an idle hand flipping through Chanyeol's calculus notes. "You guys are still doing limits?" he asks, grinning up as Chanyeol walks in. "We finished that weeks ago."
"You are such an asshole," Chanyeol says, pushing a hand through his hair. He sits down heavily at the edge of the bed and reaches for the bottle of ointment on the end table.
Jongdae sits up and puts the notebook aside. "I really was aiming for the ball," he says, folding his hands in his lap.
"Uh huh," Chanyeol says. He peels his shirt off and winces at the burning pull of the skin stretched above his ribs. He isn't really that angry anymore; the heat of the moment's long past, and if he looks close enough he can see a bruise blooming beneath Jongdae's chin, too. "And those other tackles?" he asks, trying to keep a stern face on. The corner of his mouth twitches.
Jongdae rolls his eyes. He plucks the ointment out of Chanyeol's hand and pushes him back against the headboard. "Stop whining," he says, untwisting the cap. "It isn't even that bad."
"Easy for you to say."
"You kneed me in the stomach, like, four times, remember?" Jongdae's hand probes roughly at the cleat imprint. Chanyeol recoils and hisses at the sting. "Jesus. Don't be such a baby." He spreads a liberal layer of cream over the outline and wipes the rest on Chanyeol's bedspread. "Anyway," he continues, eyes crinkling into slits. "I'll make it up to you."
He only has time to throw out an unconvinced, "How?" before Jongdae climbs on top of him, fingers working at the button of his jeans. Oh, Chanyeol thinks drily. He should've known. He spreads his legs further to accommodate. Jongdae gets a hand around Chanyeol's dick and pulls it out over the waistband of his boxers, regards it quietly for a second, like he's staring down a goal kick. "This isn't rocket science," he says, and yelps when Jongdae pinches the inside of his thigh hard.
His head knocks back against the wood when Jongdae bends and takes the soft tip of Chanyeol's cock into his mouth. His tongue swirls slowly around the head, hand squeezing the shaft until it hardens beneath his fingers. Jongdae's eyes flick up to meet Chanyeol's, lips curling with amusement-and then they slip a little lower and suck.
"Fuck," Chanyeol mutters, stomach swooping. His knee thumps into the cabinet, the handle right against a sore spot on his knee, and he winces. Jongdae chuckles. Chanyeol feels it in his cock, a steady thrum from tip to base. He groans and slides a hand into Jongdae's hair, hips canting upward into his mouth.
Jongdae starts moving his hand, even strokes along his cock, lips inching further down until his mouth is stretched as far as it can go, a wet smacking noise materializing in the air with every bob of his head. Chanyeol's hand bunches at Jongdae's nape. Jongdae shifts against his sheets and introduces a bit of teeth, scraping lightly along the bottom of his dick, and Chanyeol kicks at his shin.
"Don't do-that shit," he moans, voice rumbling out half an octave deeper than usual.
Jongdae hums, licks at the tender spot, and sinks even lower. Chanyeol's dick hits the back of his throat. Jongdae coughs, two fingers between his lips and the base of Chanyeol's dick now, mouth hot and slick and tensing around the shaft, and then-
"I'm gonna come," Chanyeol gasps, so tense his shoulders ache. He thrusts in as deep as he can. Jongdae chokes again, nose pressed to his abdomen, throat swallowing. Chanyeol's legs clench around Jongdae's head, Jongdae's ears folding down funny as his free hand grapples with one of Chanyeol's hard thighs-and then Jongdae wrenches his head back enough for Chanyeol to come all over his face, jizz streaking against the smooth skin over his cheekbones and dripping off the strong line of his jaw. Fuck, he thinks, heel of one foot skidding against the mattress. He squeezes his eyes shut.
Jongdae squirrels out from beneath Chanyeol's legs. When Chanyeol opens his eyes again, Jongdae's wiping the cum off on the bedspread, mouth curled down into a frown.
"My bad," Chanyeol croaks, beaming widely. Jongdae makes another face, but he does let Chanyeol pull him up and kiss him. Their bodies relax into each other as Chanyeol unwinds from the buzz. His breath evens out slowly, legs burning with a phantom ache, like he's just run a marathon. Jongdae's hands slip underneath his shirt and dig into his ribs. Chanyeol hisses as the cleat imprint flares up again.
There's a mouth trailing along his collarbone when Jongdae's parents call up from the staircase. "We're gonna kick your asses on Saturday," he says leisurely, bounding up and smiling. He tries to fix his hair and only makes it messier.
"You fucking wish," Chanyeol says, stretching out. His leg hits a sticky patch on the bed. Jongdae snorts at the brief scowl that crosses Chanyeol's face. "Try to control yourself and refrain from kicking people in the chest, you punk."
"No promises," Jongdae singsongs, and waltzes out the door.
fin