on standby
title: on standby
pairing: yoosu ♥
rating: R
angsty. serious winter fic. plot bunny by irisu_chan :) read her story here, for those interested :D
3.451 words.
It is the season of white snow, heavy and thick on the streets of Tokyo. The Christmas lights illuminate the various city centers, but from where they are they can barely see them. Japan is always so different; the soil of their motherland distant warmth they desperately try to recreate in their smaller quarters in Japan. They’ll manage.
Junsu thinks not too heavy, he thinks not too lightly of it; Yoochun kissing the back of his hand and meeting his eyes. There is a part of him that thinks maybe, but it too should be weighed both ways. For if he has the option, best is to reach out his hand at the right time and place.
As they nod and wave politely and say we are tohoshinki, their mindsets first have to realign with the difference in language. Five years of practice should suffice, but Junsu notices he’s gotten uncomfortable with the way his tongue moves, sometimes. There’s always some awkwardness, but then Jaejoong has magazines electing him as Most Handsome Bachelor and Changmin has them photographing his long legs. Yunho talks fast with managers and throws in his smile at the exact right moments; Junsu catches on and smoothes out the mood with a bad joke or two.
To his left, Yoochun is an unprepared mess struggling with his vocabulary, but he makes up for it by not saying all that much and just nods every now and then. He knows this strategy.
“Ramen,” Changmin says, holding up one finger and keeps it up as he tries to come up with a second thing he wants to have for lunch. Junsu watches Yoochun struggle to find something in his bag.
“-ramen, tsukemen, boku ike-“
“That does get old, Jae,” Yoochun interrupts, lacking his normal dose of caffeine. People let him off for this behavior all the time and now is no different;
Jaejoong rolls his eyes and leans over Changmin to look at the menu instead. Junsu wriggles his nose when Yoochun fishes out a pack of cigarettes.
It gets difficult to breathe when the rooms are so small. Everything in Japan is tiny; tinier than in Korea. They have a thing for the petite here - Yoochun absolutely falls for it - and it’s maddening. Junsu wants wide open spaces and soccer matches and a chance to speak to Yoochun when one of the others is not with him.
They are waiting in a small recording studio for an interview, but it’s not going to be taped on video. Their chairs are lined up, the carpet is grey and the lights fluorescent. The Japanese lady opposite of them has a permanent picture-perfect smile which looks like it takes a lot of self-control. She’s warming up her manicured hands with a heat pack.
During this interview, Junsu once more realizes he knows exactly when to watch;
“-Jaejoong-san has written one of the tracks-“ the lady glances over at Yoochun, well-prepared for this interview. She knows who to ask what question and she knows which one will follow it up.
Junsu watches Yoochun silently, knowing that he is already searching for the right words to say, when;
“-Yoochun-san did also write a song, it left a deep impression on me-“
As Yoochun answers, Junsu can’t help but run his eyes over the female’s bared legs and arms, her mini-skirt and her revealing top. From the way she is so casual in her manner of interviewing, he can tell she is Yoochun’s type.
He knows when to watch.
When he finds Yoochun outside on the little balcony of their apartment later that evening, his heart starts beating faster. The hems of his oversized sweatpants catch under his toes as he shuffles blindly into the kitchen first.
Armed with two cups of coffee, he takes a deep breath.
“It’s a double espresso, because you look like one.”
Yoochun pushes himself away from the balustrade and raises an eyebrow, smoke twirling up and behind his light brown sunglasses.”Don’t you mean because I look like I could need one?”
Setting the cup in front of the other on top of the flat surface of the balustrade, Junsu shakes his head. “No, you just look like one.”
“…that doesn’t make any sense,” Yoochun protests, but he accepts the coffee.
“Coffee,” Junsu starts, ready to share his poetic thoughts with the other even though the metaphors chosen are rather curious and even though Yoochun will probably say it’s stupid and that he shouldn’t read so much manga (but it helps him remember Japanese)
“Coffee,” he says again, “is normal. Good coffee is slightly less common, but it’s becoming more ordinary to find good coffee in cities like these. It’s the variations, the more unique the better, that stand out. They are like life’s little energy boosts. Yet at the same time all those wild variations just start to feel the same and you realize you don’t have to look that far. Not coffee, but not too flashy and also not less energizing. Espresso.”
Yoochun laughs at the building in their view. “You just completely made that up, didn’t you?”
“Maybe I kind of did, but wasn’t it kind of awesome that I called you an espresso now that you think on it?” Junsu suggests. He could say something more now, if he wanted. He could reach out a little.
“I get it. You’re a good friend and they would totally hire you at Starbucks without a doubt. What’s up?” Yoochun is laughing again.
Junsu also knows when not to say anything. He also doesn’t ask. “Not much, just felt like coffee,” but he presses his arm and shoulder against the other man’s as they look out at the ugly grey buildings and a sky forecasting rain.
The rain turns into snow. They have some time at dance practice tomorrow and their first rehearsal of their Christmas show appearance. They should consider going to bed early, but the five of them stay up in their living room, watching some movie with Mel Gibson.
Changmin opens a bag of edamame and passes it to Yoochun. Junsu sits back against the back of the couch a little more and looks up when the other slides more to his side after taking enough. Junsu needs a moment to realize Yoochun’s intention is to share the beans with him and he hurriedly takes some out of the other’s hands.
He swallows as their fingers brush. This is just comfort.
But it is also fatigue and home and that is why Yoochun is leaning against him at the end of the film, back pressed firmly against the length of his arm. He can even touch his fingers to the other man’s hips lightly and so he does.
“We should watch another one,” Yoochun then suggests, getting more comfortable against him. The others wordily agree and discuss what channel to put on, but both he and Junsu stay silent.
It’s moments like these when Junsu wants to say some things. If the others hadn’t been there, he would’ve said something.
He drums his fingers slowly on the rise of the other’s hipbone. It now and then aligns with Yoochun’s heartbeat.
All morning they dance until their legs feel like jelly and their knees like a rusty lock. It’s difficult to stay focused when you hear the same song fifteen times in a row, but five times as slow because steps need to be repeated for everyone to catch up. Junsu dances faster than all of them, but under some circumstances it gets impossible to not show it on his face, too.
It’s a mind game. He’s always playing these sorts of tricks on himself, setting these difficult goals. There is a certain level to maintain, for god knows he won’t ever be able to play soccer with the same emotion he can let go of in song. He needs to impress; he needs to have something.
Jaejoong shares with him the sentiment sometimes, but Junsu is not quite sure the man understands what he means exactly. The older singer doesn’t push himself as much, but he would never say that to a hyung. The truth is that he doesn’t always want to share the feeling with someone because normal games bore him. His life was never supposed to be ‘normal’;
“Taking the difficult approach?” Yoochun asks, walking in on Junsu trying to give himself a shoulder rub. It had been too cold really to take his tank top off.
From a cross-legged position on the floor, Junsu shrugs. “Anyway after all this dancing I’m still cold, it’s like zero degrees in here.”
Yoochun has his hair tied back and a white t-shirt that slips off his shoulders some. He imitates the other’s voice; “Anyway you should shut up and let me. Hey, did you see Changmin’s new I-pod?”
He is not prepared for Yoochun’s hands on his shoulders, or his chest inches away from his back, fingers digging into his stubborn muscles. The fact that this is nothing out of the ordinary is which upsets him; it gets so difficult to hold back.
He could trick himself believing it to be erotic, if he had the guts. Instead, the pleasant shivers that run down his spine he discards as idiocy, times he needs to think before he can answer to Yoochun’s questions.
And then suddenly they are the last ones left in the practice room. Apparently, Yunho had called for an official break and Junsu suspects everyone left to get lunch. He feels Yoochun’s hands slide down his back, palms flat against his shirt until they come to rest on his sides. His fingers fan over the edges of his abdomen.
Junsu breathes in slowly. Right now, he can’t speak. His breath ends up stuck somewhere in the back of his throat.
“Was there something you wanted to talk about?” Yoochun’s voice comes closer to his ear, the other man resting his head on his shoulder. It is still friendly, yet the whispered edge to the man’s words breaks him. He lets go of the air, but as his abdomen move, so do Yoochun’s hands.
Yoochun holds his hands flat on the other’s body, fingers curling round the edge of the t-shirt to skim fingernails over bare flesh. Another hitched breath.
“What are you doing?” heart hammering in his chest, Junsu finally comes to his senses somewhat; at least enough to demand an explanation first.
Then Yoochun leans forward and embraces him fully, arms closing around his waist and chest pressing warm and heavy against his back. It doesn’t knock the breath out of him, but it’s inviting and familiar.
“I don’t know. Embarrassing myself? I guess that’s pretty much it.”
Junsu feels his cheeks warm up some. “You thought I…?”
“I thought you what?” Yoochun mumbles a little further from his ear, not sounding as velvet anymore; perhaps even sounding a little embarrassed, yes.
Maybe now is the time.
“Yoochun, I’m in love with you-“
The other man doesn’t move. His arms stay locked around Junsu’s waist, but the change in his breathing pattern is audible. Junsu swallows, not sure where to look so he closes his eyes instead.
There never is a response; footsteps and a slamming door interrupt their moment and before Junsu realizes it, he’s already staring into the mirror again, fitting his steps to the beat of a song.
It’s deafening how the silence hangs around them, putting pressure on his ears as if in a descending plane. Junsu doesn’t know how to look at Yoochun anymore, but it’s okay; they’re in the van and everybody is tired anyway.
Changmin pops his bubblegum. “Hey, tomorrow’s Christmas,” he says as-a-matter-of-factly. Jaejoong groans.
“Damnit, I forgot to post cards-“ Jaejoong takes out his phone and starts messaging frantically.
When Junsu feels his phone buzz, he frowns in the lead singer’s general direction and then checks what it reads on the screen;
‘merry christmas?’
It’s from Yoochun. Junsu glances at the seat opposite of his and meets Yoochun’s eyes. The man looks nervous and yet he’s smiling again. Junsu doesn’t know how to react, so he just chokes back some sort of a giggle and then quickly takes out his sketchbook to draw a panda, or something else that distracts.
In the middle of the night, there is no way Junsu can stare up at the ceiling anymore with his stomach turning every time he breathes out. He starts holding his breath, but the air only rushes out deeper then and his nerves feel ready to burst through his skin. Setting his fingers into his sheets, he counts down from ten and then decides to get up anyway.
With silent footsteps he sneaks into the hallway, closes the door behind him softly and ventures into the living area. Shadows play on the furniture; weak light falls through the blinds, illuminating grey areas and drawing silhouettes. The standby lights of the DVD-player and the TV are eerie red dots in the semi-darkness.
He shouldn’t have such high hopes. Junsu runs his fingers along the bar in between the kitchen and the living room where they eat. Absentmindedly, he starts making tea.
“Never thought to find you in the kitchen. I thought you were Changmin. I kind of expected you to go for the video games,” Yoochun’s sleep-deprived voice comes sauntering into the silent room, echoing slightly, but that could well be his own imagination.
Goose bumps appear on his skin and Junsu turns around to be one step ahead; this time he needs to be one step ahead before Yoochun or something throws him off again. “I’m making tea…” he explains, but he leaves his words open and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Are you here to see me?” he wonders.
Yoochun steps closer, some of the light beaming into the kitchen illuminating half of his face. He looks kind of tired and far too real without make-up, but Junsu’s grown used to it. It’s not the first time his knees get weak in front of the other.
“What gives you that idea?” Yoochun dodges the question, eyes calmly meeting his own for as far that works under the circumstances.
Maybe he should start getting angry, but Junsu doesn’t know whether he can keep the attitude up for long with the other man looking like the way he does; the way he always does. It’s not funny anymore, so he’s not laughing.
“You, actually. You give me that idea,” he takes a deep breath. “You always give me that idea, that you’re looking out for me. You always tell me that too, so why would it be wrong of me to assume that that’s what you’re doing right now?” he doesn’t want to sound desperate, but he’s not sure yet how to give this situation any other words.
Yoochun halts, but he’s not too far away anymore; they are just outside one another’s comfort zone and it seems that that is all they need. Any move could be interpreted wrongly.
“Maybe I mean it,” Yoochun offers, not fighting his words all that much. He must be really tired, Junsu thinks; he must be tired of this as well.
“So maybe you do,” Junsu lets go of a breath and nods once. “So, what if you do? Then to what extent are we talking here? In what… way?” he tilts his head to the side some, partially because he is confused and also because he wants to be able to look at Yoochun’s face in the light.
Averting his eyes, Yoochun is definitely thinking about something. He hesitates, but he shrugs and says; “didn’t you say you love me?”
Right. He did. Junsu stares down at his feet for a moment, crossing his arms a little tighter. “What if I mean that?” he counters.
Laughter; Yoochun is suddenly close and runs his hands over his shoulders, down to his arms. It’s as if he is trying to rub some sense into him. “Then you love me and I always run after you, or something. How am I supposed to know what to make of that?” he chuckles a little and shakes his head, presses his forehead against Junsu’s hair.
“Isn’t it enough that I come to you now? Isn’t it… that I’m here, that it means something? I mean, I could’ve just gone to sleep.”
Junsu lets out an unimpressed sound. “You never sleep,” he protests, but Yoochun’s tightens his hold on his arms, right above his elbows.
“Not when you’re awake,” which is true. Yoochun sleeps about as much as he does.
Junsu looks up, pushes Yoochun’s chin up with his head as he does so, but he waits for the other to look back at him. He sighs, shakes his head and uncrosses his arms in defeat. “We’d better not let this-“
Apparently Yoochun has other plans. Perhaps logic isn’t really necessary somewhere after midnight.
He lets himself be pushed down on the couch, closes his eyes and tries not to think about the scent of the other man’s shampoo and how it smells the same as always. He rakes his fingers through Yoochun’s hair, pulls him down to his face and breathes against his mouth. It’s ridiculously cold and he doesn’t know whether things are supposed to go like this.
There’s no questions asked when Yoochun presses his mouth down on top of his and Junsu closes his eyes to shield them from the penetrating electronic lights. There’s tobacco and coffee on the other man’s tongue, tasting him and filling his mouth with a rhythm he doesn’t recognize. He wants to hold on to it, hooks his feet around Yoochun’s ankles and forces the other’s weight down upon him.
Breathing is difficult with the other pushing down on his body, but breathing is so overrated and pales in comparison to touching - Yoochun kisses him deeper and their legs entwine.
If this is romance then Junsu is confused; this feels like an extension of something he already knows but it is unfamiliar, yet fits in the same picture. He arches up when Yoochun’s slips his hands under his shirt, fingertips icy cold on his abdomen.
Outside, the rain is pouring down again. There’s frost against the windows, but the sound of heavy midnight traffic and kamikaze drops makes the scene less magical. Reaching one arm above his head and over the armrest, Junsu feels Yoochun’s other hand travel up his wrist and hold it there, hanging aimlessly in open space.
At some point he starts begging for it - the warmth and the power of the other man pressed against him is maddening and he is but a man after all. Their mouths bump and meet, open and gasping for air. It’s still cold and the cold makes Junsu want to go faster.
Clothes are a struggle, naked skin pressed against naked skin only more of a distraction and it gets so bothersome, so frustrating to have something within reach yet needing to get ready before obtained fully. When the other finally thrusts inside of him in one smooth go, Junsu’s breath hitches and they lean their combined weight unmoving against his side of the couch.
It’s the kind of feeling that cuts right through all defenses and hits you where it hurts; Junsu opens and closes his eyes a few times in the sensation of it all but lets it all happen, allows his gaze to wander and his legs to cling.
Yoochun is holding his hand when he gives in, squeezes the very life out of it and presses his open mouth against his neck. Junsu feels him go, bites down on his lip and lets himself follow. Warmth spreads through him, followed by coldness biting his toes and pain shooting up his spine because of their position.
It shouldn’t have been different; Junsu knows the moment he looks into Yoochun’s eyes and welcomes his mouth with promising hushed kisses and words. The other man cradles his jaw, tilts his face up and pours love into him like he is an empty battery. It’ll take a while before he is recharged.
“I want to sleep now,” Yoochun says later, when they’re cleaned up and dressed to go to bed and all those other things they need to take care of before crawling under the sheets. Junsu slides into the other’s bed and watches him, but Yoochun shakes his head and covers half of his face with a pillow.
In protest, Junsu tries to say something, but the fabric muffles his reply.
“I want to sleep now, so you should go to sleep.” Yoochun doesn't say anything else.
The heating buzzes; electrical sounds lulling Junsu to sleep. He'll dream about something stupid maybe, but he's glad he's not the only one.
note:
omg sorry for the lame ending, again.
written for irisu_chan, because I'm stupid and I can't write proper sequels to other people's stories and still had to try ♥
pairing: yoosu ♥
rating: R
angsty. serious winter fic. plot bunny by irisu_chan :) read her story here, for those interested :D
3.451 words.
It is the season of white snow, heavy and thick on the streets of Tokyo. The Christmas lights illuminate the various city centers, but from where they are they can barely see them. Japan is always so different; the soil of their motherland distant warmth they desperately try to recreate in their smaller quarters in Japan. They’ll manage.
Junsu thinks not too heavy, he thinks not too lightly of it; Yoochun kissing the back of his hand and meeting his eyes. There is a part of him that thinks maybe, but it too should be weighed both ways. For if he has the option, best is to reach out his hand at the right time and place.
As they nod and wave politely and say we are tohoshinki, their mindsets first have to realign with the difference in language. Five years of practice should suffice, but Junsu notices he’s gotten uncomfortable with the way his tongue moves, sometimes. There’s always some awkwardness, but then Jaejoong has magazines electing him as Most Handsome Bachelor and Changmin has them photographing his long legs. Yunho talks fast with managers and throws in his smile at the exact right moments; Junsu catches on and smoothes out the mood with a bad joke or two.
To his left, Yoochun is an unprepared mess struggling with his vocabulary, but he makes up for it by not saying all that much and just nods every now and then. He knows this strategy.
“Ramen,” Changmin says, holding up one finger and keeps it up as he tries to come up with a second thing he wants to have for lunch. Junsu watches Yoochun struggle to find something in his bag.
“-ramen, tsukemen, boku ike-“
“That does get old, Jae,” Yoochun interrupts, lacking his normal dose of caffeine. People let him off for this behavior all the time and now is no different;
Jaejoong rolls his eyes and leans over Changmin to look at the menu instead. Junsu wriggles his nose when Yoochun fishes out a pack of cigarettes.
It gets difficult to breathe when the rooms are so small. Everything in Japan is tiny; tinier than in Korea. They have a thing for the petite here - Yoochun absolutely falls for it - and it’s maddening. Junsu wants wide open spaces and soccer matches and a chance to speak to Yoochun when one of the others is not with him.
They are waiting in a small recording studio for an interview, but it’s not going to be taped on video. Their chairs are lined up, the carpet is grey and the lights fluorescent. The Japanese lady opposite of them has a permanent picture-perfect smile which looks like it takes a lot of self-control. She’s warming up her manicured hands with a heat pack.
During this interview, Junsu once more realizes he knows exactly when to watch;
“-Jaejoong-san has written one of the tracks-“ the lady glances over at Yoochun, well-prepared for this interview. She knows who to ask what question and she knows which one will follow it up.
Junsu watches Yoochun silently, knowing that he is already searching for the right words to say, when;
“-Yoochun-san did also write a song, it left a deep impression on me-“
As Yoochun answers, Junsu can’t help but run his eyes over the female’s bared legs and arms, her mini-skirt and her revealing top. From the way she is so casual in her manner of interviewing, he can tell she is Yoochun’s type.
He knows when to watch.
When he finds Yoochun outside on the little balcony of their apartment later that evening, his heart starts beating faster. The hems of his oversized sweatpants catch under his toes as he shuffles blindly into the kitchen first.
Armed with two cups of coffee, he takes a deep breath.
“It’s a double espresso, because you look like one.”
Yoochun pushes himself away from the balustrade and raises an eyebrow, smoke twirling up and behind his light brown sunglasses.”Don’t you mean because I look like I could need one?”
Setting the cup in front of the other on top of the flat surface of the balustrade, Junsu shakes his head. “No, you just look like one.”
“…that doesn’t make any sense,” Yoochun protests, but he accepts the coffee.
“Coffee,” Junsu starts, ready to share his poetic thoughts with the other even though the metaphors chosen are rather curious and even though Yoochun will probably say it’s stupid and that he shouldn’t read so much manga (but it helps him remember Japanese)
“Coffee,” he says again, “is normal. Good coffee is slightly less common, but it’s becoming more ordinary to find good coffee in cities like these. It’s the variations, the more unique the better, that stand out. They are like life’s little energy boosts. Yet at the same time all those wild variations just start to feel the same and you realize you don’t have to look that far. Not coffee, but not too flashy and also not less energizing. Espresso.”
Yoochun laughs at the building in their view. “You just completely made that up, didn’t you?”
“Maybe I kind of did, but wasn’t it kind of awesome that I called you an espresso now that you think on it?” Junsu suggests. He could say something more now, if he wanted. He could reach out a little.
“I get it. You’re a good friend and they would totally hire you at Starbucks without a doubt. What’s up?” Yoochun is laughing again.
Junsu also knows when not to say anything. He also doesn’t ask. “Not much, just felt like coffee,” but he presses his arm and shoulder against the other man’s as they look out at the ugly grey buildings and a sky forecasting rain.
The rain turns into snow. They have some time at dance practice tomorrow and their first rehearsal of their Christmas show appearance. They should consider going to bed early, but the five of them stay up in their living room, watching some movie with Mel Gibson.
Changmin opens a bag of edamame and passes it to Yoochun. Junsu sits back against the back of the couch a little more and looks up when the other slides more to his side after taking enough. Junsu needs a moment to realize Yoochun’s intention is to share the beans with him and he hurriedly takes some out of the other’s hands.
He swallows as their fingers brush. This is just comfort.
But it is also fatigue and home and that is why Yoochun is leaning against him at the end of the film, back pressed firmly against the length of his arm. He can even touch his fingers to the other man’s hips lightly and so he does.
“We should watch another one,” Yoochun then suggests, getting more comfortable against him. The others wordily agree and discuss what channel to put on, but both he and Junsu stay silent.
It’s moments like these when Junsu wants to say some things. If the others hadn’t been there, he would’ve said something.
He drums his fingers slowly on the rise of the other’s hipbone. It now and then aligns with Yoochun’s heartbeat.
All morning they dance until their legs feel like jelly and their knees like a rusty lock. It’s difficult to stay focused when you hear the same song fifteen times in a row, but five times as slow because steps need to be repeated for everyone to catch up. Junsu dances faster than all of them, but under some circumstances it gets impossible to not show it on his face, too.
It’s a mind game. He’s always playing these sorts of tricks on himself, setting these difficult goals. There is a certain level to maintain, for god knows he won’t ever be able to play soccer with the same emotion he can let go of in song. He needs to impress; he needs to have something.
Jaejoong shares with him the sentiment sometimes, but Junsu is not quite sure the man understands what he means exactly. The older singer doesn’t push himself as much, but he would never say that to a hyung. The truth is that he doesn’t always want to share the feeling with someone because normal games bore him. His life was never supposed to be ‘normal’;
“Taking the difficult approach?” Yoochun asks, walking in on Junsu trying to give himself a shoulder rub. It had been too cold really to take his tank top off.
From a cross-legged position on the floor, Junsu shrugs. “Anyway after all this dancing I’m still cold, it’s like zero degrees in here.”
Yoochun has his hair tied back and a white t-shirt that slips off his shoulders some. He imitates the other’s voice; “Anyway you should shut up and let me. Hey, did you see Changmin’s new I-pod?”
He is not prepared for Yoochun’s hands on his shoulders, or his chest inches away from his back, fingers digging into his stubborn muscles. The fact that this is nothing out of the ordinary is which upsets him; it gets so difficult to hold back.
He could trick himself believing it to be erotic, if he had the guts. Instead, the pleasant shivers that run down his spine he discards as idiocy, times he needs to think before he can answer to Yoochun’s questions.
And then suddenly they are the last ones left in the practice room. Apparently, Yunho had called for an official break and Junsu suspects everyone left to get lunch. He feels Yoochun’s hands slide down his back, palms flat against his shirt until they come to rest on his sides. His fingers fan over the edges of his abdomen.
Junsu breathes in slowly. Right now, he can’t speak. His breath ends up stuck somewhere in the back of his throat.
“Was there something you wanted to talk about?” Yoochun’s voice comes closer to his ear, the other man resting his head on his shoulder. It is still friendly, yet the whispered edge to the man’s words breaks him. He lets go of the air, but as his abdomen move, so do Yoochun’s hands.
Yoochun holds his hands flat on the other’s body, fingers curling round the edge of the t-shirt to skim fingernails over bare flesh. Another hitched breath.
“What are you doing?” heart hammering in his chest, Junsu finally comes to his senses somewhat; at least enough to demand an explanation first.
Then Yoochun leans forward and embraces him fully, arms closing around his waist and chest pressing warm and heavy against his back. It doesn’t knock the breath out of him, but it’s inviting and familiar.
“I don’t know. Embarrassing myself? I guess that’s pretty much it.”
Junsu feels his cheeks warm up some. “You thought I…?”
“I thought you what?” Yoochun mumbles a little further from his ear, not sounding as velvet anymore; perhaps even sounding a little embarrassed, yes.
Maybe now is the time.
“Yoochun, I’m in love with you-“
The other man doesn’t move. His arms stay locked around Junsu’s waist, but the change in his breathing pattern is audible. Junsu swallows, not sure where to look so he closes his eyes instead.
There never is a response; footsteps and a slamming door interrupt their moment and before Junsu realizes it, he’s already staring into the mirror again, fitting his steps to the beat of a song.
It’s deafening how the silence hangs around them, putting pressure on his ears as if in a descending plane. Junsu doesn’t know how to look at Yoochun anymore, but it’s okay; they’re in the van and everybody is tired anyway.
Changmin pops his bubblegum. “Hey, tomorrow’s Christmas,” he says as-a-matter-of-factly. Jaejoong groans.
“Damnit, I forgot to post cards-“ Jaejoong takes out his phone and starts messaging frantically.
When Junsu feels his phone buzz, he frowns in the lead singer’s general direction and then checks what it reads on the screen;
‘merry christmas?’
It’s from Yoochun. Junsu glances at the seat opposite of his and meets Yoochun’s eyes. The man looks nervous and yet he’s smiling again. Junsu doesn’t know how to react, so he just chokes back some sort of a giggle and then quickly takes out his sketchbook to draw a panda, or something else that distracts.
In the middle of the night, there is no way Junsu can stare up at the ceiling anymore with his stomach turning every time he breathes out. He starts holding his breath, but the air only rushes out deeper then and his nerves feel ready to burst through his skin. Setting his fingers into his sheets, he counts down from ten and then decides to get up anyway.
With silent footsteps he sneaks into the hallway, closes the door behind him softly and ventures into the living area. Shadows play on the furniture; weak light falls through the blinds, illuminating grey areas and drawing silhouettes. The standby lights of the DVD-player and the TV are eerie red dots in the semi-darkness.
He shouldn’t have such high hopes. Junsu runs his fingers along the bar in between the kitchen and the living room where they eat. Absentmindedly, he starts making tea.
“Never thought to find you in the kitchen. I thought you were Changmin. I kind of expected you to go for the video games,” Yoochun’s sleep-deprived voice comes sauntering into the silent room, echoing slightly, but that could well be his own imagination.
Goose bumps appear on his skin and Junsu turns around to be one step ahead; this time he needs to be one step ahead before Yoochun or something throws him off again. “I’m making tea…” he explains, but he leaves his words open and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Are you here to see me?” he wonders.
Yoochun steps closer, some of the light beaming into the kitchen illuminating half of his face. He looks kind of tired and far too real without make-up, but Junsu’s grown used to it. It’s not the first time his knees get weak in front of the other.
“What gives you that idea?” Yoochun dodges the question, eyes calmly meeting his own for as far that works under the circumstances.
Maybe he should start getting angry, but Junsu doesn’t know whether he can keep the attitude up for long with the other man looking like the way he does; the way he always does. It’s not funny anymore, so he’s not laughing.
“You, actually. You give me that idea,” he takes a deep breath. “You always give me that idea, that you’re looking out for me. You always tell me that too, so why would it be wrong of me to assume that that’s what you’re doing right now?” he doesn’t want to sound desperate, but he’s not sure yet how to give this situation any other words.
Yoochun halts, but he’s not too far away anymore; they are just outside one another’s comfort zone and it seems that that is all they need. Any move could be interpreted wrongly.
“Maybe I mean it,” Yoochun offers, not fighting his words all that much. He must be really tired, Junsu thinks; he must be tired of this as well.
“So maybe you do,” Junsu lets go of a breath and nods once. “So, what if you do? Then to what extent are we talking here? In what… way?” he tilts his head to the side some, partially because he is confused and also because he wants to be able to look at Yoochun’s face in the light.
Averting his eyes, Yoochun is definitely thinking about something. He hesitates, but he shrugs and says; “didn’t you say you love me?”
Right. He did. Junsu stares down at his feet for a moment, crossing his arms a little tighter. “What if I mean that?” he counters.
Laughter; Yoochun is suddenly close and runs his hands over his shoulders, down to his arms. It’s as if he is trying to rub some sense into him. “Then you love me and I always run after you, or something. How am I supposed to know what to make of that?” he chuckles a little and shakes his head, presses his forehead against Junsu’s hair.
“Isn’t it enough that I come to you now? Isn’t it… that I’m here, that it means something? I mean, I could’ve just gone to sleep.”
Junsu lets out an unimpressed sound. “You never sleep,” he protests, but Yoochun’s tightens his hold on his arms, right above his elbows.
“Not when you’re awake,” which is true. Yoochun sleeps about as much as he does.
Junsu looks up, pushes Yoochun’s chin up with his head as he does so, but he waits for the other to look back at him. He sighs, shakes his head and uncrosses his arms in defeat. “We’d better not let this-“
Apparently Yoochun has other plans. Perhaps logic isn’t really necessary somewhere after midnight.
He lets himself be pushed down on the couch, closes his eyes and tries not to think about the scent of the other man’s shampoo and how it smells the same as always. He rakes his fingers through Yoochun’s hair, pulls him down to his face and breathes against his mouth. It’s ridiculously cold and he doesn’t know whether things are supposed to go like this.
There’s no questions asked when Yoochun presses his mouth down on top of his and Junsu closes his eyes to shield them from the penetrating electronic lights. There’s tobacco and coffee on the other man’s tongue, tasting him and filling his mouth with a rhythm he doesn’t recognize. He wants to hold on to it, hooks his feet around Yoochun’s ankles and forces the other’s weight down upon him.
Breathing is difficult with the other pushing down on his body, but breathing is so overrated and pales in comparison to touching - Yoochun kisses him deeper and their legs entwine.
If this is romance then Junsu is confused; this feels like an extension of something he already knows but it is unfamiliar, yet fits in the same picture. He arches up when Yoochun’s slips his hands under his shirt, fingertips icy cold on his abdomen.
Outside, the rain is pouring down again. There’s frost against the windows, but the sound of heavy midnight traffic and kamikaze drops makes the scene less magical. Reaching one arm above his head and over the armrest, Junsu feels Yoochun’s other hand travel up his wrist and hold it there, hanging aimlessly in open space.
At some point he starts begging for it - the warmth and the power of the other man pressed against him is maddening and he is but a man after all. Their mouths bump and meet, open and gasping for air. It’s still cold and the cold makes Junsu want to go faster.
Clothes are a struggle, naked skin pressed against naked skin only more of a distraction and it gets so bothersome, so frustrating to have something within reach yet needing to get ready before obtained fully. When the other finally thrusts inside of him in one smooth go, Junsu’s breath hitches and they lean their combined weight unmoving against his side of the couch.
It’s the kind of feeling that cuts right through all defenses and hits you where it hurts; Junsu opens and closes his eyes a few times in the sensation of it all but lets it all happen, allows his gaze to wander and his legs to cling.
Yoochun is holding his hand when he gives in, squeezes the very life out of it and presses his open mouth against his neck. Junsu feels him go, bites down on his lip and lets himself follow. Warmth spreads through him, followed by coldness biting his toes and pain shooting up his spine because of their position.
It shouldn’t have been different; Junsu knows the moment he looks into Yoochun’s eyes and welcomes his mouth with promising hushed kisses and words. The other man cradles his jaw, tilts his face up and pours love into him like he is an empty battery. It’ll take a while before he is recharged.
“I want to sleep now,” Yoochun says later, when they’re cleaned up and dressed to go to bed and all those other things they need to take care of before crawling under the sheets. Junsu slides into the other’s bed and watches him, but Yoochun shakes his head and covers half of his face with a pillow.
In protest, Junsu tries to say something, but the fabric muffles his reply.
“I want to sleep now, so you should go to sleep.” Yoochun doesn't say anything else.
The heating buzzes; electrical sounds lulling Junsu to sleep. He'll dream about something stupid maybe, but he's glad he's not the only one.
note:
omg sorry for the lame ending, again.
written for irisu_chan, because I'm stupid and I can't write proper sequels to other people's stories and still had to try ♥