(no subject)
et nous donnons des chants
changmin/kyuhyun/victoria, pg-13, 1425ⓦ
Note: Lyrics by The Paper Kites.
Words are weak with longings
that I cannot speak to a heart
that it seems is out of reach.*
Zhou Mi jerks awake when Kyuhyun elbows him sharply in the knee on accident, leaning over him and towards the car window to snap a photo with his phone. "Kyuhyun," he says, trying and failing to keep the sleepy whine out of his voice. They're in Taiwan, en route to an early morning variety show filming; already, the streets are busy, people clustered at stop lights, motorbikes slipping in between rows of cars.
"We're almost there anyway," Kyuhyun says absently, punching out words on his phone. Zhou Mi reaches out and pinches the skin of his knee. It doesn't hurt, but he jerks his knee away on reflex, jostling a sleeping Sungmin on his other side, who reaches out and punches his arm with deadly and rather detrimental accuracy.
"Go back to sleep," he grouses at Zhou Mi, as Sungmin emits a light snore. Zhou Mi, inexplicably, smiles and shuffles closer.
Changmin is in a dressing room, getting his hair touched up when his phone buzzes. He strains for it with two fingers, inching it off the table and into his hand. A blurry photo of a blue Volkswagen, framed by a car window, fills the screen. Underneath, the text reads punch buggy blue. Changmin laughs.
Kyuhyun catches Changmin next in the hallways of the company building, talking to Qian. One of the lights is broken, and it throws shadows over them both, an intimate dark. Changmin's back is turned, and as Kyuhyun draws closer, he watches the fabric of Changmin's shirt pull across his shoulders when he gestures, the upwards tug at the corners of Qian's mouth.
He's two feet away when his shoe squeaks, traitorously. "Oppa," Qian says brightly, looking over Changmin's shoulder, and Changmin turns, eyes lighting up in a familiar smile when he recognises Kyuhyun. Kyuhyun smiles back, and punches him.
He revels in Qian's shocked gasp for three gratifying seconds before Changmin opens his mouth. "Haven't you been exercising recently?" Changmin asks, innocently. He doesn't even give Kyuhyun the dignity of rubbing his arm. "I don't think it's working."
Kyuhyun's still scowling when Qian links arms with both of them, like a placating gesture from a twelve-year-old. "I'm hungry," she declares, matter-of-fact, and they let themselves be led away.
There's something about the way she moves, fluid and graceful regardless of what she is doing, an Uyghur dance or f(x) choreography or simply walking across the practice room for the bottle of water Kyuhyun holds out to her. Her hair, newly dyed a pale shade of brown, is piled together in a messy bun.
"Thank you," she says in Mandarin, sliding to the floor beside Kyuhyun. She picks up her towel and presses it to the sides of her face. He twists his shoelace around his finger as he looks away, leaning back against the mirror. He's always liked how she slipped into Mandarin with him - it didn't happen often, because she insisted on improving her Korean, but sometimes she'd let slip a phrase or two, as if she'd forgotten that distance between them existed.
It's silent, Kyuhyun realises, and glances back to see her looking at him. "What?" he says, lapsing into Korean on accident, and she shakes her head, smiling as glances down at her lap, busying her hands with the towel again.
Odd Song, he mouths at her, frowning, but she's already lifting herself up again, lithe and beautiful.
Kyuhyun and Changmin had kissed once, before Qian. They'd both been made warm and sated by alcohol; a little drunk, but not enough to forget the possessive curl of Kyuhyun's fingers on Changmin's sleeve, the way Changmin's tongue had traced a path along the curve of his lower lip, hot and wet. He'd felt it, all the way down to his fingertips like a shock or a tremor, and the ghost of hunger in Changmin's expression said the same.
They don't touch for weeks, afterward. There are a dozen explanations, and most of them boil down to drunk and convenient, all of them excuses. Kyuhyun goes to Taiwan and spends four days telling lies about Zhou Mi's sleeping habits on national broadcast, and when he comes back, Changmin smiles like it never happened.
But he remembers it - not all the time, but sometimes Changmin will press his lips together, or his fingers will just barely skim Kyuhyun's wrist, and the memory will jolt through him like a shot of adrenaline. It takes all of him, then, not to jerk, or shiver, or move at all, just let Changmin throw an arm over his shoulder and whisper into his ear, words lost to the screaming and the music.
Their shadows converge as they clatter down the stairs to the waiting rooms, into the sea of staff, sweaty and exhausted and an exhilaration in their chests, full and fit to burst. People swarm around them and for a moment Changmin's fingers are tight on his wrist, pulling him close and away, sliding down to his hand when a body crashes into them, nearly toppling them both. Qian flashes a smile at them as she passes by. Kyuhyun, with an armful of Minho, looks back to see Changmin looking at him, the intent in his expression familiar - and then his face clears and he lets go of Kyuhyun's hand, squeezing Minho's shoulder before slipping away.
"I kissed her," Changmin says, voice tight and confused, and Kyuhyun is instantly awake, pushing back the comforter twisted around his ankle. He can hear his own rustling through the phone, and when he flicks the light on in the living room, he winces and turns it off again.
"What?" Even through the thick fog of sleep, his voice sounds strange, tense in a way he doesn't quite understand. He already knows, recognises the paralysing burn of jealousy, spiderlike in his chest, but he'd asked, stupidly, so of course Changmin is going to-
"Song Qian," Changmin says.
It isn't curiosity that eats away at him, when they're side by side in Charles de Gaulle, both of them looking as tired as they feel. She'd smiled at him on the plane, the same as ever, and motioned for him to sit next to her, then fallen asleep just a few minutes after the turbulence of takeoff. He'd spent the flight talking to Ryeowook instead, hyperaware of the strands of her hair that cling to his clothes, like electricity.
It isn't curiosity, and it isn't hurt. They walk together in the streets of Paris, but they don't hold hands. He finds himself watching her - "I think Jinri would like this, don't you?" she says, holding up a charm - and Changmin, laughing when he swipes ice cream onto Kyuhyun's nose, in equal parts, and there's a swell and a strain in his chest.
"When in France," she says, when she leaves first, holding onto both of their wrists as she leans in for a faire la bise. The warmth of her cheek and the sound of the kiss startles him, her hair tickling Kyuhyun's nose as she pulls away, moving towards Changmin. Browsing wines with Changmin afterward, he remembers that she smelled faintly of flowers.
Later, she answers the door barefoot save herringbone stockings, still in the sundress she'd worn earlier. Changmin raises his hand, holding three glasses by the stem, and she lets out a laugh that ruffles her fringe, reaching for the bottle of wine in Kyuhyun's hands.
Her open carry-on and coat are strewn across the single chair, and she waves toward the bed, setting the bottle down on the bureau next to it. There's a half-unwrapped slab of dark chocolate next to the mussed up indent in the sheets where she'd been lying, surrounded by pillows. I Love Lucy is on television, the sound of studio laughter echoing as Lucille Ball stumbles onto a stage in a pillbox hat. There are French subtitles Kyuhyun can't read, lettered across the bottom of the screen. "Santé," he says, when they're all crowded on the bed, Qian reoccupying the centre, and they clink glasses.
He's drowsy and a little drunk, mouth sweet with chocolate and ice wine, when he feels a hand slipping into his, looking down and tracing it back up to Qian. Her other hand is already tight in Changmin's, and her eyes are closed. On screen, the credits are rolling, black and white hearts lit up on the screen. Oh, Kyuhyun thinks, eyes drifting shut, and he's seconds away from sleep when his fingers move to twine with hers.
changmin/kyuhyun/victoria, pg-13, 1425ⓦ
Note: Lyrics by The Paper Kites.
Words are weak with longings
that I cannot speak to a heart
that it seems is out of reach.*
Zhou Mi jerks awake when Kyuhyun elbows him sharply in the knee on accident, leaning over him and towards the car window to snap a photo with his phone. "Kyuhyun," he says, trying and failing to keep the sleepy whine out of his voice. They're in Taiwan, en route to an early morning variety show filming; already, the streets are busy, people clustered at stop lights, motorbikes slipping in between rows of cars.
"We're almost there anyway," Kyuhyun says absently, punching out words on his phone. Zhou Mi reaches out and pinches the skin of his knee. It doesn't hurt, but he jerks his knee away on reflex, jostling a sleeping Sungmin on his other side, who reaches out and punches his arm with deadly and rather detrimental accuracy.
"Go back to sleep," he grouses at Zhou Mi, as Sungmin emits a light snore. Zhou Mi, inexplicably, smiles and shuffles closer.
Changmin is in a dressing room, getting his hair touched up when his phone buzzes. He strains for it with two fingers, inching it off the table and into his hand. A blurry photo of a blue Volkswagen, framed by a car window, fills the screen. Underneath, the text reads punch buggy blue. Changmin laughs.
Kyuhyun catches Changmin next in the hallways of the company building, talking to Qian. One of the lights is broken, and it throws shadows over them both, an intimate dark. Changmin's back is turned, and as Kyuhyun draws closer, he watches the fabric of Changmin's shirt pull across his shoulders when he gestures, the upwards tug at the corners of Qian's mouth.
He's two feet away when his shoe squeaks, traitorously. "Oppa," Qian says brightly, looking over Changmin's shoulder, and Changmin turns, eyes lighting up in a familiar smile when he recognises Kyuhyun. Kyuhyun smiles back, and punches him.
He revels in Qian's shocked gasp for three gratifying seconds before Changmin opens his mouth. "Haven't you been exercising recently?" Changmin asks, innocently. He doesn't even give Kyuhyun the dignity of rubbing his arm. "I don't think it's working."
Kyuhyun's still scowling when Qian links arms with both of them, like a placating gesture from a twelve-year-old. "I'm hungry," she declares, matter-of-fact, and they let themselves be led away.
There's something about the way she moves, fluid and graceful regardless of what she is doing, an Uyghur dance or f(x) choreography or simply walking across the practice room for the bottle of water Kyuhyun holds out to her. Her hair, newly dyed a pale shade of brown, is piled together in a messy bun.
"Thank you," she says in Mandarin, sliding to the floor beside Kyuhyun. She picks up her towel and presses it to the sides of her face. He twists his shoelace around his finger as he looks away, leaning back against the mirror. He's always liked how she slipped into Mandarin with him - it didn't happen often, because she insisted on improving her Korean, but sometimes she'd let slip a phrase or two, as if she'd forgotten that distance between them existed.
It's silent, Kyuhyun realises, and glances back to see her looking at him. "What?" he says, lapsing into Korean on accident, and she shakes her head, smiling as glances down at her lap, busying her hands with the towel again.
Odd Song, he mouths at her, frowning, but she's already lifting herself up again, lithe and beautiful.
Kyuhyun and Changmin had kissed once, before Qian. They'd both been made warm and sated by alcohol; a little drunk, but not enough to forget the possessive curl of Kyuhyun's fingers on Changmin's sleeve, the way Changmin's tongue had traced a path along the curve of his lower lip, hot and wet. He'd felt it, all the way down to his fingertips like a shock or a tremor, and the ghost of hunger in Changmin's expression said the same.
They don't touch for weeks, afterward. There are a dozen explanations, and most of them boil down to drunk and convenient, all of them excuses. Kyuhyun goes to Taiwan and spends four days telling lies about Zhou Mi's sleeping habits on national broadcast, and when he comes back, Changmin smiles like it never happened.
But he remembers it - not all the time, but sometimes Changmin will press his lips together, or his fingers will just barely skim Kyuhyun's wrist, and the memory will jolt through him like a shot of adrenaline. It takes all of him, then, not to jerk, or shiver, or move at all, just let Changmin throw an arm over his shoulder and whisper into his ear, words lost to the screaming and the music.
Their shadows converge as they clatter down the stairs to the waiting rooms, into the sea of staff, sweaty and exhausted and an exhilaration in their chests, full and fit to burst. People swarm around them and for a moment Changmin's fingers are tight on his wrist, pulling him close and away, sliding down to his hand when a body crashes into them, nearly toppling them both. Qian flashes a smile at them as she passes by. Kyuhyun, with an armful of Minho, looks back to see Changmin looking at him, the intent in his expression familiar - and then his face clears and he lets go of Kyuhyun's hand, squeezing Minho's shoulder before slipping away.
"I kissed her," Changmin says, voice tight and confused, and Kyuhyun is instantly awake, pushing back the comforter twisted around his ankle. He can hear his own rustling through the phone, and when he flicks the light on in the living room, he winces and turns it off again.
"What?" Even through the thick fog of sleep, his voice sounds strange, tense in a way he doesn't quite understand. He already knows, recognises the paralysing burn of jealousy, spiderlike in his chest, but he'd asked, stupidly, so of course Changmin is going to-
"Song Qian," Changmin says.
It isn't curiosity that eats away at him, when they're side by side in Charles de Gaulle, both of them looking as tired as they feel. She'd smiled at him on the plane, the same as ever, and motioned for him to sit next to her, then fallen asleep just a few minutes after the turbulence of takeoff. He'd spent the flight talking to Ryeowook instead, hyperaware of the strands of her hair that cling to his clothes, like electricity.
It isn't curiosity, and it isn't hurt. They walk together in the streets of Paris, but they don't hold hands. He finds himself watching her - "I think Jinri would like this, don't you?" she says, holding up a charm - and Changmin, laughing when he swipes ice cream onto Kyuhyun's nose, in equal parts, and there's a swell and a strain in his chest.
"When in France," she says, when she leaves first, holding onto both of their wrists as she leans in for a faire la bise. The warmth of her cheek and the sound of the kiss startles him, her hair tickling Kyuhyun's nose as she pulls away, moving towards Changmin. Browsing wines with Changmin afterward, he remembers that she smelled faintly of flowers.
Later, she answers the door barefoot save herringbone stockings, still in the sundress she'd worn earlier. Changmin raises his hand, holding three glasses by the stem, and she lets out a laugh that ruffles her fringe, reaching for the bottle of wine in Kyuhyun's hands.
Her open carry-on and coat are strewn across the single chair, and she waves toward the bed, setting the bottle down on the bureau next to it. There's a half-unwrapped slab of dark chocolate next to the mussed up indent in the sheets where she'd been lying, surrounded by pillows. I Love Lucy is on television, the sound of studio laughter echoing as Lucille Ball stumbles onto a stage in a pillbox hat. There are French subtitles Kyuhyun can't read, lettered across the bottom of the screen. "Santé," he says, when they're all crowded on the bed, Qian reoccupying the centre, and they clink glasses.
He's drowsy and a little drunk, mouth sweet with chocolate and ice wine, when he feels a hand slipping into his, looking down and tracing it back up to Qian. Her other hand is already tight in Changmin's, and her eyes are closed. On screen, the credits are rolling, black and white hearts lit up on the screen. Oh, Kyuhyun thinks, eyes drifting shut, and he's seconds away from sleep when his fingers move to twine with hers.