[fic]
title: Smothered
rating: R
fandom: Super Junior
pairing: Heechul/Donghae
summary: "I think I'm drowning."
comments: AU, songfic. Lyrics from "Time is Running Out" by Muse.
warnings: Sex and drug use.
I think I'm drowning
Asphyxiated
I wanna break this spell
That you've created
“I think I’m drowning.” You sound awed, amazed. You giggle softly, fascinated by the feelings running through you, these new sensations. You look at him, and he’s beaming at you, beaming. His smile looks like pure sunshine. You wonder when that happened.
“No, I’ll show you what it feels like to drown,” he whispers the words, tempting, slinking towards you provocatively. His hips are swaying, sashaying, and there’s a lump in your throat and an extra thump to your heartbeat.
You watch him crawl closer, eyes wide, catching every single move his slim, enticing body makes. “Heechul …” his name sounds soft, so soft on your breath, that he might not have even heard you. It doesn’t matter, because a moment later, his lips have captured yours in a fierce kiss, bodies pressed close - so impossibly close - and now, now, you feel like you’re drowning.
You're something beautiful
A contradiction
I wanna play the game
I want the friction
He’s beautiful, so beautiful, that when he smiles at you and asks if you want to play a game with him, you never even hesitate in answering.
“What kind of game?”
He presses the length of his body tightly against yours, chest to chest, hip to hip, mouth lapping eagerly at the soft skin of your throat. You shiver as his tongue leads a wet trail up to your ear. His hips press hard against your own, causing the material of your jeans to rub against you roughly. It makes you hard, and you want more. More than this. So much more.
You gasp as he takes your earlobe between his teeth, nibbles, sucks, bites. You moan and press yourself against him.
His breath rolls in hot waves against your skin, his voice like a warm, promising brush of silk against your cheek as he whispers words you never expected to hear from him.
“Let’s chase the dragon.”
Bury it
I won't let you bury it
I won't let you smother it
I won't let you murder it
Habits aren’t a good thing to develop. Especially certain ones. He is one of those habits, a bad habit. A habit you can’t, or won’t, or shouldn’t, break.
“Please, Heechul, please,” your words fall from your trembling lips in a wavering mumble, hushed and pleading. Your fingers cling, clutch, grope, grab at him. You’re not sure what you’re asking for. For more. For less. For nothing. For everything. You’re not sure anymore. You’re so confused, so lost. Your mind can only focus on one thing these days, one thing. More of it.
Or maybe two things, because you think about Heechul, too. You can think about Heechul. About that beautiful face and that deadly smile and those shining, glittering dark eyes of his. And you can think about his words, his promises, that fall from his lips like rain. Acid rain, maybe, because they burn, they hurt, scalding and scarring and painful. His words hurt, make you ache.
You feel like a single, wayward strand of thread. Caught, you’ve been caught. His hand, those slim, merciless fingers of his holding onto you, onto the last thread of yourself you have left, stopping you, keeping you, holding you back. It’s the last piece of yourself you have left, and you don’t want to give it up, you won’t let him take it.
But when he whispers more of those sweet, poison-filled promises and presses his burning lips to your heated skin, you find it hard to even remember what you don’t want him to do anymore. And when the familiar, sharp stab of pain fills your arm, there’s several seconds of breathless relief - disbelief? - and you’re gone, completely. That small piece of you drowns.
I wanted freedom
Bound and restricted
I tried to give you up
But I'm addicted
No more, you can’t take anymore. It’s too much, all too much. Your life is falling apart, falling apart because of a game, a stupid game - but it’s so much more than a game, isn’t it really? Wasn’t it always?
It’s destroying you; you can feel it, eating away at you, sliding through you, crawling underneath your skin. It itches and itches, God does it itch, and you scratch at it, scratch scratch scratch, to get rid of the itch. Have to get rid of the itch, or it’ll eat you, consume you, drown and smother and bury and murder you.
But the itching doesn’t stop. Even when your arms are bruised and bleeding - not that you feel it - the itching doesn’t go away. It’s inside you. In your blood. Maybe you’ll have to tear of your skin and pull out your veins to get rid of the itch.
It’s been days. Days and days and days. It feels like it could even have been weeks. Or maybe months. Perhaps years. It doesn’t matter, but it feels like forever, one long, endless nightmare. You don’t remember the last time you slept, actually slept. What was sleep again? You can’t remember. Your eyes are heavy and tired and sore and red but darting wildly about in their sockets, looking this way and that, everywhere, for something, something and you don’t even know what.
You ache, so bad, so so bad. All over. You ache and hurt and it makes you feel nauseous. You lost count of the amount of times you’ve vomited now. You stopped counting after 4. Or maybe it was 5. Or 9. Or 13. It doesn’t matter, but you ache. Inside, under your skin, your muscles, your very bones. You ache and you tremble and you feel so so cold even though your skin is flushed and red and you’re sweating.
What day is it? You can’t remember, you just can’t remember and it feels like you’re losing your mind, that you’ve already lost it. It, whatever it was, the it that crawls under your skin and through your bones, must have eaten it, gnawed away at your mind, until it was gone and left you here, as you are, a trembling, shivering, aching lump of something.
Now that you know I'm trapped
Sense of elation
You'd never dream of
Breaking this fixation
When you come to yourself, when your eyes open - were they even closed - and your mind wakes up, yes, your mind is still there, still living, still aware, you don’t remember how you got to Heechul’s house, or what happened. The last thing you can remember clearly was leaving his house - almost a week ago, but you don’t remember that - shouting at him, telling him you didn’t want anymore, couldn’t take anymore. You were going to tug that thread of yourself free from his fingers and let yourself loose in the wind, free yourself from his grip, free to be yourself again.
But here you are, in the familiar surroundings of Heechul’s small apartment. On his couch. It takes you a few moments to realise that you’re naked. You don’t remember how, or why. But you bet Heechul knows, oh yes, he would know.
And thinking of Heechul, he comes through the door, wearing only a loose pair of pyjama bottoms, carrying a bowl of some kind of food in for you. He smiles at you. It’s that same smile he’s always had, that sunshine bright ‘you can trust me’ smile. Except now, it seems different, looks different. He looks … elated. Joyful. Triumphant. You don’t like it, it leaves you shivering, your skin prickling.
“Here, you need to eat.” He sounds friendly and oh-so-helpful as he hands you the food, you only barely notice that it’s soup.
He’s right though, you’re hungry, and you need to eat, so you do, sparing only a small breath between mouthfuls to ask, “What happened? How did I get here?”
“I brought you back.” He takes a seat next to you on the couch, watches you eat, that gleam of triumph still making his eyes sparkle coldly. “You were a mess. A complete mess. I had to bring you here and … help you out.”
You look up at him; soup dribbles from the corners of your mouth, over your chin and onto your lap. You just look at him, unable to even think. Because you know what he’s done. He’s brought you back. He might have taken you out from the personal hell you’d thrown yourself into, but he’s gone and dragged you straight back into his own.
Our time is running out
Our time is running out
You can't push it underground
You can't stop it screaming out
How did it come to this?
It’s a routine, a horrible, endless routine. And the terrifying part is it’s a routine you’ve become used to, a part of, a routine you need. You don’t want it. It’s bad for you, dangerous, and you know it. There’s nothing good about it. But you need it. You need this routine to keep you going, keep you alive, keep you sane.
Except you know it really won’t do any of that. It’s going to kill you before long, and the very fact that you’re letting this continue proves you lost your sanity a long time ago. The day you let Heechul show you new things, the day you gave in to him, the day you stopped fighting to keep hold of that last thread of yourself.
You let him keep his grip on that thread, let him tighten his hold; let him take it where he would, do what he wanted. You let him do all of this, anything - anything - as long as he doesn’t let go, as long as keeps hold of you, keeps you in place. Because you’ve lost so much of yourself now you’re scared that if he lets go, you’d disappear, dissolve and evaporate and fade away, dispersing with the gentlest breeze.
You’ve no idea, not really, not during the clear moments where you can remember and think logically, how things managed to get this bad. How he managed to drag you this far with him, drag you into what surely must be the pits of hell. That’s what it feels like, anyway. When you feel that familiar sting in your arm, when you feel his arms around you, feel him inside you, when your mind just disengages and floats away and you find yourself drowning, you know you’re drowning in hell. Being smothered by horror, and buried by helplessness.
When he whispers playfully into your ear, ‘let’s play our game, Hae’ some part of you, that small thread of yourself you know is still writhing, thrashing around for life, for a hold, for hope, screams and screams and screams. It doesn’t want this, not for you. It doesn’t want this at all. It screams and hopes you’ll hear it, that you’ll answer it, that you’ll stop all this madness.
But then it’s drowned out again when the euphoria hits. When you really do lose your mind and sink into that familiar bliss, wrapped up tightly with a gasping Heechul clutching at you. You don’t hear the screams anymore. But they don’t stop; you know they don’t stop, not completely. He might be able to drown them out, smother them, bury them for a little while, but he can’t stop them, and you won’t let him, you won’t let him murder that tiny thread of yourself you still cling to and hope for.
You will be the death of me
You will be the death of me
Heechul can’t stop it completely, can’t have you completely, but he’ll try, and you know you can’t stop him from trying. You might not even want to, anymore. You don’t know. You just don’t know.
“I want you to know pleasure, Hae. I want you to feel total bliss.”
His words are soft, like his breath as he presses his lips to yours. But his fingers are rough, vicious, clinging and tugging and pressing at you. All over. Everywhere. His words are gentle but his body isn’t. It’s a contradiction, a contrast. It throws you off guard, confuses you. Just like he wants.
He thrusts into you, hard, without warning, and you scream. You scream so loud and you rake your fingers down his back, nails biting sharply, bitterly, into his skin. You can feel the blood on your fingers.
His lips press against your skin, hot, so hot against you. You feel his tongue, wet and warm, on your throat, and he sucks. He clamps his mouth down over your flushed skin and sucks; he sucks so hard that it almost hurts, and you know it’s going to bruise and leave a mark, and you know that’s what he likes, what he wants. He sucks so hard, like he’s trying to suck the very life out of you.
“I want to show you heaven,” he whispers to you. He calls it Heaven, but you know its Hell, and he’s killing you slowly to take you there.
- end -
rating: R
fandom: Super Junior
pairing: Heechul/Donghae
summary: "I think I'm drowning."
comments: AU, songfic. Lyrics from "Time is Running Out" by Muse.
warnings: Sex and drug use.
I think I'm drowning
Asphyxiated
I wanna break this spell
That you've created
“I think I’m drowning.” You sound awed, amazed. You giggle softly, fascinated by the feelings running through you, these new sensations. You look at him, and he’s beaming at you, beaming. His smile looks like pure sunshine. You wonder when that happened.
“No, I’ll show you what it feels like to drown,” he whispers the words, tempting, slinking towards you provocatively. His hips are swaying, sashaying, and there’s a lump in your throat and an extra thump to your heartbeat.
You watch him crawl closer, eyes wide, catching every single move his slim, enticing body makes. “Heechul …” his name sounds soft, so soft on your breath, that he might not have even heard you. It doesn’t matter, because a moment later, his lips have captured yours in a fierce kiss, bodies pressed close - so impossibly close - and now, now, you feel like you’re drowning.
You're something beautiful
A contradiction
I wanna play the game
I want the friction
He’s beautiful, so beautiful, that when he smiles at you and asks if you want to play a game with him, you never even hesitate in answering.
“What kind of game?”
He presses the length of his body tightly against yours, chest to chest, hip to hip, mouth lapping eagerly at the soft skin of your throat. You shiver as his tongue leads a wet trail up to your ear. His hips press hard against your own, causing the material of your jeans to rub against you roughly. It makes you hard, and you want more. More than this. So much more.
You gasp as he takes your earlobe between his teeth, nibbles, sucks, bites. You moan and press yourself against him.
His breath rolls in hot waves against your skin, his voice like a warm, promising brush of silk against your cheek as he whispers words you never expected to hear from him.
“Let’s chase the dragon.”
Bury it
I won't let you bury it
I won't let you smother it
I won't let you murder it
Habits aren’t a good thing to develop. Especially certain ones. He is one of those habits, a bad habit. A habit you can’t, or won’t, or shouldn’t, break.
“Please, Heechul, please,” your words fall from your trembling lips in a wavering mumble, hushed and pleading. Your fingers cling, clutch, grope, grab at him. You’re not sure what you’re asking for. For more. For less. For nothing. For everything. You’re not sure anymore. You’re so confused, so lost. Your mind can only focus on one thing these days, one thing. More of it.
Or maybe two things, because you think about Heechul, too. You can think about Heechul. About that beautiful face and that deadly smile and those shining, glittering dark eyes of his. And you can think about his words, his promises, that fall from his lips like rain. Acid rain, maybe, because they burn, they hurt, scalding and scarring and painful. His words hurt, make you ache.
You feel like a single, wayward strand of thread. Caught, you’ve been caught. His hand, those slim, merciless fingers of his holding onto you, onto the last thread of yourself you have left, stopping you, keeping you, holding you back. It’s the last piece of yourself you have left, and you don’t want to give it up, you won’t let him take it.
But when he whispers more of those sweet, poison-filled promises and presses his burning lips to your heated skin, you find it hard to even remember what you don’t want him to do anymore. And when the familiar, sharp stab of pain fills your arm, there’s several seconds of breathless relief - disbelief? - and you’re gone, completely. That small piece of you drowns.
I wanted freedom
Bound and restricted
I tried to give you up
But I'm addicted
No more, you can’t take anymore. It’s too much, all too much. Your life is falling apart, falling apart because of a game, a stupid game - but it’s so much more than a game, isn’t it really? Wasn’t it always?
It’s destroying you; you can feel it, eating away at you, sliding through you, crawling underneath your skin. It itches and itches, God does it itch, and you scratch at it, scratch scratch scratch, to get rid of the itch. Have to get rid of the itch, or it’ll eat you, consume you, drown and smother and bury and murder you.
But the itching doesn’t stop. Even when your arms are bruised and bleeding - not that you feel it - the itching doesn’t go away. It’s inside you. In your blood. Maybe you’ll have to tear of your skin and pull out your veins to get rid of the itch.
It’s been days. Days and days and days. It feels like it could even have been weeks. Or maybe months. Perhaps years. It doesn’t matter, but it feels like forever, one long, endless nightmare. You don’t remember the last time you slept, actually slept. What was sleep again? You can’t remember. Your eyes are heavy and tired and sore and red but darting wildly about in their sockets, looking this way and that, everywhere, for something, something and you don’t even know what.
You ache, so bad, so so bad. All over. You ache and hurt and it makes you feel nauseous. You lost count of the amount of times you’ve vomited now. You stopped counting after 4. Or maybe it was 5. Or 9. Or 13. It doesn’t matter, but you ache. Inside, under your skin, your muscles, your very bones. You ache and you tremble and you feel so so cold even though your skin is flushed and red and you’re sweating.
What day is it? You can’t remember, you just can’t remember and it feels like you’re losing your mind, that you’ve already lost it. It, whatever it was, the it that crawls under your skin and through your bones, must have eaten it, gnawed away at your mind, until it was gone and left you here, as you are, a trembling, shivering, aching lump of something.
Now that you know I'm trapped
Sense of elation
You'd never dream of
Breaking this fixation
When you come to yourself, when your eyes open - were they even closed - and your mind wakes up, yes, your mind is still there, still living, still aware, you don’t remember how you got to Heechul’s house, or what happened. The last thing you can remember clearly was leaving his house - almost a week ago, but you don’t remember that - shouting at him, telling him you didn’t want anymore, couldn’t take anymore. You were going to tug that thread of yourself free from his fingers and let yourself loose in the wind, free yourself from his grip, free to be yourself again.
But here you are, in the familiar surroundings of Heechul’s small apartment. On his couch. It takes you a few moments to realise that you’re naked. You don’t remember how, or why. But you bet Heechul knows, oh yes, he would know.
And thinking of Heechul, he comes through the door, wearing only a loose pair of pyjama bottoms, carrying a bowl of some kind of food in for you. He smiles at you. It’s that same smile he’s always had, that sunshine bright ‘you can trust me’ smile. Except now, it seems different, looks different. He looks … elated. Joyful. Triumphant. You don’t like it, it leaves you shivering, your skin prickling.
“Here, you need to eat.” He sounds friendly and oh-so-helpful as he hands you the food, you only barely notice that it’s soup.
He’s right though, you’re hungry, and you need to eat, so you do, sparing only a small breath between mouthfuls to ask, “What happened? How did I get here?”
“I brought you back.” He takes a seat next to you on the couch, watches you eat, that gleam of triumph still making his eyes sparkle coldly. “You were a mess. A complete mess. I had to bring you here and … help you out.”
You look up at him; soup dribbles from the corners of your mouth, over your chin and onto your lap. You just look at him, unable to even think. Because you know what he’s done. He’s brought you back. He might have taken you out from the personal hell you’d thrown yourself into, but he’s gone and dragged you straight back into his own.
Our time is running out
Our time is running out
You can't push it underground
You can't stop it screaming out
How did it come to this?
It’s a routine, a horrible, endless routine. And the terrifying part is it’s a routine you’ve become used to, a part of, a routine you need. You don’t want it. It’s bad for you, dangerous, and you know it. There’s nothing good about it. But you need it. You need this routine to keep you going, keep you alive, keep you sane.
Except you know it really won’t do any of that. It’s going to kill you before long, and the very fact that you’re letting this continue proves you lost your sanity a long time ago. The day you let Heechul show you new things, the day you gave in to him, the day you stopped fighting to keep hold of that last thread of yourself.
You let him keep his grip on that thread, let him tighten his hold; let him take it where he would, do what he wanted. You let him do all of this, anything - anything - as long as he doesn’t let go, as long as keeps hold of you, keeps you in place. Because you’ve lost so much of yourself now you’re scared that if he lets go, you’d disappear, dissolve and evaporate and fade away, dispersing with the gentlest breeze.
You’ve no idea, not really, not during the clear moments where you can remember and think logically, how things managed to get this bad. How he managed to drag you this far with him, drag you into what surely must be the pits of hell. That’s what it feels like, anyway. When you feel that familiar sting in your arm, when you feel his arms around you, feel him inside you, when your mind just disengages and floats away and you find yourself drowning, you know you’re drowning in hell. Being smothered by horror, and buried by helplessness.
When he whispers playfully into your ear, ‘let’s play our game, Hae’ some part of you, that small thread of yourself you know is still writhing, thrashing around for life, for a hold, for hope, screams and screams and screams. It doesn’t want this, not for you. It doesn’t want this at all. It screams and hopes you’ll hear it, that you’ll answer it, that you’ll stop all this madness.
But then it’s drowned out again when the euphoria hits. When you really do lose your mind and sink into that familiar bliss, wrapped up tightly with a gasping Heechul clutching at you. You don’t hear the screams anymore. But they don’t stop; you know they don’t stop, not completely. He might be able to drown them out, smother them, bury them for a little while, but he can’t stop them, and you won’t let him, you won’t let him murder that tiny thread of yourself you still cling to and hope for.
You will be the death of me
You will be the death of me
Heechul can’t stop it completely, can’t have you completely, but he’ll try, and you know you can’t stop him from trying. You might not even want to, anymore. You don’t know. You just don’t know.
“I want you to know pleasure, Hae. I want you to feel total bliss.”
His words are soft, like his breath as he presses his lips to yours. But his fingers are rough, vicious, clinging and tugging and pressing at you. All over. Everywhere. His words are gentle but his body isn’t. It’s a contradiction, a contrast. It throws you off guard, confuses you. Just like he wants.
He thrusts into you, hard, without warning, and you scream. You scream so loud and you rake your fingers down his back, nails biting sharply, bitterly, into his skin. You can feel the blood on your fingers.
His lips press against your skin, hot, so hot against you. You feel his tongue, wet and warm, on your throat, and he sucks. He clamps his mouth down over your flushed skin and sucks; he sucks so hard that it almost hurts, and you know it’s going to bruise and leave a mark, and you know that’s what he likes, what he wants. He sucks so hard, like he’s trying to suck the very life out of you.
“I want to show you heaven,” he whispers to you. He calls it Heaven, but you know its Hell, and he’s killing you slowly to take you there.
- end -