Contest Entry: You Make My Heart Stop
Title: You Make My Heart Stop
Author: ???
Prompt: You Make My Heart Stop
You make my heart stop.
(Because I’m never able to predict- say what you’re gonna do- whatever, okay? This is embarrassing.)
He’s not too sure why he’s here, except it’s his duty, expected of him as a leader and that, of course, are things that matter.
Jiyong knows most of the people in the crowd by name, waves at half of them and exchanges three words with the third. It’s all very mathematic, a circle with its center: Seunghyun dressed all in black because someone probably told him it was the best way to avoid the fashion no-go. Admittedly, he looks good.
“Jiyong,” says a pretty girl, “you’re here!”
He actually likes girls - nobody seems to believe it, maybe because Chaerin thought it would be a good idea to tell her friends he slept with boys too. This one has thick lips painted in burgundy and very black hair. He finds her attractive, with her fresh perfume and the way her legs are longs and gained in black.
“Hi,” he answers. “It’s nice seeing you.”
She leans a bit against him and grins. Not even drunk. “Help me get his phone number,” she begs. “Come on.”
“I’ll tell him to give it to you,” he promises. And he will, too.
She smiles, kisses his cheek. “Thanks.”
He watches her back as she skips towards someone else. The fabric of her dress is red and shiny. He likes it.
“Hey,” Seunghyun says behind him.
“Hi.” He feels unusually self-conscious as he smiles because people are watching and thinking: ah, they meet. It’s similar to those TV-shows on animal wild life. They’re expected to bite or growl or whatever.
Jiyong smiles. He’s not too sure what he should say - he wants to avoid innuendos, or interpretations, or-
He’s tired, okay?
“Are you having fun?” Seunghyun asks, voice soft.
So they’re anchored back in the hyung-dongsaeng relationship. Not an easy one, but he can pull it off. (It didn’t work that well, sure, that time when he told Seunghyun he could shove his seniority there and please, learn those dance moves on time, thank you.)
“Yes. Thank you, for the invitation.” He means it. He hates how that sounds contemptuous.
“It’s normal.” Seunghyun shakes his head. “Come with me for a sec?”
The backstage of this real-life scene - red curtains included - is a dusty room with plastic chairs and stocks of champagne. Seunghyun pulls two plastic cups out of his pants pocket. He pours the wine and Jiyong watches him.
“Here.”
“Thanks.”
They drink, side by side, leaning on the white wall.
“Nice suit.”
“You too.”
Seunghyun mffs with laughter in his cup and quirks his eyebrows above the rim. Jiyong finishes his champagne and stares at:
his hands;
his knees under the soft black fabric;
the tacky ring on his finger;
the hint of a belt-buckle;
his shoulder;
his fingers.
“I think I have something to tell you,” Seunghyun says. Voice low. “I was waiting for the right moment, but it didn’t really come, so. Here.”
Jiyong gulps on inexistent liquor. His legs feel wobbly and weak and his heart pounds painfully hard in his chest. Bangs on the walls of the room. Perfect cube, that place.
“I’m gonna leave the business some day.”
He jerks and feels a vivid pain bloom in his neck.
“Hey,” Seunghyun laughs. “Are you okay? I don’t mean now or anytime soon. Just- later. It’s not something made to last until we’re- I dunno- forty and even worse at dancing than now?”
Jiyong laughs too, weakly. “Okay. You scared me.”
“Sorry.”
“’s fine.”
“Another cup?”
“Please.”
“Are you okay?”
Someone else asking him the question since he’s come back from the backroom with Seunghyun, feeling even more exposed than before - stupid, that he is. Do they think he and hyung had crazy wild sex in there? Or did lines of coke and irremediably ruined their health? Ha. They’re idols and role-models. They drink champagne, please.
“I’m fine,” he says. “Really, just a little tired. I’m glad I could come, though.” As soon as he’s said the last words, his eyes meet Seunghyun’s over a sea of heads and there’s a violent tug at his chest - if he doesn’t collapse on the floor and die before the end of the night, he’s lucky.
Seunghyun pins him on spot for a good five seconds before turning around to one of his guests and Jiyong blinks a bit, smiles at Youngbae for the picture.
“Okay,” YB says. “You wanna go back to the dorm? I think Seungri is pretty sloshed and hyung won’t really mind.”
Jiyong breathes deeply. In his ribcage there’s still a speaker blasting the instrumental to She’s Gone at full mast.
“Go,” he says. “I still need to say hello to a few people.”
He feels like the last of social retards as he leans against the wall with a glass of punch, but he doesn’t really care this evening. It’s weird, whatever is happening to him. He sees people thinking: so he is jealous after all, or: I hope he’s not sick or something. He agrees. Being sick would suck. (And he’s also pretty drunk because Seunghyun said it was rude to leave a bottle open.)
“Hey hyung.”
Daesung doesn’t really like parties like that, Jiyong knows. There are too many suits and dresses for him to handle - he prefers the quiet movie-marathon nights, or going out with friends. That unsettles him. He stays, though, because there are hundreds of noonas who, without knowing it yet, are dying to give him their number. Daesung is a nice guy like that, he can’t leave the damsels in distress.
Jiyong welcomes him at his side, in the crook of his arm, and together they watch the guests and murmur comments.
“You didn’t wanna go back?”
“No. Seungri dared me to stay the all night. He already lost, but I’ve got to keep up.”
“You say that, but you just want to take pictures of everyone at the end.”
Daesung chuckles. “Yeah.” He swirls his drink in his glass. “You?”
“Nah. I’m just showing my face.” Droplets splash on Daesung’s shoes. “And you know. He asked me to be here.”
“I see,” Daesung says. His voice is so soft it hurts.
“I’ve decided to be asocial,” he tells Seunghyun straightaway when they share a cigarette on one of the balconies. “Don’t ask,” he adds.
“I won’t. I understand. By the way, I gave my phone number to that friend of yours.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.”
“Mm. Hey, you should leave. The party is pretty dead by now.”
What was it again? An ache into his body? Spot on.
“But- Okay.”
“Ji…Yong. Jiyong.” Seunghyun leans in. He smells like alcohol and tobacco and sweat. Overall good. “I’ll be home late. I’m sorry. You sleep well, okay?”
This night is one of the weirdest in Jiyong’s life. He clings to the handrail when his vision swoons.
He walks back home and listens to the thud-thud-thump of his footsteps in the empty streets, tries to find a rap that matches, and fails. Finds his phone (tiny tiny phone, he’s not too much into giant organizers) at the bottom of a pocket and fiddles with the keys.
“Hello.” he types.
“I think I’m drunk.” then.
“Because I don’t understand a thing. That party.” then.
He’s about to type: “I’m drunk right?” when the little thing vibrates and says: “I know what you mean.”
“Do you have a tachycardia too?” he wants to know.
The answer takes longer to come: “Wait. Imma ask YB ‘bout it.”
The next vibration is a text from Youngbae that reads: “You’re both dumb. And you’re both coming home ASAP.”
When he steps in the apartment everything is quiet and smooth except for Seungri, passed out on the couch, and his battery has died.
Youngbae is waiting for him in his room.
“What?” Jiyong asks when he’s changed into a pair of pajama pants and climbed on the bed next to him. To be close. That matters, too. “Aren’t you going to bed? It’s late.”
“Jiyong.” YB starts slowly. “You- you’re gonna be careful about it, right? We don’t need a scandal or something like that.”
“I like girls,” Jiyong says in the darkness, staring right in front of him.
“Okay. I think I’m gonna crash on Seungri.”
He blinks at Youngbae’s blurry figure.
“Why?”
“To piss him off tomorrow. Maybe Daesung will join.”
“Good night.”
“Yeah. You too.”
Seunghyun comes home at six in the morning carrying a dead-to-the-world Daesung over his arm. It should make Jiyong think the world has gone even crazier during his four hours of sleep, but it’s not the case.
“What happened?” he merely asks.
“Some pretty girl wanted someone to have a drinking contest with him,” Seunghyun answers with a tiny smile. Eyes looking at the floor carefully. He drops Daesung on the pile of their bandmates and wipes his hands on his shirt.
Looks up.
Jiyong’s breath catches silently.
“Go to bed.” he orders.
“No. I’ll catch up later.”
“Alright. Coffee?”
They drink, sitting on opposite sides of the kitchen counter. Jiyong warms his hands around his mug.
“About what you said-”
“Doesn’t matter. Forget about it.”
He stays silent for a while before breaking into a grin. “I thought we had established I was the drunk one.”
“That. Yeah.” Seunghyun chuckles. “How’s your tacky- tack- That?”
“Fine. I mean, no. I think it’s getting worse.”
“Tough shit. You won’t believe it, but I’ve got some kind of fever too. It’s been running up and down since last night.”
Jiyong exhale very slowly. “Oh… Do you- do you think you need to see a doctor?”
“Is that a pick-up line? No. Hey, I have pictures of Daesung making out with that red-dress chick.”
“Sweet.”
Somehow they end up curling up together on Seunghyun’s bed at ten, when all of their bandmates are still in deep slumber on the couch. Jiyong is a bit sad because Seunghyun once said: no dogs in bed and seemed very serious about it, but as he watches the clock tick, he figures it’s not that terrible.
“Say,” Seunghyun says suddenly. It makes him jump a bit, and hyung drowsily reaches out to pull the covers back on him. “Last night-”
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I was tipsy. Made me moony. Sorry.”
“’t’s okay.”
Seunghyun’s voice is thicker and thicker and his eyelids flutter slowly.
“Sleep,” Jiyong orders.
“’mkay.”
Seunghyun closes his eyes and starts breathing evenly. He’s got long eyelashes and messy hair and his chest rises and falls softly. Jiyong leans without really thinking about it. Dimples in his cheeks.
He doesn’t really understand how he got from there to on his back, Seunghyun hovering over him with a grin on his face and hands curled around his wrists.
“Gotcha,” he says.
Jiyong laughs, a bit awkwardly. “Yeah. You did.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Seunghyun says. His breath is hot and tickles one of Jiyong’s bangs. “Let’s go to the sea.”
“Manager will kill us.”
“Manager was very involved in Daesung’s contest last night. I think he won’t even realize it.”
“It’s corny.”
“It is,” Seunghyun admits. “And it’s raining, too.”
“How about-” Jiyong hesitates. “How about we go for a walk, and then come back to bed?”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with the sea. Okay.”
“Okay.”
Seunghyun flops down on top of him. He smells (of alcohol, tobacco and sweat) still nice.
“Or we could just have sex.”
“That too.”
Seunghyun presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and Jiyong feels the tingles spread for his lips to his tongue to the rest of his body - like an anesthetic at the dentist’s. Except a hundred times better.
“I’m really glad-” Seunghyun starts, then stops. “I’m really glad I can be with you.”
Jiyong thinks he needs to see the doctor: a) about his tachycardia, b) about Seunghyun’s fever. It could be serious.
Meanwhile he kisses back and unbuckles a belt that’s been digging in his lower stomach for the past ten minutes.
His knees tighten deliciously around Seunghyun’s hips; he likes to feel them warn and solid against him, thinks he’s somehow linked to the universe, like they said in Chaerin’s magazine last month. He doesn’t believe in astrology except when it makes sense, like now. Seunghyun’s still wearing his fashionable black pants; the fabric glides along Jiyong’s skin like water. He trembles and tries to wriggle out of the way: Seunghyun pins him on spot, traps him effectively and takes advantage of his position to properly eat his neck, less sexy than dorky, mouth open wide, feeding off Jiyong’s skin. It makes him shiver and turn his head to a side, while Seunghyun mutters heated insults in his skin - calls him a mean, self-centered bitch and Jiyong wants to moan with pleasure. He can feel the smile in the crease of his shoulder.
Instead of undressing them both quickly and then caressing Jiyong like he always does, Seunghyun shimmies out of his pants, tears Jiyong's pajama’s off and cocoons them in the blanket, wraps it tightly around their tangled bodies. It’s hot and suffocating and he’s exhaling damp on Jiyong’s skin, it smells of musk and sweat.
Again, overall, good.
Jiyong ferrets in Seunghyun’s neck. He feels like an overeager rat or something, but he can’t help nibbling at the folds of his skin, the edge of his shirt, a lost strand of hair, even, drunk on the smell and taste of Seunghyun. He likes hearing him sight softly and feeling him push their hips together, when his body is forced into the mattress, crushed under Seunghyun’s. He doesn’t know why, but that feels good. Edging on painful, sure, on submissive, but he likes it. Helpless as always when it comes to Seunghyun.
It’s not really surprising that he loses his nerve when they’re practicing and Seunghyun always, always messes up the dance steps - it’s not a legend, either. He gets mad, and yells, because Seunghyun stands in front of him with his goddamn stiff back and his raised eyebrow and he doesn’t even think of trying the pity card or anything. He just stares at Jiyong until he cracks, and slams the door, and feels like a girl for wanting to break a mirror and throw his shoes at Teddy’s face when he meets him in a corridor.
And really, it’s the same, here. Everything boiling up and up and up until all that remains is Seunghyun and Jiyong and some strong burning feeling that eventually explodes and leaves Jiyong an emotional wreck.
He clings to Seunghyun’s shoulders, kicks and bites and scratches at every bit of skin he can reach, while Seunghyun restrains him with hands and mouth, grin attached to his face. He likes upsetting him, or is this a mutual thing between them? They seem to click the best when they’re dead-tired, or on adrenaline high after a concert, or mad at each other. It’s insane. It drives Jiyong crazy, and makes him sad, too. He’d like to change, he’s only not so sure he can, so he kisses Seunghyun hard to make himself forgiven and enjoys his weight above him because it somehow grounds him.
“Jiyong,” Seunghyun whispers when they’re both close; his voice is broken by something Jiyong can’t see and isn’t that a weird thought? Seunghyun gets sensitive. He frames Jiyong’s face with his long, long hands and their bony fingers and their large palm and keeps him in place, so when he leans down he can kiss him without too much air being wasted. It’s like being underwater and sharing an oxygen supply - tastes of cigarette and saliva and urgency, because they’ve gotta come back up before the pressure is too low. Then the air gets rare and the lungs tighten and the brain shuts down - and the heart finally stops.
Jiyong feels his and Seunghyun’s stop at the same time. He closes his eyes.
Author: ???
Prompt: You Make My Heart Stop
You make my heart stop.
(Because I’m never able to predict- say what you’re gonna do- whatever, okay? This is embarrassing.)
He’s not too sure why he’s here, except it’s his duty, expected of him as a leader and that, of course, are things that matter.
Jiyong knows most of the people in the crowd by name, waves at half of them and exchanges three words with the third. It’s all very mathematic, a circle with its center: Seunghyun dressed all in black because someone probably told him it was the best way to avoid the fashion no-go. Admittedly, he looks good.
“Jiyong,” says a pretty girl, “you’re here!”
He actually likes girls - nobody seems to believe it, maybe because Chaerin thought it would be a good idea to tell her friends he slept with boys too. This one has thick lips painted in burgundy and very black hair. He finds her attractive, with her fresh perfume and the way her legs are longs and gained in black.
“Hi,” he answers. “It’s nice seeing you.”
She leans a bit against him and grins. Not even drunk. “Help me get his phone number,” she begs. “Come on.”
“I’ll tell him to give it to you,” he promises. And he will, too.
She smiles, kisses his cheek. “Thanks.”
He watches her back as she skips towards someone else. The fabric of her dress is red and shiny. He likes it.
“Hey,” Seunghyun says behind him.
“Hi.” He feels unusually self-conscious as he smiles because people are watching and thinking: ah, they meet. It’s similar to those TV-shows on animal wild life. They’re expected to bite or growl or whatever.
Jiyong smiles. He’s not too sure what he should say - he wants to avoid innuendos, or interpretations, or-
He’s tired, okay?
“Are you having fun?” Seunghyun asks, voice soft.
So they’re anchored back in the hyung-dongsaeng relationship. Not an easy one, but he can pull it off. (It didn’t work that well, sure, that time when he told Seunghyun he could shove his seniority there and please, learn those dance moves on time, thank you.)
“Yes. Thank you, for the invitation.” He means it. He hates how that sounds contemptuous.
“It’s normal.” Seunghyun shakes his head. “Come with me for a sec?”
The backstage of this real-life scene - red curtains included - is a dusty room with plastic chairs and stocks of champagne. Seunghyun pulls two plastic cups out of his pants pocket. He pours the wine and Jiyong watches him.
“Here.”
“Thanks.”
They drink, side by side, leaning on the white wall.
“Nice suit.”
“You too.”
Seunghyun mffs with laughter in his cup and quirks his eyebrows above the rim. Jiyong finishes his champagne and stares at:
his hands;
his knees under the soft black fabric;
the tacky ring on his finger;
the hint of a belt-buckle;
his shoulder;
his fingers.
“I think I have something to tell you,” Seunghyun says. Voice low. “I was waiting for the right moment, but it didn’t really come, so. Here.”
Jiyong gulps on inexistent liquor. His legs feel wobbly and weak and his heart pounds painfully hard in his chest. Bangs on the walls of the room. Perfect cube, that place.
“I’m gonna leave the business some day.”
He jerks and feels a vivid pain bloom in his neck.
“Hey,” Seunghyun laughs. “Are you okay? I don’t mean now or anytime soon. Just- later. It’s not something made to last until we’re- I dunno- forty and even worse at dancing than now?”
Jiyong laughs too, weakly. “Okay. You scared me.”
“Sorry.”
“’s fine.”
“Another cup?”
“Please.”
“Are you okay?”
Someone else asking him the question since he’s come back from the backroom with Seunghyun, feeling even more exposed than before - stupid, that he is. Do they think he and hyung had crazy wild sex in there? Or did lines of coke and irremediably ruined their health? Ha. They’re idols and role-models. They drink champagne, please.
“I’m fine,” he says. “Really, just a little tired. I’m glad I could come, though.” As soon as he’s said the last words, his eyes meet Seunghyun’s over a sea of heads and there’s a violent tug at his chest - if he doesn’t collapse on the floor and die before the end of the night, he’s lucky.
Seunghyun pins him on spot for a good five seconds before turning around to one of his guests and Jiyong blinks a bit, smiles at Youngbae for the picture.
“Okay,” YB says. “You wanna go back to the dorm? I think Seungri is pretty sloshed and hyung won’t really mind.”
Jiyong breathes deeply. In his ribcage there’s still a speaker blasting the instrumental to She’s Gone at full mast.
“Go,” he says. “I still need to say hello to a few people.”
He feels like the last of social retards as he leans against the wall with a glass of punch, but he doesn’t really care this evening. It’s weird, whatever is happening to him. He sees people thinking: so he is jealous after all, or: I hope he’s not sick or something. He agrees. Being sick would suck. (And he’s also pretty drunk because Seunghyun said it was rude to leave a bottle open.)
“Hey hyung.”
Daesung doesn’t really like parties like that, Jiyong knows. There are too many suits and dresses for him to handle - he prefers the quiet movie-marathon nights, or going out with friends. That unsettles him. He stays, though, because there are hundreds of noonas who, without knowing it yet, are dying to give him their number. Daesung is a nice guy like that, he can’t leave the damsels in distress.
Jiyong welcomes him at his side, in the crook of his arm, and together they watch the guests and murmur comments.
“You didn’t wanna go back?”
“No. Seungri dared me to stay the all night. He already lost, but I’ve got to keep up.”
“You say that, but you just want to take pictures of everyone at the end.”
Daesung chuckles. “Yeah.” He swirls his drink in his glass. “You?”
“Nah. I’m just showing my face.” Droplets splash on Daesung’s shoes. “And you know. He asked me to be here.”
“I see,” Daesung says. His voice is so soft it hurts.
“I’ve decided to be asocial,” he tells Seunghyun straightaway when they share a cigarette on one of the balconies. “Don’t ask,” he adds.
“I won’t. I understand. By the way, I gave my phone number to that friend of yours.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.”
“Mm. Hey, you should leave. The party is pretty dead by now.”
What was it again? An ache into his body? Spot on.
“But- Okay.”
“Ji…Yong. Jiyong.” Seunghyun leans in. He smells like alcohol and tobacco and sweat. Overall good. “I’ll be home late. I’m sorry. You sleep well, okay?”
This night is one of the weirdest in Jiyong’s life. He clings to the handrail when his vision swoons.
He walks back home and listens to the thud-thud-thump of his footsteps in the empty streets, tries to find a rap that matches, and fails. Finds his phone (tiny tiny phone, he’s not too much into giant organizers) at the bottom of a pocket and fiddles with the keys.
“Hello.” he types.
“I think I’m drunk.” then.
“Because I don’t understand a thing. That party.” then.
He’s about to type: “I’m drunk right?” when the little thing vibrates and says: “I know what you mean.”
“Do you have a tachycardia too?” he wants to know.
The answer takes longer to come: “Wait. Imma ask YB ‘bout it.”
The next vibration is a text from Youngbae that reads: “You’re both dumb. And you’re both coming home ASAP.”
When he steps in the apartment everything is quiet and smooth except for Seungri, passed out on the couch, and his battery has died.
Youngbae is waiting for him in his room.
“What?” Jiyong asks when he’s changed into a pair of pajama pants and climbed on the bed next to him. To be close. That matters, too. “Aren’t you going to bed? It’s late.”
“Jiyong.” YB starts slowly. “You- you’re gonna be careful about it, right? We don’t need a scandal or something like that.”
“I like girls,” Jiyong says in the darkness, staring right in front of him.
“Okay. I think I’m gonna crash on Seungri.”
He blinks at Youngbae’s blurry figure.
“Why?”
“To piss him off tomorrow. Maybe Daesung will join.”
“Good night.”
“Yeah. You too.”
Seunghyun comes home at six in the morning carrying a dead-to-the-world Daesung over his arm. It should make Jiyong think the world has gone even crazier during his four hours of sleep, but it’s not the case.
“What happened?” he merely asks.
“Some pretty girl wanted someone to have a drinking contest with him,” Seunghyun answers with a tiny smile. Eyes looking at the floor carefully. He drops Daesung on the pile of their bandmates and wipes his hands on his shirt.
Looks up.
Jiyong’s breath catches silently.
“Go to bed.” he orders.
“No. I’ll catch up later.”
“Alright. Coffee?”
They drink, sitting on opposite sides of the kitchen counter. Jiyong warms his hands around his mug.
“About what you said-”
“Doesn’t matter. Forget about it.”
He stays silent for a while before breaking into a grin. “I thought we had established I was the drunk one.”
“That. Yeah.” Seunghyun chuckles. “How’s your tacky- tack- That?”
“Fine. I mean, no. I think it’s getting worse.”
“Tough shit. You won’t believe it, but I’ve got some kind of fever too. It’s been running up and down since last night.”
Jiyong exhale very slowly. “Oh… Do you- do you think you need to see a doctor?”
“Is that a pick-up line? No. Hey, I have pictures of Daesung making out with that red-dress chick.”
“Sweet.”
Somehow they end up curling up together on Seunghyun’s bed at ten, when all of their bandmates are still in deep slumber on the couch. Jiyong is a bit sad because Seunghyun once said: no dogs in bed and seemed very serious about it, but as he watches the clock tick, he figures it’s not that terrible.
“Say,” Seunghyun says suddenly. It makes him jump a bit, and hyung drowsily reaches out to pull the covers back on him. “Last night-”
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I was tipsy. Made me moony. Sorry.”
“’t’s okay.”
Seunghyun’s voice is thicker and thicker and his eyelids flutter slowly.
“Sleep,” Jiyong orders.
“’mkay.”
Seunghyun closes his eyes and starts breathing evenly. He’s got long eyelashes and messy hair and his chest rises and falls softly. Jiyong leans without really thinking about it. Dimples in his cheeks.
He doesn’t really understand how he got from there to on his back, Seunghyun hovering over him with a grin on his face and hands curled around his wrists.
“Gotcha,” he says.
Jiyong laughs, a bit awkwardly. “Yeah. You did.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Seunghyun says. His breath is hot and tickles one of Jiyong’s bangs. “Let’s go to the sea.”
“Manager will kill us.”
“Manager was very involved in Daesung’s contest last night. I think he won’t even realize it.”
“It’s corny.”
“It is,” Seunghyun admits. “And it’s raining, too.”
“How about-” Jiyong hesitates. “How about we go for a walk, and then come back to bed?”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with the sea. Okay.”
“Okay.”
Seunghyun flops down on top of him. He smells (of alcohol, tobacco and sweat) still nice.
“Or we could just have sex.”
“That too.”
Seunghyun presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and Jiyong feels the tingles spread for his lips to his tongue to the rest of his body - like an anesthetic at the dentist’s. Except a hundred times better.
“I’m really glad-” Seunghyun starts, then stops. “I’m really glad I can be with you.”
Jiyong thinks he needs to see the doctor: a) about his tachycardia, b) about Seunghyun’s fever. It could be serious.
Meanwhile he kisses back and unbuckles a belt that’s been digging in his lower stomach for the past ten minutes.
His knees tighten deliciously around Seunghyun’s hips; he likes to feel them warn and solid against him, thinks he’s somehow linked to the universe, like they said in Chaerin’s magazine last month. He doesn’t believe in astrology except when it makes sense, like now. Seunghyun’s still wearing his fashionable black pants; the fabric glides along Jiyong’s skin like water. He trembles and tries to wriggle out of the way: Seunghyun pins him on spot, traps him effectively and takes advantage of his position to properly eat his neck, less sexy than dorky, mouth open wide, feeding off Jiyong’s skin. It makes him shiver and turn his head to a side, while Seunghyun mutters heated insults in his skin - calls him a mean, self-centered bitch and Jiyong wants to moan with pleasure. He can feel the smile in the crease of his shoulder.
Instead of undressing them both quickly and then caressing Jiyong like he always does, Seunghyun shimmies out of his pants, tears Jiyong's pajama’s off and cocoons them in the blanket, wraps it tightly around their tangled bodies. It’s hot and suffocating and he’s exhaling damp on Jiyong’s skin, it smells of musk and sweat.
Again, overall, good.
Jiyong ferrets in Seunghyun’s neck. He feels like an overeager rat or something, but he can’t help nibbling at the folds of his skin, the edge of his shirt, a lost strand of hair, even, drunk on the smell and taste of Seunghyun. He likes hearing him sight softly and feeling him push their hips together, when his body is forced into the mattress, crushed under Seunghyun’s. He doesn’t know why, but that feels good. Edging on painful, sure, on submissive, but he likes it. Helpless as always when it comes to Seunghyun.
It’s not really surprising that he loses his nerve when they’re practicing and Seunghyun always, always messes up the dance steps - it’s not a legend, either. He gets mad, and yells, because Seunghyun stands in front of him with his goddamn stiff back and his raised eyebrow and he doesn’t even think of trying the pity card or anything. He just stares at Jiyong until he cracks, and slams the door, and feels like a girl for wanting to break a mirror and throw his shoes at Teddy’s face when he meets him in a corridor.
And really, it’s the same, here. Everything boiling up and up and up until all that remains is Seunghyun and Jiyong and some strong burning feeling that eventually explodes and leaves Jiyong an emotional wreck.
He clings to Seunghyun’s shoulders, kicks and bites and scratches at every bit of skin he can reach, while Seunghyun restrains him with hands and mouth, grin attached to his face. He likes upsetting him, or is this a mutual thing between them? They seem to click the best when they’re dead-tired, or on adrenaline high after a concert, or mad at each other. It’s insane. It drives Jiyong crazy, and makes him sad, too. He’d like to change, he’s only not so sure he can, so he kisses Seunghyun hard to make himself forgiven and enjoys his weight above him because it somehow grounds him.
“Jiyong,” Seunghyun whispers when they’re both close; his voice is broken by something Jiyong can’t see and isn’t that a weird thought? Seunghyun gets sensitive. He frames Jiyong’s face with his long, long hands and their bony fingers and their large palm and keeps him in place, so when he leans down he can kiss him without too much air being wasted. It’s like being underwater and sharing an oxygen supply - tastes of cigarette and saliva and urgency, because they’ve gotta come back up before the pressure is too low. Then the air gets rare and the lungs tighten and the brain shuts down - and the heart finally stops.
Jiyong feels his and Seunghyun’s stop at the same time. He closes his eyes.