(i have written a start of some kind anyway idk. it's kind of long so it's gonna be two comments)
Junghwa walks in on them one night when she has late schedules, but not quite that late. They claim to be just talking, but are in the unforgiving light of the ceiling lamp painfully naked.
Maybe it doesn’t matter, maybe everybody already knows, but Sunwoo still feels a dull sort of panic rising within him over the next couple of days. All the warnings, all the guilt, everything he has pushed away, grown used to, grown dull to, accepted and dismissed, comes rushing back to the surface and he feels nauseous. How can he have been so fucking stupid. He regrets every little thing, every outrageous risk taken, would do anything to go back in time and have it all undone but it’s too late. He knows immediately, knows in his body, what the only answer is, what needs to be done. And it’s so obvious that it’s really fucking baffling that he didn’t see it before, that he let this go on for so long.
She comes smiling at him in the dark recesses of a set, that smile that is sort of reserved for occasions like these, that holds a promise of a moment. She looks around subtly before moving next to him, and when she knows that nobody’s looking she puts her chin on his shoulder; an easy thing, something that could still be passed off innocent, as something between friends, and whispers something completely mundane and lovely into his ear.
And he feels her breath on his skin, feels her hair and her smell and her very presence, somehow holding so many connotations in his brain, the weight and warmth of her body against his (and for a short moment he leans into it, or wants to anyway, doesn’t really know if the impulse actually translates into action, but wants to turn his head and put his face into her hair by her neck and make her laugh).
Yet it’s so stupidly easy to push her away, way too easy, like this is what comes to him, this is what’s natural to him, this is what he amounts to. So easy to shrug her off with a jerk of his shoulder, harsher than necessary, like a boy, like a child, and getting up to leave with an light sniff, moving effortlessly to the very other end of the room, as far away from her as possible, and making a point out of standing next to Chanshik and saying something that makes him laugh and laughing very loudly along with him. And he gets this very sick excited urge to turn his head and look back to see the look on her face. But doesn’t because he has a feeling it wouldn’t feel as good if he actually did it.
It would probably feel pretty shitty.
She doesn’t give up immediately, she tries again, and he can’t decide if he likes it or hates it. She comes up to him when he’s sitting with his laptop, winds arms around him and kisses him on the neck, and all in the same moment his dick perks to attention and immediately softens down again because of how nakedly genuine the gesture appears, how genuine she is. She hunches over his shoulder and then sits there, waits, and he knows she wants him to turn his head and wants to kiss him (at least that’s what he hopes she wants,) (or something,) and he catches the impulse when his head is already half-way turned, turns it back jerkily, pretends to concentrate.
And all the while until she finally gets up to leave with a barely-threre sigh he thinks about how her lips feel.
She tries to joke, tries to hit him in the chest, tries to spank his ass (as always with force enough to burn), one day even wrestles him down and every so gently roughs him up, ruffles his hair and pulls at his ears, but when she notices that he’s not fighting, just lies still and limp like a dead fish, lets him go and just lies next to him on the floor for a moment before getting up and leaving.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2013-10-12 04:42 pm (UTC)Junghwa walks in on them one night when she has late schedules, but not quite that late. They claim to be just talking, but are in the unforgiving light of the ceiling lamp painfully naked.
Maybe it doesn’t matter, maybe everybody already knows, but Sunwoo still feels a dull sort of panic rising within him over the next couple of days. All the warnings, all the guilt, everything he has pushed away, grown used to, grown dull to, accepted and dismissed, comes rushing back to the surface and he feels nauseous. How can he have been so fucking stupid. He regrets every little thing, every outrageous risk taken, would do anything to go back in time and have it all undone but it’s too late. He knows immediately, knows in his body, what the only answer is, what needs to be done. And it’s so obvious that it’s really fucking baffling that he didn’t see it before, that he let this go on for so long.
She comes smiling at him in the dark recesses of a set, that smile that is sort of reserved for occasions like these, that holds a promise of a moment. She looks around subtly before moving next to him, and when she knows that nobody’s looking she puts her chin on his shoulder; an easy thing, something that could still be passed off innocent, as something between friends, and whispers something completely mundane and lovely into his ear.
And he feels her breath on his skin, feels her hair and her smell and her very presence, somehow holding so many connotations in his brain, the weight and warmth of her body against his (and for a short moment he leans into it, or wants to anyway, doesn’t really know if the impulse actually translates into action, but wants to turn his head and put his face into her hair by her neck and make her laugh).
Yet it’s so stupidly easy to push her away, way too easy, like this is what comes to him, this is what’s natural to him, this is what he amounts to. So easy to shrug her off with a jerk of his shoulder, harsher than necessary, like a boy, like a child, and getting up to leave with an light sniff, moving effortlessly to the very other end of the room, as far away from her as possible, and making a point out of standing next to Chanshik and saying something that makes him laugh and laughing very loudly along with him. And he gets this very sick excited urge to turn his head and look back to see the look on her face. But doesn’t because he has a feeling it wouldn’t feel as good if he actually did it.
It would probably feel pretty shitty.
She doesn’t give up immediately, she tries again, and he can’t decide if he likes it or hates it. She comes up to him when he’s sitting with his laptop, winds arms around him and kisses him on the neck, and all in the same moment his dick perks to attention and immediately softens down again because of how nakedly genuine the gesture appears, how genuine she is. She hunches over his shoulder and then sits there, waits, and he knows she wants him to turn his head and wants to kiss him (at least that’s what he hopes she wants,) (or something,) and he catches the impulse when his head is already half-way turned, turns it back jerkily, pretends to concentrate.
And all the while until she finally gets up to leave with a barely-threre sigh he thinks about how her lips feel.
She tries to joke, tries to hit him in the chest, tries to spank his ass (as always with force enough to burn), one day even wrestles him down and every so gently roughs him up, ruffles his hair and pulls at his ears, but when she notices that he’s not fighting, just lies still and limp like a dead fish, lets him go and just lies next to him on the floor for a moment before getting up and leaving.