It's hot in the makeshift dancefloor. There are too many people per square meter, some of the dancing bodies bumping into the furniture they pushed away earlier this evening. They'd never meant for it to become a banger, but Yuta texted someone who texted someone else and it just spiralled out of control. Now Ten finds himself grinding against someone he doesn't recall ever seeing. He discarded his sweater somewhere and deemed it lost forever, the black tank he had underneath now soaked through with sweat and spilled alcohol.
The music reverberates throughout his body, makes the hairs at the back of his neck stand up. Ten swirls, moving away from the faceless stranger he was dancing with. He needs a drink, it's been at least an hour since he last drank anything. Looking around, Ten tries to situate himself. The kitchen is ahead, he can see the counter littered with empty bottles and pushes through the bodies in order to reach it.
He's almost there when he sees him.
Leaning back against the sink elbows propped on the edges of the counter, dark eyes unyielding, set onto Ten's form. Johnny.
His hair is messier than it was when Ten first saw him earlier, pushed away from his forehead. The jacket he wore is nowhere to be seen, the sleeves of his white long-sleeves rolled to his elbows. There's a mild crease between his brows, and his lips are pressed together into a thin line.
“Phew,” Ten sighs once he steps into the kitchen, ignoring the bead of sweat that rolls down his neck. “Fucking hot in here.”
He's not sure if Johnny is paying him any mind at first; there's no reply. Tension falls upon his shoulders, and Ten rolls them out. He grabs the first bottle he sees and shakes it, satisfied when liquid sloshes inside. He uncaps it, grabbing an empty cup from a stack.
It bothers him that Johnny hasn’t said a word since he came in, so Ten turns around and faces him. “You okay?”
Johnny places his cup in the sink behind him, then blinks at Ten. He runs both hands through his hair (ah, so that’s how it got so messy), and nods.
“Yeah,” he says, the lines of his face relaxing under Ten’s gaze. “You?”
“Peachy,” Ten winks, pouring himself some of the drink -- rum, he reads on the label. Ten doesn’t even like rum. However, there’s weight in Johnny’s eyes, a load Ten has grown to know, and he decides he definitely needs a drink right now.
“How much have you drunk?” Comes the question the second Ten’s lips touch the cup.
He lifts his eyes, meets Johnny’s.
“A bit,” Ten answers, making sure to take a big gulp. Fuck, rum is nasty. He’s unable to keep from grimacing and resigns himself to abandoning the cup on the counter.
There’s a look on Johnny’s face, one that indicates he wants to say something -- probably something Ten wouldn’t want to hear.
Straightening himself, Ten arches his eyebrows, stepping closer. “Let’s dance.”
It's pretty clear Johnny wasn't expecting that. “With you?” He asks.
Ten chuckles, reaching out to tug on the fabric of Johnny's shirt. “Why? Is there anyone else you'd rather be dancing with?”
Johnny hesitates. His eyes lower to where Ten is grabbing at his shirt, takes a couple steps towards him. They're standing much closer now, the air around them thick, loaded with the same kind of stuff Ten is used to seeing in Johnny's eyes.
He knows the answer to that question; has known since the day they met and Johnny held his hand in a grip that was equal parts tight and soft, reassuring. Johnny asked him for a kiss that day, and Ten refused him. He knew it from the moment he laid eyes on Johnny, that it wouldn't be just a kiss. Ten knew it, and he was right.
Johnny isn't just the dude Ten met on the day Jaehyun moved into his new room. He's not just a Photographer, he's not just a friend. There's no just when it comes to Johnny, he's so much more. Ten didn't have to kiss him to know that.
They've been dancing around each other ever since, subtle touches and stolen glances. More than once, Ten has asked himself why the fuck he hadn't kissed Johnny that day -- he'd wanted to.
“It's too hot in here,” Johnny says. His fingers wrap around Ten's wrist, feather-light. “Let's go outside for a breather.”
Before Ten offers him an answer, Johnny is pulling him out of the kitchen, using the back door to venture outside.
The air that hits their faces is cool, easing some of the heat underneath Ten's skin. He takes a deep breath, basks in the feel of Johnny's hand against his, the breeze on his arms, his neck.
“Much better,” he says to no one in particular.
Johnny sits on the grass, and Ten follows him. They sit in silence for a bit.
“Haven't seen you in a bit,” Johnny points out.
“You saw me earlier this evening.”
“You know what I mean.”
They used to meet up regularly, just the two of them. A coffee shop, an art gallery; outings that made it possible to actually have a chat. Ten liked hearing about Johnny’s day, he loved watching the glint in his eyes whenever Johnny went on one of his tirades about photography, about the new tv show he’d been hooked on. He also loved the way Johnny’s palm would always find its way in his. Natural; like pink clouds in a sunset sky.
It always felt like a date. Probably because of the way they leaned onto each other, the soft kisses Johnny pressed onto Ten’s temple and flirtatious tone of their conversations. Ten loved that kind of attention, reveled in it.
Things got hectic on Johnny’s end, and their hang outs were cut short. They kept in touch, but texting wasn't enough to prevent distance from dampening their relationship. Soon enough there were talks of Johnny dating someone else, and Ten shouldn’t have been upset because he was the one to reject that kiss, if Johnny was free to date other people it was on Ten.
Eventually, Ten started questioning the veracity of Johnny’s ever busy schedule. Could it be an excuse?
Back then, Ten wasn’t sure about that kiss. He had no idea what Johnny wanted, and absolutely no time to figure it out. It made sense to just… Flat out refuse it. Now, Ten is afraid to take the first step. What if Johnny doesn’t feel the same way? What if they’re only holding hands because Ten is drunk and in need of an anchor?
“What are you thinking about?” Johnny asks, thumb tapping onto Ten’s hand twice.
Ten turns to face him, brings Johnny’s hand closer to himself.
“Stuff,” he says.
“What kind of stuff?”
Ten could make something up. It would be quite easy. An assignment, trouble with his family, global warming.
Instead, he says, “You. Us.”
Johnny blinks at Ten. He doesn’t look confused or even taken aback. He just watches Ten for a second, then asks, “What about us?”
“Wondering how things would have played out if I hadn’t denied you that kiss.”
The smile on Johnny’s face is soft. His eyes drift away, and he sighs.
“That was a while ago,” Johnny replies, eyes falling back on a Ten.
Ten shrugs, “I think about it sometimes.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever asked why you refused,” a squeeze at Ten’s hand. Johnny scoots closer. “I mean… Of course you don’t owe me any explanations, you didn’t have to kiss me back then. I just thought you’d say yes.”
Ten would. He wanted to say yes.
“I wasn’t up for a hook-up,” Ten says. “I thought you’d end up asking again if that was something you really wanted. You never did.”
“I was waiting for you to take the first step!” Johnny exclaims. “We went on several dates!”
“Those were dates?” Ten should have known. They felt like dates, but he didn’t want to assume.
Johnny chuckles, shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have asked you for a kiss that night. Should have asked you out instead. That would have made my intentions clearer.”
Ten’ stomach clenches, a soft gasp floats past his lips.
“Your intentions?” He asks.
Johnny holds Ten’s. “I wanted to get to know you.”
Not just a hook-up then.
Ten straightens up, frees his hand from Johnny’s hold and shifts on the grass. “You know me now,” he says. “Is there anything else you want?”
A long beat passes between them, and all Johnny does is watch Ten. He doesn’t answer Ten’s question, but the way his face eases up and his eyes fall to Ten’s mouth seem to be pretty strong indications.
Filled with hot, liquid courage Ten stands up on his knees, places one in between Johnny’s open legs. He takes Johnny’s chin in his fingers, tilts his face up.
“Can I kiss you?” Ten asks.
Johnny gazes at Ten looking somewhat transfixed, like what he sees is either otherworldly or purely astounding. Heavy hands find their way to Ten’s hips.
Ten can feel the shape of Johnny’s smile against his lips. Johnny’s hands squeeze his hips and bring him closer. Ten tightens the grip on Johnny’s hair, angles his head and kisses him harder.
With hands on the back of Ten’s thighs, Johnny has him sitting down on his lap, yanking him impossibly closer. The sudden change in position draws a gasp out of Ten’s mouth, and gone is the hesitation he’s so used to seeing in Johnny’s eyes. One of his arms wrap tightly around Ten’s waist, the other brings a hand up to Ten’s neck, thumb stroking at his jaw.
Johnny kisses like he’s starved; nipping at Ten’s lips, lapping at Ten’s mouth, sliding his tongue against Ten’s. His hands are hungry for a taste of bare skin, snaking from Ten’s neck to his waist, from his waist to his face.
They’re pressed against each other, Ten’s ass against Johnny’s bulging crotch, and the friction sends a shiver all the way up toTen’s spine. It’s impossible to swallow back the moan. It works to slow their pace a bit, the kiss turning tender, gentle, wet pecks against lips. A brush of noses and thumbs against cheekbones.
“How do you like it?” Ten’s a little out of breath, mind hazy and buzzing like someone’s just blown a really loud whistle right next to his ear.
“You drive me crazy, do you know that?” Johnny breathes, hot air against Ten’s mouth, hands sneaking under his shirt. “Always have, since the first moment I laid my eyes on you.”
“You should have sought me harder, then,” Ten insists as Johnny’s teeth scrape at his jaw. “I wanted you to.”
Johnny pulls back, regards him. “I had no idea.”
“Now you do.” Stroking his hair back, Ten leans in, kisses the corner of Johnny’s mouth. “I want you.”
Letting out a ragged breath, Johnny smiles, kisses Ten back. “I want you too.”
“Then take me.”
Waking up in a tangle of limbs was never this pleasant. Ten used to get annoyed at how clingy Yukhei used to get whenever they rendezvoused, but this is cozy. Not so hot that his body is sweaty, not too chilled that he’d need another blanket. Maybe it’s the Johnny factor.
Yuta came around sometime last night, yelled at them for defiling the sanctity of his bedroom and promised they’ll never find the keys after he changes the hiding place. Johnny merely chuckled and whispered, “Joke’s on him, we’ll just lock-pick.”
Ten can safely say he slept like a child.
Bringing himself up on his elbows, Ten peers down at Johnny’s sleeping form, dark hair aesthetically thrown across his forehead, rosy lips slightly parted. He’s a sight to remember. With light fingers, Ten brushes the hair away from Johnny’s forehead, presses a careful kiss on the exposed skin before jumping out of bed.
Their clothes are all over the place, so he goes around picking everything up. Dresses himself, then places Johnny’s on Yuta’s desk, neatly folded. His phone registers eleven in the morning, which means that most people but the inner circle have probably left hours ago. With one last glance at Johnny, Ten unlocks the door and makes his way out.
Downstairs is the actual apocalypse. There isn’t a living soul around, but the signs that a horde of ferocious beasts passed through are all over the place. Ten tiptoes in order to avoid some Cheetos and mud (?) on the floor, and reaches the kitchen. He checks the fridge for anything edible and finds a ketchup bottle. Seems like things got rowdy enough for the fridge to get raided.
It’s going to take Yuta ages to clean it all up. Ten could offer help if he were a better person.
“Wow,” Johnny says as he kicks empty cups out of the way.
“I know,” Ten replies, having another glance around. He meets Johnny’s eyes and smirks. “Good thing we’re leaving before Yuta shows up.”
Johnny snorts, walking the rest of the way to the kitchen. When he finally gets there, he steps into Ten’s personal space, squeezing both of Ten’s arms in greeting.
“If helping Yuta clean up is not in today’s schedule, what is?”
Ten scrunches up his face in thought. Truth is, it doesn’t matter what he does as long as Johnny is with him. Ten has no intention of parting ways just yet.
“Wanna go get breakfast?” He suggests.
Johnny checks the kitchen wall clock and chuckles. “It’s almost midday.”
“Okay. Let’s get brunch.”