sticks and stones
sticks and stones (are never gonna shake me)
yunchun, jaemin, hyuksu, jaejoong-centric, bonus!2PM
6 drabbles
~200-500 words each
Various drabbles for kpopficwangst, written over the course of the past couple months. Figured I post them, since it seems to be gone for good.
7.0(?) Yunchun, untitled
based on this picture
Yunho smokes just outside a backdoor of the studio lot, sitting on the lip of a loading zone drop-off. The cigarette’s pinched between thumb and forefinger, brought to his lips for a harsh drag. The air slides smooth down his throat ‘til it hits his lungs, gathering heat and pressure and he’s forced to let it go. Let it sail back up, caress the roof his mouth and roll off his tongue, hiss out into the open air.
But there’s a slight wind, just enough to blow the smoke back into his face. He almost coughs - he hates the smell of smoke. Like most things, hold it close to you and it’s beautiful and yours, but let it go, the moment’s over and it’s ugly and rank and never quite perfect.
The door opens behind him and he doesn’t look back, knowing it’s probably one of the staff come to get him. He’s pleasantly surprised when Yoochun sits down beside him, digging his hands deep in his pockets.
“You shouldn’t stress so much,” he says chidingly, staring sideways at Yunho.
Yunho takes another drag in answer. He’s not in the mood for admonition.
Yoochun nods in understanding, changing the subject. “Who’d you bum the cigarette from? None of the staff would give you one.”
Yunho reaches into his own pocket and pulls out a whole pack, shaking it lightly. “Took it out of Jaejoong’s bag.”
“He’ll be pissed.”
“He’ll get over it. Want one?” he adds, leaning his whole body into the offer.
Yoochun smirks and fishes one out, curling his lips around it even as Yunho pulls his lighter out. They work in tandem, Yoochun’s hand raised to keep safe the spark that Yunho clicks into existence.
They smoke the cigs down to the filter, Yoochun flicking his away and Yunho twisting his underfoot when they’re done.
“We should go in,” he says, standing. His legs are numb from where the cold of the concrete had seeped through his thin jeans. “They’ll probably be upset with me.”
Yoochun laughs his concerns away. “Nah. Hairspray will cover up the smell.”
He shakes his head. “You’ve done this too much.”
“Probably.” And as they walk away he slings his arm over Yunho’s shoulder, a playful motion that has them both smiling and hurrying back in. It’s not the same, but it’s still easier to breathe.
7.0(?) Jaemin, Bent
for prompt!anon. i said 'jaemin', he/she said 'surfers'
The radio alarm goes off at four in the morning, tuned to the surfer's weather watch report. Changmin slips out of sleep somewhere in between the words 'swell' and 'sunrise' and his dream-vivid mind already sees the bluebird, the white spray of the breakline.
He’s at the beach by five, a stretch of parking lot where the surfer’s gather every weekend morning. He parks in the spot he always parks in, hauling his board off the roof-rack and rubbing the wax warm between his hands. He’s got it half-done when a dusty jeep swings up beside him.
Jaejoong hops out without even using the door, and Changmin rolls his eyes. “You’re early,” he says off-handedly.
“Heard the report, figured you would be out here, too.” Jaejoong is the lifeguard that patrols on the morning, but everyone knows he never does anything but hit on the surfers. It’s a running joke, and it’s not like he’s never had to do any real life-saving - it’s a local beach, and everyone that comes knows what they’re doing.
Jaejoong comes and leans against Changmin’s car, propping his arms up against the open trunk door so that if Changmin looks up he’ll be face-to-face Jaejoong’s rather defined biceps. Changmin doesn’t look up.
“Go do your job,” he says curtly, examining his board a little bit closer.
Jaejoong laughs. “I already am. I’m watching very carefully.”
“Tch. That was the worst one yet, I think.”
“That bad, huh?” Jaejoong sighs.
Changmin looks up. He sees the coil of muscle, the slow curl of a smile, and pretends like he isn’t completely bent.
***
(non-kpfw sequel)
Jaejoong has a little building that he calls an office. It’s less of a building and more of a hut-on-stilts that rises a few feet out of the sand, but it’s got a damn fine view and he can’t complain. The beach curves in a slow arch, peppered sand that sinks into the pale green hues of water. About ten meters out the pack of surfers sit like birds on the water, bobbing on the flat. They’ll wait for a long time for the perfect curl, Jaejoong knows. Might be another hour or so before it really picks up, but they don’t care.
Jaejoong watches as a wave rolls in, a dot of a man and board he thinks looks familiar, paddling hard and getting his feet, only to get rag dolled a few seconds later. He sits up, waits for a sign of him surfacing - and there, small black head of hair, shaking and climbing back onto his board.
He shakes his head, and looks down, tweaking the strings of his guitar. He plays absently, singing idly, because it’s something to do to pass the time. Jaejoong loves the job, but it gets boring when all the boarders are out and he’s got no one to talk to or look at.
“Do you ever do your job?”
Jaejoong jumps, nearly falling out of his fold-up chair in surprise. He looks down and Changmin’s grinning up at him, board planted in the sand, wetsuit stripped down around his waist.
“When did you come in?” Jaejoong asks.
“Just a minute ago,” the other man shrugs. Jaejoong feels bad, less because he wasn’t paying attention and more because it was probably Changmin that got blasted.
“Bad wipe-out?” he asks. Normally Changmin wouldn’t be in ‘til afternoon, and it’s only mid-morning.
“Yah. Water in my ear,” he grimaces. He shakes his head, wet hair flying about his face, and when he’s done it stays a lion’s mane around his face, sticking up at all angles. Jaejoong thinks he looks adorably hot. “Got a dropper?”
Jaejoong knows they don’t have one in the med-kit, but that doesn’t stop his mouth from answering, “Sure.” He turns and starts fishing through the kit, only to realize half-way through what he knew from the beginning.
He turns back around. “Uh, I don’t see it here. Someone must have, uh, lost it.”
Changmin shrugs and doesn’t seem to notice his awkward. “Alright. I’ll do it later.” Then he sits down on the ground, looking out over the stretch of sand. Jaejoong leans over the wooden railing, his arms crossed over its edge, and eyes Changmin’s stretch of skin. He licks his lips; that’s one damn clean set, for sure.
“You’re not gonna chuck, are you?” Jaejoong asks.
Changmin looks over his shoulder skeptically. “What’s it to you?”
Jaejoong just keeps staring, letting a smile grow over his face.
Changmin bristles at it. “I’m not over it, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll head out as soon as the waves pick up and I'm less likely to get hammered.”
Jaejoong gives him his best leer. “I’d say you aren’t much safer here. Catch my drift?”
The younger man scoffs. “I think I’ll catch a lot more if I take you up on that.”
“Ouch, that’s twice today, Changmin,” he chuckles.
“Maybe if you weren’t so lame,” he says sharply, “I wouldn’t have to shoot you down.”
“Does that mean you wouldn’t shoot me down if I weren’t so 'lame'?”
Changmin rolls his shoulders, stretching his arms out behind him, bracing himself even as he twists more to face Jaejoong. He gives him a long, lingering look - before turning away quickly. “In your dreams,” he says lightly.
But Jaejoong only laughs; he’d seen that blush. Changmin can slam him as much as he wants, but Jaejoong isn’t bailing anytime soon.
9.0 Hyuksu, The Shortest Distance
for the amazing 15-min challenges... but i don't remember the prompt, lol. it was round three, i believe.
“So, how is it?” Hyukjae drawls, trying to sound nonchalant. He’s laid out on his bed, staring at the ceiling and counting the little dark pencil-points put there by god-knows-who.
“I like it,” Junsu says. His voice always sounds different over the phone - deeper, smooth, like he’s cool or something like that. Everyone knows Junsu isn’t cool at all.
He sticks his pinky in his ear as Junsu rattles on about Japan and their new apartment and manager and language lessons, rolling his eyes as if the other boy could see him. “Yeah,” he says at the right spots. “Uh-huh.”
“You’re not listening,” Junsu finally catches on. “You asshole.”
“You’re the asshole. Why are you calling me now? Just because you’re in a different country doesn’t mean you can call me when it’s the middle of the night here.”
“Japan and Korea are in the same time zone, shithead.”
“You’re the shithead,” he mumbles, scowling even harder when Junsu’s obnoxious laughter filters through the line, ten times more annoying than usual. “Seriously, stop calling me. Didn’t you say you liked it there?”
“Yah, I shouldn’t even bother. And of course I’m happy to be in Japan - I’m finally far away enough to get away from the smell of your feet.”
“And now that you’re there I don’t have to see your ugly face on every other billboard.”
“It’s called being famous, try it some time.”
“Ass.”
“Jerk. Hang up.”
“No you hang up.”
“I hate-”
The line disconnects. Hyukjae stares at it wide-eyed, not believing that Junsu actually hung up. Then he convinces himself it doesn’t bother him - even after Junsu calls back and apologizes, claiming a bad connection, claiming distance and oh-sorry-I-have-to-go-anyway-goodbye. Even then, it doesn’t bother him. Not at all.
9.0 Jaejoong-centric, Take Me On The Floor
round four; the prompt was, naturally, The Veronica's 'Take Me On The Floor'. Wasn't too happy with this one, but there's only so much you can do in 15 minutes.
Jaejoong kisses a neck and doesn’t know who the pulse belongs to. It’s a rush-heavy-hot dance and he’s got his eyes closed, and it’s probably someone he knows. He hopes it’s someone knows, but then the song goes into the hook of a boom-boom-bass and the man dancing with him dips-drops-grinds and jesus-fucking-christ, he can’t even think.
His head rolls on the shoulder, away from the beaded stretch of skin, and he lets his eyes flutter into something like open. He’s drunk and it’s hard to tell if it’s really his eyelids that are obscuring the view. Lights flash and streak and dot and what the fuck is he even thinking but-
oh. oh-oh-ohkay. Lips are pressing against his, moving across his face, like they’re trying to work the feeling into those numb cheeks of his. He tries to catch a glimpse of him, the owner of those lips but they land on his eyelids, smearing eyeliner and glitter.
He gets the message - he laughs with his mouth open and his eyes closed and goddamn, the world spins, colors weaving in between and around and over him and it’s like he can feel each laserlight on his skin - but no, that’s fingers-fearlessness-fuck
He’s so far gone he doesn’t even care if anyone seeing him. He got in this club unrecognized, and it’s late enough that no one is seeing anything, not right, anyway. Tomorrow some girl or guy will tell someone, hey, last night I saw a guy that looked like Yoongwoong Jaejoong and Kim Jaejoong will tell himself hey, last night Yoongwoong Jaejoong touched a man he shouldn’t have-
9.0 Hyuksu, The Shortest Distance
picture prompt, w/ the accompanying text: "I had gay sex at church camp... three times."
The first time they call it an accident. And it doesn’t really count as sex, not really. Hyukjae is masturbating in the top bunk, trying to be as quiet and unnoticeable as possible. He sneaks a peek down to Junsu , his bunkmate - only to spot the other boy doing the exact same thing. The masturbating part, that is. The trying to be quiet and unnoticeable not so much - Hyukaje thinks that kid couldn’t shut up even if he wanted to.
Hyukjae only didn’t notice sooner because he was… preoccupied. And he tries to ignore the other boy as much as possible, anyway. They’d been assigned the same bunk despite being obvious mortal enemies, but hey, sometimes adults were really stupid.
But when Hyukjae spots Junsu stroking something other than the nightly camp fire, he can’t help but intrigued.
“Hey, Kim.”
Junsu freezes, realizing he’s got an audience. “What the fuck?” he hisses.
“Bet I can last longer.” Hyukjae smiles a shit eating grin that he’s not sure Junsu can see, but the other boy answers with a smile that’s all challenge and reflected moonlight and evil.
So it begins.
The second time is definitely not an accident. Kind of. Junsu walks into the communal shower when it’s only Hyukjae and says, “Huh. No wonder you didn’t last, look at the size of that thing.”
The second time also doesn’t really count as sex. Kind of. Rutting against each other while you’re kissing and/or trying to bite each other’s face off doesn’t- shouldn’t really count. But when they finish together and Junsu wobbles, Hyukjae presses flush against him, pinning him upright to the wall.
Junsu flashes him a weak grin and says “thanks” like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back against the wet tile. He shuts up. Hyukjae thinks he’s in love.
The third time, well. The third time is the night before they leave, and it definitely counts. They had been captains of the camp mutual masturbation club for a while, but this is the last night, the last chance, and Junsu steals some lotion from one of the girls’ tents and fucks Hyukjae something kind of awful. But it’s just what he wanted and when they lay in the afterglow Junsu leans over his back and traces random words on Hyukjae’s back. He writes something they learned in the bible study class and for the first time Hyukjae really remembers that this is a church camp.
Oh well. He came for the rock-climbing, anyway.
And it isn’t until his parents pick him up and he shrugs a goodbye to Junsu and all the other hundred kids at camp that he feels a little remorseful. He feels it right up until the moment he gets home and gets out of the shower and spots his reflection in the mirror - and the number Junsu drew in permanent, unwashable marker on his back. Along with a penis, and a bunch of other nasty words.
“Fucker,” he laughs. And then writes the number down in the mirror-fog, so it’ll stay safe and hidden forever.
and Bonus!2PM
10.0 Jay-centric, untitled
another 15-min, don't remember the prompt but for some reason it inspired 2PM fic. never written them nor probably ever will again, but hey, inspiration is inspiration ;)
There is no reason why he is here. He tries to explain it. He blows breath-warm air onto the cold glass and traces all the words he can think of-
shame. failure. dreams. sleep
-but none of them stay long enough to mean anything. The white misty spot shrinks, a small circle growing smaller and smaller and that’s all folks. He used to do this with his friends in elementary school. Rainy days spent indoors and they race to see who could right the most dirty words in the windows before they’d start to disappear - or the teacher caught him.
He wonders if the janitors ever came by after school, ever sprayed the windows and saw those scrawls of vulgarity. Wonders if they shook their head and laughed because -hell, kids these days. He’d never gotten caught, that was for sure.
gay. fuck. sick of i-
-the letters disappear, like they were never there. It takes a long time for it to stop raining in Seattle. Sometimes it feels like it will never stop.
started writing: dec'09
finished writing: feb'10
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I had lot's of fun writing these, esp. the Hyuksu :D I'm still sad that everyone's originals/wips/15-min challenges were lost... so hopefully someone can enjoy these again, at least. I have one more batch (that were all connected, so I'll probably post them together eventually), but for now - au revoir, anons! ♥ It was good times while it lasted.
yunchun, jaemin, hyuksu, jaejoong-centric, bonus!2PM
6 drabbles
~200-500 words each
Various drabbles for kpopficwangst, written over the course of the past couple months. Figured I post them, since it seems to be gone for good.
7.0(?) Yunchun, untitled
based on this picture
Yunho smokes just outside a backdoor of the studio lot, sitting on the lip of a loading zone drop-off. The cigarette’s pinched between thumb and forefinger, brought to his lips for a harsh drag. The air slides smooth down his throat ‘til it hits his lungs, gathering heat and pressure and he’s forced to let it go. Let it sail back up, caress the roof his mouth and roll off his tongue, hiss out into the open air.
But there’s a slight wind, just enough to blow the smoke back into his face. He almost coughs - he hates the smell of smoke. Like most things, hold it close to you and it’s beautiful and yours, but let it go, the moment’s over and it’s ugly and rank and never quite perfect.
The door opens behind him and he doesn’t look back, knowing it’s probably one of the staff come to get him. He’s pleasantly surprised when Yoochun sits down beside him, digging his hands deep in his pockets.
“You shouldn’t stress so much,” he says chidingly, staring sideways at Yunho.
Yunho takes another drag in answer. He’s not in the mood for admonition.
Yoochun nods in understanding, changing the subject. “Who’d you bum the cigarette from? None of the staff would give you one.”
Yunho reaches into his own pocket and pulls out a whole pack, shaking it lightly. “Took it out of Jaejoong’s bag.”
“He’ll be pissed.”
“He’ll get over it. Want one?” he adds, leaning his whole body into the offer.
Yoochun smirks and fishes one out, curling his lips around it even as Yunho pulls his lighter out. They work in tandem, Yoochun’s hand raised to keep safe the spark that Yunho clicks into existence.
They smoke the cigs down to the filter, Yoochun flicking his away and Yunho twisting his underfoot when they’re done.
“We should go in,” he says, standing. His legs are numb from where the cold of the concrete had seeped through his thin jeans. “They’ll probably be upset with me.”
Yoochun laughs his concerns away. “Nah. Hairspray will cover up the smell.”
He shakes his head. “You’ve done this too much.”
“Probably.” And as they walk away he slings his arm over Yunho’s shoulder, a playful motion that has them both smiling and hurrying back in. It’s not the same, but it’s still easier to breathe.
7.0(?) Jaemin, Bent
for prompt!anon. i said 'jaemin', he/she said 'surfers'
The radio alarm goes off at four in the morning, tuned to the surfer's weather watch report. Changmin slips out of sleep somewhere in between the words 'swell' and 'sunrise' and his dream-vivid mind already sees the bluebird, the white spray of the breakline.
He’s at the beach by five, a stretch of parking lot where the surfer’s gather every weekend morning. He parks in the spot he always parks in, hauling his board off the roof-rack and rubbing the wax warm between his hands. He’s got it half-done when a dusty jeep swings up beside him.
Jaejoong hops out without even using the door, and Changmin rolls his eyes. “You’re early,” he says off-handedly.
“Heard the report, figured you would be out here, too.” Jaejoong is the lifeguard that patrols on the morning, but everyone knows he never does anything but hit on the surfers. It’s a running joke, and it’s not like he’s never had to do any real life-saving - it’s a local beach, and everyone that comes knows what they’re doing.
Jaejoong comes and leans against Changmin’s car, propping his arms up against the open trunk door so that if Changmin looks up he’ll be face-to-face Jaejoong’s rather defined biceps. Changmin doesn’t look up.
“Go do your job,” he says curtly, examining his board a little bit closer.
Jaejoong laughs. “I already am. I’m watching very carefully.”
“Tch. That was the worst one yet, I think.”
“That bad, huh?” Jaejoong sighs.
Changmin looks up. He sees the coil of muscle, the slow curl of a smile, and pretends like he isn’t completely bent.
***
(non-kpfw sequel)
Jaejoong has a little building that he calls an office. It’s less of a building and more of a hut-on-stilts that rises a few feet out of the sand, but it’s got a damn fine view and he can’t complain. The beach curves in a slow arch, peppered sand that sinks into the pale green hues of water. About ten meters out the pack of surfers sit like birds on the water, bobbing on the flat. They’ll wait for a long time for the perfect curl, Jaejoong knows. Might be another hour or so before it really picks up, but they don’t care.
Jaejoong watches as a wave rolls in, a dot of a man and board he thinks looks familiar, paddling hard and getting his feet, only to get rag dolled a few seconds later. He sits up, waits for a sign of him surfacing - and there, small black head of hair, shaking and climbing back onto his board.
He shakes his head, and looks down, tweaking the strings of his guitar. He plays absently, singing idly, because it’s something to do to pass the time. Jaejoong loves the job, but it gets boring when all the boarders are out and he’s got no one to talk to or look at.
“Do you ever do your job?”
Jaejoong jumps, nearly falling out of his fold-up chair in surprise. He looks down and Changmin’s grinning up at him, board planted in the sand, wetsuit stripped down around his waist.
“When did you come in?” Jaejoong asks.
“Just a minute ago,” the other man shrugs. Jaejoong feels bad, less because he wasn’t paying attention and more because it was probably Changmin that got blasted.
“Bad wipe-out?” he asks. Normally Changmin wouldn’t be in ‘til afternoon, and it’s only mid-morning.
“Yah. Water in my ear,” he grimaces. He shakes his head, wet hair flying about his face, and when he’s done it stays a lion’s mane around his face, sticking up at all angles. Jaejoong thinks he looks adorably hot. “Got a dropper?”
Jaejoong knows they don’t have one in the med-kit, but that doesn’t stop his mouth from answering, “Sure.” He turns and starts fishing through the kit, only to realize half-way through what he knew from the beginning.
He turns back around. “Uh, I don’t see it here. Someone must have, uh, lost it.”
Changmin shrugs and doesn’t seem to notice his awkward. “Alright. I’ll do it later.” Then he sits down on the ground, looking out over the stretch of sand. Jaejoong leans over the wooden railing, his arms crossed over its edge, and eyes Changmin’s stretch of skin. He licks his lips; that’s one damn clean set, for sure.
“You’re not gonna chuck, are you?” Jaejoong asks.
Changmin looks over his shoulder skeptically. “What’s it to you?”
Jaejoong just keeps staring, letting a smile grow over his face.
Changmin bristles at it. “I’m not over it, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll head out as soon as the waves pick up and I'm less likely to get hammered.”
Jaejoong gives him his best leer. “I’d say you aren’t much safer here. Catch my drift?”
The younger man scoffs. “I think I’ll catch a lot more if I take you up on that.”
“Ouch, that’s twice today, Changmin,” he chuckles.
“Maybe if you weren’t so lame,” he says sharply, “I wouldn’t have to shoot you down.”
“Does that mean you wouldn’t shoot me down if I weren’t so 'lame'?”
Changmin rolls his shoulders, stretching his arms out behind him, bracing himself even as he twists more to face Jaejoong. He gives him a long, lingering look - before turning away quickly. “In your dreams,” he says lightly.
But Jaejoong only laughs; he’d seen that blush. Changmin can slam him as much as he wants, but Jaejoong isn’t bailing anytime soon.
9.0 Hyuksu, The Shortest Distance
for the amazing 15-min challenges... but i don't remember the prompt, lol. it was round three, i believe.
“So, how is it?” Hyukjae drawls, trying to sound nonchalant. He’s laid out on his bed, staring at the ceiling and counting the little dark pencil-points put there by god-knows-who.
“I like it,” Junsu says. His voice always sounds different over the phone - deeper, smooth, like he’s cool or something like that. Everyone knows Junsu isn’t cool at all.
He sticks his pinky in his ear as Junsu rattles on about Japan and their new apartment and manager and language lessons, rolling his eyes as if the other boy could see him. “Yeah,” he says at the right spots. “Uh-huh.”
“You’re not listening,” Junsu finally catches on. “You asshole.”
“You’re the asshole. Why are you calling me now? Just because you’re in a different country doesn’t mean you can call me when it’s the middle of the night here.”
“Japan and Korea are in the same time zone, shithead.”
“You’re the shithead,” he mumbles, scowling even harder when Junsu’s obnoxious laughter filters through the line, ten times more annoying than usual. “Seriously, stop calling me. Didn’t you say you liked it there?”
“Yah, I shouldn’t even bother. And of course I’m happy to be in Japan - I’m finally far away enough to get away from the smell of your feet.”
“And now that you’re there I don’t have to see your ugly face on every other billboard.”
“It’s called being famous, try it some time.”
“Ass.”
“Jerk. Hang up.”
“No you hang up.”
“I hate-”
The line disconnects. Hyukjae stares at it wide-eyed, not believing that Junsu actually hung up. Then he convinces himself it doesn’t bother him - even after Junsu calls back and apologizes, claiming a bad connection, claiming distance and oh-sorry-I-have-to-go-anyway-goodbye. Even then, it doesn’t bother him. Not at all.
9.0 Jaejoong-centric, Take Me On The Floor
round four; the prompt was, naturally, The Veronica's 'Take Me On The Floor'. Wasn't too happy with this one, but there's only so much you can do in 15 minutes.
Jaejoong kisses a neck and doesn’t know who the pulse belongs to. It’s a rush-heavy-hot dance and he’s got his eyes closed, and it’s probably someone he knows. He hopes it’s someone knows, but then the song goes into the hook of a boom-boom-bass and the man dancing with him dips-drops-grinds and jesus-fucking-christ, he can’t even think.
His head rolls on the shoulder, away from the beaded stretch of skin, and he lets his eyes flutter into something like open. He’s drunk and it’s hard to tell if it’s really his eyelids that are obscuring the view. Lights flash and streak and dot and what the fuck is he even thinking but-
oh. oh-oh-ohkay. Lips are pressing against his, moving across his face, like they’re trying to work the feeling into those numb cheeks of his. He tries to catch a glimpse of him, the owner of those lips but they land on his eyelids, smearing eyeliner and glitter.
He gets the message - he laughs with his mouth open and his eyes closed and goddamn, the world spins, colors weaving in between and around and over him and it’s like he can feel each laserlight on his skin - but no, that’s fingers-fearlessness-fuck
He’s so far gone he doesn’t even care if anyone seeing him. He got in this club unrecognized, and it’s late enough that no one is seeing anything, not right, anyway. Tomorrow some girl or guy will tell someone, hey, last night I saw a guy that looked like Yoongwoong Jaejoong and Kim Jaejoong will tell himself hey, last night Yoongwoong Jaejoong touched a man he shouldn’t have-
9.0 Hyuksu, The Shortest Distance
picture prompt, w/ the accompanying text: "I had gay sex at church camp... three times."
The first time they call it an accident. And it doesn’t really count as sex, not really. Hyukjae is masturbating in the top bunk, trying to be as quiet and unnoticeable as possible. He sneaks a peek down to Junsu , his bunkmate - only to spot the other boy doing the exact same thing. The masturbating part, that is. The trying to be quiet and unnoticeable not so much - Hyukaje thinks that kid couldn’t shut up even if he wanted to.
Hyukjae only didn’t notice sooner because he was… preoccupied. And he tries to ignore the other boy as much as possible, anyway. They’d been assigned the same bunk despite being obvious mortal enemies, but hey, sometimes adults were really stupid.
But when Hyukjae spots Junsu stroking something other than the nightly camp fire, he can’t help but intrigued.
“Hey, Kim.”
Junsu freezes, realizing he’s got an audience. “What the fuck?” he hisses.
“Bet I can last longer.” Hyukjae smiles a shit eating grin that he’s not sure Junsu can see, but the other boy answers with a smile that’s all challenge and reflected moonlight and evil.
So it begins.
The second time is definitely not an accident. Kind of. Junsu walks into the communal shower when it’s only Hyukjae and says, “Huh. No wonder you didn’t last, look at the size of that thing.”
The second time also doesn’t really count as sex. Kind of. Rutting against each other while you’re kissing and/or trying to bite each other’s face off doesn’t- shouldn’t really count. But when they finish together and Junsu wobbles, Hyukjae presses flush against him, pinning him upright to the wall.
Junsu flashes him a weak grin and says “thanks” like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back against the wet tile. He shuts up. Hyukjae thinks he’s in love.
The third time, well. The third time is the night before they leave, and it definitely counts. They had been captains of the camp mutual masturbation club for a while, but this is the last night, the last chance, and Junsu steals some lotion from one of the girls’ tents and fucks Hyukjae something kind of awful. But it’s just what he wanted and when they lay in the afterglow Junsu leans over his back and traces random words on Hyukjae’s back. He writes something they learned in the bible study class and for the first time Hyukjae really remembers that this is a church camp.
Oh well. He came for the rock-climbing, anyway.
And it isn’t until his parents pick him up and he shrugs a goodbye to Junsu and all the other hundred kids at camp that he feels a little remorseful. He feels it right up until the moment he gets home and gets out of the shower and spots his reflection in the mirror - and the number Junsu drew in permanent, unwashable marker on his back. Along with a penis, and a bunch of other nasty words.
“Fucker,” he laughs. And then writes the number down in the mirror-fog, so it’ll stay safe and hidden forever.
and Bonus!2PM
10.0 Jay-centric, untitled
another 15-min, don't remember the prompt but for some reason it inspired 2PM fic. never written them nor probably ever will again, but hey, inspiration is inspiration ;)
There is no reason why he is here. He tries to explain it. He blows breath-warm air onto the cold glass and traces all the words he can think of-
shame. failure. dreams. sleep
-but none of them stay long enough to mean anything. The white misty spot shrinks, a small circle growing smaller and smaller and that’s all folks. He used to do this with his friends in elementary school. Rainy days spent indoors and they race to see who could right the most dirty words in the windows before they’d start to disappear - or the teacher caught him.
He wonders if the janitors ever came by after school, ever sprayed the windows and saw those scrawls of vulgarity. Wonders if they shook their head and laughed because -hell, kids these days. He’d never gotten caught, that was for sure.
gay. fuck. sick of i-
-the letters disappear, like they were never there. It takes a long time for it to stop raining in Seattle. Sometimes it feels like it will never stop.
started writing: dec'09
finished writing: feb'10
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I had lot's of fun writing these, esp. the Hyuksu :D I'm still sad that everyone's originals/wips/15-min challenges were lost... so hopefully someone can enjoy these again, at least. I have one more batch (that were all connected, so I'll probably post them together eventually), but for now - au revoir, anons! ♥ It was good times while it lasted.