control freak (3/?)
control freak (3/?)
nc-17
yoosu
angst, smut, romance, fluff
un-betaed
junsu needs to have complete control over his life. yoochun never stand a chance- except this one time.
[three]
“Ohshit.” All movements and thoughts processing is halted as shock takes control over Junsu.
His father's new recruit, Micky Park Yoochun, a marketing whiz, baited from USA, grins at him like he's an old friend. He uncharacteristically blushes pink; memories of their wild night together flashing past his eyelids- he has to bite down on his lips to stop his thoughts from going deeper into the secret territory. He blanks out over his father's booming voice, staring quite shamelessly at Yoochun all the time, so focused on that strand of flyaway hair that's escaped from being tied in a messy, classic ponytail.
"-Junsu!"
He blinks, jolted out of his reverie. "W-what?"
Mr Kim harrumphs in displeasure and flashes a look at his wrist, making a show of how his precious time is going to be wasted just because his son is too good to listen to him. "I said, show Micky around. You're the same age, both of you, so be comfortable with yourselves. And tell your little Changminnie-" insert sarcastic face here, "that if he doesn't buckle up with his work, I'm going to make Micky here your bestman instead of him. He can cry foul all he wants and I still wouldn't give a damn."
Junsu doesn't miss the frown materializing on Yoochun's face. He keeps his face empty though, and nods obedient. "Yes, Appa. Will tell him that, most definitely will."
His father exits in a flurry of big movements and loud barking of orders followed by the crowd of assistants, and suddenly the room feels even more suffocating with just the two of them compared to before.
"So. Bestman, huh?" Yoochun cocks his head, eyes small. "Someone's getting married soon, I see."
Junsu fidgets and wipes at the trail of sweat that suddenly appears near his temple. He's abnormally defensive and he definitely hates the condescending tone that the other projects at him. "I guess we can talk about this over coffee. Come."
The awkwardness hangs around them like a blanket of cloud threatening to unleash a flood of raindrops as they sit silently next to a window, eyes vehemently avoiding each other.
Junsu is still questioning his choice of beverage- grande mocha shekerato? With whipped cream and chocolate frosting? At nine in the morning, just when winter's kicking in? He concludes that he's a little unstable, and that justifies his sudden need for excessive sugar, sweetness and ice. He peeks at his neighbour sitting idly in front of him, and notes that the black coffee is untouched, the swirl of wispy warm air dissipating into nothingness leaving useless black liquid. He's not quite sure how to explain this predicament-
He grabs at his tall glass and sucks at his straw fast and nervous, inhaling nearly half of the content; and then does that tongue-rolling-around-the-straw thing he always does unconsciously-
"Don't do that."
"Huh?" Junsu looks lost. "What?"
Yoochun chuckles. "That thing with your tongue. Don't do it." Adorable confusion is painted on Junsu's face, and he wonders how different this man is compared to that man he remembers him as. "You're giving me ideas."
Junsu shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Don't-" he forces himself to look straight at Yoochun. "Don't remind me of that. It's over. It was nothing anyway in the first place." He ignores the numbness that radiates from the left side of his chest, spreading throughout his whole body at his own words. "Let's wipe the slate clean, let's start from zero. Hi, I'm Kim Junsu, nice to meet you."
Yoochun ignores the outstretched hand, head tilted sideways. "And if I refuse?"
"Let's be on our own, separate merry way then. I'll tell my father that we have differences of principles and thoughts, and I won't work with you."
Yoochun sees a flash of pain from the other's eyes contrasting strongly at the stubborn set of the jaw, and he wonders if acknowledging their first encounter is a wrong decision after all.
It is not working. Everything's not working.
The photocopy machine died on him, the coffee maker spurted hot scalding coffee at his new pants, his secretary misplaced a set of super-duper important documents, all of his subordinates' lack of energy- and Junsu moans at how sucky his life is that day. He tries to ignore the continuous intense stare on his back, the deep voice that reverberates within the workplace every now and then, the occasional post-it-notes that's passed to his desk to update him of the current state of their project, the IMs that pops on his screen with empty messages-
He wants to headdesk so fucking much, it's making him jittery. He's quite red in the face, and so out of his usual composed elements that Jiyeon, his secretary, asks him if the room's too hot for him, the A/C remote already in her hand.
He glances backwards and meets Yoochun's smoldering eyes. "Yeah, room's fucking hot, allright." He mutters under his breath.
He's the last man to exit the building. Junsu knows, because night has fallen quite some time ago and the doorman is nodding away in his station. He tsk-s under his breath at the lackadaisical attitude the man has towards his duty, but sees the deep-set heavy eyebags under the aged ahjusshi's eyes and punches himself out silently.
The carpark's empty except for his white ride, and he curses himself for parking so darn far from the lift. He drags his feet step by step as one hand deftly undoes his silken grey tie around his neck. The car beeps open and he opens the door, bending a little into the interior before flinging his briefcase carelessly into the dark depths-
"Nice car."
Junsu jumps in surprise and hits his head against the upper part of the door. "Fuck you-"
"Nice butt too. I remember I liked it very much." Yoochun leers, a definite change from the professional aura he's maintained within the four walls of their office.
Junsu trembles, from what he doesn't know, and he thinks he doesn't want to know. "Shut up." He mutters tersely. "Go home, Yoochun. Please." He's not surprised when he can feel the man's breath behind him, hitting his nape seductively.
Hot and alluring. Want but can't.
He doesn't want this. He wants to be the old Junsu. The one who holds the power. The one who's dominating. The one who sets the pace. He's tired of treading around dangerous spots, trying to please everyone and ending up being miserable silently. That's the old him. He'd just managed to fool everyone, and this man here is going to ruin his hard work.
A hand grips around his. He flinches at the mere touch, turning around to reprimand the unwanted contact-
"I believe we haven't finished discussing something."
Yoochun's genial words somehow sounds like a threat to his ears, but his knees buckle weakly and he wobbles, hands scrabbling away; and he finds himself wrapped securely in the warm embrace. Against the rational, sane voice that scolds and begs him not to, he lets his body fall limp and closes his eyes.
When Junsu wakes up, the digital clock blinks Saturday, 07:27 at his bleary eyes and the sunlight is soft and warm on his skin, filtered by thick velvety curtains. He frowns, a little disoriented; these are not his sheets, this is not his room-
"Morning, sleeping beauty."
Somehow not surprised, Junsu stares down at his new colleague cum one-time hot fuck, and when Yoochun holds his own gaze, Junsu relents and peeks under the sheets. He breathes easy to see a black boxer encasing his pelvis. "What happened?"
Yoochun places a tray of food on the bedside table and sits at Junsu's feet. "Dunno. Either you fainted which is so girly, or you fell asleep which is downright insulting." The man scrunches up his face, a small pout across the lips. "So I brought you home."
Junsu cocks an eyebrow.
"-okay, fine, my home. Whatever rocks your boat, sheesh."
"Yoochun." Junsu clears his throat. "Can we talk about it now?" He sees the nonplussed shrug- "I never usually do that. I sleep around, but that's it, it's just a one-time thing. No strings attached. Maybe the alcohol got to me, I've been off the drinks for quite some time-"
"Hey." Yoochun leans in closer. "I get it. You don't have to explain."
The smile is soft and reassuring, and Junsu wants to fall in love so bad-
"No." He shakes his head. "You deserve to know. I was angry. Appa's going to make me marry someone, some girl. I don't want to. I need to tell him I'm gay. I might get disowned-" he grimaces, "but anything's better than to be tied down like that, pretending to be someone I won't ever be, again. I was angry," he repeats, "so I went out, got smashed, had unprotected sex, and went home not expecting to see you again." He shoots the words out like bullets raining on the earth.
Yoochun is silently observing him. He trembles under the stare-
"Was it good? Did you like it?"
"Y-yes." Junsu stammers.
"Then no need to apologize. You owe yourself that much too, because I had fun as much as you did." Yoochun's gaze is piercing right through him. "And Junsu- your father is a great man. Give him a little credit. He won't disown you, trust me."
"Fuck-"
Junsu bursts out of the mansion's vast study, his right cheek stinging like hell and tears threatening to drop. He's more than humiliated; he doesn't ever want to remember his father's colourful words again, heck, he wants to erase his entire life's existence if he can-
He runs to his car and screeches out of the driveway, he wants to get away-
"Hey. You're too big to cry like this."
"Shut up." Junsu snaps and grabs the box of Kleenex, and blows his nose noisily. "I'd just been disowned. Let me cry."
Yoochun chuckles.
Junsu hates how everything he does only makes the man smile, or chuckle, or laugh out loud. He wants to make this man angry so bad- anything other than amused. Then he remembers the heated touches, the utter lack of control, back then- He burns within himself.
"Are you sure? Did Mr Kim said that, in words?" Yoochun plops down next to him on the floor, arms circling his shoulder comfortably. "Or did he said, get out or something?"
Junsu sends him an evil glare.
"Here-" Yoochun passes a glass of milk, mirth bubbling in the eyes hidden by black frames. "Something for the crying little boy." He chuckles again. "At least the wedding's off right?"
Junsu pouts and nods, but doesn't refuse the drink. He wonders why he's at the Yoochun's house, for all it matters. He sips slowly and lets his body curve into the fitting form.
"This is so fucked up. We had a one-night stand, then it turns out that we're working together, and now I'm your butler, chef, shrink and host. Go figures." Yoochun mumbles.
Junsu laughs into the crook of the neck, snuggling closer. "Be my new home, then." He whispers without much thought. He thinks Yoochun doesn't hear it, anyway.
Or maybe he did.
tbc
ps: yep. it turned into something else. dammit. perhaps one or two more updates of lovey-dovey yoosu because i want to. hahaha. comments/crits/grammatical correction ftw! unbeta-ed, unchecked, and unplotted properly- you know how i am by now, i hope xD it's 1am, and i really need to sleep, long day tomorrow ;_____;
nc-17
yoosu
angst, smut, romance, fluff
un-betaed
junsu needs to have complete control over his life. yoochun never stand a chance- except this one time.
[three]
“Ohshit.” All movements and thoughts processing is halted as shock takes control over Junsu.
His father's new recruit, Micky Park Yoochun, a marketing whiz, baited from USA, grins at him like he's an old friend. He uncharacteristically blushes pink; memories of their wild night together flashing past his eyelids- he has to bite down on his lips to stop his thoughts from going deeper into the secret territory. He blanks out over his father's booming voice, staring quite shamelessly at Yoochun all the time, so focused on that strand of flyaway hair that's escaped from being tied in a messy, classic ponytail.
"-Junsu!"
He blinks, jolted out of his reverie. "W-what?"
Mr Kim harrumphs in displeasure and flashes a look at his wrist, making a show of how his precious time is going to be wasted just because his son is too good to listen to him. "I said, show Micky around. You're the same age, both of you, so be comfortable with yourselves. And tell your little Changminnie-" insert sarcastic face here, "that if he doesn't buckle up with his work, I'm going to make Micky here your bestman instead of him. He can cry foul all he wants and I still wouldn't give a damn."
Junsu doesn't miss the frown materializing on Yoochun's face. He keeps his face empty though, and nods obedient. "Yes, Appa. Will tell him that, most definitely will."
His father exits in a flurry of big movements and loud barking of orders followed by the crowd of assistants, and suddenly the room feels even more suffocating with just the two of them compared to before.
"So. Bestman, huh?" Yoochun cocks his head, eyes small. "Someone's getting married soon, I see."
Junsu fidgets and wipes at the trail of sweat that suddenly appears near his temple. He's abnormally defensive and he definitely hates the condescending tone that the other projects at him. "I guess we can talk about this over coffee. Come."
The awkwardness hangs around them like a blanket of cloud threatening to unleash a flood of raindrops as they sit silently next to a window, eyes vehemently avoiding each other.
Junsu is still questioning his choice of beverage- grande mocha shekerato? With whipped cream and chocolate frosting? At nine in the morning, just when winter's kicking in? He concludes that he's a little unstable, and that justifies his sudden need for excessive sugar, sweetness and ice. He peeks at his neighbour sitting idly in front of him, and notes that the black coffee is untouched, the swirl of wispy warm air dissipating into nothingness leaving useless black liquid. He's not quite sure how to explain this predicament-
He grabs at his tall glass and sucks at his straw fast and nervous, inhaling nearly half of the content; and then does that tongue-rolling-around-the-straw thing he always does unconsciously-
"Don't do that."
"Huh?" Junsu looks lost. "What?"
Yoochun chuckles. "That thing with your tongue. Don't do it." Adorable confusion is painted on Junsu's face, and he wonders how different this man is compared to that man he remembers him as. "You're giving me ideas."
Junsu shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Don't-" he forces himself to look straight at Yoochun. "Don't remind me of that. It's over. It was nothing anyway in the first place." He ignores the numbness that radiates from the left side of his chest, spreading throughout his whole body at his own words. "Let's wipe the slate clean, let's start from zero. Hi, I'm Kim Junsu, nice to meet you."
Yoochun ignores the outstretched hand, head tilted sideways. "And if I refuse?"
"Let's be on our own, separate merry way then. I'll tell my father that we have differences of principles and thoughts, and I won't work with you."
Yoochun sees a flash of pain from the other's eyes contrasting strongly at the stubborn set of the jaw, and he wonders if acknowledging their first encounter is a wrong decision after all.
It is not working. Everything's not working.
The photocopy machine died on him, the coffee maker spurted hot scalding coffee at his new pants, his secretary misplaced a set of super-duper important documents, all of his subordinates' lack of energy- and Junsu moans at how sucky his life is that day. He tries to ignore the continuous intense stare on his back, the deep voice that reverberates within the workplace every now and then, the occasional post-it-notes that's passed to his desk to update him of the current state of their project, the IMs that pops on his screen with empty messages-
He wants to headdesk so fucking much, it's making him jittery. He's quite red in the face, and so out of his usual composed elements that Jiyeon, his secretary, asks him if the room's too hot for him, the A/C remote already in her hand.
He glances backwards and meets Yoochun's smoldering eyes. "Yeah, room's fucking hot, allright." He mutters under his breath.
He's the last man to exit the building. Junsu knows, because night has fallen quite some time ago and the doorman is nodding away in his station. He tsk-s under his breath at the lackadaisical attitude the man has towards his duty, but sees the deep-set heavy eyebags under the aged ahjusshi's eyes and punches himself out silently.
The carpark's empty except for his white ride, and he curses himself for parking so darn far from the lift. He drags his feet step by step as one hand deftly undoes his silken grey tie around his neck. The car beeps open and he opens the door, bending a little into the interior before flinging his briefcase carelessly into the dark depths-
"Nice car."
Junsu jumps in surprise and hits his head against the upper part of the door. "Fuck you-"
"Nice butt too. I remember I liked it very much." Yoochun leers, a definite change from the professional aura he's maintained within the four walls of their office.
Junsu trembles, from what he doesn't know, and he thinks he doesn't want to know. "Shut up." He mutters tersely. "Go home, Yoochun. Please." He's not surprised when he can feel the man's breath behind him, hitting his nape seductively.
Hot and alluring. Want but can't.
He doesn't want this. He wants to be the old Junsu. The one who holds the power. The one who's dominating. The one who sets the pace. He's tired of treading around dangerous spots, trying to please everyone and ending up being miserable silently. That's the old him. He'd just managed to fool everyone, and this man here is going to ruin his hard work.
A hand grips around his. He flinches at the mere touch, turning around to reprimand the unwanted contact-
"I believe we haven't finished discussing something."
Yoochun's genial words somehow sounds like a threat to his ears, but his knees buckle weakly and he wobbles, hands scrabbling away; and he finds himself wrapped securely in the warm embrace. Against the rational, sane voice that scolds and begs him not to, he lets his body fall limp and closes his eyes.
When Junsu wakes up, the digital clock blinks Saturday, 07:27 at his bleary eyes and the sunlight is soft and warm on his skin, filtered by thick velvety curtains. He frowns, a little disoriented; these are not his sheets, this is not his room-
"Morning, sleeping beauty."
Somehow not surprised, Junsu stares down at his new colleague cum one-time hot fuck, and when Yoochun holds his own gaze, Junsu relents and peeks under the sheets. He breathes easy to see a black boxer encasing his pelvis. "What happened?"
Yoochun places a tray of food on the bedside table and sits at Junsu's feet. "Dunno. Either you fainted which is so girly, or you fell asleep which is downright insulting." The man scrunches up his face, a small pout across the lips. "So I brought you home."
Junsu cocks an eyebrow.
"-okay, fine, my home. Whatever rocks your boat, sheesh."
"Yoochun." Junsu clears his throat. "Can we talk about it now?" He sees the nonplussed shrug- "I never usually do that. I sleep around, but that's it, it's just a one-time thing. No strings attached. Maybe the alcohol got to me, I've been off the drinks for quite some time-"
"Hey." Yoochun leans in closer. "I get it. You don't have to explain."
The smile is soft and reassuring, and Junsu wants to fall in love so bad-
"No." He shakes his head. "You deserve to know. I was angry. Appa's going to make me marry someone, some girl. I don't want to. I need to tell him I'm gay. I might get disowned-" he grimaces, "but anything's better than to be tied down like that, pretending to be someone I won't ever be, again. I was angry," he repeats, "so I went out, got smashed, had unprotected sex, and went home not expecting to see you again." He shoots the words out like bullets raining on the earth.
Yoochun is silently observing him. He trembles under the stare-
"Was it good? Did you like it?"
"Y-yes." Junsu stammers.
"Then no need to apologize. You owe yourself that much too, because I had fun as much as you did." Yoochun's gaze is piercing right through him. "And Junsu- your father is a great man. Give him a little credit. He won't disown you, trust me."
"Fuck-"
Junsu bursts out of the mansion's vast study, his right cheek stinging like hell and tears threatening to drop. He's more than humiliated; he doesn't ever want to remember his father's colourful words again, heck, he wants to erase his entire life's existence if he can-
He runs to his car and screeches out of the driveway, he wants to get away-
"Hey. You're too big to cry like this."
"Shut up." Junsu snaps and grabs the box of Kleenex, and blows his nose noisily. "I'd just been disowned. Let me cry."
Yoochun chuckles.
Junsu hates how everything he does only makes the man smile, or chuckle, or laugh out loud. He wants to make this man angry so bad- anything other than amused. Then he remembers the heated touches, the utter lack of control, back then- He burns within himself.
"Are you sure? Did Mr Kim said that, in words?" Yoochun plops down next to him on the floor, arms circling his shoulder comfortably. "Or did he said, get out or something?"
Junsu sends him an evil glare.
"Here-" Yoochun passes a glass of milk, mirth bubbling in the eyes hidden by black frames. "Something for the crying little boy." He chuckles again. "At least the wedding's off right?"
Junsu pouts and nods, but doesn't refuse the drink. He wonders why he's at the Yoochun's house, for all it matters. He sips slowly and lets his body curve into the fitting form.
"This is so fucked up. We had a one-night stand, then it turns out that we're working together, and now I'm your butler, chef, shrink and host. Go figures." Yoochun mumbles.
Junsu laughs into the crook of the neck, snuggling closer. "Be my new home, then." He whispers without much thought. He thinks Yoochun doesn't hear it, anyway.
Or maybe he did.
tbc
ps: yep. it turned into something else. dammit. perhaps one or two more updates of lovey-dovey yoosu because i want to. hahaha. comments/crits/grammatical correction ftw! unbeta-ed, unchecked, and unplotted properly- you know how i am by now, i hope xD it's 1am, and i really need to sleep, long day tomorrow ;_____;