nicotine
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: chentao
Word count: 2531
Summary: nothing ever changes between them. not really.
Notes: i wrote this for chenpionships this past year.... finally posting it on my lj too. good stuff. this version was edited a lil more so it should read smoother than the one that's actually posted to chenpionships
zitao anticipates the sound of the high, piercing laugh even before it cuts through the heavy smoke filling the bar. it’s become a fixture of the air he breathes, and while his lungs being filled with cigarette smoke with every breath he takes is nothing short of unpleasant, it’s worth it for all the faces reflected in the drinks he serves and all the stories he hears; soft mumblings between patrons that mount into a roaring wave of sound that often have zitao apologetically asking customers to please repeat your order a second time, i couldn’t hear you the first.
but even through all the murky noise, zitao never misses the laugh that rings like harsh bells, somehow as clear to him as if it were breaking through the silence in a quiet, empty street during the dead of night.
zitao often wonders whether it’s because the laughter is so loud that he never misses it, or if it’s because he’s careful to input all of the concert dates of the source of it into his phone, sharp eyes always on the lookout for the the days the man will be in town for his tour. he often tries to tell himself such a laugh simply can’t be ignored, but deep inside he knows that he’s always anticipating the blessed day the other man will walk through the door, ready and willing to resume his status as a regular at the only bar that won’t kick him out when he gets too drunk and rowdy (well, not when zitao is working, at least). he figures the man’s large laugh is just as much a patron as the man himself is. it takes up just as much space, after all.
there’s a small part inside of him screaming to let yifan take the man’s order, but the larger part of him wins the debate, especially when a tap on his shoulder draws his attention to the one and only kim jongdae.
“hey,” jongdae says, lips curved up in a confident grin.
“hi,” zitao replies, pulling the corners of his lips into a smile to match, but far from the confidence displayed by jongdae.
jongdae drops himself down onto a barstool, spinning to face zitao and resting his elbows on the counter. “aren’t you going to ask me what i’d like to drink?”
“no,” zitao tells him, scooping ice into a glass and reaching for a bottle of bourbon.
a peal of laughter. zitao’s sure yifan must have been disturbed by it, even from the other end of the bar, but his coworker shows no sign of having heard. “you never need to,” jongdae says, eyes crinkling in a smile. “nice to see nothing’s changed.”
“oh, no, actually, everything’s changed,” zitao says, sliding jongdae his drink. “you just missed it all while you were on tour and now everything’s back to exactly the way you left it.”
“ahh, of course it is,” jongdae says, laughter in his voice and a twinkle in his eye. “silly of me to expect anything else, huh?”
zitao feels like he could explode at any second.
instead, he laughs. “a sleepy little town like this, and you expected things to change? silly of you, indeed.”
jongdae smiles and sips at his drink, so zitao takes a moment to serve a pair of women their drinks, cursing the cycle he’s trapped himself in.
it starts with jongdae, of course. it always does.
jongdae comes into the bar, the rest of the band in tow. tall, elfin chanyeol, the drummer, searches for a table, but their bassist kyungsoo is always the first to find one, expression borderline frosty as he points it out to his bandmates. their guitarist, baekhyun, god bless his soul, always chats away at a cute boy at a nearby table, and is traditionally the last to realize that the guy he’s flirting with is there with his girlfriend. cue the sulky walk of shame back to their table, where baekhyun will plop himself next to kyungsoo and across from chanyeol and bemoan his luck.
for a little while, jongdae sits next to chanyeol on the inside of the booth, chatting and laughing with his bandmates in a voice that carries across the room and to zitao’s ears, but it’s never a half an hour in before jongdae kicks chanyeol out of the booth so he can get up and go to the bar.
cue part two of the cycle: jongdae makes small talk with zitao. it’s always, invariably with zitao, no matter who else is on duty that night. at one point zitao thought it was just the child of timing and coincidence, but he knows better now.
zitao always gets jongdae the same drink, bourbon on the rocks. he then goes back to minding the other patrons until jongdae is a few sips away from being done with his drink, because that’s when he opens his mouth and asks that fateful question.
“what time does your shift end?”
zitao turns around, glass of whiskey for the a cranky, elderly regular in hand. “two,” he answers, heart just barely secured by his ribcage.
jongdae smiles over the rim of his glass. “duly noted,” he says, then finishes his drink and sets the glass down on the bar. the ice cubes clink against each other, a complementary companion to the clack of glass against wood. “i’ll see you later, then.”
“okay,” says zitao.
“great,” jongdae says with a grin, overtips as always by slipping a ten into his hand, then turns around and makes to return to his friends across the room.
zitao knows exactly what will happen when he gets off from work tonight, but there are butterflies in his stomach anyway. there always are. because come two o’clock in the morning, jongdae will slide back into his seat at the bar with a smirk playing across his lips and an invitation on his tongue.
it’s times like this when zitao feels terribly, horribly small. zitao is much taller than jongdae, but jongdae is like a wave, carrying zitao along in its path until it crashes against the shore and zitao is left crushed by the force of it until it recedes and he can breathe the air back into his lungs.
zitao checks his watch. 12:53. just an hour and seven minutes of the weight of anticipation heavy in his chest.
he bides his time serving patrons and chatting with them as much as they allow, but all good things must come to an end. soon enough they start filtering out of the establishment, some of them alone, some of them in groups, some of them going home with somebody new.
zitao tries to ignore the taste of jealousy rising in his throat like bile.
at 1:30, jongdae’s bandmates get up to go home, leaving jongdae to watch zitao almost predatorily from across the room. at 1:55, jongdae rises from his seat and at 1:56, zitao finds himself face-to-face with the other man.
“hey,” jongdae says.
“hi,” zitao replies. he finds it kind of funny that even their conversations are cyclical. he chooses not to mention it.
“ready to get going?” jongdae asks, finger drawing lines on the back of zitao’s hand.
“my shift’s not over yet,” zitao teases him. “it’s still not two.”
jongdae slumps against the counter and bemoans his fate. “c’mon, zitao. it’s just four minutes. don’t make me wait like this!”
“i’ve waited all night,” zitao says without really meaning to. jongdae raises his head, query in his eyes. zitao changes the subject. “it’s just four minutes. three, now. you can do it.”
“alright,” jongdae says. he’s acceptant but zitao can tell he’s wary, too. not that zitao can blame him for that, now.
zitao finishes polishing the glass he’s holding and reaches for another.
at 1:59, jongdae is tapping his foot impatiently against the floor and playing with his fingers. zitao glances at him, and their eyes meet.
“fuck it,” zitao says, dropping the rag he’d been using on the counter. “yifan, i’m going.”
he’s met with an eager smile from jongdae and a nod from yifan.
“i know,” yifan says.
jongdae tugs at his arm. “let’s go,” he says, so zitao goes, following behind jongdae to the same place they always seem to end up. zitao unlocks the door to the custodial closet and allows jongdae to pull him inside, careful to shut the door behind him. he flicks the light on.
“so. here we are again,” zitao somehow manages. his throat feels swollen with nerves.
“here we are,” jongdae says. he steps forward and suddenly his beautiful mouth is well within reach of zitao’s own and zitao can’t help but to lean down and kiss it because jongdae is a drug and zitao is nothing if not hopelessly addicted. and this kiss? well, it’s all he’s ever wanted and everything he shouldn’t have and it’s not long before he opens his mouth to give jongdae the lead so he can have more more more and jongdae takes control by licking into zitao’s mouth and pushing him up against the heavy metal door, arms wrapping around zitao’s neck.
“thank god nothing ever changes in this shithole of a town,” jongdae groans, tangling thick fingers in zitao’s thick, bleach-blonde hair. “thank fuck.”
but things do change, zitao wants to say. the gas station across from the supermarket has closed, and there’s a new bakery opening up in its place. musicians perform here now on tuesdays and thursdays, maybe you could sing for everyone sometime. for old time’s sake. and i had a boyfriend, really, i did. his name was junmyeon and he was handsome and sweet but forever busy, always bustling with work and in the end he left me but it wasn’t because of his job. he said i was always thinking of somebody else when i was with him. that i didn’t love him like he loved me. he was right, you know. i didn’t think he was, but seeing you again has made me realize that it was me who was wrong, not him. because we were never together, not really, but i’m still not sure i’ll ever get over you.
instead zitao does what he knows jongdae is really waiting for and drops to the floor, one knee first and then the other, long fingers reaching to unzip jongdae’s distressed jeans and tug them down until his cock is exposed. he’s only half-hard but zitao takes him into his mouth anyway, plush lips wrapped around the head of jongdae’s cock and then pulling away to lick the precum off of the tip. it’s messy, and a good portion of it makes its way onto zitao’s top lip, so he swipes it away with precision, tongue dragging against his skin. jongdae shudders before him, breath a flawless hybridization of a gasp and a moan.
“that’s sexy,” he says, voice heavy with arousal. “that’s - shit, zitao, i forgot how fucking sexy you could be.”
“you were gone for too long,” zitao tells him, then drags his tongue along the underside of jongdae’s cock just to drive him insane.
it doesn’t fail. it never does. jongdae trembles, suddenly weak in the knees. “god,” he groans, “just fucking blow me already!”
zitao hurries to obey because no matter which game they play, jongdae is always the one with a royal flush. jongdae is the one who picks the when, the what, the where, the how. the deck is stacked against zitao, and what’s worse than that is that it’s exactly how zitao likes it. because jongdae won’t ever enforce a word he says, oh no - he’ll let zitao do just as he pleases, but zitao always finds himself doing exactly as he’s told. he tells himself he figures jongdae will realize how hard zitao has fallen for him if he hangs on to his every word.
zitao thinks he’s probably dreaming, instead.
maybe this is a dream, too - the weight of jongdae’s cock hot and perfect in his mouth, the rising volume of jongdae’s moans as zitao takes his cock further and further in and becomes wet with spit from the base to the tip.
he probably makes it a little bit harder on himself than he needs to. jongdae isn’t large by any means, but he’s thick, and zitao always makes sure to take him in as deep as he can, just barely touching the back of his throat.
it’s exactly how zitao likes it, though, and he knows it’s how jongdae likes it too by the way jongdae’s fingers are tightening in his hair, the way jongdae is making these pretty, hiccupy moans. the way jongdae is pushing deeper into his mouth. the way jongdae’s cum spreads over his tongue.
it doesn’t taste good. zitao swallows it anyway.
jongdae tucks his dick back into his boxers and tugs his pants back up to his waist. “thanks,” he says.
“i love you,” zitao blurts out. he’s still kneeling on the grimy, dusty ground of the closet. it’s by no means the ideal place for a confession, and regret swells up in his stomach. it’s not the location, really, but moreso the words he’s uttered - but there’s no turning back now and so he takes a leap of faith, asking “do you love me back?”
“no,” says jongdae, “i don’t.”
and the wave that is jongdae crashes into the shore, crushing zitao’s heart in the process.
it was only to be expected, zitao thinks. honestly, what else were you expecting him to say?
“i know,” zitao says, “i always knew.” he tries to mask the disappointment in his voice. he thinks it’s working, but suddenly jongdae is crouching down on the floor across from him, arms wrapped around his knees, eyes locked intently on zitao’s face.
zitao stares at a dustbunny stuck on the bristles of a broom. it’s a terrible fate, zitao thinks. he can empathize. “you’re going to get your pants dirty,” he mutters.
jongdae ignores him. “i think i can learn,” he tells zitao. “to love you, i mean.”
zitao lifts his gaze to meet jongdae’s eyes. “you don’t mean that.”
“i do,” jongdae says firmly. he stands up, reaching out a hand for zitao to take. “come on. let’s go. i’ll take you home, okay?”
zitao takes his hand and lets jongdae help him up, suspended in disbelief. but jongdae is looking up at him with affection zitao hadn’t been able to imagine in his wildest dreams.
they walk out of the building in silence. jongdae locks their fingers together as zitao locks the door behind them. he takes a breath of the cool night air and it dawns on him that their cycle of loving and longing has finally been broken.
maybe things really can change for them, after all.
(later, zitao wakes up to find jongdae buried in his chest, fast asleep. it’s quite a sight, and zitao runs his fingers through the jongdae’s hair, reflecting on just how small the other man really is.
he decides he likes it this way, too.)
Pairing: chentao
Word count: 2531
Summary: nothing ever changes between them. not really.
Notes: i wrote this for chenpionships this past year.... finally posting it on my lj too. good stuff. this version was edited a lil more so it should read smoother than the one that's actually posted to chenpionships
zitao anticipates the sound of the high, piercing laugh even before it cuts through the heavy smoke filling the bar. it’s become a fixture of the air he breathes, and while his lungs being filled with cigarette smoke with every breath he takes is nothing short of unpleasant, it’s worth it for all the faces reflected in the drinks he serves and all the stories he hears; soft mumblings between patrons that mount into a roaring wave of sound that often have zitao apologetically asking customers to please repeat your order a second time, i couldn’t hear you the first.
but even through all the murky noise, zitao never misses the laugh that rings like harsh bells, somehow as clear to him as if it were breaking through the silence in a quiet, empty street during the dead of night.
zitao often wonders whether it’s because the laughter is so loud that he never misses it, or if it’s because he’s careful to input all of the concert dates of the source of it into his phone, sharp eyes always on the lookout for the the days the man will be in town for his tour. he often tries to tell himself such a laugh simply can’t be ignored, but deep inside he knows that he’s always anticipating the blessed day the other man will walk through the door, ready and willing to resume his status as a regular at the only bar that won’t kick him out when he gets too drunk and rowdy (well, not when zitao is working, at least). he figures the man’s large laugh is just as much a patron as the man himself is. it takes up just as much space, after all.
there’s a small part inside of him screaming to let yifan take the man’s order, but the larger part of him wins the debate, especially when a tap on his shoulder draws his attention to the one and only kim jongdae.
“hey,” jongdae says, lips curved up in a confident grin.
“hi,” zitao replies, pulling the corners of his lips into a smile to match, but far from the confidence displayed by jongdae.
jongdae drops himself down onto a barstool, spinning to face zitao and resting his elbows on the counter. “aren’t you going to ask me what i’d like to drink?”
“no,” zitao tells him, scooping ice into a glass and reaching for a bottle of bourbon.
a peal of laughter. zitao’s sure yifan must have been disturbed by it, even from the other end of the bar, but his coworker shows no sign of having heard. “you never need to,” jongdae says, eyes crinkling in a smile. “nice to see nothing’s changed.”
“oh, no, actually, everything’s changed,” zitao says, sliding jongdae his drink. “you just missed it all while you were on tour and now everything’s back to exactly the way you left it.”
“ahh, of course it is,” jongdae says, laughter in his voice and a twinkle in his eye. “silly of me to expect anything else, huh?”
zitao feels like he could explode at any second.
instead, he laughs. “a sleepy little town like this, and you expected things to change? silly of you, indeed.”
jongdae smiles and sips at his drink, so zitao takes a moment to serve a pair of women their drinks, cursing the cycle he’s trapped himself in.
it starts with jongdae, of course. it always does.
jongdae comes into the bar, the rest of the band in tow. tall, elfin chanyeol, the drummer, searches for a table, but their bassist kyungsoo is always the first to find one, expression borderline frosty as he points it out to his bandmates. their guitarist, baekhyun, god bless his soul, always chats away at a cute boy at a nearby table, and is traditionally the last to realize that the guy he’s flirting with is there with his girlfriend. cue the sulky walk of shame back to their table, where baekhyun will plop himself next to kyungsoo and across from chanyeol and bemoan his luck.
for a little while, jongdae sits next to chanyeol on the inside of the booth, chatting and laughing with his bandmates in a voice that carries across the room and to zitao’s ears, but it’s never a half an hour in before jongdae kicks chanyeol out of the booth so he can get up and go to the bar.
cue part two of the cycle: jongdae makes small talk with zitao. it’s always, invariably with zitao, no matter who else is on duty that night. at one point zitao thought it was just the child of timing and coincidence, but he knows better now.
zitao always gets jongdae the same drink, bourbon on the rocks. he then goes back to minding the other patrons until jongdae is a few sips away from being done with his drink, because that’s when he opens his mouth and asks that fateful question.
“what time does your shift end?”
zitao turns around, glass of whiskey for the a cranky, elderly regular in hand. “two,” he answers, heart just barely secured by his ribcage.
jongdae smiles over the rim of his glass. “duly noted,” he says, then finishes his drink and sets the glass down on the bar. the ice cubes clink against each other, a complementary companion to the clack of glass against wood. “i’ll see you later, then.”
“okay,” says zitao.
“great,” jongdae says with a grin, overtips as always by slipping a ten into his hand, then turns around and makes to return to his friends across the room.
zitao knows exactly what will happen when he gets off from work tonight, but there are butterflies in his stomach anyway. there always are. because come two o’clock in the morning, jongdae will slide back into his seat at the bar with a smirk playing across his lips and an invitation on his tongue.
it’s times like this when zitao feels terribly, horribly small. zitao is much taller than jongdae, but jongdae is like a wave, carrying zitao along in its path until it crashes against the shore and zitao is left crushed by the force of it until it recedes and he can breathe the air back into his lungs.
zitao checks his watch. 12:53. just an hour and seven minutes of the weight of anticipation heavy in his chest.
he bides his time serving patrons and chatting with them as much as they allow, but all good things must come to an end. soon enough they start filtering out of the establishment, some of them alone, some of them in groups, some of them going home with somebody new.
zitao tries to ignore the taste of jealousy rising in his throat like bile.
at 1:30, jongdae’s bandmates get up to go home, leaving jongdae to watch zitao almost predatorily from across the room. at 1:55, jongdae rises from his seat and at 1:56, zitao finds himself face-to-face with the other man.
“hey,” jongdae says.
“hi,” zitao replies. he finds it kind of funny that even their conversations are cyclical. he chooses not to mention it.
“ready to get going?” jongdae asks, finger drawing lines on the back of zitao’s hand.
“my shift’s not over yet,” zitao teases him. “it’s still not two.”
jongdae slumps against the counter and bemoans his fate. “c’mon, zitao. it’s just four minutes. don’t make me wait like this!”
“i’ve waited all night,” zitao says without really meaning to. jongdae raises his head, query in his eyes. zitao changes the subject. “it’s just four minutes. three, now. you can do it.”
“alright,” jongdae says. he’s acceptant but zitao can tell he’s wary, too. not that zitao can blame him for that, now.
zitao finishes polishing the glass he’s holding and reaches for another.
at 1:59, jongdae is tapping his foot impatiently against the floor and playing with his fingers. zitao glances at him, and their eyes meet.
“fuck it,” zitao says, dropping the rag he’d been using on the counter. “yifan, i’m going.”
he’s met with an eager smile from jongdae and a nod from yifan.
“i know,” yifan says.
jongdae tugs at his arm. “let’s go,” he says, so zitao goes, following behind jongdae to the same place they always seem to end up. zitao unlocks the door to the custodial closet and allows jongdae to pull him inside, careful to shut the door behind him. he flicks the light on.
“so. here we are again,” zitao somehow manages. his throat feels swollen with nerves.
“here we are,” jongdae says. he steps forward and suddenly his beautiful mouth is well within reach of zitao’s own and zitao can’t help but to lean down and kiss it because jongdae is a drug and zitao is nothing if not hopelessly addicted. and this kiss? well, it’s all he’s ever wanted and everything he shouldn’t have and it’s not long before he opens his mouth to give jongdae the lead so he can have more more more and jongdae takes control by licking into zitao’s mouth and pushing him up against the heavy metal door, arms wrapping around zitao’s neck.
“thank god nothing ever changes in this shithole of a town,” jongdae groans, tangling thick fingers in zitao’s thick, bleach-blonde hair. “thank fuck.”
but things do change, zitao wants to say. the gas station across from the supermarket has closed, and there’s a new bakery opening up in its place. musicians perform here now on tuesdays and thursdays, maybe you could sing for everyone sometime. for old time’s sake. and i had a boyfriend, really, i did. his name was junmyeon and he was handsome and sweet but forever busy, always bustling with work and in the end he left me but it wasn’t because of his job. he said i was always thinking of somebody else when i was with him. that i didn’t love him like he loved me. he was right, you know. i didn’t think he was, but seeing you again has made me realize that it was me who was wrong, not him. because we were never together, not really, but i’m still not sure i’ll ever get over you.
instead zitao does what he knows jongdae is really waiting for and drops to the floor, one knee first and then the other, long fingers reaching to unzip jongdae’s distressed jeans and tug them down until his cock is exposed. he’s only half-hard but zitao takes him into his mouth anyway, plush lips wrapped around the head of jongdae’s cock and then pulling away to lick the precum off of the tip. it’s messy, and a good portion of it makes its way onto zitao’s top lip, so he swipes it away with precision, tongue dragging against his skin. jongdae shudders before him, breath a flawless hybridization of a gasp and a moan.
“that’s sexy,” he says, voice heavy with arousal. “that’s - shit, zitao, i forgot how fucking sexy you could be.”
“you were gone for too long,” zitao tells him, then drags his tongue along the underside of jongdae’s cock just to drive him insane.
it doesn’t fail. it never does. jongdae trembles, suddenly weak in the knees. “god,” he groans, “just fucking blow me already!”
zitao hurries to obey because no matter which game they play, jongdae is always the one with a royal flush. jongdae is the one who picks the when, the what, the where, the how. the deck is stacked against zitao, and what’s worse than that is that it’s exactly how zitao likes it. because jongdae won’t ever enforce a word he says, oh no - he’ll let zitao do just as he pleases, but zitao always finds himself doing exactly as he’s told. he tells himself he figures jongdae will realize how hard zitao has fallen for him if he hangs on to his every word.
zitao thinks he’s probably dreaming, instead.
maybe this is a dream, too - the weight of jongdae’s cock hot and perfect in his mouth, the rising volume of jongdae’s moans as zitao takes his cock further and further in and becomes wet with spit from the base to the tip.
he probably makes it a little bit harder on himself than he needs to. jongdae isn’t large by any means, but he’s thick, and zitao always makes sure to take him in as deep as he can, just barely touching the back of his throat.
it’s exactly how zitao likes it, though, and he knows it’s how jongdae likes it too by the way jongdae’s fingers are tightening in his hair, the way jongdae is making these pretty, hiccupy moans. the way jongdae is pushing deeper into his mouth. the way jongdae’s cum spreads over his tongue.
it doesn’t taste good. zitao swallows it anyway.
jongdae tucks his dick back into his boxers and tugs his pants back up to his waist. “thanks,” he says.
“i love you,” zitao blurts out. he’s still kneeling on the grimy, dusty ground of the closet. it’s by no means the ideal place for a confession, and regret swells up in his stomach. it’s not the location, really, but moreso the words he’s uttered - but there’s no turning back now and so he takes a leap of faith, asking “do you love me back?”
“no,” says jongdae, “i don’t.”
and the wave that is jongdae crashes into the shore, crushing zitao’s heart in the process.
it was only to be expected, zitao thinks. honestly, what else were you expecting him to say?
“i know,” zitao says, “i always knew.” he tries to mask the disappointment in his voice. he thinks it’s working, but suddenly jongdae is crouching down on the floor across from him, arms wrapped around his knees, eyes locked intently on zitao’s face.
zitao stares at a dustbunny stuck on the bristles of a broom. it’s a terrible fate, zitao thinks. he can empathize. “you’re going to get your pants dirty,” he mutters.
jongdae ignores him. “i think i can learn,” he tells zitao. “to love you, i mean.”
zitao lifts his gaze to meet jongdae’s eyes. “you don’t mean that.”
“i do,” jongdae says firmly. he stands up, reaching out a hand for zitao to take. “come on. let’s go. i’ll take you home, okay?”
zitao takes his hand and lets jongdae help him up, suspended in disbelief. but jongdae is looking up at him with affection zitao hadn’t been able to imagine in his wildest dreams.
they walk out of the building in silence. jongdae locks their fingers together as zitao locks the door behind them. he takes a breath of the cool night air and it dawns on him that their cycle of loving and longing has finally been broken.
maybe things really can change for them, after all.
(later, zitao wakes up to find jongdae buried in his chest, fast asleep. it’s quite a sight, and zitao runs his fingers through the jongdae’s hair, reflecting on just how small the other man really is.
he decides he likes it this way, too.)