On The Red Couch (SMM Universe) YunJae: Chapter Eleven
Title: On The Red Couch
Pairing: YunJae (with some YooSu and Min7en)
Chapter: Eleven
Chapter Rating: R
Genre: Slash/Relationship
Author: wedspawn
Part One: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Se7en, 8, 9, 10, 11
Part Two: 12, 13 (Extremely Mature Content), 14, 15, 16, Comments Regarding Storyline , Se7enteen, 18, 19, 20, 21 (Lemon)
Part Three: 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, Twenty-Se7en (LEMON), 28, 29, 30, 31, 32 (LEMON), 33, 34, 35, 36, Thirty-Se7en, 38, 39, 40 (Final)
Summary: Hot Korean boys. Sex. Dancing and some angry words. Not necessarily in that order. Not necessarily in each section. Final Book in SMM series.
“Yunho.” Kimura gave the Dong Bang Shin Ki leader a quick glance, his eyes sliding over the young man as if the Korean were nothing to him.
He probably was nothing, Yunho surmised. If the man had the power to, he’d erase Yunho from the ground he walked on. The past few weeks had been brutal, their schedules packed too tight to do anything but dance, sing and sleep. Food was few and far between, small meals caught in between rehearsals of one thing or another. Lately the game appeared to be scheduling the members to appear on talk shows, their Japan manager knowing full well the members’ language skills were sparse at best.
Jaejoong saved them, surprisingly so. Yunho knew he should know better than to underestimate the singer. The young man proved time and time again to be more perceptive than they’d given him credit for. With the spotlight glaring down on them, Jaejoong stepped up and smiled winningly as he maneuvered through what sounded like nearly flawless Japanese. He apologized for his lack of speech, bowing deeply as he begged for forgiveness but the gesture was more for show than anything else. The female interviewers gave him carte blanche and when flustered, a blush and a shy duck of his head laid the groundwork for the show to forgive the foreigners practically anything. Yunho was pretty certain he could strip down to a pair of purple underpants while singing Thai nursery rhymes and the interviewers would cut the slack.
If anything, their performance irritated Kimura and he fought to push them harder, driving Junsu nearly to exhaustion one day after booking him on back to back shoots. Yoochun rebelled first, refusing to be hurried from a signing and Changmin followed suit, taking his time in greeting young school children at an event. The company listened to Kimura’s complaints and dismissed them, pointing out the group was focused solely on public relations.
“No,” Yunho thought as he watched Kimura rifle through some papers on his desk, playing power games similar to the ones his own father played with him as a child. “We’re focused on ensuring Jaejoong is never alone with that monster.”
“Did you need something?” He asked the leader with a droll smirk. “Perhaps you need more to do if you’ve got enough time on your hands to stand like an idle moron in my office.”
“I actually wanted to talk to you about something,” Yunho closed the door behind him, hearing the latch snap shut with an ominous click.
“You need the door closed for that?” Kimura rested one hip on his wide desk. From his place at the door, Yunho wondered how he ever thought he could admire the man but then, the manager reminded him of his father… powerful, self-assured and unfortunately, brutally ruthless.
“I thought you’d like some privacy,” Yunho said, crossing the room and tossing the packet he held in his hand on Kimura’s desk. The manila envelope skittered across the polished wood, coming to rest against a crystalline award. “Take a look at what’s inside and then we can talk.”
He sat, keeping his nerves tightly under control as he watched the man glance curiously at the envelope. Forming a steeple with his fingers, Yunho carefully watched Kimura’s face for the moment he realized what Yunho tossed so casually at him.
The moment came when the photos spilled out onto the desk, a collage of sickness and perversion. Kimura’s face bleached to bone, his skin tightening on his skull. Yunho was pleased to see his fingers tremble as he reached for an image then stopped, as if by touching the photograph his nightmare would come true.
Clearing his throat, Kimura steeled himself before turning to Yunho, his voice steady. “Where did you get these?”
“Just because I am some hick from Korea doesn’t mean that I can’t find people in Japan who are willing to make a little money,” Yunho said with a shrug. “The man came highly recommended but I doubt I’ll see him again.”
“And you think this is going to change things somehow?” Kimura swept the photos from his desk, rising to lean over Yunho, a vein throbbing in his forehead as he screamed. “Do you think that by going to the company with this shit that they are going to believe you? That they’ll remove me? Is that what you think will happen in that small little mind of yours, boy?”
“No, these won’t be going to the company. I’m pretty sure someone here has been covering you for years.” Yunho held the man’s stare, looking coolly over his hands. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his thighs as if daring Kimura to escalate matters. “No, Kimura, I had a different destination in mind.”
Yunho kept his face as still and cold as he could, reciting an address in the Chiba district he’d committed to memory. He’d practiced, modulating his voice until he got the cadence just right, thinking of how his father conducted himself when upbraiding someone who’d displeased him. More than once, Yunho had been the one standing in the middle of the carpet, his feet lined up with a row of fleur-de-lis as his father dressed him down, numerating his sins and infractions in a bloodless voice until he reached the end of the list. Dismissed, Yunho would be handed a piece of paper with his punishment written in his father’s strong hand and he found himself outside of the office, trembling at the knees.
“That’s your mother’s address, isn’t it, Kimura?” Yunho looked disinterested. He made a show of standing and walking to the fridge hidden behind a wooden panel. Selecting a cold bottle of water, he pointed it at the man. “Do you mind? I’m a bit thirsty.”
Kimura’s face churned through shades of red then shifted back to white. He swallowed, trying to find something to say. “You wouldn’t…”
“Dare? Why? Because she’s someone innocent in this? Like Jaejoong?” Yunho sipped at his water, giving Kimura a small smile. He shrugged, seemingly ignorant of Kimura’s threatening posture. “I’ll be kind enough to give her a few days. She’ll need them to recover from seeing what her oldest son has done.”
“I’m the eldest son, you know. And you see… things like this aren’t so different between us… between Korea and Japan,” He continued, taking up a place at the desk’s corner. “I know what it’s like to disappoint a parent…especially with something like this. Not as… lurid as you but still, disappointment. I hear she’s not well.”
“I’ll ruin you, Jung,” Kimura stepped towards Yunho. A taint of violence enflamed the man’s dark eyes as he crossed the room. “I could kill you.”
“You could,” Yunho agreed. “But I did my homework. I know you have a younger brother in the same province, one that’s running for mayor. He’s already under a scandal for corruption, although it seems like he got that patched over.”
“You think this would bother my brother?”
“No,” Yunho admitted. “But I’m sure his opponents and the local newspaper would be bothered.”
“Think you’re smart, boy?” Kimura pressed himself close into Yunho’s chest, poking at the young man’s chest with a finger. He stabbed, dimpling Yunho’s shirt. “I can survive this. You think you can survive it getting out that you fuck that pretty boy of yours?”
“Yeah,” Yunho replied, tilting his head back. “See, I found something out about Japan. Our fans would love to think we’re having sex. It’s a part of the pop culture here. We’d deny it, of course, but then Jae and I could exchange a secretive smile and drive the gossip back up. You don’t have any evidence of our relationship. All of us living together? We’ve lived together for years. There are five beds between our two bedrooms right now. We look innocent enough but you? You don’t, Kimura.”
The man warred with himself, dropping his hands to his side. Yunho struggled to remain calm, taking a delicate sip of water as Kimura paced the floor. He stopped suddenly, turning to look over his shoulder at the group’s leader.
“What do you want, Jung?”
“I want you to remove yourself from managing the group. You walk away from us. We walk away from you.” Yunho spread his hands in surrender. “You don’t lose anything. We don’t lose anything.”
“What’s to stop you from coming back with this shit?”
“Nothing,” Yunho replied. “Just like there’s nothing stopping you from holding us back. You’re powerful. We’re five fresh-off-the-boat Koreans. At home, we’re something but here, we’re at the bottom again.”
“You’re a fucking idiot if you think he’s going to be faithful to you,” Kimura sneered. “Some day, someone’s going to come along and he’s going to go sniffing after someone else’s longer dick and then everything you did here… everything you did today is for shit. And, you’ll still be on the bottom hoping for scraps from the music industry. Ask yourself, Jung. Is he worth losing everything just because he’s a good fuck.”
“Yeah,” Yunho said, looking straight into Kimura’s eyes. “You have no idea what I’m willing to lose to keep him.”
“Then you’re on your own. We’re done.” He spat at the younger man. “Get the hell out of my office. I’ll call upper management and tell them I’m finished working with you.”
Yunho was shaking when he left, forcing himself to walk slowly out of Kimura’s office and past the pretty young secretary who’d offered him tea when he first arrived. The inner phone line lit up on her desk, flashing as Kimura rang someone within the company. Giving the woman a polite nod, he walked by, not trusting his Japanese to give her a proper goodbye.
A right turn led him to the men’s bathroom, a single room that could be closed off with a flick of a door lock. Shutting the world off outside, Yunho heaved, choking on his bile. Running to the sink, he vomited once then again, shivering when the cold in his belly wormed down to his marrow. His stomach emptied, churning inside out until the strain rode his throat raw. Shuddering, Yunho took sharp breaths, fighting to gain control of the shakes rumbling through him.
Leaning his forehead against the wall, the young man rested for a moment, waiting his stomach tremours out. The tile felt cold against his hot skin, as soothing as his mother’s touch when he was sick. Choking back a sob, Yunho slammed his fist on the hard wall, the pain rattling up to his elbow.
Pulling himself up, Yunho turned on the faucet, letting the cold water run into his cupped hands. Splashing his face first, he gulped a mouthful to swallow the sour in his throat then rinsed, spitting into the sink. The soiled water swirled down the drain and Yunho wished he could do the same with the sinking feeling left in his guts.
Outside the bathroom, the world continued on its way, oblivious of the young man’s distress. Squaring his shoulders, he left the building, keeping to the overhang to avoid the afternoon’s chilly rain. Flipping up the fur-lined hood of his jacket, Yunho crossed the street, heading towards the red post box he’d seen before entering the company’s headquarters.
Withdrawing five envelopes from inside of his thick parka, Yunho took a deep breath and checked the postage he’d affixed to the packets earlier that day. The addresses were carefully written, the characters clear and black in a common square text and stood out boldly on the manila envelopes.
He’d debated what to do, conflicted between wanting to protect the group and doing what his heart told him would be the right thing. The decision was his, Changmin told him. They all trusted him… and regardless of the outcome, they’d stand by whatever he’d wanted to do with Kimura. few minutes of Min’s time and Yunho had the names of five crime investigators in the Tokyo area dealing with molestation. A moment later, labels with names and addresses along with a knot in his stomach that made sleeping impossible.
Depositing the mail into the slot, he took one last look at the building behind him, exhaling hard. Shoving his hands into his jacket, Yunho tilted his head back to let the rain wash his face clean of his remaining tears and murmured up to the heavens, hoping the storm would take his pleas to his mother’s heart.
“I am sorry I couldn’t keep my word, Mom,” Yunho said, closing his eyes against the pain in his heart. “I’m sorry for becoming a man you can’t be proud of.”
#
Jaejoong lay on the Yunho’s old bed, listening to the rain. He’d turned off his music player minutes ago, unable to concentrate on the tune playing in his ear. The concert was fast approaching and he still needed to learn all of his parts but his mind wandered whenever he tried to concentrate. It lingered on the young man who left the apartment wearing a hooded red parka and a look on his face like he was about to face a firing squad.
Their mouths almost touched when Jaejoong went to say goodbye but the pain in Yunho’s eyes drew him back and now, the singer regretted not brushing his lips over Yunho’s. Jae wanted nothing more than the taste of the other man in his mouth as he waited.
A phone jangled from under a pile of his clothes and Jae scrambled to dig it out. Hoping it was Yunho, he spoke in Korean. “Hello?”
“Hello, koneko-chan,” A familiar voice rumbled in Japanese. It was low, sensual and spoke of hot nights spent dancing in dark corners.
Jaejoong inhaled sharply and lifted his hand to his ear, fingering the spot where the other man bit him. “Hyung!”
“Ah, kitten, didn’t we talk about that?” He chuckled, switching to Jaejoong’s native tongue. “How is your Japanese coming along?”
“Good,” Jaejoong replied, laughing when he answered in Korean. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s easier to talk to you this way.”
“I’m glad you called,” The singer slid over the bed, turning over onto his stomach. “I’m… waiting for Yunho to come back.”
“Ah, his trip to the lair of the…” He paused, swearing when he heard Jaejoong’s breath catch. “It will be okay, goyangi. Your knight errant will slay your dragon.”
”What does that mean? Those words you used in English?”
“It means … ronin,” The man replied. “Someone who bound by his honour and defends those who need it. Like Galahad or Shimada Kambei; men who live by their souls and not by what society tells them is right.”
“Ah, then that is Yunho,” Jaejoong agreed. “And you.”
“Me?” He laughed aloud, the sound carrying over brightly. Taking a puff on his cigarette, he exhaled and Jaejoong’s mouth watered with the need for a nicotine fix. “I’m no knight, little boy. I’m done fighting windmills.”
“Sometimes I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“Sometimes I don’t understand what I’m feeling,” The man replied. “So there we are.”
“I never thanked you for … helping me that night.” Jae whispered, stretching out to grab a pillow resting against the headboard. “I needed…someone sane to talk to.”
“And instead you found me.”
“Don’t. It was… I needed someone like you. I needed you that night.”
“Hearing you say that, in that throaty sexy voice of yours makes any plans I missed that night worth it.”
“Do you ever stop teasing?”
“Do you ever stop being beautiful?” He responded. “But no, it was easy to see you needed someone. And I was there. Besides, if you’d gone to Kimura’s hotel, I don’t think you’d be here right now. I’m always drawn to broken angels and you, baby, are the most broken of angels.”
“I’m a kitten and an angel?”
“Easily done. The moon is both a rock and a rabbit,” The man replied. “You’re also someone I’d go off fighting windmills for but I think someone else already has that job. But you’re welcome, little one. Very welcome.”
“I don’t know what else I can do or say.” Jaejoong pulled at his belly hoop, worrying at the gold ring. “Thank you doesn’t seem like enough.”
“Just remember me when you’re done taking over Asia.” Another puff on the cigarette echoed against Jaejoong’s ear. “I’d like to work with you…on something other than your broken heart.”
“I’d like that, hyung.”
“Ah, again with the hyung,” He laughed, tickling Jae’s ear. “What do I have to do to get you to stop making me feel like an old man?”
“You’re not an old man,” Jae said with a grin.
“You make me feel like one whenever you call me hyung.” The velvet tickle in Jae’s ear grew deeper, dropping down an octave. “I’ve got to get going. I’m meeting some friends for a beer. I’d invite you but…”
“I need to wait for Yunnie-ah.” Curling himself around the pillow, Jaejoong adjusted the phone against his ear.
“And I’m running late,” He sighed. “Good night, Je Je baby. I hope that your ronin gets home soon.”
“Good night, hyu…”
“Ah…ah.” He tsked. “Please.”
“Good night, Camui-chan.” Jae said softly. “Have a good night with your friends and…thank you again.”