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jewelledhours2012-04-29 11:15 pm
catskilt.livejournal.com) wrote in jewelledhours2012-04-29 11:15 pm
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[eunhyuk/donghae] twelve cupcakes [part two]
twelve cupcakes by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
catskilt
eunhyuk/donghae
pg-13; 1791 words; multi-chapter
this is the fic where donghae is a baker and hyukjae is a prostitute, and together they make something out of the city of romance that is paris.
Part Two-
His story starts three years ago, says Henry. You ready? Well, here goes. So we have a struggling college kid, can't pay off his bills, about to be thrown out of his dorm – pretty much like me, only in a more dire state. He's walking along the street one night, desperate to the point of blowing his head off, and he would have, too, if only he had a gun at that point – what? I am telling the truth. Okay, fine. Only the facts then.
So Lee Hyukjae's walking along the street, and he passes by some places of ill repute, and he's thinking maybe it's time to start doing a bit of street…work, if you know what I mean. Only he's not too sure what the market demand is like, so he goes home and dresses up in some of his most skin-tight clothing. Goes out again to try his luck. And of course – we don't need to mention this but I will anyway – he becomes an instant hit. Lots of businessmen out there willing to pay a buck for his services. Well, more than a buck, more like a few hundred euros, but you know what I mean.
He's plying his trade night after night for about two or three months before he gets noticed by this guy named Pierre. That's it, just Pierre. 'Cause every French guy is called Pierre, right? And of course there isn't a last name to support his first. Pierre, some underground pimp, calls him over and pitches a proposal to him – if Hyukjae turns over all management of his, um, business affairs to Pierre, Pierre will make damn sure that they get plenty of returns. So Hyukjae does. And the rest is history. They scale the prostitution ladder together, Pierre gets Hyukjae into the most expensive male brothel in Paris, all sorts of wealthy and famous guys become his regular customers – hey, I even heard that he has entertained European princes before. They all come in droves just for the privilege of having a night with him. Quite a story, huh? Practically rags to riches. It could bring you to tears.
"Really. Did it bring you to tears," says Donghae, beating eggs so furiously that the yolks almost spin out of the bowl.
"Well," says Henry, shrugging. "You have to acknowledge his success, right? And he's one of our only regular customers, so I'm not gonna critique his choice of career."
Henry is pushing twenty-one, chubby-cheeked and cocksure of himself in a way that only an arts student at the Sorbonne can be. He's Donghae's only hired help, and is also Donghae's sole source of information about What Goes On in the Dark Echelons of Paris – that is, when Google doesn't suffice. Entering 'Lee Hyukjae prostitute' into the Google search bar had thrown up so many pornographic links that Donghae had been afraid of getting some kind of virus, so he'd turned to Henry for help. He doesn't know where Henry gets his information from, but he supposes that wild young arts students tend to know whatever there is to know about the city whose belly they're revelling in.
Henry comes in a few hours on Monday and Wednesday mornings and a few hours on Thursday and Saturday afternoons, and so has little idea about just how regular a customer Hyukjae is. Donghae doesn't feel like enlightening him. "My partnership with you could bring people to tears too," he says instead, pouring the eggs into the mixture of butter and sugar.
"What," says Henry.
"You were a struggling arts student until I found you."
"Yeah, but it's not like you're paying me a few thousand euros per hour," Henry grumbles. "And you don't even let me near the oven."
"That's because you baked my blackforest for 65 minutes!"
"Well, gee," says Henry. "I thought we had this settled; your handwriting was so bad I couldn't read your numbers properly. But I've learned something about timing since then. I'm your apprentice, aren't I?"
"Wash up, apprentice," says Donghae, indicating the myriad of dirty bowls in the sink, and Henry reluctantly goes to work.
He has known, of course, for a fairly long time, that Hyukjae is a prostitute. He has also known for a fairly long time that Hyukjae is a very successful prostitute, one whom the customers need to book way in advance and pay out of their pockets for when they manage to secure him. Hyukjae has told him that much. "So don't come looking for me in the red light districts," he said. "You won't find me on the street trying to get customers."
Donghae had gone, anyway, in his first few weeks of being in an ambiguous relationship with Hyukjae, to the red light districts to check out the kind of world that Hyukjae inhabits. He had lingered there for an hour, gotten his wallet pickpocketed, been hit on by at least three sexily dressed ladies, and fled home when a couple of bouncers started eyeing him. It wasn't his world, he thought. He'd been fully prepared to lock Hyukjae out when he came again, to tell him that he was scared and didn't want to get involved, that if the pimp came to his bakery looking for trouble because he was sleeping with one of Paris' star male whores he would die, he really would; and then Hyukjae came and gave him one look out of his mysteriously beautiful eyes and Donghae found himself naked in bed with him, legs wrapped around his waist and moaning stupidly against his skin.
"You're gonna get me killed," he'd told Hyukjae then.
"If you were going to get killed for this, do you think I would still be here?" Hyukjae had asked.
Donghae couldn't find any argument for that, aside from the vague possibility that Hyukjae was actually a sadist and was doing all this to fatten him up for the inevitable murder. No, he thought. I trust him.
A crash wakes him out of his thoughts, and he looks round to see Henry picking up bowls off the floor. "Situation's under control," Henry says without looking up. "Don't freak out."
"Good, cause damages will come out of your pay," says Donghae.
… …
Hyukjae comes in slightly past three o' clock, just half an hour after Henry has left. There are, as usual, no customers in the bakery, so Hyukjae has the full width of the counter to rest his elbows on and look seductively at Donghae. "I'd like that cake with the strawberries on it," he says.
"Okay," says Donghae in the most seductive way he can.
Hyukjae laughs. "Are you going to feed it to me, too?"
"Uh huh," says Donghae, distracted by Hyukjae's mouth. It looks very, very red. A little swollen, in fact.
"What?" says Hyukjae, touching his mouth.
"Um," Donghae says. "Did you…make out with somebody?"
And immediately wishes he hadn’t said anything, because Hyukjae just says, "Yep", and comes round the counter to put his arms around his neck.
Donghae holds him and tries to imagine Hyukjae holding somebody else, kissing him, making love to him, but his mind refuses to call up any sort of image. "Guess we can start with your baking lesson now, huh?"
"I've been looking forward to it all week," Hyukjae says, pulling back to raise his fists, and Donghae finds that he has already forgiven him.
… …
It goes like this: when Hyukjae comes in the afternoons, they rarely, if ever, have sex. The reason for it is simple. Hyukjae has spent the previous night with someone, so he's not entirely willing to jump into bed again with another person, even if that person is Donghae. The only afternoon they ever have sex in is Thursday afternoon, because Thursday is Hyukjae's off-day, and ever since they started sleeping together, Thursday has also become the bakery's off-day. Thursday is sacred. Thursday can mean anything, from all-day café, games, and shopping to lazy all-day sex, from morning massages at non-seedy parlours to afternoon movies to intensive evening sex.
All other afternoons that Hyukjae drops by, they spend baking instead.
Donghae isn't quite sure how that happened. One afternoon, Hyukjae had walked into the kitchen out of pure curiosity, examined the utensils, and announced that he wanted to learn how to make a cupcake. So Donghae taught him. And is still teaching him, except that Hyukjae has graduated from cupcakes and is about to attempt macarons for the first time.
"I don't get why you want to work even during your off-time," Donghae says, watching as Hyukjae enthusiastically lines the baking sheets with parchment paper.
"Hey, you're forgetting that this isn't work to me," says Hyukjae. "It's fun. And I feel like I'm doing something worthwhile with my hands."
Donghae sighs. "But all your worthwhile work is going into the dustbin because nobody is buying them."
"People will buy them eventually," Hyukjae says firmly. "Look, you converted me into a regular customer, didn't you? You just have to be patient. And change the name of your bakery."
"Why?" Donghae demands. " 'Twelve Cupcakes' is cute!"
"Because," Hyukjae says, throwing up his hands to make a point, "you have it in Italian."
"Well," says Donghae.
"And I told you this months ago! The second time I walked into your bakery, I said, why the heck are you a Korean boy running an Italian-named bakery in Paris? This is too confusing for the average person! They'll go to Paul instead!"
"It costs too much money to re-do the sign board and the menu!" Donghae says.
Hyukjae looks at the almost automatic pout forming on Donghae's lips and relents. "I said I'll give you the money, didn't I?"
"I don't want it," says Donghae, still pouting. "Especially not if you got it through…through making your mouth that red."
Hyukjae drops the baking tray with a clatter and goes round the kitchen island to him. "Don't tell me you're getting all jealous on me now!"
"I'm not telling you anything," Donghae says, sad and stubborn.
Hyukjae tilts his chin up and presses a hard kiss on his mouth. "There," he says. "Now the last imprint is yours. No point being jealous, is there? You've made my mouth red countless times before."
"It doesn't mean anything," says Donghae, arguing just because.
"It doesn't mean anything, and yet you're still pouting!" Hyukjae says, laughing teasingly. "Silly Donghae."
"Kiss me again, you asshole," says Donghae, and so Hyukjae does.
"But you know," Hyukjae says, moving back to his position when Donghae's watery-eyed and slightly dazed, "don't look down on my money, okay? I earned it through hard work just the same as everyone else. So what if it's not considered an orthodox way, right? I give people what they want and they pay me for it, nobody cheats anyone, everything's open and above board, and it keeps me in clover. Money is just money, right? Five euros through manual labour isn't gonna buy you more than my five euros just because it was earned in a normal way."
"If you put it that way," says Donghae.
Hyukjae smiles at him. "Okay," he says. "Let's make some macarons."
thank you to everyone who left the lovely comments on my last chapter. i'm sorry i didn't reply to them individually, but just know that i read them all and am very grateful ♥
catskilteunhyuk/donghae
pg-13; 1791 words; multi-chapter
this is the fic where donghae is a baker and hyukjae is a prostitute, and together they make something out of the city of romance that is paris.
Part Two-
His story starts three years ago, says Henry. You ready? Well, here goes. So we have a struggling college kid, can't pay off his bills, about to be thrown out of his dorm – pretty much like me, only in a more dire state. He's walking along the street one night, desperate to the point of blowing his head off, and he would have, too, if only he had a gun at that point – what? I am telling the truth. Okay, fine. Only the facts then.
So Lee Hyukjae's walking along the street, and he passes by some places of ill repute, and he's thinking maybe it's time to start doing a bit of street…work, if you know what I mean. Only he's not too sure what the market demand is like, so he goes home and dresses up in some of his most skin-tight clothing. Goes out again to try his luck. And of course – we don't need to mention this but I will anyway – he becomes an instant hit. Lots of businessmen out there willing to pay a buck for his services. Well, more than a buck, more like a few hundred euros, but you know what I mean.
He's plying his trade night after night for about two or three months before he gets noticed by this guy named Pierre. That's it, just Pierre. 'Cause every French guy is called Pierre, right? And of course there isn't a last name to support his first. Pierre, some underground pimp, calls him over and pitches a proposal to him – if Hyukjae turns over all management of his, um, business affairs to Pierre, Pierre will make damn sure that they get plenty of returns. So Hyukjae does. And the rest is history. They scale the prostitution ladder together, Pierre gets Hyukjae into the most expensive male brothel in Paris, all sorts of wealthy and famous guys become his regular customers – hey, I even heard that he has entertained European princes before. They all come in droves just for the privilege of having a night with him. Quite a story, huh? Practically rags to riches. It could bring you to tears.
"Really. Did it bring you to tears," says Donghae, beating eggs so furiously that the yolks almost spin out of the bowl.
"Well," says Henry, shrugging. "You have to acknowledge his success, right? And he's one of our only regular customers, so I'm not gonna critique his choice of career."
Henry is pushing twenty-one, chubby-cheeked and cocksure of himself in a way that only an arts student at the Sorbonne can be. He's Donghae's only hired help, and is also Donghae's sole source of information about What Goes On in the Dark Echelons of Paris – that is, when Google doesn't suffice. Entering 'Lee Hyukjae prostitute' into the Google search bar had thrown up so many pornographic links that Donghae had been afraid of getting some kind of virus, so he'd turned to Henry for help. He doesn't know where Henry gets his information from, but he supposes that wild young arts students tend to know whatever there is to know about the city whose belly they're revelling in.
Henry comes in a few hours on Monday and Wednesday mornings and a few hours on Thursday and Saturday afternoons, and so has little idea about just how regular a customer Hyukjae is. Donghae doesn't feel like enlightening him. "My partnership with you could bring people to tears too," he says instead, pouring the eggs into the mixture of butter and sugar.
"What," says Henry.
"You were a struggling arts student until I found you."
"Yeah, but it's not like you're paying me a few thousand euros per hour," Henry grumbles. "And you don't even let me near the oven."
"That's because you baked my blackforest for 65 minutes!"
"Well, gee," says Henry. "I thought we had this settled; your handwriting was so bad I couldn't read your numbers properly. But I've learned something about timing since then. I'm your apprentice, aren't I?"
"Wash up, apprentice," says Donghae, indicating the myriad of dirty bowls in the sink, and Henry reluctantly goes to work.
He has known, of course, for a fairly long time, that Hyukjae is a prostitute. He has also known for a fairly long time that Hyukjae is a very successful prostitute, one whom the customers need to book way in advance and pay out of their pockets for when they manage to secure him. Hyukjae has told him that much. "So don't come looking for me in the red light districts," he said. "You won't find me on the street trying to get customers."
Donghae had gone, anyway, in his first few weeks of being in an ambiguous relationship with Hyukjae, to the red light districts to check out the kind of world that Hyukjae inhabits. He had lingered there for an hour, gotten his wallet pickpocketed, been hit on by at least three sexily dressed ladies, and fled home when a couple of bouncers started eyeing him. It wasn't his world, he thought. He'd been fully prepared to lock Hyukjae out when he came again, to tell him that he was scared and didn't want to get involved, that if the pimp came to his bakery looking for trouble because he was sleeping with one of Paris' star male whores he would die, he really would; and then Hyukjae came and gave him one look out of his mysteriously beautiful eyes and Donghae found himself naked in bed with him, legs wrapped around his waist and moaning stupidly against his skin.
"You're gonna get me killed," he'd told Hyukjae then.
"If you were going to get killed for this, do you think I would still be here?" Hyukjae had asked.
Donghae couldn't find any argument for that, aside from the vague possibility that Hyukjae was actually a sadist and was doing all this to fatten him up for the inevitable murder. No, he thought. I trust him.
A crash wakes him out of his thoughts, and he looks round to see Henry picking up bowls off the floor. "Situation's under control," Henry says without looking up. "Don't freak out."
"Good, cause damages will come out of your pay," says Donghae.
… …
Hyukjae comes in slightly past three o' clock, just half an hour after Henry has left. There are, as usual, no customers in the bakery, so Hyukjae has the full width of the counter to rest his elbows on and look seductively at Donghae. "I'd like that cake with the strawberries on it," he says.
"Okay," says Donghae in the most seductive way he can.
Hyukjae laughs. "Are you going to feed it to me, too?"
"Uh huh," says Donghae, distracted by Hyukjae's mouth. It looks very, very red. A little swollen, in fact.
"What?" says Hyukjae, touching his mouth.
"Um," Donghae says. "Did you…make out with somebody?"
And immediately wishes he hadn’t said anything, because Hyukjae just says, "Yep", and comes round the counter to put his arms around his neck.
Donghae holds him and tries to imagine Hyukjae holding somebody else, kissing him, making love to him, but his mind refuses to call up any sort of image. "Guess we can start with your baking lesson now, huh?"
"I've been looking forward to it all week," Hyukjae says, pulling back to raise his fists, and Donghae finds that he has already forgiven him.
… …
It goes like this: when Hyukjae comes in the afternoons, they rarely, if ever, have sex. The reason for it is simple. Hyukjae has spent the previous night with someone, so he's not entirely willing to jump into bed again with another person, even if that person is Donghae. The only afternoon they ever have sex in is Thursday afternoon, because Thursday is Hyukjae's off-day, and ever since they started sleeping together, Thursday has also become the bakery's off-day. Thursday is sacred. Thursday can mean anything, from all-day café, games, and shopping to lazy all-day sex, from morning massages at non-seedy parlours to afternoon movies to intensive evening sex.
All other afternoons that Hyukjae drops by, they spend baking instead.
Donghae isn't quite sure how that happened. One afternoon, Hyukjae had walked into the kitchen out of pure curiosity, examined the utensils, and announced that he wanted to learn how to make a cupcake. So Donghae taught him. And is still teaching him, except that Hyukjae has graduated from cupcakes and is about to attempt macarons for the first time.
"I don't get why you want to work even during your off-time," Donghae says, watching as Hyukjae enthusiastically lines the baking sheets with parchment paper.
"Hey, you're forgetting that this isn't work to me," says Hyukjae. "It's fun. And I feel like I'm doing something worthwhile with my hands."
Donghae sighs. "But all your worthwhile work is going into the dustbin because nobody is buying them."
"People will buy them eventually," Hyukjae says firmly. "Look, you converted me into a regular customer, didn't you? You just have to be patient. And change the name of your bakery."
"Why?" Donghae demands. " 'Twelve Cupcakes' is cute!"
"Because," Hyukjae says, throwing up his hands to make a point, "you have it in Italian."
"Well," says Donghae.
"And I told you this months ago! The second time I walked into your bakery, I said, why the heck are you a Korean boy running an Italian-named bakery in Paris? This is too confusing for the average person! They'll go to Paul instead!"
"It costs too much money to re-do the sign board and the menu!" Donghae says.
Hyukjae looks at the almost automatic pout forming on Donghae's lips and relents. "I said I'll give you the money, didn't I?"
"I don't want it," says Donghae, still pouting. "Especially not if you got it through…through making your mouth that red."
Hyukjae drops the baking tray with a clatter and goes round the kitchen island to him. "Don't tell me you're getting all jealous on me now!"
"I'm not telling you anything," Donghae says, sad and stubborn.
Hyukjae tilts his chin up and presses a hard kiss on his mouth. "There," he says. "Now the last imprint is yours. No point being jealous, is there? You've made my mouth red countless times before."
"It doesn't mean anything," says Donghae, arguing just because.
"It doesn't mean anything, and yet you're still pouting!" Hyukjae says, laughing teasingly. "Silly Donghae."
"Kiss me again, you asshole," says Donghae, and so Hyukjae does.
"But you know," Hyukjae says, moving back to his position when Donghae's watery-eyed and slightly dazed, "don't look down on my money, okay? I earned it through hard work just the same as everyone else. So what if it's not considered an orthodox way, right? I give people what they want and they pay me for it, nobody cheats anyone, everything's open and above board, and it keeps me in clover. Money is just money, right? Five euros through manual labour isn't gonna buy you more than my five euros just because it was earned in a normal way."
"If you put it that way," says Donghae.
Hyukjae smiles at him. "Okay," he says. "Let's make some macarons."
thank you to everyone who left the lovely comments on my last chapter. i'm sorry i didn't reply to them individually, but just know that i read them all and am very grateful ♥
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THE ARGUING SCENE KEKE WHY IS THIS SO CUTE <3
"If you were going to get killed for this, do you think I would still be here?" Hyukjae had asked.
cries at this line. cries bloody tears sobs hyukjaaaaeeee
i am liking the story so much ;; and silently wonders how they both met lmao.
no subject
But it was fun seeing hae get jealous anw...
And the bakery is named 'twelve cupcakes'?
Lol... I was wondering why this fic was named 'twelve cupcakes'...
Guess that kinda make sense nw...
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Keep up the good work! :D
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The way this is going, it's probably going to be one of my favorite fics. ^^
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So much sensory overload!!! And Hyukjae is so mysterious in this...can this story go on forever because I just love him in this
I love him in everything that you write so really its pointless to even say that!!!!!Anyway, great fluffy chapter and quite insightful. It's like the readers are with Donghae in uncovering everything about Hyukjae like onion (Wow did I just liken this story and Hyukjae to an onion? I think I just did).
OMGGGG OK I LOVE YOU
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THIS FIC IS SO LOVELY
PLZ UPDATE SOON PULEEEEEEEEZ
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But you are my favorite eunhae author. Really. I love all your fics that I read from a long time ago. The eunhae fandom needs more writers like you.
This is beautiful. I have a feeling it's gonna be messy in the future, but I won't predict anything. Besides, you're too good. I should just enjoy the ride.
I hope I can catch the next chapter on time.
Thank you for sharing :)
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Now, why do I love these two so much! ToT
Prostitute!Hyukjae and Baker!Donghae; it's so good :3
Their arguments are too cute.
And at the end, Hyukjae speaks the truth. :P
ONTO PART THREE!