jaeho_exchange fic entry; yunho/jaejoong; nc-17; "passages"
Title: Passages.
Pairing: JaeJoong/YunHo.
Rating: NC17.
Summary: YunHo doesn't stand a chance :)
A/N: this was written for jaejoongah for jaeho_exchange fic fest. beta'd by bel_chan and silentcryxx♥
Passages
nc-17, jaejoong/yunho, 2234 words.
"Hey." He sits beside you and steals your cigarette.
"Hey." It is way past midnight and you can smell alcohol on his breath, but you don't mind because you just won your first major award and, for the next twenty-four hours, they are just going to shake their heads and accept your post-glory delinquency without too much fuss.
"How's everyone?"
"Sleeping like sleepy things." He breathes out a cloud of smoke and looks thoughtful for a second, before turning to you. "Hey," he says again, in the exact same tone like two minutes ago, as if there's an end to that sentence that he's been debating whether to say or not: "Let me do this."
Your teeth clack against each other. He tastes like cheap beer and smoke and don't-do-this, but you don't care, don't even stop to think how weird it is to have his lips pressed to yours, his tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. You slip your hand behind his neck and pull him closer, closer, closer-
(Three months ago, you told HeeChul-hyung you'd punch him if he tried to kiss you.)
-until you both break apart, gasping for air.
"JaeJoong," You rasp, words tumbling out of your mouth even before you can breathe properly. "This doesn't mean-"
"No," He pulls you in, lips searching yours- "This doesn't." -even before he can breathe properly.
(You can't shake the feeling that this definitely does, but you kiss him back anyway.)
*.
It starts with him cornering you in the dressing room.
The day has been particularly rough on you-all of you, but you take the hit the hardest, as you should, because they are yours and you protect your own. He wards off everyone else, leaving himself to deal with your foul mood. You want to push him away and fail; JaeJoong is nothing but demanding hands and bruising kisses, with teeth that are short of leaving splotches of blue. You respond to the kisses as he coaxes them out of you, urgency in every inhale and desperation in every exhale, and he swallows them all. He is too quick- his hands fumbling with the fly of your jeans and his own's as he maps constellations on your collarbones- and you gasp when he hooks his leg around your hip.
"No," you push him away, "We have to dance tomorrow-" (And silently do two things at the same time: curse your managers for your schedule and thank YooChun for Basics of Gay Sex 101.)
It picks itself up with him on his knees (despite your protests-his knees just healed-but god in heaven the things he can do with his mouth) and you-writhing, thrusting, fumbling for purchase, and then you are too quick and too breathless ("JaeJoong, please, please, please-").
It ends with him against the wall, your hands around his length, and your name caught in his throat.
(YooChun throws knowing looks at you afterwards and you refuse to acknowledge the blush rising up to your cheeks).
*.
"YunHo-" He laughs (cotton candy spun in gold, light and pleasant), "We have to be out in five minutes."
"A minute. I just need a minute." You burrow yourself closer into his neck, the tip of your thumb on the jut of his waist, and sway lightly (back and forth, back and forth), trying to stop the trembling you hid earlier from your dongsaengs when you gave them the usual pre-concert pep talk.
He pauses, and then you feel his smile as he kisses the top of your head and whispers, "U-Know YunHo, hwaiting."
A soft breath; you smile. "Dong Bang Shin Ki, hwaiting."
*.
"He's been in there for more than half an hour," JunSu says, shoulders tense with worry, helplessness in his eyes (you know he hates it). YooChun comes back out, looking a bit damp around the edges, and says that JaeJoong refuses to talk to anyone, not even him-you can hear the confusion; YooChun is his best friend, JaeJoong shares everything with him.
ChangMin looks at you, agitated, suspended between the ruling concept of seniority (you want to say forget it, do what you want, sometimes we need it) and the need to fix an integral part of a broken mechanism.
But JaeJoong is yours to fix, and you know that even without the unspoken expectation in their eyes, so you tell them to sleep; you all have to wake up early tomorrow for-
(Everything stops for a heartbeat, and you don't finish your sentence because anything without JaeJoong is unfinished.)
Later on, you find him in the bathroom, sitting at one end of the empty bathtub. You climb into it and sit across him. He doesn't look up, although the arms around his knees tighten just slightly. He is still wearing the same clothes from when you fetched him at the police station, the fabric wrinkled with exhaustion and regret.
"Boo-"
"If you say ‘it'll be okay', I will punch you."
You pause. You think JaeJoong doesn't show this side of him often-vulnerable, but at the same time defensive and full of self-loathing.
"Okay," you breathe and decide to take a chance. "Okay." It takes a bit of shifting around; his shoulders are wider than yours and there is barely enough space. You don't expect him to cry, and he doesn't (because he is strong, sometimes you think he is the strongest person you know), but you can feel the tension in him dissipating with every exhale, so you keep him in your arms until it leaves him completely.
("You know," He says after a long while as he helps you climb out of the tub, "I don't have to dance tomorrow."
You laugh, and the two things that come to your mind right then are that you love him, and that you're screwed beyond all recognition-exactly in that order.)
*.
JaeJoong starts the morning with a kiss on the side of your neck-which is nothing out of the ordinary (you've gotten used to it over the past few weeks)-as he walks past you to prepare breakfast. You, however, do not expect him to add a little nip and a flick of tongue, coaxing a surprised hiss out of you. You look at him, questions dying in your throat because the others have started to mill into the kitchen.
You spend the rest of the day asking yourself if his touches have always lingered that long, if his smiles have always had that hint of mischief that makes you want to wipe them with clichés (kisses), or if the warm breath brushing your cheek has always made you want to blush. You do know that he doesn't make a habit of leaving you like this, though-aroused, frustrated, and just a little miffed-as he pulls away and walks out of the dressing room with a smile, leaving you to pacify your ‘rising' problem alone.
When you're sure everyone has retired to their bed (and because you are grossly desperate), you spend a little longer under the shower, hunched against the wall, a hand wrapped around yourself. You bite down on the other hand to stop yourself from moaning, hoping the sound of the water drowns everything else in as your strokes become harsher and-
You are not even surprised when you see JaeJoong stepping in (naked and already half-hard). You just growl at his soft laughter and corner him with a kiss, your ache forgotten for a second, wrapping your hand around him, wanting-needing to make him as hard and as desperate-
"Fuck me." You let out a broken moan as he bites down on your shoulder. "Fuck me- God damn it-" A part of your mind can't believe you are saying-begging this-but the other part knows with a freshly-discovered clarity that JaeJoong has planned this from the beginning, and that you don't care at all. You just need him to-
"What happens to 'we have to dance tomorrow?'" He smirks his infuriatingly smug smirk.
"Fuck dancing." You snap, "JaeJoong, please."
He does-you fumble on the slippery tiled wall for a moment, before suddenly his fingers-cold and slick-are inside you and you have to quell the urge to wrench yourself away (despite how gentle he is about it). JaeJoong is patient, coaxing you open with soft murmurs and light kisses along the line of your shoulders and neck for God knows how long-until they are no longer enough and your need to be filled threatens to drown you both.
A quick movement as he slips on protection (thank god one of you can still think) before he enters you very, very slowly. The pain is blinding (the lube is barely sufficient-you think you will pass out) but he kisses your temple and whispers soothingly near your ear ("Soon. It'll be okay soon. Come on, baby, stay with me-"), so you unclench your jaws and force yourself to relax. His fingers find their way around your length and he starts stroking in tune with the movement of his body-and you can't tell if you're whimpering from the pleasure or the pain (they are both tangible).
And then he touches something inside you and-oh God-you must've cried something out loud because you can feel him smiling against your collarbone. His thrusts become quicker, shallower, and you can't stop moaning his name until-
"Ah-" You breathed, "Ah, God, ah-JaeJoong-" white-hot pleasure floods your system and you come apart between his fingers. "Oh, fuck. Fuck." You can barely feel him finishing seconds after, shuddering beneath you, the syllables of your name broken and repeated on his tongue.
You're still filled with that sense of contentment when he slips out of you-and rushes to a flurry of apologies when he notices you wincing.
"JaeJoong," You said. This is far from the awkwardness you imagined a few days (weeks) ago, you are just content and-JaeJoong is still talking. "JaeJoong, BooJae. Shut up." So you kiss him again.
(Three nights later, it's your turn to top.)
*.
A rare occasion: Korean dishes a la JaeJoong, at home, on normal dinnertime. The conversation alternates between your upcoming activities, new Japanese vocabulary, insults flung at body parts (mostly related to the size of forehead and buttocks), and the choreography for your upcoming single. You watch in amusement as JaeJoong makes the mistake of defending JunSu, resulting in YooChun taking a friendly jab at his two left feet. JaeJoong accepts this with overblown sighs of courageous admission.
This is how it happens: You reach for a piece of broccoli on the center of the table and remark absently, "BooJae is a much better dancer in bed."
It takes you half a second to realize what you just said. ChangMin quirks an eyebrow, YooChun snickers, and JunSu gapes.
It takes JaeJoong five more seconds to add, "And before you ask, I top more often than he does."
This time ChangMin is the one snickering. YooChun snorts and JunSu blushes. As for you… you are just torn between laughing and dying of embarrassment.
Then everything stills in an awkward silence.
"Well," YooChun says, after a beat, very lightly, "JunSu is good onstage and offstage." JunSu chokes on his water ("I what?"). "But we always do it with one of us on all fours because I can't stand to look at his ugly face-"
"We didn't-"
"-oh, and he's a screamer. Very annoying."
"Lies and slander!" JunSu waves his fork.
"Kidding, babe. I love your screaming."
"I don't- we're not even-you wouldn't know!"
"Is that an invitation?"
"Moral of the story," ChangMin announces, passing his bowl to JaeJoong for a second helping, "Stay single."
"Aw, don't be bitter, Minnie-ah. Wanna join me and Susu?"
"Kindly remove my name from that equation." JunSu grumbles.
"Tempting, but I'll pass. Incest isn't my cup of tea." ChangMin replies dryly.
(JaeJoong grins at you from across the table.
You grin back.)
*.
"Hey." He sits beside you and hands you a standard-issue ceramic mug with the hotel logo printed on it.
"Hey." You grin. It's just a little over midnight and you can smell alcohol on his breath. You don't mind because you know it was a residue of the after party for the award you've just won three hours ago, and because you've learned that he has a remarkable tolerance for alcohol. "How's everyone?"
JaeJoong shrugs. "Passed out like…" Pause. "…passed-out things."
You chuckle softly and lean back on your chair, sipping your tea, watching Seoul bustle with life thirty stories below (you wonder when Japan started being home and Korea a series of hotels). The silence that sits between you is indistinct and weightless, seamlessly molding with the night's cool air.
You feel his eyes even before you turn to face him. He gives you a small, knowing grin. You feel your own smile growing, so you slip your free hand behind his nape and pull him closer.
"I guess this does mean we're together."
He laughs softly (and you can just hear the hint of relief in his timbre) and whispers, "Took you long enough."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay." And then he brushes his lips against yours, gently, swiftly, "I'd planned on waiting."
*.
Pairing: JaeJoong/YunHo.
Rating: NC17.
Summary: YunHo doesn't stand a chance :)
A/N: this was written for jaejoongah for jaeho_exchange fic fest. beta'd by bel_chan and silentcryxx♥
Passages
nc-17, jaejoong/yunho, 2234 words.
"Hey." He sits beside you and steals your cigarette.
"Hey." It is way past midnight and you can smell alcohol on his breath, but you don't mind because you just won your first major award and, for the next twenty-four hours, they are just going to shake their heads and accept your post-glory delinquency without too much fuss.
"How's everyone?"
"Sleeping like sleepy things." He breathes out a cloud of smoke and looks thoughtful for a second, before turning to you. "Hey," he says again, in the exact same tone like two minutes ago, as if there's an end to that sentence that he's been debating whether to say or not: "Let me do this."
Your teeth clack against each other. He tastes like cheap beer and smoke and don't-do-this, but you don't care, don't even stop to think how weird it is to have his lips pressed to yours, his tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. You slip your hand behind his neck and pull him closer, closer, closer-
(Three months ago, you told HeeChul-hyung you'd punch him if he tried to kiss you.)
-until you both break apart, gasping for air.
"JaeJoong," You rasp, words tumbling out of your mouth even before you can breathe properly. "This doesn't mean-"
"No," He pulls you in, lips searching yours- "This doesn't." -even before he can breathe properly.
(You can't shake the feeling that this definitely does, but you kiss him back anyway.)
*.
It starts with him cornering you in the dressing room.
The day has been particularly rough on you-all of you, but you take the hit the hardest, as you should, because they are yours and you protect your own. He wards off everyone else, leaving himself to deal with your foul mood. You want to push him away and fail; JaeJoong is nothing but demanding hands and bruising kisses, with teeth that are short of leaving splotches of blue. You respond to the kisses as he coaxes them out of you, urgency in every inhale and desperation in every exhale, and he swallows them all. He is too quick- his hands fumbling with the fly of your jeans and his own's as he maps constellations on your collarbones- and you gasp when he hooks his leg around your hip.
"No," you push him away, "We have to dance tomorrow-" (And silently do two things at the same time: curse your managers for your schedule and thank YooChun for Basics of Gay Sex 101.)
It picks itself up with him on his knees (despite your protests-his knees just healed-but god in heaven the things he can do with his mouth) and you-writhing, thrusting, fumbling for purchase, and then you are too quick and too breathless ("JaeJoong, please, please, please-").
It ends with him against the wall, your hands around his length, and your name caught in his throat.
(YooChun throws knowing looks at you afterwards and you refuse to acknowledge the blush rising up to your cheeks).
*.
"YunHo-" He laughs (cotton candy spun in gold, light and pleasant), "We have to be out in five minutes."
"A minute. I just need a minute." You burrow yourself closer into his neck, the tip of your thumb on the jut of his waist, and sway lightly (back and forth, back and forth), trying to stop the trembling you hid earlier from your dongsaengs when you gave them the usual pre-concert pep talk.
He pauses, and then you feel his smile as he kisses the top of your head and whispers, "U-Know YunHo, hwaiting."
A soft breath; you smile. "Dong Bang Shin Ki, hwaiting."
*.
"He's been in there for more than half an hour," JunSu says, shoulders tense with worry, helplessness in his eyes (you know he hates it). YooChun comes back out, looking a bit damp around the edges, and says that JaeJoong refuses to talk to anyone, not even him-you can hear the confusion; YooChun is his best friend, JaeJoong shares everything with him.
ChangMin looks at you, agitated, suspended between the ruling concept of seniority (you want to say forget it, do what you want, sometimes we need it) and the need to fix an integral part of a broken mechanism.
But JaeJoong is yours to fix, and you know that even without the unspoken expectation in their eyes, so you tell them to sleep; you all have to wake up early tomorrow for-
(Everything stops for a heartbeat, and you don't finish your sentence because anything without JaeJoong is unfinished.)
Later on, you find him in the bathroom, sitting at one end of the empty bathtub. You climb into it and sit across him. He doesn't look up, although the arms around his knees tighten just slightly. He is still wearing the same clothes from when you fetched him at the police station, the fabric wrinkled with exhaustion and regret.
"Boo-"
"If you say ‘it'll be okay', I will punch you."
You pause. You think JaeJoong doesn't show this side of him often-vulnerable, but at the same time defensive and full of self-loathing.
"Okay," you breathe and decide to take a chance. "Okay." It takes a bit of shifting around; his shoulders are wider than yours and there is barely enough space. You don't expect him to cry, and he doesn't (because he is strong, sometimes you think he is the strongest person you know), but you can feel the tension in him dissipating with every exhale, so you keep him in your arms until it leaves him completely.
("You know," He says after a long while as he helps you climb out of the tub, "I don't have to dance tomorrow."
You laugh, and the two things that come to your mind right then are that you love him, and that you're screwed beyond all recognition-exactly in that order.)
*.
JaeJoong starts the morning with a kiss on the side of your neck-which is nothing out of the ordinary (you've gotten used to it over the past few weeks)-as he walks past you to prepare breakfast. You, however, do not expect him to add a little nip and a flick of tongue, coaxing a surprised hiss out of you. You look at him, questions dying in your throat because the others have started to mill into the kitchen.
You spend the rest of the day asking yourself if his touches have always lingered that long, if his smiles have always had that hint of mischief that makes you want to wipe them with clichés (kisses), or if the warm breath brushing your cheek has always made you want to blush. You do know that he doesn't make a habit of leaving you like this, though-aroused, frustrated, and just a little miffed-as he pulls away and walks out of the dressing room with a smile, leaving you to pacify your ‘rising' problem alone.
When you're sure everyone has retired to their bed (and because you are grossly desperate), you spend a little longer under the shower, hunched against the wall, a hand wrapped around yourself. You bite down on the other hand to stop yourself from moaning, hoping the sound of the water drowns everything else in as your strokes become harsher and-
You are not even surprised when you see JaeJoong stepping in (naked and already half-hard). You just growl at his soft laughter and corner him with a kiss, your ache forgotten for a second, wrapping your hand around him, wanting-needing to make him as hard and as desperate-
"Fuck me." You let out a broken moan as he bites down on your shoulder. "Fuck me- God damn it-" A part of your mind can't believe you are saying-begging this-but the other part knows with a freshly-discovered clarity that JaeJoong has planned this from the beginning, and that you don't care at all. You just need him to-
"What happens to 'we have to dance tomorrow?'" He smirks his infuriatingly smug smirk.
"Fuck dancing." You snap, "JaeJoong, please."
He does-you fumble on the slippery tiled wall for a moment, before suddenly his fingers-cold and slick-are inside you and you have to quell the urge to wrench yourself away (despite how gentle he is about it). JaeJoong is patient, coaxing you open with soft murmurs and light kisses along the line of your shoulders and neck for God knows how long-until they are no longer enough and your need to be filled threatens to drown you both.
A quick movement as he slips on protection (thank god one of you can still think) before he enters you very, very slowly. The pain is blinding (the lube is barely sufficient-you think you will pass out) but he kisses your temple and whispers soothingly near your ear ("Soon. It'll be okay soon. Come on, baby, stay with me-"), so you unclench your jaws and force yourself to relax. His fingers find their way around your length and he starts stroking in tune with the movement of his body-and you can't tell if you're whimpering from the pleasure or the pain (they are both tangible).
And then he touches something inside you and-oh God-you must've cried something out loud because you can feel him smiling against your collarbone. His thrusts become quicker, shallower, and you can't stop moaning his name until-
"Ah-" You breathed, "Ah, God, ah-JaeJoong-" white-hot pleasure floods your system and you come apart between his fingers. "Oh, fuck. Fuck." You can barely feel him finishing seconds after, shuddering beneath you, the syllables of your name broken and repeated on his tongue.
You're still filled with that sense of contentment when he slips out of you-and rushes to a flurry of apologies when he notices you wincing.
"JaeJoong," You said. This is far from the awkwardness you imagined a few days (weeks) ago, you are just content and-JaeJoong is still talking. "JaeJoong, BooJae. Shut up." So you kiss him again.
(Three nights later, it's your turn to top.)
*.
A rare occasion: Korean dishes a la JaeJoong, at home, on normal dinnertime. The conversation alternates between your upcoming activities, new Japanese vocabulary, insults flung at body parts (mostly related to the size of forehead and buttocks), and the choreography for your upcoming single. You watch in amusement as JaeJoong makes the mistake of defending JunSu, resulting in YooChun taking a friendly jab at his two left feet. JaeJoong accepts this with overblown sighs of courageous admission.
This is how it happens: You reach for a piece of broccoli on the center of the table and remark absently, "BooJae is a much better dancer in bed."
It takes you half a second to realize what you just said. ChangMin quirks an eyebrow, YooChun snickers, and JunSu gapes.
It takes JaeJoong five more seconds to add, "And before you ask, I top more often than he does."
This time ChangMin is the one snickering. YooChun snorts and JunSu blushes. As for you… you are just torn between laughing and dying of embarrassment.
Then everything stills in an awkward silence.
"Well," YooChun says, after a beat, very lightly, "JunSu is good onstage and offstage." JunSu chokes on his water ("I what?"). "But we always do it with one of us on all fours because I can't stand to look at his ugly face-"
"We didn't-"
"-oh, and he's a screamer. Very annoying."
"Lies and slander!" JunSu waves his fork.
"Kidding, babe. I love your screaming."
"I don't- we're not even-you wouldn't know!"
"Is that an invitation?"
"Moral of the story," ChangMin announces, passing his bowl to JaeJoong for a second helping, "Stay single."
"Aw, don't be bitter, Minnie-ah. Wanna join me and Susu?"
"Kindly remove my name from that equation." JunSu grumbles.
"Tempting, but I'll pass. Incest isn't my cup of tea." ChangMin replies dryly.
(JaeJoong grins at you from across the table.
You grin back.)
*.
"Hey." He sits beside you and hands you a standard-issue ceramic mug with the hotel logo printed on it.
"Hey." You grin. It's just a little over midnight and you can smell alcohol on his breath. You don't mind because you know it was a residue of the after party for the award you've just won three hours ago, and because you've learned that he has a remarkable tolerance for alcohol. "How's everyone?"
JaeJoong shrugs. "Passed out like…" Pause. "…passed-out things."
You chuckle softly and lean back on your chair, sipping your tea, watching Seoul bustle with life thirty stories below (you wonder when Japan started being home and Korea a series of hotels). The silence that sits between you is indistinct and weightless, seamlessly molding with the night's cool air.
You feel his eyes even before you turn to face him. He gives you a small, knowing grin. You feel your own smile growing, so you slip your free hand behind his nape and pull him closer.
"I guess this does mean we're together."
He laughs softly (and you can just hear the hint of relief in his timbre) and whispers, "Took you long enough."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay." And then he brushes his lips against yours, gently, swiftly, "I'd planned on waiting."
*.