amadomaybe

Sat, 28 Nov 2009 02:26:08 GMT

My contributions to the Sex Addicts AU that sprung up during kpopficwangst 3.0. Zhou Mi, Heechul, and Eeteuk. RATED R

"Sorry I'm late!" A cheery voice cuts loud through the awkward quiet of the room. It's owner follows a second or two later, as a man (whose legs have no business being so long, or so skinny) rushes through the door, a foil-wrapped plate in his hands. "I was finishing these," he offers by way of explanation, unveiling a stack of still-warm, perfect-looking chocolate chip cookies. Donghae is first to pounce, grabbing a cookie from the plate as the man walks by and stuffing it into his mouth in one go.

"Don't worry about it, we were still finishing up the introductions. Why don't you go next?" Kangin says, one eye on the cookies. The man sets them down amongst the other food, then turns his million-watt smile on the group. "I'm Zhou Mi!" He chirps, seeking out an empty seat. He settles for stealing Hyukjae's when the other man gets up to take one of his cookies.

"Hi Zhou Mi," the group choruses. Zhou Mi looks like he'd like to leave it there, but Kangin presses him further. "And what is it that brings you here?"

"Um." His smile falters, but doesn't disappear. "It isn't too important... I'm sure everyone else's problems are much more pressing than mine-" He watches, distracted, as several others make their way to his cookies, then his smile is back, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Nonsense! The purpose of the group is so that everyone gets the help they need. How can we help you if you don't share?"

Zhou Mi considers this, one eye still on the dwindling pile of cookies. "Well... It's hard to say. But I suppose, I might have just a little bit of an obsession- with, um. Cum." Several of the others nod in understanding, and Zhou Mi seems to grow a little bit bolder. Leaning forward in his chair, ignoring Hyukjae's wistful eying of the seat, he continues.

"I like it a lot. I like to swallow; I like tasting as many people's as I can. You wouldn't believe the range of flavors there are! And I like it... when people taste mine..." He shifts in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as discreetly as possible with legs a mile long. He looks around the circle, beaming at everyone in the process of eating one of his cookies.

Realization dawns slowly; Donghae again is the first to stand and excuse himself to the bathroom. Yunho hurries to the trashcan, tossing the remainder of his cookie and making a face. Everyone else reacts with varying degrees of disgust or indifference; no one notices Ryeowook sneak away a few of the leftover cookies, blushing furiously.

Heechul bursts into laughter, throwing an arm around Zhou Mi's shoulders. "I think we could be very good friends," he announces, and Hankyung groans. Zhou Mi just smiles.

~~~

After the incident with Wooyoung and Key, Heechul had had to excuse himself to the bathroom, Kangin and Jay too distracted to send any guards after him this time. Not that he was planning on jerking off- well, not yet, at least.

He hunched over the bathroom counter, leaning down close over a small notepad, scribbling furiously away with a pen. No one here except Hankyung knew his own dirty little secret, and Hankyung certainly wouldn't be telling anyone, even if he could find the vocabulary to pull it off. Heechul was probably the only one in there by choice- no police orders, school punishments, psychiatrist recommendations or anything to coerce his attendance.

No, he came because he wanted to, and was as much at home in the little group as he was in his own bedroom. Though the arrival of that cyber freak Kyuhyun had made him slightly nervous at first, until he'd realized that the younger man was into more the visual side of things, and probably didn't waste any time with the text-based delights of the internet.

So Heechul was basically home free for the time being. Hurriedly he finished scrawling out the highlights of the meeting so far-- Minho's subway escapade. The dog-fucker, Youngbae. Zhou Mi's stunt with the cookies. Yunho and Amber, a match made in some twisted version of heaven. Gorgeous bruises on the neck of the second Junsu. And Wooyoung's submission only minutes earlier--

Heechul gave a choked moan, dropping his pen and shoving his hand down into his pants with a helpless urgency. Stumbling into a stall, he fumbled with the zip of his jeans with his free hand until he could free himself, hips working furiously into his own hand as little pants escaped his mouth. It didn't take long for him to finish, biting hard into his own arm to keep from making too much noise.

He sighed happily through the trembling afterwards, reaching a shaky hand for some toilet paper to clean himself up. It only took a minute or so for him to tuck himself away, washing his hands, smoothing out his hair, and tucking his notepad safely away in his back pocket. Grinning, he thought of the copious notes he'd already got out of tonight's session. It was enough to keep him writing for weeks. Still, though-- you could never have too much inspiration. After a last check of his appearance in the mirror, he made his way back to the meeting room.

"Did you miss me, darlings?" He announced his arrival, ignoring the scowls from about half the group. Hankyung gave him a knowing, disappointed look. Heechul just smirked.

~~~

Kangin calls Eeteuk a pedophile, and half the time he's joking, but Eeteuk's also pretty sure that half the time he's not, and this is a problem. It's a problem because Eeteuk isn't a pedophile. Not at all! He just likes to help. It's not his fault he has such a mothering personality. It's not his fault that all his younger acquaintances instinctively trust him, and turn to him for advice and comfort whenever they need it. And it's definitely not his fault that when they turn those wide, teary eyes up at him, when they whimper 'hyung' with such admiration and devotion, when they bury their faces in his shoulder and clutch his shirt with their soft, gentle hands--

Well, it's not his fault when his pants get a little too uncomfortably tight.

Besides, it's not like he ever initiates anything. He always gives them a nice, brotherly kiss on the forehead, something to soothe and reassure them. It's not his fault if sometimes the kiss turns into something a little more than brotherly. If that's how his boys want to show their gratitude and affection, who is he to turn them down?

Surely rejection would be devastating for their developing self-esteem. So really, in the end, he's doing the right thing.

Right?

A small shy voice comes from the entryway. "Um, excuse me? I think I may have gotten lost-"

Eeteuk snaps to attention, a kind smile on his face immediately as he stands, giving the newcomer a once over. He's young, maybe around Taemin's age, with adorable cheeks and the cutest bowl-cut eeteuk's ever seen. He clutches tight to a school satchel, eyes big as he scans the rather large group. "I'm supposed to be meeting my tutor here, but I forgot which room he's supposed to be in..."

"Don't worry, I'll help you find the place. Just call me Eeteuk-hyung. What's your name?" Eeteuk hurries over to the boy, whose face brightens in relief. "I'm Dongho. You can really help? Thank you so much, hyung!"

Still beaming, Eeteuk wraps an arm around Dongho's shoulders. "Of course! Hyung will take good care of you- Oh."

Eeteuk doesn't have to turn around to recognize the feel of Kangin's strong arms pulling him away from the boy. "Eeteuk hyung is going to stay right here," he's saying emphatically, steering a confused Dongho out the door. "I'll take you to the tutoring room." With one last disapproving scowl at Eeteuk, Kangin and Dongho are gone.

Sighing, he returns to his seat. It's not his fault, really. He just likes to help.

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 04:34:59 GMT

Um, so I kind of had a vague idea of something for Nanowrimo last year that never really came to fruition. I did write these three 'one-shots' of the verse, though. They involve a bit of explanation, I suppose...

tl;dr summary: A Korean sword-swallower's adventures in a European traveling circus in the 1920s/30s-ish.

The fics (summaries and fics make more sense after you read the character list):

one of saejin's sword swallowing acts
saejin's first lesson with jian
saejin and aleks are drunk and stupid (this is mostly crackfic for my own enjoyment)

CHARACTER LIST

Saejin:

He began life typically enough- born to middle class parents in Korea and raised in a nice family. They weren't rich, but they weren't poor either. They weren't a disrespected family, but they weren't nobility, and this is where things began to go sour. Saejin has demanded respect and admiration from a young age, and his station in life simply did not lend itself well to his perceptions of himself. So he did the only natural thing to do, and ran away from home at the tender age of 16, doing his best to make it big on his own.

Unfortunately, he was only on his own for a short while before he was captured by the occupying Japanese soldiers for use as a female sex slave to other Japanese soldiers. They'd mistaken his feminine looks, and assumed he was one of the many Korean girls dressed up as boys by their families to protect them from such a fate. An officer took a special interest in him, and ordered that Saejin be allowed to no one else but himself. He received a bit of a nasty surprise that night, but as it turned out, didn't particularly care that Saejin turned out as a boy. He did know, however, that his colleagues might, and so forced the boy to keep up the pretense of being female until they returned to Japan.

Saejin manipulated the situation to his benefit, gaining the trust and love of the Japanese officer. Once they were in Japan, then, it was easy to give the nasty old man the slip, and suddenly Saejin was loose in a whole new country. He continued to make a living doing what he did best, whoring himself on the street until he had enough money to live quite comfortably. But one too many run-ins with the law had Saejin fleeing to China, where he took up with a Chinese magician who attempted to teach him some tricks of the trade. Saejin had a short attention span, and was only able to learn the art of sword-swallowing. Saejin's relationship with the magician was a crude sort of puppy love, Saejin believed he had found someone he could be with forever, the magician felt otherwise. They received the offer to join a Chinese circus, on their way to perform in Russia, but the magician ran off on the road, and Saejin never heard from him again. He had nowhere else to go, so, heartbroken, he remained with the circus and traveled out of China.

It was here he found Jaesang, the young boy little more than a slave of the other circus workers. Saejin groomed the largely neglected boy as his own personal servant. Their circus performed in Leningrad to critical acclaim, and Saejin began to realize that if he just played his cards right, the circus may be able to bring him everything he wanted. He took Jaesang and ditched the Chinese circus, taking up with a smaller European circus which was happy to have him as an exotic addition to their repertoire.

What they didn't know was that Saejin was only using them as a vehicle to bigger and better things. He traveled with them across Europe, leaving them behind without a second thought when he found better prospects with a different circus, and continues to do so as he searches for his ultimate, unknown goal.

(23 years old in the present tense of the story)

Jaesang:

Jaesang doesn't know much about his history, and neither does anyone else. He can't remember what happened to his parents, and no one has ever bothered to tell him. At some point a Chinese circus got their hands on him, and he was basically a set of extra, unpaid hands to some of the lower-ranked circus workers. It's assumed his father was among them, though the man never stepped forward. He was raised among the small sub-community of Koreans in the circus, themselves little better than slaves of the Chinese managers.

Once Saejin found his way into the circus, however, Jaesang's life changed. The older boy took him under his wing, so to speak, grooming him to serve Saejin above all else. Jaesang was just so happy to have someone pay attention to him that he did all that was asked of him, growing to adore the older boy and devoting himself to him. He follows Saejin blindly from one circus to the next.

(8 years old in the present tense of the story)

Jian:

The Chinese magician...

(Age unknown, roughly ten or so years older than Saejin when they meet.)

Aleks:

The rather eccentric carousel operator of the current circus, Saejin's drinking buddy and partner in crime (and occasional fuck buddy). 18 years old in the present.

(I had more characters sketched out but they're not present in any of the bits I have written...)

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 04:33:44 GMT

Crack-fic. Saejin and Aleks get drunk and make plans. Not very in character with the rest of my "verse" ~~that only exists in my head oh god~~

~~~~~~~~~~~

“I think-“ Saejin started to speak, then stopped to hiccup and take another swig from the bottle he was currently clutching onto. The glass lay discarded on the floor; he had long decided it would be much more productive to just drink straight from the source. “I think we are both fucking drunk.”

Aleks only giggled, flushed cheek pressed against Saejin’s thigh. The younger boy was sprawled out on the ground, hugging a second bottle of unmarked booze close to his chest. They were both outside, kicked out of Aleks’ trailer by the other inhabitants, who, for some odd reason, felt sleep was slightly more important than getting trashed at two in the morning.

“No, seriously-“ Saejin moved his leg, Aleks giving a soft ‘oof’ as his head fall onto the damp grass. “We’re fucking smashed.”

“Wasn’t that the point, love?” Aleks heaved himself up, waggling his bottle teasingly in Saejin’s direction before taking a long sip. The older man ripped it away before he could finish, and some of the amber liquid found its way onto Aleks’ chin rather than in his mouth, where it belonged. It wasn’t there for long, though; Saejin had run out of his own liquor, and decided to solve the problem by licking the drops from his friend’s chin instead.

A small shiver ran down Aleks’ spine, and he expressed the feeling with another round of giggles. “Oh god, you know what would be hot?”

“Shut up,” Saejin hissed, trailing his lips up the other’s jawline. Aleks ignored the command, wriggling when Saejin’s hands came to rest on his side. “No, seriously. You know that kid? The guy- the one who sells the popcorn and shit.”

“Jesus fuck, I said shut up.” Sitting back on his heels, Saejin did his best to glare at the younger man. But it was too late- his curiosity had piqued. “What about the kid?”

Aleks eyes glittered dangerously as he whispered his plan into the night. “I’m going to fuck him.”

“Like hell you are. Well, maybe you can,” Saejin conceded, face set in a sharp smirk. “But not until I’m finished with him.”

“No, no, it’s okay! We can share him.” The carousel worker jumped to his feet, fell back on his ass, then struggled to his feet once more. A dastardly plot was rapidly building in his head, and his excitement for it was clearly visible. Saejin huffed, but Aleks reached down to ruffle his hair reassuringly. “No, I’m being serious. We can go get him, and, like… steal him or something. And- oh god- we can tie him up! Oh shiiiiit this is gonna be fucking amazing.” His lids slid down over his eyes, the tip of his tongue poking out as visions of successful fulfillment of The Plan ran through his head.

His reverie stalled somewhat as a sharp pain burst in his head. At some point Saejin had stood, dealing a forceful strike to the back of his head. “Yah! You can’t just, like… say that you’re gonna steal someone. You need a real plan, with steps and shit, and you need someone capable to pull it off, and we-“ Here he stumbled slightly, uneasy on his feat. “We are most definitely not capable right now.”

“We’re perfectly capable!” Aleks protested, pursing his full lips into a pout. “We’re like fucking superheroes or some shit like that. Oh, fuck!” His eyes suddenly lit up brightly as an idea occurred to him. “We are superheroes. I decided.”

“Really?” Saejin cocked an eyebrow, one hand on his hip, and the position would have been sexy if it weren’t for the fact he kept tipping dangerously to one side.

Aleks was unfazed by this, though, too wrapped up in his new idea. “Really really. Oh, oh- I can be the Swallower!” He gave a shrieking sort of giggle, clasping his hands together in raptures over his brilliance. “And you can be my sidekick….” One hand was placed on Saejin’s shoulder, the wide grin on Aleks’ face replaced by a look of solemnity as he bestowed the honor of his new title on the older man.

“Fuck off if I’m your sidekick,” Saejin snarled, shrugging the hand off his shoulder. “If anyone’s the sidekick here, it’s you.”

“Can I still be the Swallower?”

After making a big show of debating the decision, Saejin finally gave a deigning nod. “I guess.”

“Okay then.” That grin was back as Aleks took Saejin by the hand and attempted to pull him forward.

oh yeah also this is unfinished... which i just realized

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 04:32:39 GMT

Jian gives Saejin a sword swallowing lesson. It ends with sex. I feel stupid. :(

Also it has a very trite ending but that's because I needed to somehow tie it together into a one shot.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The sword-swallowing lesson had been Jian's idea- "You have no interest in anything else, so you'll learn this one or die trying!" They were outside, which had been Saejin's idea- "If you're so insistent on killing me, then I at least want witnesses to the murder!" Jian had laughed then, and kissed him, and somehow or another Saejin had found himself out in the courtyard with an attractive Chinese magician wielding a foot-long blade.

Well, not so much 'wielding' as 'holding in as unthreatening a manner as possible'. But the fact remained that Jian had a weapon—a sword—that he intended to shove down Saejin's throat. The younger man was understandably not quite comfortable with the concept, glancing around their current location nervously. "There's no one around," he noted in a shaky voice. "I said I wanted witnesses."

"All you made me promise was that we'd do this outside," Jian corrected him with a grin. "And we're outside, aren't we?" Before Saejin could run away, the Chinese man wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. "Besides, we do so enjoy our privacy, don't we, love?"

"Get off me," Saejin growled, a light flush coloring his cheeks. He made to shrug off the unwelcome arm, but Jian's grip was firm. "Saejin, qin ai de, you know I'm not going to hurt you." His free hand came up to stroke the younger man's face gently, doing his best to calm his nerves. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be working.

"Not going to hurt me? You're going to cut me up from the inside!" Saejin exclaimed, again attempting to duck out of Jian's hold. Again Jian thwarted the attempt. "Don't be foolish," he scolded. It was obvious he was started to grow angry, by the way he yanked Saejin backwards, dropping his hand down to clamp around his throat. The younger man struggled weakly, but he knew it was no use.

Jian's mouth was beside his ear, whispering words of comfort as he forced Saejin's head back. "Don't be afraid, mei li," he murmured, coaxing his mouth open, long fingers stroking the pale skin of his throat.

"Ge," Saejin whimpered, the shine of tears in his eyes. "Ge ge, please." Jian only gave him a sad smile, bringing the short sword up into the air above them. The glint of the sun on the blade threw Saejin into a panic, his thin frame twisting helplessly in the older man's arms. "No. No, I won't do it!" He clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head like a petulant child. Anyone would think he was throwing a groundless temper tantrum; it was the tears that spilled onto his face that betrayed his very real fear.

Jian let the sword fall limply at his side, relaxing his hold long enough for Saejin to turn and bury his face in his shoulder, hands fisting into the front of his shirt. The magician could feel the younger man's body shaking as he mumbled pleading words against his skin. "Please, Jian, don't make me do it. I'm scared, ge, it'll hurt, please don't…"

"Shh, hai, it'll be okay, I promise," Jian reassured, rubbing soothing circles into his back. "It'll just be a moment, all you have to do is stay perfectly still and it'll all be over in a moment."

Saejin lifted his head and shook it in protest, continued to shake it even as Jian eased it backwards, a thumb sliding into the corner of his mouth to pull it open. A small whimper fell from his throat as he went limp in his lover's hold, teary eyed and trembling. Jian raised the blade once more, bringing it down into Saejin's mouth before the younger man could panic again.

"Relax, hai. Just keep your throat relaxed and try not to gag—you've had plenty of practice with that, haven't you, mei li?" He laughed at Saejin's answering scowl, stroking the hair from his forehead lovingly. "Just take slow, deep breaths. I promise you'll be fine."

I'm not so sure of that, Saejin thought bitterly to himself, eyes falling shut as he yielded his body to Jian's plan. He followed the older man's advice, focusing on keeping his breathing steady as he felt the probing tip of the sword hit the back of his throat. He didn't even notice the way his nails dug into Jian's skin, all that mattered was not gagging, not panicking, just holding perfectly still until the ordeal was over.

His eyes flew open in shock as a sudden stinging pain burst from his throat. A muffled cry came as he tried to pull away, Jian's eyes scarily dark as he forced him to keep still. "Don't move," he ordered harshly. "Unless you really do want me to cut you from the inside." Immediately Saejin was limp again, his eyes fluttering against the pain. A few shaky breaths were forced through his nose, slender hands clutching weakly at Jian's arm in a plea for relief. The older man's eyes softened, even as he pushed the sword deeper down, ever so slowly, explaining every step as he went. "That pain was the sword moving into your esophagus. Nothing's gone wrong, you'll be fine. I'll only put it in a few more inches, and then we'll be done for today…"

The running commentary didn't help, but Saejin found if he closed his eyes and tuned out the meaning of the words, Jian's voice itself was a calming force. It was easy to lose himself in the sound of it, and before he knew was happening, the cold intrusion of the blade was receding, dragging back up his throat. Another small sting of pain as it passed back into his mouth, and then it was over, a low moan falling from his lips as a shudder ran down his spine.

"Oh, god-" Jian whispered hoarsely, dropping the sword to hold Saejin's face in his hands. The younger man distantly registered the dull thud of metal falling to the ground before warm lips were pressed against his in a frantic kiss, a welcome relief compared to what his mouth had been occupied with moments before. The pain was reduced to a dull throbbing in the back of his throat, the heated kiss serving its purpose as a distraction as hands wandered lower, bodies pressed together, and the sword lay forgotten on the ground.

An hour or so later, Jian lay splayed out on their shared bed, Saejin curled up against his side with a look of absolute content on his face. One hand idly played at the Korean's hair, the other propping his own head up on the pillow. "I'm sorry it had to hurt, love," the words were offered into the warm air in a low whisper. Saejin stirred, one hand trailing across the magician's bare chest as a smirk played on his lips. "It's quite all right, ge. You more than made up for it."

It was Jian's turn to smirk, laughing softly. "I couldn't help myself. That had to have been the sexiest thing I've ever seen." Saejin purred happily, moving to sprawl comfortably on top of the older man. "I bet it'd be even sexier if I did it myself with a real sword."

"That it would," Jian agreed, laying a kiss on his forehead. Saejin closed his eyes, resting his head on the other's shoulder with a satisfied sigh. "I guess I'll just have to learn sword-swallowing after all."

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 04:26:31 GMT

Saejin's sword-swallowing in action. Kind of graphic. Um... yeah. I'm not positive about the Chinese and Portuguese here. XD

also omg i haven't read this since i first wrote it over a year ago and i'm afraid to reread please let me know if there's anything hugely ridiculous. T____T

~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the heart-wrenching emotion of the first act, Saejin callously ignored their efforts, occupied instead with relaying instructions to his young assistant. Granted, Jaesang had played the role many times before, and they’d been over the rules for this particular act nearly hundreds of times, but a last minute refresher never hurt. The swords themselves were wrapped in cloth, laid carefully on the ground at the pair’s feet. Saejin crouched, holding Jaesang close as he whispered what was expected of him into the boy’s ear. Jaesang, to give him credit, was paying close attention with an expression of the most deathly seriousness; this was, after all, a matter of life and death to his hyung.

One of the stage crew came by, nervously ducking around Saejin to instead tap Jaesang on the shoulder, alerting the pair that it was almost their turn to perform. Saejin straightened and glared at the man until he hurried off, then crouched once more and gave Jaesang a swift hug. “You do good, okay?” He murmured in low Korean, Jaesang nodding a wide-eyed affirmation. The smaller boy pulled away to gather the small bundle of swords into his arms, moving to wait just beside the entrance to the ring. Saejin held back a moment, eyes trained on the one sword Jae had purposely left behind. It was longer than the others, with a wider blade, but there appeared to be nothing too special about it. The red cloth that protected its blade was plain enough, dusty from golden metal, intricate designs of silver threaded across its surface. At the end hung a red tassel, woven into a Chinese knot, laid carefully across the top of the hilt so it wasn’t tainted by the ground. When Saejin leaned to pick the sword up, he did it with a sort of reverence that he rarely afforded anything on this world, cradling the bundle in his arms. Anyone watching would be surprised at the uncharacteristic solemnity in the man’s face as he brought his lips down to kiss the hilt, then the knot, eyes falling shut as he did so. “Feng,” the word was whispered gently, almost lovingly. “Bao chi wo an quan.”

“Hyung!” Jaesang’s urgent stage whisper brought Saejin back to the reality of the moment. “Kaja!” Hurrying to the boy’s side, Saejin carefully laid the sword, Feng, on the ground beside the entrance, carelessly pulling one sword out from the bundle that Jaesang still carried. Saejin scowled, listening to the ringmaster’s voice back out in the ring, the cliché warning to ‘not try this at home.’ No, let them try, it would certainly do a nice job of weeding the foolish out from the population. It was Saejin who risked his life on a nightly basis for their entertainment, the trapeze artists flying through the air had their safety nets, the animal tamers had brute strength and the force of others to control their pets, but there was no safety net inside his throat, no one else could save him when he was out there, blades pushing into his insides. He was alone, all alone, at the mercy of the sword, and his own hand, and occasionally another’s.

The lights, turned on for the ringmaster’s short appearance, now dimmed once more, dimmed and then slammed off, leaving the tent in darkness. A flute in the orchestra began to play eerily, a haunting tune that was distinctly oriental in feel, though it didn’t sound like any true Asian song Saejin was aware of. He scoffed, it didn’t matter really. The point was to capitalize on the exotic mystique of the Far East, it didn’t matter if it was true or not, the majority of foolish Europeans would never know the difference. It was why Saejin, himself Korean, was decked from head to toe in hanfu, the most recognizable Chinese outfit to the Western world. The red silk draped gracefully over his thin form, swishing softly as he stalked out into the black darkness of the ring.

A single violin joined the flute, then a clarinet, and slowly the whole orchestra worked their way into the music as a single spotlight shined down to where Saejin stood. The man held himself high with elegance, a scowl on his face as he regarded the audience. Under the bright light, the gold patterns woven on his robe shone. He had shunned the men’s version of the outfit, choosing instead to wear his sleeves long and wrap the cloth in the style of the women’s quju, the black trim of the silk stark against the blood red. His hair was its natural black for this performance, tied up out of the way in a bun to expose the pale skin of his neck, even the traditional high collar of his outfit had been folded down to this purpose. After all, that was what his whole performance revolved around, the use of his throat, and what point would it serve to obstruct it from view?

His eyes were lined in heavy black, almost reminiscent of Egyptian kohl, his lips painted a blood red to match his garment. From a distance it was impossible to tell whether the exotic creature was female or male, and Saejin himself did nothing to lessen this confusion. A sword was in his hand, the blade gleaming under the spotlight, not quite as majestic as the one that awaited him backstage. No, this one was rather simple, circus property, a thin blade that reached about two feet with a plain bronze hilt at the end. Saejin raised it into the air, a hush falling over the crowd. The spotlight was still bright, but the lights had been brought back up, not enough so one could see quite clearly, but enough that the crowd could notice the little boy who scampered out into the ring. A bright smile beamed on Jaesang’s face as he darted forward, dressed in a simple silk tunic, blue with the same gold pattern as Saejin’s robe. Ducking under the older man’s outstretched arm, he continued forward until he reached the audience, stopping in front of a small girl in the front row. Grinning, he bowed to her, his small body forming a perfect ninety-degree angle with his arms tight as his sides. The girl, sandwiched between her mother and her father, giggled, an expression of delight on her young face. Ignoring her mother’s protests, she stood and took Jaesang’s hand when he offered it, following obediently as he dragged her into the ring and beside Saejin, under the spotlight.

It was almost comical the way the man dwarfed the two children, who stood at matching heights, and yet he solemnly handed the sword down to them, Jaesang’s hand over the little girl’s, giggling once more as she accepted the hilt. Her eyes widened as she hefted the blade with Jaesang’s help, her small voice exclaiming aloud, “É real!” Saejin smirked, taking the sword back into his own hand, leaving Jaesang free to tug at the girl’s arm until she followed him backstage, eyes wide with wonderment.

With the children gone, the attention was brought back to Saejin, the lights dimming once more so only he was visible in the darkness of the tent. With a flourish he threw his head back, the pale expanse of his throat offered up to the crowd’s eyes, and raised the sword into the air. Both his hands clasped at the hilt, the point aimed straight to the ground. With one deep breath he brought the blade downward and into his mouth, pushing it easily to the back of his throat, and pausing there. He inhaled once through his nose and braced himself, giving the hilt a firm push downward to force it through into his esophagus, a strangled moan escaping at the action. It was always this, the first few moments that hurt the worst. Slowly he pulled the hilt closer to his face, simultaneously bringing the blade further into his body. He reminded himself that this was the easy part, a slight discomfort in the back of his mind, the taste of metal filling his senses and the probing tip of the sword pushing ever lower.

As he worked, Jaesang and the little girl had emerged from backstage, one sword in each of their small hands. The four they carried were identical, the whole bunch in turn identical to the one currently lodged in Saejin’s body. Jaesang strode confidently to the older man’s side, the girl following at a more hesitant pace as she watched the display in fascination. With a smile and another bow, Jaesang took the swords from her grasp, clumsily balancing all four in the crook of his elbow as he shoved her gently back towards her family. She returned the smile politely, cutting a curtsy in her simple linen dress, then skipped back to her seat with a self-important grin. “As espadas são reais,” she announced loudly to her father, the comment broadcasted to the entire audience in the silence of the tent.

Meanwhile, Saejin’s sword had refused to go any farther, the tip firmly lodged at the bottom of his stomach. Still, Saejin was proud of himself, only a couple of inches of the blade remained outside his mouth. It was deeper than he tended to manage, and he thanked himself for remembering to down a few glasses of water to stretch his stomach before the performance. He held out a hand to Jaesang, who placed the hilt of another sword in his palm. The hilt of on still protruding from his mouth, Saejin now brought a second blade above his head and brought it down, following the path cleared by the first to easily slide it down his throat and into his stomach. He went slower this time, careful not to scissor the two blades and catch the wall of his throat in the process. With two swords comfortably lodged, Jaesang handed him a third.

Squeezing his eyes shut tight, Saejin forced this one slowly down. The effects of the strain on his body were beginning to show; a thin film of sweat at his brow, his shoulders heaving as he breathed quickly through his nose. The urge to gag rose, he forced it down. It wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of practice suppressing his gag reflex. He’d taken three swords before, he could do it again. The third blade slid slowly along the others, down, down into his stomach. Saejin released the hilt once it was as far as it would go, hands falling limply at his sides. For a moment he stood, seemingly frozen as he let his body adjust to the intrusion. Jaesang watched anxiously, two more swords still at hand, until Saejin’s eyes fluttered open and he motioned for the boy to hand them to him.

Jaesang hesitated to give them up, the worry evident in his eyes. Never before had Saejin taken more than three; he’d hinted about wanting to break his record in tonight’s performance, but now that the time had come, Jaesang wasn’t so sure. Saejin’s eyes narrowed as he motioned for the swords a second time; both at once? Yes, of course, there was no way he was going to last much longer. It had already been almost two minutes since the first sword had gone down. Reluctantly Jaesang passed their hilts into the older man’s outstretched hands; he held them together and raised them up, taking one more deep breath before plunging the twin blades down into his throat.

They scraped along the surface of each other, of the blade already there, the sound of metal on metal jarring to everyone’s ears but Saejin’s himself. His eyes were shut once more as he focused his entire being on the moment. He was careful to listen to his body, screaming for release. Just one moment more, he warned it, just a moment longer. Quickly, quickly he forced the two blades down as one until they hit the bottom of his stomach. It was a bizarre creature that stood in the middle of the ring, a human that at this point seemed neither male nor female, but beautiful all the same, five bronze hilts fanning out from its mouth, the gold thread of his robe sparkling under the light, breathtaking and repulsive all at once.

The moment lasted only that, a moment, Saejin’s hands never leaving the two combined hilts as he brought them as far as they could go, paused, then dragged them immediately back up. As their tips traversed the line between stomach and throat, they brought with them a slight burning sensation, not quite enough to cause pain but enough for disgust to well at the back of Saejin’s mind. Stomach acid, it was dragged up along with the blades; as the ends of the blades emerged back into his mouth, it was with a burst of sharp, bitter flavor. It was enough to make one vomit, it was the taste of vomit, but paired with the tang of metal and the adrenaline pumping through his blood, Saejin found it delicious. It was the taste of power.

The two swords emerged and were handed off to Jaesang, who wiped their blades clean and bundled them back into the cloth. The third came up easily, and the second, bringing them back up always went faster than forcing them down. It was with a sense of extreme pride that Saejin grabbed the hilt of the first sword and tugged upwards, his body singing its relief as it was finally freed from the blade, the blade that had been sheathed for nearly four minutes, longer than ever before. But even as his body cried relief, Saejin was left with a feeling of immense emptiness as he pulled the last blade from his mouth. Despite the pain, despite the discomfort, the feeling of being filled by his blades was something he had come to love, almost like a drug.

With some regret he handed the final sword down to Jaesang, who immediately darted backstage once more. The crowd erupted in its applause, but Saejin could only look out with disdain. They didn’t even understand what they were applauding; they couldn’t understand. The heady sense of power, of life and death, the feeling of being more than human with a blade down your throat- how could these simple people even hope to comprehend that sense of being? He bowed anyway, acknowledging their praise with a false smile on his face.

But it wasn’t over, not yet. He strode forward, the first time he’d moved since taking his place in the ring. His target was decided, a rather portly man dressed in what seemed to be his Sunday best, with a son in his lap and a wife at his side. A feline smirk on his face, Saejin closed in on the man, who chuckled nervously and handed the young boy off to his smiling mother. Hiding his personal disgust at the man, he took the man’s hands in his and pulled him to his feet, drawing him close, then taking a step backwards, leading him back to the center of the ring in this seductive sort of follow-the-leader. The man seemed unsure of himself, pacing obediently after Saejin and stopping in the center with a nervous smile. Saejin rolled his eyes, bringing one hand up to cup the man’s face before leaning in and whispering hotly against his ear, “Retire a espada.” The man’s eyes widened and he shook his head in protest, but Saejin ignored this, turning instead to greet Jaesang who had returned with a glass of water and another sword, the one with the golden hilt and the tasseled knot.

First Saejin took the water, just one small sip to clear his throat. It was lukewarm, with cold water he ran the risk of numbing his throat and not being able to feel if something was wrong. He winced at the stinging pain as it went down, he’d already stretched his throat to its limit tonight, and here he’d do it once more.

He took the sword now, a guarded expression on his face; he didn’t want to reveal his emotional attachment to the weapon for the entire world to see. The cloth fell from the blade, piling on the ground to reveal a broad expanse of steel, much wider than the earlier swords and a few inches longer. Once more Saejin kissed the knot, his head falling backwards as he raised the blade up and forced it down into his body, the man standing awkwardly to the side.

The pain roared at first, his body’s protest, but dimmed to a dull throbbing when the blade didn’t relent in its purpose. Saejin heaved out a sigh, then a moan, he could feel the walls of his throat stretching to make room for the sword. As it continued downward, his eyes fluttered shut as he remembered, remembered things he forced himself to forget, warm hands and soft words and eyes that smiled like the sun. The pain was a perfect counterpoint, pain he’d first felt at the hands of those smiling eyes, the soft words guiding him through it and the warm hands easing it away. It hurt, god, it hurt to this day, and he wasn’t sure anymore whether the pain was in his throat or his stomach or his heart.

Finally, with a last push downward, he was filled to the brim with steel. It was an amazing feeling that he wanted to last forever, but he reminded himself that that was impossible. His body simply couldn’t take it, no matter how badly he wanted it. So slowly, deliberately, Saejin turned on his heel so he was facing the man. Their eyes locked, his wide and slightly frightened, Saejin's stormy, dangerous, and faintly brimming with stinging tears. Carefully, he sunk to his knees before the portly man, the position inherently provocative, a fact Saejin acknowledged with a laviscious wink. The man swallowed his discomfort, adam's apple bobbing nervously as he watched the display in bewildered fascination. Saejin knelt, arms spread wide, the implications of the gesture clear: my life is in your hands. It was both beautiful and bizarre; Saejin's body postured in the most primal form of submission, with almost a foot of gleaming metal and golden hilt protruding from his mouth. The red tassel swung lazily back and forth as his body began to tremble, the tears that had welled started to spill onto his face. Eyes narrowing, he glanced across at Jaesang with an unspoken signal; the boy picked up on it immediately, stepping up to the frozen man's side decisively. Taking his large, sweaty hand with his own small, pale one, he guided it to the hilt of the sword, gently closing the thick fingers around the cold metal.

Sweat beaded at the man's brow, his free hand shaking as he brought it to join the first around the sword's handle. Jaesang gave him an encouraging nod and stepped back, eyes locked on Saejin's locked on the man whose hands held the sword that, for the moment, held his life-- and death. Holding his breath, the man began to pull upwards. At first the sword didn't budge, and a look of panic crossed his face and he started to let go. Saejin, eyes flashing furiously, brought his own hands down to wrap tightly around the man's legs, just above his knees. His fingers sunk in deep, nails sharp even through the fabric of the man's trousers. He winced and pulled up once more; the sword seemed to hesitate, and with a lurch began to yield to the force. Slowly, slowly it came up, inch by inch the amount of shining silver that was visible grew. Saejin's grip tightened, knuckles turning a white even paler than his skin, holding onto the man as an anchor to reality. He swallowed his disgust even as he had swallowed the sword, the sword that his body now gave back up to the world, guided by the Portuguese's hands.

Saejin could feel the edge dragging up along his insides, an insistent pressure against the walls of his throat. The man pulled too fast, Saejin dug his nails in deeper and he slowed. Now the man moved too slowly, Saejin's eyes flashed urgently up at him, and his speed increased. Little by little the sword was freed from its human sheath, accompanied by small breaths of air forced through Saejin's nose. He was struggling to stay focused, but with each passing second it became more difficult. He'd already pushed his limits earlier, and the longer it took to free himself from this sword, the more his mind clouded. His vision blurred, partly from tears, and the urge to cough, or gag, to do something, anything to move his throat was growing stronger.

The man could sense the urgency, from the way the fingers tightened against his leg, from the way Saejin's thin body was begin to tremble violently, from the look in those eyes that he couldn't drag his own away from. His own muscles were beginning to ache, his heart racing, and then suddenly his arm spasmed, jerking the sword forward. It was less than a centimeter, but Saejin's eyes widened first in shock, then narrowed in fury. That had hurt. A wave of burning panic swept down his spine, though he quickly reassured himself that nothing had been damaged. Still, though, the pain lingered, and from the way he glared up at the man his message was clear- Get this fucking thing out of me, now. The man suffered a rush of panic himself, more from the pure anger in those eyes than from anything else. Bracing himself, he gave the sword a last, long, steady jerk upwards.

A shudder of perverse pleasure ran through Saejin's body, his eyes falling shut as the last of the sword was pulled from his stomach. He'd dulled to the acrid taste in his throat, but now it was renewed, a peculiar tang of metal and stomach acid that few in the world had ever been unlucky enough to experience. It was disgusting, but Saejin craved it, his chest heaving as the man continued to pull. The worst was over, the sword slipped up easily through his throat, his mouth bearing it back up into the air. The last foot or so passed quickly, a tingling shiver building at the base of Saejin's spine. The tip stalled near the end, it was a small tug that brought it up through the flap of skin that separated the inner passage from the cavern of his mouth. The pressure of the action tore a low moan from the back of his throat, his back arching gracefully forward. He bit down on the last few inches of metal as the man pulled it free, the sound of teeth on steel ringing through the air like two swords clashing together.

The man held the freed sword up, a confused look on his face. He seemed slightly stunned by what he had done, his awkwardness intensified when Saejin's body seemed to collapse in on itself, falling forward so his forehead rested against one of the man's knees. His thin frame shook, panting heavily, and Jaesang stepped forward once more. He took the sword, wrapping the blade back in its cloth. It was a tense minute or so until Saejin finally straightened, then stood, still shaky with his hand pressed tight against his neck. His face was pale, but his eyes were clear and bright, angry as he shoved the man away, back towards the audience. In a daze, he stumbled back towards his family and his seat; Saejin watched him go with a look of disgust before turning and striding haughtily out of the ring, pausing to take the sword from Jaesang's outstretched hands as he passed. The boy turned, hands pressed together as he hastily bowed his thanks to the onlookers. Flashing one last bright smile, he spun around and darted out the way he'd came, leaving the ring empty for the next act.

Translations:

Chinese
Feng, bao chi wo an quan. -> Feng (name of the sword, means ‘sharp blade’), keep me safe.

Korean
Hyung, kaja! -> Hyung, let’s go!

Portuguese
É real! -> It’s real!
As espadas são reais. -> The swords are real.
Retire a espada. -> Pull the sword out.

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 03:54:10 GMT

The second chunk of my Nanowrimo from last year... This is a lot more coherent than part one, I promise.

Characters: Siwon, Hankyung, (Heechul)
Rating: No sex, mild violence

Part One

~~~~~~~~~

when you wake up again you’re on a bed that’s far more comfortable, in a room illuminated by a sun beaming in through a break in the curtains. the fabric is red and velvety, and it matches the blanket covering your body. which matches the thick carpet as well, you notice, blinking your eyes to take in the plush opulence of the room. the color of wine, you think, decadent and slightly bitter. the walls are a light cream and you wonder what they would look like with red wine splattered across them—or blood.

you don’t fully remember what brought you to this room. you remember weaving through crowds in the street, then a crowd in a dark basement, you remember the taste of alcohol and sweat, a heavy head in a dark room, and you remember meeting hankyung. you remember you talked but you don’t remember what you said—don’t remember what he said. only that it was bad, and his hands were soothing.

you remember loving heechul.

you remember hating heechul.

the door opens and shuts to reveal a small boy with a dangerous smile, and suddenly you remember him, too. he’s dressed nicer than he was the night before, but the night before feels like a dream and you aren’t sure of anything anymore. there’s a stack of folded clothes in his arms, and he deposits the pile onto a wooden chest at the foot of the bed—your bed? you don’t remember.

he raises an eyebrow at you and you realize that you’re naked under the plush red blanket. he cocks his thumb at a door in the corner of the room. “bathroom,” he explains, then points at a second door on the adjacent wall. “closet.” you thank him and take the clothes, cheeks flushed red at his mocking smile as you cross the room in the nude to get to the bathroom.

you wash your face and the soap smells delicate and chinese. it makes your nose itch. you dress in silence, the dark slacks and white button-down perfectly fitted to your body. a red tie, not the wine red of the bedroom but the blood red like you imagined.

when you emerge the boy is sitting cross-legged on the wooden chest, the covers on the bed stretched taut and the blanket folded neatly and the pillows arranged to perfection. “jian,” he says, pointing proudly to himself. then he points to you. “shiyuan”

no, no. you want to stop him, say shiwon and make him repeat, but the smug set of his jaw tells you that would be useless. instead you stand awkwardly in the middle of the carpet, unsure of where to go from here. jian saves you by leaping to his feet and heading to the third door in the room, the one he’d entered from. “here,” he says, and swings it open. the hallway is plain and empty, wooden floors and light blue walls with peeling paint. jian pads down it confidently and you follow with a ghostly step. it feels like the floor might fall out from under your feet, like you’ll stumble on a bump that isn’t there. none of it seems quite real. you shouldn’t be here, you think, then correct yourself because part of you remembers that yes, you should be here, but that same part can’t remember why.

he disappears around a corner and you follow carefully and what you see makes you stop in your tracks. a room, huge and airy, a high ceiling emblazoned with suns and dragons, golden and red and marvelous. walls draped in cloth, hanging in giant folds, a marble floor with intricate designs laid into the stone, and the centerpiece, a wooden table, dark and polished with chairs dotting the sides. hankyung is seated at one end and your heart jumps.

jian turns and sees your awestruck face and grins in delight. moving behind you, he shoves you forward to the table and you avoid looking at hankyung’s face. you watch jian instead as he pulls a chair out for you to sit, thanking him softly. he disappears without a word and you’re left alone with hankyung at the table.

it’s surface is bare, except for a bowl in front of hankyung and a wine glass filled with something in a vivid orange. you make a face and hankyung laughs. he picks up the cup with graceful hands, swirling it and its contents. the liquid circles the glass, and hankyung sets it down. “orange juice,” he says simply, and your eyes widen slightly. he picks up a spoonful of the contents of the bowl and slips it into his mouth and swallows. “cereal.”

you don’t know what to make of this man who’s all mysteries and contradictions, underground dungeons at night and cereal for breakfast, orange juice in a wine glass, with a house that doesn’t match at all. you sit a little straighter in your seat and clear your throat. “i think,” you start, then clear your throat again. “i think we should get down to business.”
“business isn’t important” he dismisses your proposal like that, taking another bite of cereal. he sips at his orange juice, lips pressed soft against the glass. jian is back, slipping a matching bowl of cereal in front of you. your orange juice comes in a coffee mug. the boy is gone as fast as he came, and you ignore his offering.

“hankyung,” you staccato his name and he raises an eyebrow. “just geng” he says it softly, in a whisper, and your memory twinges as you remember those words from last night. with that memory also comes the memory of warm hands, delicate but strong as they massaged at your skin. your cheeks flush and you harden your expression.

“hankyung” and you repeat it stubbornly, and his face seems to fall. maybe it’s your imagination. you continue, laying your palms flat on the surface of the table. “despite what happened last night, i am here on business. i don’t have times to play games with you and your boy; heechul will be expecting me by the end of the week.”

he flinches when you name the other, and you allow yourself a smirk. you’ve found a weakness. “heechul has sent me specifically to speak with you about matters of his personal interest, and i trust that you’ll be willing to cooperate.” hankyung doesn’t flinch this time, but he smiles sadly, sipping vaguely at the orange juice. he still doesn’t speak, and anger builds in your stomach.

“what, you’ll refuse the message? he’ll be upset if i return with nothing. you don’t think he’ll let you ignore this without consequence, do you? it would be quite foolish to assume such a thing.”

when hankyung sets the wine glass down, it’s with enough force to send the orange contents splashing onto the wooden table. he stands, palms slamming down on the table’s surface to rest in a position mimicking your own. his eyes are blazing, and they remind you of heechul, and that’s enough to make you recoil in something not unlike fear.

“what’s foolish is you putting on all these fancy airs.” he’s clearly furious, but he doesn’t shout or screech like heechul. his voice goes cold instead, void of emotion and somehow that’s even worse. “i know all about you, shiyuan.” he sneers your name with the foreign tone that jian had used. “i know you were just a regular guy, just another university student with no life and no future until heechul found you. you talk like a prince, you stupid kid, but you were nothing before heechul and you’re nothing without him. you’re nothing now.” there’s a promise in his voice like razor blades, and it cuts through your skin.

rage blinds you and you lunge from your seat, you’re going to rip out his throat and he’ll never laugh again. but hankyung is in your face before you’ve taken two steps, one of his graceful hands wrapped tight around your neck. you can’t see the other, but you can hazard a guess that it’s wrapped just as tight around the handle of the blade that’s pressing against your lower stomach, cut through the cloth of your shirt but not hard enough to break the skin (not yet). you take a breath and it rattles down your throat and you pretend to be brave and stoic but you know he sees the fear in your eyes. tension’s brought him up onto the balls of his feet, like a dancer except deadly. “coward,” he hisses through his teeth.

you lower your eyes in defeat and he sinks back, slightly deflated. the knife is withdrawn into the folds of his outfit (suit and tie) and his other hand moves from your neck, sliding up your skin to pat your jaw with something almost like fondness. his face is unreadable. “don’t take it personally. i was nothing before heechul, either. and now i have this.” he waves his arm to indicate the extravagant room, but you don’t think that’s quite what he means.

“stop acting like a prince. that’s probably why he sent you away. just be shiyuan and maybe things will work out.” he spins on his heel and moves to stride out of the room. you startle yourself by calling after him in a voice that’s more confident than what your stomach would have you believe you are.

“it’s shiwon.” he turns around and looks at you curiously. your courage wavers slightly (your stomach still tingles where the blade pressed cold steel) and you explain yourself in a softer voice. “not shiyuan. shiwon.” he waits a beat, then nods. “then i’m geng, not hankyung.” another beat, then as an afterthought, “only heechul calls me hankyung.” he sounds like he’s reminiscing and you don’t like it. but he’s gone before you can say anything else.

you’re lost until jian reappears, clucking his tongue at your untouched cereal. he refuses to let you leave the room until you’ve eaten it, milk and all, and downed your orange juice on top of that. afterwards he ushers you back to what you can only assume is your room, sitting you on the bed and assuring you he’ll “be right back, it’ll only be a minute.” he slips out of the room and you can hear the lock turn behind him. you can’t help but laugh a little at the absurdness of the situation, flopping facedown onto the bed and contemplating suffocating yourself with the down pillows.

after debating whether or not to call heechul and beg him to explain what’s going on, you realize that it doesn’t matter whether you decide to call him or not, you have no idea where your things are. you’d woken up naked, you remember with a blush, and jian never mentioned where your own clothes might be, or more importantly, the contents of your pockets. your wallet, your cell phone, your passport, your gun. all necessary items. all missing.

in a sudden panic you fling open the doors of the closet jian had pointed out earlier. hanging in a neat row are a line of outfits similar to the one you’re wearing—slacks, a button down shirt, and a tie. the only difference between each ensemble is the color scheme. several pairs of shoes are rowed up at the bottom of the closet, and the upper shelf holds only two small throw blankets, folded and waiting for use.

furious, you turn next to the bedside table, the wood slamming angrily as you yank out each of the three drawers. nothing- nothing- nothing. all empty. you slam them shut again and remember the wooden chest. sinking to your knees in front of the stained wood, you bite your lip and pull up on the ornate metal latch—it’s locked.

a helpless little whine escapes your throat as you fall back onto your bottom, defeated, the blow cushioned somewhat by the plush, wine red carpet. the door opens and jian walks in, clutching a small wooden box to his chest. you heave yourself to your feel, glowering at the small boy in what should be an intimidating manner. it doesn’t even faze him. striding past you, he sets the box on the bed and makes grabby hands at your chest. you stare for a moment before he rolls his eyes, exasperated, and says in an impatient voice, “your shirt.”

numb, you unbutton the piece of clothing and hand it down to him, leaving the tie draped around your neck. he hoists himself up onto the bed and sits cross legged, taking the shirt in his lap and opening the small box beside him. it’s filled with thread of different colors, scissors, and a pincushion stuck full of needles. you reach for one of the colored spools and he slaps your hand away, narrowing his eyebrows at you. sheepish, you take a seat beside him on the bed and watch in fascination as he unwinds a length of white thread the exact color of your shirt. he takes the pincushion up next, inspecting it with one squinted eye before deciding on one particular needle for no apparent reason. the scissors now, as he snips off the measured out thread and knots it through the eye of the needle. the tip of his tongue peeking through his lips in childish determination, he takes up your shirt and you belatedly realize what exactly he’s doing—sewing the hole hankyung’s knife sliced through the fabric.

and then you laugh, starting out with a weak chuckle that quickly builds to something uncontrollable. hysteric laughter that leaves your body shaking and your eyes tearing and your hands rubbing desperately at your face. everything- about- this- is- insane- your mind protests with each breath, and you so desperately want your phone—could give a shit about your wallet or passport or gun—you just want your goddamn cell phone so you can call heechul, hear his voice, snarky and fantastic, telling you to shut the fuck up and stop being such a baby and do your job. you feel like a child to admit that you just want to go home, hankyung was right, you’re nothing without heechul and you don’t belong here. it was stupid to think you could actually accomplish something, that you could actually do something important for heechul and his work. you belong at home, tucked safely away in the indulgent rooms that make up heechul’s mansion.

you think all of this as you laugh, on your side on the bed. you laugh until you can’t breathe and then you finally stop, panting and rubbing at your eyes and still letting loose a few weak snickers as you flip over onto your back. jian is on his knees looking down at you like you’re a raving lunatic, and maybe you are. you stare at each other for a moment and you think—he’s just a boy. a little boy. how could he be dangerous? and jian seems to challenge that with the jut of his chin but he’s still just a kid, so you reach your arms out and grab his sides and pull him down to the bed. your fingers dance against his sides to tickle him and he wriggles like your younger brother used to back when you still knew your family.

except when you got into tickle fights with your little brother, he never rolled you off a bed and pinned you to the ground and held a knife to your throat. you freeze, stunned and amazed at the cold lack of emotion in jian’s eyes. the steel is cold against your skin and with a flash you remember icy fingers at your temple. you shut your eyes lightly and swallow hard, your adam’s apple straining dangerously against the blade.

jian snorts, removing the weapon and standing up with a sneer on his face. “ge was right. you are a coward.” he kicks lightly at your shoulder before leaving the room, taking his sewing box along with him. you watch him leave, still hardly daring to breath, waiting for the click of the lock once he shuts the door—one, two, three… ah, there it is. you sigh, and bang your head back against the floor one two three four five times. rolling onto your side, you curl into a ball, wrapping your arms tightly around your own body. it’s only when you imagine that it’s heechul’s arms holding you close that you finally fall asleep.

you sleep, and you dream, or maybe it’s just remembering. heechul’s eyes are bright and shining as he holds a shirt up against your chest, looking you up and down with a critical eye before nodding his approval. “gorgeous,” he says, and you’ve never been so happy in your life. “you’re gorgeous,” you reply, a wide grin at the cheesy line. but it’s true, so true, and heechul knows it. it doesn’t stop him from leaning in and kissing you on the cheek, leaving you blushing and staring at the ground.

you can practically hear him smirk as he lifts your chin up with a bony hand, ignoring the scandalized whispers of the salesgirls behind the make-up counter as he leans in again, this time kissing you straight on the lips. his mouth is warm pressed against yours, his lips full and smooth where yours are thin and chapped. the two of you are still for a moment, loving the feeling and afraid to move, when heechul’s bodyguard clears his throat unobtrusively in a silent warning. heechul pulls away with a grin, smacking the guard playfully on the shoulder and flouncing away to shove the shirt at one of the sales attendants. “ring this up for us,” he demands, tossing his hair as if he were daring the man to object to his rude command. and of course he doesn’t—they never do. heechul runs this city and everyone knows it. you swell with pride as you exit the store, heechul linking his arm in yours, the bodyguard always two steps behind.

you wake up to a dark room and the sound of water running. at some point you’ve moved—or been moved?—onto the bed, tucked into a warm nest of blankets. the water stops and the bathroom door opens, washing the room in a soft light as jian emerges. he glances at you awake on the bed, folding his arms and sticking out one hip. “slept through lunch,” he informs you matter of factly, then gestures towards the bathroom. “you should wash up for dinner. ge will be angry if you miss that, too.”

what else can you do but slide out from the covers, mourning the loss of warmth, eyes trained warily on jian as you cross the floor into the bathroom. you leave the door open as you splash your face with water, warm water, and pat it dry with one of the many soft, fluffy towels that populate the room. a quick brush through your hair and you deem yourself presentable, inspecting your face in the mirror. dark circles are starting to form under your eyes from stress, you suppose, or an irregular sleep schedule.

“don’t be such a prince.” your eyes widen and you turn your head sharply to see jian leaning against the door frame, a smirk on his lips. his eyes glitter like a lion stalking its prey and you know he’s purposely parroting hankyung’s words from before. you grimace at him and step past through the doorway. “isn’t there anything nicer for me to wear? i feel as if i’m under dressed.”

“why?” he asks, and you think of dinner meetings at heechul’s, all dressed up in your best tux, eye candy at heechul’s side as he and his guests exchanged small talk littered with thinly veiled innuendo. but you’re not at heechul’s tonight, you recall with a drop of the heart, and you shake your head at the boy who’s still waiting for an answer. “never mind. let’s just go.”
once more you follow him down the hallway with the chipped paint and the creaky floorboards, exchanging that for the grandiose splendor of the dining room. and again, the splendor is wasted on a room empty to everyone except yourself, hankyung, and jian. this time hankyung isn’t already eating, instead he’s waited for you with an empty plate, his elbows resting on the table and his chin resting on top of bridged fingers.

you steel yourself to step forward and sit confidently down at the table across from him, where a second plate waits, empty. you stare straight into his eyes with what you hope is a defiant look, palms flat on the table just like earlier. “i have some questions about this—“ you pause a moment, searching for the right word that you want to use. “this situation. and i want you to answer them. i refuse to cooperate with this insane game until you do.” stubbornly you fold your arms as jian slips from the room.

hankyung watches you, expressionless. after what seems an eternity he speaks, voice calm and collected. “whatever questions you have, they can at least wait until after we’ve eaten.” jian returns with a platter of meat, and you wonder just how much there is to this house that you haven’t seen. he dishes equal portions of the food onto each of your plates. you wait until he’s gone again before continuing. “so i can ask you my questions after dinner?”
“yes.” you’re slightly taken aback by how easy that was, until hankyung continues. “you can ask whatever questions you want, but i can’t promise that i’ll answer them all.” you slump in your seat, disappointed. “i especially can’t promise that i’ll answer truthfully,” he goes on, “but i do promise to tell you everything i’m allowed.”

jian’s back, this time with servings of rice and fried vegetables for the both of you. hankyung begins to eat, but you only poke at your food warily. you can’t trust anything in this house—both times you’ve ingested something involved with hankyung’s property, you’ve ended up knocked out in sleep for unnecessarily long periods of time. it takes a minute before hankyung notices and stops eating, glancing from you to your food and back again. “oh, for god’s sake—“ he rolls his eyes and switches your plate and his without another word. he resumes eating without missing a beat. you eye the new plate, noticing a piece of meat with one bite off the end. making a face, you pick it up delicately with your chopsticks and place it onto hankyung’s new plate. he stops swallows and stares at it for a moment, and then laughs and breaks into a smile so genuine and infectious that you can’t help but smile a little yourself.

jian returns for a third time, bearing two glasses of wine the same thick, rich color as the trappings in your room. he sets them in front of hankyung and yourself, then bows once and exits, presumably for the last time until your meal is over. you take some of the meat and rice into your mouth, chewing and watching as hankyung reaches over to take hold of your wine glass and then brings it to his mouth, pulling a sip from the contents. he sets it back down with a playful grin. “it’s safe. no drugs, no poison.” you roll your eyes and smile again when he laughs.

finally you take the last bite of your meal into your mouth, chewing quickly and watching as hankyung finishes off the last of his wine. his adam’s apple bobs in his throat and you swallow your mouthful impatiently, shoving your empty plate forward.

“we’re done eating. i have questions now.” you announce sternly. hankyung holds up a hand in warning, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “be patient. we have all the time in the world.” you’re not sure you like the sound of that, but you shrink back into your seat, knowing that if you want any answers at all, you should just listen to what he says. he turns his head over his shoulder, calling jian’s name. the boy takes seconds to appear, whisking the dirty dishes away in a stack. hankyung stands, stepping around the corner of the table to offer you a hand. you ignore it and stand on your own, folding your napkin from your lap and setting it on the table. hankyung shrugs and turns around, striding out of the dining room and into the rundown hallway. you follow him as he turns the opposite direction from your room, trotting at his heels like an over eager dog. you feel a sudden urge to shoot yourself, but hankyung (or jian—you’re not sure who) took your gun.

you almost run into hankyung when he stops in front of a door, so unassuming you hadn’t noticed it until hankyung reached out to turn the knob and swing it open, revealing a cozy little room that still manages to make you nervous. the walls are a soft blue, a sofa in the center of the room facing a fireplace, of all things. packed bookshelves line one wall, with a desk pressed up against the other, a thin laptop shut and laying on its surface. there’s another door at the other end of the room, but hankyung makes no move towards it, gesturing instead for you to sit on the couch. you tuck yourself at one end, spine pressed straight against the back of the sofa, eyes fixed on the empty fireplace. you hear glasses clinking from behind you and you turn to see hankyung with a full bottle of vodka, pouring the liquid into two shotglasses. he sets the bottle on the desk, carrying the glasses over and handing one to you. you take it, unsure in your grasp, your eyes searching his. he only smiles, throwing his head back and downing his own with an exaggerated smack of his lips. you stare at yours for a minute then swallow it fast, grimacing at the strength of the liquid that runs down your throat. hankyung collects your empty glass, setting them on the end table with a grin. “the very finest you can buy in this city. i save the best for my most important guests,” he teases, falling onto the middle cushion, torso faced towards you and one arm slung easily across the back of the couch, a little too close to your own shoulder for your comfort.

you shy farther into the corner of the sofa, fingers picking nervously at the soft fabric. “now. what are these questions you’re so worked up about?” his voice is quiet, probing. purpose renewed, you lift your head to face him, only a little taken aback by how close he is. “i want to know exactly what’s going on here. i want to know why you drugged me; i want to know why you lock me in that room. i want to know what you know about heechul. i want to know why you keep refusing to talk about the real reason that i’m here.”

“the real reason that you’re here is that you don’t know the real reason that you’re here,” he murmurs, voice soft enough to volume that you have to strain to hear him. as he speaks, his voice gains in volume until it’s back to a normal sound and your ears rejoice. “what i know about heechul isn’t important. obviously, i keep you locked in that room so that you can’t leave my property. i didn’t drug you at all, you only assumed i did when in reality, you just can’t hold your moonshine. finally, exactly what’s going on here is… let’s call it classified information. it’ll be explained on a strict need to know basis.”

you bite your lip, obviously disappointed, but hankyung raises a hand before you can complain. “i only promised that you could ask, and that i’d answer where i could to the best of my ability.” he’s right, and you sigh. “any other questions?”

“where are my things?” and your voice rises in tone. anger boils inside you once more. those were your things, your personal belongings, and he had absolutely no right to take them away from you. hankyung lifts his foot up to rest on the couch cushion, bringing his knee up to his face and lacing his fingers comfortably over the joint. “they’re in a safe place. they’re also not important right now. i can’t let you have the gun for obvious safety reasons, and the other stuff may only tempt you to escape.”

“at least let me have my cell phone,” it sounds like you’re begging and you hate that, but what other choice do you have? he shakes his head with a small, sad smile. “it would be useless. i know who you want to call. i also know that—

he doesn’t want to speak to you.” he hesitates before he says it, carefully watching your expression. you want to yell, to tell him that he’s wrong, that whatever happened between him and heechul has nothing to do with you. that you and heechul are different, better, special. but you know that that would be foolish, and you suppose a small part of you knows that maybe he is right.

Unfinished fic dump

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 03:41:30 GMT

Once again, it's time for an unfinished fic dump. These will most likely never be finished. All suju, except for one brief Boys Over Flowers woobin/eejung bit that should put a time frame on just how long ago these were written and forgotten. XD
If anyone's still out there in my flist world I'll be shocked. I've been away from fanfic fandom for AGES (though I've been silently reading this whole time).

Author's notes at the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~

the first time it happens, eejung doesn't wake until the mattress shifts underneath him with the weight of a second body.

his eyes open slowly, adjusting to the darkness, his mind sleep-dazed and the only thing that really registers is the smell- the easily recognizable bite of alcohol, mixed with something metallic and tangy and familiar. there's something else, too, it reminds him of matches but heavier somehow, and eejung knows it's nothing he's smelled before.

there are arms sliding around him, thin, but he can feel the tension of the power under the skin. 'eejung,' and the voice is hoarse, words murmured into his shoulder. slowly eejung realizes, eyes opening wide. 'woobin?'

his response is a laugh, stilted and sharp and drunk. 'yeah, man. woobin. it's woobin.'

eejung starts to speak, to question, then falters, attempts to sit up but woobin's practically on top of him and he can hardly move. 'what's wrong with you? what happened? why are you-'

he's brought his hands up to press against woobin's chest, trying to get some leverage so he can sit up. woobin takes those hands in his, shifting up and away til he's kneeling on the bed beside him, still clutching eejung's hands tight. eejung takes a shaky breath; in the dark, woobin's eyes are black and wild.

'these hands...' and woobin sounds fascinated, massaging his palms and stroking his wrists. 'so soft.'

'from the pottery,' eejung says cautiously, and woobin makes a sound almost like a moan.

'from the pottery,' he repeats, 'that you make. because that's what these hands do. they create.'

eejung realizes that woobin is shaking.

with another drunken laugh, woobin let's go of eejung's hands, moving instead to cup his face softly. eejung is hit again with the sharp smell of something he now recognizes as blood. instinctively he reaches up to grasp at woobin's forearms, fingers digging in tight. woobin's eyes fall shut, and when he speaks, it's a whisper.

'wanna know what my hands do, potter?'

eejung doesn't.

'they destroy.'

~~~~~~~~~~~

Just when the world is starting to turn fuzzy and quiet, Hankyung's breath catches at the feel of the mattress dipping beside him. A body- sharp and cold- is pressed to his, and one arm drops across his chest, fisting tight in his shirt. It's so, so familiar, and Hankyung doesn't even bother opening his eyes. Just tilts his head down til he meets soft hair, and kisses absentmindedly.

Heechul's knuckles turn white where his other hand grasps at Hankyung's shoulder, and he bites his lip hard enough to distract himself from the sting in his eyes. He wills his body not to shake, but he can't stop the tremulous shivers, even nestled here in the warmth of Hankyung's bed.

It isn't until the trembling stops, Heechul stiffening oddly at his side, that Hankyung blinks awake, one hand holding Heechul a few inches away so he can look at him. The angry scowl and dry cheeks say he isn't crying, but the shine in his eyes and the wet spot on Hankyung's shoulder say something different.

"What's wrong," he murmurs, doesn't ask, thumbing the rise of Heechul's cheekbone lazily. His calm, sleepy appearance hides the quickening of his heart, rising anger for whatever made his friend cry.

"Nothing," Heechul answers stubbornly, then chokes out curses as a tear falls, burying his face back in the crook of Hankyung's shoulder and sobbing as quietly as he can.

"Nothing, nothing," he repeats the words like a prayer, over and over until "nothing, nothing" becomes "siwon, siwon" and Hankyung's arms tighten around him.

"He's- my friend, Hankyung. My friend and- he said those things- that interview, and... How could he? He knows... He has to know... But still, he- And he's my friend, but how... how can I... If he won't acknowledge me, Hankyung...?" The last name is more of a plea than anything else, and again Hankyung pulls Heechul away from him, brushing carefully at his eyes.

"That's not it," he says, a little awkwardly because what else can he say? And Heechul seems to know it, body going limp with a tearful, exhausted sigh.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, laying in the dim room, Hangeng felt almost claustrophobic wrapped in the heat of the blankets, Heechul's body pressed close against his. Smoke curled in the air, Heechul's thin fingers holding the cigarette tight. Geng's chest rose and fell as Heechul took another drag, pressing his lips to his bare shoulder, exhaling so the smoke pooled out slowly onto his skin.

The phone going off interrupted the heavy silence, Heechul's eyebrow raised as Geng reached to answer it. "Hello?"

Siwon's voice came muffled through the speaker, Geng settling into the conversation, one arm still draped around Heechul as an afterthought. He brought the cigarette to his lips again, pursing them thoughtfully as the smoke spilled out into the air.

"Yes-- Yes, I love you too, Shiyuan--"

Heechul arched and twisted, ending up splayed atop Hangeng, their naked bodies smashed awkwardly together so that Geng could feel every inch of him. He tapped out his cigarette into the ashtray, cheeks puffed with the last drag. Head bent, he mouthed lazily at Hangeng's jaw, the smoke escaping in little whisps against his face.

Hangeng fell silent, letting Siwon speak and closing his eyes in answer to Heechul's ministrations. He could fall asleep like this, so easy, Siwon's voice in his ear and Heechul's mouth on his, his hand rubbing lower--

"Ge? Ge--" Siwon's concern brought his eyes open as Heechul's hand took hold, a soft sound in his throat. "Shiyuan, baby, I'll call you later."

~~~~~~~~~~~

COMFORT
Youngwoon’s always seen himself as a poor source of comfort, more often the cause of tears and stress than the cure, but from the way Jungsu always seeks out his warmth whenever things get to be too much, he may have to reconsider his earlier opinion.

KISS
His eyes are wide when Jungsu’s mouth first moves softly, tentatively against his own, but it doesn’t take long for them to fall shut with relief that this is finally, finally happening.

SOFT
Jungsu’s body is hard, bony, sharp, thin, almost painful to hold, but his lips, eyes, voice, heart are soft, and it more than makes up the difference.

PAIN
He develops a nasty bruise on his upper arm where Jungsu’s bony shoulder presses hard against his skin when Youngwoon holds him, but he’s fairly certain the pain is worth it.

POTATOES
Sometimes the stress of keeping it secret is too much for him to bear, but when Jungsu kisses him, it suddenly doesn’t seem such a big deal—small potatoes, he thinks, and tangles his fingers in Jungsu’s hair.

~~~~~~~~~~~

1) I wrote this with the idea in my head that woobin was more of a mafia gangster than he really is. It's not so much romantic pairing as woobin kind of searching out something good in his life to balance the fact of what he does on the streets? Idk.

2) I wrote this in response to a magazine interview where Siwon says something (and I'm paraphrasing, I can't find the article now) about not necessarily hating homosexuality, just that he won't acknowledge it. And then I started thinking about how his bandmates who might be that way would react to that. I feel like sexuality is such a big part of a person's... personality, that to refuse to acknowledge that is refusing to acknowledge the person themselves in full. So this is Heechul upset because of that.

3) This was actually written with my Just One Day verse in mind, but that would require some reworking of either this scene or the established fic centered around Siwon... So basically this is Hankyung cheating on Siwon with Heechul in an indeterminate AU. I wrote this while I was supposed to be watching La Gloire de Mon Pere in French class. :(

4) These were originally written for a one sentence fic community prompt list... which I promptly NEVER FINISHED.

Sat, 02 May 2009 05:18:25 GMT

Wrote this for the Crossover Contest on a whim... Didn't win anything...

Also, I still exist? Barely... School really fricking took it out of me this year...

Enjoy, I guess?

Tablo/Eunhyuk
R
Angsty

~~~

hyukjae kisses him so reverently that tablo almost feels guilty. the room is dark with the sound of the fan buzzing in their ears--or maybe that's the alcohol? or both, but either way it isn't silent, not with tablo's sighs and hyukjae's little sounds of admiration as his lips move carefully carefully against his skin.

there are still others outside the room, the low bass of the music pounding through the floor and their bodies as they shift softly on the bed. it's almost soothing, tablo thinks, laying there with his head turned back and his eyes fluttering closed and hyukjae's mouth moving down his chest. somewhere along the way they'd lost their shirts and hyukjae's back and shoulders are white, too white, and his hair's a mess and when he looks up from tablo's waistline his eyes are softer than they should be.

he kisses tablo's stomach, a fumbling little press of the lips, over and over and over again and it's like he's worshiping tablo's body, and the thought of it disgusts tablo. hyukjae, with the wide adoring eyes and the hesitant hands and the voice that once asked, so innocently, hyung-nim, why would you choose me?

the first time tablo decided to fuck caution and just kiss hyukjae, he'd been drunk as hell. he'd dragged hyukjae away from the group with slurred words and stumbling steps, but hyukjae had followed him anyway, gums flashing in a trusting smile. tablo had pressed him roughly against the wall, and the kiss had been sloppy, a little too wet, though when they pulled apart hyukjae had stared at him in pure awe, the blind smile replaced with a look of dazed wonder.

hyukjae idolizes him and tablo knows it. tablo can even understand why, hypothetically, but what he can't quite do is accept it. and as hyukjae's mouth envelopes him there on the bed, suddenly it's all too much for tablo. anger boils the alcohol in his bloodstream and he sits up sharply, hyukjae releasing him in surprise and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, confusion plain on his face. "hyung--“ he starts to say, but tablo lunges for him and cuts off the word, shoving him backwards onto the bed and straddling him with narrowing eyes.

"shut up and close your eyes." the order is given gruffly, and hyukjae does as he's told without question, only angering tablo more. one hand grips at hyukjae's hair tight, the other stroking down his chest, nails scratching just hard enough to mark. a whimper bubbles in hyukjae's throat, and tablo leans down to bite at the pale pale skin and chase it away.

now it's tablo who drags his mouth down hyukjae's chest, nipping at him rudely while hyukjae moans and squirms under his touches. tablo's mouth is just-- there, and hyukjae's moan raises a pitch and his hips strain up just slightly. tablo guides them down with a light press of his fingers, hyukjae obeying the silent command immediately. then he moves his hand and where he's usually been gentle and slow and loving with hyukjae, he suddenly feels the urge to push and take and maybe even hurt; maybe just a little.

hyukjae hisses when tablo's fingers push inside, his jaw clamps shut and the air sucks sharply through his big teeth. tablo ignores this, pushing harder with two fingers now and concentrating on the pattern of bite marks he's leaving on the inside of hyukjae's thigh. he's never been this rough with him before, and he expects hyukjae to pull away, ask him to stop, but part of him knows that hyukjae won't. hyukjae wouldn't dare. tablo can do no wrong.

and when tablo pulls his hand away and tugs insistently on hyukjae's side, hyukjae flips onto his hands and knees with only the smallest groan of impatience. tablo strokes himself once, twice, then with that same hot sticky hand he's pulling hyukjae's hips back, flush against his own in one quick movement.

hyukjae gasps and tablo hears the pain in the sound, but it's tight and burning and tablo just doesn't care. he could wait--should wait--but he's drunk. and the urge to push hyukjae's limits--the need to see how far he can go, how much he can get away with--makes his hips jerk forward, makes his hands grasp possessively at the body in front of him. hyukjae falls forward, face pressed into the mattress and fingers trembling against the sheets. tablo rocks back and forth in a harsh rhythm, fingernails scratching along hyukjae's spine leaving a red trail in their wake.

he thinks he can hear moans--some in pleasure, most in pain--and a small voice saying stop, please, slower, hyung-- how can tablo stop now? slow isn't an option anymore as his thrusts become more wild, less rhythmic; poundingpoundingpounding until the sound of his blood roaring drowns out hyukjae's cries. with a last burst of movement, tablo comes, body stiffening before dissolving into helpless shudders. he relaxes his grip and hyukjae moans like a child who's lost; he pulls away and hyukjae slumps to the side, body shaking.

tablo lays beside him with a sigh, noticing that hyukjae's still hard. never--never has tablo let himself go before making sure that hyukjae was taken care of. he should feel guilty, he muses, but he doesn't. hyukjae's eyes are still closed so there's no need to fake an apologetic smile as he reaches out with a limp hand and runs two fingers along him slowly, circling the tip gently and that's all it takes for hyukjae to come. a choked sound erupts from his throat, his body folding in on itself. tablo wipes his hand on the sheets and rolls onto his back with a sigh of genuine content.

he can feel how hyukjae still quivers, hesitantly moving closer to press against his side. tablo glances at his face and suddenly notices the quickly drying tear stains around hyukjae's eyes, the way he sucks in his cheeks like he does when he's nervous. hyukjae sees him looking and immediately pulls a brave smile, clutching to tablo's arm like an anchor. “it didn't hurt that bad, hyung.” and his eyes are so hopeful that all tablo can do is laugh, brushing the hair out of hyukjae's face--not in apology--in something more like acknowledgement.

hyukjae's expression is confused and just a little bit scared, but his eyes still shine when he looks at tablo, so tablo pulls him close and tries hard not to love him.

fic archive

Nanowrimo

Sat, 29 Nov 2008 12:55:40 GMT

So. I was totally gonna do Nanowrimo this year, then I realized college work made that impossible. So I didn't even try. But then last night I couldn't sleep and I realized something- it's Thanksgiving Break. So there is nobody on my college campus except me and like three other people I don't know. So Saturday I have absolutely no obligations to do anything except eat and use the bathroom.

And write a novel for NaNoWriMo.

Thus begins the saga of "can yours truly write 50,000 words in less than 48 hours?" So far I have 4243 words, not bad for having started maybe, oh... 2 hours and 45 mins ago.

I'm posting the first "chunk" of the work (not all 4243 words) as a way of me stopping myself from chickening out. I will finish this, if not by Dec. 1, by Christmas.

Title: Untitled (for now)
Characters: Shiwon, Hankyung, Heechul, Jian (OC), possible others
Rating: For this part? PG. No promises about the rest.
Summary: Um. I really don't know what's going on in here. Extremely AU- I keep Shiwon, Hankyung, and Heechul mostly in character, but if you replaced their names this really would just be an original piece. I'm just lazy about making new names. Plus, this way I get to post it on miracle. XD

Also, disclaimer, this bit is really kind of loopy and... idk. I've written past this part, and it gets a lot more coherent once the main story actually starts. I promise. x_x

~~~~~

something’s coming and you don’t know what it is. it’s big, you think, and also slightly pretentious, but whatever it is, it’s important, or at least that’s what he wants you to think. you aren’t sure what to do about it but sit and watch and wait and maybe hope that it won’t be as awful as you want it to be. as you think it might be.

a little boy sings in a foreign language and his voice is cute because it’s a kid’s voice, the kind where they haven’t quite hit puberty and you know that they’re still totally innocent. but there’s something about it that bothers you and maybe it’s the unfamiliar words and sounds that come with a different language, but part of you thinks, knows, it’s the boy himself. something about him that you know he’s dangerous, that he’ll hurt you if he has to, or maybe just because he wants to.

more foreign voices, exotic and wonderful. they color the air somehow, floating in little ribbons of sound that twist around you and knot you up so that you can’t escape. the road is dirty and crowded and hot but the earth is cool under your bare feet, and the fabric of the girls’ dresses is soft as they brush past you. you stumble through the heady scent of flowers and perfumes and you head down the street, your mind trying to tune out the rush of voices even as your ears strain to take in every tone, every inflection. you don’t know where you’re going.

you turn somewhere and you don’t quite remember where, and suddenly all the color is gone and there is only cold darkness surrounding you, suffocating you. an alley, and you’re still lost, but you know that this is closer to where you’re supposed to be than the warmth of the crowded road. the shadows seem to shift and melt in the corners of your eyes, contorting into shapes that are at once frightening and wonderful. the cold bites at your skin and your eyes fall shut, a small breath of air pushing past your lips. you think if you looked you could see it, a little white puff of breath in the freezing air, but that’s just imagination running wild. another corner and the road slopes downward, but your heart is rising, pounding faster and faster as the breaths come quicker and quicker. adrenaline pumps through your veins, rushing through your blood, and a scream lets out from somewhere in the distance.

finally you reach a door that seems familiar, like you’ve seen in a dream, but maybe that’s just a little too cliché. one hand pressed against the chipped wood, you hesitate for a moment before giving a soft little push. the hinges swing open easily (too easily) and the strong scent of alcohol and lust mists out and sucks you in. down the stairs down down down and the smell only gets stronger, enveloping you. there are people, lots of people, all of them look either angry or lost and somewhere along the way someone pushes a drink into your hand. you sip at it, confused, and your mind reels and you forget who you are. the room is spinning and people are laughing, and everything is too much and you collapse on the dusty floor.

when you wake up, your eyes refuse to adjust properly, and you’re not sure if it’s the darkness or the sharp pain that’s formed in the middle of your forehead. you’re on a bed that’s not quite a bed, just a prickly mattress with a threadbare scrap of cloth that may or may not be a blanket. the room is musty and you can’t see the walls, but you know they’re close, and the claustrophobia starts to set in. there’s the sound of someone shifting in the corner and you try to see who it is, but your eyes still aren’t cooperating, and your head is starting to throb. with a helpless sigh you fall back onto the mattress.

the flimsy padding sinks beside your head under the weight of the someone. a small hand with fingers cold as ice runs across your forehead and you ask yourself again what exactly it is you’re doing here. and you remember him, with lightning eyes and voice like silk, giving you orders and you took them and you weren’t quite sure what to do with them, but here you are. the fingers are in your hair now, gentle but still freezing cold against the heat of your scalp. so cold they burn, almost, almost like his eyes and his tongue. and again that reminds you of your business here, like a vice around your heart.

“you’re late” and with a start, you realize that you know that voice. lilting and slightly dangerous and the rich tones of a foreign accent. the little boy smirks and you can feel it, even though you still can’t see through the dark. “you’ll be sorry” he mocks, fingers drifting down to play with the top button of your shirt. you wonder vaguely how old he is and what power he has that stops you from sitting up and pushing him away. but your chest feels like lead and your head feels like even heavier lead

and you feel slightly dizzy. he pushes the plastic circle through the opening of the cloth, then undoes the next one down as well. he undoes them all, and slips your arms through the sleeves, and you think you should stop him but you can’t. “he’s not going to be happy” and you don’t know whether he’s referring to your master or his, or maybe both. you try out your voice, and it’s hoarse and rough around the edges “i got lost.” it’s a poor excuse and he knows it. it’s hard to think properly with icy fingers burning your skin as he strips you of your shirt, leaving you bare stomached on the bed. the air is thick and hard to breath, you’re still dizzy, and the boy laughs, harsh and grating in the heavy silence of the room. it’s not as dark as it was and you’re starting to be able to see his face so you close your eyes. if you can’t see him he can’t see you.

except that’s a lie and you know it. he knows it too when he laughs again, and the bed shifts once more as he stands up. he gives your cheek a parting brush, the burst of cold sending a wavy shudder down your spine. your eyelids go red with a light behind them, but by the time you open them the light is gone. a door opened and then shut, you think, and try to sit up except your body is still heavy and you can’t quite move. eyes shut once more and you try to remember him, how he was before you left, before he told you to leave. “heechul—“ you try his name in a whisper and a warmth tries to creep down your skin. you try to remember bright eyes and warm hands but all you get is harsh words and flashes of anger and pain.

you open your own eyes just in time to be blinded by another flash of light, blocked by a silhouette that disappears when the door shuts out the light again. but you know he’s there and you struggle to sit up and this time you manage it. you open your mouth to say something scathing, but nothing comes out. your eyes adjust the dark much quicker than before, and you can see the look he’s giving you, quiet and penetrating. he takes one step forward, than another, and soon he’s on the bed beside you. “you passed out in the middle of my house,” he notes, slightly amused.

for a moment you consider witty banter as a defense mechanism, but heechul’s careless insults come to your mind and you remember that you’re not very good at wit. “this is where you live?” you ask incredulously. “all this money, you own a fucking empire, and this is where you live?” he smiles, soft and disarming and you know it’s all a joke to him. “that’s what’s worrying you about this situation?” it’s a good question, and you stop to ponder it, and then realize that’s what he wants you to do. you harden your gaze at him, folding your arms across your chest.

you feel slightly foolish after your mindless path across the city into this man’s basement, foolish about the way you were knocked out after one drink. but then you think of who you’re dealing with and think that there was something more than alcohol in that drink. “you drugged me,” you accuse with a sneer, setting up a tougher image to make up for the first impression he’s already gotten. he smiles again, and laughs, and part of it makes you angry at how calm, how serene he seems. he speaks again, his voice just as soft as his eyes and it makes you think of heechul before this whole thing began.

“what are you doing here? do you even know? did he even tell you?” and it hurts to think that this man knows heechul, your heechul, then you hate yourself for thinking of him as yours. “of course i know” and you scoff, and he laughs, and you think about what would happen if you ripped out his throat. he wouldn’t laugh anymore. your mind snaps back to attention when he calls your name, sweet and low, picking your shirt up from where it’s been left balled at the end of the bed. “shiwon-ah,” and the foreign accent is delicious and thick. “you are shiwon right?”

you nod cautiously, and he quirks his lips up in something that isn’t quite a smile and is filled with pity. “if you’re shiwon, then you think you know why you’re here. but you’re wrong.” you open your mouth to protest and he hushes you with a finger to your lips. it’s warm, you think uselessly as he shakes his head. “he lied, shiwon.” no. “he lied to you.” no. “he lies.” and that’s true. it’s true. he lies. heechul lies. except this time he lied to you, and your heart breaks.

you feel dizzy again. you lie back, and he guides you down so your head rests against his thigh. his fingers thread through your hair like the boy’s, except even gentler and with less of the danger. it’s silly, you think, this man is dangerous and you know it. more dangerous than the little boy with the lilting voice. more dangerous than heechul and his burning eyes. “how” you try. “how do i trust you. you could be lying. heechul—“ and you stop because you know what you were going to say, and you’re starting to realize that it’s not true.

“you see it, then?” he asks, and his voice is comforting and not at all dangerous. your vision is starting to swim. “he says he sent you here to talk with me. to deal with me. but really he sent you here for me. for me to deal with you.” his hands have moved to your shoulders, kneading and stroking at your bare skin, and your eyes flutter shut because seeing is too much work. pieces are starting to fall into place but the truth is still just out of reach. it has something to do with the alcohol—something to do with the drugs—something to do with the warmth of his hands. “hankyung” and you say his name for the first time, offering it to the air in a weak surrender.

“geng.” he corrects you. “hangeng.” you try again, the foreign inflection to the name coming awkwardly from your throat. he doesn’t seem to mind, his palms circling your upper arms and rubbing up and down. “just geng” and his voice is a whisper as you fall into darkness.

yes this is the product of INSANITY and i reserve the right to change it as i see fit. or to just delete it later oh god.

FAILZZZ

Sat, 12 Jul 2008 03:58:10 GMT

Okay. So. I'm cleaning out my folders on my computer and I find a bunch of unfinished fics. I'm sure I had lovely lovely ideas for these once upon a time, but for the majority I have ABSOLUTELY no idea where the fuck I was going with them. A couple are obviously ones I started for the 100 fic challenge- regrets, cake, overworked- the others, I have no clue. I don't want to delete them because I don't like deleting my work (~~however crappy~~), but I don't want them taking up space on my computer either. So I'll store them here. UNFINISHED FIC DUMP YOU GUYS. There's at least one of these that I think I'll be working on finishing, though. Anyway. So. Yeah.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he wakes up, it’s dark; the room is black except for the glow from the digital alarm clock. The digital alarm clock that blares the time in harsh red numbers, announcing that in less than five hours they’ll be leaving for the airport, flying to a different country, flying miles and miles away from his home.

(and by home he doesn’t mean Korea, doesn’t mean Seoul, doesn’t even mean the dorm. home is here in his arms.)

Jongwoon stirs beside him, and Ryeowook looks up into the older man’s face, eyes adjusting to the dark. His eyes are closed, and there’s a faint smile on his lips, so different from the pained expression he’d worn all day before, their last day together for who knew how long. He looks so peaceful, so happy, so beautiful Ryeowook thinks, and then laughs to himself because isn’t that what Jongwoon always told him? You’re so beautiful, Ryeowook-ah. Except he isn’t, not really. Ryeowook knows he isn’t beautiful, or pretty, or cute. Unless he’s with Jongwoon. With Jongwoon he’s the most gorgeous thing in the world.

But in five hours he won’t be with Jongwoon. He’ll be in China, with new people and new faces and some old ones too, but still they aren’t him.

The room is black except for the glow from the digital alarm clock. The room is quiet except for the muffled sounds of conversation from beyond the wall. It’s late, but not too late. Not late enough for everyone have headed to bed, but late enough for the day’s schedule to be over.

Ryeowook is the only one in bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Kibum.”

“Bummie.”

“Kibum-ah!”

Kibum finally looks up from the script he has in a death grip, startled to see Ryeowook sitting beside him on the couch. “Ryeowook! How long have you been there?”

“For about fifteen minutes, Kibum,” Ryeowook answers wryly, and Kibum knows he isn’t lying. He can’t help it, when he’s studying lines he gets so wrapped up in the work that he doesn’t notice anything around him. It’s an innate talent he has, useful in a band with twelve (sometimes fourteen) other rowdy members.

But his attention has been sufficiently distracted from the script, so he does notice the way Ryeowook is looking at him with concerned eyes. Kibum gives him his best disarming smile, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. He really really wants to get this scene memorized before dinner, and he wishes Ryeowook would just say what it is he wants so that he can get back to work. “Did you need something?”

Now it’s Ryeowook’s turn to shift uncomfortable, eyes falling to the floor. “No, not really. I just… I was worried about you. You seem so- overworked lately.”

Kibum laughs, reaching out to squeeze Ryeowook’s shoulder comfortingly. “Is that all? We’re all overworked, lately, Ryeowook. It comes with the job, if you haven’t noticed.”

This doesn’t seem to persuade Ryeowook, who frowns and looks back up at him. “I know, but lately you’ve been- You don’t eat like you should, and I know you don’t sleep as much as you should, and all you do is study scripts all day and it’s worrying me.”

“Ryeowook-“

“It isn’t just you either. It’s all of us,” he suddenly blurts out. “Between subgroup work and photoshoots and practice and rehearsals and fan signings and show guestings and-“

“Yeah?”

“We all just need something to have fun and relax.” Ryeowook pleads, and Kibum smiles softly. “I’m not disagreeing with you, but what are we supposed to do? Work is work. We can’t just call the managers and say, ‘Hey, we’re taking a day off, cancel all our schedules and we’ll just fuck around all day because we’re overworked like every other star in Korea.’”

“Yes,” Ryeowook admits, stretching out the syllable with a sigh. “But-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hyung! Hyung, happy birthday, hyung, I betcha can’t guess what our present’s gonna be?” Sungmin hopped across the living room and jumped onto the couch, bouncing up and down on the cushion and tugging at Eeteuk’s sleeve.

Donghae followed, sitting a little less violently on the couch, wrapping his arms around Sungmin from behind and resting his chin on the older boy’s shoulder. He was beaming wide enough to match Sungmin’s smile, and looking at the two eager faces, Eeteuk couldn’t help but roll his eyes and laugh. “It’s not gonna be something weird like underwear, is it?”

Sungmin clasped his hands together happily. “Of course not, hyung! We’re gonna make you a mph-“ Donghae clamped his hands over Sungmin’s mouth, shushing him. “Shut up, hyung! It’s gonna be a surprise,” he explained to a still-laughing Eeteuk.

“Now come on, we want it to be finished in time.” He stood up, pulling at Sungmin to follow. The other boy hesitated, giving Eeteuk a look. “You better not come in the kitchen, hyung,” he warned, then yelped in pain when Donghae smacked the back of his head and forced him from the room.

They nearly ran into Kangin, who tried to come through the door the same time as the giggling pair tried to barrel through. Bowing and apologizing, they scurried away, leaving him calling threats after them before he gave up and fell onto the couch beside Eeteuk. He pulled the older man close against his side, murmuring into his hair. “They’re making you a cake.”

“I know.”

“They’re also making you a mess to clean up.”

“I know.”

“Want me to stop them?”

Eeteuk shook his head and kissed his way up Kangin’s neck to his mouth. “No, let them. It’s worth it.”

“But it’ll taste like crap.”

“Your present will make up for it, I’m sure?” He blinked, eyelashes fluttering against Kangin’s cheek, and Kangin could only swallow, nod, and try to ignore the ominous sounds coming from the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hyung?”

Eeteuk glanced up from his breakfast at the quiet voice, a change from the loud barrage of sound that filled the kitchen. Ryeowook slid into the empty seat beside him, eyes trained on the hands folded in his lap.

“What is it, Ryeowook?”

The younger singer glanced around, making sure that none of the other members were paying attention to him and the leader. Finally, he allowed his eyes to meet Eeteuk’s, soft and questioning. “Why do people make New Year’s resolutions, hyung?”

The older man blinked a few times, caught off guard. He managed to compose a quick reply in his head. “So that they can be sure they have no regrets in life.”

This answer seemed to satisfy Ryeowook. He sat up a little straighter, a small smile forming on his lips. “So if I don’t want any regrets, I should just make a list of resolutions of everything I want to do?” Eeteuk bit his lip nervously. “Um… yes?”

Ryeowook gave a sigh of relief. “In that case…” Eeteuk suddenly found himself with an armful of Ryeowook, the younger boy closing the gap between their chairs to wrap him in a bear hug. His voice reached his ears, muffled by the fact that his face was currently buried in the crook of his shoulder. “Thank you, hyung.”

“For explaining resolutions?”

“No.” Ryeowook pulled away slightly to look into Eeteuk’s eyes, still clasping at the leader’s hands. “Thank you for everything, hyung.” He gave their joined hands a squeeze, still smiling, then got up and left without saying anything else. Eeteuk rolled his eyes at the retreating back, but as he went back to his breakfast, he could feel the annoying pull of a warm smile at the corners of his mouth.

1. Thank Eeteuk.

“Yah, move over. I want to sit there.” Ryeowook glanced up from the TV, not surprised to see Heechul standing there with his hands on his hips. Always accommodating, the younger boy shifted to the other end of the couch, letting Heechul have ‘his’ spot.

After two minutes of quietly sitting, Heechul began to fidget. “Hey, Ryeowook. Switch with me. I can’t see from here.” Deciding to ignore the fact that both spots on the couch were of equal distance from the TV, Ryeowook obliged his hyung and switched seats.

About a minute later, Heechul’s ears perked at the sound of a crinkling wrapper. His eyes shot to Ryeowook, who froze in the midst of unwrapping a candy truffle. Heechul’s eyes widened. “Hey, don’t you know it’s rude not to share?” Ryeowook gripped the candy tighter in his palm. “But hyung, it’s my last one.”

“So you’ve already had some. I haven’t had any. You should give me that one.”

“But… it’s my last one… I’ve been saving it all day.”

Heechul gave an exasperated sigh. “Oh, Ryeowook. Hyung does so much for you, and you’re so selfish you can’t even share a piece of candy? I thought I taught you better than that.” He shook his head in disappointment, then grinned as he felt the candy drop into his lap. He immediately popped it in his mouth, focusing his attention back on the TV.

“What is this ridiculous show? I don’t want to watch this. Where’s the remote?”

Ryeowook bit his lip, casting his eyes downward. “This is my favorite show,” he mumbled to the floor. Heechul cocked his head. “What was that, Ryeowook? You should speak up. Now go change the channel.”

“This is my favorite show, hyung.” The younger singer said forcefully. The older man laughed. “So? It’s boring, and I don’t want to watch it. Oh, here’s the remote-“

He gasped as the device was snatched from his hands mid-click. Ryeowook glared at him, eyes blazing. “I said, this is my favorite show, and I was here first, and we are watching this show because it is my favorite, and if you think it’s boring, then you can just fuck off and go somewhere else, because- because-”

“Because you said so?”

“Exactly.” Ryeowook tucked the remote

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking back, Eeteuk can pinpoint exactly what was the beginning of the end. It was either very late at night or very early in the morning, depending on whether you were one of the members just getting home from a late schedule or one of the members waking up for an early schedule. In either case, there was a sizable group of them gathered in the living room, and Eeteuk still isn’t quite sure exactly who came in and out throughout the night. This may be because the night in question was more almost a month ago, but is more likely because of the copious amounts of alcohol he himself consumed that night, which was nothing compared to how much Kangin and Heechul managed to down.

Come to think of it, they were all in various states of intoxication. Eeteuk remembers thinking that he wasn’t setting a very good example for the younger members, and though he’s pretty sure Kyuhyun and Kibum weren’t there at that point, he knows for a fact that Ryeowook was there because that’s partly what started the whole mess in the first place.

Well, to be perfectly fair, Kangin himself was the one who started it. Or maybe it was Heechul? Really, it all depended on how one looked at it. Heechul had been beyond drunk at that point, draping himself over Siwon and teasingly flirting with the nervous-looking younger man. This was a daily occurrence, but Heechul was pushing it even further that night, dragging his lips seductively across Siwon’s jawline in a way that was clearly making him very uncomfortable.

Everyone knew Heechul meant nothing serious by it, but Eeteuk had told him gently but firmly to ‘cut it out and leave poor Siwon alone.’ Kangin followed it up by adding angrily, “Yeah, no one wants to see that shit.” Heechul isn’t one to back down from a challenge, so he’d moved across the floor to sink beside Kangin, laying one hand on the other’s thigh and fluttering his eyelashes ridiculously. “Aw, is somebody jealous?”

Kangin snarled and shoved Heechul away. “Don’t touch me, you fucking fag.” The words clearly didn’t faze Heechul, who threw his head back in laughter and took up residence on the sofa beside Shindong. The words didn’t really faze any of them, to be honest. Crude language was to be expected from Kangin, and even if it sometimes bothered them, no one felt like picking a fight with a drunk Kangin anyway.

So everyone had been fairly surprised to hear Ryeowook’s small voice protesting from the corner of the room. “Hyung, don’t say that.”

“What?” Kangin blinked at him, not really understanding what he meant.

“That word. Don’t say it.” Ryeowook’s eyes were focused stubbornly on the floor, his face flushed red (and Eeteuk was fairly certain it wasn’t just because he was drunk).

“What word?” Kangin was thoroughly confused at this point, the alcohol only making up a small part of that confusion. Shindong kicked him lightly from the couch, frowning. “Fag, you dumbass. He doesn’t want you to say fag.”

“Please stop saying it.” Ryeowook sounded close to tears at this point, and Yehsung got up from where he sat and moved to rub the younger man’s back comfortingly. “He doesn’t mean anything by it, Wook. Calm down.”

“I just don’t like it.” They could barely make out Ryeowook’s small voice, and Kangin folded his arms angrily. “Jesus, it doesn’t even mean anything. Get over it.”

“Hyung, it means a lot to some people,” Sungmin protested from where he lay sprawled out on the floor.

“Yeah, like other fags,” and Kangin really hadn’t meant to be so confrontational, but he was aware that Ryeowook was now crying and he was afraid that he was going to be blamed. Confrontation was his default defense mode, which really didn’t make sense, but what really did make sense when you were drunk?

“It’s just a word,” Eunhyuk pointed out, and Kangin nodded vigorously. Ryeowook pushed Yehsung off of him and stood up, looking very imposing and vulnerable at the same time. “It isn’t just a word! It isn’t just a word when people call you it every day, call you disgusting and sick and a fag until you just want to- to- Just don’t say it anymore, Kangin! I mean it.”

The room was silent for a moment. Kangin looked appropriately cowed, until the liquor in his blood screwed things up once more and he blurted out, “Wait- you’re actually gay?”

“God, are you fucking retarded?” Heechul snapped, drawing some of the attention away from a shaken Ryeowook. “There’s thirteen of us, goddamn, we’re not all going to be straight, what the hell did you think?”

“Well, I knew you weren’t, that’s a fucking given,” Kangin shot back defensively. “But it’s not like we went around the room and said whether we were gay or straight when they made us Super Junior, how the fuck was I supposed to know Ryeowook was gay?”

“Maybe we should do that now,” Sungmin suggested cheerfully, still spread-eagle on the floor. He giggled, and it was quite obvious he was beyond smashed. “The going around the room thing. I’ll start!” He struggled to his feet, dropping on to the couch and snuggling his way into Shindong’s arms. “I’m gay. Your turn.” He poked the larger man’s stomach with another giggle.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do that now,” Eeteuk said vaguely. He had a sinking feeling that the situation was beyond his control, and he firmly blamed that ninth shot of soju. The rest of the room ignored him as Shindong squeezed Sungmin’s shoulder and stated jovially that he was straight.

“We can skip Heechul,” Siwon said hurriedly, suddenly noticing that the man in question was turning predatory eyes on him once more. “I’m straight, too.” He ignored the sultry pout the older man made at that statement.

“Me three,” Eunhyuk added with a shrug. “Not that I have a problem with it or anything.”

Ryeowook was still standing, and Yehsung pulled him down into his lap, wrapping protective arms around him. “I’m not really one or the other,” he admitted, subtly skipping the younger man’s turn to speak. “Sometimes I like a girl, and sometimes I like a guy.” The latter was said quietly, accompanied with a soft kiss to Ryeowook’s temple. The smaller singer sighed, twisting around to bury his face into Yehsung’s shoulder and loop his arms around his neck. Everyone else turned to look at Kangin, next in line, who sat there uneasily flicking his eyes from face to face.

“What? What do you want me to say?” He demanded, arms still crossed defensively. Heechul rolled his eyes and said rather snarkily, “We’re waiting for you to reiterate the fact that you’re as straight as a fucking ruler. Unless, of course, you’re not…” He added teasingly, again fluttering his eyes at the younger man.

“Like fucking hell I’m not straight, why the fuck would I like guys? It might work for some of you but I think it’s fucking disgusting. I mean, I don’t think you guys are disgusting,” he glanced nervously at Sungmin and Ryeowook, “but I would never touch a guy, I’m not like that.”

Eeteuk stood up and left the room.

He had woken up later in the morning with a raging headache, thankful that he didn’t have any early schedules that day. After an appropriate amount of groaning and dry heaving, he managed to make his way into the empty kitchen for a glass of water. It was only minutes later that a similarly hung over Kangin stumbled through the doorway, clenching his head with one hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

fic archive

Tue, 01 Jul 2008 08:53:31 GMT

kwoooooopi one-hour fic challenge

Round Six:

Theme: Newton's Laws, Catch: they keep making the same mistakes

67. Sunrise
Yehsung/Sungmin
PG-13

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They’ve just debuted and ~~Jongoon~~Yehsung wakes up to the feel of somebody else crawling into his bed and he’s pretty sure it’s Sungmin? Yes, it’s definitely Sungmin because he’s small and strong and curling up under his arm and his breath is warm against his chest and they fit.

“We did it,” he murmurs, and the words are hot and proud on Yehsung’s skin. “We did it we did it.”

“Yeah.” And Yehsung holds him close and they sleep until sunrise.

Almost a year later and Sungmin is in his bed again and this time his body- so small but unbelievably strong- is shaking shaking with sobs and fat tears are rolling down his face and Yehsung wants to brush them away but is kind of afraid to touch him.

“He left,” Sungmin moans, reaching out to clench his hands into Yehsung’s shirt. He can’t really have left, Yehsung thinks, because how could he leave when he’s right in a bed down the hall? But he understands Sungmin’s metaphorical meaning and pulls him in tight as he cries his heart out.

And he hushes him and rubs his back and tells him it’ll be all right and soon they’re both asleep and they wake up to the sun burning against their eyes.

A few months later Yehsung wakes with a start because a certain someone just took a flying leap into his bed. He rubs sleepily at his eyes, ready to ask what’s wrong when that certain someone’s lips are suddenly pressed to his, kissing hungrily and really- it’s almost like he’s trying to eat him- and hands are wandering and Yehsung thinks he should put a stop to this but he can’t quite be bothered to.

But he isn’t kissing back, to give him credit, and after a few minutes of his sloppy attack Sungmin gives up and leans back so he’s crouching on his heels over Yehsung on the bed. A pout is on his lips as he waits for an explanation, except isn’t Yehsung the one who deserves an explanation?

“I-“ Yehsung bites his lip. “What.”

“Please?” Sungmin leans in close, and Yehsung can kind of smell alcohol but maybe that’s his imagination. “I need it. I want it.”

“What?” Yehsung is oblivious until Sungmin presses their bodies up tight together and oh suddenly he can feel it all.

“No. No. Sungmin. What? No.”

“Yes,” Sungmin whines, wriggling his hips against Yehsung’s insistently. Yehsung pushes his hands against his shoulders, pushes him away, then pauses and pulls him in close again, but tucked safely against his side where he can’t feel certain things like big raging erections calling come out and play~ in that cute little Sungmin voice oh god what is he thinking.

“You don’t want me,” he reminds Sungmin calmly. Sungmin thinks for a moment, then sighs. “Fine. But I’m staying here tonight.”

“As long as you promise not to hump me in my sleep.” And they pinky promise and the early tendrils of sunrise peek through the window as they fall asleep.

It’s exactly three weeks later that Sungmin dive-bombs onto Yehsung’s bed once more, and Yehsung quickly takes stock of the situation before (sensing neither alcohol nor erection) welcoming him with a grin. “And?”

“He-“ Sungmin bounces on his knees a few times before flopping down onto his stomach. “He said yes.” The words come out muffled against Yehsung’s pillow, so Sungmin flips over onto his back and says them again, in a happy shout. “He said yes!”

Yehsung smiles down at him and Sungmin is up again, flinging arms around his neck and smacking a wet kiss against his cheek. “I’m so happy, hyung, so happy!”

“I’m happy for you.” And he is ~~isn’t~~ is. “But I think maybe you bribed him into saying yes.”

“What?” Sungmin freezes, eyes wide. “What?”

Yehsung laughs and ruffles at his hair. “Breakfast in bed? Back massages? Chocolates? You shouldn’t spoil him like that, Sungmin-ah. It isn’t good for his health.”

“But-“ Sungmin falters, then pouts. “Then why do you spoil me so much?”

Yehsung can’t answer so Sungmin pushes him into the pillows and snuggles into his side and Yehsung wishes that the sunrise would never come.

The next night Yehsung is heading down the hall to bed when Sungmin comes skipping along, clenching a pillow and a blanket. “We’re having a pajama party,” he declares, “and you’re not invited.” His sticks his tongue out, a cute little pink slip between his lips. “Because it’s a sex pajama party,” he clarifies in a loud whisper, then giggles and disappears behind another bedroom door. Yehsung blinks, then pushes into his own room with a sigh.

Slowly, lethargically, he changes into pajamas, washes his face, gets under the covers and curls onto his side. His head rests on his pillows and thinks about who won’t be there that night and how he should be happy for him because this is what he wanted for him in the first place. He wants him to be happy. And he should be relieved that Sungmin didn’t do something stupid like decide he was in love with Yehsung. ~~Except now he’s pretty sure that that’s what he wanted from the start.~~

He just doesn’t want to see the sun rise alone.

Complete Fic Archive

Tue, 24 Jun 2008 09:30:17 GMT

kwoooooopi one-hour fic challenge

Round Five:

Theme: mpreg, Catch: no assembly required

"A Simple Question", no pairing, PG-13, 1133 words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Youngoon… What would happen if I was pregnant?”

Eeteuk picks nervously at a chip in the table, avoiding his boyfriend’s eyes. But Kangin must have been drunker than he thought, because the younger man dissolves into uncontrollable laughter for three-point-five minutes before finally regaining control of himself. After that, he tilts Eeteuk’s chin up with a gentle finger, and addresses him in an uncharacteristic calm, serious voice.

“Hyung, if you were pregnant… You would get really really fat.”

He bursts into another fit of laughter, and Eeteuk can only sigh.

***

“What would you guys do if I was pregnant?” Eeteuk asks quietly, hands folded demurely in his lap. Siwon raises an eyebrow at him, looking appropriately incredulous.

“Hyung… You can’t get pregnant. You’re a guy… Right?” He sounds confused, but Heechul just smirks. “Well, we’ve never been too sure about that- Maybe we should check.” He makes a dive for Eeteuk’s pants, and the older man flees the room in a panic.

***

“OMG WE’RE GOING TO HAVE A BABY I WANT ONE CAN I NAME IT OMG I CAN DRESS IT UP AND IT WILL BE SO ADORABLE,” Sungmin exclaims, and Eeteuk decides to never let the younger man at alcohol again.

***

Eunhyuk nearly chokes, and Eeteuk belatedly realizes it was a bad idea to ask him what he thought just as he took a swig from the milk carton. He’s lucky that Sukira isn’t viewable today, Eeteuk thinks, because Eunhyuk doesn’t look quite so attractive with strawberry milk dripping from his chin and a panicked look in his eyes.

***

So far, Eeteuk hasn’t gotten any satisfactory answers to his all-important question. He decides to ask who everyone agrees on as the sanest one in the group, and luckily finds Kibum alone in the living room one morning.

“Kibummie…” He starts, slipping onto the sofa next to him. “I’m going to ask you something and I want you to know that I’m not screwing around and I’m asking you in all seriousness and I really want an honest answer.”

Kibum blinks at him and doesn’t respond, and Eeteuk takes that as a go-ahead to ask his question.

“If I was pregnant… What do you think would happen?”

There is a moment of silence before Kibum speaks, slowly and rationally. “If you were pregnant, I assume that doctors would want to do a lot of testing on you. It would be a medical miracle. There would be worldwide coverage of your case.”

Eeteuk swallows uneasily, excusing himself and locking himself in the bathroom for the next two hours.

***

The following morning, Eeteuk wakes up and feels a familiar rush of nausea to his head and stomach. Except he hadn’t been drinking the night before, so he knows he isn’t hung over. There’s no time to worry about why, though, as he rushes to the bathroom and heaves into the toilet.

He’s there for a few minutes, clenching his stomach and trying not to throw up again. A soft knock on the door startles him before Ryeowook pokes his head inside, his hair still tousled from sleep. “Hyung, are you all right? We heard you being sick so I sent Yehsung to get you some water…”

Eeteuk nods weakly, still not letting go of his stomach. “Um. Yes. Um. I’m fine now… I think.” Ryeowook stares at him for a second before padding into the bathroom and sitting next to him. Yehsung comes in then, a glass of warm water in his hands. “Here, hyung, drink this. It’ll settle your stomach.”

Eeteuk murmurs his thanks, sipping at the lukewarm liquid. To his surprise, the water actually does help a little, enough that he can look over at the concerned pair and ask, “I know this sounds stupid, but what would you guys think if I told you I was pregnant?”

“Don’t be silly, Jungsu,” Yehsung says with a nervous laugh, but all Ryeowook does is hug him tight, a knowing look in his eye.

***

Another wave of nausea hits him later that morning, but it isn’t nearly as violent and Eeteuk holes up on the sofa with a warm blanket and a bowl of soup. He watches with slight disinterest as Donghae and Kyuhyun squabble over the controller for a one-person video game, Donghae eventually coming out victorious. Kyuhyun sighs and leans back against the couch, glancing up at Eeteuk.

“Ryeowook said you were sick this morning. Are you feeling any better?” The younger man’s voice is carefully guarded, and Eeteuk lazily stirs his soup. “Yes. I’m just… A little nauseous, I guess.”

“Kind of like morning sickness?”

Eeteuk’s eyes widen, and he burrows deeper under his blanket. Donghae’s attention is peaked, and he pauses the game to scoot over beside Kyuhyun. “Hyung is pregnant?” He asks, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Don’t be silly, Donghae,” Kyuhyun admonishes, and Donghae shrugs and goes back to his game without a second thought. But Eeteuk notices the knowing look Kyuhyun gives him, and can’t help a shiver running down his spine.

***

Eeteuk stays at the table well after dinner, feeling too lethargic to be bothered to move. Shindong is there as well, still finishing his own dinner. Hankyung is doing dishes, his back to the older man, and Eeteuk figures why the hell not?

“Hankyung? What do you think would happen if I turned out to be pregnant?”

The Chinese man turns to look at him with a lack of understanding in his eyes. “Pregnant? Like… That means that someone’s going to have a baby, right?”

Eeteuk nods, and Hankyung’s eyes widen in shock. “Hyung, you got someone pregnant? What will the managers say? Are you going to marry her? Hyung, the fans will be so mad-“

Eeteuk decides it’s not worth explaining to the already confused man, and just shakes his head. “No, no, no one’s actually pregnant, I was just asking,” he reassures Hankyung, and leaves to take a long, hot bath, ignoring Shindong rolling on the floor laughing his ass off.

***

It’s a rainy morning when the Suju dorm is collectively woken up by a screaming sort of cry that only an infant can make. One by one they stumble sleepily into the living room, in various states of dishevelment and disbelief. There, in a delicate bassinet that had most definitely not been there the night before, is a tiny baby screaming its sweet little head off.

They look at each other in extreme confusion, until Sungmin points out Eeteuk slumped on the couch looking exhausted. Everyone falls silent, and eventually Kangin asks in a careful voice, “Hyung… What’s going on?”

“Don’t ask,” Eeteuk begs, pushing the bassinet gently with his foot. He buries his head in his hands and heaves a sigh. “Just don’t fucking ask.”

Complete Fic Archive

Sat, 21 Jun 2008 05:09:11 GMT

71. Plays
(Hankyung/Ryeowook)
PG

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(The setting is a small kitchen, cluttered and cramped but very clean. The lighting is dim, with the pinkish glow of a morning sun filtering through the closed window. There is a low table, covered with a myriad of papers and half-filled glasses. An empty bottle of soju sits on the counter among boxes of food and appliances. The sink is filled to the brim with dirty dishes. The sound of shuffling footsteps breaks the silence.

A tall man, thin and vaguely elegant, enters the room, rubbing at his eyes. He’s wearing grey sweats and a thin black tank top, wrinkled from sleep. When he lowers his hand, we can see that his face is soft and gentle, but still not fully awake. He reaches to turn on the overhead lights, then thinks better of it and stumbles over to the sink instead. For a moment he stands still, as if unsure of what to do. Then, with a sigh that indicates he’s done this many times before, he turns on the water and begins to wash the pile of dishes.

As he works, he turns to face the sink, blocking his face from view. Another man enters the scene, much shorter and smaller than the first. He wears plain pajama shorts, with a T-shirt that’s much too big for him. Wordlessly he crosses the kitchen to wrap his arms around the first man’s waist from behind. He presses his cheek against his shoulder, eyes closed and a small smile of content on his face.

The first man freezes, letting the dish he’d been scrubbing fall back into the water. Turning his head, he speaks.)

HANKYUNG: Ryeowook… (He sighs.)

RYEOWOOK: (Releasing his hold on HANKYUNG, he moves to lean against the counter, body facing outward.) Good morning.

HANKYUNG: Morning. (A little hesitant, he leans forward to press a kiss against RYEOWOOK’S forehead.)

(When HANKYUNG draws back, the two remain still and silent, each watching the other. RYEOWOOK is beaming, while HANKYUNG has a slight, unsure smile on his face. Caught in the moment, neither notices the heavy footsteps approaching until a third man steps into the kitchen, slamming on the lights and causing both of them to wince in pain. The new arrival is thinner than either of them, wearing bright blue pajamas that he’s practically swimming in. A bright smile lights up his face and he calls out a cheerful greeting that grates the ears simply because it’s so loud in what had been a quiet room.)

EETEUK: Good morning! (He sings out the words, dancing over to the cluttered table and beginning to clear it off.)

RYEOWOOK: (Moving over to the table to help.) Good morning, hyung.

HANKYUNG: Morning. (He barely murmurs the word, taking up the forgotten job of washing dishes.)

EETEUK: (He is oblivious to the intimate moment he had interrupted. He picks up the empty bottle of soju, wrinkles his nose in disgust, and tosses it into a trash bin. Wiping his hands on his pants, he turns to HANKYUNG.) Most of us have early schedules today, so don’t bother making breakfast. We can survive on cereal.

(HANKYUNG nods his assent, finishing the last dish and shutting the water off. EETEUK sits at the table, suddenly fascinated by one of the papers he’d been clearing off. RYEOWOOK, noticing the older man’s distraction, steps up to HANKYUNG and takes his hand.)

RYEOWOOK: Hyung… Gege… (He whispers the words; Eeteuk doesn’t notice.)

HANKYUNG: (He hushes RYEOWOOK, giving his hand a squeeze before pulling away and moving to the cupboards. He pulls out two boxes of cereal, turning to put them on the table.) We’re flying back to China on Saturday.

EETEUK: (Glancing up from the paper, he nods.) The managers already told me.

HANKYUNG: Ah. (He looks slightly dejected, moving back to the counter and taking a handful of the freshly washed spoons.)

RYEOWOOK: (Suddenly, he speaks, voice a little too loud.) Hankyung-hyung and I- (He stops, a small blush coloring his cheeks.) We… Um. (Embarrassed, he looks to HANKYUNG for help.)

(HANKYUNG sets the spoons on the table, then goes to the refrigerator and retrieves a gallon of milk. Bringing that to the table, he gives RYEOWOOK a warning look. EETEUK looks between the two, slightly confused.)

RYEOWOOK: It’s just that- (Obviously flustered, he cuts himself off and turns around so HANKYUNG and EETEUK can’t see his face.) We were just wondering…

HANKYUNG: (He sighs, realizing that he’s going to have to explain. Avoiding EETEUK’S eyes, he takes the shuffled papers from the table and moves them to the counter. As he does so, he speaks in a quiet voice.) You know how the fans like to pair us up?

(EETEUK watches HANKYUNG carefully, nodding at his question.)

HANKYUNG: Like you and Kangin… Ryeowook and Yehsung. (The last few words have a faint, bitter undertone to them.)

(RYEOWOOK reaches to pull a stack of bowls down from a high cupboard, but his fingers slip and he nearly brings them crashing down on his head. In a flash, HANKYUNG is there, steadying RYEOWOOK with a hand on his side and the bowls with his other hand. EETEUK studies them, shifting to rest his chin on one of his hands propped up on the table. Realization is beginning to dawn on him.)

RYEOWOOK: (His face is now burning red as he turns to face EETEUK, but winds up pressed against HANKYUNG instead.) Hyung…

HANKYUNG: Here. (He maneuvers RYEOWOOK out of the way, then gently brings the stack of bowls to the counter. Handing half to RYEOWOOK, he brings the rest and sets them down on the table beside EETEUK.)

EETEUK: So what about the fan couples? (His voice is expectant. As he waits for HANKYUNG’S answer, he grabs a bowl and starts to pour some cereal into it.)

HANKYUNG: (Taking his own bowl and the other box of cereal, he starts to fix his own breakfast.) It’s just that… Some of us aren’t happy with who we’re paired with.

EETEUK: You’re having problems with one of the other guys?

RYEOWOOK: (Suddenly interjecting.) That’s not it, hyung! (Rushing to the table, he sits beside HANKYUNG.) It’s not that we have a problem with them… (He trails off, biting his lip.)

EETEUK: Yes? (He raises an eyebrow at RYEOWOOK, pouring the milk into his bowl.)

RYEOWOOK: (He continues in a subdued voice, eyes boring into the surface of the table.) It’s just that maybe we’d be happier with someone else.

(EETEUK is silent. RYEOWOOK folds his hands in his lap, still avoiding looking up at either man. HANKYUNG takes a bite of his cereal, the crunching noises he makes as he chews the only sound in the quiet room. Eventually, EETEUK speaks.)

EETEUK: It’s not like you’re actually with them, you know. Just because the fans pair you with Yehsung or Henry doesn’t mean you have to sleep with them.

RYEOWOOK: I know. But couldn’t we… I mean, couldn’t I do fanservice with- with- (He struggles for a name.)

EETEUK: Hankyung?

(HANKYUNG blushes at the mention of his name, coughing a little as his cereal goes down the wrong pipe. EETEUK grins as RYEOWOOK protests, confirming his suspicion.)

RYEOWOOK: Hyung, that isn’t-

EETEUK: (Cutting him off.) Listen to me. What you do on your own time is your business. What you do on camera is everyone’s business. If this- (He waves a hand vaguely at the two of them.) If this is real, then you better not let it show. The fans love to pair us off, but if it ever came out that one of us was really that way… The media would have a field day. We’d be screwed.

(HANKYUNG and RYEOWOOK know that he’s speaking the truth. HANKYUNG stirs his cereal aimlessly, RYEOWOOK’S eyes suddenly brim with tears.)

RYEOWOOK: Hyung, I don’t want to cause any trouble, really! But I can’t help it if-

EETEUK: (Cutting him off again.) I don’t want to hear it. As far as I’m concerned, this conversation never happened. Keep it secret, and don’t let anything change in front of the cameras. (He goes back to eating his cereal, indicating that the conversation is over.)

RYEOWOOK: (Some of the tears have started to spill, and he looks pitifully over to HANKYUNG.) Hyung… please. (He begs.)

(HANKYUNG turns his eyes up to RYEOWOOK, heart breaking at how helpless he is to stop his tears. He quirks his lips up in a sad smile, clasping their hands together under the table, out of sight of EETEUK. One by one, the other members make their way into the kitchen. They are loud and boisterous as they settle at the table, fixing bowls of cereal and laughing and chattering amongst themselves. They overshadow RYEOWOOK and HANKYUNG, who stare silently at each other in their own private moment.

Minutes pass, and the lights start to dim. The other members are still talking, but their voices become faded and muffled until we cannot hear them anymore. They become silhouettes, part of the background, and our attention is focused on the pair, hands still joined under the table.)

RYEOWOOK: (Sniffling, he speaks in a teary voice.) I don’t care what he says… I don’t want them. I don’t want them to touch me. I only want you. (His tone is that of a petulant child, an image he reinforces by rubbing at his eyes with the back of his free hand and sniffling again.)

HANKYUNG: (Still feeling helpless, he strokes RYEOWOOK’S hair lovingly.) It’s okay, Ryeowook. Just pretend… Pretend like we’re in a play. We’ll still be us offstage.

(The words don’t seem to comfort RYEOWOOK. Sighing shakily, he leans forward to rest his head against HANKYUNG’S shoulder. HANKYUNG brings his arms up to hold RYEOWOOK tight, pressing his lips against the top of his head. After a moment, RYEOWOOK speaks, voice soft and muffled.)

RYEOWOOK: I don’t like it. It’s too hard.

HANKYUNG: I know.

RYEOWOOK: I love you.

HANKYUNG: I know. (A pause.) I love you, too.

RYEOWOOK: (Sighing again, he seems to be contemplating something. When he speaks again, it’s with a sad, wistful tone as he accepts their fate.) Like we’re in a play…

(The lights that focus on them fade until the entire scene is in the same dim shade. We can still see the other members talking and eating and laughing, but there is also the silhouette of two figures in a quiet embrace. Eventually they pull apart, and the stage slams into complete darkness.)

AN:
wtf did i just write

{complete fic archive}

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 05:29:17 GMT

34. Acceptance
PG-13
(Hankyung/Kibum)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they first move into the apartment, the four of them, Heechul sits them all down on the couch in the living room. He paces back and forth, obviously thinking hard about something very important, because none of them are allowed to talk. Hankyung looks to his right, at Jay, but the singer is just sitting there with a disinterested look on his face, like he's been through this before. Kibum is sitting to to his left, but his eyes are closed in what Hankyung can only assume is an opportunistic nap.

Finally, Heechul stops moving, facing the three on the couch with one hand on his hip and the other pointing at them decisively. "Okay, I've decided."

Jay sighs, Kibum cracks one eye open, and Hankyung fidgets in his seat. Heechul continues.

"Jay, you'll keep the living room and bathroom clean. Kibum, you'll be in charge of the bedrooms. And Hankyung, you're our official cook and kitchen cleaner."

Jay folds his arms and laughs. "What's your job, then?"

"I'll sit around the living room so when we have people over they have something pretty to look at," Heechul announces with a glare, daring any of them to object.

Hankyung, unfortunately, doesn't yet know that it's dangerous to object to Heechul's ideas. "What if I don't want to cook? I can only make, like, three things and I'm no good at it and-"

"Shut up! I decided!" Hankyung is rewarded for his words with a sharp smack to the back of his head and Heechul stomping off into his bedroom. Jay rolls his eyes and goes to finish unpacking his clothes, and Kibum pats his shoulder sympathetically. "Sometimes, it's easier to just go along with what he says." He stands up and switches on the computer, and Hankyung resigns himself to the kitchen.

***

A few nights later, Heechul decides that the four of them are going to celebrate their day off with a special movie night, catered by Hankyung, naturally. He puts Jay in charge of choosing the movie, then promptly rejects every single title Jay suggests. In the end they decide to just let Heechul choose, since they all know that's what he wanted from the start.

Heechul doesn't wait to start the movie, so by the time Hankyung finishes cooking and brings the dishes out to the living room, he's already missed the entire beginning. He asks if they can replay the last ten minutes, but Heechul refuses and sends him back to the kitchen to make popcorn.

When he finally gets settled on the couch, it's Kibum who whispers the plot so far into his ear. Heechul glares up at them from the floor, then goes back to resting his head on Jay's shoulder. Kibum rolls his eyes and mimes Heechul talking with his hand, and Hankyung has to stifle a laugh. Kibum smiles then, throwing an arm around his neck companionably.

"Sometimes it's a lot less painful if you just do what he wants."

Hankyung doubts Kibum's statement when he faces a sink full of dirty dishes later that night, but recognizes that he doesn't really have a choice in the matter.

***

It's a full month and a half after they've moved in that Hankyung looks up from his book to see Heechul striding purposefully into the living room, pulling a bemused Kibum behind him. He shoves the younger man onto the sofa next to Hankyung, looking them up and down appraisingly. Finally, he gives an approving nod and folds his arms. "I decided," he announces loudly, "that you two would make a good couple."

"Ah... Heechul-ssi-" Hankyung starts to protest, a blush rising on his skin, especially since he can see Kibum smirking from the corner of his eye. Heechul cuts him off with a wave of his hand. "There's no need to thank me for setting you two up. I recognize a good match when I see it and I'm not above doing what it takes to make sure you two have a very happy, fulfilling life together."

"Hyung, making us both sit together on the couch doesn't constitute setting us up," Kibum drawls. Heechul seems to ponder this for a moment, then nods. "Kibum's right," he concedes, and Hankyung is shocked.

But then Heechul continues. "You two have to kiss, then."

Hankyung flails a little, completely flustered by the sudden turn of events. "But- I didn't- You just-"

Kibum sighs and turns to him, hushing him by placing a soft hand over his mouth. "What have I told you?" He asks wryly. Hankyung falls silent, eyes searching Kibum's desperately.

The younger man shifts beside him, moving one hand to cup his cheek and the other to rest lightly on his waist. "Sometimes..." He breathes against his lips, and Hankyung can feel a warmth spreading through his body.

"Sometimes it's much more enjoyable to just accept what he decides."

When they finally kiss, Hankyung can't help but agree.

{fic archive}

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 17:13:09 GMT

75. Wrap
(Yehsung/Donghae)
PG

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hyung? Hyung, I’m cold…”

Yehsung tried to ignore Donghae’s voice, and the fingertips dancing lightly on his collarbone.

“So cold, hyung…”

Cold palms suddenly splayed against his bare chest. Yehsung yelped and struggled to sit up, eyes adjusting quickly to the dark room. “Jesus, Hae, your hands are fucking freezing!”

Donghae pouted, withdrawing his hands and burying them in the sheets. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

Yehsung glared at him for a few seconds, angry at being dragged from his sleep. But then he sighed, and in one swift movement drew Donghae’s body close to his and pulled the blankets up to cover the both of them. The younger boy hummed contentedly, snuggling closer into Yehsung’s side and letting his fingers clutch at the waistband of the singer’s pajamas.

They stayed like that for a minute, listening to the sounds of the other members fighting over the bathroom outside the dark, quiet sanctuary of the bedroom. Eventually Yehsung turned his head, kissing the top of Donghae’s lightly. “Warm now?”

“We could be so much warmer though, hyung…” Donghae’s voice was low and breathy, and Yehsung smirked as he caught his hands where they had started to tug at the drawstring of his pants. “What are you implying?”

“You know exactly what I’m implying, Jongoon.”

Yehsung could only laugh at Donghae’s attempt at a seductive voice, flicking the boy’s forehead jokingly. “I do, but I’m too tired and comfortable right now to indulge your horny fantasies.”

Donghae whined his protests as Yehsung ignored him, wrapping the blanket tighter around them both. Eventually they both settled into the warm cocoon, and Donghae sighed, breath warm against Yehsung’s shoulder. “I love you, hyung.”

Yehsung was already asleep.

A/N: Okay, so I totally and freely admit that this has ABSOLUTELY NO SUBSTANCE and was written specifically so that I could cross it off my hundred-fic list. Yay for fail!

{fic archive}

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 14:29:05 GMT

52. Cake
(Donghae/Sungmin)
PG

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sungmin is nearly asleep on the couch when he feels the sudden pressure of somebody sitting on his stomach. His eyes snap open, ready to shout and kick and generally bitch at whomever it is, but then Donghae’s eager, smiling face fills his vision and he can’t help but sigh and smile back.

“Donghae, what is it? I only have a few minutes before I have to leave for Chunji…”

A small lunch box is shoved into his hands, and is that a blush on Donghae’s cheek?

“Here, Sungmin-ah. I made you something. Good luck tonight.” He jumps off of Sungmin’s chest, gives an awkward little bow and hurries from the room before Sungmin can even say thank you.

***

That night Sungmin breaks open the lunch box during a particularly long song, squealing happily when he notices the contents. It’s a small piece of cake, with pink frosting and little candy hearts and three chocolate chip cookies that look slightly burnt but that’s okay because-

“Omgomgomg, Sunny look, he made me cake and cookies, I’m so happy!”

Ignoring his co-host’s cries of ‘who’ and ‘why’ and ‘let me have some’, Sungmin scoops one of the cookies up and takes a huge bite out of it.

Or, at least, he tries to take a huge bite out of it. Apparently it’s a lot more burnt than it appears, or there’s something else that’s making it hard as a rock and impossible to bite a piece of.

So Donghae isn’t the best cookie maker in the world. There’s still his cake with pink frosting. Discarding the cookie into the waste basket by his feet (tossing the other two in as well), Sungmin happily lifts the cake to his mouth, closes his eyes and takes a good-size bite, mouth watering with anticipation.

God, is he glad the show isn’t viewable radio tonight.

A look of disgust washes over his face. The cake might be pink and cute and adorable, but it tastes brown, not the good chocolate kind of brown, no, the kind of brown you find in the toilet after a particularly hard night of drinking, the kind of brown you find in your front yard after the neighbor’s dog has been by, the kind of brown that’s so completely and utterly disgusting that you can’t help but gag.

And gag he does, dropping the rest of the cake onto the table and clutching his throat and jumping up from the table and running to the bathroom despite the PD’s protests. He doesn’t throw up, but he does dry heave a few times, wondering what the fuck Donghae put in that demon cake.

It takes him eleven water bottles and eight candies to wash out the brunt of the taste, and even then he can still taste it in his mind, like a bad memory that just won’t go away.

***

When he gets home that night, Donghae is awake on the couch and waiting for him, much to Sungmin’s dismay. As soon as he comes through the door, the younger man leaps to his feet and rushes to greet him, the same big smile plastered on his face and the blush still painting his cheeks.

“What did you think, Sungminnie? Did you like it?”

Sungmin had been all set to tell Donghae off, yell at him for causing so much pain and suffering (Sunny had teased him for the duration of the show and the PD had scolded him for causing a commotion and the whole time he kept thinking of that taste). But looking at Donghae’s face now, eyes bright and hopeful and so fucking earnest, Sungmin’s heart of steel melts a little.

A little white lie can’t hurt, can it?

“Ah… Thank you! It was really delicious, Donghae. Thank you so much!” He smiles brightly back at him and moves to cut to his bedroom to avoid further conversation. But Donghae stops him with a hand to his shoulder.

“I’m so glad you liked it, Minnie! I worked so hard to make it for you. The rest is in the kitchen, let’s go have some now!” His voice is as bright and hopeful as his eyes.

Shit.

***

It was the only solution, Sungmin decides later, curled up in bed and panting, head resting lightly on Donghae’s shoulder, their fingers entwined across his bare chest. The only way to save himself from further pain.

Yes, kissing Donghae was only an act of self-preservation. Dragging him to the bedroom had everything to do with saving himself from the most awful cake in the world and nothing to do with Donghae’s gorgeous eyes or the adorable blush on his cheeks or the way he kissed so wonderfully or touched him even more wonderfully.

Donghae stirs sleepily beneath him and his voice, quiet and content, drifts down to Sungmin’s ears. “Mmm… We can have some of that cake tomorrow morning, okay Sungmin-ah?”

Sungmin sighs and distracts him with a kiss.

{fic archive}

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 08:35:57 GMT

100. Regrets
Yehsung/Ryeowook/Henry
PG

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

when they say goodbye, it's bittersweet, because they both know it's not for forever and they'll still love each other and absence makes the heart grow fonder, but ryeowook isn't sure how he'll go to sleep without the familiar thud of yehsung's heart by his ear, and yehsung isn't sure what he'll do without ryeowook there to keep him sane and when they say goodbye henry doesn't think they notice him watching them from the other side of the room

except ryeowook does

and yehsung does

but ryeowook doesn't notice yehsung noticing henry, and yehsung doesn't notice ryeowook noticing either. and they kiss and say goodbye and the group of seven is off to the airport and yehsung goes back to bed.

on the plane, henry sits next to ryeowook, who nods to him and drifts off to sleep, but not quite, since he can't feel yehsung's heart. his eyes jump open at the feel of a hand on his shoulder, small and warm and soft and rubbing gentle circles against his skin. his eyes drift shut once more and he manages to fall asleep this time, thinking of yehsung but leaning into henry's soothing touch.

they're in china and ryeowook discovers that he can't go to sleep without the pounding beat of yehsung's heart unless he has henry to hold onto. so he spends nights curled up against the younger boy's side, arms draped across his stomach, and sometimes he cries and henry holds him and sometimes it just isn't enough and he falls asleep with the phone pressed hotly to his ear, clutching it desperately in his hands, yehsung's voice crackling across the line in a long-distance lullaby.

it's after a night like this that ryeowook wakes up to find henry kneeling on the floor next to the bed, chin propped up on his hands propped up on his elbows propped up on the mattress. his eyes are black and dark and intense and questioning, wondering.

"hyung," he whispers softly, and ryeowook still isn't used to being called that, so he blinks once in response.

"you really love yehsung-hyung, don't you?"

yes, yes, i really love yehsung-hyung, i really do.

"and you miss him a lot?"

i do, i do

henry is quiet for a moment, pensive, and then he's crawling up into the bed next to ryeowook, wrapping his arms tightly around him and pressing warm kisses against his neck, his jaw, his eyes, his lips.

"i miss him too

i love him too"

i know, i know, i know, ryeowook hums the words against henry's skin, kisses them against his ear.

me too, me too, me too, ryeowook cries the words into henry's shoulder, whispers them into his mouth.

the plane ride back and both their bodies hum with excitement, nerves dancing, twitching, anxious as they huddle together in their seats. whispering and giggling and making the other members roll their eyes but it doesn't matter because home, home

home isn't korea. home is who is in korea.

when they get back to the dorms henry hangs back, even though it hurts, god it hurts to see them reunited. yehsung is grabbing, holding, touching ryeowook everywhere he can and still be decent. and ryeowook is laughing, laughing, and crying, and he holds onto yehsung tight, tight like he might fly away, fly away back to china, or japan, or america, or anywhere besides here, here, home, here. the other members smirk and crack jokes and tease and henry dies a little inside. because yehsung and ryeowook don't even notice the jokes and the teasing because they're too busy smiling at each other, holding each other, and

hello

hello

i'm back

i know

i love you

i know

i missed you

i love you

i know

i love you, too- henry's heart stammers. love me too.

love me too.

that night, and ryeowook is home, tightly curled against yehsung's side and yehsung's heart thud-thud-thuds against his ear and yehsung is singing softly but still ryeowook can't sleep. his own heart is racing and both their bodies shine with a thin layer of sweat, sweat that evaporates and leaves cool, cool skin, nothing like the burning heat from minutes ago. all he wears is boxers and all yehsung wears is boxers and the blankets are tangled on the floor somewhere by their shirts.

yehsung's hand is tracing circles into his shoulder just like henry on the plane and ryeowook lets his arms drape across yehsung's stomach and it's good, it feels good, even if it isn't quite the same. yehsung knows something is wrong and he leaves off drawing the circles and just wraps his arms around him, strong and warm and loving. tears shine in ryeowook's eyes, and he's happy, so happy, but it still feels like a part of him is missing.

the door creaks open and a crack of light shines through and henry's voice comes softly through the crack. "hyung? ryeowook-hyung?"

yes

yes

come in

henry stands awkwardly at the door, eyes trained at the ground and not on the two in the bed and he mumbles something about a nightmare and being alone and please hyung please

yehsung glances down at ryeowook staring up at him with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face and yehsung glances up at henry and nods. henry slides onto the bed and yehsung feels like he should be suspicious of the way henry's arms fit so easily around ryeowook, yehsung feels like he should be jealous about the way ryeowook sighs so contentedly with henry's chest pressed against his back, but all yehsung feels is henry's fingertips brushing against his side, his arms, his face and yehsung smiles and goes to sleep. they all sleep. together.

"where's ryeowook-hyung"

"in the shower"

"oh"

and there's silence. henry is standing in the doorway as awkwardly as he did two weeks ago and yehsung is reading in the bed but he puts the magazine away and reaches his arms out for the younger boy. it takes a moment for henry to respond, crossing the room and leaning into yehsung's embrace, clenching his fists in yehsung's shirt, pressing his face against yehsung's throat and kissing, kissing until tears spring to his eyes. yehsung doesn't notice, doesn't notice until henry has stopped kissing and is crumpled on the bed beside him, fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist.

why

why why why

yehsung whispers whys into henry's hair, winding arms around him helplessly.

henry loves ryeowook. he tells it to yehsung, practically wails it, and i'm sorry, hyung, i'm sorry, sorry, so sorry

why why why

henry loves ryeowook. henry loves yehsung. henry knows that ryeowook loves yehsung loves ryeowook and there's no room, no room, and he's too much and he's sorry and he'll stop.

i don't know where home is, hyung. korea isn't home. china isn't home. i shouldn't. shouldn't be here. i can't find home.

home is here. right here. ryeowook loves you.

i love you.

stop crying. stop stop stop

but henry doesn't stop because henry thinks he knows, knows that this is wrong and they don't want him, and yehsung is just humoring ryeowook and ryeowook only loves yehsung and henry will go away now because he loves them and doesn't want to hurt them.

yehsung hits him. stupid!

stupid stupid stupid. we love you. you love us. us, you. we. you, me, he. love.

ryeowook is there now and his face is confused and he stands awkwardly in the doorway. henry opens his arms and yehsung smiles smiles smiles and ryeowook slides into the bed.

morning they wake up all under the covers and the room is warm and so are they. and this is yehsung's hand, henry's hand, ryeowook's hand. their hands. these are henry's lips and ryeowook's hand.

yehsung's fingers, henry's hair.

ryeowook's eyes, yehsung's eyes.

henry's smile.

ryeowook's heart.

yehsung loves.

so does ryeowook.

and henry.

henry is home.

ryeowook can sleep.

yehsung is happy, happy, and his heart beats strong so ryeowook and henry can hear it feel it love it.

{fic archive}

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 00:03:03 GMT

challenge, round two!

Theme: Addiction; Catch: not alcohol, drugs, or other controlled substances~

No title, Yehwook, pg, 1106 words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hyuuuuuuuuung~?" The syllable started out soft low, then slowly built to a crescendo of a whine until it hit the exact pitch to make Yehsung's nerves stand on end. The singer scowled and tried his best to ignore the sound, pointedly turning his head away from the source, and towards the TV. Eventually, though, the whining came to be accompanied by repeated pokes to his shoulder, and Yehsung was forced to return his attentions to his bandmate.

"What! What do you want?" He half-shouted, whipping his head around with a glare.

Ryeowook cringed and scooted backwards, tucking himself into the far corner of the couch. A pout formed on his lips, and Yehsung's expression softened immediately. He shifted to gather the younger man into his arms with a sigh. "What did you want, Ryeowook?"

"Sing for me..." His voice was quiet with a hint of expectation, as if it was automatically assumed that Yehsung would fulfill his request. Yehsung scowled again, pulling away. "I don't feel like it," he huffed, crossing his arms. "But hyuuuuung~" The whining returned, again accompanied by the poking, but this time Yehsung remained steadfast (much to his surprise). His arms remained crossed, and he shook his head with an air of finality.

The next thing he heard was a slight sniffle from Ryeowook's general direction. "Hyung, please? I really want you to..." The shine of tears glistened in his eyes.

Fortunately, Yehsung was well aware of his younger bandmate's rarely publicized fake crying techniques. He got up from the couch, patting Ryeowook on the shoulder comfortingly. "Maybe another time. You better hurry, or you'll be late for your guesting on Chunji."

Ryeowook leapt to his feet with a frown, fake tears already gone and replaced with anger. Not willing to admit that he'd indeed forgotten all about his segment that night, he settled for sticking his tongue out violently at Yehsung and belting for the door before the older man could retaliate.

***

Later that night, Yehsung was nearly asleep when he heard the door open softly. Immediately he squeezed his eyes shut and went limp, feigning sleep. It seemed to work, as Ryeowook didn't say anything, but quietly changed into pajamas and slipped into bed beside him.

It was then Yehsung made his mistake, instinctively moving to wrap his arms around the smaller boy and pressing a kiss against his forehead. Immediately Ryeowook went from settling into peaceful rest to rising onto his knees on the bed, pushing against Yehsung's shoulders accusingly. "Yah, you're awake? Sing for me!"

With a groan, Yehsung rolled so that he faced the wall and not Ryeowook's demanding figure. "Wook-ah, it's late," he complained into his pillow. "Go to sleep."

"You said later."

"I meant later like another time, not just later tonight."

"Please, hyung? Please please? Please?"

"Jesus christ, I said no!" He rolled back around, grabbing for Ryeowook and dragging him back down against his chest. He held him tight, and when the younger man's voice sounded again, he felt it more than heard it, little puffs of warm air against his neck. "But I'm, like, going into withdrawal or something..."

Yehsung ignored him and went to sleep.

***

The next morning, Yehsung was woken up by a combination of sunlight beaming into his eyes and the thousands of hot little kisses Ryeowook was pressing against his throat.

"Umm-" He couldn't help but groan, shifting his body under Ryeowook's so that his arms settled on the younger singer's waist. "Nice-"

Ryeowook smirked and continued his assault, kissing his way up Yehsung's neck and across his jawline, until their lips met. Their eyes met at the same time, and Yehsung knew what was coming before Ryeowook could even say it.

"Sing-"

"Aish!" He gave a little grunt of frustration, heaving Ryeowook's small frame off of him and sitting up in the bed. Ryeowook latched back onto him almost immediately, arms thrown around his shoulders and raining kisses up and down his neck. "Pleasepleasepleasepleasejustalittlebitplease-"

"No."

"Butyourvoicesogoodjustonelinepleasepleaseiwant-"

"No."

"Ineeditplease..." The begging continued as Ryeowook refused to let go, even as Yehsung scrambled from the bed and out the door. Ryeowook dragged behind him all the way down the hall, arms still clamped tightly around his shoulders. He dragged behind him all the way into the kitchen, where Eeteuk and Hankyung both stopped what they were doing to look incredulously at the pair.

"Sosogoodjustalittlebitit'ssogoodpleaseplease-" Ryeowook was still begging at this point, causing Eeteuk to raise an eyebrow at them. "Please tell me..."

"HE DOESN'T WANT SEX," Yehsung clarified firmly and loudly. Ryeowook broke off from his mantra to pout, detaching himself from Yehsung and sitting heavily down into the chair beside him. "He won't sing for me, Teukie hyung!"

Hankyung laughed behind his hand as Ryeowook and Yehsung scowled at each other.

"I just don't feel like it right now, Wookie. Later-"

"You're just being stubborn. You don't love me."

"I do love you! I just don't- I don't want- YOU DON'T LOVE ME EITHER YOU JUST USE ME FOR MY VOICE YOU HYPOCRITE."

Eeteuk looked helplessly up at Hankyung, who shook his head and gave up trying to hide his laughter. Ryeowook quickly decided that he wasn't speaking to Yehsung anymore, and left to get ready. Yehsung cried silently into his cereal at the absurd turn his life had taken, Hankyung was laughing so hard he spilled rice across the kitchen floor, and Eeteuk gently pounded his head against the table, wondering what he'd done in his past life to deserve members like this.

***

That night, Ryeowook went to bed first. When Yehsung finally made his way into the room, he found Ryeowook curled up under the covers in the second bed that they never used. He gave a rueful sigh, slipping in under the covers next to him. Ryeowook was awake immediately, leaning into the warmth before remembering the situation and starting to squirm away. Yehsung held on tight, growling angrily. "You big baby, can't you just-"

He broke off at the desperate look Ryeowook gave him, fisting his hands into the older man's shirt. "I just... I really really love you, hyung," he said simply. "Whether you sing for me or not," he finally added with a defeated sigh, burying his face against Yehsung's chest.

And that was all Yehsung needed. He stroked the younger man's hair gently, crooning a gentle lullaby into the small, warm space between them. When he was done he murmured against Ryeowook's forehead. "It's your turn tomorrow, you big dork." Ryeowook only nodded, a smile of content resting on his lips and Yehsung's kisses burning against his forehead.

Wed, 28 May 2008 02:01:04 GMT

kwoooooopi challenge, round one!

Theme: Celebration; Catch: no one knows what they're celebrating!

No title, Kangteuk, pg, 552 words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"cheers"

the sound of clinking glasses echoes in the room. warm smiles, comfortable, jungsu tucked close against youngoon's chest, right where they both belong. there’s a small spread of takeout, tacky but the best they can do with the way things are. a candle had been lit in the middle of the small table, but that hadn’t lasted long under jungsu’s ever-cautious eye.

the soju burns its way down their throats and empty glasses are returned to the table. youngoon’s arms tighten around jungsu’s waist, hard enough to bruise? not really, but that’s what youngoon thinks. jungsu laughs and shakes his head, using his own hands to cinch youngoon’s arms even tighter because it’s the only way jungsu knows he’s safe. it’s the only way to stay warm.

they’re alone, youngoon tried his best to scare everyone else away (but it was jungsu’s quiet plea that finished the job). they’re celebrating, but jungsu isn’t sure what. youngoon won’t say, and jungsu doesn’t know if he knows. but the celebration is enough, the time alone, the warmth, and, yes, even the soju.

but when youngoon moves to take a bite of the cheap ramen, jungsu grabs his hand in his own, brings it to his mouth and kisses each knuckle, one. by. one. youngoon laughs, but jungsu can feel the small shiver run through his body, pressed so tight against his own. “why?” jungsu asks, holding their clasped hands to his cheek, staring at the table and not youngoon.

“why what?” youngoon feigns innocence and goes for the food once again. again jungsu stops him, this time twisting his neck to press their lips together. they kiss for a moment, all thoughts of takeout ramen forgotten, until jungsu pulls away. “why this,” he insists, not even bothering to gesture towards the table. (jungsu thinks just the celebration can be enough but sometimes knowing why is more important.

but apparently not to youngoon.)

youngoon shrugs (jungsu feels the gesture more than he sees it) and avoids jungsu’s gaze. “no reason. does there have to be a reason? do we need a why for us to be happy?”

guilty now, jungsu twists back around in youngoon’s arms, resting the back of his head in the crook of the younger man’s shoulder. he closes his eyes, content. “i guess not.” he hums happily as the forgotten food grows tepid on the table.

the room is nearly pitchblack now (they’d never bothered turning the lights on after the candle’s demise). it’s nearly pitchblack, but looking down at jungsu’s face, youngoon thinks he can see the ghost of the candlelight reflected in his skin.

(exactly five years ago, youngoon had looked across a crowded room to see jungsu laughing at something nobody else knew what and had realized that jungsu was the most beautiful thing in the world and he hadn’t told anybody else this for five whole years and he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell anybody now that he remembered the exact day he decided that he’d love jungsu forever.

(and jungsu sure as hell wasn’t going to tell youngoon that it didn’t matter if he told him or not because he’d known all along.

(because they sure as hell didn’t need a why or a how or a when for them to be happy.)))

Thu, 15 May 2008 02:19:57 GMT

51. Aliens
(Ryeowook/Kyuhyun)
R

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, baby, let’s try something different.”

“Huh? Umm… Like what?”

“Something kinky.”

“Hm? Oh… Uh- If you want… How kinky?”

“It’ll be good. Just trust me.”

Ryeowook shifts uncomfortably in his chair, crossing and uncrossing his legs, trying to get used to the unfamiliar feeling in his backside. It’s worse when he sits. They have a few more minutes before the interview starts, and a sudden idea strikes him. Turning, he grabs at Donghae’s arm. “Hyung, switch spots with me.”

“What? No. Why?”

Donghae is standing in the back row, behind the line of chairs. Ryeowook pouts slightly, tugging at the fabric of his sleeve. “Because I want to stand. Please, hyung?”

Kibum is standing next to Donghae. Ryeowook notices their fingers linked together, hidden from the cameras by his chair, and knows Donghae’s answer before the words even leave his lips.

“Sorry, Wookie. I like it better back here.”

Ryeowook is about to insist, when the PD’s voice rings out. “One more minute. Everybody ready to go?”

A chorus of agreement comes from the boys and staff alike, all except Ryeowook, who swallows nervously and turns back to face the front. A quick glance over his shoulder and he meets Kyuhyun’s eyes, the younger boy standing on the far end of the line.

Kyuhyun smirks, raising one hand to wiggle his fingers at Ryeowook in a sadistic little wave. A blush settles on Ryeowook’s face as Kyuhyun drops his hand and slips it into his pocket, and Ryeowook knows exactly what’s in Kyuhyun’s pocket.

He tenses instinctively, waiting for the shock he knows is going to come- but it doesn’t. He can see Kyuhyun laughing at him, and a pout crosses his lips. But then the PD is counting down- “five, four, three, two, one”- and the cameras are rolling and the announcer is introducing them.

Ryeowook forgets about the object lodged in his nether regions, raising his hand and his voice in unison with the others. “We are Super Junior- oh-ay-oh!”

Except, in Ryeowook’s case, it comes out more like- “We are Super Junior- oh-ay-ohmygod!” His nerves are on fire as something vibrates deep inside him, only for a second, but it’s enough. He clamps his mouth shut, face flushed with embarrassment and something more as an awkward silence settles on the group. Eeteuk is looking at him with a scowl and Kyuhyun is grinning and Ryeowook aims his eyes at the ground and grits his teeth. “Sorry…”

The PD doesn’t look pleased, but shrugs and waves his hand in dismissal. “Just do it again, we’ll cut that one out.” The thirteen of them repeat the greeting and Ryeowook braces himself, just in case, but this time the shock doesn’t come.

Eeteuk launches into his pre-written opening speech, and Ryeowook squeaks as a low, pulsating hum comes from the object inside him. It’s not enough to make him gasp, but it keeps going, and he squirms desperately. He can see the PD glowering at him, mouthing ‘sit still’, and he tries, he really does. But the vibrations are deep, and exquisite, and with a sense of dread he realizes that he’s hardening, and quickly.

The vibration stops, and he’s left with a feeling of emptiness and a growing hard on. He gives a little sigh and crosses one leg over the other, trying to hide it from view, though he’s sure the whole world’s seen by now. He glances over at Kyuhyun, but the youngest isn’t looking at him, eyes attentively trained on Kangin, who’s giving an answer to a question that Ryeowook didn’t hear.

A sharp little gasp leaves his lips as the vibration starts again, stronger this time, and automatically starts counting- one, two, three, four- and then it stops. He can’t help the small whine coming from his throat, and he looks over to Kyuhyun, his eyes begging for more. But Kyuhyun’s still not looking, his eyes are on the interviewer who’s talking but Ryeowook can’t concentrate because the tiny pink tip of Kyuhyun’s tongue is running over his bottom lip and oh god just push the button one more time but Kyuhyun is ignoring him.

He groans slightly, shifting in his seat, trying to regain some of that feeling. A jolt of pleasure sparks up his spine when the vibrations return, stronger than ever, but this time he only gets to three before it stops once more.

There’s a warm hand on his shoulder, and Kibum’s voice in his ear. “What’s that noise, Ryeowook? You should turn your phone all the way off for interviews, don’t just put it on vibrate.”

Oh god.

It’s pulsing again, a gentle, constant throbbing that lends itself easily to a gentle, constant throbbing in his erection. Subtly, he tries to rub his thighs together to give himself some friction, but he realizes that while he might be able to maintain a semi-straight face for now, it’s a lot harder to be subtle while you’re coming. He stops immediately, swallows, and prays for the interview to end soon.

As soon as it’s over, Ryeowook is on his feet, grabbing Kyuhyun and dragging him roughly to the bathroom. He shoves him into a stall, slamming their lips together demandingly. “Press it.”

“Press what?”

“The remote. The button. Press it- God.” Kyuhyun is grinding their hips together and real friction on his arousal is enough to make him beg. “Please, Kyuhyun, please. I’m so close-“

“I can’t.”

Ryeowook stops, eying Kyuhyun angrily. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“I mean, I can’t. I don’t have the remote. I left it at home.” He dips his hand into Ryeowook’s pants, and it’s almost enough to distract him. But-

“What do you mean you left it at home? It’s been vibrating all through the interview!”

Ryeowook is nearly in hysterics now, partly because he’s so horny, and partly because who the fuck is pushing the button?

As if on cue, sudden vibrations pulsate through his body, and he leans into Kyuhyun’s arms, panting. “Oh, god… Kyuhyun, please…”

The vibrating inside him stops at the same time as a different vibration starts in Kyuhyun’s pocket. The younger takes out his cell and flips it open. “Hello?”

Yehsung’s husky voice fills the silence of the empty bathroom. “I think I have something that belongs to you.”

Kyuhyun’s hand tightens around Ryeowook and the vibrations start again and Ryeowook comes with a shudder. He buries his face into Kyuhyun’s shoulder, breathing heavily, and Kyuhyun takes a shaky breath of his own.

They can practically hear Yehsung smirk through the phone.

{fic archive}

~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Notes:

Um, so this totally counts as fitting the theme for the challenge because it's an alien object in Ryeowook's ass. Yes? Yes? Please? Okay, good.

Also, I'm not completely satisfied with the way this came out. (mostly because i tend to dislike writing pwp) But I'm way too fricking lazy to fix it up because OMG LEAVING FOR HOLLYWOOD BOWL THIS WEEKEND A;SDLFA;SLDKJF;ALSDJF Anyway.

<333333 everybody and i'll have better stuff soon, i promise. *sweatdrop*

Thu, 17 Apr 2008 05:07:30 GMT

Grip
Lee Donghae

(Author's Notes:

This took me a long time to write, and I wrote the end first then the beginning then the middle so if it doesn't match up, I'm sorry. I've had a shitty life lately (though it's getting a little better), so writing this was like my way of dealing with my feelings, and a lot of it ended up showing through, which I don't know if that was a good or bad thing. I actually cried at one point while writing this because it was just so incredibly cathartic. I mentioned somewhere else that I wrote Donghae's next because I needed someone to abuse; at least Donghae gets a semi-happy ending. Don't know if my story will end the same way.

Un-beta'ed because I need to do this one by myself. But if there's stupid typos please tell me. x___x

Anyway, here it is, and I apologize to Donghae. Mianhae, Donghae-bada! I'm working on Yehsung's and Kyuhyun's right now. XD)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Donghae wakes up, cold and naked and with the cheap hotel blanket hanging off his side, useless. He’s dazed for a moment, wondering where exactly he is, but then he remembers with a small, “Oh.” He gets up, suddenly very aware of how grimy and filthy and sticky he feels. The hotel room is empty except for his backpack, thrown in the corner rather haphazardly, and his clothes, strewn on the floor equally haphazardly.

A groan escapes his mouth as he forces himself up onto his feet; his aching muscles protest as he drags himself to the cramped bathroom. The water runs and it’s as cold as ice, and Donghae waits and waits for it to turn warm but it doesn’t. Eventually he gives up and jumps in, scrubs himself off with the rag and no soap, doesn't even watch what he's doing, just scrubs at his skin until it hurts and it’s bright red and raw and feels clean again, even though it hurts like hell.

As quickly as he can, he dries himself off, pulls on his dirty clothes, shoulders his bag and slips out of the room, then the building, racing down the early morning streets until he reaches the familiar sight of his apartment building. He fumbles in his bag for the key and darts up the stairs to his own floor, his own door, his own room. He slams the door behind him, falls against the wall with a sigh, ignoring Ryeowook’s startled yelp from the kitchen.

“Who- Donghae, is that you?” The younger boy’s voice is taut, afraid, and Donghae grins as his head pokes nervously around the corner, fingers clenching white against the wall. “Yeah, it’s just me.”

Ryeowook breathes a sigh of relief, padding into the hall. “You never came home last night?” His eyes are wide. “Where were you this time?” Donghae thinks he looks like a little kid in his oversized pajamas, and reaffirms his decision to not tell him the truth, ever.

“I was out. I’ll be out again tonight. Don’t waste your time worrying about me.” Even though they aren’t close, aren’t even really friends, Donghae can’t stand the thought of his roommate waiting up for him all night, wondering if he’s okay. And he knows Ryeowook’s stupid and naïve enough to have been doing just that. He’d hate to be the one to add just a little bit more to the anxious student’s list of worries.

“I don’t worry. I was just curious.” Ryeowook leaves the hall with a wounded look in his eyes, and Donghae has to stop himself from running after him. Get a grip, he tells himself. He’s just a roommate, someone to pay half the rent each month. He doesn’t need to know your business, and you don’t need to know his.

Satisfied, Donghae slinks into his bedroom, strips down to his boxers, and crawls into his untouched bed. He falls asleep to the sound of Ryeowook getting ready for his morning classes, singing to himself in the bathroom.

“He sings nice…” Donghae murmurs to the wall, just before his eyes fall shut.

***

Somebody must have opened the curtains to his bedroom while he was sleeping, because it’s the harsh sun shining against his eyes that wakes Donghae up. “Fuck.” He hates waking up, but at least this time around he’s waking up in his own warm bed. Suddenly, the muffled tones of an old H.O.T. song sound through the room. Donghae’s up in a flash, scrambling through the mess on the floor until he finds his bag, hand blindly rummaging through the contents until he feels his phone vibrating against his skin. He snatches it up, drops the bag, flips the phone open and presses it to his ear.

“Yeah, yeah, hi?” He jumps off the bed and starts pulling on a fresh set of clothes.

“Lee Donghae! Where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting for, like, a half-hour, I called you twice-“

“Hyukjae! Sorry, sorry, I had a late night.“ Donghae mutters breathlessly into the phone, hopping on one foot as he tries to pull a sock on with one hand.

The voice on the other end sounds more amused than annoyed. “Don’t worry too much, Donghee couldn’t come today anyway. You still want to come, though?” Hyukjae sounds nervous, and Donghae becomes slightly apprehensive.

“What? Yeah, yeah, of course I wanna come. You’re still there? Gimme a few minutes- Ow-“ He cuts himself off with a gasp of pain. He’d knocked his hip against the wall, and it had stung. Anxiously, he lifts the hem of his t-shirt just a few inches, brow furrowing in frustration at the line of dark bruises on his skin.

“Donghae? Donghae, are you okay?” Hyukjae’s voice sounds in his ear, oblivious. Donghae sighs, holds the phone a little tighter. “Yeah, Hyuk, I’m fine. I’ll be there soon, okay?” He doesn’t wait for his friend’s answer, just snaps his phone shut and storms to the bathroom.

Fuck. His waist is mottled with bruises, stark against the pale of his skin. His neck and shoulders are laced with tell-tale dark red circles, purpled oer time. There are scratch marks and even more bruises on his upper arms—so much for the tank top he’d planned to wear. Angry tears spring to his eyes, he’d told him not to leave any marks, he’d told him. Stupid, stupid- How could he have missed it earlier in the hotel? (All he’d worried about then was feeling clean again.)

He hurries back to the bedroom to grab a hoodie, then another thought strikes him. Snatching up his bag, he dumps the contents onto the bed. His keys, his wallet, his mp3 player and headphones, seven condoms and a bunch of loose cash. Donghae pounces on the last, hurriedly scooping it together, flattening it into a neat pile and counting it quickly.

“Dammit!” He screams, flinging the money onto his bed and trying to ignore the hot tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He’d asked if he liked it rough, and Donghae had told him, told him it’d be extra. Extra, extra, and the man hadn’t left him anything but the initial price. And not even all of that, just half. Give me the rest once you’ve had your fill, he’d said, flirtatiously, and it had drawn the man in, but- “Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Donghae turns, whips out his fist, slams it into the wall. He hates being cheated.

Rubbing his stinging knuckles, Donghae stands in the middle of his room, face burning red with anger and embarrassment. Get a grip, he tells himself with shaky breaths. Don’t let Hyukjae see.

***

Donghae arrives at the dance studio, breathless and with a sour expression on his face. Hyukjae is there, leaning against the wall, headphones over his ears and tapping his feet to the beat of music only he can hear. He straightens when he sees Donghae approach, grinning as he switches his mp3 player off. “Took you long enough… I’ve been waiting.”

“You could have started without me. Nobody said you had to wait,” Donghae snaps and pushes past him, pulling his hood over his head as they both hurry through the lobby to their usual room. He doesn’t look at Hyukjae, doesn’t want to see the hurt expression on his friend’s face that he knows is there, can see so clearly in his mind. Instead, he hurries across to the radio, flipping through the CD choices absentmindedly.

He can hear fabric rustling, and turns just in time to see Hyukjae pull his shirt up and over his head. Hyukjae gives him a weird look, then reaches into his bag and pulls out a looser tank top. “Aren’t you gonna change?”

The question takes Donghae aback, he hadn’t really thought that far ahead. “What? Oh, no, I’ll just wear this…” He tugs self-consciously at the drawstrings of his hood, scooting backwards as Hyukjae steps towards him.

“Aren’t you gonna be hot?” He’s almost laughing. “How can you dance in a sweater?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Did you forget another shirt? I have, like, three, you could borrow one-“ He’s reaching for him, so Donghae panics and jumps to his feet.

“I said I was fine! If I wanna wear a hoodie, I can wear a fucking hoodie. It’s none of your business.” He doesn’t shout, but his voice is loud enough to echo in the large room. Hyukjae snaps his hand back, eyes wide. “Geez, calm down. I was just asking…” He laughs nervously, and Donghae sighs. “Let’s just dance, okay?”

Hyukjae agrees, pushing a button on the player and a fast-paced hip-hop song blares through the room. He starts to dance, and Donghae watches him for a moment before joining him. They fall into a practiced routine, the steps burned into both of their minds, but it’s different, awkward. The tense moment from before is still clear in Donghae’s mind, and he subconsciously avoids looking at Hyukjae, his body tight as thoughts race through his mind. Is my collar high enough? Is the bottom riding up? What if he sees? Fuck, my legs hurt…

He soldiers on, ignoring the throbbing ache in his extremities. But the anger starts to boil up in him again, and first he stumbles on one move, then misses another. Get a grip, he yells at himself. You know how to do this. But then he remembers the missing money, the spots on his neck, and he turns the wrong way and bumps into Hyukjae, then forgets the steps altogether, and eventually the music cuts silent. Donghae looks up, startled, to see Hyukjae with one hand on the CD player, and the other on his hip. “What’s wrong with you today, Hae?”

His pose is one of anger, his tone is strained, but when Donghae meets Hyukjae’s eyes, the worry, the concern he sees there is so genuine, so sincere, that it brings Donghae to tears. “Hyuk, I-“ I’m fine, he wants to say. Don’t worry about me.

“I’m…” And then it’s too much, and he slumps to the floor, brings his knees up tight to his chest, pulls his hood up and ducks his head. Don’t cry, don’t cry- there’s no reason to cry- but it’s too late.

He can feel warm arms around him, pulling the hood back down, stroking his hair. “Hae, what’s wrong? Tell me.”

“No,” Donghae says firmly, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his face against his knees, a damp spot growing on his jeans from the tears. They stay like that for a minute, Donghae shaking silently, then Hyukjae speaks again and his voice is quiet and helpless. “You’re so warm… Jesus.” And then before Donghae can stop him, he’s pulling at his sweater, dragging it up and off of his thin frame, leaving Donghae in just a tank top and his arms are scratched and bruised and ugly and there’s bite marks on his shoulders and hickeys on his neck and Hyukjae’s staring and Donghae panics. “I don’t- it isn’t- I’m not-“ He scrambles to his feet, wiping away forgotten tears.

Hyukjae stands besides him, makes a grab for his arm to stop him from running. But Donghae wasn’t going to run. “I’m sorry… I’m acting like a baby…”

“Oh my god, Hae. What happened?” There’s something like disappointment in Hyukjae’s eyes, disappointment and fear. Donghae twists his arm away, folds them across his chest. He feels exposed, more exposed even than when he was laying naked on that hotel bed.

“Nothing happened. It doesn’t matter.”

“Something obviously happened! Hae…” Donghae refuses to meet his eyes. “Tell me, please. Please, tell me- I can help-“

“It’s not anything that needs help!”

“I- what? Hae, that’s not- is it a boyfriend, then?”

“What? No, I just-“ Donghae falters, then pushes past Hyukjae to retrieve his sweater from the floor. “It just doesn’t matter,” he repeats flatly.

“Of course it matters.” He feels Hyukjae’s hand on his shoulder, gentle and warm. He feels like throwing up. “Please let me help. Is someone hurting you?”

“No, no one’s hurting me. It doesn’t matter- Why do you care so much, anyway? What does it matter to you?” He whirls on Hyukjae, voice shaking. Hyukjae looks offended.

“Because I’m your friend, Donghae! Why wouldn’t it matter?”

Donghae is silent.

“I care if you hurt, Hae. I- I care about you. Right?”

Donghae’s still silent.

“We’re friends, yeah? Even though- you don’t, you know… But it does matter to me. You matter… Hae, I wish you would just talk to me…”

“You don’t understand, Hyuk.” How could he understand? Donghae shivers, slips his sweater back on, covers up the marks. He crouches next to the CD player, turns the music back on. Without looking for Hyukjae’s reaction, he starts dancing again, and this time he manages to empty his mind of everything else.

The steps come like they’ve always come- simple and clean and perfect. He’s not sure how long it is before Hyukjae joins him, but eventually they’re dancing together, their bodies in a sync that seems almost magical to Donghae. There’s an empty spot where Donghee would be, but as the songs start to blur into one, they move closer and closer together until it’s just them, the two of them in the same dance they’ve always done, as natural as breathing.

But for some reason, Donghae spins and Hyukjae should be over there, but he’s not, he’s right here, and their bodies crash together. Hyukjae looks like he’s going to fall and Donghae doesn’t even think, instinctively grabs for his friend and pulls him upright, pulls him close. They’re both breathing hard, and Donghae shuts his eyes for a minute to slow his pulse. He feels a familiar pressure on his lips- familiar pressure that he’s felt a million different times from a million different guys, but this time it’s different, and he’s afraid to open his eyes because he doesn’t want it to be Hyukjae kissing him. But his eyes open anyway, and it is Hyukjae (of course it is), and Donghae can’t do anything else but run.

***

He makes it out of the door and onto the street before he hears Hyukjae’s voice behind him, shaky and insistent. He calls for him to stop, wait, but Donghae doesn’t stop, doesn’t wait, just keeps walking with his head down until he feels a hand on his shoulder, yanking him backwards.

He turns, ready with angry words, cut off as something gets shoved into his arms. His bag. He looks from the black bundle, then up at Hyukjae, trying not to let the fear show through his eyes. But it doesn’t matter, because Hyukjae isn’t looking at him anyway. His head is down, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. But even from this angle, Donghae can see that they’re damp and glistening. Fuck, he thinks. Fuckfuckfuck. “Hyukjae-“ He grabs his friend’s arm, pulls him away from the crowd of people on the street, back into the studio. The lobby is empty. He pushes Hyukjae down into one of the chairs, sinking down onto the one beside him.

They’re both silent, and it’s Hyukjae who speaks first. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you. It scares me.”

Donghae drops his bag onto the floor with a thud, buries his face in his hands. “It doesn’t matter, I said! It’s none of your business.” He ignores Hyukjae’s stammering protests, reaching down to pick up his backpack. “Just leave it, Hyuk. It doesn’t matter-“

“It does matter! It matters because- because-“

“Because why?” He tries to make his voice as cold as possible, because he thinks he knows what’s coming.

“Because-“ And here Hyukjae takes a deep breath, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I love you,” he murmurs simply. “I always have,” he adds, attempting a shaky smile.

Donghae runs, and this time Hyukjae doesn’t follow.

***

There are so many people, Donghae thinks bitterly as he walks down the street, buffeted by the crowd. He tries to blank his mind, but he can’t stop random thoughts from popping up, each stinging more than the last. Hyukjae’s eyes. The pain in his voice. The pain throbbing in Donghae’s hips. The missing money. The cold hotel room with the sticky sheets. The thought of doing it all again tonight. The thought of facing Hyukjae tomorrow.

Maybe he won’t. Maybe he won’t see Hyukjae tomorrow, or ever again. Maybe he won’t go to the bar, won’t find someone for tonight. He could actually get a proper sleep, be home before morning, and Ryeowook wouldn’t worry and he could actually be normal.

Get a grip, his mind sneers. How else are you gonna pay your share of the rent? It’s not like he was ever capable of keeping a steady job- a real job.

So he walks, and walks, and suddenly realizes he’s on a familiar street. He glances across the road to a building- a law firm. A quick check of his phone tells him it’s about noon- lunch time. A rueful grin spreads on his face at how well his body remembers routine even when his mind is preoccupied.

He takes up post in front of the coffee shop, leaning against the entrance and watching the doors to the lawyers’ office hungrily. His day has been rather crappy so far, and even though he’d been planning to break off this particular habit, the decision to indulge himself for one more day is an easy one to make

The world moves around him, and Donghae is still. There are thoughts swirling around his mind, and it makes him slightly uncomfortable. He’s always tried not to think too much, it only complicates things, but now he not only finds himself thinking, but reminiscing.

He thinks about the day this had started- How he’d been sick of the greasy old men that found him every night, desperate for just one good fuck with someone young, good looking, that he could think about while the greasy old men had their way with him. Images of Hyukjae had been coming to his mind lately, and that had been even worse than just accepting the reality of the situation. Donghae had grabbed onto the first hot, young, desperate looking man he could find, dragging him to a back alley, things progressing nicely from there. He’d surprised himself by not even asking for money- it just hadn’t felt right, somehow. And once hadn’t been enough, either. Despite what Donghae’s original plans had been, he found himself coming back day after day.

Thinking about this starts to make Donghae nauseous, and he begins to contemplate just going home and taking a nap. But soon enough, a tall figure emerges through the door of the office building, dressed up smartly in a business shirt and tie. Donghae clenches and unclenches his fingers, brightening as the other man notices him. For a breathless moment their eyes meet, and the other seems to shy away, heading down the street in the opposite direction.

Donghae’s pulse quickens as he sets off after him, cutting deftly through the crowd and darting across the street. The man is taller than most of the other people making their way down the sidewalk, so Donghae tails him easily, following him for a few blocks before he abruptly disappears from view.

But Donghae knows, they’ve done this a hundred times, and when he turns into the alley (their alley), Siwon is exactly where he expects him. He turns and they both freeze for a moment, and Donghae can feel his heart jump up to his throat. A smile quirks his lips and then he can’t help but rush forward, gripping Siwon’s shirt tightly between shaking fingers and forcing him backwards until he’s pushed against the cold brick wall. He’s barely aware of his name falling from the other man’s lips, he’s barely aware of anything but the heat coursing through his blood. He kisses Siwon roughly, deepening it instantly, kisses until they’re both panting and it’s still not enough. Grunting frustration, he rips at the taller man’s tie, pulling his shirt open and trying to touch every part of the exposed skin at once. He wonders vaguely if he’s the only one to have touched Siwon like this, the only one to kiss him, to taste his skin, to tear the little moans of uncomfortable pleasure from his throat. The thought that he’s not the only one brings a disquieting lump to his throat, and he hurriedly sets his hands to work on Siwon’s pants in an effort to stop thinking.

Taking Siwon into his mouth is almost sickening in how easy, how familiar it is. He works with his lips, his tongue, his teeth, all with a skill that he’s cultivated with years of practice. He would laugh bitterly at that thought, if his throat weren’t otherwise occupied. Siwon doesn’t last long today- but a sudden sharp pain rushes through Donghae’s torso and he realizes that Siwon has reached down to grab his shoulders, his fingers pushing into pre-made bruises. Oh god…It hurts, and Donghae tries to preoccupy himself with licking Siwon clean and trying not to look at the expression of pure bliss on his face. He trails kisses up his chest and against his neck, ignoring the tug of emotion at the way Siwon murmurs his name and threads their fingers together. He meets Siwon’s eyes- a mistake, because he sees Hyukjae reflected there and he suddenly feels sick to his stomach.

He mutters a vague goodbye and runs home to throw up everything he’s just swallowed.

***

He vomits twice, it turns out, a feat on an empty stomach. He’s hunched over the toilet bowl for the third time, tears in his eyes, that acrid taste in his mouth and nose and throat and his stomach is convulsing but there’s nothing left to throw up. Finally, exhausted, he slumps against the side of the bathtub, trying to catch his breath. It takes a few minutes before he’s able to stand, and even then only while leaning heavily against the sink, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. What he sees there disgusts him to the point that his stomach clenches, and he finds himself dry heaving over the toilet yet again.

It’s almost an hour before he manages to clean himself up and drag himself out of the bathroom. He can’t bring himself to care enough to get to his bedroom, collapsing instead on the couch in the living room. He’s too exhausted to cry, to throw up, to do anything except talk to himself in his head.

Get a grip, dumbass. You’ve been living this life for years- and suddenly it’s so horrible, so disgusting? You have a steady income, a hobby, food and a roof over your head. What else do you fucking want? You have Siwon to make things bearable- and dancing. You’re doing all you can- don’t ruin what you have with Hyukjae. Things are perfect the way they are- If he knew the truth, he wouldn’t love you, you wouldn’t even have him as a friend.

“Shut up!” He screams at himself, shoving his face into the couch cushions. His brain finally shuts down, and he falls into a fitful sleep.

***

A loud slam jolts Donghae awake, and he opens his eyes in time to see Ryeowook stalk through the living room. He’s up immediately- he’s never seen Ryeowook look so agitated before. His sleep, however restless, has rejuvenated him somewhat, so he heaves himself to his feet and trots after the younger boy, following him into his bedroom without a word of greeting.

The bed creaks as Donghae sits gingerly on the edge, watching Ryeowook with curious eyes. His hands are flying through the contents of his closet, the neatly hung clothes soon turning into a rumpled mess. Donghae isn’t that close to his roommate, but he knows him well enough to recognize uncharacteristic behavior when he sees it. It peaks his interest (and serves as a distraction), but he doesn’t say anything yet, choosing instead to simply watch as Ryeowook searches frantically through his clothes.

A cadence of soft thuds breaks the quiet- Donghae is swinging his feet back and forth, hitting the side of the bed on the backswing. He ignores a scarf that flies from the closet, landing on the mattress beside him. He puts more momentum behind his swinging feet, the incessant thuds become slightly louder, and Ryeowook finally spins around with tears of frustration in his eyes. “If you’re just going to sit there making noise you could at least offer to help!”

Donghae shrugs, fingering the fringe of the scarf absentmindedly. “Help with what?” Ryeowook sighs and stumbles to the bed, flinging himself face-first onto its surface. Donghae shifts to make room for him, flinching a little as Ryeowook’s hand finds its way into his own. “I don’t know- everything.”

The younger boy’s voice is muffled, and it takes Donghae a moment to realize that he’s shaking. His first instinct is to panic. There’s been too many tears today, too much pain, and having his innocent roommate fall into this pattern is enough to break his heart. He shifts to lay beside Ryeowook, pulling him close and whispering into his hair. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry- I can’t stand it.”

“I’m not crying.” Ryeowook looks up and Donghae sees he’s right- his eyes are bright with unshed tears, but he isn’t crying. He’s looking at him oddly, though, and Donghae pulls slightly away. “What’s wrong?”

“Why are you crying?”

“…I’m not.” But as soon as he says it, Donghae realizes that it’s a lie. He can suddenly feel the damp trails of tears falling down his cheeks, and hurriedly wipes them away. He tries to shift away from Ryeowook, embarrassed, but the older boy has a hold on his shoulder that he squeezes to pull him back. A wince crosses his face at the pressure on already sore skin, followed by a look of surprise at the gentle hand Ryeowook is running along his cheek.

“You…” Ryeowook murmurs, confusion in his eyes. “There’s so much you don’t tell me, isn’t there?” Donghae nods, shying away from the touch.

“And you’re not ever going to, are you?” Donghae shakes his head and clamps his eyes shut. The warm breath of Ryeowook’s sigh ghosts over his skin.

There’s silence, for a while, until Ryeowook speaks again. “I- Um. I’m going on a date tonight. And I don’t know what I should wear.”

Donghae opens one eye. “Something cute.” He suggests a certain shirt, and Ryeowook rejects it. “I don’t want to be too cute,” he explains. Donghae gets up, wanders over to the ravaged closet, and Ryeowook follows. Together they search through the contents until an outfit is decided upon by the both of them, and Donghae can’t help but smile through the whole thing.

It’s almost like he’s another friend, Donghae thinks to himself at one point. Except that’s silly. He has his friend; he has Hyukjae. He has Hyukjae for a friend and Siwon for sex and Ryeowook for a roommate and all the creepy old guys for money. He has a grip on the people in his life, and what their roles are, and everyone has a purpose and they never mix and nothing can change that.

…Right?

But talking and playing with Ryeowook like this is an awfully nice feeling. And Hyukjae kissing him earlier- that was a nice feeling, too, he admits. And today with Siwon, it was… not so nice.

He mentally slaps himself. Get a grip. Everyone has their place and don’t screw with it or you’ll fuck it up, like you’ve fucked up everything else.

He leaves Ryeowook to dress and get ready, and finds his way to his own bedroom to sleep some more. All this thinking has left him exhausted.

***

When Donghae wakes up for the fourth time that day, Ryeowook is gone and it’s getting late. Again he contemplates just staying home for the night, getting some rest, but then he checks himself in the mirror and the bruises are fading (but the pain’s still there) and he checks his wallet and decides he really can’t afford to skip a full night of profit.

So he changes, heads out into the darkening streets and finds his way to the usual place. He takes his usual seat at the bar, ordering his usual drink, though he figures he won’t have to pay for it. And he’s right- before long a chubby older man slips into the seat next to him, face red and slightly sweaty. Donghae swirls his glass, avoiding eye contact until the bartender asks for the money. He glances up then, looking expectantly at the other man until he fumbles his wallet and produces the payment, sliding it across the counter towards the bartender. “I got it,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes never leaving Donghae’s face.

The man has been watching him for a while, weeks, Donghae knows it, and he’s been wondering when he’d finally work up the nerve to approach him. He’d hoped it would be later, rather than sooner, but now is as good a time as any, he supposes. But the man still seems a bit hesitant, so Donghae takes matters into his own hands, opening his eyes wide with false innocence, letting a shy smile play at his lips. “I’m Donghae,” he offers, laying his hand on top of one of the man’s own thick, clammy appendages. “What’s your name?”

“My-my name?” The man falters for a moment. “Uh… Just call me Suk Chul.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“Huh? Oh, uh… yes. Um. How- how much…?”

Donghae smirks inwardly. This must be the poor guy’s first time.

“We can discuss payment later. For now, let’s find somewhere… a little more private.”

***

Donghae slides onto the bed, hooking his fingers into the man’s belt loops. The name he gave is probably a pseudonym, but Donghae uses it anyway, in that breathless, half-moaning tone he’s long perfected. “Suk Chul…”

The man gasps slightly, round fingers clenching and unclenching against Donghae’s arm. Holding his breath, and trying not to think too much, Donghae presses his lips against the man’s jaw, slowly working his way lower. To his relief, Suk Chul pushes him away, groaning for him to stop.

“Don’t… Don’t.” He sits up, back against the headboard, panting slightly. “I want… wait-“ Donghae scoots forward on his knees, straddling the man and winding his fingers into his hair. “You want what, Chullie-ah?” He hisses against a sweaty ear. “Just tell me what to do. I’m all yours.” For the hour you paid for, at least.

“I want you… to touch…”

“Here?” Donghae inquires innocently with a not-quite-so-innocent stroke. Suk Chul flinches, head banging backwards against the headboard. “Yourself,” he moans with eyes squeezed shut. “Touch yourself.”

Donghae pulls backwards, shifting to the other edge of the bed so that just his feet are left entangled with the man’s legs. Eyes fluttering shut, he lets his hand travel down his chest, stroking, teasing, before dipping even lower and taking himself in a firm grip.

He hates this, he really does. He hates these kind of men, the voyeurs who waste their money just to watch him. Honestly, isn’t that what porn is for? But money is money, and this particular man has lots of it, and so Donghae strokes, and strokes, occasionally moaning the man’s fake name.

He tries to pretend like he’s enjoying it, though it’s hard to get in the mood with a fat, sweaty man sitting just feet away, watching. (Though he’s really quite glad he gets to touch himself instead of said fat, sweaty man.) He pumps faster and faster but release seems to get no closer. He squeezes his eyes tighter, trying to imagine something- anything- else besides the scene in front of him.

Siwon. Earlier, in the alley. Siwon, with his lips and his hair and his hands and his abs and his eyes and his mumbled ‘Donghae…’s. The thought is enough to push him to the edge, but not enough to push him over. Fuck, he thinks, grunting through clenched teeth. He just wants to be done already, he’s sick of this, he’s tired of this, he hates the fat, sweaty men and the seedy motels and the money that smells like sex and cigarettes.

Suddenly he realizes that this isn’t what he wants. He wants a real life, a normal life, family and friends and a real job and real love-

And then Hyukjae is there, in his mind, looking at him with those bright eyes and that stupid grin and that blush, and those words- “I love you- I always have.”

And hasn’t Donghae always loved him, too? Of course he has. But Hyukjae is so good and Donghae is anything but good, and Hyukjae deserves more, deserves better, and doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve what Donghae is, what Donghae does, but what if it was Hyukjae here right now, Hyukjae’s hand on his leg, Hyukjae’s breath on his throat and his lips on his skin and- oh god- Donghae grips tighter as pleasure rips through him, spilling onto the sheets as tears spill from his eyes.

He crumples to the bed, shaking, not crying (even though tears are streaking down his cheeks). He curls into himself, ignoring Suk Chul as he pulls his clothes on and throws some extra money onto the mattress. Suk Chul leaves and Donghae is alone, all alone in a room that still smells like sweat and sex.

(And in the morning when he wakes up, Donghae will shower and get dressed and go home. He’ll meet Hyukjae for lunch and pretend like nothing’s wrong, but Hyukjae will know and make him explain. And Donghae will cry and tell him everything because he’s scared and lost and lonely (even though he pretends he’s not), and Hyukjae will be shocked at first, but he’ll tell him that it’s okay because he loves him. And they’ll both cry, and hug, and laugh, and kiss, and they’ll live happily ever after, maybe. Maybe only for a while. But ‘maybe, for a while’ is a hell of a lot better than never, forever.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just One Day Archive

100 Fic Archive

Tue, 08 Apr 2008 03:49:38 GMT

SUJU M MV IS OUTTTT /SPAZZ

All I have to say is ;ALSKDF;JALSKDJ;GL AKS JFOMG I LOVE IT I LOVE IT I LOVE IT. BEST MV RELEASE THAT I'VE BEEN IN THE FANDOM FOR. FOR FUCKING SERIOUS. OMMMGGGGG BOYS I LOVE YOU AND I AM SO PROUD TO SUPPORT YOU FULLY, ALL SEVEN OF YOU, FUCK THE ONLY13 NAZIS YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO.

The two new guys do NOTHING to diminish someone's love for the originals. All they can do is add to the Suju love, they don't decrease it in anyway. And if ELF can't see past their own narrow minds to see how PROUD and HAPPY Hankyung is about this- and how all they're doing is hurting him and two innocent guys and most likely the other 12 (in my opinion) members with their stupid protests- Then I'm just really really glad I never was an ELF.

Enough ranting...

I must admit I like the new MV better than the old one... I like the girl better, the guys get more screen time, and the whole feel of it just so much AWESOME.

I like Ryeowook more in this than I've liked him in anything else- I really think he's coming into his own in this group.

Hankyung gets his chance to shine. He really is the star of Suju-M, and I'm so proud and happy for him.

Siwon- hot as always. XD

Donghae- He seems to have a bit of a change of concept here, but I like it. It's not huge, but he just seems... simpler. I can't describe it, but I like it.

Kyuhyun's voice is just a;dslfkajsd.

Henry and Zhou Mi did NOT disappoint me at all. The MV and Suju M wouldn't be the same without them, in my opinion. And HELLO VIOLIN WE MEET AGAIN.

Tue, 08 Apr 2008 03:07:19 GMT

20. Glow (part five)
(Kibum/Donghae)
PG (except for two f-bombs XD)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a quiet night. Eeteuk and Kangin had finally managed to chase all the boys to bed, even convincing Donghae to sleep on his own after two straights nights of Kibum at his side. The younger one said that he had things he needed to work on, and Donghae had eventually acquiesced (but only after Kibum promised to finish the last three spaceship skeletons).

Glad that the day had passed without much incident, Eeteuk heaved a happy sigh before flopping down onto the couch, taking care not to squish any of the green hexagons littering the room. Kangin gave a wicked grin, closing in on the older boy with a hungry glint in his eye. Eeteuk smirked, batting his searching hands away. “Kangin-ah, not now. The others just went to bed, they’re probably not all asleep yet.”

“Are they ever all asleep?” Kangin protested, but relented anyway. He settled onto the couch, putting an arm around Eeteuk’s shoulders and pulling him close to his side. The two were soon lost in the late night drama playing on the TV, comfortable in the living room, surrounded by piles and piles of neon green spaceship skeletons.

Soon, a loud thud, followed by a sharp intake of breath, erupted from the hallway. A stream of low curses reached their ears. Eeteuk was immediately on his feet, leaving a disappointed Kangin alone on the sofa.

“Is everything okay?” He rounded the corner into the hallway, voice filled with concern. He froze when he saw Kibum, dressed in navy blue pajamas and a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. Once he noticed the leader’s presence, his hands immediately flew behind his back before Eeteuk could see what he was holding.

”Nothing’s wrong, hyung. I just stubbed my toe, that’s all. I’m fine.”

”What are you doing out of bed?”

“I wanted a glass of water.”

“Let me see your hands.”

A pause. Kibum hesitated, on the verge of refusing. But there was no denying the glint in Eeteuk’s eye, the one that meant that to try and fight him would be hopeless, and probably painful. Slowly, sheepishly, he brought his hands and their contents out from behind his back, holding them in the air before him like a naughty child about to get his wrist slapped.

Eeteuk folded his arms, staring at the inactive glowstick Kibum lightly gripped. With a frown, he ordered, “Crack it.”

Another moment’s pause, then a harsh snap echoed through the hallway. Slowly, the glowstick began to illuminate with a bright, fluorescent green light.

“Let me guess- this is the infamous alien.”

Kibum nodded, eyes fixated on the floor. “Yes, hyung.”

“And you weren’t going to the kitchen, you were headed to Donghae’s room.”

“Yes, hyung.”

“So you’ve been tricking him the entire time?”

“…yes, hyung…” Kibum’s voice was barely audible.

Eeteuk sighed, taking the glowstick from Kibum’s hand and examining it. “Kibummie… I know you’re never do anything to hurt Donghae. And I’m sure you have a good justification for this little prank. But it’s going too far. Have the alien visit him one more time and say goodbye.” He handed the glowing ‘alien’ back to Kibum, who took it reluctantly.

“Okay, hyung. Just give it one more day then, so he can finish the project. It’ll give closure to the whole thing, and he’ll never know the difference.”

“All right.” Eeteuk nodded. “One more day.”

Kibum went back to bed and Eeteuk went back to Kangin and neither of them noticed Donghae’s eyes in the crack of the doorway.

***

The next morning, Kibum was woken up by the feel of someone crawling into bed next to him. Thinking it was Donghae, he went to wrap his arms around the other boy, but was stopped by Sungmin’s teary voice. “Kibummie! Somebody smashed all the skeletons… And Donghae won’t come out of the room and he won’t let anybody else in and Eeteuk’s getting angry and calling the manager hyungs and I can’t find Eunhyuk and I don’t know what’s going on…”

Kibum was up in a flash, running down the hallway to Donghae’s bedroom door. Yehsung was pounding on it angrily. “Yah! It’s my room, too, you dumb little… Let me in!”

“Let me, hyung.” Yehsung stepped back, glaring at Kibum. “If I’m not back in my room in twenty minutes, I swear to God…”

Kibum rapped softly on the door. “Donghae-ah, it’s me. Can I come in?”

Silence. Then something hit the door, hard, from inside, causing both boys in the hall to jump back. “Nobody’s coming in, and especially not you, Kim Kibum!” Donghae’s voice was harsh and raspy, different than anyone had ever heard him sound. Except…

“He sounds like he did when he heard about his dad,” Yehsung remarked softly. “Something really big must have happened. Do you know he smashed up all those stupid straws?”

Eeteuk came into the hallway, holding the phone gingerly. “Donghae, manager-nim wants to speak to you.”

Another pause. “Tell him I’m taking the day off.” Eeteuk stared at the closed door for a moment, then looked at Kibum angrily. He was about to scream, a ‘told you so’ on the tip of his tongue, then he saw the tears building in the younger boy’s eyes. He sighed once, then put the phone back to his ear. “Actually, I really think we should let Donghae take the day off... He's been so stressed lately...” He walked away, negotiating with the manager.

Sungmin and Ryeowook poked their heads tentatively around the corner. Once they saw Eeteuk was gone, they darted in, Ryeowook quickly enveloped in Yehsung’s arms and Sungmin attaching himself to Kibum's shoulder."What's going on, Bummie?" Pouted Sungmin. "All our hard work is ruined..." He gasped as a thought struck him. "You don't think Hyukkie did it, do you? And that's why Donghae's so upset?"

From his comfortable position in Yehsung’s grasp, Ryeowook shook his head. “It wasn’t Hyukjae-hyung. He was eating breakfast with me this morning, and when we went into the kitchen, everything was still intact.”

Eunhyuk came through the front door just then, just in time to hear Sungmin ask in a low, worried voice, “You don’t think… It was the orange aliens?!”

“Aish!” Something snapped in the dancer. He threw his bag to the ground, stalking down the hallway. “Listen to me, everybody. There are no aliens. This ridiculous business has gone on for way too long, look what it’s done to Donghae!” He gesticulated wildly towards the closed doorway. “If I hear another fucking word about any fucking aliens, I am going to kill something!”

Everyone fell silent. Even Eeteuk, standing in the doorway between the hall and the living room, stopped his phone conversation mid-sentence. As the hush grew heavier, it was suddenly penetrated by Kibum’s low voice, the first time he'd spoken since Donghae's rebuke, his voice quavering as the tears began to fall from his eyes. “You’re wrong, hyung.” He shook his head violently, as the tears fell faster, staining his face. “You’re wrong. You’re wrong. This is all wrong. Oh, god…”

If possibly, the silence grew, despite the harsh sobs now cutting into it. Nobody had seen Kibum break down like this. Sungmin tugged helplessly at the younger boy’s hand, scared, but Eunhyuk pulled him back. His only support gone, Kibum sank to the floor, tucking his knees up to his chin and hugging his arms around them, shoulders heaving. Yehsung and Eunhyuk exchanged glances before guiding Sungmin and Ryeowook away, somewhere, anywhere else, giving Kibum some privacy.

The sound of the manager speaking loudly came muffled from the phone. “What’s going on over there? Jungsu?” Quietly, Eeteuk put the receiver back to his ear and spoke in hushed tones. “Um… yes. Everything’s fine here… I- yes. I think it’s best if we cancel Kibum’s schedule, too.”

***

Eeteuk was the last one out the door that morning, before Kibum and Donghae were left alone in the apartment. Kibum had long since stopped crying, but he remained seated on the floor in front of Donghae’s barricaded door. Eeteuk poked his head in the hall for one last quick check before he headed out for the day.

“Kibummie…”

The other didn’t even look up.

“Kibum-ah, make sure you at least eat today. Try and see if you can get Donghae to eat, too…”

Kibum still didn’t look up.

“Please, Kibummie… fix this.”

By the time Kibum glanced upwards, Eeteuk was already gone.

***

Despite Eeteuk’s words, Kibum couldn’t bring himself to leave his vigil outside the room, even when his stomach began growling at an alarming volume. He simply couldn’t let himself risk the chance of missing the nanosecond that Donghae might peek outside, even though the other boy showed no signs of emerging. As noon steadily approached, the only thing Kibum could think to do was fall asleep, curled up with his head leaning against the locked door.

Inside the room, Donghae’s stomach was protesting the lack of food as much as Kibum’s. He’d missed breakfast (a first), and now it seemed like he was going to miss lunch as well. But he’d heard Eeteuk tell the manager to give both him and Kibum the day off, and he knew that that meant the other was outside his room waiting for him somewhere.

But noon came and went, and Donghae heard no sounds or other signs of life coming from the empty apartment. He quickly convinced himself that Kibum had gone out, or was asleep, and in any case that meant it was safe for him to sneak out for a minute, grab some food, then return to the room in time to avoid a confrontation with the other boy.

It wasn’t until a quarter after one that Donghae finally steeled himself enough to make the journey to the kitchen. Kibum woke to the click of the lock and had just enough time to blink his eyes open before the door opened, causing him to fall to the ground, looking up into the face of a very startled Donghae. Flustered, he tried to retreat back into the room and shut the door.

Unfortunately, Kibum was still in the way. Instead of slamming shut, as he planned, Donghae slammed the door directly into Kibum’s head, causing the other boy to cry out in pain. He sat up groggily, clutching his skull and groaning pitifully.

Immediately Donghae was on his knees, eyes wide with worry. “Oh, no… Are you okay? Are you bleeding? Hold on-“ He ran off, but was back before Kibum could get his bearings. Something soft and cold pressed against his temple, and at his startled look Donghae replied matter-of-factly, “It’s just a dishcloth wrapped around an ice pack… Now hold still.”

Kibum did as he was told while Donghae inspected his head for injury. Once he was satisfied that Kibum wasn’t bleeding, and was therefore in no fatal danger for the time being, he snatched his hands away from the younger boy and scooted a few feet away, wrapping his arms around himself.

They sat for a few minutes in silence, punctuated by angry growls from the stomachs of both boys. When they finally spoke, it was at the same time.

“I don’t-"

“Hyung, I-“

This caused another awkward lapse into silence. Eventually Kibum tried again.

“I guess… You found out.”

Donghae nodded viciously, staring intently at the floor. Kibum suddenly spilled into an explanation- or at least an attempt at one.

“Hyung, I never meant for it to go as far as it did. I never meant to hurt you, I just… That morning, that day, I couldn’t stand seeing you like that, and I just wanted- I wanted-“ He broke off, realizing that his rambling wasn’t helping. He waited anxiously, staring at the top of Donghae’s head as the other boy inspected his socks.

After a long time, Donghae glanced up at Kibum. When he spoke, it was only one word.

“Why?”

“Because, hyung… Because- I was scared that what Eunhyuk said, what everybody said, what I said… I was afraid you were going to stop believing.” The last was said in a voice barely above a whisper. He went on, voice a bit stronger, but still on the edge of breaking.

“I didn’t want you to stop believing. I didn’t want you to change. I wanted you to be happy, I wanted to make you happy, I wanted you to just believe- I wanted to be the one to make you believe…

And you were happy. And because you were happy, I was happy- when I saw you smile, and I knew that it was because of me. Even if you didn’t know it. When I looked over and saw you helping Sungmin fix those straws together, when you convinced Eunhyuk to help us and I could just see in your face how happy you were… It was… I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop.”

“You made a fool out of me.”

“No- never!” The tears were coming back to Kibum’s eyes, while Donghae’s face was strangely blank. “I wasn’t making fun of you. That’s never what this was. I just- I just wanted you to keep believing-“ He choked up, covering his face with a hand, the other still holding the ice pack. “I’m just… I’m sorry,” he finished simply.

Suddenly there were warm hands on his shoulders, on his face, wrapped around his neck and the ice pack fell to the ground and then the tears broke, for both of them, and they were grabbing, clutching, holding on to themselves and each other and then there were kisses- hot, soft, chaste, against foreheads and cheeks and shoulders and hands and lips. And broken apologies, “I’m sorry, hyung, I’m so sorry-“ And murmured reassurances, “It’s okay, it’s all okay, it doesn’t matter, none of it matters-“

By the time the first small group of members returned home from schedule, they were asleep on the bed, wrapped in blankets and each other, and Eeteuk was just so relieved that it was over that he even allowed Heechul and Kangin five minutes of laughing at their sleeping forms before he chased the two from the room and shut the door on Kibum and Donghae.

***

The next morning at breakfast, nobody said a word about the previous day’s events. Someone, Eeteuk wasn’t sure who, had cleaned up the mess in the living without saying a word. But the small mystery didn’t matter in the grand scheme things, what did matter was that Kibum and Donghae were friends again, and more, as evidenced by the way they giggled together in the corner of the room, hands twined under the table.

Suddenly, Eunhyuk rushed into the kitchen, dragging a breathless Sungmin behind him. “Donghae-ah!”

Everyone looked up at him, stunned by his next words. “Donghae-ah… you were right about the aliens.”

Yehsung choked on his coffee, Ryeowook patting his back helpfully. Kangin looked ready to punch something, and Shindong looked ready to cry. Eeteuk just stared.

Eunhyuk continued. “One of them visited me last night… They’re mad that all the skeletons were ruined. They said that if we didn’t remake them by the end of the week that they were going to take Junsu and hold him hostage. Me and Sungmin are going to buy more straws, so be ready to get to work when we get back, okay?” Then he was gone, pulling the protesting Sungmin out the door.

Everyone seemed in shock. Shindong spoke, slowly and carefully. “Maybe… maybe there are aliens.”

Ryeowook nodded, wide-eyed. “Even if there aren't… It can’t hurt to be safe, can it?”

One by one, all those present (except Eeteuk and Kangin, who remained silent) slowly agreed that… maybe Donghae was right after all. They looked to the expert for guidance, and Donghae cleared his throat before announcing, in a calm voice-

“We need more straws.”

The members scattered, and Eeteuk and Kangin were left alone with a smirking Kibum and a giggling Donghae.

“I am going to tell every store in a 100 mile radius,” Eeteuk slowly began, “that Kim Kibum and Lee Donghae of Super Junior are expressly forbidden from ever purchasing glowsticks again, as long as they live.”

Kibum and Donghae shared a look, burst into more laughter, and somehow, Kangin doubted that any edict of Eeteuk’s would ever stop them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{fic archive}

GLOW: one/two/three/four/five

Tue, 08 Apr 2008 03:01:39 GMT

20. Glow (part four)
(Kibum/Donghae)
PG

~~~~~~~~~

Eeteuk shuffled sleepily into the living room, plopping onto the couch. Immediately Ryeowook latched onto his arm, wide-eyed and mournful. Yehsung was seated on the other side of the eternal magnae, still slowly nursing his cup of coffee. He glared at Eeteuk, before hissing angrily, “Do something.”

Ryeowook tugged weakly at Eeteuk’s arm. “Hyung, I’m so hungry…” He whimpered pitifully.

Eeteuk stared at them for a second, wondering what was wrong. “If you’re hungry, can’t you just get something to eat…?”

Hankyung glanced up from the computer screen. “We can’t. Donghae said the kitchen was off-limits.”

“What?”

“Donghae-hyung chased us out and won’t let us back in. He said that the G.A.R.S. can’t be disturbed, or all hope is lost,” explained Ryeowook.

Eeteuk was still only half-comprehending the words. “Gee-ay-are… what?” Yehsung shot another death glare at the leader. “Green Alien Rescue Squad. He’s holed himself up in there with Kibum, Sungmin, Eunhyuk, and a bunch of straws.”

“…oh, lord…”

“Maybe you should check on them, Teukie.” Hankyung’s dark eyes were wide with concerned. “Hyukjae seemed really scared.”

“Hyuk-? Oh, lord…” Eeteuk repeated dumbly. He stood up, causing Ryeowook to shrink back and snuggle up to Yehsung. Shifting his coffee to the other hand, he wrapped a comforting arm around the younger boy and scowled up at Eeteuk.

“Fix this, hyung. Wook-ah is hungry and scared, and I swear to god if I don’t get more coffee soon…”

Eeteuk was already gone.

***

A while later, Eeteuk sat at the breakfast table in an obviously sour mood. The others around him, however, were quite happy. Hankyung was pleased to have the kitchen back, and Siwon was pleased that Hankyung was pleased. Shindong and Ryeowook were excited they could finally have their breakfast, and Yehsung was gleefully chugging his fourth mug of coffee. Kangin padded into the kitchen just in time to see Yehsung set the mug down and pull Ryeowook onto his lap for a kiss.

“Yah! I don’t want to have to see that- get a room.” Then, with the blatant hypocrisy everyone had come to expect from Kangin, he leaned over to give Eeteuk an enthusiastic good morning smooch. “What’s wrong, hyung?”

Eeteuk sighed. “I talked to Donghae for twenty-seven minutes trying to get him to give the kitchen back. I tried to reason with him. I yelled at him. I even played along with the whole alien thing. But he wouldn’t listen. Then one word from Kibum- ‘maybe Eeteuk-hyung is right, Hae'-“

“That’s six words.”

“Shut up, Kangin. One word from Kibum and he moved the whole project into the living room with no fuss at all.”

Deciding it was best not to ask about the ominous ‘project’, Kangin massaged Eeteuk’s shoulders sympathetically. “Just let it go, hyung. At least we know there’s someone he’ll listen to… even if Kibum’s the one who-“ They shared a knowing look.

Yehsung snickered, Ryeowook grinning shyly from his seat in the older boy’s lap.

“Eunhyuk was priceless, though- his face as Sungmin dragged him away-“ He adopted a raspy whisper in an attempt to imitate the dancer. “Yehsung-hyung- save yourself!”

The room dissolved into laughter.

***

It continued this way for a few days. The dorm willingly sacrificed the living room to the efforts of the Green Alien Rescue Squad in return for the four ‘agents’ leaving the kitchen open for use. The sight of the G.A.R.S. hard at work became a common one- Kibum working quietly and quickly in the corner, Donghae and Sungmin cuddled on the couch struggling to get one of the hexagons to stay in place, Eunhyuk muttering to himself on the floor amidst the pile of green straws.

Several times he tried to escape- but a pout from Sungmin, Donghae’s teary eyes, and Kibum’s quiet “just stay, hyung,” always brought him reluctantly back to work. The living room steadily filled with neon green hexagons- or ‘spaceship skeletons’, as Donghae insisted. Eunhyuk only grudgingly finished one or two a day, and even Sungmin lost interest for the night after finishing three or four. But Donghae- Donghae was a man obsessed, and Eeteuk was forced to rely on Kibum as the one way to prevent Donghae from working non-stop.

It was Kibum who persuaded Donghae to go to photoshoots and fan meetings. Kibum who convinced him that he was allowed to take a break in order to eat and bathe. Kibum who made sure that Donghae was in bed by two a.m. at the latest- because there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he would have stayed up all night if he’d been allowed, churning out skeleton after skeleton.

***

On the third night of this routine, Kibum dragged Donghae from the living room to his bed, forcing him to lay down. He tucked him in with promises for tomorrow, and turned to leave. But a hand clutched at his, preventing him from walking away.

Donghae looked up at him, eyes wide and searching. “Kibummie… You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”

Kibum sighed, sitting down on the bed and drawing Donghae close to him. “Of course not. Why would you even ask that?”

“Hyukkie thinks I am.” He fell silent, pensive. Kibum didn’t dare breathe as Donghae’s shoulders rose and fell under his arm. He could feel the other boy’s breath on his neck.

Finally Donghae spoke. “I don’t care what he thinks. As long as you believe me, I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

Kibum smiled softly to himself, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of Donghae’s head. “I believe you with all my heart, Donghae-ah,” he murmured into the older boy’s hair. “Now get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” He rose, but again warm hands grasped at his arm, preventing him from leaving.

“Kibummie…” Donghae’s voice was weak. “Stay with me?”

He turned and their eyes met and both of them saw something in the other’s eyes that they couldn’t read.

And when they fell asleep, it was with arms and legs and hearts intertwined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{fic archive}

GLOW: one/two/three/four/five

Tue, 08 Apr 2008 03:00:39 GMT

20. Glow (part three)
(Kibum/Donghae)
PG

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Other than Donghae’s surprising apology at breakfast, the day had passed rather uneventfully, much to Eeteuk’s pleasure. The members had gone through their various schedules without a hitch- or at least none that Eeteuk had known about, which was fine with him.

Now curled up against Kangin’s side on the living room couch, Eeteuk allowed himself to hope that the bout of madness his members had succumbed to in the past few days was finally over.

He hoped too soon.

Kibum poked his head into the living room, covered by the hood of a sweatshirt. “I’m going out to the store real quick, hyung. You don’t need anything, do you?”

Donghae smashed the pause button on his video game controller, causing Eunhyuk and Sungmin to shout in protest. He ignored them, smiling brightly. “I’ll go with you, Bummie!”

“Uh- No, Donghae, that’s okay. I’ll just be a few minutes. Finish your game.” Kibum glanced over at him, then back to Eeteuk. The leader sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “If you wanna go, go. You don’t need my permission.” Kibum grinned and ducked back out of the room. Donghae pouted at the empty doorway, a whine rising in his throat. “Why can’t I go, too…?”

Sungmin tugged at the hem of his shirt, easily re-occupying him with the video game. Silently thanking Donghae’s short attention span, Eeteuk shifted to wrap his arms around Kangin. “What does Kibum need from a store this late at night?”

Kangin pressed a kiss to the top of Eeteuk’s head. “I have no idea. But Korea’s number one ninja can find out, if you want.” They shared a wicked grin before Kangin stood wordlessly and slipped from the room. No one but Eeteuk saw him go.

***

An hour later, Eeteuk was in bed. He didn’t open his eyes when he felt the bed shift beside him, didn’t open his eyes when he felt strong arms wrap around him, didn’t open his eyes as he breathed in the smell of air and smoke and cold and Kangin. A soft voice muttered into his hair, “Straws and glow sticks.”

Eeteuk opened his eyes.

“Huh?”

“The kid walked twenty minutes to a fricking party supply store to get straws and glow sticks.” There was an obvious tone of anger in the younger man’s voice. “Just what the hell is he doing?”

“I have absolutely no idea. We’ll just have to wait and see.” Eeteuk pulled back slightly to look up into Kangin’s face, reaching up to run a hand through the hair that was starting to return. But Kangin shrugged away, looking at him incredulously.

“What do you mean ‘wait and see’? You’re not going to call him out on this?”

“Why would I? He’s not hurting anyone.”

“He’s not hurting anyone, yet. How do you think Donghae’s going to react when he finds out this is all just a trick?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Kangin made a frustrated noise. “And why did I waste an hour of my life trailing that stupid kid if you’re not even going to do anything with the information I so bravely risked my health and safety for?”

“Because.” Eeteuk leaned forward to press a warm kiss to Kangin’s lips. “Because you’re my number one strong ninja cute guy. And you love me.”

Kangin’s arms tightened around the older boy as he returned the kiss. “How can I argue with that?”

***

Kibum was awake even before Donghae divebombed into his bed. But that didn’t stop him from groaning sleepily and pulling the covers tighter around his head. And that certainly didn’t stop Donghae from slipping under the covers with him, wrapping his arms around the other boy and attempting to drag him from the warm nest.

“Kibummie-ah, wake up! Come on! I have work to do and you have to help me!”

“Aish, Donghae, can’t it wait until later? It’s so early.”

“Fine.” Donghae snuggled closer against Kibum, laying his head on the younger boy’s shoulder and sighing contentedly. “We’ll just stay here and sleep, then. And then Kangin-hyung will come to wake you up and he’ll see both of us are under the covers and then he’ll tell Heechul-hyung and then-“

“Okay, okay, I’m up, I’m up!” Kibum shot up, letting the blanket fall down from around his head. Donghae giggled and jumped from the bed, grabbing Kibum’s hand and pulling him up beside him. “Come on. Now we have to go wake Sungmin.”

***

A few minutes later and Donghae had his ‘team’ assembled at the breakfast table- Kibum, Sungmin, and Eunhyuk. Hankyung was doing his best to stay out of their way as he tried to fix breakfast. Yehsung glared at them from over his coffee. Donghae ignored them both as he briefed the sleepy-eyed trio.

“Now. The aliens have finished chemically treating the straws we collected. They brought them back last night.” He pointed to the pile of neon green straws that sat in the open shoebox on the table. “Our job now is to assemble the skeletal structures for the fleet of attack ships that will be used to decimate the orange aliens and win back the planet for its rightful owners.”

Eunhyuk stared, unblinking, for a moment, before letting out a long, low groan of despair. He buried his face in Sungmin’s shoulder, unable to speak anything comprehensible. Sungmin only looked up at Donghae in awe, hands folded in his lap. “How do we make the skeletons, Donghae-ah?”

“I’m glad you asked that question, Sungminnie! I’ll be right back.” He darted from the room. Eunhyuk moaned into Sungmin’s shoulder, then made a muffled statement.

“What was that, Hyukkie-ah?” Kibum smirked.

“I said- This is ridiculous. None of this is real. Please tell me it’s a dream. Tell me Donghae isn’t actually making us build spaceship parts before I’ve even had breakfast.”

Sungmin poked at Eunhyuk’s arm, cocking his head to the side. “But don’t you want to help them, Hyukkie? I feel so bad for them- having their home stolen like that.”

“Sungmin-“ Eunhyuk placed both hands on the other boy’s shoulders, looking him straight in the eye. “Please listen to me. There are no aliens. I don’t know what Donghae’s doing, but don’t listen to anything he-“ His mouth clamped shut as Donghae reentered the room.

He proudly placed an odd hexagonal structure on the table. It was made of the same neon green straws that filled the shoe box. He stared at it, almost lovingly. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Sungmin gaped. “It looks really hard to make, Donghae-ah.” Kibum squeezed the other boy’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Sungmin, it’s not that hard. I- I had to make something like this for a school project once,” he hastily added as the others looked at him oddly.

Donghae nodded. “Well, it’s good that one of us knows how to make these. Because we have to make seventy-three of them.”

There was an audible thunk as Eunhyuk’s forehead hit the table.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{fic archive}

GLOW: one/two/three/four/five