I Should Tell You [Siwook]
Title: I Should Tell You.
Prompt: #92 Gorgeous
Challenge Status: 3 /100
Pairing: WC-- Siwon/Ryeowook
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1608
Summary: Well, here we go, now we, oh no; I know this something is here goes, here goes-
Sungmin was the last person to trail out of the dressing room, his phone warm in Ryeowook's grip as he trotted through the door, small ponytail bouncing merrily behind him, to practice with the rest of Super Junior T, the beginning strains of Superman already echoing through the rehearsal hall. The rest of the boys were in the audience just in front of the stage, or stealing outside to make calls (Heechul) or sneak a cigarette (also Heechul, though only Leeteuk had the heart to chastise him these days, particularly when said cigarette was on the tail end of another terse call with Hangeng, voice crackling and distant through the receiver, leaving Heechul to hurry back on stage for the next number with a pasted-on smile that no one quite had the confidence to question). Sungmin hadn't even locked his phone before leaving it in Ryeowook's care (after the unfortunate sexting incident that had ended with a broken mic stand and a sizable bruise on Yesung's thigh during rehearsals for the Beijing show, Teukie had strictly forbidden the boys even having their phones on their person, as even minor arm spasms due to pocket vibrations had wrought considerable havoc in the past). There were several new messages from Eunhyuk flashing on the screen from within the last few minutes (apparently the dancer was ignoring the phone rule), but Ryeowook dutifully pushed the phone to rest safely among the bottles of hairspray, too anxious to be interested enough in what Eunhyuk had to say to betray Sungmin's solid trust in him.
The source of his anxiety lay curled gently at his wrist. As he lifted it from the table, watching it shine resiliently under the fluorescent lights, he felt his heart stir in his chest. It was something he had to do alone, and he glanced over his shoulder to make sure that all the crew members had drifted into the wings to watch the performance before sliding one hand delicately across his forehead, making sure the barrette holding his hair back was secure before carefully stretching the mesh weave of the wig's base and sliding it over his own hair. As he adjusted the front, keeping his eyes on the black jeans clinging somewhat more tightly than he'd anticipated to his thighs than he'd imagined at the first fitting, Ryeowook felt the curls settling against his back, just above his shoulder blades, with a reassuring sort of weight to them. The loose sleeves of the red sweatshirt he'd been given to wear (they'd tried to convince him that it was the very same one Luna had worn in performances, but Ryeowook new all too well that 'new sweatshirt' sort of smell, like it had just been screen-printed and pressed and then dropped into his hands) bunched at his elbows as he made sure all of his own hair was tucked out of sight.
It was time. Smoothing his hands delicately over the top of the wig one last time, he stood up, the sweatshirt settling mid-thigh, the sleeves sliding easily down to his palms. Clutching the material between his fingers, he covered his face, opening one eye slowly and breathing against the red all around him. Slowly, slowly, he spread the fingers of one hand, peering through at himself in the mirror. Unlike the wig he'd been given for the Gee performances, this one framed his face nicely, curling gently about his ears. Ryeowook slowly lowered his hands and examined himself, sucking in a breath of relief. He looked... he looked good. Not great, not quite what he'd hoped (the fact that he spent so much time worrying about what he'd look like as a girl continued to baffle him, but nevertheless); but not bad at all. He cocked one hip to the side, elegant fingers gripping his waist as he let his other arm rest easily against his side, and, liking what he saw, turned to examine the view from the back in the mirror. Lifting the hem of the sweatshirt, he craned his neck over one shoulder to make sure the jeans did him justice and didn't even notice the door to the dressing room swinging open until it shut somewhat violently, and the perpetrator sucked in an apologetic breath, though the perturbed crew members were out of sight.
“Ryeowook?” The boy in question jumped, heart pounding as he lifted his eyes to see Siwon in the mirror, staring back at him with a look that Ryeowook couldn't quite decipher but that made his face burn as he dropped the sweatshirt and twisted back around to face the other boy, sheepish.
“I-I was, uh- just getting ready for C-Chu. Early.” There was an eery silence as Superman ended, and Ryeowook was sure Siwon could hear his heart beating from across the room.
“I see that,” Siwon replied, a smile playing around his mouth; though it wasn't particularly smug, the eternal magnae still wished desperately to melt into the floor beneath him. There was a high-pitched squeal from the stage as someone's mic suffered through an abnormally long echo of feedback, Siwon wincing around his smile, and then the familiar beats of Rokkugo started.
“Are you Victoria sunbae?” Ryeowook just blinked at him for a moment, wondering feverishly what he was asking, before realizing and stuttering out a reply.
“N-no, Luna.” Siwon was crossing the room, and Ryeowook instinctively backed up, sucking in a breath of surprise as he hit the table, bottles clacking together behind him and threatening to tip over. He knew he had to look ridiculous at this point (his face was probably as red as his sweatshirt), and he instantly regretted the thick layer of mascara he'd applied earlier. It was just a rehearsal. Before Siwon could notice and comment, Ryeowook turned and started searching the table earnestly for the makeup remover. I look stupid, I know.
He wasn't even aware that he'd said it aloud until Siwon replied, so close to his ear that he almost upset the table again, “No, no, you look pretty,” and his warm hand was sliding over Ryeowook's trembling one, the bottle in his fingers hitting the table and rolling out of sight. In the mirror, Ryeowook could see that Siwon's expression was once again unreadable, his breath a hot wave against the other boy's ear.
“Pretty? I never... no.” Ryeowook managed, breathless, as he felt himself leaning back easily into the taller boy's frame, eyes fluttering shut as a warm hand was at the base of his neck. Every nerve under Siwon's rough fingertips burst into flame, and his reply wrenched an involuntary moan out of the eternal magnae as warm lips met the sensitive shell of his ear.
“You're right, you're not pretty.” Ryeowook's eyes snapped open in shock, some sense of pride burning in his chest, dripping down to cover the dread in a viscous defense, and as he shook off Siwon's hand, he felt that hand press solidly into the small of his back, reeling him in as if the other knew he had been seconds away from running. He opened his mouth to protest, mind spinning wildly with want and abject hatred and confusion, but before he could say a word, Siwon's lips were on his and he was giving in, clutching the fabric of Siwon's shirt in his fingers as his knees turned to water. Just as it had started, it was over, and he heard himself let out a squeak of protest as the other broke away.
“You didn't let me finish,” Siwon chastised, his voice gentle, the smooth tenor softening every bone in Ryeowook's body until he thought he might float right out of the other's grip. “You're not merely pretty, Wook, you are gorgeous.” His lips were cool against the heated blush spreading across Ryeowook's jaw, trailing up, pressing against the wig and somehow still setting sparks off across his scalp.
They both realized, then, that it was peculiarly quiet, and Siwon sprang back just as the door burst open and their bandmates started to spill in. Ryeowook turned and hid his furiously red face from the others, pretending to busy himself among the bottles and jars on the table. A tap on his shoulder was enough to ruin the composure he was slowly reconstructing, though; he whipped around, Sungmin reeling back to avoid being hit in the face with the swinging curls of his wig, looking a bit flushed himself although for a far different reason.
“Do you have my phone?” Sungmin enunciated slowly, as if Ryeowook spoke a different language (albeit not in a cruel way, just in a somewhat concerned way, and the eternal magnae didn't blame him- he knew he looked insane). With a nod, Ryeowook felt behind him on the table until his fingers met the cool surface of the phone and carefully lifted it, pressing it into Sungmin's waiting hands- Eunhyuk was snickering across the room, this would surely be good, but Ryeowook wasn't going to wait around to see. He stepped around Sungmin and made for the door, putting on a brave smile for Shindong's sake as he yelled after the younger boy (“Well hello there! Cover yourself, Donghae, you're in the presence of a lady. Disgraceful.”), slipping out into the cool quiet of stage left and letting the door swing shut on Kyuhyun's throaty giggle, the rustle of garment bags, someone shouting over the rising din that they had ten minutes to be ready and out for the next number. As he stepped out onto the silent stage, a stylist's approving gaze warm on his back, he let the echo fill his ears. Gorgeous.
Prompt: #92 Gorgeous
Challenge Status: 3 /100
Pairing: WC-- Siwon/Ryeowook
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1608
Summary: Well, here we go, now we, oh no; I know this something is here goes, here goes-
Sungmin was the last person to trail out of the dressing room, his phone warm in Ryeowook's grip as he trotted through the door, small ponytail bouncing merrily behind him, to practice with the rest of Super Junior T, the beginning strains of Superman already echoing through the rehearsal hall. The rest of the boys were in the audience just in front of the stage, or stealing outside to make calls (Heechul) or sneak a cigarette (also Heechul, though only Leeteuk had the heart to chastise him these days, particularly when said cigarette was on the tail end of another terse call with Hangeng, voice crackling and distant through the receiver, leaving Heechul to hurry back on stage for the next number with a pasted-on smile that no one quite had the confidence to question). Sungmin hadn't even locked his phone before leaving it in Ryeowook's care (after the unfortunate sexting incident that had ended with a broken mic stand and a sizable bruise on Yesung's thigh during rehearsals for the Beijing show, Teukie had strictly forbidden the boys even having their phones on their person, as even minor arm spasms due to pocket vibrations had wrought considerable havoc in the past). There were several new messages from Eunhyuk flashing on the screen from within the last few minutes (apparently the dancer was ignoring the phone rule), but Ryeowook dutifully pushed the phone to rest safely among the bottles of hairspray, too anxious to be interested enough in what Eunhyuk had to say to betray Sungmin's solid trust in him.
The source of his anxiety lay curled gently at his wrist. As he lifted it from the table, watching it shine resiliently under the fluorescent lights, he felt his heart stir in his chest. It was something he had to do alone, and he glanced over his shoulder to make sure that all the crew members had drifted into the wings to watch the performance before sliding one hand delicately across his forehead, making sure the barrette holding his hair back was secure before carefully stretching the mesh weave of the wig's base and sliding it over his own hair. As he adjusted the front, keeping his eyes on the black jeans clinging somewhat more tightly than he'd anticipated to his thighs than he'd imagined at the first fitting, Ryeowook felt the curls settling against his back, just above his shoulder blades, with a reassuring sort of weight to them. The loose sleeves of the red sweatshirt he'd been given to wear (they'd tried to convince him that it was the very same one Luna had worn in performances, but Ryeowook new all too well that 'new sweatshirt' sort of smell, like it had just been screen-printed and pressed and then dropped into his hands) bunched at his elbows as he made sure all of his own hair was tucked out of sight.
It was time. Smoothing his hands delicately over the top of the wig one last time, he stood up, the sweatshirt settling mid-thigh, the sleeves sliding easily down to his palms. Clutching the material between his fingers, he covered his face, opening one eye slowly and breathing against the red all around him. Slowly, slowly, he spread the fingers of one hand, peering through at himself in the mirror. Unlike the wig he'd been given for the Gee performances, this one framed his face nicely, curling gently about his ears. Ryeowook slowly lowered his hands and examined himself, sucking in a breath of relief. He looked... he looked good. Not great, not quite what he'd hoped (the fact that he spent so much time worrying about what he'd look like as a girl continued to baffle him, but nevertheless); but not bad at all. He cocked one hip to the side, elegant fingers gripping his waist as he let his other arm rest easily against his side, and, liking what he saw, turned to examine the view from the back in the mirror. Lifting the hem of the sweatshirt, he craned his neck over one shoulder to make sure the jeans did him justice and didn't even notice the door to the dressing room swinging open until it shut somewhat violently, and the perpetrator sucked in an apologetic breath, though the perturbed crew members were out of sight.
“Ryeowook?” The boy in question jumped, heart pounding as he lifted his eyes to see Siwon in the mirror, staring back at him with a look that Ryeowook couldn't quite decipher but that made his face burn as he dropped the sweatshirt and twisted back around to face the other boy, sheepish.
“I-I was, uh- just getting ready for C-Chu. Early.” There was an eery silence as Superman ended, and Ryeowook was sure Siwon could hear his heart beating from across the room.
“I see that,” Siwon replied, a smile playing around his mouth; though it wasn't particularly smug, the eternal magnae still wished desperately to melt into the floor beneath him. There was a high-pitched squeal from the stage as someone's mic suffered through an abnormally long echo of feedback, Siwon wincing around his smile, and then the familiar beats of Rokkugo started.
“Are you Victoria sunbae?” Ryeowook just blinked at him for a moment, wondering feverishly what he was asking, before realizing and stuttering out a reply.
“N-no, Luna.” Siwon was crossing the room, and Ryeowook instinctively backed up, sucking in a breath of surprise as he hit the table, bottles clacking together behind him and threatening to tip over. He knew he had to look ridiculous at this point (his face was probably as red as his sweatshirt), and he instantly regretted the thick layer of mascara he'd applied earlier. It was just a rehearsal. Before Siwon could notice and comment, Ryeowook turned and started searching the table earnestly for the makeup remover. I look stupid, I know.
He wasn't even aware that he'd said it aloud until Siwon replied, so close to his ear that he almost upset the table again, “No, no, you look pretty,” and his warm hand was sliding over Ryeowook's trembling one, the bottle in his fingers hitting the table and rolling out of sight. In the mirror, Ryeowook could see that Siwon's expression was once again unreadable, his breath a hot wave against the other boy's ear.
“Pretty? I never... no.” Ryeowook managed, breathless, as he felt himself leaning back easily into the taller boy's frame, eyes fluttering shut as a warm hand was at the base of his neck. Every nerve under Siwon's rough fingertips burst into flame, and his reply wrenched an involuntary moan out of the eternal magnae as warm lips met the sensitive shell of his ear.
“You're right, you're not pretty.” Ryeowook's eyes snapped open in shock, some sense of pride burning in his chest, dripping down to cover the dread in a viscous defense, and as he shook off Siwon's hand, he felt that hand press solidly into the small of his back, reeling him in as if the other knew he had been seconds away from running. He opened his mouth to protest, mind spinning wildly with want and abject hatred and confusion, but before he could say a word, Siwon's lips were on his and he was giving in, clutching the fabric of Siwon's shirt in his fingers as his knees turned to water. Just as it had started, it was over, and he heard himself let out a squeak of protest as the other broke away.
“You didn't let me finish,” Siwon chastised, his voice gentle, the smooth tenor softening every bone in Ryeowook's body until he thought he might float right out of the other's grip. “You're not merely pretty, Wook, you are gorgeous.” His lips were cool against the heated blush spreading across Ryeowook's jaw, trailing up, pressing against the wig and somehow still setting sparks off across his scalp.
They both realized, then, that it was peculiarly quiet, and Siwon sprang back just as the door burst open and their bandmates started to spill in. Ryeowook turned and hid his furiously red face from the others, pretending to busy himself among the bottles and jars on the table. A tap on his shoulder was enough to ruin the composure he was slowly reconstructing, though; he whipped around, Sungmin reeling back to avoid being hit in the face with the swinging curls of his wig, looking a bit flushed himself although for a far different reason.
“Do you have my phone?” Sungmin enunciated slowly, as if Ryeowook spoke a different language (albeit not in a cruel way, just in a somewhat concerned way, and the eternal magnae didn't blame him- he knew he looked insane). With a nod, Ryeowook felt behind him on the table until his fingers met the cool surface of the phone and carefully lifted it, pressing it into Sungmin's waiting hands- Eunhyuk was snickering across the room, this would surely be good, but Ryeowook wasn't going to wait around to see. He stepped around Sungmin and made for the door, putting on a brave smile for Shindong's sake as he yelled after the younger boy (“Well hello there! Cover yourself, Donghae, you're in the presence of a lady. Disgraceful.”), slipping out into the cool quiet of stage left and letting the door swing shut on Kyuhyun's throaty giggle, the rustle of garment bags, someone shouting over the rising din that they had ten minutes to be ready and out for the next number. As he stepped out onto the silent stage, a stylist's approving gaze warm on his back, he let the echo fill his ears. Gorgeous.