Alive
Title: Alive
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Luhan/female OC
Summary: His lackluster for things around him could be misinterpreted as bad boy indifference, but in these moments he just wants to feel alive. He's dying. He loves it.
Warning: Mentions of impending death
Notes: sasha-m requested this and she was talking to me about luhan being all james dean-sy with a convertible and the desert and a girl and i wouldn't normally EVER write exo/oc but she's special and i was intrigued at writing about this kind of luhan. always looking to broaden my horizons with character interpretations. um so sasha-m this is probably really nothing like what you were expecting so i apologize profusely if it sucks i'll just go back to worshiping yixing quietly with you orz
sasha-m also told me to listen to this song while writing/imagining this luhan ^^
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There's a mixture of sand and wind rushing through Luhan's hair, particles of dust hitting his sunglasses with muted clacks before bouncing off to join the cloud that's left in the wake of his convertible. The sun is high in the sky and Luhan's white t-shirt is sticking to his skin in places, in need of a good wash after three days of being worn. His jeans are in equal disrepair, torn at the knees, the cuffs of them ripped from getting caught under the heels of his boots. The jacket on his back is too heavy for this weather, but he always has a hard time parting with it.
There's not a care in the ending world as he tips his head to the side, sunglasses slipping to the edge of his nose as he drags his gaze up and down the long legs in the passenger seat. She's a pretty thing, she's a pretty fling; his hand reaches out and his palm touches the top of her bare thigh, feeling the soft flesh beneath his fingertips. She shifts and lifts her leg up into his hand - he can't remember her name, but he'll definitely remember her legs. It'll be a nice last memory.
The dirt in the desert isn't sandy colored, it's red. It's tinting the lower half of his beat up convertible to a rusty color and it's getting caught in the under carriage, too.
His eyes return to the road but his hand slides up her thigh, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her skirt and tugging it upwards just slightly. She lets out a noise and it gets lost in the air that they're cutting through, and it's probably better that way. Her legs shift again and Luhan's fingers slip further up her thigh, skating inwards, his nails catching on the lace of her panties.
The motel isn't far from here, but it's not close enough, all the same. She slides over the bucket seat and presses her chest into his arm, her breasts pushing against the dip of her tank top. It's distracting, Luhan thinks as he glances down to the way her tits bounce with every bump in the road. She's distracting.
Her lips are on his neck, her hair is whipping in the wind and it should maybe sting when it catches him in the cheek but it's soft, just like her legs. His hand moves from her panty-line, his thumb dipping between her legs and she lets out a keen right against the shell of his ear, his breath hitching a bit in response. She's hot, the moisture is seeping through her panties and she's already ruined. She's ruining him.
As Luhan pulls into the parking lot of the motel he removes all bodily contact from her, pushing her not gently - but not meanly - back into the safety of the passenger seat. He unbuckles and forgoes opening the door, just hopping over it instead, his boots creating a cloud as he lands heavily on the ground. His hands move to the lapels of his jacket and he gives the leather material a jerk, adjusting it on his shoulders as he heads off to his room.
The brass 4 on the door looks like it's about to fall off, and he smiles a bit in amusement when he inserts the key into the lock and the number wavers precariously. He hears her foot steps behind him but he's not paying attention to that; instead, as he opens the door to the seedy motel room, he inhales the stale air and examines the used insides. There's empty beer cans on the table, an ashtray with a half-smoked cigarette. He moves over to that table, rolling his neck and picking up the unfinished cig and fishing his lighter out of his pocket for a light. The first drag is nothing special, just the mechanical flotation of smoke filling his lungs. The second drag, as he catches sight of himself in the crooked mirror on the wall, is much more enthralling. He feels his very skin crackle with the puff of the broken cigarette, the filter barely doing its job as he holds the smoke in his lungs for the briefest of moments before letting it unfurl out of his nose.
She's behind him now, her slender arms wrapping around his waist, hands flat against his stomach. Those hands dip lower and Luhan tilts his head back, feeling lazy but feeling needy as well. She understands well enough.
He might not remember her name later, but he'll remember her hands. A lovely parting memory.
They've moved to the bed and she's between his legs, wearing nothing but her panties as her hand breaches the confines of Luhan's jeans. Her fingers wrap around his cock and his head drops back against the mattress, cigarette still between his lips as he pushes his hips up into her hands. She had wanted a bad boy, he knew that. She had taken a shot in the dark with Luhan, and she would eventually learn that she missed.
Dressing this way didn't guarantee a matching personality. Luhan sometimes didn't know why he chose the James Dean look - he had been told by someone that he worked it well, with his bedhead hair and his occasionally sleepy eyes. As it were, too many girls flocked to him looking for a wild time. Booze, drugs, sex - they'd probably get all three, but not to the caliber they were expecting.
This girl is a bit different though; almost as though she appreciates Luhan's wild look and demure personality.
It's obvious in the way she sucks his cock like she's been waiting to do it since the moment they met. Maybe she has been. Luhan's fingers tangle in her hair, fingers pressing close to her scalp, applying enough pressure to keep her going. He takes a deep drag of the cigarette between his lips when she starts bobbing her head, her lips tightening on every upwards suck of his dick, and he doesn't bother removing the cig when he exhales, his hands too preoccupied in trying to keep the sensations on his erection. The cigarette is burning down to the filter and he knows he should put it out, but he's a bit distracted.
He'll catch the world on fire.
She comes off of his cock with a slurp and with a bit too much of a show of letting the saliva escape from her mouth, but Luhan doesn't really pay attention to it as she climbs onto his lap. He sits up, the ash from his cigarette falling onto his shirt as he works his shoulders, shrugging them lazily but determinedly, shucking off his jacket and tossing it to the end of the bed. Her hands push the hem of his t-shirt up to his armpits but that's as far as it goes because she'd much rather be grinding her pelvis against Luhan's. His hands go to her hips and he's guiding her onto him; he's past the point of caring about protection. He's got a life to live.
Life is too short.
His life is too short.
He's sliding into her and she's so slick it's almost a turn off, but the way she moves her hips easily makes up for it. He doesn't fuck her, he doesn't make love to her; he has sex with her and it's really all he can do because she's doing most of the work on top of him anyway. His mouth finds her breasts and he leaves open-mouthed kisses along the curves, his tongue laving and teeth scraping whenever she bounces particularly hard. His legs bend a bit and he scoots up to rest against the headboard, her hands on his shoulders as she gains the leverage to get more of him in and pull more of him out.
His lackluster for things around him could be misinterpreted as bad boy indifference, but in these moments he just wants to feel alive. He's dying. He loves it.
She's moaning and tilting her head back and he kisses her neck, thumbs pressing into her hip bones to help encourage her frantic movements. He's hit with a surge of arousal and adrenaline when her chin dips down and her hair comes cascading over her shoulders; one arm wraps around her body and he starts bucking his hips up to meet her thrusts, his movements sturdy with the support of the headboard against his back and the mattress under his feet.
When she climaxes he climaxes, the tightening of her body around his cock momentarily blinding him. The cigarette is stuck to his dry lips, the cherry smoldering and barely anything acceptable as she falls off of his lap and onto the bed next to him. He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and licks his forefinger and thumb, pinching the ember of the tip and extinguishing it, flicking the cigarette in the general direction of the ashtray.
Glancing down at the girl, he smirks lightly to himself.
She won't remember the name of the James Dean lookalike in the morning.
He won't remember her name because he doesn't think he even knew it in the first place.
Chuckling to himself he stands up and fixes his jeans, not too spent to resist a shower, more like just not feeling up to the task. He grabs his jacket from the bed and the girl is already passed out, still attractive with her face squished to the pillow in slumber. His arms swing and the jacket returns to its home on his shoulders, Luhan picking up an unopened beer from the table as he passes by it. His phone vibrates in his pocket as he opens the door, and he doesn't check it until he's outside in the cool desert night.
There's a sarcastic message on screen, and Luhan smiles to himself, not replying as he slides his phone back into his pocket, heading over to his convertible. He jumps into the driver seat and pops the cap of the beer on the gear shift, taking a drink as he starts the car and puts it in reverse.
He's living the last moments of his life.
He'll go out with a bang.
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Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Luhan/female OC
Summary: His lackluster for things around him could be misinterpreted as bad boy indifference, but in these moments he just wants to feel alive. He's dying. He loves it.
Warning: Mentions of impending death
Notes: sasha-m requested this and she was talking to me about luhan being all james dean-sy with a convertible and the desert and a girl and i wouldn't normally EVER write exo/oc but she's special and i was intrigued at writing about this kind of luhan. always looking to broaden my horizons with character interpretations. um so sasha-m this is probably really nothing like what you were expecting so i apologize profusely if it sucks i'll just go back to worshiping yixing quietly with you orz
sasha-m also told me to listen to this song while writing/imagining this luhan ^^
--
There's a mixture of sand and wind rushing through Luhan's hair, particles of dust hitting his sunglasses with muted clacks before bouncing off to join the cloud that's left in the wake of his convertible. The sun is high in the sky and Luhan's white t-shirt is sticking to his skin in places, in need of a good wash after three days of being worn. His jeans are in equal disrepair, torn at the knees, the cuffs of them ripped from getting caught under the heels of his boots. The jacket on his back is too heavy for this weather, but he always has a hard time parting with it.
There's not a care in the ending world as he tips his head to the side, sunglasses slipping to the edge of his nose as he drags his gaze up and down the long legs in the passenger seat. She's a pretty thing, she's a pretty fling; his hand reaches out and his palm touches the top of her bare thigh, feeling the soft flesh beneath his fingertips. She shifts and lifts her leg up into his hand - he can't remember her name, but he'll definitely remember her legs. It'll be a nice last memory.
The dirt in the desert isn't sandy colored, it's red. It's tinting the lower half of his beat up convertible to a rusty color and it's getting caught in the under carriage, too.
His eyes return to the road but his hand slides up her thigh, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her skirt and tugging it upwards just slightly. She lets out a noise and it gets lost in the air that they're cutting through, and it's probably better that way. Her legs shift again and Luhan's fingers slip further up her thigh, skating inwards, his nails catching on the lace of her panties.
The motel isn't far from here, but it's not close enough, all the same. She slides over the bucket seat and presses her chest into his arm, her breasts pushing against the dip of her tank top. It's distracting, Luhan thinks as he glances down to the way her tits bounce with every bump in the road. She's distracting.
Her lips are on his neck, her hair is whipping in the wind and it should maybe sting when it catches him in the cheek but it's soft, just like her legs. His hand moves from her panty-line, his thumb dipping between her legs and she lets out a keen right against the shell of his ear, his breath hitching a bit in response. She's hot, the moisture is seeping through her panties and she's already ruined. She's ruining him.
As Luhan pulls into the parking lot of the motel he removes all bodily contact from her, pushing her not gently - but not meanly - back into the safety of the passenger seat. He unbuckles and forgoes opening the door, just hopping over it instead, his boots creating a cloud as he lands heavily on the ground. His hands move to the lapels of his jacket and he gives the leather material a jerk, adjusting it on his shoulders as he heads off to his room.
The brass 4 on the door looks like it's about to fall off, and he smiles a bit in amusement when he inserts the key into the lock and the number wavers precariously. He hears her foot steps behind him but he's not paying attention to that; instead, as he opens the door to the seedy motel room, he inhales the stale air and examines the used insides. There's empty beer cans on the table, an ashtray with a half-smoked cigarette. He moves over to that table, rolling his neck and picking up the unfinished cig and fishing his lighter out of his pocket for a light. The first drag is nothing special, just the mechanical flotation of smoke filling his lungs. The second drag, as he catches sight of himself in the crooked mirror on the wall, is much more enthralling. He feels his very skin crackle with the puff of the broken cigarette, the filter barely doing its job as he holds the smoke in his lungs for the briefest of moments before letting it unfurl out of his nose.
She's behind him now, her slender arms wrapping around his waist, hands flat against his stomach. Those hands dip lower and Luhan tilts his head back, feeling lazy but feeling needy as well. She understands well enough.
He might not remember her name later, but he'll remember her hands. A lovely parting memory.
They've moved to the bed and she's between his legs, wearing nothing but her panties as her hand breaches the confines of Luhan's jeans. Her fingers wrap around his cock and his head drops back against the mattress, cigarette still between his lips as he pushes his hips up into her hands. She had wanted a bad boy, he knew that. She had taken a shot in the dark with Luhan, and she would eventually learn that she missed.
Dressing this way didn't guarantee a matching personality. Luhan sometimes didn't know why he chose the James Dean look - he had been told by someone that he worked it well, with his bedhead hair and his occasionally sleepy eyes. As it were, too many girls flocked to him looking for a wild time. Booze, drugs, sex - they'd probably get all three, but not to the caliber they were expecting.
This girl is a bit different though; almost as though she appreciates Luhan's wild look and demure personality.
It's obvious in the way she sucks his cock like she's been waiting to do it since the moment they met. Maybe she has been. Luhan's fingers tangle in her hair, fingers pressing close to her scalp, applying enough pressure to keep her going. He takes a deep drag of the cigarette between his lips when she starts bobbing her head, her lips tightening on every upwards suck of his dick, and he doesn't bother removing the cig when he exhales, his hands too preoccupied in trying to keep the sensations on his erection. The cigarette is burning down to the filter and he knows he should put it out, but he's a bit distracted.
He'll catch the world on fire.
She comes off of his cock with a slurp and with a bit too much of a show of letting the saliva escape from her mouth, but Luhan doesn't really pay attention to it as she climbs onto his lap. He sits up, the ash from his cigarette falling onto his shirt as he works his shoulders, shrugging them lazily but determinedly, shucking off his jacket and tossing it to the end of the bed. Her hands push the hem of his t-shirt up to his armpits but that's as far as it goes because she'd much rather be grinding her pelvis against Luhan's. His hands go to her hips and he's guiding her onto him; he's past the point of caring about protection. He's got a life to live.
Life is too short.
His life is too short.
He's sliding into her and she's so slick it's almost a turn off, but the way she moves her hips easily makes up for it. He doesn't fuck her, he doesn't make love to her; he has sex with her and it's really all he can do because she's doing most of the work on top of him anyway. His mouth finds her breasts and he leaves open-mouthed kisses along the curves, his tongue laving and teeth scraping whenever she bounces particularly hard. His legs bend a bit and he scoots up to rest against the headboard, her hands on his shoulders as she gains the leverage to get more of him in and pull more of him out.
His lackluster for things around him could be misinterpreted as bad boy indifference, but in these moments he just wants to feel alive. He's dying. He loves it.
She's moaning and tilting her head back and he kisses her neck, thumbs pressing into her hip bones to help encourage her frantic movements. He's hit with a surge of arousal and adrenaline when her chin dips down and her hair comes cascading over her shoulders; one arm wraps around her body and he starts bucking his hips up to meet her thrusts, his movements sturdy with the support of the headboard against his back and the mattress under his feet.
When she climaxes he climaxes, the tightening of her body around his cock momentarily blinding him. The cigarette is stuck to his dry lips, the cherry smoldering and barely anything acceptable as she falls off of his lap and onto the bed next to him. He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and licks his forefinger and thumb, pinching the ember of the tip and extinguishing it, flicking the cigarette in the general direction of the ashtray.
Glancing down at the girl, he smirks lightly to himself.
She won't remember the name of the James Dean lookalike in the morning.
He won't remember her name because he doesn't think he even knew it in the first place.
Chuckling to himself he stands up and fixes his jeans, not too spent to resist a shower, more like just not feeling up to the task. He grabs his jacket from the bed and the girl is already passed out, still attractive with her face squished to the pillow in slumber. His arms swing and the jacket returns to its home on his shoulders, Luhan picking up an unopened beer from the table as he passes by it. His phone vibrates in his pocket as he opens the door, and he doesn't check it until he's outside in the cool desert night.
There's a sarcastic message on screen, and Luhan smiles to himself, not replying as he slides his phone back into his pocket, heading over to his convertible. He jumps into the driver seat and pops the cap of the beer on the gear shift, taking a drink as he starts the car and puts it in reverse.
He's living the last moments of his life.
He'll go out with a bang.
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