Men, men, men.
Men.
Pairing: Yoosu
Rating: G
A/N: I'm really terribly lazy. I do apologise to readers of my other Yoosu. I'll finish the next chapter tomorrow. Something short to tide me over for the night.
He takes an elongated breath. It's something he's held for too long and the prospect of the lack of oxygen in his brain makes him dizzy just by thinking about it.
Men are not beautiful.
Maybe he's not a man is his initial afterthought. But his jaw is strong even if his features are soft, slightly feminine, flawless. The set of his shoulders give away his maleness.
He scrunches his hands into fists. They're still loose, though. Fingers aching; itching to touch. He wants to stand up and move forward, towards him, trace his jaw with the back of his palm and thread his hand through the hair just above his left ear.
Men might be beautiful.
He watches as he sips at his coffee, testing the heat. His phone rings, he answers, laughs for the whole five minute phone call, then hangs up. His laugh is wonderful, vital. His laugh is the sun.
He pulls the sunglasses on top of his head down over his eyes. He leaves a tip, and heads to leave. Yoochun buries his head in his book. A piece of paper floats neatly onto the page he's reading. He looks up over the cover of his novel, his face reflecting in the designer aviator sunglasses.
"That's my number. In case, you know, you ever want to fix that staring problem. Not that I minded."
He smiles, brightly. He gets up smoothly like some sort of feline and saunters away, hips swaying deliciously.
Men are beautiful.
Pairing: Yoosu
Rating: G
A/N: I'm really terribly lazy. I do apologise to readers of my other Yoosu. I'll finish the next chapter tomorrow. Something short to tide me over for the night.
He takes an elongated breath. It's something he's held for too long and the prospect of the lack of oxygen in his brain makes him dizzy just by thinking about it.
Men are not beautiful.
Maybe he's not a man is his initial afterthought. But his jaw is strong even if his features are soft, slightly feminine, flawless. The set of his shoulders give away his maleness.
He scrunches his hands into fists. They're still loose, though. Fingers aching; itching to touch. He wants to stand up and move forward, towards him, trace his jaw with the back of his palm and thread his hand through the hair just above his left ear.
Men might be beautiful.
He watches as he sips at his coffee, testing the heat. His phone rings, he answers, laughs for the whole five minute phone call, then hangs up. His laugh is wonderful, vital. His laugh is the sun.
He pulls the sunglasses on top of his head down over his eyes. He leaves a tip, and heads to leave. Yoochun buries his head in his book. A piece of paper floats neatly onto the page he's reading. He looks up over the cover of his novel, his face reflecting in the designer aviator sunglasses.
"That's my number. In case, you know, you ever want to fix that staring problem. Not that I minded."
He smiles, brightly. He gets up smoothly like some sort of feline and saunters away, hips swaying deliciously.
Men are beautiful.