There's nothing quite like the feeling of a dagger thrust deep into your chest, then twisted around to damage everything in its wake; Junmyeon thinks that this is what that must feel like.

[from: bookgirl24
to: suhoangel01
I MISS YOU,
PROFESSOR KIM. ]

The guilt rends him and at the same time he can't help but like her. Her - the girl he met at the university bookstore. Her and not his wife of two years, Solhee.

He deletes the text as soon as he gets it but he knows another will come. So, Junmyeon stuffs his cell into his coat pocket and walks briskly to his car. As he's driving home, he focuses on Solhee. Solhee, his wife, who will no doubt, be waiting for him even though he's just had a late night at work.



The foyer is quiet and dark, but there's classical music playing somewhere in the house. Junmyeon recognizes the piece. It's a powerful melody by Stravinsky and he knows Solhee's been putting hours and hours into her upcoming ballet performance.

He makes his way up the stairs and into their bedroom, where Solhee sits on the edge of their bed, wrapped in a wool coat.

Junmyeon raises his brows.

"Are you going somewhere?" he asks, gesturing at Solhee's attire.

Solhee jumps, as if jostled from a deep thought. But soon she composes herself. She walks up to Junmyeon with a tired smile.

"I just got back too" Solhee says, taking off her coat. "You must be tired."

She turns and goes into the walk-in closet. And while Junmyeon can't see her, something strange takes hold of him. It's the feeling of the dagger again - the dagger forged of guilt and sharpened with longing. So, Junmyeon opens his mouth; his courage is driven by the fact that he can't see Solhee at this moment.

"I met someone" Junmyeon starts.

"Oh?"

"I've been meeting her for some time now."

The rustling in the closet stops to a dead silence. The classical music in the background climbs to a crescendo and perhaps the climax. And suddenly, he's reminded of the title.



"The Firebird" Solhee had told him excitedly. "It's about a Prince who gets a magical firebird to help him win the love of his life."



But at that moment, Solhee comes out of the dressing room in a threadbare tank top and shorts, looking so so small. Her eyes are red.

"Do you love her?" is the first thing out of her mouth.

Junmyeon shakes his head. "I don't know."

And suddenly, Solhee looks away.

"That's fine" she says, but her voice is curt. "The truth is I..."

The way she stops short makes a tiny curl of dread unfurl in Junmyeon's stomach. It grows bigger and bigger, almost consuming him before Solhee finally says, "I've been meeting someone too."

The slap of betrayal is not at all softened by the fact that Junmyeon's brought it up first. His Solhee had another man?! How could she?! How could this have happened???

"Who?" Junmyeon manages to ask.

"Does it matter? I don't care who your girl is."

But Junmyeon's grabbing Solhee's thin shoulders.

"Who is it, Solhee" he croaks through gritted teeth.

He's trying not to yell. He thinks of the girl in the bookstore - the guilt - the dagger - to quell his anger, but it doesn't work.

"It's the ballerino" Solhee finally says. "The 'Prince' in the ballet."

Junmyeon lets go. A picture forms in his head of a tall, lithe man with long legs and a bronze tan. He thinks of the girl in the bookstore again. But it's not the same. His is nothing more than an ego boost, but hers? Hers is passion and rawness. Hers is a man younger than Junmyeon, perfect for Junmyeon's younger wife.

"Don't think that he's your actual prince, Solhee. He's using you.. he's... You think your his princess???" Junmyeon lets out an ugly, mocking laugh.

"You were never my prince either Junmyeon" Solhee whispers.

Without another word, Junmyeon walks out of the house. And no matter how long he walks, there are no calls of his name, asking him to come back.



+++




He's never been to this area of the city before, but he'd be lying if he'd said he didn't know it existed. The tacky red neon lights irritate his eyes but they're lining the whole street. He goes into the cleanest looking establishment he can find and, through the dark, finds a seat.

The stage is a mixture of smoke and cheap fluorescence. Seductive promises of 'something more' ooze with every move of the women and men on stage. The lights make it easy to see the shadows of their naked curves. But, the angle of the spotlight hides the dead pupils and the too thick make up.

Smeared lipstick and off-white garter belts on too thin thighs makes Junmyeon turn his head in disgust. He's about to leave, but the people of the red light district aren't as dim-witted as they seem. Through the cigarette smoke, walks a white angel clad in nothing but a long white tunic and a black choker. The white is almost off-putting in a place like this and Junmyeon sits back down, mesmerized like a moth to a flame.

"Hello, Sir" the angel says.

A single, white snowflake charm on the choker catches the light.

Junmyeon looks up. The angel has soft purple hair and is stretching out a hand towards Junmyeon.

"Can I entertain you tonight, Sir?"




+++




Junmyeon doesn't know what the private room costs. But a soft nudge to a convenient ATM machine has him withdrawing all the funds in his checking account. It all comes pouring out in crisp, yellow, fifty thousand won bills*.

The angel sits primly at the center table. Junmyeon's seat is anywhere on the circular sofa that surrounds it.

"What's your name?" he asks the boy.

But the angel just smiles undulating his torso to the softened beat of the music outside. Junmyeon watches, awed by the contrast between the boy's black choker and the white of his neck, until he realizes.

"Ah..."

Junmyeon looks down at his crisp bills and then looks at the angel's garter belt. It's also black with a hint of lavender lace - a startling, but fit, contrast to his white tunic. Junmyeon slides a bill under the elastic, swallowing hard. He's never done this before, but it all seems so easy.

"Thank you."

"What's your name?" Junmyeon repeats.

"Xiumin, Sir."

Xiumin gets up onto the table, showing Junmyeon the full length of his white legs. Xiumin is a small boy, but at the same time, he's not a boy at all. At the angle Xiumin's standing, Junmyeon can almost see up the boy's tunic. In the slightly brighter light of the private room, Junmyeon sees that the tunic is see-through.

Junmyeon wipes his palms on his thighs and gulps again before he slides two more bills under the boy's garter belt. His fingers brush against the smooth creamy thighs, sending chills down his arm.

"Take off your shirt" Junmyeon orders.

"Thank you, Sir" the angel smiles automatically.

Soft, pale arms reach up and slip the tunic off too easily. Underneath, Junmyeon sees that Xiumin wears equally sheer shorts. Xiumin turns and leans forward slightly. The fabric of the shorts tighten every so slightly against Xiumin's ass, but in another second, Xiumin rights himself.

"Just making sure my shirt doesn't get in the way, Sir" Xiumin says innocently.

But the smirk on his face says he knows exactly what Junmyeon's been looking at.

Suddenly, Junmyeon's upper lip feels moist and he's aware that his palms and forehead are already sweating. He draws in a shuddering breath, but doesn't even attempt to wipe the moisture away this time. Instead, he tucks another two bills into that familiar place.

"Bend down for me. Touch your toes" he whispers, voice hoarse.

"Thank you, Sir" Xiumin says on cue.

Xiumin bends down, but he's still facing Junmyeon. He's wicked and he knows it, showing his deliberateness with a wider grin. Exasperated, Junmyeon's left leg starts to jiggle unconsciously. He hastily slips in another two bills.

"No, face the other way while you do it."

"Thank you."

Xiumin turns, excruciatingly slowly. The fabric of the boy's shorts stretch tightly over his perfect bottom. And through the sheer fabric, Junmyeon can barely make out a pale purple thong that matches the boy's hair. After what feels like hours, the boy slowly rights himself. Back fully straightened, Xiumin only turns his head to smile back at Junmyeon before he gyrates to the music, swaying his hips back and forth in Junmyeon's face.

Junmyeon doesn't know how many bills he's slipping under the elastic now. His eyes are on Xiumin's ass.

"Take your shorts off."

"Thank you."

Small pink thumbs slip underneath the band of Xiumin's shorts. And for a brief second, Junmyeon thinks he sees the flash of tiny teeth in a smile before Xiumin shimmies his white shorts fully off. But Junmyeon's mouth has gone dry now. The tent in his pants is painful and he's leaking through his slacks. The thong that Xiumin's wearing is lilac purple and sparkly with glitter. It sits in his crevice perfectly and is snug in all the right places. Junmyeon gets an overwhelming urge to cup the boy's cock, still soft in its cradle of fabric, but instead, he digs his nails into his thigh.

Junmyeon stuffs another fist full of bills in Xiumin's direction. There's too many to fit under his garter belt now.

"Say you want me."

"Thank you."

"Say it."

Junmyeon draws closer, pulling on Xiumin's wrist to make him come to eye level. And for the first time, Junmyeon sees something like fear flickering in Xiumin's eyes.

"You're not allowed to touch Sir."

"Say it" Junmyeon growls. But he's let go of the smaller boy and the plastic smile is back on Xiumin's face.

"I want you" says an emotionless voice.

And Junmyeon stands there, half crouched as he looks deep into Xiumin's eyes. But there's no truth to Xiumin's words. Just like there was no truth to his marriage or his affair with the girl from the bookstore. He imagines his wife, Solhee, with the ballerino. Had there been truth there? Had there been passion? Love?

And all of the sudden, a wave anger crashes with tremendous force and Junmyeon's pushing all his remaining bills onto Xiumin's chest.

"Have you ever wanted a customer, Xiumin? Ever wanted to be fucked by someone coming to see you?"

"Thank you" Xiumin says as he bends down to pick up the bills, now falling to the floor.

"Tell me Xiumin. Have you?"

Having gathered all the bills, Xiumin folds the money up expertly and tucks it into the band of his thong.

He smiles again and looks into Junmyeon's eyes with something a little more alive than before.

"Oh yes, Sir. I have."

"And how about me? Do you want me?"

The lights in the room flicker twice and Xiumin's smile falls flat.

"Thank you for your patronage, Sir. Please come again."

The hour's up and Xiumin turns his back on Junmyeon.

"I've spent a fortune on you!" Junmyeon shouts at Xiumin's back. "Answer me!"

And again, Xiumin turns, just his head, to look back at Junmyeon. This time, there's no smile on the angel's face and his soft purple hair seems a little limp.

"No, Sir. Not you, Sir. Not you."