ten reasons why they are not perfect for each other
1. one hell of a past
It’s the sight of him lagging behind alone that puts the words in Siwon’s mouth.
“We could’ve been nicer.” So quietly whispered, they nevertheless sail the distance, reaching the periphery of their small, disgruntled group. Everyone hears them; everyone but the boy who lags behind.
Donghae raises his head first because he has been reciting the same line, singing the same song for weeks, never quite deterred by the cold silence which always greets the end of his little speech. Among them, he is one of the smallest, but his heart may as well be the biggest, for it takes a special kind of bravery to conquer that numbing fear which too often gags honesty.
Their eyes meet, and Siwon cannot help but feel a little braver, the mantle of fellowship squaring his shoulders.
“Right,” someone mutters, and it can be Kangin, or Heechul, or somebody else among the other ten. It doesn’t matter, because there is no mistaking the meaning—or the barb behind it.
“He deserves a chance,” Siwon digs up another sliver of argument, determined to continue. Righteousness makes him bolder, braver somehow.
But it promptly falls dead before the many angry glances shot to his direction.
“It’s easy for you to say,” Hyukjae speaks—or spits, judging from the viciousness of his voice. “You’re practically untouchable. But the rest of us aren’t so lucky.”
Siwon stiffens. It’s an old wound, but memory writes with ink thicker than blood. (And hurt only hides, not disappears.)
“That’s not true,” he manages to say, although the last thing he needs right now is to be different. Again.
Something very much like shame makes him close his mouth and swallow the sour taste at the back of his throat. He tries so very hard not to think of twelve different interpretations of cowardice, or whether it’s truly right to fight for what is right. Because the thing about coming from a family drenched in money—not to mention being born with a face that can buy him a smile and a truckload of favouritism almost at every turn—is that it builds a thorny fence of self-consciousness around oneself; and no, he hasn’t escaped from that prison yet.
The other nine never utter a word, but their silence is enough to lock the rest of his arguments inside.
Siwon doesn’t look back. He is different enough as he is.
(And the boy will have to prove himself anyway, if he wants to survive.)
2. one hell of a fight
Months and months after the accident, Kyuhyun realises that even heaven-sent gratitude wears off.
Sure, they love him—if such a mangled, distorted sentiment, born out of guilt's womb, conceived on a bed of tragedy, can be called ‘love’. The fact remains that there will always be a little too much pain in it, in their smiles when they look at him, because in their eyes he is and always will be a punishment (of their littleness, their selfishness, their small-mindedness.) He is the rudest wake-up call ever, the slap on the face to remind them all that hate, of course, can kill.
It’s the reason why Leeteuk almost always gives in to his every little request. It’s the reason why Heechul stops mid-sentence when the gale of his rising temper tries to shift to his direction. It’s also the reason why Yesung only smiles in that muted, inscrutable way of his when their maknae cracks a joke about being the best singer in the group.
So when honesty finally breaks free from its chaining guilt and punches him in the face, Kyuhyun thinks that he deserves better.
The problem is, even under the thick thundering clouds of his fury, Kyuhyun isn't blind enough to think himself blameless. It's easy to see that his attitude has been getting on their nerves for weeks. Even Donghae has scowled at him on several occasions, and that is really saying something.
But he didn’t cease. He pushed, pushed, and pushed, led by something uglier than just a desire to tease, until one of them snapped—and then he stormed out of the practice room after screaming at every single one of them.
Well, at least he left before the quarrel could explode into an actual fistfight.
It shouldn't matter, Kyuhyun repeats to himself as he paces back and forth on the rooftop of their office building. An argument is nothing new in the group, no matter how fucking sunshine-and-roses pretty they look from the outside. With thirteen different members of varying temperaments, it’s difficult not to have a fight at least once every three days.
Except this one really hurts.
Maybe because only truth can cut so deeply, with its diamond-sharp point and brutal indifference. Whatever it is, Kyuhyun isn't ready to admit it, or to give up the chance of venting his rage at a willing target. Which is why when Siwon finds him there, filled with so much good intention that it chokes the very air about him, Kyuhyun spins around and hisses, “Don't.”
Siwon looks surprised—and slightly hurt, although he tries his best to smooth it away into an expression of grave concern. All very good and decent. Playing the nice guy is, after all, his specialty.
And Kyuhyun hates him for it.
“Don't what?” Siwon asks tentatively.
Kyuhyun has to wonder if he is stupid or playing stupid. Probably both.
“Don’t pretend that you care,” he growls, feeling the drag of each word in his throat. “Or that you even like me.”
“I do care about you,” Siwon answers, a touch too defensive. It prompts a derisive snort from the younger man.
“Right. Because after all, I could have died.”
“Stop saying that.” The first hint of anger seeps into Siwon's voice, a jarring presence. Kyuhyun can literally feel how it carves a feral smirk into his face.
“Face it. You couldn’t even look at me before that night. I didn't even exist. The idea that you, or anyone else for that matter, ‘cared’ was not only laughable but also fucking insulting.” He pauses, revelling in this white-hot rage that burns so brightly in him it eclipses everything else. “Well,” Kyuhyun realises that he is shaking, and so is his voice, but he has never held a sharper knife, “thank God for the accident.”
And it goes in so easily, so beautifully, so perfectly he almost grins. Or weeps. Or both.
There is no mistaking its effect on Siwon. The carefully sculpted wall of patience cracks, splits, falls away to litter the concrete floor between them, and when he finally speaks, Kyuhyun has never heard a voice so cold with fury it literally chills him to the bone.
“You’re a pathetic little shit.”
Kyuhyun stares at him, torn between enraged and dumbfounded. “What?”
“Try not wearing the victim’s shirt so much and maybe you’ll see that your life doesn't resolve around the damn accident.”
And that, of course, is the second punch of the day.
Kyuhyun spends the rest of the evening seething inside, only deigning to plaster a smile onto his face when the camera is rolling. It takes him the entire sleepless night and a better part of the next day to finally admit that those two punches might not be entirely without justice. He has been acting like a little shit, playing the rude-spoiled-unmanageable-maknae card too often to get his way and generally frustrating every other member of the group.
Yes, he is in the wrong.
So maybe if the rest of the week—and the next too—sees him trying to toe the line more and complain less while also being incredibly aloof and indifferent about it, well, maybe that’s only his style of asking for forgiveness. Heechul will roll his eyes. Hyukjae will curse his inability to say sorry. Sungmin will strum a tune on his guitar that reminds Kyuhyun of one of the songs in his favourite game, and then pretends that he doesn't know. Ryeowook will cook him something for no apparent reason and Leeteuk will only smile that helpless, knowing smile which says that being their leader is a fucking full-time job and sometimes he wants to kill them all for making his life so miserably difficult but won’t because apparently he loves them all too much. (And yes, it’s love, from whatever distorted, jaundiced, fucked-up angle Kyuhyun tries to scrutinise it.)
Siwon—well, Siwon will probably try to offer him a small, hesitant smile despite everything said and done between them, because he is simply a nice guy like that.
And Kyuhyun will look away, mostly because there are words one cannot unsay, no matter what one does, and guilt is just strange like that.
3. one hell of a kiss
When Kyuhyun’s fist lands on his face, Siwon thinks that he really shouldn’t have expected any less.
There is a moment of blankness filled only by horrified gasps from other members of the group, and then Kyuhyun is screaming at him. “You son of a bitch! You had no right! Do you think everyone wants to kiss you only because you’re so goddamn good-looking!?”
He doesn’t end up on the floor, but the force of the punch is enough to make him clutch the edge of a table to support his weight. Siwon tries to remember the last time he has been hit this hard by anyone, the ringing in his ears shrill but not unfamiliar, and comes up with a blank wall. When he looks up, black spots still splattered across his vision, he sees Donghae and Shindong trying to hold their youngest back from pummelling his face into a bloody pulp.
Kyuhyun in rage is striking, and more beautiful than he has any right to be.
Siwon clenches his eyes shut to derail that train of thought. His ears still burn—that mouth hasn’t stopped hurling obscenities at him—and he can feel his fingers slowly clenching into a pair of angry fists. Adrenaline is still running high in his veins, residue from their performance barely three minutes ago. If he lets go of even the smallest shred of his self-control, he might just return the blow in full payment.
“Fuck you, Choi Siwon! Fuck you and your need to be a whore every single fucking second!”
That, finally, snaps his eyes open. “It was bloody fanservice,” Siwon hears himself say in a low, dangerous voice. “Be professional for once and get over it.”
He turns around and leaves the room, brushing away Leeteuk’s worried hand. It’s an exit as much as an escape, because there is absolutely no reason he can give if the fight continues—at least none that doesn’t revolve around the frenzied high that was tonight’s stage, or his inability to think straight before the sight of Kyuhyun in such careless peak of rapture, looking so bright, so breathtakingly beautiful with that brazen, cocky smile and his pale skin flushed under a glimmer of sweat.
And then came that moment, that half of a second when he licked his lips, a slow, deliberate sweep of his tongue, and the way he did it was so obscene that Siwon had no choice but to kiss him.
Predictably enough, this long run of justifications fails to sound like anything more than the most pathetic attempt at fabricating excuses to his ears. And it doesn’t soothe the sting on his face one bit.
4. one hell of a first time
“I don’t believe you.”
Siwon is standing with his back against the bathroom door, a look of pure shock in his face. Had this situation been any less humiliating, Kyuhyun would have doubled over in uncontrollable hysterics until tears were streaming down his face. The look on Siwon's face is absolutely priceless.
As it is, laughter is the farthest thing from his mind. The five-step distance between them does absolutely nothing to cover the obvious, and he is forced to bear the shame as he stands white-knuckled in front of the sink with a visible hard-on in his too tight pants.
And they are due back on stage in ten minutes
“Get out,” he finally says, the words coming out hoarse and brittle past his dry throat. There is tightness which threatens to shatter coiling in the bottom of his stomach, the kind of tightness born out of panic and mortification and being so unbearably turned on he feels like screaming and clawing his eyes out from the sheer pressure. He knows he will be dreaming of that shocked, scandalised stare for many, many nights, but right now, there is nothing more important than that agonising tightness, fast eclipsing everything else in his system.
He cannot even remember why he is hard anymore.
Siwon’s jaw clenches. He crosses the gap between them in three long strides and grabs Kyuhyun’s wrist, pulling him into a narrow cubicle. Kyuhyun makes a small enraged sound that only provokes a hissed ‘shut up’ from the other man and a hard push against one of the too-thin walls, startling him into silence for a sharp, breathless second.
“What are you doing?” he demands when he recovers his wits—along with the full extent of his resentment—wrenching his arm away from Siwon’s powerful grip. Their last fight still prickles under his skin, a rotting wound which plainly refuses to heal. Suddenly all he can think of is how Siwon’s lips felt on his during that thoroughly unwelcome kiss.
“Shut up,” Siwon repeats, obviously irritated. Kyuhyun is about to resort to the language of fists again when he finds a hand clamped over his mouth. “Shut up or I won’t help with this.”
The other hand slides down the length of his erection and squeezes—and Kyuhyun is suddenly, tremendously glad for the one over his mouth. The surprised moan viciously ripped from his throat is so loud that without Siwon’s precaution, everyone milling in the corridor outside would have been able to hear him. The force of it leaves him weak, trembling from head to toe, arousal spiking so high he nearly begs. He cannot even call it pleasure, something so wild and violent, almost painful.
And he's desperate for more.
When Siwon’s fingers finally curl around his cock, he knows the last bit of his restraints has just reduced itself to ashes. Moaning in abandon, he begins to fuck Siwon’s hand even before the third stroke, back arched and fingers digging into broad shoulders. He is vaguely aware of Siwon muttering something in front of his ear, voice too deep and just a shade too controlled, as if he is teetering at the brink of sanity himself. Kyuhyun can only blink in return; none makes the slightest bit of sense in his lust-addled brain—nothing except the heavy throb between his legs.
“More,” he tries to speak, but only manages to bring his tongue into contact with Siwon’s palm. The fingers stroking him falter and there is a sound very much like a whimper coming from the older man, which Kyuhyun just has to smirk at. He repeats the action, once, twice, never looking away from the dark eyes which seem to be devouring him whole.
Siwon swallows, scowling at him, and Kyuhyun thinks he can come from the sear of that small victory alone. Any lingering anger or mortification from earlier only sweetens the triumph and fuels the furious roar of arousal in his veins.
But then the hand on his cock moves faster and Kyuhyun lets his head fall back against the wall, eyes clenched shut, more obscene sounds spilling from his lips. Prowling the edge of his awareness is the threat of a ticking clock (seven more minutes, someone is bound to be looking for them soon), of discovery, of someone walking in and finding them like this, of the taboo and the pure, heady rush of danger in the face of it all. And it tears into the thin sheet of his sanity, making Kyuhyun arch his back and gasp openly against Siwon’s fingers. He needs to come so badly.
“Back pocket,” Siwon suddenly speaks again, his voice a dark, rough whisper that has him trembling with need, his hips moving even faster. “I have a handkerchief. You don’t want to come all over the stage clothes.”
Kyuhyun almost laughs; because this is Choi Siwon, the perfect gentleman, being so perfectly old-fashioned like having a fucking handkerchief in his possession—and yet his hand is fervently, almost religiously, stroking Kyuhyun’s cock, his intent as urgent as his rhythm. Kyuhyun obeys nonetheless, humouring that last, desperate plea of reason. Siwon’s left hand eases its hold over his mouth and takes the piece of soft cloth from Kyuhyun’s quivering fingers, holding it steady over the head of his cock.
Then he says, “Kyuhyun,” and it sounds like a command, or a permission, or a fucking arrogant request to please come all over my hand, which of course Kyuhyun fulfils with a grateful moan. His fingers cling to Siwon’s arms and his nose is filled with the smell of Siwon’s cologne, his ears with the rasp of Siwon’s breath, his skin with the sheer heat of Siwon’s presence as Siwon’s hand continue to wrung the climax out of him, and he is so full of Siwon that he has to bite into his knuckles lest his mouth also screams Siwon’s name.
The only obvious scenario left unexplored now is to have Siwon fuck him properly—and this time Kyuhyun does scream, his cock spilling again from the thought alone.
5. one hell of an impulse
When Kyuhyun doesn’t talk to him for days, Siwon knows better than to try and remedy anything.
He doesn’t allow himself to wonder why. That would be adding insult to injury, even in the girdle of his own mind. For a man to relinquish that much control to another man is humiliating to say the least—and Kyuhyun came twice, the second time with fragments of Siwon’s name on his lips.
Something like that is bound to mess with anyone’s head a little.
So he wears grimness at the fore to mask his acceptance, next to its uglier cousin, those little scraps of relief buried so deep among the wreck of his soul like cowardice. Because Kyuhyun isn’t the only one who has lost a part of himself to that splinter of a moment, and for all its convoluted debates and possible interpretations, there is no glossing over the fact that Choi Siwon has brought one of his bandmates to orgasm. With his own hand.
Which doesn’t exactly explain how it can happen for the second time, three weeks later. But it does, and Siwon decides to stop dissecting the moment for any why’s or how’s when Kyuhyun reaches into his pants and starts returning the favour. Before he entered the room, before he fell into Kyuhyun’s bed, there was some formless thought of apology beginning to coalesce in his head. It died with one touch, a stillborn if there was one, and the easy surrender would have been shameful if Siwon hadn’t lost count of the number of mornings when he had woken up panting and hard, memories of Kyuhyun’s uninhibited moans crowding the blurred spaces in his head and shredding what tatters remained of his control.
Kyuhyun smirks at him afterwards, having drawn the climax out of Siwon three times, and they are on speaking terms again.
The third time it happens, they are in the shower and Kyuhyun spends agonisingly long minutes kissing him hard against the cold tiled wall before bringing him off with his lips and tongue.
The fourth time, Siwon learns that he can come from the sight of the younger man fucking himself with his fingers alone.
Which brings them to the inevitable fifth, three days later. There are several degrees of revelations, Siwon has learned, from epiphanic to profoundly spiritual to downright trivial—and Kyuhyun has definitely caused him a few during the frantic course of their ‘experiments’. Still, it certainly does something to a man’s sanity to find out that the vocal prowess your dear bandmate has displayed so far, in front of a microphone or between the sheets, are nothing compared to the sounds he makes when you fuck him into the bed.
He stops counting soon after that.
6. one hell of a complex
One of the most maddening aspects about Choi Siwon is how self-conscious he can be when it comes to his looks or his family’s background.
Kyuhyun can easily forgive the latter. As unfair as it might seem to some, wealth does not automatically guarantee success, and in many ways, it’s a liability as much as an advantage. In their sparkling world of stars and starlets, talents and hard work are the cards that matter, next to luck and cunningness. More than anything, a glittering background curls lips and invites snide comments from the sidelines.
The former, however, is another case entirely. There is a reason why the whole world worships beauty to the edge of sanity and beyond. Beauty is the obvious king of spades—not all-conquering, but close enough, powerful enough to hold the swing vote anytime and anywhere. Nothing invites more envy than the accidental conjunction shapes, angles, and curves, forming a purely unplanned perfection. And no artificial creation could ever hold a candle to nature’s hammer and chisel guided by the Muses.
The same law applies to their merry band of thirteen. There is something to be said about being in the same group as Choi Siwon and consequently being confronted by such a fine example of male perfection in daily basis. Kyuhyun won’t be surprised if each and every one of them has developed some degree of inferiority complex as a result. And he knows that he has not been immune himself, the self-declared fourth place or not.
But it’s different now.
“There has never been any doubt,” Kyuhyun hears himself say, his light tone lingering just above playful. “Siwon is the indisputable number one among us.”
The MC who has given him the question laughs (as expected) and adds a well-rehearsed joke, which is a cue for everyone in the studio to start laughing too. Kyuhyun pretends that he doesn’t notice how Siwon’s practiced smile stiffens, its edges now crusted by thin rime of discomfort. But he holds his tongue and keeps the rest of his arsenal hidden, silent, until they are done recording for the show.
“You are, you know?” he murmurs thirty minutes later, standing next to Siwon as they wait around for their car to arrive. “The number one.”
A flash of irritation appears on the handsome face. “Stop talking about it.”
Kyuhyun almost asks ‘why’ but does not. He doesn’t need to. The science of teasing and prodding is nowhere near reduced to verbal means. It’s everywhere—in the slight cant of his hips, in the faint but unmistakable smirk he takes care to wear, in the slow tap-tap of his middle finger on a folded arm. He keeps his mouth sealed and still Siwon feels the sting, his shoulders tense and expression closed.
Everything is really a matter of technique and lots, lots of practice.
And it’s a petty victory, Kyuhyun realises, but in there, in that possibility of choosing between silence and action, is another mark of his superiority. Because now he knows what Siwon looks like three seconds away from climax. He knows the soft, intimate gasp that escapes Siwon’s parted lips when a finger brushes his nipple. He also knows the kind of sounds Siwon makes when the underside of his cock is kissed, then licked from base to tip. And he knows the kind of dark, damning desperation that shines in Siwon’s eyes when he has had enough of Kyuhyun teasing—and then there will be that look, the one that tells Kyuhyun that he is about to be fucked senseless, and fuck if it doesn’t give the word ‘winning’ one hell of a new meaning.
After all, it is the little details which make all the difference in the world.
And it might just be his ego, or his penchant for paradoxes of any kind, but Kyuhyun never feels more powerful than when he is on his back, with his legs spread, watching that perfection of a man crumble little by little with each reckless thrust and wanton gasp, reduced to a mass of wantwantwant and fuckfuckfuck, dark, lustful eyes focused solely on him.
My number one, Kyuhyun does not say—but only because he chooses not to.
7. one hell of a personality
Fifteen minutes ago, there was a purpose to his visit other than this.
It was soon lost on finding both of the dorms empty, but for one person. Kyuhyun pulled him inside halfway through his explanation (Siwon had really come looking for Leeteuk, and stopped by at the 11th floor just to make sure that the older man wasn’t there) eyes wicked and lips set into a half smile that could as well spell indifference and lasciviousness at the same time. First it was a kiss, and Siwon remembers making an effort to resist—for about two seconds, as the sharp taste of wine hit his tongue—but it soon died a quick, graceful death when Kyuhyun slipped a deft hand under his shirt.
The rest was a fast losing battle not even worth mentioning, even less remembering. It was almost pathetic, the way he gave in so easily, but Siwon found himself unable to care fourteen-and-a-half minutes ago and he still finds himself unable to care now. They are in the living room, on Hyukjae’s couch (the one he bought three weeks ago), and he is watching Kyuhyun’s face as the younger man fucks himself on his cock.
Siwon cannot remember the last time he saw anything so gorgeous and so obscene.
“You’re such a whore.”
The half-lidded eyes find him, looking at him from behind a thick sweep of fluttering lashes. The slightest imitation of a grin floats over Kyuhyun’s lips as his fingers rake red lines across Siwon’s chest.
“And you’re the pathetic man who likes fucking that whore.”
“I’m not the only one who likes it.”
“No,” Kyuhyun purrs, licking his lips, eyes never leaving the man under him. “You’re not.”
Siwon growls, his grip tightening until his nails dig and etch half-moon marks on the younger man’s hips. This is what Kyuhyun does to him—he makes his blood burn. The wicked, barbed personality doesn’t exactly invite much affection in the first place, but it’s something else, something cruel and arrogant, something that manifests in knowing glances and haughty smirks, that makes Siwon take care to bury himself a little deeper and fuck two times harder, just to see Kyuhyun break.
And break he does, so wonderfully, so exquisitely, eyes clenched shut and lips parted in a sharp, strangled moan as he spills across Siwon’s chest, without even the slightest touch. Siwon finds himself following two seconds later, a satisfied, triumphant smirk on his face.
This, here, is their equilibrium, their never-ending shifts of balance, their teetering waltz at the edge of madness.
And so Siwon isn’t surprised when Kyuhyun leans down, mouth hovering above the juncture of his neck, sucking the skin gently—then suddenly bites, the sudden presence of his teeth drawing a gasp out of him. It isn’t hard enough to draw blood, only to burn a tell-tale mark that will definitely raises the eyebrows of his stylist tomorrow and probably make Siwon go mad, just a little, because this is what they do to each other.
It’s certainly enough to make him switch their position, now scowling down at the younger man.
“I’ve told you not to do that again.”
“I’ve decided not to give a damn,” Kyuhyun informs him, tongue caressing the outer lobe of his left ear, and if anyone could hear what a smirk sounded like, then Siwon is sure it would be something like the sound of Kyuhyun’s velvety voice, just then.
The only reason why he doesn’t immediately commence a second round is because his cell phone suddenly screeches.
8. one hell of an excuse
When Leeteuk walks in on them, Kyuhyun is murmuring curses into his pillow as Siwon’s tongue lavishes a wet, thorough attention on one of his hard, sensitive nipples.
The older man freezes on the threshold, betrayal disfiguring the quick spread of shock on his face. Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second, over the unruly tips of Siwon’s hair, and then he is gone, the door left half ajar—and Kyuhyun has to force himself to break out of his stupor before the damage can spiral into something much uglier.
“Fuck, it’s Teukie-hyung,” he hisses sharply, tasting the bile that is panic and fear rising at the back of his throat. Siwon stiffens, one hand still splayed across Kyuhyun’s ribs, the other poised over his belt. Muttering curses under his breath, Kyuhyun twists himself free, almost kicking Siwon’s chest in the process. He is already at the door, pulling a T-shirt over his head when Siwon finally gets over his own paralysis. (At least they still have their pants are on, one little fact he is endlessly grateful for.)
Leeteuk is nowhere to be seen. Nearly blind with panic, Kyuhyun rushes toward the front door, his mind a murky flood of excuses and explanations. There is a moment of sharp relief as he catches a sight of the older man just in front of the elevator, as if salvation is once more within his reach. Leeteuk’s eyes widen at the sight of him, and Kyuhyun can see the reproach in them, flecked with stark hints of what can only be angry disappointment—but before he can so much as open his mouth, Kyuhyun finds himself being dragged back into the dorm.
“What the hell were you thinking, coming out looking like that?” Leeteuk demands as soon as the door has been slammed closed behind them. It is only then that Kyuhyun realises he is actually wearing Siwon’s shirt—and inside out too, which definitely would make everything five times worse should anyone have caught a glimpse of him earlier.
But he doesn’t care. Not now. Not while Leeteuk is looking at him like he is the biggest disappointment in his life.
“I’m sorry,” the words tumble out of his mouth, a desperate rush that makes him clench his fists tighter, just to feel the sharp bite of his nails. He needs the distraction, at least to protect himself from the heavy press of guilt bearing down on him, choking him from the inside.
Leeteuk says nothing. He leans against the door, arms folded before his chest, the careless sweep of dark blonde bangs covering one eye. He looks suddenly older. Tired.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The question comes at last, so softly spoken it slices through the silence, as cleanly as a knife.
Because it’s none of your business, Kyuhyun hears it in his head, flounders in its echo, but as always his claws are blunted when it comes to Leeteuk. Instead, he swallows thickly and repeats, “I’m really sorry.”
The lines of Leeteuk’s mouth tighten, shaping themselves into a grimace. Neither of them speaks again for what feels like a very long time. Kyuhyun stares at his bare feet, sinking under the condemnatory gaze, and focuses on just breathing through the stillness. He feels, more than hears, Siwon’s silent approach—how it threads a different note in the air, how it makes the cords of muscles in Leeteuk’s arms tauten, just slightly.
“You know, you’re the last person I’d expect to–” but he stops at that, because Park Jungsoo is a kind man and true kindness doesn’t allow itself to be reduced to the background only because fury is holding the tyrannical cane. No. It wages a rebellion so great and overwhelming that it can only emerge triumphant.
“Fine,” Leeteuk already speaks again before either of them can contrive an explanation. “It doesn’t matter. It isn’t really my business anyway. Just… remember to be careful in the future. And please always, always lock your door.”
Kyuhyun nods stiffly, because there is no other response he can give to something like that (and he might regret it if he opens his mouth, claws blunted or not.) Heaving a deep sigh, Leeteuk untangles his arms and reaches for the door handle, still avoiding their eyes.
“Alright, I’ll leave you two then.”
It’s his verdict, the most he’s willing to give for now. Kyuhyun accepts the heavy silence left in his wake as a part of their punishment. So does Siwon, if the lack of sound from his aft is anything to go by.
It isn’t until one minute later—one full minute in the horrible morass of screaming thoughts later—that Kyuhyun finally gives up and yields to the thickening pressure. He turns around, very slowly, and finds Siwon still standing at the middle of the room, frowning at the floor by his feet.
“He thinks we’re together,” is the first thing that leaves the older man’s mouth.
“Makes no difference to me,” Kyuhyun mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Why? Does it bother you?”
He knows he does not imagine the sudden tension gripping Siwon's posture—or the dangerous current in the air as Siwon's gaze shifts to his direction. Neither can compare, however, to the sheer intensity of those dark eyes as they watch him, pulling him into their deep, bottomless abyss.
“What are we really?”
“Oh, shit, no,” Kyuhyun hisses, disbelief sharpening his tone. The fact that Siwon even dares to ask that question makes him want to shout and rage at him. “This isn’t about you, alright? Or us, for that matter. We fuck because we want to. And because we need to. Hell, if I could fuck Starcraft and be done with it, I would’ve done it a long time ago. And none of these would’ve happened.”
Siwon stares at him as if he is suddenly a stranger. “Are you saying that anyone will do?” A hint of ice slips into his voice. “As long as it’s a good fuck?”
“Damn it, Siwon,” Kyuhyun snarls as his coiled fist hits the angled wall nearest to him. “Can you please stop making everything so fucking personal? I’m used to you now, alright? And honestly you’re not so bad, except when you’re being a whiny, needy bitch like this.”
“I'm not so bad?” Siwon repeats, sounding like he’s two seconds away from laughing hysterically—or throwing punches of his own.
“Don't pretend like you're any better. You only fuck me because I'm convenient.”
“If that's what 'better' means, then maybe I am.”
Kyuhyun stares, heartbeat stuttering as the words sink in, taking myriads of possible meanings with them. But Siwon pushes past him and leaves, the door slammed in his wake.
9. one hell of a revelation
There are fights, and then there are their fights.
It defies logic, this, the attempt to distinguish one’s arguments from other people’s. It’s ridiculous and nothing short of arrogant, and Siwon always strives to be humble wherever and whenever—except Kyuhyun destroys that rule the way he obliterates every other creed in Siwon’s life, with ease and a smirk.
Still, the fact is, they don’t have normal fights. And they don’t have small fights. Their once-a-week fucks, their stolen gropes and hurried jerk-offs in public bathrooms—those are the small fights. When they really fight, they have huge, brutal, colossal fights, every single restraint broken and every monster within unleashed, through words if not blows.
And yet it began, Siwon swears, as a beneficial arrangement, once upon a time. They needed the release, the tangible sense of companionship, the intimacy. The objective was clear enough: a physical and emotional relief, through mutual satisfaction of both parties. The method was equally clear: sex.
As far as arrangements go, it was practical and glaringly, starkly logical, if solely on that point—because right from the start, he could already number a thousand reasons why attempting something like this was dangerous and, not to mention, wrong.
But it does the job. He concentrates better. He performs better. He acts better. In fact, everything is better with the exception of one thing: the fights.
And this one, even by their standard, is entirely in a league of its own.
For days, neither of them does anything about it. Siwon follows his schedule with the unfailing obedience of a trained soldier, finding an indisputable excuse in having too many activities crammed into a timetable three sizes too small. He can barely afford enough time to rest, let alone hold a deep, meaningful conversation of a personal and emotional nature with one of his co-workers who is just as busy.
Fighting with Kyuhyun always leaves him more hurt than angry at the end of the day, but this one, somehow, is different. This one cannot be solved with a quick blowjob or a hard, breathless fuck on the carpeted floor of his living room. The bite is sharper, deeper, closer to that secret, vulnerable place he has no intention at all to touch.
After almost a week, Siwon realises that he is scared of it.
This used to be sex, pure and simple. Now he doesn’t know what to call it anymore. Except to ‘fight’ implies the existence of something worth fighting, something precious, even loved—and there, from that point, he cannot allow his thoughts to take one step further, because Cho Kyuhyun is his fellow bandmate and idol and Super Junior is the glass elevator that lifts them up so high into the sky, their deal with the devil, in which they sacrifice every right to be private in return for the right to live among the stars. So no, he simply cannot, should not, must not fall in love with him.
And as usual, Kyuhyun is the one who tears his resolution into shreds.
Siwon knows that he has always been a little bit in love with Kyuhyun’s voice. Most of the times, it’s a voice that soothes and mesmerises, the soft hum that makes his lips curve into a smile and his heart flutter lightly in the cage of his ribs. The same voice, however, can also make him do things—like that night when it cursed him to hell and back because Siwon refused to do anything more than fucking him with two fingers, all for the sake of hearing the younger man beg.
Except Kyuhyun never did and never would. So Siwon lost that battle he had waged himself, and such a defeat would have been utterly humiliating if not for the beautiful, beautiful howl Kyuhyun let out when Siwon finally slid into him.
It was a gift like no other. And certainly neither of them lasted long after that.
So yes, Kyuhyun’s voice has always been special to him. Which is why when they go on stage in Osaka and Kyuhyun decides to take up his teasing again (as if nothing has happened, as if this is just another of their usual fights) by singing a particularly provocative line right to his face, it only takes Siwon the short span between two heartbeats to become absolutely furious.
Siwon does nothing half-heartedly, including revenge. He thoroughly ignores Kyuhyun until they are done, until they return home, until a new photo shoot on the day after, until practice on the day after that, and the day after, and the day after—until the younger man cannot take it anymore and pushes him against the mirrored wall of their dance studio, right in front of the other members.
“Stop being mad at me,” he hisses into Siwon’s ears, and then is gone, warmth, pressure, presence and all.
Three wasted seconds later, Siwon shakes himself out of shock and runs after Kyuhyun. He catches up with him in the hall outside, pulls him into the nearest room, which proves to be a maintenance room, and in there, amidst grey boxes and colourful conduits branching on the walls, Siwon kisses him senseless and tries to make them right again.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between kisses, softly, almost desperately, although he doesn’t really know why. All he can think of is Kyuhyun’s eyes and how they looked at him then, how they still look at him now, scant inches away.
“Bastard,” Kyuhyun retorts, voice vicious, eyes ablaze, and Siwon kisses him again before the tightness in his throat can shatter into something neither of them is ready to face. He doesn’t miss the slight tremor wrecking Kyuhyun’s shoulders, or how Kyuhyun’s fingers cling to the back of his T-shirt, or how his own heart beats madly inside his chest because Kyuhyun, Kyuhyun, Kyuhyun.
“You’ll have to make it up to me,” the younger man mutters against his lips.
Siwon smiles, pressing their growing hardness together and revelling in the gasp escaping from Kyuhyun’s throat. “I’ll fuck you any way you want. Fuck, I’ll do anything you want. Just tell me.”
Kyuhyun stares at him, eyes at half mast. “Get on your knees,” he says, commands, “and suck me.”
Siwon readily obeys. Because he has been thinking about love in that abstract, mindless way for days, and now it’s here, brought into sharp pinpoint focus by that look in Kyuhyun’s face—and it scares him out of his mind. This, a blowjob, is at least familiar ground for them, and so he focuses on Kyuhyun’s taste in his mouth and immerses himself in how in love he is with the breathy sounds that sensual voice makes, as if being in love with one specific feature, focusing on only a particular part, will shield him from being in love with the person as a whole
He knows it won’t, but sometimes Siwon just likes hitting walls for the sake of it.
10. one hell of a risk
“Do you want to go somewhere?”
Kyuhyun only hums at first, distracted by the lips kissing a patch of exposed skin on his neck. He is vaguely aware of Shindong and Sungmin’s presence in the living room, but the feel of Siwon’s hand on his hip and a puff of warm breath across his nape are all too familiar by now that he doesn’t even bat an eyelash, let alone try to move away.
Maybe, just maybe, upon the first touch of those soft, warm lips, a thread of thought sparks and writhes to life somewhere in the labyrinthine depth of his memory vault. But it’s too small, too ambiguous, and it quickly wilts back to obscurity since neither he nor Siwon has ever spoken of that moment which might or might not have happened three weeks ago, in a room with grey boxes and too many wires.
Rinsing the last of the plates, Kyuhyun finally asks, “Where?”
“I don’t know, some place with good desserts maybe?” Siwon murmurs, nuzzling even deeper into his neck. (There is a tongue involved now, Kyuhyun swears.) “Or we can go dancing.”
“Yeah, because that will be a very good idea,” muttering sarcastically, he turns around in the circle of Siwon’s arms and looks at the older man in the eye. The kitchen is large enough and they are standing too close, but the words ‘too close’ have long since lost all their treacherous meanings when it comes to them, considering everything in the last twelve months. Kyuhyun can’t say for sure when boundaries have begun to blur, or when physical comfort has distorted itself into something more. The stage has always been a fair game—kisses on the cheek, lips hovering too close to an ear, an arm draped across a willing pair of shoulders, all for the sake of driving fans crazy—but then things start to bleed into real life and here they are, with bodies pressed close together in a place where there is no audience to entertain.
And they never talk about it.
“We can ask the others to join us,” Siwon suggests after a short spell of silence.
“Because obviously ten people run much less risk of discovery?”
“Stop with the sarcasm for a second and listen.” There, a hint of impatience, except more playful now, because Siwon is as familiar with this game as he is. “Last week, Kangta-hyung told me about this new club not far from the office. They have an interesting policy every Friday night: everyone in there has to wear a mask to cover the upper part of their face. He already went there a few times and guess what? Nothing bad ever happened.”
Kyuhyun leans back against the sink, the idea singing a siren’s song in his ears. “A few times?” he says at last.
“And nothing bad ever happened,” the other man reiterates, arms tightening around his waist.
“A club means dancing, right?”
“Dancing,” Siwon whispers in his ear, hips swaying slowly in an imitation of one, “and many other things.”
Kyuhyun can feel the responding smirk on his lips. “Let’s not bring Hyukjae then. He’d totally give us away.”
“Excellent,” Siwon grins and kisses him lightly on the lips. Maybe they are both crazy—they seem to have that effect on each other. Kyuhyun, however, soon discovers that he cannot care less, not with the music loud in his ears and the world lost in a burst of spinning colours and swaying bodies. The mask is a flimsy insurance, so easily ripped off from his face, but when he opens his eyes, he finds himself staring into Siwon’s dark, mask-framed ones, and he has no choice but to fall into that fragile promise, basking in the blanket of anonymity it offers, however thin or false.
This is reckless, mad, stupid, everything they should avoid; but then Siwon grabs the back of his head and kisses him for real, in public, in the middle of a crowd whose eyes can easily destroy them if they only knew—and he has to grin and laugh and gasp, delighted, almost delirious in the embrace of such danger.
Kyuhyun knows he will never be able to get enough of that feeling.