Chanel's Fics

White Blank Canvas - Xiuchen/Xiuhan

WHITE BLANK CANVAS

Summary: Jongdae sees blank canvases while Minseok finds sparks in Lu Han's lips.

//

The differences are all in the details. Minseok finds himself counting them between kisses and subtle touches. Once again, he’s being pulled by the sleeve into a car, hypnotized by a smile that leaves him breathless. Lu Han works in the art department of their advertising agency, and for three weeks now, Minseok had been having an explosive and somewhat dangerous affair with him.

Lu Han unbuttons Minseok’s crisp white shirt with urgency, his panting breath tinkles Minseok’s bare skin as his legs fall on either side of Minseok’s body. Lu Han rolls his hips against him, pinning the older man down to the passenger seat. Hungry lips wallop together, and Lu Han moans against Minseok’s mouth. The sound fills the constricted space of Lu Han’s car and echoes around Minseok’s mind. For some twisted reason, it reminds him that there’s someone waiting for him in an apartment in Queens, someone whom he had promised to share a life with.

“Stop,” he commands, ignoring the heat of Lu Han’s lips against his neck. “I have to go home.”

Lu Han smirks above him, spreading the pads of his index finger over Minseok’s lips playfully. “You wanna do this somewhere else?”

Minseok sighs, screwing his eyes shut momentarily so that Lu Han’s seductive gaze wouldn’t temper with his resolve. He pictures the man he had sworn an oath to sitting at home, alone, probably setting the table for dinner or walking their dog. And it’s so fucking unfair.

“No, Lu Han,” Minseok strains, resting his forehead on his shoulder and absorbing the scent of his cologne. He breathes it out slowly, trying to detox his body from the tormenting magnetism he feels towards the man hanging over him. Minseok never meant for it to push this far. “Let me go home, please.”

The other chuckles darkly, leaning even closer.

“Do you want to go home?” Lu Han whispers vehemently against his ear, and a shiver runs down Minseok’s spine. “Or do you want me?”

Fuck, Minseok thinks, biting his lower lip and increasing the pressure each time Lu Han rolls his hips against him. He wants him so much it aches. Fire spreads to his veins, burning the wits out of him.

Minseok’s hands reach the buckle of Lu Han’s belt, and the other laughs deliciously against Minseok’s lips. Locks of bleached blond falling over his lust hooded eyes. “Come on, Kim Minseok. Let’s get you home before dinner.”

--

There’s pepperoni pizza at the center of the table, three slices missing, along with a half empty bottle of red wine. The air around the apartment feels heavy, and Minseok shallows his pride as he walks inside, shoes scrapping against the hardwood floor. The figure sprawled on the couch moves languidly, craning his neck towards the doorway, and stretching his arm to reach a light switch.

The lights flicker over Minseok a few times, showing Kim Jongdae flashes of his fear between blackness and beams of florescent. The older man bows his head, pacing slowly towards the living room, a torn heart beating steady inside his heavy chest.

“Jongdae,” Minseok starts, setting his briefcase on the floor and undoing the top button of his shirt. There’s a stench imbued on him. He reeks of Lu Han and poor life choices. “We have to–"

Jongdae wears lounge clothes and has blue paint stuck to his forehead. A tired smile stretches over his face, and he gestures for Minseok to come closer, patting the empty stop next to him on the couch. Minseok gives in, letting his body fall next to the man he loves. There’s a ring on his finger symbolizing a promise, one he couldn’t keep, and he hates himself for it.

The love of his life encircles him strongly, scrawny arms pulling Minseok’s body into him as he plants a kiss that smells of acrylic paint on his forehead. Judging by the remaining streaks of indigo and beige in his palms, it had been a successful day at the atelier. His partner had suffered a creative block for a total of four months, and many days Minseok had come home from work to find him crying on the floor, a blank canvas taunting his talent.

“I did it, baby,” Jongdae murmurs against Minseok’s cheek. He could almost taste the red wine in his breath. “I painted something today.”

Minseok sinks into himself, and drowns into Jongdae’s excited eyes, forgetting that just a few hours ago he had been kissing other lips, moaning a different name. Something evil seeps through the tough exterior he had built around himself.

And he lies.

Again.

“I’m so happy for you, baby,” Minseok says, kissing the corner of Jongdae’s mouth. “Can I see it?”

His partner asks for him to wait as he jumps off the couch and practically sprints towards the closed room down the hall. Coming back with an eighteen by twenty-four picture turned towards his chest. Jongdae bites his lower lip, seeming immensely elated. It’s been months since Minseok had seen him smile like that, and it breaks his heart.

He turns the picture, revealing a recognizable face. The tones are all Jongdae’s doing. His partner imagination runs wild, finding blue hues in skin and red undertones in locks of hair. There are highlights of canary yellow in a nose bridge that is so perfectly depicted it almost looks like a photograph. The eyes are a deep, rich brown adored by texturized forest green brushstrokes. In the picture, Minseok’s lips are painted lilac, and the smile he wears seems real enough. But it’s all a memory, old and forgotten because Minseok is simply not capable of smiling like that anymore.

Overwhelmed by his own emotions, he cries openly, covering his twisted expression with his palms as his lover weeps as well, but for an entirely different reason.

“My therapist said I should focus on the things I love,” Jongdae says, sniffing his emotions back as he holds the picture up proudly. “I was hacking my brain, trying to find a subject to paint, but it’s been right in front of my eyes all along.” He sets the canvas down, kneeling in front of Minseok. “I love you.”

Minseok grabs Jongdae up, pulling him to the couch by the shoulders. He glares deep into his lover’s eyes, and he knows it’s time. It had gone too far. He has to say something, for the sake of his sanity. The words cling to his tongue like clawed beasts, but he breathes, in and out, and spills them out.

“I’m having an affair.”