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[personal profile] glitterburn
Title: Running Man
Fandom: TVXQ
Pairing: Yunho/Changmin
Rating: R
Summary: Changmin likes running. Particularly when he’s being chased.
Notes: For the kink_bingo square ‘consent play’.


Running Man

Changmin runs.

He hadn’t even been aware of this... this thing, whatever it is—kink, need, massive fucking turn-on—until earlier this evening when they were filming the Running Man episode as part of their comeback. Dressed in high-collared satin opera cloaks and sporting Phantom of the Opera masks, they’d wandered around the theatre in search of the little gold balls that would eliminate their hosts from the game. Yunho loved it, because he’s secretly five years old, but Changmin found it stupid and embarrassing.

Or at least he had, right up until the moment when he’d almost been caught, when he hid in the box office and panted and shivered at how close he’d come to being unmasked, and adrenalin had surged through him, giving him the kind of endorphin high he used to get from being on stage.

It got better, too. He’d gone out and circled around the foyer with the other masked guests, and he’d flirted with the danger of discovery, heart pounding, a jittery thrill churning his stomach and blocking his throat. When the Commander had suspected him, he’d kept a straight face, managed to stifle the heave of excitement, and then he ran. Oh, how he ran.

The Commander chased him up the stairs, along hallways, and Changmin had given him the slip, cut backstage where he thought he was safe, but then the Commander had flung himself from his hiding place and Changmin had run again, tried desperately to escape, but he was breathless and his limbs were weak and he was on the verge of hysteria even as arousal curled through him. As he tried to flee, he tangled his feet in his cloak and fell. The Commander tackled him, and Changmin yelped and struggled and rolled up into a ball, laughing and laughing until he felt sick with it, and he hoped his captor wouldn’t notice how stupidly turned on he was.

The Commander didn’t notice, but Yunho did. Of course he did. He always notices things like that—embarrassing things, things that make Changmin squirm—he notices and then he takes that knowledge and twists it and unleashes it upon Changmin when they’re alone.

Like now.

They get home, both of them tired after several hours of filming, and Yunho is all sweet and solicitous, helping Changmin with his coat and even lining up their shoes on the rack beside the front door. Then he asks if Changmin wants a drink to help him sleep and offers to make hot chocolate. This should ring warning bells—Yunho’s attempts at making bedtime drinks usually end with chocolate powder spilled over the counter and the stench of burned milk emanating from the microwave—but Changmin is exhausted and still flinchy-touchy after the chase, and he just wants to be cosseted.

“Sit down, Changminnie,” Yunho says, and goes into the kitchen.

Changmin sinks onto the sofa with relief. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to exorcise the memory of how it felt to be pursued, and then he hears a soft footfall behind him and he knows Yunho is standing there.

He wants to ask where his drink is, wants to make some sarcastic comment about Yunho being unable to boil water, but he can’t see him, because Yunho is standing right behind him. He can only hear, and then Yunho leans down and says, low and soft and directly into Changmin’s ear, “Do you like being chased?”

The strangest sensation goes through him. Cold, then hot. Changmin tries not to move, tries not to react in any way, and says, “No.”

Silence, and then Yunho breathes out one word: “Liar.”

“No,” Changmin says again, but there’s that squiggling bubble of hysteria building up again, and when Yunho clamps a hand on his shoulder, Changmin bolts from the couch and is across the other side of the room before he even knows what he’s doing. At bay, he turns and stares at Yunho, who’s wearing a dangerous, glittering smile.

“Changminnie, Changminnie,” Yunho sing-songs, “I’m going to chase you. I’m going to catch you.”

“No. No.” Legs trembling, his breathing fluttery and shallow, Changmin keeps on repeating himself as if that word will save him, even though everything in him is screaming Yes Yes Yes. He backs up against the wall, gaze darting, measuring distances, calculating clearance, and he wonders if he can make it to the other side of the lounge and the safety of his bedroom.

“Gonna catch you.” Yunho doesn’t bother going left or right around the sofa. He simply vaults over the top of it and runs at him.

Letting out an undignified squeal, Changmin feints one way then dashes in the opposite direction. Yunho corrects his own trajectory and grabs Changmin’s arm. The touch is brief but electrifying. Changmin yells, pulls free and almost falls over a heap of DVDs. He staggers around the far end of the couch, breaths gasping out of him, and runs for the bathroom.

“No,” Yunho snaps, and dives at him.

Changmin reverses direction and hustles back the way he’s come, using the sofa as a barrier. He has a brief mental image of the two of them running around it for the next hour until they collapse with exhaustion, and then he skitters behind an armchair and presses his back to the wall, shivering and sick with excitement.

“Gonna get you, baby,” Yunho sings, holding his arms out in front of him and wriggling his fingers. “Gonna get you, gonna tickle you.”

“Fuck off. Fuck off, you stupid bastard.” Changmin snatches up the cushion from the armchair and hurls it at Yunho. He hates being tickled, hates it like he hates being chased, and just the thought of it makes his legs all wobbly.

Yunho’s expression is bright with excitement. “Ooh Changminnie, I’m coming to get you!”

Under normal circumstances, Changmin would give him a blistering look and Yunho would shrivel up on the spot and then he’d very meekly go and tidy away that pile of DVDs. But these are not normal circumstances. Changmin’s rational mind has taken temporary leave of absence and with it has gone his vocabulary of harsh words and all his mean glares, and his frigid temperament has just sent a memo saying it won’t be back until tomorrow morning at the latest, and oh, oh fuck, he has to run, he has to run now

Yunho rushes him. Changmin flees across the room again, grabs onto the sofa and swings himself around it. His feet slip, and he twists, catches himself on the back of the couch and rolls over it, bounces on the seat and lands on the floor. It winds him for a moment, and then panic shears through him and he picks himself up and dashes behind the second armchair. As a means of defence, he leans forward and grabs the cushion from this chair, too.

“Oh, baby, is that the best you can do?” Yunho is mocking him now, making it patently clear that he expects this stand-off to be resolved in his favour. He takes a threatening step closer, and Changmin yips. God, he hates himself for making that noise. It advertises his arousal more clearly than a message on a forty-foot billboard.

“Don’t,” he gasps. “Don’t chase me. I don’t like it.”

Yunho’s eyes gleam. “Then surrender. Say it right now—‘I can’t run as fast as you even though I have longer legs, so I deserve to be punished, I deserve to be caught and held down and tickled without mercy until—’”

“You dick, you moron, I am not saying that.” Changmin throws the cushion full force at Yunho and bolts forward, heading straight for him.

“Hey!” Yunho catches the cushion, unsighted for a moment, and Changmin barrels into him, gives him a hard shove that knocks him sideways. It buys Changmin enough time to run to the other side of the room. He throws a glance at the front door in pure speculation. He’s not going out there in bare feet, and if he started running for help to the other dorms he’s pretty sure this would end up as some sort of ridiculous free-for-all and that’s not what he wants.

No, he wants this to stay right here in the apartment, wants to keep it just between the two of them. A battle of wits.

Or something.

Yunho tosses the cushion aside and prowls closer. They both hunch down and circle the couch. Excitement pulses through Changmin. Heat blazes from him, and he licks his top lip, tastes sweat. His tiredness has been pushed aside, but it’s still there, still reaching for him, and it’s the knowledge that he could make a mistake and fail that makes this game so thrilling.

“What do you like most about this?” Yunho asks, low and breathless. “What is it, Changminnie—the pursuit or the capture?”

Changmin moans. Stops himself before he can sound too desperate. “Both. It makes me feel—”

Yunho doesn’t wait for him to finish the sentence. Instead he lunges at him, reaching out to grab, and Changmin utters a frantic, high-pitched cry and jerks backwards.

“It makes you feel alive, doesn’t it?” Yunho’s charge is halted by the sofa and he retreats, his smile fierce and predatory.

“Yes. Yes, it does.” Changmin plasters himself to the wall and drags in shaking breaths. That was close. Too close. “Reminds me of how it used to feel when we performed. Years ago. When we started. Maybe I’m jaded. Maybe—too serious. I just...”

Yunho’s expression softens. “I know, baby.”

Changmin stares at him. “Yun,” he says, “catch me.”

“Oh yeah,” Yunho says, his look hot and greedy now. “And when I catch you...”

“No tickling. Promise me no tickling.” Changmin slides sideways, lures Yunho one way and then breaks in the opposite direction. Yunho growls and they both halt, gazing at one another across the barrier of the sofa.

“Surrender. Admit you’re a weed and I won’t tickle you,” Yunho says.

“You’re so magnanimous.” Changmin flicks back his fringe. It’s damp, hanging in his eyes. “I reject your terms. Come and get me—if you can.”

“Oh, Changminnie. Never challenge me.” Yunho rocks back, then runs at him. Not left. Not right. Forward. Onto the sofa. He slams his leading foot down hard on the back of the couch, and the whole thing tips over, lands on the floor with an almighty crash, and Changmin is so startled he doesn’t think to run until it’s too late.

“No!” The denial is torn from his lips as Yunho catches him around the waist. Changmin fights. “No no no no no no—” He struggles free, lurches forward and hits the wall, panting and lightheaded, his limbs turning to water. Dizziness overwhelms him. He loses his balance as Yunho grabs at him again. Changmin hauls himself around, trying to shake him off, but Yunho hangs on, laughing and pulling him down.

Changmin makes a monumental effort and squirms free. He goes across the floor like some sort of extra-long caterpillar, and then Yunho is upon him again, pinning him down, and now he’s caught, now he has absolutely nowhere to go, and the knowledge burns through him, obliterating everything but the most basic of instincts.

“Oh God!” He still fights, scrabbles about on the floor as Yunho gets him in a rough arm-lock and mouths at him, bestowing hot, hot kisses to the back of his neck, to the side of his throat. He writhes and struggles, rubbing against Yunho, painfully aware of Yunho’s thick, hard cock pressed to the curve of his ass. “Oh God, oh Yunho, oh—I don’t want it, I don’t, oh make me make me make me.”

“Baby. Fuck. Oh yeah.” Yunho lifts up enough to turn him over. They grind together, still fighting. Yunho keeps on kissing him, aims for his mouth, but Changmin won’t let him.

“No.” He bares his teeth, tries to bite when Yunho gets too close, then stretches back his head, exposing the vulnerable long line of his throat, and Changmin shouts and snarls and thrusts up against the constriction of his clothes and Yunho’s weight over him and the awful, incredible pressure of Yunho’s thigh between his legs.

“Make me give in,” Changmin begs, demands, falling apart. “Oh, please.”

Yunho humps against him, hot and hard, and presses his forearm across Changmin’s chest and leans on him, trapping him further, forcing Changmin to an awareness of his rapid heartbeat and the high, panicked, ecstatic gasps of his breathing.

“Caught you, Changminnie,” Yunho says, voice harsh and brutal. “Chased you and caught you and now you’re mine.”

“No,” Changmin whispers, arching, straining, chasing after his orgasm, running and running towards it, and he bucks up, thrusts again and again, clutches at Yunho’s shoulders, at his back, his ass, holds his captor down on top of him and screams, broken and triumphant.

Yes.

*

They’re all sticky and messy, and the living room looks like a bomb hit it. Changmin knows he’ll be the one to restore order to the chaos, but he can’t bring himself to care right now.

Yunho has his eyes closed. He nuzzles at Changmin’s neck, whispers lazy kisses over his damp skin. “Remind me again which you prefer—the pursuit or the capture?”

Changmin smiles, brushes a hand through Yunho’s hair, and makes no reply.



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