SO MUCH MINE
WEDSPAWN






ONE

SO MUCH MINE



A drop of sweat caught a flash of pulsating light as it trembled on the young Korean's curved jaw. The driving
thump of a bass line vibrated the floor beneath his feet, shuddering the catwalk he'd shimmied onto. Ripples of
shadow marbled the laminated sign hanging from the velvet rope that barred the entrance to the walk, warning
men that the steel grating was strictly for the female dancers. Jaejoong ignored the sign, curving his lithe body
around the wide bouncer, tossing off a charming smile. The man's broad hand slipped under the rise of Jae's
thighs, cupping at the warmth of the young man's ass for a brief moment before helping Jaejoong over the velvet
rope.

Jae let the press of fingers slide along the inseam of his pants, ignoring the rise of sick in the back of his mouth.
The lemon soju he'd tossed back earlier still burned his tender throat, nearly raw from the hours he'd spent
practicing. Its potent sting did little to dull the ache beneath his breast bone, a curl of tender pain nothing seemed
to ease. The faces around him swam into a paisley sea of pale adoration and sparkling fabrics. Hip hop beat out
of the club's overhead speakers, drowning out any chance of Jae overhearing the murmur of voices around him.
Throwing his face back, he inhaled deeply, drawing into his lungs what little cold air the vents were pushing out.

Nothing mattered in the space of that breath, the music pounding through him, an abusive lover he'd found lurking
in the dark corners of a dance club. Jae's body was wound tight, taut muscles bunching beneath his thin white
shirt, the cloth soaked transparent from his sweat. The primal drumbeat behind the music called to his blood, his
lean body curving onto itself as he hooded his dark eyes, driving the crowd around him further back into the haze
of alcohol and need that crawled beneath his skin.

The woman dancing next to him edged closer, her hips twitching seductively as she circled around Jae's writhing
body. Her hands were hot on his shoulders when she finally worked her way in, blood-red fingernails vibrant on
Jae's pale skin. He twisted, face closed off as she tried again. Jaejoong debated for a moment, at war with the
anguish in his heart and the deaden weight in his belly. It would be easy to fall into her moist heat, lost in the
velvet of a woman's touch but the dancer's musky scent left him cold.. a flatness he could taste on the back of his
tongue, mingled in with the fumes of the potent soju.

His legs were beginning to ache, a familiar strain in his knee. Jae glanced down at the girl, drawn back in horror at
the lust in her face, a scarlet painted mouth whispering his name in a soundless moan. The music shifted,
something deeper in emotion rising from the depths of someone else's lost love.

He caught the sob before it escaped from his full mouth, sharp white teeth digging into his lower lip. Jae swore
that he wouldn't cry... that he wouldn't let the need he couldn't chase away with alcohol or exhaustion. The skin
on his belly tingled, remembering Yunho's touch. Their practice session devolved into a shouting match when that
touch... that single skimming of fingertips over the low-rise of Jae's jeans brought him to a standstill.

Jaejoong's hands found that same spot, curling over the flesh and closing his eyes. Yunho's sharp words echoed,
lost in a loop until all Jae could hear was the admonishment. Each drop of sound drowned out the world, pushing
the club's ear-splitting raucous to the background. His overheated body responding to Yunho's touch feuded with
the heart-sickening spitting disgust the group's leader shouted at him when he stumbled. Each time he failed,
Yunho's eyes hardened and Jae drove himself further into the depths of his misery.

Club NB staff had grown used to the singer sliding past the main door, a hooded sweatshirt pulled down over his
too-pretty face. The bouncers had long waived the 15,000 won cover charge, whispering to the attractive woman
that the lead singer of TVfxQ often fell into a dancing trance on the catwalks, stalking free of the steel panels with
a thirst for alcohol. They giggled behind raised hands when he smiled at them, a bright plastic beacon of
reassurance when he motioned to the pourers that his shot glass was empty.







1


SO MUCH MINE

A hand reached through the haze, familiar and intimate. The females-only rule, broken only by the lithe,