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[fic] SJ: three drabbles
Trying out second person prose. Re-posted from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
bluefractures.
got your words in me
super junior ; kibum/donghae ; r
898 w
You've ended up coming to his apartment, a bottle of wine in one hand and several weeks of pent-up passion dangling form the other. You've drunk in companionable silence for a while, remembering the things you used to do when he lived with you what feels like ages ago, the games you played when you were bored and the soothing words you said to each other when you were too tired to function properly.
You smiled dangerously at some point, leaned in too close and whispered something hot and damp against his ear, and you watched as his eyes took on that dark gleam that only meant one thing. He leaned back against you, grabbed the collar of your shirt and bumped your lips together, his other hand flying blind to find your hip to pull you on top of him.
"Shit, Donghae," he mumbled against your cheek when you rolled your hips down; smiled smugly when the air got caught in the back of his throat.
He bites the skin of your collarbones, sharp teeth sinking into your skin and leaving a mark - his mark - that'll definitely piss someone off tomorrow.
And you can't bring yourself to care.
His hands find the stability your hips provide, pressing softly. I missed you, it's what it feels like, I missed you and I don't wanna let go. He mumbles a string of mellifluous words against the skin of your shoulder, a sharp and tangible contrast with the way his body moves against yours, so needy and eager.
He fumbles with the last piece of clothing separating his skin from yours with clumsy, trembling hands, and it makes you wonder how much he actually needs this - you. You already know how much you need him at this point.
He grabs your hips with those big hands you've missed so much and lays you on your back, climbing on top of you and then licks a line up your chest, always touching you, always staring deeply into your eyes; you tighten your fingers in his hair. "Kibum," you moan, arching your back when he finds your most ticklish spot.
"Donghae," he exhales in reply, lifting a hand so he can tighten his fingers around your wrist. Your pulse is beating right against his fingertips. "I missed you so fucking much."
You smile against his hair when he starts kissing your neck, kiss just above his ear and roll your hips in a languid, liquid move against his. He pants hotly against your cheek. "I missed you too," you manage to say before he kisses the hell out of you.
Soon enough, you're bucking up against him, arching, trying to get him deeper, harder, faster, better, more. He holds your hips down with so much strength his knuckles are white, thrusts into you, so, so deep you can feel him burying himself right inside your heart. He's trying to leave a mark in there, in your skin, a tattoo that'll remind you of him for the next excruciating weeks in which you won't be able to touch, to feel. You're tempted to tell him he doesn't have to, that there's no way you'll forget about him, but it's hard to think correctly when he's moaning into your mouth, less to articulate a word when his tongue is so tangled with yours.
Kibum touches you like no one else has and like no one else will ever do, that much is known. He makes you see stars with every kiss and breath he steals from your mouth and every word he seems to write in your skin with his tongue. He makes your blood boil and your heart race; makes you lose control of yourself and your surroundings within only five minutes of being around you and the next thing you know is you've got your arms out stretched, spinning around in fast circles in which the only thing that doesn't stop you from getting dizzy are his eyes.
He says your name, so quiet and full of raw love it makes you see stars in the back of your eyes.
When you come, is with his name on your lips and his hand entwined with yours. "I love you," he kisses the words against the corner of your smile. "I love you."
You kiss him hard and deep instead of giving him any kind of answer. He seems to like it because when he pulls away to stare down at you, he's smiling wider you've seen in years.
Two days later, when you're pulling up your sweatpants in one of the changing rooms, you catch sight of faded, purple marks in the hollows of your hips that match with the size of your hand perfectly.
You knew he'd leave a mark, you knew he wanted to leave a mark.
You trace the bruises with a reverent touch, feeling a shudder roll down your spine when you picture Kibum holding you down and fucking you so hard it makes you scream, his eyes above yours, dark, dark, dark. You smile to your reflection in the mirror, pull down the hem of your shirt and find more bruises in your collarbones. Mine, they whisper. You're mine, I miss you, I love you, you're mine.
You agree with the words printed in your skin, you're his. As much as he's yours.
we're everything we need
super junior ; kyuhyun/zhou mi ; g
746 w
Kyuhyun lays awake in his bed, not really paying attention to his surroundings, when his phone buzzes insistently on his nightstand. It pulls him back to reality, thoughts about, honestly, nothing stopping abruptly inside his head. Even if he's been thinking about nothing in particular it doesn't mean people can just go and deprive him of his right to do it, okay, that's just really disrespectful.
With a frown firmly placed in his brow, he reaches for his cell phone, ideas of whos and whys rapidly popping up in his brain. His frown disappears when he catches sight of his screen, though.
The screen reads 1 Text Message from "觅觅" and Kyuhyun starts wondering when Zhou Mi had hold of his cell phone and changed his name because Kyuhyun certainly didn't do so. The message is simple and plain, 我爱你.
Kyuhyun smiles - he does know he's smiling like a fool - and sighs softly, picturing an ever-smiling, ever-loving Zhou Mi inside his now more-tired head.
It's kind of easy sometimes, Kyuhyun admits, the way words like that seem so accurate and perfect. It's also scary, to throw such words at such young age when there're people that go their entire lives without even knowing what it really means.
Kyuhyun tries not to think about it too often (it usually ends up with big, dark bags under his eyes and a hovering Sungmin that's always asking what's so wrong with him to keep him awake all fucking night); instead, he thinks of Zhou Mi and his warm, brown eyes full of the light Kyuhyun always searches; of his mesmerizing, heart-breaking smile and that rumbling laughter of his that seems to echo in Kyuhyun's chest whenever he's too - no such thing as too - close, because Zhou Mi is everything he thinks of.
The phone buzzes again, this time in his hand, making him jump slightly. You're supposed to answer that, you know =_=, Zhou Mi types and Kyuhyun can practically sense the disappointment and the pout coming out of his phone.
Instead of pressing Reply, he presses Call and waits for the five seconds it takes Zhou Mi to pick up. "Hey!" Zhou Mi chirps loudly - happily, a grin shining in his words - against the phone.
Kyuhyun finds it funny that he no longer flinches at that.
"Hey back," he murmurs quietly, trying to fight back the sleepiness knotting his brain and thoughts and also trying not to be too noisy and wake Sungmin up. He should be sleeping, he really should, but - Zhou Mi. He heaves a sigh, eyes closing. "I love you, too. I called to tell you that. " I'm answering and I always will.
Zhou Mi laughs, a quiet, breathy thing. "Aw, Kui Xian. You could've just written it, there was no need in calling me. Is Sungmin-sshi asleep?" Kyuhyun only hums in reply. "See? And you're falling a sleep, too."
"'M not," Kyuhyun replies in an offended, petulant tone, ready to start an 'am not - are too' fight with Zhou Mi - except he doesn't think he's got enough strength to do that. (Damn long practice that went longer because Eunhyuk couldn't keep his mouth shut about how important those steps were.) "Okay, maybe I am."
Snickering, Zhou Mi says, "I should keep you awake all night and then let you suffer in Sungmin's hands." Kyuhyun thinks he really could do so, but tries to convince himself Zhou Mi loves him more than that. Zhou Mi heaves a great sigh, "But, since I love you and everything, I won't."
Kyuhyun laughs quietly. "Thank you for you kindness, oh, almighty Zhou Mi." He turns on his side as he listens to Zhou Mi's delighted laughter and Damn right I'm kind and then lifts a hand to switch his nightstand lamp off. "You are some cocky bastard," he grumbles tiredly, face pressed against his pillow. "Did you know that? You're a bad influence on me."
Zhou Mi snorts. "Yeah, okay. Whatever."
"No, really. Like, worse than Heechul hyung. You should be proud. Or concerned, I don't know. It's really up to you." Kyuhyun's yawn make the seriousness of the conversation slip off like water fades dust away - although he doubts the conversation ever turned serious at some point. Zhou Mi laughs loudly for almost a minute before saying, between gasps,
"Oh, how much I miss you, Kui Xian."
Kyuhyun's lips twitch against his pillow. "Yeah, I miss you too."
the night starts here
super junior ; han geng/heechul ; r
752 w
When people ask why you usually end up doing whatever comes out of Heechul's mouth, the answer pops up so fast in your head you have to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from venting. You just smile apologetically, sparing a side-glance to whomever sits beside you, trying to ask without words if you're using the right words and tenses, "I owe him."
How much, though, is not quite acknowledged, not even for you.
You attribute it to the long friendship(-and-something-more) you two have, to the long-suffering nights of Korean lessons he helped you out with.
But mostly, you attribute it to the times you cried in his shoulder because you missed your mom and everything hurt, when you thought about quitting and leaving because it was too tiring and he comforted you all the way, "Everything is going to be okay, I promise."
You believed him.
You didn't have the right to deprive him from his sleep-hours (considering they were just few) with your sorrows, and he didn't have the obligation to listen to you. But he did. He listened, he cared, and he still does, even now when you're trying to walk away from him - them, a small part of you whispers. You know he's one of the main reasons why you've stayed this long and why you've turned out to be you. (He's probably reason number two, your mom is always number one.)
"Ask me to stay," you whisper in the middle of the darkness, lips barely grazing the skin of his hip. He'll say no and you know it with certainty - he respects you more than people give him credit for - but that doesn't stop you from trying. You nose your way up through his stomach; love the way the skin of his thighs turn into goose-pimples under your fingertips, the way his breath comes out in strained hisses and broken moans when you exhale against a nipple.
You love him like this, you love everything about him, but you've never got the nerve to say it out loud, not with the real words. "I'll stay if you want me to."
He threads one of his thin hands through your hair and tugs impatiently, tugs until you let him pull you up to kiss you.
The kiss is sweet, slow and lazy, tongues dancing and teeth nipping - and hearts beating - with patience; not what you need now but what you'll definitely miss the most once he leaves in the morning. One of your hands fly up to cup his face gently until he pulls back to breathe.
His eyes are damp when you open yours. His cheek is wet when you dare to run your thumb over pale skin. "I can't do that to you," he breathes against your lips, voice firm. "I can't do that to myself, either."
You're about to say I love you when he closes the gape between you, probably because he wants to kiss you, but you've got the strong feeling it's just because he doesn't want you to say those three words and then hurt yourselves when one of you leaves.
The next morning comes too fast for you, too fast, too lit and too lonely. You sit up on your bed, slowly scanning the room and trying to find something out of the ordinary. There's absolutely nothing, and when you finally bring yourself to realize Heechul won't suddenly jump from the closet with a wide grin on his face, it's well past ten.
It's been long since the last time you let yourself get out of bed this late.
You wrap the sheets - still smelling like him and you and home - around your shoulders and stumble your way to the bathroom. The lights are off but the room is still lit enough for you to catch sight of the yellow post-it note in the mirror.
I want you to get out there and show them all who you really are. Prove them they need you. Prove me I should've asked you to stay.
It's almost ironic. You owe him, right?
You promise you will while seizing the yellow paper from the mirror with trembling hands and damp eyes. You make your way back to the room and tuck the paper in your wallet, next to a picture of him, Eeteuk and you, and one of your mom's.
"I will," you repeat to the empty room. For Heechul, anything.
bluefractures.got your words in me
super junior ; kibum/donghae ; r
898 w
You've ended up coming to his apartment, a bottle of wine in one hand and several weeks of pent-up passion dangling form the other. You've drunk in companionable silence for a while, remembering the things you used to do when he lived with you what feels like ages ago, the games you played when you were bored and the soothing words you said to each other when you were too tired to function properly.
You smiled dangerously at some point, leaned in too close and whispered something hot and damp against his ear, and you watched as his eyes took on that dark gleam that only meant one thing. He leaned back against you, grabbed the collar of your shirt and bumped your lips together, his other hand flying blind to find your hip to pull you on top of him.
"Shit, Donghae," he mumbled against your cheek when you rolled your hips down; smiled smugly when the air got caught in the back of his throat.
He bites the skin of your collarbones, sharp teeth sinking into your skin and leaving a mark - his mark - that'll definitely piss someone off tomorrow.
And you can't bring yourself to care.
His hands find the stability your hips provide, pressing softly. I missed you, it's what it feels like, I missed you and I don't wanna let go. He mumbles a string of mellifluous words against the skin of your shoulder, a sharp and tangible contrast with the way his body moves against yours, so needy and eager.
He fumbles with the last piece of clothing separating his skin from yours with clumsy, trembling hands, and it makes you wonder how much he actually needs this - you. You already know how much you need him at this point.
He grabs your hips with those big hands you've missed so much and lays you on your back, climbing on top of you and then licks a line up your chest, always touching you, always staring deeply into your eyes; you tighten your fingers in his hair. "Kibum," you moan, arching your back when he finds your most ticklish spot.
"Donghae," he exhales in reply, lifting a hand so he can tighten his fingers around your wrist. Your pulse is beating right against his fingertips. "I missed you so fucking much."
You smile against his hair when he starts kissing your neck, kiss just above his ear and roll your hips in a languid, liquid move against his. He pants hotly against your cheek. "I missed you too," you manage to say before he kisses the hell out of you.
Soon enough, you're bucking up against him, arching, trying to get him deeper, harder, faster, better, more. He holds your hips down with so much strength his knuckles are white, thrusts into you, so, so deep you can feel him burying himself right inside your heart. He's trying to leave a mark in there, in your skin, a tattoo that'll remind you of him for the next excruciating weeks in which you won't be able to touch, to feel. You're tempted to tell him he doesn't have to, that there's no way you'll forget about him, but it's hard to think correctly when he's moaning into your mouth, less to articulate a word when his tongue is so tangled with yours.
Kibum touches you like no one else has and like no one else will ever do, that much is known. He makes you see stars with every kiss and breath he steals from your mouth and every word he seems to write in your skin with his tongue. He makes your blood boil and your heart race; makes you lose control of yourself and your surroundings within only five minutes of being around you and the next thing you know is you've got your arms out stretched, spinning around in fast circles in which the only thing that doesn't stop you from getting dizzy are his eyes.
He says your name, so quiet and full of raw love it makes you see stars in the back of your eyes.
When you come, is with his name on your lips and his hand entwined with yours. "I love you," he kisses the words against the corner of your smile. "I love you."
You kiss him hard and deep instead of giving him any kind of answer. He seems to like it because when he pulls away to stare down at you, he's smiling wider you've seen in years.
Two days later, when you're pulling up your sweatpants in one of the changing rooms, you catch sight of faded, purple marks in the hollows of your hips that match with the size of your hand perfectly.
You knew he'd leave a mark, you knew he wanted to leave a mark.
You trace the bruises with a reverent touch, feeling a shudder roll down your spine when you picture Kibum holding you down and fucking you so hard it makes you scream, his eyes above yours, dark, dark, dark. You smile to your reflection in the mirror, pull down the hem of your shirt and find more bruises in your collarbones. Mine, they whisper. You're mine, I miss you, I love you, you're mine.
You agree with the words printed in your skin, you're his. As much as he's yours.
we're everything we need
super junior ; kyuhyun/zhou mi ; g
746 w
Kyuhyun lays awake in his bed, not really paying attention to his surroundings, when his phone buzzes insistently on his nightstand. It pulls him back to reality, thoughts about, honestly, nothing stopping abruptly inside his head. Even if he's been thinking about nothing in particular it doesn't mean people can just go and deprive him of his right to do it, okay, that's just really disrespectful.
With a frown firmly placed in his brow, he reaches for his cell phone, ideas of whos and whys rapidly popping up in his brain. His frown disappears when he catches sight of his screen, though.
The screen reads 1 Text Message from "觅觅" and Kyuhyun starts wondering when Zhou Mi had hold of his cell phone and changed his name because Kyuhyun certainly didn't do so. The message is simple and plain, 我爱你.
Kyuhyun smiles - he does know he's smiling like a fool - and sighs softly, picturing an ever-smiling, ever-loving Zhou Mi inside his now more-tired head.
It's kind of easy sometimes, Kyuhyun admits, the way words like that seem so accurate and perfect. It's also scary, to throw such words at such young age when there're people that go their entire lives without even knowing what it really means.
Kyuhyun tries not to think about it too often (it usually ends up with big, dark bags under his eyes and a hovering Sungmin that's always asking what's so wrong with him to keep him awake all fucking night); instead, he thinks of Zhou Mi and his warm, brown eyes full of the light Kyuhyun always searches; of his mesmerizing, heart-breaking smile and that rumbling laughter of his that seems to echo in Kyuhyun's chest whenever he's too - no such thing as too - close, because Zhou Mi is everything he thinks of.
The phone buzzes again, this time in his hand, making him jump slightly. You're supposed to answer that, you know =_=, Zhou Mi types and Kyuhyun can practically sense the disappointment and the pout coming out of his phone.
Instead of pressing Reply, he presses Call and waits for the five seconds it takes Zhou Mi to pick up. "Hey!" Zhou Mi chirps loudly - happily, a grin shining in his words - against the phone.
Kyuhyun finds it funny that he no longer flinches at that.
"Hey back," he murmurs quietly, trying to fight back the sleepiness knotting his brain and thoughts and also trying not to be too noisy and wake Sungmin up. He should be sleeping, he really should, but - Zhou Mi. He heaves a sigh, eyes closing. "I love you, too. I called to tell you that. " I'm answering and I always will.
Zhou Mi laughs, a quiet, breathy thing. "Aw, Kui Xian. You could've just written it, there was no need in calling me. Is Sungmin-sshi asleep?" Kyuhyun only hums in reply. "See? And you're falling a sleep, too."
"'M not," Kyuhyun replies in an offended, petulant tone, ready to start an 'am not - are too' fight with Zhou Mi - except he doesn't think he's got enough strength to do that. (Damn long practice that went longer because Eunhyuk couldn't keep his mouth shut about how important those steps were.) "Okay, maybe I am."
Snickering, Zhou Mi says, "I should keep you awake all night and then let you suffer in Sungmin's hands." Kyuhyun thinks he really could do so, but tries to convince himself Zhou Mi loves him more than that. Zhou Mi heaves a great sigh, "But, since I love you and everything, I won't."
Kyuhyun laughs quietly. "Thank you for you kindness, oh, almighty Zhou Mi." He turns on his side as he listens to Zhou Mi's delighted laughter and Damn right I'm kind and then lifts a hand to switch his nightstand lamp off. "You are some cocky bastard," he grumbles tiredly, face pressed against his pillow. "Did you know that? You're a bad influence on me."
Zhou Mi snorts. "Yeah, okay. Whatever."
"No, really. Like, worse than Heechul hyung. You should be proud. Or concerned, I don't know. It's really up to you." Kyuhyun's yawn make the seriousness of the conversation slip off like water fades dust away - although he doubts the conversation ever turned serious at some point. Zhou Mi laughs loudly for almost a minute before saying, between gasps,
"Oh, how much I miss you, Kui Xian."
Kyuhyun's lips twitch against his pillow. "Yeah, I miss you too."
the night starts here
super junior ; han geng/heechul ; r
752 w
When people ask why you usually end up doing whatever comes out of Heechul's mouth, the answer pops up so fast in your head you have to bite your tongue to prevent yourself from venting. You just smile apologetically, sparing a side-glance to whomever sits beside you, trying to ask without words if you're using the right words and tenses, "I owe him."
How much, though, is not quite acknowledged, not even for you.
You attribute it to the long friendship(-and-something-more) you two have, to the long-suffering nights of Korean lessons he helped you out with.
But mostly, you attribute it to the times you cried in his shoulder because you missed your mom and everything hurt, when you thought about quitting and leaving because it was too tiring and he comforted you all the way, "Everything is going to be okay, I promise."
You believed him.
You didn't have the right to deprive him from his sleep-hours (considering they were just few) with your sorrows, and he didn't have the obligation to listen to you. But he did. He listened, he cared, and he still does, even now when you're trying to walk away from him - them, a small part of you whispers. You know he's one of the main reasons why you've stayed this long and why you've turned out to be you. (He's probably reason number two, your mom is always number one.)
"Ask me to stay," you whisper in the middle of the darkness, lips barely grazing the skin of his hip. He'll say no and you know it with certainty - he respects you more than people give him credit for - but that doesn't stop you from trying. You nose your way up through his stomach; love the way the skin of his thighs turn into goose-pimples under your fingertips, the way his breath comes out in strained hisses and broken moans when you exhale against a nipple.
You love him like this, you love everything about him, but you've never got the nerve to say it out loud, not with the real words. "I'll stay if you want me to."
He threads one of his thin hands through your hair and tugs impatiently, tugs until you let him pull you up to kiss you.
The kiss is sweet, slow and lazy, tongues dancing and teeth nipping - and hearts beating - with patience; not what you need now but what you'll definitely miss the most once he leaves in the morning. One of your hands fly up to cup his face gently until he pulls back to breathe.
His eyes are damp when you open yours. His cheek is wet when you dare to run your thumb over pale skin. "I can't do that to you," he breathes against your lips, voice firm. "I can't do that to myself, either."
You're about to say I love you when he closes the gape between you, probably because he wants to kiss you, but you've got the strong feeling it's just because he doesn't want you to say those three words and then hurt yourselves when one of you leaves.
The next morning comes too fast for you, too fast, too lit and too lonely. You sit up on your bed, slowly scanning the room and trying to find something out of the ordinary. There's absolutely nothing, and when you finally bring yourself to realize Heechul won't suddenly jump from the closet with a wide grin on his face, it's well past ten.
It's been long since the last time you let yourself get out of bed this late.
You wrap the sheets - still smelling like him and you and home - around your shoulders and stumble your way to the bathroom. The lights are off but the room is still lit enough for you to catch sight of the yellow post-it note in the mirror.
I want you to get out there and show them all who you really are. Prove them they need you. Prove me I should've asked you to stay.
It's almost ironic. You owe him, right?
You promise you will while seizing the yellow paper from the mirror with trembling hands and damp eyes. You make your way back to the room and tuck the paper in your wallet, next to a picture of him, Eeteuk and you, and one of your mom's.
"I will," you repeat to the empty room. For Heechul, anything.