[千春] Chiharu (chiharu) wrote in runandgun,
[千春] Chiharu

Wonderwall, for halcyondusk

Title: Wonderwall
For : halcyondusk
Pairing: Kris/Chanyeol; minor Kai/Suho
Rating: R
Length: 8,000+ words
Summary: With the “trial of the century” in his lap, Defense Attorney Park Chanyeol already has a lot of things to handle. Sleeping with the prosecutor had (unfortunately) not been on his to-do list. .

"Well," says Chanyeol, sighing. "It's not every day we're defending a clown from double homicide."

Across the desk, his partner Baekhyun snorts into his fifth coffee of the day.

Chanyeol worries for the state of his nerves. He'll start getting twitchy in an hour or so.

"Okay, so our man is innocent," Baekhyun says, tapping his fingers on his paper cup. "Do we know what the prosecution has up their sleeve?"

"Our demise?" Chanyeol offers, quite helplessly. He gestures to the numerous piles of faxes and newspapers strewn about the office. Death by Paper Mountains seems very probably at this moment. All parts of his sanctuary are covered in greying newspapers, a result of the interns bringing in all mentions of their client on his orders. It’s not worth it. That morning, Chanyeol had almost killed himself on the Seoul Daily pile on his way in and he swears there’s something living under magazines on the far side of the room. "It's the trail of the century," Chanyeol fiddles with the Seoul Sun, squinting at the articles of the day.

Most of them don't pay the defendant in a favorable light. At this point, they're a little more than screwed. But Chanyeol doesn't have an obnoxious smiley face mouse pad for nothing! Positive thinking is important in this field. A man's life hangs in his hands. Well, his gangly hands and Byun Baekhyun's impeccably manicured ones.

"'Clown Kills Two Others; Was Shoving Their Bodies Into Clown Car When Found.'" Chanyeol shakes his head, feeling an increasingly sense of desperation take over his body. They're doomed. There's no saving them now. Oh god, he thinks he’s going to be sick. He’s too young to lose a case this big— "Are you kidding me with this..."

At his side, Baekhyun leisurely spins in his chair. "What's our plan, Park? Think we can plead out?"

"Plead him out when Seoul wants his head?" Chanyeol laughs.

Baekhyun sighs, "You know, it's really creepy when you do that laugh—"

“Plead him out?” Chanyeol continues, his left eye twitching. “PLEAD HIM OUT?”

“How much espresso have you had, again?” Baekhyun frowns. “You know what the doctor said about that--”

“Thank you, Nurse Byun.” Chanyeol folds the newspaper up and stuffs it in the nearest direction of the garbage basket under his desk. It’s already full with papers. He stomps on it to make everything fit.

“If I were your nurse,” says Baekhyun, spinning around to face Chanyeol. “I’d have you tranquilized.”

“Good thing you went to law school instead of medical school, right?” Chanyeol grins and then gasps, eyes and mouth round. “Oh, wait—”

Baekhyun lunges at him across the table, coffee cup still in hand, and Chanyeol is only saved from certain mocha doom by the appearance of one of the other associates, Kim Jongin. He’s their next-door office neighbor and their daily source of childish insults.

Now, he glares at them. “What the fresh hell are you two dumbasses doing? Are you about to make out or something?”

“I’m about to strangle him!” Baekhyun calls, quite happily, and makes a wild grab for Chanyeol’s tie with his free hand.

Jongin sneers. “Keep your kinky sex shit out of the office—”

“He’s really trying to strangle me—” Chanyeol’s voice is impossibly high.

In the doorway, Kim Jongin snorts, and then realizes Park Chanyeol’s life might really be in immediate danger. He literally springs into action, almost pouncing on Baekhyun’s back. “Oh crap, not again. Hey Baekhyun! Baekhyun, let him go!”

“I told you to never bring that up ever again—” Baekhyun growls, straining in Jongin’s grip.

“I’m sorry!” Chanyeol yells, quite affected by the ordeal. His life hadn’t flashed before his eyes, but Baekhyun’s lion mouth sure did. He has such sharp teeth and tight grip for a little man.

Their eyes meet.

Chanyeol is the first to laugh. He laughs until tears spring to his eyes and then Baekhyun is also laughing, bending over in Jongin’s hold and trying to curl himself up on the floor.

Jongin surveys them, eyes judging. “I really hate you guys, sometimes.”

No one hears him over the sounds of their own laughter.

Chanyeol flails and drops his stapler on his foot, and Baekhyun laughs harder, hands to his eyes to stop his tears.

At the sight of Chanyeol making faces at his now injured foot, Jongin shakes his head, rolls his eyes, hits Baekhyun on the back of the head, and steps out of the office. He has important defending to do. He has no time for those morons.

At least, not today.

Maybe tomorrow.

The defendant, a middle-aged full time clown (yes, those exist) who still enjoys painting his face while in the slammer, is adamant about his innocence.

“I didn’t kill those dicks,” he says in the lock up. Baekhyun and Chanyeol sit with him in a green interrogation room, finally given alone time with their client. “It just found them. It wasn’t me.”

“And what was your alibi at the time of murders, Mr. Kim?” Baekhyun asks as he paces behind Chanyeol, who sits at the table before the defendant taking notes.

“I was...” the clown blinks. “I...I don’t...remember. I think...I think I’m crazy.”

Chanyeol looks up, “Mr. Kim, the insanity defense doesn’t work that way—”

“Oh, it doesn’t? Oh.” Mr. Kim sits back. Portly, graying with hints of chalk near his chin to recreate his previous look, Mr. Kim looks more like someone’s embarrassing step-dad than a man accused of double homicide.

But he is their client and they must assume he is innocent. Everyone is innocent on this side of the law, just as everyone is guilty on the other, fire and brimstone, twenty-five to life side.

“Mr. Park?”

Chanyeol turns back to his client and tries to smile in what he thinks is a reassuring manner. “Yes?”

Mr. Kim leans closer to him, eyes wide. “You’d make a fabulous clown. Have you ever thought of a change of scene? I know someone who can get you set up—”

Baekhyun chokes on his tongue and makes a wounded pigeon nose. He smothers himself with his hand to keep quiet.

Chanyeol feels the temperature in the room decrease a few degrees. “Hehe, me a clown?” He winces. He’s never had to worry about not offending a clown before. “I don’t think so... If I were a clown, who would defend you at trial?”

“Sweet cheeks over there,” Mr. Kim motions to Baekhyun with his chin.

Baekhyun pauses mid-step. “Sweet...what?”

Mr. Kim smiles serenely and tilts his head to the side, trying to look at Baekhyun from around Chanyeol.

Chanyeol shivers and pulls his chair up to the table, wriggling until he’s blocking Baekhyun. “Mr. Kim, this is serious,” he says. He silently waits for Baekhyun’s pacing to resume again after the shock of being hit on by their client. When soft footsteps start up again, Chanyeol releases the breath in his chest.

“Your alibi...” he says again, looking down at his notes. He’s drawn an impressive doodle of Baekhyun riding pony Chanyeol. How... He scratches out the drawing, clearing his throat. “Before, when we asked you before, you said you were at your sister’s house when—”

“Oh, I really wasn’t,” says Mr. Kim. “I just knew I had to say I was somewhere and I knew my sister would cover for me. I knew she would.”

Chanyeol’s pen drops from his hands. “So where were you?”

Mr. Kim smiles, “That’s a secret I’ll never tell.”

They’re doomed. Doomed. They need to regroup. He throws his supplies into his open suitcase, closes it half way and rises to his feet.

“Baekhyun...” he whispers, eyes still on Mr. Kim. “Baekhyun!” Chanyeol reaches out for Baekhyun behind him and fists his hand in Baekhyun’s suit. “O-Outside,” he shoves Baekhyun out of the interrogation room, eyes still on Mr. Kim’s smile.

Once outside, Baekhyun sighs and drops Chanyeol’s hand form his chest. He starts to fix his tie. “What was that—”

“He’s a killer clown,” Chanyeol hisses, looking from Baekhyun to Mr. Kim.

Baekhyun calmly smiles. “You’re acting ridiculous—”

“He was hitting on you!”

“Yeah,” Baekhyun says, his smile falters. He’s still a little shaken up but Byun Baekhyun is almost always level headed when they’re out on a case. It’s Chanyeol who has trouble. “That part of the interview...” Baekhyun swallows, looking away. His shifts his weight from one foot to another. “That part was weird. But he’s our client, Chanyeol. Don’t tell me the press has brainwashed you already?” He looks back. “This isn’t your first case, I know it isn’t. You’re bound by your ethics to defend him, no matter what.” Baekhyun jams his boney, elf finger into Chanyeol’s chest. “Now, come on, don’t you want to defend your clown brethren?”

Chanyeol narrows his eyes. “I don’t know if I like you or not and it’s been almost a year since we met.”

Baekhyun shrugs, a smile flirting with his lips. “Oh, you like me,” he says. “But you don’t want to. Too bad.”

Chanyeol wonders what the feds would charge him with if he squeezed Baekhyun’s small face in his hand and shook him a little. That probably wouldn’t go over too well with the judge and law enforcement.

“Hey,” says Chanyeol during dinnertime at the office, speaking around his mouthful of rice. Take out containers litter his desk.

Baekhyun is, again, across the desk from him, looking up something on his laptop while eating with his free hand. For the last half hour, he has missed his mouth and brought food up to his cheek instead. Chanyeol sniggers every time

Baekhyun looks up, “What?”

Chanyeol bites down into his food. “Do you think if I suck up to the prosecutor, we’ll be better off?”

“You suck up to Wu Fan?” Baekhyun makes a face. “Why are you suddenly suicidal? Should I be concerned? Should I call your mother?”

“I’m not!” Chanyeol insists. “And don’t. She has enough on her plate. But, anyway, Wu Fan is our friend.”

Baekhyun frowns. “Do you even know what friends are—”

“I mean, he’s sort of our friend. Sometimes.” Chanyeol looks for the hidden meaning of life on the bottom of his rice carton. “When he’s not glaring at us in the courtroom and trying to make our ancestors cry. I consider him my friend. I did save him from certain death, once.”

“Chanyeol,” Baekhyun sighs into his food. “You pushed him out of oncoming traffic so hard his ankle caught on the sidewalk and he sprained it. At his office, they called him ‘Limp Fan’ for two months.”

“Hey, he knew it wasn’t my fault and he didn’t stop talking to me over it--”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes, “He’s required, by law, to talk to you—”

“The point is,” Chanyeol says, barely resisting the urge to flick a bean sprout into Baekhyun’s little, smug face. “He can help us. Probably. If I ask nicely. Did our clown say anything else to you when you went to talk to him?”

“He said...something about wanting me to jump into the back seat of his...clown car and,” Baekhyun coughs.

Chanyeol shivers again.

“Things.” Baekhyun looks a little green. “Nothing too important. I told him to keep the previous alibi but to safe guard us, I don’t think it’s a good idea to put him on the stand. There’s really no telling what he’ll say up there.”

“And if Wu Fan cross-examines him, we’re as good as dead,” Chanyeol nods. “I didn’t think this career would have as many near death experiences as it does.”

“The death of one’s career is an disheartening experience,” Baekhyun says ominously. Eyes turned back to his computer screen, he sticks his chopsticks into his carton and comes up with a piece of sesame chicken. Chanyeol takes great joy when Baekhyun completely misses his mouth and pokes himself on the cheek, leaving a sticky mess behind.

The Office Gods are kindly smiling on him today.

“Hey dumbasses.”

Or not.

Jongin steps into the office, waving. Baekhyun looks over to him and nods, licking at a smidge of sauce on his lips.

Chanyeol is not as easy going. “Why are you always here? You don’t even like us.”

“Of course, I like you,” Jongin replies, stealing a dumpling from one of Baekhyun’s cartons. “I don’t like you guys too much, I like you just the right amount. You’re on the killer clown case, right?”

Chanyeol makes a sound that’s half way between a sob and a laugh.

Baekhyun reaches across the table to pat him on the arm. “He didn’t do it,” he says. “So don’t call him that.”

Kim Jongin shrugs. He seems to live his entire life unbothered by everything. Even rain seems to fall around on, not on him. “I don’t call him that, the media does. Press still hasn’t let up relentless coverage. Have you two given statements yet?”

“Once,” says Chanyeol. “The moment we were given the case. We haven’t talked about it, yet. I wonder if we’ll need any character witnesses—”

“Clowns on the stand,” says Jongin with a small snort. “Are you sure you want to go that route? Maybe we should just have the trial at a circus—”

“Why are you here, again?” Baekhyun interrupts him before Chanyeol blows his top, as in his head, not his circus top. This trial is ruining Baekhyun’s life.

Jongin looks at him, “I was bored.” He turns back to Chanyeol. “Wu Fan’s going to put Officer Kim on the stand.”

“Which Kim?” Chanyeol pokes at his dinner, suddenly not hungry. “Joonmyun?”

He misses the smirk twisting Jongin’s lips, but Baekhyun doesn’t. “Aw,” Baekhyun says, tone patronizing. “You have a little crushy wushy on Detective Kim Joonmyun?”

Jongin looks as if he’s thinking of backhanding him across the face. “A crush? Me?” He scoffs. “Get real. That guy is the one who’s obsessed with me. I can’t help it if I’m irresistible.”

“Oh, yeah,” says Baekhyun. “That’s why someone saw you leave Kim Joonmyun’s apartment a few mornings ago in the same close you were wearing the day before? That sounds incredibly one-sided—”

Jongin visibly falters in his bravado, “How...did you know that?”

Baekhyun only smiles sweetly and holds up one of his take out cartons. “Want another dumpling? They’re delicious.”

Chanyeol laughs into his fist, shaking his head. “I can’t decide if I’m really thankful to have you here, Baekhyun, or if I’m terrified.”

“I’ll be terrified for you,” says Jongin. He steals a dumpling, pops it between his lips, and then stalks out of the office without a backward glance. Baekhyun seems to have hit a nerve.

“That was fun,” says Baekhyun, holding out his dumplings for Chanyeol to take.

“Poor kid,” Chanyeol takes a dumpling, still staring through the open door of his office. “He should really think twice about coming in here when one of us is an all-seeing savant. How did you even know that?”

Baekhyun shrugs, “When the office talks, I listen.”

“Do you have any blackmail on me?”

“Not yet,” Baekhyun innocently bats his eyelashes. “But I expect you to mess up soon. I’ll be here to hear about it and laugh at you afterwards.”

Chanyeol really couldn’t have asked for a better partner. “...Thanks, man.”

A few days before the Trial, capitalizations and all, Chanyeol pays a visit to the prosecutor’s office. It’s not a friendly trip. The prosecuting attorney he’s going against is an old rival, so to speak, and Chanyeol is anxious about this trial.

Luckily for him, prosecutors aren’t allowed to eat defense attorneys. He feels a little better with this in mind.

“Knock, knock,” Chanyeol knocks on Wu Fan’s open door as he walks in. His eyes sweep the office. He can’t help but be curious about where Wu Fan works.

Since his last visit, more plaques have accumulated on the wall behind Wu Fan’s desk. The entire wall is almost entirely covered in accolades, shiny gold plating, and professional looking certificates. A few pictures of Wu Fan shaking hands with... wait, is that the president? What—

“Park?” Wu Fan looks up from his work and leans back in his chair. He tips his head in a small bow. “How can I help you?”

Chanyeol drops his eyes to Wu Fan. With his windswept hair, chiseled jaw, and bow lips, Wu Fan looks more the product of a teenage artist’s imagination than an actual person. Chanyeol is sure that he, in secondary school, beat a video game boss that looked just like Wu Fan, even down to his pointed eyebrows. He has always felt this bit of tension between them, but he largely attributed to how often they fought against each other in the courtroom. It's either that or Wu Fan dislikes him for an unknown reason. Chanyeol can see it in his eyes.

“Park,” huffs Wu Fan, straightening his shoulders. “I don’t have all day. Are you sure you didn’t come here just to see me?”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes and pulls a chair up to Wu Fan’s desk, “Ha.” He smiles and then shakes his head. “You’re not my type. I don’t like them surly. Anyway.” He sits down, hands on Wu Fan’s desk. “I need some advice.”

Wu Fan scoffs, repeating “surly” under his breath like a curse, and then clears his throat again, regaining his composure. “What about?” He glances at Chanyeol and then down to his notes.

Chanyeol follows his eyes and notices the ink smudges on Wu Fan’s hand. “You can just type that, you know,” he says. “Or pay someone to type it for you.”

“Writing things out helps me remember them better,” Wu Fan says. He closes his file and folds his hand on top, the ring on his index finger glittering. “Well? What kind of advice do you need?”

“The ‘clown killer’—” Chanyeol makes air quotes with his hands to take the edge off.

Wu Fan’s face falls. It’s now a wall. “What about him? Are you looking for plea deal?”

Chanyeol sits at attention, smiling a little nervously. He knows their relationship out of the courtroom will only grant him so many favors. “Are you offering?”

Wu Fan smiles. It’s not his nice smile. “You know the answer to that.”

Chanyeol wilts, but then straightens. “Okay, okay, so what kind of time is he looking at? Twenty-five to life?”

“Life without parole,” says Wu Fan. “Nothing less.”

Chanyeol feels as if he’s been kicked in the chest. It really can’t get any worse for them—

“Hey,” Wu Fan pulls his attention back. “Are you alright? Is something else troubling you?”

“No but...” Light bounces off Wu Fan’s fancy ring, catching Chanyeol’s eye. He stares at it, remembering when Wu Fan had let him try it on during a friendly meeting. Oh. “But...” Chanyeol pitches his voice low, trying to pout without outright pouting. Wu Fan may not be Chanyeol’s type but Chanyeol knows Wu Fan’s type. “I could use a drink. Are you busy?”

Baekhyun is going to kill him for this later, but Chanyeol really needs one last night of carefree drinking before his reputation is blown and he makes a mockery of his post.

Wu Fan only agrees when Chanyeol actually pouts.

“Freshman year in college,” says Wu Fan, twirling an empty shot glass between his fingers. His long fingers entrance Chanyeol. They look strong. “That’s when I knew. When did you?”

Chanyeol grins, happy and buzzed. He knew coming to the bar had been a great idea. “High school. Second year. I kissed my best friend. He punched me in the face.”

Wu Fan winces, “How’d that turn out?”

Chanyeol motions for another tray of shots and laughs. “Nothing really happened. I was sad as hell for a while but then I got over it. He apologized for hitting me and then we were cool again.” Wu Fan looks over to him and steals the shot Chanyeol reaches for. “Hey,” Chanyeol elbows him. Wu Fan’s drink spills over his hand and Chanyeol laughs, clapping.

“So funny,” Wu Fan deadpans.

“Lighten up,” is on the tip of his tongue when Wu Fan starts to lick tequila off his hand, eyes near leaving Chanyeol’s.

Chanyeol flushes and looks away. “Whoa,” he says, smiling. “For a second there, it looked like you were coming onto me in the most obvious way, I mean, wow—”

Wu Fan chokes. Chanyeol doesn’t know if he’s embarrassed or actually choking. He assumes it’s the latter and scoots closer to pat Wu Fan on the back, hard.

“Better?” he asks when Wu Fan stops, hand still to his mouth.

Wu Fan nods, “I think I need another drink...”

A few more shots of tequila later, Chanyeol isn’t even worried about the Trial. Pfffft, that will be a piece of cake. He’ll defend his people the way he always does and they’ll be found completely innocent! And then Wu Fan will go home and cry to the picture of him shaking hands with the president because he will lose—


A warm hand curls under Chanyeol’s chin.

Chanyeol turns and then freezes. Wu Fan’s face is too close. His breath hits Chanyeol’s lips in a small puffs. Chanyeol knows he shouldn’t feel disappointed when he licks his lips and tastes nothing but his own shots.

“What are you doing, Prosecutor Wu Fan?” Chanyeol mumbles, resting his chin in Wu Fan’s hand. It’s warm.

“What are you doing?” Wu Fan choruses, sliding closer in the booth until he’s pressed against Chanyeol’s side. The alcohol has made him incredibly friendly. Chanyeol isn’t sure if he minds.

“Is this how you win all your cases?” Chanyeol slumps against him, blinking heavily into Wu Fan’s face.

Wu Fan smirks, displaying the kind of bravado only alcohol allows his self. He drops his arm around Chanyeol’s shoulder, fingertips momentarily brushing the smooth skin of Chanyeol’s neck. “Only some of them,” he whispers.

The fringes of Chanyeol’s sobriety hope he’s joking, but that annoying moral voice is drowned out by Wu Fan’s voice. Wu Fan is a hairsbreadth away, smelling of limes and something toxic, a mixture of tequila and his own breath. “Prosecutor....” Chanyeol mumbles, cheek to Wu Fan’s shoulder.

“Are you going to call me that all night?” Wu Fan teases, touching his hand to Chanyeol’s jaw. “My name is Wu Fan.”

Chanyeol smiles, “I know. Haven’t we known each other a long time, Wu Fan?”

Wu Fan chuckles, “That’s not how you pronounce it. Don’t butcher my name.”

Chanyeol side-eyes the side of Wu Fan’s face, “‘m sorry my Korean tongue is too plebeian for your princely name.”

“Say it,” says Wu Fan, undeterred. He curls closer to Chanyeol. “Wu Fan.”

Chanyeol gurgles something he hopes sounds like a spitting faucet.

Wu Fan pinches his side and Chanyeol jumps, almost into Wu Fan’s lap. He sits up.

“Wu Fan,” says Wu Fan into his ear. His arm has fallen around Chanyeol’s waist.

“Wu Fan,” Chanyeol tries, too tipsy to resist. “I can’t say it. My tongue doesn’t curl that way.”

The mouth to his ear is promising and addicting. So is this voice. “Would you like it too?”

Prosecutor Wu Fan has a hell of a tongue. Chanyeol experiences this first hand. “Is this—” he pants in between the licks to the inside of his mouth.

Wu Fan has him pressed against the door of his own apartment, pressing Chanyeol against the wall with his lips.

“Is this how you teach people Chinese?”

The alcohol has made Chanyeol sluggish and slow to react, but it seems to have done the opposite to Wu Fan. Chanyeol doesn’t remember when Wu Fan asked him to come home with him. It must have been after he pulled Chanyeol into his lap and stuck his tongue down his throat. Chanyeol has trouble catching up.

“Talk less,” Wu Fan says, taking Chanyeol’s face in his hand. “Kiss more.”

It’s hard to argue with that kind of logic. He’s not too sure what the rules are on these kinds of affairs, but he knows Wu Fan is the hard ass among the two of them. If there were rules against this, he wouldn’t try so hard to pull Chanyeol’s dress shirt out of his pants and slide his hand underneath, touching the soft skin of his stomach.

Chanyeol grunts, “Let’s go in.” He doesn’t know how longer the wall can support him.

Wu Fan pulls back, panting. The sound makes Chanyeol’s head swim. He can still feel the heat of Wu Fan’s mouth on his, how big his hands felt on his hips. Chanyeol’s last intense hook up had been in the first year of his job as an attorney and, even then, that man had been nothing compared to Wu Fan’s burning urgency.

After his front door is open, Wu Fan fists his hand in Chanyeol’s tie and pulls him in, catching him around the middle when Chanyeol stumbles and falls into him.

There’s something heavy beneath their kiss. Chanyeol throws his arms around Wu Fan’s shoulders; they both stumble further into the apartment. But there’s something Chanyeol has to know. He thinks he feels something else in their kiss, but it might be the alcohol talking. “Do you like me or something?” he says when he has Wu Fan against a wall. The dark apartment hides their expressions well but Chanyeol feels the incessant thrumming of Wu Fan’s heart. He likes it.

Wu Fan’s hands slow, “So what?”

Chanyeol smiles, “You have a crushy wushy on me?”

Baekhyun would be proud of his vocabulary.

Wu Fan isn’t equally as enthused. “Shut up,” he says, only managing to sound a little bit petulant.

“I wonder how long I can tease you for this—”

Wu Fan cuts him off, tongue again in Chanyeol’s mouth. They bump into a lot of things on their way to Wu Fan’s bedroom, almost falling over Wu Fan’s random scattering of books and files.

Though Chanyeol can’t see too well, he feels as if Wu Fan lives in an overcrowded bookstore. He stumbles backward, laughing a little he windmills, and only Wu Fan’s snug arm around his waist stops him from falling into the darkness. He keeps Chanyeol close as he maneuvers them onto the bed, straddling Chanyeol’s thighs. “Have you done this before?” he whispers, pushing Chanyeol’s shirt up his torso.

“A few times,” Chanyeol confesses. The cool air of Wu Fan’s air conditioned room hits his belly and he squirms, reaching up to tug Wu Fan’s blazer off his shoulders. “Naked, please.”

Wu Fan laughs, “How romantic.”

“I can be romantic,” says Chanyeol, combing his hands through Wu Fan’s hair. “I think you look like a prince.”

Wu Fan stills a little, “A prince?”

Chanyeol bites his swollen lower lip, tugging a little on Wu Fan’s hair. He’s having too much fun with this. “Yeah, the Prince of Eyebrows. Yours are really impressive. All the other eyebrows cower before yours, ahh—”

Chanyeol jumps when Wu Fan smooths a hand up his abdomen and pinches one of his nipples. When Chanyeol aims for his mouth for some retaliation, Wu Fan beats him to the punch, pressing down against him on the bed as he joins their mouths.

Is this justice?

It feels nice.

The next morning, Chanyeol gets down to business. “So does this mean you’ll help me with my case?”

Wu Fan turns over to him in bed, staring into his eyes. “What?”

Chanyeol imitates him, his hand under his head. “You know... I could really use your help. I really don’t know what to do—”

Wu Fan smiles. Again, it’s not his nice smile. Even with large hickeys scattered along the column of his neck and middle of his chest, he looks intimidating. Chanyeol thinks it has something to do with how sharp his teeth look in the early morning light. “What we did last night,” says Wu Fan slowly. “Was not between a prosecutor and a defense attorney. It was between Wu Fan and Park Chanyeol. This has nothing to do with your cases. Now, go shower.” He reaches around and pets Chanyeol’s behind, his smile still cold. “You smell.”

“And whose fault is that?” Chanyeol sneers, wanting to be angry. He can’t. He had been expecting this. He had known Wu Fan wouldn’t help him but a small part of him had still hoped—

“I can’t do your homework for you,” says Wu Fan, pushing the covers aside and sitting up on the bed.

Angry, red marks decorate the back of his shoulders and there’s a purpling bruise on his lower back Chanyeol doesn’t remember giving him. Wu Fan is still speaking, something about law or politics, unaware, or probably uncaring, that he’s standing in only his underwear, preening in the mirror. It’s a large standing mirror, ornately carved with golden leaves and drops of dew along its head. It looks like something out of a fantasy novel.

Chanyeol stares as Wu Fan looks first as his own face and then at the rest of his body. “If you like mirrors so much, I’m surprised you don’t have one on the ceiling.”

Wu Fan catches his eye in the mirror and then turns around to face him. “You haven’t looked up this morning, have you? Typical Park.”

“What?” Chanyeol tilts his head back, and then his jaw drops. He can’t believe it... He can’t believe a person like Wu Fan exists. He doesn’t think many attorneys have a giant mirror on their ceiling. Chanyeol waves at his reflection, eyebrows rising on his face. “Wow,” he breathes, looking back to Wu Fan with a smile. “Impressive. You must have a lot of fun with it.”

Wu Fan shrugs, crossing his arms. Chanyeol notices more red marks trailing down his tight abdomen. A part of him is upset he doesn’t remember having that much fun. “When I bought this place, it was already there. Previous tenant must’ve been into some…things. There was even a swing in the living room. I took the swing down but I kept this here. It’s nice.”

“I love the smell of hubris in the morning,” says Chanyeol, dramatically inhaling. “Ah, it smells like...sex.”

Wu Fan grins, “I told you to shower.”

Chanyeol is very taken with the way his lips curl over his gums. Their relationship starting to feel a little more than it did before. There is something here—

“Hm,” Chanyeol begins, looking at the floor of the room. He sees his pants but not his underwear. “Where’s my—”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen it before—” Wu Fan tries to argue.

“Says the man wearing underwear to the naked one in his bed,” Chanyeol smiles. “If I’m going to be naked, it’s only fair for you to join me.”

“Fair?” says Wu Fan, pushing himself away from the mirror. “There’s no fairness in life.”

“You prosecutors are all so jilted,” Chanyeol pushes the sheets away, reaching for Wu Fan’s underwear. He allows him to slip it off without a word of protest. There’s a giant hickey on the inside of his thigh. “When did I do that?” he points.

Wu Fan follows his line of sight. “Oh,” he says. “Um, somewhere between the second and third time?”

Chanyeol is strangely proud of his handiwork. “Anyway,” he pulls his eyes from Wu Fan’s naked torso. “A shower seems like a good idea.”

No, Chanyeol thinks, pinning Wu Fan to the wet blue tiles of his shower, slowly working a hand between his legs. It’s a great idea.

Not a moaner by any means, Wu Fan is quiet as Chanyeol tightens his hand around his hard cock, Chanyeol’s lips and teeth alternately kissing and biting the smooth skin of his collarbones. It’s the only part of Wu Fan’s upper body not already covered by the sting of Chanyeol’s teeth.

Wu Fan tries to pull Chanyeol’s face closer to his, wanting a kiss, but Chanyeol avoids him with a ghost of a smile. Wu Fan had his turn last night; now Chanyeol steers this ride. He quite likes the spreading flush on Wu Fan’s chest when he presses his thumb along the slit of his wet cock, touching him but not in the way he needs.

It’s always fun to see big men squirm.

Wu Fan’s glare isn’t as intimidating when Chanyeol has a hand between his legs and his mouth to that jaw. He jerks off Wu Fan slowly, wincing as Wu Fan’s fingernails dig into his shoulders.

When he feels the pressure of the nails increase and Wu Fan bites into his own lip, eyebrows knitted together, Chanyeol drops his hand. The reaction is instantaneous. Wu Fan’s eyes are thunderous. “What the fu—“

Laughing a bit, Chanyeol kisses him, playing with the tip of Wu Fan’s hot tongue. Suddenly, Wu Fan grabs him by the hair and meshes their mouths together, rubbing their erections.

Chanyeol moans. “I want,” he starts, holding Wu Fan’s hips still.

Wu Fan nips at his bottom lip. “What do you want?”

In the end, Chanyeol doesn’t even have to say it. Wu Fan understands the way his fingers curl into the skin of his hips.

They stumble out of the shower, both weak of balance, and fall into bed again, but this time Chanyeol sinks into Wu Fan. The desire to touch him everywhere is overwhelming. Resisting is far from his mind.

Chanyeol fucks Wu Fan on his back because he wants to see himself in the mirrored ceiling. Chanyeol tries to turn his head to also enjoy the view but Wu Fan bites his lips when he attempts to pull away and smacks a reprimanding hand to his hip.

This is natural justice, Chanyeol decides. He knows if he keeps going at this pace, Wu Fan will spill over his stomach and then, after a few minutes, he’ll follow him headfirst into a burst of chemical brain “explosions.” He knows the outcome.

In a few days, at trial, no matter how hard he argues for his client, no matter the alibi or the evidence or the character witnesses or police testimony, he won’t know the direct outcome. After his presentations, he won’t hear “guilty” or “not guilty” right away. The life of his client, and his career, to a lesser extent, will be in the hands of the jury.

And, as one cosmic joke, Wu Fan is the man who might eventually be responsible for the madness. The man throwing his head back with sweat dotting along his neck, covered in Chanyeol’s own spit.

But Prosecutor Wu Fan and Wu Fan aren’t the same person, even if Defense Attorney Park Chanyeol and Chanyeol are.

Wu Fan sheds his occupation with his clothes, while Chanyeol carries his inside his body, his own internal light. This is what he realizes when they finish and he stares at himself in Wu Fan’s mirrored ceiling, tracing their bodies with his eyes.

Wu Fan can tuck himself away at will, jumping between “Mr. Guilty On All Charges” and Wu Fan, the man currently playing with the ends of Chanyeol’s hair. Wu Fan is much like Kim Jongin, and Chanyeol envies how easy they can dissociate themselves. He’s never been able to achieve that.

“What?” Wu Fan asks, poking Chanyeol’s face. “What’s with that look? It wasn’t good for you?”

“No, it was,” Chanyeol tries for a smile.

Wu Fan’s eyes narrow.

Chanyeol looks away, “Just... thinking about work and all. It never really leaves me. I never get used to the feeling of—”

“Having someone’s life in your hands,” Wu Fan finishes for him. “I understand.”

But he doesn’t and now it’s time for Chanyeol to leave. He’s been out, having the time of his life, while poor Baekhyun slaves away at their files, trying in vain to save their case. It’s time for Chanyeol to go back to work.

“I gotta go,” he says.

Wu Fan drops his hands away, “Oh. Alright. Um.”

They look at each other and, for the first time since their drinking last night, the air between them is awkward. Chanyeol doesn’t know what this new relationship is and he’s none too sure how he should proceed. Does he just leave? Do they make plans to meet up later?

Wu Fan breaks the tension for them. “I’ll see you later?”

Slowly, Chanyeol nods. “Yeah...” He smiles, reaching out to pet Wu Fan’s naked hip. “Yeah, I’ll see you later. Count on it.”

Chanyeol expects Baekhyun to be wallowing in his mountains of files, not with his feet up on his desk, smoking a cigar like the king of this castle. Baekhyun is the court jester, at most.

“What are you doing?” Chanyeol asks, gesturing to his body.

“Hello, hello,” Baekhyun waves, smiling. “Glad you could finally join me.” The cigar drops from his lips. “Weren’t you wearing those clothes yesterday? I think I remember telling you what a terrible tie color that is.”

“It’s a wonderful tie,” says Chanyeol. “Now get back to your side of the desk. We have a person to defend.”

Baekhyun’s smile doesn’t waver, “You’re really one to talk when you spent last night fucking while I was here, actually doing work? I’m taking this day off.” He points his cigar at Chanyeol. “Did you even look at yourself before you left his or her apartment? Your neck is one giant hickey.”

Chanyeol hides his neck with his hand, “I...might’ve slept with Prosecutor Wu Fan.”

Baekhyun snorts and bursts into loud laughter. “Your jokes are terrible but your face is—” He cuts himself off.

Chanyeol thinks he’s going to choke on his cigar. He doesn’t think Baekhyun’s life insurance would cover the funeral costs.

“You’re not joking,” Baekhyun says. “Chanyeol—”

“It wasn’t—” Chanyeol doesn’t know what he’s defending himself against. He doesn’t regret last night. “It was... well, it happened.”

Baekhyun nods, “It sure did.” He smiles a little. “Was it good?”

“I’m not telling you, you little pervert,” says Chanyeol, shaking his head. He smiles despite himself. “Where are we on Mr. Kim’s case? Did you make any progress?”

“Okay, I lied.”

Chanyeol looks up from the files on his desk. “About?”

“I didn’t do any work last night either. I hung out with Kim Jongin and his cop lover. That guy’s really—”

“Whipped?” Chanyeol drops himself onto Baekhyun empty chair and snatches up the box of cigars still open on his desk. They might as well relax if they’re not doing anything important.

“No, he’s weird,” says Baekhyun. He holds up his lighter to Chanyeol’s cigarette and then sits back in his chair. “Stiff, goody two shoes. Weirdest couple you’ll ever meet. Jongin acts like he hates him but he says he doesn’t. Weird kid.”

Chanyeol sticks the cigar between his lips and inhales, “Baekhyun, we’re fucked.”

“You were fucked last night, haha,” he leers. “But, yes, I agree. We’re up shit creek without a paddle. We’re in the shit river without a canoe. We’re swimming in the shit ocean without—”

“I get it,” Chanyeol rolls his eyes. “You busy tonight? We’re going to have to pull a few all-nighters.”

“Mm, more coffee,” Baekhyun nods. “Nothing like a steaming cup at two am. That really lights a fire under you.”

Chanyeol can only imagine the kind of sloppy, drooling creatures they’ll turn into by dawn. Just another day in the great and powerful justice system. “Hey, can we—”

“No espresso,” Baekhyun grunts. “No. Suffer with regular coffee, you monster.”

On the day of the Trial, Chanyeol is practicing his deep breathing exercises in their booth when Baekhyun taps him on the shoulder. “He doesn’t look like you slept with him.”

Chanyeol coughs, “What?” He looks over to the man who has just entered the courtroom.

Flanked by a member of his own counsel, Wu Fan stands tall and foreboding in his dark suit. His eyes scan the courtroom and Chanyeol feels a little giddy, and really idiotic, when Wu Fan finds his eyes. His face is impenetrable.

Chanyeol smiles and bows his head in an effort to appear cordial.

Wu Fan nods, the smallest tilt of his head, and then turns to his to take his seat.

“Wow,” says Baekhyun, sounding entirely too interested. “That was hot.”

Chanyeol elbows his side, “Nothing happened.”

“Oh yeah?” Baekhyun smiles, teasing. “So why can’t he keep his eyes off you, Park? You hooked a member of the enemy, I’m proud of you.”

“You should’ve stayed in medical school,” Chanyeol says when he can’t think of anything else to say. He hides his wince with a file when Baekhyun steps on his foot under the table.

“I told you never to speak of that! My parents gave me the ass whopping of my life when I dropped out! I still can’t go to the doctor without feeling guilty—”

“Defense,” the judge barks.

Chanyeol and Baekhyun sit up, putting a bit of space between each other. “Yes?” answers Chanyeol.

The judge, the Honorable Jung Yunho, glares at them from behind his tiny spectacles.

Chanyeol almost blurts out an annoying, watery apology in full court when Baekhyun lays a hand on his shoulder and holds him. “We apologize for the disturbance,” says Baekhyun. “The defense is ready, your honor.”

“I love you, man,” whispers Chanyeol right before the trial begins.

Baekhyun smiles, “Doesn’t everyone?”

Chanyeol deadpans. “...You’ve been spending too much time with Kim Jongin.”

The trial is long and monotonous. Toward the end of it, Chanyeol wants to put a stake in his own heart and see if he disappears in a puff of dust and caffeine. Mr. Kim's yelling at the top of his lungs brings Chanyeol back to life.

'“I DID IT!” he yells, standing up and banging his hands on the table.

Oh god.

Chanyeol rushes to pull him back down, “Mr. Kim—”

“I fucking did it!”

“Order!” Jung Yunho bangs his hammer over the loud gush of noise.

Prosecutor Wu Fan looks over from his side of the courtroom, regal eyebrows higher up his face than Chanyeol has ever seen them.

“Let’s calm down—” says Baekhyun in a pitiful tone, grabbing Mr. Kim’s other arms.

Mr. Kim pulls on his human restraints, suddenly enraged. “I DID IT AND I’M NOT SORRY THEY’RE DEAD.”

The courtroom explodes. It’s as if a million people raise their voices, shouting insults, demanding apologies, and retribution. The clown members of the audience, dressed in their working clothes, pull seltzer bottles out of their sleeves and try to angrily squirt Mr. Kim in his eyes. They call him a blood traitor and tell him he is never allowed to wear the paint of their people.

Mr. Kim spits in their direction and then smiles. “I would do it again too—“

“Oh god,” Baekhyun groans. “Oh god, is this because I dropped out of medical school? Am I not meant to be an attorney?”

“Baekhyun, hold it together,” Chanyeol hisses, pulling on his client’s arm. “Mr. Kim, please don’t say anything else—”

“Your honor, the defendant has confessed in open court,” Wu Fan’s voice booms over the rest.

Chanyeol stills.

“I am well aware,” says Judge Jung. “Mr. Kim, are you confessing because you are indeed guilty of your heinous crimes.”

“Yes,” says Mr. Kim. “It was fun, too. I was going to jump in my clown car and drive away when I was caught...” He pauses, his smile grows. “Red-handed.”

Chanyeol thinks it is the worst pun he has ever heard and will ever hear.

Behind him, the audience shifts, uncomfortable. Wu Fan’s face is caught in a half sneer. The jury looks scandalized.

At his side, Baekhyun swears under his breath.

It’s done.

Their client is found guilty on all charges and is then led away, shouting his love for the one he calls “sweet cheeks.” “Write to me, Sweet Cheeks!” he calls, batting his eyelashes. “I’ll wait for you!”

“Kill me,” Baekhyun mutters. “Kill me now.”

“I have no idea what just happened,” says Chanyeol, still holding onto his files. He remains in his seat even after court has been dismissed.


He blinks out of his daze to a hand waving in his face. “Hello,” Chanyeol bows his head a bit.

People of the court still mill about them; Chanyeol is very conscious of their surroundings.

Wu Fan looks around. “Are you busy?”

Chanyeol looks at a red spot on Wu Fan's lips. Their night, and morning together, comes back to him. He remembers their finals words. “Now?”

Wu Fan nods, “It’s later, isn’t it?”

“Still here,” Baekhyun pops up from Chanyeol’s side, waving. He looks too chipper for having lost the trial of the century. It might be the coffee. “Hello there, Wu Fan.”

Wu Fan takes a step back. “Oh, Byun Baekhyun, I didn’t see you there.”

Baekhyun gives him a look, jokingly narrowing his eyes. “Is that short joke?”

“Sounds like it,” says Chanyeol. “Can you leave us alone for a bit?”

Baekhyun smiles, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. In open court, that is.” He shares a secret look with Chanyeol, one that is more teasing than chastising, and Chanyeol is grateful he has that little, smug face in his life.

He then realizes Wu Fan’s shadow is still over him. Chanyeol stands and starts to pack his bags, “Where do you want to go? Don’t say coffee. I think I’ve had enough to last me all week.”

“I was going to suggest dinner,” Wu Fan twitches into a smile. It’s a cross between his stern prosecutor smile and the one he had given Chanyeol in his shower, under his kisses. Chanyeol thinks it looks painful, as if his mouth is fighting itself for the kind of emotion it wants to display.

He tries to think of him as only Prosecutor Wu Fan, the entity who had once appeared in his dreams and made him repeat law school in only his underwear, but all he sees is Wu Fan, the man who may or may not have owned up to his feelings during their last encounter.

“Dinner sounds good,” says Chanyeol. “I’ve never eaten with a prince before. Maybe you can help me improve my manners, like you helped with my Chinese.”

Wu Fan arches a brow, almost surprised by the forward expression.

Chanyeol thinks he still looks a little too tense. “Hey, your eyebrows look great today, by the way. Gotta love that ‘v’ shape. Very surly looking.” He leans in, satisfied with Wu Fan’s attention on his face. “Definitely my type.”

Rolling his eyes, Wu Fan knocks his shoulder against his in a friendly gesture. “I’ll do more than teach you Chinese,” he promises.

“Is that a verbal contract?” Chanyeol steers Wu Fan out of the building with a secret hand on the hem of his blazer. “You know those aren’t admissible in court.”

In the atrium of the courthouse, Chanyeol notices Kim Jongin and his cop whispering to each other, heads close together. Chanyeol has never seen him look so interested in anything, and when he touches a hand to Kim Joonmyun’s chin, his eyes are the softest Chanyeol has ever seen them. Jongin has finally been affected by life, and a part of Chanyeol knows he is next.

“I think you need a lesson,” says Wu Fan under his breath, pulling Chanyeol’s attention back to him, as if it had ever left. “One on how to not mix business with pleasure.”

Chanyeol smiles a little, his stomach humming excitedly. A part of him thinks he's too old to feel like this, but it's nice. He likes the way the backs of their backs brush against each other, close but still teasing. “I’m looking forward to it, Wu Fan.”

This time, his pronunciation is impeccable.
Tags: postings, summer 2012
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