dlwnsghek: (2PM | Junho on his knees)
king of Hoes ([personal profile] dlwnsghek) wrote2012-11-24 10:46 pm

[fic] 2PM: not drunk enough to say i like you

Birthday present for[livejournal.com profile] walkonpluto

Not drunk enough to say I like you
2pm ; chansung/junho ; pg13
~4200 words, au

In which drunken sex happens: Junho can't deal with it like a grown-up, Chansung is pretty much the same, and Jia is the best friend who provides wise and helpful advice in times of need. Oh, and there are lots of swearing.


The first time it's hardly sex. They're way too sloshed to function properly. All puns intended.

It happens like this:

Junho is kind of trying to avoid a shot of tequila from Taecyeon's hands and he ends up slurred half on top of Chansung—who drapes an arm around his shoulders and smirks—and half on top of Nichkhun's laptop (what is it doing there is beyond Junho).

Chansung says something like "Oh, well, look who's here," but Junho is too engrossed with his lower glistening lip to register his words.

Taecyeon laughs drunkenly from the couch next to theirs and warns them about "stains" and "too sore to walk" but it's not like Junho ever gets what he says. Besides, the New Year Eve's fireworks are loud as fuck and Junho can't even make out the sound of his own heartbeat.

So he leans forwards as Chansung cocks his head, and somehow he bumps his nose on Chansung's chin and Chansung laughs, low and sultrily and incredibly arousing to Junho's ears, and then he's cradling Junho's face and neck, "Here, let me help you."

Chansung tastes like raw tequila, no lemon, no salt, and it sets shakes on Junho's hands as they reach for Chansung's shirt. Something explodes inside of Junho, something hot and slightly acidic and it makes his stomach lurch because even though he's drunk beyond telling, he knows this is Chansung he is kissing, he knows at the back of his mind this is Chansung's hips he's straddling and grinding into.

His knees are pressing against the backrest of their worn out couch and his crotch is flushed to Chansung's stomach and Junho thinks this might fuck up stuff but, really, Chansung's a great kisser and his hands are warm weights hooked around Junho's hips— which he rocks experimentally, just for fun, and it makes Chansung suck on his tongue and then they're both gone.

When Junho wakes up it's a bit past 4AM and their flat is as quiet as it can get after a drunken tea party. His face is pressed against the armrest and there's something heavy on his legs. When he turns (and after he's cursed at the world for the spinning) he has to squint his eyes to recognize what exactly is the lump on top of his legs. But something else catches his eye, something bare. His pants are halfway down and so are his boxers.

"Holy crap," he mutters, and he hurries (as much as he can, for the spinning has decided to kick in tenfold, and Jesus fuck, who invented vodka anyways?!) to pull up his pants and tuck everything back in without giving a damn if he just kneed Chansung in the head.

Chansung lets out a low growl, edged with a moan, and Junho freezes.

Oh, he thinks. Oh holy fucking baby Jesus and Mary and Joseph.

"What the fuck," Chansung spits, sitting up and cradling the side of his head Junho just hit. "That fucking hurt."

Of all the phrasings in the world, Chansung decides to use that one. "Chansung," he says, looking at the shelve behind him. "Would you mind putting your pants back on, please."

"What," Chansung starts but Junho catches him glancing down in his peripheral vision and then he's jumping off the couch, fisting the waist of his jeans to pull them back up. "Shit, shit, shit, shit," he mutters darkly.

"Did we…" Junho starts, still locking his gaze with the furniture, almost expecting it to burst into spontaneous combustion under his intense glare (and is fairly disappointed when it doesn't). He swallows thickly, "Uhm."

Chansung's voice is very, very small. "Were you like this too?" he waves a hand around his lower half, which Junho tries not to look at through the corner of his eye, and Junho nods curtly. "Oh."

There's an unbearable, awkward silence after that, in which all Junho can hear is the fan the fridge and the thump thump of his heart (or is that Chansung's?) and it's oh god so weird to sit on the couch with Chansung standing a couple of feet away with the realization they might have done something involving nakedness and Junho blushes all shades of red because he remembers, not everything per se but he does.

"Well," Chansung tries, and Junho only looks at him for one second, "are you... are you sore?"

Junho throws a couch cushion in Chansung's direction (and misses by a mile) and narrows his eyes. "What kind of question is that?" he asks through gritted teeth.

Chansung stares at him pleadingly, "Come on, if you're sore down there it means we actually—"

"—don't say it—"

"—did it."

"Oh my god."

Junho leans forwards and hides his face between his knees, praying for someone to hand him a paper bag he can breathe into before he decides to stab himself with a used chopstick lying a few feet from them. A thought hits him then, though.

His head snaps back up, locking eyes with Chansung. "What makes you think I'd let you—I mean—why wouldn't you be the one... sore?"

Junho is sure he's all shades of red multiplied by all shades of blue now. Chansung tilts his head to the side, slightly confused, and gapes for a while, the whole five seconds in which Junho contemplates whether to jump off the window and let gravity do the work.

"I..." Chansung starts, very eloquently, and then scratches the back of his head. "Yeah, right, wrong assumption."

Junho runs a hand through his hair and leans back against the couch. "So, neither of us is sore, therefore—"

"We didn't fuck each other."

Sometimes Junho finds Chansung's bluntness quite nerve-wracking. Chansung tilts his head again, to the other side now, and he looks kind of lost and hopeless standing right in the middle of their small living room.

"Then..." he trails off, looking back at Junho, who swears he just threw up a little in his mouth, "then what did we actually do?"

And that's when Junho's insides decide now it's the best time to get out or something because the next thing he knows is he's bumping into the bathroom's door in his haste to get it open and now he's not only overly sore due the hangover but also because the stupid door wouldn't open when commanded.

Later, much later (try two days because apparently Junho "can't quite deal with drunken sex the way grown-ups do, stop panicking or I'll fly over and shove my foot up your ass." Jia is such a great best friend), Junho finds himself sitting on their kitchen's table right before he has to literally flee to work if he wants to make it on time.

Chansung clears his throat, his crisp white shirt wrinkling as he reaches to scratch the back of his neck. "So, listen, about Saturday night," he starts, and Junho reminds himself to sit still and stop moving or else Jia will find out and damn it, she will shove stuff up his ass.

"Uh, yeah," Junho says, very eloquently, setting his empty mug down. "Yeah, I mean, we were drunk and—"

"—probably way beyond drunk and horny."

"That too," Junho concedes, and stands up as Chansung picks up his jacket from the chair he was just sitting on. "Listen," he starts and heaves a great sigh, looking up at Chansung in the eye for the first time since The Drunken Situation predicament.

"I don't think anything good will come out from talking about this," and he gestures between the two of them vaguely, "We've been friends for long and we either go past this drunken... experience or we sit and talk our brain outs, and I'm kinda hoping you don't go with the latter, 'cause I'd really, very much like to go back to normal since we've got other crap to worry about. Like rent, for example."

Chansung lets out a laugh, a relieved laugh (it makes something inside of Junho sting, if he's to be honest, but since he "can't deal with grown-up crap without peeing his pants", he lets it go quite quickly), "Yes, rent seems like a much more important matter."

And that settles it.

(It doesn't settle Jia down, though. The first thing she says right after getting out of her plane from Paris is:

"God, you're such a retarded drunk, I swear. Chansung is hot, I wouldn't have minded tapping some of that," she lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Remind me again, why are we friends, Junho? I thought I had trained you well. This is so disappointing."

"I hate you, I'm changing my number and my name and I hope your plane crashes," Junho says bitterly, letting her kiss his cheek anyways.

"Oh, please," Junho can almost feel her smirk slapping him right across the face, extreme cherry lipstick as well, "I'm just getting started.")


The second time is a bit after Nichkhun's birthday, and right before Wooyoung moves in with them.

Wooyoung is this dance instructor just out the train from Busan, friends with one of Taecyeon's closest friend, Junsu, and in search of a place to live. Chansung agrees to it right after Taecyeon says Wooyoung enjoys cooking as much as he enjoys dancing, which is, duh, a lot; and Junho, followed by the pang in his wallet after so many expensive drinks with Jia ("Dear, being a supermodel pays quite well, you know, but since you're the gentleman in our relationship, you'll pay for this one, yes?"), says yes, okay, get your stuff ready, we've got a room open.

Except they don't.

They spend a whole weekend cleaning up the spare room turned into The Room in Which We Dump All the Laundry – Be It Dirty or Clean, and it doesn't help much when Chansung announces he needs "energy drinks" and comes back from the store down the street with two six-packs of Heinekens.

Junho is not a fan of beer, to be completely honest, but after his fifth can, he actually grows fond of it. "I can't believe we own sho – so many clothes, Chansung, this is sick," he says, or he means to, anyways, he's slurred at some point.

Chansung snorts, taking a sip from his can. Or maybe the other way around, unless he's snorting beer all over, which would be kind of inconsiderate of him since Junho's just cleaned up the floor. "Excuse me, half the clothes we just sorted through are yours."

Junho waves a hand, "Details," and he's met with a lapful of Chansung even before he can swallow the beer he just sipped. "What are you—"

But Chansung's tongue is talented and Junho follows it around with his own, and it's oh so good, the sensation so strikingly familiar he buries his hands in Chansung's hair and tugs backwards, making Chansung's neck tilt enough for Junho to lick his way around it.

"Oh—" Chansung gasps, and he rocks his hips down, and shit, the last sober part of Junho's brain thinks, right before he reaches for Chansung's belt.

Junho wakes up to the loud banging on the door, and this time he is utterly and desperately and alarmingly sore. His head doesn't hurt as much as That Other Time but his tongue is as heavy as his usual hangovers make it to be and he almost wants to cry on the spot.

Someone (Junho closes his eyes tightly) groans beside him, and that's when Junho realizes there's an arm thrown haphazardly over his stomach. An arm connected to Chansung's shoulder, that is.

Oh fuck, he thinks, and he's very positive he's going to throw up if he as much as opens his mouth to take in some air, oh fuck Jia's never gonna let this one go.

"Noisy," Chansung slurs, and how much did he have to drink again? Junho can't remember his own mother's name at the moment, let alone do math, so he just goes with a lot by default. "Make it stop."

And something inside Junho's brain snaps then, because he remembers his own voice, raw and needy and desperate, Chansung, fuck, don't stop, and—

"Oh fuck," Chansung says then, and he sounds a lot more awake now.

"Yeah," Junho says, and literally crawls his way out of the room and into the bathroom as Chansung gets dressed and opens the door for Wooyoung.

When he emerges from the bathroom, Wooyoung is already setting his stuff around on his room (and Chansung is nowhere to be seen, which is good, Junho can't deal with that right now—or ever, ever sounds equally tempting), and Junho smiles at him from the door, introducing himself.

"I'm Junho, welcome."

("Please tell me you actually talked about it this time," Jia says through the phone, all the way from London. "It kinda pisses me off how you two seem to fuck every once in a while and still manage to be cavalier about it. God, the sexual tension must be as thick as Buck's eyebrows."

Junho clutches the phone to his ear, "We're not being cavalier, we're just. Busy, you know? And with Wooyoung around it's kinda hard to talk about, well. Stuff. So, yeah."

"Fuck you, Junho, I know from Taecyeon Wooyoung spends at least 23 hours being the dance machine that he is, so you two drunktards have plenty of time. You're just a goddam chicken, that's what you are."

"I hate you," Junho says, at a loss.

Jia snorts, "Chicken and a liar," and then she hangs up.)


The third and fourth times are different, though (... you're not allowed to judge here, it's not Junho's fault that Taecyeon had landed that job in the States and that Wooyoung'd thought it'd be a good idea to throw a goodbye party, seriously, Wooyoung is vanished from thinking).

For starters, Junho is mostly sober and he's pretty sure Chansung's only drink throughout the night was that accidental mouth wash, and even like that, Chansung seems pretty fucking sober and sane as well, and it does things to Junho's mostly sober brain.

("You're sober," he says, and nibbles on the inside of Chansung's thigh. Chansung doesn't reply, he just threads his hands in Junho's hair, hitching his hips forwards, and honestly, who cares about being drunk or not.)

And then—see, Junho doesn't mind public sex. Back when he and Nichkhun used to be a thing (albeit awkward and not entirely functional), they had sex inside a bathroom stall in Nichkhun's office and it'd been hot, Junho would be lying if he even dared to think otherwise.

But this, this is Taecyeon's duplex, this is Taecyeon's guest room they're using and fuck it, Chansung's whispering it's okay, it's okay, and for once Junho tries and believes him, although a voice inside his head (it sounds lots like Jia and it's creepy as fuck) says it really isn't, it isn't fucking right and it's never going to be.

(They're considerably tipsy this time, enough for Junho to know he needs to put a hand over his mouth and bite down on his knuckles when Chansung goes down on him. "Holy fucking mother of—oh, shit," is all he manages, because Chansung's tongue is fucking everywhere, all puns intended.)

When they walk out of the room, Junho smells like Chansung's cologne and Chansung looks so ravished it makes Junho's knees go week at the speed of light. Oh, and he gets half hard alarmingly fast, too.

"God damn it," he hisses, and runs a hand through his hair.

Chansung turns to look at him, eyes dark and thoroughly fucked looking. "You okay?" he asks, and Junho tries hard to steel himself and not push him off the window.

Junho nods as they slip back into the party, "Everything cool," and that's it for the while, until he runs into Jia and everything sort of spirals into horror from there.

"I'm reconsidering this whole training thing," she says as she swirls her martini. "I certainly have nothing to do with this... destructive behavior you're developing, Lee Junho."

"I'm crashing at your hotel tonight," he informs her, and then gets decently trashed.


Junho takes a day off (from life) to sit around Jia's hotel room and think this whole thing through. (Yes, he's aware he should've done so long ago, okay, just. Sshh.)

So maybe this whole thing is fucked up. So maybe, slightly maybe, he's been fond of Chansung for a while now (this one goes way prior to The Drunken Situation, though). And maybe now everything is way beyond fixable because Junho's not stupid (Jia can shut her trap), he knows stuff gets fucked up when, well, fucking gets in the way.

Believe it or not, he and Chansung used to be (damn, that stings) great friends. Went to the same college, graduated almost at the same time, and decided to share a flat to extend their dorm life for a longer while, you know, for the old times or whatever, and for the first couple of months, it'd been great.

Now Junho is way too much of a realist to even attempt to think they had a chance of love blooming and that romantic stuff Taecyeon likes to talk about. Yeah, he sort of likes Chansung, in more ways than just friends, or even best friends, but that doesn't mean he's head over heels or two beats away from swooning or whatever—they've only been friends, and Junho's always been a bit gay, and if he remembers correctly, Chansung's been a bit bi-curious ever since freshman year, but it doesn't mean-- it just doesn't.

Junho wonders if something would've been different had they talked about this right after the first time. He admits it most probably would have, (maybe after that they could've turned out to be a more defined thing) and the thought makes him feel a bit more pathetic than he already feels.

When he gets home on Monday (Jia'd been in town only for the weekend and since they hadn't seen each other in a while, he thought well why the hell not, which had ended up in more alcohol, self-pitying and several amounts of chocolate ice cream. "Just talk to him, okay?" Jia had said softly, running a hand through his hair as he let his head rest on her lap, "I know he likes you, I've seen the way he looks at you, Junho, stop being such a wuss. And stop drooling on my CK jeans, you twat, ewww"), he finds Wooyoung slumped all over the couch watching a late rerun of We Got Married. Junho honestly sees no point to the show but he sits down next to Wooyoung on the loveseat anyways.

"You seen Chansung?" he asks after a while.

Wooyoung lifts an arm and points his finger towards Chansung's door. "He's been there all day. I think it's that time of the month."

Junho snorts. "Bet it is."

"Is everything okay between you two?" Wooyoung asks, and Junho catches the tentative edge to his voice. "I mean, you guys seem pretty close and stuff one moment and then you're avoiding each other like the plague."

"Rough patch," Junho says with a sigh.

Wooyoung nods clumsily, hair flying everywhere since all he's doing is rub his cheek against the armrest. "Good luck with that one," he says, and then he sits up, stretching. "Now, if you excuse me, I have working out to do."

Junho blinks at him and just stares dumbly until Wooyoung's made his way to the door and slipped on his shoes. "Imma give you guys some privacy, alright? I'll drop by Khun's for dinner, so don't worry about me walking in in the middle of stuff."

He leers, waves, and then he's out. Junho kind of gives up on life right there and then.

That's when Chansung decides to walk out of his room. He stops in the middle of the hall, hair wild from being tousled around the pillows, face still grim with sleep, and he's shirtless and looking like a motherfucking Greek god or whatever Jia says when she catches sight of Naked Chansung, despite how he looks like he just got hit by a semi and woke up from the coma.

"Hangover?" he asks tentatively.

Chansung nods, "Brutal Monday hangover. I skipped work." He looks around. "Where's Wooyoung?"

"Left for work already," Junho says, and he stands up, making his way to the kitchen. He feels Chansung following close behind and then—

"Where were you?"

Oh. Oh, that's new. Junho turns around to find Chansung leaning against the threshold, eyebrows raised and arms crossed over his chest. (This is definitely bad news for Junho because now he can't run away—not that he'd planned to, but if he has to, then Chansung and his big shoulders are blocking his way out, the only way out. Oh fuck.)

"I stayed with Jia," he says slowly, opening the fridge to get a bottle of water. "She's hitting Berlin next and didn't know when she'd be back so I hanged out with her."

"Oh," Chansung looks kind of put off when Junho turns to face him again, like he can't quite keep up with all the thinking and processing his brain's doing.

Been there, done that, Junho thinks. And then—then a wild thought assaults him. What If Jia—


Chansung looks up from the floor, still frowning. "Why what?"

"Why are you asking," Junho clarifies.

Chansung clears his throat. "I was just— You know, worried. 'Cause it's not like you to just disappear. I mean—you were gone for the whole fucking weekend, okay? And—and you didn't even call or text so I was—yeah. Worried."

"Worried?" Junho echoes, and he tries to hold back the smile that's threatening to spread out his lips, because Chansung is blushing, CHANSUNG IS BLUSHING, and holy shit, he only wants to snap a picture of that blush to save it for posterior amusement and possible bullying.

Chansung nods, but it's a stiff nod and he's still blushing, he's so red he almost looks like a strawberry. "About your wellbeing, yes."

"I think you were jealous," Junho says, squinting his eyes at Chansung, smiling a bit teasingly but mostly very satisfied.

Because this, this is new and Junho actually likes it.

"Okay, so what if I was a bit jealous?" Chansung rolls his eyes, and pushes off the wall to make his way back into the living room, and Junho follows him quickly before their moment is over.

"I think it's better if you fathom why were you jealous in the first place," Junho says, and now he's fully smiling because he can hear Chansung chuckling as he drops himself on the couch.

He shrugs, smiling smugly up at Junho and holy crap, Junho's knees go week at the amount of fondness that surges through him at the sight—Chansung at ease, comfortable, smiling, and fucking naked.

"You like me," Junho chirps, and he is aware he just sounded like Nichkhun high on candy canes, "you like me and you were jealous because you like me."

He sits on Chansung's lap at the same time he rolls his eyes, "Modest much?"

"You like me," Junho repeats, smiling widely, so wide he thinks he looks a bit crazy, but since only Chansung is there to witness it, and he's seen Chansung blushing a few minutes ago, he thinks they're even.

Chansung nods, and rounds Junho's middle with his arms. Junho's heart does a very odd thing but otherwise keeps on beating, and that's what matters. "Yeah, I like you. You happy now that I've said it?"

Junho ponders. Then he leans down and kisses Chansung. "Yeah," he breathes, cupping Chansung's face with his hands, "and I like you too, in case it went amiss in all the drunken fucking."

Chansung cracks a laugh, an honest one. "I kinda reached that conclusion myself. Or well not really myself, but it still counts." Junho looks at him quizzically. Chansung swallows, "I may have talked to Jia—"

"You did not—"

"She called me—"

"I'm going to kill her. I'm going to kill her with my bare hands and I give two shits whether CK runs out of legs to model their fucking jeans, I am going to kill her," Junho says, except he's pretty much whining like a five year old, and seriously, Chansung shouldn't look so smug.

"Well, you can kill her after we have sex, okay? Now that we've established we like each other, I think we can make room for some meaningful, sober sex."

Junho ponders again. "It better be mind-blowing."

It is.

("Fucking retards," Jia laughs, piling her freshly dyed hair into a bun.

It looks kind of blue from the webcam but Junho's seen pictures and knows it's black, just as her soul.

"But I'm glad you guys are happy and about, you know. Being the best best friend I am, and such."

"You're no such thing," Junho huffs indignantly.

"Whatevs," she grins, and seems to inspect Junho's surroundings, "Now, where's that hot boyfriend of yours and why aren't you having sex in front of me? You know that's the only reason I shared my Skype with you, right?"

He shrugs, leering at the camera. "I wore him out."

That gets a pleased smile from Jia. "Now that's something I trained you at.")