[Fanfic] Whatever It Takes - Part 2
Title: Whatever It Takes
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Universe:TVXQ/Others
Pairing: YunJae, Jae?, HoMin, JaeSu
Warning/s: Un-beta'd.
Chapter: Multi-Drabble - Part 2
Archive: Here,jaeho_detox and athug______
Genre: Gen/drama/angst
Author's Disclaimer: This fanfic is done solely for entertainment, with no profits derived.
Summary: Junsu loves Jaejoong behind closed doors. Inspired by the Mirotic version C photo of the guys in the meadow. Jaejoong was willing to continue believing in a lie - after all, if Cassioepeians all over the world believed in it, why shouldn't he? But then again, lies were never meant to last.
Junsu stood in the doorway of his hyung's bedroom, silently, and if he was the type to think about these sort of things (He wasn't. Jaejoong was the one to put fanservice first and foremost. Junsu just did it because after six years together, affection for the other four came as easily as affection for his own Junho), he would have wagered that the JaeSu fans must be moaning over the lack of service since their comeback.
(They were, he realised the next day, when he was idly surfing through the fancafes and cyworlds, and he had smiled a smile that drove Yoochun mad with curiosity because he refused to tell his best friend why he was smiling that smile.)
Jaejoong, Junsu pursed his lips, looked small. Which was something of an oddity because out of the five of them, the eldest had the most impressive physique in his opinion. But yet those toned shoulders looked slumped, the sculpted back bowed with weariness, the prided arms weak with fatigue, and Junsu wished, for a vicious split second, that he could physically destroy all the aches and worries his hyung carried, like a knight would slay the monstrous dragon for his princess. A wry grin curved his lips; if Jaejoong had heard that thought, the lead vocal would have happily pummelled him to the ground because if there was anything that pissed Jaejoong off, it would be being thought feminine enough to need rescuing.
But rescue him he would, because Junsu's heart felt wrenched out of true watching his hyung sitting half-naked in the dark; hair damp from the shower lying in limp, inky slashes against a paper-pale neck, water beading down the bare back that even in the dim light he could see pimpling with cold. But Jaejoong made no move to dry himself off, sitting on his bed, toes curled into the carpet, staring at something Junsu couldn't see and he worried, worried so damn much that if he didn't do something, anything, Jaejoong would leave him, would leave them all for a place they couldn't follow.
He closed the door behind him softly, the latch falling into place with a quiet click, but Jaejoong showed no sign of hearing him, head tilted to the side, eyes distant. Junsu climbed over the spare bed, musing idly that that was just like Jaejoong, to keep a spare twin bed in his room for the times when Yoochun couldn't or didn't want to go home, and snagged up the towel his hyung had tossed aside. He sat down behind Jaejoong, the older man between his legs and Jaejoong finally stirred.
"Junsu?" he asked, a breath of a whisper that sounded so out of place, coming from him, and Junsu folded him in his arms tightly, his cheek pressed against the tattoo that looked old and faded in the dim light coming in from the windows.
"Hyung," he hummed, eyes closed, willing warmth to seep into the cool skin and into the sluggishly beating heart, willing the tired body he held to quicken with life and laughter again. The JaeSu (and this is what Junsu would have thought if he was the type to think of such things, which he wasn't) was not about public displays of affections, it wasn't about one-touches or lingering glances for the cameras. The JaeSu was of songs sung in that moment before dawn, in the janitor's closet because they were only trainees and they weren't allowed to use the practice rooms without permission from their vocal coach. The JaeSu was about a patient, steady presence by his side who offered no empty platitudes when Junho lay sick in bed with a fever thousands of miles away and him unable to offer anything but a phone call. The JaeSu was him keeping his hyung company as he slept in a room made for two but only had one, because Jaejoong would never begrudge Yoochun the need for family, even when he was wracked with a loneliness so vicious, he stared at the ceiling for hours before falling asleep curled into Junsu, and Junsu into him, like twins in the womb.
Jaejoong shifted, and for a moment, Junsu was worried he would twist out of his grasp because oddly, if he did, Junsu feared he would lose the man to monsters he couldn't see and fight, but the eldest only sighed, squeezing his interlocked hands affectionately. "You should sleep, Jun-ah," and Junsu could hear the small smile in that, and he rubbed his cheek against Jaejoong's back, happy when the man squeezed his hands again, chuckling quietly. "I'll be alright," Jaejoong continued, patting his arm vaguely. "Yoochun's sleeping over tonight, isn't he? He'll probably keep me awake, gossiping, and he'll try to freeze me in my sleep as usual."
He didn't answer, except to rub his cheek again like a cat, just to hear that warm, gravelly chuckle, so different from the usual bright laughter before he released the man, clamping him in place with his legs when Jaejoong made to get up.
"Don't," he coaxed, "I'll dry your hair for you, okay? I don't want you to make your cold worse." With painstaking care, he did so, fingers gentle and careful, massaging the thick locks with the towel, feeling rather than hearing the thin sigh Jaejoong released. It had amused the man when he first discovered, years ago, that the image-conscious eldest was easily weakened by a mere hand patting his hair, could be turned into gooey, pliable mush when anyone took the time to stroke it gently, slowly easing him into sleep when at other times, Jaejoong would have fussed in front of a mirror, big or small, until every strand was perfectly in place. So it wasn't a surprise when before long, Jaejoong was leaning heavily into his hands until Junsu had to stop and with a small, husky laugh, he lightly tugged the semi-conscious man further up the bed and with some maneuvering - and a couple of helpless giggles shared between the two of them when the covers proved too stubborn - he got Jaejoong under the blankets and in his arms, head tucked under his chin and an arm thrown carelessly around his waist and he hummed a song under his breath.
When Jaejoong's breaths had evened out, body relaxed and at the edge of sleep, he offered, very, very quietly, "He's not doing it on purpose, hyung," and he regretted it when Jaejoong tensed, arm tightening almost painfully before his hyung remembered himself.
"I know," Jaejoong whispered, the words feathering his skin and Junsu blinked back the tears that came without warning because he hated it when the eldest sounded so defeated. "I know he doesn't...Jun-ah?"
"Yes, hyung?"
Ask me to climb mountains, to slay dragons, to find golden eggs. Ask me anything, please hyung, and I would do it, if only you would promise me you will never sound like this again.
"Sing for me?"
Junsu sang.
He sang in minor scales that soared into whispered arpeggios and dropped low into a murmur that spoke of his love and affection and became tinged with tears.
To be continued...
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Universe:TVXQ/Others
Pairing: YunJae, Jae?, HoMin, JaeSu
Warning/s: Un-beta'd.
Chapter: Multi-Drabble - Part 2
Archive: Here,jaeho_detox and athug______
Genre: Gen/drama/angst
Author's Disclaimer: This fanfic is done solely for entertainment, with no profits derived.
Summary: Junsu loves Jaejoong behind closed doors. Inspired by the Mirotic version C photo of the guys in the meadow. Jaejoong was willing to continue believing in a lie - after all, if Cassioepeians all over the world believed in it, why shouldn't he? But then again, lies were never meant to last.
Junsu stood in the doorway of his hyung's bedroom, silently, and if he was the type to think about these sort of things (He wasn't. Jaejoong was the one to put fanservice first and foremost. Junsu just did it because after six years together, affection for the other four came as easily as affection for his own Junho), he would have wagered that the JaeSu fans must be moaning over the lack of service since their comeback.
(They were, he realised the next day, when he was idly surfing through the fancafes and cyworlds, and he had smiled a smile that drove Yoochun mad with curiosity because he refused to tell his best friend why he was smiling that smile.)
Jaejoong, Junsu pursed his lips, looked small. Which was something of an oddity because out of the five of them, the eldest had the most impressive physique in his opinion. But yet those toned shoulders looked slumped, the sculpted back bowed with weariness, the prided arms weak with fatigue, and Junsu wished, for a vicious split second, that he could physically destroy all the aches and worries his hyung carried, like a knight would slay the monstrous dragon for his princess. A wry grin curved his lips; if Jaejoong had heard that thought, the lead vocal would have happily pummelled him to the ground because if there was anything that pissed Jaejoong off, it would be being thought feminine enough to need rescuing.
But rescue him he would, because Junsu's heart felt wrenched out of true watching his hyung sitting half-naked in the dark; hair damp from the shower lying in limp, inky slashes against a paper-pale neck, water beading down the bare back that even in the dim light he could see pimpling with cold. But Jaejoong made no move to dry himself off, sitting on his bed, toes curled into the carpet, staring at something Junsu couldn't see and he worried, worried so damn much that if he didn't do something, anything, Jaejoong would leave him, would leave them all for a place they couldn't follow.
He closed the door behind him softly, the latch falling into place with a quiet click, but Jaejoong showed no sign of hearing him, head tilted to the side, eyes distant. Junsu climbed over the spare bed, musing idly that that was just like Jaejoong, to keep a spare twin bed in his room for the times when Yoochun couldn't or didn't want to go home, and snagged up the towel his hyung had tossed aside. He sat down behind Jaejoong, the older man between his legs and Jaejoong finally stirred.
"Junsu?" he asked, a breath of a whisper that sounded so out of place, coming from him, and Junsu folded him in his arms tightly, his cheek pressed against the tattoo that looked old and faded in the dim light coming in from the windows.
"Hyung," he hummed, eyes closed, willing warmth to seep into the cool skin and into the sluggishly beating heart, willing the tired body he held to quicken with life and laughter again. The JaeSu (and this is what Junsu would have thought if he was the type to think of such things, which he wasn't) was not about public displays of affections, it wasn't about one-touches or lingering glances for the cameras. The JaeSu was of songs sung in that moment before dawn, in the janitor's closet because they were only trainees and they weren't allowed to use the practice rooms without permission from their vocal coach. The JaeSu was about a patient, steady presence by his side who offered no empty platitudes when Junho lay sick in bed with a fever thousands of miles away and him unable to offer anything but a phone call. The JaeSu was him keeping his hyung company as he slept in a room made for two but only had one, because Jaejoong would never begrudge Yoochun the need for family, even when he was wracked with a loneliness so vicious, he stared at the ceiling for hours before falling asleep curled into Junsu, and Junsu into him, like twins in the womb.
Jaejoong shifted, and for a moment, Junsu was worried he would twist out of his grasp because oddly, if he did, Junsu feared he would lose the man to monsters he couldn't see and fight, but the eldest only sighed, squeezing his interlocked hands affectionately. "You should sleep, Jun-ah," and Junsu could hear the small smile in that, and he rubbed his cheek against Jaejoong's back, happy when the man squeezed his hands again, chuckling quietly. "I'll be alright," Jaejoong continued, patting his arm vaguely. "Yoochun's sleeping over tonight, isn't he? He'll probably keep me awake, gossiping, and he'll try to freeze me in my sleep as usual."
He didn't answer, except to rub his cheek again like a cat, just to hear that warm, gravelly chuckle, so different from the usual bright laughter before he released the man, clamping him in place with his legs when Jaejoong made to get up.
"Don't," he coaxed, "I'll dry your hair for you, okay? I don't want you to make your cold worse." With painstaking care, he did so, fingers gentle and careful, massaging the thick locks with the towel, feeling rather than hearing the thin sigh Jaejoong released. It had amused the man when he first discovered, years ago, that the image-conscious eldest was easily weakened by a mere hand patting his hair, could be turned into gooey, pliable mush when anyone took the time to stroke it gently, slowly easing him into sleep when at other times, Jaejoong would have fussed in front of a mirror, big or small, until every strand was perfectly in place. So it wasn't a surprise when before long, Jaejoong was leaning heavily into his hands until Junsu had to stop and with a small, husky laugh, he lightly tugged the semi-conscious man further up the bed and with some maneuvering - and a couple of helpless giggles shared between the two of them when the covers proved too stubborn - he got Jaejoong under the blankets and in his arms, head tucked under his chin and an arm thrown carelessly around his waist and he hummed a song under his breath.
When Jaejoong's breaths had evened out, body relaxed and at the edge of sleep, he offered, very, very quietly, "He's not doing it on purpose, hyung," and he regretted it when Jaejoong tensed, arm tightening almost painfully before his hyung remembered himself.
"I know," Jaejoong whispered, the words feathering his skin and Junsu blinked back the tears that came without warning because he hated it when the eldest sounded so defeated. "I know he doesn't...Jun-ah?"
"Yes, hyung?"
Ask me to climb mountains, to slay dragons, to find golden eggs. Ask me anything, please hyung, and I would do it, if only you would promise me you will never sound like this again.
"Sing for me?"
Junsu sang.
He sang in minor scales that soared into whispered arpeggios and dropped low into a murmur that spoke of his love and affection and became tinged with tears.
To be continued...