Length: One-shot (broken into two entries)
Warnings: obvious use of alcohol, inexplicit smut, some language
There’s no liquor this time, and for that you’re slightly grateful. There’s no alcohol fooling his mind into making him think that it’s better than it actually is; just his white jacket on the floor next to your jeans and his delicate fingers tangled in your hair. You can swallow his panting breath without the lingering burn of soju on your tongue and get drunk off nothing more than the feeling of Jungsu’s skin beneath your fingertips.
He moves with you this time, and the pleasure of every sensation multiplies tenfold when he rolls his hips against yours in a smooth, almost practiced movement.
Jungsu’s not your first- granted that the girl had only slept with you because of a dare and only spoke to you once afterwards. “You’re just not my type,” she’d said the next day, and in fact it was her boyfriend who gave her the dare. You didn’t understand (still don’t, really) but to her it seemed like an everyday thing. “I kind of like that he’s a jerk sometimes, and you’re just too nice. You’ll be a good catch for someone else though.” And then you never spoke to her again.
Jungsu definitely wasn’t your first, but there are some times when you wish more than anything that he had been.
Every now and then you find yourself wondering what Jungsu actually thinks of you. You wonder if you’re just a sex toy that he can play with when he’s bored or fuck when he’s depressed and thinking about someone else. It wouldn’t come as a shock to you if that were the case, but at the same time you can’t help but think that it’s the furthest thing from the truth: Jungsu would never use anyone like that.
Besides, people typically don’t hold hands with their sex toys out in public (or at least as public as you can get without creating a scandal,) and they certainly don’t let you wake up in their bed the next morning with your arms securely wrapped around the fragile contours of their body as they sleep peacefully on your chest.
He looks the most beautiful that way: hair a mess, eyes bleary, and still practically dead to the world when he first awakens in the morning and looks up at you. It’s in the sleepy little smile he gives you afterwards that you find complete contentment, and the gesture makes it so much easier to pretend that you’re the only one he’s ever wanted to be with.
But you never stop wondering why. Even after you consummated this little relationship of yours, sealed the deal over and over again with a mesh of burning, desperate lips, you still wonder why me? Had it been because you were in the right place at the right time? If anyone else had gotten to Jungsu a moment sooner that night, would they be the one with their arm carelessly slung around Jungsu’s hips as you waited for the camera to start rolling? If Youngwoon hadn’t left… would he still want you at all?
You get your answer rather unexpectedly, and you’re not all that sure if it’s really a definitive answer or not when the man who caused all of this shows up in your doorway one evening clad in his military uniform and is greeted by Donghae nearly vibrating with excitement.
His unexpected return is met with shouts of joy, songs of laughter, and rivers of tears from some members- even Heechul crawled out of his little depression hole to be with his dongsaeng- but you knew Youngwoon only had eyes for one person, and that person was clinging to your hand for dear life.
Jungsu doesn’t let go of your hand at all when Youngwoon comes home for his little one-week vacation, and Youngwoon doesn’t miss it. He also doesn’t speak to you the whole time he’s there.
A lot of things race through your mind every time you’re with Jungsu; some things you wish to suppress and others you let out as breathy moans as he kisses you into oblivion. You want to know what all of this is supposed to mean, where this is supposed to go in the future, but you never find the courage to ask. It’s as if vocalizing the tiniest bit of doubt would shatter this… thing you’ve caught yourself up in, and you’re too terrified to lose him when it’s only just begun.
Still, one night your emotions get the better of you and you cross that invisible line into the point of no return.
He’s gasping and clawing at your skin as pleasure courses through his veins, consuming him with the invisible fire of lust as the words burn a hole into your mind.
Jungsu’s still coming down from his high when you can’t hold it back anymore. His head rests against your heaving chest and the words are breathed out before you can stop it.
“I love you.”
He freezes mid-breath, and for a moment you think that you’ve just ruined everything with one little phrase. His empty eyes blink at the sheets before he turns on his side, warm body curling into yours, and breathes a delirious smile against your neck.
“I wish you could.”
You don’t sleep that night. Or the next.
Your dancing is embarrassingly sloppy throughout rehearsals and the choreographer looks about ready to knock your head clean off when Eunhyuk comes to the rescue.
“You’re not like this,” the skinny man says as he pulls you aside and shoves a bottle of water in your hand. “You know this routine better than I do Hyung. What’s going on?”
You know it would be useless to hide it since yes, you do pretty much own this dance routine, but you don’t really know what to say. That same question has been floating around your mind for the past few days, yet you’ve come up with nothing that even resembles a sensible answer. “It’s nothing,” you say while shaking your head and attempting to loosen your limbs. “Just haven’t been sleeping much.”
It’s mostly the truth, and the younger man takes it as such with a pat to your shoulder. “It’s about to get a lot worse. Any of us will be lucky to get a full hour of sleep as soon as this album drops,” he advises. As if you didn’t already know.
“Yeah. I’ll get it together.” You offer your dongsaeng a weak smile and it’s the last thing either of you can say before the choreographer comes in to beat the both of you with a notebook.
However, even after hours upon hours of dwelling on it, nothing really seems to come together. I wish you could, I wish you could, I wish you could.
It drives you insane.
Jungsu all but crashes beside you on the bed that night and lazily plays with the leg of your pants with his toes. You’re too scared to ask anything of him in that moment, and you hastily decide that it’s not worth it; why ruin what you have because of something that could mean nothing at all?
The logic sucks and you know it, but the weight of his head on your shoulder keeps you from saying a word.
You’re eating a midnight dinner with Sungmin when it’s said out in the open for the first time. You watch as the younger male gradually devours everything on his plate and fleetingly think that he only stuffs his face when he’s around you, simply because you’re his best friend and you’d probably be the last one to tell your manager that Sungmin’s actually been eating like crazy when he was supposed to be on a diet. (Management wants him to loose the remaining bits of chub on his cheeks for his new look, but you would rather it stick around for a while; Kyuhyun and Henry’s too, but that’s Zhou Mi’s territory now.)
He eats slowly, but definitely to his heart’s content and then some, simply because he can and hasn’t thrown up yet. Somewhere between a mouthful of chocolate cake and you flashing back to EHB filming, Sungmin finds the restraint to take a breath and speak to you for the first time since he started.
“So, you and Eeteuk-hyung, huh?” he asks, mouth still partially full and fork prepared to dive in again.
You blink at him a few times before the question actually registers, but even then you aren’t sure what to respond. Clearly there’s something between the two of you; you just don’t know what it is or how to put it into words. So instead, you opt for something a bit more neutral and hope Sungmin might be able to fill in the blanks for you.
“How’d you find out?”
The younger man snorts and again speaks with his mouth half full. “Seriously? It’s almost disgusting how touchy-feely he is around you now,” he answers. “I couldn’t even stay mad about you not telling me.”
All you can do is nod and stare at the plate of food Sungmin was practically inhaling. You learned quickly that in this industry, fanservice could mean everything, or it could mean nothing at all. But with Jungsu… it wasn’t just fanservice. Not to you. There was warmth in his touch that had your heart exploding and an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. Even now you were apparently under the spell of just the memory.
“Oh my God, there really is something,” Sungmin blurts, and it snaps you back to reality. “You’re like… a fucking lovesick puppy or something. No, puppies are supposed to be cute. This is just…” The younger man trails off and slowly lays down his fork. “Are you two… serious? I mean... really really serious?” he asks. His voice is low and his expression is one that you’re sure no one else gets to see: there’s no playfulness or teasing, just hard lines and the desire to know.
And for a moment, you wonder why you aren’t wearing the same expression. You want more than anything to be honest with Sungmin, but you don’t know how. You don’t know anything anymore, and you tell him as much.
“Then you must be.”
and resumes stuffing his face.
It’s raining when you finally gather up the courage to talk to him again.
Jungsu’s standing on the balcony, face tilted skyward, eyes closed and drops of rain kissing his cheeks as he slides his hands down the railing. Steady fingers glide across its metal frame and push their way through the beads decorating its surface, invading their lives and scattering them everywhere.
It was raining the day he was born and it was raining the day he fell into your arms for the first time, tears pouring from his eyes and rain pouring from the heavens.
He speaks before you even find the words, and just by his voice you can tell that rain isn’t the only thing streaking his face.
“Youngwoon called this morning.”
His eyes remain on the sky and his fingers flex around words he can’t quite grasp. You know what he means before there are even syllables on Jungsu’s tongue, but it still hurts. This time it’s just a dull ache from a wound inflicted long ago.
“I can’t promise you anything Donghee,” he finally whispers. “I’m sorry.”
The small nod you give him is one of understanding; you know that Jungsu feels more alone than he’s ever been- more helpless than he’s ever imagined- and even though both of you know it’s not true, it does nothing to shake the feeling.
The clouds above look like smoke, and you can’t help but wonder if you’re just watching his world burn- his life falling apart and shattering just like the raindrops splattering on the ground.