[JONGHO] What is and What Isn't and How Sweet it all is
Title: What is and What Isn't and How Sweet it all is
Author: fatdix
Rating: R
Pairing: Jongho
Genre: Angst, Romance
Summary: That very night, Jonghyun stays till the bar closes, looping his arm around Minho’s as he leaves for home and gets into his car, having a nagging feeling that this could work, never mind all the other times his gut had told him absolute bullshit about who to love.
A/N: For jongminho's 100 member contest. I used the picture prompt and tbqh I'm not sure I did it justice, but I tried. For lexy_babby because she said she wanted Jongho angst. XD
What is and What Isn't and How Sweet it all is
Preface
Jonghyun has always felt like he was a fantastic curse to all the prettiest boys (the latest one prettier than all the rest), and for the most part, they think that of him as well. He doesn’t bother to ask if they mean it in a good way or not, because most of the time it doesn’t matter, since he always causes the worst of accidents.
Not literally, of course.
It is more like the kind where you feel like you’ve just been trampled and you can feel your stomach in your throat, and your heart is beating somewhere that it shouldn’t be, a thousand miles away with someone who doesn’t belong to you.
Or the kind where no matter how many times you try and compare, it would be, without a doubt, the most confusing mix of emotions, of love and hate and jealousy and pain and everything else (you can’t even name them all because there are too many).
And then there comes a time to pick up the pieces and try to mend them.
fin
-
Jonghyun never frequents the same bars, because he knows that he might see people who definitely don’t want to see him. People that he probably left a bruise on, or even a scar (not a wound that you earn from fighting a fierce battle, but a cut you get from doing something stupid, like not looking when you’re chopping a carrot and it hurts that much more because your ego is hurt, more so than your fingers).
And he would rather spare them the torment.
He doesn’t come looking for these, oh, what would he call them, flings? He most certainly doesn’t walk around looking for people’s lives to barge into uninvited, and then at the end there would be a big finale where they would cling to him and ask him please not to leave. At most, he only searches for someone to keep him company, because after all the people that he’s dated and fucked and really, really liked, he still feels lonely. A little bit, anyway.
And despite the sharp warning that his earlier experiences have given him, he can’t talk himself out of talking to Minho. His eyes are, for lack of a better word, captivating, sucking him in piece by piece, as much as (for Minho’s own sake) he doesn’t want to be. Jonghyun feels his heart lurch when Minho sends him a practiced smile from behind the bar. What more damage a genuine smile from him could do.
“Would you like anything to drink, sir?”
“Why yes, I would.” - Jonghyun proceeds to make small talk, all the while thinking about how Minho was such a handsome stranger. Minho, the name stuck to his lips, sweet like honey, thick. He could get used to that. He could get used to how Minho intrigued him in the most inappropriate way, like watching a spider suck the innards out of a smaller, struggling fly, but he wasn’t sure exactly, why this was so.
He feels the whiskey burning down his throat. The alcohol isn’t something he actually likes, far too bitter, far too intoxicating, and Jonghyun just has to laugh at his own piteously obvious self resentment. He picks up an ice cube with his fingers and crunches on it.
That very night, Jonghyun stays till the bar closes, looping his arm around Minho’s as he leaves for home and gets into his car, having a nagging feeling that this could work, never mind all the other times his gut had told him absolute bullshit about who to love. That very night, they have something more than just sex, because Jonghyun can feel just a pinch of emotional attachment, and that says something after just one night. But of course, it isn’t love.
Jonghyun is smarter than that. Or at least, he hopes Minho is.
-
“I really like this,” Minho shyly admits, biting his lower lip, his new lover resting his head in the crook of his neck. It is comfortable, and Minho doesn’t have to say much.
“Mm.”
Minho isn’t sure if that is a reply, and wonders if he should have said anything. Jonghyun doesn’t move, and when he thinks that Minho isn’t paying attention anymore, he places a palm over Minho’s chest, where his heart might be. The heart beat vibrates through the air, and Jonghyun wants nothing more than to consume it whole, the organ along with its song.
“I like it too”, Jonghyun finally reciprocates, leaving Minho shattered, embarrassed, but still comfortable. He realises that Jonghyun probably isn’t the monogamous, fervid type, and he remembers that he isn’t either.
So it comes as a shock to both when their hearts ache, twisting in soulless carousel as Jonghyun takes off to find someone or something else.
And Jonghyun can’t decide why he’s chosen not to tell Minho of his departure. There is no reason to, certainly. Both of them mean nothing to each other.
They are simply fuck buddies (who really like each other, sure), tea and sugar.
-
It hasn’t happened before this - that Jonghyun takes the emptiness that he feels after a brief fling/whatever/whofuckingcares and considers it, feels bad about it. There is still residual syrup on his lips, that sweet, sickening stickiness that just won’t leave.
Jonghyun takes a stroll in the park, something he hasn’t done in a while to clear his head. His feet drag, as if being pulled back. He looks to the ground.
There is honey everywhere.
-
“Will you meet me tonight?” - Jonghyun isn’t sure why he’s called Minho. He has a feeling it might be because he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him, to stop tasting him in the air, in the breeze.
“Why do you want to see me?”
“Oh, I don’t know. To fuck, maybe?”
Minho looks a tiniest bit different as he steps into the bar. Pulling off his coat and draping it over his arm, he spots Jonghyun staring at him from the bar, where the latter has just cut his own sentence off to the barman to greet Minho with an absurdly wide smile.
“You look good,” Jonghyun feels something wash throughout his lungs (something liquid, probably, from the feel of it). It’s warm and he relishes it, despite not knowing what it is. The only response Minho gives him is a quizzical eye and a curt nod.
Jonghyun pulls the tall boy towards himself, trapping him in an awkward hug, as if to say ‘hey there, I’ve missed you like fucking crazy’, although that isn’t what he means. His drink sweats, neglected, as the pair slowly substitute plain words with spoken feelings, and truth be told, there is a lot more of that than either of them would like to admit. It’s embarrassing for the both of them, because they’ve only really known each other for two weeks (or some might say two lifetimes, but it really depends).
There is then a point to Minho’s minute change from the weeks that Jonghyun has tried to forget about him.
“You quit your job? But why?”
“I couldn’t work, Jonghyun, because-” Minho’s breath hitches and he tells himself to take it easy, no need to jump into ridiculous explanations just yet. “Because my pay sucked.”
“Oh.”
Minho pulls Jonghyun out of the bar and drives them to his apartment, ignoring the astute blank that his mind draws when he asks himself what all this is for.
They stumble about the bedroom, clothes peeling off, and hands grappling at heated skin on skin on bed. There is really no reason for them to muffle their sounds, but they do it anyway. They both bite their lips instinctively, they hold their breath before the gasps and they kiss as often as the opportunity presents itself (which isn’t very often, considering how Jonghyun is grabbing the headboard and he’s on his knees).
“Ah, fuck, Minho,” Jonghyun grunts into his arm as he’s being milked out of his peak by a delirious, hungry Minho. He laughs and collapses into Minho's arms. Milk and honey.
“What?” Minho looks confused, Jonghyun’s head resting against his chest as it rises and falls. He tangles his fingers in the sweaty hair, not thinking, because he can’t think (just like how he can’t work).
Jonghyun pulls Minho in for a kiss, and he realises what’s been flooding his lungs and it’s his own tainted blood trying to drain out of his mouth. It releases now, but as a sigh that lingers with more emotion than Jonghyun has ever imagined he would feel.
“Truth,” Minho says, his hand finding Jonghyun’s, trying to think again-trying not to remember how hard it hurts to try. “I stopped work to look for you.”
And so Jonghyun’s fingers trail along the planes of Minho’s chest as it rises and falls, he scouts out the faint cracks, cracks that he made when he pulled away from him and allowed the consequential vacuum to crush his ribs.
-
Molasses slips and slides along Jonghyun’s exposed skin as he wakes up from the bed, surprised. Surprised at himself for not fleeing, surprised at Minho for loitering (even though this was his apartment).
There is a chill in the air, because as far as he knows, this can’t last, but then he turns and he see’s Minho sleep, fingers curled around his waist, like he’s the new lover all over again.
There, in his hands, is a piece, because as far as he knows, this is where it begins, the mending.
The piece is gold, is sweet-honey.
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Feedback <-- if you love me!!!
Author: fatdix
Rating: R
Pairing: Jongho
Genre: Angst, Romance
Summary: That very night, Jonghyun stays till the bar closes, looping his arm around Minho’s as he leaves for home and gets into his car, having a nagging feeling that this could work, never mind all the other times his gut had told him absolute bullshit about who to love.
A/N: For jongminho's 100 member contest. I used the picture prompt and tbqh I'm not sure I did it justice, but I tried. For lexy_babby because she said she wanted Jongho angst. XD
What is and What Isn't and How Sweet it all is
Preface
Jonghyun has always felt like he was a fantastic curse to all the prettiest boys (the latest one prettier than all the rest), and for the most part, they think that of him as well. He doesn’t bother to ask if they mean it in a good way or not, because most of the time it doesn’t matter, since he always causes the worst of accidents.
Not literally, of course.
It is more like the kind where you feel like you’ve just been trampled and you can feel your stomach in your throat, and your heart is beating somewhere that it shouldn’t be, a thousand miles away with someone who doesn’t belong to you.
Or the kind where no matter how many times you try and compare, it would be, without a doubt, the most confusing mix of emotions, of love and hate and jealousy and pain and everything else (you can’t even name them all because there are too many).
And then there comes a time to pick up the pieces and try to mend them.
fin
-
Jonghyun never frequents the same bars, because he knows that he might see people who definitely don’t want to see him. People that he probably left a bruise on, or even a scar (not a wound that you earn from fighting a fierce battle, but a cut you get from doing something stupid, like not looking when you’re chopping a carrot and it hurts that much more because your ego is hurt, more so than your fingers).
And he would rather spare them the torment.
He doesn’t come looking for these, oh, what would he call them, flings? He most certainly doesn’t walk around looking for people’s lives to barge into uninvited, and then at the end there would be a big finale where they would cling to him and ask him please not to leave. At most, he only searches for someone to keep him company, because after all the people that he’s dated and fucked and really, really liked, he still feels lonely. A little bit, anyway.
And despite the sharp warning that his earlier experiences have given him, he can’t talk himself out of talking to Minho. His eyes are, for lack of a better word, captivating, sucking him in piece by piece, as much as (for Minho’s own sake) he doesn’t want to be. Jonghyun feels his heart lurch when Minho sends him a practiced smile from behind the bar. What more damage a genuine smile from him could do.
“Would you like anything to drink, sir?”
“Why yes, I would.” - Jonghyun proceeds to make small talk, all the while thinking about how Minho was such a handsome stranger. Minho, the name stuck to his lips, sweet like honey, thick. He could get used to that. He could get used to how Minho intrigued him in the most inappropriate way, like watching a spider suck the innards out of a smaller, struggling fly, but he wasn’t sure exactly, why this was so.
He feels the whiskey burning down his throat. The alcohol isn’t something he actually likes, far too bitter, far too intoxicating, and Jonghyun just has to laugh at his own piteously obvious self resentment. He picks up an ice cube with his fingers and crunches on it.
That very night, Jonghyun stays till the bar closes, looping his arm around Minho’s as he leaves for home and gets into his car, having a nagging feeling that this could work, never mind all the other times his gut had told him absolute bullshit about who to love. That very night, they have something more than just sex, because Jonghyun can feel just a pinch of emotional attachment, and that says something after just one night. But of course, it isn’t love.
Jonghyun is smarter than that. Or at least, he hopes Minho is.
-
“I really like this,” Minho shyly admits, biting his lower lip, his new lover resting his head in the crook of his neck. It is comfortable, and Minho doesn’t have to say much.
“Mm.”
Minho isn’t sure if that is a reply, and wonders if he should have said anything. Jonghyun doesn’t move, and when he thinks that Minho isn’t paying attention anymore, he places a palm over Minho’s chest, where his heart might be. The heart beat vibrates through the air, and Jonghyun wants nothing more than to consume it whole, the organ along with its song.
“I like it too”, Jonghyun finally reciprocates, leaving Minho shattered, embarrassed, but still comfortable. He realises that Jonghyun probably isn’t the monogamous, fervid type, and he remembers that he isn’t either.
So it comes as a shock to both when their hearts ache, twisting in soulless carousel as Jonghyun takes off to find someone or something else.
And Jonghyun can’t decide why he’s chosen not to tell Minho of his departure. There is no reason to, certainly. Both of them mean nothing to each other.
They are simply fuck buddies (who really like each other, sure), tea and sugar.
-
It hasn’t happened before this - that Jonghyun takes the emptiness that he feels after a brief fling/whatever/whofuckingcares and considers it, feels bad about it. There is still residual syrup on his lips, that sweet, sickening stickiness that just won’t leave.
Jonghyun takes a stroll in the park, something he hasn’t done in a while to clear his head. His feet drag, as if being pulled back. He looks to the ground.
There is honey everywhere.
-
“Will you meet me tonight?” - Jonghyun isn’t sure why he’s called Minho. He has a feeling it might be because he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him, to stop tasting him in the air, in the breeze.
“Why do you want to see me?”
“Oh, I don’t know. To fuck, maybe?”
Minho looks a tiniest bit different as he steps into the bar. Pulling off his coat and draping it over his arm, he spots Jonghyun staring at him from the bar, where the latter has just cut his own sentence off to the barman to greet Minho with an absurdly wide smile.
“You look good,” Jonghyun feels something wash throughout his lungs (something liquid, probably, from the feel of it). It’s warm and he relishes it, despite not knowing what it is. The only response Minho gives him is a quizzical eye and a curt nod.
Jonghyun pulls the tall boy towards himself, trapping him in an awkward hug, as if to say ‘hey there, I’ve missed you like fucking crazy’, although that isn’t what he means. His drink sweats, neglected, as the pair slowly substitute plain words with spoken feelings, and truth be told, there is a lot more of that than either of them would like to admit. It’s embarrassing for the both of them, because they’ve only really known each other for two weeks (or some might say two lifetimes, but it really depends).
There is then a point to Minho’s minute change from the weeks that Jonghyun has tried to forget about him.
“You quit your job? But why?”
“I couldn’t work, Jonghyun, because-” Minho’s breath hitches and he tells himself to take it easy, no need to jump into ridiculous explanations just yet. “Because my pay sucked.”
“Oh.”
Minho pulls Jonghyun out of the bar and drives them to his apartment, ignoring the astute blank that his mind draws when he asks himself what all this is for.
They stumble about the bedroom, clothes peeling off, and hands grappling at heated skin on skin on bed. There is really no reason for them to muffle their sounds, but they do it anyway. They both bite their lips instinctively, they hold their breath before the gasps and they kiss as often as the opportunity presents itself (which isn’t very often, considering how Jonghyun is grabbing the headboard and he’s on his knees).
“Ah, fuck, Minho,” Jonghyun grunts into his arm as he’s being milked out of his peak by a delirious, hungry Minho. He laughs and collapses into Minho's arms. Milk and honey.
“What?” Minho looks confused, Jonghyun’s head resting against his chest as it rises and falls. He tangles his fingers in the sweaty hair, not thinking, because he can’t think (just like how he can’t work).
Jonghyun pulls Minho in for a kiss, and he realises what’s been flooding his lungs and it’s his own tainted blood trying to drain out of his mouth. It releases now, but as a sigh that lingers with more emotion than Jonghyun has ever imagined he would feel.
“Truth,” Minho says, his hand finding Jonghyun’s, trying to think again-trying not to remember how hard it hurts to try. “I stopped work to look for you.”
And so Jonghyun’s fingers trail along the planes of Minho’s chest as it rises and falls, he scouts out the faint cracks, cracks that he made when he pulled away from him and allowed the consequential vacuum to crush his ribs.
-
Molasses slips and slides along Jonghyun’s exposed skin as he wakes up from the bed, surprised. Surprised at himself for not fleeing, surprised at Minho for loitering (even though this was his apartment).
There is a chill in the air, because as far as he knows, this can’t last, but then he turns and he see’s Minho sleep, fingers curled around his waist, like he’s the new lover all over again.
There, in his hands, is a piece, because as far as he knows, this is where it begins, the mending.
The piece is gold, is sweet-honey.
Archive
Feedback <-- if you love me!!!