Fic: Two Divided by Zero [SJM RPS]
Title: Two Divided by Zero
Fandom: Super Junior M RPS
Pairing: Eunhyuk/Sungmin
Rating: NC17
Summary: Every third Thursday in the month, Hyukjae has a special date.
Notes: Crossdressing!Sungmin. lixia84 is an evil wench and fed me this bunny on Twitter. Part 1 of the Counting Backwards series.
Two Divided by Zero
Hyukjae doesn’t like going to clubs on his own. Not because he thinks it makes him look sad and desperate; not at all-it’s just that usually he goes in a group, and even if the group fragments once they’re inside and everyone goes off and does their own thing, they’re still part of a group. There’s safety in numbers, and besides, it’s more fun with a group.
But on the third Thursday of every month, he goes out on his own.
He goes to meet her.
He waits all day for her message. Sometimes she texts him first thing in the morning, his phone beeping when he’s eating breakfast, and even though Ryeowook tells him it’s rude to text at the table, he can’t help himself. He has to read what she’s said, and he spends the rest of the day smiling and re-reading the message.
At other times, she texts mid-afternoon, or sometimes in the early evening. It depends on her schedule. Her life seems to be as busy as his, though he doesn’t know what she does with her days. He asked her once, and she was delightfully vague with her reply. She’s so pretty, Hyukjae is sure she must be a model. Not a catwalk model, no, she’s too short for that, but she has amazing legs and a great ass and curves in all the right places, so he likes to imagine her as an underwear model, her sexy body on artful display in expensive, frippery scraps of silk and lace.
The message arrives later than usual. He’s been worried, taking out his phone every half hour, checking to see if the battery had gone dead or the signal had failed. Then he fretted that she was ill, or too busy to see him, and anxiety twisted in his stomach, because he needs to see her. He can’t bear the thought of waiting another month before he holds her again. Hyukjae almost texts to ask if she’s okay, but he stops himself. She contacts him. It’s never the other way around. Those were her rules when they started seeing one another, and he’s always abided by them.
But then his phone beeps, and he stares at the screen, reads her words and imagines her soft, low voice whispering to him. He’s ready to leave, but he delays a moment longer, re-reading her text. She’s missed him, can’t wait to see him. A line of emoticons, and then she tells him how much she wants him, what she plans to do to him.
His cock stiffens. She always seems to know exactly what turns him on the most. He palms himself through his clothes, bucks into his hand and squeezes, imagining it’s her hand there. Then he sits up, adjusts himself, and hurries out of the dorms.
It’s raining, great grey sheets of it sliding through the night. Hyukjae hunches into his jacket and runs along the street, searching for a cab. He’s gone three blocks before he ducks into the shelter of a doorway and calls a taxi company. The dispatcher tells him all the cars are out; he’ll have to wait half an hour. It’s not what he wants to hear, not when he knows she’s waiting for him, but he has no choice. He gives the dispatcher his location and spends the next twenty-six minutes pacing back and forth.
Finally a taxi pulls up. He sprints across to it, wrenches open the door and tumbles inside, breathlessly giving the address of the nightclub. The driver nods and rejoins the traffic. On the main road, everything moves slowly except the water flooding the gutter. Hyukjae leans his head against the window, his breath misting the glass, and watches the detritus swept along with the current until it clogs on the drain covers.
By the time he arrives at the club, he’s almost an hour late. He stands in the queue, tugs at his jacket, brushes a hand through his wet hair. The doorman is only letting three or four people through at a time, and Hyukjae chafes at the delay. He checks his phone, just in case she’s texted again. No messages. He wonders if she’s still inside, or if she got bored with waiting.
At last he’s allowed in, and he edges past a group of chattering girls standing near the cloakroom, past a gang of raucous men. The music comes in waves as the chrome and leather doors swing open and closed, letting out snatches of wailing vocals and a rough, pounding rhythm. Hyukjae shoves at the doors, his palms slick with nervousness now he’s here. He steps onto the edge of the dance floor and looks around, orienting himself.
The club is busy, the dance floor packed. On the podiums by the DJ’s booth, girls in short, tight dresses or tank tops and hot pants grind and writhe to the music. Hyukjae studies them for a moment, then turns away. Perhaps she’s dancing amongst the crowd. He makes his way through, moving his shoulders, moonwalking, unable to resist showing off a little. A girl beckons him to dance with her, but he smiles and shakes his head, still looking for his date.
He’s halfway through the crowd when he sees her sitting at the far end of the bar. Immediately he breaks free of the dancers, ungainly and awkward now he’s lost the beat of the music. He’s carried around by the enthusiasm of the crowd, loses sight of her for a moment, then finds himself tossed out of the surge. He’s too far away to attract her attention by calling out, but happiness pulses through him as he tries to reach her through the knot of drinkers.
Then he comes to a halt, staring.
She’s not alone.
Some guy in a leather jacket is trying to chat her up, leaning too close, touching her bare shoulder, stroking her hair, disordering the shiny, sleek bob. She turns her head, her smile fixed, tension emanating from every line of her body. Shit, can’t this guy see she’s not interested? But he’s drunk and horny, and it looks like he doesn’t want to take no for an answer. He grabs at her arm, knocking over her drink. She exclaims in annoyance, turning back to remonstrate with the guy, and he laughs in her face, moving closer as if to kiss her.
Hyukjae tries to get nearer, apologies dropping from him as he barges through the crowd. Why doesn't anyone see that she needs help? He’s still too far away to do anything but watch, and while one of the bartenders appears to be monitoring the situation, he gets called away to serve.
She shifts around on her stool, her rejection clear. The drunk guy lurches to his feet, apparently understanding that his attentions are unwanted. She relaxes, but her relief is short-lived. The guy catches her around the waist and pulls her from her seat.
Hyukjae shouts out, desperate to reach her.
She gives a cry of fury, gropes for her purse on the bar as if she intends to hit him with it, then as the guy tries to kiss her, she slams her elbow back into his solar plexus. The guy’s mouth drops open and he doubles over. With an expression of disgust, she shifts her weight, spins on one four-inch heel, and sweeps the guy’s feet from beneath him. He windmills through the crowd, spilling drinks as he goes, and lands on his ass.
There’s a smattering of applause and much laughter as the guy gets to his feet, both arms folded across his belly, his face a mask of bewildered pain. In evident discomfort, he crouches forward and limps away in defeat.
She watches him go, her lips set in a tight line, and then she curls a finger through the end of her hair and returns to her seat. At least three men surround her, offering to buy her a drink. She thanks them, but refuses. Though her smile is sincere, the expression in her eyes is weary and disappointed. She lifts her shoulder, the sleek bob brushing her bare skin, and as she looks back across the bar, her gaze locks on Hyukjae.
He stands frozen, full of helpless guilt. He’s such an idiot. He’s not worthy of her. It’s in his mind to turn and go, to get the hell out of there, to forget that this ever happened. He’s the lamest boyfriend in existence and if she dumps him tonight, it’s no more than he deserves.
But then she gives him a shy smile, and he forgets that he just saw her toss some guy onto the floor, because now she looks sweet and innocent. She waves to him, her features alight with joy, and a surge of pride and desire and tenderness sweeps over him.
He strolls towards her, resisting the urge to shove his way past the last few people standing between them. She smiles and smiles, her eyes sparkling. It’s like he’s the only man in the room, and he’s stunned by the way she makes him feel.
He sits next to her. She leans close and kisses him on the cheek, rests her head against him for a moment. He puts one arm around her, feels her tremble. Her hair tickles his face. Her perfume is too heavy for her, dark and smoky when she should wear something light and flirtatious. He kisses her mouth, tastes the traces of her lipstick; darts his tongue between her parted lips and licks into the cloying sweetness of the cocktail she’d been drinking.
“You’re late,” she murmurs against his mouth.
“I’m sorry.” Hyukjae lets her pull free. “I should’ve been here for you. I should’ve rescued you from that jerk.”
She combs a hand through her hair, tugs again at the curled ends. “It’s okay. I can take care of myself.”
“That’s not the point.” Hyukjae swallows the sense of injustice rising in him and turns his head, staring at the optics behind the bar.
“You’re here now.” She nestles closer. “Buy me a drink?”
He nods. He can do that much, at least. He catches the bartender’s attention and orders an imported bottled beer for himself and a vodka and orange for her. When he pays, the bartender gives him a curious look, as if wondering what a loser like him is doing with a hot girl like her.
Hyukjae takes a swig of his beer, his mood spiking and dipping. She’s curled up beside him, perched on her stool, one foot resting on the crossbar, the other flat against the floor. Her weight is pushed through one leg, tilting her hips at an inviting angle. He stares at her, at her tight black mini-skirt and soft thighs, at her neat waist and the satin camisole worn beneath the lacy top that’s cut to reveal one smooth, bare shoulder. He stares at her hair, at the flash and sparkle of her gold earrings, at her beautiful mouth and bewitching eyes. A flawless beauty, a modern-day Yang Gufei... and she’s with him.
He doesn’t know how he got so lucky.
She sips her drink, casts a curious glance at him. Slicks her little pink tongue over her lips. “Want to dance?”
Hyukjae knows he should say yes. He should jump up and impress her with his moves, but he shakes his head, his pride and self-confidence still bruised. He’d rather just take her home, but it seems wrong to suggest it this early in the night. He forces a smile. “You go, babe. I’ll watch.”
She gives him a look, purses her lips. Takes her compact out of her bag and applies a fresh gloss of frosted plum lipstick. She returns both items to her bag and drops it in his lap. “Any time you want, come and join me.”
He turns in his seat, clutching her purse; turns to watch her dance. She skips a few steps across the floor and spins, laughing at him in invitation, her hips snapping from side to side. She shimmies, her skirt riding up over her luscious thighs, and she laughs again, tugging at the hem with one hand, the other held in a coquettish pose against her chest. She dances backwards, still facing him, picking up the rhythm as an American pop song segues into a high-energy dance tune. Her head goes back and her eyes half-close, and she’s moving, lost in the music, hands lifting, her body open and ripe for a lover’s touch.
Hyukjae watches her, feels the distance opening between them. She’s deep in the music now, hips swaying as she circles around. Her expression is blissful, lips curved in a smile, and she flicks her hair, tilts her head, flaunts the pale skin of her throat. She looks like a goddess, and he’s flattened by lust. He wants her so bad, but at the same time he wants to keep watching her dance.
Other men flock to her, predators around an innocent. She ignores them at first, still focused on the music, but as they come closer, she deigns to notice them. She laughs, flirts, dances with one man while looking over her shoulder at another. When they try to touch her, she spins away. She slides in amongst a couple of girls and dances with them for a while, then she’s alone again as the track changes to a slow song.
She glances over at him, reaching out, and Hyukjae gets to his feet. He’s still holding her purse, and he dithers, not sure what to do with it. In that moment of indecision, a guy approaches her, dances close, not touching but nevertheless making his interest clear. She retreats a little, looking flustered.
Now’s his chance.
He hangs her bag over his shoulder and strides across the dance floor, cuts in. “Excuse me,” he says, just loud enough for the other guy to hear, and takes her in his arms as the music swells. She’s soft and perfect and fits him just right as they move together.
She laughs up at him, her face sheened with perspiration, her hair sticking to her skin. “The things I have to do to get your attention, Hyukkie.”
He tries not to sound gruff, but there’s something about her that awakens every base instinct he possesses. “Were you trying to make me jealous?”
“Why, did it work?”
For a heartbeat he doesn’t say anything, then he blurts out, “I love you.”
She stops dead on the dance floor, gazing up at him with her eyes wide and her lips parted in astonishment. It’s like she doesn’t know how to react, and Hyukjae curses himself for speaking without thinking, for declaring himself in such a crowded place where the music is too loud and the drinks are too expensive and there’s no privacy at all for him to say what he wants to say, to do what he wants to do, and then she’s kissing him, pressing up against him and kissing him like she wants to get inside him, and she’s making soft little muffled sounds against his mouth.
He tightens his grip around her waist, slides his other hand up to hold the back of her head. Her hair is hot and soft. He keeps her in the kiss, forces her lips wide, deepens the embrace. Her tongue darts inside his mouth. He allows it, then plunges his tongue into her mouth and groans when she sucks on it.
Hyukjae slips a hand beneath her lacy top, reaches beneath the satin camisole to touch warm, bare skin. He explores with his fingertips, feeling the slight difference in texture as he traces the lines of the tattoo along one side of her back. Her flesh is dewed with sweat and she shivers at his touch. He moves his hand around, the lace scratchy as he strokes over her waist and flattens his palm against her toned belly. He keeps his hand there, feels the muscles flex and roll as she dances, as she writhes against him.
He groans, gathers her close with both hands, and cups her ass. God, she’s a handful, ripe and squeezable. He loves her ass, wants to burrow between those creamy cheeks and lick her out until she screams. The thought makes him hard, and he grinds against her, letting her know he wants more.
She laughs, low and intimate, and straddles his thigh. They dance together, her hips rocking back and forth, riding his leg, pushing down against it. Then she shimmies away, turns in his arms and presses her ass against his erection, swaying to and fro, her hips circling and jerking in blatant invitation. Hyukjae gasps, pulls her upright and turns her around, crushes her to him, claims her wanton, smiling mouth. She worms a hand between them and rubs her hand against his dick.
He almost comes right there and then, but he has more self-control than that. Grasping her by the waist, he steers her off the dance floor and towards the nearest dark corner. He pushes her against the wall and kisses her again, devouring her, smearing her lipstick, slicking saliva across her mouth, down her chin. She tastes of desperation, panting for breath, keening with need. He sucks at her neck, licks the salt-perfume taste from her throat. He fastens his teeth at the juncture of shoulder and neck and bites hard. She cries out in mingled pain and pleasure, and the sound makes him want to ram into her, to take her here with her skirt rucked up and her thighs spread so everyone can see.
She shifts against him, one hand grasping at his ass, the other tucked against his chest. He kisses her bare shoulder, tears at the lacy top with his teeth. Bracing her against the wall, he dips his head and licks through the lace, through the satin camisole. He wets the garments with his tongue, spreading saliva across to soak through the fabric until he can feel the hard peaks of her nipples. He teases them, biting gently on one then hard on the other, and she squirms and moans his name in a broken, breathy voice.
Hyukjae puts a hand up her skirt. Her thighs are damp, the muscles trembling. She’s whimpering now, grinding against him, her skin hot and flushed, the scent of her perfume ripening. Her hand on his chest alternately drags him closer and pushes him away. She’s burning up, quivering with need, her eyes feverish and glittering. He pulls her hand to his cock, lets her feel how hard and ready he is.
“Can we- Do you want...” He can barely get the words out.
Her eyes close, snap open again. She looks dazed with lust. “Yes, oh yes.”
They go outside, both unsteady with the force of their desire. Hyukjae gives back her purse and looks around for a taxi, but she shakes her head. Taking his hand, she leads him into an alleyway at the back of the club. Spent condoms litter the ground, and he almost baulks. They shouldn’t do it here in such a squalid place. She deserves better: a bed, candlelight, romance. But she’s touching him, unzipping his trousers, rubbing her hands over him, stroking and teasing, filthy words tumbling from her pretty painted lips.
“Fuck,” Hyukjae gasps, responding to both touch and sound. “Oh, shit. Min, are you sure, are you-”
Her hand tightens. She leads him by the cock, takes him deeper into the shadows, letting go when she’s forced to navigate the piled crates of empty bottles. The rain has stopped, and the air smells wet and fresh. He holds up his trousers, stumbles over a soggy cardboard box and lurches against a rubbish bin, sending the lid clattering to the ground. He feels awkward, almost suggests that they go elsewhere, but then she turns to him and he sees the need on her face, and suddenly nothing else matters.
They stop at the foot of a fire escape. From inside the club comes the dull thump of a bass line. There’s water dripping somewhere. They only have the echoed radiance of the city’s lights to illuminate them, a faint glow that casts deep shadows and paints their skin grey. Nevertheless, her eyes are bright with desire. She walks up two steps, her heels clicking on the metal rungs, then sets down her purse and turns around.
Belatedly he realises what she intends. He pulls off his jacket and holds it out. She settles it lengthways across the third and fourth steps and sits down, wriggles her skirt up over her thighs, and spreads her legs wide. She lies back against the steps and looks at him, her gaze challenging.
His erection rears back to full strength. He looks at her beautiful face, looks at the darkness between her thighs. He wraps his hand around his cock, tugs at it as he watches her waiting for him. She whines in frustration and lifts her hips. The muscles in her legs tense and ripple. Hyukjae bites off a curse. “Sungmin. Touch yourself.”
She mewls again, pouting, but does as he asks. Her hand creeps down over her body and rests between her pale thighs, her fingers stroking, rubbing. Her body rises. Her high heels scrape against the metal step as she braces herself.
“Oh fuck. Oh yes.” Hyukjae goes closer, drops to his knees on the first rung of the fire escape. “You’re so beautiful. Oh God.”
“Hyukkie,” her voice is high and breathless, “make me come.”
He pushes her hand out of the way, buries his face between her thighs, inhaling the deep, musky scent of her, mouthing at the thick, hard cock beneath the flimsy fabric of her panties. He puts his hands on her hips, presses down with bruising intensity, then changes his grip, tucks both hands beneath her thighs and spreads them wider. Her panties can’t hide her sex now, and she moans at the exposure.
Hyukjae runs his tongue over the mesh of her panties, tastes the wetness of pre-come. He dips lower, nuzzling through her heat, licks at her shaven balls. Her fingers curl in his hair, gripping hard, gripping tight, so tight he gasps against her. She drags him up and whispers, “Lick me-eat me-” and her voice breaks.
He yanks down her panties and crams as much cock into his mouth as he can take. She cries out, arches against him, and her heels clatter and clang. Her thighs close around his shoulders and she grunts, hips thrusting, driving her cock deeper. A squirt of bitterness across his tongue, and Hyukjae knows she’s close. Her voice is hoarse now, urging him on, her hands bunched into fists, twisting his hair. She’s shuddering, heat pouring off her, and the cries she makes-they’re addictive, sexy, desperate.
Hyukjae grabs for his cock, works it with frantic haste. He wants to come with her. He feels it gather deep inside, her orgasm building, more bitterness streaking his tongue, and he jerks his cock harder. She shrieks, body lifting and stilling, then a hot pulsing flood of seed fills his mouth, and he swallows, messily, hungrily, swallows because it’s her juice and he wants to take it all. His own climax is torn from him, an echo of her triumph, and he spills dabbles of spunk over the staircase, spattering her legs.
They slump, tight grips gentling, and rest against one another. Sungmin cradles him, kisses the sweat from his forehead and says, “I love you, too.”
Hyukjae looks up, holds his gaze. “Which one?” he asks. It seems important now to make the distinction. “You or her?”
“Oh, Hyukjae.” Sungmin smiles through his smeared lipstick, smiles like the sun coming out. “We both do.”
tbc
Part 2: Three into One
Fandom: Super Junior M RPS
Pairing: Eunhyuk/Sungmin
Rating: NC17
Summary: Every third Thursday in the month, Hyukjae has a special date.
Notes: Crossdressing!Sungmin. lixia84 is an evil wench and fed me this bunny on Twitter. Part 1 of the Counting Backwards series.
Two Divided by Zero
Hyukjae doesn’t like going to clubs on his own. Not because he thinks it makes him look sad and desperate; not at all-it’s just that usually he goes in a group, and even if the group fragments once they’re inside and everyone goes off and does their own thing, they’re still part of a group. There’s safety in numbers, and besides, it’s more fun with a group.
But on the third Thursday of every month, he goes out on his own.
He goes to meet her.
He waits all day for her message. Sometimes she texts him first thing in the morning, his phone beeping when he’s eating breakfast, and even though Ryeowook tells him it’s rude to text at the table, he can’t help himself. He has to read what she’s said, and he spends the rest of the day smiling and re-reading the message.
At other times, she texts mid-afternoon, or sometimes in the early evening. It depends on her schedule. Her life seems to be as busy as his, though he doesn’t know what she does with her days. He asked her once, and she was delightfully vague with her reply. She’s so pretty, Hyukjae is sure she must be a model. Not a catwalk model, no, she’s too short for that, but she has amazing legs and a great ass and curves in all the right places, so he likes to imagine her as an underwear model, her sexy body on artful display in expensive, frippery scraps of silk and lace.
The message arrives later than usual. He’s been worried, taking out his phone every half hour, checking to see if the battery had gone dead or the signal had failed. Then he fretted that she was ill, or too busy to see him, and anxiety twisted in his stomach, because he needs to see her. He can’t bear the thought of waiting another month before he holds her again. Hyukjae almost texts to ask if she’s okay, but he stops himself. She contacts him. It’s never the other way around. Those were her rules when they started seeing one another, and he’s always abided by them.
But then his phone beeps, and he stares at the screen, reads her words and imagines her soft, low voice whispering to him. He’s ready to leave, but he delays a moment longer, re-reading her text. She’s missed him, can’t wait to see him. A line of emoticons, and then she tells him how much she wants him, what she plans to do to him.
His cock stiffens. She always seems to know exactly what turns him on the most. He palms himself through his clothes, bucks into his hand and squeezes, imagining it’s her hand there. Then he sits up, adjusts himself, and hurries out of the dorms.
It’s raining, great grey sheets of it sliding through the night. Hyukjae hunches into his jacket and runs along the street, searching for a cab. He’s gone three blocks before he ducks into the shelter of a doorway and calls a taxi company. The dispatcher tells him all the cars are out; he’ll have to wait half an hour. It’s not what he wants to hear, not when he knows she’s waiting for him, but he has no choice. He gives the dispatcher his location and spends the next twenty-six minutes pacing back and forth.
Finally a taxi pulls up. He sprints across to it, wrenches open the door and tumbles inside, breathlessly giving the address of the nightclub. The driver nods and rejoins the traffic. On the main road, everything moves slowly except the water flooding the gutter. Hyukjae leans his head against the window, his breath misting the glass, and watches the detritus swept along with the current until it clogs on the drain covers.
By the time he arrives at the club, he’s almost an hour late. He stands in the queue, tugs at his jacket, brushes a hand through his wet hair. The doorman is only letting three or four people through at a time, and Hyukjae chafes at the delay. He checks his phone, just in case she’s texted again. No messages. He wonders if she’s still inside, or if she got bored with waiting.
At last he’s allowed in, and he edges past a group of chattering girls standing near the cloakroom, past a gang of raucous men. The music comes in waves as the chrome and leather doors swing open and closed, letting out snatches of wailing vocals and a rough, pounding rhythm. Hyukjae shoves at the doors, his palms slick with nervousness now he’s here. He steps onto the edge of the dance floor and looks around, orienting himself.
The club is busy, the dance floor packed. On the podiums by the DJ’s booth, girls in short, tight dresses or tank tops and hot pants grind and writhe to the music. Hyukjae studies them for a moment, then turns away. Perhaps she’s dancing amongst the crowd. He makes his way through, moving his shoulders, moonwalking, unable to resist showing off a little. A girl beckons him to dance with her, but he smiles and shakes his head, still looking for his date.
He’s halfway through the crowd when he sees her sitting at the far end of the bar. Immediately he breaks free of the dancers, ungainly and awkward now he’s lost the beat of the music. He’s carried around by the enthusiasm of the crowd, loses sight of her for a moment, then finds himself tossed out of the surge. He’s too far away to attract her attention by calling out, but happiness pulses through him as he tries to reach her through the knot of drinkers.
Then he comes to a halt, staring.
She’s not alone.
Some guy in a leather jacket is trying to chat her up, leaning too close, touching her bare shoulder, stroking her hair, disordering the shiny, sleek bob. She turns her head, her smile fixed, tension emanating from every line of her body. Shit, can’t this guy see she’s not interested? But he’s drunk and horny, and it looks like he doesn’t want to take no for an answer. He grabs at her arm, knocking over her drink. She exclaims in annoyance, turning back to remonstrate with the guy, and he laughs in her face, moving closer as if to kiss her.
Hyukjae tries to get nearer, apologies dropping from him as he barges through the crowd. Why doesn't anyone see that she needs help? He’s still too far away to do anything but watch, and while one of the bartenders appears to be monitoring the situation, he gets called away to serve.
She shifts around on her stool, her rejection clear. The drunk guy lurches to his feet, apparently understanding that his attentions are unwanted. She relaxes, but her relief is short-lived. The guy catches her around the waist and pulls her from her seat.
Hyukjae shouts out, desperate to reach her.
She gives a cry of fury, gropes for her purse on the bar as if she intends to hit him with it, then as the guy tries to kiss her, she slams her elbow back into his solar plexus. The guy’s mouth drops open and he doubles over. With an expression of disgust, she shifts her weight, spins on one four-inch heel, and sweeps the guy’s feet from beneath him. He windmills through the crowd, spilling drinks as he goes, and lands on his ass.
There’s a smattering of applause and much laughter as the guy gets to his feet, both arms folded across his belly, his face a mask of bewildered pain. In evident discomfort, he crouches forward and limps away in defeat.
She watches him go, her lips set in a tight line, and then she curls a finger through the end of her hair and returns to her seat. At least three men surround her, offering to buy her a drink. She thanks them, but refuses. Though her smile is sincere, the expression in her eyes is weary and disappointed. She lifts her shoulder, the sleek bob brushing her bare skin, and as she looks back across the bar, her gaze locks on Hyukjae.
He stands frozen, full of helpless guilt. He’s such an idiot. He’s not worthy of her. It’s in his mind to turn and go, to get the hell out of there, to forget that this ever happened. He’s the lamest boyfriend in existence and if she dumps him tonight, it’s no more than he deserves.
But then she gives him a shy smile, and he forgets that he just saw her toss some guy onto the floor, because now she looks sweet and innocent. She waves to him, her features alight with joy, and a surge of pride and desire and tenderness sweeps over him.
He strolls towards her, resisting the urge to shove his way past the last few people standing between them. She smiles and smiles, her eyes sparkling. It’s like he’s the only man in the room, and he’s stunned by the way she makes him feel.
He sits next to her. She leans close and kisses him on the cheek, rests her head against him for a moment. He puts one arm around her, feels her tremble. Her hair tickles his face. Her perfume is too heavy for her, dark and smoky when she should wear something light and flirtatious. He kisses her mouth, tastes the traces of her lipstick; darts his tongue between her parted lips and licks into the cloying sweetness of the cocktail she’d been drinking.
“You’re late,” she murmurs against his mouth.
“I’m sorry.” Hyukjae lets her pull free. “I should’ve been here for you. I should’ve rescued you from that jerk.”
She combs a hand through her hair, tugs again at the curled ends. “It’s okay. I can take care of myself.”
“That’s not the point.” Hyukjae swallows the sense of injustice rising in him and turns his head, staring at the optics behind the bar.
“You’re here now.” She nestles closer. “Buy me a drink?”
He nods. He can do that much, at least. He catches the bartender’s attention and orders an imported bottled beer for himself and a vodka and orange for her. When he pays, the bartender gives him a curious look, as if wondering what a loser like him is doing with a hot girl like her.
Hyukjae takes a swig of his beer, his mood spiking and dipping. She’s curled up beside him, perched on her stool, one foot resting on the crossbar, the other flat against the floor. Her weight is pushed through one leg, tilting her hips at an inviting angle. He stares at her, at her tight black mini-skirt and soft thighs, at her neat waist and the satin camisole worn beneath the lacy top that’s cut to reveal one smooth, bare shoulder. He stares at her hair, at the flash and sparkle of her gold earrings, at her beautiful mouth and bewitching eyes. A flawless beauty, a modern-day Yang Gufei... and she’s with him.
He doesn’t know how he got so lucky.
She sips her drink, casts a curious glance at him. Slicks her little pink tongue over her lips. “Want to dance?”
Hyukjae knows he should say yes. He should jump up and impress her with his moves, but he shakes his head, his pride and self-confidence still bruised. He’d rather just take her home, but it seems wrong to suggest it this early in the night. He forces a smile. “You go, babe. I’ll watch.”
She gives him a look, purses her lips. Takes her compact out of her bag and applies a fresh gloss of frosted plum lipstick. She returns both items to her bag and drops it in his lap. “Any time you want, come and join me.”
He turns in his seat, clutching her purse; turns to watch her dance. She skips a few steps across the floor and spins, laughing at him in invitation, her hips snapping from side to side. She shimmies, her skirt riding up over her luscious thighs, and she laughs again, tugging at the hem with one hand, the other held in a coquettish pose against her chest. She dances backwards, still facing him, picking up the rhythm as an American pop song segues into a high-energy dance tune. Her head goes back and her eyes half-close, and she’s moving, lost in the music, hands lifting, her body open and ripe for a lover’s touch.
Hyukjae watches her, feels the distance opening between them. She’s deep in the music now, hips swaying as she circles around. Her expression is blissful, lips curved in a smile, and she flicks her hair, tilts her head, flaunts the pale skin of her throat. She looks like a goddess, and he’s flattened by lust. He wants her so bad, but at the same time he wants to keep watching her dance.
Other men flock to her, predators around an innocent. She ignores them at first, still focused on the music, but as they come closer, she deigns to notice them. She laughs, flirts, dances with one man while looking over her shoulder at another. When they try to touch her, she spins away. She slides in amongst a couple of girls and dances with them for a while, then she’s alone again as the track changes to a slow song.
She glances over at him, reaching out, and Hyukjae gets to his feet. He’s still holding her purse, and he dithers, not sure what to do with it. In that moment of indecision, a guy approaches her, dances close, not touching but nevertheless making his interest clear. She retreats a little, looking flustered.
Now’s his chance.
He hangs her bag over his shoulder and strides across the dance floor, cuts in. “Excuse me,” he says, just loud enough for the other guy to hear, and takes her in his arms as the music swells. She’s soft and perfect and fits him just right as they move together.
She laughs up at him, her face sheened with perspiration, her hair sticking to her skin. “The things I have to do to get your attention, Hyukkie.”
He tries not to sound gruff, but there’s something about her that awakens every base instinct he possesses. “Were you trying to make me jealous?”
“Why, did it work?”
For a heartbeat he doesn’t say anything, then he blurts out, “I love you.”
She stops dead on the dance floor, gazing up at him with her eyes wide and her lips parted in astonishment. It’s like she doesn’t know how to react, and Hyukjae curses himself for speaking without thinking, for declaring himself in such a crowded place where the music is too loud and the drinks are too expensive and there’s no privacy at all for him to say what he wants to say, to do what he wants to do, and then she’s kissing him, pressing up against him and kissing him like she wants to get inside him, and she’s making soft little muffled sounds against his mouth.
He tightens his grip around her waist, slides his other hand up to hold the back of her head. Her hair is hot and soft. He keeps her in the kiss, forces her lips wide, deepens the embrace. Her tongue darts inside his mouth. He allows it, then plunges his tongue into her mouth and groans when she sucks on it.
Hyukjae slips a hand beneath her lacy top, reaches beneath the satin camisole to touch warm, bare skin. He explores with his fingertips, feeling the slight difference in texture as he traces the lines of the tattoo along one side of her back. Her flesh is dewed with sweat and she shivers at his touch. He moves his hand around, the lace scratchy as he strokes over her waist and flattens his palm against her toned belly. He keeps his hand there, feels the muscles flex and roll as she dances, as she writhes against him.
He groans, gathers her close with both hands, and cups her ass. God, she’s a handful, ripe and squeezable. He loves her ass, wants to burrow between those creamy cheeks and lick her out until she screams. The thought makes him hard, and he grinds against her, letting her know he wants more.
She laughs, low and intimate, and straddles his thigh. They dance together, her hips rocking back and forth, riding his leg, pushing down against it. Then she shimmies away, turns in his arms and presses her ass against his erection, swaying to and fro, her hips circling and jerking in blatant invitation. Hyukjae gasps, pulls her upright and turns her around, crushes her to him, claims her wanton, smiling mouth. She worms a hand between them and rubs her hand against his dick.
He almost comes right there and then, but he has more self-control than that. Grasping her by the waist, he steers her off the dance floor and towards the nearest dark corner. He pushes her against the wall and kisses her again, devouring her, smearing her lipstick, slicking saliva across her mouth, down her chin. She tastes of desperation, panting for breath, keening with need. He sucks at her neck, licks the salt-perfume taste from her throat. He fastens his teeth at the juncture of shoulder and neck and bites hard. She cries out in mingled pain and pleasure, and the sound makes him want to ram into her, to take her here with her skirt rucked up and her thighs spread so everyone can see.
She shifts against him, one hand grasping at his ass, the other tucked against his chest. He kisses her bare shoulder, tears at the lacy top with his teeth. Bracing her against the wall, he dips his head and licks through the lace, through the satin camisole. He wets the garments with his tongue, spreading saliva across to soak through the fabric until he can feel the hard peaks of her nipples. He teases them, biting gently on one then hard on the other, and she squirms and moans his name in a broken, breathy voice.
Hyukjae puts a hand up her skirt. Her thighs are damp, the muscles trembling. She’s whimpering now, grinding against him, her skin hot and flushed, the scent of her perfume ripening. Her hand on his chest alternately drags him closer and pushes him away. She’s burning up, quivering with need, her eyes feverish and glittering. He pulls her hand to his cock, lets her feel how hard and ready he is.
“Can we- Do you want...” He can barely get the words out.
Her eyes close, snap open again. She looks dazed with lust. “Yes, oh yes.”
They go outside, both unsteady with the force of their desire. Hyukjae gives back her purse and looks around for a taxi, but she shakes her head. Taking his hand, she leads him into an alleyway at the back of the club. Spent condoms litter the ground, and he almost baulks. They shouldn’t do it here in such a squalid place. She deserves better: a bed, candlelight, romance. But she’s touching him, unzipping his trousers, rubbing her hands over him, stroking and teasing, filthy words tumbling from her pretty painted lips.
“Fuck,” Hyukjae gasps, responding to both touch and sound. “Oh, shit. Min, are you sure, are you-”
Her hand tightens. She leads him by the cock, takes him deeper into the shadows, letting go when she’s forced to navigate the piled crates of empty bottles. The rain has stopped, and the air smells wet and fresh. He holds up his trousers, stumbles over a soggy cardboard box and lurches against a rubbish bin, sending the lid clattering to the ground. He feels awkward, almost suggests that they go elsewhere, but then she turns to him and he sees the need on her face, and suddenly nothing else matters.
They stop at the foot of a fire escape. From inside the club comes the dull thump of a bass line. There’s water dripping somewhere. They only have the echoed radiance of the city’s lights to illuminate them, a faint glow that casts deep shadows and paints their skin grey. Nevertheless, her eyes are bright with desire. She walks up two steps, her heels clicking on the metal rungs, then sets down her purse and turns around.
Belatedly he realises what she intends. He pulls off his jacket and holds it out. She settles it lengthways across the third and fourth steps and sits down, wriggles her skirt up over her thighs, and spreads her legs wide. She lies back against the steps and looks at him, her gaze challenging.
His erection rears back to full strength. He looks at her beautiful face, looks at the darkness between her thighs. He wraps his hand around his cock, tugs at it as he watches her waiting for him. She whines in frustration and lifts her hips. The muscles in her legs tense and ripple. Hyukjae bites off a curse. “Sungmin. Touch yourself.”
She mewls again, pouting, but does as he asks. Her hand creeps down over her body and rests between her pale thighs, her fingers stroking, rubbing. Her body rises. Her high heels scrape against the metal step as she braces herself.
“Oh fuck. Oh yes.” Hyukjae goes closer, drops to his knees on the first rung of the fire escape. “You’re so beautiful. Oh God.”
“Hyukkie,” her voice is high and breathless, “make me come.”
He pushes her hand out of the way, buries his face between her thighs, inhaling the deep, musky scent of her, mouthing at the thick, hard cock beneath the flimsy fabric of her panties. He puts his hands on her hips, presses down with bruising intensity, then changes his grip, tucks both hands beneath her thighs and spreads them wider. Her panties can’t hide her sex now, and she moans at the exposure.
Hyukjae runs his tongue over the mesh of her panties, tastes the wetness of pre-come. He dips lower, nuzzling through her heat, licks at her shaven balls. Her fingers curl in his hair, gripping hard, gripping tight, so tight he gasps against her. She drags him up and whispers, “Lick me-eat me-” and her voice breaks.
He yanks down her panties and crams as much cock into his mouth as he can take. She cries out, arches against him, and her heels clatter and clang. Her thighs close around his shoulders and she grunts, hips thrusting, driving her cock deeper. A squirt of bitterness across his tongue, and Hyukjae knows she’s close. Her voice is hoarse now, urging him on, her hands bunched into fists, twisting his hair. She’s shuddering, heat pouring off her, and the cries she makes-they’re addictive, sexy, desperate.
Hyukjae grabs for his cock, works it with frantic haste. He wants to come with her. He feels it gather deep inside, her orgasm building, more bitterness streaking his tongue, and he jerks his cock harder. She shrieks, body lifting and stilling, then a hot pulsing flood of seed fills his mouth, and he swallows, messily, hungrily, swallows because it’s her juice and he wants to take it all. His own climax is torn from him, an echo of her triumph, and he spills dabbles of spunk over the staircase, spattering her legs.
They slump, tight grips gentling, and rest against one another. Sungmin cradles him, kisses the sweat from his forehead and says, “I love you, too.”
Hyukjae looks up, holds his gaze. “Which one?” he asks. It seems important now to make the distinction. “You or her?”
“Oh, Hyukjae.” Sungmin smiles through his smeared lipstick, smiles like the sun coming out. “We both do.”
tbc
Part 2: Three into One