Title: On The Red Couch ♥
Pairing: YunJae (with some YooSu and Min7en)
Chapter Rating: R
Part One: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 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.
They never made it to the ramen shop. The coffee room was also a blur in Se7en’s rear view mirror, a long streak of concrete, glass and teacups. The Supra glistened silver on Tokyo’s rain-soaked streaks, long ribbons of asphalt taking the couple farther and farther from the members’ apartments. When Min closed his eyes, he imagined he could feel the distance growing behind him, a thread stretching between the other singers and the moving car. It both anchored him and tied him, a connection he loved and hated.
If we keep going, we could hide here, forever. No one would know us. We could live our lives someplace private. Somewhere like Osaka., Min sighed.
And what are we going to do for money? His gremlin muttered darkly. Have people pay to be insulted as they walked by? Or maybe Dong-Wook will support you by teaching people to dance? Because he would be so willing to give up his dreams for you.
“What are you thinking?” Se7en’s voice rumbled deep, reaching into Min’s gut and grabbing him in the groin.
A growling woman on the stereo asked if they wanted someone to love, her American-English a running stream of sounds Min picked over in hopping steps. It was like finding little stones to place his feet on, precarious wet rocks that played peek-a-boo in the water’s white caps. Se7en sang along softly, his Rs round and blunt in the sharpness of other sounds.
“How we’d support ourselves if we ran away,” Min’s thoughts slithered free from him, wet lights splashing white stars in the car’s dark interior. Mortified at hearing himself, Changmin covered his face and slid down in the leather seat, bringing his knees up to his chin. “God, why was I given a mouth?”
“Because it’s probably one of the more delectable mouths I’ve ever seen,” Se7en replied with a low chuckle. “And tell me, Minku-love, where are we running to?”
Minku-love, the gremlin sniffed. Ah, great. He’s just upped the stakes. He’s called you love. Time to start shopping for hanbok and silver spoons.
“Don’t you ever talk to yourself?” Changmin asked Se7en, mumbling through his fingers.
“Yes, all the time,” His maybe-lover replied. “Usually when I’m drunk. And yeah, sometimes I think about what would happen if I ran away.”
“Too many people.” Min grumbled. “This person. That person. Everyone needs a handful of rice for everything I do. I can’t walk away.”
“No, baby,” Se7en agreed with a nod. His eyes were distant, brown mirrors of the storm clouds churning overhead. “Walking away isn’t an option for either of us.”
They wallowed in their thoughts, each wondering at the other’s designation in their lives. Rain left tears on the car’s windshield, the wind grabbing at the water and pulling it out into silken webs along the glass. Reaching over, Se7en wrapped his fingers in Min’s, dragging one of the singer’s hands down.
“Are we ever going to talk about …what’s going with you?” He asked, not taking his eyes off the road.
“You… you should park,” Min suggested. “I think this probably is going to be a parking kind of talk.”
Surprisingly, Se7en didn’t retort with anything that crawled heat over Min’s spine. A dimly lit grassy park zipped by and Se7en slowed down, taking the next light to turn around and headed back. The park turned to a garden as they approached, a picturesque red bridge spanning a small brook, lights spilling down over damp purple-leaved plum trees. The rain settled down into a steady drizzle and Min was encouraged enough by the lack of a storm to roll the window down a hand-width before Se7en turned the Supra off.
Quiet, the older man sat and waited, unbuckling his seat and turning to give Min his full attention. Shifting in place, Changmin stared at the bridge, trying to find some place safe to start in the tangle of thoughts in his mind.
“Talk to me, baby,” Se7en reached behind Min’s chair, looping his arm behind him. “What’s going on?”
“I need….you to promise that you won’t tell anyone this,” Min started then immediately regretted his words at the angry look in Se7en’s eyes. A pulse beat along the older man’s temple and his mouth set in, a hard line in a stony expression. The conversation was a land mine field, pockets of explosive rounds lingering under the placid sand. “Shit, I’m….”
“Shit?” The man exhaled, his breath a harsh hiss between clenched teeth. The anger flowed away slowly from his face. Pressing his index finger to the tip of Min’s nose, Se7en reminded him, “I’m supposed to be the wicked one. I’m sorry for getting pissed off baby but it’s fucking hard on the outside trying to look in — especially where you’re concerned.”
“It’s hard to… talk about what goes on… inside of us with someone else. Even if that someone is you, hyung.” Min’s switch to an extremely formal Korean dialect made Se7en wince and the drop of his eyes to the car’s carpeted floor did nothing to ease the strain between them.
“Don’t… don’t talk like that, baby,” Se7en leaned over, cupping Min’s face with his broad hands. His fingers stroked up the curve of the younger man’s cheekbones, his thumbs resting at the corners of Min’s mouth. “Don’t put up those walls between us. Not like that. Not ever like that.”
Drawing the young singer forward, he licked at Changmin’s lower lip then kissed him gently, a nearly chaste brush of their lips. Angling himself, Se7en tasted again, working his tongue back and forth on the shadowed recess of Min’s pout, slowly working the young man open. Their tongues met, tentatively on Min’s part but Se7en pushed in, aggressively consuming the Min’s sweet taste with a savage moan.
Changmin gripped Se7en’s shirt, wrapping his fingers in fabric to hold the man closer. His mouth parted, widening and needing to be filled by Se7en’s tongue, the dart of its tip ticking and caressing his heat. Hardening, his sex strained against the confines of his jeans, and a warmth spread up from his rear, an undeniable need to have Se7en touch him drawing fiery lines over his nerves. His body clenched, the pout hidden beneath his tightening sac responding with a flushed desire. The feel of the man’s fingers drove him near the edge of insanity and Min couldn’t help but wonder how far Se7en could reach up inside of him and if the man would smile when he begged for more.
“If we keep this up,” Se7en pulled back reluctantly, panting with the effort to keep himself under control. “I’m going to say damned the wait and just take you here. But I think I promised you a bed when we…”
“When we make love?” Min whispered, his lashes casting dark shadows on his cheeks. He didn’t hide the blush flittering over his golden skin. His desire was bold, the need for Se7en’s body to meld with his growing stronger with each breath. Trembling, he knew in his heart that if Se7en told him to strip off his clothes and lay bare for him to see, Min would do so without hesitation.
The power Se7en had over him frightened him but seeing the power he had over Se7en made him want the man even more.
“Talk to me, baby,” The older man ordered, his voice low. “Before I cross over into doing crazy things with you and we’ll never get around to airing things out.”
“I can’t….” Min turned his face, partially hiding in the shadows. The dim light made it easier to speak, and anything that kept Se7en’s sharp eyes from piercing his fragile soul was a welcome balm. “Just let me talk, okay? Because if I don’t, I won’t be able to get it out.”
He started with Kimura and the man’s intensity, outlining the subtle maneuvering the man did to sideline the group’s relationships. Min found himself telling the stories in spurts, unsure of how something came to pass but knowing what happened to Jaejoong and the rage Yunho carried inside of him. He spoke about the silence and the cold among the young men, their words cutting with a keen precision, sharpened by Kimura’s plotting. When he reached the depravity of Kimura’s assault on his beloved Joongie, Min stumbled, unable to find the words to tell the older man how terrified he felt when he saw the death lurking in the singer’s eyes.
At some point his tears were a sheet on his skin, a salty-sweet curtain of his healing pain. Min wrapped himself in his blanket of woven tears, tugging it tight around his soul. Unwilling to let it go, he worried at its edges, chewing at the hem with his teeth and words until it frayed and then loosened when Se7en tugged hard.
Changmin clung to his insecurity, turning himself until it tangled with his thoughts. He talked about his mother, haltingly and unsure. The other man had never met the woman who shaped his world, the woman who held her hands out to him and encouraged him to walk… to talk… to think… to sing and most of all… to dream. He tried explaining at first how precious her smile was to his heart and how there were pieces of candy hidden in her musings, delightful bursts of umeboshi he found enchanting still to this day.
And he spoke of the horror in his mind when he saw her dead in front of him, a withered shell of the woman who tickled his mind and sang to his soul.
“You don’t have to go further if you don’t want to, Changmin,” Se7en stroked at Min’s hair. “Honey…”
“No, I need…” Min stammered. He needed the touch of Se7en’s words inside of his heart… needed to hear himself cracking open the soiled core of his fear. “I want to…I need you to hear what’s in me.”
His hands were on Min, small touches that connected the young singer to the present as he delved deeper. Se7en found the spots Changmin needed to be stroked, unerringly caressing the span between his shoulder blades and the soft downy skin under his right ear. A skimming of his fingertips at the nape of Min’s neck sent shivers into the young man’s thighs and stoked the smoldering heat he’d thought died from reliving heartbreak.
“Go ahead. Get it out, baby.”
Then, even harder still, was the sharing of his fears — seeing the haunted spectre of his lost mother in Jaejoong, the most emotional and free-spirited person he’d ever known. How one man’s selfish desire for power and dominance nearly extinguished a star as if he were nothing more than an overburnt candle nearly killed Jae inside and doomed the rest of them to a soulless existence.
Se7en listened, quiet and thoughtful. His fingers moved slowly, stroking the back of Changmin’s hand and sometimes wrapping up to touch his wrist but his mouth remained closed and his eyes held an immense caring that hurt Min inside. His thoughts echoed with the mistrust he’d had and the thoughtless words he’d spoken against Se7en’s discretion.
“My mom… when I look at Jaejoong sometimes, I see parts of her strength.” He rubbed at his chin, smiling when Se7en’s fingers ghosted over flat line of his jaw. “I don’t see Joongie-ah as a woman…”
“No,” He smiled at the memory of Jae’s masculine body pressing against him during a game show. Despite his deep affection for Changmin, the sleek lines of the mercurial Korean elicited a response. He’d have to be a dead man otherwise. “Although he made a nice one in that drama.”
“Aish, if we ever… if ever I get you in front of them, do not say anything like that,” Changmin looked horrified. “He’ll skin you alive.”
“I promise,” Se7en crossed himself. “I won’t. The only boy I want under my skin is you. What about your Joongie-ah?”
“It hurt. He hurt me.” It sounded petulant when spoken aloud, an injured little boy with a skinned knee. “And it is stupid. I know it does, Shichi but I thought I’d… come further than that. With them. That they trusted…” He trailed off, shock rounding his mouth into an O.
Se7en cocked his head and pursed his full mouth. “What?”
“Shit!” Changmin hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I did to you what they do to me all the time. Fuck!”
“Whoa, baby. I didn’t think I kissed you hard enough to dirty your mouth that much,” Se7en held his hands up in surrender, leaning back to give Changmin a little space. “This time, the talking to yourself out loud thing would really be helpful.”
“I… don’t get let in,” Min’s anger stung, beading wet on the bow of his thick lashes. “How the hell can I expect you to understand being shoved out when I hate when it happens to me? I fucking hate it, Shichi. I hate when they push me aside and that’s what I’ve done to you.”
“And I got mad at Jaejoong. I shaved off pieces of his heart with stupid sharp words because I wanted him to hurt,” He bit back his emotions, the flood of contrary feelings too strong to choose which one overpowered the others. “Everything became.. muddy and I couldn’t tell if I was angry at Jae for not telling me — even after I… did everything I could to help Yunho get rid of Kimura — or I just felt powerless because it was like my mother all over again.”
“What abut now? How do you feel now?”
“Okay, better,” Min tried wiping his face but Se7end got to his tears first. “Better now that I’m with you.”
“How are they now? Yunho and Jaejoong? Are they okay?” Se7en asked. His palm was wet, moist from Min’s tears but the shining faith and hope in the younger man’s eyes dried away any residual anger left between them.
“I think… they’re okay. They… were making noise when you called.”
Se7en’s eyebrows crept up his forehead, his curiosity piqued. “Noise?”
“You know,” Min said, rolling his eyes. “Squeak-ah, squeak-ah, squeak-ah. Ugh-ugh. Saranghaaaaaaae. No, BooJae, I love you mooooooore. They sound like cows. Love sick cows calling to each other over the fence. Then they start doing things that make the headboard hit the wall. It’s like they’re pounding mochi or something.”
He waited patiently when Se7en’s laughter rocked the inside of the car. Wiping his face, the older man tried to catch his breath. Pounding his chest, he jump-started his lungs then collapsed again when he saw Min’s pained look.
“Baby,” Se7en waved the young man off. “Stop. You’re making my ribs hurt.”
“Fine, finish laughing,” Changmin sniffled, taking a napkin from the centre console and then looked up at Se7en. “I need you to turn your head or close your eyes… or something. I need to… my nose…”
“You’re silly. Beautiful but silly. Come here,” Se7en took the paper square away from him, tugging on it until Min let go. Holding it to Min’s nose, he said, “Don’t fight me, Minku. Just. Blow.”
“Ah’m not bwowing…” He said around the pinch of Se7en’s fingers. A stern look from the older man and Min sighed, exhaling out into the paper. Wrinkling his forehead when Se7en wiped off the tip of his nose, Min groaned in high disgust. “Eewww. That’s….”
“It’s nothing,” Se7en said. “It’s a part of being lovers. There’s going to be other bodily fluids that I’m going to be either wiping off or even better, licking off. We’re human, Changmin. We’re dirty, crying, stubborn messes that need our asses wiped and our noses tweaked. Loving someone means holding napkins and hands as much as it means giving kisses.”
“I’ve never…” Changmin hiccupped, drawn out and worn from talking. His tongue felt swollen, too used to silence. “You’re asking for something that I’ve never given — for something that I…”
“I’m asking you for something more intimate to you than sex,” Se7en finished for him. “I know, baby. I know and I just needed to hear you say that you trust me enough to let me hold you when you’re crying because Minku honey, that’s all I need from you. I know we’re not talking forever between us… not like Yunho and Jaejoong but like… us. Just for us to be… us. That I can give you a part of me and know that you’ll hold it. And that you can give me a part of yourself in return.”
“I hate crying, Dong-Wook,” He whispered, letting a sniffle work up from his chest. “Hate it.”
“Yeah, I guessed that about you,” The older man laughed when the tip of Min’s tongue slid out from between his lips in a tiny act of defiance. “Tell you what, baby, how about if we find something better for that tongue to do.”