melt you down like [exo]

[himawarixxsandz]

title: melt you down like {girlsau}
author: himawarixxsandz
rating: nc-17
pairing(s): xiuhan
summary: luhan feels welcomed
a/n: idk how this turned out to be 5k. also, last part of you're here is going slowly but surely. these are just shorter and a lighter write than you're here which is relatively heavy. it takes longer to write 1k of you're here than 5k of girlfic just bc content-wise. but yeah. enjoy some panties.


“Welcome party?” Luhan asks, sitting up.

All of the Chinese exchange students come under one program, and the program has them live under one house with a Chinese couple who live permanently in Seoul. There’re several of them at the moment, but not so many of them that they have to start rooming together. Luhan’s room is right beside Wufan’s, but they usually do homework together in Wufan’s room. His room tends to be the place of gathering for most all of the younger exchange students.

“Because Zitao is new too,” Wufan says, spinning around in his chair and facing where Luhan was previously spread across Wufan’s bed. “Junmyeon did the same thing when Yixing and I first came. It’s going to be at his house.”

It’s Friday night, the end of Luhan’s first week. The party is tomorrow, so Wufan says. Luhan knows that Junmyeon is the president of the student council, which Wufan is vice president of. Without a doubt, if it’s a party held at the president’s house, Luhan knows what sort of party it’ll be. It probably shows on Luhan’s face because Wufan says, “You have to go.”

Luhan flops back down on the taller boy’s bed. “His place must be nice.”

“It has a pool,” Wufan says, “and eight bedrooms.”

“Zitao has to come too?”

“It’s not going to be boring,” Wufan says, and Luhan catches him rolling his eyes at the obvious reluctance all over Luhan’s expression. “There won’t be alcohol or anything-it’s probably going to be more like a barbeque anyway-and his parents are going to be there-but-you’ll see. His parties are okay.” And then Wufan’s tone changes from persuasion to full-on baiting. “Minseok’ll be there.”

Luhan bolts upright. “You’re evil,” he says.

Wufan smiles a little.

And Luhan has no choice but to conclude that Wu Yifan is Satan because Wufan, of all people, knows exactly what Luhan has suffered this past week in Kim Minseok’s tiny hands. Wufan also hasn’t done much to prevent any of the unfortunate events from happening, going so far as to give up and stand stonily at the side when Minseok paraded past Luhan in gym shorts rolled so high that he could see how she was wearing nothing beneath them-when Minseok bumped into Luhan’s back for the umpteenth time and he felt her breasts against his shoulder blades-when Minseok asked Luhan if she could please borrow his towel because she’s left hers at home, her smile sweet as honey as she stood in front of him with her soaked white t-shirt and he was unable to look away from the bright purple bra cupping her breasts.

(“She and Baekhyun were probably playing in the sprinklers again,” Wufan explained to a traumatized Luhan shortly afterwards.)

“Didn’t know Minseok is friends with Junmyeon,” Luhan says, because as much as he tries, as much as he has seen them talking through physics sets together, he can’t quite get straight how buttoned-up, student president Kim Junmyeon and-well-Kim Minseok could get along outside of a classroom environment.

“Minseok is actually smart, y’know,” Wufan looks faintly amused. “And she’s captain of girls’ soccer. She could’ve been VP if she wanted to.”

“She didn’t want to?”

Wufan shrugs. “Said it wasn’t her thing. But-yeah-his parents love her. Their families are friends.”

“Oh,” Luhan says, a little unfocused now because she’s the captain of the girls’ soccer team. Minseok plays soccer. Soccer. She’s a girl who likes soccer. She’s a pretty girl who might want Luhan who likes soccer.

Soccer.

Minseok.

Minseok plays soccer.

Luhan is about to question Wufan more on the whole logistics of Minseok in a soccer jersey with her soft hair high up on her head in a ponytail, with her thin legs covered in thick socks and shin guards that lead down to dark cleats, but he’s interrupted before he gets to process these murky thoughts into actual words by Wufan’s door slamming open. Zitao stands in the doorway, a piece of clothing in either hand, her long black hair in disarray over her face.

“Ge,” she frowns, blowing a few strands of hair out of her eyes. “Which dress for tomorrow?” She holds up both pieces, and Wufan promptly goes into a violent coughing fit.

Luhan is just confused.

He’s fairly sure those are both skirts.

Junmyeon’s house is a stunning affair of white and glass, spiraling upwards like its own apartment complex with modern interior-sofas in matching plush white and tabletops in glass just like the exterior. His mother is the one who answers the door, welcoming Wufan and Yixing with familiarity and smiling warmly at Zitao and Luhan when Wufan introduces them. “Is everyone in China so handsome and pretty or is it just you four?” she asks teasingly as they file into the house.

Luhan wonders how pretty Junmyeon’s mother would’ve thought Zitao was if Wufan hadn’t firmly suggested that she wear something slightly more casual than the dresses she’d previously had in mind.

Junmyeon’s mother tells Wufan that everyone is in the den as usual and she leaves them to it while she bustles out towards the kitchen to get more food. Wufan and Yixing have clearly been here tens of times before with the way they easily and comfortably lead the way down the hall, opening a door that leads down a lit staircase. “Ge,” Zitao says from behind Luhan as they go down. “Is there going to be a fountain of money in the back?”

Luhan laughs, and Yixing turns and smiles back at them. Wufan massages his temples.

The den is like an entire house on its own. It spreads wide beneath the rest of the house, branching off into several different rooms with bean bags and televisions, a home bar in one corner with the cabinets firmly locked-even from a distance the proofed handles were visible and Luhan felt Zitao wilt at his side. There are also closed doors at the opposite end, and Luhan wonders if they might be closets or guest bedrooms or bathrooms.

The den’s main space is taken up by several large, dark sofas and long mahogany tables laden with trays of snacks and drinks. Junmyeon meets them at the foot of the staircase, straightening up from arranging a vase on the table to make more room for a bottle of soda. Laughter and voices sound in from the other rooms in the den, but the main room is mostly empty. Everyone’s shoes seem to be pushed against a corner near the base of the stairs with the sofas holding several purses.

“Who’s here?” Wufan greets Junmyeon with, kicking his own shoes off with Yixing and Luhan doing the same beside him.

Zitao exchanges a withering glance with Luhan as she slips off her moccasins. Luhan shrugs. He’s only known her for as long as they’ve both been in the exchange house and his first impression of her has only changed a little. She’s very tall and very pretty and could probably kill a man with her bra strap. She’s also cute when she wants something. Only when she wants something.

“You’re early,” Junmyeon says, waving back towards the rooms behind him. “Jongin, Minseokie, Chanyeol, Jongdae and Baekhyun are here.”

“Who else is coming?” Wufan asks, plopping down onto the same sofa Yixing’s already taken a seat on. Zitao has wandered off, bored, towards the bar. Luhan takes this as Wufan about to commence vice president-ly conversation with Junmyeon, so he pads on to the room where he’s caught a flash of pale brown hair and gums.

All the doors to the rooms with lights on are open, and Luhan catches two tall boys enthusiastically at a game of foosball. He passes by that room and in the next one over, the one with beanbags and a television that stretches from floor to ceiling, there’s Minseok, Baekhyun, and the treasurer of the student council that had come to drop papers off for Wufan one time, Kim Jongdae.

Luhan is about to step inside with all the intent of some casual small talk until Jongdae and Baekhyun get the idea and leave the room, but he’s stopped in his tracks when Minseok breaks away from laughing at something Jongdae’s said to call loudly, “Kim Jongin!”

And the laughter from the other room abruptly pauses with, seconds later, one of the tall boys heading towards the door way Luhan is standing in. He’s a first year, Luhan can see that much, but he’s already tall, dark, and handsome with a pretty smile on his face that erases the one on Luhan’s fairly quickly.

He doesn’t spare a glance at Luhan, sliding by him to get through the door and stand looking down at where Minseok is being swallowed in a beanbag four times her size. “I’m not your dog, noona,” Jongin says, as Baekhyun grins and Jongdae checks her phone.

“You already beat Chanyeolie six times in a row,” Minseok says. “I’m saving him. And I need something from my bag.” She smiles. “Wanna get it for me?”

Jongin kneels down, face level with Minseok and they stare at each other for a moment, faces blank, before Jongin abruptly scoops his arms beneath her and sweeps her up. Baekhyun laughs, Jongdae looks up from her phone, and Minseok is squeals and yah and Kim Jongin. Minseok’s pale blue cardigan falls off her shoulders, the lacy straps of her top are the next to slide from her white shoulders and her flouncy matching blue skirt flips up when he tosses her around in his arms to settle the weight.

(panties-safe white panties with little baby pink somethings on them so Luhan breathes in relief)

Luhan steps away, blinking, when Jongin mutters a quick, “Excuse me,” as he carries Minseok into the main room to a bewildered Zitao, who joined the three other boys on the couch, and an all too expectant Wufan, Yixing, and Junmyeon.

Jongin drops her on the remaining empty couch, the one with all the bags, and Minseok rights herself immediately, skirt still hiked up over her thighs and ass, sweater and neckline and straps all in disarray, strands coming out of the little braids gathering her hair back. “I asked you to get my purse for me, Kim Jongin,” she yells, but her face is flushed and she’s grinning as he laughs behind his hand, clearly avoiding being within slapping distance.

Junmyeon looks like he’s trying to look anywhere but Minseok’s thighs while Wufan stares dead-on flatly. Yixing just laughs as Jongin lightly strides behind the sofa he dumped Minseok on, leaning over the back and kissing Minseok’s cheek, dancing away before she can hit him. “I carried you to it, noona,” he says impishly. “That’s even better, right?”

As he slowly crosses the room, slowly making his way towards the gathering of sofas, it feels like acid is swishing around in Luhan’s stomach. The sort of acid that burns more the nearer Jongin is to Minseok.

Yixing’s eyes flicker suddenly to where Luhan stands near the edge of the sofa Junmyeon sits on. “Jongin-ah,” Yixing says, and Jongin’s head turns away from another staring contest with Minseok. “This is Luhan and Zitao.”

Jongin’s eyes pass over Luhan disinterestedly, a brisk smile and bow from the neck up before he looks to where Zitao is perched at Wufan’s side and there his eyebrows rise a little.

Zitao barely looks up from her phone, looking fairly bored with everything already. She only spares Jongin a glance probably because she feels his eyes on her. “Hi,” she says shortly.

Luhan watches Jongin’s Adam’s apple bob.

“Hi, Luhan-ah,” Minseok says, her tiny, clear, high voice somehow piercing over the rest of the smattered conversation. Junmyeon’s head whips back and forth from Minseok to Luhan so fast that Luhan is pretty sure he heard the president’s neck crack.

Luhan feels his own Adam’s apple bob.

“Hi,” he says, and swallows again when her eyes seem to laugh at him.

And when Jongin is dragged out by Junmyeon to go upstairs and ask Junmyeon’s mother if there’re anymore cups, when Wufan and Yixing start talking to each other in low rapid Mandarin, when Zitao is back immersed into her phone, Minseok makes a little hand motion that can only be interpreted as inviting Luhan to sit beside her on the seat that isn’t occupied by purses. She already has her own, a creamy tote bag, in her lap, digging through it as Luhan sits down next to her.

His heartbeat picks up a little when he realizes this is the first time he’s really talked to her.

“What’re you looking for?” he asks, when she continues to rifle through her bag in silence for a moment.

She’s quiet for another second before her hands emerge holding her phone. “I wanted to show you something,” she says brightly, eyes scrunching up for a brief moment before widening again. “Wufan says you like soccer too.”

Luhan blinks.

“He says you like ManU,” she goes on, fingers padding in the passcode to unlock her phone. Her nails are baby orange. When she smiles at him, he can see pink gums and white teeth so small that he wonders if it’s possible for someone to keep their milk teeth forever. “You probably already watched everything, but I have one of their best ones on. It’s pretty old but,” and she sidles in until their thighs are touching-her bare, pale skin against his jeans. “Wanna watch?” She’s nearly on his lap.

He has a feeling it’s not exactly to make sure he can see the screen.

Their eyes meet and he’s never seen her from so close.

She has pretty eyelids.

“Okay,” he says.

For all she looks, Minseok isn’t what Luhan thought she’d be.

He’s not exactly sure what he did expect, but it definitely wasn’t what he got.

He didn’t expect that Minseok would have memorized play-by-play every call and shot of the ManU match they watched together on her phone, even if it was old and one of their greatest. He didn’t expect for her to yell with him, completely in-sync and right on time whenever a particularly well-done goal was shot-whenever and uncalled foul went by, whenever a close-call that didn’t quite make it passed.

He’d hoped, of course, that she was more than a pretty face and he’d hoped that they would have conversations that could last hours, but he didn’t expect for them to be after watching a soccer game together-didn’t expect for them to be heated debates over whether that player would’ve made it if this player had passed from a different angle, if that foul had occurred on purpose or by accident, if the outcome of the game would’ve been the same if the defense had done a different play during the second half.

Luhan doesn’t even notice that by the time their talk starts to die down a bit, both of their legs aching a little from sitting so long in one place, everyone else has arrived. As people had come, Junmyeon or Wufan would sort of bring them around to pass by the sofa Luhan and Minseok are on for introductions (Minseok knows everyone-Luhan isn’t surprised) with the new boy from Beijing. He realizes now that there’re students from the school, Junmyeon and Wufan’s friends, filling the den with laughter and chatter.

“You have a lot of friends when you’re the president,” Minseok says when she sees Luhan’s abruptly bewildered gaze as he looks around, “ones who’ll come to your house even when there’s no alcohol-just to make the new Chinese kids feel welcome.”

Luhan grins. “Are you one of them?”

Minseok stands up, tugging down her skirt and tucking the wisps of her hair that’ve fallen even further out of her braids behind her ears. “I don’t know. How welcome do you feel?”

“Not as welcome as I’d feel if I broke into those cabinets,” Luhan says, somewhat morose as he gestures with his chin towards the locked home bar.

She laughs, and takes him by the hand, pulling him to his feet. “I’ll take you to a better party sometime,” she says. “I’m a way better guide than Wufan.”

“You’ll make me feel more welcome?” Luhan raises his eyebrows as, in the game room, there’s a loud crash and what sounds like the tall second year, Park Chanyeol, yelling in tandem with Baekhyun’s high-pitched laughter.

The grin on Minseok’s face this time is a little different and she hasn’t let go of his hand. “C’mon,” she says, tugging it again, “it’s getting kind of loud down here.”

The last thing Luhan sees before Minseok leads him up the stairs is Baekhyun and Chanyeol rolling on the floor laughing while Junmyeon stands over them looking like he’s about to burst into tears.

Most all other house parties Luhan has been to, the supervised ones at least, have you stay in whatever part of the house the host’s parents sent you to in the first place. And with Junmyeon being president, the house looking like an entire apartment complex on its own, and Junmyeon’s mother being in full dress and make-up when she clearly is just at home supervising her son’s friends, Luhan had thought that this was that type of party too.

“Definitely,” Minseok says when Luhan asks about this. They’ve just finished climbing back up to the main level. “But his mom knows me so it’s okay. I’ve been here more than I want to. It’s like my second house.” She turns her head just enough to look at him-she has to tip her head up to meet his eyes with how close they are. “Trust me, okay?”

With gums that pink and that cute, Luhan would probably trust Minseok to lead him off the edge of a waterfall with sharp rocks and a raging current below.

Junmyeon’s mother is in the living room, apparently trying to get a small, fluffy black terrier to get off the couch. When she spots them, Minseok waves, and Junmyeon’s mother asks, “Did you need something, Minseok-ah?”

Minseok smiles prettily, and Luhan easily recognizes it as the sort of smile she gives teachers. “I’m just showing Luhan around,” she says sweetly. “He says it’s the prettiest house he’s seen in Korea so far.” Luhan doesn’t need a cue sheet to know this is when he smiles at Junmyeon’s mother, bowing his head again slightly.

Junmyeon’s mother smiles back, preening, and the dog on the couch settles into the cushion, seemingly having sniffed out that its owner is sufficiently distracted from reprimanding it away from its chosen napping spot. “Make sure you show him the sun house,” she says as Minseok takes that as her own cue to continue pulling Luhan through the living room and up the stairs.

“Of course,” Minseok calls over her shoulder, and once they’re out of hearing and seeing distance, she rolls her eyes good-naturedly at Luhan.

“She doesn’t care that your skirt is a belt?” Luhan asks and Minseok kicks at him, one tiny bare foot against his calf.

“Hey,” she says, but she’s grinning as they continue to bound up the stairs, arriving on the second floor finally. “She asks me if I need an afghan sometimes, but she wants me to marry Junmyeonie so badly I don’t think it matters.”

He wrinkles his nose as she leads him down the hall of closed doors, bedrooms Luhan guesses, before stopping at the one farthest from the staircase. It’d taken all of his brainpower to process that sentence, so much so that he forgot to watch her thighs swish beneath her skirt-and it really was no better than a belt for all it covered (didn’t cover). There’s no acid in his stomach when he thinks of Junmyeon and Minseok because they both seem so distant from what each of them would go for. It helps that Luhan has seen them interact several times in class and Minseok tortures Junmyeon like a sibling, and Junmyeon suffers through it like only a little brother could.

“She wants you as her daughter-in-law? Why?” he asks in disbelief, and she opens the door and shoves him through unceremoniously.

At first glance, it’s obvious that this is Junmyeon’s room. Luhan sees the school logo pasted on several things on the desk, the bedspread and sheets and pillows are all the same matching navy blue, the walls are pearly white, everything is organized and presidential-y, and Luhan sees the badge that the school president wears on the nightstand.

The look she gives him after she closes the door is deadpan. “Because I make the best winter kimchi and I weaved Junmyeon a blanket when I was twelve.” Luhan frowns. “Because I’m pretty, and get good grades and she still has hot flashes from when I was three and my mother let her stuff me in a pink hanbok.”

Luhan just serenely raises his eyebrows. “You need a drink,” he comments.

“I need like five,” she shrugs, and climbs up onto Junmyeon’s bed without hesitation. Luhan feels like he should have more reservation than this about what might or might not end up happening on the school president’s bed, but Minseok is already bouncing up and down on the mattress and motioning for Luhan to join her.

He sits gingerly on the edge, at least a foot away from her because he’s not sure what to expect. She’s sitting relatively respectably, with her legs to the side so her skirt covers as much as it’ll ever cover. Luhan assumes that means they won’t be doing anything today other than continue the conversation they were having earlier only without the increasing background noise of Junmyeon crying for every vase his mother owns-in spite of all the guests being sober and the upstanding students of the school.

His assumptions die as soon as Minseok hikes up her skirt.

Neither of them says anything. She doesn’t speak so neither does Luhan. He just watches her with oddly steady eyes as she holds the front of her skirt up with one hand, and up close, Luhan now sees that the little baby pink things on her white panties are puppies. Her other hand slips down the waistband of her underwear, and he feels her gaze on his body as he catches her fingers moving inside of the cloth.

The temperature in the room racks up a few degrees as the moments tick by, as the silence becomes punctuated with Minseok’s breaths-heavier by every squirm of her thighs. Their eyes haven’t met yet because Minseok’s are raking up and down Luhan’s torso and Luhan’s are staring at the growing wet spot at the front of Minseok’s panties. In the past week, if someone had told Luhan he’d be watching Kim Minseok fingering herself in time to Luhan’s breathing, he’d have smashed his own head with a coconut.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t feel like breaking his skull anymore right now. His biggest problem, currently, is that while Minseok can just flip her skirt back down, Luhan only has one pair of pants and they’re feeling tighter and tighter against his crotch as the seconds go on. “So,” Luhan says, when Minseok shifts, lifting herself for a better angle. “Jongin’s not your boyfriend?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she says, but it comes out as a sigh and her hair is starting to fall out from behind her ears again as her head falls from side to side, eyes half-lidded.

“Oh,” Luhan bites the insides of his cheeks. “D’you want one?”

Their gazes meet-mostly because Minseok looks up and Luhan’s eyes have been glued to her expressions for the past minute now. Luhan is tempted to put his hands over the straining seams of his jeans because he’s embarrassingly hard and in a few moments, he’s going to start bucking up into thin air he’s that desperate.

“Luhan-ah,” Minseok says, her voice suddenly piercingly clear and sweet. “Can we cross bridges when we come to them?”

And Luhan, for all he knows what he looks like, knows when to take a cue and he has manners and as hard as he is, his mother has always taught him ladies first. So he scoots over on the bed, sliding up until his thighs are touching Minseok’s, until he’s close enough to pull Minseok into his lap and she gasps a little when he does. Her fingers still in her underwear (inside of her), and she stares at him, mild surprise. Her face is close enough that he can count her eyelashes if he wanted to.

One of his thighs is in between her legs and he knows that wearing jeans was a good choice. There’s so much friction from some good, new denim and Luhan smiles slightly when Minseok starts rubbing down on him just like that. Her fingers are still against herself, and he thinks her hand might be getting a little achy by now so he kisses her cheek lightly before he slips his own hand down past the elastic.

It’s hot and wet in there, and Minseok lets out this breathy little laugh against Luhan’s hair, her breath puffing out as he nudges her hand aside just enough so he can slip his own fingers into her. She already has two inside of herself from what it feels like, so he just adds one more in to help her and rubs down on her clit with his others. Her hand digs into his shoulder then, nails scratching through the cloth of his t-shirt and he has to bite at his lips to hold back the laughter when he hears her whine and she squirms down hard enough on his thigh that the pressure pushes both of their hands in more, makes Luhan’s middle finger rub against her clit in a way that has Minseok stiffening.

It has her going tight and tense in Luhan’s arms and he pulls his fingers out at the same time she does. He lightly holds the elastic of her underwear and starts tugging gently, pushing the cloth and the elastic edges of the cotton triangle just enough inside of Minseok that it parts her right up to her clit. She’s already coming, whimpering and gasping and clutching at Luhan’s chest and hair, but he keeps tugging her underwear against and inside of her, milking her through it until the cotton is more than just a little soaked. He only stops when her body goes limp against him, when her cheek falls against his shoulder.

She’s too sensitive now, closing her thighs right away, curling away from the denim of Luhan’s jeans and curling in towards Luhan’s body, unmoving from Luhan’s lap. And as soft and sweet as she is, cheeks flushed pink and cardigan nearly completely off of her, hair mussed and the straps of her bra and top wrinkled and falling, it really doesn’t help Luhan’s own unsolved problem that’s probably poking at Minseok right now.

He’s about to voice that maybe, if she’s too tired, she can at least just sit on the bed for a moment alone while he goes really fast into Junmyeon’s en suite bathroom and solves his currently unsolved problem. He only gets so far as opening his mouth before the door opens.

Luhan stares.

Junmyeon stares back.

In Luhan’s arms, Minseok laughs into her hand.

“Again?” Junmyeon bursts out. “Again, Kim Minseok?”

Minseok laughs so hard she falls off Luhan's lap and rolls to the floor.