wedspawn ♥ (wedspawn) wrote,
wedspawn ♥

On The Red Couch (SMM Universe) YunJae: Chapter One

Title: On The Red Couch
Pairing: YunJae (with some YooSu and Min7en)
Chapter: One
Chapter Rating: R
Genre: Slash/Relationship
Author: Wedspawn
Part One: 1, 2, 3, 4, Fiv5e, 6, Se7en, 8, 9, 10, 11

Part Two: 12, 13 (Extremely Mature Content), 14, 15, 16, Comments Regarding Storyline , Se7enteen, 18, 19, 20, 21 (Lemon)

Part Three: 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, Twenty-Se7en (LEMON), 28, 29, 30, 31, 32 (LEMON), 33, 34, 35, 36, Thirty-Se7en, 38, 39, 40 (Final)

Summary: Hot Korean boys. Sex. Dancing and some angry words. Not necessarily in that order. Not necessarily in each section. Final Book in SMM series.

Important Notes: This starts a few months before Chapter One of Tarnished Angels. I cannot promise that I will post every day.

Rage drove Jaejoong out into the rain, its hot liquid heat burning up from his belly and into his flesh. It bubbled with a fury so great he feared touching his face in case he found blisters rising on his skin yet the rain falling from Tokyo’s dirty night sky did nothing to ease the sick anger coming from his soul.

Japan’s dirt fouled his tongue, the grit of the enormous city sitting in the back of his throat with each swallow he took. The air stank, curdled sour with the stench of sweat and unfamiliar rotting foods. Even in the calming coolness of the dark, Tokyo’s foreign babble of sounds and smells confused Jae’s senses. With ever turn he took, he was reminded of his otherness.

The language was confusing, a harsh slithering of sounds so very different from the burbled softness he heard in his mind. The people were cold, separating themselves with an avoidance of the eyes and the sliding of their faces to the side. They lived in pockets of solitude, bleeding nothing of themselves into the air around them and Jae’s hands itched with the need to grab someone… anyone… and shake them until they were forced to look at him.

He’d do anything to stop the loud silence around him.

Even if he filled it with his own sobbing, Jaejoong longed to find something to hold onto in the thunderous nothing he was drowning in.

Shoving his fists into the pockets of his torn jeans, he dropped his head and slogged through the rain, finding awnings and overhangs to duck under when he could. The district the members were placed in was close to the entertainment district making the commutes to various studios and interviews relatively short but the residential area was poor, filled with a transient population with no connection to the area other than work or play. Love hotels jostled shoulders with small convenience stores, sometimes sharing a doorway between them so customers could grab condoms or alcohol before renting a small sex-scented room for an hour or two.

Slinky music leaked from a cracked open door, catching Jaejoong’s ear. The thump-thump-thump mimicked the angry beat of his heart, throbbing along his rage until the rhythm fell into step with his ire, finding a groove and hooking Jae in. The sounds seduced him, blending the odd cadence of Japanese with a brain-catching beat. Stepping towards the door, he was stopped by a meaty hand on his shoulder, thick sausage-like fingers gripping him tightly.

Nearly double in width as Jaejoong, the man dominated the front door to the club, a black t-shirt shining with glow-in-the-dark kanji stretched over his full chest and belly. Above them, a neon sign blinked with the same kanji, a flickering butterfly winging from one side to the other in a stream of pink and purple. Men stepped around them, their long stares at Jaejoong’s body swallowed up by a red velvet curtain hanging across the club’s entrance.

The man babbled something at him but Jae only caught every other word at best. Shaking his head in confusion, the singer dug money out from his pocket, offering it to the bouncer, wondering if he had enough for the club’s cover charge.

“Not understand,” Jae struggled to find the words he’d learned, his Japanese suffering under the tightness of his soul. “Money? You need money?”

Baka,” The man growled, shaking Jae’s shoulder hard enough to rattle the singer’s teeth.

Jae frowned. He knew that word. It was used often enough by the crew shooting their photos, usually aimed at him. Cocking his head, the singer almost turned away, giving up on finding solace in the middle of the city’s crying cold but the bouncer gave him another shake.

“Men here. Only,” The man pointed to the kanji Jae couldn’t read. “Hattenba. You like?”

“I just want to…dance,” Jae said in Korean, gritting his teeth, looking for what he needed… what he wanted to say. “Shiga. I don’t care.”

The man’s bulk gave way, leaving Jaejoong barely enough room to squeeze past him. A woman sitting in the shadows gave Jae the barest of glances as she took a few yen from his hand, stamping the back of his palm with a woodcut tanuki press. The ink shimmered, glistening under the erratically glowing black light bulb hanging near the club’s curtained entrance. Shaking off drops of rain from his hair, Jaejoong pushed past the velvet curtain and let the music and lights hit him full in the face.

The floor was filled the men, slender and fat together, rolling into a tsunami of bodies carried forward by the loud techno music cutting away any hope of conversation. Beating with a furious tempo, the dance music throbbed and dipped, moaning with exasperation with a thoughtless frenzy Jae envied. It moved and writhed, taking the dancers with it. Unlike the clubs he’d known in Korea, the main dance floor was brightly lit, illuminating various men’s faces as they sweated and lost themselves in the pursuit of seduction.

A few feet into the club and Japan’s cold mask fell away, leaving the raw deviance of its true face for Jaejoong to see. On the wall nearby, a man old enough to be Jaejoong’s father pushed a young man up, his large hands lifting the younger man’s shirt up and his mouth lowering to suckle at the turgid nipple emerging into view. The young man’s head was turned, his eyes screwed tight either in ecstasy or in denial that he was allowing another man to touch him. Another man smoked a cigarette as he watched the pair, his eyes shifting away from the scene only long enough to roam an assessing eye over Jae’s long legs and pretty face. When Jaejoong walked past them, his attention drifted back to the couple, smoke wrapping around his craggy face and lifting into the high ceiling above.

The decadence and desperation were recognizable, as familiar to Jaejoong as his own oddly shaped features. Furtive looks either dripping with guilt or lust were cast his way, fishing lines hoping to lure a warm body or wet mouth to a stiff shaft hidden only behind unbuttoned pants. He had no illusions that the men surrounding him were looking for anything other than a hot, moist tightness. Many would go home to a wife or the echoing vacant confines of an apartment, satiated after divulging their perversions in the uneasy safety of a dim dance club.

Loud with music and razor sharp with desire, the language spoken behind the curtain didn’t matter. It was the same club, no matter where it was hidden or the faces of the men kissing in the dark. It reeked of shame and self-loathing, a pungent stink Jae knew he could never truly wash off of his skin.

If he were going to be drowning in anonymity, Jae thought, he would revel in its pleasures as well as its pain. And if he were lucky enough, he could forget … even just for a moment, the ember of anguish that drove him into the rain and onto Tokyo’s wicked streets.

And it was everything Jaejoong needed at the moment.

An unseen hand followed the line of his thigh, curving about until fingers rested on the inseam of his jeans. They were skilled fingers, stroking thoughtfully and carefully as if testing out the man wearing them. Glancing up through his lashes, Jaejoong found himself staring up at a man slightly older than he was, possibly even a decade or so unless the Tokyo streets left a more jaded mark than the gutters of Seoul.

The man touching him resisted the crowd’s push, blocking the tide from sweeping Jae from his feet. The hand on the singer’s leg remained as Jae stepped forward, placing himself on the edge of the concrete area the club used as its dance floor. Meeting the man’s black eyes, Jae let himself fall into the music, not hearing the words as lyrics but as another instrument, unknown sounds and phrases providing a backbeat to the jangle and bass river flowing from the club’s sound system. The lights changed, spangling red over his face and shoulders and the man’s hand followed the beams, tracing the hard line of Jae’s collarbone under his shirt.

Ignoring the brushing fingers, Jaejoong closed his eyes, pushing away the thoughts of his life. Yunho’s anger and tightness melted although the sourness of his lover’s words remained. Could he even call Yunho his lover, Jae asked himself, pulling back from the numbness for a moment, listening to the argument in his mind.

They’d fought, again. Hammering at one another’s weak points until Jae felt like breaking under the fists of Yunho’s words. Japan was different, the manager said. You will be different, someone else said. Any hint of his love for Yunho would cauterize any hope the members of making it in Japan. You will be distant, he’d been told. You’ll be apart from Yunho and there will not be a hint of anything between you but the respect of one member for another.

The crowd swallowed the first man but another took his place, crowding in tight against Jae’s lithe body. Ignoring the sour curdle in his stomach, Jaejoong closed his eyes, losing himself in the rush of music as it poured over him. A rush of sick burned his throat, working up with green sharp claws to his mouth. The driving thump pushed into him, filling long untouched places. It teased him, tendrils of want uncurling from his belly. Jaejoong wanted to believe the hand on his stomach was his lover, that the fingers caressing the back of his neck belonged to a sloe-eyed Korean who’d promised him forever.

Forever is only as long as lust, a voice from the past whispered.

Back then, Jaejoong had been naïve enough to believe that love would conquer anything.

Now he was not so sure.

He missed…everything. Yunho’s laughter and kisses. The bed they would hide in and lay against one another, quiet so they could hear one another breathe. Everything that was wiped away in the rush of Tokyo’s activities, including the security that he’d had in looking out into an audience to see a sea of red lights filling in the dark emptiness he feared he’d face every time he stepped out onto a stage.

There were echoes in his darkness and Jaejoong reached into the black, trying to find anyone… anything… familiar to hold onto but there was no one…nothing …there.

Fingernails scratched his arm, cutting his skin. The brushed slice was accidental, a common enough thing in a dance floor full of people but the sting was different now, tantalizing and seductive. The pain whispered away, leaving nothing behind but a craving. Jaejoong ran his own nails up the length of his bare skin but they were too blunt to do more than kiss a few welts along the porcelain surface.

“Are you scratching an itch or do you want someone to hurt you?” A voice whispered, hands cupping Jae’s ass from behind. “Are you looking for someone to hurt you, pretty?”

Hearing Korean was a surprise but welcome. Leaning his head back, Jae pressed into the warmth behind him, letting hands tug him close and long arms wrap around his chest. He slithered to the beat, feeling the man holding him fall into the low sway of their hips. Yunho never danced with him like this, never losing himself in the primal push of bodies. It was always precision and skill with the group’s leader and Jae wished he could sometimes take away the perfection and show Yunho the sensuality of bodies touching and moving under the lights and drums.

This man…the hands and hips pressing into him… moved nothing like Yunho. He rocked his hips to follow the beat but his body flowed up and around Jaejoong, an enticing, warm sensual dancer caught in the moment. His tongue flicked once then twice, dabbing a wet on the hoop through his tragus.

“Let’s find someplace else to be,” He nearly shouted Jaejoong’s ear, his Korean a throaty growl raking through Jae’s desire. “There are too many people in here for me to do what I want to do with you. Okay?”

“Okay.” Jae whispered, knowing the man couldn’t hear him but the nod he gave was clear enough. Wrapping his hand around the other man’s fingers, the singer followed numbly as he was led back outside into the wet night.
Tags: otrc, yunjae
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