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After Hours (in the Disco Elevator) 
07 Sep 2013
Title: After Hours (in the Disco Elevator)
Author: oigabuss
Pairing: Lu Han/Kai
Rating: NC-17 (PWP)
Length: 2,000 words
Description: It is in Jongin’s view that when you’re stuck in an elevator, you might as well get comfortable.

Author’s Note: This is actually an ask.fm answer courtesy of Karima. First attempt at a PWP. I hope nobody chokes to death in revolt because it's pretty bad (and unfortunately neither steamy nor sexy). Never again. (Also, title taken from a Glen Check song that somehow came to mind.)

After Hours (in the Disco Elevator)

The fluorescent lights overhead flickered out – letting complete darkness swallow the tiny space for a full second – to be replaced by a low dim light that spilled in from the metal wall’s crevices.

This all happened after the metal box jolted to a halt in the middle of its short (and supposedly uneventful) voyage from the twenty-first floor to the basement.

The two gentlemen inside stumbled at the sudden shake of the surface beneath their feet, but not quite falling. One of them held on for dear life the handrail running across a mirrored wall, the one facing the elevator’s closed opening. His knuckles weren’t white, not like how they describe it in stories – but it was certainly paling. The other one stood his ground in the middle of the rectangular floor, knees slightly bent in anticipation of another unnatural tremor. If anyone paid close attention, the tan skin on his cheeks were slightly flushed. But that’s only if you pay the closest of attention. Otherwise, he resembled a predator in his stance, his alert eyes hiding the shortened intervals between each of his heartbeat.

The blonde one, the one holding on to the rails, jerked forward in a moment of clarity amidst of panic, eyes intent on a rusting old placard saying In case of emergency placed crookedly above a small red button. With more force than necessary, he pushed the button hard, yelling a shrill “Hello?!” And when that brings nothing in return except for a crackle so faint he could’ve imagined it, he tried again, yelling again, an endless broken record of “Hello?! Is anybody there?!”

His voice had gotten hoarse, but still nobody answered.

“Lu Han,” a voice from behind him called. He turned around slowly, hand still hovering over the word emergency printed in size 18 Arial. The owner of the low, easy voice was slouched in the back corner of the box, one leg stretched out before him. An elbow was perched leisurely on a bent knee, fingers playing with the strands of his brunette fringe. He didn’t look very troubled, all things considered.

“Maybe the thing’s broken too,” the same voice continued.

The blonde stared at him incredulously. “We were only past the eighteenth floor when it stopped.”


“So, Jongin, there’s at least fifty meters of an empty vertical corridor beneath us.” Lu Han’s eyes spotted something that might be a camera in the far right corner of the metal box.

“Maybe that thing’s broken too. Do they ever work? Anyways, someone’s bound to notice the elevator’s stuck and fix it.” The brunette named Jongin patted the space right next to him in invitation.

“We’ll plunge to our deaths.” Lu Han stepped closer but didn’t move to sit down.

Jongin continued as if he hadn’t heard Lu Han’s words. “Probably would take a while, though. It’s after hours. Might as well make ourselves comfortable,” Jongin said in nonchalance, deft fingers loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top of his shirt to make a point.

The only response was stillness, and silence.

“I said,” – Jongin stood upright to approach his still terrified-looking company – “we might as well make ourselves comfortable.”

The silence from his counterpart only stretched even longer, but at least his hands had started to mimic the other’s earlier action, touching his own tie lightly. But the action was made so slowly, its half-mindedness triggering a flash of annoyance in the eyes of its watcher.

“Do you need help with that?” Jongin asked in impatience, not waiting for an answer as he moved to take hold of the other’s tie himself, pinching the piece right under a collar, and pulling the knot with just enough force, not stopping until it became entirely unravelled in his hand. With the black tie still dangling lifelessly between his fingers, he moved to pop open a button on Lu Han’s shirt – that’s one... – and moving on to the one below it – two... – and taking the time to feel the surface of yet another one under it – three...

All this while, his company was still staring down to the side, his mouth shut tight, the only sound coming from him his faint ragged breaths, louder from a close distance.

When he finally looked up, Jongin could see that his eyes were clouded. Not with fear, but with something else that made Jongin smile.

In three... two... one...

As if on cue, the two lunged forward, connecting themselves on the lips, the tongues, their breaths hot in each other’s faces. Lu Han may not have much control on his fear of heights, but he knew he had control of every movement he was making now, of every lap of the tongue across plump, pliant lips, of each nip on hot, salty skin. The confining metal box was no longer a threat, the fact that they were quite literally hanging by a thread pushed far to the back of his mind. In its place was the realisation that Jongin’s hand had let his tie drop to the floor and now was quickly unbuckling the leather belt looped around his trousers.

A flicker of the light, and something that sounded like a crackled cough, reminded him where he was.

“What if someone’s watching us?” Lu Han asked, hands stilling, entangled in Jongin’s thick locks.

“Who- fucking- cares,” Jongin huffed in between a trail of nips he planted on the underside of Lu Han’s adam’s apple. He went to licking a stripe up a sinew on that long, now reddened neck, before dropping to his knees. The zippers went down with no resistance, and Jongin let Lu Han’s pants drop to pool around his ankles. He ran both hands up the bare, muscled legs, before looking up to see Lu Han staring down at him from beneath a messed up blonde fringe. There was blatant hesitance there, Jongin could see, and he could feel the hands in his hair loosen.

“Lu Han,” he reprimanded after running his tongue along the length of Lu Han’s half-hard cock from over his boxers – the grip on his hair tightened. Intent on capturing his full attention once again, Jongin curled his fingers around the elastics around Lu Han’s hips and pulled. “Let go.”

The sudden suction that brought him to full hardness definitely got his attention.

Fuck it.

In a short second, the small dim space was all wet tongue that lapped around the head of his dick and the chaffed lips that wrapped itself around the girth of his length, the obscene slurps that came in time with Jongin’s bobs of the head echoing off metal and mirror. The wooden handrail digging across his waist barely felt like anything at all compared to the hotness of what Jongin’s mouth was doing to him.

Lu Han groaned as Jongin’s mouth released him with a lewd pop!, a string of saliva sticking from the head of his cock to Jongin’s swollen lips. The groan was quickly replaced by a whimper when Jongin started to jerk him off with a hand and looked up at him with hooded eyes, then dragging his idle fingers over parted lips before slipping them into his mouth, coating them with spit.

The view was glorious, Lu Han thought. Now he wished Jongin had gotten rid of his shirt dress too, because it was so hot, too hot, in his cramped corner, gasping in stale air, and it was getting hard to breathe.

“Ah,” he involuntarily cried out when Jongin slid a slick finger in him, making his insides squirm in pain and anticipation of what’s to come, and breathing just became twice as hard. He thought he’d lost it between digging his nails into Jongin’s shoulders and grappling the surface of metal and mirror to try find something, anything, to hold – but he still had half a mind to notice when he felt his leg being lifted over Jongin’s shoulder. When another finger entered him though, curling and pulling and pushing, over and over again, he couldn’t help but needing more.

“Please,” he whimpered. “Please, please, please,” he repeated his pathetic begging, and luckily for him, Jongin didn’t choose to be the teasing bastard he usually was in bed. Jongin immediately stood up at the incoherent request, looking mostly dignified in his intact shirt and tie – except for his fucked up face – and moved swiftly to free his own aching cock, not even bothering to pull down his trousers entirely.

Apparently, he didn’t do it fast enough for Lu Han’s taste.

“Please,” Lu Han pleaded once again, gingerly stepping out of the pool of clothing around his ankles. His sweating back, the shirt sticking uncomfortably there, leaned on a corner of the room to support his barely upright frame. “Please, before we get caught.”

Jongin froze abruptly for a split second, before reaching down to grab Lu Han’s unravelled tie from the floor. Lu Han didn’t feel so lucky when he was spun around in brute force to face the corner he was leaning upon only seconds before and felt his head painfully yanked back by the hair.

He cried out once, and winced, and when he opened his eyes he saw Jongin draping his own black tie over his open mouth. Before he knew what was happening, Jongin held his head forward and went to tie the cloth behind his blonde head.

“You,” Jongin snarled, “speak too much. Now bend over.”

So he did. A jolt of exhilaration ran through Lu Han’s veins at his words. This was what set him off every single time, this resolution, this sure-fire attitude, this certainty in inflicting sensations borderline pain and pleasure, just like what he was doing right now. There was a thrill that came with relinquishing control in the hands of a Kim Jongin, one that overcame him so strongly, even when Jongin hadn’t even really started – he had only spit on the palm of a hand.

That first push wasn't without effort. After a few shallow thrusts were administered, though, Lu Han’s grunts of discomfort started turning into more obscene mewls then even more shameless cries, all muffled by the cloth getting drenched in between his pretty pink lips. He could feel the start of a tingle in the pit of his stomach, so he brought a hand to stroke himself to completion, leaving only one arm to brace himself against the mirrored wall. But the movement did not go unpunished; it only led to Jongin roughly smacking his hand away.

“Do you want to come?”

Any other time, Lu Han would have made a remark on the stupid rhetorical question. But now, Lu Han only moaned in wanton desperation at the question, turning his head back to face Jongin, who only smirked and went snapping his hips faster, faster, faster. By the time Jongin finally, finally, wrapped a calloused hand around his cock to stroke it in time with his thrusts, he wasn’t far off the edge, and when Jongin brushed a thumb across the slit of the head, he finally, finally, lost it, his moans a long stifled cry as he releases.

Jongin rocked harder behind him, chasing his own climax, and that’s when Lu Han caught a glimpse of himself on the mirror before him. Reflected back at him was a view of a dishevelled blonde, hair a rumpled straw-coloured mess, a piece of black thing running across his face by the mouth. Fucked up. What struck him most, though, was the pair of dark brown eyes staring straight at him – his own – glazed with unashamed lust and desire.

He shuddered at the sight, and averted his gaze elsewhere, now to the tall brunette behind him, who thrusted one last time and stilling, spilling his release inside his satiated body.

When Jongin pulled away, Lu Han’s knees immediately gave out, and he just kneeled there, in the small cramped corner, a sweaty mess breathing in stale air, staying still, until a pair of arms wrapped around his waist and a chin rested itself on his shoulder.


That was a close call, he thought, measuring out a tablespoon of cough syrup from his desk and swallowing it down in one gulp. The sweet saccharine taste lingered in the back of his tongue. Should’ve made sure the intercom was off. Especially when you have a cold.

With eyes still on the small black and white screen of his monitor TV, he reached for the receiver and dialled an extension.

“Hello? Maintenance?” his raspy voice said. He coughed twice to get rid of the itch nagging at his throat. “Yes. Sorry. This is Oh Sehun from the front desk. Yes. Seems like something’s happened again to the elevator in the Metro Building...”


(Deleted comment)
08 Sep 2013 (UTC)
WHOA CALM DOWN THERE but then how can one be when dealing with kailu. sigh, i know.

awww, thank you! <3
08 Sep 2013 (UTC)
17 Sep 2013 (UTC)
Oh Fricking Sehun of course it would be you!!
KaiLu was so hot, I was so happy that it nearly turned into full blown mirror sex!
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