dbsk_flashfic | the golden age of aviation. (flashfic challenge 6: spring giddiness)

title the golden age of aviation.
author

sunfever.
word count ~400.
concrit hit me.
pairing jaejoong/yoochun/junsu.
a/n for shay, who wanted kissing on parisian ferris wheels. title's a song by the lucksmiths.

I would love to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.

Their car is miles too small and miles too high. Yoochun's stomach has permanently relocated to his throat. Back in their hotel room, getting dressed this morning, Jaejoong'd done this thing with his fingers, measuring the spaces between each of Yoochun's naked ribs like saying: if my fingers slip, know that I'm aiming for your heart. He'd said, in poor French: "Rendezvous."

Lately, Yoochun's been counting in threes. Junsu'd arrived yesterday and tasted different, foreign food and air, the sting of airport disinfectant. The only answer had been to kiss him back to normal. Miss me? Not at all.

Under them, Paris is a concert hall of blue and yellow lights, and they're in the first balcony wings. Junsu's singing again. Yoochun thinks, in a second of rushing clarity: the ferris wheel is going to malfunction, snap apart, and we're going to fall.

"Facing fears," Jaejoong says, from where he's looking out the car's glass walls. It's too dark to tell how far there is to the ground, or if the ground's still there at all. At 12am, Jaejoong's skin and sun-washed hair can't fuse him into the sky, but his eyes are good for city lights. "Carpe diem."

"That's Latin, not French," says Yoochun.

"Medo," Junsu interrupts, mid-song. "Fear in Portuguese."

"Facing medo," Jaejoong amends.

There are a thousand ways they could die right now. Junsu's hand is warm and small and dry in Yoochun's. Paris keeps his throat open. Yoochun listens to the creak of machinery and tells himself not to look down.

(Their game on the way up:

"What would you like on your epitaph?" Jaejoong asks, imaginary microphone in his fist.

"Too cool for hell, too hot for heaven," answers Yoochun. "Junsu-sshi, what's your ideal superpower?"

Junsu's laughing. He likes being up this high. "Flight. Money or fame?"

"Love," Jaejoong says, and takes Yoochun's other hand to pull him to his feet.)

Yoochun's thinking: we're going to make the car overbalance, we're going to be one of the crazy headline accidents. At the top of the ferris wheel, Jaejoong stands behind him and spreads their arms out together like they're on the bow of a ship, the exit of an airplane, saying, "look." Yoochun gets five terrifying seconds to see the world from a hundred meters high before Junsu's there and kissing the fear of heights out of him, hot and slow.

Jaejoong tips Yoochun forward, into Junsu, and holds his arms back, skydiving, jumping rooftops. Junsu's mouth is something with wings. Jaejoong's is next, parachute. Yoochun tastes altitude. He opens his eyes for Paris to shake into focus. They never hit the ground.

Now my loving is running toward my life shouting,
What a bargain, let's buy it.