Round 12: Greed Makes Us Pitiful
Title: Greed Makes us Pitiful
Team: Canon
Rating: PG
Fandom: B1A4
Pairing: CNU/Jinyoung
Summary: Idol life has numbed Jinyoung to the point where he’d do anything just to feel.
Author's Note: THANK YOU BETA-씨!!!
Prompt Used: Urban Zakapa - All the Same
They were shoving each other.
About what, Jinyoung couldn’t really remember, but it probably had something to do with the empty bottles scattered on the floor. The rest came in vivid flashes:
Sunwoo throwing him against the wall, smashing the bottle too close to his head, the shards flying everywhere yet miraculously leaving the both of them untouched;
The alcohol splashing onto his face;
His hands fisting that ridiculous pink and blue hair, Sunwoo’s lips careless and hot.
Sunwoo tasted bitter.
His fingers dug harshly into the slope of Jinyoung’s back, and Jinyoung jerked in Sunwoo’s grasp, his lips faltering briefly, his breath stolen. The alcohol burned through his system. His nerves were too alive; too aware of Sunwoo’s fingers, lips, and body pressing him against the wall.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Jinyoung froze, eyes sliding to the figure standing in the doorway.
Sunwoo pulled away, and sucked hard on the flesh below Jinyoung’s jaw.
Jinyoung inhaled sharply, surprised, and broke eye contact with the figure in the doorway.
The muted click of the door shutting resounded, too loudly, and suddenly, Jinyoung’s back began to throb uncomfortably. His mouth went dry, the bitterness too sharp on his tongue. Mumbling incoherently, he shoved Sunwoo away from him, ignoring the searing pain that shot through his foot when he stepped onto some fragments of broken glass.
Another dreamless night.
---
“Who drank last night? The entire dorm reeks.”
“Jinyoung, probably. I can smell him from here…”
Under the haze of exhaustion and a pounding headache, Jinyoung could pick out Chanshik’s and Junghwan’s voices.
“His foot is bandaged...”
Bandaged…?
Jinyoung opened his eyes a crack.
“Where’s Sunwoo?” Junghwan asked.
“Kitchen floor.” Chanshik replied, glancing down at Jinyoung.
Junghwan sighed. “I’ll go get him…”
Junghwan left the room, and less than ten seconds later Jinyoung could hear him screeching out the most horrific rendition of “Forgotten Season”. Jinyoung wondered if Junghwan was still bitter about his voice cracking onstage.
The room quieted, and Jinyoung opened his eyes.
Chanshik was still there.
“I won’t ask,” Chanshik said simply, and left the room.
Jinyoung’s joints creaked as he crawled out of bed. He winced at the unexpected throb of pain in his right foot, and, looking down, he noticed gauze taped to the underside of it. Peeling it back, he studied the small gash crusted with blood.
Dongwoo.
“Five minutes,” Junghwan shouted as he passed Jinyoung’s room.
---
At the recording studio, standing among a mess of wires and exhaustion.
Sunwoo’s lips bumped against Jinyoung’s, the paper crinkling between their noses. Chanshik dropped to the ground, chasing after the fluttering paper. Jinyoung watched Dongwoo slap Junghwan on the back, yelling irritably at him for taking too long.
Seconds later, Jinyoung’s lips were pressing against the curve of Dongwoo’s mouth, against paper.
The glassy stare of the cameras...
The microphone wire snaking down his back...
Dongwoo’s soft breath...
Jinyoung suddenly exhaled, caught off-guard.
The paper drifted from his lips, and he fell after it.
---
The first time.
Japan.
Cold, late January.
He remembered the hotel room: decent, clean, small, with two beds.
He remembered the muted sound of the shower a room away, water against tile and plastic.
He remembered the presence of a body next to him, the bed rustling as they shifted, rolling over one way, and then another.
Jinyoung continued to stare at the wall.
There was a hesitant touch on his shoulder, and Jinyoung turned over onto his back. His eyes wandered to the knee sinking into the bed, to the tensed hand planted by his head, travelling up the strained arm, to the shoulders...
His gaze rested upon the jaw, the lips, the nose,
Jinyoung stared up into his eyes.
He remembered waiting. They were waiting, their bodies taut, their breaths uneasy and anxious, listening to the shower of water against tiles and skin.
Jinyoung remembered the bed sinking, a soft breath across his lips--
and maybe it was the shower with his manager in it, or maybe because it was just him that Jinyoung simply watched as he scrambled away in a panicked whoosh of air,
and then laughed--that silent, gasping laughter masked by the muted shower.
“Why?” he croaked after his laughing fit.
Dongwoo didn’t answer.
“Do you like me?”
Dongwoo fumbled with his hands, staring at his fingers intently. “I don’t know.”
Jinyoung stared at him intently. “Just curious?”
The shower suddenly stopped.
Dongwoo started, jerking away from Jinyoung. He watched Dongwoo take a pillow and settle onto the floor. Their manager walked out, briefly pausing before stepping over Dongwoo and collapsing into his bed.
On the flight back, Dongwoo didn’t speak to him, fiddling with the Pikachu keychain attached to his bag, or looking out the window instead.
His silence seemed to strangle the entire cabin.
Even the loudest of Junghwan’s laughter seemed quiet, and Jinyoung wondered why he cared at all.
---
The second time, they moved clumsily, their legs and arms not quite fitting. Jinyoung shuddered in repulsed thrill, grasping Dongwoo tighter, feeling Dongwoo’s heavy breaths roll over his skin, shame tearing raw through his veins, a slow poison burning him from the inside out.
Greed.
To see anything other than tired eyes, strained laughs, dull smiles; to feel anything other than metal, plastic, chemicals, polyester, wires--
This is what he demanded from Dongwoo.
Jinyoung stared at Dongwoo’s slumped figure. Pain shot jaggedly through his head, his thoughts blinded.
“Get up,” Jinyoung rasped, swaying on his feet.
Stumbling forwards, he grabbed Dongwoo’s shirt, pulling him to his feet, into a sloppy kiss--harsh, and too fast.
Jinyoung’s nails raked down Dongwoo’s back, pressing harder.
Greed.
To stay conscious; fulfill this carnal desire.
And Dongwoo obliged, pressing kisses to Jinyoung’s skin, holding him tight, but only to protect him, to hold Jinyoung so that he wouldn’t fall.
Jinyoung shoved Dongwoo away, scared of being pulled under in the sweet stupor that numbed the rush of thrill and adrenaline he craved.
He needed to feel,
Jinyoung recognized that feeling of want, and not need.
Dongwoo wanted to stop him from falling; to put everything chaotic back in order--and that was what frightened Jinyoung the most.
---
The last bottle rolled from Jinyoung’s fingertips.
Jinyoung’s fist connected with Sunwoo’s jaw, snapping Sunwoo’s head back. Sunwoo’s fingers snagged Jinyoung’s shirt, and Jinyoung pitched forwards, crashing into Sunwoo.
Sunwoo caught Jinyoung’s arm, pinning him to the wall, his breath grazing over Jinyoung’s lips, and he looked at him.
“Is this some kind of sick replacement for a girl?” Sunwoo laughed, his grip tightening.
“Just whatever,” Jinyoung mumbled, lips curling into a smile.
Sunwoo would let him fall
would let him crumble;
empty.
---
white feathers scattering,
lights,
plastic boots,
wires on his back,
slipping on metal,
and instinctively reaching out for him.
and Dongwoo held him, his hand steady against the slope of Jinyoung’s back--
so that he wouldn’t fall.
Poll Round 12: Greed Makes Us Pitiful
Team: Canon
Rating: PG
Fandom: B1A4
Pairing: CNU/Jinyoung
Summary: Idol life has numbed Jinyoung to the point where he’d do anything just to feel.
Author's Note: THANK YOU BETA-씨!!!
Prompt Used: Urban Zakapa - All the Same
They were shoving each other.
About what, Jinyoung couldn’t really remember, but it probably had something to do with the empty bottles scattered on the floor. The rest came in vivid flashes:
Sunwoo throwing him against the wall, smashing the bottle too close to his head, the shards flying everywhere yet miraculously leaving the both of them untouched;
The alcohol splashing onto his face;
His hands fisting that ridiculous pink and blue hair, Sunwoo’s lips careless and hot.
Sunwoo tasted bitter.
His fingers dug harshly into the slope of Jinyoung’s back, and Jinyoung jerked in Sunwoo’s grasp, his lips faltering briefly, his breath stolen. The alcohol burned through his system. His nerves were too alive; too aware of Sunwoo’s fingers, lips, and body pressing him against the wall.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Jinyoung froze, eyes sliding to the figure standing in the doorway.
Sunwoo pulled away, and sucked hard on the flesh below Jinyoung’s jaw.
Jinyoung inhaled sharply, surprised, and broke eye contact with the figure in the doorway.
The muted click of the door shutting resounded, too loudly, and suddenly, Jinyoung’s back began to throb uncomfortably. His mouth went dry, the bitterness too sharp on his tongue. Mumbling incoherently, he shoved Sunwoo away from him, ignoring the searing pain that shot through his foot when he stepped onto some fragments of broken glass.
Another dreamless night.
---
“Who drank last night? The entire dorm reeks.”
“Jinyoung, probably. I can smell him from here…”
Under the haze of exhaustion and a pounding headache, Jinyoung could pick out Chanshik’s and Junghwan’s voices.
“His foot is bandaged...”
Bandaged…?
Jinyoung opened his eyes a crack.
“Where’s Sunwoo?” Junghwan asked.
“Kitchen floor.” Chanshik replied, glancing down at Jinyoung.
Junghwan sighed. “I’ll go get him…”
Junghwan left the room, and less than ten seconds later Jinyoung could hear him screeching out the most horrific rendition of “Forgotten Season”. Jinyoung wondered if Junghwan was still bitter about his voice cracking onstage.
The room quieted, and Jinyoung opened his eyes.
Chanshik was still there.
“I won’t ask,” Chanshik said simply, and left the room.
Jinyoung’s joints creaked as he crawled out of bed. He winced at the unexpected throb of pain in his right foot, and, looking down, he noticed gauze taped to the underside of it. Peeling it back, he studied the small gash crusted with blood.
Dongwoo.
“Five minutes,” Junghwan shouted as he passed Jinyoung’s room.
---
At the recording studio, standing among a mess of wires and exhaustion.
Sunwoo’s lips bumped against Jinyoung’s, the paper crinkling between their noses. Chanshik dropped to the ground, chasing after the fluttering paper. Jinyoung watched Dongwoo slap Junghwan on the back, yelling irritably at him for taking too long.
Seconds later, Jinyoung’s lips were pressing against the curve of Dongwoo’s mouth, against paper.
The glassy stare of the cameras...
The microphone wire snaking down his back...
Dongwoo’s soft breath...
Jinyoung suddenly exhaled, caught off-guard.
The paper drifted from his lips, and he fell after it.
---
The first time.
Japan.
Cold, late January.
He remembered the hotel room: decent, clean, small, with two beds.
He remembered the muted sound of the shower a room away, water against tile and plastic.
He remembered the presence of a body next to him, the bed rustling as they shifted, rolling over one way, and then another.
Jinyoung continued to stare at the wall.
There was a hesitant touch on his shoulder, and Jinyoung turned over onto his back. His eyes wandered to the knee sinking into the bed, to the tensed hand planted by his head, travelling up the strained arm, to the shoulders...
His gaze rested upon the jaw, the lips, the nose,
Jinyoung stared up into his eyes.
He remembered waiting. They were waiting, their bodies taut, their breaths uneasy and anxious, listening to the shower of water against tiles and skin.
Jinyoung remembered the bed sinking, a soft breath across his lips--
and maybe it was the shower with his manager in it, or maybe because it was just him that Jinyoung simply watched as he scrambled away in a panicked whoosh of air,
and then laughed--that silent, gasping laughter masked by the muted shower.
“Why?” he croaked after his laughing fit.
Dongwoo didn’t answer.
“Do you like me?”
Dongwoo fumbled with his hands, staring at his fingers intently. “I don’t know.”
Jinyoung stared at him intently. “Just curious?”
The shower suddenly stopped.
Dongwoo started, jerking away from Jinyoung. He watched Dongwoo take a pillow and settle onto the floor. Their manager walked out, briefly pausing before stepping over Dongwoo and collapsing into his bed.
On the flight back, Dongwoo didn’t speak to him, fiddling with the Pikachu keychain attached to his bag, or looking out the window instead.
His silence seemed to strangle the entire cabin.
Even the loudest of Junghwan’s laughter seemed quiet, and Jinyoung wondered why he cared at all.
---
The second time, they moved clumsily, their legs and arms not quite fitting. Jinyoung shuddered in repulsed thrill, grasping Dongwoo tighter, feeling Dongwoo’s heavy breaths roll over his skin, shame tearing raw through his veins, a slow poison burning him from the inside out.
Greed.
To see anything other than tired eyes, strained laughs, dull smiles; to feel anything other than metal, plastic, chemicals, polyester, wires--
This is what he demanded from Dongwoo.
Jinyoung stared at Dongwoo’s slumped figure. Pain shot jaggedly through his head, his thoughts blinded.
“Get up,” Jinyoung rasped, swaying on his feet.
Stumbling forwards, he grabbed Dongwoo’s shirt, pulling him to his feet, into a sloppy kiss--harsh, and too fast.
Jinyoung’s nails raked down Dongwoo’s back, pressing harder.
Greed.
To stay conscious; fulfill this carnal desire.
And Dongwoo obliged, pressing kisses to Jinyoung’s skin, holding him tight, but only to protect him, to hold Jinyoung so that he wouldn’t fall.
Jinyoung shoved Dongwoo away, scared of being pulled under in the sweet stupor that numbed the rush of thrill and adrenaline he craved.
He needed to feel,
Jinyoung recognized that feeling of want, and not need.
Dongwoo wanted to stop him from falling; to put everything chaotic back in order--and that was what frightened Jinyoung the most.
---
The last bottle rolled from Jinyoung’s fingertips.
Jinyoung’s fist connected with Sunwoo’s jaw, snapping Sunwoo’s head back. Sunwoo’s fingers snagged Jinyoung’s shirt, and Jinyoung pitched forwards, crashing into Sunwoo.
Sunwoo caught Jinyoung’s arm, pinning him to the wall, his breath grazing over Jinyoung’s lips, and he looked at him.
“Is this some kind of sick replacement for a girl?” Sunwoo laughed, his grip tightening.
“Just whatever,” Jinyoung mumbled, lips curling into a smile.
Sunwoo would let him fall
would let him crumble;
empty.
---
white feathers scattering,
lights,
plastic boots,
wires on his back,
slipping on metal,
and instinctively reaching out for him.
and Dongwoo held him, his hand steady against the slope of Jinyoung’s back--
so that he wouldn’t fall.
Poll Round 12: Greed Makes Us Pitiful