Work Text:
Changmin opens the door to his studio, juggling the extra-large wild cherry latte, the pumpkin and cinnamon muffin in its bag, the book of swatches he’d taken home to peruse last night, and his leather satchel. His keys snag on his scarf as he takes quick steps across the stripped wooden floorboards and puts everything down on the nearest table. Extricating the keys, he returns them to his pocket and unwinds the scarf from his neck as he glances at his workspace.
There’s a crumpled paper bag on his drawing table, abandoned right on top of the sketches he’d been working on yesterday. Changmin goes a little closer. Picking up a mechanical pencil, he pokes open the bag and looks inside.
Pear drops.
Making a disgusted face, Changmin backs away. Pineapple lumps he can deal with. Pineapple lumps are quite nice. But pear drops—they’re simply unacceptable. It’d be bad enough if they did actually taste of pears, but they don’t. They taste of evil, but in a bland, cloying way, plus they’re the colour of phlegm during a bad cold, and...
Changmin feels sick now. His hand slips and he knocks the pear drops into the nearest wastepaper bin.
Mood improved, Changmin looks around the studio. He remembers the good old days when this place was beautiful and austere, all clean lines and immaculate surfaces, angle-poise lamps positioned just so and fabric carefully laid out on the cutting table and forms like blank canvases waiting for his art.
That was before Yunho. Now the forms all have names painted on their necks, there’s a bolt of cloth hanging from the latch that opens the skylight—how did Yunho manage to get it up there?—and there’s a paper pattern on the floor and another obscuring the prettily-arranged images on Changmin’s mood board.
A tumbled pile of CDs clutter Yunho’s drawing table alongside a sheaf of Gwangju warehouse manifestos. There’s the signed photo of Siwon that always manages to fall in the bin whenever Changmin strolls past and which suffers the same fate again now. Several sketchbooks of different sizes lie closed, pencil shavings littering their surfaces, and there’s three coffee mugs lined up in a row. One is half empty; the others have a circle of dregs dried onto the bottom.
Yunho’s shoes are still by the door. The sofa bed is still in its sofa form. Yunho has never been able to work out how to open it, no matter how many times Changmin has demonstrated the technique. That can mean only one thing.
With a sigh, Changmin picks up the wild cherry latte and goes into the largest of the two fabric rooms.
Yunho is asleep on several rolls of coloured cotton, head pillowed on a tacky leopard-print fake fur, body blanketed by silk and jersey knit.
Changmin looks down at him with a surge of snuggly warm affection. Yunho works so hard. Not only is he designing for Evisu and taking care of their apartment and their two insane dogs, Lagerfeld and Pucci, who had somehow barged into their lives courtesy of a friend of a friend who was possibly on the run from the police—Yunho was rather vague about the details and Changmin decided not to ask questions—he’s also overseeing the market stalls in Gwangju and keeping his business partner Donghae in order, plus maintaining a social life with all the friends they’d made on Stitched Up and giving the occasional guest lecture on urban style at the university Jiheun attends.
He does all this whilst Changmin flies back and forth to Milan for his work at Versace. Perhaps it’s not the best way to conduct a relationship still in its first flush of excitement and passion, but Yunho never complains at Changmin’s absences or his grouchiness while he waits for the jet lag to clear or just his grouchiness, full stop.
Even so, Yunho shouldn’t sleep on the fabric.
Changmin nudges his boyfriend’s feet. “Hey. Sleeping beauty.”
“Hrghhh.” Yunho stirs amongst the cloth and shuffles a bit as he wakes. He blears up, focusing first on the coffee and then on Changmin’s face. A smile brightens Yunho’s dozy features. “Oh,” he says, “it’s an angel.”
“Got you a muffin, too,” Changmin says.
Yunho’s smile flicks onto full beam. “Not an angel, a seraph!”
“Threw away your skanky pear drops.”
The smile dims slightly. “They’re still in the bag, right?”
Changmin gives him a withering stare. “You are not fetching them out of the bin.”
Carefully Yunho moves the silk and jersey knit to one side, then he sits up. “I didn’t want them anyway,” he says, but there’s that look on his face and Changmin knows he’ll have to toss the pear drops out of the window unless he wants to spend the rest of the day tasting the manky things whenever he steals a kiss.
Yunho gets to his feet and replaces the rolls of cloth on the shelves. Changmin keeps hold of the latte. He’s learned from experience not to hand over hot beverages until Yunho is out of the fabric room. He watches Yunho put things away and realises that the shelves have been rearranged.
“Yesterday these were all ordered according to palette,” Changmin says, frowning. “Please explain your logic regarding the current arrangement.”
“Ah.” Yunho combs his hands through his hair, attempting to make it lie flat. “See, I was trying to finish up my collection and I had this amazing idea to order all our fabric alphabetically, first by type of cloth and then by colour. So here,” he touches the nearest set of shelves, “we have velour and velvet and voile, and you can see I’ve arranged it alphabetically by shade and hue.”
He seems proud of this completely ridiculous achievement. Changmin stares. “How long did this take?”
Yunho yawns. “Um, a couple of hours?” He smiles.
Changmin narrows his eyes.
“Five hours,” Yunho says. “Okay, six. Eight. Eight!”
Changmin turns around and leaves the fabric room, carrying the coffee with him.
“You don’t think it’s a good idea?” Yunho bounces after him, does a handstand that morphs into a forward roll, then vanishes into the bathroom before Changmin can inform him in extensive detail why it’s a terrible idea.
While Yunho is performing his morning ablutions, Changmin puts down the coffee and rustles a hand into the paper bag to steal a piece of muffin. He needs the sugar hit and he’s not going to risk eating a pear drop from the bin. By the time Yunho emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, Changmin is wiping crumbs from the corner of his mouth and half the coffee has gone.
Yunho’s happy expression falters only a little.
Refusing to feel guilty, Changmin busies himself rearranging his mechanical pencils. He flicks a look at Yunho. “I missed you last night.”
Yunho brightens. “I missed you too, baby.”
“No,” Changmin says with emphasis, “I really missed you.”
“Oh.” Comprehension dawns. Yunho tries to grab at him. “Oh. Were you horny, baby? You should’ve come over. You should’ve called me.”
Changmin turns away. Never mind that he’d been so horny he’d had to give himself three orgasms before he could fall asleep. He is never going to admit that. Nor to the fact that he’d jerked off watching episode seven of season five of Stitched Up. He’s never going to get tired of that episode. It has so many highlights: Yunho in the filthy-hot outfit Changmin had designed for him; their bantering in the work room while the sexual tension wound tighter and tighter; plus, the outfit Yunho had made for him had been sexy as all fuck. By the time Changmin reached orgasm he’d been so worked up he wasn’t sure if he was getting off to Yunho or the clothes.
“I wouldn’t have interrupted your work,” Changmin says, trying to bury these distracting thoughts. “You’re on a deadline.”
“I’d have pushed it back for you.” Yunho gives him a soppy look.
That’s the thing. Changmin knows he would.
These days, Changmin plans for every last eventuality. He blocks off a schedule and manages it to perfection, always leaving himself extra time for unforeseen circumstances such as sewing machines blowing up and garments melting. But Yunho... He always leaves things to the last minute, and while it worked in his favour on Stitched Up, in real life it’s a less desirable trait, especially when a third party is waiting on him.
Changmin frets about this. He’s tried to instil best practice and lead by example, which is the main reason they’re sharing the studio, but most days Yunho ambles around chatting on the phone or trying to decide which is the second-best Aqua song of all time, ‘My Oh My’ or ‘Doctor Jones’. This debate had been partially resolved when Changmin said that actually, everyone knew that the second international album was better and he rated ‘Bumble Bees’, which made Yunho go quiet for a good half hour.
“Anyway, I wasn’t horny,” Changmin lies. “I missed you because Pucci ate something bad at the park and he was sick on the kitchen floor. I had to clear it up, and Lagerfeld decided the mop was his new chew-toy and rather than stay back like a good dog he kept attacking the mop and then he rolled in the sick and... It was really disgusting.”
Yunho looks appalled. “I hope you bathed Feldie.”
“No, I just let him go around the apartment smelling of doggy vomit.” Before Yunho can take him at his word, Changmin continues, “Of course I bathed him. And then Pucci decided he was feeling better and practically broke down the bathroom door trying to get in, so I opened the door because I didn’t want him to chew the handle off again, I didn’t want to be trapped in there like last time, and I don’t know how he did it but in the meantime Lagerfeld managed to turn on the taps and then—”
“Changmin.” Yunho’s expression is very serious. “A pug cannot turn on taps.”
“Your dog,” Changmin says pointedly. “You taught him everything he knows. He can turn on taps.”
“Really? Wow. He always acts so clueless when I’m around.”
“It’s an act,” Changmin says. “I’m starting to think it’s a common denominator in all males from Gwangju. Act clueless to get the cuddles, but when necessity calls for it, be very practical.”
Yunho frowns. “Why would it be necessary for Feldie to turn on the taps?”
Changmin wishes he’d bought two of those muffins. The sugar hit is wearing off. “I don’t know! Maybe the water wasn’t warm enough for his liking. Why are we having this conversation?”
“You started it.” Yunho drains the last of the coffee and tosses the cardboard cup at the bin. It misses. “We have such smart puppies. We could make money off that, you know.”
“Our life is already a circus.”
“But it’s fun.” The smile is back in full force as Yunho goes over to retrieve the cup. He flips it into the bin then says, “Oh dear, Siwon’s fallen in the bin again.”
“Maybe it’s a sign.”
“Maybe.” Yunho pulls out the photo and gives it a wipe with his shirt cuff. “A sign that I should put it in a frame to keep it safe.”
Over Changmin’s dead body. Next time that picture is going in the shredder. Keen to change the topic, he says, “Why don’t you show me what you were working on last night?”
“Um.” Yunho looks pained. He turns a few pages of the sketchbooks and waves a hand at the paper patterns. “I’m... They’re...”
Dread licks across the back of Changmin’s neck. “Jung. The designs. Show me.”
“Oh, Changmin.” Mouth turning down, Yunho gathers the sketchbooks. “I don’t know what’s wrong lately. The only way I seem to be able to generate any creativity is by leaving it to the last minute and sort of forcing it out of me, but that’s horrible, like I’m design-constipated or something. And I’m fairly certain the end product is, well, shit.”
He shoves the sketchbooks at Changmin and takes a walk to the far side of the room. The drapes are closed. Yunho fiddles with the pull-cord and finally opens the curtains, then stares out of the window at the streets below.
Changmin turns his attention to the sketches. He flips through the books, then studies the discarded paper patterns and the length of fabric hanging from the skylight, then looks at the designs again.
They’re okay. They’re workmanlike. But they’re not Yunho.
“They lack joie de vivre,” Changmin says as kindly as he can.
Yunho gives him a bewildered look. “Maybe. But they have buttons.”
There’s no arguing with that. Changmin decides it’s best to move on. He closes the sketchbooks and directs an enquiring look at his boyfriend. “Now what?”
That was the wrong question to ask. Panic flashes through Yunho’s eyes. He scrunches into himself for a moment and then straightens up, swinging his arms and wandering in a circle. “I have three more days to complete three fully-realised looks.”
“Yes,” Changmin encourages.
“No.” Helplessness torpedoes through Yunho. He sinks down onto the sofa bed, shoulders slumped. “I’m completely out of inspiration. I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Nonsense.” Changmin hopes he sounds brisk and supportive rather than bossy and know-it-all. “The same thing happened to me at St Martin’s. I had temporary burn-out. All I needed was to take a break then give myself a fresh challenge, and I produced some of my best work.”
Not strictly true, but he’s not going to tell Yunho that. It’s not like Yunho can take a break, either, because the Evisu deadline is frighteningly close. Changmin decides to focus on the challenge aspect. “I don’t advocate leaving things to the last minute,” he says, “but it’s been a strategy that’s worked for you before in a competitive environment.”
“During Stitched Up, you mean.” Yunho’s smile is wan.
“Exactly. So let’s have a competition.” Determined that this is the answer to the problem, Changmin claps his hands in delight at his own brilliance. “Yes! A competition. You like winning. I like winning. Let’s compete against one another in a series of timed challenges, just like on Stitched Up, and each challenge will be one of the three designs you need to complete for Evisu.”
Yunho gives him a beady look. “You’re couture. You don’t even like urban fashion.”
“One should be able to turn one’s hand to designing anything. Even urban fashion.” Changmin is proud of himself. He can be diplomatic. “Besides, it’s good practice to be flexible. In case I ever go on one of those TV shows again. Daniel Franco did it on Project Runway in seasons one and two. Not saying that I’d be idiot enough to go back on Stitched Up, but...”
“You’d really do this for me?” Yunho asks. He’s all starry-eyed, as if Changmin had offered to bring him the moon.
“I love you.” Changmin scowls, which probably isn’t the appropriate expression to match his tender words. “Ugh, why do you have to make this a big deal?”
Yunho smiles and smiles. “Changminnie,” he says, and there’s hearts and flowers in his voice. He flings himself into Changmin’s arms and hugs tight, and Changmin holds him close and breathes him in, sleepy warmth and minty toothpaste and wild cherry latte.
“Anyway.” Changmin clears his throat and lets go. “Instead of prizes, the contest will be about forfeits. And to make things fair, we’ll ask our friends to be the judges. Milhye would do it, and didn’t you say Spoon was in town? And I’m sure Jiheun could spare some time after class.”
He’s totally making this up as he goes along, but Changmin thinks this sounds pretty damn good. He makes a note to ask their friends to judge Yunho the winner every time. Changmin can put aside his competitive nature for the next three days if it helps Yunho through this rough patch.
Enthusiasm gleams from Yunho’s expression. “What kind of forfeits?”
“Well...” Changmin edges closer and patters his fingers over Yunho’s thigh. “Loser gives the winner a blowjob, for example.”
Yunho’s enthusiasm goes supernova. His grin lights the whole room. “I might lose on purpose. I love sucking you off.”
Time to up the stakes. “Loser gives the winner a blowjob in the back seat of their car tonight, parked up at the Han River.”
Yunho’s eyes widen. “You want us to go dogging?”
“No!” Changmin jerks back, horrified. Then he thinks about it properly. The idea of an audience is actually rather hot. Perhaps if they wear masks. Or ski masks; he’ll need the access. “Maybe,” he says cautiously, not wanting to rule it out. His dick certainly likes the thought. “Winner decides where it takes place.”
It’s not just his dick that likes it, either. The zipper on Yunho’s jeans is having a hard time of it right now, with an emphasis on ‘hard’. “Changminnie, you’re so dirty,” Yunho tells him, all breathless and hot. “You’re almost a skank, suggesting such a thing.”
“It was just an example,” Changmin says, playing innocent.
“Posh boy has a mind full of filth.” Yunho kisses him, then pushes away from the drawing table and picks up his phone. “I’m gonna call Milhye, Spoon, and Jiheun to see if they’re free this evening.” He turns and beams at Changmin, real excitement shining in his eyes. “And then you better bring your game face, baby, ‘cos I’m feeling all inspired!”
Changmin permits himself a smile. He has the best ideas.
*
They’d worked from nine to five, then Yunho had gone home to shower, change, and take the dogs out for a walk while Changmin tidied the studio. He was proud of himself for resisting the urge to edit his outfit. Now he’s had time to study it with a dispassionate eye, he thinks the top is too much. It’s pretty enough on its own, but teamed with the skirt he thinks it’s overkill.
As for Yunho’s look, Changmin can’t decide if it’s fabulous or just bizarre. That’s the problem with urban clothing, in Changmin’s opinion. So much of it resembles a piece of sacking that’s been kicked around the floor before being sewn into a shapeless blob. Not that Yunho has made a shapeless blob, but the aesthetic is similar.
Changmin is glad he had the great idea of asking Milhye and Jiheun to be the judges, because frankly he can’t decide which design is better suited to the Evisu line.
Both looks are on the forms, concealed from the judges beneath plain drapes of muslin. Lagerfeld had tried to pull one of the drapes off earlier, but after a sharp scolding from Changmin, the pug had crawled beneath the sofa bed and put his nose on the floor. He’s still there now, sulking and moping.
Pucci is ambling around the room, wagging his huge, fluffy tail. Changmin keeps an eye on the Leonberger. Even though this is just for fun, his nerves are jangled at the prospect of the contest. Even though he’s doing all this to be a supportive boyfriend, Changmin is a Shim and the Shims are winners, so stage-managing a loss goes against everything in his DNA. Butterflies of anxiety flutter in his stomach, and Changmin is about to scold Pucci for nothing at all when the Leonberger’s tail smacks into the signed photo of Siwon and knocks it down the back of the radiator.
Maybe it’s a sign. Changmin makes a note to reward the gigantic beast with a doggy treat later when Yunho isn’t looking.
At last they’re ready. Lagerfeld is coaxed out from beneath the sofa bed and curls up between Milhye and Jiheun, who’re getting stuck into the wine and pizza. Pucci lies down on the floor beneath Yunho’s drawing table and assumes a bored expression.
“Right,” Changmin says, standing beside his form. “You know why you’re here. I ask you to judge fairly and honestly—” he emphasises the words and Jiheun sort of swallows her lips trying not to laugh, “and bear in mind the needs of the client, in this case Evisu, when you make your final decision.”
“You should host Stitched Up rather than Jaejoong,” Milhye remarks.
“I dress too well.” Changmin signals for Yunho to put down the Prosecco and get ready to reveal their garments. “On the count of three. One, two—”
Yunho yanks the drape off his form. “Ta-daa!”
Stifling a sigh, Changmin carefully removes the muslin from his look.
Milhye and Jiheun sit and stare in silence for a while. It’s nerve-racking. Changmin thinks maybe he should’ve put on some music. Even Aqua would be an improvement on this tense hush.
“It’d be better if these were on actual human beings,” Jiheun says at last. “Just a suggestion, take it or leave it.”
Reaching for her wine, Milhye tuts. “You can’t be Zhou Mi. He never judges the runway show.”
“He’s the only one with a critical eye.” Jiheun smirks. “Okay, do you want to be Jaejoong, Kyuhyun, or Madame Oh?”
Milhye wrinkles her nose. “Do I have to choose? Oh, all right—I’ll be Jaejoong.”
“You’re dressed too well,” Changmin says, nonplussed. “Be Madame Oh.”
“I’ll be Kyu,” Jiheun announces, pouring more Prosecco. “Ugly, ugly, ugly!”
Lagerfeld jumps up, yaps, then leaps onto the floor and starts turning in circles.
The girls laugh. “Ugly, ugly, ugly,” Jiheun chants again, and the pug spins in the opposite direction, barking wildly.
Changmin shakes his head and gives Yunho a disparaging look. “Jung. Your animal will make itself sick.”
“Did you teach Lagerfeld to do that?” Taking pity on the dizzy dog, Milhye picks him up and gives him a cuddle.
“He did,” Changmin says, jerking his chin at Yunho. “He thought it’d be funny.”
“It is.” Jiheun grins and helps herself to a slice of pizza. “How many times did you say it on the show, anyway?”
Changmin pauses. He doesn’t actually know.
“Seventeen instances were broadcast,” Yunho says, “compared to fifty-five instances of Kyuhyun saying it. It took me until episode eight to get Feldie to do that trick, though, by which time Changmin had pretty much stopped using it as his catchphrase.”
Lagerfeld yips.
“Precisely,” Changmin agrees. “Ladies, the garments? Do you want to ask us any questions?”
“Price points,” Jiheun says, sitting forward. “Since it’s for Evisu then they have a strict pricing structure and specific fabrics and colours, right? So whose look can be manufactured to the cheapest price point to ensure maximum profit?”
Changmin looks over at Yunho. “I... didn’t think of that.”
“I did.” Yunho’s smile is a little bit smug.
“Naturally. You work for them.” Annoyed that he hadn’t thought to factor in cost, Changmin grits his teeth. “Guess I’ll lose points for that.”
“Afraid so.” Milhye pretends to put a cross on an imaginary scorecard. “Designer Shim, do tell us about your style decisions.”
“I decided to use an unusual palette,” Changmin begins, shooting Yunho a glare. If he loses this challenge, it’s only because of Yunho’s hare-brained idea of rearranging the fabric store. Changmin hadn’t been able to find anything. He gestures at the skirt, knee-length and pleated with a button-down front fastening, all in brown satin with stripes of orange velvet. “The palette is...”
“Something my granny would wear,” Jiheun finishes for him.
“And the top,” Changmin continues. “I wanted it to be fun yet structured.” He looks at the garment again. It’s an eau-de-nil cotton vest with crossover support at the bust and a gathered ruffle at the low-waisted hem. The ruffle is wrong, he’s sure of it.
“Mm.” Milhye picks anchovies off her pizza. “The proportion is off. The ruffle is eating the skirt.”
“It is,” Jiheun agrees. “Pleats and ruffles are so 80s. You really shouldn’t.”
Changmin sweats. This is the hardest critique he’s had since St Martin’s.
“I think the skirt is cute,” Yunho offers.
“You’re not a judge, your opinion is invalid.” Jiheun is turning out to be some kind of dictator. Until now, Changmin had always thought she was a sweet girl. She waggles her eyebrows at Yunho. “Designer Jung, you hot stud. Tell us about your look.”
Hot stud? Appalled by the obvious favouritism displayed by the judges, who have now drunk the best part of two bottles of wine, Changmin wonders if he can overrule any decision they make—if indeed they’re capable of making a decision.
Yunho slings an arm around his form and leans against it, beaming at his giggling audience. “It’s simple enough. Right price point, right fabric. A denim mini that’s essentially a deconstructed pair of jeans. An asymmetrical slit here and an off-centre fastening to give a bit of interest, and for the top I made a tracksuit jacket out of this really gorgeous print...”
Changmin sniffs. The print isn’t gorgeous, it’s a weird outsize floral thing, red and white long-petalled chrysanthemums on a black background, but whatever.
Jiheun and Milhye look at each other and scrunch their faces.
“I think they really need to walk,” Milhye says.
Jiheun nods. “Like I said half an hour ago.”
Yunho tilts his head, flirting. “Would you model for us? Both of you?”
Of course they say yes. Changmin dresses Milhye and Yunho dresses Jiheun, and it’s almost like being back on Stitched Up for real, except this time when the models offer their opinions, they actually know what they’re talking about.
More Prosecco is opened. Milhye looks through Yunho’s CDs and puts on the Bomfunk MCs, which is hardly the right kind of music to walk to but at least it’s not Aqua. Changmin tries to lessen the effect of the ruffle with some sneaky tacking stitches. Jiheun calls him a cheating cheat who cheats. Yunho says he’ll film them walking on his phone so they can make an informed decision as to the winning look, but when the girls start to strut, Pucci jumps up and walks with them. Yunho laughs so much he can’t keep his phone steady, and the evening descends into chaos.
Yes, it really is just like being on Stitched Up.
Approximately forty minutes later, the girls are back in their own clothes and are trying very hard to appear sober as they make their deliberations. It takes them all of ten seconds to declare that it’s a close call, but in their opinion Yunho is the winner.
Yunho takes a bow.
At first Changmin is disappointed, then he’s annoyed, then he’s annoyed at feeling annoyed, and finally he gets a warm glow of satisfaction at the realisation that all his careful planning had turned out exactly the way he’d wanted.
It also means he gets to give Yunho a blowjob just as soon as their guests leave.
Inventing some spurious excuse as to why it’s time for them to go now, Changmin escorts the girls downstairs. Milhye and Jiheun stagger out to the waiting taxi, shrieking with laughter, blowing kisses, and promising they’ll be back for more tomorrow.
By the time Changmin gets back upstairs, Yunho has cleaned things away and even put the empty bottles in the recycling bin. Lagerfeld and Pucci are wolfing down a pile of doggy treats from the top of a pizza carton.
Changmin grabs the tea towel out of Yunho’s hand and throws it onto the floor, then pins Yunho against the door and leans in close. “You’re the winner,” he breathes. “I’m going to go down on you. I’m going to blow you until you can’t stand up straight.”
Yunho fists a hand in Changmin’s shirt and drags him nearer. “Not in front of the puppies.”
They kiss, hot and avid. Yunho snakes his arm around Changmin’s neck. When they break for air, he says, “Let’s take them home and get them settled.”
“And then?” Changmin asks, just about resisting the urge to hump Yunho’s thigh.
Yunho gives him a wicked smile. “Then we’re going to the Han River.”
*
He parks the car beneath the shadow of one of the bridges over the Han River and closes all the doors with the central locking. He hopes he got the location right. There’s a couple of other cars parked not too far away but there’s no one peering in the windows and neither of the vehicles is rocking back and forth. Either the passengers are shy or they’re voyeurs hoping to see some action.
Yunho seems a bit jumpy. He unfastens his seatbelt and sits forward, then back. He stares at the other cars and then fumbles for the light above the rear view mirror. He looks determined. “We have to put the light on.”
“Why?”
“Because.” Yunho blinks up at the light. “So other people know we’re, uh, that we’re going to...”
Changmin gives him a look and switches it off. “This will only work if we’re anonymous.”
Yunho turns it back on. “But Donghae says—”
“Donghae? Donghae goes dogging?” Changmin’s not sure why he’s so surprised by that. “Okay. I don’t want to know.” He flicks the light off again. “And it stays off this time, unless you want us plastered all over the scandal rags tomorrow.”
The car parked diagonally opposite them suddenly flashes its headlights.
Yunho scrunches down in his seat. “What does that mean?”
“How should I know? You’re the dogging expert.”
“Maybe I should call Donghae and ask.” Yunho starts to reach for his phone.
“You will not!” Changmin grabs for Yunho’s arm. They stare at each other. The night runs darkness over them, sharp lines and curves of light and shadow describing Yunho’s features. His eyes glitter, darker than the river. The car engine ticks as it starts to cool. Now the heaters aren’t on, a chill begins to settle.
“This isn’t as sexy as I thought it’d be,” Yunho says. He sounds mournful.
Changmin will make this sexy. He knows he can. If there’s one thing he’s learned from having Yunho as his boyfriend, it’s that distraction is key—and it can work both ways. He tugs on Yunho’s arm. “Let’s get in the back.”
They slide their seats forward and then clamber through the gap. Yunho bangs his head on the roof. Changmin gets his foot stuck between the gearbox and the driver’s seat. Eventually they sprawl across the back seat, scuffling and rearranging themselves on the cool, smooth leather.
The crunch of tyres on asphalt makes them go still. Another car pulls up nearby, its headlights off.
“Maybe they think we’re selling drugs.” Yunho sounds worried now.
“They don’t.” Changmin did not go to all this effort for nothing. Yes, they could climb back into the front and go home and he could give Yunho a blowjob in the comfort of their own bedroom, but he’d made all these plans and—and... Oh, who’s he trying to kid, he thinks it’ll be really hot. He just needs to distract Yunho some more.
“Kiss me,” Changmin says, making his voice a sultry purr. “It’s dark in here and—” he tries to think of something believable, “I’m scared of the dark.”
That works. Yunho turns to him, all solicitous. “Oh, baby. Come here.”
They fit against one another and kiss. Gently at first, and Changmin can tell Yunho’s still got half his mind on the other cars. Not content with this, Changmin puts one hand around Yunho’s nape and strokes up over the razored softness into the thick texture of his hair. Splaying his hand, Changmin grasps at Yunho’s hair and brings him closer.
Yunho moans, the sound rich and hungry. He flickers his tongue over the seam of Changmin’s mouth, and Changmin opens for him. They lick at each other, delicate, and then Changmin nips at Yunho’s lower lip. Yunho love-bites back. Their kisses get harder. Now it’s Changmin who moans. He shifts position to sit astride Yunho’s lap, keeping his head low and wrapping both arms around Yunho’s neck, tongue slippery and plunging.
Yunho’s hands go to Changmin’s waist beneath his jacket, fingers cool against the sliver of bare skin. Changmin shivers, his body tightening. Yunho feathers another gentle caress and Changmin grinds against him, a swift roll of the hips that makes them both groan.
Desire builds, hot and sweet. Their kisses are bolder, wetter. Changmin shimmies again, his cock aching. He can smell their arousal now, a warm scent of need that’s familiar and exciting.
“I love you,” Yunho whispers against Changmin’s mouth. “I love you.”
Changmin murmurs agreement and strokes a hand over Yunho’s cheek. When he next breaks the kiss and opens his eyes, Changmin sees that his cunning plan has worked. The car windows have fogged up. Unless someone shines a flashlight in on them, they should be able to remain anonymous, just two bodies in search of pleasure.
He puts Yunho’s hand high up on his thigh. “Touch me.”
Expression dazed, Yunho gazes at him. “Changminnie...”
“No names.” Fuck, the idea of it is making him really hot. “Pretend I’m a hooker.”
A smile quirks Yunho’s lips. “You’d kiss me less if you were a hooker.”
“Not if you paid extra.” Changmin kisses him deep and hard as if this proves his point. “Or imagine I’m some trampy little Gwangju slut. I can do your dialect. I can. Wanna hear, big boy? Wanna hear me talk like a skank?”
“God, no. Don’t.” Yunho humps him, holding Changmin’s thighs and rutting up, leaving Changmin in no doubt just how much Yunho is turned on. Changmin hopes it’s not his execrable imitation of a southern accent that’s got his boyfriend so hot.
They kiss again, and then Changmin eases away. Yunho sprawls back against the seat, loose-limbed and with his eyes half-lidded as he watches Changmin slide off his lap and squirm down into the foot well.
With slow deliberation, Changmin unfastens the fly button and draws down the zipper. He does it mostly by touch, trying to keep his gaze on Yunho’s face. In his peripheral vision he sees movement—a figure outside. Two figures.
Excitement flares white-hot, the thrill of it so strong it sends a kick of lust all the way through him. Changmin says nothing; he merely smiles appreciatively as he frees Yunho’s dick from jeans and underwear.
Yunho doesn’t appear to have noticed their audience. His attention has narrowed, his gaze fixed on Changmin’s mouth. He makes tiny greedy noises and rolls his hips, offering his cock.
“All for me,” Changmin says. It comes out rough and unsteady, and he feels possessive. Not just because of their audience either, although that brings a whole new dimension to what they’re doing. He imagines those guys looking in through the fogged windows and glimpsing Yunho’s gorgeous huge dick. God, that’s hot, but not as hot as the reality right in front of him. Only he can smell and taste and touch it, and it’s all for him.
“Just for you, baby.” Yunho wraps a finger in a lock of Changmin’s hair and urges him closer. “Put your mouth on me. Please.”
Changmin tilts his head, teasing. He breathes over Yunho’s cock, admiring the heft of it and the taut skin, the bead of pre-come leaking from the slit and leaving a wet trail down the thick shaft. Full of anticipation, Changmin nuzzles at it then licks, lapping up the full length of Yunho’s dick before easing his mouth around the swollen crown and giving it a long, luxurious suck, moaning his approval at the same time.
“Ohhh. Oh yeah.” Yunho thumps both hands on the seat either side of him, hips canting as he thrusts forward. “Oh baby, that feels... It feels—oh.”
Changmin sucks on him. The wet sound seems so loud, almost as loud as the thudding of his pulse. Despite this and the background of Yunho’s soft, low moans of pleasure, still he’s aware of faint noises outside. He pulls off. Playing as much to the audience that can’t see everything as to the audience that can, he mouths all around Yunho’s cock, licking and sucking every inch from tip to root, and then he buries his face between Yunho’s spread thighs and nuzzles against his balls, loves into all that heat and musk and hair, all that contradiction of soft and hard.
Greedy now, Changmin makes Yunho all wet. He loves this; loves pleasing Yunho, loves hearing the babble of incomprehensible nonsense that’s one long litany of ecstatic adoration. Changmin knows it’s all for him—not just Yunho’s dick but everything Yunho is, and it’s such a fucking turn-on.
“Baby,” Yunho gasps, high and excited, “people are watching. Oh God, they’re watching us. Oh, that’s—that’s...”
It’s something, all right. Yunho’s cock thickens, gets even harder, pre-come spilling from him. His hands claw at the seat, and God, he smells so good. Changmin hums and curls a lick at the underside of Yunho’s shaft.
“Take it. Suck me.” Yunho slides down in the seat, head tilting back as his hips work. “You want me to beg? I’m begging. I’m begging so hard.”
Changmin laps at the glistening pre-come. “How many people are watching?”
Yunho writhes. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”
“I want to know.” Changmin is amazed that he sounds so calm.
Rolling his head from side to side with a helpless moan, Yunho glances outside the car. “Ten. Maybe ten guys. Oh fuck.”
“They want you,” Changmin says, voice low. “They’d love to be me, sucking on your big stiff dick.”
“Maybe they want you,” Yunho counters, trying to get his cock back between Changmin’s lips. “Please, baby. I’ll do anything.”
“Give them something more to see. Undo your shirt.”
“Oh, don’t make me,” Yunho says in tones that suggest he’s more than willing to be made in every way possible. He pulls at his shirt, hands unsteady as he unbuttons it and lets it fall open, and then his head tips back and he arches up, feet pressed down hard on the floor.
“Like that,” Changmin says. “Like that,” and strokes him, takes Yunho back in his mouth as he runs a greedy hand over Yunho’s belly up to his chest.
Heat burns across Yunho’s body, igniting the smell of fresh sweat and the spike-sweet scent of his cologne. Changmin splays his hand and strokes rough touches across Yunho’s chest, groping him, lightly scoring his fingernails over the skin. He swallows more of Yunho’s dick and brushes his thumb over a nipple.
Yunho jerks and mews. Changmin relaxes his jaw and takes more, breathing deeply through his nose, filling his head with Yunho’s scent and taste. He pinches Yunho’s nipple and Yunho gasps, hips working and working, and he says, “Stop, oh God, baby, I’m gonna come, I’m—”
Changmin pulls almost all the way off and gets one hand around Yunho’s cock. He strokes as he sucks, feeling the quiver and snap of tension. Yunho shudders and cries out, the sound of Changmin’s name garbled and tight as he twists and bucks, riding the orgasm.
Semen floods Changmin’s mouth. He swallows, the seed hot and slightly sweet-tasting—legacy of the Prosecco, maybe. He moans and some of it overspills, dribbling from his lips and down over his hand. That makes it all seem even dirtier, and when he’s sucked every last drop from Yunho’s cock, Changmin licks it from his hand to the muffled sound of applause from outside.
The windows are fogged so much the condensation has started to streak, making clear stripes through the mist. Changmin looks up at the shadowy faces of the anonymous men watching them and smiles. His own dick is rigid, his body aching with need, but he ignores it in favour of the delicious languor spreading through him. He murmurs kisses over Yunho’s quiescent cock and tucks it away, then unfolds himself from the foot well and curls up on the seat with his head on Yunho’s bare chest, happy and satisfied.
He may have lost the competition this time around, but right now Changmin feels like a winner.
* * *
The design brief calls for casual wear. Rather than attempting to make a pair of jeans, Changmin decides to go for a more preppy look. This is as close to urban as he’s ever going to get, and he’s pleased with the result.
“Yo,” he says when he finishes, “check it.”
Yunho looks slightly appalled. “Please don’t talk like that ever again.”
Mindful of the need to have the clothes walk for the judges, they agree to act as models for one another. Changmin dresses Yunho in beige chinos and a blue-checked utility shirt with a slightly structured collegiate knit cardigan. Yunho flattens his hair and brushes it forward, then picks up Changmin’s satchel and swings it around.
Changmin stares. It’s like gazing at an alternate life, and it’s almost disturbing. “You look, um... Actually, you look really cute like this. Cute in a hot way. Hot in a preppy way.” Time to shut up.
Yunho grins and ruffles a hand through his hair to restore it to its usual textured style. “You wanna play Hot For Teacher later? You can be sexy Professor Shim and I won’t have handed in my homework like a bad, bad boy and you can punish me.”
“I’ll make you write lines,” Changmin says, ignoring the stir of excitement. His libido is so predictable; he really shouldn’t indulge it. Not all the time, anyway.
“I must not sit at the back of class and touch myself while staring at Professor Shim’s long legs and luscious mouth,” Yunho chants.
“Whilst,” Changmin corrects. He straightens the collar of Yunho’s shirt, adjusts the drape of the cardigan, then steps back and surveys the whole look. “That’s good. Anyway, we already agreed on tonight’s forfeit.”
“No law against adding a bit of role play to it.” Yunho goes over to his workbench and hands Changmin the clothes he’s made for the challenge—a pair of skinny jeans, a grey graphic t-shirt, and a purple hoodie with a detachable hood.
“Let’s see who wins.” Changmin gets undressed, blushing as Yunho makes growly noises of appreciation. He wriggles into the jeans and pulls at the seat, then fiddles with the waistband. “I can never find a pair of jeans that fits properly,” Changmin says with a sigh. “Not a criticism; just a general observation. It’s not just your jeans, it’s everyone’s. And people wonder why I always wear suits.”
“I’m working on that,” Yunho says, going down onto his knees and adjusting the hems. “I don’t care how many pairs I have to cut and sew, one day I am going to make you the snuggest, sexiest, most comfortable jeans you’ve ever worn in your life.”
“I’d like that.” Changmin looks over his shoulder at his reflection in the full-length bevelled mirror they’d borrowed from their bedroom for the duration of the contest. “These aren’t those jeans, though. I mean, they’re perfectly nice, but...”
“Not your style,” Yunho finishes with a smile. “It’s okay.”
“None of this is my style.” Changmin pulls on the t-shirt and hoodie and thinks he looks like a bit of a prat.
“Just as this isn’t my style, either, but it’ll give the judges a laugh, at any rate.” Yunho bounces up and kisses him. Changmin murmurs approval at the sweet, lingering taste of pineapple lumps, then they pull away as the buzzer rings.
Spoon, Milhye, and Jiheun all arrive together. Tonight the refreshments consist of Chinese takeaway and beer, picked up by the judges en route to the studio. The judging process is much more casual this time, which is either an indication of how hungry everyone is or else it’s an indictment on menswear.
Yunho rolls up the sleeves of his cardigan and utility shirt before he helps himself to the food. Changmin bristles, itching to pull the sleeves down again, but he supposes that Yunho is simply being practical. Clothes just do not look good with kung pao chicken blobbed all over them. As soon as this thought enters his mind, Changmin wishes he hadn’t made beige chinos, because Jiheun’s sauce-drenched plate of Szechuan beef is alarmingly close to Yunho’s knee.
Whatever. It’s not like he’s going to win, anyway. Changmin tries to relax.
“Girlfriend,” Spoon says, waving a sweet and sour prawn at Changmin, “it’s just wonderful that you’ve arranged all this for your darlin’. You two are so cute.”
Changmin takes a sip of beer. “I just hope he’ll learn from the experience.”
“I’ve already learned a lot!” Yunho leans forward and digs through the bowl of rice, scattering grains across the chairs. “Yesterday’s forfeit, for example...”
“I meant I hope you’ll learn to manage your time better when you tackle a work project,” Changmin says loudly, hoping to stave off further discussion about forfeits.
Milhye gives them both a quizzical look. “Forfeit?”
Too late.
Jiheun’s eyes gleam. “Oho, was it something good?”
“If ‘good’ is a synonym for ‘sexyfilthydirty’, then you have to tell us,” Spoon declares. “In detail. Otherwise we ain’t judging nothin’.”
Changmin wants to sink his head into his hands.
“It was Changmin’s idea,” Yunho tells everyone, as if Changmin is some kind of wild kinkster with a ravenous sexual appetite, which might actually be true when he’s in the mood but right now it’s just embarrassing. “We play for forfeits to encourage the spirit of competition.”
“Competition,” Jiheun repeats, and the judges splutter-snort into their dinner.
Yunho looks confused. Before he can ask questions, Changmin says briskly, “Yes. Because a competitive spirit is needed when one wants to be a winner.”
More sniggering from the judges.
“So!” Milhye says brightly. “What was yesterday’s forfeit?”
Yunho beams. “Changmin took me dogging.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence and then Spoon shrieks, “Honeypie! Why’re you telling me this now?”
“You had a date last night,” Yunho says.
Windmilling his arms, Spoon yodels, “Darlin’, if you’d told me what sort of nasty times you were planning, my date would’ve involved watching you two cuties get it on under that damn bridge!”
Changmin raises his eyebrows.
Spoon looks flustered. “Not that I know where to go. Spoon has class. He’s not one for making an exhibition of himself, if you know what I mean.”
Jiheun laughs so hard she knocks over her plate of Szechuan beef. It splatters all down the beige chinos, just as Changmin had predicted.
“We should’ve brought the puppies,” Yunho says, wiping at the sauce. It just smears into the fabric and makes it look a hundred times worse. “They’d have cleaned this mess up in seconds.”
“Pup—dogs should not eat Chinese food.” Changmin goes into the kitchenette and fetches a damp cloth, for all the good that’ll do.
Yunho takes the cloth and scrubs at the stain. “What about Chinese dogs, can they eat Chinese food?”
Sometimes Changmin wonders why he bothers.
The judges exchange glances. “I think we’ve reached a decision,” Milhye says.
“You have?” Yunho looks over at them. “You didn’t ask us any questions yet. Changmin got the price points right this time. Please factor that into your decision.”
“That’s okay.” Jiheun grins. “Changmin’s the winner.”
“What?” Startled, Changmin almost spills his beer. He rights the bottle before it can fall and stands there blinking at the smirking judges. “I’m the winner?”
Spoon nods. “As you so often tell us, girl.”
Well, this is unexpected. The judges have minds of their own. Changmin isn’t sure what to make of that. He glances at Yunho, who’s looking a bit anxious.
Jiheun has been studying their reactions. Her grin becomes a cackle. “I think I can guess what the forfeit is tonight.”
Blatant curiosity written over his face, Spoon asks, “What what what?”
Rather pleased by the way things have turned out, Changmin slides an arm around Yunho’s waist and pulls him in close, all hot and predatory.
“Oh, I’m right!” Jiheun claps her hands.
Milhye just shakes her head, trying not to laugh.
“Say what?” Spoon wrinkles his nose.
“Winner gets to top.” Changmin nips at Yunho’s ear, then nuzzles his neck. “Don’t worry, bunny. I’ll be gentle.”
* * *
“We recorded it,” Changmin says.
Yunho drops the bottle-opener and goes pinker than the alcopop.
Spoon almost chokes on his drink. “Baby doll, you made a sex tape?”
Expression calm and haughty, Changmin nods. “We certainly did.”
“Honey, I am so breaking into your house and robbing you. I need to see this.” Spoon is practically hyperventilating.
“We have dogs,” Changmin reminds him. “They’re trained to kill.”
“Those mutts?”
“Don’t be mean about the puppies.” Yunho retrieves the bottle-opener and sets out a few more opened alcopops. He’s regained control, but his smile is just the slightest bit nervous. “And there is no sex tape, Spoonie. Changmin is winding you up.”
“Yes.” Changmin flashes Yunho a look from beneath his lashes, hot with the memory of Professor Shim punishing bad boy Jung. “I was just joking.”
Spoon pretends to fan himself as he sits back against the cushions. “Lord have mercy. Even the thought of it has made me come over all unnecessary.”
Jiheun texts to say she’ll be delayed due to a class running over. Milhye arrives and examines the final two looks on the forms.
The third challenge was to create something chic yet street. In Changmin’s opinion, the words ‘chic’ and ‘street’ shouldn’t go together, except perhaps in a sentence such as There’s Shim Changmin walking down the street; doesn’t he look chic in his Armani suit?
Determined to lose this challenge, Changmin has made a grey silk asymmetrical shirt-dress that not only breaks the budget, it’s also spectacularly vile. He almost feels bad when he sees Milhye’s bewildered expression as she studies the garment. It’s probably the worst thing he’s ever made. Worse than his first student project, which was avant-garde and just plain hideous. He’d made better clothes when he was nine years old and sewing ball gowns for his sisters’ dolls.
Yunho’s look, by contrast, is superb. Using the same chrysanthemum print that went into the tracksuit jacket of the first challenge, he’s made a snug-fitting, variable-length skirt with a cute ruched panel at the sides to hide the cords that adjust the length. To go with it, there’s a loose-draped black cotton/lycra mix top with capped sleeves and a mandarin collar. It’s quietly stylish and still manages to look edgy.
“This,” Changmin had said earlier, “this has joie de vivre.”
Yunho had smiled. “And no buttons.”
Now Milhye gestures to Yunho’s look. “If Jiheun and I are going to model again, can I please wear this?”
“Certainly.” Yunho takes the clothes off the form and ushers Milhye towards the bathroom so she can get changed.
Spoon stares at Changmin’s horrible dress. “Girl,” he says, “you know what I’m going to say.”
“Ugly, ugly, ugly?” Changmin guesses.
“That sounds so much better when Kyu says it.” With a sigh, Spoon reaches for another of the pink alcopops. “Tell Spoon the truth now, sugar. Did you really make a sex tape?”
Changmin meets his gaze, as unblinking as a basilisk. “As Yunho said...” he begins, and then the buzzer rings. He gets to his feet. “That must be Jiheun.”
“Saved by the bell,” Spoon says, pouting. “Don’t you think I’ll forget this, girlfriend! I will find out, one way or another. Even if I have to bribe your dogs to bring me that tape!”
“What tape?” Jiheun demands as she comes bounding into the room, kicking off her high heels and slinging her jacket aside.
“Girlfriend and studmuffin made a sex tape last night.”
Jiheun’s eyes widen. “For real?”
Yunho flaps his hands and gets tangled in the tape measure draped around his neck. “It was all Professor Shim’s idea! I was a good boy! Except for the bit where I was very bad and needed correction, and... Ohhh, I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“I knew it!” Spoon falls off the sofa bed.
Changmin decides that Professor Shim didn’t punish naughty student Jung hard enough. Next time he’ll use a cane rather than his hand.
Milhye emerges from the bathroom wearing the look Yunho created. Everyone admires it.
“Jiheunie,” Yunho says cheerfully, “that means you’ll be wearing Changmin’s shirt-dress.”
Jiheun eyes the garment with disfavour. “Surely you mean ‘shit dress’. I’m not wearing that. It’s—”
“Ugly, ugly, ugly!” everyone says together.
Changmin thinks this judgement is a little harsh. It’s not that bad. Okay, maybe it is. But still, it’s made of silk. Someone would probably buy it. If it was on sale. And they’d probably unpick the seams and make something nicer out of it. But still.
Quelling his inner Bad Loser, Changmin once again reminds himself that this contest wasn’t about him. Through deviousness and forward planning, he’s managed to shepherd Yunho through the difficult last few days of a work project.
Changmin congratulates himself on a job well done. Never again will he allow Yunho to slack off when there’s a deadline. Even if he’s in Italy, Changmin vows to set aside a good ten minutes of their Skype dates to chastise Yunho for being a slug. Although considering the results yielded last night, maybe Professor Shim should take charge of all chastisements in future.
Needless to say, Yunho wins the final challenge. They whisk away the alcopops in favour of champagne and toast Yunho’s success in the contest and in finishing his collection for Evisu. Despite constant needling questions about (a) the alleged sex tape, and (b) what the forfeit is tonight, Yunho manages to keep his mouth shut and Changmin remains similarly tight-lipped.
They look at each other across the chatter and laughter of their friends and toast one another silently. Anticipation squirms through Changmin. He’s looking forward to giving Yunho his reward. It’s something he’s never done before; he’s never really been interested in it, which seems odd now he thinks about it, but even so...
Changmin can’t wait to get dressed up.
* * *
Changmin wasn’t sure how his boyfriend knew a word like ‘verisimilitude’, but perhaps Professor Shim’s elocution lessons have had a part in extending Yunho’s vocabulary, amongst other things.
But even Professor Shim pales beside the awesome seductive power of Peach.
Stunning, sexy Peach only comes out to play on special occasions. They make a date every few weeks when Changmin’s at home. He’s spent most of this month in Milan and he’s missed Peach. This is the first time in ages he’s had the opportunity to get dressed up, and he’s going to enjoy every second of it.
These days Changmin has an extensive collection of garments tailored especially for Peach, made by himself and Yunho. In addition to the original outfit that went to Evisu, which was the height of modest discretion in comparison to the rest of the contents of his dress-up wardrobe, Changmin has lots of slutty clothes—dresses and tops and skirts and hotpants—made in a variety of tight, clinging, shimmery, see-through, or slick fabrics.
Changmin wanders around the studio, preparing for the evening ahead. He’d taken a nice relaxing bath before he came here, using liberal quantities of almond and sandalwood bath oil, and he feels sexy already.
He’s pleased to note that Yunho has tidied up after himself today rather than leaving the place looking like a tip; such is the authority and allure of Peach. Changmin pulls down the sofa bed, fluffs out the duvet, and rearranges the cushions into an inviting scatter. A handful of bubble-packs of lube are distributed beneath the cushions, and then he goes to the windows and closes the drapes. After dimming the spotlights, he examines the selection of Peach’s clothes set out on a hanging rail.
Yunho’s latest fashion interest is in items made of PVC. Changmin is of the opinion that PVC is for slappers and hookers. He hesitates over choosing a PVC skirt that laces up the back—there’s no way he’ll be able to get into that without assistance—then decides on something less flashy but equally trashy.
He wore loose, comfortable clothes to come here. Now he strips off and gets dressed as Peach, starting with underwear—a Rigby & Peller thong, slithery-soft black lace with ecru and rose embroidery and satin side-ties. It gives him a kick that this little scrap of nothing cost four times the amount of the rest of his outfit put together, and that’s without factoring in the shipping costs from the UK.
Next he squirms into a clingy, tight black lycra/jersey mini-skirt that simply won’t stay put at mid-thigh and always ends up riding higher and higher at the slightest provocation. Finally he selects a disgustingly cheap, satin-look polyester top—ugh, so awful, polyester—that barely sits on his shoulders and is cut to drape low at the front and back. If Peach had tits, they’d fall right out of this nasty top. As it is, the polyester flirts over Changmin’s chest and makes his nipples all perky.
He pulls at the hem of the skirt then stands straight, feeling it creep up in slow increments. Changmin considers whether or not he should wear stockings, then decides on bare legs. After the first time they’d played like this, he’d wondered about shaving his legs just for these occasions. Yunho had refused to contemplate it. He didn’t want smooth, he’d said; he wanted that slight roughness of hair. As a compromise, Changmin always uses body butter after his bath. If he can’t defuzz, then at least he can have soft skin.
With another ineffectual tug at the skirt, Changmin goes over to the mirror, summoning his role with each dainty step. Peach, he thinks, is somewhere between a slapper and a hooker. Yunho gave him the name, and Changmin feels like a peach when he’s dressed up like this, pretty and ripe and ready to be devoured.
As for Yunho... Changmin isn’t sure what role he’s supposed to be playing, because although Yunho comes up with complicated scenarios in advance, as soon as he’s through the door and lays eyes on Peach, everything goes out the window and the role play aspect gets forgotten in favour of desperate rutting.
Changmin doesn’t mind in the slightest.
He looks in the mirror and combs his hair with his fingers, then inexpertly parts it and arranges it into two little pigtails fastened with sparkly purple hair-ties. Although he draws the line at wearing make-up, he does have some lip-gloss that tastes of ginger. It makes his mouth look shiny and obscene, and he never regrets using it.
A quick check of the time. He’s almost ready. Now for the finishing touch—shoes. He squeezes his feet into a pair of mules with kitten heels. This is the only thing about being Peach that he doesn’t like; he can’t find shoes big enough to fit him. They don’t usually stay on long enough for them to pinch or rub, but as Changmin admires his complete look in the mirror, he wishes he had prettier shoes.
There’s a knock at the door.
Changmin stares at his reflection, eyes widening, lips parting. Anticipation tickles all over him. He waits for Yunho to knock a second time, then sways across the studio and opens the door.
“Hi.” Yunho stands there, hair still damp from the shower, his cologne sharp and spicy. He’s wearing a suit and tie and he’s clutching a glossy carrier bag with braided handles. His gaze rolls over Changmin, hot and greedy, and then he steps across the threshold, drops the bag, and grabs hold as the door swings shut behind him.
They kiss, open-mouthed and fierce. Yunho takes a handful of Changmin’s ass and squeezes. His fingertips skim bare flesh. Changmin shivers and makes a hungry sound, a dirty little noise that Yunho echoes.
Changmin pulls away, licking his lips. He strokes a hand over Yunho’s suit jacket and gives him a coquettish look. “I like a man who dresses up for me.”
“Me, too.” Yunho grins, backs Changmin against the wall, and kisses him again. Changmin lifts a leg and wraps it around Yunho. They hump and grind together, their kisses getting wetter. Desire spools out, heavy and urgent. Changmin gasps as Yunho licks and kisses down his neck. Tilting his head, Changmin lets Yunho graze at the soft skin of his throat and across his collarbones. Heat fills him. Senses burning, Changmin holds onto Yunho’s shoulders and revels in the fantasy.
“Changminnie,” Yunho murmurs.
“Peach,” Changmin corrects. “But I can be Changmin for you.” Now wouldn’t that be a mindfuck.
Yunho lifts his head and puts a hand to Changmin’s face; caresses his cheek, his mouth. “Peach. Gorgeous Peach.”
Changmin squirms against him. “What do you want, honey?” Sliding a hand between their bodies, he cups Yunho’s erection. “Mm. Just what have you got for me?”
A helpless groan falls from Yunho’s lips. “A present.” His eyes flutter closed as Changmin strokes him through the suit trousers.
“A big present, I hope.” Changmin tries not to giggle.
With an effort, Yunho extricates himself and backs away, all flushed and excited. “A real present. Sit down, baby. Let me show you.”
Oh yes, the carrier bag. He’d almost forgotten. Deciding not to pout just yet, Changmin sashays across the room. The skirt rides up, but this time he doesn’t bother to pull it down. Behind him, Yunho makes a weird sort of noise, like he’s choking on his own drool. Pleased with the reaction, Changmin surreptitiously adjusts the position of his dick in the lacy panties then sits on the edge of the bed in a very demure fashion.
Yunho brings the bag over. There’s a large box inside. Going down onto his knees, Yunho removes the box, opens it, then lifts out a pair of boots.
Changmin stares, lustful greed pulsing in him. These aren’t just boots. These are hooker boots. Seriously fucking sexy hooker boots. Thigh-high and made of the softest black leather polished to a high gloss, they’re fastened with smoked silver zips and boast six-inch spike heels and two-inch platforms to spread his weight evenly through the soles.
He’s so in love with the boots that Changmin breaks character for a moment. “Where...?”
Yunho looks up at him, smiling. “The Estonian guy decided on a career change and went into shoe design and manufacture.”
“But,” Changmin says, trying to match the heavenly reality of the fuck-me boots with the memory of the quiet little Estonian whose chief contribution to Stitched Up had been to leave large quantities of vodka in the boys’ apartment, “his own shoes were cheap and falling apart and—” the worst crime of all, “unpolished.”
“Still are, for all I know,” Yunho says cheerfully. “But he makes the most gorgeous shoes for other people.”
Setting down the boots for a moment, he takes Changmin’s feet and places them in his lap. With care, he eases off the mules and lines them up on the floor beneath the bed. He plays with Changmin’s bare feet, running his fingertips all over them, then picks up the left boot and encourages Changmin to slip his foot inside.
The boot is lined, slithery and cool with satin. Changmin bites back an indulgent moan. God, it feels like really good sex. Yunho will turn him into a fetishist or something. He wiggles his toes, ridiculously pleased by the perfect fit, and flexes his leg as Yunho zips up the boot, the zipper rough-purring all the way up.
Yunho helps him with the right boot. Changmin admires them. They were hot in the box. Now they’re actually on his feet and encasing his legs, they’re beyond glorious. “You had these custom made for me?”
“For Peach.” Yunho finishes zipping up the second boot. His hand trembles. He’s quivering with excitement. “Walk for me?”
Changmin isn’t sure about wearing such killer spike heels on the stripped floorboards of the studio. Peach, however, has no such compunction. He gets up, and after a few tentative steps to the other side of the room, he turns and does a catwalk strut, the sound of the heels so percussive it’s like machine-gun fire.
Yunho looks as if he’s about to come.
Changmin halts right in front of Yunho. Finding his balance, Changmin puts one foot against Yunho’s chest and presses down just enough that the heel digs in. Changmin summons his haughtiest look. “Down, boy.”
Uttering a noise that sounds something like grahhahh, Yunho tumbles backwards.
Feeling like that Bond girl who killed men by crushing them between her thighs, Changmin steps between Yunho’s splayed legs and places the toe of his boot teasingly, threateningly, over Yunho’s balls.
“Oh baby,” Yunho moans, lifting his hips.
Wickedness and power fizz through Changmin, making him heady. He licks his lips and pouts. “Oh. So sad. Peach’s shiny new boots have a scuff.”
Yunho jerks up his head. “Where?”
Changmin flexes his leg. The toe of his boot lifts from over Yunho’s balls as the spike heel drives down and taps hard against the floor, the sound loud and sharp enough to make them both jump.
They stare at each other. There’s absolute lust in Yunho’s eyes. Revelling in such blatant admiration, Changmin tosses his head, pigtails bobbing, and gives a soft, wavering sigh.
Yunho circles a hand around Changmin’s ankle. He doesn’t break their gaze. “Where’s the scuff?”
Changmin gestures vaguely. “Attend to it. I won’t accept shoddy goods.”
Gently, carefully, Yunho increases his grip on Changmin’s ankle and makes him put his foot down flat on the floor. Then Yunho wriggles around and stretches out at Changmin’s feet. He lowers his head and kisses the toe of Changmin’s right boot.
Changmin thinks he might just die now. “You don’t need to—”
“I want to,” Yunho says, tongue flickering as he processes the taste of the polished leather. “Let me. Let me please Peach.”
Yeah. Peach would love to have a hot, sexy man licking her boots. Changmin stands a little taller, puts a little more attitude into his stance. “Make sure you do a proper job of it.”
Yunho licks over the foot and moves upwards, leaving a wet trail on the leather. He moans and humps the floor, eyes closed as he concentrates. The sound goes straight to Changmin’s dick, makes him ache and roll his hips, head tilting back as craving swims through him.
There’s the softest caress against bare skin. Yunho’s hair brushes the inside of Changmin’s thigh; he’s almost reached the top of the right boot. Changmin quivers at the touch. Unable to resist, he strokes his hand through Yunho’s hair and mews when Yunho’s lips pass from cool, slick leather to warm, sweat-dampened skin.
“Oh, Yun, please,” Changmin says, then recalls Peach and corrects himself: “Lick me there.”
Ever willing, Yunho licks at the few inches of thigh between the top of the boot and the hem of the skirt. He’s respectful about it. He doesn’t take advantage of his position to snuffle up into Changmin’s crotch, although he says, “Ohhh God, I can smell you, I can taste you, I wanna suck you so bad, baby.”
“Not yet.” Changmin taps his left foot. “You haven’t finished your task.”
“Oh, Peach is so cruel.” Yunho flashes him a thrilled, ecstatic look and drops back down onto the floor to start all over again.
By the time Yunho has made his leisurely, tortuous way up the left boot—and this time Changmin is certain that Yunho is doing it deliberately slowly, just to punish Peach for being so demanding—Changmin can barely stand upright. He sways on the spike heels, and Yunho wraps both arms around him to hold him up. At the same time, Yunho gifts tiny, soft love-bites up Changmin’s left thigh, then shoves up the clinging skirt and nuzzles higher, tongue curling to tickle at Changmin’s balls stuffed into the inadequate lacy covering of his panties.
Changmin grabs onto Yunho’s shoulders. “I’m going to fall.”
“I’ll catch you.” The skirt is shoved up higher and twisted around Changmin’s ass. Yunho nibbles at the knickers. “Fuck, these are hot. What are they made of, cobwebs?”
“Lace.” It’s getting difficult to remember how to form coherent speech. Changmin’s breathing is increasingly swift and ragged, coming faster as Yunho soft-mouths at his balls through the lace, around the lace. The fabric is tight, restrictive, wet with pre-come and saliva. Changmin can’t bear it any more. He pulls the skirt all the way up around his waist, then takes Yunho’s hand and places it high on his hip. “They unfasten at the sides.”
Yunho hums around a mouthful of Changmin’s balls then slurps away and tugs at the thin satin ribbon. “Oh, so they do. I like these knickers. Buy a dozen next time.”
Changmin totters on his heels. Peach would probably totter, too, if she had a lapful of horny man eating at her as he stripped her of her soaking wet panties. The ties on the other side of the knickers come undone. Yunho nips at the lacy crotch and pulls the garment right off with his teeth.
The thong drops to the floor. Yunho rises to his feet, eyes blazing with lust. “Enough foreplay,” he says, then picks Changmin up and carries him the short distance to the bed. They fall across it, kissing frantically, hands everywhere.
Changmin yanks at Yunho’s clothes. Yunho helps, throwing his jacket across the room and loosening his tie. Changmin scrabbles at the shirt, unbuttons most of it and puts his hands all over Yunho’s chest, moaning his appreciation. Yunho unfastens his trousers and kicks them off, then strips out of his underwear. He rubs against Changmin’s thighs, hot and hard.
Seizing hold of Yunho’s tie, Changmin rolls them over. He knocks two cushions onto the floor and rucks up the duvet, spike heels catching on the Egyptian cotton as he settles himself. Skirt up around his waist, his top falling off one shoulder, Changmin slides back and wiggles against Yunho’s cock. His hair has almost worked free of the purple sparkly ties. He blows out a breath. “Do you like my pigtails?”
“Love them,” Yunho assures him. “I love your pigtails. Oh, Peach, you’re so succulent.” He slides his hands over Changmin’s body, worshipping chest, belly, hips. He strokes patterns across Changmin’s thighs above the tops of the boots, then slides his touch around to grip Changmin’s ass and pulls him down. “Ride me.”
Changmin gropes across the duvet for lube. Grabbing two packs, he tears them open and slicks the gel all over Yunho’s stiff cock then fingers himself, eyes closing in pleasure at the teasing touch.
“Hurry,” Yunho begs, impatient. He holds onto Changmin’s hips as they position themselves just right, then bucks up.
Changmin grinds down nice and hard, mouth open on a shuddery moan at the blissful burn of being stretched and filled. He moves at a trot, the promise of orgasm shimmering up his spine before he’s even begun to get what he wants.
Yunho fucks into him. The musky, sweaty scent of sex mingles with the smell of leather. The boots creak, counterpoint to the squelch of the lube and the bouncing squeal of the springs in the mattress.
Joyous laughter spills out of Changmin. He strips off his top and scrawls both hands through his hair, pulling out the pigtails and mussing his hair even more, shimmying as he arches and poses. Yunho shafts into him harder, faster, and Changmin feels incredible; he feels so fucking sexy and triumphant.
“What does Peach need?” he snaps out.
Yunho gurgles. “Cream.”
“That’s right!” Changmin flicks his head forwards, hair tumbling into his face. “Peach needs cream! Are you gonna give it to me?”
Yunho goes cross-eyed. “Oh fuck, baby.”
He seizes Changmin around the waist and rolls them over. Changmin whines in protest as Yunho slips out of him, then stops the sound as Yunho kisses him. Changmin curls backwards. Yunho spreads himself out on top of Changmin, quivering as he holds still, and then he slides back in, all the way to the hilt.
Changmin arches up, head going back, long, gasping moans forced out of him.
They fuck, finding a glorious deep rhythm together. The angle is just right to send pleasure burning through him. It’s rough but oh so good: so good it’s unbearable, so good it makes him clench down hard.
“Changmin. Peach. Baby,” Yunho babbles. “Ohhhh, so tight. So amazing. So close. I’m gonna. Oh God. Please.”
“Yunho,” Changmin snarls. “Make me come. Make. Me. Come.” He spikes Yunho with his heels, and Yunho gasps and lurches forward, driving even deeper.
“Yes.” It comes out as a shout. Changmin doesn’t care. His throat aches with the need to shout and yell and scream his satisfaction. He holds on tight, rutting and shoving, frantic, frenetic. “God. Yes. Yes. Do it now.”
Yunho makes a desperate sound and bucks, orgasm hammering through him. Changmin thrashes, caught on the same hook, and then climax pours through him, sweet and merciless.
When they can move again, they share languid kisses and gentle caresses and cuddle together, streaked with lube and sweat and seed.
“Guess you liked the boots,” Yunho says.
Changmin smiles. “Guess so.”
Yep, Changmin congratulates himself smugly, he really does have the best ideas—and playing dress-up was the very best one of all.