Ahhh~! YunJae~!
Title: Simple, isn't it?
Author: anoukinparis
Pairing: YunJae/JaeHo
Genre: Angst/Romace (what else? ^^;)
Rating: PG-13?
Summary: You almost always talk during it. Sometimes your voice is muffled by the pillow case. Sometimes unsteady, thick, choking out just a few words only to release into a low moan. Sometimes rushed, and you never actually say it. Too much for that. But I know it's what you need.
A/N: ...I'm alive, I swear! -flails- I'm alive and seriously craving YunJae and beating myself upside the head because it's taken me such a long time to actually put an idea down on paper and tired and omg I really need to write more ajskajdkajdkj. I really hope I haven't lost the support from all you dear readers out there ;~; You guys mean so much to me, truly <3
I think this is bad, and I'm slightly nervous about posting it. But I must try to get out of this slump. I hate it. It's dark and lonely. xD
As always, comments are loved and appreciated <333
You almost always talk during it.
Sometimes your voice is muffled by the pillow case. Sometimes unsteady, thick, choking out just a few words only to release into a low moan. Sometimes rushed, and you never actually say it. Too much for that. But I know it's what you need.
And sometimes your voice is none of those things. Sometimes it flutters across my ear, and there's a skipping smile in the way you sound. Making you seem somehow smaller than your twenty two years. Breathing soft across my skin.
“You make me happy.”
Surprisingly, it's not too much.
I almost always reply back. This time I laugh.
“A lot of things make you happy.”
“Not everything,” you argue, fitting your cheek into the curve of my neck, resting there until you grow tired of staying put. A few moments later I feel your lips against the same spot. Sighing. “Mainly just you.”
And I feel as if I wasn't supposed to hear you that time. Not all words should be spoken aloud.
But you've never followed that trend, have you?
“Yunho-ah. When you get quiet like this I know something's on your mind.”
I close my eyes.
“It's nothing.”
Lying to you shouldn't be this easy anymore. It shouldn't still be something I fall back on time and time again. You don't say anything for a long time, tracing shapeless designs on the palm of my hand.
“Then I'll let you know what's on my mind,” you murmur.
*
I don't smoke. But sometimes my thoughts collide in my head, rushing in every imaginable direction and I wish I could just blow them away, blow them away like a wisp on the wind. Easy and carefree. Melting into nothing before I can even raise my eyes to look.
*
“You know you shouldn't smoke.”
Surprised, you pull your fingers away from your lips, still parted, tapping the cigarette on nothing but the air. There's a lengthy pause before you finally shrug, placing it back inside your mouth, and I'm jealous of a fucking cigarette. I miss your gaze when you pull it back.
“I quit,” you reply after a slow drag, a steady ribbon of smoke cast to the wind, and you lick your lips. Still not looking at me. When you don't meet my eyes I know something's on your mind.
“I'm sorry I even said anything.”
Tossed back to earlier that morning, leading to an uncomfortable afternoon and a nearly unbearable evening out with the rest of the group. This is our first moment truly alone since we were under the bedsheets. I can still feel the touch of your hand, fingers grasping mine tight and unrelenting.
The three words were so sure on your tongue.
I never doubted that.
“You don't have to be sorry about something like that,” I finally say, hardly recognizing my own voice and the way it lingers and catches on certain words. “It's...”
But I can't finish. We're still the same, you know. After all these years. You always have so many words to spare, and I'm grasping for them desperately, always searching for just how to express what you mean to me.
Lifting an eyebrow, you swing your shoulders back to me. You almost look like you want to laugh.
“It's actually really simple.”
Is it?
You taste like smoke and spice when you gradually fill the distance between us, forcing me to lean down, melting into the familiar strangeness of it all. Into everything. I don't pull away from the fingers curling into the collar of my shirt. Tightening, tugging closer.
Liar. You're not sorry at all.
*
So what if it is true. What does that make us?
I should have never gave in.
You wanted it too, didn't you?
That first night, you said it wouldn't happen again. Once. You only needed it once. Just to see. Just to feel. Just for a thousand more reasons that we glossed over and ignored.
What the hell are we doing?
We could lose our job. Our respect. Everything. Everything gone for a whim.
No. It isn't like that.
I wouldn't trade it for anything else.
You're the first person who has ever told me those words. I don't deserve them. I don't deserve a gift like that from you. Those words should be for someone better.
I just didn't know what to do.
I still don't.
But I know you meant it. I felt it.
How could I ever say it as beautifully as you did? How could I find the words?
If you're willing to wait, I'm willing to find them.
Because you deserve more than what I'm giving you.
So many questions. So many doubts and thoughts. I wish they would blow away.
I'm still searching. Please believe me, Jaejoong. I want it. It's true. Everything, your bad jokes and your fingers and your hidden grins and your vulnerability, I want it all.
I don't know what that makes us.
*
You almost always talk during it.
Hands resting underneath your thighs, gradually leaning forward until something really shocks you and you pull back with amazed eyes and a half smile, eyes fixated on the screen in front of you.
“I never knew that about tomatoes...” Your voice softly trails up only to pick up again. “Though I always wondered why people need knives that sharp anyways. Doesn't that ever worry you? Ah, it worries me sometimes...”
Fiddling with the remote slightly, I glance up at the chef on TV. The moment I look up he winks at the camera, and it almost seems as if he's encouraging me along. I needed the extra prod.
“Jae-”
“I wouldn't want Changmin around those knives,” you mutter to yourself.
I hesitate, passing the remote back and forth between my hands. “Um. Jaejoong...”
You catch the way my voice falters, blinking your eyes to me instead.
“Mm?”
Sorry I pulled you away from your show. Sorry it's taken me all this time.
Sorry I'm still making you wait.
“I'm yours.”
*
It's actually really simple, isn't it?
.
Author: anoukinparis
Pairing: YunJae/JaeHo
Genre: Angst/Romace (what else? ^^;)
Rating: PG-13?
Summary: You almost always talk during it. Sometimes your voice is muffled by the pillow case. Sometimes unsteady, thick, choking out just a few words only to release into a low moan. Sometimes rushed, and you never actually say it. Too much for that. But I know it's what you need.
A/N: ...I'm alive, I swear! -flails- I'm alive and seriously craving YunJae and beating myself upside the head because it's taken me such a long time to actually put an idea down on paper and tired and omg I really need to write more ajskajdkajdkj. I really hope I haven't lost the support from all you dear readers out there ;~; You guys mean so much to me, truly <3
I think this is bad, and I'm slightly nervous about posting it. But I must try to get out of this slump. I hate it. It's dark and lonely. xD
As always, comments are loved and appreciated <333
You almost always talk during it.
Sometimes your voice is muffled by the pillow case. Sometimes unsteady, thick, choking out just a few words only to release into a low moan. Sometimes rushed, and you never actually say it. Too much for that. But I know it's what you need.
And sometimes your voice is none of those things. Sometimes it flutters across my ear, and there's a skipping smile in the way you sound. Making you seem somehow smaller than your twenty two years. Breathing soft across my skin.
“You make me happy.”
Surprisingly, it's not too much.
I almost always reply back. This time I laugh.
“A lot of things make you happy.”
“Not everything,” you argue, fitting your cheek into the curve of my neck, resting there until you grow tired of staying put. A few moments later I feel your lips against the same spot. Sighing. “Mainly just you.”
And I feel as if I wasn't supposed to hear you that time. Not all words should be spoken aloud.
But you've never followed that trend, have you?
“Yunho-ah. When you get quiet like this I know something's on your mind.”
I close my eyes.
“It's nothing.”
Lying to you shouldn't be this easy anymore. It shouldn't still be something I fall back on time and time again. You don't say anything for a long time, tracing shapeless designs on the palm of my hand.
“Then I'll let you know what's on my mind,” you murmur.
*
I don't smoke. But sometimes my thoughts collide in my head, rushing in every imaginable direction and I wish I could just blow them away, blow them away like a wisp on the wind. Easy and carefree. Melting into nothing before I can even raise my eyes to look.
*
“You know you shouldn't smoke.”
Surprised, you pull your fingers away from your lips, still parted, tapping the cigarette on nothing but the air. There's a lengthy pause before you finally shrug, placing it back inside your mouth, and I'm jealous of a fucking cigarette. I miss your gaze when you pull it back.
“I quit,” you reply after a slow drag, a steady ribbon of smoke cast to the wind, and you lick your lips. Still not looking at me. When you don't meet my eyes I know something's on your mind.
“I'm sorry I even said anything.”
Tossed back to earlier that morning, leading to an uncomfortable afternoon and a nearly unbearable evening out with the rest of the group. This is our first moment truly alone since we were under the bedsheets. I can still feel the touch of your hand, fingers grasping mine tight and unrelenting.
The three words were so sure on your tongue.
I never doubted that.
“You don't have to be sorry about something like that,” I finally say, hardly recognizing my own voice and the way it lingers and catches on certain words. “It's...”
But I can't finish. We're still the same, you know. After all these years. You always have so many words to spare, and I'm grasping for them desperately, always searching for just how to express what you mean to me.
Lifting an eyebrow, you swing your shoulders back to me. You almost look like you want to laugh.
“It's actually really simple.”
Is it?
You taste like smoke and spice when you gradually fill the distance between us, forcing me to lean down, melting into the familiar strangeness of it all. Into everything. I don't pull away from the fingers curling into the collar of my shirt. Tightening, tugging closer.
Liar. You're not sorry at all.
*
So what if it is true. What does that make us?
I should have never gave in.
You wanted it too, didn't you?
That first night, you said it wouldn't happen again. Once. You only needed it once. Just to see. Just to feel. Just for a thousand more reasons that we glossed over and ignored.
What the hell are we doing?
We could lose our job. Our respect. Everything. Everything gone for a whim.
No. It isn't like that.
I wouldn't trade it for anything else.
You're the first person who has ever told me those words. I don't deserve them. I don't deserve a gift like that from you. Those words should be for someone better.
I just didn't know what to do.
I still don't.
But I know you meant it. I felt it.
How could I ever say it as beautifully as you did? How could I find the words?
If you're willing to wait, I'm willing to find them.
Because you deserve more than what I'm giving you.
So many questions. So many doubts and thoughts. I wish they would blow away.
I'm still searching. Please believe me, Jaejoong. I want it. It's true. Everything, your bad jokes and your fingers and your hidden grins and your vulnerability, I want it all.
I don't know what that makes us.
*
You almost always talk during it.
Hands resting underneath your thighs, gradually leaning forward until something really shocks you and you pull back with amazed eyes and a half smile, eyes fixated on the screen in front of you.
“I never knew that about tomatoes...” Your voice softly trails up only to pick up again. “Though I always wondered why people need knives that sharp anyways. Doesn't that ever worry you? Ah, it worries me sometimes...”
Fiddling with the remote slightly, I glance up at the chef on TV. The moment I look up he winks at the camera, and it almost seems as if he's encouraging me along. I needed the extra prod.
“Jae-”
“I wouldn't want Changmin around those knives,” you mutter to yourself.
I hesitate, passing the remote back and forth between my hands. “Um. Jaejoong...”
You catch the way my voice falters, blinking your eyes to me instead.
“Mm?”
Sorry I pulled you away from your show. Sorry it's taken me all this time.
Sorry I'm still making you wait.
“I'm yours.”
*
It's actually really simple, isn't it?
.