#also I like matchbox twenty but I don’t consider any of their albums as Perfect Albums

[trammellesstangent]

In addition, here are a few other perfect albums a collection of not perfect but damn close albums (in no particular order):

Actually maybe I should’ve put Dire Straits in the top three instead of Flesh Tape but whatever that’s who I’m listening to right now and Flesh Tape is small so they will be more affected than Dire Straits would be by a handful of extra listeners

Post 3 perfect or near perfect albums, go!

[wherevermyway]

roller rinks and raspberry berets (1/2) // jeongbin // 18+

chapter one: heaven and back navigation: next chapter [in progress]

pairing: seo changbin x yang jeongin | past bang chan x seo changbin rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: explicit sexual content, recreational drug use (LSD, weed), 1980s AU, strangers-to-lovers, the roller skates stay on during sex, past infidelity, phone sex, masturbation, semi-public sex word count: 11,606 also on AO3

originally posted: 16 november 2021

It’s 1987, and the party scene is as vibrant and lively as the neon rainbow everyone is painted in.

Several months after a nasty breakup, Seo Changbin’s friends set him up with a mutual friend, Yang Jeongin. They speak on the phone a couple of times, then decide to go through with the blind date set up for them at a local roller rink. Changbin realizes he never really learned how to skate, but with Jeongin's hands guiding him, anything's possible.

They take some questionable substances and sparks start to fly when the lights drop and the music gets louder.

It's neon night at The Roxanne, and things are about to liven up, in more ways than one.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are  interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do  not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of  the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable,  please stop reading now.

A murky haze surrounded two men lying on a shag carpet in a rundown apartment. The stench of scorched marijuana and incense clung to the walls like the dingy wallpaper that was slowly starting to yellow and peel. If it wasn’t for the Madonna calendar hanging up right next to the fridge that had “MAY 1987” emblazoned in big, blocky orange letters, it would seem like the place was stuck in 1973.

“You’re gonna want this,” a young man with spiky, neon orange hair passes off a dime bag with a couple of tiny blotters in it to the other young man with shaggy black hair. “Neon night at The Roxanne always gets fuckin’ dope, but if you’re not trippin’ on something, it ain’t as good.”

“Word,” the man with black hair rubs his eyes and tosses the bag onto his chest. He brings a joint up to his lips, taking a deep inhale, before passing it back to the other man. The smoke hangs in his lungs for a few moments, before he carefully exhales the vapour into the air, letting the smoke feed into the cloud hovering above them. “You really think this Jeongin is as rad as Seungmin keeps hyping him up to be?”

The orange haired man coughs while he laughs. “Dunno, dude.” He takes another hit from the joint, and a wide grin spreads across his face. “I’ve met him a couple times. He plays the electric bass some band and thinks he’s good at surfing. Seung keeps telling me ‘Oh, Changbin’s gonna love him, Jeongin’s got a collection of weird records and refuses to use cassette tapes’ like it means something.”

Changbin fumbles himself upright and points at Minho, dime bag sliding off of his chest and down to the floor. “He’s got a point, dude,” the younger man, despite looking higher than a kite, attempts to look totally serious. “I told you, records just sound better. Don’t give me that shit about cassette tapes. The only shit tapes have for them is that they’re convenient for road trips. Sound-wise, it ain’t the same.”

The two of them stare at each other before bursting into a fit of the giggles. They laugh until their stomachs hurt and the cherry burns out of their joint.

“Anyway,” Minho wipes the corners of his eyes and pulls a slip of paper out of his back pocket, “you should give him a call before your date. Might make things a little less awkward.”

Changbin takes the slip of torn notebook paper and stares at it. He was doing fine until he saw the ten digits and ‘Jeongin’ on the paper, then his palms started to sweat a bit. “You really think he’s gonna like me?”

Minho relights the joint between his teeth and smirks, giving Changbin a coy glance. “Everyone likes you, dude. Chill out.”

Changbin didn’t get the courage to call Jeongin until Wednesday night, two days before their blind date. Minho was out for the night, going to some lame house party with Seungmin again. The two were practically attached at the hip, unsure if they were going to ever officially become an item or not; they had been on-again, off-again for nearly a year now. Minho was seriously considering asking Seungmin if they should settle down, take things seriously, but then Chan had broken up with Changbin, and it made everyone question if relationships were really worth it.

“Man,” Changbin sighed as he flopped down onto his bed. He reached over to his nightstand and cracked his knuckles before he scraped together enough weed to roll a quick joint. Minho was always better at it than him, but he tried his damnedest. As long as he could smoke up enough to forget about frantic college students contemplating the true meaning of Shakespeare’s work while he helped them search for reference materials, he didn’t really care what exactly the joint looked like.

It turned out a little crooked, but it didn’t matter. As long as it got the job done, right? He took a stray match from the tray and struck it against a matchbox, spinning it around the end of his joint as he took a deep inhale, then shook the match until the flame went out. As he watched the smoke leave his lips, he chewed on his lip a bit.

Tonight was the night. It had to be. There were only two nights to go.

His eyes fluttered down to the same scrap of paper that Minho had handed him a couple of days ago, sitting right next to the phone on his desk. When they first moved into this apartment, Minho teased him for having a rotary phone, instead of something with real push buttons. “Dude, you’re, like, twenty-five and you’ve got an old ass rotary phone. You’re fitting that old, crusty librarian stereotype, now you just need twenty cats and argyle-patterned wool sweaters covered in your cats’ fur.”

Minho earned the elbow in the ribs that Changbin gave him for that.

Changbin wasn’t sure how long he sat and stared at that scrap of paper, but it was long enough for him to get through his entire joint. Would Jeongin really like him? Could he handle the weird, nerdy rants Changbin could go on about the Dewey Decimal Classification when he got really baked? Did Jeongin even do, much less like, drugs?

Okay, if he was friends with Seungmin, he absolutely had to be fine with the last concern. That was one fear off of the list, alleviating his concerns a minute amount.

After Chan got sick of Changbin’s oddities, he was nervous that his next partner would be overly critical of everything he did. Afraid that he would spark an argument over something stupid, like the way that their albums were organized, or whether or not plates should be on the bottom shelf of a cupboard, or the second shelf.

Domestic life with a partner was stupid, and being stuck in the middle of one’s twenties, when someone supposed to be in the prime of their youth, was not the time to argue over fucking dinner plates. Changbin figured that now was the perfect time to drop acid on a date with some dude he never met, even if he wasn’t sure if the stranger was even cute or not. It didn’t matter.

Fuck it.

He placed the remnants of his burnt out joint on the metal tray, pushing it out of the way as he stood up, grabbing his phone and the paper off of his desk, dropping them onto his nightstand. Hopefully, this conversation would be long enough for him to be able to relax up against the wall, to get comfortable and bond. Even if it wasn’t a guarantee towards forever, Changbin would let his guard down just a little, let someone in again. It had been several months, nearly a year at this point, and it was time.

His fingers were slightly clammy, holding the flimsy paper in between his thumb and index finger. He took in a sharp breath, then brought the receiver up under his ear, propping it up with his shoulder. Subconsciously, Changbin furrowed his brows and stuck the tip of his tongue out through the corner of his lips as he punched in each digit into the rotary, letting the dial spin and click between each number.

After the tenth number was in, he sat back a bit, listening to the dial tone trill in his ear.

Once.

Was this the right number?

Twice.

Would Jeongin pick up?

Three rings.

Was he even home?

Four.

Was this a good idea?

Five. Five was making Changbin nervous, more nervous than he expected.

“Hello?” The voice on the other line was breathy and he heard a couple of small pants. It was easy to get distracted, Changbin getting lost in the possible reasons as to why the other voice was so… occupied.

“H-hi,” he stumbled over his words, forgetting how to form a coherent sentence. Shit, this was awkward. “I’m looking for Jeongin. Yang Jeongin. Do I have the right number?”

“Heh,” the other voice chuckles. “Depends on who’s asking.”

Arrogant. Changbin liked that. “Seo Changbin. Apparently, we’re going on a date on Friday, thanks to our friend Seungmin.”

“Damn,” the other young man sighed, “took you forever to call. Seungmin said he wasn’t gonna give me your number, that I should wait for you to call.” There’s a sound of something metallic clattering against a hard surface. “I don’t like waiting, but I figured I’d give it a chance. I’m tired of dating guys that have dated guys I’ve dated already.”

Changbin swallowed hard, not sure of what exactly he should say.

“That was a joke, dude.” Jeongin sighs, and there’s a bit of shuffling on the other line. “Please tell me you know how to laugh. If you don’t know how to laugh, I don’t know how this is gonna work out.”

“Yeah,” Changbin squeaks, “I just, I dunno, I’m not really good at talking over the phone unless it’s for, like, work or something.”

“Oh yeah!” The other man exclaims, and a slap against a hard surface comes through the tinny receiver. “Seungmin told me you’re a librarian. You don’t hear of many 25-year-old librarians, much less ones that are dudes, and even fewer that don’t have cats. Weird.” He laughs a little bit, a cute, light, floaty laugh. “Why did you become a librarian, of all things? Sounds kinda nerdy.”

Without thinking, Changbin grits his teeth in nervousness, reminded of all of the shitty jocks in high school giving him shit for spending all of his free time in the library, nose in some nonfiction books about music theory. None of those bastards got anywhere in life, anyways, so who was really laughing now? “It’s because I am a nerd,” he says, a bit colder than he should have, “but I like organization, helping people find things, and, honestly, just being able to feel a little smarter than most people sometimes.”

The weed was starting to really have an effect on him, allowing him to physically relax, but also be a bit more open. Perhaps he was a bit too open.

The two men share a brief pause over the phone and then Jeongin laughs. “So, you think you’re pretty smart, huh?”

“I mean,” Changbin leans up against the wall, tangling the phone cord aimlessly between his fingers, “I don’t have two degrees in this for nothing.”

“Ha,” Jeongin’s laugh bubbles up again, “dweeb.”

They chat aimlessly for a while, and Changbin finds out that Jeongin is, indeed, a musician. Dropped out of university to be a bassist with a couple of his friends, but he works in a pawn shop half-time.

“Pays the bills and it lets me get first pick of all of the good, barely-played records,” Jeongin quips. “Even if sometimes people wanna try to steal shit and we get threats of armed robbery every couple weeks. Stressful, but I got a copy of The Wall last week, brand new and unopened, for way cheaper than my boss would’ve sold it for, so that makes up for it.”

Changbin found Jeongin startlingly fascinating. They seemed like total opposites on some things, since Jeongin was an extrovert and Changbin was an introvert, but they agreed on important things, like music. “That reminds me,” he slid down to lay up against his bed and stare at the ceiling, “my roommate, Minho? He tried to tell me there’s no auditory difference between records and cassette tapes.”

“Dude!” Jeongin scoffs with offence. “You need a new roommate. What a shitty opinion.”

“I know, I know,” Changbin curls into himself a bit, a wide smile on his face as he laughs. “Minho doesn’t get it, man. I tried playing a couple different things, but he still didn’t get it.”

The two of them share a laugh over the line. It had been so long since someone other than Minho made Changbin genuinely smile and laugh like that, and he was starting to have a bit less reservation about Jeongin. Maybe this would work out, after all.

“So,” the other man clears his throat, trying to calm himself from laughing so hard, “I gotta ask. What’s your favourite year in music so far, since ’80? Don’t get me started on the 60s and 70s, because I have a lot of opinions.”

“That’s tough.” Changbin bites his tongue and squints, rolling his eyes back and forth, scanning the ceiling as if it would give him some sort of answer. “’84, if I have to pick. I mean, dude, look at Queen; they’re fucking killing it. ‘Radio Ga Ga’ is still playing everywhere. Don’t even get me started on ‘Take On Me’, either.”

Jeongin politely chuckles. “Alright, man, I gotta disagree. ’85. ‘Raspberry Beret’ is so good, like, it’s my favourite by Prince. ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’? Come on, man, The Breakfast Club. You can’t tell me that’s not iconic.”

“That’s one of my favourite movies, man.” Changbin’s face starts to hurt from smiling so much as he quotes the film: “‘We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that’s all.’”

There’s a soft laugh on the other line, something different about it, like the mood has shifted into something a little more serious. “Ah, Changbin. I knew I’d like you, not just for your opinions on records and cassette tapes. You seem pretty neat, and I wanna get to know you more.”

The blush that creeps up on Changbin’s face is uncomfortably hot. They had to have been on the phone for about an hour, but everything was starting to unravel naturally, comfortably, and it was exciting. His gaze falls as he turns his head to the side, eyeing the metal alarm clock on his nightstand.

“I’d like that, Jeongin,” he says, nearly whispering it. “I’ve gotta head to bed here in a bit, since I’ve got an early day of being your local resident nerd at the campus library tomorrow.”

“I haven’t seen you yet,” the other man lowers his voice, practically growling into the phone, “but you might just convince me that librarians and nerds can be hot and sexy, after all.”

Changbin practically chokes on his saliva at that comment. His eyes widen and he shakes his head a few times, almost comically. “I wouldn’t say that I’m either of those things, but I’m curious to hear what you think of me. Maybe we could pick up this conversation tomorrow?”

“I’m free all night, baby. Call me up whenever.”

The two of them offer impolite farewells, then Changbin softly hangs up the phone. He checks his alarm clock to make sure his alarm is set, then pulls the drawstring on his desk lamp, turning it off.

“Nerds can be hot and sexy, after all.” Jeongin’s voice echoed in his head, and just the thought of the way he said that caused his nerves to come to life, for his breath to quicken. What did this mysterious pawn shop clerk by day, musician by night look like? Was he any good in the sheets? Was he aggressive, was he soft?

If he wasn’t so tired, Changbin would’ve let his mind run a little more wild, maybe let his hands wander south. Instead, he quickly fell asleep, losing himself in the memory of Jeongin’s voice and the possibilities they had ahead of them.

The next day went by slower than it should have, and it was completely unfair. It was two in the afternoon when things came to a complete standstill. It was Thursday, and a lot of students would likely be in the middle of exams, so there wasn’t much to do, other than daydream about Jeongin while aimlessly thumbing through a catalogue of items for archiving.

Changbin stood at the archiving desk, the area completely emptied out and quiet. The lack of people meant there was a lack of work, allowing for his mind to travel to some interesting places: imagining bony fingers scanning his body, running down his torso, grabbing his hips. He subconsciously gripped the red pen in his hand a little tighter, leaning against the desk as he bit his lip, trying hard not to rut against the oaken wood beneath him.

He should be focusing on the lengthy parchment in front of him, waiting to be indexed. Waiting, like he was, to be aimlessly fucked into. It had been over a year since he last slept with someone, and it was starting to become tiresome. It usually didn’t bother him, but Jeongin’s voice and his words had been dancing around in his head all day, making his entire body tingle and tense.

Their blind date was tomorrow night, but Changbin wasn’t sure if he could hold out on getting off for one more day. He had to know more intimate details about Jeongin, and, nerves be damned, he was going to work up the courage to find out tonight.

Changbin nervously paced around his empty apartment, soles of his feet dragging across the shag carpet in the living room. He told himself he wouldn’t call Jeongin until 19:30 at the earliest, and calling him at exactly 19:30 would just be overkill and stupid. He couldn’t come off as needy or desperate, so he waited. Every couple of minutes, he would anxiously look up at the clock that hung up on the wall above his prized record player.

19:24.

“Dammit all to hell,” Changbin grumbled, nibbling on his thumbnail as he continued to pace. Kate Bush’s ‘Cloudbusting’ was nearly finished playing, which meant he was going to have to flip the record over to side B, but he decided against it. No, he’d suffer in silence until 19:33; an arbitrary time, but random enough to seem unsuspicious. That meant a little under eight minutes to wait impatiently. He’d get through it, he figured, even though it would be painful.

As the song ended and Changbin went to shut off the record player and slip the vinyl back into its papery packaging, the phone rang. A gasp silently escaped his lips as he looked up at the clock. 19:26.

No, it couldn’t be Jeongin. Changbin didn’t give him his phone number. Still, he ran off to his bedroom. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, but it was better to be prepared just in case. He slammed his door behind him and rushed to grab the receiver, anxiously bringing it up to his ear.

“Hello?” He tried so hard to stay calm as he answered the phone.

“Hey!” Changbin frowned as he realized the voice on the other line was Minho. “It’s just me. I’m gonna be at Seungmin’s tonight. We’ve got, uh,” he lowers his voice, “I’m probably not gonna be home until, like, Sunday at this rate. Seungmin’s got plans.”

He tried really hard not to, but Changbin still rolled his eyes in envy at his roommate. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, “have fun getting the life pounded out of you. Hopefully you can still walk by the time you come home on Monday.”

“Oh come on,” Minho scoffed. “According to Seungmin, don’t be surprised if Jeongin’s got similar plans for the both of you if you two hit it off.”

Changbin shook his head and instantly flushed at the thought, his brain malfunctioning. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s nothing.” There’s some shuffling on the other end of the line, and then Minho gasps and laughs. “I gotta go, dude. Good luck this weekend, bye!”

Before he can say anything in response, Minho hangs up, leaving Changbin staring blankly at the receiver. He slams it down on the phone and groans loudly. A few moments pass before he decides to turn his overhead light off, and turn his desk lamp on. 19:30. There was only a little bit longer before he wouldn’t be worried about calling Jeongin, so he stared down at the drawer of his nightstand.

“Just in case, right?” A nervous scoff left his lips as he whispered into the air.

He pulled out a small bottle of lube, and set it down next to the phone. Even if his conversation with Jeongin didn’t go the way he was hoping it would, he wouldn’t let himself fall asleep unsatisfied tonight. There was no way.

19:31.

Two minutes to go until—

The phone rang again, causing Changbin to jump in place, nearly out of his own skin. “What the fuck?” He shouted to himself as he picked up the receiver. “Dude, Minho, I get it, you don’t have to rub it in my face.”

“Changbin?” The other voice was decidedly not Minho. No, it was too familiar, yet unfamiliar all at once. Painfully new.

“Jeongin? How did you…?”

The younger man chuckled. “I was with Seungmin today. Told him about our conversation yesterday, and he thought it’d be fine if he gave me your number. Maybe call you a little earlier, throw you off your guard.”

Changbin scoffed and flopped down onto his bed unceremoniously. “Well, it worked.”

“Clearly.”

There was a bit of an awkward silence, and Changbin bit his lip, trying to think of what to say next. He had all of these great topics for conversation run through his head while he was at work, but now they were all gone, like they never existed. The only obvious option that came to him was about their date tomorrow. “About our date tomorrow,” he starts, aimlessly watching the second hand tick away on his alarm clock, “how are we gonna know how to find each other?”

Jeongin hummed a mindless tune for a moment, likely contemplating his plans. “Wait for me at the bar. I’ll be there, wearing a neon pink shirt. I’ve got freshly-dyed teal blue hair, so you might need to get your eyes checked if you miss me.”

A soft smile crawled its way up Changbin’s face. “That sounds eclectic.”

“Comes with who I am; the whole package deal is a little unconventional. Hopefully you can handle that.”

“Hmm,” Changbin hums, then tsks, “might be a little difficult. A neon-clad, blue-haired musician and a boring, black-haired librarian that only owns dark clothes. We’re gonna be quite the duo.”

“Come on,” Jeongin whines, “you’ve gotta have a little neon in that closet of yours.”

“Nope. You can be the neon, and I’ll be the night, since it’s neon night, after all. Yin and yang. Light and dark.”

There’s a soft chuckle on the other line. “Can’t have the day without the night, huh?”

“When you put it that way,” Changbin starts, but lets his voice trail off. Musicians sure seemed to be good with words. He couldn’t help but wonder, with a silver tongue like that, if Jeongin wrote the lyrics for the small punk group he was a part of. Come to think of it, a punk bassist in neon was an interesting mental image, almost some sort of visual dissonance.

“What are you wearing?” Jeongin pulls Changbin from his thoughts, voice a bit lower than it was prior.

The question perplexed Changbin as he mentally thumbed through the clothes in his closet. “I dunno, probably my Bad Religion t-shirt so I’m noticeable and some ripped skinny jeans. Think it roughly fits the non-neon aesthetic. Is that fine?”

“Perhaps I should’ve phrased that better.” A laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”

Changbin knots his eyebrows together and cards a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what you mean, then. I figured it would fit for the location, and—“

“I meant right now.” The bluntness in Jeongin’s statement is jarring.

“Oh.” Changbin can’t manage much else, his brain slowly grinding its gears around as he tried to get back into the right mental space for… this.

This was really fucking happening. Not just a delusional fantasy he had hoped for.

He must have taken too long thinking about it, because Jeongin frantically starts stuttering on the other line. “Wait, no, sorry,” he starts, “that was abrupt. I’m sorry, like, shit, we’ve barely spoken for more than an hour to each other and I’m already trying to pull something like this and I probably just came off as—“

“What do you want me to wear right now?” It comes out a bit too naturally, too smoothly off of Changbin’s tongue, like it was obvious he wanted to see where this would go.

A beat passes. “Ideally?” Jeongin quietly whispers, shuffling a bit on his end. “I’d want you naked. But I don’t think I want you there yet.”

Changbin’s heart was about to beat out of his chest and his dick responded in kind, slowly pressing up against his briefs more and more as his blood coursed through his veins. “Not yet, you say? How come?”

“I don’t like instant gratification. If you can’t work for it, what’s the point?”

“Interesting. Am I working for it, or are you?” Changbin’s free hand slips down to the hem of his shirt, playing with a loose string, rolling it nervously between his thumb and index finger.

Jeongin hums. “Tonight? I don’t usually do this, since I like to be the one in control, but it’s been so long, I’ll make an exception.”

In the seven years that Changbin had been an adult, he had only tried phone sex once, and it was awkward. Chan was in northern California for work, and they were both drunk and lonely. They tried to make it work, but the pacing was off, the phrasing was awkward, especially since Chan didn’t try to experiment with dirty talk, and they ended up falling asleep on each other.

This, though, simply felt different and exciting.

“What if I don’t want you to be naked?” Changbin tugged harder at the string, starting to rip it from the hem, slowly unravelling it and ruining the stitching of his shirt. It didn’t matter, he hardly noticed. He could tear his shirt apart completely and he still wouldn’t have cared.

“Seems like you like to make people work for it, too.” Jeongin shuffled on the other line again, his voice a bit clearer, like he was closer to the phone. “Maybe you like to do questionable things in questionable places. I don’t know you well — at all, actually — but I just get this feeling about you. The quiet ones are always the fun, adventurous ones.”

“It must be true, then.” Changbin pauses to take in a breath, to calm his nerves over what he was about to say to a stranger over the phone. “I thought about you today while I was working on a catalogue for our archives. It’s a boring, thoughtless job sometimes, allows me to have a lot of time to let my mind wander. I was leaning up against the desk, pen in hand, and all I could think about was how pretty your voice would sound as I slowly fucked into you, made you beg to me to go faster, but I’d just slow down.” The string detached from Changbin’s shirt, yet he continued to roll it between his fingers.

Jeongin’s breathing started to pick up on the other end. “What else?”

Changbin discarded the string haphazardly and nestled the receiver in the crook of his neck, shuffling his shorts and briefs down just enough for his dick to spring out. “I’d bite the back of your neck all the way up your ear. Tell you to stay quiet, since you were being too loud and whiny, that you’d be the reason we’d get caught.”

“Yeah,” a pant, “can’t have us getting caught. It’d be quite a rush, getting fucked by the hot, nerdy librarian when he’s supposed to be working.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. Changbin grabbed the bottle of lube from the nightstand, haphazardly squirting some of it all over his crotch, somewhat missing his dick in his rush. “The only thing I’d be working would be your cock in my hand. Make you whine, make you fucking miserable as I bring you so close to coming but keep you hanging, begging for me to let you come.” He tossed the bottle on to the floor, then mopped up some of the stray lube off of his stomach, then moved to stroke himself a bit hastily. It had been so long, and to actually have an intimate connection with another human being, albeit over the phone, was enough excitement to have him close to the edge already.

Jeongin must have had a similar idea, because his laboured breathing comes over the line in a constant rhythm. “Maybe I don’t wanna take it slow.”

“Maybe I don’t care.”

“Oh,” the other man sounded a bit shocked, gasping quietly. “You’re interesting, mister sexy librarian. What if I decided to push back? Literally? Bring my hips back up against yours, grind my ass up on you and make you whine and make you fucking miserable?”

“Shit,” Changbin growled, not expecting that kind of reaction. “I might have to grab you by the hair, push you down into the desk and give a needy little brat like you exactly what you want.” The thought was almost too much. He knew he was getting close; he should’ve slowed the pacing down with his hand, but he couldn’t stop. Instead, he was increasing his pace and tightening the grip at the top of his hand a bit more. “How would you like that?”

“Fuck,” Jeongin sounds like he’s completely lost in the moment, breathing erratic and letting full gasps and moans escape now. It sounded like some sort of wildly inappropriate choral music. “Changbin, that’s so fucking hot. I wish this was your hand around me instead. It feels so good, but it’s not enough.” Changbin lets out a choked whine, lost in the thought of what Jeongin looked like as he jerked himself off. “Ah, Changbin, I need you so badly. To feel you around me, inside me, and I—“

Suddenly, the light on the edge of Changbin’s desk went out and Jeongin’s voice went silent. The ambient humming that usually filled his apartment was dead. It appeared as if his part of LA got wrapped up in a sudden blackout, since everything everywhere was dark and quiet.

This couldn’t have come at a more horrible time.

Changbin let out an exasperated, desperate yell in frustration. As he angrily tossed the receiver to the side, causing the entire phone to go flying, he stared up at the ceiling in the darkness and swore that he was never going to try phone sex again.

Zero for two. Phone sex was cursed.

Even though today was the day that Changbin was finally going to meet Jeongin for their date, he was in an absolutely dreadful mood. Sure, after the power went out for the entire night, he had managed to get himself off, but it was lacklustre and nowhere near as good as he was anticipating it to be with his conversation with Jeongin. The pathetic way that the younger man mewled his name followed him like a shadow all day, echoing in the space between his ears all day.

“Changbin,” the voice taunted him, “I need you so badly.”

He groaned and leaned up against his archive desk, not even bothering to try to pay attention to his work. There was no way he was going to get anything done while he was too distracted thinking about fucking this stranger up against it, pushing his face into the mass of open books and large parchment. They would knock off all of the paraphernalia, pens clattering like raindrops against the ground, sound being absorbed by the walls of books surrounding them. God, how good it would be to hear his name coming from those lips one more time.

“I wish this was your hand around me instead.”

His eyes lulled to the corner of the table, pushing up his glasses to better focus on a cheap digital clock showing 15:40 in bright red lights. “Goddammit,” Changbin grumbled to himself and let his head collide against the open book in front of him. The tension in his slacks was causing time to inch by impossibly slow, like he was stuck in molasses. He had less than five and a half hours to go until he would finally meet the man the engrossed his entire mind for the past 48 hours and he couldn’t wait to give Jeongin a taste of the thoughts that consumed him.

Only a bit over five hours, now. He could do this.

Changbin had to have mentally pored over his entire appearance several times as he showered. Glasses? No, those would just be a nuisance; it’d be best to just suffer with a little bit of blurry vision for distant things. Besides, he was going to be seeing crazy shit halfway through their date, if they hit it off well enough to trip together.

So, no glasses. One thing off the list.

After his shower, Changbin thumbed through his closet, lost in a sea of black and indigo clothing, with a couple of odd white button up shirts that were frequently ignored. His graphic shirts were towards the left-hand side, reserved for his days off and the nights he’d go out with Minho and Seungmin, where he tried to look as normal as possible, and not like the dweeby librarian everyone knew him to be. It took several flicks of the thumb, but he eventually found the Bad Religion shirt he promised he was going to wear. That, and the torn up black skinny jeans he already had on his bed, were the only things Jeongin had to go off of.

Changbin was desperately hoping that Jeongin would find him in the sea of people that would be there. If this date flopped, he was going to hide for weeks in embarrassment, showing up to something so high energy looking like a black cloud of doom and gloom and dateless. The first half of that was tolerable, but to be dateless after all of that would be devastating to his ego.

Thankfully, Jeongin was going to be the visual antithesis to Changbin’s all-black attire. He was going to be like a dark cloud, a shadow to be passed over, and Jeongin would be that bright ray of vivid neon pink and teal blue. They’d be eyesores in their own rights, but it wouldn’t matter. Nobody would really be paying close attention to them tonight; neon nights were always the nights where people would get drugged out, smoke weed openly and fuck in the washrooms, and everyone would let go of their faux daily life personas and be carefree for one night.

It didn’t take long for Changbin to change into his outfit. He turned his head to look at his nightstand, squinting to make out the time on the clock. 19:52. All he needed to do was fuss over his appearance in the mirror while he would throw on some eyeliner. He would then fix his hair, gelling it into some sort of puffed out “just woke up” look that would just deflate after an hour of hanging around a humid, cramped environment packed with people. Maybe he’d wear those knee-high platform combat boots he only wore once to a concert a couple years ago.

First impressions were important, even if he knew he’d look like a mess at the end of the night. He wanted to prove to Jeongin that librarians could, in fact, be hot and sexy, even if it wasn’t in the conventional ways society would prefer.

The platform combat boots were a bad idea.

It wasn’t a far walk, but as Changbin waited in line outside of The Roxanne, he was constantly adjusting his feet and kicking the toes of his boots against the firm concrete of the sidewalk. He knew he’d be off of his feet soon enough, but getting to that point was proving to be brutal. The line slowly moved, people gradually being allowed in after paying the cover fee. Changbin flicked his arm, looking at the silver Royal Oak decorating his wrist, eyeing the time. 21:05.

He huffed, furrowing his brows and staring at the gunpowder grey backdrop of his watch. This was his lucky watch that his parents gifted him for graduating with his master’s degree last year. It was what he wore for his interview at UCLA, almost positive he wouldn’t get the entry-level librarian position he applied for, since it was heavily competitive, but he somehow managed to get it. It was the watch he wore when he and Minho signed for their shoddy apartment. It was what he wore when he gained the courage to call Jeongin.

Maybe superstition was stupid, but Changbin really wanted to put all of his cards on the table and risk believing in it tonight.

The line continued to shuffle forward, and Changbin’s nerves started to really consume him. On the outside, he tried to look cool and composed, his thumbs gently tucked into the belt loops of his pants, shoulders tucked back, head propped upright. Internally, however, he was very much the opposite of the cool-guy persona he was putting on. If he could scream and still be seen as sane, he absolutely would.

Another couple of steps. Changbin pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, sliding out his driver’s licence and a fiver as he approached the sturdily built man that stood outside of the front door. The man didn’t bother looking at his licence and just took the bill from him. They exchanged no words, the man just tilting his head towards the door, and Changbin simply walked in.

His fingers trembled a bit as he anxiously jammed his licence back into his wallet, exchanging it for a ten-dollar-bill, and returned the billfold to his back pocket. A long sigh escaped his lips as scanned the room, seeing no one with teal hair and a bright pink shirt as he approached the bar, finding a spot where he could keep an eye on the front door. He waved down one of the bartenders, who glided over towards him on her skates as she smiled at him.

“Hey there, what can I get ya?” She smiled at him, excitedly tapping her hands on the wooden countertop.

Changbin passed her the cash and shrugged. “A gin and tonic is fine. I don’t care what kind of gin you use.”

“You got it,” she skated away, off to make his drink.

Again, Changbin looked down to his watch. 21:21. The lights flickered off nine minutes early, UV lighting illuminating the entire rink, save the halogen lights by the washrooms, entrance, and most of the bar. The bartender returned with Changbin’s drink and his change.

“Quinine sure is fascinating, ain’t it? I love anything with tonic water on neon nights. Lemme know if you need anything else, buttercup.” She smiled, then skated away to her next customer before Changbin could make any sort of commentary. He stared wildly at his drink, literally glowing in a nuclear shade of blue, wondering if it had been adulterated. Quinine. He recognized the word from one of his organic chemistry texts from university, but the details of it escaped him.

Fuck it. Might as well just drink it.

He fumbled the cash into his right pocket, not bothering to stuff it back into his wallet. There was no way he was going to stand up in these fucking shoes unless he absolutely had to. Another glance to his watch. 21:24. Changbin grumbled under his breath, bringing the glass cup to his lips, biting the plastic straw between his teeth as he sucked up some of the toxic-looking liquid and he looked to the door. The drink nearly went everywhere as his eyes went wide and he saw a human glow stick walk in.

Neon pink shirt. Hair as violently blue as his own drink, topped with a purple beret. This was his human glow stick. It was fucking Yang Jeongin, actually here, in the flesh. Changbin didn’t even try to doubt it.

The black-haired man dipped his head down in nervousness, his heartbeat thrumming so loudly, it overtook the music being played over the loud speakers behind him. He had gotten this far, but Changbin had no idea what to do now. These men had essentially fucked over the phone just the night prior — well, they had attempted to, for all intents and purposes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

How do people do blind dates? In the six years he spent studying research and analysis, he never came across something like this in his texts and papers. The countless nights he spent researching the human connection and other psychological and sociological theories had meant jack shit when it actually came to experiencing them in person. If his hair wasn’t well-coiffed, Changbin would be nervously running his fingers through his hair and biting off every single fingernail he could. It had been years since he dated, and this could go very poorly.

Something inside of him compelled him to look again. Perhaps the human glow stick was a figment of his imagination, the wrong person. Something. Anything. Anyone other than Yang Jeongin. Changbin sucked down another large swig of his drink, and turned his head slightly, and saw that the glow stick was scanning the bar. Changbin was about to turn away out of nervousness when they made eye contact.

He hadn’t consumed any questionable substances other than a couple sips of his drink, but it was like a fire had been set alight within him, burning away some of his anxiety and replacing it with a sense of confidence. That was definitely Jeongin, the gaze they exchanged with each other left no room for question.

The younger man smiled, biting his lip as he excitedly trekked up to Changbin. He stopped in front of him, gazing down at the older man’s shirt, then wiggling a bit in joy as he opened his mouth.

“Please tell me you’re Seo Changbin, otherwise you’re going to be very disappointed tonight.”

“Well,” Changbin couldn’t help but half-smirk with a bit of a cocky arrogance he didn’t know he had. He set his drink down on the bar and leaned on his elbow, slowly looking up at the neon-clad man. “That depends on who’s asking, don’t you think?” He used the first words Jeongin spoke at him against him, and the younger man giggled.

“Yang Jeongin, at your service. Raspberry beret included. Still the best year in music this decade.” The blue-haired man winks and leans in close, very close to the older man, as he then rests his arms on the countertop, flagging down the same bartender as before. She nods and starts working on a drink without even talking to him. The young man sits back on his heels and boldly slaps a hand on Changbin’s thigh. He moves in, right up next to the black-haired man’s ear, lips practically touching it as he lowers his voice to a whisper. “You know, Changbin, librarians aren’t supposed to be hot and sexy, but man, am I glad I’ve been proven wrong.”

Changbin may have been nervous as all hell just a few minutes ago, but now he had a sneaking feeling that maybe, just maybe, this date was going to work out after all.

The two of them share a couple of drinks at the bar, really hitting it off. Jeongin doesn’t lift his hand from Changbin’s thigh, which the elder doesn’t mind, slowly getting the courage to place his hand on top of it after their second drink. At some point, Jeongin sticks his tongue out in defiance, showing off a neon green tongue ring on bright display, and Changbin is impressed.

“I’m full of a lot of secrets, you know.” The younger man teases, aimlessly biting on his straw.

“I guess I’m gonna have to slowly unwrap you in order to find out all of those secrets, huh?” Thanks to the alcohol, Changbin’s a lot smoother than he thinks he is, realizing that the words sounded a lot less innocuous than he intended. He blinks rapidly and stumbles over his words. “Sorry,” he apologizes, then rubs his forehead with his free hand. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

“That was a good pickup line,” the blue-haired man giggles into his drink, emptying the contents of the glass, then slamming it down on the counter. He takes his newly-freed hand and rests his head in his palm, happily smiling at the man in front of him. “Now what?”

Changbin gently sets his drink on the counter, then reaches into his left pocket, scooping up the dime bag from the other day, tucking it into the palm of his hand. “I got these from Seungmin the other day. Kind of a strange question, but,” he looks up to the younger man and licks his bottom lip, “you trust me enough to get a little tripped out?”

Jeongin excitedly shimmies his shoulders back and forth a couple of times. “You’re friends with Seungmin, so that’s good enough for me. Whatcha got on the menu for tonight, hmm?”

“Something pretty to go right up next to that tongue ring of yours.” Changbin takes his hand off of Jeongin’s, inconspicuously fiddling with the bag. He pulls out a small baby pink square of paper, briefly flashing it at the younger man. “I can take it first if you don’t trust me.”

Jeongin doesn’t say anything, only moving in a bit closer, and he sticks his tongue out, mouth wide open, everything shiny with saliva and on full display. He looks up to Changbin with pleading eyes and makes a little cooing noise.

Changbin let his eyes flutter shut for a brief second as he sharply inhaled through his nose and then shifted in his seat in mild discomfort. “You’re dangerous,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded as he grabbed Jeongin’s chin, lightly tugging him closer for a moment, as he pressed the paper onto the moist, warm tongue in front of him. “I’m ready to get burned with fire, though.” He wastes no time to pluck the second piece of paper from the plastic bag, pressing it against his own tongue. “Let everything chill out on your tongue for a while, alright?”

“You say that like you think I’ve never dropped acid before, dude.” The younger man smiled widely, then tugged at Changbin’s hand, pulling him up to his feet. “Let’s go get some skates and roll around while we wait.”

Changbin’s eyes went wide and his feet screamed at him as he was jostled upright. It was going to hurt, but it didn’t matter. A bit of discomfort would be worth it to see the joyful look on Jeongin’s face as they glided around on the polished floor, waiting for the colours to slowly meld together and wrap around them in a hazy, yet incandescent rainbow.

“Wait a second,” Jeongin cackles and drops the laces of his skates. “You mean to tell me you’re twenty-five and you’ve never been good at skating? Dude. Your childhood must’ve been boring as shit.”

“Come on,” Changbin drawls, sighing as he pouts at the younger man. “The only physical activity I really like is weightlifting, and that’s not even a frequent hobby of mine. I’d rather get baked after work and listen to records while laying on the floor.” The two men stare at each other for a minute, then burst into laughter.

“Alright, I can see you getting baked, but weightlifting? As if, man.” Jeongin shakes his head and bends back down to finish tying his laces. “Librarians aren’t supposed to be buff and shit, that’s not how that works at all.”

A sarcastic huff escapes Changbin’s lips. He drops to the floor, grabbing Jeongin’s hands and looking up to the younger man, his face getting dangerously close, close enough to almost brush their lips together. They stare at each other for a moment, the air stilling around them, before the older man moves to touch their cheeks together, lips against Jeongin’s ear. “You also said librarians aren’t supposed to be hot, but I proved you wrong with that, too.” Changbin lets go of Jeongin’s hands, moving them to dance his fingertips against the top of the neon man’s thighs. “Let me see how many times I can prove you wrong tonight.”

Jeongin lets out a shaky gasp, pressing his cheek up against the older man’s, moving in close as if he was about to kiss him, but Changbin pulls away too quickly, winking at him before he moves down to help tie his laces. “God,” the younger man sighs, throwing his head back and subtly rolling his hips in his chair to readjust, “you’re a tease, man. That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair sometimes. Gotta have the dark to appreciate the light.” Changbin smirks to himself as he finishes knotting the laces in his hands. He makes his way to his feet, awkwardly stumbling a bit before he reaches his hands down in front of Jeongin. “Shall we?”

Jeongin takes one of Changbin’s hands and helps himself upright. “Awfully confident for someone who can’t skate.” He smiles, then gently tugs the older man towards the open air of the entrance of the rink.

Changbin sucks air in through his teeth as he starts to move, flailing his free hand a bit as he awkwardly shuffles his feet to help him move with a bit more purpose. They step on to the glossy hardwood floor, and Jeongin spins around, skating backwards as he pulls Changbin along. He reaches out for the older man’s other hand, which Changbin carefully reaches down and grabs. They interlace their fingers together, staring longingly at each other.

“I trusted you with the acid,” Jeongin says at a volume just loud enough to carry over the song roaring through the speakers, “now trust me with the skating, yeah?”

Changbin nods, his face slightly wrinkled up in nervousness. He bites his lip, starting to get the hang of the way they slid around the floor, only having some issues with the rounded corners. People were flying past them, but it didn’t matter. The only thing Changbin wanted to focus on was Jeongin.

“You’re getting it,” the younger man smiled, standing totally upright and pulling the older man closer to him, maybe just a few centimetres away from each other. They smile softly at one another, slowing down a bit as Changbin started to get lost in the way the brilliant lighting warmed against Jeongin’s face, highlighting his high cheekbones and his soft lips.

There was nothing more that Changbin wanted than to kiss those lips.

As he was leaning in, Jeongin let go of his hands. “You teased me earlier,” he scoffed, “now you’ve gotta earn that kiss.” He looks over his shoulder, then turns back and smiles. “You’ve gotta make one full loop around: from the entrance and back. Then you’ll have earned that kiss from me.”

Changbin opens his mouth to protest, flailing around a bit, and Jeongin winks and practically flies away on his skates. He grits his teeth and huffs. “I’m gonna show you, goddammit.” The black-haired man frowns in determination, getting bolder with each stride he takes. Jeongin loops around again when he’s about halfway through, sticking his tongue out and blowing him a kiss as he spins around and jumps up into the air, landing perfectly back onto his feet. The younger man is off in a flash again, a trail of pink following him as he rolls away.

Oh. Changbin shakes his head as he comes around a corner. The acid had started to kick in and things got a little brighter, colours blurring together in the distance, lazily trailing around in a stutter as he moved around. He stared at the entrance of the rink, maybe fifty metres away, smiling to himself as he got closer and closer. At about twenty metres, Jeongin flew past him and veered off towards the wall, waiting with a smile.

As he approached Jeongin, Changbin intentionally didn’t slow down as much as he should have. He slowed a bit, and the younger man winced a bit and recoiled, preparing for a rough impact. However, the crash never came. Changbin pressed his hands into Jeongin’s chest as he got close, gently colliding against him, both of them landing against the wall.

They didn’t say anything. Changbin snaked a hand to Jeongin’s hip, and another up under his jaw, pulling it up into his. Their lips danced up against each others’, and there’s an electrical feeling that runs through Changbin’s veins, a spark between them. Their noses brush, nuzzling into the other as their lips open.

Jeongin tastes like lemon-lime soda and vodka, his tongue feeling almost like it was still covered in carbon dioxide as it rolled around Changbin’s. The older man digs his thumb into the younger man’s hip, causing a muffled squeak to roll up into his throat. An explosion of yellows and greens cloud Changbin’s vision as sounds start to translate into colours and haptic sensations.

It almost feels like they’re meant to be. Jeongin is the treble to Changbin’s bass. The light to his darkness. He is the neon glow stick to his dark, unlit candle. It may have been the drugs and the alcohol heightening everything, but from the way their humour complemented each other, to their oddities being so different yet similar, to the way that how sweet Jeongin’s kiss was against Changbin’s sour lips, everything was perfect.

“You’re perfect,” Changbin breathes into Jeongin’s mouth. “I don’t know why,” he pulls the younger man’s bottom lip gently between his teeth as he pulls away, staring up into half-open eyes, “but I just feel it.” The synth music beating along in the background practically pushes them closer, inviting them to stay wrapped up into one another.

Jeongin pushes back up against Changbin’s lips for a quick, hasty kiss that feels like electric pink and sparkling green. “It’s the drugs, but I’ll take the compliment.”

“I’m serious,” Changbin smiles at the sweetness of Jeongin’s lips against his again. “Like, your cheekbones. They’re so prominent, sharp, perfect. Your whole face just radiates brilliance. It’s like all of the colours dance off of your face and wrap it in this warm energy that demands attention.”

“Your lips are perfect,” Jeongin retorts with a laugh. “The way that your face wrinkles up when you smile. I wanna take that in, make you laugh for hours just to watch you scrunch your face together. Listen to the way your laugh staccatos discordantly against the music playing in the background.”

A warmth spreads in Changbin’s stomach, deep purples and pinks blending around the edges of his vision. It was time. He decides to finally bite the bullet, swallowing hard as he tries to keep his volume low enough for only Jeongin to hear him, “I wanna hear you say it again.”

There’s a short pause as Jeongin stills. “What’re you talking about?”

Changbin pushes Jeongin into the wall, rubbing his waist against the younger man’s. “Last night,” he trails his lips up Jeongin’s cheek, all the way up to his ear, “you told me you wanted me. Needed me.”

There’s a burst of orange as Jeongin laughs. “That’s right, isn’t it? Whatcha gonna do if I tell you that again, now that I have you here in my hands?” His hands quickly slap up against Changbin’s ass, grabbing it tightly. “We’re still in public, baby.”

A strangled moan accidentally comes from Changbin, feeling every nerve in his spine erupt in baby blues and jarring yellows at the younger man’s touch. “I don't care where we are. I’m gonna give you what you want,” he whispers, nibbling on the earlobe in front of him. “I’m going to steal you away, pull you away into the washroom, and I’m gonna fuck you up against the tiling or the wallpaper or whatever dingy shit they’ve got in there.”

It was like nobody was around, not that anyone was paying attention, anyways. The two of them ground up against each other, practically fucking as everyone went along with their lives around them. They were far from the only ones becoming so acquainted on the hardwood floor, but it didn’t matter. As far as Changbin was concerned, they were the only two people in the room, in the entire building, in the entire world.

“It’s tiling,” Jeongin whispers and bites Changbin’s ear, causing a neon rainbow, rippling in time to the music around them, to cloud his vision. “I let you take control over the phone last night, so I’m gonna do the fucking tonight. Come on.”

Changbin doesn’t have the wherewithal to protest as he’s dragged away by Jeongin, pulling them off towards the flickering, nauseatingly yellow-tinted halogen that illuminated the washroom door. Somehow, they had gotten lucky and nobody was in the entire washroom. They roll into the large stall towards the back. Jeongin locks the door behind them and pushes Changbin against the back wall, crashing their lips together.

The weird mixture of normal lighting with blacklight paints a strange picture against the back of Changbin’s eyelids. Each grazing of Jeongin’s teeth on his lips causes purple lines to streak down a backdrop of orange and crimson.

Warm. Jeongin was warm. Everything about him radiated warm colours and energy, even if his hair was the opposite of that.

Jeongin trails his lips down Changbin’s neck, and he grazes his teeth against the soft skin. “Wait,” the older man quietly protests, “don’t do anything that’ll leave a mark there.”

“Why not?” Jeongin looks up to the older man and smirks. “Afraid your coworkers and students are gonna find out you’re actually a bit of a freak who wants to get fucked in public?”

“Actually,” Changbin huffs, “kinda, yeah. Anything below the neck is fair game, though.

“I respect that.” Jeongin huffs, tugging the loose neckline of Changbin’s shirt down, exposing his collarbone. “Oh,” he pauses, cocking his head to the side. “781?”

Changbin hums, flushing in slight embarrassment, as he feels Jeongin’s eyes on his tattoo. “Dewey Decimal Classification. Music theory call number. That’s why there’s a treble clef next to it.”

“God, you’re such a fucking nerd. That’s hot as hell.” The younger man groans, then starts desperately sucking and biting up against the sensitive flesh.

Changbin doesn’t try to hide a needy whine at the sensation of Jeongin’s teeth against his skin. His hips roll up subconsciously, craving for some sort of stimulation against his growing erection. “Jeongin,” he whimpers, “I don’t wanna wait anymore.”

The younger man relinquishes the skin from his teeth. “Funny,” he says, standing up and looking down at the older man, pressing their hips together. “Neither do I.”

They wantonly kiss each other as they fumble with their pants. Jeongin tosses his beret to the floor, pulling out a condom and a small, travel-sized bottle of lube out from his back pocket. “As much as I love kissing those lips of yours and looking at your face,” he pulls away, quickly pressing a kiss to Changbin’s forehead, “this is gonna be a lot easier if you turn around.”

A nervous laugh bubbles up from Changbin as he somehow manages to roll around, pressing his hands up against the clammy tiling. He bends over slightly, pressing his hips against Jeongin’s crotch, eliciting a small groan from the younger man. Within a moment, thumbs are haphazardly tugging his waistband down, exposing his skin to the warm, open air.

“Your ass is really nice,” Jeongin takes in a quick breath and ghosts his fingers over the smooth skin.

“You say that now,” Changbin whispers as streams of green drift up from the corners of his vision, “but wait until you’re actually inside me.”

A desperate huff comes from Jeongin. “Fuck,” he groans, squeezing some lube on to his fingers and bringing his hand up to the older man’s perineum, dragging them up slowly to rub against his entrance. “I’ve been thinking about this nonstop since you told me you’d fuck me against your stupid work desk.” He coaxes a finger inside, and Changbin whines, rubbing his cheek against the dingy washroom tile. “I was ready to come right then and there. I didn’t know you’d be that much of a freak when Seungmin told me you were a librarian.”

Jeongin’s finger curls around a bit as he explores around, causing Changbin to let out soft little pants as his skin stretched against the finger. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he manages to grumble in between pants, “or how freaky I am. Maybe one day I’ll show you my collection of glass sex toys I keep hidden under my bed.”

Another finger slips in, and another moan loudly comes from the panting librarian. “Keep it down. Don’t wanna get kicked out with a hard-on, do you?” Changbin weakly nods, his eyes rolling back as he bites his lips and moves against Jeongin’s fingers. The younger man continues to stretch the sensitive skin as he gently rolls both of his fingers around, occasionally separating them in a scissoring-like motion.

Changbin bites back a loud, throaty moan, bringing his hand up to his mouth so he can bite on his knuckle. Colours rippled around in discordant patterns, roughly clashing up against each other, sparks of white popping up at random. “Jeongin,” he whines out, voice slightly muffled.

The younger man shudders at the sound of his name being uttered, and he slips his ring finger inside. As soon as the finger is completely inside of Changbin, the older man throws his head back and slips a bit on his skates. Jeongin grabs his hip tightly with his free hand. “Don’t worry, baby,” he whispers, in a soft, loving voice, “I’m not gonna let you fall. I’ll keep you safe right here, so let yourself go.”

Changbin’s hand leaves his mouth and slams up against the wall, curling his fingernails into the grout between the tiles. He closes his eyes tightly and loses himself in the sensation of being filled by three fingers, slowly working his way up to being prepared for whatever Jeongin’s dick was going to feel like inside of him. What he wasn’t prepared for, however, was when Jeongin’s middle finger curled up against his prostate and he arched his back in surprise.

“Jeongin,” he panted, rubbing his cheekbone into the tile, “fuck, there, right there.”

“Don’t worry,” the younger man reassures him, “all in due time. Trust me, a bassist knows what he’s doing when it comes to his fingers.”

“That’s,” Changbin pants again, “a terrible fucking pun.”

Jeongin rubs all three of his fingers in a circle, causing the older man to writhe under him. “Yeah, yeah,” he coos, “you don’t seem to actually be complaining, though.”

“I’m only gonna complain if you don’t shut up and fuck me here soon,” Changbin whines through gritted teeth. “I don’t wanna come unless it’s from your dick, alright?”

“Fine,” Jeongin grins, removing his fingers slowly, making sure to drag them down the walls of the sensitive skin around them. He pulls them out one by one, causing Changbin to twitch under him. Once his hand is free, he wrangles his cock from his pants, then rips the condom from the foil packet, sliding it onto him. He pulls the bottle of lube from his pocket, squirting a bit more onto his hand, stroking it on his cock. “You ready for me?”

“Yes,” Changbin turns his head, staring down Jeongin with half-lidded eyes. “I need you, Jeongin, please.”

The younger man smiles, then lines himself up against the elder’s entrance. “Whatever you want, babe.” Jeongin slides in, and the composure held in his face falters, lips parting and eyes rolling back a bit. His slick hand grabs Changbin’s other hip, digging his pinky and thumb tightly into his skin as he slowly makes his way completely inside. “Yeah, you were right. Your ass is much nicer now that I’m inside of you.”

“I know, I know. Jeongin, please, shut up and fuck me,” Changbin whines, rapidly panting as he’s filled. “I just wanna feel you fuck me senseless.”

“Needy,” Jeongin hisses through his teeth as he pulls back, then slams back into Changbin, the sound of skin against skin echoing throughout the tiling and linoleum, overtaking the muffled sounds of the electronica from the other room.

Everything felt and looked so much more vibrant thanks to the acid. Every thrust was another colour splattered up recklessly in Changbin’s vision. Sparks of light went flying every time Jeongin hit his prostate. Sex usually felt wonderful to Changbin; he wasn’t sure if it was because of the drugs specifically, or if it was Jeongin, or if it was both, but he was sure of one thing: this was an out-of-body experience. His mind was floating up in the sky, up along the stars, as if he was the main character in some bad science fiction space film.

“Jeongin,” he panted, continuing to cry out the younger man’s name like a mantra.

The blue-haired man panted heavily, taking the hand previously inside Changbin and wrapping it around his cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. “You feel so good, baby, I’m gonna make a mess out of you.”

The colours in Changbin’s vision slowly started to turn white, ribbons of pink and blue in the shades of Jeongin wrapping around the edges of his sight. “Shit,” a throaty moan escaped his throat, “I’m gonna come, Jeongin, don’t fucking stop. Fuck, please don’t stop. Don’t stop. Ah, god, fuck, I—“

His back arched, fingernails dragging down the walls as Changbin tried, and failed, to keep himself from shouting Jeongin’s name at a loud volume. The younger man pumped him one last time, and cum splattered up against the wall, dripping down onto the floor, as the older man collapsed into the tiling.

“Fuck, that’s so good, you’re so good, Changbin,” he pulled back and then slammed into the older man one more time, curling into his back a bit, stabilizing his stance by gripping Changbin’s hip. He spilled his cum into the condom, and the two of them stood there and panted for what seemed like forever.

After several minutes, Jeongin pulled out, shakily standing back upright. “What the fuck was that, dude?” He laughed, and Changbin managed to stumble himself back up to a vertical position.

The older man rapidly blinked as he came back down from space, and he let out a long sigh. “Amazing, that's what that was,” he pulled his pants up from off of the floor, haphazardly fastening the button of his jeans together just enough. Changbin awkwardly rolls a bit, then pulls Jeongin into him by the neck, the two of them exchanging a warm, soft kiss with each other.

They kiss for only a moment or so. “We should probably clean up a little bit and then get out of here.” Jeongin chuckles once. “You kind of made a mess and I’m sure we probably scared off some people.

“You’re the reason I made that mess,” Changbin quips. “Besides, we’re not the only ones that have fucked in here tonight, I bet. We won’t be the last, either.”

After a bit of awkwardly shuffling around in skates, some commentary about never fucking in roller skates again, and a bit of cleanup, they emerge from the stall. Jeongin rolls over to the sink to wash his hands, smiling at Changbin through the mirror. “I think I’m gonna like you,” he says, and the older man makes eye contact with him through the mirror, then rolls up next to him.

“Yeah?” He presses a kiss up to the younger man’s cheek and adjusts the beret on his head. “You say that now, but wait until I go on a rant about the Library of Congress’ organizational system versus the Dewey Decimal Classification, or about how dumb university students can be.”

Jeongin turns his head and gently kisses Changbin’s lips as water drips down from his hands. “It’ll be cute, I bet. You had me hooked at listening to records and smoking weed while laying on the floor, but nerdy ranting? Icing on the cake, man.”

Changbin scoffs and grabs a couple of towels from the dispenser behind the younger man. “Stop dripping all that water over my skates, dude. Maybe you should come home with me and we can find out just how fun that all actually turns out to be.”

“I think that’s—“ Jeongin starts to speak, taking the towels from Changbin, until they’re distracted by the loud squeaking of the washroom door. They both turn to look at the noise, and Changbin’s not really sure if he’s imagining what he’s seeing due to drugs.

“Changbin?” The voice of the intruder sounds as shocked as Changbin feels.

“Chan?” Jeongin squints as his face as he looks at the man that walks in.

The three of them awkwardly stare at each other, and Changbin frowns. “You know him?” He asks Jeongin, who stares back at him with wide eyes.

Jeongin shrugs his shoulders. “It was, like, a year or so ago, but yeah. You slept with him, too?”