fic | desiderate

[knuddeln]

Title: desiderate.
Fandom: EXO
Pairing: jongin/zitao
Rating: r
Length: 5,072
Summary: jongin's inability to communicate is a bit more of a problem than zitao's ability to speak korean.

Jongin is not sure when he started to notice the dark haired Chinese boy named Huang Zitao who comes off as timid and shy until he’s given the opportunity to fly through the air or spar with an imaginary opponent. He shifts, features harden, and in those moments he looks lethal. A new persona breaks through, something hidden deep beneath the surface that makes Jongin’s blood boil. It unnerves him the first time he catches the older boy running through choreography that he’s set to shoot for his first solo teaser. He’s not sure why at the time and takes the feeling he can’t quite name as jealousy. Huang Zitao seems to achieve perfection and Jongin wonders if he has to try. Jongin has a habit of staying later than his band mates to practice. While some of the others need to stay later because they still have a ways to go, he stays because he loses himself in the motions. The motions, the feeling, the dance. He’s a born dancer; this will always be his art. An art he’ll always get lost in as he tries to perfect the steps. The choreographers have nothing but praise but Jongin feels he has yet to find the perfect rhythm, the feeling that seeps into every fiber of his being until he knows¬. Knows that this is it, this is perfection. Almost every night he searches, pushes himself toward exhaustion. It’s usually that comes to drag him away when it’s not one of the managers, sometimes it’s Yixing. Jongin prefers when it’s Yixing. It’s not that he dislikes Junmyun’s company, it’s far from that, it’s just that Yixing is usually just as exhausted as he is and there’s a comfortable silence that settles over them as they make their way back to their respective dorms. During the day he can handle Junmyun’s laughter, appreciates his attention to detail. At night he doesn’t want to be touched, or fretted over, even if he should lean on someone because his legs hurt. This night is like any other. The rest of the group has gone, filtered out of the practice room one by one. It’s been at least a few hours since Jongin has heard Sehun’s laughter or Junmyun’s goodbye and a reminder that he should get some sleep. He’s finally taking break, seated against the wall opposite the mirror with aching legs stretched out before him, when he hears the door open. “Jongin?” he hears, eyes widen as his head snaps up. He winces, feeling a sharp pain in his neck, and then tries to school his features into something that isn’t surprise. He glances toward the mirror and realizes he’s making a face that’s more awkward than anything and mentally wants to slap himself. For his part, Zitao seems oblivious to his struggles and instead slips inside of the practice room. “Yixing-hyung said,” Zitao tries in accented Korean that’s only grown a bit more intelligible in the months since his arrival. “That I should,” he pauses, “take you home with me?” His accent is getting better but he says everything as if it were a question, even if that’s not the intent. If not for the fact that Zitao looks more hopeful about the fact that he said it right, Jongin would laugh. He still laughs, a loud sound that floats through the room. When it fades away he notices that Zitao’s face is scrunched up, expression of displeasure clear, and Jongin wonders where the timid older boy he’s used to seeing when they’re all together has gone. Zitao’s opening up as he becomes more comfortable within the company. He’s seen looks of displeasure before, usually playful, but they’re directed at Kris, or Yixing, or Lu Han, or even Baekhyun – who Zitao seems to get along with really well even if there’s still a whole lot of miming going on between them. Jongin doesn’t like that it looks genuine, that it’s directed at him. It draws forth his own agitation, as if it’s undeserved, but even he can’t fool himself here. He manages a muffled apology, pushes himself up and winces as his weight shifts between both legs. He’s been pushing himself but so have the rest of them, there’s nothing special about this. Zitao’s still looking at him expectantly, features a bit hardened and reminding Jongin too much of what the Chinese boy looks like when he’s practicing. “Why were you here so late?” he manages, trying to project a cool curiosity as he picks up his duffle bag and slings it over his shoulder. Kai is cool, collected. Kai is supposed to exude sexual tension at all times. Looking in the mirror though, Jongin realizes he has a long way to go before he can embody Kai in the blink of an eye. “Wushu,” comes the simple reply which starts a string of words, awkward sentences pulled together as they make their way from the studio and out of the building. The mood lifts, grows comfortable as they make their way to their respective destinations. Jongin realizes that they carry themselves is similar. Years in dance studios have taught him to size people up, search for weaknesses in stance that will translate into dance. “I am practicing late,” Zitao’s soft voice breaks his concentration. “Tomorrow, I will come.” He says with a smile, looking more confident in his word choice. When he’s confident, his voice deepens just a hint and Jongin wonders if it’s the Zitao underneath that’s trying to break through. When they part he’s left with a strange feeling settling into his stomach, one that makes him furrow his brows as he climbs a flight of stairs. The elevator’s broken and there’s a part of him that’s convinced today the universe is out to throw him off balance. When he dreams of a dark-haired boy spinning through the air, body spinning as he kicks or transitions from move to move, Jongin is convinced that this feeling is something he does not want to have. ---- “Something on your mind?” Sehun asks as they eat lunch in the SM building with the rest of the members that will make up EXO-K. There are two months before they debut, they’ve all been practicing hard and spending countless hours together. Jongin doesn’t really mind. “No, why?” comes the response, Jongin’s been staring across the room and when he glances over at Sehun his eyes narrow. The younger boy has a piece of chicken that had once been on Jongin’s plate lifted to his mouth and he’s about to take a bite. If Sehun notices that Jongin’s caught onto his offense, he doesn’t act like it and instead gives him an imploring look. “You have this new weird look on your face,” Sehun teases. Jongin smacks his arm and grumbles under his breath. For a moment he decides to ignore him, instead reaches over across the table to steal a piece of chicken from the plate that belongs to Junmyun. The older boy has a horrible inability to resist his antics and even if he’s given a stern look, it melts into a smile the second Jongin flashes his own. “It’s nothing,” he finally turns to Sehun, who has finished his chicken and seems to also be eyeing Junmyun’s plate. The maknae seems to drop it, leaves the topic for now and moves onto planning an adventure he wants to go on. Jongin’s mood brightens; he’s all ears for something that serves as a distraction. ---- Zitao comes that night. He’s there every once in a while, sometimes he arrives when Jongin is already done and others he slips into the room and watches with excitement. The fact he has an audience spurs Jongin on, he puts more effort into his movements. It becomes a routine, a private show saved for Zitao. Often he abandons their choreography in favor of something improvised or an old ballet routine. There’s always excitement in Zitao’s gaze, though as time passes it melts into something unreadable that makes Jongin feel like he’s being stalked by a large cat. Zitao watches him in the way that Jongin’s gaze follows him during the day. He isn’t sure what happened to the boy that trips over his own feet when he’s walking and straining to understand those around him. He’s definitely not the same boy that watches him like prey, waiting for a cue to strike. Jongin wonders what he’s doing wrong because he’s pretty sure that it’s pretty obvious. They spend more and more time together, Jongin’s made a habit of buying Zitao potato chip snacks that he learned he likes after a conversation with Kris. He sneaks touches when he can, more so than he does with Sehun, Kyungsoo, or Junmyun. Zitao returns the affection, laughing about Korean skinship, and Jongin tells himself that he does not have it bad and that it does not annoy him. At least this is what Jongin tells himself as he watches Zitao’s lips curl upward in an encouraging smile and a part of him feels like he’s going to melt. ---- “What is this?” Zitao asks. He’s been sitting with Jongin and Sehun as they wait around the set of one of their first photoshoots. There’s more to come and the thought of this fills Jongin with a sort of excitement, their official debut is not far off and final preparations are underway. He’s been born ready for this, worked too hard not to feel the rush of adrenaline as he thinks about standing on a stage with bright lights shining down on him. He’s always chased what he wants; his dreams and aspirations become reality. There’s nothing he can’t attain, no mountain too high as long as he believes in himself. Sehun teases him about being cocky but it’s confidence. If he believes, he’ll be able to make it happen. “Hey,” Zitao says, this time lightly nudging him with his shoulder. “What is this?” he asks again, motioning at the container of food that he’s holding in his hand. It’s opened and, honestly, Jongin can’t really tell what he’s looking at either. “Who gave it to you?” He asks, brows raised. “Chanyeol-hyung did not want, so he gave to me. He said he got it from Baekhyun-hyung,” Zitao explains, looking at Jongin suspiciously. They all know that food’s safer when delivered by the source and that source is Kyungsoo or Yixing. “Try some?” there’s suddenly an expectant gleam in Zitao’s eyes as he lifts a mouthful of whatever the concoction is. Jongin thinks he has a real problem because he leans in for the bite. It tastes as bad as it looks and he grabs a napkin from Zitao’s lap to spit it out, coughing. “What the fuck!” he complains, mouth burning. Zitao gives him water as if it will help and Sehun spends the rest of practice teasing him. Jongin makes his way over to Kyungsoo once he feels better and spends the rest of his time trying not to think about how expectant Zitao had looked. As if he knew that he’d gotten under Jongin’s skin and it was a matter of time. ---- The dreams are getting more vivid as time passes. Hormones take over where once there was only simple fascination. Zitao holds a blade to his throat before his lips crash against his. He pulls him closer, hands clutching at the dark fabric of Zitao’s shirt as he pulls the taller boy’s frame against his. It’s a battle for dominance, a hunger that washes over him. The feeling is perfect, whole. There’s something lethal in Zitao’s gaze and when he wakes up, jolted awake and feeling incredibly unsatisfied, Jongin realizes that it’s stupid to deny himself what he wants when he hasn’t done so all of his life. ---- Jongin makes more of the effort, pulling Zitao away from time spent with the Chinese members of EXO. He’s growing jealous of soft laughter, of how easily the conversation seems to flow even if he’s the only one that earns the heated looks. The fact that Jongin isn’t really sure of this makes his stomach churn, an ugly jealous monster growing inside. He has no claim but he wants to. Zitao laughs with him, sometimes at him, but the fact that they spend time together is what matters most. Zitao returns his hugs and his hands linger too long when he gives Jongin’s shoulder or leg a squeeze, showing his approval for something he still can’t quite express. Kyungsoo’s caught on, as Jongin figures he would. He spent days denying it until he succumbed to another one of Kyungsoo’s looks. “Be careful,” the older boy warns, though he knows that careful and Jongin don’t often go hand-in-hand, “Tao’s going to be promoting in China.” The fact hits him like a ton of bricks. A scowl forms, arms cross over his chest as he lies down on his bed and stares intently at the ceiling above him. Time is ticking down, slipping through his hands, and if he doesn’t do something soon there the opportunity will be lost until they are reunited again. Distance can make the heart grow fonder but it can also tear bonds apart. Jongin thinks it’s probably better but he’s selfish enough to not want to let go of the thoughts of pushing Zitao against the mirror in the practice studio, leaving marks in his wake. “Whatever,” he mumbles; sure that Kyungsoo doesn’t believe that he doesn’t care. ---- In life there are opportunities seized and lost, regrets to be remembered and forgotten. Jongin’s sure that this moment could go both ways. Instead of heading home after practicing late into the night, they decide to stay longer. Zitao runs through the Wushu routine he’s choreographed for their showcase and Jongin watches with fascination and a bit of jealousy seeping into his heart. Zitao lands a jump, doesn’t stumble, and instead of turning watches the younger boy in the mirror. His lips are curled upward in smile, he’s breathing heavily as he tries to regain his breath. “Zitao,” Jongin calls out, making an effort to pronounce the Chinese boy’s name in the way Lu Han or Yixing do. When he met him, he’d give up, but he’s been putting forth more effort. He isn’t really sure what he intends to say, nor how he expects Zitao to react, but the lips pressed against his own are a more than welcome distraction from whatever it was. Zitao’s kisses are rough and demanding, yet his lips are soft and supple against his own. There’s no blade between them but Zitao kisses him hungrily, tongue sliding between parted lips and claiming what should have been his a long time ago. There’s no softness between them, no playful whispers before Jongin drapes his arms over broad shoulders and hooks a leg around Zitao’s waist. His skin is on fire, every part of him feels like it’s burning up. The feeling is raw, fulfilling, and when he catches them in the mirror he thinks he’s found new inspiration in this. ---- There’s a little voice that tells Jongin that maybe the whole make-out sessions in abandoned practice rooms is not the best idea he’s had. Especially considering that they’re with a band mate, a co-worker, a boy who he will be separated from for good chunks at a time. This little voice is known at Kyungsoo. Jongin hates that the older boy can read him like an open book but this is better than Sehun laughing at how much this all sounds like a bad work of fiction. Kyungsoo has always been the voice of reason but unfortunately the tune he’s singing is one Jongin’s choosing to ignore. ---- Their showcase comes and goes, a blur of camera flashes and moments where he’s so overwhelmed by emotion that his face hurts from smiling. He dances his heart out, loses himself to the adrenaline. There’s nothing more in the world that he wants than this feeling, this feeling of having what he’s wanted for so long. It fills him every nook and cranny of his being until he almost feels complete, almost. There’s still a small gap, something unfilled that seems to be less of a distraction when he receives a text from Zitao that says nothing interesting in particular but implies that the other is thinking of him. He sends texts back, always feeling the need to keep the conversation going. Zitao’s in Beijing now, they’re left with text and video chats that don’t convey as much as touching and feeling. This is partially to the fact that the Chinese boy seems to slack off on his studies while in China, his Korean remains at a steady level that leaves them occasionally miming at the screen. Jongin grows proud of his own ability to interpret hand motions, long-winded descriptions as they each try to figure out what exactly the other is saying when they are saying it. This leads to a lot of fights, inevitably. Jongin knows he has a temper and can jump to conclusions, Zitao is patient but he’s a flame that’s also easily sparked if the right things are said. It’s strange that Jongin knows how to spark them, which buttons to push even if he’s not quite sure if Zitao understands what he’s saying the whole time. Sometimes he’s not sure what it that the older boy is saying either when he’s speaking to him in fumbling Korean, gesticulating with his hands as he tries to make a point. “It is ridiculous to call so much,” he says before Jongin slams the screen of his laptop shuts. Zitao looked like he was in the middle of saying something, a fact that’s confirmed by the text he soon receives, but Jongin ignores it. It’s not ridiculous to call so much when you miss some one, when you need to know they’re still thinking about you because each time you see a picture of them your heart does this weird fluttering and longs for home. Regardless of how ridiculous he’s being, a fact that he chooses to ignore, and how much he’s moping, something Sehun points out enough that Junmyun’s spending extra time fussing over him; he’s not willing to be the first to call. It seems that neither is Zitao. ---- He hurts his back; a searing pain spreads through his frame each time he moves too sharply or puts his weight down wrong. Junmyun accompanies him to the hospital, following behind their manager, and Jongin’s happy to have the other there to lean on and whine at. Junmyun brings him coffee when they wait and he gets to talk to his family though there’s no time to go home and rest. He’ll get patches for the pain, a day to recuperate, before the show goes on and he’s on the stage again. Everything is fine, relatively, until he’s back at the dorm and resting in his own bed. He’s been trying to stop the others from fussing over him since he arrived, retreats to bed because he wants to rest. But when his head hits the pillow he feels wide awake even with painkillers in his system. The one person he wants to fuss over him isn’t here to do it and, if he’s honest, he can’t exactly picture Zitao acting the same way as Kyungsoo when he’s hurt. His phone vibrates and he hesitates before looking, feels a lump in his throat because he wonders if the Chinese boy he’s been thinking about has read his mind. He hasn’t. The text is from Taemin, announcing that he’s heard the news and that Jongin’s attempts to look sexy have been too much for his body to handle. As much as it cheers him up, Jongin can feel his mood worsening. ---- It doesn’t get better the next day, or the day after. His back still hurts and he’s snapping at band mates left and right. He doesn’t want help, he’s fine. Or he’s bored and Junmyun’s relayed the message that he’s supposed to remain bedbound when they aren’t on the move. This isn’t often so it’s a welcome break. At least until the others go off to have vocal practice and he’s stuck at home alone. His phone vibrates, a soft buzz that pulls him out of sleep when it’s finally overcoming him. He’s tempted to ignore it before it buzzes again, another message materializing from thin air. He pulls the phone from under his pillow, eyes half-lidded and clouded with sleep as he unlocks the screen. “Hey ^^,” reads the first. The silence was broken, the worry that the other hadn’t cared seeped out and anger remained. “Duizhang told us what happened. Hope you are okay. Do not push yourself too much, okay? Take things slow. Your dancing is good!” is what the second one displays. Anger still there, though there’s an urge to focus on the hope you’re okay. “You didn’t text earlier. I am fine,” is what he replies. Feeling stupid for the first bit already. The response comes a few minutes later, careful and calculated. He can tell that Zitao’s sitting on the other side, staring at his phone just as expectantly as he is but choosing his words more carefully. It’s hard to fight when you don’t know how to say what you mean, when you one misstep can cause the flames to rise again. “You shut the laptop off when I was talking. I thought you did not want to talk.” Brows furrow, nose scrunches slightly as Jongin reads the text over and over. “I was waiting for an apology.” he admits, arms crossing over his chest after hitting send. “You did not finish listening to what I wanted to say.” Jongin stares, willing the next message to come through. It does. “The distance, it hurts.” It does hurt. There’s nothing more painful than wanting some one that’s hundreds of kilometers away. Than wondering if they’re thinking about you just as much as you are. Sometimes Jongin scans the crowds of fans, sometimes he casts his gaze toward co-workers, noonas, or even band mates, in hopes that someone will catch his attention and hold it better than the Zitao. It hasn’t happened yet. The text reminds him that they’re in the same boat. Neither really knows what they’re doing though the attraction is clearly there. Jongin still dreams of being pressed underneath Zitao’s warm body or pushing the body down and pressing soft kisses down his chest until Zitao whines because he isn’t a fan of slow and sweet. They haven’t actually gone very far with this whole thing but it’s enough to leave him wanting, craving touch after touch or staring at his phone angrily when he hasn’t received a response to a text he thinks is particularly funny. Despite all this there’s no labels, no affectionate words exchanged that implies that there’s more to this than there is. They like each other, that’s clear, but Jongin’s unsure he wants to put a label to it. Labels imply that there could be an end, a breaking off where the label no longer applies. He’d rather have it fade away, back into friendly exchanges than to crash and burn. “I am sorry. It hurts and I am selfish too.” Zitao fills the silence, fishing for a response because Jongin hasn’t said anything. It hits him like a ton of bricks, stomach clenches. “Fine. Goodbye.” he responds finally, throwing his phone across the room and on to Kyungsoo’s bed. If Zitao’s going to push away and save himself the hurt, he can manage the same. Except he can’t. ---- They don’t talk for a long time. The silence overwhelms Jongin and he feels like he’s moving more sluggishly when he’s not on the stage. It’s mostly the fact that there’s no rest, no time to take a break between appearances and performances. But a large part of it is that Zitao and he are clearly ignoring each other. Jongin starts to watch clips of EXO-M’s performances and appearances, frowning because Zitao looks like he’s been sleeping fine. His emotional outbreaks are brought on by talking about how much he misses the rest of the members, how much he wishes they would all be united. He speaks fondly of Baekhyun and Jongin grows more jealous. ---- The whole group is reunited again in California. Everyone’s anxious and excited, their first SMTown concert is a day away. It’s strange that there are fans to greet them at the airport, fans that follow them around the day before the show as they make their way around Disneyland. Jongin keeps to himself, running through routines in his head as he tries to calm his nerves. The pressure has always been on him to perform, to do well. He sometimes feels like he carries the band on his shoulders – that his mistakes could become their mistakes. He’s nervous and overwhelmed by screams, flashes from cameras the management didn’t realize would be there. It makes him proud, excited because their reach has spread so far, but at the same time it pushes him further into his own thoughts. The fact that Zitao is here doesn’t help, a distraction shouldn’t serve as one anymore. When they make their way back to the hotel room, Jongin’s beyond tired. His anxiety is kicking up and he makes a beeline for the room he shares with Sehun, slipping inside to fall face first into his bed after he takes a shower. He’s too lazy to dry his hair but had managed to slip into a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt, so he doesn’t make a move when Sehun slips into the room. Except that when he mumbles a soft I’m tired which really translates to I want to sleep, be quiet, it’s not Sehun that replies. “We need to talk,” comes the reply, Zitao’s words accented by firm. He’s standing by the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, as his hands slip into the pockets of his too tight jeans. Jongin forces himself up, turns around so he can sit on the bed. He doesn’t offer the other an invitation to sit but Zitao takes it, settles to sit on the edge of Sehun’s bed with long legs stretched out in front of him. He’s long legs and muscle with a glare that makes Jongin’s knees feel weak, a fact he hates because he’s supposed to be the one that makes hearts melt with a simple pout, but right now he kind of looks like a lost kitten that’s unsure where to start. He keeps his hands in his lap, bites on lower lip. “I thought we were done talking,” Jongin frowns, a half-hearted attempt because he’s still angry and hurt. “You were done talking,” the answer comes quickly, the nervousness that has graced Zitao’s features has melted away and has been replaced with something far more serious. “I was not done. I did not mean I wanted to stop talking, Jongin! You never let me explain!” The forcefulness of the words nearly knocks him over and Jongin balls his fists in the sheets, grip strong but the fabric preventing nails from digging painfully into his palms. “What’s there not to understand? “ He tries, eyes still narrowed. “It hurts. It hurts me and it hurts you but I’m selfish,” Zitao looks determined, emotions strung high and evident in a way that Jongin couldn’t read when he stared intently at black and white text. “It hurts but I am not giving it up.” Oh. Oh. Jongin wonders if he looks as stupid as he feels, if the flush on his cheeks is comically bright. “Oh,” he manages, shoulders slackening as tension washes out of his frame. “I’m stupid?” he offers when his brain catches up with the situation. “Did you read the other messages? The ones I sent?” “No?” A lame response. He’d deleted them before dragging Sehun out for the night. “Then yes,” comes the easy response, words sliding from Zitao’s lips smoothly. Soft lips that catch Jongin’s attention before they press against his own, exchanging soft apologies that melt into needy kisses. They gates are unleashed, the pent up frustration washes through and consumes them. Jongin’s hands clutch Zitao’s shoulders, intent on leaving marks in his wake, as he pulls him down on the bed and flips them over. It’s always been a battle of wills, of wants, and the selfish need that neither could let go of. He hadn’t been sure he hadn’t been alone. But the desperate nature of Zitao’s grip as he slides down between his spread legs, or the way he leaves love bites along his thighs, tells Jongin that the want has been there all along and Zitao just couldn’t voice it in the same way he could show him. It also tells him he’s been thinking too much. ---- When he walks on stage that night, the gap that’s been growing over the last few weeks has been filled. The adrenaline’s pumping in his veins and when he dances he feels like he’s finally attained what he’s been searching for. As the concert draws to a close, Jongin pulls Zitao into a hug, hand slipping to the nape of the taller boy’s neck to pull him close. He’s filled with a sense of satisfaction and warmth when strong arms wrap around his frame. It’s slow, sensual, and he’s sure the fans who catch this on tape will whisper excitedly amongst themselves as they play it back. The thought makes him smirk as he lets his arm slide around the other’s waist, pulls him close and tugs him away from where they were standing on the stage. It will hurt when they’re apart but there’s video chats and phone calls, there’s pantomiming and sending each other dictionary definitions when the conversation lulls and no one’s quite sure where it’s really deviated to. There’s being selfish and wanting it, chasing the desire that fills them both. For now they have an opportunity to show each other instead, to communicate by touch and looks where words fall short.

AN: I didn't beta this so I hope it is good TT