･ﾟ✧ cupid’s got me in a chokehold *･ﾟ
rmwooseok:
somin’s weight is against him in every way that he doesn’t want it to be, like his shoulder is too bony, he’s too heavy and too light; he’s too much and too little; too close and not close enough. it’s exhausting being discontented, grinding on the taste between his teeth as he tries to pretend his agitation isn’t noticeable. maybe he wanted to be asked, to be queried, to be prodded until he was angry and emotional, and blurting out everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. because he was the younger brother, the little brother, the one they pinched the cheeks of and cooed at, like he was still five years old and working off the baby weight.
his eyes sharpen at the question, arms coming up to cross his chest – there’s a long list of reasons why. romance was dumb, it was extra dumb because somin liked them, and three times dumb because he had no doubts that somin watched them imagining jinseok was the male lead who would come sweep him off his feet. not to mention the storylines were stupid and no one died, or got blown up, or had magical powers and had to save the world.
wooseok’s glances at somin, at the controller and towards the television. “i know,” he mutters, words prickling on his tongue. that was one of the thousand things he knew about somin. like how he smelled of some type of flowers and his skin looked like it would taste of cinnamon, and how he’d get that tiny jut in his bottom lip when he was being stubborn. “it’s all you ever want to watch,” he dismisses before somin can question why wooseok would know.
it wasn’t as if it was a secret, but maybe somin thought it was.
‘why?’ pries at wooseoks cold front, at the iron door he takes in on himself whenever somin is near. every bone creaking in wooseok’s chest as he shifts.
he sits taller, one hand falling out from being tucked against his chest. he didn’t know why it was funny – it wasn’t funny to him. “because that’s what people do with romance movies. it’s not silly, it’s what people do. i don’t fucking know why,” there’s a soft growl when he swears, agitated but not angry. “i don’t watch them. i just.. hear about it.” he hated how childish that sounded, like he was thirteen and still hadn’t kissed a girl; but acne-prone skin and adolescent gawkiness and the awkwardness of not even understanding how to get a girl to talk to him yet.
there’s a prod, an electric shock up his spine and he squirms before he can stop himself, arm dropping to protect his side and eyes widening. each poke came with a jolt of annoyance, a flush of irritation, and the teasing words coming from somins lips. one hand clasps on somins instinctively, and then reaches to grab the other. they’re too close. his body hunched over sideways, his eyes taking in the thick black of somin’s lashes and the flecks of black in his eyes. he swallows down, needing to remove the embarrassment of his earlier words.
“no, not my anime,” wooseok corrects, hands slipping and long fingers curling around somin’s thin wrists. he’s smaller than wooseok, lithe and delicate; and it’s easy to move, to turn his body, to dig a knee into the couch and use his strength to pin the older boys hands, to capture them up above his head. “what kind of things are you assuming, hyung? what do you think goes through a nineteen year old boys head when he’s watching romance movies? when they kiss and when they have sex?”
wooseok begins to urge somin back, down into the cushions.
he repeats the older boys taunting word,“huh?”
everything about wooseok in those moments makes something burn beneath his skin. it licks at his fried nerves, like he had been waiting on the edge of his seat for that one moment and anticipation is fed to him through each of wooseok’s shifts, each word muttered in that deep voice that sent shivers down his spine, the grown that made his spine prickle and fingertips tingle. he’s on the edge of the seat and waiting - for what he doesn’t know, but it’s uncomfortable and his body is firmly wound in moments like those, pulled tight. it’s that jittery feeling in his chest that lets him make mistakes, that allows him to push wooseok in ways he shouldn’t, in ways he assumed the other would find irritating, but somin is grinding his teeth and trying to rid himself of those emotions and perceptions that overwhelm and wash over him like the cold tide. he expects anger when wooseok finally stops him, when large hands so easily capture his own, warm and slightly calloused and far more manly than he was prepared for. he expects anger, but not the way his stomach turns and twists into knots, not the proximity of wooseok’s face and his warm breath. he doesn’t expect the fingers travelling along his skin and wrapping around his thin wrists so easily, capturing him so easily and he’s falling before he can think about what’s happening. his back hits the soft couch and somin is trapped, pinned; tiny beneath wooseok’s hovering form and something in him shifts, makes his back arch and body squirm like he’s testing the limits, like he’s testing wooseok’s strength and the ease with which he could free himself. the anger never comes and somin slightly regrets it because he would have known how to handle that, how to slip away and escape, but he’s met with a quiet voice, instead. there’s the soft words and the teasing edge and the forbidden words that he didn’t think wooseok of uttering with such a straight face. “how- how would i know?” his own voice had lost it’s confidence, face pink and words breathy and small, like he’s sinking and shrinking and so pliant. their faces are too close suddenly and he looks away, turns his face as if he’s trying to hide against the fabric of his sleeve, trying to rid himself of the pink on his cheeks by brushing it off. “i’m not a nineteen year old boy, so, how would i know? probably-“ — somin had always had an odd fascination of playing with things that were forbidden. curiosity was rumoured to have killed the cat, but somin was confident in still having all of his nine lives. “probably something improper.” he glances at wooseok from the corner of his eyes, tugs at his arms like he’s once again remembered that he was trying to pull away all this time and his hips shift along with the rest of his body, knees pulling up and legs parting to fit wooseok in between them. “is that why you don’t want to watch romantic movies? you think about making out because that’s what’s on your mind, isn’t it? kissing and s-sex. that’s what you think about, isn’t it?”
