Nal ddeo na ji ma yo,
geu dae ga pil yo hae,

The notes Kyuhyun sings are low, little more than a velvet murmur over the elegant melody that Ryeowook plays. Slim fingers dance over ivory keys and when the Singer closes his eyes, he can picture them clearly. He can just as easily imagine them elsewhere, grasping his shoulders; in the Pianist’s own hair as sensations build, and then grabbing handfuls of the bed sheets when the pleasure is too much to contain in his small form.

Kyuhyun lies back on the top of the grand piano; a small sigh slips from his lips as the cool of the wood seeps through the thin material of his dress shirt. It goes unnoticed, or even if it was heard, it does not detract from his performance.

Nae mam heun deul eo noh go,
Ddeo na ji mal a yo,

Turning his head to the side, he sees Ryeowook’s chiselled features cast in concentration. And though he is focused intently on keeping the song going in perfect time, he is still one of the prettiest people Kyuhyun knows. The prettiest to him.

He knows that Ryeowook only cares about his appearance as much as an Idol should. He is a musician, not an advertisement. And one does not have to look perfect to sing; to move people in ways that nothing else could even dream.

Kyuhyun is sure that it is not Ryeowook’s looks that attract him. And neither is it the older male’s cheerful and yet incredibly quiet disposition that meant they play off each other well, when in the view of others as well as not. It is the music they made together. Mutually in love with each other’s voices, when singing and when not.

Geu dae du nun na reul bo go,
Dal kom ha he us ne yo,

Kyuhyun reaches out with his right hand and slowly draws his index finger along Ryeowook’s sharp jaw line, all the way from a pierced ear to his chin. The Pianist complies in looking straight at him. Their eyes meet, one with the emotion with which he is playing, and the other with lust that burns his irises near-black.

He eo ji deon geu nal e do,

Kyuhyun leans forwards as he sings the words and leads Ryeowook towards him with the gentle contact of his fist under the elder’s chin. Their lips touch gently at first, as Ryeowook’s fingers still work away at the keys. The Singer continues to move his lips to the rhythm of soft, flawless notes. But pressing and then pulling a way just a little, just to see if Ryeowook will seek him out once again. And each time, the tune never falters.

Na reul bo go us ne yo~

Kyuhyun whispers, breathing warm air against Ryeowook’s dry lips and he brushes against them. He waits until he knows the other’s tongue will venture out to moisten them, and when it finally does, he leans closer again, diminishing the hair’s width they were apart back down to nothing.

As he coaxes the Pianist’s mouth open, running his tongue along the seam of lips before they finally part, Kyuhyun watches as Ryeowook’s eyes close. Their tongues twist together, slick and slow, but still with all the passion of the courtship of serpents. Under the melody, Kyuhyun can hear the calm cracking of their saliva. It is just one more sound he loves from between them. He moves to twine his hand into Ryeowook’s hair and adjusts the position to his head to deepen the kiss.

The pianist stops playing, reaching the end of the song, but also because his concentration was rapidly pooling into another vice. It is only a matter of time before those slender hands quickly wind into Kyuhyun’s hair.

And it is Kyuhyun that finally pulls Ryeowook up, off the stool and over the keyboard. The pianist carefully climbs up to join him; settles over Kyuhyun’s hips. The singer waits silently until Ryeowook lowers himself back down. The latter is comfortable, but his smile remains shy, and the exploration of his hands is ginger.

It is nothing out of the ordinary. Their is never wild or near-violent, as Kyuhyun knew their hyung’ could be, but it was just as passionate.  Like the songs they performed together, they know that slow and deep was just as intense – if not more.

Kyuhyun takes a hold of the Pianist’s slim hips and carefully rolls them over, now in the centre of the piano and a safe distance away from either edge. His own feet are hanging over the end, and he nudges his legs between Ryeowook’s.

“Kyuhyun,” the Pianist gasps breathlessly as Kyuhyun trails his mouth away from their kiss, preferring the so far untouched, creamy flesh of neck, and then chest as his shirt is ed, and finally shoulder. It is one of the few places they can get away with marking each other – as neither ever wears sleeveless tops or has the build nor desire to flaunt themselves to the public. Though their hyungs might be okay with the occasional lovebite that needed to be painted over with make up or scarves, they see themselves as too refined (and perhaps a touch too shy) to advertise their lives to the World.

He feverish at the pulse he feels in Ryeowook’s neck, and as he continues, it speeds up. He only moves away again when he is satisfied that with the beat, and the breaths that come from above. Lips nuzzle a path along Ryeowook’s sharply define collarbone, to the point where it disappears into the shoulder and on the skin. Ryeowook gasps again, fingers twisting deeply into Kyuhyun’s wayward curls.

When Kyuhyun pulls away, the print of his mouth is bright pink; a lot darker than the blush of the elder’s neck and cheeks, but he far prefers the beauty of the latter. And as he traces one hand from the Pianist’s hip to slip between their bodies, their legs, to squeeze, rub and … and then when they are moving together, as smooth as the sounds the spill from Kyuhyun’s lips, it is not just the Singer that sings.

Kyuhyun has always personally believed that they sing best together acapella, but that is the one performance they do not want to share with anything, or anyone else.