Fic For: winterbubbletea
Set in Paris for: belchan, tumi, suah and a whole bunch of other people
Rating: NC-17 in this section.
Summary: Junsu searches Venice with only the scent of another man to guide him.
Set a couple of years after Red Windmill.
Part One, Part Two, Part Three
They stumbled, moving further into the depths of Yoochun’s sanctuary, tangled about one another and reluctant to release the touch of skin on skin. Bells tolled from a nearby cathedral, somber and petulant booming calls to the faithful. Shivering, Junsu heard the resonance in his soul, as if the bells cast their siren call for the young man about to bare himself to him.
As golden as the main room, Yoochun’s bed chamber shone with a buttery light, speckles of silver playing across the ceiling where the sun hit reflections up from the water outside. Bare chested, Yoochun stood at the edge of a wide antique bed, the mattress plump and feather-filled. Sheets woven from hand-softened cotton from the north of the African continent stretched over the bed, the top linens casually left undone and a burnt sienna jacquard duvet cast aside. Set into a niche in the eastern wall, the bed’s headboard ran an iron trellis to the ceiling, then stretched over the mattress to connect to the twisted columns rising from the footboard. Live climbing cabbage roses were woven into the curlicue pergola, delicate pink-cream blossoms faintly smelling of tea and persimmons peeking out from a canopy of green leaves.
“These are beautiful,” Junsu whispered, reaching up to touch a bloom. The flower bowed under his touch, releasing a single petal. It floated, caught by some invisible wind and landed gently on the rumpled linens. Picking up the petal, Junsu ran it over his mouth, inhaling its sweetness. “Just like you.”
“Come here, baby,” Yoochun grinned, trying the words out in English. They’d played with the language, trying to emulate the Americans they heard in the parlours of Italy’s cafes.
Junsu burst into laughter, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Yoochun’s pants and pulled him closer. Switching to Italian, he made his intentions clear in case the other man didn’t understand.. “No, no. You come to me.”
Shy, Yoochun stood still as Junsu peeled off his own clothes, standing naked and proud. They were dissimilar in shape, Junsu’s body riper and long in the torso, a delicate build of muscle on compact body. The heat from Yoochun’s face fled, dashing downward until he burned beneath his skin. Junsu’s smile reassured him but the butterflies in his stomach made lops and circles in his gut, churning up old fears and insecurities.
“Don’t be ashamed, Chun-sweet,” Junsu pressed his mouth against Yoochun’s and their bodies met, stomach to stomach.
Suddenly the only thing Yoochun needed was to be clothed in Junsu’s heat, plunged deep into the moisture of the other man’s mouth and wrapped in the velvet silk of his body. Parts of him needed to be held, pulled on and the tug of his sex on the base of emotions ran wet with the thought of Junsu’s hard silken length pressing up inside of him in return.
Fabric slithered down from his hips, pooling at his feet. Stepping up, Yoochun kicked his discarded clothes away, unsure and bared. Junsu stared into the other man’s eyes, rising up to kiss him at the corners of his full mouth and said softly, “Let me show you… let me taste you.”
He started slowly, pushing Yoochun back onto the bed. Urging his lover up, Junsu settled the man into the nest of soft pillows propped up at the headboard. Laying against the pale sheets, Yoochun’s angelic face and form brought tears to Junsu’s eyes as he marveled at the beauty of the man he’d fallen in love with.
“Have you been to Accademia di Belle Arti, bacio?” Junsu murmured as he licked up the line of Yoochun’s belly, leaving a wet trail over his chest and circling around to a plum nipple beginning to curl and harden. “In Firenza?”
“No,” Yoochun gasped, barely able to breathe. “Only here — and the hills. I’ve only really been…oh dio dolce caro nel cielo.”
His throat closed up and he struggled to speak. Clutching the bed linens with numbed hands, he leaned into the pillows, throwing his head back. The long black hair Junsu loved to run his fingers through flowed back, a wave of night run with blue against the creamy cotton. Clenched tightly in Yoochun’s hand, the fallen rose petal crinkled, its bruised body climaxing its fragrance onto the vampires warm palm.
“There is a statue there.” A lick and then the swirl of fangs around the nub, hooked between Junsu’s teeth. “David. He is beautiful. A perfect man seen through the eyes of a genius.”
Yoochun gasped and he moved, writhing under the heat of Junsu’s roaming mouth. His skin was on fire and the head of his sex tightened, the vein along its length throbbing when his lover skimmed his palm over Yoochun’s shaft.
“But, my beloved bacio,” Junsu murmured and began to travel along the crease of Yoochun’s stomach muscles. “Michelangelo would weep with shame for not sculpting you instead.”
Then Junsu’s mouth brushed over the velvet hardness of Yoochun’s sex and the vampire lost himself a sea of pleasure.
The wet heat of Junsu’s tongue wrapped around him and Yoochun mewled, his hands unclenching the sheets and finding the crest of hair on the other’s head. His hips twitched, sliding back and forth, instinctively trying to find a primal rhythm. His heart skipped and then, without thinking, he fell into a pattern, short strokes that ran his sex under the ridged palate of Junsu’s mouth. Gasping, he curled up, held down by a gentle press of his lover’s hand on his abdomen then the sensation of being swallowed hit, Junsu’s throat closing over the tip of his sex.
“Wait for me, Yoochun-ah,” Junsu whispered, leaving as much of his own moisture on his lover’s sex. “We’re not even close to finding the peak of your pleasure.”
Yoochun struggled to find his own breath, his chest heaving with the effort of pulling in air. Rising, Junsu lifted himself up, straddling Yoochun’s turgid shaft and gripped its base, guiding the tip to the rose ring protecting his heat.
“Too much,” Yoochun mumbled. “Don’t want — to hurt — not you.”
“This won’t hurt me, bacio.” Junsu smiled, the mysterious knowing smile of a man who knew the limits of his body and the pleasures he could find there. “I want you to watch my face. I want you to see how good it feels and if you want, I can give you this pleasure too.”
Junsu lowered himself down, holding Yoochun taut as he eased the other man’s sex into his body. The tight rose kissed the tip then swallowed it, pulling back in a teasing slither. His laugh was rough when Yoochun growled and twisted in his hand then Junsu pushed down further, sliding the other’s sex in. Releasing his hold on Yoochun’s shaft, he rocked gently, taking in each inch of Yoochun’s hard sex until his lover was buried deep into his heat.
They found a rhythm, slow at first as Yoochun’s hands gripped Junsu’s hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles over the juts of bone he found there. He let Junsu set the pace, losing himself in the tight of his lover’s body around him. He’d brushed himself with the palm of his hand, frantically hurting to find release but the motion left him unsatisfied despite his watery release.
Now he understood what his body need.. what his heart needed.
And he was wrapped around Yoochun’s sex and infused into his soul.
The peak came suddenly, rising from his core. Rolling up into the hollow of his legs, his sac roiled and pulled, ready to spill his seed into the depths of Junsu’s body. What started the fall of his heart was his undoing again.
Junsu’s mouth lowered onto his and the roses above him became pink moons, one for each night he’d longed for the feel of the other’s lips against his own.
Their kiss held his immortality — his humanity — and Yoochun tumbled into the brilliance of his lover’s smile. For a long second, he felt he could see the beauty of Junsu’s soul reflected on him, shining away all of the shadows he clung to for cover.
Then he went over the edge, filling Junsu’s emptiness.
Junsu bent forward, gasping as he lost control, spilling his release over Yoochun’s belly. Falling forward, he slid free of Yoochun’s softening sex, wrapping himself around the other man’s stomach. They lay side by side, struggling to regain their minds and breath.
“That was…” Yoochun strained, trying to find a word that would express the joy he heard in his soul. “That was… you are… my music. My angel.”
“Don’t go too far, bacio,” Junsu laughed, “I have other things planned for that beautiful body of yours.”
“I want this from you. What you did with me — I want to try to share that with you.” Yoochun slid off of the bed, returning with a thick hand towel dampened with warm water and a bottle of wine. Decanting the Chianti, he handed the basket-cradled bottle to his lover and gently cleansed himself from Junsu’s body. “Let me do this and then, you can show me more.”
“I don’t mind having you on me,” Junsu murmured, taking a sip of wine before passing it back to Yoochun. Swallowing, he met his lover’s eyes with a seductive wink. “Do you have lotion or oils somewhere in this aerie?”
“Lemon oil,” Yoochun laughed at Junsu’s horrified gasp. “No? I think there are aromatics in the boudoir. My housekeeper buys my toiletries. I think she purchased some recently.”
“Have you told her about me?” He asked, climbing down from the high bed, stepping onto the sun-warmed wooden floor in search of the bath.
“No.” Yoochun blushed. “I think she guessed when I came in one morning with your marks on my throat and not a sign of cosmetics on my clothes.”
“A lovely woman.” Junsu pressed one knee onto the feathered mattress, lifting himself back up and tumbling against Yoochun’s prone form. He held up a set of vials, the glass marked with the handwritten labels of a fine Venetian bathhouse. “I will have to send her roses.”
“I think she already has some,” Yoochun said, pointing to the canopy. “She’s asked for slips of these for her garden. Duenna said they took well.”
“Ah, then chocolates. What woman doesn’t love chocolates?” Junsu murmured, daubing the contents of one vial onto his fingers. He paused, looking up at his lover through long thick lashes. “I should have asked you. I’m sorry… I should have asked if you wanted to…”
“I want to give you what you gave me,” Yoochun sighed, cupping his lover’s face and gently kissing the worry creases from Junsu’s forehead. “Please.”
They kissed again, languid and sweet, fueled by wine and the scent of roses on their skin as petals wafted over their dewed backs and thighs. Junsu took his time, testing and gauging each motion of Yoochun’s body. The other man responded, giving himself over to Junsu’s practiced hands, gasping lightly when the other’s fingers touched his core and pressed in.
“Relax, bacio. If you are too tense, then it will hurt,” Junsu whispered into the hollow of Yoochun’s neck, easing the tip of his index finger in. The oils flourished, scenting the tea rose fragrance with sweet almonds and Yoochun sighed, surrendering to the feel of his lover’s touch. His body opened, taking Junsu in and cradling the slender finger against the hot of his centre. “There, beloved. Let me show you why this is so damned good.”
Lightning crept from Yoochun’s belly when Junsu found a spot inside of him. The first stroke lay out the rumble of a spring storm then cascaded into a full thunderous roar when another touch released the tension in his spine. The third left Yoochun mewling and writhing, pleading with Junsu for something more, anything more but the slow torture of dying slowly from unfulfilled passion and then he shouted, unable to find his mind when another finger joined the first, spreading him gently apart as Junsu worked to loosen his body.
“Please, Susu-ah,” Yoochun begged, pleading with low rumbling growls. “I need… you. Inside of me. I need you to touch me. My soul. My heart.”
And then Yoochun lost his mind.
Spinning under the kaleidoscope of sensations Junsu placed over his senses, he was vaguely aware of his lover’s fingers being withdrawn and then the insistent touch of something wider and silken. Wider than he expected, Yoochun tensed at first, then breathed himself into relaxing, hearing the soft encouragements in Junsu’s words as the other man rocked and pressed firmly in.
The feeling wasn’t exactly pain, Yoochun decided. He’d felt pain, had it beaten into his bones until his marrow hurt from the bruises over his skin. There were harsher words that cut him deeper than the stretching of his inner core against Junsu’s flesh. The sensation of his lover was — he thought — a baptismal. The dowsing of a soul into the holy waters of joy and to rise from the turbulence after being held down was possibly the sweetest breath of air he could take.
Yet there was more.
If Junsu’s preparations drove him to the brink of insanity, the length of his lover’s sex would surely keep him in the rafters of the bell towers of Venice’s cathedrals. The tip slid over his delicate nerves, stroking and rubbing until Yoochun could barely keep still. His own shaft wept, the head sensitive and tender but he still found it with his hand, rubbing the shaft with his palm and circling the head to smear the dew collecting at its pout.
With his shins hooked over Junsu’s shoulders, Yoochun reveled in the blanket of his lover’s body over him, keeping the chill of the breaking spring from entering his bones. A few stroke of Junsu’s hips and he cried out, the rough calluses on his hand from guitar strings catching on the delicate skin of his shaft and then he felt Junsu push his fingers away.
“Let me do that for you,” Junsu whispered, bending over to lave at Yoochun’s earlobe. “Let me watch you find the heavens, bacio.”
Yoochun cried out, his lover’s fingers expertly finding each inch of his sex with an erotic kiss of fingertips and palm. The wide silver band on Junsu’s smallest finger grew warm, stroked hot by their touch of their skin rubbing against one another. It felt like a melted star against Yoochun’s shaft and then the final hammering blow to his control hit when Junsu’s mouth brushed on his nipple followed by sharp teeth piercing through the flesh.
He drank, softly sipping at his lover’s potent blood then suckled harder, drawing out each drop as he spilled his seed into Yoochun’s body. Cast into the swirling waters of his desire, Yoochun came, crying out to the blushing roses. His hands gripped the headboard and the edifice shook, raining pink blossom kisses down from above.
The day grew quiet between them, the sounds of Venice reaching in to cradle them to sleep as the city woke up around the entwined lovers. Reluctantly, they separated, unwilling to clean off the spilled wine and seed marbling their pale bodies and held one another. With arms wrapped tight, they stroked soft whispers across heated skin, feeling their hearts pound together in the slowing climax of their love.
Sleep drew them down, settling over Junsu first but Yoochun was not far behind. Kissing his lover’s temple, the once-monster whispered as the dawn rose. “I love you, il mio angelo caro. Thank you for waiting through the moons to love me too.”