[infinite] smart bomb (2/7)
smart bomb
infinite, hoya/sungyeol
pg-13; ongoing
ao3 mirror
french inhale (june 2008)
“Guess what I’ve got,” says Sungyeol.
He and Hoya are sitting on the wall by the bus stop. Three days a week, the end of Hoya’s dance club practice coincides with the end of Sungyeol’s after school English class. At first Sungyeol willed their meetings at the bus stop to be accidental, and if Hoya wasn’t there when he arrived he’d take the first bus that came by. After the first few weeks, though, Sungyeol sat and let the buses pass him until Hoya showed up, and whenever he got out half an hour late from class he would find Hoya sitting on the wall with his earbuds in, waiting.
When Hoya sits with Sungyeol, the earbuds are slung around his neck and over one shoulder. “A frog,” he says.
“Aish, don’t be stupid.” Sungyeol unzips a pocket on his backpack and pulls out his treasure: a slim turquoise and white carton of cigarettes. “Behold.”
Hoya raises his eyebrows. “Where’d you get that?”
“My aunt visited last weekend. I took it out of her purse.” Sungyeol grins and shakes the carton, which rattles a little as its contents roll around inside. “Only one left. She won’t miss it.”
Hoya’s eyes narrow in thought. “The last one, eh?”
Sungyeol nods. “Yup. Saving it for a special occasion.”
Hoya licks his lips, still thinking. “If you give it to me,” he says, “I’ll show you something great.”
“Show me first,” says Sungyeol. “This is precious, you know.”
Hoya smirks and pulls his phone out. “Fine.” He flicks through it intently.
Sungyeol watches his thumb pressing against the buttons. “If you’re talking about your dick, I’ll kill you.”
“It’s not like that,” says Hoya. Finally he stops and grins at his screen, then he holds it up to show Sungyeol. “There.”
Sungyeol squints at the screen. All he sees is some blue shapes and some shadows. “Huh? What is that?”
Hoya chuckles. “What does it look like?”
It doesn’t look like anything. Sungyeol frowns at him. “Don’t play games. Do you want this or not?”
“You know Jung Yoonhye, from the girls’ class?” Hoya grins. “It’s her.”
“What, really?” Sungyeol grabs the phone from Hoya and looks at the picture again. The previously indecipherable image takes shape: now he sees that the dark smudge near the bottom is a navel, and the blocks of blue near the top and bottom of the screen become a bikini. He thinks of Yoonhye as he’s seen her, the noona with big eyes and a body hidden by the bulky sweater of their school uniform. “She sent you this?”
“Yup.” Hoya takes his phone back, then holds out his hand. “Cigarette, please.”
Sungyeol wordlessly takes the cigarette out of the pack and passes it to Hoya, then the lighter. Hoya flicks the lighter a few times before it sparks, and then he holds it up to the cigarette between his lips. Sungyeol watches as it catches, and then from between his lips comes a big cloud, which dissipates into a grey haze around Sungyeol.
The dirty smell is noxious and enticing at the same time. Sungyeol tries to pull the collar of his vest over his nose and Hoya laughs. “Is it bothering you?”
“It’s gross,” says Sungyeol, muffled by his sweater. “At least when you smoke it you feel something. All I get is the nasty part.” He sighs, pulling his sweater down. “I really gave in too easily.”
Hoya laughs. “Come here,” he says, beckoning him closer. “I can’t stand to see you in so much pain.”
“What?” says Sungyeol. He shifts closer to Hoya until their hips bump and he scoots back to his side a bit.
Hoya takes a drag on the cigarette, then gestures to Sungyeol again. “Come here,” he says, in a strained voice from trying to hold his breath. “Lean in closer.”
Sungyeol hesitates, then leans toward Hoya. Hoya makes a circle with his hand against his mouth and leans in until the other side of his hand touches Sungyeol’s mouth, then he exhales.
Sungyeol coughs, pulling away. “What the fuck?”
“I was sharing,” says Hoya. He takes another drag. “Haven’t you ever done that before?”
Sungyeol coughs into his hand and glares at him. “No. What is that, some weird Busan thing?” Hoya doesn’t answer, just continues smoking in silence, watching the cars on the road.
When it’s almost down to the end, Sungyeol says, “Let’s try it again.”
“What?”
“You know, the thing. Come on.” He makes a circle with his own hand and holds it up to his mouth, waiting for Hoya to get the hint.
This time when Hoya leans in and exhales, Sungyeol opens his mouth, and the smoke he inhales is hot and tastes mostly like something burnt and a bit like something else. He’s going cross-eyed from Hoya’s face being so close, and when he looks up his eyes meet Hoya’s and there’s a moment when neither of them move.
Hoya leans back first, and this makes the thin smoke catch in Sungyeol’s throat. He coughs once, hard enough to make his eyes water. “Fuck.” But his next breath makes his lungs feel big and overinflated, and once he’s coughed the itch out, his chest and shoulders are light and airy. “Phew.”
Hoya takes one more drag, then throws the cigarette butt at the road as he exhales. “It worked, right?”
Sungyeol stares at the road, imagining the smoke moving around his body. “I think so.”
On the bus, they sit at the back and they don’t talk about it. Sungyeol just coughs into the back of his hand occasionally. When Hoya gets off at his stop, he waves at Sungyeol from the doors and Sungyeol waves back, but neither of them say anything.
When Sungyeol walks through the door he heads for the bathroom right away. “I’m going to take a shower,” he yells through the door. He can’t risk his parents smelling smoke on him. He strips off his uniform and jumps in the shower, pulling the curtain closed so fast that the metal rings screech against the rail.
He purposefully turns the water on as hot as he can stand it, until the yellow shower curtain billows in the steam. He puts the shampoo bottle directly under his nose and inhales deeply, letting the cloying grapefruit smell fill his lungs and chase out the smoke that still clings to the sides, to the insides of his cheeks. But his mind is still unsettled, or worse, too focused on one thing, as he rubs soapy hands over his neck, down his stomach and his thighs.
Without thinking too much about it, he takes his dick in both hands and starts jerking off as efficiently as he knows how, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. He thinks about the picture Jung Yoonhye sent Hoya, the pixelated expanse of her bare stomach bordered by her blue bikini. He imagines her taking more pictures, taking off her top, turning around so her bare shoulders and back are exposed. He wonders if Hoya jerks off to the picture too, maybe in his room with one hand in his sweatpants. He remembers Hoya’s pinky finger resting against his mouth, the smoke that was more like a breath with its damp heat, like shower steam. Then he opens his eyes and forces his mind drop to blank.
He comes without much difficulty or noise not long after that. The water running over his eyelids is getting weaker and cooler. He kicks at the mess to make sure it goes down the drain. He cleans his hands again and then rubs them over his face, gargles with the shower water and spits, and he feels better.
<< >>
infinite, hoya/sungyeol
pg-13; ongoing
ao3 mirror
french inhale (june 2008)
“Guess what I’ve got,” says Sungyeol.
He and Hoya are sitting on the wall by the bus stop. Three days a week, the end of Hoya’s dance club practice coincides with the end of Sungyeol’s after school English class. At first Sungyeol willed their meetings at the bus stop to be accidental, and if Hoya wasn’t there when he arrived he’d take the first bus that came by. After the first few weeks, though, Sungyeol sat and let the buses pass him until Hoya showed up, and whenever he got out half an hour late from class he would find Hoya sitting on the wall with his earbuds in, waiting.
When Hoya sits with Sungyeol, the earbuds are slung around his neck and over one shoulder. “A frog,” he says.
“Aish, don’t be stupid.” Sungyeol unzips a pocket on his backpack and pulls out his treasure: a slim turquoise and white carton of cigarettes. “Behold.”
Hoya raises his eyebrows. “Where’d you get that?”
“My aunt visited last weekend. I took it out of her purse.” Sungyeol grins and shakes the carton, which rattles a little as its contents roll around inside. “Only one left. She won’t miss it.”
Hoya’s eyes narrow in thought. “The last one, eh?”
Sungyeol nods. “Yup. Saving it for a special occasion.”
Hoya licks his lips, still thinking. “If you give it to me,” he says, “I’ll show you something great.”
“Show me first,” says Sungyeol. “This is precious, you know.”
Hoya smirks and pulls his phone out. “Fine.” He flicks through it intently.
Sungyeol watches his thumb pressing against the buttons. “If you’re talking about your dick, I’ll kill you.”
“It’s not like that,” says Hoya. Finally he stops and grins at his screen, then he holds it up to show Sungyeol. “There.”
Sungyeol squints at the screen. All he sees is some blue shapes and some shadows. “Huh? What is that?”
Hoya chuckles. “What does it look like?”
It doesn’t look like anything. Sungyeol frowns at him. “Don’t play games. Do you want this or not?”
“You know Jung Yoonhye, from the girls’ class?” Hoya grins. “It’s her.”
“What, really?” Sungyeol grabs the phone from Hoya and looks at the picture again. The previously indecipherable image takes shape: now he sees that the dark smudge near the bottom is a navel, and the blocks of blue near the top and bottom of the screen become a bikini. He thinks of Yoonhye as he’s seen her, the noona with big eyes and a body hidden by the bulky sweater of their school uniform. “She sent you this?”
“Yup.” Hoya takes his phone back, then holds out his hand. “Cigarette, please.”
Sungyeol wordlessly takes the cigarette out of the pack and passes it to Hoya, then the lighter. Hoya flicks the lighter a few times before it sparks, and then he holds it up to the cigarette between his lips. Sungyeol watches as it catches, and then from between his lips comes a big cloud, which dissipates into a grey haze around Sungyeol.
The dirty smell is noxious and enticing at the same time. Sungyeol tries to pull the collar of his vest over his nose and Hoya laughs. “Is it bothering you?”
“It’s gross,” says Sungyeol, muffled by his sweater. “At least when you smoke it you feel something. All I get is the nasty part.” He sighs, pulling his sweater down. “I really gave in too easily.”
Hoya laughs. “Come here,” he says, beckoning him closer. “I can’t stand to see you in so much pain.”
“What?” says Sungyeol. He shifts closer to Hoya until their hips bump and he scoots back to his side a bit.
Hoya takes a drag on the cigarette, then gestures to Sungyeol again. “Come here,” he says, in a strained voice from trying to hold his breath. “Lean in closer.”
Sungyeol hesitates, then leans toward Hoya. Hoya makes a circle with his hand against his mouth and leans in until the other side of his hand touches Sungyeol’s mouth, then he exhales.
Sungyeol coughs, pulling away. “What the fuck?”
“I was sharing,” says Hoya. He takes another drag. “Haven’t you ever done that before?”
Sungyeol coughs into his hand and glares at him. “No. What is that, some weird Busan thing?” Hoya doesn’t answer, just continues smoking in silence, watching the cars on the road.
When it’s almost down to the end, Sungyeol says, “Let’s try it again.”
“What?”
“You know, the thing. Come on.” He makes a circle with his own hand and holds it up to his mouth, waiting for Hoya to get the hint.
This time when Hoya leans in and exhales, Sungyeol opens his mouth, and the smoke he inhales is hot and tastes mostly like something burnt and a bit like something else. He’s going cross-eyed from Hoya’s face being so close, and when he looks up his eyes meet Hoya’s and there’s a moment when neither of them move.
Hoya leans back first, and this makes the thin smoke catch in Sungyeol’s throat. He coughs once, hard enough to make his eyes water. “Fuck.” But his next breath makes his lungs feel big and overinflated, and once he’s coughed the itch out, his chest and shoulders are light and airy. “Phew.”
Hoya takes one more drag, then throws the cigarette butt at the road as he exhales. “It worked, right?”
Sungyeol stares at the road, imagining the smoke moving around his body. “I think so.”
On the bus, they sit at the back and they don’t talk about it. Sungyeol just coughs into the back of his hand occasionally. When Hoya gets off at his stop, he waves at Sungyeol from the doors and Sungyeol waves back, but neither of them say anything.
When Sungyeol walks through the door he heads for the bathroom right away. “I’m going to take a shower,” he yells through the door. He can’t risk his parents smelling smoke on him. He strips off his uniform and jumps in the shower, pulling the curtain closed so fast that the metal rings screech against the rail.
He purposefully turns the water on as hot as he can stand it, until the yellow shower curtain billows in the steam. He puts the shampoo bottle directly under his nose and inhales deeply, letting the cloying grapefruit smell fill his lungs and chase out the smoke that still clings to the sides, to the insides of his cheeks. But his mind is still unsettled, or worse, too focused on one thing, as he rubs soapy hands over his neck, down his stomach and his thighs.
Without thinking too much about it, he takes his dick in both hands and starts jerking off as efficiently as he knows how, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. He thinks about the picture Jung Yoonhye sent Hoya, the pixelated expanse of her bare stomach bordered by her blue bikini. He imagines her taking more pictures, taking off her top, turning around so her bare shoulders and back are exposed. He wonders if Hoya jerks off to the picture too, maybe in his room with one hand in his sweatpants. He remembers Hoya’s pinky finger resting against his mouth, the smoke that was more like a breath with its damp heat, like shower steam. Then he opens his eyes and forces his mind drop to blank.
He comes without much difficulty or noise not long after that. The water running over his eyelids is getting weaker and cooler. He kicks at the mess to make sure it goes down the drain. He cleans his hands again and then rubs them over his face, gargles with the shower water and spits, and he feels better.
<< >>