Drabbles [Jaesu, Jaemin, Yoomin]
three drabbles written on msn for sunev789 . ♥
silence | jaesu | romance [g]
jaejoong fights sleep to the last, dying breath of a song. it’s junsu. (“it’s junsu,” yoochun had murmured earlier. “something’s weird, jaejoong.”) he’s been serenading himself in the dark, when he thinks he’s alone and he doesn’t know that jaejoong sometimes sits outside his door, leans his head against the wall, listens to him breathe.
“good night world,” he says, and that’s nothing new - jaejoong waits each night for those farewell words, revels in the innocent way junsu says them. but the sharp laugh and the new tone - that’s different. troubling.
and usually about now jaejoong would get up from the floor and head outside to the balcony, watch it rain or mist or bleed moonlight with a cigarette caught between his fingers; he’d contemplate addiction and the way the cigarettes are a metaphor for so much more; but tonight he’s taking one last chance and pushing open junsu’s door, letting in the sliver of light, peeling off the covers and slipping in next to junsu.
and somehow the choked, “hyung-?” sounds a little like gratitude.
trip me up | jaemin | romance/introspection [pg]
“hey,” jaejoong says, and changmin winces. jaejoong - the oddity, the inconsolable chatterbox, the mixtape of easy contradictions - does not start conversations with ‘hey’. not unless he’s getting ready to rip you a new one.
“what.” changmin unconsciously rubs at his shoulder, checking if the last of his bruise from a oh-so-playful punch last week has faded yet. it hasn’t.
jaejoong gives him intensity. all lidded eyes and tightened lips and then he says, “i want you to tell me something.”
“yes?” changmin asks. he’s watching the way jaejoong’s tongue darts out to lick the edge of his mouth.
“i don’t believe in love.” jaejoong says. “but you do.”
“is that the question?”
“no,” jaejoong pulls him by the front of his shirt, forcing him to bend down and meet jaejoong’s lips head on, warm and cool all at once. jaejoong tastes like artificial lip gloss. “this is.”
blue skies; forecast overcast | yoomin | angst [pg-13]
sometimes, on overcast days when the sunlight creeps away and lethargy takes over, changmin helps yoochun compose songs in the corner of their room, a keyboard dragged in from the work room and a laptop in changmin’s hands. “music.”
and it’s not something that happens often, only when moods are low and the world is crying outside, but they always start with composing and end like this: changmin laid out over yoochun’s bed and yoochun with his hands splayed over bare skin, the dark hair at the nape of his neck curling from sweat.
changmin lets out a breath and yoochun curves him back, murmurs something changmin doesn’t quite catch and then his mouth starts a wet trail down changmin’s chest. the clink of his belt, and changmin looks away from the bed, out the window, outside to where it’s raining.
raindrops streak the window and he can almost hear jaejoong drawing the blinds in the living room.
silence | jaesu | romance [g]
jaejoong fights sleep to the last, dying breath of a song. it’s junsu. (“it’s junsu,” yoochun had murmured earlier. “something’s weird, jaejoong.”) he’s been serenading himself in the dark, when he thinks he’s alone and he doesn’t know that jaejoong sometimes sits outside his door, leans his head against the wall, listens to him breathe.
“good night world,” he says, and that’s nothing new - jaejoong waits each night for those farewell words, revels in the innocent way junsu says them. but the sharp laugh and the new tone - that’s different. troubling.
and usually about now jaejoong would get up from the floor and head outside to the balcony, watch it rain or mist or bleed moonlight with a cigarette caught between his fingers; he’d contemplate addiction and the way the cigarettes are a metaphor for so much more; but tonight he’s taking one last chance and pushing open junsu’s door, letting in the sliver of light, peeling off the covers and slipping in next to junsu.
and somehow the choked, “hyung-?” sounds a little like gratitude.
trip me up | jaemin | romance/introspection [pg]
“hey,” jaejoong says, and changmin winces. jaejoong - the oddity, the inconsolable chatterbox, the mixtape of easy contradictions - does not start conversations with ‘hey’. not unless he’s getting ready to rip you a new one.
“what.” changmin unconsciously rubs at his shoulder, checking if the last of his bruise from a oh-so-playful punch last week has faded yet. it hasn’t.
jaejoong gives him intensity. all lidded eyes and tightened lips and then he says, “i want you to tell me something.”
“yes?” changmin asks. he’s watching the way jaejoong’s tongue darts out to lick the edge of his mouth.
“i don’t believe in love.” jaejoong says. “but you do.”
“is that the question?”
“no,” jaejoong pulls him by the front of his shirt, forcing him to bend down and meet jaejoong’s lips head on, warm and cool all at once. jaejoong tastes like artificial lip gloss. “this is.”
blue skies; forecast overcast | yoomin | angst [pg-13]
sometimes, on overcast days when the sunlight creeps away and lethargy takes over, changmin helps yoochun compose songs in the corner of their room, a keyboard dragged in from the work room and a laptop in changmin’s hands. “music.”
and it’s not something that happens often, only when moods are low and the world is crying outside, but they always start with composing and end like this: changmin laid out over yoochun’s bed and yoochun with his hands splayed over bare skin, the dark hair at the nape of his neck curling from sweat.
changmin lets out a breath and yoochun curves him back, murmurs something changmin doesn’t quite catch and then his mouth starts a wet trail down changmin’s chest. the clink of his belt, and changmin looks away from the bed, out the window, outside to where it’s raining.
raindrops streak the window and he can almost hear jaejoong drawing the blinds in the living room.