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Suho is aware he’s developing an obsession.
Painfully aware.
It started with that damn smile at the hospital. Sieun had smiled for the first time, the shift so genuine it made goosebumps erupt along Suho’s arms in surprise. His lips had parted, turned up, teeth visible with happiness, and he hadn’t cared about the scab at their corner, or anything else really. Hadn’t been able to bite back his own words, either, high on victory (not only from their fight, but also at the glimpse of his smile).
His attempts to make it bloom again have multiplied, though are not particularly fruitful most of the times. Suho can’t help it though. That glimpse was breathtaking, enticing enough to warrant devotion of the highest degree.
He doesn’t even know if he is obvious (probably, he never really got around to learning to hide what he wants). He often has to shake himself from his long-long staring while Sieun is doing homework. So, more often than not. Unfortunately it gives him the endless opportunity to stare, which he takes to heart. He just hopes Sieun doesn’t notice every time. With a bit of luck, his homework enthrals him enough that he’s blind to Suho’s obsession.
So. That damn smile.
Since then, Suho can’t seem to look away from those fucking lips. At first, he truly thought nothing of it.
With the amounts of times Sieun got punched in the face, it was no surprise the split lip took a while to heal, so it still captured his attention every time. To check its process or anything other, he couldn’t say.
Suho is absolutely unaware of the implications, of course, and doesn’t hesitate to answer when Sieun inquires about his scrutiny.
“You always get punched in the face,” he states remorselessly, miming an uppercut.
“I guess I need another lesson,” is Sieun’s mild answer.
For a moment, Suho is tempted to rise to the challenge; to get up and teach him how to really fight.
Then his gaze is inexplicably drawn tot the scab on his lip, and he huffs, looking away.
“Don’t get into any more fights, and you’ll be just fine.”
The noncommittal hum that answers is a relief. Suho doesn’t want to fight with Sieun about this, about any of their involvements in fights at school and outside. It’s bad enough they got dragged into all this mess, they don’t need other resulting injuries.
Well, Suho doesn’t mind marks on his own skin, but as soon as they appear on Sieun’s skin, his stomach revolts. Which is a novelty in and of itself, one that is far from welcome but he can’t seem to get rid of anyway.
The only remaining solution is to avoid those marks at any cost, which means shielding him whenever he can by taking the blows upon himself.
It’s a fair trade, in Suho’s humble opinion.
Suho shrugs his jacket off as the warmth of the apartment hits him, throws it on the couch. He’s already making his way to the kitchen, now familiar with its every nook and cranny.
“Don’t you have a house ?” Sieun grumbles with what comes off as fond exasperation.
“Yours is closer to work,” is his usual excuse, if a bold lie.
Perhaps he is trying to find those moments with Sieun alone, even without Beom Seok. Perhaps he likes basking in Sieun’s undivided attention. Perhaps he doesn’t like to examine this too closely.
“Besides, where else can I get the pleasure of you company ?”
The most unimpressed look welcomes his teasing. With a little scoff, he fishes out of the cupboard two cups.
“Coffee or tea ?”
The lack of answer urges him to turn around, just in time to catch Sieun’s back disappearing in his room. It’s while biting of a smile that Suho follows, beverage abandoned. In the room, the desk light shines upon the glorious, familiar sight of his friend bent over homework. What an asshole.
Too bad he’s Suho’s type of asshole.
Unwilling to raise to the insult just the yet, Suho contents himself with rounding the room, and when that doesn’t elicit a reaction whatsoever, he throws himself onto the -perfectly made- bed. Everything is too tidy in this room, in his life. Suho wants to shake things up, to mess it all up in the fun way.
The sheets crumple under his weight, and then his movements when he pushes the slippers of his feet and settles more fully against the pillows.
The back of Sieun’s head remains dutifully bowed. The shades cast by the only lamp seem to underline his shoulder blades, to cascade down the muscles of his back. Suho knows there are some, there, because he has seen them once when Sieun took off his sweater and hasn’t been able to forget it since.
Really, it’s unfair that he notices it, all of it, even as Sieun’s own attention is completely elsewhere. A petulant sort of indignation pushes up his throat, and then pushes the words out.
“Hey, pay attention to me.”
“Why ?” He answers, without missing a beat.
That kind of brutal honesty and that need for answers that make sense always catches Suho by surprise.
“I came all the way here.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“You’re the host, this is your house. You should pay attention to me.”
A sigh heavy as the world echoes in the room. Next thing, Sieun is turning around in his chair.
“Here.”
And shit, Suho really didn’t think this through, did he ? He was aware Sieun’s gaze is… intense, if nothing else, extremely hard to endure for a long period of time given its persistent weight. He is abruptly reminded of why he can study Sieun’s features so often, and why he glances away when he comes close to getting caught.
It’s because it is not in his friend’s habit to look at others for long. And it’s certainly not in their habit to stare at each other at the same time for long. So yes, that was a big, glaring miscalculation on Suho’s part, one he’s already paying for as he tries not to squirm in his seat. Feeling seen like that, as if the layers are being pulled back one after the other, leaving him nowhere to hide, it’s dangerous. It’s breathtaking.
It’s addicting.
God damnit, he thinks as he clears his throat, straightening up some as if it’ll change anything. His nails dig into his palms like so many ways to anchor his thoughts, but it doesn’t do anything except remind him of Sieun slapping himself in the face during the mock exam. Hurting oneself to accomplish something else is not something he is accustomed to and as he thinks back on it, not something he wants to be accustomed to.
“Are you blushing ?”
The accusation renders him a spluttering mess of embarrassment, but not enough to keep the stupid excuse tumbling from his mouth.
“It’s hot in here.”
The amusement is so clear on Sieun’s face it’s kind of offensive. His features might not shift as obviously as other people’s but fuck if he doesn’t make his feelings known anyway, especially when he is smug about something.
“Right. I’ll get you a glass of water then.”
And he is gone, and so is his scrutiny, and still Suho feels hot all over with its lingering presence. The sheets are warm against his thighs and back and he is reminded this is Sieun’s bed. The air feels thick all of a sudden, his mouth dry and all of it awkward as hell. There is no room to feel awkward with Sieun, either because this last doesn’t care for typical social constructs and pleasantries, or because Suho is happy enough whenever they’re together. In any case, he should definitely not stick around on the bed with the turn this night has taken -and with this mind this close to falling into the gutter.
Suho huffs at how weak his knees are when he gets to his feet. Who would have thought Sieun would render him useless with just a look ? No one can say the same, not his opponents and not the fleeting friends and occasional flings. Then again, he already knew Sieun was special. He is simply discovering how special, little by little, with every glance that elicits an unexpected reaction and every touch that sends his heart in a frenzy.
In an attempt to distract himself, Suho makes his way to the sacred desk, where sit too much textbooks in a neat pile. Not a pen out of place, but Suho looks through everything all the same. There are no posters in this room, no pictures, no real sign of being lived in. It is as if Sieun expects to move out overnight, or he’s trying not to take up too much space. It is all too neat for comfort.
Movement in the corner of his eyes draws his attention to the threshold of the room, where he discovers Sieun observing him, shoulder pressed against the wall and arms crossed on his chest. No glass of water in sight.
He leans his head lower until it can rest against the doorframe, a smile on his lips that just borders on too smug. It tugs at Suho’s heartstrings, to see him act so distractingly boyish, opposite his usual seriousness. He quickly averts his gaze.
“What are you doing ?”
“Snooping,” comes the honest answer.
“What are you looking for ?”
“Nothing in particular,” he muses, still riffling through the papers, noting the absence of pictures. “I thought you were the smart one ? Snooping doesn’t usually have a precise goal.”
In his periphery, he feels him approach. Silent as a cat, yet utterly unbothered and far from trying to hide it. If there is one thing Suho is glad for, it is the lack of pretence between them. The curiosity of what Sieun’s expression is like right now is eventually too strong to resist, and leads him to shift ever so slightly.
Closer than he thought.
He looks soft and accessible and desperately kissable right now, socked feet and big sweater rendering the sight so domestic it hurts. But the tranquillity of it all is disturbed when Suho’s eyes catch and remain on the painful-looking scratch splitting Sieun’s lower lip. It feels like sacrilege, somehow, that someone dared put a hand on him and actually managed to land a hit that left a mark.
He has noticed it before, of course, but the light seems to hit it harshly right now, accentuating the sharp edges of it and the red tint of the wound. Uneasiness churns in his stomach.
“Yah,” he starts berating right away. “I told you to tuck your chin down, have you learned nothing ?”
Sieun doesn’t answer, and Suho realises why a second too late. He’s… he’s touching his lips. Actively brushing his mouth with his finger, as if it’s a normal occurrence, as if…
Suho could play it off like he usually does, when something akin to this arises (finger hearts and past lovers jokes). He could retreat and laugh and pretend it’s absolutely normal, and Sieun wouldn’t think twice about it, because Suho is always affectionate with him and he has no one to compare him to, so he doesn’t get what’s friendship and what’s Suho’s want for more bleeding through his behaviour.
This time though, he doesn’t want to.
He rushes forward.
But before their mouths can meet, Sieun has bent down, grabbing his knees and forcing him down on the bed. His weight pins him there, and Suho, breathless, can only stare up at him in shock.
“Take down,” Sieun smiles.
The sight would be enough to take his breath away, but then a mouth is on his, stealing every last bit of it.
Shit, he immediately thinks, entirely too carried away in Sieun’s intensity. If he thought Sieun would be calm and blank about it, as he is in all things, he is sorely disproved. Fingers grip his neck and pull him close, lips moving too quick for him to follow, so much he’s reduced to accepting what he’s given, opening his mouth in an invitation that is taken without hesitation.
Sieun kisses him like he has all the time in the world; like there’s no universe where someone knocks on the door, or Suho pulls back and laughs it off, or Sieun himself has a sliver of doubt that makes him halt this for a moment. No, there is no hesitation, no leniency either to the way Sieun licks into him.
Still, they need to breathe -which seems the only obstacle to Sieun kissing the sense out of him.
“Not bad,” he rasps as soon as he can.
His head feels dizzy, his lips tingle, and he has to snap his gaze back up. Sieun hums, thumb pressing down on Suho’s Adam apple. As if tugged by a string, Suho’s hips jerk, leaning into it. A dry chuckle leaves his constricted throat.
“Not bad at all.”
With that characteristic blank look on his face and no amusement whatsoever perceivable, Sieun says :
“I think I still need another lesson.”
And well. That sends him into an undignified splutter to cover up the absolute satisfaction of Sieun joking.
It doesn’t last long though, not when Sieun’s patience is thrown out the window like it never existed between them in the first place.
The first thing to go is Suho’s shirt, so quick it doesn’t register immediately. Only when Sieun hums again and splays his fingers on his abs like he owns him does the realisation dawn.
“Yah, you’re…”
The sentence ends in a strangle, warm lips clamping at the junction of his neck and collarbone. A hint of teeth has him throw his head back unabashedly as his fingers try to find purchase on Sieun’s back. Everything turns slow and mellow, melting all of him with the heat of Sieun at his throat. A sting, not enough to hurt, certainly enough to make his hips jerk. The suction remains steady for some time, a long, long time.
When Sieun is satisfied and pulls back, Suho is unsteady and dizzy, following the movement until a hand around his throat stops him. It’s even more depraved, the way it just curls there and doesn’t do anything. There’s not much purpose behind it which makes only one thing transpire from the touch: he does it because he can. The sheer claim makes Suho dizzier.
Sieun thumbs at the place he was sucking, blank mask still on.
“Enough attention for you ?”
It takes way, way more time for the sentence to be processed, and in that time Sieun has gotten up and…
Suho lurches forward, grips his wrist and pulls him back onto the bed. He climbs onto him to keep him from leaving again, vexed at the very thought.
“Yah, were you going for your homework ?”
Even underneath him, Sieun doesn’t look the slightest bit unsettled as he tilts his head to the side and levels him with an unimpressed stare.
“Why not ?”
“You absolute brat.”
That, that gets a smile out of him. And, really, Suho isn’t sure if it’s the insult or just having managed to get a rise out of him. In any case it urges him to lean down and taste it, feel the shape of his smile disappear at the pure desire Suho is pouring into the kiss. And ah, he’s not as unaffected as he would like to pretend.
Sieun’s hands remain dutifully by his head, even as Suho’s explore uncharted territories. The gentle curve of his neck, still unmarked -for now. The taunt line of his shoulder, the flexing of his arm under his touch. The warmth of his skin once the material of the shirt ends; the goosebumps appearing right there, at the tips of his fingers. Sieun’s teeth at his tongue, the sharp bite of his nails now at his neck, the palm that comes to his hip and…
All of a sudden, in a move Suho has trouble comprehending, he falls flat on his back with thighs and hands bracketing his hips and head.
“Wh-” He startles.
Although Sieun doesn’t smile -of course not-, the smug amusement is impossible to miss.
“Newtown’s second law,” he preens like the fucking top student he is, and Suho can’t help the bark of laughter that sounds too loud in the room. This boy is a wonder.
Still, Suho isn’t about to take it laying down as if he hasn’t waited for this forever. Hooking his fingers at the back of Sieun’s neck, he forces him down to kiss again. And again, and again, until it turns into one long and filthy kiss that brings them way closer to the edge than Suho expected. He never had this in mind when he pictured their first kiss (and yeah, ok, he did picture it). Instead, he always thought it would be short and sweet and maybe a little awkward. It is none of it.
It is deep, and hot, and wet, and even a bit violent with the way Sieun’s intent seems to be licking the back of Suho’s teeth. He doesn’t seem to mind it when teeth clamp around his tongue, either, so maybe his preferences lie somewhere far away from Suho’s expectations.
Plastered against his own, Sieun’s body feels strong and broad, almost sturdy with how he holds himself right there, every muscle shifting right there on Suho’s skin. His own foot has hooked around Sieun’s calf, and he cannot help jerking his hips up at a particularly dirty curl of the tongue around his.
Of a heady duration, the kiss abruptly ends when Sieun suddenly tears himself away, uncaring of Suho gasping at the cold air scorching his abused lips. Instead, he focuses his efforts on Suho’s neck, where his fingers pressed not too long ago, and then he flies down to the defined curve of his pectoral. Goosebumps raise in the wake of his unrelenting attention, the heat of it all making Suho’s hips jerk up once again. His fingers are holding on for dear life to Sieun’s hair, tugging once and then twice, when the arching of his back doesn’t make Sieun climb up to meet his mouth.
The fucker tuts him.
With a huff of laughter, Suho stops his attempts and stares at the ceiling.
That’s one of the things he loves most about Sieun, he gathers : the duality of his image and of his character. People expect him to be complacent, a goodie-two shoes who never toes the line and always keeps his head down in his studies. And oh, how mistaken everyone is.
Himself included, of course, though he likes to think he noticed the clues before everyone else did. Still, he never expected the contrast to be so jarring, to the point he is the one who had to tell him to call down. To the point he is the one who ran after him, because Sieun was chasing a damn gangster.
While Suho loves him, he could do with Sieun having just a tad more self-preservation.
A sharp sting at his nipple startles him back to the moment, and really, he thinks when meeting Sieun’s black stare, how could he ever be distracted from this ?
Teeth gleaming, Sieun states :
“Don’t think. It doesn’t suit you.”
“How insulting,” he manages through another tantalising snap of teeth, this time biting at the skin of his ribs.
“You’ll get over it.”
Nails bore into his waist, and Suho has the abrupt thought that nothing about this is calm or gentle, or even expected. It’s fucking pool table again, Sieun owning the game and guiding him where he wants.
Suho is just along for the ride, apparently.
Though smaller, Sieun’s body seems to cover every inch of his, and Suho suddenly has trouble breathing. He can’t remember a time where the need to be close to someone was so painfully consuming, stretching far beyond a simple physical need.
Patience was never his strong suit, and soon enough Suho is dragging Sieun back up by the hair, manoeuvring his smaller body so he can have him right where he wants him, legs bracketing his hips. It makes Sieun look down at him in surprise, the dark strands of his hair falling into his eyes doing nothing to hide the clear desire in them. Almost tentatively, he shifts above Suho, then makes himself more comfortable by leaning more weight on him. The position is oddly comforting, warmth and proximity wrapped up in a mix that makes Suho reassess the moment.
And then Sieun’s hips are pressing down on him, fingers clenching around the curve of his shoulders where he’s holding on, and the proof of his excitation makes Suho heady with want. A want that is echoed, if the way Sieun crushes their lips together and takes to licking every corner of his mouth is anything to go by.
If he had known he would get Sieun hot and bothered like that just by manhandling him in his lap, he would have… well, done it sooner, for one, but also have a widened range of fantasies for the darkest hours of the night.
“This is good, right ?” He pants.
The look he receives in exchange might be the most unimpressed he’s been privy to yet. It would have more impact if the imprint of his nails wasn’t sure to be on his shoulders later, and if his thighs didn’t clench at the words.
“Do you have to ask ?”
“I mean, you love essays, so you shou-”
He’s not that shocked when Sieun cuts him off with another violent kiss, almost punishing, but it is still surprising to have achieved his goal so quickly.
Suho himself feels like a goddamn history question, each slide of mouth an argument, each nip of teeth an example; as if Sieun is working on the problem. Easy problem, Suho thinks, receptive to every small thing that is given to him. An approving noise is muffled between them, but Sieun seems to feel it, because he answers with a jerk down. Suho moans in his mouth.
Without waiting for further encouragement, Sieun takes to canting his hips against his.
Oh, this is what wet dreams are made of alright. Under his hands, Sieun’s waist moves quickly, with a swiftness that defies all expectations. The lack of the control he usually is so proud of adds erotism to the way he loses himself in the movements, refusing to let Suho’s mouth explore his neck or his torso, keeping him occupied with too much tongue and just enough wetness.
For the first time in a long time, Suho comes into his pants like a fucking thirteen year old discovering hormones for the first time.
A thin layer of sweat has gathered on Sieun’s forehead, sticking his bangs to skin. Suho would be surprised if he didn’t feel as hot, with the way they’re tangled together. Even after this, even with their brains leaked out of them, that asshole still finds the strength to mutter.
“Data is gathered through many trials.”
“How many we’re talking about ?” He gasps, still overtly sensitive. Also, who would have thought Sieun talking like a smartass would be such a turn on ?
(He did, ever since that game of pool table where he kicked his ass without breaking a sweat)
A rare smile breaks on Sieun’s mouth, beautiful and enchanting and even more breathtaking than all that led them to this.
“We’ll see.”