a one-way street of desire, JaeHo, lemon, kink.

Overall Rating: NC-17

lust. n.

[1] Intense or unrestrained sexual craving.

Kim Jaejoong, freelance writer wants nothing more than Jung Yunho, defense attorney, in his bed, splayed out on his sheets, begging for him, begging to be fucked, needy and hot, beautiful just like that. It's called a one-way street of desire. But would Yunho want him just as bad? 

Warnings: voyeurism, frotteurism, lemon. this is not a warning but i do think you should be informed that Jaejoong is more of the dominant here.

A/N: one more part and then woot! i'll have finished my first JaeHo fic! :DDD this part is also for naito_ftw because he asked for first comment! <3

I’m not saying that I love you.

There have been many things that you want me to say, you want me to show, you want me to be. But I’m not in love with you, Jaejoong, you know that very well. I love you as my brother, my closest friend, the one person whom I can lean on and trust completely.

I’m not saying that I need you.

Why would you settle for a man of contradictions, Jaejoong? I see the look in your eyes, the one that makes your eyes shine with complete adoration and wonder. So I examine my features minutely in the mirror and notice the purplish-dark shadows, the disgusting fake hair colour and haggard expression. Immediately, I smile and wince at how my lips refuse to open and invite anyone else in. We have been fending for ourselves so long, I have completely forgotten how to really smile.

I’m not saying that I want you.

Don’t look at me like that, Boo. Anyone can dance like this; ooze sex and charisma like they’ve been born with it. Perfection is a complete possibility but it is something you have to work hard to attain and exude with effortlessness. There have been sleepless nights and endless tears shed in the privacy of the bathroom but don’t you know this just as much as I do?  Then why do your eyes still glaze with barely-contained lust when they rake over my sweaty, taut frame?

I’m not saying that I live for you.

What do you want me to say? I don’t live for you, Jaejoong. I live to please the screaming, raging mass of fangirls, shrieking our names. I live to dance on the stage, move my body along to the heady rhythm, cease to exist and at the same time float into another dimension, another world, another universe, where no one exists, it’s just me and the music, somehow I’m singing along.

I lived to please the disgusting men who enjoyed controlling me, taming me at the age of fifteen, pushing my limp, battered body against grimy walls and taking me, rough and painful. Then there would be money flung in my face and soon I had enough to take the bus and come to Seoul, a fiery determination trapped in a bruised, battered body, which still looked tough and lean, masculine and hard edges, a simple child lurking underneath the perfect exterior.

I’m not saying that I can promise you anything.

And the tears escape at night, alone in bed, body shaking and trembling with the uncontrollable sobs. Nightmares pervade my sleep, make me an insomniac and threaten to destroy every bit of my sanity. I have things under control, I know I do, the boys and you listen to me obediently, follow my lead and I laugh cynically wondering how I do it when there is no control of my own emotions. Legs have spread apart too easily in the past in hopes of a brighter future and I’m regretting it now in the present when I look into your trusting eyes and hate myself even more. Why do you look to me for things I cannot say, cannot show, and cannot be for you?

I’m not saying I can hold your hand and promise you the world, Joongie.

Jaejoong thinks his heart is going to break and snap into tiny, little pieces when he hears the gasping sobs that Yunho tries to muffle in the pillow. Immediately he gets up, walks over to Yunho’s bed and lies down beside the younger boy, holding his hand and murmuring soft words of assurance in his ears. Yunho sniffles and turns around, burying tear-stained cheeks in Jaejoong’s soft neck and presses a hesitant kiss on the pale skin, watching the shudder that racks the older boy’s frame.

Then soft, beautiful, pouty lips meet trembling, dry, bitten ones, sweet and chaste, a simple close-mouthed kiss.

Jaejoong smiles lazily and threads his fingers with the younger. He has just promised Yunho the world on his lips and his love with intertwined hands.

If you cannot tell me, show me or be the lover I want you to be, then let me be your everything, Yunho.

Until you’re ready, love.