Title: Ache and Hunger
Summary: Min is missing Se7en while on tour.
“There are days when I wish you were here,” Changmin whispered, his voice husky and low. Alone in his hotel room, he rolled over onto his back, feeling the bed give under his weight. “There are days when I wish I was no one so I could be with you, all the time.”
There was longing in his throat, nearly closed tight from the ache of missing Se7en. Phone calls and emails couldn’t substitute for the man’s touch, that lingering rough skimming of fingernails over his shoulders or the back of his neck. The singer’s mouth burned, run raw when he licked at the bow of his lips. He’d bitten nearly through his cheek, shocked at seeing an advertisement for a lemon-lime drink as soon as he stepped clear of the terminal.
Se7en’s face loomed over him, that sweet sensual pout and that sparkle in his dark eyes. He stumbled into Yoochun, knocking the already grumpy bass into Yunho. It set off a chain reaction of grumbling amid the members before Junsu hushed them up with an elbow stab to Jaejoong’s ribs, pointing to the advert spanning the glass wall. They each gave him their own sympathetic noises or gestures, most notably from Yoochun, whose quick one-armed bear hug brought tears to Min’s eyes.
It hurt too much sometimes, Changmin realized. Missing Se7en wasn’t just not having a lover with him. The singer was his friend, a sharer of his secrets and dreams. Yes, he knew he had the other members but there was a world of difference between the relationships. In the group, he was the younger, smart-assed brother, a role he reluctantly accepted. With Se7en, he was an equal and in some cases, the mentor, guiding the other man through the hazy landscape of possibilities. He dreamed, Se7en would murmur as they nestled against one another, and when Changmin dreamed, he opened up entire worlds for Se7en to explore.
America was so far away, in time as well as miles. They’d played phone tag over the past few hours, Se7en waking up when Changmin was just falling asleep. Passing text messages back and forth, their affair became a series of love notes, heartache building with each typed letter and fallen tear.
The others were off eating or driving through Seoul. His mother had come and gone, his sisters laughing and giggling as they waved goodbye. He’d not felt like company, refusing Jaejoong’s offer to have him along as he and Yunho went to Itaewon. Dinner with Junsu and Yoochun didn’t hold any interest either, his stomach clenching at the thought of sitting through a meal while the two goofier members of the household tried to be sneaky about their affections.
He’d not even opened the book he’d brought with him. It lay on the end table, a hello kitty trading card holding his place. His stomach mumbled at him, reminding him that he’d not eaten since yesterday. His mother had pushed tiny packets of dried cuttlefish at him, one of his favourite snacks but he’d shoved them into Junsu’s suitcase, which was now locked in their room across the hotel’s wide hallway.
“Room service,” Min sat up, grabbing the menu from the table. “I’ll get room service.”
You’ll get something sweet. Then you’ll be sick. Get something with meat.
Great, Min thought, I’m talking to myself again and I sound like my mother. Shushing his inner voice, he ran down the list of desserts, ignoring the grumbling of his offended stomach. Sugar would make him feel a little bit better, it always rested his stomach.
“Ah, guava gelato.” He pursed his mouth, trying to remember if he’d had gelato. Recalling the ice cream they’d all shared in Paris, he purred, liking its smooth, silky feeling on his tongue. The growling voice in the back of his head demanded protein, and he sighed, looking for something that could satisfy its craving.
“Bulgogi.” His eyes misted again. Mumbling, he sniffed, swallowing at the lump in his throat. “I wonder if they’ll burn the rice for me.”
Ordering was easy, a polite distant voice on the other end of the phone assuring him that his food would be up in an hour or so. His cantankerous stomach reluctantly agreed to wait, especially when his skin carried along the information that he needed to take a shower.
Sticky from the day’s dirt, he shed his jeans, unbuttoning his fly as he walked to the bathroom. Easing the waistband down over the rise of his ass, Min shook his legs loose, hooking his jeans over the chair next to the tub. His shirt followed, a crumpled bit of cotton that smelled of his body and whose collar was slightly damp from the moisture he’d wiped from his eyes.
Turning the shower faucet on, he let the water run to heat the stall. Leaning over the sink, he pushed forward, hooking his hip over the edge as he ran his hand over his chin, wondering if he’d ever have to shave. Spreading a line of paste on his toothbrush, Min scrubbed a healthy froth over his teeth, spitting out the cinnamon foam from his mouth.
“Gack,” He choked on a fleck of paste hitting the back of his throat. Scraping his tongue along his teeth, he spit again, trying to clear out his mouth. Hooking his fingers into the elastic band of his briefs, Min worked them down his thighs. He moved the fabric slowly, closing his eyes as he imagined the silky feel of the spandex cotton to be his lover’s hands.
It was an easy jump to make. Se7en always took his time undressing him, the older man’s mouth sometimes covering every inch of his skin along his hips before his briefs ever made it past the rise of his pubic bone. Leaning his head back, Min allowed the smallest touch of his thumb along one of his nipples, nicking his nail along the nub until his sex stiffened and his mouth dried, wanting the taste of Se7en on his tongue.
His fist hit the stall door before he knew what had happened. Sobs hung at the edge of his throat, stuck against the roof of his mouth by his pride. Struggling to control his tears, Min pounded at the marble tiles running along the wall, wishing its stone surface would somehow crawl off of the shower enclosure and into his heart. The grout scraped at the side of his hand, sliding a hint of pain over his skin. Turning, he fought with his temper, his rage at the distance between their lives growing with each passing day.
“It’s not enough,” Min murmured, sliding his naked body down the wall. He landed in a tangle of long legs, sprawled nude on the floor. “Damn it, it’s just not enough.”
The knock on the door matched the pounding in his chest. Wiping at his face, he called out for the bellhop to wait, splashing water on his face and grabbing one of the hotel’s towels from the rack. Knotting it around his lean hips, he checked the peephole, staring down at the now familiar red pillbox cap of the hotel’s wait staff.
“Hello,” Min bowed a welcome, opening the door and holding tightly on the knot of his towel. He almost reached for his wallet, then stopped, remembering he was in Seoul. No tipping, his inner gremlin gnawed on his thoughts and growled, Food!
Thanking the young delivery man, Min shut the door, lifting the steel lid on the main plate. A steaming pile of fragrant meat glistened on a pristine white platter, sprinkles of vegetables garnishing the edges of the plate. Small bowls of banchan were arranged around a covered dish of rice, the hot spicy perfume of the kimchee overwhelming his senses.
His stomach was satisfied. There was protein, which was all it apparently wanted but Min frowned, raising the lid of the donburi-shaped dish and finding it empty.
“Hey,” Min bent over, wondering if he missed something. Checking the banchan dishes again, he didn’t find the gelato. “Damn.”
Eat the meat, His stomach ordered, growling loudly enough to echo around the room. Picking at the bulgogi with his fingers, Min held the marinated meat up, unable to move it past his lips. Call about the gelato later.
“I’m getting to be as bad as Yoochun,” Min sniffed, refusing to let himself break down again. “Stop it. You’re just missing him. It’s not like he’s gone. He’s always with you. He told you that. You don’t need him right next to you.”
But isn’t life better when he is?
His heart betrayed him, speaking softly against his rallying cry for strength. A tiny little whisper so rarely heard from but when it spoke, every fibre in his body went silent and sighed.
The bulgogi was returned to the plate, the cart rolling gently away when Min nudged it. His stomach barely whimpered when he walked away, leaving the food uncovered. Stalking to the bathroom, he was about to shed the towel and step into the shower when another knock sounded on the door.
“See, gelato!” He consoled his hunger, starting his stomach grumbling again. Holding the edges of the towel together, he opened the door and stared at the man standing with a cocky grin at the threshold to his room.
“Hey, baby.” Se7en reached out, running his fingers along Min’s jaw, cupping his hand around the other man’s cheek and pulling him closer. A nudge of his foot closed the door behind them, shutting the outside world away. “I’m here to be your dessert.”
Their mouths touched, a brush of a kiss heating Min’s lips. Changmin’s breath escaped and was captured on Se7en’s tongue, taken into his body with a whisper of a sigh. The towel slithered from Min’s hips, pooling around the slender singer’s feet. Se7en’s hands roamed over his lover’s nude body, finding familiar dips of muscles and lean stretches of skin.
“Missed so much, Minku,” Se7en murmured, suckling on Min’s lower lip, stroking at his lover’s back until Changmin purred in pleasure.
“Missed you too, Shichi,” Changmin wrapped his arms around the other man’s neck, falling deeply into Se7en’s open mouth. The press of his lover’s body on his sent shivers through him, goosebumps prickling over his arms as the reality of Se7en’s shoulders under his hands sunk in. “Come over to the bed. I need to show you how hungry I am for something sweet.”