SBB 2012 Entry #06: Invictus (1/3)
Title: Invictus
Pairing: Jonghyun/Taemin
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language
Final Word Count: 23,000
I
The seedy little strip join Jonghyun was in now as hardly the most profitable place he could be relaxing, but he liked the atmosphere. Well, the crappy 70’s porno trash music could go, but people mostly left him alone when he sat in the back, well away from the stage. He told everyone he came here for the drinks, if they asked. And they were good, just enough alcohol to get you drunk without realizing it, but the real reason he came here was for the red-headed dancer, known as Juliette.
The boy just looked so out of place, to him, when he writhed against the pole, head tossed back as he ran his hands over the glitter-dusted skin of his chest. As much as Jjong wanted to touch the lithe, delicate dancer, he stayed back. Juliette had enough handsy customers, and more than once the stage security had had to throw someone out. Instead, Jjong had just passed the bill to the bartender, a strangely decent sort who actually seemed to care for the dancers in the club. He may or may not also be Jonghyun’s best friend.
“Here, Luci,” the aforementioned man said, as he placed a beer onto the table for him. Jonghyun grunted his thanks, shaking his head at the name.
“How many times have I told you to call me by my real name?” He asked the older man, sipping the beer slowly as he eyed him.
The cheeky man shrugged. “I like your stage name. Sometimes I like to say it so maybe you’ll remember you’re talented and will stop acting like you can’t do any better,” he said it all with that stupid, blinding smile on his face, so Jonghyun had a hard time getting angry at him.
The singer scoffed and turned his eyes back to the stage. “I’m not one of your lost lambs, Jinki,” he said, an old answer to an old argument, “and if you’re going to use that name, can you use the whole thing and not the girly part?”
“Oh, no,” the older man said, shaking his head quickly, “Lucifer is much too hard to say. This way it’s quicker. Think of all the time I’ll save.” Jonghyun kicked at him, and the boy just cackled, sitting down next to him. His assistant was working the bar currently, so he didn’t have to worry overmuch about impatient drunkards, but he shot a look over at him every now and then.
“Are you ever going to get over your obsession with him?” Jinki asked, snagging Jjong’s beer to take a sip if it. “It’s kinda creepy.”
“Are you ever going to tell me his real name?” Jjong shot back, pouting and pushing the bottle away. “Uhg, you can have that.” He wrinkled his nose and tried to discretely go back to staring at the half naked boy undulating on stage. Juliette wasn’t muscular, but he was toned; Jjong’s eyes followed the way his muscles moved under the glittery skin, and he licked his lips unconsciously.
“You’re gross,” Jinki deadpanned, shaking his head and taking the rest of the bottle, “and, I’ve told you before. He gave me some dodgy, half-muttered answer when I asked him the first day he showed up. Didn’t have any papers or anything either. Definitely a runaway.”
Jonghyun hummed, pouting lightly as he watched the dirty men in the front shoving money down the poor boy’s pants, his thick, grimy fingers dragging over the skin of the dancer’s underbelly, before pulling away. Jjong growled and clenched his jaw, turning away from the sight and sighing. He really did have a problem. There was just nothing he felt like he could do about it. His whole life felt…wrong, empty, if he didn’t come here at least once a week and watch the boy dance.
“Whatever you’re thinking, you should stop,” Jinki warned, when his usually loud friend fell eerily silent. “The last person who tried to get more personal with him got his hand broken.”
The singer scoffed, shooting a look at the older man, then back to the slim boy who was walking offstage. “I’m serious,” the bartender insisted, leaning forward to try and catch Jjong’s attention, “wrapped his arm around the kid’s hips, and suddenly CRUNCH! And he was screaming bloody-blue murder. It was kinda scary.” He shivered for effect, and then flinched as something crashed from behind them. “And that’s my cue.” He stood and Jjong held out the hundred he normally gave Juliette. Jinki took it, shaking his head, another age-old argument.
“Shut up,” the singer muttered, leaning back into the slightly-rickety seat and crossing his ankles, pretending to be interested in the new boy, some pale-as-fuck blond kid named Ren. “And bring me another beer, since you ruined my last one.”
“Yes Ma’am!” Jinki chirped, slapping his head as he walked back to the bar, and Jjong grumbled, glaring at him. He never understood why he stayed later than Juliette’s dance; he kind of loathed the other performers. Was it because he hoped the boy would have another performance? He never did. Was he hoping to catch the boy as he walked out for the night? Jonghyun had always privately entertained the idea of being able to walk the dancer home. He was far, far too pretty to be walking the streets of Seoul so late at night by himself, even if he could apparently take care of himself.
He sagged and nodded his thanks at the boy who brought him his next drink, sighing heavily. He just wanted to get to know the pretty dancer, find out where he was from. He wanted to take care of him, so he didn’t have to get naked for money anymore. It was like…a yearning deep in his gut. Jinki would look at him sideways and tell him it’s not his gut that was yearning, and while, yes, Jjong did want to do many, many things to Juliette while his clothes were off, he did have the ability to restrain himself, and he would also like to think he had the emotional depth to want to take care of someone.
Shaking his head, he stood up and donned his coat, tossing a couple of bills onto the table next to his untouched drink before he left; Juliette never came out the front way anyway. He slipped out of the club and into the chilly night, blowing out a heavy exhale between puckered lips just to see his breath. Pulling his hood over his signature blond hair, he turned towards home and sighed, another night alone. He didn’t live too far away, one of the reasons why he’d even ventured into this strip joint so many, many nights ago, but it always felt longer by himself.
The noise from the alleyway was what had caught his attention; scuffling, a grunt, and then a trash can falling over. In a neighborhood like this, muggings weren’t uncommon. He didn’t know why this time he suddenly decided that he had to intervene, but the next thing Jonghyun knew, he was headed down the alley. It was longer than it looked, and he’d almost gone back, despite the gnawing guilt that would have plagued him. Finally, he caught sight of what caused the noise, three men had pinned someone against the wall outside of one of the side entrances to the club. As the victim struggled, the low light reflected off the glitter on his skin and Jonghyun’s breath caught.
Juliette.
“Hey!” he shouted before he could stop himself, running up to them and punching one of the men right in the jaw, sending him sprawling into the dirty wall. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” he snarled, turning on the men holding the now wide-eyed dancer. The goons let him go and rushed Jonghyun, who side stepped them easily. All three of the aggressors were clearly intoxicated on some level, but they were big and Jonghyun didn’t think he could take three of them on by himself, and then Juliette would still be in trouble.
Instead, he did something that his friends would have said was smart for once, and reached back to grab the dancer’s hand. “Come on, we’ve got to run,” he said, and he didn’t give the other much of a choice, pulling him down the alley and out into the street. He picked a random direction when he heard the drunks chasing after them. They didn’t stop until the dancer twisted out of his grasp, turning to slump against a nearby wall, panting.
“Are you okay?” Jonghyun asked, as he turned toward the other. He choked a little when he realized that Juliette wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his firm, toned skin shined in the street lights as it rose and fell with his harsh breaths. His long, red hair had come out while they ran, and it flowed down his chest like a waterfall of fire. The singer cleared his throat and quickly unzipped his jacket, offering it to the boy, who stared at him for a moment, before snatching the offered garment.
“They…um, caught me while I was changing,” he muttered, shrugging the slightly too big jacket on and zipping it up. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out an elastic band, gathering his hair up into a messy cross between a bun and a pony tail. “All of my…stuff, um…” he trailed off, looking back the way they came, sighing heavily.
Jonghyun smiled and pulled out his phone, trying to feel less like the white knight he had clearly been, ignoring the minor detail that he’s chosen to run away instead of staying to fight, and dialed Jinki’s number. “It’s cool, I know the bartender,” he said, flashing a quick smile at the boy, who was watching him carefully, with narrowed eyes, and Jjong suddenly realized how convenient that all sounded.
“No! No, it’s not like that! Me and him go way back,” Juliette just crossed his arms and nodded, and Jjong whined because that was clearly the ‘I’m just gonna stand here and watch as you dig yourself a deeper grave’ stance and not the ‘I believe you’ stance he’d wanted it to be.
“Jinki-hyung, hey!” he said, turning away from the red-head and pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to remind himself he was the good guy. “I’m um…here with …”he pulled the phone away and turned back to the dancer, “What’s your name?” he asked, pretending he didn’t know.
The red head didn’t buy it, however, and just smiled tightly at him. “I think you know what I’m called,” he muttered, rolling his eyes and looking around them. Jjong groaned and went back to paying attention to the phone.
“Um, Juliette, I’m here with Juliette. Listen, Hyung. He had to leave, like, in a hurry. Some guys roughed him up, pulled him out the back, and all of his stuff is still there…yeah, no I’m serious! I’m seriously serious! Three of them. Huge fucking guys, I swear Hyung. No, we’re fine. Yeah,” Jonghyun stopped for a moment and looked back at the red head. “He looks okay. I mean, he didn’t have a shirt on, but I don’t think anything…yeah, I know Hyung. Yes, I know…Hyung, I get…OKAY, ALRIGHT! Just like…make sure no one takes his stuff, okay? We’ll…he’ll probably be back for it later. Thanks, bye!”
He sighed heavily and hung up the phone, shoving it into his pocket like he wanted to throw it across the street, and then turned back to the dancer with a sigh. “So yeah, He’ll look after your stuff until you can go and get it.” He smiled and rubbed his hands on his jeans looking around. “Are you um…hungry?” he asked hesitantly, scuffing one of his boots on the cement. “I know a good bar around here, we can get food and shi-… sit,” he added. The only bar around here was the one where he’d go and get hammered before crawling back to his apartment three stories up, but the food was still good.
The dancer eyed him for a moment before shrugging. “Why not. I don’t have any money, though,” he warned, uncrossing his arms and stretching them high into the air, making Jjong’s jacket rise up to reveal a sliver of the glittery skin underneath. The singer hummed, and took his time looking away.
“It’s cool,” he said, turning around in a circle as he tried to remember which way was home, and started heading towards it. “I know the bartender.”
II
It took Jonghyun a while to realize that the pounding in his head wasn’t only in his head. He was slow in waking up, his eyes heavy, not wanting to release him from the blissful darkness of his dreams. But the moment he was awake the dark of sleep dissipated until the bright orange of the sun, pouring hot and bright down on his face as if to punish him for whatever it was he’d gotten up to the night before.
He’d been hungover like this maybe twice in his life, both times after wildly successful concerts, both times including him losing more than half the money he’d made on damages alone. He snuggled further into the warm body he was holding, trying to force the pain his head, and the sun, to just go away as he wondered if he’d burned down anyone’s couch this time around.
Wait, what?
He yelped and pulled away, the motion making his head spin and he groaned, clutching for it as he tried to put space between himself and the stranger in his bed. Keeping his eyes shielded from the hateful rays of the sun as he groped around, running his hands over the warm, soft skin of the person in his bed to see what he slept with last night. He poked and rubbed his fingers over toned abs and protruding ribs, up over a tight, flat chest, and he sighed, pulling a hand back and spread his fingers over his face, cracking his eye open to stare at his bedmate, moaning softly at the sight that greeted him.
Damn, did Juliette look good in his bed, tanned and glittery skin spread out on his dark sheets, which were pooled down around his hips, giving the singer a perfect view of his chest and stomach, littered with scratches and marks. There was no question what had happened the night before, but with the pounding in his head, Jjong wished to god he could remember it.
Right, the pounding. With a groan, Jonghyun side off the bed and grabbed for his boxers, stumbling into them as he approached the door, whining as he pressed against it and the thunderous pounding didn’t stop, “Okay,” he muttered. “Okay. OKAY!” he shouted as he fumbled for the locks, pulling the door open with all his aggravated aggression and sending it crashing into the wall next to it, as he glared angrily at whoever the hell was knocking so damn fucking loud. “What!?”
Onew blinked at him and slowly lowered his hand. “Well, good afternoon to you, too,” he muttered dryly. “Rough night?”
Jonghyun just groaned at him and rested his head on the door, which let the older boy see into his apartment. The low whistle told him that Jinki had, in fact, seen his newest bed partner. The singer growled and closed the door more, narrowing his eyes at his friend. “I can feel you judging me, and I am in far too much pain to give a damn at the moment. Tell me I called you at some point when I was drunk and you brought me something?” he begged, cracking one of his bloodshot eyes open to look at the bartender.
The older man held up a nondescript, brown paper bag like it was a treaty of peace. “Tacos,” he said, and then gave the bag a jiggle, and the sound of pills rattling around in a bottle added to its sudden appeal for the singer. “Also aspirin…but only after the tacos, okay?” Jonghyun nodded meekly and grabbed for the bag like it was his salvation, clutching its warm greasiness to his chest. “Also, in case you were even wondering, you did call me. Six times. One time, you made him call me. Something about trying to convince him you knew all the bartenders in Seoul.” He frowned at the singer. “That isn’t really something to brag about, by the way.” And then he slid a smallish black bag off his shoulders and carefully slid it onto one of Jjong’s arms. “These are his things. Remember, you have two hours until you need to be at the Den for mic check. I got you this gig, so if you screw it up, I’ll never get a job there and the good kids like Juliette and Ren will always have to worry about people sneaking in and carting them off, okay?” He smiled like the devil and turned around. “I have to find a new assistant, so don’t call me. Good luck!”
Jonghyun blinked at the older man’s back, slowly processing the information he’d just been dumped with, and nodded belatedly. “Okay,” he called, turning and closing the door behind him. He looked up and right into the melted-caramel eyes of Juliette, and he nearly dropped everything, unprepared for how close the boy was.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, stepping back, almost out of his apartment. “Don’t you…make noise?” he gasped, and the dancer chuckled.
“Only when I want to,” the boy said, snatching the bad and heading back into the apartment. “So um, where’s your bathroom? I kinda wanna wash up.”
The singer pointed and watched him walk away before retreating into the kitchen to eat his feelings and drown the pain in his head with medication and yogurt.
“Saved you a taco,” he said, tossing the tinfoil wrapped food at the dancer as he came back from the shower, hair loose and wet. The boy smiled and took it, eating slowly, like he was unsure about the food. Jonghyun couldn’t blame him, Jinki’s cooking always looked questionable, but it tasted good.
The singer cleared his throat as he fiddled with his empty yogurt container, looking up at the other boy almost shyly. “So…your name, it’s, um…Taemin, right?” The boy across the table tensed up, his eyes going a little wider as he stared at Jjong, like he couldn’t believe the other knew his name, and the blond rushed to explain himself, lest the other think he was a creepy stalker. “I just…remember you saying it. Lots of things are fuzzy, but you told me it was Taemin, right?”
Taemin, apparently, nodded slowly, and put down his taco, barely touched, and Jjong’s stomach growled in sympathy. “Um, yeah. That’s my name. I don’t…normally tell it to people,” he added, rubbing his forehead. “How drunk were we last night?”
Jjong shrugged, gently nudging the bottle of pills closer to him, if he needed it. “I don’t remember. I’m Jonghyun by the way, but I think I may have told you that, at some point.”
The boy nodded, still rubbing his head. “Yeah…yeah, I remember.”
The singer cleared his throat, scuffing his feet against the linoleum on the floor as they settled into an awkward silence. He didn’t really know what to do, to be honest. He’d only ever had one other meaningless night and the girl had snuck out before he woke up. “So um…I have a gig to get to in a few,” he started, getting up, and trashing the yogurt cup. “If you wanna, you know…come,” he added, weakly.
Taemin bit his lip and looked up at him, apologetically. “I can’t. I’m sorry. It’s just, it’s Saturday, there’s usually this guy who comes tonight and gives me a huge tip, and I kinda need that to pay my rent so…”
Jjong didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry, since the dancer was turning him down to go and dance so he could get Jjong’s money, which he was supposed to get last night. He blinked for a moment, wondering if he should say anything, but shrugged, not wanting to sound like a creep. Jinki will just give the red head his money tonight anyway.
“Oh, okay,” he tried not to sound disappointed, but he thought he might have, just a little, since Taemin got up and gave his forearms a slight squeeze.
“Maybe some other time? I’ve seen you perform, and I like your music. I just really need this money.”
He smiled and waved the younger off. “Yeah, it’s cool. I have to shower, can you…um, I’ll show you out?” he checked his watch, he had an hour before he needed to get to the Den, plenty of time to be slightly chivalrous, since he totally screwed up his white knight-ness with the whole one night stand thing; it was the least he could do.
The dancer smiled and grabbed his bag as they walked to the door. He slipped his boots on and turned, kissing Jjong on the cheek. “Thank you for saving me,” he said, and left.
Jonghyun was halfway to the shower before it felt like someone had sank a hook right through his internal organs and yanked backwards.
III
Generally, Taemin didn’t like crowds. If he hadn’t left Avalon he wouldn’t have to worry about things like bills, and thus would never have to deal with them, but he did. He hadn’t belonged there. Not that he belonged outside of it, with the humans, either, but at least they hadn’t kidnapped him, he tried to rationalize, as the sweaty bodies of the people around push and tug at his clothes as he tries to get back to his seat, in the far corner, in the back. He had a perfectly good view of Jonghyun on stage and that was all he needed, at the moment, anyway. The gnawing, desperate need to be closer to the boy had dissipated a bit, but unfortunately it wouldn’t go away, not entirely. Not ever.
He hadn’t lied earlier, he did like Jonghyun’s music, and it was a nice switch that he didn’t have to stay behind the stage to watch the talented singer preform. But even in the corner he felt out in the open, and that always tended to draw attention to him from the most annoying of people.
“TAEMIN!” an undeniably snobby voice called out suddenly, though to be honest the dancer had been expecting such a cry since he walked into the bar, as a boy stumbled out of the crowd and slid into his booth, pressing so close to Taemin that he could smell the alcohol and sex on him, before he snarled and the other pouted and moved away. “Charming, as usual,” he muttered.
“You know I don’t like it when you touch me, Key,” Taemin muttered, swirling his drink, “Especially after you’ve clearly just fed.”
The other boy shrugged and stole the cup Taemin had been fiddling with, downing it in one shot. “Some of us don’t look remarkably human when our glamour drops, so excuse me if we have to eat more often than you do.” He snapped, glaring down at the cup like he wanted it to last longer. “Brat. Anyway, I see you’re not your normal, shimmery self. So what did you do? Start a bar fight, cause a riot?”
Taemin kicked the other under the table, but didn’t say anything. He had too much to think about to deal with Key and his need for attention. It wasn’t like he’d get anything from Taemin anyway. He sighed and looked down at the table, tracing his fingers over the beat-up old wood, wishing he had something to keep his mind off of Jonghyun. It was harder with the boy’s voice in his ears, reverberating around his entire being like the other was singing every song just for him. It made chills run up his spine, good ones and bad ones.
He thought back to the apartment, to the stomach lurching tug on his insides that he’d felt as he tried to leave, and what that feeling meant. The moment he’d felt it, he’d raced back to the other boy, only to find him out cold on the floor, the pull having more of an effect on him than on Taemin. Even to this moment Taemin couldn’t be sure why he’d been so gentle with the singer, getting him onto the bed, cleaning him up a little. He rationalized it as Jonghyun having saved him last night, not from the mortal and/or physical damage that the human had brought about though, but more from that fact that if Taemin killed anyone else, the Gentry force him back into Avalon in iron.
He hadn’t had time to explain anything when the singer woke up. The boy was career driven, Taemin would give him that, and wise enough to insist they not part. Though, why they were at Jonghyun’s gig and not at his job also failed Taemin at the moment. Remembering it made him growl and scratch a row into the warn table with his nails.
“Easy Sparkles,” Key chided, clicking his tongue at the boy. “What’s eating you, anyway? You seem more Edward Cullen than usual.” He slid a glass across the table at the younger boy, something that looked suspiciously metallic. He frowned at it before glaring at the other, who just shrugged. “Believe it or not, I pay attention when you talk about shit, okay? It’s just gold, you’ve gone all goo-goo dancer again, and you’ve said the minerals help. Something on your mind?” Taemin raised an eyebrow at him, and the other boy sighed again. “Okay, listen, this is my favorite bar and that’s my favorite singer and I would appreciate it if you weren’t, you know, your normal self and destroyed the place just so you can feed off the energies. So drink your fucking gold and tell me what your problem is, or I swear to all the little fat babies with the wings that I will hug the shit out of you.”
Taemin snarled at him when he mentioned Jonghyun. An instantaneous reaction, while pleasantly in character, was not what he’d wanted to do at all, so he downed his drink, humming at the light, sweet taste of the pure element as it slid down his throat like the first taste of spring water after the desert. He put the glass down slowly, swirling it over the hardwood as he thought about how he was going to phrase what had happened.
“Me and…Lucifer,” he gestured to Jonghyun, at the same moment the man’s eyes slid over to their corner, and Taemin tensed for a moment, wondering if the singer could see them. Instead, the singer crooned something about temptation and his eyes flickered away. “We slept together last night.” The indigent sound Key made at the confession made Taemin remarkably pleased, glad he could hold that over the elder’s head.
“Ah, fuck you!” the older boy pouted, slumping back against the seat and kicking at Taemin under the table. “I fucking called him you sorry excuse for a disco ball. I’ve followed his entire career, and you fucking swoop in and steal his ass right out from under me. Where’s the loyalty, huh!?” The dancer snorted, licking at the gold stuck on the glass. Key snatched it from him and smashed it into the ground, causing the waiter who seemed to be just hovering near them to jump and scramble to clean up the mess. “Was he good? Don’t tell me, I bet he was fucking amazing. I mean, look at him. Damn, I could ride that high for days.” The other boy leaned forward onto his elbows, eyes literally devouring the singer’s form, and Taemin barely fought down the possessive growl.
“I don’t remember,” he confessed, clearing his throat. “We kind of got really drunk, so last night’s a bit of a blur.” He tried to gloss over that and move onto the important reason why he was suddenly spilling his guts uncharacteristically, when the blonde shot his hand out and grabbed his elbow hard.
“That’s how you fed?” he demanded, voice sharp and clear to Taemin over the sound of the band on stage. “Taemin, that’s Illegal. You’re a being of rage, if the courts ever found out that you were feeding off of ecstasy or passion, they’d have you in iron faster than you can shake your sparkly ass.”
The red head twisted out of the other’s hold like his grip burned. “What the fuck did I say about touching me,” he hissed out, rubbing at his elbow. “You don’t need to tell me about the rules, Kim Kibum, I fucking know them.” The other boy flinched at the full name, sighing and sagging back against the outdated leather of the booth. “And I have every right to feed off of whatever I want to when it comes to my bond,” he added, voice dropping as he finally spoke aloud the real reason he was here.
Key sat up straight again, eyes wide. “You’re not bonded,” he whispered, glancing back at Jonghyun. “You can’t be! There’s like…shit you have to do, shit has to line up, the days have to be right, he has to…ew, oh my god, don’t tell me you let him top you!?” he scrunched his face up condescendingly.
Taemin bristled at him. “Okay, first, fuck you. Second, yesterday was the solstice. The earth, the sun, and the moon all perfectly aligned at the moment the moon passed closest to the earth. Accidents happen.” He waved his hand like that dismissed the whole thing. “Now I just have to find a way to break it.”
Key snorted at him. “‘Accidents happen’? Really? Most people don’t accidently tell people their true names when it can royally screw them over, and end up eternally bound to a one night stand.” His eyes turned back to rake over Jonghyun’s form again. “Even one as appetizing as-wait what did you say? Break it?!” He snapped his attention back to the red-head. “You can’t do that! You’re bound by fate and destiny and rainbows and magic hearts now. Tied together for life. Or, well, for as long as he lives, anyway. That’s not just something you break!”
“Why not?”
Key puttered and looked around like someone in the crowd could help him, before turning back ad glaring at him. “People wait years for the chance to be bound to each other, and you fucking go and get drunk and do it by accident,” he muttered and leaned closer to the red-head, who tensed as if getting ready to punch the older changeling. “You can’t take Lucifer Underhill, Taem. I know you’re a selfish, rage-fueled prick but come on, that bond of yours has to make you feel something for the guy.”
Taemin shook his head, threading his fingers together and resting his forehead on them. He’d been honestly trying to figure out how they ended up bound in the first place. There were things that needed to happen before a bonding ceremony, to ensure that the two were a good match. Courting rituals, one has to express interest and preform for the other, and receive a performance in return, there has to be a show of support, to prove that they can provide for their mate, and it has to be accepted, before anything about moonlight and midnight and true names has any effect at all.
“I’m not even sure if we’re bound, anyway,” he muttered at the dark wood of the table. “We only exchanged names, as far as I can remember…well he’s preformed at my club, but I’ve never taken anything from him.” He sighed and turned to the older boy, less angry and a little more hopeless. “I need to go to Avalon to get this sorted out, and I can’t be apart from him, so unless you know a fate witch that likes to leave the courts, he’s coming with me.”
Key shook his head, like he’d expected that answer, and slumped onto the table. “You’re a stubborn fool,” he announced, watching Jonghyun press against his mic stand as the singer really got into his song. “How many years ago was it that you were the one on that stage, huh, Tae? Before someone else called attention to your looks and your talent and the Fae stole you away?”
Taemin snarled weakly at him, but could say nothing.
IV
To say that Jonghyun’s life had taken an interesting turn would be the understatement of the world. A month ago, if someone had told him that he’d get to save his favorite stripper from being attacked in an alley, he would have fantasized about the thank-you sex he’d have gotten in return. Now, he can’t even remember the sex and he’s regretting it. It’s like waking up in Vegas with a ring on your finger, except the ring is fucking magical, you can’t take it off, and they had just gotten to the point where Jjong could be in his apartment and Taemin could be in the bar on the ground floor without the singer feeling like someone took a hot curling iron to his kidneys.
He’d like to have a concert where he didn’t have to worry about adding unnecessary anger to the lyrics because Taemin is fucking inside his head and Jjong can’t help channeling his emotions. He’d like to not be at the strip join every day like a creep. Jinki’s been talking about kicking him out, since his ‘obsession with the red-head’ has apparently gotten out of hand. No fucking kidding. Taemin won’t talk about it, though. No matter how hard Jonghyun pushes, the most he’s gotten out of the dancer, who was apparently some kind of wizard, was that it was some kind of accidental magic that was binding them together. It sounded like total bullshit to Jonghyun, but he had no better explanation for why it physically hurt to be away from the red-head.
He sighed and sat down heavily on the toilet lid of the dancer’s bathroom, quietly wondering what his life had become as he tried to ignore the annoyance the other boy was feeling at the fact that Jonghyun was hiding from him, trying to ignore the fact that he could feel Taemin’s emotions so clearly, reverberating around his skull like a broken record. He grit his teeth and sighed, deciding that hiding from his problem was kind of null and void when it was inside his head, and got up, jerking the door open and storming back into the living room, pointedly ignoring the red-headed dancer as he paced around the room.
The other sighed and followed him. “We’re staying here tonight, right? No offence, but I’m sick of your apartment,” he added like saying “no offence” made up for the slightly condescending tone in his voice. “If I’m going to try and break whatever happened to us, I’m going to need my stuff.” Jonghyun rolled his eyes, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands.
“How long is that going to take?” the singer asked, exhaustion dripping from his every word. “I have a concert tonight and its half way across the city, so we have to leave soonish.” As soon as the word left his mouth, he felt the white hot flash of anger that flooded through Taemin. Before he blacked out all those nights ago, he was pretty sure they hit it off really well. Now, he was wondering if Taemin had been acting, he was always so angry all the time.
“You should call and cancel it,” the dancer said, over his shoulder, pulling his crimson hair back into a high ponytail as he crouched and started rifling through boxes. “I have to work tonight, and last I checked, the club hasn’t moved.”
Jonghyun sighed and pitched the bridge of his nose. “You worked last night, and the night before, and the night before, and every day since my last concert. I can’t just cancel this Taemin, it’s kind of how I make my money.”
The dancer stood up and turned to Jjong, his eyes narrowed. “Yeah, and I kind of make my money dancing at the club. I have to pay rent, remember? So if you’re done with the selfish, woe is me bullshit, you can call up your manager and tell him you’re not going to make it.”
Jonghyun snarled, and stood up, grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch and shrugging it on. “Oh, I’m the selfish one here, huh? I fucking pay for your rent, you ass.” He revealed as he headed for the door. “That guy who comes and leaves a hundred, two, with Jinki for you? That’s me. Now, I’m going to my concert, if you feel like growing the fuck up, your fucking Harry Potter ass can find me at Ice.” And with that, he slammed the door behind him.
The sky was a boiling mess of gray clouds, thunder rolled in the distance threatening to overtake the city at any moment. The singer had stepped outside just as the first few raindrops had started to fall. He paused and glanced at the parking lot, and his beloved, beat-up old mustang, before shaking his head and starting to walk. He could already feel the burning pain building in his stomach. Driving in this condition would probably lead to his death; while he was pretty convinced he wasn’t going to actually die from the pain, normally.
Admittedly, he hadn’t acted like a responsible grown up back in Taemin’s apartment, but Jjong would like to think that any responsible adult would act like he did. Personally, he’d also like to think he’s taking this “magically bound to a complete stranger” thing really well, given the fact that it sounds batshit crazy. Taemin said he could fix it, however, or that he thought he could, and since the dancer seemed to know what he was doing, when he wasn’t in some blind rage over a hang nail or something else equally ridiculous in Jjongs opinion, then the singer was just going to have to trust him. Not much choice otherwise.
Lightning flashed in the sky above, as if to mimic the hot spike of agony that raced up his spine, and he stumbled a little, gasping, before righting himself and clenching his jaw, continuing on as the sky opened up. Every step in the direction away from Taemin was like someone was jamming white-hot nails into his feet. By the time he actually got to the club he was soaking wet, though the water running down his face could have been rain drops or tears, and he ignored everyone as he made his way into the backroom, shutting the door so he could curl up into a small ball and sob for the next ten minutes until mic check.
V
Taemin was livid when Jonghyun walked out of his apartment. Rage boiled under the surface of his skin, so strong it dropped his glamour, revealing his gold and silver embedded skin, the “glitter” he applied before preforming, as he slammed his fist into the wall, punching clean through it. He snarled and flopped down onto the couch, the urge to scream growing as he felt the uneasy feeling of a bond stretched too far start to grow.
He realized after a few moments of screaming into his pillow that he was having a full blown temper tantrum like a preteen girl and threw the couch pillow away in disgust, glaring at the ceiling. Of course he wanted to go to the singer, who he knew was probably in crippling agony and totally useless, but every moment he felt the blond move further and further away, the angrier he got. If a simple human could ignore such strong, ancient fae magic due to simple selfishness, so could he.
He stayed on the couch until he had to leave, thinking. If what Jonghyun said was true, and he was the one to give Taemin the majority of the money he made during the week, that could probably count as Jonghyun showing that he could support him, and Taemin had accepted it, again and again. That also meant Taemin had performed for him, since he’d had to have seen him dance, and the singer had performed at the club before, which Taemin had watched. The changeling groaned and turned to press his face into the back cushion of the couch. While those aren’t the intended actions for bonding, it fit the loose definition. They were definitely bound together, so there was nothing Taemin himself could do about it. His watch beeped, and he had no time to dwell on it. In an hour he had to be at the club. He sighed, rubbing a hand over the dull ache in his sternum as he got up and ready.
The bartender stopped him at the door with a pretty significant look and a more than subtle, “We need to talk,” and Taemin wondered, briefly, where the goofy smile went, as he was lead into the room where the man kept the extra alcohol. A strong hand on Taemin’s shoulder pushed him into sitting down on a crate while the other, Taemin vaguely remembered his name being Jinki, paced in the close confines of the room.
“Whatever you’re doing to Jjong, I want you to stop,” he said at length, wringing his hands together. Was it nerves, the red-head wondered, or was he worried? “He’s a mess, and he has been for weeks, ever since you two started…whatever it is you’re doing.” He waved a hand at Taemin, and cleared his throat, getting closer to the dancer, and that look was back, like a darkness had fallen over the cheery bartender’s face, and suddenly Taemin felt the urge to run away, which made his eyes widen a little. “Whatever you did to him, or are doing to him, undo it or make it stop. I like you, Juliette, you seem like a good kid, but Jonghyun is very important to me, understand?” He pulled back, the darkness fleeing his face as he smiled brightly, and suddenly it was the normal, clumsy bartender Taemin had always been slightly fond of for how he treated everyone. “Glad we could have this chat,” he chirped and ushered the dancer back into the main room. “Good luck tonight!”
Taemin blinked at the other man, giving him a once over as he slowly made his way back to his changing room, then shook his head. Once he closed the door to his fitting room he let most of his glamour drop, the silver and gold of his true skin coming to light and making him sparkle like a diamond. He ran his hands over his stomach, face blank as he recalled the moment the precious metals were pressed into his skin, the agony, and sighed heavily, swiftly changing out of his street clothes and into the tight, revealing clothes he had to wear to dance. He was slower than usual. He knew it was because Jonghyun wasn’t there, and with his bond mate halfway across the city, the ache in his chest felt like a kind of cold emptiness he’d never experienced before.
It stayed with him for his entire, lackluster performance. It was like he’d forgotten how to dance without Jonghyun there, and that scared him so much that he’d sat in his dressing room for the rest of the night, staring at his hands as he tried to ignore the gnawing chasm that was forming somewhere between his heart and his ribcage, until he couldn’t anymore, and he slammed his fist into the mirror in front of him, watching the glass fall around him. Taemin hissed as he brought his hand back, frowning at the cuts on his skin, tensing and trying to snatch his hand back when someone touched him.
“That was really smart,” The bartender said dryly, as he ran a wet towel over the gashes that were just starting to bleed, “but next time you want to redecorate, maybe take it up with the boss first?”
Taemin snarled at him, unsuccessfully trying to pull his hand back as Jinki carefully started to wrap the cuts with bandages he seemed to just have. “Let go of me,” he demanded, but it lacked his normal heat, like his anger had been sapped from him entirely, and he just sounded tired and a bit whiny.
The older man shook his head, not letting go until he was sure the cuts were covered. “I was wrong, earlier, it seems, and I wanted to apologize. You’re just as much of a mess as he is,” he explained as he grabbed Taemin’s coat and held it out for him. “But come on, we need to go pick Jjong up from Ice. He apparently walked there, and has been hiding in the bathroom since his show ended.”
Fifteen minutes and the most uncomfortably silent car ride ever, Taemin felt a rush of warmth blossom in his chest as the distance between him and Jonghyun lessened and the bond wasn’t stretched so thin. He let out a sigh of relief as he stepped into the club. It was after hours so there weren’t many people, but he didn’t have enough energy left to put his glamour back on, so he still shimmered, and dressed in his skin tight clothes, coat or no, he still drew the eyes of the people still in the club.
He ignored it as best he could, a little off kilter at the odd feelings swirling inside of him, and made his way to the bathroom. He didn’t even have to knock before the door opened and a muscular arm reached out and jerked him inside. Taemin suddenly found himself with an arm full of Jonghyun, pressing close to him and crying into his chest.
“I fucking hate you,” the blond sobbed, even as he held him tighter, wrapping his thick arms around Taemin’s slim waist. His body heat was giving Taemin a head rush, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to push the singer away or hold him closer, marking the first time Taemin ever wanted to touch someone since his reemergence into the human world. “It hurt so much,” the singer continued, his tears wetting the leather of Taemin’s shirt, and he wound his arms around the muscular man, stroking his hair awkwardly as he started to hiccup and hyperventilate. “I hate that I need you to make it stop.”
“I know you do,” The dancer murmured, feeling the muted anger and desperation through the bond, he slowly pushed the man away, licking his lips awkwardly as he dabbed at Jonghyun’s wet face with the ends of his coat. “I’m sorry,” he said slowly, the words feeling foreign and strange on his tongue as he tried to ignore the heavy feeling in his stomach that was telling him just how much control he didn’t have in this.
VI
“I didn’t want to do this,” Taemin explained reluctantly, as Jjong drove them out of the city late one night. “I had hoped there was another way, but…” he trailed off and sighed heavily. Through the link Jonghyun felt desperation, and anger that felt like old embers. It’d been weeks and he still wasn’t quite used to the new poetry in his head, having to deal with the feelings and images he got from the red-head and trying to interpret them into something that made sense.
The dancer was still an enigma; for all that they were practically living together now. Jonghyun knew all the little things about him, like that he liked to sleep against a wall, and he liked things that smelled like oranges, but the big things like, what the fuck kind of magic did you put on me, or who are you, the singer had no idea. For the majority of the time he’d been…subjected to the dancer and his weirdness and his unrelenting anger and attitude, Jonghyun had just been pretending that everything was normal and okay. His concert at the Avalon was a wakeup call, the pain he’d endured by simply being away from the red-head, the agony, it wasn’t normal. Things weren’t okay.
The blonde had, however, noticed a difference in Taemin since that day in the bathroom. He’d been trying hard to be more civil with the singer, kinder. Jjong could feel him struggling with not snapping at him. It wasn’t that Jonghyun’s actions pissed him off, the singer theorized one day, when Taemin shoved him out of the way to wash the dishes himself. It was just that the red-head had probably never had anyone else so completely a part of his life before and the change was irritating. Jjong had had roommates who didn’t know what personal space was, he’d lived with Jinki for a while. Maneuvering around people wasn’t new to him, but it probably was for Taemin. Or, that’s what he told himself, because it only took a few minutes before the dancer would feel bad and do something that could maybe be considered a nonverbal apology.
“Pull over here,” Taemin said suddenly, and Jjong complained, slowly pulling his car off the road, letting it idle as he turned and looked at the boy, as if to ask if he was really serious about parking here. The dancer only gave him a slightly desperate look.
“Nothing’s here,” the singer elaborated, just in case his significant glances went unnoticed. Judging by the adorable yet highly annoyed growl that the lithe little red-head let out, his words were redundant.
Taemin just looked at him, before getting out of the car, and Jonghyun hastily followed, a little bit afraid of the pain he’d feel should the other get too far away, making sure to lock the car as he followed the red-head into the woods, carefully trying not to trip over the roots and underbrush in the dense forest. It was hard to follow the dancer in the dark of the woods, but he didn’t seem to need a guide. The path was in his head, when to lift his foot, when to duck, like he’d walked it a hundred times before. Shaking his head and chalking it up as stupid fairytale magic, he pressed onwards, walking right into Taemin when he stopped at the edge of a clearing.
The red-head, turned to him, eyes bright in the darkness. “Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice a little bit huskier than normal, and it brought a ghost of a memory with it, hushed voiced, body sweat and skin on skin, making the singer shiver a little and bite his lip.
“I don’t know,” he confessed, eyes trying to get a better look at the dancer in the dark. He thought he saw his face fall, but the emotions he was picking up never changed, and it was just too shadowed to tell. “You’ve never given me a reason to,” Jjong added, licking his lips. He felt like he needed to expand on it, to explain why he didn’t feel like he should trust the man who was just as caught up in this magic spell as he was, but something else told him to that Taemin knew.
“I am sorry,” the red-head said, sighing heavily. “I said earlier that I didn’t want to do this, and I don’t, but you’ve proven that we can’t remain bound, so I’ve little choice.” He slipped into an odd way of talking, again. Jonghyun noticed that he did it often when he was nervous, it was equal parts charming and alarming, just another sign that the singer knew nothing about the boy he’d magically married. “Don this,” he insisted, and pressed something into Jonghyun’s hand, silken and soft, as he looked around like he expected someone to be there. “Swiftly!” he hissed insistently.
The singer fumbled with the fabric, unsure of what it even was, never mind the purpose in which Taemin intended him to use it. “Um…” he muttered, trying to see it in the darkness. There was a scoff and it was taken from him, only to be pressed over his eyes, the dark world blacking out behind the material, and tied behind his head; a blindfold. Now the previous question made sense. “W-wait,” he muttered, reaching to tug the garment off, only to be stopped by gentle, firm hands. “What, I mean, why am I wearing this?”
Taemin sighed, bringing his hands down gently but not letting go. “If you don’t see them, if you can’t see them, it’s safer for you, okay?” he said, giving the singer’s hands what he supposed was a reassuring squeeze. “I messes up, that night, and this is the only way I can think to fix it, but if you can see them, then I’ve not but put your life into more peril.”
“See who?” Jonghyun asked as the dancer slowly led him forward. “Where are we going, we’re in the middle of nowhere!” he whined lightly, nervous and scared, and tried to pull away from the red-head. “You’re not gonna…you’re not gonna kill me, right? Please don’t kill me.”
Taemin sighed and they stopped moving, he tugged the blindfold down, cupping the blonde’s face so that he was looking into his eyes. The singer gasped slightly, his body tingling like he just stepped into a bath just this side of too hot as their eyes met. “Kim Jonghyun, I, Lee Taemin, give you my word as bond, that I would never lead you into hazard that wasn’t necessary.” The dancer moves his hand, looking away, and Jjong shivered as the sensation left, licking his lips nervously.
“What did you just do?” he asked quietly, nervous energy filling his words as he shifted his weight between his feet. “Did you magic me again? Because I thought we agreed it was an accident? I feel like that wasn’t an accident.”
Jonghyun felt the dancer roll his eyes, and he fell silent as Taemin tugged his blindfold back into place. “I can’t lie,” the slim boy explained as he made sure the cloth wouldn’t fall down on its own. “Literally, physically can’t happen, so when I tell you that I swore an oath that I would never put you into any type of mortal danger.”
“That wasn’t necessary,” the singer quoted glumly, and Taemin squeezed his hand in reply, as they started walking again. “You know, I liked you, before all this,” Jonghyun found himself saying as they walked. “I used to go to the club and watch you dance. I wanted to do so many things with you.” He could feel the ire building in the other, and he backpedaled. “N-not like that! I mean, yeah, also like that, you did get naked for a living, but that’s not what I meant!” He squeaked a little as the dancer’s grip on his hand tightened to a painful level. “I meant that I wanted to walk you home, and take you on dates, with like roses and strawberries and chocolates, buy you nice things so you didn’t have to work anymore.” Maybe it was the darkness, but Jjong felt less embarrassed talking about his rose-colored fancies than ever. “I wanted to take you up onto the roof to watch the meteor shower during the winter, to sing, just for you…” his voice fell to a whisper at the end, more like a confession than a rambling mess, and the silence that followed was a cold one.
Taemin squeezed his hand suddenly, gently. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
next
Pairing: Jonghyun/Taemin
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language
Final Word Count: 23,000
I
The seedy little strip join Jonghyun was in now as hardly the most profitable place he could be relaxing, but he liked the atmosphere. Well, the crappy 70’s porno trash music could go, but people mostly left him alone when he sat in the back, well away from the stage. He told everyone he came here for the drinks, if they asked. And they were good, just enough alcohol to get you drunk without realizing it, but the real reason he came here was for the red-headed dancer, known as Juliette.
The boy just looked so out of place, to him, when he writhed against the pole, head tossed back as he ran his hands over the glitter-dusted skin of his chest. As much as Jjong wanted to touch the lithe, delicate dancer, he stayed back. Juliette had enough handsy customers, and more than once the stage security had had to throw someone out. Instead, Jjong had just passed the bill to the bartender, a strangely decent sort who actually seemed to care for the dancers in the club. He may or may not also be Jonghyun’s best friend.
“Here, Luci,” the aforementioned man said, as he placed a beer onto the table for him. Jonghyun grunted his thanks, shaking his head at the name.
“How many times have I told you to call me by my real name?” He asked the older man, sipping the beer slowly as he eyed him.
The cheeky man shrugged. “I like your stage name. Sometimes I like to say it so maybe you’ll remember you’re talented and will stop acting like you can’t do any better,” he said it all with that stupid, blinding smile on his face, so Jonghyun had a hard time getting angry at him.
The singer scoffed and turned his eyes back to the stage. “I’m not one of your lost lambs, Jinki,” he said, an old answer to an old argument, “and if you’re going to use that name, can you use the whole thing and not the girly part?”
“Oh, no,” the older man said, shaking his head quickly, “Lucifer is much too hard to say. This way it’s quicker. Think of all the time I’ll save.” Jonghyun kicked at him, and the boy just cackled, sitting down next to him. His assistant was working the bar currently, so he didn’t have to worry overmuch about impatient drunkards, but he shot a look over at him every now and then.
“Are you ever going to get over your obsession with him?” Jinki asked, snagging Jjong’s beer to take a sip if it. “It’s kinda creepy.”
“Are you ever going to tell me his real name?” Jjong shot back, pouting and pushing the bottle away. “Uhg, you can have that.” He wrinkled his nose and tried to discretely go back to staring at the half naked boy undulating on stage. Juliette wasn’t muscular, but he was toned; Jjong’s eyes followed the way his muscles moved under the glittery skin, and he licked his lips unconsciously.
“You’re gross,” Jinki deadpanned, shaking his head and taking the rest of the bottle, “and, I’ve told you before. He gave me some dodgy, half-muttered answer when I asked him the first day he showed up. Didn’t have any papers or anything either. Definitely a runaway.”
Jonghyun hummed, pouting lightly as he watched the dirty men in the front shoving money down the poor boy’s pants, his thick, grimy fingers dragging over the skin of the dancer’s underbelly, before pulling away. Jjong growled and clenched his jaw, turning away from the sight and sighing. He really did have a problem. There was just nothing he felt like he could do about it. His whole life felt…wrong, empty, if he didn’t come here at least once a week and watch the boy dance.
“Whatever you’re thinking, you should stop,” Jinki warned, when his usually loud friend fell eerily silent. “The last person who tried to get more personal with him got his hand broken.”
The singer scoffed, shooting a look at the older man, then back to the slim boy who was walking offstage. “I’m serious,” the bartender insisted, leaning forward to try and catch Jjong’s attention, “wrapped his arm around the kid’s hips, and suddenly CRUNCH! And he was screaming bloody-blue murder. It was kinda scary.” He shivered for effect, and then flinched as something crashed from behind them. “And that’s my cue.” He stood and Jjong held out the hundred he normally gave Juliette. Jinki took it, shaking his head, another age-old argument.
“Shut up,” the singer muttered, leaning back into the slightly-rickety seat and crossing his ankles, pretending to be interested in the new boy, some pale-as-fuck blond kid named Ren. “And bring me another beer, since you ruined my last one.”
“Yes Ma’am!” Jinki chirped, slapping his head as he walked back to the bar, and Jjong grumbled, glaring at him. He never understood why he stayed later than Juliette’s dance; he kind of loathed the other performers. Was it because he hoped the boy would have another performance? He never did. Was he hoping to catch the boy as he walked out for the night? Jonghyun had always privately entertained the idea of being able to walk the dancer home. He was far, far too pretty to be walking the streets of Seoul so late at night by himself, even if he could apparently take care of himself.
He sagged and nodded his thanks at the boy who brought him his next drink, sighing heavily. He just wanted to get to know the pretty dancer, find out where he was from. He wanted to take care of him, so he didn’t have to get naked for money anymore. It was like…a yearning deep in his gut. Jinki would look at him sideways and tell him it’s not his gut that was yearning, and while, yes, Jjong did want to do many, many things to Juliette while his clothes were off, he did have the ability to restrain himself, and he would also like to think he had the emotional depth to want to take care of someone.
Shaking his head, he stood up and donned his coat, tossing a couple of bills onto the table next to his untouched drink before he left; Juliette never came out the front way anyway. He slipped out of the club and into the chilly night, blowing out a heavy exhale between puckered lips just to see his breath. Pulling his hood over his signature blond hair, he turned towards home and sighed, another night alone. He didn’t live too far away, one of the reasons why he’d even ventured into this strip joint so many, many nights ago, but it always felt longer by himself.
The noise from the alleyway was what had caught his attention; scuffling, a grunt, and then a trash can falling over. In a neighborhood like this, muggings weren’t uncommon. He didn’t know why this time he suddenly decided that he had to intervene, but the next thing Jonghyun knew, he was headed down the alley. It was longer than it looked, and he’d almost gone back, despite the gnawing guilt that would have plagued him. Finally, he caught sight of what caused the noise, three men had pinned someone against the wall outside of one of the side entrances to the club. As the victim struggled, the low light reflected off the glitter on his skin and Jonghyun’s breath caught.
Juliette.
“Hey!” he shouted before he could stop himself, running up to them and punching one of the men right in the jaw, sending him sprawling into the dirty wall. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” he snarled, turning on the men holding the now wide-eyed dancer. The goons let him go and rushed Jonghyun, who side stepped them easily. All three of the aggressors were clearly intoxicated on some level, but they were big and Jonghyun didn’t think he could take three of them on by himself, and then Juliette would still be in trouble.
Instead, he did something that his friends would have said was smart for once, and reached back to grab the dancer’s hand. “Come on, we’ve got to run,” he said, and he didn’t give the other much of a choice, pulling him down the alley and out into the street. He picked a random direction when he heard the drunks chasing after them. They didn’t stop until the dancer twisted out of his grasp, turning to slump against a nearby wall, panting.
“Are you okay?” Jonghyun asked, as he turned toward the other. He choked a little when he realized that Juliette wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his firm, toned skin shined in the street lights as it rose and fell with his harsh breaths. His long, red hair had come out while they ran, and it flowed down his chest like a waterfall of fire. The singer cleared his throat and quickly unzipped his jacket, offering it to the boy, who stared at him for a moment, before snatching the offered garment.
“They…um, caught me while I was changing,” he muttered, shrugging the slightly too big jacket on and zipping it up. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out an elastic band, gathering his hair up into a messy cross between a bun and a pony tail. “All of my…stuff, um…” he trailed off, looking back the way they came, sighing heavily.
Jonghyun smiled and pulled out his phone, trying to feel less like the white knight he had clearly been, ignoring the minor detail that he’s chosen to run away instead of staying to fight, and dialed Jinki’s number. “It’s cool, I know the bartender,” he said, flashing a quick smile at the boy, who was watching him carefully, with narrowed eyes, and Jjong suddenly realized how convenient that all sounded.
“No! No, it’s not like that! Me and him go way back,” Juliette just crossed his arms and nodded, and Jjong whined because that was clearly the ‘I’m just gonna stand here and watch as you dig yourself a deeper grave’ stance and not the ‘I believe you’ stance he’d wanted it to be.
“Jinki-hyung, hey!” he said, turning away from the red-head and pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to remind himself he was the good guy. “I’m um…here with …”he pulled the phone away and turned back to the dancer, “What’s your name?” he asked, pretending he didn’t know.
The red head didn’t buy it, however, and just smiled tightly at him. “I think you know what I’m called,” he muttered, rolling his eyes and looking around them. Jjong groaned and went back to paying attention to the phone.
“Um, Juliette, I’m here with Juliette. Listen, Hyung. He had to leave, like, in a hurry. Some guys roughed him up, pulled him out the back, and all of his stuff is still there…yeah, no I’m serious! I’m seriously serious! Three of them. Huge fucking guys, I swear Hyung. No, we’re fine. Yeah,” Jonghyun stopped for a moment and looked back at the red head. “He looks okay. I mean, he didn’t have a shirt on, but I don’t think anything…yeah, I know Hyung. Yes, I know…Hyung, I get…OKAY, ALRIGHT! Just like…make sure no one takes his stuff, okay? We’ll…he’ll probably be back for it later. Thanks, bye!”
He sighed heavily and hung up the phone, shoving it into his pocket like he wanted to throw it across the street, and then turned back to the dancer with a sigh. “So yeah, He’ll look after your stuff until you can go and get it.” He smiled and rubbed his hands on his jeans looking around. “Are you um…hungry?” he asked hesitantly, scuffing one of his boots on the cement. “I know a good bar around here, we can get food and shi-… sit,” he added. The only bar around here was the one where he’d go and get hammered before crawling back to his apartment three stories up, but the food was still good.
The dancer eyed him for a moment before shrugging. “Why not. I don’t have any money, though,” he warned, uncrossing his arms and stretching them high into the air, making Jjong’s jacket rise up to reveal a sliver of the glittery skin underneath. The singer hummed, and took his time looking away.
“It’s cool,” he said, turning around in a circle as he tried to remember which way was home, and started heading towards it. “I know the bartender.”
II
It took Jonghyun a while to realize that the pounding in his head wasn’t only in his head. He was slow in waking up, his eyes heavy, not wanting to release him from the blissful darkness of his dreams. But the moment he was awake the dark of sleep dissipated until the bright orange of the sun, pouring hot and bright down on his face as if to punish him for whatever it was he’d gotten up to the night before.
He’d been hungover like this maybe twice in his life, both times after wildly successful concerts, both times including him losing more than half the money he’d made on damages alone. He snuggled further into the warm body he was holding, trying to force the pain his head, and the sun, to just go away as he wondered if he’d burned down anyone’s couch this time around.
Wait, what?
He yelped and pulled away, the motion making his head spin and he groaned, clutching for it as he tried to put space between himself and the stranger in his bed. Keeping his eyes shielded from the hateful rays of the sun as he groped around, running his hands over the warm, soft skin of the person in his bed to see what he slept with last night. He poked and rubbed his fingers over toned abs and protruding ribs, up over a tight, flat chest, and he sighed, pulling a hand back and spread his fingers over his face, cracking his eye open to stare at his bedmate, moaning softly at the sight that greeted him.
Damn, did Juliette look good in his bed, tanned and glittery skin spread out on his dark sheets, which were pooled down around his hips, giving the singer a perfect view of his chest and stomach, littered with scratches and marks. There was no question what had happened the night before, but with the pounding in his head, Jjong wished to god he could remember it.
Right, the pounding. With a groan, Jonghyun side off the bed and grabbed for his boxers, stumbling into them as he approached the door, whining as he pressed against it and the thunderous pounding didn’t stop, “Okay,” he muttered. “Okay. OKAY!” he shouted as he fumbled for the locks, pulling the door open with all his aggravated aggression and sending it crashing into the wall next to it, as he glared angrily at whoever the hell was knocking so damn fucking loud. “What!?”
Onew blinked at him and slowly lowered his hand. “Well, good afternoon to you, too,” he muttered dryly. “Rough night?”
Jonghyun just groaned at him and rested his head on the door, which let the older boy see into his apartment. The low whistle told him that Jinki had, in fact, seen his newest bed partner. The singer growled and closed the door more, narrowing his eyes at his friend. “I can feel you judging me, and I am in far too much pain to give a damn at the moment. Tell me I called you at some point when I was drunk and you brought me something?” he begged, cracking one of his bloodshot eyes open to look at the bartender.
The older man held up a nondescript, brown paper bag like it was a treaty of peace. “Tacos,” he said, and then gave the bag a jiggle, and the sound of pills rattling around in a bottle added to its sudden appeal for the singer. “Also aspirin…but only after the tacos, okay?” Jonghyun nodded meekly and grabbed for the bag like it was his salvation, clutching its warm greasiness to his chest. “Also, in case you were even wondering, you did call me. Six times. One time, you made him call me. Something about trying to convince him you knew all the bartenders in Seoul.” He frowned at the singer. “That isn’t really something to brag about, by the way.” And then he slid a smallish black bag off his shoulders and carefully slid it onto one of Jjong’s arms. “These are his things. Remember, you have two hours until you need to be at the Den for mic check. I got you this gig, so if you screw it up, I’ll never get a job there and the good kids like Juliette and Ren will always have to worry about people sneaking in and carting them off, okay?” He smiled like the devil and turned around. “I have to find a new assistant, so don’t call me. Good luck!”
Jonghyun blinked at the older man’s back, slowly processing the information he’d just been dumped with, and nodded belatedly. “Okay,” he called, turning and closing the door behind him. He looked up and right into the melted-caramel eyes of Juliette, and he nearly dropped everything, unprepared for how close the boy was.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, stepping back, almost out of his apartment. “Don’t you…make noise?” he gasped, and the dancer chuckled.
“Only when I want to,” the boy said, snatching the bad and heading back into the apartment. “So um, where’s your bathroom? I kinda wanna wash up.”
The singer pointed and watched him walk away before retreating into the kitchen to eat his feelings and drown the pain in his head with medication and yogurt.
“Saved you a taco,” he said, tossing the tinfoil wrapped food at the dancer as he came back from the shower, hair loose and wet. The boy smiled and took it, eating slowly, like he was unsure about the food. Jonghyun couldn’t blame him, Jinki’s cooking always looked questionable, but it tasted good.
The singer cleared his throat as he fiddled with his empty yogurt container, looking up at the other boy almost shyly. “So…your name, it’s, um…Taemin, right?” The boy across the table tensed up, his eyes going a little wider as he stared at Jjong, like he couldn’t believe the other knew his name, and the blond rushed to explain himself, lest the other think he was a creepy stalker. “I just…remember you saying it. Lots of things are fuzzy, but you told me it was Taemin, right?”
Taemin, apparently, nodded slowly, and put down his taco, barely touched, and Jjong’s stomach growled in sympathy. “Um, yeah. That’s my name. I don’t…normally tell it to people,” he added, rubbing his forehead. “How drunk were we last night?”
Jjong shrugged, gently nudging the bottle of pills closer to him, if he needed it. “I don’t remember. I’m Jonghyun by the way, but I think I may have told you that, at some point.”
The boy nodded, still rubbing his head. “Yeah…yeah, I remember.”
The singer cleared his throat, scuffing his feet against the linoleum on the floor as they settled into an awkward silence. He didn’t really know what to do, to be honest. He’d only ever had one other meaningless night and the girl had snuck out before he woke up. “So um…I have a gig to get to in a few,” he started, getting up, and trashing the yogurt cup. “If you wanna, you know…come,” he added, weakly.
Taemin bit his lip and looked up at him, apologetically. “I can’t. I’m sorry. It’s just, it’s Saturday, there’s usually this guy who comes tonight and gives me a huge tip, and I kinda need that to pay my rent so…”
Jjong didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry, since the dancer was turning him down to go and dance so he could get Jjong’s money, which he was supposed to get last night. He blinked for a moment, wondering if he should say anything, but shrugged, not wanting to sound like a creep. Jinki will just give the red head his money tonight anyway.
“Oh, okay,” he tried not to sound disappointed, but he thought he might have, just a little, since Taemin got up and gave his forearms a slight squeeze.
“Maybe some other time? I’ve seen you perform, and I like your music. I just really need this money.”
He smiled and waved the younger off. “Yeah, it’s cool. I have to shower, can you…um, I’ll show you out?” he checked his watch, he had an hour before he needed to get to the Den, plenty of time to be slightly chivalrous, since he totally screwed up his white knight-ness with the whole one night stand thing; it was the least he could do.
The dancer smiled and grabbed his bag as they walked to the door. He slipped his boots on and turned, kissing Jjong on the cheek. “Thank you for saving me,” he said, and left.
Jonghyun was halfway to the shower before it felt like someone had sank a hook right through his internal organs and yanked backwards.
III
Generally, Taemin didn’t like crowds. If he hadn’t left Avalon he wouldn’t have to worry about things like bills, and thus would never have to deal with them, but he did. He hadn’t belonged there. Not that he belonged outside of it, with the humans, either, but at least they hadn’t kidnapped him, he tried to rationalize, as the sweaty bodies of the people around push and tug at his clothes as he tries to get back to his seat, in the far corner, in the back. He had a perfectly good view of Jonghyun on stage and that was all he needed, at the moment, anyway. The gnawing, desperate need to be closer to the boy had dissipated a bit, but unfortunately it wouldn’t go away, not entirely. Not ever.
He hadn’t lied earlier, he did like Jonghyun’s music, and it was a nice switch that he didn’t have to stay behind the stage to watch the talented singer preform. But even in the corner he felt out in the open, and that always tended to draw attention to him from the most annoying of people.
“TAEMIN!” an undeniably snobby voice called out suddenly, though to be honest the dancer had been expecting such a cry since he walked into the bar, as a boy stumbled out of the crowd and slid into his booth, pressing so close to Taemin that he could smell the alcohol and sex on him, before he snarled and the other pouted and moved away. “Charming, as usual,” he muttered.
“You know I don’t like it when you touch me, Key,” Taemin muttered, swirling his drink, “Especially after you’ve clearly just fed.”
The other boy shrugged and stole the cup Taemin had been fiddling with, downing it in one shot. “Some of us don’t look remarkably human when our glamour drops, so excuse me if we have to eat more often than you do.” He snapped, glaring down at the cup like he wanted it to last longer. “Brat. Anyway, I see you’re not your normal, shimmery self. So what did you do? Start a bar fight, cause a riot?”
Taemin kicked the other under the table, but didn’t say anything. He had too much to think about to deal with Key and his need for attention. It wasn’t like he’d get anything from Taemin anyway. He sighed and looked down at the table, tracing his fingers over the beat-up old wood, wishing he had something to keep his mind off of Jonghyun. It was harder with the boy’s voice in his ears, reverberating around his entire being like the other was singing every song just for him. It made chills run up his spine, good ones and bad ones.
He thought back to the apartment, to the stomach lurching tug on his insides that he’d felt as he tried to leave, and what that feeling meant. The moment he’d felt it, he’d raced back to the other boy, only to find him out cold on the floor, the pull having more of an effect on him than on Taemin. Even to this moment Taemin couldn’t be sure why he’d been so gentle with the singer, getting him onto the bed, cleaning him up a little. He rationalized it as Jonghyun having saved him last night, not from the mortal and/or physical damage that the human had brought about though, but more from that fact that if Taemin killed anyone else, the Gentry force him back into Avalon in iron.
He hadn’t had time to explain anything when the singer woke up. The boy was career driven, Taemin would give him that, and wise enough to insist they not part. Though, why they were at Jonghyun’s gig and not at his job also failed Taemin at the moment. Remembering it made him growl and scratch a row into the warn table with his nails.
“Easy Sparkles,” Key chided, clicking his tongue at the boy. “What’s eating you, anyway? You seem more Edward Cullen than usual.” He slid a glass across the table at the younger boy, something that looked suspiciously metallic. He frowned at it before glaring at the other, who just shrugged. “Believe it or not, I pay attention when you talk about shit, okay? It’s just gold, you’ve gone all goo-goo dancer again, and you’ve said the minerals help. Something on your mind?” Taemin raised an eyebrow at him, and the other boy sighed again. “Okay, listen, this is my favorite bar and that’s my favorite singer and I would appreciate it if you weren’t, you know, your normal self and destroyed the place just so you can feed off the energies. So drink your fucking gold and tell me what your problem is, or I swear to all the little fat babies with the wings that I will hug the shit out of you.”
Taemin snarled at him when he mentioned Jonghyun. An instantaneous reaction, while pleasantly in character, was not what he’d wanted to do at all, so he downed his drink, humming at the light, sweet taste of the pure element as it slid down his throat like the first taste of spring water after the desert. He put the glass down slowly, swirling it over the hardwood as he thought about how he was going to phrase what had happened.
“Me and…Lucifer,” he gestured to Jonghyun, at the same moment the man’s eyes slid over to their corner, and Taemin tensed for a moment, wondering if the singer could see them. Instead, the singer crooned something about temptation and his eyes flickered away. “We slept together last night.” The indigent sound Key made at the confession made Taemin remarkably pleased, glad he could hold that over the elder’s head.
“Ah, fuck you!” the older boy pouted, slumping back against the seat and kicking at Taemin under the table. “I fucking called him you sorry excuse for a disco ball. I’ve followed his entire career, and you fucking swoop in and steal his ass right out from under me. Where’s the loyalty, huh!?” The dancer snorted, licking at the gold stuck on the glass. Key snatched it from him and smashed it into the ground, causing the waiter who seemed to be just hovering near them to jump and scramble to clean up the mess. “Was he good? Don’t tell me, I bet he was fucking amazing. I mean, look at him. Damn, I could ride that high for days.” The other boy leaned forward onto his elbows, eyes literally devouring the singer’s form, and Taemin barely fought down the possessive growl.
“I don’t remember,” he confessed, clearing his throat. “We kind of got really drunk, so last night’s a bit of a blur.” He tried to gloss over that and move onto the important reason why he was suddenly spilling his guts uncharacteristically, when the blonde shot his hand out and grabbed his elbow hard.
“That’s how you fed?” he demanded, voice sharp and clear to Taemin over the sound of the band on stage. “Taemin, that’s Illegal. You’re a being of rage, if the courts ever found out that you were feeding off of ecstasy or passion, they’d have you in iron faster than you can shake your sparkly ass.”
The red head twisted out of the other’s hold like his grip burned. “What the fuck did I say about touching me,” he hissed out, rubbing at his elbow. “You don’t need to tell me about the rules, Kim Kibum, I fucking know them.” The other boy flinched at the full name, sighing and sagging back against the outdated leather of the booth. “And I have every right to feed off of whatever I want to when it comes to my bond,” he added, voice dropping as he finally spoke aloud the real reason he was here.
Key sat up straight again, eyes wide. “You’re not bonded,” he whispered, glancing back at Jonghyun. “You can’t be! There’s like…shit you have to do, shit has to line up, the days have to be right, he has to…ew, oh my god, don’t tell me you let him top you!?” he scrunched his face up condescendingly.
Taemin bristled at him. “Okay, first, fuck you. Second, yesterday was the solstice. The earth, the sun, and the moon all perfectly aligned at the moment the moon passed closest to the earth. Accidents happen.” He waved his hand like that dismissed the whole thing. “Now I just have to find a way to break it.”
Key snorted at him. “‘Accidents happen’? Really? Most people don’t accidently tell people their true names when it can royally screw them over, and end up eternally bound to a one night stand.” His eyes turned back to rake over Jonghyun’s form again. “Even one as appetizing as-wait what did you say? Break it?!” He snapped his attention back to the red-head. “You can’t do that! You’re bound by fate and destiny and rainbows and magic hearts now. Tied together for life. Or, well, for as long as he lives, anyway. That’s not just something you break!”
“Why not?”
Key puttered and looked around like someone in the crowd could help him, before turning back ad glaring at him. “People wait years for the chance to be bound to each other, and you fucking go and get drunk and do it by accident,” he muttered and leaned closer to the red-head, who tensed as if getting ready to punch the older changeling. “You can’t take Lucifer Underhill, Taem. I know you’re a selfish, rage-fueled prick but come on, that bond of yours has to make you feel something for the guy.”
Taemin shook his head, threading his fingers together and resting his forehead on them. He’d been honestly trying to figure out how they ended up bound in the first place. There were things that needed to happen before a bonding ceremony, to ensure that the two were a good match. Courting rituals, one has to express interest and preform for the other, and receive a performance in return, there has to be a show of support, to prove that they can provide for their mate, and it has to be accepted, before anything about moonlight and midnight and true names has any effect at all.
“I’m not even sure if we’re bound, anyway,” he muttered at the dark wood of the table. “We only exchanged names, as far as I can remember…well he’s preformed at my club, but I’ve never taken anything from him.” He sighed and turned to the older boy, less angry and a little more hopeless. “I need to go to Avalon to get this sorted out, and I can’t be apart from him, so unless you know a fate witch that likes to leave the courts, he’s coming with me.”
Key shook his head, like he’d expected that answer, and slumped onto the table. “You’re a stubborn fool,” he announced, watching Jonghyun press against his mic stand as the singer really got into his song. “How many years ago was it that you were the one on that stage, huh, Tae? Before someone else called attention to your looks and your talent and the Fae stole you away?”
Taemin snarled weakly at him, but could say nothing.
IV
To say that Jonghyun’s life had taken an interesting turn would be the understatement of the world. A month ago, if someone had told him that he’d get to save his favorite stripper from being attacked in an alley, he would have fantasized about the thank-you sex he’d have gotten in return. Now, he can’t even remember the sex and he’s regretting it. It’s like waking up in Vegas with a ring on your finger, except the ring is fucking magical, you can’t take it off, and they had just gotten to the point where Jjong could be in his apartment and Taemin could be in the bar on the ground floor without the singer feeling like someone took a hot curling iron to his kidneys.
He’d like to have a concert where he didn’t have to worry about adding unnecessary anger to the lyrics because Taemin is fucking inside his head and Jjong can’t help channeling his emotions. He’d like to not be at the strip join every day like a creep. Jinki’s been talking about kicking him out, since his ‘obsession with the red-head’ has apparently gotten out of hand. No fucking kidding. Taemin won’t talk about it, though. No matter how hard Jonghyun pushes, the most he’s gotten out of the dancer, who was apparently some kind of wizard, was that it was some kind of accidental magic that was binding them together. It sounded like total bullshit to Jonghyun, but he had no better explanation for why it physically hurt to be away from the red-head.
He sighed and sat down heavily on the toilet lid of the dancer’s bathroom, quietly wondering what his life had become as he tried to ignore the annoyance the other boy was feeling at the fact that Jonghyun was hiding from him, trying to ignore the fact that he could feel Taemin’s emotions so clearly, reverberating around his skull like a broken record. He grit his teeth and sighed, deciding that hiding from his problem was kind of null and void when it was inside his head, and got up, jerking the door open and storming back into the living room, pointedly ignoring the red-headed dancer as he paced around the room.
The other sighed and followed him. “We’re staying here tonight, right? No offence, but I’m sick of your apartment,” he added like saying “no offence” made up for the slightly condescending tone in his voice. “If I’m going to try and break whatever happened to us, I’m going to need my stuff.” Jonghyun rolled his eyes, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands.
“How long is that going to take?” the singer asked, exhaustion dripping from his every word. “I have a concert tonight and its half way across the city, so we have to leave soonish.” As soon as the word left his mouth, he felt the white hot flash of anger that flooded through Taemin. Before he blacked out all those nights ago, he was pretty sure they hit it off really well. Now, he was wondering if Taemin had been acting, he was always so angry all the time.
“You should call and cancel it,” the dancer said, over his shoulder, pulling his crimson hair back into a high ponytail as he crouched and started rifling through boxes. “I have to work tonight, and last I checked, the club hasn’t moved.”
Jonghyun sighed and pitched the bridge of his nose. “You worked last night, and the night before, and the night before, and every day since my last concert. I can’t just cancel this Taemin, it’s kind of how I make my money.”
The dancer stood up and turned to Jjong, his eyes narrowed. “Yeah, and I kind of make my money dancing at the club. I have to pay rent, remember? So if you’re done with the selfish, woe is me bullshit, you can call up your manager and tell him you’re not going to make it.”
Jonghyun snarled, and stood up, grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch and shrugging it on. “Oh, I’m the selfish one here, huh? I fucking pay for your rent, you ass.” He revealed as he headed for the door. “That guy who comes and leaves a hundred, two, with Jinki for you? That’s me. Now, I’m going to my concert, if you feel like growing the fuck up, your fucking Harry Potter ass can find me at Ice.” And with that, he slammed the door behind him.
The sky was a boiling mess of gray clouds, thunder rolled in the distance threatening to overtake the city at any moment. The singer had stepped outside just as the first few raindrops had started to fall. He paused and glanced at the parking lot, and his beloved, beat-up old mustang, before shaking his head and starting to walk. He could already feel the burning pain building in his stomach. Driving in this condition would probably lead to his death; while he was pretty convinced he wasn’t going to actually die from the pain, normally.
Admittedly, he hadn’t acted like a responsible grown up back in Taemin’s apartment, but Jjong would like to think that any responsible adult would act like he did. Personally, he’d also like to think he’s taking this “magically bound to a complete stranger” thing really well, given the fact that it sounds batshit crazy. Taemin said he could fix it, however, or that he thought he could, and since the dancer seemed to know what he was doing, when he wasn’t in some blind rage over a hang nail or something else equally ridiculous in Jjongs opinion, then the singer was just going to have to trust him. Not much choice otherwise.
Lightning flashed in the sky above, as if to mimic the hot spike of agony that raced up his spine, and he stumbled a little, gasping, before righting himself and clenching his jaw, continuing on as the sky opened up. Every step in the direction away from Taemin was like someone was jamming white-hot nails into his feet. By the time he actually got to the club he was soaking wet, though the water running down his face could have been rain drops or tears, and he ignored everyone as he made his way into the backroom, shutting the door so he could curl up into a small ball and sob for the next ten minutes until mic check.
V
Taemin was livid when Jonghyun walked out of his apartment. Rage boiled under the surface of his skin, so strong it dropped his glamour, revealing his gold and silver embedded skin, the “glitter” he applied before preforming, as he slammed his fist into the wall, punching clean through it. He snarled and flopped down onto the couch, the urge to scream growing as he felt the uneasy feeling of a bond stretched too far start to grow.
He realized after a few moments of screaming into his pillow that he was having a full blown temper tantrum like a preteen girl and threw the couch pillow away in disgust, glaring at the ceiling. Of course he wanted to go to the singer, who he knew was probably in crippling agony and totally useless, but every moment he felt the blond move further and further away, the angrier he got. If a simple human could ignore such strong, ancient fae magic due to simple selfishness, so could he.
He stayed on the couch until he had to leave, thinking. If what Jonghyun said was true, and he was the one to give Taemin the majority of the money he made during the week, that could probably count as Jonghyun showing that he could support him, and Taemin had accepted it, again and again. That also meant Taemin had performed for him, since he’d had to have seen him dance, and the singer had performed at the club before, which Taemin had watched. The changeling groaned and turned to press his face into the back cushion of the couch. While those aren’t the intended actions for bonding, it fit the loose definition. They were definitely bound together, so there was nothing Taemin himself could do about it. His watch beeped, and he had no time to dwell on it. In an hour he had to be at the club. He sighed, rubbing a hand over the dull ache in his sternum as he got up and ready.
The bartender stopped him at the door with a pretty significant look and a more than subtle, “We need to talk,” and Taemin wondered, briefly, where the goofy smile went, as he was lead into the room where the man kept the extra alcohol. A strong hand on Taemin’s shoulder pushed him into sitting down on a crate while the other, Taemin vaguely remembered his name being Jinki, paced in the close confines of the room.
“Whatever you’re doing to Jjong, I want you to stop,” he said at length, wringing his hands together. Was it nerves, the red-head wondered, or was he worried? “He’s a mess, and he has been for weeks, ever since you two started…whatever it is you’re doing.” He waved a hand at Taemin, and cleared his throat, getting closer to the dancer, and that look was back, like a darkness had fallen over the cheery bartender’s face, and suddenly Taemin felt the urge to run away, which made his eyes widen a little. “Whatever you did to him, or are doing to him, undo it or make it stop. I like you, Juliette, you seem like a good kid, but Jonghyun is very important to me, understand?” He pulled back, the darkness fleeing his face as he smiled brightly, and suddenly it was the normal, clumsy bartender Taemin had always been slightly fond of for how he treated everyone. “Glad we could have this chat,” he chirped and ushered the dancer back into the main room. “Good luck tonight!”
Taemin blinked at the other man, giving him a once over as he slowly made his way back to his changing room, then shook his head. Once he closed the door to his fitting room he let most of his glamour drop, the silver and gold of his true skin coming to light and making him sparkle like a diamond. He ran his hands over his stomach, face blank as he recalled the moment the precious metals were pressed into his skin, the agony, and sighed heavily, swiftly changing out of his street clothes and into the tight, revealing clothes he had to wear to dance. He was slower than usual. He knew it was because Jonghyun wasn’t there, and with his bond mate halfway across the city, the ache in his chest felt like a kind of cold emptiness he’d never experienced before.
It stayed with him for his entire, lackluster performance. It was like he’d forgotten how to dance without Jonghyun there, and that scared him so much that he’d sat in his dressing room for the rest of the night, staring at his hands as he tried to ignore the gnawing chasm that was forming somewhere between his heart and his ribcage, until he couldn’t anymore, and he slammed his fist into the mirror in front of him, watching the glass fall around him. Taemin hissed as he brought his hand back, frowning at the cuts on his skin, tensing and trying to snatch his hand back when someone touched him.
“That was really smart,” The bartender said dryly, as he ran a wet towel over the gashes that were just starting to bleed, “but next time you want to redecorate, maybe take it up with the boss first?”
Taemin snarled at him, unsuccessfully trying to pull his hand back as Jinki carefully started to wrap the cuts with bandages he seemed to just have. “Let go of me,” he demanded, but it lacked his normal heat, like his anger had been sapped from him entirely, and he just sounded tired and a bit whiny.
The older man shook his head, not letting go until he was sure the cuts were covered. “I was wrong, earlier, it seems, and I wanted to apologize. You’re just as much of a mess as he is,” he explained as he grabbed Taemin’s coat and held it out for him. “But come on, we need to go pick Jjong up from Ice. He apparently walked there, and has been hiding in the bathroom since his show ended.”
Fifteen minutes and the most uncomfortably silent car ride ever, Taemin felt a rush of warmth blossom in his chest as the distance between him and Jonghyun lessened and the bond wasn’t stretched so thin. He let out a sigh of relief as he stepped into the club. It was after hours so there weren’t many people, but he didn’t have enough energy left to put his glamour back on, so he still shimmered, and dressed in his skin tight clothes, coat or no, he still drew the eyes of the people still in the club.
He ignored it as best he could, a little off kilter at the odd feelings swirling inside of him, and made his way to the bathroom. He didn’t even have to knock before the door opened and a muscular arm reached out and jerked him inside. Taemin suddenly found himself with an arm full of Jonghyun, pressing close to him and crying into his chest.
“I fucking hate you,” the blond sobbed, even as he held him tighter, wrapping his thick arms around Taemin’s slim waist. His body heat was giving Taemin a head rush, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to push the singer away or hold him closer, marking the first time Taemin ever wanted to touch someone since his reemergence into the human world. “It hurt so much,” the singer continued, his tears wetting the leather of Taemin’s shirt, and he wound his arms around the muscular man, stroking his hair awkwardly as he started to hiccup and hyperventilate. “I hate that I need you to make it stop.”
“I know you do,” The dancer murmured, feeling the muted anger and desperation through the bond, he slowly pushed the man away, licking his lips awkwardly as he dabbed at Jonghyun’s wet face with the ends of his coat. “I’m sorry,” he said slowly, the words feeling foreign and strange on his tongue as he tried to ignore the heavy feeling in his stomach that was telling him just how much control he didn’t have in this.
VI
“I didn’t want to do this,” Taemin explained reluctantly, as Jjong drove them out of the city late one night. “I had hoped there was another way, but…” he trailed off and sighed heavily. Through the link Jonghyun felt desperation, and anger that felt like old embers. It’d been weeks and he still wasn’t quite used to the new poetry in his head, having to deal with the feelings and images he got from the red-head and trying to interpret them into something that made sense.
The dancer was still an enigma; for all that they were practically living together now. Jonghyun knew all the little things about him, like that he liked to sleep against a wall, and he liked things that smelled like oranges, but the big things like, what the fuck kind of magic did you put on me, or who are you, the singer had no idea. For the majority of the time he’d been…subjected to the dancer and his weirdness and his unrelenting anger and attitude, Jonghyun had just been pretending that everything was normal and okay. His concert at the Avalon was a wakeup call, the pain he’d endured by simply being away from the red-head, the agony, it wasn’t normal. Things weren’t okay.
The blonde had, however, noticed a difference in Taemin since that day in the bathroom. He’d been trying hard to be more civil with the singer, kinder. Jjong could feel him struggling with not snapping at him. It wasn’t that Jonghyun’s actions pissed him off, the singer theorized one day, when Taemin shoved him out of the way to wash the dishes himself. It was just that the red-head had probably never had anyone else so completely a part of his life before and the change was irritating. Jjong had had roommates who didn’t know what personal space was, he’d lived with Jinki for a while. Maneuvering around people wasn’t new to him, but it probably was for Taemin. Or, that’s what he told himself, because it only took a few minutes before the dancer would feel bad and do something that could maybe be considered a nonverbal apology.
“Pull over here,” Taemin said suddenly, and Jjong complained, slowly pulling his car off the road, letting it idle as he turned and looked at the boy, as if to ask if he was really serious about parking here. The dancer only gave him a slightly desperate look.
“Nothing’s here,” the singer elaborated, just in case his significant glances went unnoticed. Judging by the adorable yet highly annoyed growl that the lithe little red-head let out, his words were redundant.
Taemin just looked at him, before getting out of the car, and Jonghyun hastily followed, a little bit afraid of the pain he’d feel should the other get too far away, making sure to lock the car as he followed the red-head into the woods, carefully trying not to trip over the roots and underbrush in the dense forest. It was hard to follow the dancer in the dark of the woods, but he didn’t seem to need a guide. The path was in his head, when to lift his foot, when to duck, like he’d walked it a hundred times before. Shaking his head and chalking it up as stupid fairytale magic, he pressed onwards, walking right into Taemin when he stopped at the edge of a clearing.
The red-head, turned to him, eyes bright in the darkness. “Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice a little bit huskier than normal, and it brought a ghost of a memory with it, hushed voiced, body sweat and skin on skin, making the singer shiver a little and bite his lip.
“I don’t know,” he confessed, eyes trying to get a better look at the dancer in the dark. He thought he saw his face fall, but the emotions he was picking up never changed, and it was just too shadowed to tell. “You’ve never given me a reason to,” Jjong added, licking his lips. He felt like he needed to expand on it, to explain why he didn’t feel like he should trust the man who was just as caught up in this magic spell as he was, but something else told him to that Taemin knew.
“I am sorry,” the red-head said, sighing heavily. “I said earlier that I didn’t want to do this, and I don’t, but you’ve proven that we can’t remain bound, so I’ve little choice.” He slipped into an odd way of talking, again. Jonghyun noticed that he did it often when he was nervous, it was equal parts charming and alarming, just another sign that the singer knew nothing about the boy he’d magically married. “Don this,” he insisted, and pressed something into Jonghyun’s hand, silken and soft, as he looked around like he expected someone to be there. “Swiftly!” he hissed insistently.
The singer fumbled with the fabric, unsure of what it even was, never mind the purpose in which Taemin intended him to use it. “Um…” he muttered, trying to see it in the darkness. There was a scoff and it was taken from him, only to be pressed over his eyes, the dark world blacking out behind the material, and tied behind his head; a blindfold. Now the previous question made sense. “W-wait,” he muttered, reaching to tug the garment off, only to be stopped by gentle, firm hands. “What, I mean, why am I wearing this?”
Taemin sighed, bringing his hands down gently but not letting go. “If you don’t see them, if you can’t see them, it’s safer for you, okay?” he said, giving the singer’s hands what he supposed was a reassuring squeeze. “I messes up, that night, and this is the only way I can think to fix it, but if you can see them, then I’ve not but put your life into more peril.”
“See who?” Jonghyun asked as the dancer slowly led him forward. “Where are we going, we’re in the middle of nowhere!” he whined lightly, nervous and scared, and tried to pull away from the red-head. “You’re not gonna…you’re not gonna kill me, right? Please don’t kill me.”
Taemin sighed and they stopped moving, he tugged the blindfold down, cupping the blonde’s face so that he was looking into his eyes. The singer gasped slightly, his body tingling like he just stepped into a bath just this side of too hot as their eyes met. “Kim Jonghyun, I, Lee Taemin, give you my word as bond, that I would never lead you into hazard that wasn’t necessary.” The dancer moves his hand, looking away, and Jjong shivered as the sensation left, licking his lips nervously.
“What did you just do?” he asked quietly, nervous energy filling his words as he shifted his weight between his feet. “Did you magic me again? Because I thought we agreed it was an accident? I feel like that wasn’t an accident.”
Jonghyun felt the dancer roll his eyes, and he fell silent as Taemin tugged his blindfold back into place. “I can’t lie,” the slim boy explained as he made sure the cloth wouldn’t fall down on its own. “Literally, physically can’t happen, so when I tell you that I swore an oath that I would never put you into any type of mortal danger.”
“That wasn’t necessary,” the singer quoted glumly, and Taemin squeezed his hand in reply, as they started walking again. “You know, I liked you, before all this,” Jonghyun found himself saying as they walked. “I used to go to the club and watch you dance. I wanted to do so many things with you.” He could feel the ire building in the other, and he backpedaled. “N-not like that! I mean, yeah, also like that, you did get naked for a living, but that’s not what I meant!” He squeaked a little as the dancer’s grip on his hand tightened to a painful level. “I meant that I wanted to walk you home, and take you on dates, with like roses and strawberries and chocolates, buy you nice things so you didn’t have to work anymore.” Maybe it was the darkness, but Jjong felt less embarrassed talking about his rose-colored fancies than ever. “I wanted to take you up onto the roof to watch the meteor shower during the winter, to sing, just for you…” his voice fell to a whisper at the end, more like a confession than a rambling mess, and the silence that followed was a cold one.
Taemin squeezed his hand suddenly, gently. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
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