Author's Note: I laughed my head off at this one. I fail to understand how my erted brain can make any storyline spiral into mindless without any plausible reason for it to do so. DX

 

* * *

 

The pale sunlight was drawn in long, thin threads, peering through the shutters, and for a while Yunho could not remember where he was or how he got there.

 

“Aish, you bastard, why are you awake already? Go back to sleep.”

 

Before he knew it Yunho was smiling sheepishly at the insult. And when a hand emerged from the tumbled white sheets and tugged on his elbow, wanting to pull him back into the fluffy pillows, he let it, crashing backwards into the white crumpled world. Somewhere to his right, there was a quiet giggle, half-mocking, half-charmed.

 

With the same dumb grin on his face, the face of a highschooler who’d scored a chick for the first time, a 26-year-old Yunho started remembering.

 

Yesterday, he was straight, and ambitious, with a ticket to a bustling city and a promise of a job.

 

Today, he had a man in his bed, no tickets to anywhere and no promises whatsoever.

 

And it was a change for the better.

 

* * *

 

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the man on the stage greeted. “Hope you’ll all enjoy yourselves tonight.”

 

But the way he said it made is sound more like “ you, ladies and gentlemen, and I hope you’ll all go to hell.”

 

And the crowd loved it. They loved the crooked smile and the mocking glint of the eyes, the way the man’s hips rolled lewdly at every possible opportunity. Rather than play music, the man made love to his guitar.

 

Yunho was quite possibly the only person in the bar who didn’t like it. He thought it was such a juvenile display, the whole thing, a tacky teenage rebellion.

 

But he did enjoy the pub’s dark beer, the anonymity of dim oil lamps, and frankly he had tons of time to kill before his next bus. So far he’d changed three buses, riding with the endless horde of people yearning for the glitter of big cities. It’d make him sick, was he not one of them.

 

“Hey idiots! Which one of you ers’s gonna get me a jack, huh?”

 

Calling his audience ‘ers’… Wonder how long he’s gonna last before someone slams a beer bottle at his empty head.

 

But to Yunho’s surprise, nothing of that sort happened. In this stuffy wood-clad rut, Jaejong was apparently a local hero. When he asked for his third jack and told the man paying to hurry the up, the tables laughed like it was the funniest thing ever. When, while the guitar, Jaejong missed a quite a few notes, the crowd glossed over it like they didn’t hear it at all.

 

And when Jaejong had had more drinks than Yunho could count and his heavy fingers fumbled with the strings, the people in the pub still clapped and cheered.

 

That’s when Jaejong raised his umpteenth glass, and light fell into the dark slits of his eyes. Despite the drinks, there was a sharpness to them no alcohol could dull.

 

“A toast!” Jaejong proclaimed, and the house took their glasses dutifully. “A toast to the only respectful man in this room!” He spat out the word “respectful” like a particularly dirty curse.

 

Something icy gripped Yunho then, spreading over his chest and tumbling around the contents of his stomach, when Jaejong’s hand, holding the glass, nudged in his direction.

 

“Who?”

 

“What, where? That guy?”

 

“No, no, the other one! The one who sits alone!”

 

Yunho used to think ‘dying of embarrassment’ was merely a figure of speech. He didn’t anymore.

 

But soon enough the pub drank its beers and continued its cheers, and Yunho was left with flaming cheeks and a flaming hatred for the local rockstar.

 

* * *

 

The husky brown beer that had tasted so good was sour now, and tough to swallow. But Yunho found swallowing his pride even harder.

 

In that lonely little town he called home, no one dared mess with Yung Yunho. Not because he was especially strong or smart, but because, when he waltzed down the main street in his white well-ironed shirt and his thin elegant glasses, he looked so hopelessly ambitious, it actually seemed pitiful to crush him. Like stepping on an ant.

 

But for all Yunho knew, he was the boss of his town.

 

Heh, betcha didn’t know that, did ya? Yunho tried to somehow telepathically convey to the man rocking his heart out on the improvised stage. Jaejong seemed a little more sober now, but still tipsy.

 

I could beat the out of you, Yunho continued his imagined chat with Jaejong. I’d have you against the wall, begging for mercy, but I’m kind, you see. So I’ll let it slide.

 

At that very moment, as if he’d somehow sensed Yunho’s thought, Jaejong stopped waving his hair around madly. Turning to Yunho, he grinned.

 

The wicked smile was enough to make Yunho think twice about whether he’d really let it slide.

 

The rest of the evening passed without incident, and Yunho was just headed to catch the 11 o’clock bus out of town. But then, outside the pub…

 

“Oh I’m so sorry. Totally didn’t see you there.”

 

That in VOICE, Yunho caught himself thinking. The way Jaejong talked turned the most polite words into obscene curses. Yunho was sure Jaejong could make a holy mass sound like ography.

 

Closing his eyes and raising his hands in fake innocence, Jaejong still refused to move out of Yunho’s way. He flashed that devilish grin again, full of teeth and dirty insults, does he WANT to get hit?!

 

“What are you trying to compensate for with that attitude? For your tiny ?”

 

A few tentative chuckles sprouted. Just when Yunho started feeling more confident, Jaejong silenced the snickers with a glare. I’ll deal with you later, Jaejong’s eyes said to the owner of the loudest laugh, before turning back to Yunho.

 

A fraction of a second was all it took. Before Yunho knew it, the laughs were at his own expense, an angry blush was on his cheeks and a dark brown beerstain was on his best white shirt.

 

“You wanna piece of me???” Yunho growled, fists trembling with rage, cheeks ablaze with hurt pride. He stepped closer to Jaejong, as bad guys in movies did before a fight.

 

Yunho did his best to look threatening. On the other hand, Jaejong was having fun.

 

“Depends. Which piece do you have in mind?”

 

Jaejong had said it very quietly, eyes glittering in that cat-like way of his. The drunken crowd around them broke into excited whisper.

 

“What did he say, what did he say??”

 

But Jaejong didn’t spare them a glance, fixing his eyes on Yunho only.

 

For the first time, Yunho could see him clearly, as Yunho’s table had been far away from the stage. Up close, Jaejong looked like nothing human, thin and messy and clad all in black, like a demon lord living in the depths of hell. In some way, there was truth in that.

 

A whole ten seconds passed before Yunho stopped staring and understood the full meaning of Jaejong’s remark.

 

Yunho opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. How the do I reply to something like that?! Did I even hear him properly, damn, I need to catch that bus, what does he even WANT?!

 

Brain dead, Yunho resorted to what he had left. He slammed at fist into Jaejong’s stomach, then his head, then received one to his own face.

 

The crowd started to cheer. Guess there’s one thing they like more than a drunken rockstar – a good bar brawl.

 

Yunho’s boiling anger made him stronger than usual. Before he knew it he had Jaejong against the wall, just like he’d imagined not long ago.

 

But Jaejong’s face didn’t fit into the picture. Not the slightest trace of fear on it – only amusement, like he was having the time of his life. There was also something Yunho could not name, something strange, but he didn’t have time to ponder it with Jaejong punching his stomach like it was a boxing dummy.

 

The crowd’s shouts and encouragements grew louder, and Yunho was slowly but surely forcing Jaejong to back up, one step at a time. From the corner of his eye, Yunho spotted a backstreet, full of trashcans and stray cats. Just what he deserves, Yunho thinks, having coined a plan.*

 

He pushed Jaejong into the alleyway. To Yunho’s dismay, Jaejong still showed no signs of being afraid.

 

“YOU’VE NOWHERE TO RUN!” shouted Yunho in desperation. It was true, but Yunho had an odd feeling Jaejong could find a way out of anywhere. “IT’S OVER, ADMIT IT!”

 

Impossible, Yunho thought, absolutely bewildered.

 

Still, there it was, despite the bruises – the wicked grin on Jaejong’s face.

 

For a moment, Yunho stood paralysed. Jaejong took that opportunity to promptly kick him in the balls.

 

Yunho’s cry of pain could quite possibly be heard all the way in his hometown.

 

Fumbling with his feet, Jaejong tried to run, but fell backward instead. The combination of two bottles of jack and a decent beating finally defeated his will and his legs.

 

For a while, nothing moved. The only sound in the alleyway was an intermittent meow of a stray cat and two men’s heavy breathing. The crowd had probably got bored somewhere in the middle of the fight and trailed back home to their wives.

 

When the white flashes of pain stopped clouding his vision, Yunho crawled to where Jaejong lay sprawled.

 

Jaejong’s fashionably distressed black jeans now had real cuts on them, and through the holes poked a pair of bruised knees. There was a bad bloody cut running down his forehead and his nose was bleeding rivers.

 

But what caught Yunho’s attention were the red lips, as though Jaejong had kissed blood. There was no blood on them, though. Had they been like that before?

 

“Do I win?” asked Yunho as soon as Jaejong cracked open an eye.

 

Jaejong only chuckled. “Maybe?”

 

“That wasn’t very nice, you know.” Yunho mused, now practically on top of Jaejong. A victorious ecstasy bubbled within him, such than only immature men feel after a pointless fight. The more immature the man and the more pointless the fight, the bigger the victorious bubble inside him. It was a good feeling.

 

“What wasn’t nice?” retorted Jaejong, equally playful. “I’m always nice.”

 

As if it would support his argument, Jaejong pouted, red lips in full display. Completely different from his pale, scrawny looks, Jaejong’s lips were full and luscious and soft, a flower in the middle of a desert.

 

“Heh, watcha starin at?” mocked Jaejong. Just how they even managed to go on squabbling was unclear to them. Exhausted by their fight and light-headed from their drinks, Yunho and Jaejong were drifting somewhere close to a blackout - and even closer to insanity.

 

Without warning, in unison, they burst into laughter.

 

What did they laugh at? At everything, perhaps – their own immaturity, their stupid- pride, their raging hormones that got them into bar fights and dirty alleyways in the first place.

 

“Hey, tell me! What wasn’t nice!” managed Jaejong through his chuckles.

 

It took a whole minute before Yunho calmed down enough to answer.

 

“Kicking my in , that’s what!!!”

 

That remark produced a whole new round of laugher. Though sort of repetitive and high-pitched, Jaejong’s laughter sounded kind of nice. At least, that’s what Yunho thought of it.

 

“Should I apologize to it?” proposed Jaejong, giggling. In his feline eyes there was a hint of that expression, one Jaejong had had when Yunho had had him against the wall, the thing Yunho could not name.

 

This time, too, Yunho ignored it, too idiotically happy to care.

 

“You can try, but I don’t guarantee it’ll accept your apology.”

 

Yunho lay flat on his back, mock-whistling to show Jaejong he was waiting. There was something exciting about this infantile play of theirs, though Yunho didn’t feel like thinking about that right now.

 

Only then did Yunho realize they were laying inside a huge pile of trash that someone had dumped there, as the container* was already full.* Not that he gave a damn.

 

Smiling like an idiot, Jaejong tried to scramble over the mountains of trash to Yunho. Grinning equally, Yunho helped him, pulling him by the forearms. To his surprise, Jaejong’s skin was not as cold as it looked, but warm and delicate.

 

Soon enough Jaejong was facing Yunho’s bulge, face hovering centimeters from it.

 

“Oooh, what have we got here?” giggled Jaejong, and Yunho flushed with embarrassment at just how hard he was. No had ever done this to him, and he could swear his boxers were now permanently stretched.

 

Too fast for Yunho to react, there was a metal sound of a zipper opened. Next thing Yunho knew, cold air hit his thighs as his jeans were jerked down.

 

“I’m sorry, Mr. .” Jaejong apologized, and that skyrocketed Yunho into his loudest and longest laughing fit yet.

 

“What does it say, what does it say??” asked Jaejong. Yunho could see his big, dark, playful eyes, and his red voluptuous lips down between his own thighs, and the sight alone almost made him groan out loud.

 

“It says it wants some compensation, or it’s going to sue you!” deadpanned Yunho, stomach sore from laughing so much.

 

“Oh!” said Jaejong in mock-worry, “Oh, I don’t want to be sued! Oh, what should I do?”

 

Hardly aware of what he was doing, Yunho watched his own hand reach down and grab Jaejong’s messy hair, the colour of black pearls. He heard his voice growl, and his hand brought Jaejong’s head closer to his throbbing .

 

 “Then compensate.”

 

* * *

 

Wait, WHAT? Yunho’s brain protested.

 

But then it ceased to matter at all. In a flash Yunho’s boxers were down and a warm, tight space materialized around Yunho’s , something wet sliding up its underside. Yunho heard his own lips let out a lazy draw-out sigh...

 

* * *

Author's Note: See why this ended up as a blopper? XD