Dark Room
by Rana Eros

Written to a not-so-very-bizarre-for-me soundtrack of "Rising Sun," Goo Goo Dolls' "Name," Sia's "Breathe Me," and a fair chunk of my A Perfect Circle and NIN collection. Betaed by Eliza, Brigdh, and Spring.

Jaejoong takes direction very well. Yunho sometimes thinks that, as much as his voice and his looks, got him this gig. He becomes a blank canvas in front of the camera, a mannequin to be posed as seductively or vulnerably as the photographer wants, a pretty doll for their fans to sigh over.

Yunho hates it. He hates the way Jaejoong's eyes become shuttered, the way every line of his body grows suddenly articulated, as though he's straining against a great weight, though he moves easily enough when instructed. Yunho hates the way Jaejoong gravitates toward the back of group shots until called forward again, the way Jaejoong never speaks up during interviews if he can help it. He knows it's terror that renders Jaejoong suggestible, silent, expressionless unless told to smile, to pout, to stare soulfully into the camera as though it contains the one thing he most wants in the world.

Yunho knows what Jaejoong most wants at those times. He wants to be done.

"Why are you in this business, then?" Yunho wants to ask, but he doesn't. He knows the answer. Jaejoong lights up on stage and when they're shooting vids, Jaejoong sings in the studio like his body will burst open with sound if he doesn't, Jaejoong holds onto the four of them like a life preserver. Jaejoong will do just about anything, Yunho thinks, not to be separated from them. From him. It's a heady feeling, but it also makes him crazy.

Their photo shoots sometimes seem to last for days, and Jaejoong's always dazed and shell-shocked at the end, responding to his bandmates with the same unthinking obedience he uses for the photographers. Yunho touches him; he's tense, every muscle strung taut, eyes glazed and breathing shallow. So Yunho pulls him in and touches him more, runs a hand down his back.

"Boo Jae," Yunho says, and finally Jaejoong looks at him, and the shaking starts. Stops just as quickly, and that's another thing Yunho hates. Even when it's just the five of them, Jaejoong will only let go so far.

So Yunho steers him toward a restroom, the bedroom if they're at home, whatever private space is closest; sometimes Jaejoong resists. In public, Yunho lets him get away with it these days, because he's paid for every time he hasn't in the past. Jaejoong is shy, and he is fragile, but he's not weak, and Yunho should need no reminder of that but that he remains unbroken in this business.

Which doesn't mean he doesn't fall apart and let Yunho pick up the pieces when he deems it safe, but his pride is a prickly thing. Yunho's learned to respect its sharp edges. So he abides by Jaejoong's wishes in public, simply stays near and alert for more serious cracks, waits until they get home to talk Jaejoong down.

If they start out at home, though, all bets are off. If Jaejoong resists at home, Yunho chases the others out, bolts the door, closes the blinds, says, "Nobody's looking, Boo Jae. No cameras, no interviewers. Just me."

"Just you," Jaejoong says this time. "Let the others back in. I'm fine."

"Look at me and say that."

Jaejoong moves out of Yunho's sight, and he can hear the restless circuit of hallway, living room, kitchen, and back. Jaejoong returns to him with set mouth and angry eyes.

"I don't need this."

"No," Yunho says, because he's learned the trick of it. He's learned the truth of it. "I do."

"Like hell. You always say that."

"It's always true." Yunho steps away from the door, raises his hand to almost touch Jaejoong's face. "Boo Jae. Jaejoong."

Jaejoong takes a deep breath, stays still as Yunho touches him, meets Yunho's eyes without flinching. He's trying to prove he's okay, Yunho knows, but Yunho knows it's also only a matter of time, now that Jaejoong's letting him touch again.

"You make it a bigger deal than it is," Jaejoong murmurs, and Yunho laughs a little around the angry stone in his chest.

"Oh, so you admit it's a deal now."

"It's part of the job."

"I'm not asking you to give it up."

"No." Jaejoong still doesn't move, but he's tensing up under Yunho's hand. "You don't want anything that simple." He takes another breath, lets it out. "Let it go, Yunho."

Yunho's patience snaps. He knows Jaejoong sees it in the widening of Jaejoong's eyes, but Jaejoong stands his ground when Yunho moves with slow deliberation, running his hand back to the base of Jaejoong's neck, closing the distance between them until they're pressed chest to chest. Yunho's on the other side of that pride now, and he's learned how to use it to his advantage.

Jaejoong raises his chin before Yunho can pull his head back, says again with more emphasis, "Let go."

"Not while you're holding on."

He kisses Jaejoong hard, and Jaejoong takes it, brings his hands up and clamps them down on Yunho's shoulders. Jaejoong pushes into the kiss, pushes into Yunho, and Yunho is bigger, stronger, but there's a force in Jaejoong that comes out in his voice and comes out in his touch and they are more evenly matched than anyone would think to look at them. Yunho is determined to win this time, but his victory is never guaranteed; usually, he considers that a plus.

He uses what weight advantage he has to back Jaejoong up, but Jaejoong twists until he's got the wall at his back, and Yunho can't push him anywhere.

Yunho pulls away from the kiss, snarls, "Like that's gonna stop me."

"Right," Jaejoong returns sarcastically, "because you've never fucked me up against the wall before."

"Maybe I should take pictures sometime. Think our fans would like that, Boo?"

It's a low blow, and a calculated risk, because Jaejoong might just hit him for it. But fear is still close to the surface, and all Jaejoong does is flinch away, ease his grip, and it gives Yunho an opening. He yanks on Jaejoong, turning them both around until he's the one against the wall, then pushes off it, down the hall and toward the bedroom.

He almost has Jaejoong through the doorway before there's resistance again. Jaejoong tries to break away, says, "Are you sure you want to do it in here? There's better lighting in the living room."


"Better check which is my best side for future reference."

"Stop it."

"Why? I didn't start it."

It's a wide open statement, but Yunho knows better than to take that bait. Instead he holds on, makes Jaejoong look at him, steps forward again until they're sharing breath. "Then let me stop it. Come down, Jaejoong."

"I'm not up!"

Jaejoong gives him a hard shove, but Yunho's prepared for it, braces against it and leans into Jaejoong and they stagger across the floor to land hard across one of the beds. Jaejoong gasps beneath him, and Yunho moves a little, keeps his voice soft as he says, "Liar."


"Breathe, Boo Jae."

"Don't call me that! Not when you--" But the shaking's started again, and the panting, and Yunho knows he's still furious but that too is part of the fear. "Don't."

"I'm sorry," Yunho whispers, presses his forehead against Jaejoong's. "Jaejoong, I'm sorry."

"You're not."

"I am."

"Not for this."


"Stop it." Jaejoong turns his head aside, closes his eyes, looks back up at Yunho and that look is devastating, devastated. "Stop it."

Yunho kisses him, keeps it gentle, careful, preliminary. "Okay, Boo. Okay."

Jaejoong shifts beneath him, and he makes the next kiss more thorough, more forceful, more demanding. Follows it up with another kiss, and another, running his hands down Jaejoong's body and working every sensitive spot he knows; traces the pierced nipple with his thumb, feathers his fingers down Jaejoong's right side, digs in just above both hips. Retraces his path as Jaejoong writhes, until he's cupping Jaejoong's face and mouthing down his jawline, his throat, licking the line of his collarbone to where it disappears under his shirt.

The shirt has to go. Yunho slides his hands underneath it at the hem, touches Jaejoong's skin and shifts so he can push the shirt up. Jaejoong's got him by the upper arms, though, and he can't get the shirt off unless Jaejoong lets go.

"Boo Jae," he whispers, doesn't have to say anything more before Jaejoong looks at him with half-lidded eyes, drops his hands and rolls his back, and Yunho loses track of how he gets the shirt off, but it's off by the time his brain re-engages after the feeling of Jaejoong moving under him like that. Jaejoong's tugging at the hem of his shirt now, so Yunho shrugs out of it, tosses it aside, then leans down to taste the piercing, tang of metal and sweat and skin, holds onto Jaejoong as he bucks, presses down on him to feel skin against skin.


Jaejoong sounds gratifyingly short of breath, and his hands knead restlessly at Yunho's back and shoulders before clenching in his hair as he bites down. Jaejoong's not given to a lot of noise when he's like this, but Yunho doesn't need noise. He just needs Jaejoong's trust, just needs Jaejoong to let him in, let him help, let him hold on when Jaejoong comes apart in his hands.

Needs Jaejoong to need him, so when he comes apart, there's someone to catch him too.

He tastes his way down Jaejoong's abdomen, skimming his hands over hot, slick skin. Jaejoong keeps hold of his hair, but doesn't hinder him, and he loves the feel of Jaejoong's long, strong fingers against his scalp. There are always people touching his hair, cutting and styling and dying it, teasing it out and spiking it up and weaving in extensions. Only Jaejoong touches it just to touch it, just to touch him, just to caress and connect. And maybe lay claim, but Yunho doesn't mind being claimed by Jaejoong.

It means he's free to lay claim in turn.

He darts his tongue into Jaejoong's navel, feels Jaejoong's fingers tighten in his hair, hears Jaejoong make a soft choking sound, and smiles, licking a path down to the waistband of Jaejoong's jeans. He draws his hands inward and undoes the fly, tugs pants and underwear down just far enough to press his mouth to Jaejoong's skin just above the base of his cock, branding him with heat and wet. Jaejoong's legs have drawn up on either side of him; Jaejoong's thighs press against his shoulders now, and he can feel Jaejoong's cock straining against cotton and denim. Jaejoong makes another inarticulate noise as Yunho bares his teeth, just a little, sucks in a patch of skin and worries at it.

Sometimes he thinks Jaejoong is afraid of disappearing under the weight of all those lenses, all that light, afraid of being locked in place with just one pose. So he forms Jaejoong with his own body, marks him where no camera will ever be allowed to see. Hides bits and pieces of him, inside, to be given back whenever Jaejoong fears losing himself. Yunho always knows exactly where to find him.

He's determined he always will.

Once the skin under his mouth is a dark, dark red, he moves on. Now he hooks his fingers in jeans and boxers and pulls them farther away and down until he's got access to what he wants. He could probably pull them off, but that's too much distance right now; it can wait. Now, he takes Jaejoong's cock in his hand and in his mouth, and it's another piece the photographers and reporters will never, ever get.

Jaejoong's still quiet, but the rhythm of his breathing changes as Yunho sucks messily, hungrily, tastes sweat and makeup and cologne. They are who they are, and even here they can't escape it, but the sweat anchors everything, underneath, and what shows up on camera is surfaces. That's why Yunho does this, to remind Jaejoong of the sweat.

He pulls back when Jaejoong starts shaking, and Jaejoong tightens his hands in protest, but Yunho just slides back up his body and kisses him deep while rummaging in the nightstand drawer. Finds what he wants and pops the cap, then whispers against Jaejoong's mouth, "Give me your hand, Boo."

So Jaejoong unwinds his fingers from Yunho's hair and holds up his hand. Yunho pours thick liquid into his palm, closes the bottle and sets it aside, spreads the liquid over Jaejoong's fingers as he goes up onto his elbow and starts to undo his own pants. Jaejoong releases his hair completely to help, and they spend a few moments with fingers intertwined in two places before Yunho has to sit up and slide the rest of his clothes off. He finishes stripping Jaejoong while he's at it, gets lubricant on the fabric but it's washable, straddles Jaejoong and guides his hand back.

"Hide inside me, Boo Jae," he'd said the first time, and they'd learned the way of it together.

They've gotten better, so Jaejoong knows exactly how to slide his fingers in, how to curl them and where to press so Yunho's whole body is thrumming with pleasure, better than dancing. And just this is enough sometimes, his hands on Jaejoong's face and Jaejoong's fingers in him and their mouths pressed hard together, their bodies rocking in tandem. Tonight, though, Yunho wants more, needs more. With as hard as Jaejoong fought, he thinks they both do.

He touches Jaejoong's shoulder when he's ready, and Jaejoong's fingers slip out, settle on his hip, and it's his turn to trust as Jaejoong guides him, moves beneath him and then inside him, hot and thick and perfect. Jaejoong tries to set the pace, but Yunho puts his dancer's muscles to good use, clenching and releasing. And Jaejoong could fight him, but they're never furious enough with each other to risk that kind of pain, so Jaejoong concedes this round.

That or he's finally far enough past the fear and anger not to mind letting Yunho call some of the shots. Even Jaejoong, stubborn as he is, is not immune to exhaustion.

Once they've settled into a rhythm, Yunho feels Jaejoong's hand slide from his hip to press between them. Yunho curls up just enough for Jaejoong to palm his cock, and it's not enough room for Jaejoong to get a good grip, but it's enough for Yunho to rub against his hand with each of Jaejoong's upstrokes. And it's Yunho's turn to fist a hand in Jaejoong's hair, press the other to his throat, and he's kissing Jaejoong everywhere he can reach, and Jaejoong is doing the same, messy, open-mouthed kisses, the kind he likes best. The kind that get under the makeup, the kind he thinks of as hiding them both.

Then Jaejoong sucks in a breath, presses his face against Yunho's and lets it out, stuttering, as Yunho feels liquid heat fill him. Jaejoong keeps moving with him, though, keeps touching and kissing him until he spills himself out on Jaejoong's skin, and that's another way of branding him, of laying claim. Of hiding a piece of him.

Yunho always has to fight the urge to protest when Jaejoong pulls out, but it's only ever to shift around until they can both lay comfortably on the bed, still wrapped around each other. Jaejoong presses his face into Yunho's shoulder, and if there are a few tears intermingling with the sweat when they get up to shower in a few minutes, Yunho doesn't say anything about them. The point, after all, is what's not seen, what's not set under the spotlight. And the tears will wash away, with the makeup and cologne and hair product and sweat, but they'll still be there, Jaejoong and Yunho.

That's the real point.


Dong Bang Shin Ki
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