Forgive Me, For I Have Sinned
title: forgive me, for i have sinned
chapter: 1/1
author: ieopon
genre: romance, crime, angst, drama
fandom: b2st
pairing: doojoon/junhyung
rated: pg-13
summary: doojoon ends up in the arms of a criminal he is supposed to catch.
a/n: my attempt at that confusing-metaphor-emotional-exploration technique that teochi excels at and i'm jealous of.
FORGIVE ME, FOR I HAVE SINNED
The arms that encircle him, that strangle his very being in a viselike grip, clinging to the hems of his clothing, digging mercilessly into his scalp, leaving their permanent marks on unconquered territory, have no business doing so; they are as illegal, as untouchable, as tabooed, as forbidden, as punishable by demotion and ridicule and humiliation and hate and death as they come.
Dirty fingers claw at the small of his back desperately and then travel lower, searching for their prize, their treasure trove, seeking new thrills and treasures, unsatisfied with everything they have come across thus far, and, upon finding it, they send a jolt of electricity racing up his spine.
Fuck, Jun-
Shut up, Doojoon. We don’t want them to hear us.
How he allowed this abomination to whisper devilishly into his ear and ensnare him in mist, to pull the wool over his sharp eyes and blind him with a light that never shines, leading him deeper and deeper into the realms of Hell, he’ll never know.
Whatever he is lying on, whatever this threat to society is pinning him against with bare hands and feet and a naked chest and a half-clothed groin and a vicious mouth, is hard and cold and the frigidness seeps into his burning body through exposed skin, cooling him but fanning the fire that has erupted between the two of them.
He doesn’t fight, doesn’t try to escape, doesn’t push off the criminal he is supposed to bring to justice, doesn’t question the turn of events because he believes in a higher power - no, he knows of such - and this is His will; anything else and he’d be gone in a heartbeat only to return with bullets and handcuffs and the law.
J-Junhyung.
What. The felon is panting as well.
You’re going to jail.
The murderer smirks. Then I’ll meet you in Hell, to continue where we left off.
Bastard, he spits out.
But a wave of undeniable pleasure courses through his veins and overtakes his mind as his body is racked with slight convulsions that send dopamine whirring through his system. He contracts jerkily and the taker-of-life looks down upon him, covered in a luminous layer of sweat and smugness.
Just like Kikwang - you’re just like Kikwang.
Before you killed him, he finishes the sentence in contempt but still unmoving, not struggling, believing it will all end well because of Him, because He always has a plan, always looking out for him, and He would never endanger him, ever, because His will is always good.
His offenses will be cleansed - lying, adultery, negligence of duty and honor and regulations, pre-marital sex and with a killer no less - because this is His will and he is obeying and he doesn’t mind at all because this slayer of goodness and happiness and love and life is a fucking god in bed - or whatever they’re entangled on, a knot of limbs and beating hearts - and he knows he is sinning but intermittently, he begins to care less and less and less as the eradicator lunges for the third, fourth, fifth times, late into the night.
Are you going to turn me in, Doojoon?
Do you want me to answer truthfully?
After all I’ve done for you, still, you refuse to help me.
The devil climbs off of him, now completely disrobed, and gathers all the evils of the world, cupping it in the palms of his hands, the plagues and tribulations manifested into one silver blade, sharper than any word, smoother than any caress, desperation and fright visible in his black, black pools of death.
Just like Kikwang.
He manages to roll off and land heavily on the dusty, grimy floor and the blade clangs with the metal sharply, straight and true and crisp, and he knows he could very well be dead. His heart pounds in his ears like an ancient locomotive and he is afraid that his chest will burst open but he cannot help but smile in reassurance, silently asking Him what his plans are.
His answer comes in the form of another streak of blinding white light and he somersaults away, beginning to question his god. His arms flail around desperately, the digits straining, struggling to grab hold of something, anything, to put between him and death.
A ladder, the first thing he makes contact with, is oddly unexpected in their warehoused, blanketed surroundings and his mind flashes to the thin, crinkly, weathered papers and the thick, leather, acid-burned bindings of the book and the marching letters of faded ink, printed so small that if one blinks, they’re gone, and the antediluvian tale retranslated and refurbished so many times that it can only be described as a modern creation.
Don’t…
The madman’s blade slices right through the ladder’s rungs, splitting it into identical halves of a whole, severed limbs of a previously intact entity, and they clatter to the floor with a muffled groan and a creaking sigh and then it is silent.
His eyes are wide with an unnamed emotion - not fear or worry, but something remarkably akin to betrayal - and his skin crawls with anticipation.
The broken ladder, once alive and undivided and manifesting the goodness of Him and the bond that shouldn’t have been broken, mocks him from its place on the dusty floor and he knows that He is gone, departed, deserted and left him to fate’s cruel, twisted, ungodly will; and he suffers because it wasn’t a mere mortal who deceived him, but a higher power with the supremacy to make things right but too unwilling to deal with something oh-so-trivial as the life of a livelong faithful believer.
Ridiculous.
He knows his sins will never be washed away, forever etched into his dirty, foul, vulgar, crude, uncouth soul, inexorable stains and scars that will haunt him far after death - he is shamed and he wants to die because he’ll never be able to live from now on after what horrors and crimes he has committed, and he just wants to lie down in a bed of anything and nothing and dream for eternities on end about things that never happened but in his own mind, because He betrayed him.
So grieved, he relaxes every fiber of his body and waits for and wants and welcomes the pinprick of pain near his heart and he isn’t sure what it’s from - whether it is the physical jab of a hoodwinked never-lover who thought for a moment that his freedom could be negotiated with a few jerks and touches or the self-inflicted sting of a misled, misguided lifetime of trusting the will of an authority who couldn’t give less of a damn - and he yearns for the light and the cleansing of sins that will never leave and laments when all he gets is darkness.
a/n: ohkay. it's done. if you're confused, that's okay. basically, junhyung killed kikwang (who was like either a friendwithbenefits or a boyfriend or something like that. i havent decided and it's not too important to the story) and doojoon is a police/cop/fbiagent/whatever trying to catch him but is seduced and killed. intense stuff. lol.and the ladder is supposed to be like 'stairway to heaven.'
uhm, and the references to religion, i hope it isn't offensive or obscene to any readers who may see similarities to their respective religions in the story. no specific religion was used and any similarities are purely coincidental. if you were offended by any aspect, please feel free to leave me a comment telling me why and how i can change the story to make it less offensive.
chapter: 1/1
author: ieopon
genre: romance, crime, angst, drama
fandom: b2st
pairing: doojoon/junhyung
rated: pg-13
summary: doojoon ends up in the arms of a criminal he is supposed to catch.
a/n: my attempt at that confusing-metaphor-emotional-exploration technique that teochi excels at and i'm jealous of.
FORGIVE ME, FOR I HAVE SINNED
The arms that encircle him, that strangle his very being in a viselike grip, clinging to the hems of his clothing, digging mercilessly into his scalp, leaving their permanent marks on unconquered territory, have no business doing so; they are as illegal, as untouchable, as tabooed, as forbidden, as punishable by demotion and ridicule and humiliation and hate and death as they come.
Dirty fingers claw at the small of his back desperately and then travel lower, searching for their prize, their treasure trove, seeking new thrills and treasures, unsatisfied with everything they have come across thus far, and, upon finding it, they send a jolt of electricity racing up his spine.
Fuck, Jun-
Shut up, Doojoon. We don’t want them to hear us.
How he allowed this abomination to whisper devilishly into his ear and ensnare him in mist, to pull the wool over his sharp eyes and blind him with a light that never shines, leading him deeper and deeper into the realms of Hell, he’ll never know.
Whatever he is lying on, whatever this threat to society is pinning him against with bare hands and feet and a naked chest and a half-clothed groin and a vicious mouth, is hard and cold and the frigidness seeps into his burning body through exposed skin, cooling him but fanning the fire that has erupted between the two of them.
He doesn’t fight, doesn’t try to escape, doesn’t push off the criminal he is supposed to bring to justice, doesn’t question the turn of events because he believes in a higher power - no, he knows of such - and this is His will; anything else and he’d be gone in a heartbeat only to return with bullets and handcuffs and the law.
J-Junhyung.
What. The felon is panting as well.
You’re going to jail.
The murderer smirks. Then I’ll meet you in Hell, to continue where we left off.
Bastard, he spits out.
But a wave of undeniable pleasure courses through his veins and overtakes his mind as his body is racked with slight convulsions that send dopamine whirring through his system. He contracts jerkily and the taker-of-life looks down upon him, covered in a luminous layer of sweat and smugness.
Just like Kikwang - you’re just like Kikwang.
Before you killed him, he finishes the sentence in contempt but still unmoving, not struggling, believing it will all end well because of Him, because He always has a plan, always looking out for him, and He would never endanger him, ever, because His will is always good.
His offenses will be cleansed - lying, adultery, negligence of duty and honor and regulations, pre-marital sex and with a killer no less - because this is His will and he is obeying and he doesn’t mind at all because this slayer of goodness and happiness and love and life is a fucking god in bed - or whatever they’re entangled on, a knot of limbs and beating hearts - and he knows he is sinning but intermittently, he begins to care less and less and less as the eradicator lunges for the third, fourth, fifth times, late into the night.
Are you going to turn me in, Doojoon?
Do you want me to answer truthfully?
After all I’ve done for you, still, you refuse to help me.
The devil climbs off of him, now completely disrobed, and gathers all the evils of the world, cupping it in the palms of his hands, the plagues and tribulations manifested into one silver blade, sharper than any word, smoother than any caress, desperation and fright visible in his black, black pools of death.
Just like Kikwang.
He manages to roll off and land heavily on the dusty, grimy floor and the blade clangs with the metal sharply, straight and true and crisp, and he knows he could very well be dead. His heart pounds in his ears like an ancient locomotive and he is afraid that his chest will burst open but he cannot help but smile in reassurance, silently asking Him what his plans are.
His answer comes in the form of another streak of blinding white light and he somersaults away, beginning to question his god. His arms flail around desperately, the digits straining, struggling to grab hold of something, anything, to put between him and death.
A ladder, the first thing he makes contact with, is oddly unexpected in their warehoused, blanketed surroundings and his mind flashes to the thin, crinkly, weathered papers and the thick, leather, acid-burned bindings of the book and the marching letters of faded ink, printed so small that if one blinks, they’re gone, and the antediluvian tale retranslated and refurbished so many times that it can only be described as a modern creation.
Don’t…
The madman’s blade slices right through the ladder’s rungs, splitting it into identical halves of a whole, severed limbs of a previously intact entity, and they clatter to the floor with a muffled groan and a creaking sigh and then it is silent.
His eyes are wide with an unnamed emotion - not fear or worry, but something remarkably akin to betrayal - and his skin crawls with anticipation.
The broken ladder, once alive and undivided and manifesting the goodness of Him and the bond that shouldn’t have been broken, mocks him from its place on the dusty floor and he knows that He is gone, departed, deserted and left him to fate’s cruel, twisted, ungodly will; and he suffers because it wasn’t a mere mortal who deceived him, but a higher power with the supremacy to make things right but too unwilling to deal with something oh-so-trivial as the life of a livelong faithful believer.
Ridiculous.
He knows his sins will never be washed away, forever etched into his dirty, foul, vulgar, crude, uncouth soul, inexorable stains and scars that will haunt him far after death - he is shamed and he wants to die because he’ll never be able to live from now on after what horrors and crimes he has committed, and he just wants to lie down in a bed of anything and nothing and dream for eternities on end about things that never happened but in his own mind, because He betrayed him.
So grieved, he relaxes every fiber of his body and waits for and wants and welcomes the pinprick of pain near his heart and he isn’t sure what it’s from - whether it is the physical jab of a hoodwinked never-lover who thought for a moment that his freedom could be negotiated with a few jerks and touches or the self-inflicted sting of a misled, misguided lifetime of trusting the will of an authority who couldn’t give less of a damn - and he yearns for the light and the cleansing of sins that will never leave and laments when all he gets is darkness.
a/n: ohkay. it's done. if you're confused, that's okay. basically, junhyung killed kikwang (who was like either a friendwithbenefits or a boyfriend or something like that. i havent decided and it's not too important to the story) and doojoon is a police/cop/fbiagent/whatever trying to catch him but is seduced and killed. intense stuff. lol.and the ladder is supposed to be like 'stairway to heaven.'
uhm, and the references to religion, i hope it isn't offensive or obscene to any readers who may see similarities to their respective religions in the story. no specific religion was used and any similarities are purely coincidental. if you were offended by any aspect, please feel free to leave me a comment telling me why and how i can change the story to make it less offensive.