Chapter Text
Ricky, contrary to the belief of Taerae, Matthew, and sort of every one of his friends, isn’t particularly fond of parties.
It’s stupid, really. He’ll spend an eon complaining about party culture in his area—if Twitter or Tumblr users were shunned off the internet and personified in the form of the 300 drunk, high, twenty-something year olds, this would be it.
But without the protection of the screen, you’re a front row victim to an overwhelming amount of body odor and sleazy pickup lines. It’s alright, the free drinks and weed make it just barely bearable, and despite the tangents, he finds himself a part of said 300 twenty-something year olds weekend after weekend.
His friends would call it an addiction, he would tell them it’s obviously out of the ordinary to see others party so often when you’re from a city in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. But he digresses—maybe it is getting bad again.
Ricky props a hand under his chin, solo cup half-full of a mysterious liquid Taerae handed to him on arrival. Said man is already drunk enough to be showing out on the dancefloor, maybe on the fourth drink. It’s glass, Ricky’s not too sure where he got it from.
He's not too worried though, these guys would probably let him in with a machete if he said it was a prop. They’re at a house party in a campus fraternity, largely known for its bodybuilders—guys who consume chicken breast like it’s gold. Kind of like Matthew, but on steroids.
Packed onto the couch like sardines wasn’t particularly the first place Ricky would choose to play truth or dare, but apparently that was an unpopular opinion. He watches Gunwook set his empty beer bottle sideways on the table with a sigh, reprimanding Gyuvin for breaking the previous one, ‘this is the third bottle, Kim Gyuvin!’
It feels cliche, and not nearly eventful enough to bear the sweat dripping down his back.
This spin lands on the culprit himself, and his attempts to scoot further away are pointed out faster than he can even lift his ass from his seat. Gyuvin drops his hands to his lap, looking up dejectedly at the person who spun the bottle—Matthew.
Ricky’s lost track of how many drinks the older man has had by now, and he figures he’s either already blacked out or fairly close to it. Matthew gives a little grin, no good, “Gyuvin, my lovely Gyuvinnie, truth or dare?”
Both options seem pretty treacherous right now, but Gyuvin goes with the safer (?) one anyway, “truth.”
Unsurprisingly, Matthew whines in complaint. He nearly falls from his seat in the midst of his tantrum, saved by Gunwook wrapping a forearm around his middle. He ends up practically on the other’s lap, and Gyuvin lets his head fall against the back of the couch, looking away from the pair.
Ricky knows what he’s thinking—probably the same as himself. Watching two people pine is, in fact, not as fun as it had been the first two weeks. Ricky’s genuinely considering finding someone to intervene, forcing at least one of them to snap out of it and stop dancing around each other like this. He can almost hear Matthew’s annoying taunt in his head, ‘maybe you’re just jealous!’
He ignores it. Mostly because it’s possibly, probably, definitely true. Whatever.
“Alright! Is it true…” He leans forward with a squint, and Ricky’s faintly reminded of a grandfather, “that you’re saving your virginity for someone special?”
Virginity? Ricky wants to laugh, assuming Matthew’s putting on some sort of act with the whole stance and everything. Then he notices Gunwook’s face drop, snapping his head to give Matthew a look.
Gyuvin’s ears go a bright red first, gradually spreading to his cheeks as his wide eyes flicker between Matthew and Ricky.
Ricky feels like his brain could melt out of his ears, hardly able to school his expression into something impassive while he watches Gyuvin. But he isn’t looking at Ricky anymore, setting his plastic cup down on the table in front of them with a chuckle. It’s dry, humorless.
“Uh, I’m gonna…” He stands from his seat on the couch, “go. I’ll text you guys when I get home, yeah?”
He doesn’t wait for a response, turning to walk away. Ricky watches him go until the lights flash, blue to purple, and he blends into the crowd.
It seems Matthew only reads the room just then, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. His words are muffled when he speaks. “Oh, shit. Ricky wasn’t supposed to know that, was he?”
Exasperated, Gunwook slouches in his chair, “no, he wasn’t.”
The urge to bombard them with questions is hard to suppress, but he manages, desperately trying to act like a normal adult about the new information. “It’s alright, you know I wouldn’t tell. You should apologize, though.”
It’s kind of awkward now, and Gunwook looks just about ready to give Matthew an earful, so Ricky takes that as his cue to leave. He searches the room, catching Taerae’s eye.
Like the savior he is—the older man stalks over from his spot in the crowd. He’s sort of shoulder checking everyone, but no one’s really aware enough to care. One guy stumbles backward a bit, not from force but most likely caught off guard. Taerae doesn’t apologize, but he places his drink in the guy’s hand with a sympathetic pat, and it’s almost as good as an actual ‘sorry’.
His dimples cut deep with how hard he’s smiling, and Ricky would coo over how cute it is if that smile didn’t mean trouble. Trouble meaning a giddy, reckless version of the Taerae they all know and love. He’s composed, almost unnervingly logical at times, but when his goal was to get shitfaced—he most definitely does not pull strings. The older man stumbles a bit once he reaches Ricky, giggling at himself before extending his hand with an expectant raise of his eyebrows.
Ricky returns the smile, allowing himself to be tugged back into the throng of the party.
Faces around him blur in a whirlwind of color, air thick with the smell of smoke and sweat. His head spins, in a good way, and his hand reaches out to find his friend’s. Taerae intertwines their fingers, raising them into the air for a brief moment before gently urging Ricky to twirl. He follows, and the older man lets out another airy giggle.
Responsibilities and any other burdens fade into nothing here, suspended in the haze of the moment. And for once—he doesn't feel the crushing pressure of deadlines or expectations. Yet, despite the fleeting sense of freedom, something twinges in his chest every time he remembers he’s become one of the very people he used to mock.
The people he once swore he would never turn into—ones who fell into empty nights and synthetic highs, trading their dreams for fleeting moments of euphoria. It’s a quiet, unsettling realization that weighs heavy in the back of his mind, overpowering even as he laughs or distracts himself with the noise around him.
Melodramatic thoughts cloud Ricky’s mind, and the music grates against his ears, turning what’s usually a comforting sensation into an irritation. He tries, and fails, to shake it off before surrendering.
Bringing the older man closer, Ricky lets Taerae know he’s going to get another drink. Pushing his way through the crowd, he makes a beeline for the kitchen. He’s hardly tipsy, feeling only a feverish buzz beneath his skin—which has to change. And fast.
On his way to the kitchen, Ricky bumps into one of the fraternity guys, who places a hand on his waist (ugh) with a smirk. Ricky’s had enough encounters with this type to know they’re rather boring, both in and out of bed. His lips twitch into a smile so fake it almost hurts, resisting the urge to shut the guy up. That could get him banned from coming again, though, and that’s not worth it. So, he laughs, shoving the man’s shoulder with a playful look, but there’s enough force behind it to make him drop his hand.
When he feels the same hand on the small of his back a few moments later, Ricky decides he’s entertained this mediocre spectacle long enough. It’s been a rough night, Daniel (or was it Dylan?) will be fine. He walks away mid-conversation, eyes fixed on the bottle of vodka sitting on the counter. Ricky hates vodka, too rubbing alcohol-y for his tastes, but it'll do for now. Grabbing a solo cup, he pours two shots, maybe three, foregoing the mixer entirely to chug. It burns like hell on the way down, yet surprisingly not the worst he's endured.
The weight of the crowd, the heat, and the restless energy is starting to suffocate him. He needs space—somewhere quiet, just for a moment, to catch his breath. Outside, there’s a crowd of people scattered on the benches and perched on the porch steps, talking and laughing, their voices blending into a constant hum. Ricky scans the house, gaze eventually landing on the staircase tucked in the corner. He pushes through the clusters of strangers with a single-minded focus, the heat of their bodies pressing around him, but he doesn’t stop.
Ricky's head feels fuzzy, the edge slipping away as the alcohol seeps deeper into his system.
“Fuck.” Jamming his foot into the top step, Ricky grunts. His hand reaches out to grasp the wall beside him, steadying himself as he tries to regain his balance, so embarrassing. The music from downstairs is still blaringly loud, and probably will stay that way if you’re within at least twenty feet of the entire house. It pisses him off all the same.
He prays to any higher power listening that it’s empty upstairs, for his own dignity, but he isn’t very confident. Surprisingly, all that lingers is used solo cups littering the floor, or the moans filtering out from one of the bedrooms. Ricky squints, attempting to focus his field of vision long enough to locate a bathroom.
Fortunately for him, there’s a classy sign that reads shitter on the second door to his left, and he sighs in relief at the sight of an unlocked door. If Ricky had hesitated a bit longer, he might’ve noticed the light peeking out from beneath, or the faint sound of sniffling. But instead, he opens the door carelessly, barging into the bathroom with a stumble.
He meets Gyuvin’s eyes, mouth dropping open slightly in shock. There are tear tracks decorating his cheeks, and his eyes are swollen. They aren’t bright like they usually are. This time, they’re dull—tired. Whether or not they were like that the entire night, Ricky has no clue, only remembering how the hue of the lights made his friends' faces hardly visible. The other man looks equally as shocked to see him, as if he wasn’t the one that left the door unlocked.
“Gyuvin, we thought you left.” He tries to keep his tone gentle, doing his best despite the fresh alcohol in his system. Ricky pauses for a moment, then, noticing the sharp smell of tequila on the younger man—Gyuvin is drunk. Gyuvin is drunk.
Alarm bells ring in his head, and he doesn’t even know the guy all that well. They see each other in passing—on campus, at parties, or when Gyuvin crashes in Matthew’s room for a bit after the gym. Hell, a follow request on Instagram is probably the most direct interaction they’ve had without the presence of their mutual friends. There’s no specific reason for it. At least, that’s what Ricky tells himself to feel like less of a jerk.
For reasons unknown to even himself, Ricky closes the door behind him.
Gyuvin's only reaction is another sniffle, gaze still lowered to the screen in his lap for a moment. He tugs at a loose thread on his jeans, shutting the phone off entirely. Ricky almost considers retracing his steps to give the other man space—but that might be even weirder at this point. He’s already closed the door, so fuck it.
Ricky walks forward, hesitant, sitting on the closed toilet seat in front of Gyuvin. He’s slouched on the edge of the tub, looking like he’s been crying for a while. Ricky isn’t sure whether he needs to vent, or a distraction, but he picks the latter.
“Is this because I found out you’re a virgin?” It’s meant to come off as a joke, but Ricky realizes a little too late that he could just sound mean. Unfortunately, he’s too drunk to tell.
With a giggle, Gyuvin leans his head against the wall beside him, looking at Ricky now. He still isn’t saying anything, only scanning the older man’s face in the least subtle way possible. At least he isn’t actively crying anymore.
Ricky figures he isn’t ready to talk yet. Humming, he pulls out his phone, fumbling longer than usual to locate something in his camera roll. Finally, a smirk crosses his face as he finds the photo he was looking for—a sad puppy clutching a beer bottle. He tilts the screen toward Gyuvin wordlessly.
He giggles, again, and Ricky decides he really likes the sound of it. Like a windchime, so pretty.
“That’s me?”
A nod, “mhm.”
Gyuvin looks back at the hands in his lap with a faint smile, and there’s a lull of silence before he speaks again. “I’m getting chewed out for even coming to this party, and I have no clue why.”
His words are dismissive, but the smile drops, betraying the facade he tries to keep up. Ricky wants to tell him it’s okay, but he doesn’t know how, so he stays silent, letting Gyuvin continue if he’d like to.
“I don’t even…” he sighs, “I don’t want anything to do with her anymore, I’ve had it. But I still let her words get to me, it’s stupid.”
Sagely, Ricky thinks about how he knows the feeling all too well. He sees himself in the younger, and it only deepens the knot in his stomach. He curses his own empathy, but then again, this is different. This is Gyuvin.
Some people just have this natural warmth about them, a kind of light that shines through in anything they do. You can feel it the moment you meet them—their attentive listening, genuine smiles, and the care they show for others. It’s as if they simply embody this kindness without effort. It’s the type of person Gyuvin is, and Ricky wants to throttle anyone that would make him believe otherwise. He blames his defensiveness for the man on his inebriated state.
“It isn’t stupid, it’s shitty.” Ricky tries to string together a good response, but his brain kind of feels like mush at the moment, and he can feel the word-vomit crawling up his throat like poison. “My solution has always been,” a hiccup, “hook up with a stranger. Not the healthiest option, but it works. Most times. Sometimes. ”
Why was that what he chose to say? He found out about Gyuvin’s apparent celibacy not even two hours ago, yet here he was—spewing useless advice, further embarrassing himself. It was like Gyuvin possessed him everytime he was near, jumbling his thoughts and words. His typical calm demeanor was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by an awkward, blushing mess. Ricky winces aloud as soon as the words leave his mouth, quickly raising a hand to his brows in a weak attempt to hide from the other man.
Fortunately for Ricky, and his dignity, Gyuvin just finds it funny. Laughing until he accidentally slams his head into the wall beside him, clutching the sore spot with a groan. “Man, if only I was bold enough. One rejection would send me… send me turning tail and running home on foot.”
Ricky falters, giving him a look over, “rejection? Is that seriously what’s stopping you?”
The younger man only gives him a little tilt of his head, awfully dog-like, blinking at him. “Um, yes.”
He almost wanted to laugh in Gyuvin's face, was he serious?
Kim Gyuvin, who was practically a wet dream come to life, was afraid of rejection. He was pretty in a prince-like way, features so perfectly arranged it made you want to stop in your tracks and ogle for a moment. And it didn’t end there—unfairly enough, his body looked like it could’ve been pulled straight from a Calvin Klein campaign. Like his hands, christ, and his–
A voice rings in the back of Ricky’s head, telling him to at least attempt to tone it down a bit, but he couldn’t help it. It almost made the older want to give him his own agent's number. Dickriding aside, it's an undeniable fact that Gyuvin is hot. The equivalent of saying the sky is blue, grass is green, Ricky’s gay as fuck, and so on.
It’s only then that he realizes how long he’d spent in his own mind, and the man in question furrows his brows, lower lip jutting out in a pout. He sniffles again, moving his gaze to the door in front of him instead of Ricky.
“That’s the last thing you have to worry about, promise.” He settles on emphasizing the you as strongly as he can without yelling in Gyuvin’s face, hoping his words are enough to make up for his lapse of silence.
Gyuvin pauses for a beat, thinking. “I don’t know if embarrassing myself in front of a stranger would be very good for my self esteem.”
Just then, a thought appears in Ricky’s head, one so mortifying it makes his ears burn. He condemns himself silently for even entertaining such an idea. The younger man only stares at him, eyes shifting around his face and Ricky’s sure he’s noticed the sudden color to his cheeks. He looks at Gyuvin a little harder then, really looking, ignoring the way it causes him to stiffen up in response. Despite being as rigid as ice, his eyes still have that little sparkle to them, cheeks rosy and Ricky can feel his self-control slipping.
He wonders what other ways he could make Gyuvin blush like that, other situations. Would his eyes stay wide and teary, or would they shift into something more intense?
“I can help you, if you want.” He’s looking at Gyuvin’s lips as he says this, but when his brain catches up to his words he’s scrambling to explain himself. “Fuck- sorry, I don’t know why I said that.” So much for explaining.
God, how Ricky wants to curl up and die. He didn’t even know if Gyuvin actively wanted to lose his virginity—and even if he did, he’s probably straight. Ricky’s not one to blurt out impulsive requests, if this could be considered a request. It’s not phrased like one, but if Gyuvin noticed the desperation laced in his words, it’s almost like he begged him.
This is going to haunt Ricky in his nightmares, he’s sure of it.
“Uh,” very helpfully, Gyuvin only stares at him with wide eyes, stunned into silence. Ricky can’t really blame him. He closes his mouth for a moment, blinking, before he replies, “is this because you feel bad or something?”
Ricky flinches a bit, shaking his head before inching closer.
The other surveys his expression, “I thought you hated me.”
Feigning shock, Ricky huffs out a little laugh. “We’ve hardly spoken, why would I hate you?”
He understands why Gyuvin would make that assumption—if their roles were reversed, Ricky would probably draw the same conclusion. Even so, he hadn’t expected Gyuvin to address it so directly.
“You avoid me like the plague! I swear, I’m not crazy.” He’s cute, slurring his words like this, but Ricky’s still getting more worried by the minute. He would let Gyuvin crash on his couch, but what if Matthew’s sleeping at Gunwook’s instead of his place tonight? What if he has to face the consequences of his actions directly in the face tomorrow morning?
Ricky barely manages to suppress his shiver just in time. But he’s an avoidant person, not an asshole, so he tugs on the younger man’s arm, helping him stand up. “You’re silly. C’mon, we should get going now. Who drove you here?”
“Wait,” he’s pouting now, swaying slightly as he plants his feet down as best as he can. Ricky can’t help it when the corners of his lips perk up, “we weren’t done talking.”
“No? I think I’ve said enough.”
Gyuvin’s face falls, cocking his head to the side as he gives Ricky a flat look. His fingers latch onto Ricky’s sleeve, and he wrangles the other’s arm like he’s throwing a tantrum. Ricky’s smile shifts into a soft giggle.
“What is it?” He turns completely, making sure to give Gyuvin his best bedroom eyes, looking up through his lashes. It’s a little mean in this proximity. He tries not to point it out when Gyuvin’s knees buckle for a second.
“I’d like your help.” He’s still hesitant as he says it, nervous, like he thought Ricky would’ve changed his mind within the past five minutes.
The older man grins, allowing himself to gently place a hand on Gyuvin’s bicep. It’s solid beneath his grip, muscles twitching at the unexpected touch, and something in Ricky’s stomach churns. Everything about Gyuvin is so enticing, without even trying, which was the worst part. His gaze, his voice, the pressure behind his touch, everything. It’s addictive, and Ricky can already feel himself getting hooked.
—
Click. Flash. Click. Flash.
“Lower your head a little.”
Ricky’s eyes water from the effort of keeping them open, and he swallows the bile threatening to crawl up his throat. Early mornings were never particularly for him, much less in an industry where he has to look more than presentable at all times. Aching feet and sore eyes are hardly the worst of it.
The photographer calls for a switch in position. He moves, and the room moves with him. Metal hanging from his shirt clangs with the movement, and the faux fur hanging off his shoulder tickles the skin of his neck uncomfortably. It’s a sleeveless look– white mesh covering a skin-tight black undershirt, giving an opportunity to show off his progress in the gym. He’d looked forward to this shoot all week, but someone’s cranked the AC to an ungodly temperature, making the cold bite at every bit of exposed skin. Ricky just hopes the editing’s enough to overshadow the goosebumps lining his body.
“Perfect! That’s great, Ricky.”
What was once a blessing has become almost a curse, something that can be taken away so easily, so quickly. Something that binds you, draining you further and further by the day until you’re nothing but a shell of the person you once were. Maybe he’s just being dramatic, but with each casting, he can’t shake the feeling of becoming less human and more like a doll. Ready to be shaped however they see fit, dressed and captured at their will. He’s getting paid, though, so it doesn’t really matter.
A voice reverberates loudly through the room, signaling the end of the shoot. He thanks the staff absentmindedly, skimming over unfamiliar faces. Lithe fingers tug at the pendant decorating his neck, desperate to take it all off. Ricky loves the camera, the attention, but the aftermath—not so much.
There’s an itch beneath the surface of his skin that he cannot scratch. He aches to rip it with the sharp tips of his nails until he’s spilling over onto the floor, so very red.
Jiwoong’s call cuts through the haze, and Ricky meets his gaze with a tired look. People around him pause—likely confused as to why he was still just standing there—but they have more important things to do, walking away with critical eyes. The older man in front of him brings a hand to move Ricky’s bangs off his eyes, and the unexpected touch and influx of light makes him squint. Jiwoong frowns, flicking him square in the middle of the forehead.
Ricky bats his hand away with a wince. He makes sure to give Jiwoong a glare when he backs up. “Fuck was that for?”
“You’re not sleeping again. Are you taking those pills I got you?”
There it is. That mothering tone that’s not demeaning, but it might as well be with the way it makes his shoulders cave in. The younger man was grateful for the support, don’t get him wrong, but there came a point where Jiwoong felt less like a manager and more like a pseudo-guardian.
Maybe it was something in Ricky’s slight attitude when they first met, or the way he’d space out every couple minutes, almost too stoic for a 17-year-old. He doesn’t reply, opting to stare at the stray cat hair on the other’s sweater.
“Start tonight or I’m crushing them into your meals.” He moves around Ricky, unclasping his necklace.
“Creep. And they’re not even pills, they’re supplements. What are you, 500 years old?”
Ricky’s aware that with consistent use—those could be a genuine help. But he’s stubborn and enjoys being a dick for no reason, so he stands his ground. Jiwoong isn’t up for the push-and-pull today, it seems, because he only fixes him with the funny glare, putting Ricky’s phone in his hand before shoving him towards the makeshift dressing room.
He unlocks it with a sigh, feet dragging against the floor, but one pile of notifications in particular nearly makes him stop in his tracks.
kgvinnie
hi!!
i know you told me to text you last week but i got caught up
are u free tonight?
sorry if that’s too soon
fuck i’m saying too much aren’t i
It makes the ends of his lips curl despite himself, and Ricky hides it behind the back of his hand, shutting the curtain behind him hastily. His reflection in the mirror is already tinged pink at the tips of his ears. Pathetic.
shenquanrui
I was wondering when you’d text
I’m free, wanna come over?
He hesitates, on the verge of adding something else to soothe the other man’s (evident) nerves a bit, but the three bubbles appearing at the bottom of his screen cut him off.
kgvinnie
Yes
The response comes so quickly it makes something churn in Ricky’s chest, and he waits. His cheek is starting to throb from how hard he’s biting to keep his expression at bay. There’s no one around to see, or judge, but for the sake of his own pride, Ricky didn’t want to be blushing like a schoolgirl over a hookup.
sorry lol
what’s ur address?
He types his apartment’s location and the time he’ll be home, shutting his phone off after he sends it out. Now, he’s only more eager to leave, fighting the urge to bolt with the stylist's accessories still on.
It’s still mid day, giving him more than enough time to make his flat look somewhat presentable. He mentally curses last night’s drunk Ricky—who tore up his dresser to find a specific pajama set, crucial to his beauty sleep for whatever reason. Gyuvin wasn’t going to go snooping in his closets anyway, he’ll just stuff everything in one and call it a night.
His shirt and accessories clink as he hangs them up on the hooks beside him, and he pauses, momentarily caught by his reflection in the mirror.
Concealer is caked onto his under eyes, fine for the camera, but a mess up-close. The skin around his eyes is sunken, and no amount of color corrector could hide the bags that reach nearly halfway down his face. His collar bones jut out more than he remembers, vaguely thinking of the scolding his mother would give him if she found out he let it get to this point.
Ricky misses her, and his sister. But life gets in the way, with his mom’s promotion, and his sister groveling her way through junior year, there’s been no time to catch up.
Eyes trailing down, he lays a hand on top of his ribs, prominent bone meeting his fingers. Somewhere in here lies a scar, etched deep and unyielding. It never leaves, never fades; much less allows him to forget. He wonders how much longer he’ll live like this before the dread consumes him entirely.
Changed back into the clothes he came in, Ricky says his goodbyes briefly, just short of running out the door. He slips into the backseat of the Uber that Jiwoong called for him earlier, leaning his head against the cool window.
The hum of the engine and the soft thrum of the city outside is almost comforting as the car weaves through traffic. His apartment feels miles away, but with each passing block, the familiar route begins to settle his nerves, offering the quiet that’s been evading him all day.
It’s just Gyuvin. He mulls this over in his head, on repeat, but it only serves to stress him out further.
It’s Gyuvin, the man he’s made an effort to avoid since his first year. It was almost like Ricky from the past just knew he’d pull some stupid shit like this eventually, and that theory was probably right. He can’t recall what his exact reasoning was at the time– something to do with the way his palms would grow clammy whenever the other man came anywhere near him.
Not only that, but Ricky has never been in this situation before. Friends with benefits, sure—he had that one ex in high school—but teaching someone? He’s completely clueless, and coming to the realization that his offer might’ve been more self-indulgent than anything.
Thanking the driver, he steps into the lobby, the dim overhead lighting mirroring his current mood. Ricky exhales sharply as the elevator doors close, pressing the button to his floor with more force than necessary.
He leans against the wall behind him, foot tapping in impatience while he watches the numbers light up in a painfully slow sequence, each second stretching longer than the last. 1, 2, 3, 4.
Frankly, he’d been too busy during the past week to let the mortification sink in, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been happier to have no free time. Ricky enters his apartment, the familiar interior doing little to calm the growing knot in his stomach.
The silence of the space feels heavier than usual, almost suffocating. He lets out a sharp breath as he walks further in, replaying his suggestion from last week over and over in his mind.
What had he been thinking? Suggesting to coach Gyuvin—was he out of his mind? Now he was pacing around, trying to ignore the surge of nerves that threatened to overwhelm him. Why had he made it so casual?
He could already feel the weight of the impending awkwardness pressing down on him, and it made him want to crawl into bed and forget the whole thing. But no, he couldn't. He had to see this through, whatever this was.
Ricky bustles around his flat, picking any stray laundry off the floor, his usual composed nature fraying at the edges. He’s straightened the already-aligned throw pillows on his bed three times, annoyed with himself for caring so much. It wasn’t like Gyuvin would notice the difference. Still, his chest tightened at the thought of imperfection.
With a deep breath, he forces himself to step back, shoving his stress aside. This is ridiculous—he’s a model, used to scrutiny. Why did this feel so different?
A faint knock on the door jolts him from his thoughts, and he quickly shoves one last sock in the hall closet before heading over. He checks the time on his phone briefly— 10:02, how punctual.
Ricky exhales, steeling himself for a moment before opening the door. Gyuvin's head snaps up at the noise, light brown locks bouncing over his forehead, and Ricky restrains himself from reaching out to ruffle them.
“Hi.”
“Ah, hey.” Gyuvin kind of looks like he’s about to throw up, probably nervous. Ricky offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile, shuffling out the way to let the taller man pass.
Ricky sticks by him while he takes off his shoes, watching Gyuvin peer around his apartment with curiosity. His eyes trail over the numerous art pieces adorning the walls, mouth agape when he sees the floor-to-ceiling windows, and Ricky bites back a chuckle. “You like it?”
“Like? Jesus, Ricky, where’d you even find this place? And I thought my apartment was nice.”
He peeks his head around the corner, giving a little woah occasionally. Ricky’s sure if they were closer, Gyuvin would be giving his flat an in-depth inspection by now, but he stays in his own little bubble. He hasn’t strayed more than five feet from Ricky, polite, instead utilizing his long limbs to look around.
With another smile, Ricky takes him by the hand, “come, I’ll show you my room.”
Gyuvin trails behind him quietly, grip firm but hesitant, as if he's grounding himself. Once they step inside, Ricky turns to face him. Gyuvin’s eyes dart away, glancing at the floor or the picture frames on his shelves—anything but Ricky.
He takes pride in his bedroom, every detail carefully curated, yet Gyuvin seems more focused on avoiding eye contact than taking it all in this time. The older man tilts his head slightly, a flicker of amusement crossing his face, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he waits. Giving Gyuvin the space to settle his nerves.
“You can sit on the bed if you want,” he busies himself with the lights, switching the hanging lantern from blue to a soft pink color, dressing the room in a warm, rosy glow. The gentle light softens the sharp edges of Gyuvin’s profile, casting subtle shadows that stir a deep warmth in Ricky’s chest.
He fiddles with the controls a moment longer than necessary, pretending like he’s not watching Gyuvin from the corner of his eye. The other hesitates near the bed, hands fidgeting at his sides before he finally perches himself on the edge.
“Have you had your first kiss?”
Gyuvin nods, he’s still stiff as a board, anxiousness not fading in the slightest. It makes Ricky pause. He’s only a few feet away, but he doesn’t come any closer, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“Hey, relax. I won’t do anything without telling you first, kay?”
He approaches the bed and sits down, leaving a safe distance between them. Drawing his legs up to his chest, he faces Gyuvin. The younger man mirrors his position in response, opting to leave his legs crossed. A nod, “okay.”
“Who did– or– who was it that you kissed?” Ricky stumbles over his words, cringing mentally. Maybe Gyuvin’s antsy mood is rubbing off on him.
“My, uh, ex-girlfriend. She broke up with me a week or so before the party. That’s why you found me,” he pauses, wincing like the memory hurts to remember, and Ricky kind of gets it, “the way you did.”
Oh. He remembers the amount of times Gyuvin would bring out his phone to reply to a message, the same little frown painting his face every time he read—presumably—his ex’s messages. Ricky assumed they might’ve fought, he didn’t realize the extent though.
He’s ridiculously curious, but Gyuvin might not take to his inquiries very well, and he’s coming to realize how inconvenient their unfamiliarity will be for this situation. Alas, it’s too late to take anything back, so he presses on, “just pecks? Only with her?”
Gyuvin tilts his head a little at that. “Yeah, yes to both.”
Ricky is tempted to drop his jaw in shock and ask how that was even possible—how anyone could have Gyuvin to themselves and be content with just a few pecks. For an entire year of dating, too. Unbelievable.
He sets that train of thought aside, choosing to switch the topic. “Let’s start with a kiss, is that okay?”
Gyuvin nods shakily. His ears are already pink, and Ricky fights the urge to pinch them and coo. He chooses to stay in front of the other man for now, shuffling closer until their knees brush. He’ll get a chance to sit on his lap later, when Gyuvin’s calmed down—hopefully. “Tell me if you want to stop. If anything, you could tap my arm too. I want to make sure you’re-"
“I’m okay, I swear,” He pauses, biting his lip like the sentence came out before he could control it, “I want this.”
Ricky feels a smile overtaking his face against his will. He’s always found Gyuvin endearing, and it’s only amplified in a situation like this.
Slowly, the older man inches closer, his gaze fixed on Gyuvin's lips. For a brief moment, his eyes flick up, meeting Gyuvin’s, silently asking for permission. He gives a small nod of assent and, to Ricky’s surprise, leans in first. It’s a quick, fleeting touch, and he backs up only enough to meet Ricky’s eyes again, seeking approval.
Grinning, Ricky leans in again, his arms sliding up to loop around Gyuvin’s neck. He starts off slow, giving the other time to get used to the unfamiliar sensation. Gyuvin’s still rigid under his lips, fingers furled in the sheets.
Sensing the hesitation, Ricky deepens the kiss, a soft, frustrated sound slipping from his throat. The noise is unintentional, but it seems to get the job done, because the next moment Gyuvin’s hands are curling around Ricky’s hips, tugging him closer.
They cover more skin than expected, and he can feel warmth curling in his gut at the fact. The hands drag up, catching on the fabric of Ricky’s shirt for a moment before it falls back down, and Gyuvin settles on squeezing around his waist. Ricky releases a low whimper, allowing the younger man to swallow his sounds.
Gyuvin kisses like he’s starving, like he wants to devour Ricky whole. He’s insistent, a little messy. On anyone else, it might be a turn off, yet it suits him. It’s inexperienced, but just the aspect of kissing Gyuvin makes his brain buffer. Pathetically, Ricky can feel himself getting hard already, unconsciously pressing closer.
He brings a hand to rest on the other man’s cheek, pushing lightly to slow the pace into something softer, sweeter. Gyuvin follows eagerly, taking in every nudge and wordless instruction with ease. A quick learner, this one, so much so that it almost makes him jealous.
His hands run through the younger man’s hair, humming happily when he notices it’s somehow softer than it looks. He lets himself get maybe a bit too carried away, noting with a jolt that he’d made his way onto Gyuvin’s lap already. So much for waiting.
Gyuvin’s hands grow bolder, slipping beneath his shirt to touch bare skin. He goes from feeling over his belly, to his spine, fingers trailing lightly, applying more pressure until Ricky’s unable to hide the shudder that wracks his body. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, warmth tickling every part of his body so intensely it makes him feel lightheaded. And he hasn’t taken a breath in far too long.
Ricky pulls back, as much as it pains him to do so, stomach quivering at the whimper Gyuvin gives in response. He opens his eyes, gaze imploring. “Doing okay?”
“Good. M’ good.” His eyes don’t stray from the other man’s lips for a moment, and the look on his face makes Ricky’s breath hitch in his throat.
As it turns out, his assumption the other night was right. Gyuvin aroused looked fairly similar to him drunk, except bathroom Gyuvin was vulnerable for a different reason entirely. Now, his focus is on Ricky, only Ricky, and he looks downright needy.
Say something. “You, uh, you learn fast,” God, not that. “We could try with tongue now, if you want?”
Gyuvin’s eyes widen a bit. Collecting himself fairly quickly, he nods again. He’s not speaking in full sentences, but Ricky figures he may be too overcome with nerves to speak now, so he continues, trusting the younger man to stop him if it gets to be too much.
With a hum, Ricky leans back in, starting off lazier this time. He waits until the muscles beneath his thighs unclench, until a thick forearm is caging him in, pressing them chest to chest.
Gingerly, he lets the tip of his tongue trace the seam of Gyuvin’s lips, requesting permission. Gyuvin responds immediately, opening up for him, a low moan slipping through once they make contact.
Ricky feels like a man possessed, taking in every twitch and noise Gyuvin makes like it’s the last time he’ll see it. His hands search for Gyuvin’s, tugging the one curled around his thigh to rest on his ass, and he presses, urging the other to take initiative.
Gyuvin scratches the urge beautifully, gripping with so much force it rucks Ricky’s hips up a bit, and he lets out a whine at the friction.
“Wait– ah– Gyuvin.”
The words are spoken against the younger man’s lips, but Gyuvin doesn’t let him go for long. Ricky releases the death grip he had on his shirt, batting at his chest a couple times until Gyuvin separates their lips, albeit reluctantly. He keeps Ricky within reach, inhaling the air he exhales with a desperation that has the older man trembling slightly above him.
It takes him a minute, but Gyuvin looks like he snaps out of whatever haze he’d been under, eyes going from sharp to wide and worried in a second. He pulls his hand out from under Ricky’s shirt with a sheepish look, like he hadn’t realized it’d gotten up there.
Gyuvin occupies himself with rubbing circles over the older man’s midriff, eyes on Ricky’s face, waiting for his next instruction. He’s briefly reminded of the introduction Matthew gave when they first met: puppy personified.
“Let’s take it slow. Do you want me to show you how to give someone a hickey?” It comes out more eager than Ricky had intended, and he pauses for a moment to collect himself. This is definitely not for his own enjoyment.
Gyuvin responds with the same eagerness, nodding rapidly. His eyes almost light up at the suggestion, and Ricky suppresses a smile.
“Do you mind…” He gestures around Gyuvin’s neck.
“No- um- anywhere’s fine.” He gets the words out like he’s in a rush, Ricky feels the corners of his mouth tugging up against his will.
The almost boyish enthusiasm amuses him endlessly, but he fears Gyuvin will think he’s making fun of him if he does laugh. So he only nods, bringing his lips to the side of the younger man’s face.
Ricky starts at his jaw, pressing an open-mouthed kiss so soft it’s hardly noticeable, a shiver going down Gyuvin’s spine when the other’s lips trail kisses up to his earlobe. Ricky leaves yet another kiss, then nips.
The strangled noise Gyuvin makes sends flames licking up his spine. He can already feel himself making a mess in his underwear, and it gets so overwhelming that he feels like he can’t help himself when he grinds down on Gyuvin’s lap.
He freezes. Ricky’s worried he fucked up for a second, but then a hand moves back down to pull him closer, nudging him to make the first move.
Their eyes lock when Ricky grinds down a second time, with purpose, and his mouth drops open with a little gasp. Gyuvin’s gaze lowers, raising a hand to cradle the back of Ricky’s head, coaxing him in for another kiss. This time the older man can’t find it in him to tell him to take it slow.
Gyuvin kisses him again, and again, and again. Licking into his mouth with a certain fervor, he continues until Ricky’s heaving for air through his nose, seemingly losing himself in the sensation.
Ricky moans, desperate and broken into the other’s mouth, but when his jaw falls slack, Gyuvin only pushes his tongue further. He kisses like he wants to consume Ricky, like he wants to commit every taste and feeling to memory.
Bold, his hands move the older man back and forth above him, almost like a doll. It’s jerky, a little unstable, but the seam of Gyuvin’s jeans rubs up against his dick and it’s so good. Everything's so good.
“Shit,” Gyuvin pulls back a few inches, looking up at Ricky like he’s in the presence of God. His face is flushed a deep pink, pupils blown when their eyes meet. A shudder wracks through Ricky’s frame, suddenly feeling needier than before, almost depraved. “Baby.”
Ah. That, embarrassingly enough, almost does it for him, and his hips stutter above Gyuvin. The man below him groans in frustration, continuing to pull him rhythmically despite his attempt to pause.
He can feel the heat searing onto his skin through Gyuvin’s pants. Panting, he tries to picture what the erection rubbing against his own would feel like inside him.
“Want you in me so bad, right here," manicured fingers curl over Gyuvin’s own, guiding him to press down on Ricky’s navel. His eyebrows raise, gaze flicking over Ricky’s features, pausing longest on pretty eyes, then his lips. Ricky holds eye contact with him, for once, letting him admire every crack in his expression, every shift.
The younger man adjusts him just so, angling his hips in a way that has Ricky feeling the drag of Gyuvin’s cock directly over his hole, and he cries out. He feels the coil twisting tighter in his gut, knowing the friction will probably burn like a bitch later, but it doesn’t matter at this moment.
Nothing other than Gyuvin really matters right now; Gyuvin and his firm grip, his broad shoulders, the pretty sounds he makes.
Gyuvin kisses him again, slower this time, savoring the feeling of Ricky’s lips against his. He seems to have taken a liking to making out, but Ricky doesn’t mind, not one bit. He squirms in Gyuvin’s lap, struggling to focus long enough to form a sentence—anything to let the younger man know how close he was getting.
But his efforts are in vain when Gyuvin brings a hand up to curl around the back of his neck. He isn’t necessarily putting down pressure in the way Ricky would like him to, only using it as leverage to minimize the other man’s writhing.
Dazed, Ricky brings a hand to tap on the taller man’s shoulder in quick succession, or as quickly as he could move. An intense pair of brown eyes meet his, hand leaving his neck like it burned to touch, and Gyuvin looks like he has an apology on the tip of his tongue, until- "please, Qubing, ‘m so close.”
Whether it was the name calling, or just Ricky calling out to him in general, Gyuvin’s orgasm wracks his body before he can say a word. Ricky’s not surprised, nor disappointed. He only locks his arms behind Gyuvin’s neck once he feels the man’s hips jerk, crowding in close.
He keeps his eyes on Gyuvin’s face, wanting to watch him fall apart in front of him for the first time. In front of anyone for the first time— his mind helpfully supplies, and it only adds onto his arousal.
As it turns out, Gyuvin is vocal when he cums, whining and moaning and Ricky can’t get enough of him. He aches to touch him, his bare skin. Gyuvin doesn’t stop the movements of their hips, evidently overstimulating himself judging by the faint wince on his face, but he continues until the other man is tipping over the edge after him with a cry.
With the view of Gyuvin teary-eyed below him, willing to push himself past his own limits just to please Ricky, it doesn’t take him long at all. He shuts his eyes with a gasp, breaking off into a string of moans.
He’s still in the midst of coming down from his orgasm when the younger man connects their lips again, and he relishes in the sloppy kisses, probably something only Gyuvin could make enjoyable. It feels oddly domestic. Ricky wishes he could stave off time just a little longer, relishing in the pure desire behind Gyuvin’s actions.
It’s funny, of all the random partners Ricky’s had in his bed, he’s never felt this wanted throughout it. More like a warm body. Sex to him has always been something to take your mind off other things, to stave off a fight, or because you simply felt like having sex. The emotion that comes with it—he never understood.
Ricky’s had several partners, even two that could be considered long-term, yet none sparked any sort of sentiment. It was never love making, just fucking. (The thought of calling it making love on its own makes him cringe a bit. Gunwook would call him pathetic.)
The man below him is sitting still with his eyes closed, looking serene, and Ricky leans back to admire him for a second. He runs a hand through Gyuvin's hair, a feeble attempt to fix the mess he made earlier. His fingers snag on a knot, making him wince even before Gyuvin does. He pats over the spot with a quiet sorry.
It’s only then that Gyuvin comes to, opening his eyes with a small jump that jostles Ricky in his lap. He’s looking fairly awkward now, not unexpected, but adorable all the same. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, hands tensing and untensing momentarily on Ricky’s hips.
“I forgot about the hickey thing, sorry.” Ricky adds bashfully, whoops. He hadn’t noticed until now how he offered then proceeded to completely forget, but he doesn’t think Gyuvin will have any complaints. Ricky got carried away, which is… questionable, to say the least.
It’s unlike him, but he chooses not to dwell on it—it’ll serve as great food for thought on his next overnight flight.
“Aha, me too, you’re good.”
With a smile, Ricky removes himself from the man’s lap, nose scrunching at the damp feeling in his boxers. He grabs a box of tissues from the top drawer of his nightstand, handing Gyuvin a couple as he takes one for himself.
Ricky looks back at him with a chuckle, “Maybe I should’ve told you to bring a change of underwear.”
Gyuvin just stares, yet the moment he stands up, he’s making a funny face with a small ew. Ricky can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat at that, feeling a bit bad. But Gyuvin reassures him it’s completely okay, he allegedly has experience in getting back to his apartment commando.
Ricky wants to question, considering none of those times could’ve been for the same reason as now, but maybe the less he knows the better. He lets Gyuvin change in his bathroom when the other man gets shy. As if he didn’t just have an orgasm in front of him.
They exchange numbers before he goes, easier contact, he said. The blush on Gyuvin’s cheeks stays up until they’re saying their goodbyes at Ricky’s door frame, and the older man felt like it was infecting him too. His hand trembles from where he hides it behind the door, giving a measly wave with the other that Gyuvin returns.
It’s only when he’s facing his own ruffled reflection in the mirror to his right, back pressed against his apartment door, that Ricky’s actions really settle in. He may or may not be fucked.