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Gold II

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"Look this way, please, gentlemen."

"LIGHTS! We need lights here!"

"Someone wanna touch up Junmyeon's hair?"

"Kris, give me something, yes, perfect!"

Photoshoots are always a bizarre, overwhelming chaos for Kris. He's gotten used to it over the years, gone from stiff deer-in-the-headlights to something almost like comfortable. It really helps that he's somehow managed to make his resting bitch face into a look.

This one, a joint shoot for Bvlgari, is different though. This one, in an absolutely insane move for all involved, is with Suho.

It shouldn't work with their contracts, shouldn't have been possible for Junmyeon to bully SM into letting him do this. It shouldn't work between the two of them either. They've talked some, the odd text here and there, but it's been years since they've been properly in the same room, and it wasn't like it ended well between them.

There's no way Junmyeon should still be able to move him like this.

Kris is leaned forward, hands arranged in front of his face, showing off the rings on his fingers. Junmyeon is sitting next to him, legs crossed elegantly, thighs pressed together, leaned back with his arms along the back of the loveseat they're on. With a shift Kris feels before it happens, Junmyeon reaches forward and taps the knob of his spine between his shoulder blades, two fingers. Kris moves before he decides to, leans back under Junmyeon's arm, their bodies remembering all the things their minds had forgotten.

The shutter clicks and the photographer says something but all Kris can think about is the way he can feel Junmyeon's chest expanding under his shoulder. Junmyeon's fingers curl around his upper arm, showing off the jewelry, and staking a claim. His other hand gently tucks a strand of Kris's hair behind his ear and he suppresses a shiver. Warm breath passes across his neck.

"I missed you," Junmyeon murmurs, quiet, in Mandarin, just for Kris. He says it like they're in bed. He says it like he used to say "I love you."

Kris closes his eyes, slides down, long legs stretched and falling open, until he can tip his head back onto Junmyeon's shoulder. Junmyeon welcomes him, easy, fluid, hand possessive over his heart, a victor accepting his spoils of war.

The shutter clicks.

Junmyeon's hand slides up from his chest until it's wrapped around his throat, gently, but still heavy. Kris's lips part reflexively. It's all he can do not to arch into it, not to moan. He's exquisitely aware of every pair of eyes on them in that moment. The frantic click of the camera sounds obscene, loud as gunshots, each one striking his hammering heart and pooling low in his belly. He isn't hard but it's only the anxiety that's keeping him from tenting his perfectly tailored slacks.

The photographer calls it not long after that, asks them if they want to take a look at some of the shots. Kris looks to Junmyeon on instinct, catches the corner of his eye, nods when he nods. They're good, the two of them have charisma that translates onto the screen. Kris hates looking at himself sometimes, feels as awkward about it as he did when the picture was being taken. But the photos, toward the end, when he's practically draped over Junmyeon, well. They make him feel awkward in an entirely different way.

"This one," Junmyeon says, gesturing to the last in a series documenting every shift Kris and Junmyeon made as Kris leaned back into him. The one he's pointing at is one where Kris's throat is bared, Junmyeon's jeweled hand draped around it like it's his. It's unmistakably erotic. "Can I get the digital file for this?" Junmyeon continues to the photographer, surreptitiously presses a hand to Kris's lower back. "I think I'd like a print, if that could be arranged?" Kris clears his throat.

The photographer is thrilled at the suggestion, the two of them talking lighting and composition, the line of their bodies. They lament the fact it likely won't make the cut for Bvlgari, just too far in the artistic direction for what they were looking for. Kris wonders if by "artistic" they mean "pornographic." He shifts his feet, swallows, looks around the room aimlessly. Junmyeon squeezes his side.

Somehow, once Junmyeon arranges for his print, they lose each other. Between returning the merchandise they'd only been borrowing, purchasing merchandise he's decided he wants for himself, getting themselves changed, replying to texts and talking to their PR people, Kris looks up and Junmyeon is gone. He's almost distraught for a moment, heart lodged in his throat, craning his neck for a short Korean man that fills every room he enters, like a giant.

Disappointment crashes over him like a bucket of ice water, but he stubbornly forces it to center him rather than drag him down. Of course it would go like this. What the hell else had he been expecting, anyway?




Chanyeol cannot fucking stand the photo.

Objectively speaking, it's amazing. Very well done, extremely high quality, classy yet distinctly sensual. It belongs in an art museum, objectively.

Subjectively, Junmyeon came back from that Bvlgari photoshoot with a massive 4' x 6' print of him pantomiming choking his ex-boyfriend who abandoned the entire group and never even sent Chanyeol a text and he hung it over his bed.

Right now, being fucked on his hands and knees, Junmyeon's hand tugging his hair so his head is craned back and he has to look at the photo, Chanyeol really wants to light it on fire.

Another jerk of his head combined with a brutal snap of Junmyeon's hips and Chanyeol can't help the high sound that comes out of his throat. He's been on the edge for so long now, sweat is dripping off of him, but he can't come, every time he opens his eyes he sees Kris looking fucked out and owned, and Junmyeon, his Junmyeon, judging him and finding him wanting.

With a growl he levers himself up, disrupting Junmyeon's rhythm, making him slip out of his ass. They both make distraught sounds, Junmyeon demanding, "What are you-"

Chanyeol interrupts him by taking Junmyeon's free hand and putting it on his throat. They're positioned almost the same as the photo now, as close as they can get like this, anyway. Chanyeol, knees spread, back arched, ass pressing back and aching for Junmyeon's dick, Junmyeon's hand heavy on his throat.

"Ah," Junmyeon purrs in his ear, smugness audible. He uses his free hand to position himself at Chanyeol's entrance, teasing him with the head around the rim before slowly pushing back in. When he's as deep as he can get from this angle, he says "That's my good boy," and then he starts up a shallow, quick, hard rhythm, and squeezes .

Chanyeol is oddly pinned like this, unable to thrust back, unable to fall forward because of the hand at his neck. Junmyeon holds there until the edges of his vision start to crackle, then releases, letting him gasp before squeezing again, all while fucking into him mercilessly.

Chanyeol finds himself fixating on the photo, eyes caught on one of the gold rings on Junmyeon's finger, the way it compliments Kris's skin, the way it looks there, heavy in such a vulnerable place. He lets his eyes travel up to Kris's parted mouth. Junmyeon touches him, airflow still cut off, pulling on him roughly. The edges of his vision blur until all he can see is Kris's lips, and all he can think is how good they'd look wrapped around his dick.

Junmyeon lets him breathe, and he comes so hard his vision whites out completely.

When he comes back to himself, he's face down on the mattress, back sticky in a way he knows must be from Junmyeon's come painted across his skin. He hums in pleasure when the bed dips and a warm wet washcloth drags across his back.

Junmyeon presses a kiss to the knob of his spine, between his shoulder blades.

"Love you," he says, still smug, but fond.

Chanyeol is asleep before he can reply.




Some men, once you've had them on their backs begging you to fuck them, you never really get over. Kris was one of those men.

Junmyeon loves Chanyeol, truly, in a way that still shocks him sometimes. There's something about him that compliments, something that makes him feel challenged, and alive, and whole.

But he also saw the way they had looked at each other, when they were all younger, remembers the warmth that always colored Kris’s every expression whenever Chanyeol was around, even when Kris was his. And Chanyeol couldn't have hidden how heartbroken he was when Kris left if he tried, or how much his heart leapt and then crashed in renewed disappointment whenever anyone mentioned the man, after.

Maybe it was just a puppy crush, for both of them, never given the chance to die down into friendship and admiration. Maybe Junmyeon was completely wrong. But there were ways of finding out, and he was stubborn and smart enough to try them.

When Junmyeon opens the door of the LA hotel room he’s sharing with Chanyeol to see Kris standing in the hallway, he knows he might be ruining everything, and lose the two loves of his life in the process. He knows, and still he smiles, and tells Kris to come in.

Chanyeol walks out of the bathroom, toweling his hair, just as Junmyeon is tugging Kris's shirt out of the waistband of his jeans, tongue deep in his mouth. He knows because he can hear the wet slap of the towel hitting the floor, can feel the shock electrify the air. Kris freezes under his hands, and Junmyeon pulls back, panting lightly, to look from one man to the other.

They're staring at each other, not saying anything, saying entirely too much. Chanyeol goes from hurt boy to cold anger and back again. Kris's face has shut down completely, but Junmyeon knows he never could hide how he felt in his eyes. He's lost, not afraid, just unsure how to get across the three foot chasm in front of him, unsure if he should bolt out the door instead. It's Chanyeol, though, flicking pleading eyes to Junmyeon and back to Kris again, that decides it for Junmyeon.

"You can kiss him," he says, steady, calm, back straight, shoulders square. Chanyeol jerks, startled. "I know you want to," Junmyeon continues before Chanyeol can interrupt. Chanyeol blinks, turns questioning eyes to Kris. A long moment passes.

"Yeah?" he asks, tentative. Kris swallows, twiddles his fingers at his sides nervously. Finally, he nods.

Chanyeol takes a step forward, stops again. "Why didn't." He halts, shakes his head, takes a step back.

"What, Yeollie?" Kris asks, quiet voice filling the room.

"Why didn't you ever text?" Chanyeol blurts. "I know it's stupid, we're grown men, I just," he shakes his head, shrugs one shoulder.

It's Kris that takes one step forward, two, until they're nearly breathing the same air.

"I didn't know how to say everything I needed to. I, uh. Didn't know if I should," he murmurs.

Chanyeol frowns. "Say it now?" He says it like a question, even if there's anger still underneath the words.

Kris tenses, and it's Junmyeon's turn to step forward, put a hand on his lower back. It's obvious now. Maybe it always should've been.

"I was in love with you."

The words drop like rain onto a pool, echoing in the scant space between them, rippling to the walls and back.

"I was in love with you too," Chanyeol whispers.

Junmyeon doesn't have to tell them to kiss, now. His hand is still on Kris's back and he can feel the way tension falls off of him when their lips meet, hungry but soft, like he'd been carrying those words on his shoulders for all these years.

They pull away after long minutes of exploration, laughing wetly and smiling like both of their birthdays came early. Chanyeol turns and takes Junmyeon's face in his large hands, kisses him.

"Thank you," he whispers into his mouth.

Kris's arms go around his waist and a warm kiss is pressed to his neck. He doesn't say the words, but Junmyeon feels them anyway.