Chanyeol met him in the middle of the end-of-semester rager. As Chanyeol tugged his head free from the collar of his beer-soaked shirt, he looked up to see him, looking at Chanyeol with a blank, stone-faced expression.
It was a look that Chanyeol was wholly unused to seeing on the face of someone viewing him half-naked. He worked on his body, for crying out loud. Sure he wasn’t the hulking mass of a bodybuilder—and nor did he want to be, if he was to be honest—but he knew he was generally pleasant to look at. And even if he wasn’t lean and toned from hours at the gym, it still wouldn’t account for the unamused look on the guy’s face. From the way the guy was eyeing him, he could’ve been half-naked Shrek.
The greater pity, however, was that the guy was generally pleasant to look at too. He was a packed parcel of a person, smaller than Chanyeol—but most guys tended to be—and neat. That was the best word to describe him: in the midst of an alcohol-hazed party, with red solo cups strewn everywhere, the smell of beer and sweaty bodies filling the air, he stood immaculate. Who even wore a button-down to a party?
And next to him—Chanyeol arched an eyebrow, surprised—next to him, with an arm looped carelessly over the shoulders of his wrinkle-free shirt, was Byun Baekhyun himself, known partylord and a personal friend of Chanyeol. Probably the last person Chanyeol would’ve expected at the side of someone so compact.
Baekhyun turned slightly and made eye contact with Chanyeol. His face split wide in a smile and he worked his way over, tugging along the guy. “Park Chanyeol!” he cheered, giving Chanyeol an appreciative once-over—see, that was the expression Chanyeol was used to seeing—and patting him on his stomach. “Man, do you gotta make me feel bad about myself?”
“Someone poured beer all over my shirt,” explained Chanyeol.
“Right, right,” Baekhyun said, a little expressive roll of his eyes and a smirk telling Chanyeol exactly what he thought of that. “Anyway, this is Kyungsoo, dunno if you’ve ever met him…?”
“No, I don’t think I have.” Chanyeol grinned at the guy—Kyungsoo, his mind thought, reveling in the syllables. “Nice to meet you.”
His voice. It was deeper than Chanyeol expected, especially coming from someone so small. And honeyed, warm to listen to. Chanyeol thought, abstractly, that it would sound nice set to music.
“Can I get you a drink?” he said instead, and watched Kyungsoo shake his head once, decisively.
“No thank you,” he said, and wow, this guy really was unreadable.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” continued Chanyeol, making one last attempt at conversation.
“Not really one for parties, this one,” laughed Baekhyun, and Kyungsoo gave him a look that was both exasperated and fond at the same time. Baekhyun shook him, just gently. “Took me forever to drag him here.”
“Well, glad you came,” said Chanyeol generously, and Kyungsoo’s mouth thinned, like he found falseness in that statement. He offered no response, only nodding, and Chanyeol gave up. There were other things in this party, more interesting things, surely, than the guy in front of him, and with a cheerful farewell he sought off to find them.
It was about half an hour when, clad in a borrowed shirt and halfway through an animated conversation with a very pretty girl, he caught a glimpse of someone that he’d really, really never wanted to see again. Ever. Cutting off the conversation abruptly, he flashed a charming smile and said, “Excuse me, I forgot I needed to do something,” and bolted.
It was rapid and ungainly, and he felt no shame, just panic.
This was the Alpha Kappa Phi house, so that meant upstairs would be full of people making out—which was a no go, but ah! There was a balcony, Chanyeol remembered (more truthfully, he remembered making out on that balcony) that was in a fairly secluded part of the house, and he made a beeline for there. When he got there he paused in front of the doors, listening carefully for any telltale sounds of a couple, but there was nothing: only silence.
So he opened the door, and Kyungsoo turned around.
“It’s you,” said Chanyeol, at a complete loss for anything else to say.
“Chan-yeol,” Kyungsoo said, slowly, mouthing out the word. “Right?”
He had a drink now. The red cup was pinched between his fingers delicately—he made it into the elegance of a wine glass, though Chanyeol could see dark liquid in it that was definitely a rum-and-coke—which he knew was Baekhyun’s favorite and could see his influence.
“Mind if I join you out here?” Chanyeol asked. “I’m kinda on the run.”
For the first time, Kyungsoo looked amused, and it was an emotion that softened his face, made it from something bitchy to something approachable. “From what?” he asked.
Chanyeol shut the door and leaned against it, huffing out a little laugh. “Well. Um, don’t judge me for this, but I may have accidentally hooked up with a girl’s boyfriend without knowing that he was dating her.”
“Ah,” said Kyungsoo, blankly.
“But that’s not the worst part. I. May have hooked up with her. A month prior. When she walked in on us, it was awkward, to say the least.”
Kyungsoo stared at him, and then started laughing, quiet. It was charming, to state in understatement. His shoulders shook when he laughed, and his mouth made a fetching heart shape. Vaguely, Chanyeol thought that he should smile more.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a big slut, whatever.” Chanyeol waved a hand. “What are you doing out here?”
“I was trying to get some quiet,” explained Kyungsoo. “It’s…it’s loud and hot in there.” His face pulled slightly and Chanyeol understood—he didn’t seem like the type to do well in those environments.
“Oh, sorry—I can be quiet.” Chanyeol mimed zipping his mouth and then gave Kyungsoo a thumb’s up.
Kyungsoo’s shoulders shook from laughter. “Well first, I don’t believe that for a second—if you’re friends with Baekhyun, you’re probably loud.” He was still smiling when he looked up at Chanyeol, through dark lashes. “And second, it’s fine. I don’t mind talking with you.”
“Oh thank god,” said Chanyeol, feeling like he should be blushing from the bald-faced honesty in Kyungsoo’s voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever been quiet for that long. So, uh, what year are you in?”
“Junior,” said Kyungsoo. “Majoring in architecture. You?”
“I’m a junior too! Which I really should’ve guessed, seeing as you and Baek are pals. How did you guys meet, anyway? You’re probably the quietest person I’ve seen Baek befriend.”
“We were roommates sophomore year,” explained Kyungsoo, “and it was honestly the worst for the first six months, but we liked each other enough to room again this year.”
“Oh,” Chanyeol said, eyes wide, “so you’re the super cute and cool roommate Baekhyun geeks out about.”
Kyungsoo rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “He only likes me because I keep things neat.”
The discussion progressed quickly, to talk about Chanyeol’s music composition major, to talk about the frat hosting the party. It was unsurprising for Chanyeol to learn that Kyungsoo was not a part of frat culture, but it was surprising for him to learn that both his brother and father had been part of this very same frat, and it had been thought that he would follow up until the moment he decided not to rush.
“But they’re not mad about it,” explained Kyungsoo. “Just a little long-suffering.”
“Well I’m glad that you aren’t a frat person,” Chanyeol said. “I don’t hook up with frat people.”
“Is that so?”
“Nah.” Chanyeol laughed, waving it off. “That’s a lie, I hook up with anything that gives me a second look.”
“And how many looks have I been giving you?”
From the mouth of anyone else, it would’ve sounded silly, but in Kyungsoo’s it sounded just right. He was looking at Chanyeol, expectant, and Chanyeol’s body responded before his mouth could, leaning forward just slightly, crowding into Kyungsoo’s careful bubble of personal space. And Kyungsoo let him, even tipped his head up to maintain eye contact with Chanyeol, who deliberately looked down at his lips and back up.
“Are you hitting on me?” asked Chanyeol, amused.
“Looks like you’re doing more work than me,” Kyungsoo responded, which was, which was a total lie. If Kyungsoo wasn’t a walking attraction, Chanyeol had no idea what he was. Chanyeol was just following him like an apostle in the footsteps of a god.
“My place is free tonight.” Chanyeol arched an eyebrow at him, challengingly, but it didn’t phase Kyungsoo, not one whit.
He inclined his head, instead. “Well then,” he said, and licked his lips—Chanyeol couldn’t help but watch the movement of his tongue, mouth going dry. “Shall we?”
Kyungsoo’s mouth was soft, very much so. Chanyeol usually thought of kissing during hookups as something necessary to get to the actual fun stuff, but he couldn’t help but return to Kyungsoo’s mouth, over and over again, feeling his hands clench in his hair. His own hands slid down Kyungsoo’s body, one inching up his shirt, the other grasping his ass firmly. When he brushed his fingers over a nipple, Kyungsoo shuddered, mouth ripping free and head lolling to the side. Chanyeol took the invitation and kissed his way down his neck.
“You are not fucking me against a wall,” Kyungsoo said flatly, when Chanyeol tugged Kyungsoo’s left leg over Chanyeol’s hipbone, so that he could press in closer.
Chanyeol paused, adjusting Kyungsoo’s thigh and stroking his hip bone. “Does that mean I get to fuck you then?”
Kyungsoo’s leg tightened, bringing Chanyeol’s erection in direct contact with his own, and Chanyeol’s breath left his body during that slow, inexorable grind. His eyes, dark and pupil blown, stared directly into Chanyeol’s own, mouth swollen with kisses. “Isn’t that where this night is heading?”
Chanyeol took him to the bed.
He took a second—just a moment—to marvel at how nice the other man looked in his bed—front of his pants strained, shirt rucked up to reveal a slice of his belly, hair mussed. And then he followed, sucking kisses into Kyungsoo’s collarbone. He felt a tugging at the hem of his borrowed shirt, Kyungsoo saying in a low, insistent tone, “Off, off,” in a voice that was almost a moan, and he obliged, tossing it into a corner and silently apologizing to Jongin.
He allowed himself to feel just a hint of smugness at Kyungsoo’s obvious appreciation. “You weren’t that impressed earlier tonight,” he murmured, sucking Kyungsoo’s earlobe into the warmth of his mouth, fingers working away at the tiny buttons on Kyungsoo’s shirt. “What changed your mind?”
“Who said I changed my mind?” shot back Kyungsoo.
“I’ll take that as a ‘I was impressed with your abs from the start, Chanyeol’,” said Chanyeol and kissed Kyungsoo before he could disagree. Kyungsoo sighed, opened to let Chanyeol’s tongue slip in, pulling him closer until they were pressed together down the length of their fronts, Chanyeol’s bare chest against the sliver of Kyungsoo that he managed to unbutton before he was so thoroughly distracted.
“God, you sound so good,” groaned Chanyeol, and that was apparently the right thing to say because Kyungsoo was rolling them over so that he was sitting, perfect ass perched over Chanyeol’s dick, hands fumbling with the zipper of his pants.
“I’d blow you,” said Kyungsoo, and paused so that Chanyeol could consider that devastating image in his mind, before saying, “but I want you in me, now, so let’s do that instead.”
Chanyeol’s hips jerked up, just minutely, and a wicked smile flashed over Kyungsoo’s face. “You’re evil,” he breathed, staring up at Kyungsoo and feeling like he was looking into the bright light of a god.
“Mm,” replied Kyungsoo noncommittally, wrenching Chanyeol’s pants down his hips. Chanyeol lifted his hips helpfully, and decided that Kyungsoo was really wearing too many clothes—his shirt, though half-buttoned, was still on, and his pants still intact, even as Chanyeol lay underneath him in nothing but his boxers.
He voiced those thoughts and Kyungsoo gave him a flat stare. “So do something about it,” he said, a flush dusting the tops of his cheeks fetchingly.
“Yeah okay,” said Chanyeol.
Undressing Kyungsoo was like unwrapping a present. Chanyeol left his shirt on, albeit unbuttoned, and set to work working off his pants, dragging down Kyungsoo’s underwear too to expedite the process, his dick coming out hard and wet at the head. Kyungsoo made the most delicious, cut-off noises when Chanyeol mercilessly sucked hickies into his thighs, kissing the joint where thigh met hip, nipping playfully there to hear Kyungsoo suck breath in like he couldn’t breath fast enough. When he closed his mouth over the crown of Kyungsoo’s dick, gently and with barely any suction, Kyungsoo emitted his first moan of the night, a low, sweet sound, better than anything Chanyeol could’ve imagined.
“Stop teasing,” said Kyungsoo, tugging at Chanyeol’s hair—Chanyeol couldn’t help but moan, low, at the feeling, and Kyungsoo looked at him with an expression that clearly said that he was memorizing that particular kink of Chanyeol’s. It was a heady feeling. “Please tell me you have condoms and lube.”
“Fuck, of course I do,” said Chanyeol, leaning over to grab them from his side table. He tipped the bottle over to spurt some over his fingers, rubbing them to warm it up. “Ah—shit, sorry. Is it ok if I do it?”
“You better,” said Kyungsoo, and he was looking at Chanyeol’s hands instead of his face, with a considering look in his eyes.
“Good,” said Chanyeol, “because that is personally one of my favorite things to do. I’m pretty good at it, if I say so myself.”
“Big words,” Kyungsoo commented, but his legs were already kicking open just a little further, and the only thing hotter than that was the sight of Kyungsoo’s hole, already flexing and pinching like he was imagining a cock in there. Chanyeol wished he could get his mouth on it, but….Later, sometime. Right now, he settled for sliding two fingers down Kyungsoo’s perineum to rub around the rim.
The effect was instantaneous. Kyungsoo inhaled, and then abruptly, relaxed, eyes tipping closed and mouth parting. Encouraged, Chanyeol slipped a finger into him, and Kyungsoo sighed, legs falling open, just a little more.
Chanyeol spent an exorbitant amount of time using two fingers, slipping them in and out, scissoring them and crooking them, all to coax out those fetching little moans. When he pressed them against Kyungsoo’s prostrate and fluttered them, that produced the loudest sound yet, a sharp, higher moan than the rest. Kyungsoo’s eyes opened, sharpening into a glare. “Hurry up,” he said.
“I can’t help it, you sound so good,” said Chanyeol, cutting off Kyungsoo’s response by giving him three fingers, and that too made Kyungsoo groan, lip disappearing momentarily as he bit down on it. He was—he was stretched so taut over Chanyeol’s fingers, his hands clenching into the bedsheets at his side, the sound of lube slicking in the air. Chanyeol remained there for a while, teasing, until Kyungsoo snapped.
Catching Chanyeol off guard, he pushed him and repositioned them so that he was on top, and man, was that a pretty picture for Chanyeol, seeing Kyungsoo with his navy-blue button down slipping off his golden shoulders, dick bumping against his navel as he positioned himself over Chanyeol. Chanyeol arched into the sensation of Kyungsoo rolling a condom onto him, hands brisk and efficient, but so, so, good.
“You’re taking too long,” said Kyungsoo, sounding grumpy even as he worked the head of Chanyeol’s cock into him.
“Impatient,” gasped out Chanyeol as Kyungsoo lowered himself down, watching inch after inch of himself edging into the tight heat of Kyungsoo’s body. When he reached the base, both of them were panting for breath, Kyungsoo’s nails biting little crescents into Chanyeol’s shoulders.
“You okay?” asked Chanyeol, and Kyungsoo gave him a deadpan look before sliding almost off and slamming back down. Both of them choked on moans.
In bed, Chanyeol’s height and muscle mass usually made him, without question, the dominating one. He took pride in his ability to fuck people speechless, as rough or as intense as they wanted, or gentle, with incessant prostrate or g-spot play until they came. Kyungsoo hadn’t seemed to be an exception, with his quiet demureness. He seemed like a good son, someone who wore short-sleeved collared shirts to high school every day, someone who would secretly want to be fucked silly, who would whimper and say, yes, sir, please, sir.
But here Chanyeol was, gasping out moans as Kyungsoo rode him hard and fast, controlling the pace. When Chanyeol attempted to put his hands on Kyungsoo’s lap, regain some control, Kyungsoo twined his fingers in Chanyeol’s hair and pulled—Chanyeol gave a little moan and lapsed.
“You like that?” There was a twitch to Kyungsoo’s mouth, his pace never stopping.
“Yeah,” said Chanyeol, eyes wide.
Kyungsoo did a thing with his hips, something twisty. He arched his back, sighed with his head tilted back like he was getting a fucking massage or something; it was, indisputably, the hottest sight Chanyeol could recall seeing in his short life. Kyungsoo, button-down shirt slack around his elbows like some kinda shawl, with his hair damp with sweat and thick lips parted, making the sweetest noises as the muscles of his thighs stretched and compressed, cock hard and shiny at the head, tapping against his stomach as he rode Chanyeol and leaving a slick patch of precome.
Chanyeol’s hips bucked up, jostling his cock directly into Kyungsoo’s prostrate, and he moaned, cracking open an eye to look down at Chanyeol. “Do you want me to come that badly?” he said.
“Yes,” said Chanyeol, breathily, “c’mon, before me, I want you to, I want—”
Kyungsoo leaned down to kiss him then, firm and lingering. Chanyeol was the desperate one in that kiss, opening his mouth and twining his tongue with Kyungsoo’s, fingers twisted in and wrinkling the formerly crisp fabric of his shirt.
There was a furrow in Kyungsoo’s brow now, as he tried to angle himself so that his prostrate was stimulated with every thrust. Chanyeol wrapped a hand around his cock and Kyungsoo groaned, pressing into it so that he was fucking into a hand and back onto Chanyeol’s cock. Chanyeol could feel the imminent threat of orgasm, his abs tightening and sensation turning sweet and sharp like it always did before an orgasm, so he thumbed the head of Kyungsoo's cock and reveled in the shocked, punched-out noise Kyungsoo made, the way his whole body locked up for a moment, mouth dropping as he panted.
It all ended, rather abruptly, when Chanyeol thrust up one more time, pressing against Kyungsoo's prostrate while stroking his cock, and Kyungsoo came, with a long, satisfied noise, like he’d won. He clenched tight—impossibly tight—around Chanyeol, the feeling of his orgasm incredible. Chanyeol nearly came but screwed his eyes up tight and refused to let himself tip over the edge. He didn’t want the night to be over just yet.
When Kyungsoo had regained his breath, cum splattering down Chanyeol’s abs, he looked down and smiled. Chanyeol stared, breath caught at the sight of that smile, brilliant and mischievous, lighting up Kyungsoo’s face. “Come on, Chanyeol.” It was the first time he’d said Chanyeol’s name since they started making out, and he said it in that rough, fucked-out voice, still a hint of musicality in the way his mouth shaped the syllables. “Don’t leave me hanging.”
Chanyeol’s hips jerked once, twice. He was powerless to do anything but come, arching into Kyungsoo’s heat, Kyungsoo choking on a half-swallowed moan of overstimulation. Kyungsoo rolled off, panting, and they lay next to each other on the bed.
Chanyeol wasn’t really the type for cuddling afterwards, and hookup culture was implicitly so that all of his hookups left of their own volition, given that it wasn’t too late and that they were capable of making the journey back. But holy shit.
That might’ve been the best fuck Chanyeol had ever had. Ever.
Maybe, just maybe, he would make an exception for this complete contradiction of a person, invite him to stay the night, maybe try for morning sex. Kyungsoo didn’t seem like the type to hook up much, maybe he wouldn’t think it a total breach of etiquette—
“I’m heading off now,” said Kyungsoo, with perfect equanimity and no apparent indecisiveness. He buttoned his shirt efficiently, tugging on his underwear and pants with just the slightest grimace. At socks, though, he faltered, finding one balled up in his shoe and the other mysteriously disappeared.
“You’re…leaving?” Chanyeol asked.
Kyungsoo shot him a bemused look. “…Yes? I mean, sorry if you were looking for another round, but I’m a little tired.” A direct, pointed look at Chanyeol’s flaccid penis. “You look tired too.”
Chanyeol didn’t blush, too trained out of body modesty to have that fluster him, but he did tug on his own boxers because this didn’t seem to be a conversation worth having naked. “Well yeah, but it’s not like I’m sending the town after you with pitchforks—you can stay y’know.”
“No, thank you, it’s fine.” Fully dressed apart from one sock, he had reverted back to his chilly persona from earlier in the night—slightly thawed, but still distanced.
“Here,” said Chanyeol, lobbing Kyungsoo’s sock at him from where he’d spotted it next to the bed, a sad little white lump in the shadows. He wasn’t about to try to convince Kyungsoo to stay; he had that much dignity, at least. He lay there lazily as Kyungsoo quietly puttered around his room, collecting his things.
As he reached the door, he turned and gave Chanyeol one last smile. “See you around, Chanyeol.”
Chanyeol raised a hand in farewell, and the door closed behind Kyungsoo in a very Kyungsoo-like fashion: quietly, with barely a snick. Chanyeol lay there for a second, contemplating sleep. Usually after an orgasm he was out like a light, barely able to stay awake long enough bid his hookups adieu, but he found that tonight all his neurons and synapses were firing, thoughts whirring incessantly in his head.
He sighed and pulled himself out of bed to get to his desk. In times like this, there was only one thing he could do: compose.
Unsurprisingly, he didn’t see Kyungsoo throughout winter break. It was likely that the other guy had gone home, as not everybody was a sad loser like Chanyeol and stayed on campus. Luckily for him, Sehun was a sad loser, and that’s how he ended up grabbing coffee with him.
“Wow, that’s actually hilarious,” said Sehun when Chanyeol told him about his hookup. “Like, I don’t think you’re processing how funny this is.”
“It’s not funny at all,” despaired Chanyeol.
“No, really,” said Sehun, who knew way too much about Chanyeol’s sex life and preferences, having been Chanyeol’s fuckbuddy until he went and fell in love with Jongin. “Here you are, Mr. I fuck my partners speechless, being fucked speechless. Who did you say it was?”
Sehun choked on his coffee. “Do Kyungsoo?”
“I never caught his last name, I wouldn’t know.”
Sehun, through coughs, started gesturing wildly in the air and spluttering out words. “Short, dark hair, really intense eyes? Byun Baekhyun’s roommate?”
“Yeah, that Kyungsoo!”
“Oh my god,” said Sehun. “Him? I can’t imagine him having a hookup, especially with you.”
“Is that an insult? I feel like that’s an insult.”
Sehun ignored him, continuing. “And he was your best lay of this year? I never knew he had it in him. Wow.” There was a considering look in his eyes, almost dreamy.
“Hey,” warned Chanyeol, pointing his cake pop at Sehun. “You have a boyfriend.”
Sehun waved a hand at him. “If this Kyungsoo is as good as you say, I wouldn’t keep him for myself.” His smile slanted roguish.
There was an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Chanyeol’s stomach that he couldn’t qualify. It was almost possessive, though possessiveness was the antithesis of all Chanyeol stood for—he, personally, hated it when hookups thought they owned him.
Some of it must’ve transferred onto his face, because Sehun put his hands up and said, “Or not.”
“No—what, nah, if you can convince Kyungsoo to get into a dirty threesome with you and Jongin, be my guest,” said Chanyeol, taking a sip of his coffee to cover his face after the statement. From the look Sehun gave him, he didn’t succeed.
He didn’t expect to see Kyungsoo at all when school resumed. After all, architecture and music majors had very few, if any, overlapping classes. In his mind, he had already privately begun classifying Kyungsoo as the “Amazing One Night Stand” (not to be confused with the “One Amazing Night Stand” that he wanted to buy from Ikea).
It was a Monday, and he was humming on his way to Jongdae’s dorm. There was something about his latest composition that was off—something about the trill of notes, perhaps, or maybe just that it wasn’t punchy enough in the middle of the chorus, and it was driving him nuts. He and Jongdae had lunch plans and he hoped that perhaps the other man could help.
Outside of Jongdae’s dorm, he paused—there was singing. Different singing, not Jongdae’s voice, which he knew as intimately as he knew his own. It was thicker than Jongdae’s, more honeyed, with notes that lingered in the air. He stood there outside the dorm for a solid minute, mind dancing with the possibilities of that voice, before regaining his sanity and knocking.
The singing stopped and Jongdae shouted brightly, “Coming!” Moments later, the door opened. “Ah, Chanyeollie,” he said. “Sorry, sorry, I’ve got a friend over right now, so come on in and hang on a sec, and then we can go grab lunch, ‘kay?”
“Yeah sure, no problem,” said Chanyeol, stamping the snow courteously off his boots before he walked in—and then halted. Staring at him with wide eyes was Kyungsoo himself, sitting on Jongdae’s bed. For a minute all Chanyeol could think of was hookup?!??! Hookup?!?! And then—
“Chanyeol,” said Kyungsoo with a little nod.
“You sing?” blurted out Chanyeol.
Kyungsoo’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. The radiator was on full blast, the dorm almost stiflingly warm, and Kyungsoo was dressed in a long white-sleeved shirt that was rolled up to reveal his lean forearms. He was wearing jeans, long ones, and everything was about him was modest. And surprisingly, that made Chanyeol think more of him naked, because of how much of his skin was hidden, before quashing all of those thoughts.
“I—heard outside,” Chanyeol tried to explain, feebly. “Someone singing. Unless…that was not you?”
“Yeah, it was Kyungsoo,” said Jongdae, looking between them and giving Chanyeol a funny little knowing smile. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”
He didn’t ask how they knew each other, and perhaps their lack of explanation was more telling than any lie, because all it did was made Jongdae’s mouth fight harder against breaking into a grin.
“I thought you were an architecture major,” Chanyeol said.
“I am,” replied Kyungsoo. “What, architecture majors can’t sing?” There was no offense in his voice, more like a subtle humor, and he shook his head. “I love singing, but it’s just for fun.”
“Just for fun?” Jongdae seemed to take that with offense, clutching dramatically at his heart. “Just for fun, he says, while in possession of such golden pipes.” Jongdae had the most golden pipes Chanyeol had ever heard, so he looked at Kyungsoo with renewed interest.
For the first time, Chanyeol saw Kyungsoo embarrassed. He ducked his head, private, almost bashful, lips pressing together. But he didn’t contradict Jongdae, probably aware that such an action would just encourage more flattery. “Don’t you two have lunch plans?” he asked instead. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“No,” said Chanyeol, and Kyungsoo looked up when Chanyeol spoke, tipping his head just slightly to one side. “I mean, yes, we do, but you’re not intruding. In fact…have lunch with us?”
Kyungsoo hesitated. “Really, it’s fine, I have my own lunch…”
“If you have your own lunch plans, that’s fine, but I would really, really appreciate it if you came,” said Chanyeol firmly. “If you can sing, you’re perfect—” Kyungsoo’s eyes widened at that and Chanyeol said hurriedly, “—for my projects. I’m working on some tracks, you see, and I need singers. Jongdae’s helping me out, but I want diversity, you know?”
“And I don’t want to tire out my voice too much,” said Jongdae. “Come, relieve me of the Chanyeol burden.”
“I’m not a burden,” objected Chanyeol.
Jongdae beamed up at him. “The worst.”
Kyungsoo looked at them and visibly gave in. “All right,” he said.
Over hamburgers and french fries—the life of a college student, unfortunately, was not a five-star restaurant one—Chanyeol explained the meaning of his work, focusing on Kyungsoo’s listening, nodding face.
Jongdae too listened, supplementing his own input wherever he found it relevant. He knew much about Chanyeol’s work, having been there in sophomore year when Chanyeol had a messy breakdown about his life, helped piece Chanyeol back together afterwards, and knew that his work was part of his healing path.
Chanyeol didn’t like thinking about that time of his life, but was grateful that Jongdae, with his cool fingers stroking down the side of Chanyeol’s temple, his soothing voice and patience, were as much of a part of that time as the black despair and depression was.
“That sounds interesting,” said Kyungsoo when Chanyeol was finished. “Is this for a class?”
“No,” said Chanyeol. “It’s just, y’know, for fun. There’s a studio down the way that rents out space for composition majors, granted that you pencil in time.”
“Yeah, Chanyeol and I were going to head there after lunch,” chimed in Jongdae. “You should come, show Chanyeol what you’ve got.”
“I’m no vocal major like you,” objected Kyungsoo, eyes widening. “I’m sure Chanyeol has many other people who actually study vocal theory and want to sing on his tracks.”
“Well, you know that I like your voice,” said Chanyeol. He meant it with every innocent intention, but Kyungsoo looked at him with momentary shock that made him realize the double entendre of his words. It made him want to shrivel up in embarrassment but he plowed on, determined to make better of a trainwreck. “I think it’d sound nice on a track. Come back with us, try out the studio.”
“All right,” said Kyungsoo doubtfully. “So, how do you and Jongdae know each other?”
Jongdae and Chanyeol looked at each other. Chanyeol could already feel the evil smile spreading across his face and Jongdae narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t you dare,” he said, a warning in his vice.
“Have you heard of Chen and Xiumin, Kyungsoo?”
As Kyungsoo said that he had not, Jongdae buried his face in his hands and called Chanyeol a dick. “Well,” said Chanyeol, leaning forward gleefully, “let me tell you about the infamous high school duet team.”
See, Jongdae, Chanyeol, and Minseok all came from the same high school, but knew each other because Jongdae and Minseok were infamous in that high school—they were known as that one musical duet that performed in every assembly wearing masks. Nobody knew who they were, but knew that they were Asian—and therefore, the names Chen and Xiumin somehow sprung up. In hindsight, it was a very weird name to happen, as they were Korean and those names were not, but they stuck.
“It seemed like a cool idea at the time,” said Jongdae, face muffled in his hands. “And I had a crush on Minseok, he was such a cool hyung.”
“Yes, yes, you two are disgustingly in love.” Chanyeol laughed. “See what I had to deal with in high school?”
Because what nobody talked about was how Jongdae and Minseok were Chanyeol’s only friends through the fucked up nightmare that was high school—how he, pimply-faced and shy, helped them sign up for that first assembly and watched them fall in love with a wistful wish for his own future. When he looked up, Kyungsoo was staring at him with a strange look in his eyes.
“Whatever,” said Jongdae, rolling his eyes. “S’not our fault that you stuck with us in college like a leech.”
Chanyeol leaned over and grappled him into a hug, rubbing his face obnoxiously in Jongdae’s hair. “Best leech you’ll ever know, babe.”
After lunch, they headed over to the studio. Chanyeol punched in the code, flashed his ID at the security guard, who nodded at him—they both knew each other, from how often Chanyeol was here.
Kyungsoo stood awkwardly in the middle of the room until Chanyeol waved him to go sit down on the squashy chair to the side of the equipment. Digging in his backpack, he found the tattered notebook that lived permanently on his person at all times, and flipped it open to a dog-eared page. “Here,” he said. “You can read along as I play the demo. And uh, don’t judge me because I can’t sing.”
“You can, too,” objected Jongdae, but quieted when Chanyeol pressed play.
It wasn’t often that Chanyeol got embarrassed, but he couldn’t help but tense when his own vocals started over the simple track he’d created. It wasn’t even one of his more emotional tracks, this one the typical ode to love lost and longed for, but it still sent a prickle of nerves spiking over his spine. His voice wasn’t the best, he knew, with limited range and a faltering quality at times, and he peeked at Kyungsoo to see his reaction. But Kyungsoo was squinting at the lyrics, mouthing them to himself, and tapping his foot along to the beat.
The song faded out. Jongdae started clapping and Chanyeol spared him a grin. But all of his attention was on Kyungsoo, who was closing the book and smoothing its worn cover, before looking up at Chanyeol.
“I like it,” he said, grave. “You—you’re very talented.”
“Does that mean you’ll sing for me?” asked Chanyeol.
Kyungsoo’s fingers traced patterns on Chanyeol’s lyric book and pursed his lips. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll sing for you.” And then, a little, self-deprecating smile. “Just don’t get your hopes up.”
Jongdae volunteered to help Kyungsoo get set up for the booth, as he himself had been in the recording studio more times than he could count. Meanwhile Chanyeol sat in the studio and flipped switches, preparing for the recording.
He could see them through the glass: Kyungsoo and Jongdae, the latter demonstrating how far away to sing from the microphone, while Kyungsoo watched and nodded. He jumped when Chanyeol pressed a button and said, “Everything okay in there?”
“Yes!” said Jongdae, who was used to Chanyeol’s disembodied voice.
“Kyungsoo, you good?”
Kyungsoo gave a thumbs up. The headphones were already on his head and looked borderline ridiculous—they were slightly too big and made him look even younger. “Yeah. This is a test run, right?”
Chanyeol couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, Kyungsoo. If you like doing this, we can work out rerecords later. I’m going to start the music, ‘kay? In three, two, one…”
Chanyeol pressed play. Besides him, Jongdae slipped quietly into the studio and sat on the couch to listen as Kyungsoo took a deep breath and began to sing.
Something about the quality of Kyungsoo’s voice made Chanyeol want to sit back in his chair and close his eyes, sink into the way his mouth formed words and live in that golden place. Instead he sat there, enraptured by the sound and sight of Kyungsoo in the recording studio, brow furrowed as he focused on the music.
If this was the music Kyungsoo could make with his mouth, Chanyeol had no idea why he was an architecture major. He had a wonderful voice—perhaps not with the same level of perfect technique as Jongdae’s, and with less of a vocal range, but with so much soul.
The spell was broken when Kyungsoo stumbled over a word and looked up, sheepish, into the mirror. “Sorry,” he said. “Can I do that one over?”
“Sure,” said Chanyeol through the intercom, striving to sound as natural as possible and pressing repeat, before whirling around to look at Jongdae. “Wow.”
“Isn’t he great?” asked Jongdae, before his smile took on a more wicked turn that Chanyeol was, unfortunately, all too familiar with. “Not that you don’t already know that. You two are awfully familiar.”
Chanyeol scrubbed a hand over his face, his fingers catching over a patch of stubble that he’d missed shaving. “Yeah. We hooked up before winter break, yep, and now I’m really regretting it because he has the voice of an angel and I need it for my tracks, ‘Dae. Help.”
At that, Jongdae frowned, his mirth fading away. “What? Why can’t you have it for your tracks? Chanyeol, he’s literally singing in your studio right now.”
“I don’t know!” Chanyeol waved his hands around in the air. “I mean, do you think it’s weird? Asking the best hookup of your life to sing on your track?”
“Best hookup of your life?” At that, Jongdae’s eyebrows shot way up. “Wow. Kyungsoo, really?” He looked back at Kyungsoo and then at Chanyeol. “If I’d known you guys would’ve had such a connection, I’d’ve introduced you sooner. But you guys are just such opposites, I didn’t even think…Best hookup, really?”
Chanyeol gave a helpless shrug.
Jongdae rolled his eyes. “Whatever, I’m not here for this sexual tension shit, I’ve got to go pick up m’boyfriend from his lecture. Catch you later, ‘Yeol.” He ruffled Chanyeol’s hair, waved good-bye to Kyungsoo, and went out of the room. The singing stuttered and stopped.
“Where’d he go?” asked Kyungsoo, staring at the door.
“He went to go pick up Minseok and hang out with him,” said Chanyeol, and then faltered. “Sorry, were you only comfortable when he was here? You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”
Kyungsoo squinted at the window and said, “Hang on, this isn’t a conversation that should be had through a window.”
He probably didn’t intend it to scare Chanyeol, but fuck, it did.
Kyungsoo pulled the headphones off and neatly slid them back onto their hook before disappearing through the exit door. Moments later, he was coming in through the side door of the studio, and Chanyeol, sweating a little, watched him as he crossed the room to sit on the edge of the couch.
“Look,” said Kyungsoo, after a few moments of thinking through his thoughts. “I really like your work, and I’d like to help you. But I don’t think we should ignore what happened before winter break.”
Chanyeol nodded vigorously. “Communication!”
“We barely know each other,” said Kyungsoo.
“We can fix that…through communication.”
The side of Kyungsoo’s mouth twitched up, just slightly. He folded his hands, leaning forward, looking for all the world like he was on the verge of making some great business deal But all that came out of his mouth was: “What do you want from this, Chanyeol? Just a working partnership? Or did you want to keep hooking up? I don’t want to go into this blindly thinking it’s something it’s not.”
Chanyeol had to fight to keep from blushing. Kyungsoo was weirdly straightforward in a way Chanyeol wasn’t used to, and it forced him to think about things he hadn’t even begun considering. Yeah, Kyungsoo was still hot in that nerdy, unflappable way, and he’d thought that maybe somewhere along the road they would’ve hooked up again. He’d been prepared to just go with the flow, not confront the future right now.
“I want your voice,” he said, honestly. “I think it’s amazing—I think you’re amazing. What will make you most comfortable? I’d like to be friends, if possible, but if you don’t want to, this can be purely professional. And as for hookups, well.” He shrugged. “You know how I feel about hookups.”
Kyungsoo looked at him for a moment. “I’ve never thought of myself as a friends-with-benefits type of person.”
“What about just friends?” asked Chanyeol, spreading his arms out wide and spinning around in his chair. “I mean, you’re friends with two people that I adore, Baek and ‘Dae, so I think we could probably get along.”
He knew they could get along. He knew what it was like for them to more than get along with each other.
“That’s quite an extrapolation,” Kyungsoo said. His words were solemn and devoid of any joke, but he was smiling when he met Chanyeol’s eyes. “But yes, I’d like to be friends.”
By the time Kyungsoo left, claiming class, Chanyeol had one new contact in his phone.
Falling into friendship has always been a weird occurrence for Chanyeol. He was a friendly guy, and since coming to college and—to put it as Jongdae says, glowing up—he had accumulated a handful of very close, good friends, and many good acquaintances.
But it always took him by surprise, that first step to friendship. How easy it was to fall in step with the person next to you, the rush of finding ground in common. He was doing it backwards, he knew, becoming friends after hooking up, but it seemed fitting that his friendship with Kyungsoo, an unorthodox person, would be itself unorthodox.
As a thank you for singing, Chanyeol brought coffee to Kyungsoo the next morning, which fell into a discussion about the new art museum that just opened on campus. And then that turned into a plan to go visit the art museum with Kyungsoo’s art friend a few days later—someone by the name of Yixing Zhang, except Yixing cancelled at the last minute so it was just Kyungsoo and Chanyeol, wandering around the museum. A case of the blind leading the blind.
Then, of course, they were hungry afterwards, so they ended up eating dinner together, and while eating, Kyungsoo mentioned that there was a movie coming out—some war drama—that he was interested in watching, and Chanyeol latched on to that, offering to take him out to the movie if Kyungsoo would sing again.
And Kyungsoo agreed.
So Chanyeol tested the waters further. Kept inviting Kyungsoo out for lunches, brunches, coffee dates, all under the guise of paying him back for the free labor that he was getting via Kyungsoo’s singing.
And Kyungsoo kept agreeing.
Really, Chanyeol was starting to get worried that he was buying friendship here.
But then Kyungsoo didn’t just keep agreeing—he started reciprocating. When Chanyeol woke up to find a text on his phone from Kyungsoo reading, “Free after your 3 pm class? We can grab dinner,” he may or may not have done a little victory dance.
That was friendship, right? That was officially the mark of the beginning of their friendship, even if that auspicious, momentous date was only remarkable to him.
Perhaps he put in a little more effort when he went to his dinner date with Kyungsoo. As in, instead of rolling up in his pajamas, he actually put in a non-stained hoodie and some dark-washed jeans. Kyungsoo was already there when he arrived, unsurprising, a menu in his hands and eyes intent as he read through the choices. He was the type of guy who was unabashed in interrogating the waiters on particular properties of dishes and said it was because he grew up learning how to cook and knew when chefs cut corners. Chanyeol called him picky.
Like always, Kyungsoo was dressed like he was going to meet the mother of his boyfriend, not Chanyeol. Another one of his button downs, a casual green and blue plaid that looked soft and huggable. He wore his thick-framed glasses; his eyes must’ve reacted badly to his contacts, Chanyeol figured. Pathetically, he loved that he knew that tidbit, that trivial fact, about Kyungsoo.
When Chanyeol scraped the chair across from Kyungsoo out to sit on it, Kyungsoo’s eyes flicked up from the menu and crinkled as he smiled. His smiles had become more frequent and had an unerring tendency to carry a certain warmth in them that stabbed straight through Chanyeol’s tender heart. “Hey,” he said, folding the menu partly to view Chanyeol better. “I thought I was going to starve, waiting for you.”
“I’m only like…two minutes late,” complained Chanyeol, flopping down. “And besides, you’ve been to this place like…a billion times. I don’t even know why you need the menu. I need the menu.”
“You should get the chicken salad,” Kyungsoo said. “I think you’d like it.”
The waiter came. Kyungsoo failed to hide a smile when Chanyeol ended up ordering the chicken salad.
Over lunch, Chanyeol regaled Kyungsoo stories of the horrible neighbor encounter he had last night that culminated in both of them shouting at each other in their boxers. “He kept saying that I was stealing their garbage, and I kept telling him I didn’t, but it turned out it was Mr. Recycles Everything down the hall.”
“What do you have against the environment, Chanyeol?” asked Kyungsoo solemnly and Chanyeol threw a napkin at him.
Dinner passed by quickly. The chicken salad was delicious, like Kyungsoo had promised, and conversation light—Kyungsoo made Chanyeol laugh an innumerable amount of times, and Chanyeol got Kyungsoo smile with a frequency that pleased him. And afterwards, when Chanyeol suggested that they watch a movie, it was Kyungsoo that looked up at him, bit his lip, and said, “Your place?”
For a moment, Chanyeol’s breath halted in his chest. For a moment, he thought perhaps that there was something in the liquid dark of Kyungsoo’s eyes, and then he reminded himself: Kyungsoo was anti-FWB. Kyungsoo didn’t want to hook up with him. Kyungsoo was his friend, and he was okay with that.
So he took Kyungsoo home.
“What do you want to watch?” asked Chanyeol.
“Whatever,” said Kyungsoo. He was too busy looking around Chanyeol’s dorm room, which made Chanyeol sweat because his room was messy, okay. When he was looking the other way, Chanyeol kicked a pair of underwear underneath his desk. He glanced back at Chanyeol, saw he was watching, and said with a hint of a shrug, “I didn’t get a chance to look around before. You know.”
The tips of Chanyeol’s ears glowed hot. He didn’t need a reminder of the sweet noises Kyungsoo was capable of making, not if he didn’t want Kyungsoo to be visibly aware of his ongoing attraction to him.
Thankfully, Kyungsoo didn’t seem to notice. When Chanyeol booted up the movie—some new zombie movie that was pretty highly rated and had that Korean actor that was like, old-guy hot (or maybe just hot, Chanyeol was biased)—Kyungsoo tore himself easily away from where he was reading the titles of the books on Chanyeol’s shelf.
They silently maneuvered themselves to fit on Chanyeol’s bed and watched the movie in relative quietude. After that movie came the new romantic drama, automatically playing on Netflix, and beyond that, Chanyeol didn’t know.
He woke up when someone was gently shaking his shoulder. “Chanyeol,” that person was saying in a low voice, “Chanyeol, wake up.”
Chanyeol forced his eyes open, blinking blearily. His lamp was on, the yellow glow barely reaching the edges of his bed. Kyungsoo was half-blocking it, his face a mere silhouette and impossible to see. “What time is it?”
“Midnight,” said Kyungsoo, and he sounded amused. “You fell asleep.”
“I can tell,” said Chanyeol, blinking a little more. They were curled very close together, the laptop between them and black. “Did you fall asleep too?”
“No,” Kyungsoo said.
Chanyeol searched for something else to say. Sorry that he fell asleep? That Kyungsoo wasn’t boring, far from it, he was just a tired college student? But Kyungsoo shifted so that the light fell across a little more of his face, and he looked—thoughtful. Maybe it was because of how tired Chanyeol was, but he could’ve sworn Kyungsoo looked considering.
Suddenly, he was overly aware of the distance between them: fleeting, insignificant. Kyungsoo’s body radiated heat from where it lay barely half a foot away, his soft breathing a sound in the air that Chanyeol’s ears fixated on. Chanyeol couldn’t help but think back to the last time he had Kyungsoo in his bed.
He laughed, shakily. “Kyungsoo,” he said.
Kyungsoo leaned down and kissed him.
This time, they didn’t have the recklessness of alcohol to blame. Instead, Chanyeol blamed Kyungsoo—blamed the softness of his eyes, the curve of his heart-shaped mouth; he wasn’t drunk on anything but Kyungsoo, and the way he sighed a little dirtily into the kiss hazed up Chanyeol’s mind more than any shot of vodka could.
He’d missed this. He hadn’t realized it—couldn’t realize it in the two or so months that had passed between their last hookup and this one. Their last hookup had a vaguely blurry quality to it, one greyed by time and distance, but that first kiss brought it all rushing back. How soft Kyungsoo’s mouth was. How he liked to press his fingers to the base of Chanyeol’s jaw, brushing above his pressure points and sending sparks of sensation rushing through Chanyeol.
“I swear,” murmured Chanyeol, pressing kisses down the fine arch of Kyungsoo’s neck, “I didn’t intend for this to happen when I invited you over.”
“That makes one of us,” said Kyungsoo, and before Chanyeol could pull back and say what, Kyungsoo did a thing where his fingers simultaneously scraped gently at Chanyeol’s scalp and yanked tight at his hair, and it distracted Chanyeol to the matter of his cock, pressing against the constraining denim of his jeans.
Kyungsoo, when he checked, was similarly affected. And from thereon, things became inevitable.
Chanyeol woke up when Kyungsoo tried to get out of the bed. It wasn’t because he was a particularly light sleeper, but because sometime during the night they had ended up tangled up together. Chanyeol’s arm was thrown around Kyungsoo, latching on tight and dragging him closer, and Kyungsoo was valiantly trying to struggle free without waking up Chanyeol. When he saw he’d failed, he winced.
“Sorry,” he said. “I needed to go to the bathroom.”
Chanyeol blinked at him, non-comprehending. “What?” he mumbled through a mouth that felt too slow for his sluggish thoughts.
Kyungsoo looked down at the arm constraining him.
Realization dawned. Chanyeol jerked away so fast that his hand nearly hit himself in the face. “Oh—oh, shit, sorry. My bad.”
Kyungsoo rose to his feet and shot him a commiserating smile, saying, “It’s fine. Really,” before he went to the bathroom.
The door closed behind him. Chanyeol lay there in bed and thought.
His entire body felt like a muscle that had been pulled. They hadn’t had just one round last night, they’d had multiple—filthy sex, him losing himself in the tight heat of Kyungsoo’s body and Kyungsoo whispering, “Come on, Chanyeol, come.” He’d tongued Kyungsoo’s nipples until they were peaked and stiff, red from abuse, the other man making noises that were almost whines whenever he brushed over the sensitized nubs. He'd outright came when Chanyeol had punctuated a thrust to his prostrate with vicious tugging of his nipples, cock spurting untouched, face screwed up like he was in pain.
God, it had been good.
And by the end of the night, it was four in the morning and they had just passed out, side by side, forearms touching. And woken up with Chanyeol curled around Kyungsoo like a leech.
What was to happen now? Kyungsoo came out of the bathroom and Chanyeol took his turn in the bathroom mutedly, splashing water over his face and brushing his teeth. Was Kyungsoo going to leave and never come back? Was Chanyeol’s track forever doomed? He couldn’t imagine another person singing it, not when Kyungsoo had already seared the lyrics with his golden voice into Chanyeol’s brain.
When he came out, he expected Kyungsoo to be fully dressed and ready to rush out the door. Instead he found Kyungsoo, sprawled out on the white sheets with his tanned skin on full display, looking at Chanyeol with a pretty flush on his cheeks, biting his lip.
“Well?” he said.
His legs were splayed enticingly, his nipples bruised. There was a distinctive hickey on his neck that Chanyeol knew fit the shape of his mouth. Chanyeol took two steps, and then fell atop of him, mouth seeking Kyungsoo’s out and feeling Kyungsoo smile beneath him before arching into a moan.
A week after his thing with Kyungsoo started—or, to put it more accurately, resumed—Chanyeol went to the afternoon class he shared with Baekhyun. They sat together, as was custom, and greeted each other. But Baekhyun was practically vibrating in his seat with some sort of energy, and when Chanyeol cocked an eyebrow at him, his face split into an evil grin.
“I just have something to give back to you,” he said, and handed Chanyeol, with some smugness, a pair of headphones. “Kyungsoo’s request. He just mysteriously happened to find it in a hoodie that he was wearing that day, which...I think looked an awful lot like a hoodie I saw you wearing before.”
Chanyeol flushed deep red. He'd lent Kyungsoo a hoodie the night before, in part because it was cold and in part because Kyungsoo was fucking adorable wearing his clothing. Before he could say anything, the professor walked in and the lecture began. It was something definitely important, about new technology in music, but Chanyeol could hardly pay attention, too distracted by Baekhyun smirking at him. He had to endure a whole ninety minutes of it.
It was funny, he mused. He wasn’t particularly embarrassed about hookups—in fact, he’d always been rather proud of them. But this caught him somewhat off guard, put him on the defensive side, and very quickly he realized that it was because he hadn’t expected Kyungsoo to be the blasé one out of the both of them. He’d been keeping it a secret because he thought maybe Kyungsoo wanted it to be a secret.
The minute the lecture ended, Chanyeol turned to Baekhyun, who forestalled him with a lifted hand. “Let’s get coffee,” he said, and Chanyeol was helpless to do anything other than agree.
Over cups of black coffee—Chanyeol actually hated black coffee but heck if he was going to order anything but black coffee in front of Baekhyun—Chanyeol found himself interrogated.
“What are your intentions to my Kyungsoo?” asked Baekhyun, eyes narrowed.”They better be pure.”
Chanyeol choked on his coffee.
“Yeah, I didn’t think they were.” Baekhyun cracked a smile. “Relax, you two are both adults and I'm not here to give you the shovel talk, I'm here because I'm nosy and this is fresh gossip about two of my favorite people in the world. Anyway, are you planning on dating him, or is this a friends with benefits sort of thing?”
“God, I don’t know,” said Chanyeol. “I mean, he doesn’t want it to be a friends with benefits arrangement, but it kinda is? Also, 90% of the time, I’m not even positive he likes me?” He gazed mournfully at his crotch. “Maybe he’s just using me for my body.”
“First of all, that was disgusting, please never look at your dick like that again, you’re not that hot,” Baekhyun said. “Second of all, Kyungsoo doesn’t hang out with anyone he doesn’t want to. I told him it’s going to be terrible for his future networking but you know how he is, he just looked at me with his most soulless gaze and went back to his work. He’s great like that.”
“So what you’re saying is I shouldn’t be worried,” said Chanyeol.
Baekhyun put up his hands. “I never said that.” When Chanyeol glowered at him he shrugged, unfazed. “Your glare is nothing compared to ‘Soo’s. Third of all, telling me that he doesn’t want to be friends with benefits is avoiding the question, Chanyeol, and you know it. What do you want to be to him?”
“Fuck if I know,” said Chanyeol dramatically. “I guess I’m just doing whatever he wants to be doing, especially if he wants to be doing me.” Baekhyun pulled a face and Chanyeol laughed before sobering up. “But seriously, Baek, the sex is so good. I’m a little afraid he’s ruined me for all other sex.”
“Well,” said Baekhyun, “Have you slept with anyone else?”
He tried. Chanyeol went to a party, got super drunk, and hooked up with the pretty girl named Irene from his Music Theory class that laughed at his jokes. They made out for a while, her lipsticked mouth tasting like the orange Tic-Tac she’d offered him earlier, and the pleased little sounds she made when he placed his hands on her ass went straight to his dick. They made it all the way to her place, him kissing down the slope of her sternum and all the way to the edge of her shorts, before she reached for his pants and stopped.
“Er,” she said. “Are you okay?”
He was fine, and he was about to ask her why until he realized: he wasn’t hard.
He also wasn’t very turned on, either. It was horrifying.
“Um,” he replied, articulately.
Irene looked at him shrewdly. He wasn’t lying when he said she was pretty: she had long dark hair that spilled over her slim shoulders, a pert nose and full mouth.
“Look,” she said, tugging her shirt back on. “Changed your mind?”
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. It was probably one of the most mortifying moments of his life. “Oh man, Irene, I’m so sorry, I just am not feeling it anymore. You’re fucking gorgeous, I swear, it’s just—I am so distracted.”
“Okay,” said Irene, who was evidently the most wonderful, understanding person to ever grace the face of the planet. “How about this—Let me go touch up my makeup, and we can go grab burgers or something, because I’m pretty hungry, and you can treat me to make yourself feel better, and we can talk about…whatever it is that’s bothering you.”
“Irene,” Chanyeol said, with feeling, “I will buy you a hundred burgers.”
“No, please don’t, that's too many burgers,” she said on her way to the bathroom.
He ended up buying her one burger and a side of fries from the place that he and Kyungsoo frequented. It should’ve been awkward, the failed hookup, but she was being remarkably chill about it and he followed her lead. “So,” she said. “Another person?”
“How’d you guess?” asked Chanyeol, leaning back. “And yeah, a dude.”
“Ahh.” She tilted her head. “I mean, that does make me feel marginally better about this hookup. Do you want to talk about it? I know a thing or two about unrequited affection—Seulgi from our class is so, so hot and so out of my league.”
Chanyeol gave her a very visibly skeptical look. “Irene, you’re out of everyone’s league.” He grinned when she blushed at that truth. “And…you may know him? Kyungsoo?”
Irene choked on a bite of her burger, coughing, and Chanyeol handed her his lemonade, which she gulped down. “Do Kyungsoo?” she asked. “Really? I mean, he’s nice, and very good looking, so I don’t blame you. But I had no idea you knew him. I mean, I only know him because my roommate Wendy did a duet with him. Which was also the first time I found out that he could sing.”
“Man, can he sing,” said Chanyeol, promptly losing focus of the conversation.
Irene snapped her fingers in front of his face. “So, are you like me and Seulgi and just lusting after him?”
“No—no, we’re friends, really good friends, friends who may or may not hook up on occasion. That kind of friends. Not friends with benefits, though, Kyungsoo doesn’t want us to be that.”
“Honey, I think you guys already are,” said Irene, unimpressed.
“Fuck, you know, you’re probably right.”
They ate their burgers in companionable silence for a while, content in the knowledge that the other was suffering equally. And then Irene, after devouring the remains of her burger and working on the scant few fries left, asked, “What’s he like?”
Chanyeol thought for a moment.
“Quiet,” he said finally. “And funny, really funny, and—walking through the door oh my god Irene.”
“What?” Irene almost turned to look before Chanyeol reached out and grabbed her wrist quickly. “Fuck, fine—where is he? Behind me?”
“Behind you,” said Chanyeol, looking at her and smiling, letting go of her hand. “I don’t think he’s seen us yet.”
“You know he’s going to think we’re on a date, right?”
Irene said that statement calmly and Chanyeol stared at her with dawning panic. “Oh no,” he said, with feeling. “What do I do? What—ok, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to roll out of here, on the ground. Stay out of his eyeline.”
It’s entirely possible that he was still a little drunk from earlier that night, because that plan made total sense to him.
“This dress is from Nordstrom, fuck you.” Irene rolled her eyes and turned around. “Kyungsoo!” she called. “Hey!”
Kyungsoo started when he heard his name and turned. He looked tired, the shadows under his eyes apparent, and wore a baseball cap snug over his face. This was perhaps the most casual he ever got, his hair smoothed away from his face and tucked under his cap, wearing dark wash jeans and a long-sleeved dark gray sweater under a heavier black winter coat. He also looked, vaguely, like a serial killer. It dismayed Chanyeol how attractive he found it.
At Irene’s enthusiastic waving, he started making his way over. “Irene, it’s nice to see you,” he said politely, and then turned to Chanyeol. “‘Yeol.”
“What are you doing here, Kyungsoo?” asked Chanyeol, affecting a nonchalant air that he truly did not feel in that moment. “I thought you had to work on that architecture project.”
“Finished it,” said Kyungsoo with a yawn. “Felt hungry so I came here. What are you two up to?”
Irene and Chanyeol shared a look.
“Well we were eating burgers, but I’m tired of Chanyeol’s company so I’m leaving,” said Irene with a smirk that was just this side of evil, standing up and brushing the crumbs off her hands. She grabbed her tray and made a beeline for the nearest trash can. “Thank god you’re here to keep him company, Kyungsoo. It was really nice seeing you. Thanks for the burgers, Chanyeol, I’ll see you in class.”
“Nice…to see you too?” Kyungsoo blinked after her, baffled, as she waggled her fingers at them and went out the door. He turned to Chanyeol, gaze sharpening just a little bit. “I—sorry, did I interrupt your date?”
He said it mildly, but with an underlying hint of some deeper emotion beneath it. It seemed less like a question about his interruption and more like a question of whether or not it was a date in the first place, and Chanyeol all but fell over himself trying to correct that assumption.
“Not a date,” he spluttered. He couldn't tell what Kyungsoo was thinking: whether he was upset that it looked like a date or whether it relieved him. “No-o-o, not a date. Just eating burgers with a gal pal.”
Kyungsoo seemed to find that really funny because he let out an actual snort of laughter instead of dead-eyed judgment. But Chanyeol took a closer look at him and frowned.
“‘Soo,” he said, “you should sleep.”
“Food first,” insisted Kyungsoo, his voice almost a whine. He was soft in his exhaustion in the exact opposite way that awake-and- cognizant Kyungsoo was sharp, and Chanyeol hated himself for finding it adorable.
“All right then, let’s get you takeout.”
Chanyeol insisted on walking Kyungsoo home, partly to make sure he didn’t fall asleep halfway there and partly because he wanted to be with Kyungsoo. And Kyungsoo didn’t even put up an argument, just shrugged and let Chanyeol walk a half-step closer than normal on the route to his house.
“Here you are,” said Chanyeol, and was fully prepared to leave Kyungsoo at the door, except Kyungsoo squinted at him and asked if he wanted to come in. And he did it with such a flush on his cheeks, bitten from the cold, that Chanyeol found himself agreeing.
Chanyeol flopped down on his bed as Kyungsoo unwrapped his burger. “Kyungsoo-yah,” he said. “You’re really pretty, you know that?”
Kyungsoo gave him a sharp look. “Are you drunk?”
“No,” said Chanyeol. “Maybe. I think I’m pretty sober, though.”
“Not sober enough, evidently.”
“What, I have to be drunk to call my main squeeze pretty?”
“God, please, never say main squeeze again.”
There was silence, punctuated by the sound of Kyungsoo chewing.
“You’re done with your architecture project then?”
“Yeah. I mean, it shouldn’t have taken this long but…I fucked up some of the calculations.”
Chanyeol nodded sleepily, halfway to drifting off. His mind flashed back to the last time he was in this room, how he’d pressed Kyungsoo up against the table and kissed him, how they’d accidentally squished a pen and the ink capsule had splashed everywhere, getting across Chanyeol’s thankfully-black clothing and the papers on Kyungsoo’s desk…
He sat up straight, so fast that Kyungsoo let out a startled noise. “Holy shit,” he said. “You didn’t fuck up the calculations. I fucked up the calculations.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kyungsoo irritably, but he wouldn’t look at Chanyeol and that was enough of an answer.
“That—time,” said Chanyeol, waving a hand and assuming that Kyungsoo knew exactly what he was talking about. “I messed up the work on your table—that was it, wasn’t it? Holy shit, ‘Soo, I’m so sorry, why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s fine.” Kyungsoo spoke through a mouthful of burger, wiping his lips with a napkin. The burger was now crumbs and he threw it, and the packaging, away. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“Yeah but you look—”
Half-dead. Extremely sleepy. Cute. Chanyeol bit all of those back.
Kyungsoo rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna brush my teeth, be right back. Actually, you should brush your teeth too.”
Kyungsoo leveled a look at him. “Because I don’t want to make out with someone with alcohol breath.”
Chanyeol rolled off the bed and onto his feet in an instant, heading after him.
“Sorry I ruined your architecture project,” Chanyeol breathed out between kisses, thumb sweeping from behind Kyungsoo’s jaw to the corner of his mouth, tugging at the edge of one full lip.
“Stop apologizing, I already said it’s fine,” Kyungsoo retorted, mouth twisting with irritation.
“Sorry for annoying you.”
Clearly, Kyungsoo thought that the more effective way of shutting him up was through a kiss, and it worked.
They didn’t have sex that night, Kyungsoo saying that he was tired, but they did make out until Kyungsoo fell asleep in the span of time between one kiss and another. Chanyeol laid there, with Kyungsoo’s head padded on his shoulder and his arm slowly turning numb, and thought to himself: this is normal friend behavior.
Chanyeol woke up the next morning twined with Kyungsoo on the bed, and slogged his way out of bed and to the kitchen to find Baekhyun offering him a cup of coffee. Five minutes later, Kyungsoo stumbled in and tugged Chanyeol away, his face scrunched up, saying, “Chanyeol it’s too early,” with his hair all messy, his voice slurred and growly-low to the point of almost-incoherency. And Chanyeol was powerless to obey, even as Baekhyun smirked at him over the edge of his mug.
It was perfectly normal friend behavior, Chanyeol thought as he scrolled down his Instagram feed, Kyungsoo curled up and sleeping on his chest, and nobody could tell Chanyeol otherwise.
Just because they started having sex didn’t mean that they were limited to having sex. That, Chanyeol thought with a dizzying precision, was the difference between his and Kyungsoo’s thing and the typical friends-with-benefits partnership. They were still friends. They would text each other to hang out after classes, watch movies together—Kyungsoo adamantly refused to have sex in the movie theater, even when it was empty—and spend time in each other’s dorms. They were friends. They were good friends.
“You’re really bad at this whole friends thing,” Kyungsoo murmured as Chanyeol knelt in front of him. Chanyeol initially didn’t react, too distracted by the hot weight and taste of Kyungsoo in his mouth, by the little sighs and twitches Kyungsoo made when he used his tongue just right, but then it registered and he was indignant.
“I’m great at this whole friends thing!” Chanyeol said, pulling off. “Look at me right now.”
Kyungsoo leveled an amused look at him. “This isn’t what friends do, Chanyeol.”
“Best friends?” Chanyeol said hopefully.
Kyungsoo rolled his eyes. “God, I hate my life.”
“A hot guy is blowing you and you hate your life.”
“Don’t get big-headed.”
“That’s not the only thing big about me.”
Kyungsoo kicked him with the back of his foot, his legs over Chanyeol’s shoulders. It was mildly painful. “Shut up and make me come already,” he said, and so Chanyeol went back to work. Kyungsoo was quiet as Chanyeol blew him, legs hitched over Chanyeol's shoulders. Chanyeol loved it, loved how the muscles of Kyungsoo's legs twitched when Chanyeol took him deeper, how his mouth grew salty with precum when he concentrated on the head.
He withdrew and looked up. Kyungsoo's eyes were closed, face lost in pleasure, and when he registered the long gap in sensation, they fluttered open. "What?" he asked.
"Can I finger you?"
Kyungsoo gave a lazy wave of assent and Chanyeol reached for the lube.
He fucked him with three fingers, teasing with a fourth as he bobbed his head up and down, increasing the suction. Kyungsoo gasped, bent almost double over Chanyeol's head, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling sharply whenever Chanyeol did something very, very right. When Kyungsoo came it was almost soundless, much to Chanyeol’s disappointment, his entire body trembling and thighs locked around Chanyeol's head, and then he pushed Chanyeol down onto the floor and jerked him slowly until he begged, and then went down on him.
The sight of Kyungsoo’s prim little mouth stretched wide across Chanyeol’s dick was too much and he garbled out a warning; Kyungsoo’s eyes flashed up at him, and then closed smugly, and Chanyeol came helplessly.
“You’re going to kill me,” said Chanyeol into the air. He really was. “How the fuck did you learn to fuck like that.”
Kyungsoo shrugged. “I mean, I’ve had boyfriends and dated before.”
“Yeah, well, same here.”
Kyungsoo shot him a smile. “I can tell.” Chanyeol took it as a compliment, but then flushed when Kyungsoo said, musingly, “Best friends, huh?” He rolled his head to the side to see Kyungsoo already looking at him, and a prickle of embarrassment traced its way down Chanyeol’s spine. He averted his eyes. “Chanyeol.” Now Kyungsoo sounded like he was stifling a laugh. “You’re blushing.”
“Shut up,” whined Chanyeol and Kyungsoo laughed, slapping him on the thigh. “Ow.”
They were on top of each other and in front of Chanyeol’s shitty television. Kyungsoo sat up, sitting lightly on top of Chanyeol’s spent dick, and reached for the remote, turning it on. “Oh,” he said. “A House Hunters marathon.”
“Isn’t that like, the antithesis of everything you stand for? Because y’know, architecture?”
“That’s like telling a music major that they can’t enjoy pop,” said Kyungsoo dismissively. But in the end, it didn’t really matter what they watched, because halfway through, Kyungsoo pulled Chanyeol down into a kiss, squirming against him until they both became hard again, and the evening ended with Chanyeol fucking into Kyungsoo’s loose hole in urgent sharp thrusts, mouth pressed against Kyungsoo’s neck, as Kyungsoo encouraged him on in breathy, broken whispers.
“So like, are you guys dating yet?”
They were in the studio, and Jongdae’s voice was a little hoarse from a day of so much singing, so they were both nursing cups of lemony tea. Chanyeol, admittedly, wasn’t the one who needed the lemony tea, but he was drinking it to support Jongdae.
“Who, me and Kyungsoo?” Chanyeol blinked at Jongdae. “Uh, I don’t think we are.”
“Really?” Jongdae squinted at Chanyeol. “Because, uh, about six hours ago I was talking to Kyungsoo and I said, ‘Hmm, I think I’ll drop by Chanyeol’s in an hour to surprise him’ and he said without missing a beat, ‘Try the studio, he said he’d be there tonight.’”
“Oh,” said Chanyeol. “I was wondering how you knew I was here.”
“If you guys aren’t dating, you two are totally screwing, aren’t you?” When Chanyeol said nothing in response, just mumbled and shifted awkwardly, Jongdae leapt up. His tea nearly splashed out of his mug and Chanyeol, running on pure instinct, threw himself across the equipment to protect it. “I knew it!”
“Please put the tea away,” pleaded Chanyeol.
Jongdae set the mug down. “Well?” He looked at Chanyeol, head cocked, clearly expecting some sort of explanation.
Chanyeol had nothing to say. “I mean, we’re close.”
Jongdae laughed at that, loud in the quiet of the studio. “Chanyeol, you and I are ‘close’. You and Kyungsoo are close in the way Minseok and I are close, which is, to say, gay and in love.”
“Don’t say that,” said Chanyeol, shifting in his seat. Something about that word didn’t sit well with him. It struck somewhere a little too close.
Jongdae clearly saw that, because he subsided in his teasing and said, in a manner gentle enough to make Chanyeol squirm, “Dang, you like him, don’t you.”
“Who even says it like that?” scoffed Chanyeol. “This is fucking high school all over again.”
“And I’m so correct. When did you realize?”
Chanyeol had been writing music more often lately. He wrote music a lot, of course, it was his passion and ran through his veins more thickly than blood, but the past few weeks had proven to be inspired. He kept writing tunes that tended to be sappier than usual, songs swinging sweeter. Re-reading them, he understood exactly what his mind was trying to tell him, and just refused to acknowledge the lecture. Jongdae had just finished singing a demo of one, with lyrics about being everything he never knew he wanted.
Chanyeol gave up on any pretense. “When I tried sleeping with the hottest girl in my class and couldn’t get it up.”
“Oh my god,” said Jongdae.
“I know,” said Chanyeol. “It was horrifying.”
Jongdae slung his legs over Chanyeol’s, slouching. He took his tea back and took a long sip from it. “You know that’s the first sign of impending monogamy, right? A lack of interest in hookups?”
Strangely enough, the thought didn’t disturb Chanyeol as much as he would’ve thought. He’d always associated domesticity with mundanity—an eventuality, but not one damningly close. But here it was, and it surprised nobody greater than him that he wanted it. He wanted to call Kyungsoo his own, to have a label, to be the one that people asked when they wanted to know where Kyungsoo was.
Chanyeol bit his lip. “I want that,” he admitted, lowly. “But…Who knows if he wants it? I mean, he’s a straightforward guy. I think if he’d wanted our relationship to change, he would’ve told me first.”
“You know, you’d think that,” said Jongdae. “But sometimes people who are bald-faced in every aspect become quite hairy in others.”
Chanyeol stared at him. “Jongdae, literally, what the fuck?”
“Yeah, the metaphor got away from me.” Jongdae laughed and downed the rest of his tea. “C’mon, Chanyeol, you can’t expect him to do everything, can you?”
No, Chanyeol didn’t expect him to do everything. But Kyungsoo did an awful lot, he realized over the next few days. Sure, he wasn’t one to start making out with Chanyeol in public, but—and Chanyeol felt like an idiot for not figuring it out earlier—he showed his affection in other ways. Subtler ways.
Kyungsoo, Chanyeol could tell, liked his hair. His hands went absently to it whenever they were curled up together, fingers carding slowly through the dark strands. And when Chanyeol cheekily suggested that he might dye it pale silver or blonde some time, Kyungsoo’s eyes went dark and they ended up having fantastic sex. (Though, when did they not?)
Kyungsoo, Chanyeol could also tell, thought Chanyeol was funny. Chanyeol knew he was funny, knew that he could make Jongdae laugh until he almost cried and Baekhyun hoot until his stomach hurt. Kyungsoo didn’t do either of those things, but when Chanyeol made jokes, Kyungsoo would chuff out a little amused puff of air, perhaps even give an outright laugh. Whenever he laughed, it just incentivized Chanyeol to try harder, be funnier.
But Chanyeol knew, abstractly, that Kyungsoo enjoyed his company—enjoyed it on both a platonic and physical level—but he didn’t actually realize how much Kyungsoo enjoyed his company until one sunny early spring day when Kyungsoo came into his dorm with a handful of papers and a slightly crazed look in his eyes.
“Baekhyun and Yixing have been having sex in our suite for the past hour,” he said. “For the love of God, just let me stay here.”
Chanyeol laughed at that. When Kyungsoo had come in, giving him quite a fright—by now, Kyungsoo should know that Chanyeol was easily scared and have mercy on his jumpiness. He’d slid down his headphones from his ears and listened to Kyungsoo’s woes with barely concealed humor, and now let his smile break out. “Yeah, sure, of course. I’m going to be working, though.”
“Don’t worry, I came here for peace and quiet,” assured Kyungsoo, before giving him a sidelong look. “You can do that, can’t you?”
Chanyeol lobbed a bit of crumbly eraser at him and watched as Kyungsoo smiled, quick and brief, before spraying out his papers and organizing all of his stuff. There was quite a bit of math there that Chanyeol couldn’t even wrap his head around, and Kyungsoo laid out his rulers, calculator, and pencils with precision besides the sheets. Chanyeol lingered for a moment, watching him set up. He could’ve gone to the library, Chanyeol realized, which would’ve been marginally closer and probably quieter. But he chose here.
“Kyungsoo doesn’t hang out with anyone he doesn’t like,” Chanyeol remembered Baekhyun telling him, all those weeks ago, and felt a sudden flush of pleasure. Out of all those places to study, he chose here. Chanyeol’s toes curled with the joy he felt and he stood there for a moment, smiling stupidly down at Kyungsoo.
Kyungsoo looked up, frowned, His bangs were too long, falling into his eyes, and gave him a sort of emo teenager look that Chanyeol hated himself for finding hot. “What?”
“Nothing,” said Chanyeol, swiveling his chair back around and slipping on his headphones. Whatever thoughts he had about Kyungsoo were droned out by the beat of a heavy bass.
It was three hours later when Chanyeol resurfaced. He had a tendency to do that—to get swept up in his work and stop thinking about things, but his ears were starting to hurt where the headphones were pressing them into his skull. Someday they would form an indelible dent, he figured.
He slipped them off, his ears thanking him profusely. The room had gotten darker—he checked the clock and sighed when he saw that it was five o’ clock. But he’d gotten work done, some rudimentary sketches of tracks for his tape and finalizing of lyrics. Chanyeol rolled his shoulders and winced as they produced a litany of pops and cracks, and turned around on his chair.
Kyungsoo looked up from where he was lounging on Chanyeol’s bed scrolling on his phone. “Hey,” he said, face softening into a semblance of a smile. “You done?”
“Yeah,” said Chanyeol, scooting his chair forward and tipping over so that he faceplanted in the bed by Kyungsoo’s hip. His next words were muffled: “When did you finish? Sorry for ignoring you the whole time.”
After a moment, tentative fingers started carding through Chanyeol’s hair, gaining confidence when Chanyeol murmured in pleasure. “I only finished half an hour ago,” said Kyungsoo from above him. “And don’t worry, it’s fine. It’s not like I came here to be distracted—I’m glad I got my work done, I’ve been procrastinating ridiculously on it.”
Chanyeol tilted up his head, smiling at Kyungsoo. One eye was too squished by the bed to see, so really, he was gazing one-eyed at Kyungsoo, like some sleepy pirate. “Yeah? So like, that means you finished it a day earlier instead of two days earlier?”
Kyungsoo tugged on his head, slightly. “Shut up.”
Unfortunately, the circumstances that Kyungsoo normally tugged Chanyeol’s hair (and Chanyeol’s liking for having his hair tugged in the first place) didn’t make it the effective shutting-up gesture that Kyungsoo clearly intended it to be. Instead, he experienced a Pavlovian response and subsequently, his dick grew hard.
He peeked up at Kyungsoo. The other man didn’t look too tired, one hand still combing through Chanyeol’s locks as he frowned down at the phone in his other. So he rose from the chair, straddled Kyungsoo—making him yelp and drop his phone—and said in a very suave, seductive manner, “Wanna sit on my face?”
Kyungsoo laughed at him. Kyungsoo busted up laughing, had to actually cover his face, but laughter spilled out through the cracks between his fingers: stifled, but not smothered. Chanyeol was torn between being completely embarrassed and pleased.
“Hey,” he complained. “Yah, that was a real offer.” He tugged Kyungsoo’s hands away from his face, crowded up real close and dug his chin into Kyungsoo’s blue shirt-covered chest, pouting up at him. “Take me seriously,” he whined, and Kyungsoo laughed further at that, eyes squeezing shut.
“I can’t,” he gasped out, “not when…oh god, you tried so hard to be sexy—” One hand flapped weakly. When Chanyeol kissed him, Kyungsoo was still laughing for a good five seconds into the kiss, smiling and shaking beneath him, before Chanyeol did a thing with his tongue that had Kyungsoo sighing and relaxing, languid into the kiss. He tried his hardest to distract Kyungsoo, and thought he’d succeeded when Kyungsoo was opening his mouth into the kiss, fingers pulling up the back of Chanyeol’s shirt and greedily tracing over the bare skin of his back.
Of course, Kyungsoo immediately destroyed this notion by biting his ear and saying, “I’m never going to let you forget that.” Chanyeol pinched his nipple in lieu of any other response, which led to a very satisfactory yelp and twitching of hips. “That’s playing dirty.”
“No such thing as playing dirty in sex, sweetheart,” said Chanyeol, and then froze.
“Hm,” said Kyungsoo. “Sweetheart?” He said it curiously, testing it out on the tip of his tongue, and then said, “Should I call you baby, then?”
“Oh god.” Chanyeol buried his face into the sweet, sweet, suffocation of the bed. “Please don’t. Actually, call me whatever, because I’m already going to die of humiliation, so it doesn't matter.”
“Please don’t die,” said Kyungsoo. “I still need to sit on your face.”
Double damage. Kyungsoo really deserved credit for being so damn hot, because otherwise, Chanyeol had no idea why he was still hard.
And then Kyungsoo evidently got tired of teasing Chanyeol and more interested in getting off, because he went and said, in that soft, liquid-hot voice of his, “Don’t you want to eat me out, Chanyeol?”
“Because I want it, want your mouth on me, want your tongue in me.” He wriggled his leg between Chanyeol’s and dragged his thigh up the length of Chanyeol’s dick, meltingly. “I keep thinking about it, how you’ll look with your face down there. Can you get me off by eating me out? I bet you can, can’t you?”
“Yeah,” whispered Chanyeol back, and flipped them over so that Kyungsoo was on top. He looked supremely comfortable, shucking off his track pants and blue shirt. His stocky, golden body was as familiar to Chanyeol as Chanyeol’s own—he’d kissed every part of it over and could find the erogenous areas in his sleep. But this, he thought dizzyingly as Kyungsoo straddled his face—this, was something entirely new.
“Tap twice if you want me to get off,” said Kyungsoo, before lowering himself onto Chanyeol’s face.
There was something incredibly hot about eating out a totally naked Kyungsoo while being fully clothed. Kyungsoo’s thigh muscles shifted and flexed around Chanyeol’s head, making sound warp and sound weird. Chanyeol’s fingers clutched hard at Kyungsoo’s thighs, probably too tight. Kyungsoo moaned every time his hole was licked, trembled like a leaf in the wind when Chanyeol flattened his tongue against the ring of muscle, and made a noise that verged on the end of a whimper when Chanyeol pushed his tongue in. He tasted animal-hot, Chanyeol’s nose pressed tight against his perineum.
When Kyungsoo’s thigh muscles gave up and he started to fall heavily on Chanyeol’s face, he tilted over so that Chanyeol ended up on top. Chanyeol hesitated for only a moment before going back, coring him open until he was soft and loose, fingering him looser. Kyungsoo stuffed a fist in his mouth to muffle the sounds that he was making, dirty little moans, and Chanyeol batted his hand away.
He would’ve continued on like this for a while—he’d drifted off into that space where everything was hazy and his mouth kept moving to make Kyungsoo keep making those sweet noises, and Kyungsoo’s fingers were yanking in his hair, guiding him unconsciously where he needed to go. He flailed a hand up to reach for Kyungsoo’s cock, and when he found it, hard and leaking, Kyungsoo let out a downright whine and yanked him up and off.
“What?” spluttered Chanyeol. “I thought you wanted to come?”
“God,” gasped out Kyungsoo, looking absolutely wrecked. He touched Chanyeol’s mouth—which was probably swollen and red—and then reached down to grope Chanyeol through his pants. Chanyeol had forgotten that his pants were still on. “God, fuck me.”
Kyungsoo didn’t even let him get his clothes off. He just let him grab the lube and the box of condoms and then wrestled him onto the bed. He reached for the box of condoms and stuttered to a halt when he found it was empty.
God, they’d really been fucking quite a lot, lately.
“Um,” said Chanyeol. “Back to Plan A?”
Kyungsoo tossed the box away. “Fuck that,” he said, his eyes strangely focused. “I got tested two months ago and a follow up; I’m clean. Are you?”
Chanyeol gulped. “I—I, ah, I got tested three months ago.”
“God—yes, I’m clean, there’s been nobody else other than you, but holy fuck, Kyungsoo, are we really doing this?”
Kyungsoo yanked Chanyeol’s pants down just enough to free his cock, slathered some lube on, and then sank down, tossing his head back with a moan. Chanyeol whined helplessly, arching up, eyes wide from the overdose of sensation. The heat was incredible, Kyungsoo was so tight, even though Chanyeol rimmed him for forever—god, there was nothing between them, nothing at all.
Kyungsoo ground down on him, filthy-wet, and grinned a wicked smile. “Don’t worry. There’s been nobody else other than you for me too.”
“Oh my god,” said Chanyeol, who was about 90% certain he’d died and gone to heaven, and heaven was just repeated sex with Kyungsoo. He’d believe it. His pants weren’t even off, for crying out loud, his shirt rucked up and slowly soaking through with sweat. “Oh god, Kyungsoo, sweetheart, fuck, you’re so fucking hot, oh, god.”
Kyungsoo hissed in a breath at that, cock twitching and drooling a long string of precum onto Chanyeol’s stomach.
“You like that?” asked Chanyeol. “You feel so good around me, ‘Soo, so wet and hot, you’re so tight it’s like we don’t fuck every day. Wanna fuck you until all you can feel is my cock, until you can’t fuck yourself without thinking of me.”
“God,” growled out Kyungsoo. “You’re so noisy.” He didn’t sound at all like that was a bad thing, though.
Chanyeol flipped them over and Kyungsoo let him, tilting his neck up in an invitation that Chanyeol eagerly took, sucking a hickey into the base of Kyungsoo’s neck and making him moan low. “Bet you can come like this, darling,” said Chanyeol, fucking into Kyungsoo with those short, hard thrusts that Kyungsoo liked so much. “Can you come untouched? You’re so close, aren’t you?”
“Ah, ah,” said Kyungsoo, very coherently.
Chanyeol could look at Kyungsoo for the rest of his life if he had to: the way he twisted when Chanyeol pulled out, like he didn’t want the withdrawal any more than Chanyeol did; the way his mouth parted when Chanyeol thrust back in; the darkness of his eyes as he gazed at Chanyeol with the same greed.
Chanyeol nailed his prostrate and Kyungsoo arched soundlessly, face scrunched up. His cock was purpling at the head, and Chanyeol hit that spot again, and again. At first, Kyungsoo's breath caught in his throat, and when he started to breathe, noises started escaping him; he started moaning and wouldn’t stop, juddering moans that increased as Chanyeol kept grinding the head of his cock into Kyungsoo’s prostrate.
“C’mon, ‘Soo,” he said. “Sweetheart, won’t you come?” and then pinched both his nipples.
Kyungsoo came untouched, spurting all over himself, making little, “uh, uh,” noises, gasping as Chanyeol continued fucking into that tight, rippling heat. It was the hottest thing Chanyeol had ever felt, that tight wet heat around him. Kyungsoo’s orgasm seemed to last forever, his head thrown back, hickeys already starting to bloom on his neck, mouth parted in moans.
“Oh god, Chanyeol,” said Kyungsoo, evidently regaining control of his words. “God, fuck, come on, come into me.”
Chanyeol whimpered at that, fucking a little bit faster into Kyungsoo. He was on the edge, he could feel it, the tight knot clenching in his gut, the blinding sensation of orgasm creeping in further with every thrust. “I’m gonna come into you,” he said, biting at Kyungsoo’s shoulder, tightening his grip on his hips. Kyungsoo made a tremulous little noise at those words, a filthy sound like he was imagining it and loved it. “I’m gonna come into you and eat it out of you, sweetheart, taste your sweet hole, gonna make you feel so good, ahh—” He thrust in hard and stayed, balls-deep and coming, spurting into Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo arched and moaned, biting his lip as Chanyeol's hips jerked in one last time, the squelch of cum disgustingly hot.
In retrospect, it was probably the most irresponsible thing they’d ever done in the entire history of them hooking up. So Chanyeol whipped off his shirt, crawled between Kyungsoo’s legs—which parted instantly, and god that was his cum leaking out of Kyungsoo’s swollen and puffy hole—and dragged him up so that he could get better access to Kyungsoo's hole. He'd promised, okay, it was only polite.
"That's fucking nasty," slurred Kyungsoo, moaning and borderline incoherent as Chanyeol cored into his soft hole, tasting the bitter-salt of his own cum. His legs were spreading, though, and his cock already rising as Chanyeol grabbed his cheeks, spread them open to go deeper, tongue harder. He took himself into his hand and stroked himself with little cries of oversensitivity as Chanyeol ate him out, until he was spasming and gasping out through another orgasm that had Chanyeol grinning, until he was twitching and saying, “Jesus, Chanyeol, oh my god, do you ever get tired,” between moans.
Afterwards, Kyungsoo crawled so that he was half-atop of Chanyeol and promptly appeared to fall asleep, eyes sliding shut and breathing regulating. Chanyeol wrapped an arm around him and traced patterns on his back, his thoughts both drifting far away and remaining grounded thanks to the warm heaviness of Kyungsoo’s body, the scent of his shampoo ticking Chanyeol’s nose. The sensations wormed their way into his brain, polluted his thoughts and tangled with a melody.
“What are you singing?” asked Kyungsoo, sleepily.
“Nothing,” said Chanyeol, and stopped humming. He curled a little further around Kyungsoo and fell asleep.
He woke up that morning tangled with Kyungsoo in the way he’d learned to become accustomed to. There was something solidly comforting about waking up with his face mashed in Kyungsoo’s hair, and he gently detangled himself.
Upon trying to work his arm out from underneath Kyungsoo, however, the other man cracked open an eye. “Chanyeol?” he asked, his voice low and crackly from sleep. “What time is it?”
“Go back to sleep,” hushed Chanyeol, and stayed only long enough to watch Kyungsoo’s eyes slide obediently back to sleep, before heading to make food.
The suite that he shared with four other people had, thankfully, a shared common romo that featured a kitchenette that wasn’t large enough to make anything truly complicated, but was easy enough to fry up bacon and eggs. He started up the coffee machine, which produced a fragrant scent that, combined with the bacon and eggs, drew Kyungsoo out of Chanyeol’s room, presently, dressed in his boxers and Chanyeol's shirt, which was comically oversized on him. He looked groggy, his face swollen from sleep, and he made a beeline for the coffee machine.
Chanyeol, only sparing him a glance when he first came in, concentrated on not burning the bacon or the eggs—a fairly tricky endeavor, he fancied—and was startled when Kyungsoo came up to him and pressed a mug encouragingly into his hand. “Thank you,” he said absently, and took a sip, only to recoil a little bit.
Kyungsoo flicked up his eyes from where they had been concentrated on his own mug. “What?” he asked.
“This is,” said Chanyeol faintly, “exactly how I like to take my coffee. How’d you know?”
Kyungsoo looked at him like he was crazy, one thick eyebrow parked high up his forehead. “We’ve drunk coffee together.”
Yeah, but you noticed, Chanyeol wanted to say. It was such a small, and insignificant thing for him to be so giddy over, but in that moment, his stomach was full of butterflies.
Kyungsoo shoved him aside. “You’re going to burn the bacon,” he said with just a hint of a sigh, and took over cooking.
After eating his food and nursing his coffee down to the dregs, Kyungsoo was finally starting to truly wake up. And the first thing he said was: “I am so fucking sore."
Chanyeol suppressed a smile into his coffee. "Good-sore though, right?"
"Yes, good-sore," said Kyungsoo, flashing him a hint of a sly smile that had Chanyeol wanting to take him back to the bed and never let him leave. "You're a goddamn octopus, you know that?"
“Eh?” asked Chanyeol, very coherently. Flashbacks to his middle-school discovery of tentacle porn went through his head, horrifyingly.
“Every time I wake up,” said Kyungsoo, “you’re always wrapped around me like I’m some teddy bear.” Every word sent a deeper flush rushing to Chanyeol’s cheeks.
“Sorry,” he offered, voice meek.
Kyungsoo waved a hand. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he said, and then rushed on before Chanyeol could say anything in response to that. “I mean, I guess I just wanted to know—how did all your other partners deal with it? Surely it’s inconvenient to have hookups only to wake up wrapped around them.”
“Well,” said Chanyeol, unsure how to phrase this in the delicate manner it deserved, “Most people don’t really reach that stage, so I’ve never had to deal with that.”
Kyungsoo was silent for a moment as he parsed that through his mind, and then he said, in a tone that was slow, like he was solving a complex equation in his head, “But the very first night we hooked up, you told me to stay.”
“That I did,” said Chanyeol, and took a sip of his coffee to hide his face.
“Oh,” said Kyungsoo, and didn’t say much more for the rest of the breakfast, but had a tiny, pleased smile that refused to go away and said all the words needed.
Kyungsoo disappeared back into Chanyeol’s room to grab his stuff while Chanyeol cleaned up—Kyungsoo offered but Chanyeol shooed him away. There wasn’t much to clean up, anyway, so it wasn't as if it was some sort of grand inconvenience (Chanyeol wasn't a good enough cook to use more than five instruments in a given meal). When he was done, he went back to his room to find Kyungsoo leaning with his face close to one of the frames on Chanyeol’s desk.
When Chanyeol entered, he lurched back and said, very quickly, “Sorry, I was just—curious.”
Chanyeol knew exactly what picture that was, but he walked closer just to double check. Yep, Kyungsoo had been staring at the one in the tarnished silver frame, the photo so old that it was a little damaged by the sun and the colors were perhaps not as bright as they once were: A picture of Chanyeol, Jongdae, and Xiumin, in high school.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said wryly. “And before you ask, that really is me.”
“I didn’t think otherwise,” said Kyungsoo, his back stiff and words clipped.
Chanyeol wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. He wasn’t kidding when he said he bloomed in college—faced with crippling existential crises during the summer, he worked out extensively, dropped twenty pounds, and came to college with all the charm he’d never had during high school.
That didn’t mean that he was better. For a while, he deluded himself into thinking he was—that because he wasn’t so chubby any more, and because girls gave him second glances, he was a different person. He pushed Jongdae and Xiumin away. He drank extensively. It took a timely intervention from Jongdae, who was stormy with anger and tears, for him to realize that he was, to put it succinctly, being an ass.
And so, he kept that photo to remind himself that he was still that kid, on the inside. That he was slimmer now, and more conventionally handsome, but still binge-watched anime and listened to music so loudly that passerby were annoyed.
He tapped his fingers on the glass. “Don’t worry,” he said, again. “You can’t help curiosity.”
But perhaps some of his emotion betrayed him, because instead of nodding and moving on like he was wont to do, Kyungsoo instead paused and looked up at him. “I was quiet in high school,” he said.
“You’re quiet now,” said Chanyeol, cracking a smile.
Kyungsoo rolled his eyes. “Quieter. I was—afraid to speak. Too afraid of being awkward. It made it difficult to have friends…Once I got them, I started talking, because I was more afraid of losing them than anything else.” A bleak smile. “And then that freaked them out, because I was just being a motormouth, and becoming progressively socially exhausted, and then I lost them too.”
He looked at Chanyeol then. “By the time I found new friends, I realized that I was just a quiet person, and people had to either like it, or leave.”
Chanyeol could just picture it: shy little Kyungsoo, wandering like a ghost through the cruelty of high school, making friends and losing them, and then having to work up the courage once again. It made him angry, he realized—seething, really.
“People who wouldn’t like it are dicks,” said Chanyeol feelingly.
“I’m not saying I know what happened to you in high school,” said Kyungsoo, but if he was friends with Jongdae, he probably did. “I just want to tell you that maybe I understand a little.”
Chanyeol reached out and tugged him closer. “If I were there, you wouldn’t have had to say a word because I would’ve talked enough for the both of us,” he said. “You would’ve been the D’Artagnan to me n’ Jongdae n’ Xiumin’s Three Musketeers act.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” said Kyungsoo, leaning a little bit into his side.
Chanyeol laughed, then a little wistfully. “If only we’d gone to high school together, eh? Imagine that! We would’ve been either best friends or hated each other’s guts.” He couldn’t ever imagine hating Kyungsoo.
“Well,” said Kyungsoo, looking up at him through those unfairly thick lashes, “You’re here, aren’t you?” And something melted in Chanyeol’s heart, turned liquid and warm, spreading through every crevice of his body until he felt like he might float away like a hot air balloon. It lingered, even after Kyungsoo had left, giving Chanyeol a kiss after a slight moment of hesitation, and Chanyeol sat at his table and thought, I’m fucked.
A few days later, Chanyeol ran out of pages in his songwriting journal. One minute he was in the groove, and then he was flipping the page to be confronted with the cardboard back of the composition notebook. The song fizzled out in his mind.
It wasn’t that he’d never finished a songwriting journal before. But he’d only gotten this one two months ago—to have it be completely filled up in such a short time was unprecedented.
It wasn’t even as if there was a broad diversity in what he was writing recently. Ever since Kyungsoo had looked up at Chanyeol with that goddamn face and said those goddamn words, “You’re here, aren’t you?” all Chanyeol could think about was this simple, sweet melody. But to perfect that tune remained frustratingly out of reach. He had drafts written, endless drafts, but nothing that fit what was going on in his head.
“More oboe,” he muttered nonsensically, and thumped his head onto the table.
You’re here, aren’t you?
And then, floating through his mind, a memory: him and Jongdae, sitting at the table, Jongdae saying, “Come on, Chanyeol, you can’t expect him to do everything, can you?”
And he couldn’t. He really couldn’t. Because Kyungsoo had made a move, subtle as it was. He was always making the moves—always initiating it, with Chanyeol following giddily in his footsteps.
Chanyeol confessed, privately, in the hidden depths of his mind, that he wanted to be in a relationship with Kyungsoo. And if he wanted that—that privilege, he had to earn it, he had to stop being so passive, he had to—he had to—
“I wanna date you,” said Chanyeol one sunny afternoon as he and Kyungsoo lazily made out on the couch, Kyungsoo’s body a taut line of muscle underneath him. Upon realizing what he’d said, he stiffened, leaning back, horrified, to look at Kyungsoo’s face.
Kyungsoo blinked up at him, hair messy. “Oh,” he said, and Chanyeol braced for the worst. That wasn’t at all how he’d planned to tell Kyungsoo—he had this whole idea of how it would go, even the tentative beginnings of a powerpoint. This was going to crash and burn—Kyungsoo was going to laugh at him, wince and reject him, perhaps even slap him. “Okay.”
“I mean, sure,” said Kyungsoo with a shrug. “I want to date you too.”
“But—really?” Chanyeol sat back on his feet and Kyungsoo sat up too, looking at him confusedly. “I mean, you were so adamant that you didn’t want to be a friend with benefits, and I had to work for weeks to be your friend, and suddenly you’re okay with dating me?”
“Chanyeol, that was months ago,” Kyungsoo said. “And look how that friend with benefits thing turned out. Besides, I made up my mind about dating you weeks ago, I was just waiting for you to ask.”
Chanyeol spluttered. “Me? Why didn’t you ask?”
Kyungsoo rolled his eyes. “Because you’re the one who’s famously commitment-phobic in this relationship.” A thrill ran down Chanyeol’s spine at the confirmation of a relationship between the two of them. “I figured I would just wait until you were comfortable—and if you weren’t, then I would get over it.”
“Oh my god,” said Chanyeol, and pounced, pushing Kyungsoo back into the cushions of the couch. Kyungsoo fell easily, his legs already parting and wrapping around Chanyeol, easy and natural. “I’m going to date you so hard,” he said, kissing Kyungsoo’s cheeks, his nose, his mouth, making him laugh. His heart felt light in his chest, beating fast and strong. “I’m gonna—fuckin—put an arm around you at the movies.”
“You already do that.”
“Yeah but I’m going to do the awkward yawn thing because it’s going to be our first date.” Chanyeol sucked hard little kisses down his neck, giddy with delight. “Gonna pay for dinner, god, get you flowers, kiss you in public. Call you baby, sweetheart, all the gross pet names.”
“Okay,” said Kyungsoo amicably. “I’m paying for the second date, though. Also, you already call me sweetheart, Chanyeol. Be more creative, won’t you?”
“Deal, sweetheart,” said Chanyeol, smacking a kiss directly in Kyungsoo’s belly button and feeling him squirm. “Do you put out on the first date? Please tell me you do.”
“What will you do if I say I only put out on the third?”
“Cry, probably.” Chanyeol teethed at Kyungsoo’s nipple, watched his thick lips part on a sigh. “Then take you out for two more dates.”
“Mm,” hummed Kyungsoo. “I think I can make an exception for you.”
“Well then,” said Chanyeol, sitting up. “What are we waiting for? There’s an action movie I want to see that’s got a showing at 5 at the theater. If we leave now, we can make it.”
Kyungsoo stared up at him, mussed and looking like he’d been kissed within an inch of his life, bulge tenting his sweatpants notably. “What, right now?”
“Yeah, why waste time?”
As Chanyeol stared hopefully at him, Kyungsoo doubled over and laughed. “God, I’m going to regret this,” he said, sounding like he wasn’t regretting it at all. “Okay, fine, let me—let me go get dressed and get my stuff.”
“Great!” Chanyeol was practically bouncing. “I’ll go start the car.”
True to his word, Kyungsoo let Chanyeol fake-yawn and put an arm around him at the movie theater, only giving him a sidelong smile and deliberately leaning back into it. But when Chanyeol leaned over and tried to kiss him over the popcorn, Kyungsoo ducked, grabbing a few kernels and stuffing them into Chanyeol’s mouth.
“Shouldn’t we get to know each other better first?” he asked primly.
Chanyeol chewed and swallowed. “Kyungsoo,” he whined, and Kyungsoo’s smile took on a decidedly smug slant.
“Shh,” he said. “I want to watch the previews.” Because of course he was like that. But he shivered and tipped his head back when Chanyeol traced the edge of his ear with his teeth, only to wrench away and arch an eyebrow at him. “Take me to dinner first.”
“Oh I’ll take you to dinner,” grumbled Chanyeol, but settled back and watched. A good thing he did, too, because he ended up getting so enraptured by the movie that he didn’t notice Kyungsoo’s affectionate glances towards him.
After the movie, he was practically bouncing. “That was so good! Oh man, maybe not as good as the third sequel, but a worthy fourth addition. Did you hear the soundtrack? I was dying, Paul Newman is such a god. Oh—sorry, did you like it?”
“No, not really,” said Kyungsoo.
“What?” asked Chanyeol, crestfallen. “Really?”
“I mean it was fine,” Kyungsoo said, “but I don’t know, I’m not a huge fan of action movies?”
“Kyungsoooo,” Chanyeol said, dragging out the word and wrapping himself around Kyungsoo, resting his chin on the crown of Kyungsoo’s head. He was all wrapped up in a coat, even though winter was long past, because he was still unused to the cold and Chanyeol wanted to be his space heater forever. “How could you say such rude words?”
Kyungsoo punched him in the solar plexus, but lightly. “I’m hungry, you fool, let’s go eat. And besides, I enjoyed seeing it with you.”
A furious pink stain spread across his cheeks at the words, and he set off determinedly ahead. Chanyeol lagged, gaping at him for a moment, before catching up. “Kyungsoooo,” he said, laughing when the other man refused to look around, “Kyungsoo, it’s in the other direction.”
Kyungsoo turned around immediately and would’ve started walking, except Chanyeol caught him by the elbows and smacked a kiss on his startled mouth.
“You’re cute, you know that, right?” said Chanyeol, kissing him again before he could say something otherwise. “Let’s go eat dinner.”
Kyungsoo walked grumpily, but let Chanyeol hold his hand the entire way there.
Dinner was filled with long sidelong glances and the bumping of feet underneath the table, Kyungsoo deliberately licking around his spoon in a way that had Chanyeol eating faster. Dinner was a promise, a hint, of what was yet to come.
“You’re gonna kill me,” Chanyeol said hoarsely, and Kyungsoo laughed.
Once they got home, Chanyeol closed the door and turned around to find Kyungsoo already kicking off his shoes and flopping onto Chanyeol’s bed. He shrugged off his jacket, threw it over Chanyeol’s chair like it belonged there. Like he belonged there.
It was funny how that simple movement gave Chanyeol an instant boner.
“You look good in my bed,” he said.
Kyungsoo arched an eyebrow. “Yeah?” he asked, smile playing around his mouth.
“Yeah,” said Chanyeol, tugging off his own jacket and shoes. Kyungsoo’s eyes followed the flex of his biceps under the thin, clinging fabric of his t-shirt. “Look real good.” He wanted to say, he wanted his thoughts to come out, so that Kyungsoo would know that really, he meant, looks good as his.
When he came close enough, Kyungsoo reached out and looped his index fingers through the belt loops of Chanyeol’s jeans. He tugged and Chanyeol went, easy for Kyungsoo, in the way he’d been from the very start.
“Fucking kiss me already,” said Kyungsoo, and Chanyeol did.
He laced his fingers behind the gentle curve of Kyungsoo’s skull, crawled on top of him and pressed down onto him. He wanted—he wanted to eliminate the space between him and Kyungsoo, become part of the warm air between them and cradle Kyungsoo’s soft, perfect body. He couldn’t do that, so instead he kissed Kyungsoo with all the intent and want of the wish: tongue stroking deep, swallowing the tiny noises Kyungsoo made, feeling hands flex and tug at his shirt.
It seemed that Kyungsoo was in no rush either, because he sighed and parted from Chanyeol, pressing kisses to the high crest of his cheekbone. “You’re a sap,” he said, legs tightening around Chanyeol’s hips.
“Get this off,” said Chanyeol, tugging at his shirt.
He kissed every inch of Kyungsoo that was revealed, dry and brief kisses up his sternum, wet sucking kisses where the edge of his boxers met his skin, and then tugging off those boxers completely. Kyungsoo’s eyes were closed, his mouth parted just slightly, a tinge of a flush decorating his cheeks and ears. Chanyeol kissed those too. He kissed his nose, his eyelids, running hands up and down Kyungsoo’s body, tweaking his nipples.
“Chanyeol,” said Kyungsoo, sounding wrecked.
“I know, baby,” said Chanyeol, withdrawing. Kyungsoo leaned forward, unclothing Chanyeol with brutal efficiency before seating himself in the cradle of Chanyeol’s lap. His perfect ass met Chanyeol’s cock and Chanyeol groaned, unable to keep his hands from dropping to Kyungsoo’s waist as he adjusted himself so that Chanyeol’s cock was sliding against his own.
“What do you want?” murmured Kyungsoo, voice low and aspirated, eyes lidding half-shut as one of Chanyeol’s hands came to wrap around both of their cocks.
“Whatever you want, baby,” said Chanyeol.
“That’s a lie,” said Kyungsoo, and before Chanyeol could protest, said, “You’re mushy right now. You definitely want to take things slow.”
“Fuck off, I’m sensitive.” While Kyungsoo was laughing, shoulders shaking, Chanyeol sucked a hickey into the nape of his neck until his laughter faded into a long drawn-out moan. “You’re sensitive too,” he whispered into sweat-sticky skin.
He fingered Kyungsoo, slow and intimate, mouths barely a breath apart, foreheads tipped together. When Kyungsoo arched, he knew it meant faster; when his eyes scrunched up and hips kicked down, it meant there, right there; his mouth let out little noises and Chanyeol kissed him through all of them.
He got so lost in fingering him that Kyungsoo blinked his eyes open and said, voice caught on the tail end of a moan, “Chanyeol s-stop, I’m going to—going to—”
“Come? Come on, sweetheart,” said Chanyeol, pressing his fingers right there.
Kyungsoo gasped, chest jumping, and then came, biting into Chanyeol’s shoulder, cock frotting against the edge of Chanyeol’s abs, one leg wrapped around his waist and hole clenching tight around Chanyeol’s fingers. “Oh—oh god, Chanyeol,” he said, voice lost.
Chanyeol left his fingers in for a moment, but as he began to withdraw them, Kyungsoo grabbed his chin. “You better be replacing them,” he said, flush high on his cheeks.
“But you already—”
“I don’t give a shit,” said Kyungsoo, shifting and gasping a little. “I want you to come in me.”
“Fuck,” said Chanyeol, and grabbed for the lube.
Kyungsoo pulled him in the moment he got close enough. They hadn’t used condoms since they started having sex without, and Kyungsoo thumbed over the slit of Chanyeol’s cock. Chanyeol doubled over, groaning, saying, “Baby, you can’t, I gotta—”
“Yeah, yeah, hurry up, fuck me,” said Kyungsoo, flopping back on the bed.
“Wow, hot,” said Chanyeol, tugging his legs apart, easy.
“Shut up.” Kyungsoo was looking at him with such indiscriminate fondness that it was almost nauseating, except Chanyeol knew that there was fondness in his own eyes. He could feel it, flushing through his face, stretching the corners of his mouth into a smile that wouldn’t go away.
“Gorgeous,” whispered Chanyeol, and buried himself into that tight heat, bliss tinging at the edges of his mind. Underneath him Kyungsoo gasped and arched, tan skin glimmering in the lamp light. They moved and breathed, clinging together until Chanyeol’s hips stuttered and he moaned, coming into Kyungsoo, trembling and pressing his lips against the sweat-slick skin of Kyungsoo’s shoulder. He mouthed the words that he was not ready to say and Kyungsoo was not ready to hear, but which begged to tumble from his lips anyway. And then they slept, entangled together, and woke up to do it all over, over again.
A month later
The door opened with a creaking, lurching sound that never failed to scare Chanyeol. He jerked from his position at the desk, tugging off his headphones. Kyungsoo rolled his eyes.
“Coffee?” asked Chanyeol hopefully.
“Hello to you too,” said Kyungsoo, but handed him the mug anyway. Chanyeol took it, and grabbed his hand along with it, tugging him lightly into a kiss. He didn’t know it was possible to kiss exasperatedly, but Kyungsoo managed it.
“Are you hanging out with me?” asked Chanyeol after a long draught of coffee.
“Well I would if there was any room to sit on your couch.” Kyungsoo gave the couch a pointed look—it was covered with pillows, empty food containers, papers, and Chanyeol’s scarf.
Chanyeol gestured at his lap and gave the sleaziest smile he could manage. “Baby, the best couch is right open.”
Kyungsoo whacked him on the head and Chanyeol dissolved into snickers.
But Kyungsoo deigned to lean against his chair and reached to pick the headphones off Chanyeol’s neck. “What are you working on?” he asked. “Still the same song that you’ve had me singing for?”
Chanyeol’s smile froze. He hadn’t quite figured out how to tell Kyungsoo that lately, he’d shifted his focus over to a song that stemmed from their relationship, which, burgeoning and fledging, had already had a massive impact on his work. It seemed baring, almost uncomfortable for both parties.
But he watched, powerless, as Kyungsoo took the headphones and put them on his own ears. Watched as Kyungsoo’s expression shifted to something a little confused, warped into interest. “Is that you?” he asked. “Singing?”
“What is this song?” asked Kyungsoo. Chanyeol could tell when the chorus hit because Kyungsoo’s eyebrows went way up. He could tell when he realized that the song was about him. Well. Them.
Kyungsoo pulled the headphones off. Chanyeol didn’t breathe.
“You like the way I dress like a grandfather, because it means we’ll grow old together?” Kyungsoo raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you calling me old?”
“Uh,” said Chanyeol.
“And I didn’t know that every time I entered the room, you felt that way.” Kyungsoo was definitely smiling. “Or that you loved how small I was. Actually, I did know that. Kinky fucker.”
Briefly, Chanyeol wondered if it was actually possible for his face to catch on fire. It certainly felt that way, feeling how hot it was. “Shut up,” he whined, covering his face. “You weren’t supposed to hear it.”
A moment later, Kyungsoo puddled himself into Chanyeol’s lap, a warm and comforting mass, laughing as he pressed a kiss to Chanyeol’s temple. “I like it,” he said. “I like it when you sing, you don’t do it enough. I like the song.”
Chanyeol peeked at him. He didn’t look upset at all. He looked rather pink, flushed with pleasure, like the song had made him happy.
“You’re ridiculous,” said Kyungsoo with all-too-apparent fondness. He dipped his head down to kiss Chanyeol, lips moving slowly, one hand reaching up to tangle into Chanyeol’s hair. Chanyeol sighed, relaxed into it and wrapped his hands around Kyungsoo’s hips until the kiss was broken and they remained there, forehead to forehead, breathing each other’s breath.
“Besides,” continued Kyungsoo. “If you hate my clothes so much, you could always take them off.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jongdae walked in and screamed, dropping the Chipotle bag he’d brought. “My GOD,” he wailed as he fled. “Lock the door!”