Title: Nearly Perfect
Genre: angst, smut
A/N: It's obscenely long and probably close to some new level of epic FAIL. Probably not good enough, but written for yuxo -sshi with the possiblity of hickey!fic if i continued community.livejournal.com/hug______/3967
cross-posted at the hug community, so some people may have already seen this =D
He didn’t know what was wrong with him tonight. Maybe it was the pulsating lights. The pounding bass. The alcohol rushing through his veins. The world was a haze of choking smoke and blurring color. He wasn’t really one for these kinds of places, preferring the quiet and solace office desks and tedious paperwork. And yet, here he was, body moving fluidly in time to the rhythm of some mindless contemporary song.
Many of the other dancers gave him wide berth, unable to keep up with his flawless movements. A few were brave enough to sidle next to him and he gave them a run for their money, but he didn’t really pay them any mind. His mind was gone, taken by the music, unable to comprehend anything other than the beat of the song and how his body responded to it.
He loved dancing. It provided him the outlet he needed after spending an indeterminate amount of time grading papers and dealing with overly-hormonal adolescents. He loved teaching, had a passion for it that he couldn’t quite explain. It was sort of a love-hate relationship. And maybe he was power hungry or had some major control issues, but shaping the minds of impressionable young men and women was a lure sweeter than bees to honey.
The music changed, the upbeat melody of a pop song replaced by a loud, sluggish bass. It was slower, requiring skin on skin contact with the nearest available breathing being. Yunho stepped off the dance floor, the thought of multiple heated bodies packed into a compressed space giving him no enjoyment. He made his way to the bar, hard-liquor suddenly very appealing to his already confused mind. He sat there, waiting for the bartender to finish the round he was already making when a shot glass appeared in front of him. The liquid was a million shades of the rainbow and smelled like it could be pure, undiluted alcohol. It’s attached to a pale, manicured hand that’s joined to a handsome physique and an even handsomer face.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around here,” Jaejoong leans in close to whisper in his ear. It’s impossible not to be attracted to Jaejoong; the man practically oozed sex and sensuality. Every turn of the head, every brush of the hand, and every angle of his well-developed body—whether calculated or unconscious—grabbed your attention. A diminutive shudder coursed down his spine, reminding Yunho that the pull between them had always seemed stronger than most.
Yunho nodded, not pushing the man away, but not encouraging him either. Jaejoong had made his interest known from the get-go and they’d hooked up a few times before. But Jaejoong wanted more than Yunho could give, so after a couple of hits and misses, they’d come to the mutual agreement to stay friends. It didn’t, however, stop the slightly older man from reigning in his blatant sensuality and hitting on him at every turn. That, along with the fact that his job was more hectic so close to graduation, had kept him from frequenting the club scene.
“What brings you here Yunnie?” the pet name slipped from a sinful mouth to spread warmth across the already heated skin just behind his ear. It was hard not to just lean into the embrace so openly offered him. Yunho resisted Jaejoong’s lure only to fall short when his breathing hitched as sharp teeth nipped the tender skin of his lobe. He downed the proffered drink in one go, immediately regretting the action. He nearly choked as the liquid burned its way down his throat. Jaejoong’s amusement filled his ears.
Yunho glared at his companion, not appreciating the ridicule. Jaejoong didn’t seem to notice his ire, kissing his cheek before pulling on his wrist to a secluded gallery away from prying eyes. It was above the dance floor with a thin layer of glass muffling the deafening pump of music. Yunho sat without fanfare, familiar with his surroundings; he’d already spent many a countless night getting acquainted with the furniture—as well as with the man who brought him here.
“So tense…” Jaejoong came up behind him, rubbing stiffened muscles. Yunho welcomed it; now that he was here, he knew exactly where it would lead. “Post-pubescent adolescents giving you a hard time?” Yunho could have replied, would have, should have done something, except Jaejoong chose to emphasize his words by slipping a sly hand into his pants and caressing his cock.
It was already half hard—a testament to the other man’s seeping sensual magnetism.
“What do you say,” Jaejoong said, fondling his balls. “Let me make you feel good?”
Yunho didn’t reply, focused on Jaejoong’s handle on his member and trying hard not to imagine slender fingers, soft and youthful, but full of intent as they played with over his desk. His desk. At school. Thoughts that should have deflated his lust only spiked it harder. With the help of Jaejoong’s skilled mouth, Yunho came much too soon, guilt riding the edges of his orgasm and the name of someone he didn’t dare have spilling from his lips.
It gets worse. He haunts him like nothing else. He tries—tries so hard not to stare, not to follow, not to want. But it’s hard, almost like a physical impediment keeping him from doing what he knows he should do. He knows the older man is right, that there is some sense in his words. His grades can’t suffer. He can’t let this nothing between them become something. Not when it was already everything, eating him up slowly on the inside and even his logic isn’t work right these days.
Nothing. Something. Everything. What did it all matter when the professor had made it (painfully) clear that they weren’t anything?
As the days go by, Changmin finds that there are things that hurt. Try as he might, he can never really escape the pain. He wakes up in the morning, lives, breathes, goes to sleep, only to wake up to the same routine the next day. And all through that, in the midst of his daily life, he disappears. No, not physically, but he’s never really there—not fully. He’s become a shell, a fraction of himself.
He’s only starting to come back, just beginning to resume his old ways. He’s started to pick up his pens, the feeling of wood between his fingers is so alien and when was the last time he’d done his homework? He’s opened his books again, but he can’t seem to stomach much information these days and stops after a short while. It’s a meager start, but he’s trying. He laughs. He smiles. Tries not to let his eyes rest on one thing for too long.
The day of caps and gowns, and handing out diplomas draws near, and he gets better at what he’s done best his whole life. His grades are nearly perfect again, but he loses out on being valedictorian of their senior class to some new guy who comes from America. He’s Junsu hyung’s friend and seems nice enough, though a bit delicate looking, like he’d cry at sappy movies and a sad tune. Changmin doesn’t mind not being number one, knows that it’s his fault anyway and settles for third, losing second place to Junsu hyung of all people.
And everything’s perfect—nearly perfect, just like it used to be before he went a little insane. Today, he’d stayed after school, finishing up some last minute projects in some halfhearted, vain attempt to knock Junsu hyung out of second place. It was more his mother’s idea than his and he knew from the beginning it was futile. It was too late now. The grades were in, set, and finalized. He had no chance. Like a lot of things these days, Changmin doesn’t mind. Little by little he’s learned to accept that he came too late, or maybe he had no chance from the beginning—just that he refused to see it.
He waves a hearty farewell to the old librarian, owing it to her for the countless times she let him borrow more than one book at a time and staying far later than he should have. He decides to take the long way out to the front gate, a strange urge to reminisce taking hold of him. He walks through the empty halls slowly, slowly, remembering. He came here early, experienced high school, hormones, and adolescence at such a young age—maybe too young? He came in two years younger than everybody else, tall, gangly, unsure about everything except the schoolwork. He grew into it of course, was lucky enough to be welcomed, and not harassed, as he knew others would have been. But he was blessed with more than just brains, good looks and a little charm getting him by when his IQ did not.
He goes down the music and arts wing of the school, curiosity piquing when he passes by the choir room. There’s a piano in there and it’s being played; nicely, so nicely. He peeks in through the crack in the door and is surprised to see Mr. Valedictorian playing with his heart at his fingertips. He’s not alone, Junsu sitting close enough so that their knees are touching on the bench.
“Wow, Yoochun-ah, that was…” he hears Junsu say as Park Yoochun—Changmin remembers now—plays the last, melancholy chords on the black and white keys.
“Do you like it?” Yoochun asks, and Changmin can see the hesitation there, the uncertainty. He doesn’t quite recognize it, but he thinks he knows what it means. Changmin suddenly feels like he’s witnessing something he shouldn’t.
“Like it? Chunnie, that was amazing—I love it!” Junsu exclaims, eyes bright and too, too happy that it’s hard for Changmin to watch.
“Good. Because I sort of—I kinda…made it. For…you.” And it’s way too corny, and comes out like some cliché from another teenage movie, but Yoochun leans in plants a good one right on Junsu’s mouth. His hyung is stunned for a minute, but quickly gets the gist of it.
Changmin leaves, suddenly unable to watch anymore.
He’s walking blind now, eyes blurred as a wetness dampens his cheeks unbidden. His feet take a course of their own, Changmin not really caring where he’s going. Its’ unfair, he thinks, a pain in his chest where his heart used to be but is now some dry, shriveled up thing that refuses to beat. I wanted that.
He isn’t surprised when he ends up in a familiar classroom, one he’d come to know so well through his obsession. It’s there, in the empty hallway with tears streaming down his face and a pain in his chest that he decides.
I’ll get it.
Max—yes, the nickname is back—never ceases to amaze the teachers. In the past few weeks, he is perfection. His grades, flawless. His behavior, impeccable. His personality, enviable. He goes to each of his teachers, one by one, asking for extra-credit, and Yunho wonders when his turn will come. He’s heard the water-dispenser gossip and knows it will be soon. He waits, an odd mix of anxiety and anticipation warring within him.
He can’t deny the fact that something happened between them. It had been too enjoyable and he had been too willing. He didn’t regret it at all, even if he was losing sleep because of the guilt. Still, he had to admit that he’d left them at an awkward place. There were things left unfinished between them, and any day now, they’d reach the conclusion—the pinnacle—of what could only be called their sordid affair. And so he waits.
He doesn’t have to wait too long.
It’s a week before graduation when a knock sounds on his door and a tentative “Professor, are you busy?” follows. Yunho knows who it is without even trying. It’s the last period of the day and it’s his prep. He could have gone home early, but had an inkling that today would be the day. He’s a little relieved that he’s right.
“No, please come in Changmin-sshi.”
There’s an odd light in the younger’s eyes, kind of predatory, as if he knew Yunho was waiting for him. Yunho doesn’t miss the audible click of locks clicking into place. He isn’t surprised when Max takes out a familiar key and slips it into the double bolt. They’re locked in and Yunho can’t imagine their last confrontation any other way.
Max comes to stand beside his desk—beside and not in front of like most people would. Then again, Max isn’t like most people. That doesn’t change the fact that Yunho feels like a cornered animal, despite the open, amiable expression on his student’s face. As if they hadn’t been alone in this room before. As if it was normal to lock them both into the room. As if.
“What can I do for you, haksaeng?” There’s a slight twitch at the title, but Max is otherwise unresponsive. If anything, his smile seems to widen, his eyes become brighter, and his shoulders are more relaxed.
“I think you know what I’m here for, professor.” At that, Yunho is thrown off a bit, not expecting something so direct. At least not yet. A heartbeat and then, “Extra-credit.”
“Extra-credit?” His voice comes out wrong, kind of strangled, and he clears his throat. “Sadly, it’s too late for extra-credit. The grades are done and graduation is in a week. Any extra-credit I give you would be completely useless. Besides, I don’t think you need it.”
“You think of me?” The mask slips, just a little, revealing the dark intent behind them. Max doesn’t even try to cover it up, leaning in ever so slightly to expose his masculine profile. Yunho could not deny that Shim Changmin was at his prime. Young, strong, yet dewy eyed and sensuous all at once. A living, breathing anomaly.
“I think of all my students,” Yunho replies, not liking how breathy his voice sounds, even to his ears. “And I take pride in those who do especially well.”
“Am I one of them?” The question surprises Yunho; he doesn’t know how to answer, or where this is going.
“You know you do exceptionally well.”
“Then don’t you think I deserve a reward?”
Reward? “Aren’t you top three? I believe you will be receiving a trophy at the graduation. It’s not as big as valedictorian’s but—”
He’s interrupted by a frustrated growl and the mask comes off. Max’s face is no longer amiable and open. Its dark, and wanting, and—if Yunho isn’t careful—dangerous. “If I wanted a trophy, I would have worked harder,” Max breathes harshly, rushing the last steps to Yunho’s side and traps the older man in his seat. “But if it isn’t already clear, I’d like to re-state my thesis: I. want. YOU.”
Yunho is stunned for all of three seconds before common sense and his own righteous indignation hits full force. “You have no idea what you want,” Yunho says, shoving the younger man back, knowing that he had to fight fire with fire. He couldn’t let Max win. Changmin couldn’t win. “You think this is some cat-and-mouse game? You’re young Changmin-sshi, you don’t know what you want.” He stands, not even bothering to steady Max when he stumbles into Yunho’s desk. The urge is there though, his hand twitching to reach out and provide balance. It’s enough to give him the measure of his control, and he moves to the window, knowing he doesn’t have much.
It’s a futile attempt; he could only go so far in an enclosed room, and the fact is made known to him when Max’s voice sounds behind him, much too close. “You don’t know what I want either.”
Then, he’s being held from behind, a strong grip—stronger than he would have thought coming from someone as young as Max—pinning his arms to his side, rendering him immovable. Yunho tries to whirl around, to throw the younger man off, but Changmin has his youth and his height to his advantage. He budges—because Yunho isn’t quite so old—but not enough—because Max is just that young.
He expects a repeat of the first time, rough, demanding, and he’s a tad bit disappointed that the younger’s slender fingers hadn’t already jammed themselves into his pants. What he doesn’t expect, however, is the anxious stream of murmuring against his neck. He doesn’t recognize the words at first, they don’t quite register in his anger filled haze. But when he calms himself enough for them to make sense, it doesn’t match the position they’re in.
“I like you. I like you. I like you,” Max whispers against his neck. There are other words, a litany of pleading, a request for acceptance, all of which were so out of character for the arrogant, prideful young man Yunho had come to know. He’s completely thrown off, doesn’t know what to do with a begging Max. Yunho finds that he’s no longer struggling, too…shocked? Was that the word? He didn’t know how to respond. And so he doesn’t.
Max notices, squeezes him tighter before letting go completely. He steps away, but comes to stand face to face with his motionless professor. His eyes are more than a little red-rimmed and there’s a shine at the corner, but these are all irrelevant to Yunho when the younger man looks him in the eye and says, “I like you.”
Yunho’s mouth is strangely dry, the declaration making his saliva disappear. It takes more than one try before he can say anything remotely coherent. “Listen, Max—”
“—Changmin,” Max interjects, “My name is Changmin.”
“Changmin,” Yunho continues, no longer sure of himself but aiming not to show it. “What do you want me to say to that? How do I respond?”
“Say you like me to.”
“It’s not that simple,” Yunho replies. It’s harder to say—harder than it should be. “You’re a student. I’m a teacher. This thing, you and me, us—we can’t happen. Do you understand that?”
“Perfectly. Now, do you like me?” There’s uncertainty in his gaze, apprehension, but its mixed with such youthful determination that Yunho can’t help but say, “No, I don’t think you do.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Only because I don’t think you understood mine.”
“Oh, but I do,” Changmin replies. His eyes have taken on an odd light, one that Yunho doesn’t think will help their current situation. “You’re older than I am, worldly, experienced, and a teacher. I’m young, naïve, and a student. I have my whole life ahead of me. What we’ve done, what we’re doing, is wrong.”
“If you understand then what are you still doing here?”
“Because you don’t understand,” Changmin replies, a kind of heat resonating from him that Yunho can’t explain. “None of that matters to me. I like you and that’s all I care about.”
“You have a future,” Yunho iterates, anger beginning to stir again at Changmin’s stubbornness. “You’re an acclaimed genius. People have high hopes for you. If anyone found out about what we’ve done, you could be ruined. Do you understand that?”
“Yes. But I don’t care.”
And Yunho snaps. Goes just a little insane. The fury comes out of nowhere, the stirring anger suddenly flaring into scorching heat. He grabs Changmin, taking him by the collar of his crisp white uniform and shoves him up against the chalkboard. Its surprisingly nearer than he though and for that Yunho is thankful. He can’t think rationally right now; Max, Changmin, whoever—leaving his mind blank except for the anger swirling in his chest. “You don’t care?” He exhales onto the wall next to Changmin’s ear. He grinds his hips repeatedly, once, twice, and he can feel the younger man grow hard against him.
“Genius?” he sneers derisively, none too gently taking Changmin’s face between his rough hands. “You’re not smart at all, are you?” he asks, canting forward and rubbing himself against the hardness of Changmin’s member. It’s hot, forbidden, and so wrong. It’s completely warped, but Yunho feels himself grow hard with the thought. “Stupid, stupid Shim. Throwing away his future. And for what? This?” he emphasizes his point by thrusting into the hollow between Changmin’s legs, until the younger lets out an aggravated whine, the friction too much but not enough.
“You’re just a little slut aren’t you? You want me to f.uck you against the blackboard don’t you?” He says scornfully. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? To have me take you?” He leans in for the first time, ghosting his lips across the other man’s mouth, barely enough to be called a peck. “Raw maybe?” Changmin whimpers, need coursing through him like some voracious animal. He tilts his head, desperate to taste the older man. “Until you’re hoarse from screaming my name over and over?” Yunho doesn’t kiss him, denies him the simplest pleasure. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you?” the words are almost breathed into his mouth; that’s how close they are—but still too far.
Changmin nods, frantic. Shameless. Needy.
Yunho shoves him away by the head, a dull thunk sounding against the wall as it meets his cranium. “No.” he repeats, stepping farther and farther away from the winded Changmin. “If you want to ruin your future, then go ahead. But I won’t help you.”
He turns, eyes already on the key that would lead him away from his illicit desires, fully intending to leave when a vise-like grip catches his wrist and pulls. Quickly—almost too quickly—Changmin grabs the lapels of his shirt, a nearly wild look in his eye obscuring a darker need within him. “Not again.” He whispers, almost to himself and then his mouth is on Yunho’s stealing the kiss the older man had denied him earlier.
Yunho struggles at first, lust, and guilt, and the utter wrongness of their situation warring within him. It isn’t long before none of those win out, Changmin’s desperation making itself known and Yunho can’t deny him any longer. It’s too hard when his own ache is ripping through him with every rough slide of their mouths.
Somehow they find his desk and vaguely, Yunho thinks it’s appropriate. This was where they started, and it’s where they would end.
Like all the times they’ve done this, its quick and needy, almost impersonal with the way their hands tore at each other’s clothing. They only opened the necessary things, not bothering with the numerous buttons on Changmin’s uniform and the intricate knot of Yunho’s tie. Only pants, and zippers, and the overwhelming need that consumed them. Unlike the other times however, Yunho knows this is different; he’s sure that Changmin does too.
There’s guilt in every kiss he trails down Changmin’s throat and an apology follows from the younger man in the form of half-crescent moons digging themselves into Yunho’s shoulder. There’s want in every stroke, melancholy in every touch, and a fire—some deep, scorching flame—burning between them at every slide of their bodies.
Despite all his refusal, Yunho wants to make this last, savors the taste of Changmin’s mouth and marvels in every throaty moan and high-pitched whimper. It’s beautiful to see Shim Changmin like this. The young man was always so self-assured, prideful—almost arrogant. To watch him fall apart, bury his head in Yunho’s shoulder and whimper, “Touch me. Please, please, please. Touch me.” It’s like some sick fantasy come true.
Yunho acquiesces, slipping a slightly calloused hand into Changmin’s boxer’s and stroking the heated hardness he finds there. There’s a gasp as he circles the head with his thumb, Changmin thrusting into his hand a sure indication he wouldn’t last long. Yunho lets himself feel a moment of regret at only being able to give the young man these stolen moments. He deserved better than a quick f.uck in an empty classroom. He was so focused on Changmin’s pleasure that he didn’t notice the other unwind an arm from around his neck, palming Yunho’s own erection.
Yunho lets out a surprised groan, his attention averting to his own lust when Changmin does something with his hands that have him seeing stars. “Come with me,” Changmin says in a pant as he slides Yunho’s erection from the offending undergarments. He brings their hips closer until their cocks are pressed against each other, incredible heat emanating from the simple contact. It’s enough to drive both of them crazy.
Nodding his understanding, Yunho takes both their cocks in his hand and pumps them simultaneously. His hands are large and they fit—just barely. Or is it perfectly? Changmin doesn’t know, finding that coherent thought is nearly impossible when Jung Yunho has his cock pressed against Shim Changmin’s and it doesn’t really make sense that he can still remember names when heat is pooling in his gut, taking him so close to the edge of ecstasy that it hurts.
As expected, he comes first, barely remembering to muffle his cry of pleasure into Yunho’s shoulder. Changmin’s rippling shudders and muted sounds of rapture trigger his own release, Yunho unconsciously latching his mouth onto the younger’s shoulder to stifle his loud groans.
It ends with both of them leaning against the desk: tired, spent, but far from sated. There are no soft kisses as they untangle themselves from each other, no words, no sounds. But there are lingering touches, resigned expressions, and thoughts of what could have been. It stays but disappears immediately when Yunho moves to get a box of tissues from a drawer in his desk, only to find that Changmin has a packet of moist towellets and a change of clothes packed and ready. They share a small smile at the younger’s obvious prior scheming before looking away from each other to attend to their own ministrations.
When they’re finished, both are silent. There are so many words better left unsaid and I like you too is one of them. Yunho doesn’t say it, and neither does Changmin restate his earlier claims. The gap between them is too large and unable to be bridged. In the end Changmin turns to leave, casting one last glance, only to discover Yunho starting intently at him. The words the older man’s mouth refuses to form are clear in his eyes and Changmin accepts the admission with a resigned smile and a heavy heart.
He leaves, knowing he’ll never come back.
(Supposedly. Now, if you think you can handle a little more, high light the next three paragraphs =D )
That night, Yunho find himself in the welcoming arms of a familiar blonde, and for the first time—without the aid of any alcohol whatsoever—lets himself go. Jaejoong doesn’t question his sudden fixation with hurried hand jobs on precarious tabletops before getting on with the real sex, and for that Yunho is thankful. Somewhere across town, in a suburban neighborhood where there are white picket fences and cleanly cut grass, Changmin indulges in his masochistic tendencies. He lets Junsu steal his body heat as they lay beneath the covers of Junsu’s bed. Lets Junsu whisper and tell him haltingly about Yoochun’s song, Yoochun’s kiss, Yoochun’s everything. He listens carefully, ignoring the constriction in his throat and the sudden burn behind his eyes. He even manages a genuine smile of congratulations before claiming exhaustion and feigning sleep, only to lay awake for hours on end.
That morning, when Yunho wakes, he’s alone and doesn’t want to be. Instead, he finds a short note in a familiar messy script: Next time, I’ll leave my own mark. He doesn’t understand it, so he ignores it and makes his way to the bathroom for a long deserved shower. He takes his time, scrubbing away the last twenty-four hours as best he could. Afterwards, when all the soap is rinsed off, he still feels dirty. Its only when he’s given up on being clean that he notices the slight ache on his shoulder. He twists and turns in front of the mirror and finally catches the sight of bruised skin in the shape of a mouth not too far from his neck.
It’s bruised and aches to the touch, but Yunho finds that he never wants it to fade.
Somewhere else, around the same time, Changmin wakes to Junsu’s affronted squeal and endures a whole five minutes of his hyung poking and jabbing at his neck, waiting for his brain to wake itself. Its only when he’s fed up with being treated like meat at the market that he finally summons the strength to drag himself out of Junsu’s bed to where a mirror stands erect in front of the closet that he realizes what all the commotion is about. There, settled right between his neck and shoulders meet is a darkening hickey. Surprise, recognition, and then a sort of happy calm settles over him, giving him sufficient energy to evade Junsu’s prying questions. Later, when he’s home in his own room with the door locked behind him, he stares at it, unable to look elsewhere.
With an echo of sadness, Changmin finds that he wants it to stay forever.
The End. Seriously this time. =]]