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It’s not surprising to be stuck in traffic at this hour when you’re in Jakarta, that's for sure. And tonight is no exception, a repetitive action of lifting your foot off the brakes before stepping on it lightly the next second, careful to not let your focus blown away by some red lights or street lamps or songs played by the radio, leading to an eventual not-so-good minor car crash, and letting out a heavy, exasperated sigh each time the line seems to be static, unmoving.
Jeonghan, being a good driver that he already is since he was in highschool, felt like he would never be able to tolerate the streets in Jakarta that just keeps jamming up. Yet, whenever Seungcheol opened his mouth and started an hour ramble about his current obsession, or whenever he sang along to the song on the radio, or just sat there with Jeonghan’s hand on his thigh, placing his hand on top of Jeonghan’s hand and played with his fingers or caressed the back of his hand in silence—Jeonghan felt like he could do this forever. He could, he thought, drive forever with Seungcheol in the passenger seat.
“Sayang, tadi si Joshua bajunya lucu, ya?”
And there he goes, starting a conversation when they no longer recognize the song that was being played on the radio. Naturally, as if he had rehearsed this scene a thousand times, Jeonghan places his hand on Seungcheol’s thigh and squeezes it a bit, prompting him to continue, a silent affirmation that he’s tuning in to the conversation. Since the car in front of him shows no sign of moving anytime soon, Jeonghan uses this momentum to rest his back onto the driver seat, his head lulled to the side, heart eyes fixated upon Seungcheol.
“What do you call it these days? Cowok kue?” Seungcheol frowns, now examining Jeonghan’s slender, delicate fingers as he does. “Kalau kamu berarti cowok mamba, ya, Han? Atau cowok bumi? These new slang words are so funny but I’m still not sure aku masuk ke kategori cowok apa.”
“Cowok aku,” Jeonghan replies, mindlessly, the corner of his lips quirks up when he notices how flustered Seungcheol gets each time he throws him a corny, heart-fluttering line at an unexpected time. “On a serious note, kamu cocok masuk semua kategori. Cowok mamba, cowok bumi, cowok kue,” he lifts his foot off the brakes since the line starts moving slowly, pulling his hand away from Seungcheol’s thigh so he can change his car gear, then glues his hand on his thigh again, as if it was a place made perfectly for his palm to rest. “I’ve seen you wearing clothes yang warnanya, apa ya, warna-warni. Lucu. It suits you well.”
“Iya, tapi kayaknya masih belum bisa disandingin sama how Joshua dresses up, nggak sih?”
Here’s the thing, Seungcheol talks in pout. He always does, unconsciously. Jeonghan being Jeonghan, not able to fight the urge to kiss his boyfriend’s pout (he doesn’t and never wants to kiss the pout away, for he might devotes himself to stare at his boyfriend pouting for the rest of his lives), pulls his hand off the steering wheel and uses it to turn Seungcheol’s cheek so he can give him a quick peck on the lips. And, Jeonghan being Jeonghan, immediately mutters sorry for having butted in while his boyfriend was talking.
“Joshua, tuh, mix and match warnanya bagus banget. Cowok kue, tapi jatuhnya nggak norak gitu, lho. Paham maksud aku, kan? He’s, like, on another level when it comes to fashion.”
“Nggak usah dibanding-bandingin juga kamu punya sense of fashion, kok, sayang. Kamu juga bisa jadi cowok kue tanpa jadi norak with all the colors put on you. Inget nggak waktu aku bawa kamu ke rumah dan Mama selalu complimented how you dress?” This time, it was his turn to frown. It’s not a Seungcheol thing to have his confidence dropping to the level where he compares himself to his best friend, and Jeonghan is there to lift him up again. “Mama aja suka kamu waktu jadi cowok kue. What more validation do you need when my Mom herself approves of how you dress? You know how my Mom is, right?”
“Iya, tau,” even though he nods, his lips are still jutting out, and Jeonghan knows it is a half-assed agreement. “Kalau kamu, gimana? Mama kamu kan suka with the way I dress up—kalau anaknya, gimana? What do you think of me when I wear colorful clothes? Harus objektif, ya. Nggak boleh biased.”
Jeonghan chuckles, moving his hand up and down Seungcheol’s thigh, before he says, “Aku nggak begitu paham fashion, and since you rock any kind of genre, aku selalu ngira, ‘yaudah, emang pacarku yang keren dan pinter dandan.’ Tapi, truth be told? Aku suka kamu kalau lagi pakai colorful clothes. Soalnya cantik. You suit any color and that’s not an everyday thing for anyone.”
For the rest of the drive until they got home, Seungcheol didn't utter a single word. His cheeks are red, this one is not Jeonghan’s mind playing tricks on him because he really is red, but he didn’t say a word. This got Jeonghan a tiny little bit uneasy, though. Did I say something wrong? he ponders, lighting up a cigarette after he has loosen up his tie and folds up his sleeves up to his elbow. He takes a seat on the chair placed on their balcony, enjoying the night sky spread above him, thinking maybe he should give Seungcheol some space. He’ll come around, eventually. Seungcheol always tells him what he had in mind.
“Han.”
He turns his head toward the direction, seeing Seungcheol standing at the door, wearing his pajamas. He doesn’t like it when Jeonghan smokes inside their apartment, and Jeonghan complies. Seungcheol doesn’t like the smell of it, not that much—he doesn’t hate it, though. He tolerates it. Being a considerate boyfriend he is, though, Seungcheol had bought him a set of a chair and a small, round table for him to smoke, along with an adorable ashtray that has a cherry sticker on it, so he can smoke comfortably.
So, why is he now outside, approaching a tired Jeonghan that reeks of nicotine, when he himself is already tucked nicely in his sleeping pajamas?
“Kenapa, sayang?”
Upon his boyfriend that’s getting closer and closer to where he’s sitting right now, Jeonghan takes the cigarette out of his lips and is about to put out his cigarette for the sake of his boyfriend’s comfort, if only Seungcheol doesn’t stop him from doing so. And when he’s about to open his mouth to let out another question, Seungcheol sits on his lap.
Seungcheol sits on his lap, and Jeonghan can see how nervous he already is. For what, though? They had done this a thousand times, but why is there something so different from how he acts tonight?
“Nanti piyamanya bau rokok, sayang,” Though, on the contrary, Jeonghan circles his arms around Seungcheol’s waist as he speaks, showing no intentions of pushing him away from his lap. The cigarette is now back on his lips, careful to not let any ashes fall on both of them, and Jeonghan takes a long, slow drag before exhaling a quite thick smoke to the side.
“You look hot when you smoke.”
If he doesn’t collect his composure right away, Jeonghan could choke on his own spit as soon as those words left Seungcheol’s mouth. He raises an eyebrow, a lop-sided smile on his face, flicking the butt of his cigarette on his ashtray while he says, “That’s an honor, coming from you. Kenapa? Mau disebul?”
And when his Cherry nods his head, eyes glued to each of his movements, Jeonghan grants his wish. Again, he takes a long drag, filling his lungs with smoke, before exhaling it right onto Seungcheol’s face. There’s something messy about his heartbeat, how Seungcheol closes his eyes and let himself be caressed by the smoke, how his baby hair moves due to the air that’s been blown on him, and how he unconsciously rutted his hips against Jeonghan’s crotch.
One word comes to mind.
“Cantik.”
To his own surprise, Seungcheol let out a tiny whimper. His ears are red now. And, God, those half-lidded eyes. Jeonghan knows best that his baby needs this right now, so play along he goes.
“Suka, ya, dipanggil cantik?”
The way Seungcheol nods his head seems too eager for his own good. His nose is all scrunched up now, eyes closed shut, and is shamelessly grinding his crotch against Jeonghan’s, as well as riding the curve of his thigh. He has both hands gripping Jeonghan’s shoulders for dear life, and Jeonghan is careful to still not let any ashes fall on both of them. Being a good boyfriend that he always has, Jeonghan lifts up his knee at certain times, pressing against him just the right amount, wringing those desperate moans of pleasure out of Seungcheol.
“Suka…” He replies, breathless, his whole face as red as that cherry sticker plastered on Jeonghan’s ashtray. “Suka dipanggil cantik… I want you to, ah, call me p–pretty…”
Jeonghan, being the menace that he is, lets that hang in the air for a few seconds. He lets Seungcheol ruts against his thigh like a bitch in heat, chasing his own high, not forgetting to mention that both of them are still fully clothed, though Jeonghan can see a wet patch starting to look visible on his brown pants. He looks pretty like this, Jeonghan thinks, all blissed out from the slightest friction and he hasn’t even had his dick buried deep inside him. It’s a shame, though, for both of them knowing that they are too tired to bring this to the next step, so Jeonghan keeps letting Seungcheol chase his high, with him observing, carefully carving this sight into his memory perfectly.
Blowing another puff of smoke right onto Seungcheol’s face that has his eyes shut closed without any warning, it is expected to hear a cough coming from Seungcheol. And, yet—when he’s about to take a breath, he feels a palm of Jeonghan’s hand on his Adam apple, followed by his fingers latching themselves onto the sides of his neck, and the grip that was once loose just keeps on tightening, earning another cough from him. When he opens his eyes, he’s met with Jeonghan’s smug face, a lop-sided smirk on his face. His face gets closer, and a lightheaded Seungcheol just lets himself be guided, Jeonghan pulling him closer by the neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses on his lips, still choking him.
“Kok berhenti? Kata siapa boleh stop?” Upon hearing those words, Seungcheol lets out a hiccup and starts grinding his hips against Jeonghan’s thigh, trying to move himself with all the willpower that’s left, both hands holding Jeonghan’s wrist. Jeonghan knows best that his Cherry doesn’t want him to stop, in fact, he’s asking for permission. “Go ahead and use me, cantik. I know you can.”
Loosening his grip, Jeonghan finds it quite amusing how Seungcheol’s body spasmed right away after one or two movements of his grinding, and now the front of his pajama pants are wet. Seungcheol is panting, his parted lips heaving a relieved sigh while his thighs are still trembling, and Jeonghan places both hands on top of them, rubbing it soothingly; up and down, up and down, up and down.
“You came?” He asks, a chuckle that’s too similar to be considered as a mock makes Seungcheol snap out of his high and punches him on his chest. “Cepet banget. Beneran ngaruh, ya, dipanggil cantik?”
“Diem, anjing, Han...”
“Guess I just have to call you with that more often, then. Kalau tau kamu jadi se-sensitif ini, who knows how much I can make you come in one night?”