maayacolabackup (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
maayacolabackup) wrote2012-07-01 11:49 am
maayacolabackup) wrote2012-07-01 11:49 am
KPop: Favors the Bold (Kris/Lay, NC-17) [3/3]
“What are you doing?” Yixing asks, and Wu Fan almost drops his mobile over the balcony railing.
“Taking a picture for my mom,” Wu Fan says. “She asked me about Korea.”
“Ah,” Yixing says. “Sending her a photo of the mountains?”
“Yeah,” Wu Fan says, and Yixing leans against the balcony railing, right next to him. Yixing hasn’t bothered with a shirt, and his lean muscle flexes beneath smooth skin. “And a message. Just so she knows I’m not ignoring her.”
“Good call,” Yixing says, and then he leans against Wu Fan. The skin against skin makes goosebumps rise on Wu Fan’s arm, but there’s no way for Wu Fan to move away without it being obvious he’s pushing Yixing away. Wu Fan carefully looks out the corner of his eye, and Yixing is staring at him straight on, and the smile lurking in his eyes tells Wu Fan that he knows he’s got him cornered. “Let me see.”
Wu Fan turns the screen of his smart phone, and Yixing moves even closer, half in front of Wu Fan, his back pressing against Wu Fan’s chest. “Here.”
“This is the wrong character,” he says, pointing at the screen. “You use that character for describing things, not people. It’s a different category.”
“I know how to say it,” Wu Fan defends, flustered by Yixing’s proximity and the way Yixing’s shoulder blades slide across his nipples, which is a whole new kind of distracting. He takes a deep breath. He’s not supposed to feel like this about a friend, he reminds himself. Yixing probably doesn’t want Wu Fan to be thinking about him like that, anyway. “Just… I forgot the characters, I guess.”
“All those languages rattling around in your head,” Yixing says, and his voice is deeper than usual. Yixing spins around, so he’s facing Wu Fan, leaning back against the rail. He grabs Wu Fan’s hand, the one not holding the phone, and turns it palm up. Wu Fan’s hand looks so large between Yixing’s two smaller ones. “It’s like this.”
He takes his index finger and drags it along Wu Fan’s palm, and Wu Fan stops breathing. Yixing’s fingertip leaves a trail of fire in its wake, and it takes Wu Fan another moment before he realizes that Yixing is drawing the correct character into his palm.
“Oh,” Wu Fan says. “Right.” His hand burns, and tingles, and Yixing’s hand is the perfect size for Wu Fan to fold into his own, and this is not… This is not what he should be thinking. This is not how it should be, but the emotions are threatening to burst out of him, they’re so strong, and Wu Fan doesn’t know what to do. He snatches his hand out of Yixing’s grip, and steps backward, toward the doorway, and Yixing lets his hands fall to his side.
“What’s changed between us?” Yixing says.
“Nothing,” Wu Fan says, and Yixing’s not smiling at all now. He’s looking down at his own hands in confusion.
“I’m the smart one in this conversation,” Yixing says. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying,” Wu Fan says, because he isn’t. Nothing’s changed; not really. Wu Fan’s just getting weaker and weaker, and it’s more that he’s losing the ability to lie, especially to himself.
“Talk to me,” Yixing says. “Pretend we’re on that roof, after the China showcase. Pretend we’re there, and talk to me.”
Yixing looks into his eyes, and Wu Fan knows it’s all written there; all the things he’s been trying to hide, for so long, and Yixing’s lips part, in surprise or confusion, and Wu Fan jerks his hand away, closing it into a fist as he tries not to panic. “It doesn’t matter,” Wu Fan says. “It’s not good to be selfish.”
“Sometimes it is,” Yixing says, and Wu Fan closes his eyes and takes a deep trembling breath. “Sometimes human beings are selfish, and it doesn’t make them bad.”
“I’m the leader,” Wu Fan says. “I’m supposed to-“
“Wu Fan,” Yixing says. “Look at me.”
“I don’t want to,” Wu Fan says, but he does, and Yixing grabs his wrist, and Wu Fan shakes him off. There’s a dawning understanding in Yixing’s eyes that shakes him down to his bones, and Wu Fan doesn’t know what he’ll do if Yixing figures him out. If all his secrets are laid bare in front of a man who’s so hard to read. “It’s nothing.”
Yixing is looking at him with an indecipherable expression, now, a closed one, and if Wu Fan didn’t know better, he’d think Yixing looked intrigued. “If you’re quite sure…” he drawls, and the vulnerable tone Wu Fan had heard in his voice earlier is gone, and Wu Fan’s panicked heartbeat starts to slow.
“I am.” Wu Fan takes another step back, and Yixing raises one brow. His eyes are narrowed, and something about that expression makes Wu Fan nervous, too, but he forces himself to relax. “I’m going inside, okay?”
“All right,” Yixing says, and Wu Fan walks inside, leaving Yixing on the balcony. He looks back; he can’t help it, and Yixing is standing where Wu Fan had been standing before, back to the door, facing the mountains. His outline is glowing from the light of the setting sun, and Wu Fan is in so far over his head he doesn’t know how to dig his way out.
He makes sure to act extra nonchalant at dinner, and Jongin looks at him with approval, and Wu Fan thinks maybe he’s pulled it together. But Yixing is still studying him, with that fascinated expression, and Wu Fan’s not sure of anything, anymore.
Yixing blows him a kiss, and Wu Fan forgets the camera, and the audience, and the other members.
I love you, he says, because he’s supposed to, but he means it, and afterwards there’s this sinking feeling in his stomach because for some reason, putting it into words has made it feel more real, and more terrible.
“You were believable today,” Yixing tells him, hands in his pockets and eyes on the floor. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought you were serious.”
“Stop joking around,” Wu Fan says, and he’s relieved when his voice doesn’t crack at all.
It repeats, though, in his head, over and over and over again.
wo ai ni, wo ai ni, wo ai ni. I love you, I love you, I love you.
And the feeling has a name.
Wu Fan opens his eyes to Yixing. “What?” he says blearily, and rolls onto his side to look at the clock on his nightstand. “Oh hell no,” he says in English. “It’s five-thirty in the morning.”
“It is,” Yixing says, looking amused. “Good morning.”
“It’s not morning,” Wu Fan replies. “It’s the middle of the night. I get at least four more hours of sleep before I am getting out of bed.”
Yixing bounces up and down on the edge of Wu Fan’s bed, hard enough that his pillow falls onto the floor. “False.”
“Why are you in my room?” he opens his eyes, and refocuses them. It is his room, he thinks, with relief, and the he flops onto his back and stares at Yixing.
“It’s my room too,” Yixing says, and Wu Fan blinks.
“No it isn’t. I live with Lu Han and Jongdae?” Wu Fan is confused, because Yixing seems so sure.
Yixing shakes his head, and out of nowhere, produces a box of koala cookies, the kind with chocolate in the center. “Not anymore.”
“Don’t eat that in here; Lu Han is a clean freak, you know that.”
“I’ll eat in my room if I want to,” Yixing says, and his bangs, held back from his forehead with a rubber band, sway from left to right as he shifts his head. He pops a cookie into his mouth, and Wu Fan winces, because it’s five-thirty in the morning.
“This isn’t-“ Wu Fan starts, as he gives up on the idea of returning back to sleep. “What game are we playing? I’m sleepy.”
“We’re playing the ‘Lay traded rooms’ game,” Yixing says. “Lu Han’s with Sehun, and Junmyeon is with Jongdae and Minseok.” Yixing eats another cookie. “And I am with you.”
“Why is this happening at five-thirty in the morning?” Wu Fan groans, as the implications start to sink in. It’s been hard enough just getting through the day, but at night…
“Actually, it happened last night, but someone went to bed early,” Yixing says. “I’m not going to name names, or anything, but it might have been someone who needs ten hours of beauty sleep.”
“I wish I was asleep right now,” Wu Fan says, voice cracking with sleep. “Why didn’t anyone ask my opinion on this?”
“If nothing’s changed between us,” Yixing says lightly, and Wu Fan can see a glimmer of intent in his gaze, “does it really matter?”
Wu Fan flips onto his stomach, and stares at the wall. “Of course it doesn’t,” he says, aiming for the same flippant tone as Yixing.
“Good,” Yixing says. “It’s settled then. Wake up, I’m bored.”
Wu Fan ignores him, closing his eyes and hoping that when he wakes up, he’ll be alone in his bed, and this will all have been a dream. “No,” he says, and Yixing pokes him.
“Koala?” he asks, and Wu Fan pulls his covers over his head.
Later, he corners Lu Han in the kitchen of the EXO-K dorm, as Lu Han convinces Kyungsoo to cook him noodles. “Why did you do this?” he hisses, and Lu Han smiles at him sweetly.
“Why aren’t you asking Minseok?” Lu Han says.
“Because Minseok is a sweetheart and you’re evil incarnate. I know you’re up to something.”
“I’m just a research assistant,” Lu Han says, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I like to help people with their experiments.”
“I can’t believe people think you’re sweet,” Wu Fan says, and Lu Han’s smile gets a little wider.
“Relax, leader. Take a deep breath.” Lu Han gives him a heart made of his index fingers and thumbs, and Wu Fan shouts in frustration. “Yixing asked, and I saw no reason to say no.” He scratches his nose, and then tilts his head to the side. “Plus, you talk in your sleep, and half the time, I don’t even know what language it is. Now it’s not my problem.”
“I hope a fangirl catches you,” Wu Fan says. “It would be no less than you deserve.”
He goes to find Chanyeol, who takes one look at his face and turns off the weird cat video he’s watching, spinning in his desk chair to look at Wu Fan.
“Wow,” Chanyeol says. “I haven’t seen you this unsettled since people thought you were dating Amber.”
“There was a massive room switch.”
“Yeah, last night, I know. Sehun and Lu Han were up giggling all night like thirteen year old girls,” Chanyeol says, and Wu Fan decides not to inform Chanyeol that he and Baekhyun do the exact same thing.
“No one asked me.”
“What’s the big deal?”
Wu Fan doesn’t have an answer. The simple answer is that Wu Fan thinks about Yixing about seventeen hours a day, and the other seven hours are when he’s asleep, and sometimes, even then, he’s thinking about Yixing. The simple answer might also be that Wu Fan is in love with Yixing, even though he knows he isn’t supposed to be. Or that having Yixing in the same room as him is going to drive him insane.
Wu Fan can’t bring himself to give one of the simple answers, so he sets his face into a concentrated frown.
“Is this one of your… control-freak things?” Chanyeol asks, and Wu Fan blinks. “Like, are you bothered that it happened, or that you, as leader, weren’t consulted?” Chanyeol is laughing at him, and Wu Fan’s stomach sinks, but he grabs onto that option like a lifetime.
“I’m over-reacting aren’t I?” Wu Fan asks, and he tries to fake a laugh, but Wu Fan’s never really been good at that.
Chanyeol looks vaguely disturbed. “Don’t… ever make that face again,” he says. “Please.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my face,” Wu Fan says, looking down at his toes, and giving up on trying to change his expression.
“You looked like Tao that time we watched the documentary about the extinction of the dinosaurs,” Chanyeol says. “I have chills, man.”
“Sorry,” Wu Fan mumbles, and Chanyeol pats him on the shoulder.
“Yixing is your friend,” Chanyeol says. “I think you’ve always liked him a little more than you like everyone else. This is just a chance to spend more time with him.”
Wu Fan looks down at his nails. He’s bitten them to the quick. Wu Fan thinks about the way Yixing had looked this morning, sitting on the edge of his bed. Even through his sleepy eyes, Yixing had looked perfect, cookie crumbs at the corner of his lips and hair a dreadful mess, and Wu Fan knows, knows he’s doomed.
“You’re right,” he says, but he’s not sure if Chanyeol buys it, because Wu Fan doesn’t say it with much conviction.
The thing is, on paper, Yixing doesn’t seem like the sort of person that Wu Fan would fall in love with.
If Wu Fan were to have guessed, he would have imagined a small, quiet girl, with short, low maintenance hair and pretty hands, who was organized and regimented and quiet, just like him. It would be the sensible kind of love, he thought; the calm kind that was placid like a lake and easy and left him plenty of time for music or whatever.
He didn’t really imagine all this turbulence and crashing waves and desperate need to touch.
Yixing is everything Wu Fan isn’t. He wakes up early, and Wu Fan likes to sleep late. He’s always eating, and Wu Fan likes structured meals at structured times. He’s loud where Wu Fan is quiet, and he’s unpredictable in ways that drive Wu Fan insane, because Wu Fan likes to know everything in advance, so he can plan accordingly.
But Wu Fan’s also heard that opposites attract, and Wu Fan sometimes loves the way he never knows what Yixing will do, or the way Yixing wrecks everything Wu Fan’s set carefully in its place and drags him out of his shell and makes him live in the moment.
Wu Fan can’t help but love Yixing, not despite how different they are, but because of it.
“Ready for the performance next week?” Yixing asks, grabbing and apple from the fruit bowl and taking a bite.
“Is your stomach a black hole?” Jongdae asks, and Jongin snickers, leaning back in his seat. Wu Fan just keeps reading over their schedule. ”We had lunch a half-hour ago.”
“The performance will be fine,” Lu Han says. “Wu Fan is more worried about how often we’ll have to go to the airport in the next month, I think.”
“I hate the airport,” Wu Fan mumbles, and Yixing laughs, sinking into the chair next to Wu Fan, sliding it close enough that Wu Fan can smell the apple, and that damned shampoo.
“I know,” Yixing says. “We’ve all learned wariness.”
Yixing puts his hand on Wu Fan’s thigh, and Wu Fan looks up, forcing himself not to flinch. Yixing is grinning. “What?”
Yixing’s grin grows larger, and he rips the papers out of Wu Fan’s hands. “You need to stop.”
“It’s my job,” Wu Fan says.
“You read it once; that’s enough for now.”
“Give it back,” Wu Fan says, and Yixing stands up with the papers.
“Well, good night, everyone. I’m going to bed.”
Wu Fan follows him into the room, and Yixing sets them down on the desk.
“They’ll be there tomorrow. You’ve been stressing all day.”
“I just want to be a good leader,” Wu Fan says. “It’s my contribution to EXO. I’m not the best singer, or dancer, or rapper, but I’m good at this.”
“It’s good that you take being leader seriously,” Yixing says. “But sometimes you can just be Wu Fan, you know?”
Wu Fan doesn’t answer; he just picks up his laptop and sits on the bed, checking his email while not really seeing it as he thinks about Yixing’s words.
Wu Fan glances up to ask Yixing a question, but Yixing is stripping in the middle of the room before Wu Fan has time to process what’s happening and look away. “What are you doing?” Wu Fan’s mesmerized at the play of muscles as Yixing’s back works, watching as inch after inch of milky skin is revealed.
“Getting ready for bed?” Yixing says, looking over his shoulder. Wu Fan’s eyes catch his, and Yixing’s face reveals nothing. Yixing looks away, and Wu Fan gulps and finds himself unable to look away as Yixing unfastens his skinny jeans, and peels them down his legs, revealing more skin, and more muscles, and Wu Fan’s neck feels hot.
The room in general is hot, Wu Fan thinks, as Yixing steps out of his pants, and walks over to his bed, stretching his arms above his head, which just makes Wu Fan stare more.
To his embarrassment, Wu Fan feels himself getting hard, and he stands up, closing his laptop and grabbing his towel and shower basket.
“Where are you going?” Yixing asks, and Wu Fan doesn’t look at him.
“Shower,” Wu Fan says, and then he rushes out of the room, leaving Yixing behind. He locks the bathroom door, and then sinks down to the tile, back pressed against the closed door. He takes deep breaths, and his stomach heaves as his hands fist in his towel, clutching the terrycloth to his chest.
He sits there for a few minutes, trying to make the image of Yixing’s soft skin and pale thighs fade from his mind, but when they do, they’re replaced with Yixing’s teasing eyes and prominent dimple, and Wu Fan doesn’t know what to do.
He stands up, and looks into the mirror. “This isn’t going to go away,” he tells his reflection, and his reflection looks terrified, he thinks. Wu Fan almost doesn’t recognize himself. “You’re in love with Yixing, and it isn’t going to go away.”
Though he whispers, the words echo in the small bathroom, and Wu Fan thinks he might throw up.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It isn’t supposed to be like this.
As he stands under the hot shower water, hand rough around his erection, Wu Fan’s guilt wars with his arousal, and he wonders, if just for the next five minutes, he can pretend everything’s going to be fine.
He wants to press Yixing up against the wall and kiss him until Yixing’s looking at him, flushed and transparent and smiling, and as he spills over his hand and onto the shower floor, he wishes it was okay to want that.
“What do you think?” Yixing says, lips pursed. His hands go up to tug at a piece of hair, shorter and redder than it had been two hours ago.
It’s different. But Wu Fan can see Yixing’s cheekbones, and in the end, Yixing looks good with any haircut. “It looks nice.”
“I don’t know,” Yixing says, and Wu Fan reaches over toward Yixing and runs his fingers through the bangs.
“The red suits your eyes,” Wu Fan says, before he pulls away, an embarrassed flush climbing his neck. “The color of them, I mean. So don’t… be upset.”
“My eyes?” Yixing says, and he sounds a lot happier.
“What did you say to Yixing?” Jongdae asks, later, as Wu Fan examines his own hair-transformation in the mirror. “He was having a diva-fit about it earlier but he seems fine now.”
“I just told him the color was nice,” Wu Fan says, noncommittally, and Jongdae snorts.
“As long as duizhang likes it, huh?” Jongdae muses, lifting one eyebrow as Wu Fan experiments with his fringe.
“Leader knows best?” Wu Fan asks, and Jongdae snorts.
“Sure,” Jongdae says. “We’ll go with that.” He leaves Wu Fan to his inspection, and Wu Fan tries not to remember the way Yixing’s voice had colored with pleasure when Wu Fan had given his approval.
Wu Fan shifts anxiously from foot to foot as he watches Girl’s Generation perform, their legs flawlessly in sync.
“Stop worrying. We’ve rehearsed a million times. We’ll all exit from the same side of the stage this time, too.” Chanyeol says. “So stop stressing. You’re going to get a zit.”
Wu Fan’s hands fly up before he can tell himself not to, and Chanyeol cackles. “I can’t believe that worked twice,” Wu Fan groans, and Chanyeol’s eyes go round and he turns to Zitao.
“You got him with that too?” Zitao nods, looking pleased that Chanyeol is pleased. “Up high!” He says in English, and as Zitao’s hand slaps Chanyeol’s in the air, Wu Fan wonders how his life has sunk to this. “You have learned well, grasshopper.”
“I hate you both,” he says, and Chanyeol laughs even louder, clapping and stomping his feet.
“Yeah, whatever,” Chanyeol says. “Bullshit. Stop making that grumpy face; it makes you look like you’re PMSing.”
“I’m going to hang out with Amber,” Wu Fan said. “At least she doesn’t derive pleasure from my misery.”
Wu Fan doesn’t find Amber. Instead, he ends up standing alone, watching the chaos around him with pensive eyes.
“Figures you’d be brooding,” Yixing says, and Wu Fan jumps at the sound of his voice. “If the fans could see that face.”
“Please don’t try to orchestrate that,” Wu Fan says, rubbing his temples. “I have enough stress in my life.”
“I think I’ll keep that face just for me,” Yixing says, and Wu Fan has to lean down to hear him. “How’s the weather up there?”
“Ha ha,” Wu Fan says, and Yixing moves closer, standing on his toes to whisper into Wu Fan’s ear.
“Your necklace is crooked,” he says, and Wu Fan reacts to the whisper, his already quivering stomach doing flips in his gut. “Just hold still.”
Yixing stands in front of him, hands reaching up, fingers taking hold of the chain of Wu Fan’s necklace, and Wu Fan can hear his pulse in his ears, loud as thunder during a storm. Yixing turns the chain until the clasp is in the back, and the barest brush of his small hands against Wu Fan’s collarbones bring Wu Fan’s skin to life, and Wu Fan closes his eyes to try to stop himself from trembling.
“There we go,” Yixing says, and his voice is tight, and Wu Fan opens his eyes. Just then, a crewmember walks past, and bumps into Yixing, pushing him forward. He stumbles, and on reflex, Wu Fan reaches out to catch him, hands finding Yixing’s waist as Yixing grabs onto his biceps. They’re chest to chest, and the wall hurts Wu Fan’s shoulder blades, but he hardly notices because Yixing is pressed completely against him. Yixing’s thigh is between Wu Fan’s thighs, and Yixing’s heart, Wu Fan realizes, through a haze, is beating as fast as Wu Fan’s own.
Wu Fan’s eyes dart down, and Yixing is looking up at him, and it’s electric. Yixing’s fingers tighten, and there’s… Wu Fan sees, suddenly, that glint in Yixing’s eyes; the one he’s seen before but didn’t understand. But now, as they stand here, close enough that Wu Fan could lean forward, so easily, and kiss Yixing, or lick a stripe across Yixing’s exposed collarbones, he thinks it might be the same thing Wu Fan’s been feeling too.
“Wu Fan,” Yixing says, and there’s a definite crack in his voice, now, and Wu Fan lets his hands slide up Yixing’s waist. His heart is pounding like a caged animal, and it’s…
“Leader, where are you? We’re on in five minutes!” Zitao’s voice calls, and Wu Fan remembers, suddenly, where they are, and what he should be doing, and how this, this, is completely inappropriate.
“Later,” he says, and drops his hands, and Yixing steps back, face resuming his normal blank expression, and Wu Fan wonders what his own face looks like. Inside, he’s a mess.
At least, he thinks, he’s not worried about the performance anymore.
Wu Fan doesn’t look at Yixing as they wait to go on, but he can feel the tension, thick and heavy between them, and he knows, somehow, that there won’t be any going backwards.
Wu Fan, through sheer force of will, doesn’t blush at Yixing’s antics during the interview, even when Yixing tells the host that Wu Fan is warmhearted and manly and would be his ideal type if he were a girl.
“Your sense of tact is worse than my handwriting,” Kris says, and Yixing’s dimple appears.
“Ah, leader, your sense of humor…”
“I thought you were supposed to be scared of me?” Wu Fan says, and Yixing laughs.
“Don’t I look scared?” he says mildly, and Lu Han snickers behind a hand.
“Not scared enough,” Wu Fan growls, and Lu Han’s laughter gets a little louder and Yixing’s dimple a little more pronounced.
“Ah, sorry, duizhang,” Yixing says, as Zitao returns with Minseok, Jongdae and bottled drinks. “I’ll work on that.”
He walks over and meets Zitao halfway, and Wu Fan turns to Lu Han and raises a single eyebrow. “Up to something.”
“Obviously,” Lu Han says, puffing out his cheeks to stop himself from laughing. Wu Fan would be annoyed that Lu Han thinks everything is so amusing if he weren’t so confused. “What do you think he’s up to, leader?”
“I don’t know,” Wu Fan says, running his fingers through his hair. “And that worries me.”
Lu Han can’t seem to stop himself from snorting.
“Oh, it doesn’t seem all that bad to me,” Lu Han replies, as Wu Fan starts to massage his temples. “I’m sure everything will be fine.” There’s a glimmer in his eyes of suppressed glee, and Wu Fan doesn’t feel very reassured.
“You seem stressed,” Zitao says later, as he massages Wu Fan’s shoulders, and Wu Fan relaxes into his younger friend’s touch.
“I’m becoming old before my time,” Wu Fan answers, and Zitao laughs, and Wu Fan turns and offers him a rare smile. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Zitao says, flushing with pleasure as he steps back, letting his hands fall as their manager starts to herd them towards the van. “And leader?”
“Yes?”
“Sometimes the right answer is so simple we could kick ourselves, right?” Zitao is telling Wu Fan something with his eyes, but then Yixing is back, tugging on Wu Fan’s over shirt and pulling him toward the van.
Yixing pulls Wu Fan down into the seat beside him, and even though they’re both sticky with sweat from the swampy summer weather, Wu Fan doesn’t protest when Yixing rests his head on Wu Fan’s shoulder, the backs of their hands touching.
“Aren’t you hot?” Wu Fan whispers, trying to imbue his voice with a little bit of annoyance that he doesn’t really feel, but Yixing sees right through him without even looking up.
“You don’t mind,” Yixing says, and then he licks at his lips, drawing Wu Fan’s eyes down to them, almost against his will. “And duizhang is the right kind of warm.”
“Oh,” Wu Fan says, and he ignores the feeling of Yixing’s steady exhales against his shoulder, and the way Lu Han is watching him with that stupid smug look on his face.
They get home late; long after dark but only a little after the end of their schedule. Yixing’s face is still covered in a thin layer of powder, and there’s just a bit of eye shadow lingering along his upper lids; a medium brown that makes his eyes look deeper set and even more intense. His skin is sticky, remnants of glitter from his costume clinging to him, and some to Wu Fan too, because they’d been sitting next to each other on the ride home. Yixing’s hand had drawn anxious patterns on Wu Fan’s knee, and Wu Fan had pretended not to notice.
Wu Fan is still thinking about the way Yixing looked standing next to him on stage, alight with the thrill of a performance. There’d been nothing calculated in Yixing’s eyes then, and Wu Fan had been unable to stop looking.
And then their eyes had met, and Wu Fan’s heart had started pounding against his ribcage like a frightened rabbit’s, and the way Yixing had looked back at him…
“Leader,” Yixing says, and he tugs on the hem of Wu Fan’s button-up shirt, “are you all right?” Yixing’s fingers slide across Wu Fan’s belly as he speaks, and Wu Fan closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
The others have already retired to their rooms, and it’s only himself and Yixing out here in the living room, as Yixing tortures him in so many ways.
When he opens them again, Yixing is smirking, eyes molten and glimmering, and Wu Fan realizes, all of a sudden, that he’s like a rubber band that’s been pulled too tight, and he can’t take it anymore.
So he snaps.
“No,” Wu Fan says, and Yixing’s smile fades, head tilting to the side to study Wu Fan. “I am not all right.”
“Leader?” Yixing’s voice is soft, and it sends a shiver down Wu Fan’s spine, because he wonders what Yixing would sound like, if Wu Fan… Yixing is looking at him curiously, and he wets his lips as he looks into Wu Fan’s gaze. Wu Fan holds him there, pinning him with his stare, and there’s a flicker of something else there, in Yixing’s countenance, that reminds Wu Fan that it might be fine if he snaps.
Wu Fan isn’t thinking about consequences right now.
“It’s all your fault,” Wu Fan says, and his voice comes out low, and garbled, and it would be embarrassing if Yixing didn’t look so surprised.
“My fault?” he asks, but then Wu Fan is grabbing his arm, maybe a little too roughly, and pulling him toward the bedroom they share. Yixing doesn’t resist; he just lets Wu Fan drag him into the room and shut the door, quietly, because Zitao is a light sleeper and Wu Fan doesn’t want him to wake up.
“Yes,” Wu Fan says, after the door is closed. “I’m going crazy, and it’s all your fault.” Wu Fan is almost surprised at the low growl of his voice, but Yixing laughs, lightly, almost delightedly, even as Wu Fan shoves him back into the door. “Absolutely crazy.” And Wu Fan doesn’t want to explain himself, but when he thinks about the way Yixing had looked back at him, backstage, he thinks maybe he doesn’t have to.
“Well, it’s about time,” Yixing says, lips curling into that impossible little smile that makes Wu Fan want to kiss him until Yixing tells him everything it means. Wu Fan almost misses what Yixing is saying, just watching that perfect mouth, but then the words sink in and Wu Fan lifts his hands and cradles Yixing’s jaw. His hands are too big, or maybe Yixing’s face is too small, but Wu Fan can use his thumbs to trace that infuriating smile as Yixing continues to speak. “I was sort of hoping you’d go crazy a little bit sooner.”
“What?”
“It’s only fair,” Yixing says, “considering how long I…” He swallows. “I wasn’t sure… If you were… it wasn’t until that evening on the balcony that I thought you might…”
“You liked me?” Wu Fan blurts out, and then he realizes he sounds like a fourteen-year-old girl getting asked out by the football captain, and he takes a shaky breath.
“Since… forever,” Yixing says. “Or not forever, but for a really long time-“
Wu Fan doesn’t hear the rest of the sentence, because he’s swallowing it, pressing his mouth to Yixing’s. His lips, perfectly bowed and pink and slick, are as soft as they’d looked, and Yixing falls open beneath him, surrendering easily. Yixing’s hands fist in the material of his shirt, and Wu Fan tastes and tastes and Yixing is sweet and better than he’d ever have been able to imagine.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Wu Fan mumbles into Yixing’s mouth, and it’s nonsense, muffled by lips and tongues, but Yixing understands, and his hands pull Wu Fan even closer.
“Just be Wu Fan,” Yixing says. “Please.” And he drags his wet mouth across Wu Fan’s cheek, leaving hot, open kisses along the skin, and Wu Fan doesn’t think he’d be able to stop if he tried. His hands weave into Yixing’s hair, and he tugs, just a little, so Yixing lifts away from his neck, looking up at Wu Fan with liquid hot eyes. “Take a risk. Fortune favors the bold.”
And Wu Fan claims his mouth again, tongue slipping between willingly parted lips to explore teeth and cheeks and gums, and Yixing makes a quiet noise that travels furiously down Wu Fan’s spine, and around his ribs, and up into his chest until it finds his heart.
Wu Fan pressed closer, wanting to hear the sound again, and his teeth knock against Yixing’s and Yixing laughs, pulling back just enough to tilt his head, and then they’re kissing again. Yixing sucks Wu Fan’s lower lip into his mouth, and when he bites down, just hard enough to hurt, Wu Fan groans, the sounds swallowed between them.
“Shhh,” Yixing whispers against his lips, and Wu Fan opens his eyes. Yixing’s lips are swollen and pink, and in the darkness of their room, he can just barely make out the lines of Yixing’s face. He slides his hands from Yixing’s hair, down to his shoulders, along sweat-tacky skin, and Yixing just stands there, and lets him.
“What do you want?” Wu Fan asks, and Yixing licks at his lips, and Wu Fan wonder’s if Yixing can taste him.
“You, Wu Fan,” Yixing says, and then his hands are everywhere, slipping under Wu Fan’s shirt and finding the lines of his abs, counting the spaces between his ribs, and lingering at the hard nubs of his nipples. “I want you to pay attention to me.”
Wu Fan responds, diving back down to reconnect their mouths, and this is the messiest kiss yet, no focus or form and just Wu Fan’s desperate need to take as much of Yixing as he can; to memorize the shape of his lips beneath teeth and tongue, and map the lines of his mouth with the avid attention that Yixing deserves.
“I’m always paying attention to you,” Wu Fan gasps, and Yixing laughs again, so soft it might be a moan. “I want you, too.”
“I was hoping you did.” And then he’s tugging on Wu Fan’s shirt, and Wu Fan lets him pull it down, off his shoulders and down his arms, glad he hadn’t buttoned it. Yixing’s hands glide down his arms as he pushes on the shirt, and Wu Fan’s overwhelmed, the heady rush of eucalyptus and sweat mixing together more than he’d expected.
He pulls on the hem of Yixing’s shirt, and Yixing hurriedly pulls it overhead, and Wu Fan follows with his own t-shirt, and then Wu Fan’s mouth finds those clavicles, the ones he always sees peeking out of exaggerated v-necks that show more than they hide. Yixing whines as Wu Fan licks along the bone, nibbling and sucking at the hollows as he pushes backwards, until Yixing’s knees hit the bed and he falls back. His hands are on Wu Fan’s shoulders, so Wu Fan falls with him, and they knock foreheads. “Ow,” Wu Fan says, and Yixing snorts.
“Always the last one to figure out the choreography,” Yixing murmurs, and Wu Fan grabs Yixing’s wrists and pins him to the bed. “Even now.”
“You’ve always got something to say,” Wu Fan murmurs, and he wonders if kissing Yixing is something he’ll ever be able to stop doing. Yixing seems to be fine with his addiction, though, hooking one leg around Wu Fan’s back to drag him closer since Wu Fan’s got his arms, and Wu Fan hisses into Yixing’s mouth as their erections grind together. “Plus I’d rather watch you.”
The friction is astonishing enough that Wu Fan releases Yixing’s hands, and Yixing, who has always been stronger than he looks, flips them, and Wu Fan is surprised to look up and see Yixing hovering above him.
Yixing’s jeans scratch against his own as he straddles him, and Yixing is rocking, just enough that Wu Fan can feel the pressure. That enigmatic smile is devastating from this angle, Wu Fan thinks, and so is the flutter of Yixing’s lashes as Wu Fan reaches up and draws his fingertips down the quivering line of Yixing’s abs.
“It’s like this,” Yixing says, and Wu Fan wants to say like what, but then Yixing’s bent forward, dragging his tongue across Wu Fan’s chest. Wu Fan chokes back a moan as Yixing’s tongue passes his nipple, and Wu Fan can see Yixing filing that away for later, eyes glimmering with satisfaction.
Wu Fan’s so awash in feeling that it takes him a moment to realize the Yixing is writing, just like he’d written with his index finger into Wu Fan’s palm, that time on the balcony, but a character is taking shape, a diagonal line crossing from right nipple to navel. He struggles to concentrate, ignoring the way his muscles are stretched as tight as a bowstring, cock straining upwards as Yixing’s tongue leaves wet paths across heated skin.
It’s not until the last moment, as Yixing licks a line above his belly button, hooking the line down and to the left, that Wu Fan realizes what the character is.
ai. Love.
“Hey,” Wu Fan says, and Yixing peers up at him, that same look on his face as he’d had that night, after the showcase in China, when Wu Fan had realized he was falling. “Me too.” And it’s an admission he’d never thought he could make, with the way things are and the way things should be, but not every person needs the same things from him and Wu Fan has needs too, and as Yixing’s inner light grows brighter in front of him, Wu Fan thinks this is ‘il seok i jo’, two birds with one stone.
“Your characters aren’t half-bad, after all,” Yixing says, and then he’s kissing lower, hands finding the fastening of Wu Fan’s jeans, popping the button, and dragging down the zipper.
Wu Fan sighs as those small hands dip into his open jeans and under the waistband of his boxers to pull him out.
“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Yixing says, and he doesn’t seem bothered; just curious, as he holds Wu Fan in his hand. Yixing’s hands aren’t smooth, like his—maybe because of guitar and piano, but Wu Fan likes the roughness, because it’s Yixing.
Wu Fan’s lost his mind.
“Me either,” Wu Fan says, and he’s not sure if they’re talking about the same thing, but he’s got faith that they’ll figure it out.
And then Yixing’s got his lips around him, and Wu Fan’s just trying his best not to fuck his mouth, and Yixing is laughing at him, and Wu Fan’s whole world is upside down, and maybe some things never change.
And then he’s naked; they’re both naked, and it’s nothing but slick skin and the shivering of Yixing’s thighs on either side of him, wet breaths against his shoulder as Wu Fan’s fingers; one, then two, then three, slippery and tentative, are inside Yixing, and he’s shaking, or Wu Fan is shaking, and Yixing’s body is so tight that Wu Fan wonders if he can even…
Minutes later, or maybe hours later, as Wu Fan is sinking into Yixing’s body for the first time, Yixing above him, lowering himself recklessly just like he does everything else, Wu Fan reaches his hands up to steady Yixing’s waist. “Don’t-“ he says through clenched teeth, because Yixing’s body sucks him in like he belongs there and Wu Fan is almost seeing stars, “You’ll hurt yourself-“
“Always worrying about consequences,” Yixing says, breathy and amused and not sounding remotely like he’s in pain.
“Yes,” Wu Fan says, not sure how he manages to speak when everything feels this good, and Yixing waits until he’s fully seated to open his eyes again. The red flush trails all the way down his neck, and spills onto his chest, and his hair is sweaty and frizzing and his dimples stand out as he smiles down, and Wu Fan thinks this might be the most beautiful Yixing has ever looked. “I’m supposed to.”
“You’re the leader everywhere else,” Yixing says. “So why don’t you let me be the leader in this. Don’t worry.”
“Okay,” Wu Fan says, and as he loses himself to the pace that Yixing sets, hands on Yixing’s hips forceful enough he knows he’ll see bruises there tomorrow, he lets Yixing take control.
When Yixing spills onto Wu Fan’s belly, clenching around him, biting down on his lip to keep from being too loud, Wu Fan doesn’t feel selfish at all. Yixing isn’t hard to read, like this, spread out and trembling above him.
Later, when Yixing is curled into him like a cat, smaller body fitting in all the crevices of Wu Fan’s larger one, the smell of eucalyptus tickling at Wu Fan’s nose, Wu Fan looks down at Yixing, who might be asleep, and thinks it might just be okay after all.
“You want me?” Wu Fan whispers, and Yixing shifts, one of his legs coming up to cross over Wu Fan’s shin, smooth stomach sliding along Wu Fan’s hip.
“Yes,” Yixing says, and traces other, simpler characters into Wu Fan’s skin, and Wu Fan can feel Yixing’s pulse beating as fast and sure as his own.
“Can you turn your torso a little more to the left, Kris?” the photographer asks, and Wu Fan obeys, turning. “And how about a smile?”
Wu Fan catches sight of Yixing out of the corner of his eye, as he sneakily pulls a piece of Minseok’s hair out of position, and he forgets about the cameras, and everyone else here, focusing on the mischief in the other man’s expression.
“That’s perfect,” the photographer says. “I think we’re done.”
Wu Fan steps down from the block he’d been standing on, and Jongdae raises an eyebrow. “Smiling on command these days?” he asks, and Wu Fan rolls his eyes. “Who are you, and who do you work for?”
“Go away,” Wu Fan says, and he’s looking over Jongdae’s shoulder, to where Zitao and Yixing are playing some weird hand game that makes them look like they’re ten years old.
Lu Han appears at his right, hands linked behind his back, and eyes watching the same sight as Wu Fan. “How go the experiments?” Lu Han asks lightly, and Wu Fan wonders how much Lu Han knows.
“I think I’ve reached a few satisfactory conclusions,” Wu Fan says, and Lu Han nods.
“Good,” Lu Han says, and then he clears his throat and turns to Jongdae. “You owe me 300 yuan.”
“What?” Jongdae looks at Wu Fan in horror. “Duizhang, how could you give in so easily?” He grimaces at Lu Han. “I thought he’d resist Yixing for at least another few months.”
Wu Fan takes a deep breath, then lets it out in a long, Zen-like exhale, and wonders why his life is so hard.
“You know what?” He says, and then he turns his gaze back to Yixing, and feels that familiar giddiness in his stomach as he remembers that Yixing is his. Yixing looks up at him, and offers him a devious smile that probably means he’s done something terrible, but Wu Fan doesn’t mind. “I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
He walks over to Yixing. Yi Xing offers his hand, and Wu Fan takes it, and he feels indescribably bold, and he’s not nervous at all.
Language notes that aren’t important to the story that you might find interesting if you’re a nerd like me:
1. 일석이조 (一石二鳥): One stone, two birds. Korean pronunciation is il seok i jo, Mandarin pronunciation is yi1 shi2 er4 niao3
2. 我愛你: I love you. Mandarin pronunciation is wo3 ai4 ni3
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