mäddy (cookiedealer) wrote in _starcandy,

[completed fanfic] the boy with the dead dog | 6 chapters

It has been brought to my attention that someone on here was looking for this fic but since I deleted my writing journal a few months back it has vanished from the internet. Thing is, I didn't really want this one to get lost in the dark abyss of the net (contrary to the other fics that were on that journal also), so I'm bringing it back.
It was originally posted in 2008. Since posting the fic as a whole is an entry way too large for lj I'll seperate it.
Comments are still welcome! :)

TITLE: The boy with the dead dog.
LENGHT: chaptered | 6 chapters + prologue/epilogue
AUTHOR: cookiedealer
PAIRINGS: Jaemin (main), Jaeho (in one of the later chapters | one-sided), mentions of Yoosu, mentions of Jaechun, mentions of Jaejoong x OC, Changmin x rich, old man
WARNING: language, violence, angst-y Jaejoong, clichees en masse, no seme/uke dynamics and of course lots of sex
GENRE: romance, smut, action
THANKS TO: narcolept_smurf for beta'ing
I'm not the best friend in the world and I'm not a good lover. To be exact I would probably be the worst lover ever known to menkind. I'm a whore... or call-boy if you want to know the exact term. I don't hear that term as often as 'whore' though so I'll just say whore. I sleep with men for money. That's what I do.


I stir the coffee with my spoon. Round and round and round and round.
The café is dimmly lit and I can't make out faces but I know that they're looking at me annoyed. I don't really care.
So I just continue to plunge my spoon through the black liquid and observe the tiny waves it makes in my mug. It looks like a tiny sea of black water. The coffee's too hot, I know that.
But i gulp it down. It rolls down my throat and burns its path there. It hurts and I can't supress the tears that form in my eyes. Fucking tears. I'm in no position to cry.
I wanted it. I wanted it to burn and to hurt because that's way better then the taste of sperm in my mouth and the knowledge that it is not from the person I love. I don't even have a person I love. I have people I like but love... that's a word far too big for me.
I'm not the best friend in the world and I'm not a good lover. To be exact I would probably be the worst lover ever known to menkind. I'm a whore... or call-boy if you want to know the exact term. I don't hear that term as often as 'whore' though so I'll just say whore. I sleep with men for money. That's what I do.
And guess what? I wouldn't want it any other way. It's easy to make enough money for a living. Or as easy it is to suck of one of the riches a day. Sometimes two a day. It pays off and okay, perhaps I don't really like it but I don't hate it either. It's just your typical job.
It's far better than what I did before. Know prostitution? It's a long and tragic story but in short:
Once there was a little boy who grew up with a loving mother, a crazy sister and a dog called Benny. And his father, who was one of the richest guys in the fucking whole country. The boy liked his father, and the father liked his little boy and it's really not like in all the stories you read. He didn't beat the boy up as a stress-reliever and he didn't fuck him as a stress-reliever either. (Now you know that I'm not your typical uke...) That boy was me. The one with the happy life and the happy dog.
But then the boy (or me as you know now) noticed something about himself. And that was that he never grew out of the 'girls have cooties'-phase because he, tragically and shockingly, didn't like girls but boys. Yes, the little boy was a fag and because that rips apart the whole image of a happy boy with a happy dog in a happy house with a happy, grinning sun in the corner. He wasn't that happy anymore. And he wasn't that little anymore either.
And because he wasn't little and he was mature enough not to slit his wrist (or mature enough not to die because of that) he went on with his life and didn't tell anyone. He wanted to keep his happy dog and live in his happy house with his happy life forever. It didn't go that way.
The mind is strong but the flesh is weak. And the boy's schoolmate was fucking hot. Eventually the boy's father found out and sent his boy far far away from any gay influences. His son would never be gay. Never ever and no way in hell! But the boy's father was wrong. His son was gay and that wasn't exactly the end of the story although it could've been.
But the boy wouldn't have been the boy if he didn't go one step too far. Always one step too far. The boy went to study art. Yes, art of all things! He knew he wouldn't make money but he didn't care either. He wanted to get away from his unhappy family, his unhappy house and his unhappy life. (His happy dog had died a happy death of old age.) And the boy moved to Seoul on his own and all alone.
At university he didn't really study but party a lot more. On one of those parties he came in contact with drugs and that was... like the point where his whole life went down the drain. Drugs meant also lack of money for other things what meant lack of confidence what meant more drugs and then the fuck for money in the back of a night-club wasn't that far away. The boy became your typical drug-addicted prostitute who walked the streets everyday for the next fix. Except that he was prettier than your typical drug-addicted prostitute and then someday a guy with the name Tibor came and made him a call-boy for the rich and famous. Or not so famous but at least they were rich.
So nothing much has changed... I'm still a prostitute but the term for my job has changed and I don't fuck for drugs anymore. Yeah, I'm clean now thanks to Tibor, my rescuing angel. Pfff... rescuing angel but yeah I can say that Tibor is most likely the only guy I ever loved. He showed my that I was not made to be a lover although I had a good time with him and I bet he enjoyed fucking his pretty stray-dog too.
Anyways now I fuck the riches and it's still filthy and all the other things one could say but, hell, it's not that bad when there is caviar and the right amount of expensive wine.
I gulp down the rest of my too hot coffee, pay and wander the streets for a while before I have to go and earn my money. I listen to the rain and can't quite shake the feeling that something might happen sometime soon. But those feelings usually go away after a while and most of the times nothing happened.
In one of the many shop windows I see a little boy, a pretty stray-dog with his black hair framing his delicate face, sensual lips and a cute nose. He isn't girly but he isn't manly and that's what drives his clients crazy with want. Or maybe it is that he looks undeniable sexy.
I like how I look... most of the time at least. Of course I know the things on my body and face I don't like but I also know that most of the people would want to sleep with me and hey, that's what I am for, ne?
And then it's time to go and I have to say Goodbye to Jaejoong I leave him standing at the corner, put on my mask and change my name and then I'm ready. I'm the whore for the rich and not the little unhappy boy with the dead dog or "Jaejoong" anymore.

Chapter 1

He's pretty, I note. He's really fucking pretty. Especially now that his face is a mask of sheer lust. His eyes are shut tightly but his mouth is wide open and panting. As I look down at him I see brownish hairs sticking to his face and his erotic body glistening from sweat.
He moans and it's such a pretty sound that I just have to slam in harder. He writhes, he pants, and he moans. He's so fucking pretty.
His mouth... Oh God! His mouth. Those rosy-red, full, sensual lips quivering with every thrust I make. He's close to the edge but he's been there for a while now. I know how to make it last. Just a little longer.
A moan from his erotic lips, wanton. It drips with sex and perhaps there is a little desperation. I know... He wants to come. But the old man paid me for making it last. He wants a good show. And I'm giving him a good show as it seems. Judging from how he pants, sitting on his expensive couch with his cock in his hand.
The pretty boy underneath me releases a strangled sound of pleasure and the old man gasps. I decide to give him a special something extra for making me fuck his little kitty because that's far more pleasant than fucking him.
My eyes lock with his and his breathing quickens. That's all it needs for him to get just a little more turned on. But he is so disgusting... I have to turn my gaze to the little, pretty kitty underneath me.
Yes, I'm used to people like the fat, old man sitting on the couch and I can bare it... usually. But now there is this boy (he seems young) and hell! Everybody would look at least a little disgusting compared to him.
The little kitty releases another moan and presses himself onto me, burying my cock even deeper inside of him. It throws me off and I can't help the gasp that forms on my lips (the old man groans) but it doesn't throw me off for too long.
I decide that it's time for the little kitty to come already. Not because he has begged enough (he hasn't) but because I'm fucking close too. I wasn't prepared for this at all. I thought that I had to fuck the old man and not this boyish, pretty...
He comes with a whimper, throwing his head back and it looks like a scene from a porn. Trashy but oh so erotic. And then I'm at the peak too. I exaggerate my orgasm a bit but that's just how the old man likes it.
I let myself fall forward and let my head rest on the kitty's chest (a nicely sculpted chest). Then I moan my porn-moan, long and deep while my whole body shudders. I hear the old man and then my body goes limp. It was good sex for once... And the first time I had fun while working... (What a stupid job, I think.)
As if to thank the pretty kitty I lick his nipple but he doesn't show any reaction. Well, whatever... If he wasn't that pretty I would pity him. In a way we're very much alike. Although I like to think that the people my clients keep as their pets and sex-toys are even lower than me.
Of course... they're officially their lovers and I'm officially their whore but I wouldn't change 'whore' for 'lover'. They're prostitutes in a way, too. No matter how often they say that they love the old rich man, I know they only love his money. Just like me.
The only difference between the little kitty and me is that he's sitting in a golden cage and he's going to be lost when he's set free. I am a visitor, I come and I go (with my money of course). That's why I think they have an even worse life than I do. As soon as their 'lover' is tired of them they're thrown out of their home and have to fend for themselves. Maybe I will meet them on the streets or even at the agency (I think the agency is a really fucking pathetic name for 'the home of the call-boys'). Why am I even thinking about stuff like that?
I begin to rouse, removing my head from his sweat-slicked, warm chest and look at the old man. He's grinning one of his supposedly perverted grins but it looks like a hamster is sitting in his cheek and lifting one corner of his mouth from the inside. "Did you like it?" he asks. What a question! Who wouldn't like it? And he doesn't ask me when he has fucked me raw... Fucking fat-ass...
I guess he just wants to know if I'm envious of his new sex-toy. I'm not... or maybe I am but that's no reason to keep this boy like a pet. I'd never do something like that. "Yeah, I did..." I say, stretching my body just that little more and touching the kitty's chest. I stroke my way down to his navel and he shivers. "He makes pretty sounds... really pretty."
And he does. I'm not lying... He makes the prettiest sounds I've ever heard from a man (or boy) and the more I think of it the more I want to hear them again. He's really nothing special but I'm interested in him nonetheless. I think the only two special things about him are that he is really pretty and.. he's male. I've never seen a male lover in the bed of my clients up to today. And I really don't like pleasuring the female loversof some of my clients. I'm gay... that will never change... I acknowledge the fact that some of the female lovers are really pretty too but to me they're much too... soft and they smell like soap, not sex.
The boy looks up and straight into my eyes. And I thought I could glare people to death. Holy...
My hand seems to remove itself from his chest in shock. Why does he glare at me like that? I would've expected a smug grin at most but that...throws me off. I hate it when people don't behave the way I want them to. Usually people do what I want them too although they think that it's the other way round. And there comes this boy and... "Whore!" he spits. If I wasn't that shocked I would laugh. Really. Really. Loud.
First he's practically begging me to fuck him and now... he... that's just priceless. Just priceless.
The old man seems not to approve of his kitty's behavior. "Changmin!" he shouts. "Get out of here!" I can't help the grin that forms on my lips as I see him grabbing the bed-sheet and stomping out of the room, not without shooting me another glance full of hate.
"I'm sorry... He's not as well behaved as I'd like him to be..." the old man apologizes in a sincere, business-voice. It's quite comical, seeing that he sits on his couch half-naked. "Ah..." I wave aside the apology. "I don't mind besides... I used to be like that, too." And I make a note in my mind not to forget his name: Changmin... that's his name. It kind of fits. "Oh, really?" the old man asks and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Is he trying to hold a normal conversation with me? That's even more bothersome than his staring at my naked body. But he pays me so I have to please him.
"Yeah, I was young and bratty... Just like your little boy..." And then I stretch my body again showing him my nice side, spans of milky skin, and stroke some of my hair out of my face. The old man gets a hungry stare in his eyes... Maybe he'll pay me extra. I'd appreciate it since my micro-wave decided to say goodbye to me yesterday and went to serve the angels in heaven.
And suddenly I feel the urge to go home and cuddle up to my best friend. For a second or two I'm absolutely sick and tired of this job and of pretending to be sexy, naughty, and whatnot. Sometimes I really want to be who I am (Jaejoong to be exact)... Not just a wet fantasy of the richest quarter of Seoul. Just a few more minutes... then I'll be gone. I get out of bed, grab my clothes and crawl between his legs to press a sloppy kiss to his lips. "I have to go..." He reeks of expensive tobacco and perfume. I don't like this smell at all. The old man smiles and reaches for his wallet.
Oh, yes! Now he has hit my pleasure-spot. If there even is something like that... then mine is money. "Take the extra money for the trouble my boyfriend caused you..." Boyfriend, I think, That's a weird term for the little kitty. But I don't care... The boy is nuts anyway. I take the money, reward him with another kiss and then I start to slowly dress with his eyes on me.
He likes how my milky skin disappears under the thin cloth of my shirt. He's kind of weird. I would've thought he'd enjoy seeing me undress but it's the other way round with him. I have to admit that I kind of like his weirdness. There can be painful weirdness, like one of my other clients. When he has a bad day, he likes to whip and torture me (it fucking hurts like hell and burns for days) and when he has a good day, I have to torture and whip him. I treat him like a dog and he goes wild. Humans are disgusting... So I'm thankful that the old man's weirdness is so weird it doesn't have to hurt. Well, most of my clients are a little weird.
I spot the little kitty...No, Changmin on my way out. He sits in the hall with the bedsheets wrapped over his naked body and then and there he reminds me of myself. He looks even younger in the pale light of the many lamps and it breaks my heart for a second. Just for a second though, then he glares at me with those black eyes of his and my heart is back to normal. He looks so lost and perhaps he is. I force myself not to care. I have my own stuff to look after. I can't be the good guy. I'm just not capable of being the good guy... I tried... but being the good guy always had me heart-broken in the end. Like the thing with Tibor....
And then I'm outside and the rain starts to soaks my hair. The rain always leaves me with melancholia all over my heart and perhaps that's the reason why I want to go back inside, slap the old man and run away with the little lost kitty. Why is that? Is it because I see myself in him? Even if it's just a little... he reminds me of my younger self. The younger me, that stood in the cold, shivering and looking cheap, wanting to be bought. Ah, that's fucking pathetic...
And perhaps... just perhaps it's just that it's raining and he's so fucking pretty. I have to get home...

chapter 2

Our shared apartment is as quiet as a church when I arrive there. No light, no sound except for the clinking of the key on the glass table. My footsteps are loud and lonely in the dark apartment. The sound of the rain is muted to a mere whisper, although you can clearly see it sliding down the buildings. Where is my fucking best friend when I need him?
I find him in the living room curled up and clutching a rug in his arms like a baby. He looks peaceful and content and a smile appears on my lips. It's rare to see him like that. My best friend is always collected and cool, at least that's what he shows to the people on the outside. As I know him, he's the most emotional person on the face of the earth. He and I, we fit together. I tend to let my temperament get the best of me and then I cuss and hit and hiss like a stray-cat gone mad. He's the one to bring me down back to earth and protect me from the wrath of my opponents. He always thinks before doing something, I don't. And although I always get him into trouble and get on his nerves he loves me and that's where I reward him for what he's given me. I love him.
And that's all I have to do.
It's easy to come to love him, I knew that from the beginning. I met him in my time as a street-whore... He was one of my clients and now that I think of that, I find it almost funny. How could we possibly become best friends? It's some kind of miracle but I've long stopped to wonder since my whole life seems so warped and like a dream.
It was in one of those dusty clubs downtown in the middle of a cold winter. A winter so freezing we prostitutes couldn't stand outside so we had to go to the clubs to earn our money. The clubs were stuffed with dirt from the streets and that's where I met him. At the bottom of my life I danced. And he danced with me.
I was high on ecstasy and the whole club was a blur of color. And he was there too. Dancing like there was no tomorrow and never would be. We lapsed into a much too sensual dance, skin brushing and eyes meeting over those little funny dots (probably drug-induced hallucinations). And then he asked me to go outside and fuck. Of course he would've never used those words but I knew that he meant them.
We had a sloppy and drunk one-night stand outside in the snow. The cold on my skin didn't help much to cool me off and after it all happened he left his cell number like he truly wished to see me again. Such lies almost made me cry but that was probably because the effect of the drugs wore of. I don't remember that all to clearly.
But I remember the panic of the next day. We forgot to use a condom and although at that time I thought I wanted to die I didn't want to die of this fucking illness every prostitute died of in their clichéd little world: HIV.
No slow death for Jaejoong (although drugs meant a slow death too). So I called him. To me calling him seemed like a crime against the unwritten law of one-night-stands. But I had to. After a few rings he picked up, puzzled. "Hello?" Yes, it had been a fucking lie. "Uhm... It's me..." I said and then remembered that he didn't even know my name. "My name's Jaejoong and I was your one-night stand." All he said to that was: "Oh." I remember that. And I remember how I thought that it was funny and that I had to supress my laughter although I wasn't drugged at that time. Silence followed and then I blurted out why I had called in the first place. "Are you clean?"
I don't know why but the next day we met at a café. Maybe it was the need to do something more pleasant than asking if the guy who fucked you last night was HIV positive... or maybe it was the relief that followed when he said he wasn't. Until one second before he came I debated with myself about leaving.
I stayed till he came.
And maybe that was the point when we became friends. Really... I can't remember any point in our friendship that seemed so clear and bare of all sexual feelings. Of course we are just friends but we kiss and touch nonetheless. I'm used to touches and he... he's just him. He needs to be loved with every fragment of my body and soul. That's just how he is... Just like I am just how I am... But after all the kisses and touches neither of us can deny the lust. Sometimes...
After our date (kind of) in the café we did everything together although at that time we didn't know where we wanted to go with our relationship. We had this idea that we would be the savior for the other but that didn't go like we planned it. After being together for roughly a month he caught on and disappeared from my life. Or rather, he intended to. To my luck and perhaps his that was exactly the time this Tibor guy bought me and forced me to go to detox.
That fucker... I like to think that he was the one who killed the last bit of the naive boy in me. Of course that's not the truth but at least it's pretty fucking close. I guess saying that he got lost on the way is just not dramatic enough for me. He broke my heart, okay . But... he didn't break me. Truthfully... I really don't want to think of it.
My best friend to be was there for me. Maybe that was just his gentle nature or maybe everyone would've been willing to help considering that I suffered a whole fucking lot and on top of that I'm a drama-queen. In case you didn't know... detoxification doesn't feel good at all. I was nauseous all the time and my lungs hurt like hell. That's how I experienced detoxification. I was miserable and yeah, sometimes I even thought (and said) 'Maybe it's better to die...Ugh!' In exactly that tone. I really thought I couldn't do it but he was there (as opposed to Tibor) and scolded me for being so pessimistic. I didn't have a family as a motivation. But after I was clean I had a best friend.
That's how it happened, yeah. A nice story to tell... You could probably make a movie out of that... or write a story about it. But I wouldn't approve of that. That's my life and I don't want everyone to know what I've been through. Maybe one day when I'm old and look at all of that in a different light. Ah I'm drifting off.
"Ah, you're home..." he says rubbing his eyes. He looks kind of cute with ruffled hair and really... like a child perhaps. My hand finds its way into his hair automatically.
"Yeah... so how was your day?" I try to start a useless conversation while arranging his hair. He yawns.
"Frustrating... Very few customers and the boss was really bitchy about everything. I had to clean the whole restaurant. Seems like no one wants to eat chefs pasta in Seoul. At least not today." He makes a face, then laughs. "Pretty uneventful, so to speak."
To make a good conversation he should ask me how my day was but he doesn't. He never does. I don't know why exactly he doesn't but I guess it's something about the fact that I sleep with men he doesn't know that irks him. Or maybe that I already did when I was fucking him? Whatever it is... it makes him avoid the subject of my job like the plague.
But for me, that doesn't mean I can't talk about it.
"I met a really pretty boy today." I say and watch how he gets up from the couch to stretch.
"Oh, really?" he doesn't ask me out of interest. Just because I expect him to ask, I know that. "He called me a whore..."
Hedoesn't answer.
"I'm used to it but it was kind of funny. I almost laughed."
"Almost..." comes his answer. "I'd have expected you to cry, really..." He shrugs making his way to the kitchen. I follow him.
"Why cry?"
"Hmm... Maybe because it was one time too much? Or because you tend to take thing to your heart when they come out of a pretty boy's mouth." He locks his gaze to mine and raises a brow. "Am I not right?"
"You are... but really it didn't hit me as hard as it was probably intended to."
He smiles at me. "Don't play the tough guy. I mean, I know you're tough and all but you're not as tough as you pretend to be."
All I can answer to that is nod.
Then he comes closer to me and wraps me into his arms like a baby, kisses me full on the lips and doesn't let go until I'm feeling better. That's probably why Yoochun is my best friend. Just like that...

The next time I meet Changmin is after the old geezer has fucked me. I feel miserable, my ass hurts and the clothes I'm wearing are a) much too thin and b) don't really cover most parts of my upper body. It's cold.
And there he sits in his warm woolen pullover, stuffing an apple into his mouth. As he sees me he immediately stops mid-motion and that looks really stupid. To my horror I note that it's cute. Cute!
Cute is a word I'd never use on a guy I saw in orgasmic bliss and then only. His white pullover contrasts against his tanned skin and makes me think of sunny winter-afternoons cuddled on a couch with Yoochun. I wave my hand at him and wink.
"Hey, pretty. How's it going?" I ask. I should fucking scold him for calling me a whore. I don't. The look in his eyes stops me. He lets the apple sink to his hip and averts his eyes to the ground.
"I'm sorry..." he murmurs and if his voice didn't bounce of the walls I probably never would've understood him. "You know, for last time." His gaze begins to shift to a point somewhere on my face, but never my eyes.
"I guess I was just embarrassed. You know, I felt humiliated and stuff... That's why I..." I nod and wave it aside.
"I'm used to it." I say.
"People always label me as a whore and besides I can kind of understand your feelings. Truth to be told, I felt pretty good so I didn't really care right then. I liked fucking you more than the old man." I roll my eyes and he laughs an embarrassed laugh. He really seems young and inexperienced. Or he likes the dirty talk, that's become so normal for me. His cheeks tint deep red and then he says something I wouldn't have expected.
"Me too..."

chapter 3

I know I promised him but I'm so tired and the only thing I really want to do is sleep. No chance of going to this stupid party. I roll myself around in bed a bit more and watch how Yoochun races back and forth trying to find his 'fucking shirt'. Pacing up and down the same room doesn't really make it appear from thin air.
Especially not since it is my room and I didn't take his shirt.
But I'd never say that. I like the view of him going around my room shirtless. So my eyes follow him like a
hunter stalks his prey. Although he isn't my prey. That will be someone... later on at the party because I know Yoochun will drag me there even if he has to throw me out of bed and carry me there. And I'd rather be styled than in my pajamas (or well... no pajamas at all since I sleep in my boxers...) when I go there.
I get up from my bed and stalk over to Yoochun who's now looking at me with sorrowful eyes. "My shirt's gone... Now I'll have to prepare a whole new outfit!" he whines and flails his arms through the air.
"Have to? I think the girls would eat you alive if you go like you are now..." I say stroking down his chest to his navel where I replace my hand with my lips. He shivers but stays still as I suck on the soft skin, feeling his muscles move under my lips. We stay like that for a few blissful moments until he lets out a chapped breath and lifts my head until I stand right in front of him looking him in the eye.
"What's up with you?" he asks and his eyes say that he really doesn't know.
I whisper a 'Don't know...' to his lips and then decide to silence him before he asks more unpleasant questions. We share a long and slow french kiss and I know that's enough for him. As a substitute for an answer or not, I don't care...
After our kiss he backs away and groans. "Can I borrow one of your shirts? I think your idea isn't all that great..." I shrug and walk over to my stuffed closet. Yoochun always says that I have too many clothes and sometimes I have to agree with him. But then there comes the time when I have to find pants that match with exactly THAT shirt and I think: "Fuck... I need more clothes..."
I open the door of my closet and hope that the clothes don't bury me under them as they fall. They don't but that's more due to the fact that I'm used to opening my closet than my luck. I motion my hand towards the mess of shirts (I think...). "Take one... I'm off to shower."
"Thanks, Jae. Now I'm definitely gonna get laid tonight." I hear him shouting after me and I chuckle.
So we had the same plan for the party. What a nice surprise. This way he won't be too clingy. Maybe it's going to be a good night after all. Maybe I'll try to seduce one of the wallflowers and make them blossom... Maybe... I like a challenge once in a while. I'm a pro after all...

The club is almost as stuffed as my closet when we arrive there. Yoochun immediately makes his way to the bar. That's his territory. He's good with words so it's only natural for him to go to the bar to flirt. And I...maybe you already noticed... I'm not good with words so I have to use my body and my face for my advantage. So I head to the dance floor. Screw the wallflower-thought. I'm to exhausted for a challenge...
Or just too moody. Today I'm almost weirded out by how often my mood swings. I even had to change three times before I found the perfect outfit. And on our way to the club I noticed that the first outfit fit me so much better than the one I'm wearing now. How fucking frustrating...
Then I see something that catches my attention. A boy, dancing in the middle of the club like he was all alone. Many girls are watching him as he moves his hips to the beat. His arms are thrashing through the air and his dance (although danced on an upbeat song) looks graceful and sensual. And sexy in a way I can't quite comprehend.
But all that is not what rouses my interest. It's that he looks awfully familiar. I know him. I fucking know him although it's been a while since we last met.
Yunho. The guy from university. The guy who was after my ass the whole half year I spent with him in university. My ex-roomie. I decide to watch him for a while, his hips mesmerizing me. Wow, he couldn't do things like that when we were in university together. He turns and a part of his upper body is exposed. My mouth dries in appreciation (yeah, that's what it is...).
And that's exactly the moment he looks my way and... gapes.
My lips form a smirk as I wave at him, only a little. It's not as if I want him, I tell myself. The girls in the crowd are now piercing me with envious stares. I think they're going to kill me if I make a move. But Yunho doesn't seem to notice. He beckons to me and I don't have to be told twice. So I walk over to him, concentrated on looking sexy and I know I'll have to dance to get his full attention. So I do just that.
I know I can't rival him in dancing but I also know that he doesn't care as long as I swing my hips in the way I do. I know how irresistible I can be when I try. And I'm trying. Not too hard though... that would be too obvious. I think I won't have problems getting Yunho into bed. I'm a pro, you know?
After five minutes of dancing our bodies are so close I can feel his hardened nipples through the fabric of his thin shirt from time to time. The crowd doesn't stare at us anymore although I feel the gaze of a few pairs of eyes on us every now and then. Well, who wouldn't watch? In shock or in fascination. Two hot guys almost having sex on the dance floor attract attention of both kinds.
That doesn't bother me at all with those miraculous hips close to mine and those hands on my chest rubbing my nipples. God, that's almost too fast for me. Almost. All I want to do is go somewhere more private and fuck him senseless. Or be fucked. At the moment that doesn't matter at all. Nothing matters.
But Yunho doesn't stop dancing. I know he is a dancer but hell! I can tell how aroused he is... And it makes me wonder if perhaps we're not supposed to do it... ever.
We did have half a year and a room just for the two of us and nothing happened. Why should it happen now after just five minutes of dancing? Because now we're fully grown men? Because seemingly he said goodbye to the hope of being with me romantically? A thought strikes me. Maybe he didn't and that's why he doesn't have me with my back against a wall by now... Shit! Fucking romantic guys! Good for nothing...
I lean forward to whisper him my thoughts. "Yunho, why..." I begin but never finish the sentence as I see another familiar face not so far away from me. It's the kitty and he's dancing, too. That's not all. He has almost the same expression on his face as he had while I was fucking him and it's such. a. fucking. turn. on. I feel my breath catching in my throat. Yunho stops dancing upon noticing that I don't move anymore and looks over his shoulder.
He notices Changmin and creases his brows. "Do you know him?" he asks turning his gaze to me calmly although obviously confused. "You shouldn't consort with someone like him. He's some rich guys fucking-boy, you know? I think knowing someone like him wouldn't do you good, Jae."
Does he worry about me? He should worry about the kitty instead of me. I'm more fitting for the title: "The guy your mommy always warned you of". Although I have to admit that it fits him pretty well too.
I look at the kitty, then Yunho. Why the heck does Yunho know about Changmin?
"How do you know him?" I ask. I don't emphasize the 'you' so he doesn't know I know him. Time to play a little mind game. Perhaps Yunho knows more about the kitty. Perhaps.
"Let's just say I'm a pretty big shot in the police now and he came in contact with us a few times..." My eyes widen. Not because Changmin is a naughty boy (I already knew that...) but because Yunho is a police-...something, really. It's shocking that he doesn't know about me since I came in conflict with the law a few times in the past, too. I hate the police.
"So if something's wrong... just call me." He grins at my dumbfounded self and slips me a note with his cell number I suppose. Then he seems to remember his question. "So how do you know him or... do you?"
All I can do is nod and shy away from Yunho. God, how I hate the police. Maybe that's childish but I can't shake that feeling. They often ruined my day when I was still fishing for clients on the streets. "I know him." I say and Yunho
looks at me really really puzzled.
"His lover is one of my clients. I'm a callboy. I'm far worse than him." I don't mean those words although they're the truth. They're meant to shock my little ex-roomie with his oh so clean record in his oh so clean world.
He looks at me doubt written all over his face and then... disgust. Yeah, that's just how I am, baby. You don't want me... I can assure you that much.

I don't know why I went over to the kitty but here I am, standing right in front of him with a hideous smile in my face. I'm tipsy but he is too, I can tell from his slightly reddened cheeks. "Hey, little kitty." I greet him and that seems to anger him. His face contorts into a mask of anger, eyes glinting dangerously.
"Hey, whore." he says. "My name's Changmin." I laugh at that. I've had too many drinks to be angry. So I decide to introduce myself. I just noticed he doesn't even know my name.
"I'm Jaejoong, pretty." I say and rest my hand on his chest. Then I note that this motion was horribly gay and quickly remove my hand. "Jaejoong..." he repeats my name as if doubting it was my real one and with some kind of horror I note that I really did give him my real name. And why did I do that?
"Is that your real name?" he asks, young like he is. He doesn't know anything and yet he always doubts... in that childish manner. He speaks his thoughts unlike me who always thinks his actions through; at least if he can gain something from it. He doesn't seem like he's dumb or anything. It's just this young demeanor that makes me... what? feel something around him? He really is like my younger self. Only not as selfish.
I nod. "It is... Why should I give you a fake name? Watched too many movies, huh?" To that he nods and it amuses me. Seems like he wanted to make me laugh. That's nice of him... but weird. What exactly does he want from me? Why doesn't he walk away like he should?
"So... does your boyfriend allow you to go out once in a while?" I ask, because I doubt that the old man would go to such a club as the one we're now standing in. And because somehow the kitty and the old man are linked in my mind.
"My..." he makes a face. "...boyfriend does of course allow me to go out since I'm not his pet and he isn't my father" (yeah, I think, that would've been really perverted...) "...so I can do whatever I want, really." Then he looks me in the eye as if he's challenging me.
"Ah, that's great... You're free to do whatever you want? Sorry, but I don't believe that... He pays you in a way, right? He offers you a place to stay, something to eat and all those little gifts ain't that bad either, right? Don't tell me you're free when you practically live in a golden cage."
His eyes get that furious glimmer again as he stares a hole into my forehead. Or it seems as if he tries. He doesn't look me directly in the eyes though and perhaps that's why I have this feeling like... I just won this little fight.
"That's better than really selling your ass. And I like him. I really do. Okay, I really don't want to sleep with him but he isn't all that bad. He doesn't do things to me that I wouldn't want. This way of living is far better than yours."
This comment angers me. "How can you say that when you don't even know how I live?"
"I don't know how you live but i know how you lived in the past and that's all I need to know. I saw you. Let me tell you something about me. I've always been alone in my life and that's why I sometimes wandered around the city and even down to the red light district. That's where I saw you. You were drugged and selling your ass. Don't be stuck up like that just because you're now a whore for the riches!" There's just one thing in his tone: the intent to hurt. My eyes widen. "The things you did in the past... I'd never ever do something like that. Never."
That's enough. I've had enough of his insults. (My mind whispers that it shouldn't matter.)
"Yeah, that's what every single one of those prostitutes said in the past so don't you be so fucking stuck up yourself. You're not so different from me. You're selling your ass, too. Just that he doesn't give you money but pays everything for you. And aren't you addicted too? To the luxury?"
"No, I'm not." he says short and low. "I never had chance to have a better life. I'm just 19 and I've been with rich men for almost one year now. I never had a chance. But you... you had a chance. You even studied but then the drugs came your way and you took them without even hesitating."
"How would you know that?" I ask, wondering how he came so close to the truth. Was that just a coincidence or did I know him?
"A colleague of yours told me that..." He says and I laugh. I just have to laugh. That seems to throw him of. "Wh...What's so funny?"
"My..." I giggle. "...colleague was probably one of those fuckers who could not stand me because I was too pretty and always ended up stealing their clients." He huffs but I continue. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not proud of what has happened and I can't blame you for not wanting to be like me but don't you think you're concentrating too much on what's so apparent that it can't be true... There's so much more to it than just a party-addicted student."
"Really?" he asks eyes wide with curiosity and it makes him really look like a 19-year old boy. In some way that makes my heart ache. I don't know why though...
"Yeah, but I wouldn't want to tell you the whole fucking story." I say because that's true. He doesn't need to know. I'll probably fuck him two more times and that's it. I'll never see him again after the old man tires of him.
Then why do I lean forward an capture his lips in a kiss? Is that just the alcohol or is it to shut him up? 'I don't want to talk about it.' Do I mean that?
And why... does he respond with kissing me back? Why does he throw his arms around me and kiss me so slow and sensual and... needy? I ask myself if he's the one-night-stand I was looking for tonight. That explanation would clear it all up and make it simple.
But somehow it doesn't feel that simple when he is pressed against me and I can feel his whole body and a lot more. It shouldn't be like that. I can't possibly think about really running away with this lonely kitty. That's just fucking comical... So funny I'd laugh if I could...but not really.

Tags: author: c, genre: drama, genre: romance, genre: smut, length: chaptered (completed), rating: nc17
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