Work Text:
They met in July, during one of those days where the cotton fabric of your clothes clings to the curves of your body in a feverish pitch. And the sun beats you into submission until you’re a sweating, panting mess of a boy. But that’s okay because the 7-Eleven is down the road: a sanctuary of air conditioning and day old hot dogs.
The automatic doors don’t swing open for him immediately, as if the metals had melted together like a neapolitan swirl. But when they do part, the rush of a cool summer breeze hits him, mixed with the scent of prepackaged goods. And there, sitting at the counter, is Daehyun who doesn’t even hear the familiar ding of the door—
He’s flipping through the pages of some magazine, the kind where a woman in a bikini would feature on the cover. She’d probably be posed arching her back some impossible angle so the valley of her breasts can draw you in like some black hole. Or so Youngjae assumes. Daehyun seems to flip through the pages quicker than one can consume the glossy images.
This is only a minor detail on a sweltering day, though.
Youngjae goes for the mini freezer housing all the popsicles by the exit. It’s the one where you open it from the top, rather than the side. It is, after all, at waist height.
The bright blue ads decorating the sides promise him Häagen-Dazs, Ben and Jerry’s, and Breyers ice cream. But Youngjae is more interested in a Bomb Pop more than anything. His hands dive through the frigid ice, searching for that red, white, and blue popsicle, eager to feel it melt in his mouth. He licks his lips in anticipation. He wants to taste that cherry, lime, and blue raspberry. Who knew raspberries could be blue.
He hates the summer weather. It was naive for him to think he could strive through the heat in only shorts and a t-shirt. The articles of clothing feel uncomfortable on his skin. The answer was to never leave his dorm. Maybe that’s why as soon as he finds the popsicle it goes from wrapper to straight past his lips.
He loves the way it chills his tongue and the feeling of it dissolving against him. He has to eat it fast, though, because the summer sun still finds its way inside the store. He pulls away from the frozen treat when he feels a line of the ice cream drip down his wrist.
Lifting his arm up, he licks from the bottom of the stream and up.
Cherry.
He hums joyfully when he pops the Bomb Pop back into his mouth. He holds it by the stick, bobbing it in and out of his mouth, sucking on each pull. The flavors blend together like an ice cool soda.
He walks down the aisle and surveys the selection of soda pop. The arrays of colorful glass bottles entice him. They glisten. Orange soda. Black cherry cola. Cream soda.
He chooses the last one.
Youngjae wants all one hundred and eighty-nine calories and to feel the carbonated bubbles fizz on his tongue.
Still suckling his popsicle, he heads to the register where the employee seems to be fully attentive. The earlier magazine lay fallen on the floor in front of Youngjae. The tiled floor is no place for a woman in a bathing suit.
“Can you pick that up for me?” Daehyun asks with a tilt of his head.
Youngjae obliges and leans down.
Daehyun’s smiles and asks him how he’s enjoying the popsicle.
Youngjae responds by telling him that it’s so good he thinks he might need another soon after. More of it drips down onto his fingers, causing him to bring it to his lips and dab away. His forefinger is so covered that he has to wrap his tongue around it to thoroughly clean away the sticky liquid.
The front door of the convenience store reads Closed.
It’s one in the afternoon on a beautiful but unrelenting sunny day.
And while Daehyun is infinitely warmer than any ice cream Youngjae’s ever sucked on before, this heat fuels his body. He’s even more intoxicating than color dyes or fruit extracts. Daehyun is a treat that Youngjae will hunger for again and again.
Daehyun runs his fingers through his hair as Youngjae kneels behind the counter with his mouth full. He isn’t sweet, that much Youngjae can confirm, but Daehyun is something much more carnal. The way he sighs and grunts as he thrusts himself into Youngjae’s awaiting mouth is more addicting than any ad jingle could be.
Youngjae looks up at him and sees the other’s eyes closed in some bliss.
So this is what they call eye-candy.
Youngjae feels strained against his tight shorts.
And he thought the sun made him hot.
He moans around his length as it throbs against his tongue. He wants to taste Daehyun badly until the point he thinks he might be reduced to tears. He’d beg if he had the articulation. So he moans instead, quickening up his pace like he’s trying to lap up his ice cream faster.
The banging of the counter is rhythmic.
Maybe the surveillance cameras are on and if they are perhaps they caught the moment Daehyun sighed Youngjae’s name as he filled his mouth with what Youngjae was craving.
Youngjae had swallowed it all but that still didn’t satisfy his thirst.
Daehyun kisses him and pushes Youngjae down onto the counter, back flat against it. It’s so sudden that everything shakes and the magazine lands on the floor again. The sexy woman on the cover looks up to him from the floor once more.
Daehyun’s teeth run against Youngjae’s lips, nipping and biting because his neck is already full of purple bruises and his lips aren’t nearly done. Not even close. The way Daehyun growls sends Youngjae tremors that he can feel even in his veins.
The clothes are discarded. Youngjae’s shirt lands on top of the freezer. They’re scattered all around.
Youngjae’s so thirsty.
His throat becomes especially parched with each scream of Daehyun’s name. Moreso with his cries of harder, faster, more, please, daddy.
Daehyun caresses his hair, bringing it down his face along his jaw. Youngjae stops his hand and brings Daehyun’s thumb to his mouth and sucks on it. He isn’t cherry or lime or even blue raspberry, but something better.
He’s that feeling of opening a new bottle of soda and listening to that sweet hiss as the scent of concentrated fruit greets you.
Daehyun slams into him hard.
He’s like a frozen treat in the afternoon.
He really hits the spot.