Knock Once, Come Twice
Pairing: Blohyuk
Rating: PG-13
Instead of a collar, it felt like the edge of a guillotine was pressed up against his neck. He couldn’t bend his elbows for it felt like his arms were encased in a plate of armor left out to dry in the rain. There was some serious chafing occurring south of the border and with that, Daniel had to acknowledge, even if it was to himself that he had put too much starch into the wash.
Walking with his legs spread far apart so that the sharp leg crease didn’t end up spearing his balls, Daniel tried to tell himself that it was all worth the sacrifice. He repeated this mantra under his breath as he waddled up to the front door, and tried his best to ignore the bottles clinking nosily against each other as they refuse to stay still in their allotted slots.
It was all research for his next book.
Not that he would call the harlequin rags he wrote books or anything like that but since “Throbbing Hearts on the High Seas” had sold more copies within the first hour than his seventy page article about Rodin’s frozen thinker had in the past year it had been out, Daniel couldn’t exactly stop writing them.
Especially since M. Lee helped buy the production company a new printer while Daniel A. Lee was still avoiding the collection agency.
Jin had asked if he could at least come up with a better pen name, but Daniel, curled around his first cup of coffee of the day had protested that his real name was Mista Lee so why couldn’t they just run with it. Jin had muttered under his breath that he wanted to kick Daniel’s head in like a line like Tae kwan do but shortened it to M. Lee and handed it over to Jung Sik.
Following the success of “Wet Forest,” letters started pouring in from readers stating they wanted to see a more domestic setting for Madame Lee’s next book. Jin and Jung Sik had laughed themselves sick over Daniels’ new title but when they included a line at the end of “Sinful Secret” asking readers to sending in suggestions of situations they would like to see, readers were quick to follow up with fanciful and highly descriptive details about the various adventures women who just so happen to share similar occupations to what the readers did in real life could get into.
When Jung Sik saw the ad in the newspaper looking for new milkmen, he got straight to work. Two days later he handed Daniel his new ID from the Fresh Milk Delivery service and sent him off with the entirely real threat of “Write or die.”
Since they were behind on this month’s rent since Daniel had insisted they publish “Follow the Flow”, he had no choice but to reach for his new ID and do as he had been instructed.
If he thought about it logically, the job wasn’t so bad really. He did most of his writing in between the stretch of silence that ran between midnight and before dawn. When the sky started to swell with the rounded purple belly of predawn, that was his signal that it was about time to head to work. Zipping himself up in the coffin his overly starched uniform had become, he was off and leaving glass bottles filled with sweet white milk on doorsteps across his temporary neighborhood before anybody woke up.
It was like being a caped crusader. Minus all of the cool parts. Or remotely dignified parts.
A week into the job and no lonely but amazingly lusty housewife had enclosed him in her heaving bosoms. Daniel remained optimistic however, it was still early after all. Not that Daniel had ever got a chance to prime the pump so to speak, but he held onto the faith that there was a first time for everything.
Two weeks into the job and the closest Daniel had come to being jumped for a round of horizontal tango occurred when the preserved mummy that lived on tenth street, the same one who looked like and smelled like she had been dipped in pickle juice preservatives had goosed him. He learned to never turn his back to the door after that particular horrifying experience.
Three weeks into the job and a gang of scraggy dogs caused him to bolt down the street and spill over 80% of his milk. His swore that was the same percentage of skin that was missing from his ankles and were probably in the mouths of deranged looking dogs in an alleyway somewhere but his demand for a skin graft went ignored by the HR office.
His request to come home also got flatly denied by Jin. At least Jung Sik had asked about his writing progress before hanging up on him.
Four weeks into the job and no amount of industrial strength soap could wash the smell of daycare that was had seeped into his skin.
Five weeks into the job and two days short of quitting, he ran into Hyukjae.
Daniel was in the middle of placing the small wire basket down when someone walked out the door.
Daniel’s first thought was that the guy was probably a pool boy. That was the only way he could describe the man who breezed out of the door with his shirt half buttoned and hair still mostly damp looking. Not that Daniel knew what the guy’s hair looked mostly dry, but still.
The man had stretched his arms above his head and his body arched into the power of his stretch. Daniel crouched against one of the corners of the guy’s front porch tried to act like he belonged there, and that he wasn’t some kind of creepy hunchback milkman.
He set his delivery down with a decisive clink and nodded his head in greeting when the other man turned around.
“Good morning,” Daniel said, trying to keep his eyes from dipping below the sweet downward slope of the guy’s bare clavicles.
“Good morning,” the guy said, “You must be the milkman.”
Daniel nodded again and tried to edge his way off the front porch.
The guy smiled at him, the corner of his eyes crinkling in mirth. “Thank you, I wasn’t sure if I was able to get strawberry milk out here.” He held out his hand, his open shirt daring Daniel to take a peek at his chest. “I’m Hyukjae,” he said.
Daniel, who could never turn down a dare, was slow to respond. Finally dragging his field of vision up to Hyukjae’s eyes, he abruptly made a decision. “Listen,” he said, trying to sound like he was earnest and not desperate, or an I-like-to-smell-your-hair creeper, “Can I pour milk on your chest? I mean, I’ve tried it on myself, but the angle is wrong and I need to describe how it looks like as it runs down someone’s chest.”
Hyukjae quickly snatched his hand away.
“Wait!” He added as he reached into his pocket for his business card. He knew investing in them wasn’t a bad idea, no matter what Jung Sik had said. “I’m a writer! I just need to see how the liquid looks like on skin. You can even bring as many people as you want to act as an anti-rape guard or something.”
Daniel cringed as he heard the words that left his mouth. There went his attempt to not be a creeper.
Hyukjae looked up from where he had been studying the smooth white surfaces of Daniel’s business card. “No, it’s okay” he said after a while as he handed it back to Daniel. “I’m…just surprised that the guy who wrote about speaking at Finnegan’s wake would need to do this type of research.”
“It’s - Wait, are you transaction number 74579? The only other person who bought my book?”
Hyukjae gestured back to his open door. “I think the camera crew is mostly done with today’s shoot. They’ve probably finished packing up their equipment by now. We can try it now if you like.”
Daniel shook his head. “Sorry, I have to finish my deliveries first. Can’t let milk go bad, they might try to rob a bank next.” Daniel wondered if Jin and Jung Sik could feel the the second hand embarrassment that would be arriving at the apartment any minute now.
Hyukjae laughed, reaching a hand to cover up his smile. “Okay,” he said, “Just come over whenever you’re done.”
***
The reviews over “Knock Once, Come Twice” exclaimed over how realistic the milk scenes were and proclaimed it as one of M. Lee’s best work to date. Forum boards across the internet were filled with spastic emoticons acting out physically improbably positions, sex noises and rampant key smashing.
By the time Daniel had finally been able to wash off the daycare smell, the first check from the advance sales came in.
Jin, Jung Sik and himself went out to get thoroughly trashed in celebration.
The next day as they all nursed raging hangovers, Jin asked Daniel if he was going to start working on his next toilet-paper-for-hobos article soon.
“Nah,” Daniel had croaked as he reached for the pain pills Jung Sik had passed him. Just then his phone started to vibrate across the table.
The caller ID announced it was Hyukjae and as Daniel quickly swallowed the pills dry, he said, “I still have more research to do.” He then quickly made a beeline back to his room.
“Do you think he’s getting laid?” Jin said to Jung Sik who had laid his head across the mostly clean surface of the small kitchen table.
“Can we move him into the basement or something?” Jung Sik replied, “Hearing him have bad phone sex makes my balls want to shrivel up and die.”
Rating: PG-13
Instead of a collar, it felt like the edge of a guillotine was pressed up against his neck. He couldn’t bend his elbows for it felt like his arms were encased in a plate of armor left out to dry in the rain. There was some serious chafing occurring south of the border and with that, Daniel had to acknowledge, even if it was to himself that he had put too much starch into the wash.
Walking with his legs spread far apart so that the sharp leg crease didn’t end up spearing his balls, Daniel tried to tell himself that it was all worth the sacrifice. He repeated this mantra under his breath as he waddled up to the front door, and tried his best to ignore the bottles clinking nosily against each other as they refuse to stay still in their allotted slots.
It was all research for his next book.
Not that he would call the harlequin rags he wrote books or anything like that but since “Throbbing Hearts on the High Seas” had sold more copies within the first hour than his seventy page article about Rodin’s frozen thinker had in the past year it had been out, Daniel couldn’t exactly stop writing them.
Especially since M. Lee helped buy the production company a new printer while Daniel A. Lee was still avoiding the collection agency.
Jin had asked if he could at least come up with a better pen name, but Daniel, curled around his first cup of coffee of the day had protested that his real name was Mista Lee so why couldn’t they just run with it. Jin had muttered under his breath that he wanted to kick Daniel’s head in like a line like Tae kwan do but shortened it to M. Lee and handed it over to Jung Sik.
Following the success of “Wet Forest,” letters started pouring in from readers stating they wanted to see a more domestic setting for Madame Lee’s next book. Jin and Jung Sik had laughed themselves sick over Daniels’ new title but when they included a line at the end of “Sinful Secret” asking readers to sending in suggestions of situations they would like to see, readers were quick to follow up with fanciful and highly descriptive details about the various adventures women who just so happen to share similar occupations to what the readers did in real life could get into.
When Jung Sik saw the ad in the newspaper looking for new milkmen, he got straight to work. Two days later he handed Daniel his new ID from the Fresh Milk Delivery service and sent him off with the entirely real threat of “Write or die.”
Since they were behind on this month’s rent since Daniel had insisted they publish “Follow the Flow”, he had no choice but to reach for his new ID and do as he had been instructed.
If he thought about it logically, the job wasn’t so bad really. He did most of his writing in between the stretch of silence that ran between midnight and before dawn. When the sky started to swell with the rounded purple belly of predawn, that was his signal that it was about time to head to work. Zipping himself up in the coffin his overly starched uniform had become, he was off and leaving glass bottles filled with sweet white milk on doorsteps across his temporary neighborhood before anybody woke up.
It was like being a caped crusader. Minus all of the cool parts. Or remotely dignified parts.
A week into the job and no lonely but amazingly lusty housewife had enclosed him in her heaving bosoms. Daniel remained optimistic however, it was still early after all. Not that Daniel had ever got a chance to prime the pump so to speak, but he held onto the faith that there was a first time for everything.
Two weeks into the job and the closest Daniel had come to being jumped for a round of horizontal tango occurred when the preserved mummy that lived on tenth street, the same one who looked like and smelled like she had been dipped in pickle juice preservatives had goosed him. He learned to never turn his back to the door after that particular horrifying experience.
Three weeks into the job and a gang of scraggy dogs caused him to bolt down the street and spill over 80% of his milk. His swore that was the same percentage of skin that was missing from his ankles and were probably in the mouths of deranged looking dogs in an alleyway somewhere but his demand for a skin graft went ignored by the HR office.
His request to come home also got flatly denied by Jin. At least Jung Sik had asked about his writing progress before hanging up on him.
Four weeks into the job and no amount of industrial strength soap could wash the smell of daycare that was had seeped into his skin.
Five weeks into the job and two days short of quitting, he ran into Hyukjae.
Daniel was in the middle of placing the small wire basket down when someone walked out the door.
Daniel’s first thought was that the guy was probably a pool boy. That was the only way he could describe the man who breezed out of the door with his shirt half buttoned and hair still mostly damp looking. Not that Daniel knew what the guy’s hair looked mostly dry, but still.
The man had stretched his arms above his head and his body arched into the power of his stretch. Daniel crouched against one of the corners of the guy’s front porch tried to act like he belonged there, and that he wasn’t some kind of creepy hunchback milkman.
He set his delivery down with a decisive clink and nodded his head in greeting when the other man turned around.
“Good morning,” Daniel said, trying to keep his eyes from dipping below the sweet downward slope of the guy’s bare clavicles.
“Good morning,” the guy said, “You must be the milkman.”
Daniel nodded again and tried to edge his way off the front porch.
The guy smiled at him, the corner of his eyes crinkling in mirth. “Thank you, I wasn’t sure if I was able to get strawberry milk out here.” He held out his hand, his open shirt daring Daniel to take a peek at his chest. “I’m Hyukjae,” he said.
Daniel, who could never turn down a dare, was slow to respond. Finally dragging his field of vision up to Hyukjae’s eyes, he abruptly made a decision. “Listen,” he said, trying to sound like he was earnest and not desperate, or an I-like-to-smell-your-hair creeper, “Can I pour milk on your chest? I mean, I’ve tried it on myself, but the angle is wrong and I need to describe how it looks like as it runs down someone’s chest.”
Hyukjae quickly snatched his hand away.
“Wait!” He added as he reached into his pocket for his business card. He knew investing in them wasn’t a bad idea, no matter what Jung Sik had said. “I’m a writer! I just need to see how the liquid looks like on skin. You can even bring as many people as you want to act as an anti-rape guard or something.”
Daniel cringed as he heard the words that left his mouth. There went his attempt to not be a creeper.
Hyukjae looked up from where he had been studying the smooth white surfaces of Daniel’s business card. “No, it’s okay” he said after a while as he handed it back to Daniel. “I’m…just surprised that the guy who wrote about speaking at Finnegan’s wake would need to do this type of research.”
“It’s - Wait, are you transaction number 74579? The only other person who bought my book?”
Hyukjae gestured back to his open door. “I think the camera crew is mostly done with today’s shoot. They’ve probably finished packing up their equipment by now. We can try it now if you like.”
Daniel shook his head. “Sorry, I have to finish my deliveries first. Can’t let milk go bad, they might try to rob a bank next.” Daniel wondered if Jin and Jung Sik could feel the the second hand embarrassment that would be arriving at the apartment any minute now.
Hyukjae laughed, reaching a hand to cover up his smile. “Okay,” he said, “Just come over whenever you’re done.”
***
The reviews over “Knock Once, Come Twice” exclaimed over how realistic the milk scenes were and proclaimed it as one of M. Lee’s best work to date. Forum boards across the internet were filled with spastic emoticons acting out physically improbably positions, sex noises and rampant key smashing.
By the time Daniel had finally been able to wash off the daycare smell, the first check from the advance sales came in.
Jin, Jung Sik and himself went out to get thoroughly trashed in celebration.
The next day as they all nursed raging hangovers, Jin asked Daniel if he was going to start working on his next toilet-paper-for-hobos article soon.
“Nah,” Daniel had croaked as he reached for the pain pills Jung Sik had passed him. Just then his phone started to vibrate across the table.
The caller ID announced it was Hyukjae and as Daniel quickly swallowed the pills dry, he said, “I still have more research to do.” He then quickly made a beeline back to his room.
“Do you think he’s getting laid?” Jin said to Jung Sik who had laid his head across the mostly clean surface of the small kitchen table.
“Can we move him into the basement or something?” Jung Sik replied, “Hearing him have bad phone sex makes my balls want to shrivel up and die.”