Binary Code [One-shot]
Title: Binary Code
Genre: Smut, Psychological
Warning: BDSM, mild angst at the end
Pairing: Zhou Mi/Kyuhyun
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Kyuhyun get a visit from his muse.
[A/N: So… pulled this out from storage. It was half written and I just finished it. Honestly, I can’t remember what the original ending was, but I think this was something like it…]
~*~
The light in the room comes only from one source, but it is blinding. A square screen that is the representation of a complicated technology, and the advent of how humans can always invent something smarter than themselves.
There is the iconic sound of computer keys clacking as fingers flit across letters arranged in a way strange but now familiar due to years and constant use. Nothing but a blank white screen - like canvas. Then black letters appear, printing like stains on snow. Calibri. Font 12. Left alignment. Justified.
The fingers pause, and the writer slumps forward, hand rubbing aching temples. He has ideas, but they’re stuck in his head. Like a Chinese ink block that has dried from the lack of water.
He takes this opportunity, to ponder upon the document he has opened upon his screen. He knows the two factions in the writing community - old school and new school. And he knows the arguments of the side he’s not in. The computer is unreliable, errors that happen make things so much more troubling. It isn’t real - not real paper, not real words. Just a fake imitation of those things - a masquerade held by binary code. Two simple numbers. Just two. 1. 0.
“Why’d you stop?” There is a voice beside his ear and he turns. There stands his muse, the encapsulation of all his thoughts, and it happens to be male, twenty four and named Zhou Mi. And like all muses, he has perfection and beauty - endless legs, perfect hair, sharp jawline; and he also has flaws. That nose a little too large, grin a little too wide. But those gleam in those eyes, and those ideas. The spark their friction causes. They far outweigh any physical considerations.
“Yes?” He has taken too long to answer. And he smiles back. He knows Zhou Mi knows exactly what has conspired in his head, but instead, he replies in answer to the initial question. It’s a staple answer, one that is the bulk of the initiations of their dialogues.
“I’m out of inspiration.”
It’s like a magic word, placed in the categories of please and pretty please. Because magic is unreliable and sometimes Zhou Mi just smiles and walks away. Other times, more frustrating times, he teases, with touches and little smiles but never really giving. Leaving Kyuhyun hanging just there.
But tonight he’s in a giving mood. Generous. And Kyuhyun hardly gets the words out when there’s a mouth on his, warm and inviting. They don’t even bother with courtesy, tongues snaking out, exploring, clashing. And Kyuhyun tastes it again, that hint of elusive sweetness in Zhou Mi’s mouth. Vanilla? Strawberry? Chocolate? But every time he comes close to naming it, they would pull apart, lungs bursting, eyes dilated and bushfire blush across their faces. The typical signs of arousal.
And Kyuhyun would forget about that taste as Zhou Mi flushes their bodies together, and he can feel his happy erection poking into Zhou Mi’s thigh of firm flesh and even firmer bone. Even more exciting is the feeling of Zhou Mi’s erection - hot and pulsing even through the cloth, pressing onto his stomach.
“How do you want me tonight?” Zhou Mi asks to messy hair, breathing in what he calls Kyuhyun’s unique scent and Kyuhyun calls stench of dirty hair. But he doesn’t go debate and instead simply answers. “I have a storyline where the main character suffers from Stockholm syndrome. How do you think I want you?”
And he knows Zhou Mi knows, from that glint in the eye, and the grin as his muse clambers off the bed. And he watches as a pile of things begin gathering on the floor. First, the staples. Lube, handcuffs. Then a whip, a gag, a cock ring. Like an itinerary laid out on the floor.
It’s like a performance of one. And Kyuhyun is both the audience and the participator, like those new age performances they liked to showcase nowadays. He watches as Zhou Mi kneels onto the floor, licking his lips like it was a hard decision, then he picks up the handcuffs, displaying them like a promoter on television. There is a clink of metal, then another, and each herald the descent of Kyuhyun’s mind into the gutter.
He waits for Zhou Mi clamber onto the bed, and he grins, acting cheeky and shaking his head when Zhou Mi gestures at him with a finger, dangling the handcuffs, letting them ring like the church bells do for the devote. But still he refuses, a heathen, and Zhou Mi shakes his head like a stern priest, walking over and unceremoniously drags Kyuhyun from the chair.
He’s cuffed to the bed post, and Zhou Mi’s way of surveying him makes him feel even more a sinner - not because he repents in the face of judgment - but instead, there’s a stirring in his pants and lust in his eyes, and he falls down, down, down the various levels of hell.
“Now, now. What should we do to punish this aberrant sinner?” Zhou Mi asks, a hypothetical question since the both of them knew the answer. But Zhou Mi comes to the conclusions faster, skipping ahead and few steps, leaving Kyuhyun gasping when there’s suddenly a hand down his pants and an obstruction of leather tied around his cock.
He whines and is rewarded with a smirk. A curve of lips he suddenly wants on his body, trailing its way up his skin, leaving marks littered over it. But Zhou Mi doesn’t do that, acting in his role and instead picks up the whip, giving Kyuhyun a different kind of mark altogether.
Kyuhyun yells, jerking against the handcuffs at the burn of the leather even through his clothes. Then another. And another. And it repeats, until Kyuhyun is panting, red welts showing on his skin where the whip had nicked. And Zhou Mi had hit hard, and Kyuhyun could practically feel the bruises forming.
But that was all forgotten when Zhou Mi crawls up onto the bed, abandoning the whip, lying atop a panting Kyuhyun. Zhou Mi smelled of butter and sweet and exotic taste, breath mingling with his own boring mint and toothpaste. And the hand rubbing at his crotch was definitely welcome for now, breathing life into his length, although he would perhaps think the treatment cruel later.
“Zhou Mi…” Kyuhyun breathes, then all but moans as Zhou Mi’s fingernails dig into the side of his crotch, punishing. “Nu-uh… I’m not in a good mood today, so I’m not going to tolerate with your voice.” And Kyuhyun complains as Zhou Mi’s hand moves off, but is shut up with a simple gag placed into his mouth.
Not that a gag could shut off all the noises that struggled for escape. He was a man with desires, and when those desires were met, like every men, he let his guard down. After all, his crotch was like a kitten with their ears - an off-switch. And he certainly was close to purring as a human could be as Zhou Mi stroked, amusement clear in his eye.
Pianist fingers, up and down - like playing phantom arpeggios. Each painful, dragging stroke, nails grating and all, raking him towards his end. And when he finally reached it, he should have guessed he would feel the metal ringing the base of his cock, squeezing as he racked through an orgasm with no release. And at the end, he received nothing but a shrug and a sweet peck on his nose like an apology - but they both knew it was nothing but.
That thought made him even harder, if it was even physically possible. And he had no choice but to whimper.
“Mr Cho?”
Shooting up straight in his seat, Kyuhyun stared at the door, his eyes wide. There was no gag, no cock ring, no whip and no sex. Just him, an embarrassing hard-on, and his worried assistant at the door to check if everything wasn’t entirely okay.
Kyuhyun swallowed, crossing his legs. “Yes, Zhou Mi?”
“I’m just… checking. I heard some noises, and thought something was wrong.” Zhou Mi paused, bending forward a little to peer at Kyuhyun a little. Kyuhyun was torn between wishing Zhou Mi was bending over because of an entirely different reason and wishing that he hadn’t such horny thoughts over his assistant. “Is… anything wrong?”
“No.” Kyuhyun prided himself that he had managed to speak without his voice cracking. “Everything’s fine.”
“Well… anything you need help with, just call on me. I’ll be at my desk.” Zhou Mi smiled reassuringly as he closed the door behind him.
Kyuhyun could have laughed. If only Zhou Mi knew.
Reverting his gaze back to the computer screen, Kyuhyun stared at what he wrote, scanning through the lines. It was good, as he knew it would be. Anything that came to him while imagining Zhou Mi in the scenario was always good. He’d probably get a bonus for drawing even more readers to their magazine.
He just needed to change Zhou Mi’s name to something else.
Sighing, he leaned his forehead against the screen. “I guess, in the end, no matter how good it is, no matter how real it all seems…” He mumbled. “It’s all just binary code in the end.”
~*~
Genre: Smut, Psychological
Warning: BDSM, mild angst at the end
Pairing: Zhou Mi/Kyuhyun
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Kyuhyun get a visit from his muse.
[A/N: So… pulled this out from storage. It was half written and I just finished it. Honestly, I can’t remember what the original ending was, but I think this was something like it…]
~*~
The light in the room comes only from one source, but it is blinding. A square screen that is the representation of a complicated technology, and the advent of how humans can always invent something smarter than themselves.
There is the iconic sound of computer keys clacking as fingers flit across letters arranged in a way strange but now familiar due to years and constant use. Nothing but a blank white screen - like canvas. Then black letters appear, printing like stains on snow. Calibri. Font 12. Left alignment. Justified.
The fingers pause, and the writer slumps forward, hand rubbing aching temples. He has ideas, but they’re stuck in his head. Like a Chinese ink block that has dried from the lack of water.
He takes this opportunity, to ponder upon the document he has opened upon his screen. He knows the two factions in the writing community - old school and new school. And he knows the arguments of the side he’s not in. The computer is unreliable, errors that happen make things so much more troubling. It isn’t real - not real paper, not real words. Just a fake imitation of those things - a masquerade held by binary code. Two simple numbers. Just two. 1. 0.
“Why’d you stop?” There is a voice beside his ear and he turns. There stands his muse, the encapsulation of all his thoughts, and it happens to be male, twenty four and named Zhou Mi. And like all muses, he has perfection and beauty - endless legs, perfect hair, sharp jawline; and he also has flaws. That nose a little too large, grin a little too wide. But those gleam in those eyes, and those ideas. The spark their friction causes. They far outweigh any physical considerations.
“Yes?” He has taken too long to answer. And he smiles back. He knows Zhou Mi knows exactly what has conspired in his head, but instead, he replies in answer to the initial question. It’s a staple answer, one that is the bulk of the initiations of their dialogues.
“I’m out of inspiration.”
It’s like a magic word, placed in the categories of please and pretty please. Because magic is unreliable and sometimes Zhou Mi just smiles and walks away. Other times, more frustrating times, he teases, with touches and little smiles but never really giving. Leaving Kyuhyun hanging just there.
But tonight he’s in a giving mood. Generous. And Kyuhyun hardly gets the words out when there’s a mouth on his, warm and inviting. They don’t even bother with courtesy, tongues snaking out, exploring, clashing. And Kyuhyun tastes it again, that hint of elusive sweetness in Zhou Mi’s mouth. Vanilla? Strawberry? Chocolate? But every time he comes close to naming it, they would pull apart, lungs bursting, eyes dilated and bushfire blush across their faces. The typical signs of arousal.
And Kyuhyun would forget about that taste as Zhou Mi flushes their bodies together, and he can feel his happy erection poking into Zhou Mi’s thigh of firm flesh and even firmer bone. Even more exciting is the feeling of Zhou Mi’s erection - hot and pulsing even through the cloth, pressing onto his stomach.
“How do you want me tonight?” Zhou Mi asks to messy hair, breathing in what he calls Kyuhyun’s unique scent and Kyuhyun calls stench of dirty hair. But he doesn’t go debate and instead simply answers. “I have a storyline where the main character suffers from Stockholm syndrome. How do you think I want you?”
And he knows Zhou Mi knows, from that glint in the eye, and the grin as his muse clambers off the bed. And he watches as a pile of things begin gathering on the floor. First, the staples. Lube, handcuffs. Then a whip, a gag, a cock ring. Like an itinerary laid out on the floor.
It’s like a performance of one. And Kyuhyun is both the audience and the participator, like those new age performances they liked to showcase nowadays. He watches as Zhou Mi kneels onto the floor, licking his lips like it was a hard decision, then he picks up the handcuffs, displaying them like a promoter on television. There is a clink of metal, then another, and each herald the descent of Kyuhyun’s mind into the gutter.
He waits for Zhou Mi clamber onto the bed, and he grins, acting cheeky and shaking his head when Zhou Mi gestures at him with a finger, dangling the handcuffs, letting them ring like the church bells do for the devote. But still he refuses, a heathen, and Zhou Mi shakes his head like a stern priest, walking over and unceremoniously drags Kyuhyun from the chair.
He’s cuffed to the bed post, and Zhou Mi’s way of surveying him makes him feel even more a sinner - not because he repents in the face of judgment - but instead, there’s a stirring in his pants and lust in his eyes, and he falls down, down, down the various levels of hell.
“Now, now. What should we do to punish this aberrant sinner?” Zhou Mi asks, a hypothetical question since the both of them knew the answer. But Zhou Mi comes to the conclusions faster, skipping ahead and few steps, leaving Kyuhyun gasping when there’s suddenly a hand down his pants and an obstruction of leather tied around his cock.
He whines and is rewarded with a smirk. A curve of lips he suddenly wants on his body, trailing its way up his skin, leaving marks littered over it. But Zhou Mi doesn’t do that, acting in his role and instead picks up the whip, giving Kyuhyun a different kind of mark altogether.
Kyuhyun yells, jerking against the handcuffs at the burn of the leather even through his clothes. Then another. And another. And it repeats, until Kyuhyun is panting, red welts showing on his skin where the whip had nicked. And Zhou Mi had hit hard, and Kyuhyun could practically feel the bruises forming.
But that was all forgotten when Zhou Mi crawls up onto the bed, abandoning the whip, lying atop a panting Kyuhyun. Zhou Mi smelled of butter and sweet and exotic taste, breath mingling with his own boring mint and toothpaste. And the hand rubbing at his crotch was definitely welcome for now, breathing life into his length, although he would perhaps think the treatment cruel later.
“Zhou Mi…” Kyuhyun breathes, then all but moans as Zhou Mi’s fingernails dig into the side of his crotch, punishing. “Nu-uh… I’m not in a good mood today, so I’m not going to tolerate with your voice.” And Kyuhyun complains as Zhou Mi’s hand moves off, but is shut up with a simple gag placed into his mouth.
Not that a gag could shut off all the noises that struggled for escape. He was a man with desires, and when those desires were met, like every men, he let his guard down. After all, his crotch was like a kitten with their ears - an off-switch. And he certainly was close to purring as a human could be as Zhou Mi stroked, amusement clear in his eye.
Pianist fingers, up and down - like playing phantom arpeggios. Each painful, dragging stroke, nails grating and all, raking him towards his end. And when he finally reached it, he should have guessed he would feel the metal ringing the base of his cock, squeezing as he racked through an orgasm with no release. And at the end, he received nothing but a shrug and a sweet peck on his nose like an apology - but they both knew it was nothing but.
That thought made him even harder, if it was even physically possible. And he had no choice but to whimper.
“Mr Cho?”
Shooting up straight in his seat, Kyuhyun stared at the door, his eyes wide. There was no gag, no cock ring, no whip and no sex. Just him, an embarrassing hard-on, and his worried assistant at the door to check if everything wasn’t entirely okay.
Kyuhyun swallowed, crossing his legs. “Yes, Zhou Mi?”
“I’m just… checking. I heard some noises, and thought something was wrong.” Zhou Mi paused, bending forward a little to peer at Kyuhyun a little. Kyuhyun was torn between wishing Zhou Mi was bending over because of an entirely different reason and wishing that he hadn’t such horny thoughts over his assistant. “Is… anything wrong?”
“No.” Kyuhyun prided himself that he had managed to speak without his voice cracking. “Everything’s fine.”
“Well… anything you need help with, just call on me. I’ll be at my desk.” Zhou Mi smiled reassuringly as he closed the door behind him.
Kyuhyun could have laughed. If only Zhou Mi knew.
Reverting his gaze back to the computer screen, Kyuhyun stared at what he wrote, scanning through the lines. It was good, as he knew it would be. Anything that came to him while imagining Zhou Mi in the scenario was always good. He’d probably get a bonus for drawing even more readers to their magazine.
He just needed to change Zhou Mi’s name to something else.
Sighing, he leaned his forehead against the screen. “I guess, in the end, no matter how good it is, no matter how real it all seems…” He mumbled. “It’s all just binary code in the end.”
~*~