things we keep quiet (part ii: just one night, one shot)
one-sided Jiyong/Seungri, one-sided Jiyong/TOP (Big Bang)
Within every group of friends there are things that never see the light of day, things that we all keep under covers, things we keep quiet. Big Bang is not an exception.
PG-13 for angst, boys kissing.
This is the second part of a series of five short one-shots, each based on one Big Bang member, and is a companion to part i: a girl like wine. Seungri-centric. I'm not as happy with how this one turned out as I was with part i, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway.
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Seungri can see, from his place behind the slightly open bedroom door, Jiyong and Seunghyun-hyung standing by their rice cooker. He feels a bit like a spy from an American action movie as he crouches by the door, holding his breath.
“Hyung,” Jiyong’s speaking, and Seungri notes that he looks very uncomfortable. “Hyung, I need to say something.”
His back is facing Seungri, but he can tell by the movement of his arms that Seunghyun is shoveling the last of his food into his mouth. “Say it, then,” Seunghyun mumbles through the rice in his mouth.
Jiyong shifts his weight to his left foot, then rocks backwards, resting his weight on his heels, straightening his back and pushing his shoulders back. He clears his throat as Seunghyun walks past him to place his bowl in the sink before turning expectantly to face him, crossing his arms in front of him. Seungri watches the curve of Jiyong’s neck as his shoulders slump and he scrubs a hand through his hair with a sigh. His wrists look awfully thin. Seungri could probably circle them easily with his thumb and forefinger. He looks down at his own wrists, and tries to wrap his hand around his left wrist, touching his thumb to the tip of his forefinger before he hears Seunghyun say something. He quickly glances back up.
‘What, Jiyong? Just say it.”
Seungri’s watching Jiyong’s face.
“I kind of… I love you, okay?”
Seungri loses his balance and falls hard onto his backside. Shit shit shit, he thinks, scrambling to kneel behind the door again, hoping that they didn’t hear anything. He peeps around the edge of the door, but they haven’t seemed to have noticed anything.
“Uh, I love you too.”
“No, hyung, you idiot! I love you in that way!”
Even though Seungri had a feeling that this is what Jiyong has been mustering up the courage to do all day, he still feels his heart drop at Jiyong’s words. Even though Jiyong looks pissed off rather than hesitant in his confession, Seungri still wishes that those words were directed at him, that Jiyong was saying maknae, not hyung.
There’s a bit of a silence. Seungri’s straining his ears to hear and trying so hard not to breathe too loudly that he begins to feel lightheaded. Breathe, Seunghyun, he reminds himself, you don’t want them to find you passed out while you were eavesdropping. He exhales through his nose. When Seunghyun-hyung finally speaks after what seems like an eternity, his voice sounds odd.
“Don’t be stupid, Jiyong-ah. You’re young. You don’t know what love is.”
Seungri can see Jiyong struggling to contain himself in the ensuing conversation before Seunghyun brushes past him and towards his bedroom. He quickly scuttles over to his bed, pulling the covers up to his waist and hoping against hope that hyung was too bewildered by Jiyong’s declaration to see anything. After peering for so long into the brightly-lit kitchen, his vision in the darkened room is swimming with green blobs. He squeezes his eyes shut until they fade away. He can feel his heart pounding against his chest, and tries hard to steady it, breathing deeply.
The thin sliver of light that slips in from the kitchen and falls across the bed suddenly widens as the door is opened. Seungri holds as still as possible, his muscles tense, trying to breathe normally again. Jiyong’s eyes are wild and bright in the darkness, Seungri imagines, wild and bright and focused on Seungri’s sleeping figure, the sheet rumpled around his midsection. The footsteps signaling his presence come to a stop by the bed, a familiar shadow falling across his body.
Seungri knows that he can just pretend to keep sleeping. He can pretend that his body isn’t as alive as a wire with a current passing down its length, that he isn’t aware of each haggard breath from his hyung standing above him, the inhale-exhale that parallels the ka-thump ka-thump of his own heartbeat. He knows that Jiyong’s only hurting, and anything that he says or does now to Seungri won’t be of any significance.
He shifts his body, as though he’s sleepy, as though he’s just woken up, and rolls slightly onto his back. “Jiyong-hyung?” he mutters, rubbing his eyes against the light.
Seungri knows all this, but he takes what he can get.
When Jiyong replies with a quiet, strained, “Seunghyun,” Seungri opens his eyes a little wider and turns more fully onto his back to face Jiyong in hopes that Jiyong can see on his face what Seungri feels inside. He hopes that as he props himself up on his elbows, waiting with his breath caught high in his throat and his heart beating wildly in his chest and hope fluttering in his stomach, Jiyong can see that it doesn’t matter if Seunghyun-hyung doesn’t want him, because this Seunghyun does, and he’s here, can’t you see, hyung?
Seungri doesn’t realize that he uttered the last word aloud until Jiyong moves away, and Seungri feels his stomach twisting into knots because he’s not going to stay, little maknae Seungri isn’t good enough for him - but the only thing that leaves the darkened room is the rest of the light from the kitchen as Jiyong shuts the door with a quiet click. For some reason, the twisting in his stomach doesn’t cease.
He can see without seeing Jiyong’s approaching figure, the slight displacement of darkness through darkness as he comes toward the bed. The mattress dips and Seungri can hear the soft sounds of cloth brushing against cotton sheets; can feel a draft of cool air against his legs as the sheet is lifted before Jiyong’s body is suddenly under the sheet and hovering above his own. He registers the momentary brightness of Jiyong’s eyes until the two pinpricks of light disappear beneath closed eyelids.
“Seunghyun,” Quiet and broken in the middle, again the name slips from between Jiyong’s lips, but Seungri doesn’t care whose name Jiyong is really repeating because those same lips are suddenly pressing against his own. Caught a little off guard, he allows his tongue to flick out of his mouth and against Jiyong’s lips, a hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, pads of his fingers against his scalp. He flattens his other palm against Jiyong’s thin cotton t-shirt, curving his hand along ribs that radiate warmth onto his palm.
When he accidentally grasps Jiyong’s hair a little too tightly, jerking his head back a little, Jiyong makes a startled noise against his mouth, and Seungri hesitates, his hand still gripping Jiyong’s hair, unsure if it was a good or bad noise. Without breaking their kiss, Jiyong shifts against Seungri and his hips align neatly against the sharp lines of Seungri’s own and he rocks forward and oh, his brain stutters to a halt, it must have been good, because now Jiyong’s kissing him like this, all tongue and teeth and sliding in the sheets, hot and wet, frantic and good, and the faint thought that it can’t get much better than this crosses his hazy mind until Jiyong slides his hands under his shirt and against his over-heated skin, shucking it up and breaking their kiss as Seungri fumbles to tug it over his head and Jiyong pulls off his own.
When he presses back down, his thin body is solid enough for Seungri to run trembling hands over the smooth skin across the spine, the shoulder blades, but still fragile enough for him to be unsure of its existence in his bed. He presses fumbling fingertips along ink that reads too fast to live, too young to die and as they move Seungri thinks that that couldn’t possibly be more fitting in this moment -
“Hyung,” He gasps, breathless, and the word shatters the silence that persisted over the quiet half-moans and sharp inhalations of air. Jiyong stops moving, still breathing heavily and unevenly, his upper arms trembling as his weight rests on his forearms, and Seungri suddenly wishes he hadn’t said anything if it meant that they were going to stop. He grinds his hips up encouragingly, sliding his hands up Jiyong’s upper arms and onto his shoulders, but Jiyong’s body sags to the side and collapses half-way on top of Seungri, his face buried in his neck and his arm flung over his body, the hand curled into a half-clenched fist beside Seungri’s ear. Seungri swallows, feeling his Adam’s apple bob in his throat and pretending not to hear Jiyong trying to get his breathing under control.
When Jiyong finally speaks, his voice sounds detached - as though the body lying across Seungri is only a shell, and his soul is occupied elsewhere.
“Sorry, Seungri-yah.”
Seungri only sighs, the exhalation of breath swallowed up by the silence. He’s not disappointed, and although he’s still almost painfully aroused, he doesn’t feel used, not really. This is what he wanted, after all.
He knew that falling for the reckless, passionate force of nature that is Kwon Jiyong meant that he’d never have him completely. If he can’t protect Jiyong’s heart or keep his smiles as secrets, at least he’ll have the length of his body pressing slightly bony against his own and the knowledge of the tears in his eyes that never fall - and he takes what he can get. With another sigh, Seungri pulls Jiyong a little closer, and he doesn’t resist - he simply curls his body into Seungri’s.
“It’s alright,” Seungri says, almost under his breath, “it’s alright.” Jiyong doesn’t reply, so tense beside Seungri it seems as though, if he held him too tightly, his body would snap in half. Seungri closes his eyes, eventually feeling the tension in Jiyong’s body fade away, but the adrenaline coursing through his own veins keeps him awake long into the night. He falls asleep as the dawn breaks over the horizon.
The next day, he doesn’t mention their encounter to anyone. He chatters happily to their staff and the rest of the members as they prepare for a photo shoot, making sure to talk just that bit more enthusiastically to Jiyong. He pushes to the back of his mind the memory of darkness and heat and cold hands and talks in circles about inconsequential things, silly things that make the coordi-noonas laugh; but if Jiyong crawls into Seungri’s bed that night, eyes bright and intense and hands desperate against Seungri’s skin, he’ll swallow all words and just let Jiyong forget, and let himself pretend.
Within every group of friends there are things that never see the light of day, things that we all keep under covers, things we keep quiet. Big Bang is not an exception.
PG-13 for angst, boys kissing.
This is the second part of a series of five short one-shots, each based on one Big Bang member, and is a companion to part i: a girl like wine. Seungri-centric. I'm not as happy with how this one turned out as I was with part i, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway.
.
Seungri can see, from his place behind the slightly open bedroom door, Jiyong and Seunghyun-hyung standing by their rice cooker. He feels a bit like a spy from an American action movie as he crouches by the door, holding his breath.
“Hyung,” Jiyong’s speaking, and Seungri notes that he looks very uncomfortable. “Hyung, I need to say something.”
His back is facing Seungri, but he can tell by the movement of his arms that Seunghyun is shoveling the last of his food into his mouth. “Say it, then,” Seunghyun mumbles through the rice in his mouth.
Jiyong shifts his weight to his left foot, then rocks backwards, resting his weight on his heels, straightening his back and pushing his shoulders back. He clears his throat as Seunghyun walks past him to place his bowl in the sink before turning expectantly to face him, crossing his arms in front of him. Seungri watches the curve of Jiyong’s neck as his shoulders slump and he scrubs a hand through his hair with a sigh. His wrists look awfully thin. Seungri could probably circle them easily with his thumb and forefinger. He looks down at his own wrists, and tries to wrap his hand around his left wrist, touching his thumb to the tip of his forefinger before he hears Seunghyun say something. He quickly glances back up.
‘What, Jiyong? Just say it.”
Seungri’s watching Jiyong’s face.
“I kind of… I love you, okay?”
Seungri loses his balance and falls hard onto his backside. Shit shit shit, he thinks, scrambling to kneel behind the door again, hoping that they didn’t hear anything. He peeps around the edge of the door, but they haven’t seemed to have noticed anything.
“Uh, I love you too.”
“No, hyung, you idiot! I love you in that way!”
Even though Seungri had a feeling that this is what Jiyong has been mustering up the courage to do all day, he still feels his heart drop at Jiyong’s words. Even though Jiyong looks pissed off rather than hesitant in his confession, Seungri still wishes that those words were directed at him, that Jiyong was saying maknae, not hyung.
There’s a bit of a silence. Seungri’s straining his ears to hear and trying so hard not to breathe too loudly that he begins to feel lightheaded. Breathe, Seunghyun, he reminds himself, you don’t want them to find you passed out while you were eavesdropping. He exhales through his nose. When Seunghyun-hyung finally speaks after what seems like an eternity, his voice sounds odd.
“Don’t be stupid, Jiyong-ah. You’re young. You don’t know what love is.”
Seungri can see Jiyong struggling to contain himself in the ensuing conversation before Seunghyun brushes past him and towards his bedroom. He quickly scuttles over to his bed, pulling the covers up to his waist and hoping against hope that hyung was too bewildered by Jiyong’s declaration to see anything. After peering for so long into the brightly-lit kitchen, his vision in the darkened room is swimming with green blobs. He squeezes his eyes shut until they fade away. He can feel his heart pounding against his chest, and tries hard to steady it, breathing deeply.
The thin sliver of light that slips in from the kitchen and falls across the bed suddenly widens as the door is opened. Seungri holds as still as possible, his muscles tense, trying to breathe normally again. Jiyong’s eyes are wild and bright in the darkness, Seungri imagines, wild and bright and focused on Seungri’s sleeping figure, the sheet rumpled around his midsection. The footsteps signaling his presence come to a stop by the bed, a familiar shadow falling across his body.
Seungri knows that he can just pretend to keep sleeping. He can pretend that his body isn’t as alive as a wire with a current passing down its length, that he isn’t aware of each haggard breath from his hyung standing above him, the inhale-exhale that parallels the ka-thump ka-thump of his own heartbeat. He knows that Jiyong’s only hurting, and anything that he says or does now to Seungri won’t be of any significance.
He shifts his body, as though he’s sleepy, as though he’s just woken up, and rolls slightly onto his back. “Jiyong-hyung?” he mutters, rubbing his eyes against the light.
Seungri knows all this, but he takes what he can get.
When Jiyong replies with a quiet, strained, “Seunghyun,” Seungri opens his eyes a little wider and turns more fully onto his back to face Jiyong in hopes that Jiyong can see on his face what Seungri feels inside. He hopes that as he props himself up on his elbows, waiting with his breath caught high in his throat and his heart beating wildly in his chest and hope fluttering in his stomach, Jiyong can see that it doesn’t matter if Seunghyun-hyung doesn’t want him, because this Seunghyun does, and he’s here, can’t you see, hyung?
Seungri doesn’t realize that he uttered the last word aloud until Jiyong moves away, and Seungri feels his stomach twisting into knots because he’s not going to stay, little maknae Seungri isn’t good enough for him - but the only thing that leaves the darkened room is the rest of the light from the kitchen as Jiyong shuts the door with a quiet click. For some reason, the twisting in his stomach doesn’t cease.
He can see without seeing Jiyong’s approaching figure, the slight displacement of darkness through darkness as he comes toward the bed. The mattress dips and Seungri can hear the soft sounds of cloth brushing against cotton sheets; can feel a draft of cool air against his legs as the sheet is lifted before Jiyong’s body is suddenly under the sheet and hovering above his own. He registers the momentary brightness of Jiyong’s eyes until the two pinpricks of light disappear beneath closed eyelids.
“Seunghyun,” Quiet and broken in the middle, again the name slips from between Jiyong’s lips, but Seungri doesn’t care whose name Jiyong is really repeating because those same lips are suddenly pressing against his own. Caught a little off guard, he allows his tongue to flick out of his mouth and against Jiyong’s lips, a hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, pads of his fingers against his scalp. He flattens his other palm against Jiyong’s thin cotton t-shirt, curving his hand along ribs that radiate warmth onto his palm.
When he accidentally grasps Jiyong’s hair a little too tightly, jerking his head back a little, Jiyong makes a startled noise against his mouth, and Seungri hesitates, his hand still gripping Jiyong’s hair, unsure if it was a good or bad noise. Without breaking their kiss, Jiyong shifts against Seungri and his hips align neatly against the sharp lines of Seungri’s own and he rocks forward and oh, his brain stutters to a halt, it must have been good, because now Jiyong’s kissing him like this, all tongue and teeth and sliding in the sheets, hot and wet, frantic and good, and the faint thought that it can’t get much better than this crosses his hazy mind until Jiyong slides his hands under his shirt and against his over-heated skin, shucking it up and breaking their kiss as Seungri fumbles to tug it over his head and Jiyong pulls off his own.
When he presses back down, his thin body is solid enough for Seungri to run trembling hands over the smooth skin across the spine, the shoulder blades, but still fragile enough for him to be unsure of its existence in his bed. He presses fumbling fingertips along ink that reads too fast to live, too young to die and as they move Seungri thinks that that couldn’t possibly be more fitting in this moment -
“Hyung,” He gasps, breathless, and the word shatters the silence that persisted over the quiet half-moans and sharp inhalations of air. Jiyong stops moving, still breathing heavily and unevenly, his upper arms trembling as his weight rests on his forearms, and Seungri suddenly wishes he hadn’t said anything if it meant that they were going to stop. He grinds his hips up encouragingly, sliding his hands up Jiyong’s upper arms and onto his shoulders, but Jiyong’s body sags to the side and collapses half-way on top of Seungri, his face buried in his neck and his arm flung over his body, the hand curled into a half-clenched fist beside Seungri’s ear. Seungri swallows, feeling his Adam’s apple bob in his throat and pretending not to hear Jiyong trying to get his breathing under control.
When Jiyong finally speaks, his voice sounds detached - as though the body lying across Seungri is only a shell, and his soul is occupied elsewhere.
“Sorry, Seungri-yah.”
Seungri only sighs, the exhalation of breath swallowed up by the silence. He’s not disappointed, and although he’s still almost painfully aroused, he doesn’t feel used, not really. This is what he wanted, after all.
He knew that falling for the reckless, passionate force of nature that is Kwon Jiyong meant that he’d never have him completely. If he can’t protect Jiyong’s heart or keep his smiles as secrets, at least he’ll have the length of his body pressing slightly bony against his own and the knowledge of the tears in his eyes that never fall - and he takes what he can get. With another sigh, Seungri pulls Jiyong a little closer, and he doesn’t resist - he simply curls his body into Seungri’s.
“It’s alright,” Seungri says, almost under his breath, “it’s alright.” Jiyong doesn’t reply, so tense beside Seungri it seems as though, if he held him too tightly, his body would snap in half. Seungri closes his eyes, eventually feeling the tension in Jiyong’s body fade away, but the adrenaline coursing through his own veins keeps him awake long into the night. He falls asleep as the dawn breaks over the horizon.
The next day, he doesn’t mention their encounter to anyone. He chatters happily to their staff and the rest of the members as they prepare for a photo shoot, making sure to talk just that bit more enthusiastically to Jiyong. He pushes to the back of his mind the memory of darkness and heat and cold hands and talks in circles about inconsequential things, silly things that make the coordi-noonas laugh; but if Jiyong crawls into Seungri’s bed that night, eyes bright and intense and hands desperate against Seungri’s skin, he’ll swallow all words and just let Jiyong forget, and let himself pretend.