Title: TRICK: Two Hearts [1/10]
TRICK: Two Hearts
It’s their first night in Paris, and Changmin doesn’t want to be the ass who’s really glad that Junsu is on another continent.
But Changmin is really glad that Junsu is on another continent, because it’s their first night in the City of Love, and Jaejoong has threatened death and starvation to anyone who so much as sets foot in his and Yunho’s hotel room.
He’s sure that the situation would be much the same with Yoochun and Junsu if Junsu were here, but Junsu is in Brazil and Changmin is here instead.
And Changmin would just as soon not spend his first night in Paris alone.
“That’s some view, huh?” Yoochun says, leaning out their window a little further to ash his cigarette, and shoulder-to-shoulder with him, Changmin hums something vague and watches the cars go by below them, unhurried and very my pace, like everything is in Paris.
Not my pace, he corrects himself mentally, smiling at the language quirk. Here’s it’s called laissez-faire.
“Amusing yourself?” Yoochun asks, taking a last drag off the cigarette and stubbing it out in the ashtray sitting by his elbow.
“Might as well.” Changmin looks away from the cityscape, back to Yoochun. “Unless you’re proposing alternate entertainment?”
It’s not A material, so far as lines go, but Yoochun doesn’t seem to mind humoring Changmin, leaning over to press their mouths together, tasting of smoke and coffee and some other things Changmin hasn’t learned the words for yet.
“What the hell,” Yoochun says when he pulls far enough back to draw a breath. “It’s our first night in Paris after all. Seems a shame to let it go to waste.”
Even though Changmin’s been thinking the same things and he knows Yoochun doesn’t mean it like that, it still sticks in Changmin’s chest a little, enough to make him remark, “If you’d rather save it for someone special…”
“Changmin-ah,” Yoochun cuts him off, reproachful. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
Changmin deflates a little, looks down at the dull, dying orange of Yoochun’s cigarette. “I know.”
Yoochun slides palms across Changmin’s cheeks, draws Changmin’s gaze back up to meet his own. “Come to bed with me?”
Nobody says no to an offer like that in Paris.
They don’t say much as they undress each other, trading more in kisses and brushes of their hands against skin than in words. They haven’t done it like this before, just the two of them, no rush.
“Laissez-faire,” Changmin murmurs, letting Yoochun’s hair slip through his hands slow, so that he can feel individual strands against the pads of his fingers. Yoochun lifts his head from where he’s been sucking lazy kisses along Changmin’s hip, mouth quirked.
The others would tease him, probably even call him a language whore, but Yoochun’s tease is so gentle it might even be playing along when he slides down a bit farther and breathes a warm “Bonjour” against Changmin’s cock.
Nice as it is, Changmin doesn’t really want any sort of tease tonight, and it isn’t long before he tugs Yoochun back up and wraps legs around his waist. What Changmin wants is Yoochun inside him, to see and feel only him for a little while.
He’d ask it in French if he knew all the words, but judging from the fierceness of Yoochun’s kiss, the Korean was good enough.
“Hey,” Yoochun asks in the few breathless seconds before Changmin starts to adjust, “we haven’t done it this way before, have we? The two of us?”
“Yeah,” Changmin realizes as he rolls the thought over in his mind, “you’re right, we haven’t.” Not that they haven’t done it with Yoochun on the bottom often enough, but it’s a pleasant surprise that Changmin still has a few firsts left, and he can have this one now, here, with Yoochun.
“Are you…” Yoochun starts, telltale waver in his voice, and Changmin reaches back to plant his hands against the headboard for leverage.
“Don’t cry, just move,” he orders, gently, but it’s still an order, and Yoochun obeys.
Yoochun kisses Changmin’s shoulders and throat as he moves, and Changmin’s mouth when he can reach it. It still isn’t fast, not even when they both start getting desperate, but it’s steady and deep, like the pulse of the city around them, the rush of their release in the end cathartic, washing deeply through them into places Changmin didn’t realize had been stagnant until now.
Heavy-limbed and lazy, Yoochun has another cigarette while they’re still sprawled against each other, dropping ashes on the sheets and laughing as he fails to brush them off because he’ll get scolded for it tomorrow. Changmin even takes a drag or two off Yoochun, even though it makes him cough, because it seems the thing to do in Paris.
Tomorrow they’ll be five again and things will be different, but then again it won’t be their first night in Paris anymore, and Changmin will be welcome in Yunho and Jaejoong’s bed while Junsu has his own first night. Tomorrow Changmin won’t begrudge Junsu the pleasure of soft-edged Yoochun smoking lazily in his lap, the smoke drawn out the window to break apart over the city.
But today Changmin is really glad that Junsu is on another continent, because he’s really glad to be exactly where he is.