age_of_dreams (age_of_dreams) wrote,

Lost and Found (JaeHo)


Pairing: Yunho/Jaejoong
Lenght: One-shot
Rating: R (for tiny, tiny bits of non-explicit smut )
Genre: Angst (main), fluff, (bit of) smut
Warnings: uuuh, sucks. It pretty much sums up everything. <.<

Notes: First, this fic is set in Prague, so it's around September 2006. A lot of the things I mention in the fic actually happened (like the very first part), so if you want to understand it better you should watch THIS CLIP. Which is very amusing so I recommend it anyway. XD). You can watch the Prince in Prague DVD, too, if you want. X3
Second: unlike it might seem, this wasn't inspired by their recent trip to Paris. The plot belongs to guu_dammit, so if you think the fic sucks (as it does), please to be blaming her. Thanks. =D

(In the end I decided to post this fic also in comms and not just in my LJ cause I spent far too much time on it, even if it sucks. Be awed.)

Dedicated to guu_dammit, who really deserves something better, but since she was the one who gave me this impossible plot she'd better not complain. <.< even if I was the one who asked for a plot in the first place. *cough*

“Is the weather in Prague always this bad?” Yunho asks himself, looking at the ominous gray clouds looming over his head. It’s been two days since their arrival and all he’s experienced of the beautiful city are lead skies and chilly winds and the occasional downpour. He sighs and places the last piece of equipment down on the pavement, where he’s been instructed to, and sits down beside it. Yoochun is making quite a show of himself trying to keep his balance on a garbage can and to look cool while crowds of tourists and natives alike stop and stare, snickering at the small group of asian men gathered at the feet of Town Hall Tower. If it weren’t for their expensive equipment and the practiced ease the director is yelling orders with – seemingly oblivious of the audience – they’d probably pass for an amateur crew filming some sort of bizarre videoclip. Yoochun’s and Changmin’s hairdos and clothes aren’t helping, either.
Why the hell they came all the way to Prague with just two actual crew members to take care of all the filming is beyond him. SM seems to be running on a low budget, or maybe they just thought that since Jaejoong, Yunho and Junsu didn’t have to film for the MV they could as well make themselves useful, couldn’t they?
He stretches, trying to make some of the discomfort in his back and arms go away. He and Jaejoong had been moving stuff around for the whole morning while Junsu played music director and Changmin pretended to be busy with his own shots but was really just having a lot of fun at Yoochun’s expenses.
A tall shadow falls over him, hiding Yoochun from his view and startling him out of his musings. He looks up, and Jaejoong smiles down at him. “Tired already?” the lead singer teases gently, and then sits down beside him. Yunho grunts noncommittally and rubs his neck with a suffering expression that makes Jaejoong giggle.
“Here, let me help you” he says, and Yunho feels the gentle pressure of Jaejoong’s fingers between his shoulder blades, kneading his aching muscles in soothing circles. The band leader allows himself to relax a little under his lover’s touch, makes space for him almost reflexively when he presses against his side, enjoying the way Jaejoong’s warmth seeps through his shirt and warms the cool morning air like a caress. He sighs softly, letting his eyelids flutter shut, and feels lips ghosting across his jaw, tracing the bone with the faintest of kisses.
Yunho’s eyes fly open in shock and he pushes Jaejoong away from him roughly, looking around hastily to check if somebody saw.
“What do you think you were doing?” he hisses under his breath, as if someone could really hope to hear them over the buzz of the square.
Jaejoong’s wide, surprised eyes narrow into tiny slits at the harshness of Yunho’s tone. “Yunho, stop being so paranoid” he hisses back “this isn’t Korea, this isn’t even Asia, for god’s sake! Look” he makes a wide gesture with his hand to encompass the whole square “no one cares about us! They spare us a glance because we look like a bunch of weirdos filming garbage cans and then they ignore us. Tell me, Yunho”, he says, blazing dark eyes trained on the taller singer’s ones “how long has it been since we were able to walk around this freely? Yesterday we all went shopping together, and no one stalked us, no screaming fans asked for our signatures, nothing!” He takes a deep breath, as if the could swallow this feeling, make it his. “Don’t you miss this kind of freedom? Aren’t you glad we can be…ourselves, for once?” Jaejoong sounds almost pleading, now, and Yunho feels guilty for snapping at him, feels guilty because everything he can promise Jaejoong is a life of secrecy and stolen moments and because he knows this won’t change anytime soon, even if Jaejoong seems unable to fully accept it. But he, Yunho, knows. And he knows he has to protect Jaejoong as well as himself, and above all he has to protect his –their– group.
His hand brushes against Jaejoong’s, caressing it softly with the pad of his thumb. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you…just don’t do that in public anymore, please?”
Jaejoong sighs and then nods, defeated. Yunho can see the disappointment, the bitterness in his eyes, but tries to ignore it as best as he can.
“Jaejoong-hyung, come here and help me with this, please!!” yells Changmin, wrestling with one of the lights. Jaejoong waves at his younger bandmate and runs off to help him; his hands slips out of Yunho’s hold, and Yunho can’t help but think that now the wind feels a little bit colder, a little more biting. He shivers.
In the afternoon they move to a small, quiet park in the outskirts of the city to shoot for their new photobook.
Yunho sighs and tries for the umpteenth to loosen his tie a bit, only to be stopped by a withering glare from the staff. His suit feels tight and stiff, the wind is chilly and carries along sparse raindrops,unpleasantly cold against his bare face. The echo of his tiff with Jaejoong still lingers, like a faint, unpleasant taste clinging to the back of his mouth, and on top of everything he can feel a headache slowly building behind his temples.
A familiar burst of laughter draws his attention. Jaejoong doesn’t seem to have the same problems as him, and he looks relaxed and cheerful while he sits beside Yoochun and talks excitedly about something that draws the attention of the camera on him as well. Jaejoong’s laugh is loud and bright and carefree; he slings an arm around Yoochun’s shoulders affectionately and they collapse against each other in a fit of giggles. Yunho’s heart clenches painfully, that sort of longing ache he has been experiencing often, as of late, whenever he’s close to Jaejoong and at the same time so very distant. It’s not jealousy, what he feels; he’s learned to accept and respect Jaejoong and Yoochun’s close friendship long ago. It’s something more akin to envy: a bitter, consuming envy. He watches them hug and laugh together, on and off camera, watches them lean close and whisper conspiratorially at each other with knowing smiles, and longs for what he can’t have.
“Here, your lunch” says Jaejoong when he reaches Yunho, handing him a brown paper bag with some sandwiches and a bottle of water in it. The band leader nods in thanks and takes it with a slight smile. He had wandered around in the park by himself for a while, waiting for the others to finish their individual shots, oddly soothed by the silence and the quietness of the place. There is no one around, even if he can hear the distant shouts of children playing, and in the air he smells the fresh scent of rain and leaves and rich wet soil.
Jaejoong sits down on a nearby bench and rips his own bag open, obviously hungry; there’s no time for a proper lunch, so this will have to go. They eat in silence, sitting close but not too close, their shoulders barely brushing, but Yunho can feel the shiver that courses through Jaejoong’s body as a particularly vicious gust of wind strikes them. Jaejoong is wrapped in a bright red raincoat lent by someone of the staff, but Yunho grits his teeth because he knows that for this shoot they made him wear nothing under his suit jacket.
He crushes the empty paper bag in his fist, crumples it up in a tight ball and throws it against the nearest trash can viciously. It bounces back, rolling at Jaejoong’s feet.
“Loser” the older singer taunts with a smirk. He picks up the ball and tosses it in with precise aim, turning to grin at Yunho triumphantly.
“That was just luck” replies the taller man, purposefully ignoring Jaejoong’s mild tease. He rests his back against the bench and looks up at the grey sky, sighing softly. He’s not looking, but he knows that Jaejoong is staring at him with a puzzled frown on his face, and he’s not surprised when he feels the warmth of a body snuggle against his side, the weight of a familiar arm sneak around his waist to pull him closer. The lips that press against his cheek are warm and soft and searching.
“What’s wrong, Yunho?” they ask, with a hint of worry. “You’re the only one who looks like he’s not having fun at all.”
“I don’t know” he replies. “Having to stay home with a sprained ankle gave me too much time to think, I guess. It’s nothing you should worry about.”
Jaejoong huffs and takes Yunho’s chin between thumb and index to tilt it towards him, gently forcing him to look into his eyes. “I am already worrying, you idiot” he mutters, and leans in to kiss him.
The sudden gesture takes Yunho by surprise, preventing him from reacting. Jaejoong’s lips linger, warm and velvety against his cold ones, and for a single, perfect moment the world disappears in a blur of pale skin and soft hair, and all Yunho wants is to grab the back of Jaejoong’s raincoat and pull the older singer against him. He lays a hand on Jaejoong’s chest instead, and pushes him away gently.
“Stop” he whispers.
Jaejoong’s eyes are incredulous, hurt. His accusing gaze hits Yunho with the strength of a physical hit, but he doesn’t look away. He can’t look away, because it would mean admitting he’s wrong, and he doesn’t think he is. Even if it hurts.
He reaches out to touch Jaejoong’s cheek tentatively. “I’m sorry, Joongie. You know we can’t.”
Yunho feels Jaejoong’s jaw tighten under his fingers, feels the tension course through his body. The older singer closes his eyes as if he were trying to restrain his anger and takes a deep breath.
“Then you’d better not touch me at all, Yunnie” he says, unnaturally calm, his words chilly and sharp like shards of ice. “You know, someone” he casts a meaningful, derisive glance at their deserted surroundings “might see us and misunderstand.”
Yunho drops his hand slowly, lets it fall limply at his side. He’s seen Jaejoong angry countless times before, and he’s always fierce and passionate and loud; his emotions spill from him freely, unrestrained, and in those moments Yunho knows that all he can do is wait until the storm is over and then say he’s sorry. Or possibly start to argue back until they both realize they’re acting like kindergarten children and make peace.
He doesn’t know how to deal with this Jaejoong, though, with this cold, somewhat resigned anger that seems to have solidified inside him and surfaces only in his eyes, like frost on a pond.
“Jaejoong, listen…” he starts, but Jaejoong cuts him off with a curt wave of his hand.
“Don’t lecture me all over again, Yunho. I know we have to be careful and pretend we’re nothing but bandmates and good friends, I know how I have to act when we’re in public. I was told countless times by the management. And by you.” He sighs bitterly, playing with the hem of his raincoat absent-mindedly. “That’s why I wish you’d understand that this is one of the few chances we have. But you don’t. You never do, apparently.”
“I understand that this is what I have to do” Yunho answers in a clipped voice.
“Yes, but you understand nothing else but that!” snarls Jaejoong. “Why do you never refuse to touch me when they ask you to? When they say Please, Yunho, now get a little closer to Jaejoong and look at him with feeling?” 
The taller man doesn’t answer, and Jaejoong lets out a little, derisive laugh.
“This” he makes a gesture from himself to Yunho “is not just about fanservice.” The word sounds bitter, tinged with hatred. “But all you can think of is your fucking career, can’t you?”
A wave of anger bubbles inside Yunho, scorching and consuming like molten lava.
“This is not just about my career.” he hisses venomously. “This is about Yoochun’s career. Changmin’s career. Junsu’s career. This, Jaejoong, is about your career as well. This is about us as a group, and I’m trying to protect it as best as I can, can’t you even understand that? God, stop being so fucking selfish.”
He regrets the words as soon they leave his mouth, but he has no time to apologize, has no time to avoid Jaejoong’s blow. The lead singer’s fist hits his jaw with deadly accuracy and a great deal of strength, and a white-hot explosion of pain blooms behind his eyes.
“Don’t you dare” seethes Jaejoong, his dark eyes now alive with anger “don’t you dare say I’m selfish and don’t care about DBSK ever again.”
He’s shaking with fury, now, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as if he were trying really hard not to hit Yunho again.
“This is my family, Yunho, and you should know it better than everyone else. Or do you think you’re the only one who cares? Do you think I don’t know that our relationship is a burden to our group? I’m trying to go on with the small things we are allowed to have, and that’s why I can’t stand you pushing away this chance to be together, since we don’t have that many, do we? When we’re in Korea we get home and collapse on our beds, too tired to even kiss each other goodnight! How can you blame me for wanting something more, every now and then?” He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, and when he looks at Yunho again the ice is back in his eyes.
“We can end this, Yunho, since you don’t seem to care.” he says coldly.
Yunho feels a flare of irrational anger surge through him, laced with the tiniest hint of fear, and before he can even realize it he’s grabbing Jaejoong by the front of his jacket and crushing their lips together with bruising force. It’s a cruel, loveless kiss, a kiss meant to hurt; he feels the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, but isn’t quite sure who it belongs to, and keeps kissing with ravenous fury. He stands up from the bench, dragging Jaejoong with him, and slips his free hand under the lead singer’s jacket; his fingers scrape warm skin, move upwards to curl around a nipple and tweak the sensitive flesh roughly.
Jaejoong struggles, tries to push him away, but Yunho holds him still. “Isn’t this what you want?” he snarls, panting heavily in the older singer’s ear. He sees the look in Jaejoong’s eyes, sees his eyes narrow dangerously, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on the damp grass holding his stomach in pain.
Jaejoong looks down at him, fist still raised.
“I want you to go to hell, Yunho.” He says frostily, and leaves him there, disappearing down the path that leads out of the park. He doesn’t look back, not even once.
Yunho doesn’t move, doesn’t follow him. He sits on the grass for what it seems like forever, until the pain subsides and their conversation sinks in fully.
He touches his fingers to his lips and finds blood. It’s not his own, though. Jaejoong’s angry, desperate eyes burn on the back of his mind, an image that refuses to leave him alone.
“Fuck” he groans, burying his face in his hands. Then he gets up and runs after Jaejoong.
That fucking bastard, Jaejoong thinks angrily, stomping down a street, I don’t want to see his stupid face ever again.
He’s been wandering around for quite a long time, deaf and blind to everything but his inner turmoil. He can’t stop thinking about Yunho – that jerk! – , and every time his accusing words resound in his mind a fresh wave of anger overcomes him. He kicks an empty can viciously, and it hits the wall with a tinny noise that to Jaejoong’s ear sounds like a mocking giggle.
A young couple goes past him, holding each other close and laughing together. He sighs deeply and casts an absent-minded glance at his watch. And freezes.
4 pm, it reads.
He checks again, to make sure his eyes aren’t tricking him, and then brings it to his ear to see if it works. He feels his heart sink at the steady ticking sound.
Two hours. I’ve been away for TWO HOURS, he realizes, and looks around frantically, trying to recognize his surroundings. He doesn’t. Everything looks very foreign, and this is a part of the city he’s never been before, somewhere far from the city centre and decidedly less nice. There are a lot of run-down buildings, with windows like black holes that seem to be watching him, and a cold shiver of anxiety creeps into his heart. He’s lost, and alone – he can’t even see the laughing couple anymore – and has no idea what to do.
He curses himself for leaving his cellphone with Yoochun; now the only thing he can do is turn back and hope to find the way back to the park. Which he can’t even remember the name of, damn Czech and its impossible names.
He sighs, and wishes Yunho were there with him.
Yunho is cursing Jaejoong in every language he knows – even Czech, thanks to their translator who taught them a few useful words. He’s been looking for him for three hours, and still no trace of the older singer. He’s angry with Jaejoong for his irresponsibility, but more than everything he’s worried sick; his mind is supplying him with endless unpleasant images of what could happen to the lead singer, and even if he knows he’s overreacting, he just can’t help himself.
He grips his useless cellphone in his fist and feels the urge to smash it against a wall. The battery is dead, so he can’t contact anyone, and he can’t recognize his surroundings anymore. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he has no clue about where he is; he just ran after Jaejoong impulsively, without even warning their manager first, and now he doesn’t know what to do. He’s going to find the moron, though, and find him fast, and the first thing he’s going to do when he finds him is punch him as payback. And then he’s going to kiss him senseless and apologize profusely for what he said and hopefully everything will be fine again between them.
He’s trying to decipher the name of a street when he hears the horrible screeching sound of a braking car. It doesn’t sound far from where he is, just a few streets away, maybe. His heart stops for an instant, and a frightening thought hits him like a ton of bricks.
It can’t be. It just can’t, he tells himself sternly to calm down a bit, but as soon as he hears the first screams he’s already running, running as fast as he can. He collides with a middle-aged woman and his cellphone slips out of his hand, but he keeps running, not even bothering to apologize.
Jaejoong is cold. And tired. And hungry. His watch says it’s past 5 pm, and he never stopped walking. All he wants is to fall on his knees and admit defeat, but he wills himself not to, keeps going on and tries to keep panic at bay.
A black, familiar-looking object on the sidewalk catches his eye. He picks it up with trembling hands and a sense of dread, snaps it open. It looks battered and there’s a long crack on the glass, but it’s Yunho’s cellphone. He’s positive of it. He presses the buttons frantically, but it doesn’t switch on, and now Jaejoong is scared for real. Yunho would have never dropped his cellphone on purpose, of course, and he’s never lost one, either.
Panic courses like icy water in his veins. He looks around, sees no sign of Yunho. But he was there, and Jaejoong is going to find him. He has to find him, before going mad with worry.
He starts running, darting through the semi-deserted streets. His heart pounds in his throat painfully, the rush of blood in his ears almost deafening, but all he can hear is his own silent cry. Yunho Yunho Yunho, over and over like a mantra, like a desperate prayer.
He’s looking around for him as he runs, so he doesn’t see the crack in the sidewalk. He falls heavily on the concrete, hitting his knee and elbow; the pain is searing, but he pulls himself up and keeps running, pushing away the pain in a corner of his mind.
The first thing he notices is blood, blood blossoming on the asphalt like a sickening crimson flower. And then he sees a pale, motionless hand and his eyes travel upwards with a sort of unwilling, morbid fascination; there’s a bright red sleeve, which belongs to a bright read raincoat, which wraps the body lying there, horribly still, light chestnut hair hiding the face of the person sprawled messily in a pool of their own blood.
Horrified whispers and sobs rise all around him, but he isn’t aware of the small crowd gathering around the scene; all he sees is the body lying there, and he watches and watches, unable to take a step, to utter a word, unable to tear his eyes away.
A cold emptiness spreads inside him, numbing his mind and his senses; he tries to speak, but no sound escapes his chapped lips. He just watches and watches and watches, and people are starting to stare at him, but he doesn’t notice, doesn’t care; he doesn’t react even when they yell at him to get away from there because the ambulance is coming. He can’t understand them, and even if he could he wouldn’t understand anyway. His mind is running in circles around the same terrifying thought over and over again, trying to bring it into focus, to put it into words, and mercifully failing. There’s no pain yet, no desperation, just a sense of shocked disbelief that roots him to the spot and claws at his throat, choking him with the myriad of emotions trapped in his chest. It’s only when he sees the body being lifted and lied on a stretcher – sees a bloody hand hanging limply from it – that he feels a name bubble inside him, struggling to find release.
“Jaejoong”, he whispers voicelessly. “Jaejoong”, he murmurs, and the murmur turns into a horrified scream that pierces through the dim light of dusk, through the hushed silence surrounding him like a smothering blanket.
“Yunho?” a breathless voice says behind him, faint like a whisper of his imagination.
“Yunho!” he hears again, and this time it’s clearer, louder, and it cuts thought the haze of his mind like the toll of a silver bell. He turns slowly and Jaejoong is standing there, clutching his chest and panting hard, raincoat hanging half off his shoulders and hair in disarray, but he’s there, and Yunho knows it can’t be. He closes his eyes, opens them again, but Jaejoong is still there, too out of breath to say more than Yunho’s name over and over. Yunho looks at the lifeless body on the stretcher and finally notices all those details his mind had failed to register the first time – smaller frame, different pants, the red raincoat which is not even a raincoat in the first place – and the wave of relief that washes through him is so strong that it makes him dizzy. He stumbles towards Jaejoong, but his knees give up under him halfway. Jaejoong rushes forward with a startled cry, catches him in his arms and cradles him against his chest with a sort of tender, desperate possessiveness.
“Oh god, Yunho” he whispers, his voice rough. “God, god” he repeats, and can’t find anything else to say. “What –”
Yunho is trembling in his arms, Jaejoong’s name falling from his lips with the hurried fervency of a prayer. The older singer takes a look over Yunho’s shoulder, sees the body, understands.
“I’m here” he says in a broken voice, pressing frantic kisses to Yunho’s hair, Yunho’s forehead, to every inch of him he can reach, “I’m here. Here.”
Yunho raises his head from the crook of Jaejoong’s neck and takes the smaller man’s face in his hands, looking into his eyes as if he were searching for something, and his gaze is still so full of anguish that Jaejoong feels tears sting his eyes. He takes Yunho’s hand between his ones, presses it against his cheek wordlessly. Yunho closes the distance between them first, captures his lips with a fierce abandon Jaejoong has never felt in him before. In a corner of his mind Jaejoong is aware of the crowd staring at them, so he tears himself away from Yunho just enough to drag him away from there and stumble together into a dark alleyway, away from prying eyes.
Yunho backs Jaejoong against a wall and keeps kissing him, his lips roving over Jaejoong’s face with feverish urgency, and the lead singer arches his back to press against him, digs his nails in the back of his jacket and pulls the taller man against his body. Their kisses are wet, open-mouthed and messy, each one a wordless promise whispered in the heat of their mingling breaths. They part to breathe, panting heavily against each other’s lips and resting their foreheads together.
“I’m sorry” Yunho whispers, dropping small, apologetic kisses on Jaejoong’s mouth. Their eyes lock, and Jaejoong bites his quivering lip before grabbing the sides of Yunho’s head and pressing their mouths together again, murmuring idiot, idiot, Yunho, you’re an idiot, against his lips with heartfelt conviction. Yunho kisses back and lets him say, cause maybe he really is an idiot, after all, but right now he doesn’t care.
His hands wander underneath Jaejoong’s top to meet heated, sweaty skin, giving in to the compelling need to touch him, to see if he’s real. The lead singer’s heart flutters rapidly under his fingers, frantic like a caged butterfly, and Yunho brushes against an erect nipple with a gentle touch that’s a silent apology for his previous roughness.
Jaejoong’s hands slip under Yunho’s shirt, crawl up his back, eager to touch him, craving for contact. He’s a solid, reassuring warmth under his palms, the play of muscles and skin so familiar and yet so sweetly intoxicating. Hazily he wonders how long it’s been since he had the chance to touch Yunho like this, and realizes just how much he needs this physical contact, how much he aches for Yunho’s touch. He grips the younger man’s sides, spins him around so their position are reversed and press him against the wall, grinding against him with wanton eagerness.
Yunho lets out a long, throaty moan. “Jaejoongah” he whisper huskily “don’t”, but his tone speaks otherwise. Jaejoong lifts his lips from their nest against Yunho’s neck, looks down and smiles cheekily.
“Are you happy to see me or what?” he drawls, a little out of breath, and in a way that statement is so very true that Yunho just growls a ‘God, you have no idea how much I am’ and then rolls his hips against Jaejoong’s with the powerful, confident ease of an expert dancer. The lead singer mewls softly when their groins meet, and his hand ghosts across Yunho’s stomach and then down to the front of his pants. He undoes the buttons with deft fingers, slips his hand inside, thumbs the wet tip of Yunho’s erection and captures his lips to swallow his sudden moan. Jaejoong’s touch is hot, hot like fire, and his fingertips draw hoarse cries from Yunho’s throat like notes from a musical instrument, play on his skin like on a familiar score. He brings him to climax with few fast strokes, too needy to take things slowly, grinds against Yunho’s thigh and nibbles at the younger man’s lip as he comes in his pants and Yunho comes, hot and sticky, in his hand.
The lead singer collapses against Yunho, spent, and Yunho is grateful for the wall supporting him, because the adrenaline rush that has kept him going until now is abandoning him like a retreating wave, he’s grateful for the familiar weight of Jaejoong in his arms, for the way he holds Yunho close and presses tender, unhurried kisses to the side of his neck.
“Joongie, I really thought that – ” Yunho starts, but his voice cracks, turns into a rather pitiful sob which he tries to hide burying his face into Jaejoong’s hair.
“I know” Jaejoong whispers against his skin. “Me too.”
Jaejoong enters quietly in the room Yunho shares with Changmin and Junsu. The two younger ones are in his and Yoochun’s room playing some sort silly game that Jaejoong – for once – isn’t particularly keen on taking part in. The room is dark and empty, but the door leading to the balcony is open, so he grabs a blanket and goes out to join Yunho.
The band leader is sitting with his back to the wall, legs stretched out in front of him, and gazes at the beautiful canvas of softly glowing lights that trace the silhouette of Prague’s majestic castle and reflect in the river below. A silvery crescent glitters in the velvety blackness of the night sky, and for a while they just admire the view in silence.
“Hey” Yunho offers quietly, as a greeting, and Jaejoong turns to look at him.
“You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here” he answers, and dumps the blanket on Yunho’s head unceremoniously. Yunho grumbles something about uncouth people from under the blanket, and Jaejoong laughs, nudging Yunho’s calf with a socked foot.
“Make room for me” he says, and the leader looks up at him with a raised eyebrow.
“There’s all the room you need, Jaejoongie” he answers, with mock innocence.
Jaejoong snorts and drops down in the V of Yunho’s legs, resting his back comfortably against Yunho’s chest. Yunho chuckles into his hair, drapes the blanket over the both of them and reaches under to twine their fingers together.
“For a moment I thought manager-hyung wanted to chew your head off, before” Yunho says, amused, and Jaejoong pouts.
“It’s not fair” the lead singer replies in a whining tone “we both disappeared and yet I’m the one who got scolded harder.”
“That’s because he knows you’re the reckless one” says Yunho wisely, “while I’m the responsible leader who cares for his bandmates.”
Jaejoong elbows him in the guts. “In the end you got lost too. Sucker” he snorts, and Yunho laughs and pulls him close in a conciliatory gesture; the older man relaxes in the embrace, settling comfortably against him, and a cozy silence falls between them.
Yunho’s fingers play idly with Jaejoong’s hair, brushing soft brown strands aside to bare the graceful line of his neck, and his lips follow soon, eager for a taste of that milky skin. The lead singer’s got into the habit of wearing ridiculously oversized t-shirts as pajama tops, and Yunho finds out that he’s rather grateful for this because it allows him to bare his shoulder easily, to reach more of his warm skin. He plants soft kisses down the jutting line of his shoulder blade and latches his lips onto soft flesh, sucking until he leaves a gentle mark of possession imprinted on Jaejoong’s skin.
He rests his cheek against the older man’s back and listens to the slow beating of his heart.
“Jaejoongie – ” he whispers.
“Shh” says Jaejoong, and turns his head to brush his lips against Yunho’s hair.
“I’ll accept what you can give me” the lead singer murmurs softly “and I’m sorry for being so selfish.” His tone is mellow, subdued, sad, different from what Yunho is used to hear, and with a pang of guilt he realizes that he doesn’t want Jaejoong to sound like this. His Jaejoong is loud, sometimes bratty and sometimes sweet, always brimming with life. He’s strong and reckless and brash and Yunho likes him this way, even if sometimes he wishes he would think before acting.
“I didn’t mean those things for real. I’m sorry” he says sincerely, and kisses his apologies against Jaejoong’s white neck.
“I’m sorry too. For making you worry.” Jaejoong mumbles, and Yunho buries his face into his brown locks, breathes in deeply as if he wanted to imprint the singer’s smell in his memory.
“I don’t mind worrying a bit, if it means you’re here” he says “When I thought I’d lost you, today, I – ”
Jaejoong turns fully into the embrace to face Yunho, presses a finger to his lips.
“It’s over, now. Just don’t think about it anymore” He whispers, caressing Yunho’s cheek tenderly. “What you told me this afternoon was right, in some ways, and so was what I told you. So maybe we’re both wrong, I don’t know.” He grins, somewhat sheepishly, and Yunho chuckles and smiles back.
“You’re making no sense at all” he says with amusement, and cranes his neck to peck Jaejoong’s lips.
“But it doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy this, does it?” Jaejoong’s smile is softer, now, tinged with wistfulness, and Yunho understands.
“I’d like to give you much more than this, Jaejoong” he says with sincerity.
Jaejoong smiles, his fingers light as they thread through Yunho's hair. "We still have three days here. Isn't it enough for us?" The tone is confident, trusting, but the look in his eyes says that no, it's not enough, it will never be enough, but as long as Yunho is going to be there he'll endure the secrecy and the longing gazes and the painful lies they have to tell to protect each other and their bandmates.
Yunho smiles back – tries to – but his smile wavers, falters, so he hides his face in the sleek curve of Jaejoong's neck and nods shakily. His arms wind around the older singer’s waist to twine at the small of his back and pull him even closer, and in the warmth of his embrace he hopes, prays it will be enough.

...comments , anyone? <.<
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