Pairing: Yoochun and Changmin
xiao_tian_jelly: YooMin. Prompt: Food.
A curl of frost misted on the edge of the apartment’s window, a cold front nipping at fall’s heels until it fled under the brisk biting winter. The afternoon sun dimmed under a cloudy steel sky, any lingering warmth it might have left behind peeled back by a blistering wind. Shivering at the sight of the city freezing to a crawl, Changmin pulled up the sleeves of his soft green sweater, turning up the collar until it nestled against his chin.
The apartment’s window seat was his favourite place to sit, a picture frame setting where he could watch Tokyo as it moved around him. Despite the cold, he leaned his head against the glass, his eyes hooded as he speculated about the people walking on the sidewalk below. A cup of hot tea kept him company, sweetened with a clover honey Yoochun’s mother sent from America. Lost in his thoughts, he only half-heard Yoochun singing childishly as the baritone walked through the living room.
“Kushi ni sasate dango dango,” The sing-song tune wormed its way into Min’s ears. Slightly off-key, the other man stood near the group’s youngest, serenading him with the jingle. “Mitsu narande dango dango.”
“Ah, go away,” Changmin ducked his head to the side, trying to avoid Micky’s flailing hands. “What are you doing? Stop that.”
“I’m making them dance for you,” Chunnie replied with a goofy grin. His hands swooped around the other’s head again, narrowly missing Min’s nose. Holding a pair of skewers, he zoomed trios of sticky rice balls in the air, their centres pierced through by the sticks of wood. “I thought it would cheer you up.”
“I’m not sad,” He wrinkled his nose, refuting Yoochun’s claim but the wide smile on the other’s face was infectious and he grinned back, despite himself. “You’re silly.”
“Hah! You were sad. You just didn’t know it,” Sliding onto the window seat, Yoochun nearly toppled over Min’s tea with his bare foot. “Whoops. I just washed the floors. I don’t want that.”
“And it’s my favourite cup,” Min replied, grabbing at the dancing panda mug he’d picked up in Beijing. “Be careful, hyung.”
“Ah, still calling me hyung,” Exaggerating a pulled grimace, Yoochun leaned forward, waggling his tongue out. “I am Chunnie today!”
“Okay, Chunnie,” Min conceded, pulling back further before the older man ran his moist tongue over his face.
Yoochun felt the mood lighten between them, his task nearly accomplished. When he spotted the young man leaning against the window, a piece broke off of his heart. Too serious in nature for Yoochun’s liking, Changmin seemed to be slipping into a funk, falling deeper into a spiraling darkness that left them all feeling down.
Their youngest was prone to blue moods, letting them overtake him without a struggle. Yoochun knew Min went to Jaejoong when he was feeling rough but the older singer was off with Yunho, shopping for a gift to send to their manager’s wife for the holidays. Junsu was off with his twin, a sports event bringing him to Tokyo. Left with their brooding youngest, Yoochun despaired for half an hour until his good intentions drove him to silliness.
“What are these?” Min grabbed at Yoochun’s wrist, holding him still. Sniffing at the treat, he studied it carefully. “Fishcake?”
“No, no, no,” Yoochun shook his head. “It’s like mochi. These are mitarashi, I think. Jaejoong bought them for me. I thought I would share with you.”
“Are they sweet?” A surprised look appeared on his face. “Like Mitarashi Anko? Naruto!”
“Everything is an anime to you. No, not Naruto. Pay attention.” Exhaling in playful disgust, he nudged Min with his toes. “These are real. You eat them.”
“I know they’re real,” Changmin bared his teeth, showing white fangs to his hyung. “What do they taste like?”
“I don’t know. I thought I would share them with you and we could find out.” Holding both skewers in one hand, he fished a napkin out of his pocket, placing it down on the seat between them. Laying one on the paper, he turned the dango, wondering if he should just pluck it from its resting place. “I think they taste a bit like bulgogi. Well this type does. Maybe more like the arare squares you like? Probably like that.”
“Arare? Oooohhh.” The sweet pleasure in Min’s voice was enough to make Yoochun nearly weep. “I want to taste it. Is there red bean inside?”
“Hold on,” Slapping away Min’s hands, Yoochun experimented with pulling the dango free. It bounced back, the viscous treat sticking to its brother. Frowning, he shot Min a curious, playful look and tried again, pinching it between his fingers. It slithered free, jiggling in a mocking dance as it retracted like a sea cucumber.
“It’s winning,” Min said with a wicked giggle, pushing lightly at Yoochun's broad shoulders. “You are weak! You cannot beat the mochi! Hah!”
“You try,” Handing over the dango, he leaned forward, waiting for Changmin to pull the treat free. As the rice ball slowly slid off of the wooden stake, he bent his head down, snagging it between his teeth and closing his mouth over Min’s fingers.
“Hey!” Snatching his hand back, Changmin checking for teeth marks on his skin. “That one is mine!”
“Share.” Yoochun closed the space between them, bringing his shoulders in tight against Changmin’s slender body. Tilting his chin, he offered the dango up to the other man, its plump body firmly held between his front teeth.
Min hovered, debating if he would finally cross the line he’d been flirting with Yoochun. The two older members of the group were already awakening to their pleasures, a forbidden wondering lurking behind Changmin’s solemn gaze. Unsure if the older man was teasing him or serious, he waited for a moment then made his decision.
“Don’t you want this, Minnie?” Yoochun asked around the treat, his words mumbled through the mochi.
The question set fire to Changmin’s thoughts, a lit wick on a string of red firecrackers. Possibilities lay there, unspoken and unvoiced but definitely offered. A man wasn’t just offering mochi when he spoke to another man in the low, rumbling purr. There was more there than just a snack on Yoochun’s lips.
He moved before he lost his nerve, canting his head to the side and biting lightly into the dango. The flavour of the sweet shoyu ball faded beneath the spiced tang of Yoochun’s mouth, the crisp cinnamon of his toothpaste blending into the scent of cloves on his breath. It shocked Min, the casual burst of everything on his tongue and mind as Yoochun deepened their contact, dropping the dango stick
Min’s hands clenched at the older man’s shoulders, fingers digging in deep. The bone and muscle beneath his palms felt foreign, so unlike his own. He was strong through perseverance, working hard at toning his body until he could stand besides the others and not feel scrawny but Yoochun’s firmness lured something soft up from inside of him. With the baritone moving in closer, Min shifted, instinctively angling his long legs to the side to make room for the other’s body.
Yoochun heard the dango hit the floor, a squishy softness then a rubbery bouncing noise as they careened away from the window seat. He didn’t care, not one bit. The floor could be washed again. He would even enjoy washing it as long as the succulent rawness of Min’s mouth remained against his own. His tongue darted along the ridge of the other’s lips, its entrance frustrated by the sticky rice pieces between them.
“You’re either going to have to swallow those or I am,” Yoochun whispered against Min’s cheek, smearing the rice between them. Licking his lips, he pulled back, smugly satisfied at the swollen state of the other’s mouth and the disheveled state of his hair. “Never mind, I’ll just work around it.”
“This is crazy,” Changmin murmured, trying to catch his breath, The sweater’s weave clung to his body, working a heat up from his skin that he couldn’t slake off, no matter how quickly he moved the knit away.
“No, Minnie-ah,” Yoochun pressed his hands on either side of Changmin’s face, brushing a gentle butterfly kiss along his chin. “I can show you that though. Let me make you crazy.”
Behind them, the cold continued to pound at the glass, frustrated at the warmth within. On the floor, forgotten and gritty, the dango lay, quivering when a blast from the heater vent hit it. A single nod was all he needed and Yoochun was standing, his hand firmly around Min’s wrist. He’d waited too long to wipe the sadness from their youngest’s eyes. If he had any say in it, it would never perch there again.