Fic: and I'll take what remains of me
Title: and I'll take what remains of me
Pairing: Hyukjae/Junsu, Hyukjae/Donghae
Rating: PG-13
Hooker!fic! Oh, how I hurt the Hyuksu. Title taken from Rascal Flatts' Winner At A Losing Game.
Cross-posted places, and to shiwon_tops_all
Hyukjae hates hospitals, hates the cold, sterile walls and endless corridors, the harsh fluorescents, the sharp tang of disinfectant in the air. Junsu is hunched over in his chair when he enters the room, hands clasped tight around frail, limp fingers. There’s a peaceful serenity to the old woman lying in the bed, eyes closed, still, so still, blanket tucked neatly up under her arms, an unmistakable pallor to her skin that tells Hyukjae everything he needs to know.
“Su”, so soft he’s afraid Junsu won’t hear, but Junsu does; raises his head and turns. His eyes are dry, dry, dry, fraught with an awful finality that chills him.
“She’s gone”, Junsu says, calm, flat. He waits while Junsu presses the button for the nurses’ station, waits while they draw the sheet carefully over the prone form (Mrs. Kim, always so full of laughter, palms rough on his cheek, callused from hard work; ”You should eat more, boy”), waits until Junsu exhales softly and turns towards the door.
Hyukjae brings him home, mostly because Junsu seems amenable to being led along, face carefully blank and eyes on the ground at his feet more often than not. Midnight finds them both sprawled out on Hyukjae’s bed, backs to the sheets, eyes on the ceiling, almost but not quite touching. It’s too hot, even with the windows thrown wide open, too quiet, even with the steady whirr and creak of the overhead fan blades.
“Su?”
Silence. A beat, two, then-
“Mm?”
Hyukjae quests briefly in the darkness before their fingers interlace, Junsu’s hand dry in his, cold as ice. “Let’s go to that stall by the old school tomorrow. We can have bulgogi.”
Junsu makes a rough sound he can’t quite identify, a choked off gasp of air, quickly muffled. “Okay.”
“And then we’ll go to the field. Ask the boys there if they’ll let us join them for a game. It’s been ages, hasn’t it?”
“Too long”, Junsu agrees, and the cracked hoarseness of his voice has Hyukjae sitting upright abruptly.
“Su-”
Junsu’s gaze is wide and dark under his, wet. Hyukjae brushes the pads of his thumbs across Junsu’s cheeks, rubs circles into the damp skin. “It’s okay”, he tries helplessly, even though it isn’t, it isn’t, nothing is, “we’ll be fine-”
“Touch me”, Junsu’s grip on his wrist tight, tight, demanding, “touch me, please-”
Hyukjae hates that Junsu thinks he has to ask like this, hates the desperate pleading in that tone; kisses him before he can ask again. “I would-” he tries to say later, Junsu flush under him, hips rolling up into his, “anything-”
“I know”, Junsu, equally breathless, lips warm on his shoulder, “I know”; bites off a groan as he comes.
“Su?” Hyukjae ventures later, Junsu quiet and pliant against his side. The silence stretches too long, and Hyukjae wonders if Junsu’s fallen asleep, when he feels the other boy stir slightly, head lifting momentarily from his chest before falling back down again.
“Hm?”
It’s strange, Hyukjae thinks, how he has to swallow hard before he can get the words out. “I fixed it, Su.”
“Oh.” Junsu shifts slightly before snuggling in deeper. “That’s good.”
“Junsu, I-” There’s a roaring in his ears, Donghae, in the pulse of his blood, over and over and over, steady, insistent, maddening, Donghae, behind his closed eyelids, except he can’t even begin to imagine not having this now, Junsu, here, within and without, under his skin, here, here, here-
Junsu yawns loudly before settling more firmly against him. “Sleep, Hyuk.”
“Slob”, Hyukjae accuses affectionately; lets the sound of Junsu’s laughter lull him into sleep.
---
Hyukjae smells of another man and tastes of a stranger, light and too sweet, heavy on his tongue. Donghae smiles like he always has, kisses Hyukjae just a little too hard; fucks him up against the wall, fingers sinking in, bruising, and sends him away before he can think to ask. Donghae will take what he can have, all of it, every last little shred, and for today it’s enough, Hyukjae’s breathy gasps and the timbre of his voice, enough for now, if not always, if not for the next hour, the next day, the next week. The irony of it is almost staggering, at moments like these. You want too much, Donghae remembers saying, except it’s him who covets and Hyukjae who gives, and gives, and gives; Hyukjae who fills him up, so full he thinks it might seep through his skin and cause him to give at the seams, so good he can’t seem to bring himself to care.
Donghae knows what he is: selfish, grasping, only human. Donghae knows that Hyukjae is at work, knows what he’ll find when the door to Hyukjae’s apartment swings open after his third knock.
“Hello.” Donghae is surprised at the way his voice comes out despite the clamminess of his palms, neutral, without inflection. The boy blinks.
“Hello.”
“Walk with me?” Donghae waits for the boy’s eyes to narrow, for him to refuse (because he has to know, he must, must loathe the thought of sharing as much as he does); relaxes when the boy nods.
The wind is cool against his skin as they walk, as Donghae risks surreptitious glances to his side out of the corner of his eye. There’s a softness to Junsu he’ll never be able to duplicate, Junsu with his full lips and girlish hips and a smile wistful enough to leave indelible imprints on the hearts of the unwary. It’s easy to see why, now, when Junsu tilts his head back, eyes to the sky, the line of his neck smooth, clean, effortlessly graceful. “It’s nice out, isn’t it?”
“He’s not yours.” Donghae regrets the words that hang still between them, fierce, obsessive, harsh; can almost hear Junsu framing his reply. I was here first, he’d say, and then-
Junsu exhales loudly, feet slowing before coming to an abrupt stop. “I know.”
“I-” Donghae is floundering, faltering, confused. “You know- I don’t understand.”
Junsu turns to face him. “I gave him the money to go to you.”
The money to- Oh. “How- why?”
Junsu shakes his head slightly even as he starts walking again. “We’ve known each other far too long for Hyuk to be able to keep anything from me.” Junsu sighs, then, eyes to the ground. “It’s so easy, with Hyuk. So easy to just- I let myself get too comfortable, and it isn’t fair- I’m sorry.” The smile is back, but there’s an edge to it now that makes Donghae’s breath catch.
“He needs you”, Donghae finds himself saying, soft, barely audible, knuckles white on the hem of his shirt. So bitter the taste of truth. He stops when Junsu laughs, the sound hard-edged and mirthless, sad, so sad.
There’s a quiet resignation to Junsu’s stance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, face to the wind.
“Less than he thinks he does. Much, much less.”
---
There isn’t much for Junsu to pack, and nothing he can’t fit into a small knapsack. A few set of clothes, his toothbrush, assorted things like floss. Mouthwash. A razor.
“Home”, Junsu tells him when he asks, voice trying and failing to be anything but strained. “I have an apartment of my own, remember?”
Hyukjae has to bite down hard on his lip before he can insist that Junsu already is home, and watches him wander about the living room looking for anything he might have missed with an inexplicable dread he can’t quite place. “Don’t go”, he tries, and Junsu turns.
“I met Donghae again today”, Hyukjae hears, can feel his throat start to close up. “He seems like a nice boy.”
“He is.”
“Pretty, too.” Junsu is standing by him now, and Hyukjae clears his throat roughly.
“Very.”
“Very”, Junsu agrees; gaze dropping before raising again to meet his. “I have to go, Hyuk.”
“Junsu-” He can hear the panic in his voice, the struggle, “I would never- I could never- You, and Donghae-”
Junsu’s voice is as warm as his palm on Hyukjae’s cheek, as warm as the lips pressed to the corner of his mouth. “And I would never ask you to.”
Hyukjae turns so their lips can meet, the kiss this time sweet, heady, drawn out, achingly final. Junsu draws away first, and Hyukjae imagines he can hear a tenuous snap, the sound of a thread severed, the end, the end, the end-
“Let go, Hyuk.” Junsu’s hands are gentle but firm on his shoulders as he pushes away, as he disentangles himself and moves towards the door. “I was thinking of going on a holiday”, he says, too bright, full of false cheer. “Take a few days off, go to the ocean, something like that.”
Hyukjae hears the words behind those; don’t look for me, Junsu is saying, eyes imploring, please . “That sounds fun”, he manages, watches as Junsu relaxes and smiles again, more genuine this time.
“I’ll get you a souvenir”, Junsu whispers, arms about his waist tight, tight, tight.
“You’d better”, Hyukjae replies, voice thick; buries his face in Junsu’s shoulder so he won’t see.
“Idiot”, Junsu says, holding him out at arm’s length, voice equally hoarse. “I’ll be back soon enough.”
It’s not in their nature to part with goodbyes. Come back soon, Hyukjae mouths into skin instead, come back to me, to me, to me-
Junsu waves once before heading down the stairs, twice, and Hyukjae watches, vision blurry; wishes he could turn away from the sight of Junsu walking away.
Pairing: Hyukjae/Junsu, Hyukjae/Donghae
Rating: PG-13
Hooker!fic! Oh, how I hurt the Hyuksu. Title taken from Rascal Flatts' Winner At A Losing Game.
Cross-posted places, and to shiwon_tops_all
Hyukjae hates hospitals, hates the cold, sterile walls and endless corridors, the harsh fluorescents, the sharp tang of disinfectant in the air. Junsu is hunched over in his chair when he enters the room, hands clasped tight around frail, limp fingers. There’s a peaceful serenity to the old woman lying in the bed, eyes closed, still, so still, blanket tucked neatly up under her arms, an unmistakable pallor to her skin that tells Hyukjae everything he needs to know.
“Su”, so soft he’s afraid Junsu won’t hear, but Junsu does; raises his head and turns. His eyes are dry, dry, dry, fraught with an awful finality that chills him.
“She’s gone”, Junsu says, calm, flat. He waits while Junsu presses the button for the nurses’ station, waits while they draw the sheet carefully over the prone form (Mrs. Kim, always so full of laughter, palms rough on his cheek, callused from hard work; ”You should eat more, boy”), waits until Junsu exhales softly and turns towards the door.
Hyukjae brings him home, mostly because Junsu seems amenable to being led along, face carefully blank and eyes on the ground at his feet more often than not. Midnight finds them both sprawled out on Hyukjae’s bed, backs to the sheets, eyes on the ceiling, almost but not quite touching. It’s too hot, even with the windows thrown wide open, too quiet, even with the steady whirr and creak of the overhead fan blades.
“Su?”
Silence. A beat, two, then-
“Mm?”
Hyukjae quests briefly in the darkness before their fingers interlace, Junsu’s hand dry in his, cold as ice. “Let’s go to that stall by the old school tomorrow. We can have bulgogi.”
Junsu makes a rough sound he can’t quite identify, a choked off gasp of air, quickly muffled. “Okay.”
“And then we’ll go to the field. Ask the boys there if they’ll let us join them for a game. It’s been ages, hasn’t it?”
“Too long”, Junsu agrees, and the cracked hoarseness of his voice has Hyukjae sitting upright abruptly.
“Su-”
Junsu’s gaze is wide and dark under his, wet. Hyukjae brushes the pads of his thumbs across Junsu’s cheeks, rubs circles into the damp skin. “It’s okay”, he tries helplessly, even though it isn’t, it isn’t, nothing is, “we’ll be fine-”
“Touch me”, Junsu’s grip on his wrist tight, tight, demanding, “touch me, please-”
Hyukjae hates that Junsu thinks he has to ask like this, hates the desperate pleading in that tone; kisses him before he can ask again. “I would-” he tries to say later, Junsu flush under him, hips rolling up into his, “anything-”
“I know”, Junsu, equally breathless, lips warm on his shoulder, “I know”; bites off a groan as he comes.
“Su?” Hyukjae ventures later, Junsu quiet and pliant against his side. The silence stretches too long, and Hyukjae wonders if Junsu’s fallen asleep, when he feels the other boy stir slightly, head lifting momentarily from his chest before falling back down again.
“Hm?”
It’s strange, Hyukjae thinks, how he has to swallow hard before he can get the words out. “I fixed it, Su.”
“Oh.” Junsu shifts slightly before snuggling in deeper. “That’s good.”
“Junsu, I-” There’s a roaring in his ears, Donghae, in the pulse of his blood, over and over and over, steady, insistent, maddening, Donghae, behind his closed eyelids, except he can’t even begin to imagine not having this now, Junsu, here, within and without, under his skin, here, here, here-
Junsu yawns loudly before settling more firmly against him. “Sleep, Hyuk.”
“Slob”, Hyukjae accuses affectionately; lets the sound of Junsu’s laughter lull him into sleep.
---
Hyukjae smells of another man and tastes of a stranger, light and too sweet, heavy on his tongue. Donghae smiles like he always has, kisses Hyukjae just a little too hard; fucks him up against the wall, fingers sinking in, bruising, and sends him away before he can think to ask. Donghae will take what he can have, all of it, every last little shred, and for today it’s enough, Hyukjae’s breathy gasps and the timbre of his voice, enough for now, if not always, if not for the next hour, the next day, the next week. The irony of it is almost staggering, at moments like these. You want too much, Donghae remembers saying, except it’s him who covets and Hyukjae who gives, and gives, and gives; Hyukjae who fills him up, so full he thinks it might seep through his skin and cause him to give at the seams, so good he can’t seem to bring himself to care.
Donghae knows what he is: selfish, grasping, only human. Donghae knows that Hyukjae is at work, knows what he’ll find when the door to Hyukjae’s apartment swings open after his third knock.
“Hello.” Donghae is surprised at the way his voice comes out despite the clamminess of his palms, neutral, without inflection. The boy blinks.
“Hello.”
“Walk with me?” Donghae waits for the boy’s eyes to narrow, for him to refuse (because he has to know, he must, must loathe the thought of sharing as much as he does); relaxes when the boy nods.
The wind is cool against his skin as they walk, as Donghae risks surreptitious glances to his side out of the corner of his eye. There’s a softness to Junsu he’ll never be able to duplicate, Junsu with his full lips and girlish hips and a smile wistful enough to leave indelible imprints on the hearts of the unwary. It’s easy to see why, now, when Junsu tilts his head back, eyes to the sky, the line of his neck smooth, clean, effortlessly graceful. “It’s nice out, isn’t it?”
“He’s not yours.” Donghae regrets the words that hang still between them, fierce, obsessive, harsh; can almost hear Junsu framing his reply. I was here first, he’d say, and then-
Junsu exhales loudly, feet slowing before coming to an abrupt stop. “I know.”
“I-” Donghae is floundering, faltering, confused. “You know- I don’t understand.”
Junsu turns to face him. “I gave him the money to go to you.”
The money to- Oh. “How- why?”
Junsu shakes his head slightly even as he starts walking again. “We’ve known each other far too long for Hyuk to be able to keep anything from me.” Junsu sighs, then, eyes to the ground. “It’s so easy, with Hyuk. So easy to just- I let myself get too comfortable, and it isn’t fair- I’m sorry.” The smile is back, but there’s an edge to it now that makes Donghae’s breath catch.
“He needs you”, Donghae finds himself saying, soft, barely audible, knuckles white on the hem of his shirt. So bitter the taste of truth. He stops when Junsu laughs, the sound hard-edged and mirthless, sad, so sad.
There’s a quiet resignation to Junsu’s stance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans, face to the wind.
“Less than he thinks he does. Much, much less.”
---
There isn’t much for Junsu to pack, and nothing he can’t fit into a small knapsack. A few set of clothes, his toothbrush, assorted things like floss. Mouthwash. A razor.
“Home”, Junsu tells him when he asks, voice trying and failing to be anything but strained. “I have an apartment of my own, remember?”
Hyukjae has to bite down hard on his lip before he can insist that Junsu already is home, and watches him wander about the living room looking for anything he might have missed with an inexplicable dread he can’t quite place. “Don’t go”, he tries, and Junsu turns.
“I met Donghae again today”, Hyukjae hears, can feel his throat start to close up. “He seems like a nice boy.”
“He is.”
“Pretty, too.” Junsu is standing by him now, and Hyukjae clears his throat roughly.
“Very.”
“Very”, Junsu agrees; gaze dropping before raising again to meet his. “I have to go, Hyuk.”
“Junsu-” He can hear the panic in his voice, the struggle, “I would never- I could never- You, and Donghae-”
Junsu’s voice is as warm as his palm on Hyukjae’s cheek, as warm as the lips pressed to the corner of his mouth. “And I would never ask you to.”
Hyukjae turns so their lips can meet, the kiss this time sweet, heady, drawn out, achingly final. Junsu draws away first, and Hyukjae imagines he can hear a tenuous snap, the sound of a thread severed, the end, the end, the end-
“Let go, Hyuk.” Junsu’s hands are gentle but firm on his shoulders as he pushes away, as he disentangles himself and moves towards the door. “I was thinking of going on a holiday”, he says, too bright, full of false cheer. “Take a few days off, go to the ocean, something like that.”
Hyukjae hears the words behind those; don’t look for me, Junsu is saying, eyes imploring, please . “That sounds fun”, he manages, watches as Junsu relaxes and smiles again, more genuine this time.
“I’ll get you a souvenir”, Junsu whispers, arms about his waist tight, tight, tight.
“You’d better”, Hyukjae replies, voice thick; buries his face in Junsu’s shoulder so he won’t see.
“Idiot”, Junsu says, holding him out at arm’s length, voice equally hoarse. “I’ll be back soon enough.”
It’s not in their nature to part with goodbyes. Come back soon, Hyukjae mouths into skin instead, come back to me, to me, to me-
Junsu waves once before heading down the stairs, twice, and Hyukjae watches, vision blurry; wishes he could turn away from the sight of Junsu walking away.