Chapter Text
Later, Yeonjun might reflect on how he had reached this moment in life: gasping for breath and bent over the very cold hood of a busted-up car in the middle of a mechanic garage, with the said very beautiful mechanic’s very decently sized dick buried deep inside of him, fucking Yeonjun so good and filthy it was almost cruel, not giving Yeonjun the opportunity to do anything more than just lay there and take what he is given. There are infinite possibilities of how he’s found himself tangled up in such a predicament, but it can all be boiled down to this:
See, like Icarus, Choi Yeonjun had flown too close to the goddamn sun.
It was a domino effect, one thing after another. The topple began with an innocuous conversation—the calm before the storm.
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“Taehyun-ah…” Yeonjun whines into the receiver so loud it echoes in the otherwise quiet room. He is sprawled across his living room sofa, legs hanging off one end, arms over another, and his phone rests on his chest as he stares forlornly up at the ceiling. “When are you coming back to Seoul?”
On the other end of the call, Yeonjun’s dearest friend hums thoughtfully, followed by the sound of papers shifting around and a creak of what might be furniture but could also be one of Taehyun’s favorite sounds to make. “I think I’ll be able to return in about a month. I have to finish up things here before I can book my flight.”
“Can I convince you to come home early?”
“Is something wrong?” The immediate concern from Taehyun is sweet, soothing the part of Yeonjun that had felt a little bruised and tender with his absence and his nonchalance about it. “Did something happen?”
Yeonjun didn’t give his voice permission to slip into the sulky tone that comes naturally to him, but he doesn’t care enough to reign it in with Taehyun. This is his dearest friend, the boy who knows Yeonjun well enough to know that pouting and bitching about the great inconveniences of his life is his default settings. He knew how to handle the restless itch of Yeonjun’s skin almost as well as Yeonjun did, though he never perfectly calmed it. Truthfully, Yeonjun didn’t think there was a way to calm his restlessness at all, though they had tried. The closes Yeonjun had ever come to soothing away the itch was to engage in active hobbies like dancing, at Taehyun’s suggestion, and by defending his ongoing title as one of the top competitors in the not-quite-legal racing scene of Seoul’s nightlife—against Taehyun’s suggestion. He hadn’t exactly been pleased to know Yeonjun would be risking his life on a modified motorcycle most nights, but he hadn’t tried very hard to discourage Yeonjun from participating after he saw firsthand how effective racing was for working through the endless reserves of Yeonjun’s energy.
“Moojin quit on me!” Yeonjun complained, closing his eyes and cursing Choi Moojin’s entire bloodline—past, present, and future. Yeonjun sincerely hoped Moojin went bald, and that his manifested receding hairline was offensive and hideous enough to frighten off all of his potential clients that would follow after Yeonjun. “Fucker told me I don’t pay him enough and then he kicked me out of the garage! He didn’t even fix up my baby before he made me leave.”
“What was wrong with her?” Taehyun asked, worried. He knew how much Yeonjun’s motorcycle meant to him—he knows that bike is Yeonjun’s baby, the only child he would ever want (except for a cat, maybe). He also is aware of how much money Yeonjun has invested into that same baby, to buy her and to modify her to suit his purposes, and then to maintain her at peak condition.
“Nothing big.” Yeonjun assured, still petulant despite his pacifying words. “Just needed a tune up. I almost ate shit on the last race, and I needed him to fix it. I was able to do it myself here, but I’m still pissed. Now I have to find another mechanic.” He paused and raised his voice, and perhaps it was too dramatic than the situation really called for, but Yeonjun won’t tone it down and he knew Taehyun wouldn’t write him off regardless of the theatrics he used. “You know how hard it is to find a mechanic willing to work with me! Especially a good one! Moojin—that nickname hating piece of shit—was an asshole, yeah, but he was an asshole that knew what he was doing. Better yet, he was an asshole and a scumbag that hated the cops just as much as I do. How am I going to find someone else that’s good at their job that hates the cops? Taehyun-ah, you wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to find someone who sits right on that sweet spot between being shady enough to accept hush money and not so shady they’d take my money and sell me out anyway!”
Taehyun laughed, not mocking Yeonjun, but rather sounding like he couldn’t help his amusement at Yeonjun’s rant. “I’m sorry, hyung. I could try to come home sooner, if you want. I can help you until you find someone else?”
“No…” Yeonjun huffed, then whined, “No, now I feel bad for making you drop everything like that.”
“I wouldn’t offer if I minded.”
“Yeah, but I mind.” He threw his arm over his eyes, sending the bright sunny apartment into darkness. Little specks of light danced behind his eyelids from how hard he was pressing his arm against his eyeballs. It kind of hurt, but he didn’t stop. “He told me the name of some stupid place that sounds like a strip club, actually, but he was probably sending me to some uptight good Samaritan that would get me arrested the second I stepped foot into their shop.”
“I’ll be home in a month.” Taehyun promised him, because he was an angel and a sweetheart and every other positive adjective under the sun, and Yeonjun didn’t deserve him in the slightest. “Just don’t get into any wrecks before then, and I can be there to help you out until you find someone else. I don’t mind; you know I love working on Rosita. I like seeing how she runs.”
Yeonjun exhaled, relieved and yet still stewing in his guilt. “Okay…Thank you. I’m sorry. I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to interrupt you if you’re actually busy.”
Taehyun snorted, “I’m not nearly as busy as you think I am, don’t worry. And anyway, this gives us an excuse to hang out again. I’ve missed you.” Yeonjun’s heart panged at the admission, his chest lightening as the insecurities of him being the only one missing his friend flew away and were replaced by fondness. “You’ll let me stay at your place, right? Or should I look for a hotel?”
“Of course you’ll stay here.” Yeonjun rolled his eyes—it was almost offensive that Taehyun would ever assume Yeonjun would allow otherwise. “I’ve already told you a million times: the spare bedroom is yours. I’ve been telling you to just move in for a year now.”
“You know why I can’t.”
To his displeasure, Yeonjun did know why Taehyun refused to move in with him. Taehyun had this stubborn idea that he needed to not be a burden to Yeonjun, and thus didn’t want to rely on him as heavily as he once had during his university days. Yeonjun had helped him pay his tuition, as well as housed Taehyun, fed him, and clothed him as he powered through the rigorous coursework required of his engineering major. Every time Taehyun had cried, overwhelmed by his studies, Yeonjun had been there to soothe his back and buy him his favorite snack. For ever test that Taehyun passed with flying colors—thanks to hours upon hours of studying—Yeonjun had insisted on celebrating by buying a little cake from Taehyun’s favorite bakery. It had always bothered the younger boy that Yeonjun was so willing and almost careless about spending his money on him, but Yeonjun had always waved his concerns off. He couldn’t think of a better use of his winnings.
When Taehyun had graduated, he had hugged Yeonjun so tightly he was sure he had bruised, and then he had refused to accept any help from Yeonjun. Taehyun was determined to do things on his own from that point forward, declining and refusing all of Yeonjun’s offers to help him out. He’d left Yeonjun’s apartment and taken a job offered to him from the company he had interned at, and once he started earning his own money, Taehyun had started to go out of his way to offer Yeonjun his help instead. Yeonjun found it all ridiculous—Taehyun behaved as if he owed Yeonjun some great debt, but in Yeonjun’s eyes, Taehyun didn’t owe him anything. Yeonjun had wanted to help him, and he had had the means to do so, and he had never expected anything in return or had any regrets over it.
“I really don’t see why it matters to you so much.”
Taehyun hummed again. “I know, but you’ll respect my decision anyway.”
Annoyed by how correct Taehyun’s statement was, Yeonjun remained silent.
“I’ll let you know when I book my ticket, okay?” Taehyun said after a while of silence. “I’ll stay with you and help you screen for a new mechanic once I’m there.”
Reluctantly, Yeonjun could only sigh. “Thank you, Taehyunnie. You’re a sweet kid.”
“I’m literally 24.”
“I literally don’t care.”
Taehyun hung up on him, and okay, yeah, Yeonjun would admit that he might have earned that. He couldn’t be upset, though, because just before the call had ended, he had heard the beginning of Taehyun’s peals of laughter.
It kept Yeonjun in a good mood for the rest of the day.
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Alternatively, the first domino to topple could be the moment that Choi Moojin—The Piece of Shit Ex-Mechanic—quit on him:
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One of Yeonjun’s bad habits was that he had a knack for getting himself into certain situations that were difficult to explain to the people that didn’t know him well. Take racing for example; Yeonjun wouldn’t be able to tell you how he had risen up in the ranks as a top competitor, but it had something to do with befriending an uncharismatic girl with intriguing pins on her backpack and a daring glint in her eye. He had somehow made it from Point A (befriending that girl on a whim) to Point B (Wishing there was a podium to stand on for his well earned frequent victories), but Yeonjun knew that he was at Point Z with a sullen man standing before him, glaring him down with his large arms folded across his chest as Yeonjun arches a quizzical brow at him.
“I’m sorry, I think I misheard you.” Yeonjun said in his best polite tone, trying his best to mask the incredulity he was feeling. “I could’ve sworn you said that you were quitting, but that can’t be right.”
“You heard right.” The man said. He was half-stripped from the work overalls he usually wore when Yeonjun saw him, and for someone who looked like he was twice Yeonjun’s age, he was really working the dark wifebeater he’d worn underneath. It certainly helped that the mechanic—Choi Moojin—was unintentionally flexing, pulling taut the golden skin on his bicep. He was in good shape for whatever his age was—he looked strong. “I’m quitting. I’m done. Take your shit somewhere else—it’s not my problem anymore.”
Yeonjun was the only one to laugh. After a moment, he stopped and said, “Oh, you’re being serious.”
“Dead serious.”
That meant absolutely nothing to Yeonjun. He couldn’t recall the last time the mechanic before him had ever cracked his well-practiced serious facade. The only time he had ever witnessed the man even cracking a smile was usually when Yeonjun handed him the discrete envelope that held his cut of Yeonjun’s earnings for the previous evening’s race. It always surprised Yeonjun to see, because it lit up the stern set of his features and made him look just a little more approachable, a little less like he was looking down his nose at Yeonjun. The stacks of bills from the betting pool in his favor always made the man a little less pissy when Yeonjun strolled into his garage. Otherwise, the expression on his face was always set into a grimace, always ‘dead serious,’ when he worked on solving any problems Yeonjun wasn’t able to fix himself on his baby.
(His baby: A heavily modified Ducati Streetfighter V4. She was a breathtaking, beautiful cherry red wonder that made engineers weep in awestruck admiration. Her name was Rosita, and she was the love of Yeonjun’s life.)
Usually, Yeonjun was able to handle his own maintenance; he didn’t necessarily need the man, but he did need his garage. Thus Yeonjun had been working with his man for seven months now—after his last mechanic had quit on him too—and Yeonjun had thought they’d had a good thing going. He felt there wasn’t a need to rock the boat, but apparently greed was a human sin too tempting to ignore.
“Why?” Yeonjun asked, confused. Had he forgotten to pay? Yeonjun was usually diligent about keeping the flow of hush-money going smoothly. “C’mon, I thought we had a good thing going, Heesoon—”
“Moojin.”
“—Moojin.” Yeonjun hastily amended himself; Heesoon was his last mechanic. They looked eerily similar, so it had just slipped out of him. “I knew that. It was just a nickname—”
“Yeonjun.”
Yeonjun smiled boyishly. “Right, not big on nicknames. I remember that too, Moojin. Point is, you’re my go-to guy. You fix Rosita up for me, I win races, and thus win money, and then I bring you your cut of the earnings for your role in helping me not eat asphalt out there. It’s a win-win.”
Moojin rolled his eyes at Yeonjun’s tangent. “Look, it’s not like you aren’t pulling your end of the deal—”
Yeonjun interrupted Moojin incredulously, “Why does this sound like a breakup? Are you breaking up with me? Is this where you say: it’s not you, it’s me?”
Moojin didn’t laugh. If anything, he grew more frustrated, the lines on his forehead creasing deeper. Would his face get stuck like that? “See, that? That right there is why you’re not my problem anymore. You don’t pay me nearly enough to deal with all….that.” He looked Yeonjun up and down, assessed him, and deemed him unworthy. When he met Yeonjun’s eyes, he was phenomenally unimpressed.
Yeonjun scowled, crossing his arms. “So, you want more money?”
“I want you out of my garage, actually.” Moojin gestured to the exit. “Permanently. Find someone else.”
“How much?” Yeonjun shook his head. “You already get fifteen percent of the winnings. Do you want twenty? Thirty?”
“Just go, Yeonjun.”
“Twenty-five percent, final offer.” Yeonjun insisted. “Moojin, c’mon. Don’t be unreasonable. I need you!”
“That’s not my problem anymore.” He shrugged carelessly, turning his back to Yeonjun and signaled that he was done with the conversation. “Find someone else. Offer them that twenty-five percent.”
“Thirty percent, then!” Yeonjun complained, following after Moojin as he started to walk away. “You can have thirty percent.” He caught up and turned Moojin to face him by the shoulder. “That’s generous, and you know it.”
Moojin shook Yeonjun’s hand off. “Not generous enough to deal with you.”
“Moojin, you’re being incredibly unreasonable right now.”
“You’re being annoying.” He gestured again to the exit. “Take your shit and leave. I have other things to do.”
“Her name is Rosita, and fuck you, I know that you know that.”
“Take Rosita and leave, then.”
Yeonjun whined, reaching out again to prevent the older man from walking away from him again. “At least help me out this last time. Who else am I supposed to go to?”
Moojin smirked, and Yeonjun hated how pleased he was with the victory, and he hated even more that the cocky look suited Moojin. Fuck Moojin, honestly. “Try Angel’s. I hear it’s popular among your friends.”
Yeonjun glared, fingers tightening on the arm he had grabbed. Moojin’s smirk didn’t falter; he looked like he had finally gotten himself a treat he’d been waiting for, like inconveniencing Yeonjun like this was the highlight of his stupid life.
“Good luck, hot shot.” Moojin mocked, plucking Yeonjun’s hand off and watching it fall limp at his side with a snort of laughter. “I’d say it was nice working with you, but it really wasn’t.”
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Actually, Yeonjun is sure that he had crafted his wax feather wings at the finish line of the race, once again placing first, and he was relishing in his win with a whoop. He was already mentally counting what his earnings were, and what victory dinner he would be buying himself that night as a treat. Since he didn’t need to split the earnings with Moojin anymore after the man had quit on him, he didn’t have to set any money aside for him and only needed to do the math for what percentage would go into his very important hush-money fund.
What Yeonjun hadn’t realized at the time was that he had gone up against the biggest sore loser with the most fragile ego that had ever existed. He hadn’t known that his celebration was so offensive to that competitor that they wanted to crush his spirit beneath their toe. Yeonjun had been too high on the rush of the win, the itch in his skin soothed away with the energy he had finally managed to expend, to notice or care about the sour looks he had been receiving.
Hubris, they say, is humanity’s downfall. Yeonjun could at least be proud of himself for handling the disaster that awaited him with grace and dignity.
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Yeonjun called Taehyun, pacing the length of the parking garage of his building. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He was using every ounce of self-control in his body that he could muster to not scream. It was almost noon, and luckily there was nobody else around but him, but screaming would still alert somebody to his distress and the last thing Yeonjun wanted was another witness to his life falling apart.
It was just him and what remained of Rosita.
He’d found her that morning, and his soul had felt just as crushed as she was. She was busted up, her tires slashed and the leather seat ruined beyond repair, parts of her ransacked and ruined, and some stolen. Where she wasn’t broken, she was dented, and Yeonjun had discovered a new level of anger deep within himself that he hadn’t thought he was capable of. He had called Moojin automatically and had discovered a new, nearly blinding level of anger deep in the depths of his soul when Moojin had only laughed at him and said, “It’s about time someone humbled you, hot shot. If you find out who did it, send them my way. I’d like to buy them a drink.”
Taehyun picked up on the third ring, his voice thick and groggy from the sleep Yeonjun had just forcefully pulled him out of as he greeted Yeonjun.
“I’m going to commit a murder, Taehyun-ah. I’m going to be imprisoned for homicide because I am going to track down the piece of shit that laid a hand on my baby girl and I’m going to beat them with a wrench so hard, the coroner is going to have to hammer out the dent in their skull to make the body presentable for the casket that I will also set on fire.”
“What happened to ‘good morning, Taehyun-ah?” Taehyun yawns loudly. “‘How did you sleep, Taehyun-ah?’”
Yeonjun went on as if he hadn’t heard. “When I find that cum-shot that should’ve been swallowed, they’re going to wish they never learned how to drive. They’re going to wish they had crashed and splattered across the asphalt, because that would gentler than what I’m going to do to them.”
“I slept well, Yeonjun-hyung, thanks for asking. No, you didn’t wake me.” Taehyun mumbled.
“I’ll put up with the prison uniforms, the food, the prison bitch I’d have to become to survive in there, anything as long as I can watch those mother fuckers that laid a single, dirty fucking paw on my sweet darling—”
“Yeonjun-hyung.” Taehyun raised his voice. He was equal parts amused and alarmed. “Why are you plotting murder this early?”
“Rosita is trashed.” Yeonjun blurt, trying and failing not to let the angry tears he’d been stubbornly pushing back come out. His voice wavered. “Someone found out where I lived and they busted her up. I can’t fix her here with how bad it is, and Moojin—that smug piece of shit—laughed in my face when I called him. He won’t help me. I need to get her fixed, but I can’t without a garage which I do not have!”
Taehyun sounded much more alert when he started to fret, “Okay. Okay, that’s bad. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Yeonjun aggressively wiped away the traitorous tears. Of all of his habits, Yeonjun had always hated the way that he cried when he was angry. “I don’t know, Taehyunnie. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I haven’t found another mechanic, and that piece of shit just told me to go to some place called Angel’s which sounds like a strip club, and not a garage. What am I supposed to do?”
Taehyun fell silent for so long Yeonjun had made three more laps around the parking garage. His hands were shaking, and Yeonjun could feel his temples beginning to ache at the entire situation. He spared a glance at Rosita’s remains, and the headache grew exponentially worse. He regretted, suddenly, not having anything to smoke. He needed something to do with his hands that wasn’t flinging his phone into the concrete walls.
Finally, the other boy offered, “I can book a flight for a week from now and help?”
Yeonjun exhaled heavily. “That won’t help. We need a garage. I can’t do these kind of repairs in my apartment. I don’t have the room, or the tools, and if I make too much noise my nosy ass neighbors will start complaining to the building owner, and—”
“Hyung.” Taehyun interrupted him mid-spiral, his voice hesitant but gentle nonetheless. “I think you’re going to have to check out that place Moojin mentioned. I don’t really think you have any other options.”
Yeonjun pressed the heel of one palm into his eye, seeing stars behind the darkness. He hissed at Taehyun, “You want me to walk into a strip club and see if anyone can fix up my baby? That sounds like the fastest way to get arrested, and I refuse to be arrested before I get my goddamn revenge, Taehyun. I will only go to jail if it’s for manslaughter, nothing less.”
“Just…Check them out first before you write it off completely.” Taehyun suggested. “You don’t really have much of a choice here, unless you want to get an entire new bike.”
Yeonjun very much did not want to buy another bike, or modify another one. It would only be a pale imitation of Rosita, and that would simply be an insult to her memory.
“Fine.” Yeonjun said, unhappy with his options. “But if I get arrested, you better answer the call from the jail. I expect you to bail me out, Taehyun-ah.”
“Of course.”
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The first domino was actually this:
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Yeonjun moodily stepped up to the rather large building of the car garage Moojin had oh-so-helpfully texted Yeonjun directions to (followed by a message that he better delete Moojin’s number). The sign outside is well kept, probably new if the bright white paint of the lettering was still crist and not rusted over. There are windows high on the brick walls, and a wide set of sliding bay doors to the side of the main entrance. Angel’s Repairs was located just far enough from the busier parts of Seoul that the risk of any good Samaritan anonymously reporting him to the authorities for suspicious behavior was lessened here, but not so far out that it was inaccessible and lacked clients. Yeonjun wasn’t happy to be here, though.
At least it didn’t look like a strip club.
Fuck Moojin. I hope his greedy ass chokes and his dick shrivels up from disuse. Yeonjun thought spitefully to himself as he approached the smaller door that must be the main entrance.
Nobody was at the front to greet Yeonjun in the lobby. Instead, what greeted Yeonjun was a bright yellow sign next to a bell on the front desk that read Ring for Service!:)
Yeonjun rang the bell for service. A minute passed of none of the promised service, so he rang it again, and then again five minutes later. He stood in the cheerful, sparsely furnished lobby with one hand in his pocket, the other hand hovering over the bell that was promising a service that sure was taking its time. Three minutes pass and he rings the bell again, and yes, Yeonjun had counted them. He kept ringing it until the chime started to deafen his own ears, and finally, the side door opens just as Yeonjun had reached the end of his patience.
Finally. He thought with annoyance. The service took it’s sweet damn time.
“Sorry, I was working on something and I couldn’t walk away from it.” The man who entered hastily apologized. Yeonjun frowned as some part of his hindbrain pinged with recognition at the sound of the low, almost breathy voice. He couldn’t quite place where he had heard it before, but it was important enough to ring with importance. Was this guy someone that had bet on him before? Yeonjun had met a lot of people who would vie for his attention after races either to congratulate him or invite him to some sort of celebration that he usually would accept. “I thought someone would get you taken care of, but they might be on break—or, shit, maybe today is their day off? This is embarrassing. I’m so sorry for the wait.”
Yeonjun turned from the bell with a huff. Facing the man fully, the first thing he sees is the bad bleach job on his head, followed by the unflattering overalls he dons. The man wipes off his hands on a rag he’s holding, and when he looks up, Yeonjun is met with round brown eyes and a cute, heart-shaped face. He was young, maybe around Yeonjun’s age—was he an apprentice? Yeonjun was used to working with men who were twice his age; men that have worked on engines and vehicles for longer than Yeonjun had been alive. This guy couldn’t be older than Yeonjun, though, and he was absolutely swimming in the sturdy, grease-stained overalls he wore. He brought the smell of motor oil and diesel with him, unpleasant but familiar.
He was cute, too. He was much too cute to be working here. He looked like someone Yeonjun might run into at the line to get his coffee, probably wrapped in knit sweaters and on his way to the library. Or maybe Yeonjun would have thought he was an idol trainee out for a stroll; he certainly had a pretty enough face for it. What the man didn’t look like was someone who would be comfortable under the hood of a car or moving heavy pieces of metal around, not with the lanky limbs Yeonjun suspected were under his clothes.
Could he even move engines around? Yeonjun had his doubts. The man looked like he would stumble if a strong enough gust of wind hit him, but it was a little harder to tell with the bulk of his clothes.
This man would not be able to help him with Rosita, Yeonjun determined, but maybe the cutie would kindly direct him to the owner and then Yeonjun could kindly direct the cutie back to his apartment for what would be a nice evening.
Those round eyes grow impossibly large as they took in the sight of Yeonjun. He was pleased to see the beginning of a flush creeping onto the man’s cheeks but reigned in the pleased smile when he caught the way the man’s eyes gave him an obvious once-over and lingered on the rolled-up sleeves of Yeonjun’s shirt. He knew he looked good, but it was always nice to see that pretty boys would give him appreciative glances. It was nice to know his efforts weren’t going unnoticed.
Yeonjun put on his most charming smile just as recognition sparked, and he abruptly knew exactly where he had heard that distinct voice.
“Choi Beomgyu?” Yeonjun blurted out, and he knew he was right when the man—when Choi Beomgyu, a former racer in the scene and one of the few competitors that actually gave Yeonjun challenge to beat—stiffened. “Holy shit, you went blonde?”
He couldn’t believe his luck. See, Choi Beomgyu had been Yeonjun’s favorite competitor until he suddenly stopped showing up about a year ago. There hadn’t been a warning, nor an accident, nor a recent arrest that would explain his sudden disappearance. Beomgyu had simply stopped making an appearance at the races despite how favored he was. He’d been Yeonjun’s favorite too; his favorite to compete against, his favorite to antagonize, his favorite to throw his arm around after, eyes bright, and tell him, “Better luck next time, cub.” It had always made the other man scowl and shove him away, and Yeonjun would laugh and follow him and then sincerely add, “No, seriously. It was a good race. You almost had me there at the…” and Beomgyu would smile a little, a small thing that made his lips look like a ‘V’, and he would tell Yeonjun, “Good race.”
Something about Beomgyu had always made Yeonjun twitchy to win, to wipe to smug little grin off of his face that he always wore when he arrived. Something about the way Beomgyu’s face would shift with agitation, his lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed, and his round eyes narrowed into sharp glares, gave Yeonjun a head rush. They hadn’t been friends, just competitors, and Beomgyu rarely paid any attention to Yeonjun until he was watching Yeonjun’s back cross the finish line before him. He always had the cutest pucker to his lips when he lost, always turning his nose at Yeonjun’s invitations to celebrate second place. When Yeonjun teased him, though, his strength of his annoyance ensured Beomgyu’s attention was solely on him. He hated to lose, and maybe it was because they were usually the only ones to offer something more than a cut and dry race, or maybe Beomgyu still held a grudge over Yeonjun laughing when he had spotted a bear charm he had seen hanging from Beomgyu’s backpack during one of his first few times he had started to show up; whatever Beomgyu’s problem with Yeonjun was didn’t matter. Something had put a stick up Beomgyu’s ass when it came to all matters regarding Choi Yeonjun and it had been kept firmly lodged in there.
Once, Yeonjun vividly recalls him teasing Beomgyu so far, he had managed to infuriate the boy into action. Yeonjun had teased, “Second place! That’s not so bad. Look at it this way; it means you were still the first to lose. Chin up, cub.”
Beomgyu hadn’t replied to him then, had simply clenched his hands into fists and taken a step toward Yeonjun, his face red and his jaw tense with the irritation, and Yeonjun had felt his skin buzzing with a mix of the anticipation and the force of Beomgyu’s attention on him so intensely. And then Beomgyu closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and he had walked past Yeonjun, making sure to bump into his shoulder as he did so.
To meet Beomgyu again here, of all places, was a stroke of luck Yeonjun hadn’t believed he would achieve.
Just like before, Choi Beomgyu’s friendly expression soured almost immediately, impressively unimpressed with Yeonjun’s presence. “Who told you I was here?”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you weren’t happy to see me.” Yeonjun was smiling, he could feel it pulling on his cheeks too widely.
“Seriously, who?” Beomgyu’s expression grew sterner.
“Choi Moojin.” Yeonjun was more than happy to throw that man under the bus—it what he deserved for being a greedy, uptight asshole that made Yeonjun search frantically for a last minute mechanic that wouldn’t snitch him out to the authorities. “Well, he didn’t specifically tell me you were here, but he told me to come here. Is this where you’ve been hiding out? It’s been a year, right?”
“Fucking Moojin.” Beomgyu complained under his breath. To Yeonjun, he said, “Why, exactly, did Moojin send you here?”
“Well, I obviously need some repairs.”
“Yeah, I gathered that.” Beomgyu leaned back against the wall, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling with a long-suffering sigh. “But why would he send you here?”
Yeonjun shrugged as casually as he could. “Moojinnie got greedy and quit on me.”
“Oh?” Beomgyu looked at him again, grinning slowly. “Why did he quit?”
“Who knows?” Yeonjun lied, shrugging. “Maybe he’s retiring. He’s at that age, right?”
“He’s forty-one.” He really doesn’t like the way Beomgyu is looking more and more pleased by the second. “I bet you finally annoyed him enough to make him quit.”
He glared sharply at Beomgyu. All of the pleasant surprise and excitement he had felt over seeing his old rival again drained out of him like it was personally offended on Yeonjun’s behalf. There he was, being friendly and pleased to see a familiar face, happy to know that he hadn’t crashed his motorcycle and passed away, and how did BEomgyu repay him? By hurling unjust and uncalled-for accusations at him. “You know, I could have sworn you weren’t this bitchy before.”
Beomgyu laughed, full and loud. “So, you did annoy him that much! Oh, that’s great. This is the best thing I’ve ever heard.”
Yeonjun took a calming breath. “Okay, look. I really do need some repairs. Is there someone here that can do that for me?”
“That would be me.” Beomgyu chirped, looking more delighted. “What can I do for you?”
Yeonjun assessed the man before him; the thick overalls really did make him look tiny, nearly bite-sized. Overalls were unflattering in general, though, and maybe Beomgyu had bulked up in the time he had disappeared. Yeonjun remembered Beomgyu as someone who was lithe and a bit on the thinner side, and it had been to his benefit when it gave him just the slightest edge to go just a bit faster, take corners just a little sharper without fear of toppling over.
“Roll up your sleeves for me?” Yeonjun demanded.
Confused by the sudden change of topic, Beomgyu said, “Um…No?”
Yeonjun insisted, “Just do it.” Beomgyu was starting to frown, not that Yeonjun cared. He was too busy thinking through how likely it was that Beomgyu really was the mechanic in charge. “I need to see something.”
“I’m not doing that.”
He huffed. “Just humor me.”
“Why should I?”
“Beomgyu.” Stubbornly, Beomgyu shook his head. Yeonjun huffed again, adding, “C’mon. What’s the harm?”
Beomgyu pursed his lips, evidently reading himself to list all of the reasons he wouldn’t do this one thing for Yeonjun, but then he seemed to decide it wasn’t worth the effort and sighed. A moment later, he was side eyeing Yeonjun and rolling up the sleeves to his elbows, holding his arms out for Yeonjun to examine closely.
Beomgyu had very fine boned wrists, almost delicate looking. .He was still thin, but not sickly so. It looked like he had put on at least a little muscle, at the very least. Still, Yeonjun’s expression pinched because Beomgyu didn’t inspire any confidence in him at all that he would be able to even lift Yeonjun, much less be able to fix up Rosita and do anything that needed to be done for her.
“Thought so.” Yeonjun muttered, glancing around. “So, is your boss in, then? Or does he have any times I should come in? I’m usually free in the mornings, and evenings are best, obviously, but I can make time if he can’t make that.”
A stilted silence filled the office as Beomgyu processed what Yeonjun said, and then he started to speak slowly like he was explaining something complex to a small child. Yeonjun pretended not to take offense to the tone. “I don’t have a boss. It’s just me. I can look at whatever the issue is.”
“Not with those arms, you can’t.” Yeonjun immediately retorted, shaking his head. “No offense.”
Beomgyu looked like he had taken offense regardless. “Okay, you can leave.”
Yeonjun scowled. “Is there really nobody else here? Don’t you hire mechanics here?”
“Are you intentionally trying to piss me off, or are you actually this stupid?”
Yeonjun rolled his eyes. He leaned back on the front desk, looking Beomgyu over once and meeting his challenging stare. “Beomgyu, no offense, but you don’t exactly inspire confidence in your ability to lift a stack of cardboard, much less my baby. You’ve seen Moojin—the man is built like a tank. You can see why I’m skeptical.”
“Okay.” Beomgyu said after a long pause, and he looked agitated. “Then leave. Find someone else.”
See, Yeonjun would absolutely do that if he had the time to vet through every mechanic shop in the city to find someone that is good at keeping their mouth shut. Yeonjun was short on time, though, and he was shorter on resources, and Rosita was in desperate need of repairs. Yeonjun still had her remains in his living room, and he only cried a little when he spotted her as he went about his day.
So, Yeonjun sighed. “Alright, fine. You win. What’s your rate?”
“Depends on the problem.” Beomgyu explained. “Show me what’s wrong.”
Yeonjun pulled out his phone. Before him, Beomgyu’s eyebrows shot up with curiosity, waiting until Yeonjun turned the screen to him with a resigned expression. He pointedly didn’t react to the wince and the low whistle Beomgyu let out as he looked at the pictures Yeonjun had taken of the wreck that is his motorcycle. Beomgyu peaked up at him, and back at the photo, and he asked, “Who did you piss off?”
“Why do you just assume I pissed someone off?”
Yeonjun did not appreciate the accusatory look Beomgyu gave him, so he acted like he hadn’t seen it.
“You’ve been in here less than half-an-hour, and I’m already getting a migraine from how annoying you are.” Beomgyu pointed out. “Moojin quit on you, and nobody goes to the trouble of tracking down someone’s address to just wreck their bike just because. So, who did you piss off?” Beomgyu grinned slyly. “What did you do?”
“Can you fix it or not?” Yeonjun groused, refusing to answer.
Beomgyu rolled his eyes at Yeonjun’s huffy attitude. Rude. “Of course I can. It’s not cheap though.”
“How much?” He was already tired of this entire ordeal, and it had barely even begun.
“How much are you offering?”
Without much thought, Yeonjun rattled off a number higher than estimated cost he and Taehyun had come up with on the phone when they’d started checking how much damage was done—Yeonjun was not a fool. He knew the magical effect of the number of zeroes in a quoted figure has on loose lips. Beomgyu’s eyes glinted at the offered amount, and he held out his right hand, clearly not as annoyed with Yeonjun as before thanks to the generous magic of the zeroes.
“Alright. You’ve got a deal. Bring her by tomorrow morning and I can get to work.”
▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
Boredom had never sat well with Yeonjun. He’d made his peace with his constant need for stimulation long ago, and has just learned to live with his chronic inability to keep still. There’s an insatiable itch under his skin, a nagging in his chest that feels like a vice constricted around his lungs whenever his body determine he’d been stagnant for too long. It used to get him into trouble in school all the time; his attention span was short, he needed to be in constant motion or risk all of his restlessness building up and bursting out of him in explosions of frustrated energy at inopportune times. Needless to say, Yeonjun struggled spending long hours in a classroom with too few hours allotted to him to burn off his energy.
Yeonjun always feels like a caged, pacing animal in an exhibit through his teenage years, and only the dance lessons he used to take had worked to ever take the edge off. Keeping his body constantly in motion cleared his thoughts and kept him centered, and it helped that Yeonjun took to dance routines like fish took to water. Still, even dance lessons didn’t soothe away the persistent hum and almost painful nag of his body.
Boredom only exacerbated the problem; boredom made him antsy, twitchy and eager for anything to do, a little reckless and impulsive even though he knew he should have grown out of it by now. Yeonjun would say him and boredom go together like water and oil, but really, it was more like kerosine and an open flame. He preferred to avoid it at all costs.
Yet, there Yeonjun was, two days after delivering his darling Rosita to Choi Beomgyu to fix up, sitting in his apartment with absolutely nothing to do and what felt like a twitch starting to develop in his eye from his inactivity. He could have called Taehyun and seen what his friend might be up to, but honestly Yeonjun didn’t want to bother him too much when he was sure the other boy was likely hard at working wrapping up all his loose ends before he flew back to Seoul. He was diligent like that; he was also the type that would answer Yeonjun’s call regardless of if he was busy, and would insist on just talking as he goes about his day. How Taehyun’s supervisors hadn’t gotten him in trouble for that would always baffle Yeonjun, but he’d benefit from the negligence, so he never voiced his confusion. There was no need to tempt the universe into fixing that little oversight after all.
His dance lessons were postponed for a few weeks, too, because his favorite instructor was out on maternity leave. He was growing more restless, losing his patience more with each moment that passed.
Still, Yeonjun did his best to entertain himself, ultimately failing after an hour, and ended up grabbing his keys, a jacket, and his wallet and rushing out the front door, itching for anything to soothe the energy away.
Thus, Yeonjun found himself making his way to Angel’s Repairs. Beomgyu had always kept Yeonjun fascinated when they competed, and though he was a little on the quieter side, when Yeonjun teased, Beomgyu would tease right back. It was fun to poke at him and see what sparked reactions, and it was more fun to see what would get Beomgyu to finally look at Yeonjun for longer than a few passing glances.
Besides, Yeonjun missed his baby. He needed to see Rosita again to convince himself he wasn’t living in his own personal hellscape that that she was being fixed up by (hopefully) capable hands.
Music was already blasting from the overhead stereo system, loud even as Yeonjun steps through the lobby doors. It’s not a song he’s familiar with—something mellow with an easy tempo to follow, which caught Yeonjun off guard. Maybe Yeonjun had grown too used to the mechanics he had worked with before and their preference for heavy metal playing on the speakers. This was an interesting change.
Beomgyu is slouched on the ground beside Rosita when Yeonjun steps into the large open space of the actual shop. Next to him are all the tools he’s using, neatly arranged on a low bench. Carefully laid out on a tarp nearby sit several of Rosita’s disconnected pieces, piercing Yeonjun’s heart just a little bit to see. He doesn’t notice that Yeonjun is there, too distracted by contorting his body uncomfortably to reach something he was working on; Yeonjun didn’t call out a greeting, either. He wasn’t even sure he’d be heard over the music. Instead, he slowly came up behind Beomgyu, leaning over his shoulder to get a peek of what he was working on, and Beomgyu startles so violently he jerks back and knocks the back of his head hard against Yeonjun’s chin.
Yeonjun lurches back with a yelp of pain, rubbing the sore spot on his jaw while Beomgyu scrambled for his phone. He fumbled with it, cutting the music off abruptly and sending the room into shocking silence. Yeonjun swears his ears are ringing as they adjust.
“What are you doing here?” Beomgyu shrieks, his hand over his heart. He scrambles to his feet, dusting off his pants as he does so. “I told you it would take me at least a couple weeks!”
Yeonjun grumbled around the ache of his jaw, “I wanted to see the progress.”
“Progress.” Beomgyu echoed, slowly dropping his hand from his heart. He stood awkwardly now, shifting in place like he doesn’t quite know how he’s supposed to stand before Yeonjun. “You could have called the shop and asked for updates, like a normal person, instead of creeping up behind me like a stalker.”
“Now, where’s the fun in that?” Yeonjun shrugged. He stepped around Beomgyu to crouch beside his poor baby—oh, his heart is aching at the state she’s in. Yeonjun reminded himself that this was just like healing a bruise: it looked worse before it gets better. “Oh, baby girl, you look sick. Is he treating you good? Being gentle with you?”
Beomgyu coughed behind him. Yeonjun turned just in time to catch Beomgyu’s weirded out expression a heartbeat before he turned it into something deliberately polite. “Are you sweet talking the bike?”
“First of all,” Yeonjun held up one finger primly. “Her name is Rosita. Show some respect.” Beomgyu did not look like he would be showing Rosita the proper respect anytime soon, but Yeonjun barreled on nonetheless. “Second of all, the man with the bear charms on his backpack does not get to judge me for how I talk to my baby, okay?”
“They’re cute!” Beomgyu immediately defended himself, just like the first time Yeonjun had ever pointed out the little charms. His voice even rose the same way, arms still crossing defensively across his chest.
“What were you working on?” Yeonjun asked in lieu of teasing Beomgyu more about his endearing fondness of bear keychains.
Almost looking grateful for the shift of topic, Beomgyu began to rattle off the explanation. Yeonjun glazed over halfway through, half listening and half distracted by every inch of the garage. From how Beomgyu spoke, Yeonjun was assured that he didn’t need to hover over the man’s shoulders as he worked, just to make sure he didn’t mess up on something vital. He could relax a little of the reigns he had there.
“Sounds complicated.” Yeonjun remarked absentmindedly. There were tools displayed on the walls, and equipment that Yeonjun was legally not allowed to get into his apartment set up expertly. It was clean, with dark ceramic floors and a lot of natural lighting from the windows high on each wall. He took in every inch of it, from the minimal décor to the spots where Beomgyu obviously preferred to do oil changes. Nestled in the righthand side of the garage was what appeared to be a lounging area: a large red rug was bracketed by worn sofas, and a table covered in miscellaneous bits of trash. A black mini-fridge is precariously plugged in and propped against the wall on top of a makeshift table of cement blocks and an actual tabletop, covered in a collage of logo stickers on every available surface.
Two other cars take up space in the garage, one with the hood popped open and the engine removed and set carefully aside looking like it had seen better days, and the other car looked like it only had damage done to the right back-fender from a crash. The windows were shattered on that car, covered with a section of tarp and duct-tape to keep the interiors from getting too messy.
Compared to those two cars, Rosita looked like she’d been run through an industrial grade blender. Yeonjun comforted himself with the knowledge that soon she would be fixed up. With how much he was paying Beomgyu, Yeonjun had ensured that Beomgyu would essentially be expediting the work needed to get her up and running quickly.
“It is.” Beomgyu said slowly in response to Yeonjun’s commentary. He’s squinting at Yeonjun like he was trying to figure him out, and that’s when Yeonjun realized that the other man was wearing glasses. With a surge of delight, Yeonjun fully takes in the sight of the thick black framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, making Beomgyu look too cute. He was working Librarian-Chic, so why the hell was he in an auto-repair shop in the most unflattering, hideous jumpsuit? “Did you come here just to see the progress, then? Nothing else?”
“Pretty much.” Yeonjun hummed. He gave Rosita one last forlorn glance and whispered an apology to her for allowing something so horrible to happen to her before walking away. Beomgyu followed a few paces behind him. “You said a few weeks?”
“Maybe more.” Beomgyu corrected. “It’s a lot of damage to fix, and I need to figure out what you did to modify her to make sure I fix it up right. That and waiting for all the parts I need to come in if they need to be ordered…”
Briefly, Yeonjun felt a flare of the rage he had recently discovered within himself at the reminder that someone had done this just to get to him, but he pushed it back down below the surface where it belonged. “Alright. That’s fine.”
Silence settled between them. Yeonjun didn’t mind it, really, though Beomgyu seemed to have a different opinion on the matter. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearing his throat finally. “Well…if that was all you wanted…”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Yeonjun stopped his wandering path around the garage to turn to Beomgyu, amused. “Your customer service needs a bit of work.”
“You need a bit of work.” Beomgyu muttered. Yeonjun pretended not to hear the comment. “I should get back to work then, if you want her fixed up that soon. So…” He stares pointedly at Yeonjun, who smiles innocently.
“So?” He echoed, tilting his head like he didn’t understand that Beomgyu was politely asking him to leave. Stubbornly, knowing that Beomgyu wanted him to leave so badly made Yeonjun just a little more determined to stick around just a little longer. “I’m not stopping you from working. I’ll just be here to watch a little.”
It was obvious by Beomgyu’s sour expression what his opinion was on that course of action, but he didn’t argue any further with Yeonjun. He just shook his head, looked up at the ceiling like it held the answers to whatever questions he must have been silently asking himself, and then he went right back to kneeling beside Rosita. Beomgyu cast Yeonjun multiple quick glances as he slowly got back to work, and eventually, he relaxed enough to go back to steadily working. Yeonjun, meanwhile, alternated between wandering around and poking around the garage and watching Beomgyu work, curious and fascinated to see someone else piecing Rosita back together, piece by delicate piece. Occasionally, Beomgyu would pause, sit back and roll his stiff shoulders and neck, and would resume whatever he’d been working on with a concentrated pinch of his eyebrows. He even almost seemed to forget that Yeonjun was even in the garage.
Well, that won’t do.
“What are you doing now?” Yeonjun started asking at random over the next several hours. Anytime Beomgyu looked like he was no longer sneaking glances at Yeonjun, he would ask the question, and it became his favorite. At first, the mechanic had answered Yeonjun with patient explanations, but he’d been progressively losing that patience as Yeonjun continued to drill him for answers. Thoughtful responses turned to curt explanations, his annoyance with Yeonjun steadily growing.
Yeonjun’s curiosity ate away at him as he asked too many questions, but not any of the ones he actually wanted to ask.
Primarily, Yeonjun wanted to know why Beomgyu had quit racing.
If he outright asked, Yeonjun was sure he wouldn’t receive an answer, so he spared himself the trouble and instead entertained himself by allowing his imagination to fill in all the possibly causes for Choi Beomgyu’s early retirement.
Maybe he had crashed and sustained a career ending injury. Broken legs tended to put an abrupt halt on these kinds of activities, Yeonjun reasoned. If he had broken a limb, going on a hiatus for a few months to heal would put a damper on returning and possibly finding that everyone had moved on from him. Not to mention the possible traumatic memories of crashing—crashing a motorcycle isn’t like crashing a car. When a motorcycle crashes, especially modified ones like the ones used for their racing, there was nothing to protect the rider from the damage but the thick leather they wore. It wasn’t enough to stop a 67kg rider going over 100mph from breaking bones at best, or skidding across the asphalt and sustaining terrible scrapes, or dying. A lot of racers left the scene after crashes, unwilling to risk their lives once they had been knocking at the pearly heavenly gates once before.
Or, maybe Beomgyu had received a sudden call from a relative that someone in his family had died—perhaps the previous owner of this shop?—and he had rushed home only to realize he had inherited the illustrious family business of auto-repairs, and now he was the sole owner and employee. Did he not hire staff to prove a point to the hypothetically deceased relative that he was able to run this shop entirely by himself? Was this Beomgyu keeping the memory of a relative alive? Maybe he was a runaway son of a hard-working mechanic father, rebellious and insisting on racing against his father’s pragmatic wishes, and now Beomgyu needed to work here to ease an old man’s heart that was sick with worry for his reckless son.
Or was this a front? Could Beomgyu be secretly working with law enforcement with this as a base of operations? Maybe Beomgyu was collecting a list of names to rat out, and he would go into witness protection as the whistleblower to an entire illegal racing ring. Though, that option didn’t quite suit Beomgyu. He wasn’t mean enough to backstab hordes of people like that—or maybe he was. Yeonjun was learning that Beomgyu had a bit of an easily triggered fuse. Or maybe it was just Yeonjun that had that effect on him.
Maybe Beomgyu had almost been caught, and it had scared him so much he had decided to turn his life around and life a strait-laced life. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened. Illegal racing was fun until the very real possibility of being incarcerated for an adrenaline rush was brought into question—a lot of competitors had crumbled under that threat and withdrawn from the scene. The betting pools only made their worries increase. Gambling wasn’t exactly encouraged by most upstanding citizens—gambling over dangerous races that occurred in the dead of night even more so.
At some point, Yeonjun wandered to the sticker-covered mini-fridge set up in the back, and he started to rummage around before he took out a can of something fruity, and a small bag of berries. He tossed a few in his mouth, pleased by the tartness of them.
“Are you eating my food?” Beomgyu calls across the garage, incredulously. “Get away from there!”
“I got hungry.” Yeonjun shrugged sheepishly, making no move to stop eating the berries. “You take forever.”
“If you would stop distracting me every two minutes, I would’ve made more progress by now.” He snapped, and Yeonjun just laughed. “What?”
“I’m distracting you?” He teases. He liked the idea of that—likes the thought of Beomgyu being unable to look away from him. Call Yeonjun vain, but he appreciates being appreciated by pretty boys. “How am I distracting you?”
“You know exactly how.” Beomgyu stood up, glaring at Yeonjun better now that the view wasn’t being obstructed by Rosita—by now, she was looking like her old self, almost. There were still some parts to fix up, but Yeonjun no longer saw her as a pile of scrapped metal, but rather the beautiful visage of his dearest baby. “Stop eating my food! Put those back.”
Yeonjun shakes his head, smiling wider as he pops more berries into his mouth. He has the delight of watching Beomgyu’s expression pinch.
“Say ‘ah’.” He coaxed, coming close to Beomgyu while holding out a strawberry like a peace offering. “I’ll share.”
Beomgyu does not indulge him, so Yeonjun shrugs and pops it into his own mouth after saying an exaggerated ah noise. He met Beomgyu’s eyes as an idea sparked to life, and before he could be stopped, Yeonjun tilted his head back and poured the rest of the bag of berries straight into his mouth. His cheeks stretched around the amount of food in his mouth, but he grinned nonetheless. Beomgyu looked properly horrified by the act, which was hilarious, but it was nothing compared to the absolutely disgusted curl of his lip as Yeonjun chewed the fruit and then opened his mouth to flaunt the half-chewed paste of fruit in his mouth. Beomgyu had made a gagging noise and walked away, and Yeonjun had laughed so hard he almost choked.
It went on like that until Beomgyu finally called it a night, stepping away from Rosita and glaring at Yeonjun. “I’m closing up for the night. You owe me for the food you ate, by the way.”
Yeonjun doesn’t even argue, just cheerfully pays, and when he leaves, it’s with a bright, “Thanks for the help, cub!” and a laugh as Beomgyu’s face twists with displeasure. It’s still just as cute as Yeonjun remembers.
He goes home with a different kind of itch in his skin, something that would only be soothed by seeing what other delightful expressions Yeonjun could pry from Beomgyu, or the weight of his attention when it finally was fixed solely on Yeonjun.
Yeonjun won’t pretend he isn’t aware of how annoying he can be when he really sets his mind to it. It’s a natural talent of his that he has cultivated and refined into a weapon of sorts, and a fun pastime. Yeonjun likes seeing how much he can push people, how far their patience extends and what their tipping point does to them. Usually, the tipping point is easy to find. A few jabs here, some deliberate oblivious behavior there, and a well-timed persistent nag is usually enough to set people off. They usually caved quite easily, too. It makes the restless energy relax just a little when he sees the way he can get under people’s skin despite how much they tried to be above such petty things.
Moojin quitting on Yeonjun because he had annoyed him too much wasn’t something out of the ordinary. If anything, Yeonjun had been expecting it. He’d lasted a little longer before he snapped than other people had, though Yeonjun is sure that he can thank the generous cut of his winnings he’d been regularly splitting with him for. Still, everyone has a limit, and Yeonjun must have finally found Moojin’s. He’d been curious for a long time if the older, gruff man even had a limit, or if he was just predisposed to having no patience and therefore somehow giving himself infinite patience. He tended to ignore Yeonjun, mostly, and to work with him only when absolutely necessary.
His breaking point yielded the same results as everyone else, though: Moojin quit, effectively putting distance between him and Yeonjun, and successfully getting rid of an annoyance in his life. It’s expected but Yeonjun can’t say that he isn’t disappointed. He’d hoped someone like Moojin might have had a little more of a flair when they finally got tired of his incessant pestering, but perhaps that had been wishful thinking. He’d hoped Moojin might snap in a more interesting way, perhaps one that would allow Yeonjun to finally put those stupid arms of his to work one something more important than a car engine.
Anyway, Yeonjun likes to annoy people. Unfortunately for Beomgyu, he had become Yeonjun’s new favorite target.
Yeonjun went back to Angel’s Repairs the next day. His lips form a smile as he spots a little botched bleached head bent over a workbench, not even looking up. The garage doors were open, giving Yeonjun more than a good view of the way Beomgyu’s nimble fingers picked at whatever he’d worked on.
He would be surprised that Beomgyu was still in the garage at this time of night—roughly 9pm on a Sunday, far past when most workshops have closed for the day—but considering Beomgyu seems to be one of the few mechanics that really understood the importance of working discretely, Yeonjun knows these just might be his prime working hours.
Beomgyu glanced up when he heard Yeonjun approach this time, and other than a slight souring of his previously calm expression, he doesn’t react to Yeonjun’s presence. Yeonjun smiles at him brightly, though, his steps long and crossing the large workshop quickly. Yeonjun plops himself into a bench across from Beomgyu after brushing aside from of the stuff on it, curiously looking at the part that Beomgyu is working on.
“What are you doing?” He asks, leaning over. Beomgyu shuffles away from him, taking the parts with him. Yeonjun frowns at him. “What, am I not allowed to look?”
“Why are you here again?” Beomgyu asks him, suspicious and yet resigned. “Why didn’t you ring the bell?”
“The garage was open.” He shrugs. “And I’m just here to kill time. I’m bored out of my mind at home, and it’s not like I can do anything with Rosita in the Auto-ICU.”
Beomgyu smiles a little at Yeonjun’s joke, then seems to catch himself and plasters a comically stern expression. It’s too late—Yeonjun had seen him laugh, and now that he knows Beomgyu finds him funny, Yeonjun is determined to see if he can get Beomgyu to laugh, too. It shouldn’t be difficult—Yeonjun was a comedic genius. Taehyun liked to pretend Yeonjun wasn’t funny, but Yeonjun knew the truth.
“That’s sad. I don’t see why that has anything to do with you coming here to bother me again. I’m supposed to be working on your bike in peace.”
Yeonjun waves his hand. “I’m not stopping you from doing that. Just pretend I’m not even here like usual.”
Beomgyu let out a long-suffering sigh. “As if you ever let me do that…”
Then, just like every other day Yeonjun stopped by, Beomgyu begins his work on the motorcycle while Yeonjun lingers and wanders and tries to entertain himself, and at the end of the night, Beomgyu kicks him out. The next day, Yeonjun returns, as well as the next, and the pattern continued much to Yeonjun’s pleasure.
Every day until Rosita was finished, Yeonjun returned. Sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for less, Yeonjun lingered in the garage and poked at Beomgyu.
Today, Beomgyu isn’t in the garage when Yeonjun arrives. It grants Yeonjun some privacy to do his customary scan of the garage in peace while he waits.
In the corner, parked delicately, is a motorcycle Yeonjun recognizes immediately. It’s a pretty and sleek black beauty, a model Yeonjun used to drool over before he had become a committed man and fallen in love with Rosita. A Yamaha YZF-R6—Yeonjun had once upon a time drooled at the sight of her, and had looked forward to the opportunity to ogle her and her rider on the track every race. He used to have to really work and concentrate to beat her, to outmaneuver the only real competition to Rosita that left his body buzzing and his heart pounding at the finish line.
It’s Beomgyu’s motorcycle. She is parked in the garage for the first time, gracing Yeonjun with her presence, and who is Yeonjun to deny a beautiful work of engineering the attention she so rightfully deserves? Yeonjun beelines to her immediately.
A cute bear sticker is stuck to the side of her, almost unnoticable, but Yeonjun finds himself flooded with a bout of violent cuteness aggression at the sight of it. It should ruin the sleek elegance of the bike, but it just adds an adorable detail to her. Like freckles on a face—it’s just cute, and endearing. Of course Beomgyu would add a bear sticker to his bike, Yeonjun thinks to himself. The man already had bear stickers on his helmet, so it wasn’t odd to note that he had added them to his bike as well. It’s the same cute bear, cartoonish and adorable. Yeonjun runs his finger over it, grinning to himself. Beomgyu was so cute it hurt. How could someone so adorable have managed to find himself as a racer? It baffles him almost as much as how someone so cute could be getting himself greasy all day working in a car garage. If anyone was too cute for this life, it was Beomgyu.
Yeonjun casts another glance around the garage, trying to look casual. Surely Beomgyu wouldn’t mind if Yeonjun just sat on his motorcycle a little, would he? No, he was more reasonable than that. Beomgyu wouldn’t mind. He certainly wouldn’t mind Yeonjun searching for the keys, finding them carefully placed at the table of the lounging area of the garage, and then all but skipping back to the motorcycle with shaking hands. If Beomgyu minded, he should say something, but since he wasn’t around, then this was all but asking Yeonjun to just satisfy his curiosity a little bit.
“Speak now or forever hold your piece.” Yeonjun mumbled under his breath, scanning his surroundings again. Giddy that he was still alone, Yeonjun added, “If you really don’t want me on your bike, you better say something now.”
Obviously there was no response. Of course there wouldn’t be—Beomgyu certainly wouldn’t mind Yeonjun taking his bike out on a short spin. Just a short one. A test drive, if you will.
Yeonjun started the engine, and oh, he nearly moaned.
“Forgive me, Rosita, but if anyone was close to how beautiful you are, this girl here is it.” Yeonjun gushes, squeezing the handles and grinning so big his cheeks ached. “Beautiful, beautiful girl, oh my god. Big fan.”
The engine seems to purr almost in response. Yeonjun will die on the hill that he would take care of this baby better than her current owner did—he would spoil her if given the chance. Rosita needed a friend—Yeonjun was already thinking of names. Elena seemed nice, or maybe Valentina. Rosita and Valentina.
Yeah, that was nice.
“What the hell are you doing?” Beomgyu shouts, suddenly skidding into the garage from just outside. “Dude, get off of that!”
Caught red-handed, Yeonjun holds his hands up and declares, “I’ve done nothing wrong!”
Beomgyu doesn’t seem to care. He rushes over, reaching Yeonjun in record time, and he wastes no time grabbing one of Yeonjun’s wrists, pulling like he wants to drag Yeonjun straight off the bike.
Yeonjun stubbornly doesn’t budge. “Woah, hey. I’m all for a bit of manhandling, but you didn’t even ask me if I was consenting yet. C’mon, Beomgyu.”
“Shut up.” Beomgyu snaps, pulling again. He makes a frustrated sound when Yeonjun plants his feet and rips his arm back. “For once in your life, would you just shut up and not try to piss me off?”
“I’m just sitting.” Yeonjun countered, unable to help himself. “And excuse you, I am very pleasant. You’ve just got your panties permanently in a twist.”
Beomgyu’s face goes through what looks like the phases of grief in the span of a two heartbeats, and then he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and only opens them to carefully say, “Yeonjun, get off my bike. I am asking nicely.”
“I don’t want to.” Yeonjun sniffs, turning his face. “And that didn’t sound very nice. I didn’t even hear a please, or a thank you. Try again.”
The mechanic glares at him sharply. Yeonjun smirks at him, settling more comfortably. “This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not laughing.” He shrugs. “Ask nicely and maybe I’ll consider listening.”
Beomgyu’s jaw tenses, his body looking like a bow drawn too tight. He doesn’t say anything though, so Yeonjun decides to ignore him. He revs the engine a little, giggling to himself with the giddy feeling. God, this bike really is beautiful. He hopes Rosita doesn’t get jealous.
There is a sharp tug suddenly on his hair of all things, and the shock overrides the annoyance when Beomgyu is suddenly grabbing his face, meeting his eye. In a low, threatening rasp, the mechanic says, “Get off the fucking bike, Yeonjun.”
Yeonjun sticks his tongue out. “You’re not asking nicely.”
“You want me to ask nicely?” Beomgyu asks, tone sweet suddenly. “Okay, fine. But keep in mind that antagonizing the person who is in charge of repairing your precious Rosita is probably not the smartest idea. Remember that I’m the one that’s in charge of your illegally modified bike keeping you alive out there.” He adds like an after thought, “It would be a shame if something weren’t repaired correctly, wouldn’t it?”
Combined with the iron-grip of Beomgyu’s fingers on his jaw, and the falsely sweet smile, the thinly veiled threat Beomgyu is making makes Yeonjun’s head swim. He swallows thickly, glancing between Beomgyu, his bike, and where Rosita remains to be restored to her former glory. Then, Yeonjun meets Beomgyu’s eyes again, asking softly, “Is that a threat?”
“It won’t have to be if you listen.” Beomgyu smiles with cute malicious intent, releasing Yeonjun and stepping back. “Now, I’m kindly asking you to get the fuck off of my bike.”
Yeonjun kindly gets the fuck off Beomgyu’s bike.
He turns off the engine and drops the keys into Beomgyu’s waiting palm, feeling odd as he does so, his limbs a little weak. It’s an uncomfortable sensation Yeonjun can’t quite understand. It only gets worse when Beomgyu pockets the keys with a sugary sweet, “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? It costs you nothing to listen for once in your life.”
Yeonjun swallows dryly, willing whatever is making him oddly restless down. “You have bear stickers on your bike.”
Some of the tension from Beomgyu melts, his cheeks reddening as his hands fist at his side. “They’re cute, okay?”
“Adorable,” Yeonjun agrees, not just talking about the stickers. It feels like the ground beneath him is unsteady, or is he just dizzy from the shock? Is Yeonjun going into shock at the threat of Rosita’s life? That must be it. “So cute. Too cute, actually. Where else do you have bear stickers?”
“None of your business.” Beomgyu shakes his head. He looks Yeonjun up and down like he can’t believe Yeonjun has the audacity to still stand before him before he moves on. “I’m going to work on your stupid pile of junk now. Behave.”
Yeonjun does not feel a thrill go down his spine at the word. Even if Beomgyu is cute when he tries to give orders, Yeonjun is not affected by it in the slightest. The way his breath hitches has nothing to do with the implications of that word in other contexts, nor does the way his belly pools with want have to mean anything. Yeonjun just finds Beomgyu cute and amusing. That’s all. He likes the reactions he gets from him.
“What if I don’t?”
The boy glares at him harder, maintaining eye contact. “I’ll stage a murder.”
Yeonjun startles even himself when he laughs. “You’re so cute when you’re mad.”
“Just stop.” Beomgyu finally turned away, walking back to his abandoned work bench from before Yeonjun had arrived. “I don’t have the patience to deal with your shit, Yeonjun.”
“You’re so disrespectful.” Yeonjun trails after him, lamenting as he sits just an arm’s length away from Beomgyu on an empty spot on the floor. “And so uptight, too. Are you always this uptight, Beomgyu-yah? You need to let loose a little bit—get that stick out of your ass. It’s making you a bit of a buzz kill.”
Beomgyu rolls his eyes, deadpanning, “I’m plenty of fun to my friends.” His shoulders are bunched with tension as he starts to get back to work, glancing at Yeonjun and finding the elder just keeps staring at him. “Stop it. Quit watching me like that.”
“You just threatened to sabotage my bike.” Yeonjun points out, not upset about it. He isn’t sure what he feels, but he knows that he shouldn’t acknowledge the almost giddy headrush it had given him. Fear is just adrenaline—there’s nothing more to it. “And anyway, aren’t we friends, Gyu?” He prods, fully aware that they are not friends at all.
Beomgyu, the buzzkill, laughs through the stick up his ass. “No. God no.”
“I think we are.” Yeonjun teases, reaching out to ruffle Beomgyu’s hair. The boy whirled on him irritably. Yeonjun shouldn’t find the expression attractive. He really shouldn’t find it attractive that he looks down on Yeonjun when he’s angry, like he thinks he’s above such petty things like reacting to Yeonjun, even as he gives all the reactions Yeonjun seeks out. He shouldn’t feel oddly restless and almost needy at the thought of knowing if Beomgyu would push back everytime Yeonjun pushed something. The threat from earlier shouldn’t have added fuel to the flames of his attraction, but something about how serious he had been, how he had stared Yeonjun down even as he had come off as being cute, his eyes flinty and unwavering, had Yeonjun intrigued, curious, and unreasonably hot under the collar.
Yeonjun really shouldn’t think about Beomgyu’s pretty but foul mouth, or how it might feel on him, or what sounds might come out of that mouth. He shouldn’t wonder what Beomgyu might sound like when he moans, or what he’d look like in Yeonjun’s sheets. It isn’t a good idea to fixate on how a jolt of interest had gone through Yeonjun when he had felt the pull in his hair—Beomgyu wasn’t like the other men Yeonjun usually found himself interested in. Cute boys like Beomgyu weren’t meant to throw men around in bed—they were meant to be thrown around, meant to cry pretty tears down their pretty faces, to shake and thrash in bed when Yeonjun fucks them into the mattress. Cute boys like Beomgyu crumbled when Yeonjun played his games with them.
Still, like an intrusive thought, Yeonjun’s brain has latched onto the vague idea of Beomgyu pulling his head back by his hair, leaning over him and rasping into his ear, “Behave.”
Outside of his mind, the real Beomgyu is not looking amused. “You’re delusional, then.” He points to the exit. “Get out. I actually decided I am too tired to work today. I’m going to close up.”
“You just want to get rid of me.” Yeonjun pouts.
“Yeah.” It’s blunt, which Yeonjun can respect at least. “I am. Bye, Yeonjun.”
▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
Much to Beomgyu’s obvious displeasure, Yeonjun took a liking to lingering in the garage every day that Rosita was being repaired. He made himself right at home, in fact, over the remaining two weeks it had taken for everything to be done. He changes the music that plays while Beomgyu works, snoops through the tools and other parts Beomgyu has stored away, and even makes it a point to hover over Beomgyu sometimes and watch, occasionally giving commentary that makes the side of Beomgyu’s jaw twitch. Beomgyu puts up with it for the most part, until he inevitably gets too fed up with Yeonjun and kicks him out of the garage. Each time, Yeonjun gets to watch the way his expression shutters as he reaches the end of his patience, and each time, a thrill runs through him.
Beomgyu’s expressive nature is addicting. Yeonjun drinks in every microscopic shift of his face, every switch of his tone. Despite how quiet Beomgyu tends to speak, there’s always such clear, strong inflictions in his different voices too. When he’s happy, Yeonjun hears it in the bright, louder shouts. When he’s focused, it’s evident in the quiet murmur of dialogue he speaks to himself. When he’s talking normally, more of the slight lisp of his words comes through, and he tends to sprinkle in casual taunts like it’s nothing. When he’s annoyed with Yeonjun, though, he is tense and clearly on the verge of shouting, and there’s a waver in his words and a shake in his hands, and Yeonjun finds himself more curious every day to what will happen if he just pushes Beomgyu a little further.
He wonders what it will take to break down Beomgyu from his uptight little shell.
Inevitably, though, Rosita is repaired, and Yeonjun is too ecstatic that day to antagonize Beomgyu. He just gives the mechanic the agreed upon price, even adding a hefty tip to show his gratitude, and he starts Rosita up with a glee that makes him feel nearly dizzy.
“Oh, baby. I missed you.” Yeonjun murmurs to her.
Beomgyu counts the cash Yeonjun had given him from the envelope, looking at Yeonjun when he’s finished. He curiously cocks a brow.
Yeonjun asks, “What? Is it not all there? I swear I counted it right.”
“No, it’s here.” Beomgyu said, frowning softly. “There’s actually too much.”
“Consider that your tip. For putting up with me.” Yeonjun winks at him—tries to, anyway. Beomgyu’s face cracks into a small smile.
“It’s a generous tip.”
“It’s also bribery.” Yeonjun tells him, and he puts on his most charming smile. It’s the one that makes all the aunties in the parts awe and coo over him. “To let me come back to you if I need more help.”
For just a bit, Beomgyu is silent. His arms are folded across his chest and he stares at Yeonjun with deep consideration, and then he sighs, and says, “Don’t make it a habit, but sure.”
Yeonjun beams, and when he speeds off, he swears Beomgyu laughs at him.
▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
Yeonjun, of course, makes a habit of it.
He can’t help it, though. It’s not his fault Beomgyu is the most interesting person at the moment. He’s been bored, and in between races, there’s not much to do. His usual options of partners aren’t calling his attention, not when the last time he’d met up with one, all Yeonjun could do was close his eyes and pretend the person beneath him was a certain fluffy haired mechanic. It was becoming a problem.
A bad problem. Yeonjun needed to get paid, but properly so he could put to rest the daydreams that were starting to grow in frequency as time went on. It got to the point he had started zoning out during one of his visits and ended up staring at Beomgyu’s back as he worked.
It was a rare day that he wasn’t wearing the work overalls—he was just in jeans, and a long sleeved shirt that did nothing to hide the curve of his spine, or the way his shoulders—surprisingly broad considering how small Yeonjun has considered Beomgyu to be—rolled back, pulling the skin taut. Yeonjun had wondered if Beomgyu’s waist was really as tapered as it seemed to beneath the shirt, and he had imagined himself walking over and putting his hands around them, pulling Beomgyu back to see if he would make a cute sound of surprise. He’d imagined his hand slipping under the hem of his shirt, and how warm his skin would feel against his palm as he ran along his skin. Beomgyu would be cute, Yeonjun had thought. He would probably be sensitive, too.
He'd been staring too long before he had snapped out of his own daydream, embarrassed at his own thoughts. Beomgyu hadn’t caught him staring, but Yeonjun had hastily left early that day.
Like Yeonjun said: it was a problem.
So, naturally, Yeonjun made his problems Beomgyu’s problems, too.
The first time he’d appeared to the garage for Rosita, he’d claimed there was an odd noise, and as Beomgyu looked at him oddly, like Yeonjun was stupid, Yeonjun had merely smiled and told him, “I’ll pay you to check it out, of course.”
Beomgyu did, and as he investigated everything, Yeonjun had leaned over his back, draping an arm around his shoulder to point at something on the bike, and had relished in the way Beomgyu had frozen up and held his breath. He was especially giddy of the way Beomgyu’s fist tightened on his tools when Yeonjun spoke, right against his ear.
His ears had been pink, and Yeonjun wanted to eat him.
The second time, Yeonjun claimed something was wrong with her brakes, and when Beomgyu looked them over and found nothing wrong, Yeonjun had shrugged helplessly and smiled innocently at Beomgyu with a casual, “Well, they stopped working right around when I was driving by. Maybe it was a sign to stop in a see you.”
The third time was just as stupid of an excuse, and so was the fourth. By the sixth time Yeonjun had brought Rosita for minor or non-existent repairs, Beomgyu had started looking at Yeonjun like he had grown another head.
“Do you seriously not know how to do this on your own?” Beomgyu had demanded once, and Yeonjun had just shrugged helplessly, smiling and not disclosing that he could, but it was more fun to watch Beomgyu do it for him. If Beomgyu started to treat Yeonjun like he was a little stupid and explained things to him in simple terms, well, Yeonjun just smiled, amused, and marveled over how cute Beomgyu was when he was trying not to look smug at his perceived superior knowledge.
Confidence was a good look on Beomgyu. So was annoyance.
Hell, everything seemed to be a good look on Beomgyu, and Yeonjun wanted to know every expression he could make and how to bring all of them out, just to prove his tentative theory that Beomgyu was simply too pretty to have a look that didn’t suit him.
The eighth time Yeonjun stopped by to have Rosita looked over for “a suspicious sound when he was driving,” Beomgyu hadn’t even given Yeonjun the chance to speak before he had heaved a long suffering sigh and had smiled wryly at Yeonjun, pointing at him and halting him in his steps.
“Let me guess…” Beomgyu tilted his head and pursed his lips. “Rosita is making a suspicious noise? Or is she drifting again? Oil leak? Something with her accelerator, again?”
Yeonjun smiled impishly, shrugging his shoulders. He held up his hands in a peaceful gesture, deciding to forego any excuse today. There wasn’t anything wrong with Rosita that Yeonjun couldn’t fix on his own, anyway. “No, no. I just came to see you.”
Beomgyu blinked, expression twisting into confusion. “Really? Why?”
It’s funny to watch the confusion twist into suspicion, like he can’t fathom Yeonjun being here for his company (as if Yeonjun hasn’t been making terrible excuses just to justify being in Beomgyu’s company this entire time).
“You’re fun, and I’m bored.” Yeonjun said simply, and then he moved until he was sat beside Beomgyu across the sofa in the lounging corner of the shop. He sunk right into the cushions, which was nice. It was like being embraced by the upholstery, and god knew Yeonjun loved hugs. Beomgyu looked like he would protest but decided not to, just watching Yeonjun like he expects Yeonjun to suddenly bite him.
It’s an intriguing thought, but Yeonjun ultimately dismisses it. He doesn’t bite before the first date, or so the expression goes.
“Right…” Beomgyu muttered, leaning his entire body away from Yeonjun. “That makes no sense.”
Yeonjun just hummed thoughtfully. It was quiet in the garage, no music playing, and Yeonjun briefly wondered why Beomgyu stayed so late when he didn’t have to. The shop had already been closed down for the day, and clearly Beomgyu wasn’t working on anything, so why loiter?
“I had a race yesterday.” Yeonjun announced casually. “I won, of course.”
Beomgyu huffed, “I didn’t ask.”
“Anyway, it got me thinking—”
“Don’t strain yourself too hard.”
Yeonjun shot Beomgyu a sharp look, “Fuck you. Anyway, it got me thinking about how you used to compete, too, and now you don’t.”
“That’s a great observation.” Beomgyu’s lips twist in a small grin. “I didn’t know my absence would be noticed.”
“Yeah, well.” He looked away. “Why don’t you compete anymore?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The grin on the other boy’s face grows a little more playful.
“I’m asking, aren’t I?”
The small laugh from Beomgyu felt like a monumental victory. Yeonjun “How long have you been wanting to ask?”
“Literally this entire time.” Yeonjun admits, a little embarrassed but not so embarrassed he would lie. “I’ve been coming up with theories, actually. Do you want to hear some?”
His head cocked to the side, and he silently gestured for Yeonjun to continue.
Yeonjun started to count on his fingers as he listed them. “My first thought was that you must’ve gotten injured somehow. Broken leg maybe? Arm? Or got into a crash of some kind. Or maybe you almost got caught by a cop and decided to lead the life of an upstanding citizen from the scare. A family emergency was also a theory—like the death of a parent, or something. Did you have a parent that died?” Yeonjun mused. “My money was on this being inherited by you, Hallmark style. Dad died, and the garage would go out of business if you didn’t step up to run it, and discover the magic of loving yourself one busted up car at a time.”
“My parents are very much alive, and healthy.” Beomgyu shook his head, his grin so wide it changed his expression, softened his cute face. “And no, I didn’t crash on my bike.”
Yeonjun pouted. “Damn, okay. Did you lose too many races and decide not to show your face anymore because of the shame? Oh, or did you quit because you’re actually working with the police now?”
“No, and no.” He laughed louder, his body shaking with it. “Any other theories?”
Yeonjun hedged, “Sudden amnesia that made you forget how to drive for six months and by the time you regained your memories, you were too rusty and out of the loop to consider going back to racing?”
This brought the loudest bought of laughter out of the mechanic yet—it echoed in the open space, Beomgyu doubling over and shaking his head. If Yeonjun wasn’t the one being laughed at, he would have found the boisterous laugh cuter than he did as the brunt of the joke.
“No, no amnesia.” Beomgyu gasped as he gathered himself, almost sent into another fit of hysterics at the scowl Yeonjun had fixed on him. His cheeks felt warm. “None of that happened.”
“Then why did you quit suddenly?” Yeonjun demanded.
“I got bored.” It’s said with a shrug and a helpless grin. “It wasn’t exciting anymore, so I just took my money from the last race I did and stopped going. I know it’s not nearly as dramatic of a reason as you were theorizing, but that’s the truth. I used to race because it was fun, and thrilling, and I liked the adrenaline of doing something taboo, and then one day it wasn’t as fun, and it was tedious, and I was bored, so I just stopped.”
“Just like that?” Yeonjun asked, unsure how to feel about the response.
“Just like that.” Beomgyu confirmed, stretching his arms out above his head with a grunt and relaxing into the cushions more. “You did get something right, though; this was my dad’s business. I run it now because I want to, though, not because he can’t.”
“Well, that’s kind of anticlimactic.” Yeonjun slumped back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling with a pout. “I was really thinking you had some kind of tragic backstory. You really don’t have anything tragic about leaving?” Beomgyu hummed to confirm. Yeonjun whined, “Well, what about how you got into the scene? There’s gotta be something about that. Were you a rebellious, angsty son? Is street racing your way of getting away from something in your life?”
“You watch too many dramas.”
"Answer my question."
He can actually hear the eye-roll response bleeding into Beomgyu's tone. "No. My dad showed me the scene, actually. He used to race--legally, illegally, it was all the same to him. It seemed like fun, so I tried it out, had a good run, and now I'm here, fixing up one busted up motorcycle at a time for guys like you and pretty happy about it." He paused, and then added thoughtfully, "My dad also taught me how to fix up cars. He helped me mod my first bike, and made sure I knew what I was doing so I wouldn't kill myself out there. My dad is a huge car guy, if you couldn't tell. He's great. Actually, I think he's disappointed I never went into professional racing like he did, but he seems happy that I'm happy fixing things up."
Yeonjun digested the response silently, turning over every detail in his mind for a long time until he finally sighed dramatically. "You mean I'm not the only racer you help out?" He turned to face Beomgyu with a stricken expression, only half joking. "You mean I'm not special to you?"
When the mechanic cackles and says, "Absolutely not," Yeonjun decided that he had been quite nice and peaceful for long enough for that night.
Yeonjun huffs, splaying himself out over the armrest, his head upside down and staring at the open garage. It was kind of nice to feel the blood rush to his head like this, and the deep stretch of his spine did wonders for him. "That's not fair. You're special to me."
"I'm sure." Beomgyu placates.
Yeonjun lifts his head, glaring at Beomgyu. The other boy is staring at him oddly, almost guilty when his eyes snap up to Yeonjun's face from where they had been focused on where his shirt had begun to ride up. When Yeonjun smiles, it's with devilish delight.
"You are." Yeonjun assures, folding himself back into a regular sitting position. "You're not my usual type, but..."
"What?" A startled look makes Beomgyu's cute round eyes widen comically. "Your type? What are you talking about?"
"I'm telling you you're special to me," Yeonjun reminds him. He scoots closer to Beomgyu, a little offended when the boy starts to lean back to get away from him, suddenly looking weary. "It's a compliment, cub. You're too cute, you're throwing a wrench in my usual type."
Yeonjun's usual type, as described by Taehyun, was what the queer community liked to call 'bears.' As Taehyun has helpfully informed Yeonjun, he had a tendency to seek out men who were older than him, bigger than him, and typically had a bit of a gruffer personality that Yeonjun delighted in picking at. As Yeonjun's best friend and platonic love of his actual life, Taehyun was uniquely aware of Yeonjun's past hook-ups with men that had a liking for shutting up Yeonjun's smart mouth. They were rarely good at it, and Yeonjun was very good at getting under people's skin, but it was at least fun to see them try to handle Yeonjun.
Taehyun said Yeonjun liked 'dad bods' and well. Yeonjun couldn't disagree. He wasn't strictly into burlier men, but he knew he gravitated towards them. He could appreciate all kinds of partners and positions, and even delighted in the occasional partner that he could break down in bed, but the trends said Yeonjun's type typically sided with finding men like Moojin that would entertain Yeonjun for the night.
"Your type?" Beomgyu repeated incredulously, drawing Yeonjun out of his musings. "What are you even talking about?"
"Beomgyu, what's your type?" Yeonjun ignores him, too curious. "Oh, can I guess? I bet I can figure out what your type is easily. I'm really good at that sort of thing."
Beomgyu sputters, "What? No. Why are you..."
Yeonjun pouts. "Come on, it'll be fun. Look, it can be a game. I'll try to guess what your type is, and you guess mine, and we'll see who is right. It'll be fun."
The boy squints his eyes at him, "I don't care what your type is."
"I didn't ask if you cared, I just want to know if you can guess it." He shrugs, wiggling his finger in the air. "Unless you're sure you'll lose. Ah, I guess that's fair. No one is as good as I am at guessing these sorts of things. I wouldn't want to play either if I wasn't observant."
Beomgyu's lips are thin. "I know what you're doing. No. I'm not playing."
"Please?"
Beomgyu shakes his head again, turning back to his phone and starting his usual routine of ignoring Yeonjun's presence. It makes his blood boil to be snubbed so easily; that's always been Yeonjun's problem. Maybe he'd grown spoiled by how much he was doted on before. Maybe Taehyun was onto something when he said Yeonjun was too used to getting attention and eager for it. All Yeonjun knows is that he really doesn't appreciate the way Beomgyu just easily turns from him and goes on as if Yeonjun isn't right there.
"Don't ignore me." Yeonjun demands. "That's rude."
"You're rude." Beomgyu counters. "I'm just refusing to engage your shit."
"It's just a game, Beomgyu." He crosses his arms, "Why do you hate fun so much? It's like you've never heard of it."
Beomgyu sighs, finally setting his phone aside, and he gives Yeonjun an expectant look. Yeonjun grins, shifting in his seat and relaxing his arms.
"You'll play then?" Yeonjun chirps.
Beomgyu gestures for Yeonjun to speak, "Sure. If it gets you to stop. Do your thing, Sherlock. Tell me what my type is."
"Gym rats." Yeonjun immediately says, giggling to himself when Beomgyu looks taken aback. "Sorry, sorry. You look like you'd be into big guys. Muscle-y guys. Most of them eat, live, and breathe at the gym for that, so...gym rats are your type. Am I right?"
Beomgyu laughs a little. "What makes you think I like beefy guys?"
Yeonjun vaguely gestures to Beomgyu's general physique with his hand, laughing when Beomgyu looks almost offended. "Look at you. You're a--"
"Don't say it."
"--twink." Yeonjun finishes unapologetically. "Very cute, kind of bratty. You look the type to like guys that would put you in your place. Probably the type that would throw you around a little in bed."
"Is that so?" Beomgyu tilts his head thoughtfully, "So, you're basing what you think I like based on what I look like?"
"And your attitude." He points out cheerfully. "You're bitchy, and bratty. You're super cute, too. The thing you have with the bears? There's no way you're not into bears, too. You know?" He winks at Beomgyu at the end of his joke.
"Bratty." Beomgyu echoes, sounding incredibly amused. "You are telling me I'm bratty?"
"I call it as I see it." He shrugs helplessly.
"Uh-huh." The mechanic nods slowly. "And you would know all about brats, wouldn't you?"
Giddiness stirs in Yeonjun's belly as he grins, "I know a thing or two."
"I bet you do." Beomgyu looks him over, meeting his eyes with so much mirth Yeonjun can't help but broaden his smile, turning it sweeter. "Is it my turn to guess now?"
"Tell me if I'm right first."
"Sure." Beomgyu agrees, leaning in. He is looking at Yeonjun again, his attention fully on him. It makes Yeonjun squirm, the motion caught by Beomgyu. "Yeah, you're right. I like guys bigger than me. Who doesn't? They're hot."
Yeonjun grins, "I knew it. I told you I was good at this guessing game."
Beomgyu nods, humming. "You forgot something though."
"What?" Curiosity peaked, he scooted even closer. "Big dicks? You seem like you'd be into that."
A shrug. "Who isn't?" Beomgyu smiles cutely at Yeonjun, looking like a cute little teddy bear in the cute oversized clothes he wears. "A big guy with a big dick is hot. Who doesn't love a hung bottom?"
Yeonjun blinks. "Huh?"
Beomgyu goes on, still sweetly smiling and even leaning in with his eagerness. It makes Yeonjun squirm to feel the weight of those eyes suddenly. "Yeah, you know what I really like about guys bigger than me?" Yeonjun makes a curious sound, unaware of the way he has started to hang onto every word, that he has leaned into Beomgyu's orbit. Beomgyu, too, has come far closer than he ever has, so much so Yeonjun could count his bottom eyelashes if he wanted. "I like taking big guys and their egos and fucking it out of them. There's something really hot about putting someone bigger than you in their place, don't you agree? Beefy guys always meet me and think they know how the night is going to go. They always assume I'm going to be the one with my ass in the air, and they always make the cutest sounds when it's them being stuffed full of cock."
Yeonjun's breath hitches. He laughs nervously. "What?"
Beomgyu's smile doesn't look sweet anymore. It's starting to feel a little cocky, the confidence settling in more and more as he continues to casually remark, "It's funny, actually. I think most guys just assume that because they're bigger than their partners, they have to top. They're so used to being pushed into that role and when they suddenly are the ones being taken care of, wrecked, fucked--it's like they don't know what to do with themselves, and it's so cute!" He giggles cutely--Yeonjun almost jumps out of his own skin when Beomgyu's hand rests on his knee, leaning some of his weight on it to inch closer to Yeonjun. He feels dizzy. "You agree, right Yeonjunnie? That rush of watching their egos die because they feel so good, and knowing you're smaller but you still have them in the palm of your hand. It's hot. They're so whiny, too. My favorite part, though..." He squeezes Yeonjun's knee, not breaking the eye contact when Yeonjun feels himself freeze. "Is how pathetic they get when they finally accept they can't do anything but lay there and take it. I like watching bigger bottoms realize that it doesn't matter that they could easily overpower me—because I know what I look like, Yeonjunnie. I'm well aware—anyway. I like watching them get so fucked out they don't care that they could easily overpower me because all they're thinking about is how good it feels getting fucked, and it's so pathetic it's endearing. That is what I like about big, beefy men. The rush and the power that they don't realize I can hold over them, because at the end of the day, all it takes is just a little dick and they're just as mindless as everyone else. You get it, don't you Yeonjunnie?"
Yeonjun doesn't think he's breathing. Beomgyu is smiling at him still, cute and mean, and though he asks a question like he expects Yeonjun to answer, he doesn't seem surprised when Yeonjun just gapes.
"You get it, don't you?" Beomgyu repeats, tone mocking. "Since you're so familiar with brats, Yeonjun-ah."
Yeonjun feels like one of those fish at an aquarium--wide eyed and stupid, gaping and with cotton in his ears. He swallows--the grip on his knee is firm and unyielding. "Oh." He stammers.
"Oh." Beomgyu mocks, "That's all you can say? You usually have so many words, where'd they go?"
The words have gone on an impromptu vacation. The words Yeonjun usually has at his disposal are gibberish and he can't do anything but stare and gape and try not to think of the heat of the hand on his knee, the fact that Beomgyu must have used that same hand to hold someone down to have his way with them, if his words are anything to go by.
Beomgyu watches him for a moment in silence, then he casually remarks, "It's my turn to guess, right? You said I'm not your usual type, so I guess pretty boys aren't your thing. You like men that are big enough to throw you around, too, don't you? Big, broad men that have no issues shutting you up and knocking your attitude down a few pegs. Do you like them older, too? You look like you like them older--brats usually like older men, don't they?"
Yeonjun shakes his head, still unable to speak.
"Am I wrong?" Beomgyu hums. Yeonjun makes an odd sound he isn't quite familiar with, and would later be mortified to remember, but it makes Beomgyu's gaze snap to his lips, makes him lean in so close Yeonjun can feel the way he exhales delicately on his skin. "Tell me; am I wrong, Yeonjunnie?"
Yeonjun can’t respond. He doesn’t realize his eyes have wandered until he finds himself very fixated on the shape of Beomgyu’s lips, his mouth dry. He wants them all over him.
Against Yeonjun’s will, images start to flood his mind. Against his will, he thinks of those lips hovering over him, thinks of the words they might utter, the way they would be wet and red with kisses. Those lips and the things they promised: Beomgyu, smaller but confident enough to pin Yeonjun down, enjoying it as he would bend Yeonjun over and fuck him. Beomgyu, laughing at him in that sickeningly sweet mocking tone, buried deep inside of Yeonjun, carving his way inside of him. Beomgyu putting him in his place, because he said he liked it. Beomgyu likes to put men in their place—he likes humbling them.
Pathetic, Beomgyu had said. He thinks it’s pathetic, but cute, and he enjoys the power he has over people. Pathetic, says the flash of an illusion of Beomgyu, mean, and Yeonjun can almost feel the way the hard hand on his knee would wrap around his cock, or maybe even Yeonjun’s throat. Maybe he would squeeze those fingers until Yeonjun was gasping for breath, clawing at him, shaking with how good it felt, and he might whisper pathetic to Yeonjun as he drilled his cock into him, might whisper pathetic when Yeonjun thrashed and mouthed off.
Pathetic Yeonjunnie, the fantasy of Beomgyu coos at him. So pathetic, and for what? Dick? Are you such a whore you—
Yeonjun whimpers softly, leaning in. He licks his lips, and he just barely breathes, “Gyu—”
Beomgyu’s eyes grow wide, suddenly, and he snatches his hand back like he’s been burned. Hastily, Beomgyu pushes himself away from Yeonjun, standing up and turning his back, and Yeonjun just startles and almost falls forward with how off-kilter he suddenly feels. His head is buzzing, skin tingling, desire curling in his stomach.
“Go home.” Beomgyu tells him, not turning to him. He runs his hands through his hair, his voice strained as he adds, “I played your game, so go home.”
Yeonjun swallows, and he leaves without another word, his mind reeling.
At home, Yeonjun greets Taehyun with a distracted smile and an excuse that he needs to shower, and he locks the door and turns the water on, letting the spray wash over him as he tries hard to burn away the buzzing in his skin with the hot water.
Pathetic, whiny brat, says the delusion Beomgyu in Yeonjun’s mind, so clear Yeonjun could close his eyes and imagine it was the mechanic whispering it into his ear. Can’t do anything but take it.
Yeonjun can’t help the way he leans against the wall of the shower, and he certainly can’t help the way he reaches down with his non-dominant hand and takes a hold of himself, stroking his cock quickly and desperately. He can’t help but muffle the way he wants to whine and plead for the image of Beomgyu to put him in his place. He can only hope the sound of the water drowns out the wet sound of his hand on his cock, or the weak, muffling moan he fails to bite back when he comes over the shower tiles, or the way he shakes in the aftershocks, his mind granting him the image of it being a certain mechanic’s hand squeezing him, a certain breathy voice warm against his ear murmuring, pathetic pathetic pathetic Yeonjun-ah. So pathetic.
(This might not have been the domino that fell, but it had certainly been the breeze that pushed over.)
▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
Everyone had a snapping point.
Yeonjun’s restlessness was unbearable that evening when he discovered Beomgyu’s. There was supposed to be a race that evening, but it had been canceled due to the downpour of rain that had been going on since early that afternoon. Yeonjun had spent the entire week anticipating the race to burn off his energy, and for it to suddenly be canceled left him buzzing in his skin, his mood a little worse than it had been when he had woken up that morning. The energy had been building for days now, unable to be burned off no matter what he did.
Yeonjun’s problem had always been boredom; once again, he had decided to make it Beomgyu’s problem.
Just as he always was, Beomgyu was in Angel’s Repairs working on fixing up the beat up car Yeonjun had spotted before. Blasting on the overhead speakers this time was the most expected rock music, a shift from the indie and city-pop that Yeonjun had grown used to hearing from Beomgyu. The other man wasn’t paying attention to Yeonjun’s arrival, too busy with where he was laying and examining the carefully elevated car. Yeonjun shrugged off his soaked jacket, leaving him in a fitted long-sleeved shirt and his cargo pants, and though Yeonjun’s footsteps squeaked across the polished flooring, Beomgyu didn’t even look at him. Yeonjun scowled.
Beomgyu doesn’t acknowledge Yeonjun until he has sidled up at his feet, crouching down and poking his thigh. Beomgyu yelps, kicking blindly at Yeonjun before rolling himself out from beneath the car, swearing up an impressive variety of expletives as he staggered to his feet; his face was red, his hair a mess, and he jabbed an accusatory finger harshly into Yeonjun’s chest as he met his eyes, already angry.
“What are you working on?” Yeonjun greeted innocently, batting Beomgyu’s hand away.
Beomgyu hissed, “You could have gotten me killed! What if I sat up and hit the car? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Yeonjun rolled his eyes. “But you didn’t, so no harm done. Anyway, what are you working on? Anything interesting?” It didn’t look particularly interesting to Yeonjun. It looked like a family van that needed dull maintenance—surely Beomgyu could walk away from it for the evening.
“Why are you here?” Beomgyu stressed. “Didn’t you have a race today?”
“Aw, you keep up with my races?” He cooed, leaning to pinch Beomgyu’s cheeks between his fingers. He laughed as Beomgyu almost instinctively bit the air where his fingers had been before Yeonjun snatched them back out of reach. “That’s sweet. It got rained out, though, so I had nothing better to do and decided to come visit my favorite mechanic for some entertainment.”
“I’m your only mechanic,” Beomgyu corrected, stepping back. “And I regret agreeing to it every day.”
“But you haven’t quit yet.” Yeonjun teased in a melodic tone. “Do you secretly like my company, Beomgyu-yah? You can admit it, you know. I’m quite the charmer, I know.”
Beomgyu’s nose scrunches like he’s smelled something foul. “No, you’re annoying. I’m starting to think Moojin was onto something when he said he wasn’t being paid enough for…all of this.”
Light and unbothered, Yeonjun simply said, “You should smile more, Beomgyu. You’re much prettier when you do.” Yeonjun’s fingers feel twitchy—his body feels like it’s on the verge of bursting at the seams, and he isn’t sure if the pressure in his chest is from the pent up energy or his own irritation over his abruptly spoiled plans.
Beomgyu grits his teeth. “I really am not in the mood tonight.”
Yeonjun cocks his head with a smile and a coo, “Oh? I’m sure I could help you with that, if you want. I’m very good at setting the mood.”
Beomgyu takes another step back from Yeonjun, looking a little flustered but still maintaining the stern set of his frown. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Maybe.” He offered casually, like it didn’t matter, like Yeonjun’s fingers weren’t twitching and itching to grasp at the soft skin hidden beneath the hideous work overalls Beomgyu was always wearing. He would be just as pretty under his clothes as his face was—Yeonjun bets he would flush down to his shoulders, red and addicting. Would it extend to his dick, too? If Yeonjun held Beomgyu on edge long enough, would his cock be red and weepy under his touch? Beomgyu seemed the sensitive type. Yeonjun wondered how big it was, if he would be able to hold it in one hand. Would Beomgyu let him or would be get straight to business? Yeonjun might be aware of Beomgyu’s bedroom preferences now, but that didn’t mean Yeonjun couldn’t push him and play with him beforehand. Foreplay was a wonderful, amazing thing when done right. “I could be flirting, if you want me to be.”
Beomgyu doesn’t reply at first, then he squints suspiciously at him. “Are you drunk?”
“No.” He laughs. “Believe it or not, I don’t drink and drive.”
“Okay, well, I really am not in the mood for this tonight.” Beomgy runs a hand through his hair and puts more space between them with a shake of his head, like he’s physically dislodging whatever he’d been thinking. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but I’m tired, and I don’t have the patience or energy to deal with you. Go bother someone else.”
The itch of unreleased energy urges Yeonjun to close the distance between them, to back Beomgyu into the wall and kiss him senseless to see if he kept up the serious persona then. He had thought it would be so easy to rile Beomgyu up until he was begging Yeonjun to have his way with him—he looked like the type that just needed a little push to fall apart. Now, he wonders if riling him up meant Beomgyu would surprise him the way he had before. What noise would Beomgyu make if Yeonjun kissed him suddenly? Would he gasp? Would he whine if Yeonjun pressed their hips together? What shade of red would Beomgyu turn when Yeonjun put his full attention into flirting and getting Beomgyu into his bed, egging him on to see if Beomgyu really meant the words he said. Was he just talking out of his ass? Maybe Beomgyu was just saying it to get a reaction out of Yeonjun, and he didn’t actually have a way to back up his claims of being the type to turn large men into whimpering messes. The itchy-buzzing impulsive nag tells him to find out, and he partially listens.
Yeonjun follows Beomgyu, reaching out to tuck some of Beomgyu’s hair behind his ear. Just like every other time Yeonjun has touched him, he finds his hand slapped away from Beomgyu. His eyes are wide and startled.
“You’re blushing.” Yeonjun giggles. “Do I make you nervous?”
Beomgyu doesn’t dignify that with a response. He turns from Yeonjun with a final disgusted curl of his lip and returns to where he had set up his phone, changing the music that had been playing. He doesn’t look at Yeonjun again as he goes back to his work. The silent treatment.
He won’t look at Yeonjun. He won’t acknowledge him. Yeonjun is a live wire, sparking and dangerous. One wrong touch would set him ablaze—one spark astray and he would take everything down with him.
Look at me.
From then on, nothing Yeonjun did could get anything more than a short, agitated glance from Beomgyu. No matter how much Yeonjun poked and prodded for responses, he is left with no reaction. Rummaging through Beomgyu’s snacks, stealing his drinks, and even spilling the drink on the ground does nothing more than get a long sigh from Beomgyu, but no words and barely even a glance. Yeonjun changes the music by connecting his own phone to the Bluetooth speakers and playing something random from his own playlist. This time, Beomgyu freezes in his work, his hands squeezing into fists and Yeonjun watched with rapt attention as Beomgyu carefully closed his eyes and just breathed a few times before he silently reconnected to the speaker and changed the music.
Yeonjun changed the song again, another random song blasting in the garage. It’s loud and upbeat, bass heavy, and Beomgyu once again closes his eyes and then changes it back to a mellow city pop song Yeonjun doesn’t recognize.
Yeonjun changes it to heavy metal.
Beomgyu returns to something almost melancholic.
Twice more, Yeonjun changes the music—this time, he plays Shooting Stars by the Raiders, and then Daddy Issues by The Neighborhood, watching for any sign of a response, and twice Beomgyu wordlessly reconnects his own phone to the speaker.
Yeonjun bites down the disappointment.
Fine. If Beomgyu wanted to be an uptight boring prick tonight, then Yeonjun would be more than happy to allow him to stew in his own shitty attitude. The itch beneath his skin makes Yeonjun more irritable, a little more reckless, and he needed to soothe it away before it drove him insane. Yeonjun was bored, and boredom was the worst fate for Yeonjun. He fled to Beomgyu’s office, making himself a shitty cup of coffee and drinking it to warm up his phones as he thought through his options.
Beomgyu really wasn’t going to play along tonight. Reasonably, Yeonjun knew it was time to admit and accept defeat and find something else to occupy his time with, but he was reluctant to leave. If he couldn’t race to expend the energy, and Beomgyu wasn’t playing along, then Yeonjun didn’t have any choice but to leave. It was obvious that Beomgyu wasn’t receptive to Yeonjun’s advances, and though Yeonjun liked challenges, he wasn’t the type of person who hit on people that were clearly not interested.
Yeonjun set the coffee down on the table when it burned his tongue, grimacing at the pain and numbness of his tongue.
Sighing again, Yeonjun moves to sit in the large chair, pulling his phone out and starting to scroll through his contacts. He’s sure someone will be available tonight—it’s a rainy, Friday night after all. Maybe someone else has an itch in their skin they need to soothe, plans canceled for the shitty weather. Yeonjun is banking on that.
It’s as he is scrolling his phone that Yeonjun realizes that the desktop computer in the office is on, and is unlocked. The home screen displays what appears to be a spreadsheet detailing customer appointments, and a social media page. Yeonjun can’t help it—he snoops.
It’s Beomgyu’s social media. His Instagram, to be precise. It looks like he’d grown bored enough he’d been scrolling through it when he had been in the office, and must have forgotten to close it. Yeonjun navigates to his profile, curious over what the man posts. He’s greeted with the perfect, curated page of someone who is very good at playing into the “boyfriend” aesthetic. Yeonjun is actually impressed—with how prissy Beomgyu was, Yeonjun hadn’t expected the man to even take pictures of himself, much less take photos that made up an almost retro style Instagram page. He scrolls down dozens of posts, spotting a few photos of two boys Yeonjun doesn’t recognize, but are tagged in the post. Engrossed, Yeonjun goes to their profiles, and is fascinated by how normal these two look.
There’s a photo on one of their pages that features Beomgyu and the third friend, and they’re all smiling at the camera, big and broad, captioned “Finally home!” Yeonjun thinks the grin on Beomgyu’s face is incredibly endearing, and notes he has whisker dimples.
He’s so engrossed by the posts he finds that he doesn’t see the door to the office open, and startles when he hears Beomgyu snap, “What the fuck?”
It is an unfortunate fact that Yeonjun is actually quite easy to scare. He doesn’t like horror movies, or haunted houses, or people creeping up on him when he is in the middle of deep diving and stalking their Instagram feeds when he knows he’s not supposed to.
Yeonjun startles, jumping away from the computer with no subtlety, his elbow flailing in his attempt to look like he wasn’t clicking away at the mouse and knocking into the cup of coffee he had set aside. It spills over, of course, right onto a stack of papers Yeonjun hadn’t realized were actually that close to the coffee.
Yeonjun swears again, getting up when the coffee also spills into his lap, and he’s hit with hot coffee and trying to quickly pick up the stack of papers, and also his phone he had set aside, and Beomgyu is suddenly right beside him. He’s angry, that much is obvious, as he rips the papers that are soaked from Yeonjun’s hands, tearing some of them, and with his empty hands, Yeonjun hastily tries to dry the coffee.
“Sorry, sorry. I wasn’t snooping, I swear—” Yeonjun babbles, feeling honest to god a little guilty over the mess. He hopes he hadn’t gotten coffee on anything important. “Do you have paper towels? I can clean—”
Beomgyu is already hastily shoving a long line of paper towels onto the mess, soaking through immediately with the hot coffee, and Yeonjun can only watch as it happens. He feels guilty, really guilty, and when he tries to help, Beomgyu pushes him away. Left with no choice, Yeonjun awkwardly half stands, half sits on the desk chair, coffee stain on his pants soaking through.
The paper towel roll is used up in soaking through the mess—the office is dead silent.
Beomgyu is bracing himself on the edge of the desk, his hands in tight fists, and Yeonjun swallows. “Sorry. Was anything important—”
He doesn’t expect the fury twisting Beomgyu’s expression as he whirls on Yeonjun. He doesn’t expect the way the mechanic pushes Yeonjun back so hard he stumbles into the chair and it rolls back, and he certainly doesn’t expect the way Beomgyu follows him and forces him to look up at him. He’s so stunned by the reaction, Yeonjun can only gape, wide eyed, up at Beomgyu.
Beomgyu’s voice is low, carefully controlled but shaking with anger. “Was that on purpose? Did you do that on purpose?”
Yeonjun can’t shake his head, so he says, “No, I—”
“Didn’t mean to?” Beomgyu finishes for him, sounding condescending. “You didn’t mean to snoop through my computer and then ruin the assignments on the desk? You didn’t mean to make a mess when all you’ve been doing today was make messes for me to clean up and pissing me off like it’s a fucking game to you.”
The itch in his skin has gone quiet at the sight of Beomgyu, somehow towering above him with the way Yeonjun is sitting, and how he has closed the distance between them and is face to face with Yeonjun, standing between his legs. Yeonjun is uncomfortably aware of the position, of how he is gripping the arm rests of the chair, and how Beomgyu leans in until he’s the only thing in Yeonjun’s vision.
The fingers digging into his cheek hurt a little, Yeonjun distantly realizes.
“Are you…” Yeonjun clears his throat, his voice coming out clearer. “Are you actually mad?”
“Yes.” It’s said like Yeonjun is stupid to ask. The itch crawls up and threatens to swallow him whole. “I’m pissed, and I want you to leave.”
He feels restless when he slowly stands, like a live wire, like something inside of him is shifting. Beomgyu watches him closely the entire time, sharp and like he wishes Yeonjun would just hurry, and there’s something to be said about how his jaw looks sharper when he clenches it, how his eyes—usually round and soft, too cute and matching a too cute face—have hardened with the anger. He stands straighter, even, no longer slouching. Yeonjun itches all over.
“And if I don’t?” Yeonjun asks, quiet and a little nervous, but he smiles and delights in how Beomgyu’s eyes flash. “If I decide I want to stay?”
Beomgyu is far too cute, Yeonjun thinks to himself. He’s so, so cute. Even when he’s trying to look intimidating, he’s adorable. Yeonjun wants to break that expression down. He wants that expression to twist into something else. He wants to know how that expression changes if Beomgyu does what he had claimed he likes to do, if he would look cute when he was angry and snapping back at Yeonjun in a different context.
Look at me.
Yeonjun wants to push and push and see what happens, see what Choi Beomgyu is like when he finally snaps. He wants to know what exactly the cute boy that puts bear stickers on his motorcycle would be like when Yeonjun annoyed him beyond his limit. Could Beomgyu really be the type to reduce a man to tears? Was Beomgyu actually able to back up his bold claims?
Could he handle Yeonjun who has ended up being too much for so many partners that claimed they could handle him? Would Beomgyu be any different, or would Yeonjun prove to be too stubborn and end the night making Beomgyu cry into the sheets after all, just like he usually does?
Yeonjun itches, and itches, and only stepping around the desk soothes it. Reaching out his hand to tilt Beomgyu’s chin up to meet his eyes soothes the itch; smirking at him, because this is exactly what Yeonjun wanted, soothes the itch.
“Are you going to make me leave?” Yeonjun asks, sweet and fake. “With those arms? You’re so cute, Beomgyu.”
Beomgyu glares at him, unreadable, even as Yeonjun slowly closes the distance between them, checking to see if Beomgyu will pull away. Beomgyu’s eyes briefly flick to watch the way Yeonjun wets his lips with a quick dart of his tongue, then back to meet Yeonjun’s eyes. He exhales shakily, closes his eyes, and then pushes Yeonjun away from him.
Yeonjun stumbles, blinking as Beomgyu follows after him, much to his surprise. His face is red, even his ears, and he looks like he would rather be anywhere but here as he clears his throat, and still he is closing in on Yeonjun.
“I know what you want.” Despite the uncomfortable way he stands, and the defensive posture, Beomgyu’s eyes are hard and unwavering. He gestures to the front exit. “And I’m not going to give it to you. I don’t reward bad behavior with attention. So, get out. Maybe learn how to actually behave, for once.”
“Are you serious?” Yeonjun asks, not recognizing his voice for a moment. “You—You can’t just…”
All he gets is a quiet, persistent glare, and a bubble of incredulous laughter comes out of him. Beomgyu doesn’t even react, just waits until Yeonjun straightens up. He goes through the exit, Beomgyu following him as if making sure Yeonjun really does leave, and Yeonjun finds that the itch under his skin has become unbearable. It makes it difficult to breathe, makes him twitchy and feel uncentered, and the entire drive home is a blur of city lights and Yeonjun’s own racing thoughts.
(Later that night, he’d dreamt of the boy, pinning him with just a glare, Yeonjun’s name on his lips, sweet with an edge, and how he would look on his knees before Yeonjun, what sounds he would make, the word pathetic and reward echoes in his dreams, and Yeonjun had woken with sweat on his brow and the itch stronger than ever in his veins. Behave, haunts him as he wakes.)
▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
The next day, Yeonjun goes back. He pokes at Beomgyu again, and again, and gets no response. It seems he must have figured out a reaction is what Yeonjun wanted, and he was determined not to give one to Yeonjun.
Maybe it’s to deter him, but all it really does is make Yeonjun itch harder to spark that same kind of reaction from Beomgyu again. It had fascinated him, excited him even, to see that the quiet, almost shy boy flush with anger. Yeonjun wanted, no he needed, to see it again. He needed to memorize it and capture it in his memories.
Beomgyu pissed off was fun. It was the most interesting thing that had happened in days.
So, Yeonjun went back. Again, and again, and he did everything in his power to agitate Beomgyu, and again and again, Beomgyu refuses to give him the reaction he is needling him for. Sometimes, all Yeonjun will get is a knowing, reproachful stare from Beomgyu, like the man is telling him “I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.”
Yeonjun has never been known to back down from a challenge. Look at me.
One day, he’s almost buzzing with the pent up energy. He feels like a live wire, and something about the way Beomgyu immediately dismisses him with a glance and resumes his work, not even greeting Yeonjun. It’s like he’s not even there, and something about that sets Yeonjun off.
Yeonjun didn’t ask for a lot; all he wanted was to watch the way Beomgyu reacted to being teased. All he wanted was to continue their game of tug-of-war, to see what would happen when Yeonjun poked and poked. He wanted to know what would happen if he pushed further, to see if there was yet another side to Choi Beomgyu that he didn’t know. Yeonjun was greedy—he wanted to know all there was about the only man that had intrigued him from day one. He wanted to watch every minute shift of Beomgyu’s expression, every creep of a blush on his face, every roll of his eyes in annoyance and, maybe, in pleasure.
But Beomgyu wasn’t giving Yeonjun what he wanted, and Yeonjun always got what he wanted. One way or another, Choi Yeonjun always got what he wanted. What he wants is Choi Beomgyu to look at him; what he wants is for Choi Beomgyu to snap.
Being mean hasn’t worked. No matter how much Yeonjun digs at Beomgyu, tells him he works slow, asks him if he really can lift or handle what is going on with the cars, he doesn’t get more than a raised middle finger. Flirting hasn’t worked, even when Yeonjun all but asks Beomgyu to touch him. He doesn’t acknowledge the suggestive comments Yeonjun makes, the invitations to bring him home, the goads to put his words from before to use and prove he wasn’t lying. Beomgyu ignores him, side tracks him, tells Yeonjun to go home. Pushing and pushing and pushing has only gotten him half glares at best, but no attention. Beomgyu won’t look at him. Beomgyu refuses to look at Yeonjun and he has had enough.
So, Yeonjun spills his coffee.
This time, it’s intentional. This time, the way the hot drink drips onto the soft seats of the car, Yeonjun meeting Beomgyu’s gaze directly, is calculated. This time, Yeonjun is so keyed up he starts smirking the second Beomgyu realizes what he has done, the stain he has created. This time, when Beomgyu pulls Yeonjun out of the car with a tight hand wrapped around his bicep, Yeonjun deadpans in his most insincere voice and looking Beomgyu dead in the eye defiantly, “Oopsie.”
It's obvious he doesn’t mean it. Yeonjun knows that Beomgyu knows that Yeonjun did it on purpose. The way Beomgyu looks at him as he is brought to his feet is as exciting as it is soothing on the itch of his skin; he hadn’t thought Beomgyu would be capable of showing such concentrated frustration. It feeds the part of Yeonjun that has always thrived off of watching his partners work themselves up only to give in to his whims; he liked the rush of seeing others realize it was simply easier to just give Yeonjun what he wanted. One way or another, Yeonjun was a man who knows what he wants and he always get what he wants. Beomgyu is standing on the precipice of fighting Yeonjun’s whims, and giving in. Soon enough, he would realize how much easier dealing with Yeonjun is when he satisfies the itch in his skin. Once it was scratched, Yeonjun could go back to rewarding Beomgyu for being such a good sport about the situation.
It's this thought that keeps Yeonjun smiling even as he allows Beomgyu to press him against the car, and he honestly finds it so cute to see the boy trying to intimidate him that he can’t help but laugh to himself. It’s even cuter when Beomgyu fists the collar of his shirt and shakes him.
Yeonjun teases, “Are you mad?”
Beomgyu grits his teeth. Just a little more, Yeonjun thinks. The itch feels like electricity beneath his veins.
“That’s a scary face.” He continues, watching for the snap of the tension. Look at me. “Sorry, darling. I’m just a bit clumsy. If you had been paying a little more attention to me, maybe it wouldn’t have happened.”
Beomgyu’s lips thin. Just a little more. Yeonjun bets Beomgyu will be even cuter when he crumbles. Just a little more and Yeonjun will get what he wants.
“You piss me off.” Beomgyu finally breathes, his fingers tightening. He’s not coming any closer, and Yeonjun hates it. “Moojin was right; you don’t pay me nearly enough to put up with you.”
Yeonjun giggles, wrapping his fingers loosely around Beomgyu’s wrists. “God, you’re cute when you’re mad.” Keep looking at me.
The disgust that twists Beomgyu’s features is so funny Yeonjun laughs again, tossing his head back with it. He’s still grinning when he finishes with little bubbles of laughter still escaping him, and he meets Beomgyu’s gaze again.
“You’re trying to piss me off.” A pause, then Beomgyu scoffs. “What do you even gain from that? Do you get off on getting on people’s nerves?”
Yeonjun bats his eyes, “Maybe I do. Maybe I like how cute you are when you’re trying to intimidate me.”
The precipice, Yeonjun reminds himself, watching with rapt attention. He wants to see the snap. He’s worked so hard to push Beomgyu here, to watch what he does. Maybe he would be like Moojin—maybe he would quit. Maybe he would blacklist Yeonjun from his garage and disappear just like he disappeared from the racing circuit, leaving Yeonjun scrambling to find a competitor that offered even half of the entertainment Beomgyu used to. Maybe Beomgyu would get too frustrated and cry when he realized nothing he did would deter Yeonjun from his goals. Maybe Beomgyu would fold and decide he would prefer playing along to the game Yeonjun has orchestrated.
Maybe Beomgyu would push back and put some proof behind what he had told Yeonjun before, to what he had admit he likes to do to men bigger than him. Maybe Beomgyu would decide he could handle Yeonjun. Maybe that’s what he wanted.
Come on. Yeonjun thinks, anticipation lighting up his senses. He feels alive, like the itch is seeing the relief on the horizon, like he’s about to step into a cool spring on a hot summer day. Come on, already. I’m waiting. Look at me.
Beomgyu’s voice is lower than Yeonjun expects when he speaks, quieter so he has to almost strain to listen to him, and it’s a tone he hasn’t used before. “You’re such a brat, Yeonjun. It’s not cute.”
He fists Yeonjun’s shirt tighter, steps closer. Pink, wet lips are right within reach, Yeonjun realizes with delight. He can almost taste victory—another round in his favorite game won.
“I’m very cute.” Yeonjun says breathlessly. “You like it, don’t you?”
They’re at a standstill. The energy in his veins sparks and buzzed too brightly, jolts through him like they’re in a frenzy. Soon, he will need an outlet or he will burst apart at the seams. One million bugs are crawling in his chest, digging, seeking a way out. They only calm under Beomgyu’s gaze, and yet they ignite with energy under it too.
“I know what you want.” Beomgyu says slowly, his voice a cruel, mocking croon. “Maybe if you ask nicely for it, I’ll consider giving it to you.”
Yeonjun’s mouth goes dry. He wants to say it, wants to toss the words out and finally end this game they’re playing. He doesn’t even have to mean it—Yeonjun can ask nicely and not mean it, and he gets everything he wants. Still, his mouth won’t form the words. He recoils at the idea of giving Beomgyu this win, at just rolling over and presenting his belly at the first inch of push back that Beomgyu is giving him. Yeonjun wants the entire victory; he wants to win all of the battles, not just the war. He can’t say the words Beomgyu wants to hear. He can’t ask nicely.
Yeonjun wets his lips. “What do I want?”
Beomgyu replies in the same insincere croon, looking at Yeonjun almost pityingly as he gasps when he feels the press of Beomgyu sliding his knee between his legs, his fingers digging into his palms as he feels a shock of heat run through him. “You want me to push back, don’t you? You were acting like such an insufferable brat because you wanted me to push you back into your place, hm?” He shifts his knee higher, startling Yeonjun with the pressure. “You want attention so badly, Yeonjun?”
Yeonjun nods his head minutely, still mute.
“Use your words.” says Beomgyu, somehow managing to make it look like he was the one looking down on Yeonjun despite having to actually look up at him with the way they’re pressed together. “I don’t make it a habit of rewarding bad behavior, so ask nicely.”
The buzzing in his veins and the itch of his skin urges Yeonjun to hang onto the end of every word Beomgyu says, to feel the pressure just shy of being within reach of him. It’s not exactly what he wanted, but he can’t remember if there had ever been anything Yeonjun had particularly wanted to come out of pushing Beomgyu as far as he did; all Yeonjun knows is he had wanted a reaction, and wanted Beomgyu to look at him, wanted his eyes unwavering on Yeonjun. He hadn’t thought far enough to know what he would want once he had achieved that seemingly unreachable step.
Yeonjun can’t find the words, so he shakes his head and grabs at where Beomgyu is still holding him by the collar of his shirt.
“Answer me.” It’s accompanied by harsher pressure between his legs, earning a soft soft from Yeonjun he hadn’t meant to make.
He finds his words then, hears them leave him in a rush of air almost distantly, a challenge issued in a ghost of a breeze of his lungs. “Make me.”
Perhaps those particular words were the wrong ones to use.
Yeonjun can almost hear the shift of Beomgyu’s demeanor, but it’s clear to his eyes that something has changed. It’s in the way Beomgyu releases Yeonjun suddenly but doesn’t move away, in the way his gaze goes from mocking to calculated, how he sees through Yeonjun suddenly, making him shiver.
Beomgyu breathes, “If that’s what you want.”
▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
That brings everything back to this moment: the final domino to fall in the line. This is the thrilling conclusion of the epic saga of Yeonjun pressing Beomgyu’s buttons: the most insane case of uno reverse that Yeonjun has ever experienced. In the madness of the situation, the clouds part and Yeonjun experiences a moment of clear, divine revelation. He has fucked around too much; Yeonjun is finding out.
Perhaps it should have worried him that he was so easily swept up in the flurry of motion, that he was more eager for it than he had expected. Perhaps he should have paused and wondered why the humming of his skin felt like electricity rocking through him when Choi Beomgyu crushed their lips together. The moment their lips touch, though, all of Yeonjun’s should-be-worries are blissfully swept away, silenced by the sound of the relieved sigh Yeonjun lets out. Perhaps if it hadn’t been Beomgyu that was kissing him like he was trying to devour Yeonjun whole, fingers knotted into his hair to pull him in so close he might as well have been trying to callously merge them together into one entity, Yeonjun might have been more reluctant.
Perhaps if Beomgyu hadn’t pulled away to breath and looked at him, actually looked at Yeonjun for the first time, he might have been more inclined to slow things down and process the consequences of the actions he has provoked. But Beomgyu was looking at him. Choi Beomgyu was kissing Yeonjun like he was trying to swallow him up, and he was finally looking at Yeonjun after all of Yeonjun’s attempts to vie for his attention, and it’s all he can do to chase after that precious attention and wring every last drop of it out of Beomgyu for Yeonjun to savor. All he can do is drag Beomgyu close to him, ignoring everything else telling him to think things through when Beomgyu stumbles into him, fingers grasping crudely at every inch of him.
With the taste of strawberries on his tongue and the depths of soft brown eyes just for him, Yeonjun is hit with his epiphany: he understands now why Icarus had flown until he had burned himself alive, ignored the warnings given to him just to feel the blaze of the light’s attention on his skin. Icarus was onto something—if falling through the sky on melted wax wings feels like Beomgyu nipping at his bottom lip harshly and drawing a sharp inhale from Yeonjun, the cold press of the side of the car against his back and a knee sliding in between his legs like the Tantalus’ fruit, then call him Icarus incarnate. This is Yeonjun’s new reality, and he is doing the furthest thing from complaining.
As the French say: c'est la vie.
There are hands everywhere, grasping at skin and pulling on clothes; he brushes against the knee Beomgyu has between them and his body lights up, involuntarily drawing a whine out of him and he tries to very subtly rub against it. Beomgyu shifts it higher, making it just that much easier for Yeonjun to cant his hips against. The hand on his hip is only encouraging him, tightening against his skin each time Yeonjun dares to seek friction out even as he refuses to separate from Beomgyu’s lips.
It’s not what Yeonjun wants though. It’s not enough. The buzz in his skin is back with a vengeance and it makes Yeonjun greedy for more than this taste of what Beomgyu is promising.
He breaks apart, turning his head to seek out the beat-up couch he knows is somewhere in the garage, his head spinning a little at the way Beomgyu immediately grips his jaw and turns his face back to him, pulls Yeonjun back into the kiss.
“The couch.” Yeonjun struggles to say, barely getting the words out with his own haste. “We should—”
If this is going where Yeonjun desperately hopes it is going, he needs to move to somewhere else. The couch is the closest. Beomgyu doesn’t seem to care. He drops his arms to either side of Yeonjun’s hips, bracketing him in and ensuring he doesn’t slip away and then he finds Yeonjun’s lower back, urging him to grind against his leg again. He falters before obliging, but he’s still debating the pros and cons of pushing to go to the couch after all to continue this. It would be easier with something softer below them, and Yeonjun could do more on a sofa, could really show Beomgyu how good he is at using his hips to chase his high, but…
Well, a part of Yeonjun worries that if he pushes too much, Beomgyu will just decide to walk away from him after all, just like in the office. So, instead of risking Beomgyu deciding to withdraw his attention, Yeonjun reaches out behind him to steady himself with his hand on the car, his other hand drifting to Beomgyu’s waistband. The hideous overalls have to go—Yeonjun unzips them with a little struggle, but he’s honestly impressed with himself for being able to do it even when his head swims with no oxygen from keeping up with the fervor of the filthy way Beomgyu kisses. The mechanic helps Yeonjun out by shrugging the top half off, leaving himself in a thin grey t-shirt underneath. Yeonjun shamelessly slips his hands up underneath it to feel the soft, warm skin, and Beomgyu shivers, his knee jerking up.
Yeonjun’s lips part with a silent gasp—not enough pressure, but good. Enough to shamelessly rock his hips into as he slides back down to the belt of Beomgyu’s pants, undoing them with practiced ease. He preens at the feel of Beomgyu’s eyes on him, how he makes it easier for Yeonjun to grind his crotch into his knee even as he doesn’t help Yeonjun with anything else.
He gets Beomgyu’s pants off just far enough to free his cock from where it was rested and wrap his hand around it, nearly dizzy with the weight and feel of it in his hand. Yeonjun dares risk a glance down, to see with his very own eyes the cock eomgyu has been hiding away in those hideous work pants. It’s uncut, and surprisingly pretty, even flushed red and twitching in Yeonjun’s hand as he just stares at it. When he strokes it, pulling back the foreskin a little, the head peeks out cutely, flushed and wet, dribbling with precome. If Yeonjun has to swallow the rush of saliva in his mouth at the thought of licking every drop of come from the head, nobody has to know. That is strictly between him and whatever god hasn’t averted his eyes to what was happening.
Beomgyu has a surprisingly large dick for his size. Yeonjun hadn’t expected it—he’d briefly entertained the thought of Beomgyu being average sized, maybe a little thick if Yeonjun was lucky. He hadn’t expected the decently sized cock in his hands, and really, Yeonjun wants to go back in time and shake himself because if he had known, he would have tried harder to get Beomgyu to fuck him.
“You hid this from me.” Yeonjun glances up at Beomgyu, actually a little upset. “You didn’t tell me you were packing. How dare you hide this from me?”
“Why the fuck would I tell you my dick size?” Beomgyu has the audacity to laugh, though it’s a little breathless. “You wouldn’t have believed me anyway.”
Fair. Yeonjun would have struggled to believe someone so cute would have a dick large enough to make Yeonjun’s body shake with anticipation.
“Touch me.” Yeonjun blurts instead, giving Beomgyu’s cock a few more strokes before pulling his hand back. “Come on, I want you to touch me.”
Beomgyu’s throat bobs as he swallows, applying more pressure against Yeonjun before abruptly pulling away. Yeonjun complains, his face scrunching with displeasure, and then Beomgyu has his hands on Yeonjun’s hips, sliding down them to his thighs and under, giving it a slight tug. Yeonjun takes the hint; he braces himself on the car and hoists himself up onto the hood, giving Yeonjun a more drastic height advantage that seems to entice Beomgyu into kissing along the heated skin of Yeonjun’s throat, sucking a harsh mark into it as Yeonjun situated himself on the edge. Yeonjun’s ankle hooks around the back of Beomgyu’s leg, causing him to stumble closer, his hands sliding out from under his thighs and slowly inching higher. Yeonjun all but thrummed with anticipation as those fingers inch just shy of touching the bulge in his pants, pausing as if he would stop.
Yeonjun rushes to unzip his pants and coax Beomgyu into touching him with a flurry of movement, holding his wrist there as encouragement. “C’mon, c’mon.”
Beomgyu’s fingers wrapped around the outline of Yeonjun’s cock in his pants without any further prompting, a sweet relief yet not nearly enough to satisfy him, and he made that point very clear as he pushed up into the hand, not caring how it looked. Beomgyu was watching him, his attention was all on Yeonjun where it belonged, so he put on a little bit of a show as he urged Beomgyu to apply more pressure, to touch him without holding back; he fluttered his eyelashes more than he normally would, parted his lips and whined softly in the way that always made men scramble to give Yeonjun what he wanted. Beomgyu is not the exception—a little whining and part of his lips and Beomgyu topples like the others.
Over the thin material of his underwear, Beomgyu strokes along the outline of Yeonjun’s cock until it becomes almost painful to feel the fabric scraping along his sensitive skin with one hand, the other drifting over his thighs, and Yeonjun is digging the heels of his feet into Beomgyu’s back, dragging him into another kiss, panting softly into his mouth as little jolts of pleasure travel up his spine. It’s good, but it’s not enough for the type of greedy man that Yeonjun is. He whines again, demanding, “Beomgyu, touch me.”
“I am.” Beomgyu has the nerve to grin, peering up at Yeonjun through long eyelashes. “Isn’t this enough?”
“No.” Yeonjun shakes his head so fast he almost gets whiplash. “It’s not. C’mon. More.”
More, more, more. Yeonjun always wants more. He has always been one to take what he wants, and what he wants is for Beomgyu to give him more. Beomgyu listens to Yeonjun’s requests and pulls him out of where he is painfully straining in his pants, immediately getting to work on stroking along the shaft in a nice, steady rhythm, and Yeonjun wants more. Beomgyu’s fingers on him feel heavenly, hot and perfect, and the way he swipes his thumb over the head to collect the beads of precome from Yeonjun to aid the way he jerks him off makes Yeonjun throw his head back with a low groan, and he wants more.
More, Yeonjun demands as he’s perfectly brought closer and closer to the edge, Beomgyu having stepped so close to him Yeonjun can feel him breathing against his shoulder as he works his hand up and down his cock so sweetly it burns. More he insists, his hips canting up into the touch, fucking into each down stroke and making it that much better. Beomgyu latches his mouth onto Yeonjun’s neck, sucking a mark into it as Yeonjun pleads, more, more, more…
Greedy little things like Yeonjun fuck into the fist like they’ve never been touched before, soaking up every second that Beomgyu looks at him when he pulls back, and then demands more and more until he is being dragged to his feet, stumbling on how unsteady they feel for all of two heartbeats before Beomgyu flips him around and presses his chest flush against Yeonjun’s back. Like this, it’s easier for Beomgyu to impatiently push more of Yeonjun’s pants down and out of the way, letting them pool at his feet as Beomgyu places his hand on Yeonjun’s shoulder and pushes him down until he is flushed and bent over the hood he had just been sitting on.
“More?” Beomgyu rasps into his ear, arms coming around Yeonjun, grabbing his dick again much to Yeonjun’s surprise. “You want more, Yeonjun? It’s not enough to come with my hands on you—you want more?”
Yeonjun moans—Beomgyu’s hands have started a new rhythm, both of them working as his cock and with Beomgyu pressed flush against Yeonjun, the weight of him at his back a steady pressure. “Yes, I want more. I want…” He trails off with a keen as Beomgyu kicks at one of his feet until he’s standing with them spread a little apart, and this time, Yeonjun can feel the hard press of Beomgyu’s dick against his ass, and his brain short circuits a little. Yeonjun blurts, “Fuck, I want—.”
If it weren’t so hot, Yeonjun might be ashamed of the noise he made when Beomgyu rocked his hips into his ass at the exactly moment his hands did something magical that dislodged his brain to mouth filter from its place. Beomgyu’s breathing picks up in response.
“What?” Beomgyu coaxed with a rough voice. “You want what? You want me to fuck you?”
Yeonjun nods wordlessly, dropping his head into his arms on the hood and trying not to burst into flames from the heat of the embarrassment. His whine is muffled each time he feels the promise of Beomgyu’s dick against him, still separated by the clothes.
“Wish I could.” The other boy says almost cruelly, dangling the promise before him only to rip it away. “But we can’t all get what we want. I don’t have a condom, and I refuse to fuck you without one.”
Yeonjun doesn’t think before he is murmuring into his arms. “M’wallet. Gimme my wallet. Back pocket.”
Beomgyu pauses and then he does as asked, slowly taking his hands off Yeonjun’s dick and rummaging for the wallet. When he hands it over, Yeonjun lifts his head just enough to rummage through it and hastily pulls out a little packet of lubricant and a wrapped condom, and he tosses aside his wallet as he blindly shoves the items into Beomgyu’s hands. The boy fumbles them, processing.
“There.” Yeonjun grumbles, “Lube. Condom. Now fuck me before I start getting grey hairs.”
“You just…casually keep these on hand with you?” Beomgyu asks incredulously, not doing anything to come closer to Yeonjun.
“It’s pragmatic and coming in handy right now. Don’t fucking slut shame me right now.” Yeonjun grumbles. He turns his head to see what the other boy is doing, catching his eye almost immediately.
Beomgyu’s eyes are wide, shock still evident in them, as he stares at Yeonjun, and then the items he has in his hands. If Yeonjun didn’t know any better, he would think Beomgyu didn’t know what to do with them, which would be incredibly disappointing after this entire thing. The possibility makes Yeonjun a little irritated, actually. If Beomgyu has done all of this to rile Yeonjun up this much only to falter and choke now that it really counts, he is going to make this boy regret it. If Beomgyu thought Yeonjun was annoying before, he is not prepared for the shit Yeonjun will unleash if all of this was just leading to nothing.
“Do you need me to show you how to use it or something?” Yeonjun snaps, looking up at the wall just beyond the car. The tool rack on it is almost empty and there’s no other decorations to look at.
“I know how to use a condom,” Beomgyu snaps right back.
“Prove it.”
One day, Yeonjun might pause and consider the things he says to antagonize people. Maybe he would stop using combative phrases on people that have proven they have proven to meet his bluff. Maybe one day Yeonjun would not be soaring on his wax wings right into the heat of the sun.
Today is not that day.
Things start to blur together from the moment Beomgyu rips open the packet of lube with an impatient sound. All Yeonjun knows is the cold press of the car against him, the empty wall, and the way Yeonjun’s pants for breath echo in the large open space as Beomgyu starts to quickly and messily stretch him open with his fingers.
It was quick and dirty and there wasn’t enough lube used to ease the discomfort completely, but Yeonjun didn’t mind it when his skin was humming with anticipation, and he could hear Beomgyu quietly swearing as Yeonjun urged him on with breathless goading. Two fingers drilling into him and stretching him hastily open leaves Yeonjun moaning into his arms and pushing back, and three fingers makes him whine. The sting is welcome enough that Yeonjun pushes back against them with harsh pants and whines, and when they accidentally brush against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of him, Yeonjun jolts and chokes on his own breath. He’s impatiently moving, barely letting the sting start to fade before he is demanding more.
He's not sure what he had said, but he knows it had been something like “Beomgyu, god, fuck me already,” that had pushed Beomgyu.
The fingers are ripped out of him, leaving Yeonjun feeling terribly open and empty suddenly, and his complaints are ignored as there’s a rustle of clothes, and between the ragged breathes, he hears when Beomgyu rips open the foil packet, and hears how he hisses when he starts to roll it onto himself, and then Yeonjun is the one holding his breath when he feels the blunt head of Beomgyu’s dick teasing him. He turns his head, meets Beomgyu’s heady gaze and bites back the grin.
Finally.
Beomgyu gaze is piercing and hungry, completely different from what Yeonjun thought he would see. The dichotomy adds to the intrigue if he’s being honest. The shock makes Yeonjun eager to know more, to see if there are more surprises he can discover. It feels like victory to have earned this kind of response, like everything he wanted is in his hands. The promise of being filled up and fucked and the weight of Beomgyu’s attention makes him euphoric, so much so that he shakes with the anticipation of it all.
The head of Beomgyu’s dick pushing inside of him with some difficulty is almost sobering, the sting snapping Yeonjun back to the present. He holds his breath, his body tensing up against his will. He muffles an involuntary whimper of pain into his arms, dropping his head into them; the sound makes Beomgyu pause in his movements, almost painfully holding Yeonjun as they both go still.
“Don’t stop.” Yeonjun complains, voice thick with the pain. “Come on. Don’t stop.”
Beomgyu shallowly pushes in just a little more, hissing when Yeonjun can’t help but clench tight around him, his body locking up. A hand slides up his spine, pinching at the back of his neck and sending a shudder in it’s wake. “It hurts?”
Stubbornly, Yeonjun shakes his head. “Put it in me already, Beomgyu. C’mon. I don’t need you to coddle me. Just…Just fuck me already.” He whines, “I’ve been waiting long enough, just—” He chokes on his words as Beomgyu pushes in another bit, and he gasps, “Yes, keep going. C’mon. I won’t break.”
“You’re so desperate.” Beomgyu comments behind him, voice tight. Yeonjun’s head spins with it, unsure whether he should agree or argue against it.
He’s saved from having to respond as Beomgyu keeps pushing his cock in steadily, filling Yeonjun so thoroughly he can only bit his lip to keep quiet and breathe. As soon as Beomgyu’s hips are flush against Yeonjun’s ass, and he can feel the boy breathing heavy against his back as he leans over Yeonjun, pressing him into the car and subsequently pushing his dick in deeper, Yeonjun moans.
“Need a second?” Beomgyu asks, panting for breath like he’s the one being speared open with a cock bigger than he had been expecting. His voice is raspy against Yeonjun’s ear, earning a grunt from Yeonjun. “Should’ve stretched you more…you’re too tight.”
He can’t help it: Yeonjun sucks in a breath, body locking and tightening around Beomgyu that much more. It makes the other boy gasp, fingertips digging bruises into Yeonjun’s skin, his teeth grazing his shoulder.
“Move.” Yeonjun tells him hoarsely, not giving his body time to adjust. It will feel good soon, and he likes the way it stings anyway. It keeps him grounded in reality when sex is a little painful. “C’mon. Fuck me, don’t just cuddle me.”
Beomgyu bites into Yeonjun’s shoulder again as he thrusts his hips into him shallowly, startling Yeonjun. He pants into the crook of his arms, closing his eyes as Beomgyu lazily grinds his dick into little teasing circles. “Just give me a second, will you?”
“No.” Yeonjun complains. He squirms in place. “Come on, come on. Move already. Or I'll find someone else who can."”
Beomgyu laughing is not the reaction Yeonjun had been expecting. He feels it on his back, the shake of Beomgyu’s body. By his ear, Beomgyu’s laugh is a little breathless.
“Who?” Beomgyu taunts. “Who would fuck you, Yeonjun? Who would put up with your attitude enough to do it? If you had anyone else, you wouldn’t be here begging for my dick.”
Yeonjun feels the heat creep up his cheeks. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Tell me, then.” Beomgyu goads, peeling his chest off of Yeonjun’s back, allowing him to breathe a little easier now that the weight is off. His head feels fuzzy. “Who else is going to fuck you? Moojin? The guy before him? Or the mechanic before that guy?” A mean giggle. “Is that your type? Mechanics?” A pause and another delicate mean laugh. “Do you throw yourself at everyone with a shop?”
“No.” Yeonjun snaps, pushing himself up to turn his glare onto Beomgyu. He doesn’t appreciate the accusations being flung at him.
“But you threw yourself at me so easily.” The mechanic comments with faux innocence. His hand settles between Yeonjun’s shoulder blades, pushing him back down and keeping him there with steady pressure. At the same time, Beomgyu draws his cock out of Yeonjun, making him gasp as he thrusts back in with a harsh slap of skin, and then again a moment later. “It’s like second nature for you, isn’t it?”
“No.” He repeats, breathless. “I don’t. I—”
“Desperate.” Beomgyu cuts him off. “You’re so fucking desperate, then.”
Yeonjun can’t argue—not because he agrees, but because Beomgyu decided he had been patient enough and had begun pushing his cock into Yeonjun faster, harder. Yeonjun wants to argue to defend himself, and maybe if circumstances were different he would have, but he decides it’s not important in the face of letting himself feel the drag of dick inside of him.
Beomgyu isn’t gentle; as soon as he seems to realize Yeonjun is not in any pain, that he is enthusiastically pushing his hips back to meet each of his harsh thrusts with breathy, muffled moans, bracing himself on the hood as best as he can do to so, Beomgyu forgoes all gentleness. He thrusts into Yeonjun like he’s on a mission, like it’s his job to carve and hollow out a space for himself inside of Yeonjun. He’s spurred on by the sounds Yeonjun makes, involuntary whimpers dragged out of him in between panted breaths.
Soon, all Yeonjun knows is the drag and push of Beomgyu’s cock inside of him, the wet sound of it in the open garage, and every soft moan uttered from Beomgyu mixed into Yeonjun’s own appreciative voice, the slap of skin, the panting for breath.
Each sharp nudge of Beomgyu makes the heat pool low in his belly, simmering and growing hotter and brighter. The pleasure sparking through his body builds quickly, faster than Yeonjun had thought it would, and he’s feeling so good he can’t stop how loud he’s starting to become, but he at least tries to muffle it. One particularly well aimed thrust jolts Yeonjun against the car, further up the hood and brushing his own cock against it. Yeonjun just about keens when he feels the cold friction against his sensitive dick.
Every motion rocks Yeonjun into the car, lets him rub against something, and it’s so good he finds he’s getting closer and closer to the blissful orgasm he has been seeking out, the stars bursting behind his eyes.
“Fuck…” Yeonjun whines, low and rough. He is rocked forward again, the head of Beomgyu’s dick hitting the bundle of nerves inside him dead on, and his legs go weak. “Fuck, right there! Oh, god, please, there, do it again, please—”
Beomgyu listens, jamming right into his prostate on the next movement and then grinding his dick long and slow against it. Yeonjun’s body spasms, his mouth dropping open and his spine arching as Beomgyu grabs a fistful of Yeonjun’s hair, pulling Yeonjun’s head up from where he had been hiding it in his folded arms. The sharp pain makes him hiss, blinking his eyes open and startled by the brightness of the garage. He has to adjust to it with a complaint, trying to swat away Beomgyu’s hands. He doesn’t budge.
All Yeonjun can do is thrash against the hold, moaning too loudly, too needy, as he feels like he is being set ablaze. Every part of him is completely lit up, his hands shaking as he brings one up to muffle his mouth. If it weren’t for how he was held up bent over the car, he was sure he would have been too weak in his knees to hold his weight up anymore. Yeonjun’s vision swims with every moment the pleasure simmers and builds, hot and greedy for more, more, more.
“Harder.” Yeonjun gasps, biting down into his palm in the next instant. Beomgyu gives his hair a harsh tug that makes him moan. His hips give a pathetic jerk forward, rubbing his own erection against the car and relieving some of the pressure. He does it again, harder. “More. Give me more. I want…”
“You want you want.” Beomgyu interrupts, slowing down and leaning over Yeonjun again. He grabs the hand that Yeonjun is using to muffle himself, twisting it behind him and pressing it into the base of Yeonjun’s back. “You want your cock touched? I see what you’re doing, you know. Do you even think you’ve earned it? Aren’t you satisfied I’m even fucking you after you’ve pissed me off so much? You don’t deserve it, do you?”
“I do.” Yeonjun shakes his head, writhing. Beomgyu keeps his hand pinned to his back with one hand, his other one still holding Yeonjun’s head up by his hair. He feels too exposed, suddenly, in the open room, and his dick gives a valient twitch at the realization. “I deserve it. I—I deserve it. If you would have given me attention, I wouldn’t have to make you—Oh, f—” Yeonjun cuts himself off with a long, reedy whine. Beomgyu pressed against his sensitive spot is making Yeonjun see the stars without even closing his eyes. He makes a sound that is a cross between a desperate moan and a sob as Beomgyu abruptly pulls out of him.
Hollow and suddenly too empty, too cold, Yeonjun panics. “No, no, why did you stop? Fuck me already, c’mon. You can’t just—”
“You talk too much.”
Yeonjun opens his mouth to protest again, except something Beomgyu is already moving. Releasing him, Beomgyu skims his fingers down Yeonjun’s legs, pulling everything off completely and startling him when suddenly a bundled up mess of fabric is shoved right into his mouth crudely. His eyes widen, turning and staring at Beomgyu, catching his heady, thoughtful gaze as he tries to spit it out. Beomgyu shoves it back in, his fingers digging deeper down Yeonjun’s throat, insistent, and he stops fighting it. Yeonjun’s mouth is stuffed with fabric, he realizes, his body burning, legs shaking harder. Shame coats his insides, makes him burn brighter. With growing mortification, Yeonjun realizes he is still hard, still interested, and the impromptu gag shoved into his mouth has not turned him off in the slightest.
Around the gag, Yeonjun whines. His head is pushed down onto the car, hands brought back to him. Just as Beomgyu repositions himself, his cock nudging Yeonjun’s eager hole again, Beomgyu pauses.
He eases his grip, running his hand gently along his side. Yeonjun startles by this more than he had startled with the gag. Meeting Beomgyu’s eye is difficult, but he manages to catch the uncertainty there.
“Is that too much?” He asks nervously, the confidence completely drained.
Yeonjun swallows with difficulty. Is this too much? Yeonjun is chest to hood with a busted up car in a cold repair shop, one of his hands pinned behind his back and the other helplessly hanging onto nothing above him. He’s bent in half over a fucking car, legs weak and spread as far apart as he can with this position, and there is definitely a sting in his ass from how little preparation they had really done. He’s going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow.
Not to mention the rag Yeonjun has shoved into his mouth is suspiciously familiar; if he were to guess, Yeonjun thinks it might be his underwear, and the thought makes him feel small and filthy. It’s humiliating, degrading, and painful; he’s being treated like a cheap whore, talked to like he is stupid. Yeonjun has a healthy ego that Beomgyu is admittedly bruising with how much he is looking down at Yeonjun for how easily he is being swept up in this filthy hook up. If anyone were to walk in and see Yeonjun right now, he would die. He would die and sob inconsolably, and he would never be able to live with himself if he was discovered like this.
Yeonjun has never been harder in his life.
So, he gives a minute shake of his head, closing his eyes and relaxing against the car, leaning his full weight on it and arching his spine in invitation. Beomgyu doesn’t take it, so Yeonjun has to open his eyes and plead with him silently. He whines.
The tension bleeds out of Beomgyu, then. He smiles, soft and reassured, and runs his hand up Yeonjun’s spine, up the nape of his neck into his head, combs through it with soothing motions. Yeonjun closes his eyes content. The hands are only gentle until Beomgyu slides his cock back inside in one mean thrust, and then they tug, and Yeonjun thanks the gag for swallowing up the sound he had made.
With renewed vigor, Beomgyu resumes his previous brutal pace, jostling Yeonjun forward, making him cry. He doesn’t pulls his head up again, content to letting Yeonjun rest on his cheek and babble around the saliva soaked fabric as he loses his mind all over again.
It doesn’t take long. Not with how close Yeonjun already felt. He knows he’s close when his body starts trembling, the burn too much and nearly painful. He helplessly moans, high stacatto punched out whimpers punctuating each slap of skin on skin.
He’s not sure if Beomgyu even understands him through the gag, but Yeonjun starts pleading, “More. Just a little more. I need a little more, please. I deserve it. Give me more, please.”
“You sound like such a whore…” Beomgyu marvels almost to himself, voice hushed. “Poor Yeonjunnie just wanted a cock in him so bad he forgot how to behave and ask nicely. Such a brat for no reason.” Beomgyu releases the hand he’s pinned to Yeonjun’s back, reaching instead for his leaking dick between Yeonjun’s legs, jerking him off meanly as his hips start to falter. His voice is strained. “This feels painful. Do you want to cum?”
Yeonjun nods frantically, chasing the friction of the fist. He struggles but manages to keep his eyes open to plead with Beomgyu.
“Ask me nicely, then.”
Yeonjun doesn’t even hesitate, too close, his dick burning with the need, his head swimming. “Please, please. I want to cum. Let me cum, please.”
Beomgyu’s expression morphs into pity again, “I can’t understand you, Yeonjunnie. Speak up. Use your words.”
He tries—he begs again, only receives the same falsely pitying look, and tries to push the gag out with his tongue. Beomgyu beats him to it, shoving it back in.
Fingers forcing the gag to stay inside of Yeonjun’s mouth, Beomgyu sweetly tells him, “Use your words to ask nicely, Yeonjunnie.”
He whines around the fabric, frustration making his eyes burn. Yeonjun tries very hard to say, “Please?”
It seems Beomgyu decides to have mercy on Yeonjun. With a giggle, he coos, “God, you’re so pathetic like this Yeonjun.” He slowly strokes along Yeonjun’s cock again, gathering the leaking precum and using it to ease the glide. Yeonjun’s eyes roll back as Beomgyu’s hips move, too, slow and deliberate, aimed perfectly. “Such a needy, desperate little thing, aren’t you?”
Yeonjun nods his head. He can’t focus on what is happening. All he knows is the building pleasure, how close he gets, how he just needs a little more to tip over the edge, just something to push him over and—
“So pathetic.” Beomgyu coos again. “So cute. I like you better like this, actually. You’re a lot more tolerable when you’re fucked stupid.” Yeonjun’s breath hitches, whine catching in his throat. “All you needed was something inside you to calm you down, hm? Cute.”
“Please.” Yeonjun begs again, eyes fluttering shut, his voice high. He knows he’s barely understandable, but he tries anyway. He sounds pathetic, and it spurs him on. “Feels so good. Please, please, please—Oh!”
Yeonjun’s vision whites out, his body locking, cry caught in his throat. The orgasm rolls over him unexpectedly, sudden and almost too bright, painfully so as he cums over the side of the car, staining it and the hand wrapped around him. It’s endless—Yeonjun can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t do anything but let himself be swept up by the ecstacy rocketing through him. Yeonjun is stroked through it all, fucked slowly even as he floats back down to earth, trembling with the aftershocks and flinching with overstimulation.
Beomgyu hasn’t finished though. He doesn’t seem to care that Yeonjun’s moans are starting to turned into pained, hitched whimpers, or that he is squirming and thrashing to get away from the abuse of his own ass, or that Yeonjun claws at the car with unsteady fingers, shaking his head and closing his eyes. He just digs his fingers into Yeonjun’s hips meanly, pulling him into every mean, hard trust of his cock. He’s too sensitive, shakes too much, almost cries but Beomgyu finally slows and grows still inside of him, making the cutest, softest little keen as he spills his own cum into the condom.
Yeonjun slumps with relief as Beomgyu stops moving, trying to catch his breath as he feels the other boy collapse over him, panting. When he tries to feebly spit the fabric out of his mouth, he feels Beomgyu hastily aid him. A quick glance confirms that Yeonjun was correct; his mouth had indeed been stuffed with his own underwear he had pulled on this morning. A shiver runs down his spine, heat on his cheeks.
For a few moments, they rest like that. Yeonjun barely processes anything beyond how dry his mouth feels and how cold the sweat on his skin makes the cool air feel. He’s drifting in between zoning out with the afterglow and falling asleep despite the uncomfortable position. Then, he is shivering at his back suddenly being more exposed as Beomgyu peels himself off and pulls out. As he steps away, Yeonjun feels the strength in his legs falter. He slumps on the hood, closing his eyes. In a few minutes, Yeonjun will be fine, but for now he needs to remember how to breathe again and what his legs are supposed to feel like when they aren’t tingling.
Just beyond him, Yeonjun hears Beomgyu utter soft curses in between uneven steps. Clothes rustle, followed by more curses, and a zipper is pulled up. Yeonjun finally opens his eyes, slowly peeling himself up from the car, pulling his very wrinkles shirt back down over his chest and trying to stand. His legs shake, and he stumbles to the ground, whining loudly as he does so. His ass feels uncomfortably wet from the lube, but he has no time to clean it right now. Rather than try to stand back up, Yeonjun reaches for his pants right there on the floor, slowly pulling them on with shaking fingers, buttoning them with difficulty. When Yeonjun is done redressing himself, he glances up at Beomgyu.
The mechanic is braced over a work bench across from him, his shoulders bunched.
Curiously and with his verbal filter more loose than usual even for him, Yeonjun asks, “Are you okay over there?” His voice sounds weak and raspy.
Beomgyu turns so quickly Yeonjun gets dizzy just watching him. He won’t look at Yeonjun, or the state he is in, and his cheeks are so red Yeonjun wonders if they taste like cherries. He has the urge to take a bite out of them, and if his legs were working as they should, Yeonjun would have gone over and done exactly that.
“That was a mistake.” Beomgyu says, stern and panicked at the same time, and he really won’t meet Yeonjun’s eyes now. Yeonjun frowns. “This shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have—this was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
Yeonjun is very confused. “Are you apologizing for fucking me?”
Beomgyu covers his face, making an embarrassed sound. He nods behind the barrier of his hands. “This was unprofessional. I shouldn’t have let you get under my skin like that. That…I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”
Surprising even himself, Yeonjun finds himself laughing. Beomgyu finally looks at Yeonjun, wide-eyed like he thinks Yeonjun has gone insane. Yeonjun feels a little insane, actually, so he supposed Beomgyu isn’t too far off the mark. He is buzzing with the thrill of post-nut clarity. In the light of the afterglow of being fucked so good Yeonjun feels the itch in his skin finally go away, Yeonjun comes to the conclusion that this is the most fun he has had in a very long time. This is the first time someone has surprised him and managed to ease the endless reserves of energy that made Yeonjun impulsive. He feels calm and at ease, centered in his body in a way that is foreign to him.
Whe knew the cure for the restless nagging itch was Beomgyu’s cock plowing him into a scrap of junk that called itself a car?
“Beomgyu, you stopped being professional the second you agreed to work on Rosita—my illegal modded baby—under the table, after your official work hours.” Yeonjun points out with a fit of giggles. “But it’s cute how dedicated you are to this.”
“It still shouldn’t have happened.” Beomgyu insists after a pause where he had just stared down at Yeonjun, not sure what to make of him. “Not here, not like that. I…” He swallows, “It won’t happen again.”
Yeonjun smiles up at him sweetly. The lube in his ass feels uncomfortable and sticky when he stands up, bracing himself on the car until he is sure his legs will hold him. He wonders distantly if there will be sweaty imprints of his hands and his nipples on the hood of the car, and the thought leaves him giddy and yet mortified. Beomgyu refuses to break eye contact first as he is approached, pointedly ignoring the rumpled state he has personally left Yeonjun in.
“Is that so?” Yeonjun asks. Beomgyu gives him a delightfully weary look.
He nods stiffly, stepping away from Yeonjun. “Yeah. This won’t be happening again.”
Yeonjun hums, thinking to himself: Oh, this is absolutely going to happen again.
▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
Really, the first domino that fell was the moment Yeonjun locked eyes with Beomgyu in the circuit for the first time—big and round and as brown as the cute bear sticker on his helmet—and his skin had buzzed with excitement. It was when every other competitor paled in comparison to him, when he felt most excited about a race when he was neck-and-neck with the cute boy that really liked bears.
The first domino that fell was when Choi Beomgyu had introduced himself with a shy smile but a firm handshake, and Yeonjun had thought: I want him. I need him to look at me.