you're stringing round
the tricky part is to come back home
mblaq rps (rain/joon)
originally posted here at kpfw_minibang
A spring spent in Berlin, during which Jihoon is much more clueless than he seems and Changsun feels with his stomach.
When Changsun first wakes up, morning light blinding him from a crack in between his curtains, he’s pretty sure he got curb-stomped while he slept.
There are a few blissful moments of excruciating head pain before last night starts coming back to him in flashes: the slam of the front door, the tense curl of Jihoon’s shoulders, his hand hot on Changsun’s jaw and--
And the way Jihoon wouldn’t meet his eyes after, the way he ordered Changsun to bed and Changsun just went, his brain paralyzed by the kiss.
Then the nausea kicks in.
He’s struggling up in bed, trying to make it to the bathroom in time, when he catches sight of something on his bedside table that makes him pause. A glass of water that, when he reaches out to grasp it, is room-temperature, and two aspirins resting beside his lamp and alarm clock, like they’ve been there forever.
Changsun knows they haven’t though-he’d lain on his side and watched minutes, then hours, tick by on his alarm clock last night, still drunk and his heart still pounding. Actually, the only thing he doesn’t remember about the previous night is falling asleep.
Changsun doesn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but, as he’s hunched over the toilet trying vainly to be sick, he’s pretty sure Jihoon is the only person who could’ve left them there. Unless there’s some sort of German serial-burglar who breaks into homes and leaves painkillers for wasted popstars-in-training. That’s if he’s even a trainee anymore, it occurs to him suddenly, recalling Jihoon’s threats-no, promises last night. The thought is enough to finally make his stomach heave and bile rise.
Surprisingly, vomiting makes Changsun feel much better- in retrospect, it’s something he should’ve done last night, were he in his right mind. He heaves experimentally a few more times but nothing comes up and he uses shaking hands on the toilet seat to prop himself up, staggering back to bed and tumbling in.
He stares at the aspirin on the bedside table suspiciously for a few moments before reaching out and downing them. They stick in the back of his throat, sweeter than Korean aspirin, but he washes them down with a single, tentative sip of room-temperature water. The clock flashes 6:30 AM at him so he tugs his blankets all the way over his head, cocooning himself. He can wallow for a bit longer.
And maybe he was right about the German burglar, because he jolts awake what seems like minutes later to the sound of a door slamming. Jihoon’s on set, he knows, and anyone else would have called before coming-- if for some reason they’d actually wanted Joon for something.
He creeps cautiously out of the bedroom, clutching one of his wooden training sticks, the only defense weapon he could find on such short notice.
“Oh hyung,” Changsun yelps, dropping his stick in favour of covering his mouth. He still hasn’t brushed his teeth so his breath must be toxic. Jihoon’s turned away from him at the kitchen counter. The light from the balcony door makes him squint.
“I see you’re still alive,” Jihoon comments wryly. “Did you just wake up?”
“Yes, what’s the, um?”
“Oh, it’s just some extra food the set caterer had left over.” His tone is casual, but his words sort of run together. “Shooting was cancelled today and food should never go to waste. So I agreed to bring it home.”
Changsun’s stomach emits a surprised grumble as Jihoon continues. “But I can’t eat this unhealthy stuff because of my training. Since you never work out like you’re supposed to, I guess it doesn’t make a difference what you eat.”
Changsun winces until Jihoon lays out a dish of kimchi jjigae and rice on the table. Then he gapes.
“You know you can’t sleep the day away just because you don’t have work,” Jihoon scolds. “Eat up and shower, we’re going out.” He’s not yelling, but he’s not meeting Changsun’s eyes either.
“Thank you, hyung.” Changsun finally manages to complete a full sentence as he slumps at the kitchen table and promptly starts shoveling the food down his throat. It, unsurprisingly, tastes amazing. He’s pretty sure he’s groaning in pleasure.
Jihoon makes a vague noise of assent in his direction and heads for the front door again. “Be ready by the time I get back.”
With the kimchi in his system, Changsun instantly feels better, his hangover fading so much as to become negligible. He feels like a recharged battery, powering through dishwashing and his shower. He’s waiting in front of the apartment building when Jihoon appears down the street, pushing two bicycles.
It seems like the situation’s about to turn into one of Jihoon’s bizarre lessons, so Changsun takes his chance to apologize.
“Listen, hyung, about last night, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done or said what I did and-I really want to be here, I swear. Don’t send me home-I’ll do anything-“
Jihoon scoffs, “Calm down, Joon. I’m not making you bike home. I just thought this would be a different way to exercise and a good way to get to know the city better.”
“So-- you’re not mad?” Changsun asks, voice soft and careful in case it somehow reminds Jihoon of last night’s insurrection. Maybe his entire life isn’t over after all.
Jihoon sighs. “No, I’m not mad.” As soon as he says it the tension drains out of Changsun like a plug being pulled, but Jihoon doesn’t hesitate before adding, “I’m just disappointed.”
Which is much, much worse, and if the smirk Jihoon fails to hide as he mounts his bike is anything to go by, Jihoon knows it too.
Jihoon’s ten feet down the street before Changsun can blink and he scrambles onto his bike, calling out as he pedals to catch up, “I promise I won’t do it again!” His body still feels a little shaky and hungover. His legs tremble slightly as he pumps his feet and his hands are clammy on the handlebars, but he’s not going to let Jihoon get away without admitting to being nice for once.
Jihoon doesn’t turn around. Changsun’s actually pretty sure he starts cycling faster the more Changsun calls his name, so he eventually he gives up and pedals just hard enough to ride right behind him.
After a few terrifying blocks of weaving through cars and sidewalks-it’s lunchtime and the streets are bustling with groups of people heading into and emerging from restaurants- they pull up along the Spree. It’s sort of gorgeous outside, sunny enough that it brings his headache back around and makes him wish he’d worn sunglasses like Jihoon.
Still: there’s a slight wind so that he doesn’t sweat and grassy patches here and there, where pretty girls are sunning themselves, all pale glowing skin and long messy hair to distract from the slight discomfort easily enough. He’s glancing at them so casually that when Jihoon slows suddenly in front of him, he almost collides with Jihoon’s rear tire.
“How does Tiergarten Park sound?”Jihoon asks. Changsun has no idea what that is but he nods, content to follow the weaving of Jihoon’s bike. Probably some place he was supposed to study in Jihoon’s guide book.
Changsun’s almost reaching the limits of his post-hangover energy when Jihoon skids to a stop under a massive tree in a semi-secluded area of the park. He dismounts from his bike and balances it on the kickstand. Changsun throws himself off his and it tumbles into the grass behind him. He’s tired enough that he ignores Jihoon’s frown and splays himself out under the tree.
He’s content to lie there, sunning himself, pulling out blades of grass here and there, for a while, but he inevitably gets bored. Jihoon’s stretched out on his back a foot away, his sunglasses on. Changsun can’t tell if he’s asleep.
He decides to risk it. “Hyungggg.”
Jihoon twitches and echoes, “Joonnnn?”
“Do you think your movie or GI Joe will be more popular?”
Jihoon smiles at the sky. “Is this your way of asking if I think I’m better than Lee Byunghun?”
“Hyung, seriously,” he insists.
“Okay,” Jihoon mulls it over. “Seriously, GI Joe is an established franchise and has a much bigger budget. Their cast is more famous than ours. It will probably be a more popular movie. But,” he interjects, “Byunghun-hyung has a small part as a villain and I play the lead role as a hero.” He grins. “Does that answer your question?”
Changsun nods. “And you, Joon,” Jihoon asks slyly. “Who do you prefer?”
“Actually,” Changsun equivocates, “Johnny Depp is my favourite actor.”
Jihoon scowls.
“Johnny Depp has made some very poor choices,” he lectures, propping himself up on his elbows. “You should admire someone who keeps challenging himself. Not someone who keeps playing the same part over and over.”
Maybe he’s got sunstroke, because Changsun can’t help but tease, “Oh like you?” as if he doesn’t think the sun shines out Jihoon’s ass.
The laughter bubbles out of him, unbidden, at Jihoon’s wounded expression. He covers his mouth in an attempt to stifle it, but that only makes him giggle harder.
Jihoon laughs with him then, head thrown back and hair swinging. He smiles, full and white and unaware, so utterly Jihoon, not a trace of Rain in him. Changsun feels something clenching in his chest, bright and exploding. It’s that invincible feeling again.
Then, Jihoon pushes his sunglasses up onto his head. He looks back at Changsun and doesn’t look away. Changsun leans forward on his knees.
I am going to kiss him, Changsun thinks dimly. I want to kiss him.
They’re in the middle of a public park in a foreign country and there are people scattered all around and he’s going to kiss Jihoon, he realizes. There’s nothing he can do it about it. It’s inevitable. So he leans forward.
“Rain?” a voice chirps and Changsun’s entire body convulses in surprise. He falls back onto the grass.
The sun is temporarily blocked out and when he looks up there’s hair and breasts and smiling face looming over him.
She speaks broken English with a German accent enough to ask for an autograph and picture and a hug. Enough for Jihoon to become Rain again, humouring her.
Just like that, the moment is gone, along with Changsun’s momentary insanity. He lies in the grass with his earbuds in and his arms crossed over his face as Jihoon speaks to the fan, willing the flush in his cheeks to disappear.
When Jihoon tugs one of his earbuds out and says, “It’s getting late. I have to meet some people for dinner.” Changsun sits up, dazed, to find the fan gone. If the burgeoning redness on his forearms is anything to go by, she’s been gone for a while.
They mount their bikes in silence and head back, the comfortable mood from earlier long dead.
I didn’t even do anything, he wants to whine at Jihoon’s receding back, but planning to do something is almost as bad as doing it, he knows. They send people to jail for that stuff all the time.
He finds himself sitting on the couch, recounting a long and rambling story, mostly made-up, about a rumoured “bicycle mafia” in Berlin as Jihoon putters around the apartment, getting ready. He doesn’t react to anything Changsun is saying- Changsun doubts he’s even listening, but somehow he can’t stop himself from talking just to fill the silence. It’s like word vomit.
“I’m not sending you home,” Jihoon says off-handedly, pulling on a blazer. He checks the shoulders, picks an invisible piece of fluff off the sleeve, and grins, quick and bright, as he steps out the door. “Just don’t get drunk again.”
-
Normally, he’d go to Byunghee with a problem like this--who’d know exactly what to do or say, or to Seungho-- who’d shrug and give him terrible advice that would make him feel better anyway, but this time he can’t. Jihoon is, oh god, their sunbae-nim.
Changsun can’t go to them, he realizes, because what’s he’s doing-what he’s done-could jeopardize everything they’re working for back home. But he needs to talk this out with someone, to let someone convince him he’s not crazy or imagining all this.
So he decides to go to the only other semi-reliable source he knows.
"I think Jihoon wants to sleep with me," Changsun announces to Yonghwa over webcam.
Unfortunately, he makes this statement just as Yonghwa is taking a gulp of juice and he does an actual spittake, spraying his webcam, momentarily obscuring Changsun's view.
The first thing Yonghwa says after pixellating back into view, wiping the lens is, "I'm sorry but-- what? Are you insane?
“You think Rain wants to sleep with you? This is like that time when you were convinced you had cancer cause you kept getting strange bruises, isn’t it?”
This is seeming like a bad idea already.
"Okay, first of all, that could have been cancer, better safe than sorry. Second of all, I have evidence this time.” Changsun interjects. “And third of all, don't compare Jihoon to cancer."
"Evidence," Yonghwa repeats. Changsun thinks he can see one side of his lips curving upward but graciously decides to ignore it in favour of replying.
"Right, well-- he's really mean to me and he's always correcting me all the time? And today he brought me food and we rode bikes by the river?” Changsun pauses triumphantly.
When Yonghwa shows no signs of shock or amazement, he feels compelled to mumble, "Also, he kissed me last night." He leaves out the incident from this afternoon. It’s best forgotten.
Yonghwa blinks. Several times.
"Okay, so just to sum this up. World Superstar Rain-- who’s kind of your boss-- bullied you, took you on a date, and made out with you?"
"Well when you say it like-“ Changsun shouldn’t have even bothered asking Yonghwa, he’s never helpful . He always just mocks Changsun. And he brings up the cancer incident every fucking time. It was a perfectly reasonable fear.
"You might actually be right this time,” Yonghwa allows.
"-that it sounds so stu-- wha--?" Changsun finishes brilliantly.
"Oh." He checks Yonghwa’s face for the smirk that generally accompanies his teasing. "Really?"
No smirk. Changsun smiles a little. "Right. So what do I do?"
"Well, was the kiss any good?" Even if he isn’t smirking, Yonghwa still seems far more amused than the situation deserves.
“Of course it was," Changsun snaps. "Jihoon's good at everything."
“Has he tried to kiss you again?”
“No.” Changsun’s smiles fades a little. “I mean, not yet at least.”
“Do you want him to kiss you again?”
A long pause wherein Yonghwa has time to finish his first bottle of juice and twist open a second.
“Yes,” Changsun begins. He pauses again, “A whole lot, I think. Possibly more than once. Possibly all the time.”
Yonghwa hums thoughtfully. Changsun checks his own face in the display on the monitor. He looks pale.
“What are you scowling about?” Changsun frowns nervously. “Are you pissed at me?”
“Yes,” Yonghwa grumbles. “If you were going be gay for someone, it should’ve been me. I have dibs.”
“That’s not my fault! I don’t really think it works that way, Yong.” Changsun thinks about it for a second. He’s never wanted a guy this way before Jihoon. But then, he realizes, he’s never wanted anyone the way he wants Jihoon. “At least not for me.”
Yonghwa doesn’t seem mad in the least. “You don’t even like guys! Don’t be mad,” Changsun pleads.
“Whatever. Just know-when I get famous, I’m going to fanservice all over my bandmates and there’ll be nothing you can do it about it.”
Changsun snorts. “Aw, Yonghwa. I miss you too! But seriously, can you just tell me what to do?”
“Look, if he hasn’t tried anything again, he’s probably not going to. If you want this to happen, you can either make the first or, I guess, second move. Or you can just stick to watching your A Love to Kill DVDs for the rest of your life.”
“Yah, that’s a great drama, okay?”
Changsun sighs. He can see himself pouting in the display. “Thanks, Yong. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
Yonghwa grins. “That much is clear, hyung. Glad I could help.”
-
Changsun totally intends to institute or at least, like, create a plan re: Jihoon, but then he actually starts filming and Jihoon somehow starts filming even more and it’s almost like they don’t live together anymore.
He hasn’t seen head or tail of Jihoon for three days when the scene he and Anna are shooting takes much longer than expected. They have sort of a giggling problem and it just so happens that as he’s leaving the studio, he runs into Leonie.
“Joon,” she gushes. “I was hoping I’d see you.”
Huh.
“Look he’s completely wiped out. He’s been working himself even crazier than usual lately. Can you please try to get him to call it a night?”
“I really don’t think I’m the best person to-” he attempts. He’s totally not being avoidant it’s just that--
“Oh I think you are,” Leonie rebuts, something knowing in her voice.
Jihoon is slumped in his chair the same way he’d been the day Changsun had first arrived on set. Looking at him now, Changsun can’t believe he’d thought Jihoon had looked tired back then. If that had been incredibly tired, this was near dead.
He leans over, speaking directly into Jihoon’s ear. “Hyung, wake up.” Jihoon stirs and opens his eyes. He smiles, still half-asleep, when he sees Changsun standing behind him and looks younger than Changsun’s ever seen him, except in pictures.
“Hyung, come on.” He tugs on the sleeve of Jihoon’s hoodie until he stands. “Let’s go home.”
Jihoon complies, shuffling behind him and seeming as out of it as when he’d first awoken. Changsun leads him to the car, takes the passenger seat so Jihoon can sort of lie down in the back. He and the driver share small, private smiles at the sleepy mumbles coming from the back seat.
When they arrive at the apartment, it’s even more difficult to wake Jihoon. He and the driver end up half-tugging Jihoon out of the car before he responds.
“We’re taking the elevator,” Changsun says and ushers Jihoon in before he can argue. There’s no way he’s half-carrying, half-dragging Jihoon up all those stairs.
Once inside, Jihoon slumps against the side of the elevator, next to Changsun, leaning into his shoulder. Jihoon drops his head down to rest against Changsun and Changsun could swear he mumbles his name.
“Changsun,” he repeats into Changsun’s hood. “I never see you anymore.”
“Mmhm,” Changsun manages as he unlocks their apartment door, Jihoon still resting on his shoulder.
“Wait,” Jihoon grabs hold of his shoulder. “I want you to come to dinner with me tomorrow night.”
Changsun’s stomach does a flip. “I mean it. You’ll come right, Changsun?”
With great effort, he nods and Jihoon’s mouth twitches into a lazy half-smile. He makes a motion to ruffle Changsun’s hair and ends up sort of massaging his head through his beanie.
Which makes Changsun think of the night Jihoon had shaved his head and then he sends himself and Jihoon off to extremely separate beds before he does something untoward. He’ll save that for tomorrow.
-
It’s official.
This is the worst night of Changsun’s life.
He should’ve guessed the path the evening would take when he’d accepted the blazer Jihoon had lent him. It hangs huge on him, making him look like a kid playing dress up in dad’s clothes. Considering the things Changsun’s been picturing doing to and having done to him by Jihoon lately, the familial comparison is just creepy.
And apparently “come to dinner with me” had actually meant “come to dinner with me and once of the producers of the movie and his wife” rather than the “come on a date with me where I will confess wanting to do you” Changsun had been hoping for.
As a matter of fact, Jihoon has barely acknowledged his presence since arriving at the restaurant, aside from introducing him to the couple.
They’re both friendly and comfortable with Jihoon, the woman especially more so, and Changsun immediately hates them. Changsun hates all of this. He hates it so much, feeling all this hot ugliness coiled in his stomach as he watches the producer’s wife’s hand disappear under the table. He wants to be sick at the way Jihoon’s eyes flick toward to him and slide away when he catches Changsun watching him back.
And this is all Jihoon’s fault, for liking Changsun too much and for being too nice to him the past few weeks, for kissing him and not pulling away when Changsun had tried to kiss him back and then acting like nothing happened.
“-wine?” Changsun tears his eyes away from whatever’s going on under the table to see the producer, offering him the wine bottle. It had gone around earlier in the evening, with a gently stern look from Jihoon making him refuse. He doesn’t really like wine, but it’s expensive and sophisticated-seeming and Jihoon won’t notice anyway, so he smiles and nods and watches the dark red liquid swirl in his glass.
Jihoon keeps talking and Changsun keeps smiling and the producer keeps pouring. The wine is dulling that knot of unease that has been settled between his ribs all night. It clenches a little less each time he notices the woman’s hand still under the table.
He’s just got to get through this dinner and then he can go have a good pout in his bedroom and give Jihoon a silent treatment he’ll probably take no notice of for a few days and then everything can go back to the way it was before. He’s dealing with it okay, until he sees Jihoon’s hand clenched in the table cloth, sees his index finger twitch a little, the way it had against Changsun’s face before, and everything is suddenly very not okay.
“Don’t you see?” he manages to slur at the producer, in some superhuman feat of drunken-English skills. It’s a sentence he’s barely able to manage sober, no how many hours he practices with the tutor or at home or with Jihoon on the way to set when he’s trying to nap.
“I’m sorry?” The produces inquires politely.
Changsun rolls his eyes and repeats himself, with increasing volume. He’s trying to help this guy out, but he’s clearly a little slow. So what if he’s getting harder to understand the more he raises his voice?
He suddenly becomes aware of Jihoon and the woman’s attention on him. He notices that Jihoon is standing and that his eyes are closed-off bright.
“It’s late,” Jihoon announces, smiling that scary handsome smile. “We should be heading home.” Changsun downs the rest of his glass of wine as Jihoon gives his thanks-shaking hands with the producer and letting the wife give him an entirely inappropriate hug, hands way too low and hips way too close- and says good bye for the both of them. Changsun bows silently, his face red, before he remembers he’s not supposed to do that here.
He stumbles as they walk away, forcing Jihoon to grab onto his elbow, though Changsun’s pretty sure he doesn’t have to squeeze quite so hard. This has all happened before, Changsun thinks, furious.
“What is wrong with you?” Jihoon whispers, his English harsh, the second they’re out of earshot.
Nothing is what Changsun should whine, should allow Jihoon to pass it off as a tantrum or a bad day. But he can’t bring himself to do it this time, to ignore it like Jihoon does so easily. “You.”
He yanks his arm out Jihoon’s grip and walks in long, if unsteady strides, until he’s ahead of Jihoon, the wine dulling his nervousness. Making him braver.
“You’re an asshole,” Changsun says loudly and, luckily, in Korean as they as reach the limo the producer sent to pick them up.
“And you-” Jihoon yanks the door open and shoves Changsun in. “Are going home.”
Changsun snorts derisively, “Yeah right. I have like, a contract and stuff.”
“We’ll see about that. Didn’t you promise me you wouldn’t get drunk again? And look at you- in front of people I have to work with. “
Changsun glances at the divider blocking the driver from them, checking it’s closed, before hissing, “Oh that’s what you call work? Letting a married woman grope you right in front of her husband?”
Jihoon still has a grip on his arm and when it tightens, Changsun uses it to lean right into his personal space. Jihoon leans right back, using his free hand, braced against Changsun’s chest, thumb over his collarbone, to push him away. “Joon, don’t,” he says.
“Aren’t I someone you work with?” he whispers miserably. He wishes he was still angry, but he’s not.
The anger drains out of Jihoon’s face to and he releases Changsun’s arm. His other hand stays where it is, not pushing him away, just resting there. “This can’t happen,” he pleads, but Changsun can tell he’s wavering.
“That’s not fair. You kissed me first, without even asking me! So if I want to kiss you again, I’m allowed.” He sounds brave and firm, just like he practiced, about forty-five times, in the mirror while Jihoon was out. But, “Okay?” slips out at the end regardless.
Their faces are very close, Changsun realizes, and when Jihoon smiles with one half of his mouth and whispers, “Okay,” their lips nearly brush.
But nearly isn’t enough for Changsun right now. He’s got Jihoon right next to him, smiling and seeing him for what feels like the first time in weeks and he wants to take full advantage.
Grin spreading across his face, he swings himself over Jihoon’s lap, his legs braced on either side, not quite touching Jihoon all over. By some miracle, he manages not to slip backwards off the leather bench as they take a sudden turn.
“Flexible,” Jihoon murmurs, voice low as he settles his hands tentatively on Changsun’s waist.
Changsun moves his hips into the touch and grins, “Ten years of ballet,” before shutting them both up properly.
This kiss is another beast entirely, nothing careful about it like the last. It’s full of intent. Changsun’s trying to tell Jihoon something, kissing persistently until Jihoon relaxes momentarily and then, finally finally kisses back him with full force. He licks his way in Changsun’s mouth, who is only too eager to oblige, hands coming up to wrap around the back of Jihoon’s neck and hips jerking forward into Jihoon’s.
Jihoon’s hands tighten around his waist, pulling Changsun flush against him, making them groan simultaneously. The angle is just short of perfect, nearly enough friction when Changsun grinds down and Jihoon thrusts up.
The back wheels bumping over a pothole have Changsun throwing his head back and moaning long and loud. “Shh,” Jihoon murmurs hotly into his exposed neck, teeth grazing over his Adam’s apple without biting down, making him shudder uncontrollably.
Changsun feels impossibly hot all over and he unwraps his hands from around Jihoon’s shoulders momentarily in an attempt to shrug the borrowed blazer off, but Jihoon stops him.
“Keep it on,” he says, his gaze so heavy Changsun would swear he can feel it travel across his skin. “I like how it looks on you.”
Changsun suddenly finds it especially hard to breathe and chases after Jihoon’s mouth in retribution, digging his nails into the back of Jihoon’s neck and moaning into his mouth as they overtake another pothole.
To his extreme displeasure, Jihoon pulls back a little and says with great difficulty, his eyes a little dazed, “Are you okay with this? You know you don’t have to-“
Changsun pouts, trying to wriggle closer again. It’s a little disconcerting, and a lot hot, how easily Jihoon can hold him off. “Yes, hyung,” he starts to whine, but Jihoon grunts in dissatisfaction and tugs him closer again.
“Can you not call me that.” Changsun rolls his hips absently and Jihoon’s voice breaks as his breath hitches. Changsun kisses him quickly, grinning into his mouth. “While we’re doing this. Say my name.”
“Not unless you call me by, ah, my name too. My real name.”
Jihoon’s mouth trails across his jaw, leaving tracks of heat and saliva on his way to Changsun’s mouth. His lips are full and demanding. They form his name as Jihoon kisses him, long and slow.
It’s doesn’t make any sense-- he can feel all of Jihoon, every single taut, hard muscle moving against him-- but what’s really making his cock leak is whispering, “Jihoon Jihoon Jihoonjihoonjihoon,” over and over, mouth gasping hot air against Jihoon’s ear, feeling Jihoon’s fingers clench and unclench compulsively on his hips. He half-hopes the prints will bruise there, imagines being able to see and feel them tomorrow, waking up, training, showering.
What had begun as relatively fluid grinding quickly deteriorates into frantic thrusts and they’re not so much kissing as panting into each other’s mouths at this point. In a miraculously timed sequence, Jihoon pulls Changsun down hard against him just as the tingling in Changsun’s thighs starts to build and just before the limo squeals to an abrupt halt. A perfect storm.
The aftermath is Changsun collapsing, shaken, onto Jihoon, burying his sweaty face in his shoulder. One of Jihoon’s big hands comes up to cup the back of Changsun’s neck, the other still gripping his waist. The rap of knuckles on the tinted glass divide interrupts their gasping breaths, reminding Changsun how exceptionally stupid what they just did was.
“Jesus Christ,”Jihoon pants, half-lifting Changsun off of him. “Did we just--?”
Changsun chuckles groggily then wrinkles his nose at the stickiness cooling in his pants. “Yeah, we sort of did.”
-
Everything's a little different now, the entire world tilted slightly askew. It's like his whole body is attuned to Jihoon, all the time. He's hyperaware, can feel Jihoon moving through the apartment. When he's sitting in the kitchen, just Jihoon's movements at the counter a few feet behind him are enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and a benign brush of fingers against his own is enough to make his gums tingle with desire.
It gets harder to focus after that, when Jihoon is around. To see Jihoon working out on the balcony and not just touch, to shower alone, requires an almost super-human restraint. Changsun’s greedy.
He wakes late one morning to the hiss of the shower down the hall. When he pads toward the bathroom, the door is cracked open. It’s practically an invitation. He enters quietly, takes a seat on the toilet cover, and watches. Jihoon in the shower is devastating. Changsun feels it, hot and low, in his stomach and in the twitch of his cock.
Jihoon doesn’t seem surprised to see him, doesn’t pause in showering as he asks, voice wry, “You need something?”
“A shower."
“Well, I’m almost done,” Jihoon says evenly. “If you want to wait.”
Changsun doesn’t want to wait. He wants to pulls off his pajama pants and step into the shower, let the shower spray and Jihoon warm him up, grab onto the soap rack when his knees start to shake and Jihoon’s too slippery to grab on to, have the water wash away the mess they make.
So that’s what he does.
-
It turns out that when Changsun’s getting laid regularly, he’s much more likeable. The film crew aren’t half as an unfriendly as he’d thought. The make-up artists share their energy drinks with him and his trainer drops by the set every so often to see how things are going. They all communicate with him in a weird German-English-Korean hybrid that works pretty well for him and Anna’s there to translate when things get a little sideways.
They’re filming Kiriko’s death scene on location and he’s on, he can feel it. They get the last shot of the scene in a couple of takes and Director McTeague even claps once they check the gate. Changsun’s thinking he might make it home in time to catch Jihoon before he leaves for dinner when the director stops him, “Joon, great work today.”
Changsun bounces on the balls of his feet and bows, pleasantly surprised. “Thank you, director!”
“Joon, how many times do I have to tell you to call me James? Rain was right about you, you know.”
“What about me,” he asks absently, trying to surreptitiously check his phone for texts from Jihoon.
“Just that I’m glad he pushed for us to cast you. We both owe him a thank you.”
His phone drops out of his hand, clattering on the floor hard, bits of plastic flying. His stomach follows.
He’s collecting the cracked bits of his phone as it all falls into place. Everything makes more sense now, the comments people in the company had made about his looks, all the advice Jihoon had given him, all the extra hours of practice, the way Leonie looked at him sometimes.
Staying at Jihoon’s apartment, letting him shave his head, following him around like a puppy. It must’ve been hilarious. God, he’s such a fucking joke.
He bows to McTeague and shoves the cracked pieces of his phone into his pockets, almost running out of the building. The idea of going back to the apartment now makes him nauseous, but he’s got to. There’s nowhere else to go.
Jihoon’s sprawled on the sofa, doing up the buttons on the sleeves of his dress shirt as Changsun bursts in. He smiles lazily at Changsun as he moves to stand over him. “Hey, you made it. I was thinking maybe if this dinner finishes early enough, we could-”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Tell you what,” Jihoon says, reaching up to tug at Changsun’s beanie affectionately, frowning when he jerks away.
“That no one wanted me here but you.”
Jihoon stands. “What?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I should’ve figured it out much sooner. Why would a movie like this cast some random kid who can’t even speak English?”
“Wait-it’s not-" He has the audacity to look confused.
“Just tell me the truth,” Changsun demands, faces inches from Jihoon’s. “Is that why I’m a trainee too?”
Jihoon shrugs, his smile bitter. “You caught me. This is all a master plan to get you in the sack.”
“This isn’t funny!” Changsun hisses. “You made a fool out of me. Why didn’t you just tell me right off the bat? Then I at least I would’ve known what was expected of me. Why did you lie to me?”
“What do you want me to say? I don’t owe you anything.” Jihoon’s finally getting angry, his shoulders getting tenser, his face contorting.
“Oh and I do?” Changsun sneers. “Is that how this relationship works? Good to know-”
“This is not a relationship,” Jihoon roars finally.
Changsun hands clench into fists and he feels sicker than ever. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry before. “Who says I even want this to be a relationship? We’re just fucking around, right hyung?
“I want my hotel room back,” he snaps.
Jihoon flinches like he’s been slapped, his face paling. There’s a beat where they’re both very still and then Jihoon turns on his heel and marches out of the apartment, slamming the door hard enough that the frame shakes.
Changsun storms into his bedroom, slamming his own door, his body still shaking with anger and adrenaline. He definitely doesn’t wipe furiously at frustrated tears or sulk into his bed, howling into his pillow.
“Don’t move out,” he hears someone whisper and jolts awake.
“I’m sorry.” Jihoon is crouched in the dark near his bed, eyes level with Changsun. He smells like whiskey, looks worn out and miserable as he pleads, “Please don’t move out. I promise I-”
Changsun rubs his eyes sleepily. “Hyung. How’d your dinner go?”
Jihoon huffs an unhappy laugh, “I fucked up. Drank too much.”
“Pulled a Joon,” Changsun jokes.
“Don’t say that.” He can see Jihoon frown in the dark. “Do you even know how-- It’s not like how you said, Changsun, I swear. I push you in practice because I know how well you can do-- you just need discipline. I vouched for you in casting because I saw you act in your audition. You’re good, Changsun, I mean that.
"The way I feel about-" Jihoon pauses, swallows hard. “The way I feel and me being your producer, they’re two separate things, you have to believe me. You’ve worked too hard for me to jeopardize your career like that.
“I swear, Changsun,” he repeats, softer this time.
“I’m not-I’m not a hard worker. I just wanted to impress you. I thought if I got good enough, you might like me,” Changsun admits. “You could’ve just told me how you felt, what you wanted. I would’ve done anything for you.”
“That’s the problem.” Jihoon smiles sadly. “It makes you a liability. And it makes me irrational.”
Changsun hangs his head. “Sorry,” he whispers.
“Changsun,” Jihoon says, and it sounds a little like his voice is breaking. He reaches a hand out, aborts the movement halfway through, leaving his hand extended in the air.
“I didn’t mean what I said before, hyung. Let’s just-it’s okay the way it is.” He reaches down, grabs Jihoon’s hand and tugs him up into bed with him.
Jihoon collapses heavy and boneless on top of Changsun, forcing the air out of his lungs until he wriggles out from underneath. One of his legs is still trapped under Jihoon. He’ll likely suffer pins and needles in the morning, but with Jihoon’s eyes like this right now and his hand curled around Changsun’s the way it is, he can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he nudges his face into the space between Jihoon’s neck and shoulder and breathes until they fall asleep.
-
Changsun shames himself by tearing up as he hugs the film crew for the final time at the wrap party, finally bursting into tears when he says goodbye to Anna. Jihoon’s eyes look suspiciously shiny too as he bows his thanks at everyone involved.
They’re both exhausted from last minute shooting and they duck out as early as possible. They’re crowded together outside, waiting for the car when Changsun gives it a go, “You know, I was thinking…”
“Mmhm?” Jihoon inquires, tugging up and down on the zipper on Changsun’s hoodie.
“Since it’s our last night here, can I, um, take you somewhere?”
Jihoon raises an eyebrow. “Alright. Where?” he asks as the car pulls up. Changsun nods significantly to the driver, who winks back at him.
“It’s a surprise.”
Jihoon curses when they pull up in front of The Oscar Wilde. Changsun laughs and thinks he can see the driver grin in the front seat. “Be back soon,” he says in English.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jihoon glares.
Inside is different this time. It’s less busy and there’s no football game playing on the screens, just a jukebox blaring out 70s rock. Sure enough, there in the corner booth are Craig and his friends.
Changsun waves as he enters and they roar, “Changsunnnn!” clearly already well on their way to wasted. Jihoon’s mouth flattens into a thin line.
“What?” Changsun shrugs. “It’s my name.” He drags Jihoon over to meet the boys, introducing him as Rain, the star of his movie.
They clap and hoot and buy Jihoon a round, but as Changsun starts chatting with them in earnest, he keeps on smiling his fake Rain smile. It’s kind of killing Changsun’s buzz.
“Aw, what’s wrong?” he teases in Korean.
Jihoon is resoundingly unimpressed. “This is your plan for our last night here,” he mutters back.
Craig chooses that moment to sling an arm over Changsun’s shoulders and slur, “What’re ya talkin about over here, Changsun buddy?”
Jihoon stands abruptly, tugging Changsun up with him, effectively shaking Craig’s arm off. When the guys stare at him, he grins inanely and says, “Going to the bathroom!”
“You’re jealous,” Changsun realizes and laughs, delighted, until Jihoon shuts and bars the door to the bathroom behind them. Then it gets a lot less funny.
“Shut up,” he says, backing Changsun up against a sink and kissing him, wet and desperate. He wedges one hand between them, slides it from its place cupping Changsun’s jaw, down his neck, over his collar bone, and down his chest to rest on his belt buckle. Changsun’s hips jerk of their own accord at the touch.
Jihoon kisses quickly him one more time, more of a hard peck than anything, as his hands make short work of Changsun’s belt and zipper. He tugs Changsun’s jeans and boxers hard, halfway down in thighs, just low enough. Then he follows the path his hand took.
It’s like this that Changsun finds yet another thing Jihoon excels at, as Jihoon swallows his cock. A moan rises unbidden from his throat and his fingers clench, first around the edge of the sink and then, threading through Jihoon’s long hair.
He tries to control his shallow thrusts, but Jihoon’s mouth is impossibly hot and wet and he’s doing this thing with his tongue and the tip of Changsun’s cock and Changsun just stops thinking all together.
Jihoon’s fingers are digging into Changsun’s hips as he sucks, bruisingly hard, and Changsun wants to do this forever when someone starts banging on the bathroom door and Changsun comes without warning down Jihoon’s throat, so hard that his ears are ringing. He makes a sound that vaguely resembles a sob and Jihoon’s name and Jihoon eyes are a fixed on him the entire time, making his body buzz underneath his skin.
Whoever’s outside keeps banging on the door.
“This bar is my favourite place in the world,” Changsun gasps, slumping against the sink. Jihoon rises from his knees and pulls Changsun’s jeans back over his waist, zipping Changsun back in as Jihoon kisses his own taste back into his mouth. It’s the filthiest thing Changsun’s ever done and he moans helplessly into the kiss.
“We’re going home,” Jihoon says when he pulls back to breathe. Changsun only nods, licking his lips and tasting himself, tasting Jihoon, on them. It’s enough for his cock to twitch a little in renewed interest.
He has a chance to say goodbye to the boys while Jihoon is off calling the car, but one look from him across the room keeps Changsun from doling out hugs.
Jihoon keeps his hand on Changsun’s thigh on the way home, his thumb tracing a promise into the fabric of Changsun’s jeans. Changsun bites his lip to keep from bucking into the touch when it shifts up his thigh minutely.
When they pull up in front of the building, Jihoon darts out of the car, trying to take Changsun with him. “Wait,” Changsun manages.
He sticks his head through the space between the passenger and driver’s seat. He smiles at the driver. “Thank you,” he says.
“What’s your name?” he asks in English.
The driver smiles back, his moustache crinkling. “My name is Oskar.”
Changsun laughs out loud.
-
Things are strange and tense on the drive to the airport. They’d gotten up early and sat on the stone wall of the balcony, sipping coffee and not saying much of anything. Jihoon’s arm had been very bare and very warm against his own. The sun had risen and then they’d shuffled, bare-footed, inside to finish packing.
When Changsun finishes, packing as slowly as possible given the time of their flight, he finds Jihoon waiting on the sofa, his bags stacked by the door.
Changsun drops his own bags climbs over Jihoon’s lap, one last time. “I’m going to miss it here,” he tries to kid, but it just comes out sounding heavier and more expansive than he’d intended.
Jihoon shifts to accommodate him, hands settling in their usual place at his waist, but when Changsun tries to kiss him, Jihoon begins, “Changsun, this-we-“ He’s unusually tongue tied, his face pained with something like regret and his eyes seemingly shuttered.
Changsun sighs and interrupts, “I know. This is not a relationship,” he kisses Jihoon, once quick and soft. “This can’t happen anymore.” He kisses Jihoon again, deeper and with intent. “I know.”
Jihoon opens his mouth as though he’s about to speak. Instead he pauses for a long moment and then says, “Right. You’re right, Changsun.”
Flying back to Korea with Jihoon means riding in first class, where there’s plenty of space to recline your chair for sleeping. Still after they’ve taken off, Changsun's still not over his nerves about flying and peering out the window at Berlin as it disappears from sight, Jihoon lets Changsun shove his pillow into the space between their seats and curl up there, drooling onto his shoulder for about fourteen hours. He wakes up a few times to feel Jihoon’s chin resting against the top of his head and hums in pleasure before dropping off to sleep again.
In the airport, Cheolhook is waiting to collect them. Jihoon slides on a pair of sunglasses as he steps off the plane.
Changsun knows to keep a few steps behind him, his head down, as they navigate the fans waiting to greet Rain. Jihoon’s only in Seoul for a day-- tomorrow he flies to Japan for a fanmeeting.
“I’ll see you soon,” Jihoon says as they pull up in front of the dorm.
“Yeah,” Changsun says. “Bye, hyung.”
They don’t hug.
-
If by “soon,” Jihoon had meant “not for a month”, he’d been absolutely right.
Changsun hears along the company grapevine that Jihoon’s working on a new album, but he doesn’t stop by the practice room or show up at their dorms.
Changsun doesn’t mind-everything’s back to normal. He’s back to practicing, regaling the rest of the members with exaggerated tales from his trip, and ignoring the knot of longing in his stomach when he thinks about Berlin. It doesn’t make sense to still feel homesick now that he’s finally home.
They’re putting off practice one day, Sanghyung tying Cheolyong’s hair into random ponytails and Changsun fiddling with the short sideburns that have grown back since he stopped shaving his head.
“I like the hair,” Jihoon says from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
Sanghyun and Cheolyong fall over in embarrassed laughter, but Jihoon is smiling directly at Changsun, small and private. The knot in his stomach undoes itself as Jihoon enters the room.
“Chan- Joon,” Jihoon finishes, correcting himself. Changsun bites his lip to try to keep from smiling.
“Now come on, boys.”Jihoon claps his hands. “Show me what you got.”
mblaq rps (rain/joon)
originally posted here at kpfw_minibang
A spring spent in Berlin, during which Jihoon is much more clueless than he seems and Changsun feels with his stomach.
When Changsun first wakes up, morning light blinding him from a crack in between his curtains, he’s pretty sure he got curb-stomped while he slept.
There are a few blissful moments of excruciating head pain before last night starts coming back to him in flashes: the slam of the front door, the tense curl of Jihoon’s shoulders, his hand hot on Changsun’s jaw and--
And the way Jihoon wouldn’t meet his eyes after, the way he ordered Changsun to bed and Changsun just went, his brain paralyzed by the kiss.
Then the nausea kicks in.
He’s struggling up in bed, trying to make it to the bathroom in time, when he catches sight of something on his bedside table that makes him pause. A glass of water that, when he reaches out to grasp it, is room-temperature, and two aspirins resting beside his lamp and alarm clock, like they’ve been there forever.
Changsun knows they haven’t though-he’d lain on his side and watched minutes, then hours, tick by on his alarm clock last night, still drunk and his heart still pounding. Actually, the only thing he doesn’t remember about the previous night is falling asleep.
Changsun doesn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but, as he’s hunched over the toilet trying vainly to be sick, he’s pretty sure Jihoon is the only person who could’ve left them there. Unless there’s some sort of German serial-burglar who breaks into homes and leaves painkillers for wasted popstars-in-training. That’s if he’s even a trainee anymore, it occurs to him suddenly, recalling Jihoon’s threats-no, promises last night. The thought is enough to finally make his stomach heave and bile rise.
Surprisingly, vomiting makes Changsun feel much better- in retrospect, it’s something he should’ve done last night, were he in his right mind. He heaves experimentally a few more times but nothing comes up and he uses shaking hands on the toilet seat to prop himself up, staggering back to bed and tumbling in.
He stares at the aspirin on the bedside table suspiciously for a few moments before reaching out and downing them. They stick in the back of his throat, sweeter than Korean aspirin, but he washes them down with a single, tentative sip of room-temperature water. The clock flashes 6:30 AM at him so he tugs his blankets all the way over his head, cocooning himself. He can wallow for a bit longer.
And maybe he was right about the German burglar, because he jolts awake what seems like minutes later to the sound of a door slamming. Jihoon’s on set, he knows, and anyone else would have called before coming-- if for some reason they’d actually wanted Joon for something.
He creeps cautiously out of the bedroom, clutching one of his wooden training sticks, the only defense weapon he could find on such short notice.
“Oh hyung,” Changsun yelps, dropping his stick in favour of covering his mouth. He still hasn’t brushed his teeth so his breath must be toxic. Jihoon’s turned away from him at the kitchen counter. The light from the balcony door makes him squint.
“I see you’re still alive,” Jihoon comments wryly. “Did you just wake up?”
“Yes, what’s the, um?”
“Oh, it’s just some extra food the set caterer had left over.” His tone is casual, but his words sort of run together. “Shooting was cancelled today and food should never go to waste. So I agreed to bring it home.”
Changsun’s stomach emits a surprised grumble as Jihoon continues. “But I can’t eat this unhealthy stuff because of my training. Since you never work out like you’re supposed to, I guess it doesn’t make a difference what you eat.”
Changsun winces until Jihoon lays out a dish of kimchi jjigae and rice on the table. Then he gapes.
“You know you can’t sleep the day away just because you don’t have work,” Jihoon scolds. “Eat up and shower, we’re going out.” He’s not yelling, but he’s not meeting Changsun’s eyes either.
“Thank you, hyung.” Changsun finally manages to complete a full sentence as he slumps at the kitchen table and promptly starts shoveling the food down his throat. It, unsurprisingly, tastes amazing. He’s pretty sure he’s groaning in pleasure.
Jihoon makes a vague noise of assent in his direction and heads for the front door again. “Be ready by the time I get back.”
With the kimchi in his system, Changsun instantly feels better, his hangover fading so much as to become negligible. He feels like a recharged battery, powering through dishwashing and his shower. He’s waiting in front of the apartment building when Jihoon appears down the street, pushing two bicycles.
It seems like the situation’s about to turn into one of Jihoon’s bizarre lessons, so Changsun takes his chance to apologize.
“Listen, hyung, about last night, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done or said what I did and-I really want to be here, I swear. Don’t send me home-I’ll do anything-“
Jihoon scoffs, “Calm down, Joon. I’m not making you bike home. I just thought this would be a different way to exercise and a good way to get to know the city better.”
“So-- you’re not mad?” Changsun asks, voice soft and careful in case it somehow reminds Jihoon of last night’s insurrection. Maybe his entire life isn’t over after all.
Jihoon sighs. “No, I’m not mad.” As soon as he says it the tension drains out of Changsun like a plug being pulled, but Jihoon doesn’t hesitate before adding, “I’m just disappointed.”
Which is much, much worse, and if the smirk Jihoon fails to hide as he mounts his bike is anything to go by, Jihoon knows it too.
Jihoon’s ten feet down the street before Changsun can blink and he scrambles onto his bike, calling out as he pedals to catch up, “I promise I won’t do it again!” His body still feels a little shaky and hungover. His legs tremble slightly as he pumps his feet and his hands are clammy on the handlebars, but he’s not going to let Jihoon get away without admitting to being nice for once.
Jihoon doesn’t turn around. Changsun’s actually pretty sure he starts cycling faster the more Changsun calls his name, so he eventually he gives up and pedals just hard enough to ride right behind him.
After a few terrifying blocks of weaving through cars and sidewalks-it’s lunchtime and the streets are bustling with groups of people heading into and emerging from restaurants- they pull up along the Spree. It’s sort of gorgeous outside, sunny enough that it brings his headache back around and makes him wish he’d worn sunglasses like Jihoon.
Still: there’s a slight wind so that he doesn’t sweat and grassy patches here and there, where pretty girls are sunning themselves, all pale glowing skin and long messy hair to distract from the slight discomfort easily enough. He’s glancing at them so casually that when Jihoon slows suddenly in front of him, he almost collides with Jihoon’s rear tire.
“How does Tiergarten Park sound?”Jihoon asks. Changsun has no idea what that is but he nods, content to follow the weaving of Jihoon’s bike. Probably some place he was supposed to study in Jihoon’s guide book.
Changsun’s almost reaching the limits of his post-hangover energy when Jihoon skids to a stop under a massive tree in a semi-secluded area of the park. He dismounts from his bike and balances it on the kickstand. Changsun throws himself off his and it tumbles into the grass behind him. He’s tired enough that he ignores Jihoon’s frown and splays himself out under the tree.
He’s content to lie there, sunning himself, pulling out blades of grass here and there, for a while, but he inevitably gets bored. Jihoon’s stretched out on his back a foot away, his sunglasses on. Changsun can’t tell if he’s asleep.
He decides to risk it. “Hyungggg.”
Jihoon twitches and echoes, “Joonnnn?”
“Do you think your movie or GI Joe will be more popular?”
Jihoon smiles at the sky. “Is this your way of asking if I think I’m better than Lee Byunghun?”
“Hyung, seriously,” he insists.
“Okay,” Jihoon mulls it over. “Seriously, GI Joe is an established franchise and has a much bigger budget. Their cast is more famous than ours. It will probably be a more popular movie. But,” he interjects, “Byunghun-hyung has a small part as a villain and I play the lead role as a hero.” He grins. “Does that answer your question?”
Changsun nods. “And you, Joon,” Jihoon asks slyly. “Who do you prefer?”
“Actually,” Changsun equivocates, “Johnny Depp is my favourite actor.”
Jihoon scowls.
“Johnny Depp has made some very poor choices,” he lectures, propping himself up on his elbows. “You should admire someone who keeps challenging himself. Not someone who keeps playing the same part over and over.”
Maybe he’s got sunstroke, because Changsun can’t help but tease, “Oh like you?” as if he doesn’t think the sun shines out Jihoon’s ass.
The laughter bubbles out of him, unbidden, at Jihoon’s wounded expression. He covers his mouth in an attempt to stifle it, but that only makes him giggle harder.
Jihoon laughs with him then, head thrown back and hair swinging. He smiles, full and white and unaware, so utterly Jihoon, not a trace of Rain in him. Changsun feels something clenching in his chest, bright and exploding. It’s that invincible feeling again.
Then, Jihoon pushes his sunglasses up onto his head. He looks back at Changsun and doesn’t look away. Changsun leans forward on his knees.
I am going to kiss him, Changsun thinks dimly. I want to kiss him.
They’re in the middle of a public park in a foreign country and there are people scattered all around and he’s going to kiss Jihoon, he realizes. There’s nothing he can do it about it. It’s inevitable. So he leans forward.
“Rain?” a voice chirps and Changsun’s entire body convulses in surprise. He falls back onto the grass.
The sun is temporarily blocked out and when he looks up there’s hair and breasts and smiling face looming over him.
She speaks broken English with a German accent enough to ask for an autograph and picture and a hug. Enough for Jihoon to become Rain again, humouring her.
Just like that, the moment is gone, along with Changsun’s momentary insanity. He lies in the grass with his earbuds in and his arms crossed over his face as Jihoon speaks to the fan, willing the flush in his cheeks to disappear.
When Jihoon tugs one of his earbuds out and says, “It’s getting late. I have to meet some people for dinner.” Changsun sits up, dazed, to find the fan gone. If the burgeoning redness on his forearms is anything to go by, she’s been gone for a while.
They mount their bikes in silence and head back, the comfortable mood from earlier long dead.
I didn’t even do anything, he wants to whine at Jihoon’s receding back, but planning to do something is almost as bad as doing it, he knows. They send people to jail for that stuff all the time.
He finds himself sitting on the couch, recounting a long and rambling story, mostly made-up, about a rumoured “bicycle mafia” in Berlin as Jihoon putters around the apartment, getting ready. He doesn’t react to anything Changsun is saying- Changsun doubts he’s even listening, but somehow he can’t stop himself from talking just to fill the silence. It’s like word vomit.
“I’m not sending you home,” Jihoon says off-handedly, pulling on a blazer. He checks the shoulders, picks an invisible piece of fluff off the sleeve, and grins, quick and bright, as he steps out the door. “Just don’t get drunk again.”
-
Normally, he’d go to Byunghee with a problem like this--who’d know exactly what to do or say, or to Seungho-- who’d shrug and give him terrible advice that would make him feel better anyway, but this time he can’t. Jihoon is, oh god, their sunbae-nim.
Changsun can’t go to them, he realizes, because what’s he’s doing-what he’s done-could jeopardize everything they’re working for back home. But he needs to talk this out with someone, to let someone convince him he’s not crazy or imagining all this.
So he decides to go to the only other semi-reliable source he knows.
"I think Jihoon wants to sleep with me," Changsun announces to Yonghwa over webcam.
Unfortunately, he makes this statement just as Yonghwa is taking a gulp of juice and he does an actual spittake, spraying his webcam, momentarily obscuring Changsun's view.
The first thing Yonghwa says after pixellating back into view, wiping the lens is, "I'm sorry but-- what? Are you insane?
“You think Rain wants to sleep with you? This is like that time when you were convinced you had cancer cause you kept getting strange bruises, isn’t it?”
This is seeming like a bad idea already.
"Okay, first of all, that could have been cancer, better safe than sorry. Second of all, I have evidence this time.” Changsun interjects. “And third of all, don't compare Jihoon to cancer."
"Evidence," Yonghwa repeats. Changsun thinks he can see one side of his lips curving upward but graciously decides to ignore it in favour of replying.
"Right, well-- he's really mean to me and he's always correcting me all the time? And today he brought me food and we rode bikes by the river?” Changsun pauses triumphantly.
When Yonghwa shows no signs of shock or amazement, he feels compelled to mumble, "Also, he kissed me last night." He leaves out the incident from this afternoon. It’s best forgotten.
Yonghwa blinks. Several times.
"Okay, so just to sum this up. World Superstar Rain-- who’s kind of your boss-- bullied you, took you on a date, and made out with you?"
"Well when you say it like-“ Changsun shouldn’t have even bothered asking Yonghwa, he’s never helpful . He always just mocks Changsun. And he brings up the cancer incident every fucking time. It was a perfectly reasonable fear.
"You might actually be right this time,” Yonghwa allows.
"-that it sounds so stu-- wha--?" Changsun finishes brilliantly.
"Oh." He checks Yonghwa’s face for the smirk that generally accompanies his teasing. "Really?"
No smirk. Changsun smiles a little. "Right. So what do I do?"
"Well, was the kiss any good?" Even if he isn’t smirking, Yonghwa still seems far more amused than the situation deserves.
“Of course it was," Changsun snaps. "Jihoon's good at everything."
“Has he tried to kiss you again?”
“No.” Changsun’s smiles fades a little. “I mean, not yet at least.”
“Do you want him to kiss you again?”
A long pause wherein Yonghwa has time to finish his first bottle of juice and twist open a second.
“Yes,” Changsun begins. He pauses again, “A whole lot, I think. Possibly more than once. Possibly all the time.”
Yonghwa hums thoughtfully. Changsun checks his own face in the display on the monitor. He looks pale.
“What are you scowling about?” Changsun frowns nervously. “Are you pissed at me?”
“Yes,” Yonghwa grumbles. “If you were going be gay for someone, it should’ve been me. I have dibs.”
“That’s not my fault! I don’t really think it works that way, Yong.” Changsun thinks about it for a second. He’s never wanted a guy this way before Jihoon. But then, he realizes, he’s never wanted anyone the way he wants Jihoon. “At least not for me.”
Yonghwa doesn’t seem mad in the least. “You don’t even like guys! Don’t be mad,” Changsun pleads.
“Whatever. Just know-when I get famous, I’m going to fanservice all over my bandmates and there’ll be nothing you can do it about it.”
Changsun snorts. “Aw, Yonghwa. I miss you too! But seriously, can you just tell me what to do?”
“Look, if he hasn’t tried anything again, he’s probably not going to. If you want this to happen, you can either make the first or, I guess, second move. Or you can just stick to watching your A Love to Kill DVDs for the rest of your life.”
“Yah, that’s a great drama, okay?”
Changsun sighs. He can see himself pouting in the display. “Thanks, Yong. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
Yonghwa grins. “That much is clear, hyung. Glad I could help.”
-
Changsun totally intends to institute or at least, like, create a plan re: Jihoon, but then he actually starts filming and Jihoon somehow starts filming even more and it’s almost like they don’t live together anymore.
He hasn’t seen head or tail of Jihoon for three days when the scene he and Anna are shooting takes much longer than expected. They have sort of a giggling problem and it just so happens that as he’s leaving the studio, he runs into Leonie.
“Joon,” she gushes. “I was hoping I’d see you.”
Huh.
“Look he’s completely wiped out. He’s been working himself even crazier than usual lately. Can you please try to get him to call it a night?”
“I really don’t think I’m the best person to-” he attempts. He’s totally not being avoidant it’s just that--
“Oh I think you are,” Leonie rebuts, something knowing in her voice.
Jihoon is slumped in his chair the same way he’d been the day Changsun had first arrived on set. Looking at him now, Changsun can’t believe he’d thought Jihoon had looked tired back then. If that had been incredibly tired, this was near dead.
He leans over, speaking directly into Jihoon’s ear. “Hyung, wake up.” Jihoon stirs and opens his eyes. He smiles, still half-asleep, when he sees Changsun standing behind him and looks younger than Changsun’s ever seen him, except in pictures.
“Hyung, come on.” He tugs on the sleeve of Jihoon’s hoodie until he stands. “Let’s go home.”
Jihoon complies, shuffling behind him and seeming as out of it as when he’d first awoken. Changsun leads him to the car, takes the passenger seat so Jihoon can sort of lie down in the back. He and the driver share small, private smiles at the sleepy mumbles coming from the back seat.
When they arrive at the apartment, it’s even more difficult to wake Jihoon. He and the driver end up half-tugging Jihoon out of the car before he responds.
“We’re taking the elevator,” Changsun says and ushers Jihoon in before he can argue. There’s no way he’s half-carrying, half-dragging Jihoon up all those stairs.
Once inside, Jihoon slumps against the side of the elevator, next to Changsun, leaning into his shoulder. Jihoon drops his head down to rest against Changsun and Changsun could swear he mumbles his name.
“Changsun,” he repeats into Changsun’s hood. “I never see you anymore.”
“Mmhm,” Changsun manages as he unlocks their apartment door, Jihoon still resting on his shoulder.
“Wait,” Jihoon grabs hold of his shoulder. “I want you to come to dinner with me tomorrow night.”
Changsun’s stomach does a flip. “I mean it. You’ll come right, Changsun?”
With great effort, he nods and Jihoon’s mouth twitches into a lazy half-smile. He makes a motion to ruffle Changsun’s hair and ends up sort of massaging his head through his beanie.
Which makes Changsun think of the night Jihoon had shaved his head and then he sends himself and Jihoon off to extremely separate beds before he does something untoward. He’ll save that for tomorrow.
-
It’s official.
This is the worst night of Changsun’s life.
He should’ve guessed the path the evening would take when he’d accepted the blazer Jihoon had lent him. It hangs huge on him, making him look like a kid playing dress up in dad’s clothes. Considering the things Changsun’s been picturing doing to and having done to him by Jihoon lately, the familial comparison is just creepy.
And apparently “come to dinner with me” had actually meant “come to dinner with me and once of the producers of the movie and his wife” rather than the “come on a date with me where I will confess wanting to do you” Changsun had been hoping for.
As a matter of fact, Jihoon has barely acknowledged his presence since arriving at the restaurant, aside from introducing him to the couple.
They’re both friendly and comfortable with Jihoon, the woman especially more so, and Changsun immediately hates them. Changsun hates all of this. He hates it so much, feeling all this hot ugliness coiled in his stomach as he watches the producer’s wife’s hand disappear under the table. He wants to be sick at the way Jihoon’s eyes flick toward to him and slide away when he catches Changsun watching him back.
And this is all Jihoon’s fault, for liking Changsun too much and for being too nice to him the past few weeks, for kissing him and not pulling away when Changsun had tried to kiss him back and then acting like nothing happened.
“-wine?” Changsun tears his eyes away from whatever’s going on under the table to see the producer, offering him the wine bottle. It had gone around earlier in the evening, with a gently stern look from Jihoon making him refuse. He doesn’t really like wine, but it’s expensive and sophisticated-seeming and Jihoon won’t notice anyway, so he smiles and nods and watches the dark red liquid swirl in his glass.
Jihoon keeps talking and Changsun keeps smiling and the producer keeps pouring. The wine is dulling that knot of unease that has been settled between his ribs all night. It clenches a little less each time he notices the woman’s hand still under the table.
He’s just got to get through this dinner and then he can go have a good pout in his bedroom and give Jihoon a silent treatment he’ll probably take no notice of for a few days and then everything can go back to the way it was before. He’s dealing with it okay, until he sees Jihoon’s hand clenched in the table cloth, sees his index finger twitch a little, the way it had against Changsun’s face before, and everything is suddenly very not okay.
“Don’t you see?” he manages to slur at the producer, in some superhuman feat of drunken-English skills. It’s a sentence he’s barely able to manage sober, no how many hours he practices with the tutor or at home or with Jihoon on the way to set when he’s trying to nap.
“I’m sorry?” The produces inquires politely.
Changsun rolls his eyes and repeats himself, with increasing volume. He’s trying to help this guy out, but he’s clearly a little slow. So what if he’s getting harder to understand the more he raises his voice?
He suddenly becomes aware of Jihoon and the woman’s attention on him. He notices that Jihoon is standing and that his eyes are closed-off bright.
“It’s late,” Jihoon announces, smiling that scary handsome smile. “We should be heading home.” Changsun downs the rest of his glass of wine as Jihoon gives his thanks-shaking hands with the producer and letting the wife give him an entirely inappropriate hug, hands way too low and hips way too close- and says good bye for the both of them. Changsun bows silently, his face red, before he remembers he’s not supposed to do that here.
He stumbles as they walk away, forcing Jihoon to grab onto his elbow, though Changsun’s pretty sure he doesn’t have to squeeze quite so hard. This has all happened before, Changsun thinks, furious.
“What is wrong with you?” Jihoon whispers, his English harsh, the second they’re out of earshot.
Nothing is what Changsun should whine, should allow Jihoon to pass it off as a tantrum or a bad day. But he can’t bring himself to do it this time, to ignore it like Jihoon does so easily. “You.”
He yanks his arm out Jihoon’s grip and walks in long, if unsteady strides, until he’s ahead of Jihoon, the wine dulling his nervousness. Making him braver.
“You’re an asshole,” Changsun says loudly and, luckily, in Korean as they as reach the limo the producer sent to pick them up.
“And you-” Jihoon yanks the door open and shoves Changsun in. “Are going home.”
Changsun snorts derisively, “Yeah right. I have like, a contract and stuff.”
“We’ll see about that. Didn’t you promise me you wouldn’t get drunk again? And look at you- in front of people I have to work with. “
Changsun glances at the divider blocking the driver from them, checking it’s closed, before hissing, “Oh that’s what you call work? Letting a married woman grope you right in front of her husband?”
Jihoon still has a grip on his arm and when it tightens, Changsun uses it to lean right into his personal space. Jihoon leans right back, using his free hand, braced against Changsun’s chest, thumb over his collarbone, to push him away. “Joon, don’t,” he says.
“Aren’t I someone you work with?” he whispers miserably. He wishes he was still angry, but he’s not.
The anger drains out of Jihoon’s face to and he releases Changsun’s arm. His other hand stays where it is, not pushing him away, just resting there. “This can’t happen,” he pleads, but Changsun can tell he’s wavering.
“That’s not fair. You kissed me first, without even asking me! So if I want to kiss you again, I’m allowed.” He sounds brave and firm, just like he practiced, about forty-five times, in the mirror while Jihoon was out. But, “Okay?” slips out at the end regardless.
Their faces are very close, Changsun realizes, and when Jihoon smiles with one half of his mouth and whispers, “Okay,” their lips nearly brush.
But nearly isn’t enough for Changsun right now. He’s got Jihoon right next to him, smiling and seeing him for what feels like the first time in weeks and he wants to take full advantage.
Grin spreading across his face, he swings himself over Jihoon’s lap, his legs braced on either side, not quite touching Jihoon all over. By some miracle, he manages not to slip backwards off the leather bench as they take a sudden turn.
“Flexible,” Jihoon murmurs, voice low as he settles his hands tentatively on Changsun’s waist.
Changsun moves his hips into the touch and grins, “Ten years of ballet,” before shutting them both up properly.
This kiss is another beast entirely, nothing careful about it like the last. It’s full of intent. Changsun’s trying to tell Jihoon something, kissing persistently until Jihoon relaxes momentarily and then, finally finally kisses back him with full force. He licks his way in Changsun’s mouth, who is only too eager to oblige, hands coming up to wrap around the back of Jihoon’s neck and hips jerking forward into Jihoon’s.
Jihoon’s hands tighten around his waist, pulling Changsun flush against him, making them groan simultaneously. The angle is just short of perfect, nearly enough friction when Changsun grinds down and Jihoon thrusts up.
The back wheels bumping over a pothole have Changsun throwing his head back and moaning long and loud. “Shh,” Jihoon murmurs hotly into his exposed neck, teeth grazing over his Adam’s apple without biting down, making him shudder uncontrollably.
Changsun feels impossibly hot all over and he unwraps his hands from around Jihoon’s shoulders momentarily in an attempt to shrug the borrowed blazer off, but Jihoon stops him.
“Keep it on,” he says, his gaze so heavy Changsun would swear he can feel it travel across his skin. “I like how it looks on you.”
Changsun suddenly finds it especially hard to breathe and chases after Jihoon’s mouth in retribution, digging his nails into the back of Jihoon’s neck and moaning into his mouth as they overtake another pothole.
To his extreme displeasure, Jihoon pulls back a little and says with great difficulty, his eyes a little dazed, “Are you okay with this? You know you don’t have to-“
Changsun pouts, trying to wriggle closer again. It’s a little disconcerting, and a lot hot, how easily Jihoon can hold him off. “Yes, hyung,” he starts to whine, but Jihoon grunts in dissatisfaction and tugs him closer again.
“Can you not call me that.” Changsun rolls his hips absently and Jihoon’s voice breaks as his breath hitches. Changsun kisses him quickly, grinning into his mouth. “While we’re doing this. Say my name.”
“Not unless you call me by, ah, my name too. My real name.”
Jihoon’s mouth trails across his jaw, leaving tracks of heat and saliva on his way to Changsun’s mouth. His lips are full and demanding. They form his name as Jihoon kisses him, long and slow.
It’s doesn’t make any sense-- he can feel all of Jihoon, every single taut, hard muscle moving against him-- but what’s really making his cock leak is whispering, “Jihoon Jihoon Jihoonjihoonjihoon,” over and over, mouth gasping hot air against Jihoon’s ear, feeling Jihoon’s fingers clench and unclench compulsively on his hips. He half-hopes the prints will bruise there, imagines being able to see and feel them tomorrow, waking up, training, showering.
What had begun as relatively fluid grinding quickly deteriorates into frantic thrusts and they’re not so much kissing as panting into each other’s mouths at this point. In a miraculously timed sequence, Jihoon pulls Changsun down hard against him just as the tingling in Changsun’s thighs starts to build and just before the limo squeals to an abrupt halt. A perfect storm.
The aftermath is Changsun collapsing, shaken, onto Jihoon, burying his sweaty face in his shoulder. One of Jihoon’s big hands comes up to cup the back of Changsun’s neck, the other still gripping his waist. The rap of knuckles on the tinted glass divide interrupts their gasping breaths, reminding Changsun how exceptionally stupid what they just did was.
“Jesus Christ,”Jihoon pants, half-lifting Changsun off of him. “Did we just--?”
Changsun chuckles groggily then wrinkles his nose at the stickiness cooling in his pants. “Yeah, we sort of did.”
-
Everything's a little different now, the entire world tilted slightly askew. It's like his whole body is attuned to Jihoon, all the time. He's hyperaware, can feel Jihoon moving through the apartment. When he's sitting in the kitchen, just Jihoon's movements at the counter a few feet behind him are enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and a benign brush of fingers against his own is enough to make his gums tingle with desire.
It gets harder to focus after that, when Jihoon is around. To see Jihoon working out on the balcony and not just touch, to shower alone, requires an almost super-human restraint. Changsun’s greedy.
He wakes late one morning to the hiss of the shower down the hall. When he pads toward the bathroom, the door is cracked open. It’s practically an invitation. He enters quietly, takes a seat on the toilet cover, and watches. Jihoon in the shower is devastating. Changsun feels it, hot and low, in his stomach and in the twitch of his cock.
Jihoon doesn’t seem surprised to see him, doesn’t pause in showering as he asks, voice wry, “You need something?”
“A shower."
“Well, I’m almost done,” Jihoon says evenly. “If you want to wait.”
Changsun doesn’t want to wait. He wants to pulls off his pajama pants and step into the shower, let the shower spray and Jihoon warm him up, grab onto the soap rack when his knees start to shake and Jihoon’s too slippery to grab on to, have the water wash away the mess they make.
So that’s what he does.
-
It turns out that when Changsun’s getting laid regularly, he’s much more likeable. The film crew aren’t half as an unfriendly as he’d thought. The make-up artists share their energy drinks with him and his trainer drops by the set every so often to see how things are going. They all communicate with him in a weird German-English-Korean hybrid that works pretty well for him and Anna’s there to translate when things get a little sideways.
They’re filming Kiriko’s death scene on location and he’s on, he can feel it. They get the last shot of the scene in a couple of takes and Director McTeague even claps once they check the gate. Changsun’s thinking he might make it home in time to catch Jihoon before he leaves for dinner when the director stops him, “Joon, great work today.”
Changsun bounces on the balls of his feet and bows, pleasantly surprised. “Thank you, director!”
“Joon, how many times do I have to tell you to call me James? Rain was right about you, you know.”
“What about me,” he asks absently, trying to surreptitiously check his phone for texts from Jihoon.
“Just that I’m glad he pushed for us to cast you. We both owe him a thank you.”
His phone drops out of his hand, clattering on the floor hard, bits of plastic flying. His stomach follows.
He’s collecting the cracked bits of his phone as it all falls into place. Everything makes more sense now, the comments people in the company had made about his looks, all the advice Jihoon had given him, all the extra hours of practice, the way Leonie looked at him sometimes.
Staying at Jihoon’s apartment, letting him shave his head, following him around like a puppy. It must’ve been hilarious. God, he’s such a fucking joke.
He bows to McTeague and shoves the cracked pieces of his phone into his pockets, almost running out of the building. The idea of going back to the apartment now makes him nauseous, but he’s got to. There’s nowhere else to go.
Jihoon’s sprawled on the sofa, doing up the buttons on the sleeves of his dress shirt as Changsun bursts in. He smiles lazily at Changsun as he moves to stand over him. “Hey, you made it. I was thinking maybe if this dinner finishes early enough, we could-”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Tell you what,” Jihoon says, reaching up to tug at Changsun’s beanie affectionately, frowning when he jerks away.
“That no one wanted me here but you.”
Jihoon stands. “What?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I should’ve figured it out much sooner. Why would a movie like this cast some random kid who can’t even speak English?”
“Wait-it’s not-" He has the audacity to look confused.
“Just tell me the truth,” Changsun demands, faces inches from Jihoon’s. “Is that why I’m a trainee too?”
Jihoon shrugs, his smile bitter. “You caught me. This is all a master plan to get you in the sack.”
“This isn’t funny!” Changsun hisses. “You made a fool out of me. Why didn’t you just tell me right off the bat? Then I at least I would’ve known what was expected of me. Why did you lie to me?”
“What do you want me to say? I don’t owe you anything.” Jihoon’s finally getting angry, his shoulders getting tenser, his face contorting.
“Oh and I do?” Changsun sneers. “Is that how this relationship works? Good to know-”
“This is not a relationship,” Jihoon roars finally.
Changsun hands clench into fists and he feels sicker than ever. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry before. “Who says I even want this to be a relationship? We’re just fucking around, right hyung?
“I want my hotel room back,” he snaps.
Jihoon flinches like he’s been slapped, his face paling. There’s a beat where they’re both very still and then Jihoon turns on his heel and marches out of the apartment, slamming the door hard enough that the frame shakes.
Changsun storms into his bedroom, slamming his own door, his body still shaking with anger and adrenaline. He definitely doesn’t wipe furiously at frustrated tears or sulk into his bed, howling into his pillow.
“Don’t move out,” he hears someone whisper and jolts awake.
“I’m sorry.” Jihoon is crouched in the dark near his bed, eyes level with Changsun. He smells like whiskey, looks worn out and miserable as he pleads, “Please don’t move out. I promise I-”
Changsun rubs his eyes sleepily. “Hyung. How’d your dinner go?”
Jihoon huffs an unhappy laugh, “I fucked up. Drank too much.”
“Pulled a Joon,” Changsun jokes.
“Don’t say that.” He can see Jihoon frown in the dark. “Do you even know how-- It’s not like how you said, Changsun, I swear. I push you in practice because I know how well you can do-- you just need discipline. I vouched for you in casting because I saw you act in your audition. You’re good, Changsun, I mean that.
"The way I feel about-" Jihoon pauses, swallows hard. “The way I feel and me being your producer, they’re two separate things, you have to believe me. You’ve worked too hard for me to jeopardize your career like that.
“I swear, Changsun,” he repeats, softer this time.
“I’m not-I’m not a hard worker. I just wanted to impress you. I thought if I got good enough, you might like me,” Changsun admits. “You could’ve just told me how you felt, what you wanted. I would’ve done anything for you.”
“That’s the problem.” Jihoon smiles sadly. “It makes you a liability. And it makes me irrational.”
Changsun hangs his head. “Sorry,” he whispers.
“Changsun,” Jihoon says, and it sounds a little like his voice is breaking. He reaches a hand out, aborts the movement halfway through, leaving his hand extended in the air.
“I didn’t mean what I said before, hyung. Let’s just-it’s okay the way it is.” He reaches down, grabs Jihoon’s hand and tugs him up into bed with him.
Jihoon collapses heavy and boneless on top of Changsun, forcing the air out of his lungs until he wriggles out from underneath. One of his legs is still trapped under Jihoon. He’ll likely suffer pins and needles in the morning, but with Jihoon’s eyes like this right now and his hand curled around Changsun’s the way it is, he can’t bring himself to care. Instead, he nudges his face into the space between Jihoon’s neck and shoulder and breathes until they fall asleep.
-
Changsun shames himself by tearing up as he hugs the film crew for the final time at the wrap party, finally bursting into tears when he says goodbye to Anna. Jihoon’s eyes look suspiciously shiny too as he bows his thanks at everyone involved.
They’re both exhausted from last minute shooting and they duck out as early as possible. They’re crowded together outside, waiting for the car when Changsun gives it a go, “You know, I was thinking…”
“Mmhm?” Jihoon inquires, tugging up and down on the zipper on Changsun’s hoodie.
“Since it’s our last night here, can I, um, take you somewhere?”
Jihoon raises an eyebrow. “Alright. Where?” he asks as the car pulls up. Changsun nods significantly to the driver, who winks back at him.
“It’s a surprise.”
Jihoon curses when they pull up in front of The Oscar Wilde. Changsun laughs and thinks he can see the driver grin in the front seat. “Be back soon,” he says in English.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jihoon glares.
Inside is different this time. It’s less busy and there’s no football game playing on the screens, just a jukebox blaring out 70s rock. Sure enough, there in the corner booth are Craig and his friends.
Changsun waves as he enters and they roar, “Changsunnnn!” clearly already well on their way to wasted. Jihoon’s mouth flattens into a thin line.
“What?” Changsun shrugs. “It’s my name.” He drags Jihoon over to meet the boys, introducing him as Rain, the star of his movie.
They clap and hoot and buy Jihoon a round, but as Changsun starts chatting with them in earnest, he keeps on smiling his fake Rain smile. It’s kind of killing Changsun’s buzz.
“Aw, what’s wrong?” he teases in Korean.
Jihoon is resoundingly unimpressed. “This is your plan for our last night here,” he mutters back.
Craig chooses that moment to sling an arm over Changsun’s shoulders and slur, “What’re ya talkin about over here, Changsun buddy?”
Jihoon stands abruptly, tugging Changsun up with him, effectively shaking Craig’s arm off. When the guys stare at him, he grins inanely and says, “Going to the bathroom!”
“You’re jealous,” Changsun realizes and laughs, delighted, until Jihoon shuts and bars the door to the bathroom behind them. Then it gets a lot less funny.
“Shut up,” he says, backing Changsun up against a sink and kissing him, wet and desperate. He wedges one hand between them, slides it from its place cupping Changsun’s jaw, down his neck, over his collar bone, and down his chest to rest on his belt buckle. Changsun’s hips jerk of their own accord at the touch.
Jihoon kisses quickly him one more time, more of a hard peck than anything, as his hands make short work of Changsun’s belt and zipper. He tugs Changsun’s jeans and boxers hard, halfway down in thighs, just low enough. Then he follows the path his hand took.
It’s like this that Changsun finds yet another thing Jihoon excels at, as Jihoon swallows his cock. A moan rises unbidden from his throat and his fingers clench, first around the edge of the sink and then, threading through Jihoon’s long hair.
He tries to control his shallow thrusts, but Jihoon’s mouth is impossibly hot and wet and he’s doing this thing with his tongue and the tip of Changsun’s cock and Changsun just stops thinking all together.
Jihoon’s fingers are digging into Changsun’s hips as he sucks, bruisingly hard, and Changsun wants to do this forever when someone starts banging on the bathroom door and Changsun comes without warning down Jihoon’s throat, so hard that his ears are ringing. He makes a sound that vaguely resembles a sob and Jihoon’s name and Jihoon eyes are a fixed on him the entire time, making his body buzz underneath his skin.
Whoever’s outside keeps banging on the door.
“This bar is my favourite place in the world,” Changsun gasps, slumping against the sink. Jihoon rises from his knees and pulls Changsun’s jeans back over his waist, zipping Changsun back in as Jihoon kisses his own taste back into his mouth. It’s the filthiest thing Changsun’s ever done and he moans helplessly into the kiss.
“We’re going home,” Jihoon says when he pulls back to breathe. Changsun only nods, licking his lips and tasting himself, tasting Jihoon, on them. It’s enough for his cock to twitch a little in renewed interest.
He has a chance to say goodbye to the boys while Jihoon is off calling the car, but one look from him across the room keeps Changsun from doling out hugs.
Jihoon keeps his hand on Changsun’s thigh on the way home, his thumb tracing a promise into the fabric of Changsun’s jeans. Changsun bites his lip to keep from bucking into the touch when it shifts up his thigh minutely.
When they pull up in front of the building, Jihoon darts out of the car, trying to take Changsun with him. “Wait,” Changsun manages.
He sticks his head through the space between the passenger and driver’s seat. He smiles at the driver. “Thank you,” he says.
“What’s your name?” he asks in English.
The driver smiles back, his moustache crinkling. “My name is Oskar.”
Changsun laughs out loud.
-
Things are strange and tense on the drive to the airport. They’d gotten up early and sat on the stone wall of the balcony, sipping coffee and not saying much of anything. Jihoon’s arm had been very bare and very warm against his own. The sun had risen and then they’d shuffled, bare-footed, inside to finish packing.
When Changsun finishes, packing as slowly as possible given the time of their flight, he finds Jihoon waiting on the sofa, his bags stacked by the door.
Changsun drops his own bags climbs over Jihoon’s lap, one last time. “I’m going to miss it here,” he tries to kid, but it just comes out sounding heavier and more expansive than he’d intended.
Jihoon shifts to accommodate him, hands settling in their usual place at his waist, but when Changsun tries to kiss him, Jihoon begins, “Changsun, this-we-“ He’s unusually tongue tied, his face pained with something like regret and his eyes seemingly shuttered.
Changsun sighs and interrupts, “I know. This is not a relationship,” he kisses Jihoon, once quick and soft. “This can’t happen anymore.” He kisses Jihoon again, deeper and with intent. “I know.”
Jihoon opens his mouth as though he’s about to speak. Instead he pauses for a long moment and then says, “Right. You’re right, Changsun.”
Flying back to Korea with Jihoon means riding in first class, where there’s plenty of space to recline your chair for sleeping. Still after they’ve taken off, Changsun's still not over his nerves about flying and peering out the window at Berlin as it disappears from sight, Jihoon lets Changsun shove his pillow into the space between their seats and curl up there, drooling onto his shoulder for about fourteen hours. He wakes up a few times to feel Jihoon’s chin resting against the top of his head and hums in pleasure before dropping off to sleep again.
In the airport, Cheolhook is waiting to collect them. Jihoon slides on a pair of sunglasses as he steps off the plane.
Changsun knows to keep a few steps behind him, his head down, as they navigate the fans waiting to greet Rain. Jihoon’s only in Seoul for a day-- tomorrow he flies to Japan for a fanmeeting.
“I’ll see you soon,” Jihoon says as they pull up in front of the dorm.
“Yeah,” Changsun says. “Bye, hyung.”
They don’t hug.
-
If by “soon,” Jihoon had meant “not for a month”, he’d been absolutely right.
Changsun hears along the company grapevine that Jihoon’s working on a new album, but he doesn’t stop by the practice room or show up at their dorms.
Changsun doesn’t mind-everything’s back to normal. He’s back to practicing, regaling the rest of the members with exaggerated tales from his trip, and ignoring the knot of longing in his stomach when he thinks about Berlin. It doesn’t make sense to still feel homesick now that he’s finally home.
They’re putting off practice one day, Sanghyung tying Cheolyong’s hair into random ponytails and Changsun fiddling with the short sideburns that have grown back since he stopped shaving his head.
“I like the hair,” Jihoon says from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
Sanghyun and Cheolyong fall over in embarrassed laughter, but Jihoon is smiling directly at Changsun, small and private. The knot in his stomach undoes itself as Jihoon enters the room.
“Chan- Joon,” Jihoon finishes, correcting himself. Changsun bites his lip to try to keep from smiling.
“Now come on, boys.”Jihoon claps his hands. “Show me what you got.”