spectrum
spectrum
jongin/kyungsoo
pg-13
angst, au
warnings: mentions of drugs and sex
a/n: for beefballs, i hope you like this bb!
kyungsoo's winter personified, all blank icy gazes and emotionless words. coldness eating him from the inside out, freezing his heartmindsoul; an unpenetrable barrier of translucent white enclosed around him.
he exhales ice crystals and misted winter breezes, sings haunting melodies in the tune of swirling snowflakes on their descent. brittle branches of fingers spreading frost with each touch; auburn icicles of hair sharp and stark against the paleness of his skin.
(ice is all about rigidness and control.)
his throat is parched and sore; pain-frozen lungs contracting and expanding with each agonizing breath.
lips part and ice-tinged notes flow out; flutter and spiral out of control as they leave kyungsoo's mouth. his voice cracks on the final note of the refrain, wavering and shaky, yet it somehow doesn't seem to matter any longer.
kyungsoo thinks that losing control is an addiction.
jongin feels like his body's on fire.
liquid flames racing through his veins and arteries, tracing branched-out pathways burning bright beneath bronze silk. searing pain in tendons and ligaments with each leap and pirouette, bones of molten iron dragging him down and hindering him.
(fire is all about burning passion and raging out of control.)
strains of music filter through his ears, one two three and four, one two three and four; one more time jongin, make sure it's perfect no mistakes don't stiffen your muscles, just one more time.
close eyes, deep breaths, calm heartbeat.
the track repeats and jongin launches himself into the familiar routine of movements once more. immersing himself fully into the dance and fooling himself into thinking that maybe, maybe he is in control for once.
kyungsoo can't quite remember how they'd first met. he recalls that it's something along the lines of walking into the dancers' practice room by accident, catching a glimpse of jongin in an arabesque position; neck and body arched, limbs so beautifully poised.
arabesque, the perfection of balance and power. (the perfect form)
captivating.
they meet for the second time in a club, colourful strobe lights crowning their heads and chaotic electronic beats deafening them. teeth clinking softly against glass, vodka burning a trail down throats and spreading light blushes across cheeks.
kyungsoo doesn't notice; eyes fixated on jongin, on the bony fingers curled delicately around the joint and wine glass, on the mascara-thickened lashes fluttering with each inhale and swallow of poison.
it scares kyungsoo, really, how someone so perfect in one way could be so out of control in others.
jongin's attracted to domination. complete control over every area, everything in its rightful place and done according to plan. he thinks that it's horribly ironic, how someone like him - messed up head, fucked up lifestyle - could crave for something (someone) so different, on the other end of the spectrum.
weave fingers into auburn locks, close eyes, inhale. repeat.
kyungsoo smells like sunshine on winter mornings and the last hints of fall, like heartaches and inadequacies. (because compulsion is a mask to hide one's insecurities.)
jongin is sure that that's the scent of perfection.
kyungsoo thinks, no, knows that jongin is different.
he is chaos and disorder concealed under a semblance of restraint and elegance, he is an inferno attempting (failing) to control itself. he is skilled in losing control and that is perfection to kyungsoo.
arms cradling slender body, fingers cupping sharp chin; he is teaching jongin how to sing.
stand up straight, don't tense up, make sure that you breathe properly.
he trails a finger across jongin's collarbone; see your lungs are just an inch below here, where my finger is. digits dance across ribs and chest line; see this is where your lungs expand the largest when you breathe, this is where your diaphragm is.
jongin's a burning human skeleton before him, his skin warm - too warm for kyungsoo's liking. his fingers leave behind pathways of frost, ice crystals that melt away and trickle down jongin's chest after each graze of skin against skin. he shivers slightly as icy fingers caress neck, stroke adam's apple; clash of elements.
use your diaphragm, jongin, not your throat. they wrap around his neck, tightening ever so subtly; sing, jongin, sing for me.
and he does just that, voice unstable and rough, fluctuating at times, each note drawn out with uncertainty. lips curving upwards, kyungsoo joins in, mellow voice covering up the flaws in jongin's; perfect harmony.
kyungsoo is sure that that's the melody of perfection.
jongin envies how kyungsoo is always so organized, how his life functions in timetables and carefully planned out schedules. it's amazing how he has timeslots for everything, even the most mundane, everyday happenings. jongin jokes that he needs a secretary to keep track of his neat piles of printed out spreadsheets. (whispers of would you like to take up that job post? are accompanied by frigid lips against searingly warm ones, frozen fingers slipping up beneath shirt.)
the day he interrupts kyungsoo's timetable is the day that they run away.
we'll be back before tomorrow, words muffled by the cigarette held in place by full, cracked lips. i promise.
white knuckling the steering wheel, gunning the accelerator; they (jongin drives while kyungsoo worries about his schedule in the passenger seat. they are silent.) drive on and on, until the scenery outside changes from crowds and skyscrapers to powdered-snow fields and white-topped forests.
jongin pulls to a stop near a hill, all bright-eyed and careless smiles as he leads kyungsoo out and up the hill, kicking his boots off in the process. (it's this unpredictability and freedom jongin possesses that kyungsoo craves for. he's not sure if love is the same as desire, because then, he wouldn't be loving jongin as much, would he?)
care for a dance? an invitation, of footprints deep in snow blanket, of outstretched hands and heated skin.
kyungsoo accepts it, jongin pulling him along and guiding him with hands sliding down from shoulders to hips and back up again. dance with me.
they are two figures silhouetted against the rich glow of the setting sun; siamese twins in motion. dancing barefooted; dancing until soles (souls) are scratched and rubbed raw on icy gravel, rosettes blooming amongst powdery white even though it's far from spring.
when they collapse exhausted onto the ground, jongin marvels at how kyungsoo almost blends in with the snow, save for his coat and shock of dark hair. glacial beauty at it's finest, he thinks.
they stay there until the sky darkens and the stars blink down at them from the deep blue stretch of velvet skies; leaving with numbed limbs and snow angels splayed out into the plain of white.
contrasting elements were never meant to be mixed together.
yet, as limbs twine and entangle, as lips connect and skin is flush against skin, kyungsoo realizes that they complement each other perfectly. (uniting of the extremes at each end of the spectrum.)
tongues of flame reaching in to cup and surround frozen heart with warmth and fire; winter breezes frosting over the very tips of each spark. (unending cycle of wounding and healing.)
bodies connected and moving as one, no way to tell where one begins and another ends. burns into sleet, freezing over of flames. (hearts combust and reform.)
kyungsoo realizes that maybe, maybe he does love jongin after all.
jongin/kyungsoo
pg-13
angst, au
warnings: mentions of drugs and sex
a/n: for beefballs, i hope you like this bb!
kyungsoo's winter personified, all blank icy gazes and emotionless words. coldness eating him from the inside out, freezing his heartmindsoul; an unpenetrable barrier of translucent white enclosed around him.
he exhales ice crystals and misted winter breezes, sings haunting melodies in the tune of swirling snowflakes on their descent. brittle branches of fingers spreading frost with each touch; auburn icicles of hair sharp and stark against the paleness of his skin.
(ice is all about rigidness and control.)
his throat is parched and sore; pain-frozen lungs contracting and expanding with each agonizing breath.
lips part and ice-tinged notes flow out; flutter and spiral out of control as they leave kyungsoo's mouth. his voice cracks on the final note of the refrain, wavering and shaky, yet it somehow doesn't seem to matter any longer.
kyungsoo thinks that losing control is an addiction.
jongin feels like his body's on fire.
liquid flames racing through his veins and arteries, tracing branched-out pathways burning bright beneath bronze silk. searing pain in tendons and ligaments with each leap and pirouette, bones of molten iron dragging him down and hindering him.
(fire is all about burning passion and raging out of control.)
strains of music filter through his ears, one two three and four, one two three and four; one more time jongin, make sure it's perfect no mistakes don't stiffen your muscles, just one more time.
close eyes, deep breaths, calm heartbeat.
the track repeats and jongin launches himself into the familiar routine of movements once more. immersing himself fully into the dance and fooling himself into thinking that maybe, maybe he is in control for once.
kyungsoo can't quite remember how they'd first met. he recalls that it's something along the lines of walking into the dancers' practice room by accident, catching a glimpse of jongin in an arabesque position; neck and body arched, limbs so beautifully poised.
arabesque, the perfection of balance and power. (the perfect form)
captivating.
they meet for the second time in a club, colourful strobe lights crowning their heads and chaotic electronic beats deafening them. teeth clinking softly against glass, vodka burning a trail down throats and spreading light blushes across cheeks.
kyungsoo doesn't notice; eyes fixated on jongin, on the bony fingers curled delicately around the joint and wine glass, on the mascara-thickened lashes fluttering with each inhale and swallow of poison.
it scares kyungsoo, really, how someone so perfect in one way could be so out of control in others.
jongin's attracted to domination. complete control over every area, everything in its rightful place and done according to plan. he thinks that it's horribly ironic, how someone like him - messed up head, fucked up lifestyle - could crave for something (someone) so different, on the other end of the spectrum.
weave fingers into auburn locks, close eyes, inhale. repeat.
kyungsoo smells like sunshine on winter mornings and the last hints of fall, like heartaches and inadequacies. (because compulsion is a mask to hide one's insecurities.)
jongin is sure that that's the scent of perfection.
kyungsoo thinks, no, knows that jongin is different.
he is chaos and disorder concealed under a semblance of restraint and elegance, he is an inferno attempting (failing) to control itself. he is skilled in losing control and that is perfection to kyungsoo.
arms cradling slender body, fingers cupping sharp chin; he is teaching jongin how to sing.
stand up straight, don't tense up, make sure that you breathe properly.
he trails a finger across jongin's collarbone; see your lungs are just an inch below here, where my finger is. digits dance across ribs and chest line; see this is where your lungs expand the largest when you breathe, this is where your diaphragm is.
jongin's a burning human skeleton before him, his skin warm - too warm for kyungsoo's liking. his fingers leave behind pathways of frost, ice crystals that melt away and trickle down jongin's chest after each graze of skin against skin. he shivers slightly as icy fingers caress neck, stroke adam's apple; clash of elements.
use your diaphragm, jongin, not your throat. they wrap around his neck, tightening ever so subtly; sing, jongin, sing for me.
and he does just that, voice unstable and rough, fluctuating at times, each note drawn out with uncertainty. lips curving upwards, kyungsoo joins in, mellow voice covering up the flaws in jongin's; perfect harmony.
kyungsoo is sure that that's the melody of perfection.
jongin envies how kyungsoo is always so organized, how his life functions in timetables and carefully planned out schedules. it's amazing how he has timeslots for everything, even the most mundane, everyday happenings. jongin jokes that he needs a secretary to keep track of his neat piles of printed out spreadsheets. (whispers of would you like to take up that job post? are accompanied by frigid lips against searingly warm ones, frozen fingers slipping up beneath shirt.)
the day he interrupts kyungsoo's timetable is the day that they run away.
we'll be back before tomorrow, words muffled by the cigarette held in place by full, cracked lips. i promise.
white knuckling the steering wheel, gunning the accelerator; they (jongin drives while kyungsoo worries about his schedule in the passenger seat. they are silent.) drive on and on, until the scenery outside changes from crowds and skyscrapers to powdered-snow fields and white-topped forests.
jongin pulls to a stop near a hill, all bright-eyed and careless smiles as he leads kyungsoo out and up the hill, kicking his boots off in the process. (it's this unpredictability and freedom jongin possesses that kyungsoo craves for. he's not sure if love is the same as desire, because then, he wouldn't be loving jongin as much, would he?)
care for a dance? an invitation, of footprints deep in snow blanket, of outstretched hands and heated skin.
kyungsoo accepts it, jongin pulling him along and guiding him with hands sliding down from shoulders to hips and back up again. dance with me.
they are two figures silhouetted against the rich glow of the setting sun; siamese twins in motion. dancing barefooted; dancing until soles (souls) are scratched and rubbed raw on icy gravel, rosettes blooming amongst powdery white even though it's far from spring.
when they collapse exhausted onto the ground, jongin marvels at how kyungsoo almost blends in with the snow, save for his coat and shock of dark hair. glacial beauty at it's finest, he thinks.
they stay there until the sky darkens and the stars blink down at them from the deep blue stretch of velvet skies; leaving with numbed limbs and snow angels splayed out into the plain of white.
contrasting elements were never meant to be mixed together.
yet, as limbs twine and entangle, as lips connect and skin is flush against skin, kyungsoo realizes that they complement each other perfectly. (uniting of the extremes at each end of the spectrum.)
tongues of flame reaching in to cup and surround frozen heart with warmth and fire; winter breezes frosting over the very tips of each spark. (unending cycle of wounding and healing.)
bodies connected and moving as one, no way to tell where one begins and another ends. burns into sleet, freezing over of flames. (hearts combust and reform.)
kyungsoo realizes that maybe, maybe he does love jongin after all.