Chapter Text
Chapter One -
There were few environments where Seo Changbin felt at home. Places where the constant buzz of anxiety ceased, and the hypervigilance faded. When the feeling of contentment settled within his bones almost as if he were shedding his skin and becoming someone else. The new persona brimming with sensual confidence, demanding anyone and everyone’s attention. He stood there now, in that place, the lights dark and anticipation building while he waited.
The stage is where Changbin truly shined.
As if on cue the music began. A soft press of piano keys and tapping of symbols which prompted the lights to rise until they revealed the figure that was Changbin posing in the middle of the lounge. The club had advertised an intimate experience creating a layout that designated one large floor in the center for their dancers, and all VIP booths lining the area on either side. This enabled the performers to interact with their audience leaving very little of their routines obscured. Furthermore, the experience catered to those who could not afford a booth, directing the common folk toward elevated platforms consisting of the bar and high top tables. In Changbin's opinion the high tops were the best seats in the house offering a bird's eye view of the stage and easy access to the drinks. He lifted his gaze to the crystal chandelier above as it reflected the lights, shrouding him in a multi-colored glow.
He took a deep breath the moment horns joined the quiet swell of music preparing himself to begin. Changbin was perched on the edge of a chair, facing away from the crowd, and when vocals punctuated the instrumentals he crossed his legs and glanced over his shoulder demurely a sly smile lifting his lips. The onlookers whistled at the promise growing louder when he rolled his shoulders, the rhinestones on his harness sparkling beneath the fluorescents, before uncrossing his legs and pressing his heels together in front of him. His palms gripped the side of the chair lifting his body and sliding forward into a plank position. Changbin held it for a moment allowing his head to fall back, muscles bulging at the strain, and then he lowered himself until his butt hovered above the floor. The music crested to another chorus of percussion, the audience cheering when he pushed himself up into a standing position, releasing the chair to spin on his heels, facing them with a grin. There was a brief moment his fingers teased at his buttons while he squatted shifting his hips back and forth performing what was known as "popping", Changbin's signature move. A cacophony of shrieks pierced the air and bit his lip to keep his giggles at bay.
His gaze scanned the onlookers, the glare too harsh to provide clarity to any face; however, they were vocal, and when he placed one foot on the back of the chair, the other on the seat, tipping it forward to use as if it were a skateboard they cried out in glee drowning out the clatter of wood against the concrete. Changbin dismounted gracefully transitioning to his knees, hands returning to the button down shirt beneath the bedazzled harness tearing it as he leaned back, his stomach rolling to simulate grinding. The buttons clacked across the stone, fabric giving way to unveil his toned chest, pecs full beneath the glittering belts. He looked up morphing his expression into one of surprise as if he never intended to tear his garments. His act earned him various cat calls, one involving his name, satisfying his need for praise. Swiftly, he lowered himself until his stomach was flush to the ground and one leg was cocked forward lifting his hips and isolating the movement to his lower half thrusting down several times. His shorts dug into the meat of his thighs barely concealing his backside, borderline obscene when he positioned himself on his hands and knees looking back to wink.
Grinning he pitched to the side rolling until he was on his back, feet straight in the air and then splitting apart showcasing his flexibility. Changbin left his thighs in a V shape tilting his head back and arching his back, hands on his bare chest making a show of smoothing down his undulating core until one hand gripped his groin. It was then he allowed his feet to land on the floor with a thud thrusting upward into his hand, a grunt leaving his lips at the power behind it. His customers enjoyed when he accentuated his muscles and he used this to his advantage teasing them with the controlled movements.
Just as the music began to close, he stood swaying his hips back and forth before dropping into a split that had the crowd gasping. He placed both hands on either side of his torso lifting to pulse there as the last horns died out, ending the routine by leaning back, fingers dragging his shorts to the top of his pelvis bone. Cheers erupted and a few groans of disappointment when darkness fell. His chest was heaving, sweat matting his black curls to his forehead when he managed to pry himself from the seated position. Standing off to the side was one of their stage hands, Jeongin, who was staring at him with barely contained mirth.
“Good set, hyung.” he praised a sly smile spreading across his face. Changbin smirked ruffling his hair as he passed, not bothering to pull up his shorts. Afterall, Haven, the burlesque club in which he worked, was his second home next to the stage and one in which he felt safe.
Everyone had welcomed him with open arms several years ago despite being a teenage runaway. There were few opportunities for a poor, high school dropout in Seoul, especially a gay one who had trouble passing after the harrowing coming out, he endured. His family had attempted to force him into their mold of the perfect son for too long, and by the time he reached 18 he vowed never to hide who he was again. This determination had benefited him as much as it trapped him, and at 25 he was beginning to feel the consequences of his choices.
Sighing he collapsed onto the velvet seat at his vanity, forehead smacking into the white vinyl loudly. He groaned at the pain but did not move, squeezing his eyes shut. Changbin was exhausted. That had been his fifth number of the night, and he had worked the floor earlier for additional tips. He hoped Haven’s patrons were feeling generous when Jeongin turned in the collected won and their boss tipped them out later. His bones cracked when he sat up grimacing at the sound feeling rather old due to the creeks of his body. The lavender bath bombs and muscle soaks underneath his sink at home were calling his name, eyes glazing over at the thought when he began to scrub the makeup from his face.
“Yah! Seo Changbin!” a high pitched voice cried before a pair of arms were slung around his neck dragging him backward.
“Yah -”
“What routine was that?! ” he frowned, attempting to pry said arms from around his throat in a hurry to close out for the evening. “Since when did your choreography get so sexy .”
“Hey! Hyung’s always had sexy choreo!” Jeongin chimed in, nudging the dancer clinging to Changbin playfully with his shoulder as he brushed past.
“You would say that!” Jeongin shrugged, disappearing into the storage closet. “That boy has it bad for you, you know that, right?”
“Woo Young! Off!” Bin whined causing the other to giggle at his struggles.
“Aigoo," he scolds, nuzzling his cheek into Changbin's hair, thoroughly messing it up. "Normally you love my after show cuddles.”
“Yeah, when I don’t work a double shift.”
“Too bad!” Woo Young smothers him, planting several kisses on his heated cheeks despite his protests. Eventually, he relents, sagging into the others embrace knowing it's hopeless to fight the dancer when he’s desperate for attention. The love fest continues for a few more minutes, Woo Young filling him in on Haven’s latest gossip, until his phone vibrates the other launching himself off his lap in favor of answering his boyfriend’s call. Thank god for Choi San . Changbin thinks, returning to his post show regimen.
He takes his time removing the smudges of eyeliner and smears of glitter watching the way his stage persona disappears with each swipe of the damp cloth. Instead of confidence he now sees anxiety, instead of happiness he sees exhaustion, and the bags under his eyes have grown darker these past few days. His posture deflates when his mask is cleared and while he had been excited for a bath earlier, the realization he has to go home causes his muscles to tense. Changbin tries not to dwell on what awaits him at the end of his shift and focuses on changing into his street clothes. Quickly he picks up his duffle bag and shuffles toward the bathroom before anyone can see sighing in relief when he locks the door without interference. For a few moments he stands in silence, head pressed against the cool metal of the door gathering his composure. When his anxiety lessens, he leans back, undoing the harness and allowing it to clatter to the floor. It sounds loud in the quiet restroom and once again he imagines he is shedding his skin, yet this time it’s akin to removing armor and donning bindings, ones he willingly accepted but hates all the same. Once his chest is bare, he bends down rummaging through his bag until he finds a fresh makeup wipe. Inside the shreds of his shirt, he notices the beige cover up and stuffs it in the trash. Clearly, he needs to invest in a new setting powder, perhaps even a spray, one that will last underneath the heat of stage lighting, sweat, and friction of costumes. He runs the cloth down his arm several times until foundation gives way to purple and green splotches. The bruises are sporadically placed some on his biceps, others the inside of his forearm, and rings around his wrists. He winces when he accidentally presses too hard on the fresh ones and then retrieves a new wipe for his other arm. This is the part he hates the most, the last part of his facade coming undone reminding him of what he truly is.
Broken.
A majority of the marks are on the parts of his ass consistently covered; however, if his boyfriend is not careful there will be a day Changbin won’t be able to hide them. Makeup can only do so much in the face of rage. By the time the task is done the bathroom bin is nearly filled with discarded towels and he frowns lips jutting into a small pout. He just has time to tug on a long sleeve black shirt, baggy sweatpants, and shove his feet into sneakers when his phone rings. Dun Dun Dun Dun echoes throughout the space and he rushes to answer the call, the customized ringtone alerting him as to who it is before he accepts.
“Hey baby!” he greets cheerfully ensuring there are no unwanted lilts or inflections in his tone. Changbin must always be enthusiastic, willing, happy, and ready for him or else he will be punished.
“Done yet?”
“Yes! I’m just changing and-”
“I told you to call me the minute you get off stage.” Changbin freezes, fingers tightening against the plastic of his phone case. He calculates a response that would be acceptable.
“You’re right baby, you know how stupid I am, I started changing first. I wanted to get home to you as quickly as possible, I miss you.” There’s no response and his heart rate picks up wondering if his words were not enough. Flashes of potential retaliation invade his thoughts and he attempts to stifle a whimper.
“You are stupid, but you’re my stupid little piggie, right?”
“Yes, yes! Your stupid piggie.”
“Pick up some cigs on your way home, and soju, I’m out.”
“Of course! Anything for you.”
“The boys are coming over later, you know what that means.” The blood drains from Changbin’s face and his breath catches in his throat. Please, no . He tries to come back from his fear hoping his boyfriend isn’t displeased by his lack of enthusiasm. Kwang-Chul notices but does not admonish him. He chuckles, dropping his tone into something soothing. “Don’t fret, jagi , we’ll be gentle this time. I promise. Besides, if we hurt you too much you won’t be able to make all that money for us, hmm?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good boy, now hurry up.” The dial tone feels like static in his mind, his body moving on autopilot when he manages to disconnect. He gathers his belongings emerging from the bathroom just as their manager enters the dancer’s quarters.
“Binnie!” his head snaps up at Chan’s voice, a momentary reprieve to his racing thoughts. The elder grins throwing an arm around his shoulders dragging him forward while his colleagues gather around. “Great set today. Loved the new dance moves.”
“He’s learned from the best.” Woo Young replies tugging his jacket off his shoulders to sit at his biceps while he performs a slow rendition of a slut drop.
“No one’s learned anything from you, Woo Young-ssi, except how to be utterly annoying .” Seungmin’s biting comment is enough to have the other frowning, sticking his tongue out before announcing how jealous the bartender is.
“Alright, alright, who’s ready to tip out?” The banter ceases all eyes on Chan when he releases Changbin and pulls an envelope from his pocket. Typically, burlesque dancers do not receive tips like other adult entertainers; however, there are several patrons that show their appreciation monetarily by utilizing the tip jar situated at the exit of Haven. “Line up!” He doesn’t scramble for a place like everyone else knowing Chan likely counted the money meticulously and already devised how to cash them out equally. The last to receive his share is Jeongin who grins at their manager, eyes folding into crescents that shine with deep admiration. Woo Young is blind if he thinks Jeongin has a crush on him .
“See you tomorrow, hyung.” he says, accepting the won with both hands before stepping back to bow.
“Yah, no need to be so formal,” Chan tsks fondly, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “Get out of here, you’ve worked too many hours as it is.” Jeongin laughs at the scolding, keeping his eyes on Chan for as long as he can until it’s just them. “And now for our lovely Seo Changbinnie!” he presses the stack of bills in his palm happily and the dancer furrows his brows.
“This is…” he pauses, surprised that his share seems larger than the others.
“More? Yes, I know.”
“But why?!” Chan hesitates with his response, choosing to busy himself with picking errant garments and objects from the floor. “Hyung?” He straightens, turning slightly in Changbin’s direction, eyes falling to his covered arms. Realization dawns on him and he crosses his arms in front of his chest making himself small beneath his friend’s knowing gaze. “Don’t.” he states not wanting the place he feels safest to be tainted by the truth of his reality.
The moment it’s said out loud is the moment his world shatters. There would no longer be a place Changbin could hide, no longer a performance he could give to mask how weary his soul is. There wouldn’t be a reason for him to exist as someone that isn’t owned by Kwang-Chul, and that is what Changbin fears above all. To be consumed wholly by the darkness of his boyfriend’s flaws because who he is now is not strong enough to claw his way to freedom.
“Changbin-” He refuses to listen to what observations his manager wishes to share and brushes past frantically cleaning up his vanity and adding any remaining costumes to his locker.
“See you tomorrow, hyung.” he forces, swallowing thickly at the emotion that swells within his body and crawls its way up his windpipe. Changbin hates crying, he hates appearing weak in front of those he loves. He wants to be strong, he wants to be good, he wants to be anything but the terrified man rushing from the empty club.
The won is still clenched in his hands when he bursts through the side door and into the morning sunlight. He hadn’t realized how late it was and increases his pace, scurrying from the alley. Thankfully, only a few minutes have passed since his boyfriend’s call, and if he expects him to pick up cigarettes and alcohol he has an extra twenty minutes to play with. This eases his trepidation at the delay and he’s able to quiet the buzz in his mind turning his attention to the task at hand.
Changbin is relieved for a chance to clear his thoughts, the crisp spring air a welcome chill to his overheated body. It allows him time to dissociate completely, eyes fixed ahead and mind blissfully empty. These moments are rare, ones in which he can be nothing in space and time, instead of an object of fantasy or one of pleasure; a toy for Kwang-Chul’s every desire and instance of anger. He doesn’t notice his feet taking him from the memorized path to his apartment but on a different route, one with rows of trees and flowers. Restaurants, shops, and cafe’s line the streets, sidewalks populated by early risers and happy families. Squeals of laughter penetrate Changbin’s meditative state, and he blinks several times pausing in the middle of the sidewalk. He spins around in confusion wondering why his body would bring him here of all places, a district at least ten minutes in the opposite direction of his own neighborhood.
“Lost?” he stops spinning, turning to address the deep timbre that spoke to him. His eyes widened at the face behind the voice not expecting to see someone elegant and pretty. The man smiles lifting his cheeks in a charming way that gives way to deep lines on either side of his mouth, a row of white teeth, red lips, and warm eyes that fold into crescents much like Jeongin. His skin looks almost translucent in the sun revealing just a light dusting of freckles when he tilts his head to the side at Changbin’s obvious gawking. The breeze picks up disturbing the waves of blonde hair that frame his handsome face. He lifts his hand small fingers dusted with flour tucking said strands behind his ear and shifting to smooth them against his neck where the length almost meets his shoulders.
“No.” Changbin answers although it sounds more like a question causing the other to giggle. It's a pleasant noise, much like his voice, and Changbin likes it. There’s something overall comforting about the man like Haven, like the stage, a familiar coziness that only comes when Changbin feels like he made it home after a long day. “I was distracted.” He elaborates and the other nods as if he himself is often distracted.
“Happens to the best of us,” he replies, squatting down before a short chalkboard producing a stick of chalk. “Care for a cup of coffee?” Changbin watches him scribble a few sentences and despite how quickly he does they come out stylishly with flourishes and artistic twists, a list of specials he assumes. “I make the best americano on the block.”
“Oh yeah?” he answers, smirking at the bravado. “I’ve learned not to trust people who brag.” Another giggle answers his statement, the man clapping his hands together to shake any lingering dust.
“I’m not bragging, it’s a fact,” he points to a sign posted at the corner of the entrance nestled behind painted stars and moons on the glass of the front door. “Miroh is rated Tripadvisor’s best bakery three years in a row.” He should say no considering his time crunch, but when the other opens the door and the scent of pastries and coffee hits his senses he finds himself agreeing.
The blonde is pleased hurrying behind the counter to prepare for Changbin’s order. His bakery isn’t as large as other coffee shops or cafes, but the lack of space enhances the atmosphere rather than detracts. The shape is one of a long rectangle, somewhat narrow, with the display cases and counter taking up a small portion of the wall in front of him. The top is made of white caesarstone with gold flecks embedded in the material reflecting the warm lighting of the shop. Speaking of, when he glances up he finds several lamps hanging from the plaster, bulbs illuminating behind paper lanterns and all in varying lengths about the ceiling. Ivy wraps around the base of each lantern edging toward the top where it joins a mass of the fake plants stretching across creating the illusion of lights hanging from forest trees. It’s beautiful and Changbin wonders if the blonde behind the counter decorated it himself. The forest-like theme extends to the green velvet furniture, each chair upholstered in soft fabrics, oversized cushions, and nestled among white tables with flower centerpieces. Not one centerpiece is the same and Changbin wonders if he knows a florist for the vast number of florals contained within the bakery. The walls are not covered in ivy but exposed brick and home to a few rustic bookshelves containing knick knacks and paintings that make him smile. Changbin doesn’t miss the handwritten cards likely from previous or current patrons.
“What would you like?” The question shifts his attention to the other who is posted at the cash register grinning.
“What would you recommend?”
“Oo, you want my opinion do you? The one who brags.” Changbin hurries to quell any thoughts that he meant harm by his earlier musings only to find the other laughing at his flustered countenance.
“Yah!” he yells cheeks tinting with red as they puff out in irritation. “Isn’t there a rule about teasing your customers?!”
“Not that I’ve heard of, besides, your reactions are cute. You’re going to make it impossible not to tease you.”
“Yeah, well,” Changbin huffs out, crossing his arms indignantly. “Don’t.”
“Alright, alright, how about I make you a mocha latte, and,” he ducks behind the display case humming to the song on the radio before crying out with delight. Changbin leans over the stone in an effort to see what he decided upon and nearly tumbles backwards when he returns, popping up inches from his face. “Sorry, are you alright?”
“Fine,” he grumbles trying to hide the ever growing blush. He eyes the treat in his hands, lips parting at what he sees. It’s a rounded pink cake with a hard shell as coating and white fondant decor molded into a bunny’s face. The ears are pink rock candies with a smear of white icing and sprinkles. He sets the desert on a gold plate adding freshly sliced strawberries around the base as a garnish. “What’s that?”
“It’s vanilla bean flavored cake, covered in white chocolate that I dyed pink, buttercream icing, and berries,” he looks up with a small smile. “You kind of remind me of a bunny, so what better choice!” Changbin opens his mouth to deny the comparison but is quickly shooed away to a table. He is seated with the cake and a glass of water before he can protest further the man returning to make his coffee. He leans back staring at the treat with mild shock not used to being described as a bunny. In fact, he isn’t often referred to as anything cute or fluffy, and he finds himself smiling. A half smirk that lifts one side of his face when he retrieves the gold fork next to the plate. When the blonde returns with his coffee he thanks him asking if he is an employee.
“I’m the owner.”
“Really? You look like a teenager!” Changbin exclaims and he laughs falling into the seat across from him.
“I get that a lot.”
“Bragging again.”
“You said it first!”
“Doesn’t mean you have to agree.” he stabs the prongs into the bunny, tearing out a fair chunk of cake. One of the rock candies falls to the side and they both laugh at the now deformed creature. When he takes a bite he can’t help but grunt in satisfaction, the sponge perfectly moist, chocolate melting, and the added strawberry a nice burst of flavor. “This is…amazing. I’m impressed.” Changbin compliments beginning to devour the desert in earnest.
“Thank you! I’m Felix, Lee Felix, by the way.”
“Seo Changbin.” he manages around a cheek full of cake. Felix giggles fondly watching him eat with a happiness that unsettles him. It feels odd to receive kindness from the stranger, Changbin often avoiding connection with anyone that wasn’t his boyfriend or colleagues at Haven. Yet, it was easy to strike up a conversation with Felix. Easy to laugh with him, tease him back, and to accept the fact he thought Changbin was a harmless bunny too adorable not to fuss over. When his boyfriend’s ringtone invaded the bubble the two had created he felt his blood run cold with ice. Felix’s brows furrowed in confusion at the expression his customer wore leaning forward to rest a gentle hand against his arm.
“Are you alright?” he jerked away from the other standing from the chair, hands shaking when he managed to fish the phone from his pocket.
“Baby-”
“Where the fuck are you?”
“I’m sorry, I got held up, but I’m-”
“I don’t give a fuck what your excuses are. If you’re not home in the next ten minutes I’ll have the guys decide how you get punished, understand?” Changbin feels the panic flare at the threat, Kwang-Chul’s friends just as sadistic as his boyfriend if not more. There had only been one time they had punished him instead of his boyfriend, and Changbin had to call out from work for a week to recover.
“Yes, sir, I’ll be there shortly.”
“You better be.” It takes him several attempts to end the call and when he does he sees Felix stand from his seat.
“Who was that?” His tone is firm and Changbin chooses not to look at the expression he wears. He’s seen the look many times before on Chan and Seungmin’s face when they realized the monster Changbin lived with.
“Thank you so much,” he says, his voice shaking with fear. A part of him knows that even if he manages to make it back within the designated time frame, his boyfriend will let his friends dictate his fate anyway. “How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about that, I want to make sure you’re alright, do you need to sit down for-”
“No!” His reply is louder than he intended and doused in fear. Felix’s eyes widen and he licks his lips, shaking his head with nervous laughter. “I mean, I’m fine, I just completely forgot about something I had to do.” Changbin throws a handful of won onto the table positive that it is more than enough for his meal. “Have a good day.” Felix is reluctant to allow him to leave; he can tell by the way he cautiously steps from around the table and hovers awkwardly in the middle of the store. Thankfully he’s saved by a rush of customers and Changbin uses the distraction to slip out onto the busy street.
He purchases the cigarettes, soju, and extra snacks in an effort to ease his boyfriend’s anger, before calling a cab. His return ride is spent with his arms crossed, jaw clenched, head leaned back on the seat behind him contemplating what horror awaits. When he enters the code to his apartment and steps inside he seals his emotions away adopting the submissive temperament Kwang-Chul trained him to have. The grocery bag is ripped from his hands, and he has the time it takes for his partner to secure the goods in the kitchen to prepare. Kwang-Chul’s fist connects with his left eye, his head snapping to the side at the impact. Changbin knows better than to make any noise and he bites his tongue in an effort to cease any sounds. Fingers twist into his curls wrenching his eyes to Kwang-Chul’s whose gaze is dark and swimming with fury.
“What were you doing? Hm? Trying to get away from me?”
“No baby, never, I-” he is silenced by a knee to his stomach, and he pitches forward with a grunt saliva pooling in his mouth.
“You’re a lying bitch, you know that? Telling me you missed me.” When he is forced to look at him again, he feels the warmth of Kwang-Chul’s spit splatter against his swelling eye. “Fucking whore, bet you were fucking one of your regulars.”
“I wasn’t, I only want you, just you-”
“Let’s see if you’re telling more lies, strip.” He can feel his stomach churn at the request, but he does it anyway praying that this would be the worst of it. Changbin’s fingers are numb when he tugs down his sweatpants and underwear, kicking them to the side before tugging his shirt over his head. Kwang-Chul holds up one finger twirling it to signify he wants him to turn around and he obeys. “Bend over.” He feels tears flood his lash line hot with shame when he does as instructed, spreading himself so that Kwang-Chul can inspect him. Despite his efforts Changbin does cry out when he feels his boyfriend’s dry finger push past his rim pressing inside him roughly.
“Well look at that, the whores telling the truth,” He laughs retracting to land a hard spank across his ass enjoying the sound the impact makes. Kwang-Chul digs his fingers into the bruised flesh forcing Changbin to gasp and then he’s forced on his knee's cheek pressed against the door.
“You’re going to prep yourself just the way I like, insert a plug, and wait for me and my friends like a good little boy. Your only purpose tonight is to be used like the fucking whore you are.”
“Yes, sir.” Changbin murmurs, grateful Chan had given him extra tips as he already knows he won’t be able to go to work for a few days after tonight. Kwang-Chul leans down to whisper in his ear, his breath smelling like stale cigarettes and soju. “And if you cum you’ll regret it.”
Changbin doesn’t waste time when he’s released, hurrying to the bedroom to comply.