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wasteland (part ii of ii)
12,314; nc-17; au
yoochun/junsu; yunho/jaejoong; jaejoong/changmin
«
junsu doesn't call yoochun for a week. so just call him yourself, jaejoong says. no. yoochun flips his phone open and closed, open again. he always calls me first. jaejoong watches yoochun for a minute, snatches the phone away from his hands, turns his back to yoochun and looks for junsu's name in the contacts.
"what are you doing!"
"growing you a pair."
jaejoong hits dial, keeps yoochun at bay with his other hand and tells him to shut up, it's ringing. when jaejoong hears a voice on the other end, he shoves it back into yoochun's hands.
"h-hi."
"yeah, who is this?"
"yoochun."
"who?"
"yoochun."
"i don't know any yoochun."
"junsu, come on."
"how do you know me?"
"you-we're-" yoochun stops, frustrated. "we know each other."
there's a shuffling sound, and the screen flashes 'call ended'. he hung up on me, yoochun says to the phone. what? jaejoong leans over yoochun shoulders. you think he was just fucking around? yoochun watches as his phone reverts back to the default background. he didn't sound like he was kidding. that's not possible, jaejoong snorts. just call him back, he probably just wants you to call him back. but his voice, yoochun whispers. he sounded like he didn't even know me. what the fuck, just shut up, call him again. yoochun forces his fingers to redial.
"yeah?"
"junsu, it's yoochun. we're friends, just stop fucking around."
"your number isn't in my phone. how do we know each other?"
"you found me."
"what? i found you?"
"junsu, please."
"look, i don't know who you are. i don't know what you want, how you know my name, how you got my number-"
"can we meet?"
"what?"
"you'll recognize me."
"i'm not falling for a scam, i'm hanging up."
"no, please, junsu, listen. tomorrow. when and where you want."
yoochun can hear him breathing, thinking.
"noon, in front of the train station."
"you'll remember me, i promise."
✤
jaejoong waits for yunho outside a nameless, oppressively grey building in the financial district.
what a coincidence, he exclaims when jaejoong waves him over.
it's not really a coincidence, jaejoong smiles.
jaejoong walks with him to his apartment complex, the doorman giving him a suspicious once over before returning to his mini-tv. the stupidity of what he's just done begins to creep up on him and the setting of this upwardly mobile lifestyle of his makes jaejoong even more uncomfortable. what if it's all just a disguise for wanting to fuck him dry, gagging him spread-eagle
but then he turns around and gives jaejoong a dazzlingly nervous smile, opens the door for him and beckons him to go inside and jaejoong thinks fuck it, i want him to do all of those things, just touch me
he locks the door and they look at each other.
should, i uh. take off my clothes? jaejoong asks, because he's pretty that's some sort of protocol
after a moment of rigorous contemplation, he nods, okay, yeah
jaejoong pulls the shirt up over his head, waits for him to take off his suit jacket, loosen his tie, but he stands there, looking at him
and then he turns abruptly into his kitchen, starts taking out glasses and putting them on his marble countertop, as if jaejoong isn't even there, and jaejoong realizes how cold his apartment is
do you want anything to drink?
jaejoong shakes his head no, studies the tan leather sofa next to him, wonders if he's allowed to sit on it, wonders if it's as soft as it looks until he's surprised by the pop of a cork
he comes over from the kitchen, two wine glasses in one hand, a bottle of red in the other, maybe cabernet maybe pinot noir maybe expensive but jaejoong's not sure, not being much of a wine connoisseur, more used to buying wholesale amounts of three dollar sparkling cheap shit
they sit on the couch together, and jaejoong watches him pour out the wine into the glasses at a perfect angle, his long fingers holding the stem of the glass. despite not having wanted anything to drink, jaejoong takes the glass offered to him, takes a swallow, looks sidelong at him and waits for his next move
apparently there is no next move because they've been sitting inches apart sipping wine for a at least a good 10 minutes, jaejoong thinks miserably
but his shirt is still off and the way the man's body contours to the couch, the way his broad chest flattens out to a toned stomach, the way his long legs cross underneath the clear coffee table seems like an open invitation and he's supposed to be a shameless whore anyways
so jaejoong puts his own glass down, plucks the other one out of the stranger's hands. climbs into his lap and starts undoing his tie, the first few buttons of his collar, starts kissing his throat, the curve of his adam's apple until he feels a hand against his chest, pushing him away
the man is flushed, clearly not uninterested in jaejoong's mouth but there is uncertainty in his eyes
is-is it okay if we just talk i've never done this before, he says, the words running together in embarrassment
jaejoong clambers out of his lap as quickly as humanly possible, puts his shirt back on and wishes there was a way he could make his exit without looking like a complete jackass
so, uh. how's it going?
i'm good.
how's work?
good. i think i'm up for a promotion next week.
jaejoong looks around the apartment, a clear product of upper-middle class yuppie disposable income, sees a picture frame of a gorgeous woman with long black hair, just as tall as him, refined with a classical beauty about her, their heads touching, the background looking like some tropical resort, palm trees and the sun bright
who's that? jaejoong asks. god i hope it's his sister but it's probably the repressed son of a bitch's girlfriend
my ex-wife.
ex? what happened? but he's so young, jaejoong wonders. how could he have already been married and divorced? and the fact that he still kept a picture of them still around, in plain view?
he sighs, looks down into his empty glass
and says
for two years there were dark sweet nothings of tireless shadowy fingers
the matching glint of two sets of teeth and hands grazing down her chest and stomach where i put my hand like she was carrying the boy girl then another boy that we conceived in our heads and between intertwined fingers
not even a month in, the baby started leaking out of her
i saw the blood stain her dress, blossom like the carnations i handed to her on our first date and she didn't even notice until i told her, oh god oh god oh god she started screaming
i fell out of love with her, he said. right there in the hospital, when she was wearing that paper thin blue gown, her eyes hollow
she couldn't keep our baby alive and i didn't want her anymore, didn't want to even touch her
you know she remarried, last week. i was invited to their wedding.
jaejoong asks, did you go?
of course.
✤
he doesn't know me, yoochun mumbles into jaejoong's shoulder. no light of recognition in his eyes, wasn't avoiding me or pretending. like i never stepped into his plane of existence, like nothing ever happened. that's not possible, yoochun. i'm sure he didn't see you or- no, yoochun hisses, digs his nails into the side of jaejoong's arm. he doesn't know me.
✤
the girl's lips are slick-sweet glossy like over-ripe fruit, catching his eye when the light flashes over her. she has a protective shield of three other girlfriends, chatting uselessly, kind of dancing to the music but not really, just waiting for someone to come up to them. her skirt is dangerously short, made of some shiny latex material, and she keeps readjusting it as yoochun meets her eyes and walks over to her. the girls around her all step aside, twittering. hi, he says, closer to her ear than really necessary, he thinks. hi, she says, so close that he can feel the heat of her blush, and yoochun knows he's in. the shy ones are always the easiest.
wanna dance, he asks. sure. she heads towards the dance floor, but that isn't what he means, presses her back against the wall, puts his hands on the curve of her hips, starts swaying to the music. she's a little hesitant at first, but when the bass drops on the next song, she gets into it, and yoochun eases his leg between hers, thrusts against her. her skirt rides up and he catches a glimpse of black silk tight against the junction of her thigh, the curve of her ass. he takes one hand and runs it along the side of her body, squeezes.
she breathes hard while he kisses the side of her neck, smells the florals of her perfume and works his way up to her mouth, wine coolers and the plastic fruit taste of her lip gloss. she opens her mouth first and he gladly complies. they rock against each other for a couple more songs, until yoochun slips his hand underneath the elastic of her panties, pulls them down slightly. she catches his hand, shakes her head. come on, he groans into her mouth, baby you're so fucking hot. her grip loosens and she pulls him towards her, covering herself, so no one can see. he takes two fingers and rubs it against her clit, her head knocking against the wall at the sensation and she's already so wet that he slips his middle and ring fingers into her easily, letting his thumb work circles on the outside. she's too into it to really be scandalized, pushes up against his hand, rubs her hand against his cock. your place, she moans.
✤
yoochun wakes up and sees black blockish ink on the arm that he was sleeping on. he rubs the sleep and gunk out of his eyes and reads in jaejoong's scrawl, she better be gone before i get home from work.
yoochun is momentarily confused but then he turns over to see the girl passed out next to him, name forgotten because he probably didn't ask, her eyes caked with clumped mascara and smeared eyeliner, bra tossed somewhere across the room, her panties around her ankles.
he rolls over and sits up, feels the burn of fingernail tracks on his back, realizes he still has on a used condom from the night before.
the bottom of his gut drops and a rush of nausea passes through him.
✤
he's about finished doing the books when he hears the shop door open behind his back, suddenly remembers that he forgot to lock it after switching over the sign from 'open' to "closed". before he can turn around to get out a "sorry, we're not open", he's bent over the counter, arms wrenched behind his back with gloved hands. someone shoves a hand into his pockets, looking for something. where's the key to the cash register, a man's voice demands. in the back, on the top shelf, jaejoong mouths against the granite. don't fucking move, faggot, and jaejoong hears the telephone line being ripped out of the wall next to him. he guesses that there's about four of them. his hands are released, and jaejoong immediately reaches underneath the counter for his phone. he doesn't know why he doesn't call 911, speed dials changmin and when he picks up after the first ring, changmin, the store's being robbed, i need you- and then the phone's knocked out of his hands and he's pushed down onto the floor. punkass thinks he's so smart, and the phone's kicked across the room with changmin's voice going, jaejoong? hello? what the fuck is goi-
trust me, the man whispers close and stale-breathed into his ear, we'll be out of here before the five-oh even get close. jaejoong struggles against the weight, and his arms are twisted even harder, feels like his shoulders being popped out of their sockets when he hears glass shattering, guesses they've gotten impatient looking for the key to the jewelry counter and settled for the less sophisticated route. he feels something hard against the small of his back, and he hopes it isn't what he thinks it is, goes still and just wants them to get over with it. maybe it's one of those toy guns, he thinks. but it's heavy and oppressive and it probably isn't.
he hears the back door bang open and jaejoong's heart jumps when he hears changmin's voice. GET OUT, jaejoong picks up his head and yells. the man over him runs over to the back and jaejoong hopes that changmin, for once, has listened to him. he gets himself up off the floor to distract the others, but before he can even get close he sees someone coming at him from the side.
jaejoong ducks as a fist swings towards him but not fast enough and it catches him on the side of his head, legs giving out under him. it shouldn’t hurt so much, but it does, the constriction of muscles from standing up too long catching up with him. he can hear screaming and yelling and grunting and just hopes that they don't get something important, like bruise a kidney, break a rib and puncture a lung. he hopes even harder that changmin is doing a little better than he is.
put the money in the bag, hurry, he hears being shouted. keep the fucker down. jaejoong feels a palm splayed again the back of his head crushing his nose into the carpet, feels the scratchy fibers imprinting themselves into his skin. he thinks he hears the faint sound of sirens approaching but it could be his mind playing tricks on him from the lack of oxygen. right before everything starts going dim, he hears changmin's voice, jaejoong, hold on, hold on the police-interrupted by a dull thud and he hears the air kicked out of changmin, and a shut the fuck up. he hears the footsteps heading quickly towards the back door, the bustle of hurried let's go let's go. jaejoong hears the crash of racks being knocked over, a last minute fuck you. the kicking stopped a while ago, but he can still feel the throbbing of where they got him.
jaejoong tries to get up, but he only manages to get up on his hands before he falls down again, his neck stiff. the carpet is warm and comforting, and it seems like a good place to just lie down for a while and maybe sleep but someone is tugging at his clothes and he can't hear but he looks up and there's changmin, face frantic, worried and bruised. why did you come, jaejoong mouths. just as he loses consciousness, changmin replies you called me you fucking idiot.
✤
when the shot rips through his body he swears he can feel everything it tears through and he starts to count them off, keeps a running tally in his head because it's the only thing he can think to do at the time, he gets through skin fat nerves, he gets through all this up until he starts to feel it, he gets up to the muscle wall before he starts to scream and it burns feels like someone's basting his gut with boiling sugar, the bullet slips down past his ribs and lodges itself deep in his insides and if he had to guess if he had to stop and really think about it, he'd say it was somewhere between his appendix and small intestine
but instead he's thrashing screaming whimpering getting blood everywhere, doing all he fucking can not to think about it, kicking against the muggy air and banging his head back against something hard, reaching out groping for something anything and he grasps someone's hand warm slippery and red hangs on hangs hangs on like it'll keep him alive then it gets dim then black he falls asleep, for years, for decades, they say he's been cursed but then he's woken up by the boy with the warm hands, falls into sudden and needless spasms of movement, cries and moans uttered without the mind having issued orders to the throat, is he the one? he thinks and when his tongue is slick against
yoochun wakes up with his hands clenched into fists and his dick hard.
the next morning, yoochun asks jaejoong what the dream means, says that he's never felt so guilty jerking off in his entire life.
you mean even more guilty than that one time with your cousin, jaejoong says.
you're fucking useless, says yoochun, still disgruntled.
maybe you should get rid of that stupid excuse for your masculinity, jaejoong says as he kicks at a cockroach scuttling across the floor.
✤
yunho asks him out to dinner, takes him somewhere with off-white satin tablecloths and the waiters probably make in a day what jaejoong makes in a week. it's more than a little stuffy, but jaejoong can appreciate the gesture, even if he'd be just as happy sitting on the benches outside his office. jaejoong swings his legs underneath his chair, stops when he accidentally kicks yunho. i bring my clients here sometimes, yunho mentions as he spreads the napkin over his lap, to close deals. he smiles back up and the look on jaejoong's face makes him turn red. no, no, that's not what i meant, yunho waves his hand furiously, you're not like a client. jaejoong gives him an indulgent grin. i'm sure the braised veal is spectacular.
the comfortable weight of a stomach full of food makes their kiss against the elevator walls that much more content. the stumbling and trips towards the bed make jaejoong feel like a fattened pig ready to be slaughtered by a butcher with the softest hands and sharpest knives.
in the middle of the night, jaejoong feels his cock grow hard, doesn't need his eyes to adjust to the dark to know that yunho is fast asleep. he doesn't want to wake him, licks the open of his palm, wraps it around slick flesh. he gets into a familiar rhythm and after a while he closes his eyes. jaejoong barely notices when the bed shifts and a warm wet tongue slides against his neck and another hand finds his. he drops his arm to the side and keeps his eyes closed.
when yunho gets him on his hands and knees, jaejoong realizes it's the third time this night.
i had a dream, yunho mentions during breakfast one day, over twin bowls of cornflakes and milk. jaejoong wolfs his down and yunho plays with his own bowl, presses the cardboard-tasting flakes up against the sides, watches as they dry. something wrong? jaejoong asks. it was one of those falling ones. oh, those-jaejoong swallows a mouthful of coffee-they say those are a result of anxiety and insecurity.
oh, yunho says. that's strange.
you always wake up before you hit the ground, right?
yunho looks up. no.
oh.
what happens if you hit the ground?
nothing, it's stupid.
✤
the days become a haze of sex, coming down from it, working up to it. jaejoong feels like he’s nineteen again, except this time he not sure that what he’s running from isn’t exactly what he’s running to. yunho is always a gentleman, even when there are clear signs that he isn’t, when he asks jaejoong to do things like wrap his hand a little tighter against his throat or when he won’t talk about anything besides work, even when they’re fucking. he's always nervous though, like that first time jaejoong met him. sometimes, when jaejoong touches him, he’s vibrating and frenetic, can’t stay really still. how can you always be this way, jaejoong lets slip one day when the vibrations against his fingertips are too strong. it's because i'm dead, yunho mumbles. the atoms have to work harder to keep up appearances. when jaejoong blanches, yunho giggles, i was just kidding, jeez, you should’ve seen your face.
✤
yoochun stops talking to him. every time he tries to start a conversation, asks yoochun what he wants to eat, he grunts and shakes his head. sometimes he doesn't even come home for days, comes back from weekend benders smelling like grimy sweat-soaked gasoline and alcohol, curls up on the futon and sleeps for hours on end like when he used to mainline. jaejoong wants to break something, wants to shake him out of it but he's scared if he grips his arm too hard, raises his voice a decibel too high he might lose him. jaejoong can't tell if this is his version of a silent cry for help or a fuck off, pretty sure yoochun himself doesn't even know the difference.
you should eat more, jaejoong tells yoochun one day, traces his fingers down his ribs, stomach, to the line of soft hair disappearing down underneath the seam of his jeans. yoochun slowly processes the offer jaejoong is making and covers his hand with his, stops him. don't, yoochun croaks out. he gets up and goes into the bathroom. jaejoong starts running the water in the kitchen sink when he starts hearing the low, trembling breaths across the thin walls, the sound of a bottle being knocked over onto the linoleum.
✤
jaejoong waits until there's no one else in the shop to go inside. what did you do him, he asks the woman. there isn't any other explanation for it, jaejoong thinks. he's never seen yoochun get this hung up over someone that he's just met and there's no way you can just forget someone. she must have something to do with it. her stringy grey-white hair hangs in front of her face as she grinds a pestle into a large mortar. answer me, he presses. what did you do to him?
the twisting of her hand stops. i gave him what he wanted.
what?
you fall too easily, boy. i see it. your friend too. he came in one day, asked for something that would make him fall in love. she shakes her head and continues. i refused. i do not sell that kind of thing. too dangerous. but he kept begging, saying to give him something, that he wouldn't stop coming until i did. he's weak. you know this.
jaejoong looks down, the new information running through him like an electric current, realization creeping up on him. then why did you put something in what you sold me?
the woman stands still behind the counter, the tributaries of wrinkles in her face deepen as she looks at him, as if assessing his worth.
i felt sorry for the boy. i know that he is ill-fated, that he has no one. that day, i knew you came in here for him. i put in a diluted solution of what he demanded, mixed it with the medicine.
you can't just fuck with people's lives!
the woman chuckles faintly. you think i have any control over what happens in people's lives? every sorrow, joy, disappointment is already there. what i sell, she nods towards her shelves, only brings these things to the surface.
so what? better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? what do i do now? i've never seen him like this!
the other one's already forgotten him?
yeah.
i can give you something for your friend. listen carefully. it will not requite anything. that is beyond the scope of my powers.
then?
this will make the object of his affection want him more than he has ever wanted anything in his entire life.
not love?
you cannot force something like love. any attempt to will result in disaster. this will help him, if it is meant to happen. if not, after the encounter, everything will go back as it was. you are his closest friend, so you will have to make the choice whether or not to give this to him. i can only sell it to you.
jaejoong takes the vial from her, swishes the clear liquid around. what do i have to do? he asks. it is both tasteless and odorless. just makes sure he drinks it all, she answers.
before he pushes open the door to leave, jaejoong hesitates and turns around.
what about me?
she smiles, bares her teeth again.
you are already very lucky.
as he walks back, jaejoong wishes that he could be the one to love him.
✤
jaejoong pounds on yunho's door, but no one answers.
the lady next door says it was a tragedy, and he was such a handsome young man too. everyone knows it was the divorce. he'd always been a little off-kilter after the divorce, she says, always coming in at all the wrong times of night after that. and what a beautiful wife! none of us understood why they broke it off. they invited the entire floor over for a dinner party and she made the most delicious pan-fried filet. she leans in, beckons jaejoong closer. you know, the whole building thinks he was-
why are you talking in the past tense, jaejoong asks.
oh you don't know?
when jaejoong gets home, he can’t find the cufflink.
✤
yoochun’s sitting in the only shitty excuse for a park that his side of town has, watches the assortment of trash and needles float their way through the algae and there's a faint, underlying stench that's nothing but fitting. yoochun tosses pebbles into the stagnant water, the splashes momentarily opening up glimpses of water underneath, then closing back up just as quickly. an old couple strolls by, faces wrinkled and saggy, but the smiles are there, the knowledge of having something stable and constant. the old woman looks down at yoochun and smiles. yoochun can't find it in himself to smile back, turns back to the water.
he sits there for a couple more hours, until his legs are asleep, his ass hurts and he's run out cigarettes. he gets up to leave and when he turns, he sees junsu. his eyes are wide and clear and the color on his cheeks is high enough to be red. he smiles, and yoochun wants nothing more than to walk past him and feign ignorance, but yoochun knows he's already given himself away. the dirt is still damp from rainfall.
afterwards, when it's gotten dark, cicadas start chirping in the tree above them. it's insane and surreal and yoochun would've thought he was dreaming if junsu weren't right in front of him, eyes smiling just like when he first saw him.
✤
what happened to him, changmin asks.
i killed him.
annoying, yes. murderer, no. what really happened?
i made him kill himself. or i made him up and then killed him. i don't know which is worse.
that's not true.
it doesn't matter. i fucked him up. i fucked up yoochun. everything i touch turns to shit. he looks up at changmin, forces a smile. you better get out while you can.
changmin hesitates, pulls him in close, mumbles.
i've always played for keeps.
✤
i'm sorry it's not really the four seasons, yoochun apologizes as he jiggles the doorknob to get it open. i don't mind, junsu chuckles. the room is dark and musty, just like he left it. that's what we're working with, yoochun nods his head towards the futon. yoochun sits down first, his knees pulled up, notices the dirt underneath his toenails. one of the bulbs in the kitchen fuses, leaving the apartment a dim sickly yellow. junsu walks over and sits next to yoochun, shows him his hands. look my fingernails are dirty too. they both giggle and junsu pulls yoochun on top of him, and the futon slides a little bit so junsu wiggles his hips to bring it back into place. he suddenly stops and goes, what the, maneuvers out from underneath yoochun and sticks his hand underneath the mattress.
you have a gun, junsu says, more of a statement than a question.
i hope that's not a problem, yoochun replies, turning his head to watch him.
it's not a problem, junsu fits his fingers around the molds designated for them, it's fucking awesome. as junsu plays with it, runs his fingers across the textured handle, feels the weight of it in his hands, turning it over to inspect it with childlike curiosity, yoochun heads over to the kitchen cabinets and pulls out a small bottle from behind pots and pans. have you ever shot it, junsu asks, looking up. no, yoochun walks back. it was for my roommate, but he can't stand the sight of it. he thinks it's stupid.
yoochun snorts the rush, the dizziness billowing through his entire body, his head falling back from the sensation
junsu leans over and slides the barrel down the fabric of yoochun's boxers, presses it against his cock and yoochun gasps and snaps his head back upright at the contact and watches the small smile form in the corner of junsu's lips
you really like this thing, don't you?
i like you with it more, yoochun manages to get out.
he pushes up against the friction, the warmth of junsu's fingers against the trigger, the cold smoothness of the barrel molded into the slide, the tiny ridges of the grip against the insides of his thighs, their hips grinding together, hard against the metal, hard against each other. junsu hooks his arm around yoochun's neck, pulls him in close until their cheeks are touching, see how fucking hard i am for you. junsu draws back, places the gun beside them and pulls his shirt off, tugs at the hem of yoochun's and brings it up over his head. yoochun mouths against junsu's shoulder, do you know how much i've missed you, how can you just come back, i fucking hate you, but he purposely obscures the words with moans.
junsu guides yoochun's head onto the pillow, straddles him with his knees bent and picks up the gun again.
junsu suddenly laughs, like he's realized something. you know what's funny?
what? yoochun tries to bring himself to eye-level, but junsu pushes his hand against his chest and holds him still.
what's funny is that you couldn't even sit through one horror movie with me, but now you have a gun.
yeah, i guess. junsu has his back turned to the only light in the apartment so yoochun can only see the darkness of his silhouette, can't really make out his facial expressions. yoochun's body is slack and relaxed from the drug, doesn't really know why he pulls down junsu's hand holding the gun and brings it against his own lips. giggles a little deliriously, and goes, junsu, what's really funny is that i even considered putting a little piece of metal in this thing, and just get the fuck out, y'know?
yoochun guides junsu's hand so it pushes the barrel into his mouth, his teeth making a faint clicking noise around the metal, uses his tongue to articulate the rest of the words. see? just like in that movie with the schoolgirl. now you can fuck me and i won't make a sound, otherwise- yoochun pushes his finger against the trigger.
junsu shifts off of him, pulls his hand away from his mouth, carefully pries the gun out of yoochun's hands. that's not what i want to do with you.
junsu isn't romantic or anything like that, fucks him in mostly the wrong angles and it's just as reckless as the first time. when junsu drops his head down to the pillow, shoulder blades drawn tight and breathing heavy, yoochun finishes himself off between their stomachs and sobs into junsu's neck, please don't go.
✤
jaejoong told him once that misery made for better art.
yeah, yoochun had snorted, but who really thinks it's worth it?
i guess the ones that don't really have a choice, jaejoong answered.