dlwnsghek: (2PM | Junho on his knees)
king of Hoes ([personal profile] dlwnsghek) wrote2012-11-24 10:55 pm

[fic] 2PM: these iron bars can't hold my soul in

This was supposed to be a WIP and it's all over the place and I don't think I'll ever fix it/change it, so you have been warned. Also, vaguely based on Nickelback's Savin' Me, btw, which I first thought was a kinda lame song but. But feels, okay, feels. Titled after the song as well.

Also, this. Oh, and, in case you're wondering, this is not the fic I am? was supposed to post for the One Day Big Bang project. That one... will come. Pronto. Hopefully. If I can sit my ass down and write something.

I'll just go now. Feedback is much appreciated. 

these iron bars can't hold my soul in
2pm ; chansung/junho ; r
~3K w, criminal au
warning for violent shit, sexy times and lapslock abuse

in which junho and chansung turn the wrong way somewhere down the road.


junho stares at the stash of cash inside the paper bag and sighs inwardly. this isn't how things were supposed to go, he muses quietly as chansung speeds up. the car rumbles and junho sits back on his seat, hands clenching on top of his denim clad thighs, the same way the clouds do outside their beaten-up chevy.

chansung has been quiet ever since they hopped on the car, all these endless hours ago. junho's been quiet too but for different reasons, and his fingers itch to get a hold of his phone, get this over with once and for all.

"it'll be okay," chansung mutters, voice thick.

junho looks out the window. "yeah."

this isn't how things were supposed to go.


the first time junho ever kills someone, he's fourteen and his sister is lying bruised on the school lockers' floor. his baseball bat is chipped along its surface and the man holding his head as he spits blood is bigger by at least two feet.

something runs through junho's body, it's adrenaline and fear and delight and power, and it's wrong, every cell in his body is screaming wrong! wrong! wrong! at him when he swings his arm higher and aims for the last time.

chansung, his uniform spotted with blood as well, uncurls junho's fingers around the bat one by one, whispers it's okay, it's okay, but junho knows better.

somehow chansung does, too.

his sister doesn't make it past the night. junho's mom is a mess of tears and shrieks, and junho can't take the sight of it anymore. it's all white walls, white sheets, white faces.

he walks out of the hospital and dives into a piss-smelling ally and sags against a bricked wall, exhausted and yet so awake it makes his joints ache.

when he closes his eyes, all he sees is the man lying dead on the floor, blood everywhere around them; his sister's battered body a blurry, distant memory he desperately wishes away.


"there's ten grand inside," wooyoung says, sliding the cash on the table with a long, slim finger. "for a job well done, blah, blah, blah."

the sun is peeking through the badly walled-in windows and it makes wooyoung's blond hair shine faintly. chansung shifts in his chair as junho takes the offered money and stuffs it inside his own bag, and a shiver runs down his spine as his gun knocks around chansung's.

"our pleasure," junho says, and he smiles somewhat fondly as he stands up. wooyoung remains were he is, sat behind the same wooden table junho's always sat opposite of, examining his fingernails with a bored air about him.

wooyoung nods, smiles sideways. "now get out of here and get some rest. or just some."

junho snorts a laugh as chansung says, "why, yes, of course we will, right away, sir," and makes his way out of the room right behind chansung, eyes never leaving the small of his back.


junho isn't in love. he's not even mildly infatuated. no, really, he isn't.

chansung's been there forever, chansung is familiar, he means home in a way junho doesn't think much of lately because he doesn't remember much of it either way. chansung reminds junho of baseball practice, of the summer beach, of hot chocolate and cinnamon cookies in the winter.

they're young and naïve and alone and love is not something made out for people like them. it can't be love.

it still doesn't explain why they're suddenly kissing, or why junho's enjoying it oh so very much, why his chest feels tight to the point of pain and his body is thrumming with something he yet has to figure out.

when junho slides his hands down chansung's neck, fingers catching at the wrinkles of his worn out sleeping shirt, chansung cups his hip, hand big and warm and heavy. it's been long since the last time junho's allowed himself to get this far (or close) with someone, but chansung is familiar, chansung is okay, and the thought itself -- chansung's lips pressed against his, his tongue prodding gently at junho's lower lip -- makes a shiver run down his back.

he tries not to think of how chansung seems to be chasing the tremor with the pads of his fingers, touch gentle, gentle, gentle.


junho is making his wobbly way out of a half decent noodle shop, hands shoved deep inside his trousers' pockets, when he bumps into a solid body right in front of his. he looks up to find a dude so big he blocks the streetlamp's light and something swirls within junho, something long forgotten and yet so ever present.

it makes his thumbs itch.

"watch where you're going, bitch," the guy says, snarling for good measure and baring his teeth.

junho wants nothing better than to punch every single one out.

which he does, just for fun.

chansung attends to his split knuckles when he gets to their shared hole-in-the-wall apartment and he's silent through most of the night, only says things like these will scar when he picks grit and dirt from junho's bloody skin, and junho bites hard on his tongue to stop the i've worn worse from breaking past his lips.


"jinyoung's got a new job for us," chansung says as he closes the door behind him and leans against it. his hair is tousled -- jinyoung's probably not been in a good mood -- and his face is tired, eyes soft around the edges.

"when you say it like that," junho muses from the couch under the window, "i feel like a whore."

chansung smiles at this, cocky and teasing and junho's fingers itch to touch that smile, to feel it pressed against his skin. "you kinda are one, though. but you're a expensive one. like, for presidents and such."

"briefing," junho says around a chuckle, standing up and padding over to the table. he picks up his gun, cocks it. "now, bitch."


when junho runs away, he doesn't expect chansung to tag along (they're only fifteen and chansung's future seems a lot brighter than junho's would ever turn out to be -- wrenched family or not).

if anything, he'd thought chansung would play the mom part and chide junho until junho dropped his duffel bag and begrudgingly agreed on staying even when there was no one waiting for him at home anymore.

"you're my best friend," chansung shrugs, and the motion makes the strap of his bag slide down his arm. "i've got your back."

and junho smiles despite the situation they're both in, because runners with as heavy luggage as theirs don't get too far and he knows it.


changmin finds them first. he's barely older than them, can't be more than a few years, and it makes junho wonder what kind of life has he lead until now because their encounter isn't exactly fairy tale like.

changmin's touching the man's neck looking for a pulse, the same man who'd knocked chansung out with his left fist. junho isn't listening to what he's saying, his entire attention is drawn to the thin drip of blood running down chansung's left cheek and how he looks so young and pale and broken against the dark gravel.

just how junho's sister looked, except junghee had been breathing the last time he'd seen her and he's not sure chansung is.

when he snaps out of it, changmin is crouching down beside chansung's body, pressing his fingers to the side of his neck, and--

"he's alive." he looks up at junho, eyes narrowed and cautious. "you're just a kid," changmin says, voice quiet, free of vice but full of pity.

i'm not, junho doesn't say, fingers clenching around the broken pipe he's holding. kids don't go through what i've gone through.


junho holds his gun at eye level, breathes in, then out, once more to steady his heartbeats. after so many years of this, it's odd how he still feels as jittery as he did the first time. he gathers himself after a moment, listens as jungsu walks out of the strip club on drunken feet.

soon, another set of footsteps join jungsu's. when the dude hears them too, he turns around halfway and rasps, "get the fuck away from me, punk."

"i've actually been looking for you," chansung says, unarmed and an easy prey, his voice steady, soft, neither threatening nor terrifying, just soft. it goes straight to junho's cock.

"i said get the fuck away from me," jungsu snarls again, and this time he walks fully up to chansung, shoulders tense and ready to pounce.

chansung moves the only way he knows how, liquid and strong, and holds his gun up, aims. junho looks up too and their eyes meet.

and that's when the world halts and the only sound cutting through the stillness of the night is the one of bullet sliding past skin, muscle and bone.


jinyoung owns the bar where they hang out at nights. it's a dodgy looking one, but everything in their lives has been dodgy since they ran away, so it's not much of a shock, junho thinks.

jinyoung's in his mid-forties, divorced and father of two. he looks like an orangutan when he's pissed (ninety eight percent of them time junho's seen him), and when he shoots, he kills -- or so jihoon, the bartender, says. he doesn't just own the bar, jihoon explains once. he owns half the district's establishments and, although only rumored, the largest hit-men list in this side of the city.

"you wanna get rid of someone and got the cash to pay for it," jihoon whispers, tone confidential and a bit slurry, "they do it."

chansung laughs, half-drunk already, the dickhead, and junho looks over to where jinyoung is sitting, morning's paper covering him from the rest of the pub's eyes, not just junho's.


wooyoung hangs out around the bar almost every night. he's quite friendly (all things considered) and he's got a dark sense of humor that junho quickly finds himself tuned into. they get along pretty well, all three of them, and when junho asks what does he do for a living, wooyoung doesn't even seem to think twice before saying, "i work for jinyoung."

it can mean a lot of things, though. maybe wooyoung works in the pub, maybe he's a barman, or the accountant or even the janitor. but there's a shift in his shoulders as he says it, a twist to his mouth barely there for junho to really say he's seen it.

"he seems fine for a thug, though," chansung says much later as they get into their tiny apartment and kick their shoes in every possible direction except the right one. "don't you think?"

junho nods, drops dead on the couch. "you won't be saying that if he puts a bullet through your head, i suppose."

"let's hope he doesn't, then," chansung laughs, and slaps junho's ass on his way to his room. "get into bed, yeah? don't wanna wake up and find you've drooled on the couch. again."

chansung plays the chiding mom part pretty well even if no one's expecting him to anymore.

"fucking spoilsport nagging little bitch," junho mutters (fondly, with a lump around his throat) as he gets up.


it only happens when they're under the influence -- of alcohol or adrenaline most times, and both if the occasion calls for it. first it's only kissing, then there's a bit of groping, the fun kind of rubbing, even, and sooner than junho is ready to give into (not that he wouldn't, he's not a blushing teenager, for fuck's sake), he's on his knees with chansung's cock in his mouth and hands in his hair.

it's not pretty. it's the first time, yes, but it's far from special. chansung howls in pain at least thrice -- "fuck, mind your teeth" -- and junho almost chokes once.

but he makes chansung come, long and hard and shuddering, with junho's name on his lips, and even though it's embarrassing because chansung barely strokes junho's cock once, junho comes with that image burning holes into his memory, the thought of having wrecked chansung over only using his mouth pinned to his brain.

"t'was great," chansung says later, and his mouth is pressed against the curve of junho's neck and junho has the distant, vaguely horrifying thought of asking chansung whether he'd mind to stay there forever. "despite the teeth."

junho laughs (manically, like he's broken beyond repair -- or so chansung says) until morning comes.


when jinyoung's bar gets breached by a bunch of thugs and chansung and junho kind of help to get rid of them (junho's knocked out two dudes with his bare hands and half a chair respectively, and chansung's handled three with a broomstick), jinyoung asks them if they have a job.

they're not kids anymore. they do what it takes to survive and somehow the most gruesome thing they've done is corner a dude for cash with a knife, but this-- this is a whole different thing. this is guns and bullets and corpses and a good load of cash that junho would have no idea what to do with.

"i don't--" he starts, but jinyoung puts up a hand, nods once and says, "changmin's told me about you. so has wooyoung."

and wooyoung ducks out from behind the shredded counter, eyes dancing with mirth. "we can use men like you, both of you," jinyoung says quietly, hands shoved in his jacket's pockets. "pay's good. think about it."

turns out the pub isn't only a pub but has a large basement where wooyoung sometimes crashes in. it's got a few bunker beds and when jinyoung tells them the street's probably holding out for their heads, they agree to stay the night. or possibly a few nights.

"this is-- " chansung starts, runs a hand through his hair. there's a manic look to his face, like he's crushed between the dire need to laugh his head off or scream until his lungs rip.

"i know," junho nods, loud and half laughing already, "i fucking know."


junho hates october. hates it because it fades into november faster than it takes to brace himself for the memories. he doesn't visit the graveyard, doesn't leave flowers anymore. instead, he spends the day holed up in bed, buried beneath all the blankets he can get his hands on, his eyes closed as he thinks of back then.

chansung never asks, never complains when junho doesn't get up, doesn't even eat.

that is, until now.

"d'you remember that time you caught the chickenpox back in third grade?" he asks, leaning against the frame of junho's bedroom door. he's still wearing his working pants (a pair of black, fitted jeans that junho despises with the power of ten suns and then some).

he looks a lot older than he did the last time junho saw him, a few hours ago before he left with wooyoung for work. it makes him wonder how much of them this whole thing is taking away for free.

junho stares back at him steadily, would even notch his chin up in defiance if it weren't fucking november. but he does remember; remembers his mom and her yells of, "you're not allowed to see him!" and both chansung's and junghee's retaliations,

"we're gonna take care of him."

"that day, i promised her i'd look after you."

chansung pads closer, makes the tons of blankets part and wrinkle and junho doesn't push him away when chansung leans in and kisses him, slow and gentle and feather-like, nor when he straddles junho's hips and rocks his own.

junho props himself on his elbows to meet chansung's mouth halfway next time and is glad for the distraction, for having chansung's mouth kissing ugly memories away.


when junho starts smoking, the first one to bitch about it is wooyoung.

"it is going to kill you, lee junho," he says sternly, even as he sips on his wine. junho wants to make a comment but instead blows the smoke in wooyoung's direction. "and while it does, it will kill us all, too."

at this, junho laughs, taking a drag of his cigar, index finger circling the rim of his own glass. junsu is playing de piano somewhere in the bar, and taecyeon and seulong are providing lyrics that aren't really appropriate.

"oh, well," he exhales. smiles. "we're all going to die eventually, aren't we?"

wooyoung pours them more wine.


they shouldn't be doing this, junho thinks. "we shouldn't—" he tries, but chansung's mouth is distracting and his hands are everywhere and junho is so hard he aches.

they're in at the pub's basement this time, and he remembers jinyoung saying sex isn't allowed, not here, because everyone has eyes here, friend or foe. it doesn't stop them, though, doesn't stop chansung from sneaking a hand in between them and then down junho's pants, and there, yes, that's exactly where junho wants him.

"chansung," junho's voice comes out throaty and thick, and a whine slash moan slash pant wrecks his throat as chansung's hand dips lower, and lower, until the pad of his middle finger brushes against his hole.

junho comes. comes so hard he nearly blacks out, chansung's body pinning him against the wall the only thing keeping him from meeting the floor face-first.


this one's supposed to be easy. target's a known drug dealer and has been messing around with jinyoung's area for the past couple of months (not to mention he's tried to get his hands on one of jinyoung's kids). junho nods as jinyoung briefs them and barely misses the fleeting glances between chansung and wooyoung, except-- except they're being really obvious.

or maybe junho is too perceptive. (it's all a matter of perspectives, junho tells himself quietly.)

it shakes something, though, something junho hasn't dealt with in forever and something he can't quite afford to deal with, not now, not here.

not ever, if he's got a say in it.

but it turns out he doesn't because it comes back and bites him in the ass when he's supposed to be putting a bullet through the target's skull, and he misses by a hair. no pun intended.

"what the fuck," junsu says tiredly through the ear piece. there are bustling sounds from his side and nichkhun's hurried "should've let me do it", but other than that, no one says a thing.

"shut up," junho grits anyways, and fires again.


"you sleeping with him?"

chansung's hand stops mid shave. he stares back at junho through the mirror, eyes wide and unfocused. "you talking to me?"

if his tongue weren't so thick, junho would laugh. "of course i'm talking to you."

chansung goes back to his shaving ritual, to his silent shaving ritual, and junho sways from exasperation to annoyance to resignation to a bit of heartbreak (that wholeheartedly denies later), frowning down at his mug of coffee since frowning up at chansung is a no by default.

but then chansung knocks on the glass once, and when junho looks up, his face is clean as it always has been for the past four years at 8am.

"i'm not," he says, "not my type."

junho's coffee tastes a lot better after that, even if nichkhun's coffee making skills are beyond salvation.