Word Count: ~4300 (incomplete)
Summary: Zitao meets Baekhyun at a beach party over summer vacation. It was only meant to be temporary.
A/N: i realized there are a lot of old fics, mostly exo, that i started way back when and dont ever intend on finishing, so porque no put them up in a somewhat organized fashion instead of letting them rot in google drive? i wrote the bulk of this one oct 2012~jan 2013 (((as you can tell this was back before we realized his name was wu yifan and not wu fan))), will not be finishing it anymore but thanks for reading! feel free to ask me whats going to happen next~*~
no regrets, just love
Zitao shifts uncomfortably. There is sand in his flip flops, his swim trunks, probably even in his hair. The beer, or at least the sip of it he had taken upon receiving it, is warm. Something about the heat of night, the music pulsing from two sloppily erected speakers, makes him feel very exposed, and he backs up against a fence when a pair of girls push their way past him.
Jongin and Wu Fan don't seem to have that problem, laughing easily in the middle of the crowd with their chests bare, salty seawater gleaming on their broad torsos like oil; there hadn't been time to return to the hotel room for a change of clothing before Jongin had insistently herded them from the beach to the car as the sun had set. But Zitao has never been one for going around in public shirtless, even if he is on a beach in California where nobody knows who he is, and the majority of the people around him now are so drunk they won't remember him when their hangovers lift.
"Hey, Tao!" Jongin shouts as he approaches him, one skinny arm slung around the shoulders of a boy Zitao has never seen before. The boy's dark brown hair is a bit too long to keep from falling into surprisingly young, surprisingly solemn eyes. "This is Sehun."
"Nice to meet you," Zitao says automatically, and Sehun inclines his head in acknowledgement. He has a hand on Jongin's bared hip, Zitao notes, and forces himself to look away from the slow, dizzying stroke of thumb along hipbone.
"Have you seen Wu Fan?" asks Jongin, fighting to be heard over the pounding music. "I want to let him know I won't be needing a ride back to the hotel tonight."
He raises his eyebrows at that and shakes his head. "I haven't seen him. I was just going to ask you the same, actually," he admits uncomfortably.
Zitao has been to his own share of parties, and he knows the buzz of alcohol and the press of hot bodies much too close as well as any other college student. He just hadn't thought that the awkward atmosphere of a house party would follow him on his summer vacation--but, then again, he's friends with Kim Jongin. And Jongin, apparently, can pull the strings to get them to this party, set in the backyard of one of the massive beach houses lined along the coast that Wu Fan pointed out when they first arrived in Southern California; Zitao should have known when Jongin stopped his whining about having to sit in the back seat to bounce in his seat excitedly. It's worse than a house party, though, people Zitao has never seen before spilling out into the sandy backyard, shouting unabashedly and falling over their own feet. The fencing opens out onto the beach itself, apparently owned by the inhabitants of the house, and Zitao can easily see the bonfire that he's been avoiding all night. He is unsettled about having such a big open fire out on the beach, among all the other things that have thrown him off so far tonight. When he agreed to accompany Jongin and Wu Fan on their summer vacation, they hadn't mentioned any of this to him.
Jongin shrugs, reaching out to grasp Zitao's shoulder for a brief moment. His touch is slightly sticky with sweat and what Zitao guesses is the fruit punch, and Zitao flinches at the sudden skin-to-skin contact before Jongin withdraws his hand. "I'll see you tomorrow, then," Jongin smirks, walking away with Sehun. The bonfire roaring a ways down from their slope on the beach paints their backs red, bronze and porcelain subsiding into flames.
After a pause, Zitao turns his eyes from Jongin and Sehun once they disappear into the parking lot. He looks out over the dancing, drinking, laughing people in search of Wu Fan, who is also undoubtedly going to make someone very lucky tonight. They'd dated once, he and Wu Fan, but it had been blind and fast and all Zitao had at the end of it all was a lost virginity and a "Sorry, Taozi, it's not working out." Zitao thinks he never got over Wu Fan, not really, but he knows better than to try and rekindle a fire that never truly burned. And he knows Wu Fan isn't the type to let himself be held down just for the sake of someone else's happiness.
He looks down at the still-full cup of beer in his hand, makes a face, and decides to leave his secluded corner against the wooden fence in order to find a trash can where he can get rid of it. Mumbling half-hearted apologies along the way, Zitao loops around the press of bodies in the space formed by the tables of food and drink, searching for one of the plastic trash bags he saw earlier.
A pair of pale feet in white flip flops come into view when Zitao nearly bumps into someone, his shoulder alarmingly close to their face. "S-Sorry," Zitao says hurriedly, stepping back.
"It's all right," the person replies, slight smile on pretty lips. He reaches out to take the cup of beer from Zitao's now-limp grasp, replacing it with a slender glass of a vibrant, orange color. "Here, have this instead."
Zitao looks at the tiny glass in his hand hesitantly, inhaling the fruity, sweet scent. "What is it?"
"My specialty," the boy says, still smiling. "Some vodka, some juice. You'll like it, I promise."
Even through the flare of thick lashes and dark kohl that rings them, the boy's eyes are so earnest that Zitao sighs and knocks back the drink in one swallow, shuddering at the burn licking down his throat. He's been told more than enough times not to accept drinks that weren't made in front of his eyes--ironic coming from his friends, really--but he finds he cannot resist. Just this once.
"How do you like it?" the boy asks.
The vodka scorches a track down the center of his chest, settling somewhere between his heart and stomach. "It's good," Zitao says truthfully.
He lets himself be tugged toward another table, cluttered with half-filled bottles and empty glasses, where he watches the boy fix him another drink--same thing, orange and red dancing in the firelight. He knocks half of it back, and when he brings the glass away from his face to place it back on the table, the boy is watching him expectantly.
"You're Tao, aren't you?" asks the boy. He is petite, pale like Sehun despite the beach they stand on, and dressed in an oversized t-shirt. It must belong to someone else, the way it swallows up that thin frame, stopping just midway down toned thighs in skin-tight jeans. "Jongin's friend?"
Zitao focuses on the drink in his hands, tracing the rim of the glass in a slow circuit. "Yes. That's me," he says simply.
The boy smiles at him again. "I'm Baekhyun."
An unfamiliar name--Jongin never quite clarified whose party they were headed to before Wu Fan backed out of the parking lot; it could've been Baekhyun, but it also couldn't have been. It didn't really matter, once they'd arrived. Zitao considers his drink for a moment, then says, "It's nice to meet you, Baekhyun."
"Same to you," Baekhyun says, touching Zitao's forearm lightly. His fingers are long and beautiful, his fingernails neat ovals like little moons, illuminated by the bonfire. Zitao doesn't draw back nor does he respond, and after a moment, Baekhyun withdraws his hand.
They talk for a bit, Baekhyun refilling Zitao's glass whenever he drains it. Baekhyun is charming, Zitao admits to himself, easy to converse with and just as easy to make laugh, eyes disappearing into kohl as he supports himself on Zitao's forearm again. His fingers look nice against Zitao's tanned skin, and Zitao is feeling a bit tipsy, a bit freer, with the cocktails now in his system. The bonfire flares higher in the smoky black night out of the corner of Zitao's eye.
"You'd look gorgeous with eyeliner, you know," Baekhyun tells him, nursing the creamy white drink in his hand; when Zitao tasted it upon Baekhyun's insistence, he'd registered vanilla and syrup, decidedly too sugary for Zitao's taste but fitting in its flavor and its surprising strength.
"Really?" asks Zitao. His fourth--fifth?--drink is down to the dregs, but he's not sure if he wants a refill until he can regain his balance a bit. His self-control seems to have been washed away, swallowed down with the liquor, somewhere between his third and fourth glass.
Baekhyun looks at him appraisingly. "Mmhmm," he answers, his expression thoughtful. He sets down his glass, and moves to stand on Zitao's side of the table. Rather than reach for a makeup bag, like Zitao expected, he lifts a slender hand to his right eye and deliberately wipes a finger across the underside of his eye, smudging the makeup on Zitao's skin instead. Startled, Zitao doesn't have time to react when a pair of chapped, gentle lips press to his, begging for the entrance his alcohol-fogged mind relinquishes instantly.
They kiss in the middle of the party, Baekhyun's hands curling around Zitao's neck as Zitao instinctively steadies the tiny body pressing against him with two hands on Baekhyun's waist. When Baekhyun licks into his mouth with a quiet, needy moan, Zitao responds softly, his chest rumbling against Baekhyun's, and their slick tongues tangle urgently.
When they finally break apart, Baekhyun settles back on his heels, and Zitao looks into his face with his heartbeat roaring in his veins, taking in the smile, the bright, bright eyes.
"Gorgeous," Baekhyun whispers, a note of roughness to his usually silky voice.
The sloppy streak of eyeliner extends from the center of Zitao's eyelid to a spot below the end of his eyebrow, and it burns like a brand, a promise, as Baekhyun takes his hand and leads him away from the party.
"Where are we going?" Zitao whispers. He follows Baekhyun willingly enough though, sidestepping a drunken girl draping herself over the shoulders of a laughing boy. There is no sight of Wu Fan in the crowd, still, but now it seems to matter so much less.
"You'll see," Baekhyun breathes back, fingers intertwined tightly with Zitao's.
Vaguely, Zitao recalls he should probably let Wu Fan know that he, too, will not be needing a ride back, but the responsibility slips away with the next lurch of his body forward, and Zitao lets it go. It's his turn to do something idiotic and reckless, after all. Jongin does it all the time, always walking away unscathed, so that makes it right enough in Zitao's book.
Baekhyun's car is muted gold, shimmering wherever the flames will it to. He unlocks the doors with a press of a button, only releasing Zitao's hand when they reach the passenger side before looping around the front of the car to quickly get in the driver's seat. The car comes alive with a loud rumble at Baekhyun's touch.
He doesn't even know this boy, Zitao realizes as Baekhyun pulls out of the lot. He only knows his name, and it could be fake for all he knows. The way Baekhyun calls him Tao is a result of a nickname by Jongin, who finds the "zi" too cumbersome, who means it in an affection he finds difficult to express. On Baekhyun's lips, it sounds more like something borrowed, something temporary.
Away from the bonfire and the party, speeding down the highway with only a pair of headlights to lead them, Zitao is overwhelmed by the irrationality of whatever he is intending to do tonight. Sorry, he could say now. Sorry, I just remembered I forgot something at the party. or I have something important to do tomorrow, actually. Could you take me to my hotel instead?
They turn off the highway and onto a dimly lit, winding road up the mountain. Almost as if he knows about the indecision flickering behind Zitao's expression, Baekhyun takes a hand off of the steering wheel and places it onto Zitao's knee. He squeezes once, without a word, and Zitao glances at him swiftly.
They pull into a massive stretch of driveway, and Baekhyun parks the car outside. He hops out of the car and Zitao follows in suit, closing the car door behind him with a definite thud. Baekhyun takes his hand again and leads him to the front door, where he fumbles in his pockets for his keys.
With a clatter, they drop to the floor, and Zitao kneels quickly to pick them up. He offers them to Baekhyun, who takes them and murmurs a "thank you" so close to Zitao's ear that he jumps a bit. Still, he does not pull away when he enters, but rather draws closer to Baekhyun, shivering slightly from the bite of air conditioning. "Sorry, it's kind of cold," Baekhyun whispers, leading Zitao deeper into the house.
it is a typical beachside house, if its sprawling rooms and massive windows that reach from ceiling to floor can be considered typical. Baekhyun makes no move to turn on the lights they pass, not even when Zitao stumbles once in the darkness on the smooth, wooden floors, his feet meeting plush carpeting. The carpet ends and they end up at the foot of a flight of stairs, and Baekhyun backs up against the wall, tugging Zitao towards him until their lips meet again.
This time, there is no resistance. Zitao responds to Baekhyun's eager touches just as the raw, shaky gasps burst out of Baekhyun's chest when Zitao trails a hand down Baekhyun's side. Rather belatedly, Zitao realizes he is still shirtless, still in merely his sandy swim trunks and flip flops, exposed to Baekhyun's pale hands. Baekhyun strokes down his chest and makes an appreciative sound, though, so it's okay.
Zitao is the one to break the kiss, impatience thudding through his veins and ringing in his ears. "Where?" he demands.
Baekhyun leads them up the stairs, hands linked once again between them, and Zitao has no doubt that Baekhyun can sense Zitao's racing heartbeat. When they reach the top of the stairs, facing a long hallway, Baekhyun steals a quick kiss, pulling away with a cheeky smile. It's a nice surprise, and Zitao pushes away his apprehension. Baekhyun is the gorgeous one here, and Zitao--Zitao is the one getting lucky tonight.
The arousal surges back in a rush of heat when Baekhyun takes Zitao into his bedroom. Zitao only has a moment to take in the simple decor, the door of the closet hanging ajar, the tangle of blue bedsheets on the narrow mattress, before Baekhyun steps directly into his space. His eyes are dark and hot and expectant, and he slides a hand down Zitao's bicep slowly, thoughtfully. "Tao," he breathes, and Zitao can't help but seal their lips together again.
They tumble back against the bed once Baekhyun has no more room to step back, splayed across its length horizontally so Baekhyun's head is in danger of hanging off the edge, but he just laughs and readjusts them on the mattress. His hands are steady on Zitao's restless hips, both of them panting into each other's mouths; Zitao is propped up on his forearms and knees, Baekhyun arching up to meet him, and he can feel the burning trails Baekhyun leaves as his fingers go from hips to shoulders to thighs to back. There is no rhythm, no planning, just the slick, filthy slide of their mouths and the roughly musical noises coming out of Baekhyun's throat.
Zitao shifts, freeing an arm to tug at the hem of Baekhyun's shirt. Getting the message, Baekhyun makes to sit up, causing Zitao to back away and settle on his heels. Baekhyun pulls the ill-fitting shirt over his head, the smooth expanse of chest almost white in the moonlight, and Zitao is no longer sure whether it is the alcohol or the sight of Baekhyun's skin that is making his head spin.
Baekhyun splays a hand on Zitao's warm chest, and Zitao shudders at the touch. If he looks down to see them, skin against skin, him straddling Baekhyun's legs as they tremble at the cusp of what they are going to do, what they have decided to do. Zitao thinks that if he looks away from Baekhyun's eyes now, he won't be able to go through tonight.
"It's okay," Baekhyun whispers. "It's okay." He presses his lips to Zitao's gently, and Zitao lets the sensation consume him until it doesn't feel quite as terrifying to lie Baekhyun back down on the bed. The jeans Baekhyun chose to wear seem impossible to part from his legs, but they manage, the simple elastic of Zitao's swim trunks a relief after the stubborn denim. Suddenly, there is skin, so much skin, and Zitao inhales sharply when Baekhyun's palm skirts over the length of his cock.
It's hard to breathe, hard to catch his breath once Baekhyun starts kissing him in earnest. Zitao feels the air rush out of his lungs when his cock meets Baekhyun's between their bodies, the friction coaxing a whimper from Baekhyun's swollen lips. Zitao wants to speak, wants to cry out, wants to tell Baekhyun how good it feels, but all he does is concentrate on kissing Baekhyun back and hope that communicates all of what he wants to say.
Zitao knows he can come, just like this, but Baekhyun pulls away when he starts edging towards the brink. "W-What?" Zitao stutters, pulling his hands back.
"Here," Baekhyun says, before Zitao can panic, and tugs Zitao's hands back to his body. "Touch me, Tao. Please."
Oh, Zitao thinks, and obediently curls his fingers around Baekhyun, hissing when those long, delicate fingers follow suit on him. They're reversed, Baekhyun pressing Zitao back into the mattress as they jerk each other off, and Zitao can't hold back a quiet moan every time Baekhyun strokes him. He had never been one to voice his pleasure, remembering all too starkly the hot embarrassment he felt every time Wu Fan would tease a cry from his lips. But it's devastatingly hot from Baekhyun, it's different--with Baekhyun, it's almost as if his inhibitions are slowly melting away with each press of their lips, with every slide of skin against skin.
Zitao can't help the volume soon enough, though, crying out freely when Baekhyun is slicked with lube and lowering himself onto Zitao's cock with trembling thighs. "Fuck," Zitao whispers, then repeats the curse emphatically in Mandarin. "Baekhyun--Baekhyun--"
"Tao," Baekhyun responds breathlessly, gasping when Zitao raises a hand to thumb over one of Baekhyun's nipples. He slips a bit, sinking farther down onto Zitao's length, and they moan in unison.
It aches, Zitao trying to keep himself from moving when everything sears hot and new and real. Baekhyun settles, takes a breath--then a quick kiss--and bites his lip as he raises himself up again. Zitao can't just watch as Baekhyun works, no matter how perfect the flicker of sweat on Baekhyun's bare skin looks, and starts thrusting up in response to Baekhyun's movements. Baekhyun cries out again, bending over Zitao's body until their teeth clash with the desperation of the kiss. Zitao might be leaving finger-shaped bruises, he's gripping Baekhyun's hip so hard, but it all feels so good that it can't possibly matter now.
Zitao works his other hand between the space of their bodies while he still remembers to, tugging at Baekhyun's cock again. Immediately, Baekhyun throws his head back and keens, and Zitao struggles to open his eyes. He wants to see it, Baekhyun wrecked and needy, fucking himself back against Zitao's every thrust even as his hips jerk forward into Zitao's hand. He is the one creating this. He is the one whose name is dropping from those swollen lips, whose touch is bringing Baekhyun so much pleasure.
At the sight of Baekhyun reaching his release, coming sloppily all over Zitao's knuckles, Zitao can't help but follow in suit. It feels almost like a surrender, giving himself up to the body above him, everything he knows and feels and wants. Baekhyun pants heavily into his neck, the sound raspy and raw, but it subsides into a whine as Zitao gently pulls out.
"I--" Zitao starts, then falters.
"Shhh." Baekhyun nudges Zitao back down so he is lying prone on the mattress again, Baekhyun fitting himself against Zitao's side and reaching up with a hand to touch Zitao's jaw lightly. He doesn't seem to mind that they are still sweaty and gross, winding down slowly from gasped breaths and rapid heartbeats.
At the light touch, Zitao closes his eyes, letting Baekhyun's slow carding through his sandy, tousled hair calm him. Blindly, he tilts his head towards Baekhyun, smiling when their lips meet softly, as if for the first time.
"We're upside down," he says, noticing when his feet bump into a pillow. Their heads are at the foot of the bed, bedsheets tangled around them loosely.
"It's okay," Baekhyun laughs. And Zitao believes him, letting the afterglow take him away to sleep.
Their biggest misstep last night, Zitao decides bitterly the next morning, was forgetting to close the window blinds before they got into bed. It had been the last thing on their mind at the time though, so Zitao grumbles in defeat and yanks the bedsheets over their heads.
Baekhyun muffles a soft laugh into his shoulder, lips brushing against bare skin. "We could just turn around."
"Don't want to," Zitao says, a bit petulantly. He's fine where he is otherwise, basking in the warmth of the sun and Baekhyun's body still aligned with his. Even with last night's eyeliner still smudged around his eyes, Baekhyun looks heartbreakingly gorgeous. Zitao can hardly believe his eyes, his luck.
Vaguely, Zitao wonders about Jongin and Sehun, about Wu Fan and whoever he ended up with. Do they feel the same way he does right now? He props himself up on his elbow, tossing the bedsheets off onto their legs, and looks down at Baekhyun's smile. No, he decides. There's no way they could match up to this.
"What are you thinking about?" asks Baekhyun, sitting up as well.
Zitao looks down at his lap, a wash of blue fabric. "Too embarrassing," he admits.
"Yeah?" Baekhyun says. He reaches up and lightly traces a line over Zitao's eye, the eyeliner he'd marked on Zitao's skin last night. "I feel the same."
Zitao glances up in surprise, but Baekhyun is already moving away; there might be a flush of pink on Baekhyun's face, just maybe. He is distracted when Baekhyun stretches the kinks out of his back from sleeping, noting the marks dotting the slim hips, and forces himself to look away as Baekhyun strides across the room to the closet.
A collection of picture frames stand in a neat line on the bedside dresser, various sizes with the same perfect smile beaming out from their centers. Zitao reaches out to touch the smooth glass surface of one of the pictures positioned at the very front of the display, his fingertips resting gently on the brilliance of Baekhyun's broad smile. He looks happy, Zitao thinks to himself, and notices a similarly grinning face to Baekhyun's left. Zitao takes a second glance, and abruptly the boy is everywhere: the same face squeezed up beside Baekhyun's in every picture, every frame.
"Like what you see?" Baekhyun says teasingly as he comes up from behind Zitao, dressed in a striped shirt and blindingly white jeans. Zitao jumps and recoils when he realizes Baekhyun is standing a lot closer than he expected, but Baekhyun puts a hand on the small of Zitao's bare back to study him.
"Who's that?" Zitao stammers to shift the attention away. He feels very naked.
Baekhyun glances at the pictures, settling himself beside Zitao on the mattress. "Who, Chanyeol? On the right?"
It's an unfamiliar name, not one Zitao recognizes. "Chanyeol," he repeats, and the foreign syllables slide on his teeth and tongue oddly. "Your friend?"
"Yeah," Baekhyun says, relaxed, "since we were little. We grew up together. The party last night was at his house." He's lounging across the length of the bed, head beside Zitao's lap, and Zitao feels as if his skin is flushed hotter where he can feel the soft skin of Baekhyun's cheek against his leg. Baekhyun looks paler than ever against the navy blue of his blankets, and his eyes are dark and soft when they meet Zitao's.
Zitao looks at the pictures again to avoid making eye contact. Something about the light of day, about the expression on Baekhyun's face, is making his stomach sink with something he desperately hopes isn't dread. He looks at Baekhyun's face pressed against Chanyeol's face, their faces alight with mirth. In one picture, Chanyeol has his lips pressed to Baekhyun's cheek, and Baekhyun is laughing so hard his eyes are crescents.
I should go, he thinks, but when Baekhyun brings a hand up to his faces and cups his jaw with those long, slim fingers, he lets Baekhyun pull him down for one last kiss.
Baekhyun drops him off at the hotel a little before midday, leaning out of the driver's seat window to bid him goodbye. If Zitao looks at the gold paint job for too long, he won't be able to stop thinking about last night, so he just smiles at Baekhyun's "Bye, Tao!" and waves.
The elevator is broken, so Zitao takes the stairs and groans lowly when muscles that he had long let slip his mind scream in protest. By the time he reaches the