vixx: this is my love song
Title: this is my love song
Pairing: Ken/Ravi
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1.2k
Summary: Wonsik composes the most beautiful of pieces.
Peach-colored sky can be seen through the dingy glass; Wonsik blinks his eyes at it, the sun not yet visible over the city’s skyline. His shirt is somewhere along the floorboards, his trousers unbuttoned and somehow managing to stay up on his skinny hips -- last night was….
He smiles, warm and content, despite being out from under the sheets. Looking back at the bed, there’s still a shape bundled up there. The shape is moving around, and Wonsik can tell it’s just to put off waking up, but it’ll be quite soon when Jaehwan awakes.
Wonsik moves to the other side of the room, to where his desk is, and begins to sort through the inked up pieces of paper. Notes that look much like scribbles litter the pages; the wavy flow of music is marked up with Wonsik’s writing.
His smile fades and a sigh escapes. This is the worst block he’s had in a long time, and he wanted the piece done soon. Wonsik looks back to the bed. A thought hit him last night, in the middle of hooking Jaehwan’s leg around his waist and kissing him hard, and it’s not a bad idea; Wonsik just needs to constrain it. Jaehwan’s the best inspiration for him, so he might get carried away.
“Mm, Wonsik?”
Wonsik’s smile returns, but he doesn’t look away from his work. “Right here.”
There’s a yawn and shuffling, and it gets quiet once more; Jaehwan must be back asleep.
Wonsik breathes in deeply and continues to rifle through his sheets of music. He starts inking out parts, cutting away chunks of failed melodies, and trimming up sections, but…it doesn’t feel right. He works awhile before putting his pen down. This isn’t right. He has to start fresh.
He soon finds himself pushing open the window to sit in its sill, and once in place, he tucks his violin under his chin, beginning to play. The violin’s voice sings out over the city’s morning, still slow-to-start. Sitting out here won’t disturb Jaehwan’s sleep too much; he’s used to this by now.
The piece will be inspired by Jaehwan, about Jaehwan, for Jaehwan. It has to describe him just right, has to really capture Wonsik’s love; it has to make the audience believe in the feeling the instruments sing of.
Wonsik begins to think.
The softest chimes play as Jaehwan wakes from bed, his toes hitting the floor and feet finding strength on the ground. It would evolve into a bright sound as Jaehwan blinks his eyes, coming alive as the world does. And his laughter rides on the lilt of the strings; they sigh as he does, and they become frenzied when Jaehwan is excited, voice coming out in a stream and words getting higher and higher in pitch.
The notes would be altogether cheerful, reflecting Jaehwan’s disposition and Wonsik’s satisfaction found in him. It would sing of their happiness, and anyone who listened would be able to feel--
Wonsik’s process breaks as he produces an odd sound from his violin. He adjusts the tune of it, all the while grumbling. One of his strings is broken, and he has to get it fixed, but he doesn’t have the means to do that now, his pockets empty as the ideas in his head. Until then, his music doesn’t sound complete, and it’s frustrating. Wonsik tries to swallow that feeling to focus on Jaehwan. This is for him. And he begins to play again.
A flute could capture the flutter of Jaehwan’s eyelids, the running of a hand through his hair, the tilt of his head when his attention is caught. Or when he falls asleep smiling. Or how he will use his hands to trace down the planes of Wonsik’s back. A flute could capture that.
When he gets angry -- Wonsik smiles -- trumpets and all the glorious percussion comes out, but never for long. Never long. Wonsik almost loses his train of thought here, almost missing his next note. An angry Jaehwan appears not often and is gone just as quick, the opposite to Wonsik. Music has him vexed, and Jaehwan always seems to be the steady hand to bring him back down.
There’s also when Jaehwan sings in a glorious fashion or in the quietest of voices; it never fails to endear him to Wonsik.
Then there are nights like last night.
Violins whine when Jaehwan is kissed on his collarbone, down his chest, peppered on his thighs, right on his ankle. They screech and shudder as Wonsik digs his fingertips into those beautiful hips. The symphony gasps and blushes with Jaehwan when Wonsik whispers beautiful things into his ear, to make him believe that he’s more than beautiful, more than enough, that Wonsik will never get enough. And as Jaehwan uses his voice, Wonsik falls in love again and again.
Wonsik’s playing stutters to a halt as hands slide over his bare shoulders.
“I’m going to push you out the window.” Jaehwan’s voice is still groggy with sleep, but he’s not irritated. He likes it when Wonsik plays. “How dare you play so early in the morning.”
“Don’t push me out,” Wonsik pouts. His legs dangle over empty air, and the hold Jaehwan has on him doesn’t make him scared; it makes him feel safe. “No one else will be able to make sure you’re awake for the day.”
“That would be a shame.”
“Oh, yes, it would.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Jaehwan bemoans. “They don’t need me at the restaurant; they’ll survive without me.” He kisses the wild shape of Wonsik’s hair, fingers squeezing ever-so-slightly.
“Yes, they do. Remember when you were sick and it nearly burned down to the ground?” Wonsik fakes a regal tone. “They need your guidance, my liege.”
Jaehwan groans. “Stop that. And come back inside; I don’t like it when you sit on the sill.”
Wonsik returns to the safety of the floor, sliding down to sit, and Jaehwan follows. His hair sticks up in the back, and the slow blink of his eyes only says that he wants to sleep more, and the lazy set of his mouth that accompanies these early mornings is pulled up into a grin, directed at Wonsik. He’s wearing nothing but a sheet wrapped around his waist. Wonsik’s love is handsome.
Wonsik puts his violin aside and scoots closer so his long legs bracket the older, bringing him near. He puts his head on Jaehwan’s shoulder. “You can wait just a little bit, I suppose.”
Jaehwan cards his fingers through Wonsik’s hair. “I thought so.” Yawn. “How’s your, uh, piece going? You said you were having a hard time with it.”
Wonsik always has a hard time, but he doesn’t say that. His thumbs stroke at Jaehwan’s bare sides, and he can feel the older squirm at the tickle, but he holds firm. He puts a kiss on Jaehwan’s shoulder. “I think I have it figured out.”
“Oh, really?”
Wonsik nods, knowing he has a blushing Jaehwan in his hands, and that the image is more beautiful than any song he could construct, anything he could orchestrate, but he’ll strive to replicate it the best he can.
“This,” Wonsik murmurs into Jaehwan’s soft skin, “is my love song.”
-h e l p
Pairing: Ken/Ravi
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1.2k
Summary: Wonsik composes the most beautiful of pieces.
Peach-colored sky can be seen through the dingy glass; Wonsik blinks his eyes at it, the sun not yet visible over the city’s skyline. His shirt is somewhere along the floorboards, his trousers unbuttoned and somehow managing to stay up on his skinny hips -- last night was….
He smiles, warm and content, despite being out from under the sheets. Looking back at the bed, there’s still a shape bundled up there. The shape is moving around, and Wonsik can tell it’s just to put off waking up, but it’ll be quite soon when Jaehwan awakes.
Wonsik moves to the other side of the room, to where his desk is, and begins to sort through the inked up pieces of paper. Notes that look much like scribbles litter the pages; the wavy flow of music is marked up with Wonsik’s writing.
His smile fades and a sigh escapes. This is the worst block he’s had in a long time, and he wanted the piece done soon. Wonsik looks back to the bed. A thought hit him last night, in the middle of hooking Jaehwan’s leg around his waist and kissing him hard, and it’s not a bad idea; Wonsik just needs to constrain it. Jaehwan’s the best inspiration for him, so he might get carried away.
“Mm, Wonsik?”
Wonsik’s smile returns, but he doesn’t look away from his work. “Right here.”
There’s a yawn and shuffling, and it gets quiet once more; Jaehwan must be back asleep.
Wonsik breathes in deeply and continues to rifle through his sheets of music. He starts inking out parts, cutting away chunks of failed melodies, and trimming up sections, but…it doesn’t feel right. He works awhile before putting his pen down. This isn’t right. He has to start fresh.
He soon finds himself pushing open the window to sit in its sill, and once in place, he tucks his violin under his chin, beginning to play. The violin’s voice sings out over the city’s morning, still slow-to-start. Sitting out here won’t disturb Jaehwan’s sleep too much; he’s used to this by now.
The piece will be inspired by Jaehwan, about Jaehwan, for Jaehwan. It has to describe him just right, has to really capture Wonsik’s love; it has to make the audience believe in the feeling the instruments sing of.
Wonsik begins to think.
The softest chimes play as Jaehwan wakes from bed, his toes hitting the floor and feet finding strength on the ground. It would evolve into a bright sound as Jaehwan blinks his eyes, coming alive as the world does. And his laughter rides on the lilt of the strings; they sigh as he does, and they become frenzied when Jaehwan is excited, voice coming out in a stream and words getting higher and higher in pitch.
The notes would be altogether cheerful, reflecting Jaehwan’s disposition and Wonsik’s satisfaction found in him. It would sing of their happiness, and anyone who listened would be able to feel--
Wonsik’s process breaks as he produces an odd sound from his violin. He adjusts the tune of it, all the while grumbling. One of his strings is broken, and he has to get it fixed, but he doesn’t have the means to do that now, his pockets empty as the ideas in his head. Until then, his music doesn’t sound complete, and it’s frustrating. Wonsik tries to swallow that feeling to focus on Jaehwan. This is for him. And he begins to play again.
A flute could capture the flutter of Jaehwan’s eyelids, the running of a hand through his hair, the tilt of his head when his attention is caught. Or when he falls asleep smiling. Or how he will use his hands to trace down the planes of Wonsik’s back. A flute could capture that.
When he gets angry -- Wonsik smiles -- trumpets and all the glorious percussion comes out, but never for long. Never long. Wonsik almost loses his train of thought here, almost missing his next note. An angry Jaehwan appears not often and is gone just as quick, the opposite to Wonsik. Music has him vexed, and Jaehwan always seems to be the steady hand to bring him back down.
There’s also when Jaehwan sings in a glorious fashion or in the quietest of voices; it never fails to endear him to Wonsik.
Then there are nights like last night.
Violins whine when Jaehwan is kissed on his collarbone, down his chest, peppered on his thighs, right on his ankle. They screech and shudder as Wonsik digs his fingertips into those beautiful hips. The symphony gasps and blushes with Jaehwan when Wonsik whispers beautiful things into his ear, to make him believe that he’s more than beautiful, more than enough, that Wonsik will never get enough. And as Jaehwan uses his voice, Wonsik falls in love again and again.
Wonsik’s playing stutters to a halt as hands slide over his bare shoulders.
“I’m going to push you out the window.” Jaehwan’s voice is still groggy with sleep, but he’s not irritated. He likes it when Wonsik plays. “How dare you play so early in the morning.”
“Don’t push me out,” Wonsik pouts. His legs dangle over empty air, and the hold Jaehwan has on him doesn’t make him scared; it makes him feel safe. “No one else will be able to make sure you’re awake for the day.”
“That would be a shame.”
“Oh, yes, it would.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” Jaehwan bemoans. “They don’t need me at the restaurant; they’ll survive without me.” He kisses the wild shape of Wonsik’s hair, fingers squeezing ever-so-slightly.
“Yes, they do. Remember when you were sick and it nearly burned down to the ground?” Wonsik fakes a regal tone. “They need your guidance, my liege.”
Jaehwan groans. “Stop that. And come back inside; I don’t like it when you sit on the sill.”
Wonsik returns to the safety of the floor, sliding down to sit, and Jaehwan follows. His hair sticks up in the back, and the slow blink of his eyes only says that he wants to sleep more, and the lazy set of his mouth that accompanies these early mornings is pulled up into a grin, directed at Wonsik. He’s wearing nothing but a sheet wrapped around his waist. Wonsik’s love is handsome.
Wonsik puts his violin aside and scoots closer so his long legs bracket the older, bringing him near. He puts his head on Jaehwan’s shoulder. “You can wait just a little bit, I suppose.”
Jaehwan cards his fingers through Wonsik’s hair. “I thought so.” Yawn. “How’s your, uh, piece going? You said you were having a hard time with it.”
Wonsik always has a hard time, but he doesn’t say that. His thumbs stroke at Jaehwan’s bare sides, and he can feel the older squirm at the tickle, but he holds firm. He puts a kiss on Jaehwan’s shoulder. “I think I have it figured out.”
“Oh, really?”
Wonsik nods, knowing he has a blushing Jaehwan in his hands, and that the image is more beautiful than any song he could construct, anything he could orchestrate, but he’ll strive to replicate it the best he can.
“This,” Wonsik murmurs into Jaehwan’s soft skin, “is my love song.”
-h e l p