for thine is the kingdom

[blahnicity]

title: for thine is the kingdom
pairing/Genre: hankyungxheechul, fantasy
rating: Teen, PG13
summary: Hankyung leaves, Heechul dreams. There’s poetry. My entry for winged_suju, a contest filled with awesome, go read EVERYTHING there.


The first night Hankyung leaves for China with the rest of them, Heechul doesn’t dream. But he does the second night.

“Hi,” says Hankyung, “do you like my wings?” Heechul blinks at him. They’re in a playground, and the air is misty, blurry. Only Hankyung is in focus, sharp lines and soft features. And big black wings. Heechul blinks again.

“This isn’t real,” he decides, but reaches out to touch them anyway. They’re soft and fluffy, and thin black fuzz sticks to his fingers as he drags a hand down the ridge. It feels almost like there’s hard muscle underneath, quivering as he strokes lazily. Heechul laughs.

“Are you flexing for me?” he asks, amused. Hankyung blushes.

“Had we but had world enough, and time,” he says.

“What?” asks Heechul flatly. Hankyung smirks.

“Maybe,” he says.

“I had the weirdest dream about you,” he tells Hankyung on the phone.

“Yeah?” Hankyung asks, distracted, “what were we do-Donghae! Put that down-doing?”

“I was petting you,” says Heechul. Hankyung snorts.

“I feel-Zhou Mi, get in the car-I feel violated.” Heechul snorts back.

“You should feel honoured,” he says. “Don’t embarrass the band on international television, it would reflect badly upon me.”

He watches the broadcast, watches Hankyung flirt with girls, flirt with Siwon. Doesn’t pick up Hankyung’s call that night, or the next.

“You’re an asshole,” he tells Hankyung on the third night. “I hate you.” Hankyung looks wounded.

“It wasn’t me,” he whines, pouting. “I’m not in China, I’m here. With you.”

“Oh right,” says Heechul, reaching out and sliding his hand down the front of a wing, scratching lightly.

“I made you up inside my head,” Heechul murmurs, tracing the bone structure. Hankyung arches slightly, the other wing flapping as he hums happily, stretching to give Heechul better access.

“Arbitrary blackness gallops in,” he sighs. Heechul stops petting, stepping back. Hankyung whines in protest.

“That made no sense. Also, you don’t exist,” says Heechul firmly. Hankyung looks disgruntled, folds his wings neatly against his back.

“I don’t know about that,” he says. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Heechul checks Omona to find pictures of Hankyung and a girl in a parking garage, late at night, pictures of Hankyung and a girl playing a private game of pool.

“I do not need this,” he tells Eeteuk.

“What’s wrong?” asks, Eeteuk, concerned.

“Man up,” advises Kangin, “you are not getting out of dance practice.” Heechul throws an apple at his head.

“Direct hit!” he cackles, and flounces off to the studio before Kangin can take revenge.

That night he dreams of feather boas attacking Tokyo while Hankyung kisses Jessica as the sun sets.

The night after that he finds himself in the playground again. He gets on the swings and pumps his legs lazily, enjoying the wind on his face. But really, he thinks, the playground again?

“Even my imagination is lacking,” he says. Hankyung walks to him, crunching over tanbark.

“You love the swings,” he reminds him. Heechul waves a hand in the air, dismissive.

“Irrelevant,” he announces, then tilts his head at Hankyung. Snickers as Hankyung awkwardly tries to fit himself in a swing.

“You don’t need to swing,” he says scornfully, “you have wings.” Hankyung smiles sheepishly, adorable. Heechul wants to touch his hair, his lips.

“Can you?” he asks suddenly. Hankyung looks blank, and Heechul rolls his eyes. “Fly, idiot, can you fly?”

“The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,” says Hankyung.

“What the fuck, can’t you ever just answer a question?” Hankyung smiles and walks around Heechul to push, palms steady and warm on Heechul’s back.

Heechul goes higher and higher, closes his eyes to feel the drop in his stomach. Suddenly Hankyung stops him, pulls him back against his chest. His wings flare out to wrap around them. Heechul breathes, can feel the tickle of feathers on his face, opens his eyes into the black of their embrace.

“Yes,” Hankyung says into his ear, “yes, but not tonight.”

Heechul is distracted by visions of Hankyung flapping his way from Beijing back to Seoul, and has to reshoot his part of the interview twice. Eeteuk frowns, and leans across Eunhyuk as the camera crew shifts to Kangin.

“You look tired,” he murmurs. Heechul tilts politely away from him and smiles, detached.

“I’ll go to bed early tonight,” he says dispassionately. Eeteuk rolls his eyes, sure that Heechul is mocking him.

He nearly falls over in shock when Heechul actually does so.

Hankyung is in a peddleboat, the very tips of his wings trailing the water. He’s reading a book, wearing the rectangular frame glasses that make Heechul’s mouth go dry, and his face is tilted into the sun. Heechul walks down the pier, untying the boat before hopping in, nearly upsetting them both.

Hankyung jerks in surprise, his wings extending three feet to each side in one quick snap as he flails a little. As the rocking settles, they flutter gently before he folds them in, wiggling on his seats to settle them in the boat.

“Watcha readin?” asks Heechul, obnoxious. He settles next to Hankyung, poking him in the ribs until he unfurls one wing to tuck around Heechul’s body. He leans back, curling into the softness, enjoying the faint heat. He gives Hankyung big doe eyes, sadness from under long lashes.

Hankyung sighs, begins to peddle. Heechul picks up the book and flips it open, paging through unfamiliar characters. It’s in Chinese.

“I take it back,” he says, peering at sentences he doesn’t understand, “my imagination is bitching.”

“Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare eat a peach?” says Hankyung, as they reach the middle of the lake and he stops peddling, letting them drift leisurely.

“I don’t care what you eat,” says Heechul, tossing the book aside. Hankyung smiles and moves to remove his glasses.

“No,” Heechul says suddenly, reaching over to stop him, fingers curling around Hankyung’s wrist. Hankyung blinks at him, puzzled. “Leave them,” Heechul murmurs, then quickly drops his hand, self conscious. He looks over Hankyung’s shoulder, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s okay,” says Hankyung confidently. Heechul looks at him, startled. Hankyung is grinning at him, faintly flushed. “I know how hot I am,” he says. Heechul is silent for a moment, then laughs.

“Who do you think you are,” he asks, smirking back, “me?”

“You’re in a good mood,” says Kangin suspiciously.

“I slept well,” Heechul says airily, and skips off to the set of his drama. He waves off lunch in favour of a nap in his dressing room.

Hankyung is sitting alone in a diner, empty but for him, spinning on a stool, speeding up and slowing down by pumping his wings, like Heechul did with his legs on the swings. As the bell rings, heralding Heechul’s arrival, he looks up, surprised.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” he asks, flaring both wings out so suddenly it brings him to a dead halt. It’s a hard, quick movement, powerful, and it takes Heechul’s breath away.

“What?” he asks, completely distracted. Hankyung slips off the stool, wings fluttering as they settle in compact folds against his back. He steps close.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, worried. “Are you okay?” Heechul blinks. Snaps out of it.

“Shouldn’t you know?” he asks teasingly, stepping out of Hankyung’s space and taking some calming breaths. “You live here,” he adds, tapping the side of his head. Hankyung steps up against him, pinning him to the counter. Heechul holds his breath.

“What are you doing,” he stutters, leaning back into the counter. Hankyung doesn’t step back, leans closer.

“I don’t like it when you do that,” he says softly. Heechul can feel their knees touching, their hipbones brushing lightly, knows their ribcages would touch if he changed his breathing.

“What?” he asks, husky. Hankyung’s eyes darken, and he pushes closer, pulls Heechul flush against him.

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not real,” he hisses, and drags his hand across Heechul’s zip.

“I’m better than him,” he snarls, dipping his head and speaking an inch from Heechul’s lips. He leans further, Heechul’s eyes flutter close as his fingers tighten on Hankyung’s hips.

“Thou shalt be worshipp’d, loved an-”

“Heechul-shi, Heechul-shi!” The PA is shaking him, shouting in his ear. Heechul jerks into consciousness, and wipes the drool from his mouth, disoriented. It takes two minutes of shaking himself and another of splashing water on his face for him to focus. He finishes his scenes and heads back to the dorm, shaken.

He doesn’t sleep that night, sits on the couch and watches crappy television. By the morning he’s calm, and by nighttime he’s kicking himself for overreacting. He curls under his covers and shuts his eyes.

It’s a garden this time, Hankyung perched on the backrest of a park bench. He’s looking at his hands, shoulders slumped. His wings seem duller, their shine gone. He shifts on the bench and shuffles his wings, rubbing them lightly together. Fuzz drifts away on the wind. Heechul rolls his eyes.

“What’s wrong with you,” he scolds, striding over and pulling Hankyung down from his seat. Hankyung’s whole face brightens, and he pulls Heechul into a crushing hug.

“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly into Heechul’s hair, “I didn’t mean to get angry.” Heechul shoves him to lie on the bench, stomach down, and uses his fingers to comb through the feathers, scratching his nails downwards to catch the fuzz. Hankyung hums in appreciation, squirming as Heechul switches direction before smoothing the ruffled feathers.

“I fancied you’d return the way you said,” he says happily.

“Ignoring you now,” says Heechul, flicking fuzz from his fingers. Hankyung rolls onto the grass, lies on his back and pulls Heechul on top of him, wraps his wings around them both, cocoons them against the world.

“Feeling better?” asks Sungmin.

“Yeah,” says Heechul, reaching for orange juice. He checks his watch. “Crap,” he mutters, rising. “I’m gonna be late.”

“To what?” asks Eunhyuk, surprised.

“Oh, my job.” Says Heechul sarcastically. “I thought I’d show up.” Sungmin and Eunhyuk exchange a look.

“Hyung,” says Sungmin carefully, “what day do you think it is?” Heechul pauses. Looks at Sungmin. Checks his watch again, looks at the calendar on the fridge. Feels faint.

“Good morning,” says Eeteuk cheerfully, entering the kitchen. “Heechul! How are you feeling?”

“You bastard,” Heechul hisses, venomous.

“Better, than,” decides Eeteuk, turning to the toaster.

“How could you,” splutters Heechul, “Nineteen hours?!?” Eeteuk slams the coffeepot down.

“You wouldn’t wake up!” he says, serious. “Manager-hyung said you just needed rest, so we let you rest. You haven’t even stirred, we were so worr-are you yawning? Heechul, that’s it.” He ignores Heechul’s protests, and drags him off.

He dozes off in the waiting room, sleepwalks through the doctor talking about deep sleep and exhaustion and diet, manages to take the one pill pressed into his palm and shove the bottle into his pocket.

Eeteuk has to leave him in the car to get Kangin to come down and carry Heechul up to the apartment. Heechul sleeps, dreams of Hankyung flying into his bedroom window, over and over, like a fly trapped between the screen and the curtains, trying to reach him. Heechul wants to tell him to stop, but his voice is gone, so he watches, silent, as blood and bruises bloom.

He’s his usual self again the next day, snapping and witty and sarcastic. They eat dinner family style, piled on couches, stacking cartons on tables and counters. They even watch a movie afterwards, a cheesy horror film, make fun of the dialogue and throw popcorn at each other. Soon, it’s late enough, and they turn in. Eeteuk barricades the bathroom, not allowing Heechul out until he takes one of the pills. He tells himself one bad dream is an anomaly.

They’re standing, nearly nose to nose, in a concrete courtyard, in the pouring rain. Hankyung smiles an odd smile at him, cardboard grin with rivulets of water running down his body and drenching his clothes.

“I don’t like it when you don’t come,” he says. Heechul hugs him, expects warm blackness to envelope him like it has so many times before, to block the rain. Hankyung is unmoving, stiff and tense. Heechul steps back, feels warmth on his fingers, his hands. They’re red.

“Hankyung?” he questions, panic edging his voice. Hankyung stares straight ahead, smiles that fixed smile. Heechul spins him around to find jagged tears down his shoulder blades, seeping thick red rainwater down his back into the ground. A couple of feathers are still stuck there, darkly matted with blood. A fine layer of fuzz coats Hankyung’s palms.

“I had my native simile jarred,” says Hankyung.

Heechul wakes screaming, over and over again, completely hysterical. Sungmin is holding him down, shouting his name, and Eunhyuk is panicking off to the side, yelling about calling Eeteuk, Shindong, Kangin, anyone. Heechul sobs, choking on Hankyung’s name, clutching at the sheets, at Sungmin.

“No,” he gasps, “Nononono.”

He wakes up in a pile, held tightly by Eunhyuk and cradled against Sungmin.

“Let’s never speak of this,” he says, with a shadow of his usual smile. “Like, ever.”

Eeteuk corners him in the bathroom. “What is going on with you, Heechul?” Heechul turns away from the toilet, re-buttoning his pants.

“Couldn’t have waited for me to flush?” he asks dryly, doing just that. Eeteuk doesn’t smile.

“Everyone’s noticed it, Heechul,” he says quietly, shifting to the side to allow Heechul access to the sink. “You sleep twice as much as you used to, for twice as long. You’re distracted, unfocussed. Siwon says you haven’t talked to anyone in China for two weeks. You woke up screaming, Heechul. Something is wrong.”

Heechul turns the tap off and reaches for the handtowel. “Squealers,” he mutters. He pastes a reassuring look on his face. “It was just a bad dream, Jungsoo. Everyone gets them.” He moves to leave, is stopped with his hand on the knob.

Eeteuk looks tired, ragged, concerned. “Just…keep taking the pills, okay? And-we’re all here for you.” Heechul smiles vaguely at him and leaves. “Be healthy,” says Eeteuk softly.

“This is the way the world ends,” says Hankyung, and bleeds, bleeds, bleeds.

Heechul stops swallowing little white pills. Stops taking the medication, but can’t bring himself to sleep. He’s afraid that Hankyung won’t be there, afraid that it will be the bleeding wounded man with the flat smile and the dead eyes. He’s afraid of the fact that he’s afraid for the wellbeing of his recurring dream version of his best friend. Heechul is just afraid.

He plops down on the couch next to Eunhyuk and stares sightlessly at the television. Eunhyuk pauses in the act of shoveling popcorn into his mouth. “Hy-hyung! Here!” he thrusts the bucket at Heechul, who rolls his eyes.

“You know, Eunhyuk,” he says dryly. “it was a bad dream, not a psychotic break.” Eunhyuk nods a little frantically, the popcorn still stretched out towards Heechul, who is does not acknowledge the offering. Eunhyuk twitches.

“Okay, well, I’m going to slee-study!! I’m going to study! Goodnig-bye!” Eunhyuk flees, popcorn spilling everywhere.

Heechul watches horror movies and sappy dramas, comedy and romance and tragedy. He doesn’t sleep for two more days, and he’s beginning to steady. He’s thinking more clearly, behaving more himself. The world looks familiar again, he feels grounded in reality. He makes plans to visit China, considers writing some of his own music.

All in all, he thinks it’s going well, right up until he collapses in the elevator riding up to the dorms with the rest of Super Junior T.

“I had a dream that was not all a dream,” says Hankyung, smiling gently. He’s sitting on the kitchen counter, wings partly extended, cramped slightly by the cabinets. Heechul strides over and pulls him down, spins him around sharply and runs his hands over soft feathers, pushing at his shoulder blades until Hankyung stretches them out fully. Touches every inch. Hankyung cranes his head to look at Heechul, eyes crinkled as he smiles.

Heechul pulls back, sighing in relief. “I had a dream,” he says. Hankyung turns and hugs him, bringing his wings up and around them, leaving a small hole at the top to let light in. Heechul can see Hankyung’s grin grow wider.

“What’re you so happy about?” Heechul grumbles, fighting down the urge to grin back.

“You’re saying that like I’m not,” says Hankyung happily, “I’m not a dream.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Heechul mutters under his breath, stepping closer and wiggling his fingers in Hankyung’s ribcage until he tightens his embrace, blocks out the light, the world.

“But nothing drear can move me,” Hankyung murmurs, and finds Heechul’s lips in the dark, slides them to the ground, Heechul cushioned and protected by his wings, covered by Hankyung’s body. His fingers slide down Heechul’s hips.

“I will not, cannot go.”

He wakes up in a white bed smelling of disinfectant, woozy. Eeteuk and Kangin are standing above him, arms folded.

“Mother,” he greets, “Father.”

“This is not a joke,” says Kangin sternly. Eeteuk tosses a familiar orange bottle at him, it lands in his lap. Heechul reads his own name of the neat white label, notes the bottle is pretty much completely full.

“Busted,” Heechul sings, voice rasping.

“Stubborn bastard,” hisses Kangin.

“Love you too,” giggles Heechul. He feels lightheaded. The room is too bright, too clear. The lines and colours are too sharp. Heechul misses blurred and bleeding shades and the clean clear focus of Hankyung, only of Hankyung. Kangin throws his meal tray at the wall, storms out.

“I wanted the brownie,” Heechul mourns. Eeteuk stands before him, shoulders slumped, head bowed.

“What can I do?” he asks helplessly, “Heechul, what is going on?” Heechul closes his eyes and remembers the shape of Hankyung’s hips, the rough rasp of his tongue.

“Nothing,” he murmurs dreamily. “Look, Eeteuk, I’ll-I’ll be better. I promise.” Eeteuk smiles, wants to believe him.

“Please,” he says, tired, “oh please.”

“I have heard the mermaids singing,” Hankyung says into Heechul’s ribs, kissing his way up Heechul’s chest. Heechul arches, pants. “I do not think they will sing to me,” Hankyung whispers, dragging his teeth across Heechul’s neck.

“Your pillow talk sucks,” Heechul mumbles, tugging Hankyung’s lips up to meet his own. Hankyung rolls his hips, slow and easy. Heechul smiles into their kiss, hooks his leg around Hankyung’s waist, sucks on Hankyung’s tongue. His fingers are trailing teasingly up Hankyung’s thigh when his watch beeps. He stops, rolls on top of Hankyung and moves to get up.

Hankyung groans and flips one wing open and out, blocking Heechul’s exit from the bed. Heechul rolls against it playfully, enjoying the feel on his skin and the strength displayed as Hankyung easy pulls him back from the edge.

“Do you want me to go to the hospital again?” he asks.

“Hey,” says Heechul, throwing shoes at Sungmin, “let’s go shopping. My treat.”

Sungmin catches the shoes easily, blinks are he realizes they’re his own. “That’s nice of you hyung, but really not-”

“We both know that I’m not going to hug you and cry my thanks regarding my little breakdown,” says Heechul, cutting in, “so man your pretty pink self up and spend my money.”

“I think this may count as masturbation,” moans Heechul, as Hankyung pumps with one hand and makes scissoring motions with the other.

“Eyes I dare not meet in dreams,” pants Hankyung, sliding in. He groans. “In deat-arfhglsk” he cuts himself off as Heechul contracts once around him.

“At least save the ambiguous poetry for afterwards,” says Heechul, then tightens again, just because he likes the noise Hankyung makes as he chokes on his own tongue.

“I see they’ve called in the cavalry,” Heechul says darkly. Yunho smiles.

“Can’t I hang out with my favourite hyung?” he asks innocently, puffing his cheeks out and looking up at Heechul through his lashes. Heechul puts his hand on Yunho’s face and shoves it away.

“Don’t try that on me, I taught you that.”

Heechul presses tiny kisses along the point where skin meets protruding wing, petting the inside of the soft muscle gently as it quivers. Slides his fingers through Hankyung’s hair as he quivers.

“Is that poetry?” asks Yesung.

“I’m looking for something,” Heechul says.

“I will show you fear in a handful of dust,” Heechul says experimentally into Hankyung’s bellybutton. Hankyung’s hands fist in Heechul’s hair, and he moans, louder than ever before. Heechul grins.

“I dreamed you bewitched me into bed,” he says teasingly, trailing his mouth downwards. Hankyung’s nails makes imprints in his scalp as his breathing grows ragged. “And sung me moonstruck,” he says, then takes Hankyung into his mouth. Hankyung arches so far off the bed Heechul can see the edges of his wings, tucked tightly to the contours of his back. He waits until Hankyung looks back down at him, then hollows his cheeks. Hankyung’s wings snap straight out, straining to go even farther as he chokes out Heechul’s name.

Afterwards he pulls Heechul on top of him and wraps his hand around him, jerks roughly until Heechul loses himself. Heechul lies on his chest, gasping for breath, feathers slicking the sweat from his back.

“Your poetry kink is cute,” Heechul pants. Hankyung curls a wing around Heechul’s shoulders, shifting them onto their sides.

“And kissed me quite insane,” he murmurs.

“Hey,” says Shindong, “we’re going to eat. Kangin’s treat.”

“No,” says Heechul absently, “got lines to learn.”

Hankyung drops his head and sweeps it across Heechul’s face, eyelashes fluttering butterfly kisses, dusting the Milky Way across Heechul’s cheekbones. “But being spent, the worse, and worst,” he whispers reverently, kisses Heechul’s eyelids, the tip of his nose. “Time still succeed the former.”

Heechul smiles.

“Heechul, we haven’t talked in forever. What is up?” Heechul is immediately suspicious, because his tone is too casual, stilted, with forced cheer.

“Eeteuk has been telling stories about me,” he decides. Hankyung pauses.

“Well, maybe. But Heechul. Seriously. You can tell me, I. I care about you. You’re my best friend, Heechul…” Heechul looks out the window, feels his attention drift away.

“I worry about you,” says Hankyung.

“I love you,” says Hankyung

“Heechul, I just talked to management, and they’ve approved it. Hankyung is coming to visit,” Eeteuk stands back and braces himself for a hug and exuberant thanks.

“It may be he shall take my hand,” Heechul says, “and lead me into his dark land.”

“What.” says Eeteuk.

“You’re perfect,” breathes Hankyung.

“We get three days off!” shouts Eunhyuk, and bounces away, chattering with Shindong.

“Are you going home?” asks Sungmin politely, making conversation at the dinner table. Heechul looks blank, then jerks back to the moment.

“What?” he asks. Sungmin repeats his question.

“N-yes. Yes, I am.”

They’re drifting in a pool, Hankyung on his back, Heechul straddling his waist, feet trailing in the water. Hankyung’s wings are spread out and stretched evenly flat on the water, keeping them afloat.

“Can’t I see you fly yet?” pouts Heechul. He dips his hand in the water and makes circular ripples with his fingertips.

“In the stillness far withdrawn,” says Hankyung, eyes closed against the sun’s glare. Heechul rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” he says, heaving a sigh. He bends forward, nipping at Hankyung’s ear while he pushes up his shirt with one hand and slips his fingers under Hankyung’s waistband with the other.

“How good is your balance with those things, anyway?”

“I called your mother,” says Eeteuk.

“That’s creepy,” notes Heechul, not looking up from the complete works of Emily Dickinson.

“You didn’t go home,’ accuses Eeteuk. Heechul shuts his laptop and walks out.

“No,” he says, heading for the bathroom, “I did something else.” Eeteuk follows.

“What,” he demands. Heechul turns, just inside the doorway, smiles sweetly.

“Backpacked through Europe,” he says, and shuts the door in Eeteuk’s face.

Hankyung reaches for him, forgoes disjointed poetry. “I love you, please don’t leave.” He kisses him, perfect and Hankyung and everything Heechul has ever wanted. “I can’t fly without you,” he says. “I don’t want to.”

“You’re scaring me,” says Hankyung. “Promise me we’ll talk when I get there. I’m leaving now, Heechul, promise me.”

“Will you fly with me?” breathes Hankyung into Heechul’s hair, wrapping him up tightly in skin and in feathers. “I love you, and I can give you so much more. Anything, everything. Please.”

“Heechul, he’s here. Heechul! Come on, Hankyung’s here. Wake up, Heechul! Hee....Heechul?”

“I love you,” says Heechul.