Counting down from infinity ; Jaejoong/Changmin
It's been a while since I wrote, and since I'm sick today, I have some extra time on my hands. It's nothing spectacular- I actually wrote this a pretty long while ago, but I tidied it up and edited it today, and well, this is the best I can do when I'm not feeling well.
Title: Counting down from infinity
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Pairing: Jaejoong/Changmin
Disclaimer: The boys do not belong to me. This is also nothing but pure fiction.
Counting down from infinity
Changmin reaches over, removes the cigarette from Jaejoong’s relaxed fingers, and stubs it out against the cold railing of the balcony. Something flickers in Jaejoong's eyes, and then dulls almost instantly. If it was irritation, Changmin will never know. He prefers to pretend that it is gratitude.
"It's bad for you," Changmin says and throws what is left of the cigarette down from their apartment balcony, watching it disappear below them.
"Litter-bug," Jaejoong accuses, turning around, eyes sparkling with the prospect of an argument.
"Only for you," Changmin says, gazing deep into Jaejoong's eyes, and tries not to smirk at the way redness flares onto Jaejoong's cheeks or at the way he escapes back into the apartment, tripping over his own feet and the tangle of possibilities between them.
"I should never have fallen for you," Jaejoong tells him, when he is in the process of heartily delivering one of his monologues, hands gesticulating wildly, and eyes opened wide. "I should never have fallen for someone taller than me, someone smarter than me, someone more mature than me, someone-" He halts here, to draw breath and continues recklessly, "I should have fallen a small, pretty girl, who would make a good wife, who could bear me three kids, and cook and clean for me-"
Changmin never hears the end of this particular speech. All he can picture is how beautiful Jaejoong's children will be, and all he can think of is what he can never in his life give Jaejoong.
Jaejoong's eyes are alive in the photographs Changmin takes.
They glimmer like the ocean during dusk, and Changmin spreads the photographs across the table, until the surface is completely covered by the glossy rectangles. Behind him, Jaejoong breaths- moist, warm, addictive- across the skin of Changmin's nape, and reaches to snatch up a particular photo.
In it, he is leaning backwards, hands poised halfway near his face as though to block out the evening glare of the sun, and his eyes are squinting- Jaejoong rotates the photograph and peers at it, his mouth pursing, Changmin thinks that Jaejoong’s beauty can only be fully captured with one’s own two eyes.
"This song I'm writing," Jaejoong whispers into Changmin's mouth, holding the younger boy pressed against the door of the recording studio, "It's not coming out right."
"Why?" Changmin tilts his head so he can see Jaejoong's eyes.
"I think it's missing a bit of you," Jaejoong's fingers dip into the waistband of Changmin’s pants and Changmin’s heart struggles like a trapped butterfly in his chest, breathless as desire coils inside of him like a rattle-snake. The thing is with Newton’s fucking law and what-the-hell-is-it-called (inertia, that’s what it’s called), is that you always stop too late, and when you try and hit the brakes, you've already been thrown forward (and in Changmin's case, forward, head over heels, to the point of no return).
All the fans know (even though most probably think it's a lie, just for fan-service) because Jaejoong broadcasted it over radio years ago, that he was the one who had stolen Changmin's first kiss. The only part he lied about was how it happened, conveniently leaving out the part where they clutched at each other desperately in the toasty warmth of their van, long limbs tangled together like meant-to-be, fingers threaded through hair, buttons popping like the pitter-patter of the rain falling outside, and the way Jaejoong tasted like the first shower of rain after drought, like the coming of autumn, like first times.
Jaejoong is Changmin's first love.
Changmin estimates that he is probably Jaejoong's third or fourth, but one can never be entirely sure, yet he knows that he will never ask.
Those two long years that stretches between them, he thinks. Changmin gnaws on the cap of his pen as he struggles over half a page of mediocre lyrics about love. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Him, writing about love, of all things, especially since when it came to love, he is nothing but an amateur.
When Jaejoong finds the lyrics an hour later, eyes running across the bitter, solitary lines, his brow furrows, and without asking permission, throws the page into the bin before he loops an arm around Changmin's neck and pushes him back against the revolving chair with resolve.
Jaejoong is good at this: good at making Changmin feel like he's twelve again, good at making him tremble inside his own skin, good at-
Changmin, with the use of his tongue, discovers the depths of Jaejoong's heart- traces the lines of his teeth and the inside of his mouth, tastes a mix of nicotine, lemonade and toothpaste, and gives himself the privilege of releasing a guttural moan of satisfaction. He realises only too late that the door is still open, and hears Junsu's distressed squeak before he finds enough strength in his arms to push the older boy away.
"I'm going to shower," Jaejoong looks over his shoulder, eyes dark and shuttered. "Are you coming?"
Jaejoong steals Changmin's breath and his heart when he emerges from the changing room dressed top to toe in white. His black hair grazes his collarbone (and Changmin wants to lick the buttermilk skin between his throat and shoulders, lick the spot where the ends of his hair curls inwards, grazing his skin) and Jaejoong looks down at his outfit, brushing away small ripples in the fabric and for some strange reason Changmin is reminded the first time he surrendered to Jaejoong (Jaejoong's bleached blond hair dripping beads of water, and skin slippery from a recent shower, and the wicked smile that curved his lips) and he knows that if he blurts out three very stupid words, it won't be his fault because Jaejoong, he’s so damn beautiful.
Jaejoong's fingers find the parts of Changmin’s body that he doesn't even knows exist, and wrenches sobs and keens and gasps from him mercilessly (please, yes, do that, oh my God), and leaves obscene looking bruises- the angry imprints of palms and fingers that spell possession- on his hips, shoulders, wrists, testimony of a night of passion, that the stylist purses her lips at, and gives him a lecture about making her job difficult.
Across the room, with his arms crossed, Jaejoong grins.
Changmin mouths something vulgar at Jaejoong, making the stylist squawk angrily in indignation before storming off to locate something she could use to hide those nasty marks.
"Hyung," Changmin says, hands clasping Jaejoong's shoulders, completely helpless against the urgent fall of tears and quiet sobs. "Hyung," he whispers. "It'll be alright." Jaejoong blinks at him, and his make-up is running. His tears leave grey tracks on his skin. Changmin gives himself up to endless exhaustion, envelopes Jaejoong with an embrace and tells him, "Cry, it’s alright, cry." He means cry, my love, and I’ll cry with you.
"I hate your lyrics," Jaejoong tells him, picks up a pen and starts editing out all the parts about him.
There are a few parts in this that I'm still not quite satisfied with, but since I don't plan on ever editing it again, here it is. Feedback would be, as always, appreciated.
MASTERLIST OF FICS HERE
Title: Counting down from infinity
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Pairing: Jaejoong/Changmin
Disclaimer: The boys do not belong to me. This is also nothing but pure fiction.
Counting down from infinity
Changmin reaches over, removes the cigarette from Jaejoong’s relaxed fingers, and stubs it out against the cold railing of the balcony. Something flickers in Jaejoong's eyes, and then dulls almost instantly. If it was irritation, Changmin will never know. He prefers to pretend that it is gratitude.
"It's bad for you," Changmin says and throws what is left of the cigarette down from their apartment balcony, watching it disappear below them.
"Litter-bug," Jaejoong accuses, turning around, eyes sparkling with the prospect of an argument.
"Only for you," Changmin says, gazing deep into Jaejoong's eyes, and tries not to smirk at the way redness flares onto Jaejoong's cheeks or at the way he escapes back into the apartment, tripping over his own feet and the tangle of possibilities between them.
"I should never have fallen for you," Jaejoong tells him, when he is in the process of heartily delivering one of his monologues, hands gesticulating wildly, and eyes opened wide. "I should never have fallen for someone taller than me, someone smarter than me, someone more mature than me, someone-" He halts here, to draw breath and continues recklessly, "I should have fallen a small, pretty girl, who would make a good wife, who could bear me three kids, and cook and clean for me-"
Changmin never hears the end of this particular speech. All he can picture is how beautiful Jaejoong's children will be, and all he can think of is what he can never in his life give Jaejoong.
Jaejoong's eyes are alive in the photographs Changmin takes.
They glimmer like the ocean during dusk, and Changmin spreads the photographs across the table, until the surface is completely covered by the glossy rectangles. Behind him, Jaejoong breaths- moist, warm, addictive- across the skin of Changmin's nape, and reaches to snatch up a particular photo.
In it, he is leaning backwards, hands poised halfway near his face as though to block out the evening glare of the sun, and his eyes are squinting- Jaejoong rotates the photograph and peers at it, his mouth pursing, Changmin thinks that Jaejoong’s beauty can only be fully captured with one’s own two eyes.
"This song I'm writing," Jaejoong whispers into Changmin's mouth, holding the younger boy pressed against the door of the recording studio, "It's not coming out right."
"Why?" Changmin tilts his head so he can see Jaejoong's eyes.
"I think it's missing a bit of you," Jaejoong's fingers dip into the waistband of Changmin’s pants and Changmin’s heart struggles like a trapped butterfly in his chest, breathless as desire coils inside of him like a rattle-snake. The thing is with Newton’s fucking law and what-the-hell-is-it-called (inertia, that’s what it’s called), is that you always stop too late, and when you try and hit the brakes, you've already been thrown forward (and in Changmin's case, forward, head over heels, to the point of no return).
All the fans know (even though most probably think it's a lie, just for fan-service) because Jaejoong broadcasted it over radio years ago, that he was the one who had stolen Changmin's first kiss. The only part he lied about was how it happened, conveniently leaving out the part where they clutched at each other desperately in the toasty warmth of their van, long limbs tangled together like meant-to-be, fingers threaded through hair, buttons popping like the pitter-patter of the rain falling outside, and the way Jaejoong tasted like the first shower of rain after drought, like the coming of autumn, like first times.
Jaejoong is Changmin's first love.
Changmin estimates that he is probably Jaejoong's third or fourth, but one can never be entirely sure, yet he knows that he will never ask.
Those two long years that stretches between them, he thinks. Changmin gnaws on the cap of his pen as he struggles over half a page of mediocre lyrics about love. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Him, writing about love, of all things, especially since when it came to love, he is nothing but an amateur.
When Jaejoong finds the lyrics an hour later, eyes running across the bitter, solitary lines, his brow furrows, and without asking permission, throws the page into the bin before he loops an arm around Changmin's neck and pushes him back against the revolving chair with resolve.
Jaejoong is good at this: good at making Changmin feel like he's twelve again, good at making him tremble inside his own skin, good at-
Changmin, with the use of his tongue, discovers the depths of Jaejoong's heart- traces the lines of his teeth and the inside of his mouth, tastes a mix of nicotine, lemonade and toothpaste, and gives himself the privilege of releasing a guttural moan of satisfaction. He realises only too late that the door is still open, and hears Junsu's distressed squeak before he finds enough strength in his arms to push the older boy away.
"I'm going to shower," Jaejoong looks over his shoulder, eyes dark and shuttered. "Are you coming?"
Jaejoong steals Changmin's breath and his heart when he emerges from the changing room dressed top to toe in white. His black hair grazes his collarbone (and Changmin wants to lick the buttermilk skin between his throat and shoulders, lick the spot where the ends of his hair curls inwards, grazing his skin) and Jaejoong looks down at his outfit, brushing away small ripples in the fabric and for some strange reason Changmin is reminded the first time he surrendered to Jaejoong (Jaejoong's bleached blond hair dripping beads of water, and skin slippery from a recent shower, and the wicked smile that curved his lips) and he knows that if he blurts out three very stupid words, it won't be his fault because Jaejoong, he’s so damn beautiful.
Jaejoong's fingers find the parts of Changmin’s body that he doesn't even knows exist, and wrenches sobs and keens and gasps from him mercilessly (please, yes, do that, oh my God), and leaves obscene looking bruises- the angry imprints of palms and fingers that spell possession- on his hips, shoulders, wrists, testimony of a night of passion, that the stylist purses her lips at, and gives him a lecture about making her job difficult.
Across the room, with his arms crossed, Jaejoong grins.
Changmin mouths something vulgar at Jaejoong, making the stylist squawk angrily in indignation before storming off to locate something she could use to hide those nasty marks.
"Hyung," Changmin says, hands clasping Jaejoong's shoulders, completely helpless against the urgent fall of tears and quiet sobs. "Hyung," he whispers. "It'll be alright." Jaejoong blinks at him, and his make-up is running. His tears leave grey tracks on his skin. Changmin gives himself up to endless exhaustion, envelopes Jaejoong with an embrace and tells him, "Cry, it’s alright, cry." He means cry, my love, and I’ll cry with you.
"I hate your lyrics," Jaejoong tells him, picks up a pen and starts editing out all the parts about him.
There are a few parts in this that I'm still not quite satisfied with, but since I don't plan on ever editing it again, here it is. Feedback would be, as always, appreciated.
MASTERLIST OF FICS HERE