for one night only
yoochun/junsu
angst
r
1564 words
for itsplashes
Chusovoy.
Yoochun can't help but laugh at the place this time, holding the postcard in his hand until he thinks he can feel the frost and cold and ice seep through the paper, reach out through the words to say with the coldest of breaths: I'm waiting.
Bags packed with the warmest of sweaters, Yoochun books the next flight out to Moscow and spends the next three days learning the way Russians say "You're crazy, there's nothing for you to see, but we'll bring you there for enough money."
-
It had started as a joke, the way most mistakes do.
"So," Junsu had said and touched the ice in Yoochun's cup with the tip of one finger. "So, is this a one night only deal?"
"And if I told you that you'd only be good for one night anyways?"
Junsu smiles and Yoochun echoes it with one of his own, a small quirk of his lips that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Then I'd tell you it's time I showed you otherwise."
They fuck in Yoochun's hotel room, Junsu pressed up against the thirty second floor hotel window glass that looks out onto the lights of Atlanta. With the cityscape at his back, Junsu is a stark, writhing mess that comes apart just as easily as he closes himself up and that's okay, Yoochun can improvise on the fly, can work with what he has. He doesn't know Junsu's last name, doesn't know anything beyond that pretty face and taut body pressed up against his, but he does know that a knee forced between Junsu's legs to spread them open makes Junsu shudder in the loveliest of ways.
Junsu is surprisingly mouthy when he comes, shirt still hanging off his shoulders and legs wrapped tightly around Yoochun's waist as he bears down, swearing in a low, continuous stream against Yoochun's neck all the while.
"Fuck," he breathes out when Yoochun finally sets him back on his feet and Junsu doesn't reach out to Yoochun to steady himself, just presses his palms against the glass, leans back with a glassy look in his eyes. "Fuck, that was…good."
"Just good?" Yoochun is already moving away, wandering into the bathroom and emerging to throw a dampened hand towel in Junsu's direction. "Not to be lewd, but that wasn't what you were saying just a few minutes ago when I was balls-deep inside you."
Junsu rolls his eyes and chucks the now used hand towel back at Yoochun's head. "Don't get cocky."
"Just stating the obvious here, don't mind me."
It's four in the morning by the time Junsu deems himself presentable enough to leave, suit jacket carefully buttoned and hiding just enough of the creases on his shirt. Yoochun merely lounges on his bed the whole time, making it no secret that he's more than content to watch Junsu dress.
"Coming out of another man's room at ass o' clock in the morning? Of course you'll need to make sure you don't look too debauched," Yoochun says wryly as he follows Junsu to the door. "And for the record, that was a pretty good one night deal. I might even have to take back what I said earlier."
"Good for more than one night, then?" Junsu's smile is cryptic, hand already moving behind him to slide the chain lock open. "Not that I don't already know the answer to that, but it's still nice to see you eat your words in front of me."
One month later, Yoochun gets a text from a number he doesn't remember saving.
Boston, it says. Mandarin Oriental. Room 3872. One night deal.
It brings a smile to his face and Yoochun spends the four hour drive from New York to Boston wondering how in the world Junsu managed to get hold of his phone long enough the last time to pull off something like this.
"When you were in the bathroom," Junsu tells him later that night, relaxed into a boneless sprawl across the sheets. "I could have changed every single contact on your list to my name within that timespan, seriously."
"But you didn't."
Junsu laughs and rolls over, throwing a leg across Yoochun's. "I'm special," he says simply. "Now shut up and let me sleep, I need to be out of here by nine tomorrow morning."
When Yoochun wakes up at eight am, Junsu is already gone.
-
Junsu leads him across the northern hemisphere, dipping down into Southeast Asia and finally winding up in Australia by the start of the next year. New Years Eve is spent watching fireworks explode over the Sydney Opera House and after that, Yoochun doesn't hear from Junsu until March.
It's a game, that much is obvious, but try as he might, Yoochun has yet to figure out how to win, or even if there's supposed to be a winner at the end.
-
In five years, Yoochun has seen more of the world than any decent person should. Knows the names of the most obscure places and has seen the sun rise from almost every corner of the earth.
And yet, Junsu is still a mystery.
"Ask no questions, receive no lies," Junsu tells him in Mombasa, stripped down to his boxers in the sweltering heat. "Now are you going to ask me questions the whole night or are we going to fuck?"
Yoochun never gets his answers. Sometimes, he thinks it might be better if he doesn't know anything at all, doesn't understand why Junsu did this or why he even played along. After a while, Yoochun just stops questioning. Calls his secretary and has her book out another flight across the world, chalking up frequent flyer miles that just send him onwards to the next city that Junsu has chosen this month.
How do you even begin to explain these things anyways? The way that Junsu manages to move under him in a way that makes him curse all the gods and heavens above. The way that Junsu finds a way to steal away in the morning with some part of Yoochun's pride and more often than not now, all the cash in Yoochun's wallet (at some point, Yoochun makes it a point to hide his money and at another point, Yoochun starts leaving tens, twenties, fifties, hundreds in all the different currencies he collects).
Today, Yoochun wakes in time to find Junsu counting out rubles from Yoochun's wallet. "Five thousand and forty five," he drawls from where he's sprawled on the mattress, one bare foot barely brushing the floor. Two thousand rubles for the sorry excuse of the room they were staying in and another four hundred for a mattress, sheets that had obviously seen better days. "Just leave me enough for cab fare, darling."
Junsu is far too well trained to flinch at the sudden sound of Yoochun's voice, but in the early morning light, Yoochun can still see the way Junsu's shoulders tense up just a fraction. "Call me darling again and it'll be a blessing that you even leave here with clothes," he shoots back without a break. For a while, there's nothing but the sound of Junsu flipping through well worn bills, the rustle of old paper when he shoves them into the pocket of his slacks.
The window pane glass is far too dirty to even see out of, let alone catch Junsu's reflection, but Yoochun lies back onto a pillow and imagines that Junsu is smiling.
"Got a job here?"
Junsu shrugs into his shirt, standing by the spluttering heater as he dresses.
"What's it to you?"
It's a yes, if anything. Chusovoy is right out in the middle of Fuck Off, Nowhere, nothing but metallurgy plants and enough snow to make Yoochun want to swear off winter for the rest of his life.
"Next time I get to pick," Yoochun says at length. Junsu is putting on leather gloves, slowly flexing his fingers. "Oahu. Or the Maldives. I've heard the Maldives are nice this time of the year."
"They're nice all year round."
It's unmistakable this time, the smile in Junsu's voice. Yoochun doesn't even have to look up to know it's there, bright like the sun.
"Don't wait up for me." Yoochun turns his face towards Junsu's touch, the soft brush of leather against his cheek feather light as Junsu draws his hand away after a heartbeat.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
-
One day, one of them will get tired of the game. Someone will break, someone will wait in a foreign country for weeks on end only to have nobody show. Someone will stay the night and the night after that and the night after that as well and not go home alone for once.
Someone will screw up along the way and this won't be a game anymore.
But until then, Yoochun fills his passport with the stamps of a hundred countries and collects the dust of a thousand cities under the soles of his shoes. Junsu steals money as easily as he steals kisses, still refusing to let Yoochun choose the places they will meet in.
Maybe it's more of a con and less of a game these days, sleights of hand that mask true intentions. Or at least, that's what Yoochun tells himself when he wakes up and Junsu is gone, yet again.
Until the next night, then.
fin.
A/N- Written for the lovely itsplashes after I basically went around twitter begging for prompts based on the line "Only good for one night" from Junsu's Uncommitted single lol started out as a spy meets spy fic but I uh. Lost my plot. Whoops. This is why you shouldn't write fics in bursts of one hundred words over a period of 3 weeks D;
First in what will hopefully be a series of drabble fills from the prompts I got! This one was ice.
angst
r
1564 words
for itsplashes
Chusovoy.
Yoochun can't help but laugh at the place this time, holding the postcard in his hand until he thinks he can feel the frost and cold and ice seep through the paper, reach out through the words to say with the coldest of breaths: I'm waiting.
Bags packed with the warmest of sweaters, Yoochun books the next flight out to Moscow and spends the next three days learning the way Russians say "You're crazy, there's nothing for you to see, but we'll bring you there for enough money."
-
It had started as a joke, the way most mistakes do.
"So," Junsu had said and touched the ice in Yoochun's cup with the tip of one finger. "So, is this a one night only deal?"
"And if I told you that you'd only be good for one night anyways?"
Junsu smiles and Yoochun echoes it with one of his own, a small quirk of his lips that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Then I'd tell you it's time I showed you otherwise."
They fuck in Yoochun's hotel room, Junsu pressed up against the thirty second floor hotel window glass that looks out onto the lights of Atlanta. With the cityscape at his back, Junsu is a stark, writhing mess that comes apart just as easily as he closes himself up and that's okay, Yoochun can improvise on the fly, can work with what he has. He doesn't know Junsu's last name, doesn't know anything beyond that pretty face and taut body pressed up against his, but he does know that a knee forced between Junsu's legs to spread them open makes Junsu shudder in the loveliest of ways.
Junsu is surprisingly mouthy when he comes, shirt still hanging off his shoulders and legs wrapped tightly around Yoochun's waist as he bears down, swearing in a low, continuous stream against Yoochun's neck all the while.
"Fuck," he breathes out when Yoochun finally sets him back on his feet and Junsu doesn't reach out to Yoochun to steady himself, just presses his palms against the glass, leans back with a glassy look in his eyes. "Fuck, that was…good."
"Just good?" Yoochun is already moving away, wandering into the bathroom and emerging to throw a dampened hand towel in Junsu's direction. "Not to be lewd, but that wasn't what you were saying just a few minutes ago when I was balls-deep inside you."
Junsu rolls his eyes and chucks the now used hand towel back at Yoochun's head. "Don't get cocky."
"Just stating the obvious here, don't mind me."
It's four in the morning by the time Junsu deems himself presentable enough to leave, suit jacket carefully buttoned and hiding just enough of the creases on his shirt. Yoochun merely lounges on his bed the whole time, making it no secret that he's more than content to watch Junsu dress.
"Coming out of another man's room at ass o' clock in the morning? Of course you'll need to make sure you don't look too debauched," Yoochun says wryly as he follows Junsu to the door. "And for the record, that was a pretty good one night deal. I might even have to take back what I said earlier."
"Good for more than one night, then?" Junsu's smile is cryptic, hand already moving behind him to slide the chain lock open. "Not that I don't already know the answer to that, but it's still nice to see you eat your words in front of me."
One month later, Yoochun gets a text from a number he doesn't remember saving.
Boston, it says. Mandarin Oriental. Room 3872. One night deal.
It brings a smile to his face and Yoochun spends the four hour drive from New York to Boston wondering how in the world Junsu managed to get hold of his phone long enough the last time to pull off something like this.
"When you were in the bathroom," Junsu tells him later that night, relaxed into a boneless sprawl across the sheets. "I could have changed every single contact on your list to my name within that timespan, seriously."
"But you didn't."
Junsu laughs and rolls over, throwing a leg across Yoochun's. "I'm special," he says simply. "Now shut up and let me sleep, I need to be out of here by nine tomorrow morning."
When Yoochun wakes up at eight am, Junsu is already gone.
-
Junsu leads him across the northern hemisphere, dipping down into Southeast Asia and finally winding up in Australia by the start of the next year. New Years Eve is spent watching fireworks explode over the Sydney Opera House and after that, Yoochun doesn't hear from Junsu until March.
It's a game, that much is obvious, but try as he might, Yoochun has yet to figure out how to win, or even if there's supposed to be a winner at the end.
-
In five years, Yoochun has seen more of the world than any decent person should. Knows the names of the most obscure places and has seen the sun rise from almost every corner of the earth.
And yet, Junsu is still a mystery.
"Ask no questions, receive no lies," Junsu tells him in Mombasa, stripped down to his boxers in the sweltering heat. "Now are you going to ask me questions the whole night or are we going to fuck?"
Yoochun never gets his answers. Sometimes, he thinks it might be better if he doesn't know anything at all, doesn't understand why Junsu did this or why he even played along. After a while, Yoochun just stops questioning. Calls his secretary and has her book out another flight across the world, chalking up frequent flyer miles that just send him onwards to the next city that Junsu has chosen this month.
How do you even begin to explain these things anyways? The way that Junsu manages to move under him in a way that makes him curse all the gods and heavens above. The way that Junsu finds a way to steal away in the morning with some part of Yoochun's pride and more often than not now, all the cash in Yoochun's wallet (at some point, Yoochun makes it a point to hide his money and at another point, Yoochun starts leaving tens, twenties, fifties, hundreds in all the different currencies he collects).
Today, Yoochun wakes in time to find Junsu counting out rubles from Yoochun's wallet. "Five thousand and forty five," he drawls from where he's sprawled on the mattress, one bare foot barely brushing the floor. Two thousand rubles for the sorry excuse of the room they were staying in and another four hundred for a mattress, sheets that had obviously seen better days. "Just leave me enough for cab fare, darling."
Junsu is far too well trained to flinch at the sudden sound of Yoochun's voice, but in the early morning light, Yoochun can still see the way Junsu's shoulders tense up just a fraction. "Call me darling again and it'll be a blessing that you even leave here with clothes," he shoots back without a break. For a while, there's nothing but the sound of Junsu flipping through well worn bills, the rustle of old paper when he shoves them into the pocket of his slacks.
The window pane glass is far too dirty to even see out of, let alone catch Junsu's reflection, but Yoochun lies back onto a pillow and imagines that Junsu is smiling.
"Got a job here?"
Junsu shrugs into his shirt, standing by the spluttering heater as he dresses.
"What's it to you?"
It's a yes, if anything. Chusovoy is right out in the middle of Fuck Off, Nowhere, nothing but metallurgy plants and enough snow to make Yoochun want to swear off winter for the rest of his life.
"Next time I get to pick," Yoochun says at length. Junsu is putting on leather gloves, slowly flexing his fingers. "Oahu. Or the Maldives. I've heard the Maldives are nice this time of the year."
"They're nice all year round."
It's unmistakable this time, the smile in Junsu's voice. Yoochun doesn't even have to look up to know it's there, bright like the sun.
"Don't wait up for me." Yoochun turns his face towards Junsu's touch, the soft brush of leather against his cheek feather light as Junsu draws his hand away after a heartbeat.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
-
One day, one of them will get tired of the game. Someone will break, someone will wait in a foreign country for weeks on end only to have nobody show. Someone will stay the night and the night after that and the night after that as well and not go home alone for once.
Someone will screw up along the way and this won't be a game anymore.
But until then, Yoochun fills his passport with the stamps of a hundred countries and collects the dust of a thousand cities under the soles of his shoes. Junsu steals money as easily as he steals kisses, still refusing to let Yoochun choose the places they will meet in.
Maybe it's more of a con and less of a game these days, sleights of hand that mask true intentions. Or at least, that's what Yoochun tells himself when he wakes up and Junsu is gone, yet again.
Until the next night, then.
fin.
A/N- Written for the lovely itsplashes after I basically went around twitter begging for prompts based on the line "Only good for one night" from Junsu's Uncommitted single lol started out as a spy meets spy fic but I uh. Lost my plot. Whoops. This is why you shouldn't write fics in bursts of one hundred words over a period of 3 weeks D;
First in what will hopefully be a series of drabble fills from the prompts I got! This one was ice.