when the going gets tough, kiss Yeon Sieun

by ahnsuho

Summary:

"Suho pushes that feeling away. His free hand — the one that isn’t suddenly electrified all the way down to his forearm — goes right under Sieun's jaw; palm up, thumb brushing against Sieun's chapped bottom lip. It sends little shock-waves down Suho's fingers as he applies pressure to Sieun's jaw."

or

Suho swears he's got his feelings under control around Sieun.

Notes:

Inspired by that one scene in that one fic I read two years ago that changed the course of my life and also LTIT for making me remember that specific scene existed.

Chapter 1

Suho can hear the tweeting of birds, the sound of water splashing rocks nearby, the wind whirling in the air. His ankle is hitched up on his thigh, his hands behind his head offering cushioning from the cold cement bench. The air is humid, wet. The clothes on his back sticks to him with sweat from his run. He's waiting for Sieun patiently... waiting to hear those ridiculously loud footsteps hitting the pavement nearby.

He’s almost sucked into the tune that the birds are singing, whistling along with them, low to not scare them off. His head’s aching from the lack of sleep, his stomach grumbles with hunger, his upper arms hurt from the light weights he’d lifted two days ago. 

He’s restless some nights. Working endlessly and sleeping in that uncomfortable desk at school is catching up to him. 

Today he’d woken to the sound of the faucet dripping in the kitchen and he hadn't been able to go back to bed. 

Groggily, he’d reached into his drawers, without looking he’d picked out one of his few shirts and slipped on his shoes. He’d written Halmeoni a quick note and pasted it to the fridge before taking off.

If he’d timed it right, Sieun should be arriving at his location in exactly thirteen minutes. More than double the time it took Suho to hurriedly knock on his door and tell him to get dressed and meet him at the pier before running there himself.

Well, knowing Sieun, maybe it’ll be twenty minutes. 

Sieun's eyes had been mostly shut when Suho had knocked. He was in pajamas and a shirt that was too big for him, slipping down to expose one of his bare shoulders. Sieun's hands were wrapped around his chest like he was cold and his hair was sticking up in all odd places. 

Suho's racing heart had given an extra hard pang in his chest as he watched him — he shoved it down — just a symptom of the new and thrilling affection he’d begun to feel for Sieun. 

It’s his new normal. He needs to get used to it .

Suho hadn’t given Sieun time to protest — he ruffled the soft hair sticking up like an antenna in the middle of Sieun’s head and told him where to meet before speeding off. 

Suho closed his eyes; relaxing. He'd give Sieun another ten minutes and if he didn’t show he’d be off to start his morning. He’d already gone over what he’d teach Sieun first. He’d practiced it twenty times in his head as he ran his way over. Maybe if Sieun was okay with it they could make it a weekly—no—an every other day thing. But knowing Sieun's opposition to any form of exercise, his inability to breathe correctly despite Suho teaching him, it was probably a long shot. 

It wasn't a new thought — to want to train Sieun. Suho wanted to teach him some basic MMA moves. Since they’d grown closer, since they’d dealt with the whirlwind that was Gilsu and his gang he’s been — he can't quite place it...Worried? Anxious? He doesn’t know. He just wants Sieun to know how to protect himself. He wants to make sure no one looks at that face and takes it for something that it's not — easy to push around and damage. 

Suho's simple. He’s always liked to file away experiences into two categories. Good or bad. Okay or not okay. Things he likes and things he doesn't like. And seeing Sieun first thing in the morning is something he likes — really likes. It’s something — this strange feeling he can’t quite place, like it’s just for them — the early morning sky and the quiet, it’s a moment solely for them; intimate. And if Suho’s honest, he’s got ulterior motives — not just wanting to steal more of Sieun’s time but the other thing — that he can't help that it makes him feel a certain way to watch Sieun work up a sweat. 

The image floats in so easily into his head, scraps away everything else Suho’s thinking — Sieun gasping for breath after a light run, sweat beading at the side of his forehead and his neck, his hair sticking to his face, his cheeks pinked, it’s—well, it’s something, its something Suho likes...a lot. And these days Suho likes to cling to what he likes and he likes the way his stomach flips around that Sieun — pink and panting and just so pretty and he almost craves that coiling in his gut — this thing he hasn’t felt with anyone else before, not even Beomseok.

When Suho had the privilege of seeing Sieun like that—before they’d even properly talked—he’d looked...cute, adorable, vulnerable. It made Suho want to protect him all the more and that feeling had grown aggressive in it’s full nature, not that he’d ever admit it. The last time he’d felt something close to what was when he was nine and Halemoni had taken him to his first school fair; she’d won him a small blue bunny with sparkling, comically large eyes. It was the first time he’d ever received something like that — he wanted to squeeze it so tight to never lose it, he never wanted to let go. But that… that was a mild version of what he feels for Sieun—Sieun is—he’s alive for one, he’s responsive, he’s pretty and wide-eyed and Suho wants him in more ways than he’s got him; he never wants to let go even if it hurts them both. 

This thing with Sieun had escalated in Suho before he could stop it. It’d become distracting.

Who could ever look like Sieun does at any given moment but even more so when they’re all tired out. Who can make Suho feel the way Sieun makes him feel? This newfound protective aggression, it’s grows possessive in his chest. 

When Sieun gets all tired, and limb-heavy during their PE class Suho wants to grab onto those shaky shoulders and pull him into his chest and just be — squeeze and wait and wait until his breathing steadies in his arms…until Sieun’s body grows accustomed to having Suho near, and only to Suho.

And sure, maybe Suho's just a wreck, plagued by too many misconstrued dreams of Sieun that end with him pretending, rationalizing, that he isn’t pressing his pelvis into the sheets, that he doesn’t mean to grind down into the warmth of his pillow. That the image of a sweaty Sieun grunting and panting behind his eyelids is just coincidence, that he doesn’t want him even more when he’s like that. That he doesn't wonder where and what Sieun is doing at that moment. 

Suho’s helpless to it all.

And the thing is he doesn’t have to confront these new feelings when he’s with Sieun because he’s good at not thinking about it when he’s with Sieun. In fact he’d say he’s pretty damn efficient at hiding what he’s thinking, Sieun's face — everything that Sieun tends to bring out, this whole different side of him, Suho’s calm with it. He leans into how it makes him feel but he’s not an imbecile—he doesn't lean too far into those intense thoughts.

It’s like he’s on autopilot, like he’s gliding just above the surface of a body of water. He takes as much, feels as much, and wants as much as he thinks Sieun will allow — and maybe sometimes he toes the line; his fingers too close to bare skin on Sieun's neck and stomach, lips too close when he pulls Sieun in for a hug but it’s under control. His brain will tuck those thoughts away because it knows that Sieun and him aren't like that. The uber focusing on his thoughts never becomes a hassle because this thing with Sieun is perfect just as is. It feels real and right and he’s not planning to lose it, not anytime soon.

Speak of the devil. 

Suho's pulled out of his deep thoughts by heavy footsteps sounding in his ears. 

Finally.

And just like that the feelings are under lock and key, sealed into a corner of Suho's brain as Sieun emerges from around the corner. 

Suho takes him in, he’s got sweats on now, a loose t-shirt and his hair looks damp at the top, right where Suho had ruffled it, like he’d tried to fix that adorable antenna hair. 

Suho hides a small smile. 

Then, Suho eyes him, up his legs, to his hips, to Sieun's frantically rising chest and the admiring comes to a hard halt as he hears his breathing; it’s choppy, unstable, louder than his footsteps. 

Aish, he’s so frustrating. Suho's already taught him to breathe through his nose, so many damn times, but the kid just won’t listen. 

“Yah! What did I tell you about your breathing.” Suho kicks up off his back, shakes his legs awake as he stands and catches Sieun just as he’s about to collapse into the seat next to him. He leisurely takes Sieun's trembling hand in his own and laces their fingers together. 

It tingles.

Suho pushes that feeling away. His free hand — the one that isn’t suddenly electrified all the way down to his forearm — goes right under Sieun's jaw; palm up, thumb brushing against Sieun's chapped bottom lip. It sends little shockwaves down Suho's fingers as he applies pressure to Sieun's jaw. “Close your mouth.” 

Sieun listens.

Suho had learned breathing techniques from his old coach. He’d taught him that feeling each breath, really feeling it makes you in tune with your body. Sieun found it stupid the first time he’d shown him. That’s how they’d ended up with Suho doing it for him, time and time again. 

Suho's interlocked fingers twitch in Sieun's grasp. He pushes their twined hands into Sieun's rapidly rising chest, his hand is on top of Sieun's pulsing, all too warm hand — it feels like a live bomb as their hands move in sync with Sieun's breaths. Suho puts more pressure, presses the back of Sieun’s hand a bit more into his chest and Suho's fingers brush the warmth there. Through the thin layer of fabric Suho swears he can feel Sieun’s heart beating beneath his fingers. 

Suho's eyes lock with Sieun's. Sieun's now-closed mouth twitches in Suho's grasp, his chest still rising heavily, frantically, his breathing is loud, almost deafening in Suho's ears. He can’t even hear the birds anymore. It’s so… mind-numbing.

It’s all Sieun.

For his own sake, to ease the hitch in his throat that comes with staring Sieun in the eyes, Suho demonstrates how to breathe. He inhales deeply, and he’s still staring, still captivated — those eyes, they draw Suho in, leave him red-faced and buzzing with electricity. 

He tears them away, tries to focus on any other part of Sieun's face before he takes a strong breath in through his nose, tilting his head down to Sieun's, urging him to copy. He puts even more pressure on Sieun's sternum with their locked hands, trying to calm both their racing hearts now.

He exhales. 

“Breathe in.” 

Suho inhales through his nose. 

Sieun copies, his mouth closed, his chin pointed up towards Suho. Sieun’s chest—Suho’s hand, they rise with Sieun’s inhale. 

Suho's finger twitches against Sieun's lip again. 

The air suddenly feels too thick as his eyes catch on Sieun's again, the air feels honey-thick going down his throat; the collar of his shirt feels too tight, choking him. 

“Breathe out.” He lets Sieun's lip go and moves that hand to Sieun's shoulder to steady his own weakening legs.

“One more time,” It’s for himself now. “Breathe in.” Suho inhales, his eyes closing this time. It helps him calm the pounding pulse in his ears, his heart hammering in his chest, the thickness of the air. It doesn’t do much for the buzzing underneath his skin though.

He’s so focused on his breathing, on the calm that begins to run through his veins—on the warm hand in his, the hard shoulder beneath his fingertips, the serenity and the overall feeling that comes with being attached with Sieun that when he blinks one eye open — hoping Sieun's are closed — he almost can’t believe the sight. 

Sieun's face has grown rapidly pink in a matter of seconds, his cheeks are all puffed up like a squirrel’s, his eyes tightly shut.

“Yah!” Suho shakes him by the shoulders. “Breathe out!” 

Sieun's eyes flutter open softly as if he was in just as much of a daze as Suho was. His lips part, teeth glinting, panicky breaths drying his lips further. 

“Are you crazy! You’re supposed to breathe out!” There’s a hint of amusement in Suho's voice. 

He’s so helpless. This boy will be the death of him. 

Sieun's face immediately starts calming, pink receding as he catches his breath. “I forgot.” he says sheepishly and he’s back to it — his next few breaths leave him through his nose, eyes unwavering from Suho's — who refuses to look away now. A safety precaution. 

Sieun's eyes flick over every one of Suho's features before settling on his eyes. 

Suho's so captivated…the way Sieun's eyes speak silently, am I doing it right? He almost forgets their hands are clasped together, that there’s a heart beating just beneath his fingertips. 

He just can’t believe that this boy in front of him…that someone that's capable of the things Sieun's done — beating someone’s face in, going after a gang leader without backup — that someone like him barely knows how to run, how to take care of himself, how to breathe for christ’s sake. 

Sieun's so vulnerable and suddenly he looks all too small in front of Suho, all too fragile and something stirs in Suho—the lock to that certain part of his brain being messed with. 

His mind takes him back to the months he’d been watching Sieun, to how lonely he’d looked and more recently to how desolate the inside of Sieun’s apartment had been when he’d stepped inside. He’d gotten him takeout and walked in to see convenience store food wrappers on the counter. His home was cold and empty. There’s no one there for him. It’s depressing thinking of Sieun like this, it’s infuriating. Has he always been neglected? It’s no wonder he doesn’t know how to take care of himself, Sieun never had anyone and yet he’s still so strong—

He shouldn’t have to be, Suho thinks. He’s sweet, kind, gentle, and patient and he’s warm and he’s looking up at Suho in this way and Suho wishes he could stay like this. He squeezes his hand in Sieun's. 

I’ve got you now. 

Sieun's everything calm in Suho's world…he’s what he’s always been missing and maybe, Suho thinks, he’s what Sieun’s been missing too. He doesn’t want to lose this. He can’t.

Sieun mistakes the worry that flares in Suho's eyes for something that it’s not. 

“I’m sorry.” Sieun says softly, his other hand latching onto their joined hands on his chest, squeezing them. He’s breathing normally now and his eyes speak for him again—I’m sorry for making you worry—and then they’re back on Suho's with this thing—there’s this look Suho can’t quite place and—

Suho can’t think. His brain freezing under the weight of Sieun's gentle stroking hand over his own… freezing under Sieun's apology… an apology for this?...an apology — something that never comes easy for Sieun — and yet it’s there, spilling from his lips, it means something. 

Thank you for worrying about me .

Suho crumbles. He clears his throat. 

“‘T’s okay, you got it now.” It comes out all high-pitched as he tears his eyes away from the ones that are boring into him, he smacks his hand against Sieun's shoulder. Casual. Calm. Normal. And pulls his hand from Sieun's chest like he’s being burned. Feelings fleeing with the warmth Sieun's hands provided. 

—

His thoughts are getting to him. Maybe seeing Sieun first thing in the morning was a mistake. His feelings are all over the place, like they’ve doubled, tripled, quadrupled—like when you close a pop-up ad on a computer and ten more show up in its wake before you realize you’ve contracted a virus. He doesn't know anymore. 

He trains Sieun, or tries but Sieun’s too loose-limbed, too tired and too out of breath. Suho had started with the basics, dodging techniques; where to aim for when you dodge, how to tackle if you can — things Suho's known since he started to crawl. 

Suho cuts their training short. They’re on their third try of a certain technique, with Sieun's hands wrapped around his waist after dodging a punch and Sieun's fingers catch on the skin of Suho's back, and Suho's gone, all the way off, floating somewhere between Limbo and Planet Earth…Friendship and Carnal Want…Yeon Sieun and Mortification. 

His hands are on Sieun's hips before he can think, shoving him off with more force than necessary.

Suho can handle touch. He loves it, but it's almost always him initiating. It’s him running his hands down the nape of Sieun's neck, squeezing his cheeks, it’s him taking Sieun’s hand in his but this… this is—stressful. Sieun's fingers running down the base of his spine, catching underneath his shirt, brushing underneath his boxers against bare skin and he really, really can not. 

“Sorry!” Suho's voice is all high, stressed. Sieun's looking up at him unphased where he knocked him on his back. “I didn’t—! Sorry!” 

Suho reaches out to take Sieun's hand and Sieun clasps onto his wrist before he can say anything else. “I think we're done for today. Yeah?” 

Suho moves away from Sieun, takes a seat on the bench facing away from him but Sieun plants himself right in front of him, one leg on either side of it just like Suho, mere inches in front of him. Sieun doesn’t seem to notice, doesn't seem to question why Suho threw him off like that. 

It’s okay. It’s all okay. 

There’s too much happening, he’s thinking too much. 

As a last resort, he shuts his eyes, pretending to work on his breathing, hoping—praying—Sieun will shut his eyes too. 

A few moments later, he peeks through one squinted eye. He can't help himself. And thank god Sieun’s eyes are shut too. He can’t handle anymore of those prying eyes. In fact, he thinks he’s had enough for the day but instead—-

Suho does what’s becoming a filthy habit. He stares and stares, noting every feature on Sieun's face while he can. Sieun’s hair is sticking to his forehead with perspiration, his lashes flutter like he’ll open his eyes soon, he’s pink on the high of his cheeks, and his nose is twitching every now and then. His hair is sticking up at odd places, a result of being pushed to the floor no doubt. And Suho thinks—this is okay—they can just sit together like this, at least until the searing feel of Sieun's fingers on that sliver of skin wears off. 

Sometime through it all, through a light flutter of Sieun's lashes, Sieun’s eyes open and Suho doesn’t notice, not immediately. He’s studying this cute twitch on Sieun’s forehead, right above his left brow and then he sees Sieun — wide eyed, slow blinking, watching his face just as intently as Suho does to him. 

They don't say a thing. 

Neither move to break the moment. They listen to the sound of waves hitting rocks, to the melodies of the birds flying by. They watch each other. 

Suho's eyes dance over Sieun's face, over every movement and quirk.

It’s serene. It feels right. 

Suho’s heart pounds in his throat. His exhaustion and headache subsiding as Sieun's slightly parted lips open to allow his tongue to swipe over his bottom lip. 

Fuck .

Sieun's lips are dry, even with a decent distance between their bodies Suho can see it — the cracked skin starting to rip, his breath drying them as his mouth opens again. 

Suho's eyes flick up to Sieun's — they’re focused on some spot above Suho's head now — a bird, his hair, he doesn't know. 

Suho can feel his thoughts getting away from him, he can feel it but he can’t reel it in. His hands twitch. He wants to lick his thumb and run it down Sieun's dry lip, moisten it. He wants to touch that pink mouth, see if the skin there is really as rough as it looks…he wants to — it’s a familiar thought, but it’s not friendly — it’s intimate, it's wanting, it feels lewd. 

Suho can feel his face heating up the longer he stares there. His tongue darts out mimicking Sieun's. 

That tongue swipes over the top lip this time. 

Suho bends down for his bottle of water, hoping to break whatever’s manifesting in front of him, whatever feeling has sprouted in his chest. He sits back up and suddenly they’re all too close, Sieun's knees are touching his. When did that happen? He avoids Sieun's prying stare and takes a swig of his water, letting it sit in his mouth, grounding him. He can feel a droplet slide down his chin...can feel how wet his lips are with it.

Sieun's eyes are hard to ignore, they’re on him — scorching, traveling down from Suho’s eyes to the slope of his nose, then they dart down and follow the drop of water and Suho knows he’s watching it because Sieun’s eyes travel down…low to where it’s sliding down his neck and—Suho wants to do something—something that crosses every line he’s stopped himself from crossing with Sieun. 

Suho can feel it in his chest, in his fingertips, in his mouth. He swears his body’s leaning forward on its own and his breathing is loud, short? Is that him? He can’t tell, all he knows is he wants to give like he always does—like he always has. It’s building up in him as Sieun stares…as Sieun's throat bobs and without another thought, with his fingers twitching— 

Suho lifts the bottle of water over his head and empties enough of it to shock him back to sanity. 

If Sieun wonders what he’s doing he doesn't ask as Suho shakes the thoughts and water off his hair like a sodden dog, putting mild distance between them. 

Once it’s over. Once there’s enough space between them Suho can think again. 

“You didn’t bring water.” 

It’s more of a statement than a question, something—anything—to break this tension. 

“No.” Sieun shrugs. “Short notice and all.” 

Sieun’s teasing, goading Suho into looking at him again. And Suho's bad at this, always taking the damn bait. 

“Yah! You’re really blaming me. Who leaves their house to workout and doesn’t—” 

And Sieun's laughing, a small chuckle that makes Suho's lips twitch. Carefree. Teasing. 

Suho clicks his tongue in false exasperation. 

“This is why your stamina is so low, you—” Suho leans in a little without meaning to.“You eat so little. You don’t drink enough water, you hardly move, it's like I’m taking care of a bird.” 

Affection bubbles up in Suho’s chest, He realizes then and there he wouldn’t mind it — taking care of Sieun for the rest of his life. He’d give Sieun the water out of his mouth, food out of his palm, Hell, he’d chew it up just for him if Sieun was too weak to. He’d do everything without even so much as an ask from him. 

“If I were a bird I wouldn’t be here. You’re too loud.” Sieun bites back, mimicking Suho’s talking with his hand. Sieun’s eyes are all warm. Soft. 

Something unfurls in Suho, a grin eating at his face. 

“You think this is funny.” Suho forces his bottle into Sieun's hands. “Drink!”

Sieun shakes his head no. There’s still that playful expression on his face, his lips turned up. 

“Aish! You think I’m dirty? Drink before you die of dehydration.” 

“Nope.” Sieun shakes his head side to side again. 

Suho takes Sieun's hands, wraps them around his bottle and holds them there. “Drink!” 

Sieun has this expression on his face, like he’s winning. 

Suho wants to wipe that look off his face.

Sieun's lips quirk up just the tiniest bit; Yeon Sieun's form of a teasing smile. And Suho's back to staring at his mouth—wanting, licking his own lips.

Suho takes the challenging look in Sieun's eyes and runs with it. He rips the bottle out of their joined hands, takes a long swig of it, tips his head back until his cheeks are semi-full of it; some of it drips down his chin. 

His eyes never leave Sieun's wary ones. 

Suho's lips are all wet and slippery, drops of water spill onto his thigh as he empties the bottle in his mouth…

The thing about gliding just above a body of water is that sometimes, somewhere, when you least expect it there’s a rip current and you’re being pulled under before you can really think, before you can really realize it. 

Suho lurches forward, fists his hand in the collar of Sieun's cotton shirt, slides his other hand into Sieun's hair, down the nape of his neck, all in seconds. 

Too quick to stop. 

Too quick for either of them to react. 

Sieun's eyes widen, his smug expression leaving as Suho's lips catch on his. 

The force of Suho, the force of it all makes Sieun tilt back a little but Suho's got him, holding the back of his neck. 

Suho leans in closer, close on all accounts; to his neck, to his shirt, to his mouth as their lips slot together, as Suho feels the prick of dry skin on his too-wet lips. He’s practically on top of him. 

Time freezes for them both. 

Sieun's mouth opens against his in shock and Suho pushes forward, opens just enough, letting the water from his very own mouth engulf Sieun’s.

It’s mind altering, it makes Suho groan against him, the small sound muffled by their mouths, by the water. Sieun’s lips prick his own, turning wet and slippery, a complete mess.

Sieun makes a noise, his eyes wide open, locked on Suho's unwavering ones. 

It’s not a kiss. It’s more. 

And like everything else Suho's had the courage to give to Sieun, Sieun takes. 

Water drips down both their chins, Suho can practically hear Sieun taking it — gulping it down. Suho’s thumb is pressing to the front of Sieun’s neck — he can feel his adam’s apple bob as he swallows what Suho gives, every last drop.

It’s warm, their mouths slotted together, the water lukewarm with Suho's body heat. It’s spit-slick and thick and he can feel Sieun's shuddering breath, another swallow, another soft sound, and then Sieun's mouth snaps shut against his. 

Suho covets; his tongue sliding against the seam of Sieun’s closed mouth like it’s instinct. He licks there. He can’t help himself. 

Then, Suho’s eyes close against the feel, dry-wet skin scratching at his lip as he leans in, and the water’s all gone. 

There’s Sieun’s breath against his mouth, those lips against his own and he’s right—they’re soft, chapped yes but soft and then Sieun’s hands are on his shoulders, pulling and pushing; confusion and shock. 

Suho realizes then what he’s doing, where he is and lets go, gently, taken aback by his indulgent behavior but somewhere deep inside; satisfied. 

It wasn’t supposed to be a kiss, it was just—

He’s breathing heavily as he puts distance between them, as Sieun's fingers clutch the front of his jacket tightly, once, before letting go completely. 

Suho wipes at his chin with both palms. Sieun's eyes are all wide and wet, there’s a small crease between his brows, his lips and chin a watery mess, his teeth peeking out as he pants, his lips are all pink, his mouth slightly open in shock. Suho's not sure. He can't think—He’s not thinking. 

That was insane. That was gross. That was everything he’s ever wanted and then some .

It’s… he wants more. 

Suho feels it pulse where their mouths touched, the feeling stretches all the way down to the tips of his toes before it settles in his stomach. 

He wants more of it. To give. To take. To take under the pretense of giving; maybe it’s what he’s been doing with Sieun this whole time. Maybe he’s just greedy. 

And then it hits him all at once. As Sieun's chest rises unsteadily in front of him, as Sieun swallows around nothing, as his lips shine with water and a mix of Suho's saliva. 

Their lips had touched. 

Suho made them touch. And just like that — as Sieun stares at him with this dumbfounded look, mixed with something Sieun's never seen before.

Fear rises in Suho's gut. 

Suho makes a horrid attempt to fix what he’s done. “I win.”

He went too far this time. He should’ve paused. Hard braked. Fought the damn current. He fucked up. 

Suho scratches at his chest, a nervous tick. 

He can fix this. He can fix this mess. He just needs to—

He pulls the sleeves of his windbreaker over his fingertips and moves forward, back into Sieun's space. Sieun doesn’t move, doesn’t react he doesn’t do anything as Suho slides the sleeve of his windbreaker over Sieun's chin, over his lips, attempting to erase it, to take it back. To wipe off this mess he’s created. 

He doesn't say it, but he thinks it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s on the tip of his tongue ready to escape because Sieun not speaking…and his are all over Suho's face again. 

Suho can feel his face reddening, embarrassment overtaking the want that was suffocating him not so long ago.

Sieun takes both of Suho's trembling wrists into his hands. He must sense the fear Suho's feeling because the crease between his brows is gone and he points a finger to their right. 

Is he telling him to leave? Was it that bad? Does he hate him now? 

Sieun looks to his right, Suho follows his line of sight. 

“Fountain.” 

That's all Sieun says. It's all he has to. 

There’s a water fountain. Suho hadn’t seen it, he hadn’t even looked in that direction. All he saw was Sieun. Was that really always there? 

For once Suho's stunned into silence, tips of his ears going beet red.

“Sieun-ssi, I—!” but before Suho can say something—anything else. Tell Sieun it was a joke or an accident. Something to walk back the line Suho had just crossed, Sieun's up and on his feet.

“We’re gonna be late.” 

Sieun moves ahead while Suho's still picking up the pieces of his shattered brain off the floor. 

He follows behind a weirdly-calm Sieun; five steps behind like a lost dog.

It’d been a thought, an intrusive stupid thought and he’d lost control. It was like instinct, just eating at him the whole time, maybe minus the water. Or hell—Suho runs a hand through his hair in frustration—maybe the water was an excuse. He’d definitely crossed the line this time. He knows he has, so why wasn't Sieun reacting, why was he so calm? Why is he walking ahead of him like nothing happened?

Does Sieun know? Does he know how deep it runs through Suho? How badly Suho’s need for Yeon Sieun has grown? 

Chapter 2

Summary:

"Suho’s practically sitting on him, thighs locked around his waist and Suho’s leaning forward. Sieun can feel every loud breath–every pant–escaping him. Suho’s other hand is splayed out beside Sieun’s head, warm skin grazing his ear, locking him into his position on the floor. Sieun gulps. He can’t remember why they ended up like this all of a sudden, his mind wiped clean as to what they were doing minutes, even seconds ago."

or

Sieun's being driven insane by Suho's refusal to acknowlege what he did.

Notes:

I updated the tags!

Sieun’s protecting his mouth. 

It’s been four days, five hours and twenty eight minutes since that early morning training session...since Suho's lips had touched his. 

Suho hasn’t shown up to his house with another invite out since that morning, despite mentioning it so many times that Sieun almost started dreading getting a knock at six a.m.

Sieun’s thankful.

It’s been 6,088 minutes since Suho had done what he did.

It’d taken Sieun exactly three hours after they’d gotten to school to realize Suho’s eyes were still lingering on the bottom half of his face and five to process what Suho had done.

Sieun didn’t hate what happened…didn't hate that the slide of Suho's lips was too wet to really feel the ridges there…he didn’t hate that Suho’s germs had invaded his body, that he’d tasted Suho’s saliva without ever being inside his mouth…without a proper kiss. He didn't care that the water—warmed with Suho’s body heat— had slid down his throat so easily and most importantly he did not want to think about how easily he’d gulped it down. 

Not then. Not now. Not ever. 

He could’ve–should have–spit it out. He doesn’t know why he didn’t. 

Or he does. 

He really does.

Sieun’s brain is an endless pool of thoughts–no–equations, problems, variables waiting to be solved. It's more like that. He thinks and he solves until he’s figured out every possible explanation or solution to everything or he uses the damn process of elimination. One thought or feeling becomes twenty different things in his head, like a spider web beginning with one piece of silk and fanning out into twenty, all in different directions.

It’s who Sieun is, he’s a thinker, but he separates himself from the process of it, it's how he’s always been. If you look at things–feel things–from an outside perspective, if he detaches himself; it feels less real, less personal, easier to solve and that's what he does–did. 

—

They’re having lunch, it’s just Suho and him for the third time since that day. Beomseok is out sick again and for once Sieun can't help but let his mind run within Suho’s vicinity, even if he doesn’t show it. 

Suho’s legs are stretched out underneath their lunch table. His ankles are lined up with Sieun’s, Nike’s pressed against Sieun’s Converse and Suho’s kicking him every time he lifts his chopsticks to put rice in his mouth. He’s teasing so damn much and for the twentieth time since that day, Sieun wonders how Suho can be so carefree, how he can be so calm. He’s completely back to normal, like he didn’t do it. Sieun wonders if it meant nothing or it was just another thing Suho was keen on giving to others, to anyone. Maybe he’d do it to Beomseok too if he’d invited him out and he’d forgotten his water too, maybe it didn’t mean anything.

After all, Suho didn’t know there was a water fountain, as obvious as the signs were. It’s not like he actually wanted to kiss–or put his mouth on Sieun. He was just, in his own way, helping.

They’re practically playing footsies underneath the table. Sieun’s tired of it, just as he’s about to shove the chopsticks with a bit of rice into his mouth Suho kicks high on his calf. He sighs, ignores it and then Suho’s leg is climbing up the back of his calf, ridiculously close to his thigh and he’s almost caressing him and that’s enough— Sieun kicks Suho high on his leg when he goes for his next mouthful. 

Suho laughs when he does it, like he was waiting for him to lose his composure. He has that smile on his face, the one that makes Sieun’s cheeks feel all warm–his mouth is all full with food, it’s a playful little thing, close-lipped, that same damn one he’d given him that day.

Suho shoves another bite into his mouth, his tongue licking along the chopsticks before Sieun pries his eyes away. 

Later, when Sieun’s half done with his rice and Suho’s plate is mostly empty, Suho lifts his chopsticks to Sieun’s mouth, taps them on his bottom lip. 

“Here, I know it’s your favorite.” 

It’s tofu, drenched in this sauce that only the Byeoksan school cafeteria has. He doesn’t remember mentioning it was his favorite. Ever. 

“You like it too.” Sieun says, face flat. And he does. Suho loves food, all cafeteria food, food in general, especially the food he pays for. 

“Yeah, but it’s your favorite.” Suho beams at him, urging him to take it, his smile’s all big, one of his cheeks bigger than the other, no doubt stuffed with his previous bite. His eyes are all soft and wide like he’s urging Sieun to bite and have they always been shiny like that–

Suho retreats, moving the chopsticks in Sieun’s face once…twice…like he's dangling a carrot. 

Sieun doesn’t open. 

He’s thinking germs, and then he’s thinking about that day and that thing Suho had done and the water, how the material of Suho’s jacket had felt wiping over his lips and how it still feels raw there and his eyes flick to Suho’s mouth. Once, just once. Reliving it. Suho doesn't notice. 

Suho sighs in front of him, gives a little frustrated head tilt when Sieun doesn't open his mouth for him and carefully starts placing each tofu piece from his plate on a square of Sieun’s tray and Sieun’s thinking–processing–again. He’s watching his hand move. That delicate hand that had been in his days ago… that he swears is always on him now.

He watches it retreat, come back, retreat and come back over to his tray. 

Suho’s doing it with so much focus, making sure the tofu pieces and the sauce doesn’t touch the rice in the square of Sieun’s tray and Sieun doesn’t remember mentioning he hates when his food touches and then Suho’s grinning up at him, another stupid cheesy smile on his face—

And then it clicks. 

Sieun does know why he’d gulped that water down, why he’d accepted that Ahn Suho’s lips were on his, like it was another symptom of his giving personality or written in the invisible rulebook of their friendship. Why he’d leaned into it and pulled him closer.

It’s–this thing–it’s why Suho and him are such good friends. Why for the first time in his life Sieun has felt allowed to want, allowed to be open, allowed to say and do and express as little as he pleases because Suho understands him even when he’s wordless. Sieun realizes then, Suho's got this thing engraved in him, he’s not sure Suho realizes it—he’s a giver and Sieun, for the first time in his life, for the first time in his seventeen years of being, feels allowed to take …feels like his taking is wanted, urged upon even. 

Since the day they met, Suho has given him anything and everything… absolutely everything ; food from his part time job when Sieun forgets to eat, rides on his bike when Sieun doesn’t realize he’s about to drop from exhaustion, a helping hand, his friendship, his kindness, his protection, a listening ear despite Sieun’s lack of talking and the most forward–the one that makes Sieun ignite the most of all, that pushes this barrier of change Sieun had begun to notice in himself–his touch. 

Suho’s a touchy person, since the moment he’d shown up with a helping hand stretched out for him and for someone like him–for someone like Sieun–who’s gone years without such, he can’t say it’s not shiver-inducing, mind-altering, something he finds himself clinging to without realizing. 

Sieun hadn’t felt much but the threatening curl of fingers around his throat, a rough fist on his body or a shoulder shoving into him in years…until Suho. Suho’s hands are wiping it all away, slowly, but surely and delicately. He can practically feel Suho’s hand in his, fingers on his wrist from when he’d checked him for injuries, Suho's hand on the back of his neck. And every single time they connect, without fail, a little jolt runs through Sieun's body. He’d chalked it all up to the cold, to the simple fact that his body was starved for a touch so tender, something to fix what others had broken down inside him, what his parents believed he never needed.

So when Suho had given him everything—when he’d slid his mouth against his, Sieun had taken it, without a second thought. When Sieun felt the warm rush of water between his lips he’d opened his mouth wider, didn’t let the fact that some of it slipped down their joint mouths stop him from swallowing what he could. He’s got Suho's touch imprinted all over his body; a hand flat on his back from a week ago, fingers on his forearm as he pulls him away from incoming student traffic, his thumb on his forehead trying to smooth out this crease in his brow that he’d gotten when Suho called him too negative. He’s all over, leaving invisible marks that take an emotional toll on Sieun’s brain and he hadn’t even realized. He’s got Suho all over now, inside his mouth, on his lips. Everywhere. 

Out of every possible scenario, every possible explanation, Sieun had never come close to this one. He’d never thought about how he felt the moment because if he had he would have realized it sooner—that he liked it. 

He really liked it—the feeling of Suho’s lips on his. 

It wouldn’t have taken Suho kicking his foot under the table once more–a silent way of telling him to eat –it wouldn't have taken Sieun this long to realize that he wants it to happen again. 

His eyes flick down to Suho’s mouth, the lick he gives to his lower lip for a grain of rice. For the first time since Sieun was a child, his mind goes utterly blank. 

That Friday night, Sieun doesn't study. He lays in bed staring up at the emptiness of his room, not forcing his mind to go somewhere, not forcing it to go over the material for next week’s classes. He lets his mind run wherever it wants to and it does. It goes back to that day, to the cool breeze on his damp skin from the training, to that little sound Suho had made that he’d tried to forget. 

Thoughtlessly, Sieun’s fingers find his lips, where Suho had been and he falls into a sleep so easy that night.

He wakes up the next morning feeling strange. Remnants of a dream, of hands touching and lips on bare warm skin make Sieun's body thrum, a fluttering feeling in his belly that only amplifies when he thinks of Suho, when he checks his messages to see if he’s texted.

There’s no messages.

Sieun doesn’t study that day. 

It’s Saturday night; no Suho, no messages and he finds himself throwing on a jacket and walking. He’s wandering at the edge of town, his legs taking him nowhere. His mind flashes with his mostly forgotten dream; Suho’s lips on his neck, his hands on Suho's chest. He sucks in a harsh breath when he remembers the sound Suho had made in his dream, the same one he’d made that day when he’d licked at his bottom lip. Then the first drops of rain hit and he pushes the thought aside.

Umbrella-less and thoughtful, he finds his way to the nearest store and picks up the first umbrella he sees. He’s about to check out when he sees something. Maybe it's the word mouth or lips or Suho running through his head for hours now but it catches his attention.

A juvenile magazine clearly meant for teen girls or someone–anyone–but Sieun. On the cover, it’s the typical stuff; popular actors, men and women alike and then what draws his attention in bright bold letters on the bottom right.

‘How to get him to kiss you first .’

Sieun walks away. It’s stupid. It’s bane and yet it's the first time he’s ever felt like this. Suho hadn’t really kissed him anyway. He was helping him—how he always did—it’s just who Suho was…giving him the water from his very mouth, a symptom of that damned giving personality Sieun was growing increasingly confused by because—

It wasn’t that–it wasn't exactly what Sieun was slowly beginning to hope it would be. If it was, Suho wouldn't be acting as nonchalantly as he was, right?

Sieun steps back, rips the magazine off the shelf and checks out with his face drawn tight in embarrassment.

Back on the comfort of his bed, he wouldn't say he reads the magazine exactly. He’d say more or less that he studies it. There’s tips on a corner of a page, people—mostly girls— admitting to using the tips and getting the desired effect but Sieun reads it and he can’t help but feel ridiculous. He’s on the third page–‘ lips and how to draw him in’ and it clicks how stupid this thing is. 

He shoves it away.

It doesn’t matter. Sieun’s mouth is just a mouth, it’s for reading and talking and eating–the basic human functions and does it really matter if he’s got lip gloss on, if they’re moisturized. 

Sieun rolls his eyes.

In the trash it goes. Scrapped from his brain as soon as it hits the bottom of the bin.

Sunday night, he’s making his way through the convenience store, choosing his assortment of meals for the week. He’s about to pay, his dad’s card in hand and his eyes are drawn to it–they seem to be wandering lately–he’s starting to hate it. There at the checkout counter there’s chapstick, lipgloss; flavored, non-flavored, little pink tubes, shimmery ones and Sieun rolls his eyes at nothing, again.

He reaches for the mint chap-stick, against himself. Against whatever thought is telling him to forget this weekend, that magazine, the way Suho’s red mouth had looked and felt and ugh ! 

He ends up paying for it. 

It’s self care, he rationalizes. His lips have always felt rough and raw and sometimes he forgets to drink water for so long they’ll crack and bleed and so this is–buying this, it’s…it’s self care really, like buying soap or deodorant or anything else. It’s not about Suho. 

He starts applying it discreetly throughout the following week. Sometimes he won't think about it, he’ll pull it out when his lips feel too dry and it’s just become a thing he does. 

Days pass, hands linger, fingers touch, and words remain unsaid about what happened. Suho never makes it a point to bring it up. He hardly gives the impression he’s thought about it at all. And Sieun’s mostly okay with it. It’s a calm silence.

He’ll take what he can get. He always has. 

It’s pushed to the back of his mind during exam week. It’s filled with countless hours of studying, a dozen energy drinks, skipped meals and refusal to leave his room despite the flutter in his stomach when Suho invites him out. 

Exams are over a little over a week later; with Sieun placing at the top of the class and Suho somewhere in the middle despite his lack of studying. 

Suho can’t contain his excitement about it. He smiles most of that day so much that Sieun can’t stop staring. A short while past four p.m, when all the students are heading out in droves, he takes Sieun by the wrist and hauls him onto his bike. He mentions a celebration, going to his place, a promise of movies and spending the night as he gently slips his helmet on Sieun’s head. He’s got that bright smile on his face as he holds Sieun’s helmeted head between his hands and Sieun can’t protest it. Sieun leans into Suho’s as he drives, rests his head against his back, letting the wind wash away the stress of exams. 

When they arrive at Suho's house, a quiet little neighborhood not far from Byeoksan, a small red door with flowers and tree branches growing out of it, Suho rips the helmet off his head and pulls him inside by the wrist.

There’s something cozy about Suho’s room, something that’s missing in Sieun’s very own space. 

Sieun’s just a step behind Suho who makes a little sound and immediately ducks and starts picking shirts off the ground and tossing them into his hamper.

It’s lived in, messy, pillows all over the bed, bedsheets a mess and posters all over the wall of things Sieun doesn't recognize. Suho’s personality is all over it. Maybe that’s why Sieun immediately feels at ease.

He looks up at Suho’s embarrassed face when he’s all done shoving things in his closet and Sieun doesn't know why he does it–why he allows it–he fights off a soft laugh that leaves him with a smile.

They spend the next couple of hours playing video games on Suho’s TV. They start off with this shooting game that Sieun doesn't know the name of and as expected he’s horrible. He doesn't have a hang of the buttons on the controller and he accidentally shoots Suho in the back when they’re supposed to be on the same team. 

Sun rays pour in through Suho’s window, bright streaks of light shining lightly over their bodies. Suho’s room smells like fresh laundry detergent and something so incredibly him. There’s a light breeze flowing in through the crack in the window, making Suho’s sheer curtains billow in the wind. It brings in this outside smell, like pollen, flower-like and dewy, like those plants that start hitting the floor just before it turns to spring. It melts in with the smell of Suho’s room, calm and relaxing. 

Despite the breeze coming in, Sieun feels all warm. Comfortable in a way he doesn’t feel anywhere else. 

Suho tsks as Sieun’s attention shifts from the game to Suho’s face. 

They lost. 

“Another one? This one’s easy, I promise!” Suho beams at him, all his teeth showing.

He leans forward and switches the games before plopping back beside Sieun. 

Sieun’s thoughts are stagnant. Noting everything. They’re sitting cross-legged next to each other, their thighs are touching, pressed completely together, their shoulders brush every time Suho taps on his remote controller, despite the game not turning on just yet. 

Sieun keeps looking to his side and he’s staring—he’s ridiculously aware of it, because his saliva suddenly feels all thick in his mouth and his head feels all heavy and light at the same time, like he’ll lose his balance. He watches Suho and worries at the inside of his bottom lip, the taste of Suho lingers, the feel of it stored away somewhere deep at his core, this warmth he feels in this moment, he’s not sure he’ll forget it. It’s only around Suho. It's only when he’s like this that he feels it.

“Thank you,” It’s soft, it's low, it's barely within earshot but Suho hears it. 

He turns to him, his eyes a little wide, head tilted questioningly.

“For what? Sieun-ssi.” Suho’s voice is warmth, at Sieun’s very core. 

He wants to bottle that feeling he gets when Suho speaks so softly to him. He wants to turn it into a blanket he can shroud himself in when he feels strange or stressed or anxious. 

Suho's eyes shine, the sun reflecting in them making them all the warmer, all the softer. Sunlight streams across his skin; he’s all glowy and the soft turned up hairs on his head shine with the sun, shadowing around his head like a halo, his lashes flutter softly as he stares at Sieun. His lips are pulled into a closed lip smile. He’s beautiful. 

Suho hums, waiting on a response, the act is so soft it draws Sieun’s dazed head to him, like a bee drawn to honey, he can’t help it. Sieun initiates for the first time in his seventeen years of life. Without any thought or Sieun’s years of stopping every urge to touch, to do something he wants; Sieun’s too-heavy to hold up head rests on Suho's shoulder; tenderly, lightly. 

Suho stiffens, but he doesn’t ask again and maybe he gets it, like he gets that Sieun hates his food touching, that he likes certain foods without telling him because Suho relaxes only seconds later. 

Forty minutes, four sodas, and too many gummy bears later they’re still playing Mario Kart. 

Sieun is Princess Peach–Suho had chosen it for him, said it suited him and ruffled his hair when he did so. Suho’s the one that looks like a mushroom, small and quick. 

Sieun’s mostly good at this game; it’s easy, except Suho keeps throwing bananas just as Sieun thinks he’s got it and he’s focusing on the controller in his hands too much and he forgets to dodge every single time, gets knocked out of focus and spins too many times to get anything besides last place. 

They’re on their seventh round. Three bananas later and another last place and Sieun’s had enough. 

“Cheater.” Sieun mumbles underneath his breath. 

“Cheater?” Suho drops his controller, takes Sieun by the shoulder and shoves lightly. “Wah! You think I would cheat. You’re just bad.” Suho’s hand lingers on his body, lightly pressing. “It’s not like studying Sieun-ssi it’s about speed, it’s about finesse, it’s about winning and—” 

“Cheating.” Sieun chimes in again.

“Ya–! Fine! One last game. No more bananas. I’ll even let you use yours on me. Loser has to clean up this mess.” 

Sieun looks down at the mess–Suho’s mess. There’s gummy bears all over Suho’s carpet, each one a gummy Sieun refused to catch when Suho kept throwing them in the air and insisting he catch them with his mouth.

Sieun lets out a little exasperated breath when Suho shoves into his shoulder again, that stupid smug grin is back on Suho’s face. The same one from that day and–

“Fine.” Sieun’s determined now. He’s gonna win, just to wipe that damned look off his face. 

Suho starts up the next game, same as the last. 

Sieun’s mostly paying attention, his small white car is right on Suho’s tail, and he stays like that until the third go-around the track while Sieun finds his chance. 

Suho’s focused, uber-focused, he doesn’t even notice Sieun’s hardly paying attention to the screen now. 

They’re just about to finish their third lap, there’s a sharp corner ahead that Sieun sees on the small map in the corner of the screen. Suho’s leaning into him like it gives him leverage when he takes a sharp turn, his shoulders are close, body leaning a bit into Sieun’s, Suho’s muscles are all relaxed and–

Sieun puts all the force he can and shoves Suho with his upper body, never leaving his own remote. 

Suho falls forwards, off balance, remote slipping out of his hand. The little mushroom comes to a halt and–

“Hey–” Suho shouts, looking back at him.

And just in time, Sieun passes Suho up, barely. 

Sieun gets second place. Suho gets fourth.

Suho’s staring at the tv screen like he just lost a huge bid on a horse and Sieun can’t help but lean back a little, a laugh shaking his upper body. 

Suho’s mouth is open in fake shock or maybe it’s real because Suho takes these things seriously and he tries–Sieun really does try to stifle his sounds but he can’t help it. 

It’s like a flip is switched and Suho realizes Sieun’s at fault because he turns all his attention to him. 

“Hey! That was–!” Suho’s brows are drawn tightly together, his lips set in a pout. 

Suho tries to take the controller from his hand but Sieun’s grip is iron-tight. 

“That was my win!” Suho’s got Sieun’s wrist in one hand, Sieun’s controller in the other. “Cheater!” Suho slams Sieun’s wrist down onto the floor.

One second they’re sitting criss-logged next to each other and the next they’re tipping sideways as Sieun refuses to give up the remote. Sieun’s still laughing, a little more now that Suho tries to fight him and then Suho’s grip tightens around his wrist, almost too much and Sieun’s being pushed onto his back. He lands with a little oof, his back hitting the carpeted floor. His eyes shut from the slight blow and all the moving, he can feel a weight on him suddenly; heavy, grounding, familiar. Suho. 

“Cheater!” Suho’s still got his wrist in his hand, he slams it right above Sieun’s head, leans forward with the action.

Without thinking, without noticing, without knowing why, Sieun's other hand finds itself at Suho’s hip, he clutches him there, fingers digging into Suho’s warm skin, into the cotton of his shirt. It’s to steady him or maybe there’s other reasons but he can’t quite think because Suho’s on top of him, body heat emanating onto Sieun’s and–

They’re both breathing heavy, a result of the tussling or something more maybe. Maybe. Because Sieun had barely moved and he feels like all the breath in his body has decided to flee, his chest is rising and falling, too much, too fast. It’s strange, he can feel his heart beating in his ears. 

Suho’s practically sitting on him, thighs locked around his waist and he’s leaning forward. Sieun can feel every loud breath–every pant–escaping him. Suho’s other hand is splayed out beside Sieun’s head, warm skin grazing his ear, locking him into his position on the floor.

Sieun gulps. He can’t remember why they ended up like this all of a sudden, his mind wiped clean as to what they were doing minutes, even seconds ago. 

Sieun’s saliva is suddenly all too thick for his mouth, it’s getting harder to feign regular breaths instead of the heaving his body wants to force out. He wants out. He can’t keep normal.

Maybe it’s because Suho’s on him or something to do with the fact that he can feel Suho’s thighs tremble around his waist. Or he thinks he might be hallucinating. He forces his chest to rise for every breath, slowly, normal, but—it’s too hard, every breath makes their bodies brush all the more, moves Sieun’s chest against the inside of Suho’s thighs. And this time Sieun's sure of it–

Suho’s thighs twitch around him again.

Sieun jolts, his thumb going with him, sliding underneath the hem of Suho’s shirt and scratching the bare skin there.

They’re both frozen; staring, breathing, thinking too damn much because Sieun can see it in Suho's eyes and usually Sieun can endure the prolonged eye contact, can endure anything and everything Suho tosses his way but Suho’s eyes are overwhelming, boring into his face and Suho’s not moving off him and okay—Sieun’s certain Suho’s panting, he can practically feel it—that warm breath as he leans a little lower into Sieun’s space. 

Had they really tussled that much?

“Sieun-ssi.” It comes out low, barely there, like a prayer. 

And there Suho goes again with the honorifics. 

Suho’s brown eyes glint with something, raking over Sieun’s face again, over and over; lashes, to nose, to lips, Sieun can feel it. He’s suddenly aware of every inch that Suho’s eyes go over. He’s far too aware of Suho’s knees and thighs around him—almost clenching in anticipation. He’s too aware of his own stunted, performative breathing, and Suho’s mouth, of what happened less than a month ago, of that stupid magazine in his bedroom trashcan. 

There’s a pull, he can feel it but Sieun doesn’t follow it, he knows how not to, it’s what he’s done his whole life. Something pulls, you walk away. Something pushes, you pull and leave. 

Right at this very moment, Something is telling him, move closer, so he fights it. 

But Suho’s not fighting it. Sieun can feel him move in on him. 

The warmth next to his head dissolves, there’s a soft breeze of air—Suho’s moving. 

It’s like nature knows–something knows–because the air begins to drift in strong waves from the window and the sun begins to dim, shining low in Suho’s bedroom. The last streaks of light shine over Suho’s eyes, like the universe wants to outline every emotion there for Sieun to see. 

Suho’s brows are tightly knit in contemplation, he’s got this overbearing gentleness in those deep brown eyes that makes Sieun melt against the carpet. It feels like too much, like it's not for him, like he’s staring at the wrong thing and Suho’s bottom lip twitches, those lips parting ever so slightly. 

Sieun sucks in a sharp breath when that warm hand, when that softness grazes his skin. 

Suho’s palm brushes Sieun’s face delicately, slowly, like Sieun will fade away if Suho moves too quickly. He cups his jaw and maybe with anyone else Sieun would move away, would run for the hills but this time Sieun lets his body lead. 

He looks into those overwhelmingly kind eyes, filled with something he’s never seen before and Sieun’s own flutter closed under the gentleness of it all. He nuzzles into Suho’s palm without meaning to, making a soft sound low in his throat, despite himself. 

Maybe just this once. It’s okay.

And then there’s warmth on his cheek, Suho’s thumb brushing him there and Sieun’s other hand twitches in Suho’s grasp. He wants to touch Suho too, he realizes. Not gentle. Not lightly. He wants a solid hold, something that’ll tell Suho yes. To what? Sieun’s not so sure. 

Suho’s thumb climbs down, caressing his skin in soft strokes as it moves, and then it's there—caressing the corner of his lip before it settles in the middle, tucked against his bottom lip and cupid’s bow. 

Suho thumbs at it, skin catching, lip pulling with the movement. 

Sieun trembles. It’s going too far. He thinks it’ll happen again, no water this time. It’s the first time Suho’s touched him there since since–

Sieun swallows back the saliva pooling at the back of his throat before attempting to speak, parts his mouth just a centimeter, feels Suho’s thumb grazing teeth before Suho beats him to speaking. 

“It’s soft.” 

Suho stifles Sieun without realizing it and Sieun’s glad, he’s not sure what he wants to say or ask or anything. 

Suho’s finger pushes in, just a little, a twitch, like he can’t help himself and maybe he can’t because his other hand twitches around Sieun’s wrist too, digging his nails in a little.

Sieun hums around it. His body is betraying him. His brain is telling him to flee and to fight and all average human responses to danger like Suho’s this random bear attacking him on a hike but this isn't danger and yet he wants to push Suho off but he also wants answers. 

Sieun wants to ask what's going on, ask Suho why he’s touching him like this again. He wants a clear answer, he’s not sure if he even wants this anymore or if he’s wanting it because Suho’s here and this is probably the only chance he’ll ever have to experience something this heady and stimulating again. But he also wants to know how Suho knows—he wants to solve the damn equation that is Ahn Suho—the Suho that does things like he’s reading his mind and finding out every need before Sieun himself knows what those are. 

“What have you been putting here?” 

Sieun’s eyes stop their scanning–they follow Suho’s, shifted low on Sieun’s face, all glazed over and weird and–they’ve looked at him like this before. He knows this look but–Why?–What is the meaning of it?

“Nothing.” his voice feels all gravely. 

“You’re lying.” 

Another mechanical breath. Another swallow. Another long pause. 

Sieun wants to disappear. Right then and there. He wants to go back to ten minutes ago because he can’t figure this out. 

“They’re softer now.” Suho's thumb twitches again, harder this time, his nail scraping teeth ever so lightly. 

Sieun glitches, shudders at it. His shoulders jerk, his hand tightens on Suho’s hip, fingers scratching again. He uses all his brain power, despite the delicateness of the moment, to try to figure out what’s happening in Suho’s head. Or maybe how to get him off. Or— Hell he doesn't know anymore. 

Suho’s—is he goading him? Does he know? He has to know what Sieun’s thinking, that he’d bought that dumb magazine, that his lips still tingle where Suho had touched them with his. It’s a dangerous game if he admits that he has been using something, that the mint chapstick in his right jean pocket is only there because he’d thought of Suho when he’d seen it. Of Suho and that stupid not-so-kiss kiss. It’s like he’ll admit he wants it to happen again. But he can’t. What if Suho doesn’t—

His eyes fall to Suho’s mouth. “How often do you watch me?” It’s simple. Straight to the point. Not at all specifically about his lips, but the implication is there. 

Sieun watches Suho go through a similar process of mortification, except Suho can't hide it like Sieun's accustomed to doing with every slight emotion. 

Suho's eyebrows scrunch together, his eyes flash with confusion, then realization and the blood rushes to his face, the apples of his cheeks turning red. Suho’s thumb twitches against his mouth again—so much so that it pushes between Sieun's parted lips and teeth before Sieun latches onto it, gently biting, teeth grazing skin and nail and Sieun almost whines at the feeling that courses through him—electricity that settles in his lower stomach. 

Suho's whole body twitches against him, hips grinding down lightly onto his waist. Suho’s lips turn down, like he’s thinking–hiding something–and then every emotion on Suho’s face is replaced by nothing— stoicness that Sieun’s never thought Suho capable of and he’s leaning down. 

Sieun braces himself for the impact because there’s no water this time, there’s no excuse and he can practically feel it–that warm mouth on his–he can almost taste it.

Suho’s shuffling above him moves the air, makes it thick and Sieun’s eyes close ever so softly as Suho gets closer, as Suho's lips move towards him; too slow, too close, he can feel his thighs tightening around his waist in anticipation.

Another shudder courses through Sieun’s body, new and electric, and as soon as Sieun settles and accepts what's coming, he can practically feel the slide of soft skin on his lips, a wisp of breath against his open mouth, the faint taste of Suho.

Sieun’s head lifts ever so slightly, chasing it—

It’s gone.

All of it; the growingly comfortable weight on his body, the gentle hand on his face, the nails digging into his wrist, Suho’s lips and breath. It’s gone. 

Sieun opens his eyes slowly. He doesn’t want to know. He shouldn’t have hoped or assumed or whatever—it’s never gotten him anywhere in life, not with his parents and not now, not here in the privacy of Suho’s bedroom. 

The only proof that what had happened happened is the ghost of Suho’s touch all over, the want deep in his belly. 

Suho’s on the other side of the room, rifling through drawers, opening and closing each one like he doesn't know what he’s searching for, like this isn’t his house, his very own room. 

Sieun turns just his head, his eyes follow Suho’s rapid movements, his chest is still rising like he’d run a mile and his heart’s doing that thing again, the one where it beats out of its usual rate. 

Suho’s scratching his chest, his face is red. Sieun can barely see it with Suho’s body facing the wall but the glimpse he does get—tips of his ears all red and Sieun suddenly feels sick. 

Maybe he’d thought too much of himself. Maybe this isn't something Suho wants to give. This is where he draws the line. Yeon Sieun is too much when it comes to this specific thing—this specific ask or—not ask but beg because he felt like he'd been begging just now, even if he hadn’t said anything. 

It was a silent thing like everything else about him. And Suho knew. Suho always knows. 

“I–uh–I have to shower. I’ll be back.” 

He’s still not looking at him, his shoulders are drawn up tight. Suho slams his drawers shut, tucks whatever clothes he has under his arm. 

Sieun sits up, his cheeks burning with embarrassment, his hair suddenly feels too messy, too informal for Suho’s bedroom. He feels mortified. He feels like an idiot. Like the next thing out of his mouth will sound whiny no matter what…like it’ll be too obvious it’s a desperate plea for attention from the boy in front of him.

He stares straight ahead at Suho. Gradually becoming unfamiliar with how to act. Sieun scratches at his wrist where he can still feel Suho’s touch, its grounding.

“Oh. Okay, did you–” 

The door to the bathroom is slammed shut before Sieun can finish what he’s saying. 

There’s a growing knot in his throat, a not so pleasant pang in his chest. He feels small. Rejected. 

Sieun’s eyes rake over the door where Suho disappeared through and he groans at the sight of Suho’s purple t-shirt. Forgotten. Laying there in a heap right beside the door to Suho’s bathroom. He dropped it. Damn it. 

Sieun pulls Suho's pillow into his face and screams, loud, for the first time in his life. 

—

He’s not sure if he should go, he’s been lying sideways scrunched up on Suho’s floor with a pillow folded underneath his neck, nose pressed into the fabric–he really doesn’t mean to but it smells like Suho and he feels unsteady. It soothes him. His brain is a whirlwind of thoughts that don't make sense, of uncertainty and his stupidity, thinking Suho would… that he’d—Sieun gulps. 

He should go. But he has manners and it’d be like admitting he’s embarrassed and Sieun’s too proud for that right now. He’s frozen in time and place and before he knows it the shower inside the bathroom shuts off. 

The last streaks of sunlight lighting Suho's room are leaving all the quicker, barely there. 

Sieun stuffs his face in the pillow when he hears a groan on the other end of the door, a small but undeniable Shit! from Suho’s mouth. Suho noticed. 

He should've left. He feels stuck, something that doesn’t happen to him. He’s lying in the same spot Suho had left him, Suho’s touch still burning. Sieun feels like he’s gonna be sick deep in his stomach, his chest, he feels like vomiting. He rationalizes—it’s the gummies and the soda and nothing else, not the embarrassment flooding every nerve in his body, every cell. 

Before Sieun can think or hide or anything the door knob rattles and turns and there’s Suho in all his glory and Sieun’s mind goes thoughtless for the second time ever. 

Suho’s peeks his head out for a second before he comes into view and Sieun gulps around nothing, hoping the dimming light in the room will conceal his face. Suho’s practically naked or he’s naked to Sieun—he’s never seen this much of anyone before. Suho’s got black sweats on but that’s it and they’re hanging low–too low–on his hips. He’s shirtless, looking around the room like he’s lost something.

Sieun’s eyes catch Suho’s and then Suho’s avoiding him and stepping over the shirt he’s so clearly searching for. He turns away again, rummages through his drawers. His back is all damp, shiny with the shower and his hair’s dripping wet, drops of water sliding down the slope of his back. 

Sieun stares, thinking he’s gone mad as he follows the water there because he suddenly wants more than a hot mouth against him. He drinks him in like a man dehydrated in a desert, his head tilted to the side ever so slightly, studying.

Suho’s shoulders flex as he opens and closes drawer after drawer, toned muscles shifting with each movement and Sieun can’t help himself, he feels like he’s in a trance, dumbstruck, he watches the droplets slide down smooth skin. Down. Down. Down. Until they disappear at the waistband of his sweats. 

He sucks in a breath when Suho turns around, frustration clear on his face, but Sieun's face is passive, schooled as usual.

Still, He gulps around nothing, dry and painful as Suho’s chest comes into full view.

There’s more water there, slipping down his neck, down his chest, down the slight abs on his belly, dripping down to the hair below his navel that disappears into his sweats and oh god–

Sieun’s scared of the feelings that take over right then...there’s a coiling in his belly, so tightly wound and he can’t think. He hasn’t felt like this since he was in the throes of puberty; cherub cheeked and even more awkward. 

Suho finally sets his eyes on him and he wishes he didn’t. Sieun’s sure he's red in the face but he tilts his head up and Suho’s worse— red splotches down his neck and up to his ears.

And he looks like he wants to say something, his stance tense. Sieun shivers. 

“You dropped it.” It comes out all throaty and wrong and not like him at all. But it’s something to get Suho’s eyes off of him.

Sieun points to where Suho's shirt is lying, forgotten and visible. 

Suho follows his hand, sighs loudly. He turns to Sieun again, runs a hand through his hair, makes this frustrated sound as if Sieun’s the one walking around shirtless, stomps over, picks up the shirt and slams the bathroom door behind him. 

Suho doesn’t leave the restroom for twenty minutes. 

And Sieun’s problem is ever-growing. The vision of Suho wet and red is the only thing on his mind. He tries to hide it, shifts to a sitting position against Suho’s wall, squeezes his legs together. He really does try; he thinks of next week's lesson plan, what he should be studying for right this second, anything that would–should–work. 

The doorknob to the bathroom turns and Sieun does all he can think of, he pulls a pillow into his lap, inconspicuously. 

Suho doesn't look at him, even though the sun’s all set and the only light is emanating from the tv screen.

Still, Sieun thanks the heavens for that. 

Suho cleans up the mess on his floor, letting out a little puff of air when he’s near him, refusing to look at him. He doesn't talk, he doesn’t say anything, he just turns on a movie and plops himself down beside Sieun, a measurable distance away. It’s clear. Sieun is too much. He doesn’t know how to feel. All too aware of the distance.

They don’t talk, they don’t look at each other and for someone like Suho that has to mean he’s upset, angry, something.

Screw it.

Sieun gives himself one look, that's all, just one and turns ever so slightly.

Suho’s staring at the tv, the changing screen reflects on his face but he’s not blinking, his brows are drawn tight and his eyes slowly look over to the side, to Sieun.

Sieun swivels his head back at lightning speed. 

Maybe it's the embarrassment, the awkwardness or the overthinking as they sit but Sieun’s problem subsides and he’s able to shove the pillow away sometime into their first movie. 

They’re thirty minutes into the second movie, Sieun’s not paying attention, he only knows it’s the second because the only time Suho has moved is to reach for the remote.

Suho disappears into his living room for well over a half hour. Sieun doesn’t want to follow him or ask. His mind is running again, maybe Suho decided to sleep on the couch, without a word. He’s never been on the receiving end of the silent treatment, how’s he supposed to know. 

His heart gives an extra hard pang when Suho walks back in. He’s got two bowls in hand.

“Eat.” He says it in that soft voice he has reserved for Sieun as he hands him one of the bowls and a pair of chopsticks that force their hands to brush. 

It’s all Suho says for the rest of the night. 

Sieun eats slow, eyes drawing over to Suho who’s eating like a normal person for the first time since Sieun met him. He munches on the small bits of salmon and rice for too long. They become over-chewed mush in his mouth. He picks at the kimchi but his stomach is still turning from earlier, turning from the silence and he can’t finish. 

Twenty more minutes later, two half eaten bowls spread out distantly on the floor, and another movies end credits and Suho’s standing, stretching and taking both plates into the kitchen.

They’re laying side by side an hour later. Sieun in Suho’s too-big pajamas and he’s back there again, pressed into Suho’s floor because Suho’s ridiculous, or mad, or both. He’s buried into the walled corner of his bed like he’s afraid of touching.

Sieun’s sure he’s close to slipping into the crack between the wall and bed. 

Suho has slept over at his place exactly three times. And all three times he’d crowded Sieun’s space. Despite the size of Sieun’s bed Suho had climbed up behind him, thrown a hand over his chest and pulled him closer. Suho’s a cuddler, it makes–made–sense. 

It’s not like Sieun wants to cuddle or to be spooned or anything of the sort but it’s just another clear indication Suho’s stuck on what had unfolded earlier, just like Sieun. 

A long time passes, too long. He’s been staring at the darkness of Suho’s bedroom ceiling.

Suho’s breathing is still too steady, way too steady because one thing about Suho is that even in his sleep he can’t help but make noise—he’s a snorer, a loud one at that.

Sieun knows he’s awake and he can’t take the silence anymore, the not knowing what Suho’s thinking. 

In the darkness of the room, with a steady breath and a willed hand he reaches out to Suho blindly. 

Sieun puts all his strength into pulling Suho’s hand over his body. 

He hears Suho suck in a sharp breath—he had been awake—and he lets it happen, lets Sieun turn over onto his side and pull his arm around his waist. 

Sieun’s skin pulses where Suho's hand brushes against him, he holds him all the tighter for it. If he wants to, he can pull away but Sieun hopes he doesn’t. Knows he won’t because this is Suho at his resting state, cuddled up to whatever’s near and Sieun’s right for assuming so. 

Moments later, a heavy exhale from the boy behind him and then Suho’s scooting closer, throwing his blanket around them both and tucking himself into Sieun’s shoulder. Their legs intertwine beneath the covers, Suho’s body warming Sieun down to his very core. 

And Sieun isn't bothered by the silence, or the not talking anymore. It’s a problem for another time because Suho doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t go back to his corner.

Instead, Suho’s breathing steadies on his neck, light snores drifting into Sieun’s ears and that’s all he needs. 

—

Suho's back to normal in the morning, as if nothing happened. He’s not sulking or avoiding eye contact but they’re also not talking about it. They’re sitting across from each other on the floor, the small living room table between them filled with too many plates of food, their legs are stretched out underneath it, one leg in between the others.

Suho’s not kicking him but his legs move every time he reaches for a bite and his feet brush against Sieun’s thighs. Sieun doesn’t mind it. 

He’s giving Sieun the bigger portion of the meat he’d cooked, continuously spooning it onto his plate like Sieun’s too delicate to reach the middle of the table and grab it himself. 

Sieun’s just about done; too much meat, too much rice and way too much egg filling his stomach but Suho’s reaching over into his plate, grabbing at the last two pieces of meat there with his chopsticks and lifting them to his lips. 

Sieun doesn’t hesitate this time. He takes. The thought of Suho’s mouth on the very same utensil spurring him on. Sieun opens his mouth around them, accepts the savory meat, his lips slowly dragging off the chopsticks. 

Suho’s eyes flick back there again, drawn down, watching him open and close and lick his lip and Sieun’s more than okay with it. 

Notes:

Yeon Sieun POV killed me twenty two times. I can hardly think.

Also not that anyone cares but the reason suho’s looking for that specific shirt after he showers is because I noticed he rewears all his clothes in the show and in my head he has a specific shirt for everyday of the week.

Chapter 3

Summary:

"Sieun might hate him if he does this, if he takes it further like his hands so desperately crave, if he touches him how he desires to so carnally. He’ll look at him with that passive expression and he might harbor resentment because Suho kissed–he is going to kiss him. Suho's so close and his eyes are shut all tight underneath him, the edges of them creased and Sieun's holding his breath like he does right before he prepares to take a punch and he looks scared. Right?"

or

Suho questions everything he's thinking.

Notes:

Basically Suho POV of chapter two.

Suho’s gone insane. He’s sure of it. Mental hospital insane. Mittens tied around his wrists, against his will, so he won’t scratch off his face insane. Shaking in a white padded room, violently insane. 

It’s like his brain has been zapped with electricity; one strong, sharp lightning bolt zapping right through the middle of it, stopping all the basic and non-basic functions; breathing, thinking, fear, all of it is just—

His thighs are locked around Sieun's waist and he feels like a live wire—pulsing, throbbing, stinging all over. He’s sure his skin will slide right off his bones if he moves again, his brain turned to sludge, ready to escape from his ears if he moves even the slightest inch. 

It’s been weeks since that day–since their mouths had met–and it’s all he thinks about, it’s all he dreams, it’s all he sees when he closes his eyes— Hell, it’s all he sees when he opens his eyes too, because Sieun is always there. He’s always standing there with that infuriatingly innocent, expressionless face. And Suho will brush his hands against his skin because he can’t help himself, like it’s damn impulse or inclination now–something he needs to get throughout the day and he’s suddenly back there – with his hand on the back of Sieun's neck, lips on Sieun's mouth, tongue licking at the seam to coax him open, and his skin running all hot— 

Dammit. 

Suho really does try to put distance. He does his usual, with a stronger, reinforced guard up. He thinks about what he wants to do now before he does it, more than before. His hands tensed at his sides or in his jacket pockets and he was getting the damn hang of it. He really was doing good keeping his hands to himself. 

But right now, right this very second, he feels like he’s completely forgotten how to think. His brain is all slow, acting of its own will because for the first time since they met, Sieun had done something. 

Sieun had gently, so sweetly, rested his head on Suho's shoulder for the better part of a half hour and Suho feels all slow – warm and languid because of it, his brain in a rapidly thickening fog and this is why he’s insane. He’s insane because he’s sitting on Sieun, he’s watching every harsh breath leave the chest of the boy beneath him and he’s wondering why those damn lips look so appealing, so ridiculously soft now.

“How often do you watch me?” 

Suho knows it’s over.

Sieun has to know what he’s doing to him. Sieun has to know what he’s thinking, that the kiss is still lingering despite him doing his best to pretend it didn’t happen and–Fuck! 

Sieun looks so perfect underneath him, so small and docile and his eyes are all endless brown softness and he makes this sound when Suho's finger ends up between his teeth and desire zaps through Suho's every vein – restarts his brain in the worst way possible. Suho's defenses are down, mallets are plunging into those walls he’s built up and he’s not treading above water right now, he’s drowning in it. 

Suho's fingers around Sieun's wrist caress there innately, his palm still spread out on his face gently swiping across the soft skin of his cheek and Suho wants to touch the boy beneath him but he already is, his thumb is being gently bitten–stuck–between those teeth that glint and his nails are digging into Sieun's wrist now. The inside of his thighs and pelvis are lined up with the warmth of Sieun's body yet he still wants more. He can’t help it, he leans down, and he’s so close, an invisible string pulling him even closer and he can practically feel Sieun's breath. He wants to touch him some more, he wants to do things that he’s never thought of, things that he doesn’t even know the name of. Another shaky, painful exhale and it’s like Suho has climbed back into his body...

He needs to stop. He has to because if there’s one thing he knows about Sieun – it’s that he’ll let this thing – he’ll let Suho happen to him. It’s like it’s ingrained in him – he’ll endure until he can’t anymore, until he snaps. Suho thinks, Sieun doesn’t want this, he didn’t ask for Suho to lose all sense of morality and climb on top of him, he didn't ask for Suho to kiss him. He hasn’t so much as made an indication that he’d thought or cared about what he’d done back when they’d been training. And the thing is that then, back then he’d had an excuse, albeit a cheap one, but an excuse nonetheless and right now he has none of that. 

Sieun might hate him if he does this, if he takes it further like his hands so desperately crave, if he touches him how he desires to so carnally. He’ll look at him with that passive expression and he might harbor resentment because Suho kissed–he is going to kiss him. Suho's so close and his eyes are shut all tight underneath him, the edges of them creased and he’s holding his breath like he does right before he prepares to take a punch and he looks scared. Right?

Right this second, Suho can’t read him too well, Sieun’s a locked book and Suho feels like he’s lost the key – he can’t figure out what he’s thinking and so he can’t do this, no matter how badly he wants to. 

Suho pulls off just as lips are about to meet softness, as Sieun's breath begins to invade his mouth—small puffs leave the addicting taste to linger. 

Suho can’t help the small, needy sound that escapes him as he climbs off of Sieun. He feels a mess. His legs are shaky and his hands are trembling and he can still feel Sieun's hand in his palm, the indent of his teeth on his thumb and he can’t breathe—chest rising rapidly, abnormally. 

He’s on the other side of the room, searching through his drawers trying to think–find–a damn excuse because he can feel Sieun's eyes on him and if he turns around—

Sieun might not blatantly ask but those sparkling eyes will and that little questioning crease between his brows will be there and Suho can't handle that–he won’t know how to explain this to Sieun, he won't know how to explain that there’s more than friendship here. 

Sieun's cold as ice – tender and feeling underneath it all – but at the front of it, he’s withdrawn from his feelings and relationships. Maybe not as much as he was when they first met but still, he just won’t understand this – understand Suho. Not now. Not ever. Not when that warmth is lingering in Suho's belly—searing, clouding his every sense, not when all the touching and caressing and the feelings hit Suho so embarrassingly—an overbearing ache at his core, a painful throb between his legs.

He needs a way out. 

Suho grabs the first set of clothes he can find and tucks it under his arm, slamming his opened drawers shut. 

“I-uh-I have to shower. I’ll be back.” 

He escapes the tense air without another look to Sieun, slamming the bathroom door behind him in a rush to hide.

He takes a freezing cold shower to reset; stands underneath the running water for so long he starts shivering but its good – it’s enough to help him stop thinking of the mess that’s waiting for him right outside his door. He softens sometime through it, heat pooling in his belly, underneath his skin turning to cool ice. 

Problem avoided. 

Changing is easy and yet he stands there patting himself down with the towel and dreading getting dressed. The quicker he does it the faster he has to face Sieun. 

Ten minutes later and over twenty laps walked around his small bathroom, only partially dressed and he realizes. His shirt’s missing, gone, no longer with his pair of sweats. 

“Shit!” He groans and mentally whacks himself on the head. He’s a mess. He’s already dying, shriveling up with embarrassment and now he has to go out there shirtless and—

Maybe he should've just done it, gotten it over with. Even if he got rejected, even if Sieun refused to look at him after or pretended he’d liked it for his sake because then he'd finally know. If he’d done it, at the very least Suho would have one last taste, one last touch committed to memory, stored away for when he’s lonely, touch-deprived and (hidden in the dark of his room) everything Sieun doesn’t know Suho carries with him — everything Sieun doesn't know he feels for him. 

Ugh. 

With a hand on the door knob and a shaky exhale, Suho pushes through the embarrassment, through what is starting to feel like rejection. He’s going to go out there, get a damn shirt on and tell Sieun it was just the heat of the moment that he’s sorry if he encroached on his personal space that it doesn't mean anything and then it’ll be done. Over with.

Determined, Suho peeks his head out, finds Sieun lying on the floor, all stretched out, eyes turned away and calm as if nothing had happened. Again. And as soon as Sieun's eyes find his he realizes he can’t handle it. The what if, the rejection. 

So Suho hides himself, looking through his drawers for a new shirt but then his mind is so clouded and he can’t remember what he’s searching for. The hair on the nape of his neck stands — Sieun's staring, he can feel it. He jolts a little in place. 

Fine. He’ll just face it. 

He turns. 

“Sieun, it was an accident.” dies on his tongue. Embarrassment and want and everything wrong with the air in the room curls in his gut.

Sieun's hair is all tousled from earlier, there’s a pink flush on his face, running down the neck of his thin, rumpled t-shirt and it’s so clearly in embarrassment on Suho's behalf that Suho goes wordless, losing his damn train of thought because Sieun's staring him up and down, face unreadable, his bottom lip tucked in his mouth like he’s biting on it, like he’s thinking and he looks so damn kissable like that. So damn infuriating. So damn pretty.

Maybe a small part of Suho wants Sieun to ask what it was – what had just happened – because Sieun lifts his finger, points towards the shirt on the floor and all he says is “You dropped it.” 

That’s it? That’s all? He doesn’t even care that Suho...

The frustration in Suho builds, Unwanted Images of that day assault Suho's brain – to that same stupid finger pointing to the fountain, the uncaring face, Sieun’s wet mouth, to his neck between his fingertips. 

Suho's eyes flick down to the floor where he’d just had Sieun pinned, to the fingers Sieun rolls around his wrist where his hand had been and it’s like his wires are all crossed. 

The frustration he thought he could push aside with a useless cold shower turns. Want. Heat. Need. All of it flips on him, shifts to arousal. The image of Sieun right here, right now, beneath him…looking up, all naturally wet-eyed. It causes heat to lick up his spine and he can feel the strain between his legs, hardening ever so slowly the longer Sieun sits there watching him. 

Against his better judgement, Suho lets out the frustrated sound bubbling up in his throat, grabs his shirt off the floor and slams the bathroom door behind him again. 

In the bathroom, slumped over, drowning his face in the sink filled with water, Suho tries to collect himself.

It doesn’t work. Nothing is working. The darkness that comes with closing his eyes only allows for better visualization–sultrier thoughts.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Everything he doesn’t want to think about assaults him at full force; the heat of Sieun's body between his legs, the warmth of Sieun's skin against his fingertips, that soft mouth. It only conjures up more, like its compulsion; Sieun spread out on his stomach, undressed, soft unseen skin laid out, bared for him…his fingers between Sieun's lips, that pink tongue licking between them, a shaky whimper from that very mouth– Suho's name, small pleading sounds and— fuck !

This is exactly what he didn’t want. 

He’s throbbing, can feel his breath getting shorter the longer the image of Sieun floats behind his eyelids. He can’t believe he’s come to this–or he can–it's not the first time. This is just the first time Sieun's in the other room, waiting. 

It’s one thing to let his mind and hands roam in the dark of night, alone, with a stifled Sieun leaving his mouth and a shaky palm between his legs but this — Sieun within earshot, it’s wrong. It’s perversion to another degree and he feels sick; sick as he slides his sweats and underwear down to his thighs, sick as he takes his throbbing dick in hand. He strokes himself once, his other hand gripping the edge of the sink, eyes cast away from the mirror in shame. 

Sieun's all on his mind; that soft mouth, his touch, his head laid gently on his shoulder and those eyes and then he strokes himself again, releases a loud whine — his other hand immediately falls over his mouth to stifle himself.

Sieun will hear. 

Suho's too far gone to stop though so he does all he can think of. He reaches for the nearest towel, stuffs it in his mouth until he’s almost choking on it. He jerks himself off fast, painfully rough and dry. He hardly enjoys it but he wants it to hurt a little, it’s what he deserves. The towel muffles some of the sounds, his whole body feels all hot, down to the very tip of his toes. He can feel himself get closer and closer, breaths getting shorter and shorter, thighs beginning to tremble as he finishes what he’d started in his bedroom. He should be flogged for this, at least a couple of punches to the face.

With another sound stifled by the saliva-drenched cotton in his mouth he comes; orgasm tearing through him, thighs clenching, heart hammering in his ears, a messy splatter of white streaks between his fingers. 

Minutes later, when his mess is down the sink drain, spit soaked towel in a hamper and a shirt on his back he breathes, calms himself before finally stepping back out into his bedroom, avoiding Sieun's eyes. 

He feels like a fraud as he cleans his room up, as he pretends Sieun is not sitting there, like he’s some ghost embedded into the wall. He’d invited Sieun over to have fun, to celebrate after all those sleepless nights of studying for exams and he feels gross like his hand is still covered in the proof of his arousal.

Suho sits as far away from Sieun as he can, avoids him altogether. He doesn't even register which movie he’d put on. 

The clock strikes seven p.m. and Suho gets up without a word. Sieun lives off ramen and convenience store rice cakes at the very least he needs to eat, even if Suho doesn’t feel all too hungry, even though his stomach is churning with anxiety. 

And okay maybe he needs to disappear for a little while too, escape the tension he’s drowning in. 

It’s why Suho takes his time cooking, mostly reheating the food Halmeoni had left for him but still. He lounges in the kitchen, preparing their plates, staring at a tiny hole that a thumbnail left behind on the far side of the kitchen wall. 

When Suho re-enters his room, two bowls in hand, Sieun's still sitting there and he chances one look and immediately regrets it, his face heating. He feels like it’s written all over his face, like Sieun will know if he stares too long — he’ll know what he did, what he wants. 

He tells Sieun to eat and that’s that. 

Suho can hardly stomach the food. He nibbles on it, hardly scrapes the bottom of the bowl before he gives up completely. 

They get dressed for bed silently.

Later, when they’re in bed, Suho stuffs himself against the wall in an attempt to find some semblance of comfort. It’s too cold though, it’s not the warmth laying just behind him that he so desperately wants to seek out. 

Suho's a hugger, he needs pillows, blankets and warmth and the usual warmth comes in the form of pillows and a bigger version of his bunny hand warming pillow but right now both of those are under Sieun's head and he doesn’t want to touch him. It’s not just the almost kiss now, not only what he’d done in the bathroom— stupid, pathetic thing. It’s the rejection or the not rejection—the thought of Sieun not wanting him, not wanting his touch or to be close. 

This is the first time he’s ever felt ashamed of his feelings for Sieun and all he wants is to fall into a dream to wash it all away. 

Then, just as sleep is starting to make his eyelids flutter, as the cold wall becomes warm with his body heat he feels it. He’s all loose limbed and there’s a hand on his bicep, sliding down to his elbow and then he’s being pulled. 

It's Sieun. 

Sieun pulls until Suho's body is turned towards him. Suho's hand drags against softness, the cotton of his own shirt that he leant to Sieun and then it’s tucked somewhere warm — pressed against Sieun's chest and Sieun pushes back into him, until Suho's arm is wrapped around his body, against the curve of his side. Suho sharply inhales, his heart beats out of its ribcage and then Sieun makes this sound, a little hum and Suho swoons. 

Sieun wants him to touch him. Sieun wants him to hold him and he’s awake, he’s thinking and he chose to pull Suho closer… after what he’d done. Sieun wants him. Maybe—Maybe Suho had read this all wrong, maybe Sieun… 

Suho's mind runs far away from him. Does he just not know what Suho was on the verge of doing when they’d been so close? Or… Did Sieun not mind it? Did he want it? 

The questions hit him like a flood but then Sieun's chest rises where his hand is tucked–a deep breath–and Suho can’t see but he can feel Sieun's other hand clinging around his one arm like Suho's a pillow or some teddy bear and Sieun releases another small, relaxed breath and it calms Suho – the anxiety and tension dissolving. 

Suho melts into him, throws his blanket over both their bodies with his free hand and tangles their legs together because Sieun is giving him this. He’s saying it’s okay without speaking and it’s the first–no–the second time he does this so Suho takes, tucks his chin into the line of Sieun's shoulder and neck from behind, takes a calming breath and is immediately enveloped in the warmth of Sieun's body, his smell. 

Suho sleeps more peacefully than he has in ages. 

—

It’s been five hours since Sieun had left his house. 

They’d waked together, cooked together, sat and had breakfast together and spent the rest of the morning playing video games. Sieun had gathered his books sometime after two p.m. and as excited as Suho was to have Sieun near him he was more relieved to know Sieun was finally leaving. 

That he’d have time to think. 

Suho didn’t think about what he’d done in the bathroom anymore, except for when their eyes and hands would meet across the table and a small shiver would run down his spine at the contact. He didn’t feel horrible about it, the averseness to it melted away the moment Sieun pulled him into his arms, the moment he realized Sieun didn’t know what he’d done.

The tension clings to the air as they sit, lounge around and play video games. Suho doesn’t fight it this time and then Sieun takes the food from his very own chopsticks–forgetting germs, forgetting it all–and he pulls off them so slowly, eye contact so damn heavy, it makes the blood rush to Suho's face and it’s like a flip is switched. 

Sieun doesn’t bring up what happened but there’s something that clings to the air between them for the rest of the morning, and it feels like Sieun was acknowledging it — this crackle of electricity that sparked when their eyes would meet, when hands touched, knees pressed against each other. 

Sieun doesn’t seem to be fighting himself or what he’s feeling either, he’s not his usual self, he’s all smiles and light touches. He smiles so much, too much, each one a different version from the other that it’s hard for Suho to commit them all to memory; when Suho kicks his feet under the table he doesn’t roll his eyes, he smiles. When Suho pinches him so he’ll lose a game and he does lose — Sieun laughs a little lighthearted thing, turns to Suho and nudges his chest with his head like it's the most natural thing in the world. 

It’s…something. 

And Suho might think he was hallucinating — destined for that padded room, if it isn’t for the moment that happens at Sieun's leaving. 

Sieun's got his bag on and he’s insisting on taking the bus home. Suho lets him. 

He’s leaning against his open front door, giving Sieun one of his wide smiles because he just can’t help it. So much had happened in the short while they’d spent in Suho's house and all the emotional turmoil Suho had felt—was feeling—and yet it still felt right to have Sieun near. It felt good to know someone like Sieun, who’s so precise about time, had made time for him and stayed. 

Sieun's just about out the door when Suho pulls at the sleeve of his grey jacket. 

Sieun turns to look over his shoulder, and his eyes are a little wide in questioning. And wet, always wet .

“Sieun-ssi, I had fun, really.” Suho catches his eyes, watches them get all soft, drowns in the warmth of them and is revived by the smile that sparks on Sieun’s face, his lips downturned. “Come whenever you want, please.” His voice is airy, heart on his damn sleeve like it always is for Yeon Sieun. 

Sieun gives a little head shake, like he’s processing what Suho's saying, his eyes dart down Suho's face and—

“I had fun too.” 

Suho releases his jacket, swallows, because they’re stuck in each other’s orbit again, silent. 

He’s ready to close his house door, ready to shatter the orbit. Earth turning away from the Sun. Just until he can think about this. 

“Suho,” Sieun's voice is all soft, low. 

And it all happens in a messy blur.

Sieun's hands are around his waist, his cheek pushed up against his chest and as quick as it happened, before Suho can react — it’s gone. Sieun's out the door in quick steps, back retreating as Suho's left there. 

The barely audible thank you Sieun had said repeating over and over in his head. 

Suho realizes he is not crazy. 

Pulling him in last night, hugging him closer, that’s one thing. Taking the food from the same utensil his saliva still clung to — something he hated — and giving him that glazed over innocent look is something; but the hug, the fleeting, lingering hug—the press of Sieun's body against his it’s—

What’s that saying about three times being a pattern? Because Sieun's hands around his waist makes three and there’s no other way to ignore this. 

Suho watches Sieun’s back retreat, a shocked smile on his lips. 

Notes:

Y'all I died ten times. Thank you to my dear oomf for looking this over I was starting to go insane.

Chapter 4

Summary:

“Suho exhales roughly when he doesn’t get an answer, he can hear every beat of his heart in his ears. Overwhelmed, he moves—nuzzles his face next to Sieun’s ear, nose buried in the soft skin there. He breathes him in as he whispers. “Sieun, let me kiss you, please?” His smell is intoxicating, so damn Sieun. So fucking perfect.”

Or

Suho loses it completely.

Suho spends the rest of his Saturday evening cleaning the mess they’d made of his room, mostly, he spends his time lounging around in bed with his face stuffed in a pillow, waiting for the flutter in his stomach to subside. The pillows and sheets of his undone bed smell like Sieun and it makes him curl into them all the more. Just when he thinks the feeling has let uphe goes to stand and remembers Sieun’s arms—sure, but fleeting around him and his face gets hot all over again. He’s supposed to eat dinner, but all he can do is smile like an idiot and throw himself back onto his bed. 

He’s lovesick. Is that a thing? He feels like it should be somewhere in the medical journals because his heart beats extra hard when he thinks of Sieun and—yeah, lovesick. 

He should call—ask Sieun if he got home okay, or maybe he should ask how he’s doing. 

All he knows is he wants Sieun in his room, he wants him to be back here and more unpredictable. Maybe Sieun would lay on his chest this time—awake, let the afternoon sun shine over their tangled bodies, wait for it to warm them to sleep like tired kittens. And they wouldn’t even have to talk, Suho could just hold him and Sieun could tuck himself into his arms and it wouldn’t have to mean anything, even if he wants it to, even if he thinks Sieun would be okay with it meaning something. 

Sieun had been unpredictable, touching him, leaning on him, maybe it was a newfound thing—something he was trying to get used to, like waiting for Suho at the gate of their school even though Sieun was almost always the first one out. 

Suho couldn’t help but let his mind drift, Sieun was more than normal after Suho climbed on top of him, he’d all but made out all sloppy with him. And Suho thinks, maybe, just maybe…

Sieun's silent — he’s never been one to voice what he wants — but the way he’d hugged him, given him more, even if he hadn’t been aware of what he was giving. 

Suho’s no idiot, he thinks, Sieun might really want this and Suho — he wants it bad — he wants it so bad he’s practically shaking when he’s in Sieun’s vicinity, so why can’t he just do it? Why can’t he just tell him—or ask him out or Hell, why can’t he just plant a big, fat kiss on him already and get it over with. 

Eventually, Suho drifts into an easy sleep, pillow and duvet that still smells of Sieun’s subtle, floral shampoo wrapped tightly around him, Sieun fresh on his mind. 

—

Suho feels like he’s floating on a cloud; airy and warm, light and so serene where he is. He’s lying on his back and there’s a breeze, cool and drifting all around him like he’s left a window open somewhere. 

The breeze shifts, then there’s warmth, less air and pressure on his hips, steady and good—so damn good. His eyes are gently closed but blue specks of light shine through and he can feel a presence above him, someone. 

Sieun. 

Suho opens his eyes, finds a familiar, soft, brown pair staring back above him. Sieun’s leaning in without hesitation. He looks perfect above him, sitting on his hips and he’s pressing down ever so slowly, making heat simmer low in Suho’s belly as Sieun grinds down. 

Sieun whines and Suho hums, low and long in his throat.

Those eyes above him flutter shut with pleasure and then Sieun's lips are on his—the lightest of touches, soft and supple skin, warm and perfect against his own. 

It’s gentle at first, a slide of lips against lips, then it turns — it’s hungry, full of too much emotion and Sieun’s pulling away, but his fingers are pressed into Suho’s lower stomach—then his hips, digging into the skin there as he grinds down just right and Suho covets. 

He wants Sieun to touch him some more, he wants to touch Sieun and feel the warmth hidden beneath his clothes. 

Suho surges up, chasing Sieun’s spit-slick mouth, starved. His weight is on his elbows, hand wrapped around Sieun’s back, tongue pressing against the seam of Sieun’s mouth. 

Let me in, please. 

“Suho-yah.” Sieun whispers against his mouth, low, like it’s a secret. “Do you want me?” 

Suho doesn’t answer, his mouth feels stuck, but he’s still chasing and his hand’s climbing up the expanse of Sieun’s naked back — on a mind of its own — he tries to pull Sieun, force him down against his chest but—

“Sieun-ah.” He tries to move up but Sieun’s hips jolt against him and a bolt of pleasure rushes through his every vein and he wants more, a lot more—he tries to pull Sieun down again but he can’t, it feels like something’s stopping him, an invisible barrier.

Before he can think too hard about it, Sieun’s pulling away, climbing off his hips and Suho’s lower body chases that friction, jolts up into the emptiness for Sieun and they’re in Suho’s room now but Suho can’t touch him, he can’t reach him.

“Fuck! Wait.” it’s all he can say as Sieun pulls further away, this hungry look in his eyes—

Suho gasps awake, breathing short. 

It would be like every other night, every other dream, except his heart is beating in his ears, and he feels all warm, damp — his shirt sticking to his chest. There’s an undertone to the warmth this time around — like a kindling fire, soft, but firm arousal that’s refusing to let go, settled low in his body, between his legs. 

He can hardly think, images of Sieun seated on him when he blinks. Suho’s hips shift a little in place, chasing the ghost of Sieun’s touch. 

Through the haze of sleep, he searches for his phone blindly; finds it under a pillow and blankets. 

3:27 a.m.

Suho’s not completely clueless. His dreams are always about Sieun, about his feelings—everything is always about Sieun and suddenly, he feels so damn needy, defenses down and he needs to make a move. Get it over with. 

Groggy and blurry-eyed he opens his messages, presses on Sieunnie and sends out a message before he can think or wake up properly.

Do you want to go to the movies with me tomorrow?

It’s one message, one question and it makes him giddy and nervous all the same. 

Sieun will say yes. Suho knows he will, thinks he will.

It’s not like his usual messages, it's an actual question instead of telling him where to meet to hang out — Sieun will read between the lines, he has to, he’ll get it. 

Just as Suho’s drifting back to sleep, lulled by that warmth in his belly, in his chest, a giddy half smile on his lips— his phone buzzes; a vibrating hum that goes on and on… 

Suho blindly reaches out for it, expecting Halmeoni or a spam call but then Sieunnie’s flashing on the screen and he’s up to a sitting position in seconds, rubbing the sleep from his eyes because why is he calling…? 

Why is Yeon Sieun calling him at 3:31 a.m?

Suho almost drops his phone while answering, puts it to his ear with a shaky hand and an unsure, sleepy voice. 

“Sieun-ssi, I—What are you doing awake?” 

“Couldn’t sleep,” His voice is all groggy, low and raspy. 

So damn cute. 

Suho imagines waking up next to him, hearing him like that up close and he almost crumbles at the thought. 

“Did you get my messa—” Suho clears his throat. “Do you want to go to the movies with me tomorrow?” 

Sieun hums on the other end of the line — a small and gentle thing, he sounds just on the verge of sleep. 

“Should we invite Beomseok?” 

Suho smacks himself on the forehead and runs a hand through his hair nervously, his mouth opening and closing— 

He hadn’t really worked through this part; if Sieun would ask. 

“No,” his voice is short, a little high. “Just you and me.” There’s silence on the other end of the line, some shuffling and then Suho thinks, screw it. “Just the both of us…alone. Together. Like a–” He almost lets it slip, still sleep-addled. “Just you and me. Yeah?” There's complete quiet on Sieun’s end, or maybe his own breathing is too loud because he hears something and he gives Sieun another moment. “So do you?” 

It’s low, but it’s there, a hum from Sieun’s end, “Mhm. Just me and you, Suho-yah.”

His voice sounds all muffled but Suho hears it clear as day… This is the first time he’s ever—it’s the first time he’s called Suho that, and his voice is all groggy and so soft and he’s probably on his bed, face buried in his pillow, calling out to him like that.. 

Suho wants to scream. 

“Sieun—” It’s on the tip of his tongue, ready to escape — all the affection he holds for him. The thing he’s only brave enough to call him in his dreams. He can’t. “Sieun-ssi, sleep well.” 

Suho hangs up before he can say anything else. He buries his head in his pillow again, a wide, winning smile on his face that seems to never end, his jaw almost aches with it. 

When he finally calms down—heart rate back to normal—he realizes he doesn’t have any plans, he hadn’t even bought the tickets, he hadn’t thought any of this through and—

Suho reaches for his phone, sends out another text. 

‘I'll pick you up.’

Suho sleeps four more short hours and wakes with adrenaline running through his veins. 

He’s not a date planner, at all, he’s been on exactly one date in his life and he hadn’t even known that’s what it was until she’d thrown her glass of water in his face and called him a jerk because he’d dodged her kiss. 

He spends two hours scrolling through the movies available at the theatre near Sieun’s house. Then, he spends another thirty minutes figuring out times—1:00 p.m. is too early but 7:00 p.m. feels too late and he hadn’t even asked Sieun what type of movie he wants to watch. 

A stupid idea worms itself into his head when he recalls what the guys at school say. 

Suho’s usually half asleep in class, the voices of those around him fading to the background when his face is buried in his pillow but even then he catches their conversations—and the one ringing loudly in his head right now—something about girls and how scary movies always gets them to hide in your chest, or hold your hand and Sieun may not be a girl but—

Suho searches up horror and finds two movies — one of them is about nuns and another one is about a possessed boy; he’s not sure and he doesn’t care to check, the thought of Sieun pressing himself closer to him in a dark theater all he suddenly cares about. 

Suho clicks on the one about a boy, finds an opening at 4:00 p.m and reserves two seats before he can think too much about it. A smile tugs at his lips as he thinks of Sieun holding his hand or scared in his seat and curling closer to him when there's a particularly scary scene. It makes him giddy in a way he’s never been before. 

—

Suho’s calm. 

Calm while he showers and scrubs himself down extra hard. Calm while he texts Sieun to be ready by 3:30. Calm while he gets dressed and makes his way out of his front door, spinning his keys in hand. 

As soon as the elevator door opens to Sieun’s apartment floor, the calmness flees. 

Sieun doesn’t know it’s a date and Suho wants it to be a date—hopes Sieun realized what he meant— but he had been vague over the phone. 

Sieun’s smart, he has to know, Suho thinks. 

Suho takes in a deep, cheek-puffing breath before he rings Sieun’s doorbell. 

Even if Suho’s read all this wrong, if he’s completely far off from what he thinks Sieun wants, he doesn’t care anymore. 

Tonight, he’s sure, he can practically feel it, tonight he’ll—they’ll kiss and if not, then Suho can put it behind him. He’ll get on his knees and beg for Sieun to forgive and forget and pretend it doesn’t hurt him when Sieun rejects him. 

Suho’s greeted by the top of Sieun’s head first, then his eyes— peeking out from behind the door like a curious dog checking for visitors. He looks strangely… shy. His warm brown eyes have an added depth, sun reflecting in them, making them shine.

He looks Suho up and down, Suho feels a shiver run through him as Sieun’s eyes look into his. He doesn’t have time to think too hard about it because Sieun pulls the door open fully. 

“Sieun!” Suho’s extra loud, extra excited, trying to disguise the nervousness in his voice. “All ready?” 

And then Sieun really steps out from his apartment and Suho sucks in a sharp breath, bites the inside of his cheek because the Sieun in front of him looks different…a really good different that makes Suho’s chest give an extra hard thump, makes the saliva in his mouth all thick with want. 

Sieun looks really clean, prim, and proper. Hot.  

Suho had worn his Sunday best but Sieun… Sieun looks new, a crisp white striped button up that hugs his body, a blue t-shirt peeking out from underneath and he looks—

This is the first time Suho’s really seen him dressed outside of his school uniform. 

His hair is styled, not messily brushed down like it usually is for school, but the ends are combed, almost curled out at the nape of his neck and there’s a slight part in the middle like he’d tried his hardest to style it. It falls over his temples and forehead in this cute way. He looks good, he looks adorable, his cheeks puffed out with a breath as Suho stares, hard.

“Aish, you look ho—” Suho can’t help it, hit with the intense urge to lean forward and plant a kiss on his cheek, his mouth, his forehead, he doesn’t know. He’s overcome with affection. “…you look good.” 

And maybe Suho’s imagined it but as Sieun turns his back to him and locks his door, he swears he sees the faintest of color rise in his cheeks.

It’s a comfortable silence as they make their way out and are hit with the sun shining full force. They’re just past the entrance of Sieun’s apartment building, passing by Suho’s parked bike when Sieun speaks. 

“We’re not taking your bike?” Sieun tilts his head towards it.

Maybe it’s Suho’s newfound realization that he wants to be with Sieun, because he sees the tilt of Sieun’s head, his questioning eyes and for the second time in five minutes, Suho wants to kiss him, desperately. 

Suho settles for touch; presses his palm down on Sieun’s head and ruffles his hair in the gentlest way to not mess it up before he pulls him along by the wrist. 

“No, I want to walk with you, c’mon.” Suho tilts his head down the street.

Suho doesn’t ignore the way Sieun’s lips perk up as he pulls him along. 

It’s working. 

The streets aren’t so busy as they make their way down, the sun’s shining high but slowly being engulfed by clouds. Sieun’s hand is warm in his palm, so warm and wanted that he forgets he’s holding him, until Sieun makes pointed eyes to where their hands are twined together and Suho lets go, heat rising in his cheeks. 

They walk in silence, mostly, gravitating towards each other. 

Earth to Sun. 

They’re bumping shoulders, , hands knocking together when their arms swing with their steps, fingers grazing and every time it happens for an extended period of time—when Sieun’s fingers catch on Suho’s hand and Suho’s shoulder bumps into his extra hard—they’ll turn to each other, lock eyes and both their mouths will twist up; soft, quiet laughs escaping them, reserved only for the others’ ears. 

The sunlight reflects in Sieun’s eyes, making them sparkle all the more and Suho has to bite back a flirty smile the next time Sieun looks up at him first.

That thread is being wound tighter and tighter the further they walk, they’re practically attached at the hip and Sieun’s got his version of a smile plastered on his face, so warm and perfect, and his laugh—god, his small laughs are actually killing Suho, warming his chest, making that pull to him stronger. 

They’re about halfway to the theater, half smiles, bitten lips, and brushing fingers when Sieun speaks. 

“Why did you want to go out today, both of us, alone, together,” he’s mocking Suho’s words from the night before, an edge of something—amusement? In his tone, Suho can't help but think he’s—flirting…?

“You want a confession out of me or what…“ Suho tilts his head towards Sieun, bends down a little to get in his face. “Hmm?” Suho’s tongue gravitates to the inside of his cheek, biting back a grin. 

And Sieun’s doing the same, his lips turning down as he wills his smile away but his eyes…sparkling and wide give him away. 

Sieun turns away from him in the end, walks a few steps faster.

Then, they’re back to walking together silently, back to brushing against each other and Suho feels it; in the air, on Sieun’s face. 

Maybe the universe is telling him something because this, right here— it feels different, something’s changed. 

As the theater comes into view, both of their steps slow; a silent, telling act.

Just a little while longer. 

And then Suho speaks, “I like spending time with you alone. Don’t you, Sieun-ssi?” He’s not looking for much of an answer, it just feels good to admit, to say.

Sieun slows to a stop before speaking. “I like spending time with Beomseok and you together but… I like this too.” Sieun shoves Suho with his shoulder, “I like this a lot.” 

Suho’s heart flutters.

Then, they’re in front of the theater, standing, waiting for…something. 

Sieun turns his face away from Suho, but not before he sees it—

There’s an undeniable flush on Sieun’s cheeks when he finally turns to him. Sieun’s not smiling anymore but his eyes are and the sun cascades over his face perfectly, angelic in a way. 

Sieun is a vision. So perfect. So beautiful. The light Suho hadn’t known he needed in his otherwise quiet life. 

Sieun’s eyes move over Suho’s face, assessing. Suho can feel them trail over his eyes, his nose, his lips, because a look like that leaves goosebumps in its wake, so Suho knows. Suho trembles. 

There, Suho realizes he wants him like he’s never wanted before in his life. 

“Aish! Don’t look at me like that, I'll think you dressed up all nice just for me.” 

Suho extends his hand without thought, he reaches for a soft strand of hair at Sieun’s forehead, lets it slide between his fingertips before he brushes it back, away from Sieun’s eyes. “Your hair looks cute,” 

He throws caution to the wind and runs his hand down the side of Sieun’s face, palm stroking the soft skin of his cheek, quick and fleeting.

Despite how fleeting, Sieun‘s eyes flutter closed softly and with Suho’s thumb stroking Sieun’s jaw…Sieun makes this frail little sound that has Suho leaning in to hear, but Sieun turns and walks away before he can. 

It’s not a no, he thinks—no, he’s sure—he can feel it now. 

Sieun’s being different, but still normal and he’s responding to Suho.

Suho huffs out a laugh before following Sieun inside the theater.

With Sieun’s glowering stare aimed at the back of his head, Suho swipes his card and pays for their snacks just before Sieun can pull out his wallet. He pretends not to notice, shoves the popcorn bucket in Sieun’s hands with a wide smile on his face and takes the rest of their things. 

“You never told me what movie we’re watching.” 

“It’s a surprise.” Suho shushes him as they step into the dark theater. 

And it is a surprise, technically. One that he is going to take full advantage of. 

__ 

Suho did not think his plan through. 

He’s sitting in the dark theater, clutching the armrest with one hand, bag of gummy worms in the other. 

He’d forgotten, between his dream and the texting and thinking too hard about what he wanted from his date and the Sieun of it all. 

If there’s one thing Suho hates more than cheesy action movies with horrible actors, it’s horror movies. 

He'd been so focused on what he wanted from Sieun, from this “date” and now his nails are digging into the armrest every time he’s met with a jumpscare.

They’re only forty minutes into the movie and there’s a young boy walking through a newly moved-in house and there’s something crawling on the walls behind him. 

Suho’s heart jumps, not because of Sieun, for the first time today.

Suho spares a glance at Sieun and he’s not reacting at all how Suho hoped, he’s eating away at their bucket of popcorn, the light from every changing frame on the screen reflecting on his face. 

He’s not even scared. 

The next time Suho pulls his eyes away from Sieun to watch the screen, there's a weird looking ghost thing behind the small boy and yeah—that’s gonna haunt Suho when he sleeps. 

Suho chews on the gummy worms extra hard, jaw clenched. He pretends to be unbothered when the demon-ghost-like thing starts crawling through the floorboards onto someone’s bed but the sound booms under his seat and he clutches the armrest on Sieun’s side without thinking. 

He finds warmth there, fingers and soft skin—Sieun’s hand. 

Suho pulls away, mumbles out an apology when Sieun checks on him. 

It must show on Suho’s face because Sieun’s lips turn up ever so slightly, eyes shining with amusement even in the dark theater, and then he mouths out an “Are you scared?”

Suho shakes his head no and turns away, his chin held up high because he’s not about to admit on his not-so-date-date that he’d orchestrated all this to get Sieun closer to him and forgot how much he hates horror. That he’d taken non-advice from idiots that probably couldn’t get a girl to call them back.

Minutes later, when the older woman on the screen shrieks and the rest of the theater gasps and Suho—he holds back his reaction—Sieun’s shoulder brushes against his as he scoots closer and then Suho’s eyes are drawn down to Sieun’s armrest, to where Sieun turns his hand over, palm up. 

Suho looks up, follows the way Sieun’s eyes point down, how his elbow presses into Suho’s side and then Sieun’s eyes flicker down again from Suho’s face to the palm of his hand… telling him to—

Suho doesn’t know if he should, if Sieun’s asking or if he wants or if he’s… 

He doesn’t care. 

Suho twitches as he lifts his hand, presses his fingers against Sieun’s wrist, as he slides up the warm, soft skin until their hands are rested on top of each others’.

Suho’s stomach flutters nervously, his heart beating in his throat, and Sieun really must not care about his poor, little pounding heart because he intertwines their fingers and Suho melts, face and body burning quietly. 

Sieun’s cold hands warm in his and Suho flexes their fingers together, he doesn’t mean to, but the movie fades into the background and Sieun’s distracting. 

He watches Sieun’s face, drinks in the way Sieun’s chest rises with every breath, every movement, and every flutter of his lashes as he blinks. 

Has Sieun always looked so perfect, even in the dark?

And then he... want churns in Suho’s gut.

Suho leans in low, a breath away from Sieun’s ear when he’s pressing a piece of popcorn into that pink mouth. 

“Give me some,” 

Sieun tenses, and Suho’s sure now as Sieun shivers beside him. 

Suho juts his bottom lip out at him in a feed me motion. 

Sieun turns, just a centimeter and then he’s close, so close Suho can taste his breath, the butter and salt from the popcorn.

Something sparks between them there, an electric current, a zap of electricity between them, it makes Suho clasp his hand all the tighter, makes his voice rough and—

Sieun’s eyes flick down to his mouth and ever so obediently… Sieun presses a piece of popcorn to his lips. 

The tip of Sieun’s index finger lingers on Suho’s bottom lip, trailing there as Suho lets the popcorn melt in his mouth because he can’t chew—he can’t breathe, blink or move because Sieun’s finger is there, on his mouth, stroking him and everything fades into the background; the movie, the voices of those around them and fuck—

Suho hums, almost begging. 

“Sieun-ssi,” it’s a whisper, hardly there. 

Sieun hums, a small pleased sound and then he’s leaning in, he’s right there and Suho’s eyes flutter closed, he can feel Sieun’s lips on his, just a brush of sweetness and then—

There’s a loud boom through the theater speakers, gasps from those around them as another damn jumpscare stuns everyone. It pulls them out of the others’ orbit, both jolting away, pulled from the heat of their moment and Suho really hates himself for choosing this movie. 

It lingers though. 

There’s a buzz between them, sharp, just beneath the surface, like when a power line goes down and the electricity can still be heard if you lean in close enough. Right now, it’s in between their seats, where their hands are threaded together, where Sieun squeezes Suho in his hold. 

Suho doesn’t relent, he leans back in, knows he’s teasing, his own damn self and Sieun, but it’s tempting, too damn tempting. 

Every time he leans into Sieun’s space and silently begs for more popcorn, Sieun gives a slight shiver. He knows it’s not what Suho’s really asking for and Suho relishes in it, watches every minute movement closely, all the way until Sieun pushes a piece into his mouth, until his eyes zone in on the bottom half of his face, until Sieun finishes brushing his finger against his bottom lip as if he’s mapping out every ridge. 

Suho lets him. 

Just as Suho is about to tease, as he thinks of leaning down to Sieun’s ear to whisper for more, Sieun squeezes his hand to draw his attention—as if it matters, Suho hasn’t taken his eyes off him since he’d granted him his damn hand—

And then Sieun does the unexpected. He leans in low and close into Suho’s space, steals a whole damn page from Suho’s how to make Sieun nervous handbook and Suho short circuits. 

He’s pointing with his chin at the bag of gummy worms in Suho’s lap and then he juts his bottom lip out and it looks like he’s pouting—so damn cute—as he waits. 

Suho inhales, bites back an amused smile, and feels shaky as the light flashes over Sieun’s face. With their faces just a mere inch from each other Suho decides to tease—dangles the gummy worm just above Sieun’s bottom lip, and Suho’s not all there when Sieun bites at it to take it into his mouth and then Sieun’s pink, wet tongue darts out, it slides across Suho’s fingers almost seductively, purposely. Want surges through every one of Suho’s veins, heat licking at his spine at the mere image. He bites back a moan, a little thing that desperately wants to escape. 

A sharp bolt of electricity zaps between them all over again. 

And then they’re both hardly paying attention to the movie. In a wordless fight of who can fluster the other more, who can for more from the other before one of them breaks and finally indulges their unsaid desire. 

Neither of them caves, but God help him, Suho almost jumps Sieun right then and there. 

—

The sun’s setting as they make their way out of the theater, wind chilly. 

Suho doesn’t realize he’s still holding Sieun’s hand, until the sun begins to set and he’s begun to lead them towards the long routed walk to Sieun’s place. 

Sieun’s fingernails dig into his hand and then he speaks “Are you still scared?”

Suho looks down,“No…” he grows embarrassed, face tinged red as he lets Sieun’s hand drop like he’s been burned and pulls away. “I wasn’t scared.” 

Sieun makes a little mhm sound before he presses closer to his side again. Suho can feel his arm brushing against him again. “You don’t have to let go.” He’s staring ahead but Suho can see the way his teeth dig into his bottom lip.. 

Suho doesn’t think about it for more than a millisecond, he snatches Sieun’s hand back, greedy.

If Sieun notices they’re walking a different route he doesn’t say. 

They’re halfway home, the sun mostly set when Sieun speaks again.

“Do you want to sleep with me?” 

Suho’s thoughts freeze, he squeezes Sieun’s hand tighter. His face immediately runs hot, scorching—not the same as when he first took Sieun’s hand in his but like someone’s turned the heat up in his body to the max, like his brain will liquify and his words are caught in his throat because there’s just no way—Sieun didn’t mean it like that but the very notion is…

It feels like Sieun’s seeing right through him, right into his dreams, his imagination, his thoughts, all of it.

Suho turns and he doesn’t mean to stop walking but the sheer weight of what Sieun said forces him to. Suho opens his mouth to speak, once, twice, like a fish out of water and Sieun just looks at him, his eyebrow slightly raised—

Realization dawns on Sieun’s face because his eyes go a little wide and he places his free hand on Suho’s shoulder and squeezes.

“I mean sleepover. Tonight? We can pick up snacks and watch movies, yeah?” 

“God! Sieun, you’re—” It’s killing him. Suho lets out a long breath, a little laugh erupting into a longer thing that has him folding in his laughter, his forehead winds up on Sieun’s shoulder, nose turned into his neck. He smells good. “Sieun-ssi, you’re killing me.” 

“Wh—” before Sieun can finish, Suho’s pulling him along. 

“Come on,” 

Sieun lets himself be hauled, tightens his hand in Suho's grasp. 

Suho pulls the door to the convenience store open for him and Sieun turns to look at him from over his shoulder. His eyes sparkle in the night light, shiny and gorgeous, so pretty. And Suho wants to kiss him because Sieun has that look from before, the same one he’d had that night he’d shown up at Suho’s hospital bedside with soup, barely there, but there nonetheless.

Suho lets Sieun’s hand go against his will as they split up for drinks and snacks. 

Suho makes his way through the aisles, stopping where he knows Sieun’s favorites are. 

It’s the first moment he’s had without Sieun within his view, he smiles to himself, feels his cheeks heat at how perfect the night is going already. 

Suho’s smile immediately dies when he makes his way to the checkout counter because there—there is Sieun and a guy their age; tall, lean, with dark hair that falls over his eyes and he can barely hear their conversation but Suho just knows… 

“That’s cute, so what school do you go to?” The mystery guy is smiling too wide to be doing his job. 

“Together.” Suho pushes his things next to Sieun’s and slides up his side, pressing against him.

The guy completely ignores Suho, doesn’t even spare him a glance as he swipes his card, or as he takes their bag in hand and pulls Sieun out by the wrist. 

His eyes are completely focused on Sieun as he tells them to have a nice night. Ridiculous. 

Suho scoffs as they walk out, pulling Sieun in tow. 

He’s getting in his head again. His mood turned from bliss to something sour. 

They’re about a hundred feet from the store and that guy when Suho lets him go, releases a little huff and makes note to avoid this convenience store forever. 

“You okay?” Sieun asks. 

“Mhm.”

Suho huffs and sticks his empty hand in his jacket pocket. 

“That guy looked a little like you.” 

“Mm…I didn’t notice.” 

They walk in silence, spread out on the sidewalk this time. 

The sun’s long gone, Suho doesn’t have to school his expression back to cool, he lets the scowl take over.

“Do you ever think about how we met?” Sieun breaks the silence. “Not the classroom, but that night with the delivery.” 

It’s abrupt. Random. Sieun isn’t one to reminisce.

“I do,” all the time. 

“Do you believe in fate?” 

Suho feels the heat emanating from Sieun’s nearing body, can feel their shoulders bump as he slowly sidles up to his side; close until their hands are skimming against each other, until Sieun’s fingers brush against where he holds the bag in between two fingers. 

“I didn’t before,” but now I do. 

It had been months of wracking his brain over Sieun, over this boy who he couldn’t peel his eyes away from for so long. The boy who sat close to the front of the class and had no one clapping for him when he won awards. The boy who ate lunch with his headphones in, who walked around with his head held high but uninterested and then it had all happened within such a short time. They had happened within a short time; the fight in the classroom, when he’d gotten his chance to see those striking, wet eyes up close, the day he’d knocked on an apartment and found those same eyes, wary and confused, staring up at him. 

Every meeting after that was fate drawing them closer together over and over again. 

Suho's sure now, with Sieun’s fingers hooking onto his. Even if they hadn’t met that day, they would’ve eventually, maybe later, maybe when they were older. He’s sure of it. 

The street lights are on now, they’re turning a corner, walking along the thin dimly lit pass behind Sieun’s building. There’s bricks lining both walls, they barely fit walking alongside each other, practically pressed together and Sieun doesn't seem to mind it. 

It’s getting cold and there’s an owl hooting somewhere. Suho’s feet slow, slower than Sieun’s. 

Why is this so hard? He feels like it’s the right time, the right place and Sieun is—he’s become everything and Suho has him now and it feels like the stars have aligned when they’re together. He can’t take not knowing anymore—

Suho steps close, closer.

“Sieun,”

Suho just wants to know.

Suho peers down at him and catches Sieun’s sparkling eyes, “That guy back there was flirting with you.” 

Sieun stills, “What?” His eyes are dancing all over the place, unsure of where to settle.  

“What do you think of him? Of that?” 

Sieun eyes Suho up like he’s a puzzle he can’t quite figure out. He opens his mouth, closes it, does it three more times like he can’t figure out the words. 

Sieun’s almost pressed against his chest, the effect of the small alley or just the inevitable gravitational pull that manifests around Sieun. 

And then Sieun looks up and he sighs a little relieved breath and—

“I don’t think…of him,” 

And Suho can’t take it anymore. 

“Do you think of me?” it comes out in one breath, desperate, but he doesn't care. 

He’s slowly pressing Sieun into the wall behind him, walking him backwards in small steps. The innate need to be as close to Sieun, the thing is happening to him again and Sieun’s letting himself be pinned, letting Suho walk him back until there's barely a centimeter between their bodies, until he’s pressed up against the cold wall.

“Sieun,” 

Suho leans down just the smallest bit into his space, and he wants to ease the tension that begins to crawl its way into Sieun’s body; that makes his shoulders tense, that brings that cornered look to his eyes to the surface as Suho places his hand—the one with the bags—flat on the wall by his shoulder. It’s soothing, cold, grounding him to this very moment. 

He wants to touch and Sieun’s only staring — his eyes dancing all over Suho’s face, his pupils dilated, his lips slightly parted and pink, always pink. 

Suho lifts his empty hand and skirts his fingers over the side of Sieun’s face, just on the verge of touching, connecting, sliding down the width of it as if caressing skin because Suho knows him—

Sieun’s like a bird, ready to claw out your eyes and flee at any given moment if you get too close, he’s wired and wary. Feed one out of your very palm and you still have to stay completely still just to be able to watch it up close, just for it to stay around. You can’t move, you can’t breathe or let them know you’re there because as soon as they realize, they’ll flee and never to be seen again. Sieun was even more like that at first. He’s always been ready to flee and Suho wants to do things right so he does all he can, tries his best—

He eases Sieun into touch, his hand just on the verge of meeting skin, skirts over the side of his face, thumbing at the stray turned up hair by his ear, pressing gently against his temple then his cheek and he watches as Sieun’s eyes catch on his hand. Assess.

Sieun, ever so slightly and silently accepts. 

He doesn’t run, he doesn’t push or shove or flee. 

Sieun tilts his head, leans into the palm of his hand, gentles and lets out a little relieved breath.

Suho caresses the side of his face ever so softly, slowly. He thumbs at the pinked-up skin of his cheek, soothing before making his way down to his jaw. 

“Do you think of me like that?” 

Sieun’s eyes drift up to his, briefly and then his lips part like he’ll say something.

“Yesterday. I wanted to–” Suho’s still caressing him and Sieun's still so calmed beneath his touch, leaning into him. He can almost feel Sieun's breath on his mouth and can almost taste him again. “I almost—” Sieun's eyes close softly, the tips of his lashes fluttering over Suho’s thumb, feather-light, tickling. It makes Suho’s hair stand on end, he’s almost trembling. 

And then Sieun nuzzles, so softly, so sweetly into his touch.

Suho can’t take it. 

“I almost kissed you.” 

Sieun's eyes fly open.

“Did you want me—will you—” He can't find the words. “Can I kiss you, Sieun–” and he can’t look.

It’s like he’s staring at the damn center of the universe and he can’t have that right now. He wants—no, needs Sieun to say it too—he wants something verbal, something real, something that will let him know these aren’t mixed signals. That Sieun wants him. 

Suho exhales roughly when he doesn’t get an answer, he can hear every beat of his heart in his ears. Overwhelmed, he moves—nuzzles his face next to Sieun’s ear, nose buried in the soft skin there. He breathes him in as he whispers. “Sieun, let me kiss you, please?” His smell is intoxicating, so damn Sieun. So fucking perfect. 

Suho sighs, letting out a little frustrated sound when Sieun doesn’t respond. He moves away from him, forehead pressing into the cold, brick wall; breaking contact with Sieun but he’s still close—grazing him with his breath, teasing, forcing him to think. So close, yet not connected. 

With the lack of protest comes a visible shudder when Suho lets out an extra breathy sigh against him.

Suho’s filled with ache and want, all of it curling tightly in his gut, in his chest. It’s snaked its way into every crevice, every corner of his body. 

“Please. I just—need you to tell me it’s okay, what I did that day? Mm…did you like it?” And then Suho’s asking for more. “Sieun-ah?” 

Please be okay with this. Please, tell me you want me how I want you. 

“Sieun-ah.” 

Finally, Sieun twitches against the hand that rests gently on his cheek and then both of Sieun’s hands envelop Suho’s. 

He waits, wanting, stuck and then Sieun’s fingers stroke along the palm of his hand, little waves of electricity sizzling where his thumb brushes. 

And Suho—he’s in bliss, eyes fluttering softly, almost rocking into Sieun’s body, pure and utter pleasure coursing through him.

He’s in a trance, “Sieun-ah, Sieun-ah, Sieun-ah” slipping past his lips in a repeated whisper, over and over again because Suho’s greedy, he’s wanted to be informal for so long—he’s wanted the closeness of calling Sieun’s name like that, he’s wanted so desperately; to taste him on his mouth, to have him on his tongue, to hold him as he comes apart beneath him and Sieun’s ‘Suho-yah’ from the night before rings in his ears. 

His words turn into a messy blur of Sieun's name, said so affectionately and drawn out until Suho’s begging is finally answered. 

Sieun drops his hand, ceases all contact.

“Suho. You were right.” His voice is rough, uncertain.

Suho moves to face Sieun and he swears he sees the faintest of pink on Sieun’s cheeks. Then, his eyes are on Sieun’s—they’re low and dark in the dim light but still so Sieun, full of something, raw and deep, titillating.

“My mouth. After that day and yesterday…” Sieun’s lashes flutter, all soft and slow. 

Suho’s right against him, hearts beating across from each other, a tip of his head and their mouths would meet. He’s almost there, it’s right in the brink of his hands. Their bodies disconnected and yet so damn merged, so together, so attuned to the others. They both breathe rapidly, puffs of hot air swirling in the air between them. 

“Hm?” it’s a question because Suho's not all there. So attuned to Sieun’s orbit, pulled in and sucked into the black hole that is the beauty of Yeon Sieun—of those eyes, that he feels lost

And then Sieun blinks once more, languid, like a cat.

“I wanted you to—” 

It dawns on him then. This is Sieun in front of him, his Sieun, the one who has trouble asking him to stay a little longer when they spend time together, even though it's written all over his face, the one who refuses to ask Suho for help when he’s dying of a cold. He’s wired like this, unsure of how to voice everything. And yet he’s standing here, eyes locked on his and he’s trying to tell him that he—

“You wanted me to…?” And then Suho remembers all those days spent gazing at Sieun’s soft mouth, at how the skin stopped peeling, at how not bloody they’d been after that day he’d acted on impulse and greed, the day he’d— “For me?” 

It’s Sieun's turn to hum in response. 

Heat coils in Suho’s belly. 

Suho tightens his hold on Sieun, cups his face in his palm. 

Sieun’s gaze tears through Suho, hot and prickling. Then, he skims his thumb above Sieun’s upper lip and settles on the edge of his mouth before applying pressure. Sieun’s mouth falls open pliantly as Suho gives—digs his thumb into the corner of his mouth and pushes in. 

Sieun makes a small sound and Suho can feel it thrum through him, pleasure licking up his spine. 

Just briefly, his eyes close under Suho's ministrations. And then Sieun rocks forward into his touch, unsteady on his feet.

Suho leans in and finally, fucking finally, he presses his lips to Sieun’s slightly parted mouth. It’s just a brush of skin against skin, soft and simple, chaste, but Sieun chases when he detaches himself. 

Suho feels all the air leave him as soon as it happens; dizzy with want, his hands recede, resting both on the wall to steady himself, bracketing Sieun against the wall. It’s all so damn much yet hardly anything and Suho’s already burning from the inside out. 

Sieun tilts his face up and Suho dives back in, hungry. The chasteness is gone. His lips ache where their mouths meet, belly lurching when they collide; once, twice—then, over and over again—and god, it's all too damn much. He pulls away; dives back in—rough and relentless, a clash of tongue and teeth, heaving breaths and it’s a mess… a hot, full body, shiver-inducing mess that makes Suho’s gut twist, makes him feel like he’s on a rollercoaster that’s about to drop a hundred feet.

It turns into a wordless fight, Suho shoves Sieun back with just the force of his mouth and Sieun bites at Suho’s bottom lip, makes Suho falter and then Sieun’s mouth chases after him, teeth digging into Suho’s bottom lip. 

Suho’s entire body is on fire, his stomach waiting for that inevitable drop, his brain too wired to think straight, to think about where they are, about anything except the taste of Sieun on his mouth and then Sieun’s licks at Suho’s lip, trying to press his tongue in and—Fuck, Suho wants to be the one doing that—so he pushes back, presses his tongue to Sieun’s mouth but he doesn’t ask—he bites Sieun’s lower lip hard, waits for him to gasp and shoves his tongue inside.

When Suho’s just about had it. When he starts wanting even more, when they’ve divulged into wet sounds, red, bitten lips and slotted together inexperienced bites Sieun—he—

He whines into his mouth and Suho loses it—he’s not thinking.

The bag in his hand is entirely forgotten, slips out of his grasp. There’s the sound of cracking glass, drinks sizzling and then he’s wrapping his hands around Sieun. 

It’s heady, too much pent up emotion spilling through every pore, every touch—Suho's hands are all over, not staying long enough to map out every curve and dip of Sieun's body because he doesn’t care to, he just wants to touch and leave traces of himself all over, just like he wants Sieun to do to him. His palm is pressed deep into the curve of Sieun’s lower back, trailing down, lips pressed messily to the side of Sieun’s mouth, then his jaw, down to his neck and—

Sieun makes a sound, it fights it way up his chest, up to his trembling throat. Suho can feel Sieun’s jaw tense beneath his lips and then he’s crying out, little ngh’s and augh’s— overstimulated sounds that he eventually tries to stop with a hand pressed to his mouth but Suho doesn't stop—he’s not sure he can, he lingers on the expanse of Sieun’s neck, a spot that makes Sieun tremble in his grasp—

And then, Sieun’s hand is on Suho’s shoulder—gripping the fabric there, fingers clawing into Suho’s skin. Sieun’s hand climbs down to the middle of Suho’s chest, unsure, overwhelmed. He smacks at Suho, desperate—for more, for less, Suho doesn’t know... 

And Suho can’t—isn’t thinking, too focused on kissing his way down the collar of Sieun’s neck, on trailing his hands down the curve of Sieun’s backside, and his hold on him is tight—but then Sieun’s pushing Suho’s arousal dimmed body, hard enough that he makes a shocked sound. 

Suho lands on the other end of the dim-lit alley, his back colliding with the brick wall just opposite Sieun. 

They’re both panting, the yellow light above them flickers; once, twice, it makes a soft humming sound. It’s all Suho can make out over the sound of his heart beating in his ears.

Sieun’s standing there, in front of him, chest rising rapidly, jacket sleeve over that pink, perfect mouth and his eyes are frantic, wild, almost feral—exactly how Suho feels. Sieun looks like he wants to pounce on him, like he does right before a fight and then there's one single, loud breath taken by him at the same time Suho sucks in a sharp breath. 

It’s Sieun that crosses the distance between their bodies, lunging at him, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt and smacking his mouth onto Suho’s. 

Suho groans at the contact; he spins them, shoving Sieun into the wall behind. Suho locks his elbow around Sieun’s neck because he doesn't care if neither of them can breathe; he doesn’t think he can take Sieun pulling away from him again. So he holds him against his body, pulls him close, closer, closest, and locks another hand around his waist until no inch between them is left untouched. 

Sieun’s hand is stuck between their bodies and Suho’s drunk on him but still, he can feel the scrape of nails on his chest as Sieun claws at him, overwhelmed. 

Suho presses his tongue to the seam of Sieun’s mouth, still together, still breathless and Sieun has to feel it just as much as Suho does, because Sieun’s knee starts climbing up the side of Suho’s leg, up the expanse of his dressed thigh, like Sieun wants more, like he wants to be held completely. If Suho wasn’t so attuned to Sieun he wouldn’t notice when Sieun’s hips grind ever so lightly into his, but he does. 

Suho aches at the mere contact, at the subtlety of it, the implication—his dick pulsing between his legs and he goes weak when Sieun does it again. He lets Sieun up for air before his mouth is on him again, but this time Sieun knows his effect because he gives him a look—hungry, starved, feral and then the subtlety is gone, he’s grinding into him. 

Suho hisses at the contact, hips weak and thrusting into Sieun’s against his will.

Suho wraps his hands around Sieun's body and begins to trail down—he wants everything, all at once— he follows the curve of Sieun’s frame, hands trailing up and down his shoulders, his back. He pushes down on the sharp bones of his upper back, Sieun makes a frustrated hurt sound, still whining when Suho presses a kiss to his neck. Suho’s grip grows achingly tight as he presses their bodies together. He wants to commit every bit to memory so he can’t–won’t stop, he needs this, needs to map him out, familiarize his hands with every curve of his body, so much so, he’d recognize him from that alone.

They’re swaying into each other, weak limbed and wanting, touching, holding, sparsely kissing, like they both can’t believe they’re here, like they can’t believe they’re both feeling the exact same thing, aching at their very core for the other, almost purring into the others mouth with tenacious need. Their hips collide and through the layers of clothes Suho can feel him, he grinds into the hardness between Sieun’s legs; their bodies meeting in a slow, needy grind as he familiarizes himself with the rest of Sieun’s body. 

And still, Suho’s greedy. 

He sneaks a hand underneath Sieun’s shirt. 

There, Suho meets warm, bare, soft skin and bucks forward at the sensation. He’s aching, throbbing between his legs, and he just wants a little more. He follows the notches of Sieun's spine starting at the very top, mapping them with his fingers, down to the last one. 

Sieun shivers in his grasp, his hands clenching the back of Suho’s shirt, his mouth pressing into Suho’s neck as if to hide. And then, because he’s here, because he wants more, because he doesn’t know when he’ll get to do this again, he trails both hands to Sieun’s waist, grips him there. Sieun melts at the contact, gives a full body shudder in Suho’s grasp but doesn’t fight him when he presses another tender kiss to his neck. Like this, with both hands on Sieun, with his shirt ridden up, Suho’s hands cover the expanse of his stomach, thumbs close to meeting in the center, his stomach flat and soft and warm and so Sieun. His hands climb up, while he leisurely kisses at his neck, bending at an angle. 

A finger—just one, brushes Sieun’s hard nipple and—

Sieun whines, cries out and buries his face in Suho’s neck.

Suho reacts bodily, goosebumps forming at the base of his neck. That one little sound makes him throb all the more and he’s so drunk on him—on Sieun—that his hands immediately retreat as if he’s been burned.

“Fuck, Sieun-ah, you’re sensitive.” He doesn’t mean to tease.

It almost feels wrong to not know what makes Sieun moan, what makes him cry and shudder and—Fuck, maybe one day he could get Sieun to beg. 

Suho’s dizzy with arousal, he feels all warm, heart beating in his ears and a heavy throb in his jeans that makes him want to rut against Sieun’s body.

His shaky hands land on Sieun’s hips, grip bruisingly tight—something to steady himself and because Suho has no self control, because this is what Sieun in his vicinity elicits—he’s gripping Sieun’s ass through his jeans; groping, hands still shaky, but never unsure. His thumbs hook into Sieun’s back pockets for grip—for more—as he guides Sieun’s hips against his.

Sieun finds a rhythm against Suho, his strong thighs clenching and unclenching in Suho’s grasp, he can feel it all and God, Suho can’t help but imagine him naked, what he’d look like, how those strong thighs would look on top of him, beneath him.

Sieun’s perfect and Suho—

Suho’s gonna lose it, he’s everything and right now, at this moment, Sieun’s hard because of him and Suho wants to give—to help. 

He slots a thigh between Sieun’s middle, pushes up into his groin, pulls his face back to get a look at Sieun. He looks a mess, his mouth red and open, eyes half lidded; beautiful and wanting.

Sieun can hardly grasp what Suho’s doing, taking it all in stride, like he’s prepared himself for this. He’s all blissed out, until Suho takes him by the hip and guides him down and forward, putting pressure right where—

“Suho, Suho-yah–I–” 

“I know, baby, I know.” Suho leans down, takes Sieun’s mouth against his own, gives chaste kisses, a last ditch effort to hide their sounds. It does little to conceal, worsening when Suho picks up the pace, when Sieun’s hips press down just as Suho lifts his knee up higher, offers more pressure.

It’s electric, dizzying; the way Sieun’s sounds affect him, how his spit-slick mouth gets stuck on a moan until he’s almost crying.  

He looks like a vision. The vision. Better than a damn dream, better than anything Suho has ever had the privilege of imagining, because this Sieun’s real and he’s releasing these little sounds that Suho can’t make out until he focuses and when he does—it’s little please’s, barely there but still, there.

Suho rushes forward against Sieun’s mouth when he’s stuck on a whine, when Sieun’s legs begin to shake.

And all of it, his tousled hair, those lips, Sieun whining into his mouth; It makes a blinding, all consuming heat coil in his stomach, his cock pulses between his legs—just a little more.

Because Suho can, because Sieun’s hips are still grinding down, because he can feel the outline of him through his pants, undeniably hard against his thigh, he teases—

“Sieun-ah, you’re so pretty like this.”

Sieun’s body is tightly wound, chasing release and still, his hand lands on Suho’s chest, gripping at his windbreaker, mouth opening to tell Suho to shut up or to beg or something—

Before Sieun can speak, Suho’s lunging at him, licking into his mouth until he can’t think, until he can hardly feel Suho’s hand snaking down between their bodies, gripping Sieun through his jeans. 

“Suho-ya-ugh, I have to…” Suho unbuttons Sieun’s pants in a split second. “Ugh—I’m gonna—”

Suho rushes a hand down the front of Sieun’s jeans. He’s all hot and humid there, wet with precum. Suho can’t believe he’s holding him like this, he can’t believe they’re both okay with this. 

Desperation and gluttony claws at him, he wants to get on his knees and taste him right then and there. He takes Sieun’s cock out, begins to stroke him, once, twice and then his thumb is circling the head, pressing into the slit and Sieun’s clawing at his forearm now, nails digging in through layers of his clothes. 

Suho snakes a hand to Sieun’s ass, he gropes him there, pushing his pants the rest of the way down by the belt loop, desperate for this—he’s thought about this for too long; about taking Sieun’s ass in his hands. 

Suho doesn’t relent. He strokes Sieun’s cock with a slow twist of his wrist, thumb circling his leaking tip, pressing at the slit of his cock. He doesn’t relent as Sieun tells him to “wait.” 

Suho presses his fingers between the cleft of Sieun’s clothed ass—he’s all hot there, completely unexplored territory. Suho teases, threatens Sieun with a press of fingers to his hole. In that moment, it’s not about Sieun, it’s about Suho—he’s wanted this for so long, he’s wanted to touch him here too many damn times, not just a smack but a long, lingering touch and now he has it and he knows he never wants to let go.

Suho takes Sieun’s bottom lip between his teeth, suckles at it. With an agonizingly slow stroke of his wrist to Sieun’s cock, a circle of his fingers to Sieun’s hole—Sieun bucks back and Suho’s fingers press between the flimsy layer of boxers, tease far too much, move too deep, too hard into what he discovers is the most sensitive part of Sieun’s body. Sieun lets out a rough cry and then he’s coming, shaking in Suho’s grasp, spilling over into Suho’s wrist, his fingers clenching and unclenching on Suho’s arm with every wave of pleasure that courses through him. 

Sieun tries to cover his mouth with a hand but Suho strokes him through the aftershocks, gives a couple lingering strokes to undo Sieun completely. Sieun’s hand falls limply to his side, hips giving little thrusts into Suho’s hand—Sieun makes these little ngh’s and ah’s that make Suho want to swallow him whole. 

Instead, he strokes his cock, hand tight around him, just how he likes it when he’s riding out an orgasm. With every upstroke, Sieun’s cock squirts out a little spurt of precum, over and over again until Suho’s hand is dripping, until he’s mostly soft in Suho’s hold. 

Suho kisses him when his hips stop shaking, when his eyes flutter open, when he stops trembling. He could cum just from this, pressed against Sieun's overstimulated body, against his hard work—Sieun’s softening cock. He’s about to unzip himself, stroke himself with the wetness still clinging to his hand but Sieun pulls him in, his mouth still hot, he presses a kiss to the side of Suho’s mouth, all worn out, and then he’s weakly turning around, pressing himself into the wall.

“It’s okay, Suho. You can—” Sieun lets the thought trail off, but he’s pushing his lower body backwards— against Suho, ass sliding where Suho’s throbbing. He’s telling him to—telling him to fuckin’ use him like he’d let Sieun use his thigh and—

Fuck.  

“Sieun-ah. What are you doing to me? What are you—“ 

“You don’t have to—just wanna—” He’s all weak from his orgasm.

Suho shuts him up with a kiss to his temple. He gives a slow grind against Sieun and then he’s humping him, grinding against him like some teenager getting off on a pillow and still he continues, lets his orgasm build, ruts against him over and over. His hands end up on Sieun’s hips, pulling him backwards until all there is is the slide of their bodies, sound dimmed with the clothes they’re still wearing, but it feels good—so damn good, he can feel Sieun all the more with only his boxers as a guard. He could come just from this, with just the feel of Sieun’s ass against him, with Sieun’s hot, inexperienced mouth turned to the side and chasing after his own, like he’ll die without his mouth now that he’s had a taste.

Sieun’s hips buck back roughly just as Suho ruts forward and just the thought of something more—of fucking him right here, of one day opening him up, of burying himself inside that warm, tight— 

He whispers—mostly begs, into Sieun’s mouth, into the shell of his ear. “I wanna—I wanna feel you—need to be inside you.” Suho’s begging for something he’s not gonna get and there’s something about knowing it that makes his skin prickle with heat. 

“I dream about this,” Sieun says into his mouth, hot and heavy. 

They rock together, and it’s the first time he’s seen Sieun orgasm, the first time he’s witnessed his face when he’s right on the cusp but it's already committed to memory and the little scrunch between Sieun’s eyebrows is a heavy giveaway. Suho squares a hand around Sieun and he’s sticky and undeniably hard again.

Suho craves more, he unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out, presses himself against Sieun’s back, relishes in the shocked sound that escapes Sieun’s as he feels the proof of Suho’s arousal against his ass. 

Suho’s made it this far, is touching—has touched Yeon Sieun in places he’s only ever dreamed of and still he wants more. He can’t help it, he grip Sieun’s ass, hand pulling his cheek until they’re parted, until they’re as close as they can be with clothes on, until his cock is slotted between Sieun’s ass, until he’s grinding up and down, so dangerously close—

Suho’s high on him, on his smell, his touch, his mouth. 

Just as he’s on the verge, ready to spill over; he shoves Sieun’s boxers down, spreads him open and comes on the delicate curl of flesh there. 

He finishes with a rough groan—almost crying, his body trembling and drooping into Sieun’s. He envelops him completely with his weight, his cock slotted between Sieun’s spread cheeks. 

“Sieun-ah, you’re so perfect, so perfect, so fuckin’ perfect,” He peppers kisses on Sieun’s neck as he slides a hand around to the front of Sieun’s belly and slides down, ready to help him again but all he finds is Sieun’s softening dick. “Fuck, you finished, just from—”

With a couple more overstimulated thrusts, with skin pressed against skin, bodies dimlit with arousal, their energy completely flees.

The events of the night settle and embarrassment begins to settle, Suho feels a little rash, but then he kisses sieun’s chin, sucks at his jaw and—no, he feels good, really good. He begins to recount the events of the night and pulls away when arousal begins to resettle in his lower stomach at the sight of Sieun’s clothes stuck just beneath his thighs.

“I’m sorry…made a mess” He’s still a little breathless against the nape of Sieun’s neck, all weak limbs and only, very slightly apologetic. 

Sieun’s eyes are still closed, his breathing a little rougher than Suho’s while Suho gently tucks him into his boxers, slides his jeans on. Sieun’s eyes flutter open softly, like he can't believe where he is. 

“We should go home,” All Sieun can offer is a nod, eyes cloudy with exhaustion and something else Suho can’t pin.

Suho’s hands are shaky when he zips himself up, adrenaline slowly fading as he takes his windbreaker off and throws it over Sieun’s shoulders to cover the mess he’s made.

Sieun's too dazed to realize how out of it he looks. He looks a mess, a little lost, with his mouth all red and there’s red marks up and down his neck. He’s not completely there as Suho drags him into his arms and pulls him against his chest. 

Suho kisses him once more, a peck to his temple and it clears some of the uneasiness on Sieun’s face.

Sieun looks up at him, eyes shining like stars as Suho helps him put his arms through the sleeves of his windbreaker, as he zips it up under Sieun’s chin. 

Suho takes his hand and pulls him along, footsteps hurried, their movie night long forgotten. They ride the elevator up to Sieun’s floor in silence, fingers intertwined, Sieun’s own giving a little twitch against Suho’s hold.

Suho waits for Sieun to open the door to his place, body pressed against Sieun’s back as he turns the key.

Inside, Suho kicks off his shoes at the entrance, lines them up just how Sieun likes them to be organized and waits for Sieun to do the same but—

He’s not moving, he’s just staring ahead at a wall, and his shoulders are tense but still Suho can see them rising faster, he’s standing there like he’s stuck to the floor. Something’s wrong and Suho’s gut churns with fear. 

Is it possible…?

Suho handles it like he handles everything, composed and with ease. He sidles up to his side, “Hey, you okay?” He uses the same voice he always does, even though there’s a knot in his throat at the mere possibility that Sieun doesn’t want this–him. He tries to soothe what he assumes is quickly turning into a panicked, unsure Sieun. 

Suho undresses Sieun when he doesn’t respond, pulls his jacket off Sieun’s body slowly, takes off his long sleeve and lets it messily hung on a hook before he takes off Sieun’s shoes one by one, sparing a look up at Sieun as he does so. 

Suho walks him into his room, pulls him along like everything is fine, he walks Sieun backwards onto the bed until the back of his knees are hitting the bed-frame and then he’s sat there, still tense, still off. 

Because he wants to, because Sieun is silently freaking out, he thinks, because there’s a a little crease between Sieun’s brows that give it away, Suho gets on his knees in front of him.  

Suho brushes Sieun’s messy hair back, fingers threading through the soft strands behind his ear. His index finger gently tapping at Sieun’s temple. “Tell me what’s going on up here,” his voice is low calm, trying to soothe as he leans up and presses a kiss to Sieun’s nose.

“Does this mean we're together? Do you want to be with me?” His eyes are wet again, and full of depth and love and he’s baring his soul to Suho.

Suho can’t help it, he lets out a little exasperated breath, wraps his hands around Sieun’s waist from his position on the floor… 

“Ah, Sieun-ah, you really are so…” Suho nuzzles himself into the fabric of Sieun’s shirt, it smells just like Sieun—clean linen and something floral, maybe it’s his shampoo, Suho thinks. “—dense.” 

Suho’s weak though, he doesn’t want there to be miscommunication, he doesn’t want there to be lingering uncertainties, so he takes one last long breath of Sieun, moves away and finds Sieun’s eyes already looking down at him.

Suho takes Sieun’s hand, guides it to his chest, down until it’s set where Suho wants it to be, where his heart pounds in his chest. He threads their fingers together, presses their hands deeper into his chest and lets Sieun feel the pitter pattering of his heart in the quiet of his room. “What do you think?” 

Sieun’s hand fists Suho’s shirt, right over his heart. “…I want you, I’ve wanted you for a long time. I didn’t know if you want—” 

Before Suho can finish, Sieun's nails are digging into his too thin t-shirt, his other hand locked around Suho’s wrist and then he’s pulling Suho forward with all his strength. Suho lets himself be guided, lands on top of Sieun with a little oof, bodies colliding, both landing softly on Sieun’s bed. 

Sieun takes Suho’s face in between his palms, almost squishing Suho’s cheeks. Sieun’s eyes assess, examining again and then, when he’s sure, when the uncertainty is all smoothed out of his features he plants one long kiss to Suho’s mouth.

That night, they end up a mess of tangled limbs on Sieun's bed. 

Suho undresses Sieun slowly, kisses up his naked spine, plants a searing, sucking kiss to the mole on Sieun’s neck, explores Sieun’s body completely, agonizingly slow. 

Sieun does the same in turn, finds a sensitive spot on Suho’s neck, laves at with his tongue, sucks at it for the better part of an hour. He makes Suho ball his hands in the sheets with every tease of his teeth.

Suho’s easy, Sieun realizes. He’ll grind his hips down against a breathless Suho and wait for him to be just on the edge before pulling away.

Sieun realizes that night that he likes the desperation that seems to live in Suho’s bones. 

Notes:

sieun canonically likes getting his hole played with or so Sumin said

Thank you to my friend, nini, for beta reading it on really short notice and being so kind. and thank you to jeddi for reading it and letting me know it wasn't a complete mess. ily guys <33

sorry for the long wait but also the wait would have been eternal if I had kms so lets think about that and be grateful, yeah?