fic: Punch Drunk -1/?-
Title: Punch Drunk
Author: dria1029
Pairings: Jonghyun/Taemin
Genre: Romance/Friendship
Warnings: None
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Taemin finds refuge in something he has only ever pined over; boxing. But a certain middleweight punk is packaged with this experience-one who has Taemin bouncing around in his own ring of uncertainty, hesitance, and uhm, well, maybe something a little sweeter.
Word Count: Ongoing
a/n: Started this bad boy back during the Internet Wars craze.
Taemin could care less about what the fuck this counselor was preaching, being a recluse was working out pretty well for him. He’d been one for nearly three years now, and he’d actually perfected the “art” -if he did say so himself. Always kept to the main streets to avoid certain territories, stuck to dark, inconspicuous colors, cruised along with his head down but his chin strong. He spoke to no one, and if passerby weren’t already put off by his rough appearance, the ones that did brave to speak to him quickly checked the memo that ol’ boy wasn’t the friendly type. (A mean mug, a stoic stare ahead; your standard, your usual.)
It was his signature, and he liked it that way.
Oh, but sure, once upon a time, clicking up with a couple of buddies to play ball with or check out the noonas with at the mall sounded tempting. Shit, it was at the top of his list when he and his dad first moved into the neighborhood. Taemin was ready to skip to his fucking loo over to the courts and show off what he’d learned over the summer.
There was good news, bad news, and ugly news by the time he left the community park. The good news was that the guys there were as eager as he. The bad news was that they were more eager to beat his ass than to shoot three-pointers. The ugly news was the busted lip, black eye, bruised ribs, and the impressively concealed limp the fourteen-year-old (at the time) had to endure for a six block trek home. (They’d stolen his bicycle too,)
He’d been a disappointed, blubbering mess that day, but he was still wet behind the ears. It literally had to be pounded into him by the neighborhood thugs, over a course of a few weeks, that this wasn’t the Goonies. More like Karate Kid, minus Mr. Miyagi. For the duration of his freshmen year, Taemin was bait for any motherfucker itching for the tender taste of new meat, and he slowly got adjusted to the fact that living “on the other side of the train tracks” meant holding yourself down if you didn’t have a crew. And establishing some sort of respect for the way things were run around here by, ultimately, molding into the masses.
He’d just be a recluse. A rebel. A stray, a trickle running into a gutter. Seen but not scene, you know? “Recluse” fit into one of the few categories in this dog-eat-cat world. And what’s better? He didn’t have to see it as a life choice he’d have to settle with-more like a defense mechanism disguised as a life choice. It was enough that the thugs grew bored with their new toy within the first few days of sophomore year. Once they saw he was slightly taller, uneasily riled, just totally numb to any and everything, they left him alone.
But there were newer, bigger, tougher thugs in this grade; and so it went, even as a senior this very day. This was his honorary second fight within the first week of school, and mentally/physically, Taemin was quite tame with the follow up he was going to deal with on the way home.
Yet this fucking counselor was keeping him.
He just wanted to get some shit over with in the streets, but this old bitch was still jaw jacking the same, useless bullshit he’d been hearing for the last two years.
“…..Mr. Lee, you have to determine what is it you expect out of your peers in order to connect with them and understand them a bit better. Talking it out is always best dear; it clears up any misunderstandings between parties and who knows? You might find some common ground and everyone can get along. There will be no need for violence…”
Blah blah blah….blah.
Taemin pulled his hood lower. Slouched even further into the leather seat. Crossed his arms and continued to idly chew on the cafeteria straw sticking out the side of his mouth. If that Minho kid and his boys hadn’t jacked him for his iPod yesterday, he’d have it now to save his ass. With as much dope as Jolly Green Giant slung, you would think he could afford his own and then some…oh wait. That’s right. Anything that was Taemin’s had to be above depreciated value. How silly to think Minho would prefer something brand new and NOT Taemin’s.
Sure, making friends wouldn’t be so bad.
Too bad those friends wanted to hurt him.
Taemin chewed harder on the straw, veiled eyes rolling. Taking a stand was about the worst thing he could do. Listening to this broad would get him killed, no questions asked.
So no.
The only thing he was going to do was continue to blend out to blend in, and deal with the shit those monkeys flung his way.
Recluse mode, motherfucker.
It’s all he knew, after all.
*****
There was an old, rundown gym Taemin stopped by every so often. His father had an old colleague who worked there, and he was in the middle of coaching one of his many featherweights. It went without saying that the 17 year-old had a fondness for the balding ahjusshi-one that he didn’t know whether to accredit to the man’s sense of humor or TPC for someone his age. Deep down he’d find that his answer was that Mr. Hwang reminded him of what he wished his father was like…and that he respected the field of his profession.
Boxing.
Taemin admired it. A lot. More than anything.
And he felt he’d be good at it…though the chances were slim. He was as lanky as they came. Plus he was a sloppy swinger, as well as impatient. It all looked promising when he watched Mr. Hwang’s trainees circle in the ring or when he watched the matches on TV, yet looks were highly deceiving-especially if you also had the equilibrium of a 1-year-old.
And your first, real left hook landed you in the emergency room.
Of course, that was all in the past, back when he much more puny and ridiculously pliable. He could take a hit now. Things had changed. He felt he had improved; “improved” meaning he felt that over the years, he’d established a shorter fuse, a deeper vat to store his teenage angst, and a raw hide that was enough to fuel legit power and passion behind his blows.
All remaining wistful thinking when reality set the fuck back in. It was already enough he got his ass handed to him on the streets-he didn’t need it happening in a red and blue ring-with dudes who specialized in and trained to whoop ass-either.
“Ahhhh is that Taemin? I thought one of the bums wandered in here again.”
The youth chuckled, slapping hands with the coach. “You can’t keep dogging me like this, Coach,” he said in that dry, empty husk of a voice he insisted upon.
“I will as long as you dress like that, Lee. Hood off in my gym.”
Taemin languidly slid the pullover hood off his head, revealing jet black shag. Hands dug into his pockets as he rocked on his heels, now facing one of the other occupied rings. “How’s this season’s crop holding up for you?”
“I’m reaping kid, I’m reaping good. Making no bets yet, but Kwon and Park should be keepers. We might even win the tournament this year.”
“Your guys win the tournament every year.”
The coach cackled, throwing a brawny arm around Taemin’s shoulders. “Glad to see you can still spot a joke. How’s the old man?”
“Drunk,” Taemin mumbled.
“Ah, well it won’t be long before he climbs out of that hole. Your father was one of the…”
He hated to do it, but he couldn’t help it. The coach liked to recount the old days when he and Taemin’s father were in the service together, all the valiant rescues and bombings and such that Taemin knew by heart. Funny, why couldn’t he tune out the counselor like this? Bitch Be Gone wasn’t on the market yet- he could make do with tuning her out, God, he really could.
But as he smiled and nodded vaguely, there was a thundering sound that penetrated his muting ears. Through the clog was the swift thuds of gloves hitting compact sand-and while the sound of trainees punching bags was the norm for Taemin, the way this sounded…it was fucking majestic.
Curious eyes corresponded with ears, all the way to the source.
Which landed on a man a few yards away, bare upper body glistening with sweat and oil under the hanging lamp. A machine; the perfectly synced rhythm of his hits sounding above the din of the gym. Head ducked in concentration, fists to his hard face, his balance impeccable as he semi-circled the large bag, punishing it in complicated combinations of blows the boy didn’t have the brain capacity to imagine. And if Taemin didn’t know any better, he’d swear that the guy would knock that bag right off its chain suspensions…
He watched carefully, now full-out staring but doubting the guy would notice since he was too busy being awesome and shit. It was a no-brainer that the man was aptly cut, yet something about him was streamline; he was quick, so quick his cropped, slick hair hardly had time to bounce in time with his launches before he’d done two more jabs; the salty fluid that sprayed from said hair flying as if in slow motion. As the unnamed force moved in orbit, Taemin caught glimpses of his lowered, shrouded face.
Of course he was attractive. At least, from what Taemin could see. He couldn’t make out all of his features..
But how could he be that rock solid and have an ass that firm-and not have a little something something going on upstairs? Nah, no “butterface” here.
Also, judging from the vigorous bounce in the front of the man’s shorts, he had to be-
“Coach?” the student interrupted. “Coach, who’s that guy over there?”
“Guy? What guy?”
“The one on the bag. He’s kinda short.”
Crow footed eyes immediately settled on the general heavy bag area. Once he spotted who Taemin was referring to, it was like fireworks going off in him.
“I wouldn’t say that around him,” he laughed with a wink down to the younger, slapping Taemin’s back. The boy…almost didn’t stumble. “That there is Kim Jaehyun’s son. He transferred here from Seoul. Great kid, best middleweight this city has ever seen. Undefeated in his class.” Hwang shook his head. “Though why’d he leave Seoul to slum it out here beats me. He was in a top university there. Now it’s community college and public transportation. Unfortunate, really. Must’ve been something he didn’t like there.”
Taemin sounded way too desperate when he asked, but there was nothing he could do about it once the question was in the air. “What’s his name?”
“Told all of us he goes by Duke, but you know I’m too old for all that fancy nickname jazz. I prefer the boy’s God given name. Jonghyun.” The coach’s arm lifted from slighter shoulders… so the man could cup his mouth, much to Taemin’s horror.
“Yah, Jonghyun-ah!” he boomed. “Come over here boy, I got somebody I want to introduce you to!”
Jonghyun stopped his dizzying routine, mowing sweat from his forehead with a gloved hand. He leaned casually against the bag sideways with his thick arms crossed, quirking a brow at the coach. “Uh, I think your somebody has a previous engagement, Coach,” he smirked in a loud reply albeit heavy breathing.
“What the-Taemin…?”
The boy wasn’t at his side anymore.
Nothing but a swinging gym door and a couple of giggling aerobics noonas.
*****
Later that night, Taemin still couldn’t figure out why he’d scrammed before the coach could introduce them.
Worst still, why he had been blushing so hard, he had to shield his face with his arm the entire fast-walk home.
Splayed out on his bed, the TV blaring with the week’s anticipated match, the half-naked teen couldn’t help but wonder what kind of vagina he was for doing something so…girly; precisely the kind of ammo grizzlies like Minho needed to lay into him much more thoroughly.
Jonghyun was just another sweaty, meaty ring deity. Sure, one who could hurt him just as much as anyone else could in that gym. And his senior class.
With the odds of him even coming to after a round with that animal being virtually zero.
Still. Just what the fuck was it about “Duke” that made him so special? Why had the prospect of greeting him face to face been so impossible that Taemin was reduced to a rubber chicken awkwardly fleeing its way out of the gym? Its not like Jonghyun would come over to kiss him with a one hitter quitter and besides, once you’ve seen a thousand soaking torsos, you’ve seen them all.
Not like Jonghyun’s.
“Ack!” Taemin jerks his hand out of his boxers, frowning in the shadowed darkness-first in that he’d sounded like a baby pterodactyl, then hissing out a steam of aggravation at the fact that he’d been plucking at his pubes-an old, unwinding habit- conveniently when Jonghyun’s popping pecs flashed in his head.
But as soon as the ripped guy tied his arms behind his head, started grinning and jumping his pecs to the tune of the Rocky theme song in Taemin’s head, Taemin knew it was time to tap out for the night.
He throws ones of his textbooks at the TV to hit the power button a bit too forcefully this time, turning to his side on the creaking mattress. “You were gay as hell for that, Taemin,” he murmurs sleepily into the pillow.
Homo or not, though, he can’t deny that he’s interested in the new guy. His skill and agility, that is. He’d never been exposed to such a magnetic prose and frankly, if he stuck around more avidly these days, he might even able to witness Jonghyun’s power in the ring.
Come to think of it, Taemin didn’t know why he’d stopped visiting the gym lately anyway. Sure beat the hell out of hanging around waiting to get mugged and mauled by Minho and his minions every day. The only firewall he’d face was avoiding them to sneak off, yet there were ways. Tricks up the scrawny loner’s hoodie sleeves that even Minho couldn’t pull a rabbit out of. Taemin really had no reason before now to make use of these “emergency exits” since he didn’t care one way or the other about dealing with his rival gang of five vs one. He had nothing better to do, proving himself a worthy martyr who was tough enough to face them, other than rotting at the computer in the library secretly watching boxing matches.
Home would be ideal…but if only a certain intoxicated father of his were more of a “home” to be around.
Taemin sighs, mentally rolling his eyes.
I gotta find a way to get my fucking iPod back.
Next
Author: dria1029
Pairings: Jonghyun/Taemin
Genre: Romance/Friendship
Warnings: None
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Taemin finds refuge in something he has only ever pined over; boxing. But a certain middleweight punk is packaged with this experience-one who has Taemin bouncing around in his own ring of uncertainty, hesitance, and uhm, well, maybe something a little sweeter.
Word Count: Ongoing
a/n: Started this bad boy back during the Internet Wars craze.
Taemin could care less about what the fuck this counselor was preaching, being a recluse was working out pretty well for him. He’d been one for nearly three years now, and he’d actually perfected the “art” -if he did say so himself. Always kept to the main streets to avoid certain territories, stuck to dark, inconspicuous colors, cruised along with his head down but his chin strong. He spoke to no one, and if passerby weren’t already put off by his rough appearance, the ones that did brave to speak to him quickly checked the memo that ol’ boy wasn’t the friendly type. (A mean mug, a stoic stare ahead; your standard, your usual.)
It was his signature, and he liked it that way.
Oh, but sure, once upon a time, clicking up with a couple of buddies to play ball with or check out the noonas with at the mall sounded tempting. Shit, it was at the top of his list when he and his dad first moved into the neighborhood. Taemin was ready to skip to his fucking loo over to the courts and show off what he’d learned over the summer.
There was good news, bad news, and ugly news by the time he left the community park. The good news was that the guys there were as eager as he. The bad news was that they were more eager to beat his ass than to shoot three-pointers. The ugly news was the busted lip, black eye, bruised ribs, and the impressively concealed limp the fourteen-year-old (at the time) had to endure for a six block trek home. (They’d stolen his bicycle too,)
He’d been a disappointed, blubbering mess that day, but he was still wet behind the ears. It literally had to be pounded into him by the neighborhood thugs, over a course of a few weeks, that this wasn’t the Goonies. More like Karate Kid, minus Mr. Miyagi. For the duration of his freshmen year, Taemin was bait for any motherfucker itching for the tender taste of new meat, and he slowly got adjusted to the fact that living “on the other side of the train tracks” meant holding yourself down if you didn’t have a crew. And establishing some sort of respect for the way things were run around here by, ultimately, molding into the masses.
He’d just be a recluse. A rebel. A stray, a trickle running into a gutter. Seen but not scene, you know? “Recluse” fit into one of the few categories in this dog-eat-cat world. And what’s better? He didn’t have to see it as a life choice he’d have to settle with-more like a defense mechanism disguised as a life choice. It was enough that the thugs grew bored with their new toy within the first few days of sophomore year. Once they saw he was slightly taller, uneasily riled, just totally numb to any and everything, they left him alone.
But there were newer, bigger, tougher thugs in this grade; and so it went, even as a senior this very day. This was his honorary second fight within the first week of school, and mentally/physically, Taemin was quite tame with the follow up he was going to deal with on the way home.
Yet this fucking counselor was keeping him.
He just wanted to get some shit over with in the streets, but this old bitch was still jaw jacking the same, useless bullshit he’d been hearing for the last two years.
“…..Mr. Lee, you have to determine what is it you expect out of your peers in order to connect with them and understand them a bit better. Talking it out is always best dear; it clears up any misunderstandings between parties and who knows? You might find some common ground and everyone can get along. There will be no need for violence…”
Blah blah blah….blah.
Taemin pulled his hood lower. Slouched even further into the leather seat. Crossed his arms and continued to idly chew on the cafeteria straw sticking out the side of his mouth. If that Minho kid and his boys hadn’t jacked him for his iPod yesterday, he’d have it now to save his ass. With as much dope as Jolly Green Giant slung, you would think he could afford his own and then some…oh wait. That’s right. Anything that was Taemin’s had to be above depreciated value. How silly to think Minho would prefer something brand new and NOT Taemin’s.
Sure, making friends wouldn’t be so bad.
Too bad those friends wanted to hurt him.
Taemin chewed harder on the straw, veiled eyes rolling. Taking a stand was about the worst thing he could do. Listening to this broad would get him killed, no questions asked.
So no.
The only thing he was going to do was continue to blend out to blend in, and deal with the shit those monkeys flung his way.
Recluse mode, motherfucker.
It’s all he knew, after all.
*****
There was an old, rundown gym Taemin stopped by every so often. His father had an old colleague who worked there, and he was in the middle of coaching one of his many featherweights. It went without saying that the 17 year-old had a fondness for the balding ahjusshi-one that he didn’t know whether to accredit to the man’s sense of humor or TPC for someone his age. Deep down he’d find that his answer was that Mr. Hwang reminded him of what he wished his father was like…and that he respected the field of his profession.
Boxing.
Taemin admired it. A lot. More than anything.
And he felt he’d be good at it…though the chances were slim. He was as lanky as they came. Plus he was a sloppy swinger, as well as impatient. It all looked promising when he watched Mr. Hwang’s trainees circle in the ring or when he watched the matches on TV, yet looks were highly deceiving-especially if you also had the equilibrium of a 1-year-old.
And your first, real left hook landed you in the emergency room.
Of course, that was all in the past, back when he much more puny and ridiculously pliable. He could take a hit now. Things had changed. He felt he had improved; “improved” meaning he felt that over the years, he’d established a shorter fuse, a deeper vat to store his teenage angst, and a raw hide that was enough to fuel legit power and passion behind his blows.
All remaining wistful thinking when reality set the fuck back in. It was already enough he got his ass handed to him on the streets-he didn’t need it happening in a red and blue ring-with dudes who specialized in and trained to whoop ass-either.
“Ahhhh is that Taemin? I thought one of the bums wandered in here again.”
The youth chuckled, slapping hands with the coach. “You can’t keep dogging me like this, Coach,” he said in that dry, empty husk of a voice he insisted upon.
“I will as long as you dress like that, Lee. Hood off in my gym.”
Taemin languidly slid the pullover hood off his head, revealing jet black shag. Hands dug into his pockets as he rocked on his heels, now facing one of the other occupied rings. “How’s this season’s crop holding up for you?”
“I’m reaping kid, I’m reaping good. Making no bets yet, but Kwon and Park should be keepers. We might even win the tournament this year.”
“Your guys win the tournament every year.”
The coach cackled, throwing a brawny arm around Taemin’s shoulders. “Glad to see you can still spot a joke. How’s the old man?”
“Drunk,” Taemin mumbled.
“Ah, well it won’t be long before he climbs out of that hole. Your father was one of the…”
He hated to do it, but he couldn’t help it. The coach liked to recount the old days when he and Taemin’s father were in the service together, all the valiant rescues and bombings and such that Taemin knew by heart. Funny, why couldn’t he tune out the counselor like this? Bitch Be Gone wasn’t on the market yet- he could make do with tuning her out, God, he really could.
But as he smiled and nodded vaguely, there was a thundering sound that penetrated his muting ears. Through the clog was the swift thuds of gloves hitting compact sand-and while the sound of trainees punching bags was the norm for Taemin, the way this sounded…it was fucking majestic.
Curious eyes corresponded with ears, all the way to the source.
Which landed on a man a few yards away, bare upper body glistening with sweat and oil under the hanging lamp. A machine; the perfectly synced rhythm of his hits sounding above the din of the gym. Head ducked in concentration, fists to his hard face, his balance impeccable as he semi-circled the large bag, punishing it in complicated combinations of blows the boy didn’t have the brain capacity to imagine. And if Taemin didn’t know any better, he’d swear that the guy would knock that bag right off its chain suspensions…
He watched carefully, now full-out staring but doubting the guy would notice since he was too busy being awesome and shit. It was a no-brainer that the man was aptly cut, yet something about him was streamline; he was quick, so quick his cropped, slick hair hardly had time to bounce in time with his launches before he’d done two more jabs; the salty fluid that sprayed from said hair flying as if in slow motion. As the unnamed force moved in orbit, Taemin caught glimpses of his lowered, shrouded face.
Of course he was attractive. At least, from what Taemin could see. He couldn’t make out all of his features..
But how could he be that rock solid and have an ass that firm-and not have a little something something going on upstairs? Nah, no “butterface” here.
Also, judging from the vigorous bounce in the front of the man’s shorts, he had to be-
“Coach?” the student interrupted. “Coach, who’s that guy over there?”
“Guy? What guy?”
“The one on the bag. He’s kinda short.”
Crow footed eyes immediately settled on the general heavy bag area. Once he spotted who Taemin was referring to, it was like fireworks going off in him.
“I wouldn’t say that around him,” he laughed with a wink down to the younger, slapping Taemin’s back. The boy…almost didn’t stumble. “That there is Kim Jaehyun’s son. He transferred here from Seoul. Great kid, best middleweight this city has ever seen. Undefeated in his class.” Hwang shook his head. “Though why’d he leave Seoul to slum it out here beats me. He was in a top university there. Now it’s community college and public transportation. Unfortunate, really. Must’ve been something he didn’t like there.”
Taemin sounded way too desperate when he asked, but there was nothing he could do about it once the question was in the air. “What’s his name?”
“Told all of us he goes by Duke, but you know I’m too old for all that fancy nickname jazz. I prefer the boy’s God given name. Jonghyun.” The coach’s arm lifted from slighter shoulders… so the man could cup his mouth, much to Taemin’s horror.
“Yah, Jonghyun-ah!” he boomed. “Come over here boy, I got somebody I want to introduce you to!”
Jonghyun stopped his dizzying routine, mowing sweat from his forehead with a gloved hand. He leaned casually against the bag sideways with his thick arms crossed, quirking a brow at the coach. “Uh, I think your somebody has a previous engagement, Coach,” he smirked in a loud reply albeit heavy breathing.
“What the-Taemin…?”
The boy wasn’t at his side anymore.
Nothing but a swinging gym door and a couple of giggling aerobics noonas.
*****
Later that night, Taemin still couldn’t figure out why he’d scrammed before the coach could introduce them.
Worst still, why he had been blushing so hard, he had to shield his face with his arm the entire fast-walk home.
Splayed out on his bed, the TV blaring with the week’s anticipated match, the half-naked teen couldn’t help but wonder what kind of vagina he was for doing something so…girly; precisely the kind of ammo grizzlies like Minho needed to lay into him much more thoroughly.
Jonghyun was just another sweaty, meaty ring deity. Sure, one who could hurt him just as much as anyone else could in that gym. And his senior class.
With the odds of him even coming to after a round with that animal being virtually zero.
Still. Just what the fuck was it about “Duke” that made him so special? Why had the prospect of greeting him face to face been so impossible that Taemin was reduced to a rubber chicken awkwardly fleeing its way out of the gym? Its not like Jonghyun would come over to kiss him with a one hitter quitter and besides, once you’ve seen a thousand soaking torsos, you’ve seen them all.
Not like Jonghyun’s.
“Ack!” Taemin jerks his hand out of his boxers, frowning in the shadowed darkness-first in that he’d sounded like a baby pterodactyl, then hissing out a steam of aggravation at the fact that he’d been plucking at his pubes-an old, unwinding habit- conveniently when Jonghyun’s popping pecs flashed in his head.
But as soon as the ripped guy tied his arms behind his head, started grinning and jumping his pecs to the tune of the Rocky theme song in Taemin’s head, Taemin knew it was time to tap out for the night.
He throws ones of his textbooks at the TV to hit the power button a bit too forcefully this time, turning to his side on the creaking mattress. “You were gay as hell for that, Taemin,” he murmurs sleepily into the pillow.
Homo or not, though, he can’t deny that he’s interested in the new guy. His skill and agility, that is. He’d never been exposed to such a magnetic prose and frankly, if he stuck around more avidly these days, he might even able to witness Jonghyun’s power in the ring.
Come to think of it, Taemin didn’t know why he’d stopped visiting the gym lately anyway. Sure beat the hell out of hanging around waiting to get mugged and mauled by Minho and his minions every day. The only firewall he’d face was avoiding them to sneak off, yet there were ways. Tricks up the scrawny loner’s hoodie sleeves that even Minho couldn’t pull a rabbit out of. Taemin really had no reason before now to make use of these “emergency exits” since he didn’t care one way or the other about dealing with his rival gang of five vs one. He had nothing better to do, proving himself a worthy martyr who was tough enough to face them, other than rotting at the computer in the library secretly watching boxing matches.
Home would be ideal…but if only a certain intoxicated father of his were more of a “home” to be around.
Taemin sighs, mentally rolling his eyes.
I gotta find a way to get my fucking iPod back.
Next