DBSG: 2 Jaechun drabbles
o1; compound fracture
Jaejoong didn’t know what falling was like until it actually happened, all in a rush of sudden gravity and realization and the sickening crunch of reality under him.
Yoochun kisses him hard, like it means something.
“Is that what you want?” he whispers, his voice low and harsh.
Jaejoong can’t look away from eyes that intense. He nods-yes.
They fuck on the couch, all sweat and tangled limbs, and Yoochun doesn’t look at him, buries his face in Jaejoong’s neck and leaves a bleeding crescent on his collarbone with his teeth. Jaejoong never thought hearts could twist like knees, but it’s acute and fierce and sharp like a knife. Pain is pain, he tells himself, he can deal with pain-
But the dull ache in his knee is nothing like the razor-sharp slice through his chest when he wakes up alone in the dark.
o2; when the sand runs out
An hour after the awards show, Yoochun's hands are still shaking. Jaejoong can feel them unsteady and trembling as fingers curve around hips, curl into beltloops; but Jaejoong's hands are steady as he brushes nearly-dried teartracks into silvery smears over Yoochun's cheekbones.
"I can't-" Yoochun whispers, biting off a thousand endings, too-soon admittances. His eyes are raw with emotion, and Jaejoong doesn't want to meet that kind of honesty-but to look away would be to pull away, so instead he leans in close and says it with a kiss pressed soft to still-parted lips: I know.
I can't do this without you.
It's salty, laced with sweat and tears and truth, and Jaejoong wonders how success can taste so bitter.
Jaejoong didn’t know what falling was like until it actually happened, all in a rush of sudden gravity and realization and the sickening crunch of reality under him.
Yoochun kisses him hard, like it means something.
“Is that what you want?” he whispers, his voice low and harsh.
Jaejoong can’t look away from eyes that intense. He nods-yes.
They fuck on the couch, all sweat and tangled limbs, and Yoochun doesn’t look at him, buries his face in Jaejoong’s neck and leaves a bleeding crescent on his collarbone with his teeth. Jaejoong never thought hearts could twist like knees, but it’s acute and fierce and sharp like a knife. Pain is pain, he tells himself, he can deal with pain-
But the dull ache in his knee is nothing like the razor-sharp slice through his chest when he wakes up alone in the dark.
o2; when the sand runs out
An hour after the awards show, Yoochun's hands are still shaking. Jaejoong can feel them unsteady and trembling as fingers curve around hips, curl into beltloops; but Jaejoong's hands are steady as he brushes nearly-dried teartracks into silvery smears over Yoochun's cheekbones.
"I can't-" Yoochun whispers, biting off a thousand endings, too-soon admittances. His eyes are raw with emotion, and Jaejoong doesn't want to meet that kind of honesty-but to look away would be to pull away, so instead he leans in close and says it with a kiss pressed soft to still-parted lips: I know.
I can't do this without you.
It's salty, laced with sweat and tears and truth, and Jaejoong wonders how success can taste so bitter.