Cut.

Tue, 17 Mar 2009 09:40:38 GMT

Major friends cut. I just slashed my flist into less than half. I'm trying to get back into this, and needed a more managable flist to do it.

You were cut if:
-we've never said two words to each other
-you've fallen off the face of the planet
-we haven't said two words to each other in like... over a year :(

Check my profile to see if you were cut. If you want be re-added comment or PM me and I'll probably add you back. Comments are screened, so say whatever.

It's been fun ♥

In which Jaechun paid Yunho to strip

Wed, 01 Aug 2007 08:12:16 GMT

Title: In which Jaechun paid Yunho to strip
Author: malaciae
Rating: R
Pairing: Minho, OT5
Word count: 1372
Disclaimer: Do not own. Will not ever own. Concise and to the point enough for you? xDDD
Notes: ONE-SHOT. Many thanks to melodeon_effect helping me with the title/naming the company, etc 8D;
This is the song used: CSJH The Grace - Piranha PV

There was nothing startling about Jaejoong and Yoochun hiring a stripper. It was a perfectly in character thing for them to do. The hushed whispers and sidelong glances indicated that they must be up to something, but then, when weren't they? And why wouldn't they be? Changmin would be coming of age within the fortnight.

The glances became more prolonged, more obvious. The whispers, more frantic. The sound of scurrying feet could be heard every night, up and down the hallway. The tall, skeletal shadows that ran up the walls could be seen shuffling and flailing well into morning. Papers cluttered the round, solid oak table, newspaper clippings, brochures, and loose leaf, the last of which covered in what looked like chicken scratch. They looked even messier on the floor, where they had floated into heaps after the taller shadow had sent the table crashing to the ground in a fit of rage, whirling arms reflected on the stuccoed ceiling; low, hissing noises carrying off of the thin layer of red paint that adorned the walls. The crash was followed by the sound of a broom handle hitting the roof of the apartment below, the high pitched rendition of a myriad of obscenities from the headstrong woman who lived below.

The escapade entered the second week. Empty bottles - of soju, of kahlua, and of beer - lay, neglected, against the stained carpet directly beneath the heavily curtained window. A thick yellow book rested on the corner of the newly upturned, yet slightly dented, oak table. The shorter shadow was hunched over it, flipping frantically through the pages; exclaiming in excitement; pounding the buttons on the dirt stained, once white, telephone; twirling the long, kinked cord in his slim fingers. A cry of joy. A cry of accomplishment. A solid reservation had been booked at a renowned hall in the heart of the city.

They hadn't meant to leave the entertainment until the last minute. The food and music had been decided on schedule! The tablecloths (white), and balloons (red), had been confirmed in minutes flat! It was those damn paper streamers that had ate up Monday though Thursday, leaving them with just under twenty four hours to find a quality stripper! Jaejoong cursed under his breath, as he flipped through the yellow pages once more. If only he and Yoochun had agreed to put up two colours of streamers earlier - and without Junsu's intervention - he may have been able to procure the night's main event with much less difficulty than he was currently facing. Finally, flipping through a local "adult" magazine, (the yellow pages lay, deserted, on the floor) he came across a flamboyantly coloured advert in tiny text, nestled in with the adds for "massage" parlours, across from the naughty horoscopes on one of the last pages. Another exclamation! Another achievement! Pretty Boy Events Company, you win at life!

-----------

Yoochun stared at the manager in disbelief. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THERE ARE NO GIRLS LEFT!" The pretty, plaid-adorned young man looked unfazed. He explained, once again, that one cannot expect to procure an exotic dancer for Saturday night, on Friday night, during wedding season. Yoochun leaned across the counter heavily, stopping mere inches from the other man's face. "NOW LOOK HERE-" a glance at the manager's name-tag, "-HEECHUL!" The manager cut him off, with a cutting remark that may haunt him until his dying day, and a tightly worded suggestion to "take what he can get" or "fuck the hell off." A cell phone call to Jaejoong later, and the male stripper was booked.

----------

Changmin had been told nothing. Of course, that didn't mean that he didn't know what was going on. He felt the tension in the air. He heard the whispers, took note of how they'd subside as he entered the room. Others may have accredited his knowledge of the situation to his remarkable genius; he, however, accredited it to his hyungs' heavy footed obviousness. He wasn't just being humble. Even Junsu could see through them.

He had discovered the plot, uncovered the super secret location (and approved of it's extravagance), and had even made out the word "stripper" amongst all the chicken scratch that Yoochun called handwriting. What he hadn't deciphered on his own, however, was that the stripper would be... male. And clothed in a "smurf" outfit, that left little to the imagination.

He had managed to feign surprise. He had managed to express delight. He had managed to flatter the planning committee (Jaejoong and Yoochun.)

Upon seeing the stripper, he hadn't managed to keep the stoic mask upon his face.

---------

The mounted speakers vibrated from the volume of the song. The stage shook with the force of the man's stomp. The song was Piranha by CSJH The Grace. The dance combined sweeping, angular stances, and a forceful presence, with rapid gyrations, ample wiggling, and gently swaying hips. The song reached it's climax, and the man wrapped himself around the large pole in the middle of the stage, the bottom of his "shorts" (that looked more like "panties", Changmin thought) riding up as his skin was pressed flush against the metal.

Changmin's mind was racing. Mind you, so was his heart. He was feeling rather... warm, let's just say. Enough so, that his back stuck to his shirt, and his shirt stuck to his chair. He told himself that he was reacting to the powerful voices booming from the speakers, that it was only natural to react to the best (and only!) erotic dancer that he had ever seen live. His tongue was dry, but it always was when he drank! His lips were so parched that they attempted to remain together as he attempted to part them, clinging together stickily. There was an itch in his throat.

All excuses failed the moment the man stepped down from the stage. All thoughts failed the moment the man stopped in front of Changmin. All emotions were amplified as the man began to sway, and rotate his hips, eyes never leaving that of the birthday boy. The man's gaze was intense, steady, burning in a deep smoulder. This was no effeminate being, he was tall, built, and radiated masculinity.

A pause. Then, suddenly, the man was gyrating his hips, rotating his shoulders, dipping down low, hovering...... hovering mere inches over Changmin's lap, never breaking eye contact. Changmin swallowed, shakily. He inhaled, sharply, through his nose. His breaths were even - dangerously even. His eyes were wide, traitorously reflecting his shock, fear, excitement. His heart skipped a beat. Changmin tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. It stuck, itched, hurt. He felt like he was going to black out, what with the overwhelming sensations that were flooding his body. His mind shut off, his eyes unable to do anything more than follow the man's hovering hips, making grinding motions inches above his lap. He could only feel the lump in his throat; the spinning in his head; the sweat, now cold against his scalp. Consequently, in the future, all he'd be able to recall of this was the sensations. He wasn't aware of any specific moves, couldn't tell whether the song had changed, could only feel the man's heat, close enough to burn him.

--------

The man - Yunho - had come home with them that night. When the sun rose, five men were curled together - a mess of exposed limbs, and dried sweat - atop a king sized bed (Yoochun's.) Changmin had only been dimly aware of the shift in... dynamic. When Jaejoong had grabbed his wrist, kissed him roughly in the door frame on the way out. When Yoochun had pulled him into his lap as they climbed into the back seat of the cab. When Junsu had rested his head in the crook of Changmin's neck, as Changmin carried him into the apartment (he was kind of hammered, no surprise, with his level of denial/dismay at his own homosexual urges.) When Yunho had ground against him for real.

And Yunho was there to stay. He moved in the next week. Changmin, the witty genius that he was, would never admit the corniest of his thoughts on this. They were OT5, it's true, but Yunho was still his. After all, he got him for his birthday.

crossposted at: 5minus1equals0, hug______, minho_yongwonhi, and, of course, my own journal 8D;

Calm at Sea

Cut.

In which Jaechun paid Yunho to strip