between the sacred & profane (flashfic challenge 24: half a conversation)
title: between the sacred & profane
author: xyrhe
word count: 1911
concrit?: yup
pairing: yoochun/junsu
rating: nc-17
[i]
sometimes the sheets are drenched with poison, barbs implanted in swollen skin and junsu feels like he is drowning. he is usually careful with his words even with the cadence of his breath but he cannot avoid falling prey to yoochun's drunken slurrings it's all so fucking worthless with his entire weight on junsu's prostrate body, raking his fingernails across skin, yoochun is a false prophet of apocalyptic proportions. junsu listens and listens only because he knows that yoochun would never dare to speak of this growing, cancer-like doubt that has been festering in the pit of his stomach to anyone else. junsu never replies because he knows yoochun doesn't want to be reassured, doesn't want to be saved from whatever he has resigned himself to, so he keeps his breath hitched as yoochun presses against him, intentionally, testing him, seeing if he will protest saying get off, that he is too heavy, that he can't breathe but junsu never does.
instead junsu grits his teeth as his cells slowly start screaming for oxygen, his head dizzy and neon fireworks start going off in the darkness of closed eyelids. yoochun's hand pushes against the back of junsu's neck, crushing his nose against the bed, and yoochun fucks him harder until he comes inside junsu and collapses on the other side of the bed, gasping, until the sudden lifting of weight and the rush of air to junsu's lungs feels like falling in love.
[ii]
yunho tells junsu in the changing room that the make-up artists are running out of ways to hide the blue purple green and yellow on his hips, the overlapping lyme disease rings at the base of his neck, that when he sweats the concealer runs, that the outfits are already coordinated and he can't be the only one wearing something different.
junsu nods along with yunho's concern, stares distractedly at flashes of white teeth and can only think of how yoochun spent twenty minutes kissing the soft skin around his navel the night before.
[iii]
"i don't know why you have to play hard to get when you're so fucking easy."
junsu punches yoochun in the mouth, his clenched fist sweet against lips gums and teeth and all qualms of physical violence dissipate into a gorgeous, fleeting retribution.
junsu is not sorry when he does it, and he is even less sorry when yoochun turns back towards him, mouth in grimace, blood in between teeth, bottom lip oozing with wetness, sonofabitch he sputters, speaks out of the side of his mouth
"you're not even going to offer me a tissue?"
"fuck you."
"that's one helluva right hook."
"you deserved it."
"i know. let's kiss and make up."
"what."
"why not? we're even now. look, i've even got lube right here." yoochun spits into his hand, frothy saliva with small encroaching tributaries of red.
"you're sick."
"you're the one that's hard."
junsu looks down and sees that yoochun is right. common sense tells him he should back-pedal, maybe go rub one out in the bathroom, take a shower, anything to but to continue being here.
he contemplates for a moment before he walks towards yoochun instead and kisses him on the soft dip of skin between his lip and chin, tasting salt and copper, he wraps arms around his waist and holds him, presses his cock against yoochun's. nightmares and doubt recoil into recesses of hazy memories, desire and repulsion seizes them both, eyes mutually conspiring let's take this as far as it can go.
junsu rests his head against yoochun's shoulder, seeking the scars that he has tried hard to fade, junsu's ten fingers all fully concentrated on palpating yoochun's flesh underneath his shirt. yoochun leads him to the bed and takes off his clothes sloppily, smearing and dripping blood on his clothing.
"fuck, sorry."
"it's okay. you should stop swallowing so much."
yoochun leans down and junsu pulls his tongue into his mouth. the kiss is textured and smoky, the spicy smell of fresh dirt filling junsu's nostrils. yoochun's torn lip slowly reopens, blossoming against junsu's gasps. junsu imagines pulling apart the microscopic platelets with his tongue, incorporating yoochun's molecules into his body, the blood sliding down his throat, mixing with the juices of his stomach, being absorbed into his bloodstream. junsu keeps kissing the bruised and bloody tissue, i won't let you have any more scars, i won't let any scabs form, i'll kiss you forever if i have to he thinks. junsu lifts his hips closer to yoochun's and with his fingers, reads the lexicon of yoochun's vertebrae like a blind man's braille.
after what seems like hours, yoochun pulls away from junsu's lips and moves to junsu's cock. junsu sees the blood suffusing into purple veins straining obscenely against see-through papery skin, pre-come dripping from the tip. yoochun slides the head back and forth between his lips, pushes his hands under junsu's ass, spreads junsu legs even farther apart. yoochun puts his index and middle finger in his mouth, coats them with saliva blood and phlegm and slides them across junsu's taint, into his asshole, he jerks himself off with his other hand and junsu is gone, lost in the intimate slickness of contact, his last shreds of dignity nowhere to be seen.
junsu jerkingly thrusts into the air when he comes. yoochun moans and continues to masturbate. junsu is hypnotized by the blurred movement of yoochun's slender fingers, the curve of muscle and tendon in his thighs, the way his head is thrown back, the jut of his adam's apple. yoochun comes not a minute after, making sure the last few strokes are slow and deliberate. he opens his eyes and his swollen lips smile wide when he sees that his display is well audienced. yoochun wordlessly lays down next to junsu and presses a chaste kiss to his temple before closing his eyes, spent.
junsu looks down and sees his stomach, sticky with both their come, his pubic hair matted with sweat, his dick covered with an opaque, viscous rust, something he supposes is a mixture of yoochun's slowly oxidizing blood and semen.
this is a crime scene, junsu realizes.
[iv]
junsu never loves yoochun more than when he is on the phone with his mother. junsu follows the crescendo of laughter when she complains about his brother's terrible taste in girls and the hushed husky undertones when yoochun is reassuring her of his health, when he asks her if she is lonely, saying that he will come visit her soon, did she receive the necklace he sent her?
junsu turns from the television screen, controller in hands and turns to look at yoochun. back against the wall, head tilted and cellphone against ear, yoochun looks up, smiling as he meets junsu's eyes and blows him a kiss.
junsu turns back to his video game and thinks that you don't fall this hard and get back up alive.
[v]
before the endorphins have a chance to wear off, yoochun pulls and twists junsu's wrists into the bathroom backstage, braces himself against the porcelain sink and pushes junsu's head downward. junsu drops to his knees without any pretense of protest, like some dime a dozen chickenhead, pulls down yoochun's pants and opens his mouth against the brackish taste of sweat not yet dried.
junsu falls into a familiar rhythm, arms curled around knees. it's not like yoochun hasn't already told him a hundred times before, but junsu knows the art of cocksucking comes to him easily, inhale and slide, up and down, breathe through nose, piece of cake.
it occurs to junsu that they could carve his many accomplishments into his white marble gravestone. his epitaph could read "sucker that never got wise, but boy could he suck" and underneath it "delusional jackass with little to no self-respect" and right underneath that it could read "loving brother, son and band-mate, may the poor bastard rest in peace."
"what's wrong?"
"huh?" junsu licks his lips and looks up, yoochun's brow furrowed.
"you stopped."
"oh, uh, got distracted. lemme-"
junsu moves to continue, but yoochun pulls him up and starts kissing him, junsu's favorite kind. the kind where yoochun presses softly against his lips, neither wet nor dry, pulls apart gradually so that their lips stay together for as long as possible and before the air between them can cool, yoochun kisses junsu again in a slightly different spot. bottom lip, right, top lip, left, bottom lip, center. before yoochun can confuse him anymore, junsu decides to stop digging his own grave and pulls away
"what are we doing?"
"kissing. we're kissing."
"no, i mean. like, in general. long-term what are we doing."
"well, um. i was going to allot maybe 5 more minutes to making out, then maybe you could blow me for a little bit longer, and then hopefully by--"
yoochun checks his watch, smiles like the big bad wolf. "approximately 10:25 i'd have you over the sink, fucking your brains out."
"stop it. i'm serious. what are we doing?"
junsu is desperate now, flagrantly violating the implicit no questions policy they both had been so careful to follow. junsu sees yoochun's nostrils slightly flare and watches him as he picks up his pants around his ankles and starts buckling his belt.
"shit, all i wanted to do was fool around. what a fucking vibe kill."
yoochun is abrasive like sandpaper, like pouring hydrogen peroxide into huge, gaping wounds of heartbreak.
junsu knows he is waiting for an answer that will never come.
[vii]
yoochun comes into his room in the early morning, and junsu's heart immediately starts pounding, thisisit thisisit helovesme helovesme helovesme.
yoochun gets underneath the covers, snakes his arm around junsu's waist and places his head in the space between junsu's neck and shoulder. yoochun's feet are cold.
"junsu?"
"yeah?" unmoving. nonchalant. cautious.
"i can't promise you anything."
[viii]
junsu thinks if regression is a survival mechanism, this is his fetal position.
[ix]
junsu forgets how long he has waited for it to stop hurting.
the dull ache when he remembers yoochun sitting on the piano bench for hours, playing discordant notes, f-sharps and b-flats until junsu joined him, kissing him behind his ear whispering sweet nothings, until the piano was forgotten, yoochun's fingers on him instead.
the sensation of countless heated needles pressing into his scalp, shivers down his neck when he remembers yoochun going down on him for the first time, lips made for sinning, the blush that reached junsu's ears listening to yoochun murmuring filthy turns of phrase while junsu fucked his mouth.
the implosion of the fragile glass sense of trust junsu had slowly managed to build when changmin tells him of the curly haired girl with the perfect tits that left the apartment minutes before he got there with groceries, the way his heart shatters when yoochun steps out of his room, hair tousled, shameless, cocky, challenging.
the searing pang of lust that rushes down junsu's spine when yoochun takes his hand and guides junsu inside him, please, he says when junsu hesitates, fuck me so i can feel like you, fuck me so you can feel like me fucking you, fuck me so hard that i forget how to think.
the honey saccharine warmth of yoochun's hugs from behind, nose buried in freshly shampooed hair, proposals of spending the entire day in bed, fucking, cuddling, playing footsie, whispers of doing anything as long as it's with you.
[x]
over the course of months, junsu learns to tread the middle ground of civility.
one morning, he brings coffee to yoochun. his tired, bloodshot eyes look at him in a way that junsu has tried to avoid ever since that night. junsu turns to leave, yoochun's voice, cracked and unsteady asks
"we tried, right?"
no, not nearly hard enough
"yeah."
author: xyrhe
word count: 1911
concrit?: yup
pairing: yoochun/junsu
rating: nc-17
[i]
sometimes the sheets are drenched with poison, barbs implanted in swollen skin and junsu feels like he is drowning. he is usually careful with his words even with the cadence of his breath but he cannot avoid falling prey to yoochun's drunken slurrings it's all so fucking worthless with his entire weight on junsu's prostrate body, raking his fingernails across skin, yoochun is a false prophet of apocalyptic proportions. junsu listens and listens only because he knows that yoochun would never dare to speak of this growing, cancer-like doubt that has been festering in the pit of his stomach to anyone else. junsu never replies because he knows yoochun doesn't want to be reassured, doesn't want to be saved from whatever he has resigned himself to, so he keeps his breath hitched as yoochun presses against him, intentionally, testing him, seeing if he will protest saying get off, that he is too heavy, that he can't breathe but junsu never does.
instead junsu grits his teeth as his cells slowly start screaming for oxygen, his head dizzy and neon fireworks start going off in the darkness of closed eyelids. yoochun's hand pushes against the back of junsu's neck, crushing his nose against the bed, and yoochun fucks him harder until he comes inside junsu and collapses on the other side of the bed, gasping, until the sudden lifting of weight and the rush of air to junsu's lungs feels like falling in love.
[ii]
yunho tells junsu in the changing room that the make-up artists are running out of ways to hide the blue purple green and yellow on his hips, the overlapping lyme disease rings at the base of his neck, that when he sweats the concealer runs, that the outfits are already coordinated and he can't be the only one wearing something different.
junsu nods along with yunho's concern, stares distractedly at flashes of white teeth and can only think of how yoochun spent twenty minutes kissing the soft skin around his navel the night before.
[iii]
"i don't know why you have to play hard to get when you're so fucking easy."
junsu punches yoochun in the mouth, his clenched fist sweet against lips gums and teeth and all qualms of physical violence dissipate into a gorgeous, fleeting retribution.
junsu is not sorry when he does it, and he is even less sorry when yoochun turns back towards him, mouth in grimace, blood in between teeth, bottom lip oozing with wetness, sonofabitch he sputters, speaks out of the side of his mouth
"you're not even going to offer me a tissue?"
"fuck you."
"that's one helluva right hook."
"you deserved it."
"i know. let's kiss and make up."
"what."
"why not? we're even now. look, i've even got lube right here." yoochun spits into his hand, frothy saliva with small encroaching tributaries of red.
"you're sick."
"you're the one that's hard."
junsu looks down and sees that yoochun is right. common sense tells him he should back-pedal, maybe go rub one out in the bathroom, take a shower, anything to but to continue being here.
he contemplates for a moment before he walks towards yoochun instead and kisses him on the soft dip of skin between his lip and chin, tasting salt and copper, he wraps arms around his waist and holds him, presses his cock against yoochun's. nightmares and doubt recoil into recesses of hazy memories, desire and repulsion seizes them both, eyes mutually conspiring let's take this as far as it can go.
junsu rests his head against yoochun's shoulder, seeking the scars that he has tried hard to fade, junsu's ten fingers all fully concentrated on palpating yoochun's flesh underneath his shirt. yoochun leads him to the bed and takes off his clothes sloppily, smearing and dripping blood on his clothing.
"fuck, sorry."
"it's okay. you should stop swallowing so much."
yoochun leans down and junsu pulls his tongue into his mouth. the kiss is textured and smoky, the spicy smell of fresh dirt filling junsu's nostrils. yoochun's torn lip slowly reopens, blossoming against junsu's gasps. junsu imagines pulling apart the microscopic platelets with his tongue, incorporating yoochun's molecules into his body, the blood sliding down his throat, mixing with the juices of his stomach, being absorbed into his bloodstream. junsu keeps kissing the bruised and bloody tissue, i won't let you have any more scars, i won't let any scabs form, i'll kiss you forever if i have to he thinks. junsu lifts his hips closer to yoochun's and with his fingers, reads the lexicon of yoochun's vertebrae like a blind man's braille.
after what seems like hours, yoochun pulls away from junsu's lips and moves to junsu's cock. junsu sees the blood suffusing into purple veins straining obscenely against see-through papery skin, pre-come dripping from the tip. yoochun slides the head back and forth between his lips, pushes his hands under junsu's ass, spreads junsu legs even farther apart. yoochun puts his index and middle finger in his mouth, coats them with saliva blood and phlegm and slides them across junsu's taint, into his asshole, he jerks himself off with his other hand and junsu is gone, lost in the intimate slickness of contact, his last shreds of dignity nowhere to be seen.
junsu jerkingly thrusts into the air when he comes. yoochun moans and continues to masturbate. junsu is hypnotized by the blurred movement of yoochun's slender fingers, the curve of muscle and tendon in his thighs, the way his head is thrown back, the jut of his adam's apple. yoochun comes not a minute after, making sure the last few strokes are slow and deliberate. he opens his eyes and his swollen lips smile wide when he sees that his display is well audienced. yoochun wordlessly lays down next to junsu and presses a chaste kiss to his temple before closing his eyes, spent.
junsu looks down and sees his stomach, sticky with both their come, his pubic hair matted with sweat, his dick covered with an opaque, viscous rust, something he supposes is a mixture of yoochun's slowly oxidizing blood and semen.
this is a crime scene, junsu realizes.
[iv]
junsu never loves yoochun more than when he is on the phone with his mother. junsu follows the crescendo of laughter when she complains about his brother's terrible taste in girls and the hushed husky undertones when yoochun is reassuring her of his health, when he asks her if she is lonely, saying that he will come visit her soon, did she receive the necklace he sent her?
junsu turns from the television screen, controller in hands and turns to look at yoochun. back against the wall, head tilted and cellphone against ear, yoochun looks up, smiling as he meets junsu's eyes and blows him a kiss.
junsu turns back to his video game and thinks that you don't fall this hard and get back up alive.
[v]
before the endorphins have a chance to wear off, yoochun pulls and twists junsu's wrists into the bathroom backstage, braces himself against the porcelain sink and pushes junsu's head downward. junsu drops to his knees without any pretense of protest, like some dime a dozen chickenhead, pulls down yoochun's pants and opens his mouth against the brackish taste of sweat not yet dried.
junsu falls into a familiar rhythm, arms curled around knees. it's not like yoochun hasn't already told him a hundred times before, but junsu knows the art of cocksucking comes to him easily, inhale and slide, up and down, breathe through nose, piece of cake.
it occurs to junsu that they could carve his many accomplishments into his white marble gravestone. his epitaph could read "sucker that never got wise, but boy could he suck" and underneath it "delusional jackass with little to no self-respect" and right underneath that it could read "loving brother, son and band-mate, may the poor bastard rest in peace."
"what's wrong?"
"huh?" junsu licks his lips and looks up, yoochun's brow furrowed.
"you stopped."
"oh, uh, got distracted. lemme-"
junsu moves to continue, but yoochun pulls him up and starts kissing him, junsu's favorite kind. the kind where yoochun presses softly against his lips, neither wet nor dry, pulls apart gradually so that their lips stay together for as long as possible and before the air between them can cool, yoochun kisses junsu again in a slightly different spot. bottom lip, right, top lip, left, bottom lip, center. before yoochun can confuse him anymore, junsu decides to stop digging his own grave and pulls away
"what are we doing?"
"kissing. we're kissing."
"no, i mean. like, in general. long-term what are we doing."
"well, um. i was going to allot maybe 5 more minutes to making out, then maybe you could blow me for a little bit longer, and then hopefully by--"
yoochun checks his watch, smiles like the big bad wolf. "approximately 10:25 i'd have you over the sink, fucking your brains out."
"stop it. i'm serious. what are we doing?"
junsu is desperate now, flagrantly violating the implicit no questions policy they both had been so careful to follow. junsu sees yoochun's nostrils slightly flare and watches him as he picks up his pants around his ankles and starts buckling his belt.
"shit, all i wanted to do was fool around. what a fucking vibe kill."
yoochun is abrasive like sandpaper, like pouring hydrogen peroxide into huge, gaping wounds of heartbreak.
junsu knows he is waiting for an answer that will never come.
[vii]
yoochun comes into his room in the early morning, and junsu's heart immediately starts pounding, thisisit thisisit helovesme helovesme helovesme.
yoochun gets underneath the covers, snakes his arm around junsu's waist and places his head in the space between junsu's neck and shoulder. yoochun's feet are cold.
"junsu?"
"yeah?" unmoving. nonchalant. cautious.
"i can't promise you anything."
[viii]
junsu thinks if regression is a survival mechanism, this is his fetal position.
[ix]
junsu forgets how long he has waited for it to stop hurting.
the dull ache when he remembers yoochun sitting on the piano bench for hours, playing discordant notes, f-sharps and b-flats until junsu joined him, kissing him behind his ear whispering sweet nothings, until the piano was forgotten, yoochun's fingers on him instead.
the sensation of countless heated needles pressing into his scalp, shivers down his neck when he remembers yoochun going down on him for the first time, lips made for sinning, the blush that reached junsu's ears listening to yoochun murmuring filthy turns of phrase while junsu fucked his mouth.
the implosion of the fragile glass sense of trust junsu had slowly managed to build when changmin tells him of the curly haired girl with the perfect tits that left the apartment minutes before he got there with groceries, the way his heart shatters when yoochun steps out of his room, hair tousled, shameless, cocky, challenging.
the searing pang of lust that rushes down junsu's spine when yoochun takes his hand and guides junsu inside him, please, he says when junsu hesitates, fuck me so i can feel like you, fuck me so you can feel like me fucking you, fuck me so hard that i forget how to think.
the honey saccharine warmth of yoochun's hugs from behind, nose buried in freshly shampooed hair, proposals of spending the entire day in bed, fucking, cuddling, playing footsie, whispers of doing anything as long as it's with you.
[x]
over the course of months, junsu learns to tread the middle ground of civility.
one morning, he brings coffee to yoochun. his tired, bloodshot eyes look at him in a way that junsu has tried to avoid ever since that night. junsu turns to leave, yoochun's voice, cracked and unsteady asks
"we tried, right?"
no, not nearly hard enough
"yeah."