tvxq, yunho/jaejoong; "3856"
Notes: No idea what happened here, and sorry, but I don't really care, either. It's 6:40am and I've pulled an all-nighter to finish an assignment and after I finished it I decided fuck it, it's time to get this damn fic finished too! So I sat down and churned out the rest of it and I know I should send it to someone else smarter than me so they can tell everything that's wrong and how to fix it, but I just want this off my hands. I want to let it free. No longer in fandom, so I've no idea what's happening and I've no idea whether or not people still carry a torch for YunJae, but I will forever hold a soft spot for the boys and apparently this soft spot includes dragging out porn for almost a year, it feels like.
I feel like I should apologize for something.
Serious notes now: like I said, this was written over a long period of time, and I'm so sleep deprived I can't figure out if my writing style has changed drastically or not. There may be inconsistencies with the writing style - feel free to point them out to me, I always love constructive criticism and comments. Chances are good I won't be able to reply to every comment in a timely manner, and I'd like to apologize for that.
There's a good chance as well that I'll be revisiting this fic over the past few days to tinker with things, because I can't leave things alone, apparently.
Also, I had no idea what I was doing. OTL sobs
(PS. re: the title - help? It was either that or "untitled fic of terrible things", and I just wanted numbers, for some reason.)
MUCH THANKS TO: everyone who held my hand several months ago when this monstrosity first rampaged across my brain. Names withheld because I'm sure there will be a few people who would rather have nothing to do with this thing, but still, major thanks and love to everyone! ♥ ♥ ♥
Warnings: please heed the rating. This is shameless pwp that failed miserably at the porn.
3856
NC-17
~3400 words (of DRIVEL)
Jaejoong follows the smell of cigarette smoke to the roof, savoring the tang on his tongue, swallowing thickly around the want that curls at the back of his throat. It's been three years since he's quit, and he still itches for another drag, his fingers curving around an invisible filter ("of cancer, I can't believe I'm calling such an irresponsible, risk-taking moron 'hyung'," Changmin had snarled, and Jaejoong had been so overwhelmed by gratitude that he had thrown the still unlit cigarette into the trash and said, "I'll-I'll quit, Changminah, I, I'm sorry-" and Changmin had laughed and said, "It's good to see you again, hyung," and Jaejoong had cried, full-stop, fat tears rolling down his cheeks).
He's not quite sure who to expect, but he has a few guesses: Hongki, Taegoon, or one of the new idols that never stay for long. Yoochun, maybe, though he quit cold-turkey when Jaejoong did-he picks it back up occasionally, whenever he's writing a love song that rends into his heart.
Hands in his pockets, Jaejoong climbs the last few steps and pushes the door open with a shoulder.
The sun's rising, a bloody smear against the skyscrapers, but Jaejoong's attention is caught by the figure leaning against the railing, legs crossed and arms held against the metal bar.
It's been six years since he's had the privilege of studying those shoulders, the strong lines of those thighs, but the memory's never faded. Jaejoong says, "Yunhoyah," without even realizing he's opened his mouth. His voice is smooth, laced with confidence even though his heart is pumping harder than the bass in a club.
Yunho starts, breaking away from the edge and turning sharply. Jaejoong takes the movement to study Yunho's jawline, the tension coiled in his hips, the slender fingers held loose around a cigarette.
"Jaejoongah," Yunho says, covering his surprise well. He continues through with his turn until he's facing Jaejoong fully, reassuming a casual pose like the one he'd been holding before.
There is something shameless about the way Yunho stands, legs crossed at the ankles and shoulders straining against the white of his shirt. Six years ago Jaejoong would have resisted, would have laughed and made a production out of pulling out his phone so he could snap a picture of 'model Yunho', but they're older now and he doesn't deserve to be careful around Yunho, so he makes it obvious, the once-over he gives. He drags his gaze from Yunho's face to his toes, lingering at his hips on the way back up. When he looks back at Yunho's face, he's almost unprepared for the smirk that lies on Yunho's thin lips.
"Here for today's Music Box?" Yunho asks, nonchalant. "I saw JYJ on the rehearsal list on my way in."
"Yeah," Jaejoong says, voice raspy. He clears his throat and tries again. "Yes. We've got the stage after Jiyong. You're the last on the list."
Chuckling, Yunho looks away, bringing up his cigarette to take a long drag. He holds it for a split second before breathing out, smoke an inelegant wreath around his face. "They didn't have to, but apparently my farewell performance is big news."
Jaejoong steps forward, forcing himself to breathe normally as settles himself on Yunho's left, facing the sunrise. The railing creaks a protest when Jaejoong tests his weight against it, but it holds, and he closes his eyes against the glare of sunlight and says, "I heard some of it from Changmin."
"I'll be holding a press conference tomorrow to confirm it, but Changmin knows everything I do," Yunho says.
Jaejoong swallows the strange feeling welling at the back of his throat.
In one swift movement, Yunho pivots so that he's standing behind Jaejoong, arms trapping him against the railing, right thigh sliding between his legs.
Jaejoong freezes.
Leaning forward so that his chest is flush against Jaejoong's back, Yunho says, voice deep and low, "So I'm on the market now."
Jaejoong's not sure how he ended up in the dressing room, changed into his performance clothes and sitting numbly in front of a mirror. Over the noise of the people milling about the room, he can hear the bass of Yunho's Let's End This Now, thin like a faltering pulse, and he focuses on that instead the thundering beating of his own heart.
He starts when Junsu seemingly materializes out of nowhere next to him. "Nervous?" Junsu asks, grin stretched bright across his face.
"Always," Jaejoong replies, forcing a grin.
Junsu falters at the false smile. "Did-did you see Yunho hyung?" he asks, careful as if he's afraid Jaejoong'll break.
"Yeah," Jaejoong replies after a pause, "ran into him on the roof. He was having a smoke break." He volunteers the detail when Junsu doesn't say anything else, and is rewarded with a halfhearted chuckle.
"Yunho hyung only smokes when he's angry or when he's got too many things on his mind," Junsu says, but he knows Jaejoong doesn't need the information. He looks away pointedly. "Did he say anything about what he's going to do when his contract expires?" he asks, pitching his voice low to keep others from eavesdropping.
Jaejoong shrugs, following the movement of staff members through the mirror. "He said that Changmin knows everything he does."
Junsu places a warm hand on Jaejoong's shoulders, flush burning through the leather of his jacket and the thin cotton shirt underneath. "Did he say anything else?""I'm going home after the performance. You know the code for the door," Yunho murmurs, words curling around the folds of Jaejoong's ears.
"I do," Jaejoong asks, except it comes out like a statement, and for a wild moment it feels like he does know, like it's their apartment, like if he doesn't know Changmin's going to be right behind him, rolling his eyes as he pushes Jaejoong aside to punch in the code himself, muttering about senility and Alzheimer's and scheduling an appointment with a retirement home.
"Wait for me," Yunho says. He pushes himself away, and Jaejoong can hear him flick the cigarette to the floor, grinding it to embers with a well-shoed heel.
"No," Jaejoong says, "he didn't."
It's 3856.
Jaejoong gets it on the first try. It'd taken him a few seconds to muster up the nerve, but the moment he'd reached out he had known. 3856 was the code for their first apartment together, when TVXQ was just a promise fast approaching; he's surprised he still remembers, and the door is heavy when he pushes it open, as if rusted with the weight of his memories.
The apartment is uneventful, the furniture understated, dark shapes against the white of the walls. It's tidy, not a CD case out of place, but when Jaejoong looks down to toe off his shoes he notices the car keys in the shoe cabinet. He throws his head back and laughs, hand rising to cover it belatedly. A quick tour of the living room reveals more: lighter in a dusty bowl or potpourri, thick woolen scarf draped with a tank top and boxers over the arm of the dark brown couch, huge water jug filled to three quarters with 100 won coins. (It's Yunho's fifth time around collecting coins; he'd donated the results of the first four times to different charities, painstakingly counting out the coins into stacks of twenty and tallying them all, tongue held between his teeth as he did the calculations. Jaejoong, Yoochun, Junsu and Changmin had helped him the first two times, complaining loudly about how the bank had machines for counting coins but dutifully matching Yunho's donation with an equal amount when they finished. It had been just Changmin helping out the third time around, and the fourth time Yunho had done it himself over the span of one night, when Changmin had been out filming Family Outing.
"I hated you guys for a moment when Yunho hyung told me that he did it himself," Changmin had confessed, two bottles into the night and face red. "He said it so casually on the van ride to the recording studio, and I-I just really hated you guys," he'd choked, and Yoochun had dropped his eyes to his lap, eyes reddening, and Junsu had reached out to curl his fingers around Changmin's, voice gone. Jaejoong had run his hands down Changmin's back, drawn him into an awkward half embrace, and-)
The door beeps open, and closes behind Yunho with a quiet click.
Yunho stands at the entrance as if he's wondering what to do, and Jaejoong says, "Welcome back," trying the words out on his tongue.
Without replying, Yunho steps towards the couches and drops his messenger bag on the coffee table. He reaches up to stretch, and asks Jaejoong, "Did you want something to drink?" around a yawn.
"Whatever you're having," Jaejoong replies.
Yunho shuffles to the kitchen, and after a bit of deliberation Jaejoong follows him, watching Yunho's arms as he pulls the refrigerator doors open, Yunho's back as he reaches down to pull out two bottles of Cass. He throws one without looking; Jaejoong catches it easily.
Shutting the doors with his feet, Yunho takes a step back to lean against the counter. When he twists the top off and takes a long pull from his beer, Jaejoong quietly copies him, keeping two arm's lengths apart from him.
It's too much like before, when they were too exhausted to talk, and they'd share a bottle of soju in the kitchen, lights off. They would pass the bottle back and forth between the two of them, relaxing in the silence; sometimes, after a photoshoot with a "sexy" concept, or after a rehearsal spent with body waves and hands on hips for guidance, Jaejoong would squint through the darkness, trying to catch Yunho's lips around the soju bottle, covert and careful. He realizes suddenly that he's allowed to look now, that Yunho's invited him in to touch, too.
He's never really looked-whenever he did, he would make sure it wasn't obvious that he was looking. Even when after the lawsuit Yunho and Changmin started focusing on modeling on what seemed like a full-time basis, Jaejoong would never look too long or too hard at the pictures. It only took one person noticing to start the rumors, and rumors became tabloid headlines, and tabloid headlines ruined careers. Jaejoong's always been careful, because it's not just his secret but others', because if he came out his friends would have fingers pointed at them too, and Yoochun and Changmin and Junsu and Yunho would be called all sorts of names. It's become habit, looking away after a few seconds, so it's an effort to keep looking, to take in the muscles and the long limbs.
Yunho finishes his drink first, and he sets the bottle aside and waits, arms crossed and left hip propped against the counter edge. He stares back at Jaejoong, and tracks the movement of Jaejoong's throat as he rushes through his beer.
"Jaejoongah," Yunho says softly.
Six, seven, ten years ago his name would have been a warning, a plea-stop. don't. can't.-but now his name is consent, an invitation too much like a resignation.
"Yunhoyah," Jaejoong says back, issuing his own invitation.
Yunho kisses angrily, tongue hot in Jaejoong's mouth, but the anger's six years too late and Jaejoong's gotten over his guilt, so he kisses back just as roughly, biting lightly at Yunho's tongue and forging forward to do his own exploring.
"Christ, Jaejoong," Yunho says when they part for air, hips pinned to the counter by Jaejoong's hands. He's breathing hard, taking in ragged lungfuls of Jaejoong's breath, and the silence around them is so thick it's a surprise he's not choking on it.
Youngwoong Jaejoong had imagined this kiss before. Not too often, and never in graphic detail, because too much and it was hard to act normal in the morning, but often enough. It's an old dream he's never been able to shake off as Kim Jaejoong; he's woken up often enough with lips bitten red that their first kiss is almost familiar.
The aftermath, though, Jaejoong's never been able to imagine: Yunho's wrecked, eyes dark and cheeks an angry flush and his mouth, god, his lips swollen and obscenely red. When his tongue darts out to lick them Jaejoong can't resist leaning in to take a taste too, quick like he's already forgotten that he won't be punished for it. Yunho moans into his mouth, then uses his height and a foot pressed firmly against the counter cabinet to push Jaejoong away.
"Bedroom," Yunho rasps.
Jaejoong nods blindly, follows blindly; knocks his hips against the dinner table, his knees against a sofa. There's a strange sound from Yunho, and he's almost sure it's a choked off chuckle, maybe a you're still so clumsy caught by the skin of Yunho's teeth, but he doesn't turn around, doesn't even slow down, so Jaejoong's left gulping down huge, shuddering breaths and aching to reach out and grab his hand, murmur I missed you like air. The stage never felt right without you. The songs I wrote for you, did you ever listen to them -
A gentle push breaks him out of his thoughts, and as he falls onto blankets soft and black he realizes they've already reached the bedroom. There's a few seconds to spare a glance around-sparsely decorated, queen-sized bed tucked into the corner, drawers and desk made of dark wood, papers scattered everywhere-before Yunho's crawling onto his lap, roughly pushing him onto his back.
The hands on his chest are burning hot, and Jaejoong needs contact like he needs air, so he squirms, tries to buck, but Yunho's sitting firmly on his thighs, too far for contact, knees bracketing hips. Gasping with a sort of elated disbelief at the heat of it all, Jaejoong lets go of Yunho's hair and strokes down, neck shoulders elbows, and then he reaches even more and feels the trembling lines of Yunho's waist, his hips, and then finally the clenched muscles of his thighs.
Yunho leans down, swipes a carefully steady thumb along Jaejoong's right cheekbone before threading his fingers through Jaejoong's hair, holding him still so he can lick his way into Jaejoong's mouth. When Jaejoong groans and slides his hands up to cup Yunho's ass, firm and kneading, Yunho moans into the kiss, breaks it and backs away, wrenching a keening note out of him.
It's broken when Yunho presses closer with one long slide, until Jaejoong can feel the hard length of Yunho's erection pressing insistently against his own.
"Oh fuck," Jaejoong breathes, eyes wide.
Yunho smirks, and reaches for his belt buckle.
It's slick everywhere and Yunho's hand is so hot and they're a mess: Yunho's crisp white shirt wrinkled, hanging open, a button dangling from a thread, his black pants straining around his thighs, Jaejoong's socks half off and tangled with his jeans, the shirt specially designed for him smeared with lube and precome and lying forlornly at the foot of the bed, scrunched into a formless lump. Their faces are flushed, hair threading into ropes with their sweat, and Yunho won't stop swearing, won't stop rutting furiously into the circle of their hands and Jaejoong moans, head thrown back as he tries to take in a breath.
"Wanted-for-years," Yunho grunts, face twisted with something in between anger and need, deep like sorrow.
"Let me-oh fuck-let-I want you in my mouth," Jaejoong blurts, and he's sly enough and alert enough to draw his lower lip into his mouth to give it a little bite. It's a line he's rehearsed often in fantasies, and the thought that this might be the only time Yunho will look at him without a curtain of uncertainty sobers him, makes him desperate.
Yunho stills immediately, lets Jaejoong slide off of him, lets Jaejoong pull him to the edge of the bed.
With his knees spread and right hand behind him, propping him up, Yunho looks like a king, benign and a little worn, ready to wage war against a conquering evil. "You don't have to do this, you know," he proclaims, and Jaejoong offers him a smile, shaky but real.
"Want to. Wanted to, for the longest time." When Jaejoong kneels between Yunho's legs and lets his hands flutter like faltering breaths along Yunho's calves, Yunho reaches out and cups the back of Jaejoong's neck, thumb notched just behind his ear.
(There'd been a moment in Paris, once, already years ago, when Yunho had touched him just like this, and Jaejoong had looked at him with eyes liquid hot, before they heard the snap of a photograph being taken. They'd startled, Yunho's hands gripping too tight for a second before pulling away, and the photographer had grinned sheepishly, told them overexposure, picture's probably terrible, as if he expected them to say too bad and pose again for him, recreate the scene for thousands of fans; Jaejoong took a definitive step back and laughed, said come take pictures of me with this statue, I want to kiss it and licked his lips. He glanced, secret-quick, at Yunho, only to see him staring at the drag of tongue against lower lip-)
Yunho stares openly as Jaejoong licks his hips, eyes a challenge, flits his gaze down to where Jaejoong's cock is still hard and leaking and smirks, transforming instantly into a dictator intent on capturing the last rebel stronghold. "You need an invitation, then?" he drawls, voice quivering just slightly, but their eyes meet and Jaejoong can read the invitation, the plea, the dread and the-something-in Yunho's face already.
So he leans in and licks, a slow swipe from base to head, and he revels in the full body shudder that he's wrenched from Yunho. It feels like validation, like power, hard sucks and minute bobs of his head, until Yunho groans from somewhere deep in his chest and all it feels like is sex, heady and dangerous and so, so glorious.
It doesn't take long, strokes and careful nips and lavished attention on the head of his cock, until Yunho chokes out "Fuck, Jae-", fingers clenching around a handful of Jaejoong's hair and tugging insistently. Jaejoong recognizes the warning but stays put, letting his cheeks hollow out.
Yunho comes with a soft gasp, voice stretched taut across the bitten off syllables of Jaejoong's name.
Jaejoong swallows what he can and chokes on the rest, sliding back slowly to hear Yunho's breath stutter, and he rests his temple against Yunho's leg. There's semen and drool gathering in his mouth, and he gulps, trying to force it down, and Yunho whimpers at the sight, but doesn't move. Jaejoong reaches down and starts jerking himself off, eyes squeezed shut.
He comes without a sound, Yunho's fingers soft against his jawline, to Yunho's rumbling murmur of, "Yeah, like that, come on, just like that."
Half an hour later they've cleaned themselves off, puttering around Yunho's lavish but crowded bathroom. Jaejoong can't help notice the little delays, the waiting-Yunho holding out a towel when Jaejoong's looking the other way, Jaejoong sidestepping a step too early and waiting two agonizing seconds for Yunho to pass him to the sink. Still, they're silent, not needing words to pick up on cues and read expressions, and Jaejoong has to bite his tongue to keep from smiling helplessly, to keep from letting hope play symphonies in his mind.
They settle into Yunho's bed, Yunho on the right and Jaejoong on the right (like before, when they had to-).
Jaejoong can't sleep, plagued by questions and haunted by memories where Yunho would throw an arm over Jaejoong's stomach and slide fingers along his waist and mutter, "Like a girl, seriously," and Jaejoong would elbow him in the side with a sharp sound of protest and they'd scuffle for a few minutes before Changmin's exasperated voice would call out, "For fuck's sake, stop flirting or playing like little boys or whatever else you guys are doing and sleep!" and Jaejoong and Yunho would say, in tandem, "Call us hyung!" and Jesus, what is Jaejoong doing, lying here next to someone he hasn't spoken to in years, playing out some ridiculous doubly one-sided Romeo and Juliet opera? But they were never star crossed lovers and now they'll never be able to be, because Yunho's left, left house and home to fuck off on his own, and Jaejoong doesn't know how to fit into this quiet, lonely apartment.
He's startled out of his thoughts by an arm flopping unceremoniously onto his stomach. He holds his breath, and sure enough, a few seconds later there's hesitant fingers stroking the curve of his waist.
"Sleep," Yunho says, his sleep-drenched drawl just like it was six, seven, ten years ago, and just like he did six, seven, ten years ago Jaejoong indulges him, lets Yunho take and take because it's only a fraction of what Jaejoong wants to give him. "We'll figure it out tomorrow," Yunho whispers, and Jaejoong hums, closes his eyes.
I feel like I should apologize for something.
Serious notes now: like I said, this was written over a long period of time, and I'm so sleep deprived I can't figure out if my writing style has changed drastically or not. There may be inconsistencies with the writing style - feel free to point them out to me, I always love constructive criticism and comments. Chances are good I won't be able to reply to every comment in a timely manner, and I'd like to apologize for that.
There's a good chance as well that I'll be revisiting this fic over the past few days to tinker with things, because I can't leave things alone, apparently.
Also, I had no idea what I was doing. OTL sobs
(PS. re: the title - help? It was either that or "untitled fic of terrible things", and I just wanted numbers, for some reason.)
MUCH THANKS TO: everyone who held my hand several months ago when this monstrosity first rampaged across my brain. Names withheld because I'm sure there will be a few people who would rather have nothing to do with this thing, but still, major thanks and love to everyone! ♥ ♥ ♥
Warnings: please heed the rating. This is shameless pwp that failed miserably at the porn.
3856
NC-17
~3400 words (of DRIVEL)
Jaejoong follows the smell of cigarette smoke to the roof, savoring the tang on his tongue, swallowing thickly around the want that curls at the back of his throat. It's been three years since he's quit, and he still itches for another drag, his fingers curving around an invisible filter ("of cancer, I can't believe I'm calling such an irresponsible, risk-taking moron 'hyung'," Changmin had snarled, and Jaejoong had been so overwhelmed by gratitude that he had thrown the still unlit cigarette into the trash and said, "I'll-I'll quit, Changminah, I, I'm sorry-" and Changmin had laughed and said, "It's good to see you again, hyung," and Jaejoong had cried, full-stop, fat tears rolling down his cheeks).
He's not quite sure who to expect, but he has a few guesses: Hongki, Taegoon, or one of the new idols that never stay for long. Yoochun, maybe, though he quit cold-turkey when Jaejoong did-he picks it back up occasionally, whenever he's writing a love song that rends into his heart.
Hands in his pockets, Jaejoong climbs the last few steps and pushes the door open with a shoulder.
The sun's rising, a bloody smear against the skyscrapers, but Jaejoong's attention is caught by the figure leaning against the railing, legs crossed and arms held against the metal bar.
It's been six years since he's had the privilege of studying those shoulders, the strong lines of those thighs, but the memory's never faded. Jaejoong says, "Yunhoyah," without even realizing he's opened his mouth. His voice is smooth, laced with confidence even though his heart is pumping harder than the bass in a club.
Yunho starts, breaking away from the edge and turning sharply. Jaejoong takes the movement to study Yunho's jawline, the tension coiled in his hips, the slender fingers held loose around a cigarette.
"Jaejoongah," Yunho says, covering his surprise well. He continues through with his turn until he's facing Jaejoong fully, reassuming a casual pose like the one he'd been holding before.
There is something shameless about the way Yunho stands, legs crossed at the ankles and shoulders straining against the white of his shirt. Six years ago Jaejoong would have resisted, would have laughed and made a production out of pulling out his phone so he could snap a picture of 'model Yunho', but they're older now and he doesn't deserve to be careful around Yunho, so he makes it obvious, the once-over he gives. He drags his gaze from Yunho's face to his toes, lingering at his hips on the way back up. When he looks back at Yunho's face, he's almost unprepared for the smirk that lies on Yunho's thin lips.
"Here for today's Music Box?" Yunho asks, nonchalant. "I saw JYJ on the rehearsal list on my way in."
"Yeah," Jaejoong says, voice raspy. He clears his throat and tries again. "Yes. We've got the stage after Jiyong. You're the last on the list."
Chuckling, Yunho looks away, bringing up his cigarette to take a long drag. He holds it for a split second before breathing out, smoke an inelegant wreath around his face. "They didn't have to, but apparently my farewell performance is big news."
Jaejoong steps forward, forcing himself to breathe normally as settles himself on Yunho's left, facing the sunrise. The railing creaks a protest when Jaejoong tests his weight against it, but it holds, and he closes his eyes against the glare of sunlight and says, "I heard some of it from Changmin."
"I'll be holding a press conference tomorrow to confirm it, but Changmin knows everything I do," Yunho says.
Jaejoong swallows the strange feeling welling at the back of his throat.
In one swift movement, Yunho pivots so that he's standing behind Jaejoong, arms trapping him against the railing, right thigh sliding between his legs.
Jaejoong freezes.
Leaning forward so that his chest is flush against Jaejoong's back, Yunho says, voice deep and low, "So I'm on the market now."
Jaejoong's not sure how he ended up in the dressing room, changed into his performance clothes and sitting numbly in front of a mirror. Over the noise of the people milling about the room, he can hear the bass of Yunho's Let's End This Now, thin like a faltering pulse, and he focuses on that instead the thundering beating of his own heart.
He starts when Junsu seemingly materializes out of nowhere next to him. "Nervous?" Junsu asks, grin stretched bright across his face.
"Always," Jaejoong replies, forcing a grin.
Junsu falters at the false smile. "Did-did you see Yunho hyung?" he asks, careful as if he's afraid Jaejoong'll break.
"Yeah," Jaejoong replies after a pause, "ran into him on the roof. He was having a smoke break." He volunteers the detail when Junsu doesn't say anything else, and is rewarded with a halfhearted chuckle.
"Yunho hyung only smokes when he's angry or when he's got too many things on his mind," Junsu says, but he knows Jaejoong doesn't need the information. He looks away pointedly. "Did he say anything about what he's going to do when his contract expires?" he asks, pitching his voice low to keep others from eavesdropping.
Jaejoong shrugs, following the movement of staff members through the mirror. "He said that Changmin knows everything he does."
Junsu places a warm hand on Jaejoong's shoulders, flush burning through the leather of his jacket and the thin cotton shirt underneath. "Did he say anything else?""I'm going home after the performance. You know the code for the door," Yunho murmurs, words curling around the folds of Jaejoong's ears.
"I do," Jaejoong asks, except it comes out like a statement, and for a wild moment it feels like he does know, like it's their apartment, like if he doesn't know Changmin's going to be right behind him, rolling his eyes as he pushes Jaejoong aside to punch in the code himself, muttering about senility and Alzheimer's and scheduling an appointment with a retirement home.
"Wait for me," Yunho says. He pushes himself away, and Jaejoong can hear him flick the cigarette to the floor, grinding it to embers with a well-shoed heel.
"No," Jaejoong says, "he didn't."
It's 3856.
Jaejoong gets it on the first try. It'd taken him a few seconds to muster up the nerve, but the moment he'd reached out he had known. 3856 was the code for their first apartment together, when TVXQ was just a promise fast approaching; he's surprised he still remembers, and the door is heavy when he pushes it open, as if rusted with the weight of his memories.
The apartment is uneventful, the furniture understated, dark shapes against the white of the walls. It's tidy, not a CD case out of place, but when Jaejoong looks down to toe off his shoes he notices the car keys in the shoe cabinet. He throws his head back and laughs, hand rising to cover it belatedly. A quick tour of the living room reveals more: lighter in a dusty bowl or potpourri, thick woolen scarf draped with a tank top and boxers over the arm of the dark brown couch, huge water jug filled to three quarters with 100 won coins. (It's Yunho's fifth time around collecting coins; he'd donated the results of the first four times to different charities, painstakingly counting out the coins into stacks of twenty and tallying them all, tongue held between his teeth as he did the calculations. Jaejoong, Yoochun, Junsu and Changmin had helped him the first two times, complaining loudly about how the bank had machines for counting coins but dutifully matching Yunho's donation with an equal amount when they finished. It had been just Changmin helping out the third time around, and the fourth time Yunho had done it himself over the span of one night, when Changmin had been out filming Family Outing.
"I hated you guys for a moment when Yunho hyung told me that he did it himself," Changmin had confessed, two bottles into the night and face red. "He said it so casually on the van ride to the recording studio, and I-I just really hated you guys," he'd choked, and Yoochun had dropped his eyes to his lap, eyes reddening, and Junsu had reached out to curl his fingers around Changmin's, voice gone. Jaejoong had run his hands down Changmin's back, drawn him into an awkward half embrace, and-)
The door beeps open, and closes behind Yunho with a quiet click.
Yunho stands at the entrance as if he's wondering what to do, and Jaejoong says, "Welcome back," trying the words out on his tongue.
Without replying, Yunho steps towards the couches and drops his messenger bag on the coffee table. He reaches up to stretch, and asks Jaejoong, "Did you want something to drink?" around a yawn.
"Whatever you're having," Jaejoong replies.
Yunho shuffles to the kitchen, and after a bit of deliberation Jaejoong follows him, watching Yunho's arms as he pulls the refrigerator doors open, Yunho's back as he reaches down to pull out two bottles of Cass. He throws one without looking; Jaejoong catches it easily.
Shutting the doors with his feet, Yunho takes a step back to lean against the counter. When he twists the top off and takes a long pull from his beer, Jaejoong quietly copies him, keeping two arm's lengths apart from him.
It's too much like before, when they were too exhausted to talk, and they'd share a bottle of soju in the kitchen, lights off. They would pass the bottle back and forth between the two of them, relaxing in the silence; sometimes, after a photoshoot with a "sexy" concept, or after a rehearsal spent with body waves and hands on hips for guidance, Jaejoong would squint through the darkness, trying to catch Yunho's lips around the soju bottle, covert and careful. He realizes suddenly that he's allowed to look now, that Yunho's invited him in to touch, too.
He's never really looked-whenever he did, he would make sure it wasn't obvious that he was looking. Even when after the lawsuit Yunho and Changmin started focusing on modeling on what seemed like a full-time basis, Jaejoong would never look too long or too hard at the pictures. It only took one person noticing to start the rumors, and rumors became tabloid headlines, and tabloid headlines ruined careers. Jaejoong's always been careful, because it's not just his secret but others', because if he came out his friends would have fingers pointed at them too, and Yoochun and Changmin and Junsu and Yunho would be called all sorts of names. It's become habit, looking away after a few seconds, so it's an effort to keep looking, to take in the muscles and the long limbs.
Yunho finishes his drink first, and he sets the bottle aside and waits, arms crossed and left hip propped against the counter edge. He stares back at Jaejoong, and tracks the movement of Jaejoong's throat as he rushes through his beer.
"Jaejoongah," Yunho says softly.
Six, seven, ten years ago his name would have been a warning, a plea-stop. don't. can't.-but now his name is consent, an invitation too much like a resignation.
"Yunhoyah," Jaejoong says back, issuing his own invitation.
Yunho kisses angrily, tongue hot in Jaejoong's mouth, but the anger's six years too late and Jaejoong's gotten over his guilt, so he kisses back just as roughly, biting lightly at Yunho's tongue and forging forward to do his own exploring.
"Christ, Jaejoong," Yunho says when they part for air, hips pinned to the counter by Jaejoong's hands. He's breathing hard, taking in ragged lungfuls of Jaejoong's breath, and the silence around them is so thick it's a surprise he's not choking on it.
Youngwoong Jaejoong had imagined this kiss before. Not too often, and never in graphic detail, because too much and it was hard to act normal in the morning, but often enough. It's an old dream he's never been able to shake off as Kim Jaejoong; he's woken up often enough with lips bitten red that their first kiss is almost familiar.
The aftermath, though, Jaejoong's never been able to imagine: Yunho's wrecked, eyes dark and cheeks an angry flush and his mouth, god, his lips swollen and obscenely red. When his tongue darts out to lick them Jaejoong can't resist leaning in to take a taste too, quick like he's already forgotten that he won't be punished for it. Yunho moans into his mouth, then uses his height and a foot pressed firmly against the counter cabinet to push Jaejoong away.
"Bedroom," Yunho rasps.
Jaejoong nods blindly, follows blindly; knocks his hips against the dinner table, his knees against a sofa. There's a strange sound from Yunho, and he's almost sure it's a choked off chuckle, maybe a you're still so clumsy caught by the skin of Yunho's teeth, but he doesn't turn around, doesn't even slow down, so Jaejoong's left gulping down huge, shuddering breaths and aching to reach out and grab his hand, murmur I missed you like air. The stage never felt right without you. The songs I wrote for you, did you ever listen to them -
A gentle push breaks him out of his thoughts, and as he falls onto blankets soft and black he realizes they've already reached the bedroom. There's a few seconds to spare a glance around-sparsely decorated, queen-sized bed tucked into the corner, drawers and desk made of dark wood, papers scattered everywhere-before Yunho's crawling onto his lap, roughly pushing him onto his back.
The hands on his chest are burning hot, and Jaejoong needs contact like he needs air, so he squirms, tries to buck, but Yunho's sitting firmly on his thighs, too far for contact, knees bracketing hips. Gasping with a sort of elated disbelief at the heat of it all, Jaejoong lets go of Yunho's hair and strokes down, neck shoulders elbows, and then he reaches even more and feels the trembling lines of Yunho's waist, his hips, and then finally the clenched muscles of his thighs.
Yunho leans down, swipes a carefully steady thumb along Jaejoong's right cheekbone before threading his fingers through Jaejoong's hair, holding him still so he can lick his way into Jaejoong's mouth. When Jaejoong groans and slides his hands up to cup Yunho's ass, firm and kneading, Yunho moans into the kiss, breaks it and backs away, wrenching a keening note out of him.
It's broken when Yunho presses closer with one long slide, until Jaejoong can feel the hard length of Yunho's erection pressing insistently against his own.
"Oh fuck," Jaejoong breathes, eyes wide.
Yunho smirks, and reaches for his belt buckle.
It's slick everywhere and Yunho's hand is so hot and they're a mess: Yunho's crisp white shirt wrinkled, hanging open, a button dangling from a thread, his black pants straining around his thighs, Jaejoong's socks half off and tangled with his jeans, the shirt specially designed for him smeared with lube and precome and lying forlornly at the foot of the bed, scrunched into a formless lump. Their faces are flushed, hair threading into ropes with their sweat, and Yunho won't stop swearing, won't stop rutting furiously into the circle of their hands and Jaejoong moans, head thrown back as he tries to take in a breath.
"Wanted-for-years," Yunho grunts, face twisted with something in between anger and need, deep like sorrow.
"Let me-oh fuck-let-I want you in my mouth," Jaejoong blurts, and he's sly enough and alert enough to draw his lower lip into his mouth to give it a little bite. It's a line he's rehearsed often in fantasies, and the thought that this might be the only time Yunho will look at him without a curtain of uncertainty sobers him, makes him desperate.
Yunho stills immediately, lets Jaejoong slide off of him, lets Jaejoong pull him to the edge of the bed.
With his knees spread and right hand behind him, propping him up, Yunho looks like a king, benign and a little worn, ready to wage war against a conquering evil. "You don't have to do this, you know," he proclaims, and Jaejoong offers him a smile, shaky but real.
"Want to. Wanted to, for the longest time." When Jaejoong kneels between Yunho's legs and lets his hands flutter like faltering breaths along Yunho's calves, Yunho reaches out and cups the back of Jaejoong's neck, thumb notched just behind his ear.
(There'd been a moment in Paris, once, already years ago, when Yunho had touched him just like this, and Jaejoong had looked at him with eyes liquid hot, before they heard the snap of a photograph being taken. They'd startled, Yunho's hands gripping too tight for a second before pulling away, and the photographer had grinned sheepishly, told them overexposure, picture's probably terrible, as if he expected them to say too bad and pose again for him, recreate the scene for thousands of fans; Jaejoong took a definitive step back and laughed, said come take pictures of me with this statue, I want to kiss it and licked his lips. He glanced, secret-quick, at Yunho, only to see him staring at the drag of tongue against lower lip-)
Yunho stares openly as Jaejoong licks his hips, eyes a challenge, flits his gaze down to where Jaejoong's cock is still hard and leaking and smirks, transforming instantly into a dictator intent on capturing the last rebel stronghold. "You need an invitation, then?" he drawls, voice quivering just slightly, but their eyes meet and Jaejoong can read the invitation, the plea, the dread and the-something-in Yunho's face already.
So he leans in and licks, a slow swipe from base to head, and he revels in the full body shudder that he's wrenched from Yunho. It feels like validation, like power, hard sucks and minute bobs of his head, until Yunho groans from somewhere deep in his chest and all it feels like is sex, heady and dangerous and so, so glorious.
It doesn't take long, strokes and careful nips and lavished attention on the head of his cock, until Yunho chokes out "Fuck, Jae-", fingers clenching around a handful of Jaejoong's hair and tugging insistently. Jaejoong recognizes the warning but stays put, letting his cheeks hollow out.
Yunho comes with a soft gasp, voice stretched taut across the bitten off syllables of Jaejoong's name.
Jaejoong swallows what he can and chokes on the rest, sliding back slowly to hear Yunho's breath stutter, and he rests his temple against Yunho's leg. There's semen and drool gathering in his mouth, and he gulps, trying to force it down, and Yunho whimpers at the sight, but doesn't move. Jaejoong reaches down and starts jerking himself off, eyes squeezed shut.
He comes without a sound, Yunho's fingers soft against his jawline, to Yunho's rumbling murmur of, "Yeah, like that, come on, just like that."
Half an hour later they've cleaned themselves off, puttering around Yunho's lavish but crowded bathroom. Jaejoong can't help notice the little delays, the waiting-Yunho holding out a towel when Jaejoong's looking the other way, Jaejoong sidestepping a step too early and waiting two agonizing seconds for Yunho to pass him to the sink. Still, they're silent, not needing words to pick up on cues and read expressions, and Jaejoong has to bite his tongue to keep from smiling helplessly, to keep from letting hope play symphonies in his mind.
They settle into Yunho's bed, Yunho on the right and Jaejoong on the right (like before, when they had to-).
Jaejoong can't sleep, plagued by questions and haunted by memories where Yunho would throw an arm over Jaejoong's stomach and slide fingers along his waist and mutter, "Like a girl, seriously," and Jaejoong would elbow him in the side with a sharp sound of protest and they'd scuffle for a few minutes before Changmin's exasperated voice would call out, "For fuck's sake, stop flirting or playing like little boys or whatever else you guys are doing and sleep!" and Jaejoong and Yunho would say, in tandem, "Call us hyung!" and Jesus, what is Jaejoong doing, lying here next to someone he hasn't spoken to in years, playing out some ridiculous doubly one-sided Romeo and Juliet opera? But they were never star crossed lovers and now they'll never be able to be, because Yunho's left, left house and home to fuck off on his own, and Jaejoong doesn't know how to fit into this quiet, lonely apartment.
He's startled out of his thoughts by an arm flopping unceremoniously onto his stomach. He holds his breath, and sure enough, a few seconds later there's hesitant fingers stroking the curve of his waist.
"Sleep," Yunho says, his sleep-drenched drawl just like it was six, seven, ten years ago, and just like he did six, seven, ten years ago Jaejoong indulges him, lets Yunho take and take because it's only a fraction of what Jaejoong wants to give him. "We'll figure it out tomorrow," Yunho whispers, and Jaejoong hums, closes his eyes.