Time Out; HyukSu; PG-16; Romance, Drama, Humor; One-shot (for in_vazn)
Title: Time Out (there’s a homework to be done at home)
Author: Hanabi Reeza [aoireeza]
Rating: PG-16 to light/mild R
Genre: Romance, Drama, mild Humor
Pairing: HyukSu
Word Count: 1486 words
Disclaimers: These delicious boys are not mine. Boo.
Summary: HyukJae counts the number of times he laughs at JunSu, and JunSu counts until infinity because he can't really remember the number of times HyukJae has made him laugh. (for in_vazn, # 17 tranquility, 18 secrets, 19 high school, 20 lost)
** crossposted at in_vazn, hug______ and miracle______
Author's Notes: I realized just now that I've been working on my HyukSu claim at in_vazn for four months already and I have never been so hell-bent on finishing something in my entire life, save for wanting to graduate and get a job. xD It's been fun working on these prompts, really, and it's been fun trying to write stripper!verse for the first time. This fic's a stand alone, but it can be pretty much connected to the Stripper!Su 'verse. This is the longest one-shot I've written so far (there are more to come, I swear. xD), and I feel so happy to have accomplished this fic.
To those who have been reading until now, thank you very much. To those who have just begun reading the series, thank you, still, for taking some time out to read this. I love you all. Enjoy.♥
Time Out (there’s a homework to be done at home)
Five years. It is half past five in the morning and you are you walking from the bedroom to the kitchen, the inability to resume your sleep getting to you. You need some milk. People always tell you that it’s best to drink milk before you sleep. It’s not as if you’d grow any taller, but you need to drink something so that you could go back to sleep. You think it’s a way of psychologizing yourself that you’re drinking alcohol - you do not exactly have zero-tolerance toward alcohol (you can actually take more than a few shots), but you prefer just falling asleep when you’re already. You can never be too sure of the wonders that alcohol can do to you.
You open the refrigerator and find neither a trace of a milk carton nor a bottle of milk. You take a deep breath and grab the bottle of water, instead, and pour some in your Toy Story mug, almost drop the bottle when you hear you mobile ringing madly.
Lee HyukJae! The sound of high-pitched screaming fills your ears and you swear to God the day isn’t starting out right. What? There is a monologue of a story that you’ve almost forgotten had the person on the other end of the line not reminded you. Oh, yeah. I know - No, I haven’t - I will be there, okay? And convincing a person had never been this hard.
It’s our nth year anniversary as friends and you’re buying me cotton candy! You shake your head and smile because the person on the other end of the line won’t see. You’re such a kid.
And you laugh like you’ve never laughed before.
Four months. Classes are supposed to be dismissed at four in the afternoon, but your professor decides to be a tyrant and extends class for another hour just because he came in an hour late. You are doodling figures on your history notebook, and you feel a sudden burst of life when you feel you mobile phone vibrate in your pocket.
I’m going home without you. You suppress the urge to laugh - you know he isn’t happy that you’re not yet dismissed, and he’s being such a child again so you reply to his message - Take care, kid. Text Hyukkie when you get home. You receive a reply a couple of minutes after and you take occasional glances at your professor to make sure that he can’t see you playing around with your phone.
You don’t know your way home. You can’t get home without me. You don’t get caught and chuckle just a bit when you are sure that your message has been sent. You’re lost without me, kid. You love me too much to go home alone.
You bite your lip and smile just a bit when you receive his reply. Maybe I do.
Three weeks. He hits you on your arm three times when you tease him about crying his eyes out over some chick flick. God, JunSu, you’re already eighteen and you’re still such a cry baby! Of course, he cries all the more when he hears your statement, and you swear you could accuse him of multiple homicide by virtue of slapping on the arm with all the hitting that he’s doing to you. I want to cry! Just let me - Oh, I hate you! You give him a look that tells him he couldn’t really hate you, not even the slightest bit, and he punches you lightly on the same spot in your arm.
I’m calling the police now, Su, so they could pick you up and - He clings onto your arm and cries even harder, tells you that you won’t ever understand what happened to Jules and Michael, and you take a deep breath, roll your eyes and drag him with you as you walk him home.
I’m staying at your place tonight. You stop in your tracks and look at him, an eyebrow raised. I said I’m staying at your place tonight. It takes you a minute to process what he has just said, and you feel a sudden surge of emotions fill you. You resume your walking and keep your eyes on the road.
When he clings onto you once more, you turn away to hide the smile on your lips. You’re cooking dinner for me, brat. And he does.
Two days. Two and a half minutes into the movie, he has you pinned down on the floor and the popcorn bowl somewhere in between his feet. His lips are on yours, his tongue licking the cavern of your mouth, and he tastes like butter and salt and lust and beauty. His hair is all over his face and yours as well, and you could only moan into his mouth as he does tricks that you have never imagined to be possible in kissing.
You are watching Cruel Intentions and you figure that you are just as bad as how things are going - his skin on yours, slick and sweaty and it drives you crazy, all these things you used to imagine and act out in your most private moments finally coming true. His lips are now on your neck, sucking gently and planting kisses all the way to your clavicle, then pausing for a moment to take a breath - you smirk at him and he raises an eyebrow at you. He smiles just before he goes back to work, sucks on your nipple and bites it gently - you cannot imagine how he manages to make his teeth just graze your skin, and oh, it is a wonder that you haven’t lost your sanity; not yet.
Holy shi- JunSu- You lose your sense of judgment and lose the better half of your senses to him, and he has you flat on the floor and digging your fingers into the carpet. He moves inside you as if it’s the greatest thing that has and will ever happen to you, and you bury your face in the carpet, catch his hitched breathing and feel his heartbeat racing against yours.
He kicks the bowl of popcorn and you couldn’t care less where it is now. Here we are.
One hour. It is at a minute just before four in the morning that you wake up and realize that you’ve kicked the blankets to the foot of the bed, and he is curled up against you, his face buried in your chest. You reach for the blankets with your toes, draw them to you as close as you could and pull them over chest. You think he feels the sudden warmth being provided by the blankets, and he snuggles closer to you. You should be going back to sleep, now - you have a class at seven and you should be leaving your house at six, which means you should be up and having breakfast at five in the morning - and you still have to make sure he has enough energy to attend classes. You rest your head on his, the scent of sweat, strawberries and a love affair too ripe filling your nostrils. Sleep comes to you soon after.
You wake up just before the alarm goes off and you see the morning sunshine seep through your window, but you don’t see him beside you. You panic for a moment, wonder where he is when you suddenly hear a series of things falling - pots and pans, you reckon. Then you laugh, rub your eyes and make your way to the kitchen, all the more bursting into laughter when you find him on the floor, his right hand clutching a box of pancake mix and the other behind his head, rubbing a spot incessantly. He demands that you help him up, and you do (while still laughing).
He hands the box to you and tells you to cook breakfast, instead, and he leaves the kitchen to go to the bathroom even before you could tease him for being such a child. You finish cooking the pancakes even before he emerges from the bathroom, and he hits you lightly on you arm when he sees you lounging on the chair in the kitchen area, waiting for a pancake to be placed on his plate. He gets a pancake and you give him some syrup and vanilla ice cream because that’s how he likes his pancakes, and he asks you how you found out all those things. You give him a questioning look and he returns the favor. You spill the syrup all over the pancake.
And instead of getting a new one like he unusually does, he puts a generous amount of vanilla ice cream on his pancake and offers you a slice - It tastes good.
You put some ice cream and syrup on yours, take a slice of it and feed it to him, your lips on his.
It sure does.
Author: Hanabi Reeza [aoireeza]
Rating: PG-16 to light/mild R
Genre: Romance, Drama, mild Humor
Pairing: HyukSu
Word Count: 1486 words
Disclaimers: These delicious boys are not mine. Boo.
Summary: HyukJae counts the number of times he laughs at JunSu, and JunSu counts until infinity because he can't really remember the number of times HyukJae has made him laugh. (for in_vazn, # 17 tranquility, 18 secrets, 19 high school, 20 lost)
** crossposted at in_vazn, hug______ and miracle______
Author's Notes: I realized just now that I've been working on my HyukSu claim at in_vazn for four months already and I have never been so hell-bent on finishing something in my entire life, save for wanting to graduate and get a job. xD It's been fun working on these prompts, really, and it's been fun trying to write stripper!verse for the first time. This fic's a stand alone, but it can be pretty much connected to the Stripper!Su 'verse. This is the longest one-shot I've written so far (there are more to come, I swear. xD), and I feel so happy to have accomplished this fic.
To those who have been reading until now, thank you very much. To those who have just begun reading the series, thank you, still, for taking some time out to read this. I love you all. Enjoy.♥
Time Out (there’s a homework to be done at home)
Five years. It is half past five in the morning and you are you walking from the bedroom to the kitchen, the inability to resume your sleep getting to you. You need some milk. People always tell you that it’s best to drink milk before you sleep. It’s not as if you’d grow any taller, but you need to drink something so that you could go back to sleep. You think it’s a way of psychologizing yourself that you’re drinking alcohol - you do not exactly have zero-tolerance toward alcohol (you can actually take more than a few shots), but you prefer just falling asleep when you’re already. You can never be too sure of the wonders that alcohol can do to you.
You open the refrigerator and find neither a trace of a milk carton nor a bottle of milk. You take a deep breath and grab the bottle of water, instead, and pour some in your Toy Story mug, almost drop the bottle when you hear you mobile ringing madly.
Lee HyukJae! The sound of high-pitched screaming fills your ears and you swear to God the day isn’t starting out right. What? There is a monologue of a story that you’ve almost forgotten had the person on the other end of the line not reminded you. Oh, yeah. I know - No, I haven’t - I will be there, okay? And convincing a person had never been this hard.
It’s our nth year anniversary as friends and you’re buying me cotton candy! You shake your head and smile because the person on the other end of the line won’t see. You’re such a kid.
And you laugh like you’ve never laughed before.
Four months. Classes are supposed to be dismissed at four in the afternoon, but your professor decides to be a tyrant and extends class for another hour just because he came in an hour late. You are doodling figures on your history notebook, and you feel a sudden burst of life when you feel you mobile phone vibrate in your pocket.
I’m going home without you. You suppress the urge to laugh - you know he isn’t happy that you’re not yet dismissed, and he’s being such a child again so you reply to his message - Take care, kid. Text Hyukkie when you get home. You receive a reply a couple of minutes after and you take occasional glances at your professor to make sure that he can’t see you playing around with your phone.
You don’t know your way home. You can’t get home without me. You don’t get caught and chuckle just a bit when you are sure that your message has been sent. You’re lost without me, kid. You love me too much to go home alone.
You bite your lip and smile just a bit when you receive his reply. Maybe I do.
Three weeks. He hits you on your arm three times when you tease him about crying his eyes out over some chick flick. God, JunSu, you’re already eighteen and you’re still such a cry baby! Of course, he cries all the more when he hears your statement, and you swear you could accuse him of multiple homicide by virtue of slapping on the arm with all the hitting that he’s doing to you. I want to cry! Just let me - Oh, I hate you! You give him a look that tells him he couldn’t really hate you, not even the slightest bit, and he punches you lightly on the same spot in your arm.
I’m calling the police now, Su, so they could pick you up and - He clings onto your arm and cries even harder, tells you that you won’t ever understand what happened to Jules and Michael, and you take a deep breath, roll your eyes and drag him with you as you walk him home.
I’m staying at your place tonight. You stop in your tracks and look at him, an eyebrow raised. I said I’m staying at your place tonight. It takes you a minute to process what he has just said, and you feel a sudden surge of emotions fill you. You resume your walking and keep your eyes on the road.
When he clings onto you once more, you turn away to hide the smile on your lips. You’re cooking dinner for me, brat. And he does.
Two days. Two and a half minutes into the movie, he has you pinned down on the floor and the popcorn bowl somewhere in between his feet. His lips are on yours, his tongue licking the cavern of your mouth, and he tastes like butter and salt and lust and beauty. His hair is all over his face and yours as well, and you could only moan into his mouth as he does tricks that you have never imagined to be possible in kissing.
You are watching Cruel Intentions and you figure that you are just as bad as how things are going - his skin on yours, slick and sweaty and it drives you crazy, all these things you used to imagine and act out in your most private moments finally coming true. His lips are now on your neck, sucking gently and planting kisses all the way to your clavicle, then pausing for a moment to take a breath - you smirk at him and he raises an eyebrow at you. He smiles just before he goes back to work, sucks on your nipple and bites it gently - you cannot imagine how he manages to make his teeth just graze your skin, and oh, it is a wonder that you haven’t lost your sanity; not yet.
Holy shi- JunSu- You lose your sense of judgment and lose the better half of your senses to him, and he has you flat on the floor and digging your fingers into the carpet. He moves inside you as if it’s the greatest thing that has and will ever happen to you, and you bury your face in the carpet, catch his hitched breathing and feel his heartbeat racing against yours.
He kicks the bowl of popcorn and you couldn’t care less where it is now. Here we are.
One hour. It is at a minute just before four in the morning that you wake up and realize that you’ve kicked the blankets to the foot of the bed, and he is curled up against you, his face buried in your chest. You reach for the blankets with your toes, draw them to you as close as you could and pull them over chest. You think he feels the sudden warmth being provided by the blankets, and he snuggles closer to you. You should be going back to sleep, now - you have a class at seven and you should be leaving your house at six, which means you should be up and having breakfast at five in the morning - and you still have to make sure he has enough energy to attend classes. You rest your head on his, the scent of sweat, strawberries and a love affair too ripe filling your nostrils. Sleep comes to you soon after.
You wake up just before the alarm goes off and you see the morning sunshine seep through your window, but you don’t see him beside you. You panic for a moment, wonder where he is when you suddenly hear a series of things falling - pots and pans, you reckon. Then you laugh, rub your eyes and make your way to the kitchen, all the more bursting into laughter when you find him on the floor, his right hand clutching a box of pancake mix and the other behind his head, rubbing a spot incessantly. He demands that you help him up, and you do (while still laughing).
He hands the box to you and tells you to cook breakfast, instead, and he leaves the kitchen to go to the bathroom even before you could tease him for being such a child. You finish cooking the pancakes even before he emerges from the bathroom, and he hits you lightly on you arm when he sees you lounging on the chair in the kitchen area, waiting for a pancake to be placed on his plate. He gets a pancake and you give him some syrup and vanilla ice cream because that’s how he likes his pancakes, and he asks you how you found out all those things. You give him a questioning look and he returns the favor. You spill the syrup all over the pancake.
And instead of getting a new one like he unusually does, he puts a generous amount of vanilla ice cream on his pancake and offers you a slice - It tastes good.
You put some ice cream and syrup on yours, take a slice of it and feed it to him, your lips on his.
It sure does.