gin and cigarettes; jaechun
Gin and Cigarettes
Yoochun/Jaejoong; PG-13, 831 w.
The taste of gin and cigarettes still in the mouth. If we kissed tonight, that’s what I might have tasted.
A/N: inspired by the yaoi manga, yellow. above quote taken from vol. 2
It’s three in the morning, and Yoochun’s smoking a cigarette on the balcony of their ritzy Japanese hotel. Japan is nothing like Korea, feels nothing like home. It’s always packed luggage and flitting between different hotels, never slept-in beds and pictures on the mantel.
Even the cigarettes he bummed off one of their stylists tastes different, and Yoochun finds himself missing the smooth inhale of his own brand.
He’s got two left, tucked into his pocket for when his nostalgia becomes too much, but Yoochun hasn’t quite reached that point, and he’d hate to run out and not have any left.
Instead, he flicks the slim Japanese cigarette against the railing and pretends he’s at home, rather than leaning on the edge of sanity and waiting to be saved.
There is a muffled crash behind him, and he turns to face his intruder. It’s Jaejoong, in pants too big and shirt too small with a face pinched up as he rearranges a fallen lamp.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Yoochun wonders, tapping his cigarette against the railing.
“Shouldn’t you?”
Yoochun frowns and turns back around. “Japan doesn’t sleep,” he says vaguely.
Jaejoong tilts his head to the side and holds out his hand. He’s holding a bottle of gin, and he smiles as he asks, “Want to share?”
Yoochun takes a drag and hands the cigarette to Jaejoong. There is a smooth exchange, and then Yoochun’s got the rim of the bottle against his smoky lips, and Jaejoong’s smile is stretched around the cigarette.
“Yunho’s worried about you,” he says.
“He should worry about himself,” Yoochun huffs and takes a swig of the liquor. He immediately coughs.
“Take it slow,” Jaejoong warns with a smile.
“Kind of late,” Yoochun replies.
After a pause, Jaejoong murmurs, “You okay?” and reclines on the hideous bench the hotel placed outside their suite.
“Not really.”
Yoochun leans against the railing and peers over the edge, fingers tucked around the neck of his new prize.
“Put that shit out,” he announces suddenly, gesturing toward the cigarette in Jaejoong’s fingers. “I’ve got better ones.”
Jaejoong complies half-heartedly, and Yoochun reaches into his pocket for his two cigarettes. He sits beside the older man as he digs into his pockets for his lighter. Jaejoong smiles as he slides it off the table and holds it up for Yoochun to see.
Yoochun grins in response and sticks a cigarette in his mouth while Jaejoong leans over politely and lights it for him. He offers the other.
“How do you know I don’t want to just share?” Jaejoong asks with a wink. He takes the cigarette anyway. “Indirect kissing, you know.”
“Who said I wanted to kiss you, indirect or not?” But Yoochun’s eyes are watching the pout of Jaejoong’s mouth now, imagining muffled cries that slipped past bruised and swollen lips.
“Ouch, my heart,” Jaejoong jokes, palm over his chest, as he leans over with the cigarette in his mouth. “This’ll have to do,” he says, holding it against Yoochun’s.
Their faces are centimeters apart, and Yoochun can almost count the eyelashes fanned over Jaejoong’s cheek. It feels like an eternity, with Jaejoong’s lips a breath away from Yoochun and his hand around the back of Yoochun’s neck. He pulls away smoothly, eyes lowered and cigarette pinched between his index and middle finger.
They sit in amicable silence, smoking their cigarettes and trading the bottle of gin. Jaejoong’s legs are neatly folded, and Yoochun’s eyes burn into the curve of Jaejoong’s waist, exposed by his baggy pants and hiked-up shirt, and the flush lips around his cigarette.
Yoochun is almost lulled by the warmth of the liquor and Jaejoong’s heady presence. He rests his fingers next to Jaejoong’s, almost touching but forever apart, and relaxes into the hard, uncomfortable bench. Who said Japan wasn’t accommodating?
“It’s almost morning,” Jaejoong says later when his cigarette has burned out, and the bottle is half-empty. “We should get to bed,” he continues. “You know, before our valiant leader wakes.”
Yoochun nods and takes another sip of the gin. “We’ve got to be up early,” he acquiesces.
Jaejoong’s smile is half-there, and Yoochun almost thinks he imagines it in the light of the moon. The older man slides off the bench gracefully, pulling Yoochun to his feet with him. His fingers are wrapped around Yoochun’s bony wrist, and Yoochun hopes he doesn’t feel the pulse of his heart, hammering away.
Yoochun’s eyes follow the pout of Jaejoong’s lips as Jaejoong turns around, smiling, and says, “See you in a couple hours.”
Yoochun nods and smiles back shakily. “Yeah.”
As he walks away, Yoochun watches the sway of his hips and the curve of his waist, wondering how they would feel, bare beneath his fingers.
He puts out the last of his cigarette and closes the bottle of gin before he goes inside.
The taste of gin and cigarettes still in the mouth, Yoochun thinks. If we kissed tonight, that’s what I might have tasted.
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Yoochun/Jaejoong; PG-13, 831 w.
The taste of gin and cigarettes still in the mouth. If we kissed tonight, that’s what I might have tasted.
A/N: inspired by the yaoi manga, yellow. above quote taken from vol. 2
It’s three in the morning, and Yoochun’s smoking a cigarette on the balcony of their ritzy Japanese hotel. Japan is nothing like Korea, feels nothing like home. It’s always packed luggage and flitting between different hotels, never slept-in beds and pictures on the mantel.
Even the cigarettes he bummed off one of their stylists tastes different, and Yoochun finds himself missing the smooth inhale of his own brand.
He’s got two left, tucked into his pocket for when his nostalgia becomes too much, but Yoochun hasn’t quite reached that point, and he’d hate to run out and not have any left.
Instead, he flicks the slim Japanese cigarette against the railing and pretends he’s at home, rather than leaning on the edge of sanity and waiting to be saved.
There is a muffled crash behind him, and he turns to face his intruder. It’s Jaejoong, in pants too big and shirt too small with a face pinched up as he rearranges a fallen lamp.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Yoochun wonders, tapping his cigarette against the railing.
“Shouldn’t you?”
Yoochun frowns and turns back around. “Japan doesn’t sleep,” he says vaguely.
Jaejoong tilts his head to the side and holds out his hand. He’s holding a bottle of gin, and he smiles as he asks, “Want to share?”
Yoochun takes a drag and hands the cigarette to Jaejoong. There is a smooth exchange, and then Yoochun’s got the rim of the bottle against his smoky lips, and Jaejoong’s smile is stretched around the cigarette.
“Yunho’s worried about you,” he says.
“He should worry about himself,” Yoochun huffs and takes a swig of the liquor. He immediately coughs.
“Take it slow,” Jaejoong warns with a smile.
“Kind of late,” Yoochun replies.
After a pause, Jaejoong murmurs, “You okay?” and reclines on the hideous bench the hotel placed outside their suite.
“Not really.”
Yoochun leans against the railing and peers over the edge, fingers tucked around the neck of his new prize.
“Put that shit out,” he announces suddenly, gesturing toward the cigarette in Jaejoong’s fingers. “I’ve got better ones.”
Jaejoong complies half-heartedly, and Yoochun reaches into his pocket for his two cigarettes. He sits beside the older man as he digs into his pockets for his lighter. Jaejoong smiles as he slides it off the table and holds it up for Yoochun to see.
Yoochun grins in response and sticks a cigarette in his mouth while Jaejoong leans over politely and lights it for him. He offers the other.
“How do you know I don’t want to just share?” Jaejoong asks with a wink. He takes the cigarette anyway. “Indirect kissing, you know.”
“Who said I wanted to kiss you, indirect or not?” But Yoochun’s eyes are watching the pout of Jaejoong’s mouth now, imagining muffled cries that slipped past bruised and swollen lips.
“Ouch, my heart,” Jaejoong jokes, palm over his chest, as he leans over with the cigarette in his mouth. “This’ll have to do,” he says, holding it against Yoochun’s.
Their faces are centimeters apart, and Yoochun can almost count the eyelashes fanned over Jaejoong’s cheek. It feels like an eternity, with Jaejoong’s lips a breath away from Yoochun and his hand around the back of Yoochun’s neck. He pulls away smoothly, eyes lowered and cigarette pinched between his index and middle finger.
They sit in amicable silence, smoking their cigarettes and trading the bottle of gin. Jaejoong’s legs are neatly folded, and Yoochun’s eyes burn into the curve of Jaejoong’s waist, exposed by his baggy pants and hiked-up shirt, and the flush lips around his cigarette.
Yoochun is almost lulled by the warmth of the liquor and Jaejoong’s heady presence. He rests his fingers next to Jaejoong’s, almost touching but forever apart, and relaxes into the hard, uncomfortable bench. Who said Japan wasn’t accommodating?
“It’s almost morning,” Jaejoong says later when his cigarette has burned out, and the bottle is half-empty. “We should get to bed,” he continues. “You know, before our valiant leader wakes.”
Yoochun nods and takes another sip of the gin. “We’ve got to be up early,” he acquiesces.
Jaejoong’s smile is half-there, and Yoochun almost thinks he imagines it in the light of the moon. The older man slides off the bench gracefully, pulling Yoochun to his feet with him. His fingers are wrapped around Yoochun’s bony wrist, and Yoochun hopes he doesn’t feel the pulse of his heart, hammering away.
Yoochun’s eyes follow the pout of Jaejoong’s lips as Jaejoong turns around, smiling, and says, “See you in a couple hours.”
Yoochun nods and smiles back shakily. “Yeah.”
As he walks away, Yoochun watches the sway of his hips and the curve of his waist, wondering how they would feel, bare beneath his fingers.
He puts out the last of his cigarette and closes the bottle of gin before he goes inside.
The taste of gin and cigarettes still in the mouth, Yoochun thinks. If we kissed tonight, that’s what I might have tasted.
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