You Don't Love Me (Big Deal) - a Kai/Chanyeol fanfic - Ch. 2
Pairing: Kai/Chanyeol
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Angst, Unrequited Love
Word count: 3100+ for this chapter
Chapter 2/?
Notes: Warning for some vague mentions of drug usage.
Also posted to AFF and AO3.
Chanyeol had never intended to go back to the Black Pearl. It was too loud for him, too hot, too much stimulation packed in to one place and not enough room to breathe or think. Some would say that was the whole point of clubbing, but as far as Chanyeol was concerned, he liked having a good time without feeling like he was on the verge of passing out at any moment. He figures that once was enough.
When Chanyeol woke up the following morning (although he couldn’t for the life of him remember going to sleep in the first place) Jongin was already gone. Of course, this was to be expected, Chanyeol knows that that is how these things go, but that doesn’t stop the inexplicable twinge in his chest letting him know that yes, maybe he is a little disappointed Jongin didn’t say goodbye.
Chanyeol pushes himself off of the floor and immediately wishes he hadn’t moved at all. His head feels like it’s trapped in a vice that’s being wound ever tighter by some vindictive force, and his mouth and throat give him the distinct impression that he had swallowed a handful of sand at some point during the night.
He doesn’t feel nauseated, and that’s always something to be thankful for, but he noted with much disgust that his shirt is clinging to him, dank and heavy with sweat, and that his underwear is clinging to him because of. well. Chanyeol decides that they could do with two runs in the rickety old washing machine in his apartment at least.
Despite every nerve in him screaming at him to reconsider, Chanyeol finally manoeuvres himself off the floor and in to his shower stall, peeling off yesterday’s clothes and balling them in his arms as he goes. When he gets out, feeling fresher and a lot less gross and achy than he did before, he flips the switch of his electric kettle and goes to check the mail slot for letters.
The door isn’t locked. Chanyeol frowns, before muttering “asshole” under his breath. It was one thing to leave without saying anything, that Chanyeol could expect. In fact, he’d be a little concerned in anything else was the case, Jongin gave off signals that he wasn’t interested in anything with any depth and Chanyeol understood. But leaving the door unlocked in an apartment block? That was just rude.
The bruise on his shoulder takes little more than a week to fade. It goes from deep blues and even deeper purples that gave a heady jolt of pain when pressed, to sickly yellows and greens that were barely there at all. Yes, it fades relatively quickly, but the phantom touches of Jongin’s hands on his skin take even longer.
Chanyeol’s no fool. He knows that in a city this big, there is a very high possibility that he would never lay eyes on Jongin again; not in any club, and not on the streets or in normal places frequented by folk who prefer lives quieter than what the club scene has to offer. Even if he did, one night stands are made void if the person goes back for seconds, and Jongin didn’t leave the impression that he was the type.
Chanyeol briefly wonders how many other people Jongin had picked up in the same way, but he didn’t think he could count that high. Then he briefly wonders if maybe he should get himself checked sometime soon, just to be on the safe side.
Chanyeol had never intended to go back to the Black Pearl, so when Baekhyun calls him a few weeks later and suggests it, Chanyeol is a little taken aback.
“The Black Pearl? I thought you said it was too “trashy” for you.” Chanyeol makes air quotes with one hand, even though he knows Baekhyun can’t see. He has the phone balanced between his shoulder and ear, using his free hand to circle temp opportunities in that morning’s paper.
“It is. That’s exactly why I want to go back. Did you know I got three phone numbers last time, Channie? Three. That’s more than I get in a month.”
“Did any of them work?”
“That’s not the point. Although one did connect to a really nice Italian restaurant that just opened. They gave me a discount off garlic bread when I asked for Soohyun, and said it was the third time that week, you should try it.”
Chanyeol snorts. “No thanks.
Baekhyun’s attempts at getting a girl to notice him never worked too well for him, and Chanyeol does feel a little sorry for him at times, but he brought it on himself really. He laughs too loud even when he doesn’t understand what’s supposed to be funny, and maybe he tries a little too hard. Chanyeol loves him, he does, but he knows that dating him would be a nightmare. Still, that’s the fifth tip off he’s gotten to a decent restaurant, even if it was under the guise of a girl’s contact details.
“So what do you say? You’re free tonight, right?”
“Well yeah, but-“
“Great. I’ll have a cab stop by your place at ten. Who knows, maybe we’ll both get lucky this time?”
Baekhyun heaps on the wistfulness in his tone, and Chanyeol knows him well enough to know that it’s a tactic, that it’s a pity play, but Baekhyun knows Chanyeol well enough to know what he’s weak to that sort of thing.
“Fine. Fine, alright. But make it ten-thirty, I’ve got to finish this application.”
“You’re aces, Channie.” Baekhyun coos, before hanging up.
Chanyeol laughs in to the receiver before dislodging the phone from between his shoulder and the side of his head. He set it on the table before linking his fingers, stretching his arms out in front of him until every joint and knuckle pops. Shifting until his legs are folded more comfortably under him, Chanyeol lifts the pen back off the table and taps it idly against his bottom lip.
If he goes tonight and doesn’t see Jongin, that’s fine. Maybe Baekhyun will take to the floor alone, sure, but just because Chanyeol will be alone doesn’t mean he has to be lonely. Who knows, maybe he’ll meet someone interesting who talks a whole lot more than filthy words whispered in to reddening ears at the back of sticky taxi cabs. Maybe he won’t see Jongin and if he doesn’t, he doesn’t, it’s not going to ruin his night in any way.
But maybe he will. And Chanyeol can’t lie to himself and say he’s opposed to the idea.
Baekyun arrives at 10:47pm and doesn’t even attempt to excuse himself, not even when Chanyeol cocks his head and gives his best attempt at faux-irritation. They pull up outside the Black Pearl a little over fifteen minutes later and if possible, it seems a whole lot more thriving and intimidating than before.
Two girls outside smoking eye them up appreciatively as they make their way to the bouncer-occupied alcove, but their come-hither looks quickly change when Chanyeol grins at them toothily, waggling his fingers in their general direction. They giggle behind their hands at one another, and Baekhyun punches him on the arm.
“Could you do me a favour and be a little less - you for a few hours? Please?”
“I was only saying hi, Baekhyun.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot we were still in high school.” Baekhyun says, but his voice is fond. “Come on, there might be some lookers inside who don’t know what a total moron you are.”
Baekhyun doesn’t head straight for the dance floor this time. Instead, he sits at the bar with Chanyeol, craning his neck every so often to see if he can find a girl who doesn’t look like she’s going to write the first numbers that come in to her head on the back of Baekhyun’s hand.
“You know, this place isn’t so bad once you get used to it.” Chanyeol mused, dunking his ice below the surface of his drink with a toothpick he found on the counter. “It’s a little loud, but it’s got a good atmosphere I guess.”
“What?!” Baekhyun yells, straining to hear over the music.
“I said -“ Chanyeol doesn’t finish, words lodging themselves firmly between his teeth.
He had been wrong. Apparently his chances of seeing Jongin again were a lot higher than he thought.
He’s dancing with a girl, his fingers tight in the material of the lycra dress at her hips, anchoring him there but his eyes wandering and lolling like he can’t quite make them focus. Every time they swivel back to the girl he has pressed up against him, Jongin grins like he’s discovering her all over again. Even from where he’s sitting, Chanyeol can see that Jongin’s mouth is swollen, and that he’s got lip gloss leaving a sticky trail from his mouth to his collar, ending in an off-colour lip print that had missed its target by a mile.
He’s clearly on something, they both are, but of course neither of them seem to care. Chanyeol almost manages to tear his eyes away from the pair of them, but then Jongin’s got his eyes on him and suddenly Chanyeol finds he’s rooted, stuck fast for reasons he can’t even begin to deliberate.
Jongin’s grin is slow coming, pulling up at one corner first as he was wont to do, before it breaks in to something that is sinister, yet all too alluring. He whispers something to the girl and she steps back, appalled, shoving him with one hand before storming off with slightly shaky steps, hiking her dress further up her thighs as she goes. Jongin doesn’t even bother watching her leave.
The bass of Chanyeol’s own heart picks up, drowning out the music thumping through the wooden floor as Jongin undeniably, purposefully makes his way to where Jongin’s sitting.
Baekhyun catches Chanyeol’s gaze and follows it. “Hey, isn’t that-“
“Yeah.” Chanyeol says, finding his mouth too dry to say much else. He thinks it’s all very silly really, but he can’t deny how affected he is when Jongin stops in front of him.
“I’m gonna borrow him for a bit, if you don’t mind.” Jongin says, vaguely in the direction of where Baekhyun is sitting. His words slur heavily, and his grip is too tight as he hauls Chanyeol off his stool before Baekhyun even has a chance to answer.
He has him by the arm and Chanyeol knows he could shake him off if he really wanted to, that he could go back to his seat and finish his drink, but just like before he weighs up both options and ends up going down the road less travelled.
Jongin hauls him in to the female bathrooms, and Chanyeol has no misconceptions about where this is going. He knows Jongin is out of it, knows that he’s probably had too much to drink mixed with something that is probably doing a lot more for him than some tequila slammers, but he can’t deny that he wants whatever Jongin is offering.
Jongin pushes past a women that is exiting one of the stalls, and she cries out indignantly before yelling “why don’t any of you use the men’s, honestly?!”
He ignores her, pushing Chanyeol in to the cubicle, the back of Chanyeol’s calves knocking against the rim of the toilet before he’s shutting the door and driving the lock home.
“So he does know how to lock doors.” Chanyeol thinks to himself in passing.
Jongin kisses Chanyeol, and Chanyeol can taste artificial strawberries that he knows came from the girl’s lip gloss. It shouldn’t bother Chanyeol, but it does, and he pulls back to wipe at Jongin’s lips with his thumb before ducking down to kiss him again. The taste is still there, but it’s faint now.
When Jongin drops to his knees without any warning or ceremony, the sound Chanyeol makes is less than dignified.
“Jongin, I-“
Jongin’s eyes snap up, narrowing as they take in Chanyeol towering above him. “How do you know my name?”
Chanyeol blinks. “You told me. Or, well, you told Baekhyun - Baekhyun’s my friend - you told him last time I was here. The last time we, uh...met.”
Jongin looks like he’s having a hard time focusing on and processing Chanyeol’s words, and Chanyeol worries for a second that he’s blow it, but then Jongin snorts softly, says “whatever” under his breath, and then reaches up to unzip Chanyeol’s fly.
When he pulls Chanyeol out and starts to suck him off, Chanyeol doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with his hands. He tries to touch him as little as possible, knows instinctively and from his meagre experience that Jongin won’t like it, but it's hard.
Jongin hollows his cheeks, pulling his head back and digs the fingers of his left hand in to Chanyeol's thigh with what feels an awful lot like spite, like misdirected anger, and when he sinks his head back down as far as he is able, Chanyeol is tipping his head back in an attempt to get a lot more air than his lungs are allowing.
Chanyeol will think back on this later, he isn’t drunk enough for things to be hazy when he gets home, and he will wonder when he started to become the type of person who did these things. He’ll wonder if all the people who said “ah, Park Chanyeol? He’s a good kid.” would still be able to say the same once they knew that nearing his mid-twenties he started becoming the type to sleep with strangers he met in clubs, and to receive intoxicated blowjobs in bathroom stalls.
What made you like this, Park Chanyeol? Or rather, who.
He doesn’t have the time or head space to worry about such things at present, though, not with the way that Jongin is fisting a spit coated hand around the rest of Chanyeol that won’t fit in his mouth.
He draws a hot line from base to tip with his tongue and Chanyeol can't stop himself from tangling his fingers in Jongin's hair, nails dragging lightly over his scalp. Jongin spares a second to glare up at Chanyeol, eyes dark and irritated before the lids give the briefest of flutters when Chanyeol involuntarily pulls on his hair the next time Jongin sucks particularly harshly.
Chanyeol tries to warn Jongin when he’s close, but he can’t suck enough air in to his chest cavity in order to make the words work, and it seems to be too much for Jongin. He throws up soon after, the vomit and the semen that never got the chance to make its way down making a particularly vile imitation of a Pollock piece on the bathroom tiles.
Chanyeol crouches a little, trying to gauge if Jongin was in any danger. His hands are braced on the tiles, and his head is hanging so low it almost touches his chest, and Chanyeol wants to rub his back or something, but his hand stops itself half way there because he doesn’t think Jongin would appreciate it, knows Jongin won't thank him for it. Knows he isn’t allowed.
“I’ll be back in a second.” He tells Jongin, and the look Jongin gives him from under his lashes is withering. “Don’t leave.”
Jongin grumbles in response, a vague attempt at words that he doesn’t quite manage, but Chanyeol gets his meaning anyway. He steps out of the bathroom stall, closing the door behind him and hoping that no-one tries to enter with Jongin in such a state. He gets water from a vending machine that stands guard between the doors to the women’s and men’s bathrooms, and when he gets back he places it on the shelf above the toilet.
“Drink that when you can stand up.” He tells Jongin, and Jongin laughs sharply, reaching up to knock the bottle off and on to the floor, where it bounces before settling beside him. He lifts it and after some difficulty, unscrews the lid and knocks back almost a quarter of the bottle, rinsing his teeth before spitting in to the toilet bowl.
“Are you my mother?”
“I certainly would hope not.” Chanyeol says in an attempt to lighten the leaden atmosphere between them, but his joke falls flat in the face on Jongin’s arrogance.
Jongin’s not looking at him, so Chanyeol can’t tell if his head is clearing any, but his voice certainly sounds a lot stronger when he demands that Chanyeol leaves.
Chanyeol shuffled awkwardly on his feet. “I don’t really want to leave you like this.”
“I’m not your responsibly.”
“No, I know that, but-“
“And I don’t want you around. I’ve had my fun.”
A part of Chanyeol thinks “this is fun for you?” but he knows better than to question it, and he knows that their encounter has reached a stalemate.
“Alright, I’ll go.” He says, but Jongin doesn’t respond, not even in the slightest. He still has his back to Chanyeol, has taken to resting his forehead on the rim of the toilet, the hand holding the water bottle squeezing it until the plastic cracks.
Chanyeol goes to make his exit, but as an afterthought, one he'd regret probably, he puts his number in Jongin's phone which at some point had fallen out of the shallow pockets of his jeans. Jongin either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care when Chanyeol places it on the shelf above him, and he doesn’t say a word to Chanyeol as the other party leaves, which is fine. Chanyeol knows not to expect a goodbye.
He can’t find Baekhyun when he renters the main area and figures his friend had either left early again, or had tucked himself away in some corner of the club, flirting with the first girl that had so much looked in his direction. Chanyeol leaves without him, calling himself a cab.
When he reaches his apartment he double locks the door, makes the executive decision to shower in the morning, and strips to his underwear before climbing in between the sheets of his bed.
His last thoughts before he succumbs to sleep are that if Jongin doesn’t call, it’s fine, it’s not going to ruin his life in any way. It was a stupid idea anyway, Jongin either won’t notice the number is even in his contacts (although Chanyeol had noted there were a surprising few) or he will, and he will delete it, but it’s fine. If he doesn’t call, he doesn’t call.
“But-“ Chanyeol thinks, smoothing his cheek in to the cold side of his pillow. “-maybe he will”.
And Chanyeol can’t lie to himself and say he’s opposed to the idea.
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Angst, Unrequited Love
Word count: 3100+ for this chapter
Chapter 2/?
Notes: Warning for some vague mentions of drug usage.
Also posted to AFF and AO3.
Chanyeol had never intended to go back to the Black Pearl. It was too loud for him, too hot, too much stimulation packed in to one place and not enough room to breathe or think. Some would say that was the whole point of clubbing, but as far as Chanyeol was concerned, he liked having a good time without feeling like he was on the verge of passing out at any moment. He figures that once was enough.
When Chanyeol woke up the following morning (although he couldn’t for the life of him remember going to sleep in the first place) Jongin was already gone. Of course, this was to be expected, Chanyeol knows that that is how these things go, but that doesn’t stop the inexplicable twinge in his chest letting him know that yes, maybe he is a little disappointed Jongin didn’t say goodbye.
Chanyeol pushes himself off of the floor and immediately wishes he hadn’t moved at all. His head feels like it’s trapped in a vice that’s being wound ever tighter by some vindictive force, and his mouth and throat give him the distinct impression that he had swallowed a handful of sand at some point during the night.
He doesn’t feel nauseated, and that’s always something to be thankful for, but he noted with much disgust that his shirt is clinging to him, dank and heavy with sweat, and that his underwear is clinging to him because of. well. Chanyeol decides that they could do with two runs in the rickety old washing machine in his apartment at least.
Despite every nerve in him screaming at him to reconsider, Chanyeol finally manoeuvres himself off the floor and in to his shower stall, peeling off yesterday’s clothes and balling them in his arms as he goes. When he gets out, feeling fresher and a lot less gross and achy than he did before, he flips the switch of his electric kettle and goes to check the mail slot for letters.
The door isn’t locked. Chanyeol frowns, before muttering “asshole” under his breath. It was one thing to leave without saying anything, that Chanyeol could expect. In fact, he’d be a little concerned in anything else was the case, Jongin gave off signals that he wasn’t interested in anything with any depth and Chanyeol understood. But leaving the door unlocked in an apartment block? That was just rude.
The bruise on his shoulder takes little more than a week to fade. It goes from deep blues and even deeper purples that gave a heady jolt of pain when pressed, to sickly yellows and greens that were barely there at all. Yes, it fades relatively quickly, but the phantom touches of Jongin’s hands on his skin take even longer.
Chanyeol’s no fool. He knows that in a city this big, there is a very high possibility that he would never lay eyes on Jongin again; not in any club, and not on the streets or in normal places frequented by folk who prefer lives quieter than what the club scene has to offer. Even if he did, one night stands are made void if the person goes back for seconds, and Jongin didn’t leave the impression that he was the type.
Chanyeol briefly wonders how many other people Jongin had picked up in the same way, but he didn’t think he could count that high. Then he briefly wonders if maybe he should get himself checked sometime soon, just to be on the safe side.
Chanyeol had never intended to go back to the Black Pearl, so when Baekhyun calls him a few weeks later and suggests it, Chanyeol is a little taken aback.
“The Black Pearl? I thought you said it was too “trashy” for you.” Chanyeol makes air quotes with one hand, even though he knows Baekhyun can’t see. He has the phone balanced between his shoulder and ear, using his free hand to circle temp opportunities in that morning’s paper.
“It is. That’s exactly why I want to go back. Did you know I got three phone numbers last time, Channie? Three. That’s more than I get in a month.”
“Did any of them work?”
“That’s not the point. Although one did connect to a really nice Italian restaurant that just opened. They gave me a discount off garlic bread when I asked for Soohyun, and said it was the third time that week, you should try it.”
Chanyeol snorts. “No thanks.
Baekhyun’s attempts at getting a girl to notice him never worked too well for him, and Chanyeol does feel a little sorry for him at times, but he brought it on himself really. He laughs too loud even when he doesn’t understand what’s supposed to be funny, and maybe he tries a little too hard. Chanyeol loves him, he does, but he knows that dating him would be a nightmare. Still, that’s the fifth tip off he’s gotten to a decent restaurant, even if it was under the guise of a girl’s contact details.
“So what do you say? You’re free tonight, right?”
“Well yeah, but-“
“Great. I’ll have a cab stop by your place at ten. Who knows, maybe we’ll both get lucky this time?”
Baekhyun heaps on the wistfulness in his tone, and Chanyeol knows him well enough to know that it’s a tactic, that it’s a pity play, but Baekhyun knows Chanyeol well enough to know what he’s weak to that sort of thing.
“Fine. Fine, alright. But make it ten-thirty, I’ve got to finish this application.”
“You’re aces, Channie.” Baekhyun coos, before hanging up.
Chanyeol laughs in to the receiver before dislodging the phone from between his shoulder and the side of his head. He set it on the table before linking his fingers, stretching his arms out in front of him until every joint and knuckle pops. Shifting until his legs are folded more comfortably under him, Chanyeol lifts the pen back off the table and taps it idly against his bottom lip.
If he goes tonight and doesn’t see Jongin, that’s fine. Maybe Baekhyun will take to the floor alone, sure, but just because Chanyeol will be alone doesn’t mean he has to be lonely. Who knows, maybe he’ll meet someone interesting who talks a whole lot more than filthy words whispered in to reddening ears at the back of sticky taxi cabs. Maybe he won’t see Jongin and if he doesn’t, he doesn’t, it’s not going to ruin his night in any way.
But maybe he will. And Chanyeol can’t lie to himself and say he’s opposed to the idea.
Baekyun arrives at 10:47pm and doesn’t even attempt to excuse himself, not even when Chanyeol cocks his head and gives his best attempt at faux-irritation. They pull up outside the Black Pearl a little over fifteen minutes later and if possible, it seems a whole lot more thriving and intimidating than before.
Two girls outside smoking eye them up appreciatively as they make their way to the bouncer-occupied alcove, but their come-hither looks quickly change when Chanyeol grins at them toothily, waggling his fingers in their general direction. They giggle behind their hands at one another, and Baekhyun punches him on the arm.
“Could you do me a favour and be a little less - you for a few hours? Please?”
“I was only saying hi, Baekhyun.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot we were still in high school.” Baekhyun says, but his voice is fond. “Come on, there might be some lookers inside who don’t know what a total moron you are.”
Baekhyun doesn’t head straight for the dance floor this time. Instead, he sits at the bar with Chanyeol, craning his neck every so often to see if he can find a girl who doesn’t look like she’s going to write the first numbers that come in to her head on the back of Baekhyun’s hand.
“You know, this place isn’t so bad once you get used to it.” Chanyeol mused, dunking his ice below the surface of his drink with a toothpick he found on the counter. “It’s a little loud, but it’s got a good atmosphere I guess.”
“What?!” Baekhyun yells, straining to hear over the music.
“I said -“ Chanyeol doesn’t finish, words lodging themselves firmly between his teeth.
He had been wrong. Apparently his chances of seeing Jongin again were a lot higher than he thought.
He’s dancing with a girl, his fingers tight in the material of the lycra dress at her hips, anchoring him there but his eyes wandering and lolling like he can’t quite make them focus. Every time they swivel back to the girl he has pressed up against him, Jongin grins like he’s discovering her all over again. Even from where he’s sitting, Chanyeol can see that Jongin’s mouth is swollen, and that he’s got lip gloss leaving a sticky trail from his mouth to his collar, ending in an off-colour lip print that had missed its target by a mile.
He’s clearly on something, they both are, but of course neither of them seem to care. Chanyeol almost manages to tear his eyes away from the pair of them, but then Jongin’s got his eyes on him and suddenly Chanyeol finds he’s rooted, stuck fast for reasons he can’t even begin to deliberate.
Jongin’s grin is slow coming, pulling up at one corner first as he was wont to do, before it breaks in to something that is sinister, yet all too alluring. He whispers something to the girl and she steps back, appalled, shoving him with one hand before storming off with slightly shaky steps, hiking her dress further up her thighs as she goes. Jongin doesn’t even bother watching her leave.
The bass of Chanyeol’s own heart picks up, drowning out the music thumping through the wooden floor as Jongin undeniably, purposefully makes his way to where Jongin’s sitting.
Baekhyun catches Chanyeol’s gaze and follows it. “Hey, isn’t that-“
“Yeah.” Chanyeol says, finding his mouth too dry to say much else. He thinks it’s all very silly really, but he can’t deny how affected he is when Jongin stops in front of him.
“I’m gonna borrow him for a bit, if you don’t mind.” Jongin says, vaguely in the direction of where Baekhyun is sitting. His words slur heavily, and his grip is too tight as he hauls Chanyeol off his stool before Baekhyun even has a chance to answer.
He has him by the arm and Chanyeol knows he could shake him off if he really wanted to, that he could go back to his seat and finish his drink, but just like before he weighs up both options and ends up going down the road less travelled.
Jongin hauls him in to the female bathrooms, and Chanyeol has no misconceptions about where this is going. He knows Jongin is out of it, knows that he’s probably had too much to drink mixed with something that is probably doing a lot more for him than some tequila slammers, but he can’t deny that he wants whatever Jongin is offering.
Jongin pushes past a women that is exiting one of the stalls, and she cries out indignantly before yelling “why don’t any of you use the men’s, honestly?!”
He ignores her, pushing Chanyeol in to the cubicle, the back of Chanyeol’s calves knocking against the rim of the toilet before he’s shutting the door and driving the lock home.
“So he does know how to lock doors.” Chanyeol thinks to himself in passing.
Jongin kisses Chanyeol, and Chanyeol can taste artificial strawberries that he knows came from the girl’s lip gloss. It shouldn’t bother Chanyeol, but it does, and he pulls back to wipe at Jongin’s lips with his thumb before ducking down to kiss him again. The taste is still there, but it’s faint now.
When Jongin drops to his knees without any warning or ceremony, the sound Chanyeol makes is less than dignified.
“Jongin, I-“
Jongin’s eyes snap up, narrowing as they take in Chanyeol towering above him. “How do you know my name?”
Chanyeol blinks. “You told me. Or, well, you told Baekhyun - Baekhyun’s my friend - you told him last time I was here. The last time we, uh...met.”
Jongin looks like he’s having a hard time focusing on and processing Chanyeol’s words, and Chanyeol worries for a second that he’s blow it, but then Jongin snorts softly, says “whatever” under his breath, and then reaches up to unzip Chanyeol’s fly.
When he pulls Chanyeol out and starts to suck him off, Chanyeol doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with his hands. He tries to touch him as little as possible, knows instinctively and from his meagre experience that Jongin won’t like it, but it's hard.
Jongin hollows his cheeks, pulling his head back and digs the fingers of his left hand in to Chanyeol's thigh with what feels an awful lot like spite, like misdirected anger, and when he sinks his head back down as far as he is able, Chanyeol is tipping his head back in an attempt to get a lot more air than his lungs are allowing.
Chanyeol will think back on this later, he isn’t drunk enough for things to be hazy when he gets home, and he will wonder when he started to become the type of person who did these things. He’ll wonder if all the people who said “ah, Park Chanyeol? He’s a good kid.” would still be able to say the same once they knew that nearing his mid-twenties he started becoming the type to sleep with strangers he met in clubs, and to receive intoxicated blowjobs in bathroom stalls.
What made you like this, Park Chanyeol? Or rather, who.
He doesn’t have the time or head space to worry about such things at present, though, not with the way that Jongin is fisting a spit coated hand around the rest of Chanyeol that won’t fit in his mouth.
He draws a hot line from base to tip with his tongue and Chanyeol can't stop himself from tangling his fingers in Jongin's hair, nails dragging lightly over his scalp. Jongin spares a second to glare up at Chanyeol, eyes dark and irritated before the lids give the briefest of flutters when Chanyeol involuntarily pulls on his hair the next time Jongin sucks particularly harshly.
Chanyeol tries to warn Jongin when he’s close, but he can’t suck enough air in to his chest cavity in order to make the words work, and it seems to be too much for Jongin. He throws up soon after, the vomit and the semen that never got the chance to make its way down making a particularly vile imitation of a Pollock piece on the bathroom tiles.
Chanyeol crouches a little, trying to gauge if Jongin was in any danger. His hands are braced on the tiles, and his head is hanging so low it almost touches his chest, and Chanyeol wants to rub his back or something, but his hand stops itself half way there because he doesn’t think Jongin would appreciate it, knows Jongin won't thank him for it. Knows he isn’t allowed.
“I’ll be back in a second.” He tells Jongin, and the look Jongin gives him from under his lashes is withering. “Don’t leave.”
Jongin grumbles in response, a vague attempt at words that he doesn’t quite manage, but Chanyeol gets his meaning anyway. He steps out of the bathroom stall, closing the door behind him and hoping that no-one tries to enter with Jongin in such a state. He gets water from a vending machine that stands guard between the doors to the women’s and men’s bathrooms, and when he gets back he places it on the shelf above the toilet.
“Drink that when you can stand up.” He tells Jongin, and Jongin laughs sharply, reaching up to knock the bottle off and on to the floor, where it bounces before settling beside him. He lifts it and after some difficulty, unscrews the lid and knocks back almost a quarter of the bottle, rinsing his teeth before spitting in to the toilet bowl.
“Are you my mother?”
“I certainly would hope not.” Chanyeol says in an attempt to lighten the leaden atmosphere between them, but his joke falls flat in the face on Jongin’s arrogance.
Jongin’s not looking at him, so Chanyeol can’t tell if his head is clearing any, but his voice certainly sounds a lot stronger when he demands that Chanyeol leaves.
Chanyeol shuffled awkwardly on his feet. “I don’t really want to leave you like this.”
“I’m not your responsibly.”
“No, I know that, but-“
“And I don’t want you around. I’ve had my fun.”
A part of Chanyeol thinks “this is fun for you?” but he knows better than to question it, and he knows that their encounter has reached a stalemate.
“Alright, I’ll go.” He says, but Jongin doesn’t respond, not even in the slightest. He still has his back to Chanyeol, has taken to resting his forehead on the rim of the toilet, the hand holding the water bottle squeezing it until the plastic cracks.
Chanyeol goes to make his exit, but as an afterthought, one he'd regret probably, he puts his number in Jongin's phone which at some point had fallen out of the shallow pockets of his jeans. Jongin either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care when Chanyeol places it on the shelf above him, and he doesn’t say a word to Chanyeol as the other party leaves, which is fine. Chanyeol knows not to expect a goodbye.
He can’t find Baekhyun when he renters the main area and figures his friend had either left early again, or had tucked himself away in some corner of the club, flirting with the first girl that had so much looked in his direction. Chanyeol leaves without him, calling himself a cab.
When he reaches his apartment he double locks the door, makes the executive decision to shower in the morning, and strips to his underwear before climbing in between the sheets of his bed.
His last thoughts before he succumbs to sleep are that if Jongin doesn’t call, it’s fine, it’s not going to ruin his life in any way. It was a stupid idea anyway, Jongin either won’t notice the number is even in his contacts (although Chanyeol had noted there were a surprising few) or he will, and he will delete it, but it’s fine. If he doesn’t call, he doesn’t call.
“But-“ Chanyeol thinks, smoothing his cheek in to the cold side of his pillow. “-maybe he will”.
And Chanyeol can’t lie to himself and say he’s opposed to the idea.