87
Substance Free
Battle/Super Junior (TaeRyu, KihChul, KiChris, LioHwiHae)
3,565 words. R. Third person. (in which there are copious amounts of alcohol, and inhibitions are throw by the wayside never to be heard from again.)
No one knows how Ryu ends up dancing on the table in the living room, but no one really minds. At least he’s chosen the table without the booze on it, and anyway, he’s pretty hot. Taehwa watches him with his mouth half open, beer stalled partway to his lips. He’s pretty surprised that he’s managed to hold onto it as it is, watching the sway and snap of Ryu’s hips, the wicked smile and the hair that’s fallen over his sweaty forehead, tangled over his eyes. Ryu licks his lips and runs his hands over his body, shirt slipping up over his stomach, flash of smooth skin. He’s twirling and dipping, bare feet soft slipping on the wood and Taehwa almost yelps when Kihyun’s hand falls onto his shoulder unexpectedly. Taehwa looks away from Ryu, almost guiltily, and Kihyun’s eyes are amused, his lips half-quirked behind his cup of sloshing red liquid.
“See something you like?” Kihyun asks with a smirk, the blush across his cheeks giving him away as more than slightly intoxicated. Taehwa sips his beer and tries to act cool. Kihyun’s grin just widens. “Oh, I see,” he says, voice quiet, but evil and amused. He pulls a wad of bills out of his back pocket, waves them in front of Ryu, and Taehwa almost doesn’t want to know, and then, then he says, “Hey, Ryu, I’ll give this to you if you give Taehwa a lap dance,” and Kihyun must really be drunk, and oh god. Ryu. Lap dance. Taehwa gulps and takes a small step back, looking around, but there is no one who will help him. Ryu runs his fingers up over his own stomach, lingering over his bellybutton, looking down at Taehwa and licking his lips in a way that makes Taehwa shiver. Kihyun runs his hand up the side of Taehwa’s torso and just says, “Well then, have fun,” before turning away with a curving smirk.
Ryu crouches down and slides off the table, all lithe grace and agility, sliding the beer from Taehwa’s numb fingers and swallowing it. Taehwa backs up, eyes wide as he watches Ryu’s throat work, but his knees hit the edge of the couch and he falls backward, landing hard on his butt. Ryu just grins at him and straddles his thighs.
“Trapped now, aren’t we?”
*
It starts when Heechul opens the door to his apartment to find the entranceway filled with underage boys, arms laden with illegal booze.
“The hell?” Kibum asks from behind him, eyes sleepy, dressed mostly in his pajama pants and socks.
“I invited them over,” Heechul says. Kibum blinks.
“Um, okay,” he replies, as one of them, wide grin, hair falling in his eyes, waves eagerly at him over the shoulder of the pointy one in the front. There’s no point in expecting Heechul to let him in on this stuff anymore, and he doesn’t bother, but still. A little warning wouldn’t hurt. He looks down at his appearance and wonders if he should put on a shirt. Then he looks back at the boys filing in through the doorway, Heechul’s predatory expression, and decides that there are more important things he could be doing.
Like calling for reinforcements.
*
Donghae arrives with more booze (rum and tequila and something thick and green), and Kibum rolls his eyes and wishes he wasn’t the only responsible person in all of Korea.
“Some help you are,” he says, voice derisive, and Donghae grins at him.
“Have some alcohol, Kibum. It will make everything much more fun.”
And it all went downhill from there.
*
The problem with being drunk, Chris decides, is that it gets much harder to remember words. He’s not sure what language he’s talking in anymore, but from the look on Lio’s face when he wanders away, it’s probably not Korean. At least not mostly.
“Damn,” he says, possibly in English and possibly in some language he’s just made up. He sips at his drink, something Heechul had given him, and it’s tangy, orangey green, citrus, the burn of alcohol and carbonation. He swishes it around in his mouth before swallowing, spinning slowly in a circle. “Whoa,” he says, and the world tilts ninety degree to the left. It takes him a second to realize that it’s him that’s tilting, not the world, and he giggles, still flopped over to the side.
“You okay?” someone asks, made of pants and a bare torso. He can’t see anything above the collarbones, and he thinks that maybe this guy just ends in collarbones, but no, there’s a face staring down at him when he turns his head. He giggles again, and the boy raises a skeptical eyebrow.
“Yep. Totally fine.” Strong hands grab his arms and pull him upright.
“You speak English?” the boy asks, curious, hands still on Chris’s arms. Oh. So that’s what he’s speaking.
“You’re sure I’m speaking English?” he asks, leaning slightly the other way, into a solid shoulder. Chris remembers, oh, this is the smiley one he’d waved to from the doorway. Ki-something.
“Yep, pretty sure.” Ki-something is smiling again, and Chris giggles.
“Oh, neat. I was wondering about that.”
Ki-something looks at him like he’s slightly unbalanced, but Chris doesn’t really mind. Lio and Taehwa look at him like that all the time, anyway, so he’s used to it, but they aren’t nearly as smiley, and they don’t know English, so hah.
And somehow, that makes sense.
*
Lio looks away from Ryu, who’s dancing on the table in the living room, shaking his head. There are reasons he doesn’t drink that much that fast. Public embarrassment is one of them, and while Ryu seems to be having a great deal of fun now, Kihyun is probably taking pictures, and that’s not good for anyone’s reputation. Lio looks at the beer in his hand, looks back at Ryu, and sets the bottle down on the counter next to him. The kitchen is mostly deserted; his only company is a few bowls of chips, and a multitude of bottles half filled with assorted and unnamable liquids. He probably shouldn’t have left Hwichan in the living room with Heechul and Kihyun. He doesn’t know Heechul that well, but he does know Kihyun, and he should’ve known better.
Wincing, Lio leaves the kitchen, feet surprisingly quiet on the carpet.
“Lio Lio Lioliolio! Over here! Look over here!”
The voice, half squeal and half giggle, makes Lio look over to the couch by the window, where Hwichan is waving frantically at him. Instead of Heechul, he has Donghae’s head in his lap, but he seems to be ignoring the other boy for the moment in favor of yelling across the room at Lio. Lio almost winces again, but he can’t help smiling at Hwichan, whose grin should be impossible, the flush across his cheeks accentuating his excitement.
“Lio, you are my best friend, come here!”
Lio shakes his head in mock exasperation, and he knows he should be annoyed at the sheer volume of Hwichan’s voice, but really, it’s rather charming. Lio laughs when Hwichan starts bouncing, jostling Donghae’s head, causing Donghae to give him a sharp thwap on the knee with the palm of his hand. Hwichan, in turn, hits Donghae on the top of the head, but Donghae just smiles and clutches the hem of Hwichan’s shirt. Hwichan breathes in deeply and laughs, fingers brushing over Donghae’s hair.
“Hwichan,” Lio starts, trailing off as Hwichan looks up at him, eyes wide and teeth white, “how much have you had to drink?” Lio perches himself on the arm of the couch, watching as Donghae uncurls himself and wriggles into his back, stretching out so that his toes wedge between Lio’s thigh and the upholstery under it. Lio blinks and glances at Donghae, the slow sleepy smile that creeps across his face.
“Hwichan here didn’t know what tequila was. I thought it might be a good idea to acquaint him with it.” Lio blinks, and Donghae wiggles his toes. Hwichan giggles, nodding vehemently as Donghae’s fingers burrow under the hem of his shirt.
“Tequila’s such a funny word,” he says, almost thoughtfully, but slightly too loud, “it tastes like it sounds, though. Lio, why are you all the way over there? You’re making Donghae get all stretched out.”
“He was drinking some weird lime thing when I found him,” Donghae supplies helpfully, shrugging his shoulders.
“And some other stuff,” Hwichan adds, grinning widely. “Heechul kept handing me glasses.” Donghae starts laughing at that, and Hwichan’s expression turns confused but ready to understand, in that puppyish way of his. Lio thinks that he shouldn’t leave the two of them alone, and Donghae is giving him a look that he doesn’t really understand, and he wonders how much Donghae has been drinking.
He looks around, and Ryu is straddling Taehwa’s lap, which is, well, weird, and Kihyun is nowhere to be seen. He turns his head again to find Hwichan grinning at him over Donghae’s shoulder, Donghae sitting up, that smile fixed as he bites into his lower lip, and Lio thinks he knows what kind of a drunk Donghae is.
He watches Hwichan smile, and he doesn’t think that he minds.
*
Ryu’s hands are under Taehwa’s shirt, and Taehwa can’t breathe. He’s pressed as far back as possible, back straight and rigid, tense. Ryu grins at him, eyes narrowed, tongue flicking out to touch the corner of his mouth like he tasting, waiting, biding his time, and Taehwa’s fingers dig into the cushion next to his thighs until he thinks he’s going to rip the fabric.
“R-Ryu,” he stutters, breath slightly shaky, and Ryu laughs, rolls his hips, leans in.
“Tae?” Ryu asks, his voice playful as he brushes his mouth just under Taehwa’s ear, breath warm and tangy, the sharp tip of his tongue just touching skin. Taehwa gasps, sharp intake of startled breath, tilting his head before he can think about it.
“R-Ryu, you don’t - you don’t have to -” and his words turn into another gasp, half airy moan, as Ryu bites the side of his neck, almost chastising, and then soothes the hurt with his tongue. His fingers are working their way down the front of Taehwa’s shirt, undoing buttons, sliding the material aside as they move down, and Taehwa’s heart is rabbit fast in his chest.
“Shut up,” Ryu says, voice low and sultry and full of amusement. Taehwa wonders what his mouth tastes like.
*
Donghae’s fingers in his hair, teeth against the point of his shoulder through his shirt, and Lio isn’t quite sure how he got here, but he certainly doesn’t mind. Donghae tugs him off the armrest, until he slides down onto the couch, and Hwichan is giggling, one hand pushing up Donghae’s shirt in the back, leaning his chin on Donghae’s shoulder so that he’s close enough to touch, almost, and Lio can smell his breath, tequila and lime and alcohol, as it brushes over his skin.
“Lio,” Hwichan whispers loudly, trying to be quiet and only half succeeding, “Lio, let me,” and Lio isn’t sure if he’s supposed to respond, and then Hwichan is kissing him. Donghae’s hand is curled in waistband of his pants, the other in his hair, mouth settled against his shoulder, moving down toward his collarbone, wetting the soft, worn cotton of his shirt. Hwichan sighs against Lio’s mouth, and Lio can feel Donghae’s skinny chest pressed to his. Hwichan draped over Donghae’s back, kissing Lio, and Lio lets Hwichan lick at his lips, opens his mouth, completely satisfied to sit back and let it happen.
“Lio,” Hwichan whispers, almost inaudibly, against his lips. Lio wraps his fingers into Hwichan’s hair, not caring that his neck is awkwardly bent against the armrest, ignoring the pins-and-needles running up his legs. He can feel Hwichan’s fingers in-between his and Donghae’s bodies, touching, pushing at cotton, petting skin.
Lio suspects that he might be more drunk than he’d originally thought, but he can’t find it in him to care.
*
Heechul is in the kitchen when Kihyun walks in. He’s leaning against the counter with a smile, teeth shiny white, lashes long against his cheeks when he blinks, blush pretty and pink across his cheeks.
Kihyun knows that if anyone here is dangerous it’s Heechul, so he presses the cold glass of his cup against his lips, standing in the doorway, watching. He’s not taken in by Heechul’s feminine mouth, the curve of full lips, nor the look in his eyes, half innocent, half predator. Heechul flicks his hair, dark and glossy, over his shoulder, graceful and lithe and Kihyun’s eyes narrow, a small smile flickering across his face, hidden behind his glass.
“Feeling left out?” he asks, and he knows that it sounds like a challenge, but in most ways, it is. Heechul smiles, shifts his weight slightly to the side, eyes flicking over Kihyun’s shoulder as he looks into the living room, before he meets Kihyun’s eyes.
“Not really,” he replies with half a shrug, the left corner of his mouth tilted slightly higher than the right. “You?” Heechul asks, all raised eyebrows and polite interest.
“Nope,” Kihyun says, sipping his drink, lowering it with casual fingers. These boys are mine whenever I want them, he thinks, and he knows it shows on his face, sees the flash of something, understanding, on Heechul’s face before it’s gone.
“Is that so?” he asks, all politeness and sober as you please, despite the flush. He pushes away from the counter, moving closer, but Kihyun just sips his drink and refuses to step back. He knows Heechul is used to getting what he wants, sees it in the set of his hips, shoulders, mouth. That’s okay, though, because he’s fine, right now, with giving Heechul exactly that.
“Yeah,” he says as Heechul steps closer, pushes him back almost roughly against the frame of the door, leaning in and, somehow surprisingly, slightly shorter. The wide smile is back, breath against the side of Kihyun’s neck, and Kihyun lets his drink fall to the floor, careless of the cranberry and vodka soaking into the carpet. He winds his arms around Heechul’s neck, breathes in mint and alcohol and fruit.
“Thought so,” Heechul says, more breath than word, and licks his way up into Kihyun’s mouth. Kihyun kisses him, then, fingernails digging into the back of his neck, and smiles.
*
Kibum almost bumps his head on the table leg when Chris curls both of his fists around Kibum’s wrists and hauls him down onto the carpet.
“Fuck,” Chris says against Kibum’s chest, face pressed there as he curls up on his side. He’s still speaking English, and while Kibum misses every few words, it doesn’t seem to really matter. He knows that one, anyway. “Make the world stay still, please,” Chris mumbles against Kibum’s skin, words very clearly enunciated despite being muffled by Chris’s fingers and Kibum’s bare chest.
“It’s not moving,” Kibum replies, eyes on the top of Chris’s head, even though he knows that it doesn’t matter.
“You say that now,” Chris says, looking up and meeting Kibum’s eyes, slightly unfocused, “but just you wait. You drink that weird green stuff and then see what happens.” Kibum wonders how he got roped into taking care of a drunken American, but decides that he doesn’t actually mind. Anything to distract him from the noises coming from Taehwa and Ryu, still on the couch in the middle of the room - at last Hwichan and Donghae and Lio are quiet. He risks a glance over his shoulder, and blinks at Ryu’s bare back, Taehwa’s neck arched over the back of the couch, exposing a column of white skin. He turns back quickly, pushing Chris a little.
“C’mon, Chris, lets move over a little, okay? Can you do that for me?” he asks, and Chris mumbles something unintelligible (Kibum feels expelled breath on his collarbones, but doesn’t understand any of the words).
Kibum gets Chris as far as under the table before he gives up. He realizes, belatedly, that this is the table Ryu was dancing on earlier, but he can’t find it in him to care. Chris is giggling faintly, one hand curled around Kibum’s upper arm, the other sliding over his shoulder. Kibum shivers and feels Chris’s hand tighten.
“Your skin is so smooth,” Chris mumbles, lips brushing the skin in the middle of Kibum’s chest, just under the hollow of his throat. Chris looks up, eyes wide and childlike as he meets Kibum’s gaze, and Kibum’s breath catches in his chest as he watches the slow smile that spreads across Chris’s face, only half innocent. Chris’s lips against his chest, soft and slow and chaste, but the fingers sliding up the back of his neck and into his hair aren’t, pulling his head back slightly as Chris licks his way up Kibum’s chest, tongue dipping into the curve of his collarbones, sliding horizontal and then up, fitting in the ridges of his trachea, circling around his Adam’s apple. Chris is shimmying up Kibum’s body, both hands in his hair, now, and Kibum rolls over, pushes Chris onto his back. Hands on Chris’s shoulders, Kibum looks down at Chris’s parted lips, his dilated pupils, the hair falling over his forehead. Chris lets his hands fall to the carpet, fingers digging in. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he mutters, knuckles white, tongue flicking out over his lips, eyes wide and waiting. Kibum breathes in, pushes a knee between Chris’s thighs, and leans down, pressing their lips together.
Chris tastes like alcohol and juice, like toothpaste, like vanilla. Complicated, complex, and Kibum doesn’t know why he’s slightly surprised. Chris giggles against his lips, hums, contented noises in the back of his throat as his fingers wind back into Kibum’s hair, cupping the back of his head.
There’s a moan somewhere behind them, but Kibum only half hears it, because Chris pushes him onto his side, rolling with him, his free hand sliding down Kibum’s bare back, naked skin slightly tacky with sweat. Kibum lets him, shoves his knee up where it’s lodged between Chris’s thighs, and feels the clutch of fingernails in his skin, the gasp against his lips. Kibum wonders if he could make Chris come like this, just like this, and the thought almost makes him moan. Chris’s fingers are digging into his skin, surely leaving marks, but Kibum doesn’t mind in the least, just pushes his hands in-between their bodies, fingering the button on Chris’s jeans.
This, he thinks, is why he doesn’t try to stop Heechul.
*
Taehwa wakes up on the couch with his pants unbuttoned and the sunlight shining in his eyes.
“Ow,” he says, mostly against Ryu’s chest, which is bare and smooth and moving slowly as he breathes. He has one arm slung around Ryu’s hips, the other trapped under his body, and Taehwa can’t tell, yet, whose legs are whose, precisely. His head feels like it’s filled with large men armed with grenades, and every time he moves, they throw one against the inside of his skull, just to watch and laugh as it explodes. Still, he wants to press his finger to the bruise marks up and down Ryu’s neck, wants to replace his fingers with his mouth, and he thinks that he should get up before he actually does any of it, and wakes Ryu, because that usually either means death or lecture, neither of which he wants. He carefully distangles himself from Ryu, standing and watching him curl up by himself on the couch, making a vague noise of protest. He’s so much more devious when he’s awake.
Shaking his hand idly, trying to get the pins-and-needles to go away, he wanders past Kibum and Chris, who are sprawled on the floor, sleeping all curled up, Chris’s hands splayed over Kibum’s bare back, legs tucked up together. Donghae waves at him drowsily from the couch next to Hwichan and Lio, who are both still asleep, Hwichan’s mouth pressed to Lio’s throat, and Lio’s hands both fisted in Hwichan’s shirt. Donghae’s sitting with his back to the armrest, watching them sleep, smiling just slightly. Taehwa can’t decide if he finds it creepy or strangely touching.
He goes into the kitchen hoping to find coffee, a coffee maker, or anything resembling a coffee product, and instead finds Kihyun and Heechul making out against the fridge, Kihyun’s back pressed to the cold plastic surface, one hand under Heechul’s shirt, the other hooked into the waistband of his pants.
“Coffee,” he asks, too hung over to even bother being shocked, “where?”
Heechul turns half around, and blinks, lips red and swollen. Kihyun grins at Taehwa over Heechul’s shoulder and glances down, and that’s when Taehwa remembers to button up his pants. His fingers fumble slightly with the zipper, and he bites his lips, knowing that he’s blushing some awful shade of red.
“Third cabinet on your left,” Heechul says, and goes back to kissing Kihyun, who seems to be laughing. Taehwa stares at his back for a few seconds, before he finds the coffee and starts a pot, wondering if he should be worried.
He doesn’t have the energy, yet, so instead he just watches the coffee drip, ignores the noises behind him, and waits for everyone else to wake up.
Battle/Super Junior (TaeRyu, KihChul, KiChris, LioHwiHae)
3,565 words. R. Third person. (in which there are copious amounts of alcohol, and inhibitions are throw by the wayside never to be heard from again.)
No one knows how Ryu ends up dancing on the table in the living room, but no one really minds. At least he’s chosen the table without the booze on it, and anyway, he’s pretty hot. Taehwa watches him with his mouth half open, beer stalled partway to his lips. He’s pretty surprised that he’s managed to hold onto it as it is, watching the sway and snap of Ryu’s hips, the wicked smile and the hair that’s fallen over his sweaty forehead, tangled over his eyes. Ryu licks his lips and runs his hands over his body, shirt slipping up over his stomach, flash of smooth skin. He’s twirling and dipping, bare feet soft slipping on the wood and Taehwa almost yelps when Kihyun’s hand falls onto his shoulder unexpectedly. Taehwa looks away from Ryu, almost guiltily, and Kihyun’s eyes are amused, his lips half-quirked behind his cup of sloshing red liquid.
“See something you like?” Kihyun asks with a smirk, the blush across his cheeks giving him away as more than slightly intoxicated. Taehwa sips his beer and tries to act cool. Kihyun’s grin just widens. “Oh, I see,” he says, voice quiet, but evil and amused. He pulls a wad of bills out of his back pocket, waves them in front of Ryu, and Taehwa almost doesn’t want to know, and then, then he says, “Hey, Ryu, I’ll give this to you if you give Taehwa a lap dance,” and Kihyun must really be drunk, and oh god. Ryu. Lap dance. Taehwa gulps and takes a small step back, looking around, but there is no one who will help him. Ryu runs his fingers up over his own stomach, lingering over his bellybutton, looking down at Taehwa and licking his lips in a way that makes Taehwa shiver. Kihyun runs his hand up the side of Taehwa’s torso and just says, “Well then, have fun,” before turning away with a curving smirk.
Ryu crouches down and slides off the table, all lithe grace and agility, sliding the beer from Taehwa’s numb fingers and swallowing it. Taehwa backs up, eyes wide as he watches Ryu’s throat work, but his knees hit the edge of the couch and he falls backward, landing hard on his butt. Ryu just grins at him and straddles his thighs.
“Trapped now, aren’t we?”
*
It starts when Heechul opens the door to his apartment to find the entranceway filled with underage boys, arms laden with illegal booze.
“The hell?” Kibum asks from behind him, eyes sleepy, dressed mostly in his pajama pants and socks.
“I invited them over,” Heechul says. Kibum blinks.
“Um, okay,” he replies, as one of them, wide grin, hair falling in his eyes, waves eagerly at him over the shoulder of the pointy one in the front. There’s no point in expecting Heechul to let him in on this stuff anymore, and he doesn’t bother, but still. A little warning wouldn’t hurt. He looks down at his appearance and wonders if he should put on a shirt. Then he looks back at the boys filing in through the doorway, Heechul’s predatory expression, and decides that there are more important things he could be doing.
Like calling for reinforcements.
*
Donghae arrives with more booze (rum and tequila and something thick and green), and Kibum rolls his eyes and wishes he wasn’t the only responsible person in all of Korea.
“Some help you are,” he says, voice derisive, and Donghae grins at him.
“Have some alcohol, Kibum. It will make everything much more fun.”
And it all went downhill from there.
*
The problem with being drunk, Chris decides, is that it gets much harder to remember words. He’s not sure what language he’s talking in anymore, but from the look on Lio’s face when he wanders away, it’s probably not Korean. At least not mostly.
“Damn,” he says, possibly in English and possibly in some language he’s just made up. He sips at his drink, something Heechul had given him, and it’s tangy, orangey green, citrus, the burn of alcohol and carbonation. He swishes it around in his mouth before swallowing, spinning slowly in a circle. “Whoa,” he says, and the world tilts ninety degree to the left. It takes him a second to realize that it’s him that’s tilting, not the world, and he giggles, still flopped over to the side.
“You okay?” someone asks, made of pants and a bare torso. He can’t see anything above the collarbones, and he thinks that maybe this guy just ends in collarbones, but no, there’s a face staring down at him when he turns his head. He giggles again, and the boy raises a skeptical eyebrow.
“Yep. Totally fine.” Strong hands grab his arms and pull him upright.
“You speak English?” the boy asks, curious, hands still on Chris’s arms. Oh. So that’s what he’s speaking.
“You’re sure I’m speaking English?” he asks, leaning slightly the other way, into a solid shoulder. Chris remembers, oh, this is the smiley one he’d waved to from the doorway. Ki-something.
“Yep, pretty sure.” Ki-something is smiling again, and Chris giggles.
“Oh, neat. I was wondering about that.”
Ki-something looks at him like he’s slightly unbalanced, but Chris doesn’t really mind. Lio and Taehwa look at him like that all the time, anyway, so he’s used to it, but they aren’t nearly as smiley, and they don’t know English, so hah.
And somehow, that makes sense.
*
Lio looks away from Ryu, who’s dancing on the table in the living room, shaking his head. There are reasons he doesn’t drink that much that fast. Public embarrassment is one of them, and while Ryu seems to be having a great deal of fun now, Kihyun is probably taking pictures, and that’s not good for anyone’s reputation. Lio looks at the beer in his hand, looks back at Ryu, and sets the bottle down on the counter next to him. The kitchen is mostly deserted; his only company is a few bowls of chips, and a multitude of bottles half filled with assorted and unnamable liquids. He probably shouldn’t have left Hwichan in the living room with Heechul and Kihyun. He doesn’t know Heechul that well, but he does know Kihyun, and he should’ve known better.
Wincing, Lio leaves the kitchen, feet surprisingly quiet on the carpet.
“Lio Lio Lioliolio! Over here! Look over here!”
The voice, half squeal and half giggle, makes Lio look over to the couch by the window, where Hwichan is waving frantically at him. Instead of Heechul, he has Donghae’s head in his lap, but he seems to be ignoring the other boy for the moment in favor of yelling across the room at Lio. Lio almost winces again, but he can’t help smiling at Hwichan, whose grin should be impossible, the flush across his cheeks accentuating his excitement.
“Lio, you are my best friend, come here!”
Lio shakes his head in mock exasperation, and he knows he should be annoyed at the sheer volume of Hwichan’s voice, but really, it’s rather charming. Lio laughs when Hwichan starts bouncing, jostling Donghae’s head, causing Donghae to give him a sharp thwap on the knee with the palm of his hand. Hwichan, in turn, hits Donghae on the top of the head, but Donghae just smiles and clutches the hem of Hwichan’s shirt. Hwichan breathes in deeply and laughs, fingers brushing over Donghae’s hair.
“Hwichan,” Lio starts, trailing off as Hwichan looks up at him, eyes wide and teeth white, “how much have you had to drink?” Lio perches himself on the arm of the couch, watching as Donghae uncurls himself and wriggles into his back, stretching out so that his toes wedge between Lio’s thigh and the upholstery under it. Lio blinks and glances at Donghae, the slow sleepy smile that creeps across his face.
“Hwichan here didn’t know what tequila was. I thought it might be a good idea to acquaint him with it.” Lio blinks, and Donghae wiggles his toes. Hwichan giggles, nodding vehemently as Donghae’s fingers burrow under the hem of his shirt.
“Tequila’s such a funny word,” he says, almost thoughtfully, but slightly too loud, “it tastes like it sounds, though. Lio, why are you all the way over there? You’re making Donghae get all stretched out.”
“He was drinking some weird lime thing when I found him,” Donghae supplies helpfully, shrugging his shoulders.
“And some other stuff,” Hwichan adds, grinning widely. “Heechul kept handing me glasses.” Donghae starts laughing at that, and Hwichan’s expression turns confused but ready to understand, in that puppyish way of his. Lio thinks that he shouldn’t leave the two of them alone, and Donghae is giving him a look that he doesn’t really understand, and he wonders how much Donghae has been drinking.
He looks around, and Ryu is straddling Taehwa’s lap, which is, well, weird, and Kihyun is nowhere to be seen. He turns his head again to find Hwichan grinning at him over Donghae’s shoulder, Donghae sitting up, that smile fixed as he bites into his lower lip, and Lio thinks he knows what kind of a drunk Donghae is.
He watches Hwichan smile, and he doesn’t think that he minds.
*
Ryu’s hands are under Taehwa’s shirt, and Taehwa can’t breathe. He’s pressed as far back as possible, back straight and rigid, tense. Ryu grins at him, eyes narrowed, tongue flicking out to touch the corner of his mouth like he tasting, waiting, biding his time, and Taehwa’s fingers dig into the cushion next to his thighs until he thinks he’s going to rip the fabric.
“R-Ryu,” he stutters, breath slightly shaky, and Ryu laughs, rolls his hips, leans in.
“Tae?” Ryu asks, his voice playful as he brushes his mouth just under Taehwa’s ear, breath warm and tangy, the sharp tip of his tongue just touching skin. Taehwa gasps, sharp intake of startled breath, tilting his head before he can think about it.
“R-Ryu, you don’t - you don’t have to -” and his words turn into another gasp, half airy moan, as Ryu bites the side of his neck, almost chastising, and then soothes the hurt with his tongue. His fingers are working their way down the front of Taehwa’s shirt, undoing buttons, sliding the material aside as they move down, and Taehwa’s heart is rabbit fast in his chest.
“Shut up,” Ryu says, voice low and sultry and full of amusement. Taehwa wonders what his mouth tastes like.
*
Donghae’s fingers in his hair, teeth against the point of his shoulder through his shirt, and Lio isn’t quite sure how he got here, but he certainly doesn’t mind. Donghae tugs him off the armrest, until he slides down onto the couch, and Hwichan is giggling, one hand pushing up Donghae’s shirt in the back, leaning his chin on Donghae’s shoulder so that he’s close enough to touch, almost, and Lio can smell his breath, tequila and lime and alcohol, as it brushes over his skin.
“Lio,” Hwichan whispers loudly, trying to be quiet and only half succeeding, “Lio, let me,” and Lio isn’t sure if he’s supposed to respond, and then Hwichan is kissing him. Donghae’s hand is curled in waistband of his pants, the other in his hair, mouth settled against his shoulder, moving down toward his collarbone, wetting the soft, worn cotton of his shirt. Hwichan sighs against Lio’s mouth, and Lio can feel Donghae’s skinny chest pressed to his. Hwichan draped over Donghae’s back, kissing Lio, and Lio lets Hwichan lick at his lips, opens his mouth, completely satisfied to sit back and let it happen.
“Lio,” Hwichan whispers, almost inaudibly, against his lips. Lio wraps his fingers into Hwichan’s hair, not caring that his neck is awkwardly bent against the armrest, ignoring the pins-and-needles running up his legs. He can feel Hwichan’s fingers in-between his and Donghae’s bodies, touching, pushing at cotton, petting skin.
Lio suspects that he might be more drunk than he’d originally thought, but he can’t find it in him to care.
*
Heechul is in the kitchen when Kihyun walks in. He’s leaning against the counter with a smile, teeth shiny white, lashes long against his cheeks when he blinks, blush pretty and pink across his cheeks.
Kihyun knows that if anyone here is dangerous it’s Heechul, so he presses the cold glass of his cup against his lips, standing in the doorway, watching. He’s not taken in by Heechul’s feminine mouth, the curve of full lips, nor the look in his eyes, half innocent, half predator. Heechul flicks his hair, dark and glossy, over his shoulder, graceful and lithe and Kihyun’s eyes narrow, a small smile flickering across his face, hidden behind his glass.
“Feeling left out?” he asks, and he knows that it sounds like a challenge, but in most ways, it is. Heechul smiles, shifts his weight slightly to the side, eyes flicking over Kihyun’s shoulder as he looks into the living room, before he meets Kihyun’s eyes.
“Not really,” he replies with half a shrug, the left corner of his mouth tilted slightly higher than the right. “You?” Heechul asks, all raised eyebrows and polite interest.
“Nope,” Kihyun says, sipping his drink, lowering it with casual fingers. These boys are mine whenever I want them, he thinks, and he knows it shows on his face, sees the flash of something, understanding, on Heechul’s face before it’s gone.
“Is that so?” he asks, all politeness and sober as you please, despite the flush. He pushes away from the counter, moving closer, but Kihyun just sips his drink and refuses to step back. He knows Heechul is used to getting what he wants, sees it in the set of his hips, shoulders, mouth. That’s okay, though, because he’s fine, right now, with giving Heechul exactly that.
“Yeah,” he says as Heechul steps closer, pushes him back almost roughly against the frame of the door, leaning in and, somehow surprisingly, slightly shorter. The wide smile is back, breath against the side of Kihyun’s neck, and Kihyun lets his drink fall to the floor, careless of the cranberry and vodka soaking into the carpet. He winds his arms around Heechul’s neck, breathes in mint and alcohol and fruit.
“Thought so,” Heechul says, more breath than word, and licks his way up into Kihyun’s mouth. Kihyun kisses him, then, fingernails digging into the back of his neck, and smiles.
*
Kibum almost bumps his head on the table leg when Chris curls both of his fists around Kibum’s wrists and hauls him down onto the carpet.
“Fuck,” Chris says against Kibum’s chest, face pressed there as he curls up on his side. He’s still speaking English, and while Kibum misses every few words, it doesn’t seem to really matter. He knows that one, anyway. “Make the world stay still, please,” Chris mumbles against Kibum’s skin, words very clearly enunciated despite being muffled by Chris’s fingers and Kibum’s bare chest.
“It’s not moving,” Kibum replies, eyes on the top of Chris’s head, even though he knows that it doesn’t matter.
“You say that now,” Chris says, looking up and meeting Kibum’s eyes, slightly unfocused, “but just you wait. You drink that weird green stuff and then see what happens.” Kibum wonders how he got roped into taking care of a drunken American, but decides that he doesn’t actually mind. Anything to distract him from the noises coming from Taehwa and Ryu, still on the couch in the middle of the room - at last Hwichan and Donghae and Lio are quiet. He risks a glance over his shoulder, and blinks at Ryu’s bare back, Taehwa’s neck arched over the back of the couch, exposing a column of white skin. He turns back quickly, pushing Chris a little.
“C’mon, Chris, lets move over a little, okay? Can you do that for me?” he asks, and Chris mumbles something unintelligible (Kibum feels expelled breath on his collarbones, but doesn’t understand any of the words).
Kibum gets Chris as far as under the table before he gives up. He realizes, belatedly, that this is the table Ryu was dancing on earlier, but he can’t find it in him to care. Chris is giggling faintly, one hand curled around Kibum’s upper arm, the other sliding over his shoulder. Kibum shivers and feels Chris’s hand tighten.
“Your skin is so smooth,” Chris mumbles, lips brushing the skin in the middle of Kibum’s chest, just under the hollow of his throat. Chris looks up, eyes wide and childlike as he meets Kibum’s gaze, and Kibum’s breath catches in his chest as he watches the slow smile that spreads across Chris’s face, only half innocent. Chris’s lips against his chest, soft and slow and chaste, but the fingers sliding up the back of his neck and into his hair aren’t, pulling his head back slightly as Chris licks his way up Kibum’s chest, tongue dipping into the curve of his collarbones, sliding horizontal and then up, fitting in the ridges of his trachea, circling around his Adam’s apple. Chris is shimmying up Kibum’s body, both hands in his hair, now, and Kibum rolls over, pushes Chris onto his back. Hands on Chris’s shoulders, Kibum looks down at Chris’s parted lips, his dilated pupils, the hair falling over his forehead. Chris lets his hands fall to the carpet, fingers digging in. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he mutters, knuckles white, tongue flicking out over his lips, eyes wide and waiting. Kibum breathes in, pushes a knee between Chris’s thighs, and leans down, pressing their lips together.
Chris tastes like alcohol and juice, like toothpaste, like vanilla. Complicated, complex, and Kibum doesn’t know why he’s slightly surprised. Chris giggles against his lips, hums, contented noises in the back of his throat as his fingers wind back into Kibum’s hair, cupping the back of his head.
There’s a moan somewhere behind them, but Kibum only half hears it, because Chris pushes him onto his side, rolling with him, his free hand sliding down Kibum’s bare back, naked skin slightly tacky with sweat. Kibum lets him, shoves his knee up where it’s lodged between Chris’s thighs, and feels the clutch of fingernails in his skin, the gasp against his lips. Kibum wonders if he could make Chris come like this, just like this, and the thought almost makes him moan. Chris’s fingers are digging into his skin, surely leaving marks, but Kibum doesn’t mind in the least, just pushes his hands in-between their bodies, fingering the button on Chris’s jeans.
This, he thinks, is why he doesn’t try to stop Heechul.
*
Taehwa wakes up on the couch with his pants unbuttoned and the sunlight shining in his eyes.
“Ow,” he says, mostly against Ryu’s chest, which is bare and smooth and moving slowly as he breathes. He has one arm slung around Ryu’s hips, the other trapped under his body, and Taehwa can’t tell, yet, whose legs are whose, precisely. His head feels like it’s filled with large men armed with grenades, and every time he moves, they throw one against the inside of his skull, just to watch and laugh as it explodes. Still, he wants to press his finger to the bruise marks up and down Ryu’s neck, wants to replace his fingers with his mouth, and he thinks that he should get up before he actually does any of it, and wakes Ryu, because that usually either means death or lecture, neither of which he wants. He carefully distangles himself from Ryu, standing and watching him curl up by himself on the couch, making a vague noise of protest. He’s so much more devious when he’s awake.
Shaking his hand idly, trying to get the pins-and-needles to go away, he wanders past Kibum and Chris, who are sprawled on the floor, sleeping all curled up, Chris’s hands splayed over Kibum’s bare back, legs tucked up together. Donghae waves at him drowsily from the couch next to Hwichan and Lio, who are both still asleep, Hwichan’s mouth pressed to Lio’s throat, and Lio’s hands both fisted in Hwichan’s shirt. Donghae’s sitting with his back to the armrest, watching them sleep, smiling just slightly. Taehwa can’t decide if he finds it creepy or strangely touching.
He goes into the kitchen hoping to find coffee, a coffee maker, or anything resembling a coffee product, and instead finds Kihyun and Heechul making out against the fridge, Kihyun’s back pressed to the cold plastic surface, one hand under Heechul’s shirt, the other hooked into the waistband of his pants.
“Coffee,” he asks, too hung over to even bother being shocked, “where?”
Heechul turns half around, and blinks, lips red and swollen. Kihyun grins at Taehwa over Heechul’s shoulder and glances down, and that’s when Taehwa remembers to button up his pants. His fingers fumble slightly with the zipper, and he bites his lips, knowing that he’s blushing some awful shade of red.
“Third cabinet on your left,” Heechul says, and goes back to kissing Kihyun, who seems to be laughing. Taehwa stares at his back for a few seconds, before he finds the coffee and starts a pot, wondering if he should be worried.
He doesn’t have the energy, yet, so instead he just watches the coffee drip, ignores the noises behind him, and waits for everyone else to wake up.