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Title: The Minor Fall and the Major Lift
Fandom: TVXQ
Pairing: Yunho/Changmin
Rating: NC17
Summary: Yunho wants to impress Changmin by playing Chopin. One problem—he can’t play Chopin.
Notes: PWP for [livejournal.com profile] haeym!


The Minor Fall and the Major Lift

Changmin comes home to find a grand piano in the middle of their apartment.

He pauses just over the threshold and unlaces his shoes, taking his time about it. He removes them, lines them up neatly on the rack, then spends a moment rearranging Yunho’s shoes. They’re never paired correctly and instead lie in a jumble, which always leads to Yunho complaining that he can’t find anything

“Hey, baby,” Yunho calls out, glorious sunshine in his voice.

“Hi.” Studiously ignoring the fact that Yunho is sitting at the piano wearing a sexy, severe black suit and a big, happy smile, Changmin wanders into the room. He steps around the furniture, which has all been shoved out of place to accommodate the grand piano, and goes into the kitchen as if he’s seen nothing untoward. It’s only when he’s safely out of Yunho’s line of vision that he allows himself to go a little weak at the knees.

Yunho in a suit is quite Changmin’s favourite thing at the moment. Sometimes it’s Yunho in ripped denim and scoop-necked vests, sometimes it’s Yunho in leather trousers, and at other times it’s Yunho naked between freshly-laundered sheets, but right now, Changmin has a thing for Yunho in a suit.

He has such a thing for it that it’s almost enough to distract him from the presence of the piano.

Almost.

Taking a deep breath, Changmin pushes himself away from the wall that was holding him upright. He peels off his socks and mates them together, wiggling his toes on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor, then pads around and opens a few drawers, rattles a couple of things as if he was really busy and had better things to do with his time other than marvel at the grand piano in their living room.

Finally he gives in and emerges from the kitchen. Yep, the piano is still there. A Steinway, he notices. Its lid is down. The wood is black and glossy, probably ebony, and it’s polished to such brightness it rivals the shine of Yunho’s smile.

“I bought a piano,” Yunho says.

“Really?” Changmin is proud of the level of disinterest in his voice. He doesn’t look at the piano again. Instead he adopts what Yunho always calls his judging face and turns this expression on his beloved. “I didn’t notice.”

“Maybe I should’ve asked you first, huh.”

Changmin raises his eyebrows. “Like you asked me about that stray pig you brought home? A stray pig. Whoever heard of a stray pig?”

“Okay, that was a mistake.” Yunho pats the Steinway. “But this. This, Changminnie—this is a piano.”

“I’m familiar with the instrument.”

Yunho’s smile doesn’t waver. “I’m going to play for you.”

Oh, this is too easy. “Like you play the drums?”

A glimmer of hurt goes through Yunho’s expression. “I’ve been practicing,” he says. “Come and turn the pages for me.”

Changmin stands there, then throws his balled-up socks on top of the pile of crap occupying an armchair and goes over to the piano.

He knows he’s going to regret this. They were all taught the basics soon after they joined the company, but the last time he ever heard Yunho play anything on the piano it was a mangled rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, even though it wasn’t anybody’s birthday. Yunho had played it eighteen times before someone took him away from the instrument. He hadn’t even been drunk, that was the really terrifying part.

The piano is spectacular, but not as spectacular as the man sitting at it. Changmin tries very hard to ignore the suit. It’s gorgeous, perfectly tailored to accentuate Yunho’s shoulders and his high waist, and now he’s come closer Changmin can see the faint, almost illusory pinstripe running through the cloth. It’s a seriously sexy suit. Yunho looks sophisticated even though he’s beaming up at Changmin and his hair is sort of flopping over one eye in a really irritating, endearing way.

With an effort, Changmin drags his gaze to the sheet music. “Chopin?” Well, he totally failed at keeping the surprise out of his voice there. “Chopin’s Etude No.10?” Failed again. Try harder, Shim.

Yunho rolls his shoulders, tilts his head one way and then the other, stretches his hands in front of him and—ugh—cracks his knuckles, then sits up straight and places his fingers over the keyboard. “I like Chopin.”

“Yes, but the Etudes are...” Ambitious. Fast. Complicated. Impossible, “quite a challenge,” Changmin finishes diplomatically.

“You know me, baby, I love a challenge.” Yunho flashes him a cheeky look that’s no doubt meant to convey a wealth of meaning. Changmin thinks he’s just been compared to Chopin. Presumably it’s meant to be flattering. But hey, it’s better than being compared to ‘Gangnam Style’.

“Okay.” Changmin readies himself, moving closer to stand to Yunho’s right. He studies the score, acquainting himself with the proliferation of notes dancing around the staves. God, it’s really difficult. If Yunho can pull off even the first page of the movement, he’ll be impressed. With this in mind, Changmin tosses his head so his hair flicks back and says, “Impress me.”

Yunho arranges his hands over the keys. There’s no tension in him; he’s completely relaxed, certain and confident in his abilities. He moves his hands over the keyboard without actually depressing any of the keys. Warming up, maybe. It is a difficult piece, after all.

Changmin watches the movements without comment, quite content to admire surreptitiously. Yunho has sexy hands, sharply elegant and graceful. He always knows what to do with his hands, too. Not just when they’re dancing or giving interviews or in bed, but all the time. Fascinated, Changmin follows the silent, delicate gestures.

It’s a surprise when a note rings out. Middle A. It sounds wrong. Changmin is accustomed to pitching at middle C, and middle A throws him just a little. Instinctively he hums, lifting the pitch, and then Yunho dabs at middle C and the notes modulate, curling around the room. Yunho smiles up at him and Changmin smiles back.

“Now,” Yunho says, and begins to play.

It takes Changmin a good forty seconds of staring at the score and trying to reconcile the notes he sees in front of him with the notes he’s hearing before he realises that Yunho is not, in fact, playing Chopin’s Etude No.10. Not only is the melody completely in the wrong time, it also doesn’t sound like Chopin. It’s a nice enough tune, familiar even, but Changmin can’t quite—

“Jung Yunho!” Changmin splutters, realisation sudden and horrifying. “You’re playing Celine Dion. Oh my God. You’re playing Celine Dion! Why. Why are you doing this to me?”

Instead of looking ashamed, as any normal person would be, Yunho just grins and—just fantastic—starts singing.

That fucking song from Titanic. Changmin cringes. He doesn’t know what’s worse, the mauled English lyrics or the fact that Yunho has just discovered the sustain pedal and ‘My Heart Will Go On’ suddenly thunders through the room.

“Stop!” Changmin yells.

Not that Yunho listens to him.

“Celine Dion gives me hives!” Changmin roars.

Briefly he considers how much pleasure he’d get from slamming the lid down over the keyboard, but the management wouldn’t like that. It was bad enough trying to explain away his fractured wrist before the Keep Your Head Down promotional activities. He is never going kite-surfing again, no matter what bullshit Yunho tells him about it being ‘fun’. He should never have listened to that idiot in the first place. Even so, he really shouldn’t slam down the piano lid and crush Yunho’s fingers because—because...

“Please stop.” Changmin grabs at Yunho’s hands. The awful melody falters into a blat of discord. The notes fade into silence. Only then does Changmin become aware of how close he is to Yunho. He stares at the weave of the cloth in Yunho’s suit, suddenly conscious of the lemony-musk scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body.

Yunho flexes his wrists, fingers depressing a bunch of keys to form a minor chord. Changmin makes a soft noise and releases his grip.

Silence falls again. It seems louder this time. Changmin can’t move. His pulse is racing, his breaths becoming faster, shallower. There’s a brief sprinkling of musical notes as Yunho slides his right hand free of Changmin’s loose grasp, then he curves his arm around Changmin’s waist and brings him closer, turns him around. At the same time, Yunho pushes back the piano stool just a little and spreads his legs.

They gaze at each other. Changmin faces away from the piano, the back of his thighs edged against the keyboard. Yunho moves forward on the stool again. Changmin sways backwards. He has nowhere to go. He’s trapped between Yunho and the piano, trapped between Yunho’s splayed thighs, and fuck if it isn’t the most exciting place he’s found himself in all week.

Changmin unbalances, going up onto his toes to try and right himself as he topples backwards. He flails, then catches at the top of the piano with his elbows. Yeah, he should pretend he meant to do that and just lean casually against the piano lid. Never mind that his elbows are slipping. He spreads out his arms and settles against the lid, body arched in unmistakeable invitation. Possibly he’s been manipulated into this whole thing, but he’s not going to complain.

Not when Yunho is looking at him with such naked desire.

It blazes in Yunho’s eyes, hungry and wanting, and then he drops his gaze and it’s like a spotlight going out. Changmin adjusts his hold on the piano—he must be leaving fingerprints, handprints, whatever—and then freezes, breath catching in his throat, as Yunho lifts his hands and tugs Changmin’s shirt out of his jeans. He pulls at it, straightens it, and toys with the hem. Then he looks up, and it’s intense and soul-stripping, and Changmin feels need coil all around him and squeeze tight.

Yunho’s lips part. His tongue comes out, slicks the plump softness of his lower lip. He starts to undo Changmin’s shirt, beginning with the button at the bottom, then gives Changmin another of those demanding looks. “You don’t like my piano playing?”

There’s probably a clever response to this question, but Changmin can’t quite grasp it. “I think,” he says, inhaling a long, shivery breath and leaning back even more as Yunho unfastens another button, and then another, “I think you should play something else.”

A smile teases at the curve of Yunho’s lips. “Oh, I intend to.”

The shirt is undone all the way up. Yunho pushes it open, almost off Changmin’s shoulders. He’s wearing a white v-necked t-shirt underneath. Yunho’s gaze flicks up to Changmin’s collarbones and throat. Changmin smiles and lets his head tip back. Yunho loves his throat. A deep shiver goes through him as he imagines Yunho tasting him there, imagines the sharp nip of Yunho’s teeth against his neck. He exhales a sigh and arches a little more, skin sensitised, body yearning—

And then he squeaks in surprise when Yunho gets to his feet, the piano stool scraping across the floor. Before Changmin can move, Yunho scoops him up. The sheet music spills from the stand in a fluttering cascade. Disoriented, Changmin grabs at Yunho’s shoulders, the fabric of the suit cool and soft and expensive beneath his hands. He holds on tight, bewildered for a moment.

Yunho smiles. He lifts Changmin higher, the satin lining of his suit jacket whispering against the cotton of his shirt, and he sets Changmin on top of the piano.

It’s an automatic reaction for Changmin to straighten up. He puts his bare feet on the keyboard and there’s a discordant clunk and a violent clash of notes. Reality jolts through him. “Yun, we can’t,” he says, trying to shift off the piano. “This is a Steinway. My jeans have rivets on the pockets. They’ll ruin the polish, the surface, the... This must’ve cost at least fifty thousand dollars!”

“But you’re priceless,” Yunho says, very softly.

Oh.

Oh God. Changmin hates it when Yunho gets all romantic. He can’t argue against that. Especially not when Yunho has such a serious, devoted expression in his eyes. The kind of expression that says Yes, I bought a grand piano so I could fuck you on it, and the absolute last thing I care about is that the rivets on your jeans will scratch the polish, because—

“My jeans will come off,” Changmin says in a rush. “Why don’t you take them off now?” He begins to squirm backwards to assist with the jeans removal, but Yunho puts his hands on Changmin’s hips and slides him to the front of the piano lid. He leans against Changmin, resting his hands on Changmin’s thighs, letting him feel the warmth of his touch.

Then Yunho strokes him. Just the top of his thighs at first, caressing in slow little circles, the gesture almost soothing. Changmin relaxes. His feet plink-plonk over the keys and he tenses again, self-conscious and too aware.

Yunho’s hands go to his inner thighs, coaxing Changmin into spreading his legs wider. Yunho strokes through the denim, down to his knees then up the seams, moving higher each time. Changmin wriggles. Despite his position, despite the low-level anxiety about damaging the damn polish, he’s getting turned on by this. His cock swells. Lust runs threads through him, jerking and pulling.

It’s times like these when Yunho usually looks down at what he’s set in motion and makes some flip comment addressed to Changmin’s dick. But he doesn’t do it this time. He looks down and smiles, that much is standard and completely on script, but then Yunho leans his head towards Changmin’s crotch and inhales, deeply and with obvious satisfaction.

Changmin makes a garbled noise and flops back onto the piano. More notes tumble from the instrument as his feet stab at the keys. It’s an awkward posture, his ass almost hanging over the side of the lid and his legs spraddled, feet not quite flat because he’s afraid of damaging the keys, the rest of his body at an angle across the top of the piano. His back is slightly twisted, and though it probably looks sexy, it doesn’t feel sexy.

Not until Yunho puts his face between Changmin’s wide-apart thighs and nibbles at the stretched denim.

Now it’s sexy.

A gasp bursts from him. Changmin starts to lift himself onto his elbows. He looks down the length of his body at Yunho’s head buried between his legs and thinks how much hotter it’d be if he didn’t have his jeans on. He’s about to offer this opinion when he feels wet warmth against one thigh and realises that Yunho is mouthing at his jeans, soaking the denim with saliva, sucking at it, drawing out Changmin’s scent and taste.

Changmin wants him to do that against bare skin. He squirms on the piano and goes sliding on the slick, almost icy surface. Attempting to anchor himself, he hooks one leg over Yunho’s shoulder and arches his hips in offering. His pulse thunders in his ears, arousal stretching taut. His dick is begging for attention. Changmin puffs out a breath, blowing his fringe from his eyes. If nothing else, he needs to at least release his cock from the confines of his clothes.

He puts a hand down to unzip himself.

Yunho lifts his head, eyes blazing. He knocks Changmin’s hand away, then—thank fuck—undoes the fly button. But he doesn’t undo the zipper. Instead he makes a soft, thoughtful sound and pushes up Changmin’s t-shirt. Just a little at first, exposing his belly, then Yunho smiles and puts his lips to the pale skin, whispering tiny, scorching kisses across the flesh. He flicks his tongue-tip around Changmin’s navel and then licks a slow, wet stripe through the dark scrawl of Changmin’s treasure-trail.

Changmin groans and writhes, trying to pull Yunho closer and to squirm away at the same time.

Yunho shoves the t-shirt higher as he continues to lick and kiss and nibble over Changmin’s abs. Pleasure melts and spreads. Changmin arches his back, pushing against Yunho’s exploring hand, encouraging him to touch and touch and touch as much as he wants. Yunho swirls his tongue into Changmin’s navel, unexpected and ticklish, and at the same time he pinches Changmin’s nipple.

Changmin slams down his right foot. He doesn’t mean to do it. It’s completely involuntary, a response to the sensation that wrenches through him. A jangle of bass notes crashes out. He moans into the sound, helpless and burning up. He jabs at the keys again. This time he hears a note he recognises.

B. B for begging. B for break me. B for—

“Changminnie,” Yunho says, voice unsteady and hoarse with want. “Baby, turn over.”

It takes a moment for him to obey. Changmin squiggles onto his side then onto his front, unzipping his jeans and repositioning his cock before he lies facedown against the surface of the piano. He hears a snap and clunk and realises Yunho has shut the lid over the keyboard. Cautiously he starts to lower his legs, only to go sliding again. Yunho growls and drags him into position, and Changmin’s knees hit the closed lid.

Then Yunho is tugging at Changmin’s jeans, wrestling them down to just above his knees. For a moment Yunho pauses in his task and kisses the back of Changmin’s thighs, rubs his face over Changmin’s ass through the cotton of his underwear.

Changmin lets out a mewl of excitement. He flattens his hands on the piano and turns his head, breath skimming the polished ebony, mist flaring and retreating.

Off comes Changmin’s underwear until it’s twisted around his thighs along with his crumpled jeans. Changmin’s breaths staccato. Lust hammers at him. His fingers clench into claws. His nails scrape at the shiny surface of the piano. He can smell the scent of the polish that was used on the wood. Beeswax and something sweet, something chemical.

Yunho puts his hands on Changmin’s ass. His palms are warm.

A whine breaks from Changmin’s throat. His thighs are trembling. His whole body has tightened. He’s waiting, head full of the smell of beeswax and sweetness, and he turns his face against the piano, presses his cheek to the cool surface. His eyes are watering, that’s how tense he is; tears that aren’t tears gathering and tickle-trickling over the bridge of his nose, over his cheek to smear beneath him.

Yunho leans closer. His breath whispers hot and teasing over Changmin’s ass-cheeks. He eases tiny little kisses over the curve of Changmin’s buttocks, murmuring something Changmin can’t hear.

The kisses are a distraction. While he mouths and nips at Changmin’s skin, Yunho presses down with his hands, presses apart, and Changmin gasps at the knowledge that he’s completely on display, that his hole is open and flexing as pleasure makes him clench and relax in anticipation.

Yunho lifts his head.

Changmin forgets how to breathe. His fingers curl, scratch scratch over the piano, and then they curl again and dig into his palms. The pain is sweet, the pain is good, it’s just enough to keep him there, just enough to stop him from pleading, and then—

Yunho dips his head and licks from right behind Changmin’s balls all the way up to the top of his crack.

Changmin yells, incoherent, and bangs one knee against the body of the piano. Somewhere inside the instrument, the sound echoes through the taut strings. He utters another garbled noise and lurches backwards, wanting more of Yunho’s mouth.

Yunho gives him another long, luxurious lick, then does it again, slower this time. He shoves his face right between Changmin’s buttocks and licks him, making deep, growly noises of pure enjoyment that seem to reverberate all the way up Changmin’s spine to spark through his head.

Changmin thrashes around on the lid of the piano. Yunho is driving him crazy. The soft sweep of Yunho’s hair against his ass. The press of Yunho’s nose. Yunho’s chin, his jaw, the way his mouth moves as he eats Changmin out. The way his tongue circles and teases at the sensitive ring, the way he licks and licks over Changmin’s clenched hole until Changmin has to give in, has to let Yunho’s tongue-tip penetrate him, and oh God it feels so dirty, so good, so mind-blowing, and absolutely everything comes down to this, to the stab and thrust of Yunho’s tongue fucking him.

He’s out of control, Changmin knows it. He’s sliding all over the place, slipping on the glossy surface of the piano. Reaching out to either side he anchors himself, gripping onto the edges of the lid and holding on for dear life as Yunho makes him all juicy-wet. There’s no music now, just the filthy, lewd sounds of gasping breaths and wet slurps and the long, low moans Yunho makes as he rubs his face in Changmin’s crack and tongues him again and again.

Frantic to come, Changmin writhes and ruts. There’s wetness beneath him, beneath his cock, stiff and aching and dribbling pre-come everywhere. It’s between his thighs, Yunho’s saliva slicked all over his skin. There’s wetness beneath his face, too. Changmin is drooling. He kisses the blurred ghost of his reflection, opens his mouth to the piano and forces himself down on it, teeth, tongue, lips, and he tastes the resonance of music and desire.

The dirty wet sounds are killing him. Changmin humps the piano, controlled by Yunho’s touch, Yunho’s tongue, Yunho’s kisses. Changmin’s hands are nowhere near his dick but he thinks he’ll come any minute just from the rimming. It’s so fucking good, and he struggles to express the huge tangle of emotion that’s unlatching and unlocking and straining to break free.

Yunho pulls away, panting for breath.

“Don’t stop,” Changmin begs, flicking back his head. “Don’t stop.”

Movements desperate, Yunho yanks him down off the piano lid. “We finish like this, baby,” Yunho tells him, breath hot against the back of his neck, lips and cheeks and chin wet as he presses kisses to Changmin’s nape.

Unresisting and eager, Changmin does as Yunho directs. He lets himself be arranged standing on the discarded sheet music, leaning forward and taking his weight through his hands over the keyboard lid.

Yunho frees his cock from his suit trousers, nudges against Changmin’s wet hole, and thrusts inside.

Changmin moans as he’s filled, the gorgeous heavy length of Yunho’s dick stretching him. He grips tight as pleasure overwhelms him. Yunho makes a choked sound in response and gasps against Changmin’s neck. “Oh yeah, Changminnie. Got you now.”

Grabbing at Changmin’s drooling dick, Yunho jerks him off as he fucks into him. They’re too primed for this to last very long, and the pace Yunho sets is strong and swift. They rock and sway, moving together, Changmin’s hands curled into fists and banging against the lid of the keyboard in metronomic time. He counts for them, faster, faster, and then Yunho moans and says all purring-growly, “Sing for me, baby, sing for me.”

Changmin lets out a wail, pure and melodic, and comes all over the curves of the polished ebony Steinway.

Yunho explodes in a rush one beat later, hot and perfect, breath stuttering as he pumps into Changmin; and then he sighs, a long, sweet exhalation as he relaxes and pulls Changmin even tighter against him in a hug.

There’s milky seed splashed everywhere. Chopin’s Etude No.10 is stuck to his feet. Changmin smiles. It’s the best damn piano recital he’s ever attended.



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