Prompt #2: Middles
Title: Insomnia
Fandom: SHINee
Characters: Kim Kibum, Kim Jonghyun
Prompt: Middles
Word Count: 594
Rating: R
Summary: A search for rest results in something more
Author's Notes: First of all I hate summaries. If I ever become a professional writer I'm hiring someone else to write the summary. Also, about this. I ... Don't honestly know what to say. I feel like I ought to tag it with the character death warning, but it's sort of ambiguous, so, you decide. Also, I don't even know what Jonghyun is, so, speculate away!
Kibum doesn’t remember a time before the insomnia, doesn’t remember sleeping an entire night, doesn’t remember what it was like to not pass the hours staring at the ceiling, seeing faces of monsters there. Forever or never ago, he thinks; he’s always been like this. That isn’t true, and he knows it, but he can’t persuade himself of the fact.
He remembers the movie Fight Club, one night when he isn’t sleeping. Remembers Tyler-not-Tyler-Durden saying that, with insomnia, nothing is real. Everything is a copy of a copy. And he thinks, yes, it’s exactly like that. A copy of a copy, and he doesn’t know what’s real anymore.
There was no transition, he thinks, no middle ground, no gateway to the way he lives, or doesn’t live. There was just the day before, and now this. Sleepless nights and foggy days. He knows what he needs, something to wake him, something to jar him back to reality, shake off this disease he can’t remember contracting.
These thoughts lead him into the night, take him for a tour of Seoul’s nightlife, where all he wants is something thrilling, something dangerous, anything to give him that metaphorical slap to the face.
Strobe lights don’t, just make it worse as he turns in awkward circles on the dance floor. As limbs brush against unfamiliar limbs, as strange lips touch his neck. Tempting words whisper in his hear, hot breath against his flesh. He never knows he’s sinking deeper, that the world is shifting even farther from focus.
The whispers come again, compliments he can’t hear, though he tries to open his eyes, to pinpoint what has changed. That something is different. The world around him is soft, smells of alcohol and smoke and sex. Sheets are bunched in his hand, gripped hard, though he’s only now realizing it.
It’s a bed he’s on, lying in its center, on his back. Hands are trailing down his chest, stomach, drifting lower, down to his groin. It takes him that long to realize he’s naked, takes strong fingers taking hold of his cock for him to understand.
“Shh,” someone whispers, a voice too deep to be a woman, but then Kibum has never really cared, one way or another. “Relax.”
He doesn’t know why, but he closes his eyes, hears the voice as if the suggestion is a command, as if it seeped into his mind and took control. It’s unnatural, is something he wants to think about, but he can’t, can focus on nothing but the hand touching him.
He doesn’t expect it when he feels someone straddle him, but he can’t open his eyes, even to protest that the hand isn’t on him now. A moment later it doesn’t matter, because he’s guided into someone, his hips tilting up, involuntary, to deepen the contact.
It’s like nothing he knows, nothing he can remember. It’s bliss that strips the fog and replaces it with scalding white light, perfection so pure it hurts. A tiny sound escapes his lips, a moan in time with the motions of the boy riding him.
He’s breathless, spent in a few moments, embarrassed. But his heart is racing as lips press against his neck, as he begins to feel a sickness spread through him, a chill that amplifies the numbness of the few seconds after his orgasm, spreads it through his body, until he can feel nothing, can think nothing.
Lips press against his temple, hair brushes against his forehead, and were he capable he would feel the lips turn up in a smile.
Prompt Table
Fandom: SHINee
Characters: Kim Kibum, Kim Jonghyun
Prompt: Middles
Word Count: 594
Rating: R
Summary: A search for rest results in something more
Author's Notes: First of all I hate summaries. If I ever become a professional writer I'm hiring someone else to write the summary. Also, about this. I ... Don't honestly know what to say. I feel like I ought to tag it with the character death warning, but it's sort of ambiguous, so, you decide. Also, I don't even know what Jonghyun is, so, speculate away!
Kibum doesn’t remember a time before the insomnia, doesn’t remember sleeping an entire night, doesn’t remember what it was like to not pass the hours staring at the ceiling, seeing faces of monsters there. Forever or never ago, he thinks; he’s always been like this. That isn’t true, and he knows it, but he can’t persuade himself of the fact.
He remembers the movie Fight Club, one night when he isn’t sleeping. Remembers Tyler-not-Tyler-Durden saying that, with insomnia, nothing is real. Everything is a copy of a copy. And he thinks, yes, it’s exactly like that. A copy of a copy, and he doesn’t know what’s real anymore.
There was no transition, he thinks, no middle ground, no gateway to the way he lives, or doesn’t live. There was just the day before, and now this. Sleepless nights and foggy days. He knows what he needs, something to wake him, something to jar him back to reality, shake off this disease he can’t remember contracting.
These thoughts lead him into the night, take him for a tour of Seoul’s nightlife, where all he wants is something thrilling, something dangerous, anything to give him that metaphorical slap to the face.
Strobe lights don’t, just make it worse as he turns in awkward circles on the dance floor. As limbs brush against unfamiliar limbs, as strange lips touch his neck. Tempting words whisper in his hear, hot breath against his flesh. He never knows he’s sinking deeper, that the world is shifting even farther from focus.
The whispers come again, compliments he can’t hear, though he tries to open his eyes, to pinpoint what has changed. That something is different. The world around him is soft, smells of alcohol and smoke and sex. Sheets are bunched in his hand, gripped hard, though he’s only now realizing it.
It’s a bed he’s on, lying in its center, on his back. Hands are trailing down his chest, stomach, drifting lower, down to his groin. It takes him that long to realize he’s naked, takes strong fingers taking hold of his cock for him to understand.
“Shh,” someone whispers, a voice too deep to be a woman, but then Kibum has never really cared, one way or another. “Relax.”
He doesn’t know why, but he closes his eyes, hears the voice as if the suggestion is a command, as if it seeped into his mind and took control. It’s unnatural, is something he wants to think about, but he can’t, can focus on nothing but the hand touching him.
He doesn’t expect it when he feels someone straddle him, but he can’t open his eyes, even to protest that the hand isn’t on him now. A moment later it doesn’t matter, because he’s guided into someone, his hips tilting up, involuntary, to deepen the contact.
It’s like nothing he knows, nothing he can remember. It’s bliss that strips the fog and replaces it with scalding white light, perfection so pure it hurts. A tiny sound escapes his lips, a moan in time with the motions of the boy riding him.
He’s breathless, spent in a few moments, embarrassed. But his heart is racing as lips press against his neck, as he begins to feel a sickness spread through him, a chill that amplifies the numbness of the few seconds after his orgasm, spreads it through his body, until he can feel nothing, can think nothing.
Lips press against his temple, hair brushes against his forehead, and were he capable he would feel the lips turn up in a smile.
Prompt Table