Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/960542.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      EXO_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Chanyeol/Sehun, Chanyeol/Kai
  Character:
      Park_Chanyeol, Kim_Jongin_|_Kai, Oh_Sehun
  Additional Tags:
      Adultery
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-09-09 Words: 2400
****** madonna-whore complex (Chanyeol/Sehun, Chanyeol/Kai) ******
by Rei_Rei_(anti60ne)
Summary
     Where such men love they have no desire and where they desire they
     cannot love. - Freud
genre: angst, erotica (according to Laura)
pairing: Chanyeol/Sehun, Chanyeol/Kai
rating: NC-17
word count: 2343
summary: Where such men love they have no desire and where they desire they
cannot love. - Freud
A/N: again, xoxo to Laura for being an amazing beta who has spoiled me with
excessive compliments.

 
{one}
When his lips embrace Jongin's warm tongue, he feels no tingling sensation down
the back of his throat. Yet he doesn't pull back. Chanyeol leans in and dives,
and he plummets into the abyss of lust, where Jongin is waiting for him,
smirking.
It has been over two weeks--or was it three? He's lost count--after Chanyeol's
first encounter with Jongin. Time is shoved aside by timelessness, hands on his
watch have long disappeared. Jongin is the epitome of everything unreal and
everything too-real, an out-of-body experience.
But this only happens when they fuck so hard that their minds are distraught
with the numbness of everything save for the roars of their heartbeats against
bared chests, the surging blood of Chanyeol's cock inside Jongin, who quakes
into oblivion.
There isn't a time when they part their separate ways without some sort of
penetration. Not that Chanyeol remembers, anyway. They fuck in the dilapidated
bathroom in the back of Katz's Deli, nearly falling through the poorly hinged
stall, an unconcern to either of them. They fuck in the backseat of Jongin's
disgustingly expensive BMW, smearing the leather with sex and sweat and
something that urgently requires a car wash. They fuck on the island centered
in Chanyeol's kitchen, Jongin's ass grazing against the marble, pots and pans
clanking above endless grunts and swears, a distorted symphony of depraved
disregard. They fuck, because that's the only thing they know how to do around
each other.
No alternative exists. Not for Chanyeol. As for Jongin, it doesn't matter.
Jongin has invited himself into Chanyeol's apartment a few times, and Chanyeol
lets him when he's 200% positive Sehun won't be back until hours later. Most of
the time, however, Chanyeol is the one peering up the six-story brick complex
on Hester Street at two in the morning, his phone dialing a memorized number he
never bothered to save.
Jongin is always awake, as if anticipating Chanyeol to crawl back to him and
into his bed that feels so warm it bites. Chanyeol pushes Jongin backward the
instant the door opens and they stumble into darkness, lights unneeded and
reason unheeded. Chanyeol doesn't offer an explanation and Jongin doesn't
demand one. He never does, because explanations are yearned only by those who
care.
There is no morning-after, and Jongin wakes up to the other side of his bed
gone cold, as if the previous night has merely been a dream, one of those that
he's not even sure if it happened at all. He would like to think that Chanyeol
never stays because he has someone else, in a different bed, to go back to.
Jongin effortlessly steers away from the possibility that he may be the
underlying reason, because why should he be when Chanyeol lets himself plunge
into Jongin with unparalleled abandon.
So Jongin doesn't let the solo awakening bother him.
But the sheets smell like Chanyeol, the scent that is saturated in the rifts of
his body, the whiffs that carry themselves to Jongin's fingertips when he
traces the outline of Chanyeol's face. Jongin stares out the high-rise window,
his eyes vacant. Eventually, he drags himself out of bed and peels off the
sheets. He pads into the laundry room and stuffs the soiled fabric into the
washing machine.
Maybe he is too naive to think, even in the back of his subconscious, that as
he cleans his sheets, he could wash away little bits of Chanyeol.
 
{two}
Sehun never understands why Chanyeol would not touch him. The airy brushes of
the arm and fleeting hugs aside, Chanyeol has not conceded more than kisses on
the lips. Calling it a concession underscores the reluctance that Sehun senses
in Chanyeol for physical intimacy. It's strange, ineffable, really, considering
it is now four weeks and counting--yes, Sehun keeps track of things like this--
since the inception of their exclusive relationship. Sehun is not the type to
push, but he is certainly the type of dwell on unanswered questions, gnawing
his insides like the undead.
Chanyeol worships Sehun. It is the kind of adoration that one only reads about
in faultlessly crafted love stories that idealize the romantic relationship,
and then succumbs to utter amazement because how is it possible that a person
can cherish, revere, someone else in such a selfless manner? The embodiment of
agape does not exist in the world made of flesh and blood.
Yet it does, in the mind of Chanyeol, in which Sehun is the apple of his eye,
forever sitting on the apex of a pyramid that Chanyeol struggles to climb.
Sehun knows that Chanyeol occasionally disappears in the dead of the night, and
does not return until moments before the break of dawn. He knows that
sometimes, Chanyeol has been elsewhere before meeting him for lunch, his
clothes spritzed with a trace of mint and his hair slightly damp. Sehun knows a
lot of things, none of which he ever plans to reveal to Chanyeol.
But there is also a vast amount that Sehun does not know. He does not know that
on the mornings after stayed-in nights, Chanyeol watches his still face wrapped
in the comfort of sleep, unblinking and unthinking. Sehun does not know that
before Chanyeol marks their bed with his absence, he brushes away Sehun's bangs
and places an indiscernible kiss on his forehead with immeasurable caution, as
if he is terrified of breaking something fragile.
In some way, that is an indisputable truth. To Chanyeol, Sehun will shatter
into more pieces than he can put together, sizzled and charred to unholy
embers, as if his touch bears forces from a dimension much darker than his own
mind.
Chanyeol is mortified of the possibility; as irrational as it sounds in his
head, it sounds perfectly plausible in the frayed corners of his heart.
At times, Chanyeol regrets asking Sehun to be with him. He remembers that
moment so clearly still, "Be with me, because I can't live without you."
Chanyeol should have known that more than one form of living exists, and he
failed to take into account the way his body lives when he was so caught up in
how Sehun made his soul come alive.
It is this emotional bond between them that appeases Sehun and consoles
Chanyeol. Sehun is still Chanyeol's safe haven, and by some unfathomable rule
of the universe, they both know that nothing is going to change that.
But Chanyeol still finds himself in a battle he is bound to lose, lust
lacerating love with no mercy.
 
{three}
It begins to drizzle when Chanyeol's phone rings, the tone bouncing through the
empty hallway out of his office. Everyone has already left; he has had to work
overtime today due to some urgent matters. Chanyeol rubs his heavy eyes and
plucks his phone from the pants pocket.
He blinks at the string of digits on the screen. It's been a while since he
sees this number, the one he never bothered to save and yet somehow managed to
remember.
Worrying his lips, Chanyeol debates with himself whether to answer the call. He
has been trying so hard, even taken the effort to mark on a desk calendar
(which he keeps safely on his work desk, of course) each day that has passed
without seeing Jongin. Each time he draws a shocking red X in the little square
indicating the date, Chanyeol feels less guilty toward Sehun, as if office
supplies symbolize the sacrificial lamb, substituting as his sacrifice.
His phone continues to ring. Chanyeol strains to remember today's date, the
number that was crossed out by his red Sharpie this morning.
A colleague pops his head out of his cubicle and tosses Chanyeol a peeved
glance, starling him. Unthinking, Chanyeol answers the call.
He shudders upon Jongin's first syllable, the husky voice radiating so easily
into his core, and Chanyeol just knows.
He has reached the point of no return.
Jongin does not ask him to meet. He chats with unabashed grins that Chanyeol
could envision on the face he's already itching to touch, the largely one-way
dialogue short of where-have-you-been's and have-you-been-avoiding-me's.
Chanyeol knows Jongin is not the clingy type; his pride disallows him to grovel
emotionally. But maybe Jongin knows Chanyeol can't quit him, or maybe he was
gambling with the weakness of Chanyeol's resolve.
Maybe Chanyeol knows, too, because simply hearing Jongin's voice propels his
feet in the direction of the downtown 1 train, and moments later, Chanyeol
finds himself standing on Hester Street, chilled rain seeping through his
Burberry trench coat and into his bones.
He looks up and sees Jongin standing behind a half-open window, topless, as if
he has foreseen Chanyeol's surrender, already prepared.
Chanyeol ignores the elevator this time and takes the stairs. He doesn't hear
the thuds of his shoes on the steps, or the pumps of his blood against his
ears. He is oblivious to all except that his mind begins unraveling and his
soul dying, and it feels devastatingly familiar.
Chanyeol freezes when Jongin opens the door before he even attempts to knock.
Jongin cocks an eyebrow at the soaked and immobile figure, amusement tugging at
his lips. He raises a hand and thumbs away the water on Chanyeol's cheek.
That's all it takes to set him on fire.
It takes Jongin by slight surprise when Chanyeol skips the foreplay and
regardlessly yanks his cotton sweatpants off. Chanyeol undresses himself with a
desperate velocity, his fingers moving on their own with adulterous precision.
Jongin laughs when Chanyeol throws him onto the bed, but further chuckles turn
into cries at the unexpected thrust.
The way he fucks this time is unyielding, unforgiving, unfeeling. It tears
Jongin apart, but he doesn't whine because at least, Chanyeol is back with his
scent and body temperature that have lingered in Jongin's darkest dreams.
Chanyeol pulls out when he comes, marking Jongin's stomach with remnants of
himself. Jongin reaches his own release as Chanyeol slumps and rolls to the
side, their labored breaths thundering in the quiet stretched between them.
Jongin falls asleep without a word, and Chanyeol watches, for the first time.
Nausea grips and twists his insides as Sehun's face blurs in and out of focus,
overlapping Jongin's.
Chanyeol stumbles out of bed and runs into the bathroom. He chokes on dry spits
and pukes up bile.
He rinses his mouth, crummy with white lies and regrets. He looks in the mirror
and tries to blink his swollen eyes open.
He slips out of Jongin's apartment, swaying from a vertigo that begins to haunt
him. He flags a taxi with trembling arms and ignores the nauseating feeling
pooled in his stomach, because he has to go home and see Sehun, to feelhim.
It is pouring.
 
{four}
When Chanyeol tiptoes into the bedroom, panting and water dripping from his
disheveled hair, the bedside lamp flickers on, startling him.
Sehun is awake.
Chanyeol's heart sinks to a depth he didn't know existed.
Sehun says nothing. He gazes at Chanyeol, eyes without warmth or emotions, not
even anger or hurt.
Despite his violently shaking body, Chanyeol trudges toward the bed. He
gingerly sits down on the edge, eyes pleading. Sehun looks away, but remains
still.
Chanyeol whispers an apology, knowing that it is probably futile and his
mistakes have already drowned both of them. But he tries, anyway, as he has
been in the past weeks. He wishes Sehun knew how hard he tried.
An "I love you" hitches in Chanyeol's throat, but he swallows it, dry and hard
and painful. Words are defective remedies when you are mute by the death of
your soul.
Sehun shuts the light, and Chanyeol bursts into tears as darkness engulfs him,
devouring him alive. He sobs into his rain-stained hands and numbness overtakes
him and for a moment, Chanyeol is convinced that he is actually dead. Until a
hand creeps up his back and tentative arms embrace his shoulders.
He has underestimated how forgiving Sehun was.
Or perhaps, Sehun simply could not bear watching Chanyeol get dismantled by
guilt, or perhaps he was glad that at least Chanyeol came home at last, like
the prodigal son, shamed by his ignorance of the infinite love waiting for him.
But redemption is one and the same, and Chanyeol leaves behind his own ghosts
and holds onto Sehun with abandonment.
Chanyeol kisses Sehun with a fervor that was previously reserved for someone
else. Sehun doesn't show his astonishment when he feels Chanyeol's still-wet
hand reach in underneath his shirt, fingers ghosting across the shivers on his
skin. Sehun presses closer against him, pushing the drenched fabric that
stubbornly clings to Chanyeol's skin off his shoulders and for once, Sehun
hears no voices nagging in the back of his head that used to drive him into
uncertainty.
So he doesn't stop. And neither does Chanyeol.
They let themselves be carried on waves of adrenaline and boiling blood. Storms
rise beneath Sehun's skin and he begins to crave more of Chanyeol, the way he
touches, the way he kisses, the way he breathes against his skin, the way he
moves inside him. And he forgets, a little too easily, because love makes
amnesia more pleasant than a disease should be.
Unfortunately, redemption comes with a price.
Between seeing and unseeing, Chanyeol's eyes betray him, stabbing him in the
back of his mind with cursory images of Jongin writhing underneath him,
screaming his name. He blinks several times and Sehun is back into focus again,
but it hurts a little more each time his mind and heart have to restart in
sync.
The pain subsides when Sehun kisses him and brings him back into the reality of
righted wrongs and perfected flaws.
Sehun drifts into sleep. Chanyeol watches, as he has in the past and will in
the future, before his eyes fall shut in unprecedented exhaustion.
Chanyeol is jolted awake by the vibration of his phone. He squints at the
overly bright screen.
He quietly pads out of the room, phone in hand, still vibrating.
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