[personal profile] maayacolabackup
Title: Soft
Pairing: Jaejoong/Yamapi
Rating: r for accidental consumption of drds
Summary: the world is spinning, just a little
Notes: drugs/aphrodisiacs #k_b because oh, that deadline is soon. (800 words)
Notes ii: this is not kaiyeol, baektao, OR krisyeol wip damnit.
Warnings: PLS DON'T READ THIS IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY DRDs. This fic isn't really about them, though, more the effect.

Jaejoong’s hands are hot on his thighs. Yamapi shivers, but he’s not cold. He doesn’t think he’s cold, anyway; maybe he’s hot. It’s hard to tell when he can’t keep his arms from shaking.

The world is spinning, just a little.

There’d been something in his drink? Jaejoong, airport, two beers, and then time slips through his fingers and there’s only the feel of Jaejoong’s hands through the denim of his jeans.

Jaejoong looks tired but his eyes are alert. Feverish. Worried. Yamapi can still taste the beer on his tongue and in the back of his throat. “Anyeonghaseyo,” he says, and Jaejoong laughs tightly.

Yamapi’s down a band too, now, since they last time they’d seen each other. Jaejoong’s down two members, and Yamapi’s down five. Maybe four, since Ryo doesn’t hate him. Probably. It’s hard to tell and Yamapi can’t think right now. He might be melting.

“Someone did a number on you,” Jaejoong says. Jaejoong sounds so good in Japanese. Better than Yamapi sounds in Korean. Better than Yamapi sounds in English. “I only went to the bathroom for five minutes.”

Yamapi had been distracted. He’d been thinking about how nice Jaejoong’s biceps looked in his black tee. About how Jaejoong has new lines around his mouth. So does Yamapi.

“I went on a road trip,” Yamapi says, or tries to say. His tongue feels heavy, and ‘went’ catches awkwardly on the ‘w’. Jaejoong doesn’t speak English. Jaejoong speaks Korean. “I like this bar.” It’s western themed. It makes Yamapi think of Texas.

“You won’t like it tomorrow,” Jaejoong says. “Someone drugged you.” Jaejoong’s hands have found his waist now, and Yamapi realizes Jaejoong is trying to hold him up. "You can't be that careless, Pi." He frowns. "You're so light."

“You’re just strong.” That’s Japanese. Yamapi’s nose itches. His hair is sticking to his neck. So is Jaejoong’s.

Jaejoong’s hair is solid black and just a little shorter than Yamapi’s. What’s it feel like? Yamapi thinks it used to feel like straw, but Korean idols and Japanese idols face similar plights.

“Pi,” Jaejoong says. “What are you doing?”

“Touching,” Yamapi replies, and Jaejoong’s hair is soft. So is his neck.

“S-stop,” Jaejoong says, and his mouth is pretty, Yamapi thinks. Pretty like Jin’s mouth used to be. Yamapi’s not supposed to think about Jin’s mouth. That’s in the rules. It’s in the rules right next to never mention what he did with Jin when they were sixteen, especially not to Nishikido.

Thinking about Jaejoong’s mouth isn’t anywhere in the rules, though, and Yamapi’s car is as safe a place as any. Yamapi’s still so dizzy.

“Yamapi,” Jaejoong says, and Yamapi blinks at his friend. They’ve known each other a long time, but Yamapi’s never seen Jaejoong’s skin turn this color of pink before. Yamapi wants to touch his mouth.

He doesn’t think about it, really. He just does, because his limbs are languid and sleepy and Jaejoong’s mouth is not against the rules.

It’s soft and wet and tastes like a different kind of beer—the dark import beer that Yamapi hates but that Jaejoong loves. Jaejoong had made him taste it once, five years ago, and Yamapi had spit it all out on the floor of the club and Jaejoong had laughed himself sick.

Jaejoong isn’t laughing now. His mouth is warm and slick and still, and Yamapi doesn’t like it still. “Why won’t you kiss me back?” Yamapi whispers against Jaejoong’s lips, and Jaejoong releases a low whine.

“You don’t even know where we are.” Jaejoong tries to shift away. “You keep telling me about your road trip. In half Japanese and half English. I’m not going to kiss you.”

“I’m in the passenger seat of my car. You’re in the driver’s seat.” Yamapi’s eyelids are so heavy. “I wanted to know what your mouth feels like.”


Yamapi presses his face into Jaejoong’s neck. He smells like airplane peanuts. It’s no surprise. Jaejoong’s suitcase is in the trunk and he’s still wearing the same clothes. They’d had two beers each. He’d picked Jaejoong up from the airport and Jaejoong’s hair is black and soft. Jaejoong’s mouth is soft. “Fuck it,” Yamapi says.

He leans forward and kisses Jaejoong again, and this time Jaejoong sighs a little resignedly, exhaling heavy and parting his lips so Yamapi can curl his tongue inside and lick. Jaejoong’s tongue is slick on his teeth, and Yamapi is cold—no, hot—and Jaejoong is sweet and also sour.

Yamapi lets his fingers wind into Jaejoong’s hair, pulling just enough that Jaejoong butes at Yamapi’s lower lip in revenge, and Yamapi likes that maybe; he’s not sure. He’s not sure of anything but the steady movement of his own lips and the way Jaejoong is so solid while everything else is lurching around him.

Jaejoong pulls away, and Yamapi whines, and he can’t even feel embarrassed about it because embarrassment seems to have gone the way of awareness and of feeling in his toes.

“That’s enough,” Jaejoong says.

“Can I try it again later?” Yamapi asks, burying his head in the curve between Jaejoong’s neck and shoulder. It’s a nice hollow. Yamapi licks at it and Jaejoong swears in Korean. Yamapi knows all those words. Jaejoong had taught him, years ago.

“Yes,” Jaejoong hisses, and then Yamapi hears the click of the seatbelt; it’s his seatbelt, and his cheek is cool because Jaejoong’s shoulder is gone. He blinks. The car starts. “Tomorrow if you want. Just. Not now. Not like this.”

Yamapi makes a sound of agreement, and lets his eyes fall close as Jaejoong starts to drive.

He thinks Jaejoong’s mouth feels a bit nicer than Jin’s. He puts his hand on Jaejoong’s thigh, and sleeps.

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