(no subject)
Aux Champs Élysées
Pairing: Yoosu.
Warnings: Sex.
A/N: AU. Basically, Junsu is a primary teacher. Yoochun has a daughter called Autumn, and a dead wife. Yunho and Yoochun are BFF's. Junsu is Autumn's school teacher. Yoochun takes Junsu out after parent-teacher night. :D I imagine them to be living in America here.
"So, um, Mr. Park. What-"
"Micky."
"Right, yeah. Force of habit. What do you do Micky?" Junsu asks shyly, wringing his hands neatly on his lap.
"Oh, Autumn hasn't told you?" Junsu shakes his head. And Micky laughs.
"I'm a producer. I've done work for a lot of people. Mostly Korean stars. But, some European artists. I seldom work for the American music industry. It's an excuse to travel." He smiles and takes a drink of the wine. Junsu was actually surprised when Mr. Park - no Junsu, Micky - brought him here. A cute little French cafe that Junsu's never seen before. It's so hole-in-the-wall. And Junsu loves it. It reminds him of Paris, and croissants and coffee. He looks up and Micky is staring right at him.
"What are you thinking?" Micky whispers.
"About Paris." Junsu says, simply. It's not like he's ashamed. Plus, Micky's hot. And he probably knows it. And by saying what's on his mind, Junsu doesn't look like a bumbling idiot.
"Paris?" Micky asks with shock. "Have you been?" Junsu nods, smiles, and blushes. All at the same time. Because he's being looked at so sincerely, and it feels like Micky's looking right into his soul.
"Yunho always calls you Yoochun." Junsu says. In Korean. He figures if this guy works with Korean artists, then he must know the language.
"That's because that's my name. And Yunho knew me when I was just Yoochun, not Micky." Junsu looks into his eyes, trying to decipher whether or not there's pain in them. "Why did you change?"
Micky looks up. "She called me Micky. Autumn's mother. I wanted her to live on, I don't want Autumn to forget her. I don't want to forget her. Of course, I need to move on." Junsu sees no hurt so he smiles, genuine and happy. "Do you do this often?"
--
It's when he's pressed against the arm of his pale blue couch, fingers trying to latch on to the corded material. The casters scraping along the varnished wood floor in the living room of his apartment. Sweat running in patterns down his back, flowing down with the gravity to meet Yoochun's hips, that he understands why he has to move on.
He can't put it into words. Possibly actions. And if he did. It would be the pounding of Yoochun's hips into his well-curved backside. The press of Yoochun's left hand into his hip bone, pulling him back. And the curl of his right hand round Junsu's cock. Bringing him to a fuzzy glorious end. Milky, stick, white-hot pleasure.. On a pale blue background. Junsu thinks he couldn't paint a better picture if he was asked to. Yoochun clarifies he's thinking the same. By kissing Junsu's neck softly, and carrying him to bed, sheets white like pleasure.
Pairing: Yoosu.
Warnings: Sex.
A/N: AU. Basically, Junsu is a primary teacher. Yoochun has a daughter called Autumn, and a dead wife. Yunho and Yoochun are BFF's. Junsu is Autumn's school teacher. Yoochun takes Junsu out after parent-teacher night. :D I imagine them to be living in America here.
"So, um, Mr. Park. What-"
"Micky."
"Right, yeah. Force of habit. What do you do Micky?" Junsu asks shyly, wringing his hands neatly on his lap.
"Oh, Autumn hasn't told you?" Junsu shakes his head. And Micky laughs.
"I'm a producer. I've done work for a lot of people. Mostly Korean stars. But, some European artists. I seldom work for the American music industry. It's an excuse to travel." He smiles and takes a drink of the wine. Junsu was actually surprised when Mr. Park - no Junsu, Micky - brought him here. A cute little French cafe that Junsu's never seen before. It's so hole-in-the-wall. And Junsu loves it. It reminds him of Paris, and croissants and coffee. He looks up and Micky is staring right at him.
"What are you thinking?" Micky whispers.
"About Paris." Junsu says, simply. It's not like he's ashamed. Plus, Micky's hot. And he probably knows it. And by saying what's on his mind, Junsu doesn't look like a bumbling idiot.
"Paris?" Micky asks with shock. "Have you been?" Junsu nods, smiles, and blushes. All at the same time. Because he's being looked at so sincerely, and it feels like Micky's looking right into his soul.
"Yunho always calls you Yoochun." Junsu says. In Korean. He figures if this guy works with Korean artists, then he must know the language.
"That's because that's my name. And Yunho knew me when I was just Yoochun, not Micky." Junsu looks into his eyes, trying to decipher whether or not there's pain in them. "Why did you change?"
Micky looks up. "She called me Micky. Autumn's mother. I wanted her to live on, I don't want Autumn to forget her. I don't want to forget her. Of course, I need to move on." Junsu sees no hurt so he smiles, genuine and happy. "Do you do this often?"
--
It's when he's pressed against the arm of his pale blue couch, fingers trying to latch on to the corded material. The casters scraping along the varnished wood floor in the living room of his apartment. Sweat running in patterns down his back, flowing down with the gravity to meet Yoochun's hips, that he understands why he has to move on.
He can't put it into words. Possibly actions. And if he did. It would be the pounding of Yoochun's hips into his well-curved backside. The press of Yoochun's left hand into his hip bone, pulling him back. And the curl of his right hand round Junsu's cock. Bringing him to a fuzzy glorious end. Milky, stick, white-hot pleasure.. On a pale blue background. Junsu thinks he couldn't paint a better picture if he was asked to. Yoochun clarifies he's thinking the same. By kissing Junsu's neck softly, and carrying him to bed, sheets white like pleasure.