Drought ; Yoochun/Changmin
The exams are over, and so I wrote :D I'm actually pretty happy with how this turned out. For my flist, whom I apologise for neglecting ♥
Once again, the characters are unspecified, but in my head, they were Changmin and Yoochun.
Narrated from Changmin's point of view, and this is the start of a trilogy - continue reading the second part Thirst, told from Yoochun's point of view.
Title: Drought (Part I)
Rating: R
Fandom: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Pairing(s): Yoochun/Changmin
Word count: 1625
Disclaimer: The boys do not belong to me. This is also nothing but pure fiction.
Summary: I confess - I love you and I am in love you.
Drought
"Come over here," you say, lying on the edge of the boat with your arms dangling downwards, fingers stretched towards the water.
I carefully imitate your position, lying down and feeling the rhythmic rock of the boat against my stomach.
"Do you see?" you ask, pointing at the water beneath.
I peer over the edge, into the surface of the ocean. I see our faces, suspended in the water and distorted by the rippling waves, blending together like a piece of abstract art. Is that what you wanted me to see? The two of us, becoming one?
Suddenly, your hands are on me, and without warning, you roll me onto my back. A flash of leg and a second later, you have me trapped between your knees, your breath berry-sweet against my mouth.
My heart is a panicked frog in my throat. "Don't scare me like this," I say, nearly mute with shock.
You lean down to kiss my mouth. You find my wrists, then my palms and then finally, gently entwining our fingers together. When you pull away and I blink my eyes open, breathless, I find myself blinded by the glare of the sun and your smile.
I understand that it is foolish to try and describe love in words. Words are clumsy, too ill-fitted for constructing an accurate depiction of something as fragile, delicate and elusive as love.
I understand that it was foolish of me to fall in love with you.
I understand, but will not stop.
You crumpled my heart in your fist and stuffed it into your pocket. I watched you walk away, helplessly clasping my hands over the gaping hole left in your wake. I imagine that you went home, took off your pants and forgot all about my heart sitting alone in the musty warmth of your pocket. You must have tossed the pants into the washing machine some time after, and somewhere in between rinse and spin, my heart dissolved.
In place of it, I now have hope instead. A poor replacement for a vital organ, but it's better than walking around with an open wound the size of a fist in my chest.
At least hope manages to fill up the space, stuffing in a soft toy.
YOU: I didn't take it.
ME: You did.
YOU: I don't remember.
ME: I do.
YOU: I don't.
ME: I saw you put it into your pocket that night.
YOU: Well, I don't have it any more.
ME: I need it back.
YOU: What will you have me do? What do you want me to do?
ME: Love me.
YOU: I already do.
Let's not lie and attempt to make this something that it is not.
This is lust, in all its raw splendid glory. We make our own pornography.
You bite down on my collarbone, and I suspect that you want to swallow me whole, desperate to quell your hunger. I reciprocate, knotting my fingers into your hair and yanking out strands.
The vulgar sound of flesh against flesh, lubricated with sweat, saliva and the dirty words that spill from your mouth, a snake-charmer's song that makes me arch and twist.
The room smells like sex; like the messy stains we leave on the sheets, and your release running down my thighs in the aftermath.
You kiss me and tell me how beautiful I am.
I used to have the same nightmare over and over again. I am bound to an operating table, white lights shining on the naked canvas of my body, and a Man made of Shadows bends over me, inspecting me with a critical eye.
He pokes and prods at my flesh as one would when selecting a piece of meat.
I squirm, and there are tears leaking out from my eyes. I am terrified but cannot speak.
He lifts a knife, the blade glinting like the dangerous edge of a smile. He makes a clean surgical cut at my chest, and calmly, he carves out a piece of my flesh, separating it from bone. After several repetitions, he smiles down at me, and in a manner similar to how a doctor might lift a newborn baby, he retrieves a fist-sized object from inside me.
He holds it up to the light, and I see it. It is oval-shaped, grey in colour, smooth and hard as stone. Before I get to see what he does with it, I snap awake, and every time, I press a hand to my chest to check if my heart is still beating.
I no longer dream about this. Even if I do, I never need to check again.
My heart is somewhere else now. Tell me in all honesty, is it safer with you?
You have me on all fours, sweat dripping and dotting the carpet like constellations. There will be rug burns on my knees after this, but I can't be bothered.
I lunge forward with every one of your thrusts - I feel your presence in me all the way to the back of my throat. Fuck, I can taste you.
My nails dig into the carpet. I am panting, gulping in air by the mouthfuls but somehow, I am still breathless. My elbows give out, and I collapse onto my forearms, taking you with me. You curl over me like a shell, moving deeper inside me, so deep that I know, even through the haze of desire in my head, that you have become a part of me.
It is not at all romantic when it is over. There is no cuddling or gentle kisses or I love you's exchanged. Instead, we crawl around, scrubbing violently at the carpet that we've carelessly stained. The stain will not come out completely, it leaves a faint shadow behind, but it is the best we can do.
Exhausted, we tumble into the shower together, and stand under the hot spray of water. I move forward, rest my chin on your shoulder and bite your ear. Your hands reach behind to pull me closer. I lick the tiny rivers of water that run down your neck and smile against the heat of your skin.
Why have you ever doubted your ability to make me happy?
I confess - I love you and I am in love you.
Doing things in secret used to be exciting. The danger used to send a rush of electricity up my spine and make my toes curl. Now, it only leaves me restless and yearning for something more. I want. I desire.
I want to walk down the street with you, holding hands. I want to kiss you in the middle of a crowded room. I want to introduce you as the man I love.
This is my penalty for loving you. It works like this - I can be happy loving you, until I love you too much and start wanting more. The moment I become greedy and cross the boundaries, I lose you.
They lie when they say love has no limits. I am looking at them - they are thick and coarse as ropes.
All the better for strangling with.
She looked me in the eye and said you're going to Hell.
I told her I don't give a damn, and it wasn't a lie.
You're worth it. If going to heaven means having to let you go, then I would rather spend the rest of my life condemned.
I don't allow myself to wonder if you feel for me the way I feel for you. I don't allow myself to wonder if you will do things for me that I know I will do for you -
Lie. Steal. Die. Kill.
Burn in Hell.
Whenever I waver, you turn me around with the strength of your smile, and I slowly learn to never want to look else where again.
I club you over the head playfully with a banana. You growl in mock-fury and pull me towards you. You underestimate my weight and I end up collapsing on your lap. We both fall over, and the banana gets squashed between our bodies.
"Look at what you did," I say balefully, holding up the bruised and disfigured fruit.
You grin. "Go get another one."
"It's the last one."
"Eat something else."
"I don't want something else."
We are having this argument sprawled on the kitchen floor. It is absurd. We realise this at the same time, and you sit up. And promptly smack your head against the edge of the table. You howl in pain, toppling sideways and clutching your head with your hands, whimpering.
Unsympathetic, I sit cross-legged across from you and laugh. And then I calmly pick up my ruined banana, peel and eat it anyway.
"Do you have any idea how many braincells I must have lost?" you say hysterically, red-faced and scowling.
Do you have any idea how much I love you?
I am scrawling vulgarities and secret declarations on your skin with the tip of my tongue, wet and filthy. You have one hand curled around the nape of my neck, and your fingers tighten as I lick a circle around your navel.
Do you think we will ever get tired of this? Will we ever tire of fitting our bodies together and marvel in the way we seem to match; of pressing our foreheads together and mirroring the look of desire in each other's eyes; of losing ourselves in each other?
Please, you say, voice cracking. Your hand on my neck shifts upwards to anchor in my hair.
You can't love him, someone told me once. I look at you and think, how can I not.
We sit side by side. The glow from the movie screen illuminates our faces, flickering as the scenes change. In the dark, we are holding hands.
You watch the movie; I watch you.
>> part ii
MASTERLIST OF FICS HERE
Once again, the characters are unspecified, but in my head, they were Changmin and Yoochun.
Narrated from Changmin's point of view, and this is the start of a trilogy - continue reading the second part Thirst, told from Yoochun's point of view.
Title: Drought (Part I)
Rating: R
Fandom: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Pairing(s): Yoochun/Changmin
Word count: 1625
Disclaimer: The boys do not belong to me. This is also nothing but pure fiction.
Summary: I confess - I love you and I am in love you.
Drought
"Come over here," you say, lying on the edge of the boat with your arms dangling downwards, fingers stretched towards the water.
I carefully imitate your position, lying down and feeling the rhythmic rock of the boat against my stomach.
"Do you see?" you ask, pointing at the water beneath.
I peer over the edge, into the surface of the ocean. I see our faces, suspended in the water and distorted by the rippling waves, blending together like a piece of abstract art. Is that what you wanted me to see? The two of us, becoming one?
Suddenly, your hands are on me, and without warning, you roll me onto my back. A flash of leg and a second later, you have me trapped between your knees, your breath berry-sweet against my mouth.
My heart is a panicked frog in my throat. "Don't scare me like this," I say, nearly mute with shock.
You lean down to kiss my mouth. You find my wrists, then my palms and then finally, gently entwining our fingers together. When you pull away and I blink my eyes open, breathless, I find myself blinded by the glare of the sun and your smile.
I understand that it is foolish to try and describe love in words. Words are clumsy, too ill-fitted for constructing an accurate depiction of something as fragile, delicate and elusive as love.
I understand that it was foolish of me to fall in love with you.
I understand, but will not stop.
You crumpled my heart in your fist and stuffed it into your pocket. I watched you walk away, helplessly clasping my hands over the gaping hole left in your wake. I imagine that you went home, took off your pants and forgot all about my heart sitting alone in the musty warmth of your pocket. You must have tossed the pants into the washing machine some time after, and somewhere in between rinse and spin, my heart dissolved.
In place of it, I now have hope instead. A poor replacement for a vital organ, but it's better than walking around with an open wound the size of a fist in my chest.
At least hope manages to fill up the space, stuffing in a soft toy.
YOU: I didn't take it.
ME: You did.
YOU: I don't remember.
ME: I do.
YOU: I don't.
ME: I saw you put it into your pocket that night.
YOU: Well, I don't have it any more.
ME: I need it back.
YOU: What will you have me do? What do you want me to do?
ME: Love me.
YOU: I already do.
Let's not lie and attempt to make this something that it is not.
This is lust, in all its raw splendid glory. We make our own pornography.
You bite down on my collarbone, and I suspect that you want to swallow me whole, desperate to quell your hunger. I reciprocate, knotting my fingers into your hair and yanking out strands.
The vulgar sound of flesh against flesh, lubricated with sweat, saliva and the dirty words that spill from your mouth, a snake-charmer's song that makes me arch and twist.
The room smells like sex; like the messy stains we leave on the sheets, and your release running down my thighs in the aftermath.
You kiss me and tell me how beautiful I am.
I used to have the same nightmare over and over again. I am bound to an operating table, white lights shining on the naked canvas of my body, and a Man made of Shadows bends over me, inspecting me with a critical eye.
He pokes and prods at my flesh as one would when selecting a piece of meat.
I squirm, and there are tears leaking out from my eyes. I am terrified but cannot speak.
He lifts a knife, the blade glinting like the dangerous edge of a smile. He makes a clean surgical cut at my chest, and calmly, he carves out a piece of my flesh, separating it from bone. After several repetitions, he smiles down at me, and in a manner similar to how a doctor might lift a newborn baby, he retrieves a fist-sized object from inside me.
He holds it up to the light, and I see it. It is oval-shaped, grey in colour, smooth and hard as stone. Before I get to see what he does with it, I snap awake, and every time, I press a hand to my chest to check if my heart is still beating.
I no longer dream about this. Even if I do, I never need to check again.
My heart is somewhere else now. Tell me in all honesty, is it safer with you?
You have me on all fours, sweat dripping and dotting the carpet like constellations. There will be rug burns on my knees after this, but I can't be bothered.
I lunge forward with every one of your thrusts - I feel your presence in me all the way to the back of my throat. Fuck, I can taste you.
My nails dig into the carpet. I am panting, gulping in air by the mouthfuls but somehow, I am still breathless. My elbows give out, and I collapse onto my forearms, taking you with me. You curl over me like a shell, moving deeper inside me, so deep that I know, even through the haze of desire in my head, that you have become a part of me.
It is not at all romantic when it is over. There is no cuddling or gentle kisses or I love you's exchanged. Instead, we crawl around, scrubbing violently at the carpet that we've carelessly stained. The stain will not come out completely, it leaves a faint shadow behind, but it is the best we can do.
Exhausted, we tumble into the shower together, and stand under the hot spray of water. I move forward, rest my chin on your shoulder and bite your ear. Your hands reach behind to pull me closer. I lick the tiny rivers of water that run down your neck and smile against the heat of your skin.
Why have you ever doubted your ability to make me happy?
I confess - I love you and I am in love you.
Doing things in secret used to be exciting. The danger used to send a rush of electricity up my spine and make my toes curl. Now, it only leaves me restless and yearning for something more. I want. I desire.
I want to walk down the street with you, holding hands. I want to kiss you in the middle of a crowded room. I want to introduce you as the man I love.
This is my penalty for loving you. It works like this - I can be happy loving you, until I love you too much and start wanting more. The moment I become greedy and cross the boundaries, I lose you.
They lie when they say love has no limits. I am looking at them - they are thick and coarse as ropes.
All the better for strangling with.
She looked me in the eye and said you're going to Hell.
I told her I don't give a damn, and it wasn't a lie.
You're worth it. If going to heaven means having to let you go, then I would rather spend the rest of my life condemned.
I don't allow myself to wonder if you feel for me the way I feel for you. I don't allow myself to wonder if you will do things for me that I know I will do for you -
Lie. Steal. Die. Kill.
Burn in Hell.
Whenever I waver, you turn me around with the strength of your smile, and I slowly learn to never want to look else where again.
I club you over the head playfully with a banana. You growl in mock-fury and pull me towards you. You underestimate my weight and I end up collapsing on your lap. We both fall over, and the banana gets squashed between our bodies.
"Look at what you did," I say balefully, holding up the bruised and disfigured fruit.
You grin. "Go get another one."
"It's the last one."
"Eat something else."
"I don't want something else."
We are having this argument sprawled on the kitchen floor. It is absurd. We realise this at the same time, and you sit up. And promptly smack your head against the edge of the table. You howl in pain, toppling sideways and clutching your head with your hands, whimpering.
Unsympathetic, I sit cross-legged across from you and laugh. And then I calmly pick up my ruined banana, peel and eat it anyway.
"Do you have any idea how many braincells I must have lost?" you say hysterically, red-faced and scowling.
Do you have any idea how much I love you?
I am scrawling vulgarities and secret declarations on your skin with the tip of my tongue, wet and filthy. You have one hand curled around the nape of my neck, and your fingers tighten as I lick a circle around your navel.
Do you think we will ever get tired of this? Will we ever tire of fitting our bodies together and marvel in the way we seem to match; of pressing our foreheads together and mirroring the look of desire in each other's eyes; of losing ourselves in each other?
Please, you say, voice cracking. Your hand on my neck shifts upwards to anchor in my hair.
You can't love him, someone told me once. I look at you and think, how can I not.
We sit side by side. The glow from the movie screen illuminates our faces, flickering as the scenes change. In the dark, we are holding hands.
You watch the movie; I watch you.
>> part ii
MASTERLIST OF FICS HERE