Fic: Facets, Chapter 7
Title: Facets, Chapter 7
Pairing: Jaejoong/Yunho, slight Yoochun/Changmin
Rating: R-ish
Summary: AU fic! Yunho struggles with his feelings for Jaejoong, and wakes up in an alternate reality where he...also meets Jaejoong. Except this Jaejoong is quite different from the one he knows. Also involves secrets and grappling with the truth
So I've just been trying my best to make them as long as possible so I hope this works <3 Also, anggggggssssst. Is sort of awesome sometimes XD
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Oh, for crying out loud. It’s like being in a bad porn movie. Except Shim Changmin is a good deal more attractive than anyone he’s ever seen on screen, and the way Micky is responding to Changmin’s ministrations is most definitely unscripted.
Right. His eyes fly open when Changmin’s lips move to the open collar of his shirt. If there’s one thing he isn’t messing around with it’s a drunk colleague. Especially a drunk, younger colleague with the face of a schoolboy. Hm, schoolboy, Changmin in a school uniform, very nice- damnit, Micky!
Micky sighs as he raises his arm. “You’ll thank me for this tomorrow”, he promises, before swinging his arm and- there. Nice, solid clip to the side of the head, and out cold. Micky groans when Changmin’s dead weight falls on him, and he struggles to shift the boy over. It’s a good thing he’s got a big bed, really, Micky thinks savagely, because he certainly isn’t going to pick the boy up if he rolls right off.
The lab coat does absolutely no justice to that body, he can’t help thinking as he stands, then gives himself a mental shove for perving on Changmin like that. Though he’d really had no idea the boy was such a good kisser, very interesting, really, he’s probably good with his hands too- goddamnit.
Micky sighs again, melodramatically, before drawing the covers up around Changmin’s prone form. “Oh, the things I do for some people.”
---
Yunho jumps when the phone in his hand starts vibrating and he wonders irritably if he’ll ever stop feeling quite this uneasy, then realizes with a sinking heart that it isn’t likely. Not till he gets home, at any rate.
“Mr. Jung?” The cool, clipped female voice again. “Mr. Jung, I was just calling to remind you about the gala tonight.”
“Gala? What gala?”
“The one just after the press conference, sir. To deal with the latest Jungtech launch. It’s imperative that you be there.”
Yunho sighs. “Where, I’ll get paper-”
“I’ve already left instructions with your staff earlier, sir. They’ll see you to the venue later.”
“Right. Right, thank you.”
Gala, indeed. He feels like he’s just been dropped into a pit full of snakes. While he’s had to deal with producers and songwriters and management in his (all too brief, he mourns, now that he thinks about it) time as leader of the band, he doesn’t really care to find out how he’ll fare around businessmen, shrewd corporate executives with flinty eyes and thin smiles.
Right. It can’t be that different from the record company people, can it? Breathe, Jung Yunho, breathe.
He almost trips over the words when Youngwoong reenters, glass of juice in hand. “I have to go to a gala tonight.”
Youngwoong nods. “I heard.”
“You have to come with me”, Yunho begins, then pauses when Youngwoong shakes his head.
“It wouldn’t be proper, si- Yunho. Nobody brings their staff to such an occasion.”
Yunho shakes his head, tries to clear away the rising panic. There is absolutely no way he’s about to go alone. “But it’s my gala, isn’t it?”
Youngwoong frowns, bites at his lower lip. “I suppose so”, he says finally, and Yunho relaxes. “I…I’m afraid I don’t have anything to wear”, Youngwoong begins, and Yunho claps his hands, stands. Finally, something he can deal with.
“Easily remedied, isn’t it? We’ll go shopping. You know the way to a store?”
Yunho can feel the relief begin to bubble up his throat when Youngwoong nods and follows as he starts towards the door. Right. Gala. Right. It can’t be that hard to get through a gala, can it? Besides, he won’t even be completely alone. He chances a glance at Youngwoong and feels his smile begin to reassert itself as he heads down the corridor, and crosses his fingers for luck.
---
Changmin’s head is pounding when he manages to force his sleep-gummed eyelids apart, and the taste in his mouth is unutterably foul. He groans and rolls over, then freezes when he hears the voice.
“Morning. Or evening, to be specific. You slept through the whole afternoon.”
Oh. Changmin loosens and flops back down onto the sheets bonelessly when he recognizes the lilt of that voice. “Where am I?”
“Brought you home.” The bed dips slightly as Micky settles next to his head, crosses his legs. “You are ridiculously heavy, did you know that?”
Changmin makes a rude sound in reply, and groans as the hammering in his skull intensifies as he attempts to struggle into a sitting position. “Thanks”, he mumbles, swallows the small blue pill Micky hands him dry. He can feel the pain start to abate almost immediately. Thank the Gates for medical advancements.
The last of the hangover is receding when he realizes he isn’t wearing very much, as strange flickering images of lips and soft, soft skin start emerging in the recesses of his mind. He frantically tries to draw the covers back up around himself. “Oh god- did we-”
Micky snorts, leans back against the headboard. “You wish.”
Oh. Changmin lets the sheets drop, feels slightly foolish. Well, of course not. Though he does remember, vaguely-
“You came on to me, I’ll have you know”, Micky is saying, smirk playing about the corners of his lips, and Changmin flushes hotly.
Damnit he knew he shouldn’t have drunk that much. “I what?”
“Came on to me. Though I can’t say I blame you.” Micky tips him a wink and suddenly Changmin really, really wants to hide somewhere. “You know. Attempted to pin me down.”
Oh. Oh. He remembers that, now. He remembers flipping them over and straddling the other man and laughing and then-
Changmin closes his eyes and groans, not in the least mollified when Micky laughs. Still, he has to ask. “And then?”
Micky shrugs. “And then I knocked you out.”
Oh. Changmin raises a hand to his right temple, feels the faint swelling there. It’s going to hurt, when he feels more awake. “Thanks”, he glares, and Micky gapes back at him.
“What, I had to do something-”
He’s interrupted by the shrill beeping of Changmin’s cell phone, and Changmin sighs before leaning over to pick it up from the counter. “Hello?”
“Dr. Shim? The gala’s in an hour, and we haven’t heard from you yet, so-”
Changmin swears just as well as any sailor when so prompted to, and Micky can’t help raising an eyebrow at the colourful language. “Yes, yes, thank you- yes.” Changmin is up and off the bed even before he’s done hanging up, moving to rummage in his closet for something even approaching decent.
“What’s the hurry?”
“The Jungtech gala- and oh god Yunho-”
“Yunho? What about Jung Yunho?”
Way to go, Shim Changmin, way to go. “Nothing”, Changmin lies easily. “I’m sorry, Micky, but I really have to go-”
“It’s fine.” Micky stands, stretches, yawns. “I’ll just get Xiah to pick me up.”
Xiah. Changmin can feel himself stiffen involuntarily, remembers why he was drinking like that in the first place, hopes that Micky doesn’t notice. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Micky”, and if he sounds just a trifle cooler Micky doesn’t seem to notice.
“Sure. Nice boxers, by the way”, and while Changmin is fast, Micky is faster, and the balled up pair of socks end up sailing into the tinted glass of the door sliding closed.
For some reason Changmin doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to live this down.
---
The soft fabric against his skin is welcome, soothing, unfamiliar. Youngwoong tugs awkwardly at the white, long-sleeved shirt, the black skinny tie, and tries not to fidget as Yunho eyes him from head to toe, hums his approval.
“We’ll take this.” The salesperson smiles warmly at him and promises to charge it to his account, and do come again, Mr. Jung. Youngwoong is still fingering the cuffs of his long sleeves and the brand new silver cufflinks when they make their way back to the car, the sun already beginning to set, the sky a palette of amber and gold tinted with pink. It leaves highlights in Youngwoong’s light hair, shadows the clean line of his jaw, the way the thin material molds itself to his upper body. This, Yunho muses, is why the stylists are always showing Jaejoong off, and while this isn’t Jaejoong they’re close enough, enough that if Yunho wanted he could sling an arm companionably about Youngwoong’s shoulders, draw him in closer, and perhaps he would smile up at him the way Jaejoong does, lean in enough so he could bend down and breathe in his ear, if he wanted, secrets and confessions and snatches of poetry-
Yunho realizes he’s staring when Youngwoong turns to face him. “Yunho?”
“I- ah-” Say something, Jung Yunho, anything-
“Thank you. For this, I mean.” Youngwoong’s smile is oddly shy, hesitant, as his fingers worry at collar, sleeve, button, and Yunho flushes, wonders what he’d say if he knew it wasn’t his money that’d paid for it.
“You’re welcome, I- Shall we go?”
Youngwoong’s smile is wider, this time, and Yunho finds himself tracing the alluring curve of his lower lip, the brief glimpse of white, white teeth. “Yes, let’s go.”
---
Changmin ignores the cries of “Doctor!” and the brief fingers plucking at his sleeves and propels himself past the reception area and into the main hall, eyes scanning the crowd frantically. Damn it damn it damn it-
“Changmin! Changmin, you’re here-” and Changmin whirls around, coming face to face with Yunho, a pretty blonde boy at his elbow.
The hall is rapidly filling up, the wave of talk and laughter increasing in volume, the sound of clinking wine glasses permeating the air. Changmin’s relieved to see Yunho cleaned up, somewhat, even if it might be much too late to salvage the situation.
“Speech.” He manages to pant out. “You have to give a speech. Now.”
Yunho looks as if he’s just been told the world is ending in the next five minutes. “What do you mean speech-”
“No time”, and Changmin is pushing him towards the podium, even as the elderly man up on the podium begins clearing his throat, the crowd falling silent and turning to gaze up expectantly at him. “And now, sole founder of Jungtech, Mr. Jung Yunho!”
There is loud applause and the flashing of cameras and Yunho blinks and Changmin shoves him onstage. Not, he thinks, that much different from performing. Except he’s completely unprepared, and there isn’t a chance in the world he can dance himself out of this.
“Um. Hello.”
Oh god.
“Thank you all for coming today.”
Well, at least that came out right. Yunho takes a deep breath and sends a brief prayer up to the god of pop stars to protect and see him through, amen.
“Well then.” He attempts his most winning smile, and slams a fist down on the podium for emphasis with his next sentence. “Let’s do this!” For a moment he wonders if it’s all over, if they’ll realize now and come for him and put him behind bars and oh god all the staring- And then there is applause, more flashing, and Yunho can hear the blood pounding in his ears when he stumbles down the stairs into Changmin’s waiting grasp.
Changmin scowls down at him, the nods grudgingly. “Not the best, but it’ll do.”
“Goddamnit, Changmin, you didn’t say I would have to make a speech-”
“I’m sorry, I was going to write it for you, and then-”
Changmin’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes traveling to a spot just behind Yunho’s shoulder, and Yunho turns, tries not to gape in surprise. Though he’s amazed that anything can even surprise him anymore, in this place.
“’Let’s do this’? New catchphrase, Yunho?”
Yunho suddenly isn’t sure he likes this Choi Siwon. “Siwon.” He says, finally, resists the urge to take a step back.
Siwon’s gaze is icy enough to chill him. “Bit…extravagant, don’t you think?” He gestures with a hand, eyes the room with a sardonic twist to his lips, turns back to Yunho.
Yunho bites back the retort, and Changmin does cross his arms then, stance radiating hostility. Yunho is in the midst of formulating a handy way to excuse himself without seeming rude -well, too rude, anyway- when he hears the slurred, slightly drunken voice.
“Come, now, there’s no need to be shy.”
They all turn, and there Youngwoong is with, with Heechul draped all over over him and Youngwoong looking exceedingly unhappy about it, delicate features wrinkled in distaste.
“You’re drunk, sir-”
“I’m not drunk, and why are you calling me sir, pretty?” Heechul laughs, too loud, by Youngwoong’s ear, and Youngwooong flinches. Youngwoong is too busy trying to hold Heechul up to stop the other boy from catching at his arm, to pull the sleeve up to expose the small tattoo in the inside of his wrist,
“So you are staff.” Heechul leers. “Well, since you’re not needed here now-“
Youngwoong blanches. “If you’d just let go, sir-”
Enough, Yunho thinks, is enough. It’s bizarre, he knows -Heechul would never, ever throw himself on Jaejoong like that, for one- the scene unfolding in front of his eyes is enough to spark something low in his belly, so similar to the last time he’d seen someone else making advances on Jaejoong and Jaejoong just smiling, smiling and retreating and backing away, all the while smiling, saying no, no with his hands, with his eyes, but never with his lips, because Jaejoong is respectful that way, Jaejoong respects the sunbae-
Heechul stumbles when Yunho catches at his shoulders, pulls him away. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t smother my staff to death, thank you.”
Heechul glares blearily up at him. “Mr. Jung.” His grin widens. “Yours, is it? Very nice, very nice. I’ll buy him off you right here-”
Yunho can feel the spark kindle into flame. “He’s not for sale.” He can feel his fingers digging into the flesh of Youngwoong’s arm, too caught up to worry about the strength of his grip, about leaving bruises. “We’ll just be leaving now. Let’s go, Youngwoong.”
Youngwoong bows his head. “Yes, sir”; follows mutely as Yunho starts leading him towards the exit, grip never once slackening.
---
Siwon waits until Changmin excuses himself shortly before ducking into the hallway just behind the stage; waits until he hears the familiar drawl, all too sober, by his ear.
“Well?”
Siwon frowns, crosses his arms, lets the shorter man rest his chin on his shoulder. “Well what, Rella?”
Rella smirks. “What did you think?”
“The boy is a nice touch. Though there was something…off about Jung.”
Rella shrugs, leans in closer. “He seems to really like the boy.”
Siwon doesn’t reply. There is something a bit deeper here, he thinks, something amiss, and nothing can go wrong, not now.
“Call Yehsung.”
“Yes, sir.”
---
Youngwoong has to jog slightly to keep up with Yunho’s long, determined strides, and he attempts to break free when they enter the house, Yunho sweeping past the rest of the staff, waving off their bows and murmured greetings like smoke. Yunho’s grip on his forearm is firm, unrelenting, lips compressed into a thin line, jaw tight, and Youngwoong is fascinated and slightly terrified.
“Yunho. Yunho- Yunho!”
Yunho blinks, slows, stops. Somehow they’re back in the bedroom, and they stay like that, still, frozen, before Yunho starts and pulls away as if burned.
“I’m sorry, I-” Yunho hisses at the sight of dark marks against pale skin and gingerly lifts Youngwoong’s arm up to the light. “I shouldn’t have gripped so hard, damnit-”
“It- It’s fine.” Youngwoong manages, massaging the bruised skin gently. “Thank you for getting me out of there.”
“It- it was nothing, he was just harassing you, I-” Yunho sinks down on the bed, buries his head in his hands, and Youngwoong can barely hear the next words. “This is insane.”
Youngwoong struggles with himself; wins. “What is?”
Yunho looks up and Youngwoong’s mouth goes dry at the dark, dark desperation in that gaze, the panic lurking at the edges of the brittle smile, the lines of helplessness written into his face. “I said you reminded me of someone, remember?”
Youngwoong moves carefully, half afraid the other man will bolt, run. “Yes.”
“Well…” Yunho runs a hand distractedly through his hair. “You…look a lot like him. And once there was someone, too, who wouldn’t leave him alone, when he said no, and he was trapped, really, and the man laughed, too, the same way Heechul was laughing at you and I just got so angry-”
Oh. So that explains it. He settles next to Yunho, rests a hand lightly on his shoulder. “You should sleep”, he ventures, is relieved when Yunho nods.
“I should- I’ll sleep it away-” Youngwoong worries at his bottom lip when Yunho doesn’t even protest to being helped into his robe and doesn’t even make a sound when Youngwoong slips under the sheets next to him in the darkness.
“Goodnight, Yunho.”
Yunho’s reply is hoarse, muffled by his pillow. “Goodnight.”
Youngwoong rolls over, stares up at the ceiling, worries.
---
Yunho dreams.
His jaw aches, his shirt is ripped, the impact of his fist slamming into the wooden door when the other man ducks jarring, and he is painfully aware of his bruised knuckles. Even now he’s careful not to aim above the shoulder -it wouldn’t be good to leave marks, their managers would both flay him alive- and he hates the fucking bastard and his laugh, harsh and short now but still mocking.
He’s a fucking slut, is what he is, and Yunho snaps, aims for the face, doesn’t give a damn any longer. Suddenly there are fingers on his arm, clutching, clawing, pulling him away, and he turns, and it’s Youngwoong, no, wait, not Youngwoong, Jaejoong, Jaejoong with blonde hair and wild eyes and shouting, shouting, shouting-
Yunho- stop it, Yunho, stop it now, you’re going to kill him-
You leave Jaejoong the fuck alone, he can hear himself shouting when the door bursts open and the other members spill in, faces frozen in identical expressions of horror, don’t you touch him-
Yoochun- Yoochun-ah, help me-, and then they are both pulling on his arms, dragging him away, and Yunho wants to swear, to spit, to break free and finish it.
I’m sorry, hyung, Changmin is saying, Junsu bending to help the older man up, and Yunho growls, struggles.
Do something about that crazy leadersshi of yours, would you?, and Yunho swears again, louder this time, as the other man disentangles himself and sweeps out of the dressing room.
Yunho- Yunho, stop-. Jaejoong is close to tears, and Yunho is sorry, but not sorry for what he’s just done, he can’t be sorry for doing what he did-
He was- Yunho attempts to explain. He wouldn’t let Jaejoong go- he-
Oh, hyung, and Yunho isn’t sure who Changmin is referring to, Changmin’s smile rueful and heartbreaking and oddly twisted, but then Jaejoong is there, face buried in his chest, and it all ceases to matter.
I’m sorry, he wants to say, but doesn’t. Jaejoong, he says instead, threads his fingers through soft hair, repeats it like a prayer. Jaejoong Jaejoong Jaejoong-
---
Youngwoong isn’t sure why he’s awake, again, until he hears the soft murmuring, the restless movement of limbs, the sound of harshly exhaled breaths.
He moves closer and flinches when Yunho thrashes, kicks out. “Shhh”, he manages, venturing closer, “shhh.” Yunho falls mercifully still again when he presses himself up against the other man’s chest, his chin coming to rest on the top of Youngwoong’s head.
“Jaejoong”, Yunho breathes, and Youngwoong freezes.
“Jaejoong”, Yunho says again. “Jaejoong Jaejoong Jaejoong-”
Jaejoong, except Yunho doesn’t know he’s called Jaejoong, because nobody does, apart from Yehsung, because there is just no way for Yunho to have access to that sort of information, which can only mean one thing. The Jaejoong he’s referring to has to be that other, the one Yunho told him about, and for a moment Youngwoong feels a strange chill course through his blood. Another boy, a boy who looks like him, another boy called Jaejoong-
“Jaejoong”, and Yunho’s voice now is pleading, insistent, laced with need, his arms coming to grip tight about Youngwoong’s waist. “Jaejoong-”
Youngwoong can’t remember the last time he was Jaejoong, can’t remember the last time he wanted to be Jaejoong, the last time anyone’s said his name like that, if ever. Oddly enough he finds he likes it, craves the way the syllables sound on Yunho’s tongue, even in sleep, slow and sacred and oh so exquisite. Jaejoong, he thinks wistfully, maybe it isn’t so bad, after all, being Jaejoong.
“Shh”, into Yunho’s neck; presses himself in closer. “I’m right here.”
Pairing: Jaejoong/Yunho, slight Yoochun/Changmin
Rating: R-ish
Summary: AU fic! Yunho struggles with his feelings for Jaejoong, and wakes up in an alternate reality where he...also meets Jaejoong. Except this Jaejoong is quite different from the one he knows. Also involves secrets and grappling with the truth
So I've just been trying my best to make them as long as possible so I hope this works <3 Also, anggggggssssst. Is sort of awesome sometimes XD
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Oh, for crying out loud. It’s like being in a bad porn movie. Except Shim Changmin is a good deal more attractive than anyone he’s ever seen on screen, and the way Micky is responding to Changmin’s ministrations is most definitely unscripted.
Right. His eyes fly open when Changmin’s lips move to the open collar of his shirt. If there’s one thing he isn’t messing around with it’s a drunk colleague. Especially a drunk, younger colleague with the face of a schoolboy. Hm, schoolboy, Changmin in a school uniform, very nice- damnit, Micky!
Micky sighs as he raises his arm. “You’ll thank me for this tomorrow”, he promises, before swinging his arm and- there. Nice, solid clip to the side of the head, and out cold. Micky groans when Changmin’s dead weight falls on him, and he struggles to shift the boy over. It’s a good thing he’s got a big bed, really, Micky thinks savagely, because he certainly isn’t going to pick the boy up if he rolls right off.
The lab coat does absolutely no justice to that body, he can’t help thinking as he stands, then gives himself a mental shove for perving on Changmin like that. Though he’d really had no idea the boy was such a good kisser, very interesting, really, he’s probably good with his hands too- goddamnit.
Micky sighs again, melodramatically, before drawing the covers up around Changmin’s prone form. “Oh, the things I do for some people.”
---
Yunho jumps when the phone in his hand starts vibrating and he wonders irritably if he’ll ever stop feeling quite this uneasy, then realizes with a sinking heart that it isn’t likely. Not till he gets home, at any rate.
“Mr. Jung?” The cool, clipped female voice again. “Mr. Jung, I was just calling to remind you about the gala tonight.”
“Gala? What gala?”
“The one just after the press conference, sir. To deal with the latest Jungtech launch. It’s imperative that you be there.”
Yunho sighs. “Where, I’ll get paper-”
“I’ve already left instructions with your staff earlier, sir. They’ll see you to the venue later.”
“Right. Right, thank you.”
Gala, indeed. He feels like he’s just been dropped into a pit full of snakes. While he’s had to deal with producers and songwriters and management in his (all too brief, he mourns, now that he thinks about it) time as leader of the band, he doesn’t really care to find out how he’ll fare around businessmen, shrewd corporate executives with flinty eyes and thin smiles.
Right. It can’t be that different from the record company people, can it? Breathe, Jung Yunho, breathe.
He almost trips over the words when Youngwoong reenters, glass of juice in hand. “I have to go to a gala tonight.”
Youngwoong nods. “I heard.”
“You have to come with me”, Yunho begins, then pauses when Youngwoong shakes his head.
“It wouldn’t be proper, si- Yunho. Nobody brings their staff to such an occasion.”
Yunho shakes his head, tries to clear away the rising panic. There is absolutely no way he’s about to go alone. “But it’s my gala, isn’t it?”
Youngwoong frowns, bites at his lower lip. “I suppose so”, he says finally, and Yunho relaxes. “I…I’m afraid I don’t have anything to wear”, Youngwoong begins, and Yunho claps his hands, stands. Finally, something he can deal with.
“Easily remedied, isn’t it? We’ll go shopping. You know the way to a store?”
Yunho can feel the relief begin to bubble up his throat when Youngwoong nods and follows as he starts towards the door. Right. Gala. Right. It can’t be that hard to get through a gala, can it? Besides, he won’t even be completely alone. He chances a glance at Youngwoong and feels his smile begin to reassert itself as he heads down the corridor, and crosses his fingers for luck.
---
Changmin’s head is pounding when he manages to force his sleep-gummed eyelids apart, and the taste in his mouth is unutterably foul. He groans and rolls over, then freezes when he hears the voice.
“Morning. Or evening, to be specific. You slept through the whole afternoon.”
Oh. Changmin loosens and flops back down onto the sheets bonelessly when he recognizes the lilt of that voice. “Where am I?”
“Brought you home.” The bed dips slightly as Micky settles next to his head, crosses his legs. “You are ridiculously heavy, did you know that?”
Changmin makes a rude sound in reply, and groans as the hammering in his skull intensifies as he attempts to struggle into a sitting position. “Thanks”, he mumbles, swallows the small blue pill Micky hands him dry. He can feel the pain start to abate almost immediately. Thank the Gates for medical advancements.
The last of the hangover is receding when he realizes he isn’t wearing very much, as strange flickering images of lips and soft, soft skin start emerging in the recesses of his mind. He frantically tries to draw the covers back up around himself. “Oh god- did we-”
Micky snorts, leans back against the headboard. “You wish.”
Oh. Changmin lets the sheets drop, feels slightly foolish. Well, of course not. Though he does remember, vaguely-
“You came on to me, I’ll have you know”, Micky is saying, smirk playing about the corners of his lips, and Changmin flushes hotly.
Damnit he knew he shouldn’t have drunk that much. “I what?”
“Came on to me. Though I can’t say I blame you.” Micky tips him a wink and suddenly Changmin really, really wants to hide somewhere. “You know. Attempted to pin me down.”
Oh. Oh. He remembers that, now. He remembers flipping them over and straddling the other man and laughing and then-
Changmin closes his eyes and groans, not in the least mollified when Micky laughs. Still, he has to ask. “And then?”
Micky shrugs. “And then I knocked you out.”
Oh. Changmin raises a hand to his right temple, feels the faint swelling there. It’s going to hurt, when he feels more awake. “Thanks”, he glares, and Micky gapes back at him.
“What, I had to do something-”
He’s interrupted by the shrill beeping of Changmin’s cell phone, and Changmin sighs before leaning over to pick it up from the counter. “Hello?”
“Dr. Shim? The gala’s in an hour, and we haven’t heard from you yet, so-”
Changmin swears just as well as any sailor when so prompted to, and Micky can’t help raising an eyebrow at the colourful language. “Yes, yes, thank you- yes.” Changmin is up and off the bed even before he’s done hanging up, moving to rummage in his closet for something even approaching decent.
“What’s the hurry?”
“The Jungtech gala- and oh god Yunho-”
“Yunho? What about Jung Yunho?”
Way to go, Shim Changmin, way to go. “Nothing”, Changmin lies easily. “I’m sorry, Micky, but I really have to go-”
“It’s fine.” Micky stands, stretches, yawns. “I’ll just get Xiah to pick me up.”
Xiah. Changmin can feel himself stiffen involuntarily, remembers why he was drinking like that in the first place, hopes that Micky doesn’t notice. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Micky”, and if he sounds just a trifle cooler Micky doesn’t seem to notice.
“Sure. Nice boxers, by the way”, and while Changmin is fast, Micky is faster, and the balled up pair of socks end up sailing into the tinted glass of the door sliding closed.
For some reason Changmin doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to live this down.
---
The soft fabric against his skin is welcome, soothing, unfamiliar. Youngwoong tugs awkwardly at the white, long-sleeved shirt, the black skinny tie, and tries not to fidget as Yunho eyes him from head to toe, hums his approval.
“We’ll take this.” The salesperson smiles warmly at him and promises to charge it to his account, and do come again, Mr. Jung. Youngwoong is still fingering the cuffs of his long sleeves and the brand new silver cufflinks when they make their way back to the car, the sun already beginning to set, the sky a palette of amber and gold tinted with pink. It leaves highlights in Youngwoong’s light hair, shadows the clean line of his jaw, the way the thin material molds itself to his upper body. This, Yunho muses, is why the stylists are always showing Jaejoong off, and while this isn’t Jaejoong they’re close enough, enough that if Yunho wanted he could sling an arm companionably about Youngwoong’s shoulders, draw him in closer, and perhaps he would smile up at him the way Jaejoong does, lean in enough so he could bend down and breathe in his ear, if he wanted, secrets and confessions and snatches of poetry-
Yunho realizes he’s staring when Youngwoong turns to face him. “Yunho?”
“I- ah-” Say something, Jung Yunho, anything-
“Thank you. For this, I mean.” Youngwoong’s smile is oddly shy, hesitant, as his fingers worry at collar, sleeve, button, and Yunho flushes, wonders what he’d say if he knew it wasn’t his money that’d paid for it.
“You’re welcome, I- Shall we go?”
Youngwoong’s smile is wider, this time, and Yunho finds himself tracing the alluring curve of his lower lip, the brief glimpse of white, white teeth. “Yes, let’s go.”
---
Changmin ignores the cries of “Doctor!” and the brief fingers plucking at his sleeves and propels himself past the reception area and into the main hall, eyes scanning the crowd frantically. Damn it damn it damn it-
“Changmin! Changmin, you’re here-” and Changmin whirls around, coming face to face with Yunho, a pretty blonde boy at his elbow.
The hall is rapidly filling up, the wave of talk and laughter increasing in volume, the sound of clinking wine glasses permeating the air. Changmin’s relieved to see Yunho cleaned up, somewhat, even if it might be much too late to salvage the situation.
“Speech.” He manages to pant out. “You have to give a speech. Now.”
Yunho looks as if he’s just been told the world is ending in the next five minutes. “What do you mean speech-”
“No time”, and Changmin is pushing him towards the podium, even as the elderly man up on the podium begins clearing his throat, the crowd falling silent and turning to gaze up expectantly at him. “And now, sole founder of Jungtech, Mr. Jung Yunho!”
There is loud applause and the flashing of cameras and Yunho blinks and Changmin shoves him onstage. Not, he thinks, that much different from performing. Except he’s completely unprepared, and there isn’t a chance in the world he can dance himself out of this.
“Um. Hello.”
Oh god.
“Thank you all for coming today.”
Well, at least that came out right. Yunho takes a deep breath and sends a brief prayer up to the god of pop stars to protect and see him through, amen.
“Well then.” He attempts his most winning smile, and slams a fist down on the podium for emphasis with his next sentence. “Let’s do this!” For a moment he wonders if it’s all over, if they’ll realize now and come for him and put him behind bars and oh god all the staring- And then there is applause, more flashing, and Yunho can hear the blood pounding in his ears when he stumbles down the stairs into Changmin’s waiting grasp.
Changmin scowls down at him, the nods grudgingly. “Not the best, but it’ll do.”
“Goddamnit, Changmin, you didn’t say I would have to make a speech-”
“I’m sorry, I was going to write it for you, and then-”
Changmin’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes traveling to a spot just behind Yunho’s shoulder, and Yunho turns, tries not to gape in surprise. Though he’s amazed that anything can even surprise him anymore, in this place.
“’Let’s do this’? New catchphrase, Yunho?”
Yunho suddenly isn’t sure he likes this Choi Siwon. “Siwon.” He says, finally, resists the urge to take a step back.
Siwon’s gaze is icy enough to chill him. “Bit…extravagant, don’t you think?” He gestures with a hand, eyes the room with a sardonic twist to his lips, turns back to Yunho.
Yunho bites back the retort, and Changmin does cross his arms then, stance radiating hostility. Yunho is in the midst of formulating a handy way to excuse himself without seeming rude -well, too rude, anyway- when he hears the slurred, slightly drunken voice.
“Come, now, there’s no need to be shy.”
They all turn, and there Youngwoong is with, with Heechul draped all over over him and Youngwoong looking exceedingly unhappy about it, delicate features wrinkled in distaste.
“You’re drunk, sir-”
“I’m not drunk, and why are you calling me sir, pretty?” Heechul laughs, too loud, by Youngwoong’s ear, and Youngwooong flinches. Youngwoong is too busy trying to hold Heechul up to stop the other boy from catching at his arm, to pull the sleeve up to expose the small tattoo in the inside of his wrist,
“So you are staff.” Heechul leers. “Well, since you’re not needed here now-“
Youngwoong blanches. “If you’d just let go, sir-”
Enough, Yunho thinks, is enough. It’s bizarre, he knows -Heechul would never, ever throw himself on Jaejoong like that, for one- the scene unfolding in front of his eyes is enough to spark something low in his belly, so similar to the last time he’d seen someone else making advances on Jaejoong and Jaejoong just smiling, smiling and retreating and backing away, all the while smiling, saying no, no with his hands, with his eyes, but never with his lips, because Jaejoong is respectful that way, Jaejoong respects the sunbae-
Heechul stumbles when Yunho catches at his shoulders, pulls him away. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t smother my staff to death, thank you.”
Heechul glares blearily up at him. “Mr. Jung.” His grin widens. “Yours, is it? Very nice, very nice. I’ll buy him off you right here-”
Yunho can feel the spark kindle into flame. “He’s not for sale.” He can feel his fingers digging into the flesh of Youngwoong’s arm, too caught up to worry about the strength of his grip, about leaving bruises. “We’ll just be leaving now. Let’s go, Youngwoong.”
Youngwoong bows his head. “Yes, sir”; follows mutely as Yunho starts leading him towards the exit, grip never once slackening.
---
Siwon waits until Changmin excuses himself shortly before ducking into the hallway just behind the stage; waits until he hears the familiar drawl, all too sober, by his ear.
“Well?”
Siwon frowns, crosses his arms, lets the shorter man rest his chin on his shoulder. “Well what, Rella?”
Rella smirks. “What did you think?”
“The boy is a nice touch. Though there was something…off about Jung.”
Rella shrugs, leans in closer. “He seems to really like the boy.”
Siwon doesn’t reply. There is something a bit deeper here, he thinks, something amiss, and nothing can go wrong, not now.
“Call Yehsung.”
“Yes, sir.”
---
Youngwoong has to jog slightly to keep up with Yunho’s long, determined strides, and he attempts to break free when they enter the house, Yunho sweeping past the rest of the staff, waving off their bows and murmured greetings like smoke. Yunho’s grip on his forearm is firm, unrelenting, lips compressed into a thin line, jaw tight, and Youngwoong is fascinated and slightly terrified.
“Yunho. Yunho- Yunho!”
Yunho blinks, slows, stops. Somehow they’re back in the bedroom, and they stay like that, still, frozen, before Yunho starts and pulls away as if burned.
“I’m sorry, I-” Yunho hisses at the sight of dark marks against pale skin and gingerly lifts Youngwoong’s arm up to the light. “I shouldn’t have gripped so hard, damnit-”
“It- It’s fine.” Youngwoong manages, massaging the bruised skin gently. “Thank you for getting me out of there.”
“It- it was nothing, he was just harassing you, I-” Yunho sinks down on the bed, buries his head in his hands, and Youngwoong can barely hear the next words. “This is insane.”
Youngwoong struggles with himself; wins. “What is?”
Yunho looks up and Youngwoong’s mouth goes dry at the dark, dark desperation in that gaze, the panic lurking at the edges of the brittle smile, the lines of helplessness written into his face. “I said you reminded me of someone, remember?”
Youngwoong moves carefully, half afraid the other man will bolt, run. “Yes.”
“Well…” Yunho runs a hand distractedly through his hair. “You…look a lot like him. And once there was someone, too, who wouldn’t leave him alone, when he said no, and he was trapped, really, and the man laughed, too, the same way Heechul was laughing at you and I just got so angry-”
Oh. So that explains it. He settles next to Yunho, rests a hand lightly on his shoulder. “You should sleep”, he ventures, is relieved when Yunho nods.
“I should- I’ll sleep it away-” Youngwoong worries at his bottom lip when Yunho doesn’t even protest to being helped into his robe and doesn’t even make a sound when Youngwoong slips under the sheets next to him in the darkness.
“Goodnight, Yunho.”
Yunho’s reply is hoarse, muffled by his pillow. “Goodnight.”
Youngwoong rolls over, stares up at the ceiling, worries.
---
Yunho dreams.
His jaw aches, his shirt is ripped, the impact of his fist slamming into the wooden door when the other man ducks jarring, and he is painfully aware of his bruised knuckles. Even now he’s careful not to aim above the shoulder -it wouldn’t be good to leave marks, their managers would both flay him alive- and he hates the fucking bastard and his laugh, harsh and short now but still mocking.
He’s a fucking slut, is what he is, and Yunho snaps, aims for the face, doesn’t give a damn any longer. Suddenly there are fingers on his arm, clutching, clawing, pulling him away, and he turns, and it’s Youngwoong, no, wait, not Youngwoong, Jaejoong, Jaejoong with blonde hair and wild eyes and shouting, shouting, shouting-
Yunho- stop it, Yunho, stop it now, you’re going to kill him-
You leave Jaejoong the fuck alone, he can hear himself shouting when the door bursts open and the other members spill in, faces frozen in identical expressions of horror, don’t you touch him-
Yoochun- Yoochun-ah, help me-, and then they are both pulling on his arms, dragging him away, and Yunho wants to swear, to spit, to break free and finish it.
I’m sorry, hyung, Changmin is saying, Junsu bending to help the older man up, and Yunho growls, struggles.
Do something about that crazy leadersshi of yours, would you?, and Yunho swears again, louder this time, as the other man disentangles himself and sweeps out of the dressing room.
Yunho- Yunho, stop-. Jaejoong is close to tears, and Yunho is sorry, but not sorry for what he’s just done, he can’t be sorry for doing what he did-
He was- Yunho attempts to explain. He wouldn’t let Jaejoong go- he-
Oh, hyung, and Yunho isn’t sure who Changmin is referring to, Changmin’s smile rueful and heartbreaking and oddly twisted, but then Jaejoong is there, face buried in his chest, and it all ceases to matter.
I’m sorry, he wants to say, but doesn’t. Jaejoong, he says instead, threads his fingers through soft hair, repeats it like a prayer. Jaejoong Jaejoong Jaejoong-
---
Youngwoong isn’t sure why he’s awake, again, until he hears the soft murmuring, the restless movement of limbs, the sound of harshly exhaled breaths.
He moves closer and flinches when Yunho thrashes, kicks out. “Shhh”, he manages, venturing closer, “shhh.” Yunho falls mercifully still again when he presses himself up against the other man’s chest, his chin coming to rest on the top of Youngwoong’s head.
“Jaejoong”, Yunho breathes, and Youngwoong freezes.
“Jaejoong”, Yunho says again. “Jaejoong Jaejoong Jaejoong-”
Jaejoong, except Yunho doesn’t know he’s called Jaejoong, because nobody does, apart from Yehsung, because there is just no way for Yunho to have access to that sort of information, which can only mean one thing. The Jaejoong he’s referring to has to be that other, the one Yunho told him about, and for a moment Youngwoong feels a strange chill course through his blood. Another boy, a boy who looks like him, another boy called Jaejoong-
“Jaejoong”, and Yunho’s voice now is pleading, insistent, laced with need, his arms coming to grip tight about Youngwoong’s waist. “Jaejoong-”
Youngwoong can’t remember the last time he was Jaejoong, can’t remember the last time he wanted to be Jaejoong, the last time anyone’s said his name like that, if ever. Oddly enough he finds he likes it, craves the way the syllables sound on Yunho’s tongue, even in sleep, slow and sacred and oh so exquisite. Jaejoong, he thinks wistfully, maybe it isn’t so bad, after all, being Jaejoong.
“Shh”, into Yunho’s neck; presses himself in closer. “I’m right here.”