Sweet Dreams, Beautiful Nightmares
Title: Sweet Dreams, Beautiful Nightmares
Rating: R/NC-17(??)
Summary: Some dreams can blur into reality.
Warning: other than the rating, beware of artistic licenses used pertaining to magical/mystical creature. This isn't how they're usually defined.
Disclaimer: If i owned TVXQ or any of this, i'd be living the life, not writing the fanfiction.
A/N: For the October Challenge at magyk_carousel, and for ima♥, who I hid from, saying I would write and i DID but never finished until now. it’s mostly coherent but unbetaed until she sees this and demands it from me. Oh, and title is obviously blatantly taken from a Beyonce song.
/sobs. Why is this so long?!
There were legends of old that spoke of mesmerizing creatures. Long ago stories and nearly forgotten tales that told of tantalizing beauty and a sensuous touch. A people, a capricious race that would steal into your dreams and love you. Love you and love you and love you until there’s nothing left to love.
***
They’ve come almost every night this past week and Changmin comes to the same conclusion over and over again.
They’re different. Changmin knows it from the moment they step through the doors. The air seems to fall around them oddly, swirling like some live entity, slowing then quickening but never really settling. They don’t even glance his way but through the low lights and dim haze of the club, Changmin surveys them with a practiced eye. He can’t really figure out what sets them apart: they’re immaculately clothed, dressed to the nines, looking like every other patron gracing the high end strip club. The difference is there though. Subtle and hardly noticeable, but still there.
As the night wears on and the dancers on stage wear less, Changmin continues to observe them. The pale one with inky black hair and inky black eyes that enhance his white skin orders a colorful drink, some complicated mix that even Changmin has trouble perfecting-complete with mini umbrella. In contrast, his companion orders something completely staid. Just whiskey, on the rocks, not too much ice, and only a hint of lime. The choice of drink tells a lot about a person and this is no exception.
As for the difference, he figures it out soon enough. They’re faces are turned to the stage, but they aren’t watching the dancers. Instead, their gazes seem to be riveted to the engaged crowd. Changmin’s pretty sure it’s the lateness of the hour, or maybe it’s the neon lights dancing sporadically along every surface, or maybe he’s just tired-he can swear there’s something odd about their eyes. Both pairs seem to be flashing dark colors, like a flicker of something bright but then he blinks and he can’t be too sure.
He stares-hard-because he’s been working here for a while and he’s seen some pretty weird shit, but not like this. He tries hard not to blink because though the eyes never waver from the crowd, the face changes. Blank, amiable expressions fill with blatant lust, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and Changmin can see every raw desire on their faces. They’re so enthralled that Changmin pauses to wonder what they’re looking at. His gaze roams the crowd and there’s really nothing there. The same, rhythmic movements of bodies too close, moving too fast, just a mindless motion of people.
He finds nothing, eyes involuntarily flitting back to the pair seemingly mesmerized by the crowd. When he does, it’s to find his breath caught in his throat, one hungry gaze turned to his person.
He and the tall one-whiskey-their eyes lock for what seems like an interminable amount of time, yet Changmin knows it can’t have been more than a second. There is a world in those eyes, a need, a desperate craving for something indecipherable; he almost can’t look away.
The other man breaks eye contact first and Changmin learns to breathe again. He chokes on air for a moment, not used to having it back after it’s been stolen. When he looks again, the pair is moving towards the crowd, most likely to join in its untamed cavorting. Changmin doesn’t see them for the rest of the night, which isn’t really surprising since the club is huge and made to hide and veil the countless trysts certain to happen in the many well-placed alcoves. He doesn’t bother looking for them at all, though he can’t help the fleeting glances he gives to their table where their drinks lay uncollected.
The colorful drink is empty and the whiskey lays untouched.
And the dreams start. Vivid pictures in his head that leave him gasping for air in the cold of the night but feeling much too warm and painfully erect. The dreams are normal-in the beginning. They start innocently enough, just random spinoffs of scenes in his day-to-day life, tiny concerns, and idle thoughts of work, tedious things, food. Then, slowly, it changes. Darkness, like a fog, encroaches thick around the edges of his sleep-induced imagination. Slowly, everything else disappears and the fog engulfs him. It should have scared him, made him anxious-something. But even in his sleep, Changmin is logical:
Why should he be scared? It’s just a dream.
Instead of apprehension, he feels curiosity. Despite being dark, large, and ominous-looking, the fog is soft, gentle, and slow in its approach towards Changmin’s awaiting form. It touches him, tentatively unfurling small curlicues of smoke as they touch him and caress his skin. The touch is both hot and cold, freezing him in place while lighting that small patch of skin on fire. There are sparks, tingles that burn but don’t hurt-at least not in a pain that he’d ever turn away.
He makes a sound, a tiny groan coming from the back of his throat and it’s like the fog is alive. It knows that he’s not in pain, that the light touch feels good and so it surges more confidently around Changmin’s prone body. It envelopes him, touching him in one place, but feeling like it’s everywhere all at once.
The fog takes on what seems to be an outlined form, like hands-but too wispy for Changmin to be sure-and they lick at his pulse points: curling around his wrists to pull them away from his body and leaving him bare, dimpling the expanse of his shoulders, neck, and throat till the vulnerable column is stretched. Changmin breathes a needy sigh. A firm touch-though impossible for what shouldn’t really be able to touch him, yet unmistakable in Changmin’s sensitized state-kneads the muscle of his inner thigh where a vein throbs, nudging it delicately open.
The initial reaction is to resist at first because he’s never been that easy-not in real life and certainly not in his dreams. Except-this is just a dream (right?) and it feels too good for Changmin not to let it happen. His decision seems to make the fog happy: something that could be a mouth peppering kisses across his hips. Whorls of dark mist stroke at his belly, teasingly closer and closer to his groin until Changmin thinks he might go insane with want. His cock juts hard and swollen from his body, begging for attention and yet it’s the only place that goes untouched.
He whimpers a plea, wanting to be touched, hovering so close to the edge, knowing what he wants but unable to voice it. How do you tell anything to something that isn’t really there? But, again, it seems to have a mind of its own, reading into Changmin’s wide-eyed pleas and then there’s warmth engulfing the head.
I want. I want. Please, please I-
Abruptly he jerks awake, body racked with spasms as he twists and turns on the mattress, the usually soft fabric of the bed providing the sweetest friction for his swollen cock. He almost comes from the contact alone, but there’s a black haze at the edge if his vision and a prickly heat crawling on every surface of his skin. He knows he’s awake (or is he?) and he really shouldn’t be seeing or feeling any of this.
A voice, like music, begins to whisper in his ears and almost all coherent thought leaves him. There are words, most of which he can’t understand, but he gets the simple coaxing: touch. The fog, haze, smoke-whatever it is-doesn’t have a solid form and can’t touch Changmin the way he wants to be touched. But it can guide.
With help from the sensuous whispering in his ear, Changmin learns to stroke his himself to a rhythm different from his usual. He doesn’t usually pay attention to the details when jacking off, preferring to enter that blinding oblivion as quickly as possible so he can do it all over again. But this time, his fingers linger on the skin, marveling at the feel of steel velvet under his palm. The other hand comes into play, fondling his balls while an eager thumb rubs at his head.
It doesn’t take long after that. One squeeze, two-Changmin comes messily onto the sheets. He stays in that blissful high for an obscenely long time, so long that even while up there he thinks it’s strange. He can’t really put much thought into that because he’s coming down now and a heavy weight feels like it’s pressed itself onto his body.
He’s tired, oh so tired, lethargy pulling like bricks at his limbs. The last thing Changmin knows is one last whisper and then black.
Inevitably, Whiskey Man introduces himself.
“Hi, my name is Yunho," is said with warm eyes and a sensuous grin. It's wholly different from the brooding persona he’s used to watching from across a crowded room, so he’s caught slightly off guard. He shuts his mouth in favor of not stuttering and making a complete fool out of himself. Pointing to his name tag he goes, “I'm-” but doesn't get to finish because he’s being stared at in the most unsubtle manner possible and really, hearts are supposed to keep beating. They aren’t meant to start and stop at sensuous smiles and an intense gaze.
“You’re Changmin, I know.” There’s something in the way he says it, an inflection on the last two words that give the seemingly obvious answer (he is wearing his name tag and pointing at it) more weight than it should have.
He nods because words have abandoned him, gesturing towards the whiskey, eyes questioning. “The usual,” Yunho confirms with another heart-stopping smile. Changmin does his job almost mechanically, arms a bit stiff and hands slightly unsure. Yunho has the oddest effect on him and that’s enough to rub Changmin the wrong way. His eyes flicker shortly to the couch the two usually commandeer and is surprised to find it empty.
His first words to the handsome man in front of him are “Where’s your friend?”
He’s too busy pouring liquor, missing the slight tightening of the other man’s jaw. “He’s got other plans tonight.” Changmin knows that tone, has been a bar tender long enough to know when someone doesn’t want to talk. So he lets it go, offering the tumbler of whiskey with a customary smile and gets one twice as bright in return. Changmin ignores how his heart pounds and breath catches when their fingers brush as the whiskey is passed.
“You look like shit.” Changmin ignores the passing comment as he makes his way to the back, carefully storing his things in his designated locker. Yoochun’s never been one to mince his words. And really, it’s not like he doesn’t know what he looks like. Even his professors thought he was looking a little too pale, constantly hounding him about his dark under eye circles and slow reactions in class. He’d been referred to the Nurse’s Office at least twice today.
“Yeah, well, it isn’t just a look. I feel like it too. Besides, you’re not exactly Prince Charming either.” He goes through the motions lethargically, wiping down the counter and making sure all the liquor is intact for a busy night.
Beside him, Yoochun cleans glass after sparkly glass until each of them shine. “What, school and work too much for you?”
“No,” he shakes his head in reply. “Just…I haven’t been able to sleep well lately.” He knows it’s the wrong thing to say the moment he glances at Yoochun’s face.
“Ah, to be young,” Yoochun sighs wistfully, a smirk much too smug on his face. “Wanking off every night, eh?”
“You’re disgusting.” Changmin scowls and adds a roll of his eyes. “No. it’s just-I’ve been having these dreams and-”
“Wet dreams. Those are normal.” Yoochun says with the most patronizing look on his face. “Nothing to be embarrassed about Changmin-ah.”
Changmin stares at Yoochun for a heartbeat longer than he should have and sighs. “Forget I said anything. Why do I tell you these things anyway? I just wasted three minutes of my life and a good amount of brain cells talking to you.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know, many people of both sexes think I have the most scintillating conversation.”
“Right. Your first mistake was in thinking those people could think at all.” Changmin snorts, ready to move on to the next subject. Tired or not, the older man really was asking for it. “And bravo. I never would have guessed you’d known what ‘scintillating’ was, much less actually using it in a sentence.”
Even in his worn out state, Changmin ducks the rag thrown at him just in time.
He blames his slow reaction time on fatigue. He refuses to acknowledge the pounding of his heart against his rib cage or the fact that his breath is stolen once again-except this time it doesn’t seem like he’ll be getting it back anytime soon.
Yunho stands in front of him with smoldering eyes and a luscious lower lip which-together with the upper half-settles into an enigmatic smile that says everything but doesn’t really tell you anything at all. They stare at each other and those lips move, that face changes, but all Changmin really sees are those eyes and hears nothing but that rush of melodious whisperings he’d become familiar with in his dreams.
Its only when Yoochun nudges him none too gently with a skinny elbow that they break eye contact and Changmin is released from that holding gaze. The rushing is still in his ears but he can hear other things now. Like the tinkling of glass, the hum of people, and the rough timbre of a masculine voice over the pounding of music.
Yoochun’s apologizing, bowing at Yunho who looks understanding but for some reason Changmin can still feel that intense gaze slowing his senses. Those eyes, he realizes, and resolutely refuses to look into them again. He fulfills the order speedily-whiskey for Whiskey Man and another complicated drink-breaking even his own personal record.
As Yunho’s back retreats, drinks in hand, Changmin’s eyes flicker involuntarily towards the man’s companion and is met with another smoldering gaze. There’s a knowing smirk on those lips-unmistakable even under the flashing lights of the club-and Changmin knows better than to hold that stare. He looks away quickly, afraid he’ll be mesmerized, that his breath will be stolen again. But mostly he’s afraid for the erratic beating of his heart:
It’s fleeting, inexplicable…and occurs only when he meets flashing eyes.
It’s happening again. He knows the exact moment the dream transitions into something else. Every sensation is heightened, from the slide of the sheets against his body, to the resulting tingles of soft fabric mingling with heated skin. As always, he resists at first, but always he’s overpowered by tinkling whispers and a skirting touch. Escape seems almost unthinkable as shadows wrap around him, sweet words, and a ghost touch weaving him a tangled web.
It’s not that he’s paralyzed, but a heavy weight settles atop him and it’s hard to move. He doesn’t struggle because he knows what’s coming won’t hurt. On the contrary, it’ll feel good-real good. But it’s also strange. Strange is the feeling of a warm mouth kissing up his thighs, of firm yet gentle fingers holding down his hips, of a darting tongue licking a wet stripe across the head of his hardening length.
Then a sweet voice at his ear, whispering sweet nothings with dirty words, guiding the hands and directing the mouth in a melodic lilt that Changmin only half understands. He trembles under the thorough ministration: gasping and groaning at sensitive spots, whining and whimpering at any prolonged attention.
They tease him mercilessly and it’s easy to bring him to climax this way. A firm grip and a well placed kiss or two and he’s unraveling rapidly onto the sheets. He’s only allowed to breathe for a second before that sweet voice is coaxing him out of his high and working up another erection.
This second time starts out more slowly with a lazy mouth sucking at his nipple and a hand stroking languidly at his side. The weight is still on his body but now it’s more like hips pressing down on his own, rolling lightly so that it isn’t long before he’s hard again. He groans at the sensation of another cock rubbing against his, unable to call out a name but desperately wanting to. A hand encircles both members and the voice urges him to thrust up into the tight ring.
He does as he’s told, the suggestion bringing a hot friction that has him arching off the bed. A thumb swipes at his head on the downward stroke and heaven repeats itself, bathed in black wisps instead of white light. He comes down on his own now and the weight on his body feels even heavier.
The voice is whispering again and Changmin wants to say stop. enough. Too tired but another voice adds itself to the mix, deeper and more growling, creating an irresistible harmony that he really can’t say no to. He does as bid, feeling things shift around him as he sits up and settles down against what should be his headboard but feels like a warm chest instead. There’s a breath behind his ear that feels so real, arms that encircle him in a hold so strong and a touch that feels so good is can’t just be a dream. He almost wishes it isn’t, that the lips mouthing at his temple and the pair of hands stroking warmly at his collar were a reality instead.
It’s with these wistful thoughts that Changmin completely misses how the hands migrate to his hips, the arms tightening around his chest. He doesn’t realize it until a tight heat engulfs the head of his cock, twin growls emitting from above and behind him. He adds his own pitch to the harmony, a low keening as his head falls back and he fights the urge to thrust up.
For the first time the whisperings cease, replaced by harsh pants and soft sighs that could just be himself or the reality he wished he had. Dream or not, he doesn’t want to hurt anybody and so screws his eyes shut, fighting for control as the devastating heat sinks around him. He can feel it’s a tight fit, the wet heat that surrounds him making control hard to come by. He finds it though, even if it leaves him feeling half dead; the other half is somewhere just below cloud nine.
Whoever’s on him seats himself fully onto Changmin’s lap. What comes next surprises Changmin beyond words.
“Changmin.”
His name is uttered in a throaty groan, so unexpected that it goes straight to his cock. His hips snap up, moving of their own accord. The mouth at his ear echoes his name and Changmin stills, eyes flying open. A man shrouded in black mist rides him, familiar face twisted in pleasure as Changmin’s last thrust hits just the right spot. Changmin can see him biting his lip, waiting for the next but he’s too shocked to do anything but stare. Their eyes meet and the deer-caught-in-the-headlights look is infinitely different from the cold, smirking face he’s used to seeing from across a smoky club.
If this was him then-
A sharp turn of his head gives Changmin a full view of a face he’s become obsessed with in the last few weeks. Yunho looks down at him color high, eyes dark and mouth parted to release hurried breaths. “Yun-”
He gets about half way before the man riding him gets impatient and rolls his hips vengefully at Changmin’s inattention. The rest of Yunho’s name comes out in a loud moan that Changmin will never admit to when lucid. Yunho returns in kind, breathing Changmin’s name hotly into Changmin’s ear. He holds tighter and for the first time Changmin realizes that the narrowed pressure at his back is Yunho’s cock poking him from the rear. At the same time he notices there’s a cock in front of him and that its swollen red and leaking, woefully neglected.
Immediately he reaches out to remedy the fact because it looks oddly lonely and it shouldn’t be, but Changmin hesitates, doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch. A soft nip at his ear relieves him of that notion, so he holds the hard length in his palm. He’s rewarded with a surprised yet satisfied grunt that has him lifting his hips while Yunho groans loudly in response. The man leans forward, resting his forehead on Changmin’s shoulder as Changmin lets instinct take over. The man’s voice loses its melodious lilt for a more addictive tune. Harder. Faster. Fuck me is muffled into his shoulder with just a hint of teeth.
Yunho’s arms release themselves from Changmin’s chest to come around the other man, fingers splayed to dimple broad shoulders. Changmin watches as blunt nails run down pale skin, black wisps trailing as lines appear, red and raised. It looks painful but the effect it has on the man on top him is quite the opposite. The man arches completely off of him, back bowed and mouth slack Changmin’s mesmerized by that face, utterly enthralled by that flashing, wild gaze. He loses the rhythm to his hips, Yunho taking his hand and together wrapping it around the man’s cock. It’s hot and heavy in Changmin’s palm, but Yunho whispers hurriedly in a foreign tongue, knows they’re all close and guiding Changmin’s hand fast, like it’s a race against time-maybe it is.
“Jaejoong,” Yunho urges in a hot breath and Changmin can feel the first contraction of muscles around him. “His name. Say his name!”
It’s little more than a command and Changmin can do nothing but follow.
“Jaejoong.”
There’s a moment after he says it that time stops still. Jaejoong gasps, drops onto Changmin’s chest and makes a beeline for his mouth. For the first time ever they kiss, a messy exploration of tongue and teeth that fuels Changmin’s lust and nearly shoots him into orgasm but ends much too soon.
Yunho has a hand in Jaejoong’s hair, holding him mercilessly away from Changmin’s searching mouth. Changmin growls in frustration, wanting nothing but the taste of Jaejoong’s lips because he’s so fucking close that he doesn’t even know why he’s still able to fight against the tight clenching of Jaejoong’s walls around him.
“Jaejae, no.” He hears Yunho say when Jaejoong struggles the grip he has to get to Changmin’s waiting mouth. Changmin surges up to close the distance but Yunho just pulls them farther apart. “You can’t Boojae, you’ll kill him.”
Those words seem to get through the almost wild look in Jaejoong’s flashing eyes and he stops trying to maul Changmin’s mouth. Yunho kisses Jaejoong instead, roughly pulling the other man into a kiss that has no grace, no finesse. Just a raw, melding of mouths that topple Changmin over the edge as he watches. The last thing he remembers is the tap-tap-tapping of Jaejoong’s fingers over his heart and the distinct harmony of three voices as they all cry out in release.
Changmin wakes up and it’s still dark out. He feels more tired than when he went to bed and finds that he doesn’t really care that there’s a sticky mess between his legs. He wakes up, phone vibrating underneath his pillow and all he cares about is falling back into unconsciousness. The ringing is incessant though, and Changmin has to fish for it lethargically in order to fling it across the room. He catches a glimpse of the screen before doing so and finds more than a dozen missed calls and one incoming. Most are from friends, a few from his classmates, and even a couple from his parents. What, did someone die?
The incoming call is from Yoochun.
“Hello?” his voice is hoarse from sleep and disuse.
“Oh thank God. Changmin, where have you been?!” Yoochun sounds simultaneously panicked and relieved, a tone Changmin doesn’t comprehend.
“What? Where have I been? I’m at my apartment, hyung. It’s the middle of the night; I was sleeping.”
There’s an awkward pause that Yoochun eloquently ends with the words, “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me.”
Changmin listens dumbfounded as Yoochun explains to him that he’s been missing for the better half of almost three days. They were just about to report his disappearance the next morning. Changmin refuses to believe it at first but is forced to when he looks at the date on his phone and the times on his missed calls. He ends up hanging up on Yoochun in midsentence, unable to grasp the fact that he slept for nearly three days. He wonders, asks why, thinks about what could have happened, and then remembers the dream.
It’s a full on flashback that tightens his body and leaves him shuddering, gasping at the memory. He stares at his bed in disbelief.
Most importantly, Changmin wakes up alone.
In the end the excuse he gives is something generic, that he extended his one day trip to three because he really didn’t think anyone would care. After much protest and extracting a promise that he’d never do something like that again, almost all worries are appeased. All except Yoochun’s.
Because whether Chanmgin likes it or not, Yoochun knows the truth. Yoochun doesn’t say anything about his blatant lie because it’s really none of his business, but he does watch Chanmgin with a new found sharpness that Changmin didn’t know the usually flippant man was capable of. He does, however, suggest that Changmin take a few days off, even offering to cover his shifts. Changmin accepts without much complaint because Yoochun expects him to and Changmin thinks a break doesn’t sound so bad.
Except these days, Changmin’s afraid to sleep, the dreams taking over his nights and then haunting him during the day with random flashbacks that leave him half-hard and breathless, a prickly heat running over his skin where fingers-there but not really-usually skim. Sometimes he does and sometimes he doesn’t, but most of the time he fears. Fears because he wants it too much, can’t wait for night to fall and the obligations of the day to finish so that he can rush to his bed and hope to dream of touch and sex and reaching that blinding high bathed in black and not white.
His few days are actually only a week because being at home staring listlessly at his bed for hours on end drives him insane. He tries to stay away from the club but ends up walking by the designated employee entrance about a million times before Yoochun throws the doors open with a bang, telling him to get in or go away. He does the former, obviously, even if he’s considered the latter countless times.
Once inside, Yoochun informs him that he is to go nowhere near any of the liquor just in case the fumes had some kind of effect on his brain. Also, it seems that he’s temporarily demoted to waiting tables until he’s steady again. Changmin only lets loose a snarky comment or two, understanding that this was Yoochin’s indirect way of acting like the hyung he didn’t usually bother to be. Changmin only rolls his eyes and barely manages to bite his tongue when he finds out that the tables he’s been assigned to are the one’s nearest a cluster of alcoves and private rooms. Being the farthest away from the dance floor means that very few people ventured there, ensuring that Changmin wouldn’t have much to do.
Changmin’s thankful in his own way because he really needs a distraction, even if he honestly doesn’t think that coming back to the place where it all began will do him any good. The night progresses without incident; Changmin’s just a touch bored. He’s got a pretty good view of the stage from where he’s stationed, but the women only mildly spark his interest (he’s male after all). He keeps getting random flashbacks instead, of a cock against his and a three part harmony with two voices and his own crying out in ecstasy.
The reminder only serves to make his eyes sweep involuntarily across the crush of people crowding around the dance floor, searching for flashing eyes. Except he never finds them. Not that night and not even the nights after that. He can’t help but wonder where they are, what they’re doing, and why they don’t come back. Even the dreams have stopped now and Changmin feels sort of like an addict going through a withdrawal.
He wants to see them, ask them questions like what happened? Why him? What now?
Mostly what now. He finds that he doesn’t really care about anything else, just that he can’t stop thinking about them, how they made him feel and how he’s afraid he might forget.
Weeks pass and still nothing. It doesn’t feel like withdrawal anymore; it leans more towards obsession now. He thinks he sees milky white skin and inky black hair everywhere. Sometimes his head turn at the sound of a lilting voice or firm baritone, hoping it might be one of them but he’s always disappointed.
He’s just about given up hope when Yoochun has him clear a particularly loaded table at the far side of his designated area. He’s leaning over placing glasses on a tray when, incidentally, he looks up and there, entering the corner alcove that housed a secluded, circular booth, were the two figures he thought he’d never see again. Promptly, he abandons his work and follows right behind them. They’re just about to settle onto the plush couch when Changmin enters in a rush.
They glance first at each other, then at him. Yunho opens his mouth first. “I’m sorry, but we aren’t ready to order our drinks yet. If you could give us a few minutes-”
“You.” Changmin says, unable to believe it’s really them. They’re more breath taking and magnificent than the last time he saw them (which was in his dreams, and that he isn’t even sure of), and he’s drawn like a moth to a flame. “I’ve finally found you.”
The two look at each other again, faces unreadable, but Changmin’s so sure. “I’m sorry but, do we know you?” Jaejoong says, and Changmin is totally unprepared for the lightning bolt aimed straight at his heart.
“No. no,” Changmin shakes his head. “Don’t try to deny it. You’re Yunho and you’re Jaejoong.” He points at them in turn. “You’re beautiful and your eyes flash. You like stupid, messy, complicated drinks while Yunho barely touches the whiskey he orders. And. And-and I dream about you guys at night. You. I-we-” he’s suddenly embarrassed, stammering at what he wants to say, never really thinking about how it would sound out loud. He’d always known it would sound crazy; it does.
The two are doing a good job of looking lost. Dumbfounded. Confused. Like they have no idea what Changmin’s talking about. And maybe they don’t. They were just his dreams after all, but he’s already come this far sounding like a lunatic, might as well take it all the way.
“Jaejae. Boojae.” He says as a final resort. “That’s what Yunho called you when…”
It’s a like a light clears in Jaejoong’s gaze and suddenly he’s rushing Changmin, pulling the taller man against his lithe frame with surprising strength. “You remember,” is whispered longingly against his lips before a warm tongue licks tentatively to be let in. Elation and black lust pool at his gut as Jaejoong raids his mouth, relief at every press of his lips. Changmin responds in the only way he can-desperately-because this is what he’s craved for weeks now, what he’s searched for probably most of his life but hadn’t realized it.
The spell is broken quickly as Yunho clamps a hand on Jaejoong’s shoulder and wrenches them apart. “Jaejoong. Stop.” The moment Jaejoong steps away, Changmin’s legs fail him, stumbling and barely catching himself on the leather couch. His knees are like jelly and his arms feel burdened with leaden weights. He wonders what could have brought this on, his mind asking even if his heart knows.
Jaejoong’s kiss is like poison.
It’s horribly addictive and even now Changmin feels the effects. And the only thing he can think about is if Yunho’s will make him feel the same way.
“Is this what you want?” the taller man hisses, face hard as his eyes flicker to and from Changmin’s fallen state and Jaejoong’s wide-eyed defiance. “Do you see what it does to him?” Yunho’s hands and his words paint the truth as he gestures toward Changmin, presenting him like some glorified feast that neither of them can touch but dreadfully want. “You’ll kill him.”
“But, Yunho, don’t you see?” Jaejoong pleads. “He-he loves us.”
“This isn’t love,” Yunho says with a shake of his head, and he seems more than a little sad. “We’ve done what we’re made to do: we’ve rolled him. Rolled him badly enough so that all he wants is us. This isn’t love Jaejoong. He’d rather die to have us love him than live for himself.”
“No, Yunnie, you don’t understand,” Jaejoong continues. “His kiss! You can feel it in his kiss! He really-”
“You kiss him and he dies,” Yunho reminds his beloved companion. His words are bitter, sad, born of countless loves before that had all perished at their loving touch. “Don’t let him be like the others Boojae.”
“He isn’t like the others,” Jaejoong presses on. “I felt it the last time we were together. He wants us-not because we can make him feel good. Not because he’s addicted-but because he needs us Yunnie. Like we need him.”
“He’ll die.”
“Yunho!” Jaejoong sighs in exasperation. “Kiss him. If you just kiss him, you’ll know what I’m talking about. He’s-”
“You think I don’t want to?” Yunho says harshly, raw emotion fueling his anger. “You think I don’t understand what you mean when you say he’s different? I felt it too, Jaejae, I felt it too.” He kneels in front of Changmin’s sprawled form, a hand stroking the air just above Changmin’s cheek. “He’s beautiful and strong. If we keep him, he’ll last.” He murmurs, mesmerized by the planes of Changmin’s face, the slight parting of his mouth as he took a breath and let it out, the flutter of his lashes as he blinked slowly up at Yunho. Changmin’s head tilts of his own accord, getting ready for the moment Yunho decides to let their mouths touch, and waiting patiently for it to happen.
“But he’s only human and he. Will. Die.”
He stands abruptly, aware of the pain that occurs when he puts distance between them.
Jaejoong can only watch hopelessly because he knows Yunho is right. He’s experienced the same heartache at seeing every one of their loves die by their hands, unwittingly done by showing too much affection. It hurts his heart while his lover likes to shoulder the brunt of the pain. But Changmin’s different. He doesn’t know how to put it in words, but he can feel it. Jaejoong knows that pain enshrouds Yunho’s heart and it makes him unable to see the light he sees in Changmin. A light that could help all three of them.
“Then. What if-what if we bind him?”
“Bind him?” Yunho echoes incredulously. “Binding is only the stuff of legends, Jaejoong.”
“We’ll never know if we don’t try!”
“What if we succeed you mean?” Yunho scowls. “And, what? Let him live a life of darkness and shadows like we do? He wasn’t born into this like we were Jaejae. Changmin deserves more than just dreams.”
“It doesn’t have to be just a dream,” Jaejoong tells him stubbornly. “We’re capable of reality too.”
“But at what price?” They engage in a silent battle of wills, each fighting for his side, wants and wills clashing. That they both wanted this-with Changmin-was obvious. But whether they should was a different matter all together.
“Any price,” Jaejoong says with determination. “I’m willing to pay.”
“If you have him…” Yunho says quietly. “You might lose me.”
“Is that a threat?” Jaejoong asks, eyes narrowed but heart aching at the thought.
“No,” Yunho shakes his head. “Merely a possibility. We can’t have him both, Boojae,” Yunho sighs. “He’ll die faster with the two of us than with just one.”
“Stop saying he’s going to die.” Jaejoong’s right; he should stop saying it. Whether or not he says it doesn’t really make a difference. With the both of them it was inevitable.
“I…I want to try,” Changmin says quietly. He’d been content to just listen since things seemed to be going in his favor but he thinks it’s high time he gave his opinion on the matter.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Yunho says with a tragic look on his face. Jaejoong has the same look, but his eyes are more hopeful. Determined.
“I don’t know, but I want to find out,” Changmin answers. He’s tired, oh so tired. Of the wanting, the waiting, the indecision. He wants the surety and security these two somehow give him. It’s completely irrational, probably even life threatening, and he might not feel the same way about it after wards, but he doesn’t feel anything but undeniable happiness as Jaejoong slowly unbuttons the buttons of his uniform one by one. When Yunho doesn’t protest, just watches as Jaejoong exposes Changmin’s chest, Changmin adds hope to his elation.
It isn’t until Jaejoong is placing tender lips over Changmin’s heart that Yunho makes his own move.
Yunho’s mouth on his own is better only because Jaejoong has lips wrapped around their hearts.
A/N: So. Well, I just killed myself writing this. Not to mention it took me an obscenely long time to write. Like, trying to write smut has literally fried my brain. I can’t write good smut. Is it obvious? this went so many different ways I think I confused my beta. The unfinished draft I sent her had possessive!Yunho and asshole!Jae. and now…well, for some reason it ended up tragic!Yunho and hopeful!Jae. my muse HATES me. and WTF?! It was supposed to be HoMin! Idk what happened though. I got JaeHoMin instead @_@ this also has the potential for good OT5, but i suck at that kind of stuff so....TT_TT
Anyway, thank God for cell phones. I don’t actually use it to text, but the only time I can write anything mildly coherent is when I’m horizontal.
Comments are ♥
I promise, they won’t kill me XD
Rating: R/NC-17(??)
Summary: Some dreams can blur into reality.
Warning: other than the rating, beware of artistic licenses used pertaining to magical/mystical creature. This isn't how they're usually defined.
Disclaimer: If i owned TVXQ or any of this, i'd be living the life, not writing the fanfiction.
A/N: For the October Challenge at magyk_carousel, and for ima♥, who I hid from, saying I would write and i DID but never finished until now. it’s mostly coherent but unbetaed until she sees this and demands it from me. Oh, and title is obviously blatantly taken from a Beyonce song.
/sobs. Why is this so long?!
There were legends of old that spoke of mesmerizing creatures. Long ago stories and nearly forgotten tales that told of tantalizing beauty and a sensuous touch. A people, a capricious race that would steal into your dreams and love you. Love you and love you and love you until there’s nothing left to love.
***
They’ve come almost every night this past week and Changmin comes to the same conclusion over and over again.
They’re different. Changmin knows it from the moment they step through the doors. The air seems to fall around them oddly, swirling like some live entity, slowing then quickening but never really settling. They don’t even glance his way but through the low lights and dim haze of the club, Changmin surveys them with a practiced eye. He can’t really figure out what sets them apart: they’re immaculately clothed, dressed to the nines, looking like every other patron gracing the high end strip club. The difference is there though. Subtle and hardly noticeable, but still there.
As the night wears on and the dancers on stage wear less, Changmin continues to observe them. The pale one with inky black hair and inky black eyes that enhance his white skin orders a colorful drink, some complicated mix that even Changmin has trouble perfecting-complete with mini umbrella. In contrast, his companion orders something completely staid. Just whiskey, on the rocks, not too much ice, and only a hint of lime. The choice of drink tells a lot about a person and this is no exception.
As for the difference, he figures it out soon enough. They’re faces are turned to the stage, but they aren’t watching the dancers. Instead, their gazes seem to be riveted to the engaged crowd. Changmin’s pretty sure it’s the lateness of the hour, or maybe it’s the neon lights dancing sporadically along every surface, or maybe he’s just tired-he can swear there’s something odd about their eyes. Both pairs seem to be flashing dark colors, like a flicker of something bright but then he blinks and he can’t be too sure.
He stares-hard-because he’s been working here for a while and he’s seen some pretty weird shit, but not like this. He tries hard not to blink because though the eyes never waver from the crowd, the face changes. Blank, amiable expressions fill with blatant lust, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and Changmin can see every raw desire on their faces. They’re so enthralled that Changmin pauses to wonder what they’re looking at. His gaze roams the crowd and there’s really nothing there. The same, rhythmic movements of bodies too close, moving too fast, just a mindless motion of people.
He finds nothing, eyes involuntarily flitting back to the pair seemingly mesmerized by the crowd. When he does, it’s to find his breath caught in his throat, one hungry gaze turned to his person.
He and the tall one-whiskey-their eyes lock for what seems like an interminable amount of time, yet Changmin knows it can’t have been more than a second. There is a world in those eyes, a need, a desperate craving for something indecipherable; he almost can’t look away.
The other man breaks eye contact first and Changmin learns to breathe again. He chokes on air for a moment, not used to having it back after it’s been stolen. When he looks again, the pair is moving towards the crowd, most likely to join in its untamed cavorting. Changmin doesn’t see them for the rest of the night, which isn’t really surprising since the club is huge and made to hide and veil the countless trysts certain to happen in the many well-placed alcoves. He doesn’t bother looking for them at all, though he can’t help the fleeting glances he gives to their table where their drinks lay uncollected.
The colorful drink is empty and the whiskey lays untouched.
And the dreams start. Vivid pictures in his head that leave him gasping for air in the cold of the night but feeling much too warm and painfully erect. The dreams are normal-in the beginning. They start innocently enough, just random spinoffs of scenes in his day-to-day life, tiny concerns, and idle thoughts of work, tedious things, food. Then, slowly, it changes. Darkness, like a fog, encroaches thick around the edges of his sleep-induced imagination. Slowly, everything else disappears and the fog engulfs him. It should have scared him, made him anxious-something. But even in his sleep, Changmin is logical:
Why should he be scared? It’s just a dream.
Instead of apprehension, he feels curiosity. Despite being dark, large, and ominous-looking, the fog is soft, gentle, and slow in its approach towards Changmin’s awaiting form. It touches him, tentatively unfurling small curlicues of smoke as they touch him and caress his skin. The touch is both hot and cold, freezing him in place while lighting that small patch of skin on fire. There are sparks, tingles that burn but don’t hurt-at least not in a pain that he’d ever turn away.
He makes a sound, a tiny groan coming from the back of his throat and it’s like the fog is alive. It knows that he’s not in pain, that the light touch feels good and so it surges more confidently around Changmin’s prone body. It envelopes him, touching him in one place, but feeling like it’s everywhere all at once.
The fog takes on what seems to be an outlined form, like hands-but too wispy for Changmin to be sure-and they lick at his pulse points: curling around his wrists to pull them away from his body and leaving him bare, dimpling the expanse of his shoulders, neck, and throat till the vulnerable column is stretched. Changmin breathes a needy sigh. A firm touch-though impossible for what shouldn’t really be able to touch him, yet unmistakable in Changmin’s sensitized state-kneads the muscle of his inner thigh where a vein throbs, nudging it delicately open.
The initial reaction is to resist at first because he’s never been that easy-not in real life and certainly not in his dreams. Except-this is just a dream (right?) and it feels too good for Changmin not to let it happen. His decision seems to make the fog happy: something that could be a mouth peppering kisses across his hips. Whorls of dark mist stroke at his belly, teasingly closer and closer to his groin until Changmin thinks he might go insane with want. His cock juts hard and swollen from his body, begging for attention and yet it’s the only place that goes untouched.
He whimpers a plea, wanting to be touched, hovering so close to the edge, knowing what he wants but unable to voice it. How do you tell anything to something that isn’t really there? But, again, it seems to have a mind of its own, reading into Changmin’s wide-eyed pleas and then there’s warmth engulfing the head.
I want. I want. Please, please I-
Abruptly he jerks awake, body racked with spasms as he twists and turns on the mattress, the usually soft fabric of the bed providing the sweetest friction for his swollen cock. He almost comes from the contact alone, but there’s a black haze at the edge if his vision and a prickly heat crawling on every surface of his skin. He knows he’s awake (or is he?) and he really shouldn’t be seeing or feeling any of this.
A voice, like music, begins to whisper in his ears and almost all coherent thought leaves him. There are words, most of which he can’t understand, but he gets the simple coaxing: touch. The fog, haze, smoke-whatever it is-doesn’t have a solid form and can’t touch Changmin the way he wants to be touched. But it can guide.
With help from the sensuous whispering in his ear, Changmin learns to stroke his himself to a rhythm different from his usual. He doesn’t usually pay attention to the details when jacking off, preferring to enter that blinding oblivion as quickly as possible so he can do it all over again. But this time, his fingers linger on the skin, marveling at the feel of steel velvet under his palm. The other hand comes into play, fondling his balls while an eager thumb rubs at his head.
It doesn’t take long after that. One squeeze, two-Changmin comes messily onto the sheets. He stays in that blissful high for an obscenely long time, so long that even while up there he thinks it’s strange. He can’t really put much thought into that because he’s coming down now and a heavy weight feels like it’s pressed itself onto his body.
He’s tired, oh so tired, lethargy pulling like bricks at his limbs. The last thing Changmin knows is one last whisper and then black.
Inevitably, Whiskey Man introduces himself.
“Hi, my name is Yunho," is said with warm eyes and a sensuous grin. It's wholly different from the brooding persona he’s used to watching from across a crowded room, so he’s caught slightly off guard. He shuts his mouth in favor of not stuttering and making a complete fool out of himself. Pointing to his name tag he goes, “I'm-” but doesn't get to finish because he’s being stared at in the most unsubtle manner possible and really, hearts are supposed to keep beating. They aren’t meant to start and stop at sensuous smiles and an intense gaze.
“You’re Changmin, I know.” There’s something in the way he says it, an inflection on the last two words that give the seemingly obvious answer (he is wearing his name tag and pointing at it) more weight than it should have.
He nods because words have abandoned him, gesturing towards the whiskey, eyes questioning. “The usual,” Yunho confirms with another heart-stopping smile. Changmin does his job almost mechanically, arms a bit stiff and hands slightly unsure. Yunho has the oddest effect on him and that’s enough to rub Changmin the wrong way. His eyes flicker shortly to the couch the two usually commandeer and is surprised to find it empty.
His first words to the handsome man in front of him are “Where’s your friend?”
He’s too busy pouring liquor, missing the slight tightening of the other man’s jaw. “He’s got other plans tonight.” Changmin knows that tone, has been a bar tender long enough to know when someone doesn’t want to talk. So he lets it go, offering the tumbler of whiskey with a customary smile and gets one twice as bright in return. Changmin ignores how his heart pounds and breath catches when their fingers brush as the whiskey is passed.
“You look like shit.” Changmin ignores the passing comment as he makes his way to the back, carefully storing his things in his designated locker. Yoochun’s never been one to mince his words. And really, it’s not like he doesn’t know what he looks like. Even his professors thought he was looking a little too pale, constantly hounding him about his dark under eye circles and slow reactions in class. He’d been referred to the Nurse’s Office at least twice today.
“Yeah, well, it isn’t just a look. I feel like it too. Besides, you’re not exactly Prince Charming either.” He goes through the motions lethargically, wiping down the counter and making sure all the liquor is intact for a busy night.
Beside him, Yoochun cleans glass after sparkly glass until each of them shine. “What, school and work too much for you?”
“No,” he shakes his head in reply. “Just…I haven’t been able to sleep well lately.” He knows it’s the wrong thing to say the moment he glances at Yoochun’s face.
“Ah, to be young,” Yoochun sighs wistfully, a smirk much too smug on his face. “Wanking off every night, eh?”
“You’re disgusting.” Changmin scowls and adds a roll of his eyes. “No. it’s just-I’ve been having these dreams and-”
“Wet dreams. Those are normal.” Yoochun says with the most patronizing look on his face. “Nothing to be embarrassed about Changmin-ah.”
Changmin stares at Yoochun for a heartbeat longer than he should have and sighs. “Forget I said anything. Why do I tell you these things anyway? I just wasted three minutes of my life and a good amount of brain cells talking to you.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know, many people of both sexes think I have the most scintillating conversation.”
“Right. Your first mistake was in thinking those people could think at all.” Changmin snorts, ready to move on to the next subject. Tired or not, the older man really was asking for it. “And bravo. I never would have guessed you’d known what ‘scintillating’ was, much less actually using it in a sentence.”
Even in his worn out state, Changmin ducks the rag thrown at him just in time.
He blames his slow reaction time on fatigue. He refuses to acknowledge the pounding of his heart against his rib cage or the fact that his breath is stolen once again-except this time it doesn’t seem like he’ll be getting it back anytime soon.
Yunho stands in front of him with smoldering eyes and a luscious lower lip which-together with the upper half-settles into an enigmatic smile that says everything but doesn’t really tell you anything at all. They stare at each other and those lips move, that face changes, but all Changmin really sees are those eyes and hears nothing but that rush of melodious whisperings he’d become familiar with in his dreams.
Its only when Yoochun nudges him none too gently with a skinny elbow that they break eye contact and Changmin is released from that holding gaze. The rushing is still in his ears but he can hear other things now. Like the tinkling of glass, the hum of people, and the rough timbre of a masculine voice over the pounding of music.
Yoochun’s apologizing, bowing at Yunho who looks understanding but for some reason Changmin can still feel that intense gaze slowing his senses. Those eyes, he realizes, and resolutely refuses to look into them again. He fulfills the order speedily-whiskey for Whiskey Man and another complicated drink-breaking even his own personal record.
As Yunho’s back retreats, drinks in hand, Changmin’s eyes flicker involuntarily towards the man’s companion and is met with another smoldering gaze. There’s a knowing smirk on those lips-unmistakable even under the flashing lights of the club-and Changmin knows better than to hold that stare. He looks away quickly, afraid he’ll be mesmerized, that his breath will be stolen again. But mostly he’s afraid for the erratic beating of his heart:
It’s fleeting, inexplicable…and occurs only when he meets flashing eyes.
It’s happening again. He knows the exact moment the dream transitions into something else. Every sensation is heightened, from the slide of the sheets against his body, to the resulting tingles of soft fabric mingling with heated skin. As always, he resists at first, but always he’s overpowered by tinkling whispers and a skirting touch. Escape seems almost unthinkable as shadows wrap around him, sweet words, and a ghost touch weaving him a tangled web.
It’s not that he’s paralyzed, but a heavy weight settles atop him and it’s hard to move. He doesn’t struggle because he knows what’s coming won’t hurt. On the contrary, it’ll feel good-real good. But it’s also strange. Strange is the feeling of a warm mouth kissing up his thighs, of firm yet gentle fingers holding down his hips, of a darting tongue licking a wet stripe across the head of his hardening length.
Then a sweet voice at his ear, whispering sweet nothings with dirty words, guiding the hands and directing the mouth in a melodic lilt that Changmin only half understands. He trembles under the thorough ministration: gasping and groaning at sensitive spots, whining and whimpering at any prolonged attention.
They tease him mercilessly and it’s easy to bring him to climax this way. A firm grip and a well placed kiss or two and he’s unraveling rapidly onto the sheets. He’s only allowed to breathe for a second before that sweet voice is coaxing him out of his high and working up another erection.
This second time starts out more slowly with a lazy mouth sucking at his nipple and a hand stroking languidly at his side. The weight is still on his body but now it’s more like hips pressing down on his own, rolling lightly so that it isn’t long before he’s hard again. He groans at the sensation of another cock rubbing against his, unable to call out a name but desperately wanting to. A hand encircles both members and the voice urges him to thrust up into the tight ring.
He does as he’s told, the suggestion bringing a hot friction that has him arching off the bed. A thumb swipes at his head on the downward stroke and heaven repeats itself, bathed in black wisps instead of white light. He comes down on his own now and the weight on his body feels even heavier.
The voice is whispering again and Changmin wants to say stop. enough. Too tired but another voice adds itself to the mix, deeper and more growling, creating an irresistible harmony that he really can’t say no to. He does as bid, feeling things shift around him as he sits up and settles down against what should be his headboard but feels like a warm chest instead. There’s a breath behind his ear that feels so real, arms that encircle him in a hold so strong and a touch that feels so good is can’t just be a dream. He almost wishes it isn’t, that the lips mouthing at his temple and the pair of hands stroking warmly at his collar were a reality instead.
It’s with these wistful thoughts that Changmin completely misses how the hands migrate to his hips, the arms tightening around his chest. He doesn’t realize it until a tight heat engulfs the head of his cock, twin growls emitting from above and behind him. He adds his own pitch to the harmony, a low keening as his head falls back and he fights the urge to thrust up.
For the first time the whisperings cease, replaced by harsh pants and soft sighs that could just be himself or the reality he wished he had. Dream or not, he doesn’t want to hurt anybody and so screws his eyes shut, fighting for control as the devastating heat sinks around him. He can feel it’s a tight fit, the wet heat that surrounds him making control hard to come by. He finds it though, even if it leaves him feeling half dead; the other half is somewhere just below cloud nine.
Whoever’s on him seats himself fully onto Changmin’s lap. What comes next surprises Changmin beyond words.
“Changmin.”
His name is uttered in a throaty groan, so unexpected that it goes straight to his cock. His hips snap up, moving of their own accord. The mouth at his ear echoes his name and Changmin stills, eyes flying open. A man shrouded in black mist rides him, familiar face twisted in pleasure as Changmin’s last thrust hits just the right spot. Changmin can see him biting his lip, waiting for the next but he’s too shocked to do anything but stare. Their eyes meet and the deer-caught-in-the-headlights look is infinitely different from the cold, smirking face he’s used to seeing from across a smoky club.
If this was him then-
A sharp turn of his head gives Changmin a full view of a face he’s become obsessed with in the last few weeks. Yunho looks down at him color high, eyes dark and mouth parted to release hurried breaths. “Yun-”
He gets about half way before the man riding him gets impatient and rolls his hips vengefully at Changmin’s inattention. The rest of Yunho’s name comes out in a loud moan that Changmin will never admit to when lucid. Yunho returns in kind, breathing Changmin’s name hotly into Changmin’s ear. He holds tighter and for the first time Changmin realizes that the narrowed pressure at his back is Yunho’s cock poking him from the rear. At the same time he notices there’s a cock in front of him and that its swollen red and leaking, woefully neglected.
Immediately he reaches out to remedy the fact because it looks oddly lonely and it shouldn’t be, but Changmin hesitates, doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch. A soft nip at his ear relieves him of that notion, so he holds the hard length in his palm. He’s rewarded with a surprised yet satisfied grunt that has him lifting his hips while Yunho groans loudly in response. The man leans forward, resting his forehead on Changmin’s shoulder as Changmin lets instinct take over. The man’s voice loses its melodious lilt for a more addictive tune. Harder. Faster. Fuck me is muffled into his shoulder with just a hint of teeth.
Yunho’s arms release themselves from Changmin’s chest to come around the other man, fingers splayed to dimple broad shoulders. Changmin watches as blunt nails run down pale skin, black wisps trailing as lines appear, red and raised. It looks painful but the effect it has on the man on top him is quite the opposite. The man arches completely off of him, back bowed and mouth slack Changmin’s mesmerized by that face, utterly enthralled by that flashing, wild gaze. He loses the rhythm to his hips, Yunho taking his hand and together wrapping it around the man’s cock. It’s hot and heavy in Changmin’s palm, but Yunho whispers hurriedly in a foreign tongue, knows they’re all close and guiding Changmin’s hand fast, like it’s a race against time-maybe it is.
“Jaejoong,” Yunho urges in a hot breath and Changmin can feel the first contraction of muscles around him. “His name. Say his name!”
It’s little more than a command and Changmin can do nothing but follow.
“Jaejoong.”
There’s a moment after he says it that time stops still. Jaejoong gasps, drops onto Changmin’s chest and makes a beeline for his mouth. For the first time ever they kiss, a messy exploration of tongue and teeth that fuels Changmin’s lust and nearly shoots him into orgasm but ends much too soon.
Yunho has a hand in Jaejoong’s hair, holding him mercilessly away from Changmin’s searching mouth. Changmin growls in frustration, wanting nothing but the taste of Jaejoong’s lips because he’s so fucking close that he doesn’t even know why he’s still able to fight against the tight clenching of Jaejoong’s walls around him.
“Jaejae, no.” He hears Yunho say when Jaejoong struggles the grip he has to get to Changmin’s waiting mouth. Changmin surges up to close the distance but Yunho just pulls them farther apart. “You can’t Boojae, you’ll kill him.”
Those words seem to get through the almost wild look in Jaejoong’s flashing eyes and he stops trying to maul Changmin’s mouth. Yunho kisses Jaejoong instead, roughly pulling the other man into a kiss that has no grace, no finesse. Just a raw, melding of mouths that topple Changmin over the edge as he watches. The last thing he remembers is the tap-tap-tapping of Jaejoong’s fingers over his heart and the distinct harmony of three voices as they all cry out in release.
Changmin wakes up and it’s still dark out. He feels more tired than when he went to bed and finds that he doesn’t really care that there’s a sticky mess between his legs. He wakes up, phone vibrating underneath his pillow and all he cares about is falling back into unconsciousness. The ringing is incessant though, and Changmin has to fish for it lethargically in order to fling it across the room. He catches a glimpse of the screen before doing so and finds more than a dozen missed calls and one incoming. Most are from friends, a few from his classmates, and even a couple from his parents. What, did someone die?
The incoming call is from Yoochun.
“Hello?” his voice is hoarse from sleep and disuse.
“Oh thank God. Changmin, where have you been?!” Yoochun sounds simultaneously panicked and relieved, a tone Changmin doesn’t comprehend.
“What? Where have I been? I’m at my apartment, hyung. It’s the middle of the night; I was sleeping.”
There’s an awkward pause that Yoochun eloquently ends with the words, “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me.”
Changmin listens dumbfounded as Yoochun explains to him that he’s been missing for the better half of almost three days. They were just about to report his disappearance the next morning. Changmin refuses to believe it at first but is forced to when he looks at the date on his phone and the times on his missed calls. He ends up hanging up on Yoochun in midsentence, unable to grasp the fact that he slept for nearly three days. He wonders, asks why, thinks about what could have happened, and then remembers the dream.
It’s a full on flashback that tightens his body and leaves him shuddering, gasping at the memory. He stares at his bed in disbelief.
Most importantly, Changmin wakes up alone.
In the end the excuse he gives is something generic, that he extended his one day trip to three because he really didn’t think anyone would care. After much protest and extracting a promise that he’d never do something like that again, almost all worries are appeased. All except Yoochun’s.
Because whether Chanmgin likes it or not, Yoochun knows the truth. Yoochun doesn’t say anything about his blatant lie because it’s really none of his business, but he does watch Chanmgin with a new found sharpness that Changmin didn’t know the usually flippant man was capable of. He does, however, suggest that Changmin take a few days off, even offering to cover his shifts. Changmin accepts without much complaint because Yoochun expects him to and Changmin thinks a break doesn’t sound so bad.
Except these days, Changmin’s afraid to sleep, the dreams taking over his nights and then haunting him during the day with random flashbacks that leave him half-hard and breathless, a prickly heat running over his skin where fingers-there but not really-usually skim. Sometimes he does and sometimes he doesn’t, but most of the time he fears. Fears because he wants it too much, can’t wait for night to fall and the obligations of the day to finish so that he can rush to his bed and hope to dream of touch and sex and reaching that blinding high bathed in black and not white.
His few days are actually only a week because being at home staring listlessly at his bed for hours on end drives him insane. He tries to stay away from the club but ends up walking by the designated employee entrance about a million times before Yoochun throws the doors open with a bang, telling him to get in or go away. He does the former, obviously, even if he’s considered the latter countless times.
Once inside, Yoochun informs him that he is to go nowhere near any of the liquor just in case the fumes had some kind of effect on his brain. Also, it seems that he’s temporarily demoted to waiting tables until he’s steady again. Changmin only lets loose a snarky comment or two, understanding that this was Yoochin’s indirect way of acting like the hyung he didn’t usually bother to be. Changmin only rolls his eyes and barely manages to bite his tongue when he finds out that the tables he’s been assigned to are the one’s nearest a cluster of alcoves and private rooms. Being the farthest away from the dance floor means that very few people ventured there, ensuring that Changmin wouldn’t have much to do.
Changmin’s thankful in his own way because he really needs a distraction, even if he honestly doesn’t think that coming back to the place where it all began will do him any good. The night progresses without incident; Changmin’s just a touch bored. He’s got a pretty good view of the stage from where he’s stationed, but the women only mildly spark his interest (he’s male after all). He keeps getting random flashbacks instead, of a cock against his and a three part harmony with two voices and his own crying out in ecstasy.
The reminder only serves to make his eyes sweep involuntarily across the crush of people crowding around the dance floor, searching for flashing eyes. Except he never finds them. Not that night and not even the nights after that. He can’t help but wonder where they are, what they’re doing, and why they don’t come back. Even the dreams have stopped now and Changmin feels sort of like an addict going through a withdrawal.
He wants to see them, ask them questions like what happened? Why him? What now?
Mostly what now. He finds that he doesn’t really care about anything else, just that he can’t stop thinking about them, how they made him feel and how he’s afraid he might forget.
Weeks pass and still nothing. It doesn’t feel like withdrawal anymore; it leans more towards obsession now. He thinks he sees milky white skin and inky black hair everywhere. Sometimes his head turn at the sound of a lilting voice or firm baritone, hoping it might be one of them but he’s always disappointed.
He’s just about given up hope when Yoochun has him clear a particularly loaded table at the far side of his designated area. He’s leaning over placing glasses on a tray when, incidentally, he looks up and there, entering the corner alcove that housed a secluded, circular booth, were the two figures he thought he’d never see again. Promptly, he abandons his work and follows right behind them. They’re just about to settle onto the plush couch when Changmin enters in a rush.
They glance first at each other, then at him. Yunho opens his mouth first. “I’m sorry, but we aren’t ready to order our drinks yet. If you could give us a few minutes-”
“You.” Changmin says, unable to believe it’s really them. They’re more breath taking and magnificent than the last time he saw them (which was in his dreams, and that he isn’t even sure of), and he’s drawn like a moth to a flame. “I’ve finally found you.”
The two look at each other again, faces unreadable, but Changmin’s so sure. “I’m sorry but, do we know you?” Jaejoong says, and Changmin is totally unprepared for the lightning bolt aimed straight at his heart.
“No. no,” Changmin shakes his head. “Don’t try to deny it. You’re Yunho and you’re Jaejoong.” He points at them in turn. “You’re beautiful and your eyes flash. You like stupid, messy, complicated drinks while Yunho barely touches the whiskey he orders. And. And-and I dream about you guys at night. You. I-we-” he’s suddenly embarrassed, stammering at what he wants to say, never really thinking about how it would sound out loud. He’d always known it would sound crazy; it does.
The two are doing a good job of looking lost. Dumbfounded. Confused. Like they have no idea what Changmin’s talking about. And maybe they don’t. They were just his dreams after all, but he’s already come this far sounding like a lunatic, might as well take it all the way.
“Jaejae. Boojae.” He says as a final resort. “That’s what Yunho called you when…”
It’s a like a light clears in Jaejoong’s gaze and suddenly he’s rushing Changmin, pulling the taller man against his lithe frame with surprising strength. “You remember,” is whispered longingly against his lips before a warm tongue licks tentatively to be let in. Elation and black lust pool at his gut as Jaejoong raids his mouth, relief at every press of his lips. Changmin responds in the only way he can-desperately-because this is what he’s craved for weeks now, what he’s searched for probably most of his life but hadn’t realized it.
The spell is broken quickly as Yunho clamps a hand on Jaejoong’s shoulder and wrenches them apart. “Jaejoong. Stop.” The moment Jaejoong steps away, Changmin’s legs fail him, stumbling and barely catching himself on the leather couch. His knees are like jelly and his arms feel burdened with leaden weights. He wonders what could have brought this on, his mind asking even if his heart knows.
Jaejoong’s kiss is like poison.
It’s horribly addictive and even now Changmin feels the effects. And the only thing he can think about is if Yunho’s will make him feel the same way.
“Is this what you want?” the taller man hisses, face hard as his eyes flicker to and from Changmin’s fallen state and Jaejoong’s wide-eyed defiance. “Do you see what it does to him?” Yunho’s hands and his words paint the truth as he gestures toward Changmin, presenting him like some glorified feast that neither of them can touch but dreadfully want. “You’ll kill him.”
“But, Yunho, don’t you see?” Jaejoong pleads. “He-he loves us.”
“This isn’t love,” Yunho says with a shake of his head, and he seems more than a little sad. “We’ve done what we’re made to do: we’ve rolled him. Rolled him badly enough so that all he wants is us. This isn’t love Jaejoong. He’d rather die to have us love him than live for himself.”
“No, Yunnie, you don’t understand,” Jaejoong continues. “His kiss! You can feel it in his kiss! He really-”
“You kiss him and he dies,” Yunho reminds his beloved companion. His words are bitter, sad, born of countless loves before that had all perished at their loving touch. “Don’t let him be like the others Boojae.”
“He isn’t like the others,” Jaejoong presses on. “I felt it the last time we were together. He wants us-not because we can make him feel good. Not because he’s addicted-but because he needs us Yunnie. Like we need him.”
“He’ll die.”
“Yunho!” Jaejoong sighs in exasperation. “Kiss him. If you just kiss him, you’ll know what I’m talking about. He’s-”
“You think I don’t want to?” Yunho says harshly, raw emotion fueling his anger. “You think I don’t understand what you mean when you say he’s different? I felt it too, Jaejae, I felt it too.” He kneels in front of Changmin’s sprawled form, a hand stroking the air just above Changmin’s cheek. “He’s beautiful and strong. If we keep him, he’ll last.” He murmurs, mesmerized by the planes of Changmin’s face, the slight parting of his mouth as he took a breath and let it out, the flutter of his lashes as he blinked slowly up at Yunho. Changmin’s head tilts of his own accord, getting ready for the moment Yunho decides to let their mouths touch, and waiting patiently for it to happen.
“But he’s only human and he. Will. Die.”
He stands abruptly, aware of the pain that occurs when he puts distance between them.
Jaejoong can only watch hopelessly because he knows Yunho is right. He’s experienced the same heartache at seeing every one of their loves die by their hands, unwittingly done by showing too much affection. It hurts his heart while his lover likes to shoulder the brunt of the pain. But Changmin’s different. He doesn’t know how to put it in words, but he can feel it. Jaejoong knows that pain enshrouds Yunho’s heart and it makes him unable to see the light he sees in Changmin. A light that could help all three of them.
“Then. What if-what if we bind him?”
“Bind him?” Yunho echoes incredulously. “Binding is only the stuff of legends, Jaejoong.”
“We’ll never know if we don’t try!”
“What if we succeed you mean?” Yunho scowls. “And, what? Let him live a life of darkness and shadows like we do? He wasn’t born into this like we were Jaejae. Changmin deserves more than just dreams.”
“It doesn’t have to be just a dream,” Jaejoong tells him stubbornly. “We’re capable of reality too.”
“But at what price?” They engage in a silent battle of wills, each fighting for his side, wants and wills clashing. That they both wanted this-with Changmin-was obvious. But whether they should was a different matter all together.
“Any price,” Jaejoong says with determination. “I’m willing to pay.”
“If you have him…” Yunho says quietly. “You might lose me.”
“Is that a threat?” Jaejoong asks, eyes narrowed but heart aching at the thought.
“No,” Yunho shakes his head. “Merely a possibility. We can’t have him both, Boojae,” Yunho sighs. “He’ll die faster with the two of us than with just one.”
“Stop saying he’s going to die.” Jaejoong’s right; he should stop saying it. Whether or not he says it doesn’t really make a difference. With the both of them it was inevitable.
“I…I want to try,” Changmin says quietly. He’d been content to just listen since things seemed to be going in his favor but he thinks it’s high time he gave his opinion on the matter.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Yunho says with a tragic look on his face. Jaejoong has the same look, but his eyes are more hopeful. Determined.
“I don’t know, but I want to find out,” Changmin answers. He’s tired, oh so tired. Of the wanting, the waiting, the indecision. He wants the surety and security these two somehow give him. It’s completely irrational, probably even life threatening, and he might not feel the same way about it after wards, but he doesn’t feel anything but undeniable happiness as Jaejoong slowly unbuttons the buttons of his uniform one by one. When Yunho doesn’t protest, just watches as Jaejoong exposes Changmin’s chest, Changmin adds hope to his elation.
It isn’t until Jaejoong is placing tender lips over Changmin’s heart that Yunho makes his own move.
Yunho’s mouth on his own is better only because Jaejoong has lips wrapped around their hearts.
A/N: So. Well, I just killed myself writing this. Not to mention it took me an obscenely long time to write. Like, trying to write smut has literally fried my brain. I can’t write good smut. Is it obvious? this went so many different ways I think I confused my beta. The unfinished draft I sent her had possessive!Yunho and asshole!Jae. and now…well, for some reason it ended up tragic!Yunho and hopeful!Jae. my muse HATES me. and WTF?! It was supposed to be HoMin! Idk what happened though. I got JaeHoMin instead @_@ this also has the potential for good OT5, but i suck at that kind of stuff so....TT_TT
Anyway, thank God for cell phones. I don’t actually use it to text, but the only time I can write anything mildly coherent is when I’m horizontal.
Comments are ♥
I promise, they won’t kill me XD