wedspawn ♥ (wedspawn) wrote,
wedspawn ♥

Broken Glass Hearts, Part 7

this is for bardou who wanted YooSu angst.

Central: JaeChunSu
Rating: R
Genre: It's complicated.

THIS IS TOTALLY AU FROM SMM. 100% off SMM. Not in any way related to So Much Mine, Lavender Bunny or anything else.
This probably will be some hardcore NC-17 or hell, maybe fluffy. I dunno.

Parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six

“What am I doing here?” Jaejoong took a step back, nearly tripping over his own feet. “What are you doing there?”

“I told you…” Yunho slid out from under Junsu. Bare to the waist, the flush of his anger tightened the muscles in his abdomen and chest as he stalked towards Jaejoong. Reaching for the young man’s shoulder, he growled when Jaejoong evaded him with another step backwards, Jae’s graceless flailing warding off Yunho’s grasping hands.

“No…no…no,” He growled. “You don’t get to…shove at me and tell me I should do what you say. Fine, you want to suck on Junsu’s face, I’ll find someone else to keep my company.”

Yoochun struggled to get to his feet, one ankle still hooked around a coffee table leg. He yelped loudly when Jaejoong wrenched him up, the singer’s strong hands lifting him up by the arms.

“Hey, room’s spinning,” Chunnie winced and closed his eyes. “Can’t see. Still spinning.”

“Here, since we don’t mean anything to each other, let me move on, okay?” Jaejoong gripped Yoochun’s shirt and pulled the man in closer.

The kiss was fierce, as heartfelt and sensual as anything Yoochun ever experienced. Jaejoong’s lips were soft and demanding, a punishing revelry of need and desire packaged in an explosive burst of tastes and sensations. The ume sake they’d drunk earlier heightened the singer’s tangy flavour, a hint of cloves and sweet sex.

Despite the deep ache in his chest for Junsu, Yoochun parted his lips, letting his friend plunder his mouth with a searching tongue. Jae’s hands released his shirt and the young man’s fingers cupped Yoochun’s face, exploring the baritone’s features with searching, feathery strokes. A brush of Jae’s touch on his earlobes and Yoochun nearly melted to the ground. The singer seemed driven by pure instinct, finding every erotic spot on Yoochun’s face and throat with a questing touch.

Moaning, Yoochun gripped Jaejoong’s hips, fighting the urge to grind against the other man’s body. The need for release grew stronger, driven to a bubbling heat. He forgot the man he held was his best friend and Yoochun lost himself in the desire of another man’s hands on his pleasure-parched body. His balls tightened, curling up into the hollow of his legs and he whimpered into Jaejoong’s open mouth, fitting himself snugly into the curve of his friend’s lean torso.

“Still think they don’t have sex?”

Junsu’s pained voice felt like ice water on Yoochun’s body. The disgust and hurt in the other man’s voice shriveled any ambient heat coursing through his sex. Gasping, the baritone shook himself free of Jaejoong’s hands, sliding from his friend’s embrace. Still drunk and unsteady, the young man tumbled back. The couch caught him in the calves and he pitched sideways, unable to stop himself from falling to the floor.

“Get off of him,” Yunho growled, grabbing Jaejoong’s arm and pulling him away from Yoochun. “What are you trying to prove?”

“That I can be as much of an asshole as you are.” Jae shoved Yunho back, the slap of his hands hitting Yunho’s bare chest loud and jarring in the suite’s living room. “You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself! Did you think we wouldn’t know you were here with Junsu? We just didn’t think you’d be in bed with him!”

“Like you’re in bed with Yoochun? He shouted back, towering over Jaejoong.

“Chunnie-ah,” Junsu crouched next to the sprawled singer, sliding his arm under his back to lift him up. Concern and remorse creased his forehead, his eyes dark with alarm. Cradling a groaning Yoochun to his body, he half-carried, half-dragged the other man to the couch. “God, I’m … sorry. I know you weren’t… Let me help you. Please. I wasn’t… I was just angry…”

“It’s okay, Susu,” He murmured, wincing as he moved. An ache throbbed between his shoulder blades and his ankle throbbed where he’d caught it on the table. Leaning into his friend’s supporting arms, he sighed heavily. “Thanks.”

“Can you make it to the bedroom?” Junsu bent forward, whispering loudly into the man’s ear. It was hard to be heard over the angry shouting of the older two members and Junsu wanted to take a closer look at the purpling he’d seen on Yoochun’s side. “You’re hurt. You probably need some ice on your back.”

“I’m…” Chun winced when he tried to bend forward. “Not fine.”

“No,” He replied, grinning widely. “You’re not.”

Their shuffle to the bedroom was uncoordinated at best, hindered mostly by Yoochun’s wobbly legs and drunken stupor. Junsu strained to hold the other man up, banging into the door frame as he heaved Yoochun forward. The raucous battle continued unabated, heated words hammered sharp by angry tongues. Junsu closed the door behind him with a kick of his foot and a blessed silence descended on the bedroom, earning him a quiet, contented sigh from Yoochun.

“Come on, the bed’s close by.” Junsu helped crab-walk Yoochun over, sliding him onto the wide mattress. “There’s ice in the container. I had to get some for Yunho’s mouth. I’ll make another ice pack.”

The sheets were smooth and silken under Yoochun’s hands and he relaxed, letting the bed cradle his battered body. The room twirled about him and he tried to focus on a centre point in the ceiling but it moved and danced out of his vision, making him ill. Closing his eyes only made things worse so he tried turning onto his side, his battered ribs creaking as his strained muscles ached when he flipped over.

“Hold on,” Junsu said, returning to the bed. Putting down the hand towel he’d filled with ice and bound with a shoelace to make a hasty ice pack, he stopped Yoochun from moving. “Let’s get your shirt off first.”

“Ouch. Damn. Ouch.” Yoochun whimpered loudly as Junsu worked his t-shirt up over his ribs and nearly bit his lip clean through when the other man moved his arm. Burying his face into the bed linens, he took a sharp breath, silently urging Junsu to kill him and put him out of his misery. The fresh clean scent of soap and lemon on the sheets calmed Yoochun and he took another shuddering breath, hoping to overcome the waves of pain running up and down his torso.

“Almost done,” Junsu encouraged, hissing at the bruises starting to form on Yoochun’s back. “Oh Chunnie, what happened? Did you just do this?”

“I had problems getting out of the cab,” Yoochun admitted. “They move, you know. The curbs in Tokyo move. I think the whole city is a mecha-robot. Some day, when we aren’t expecting it, it’s going to transform and do battle with Godzilla.”

“How much have you had to drink?” Junsu eyed the man suspiciously.

“Two… maybe three bottles of sake. Big bottles,” Yoochun said, trying to separate his arms to demonstrate but his shirt was lodged over his shoulders and he was caught tight, only able to make a scissoring motion with his hands. “It tasted a little bit like plums. Very good. Much better than the milky soju we had earlier. That was nasty. Jaejoong tasted better.”

“I’ll bet,” Junsu muttered bitterly.

“Bet you taste better than him.”

Yoochun’s full mouth touched Junsu’s lips and the world fell away under an electric storm. The ice pack forgotten, Junsu slithered down the other man’s body, pulled in by Yoochun’s insistent hands. Their tongues briefly flicked against the other’s, a brief taste of heat and want before sliding back away. Hindered by his shirt, Yoochun struggled to free himself from the confining sleeves, torn between needing to feel Junsu on his bare skin and unwilling to take his hands from the other man’s sides. When Junsu’s elbow dug into Yoochun’s bruised ribs, he yelped, breaking the kiss off with a gasp.

“Damn it,” Junsu swore, sliding free of the bed and working his fingers through his hair. He paced off a stride, turning around and looking down at Yoochun’s half-dressed body laid out on the rumpled sheets. “What am I doing?”

“What are you doing over there?” Yoochun murmured, unsuccessfully fighting his t-shirt. “Come here, babe.”

The fabric seemed to give when he needed it to be firm and somehow, Yoochun couldn’t find the end of one sleeve, his elbow trapped in the seam. Waving his arm about like a Tyrannosaurus Rex, he whimpered for assistance from Junsu, twisting to get himself upright on the bed. Flipping about, he ended up face down on the mattress, his mostly free arm trapped under him and the dinosaur-mimicking appendage flailing about helplessly in the air.

“Some help here,” Yoochun mumbled. He successfully turned over and ripped his shirt apart, letting the sides hang from his shoulders. “I think I’m drunk.”

“I know you’re drunk,” Junsu said, taking a step forward then hesitating. A few minutes of Yoochun’s mouth on his wiped away any resolution he had made with Yunho to move on and give up on getting the baritone to love him. His lips still burned where the man’s lips touched his and his sex pressed up hard on the sweatpants he’d borrowed from Yunho to sleep in. “You thought I was sleeping with Yunho. Just now, remember? Why the sudden change?”

“Not so sudden,” Yoochun hiccupped. “And I never thought you were sleeping with him. Jaejoong did. And… the sheets smell too nice. You weren’t doing anything like that. You’d never do anything like that.”

“Oh?” Junsu crooked an eyebrow. “How do you know? What makes you think you know me so well?”

“Because I’ve been in love with you since…forever,” Yoochun admitted. “I came here tonight to tell you that I love you. And I forgive you but…can you forgive me?”


“I can’t believe this is the only room they had left,” Changmin grumbled, swinging his duffel onto the straight-back chair near the window.

“You were at the front desk,” Se7en pointed out. “You were the one who got us the room.”

The hotel room was cramped and the smell of damp animal rose from the carpet near the bathroom. A sole double bed took up most of the floor space, a heavy, tired-looking duvet spread out over the mattress. Four pillows rested on the wall at the top of the bed, the room lacking a headboard to dress up the frame. The walls, once a golden yellow, were now a rusted tobacco… or so Se7en guessed by the bright square where a painting once hung over the thin dresser. The night manager didn’t blink when they’d stumbled in out of the rain, merely handed them the key to the only room he had left and asked if they wanted to rent it by the hour or the day.

“I should have thrown you out of the plane when we almost crashed. Obviously your ego was too much weight for the engines.”

“We did not almost crash,” The other man corrected. “The tire blew out. We skidded a little bit to the side. Have you always been this dramatic or am I getting a personal showing of your own special, private meltdown?”

“I wanted us to be in Tokyo by now,” Min growled, unzipping his bag and digging around its interior. “I said some pretty shitty things to Jaejoong and Yunho about…”

Se7en looked up when Min’s voice trailed off. “What kind of things?”

“Shut up,” He muttered, frowning heavily. “You don’t need to know. Where the hell are my sweatpants? I know I packed some.”

“I took them out,” Se7en admitted. “They were ugly.”

“You don’t get to decide what I wear to bed,” Min replied, raising his voice.

“If I had my way, I’d make sure you wore nothing to bed.”

I like him very much, The gremlin said smugly. We need to keep him.

“We are not keeping him,” Min complained back.

“Who are you talking to?” Se7en peered over the younger man’s shoulder. Min jumped, startled by the singer’s sudden appearance by his side.

“No one.” Min shushed his inner voice with a stern grumble. “Where’s the charger to my phone?”

“Was that the plastic bag? The red one?”

“Yes,” Min sighed. “You took that out too?”

“Only to get to the ugly polyester sweatpants. I think I forgot to put it back inside.”

“Great, now my phone’s dead. I’m stuck in a city I didn’t even know existed with a pervert who hates my clothes.” Changmin threw his eyes up to the ceiling. “What else can happen?”

The lights dimmed then one by one, the bulbs in the room, burst under a surge of power through the lines. Dimmed by the thick, dense fog, the city view outside their window brightened momentarily then section by section, plunged into a pitch darkness. Somewhere nearby, an emergency generator kicked in, its loud rattling starter whining and protesting before rising into a steady hum. The soft keening noise made Min’s back teeth ache and he jumped when the generator’s motor screeched loudly, crackling and popping to a loud death then was silent. Se7en protectively stepped closer, his stomach and chest pressing up against Min. The younger man cursed, hating his body’s instant delighted reaction to the man’s presence against his back.

“Well,” The older man drawled. “You did ask.”
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