Fic: Volatile (Tragic Waste of Skin 2)
Title: Volatile (Tragic Waste of Skin 2)
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing: JaeChun (main)
Genre: AU, Angst, Romance
Warning: Suicidal feelings; suicidal ideation; suicidal actions; substance abuse; self-harm
Summary: A short scene told from Jaejoong's point of view. It takes place around SWG Chapter 12
N/A: Short one-shots from Jaejoong's point of view that take place in the Sleeping with Ghosts timeline.
N/A2: Title from A Song to Say Goodbye by Placebo.
N/A3: Spoilers for Sleeping with Ghosts. It should be read before the one-shots.
The music is loud, loud enough that the bass vibrates inside your head, your chest, your entire body. It should be bothersome, but you don't mind it-this is what you need right now: a dark nightclub, drinking and dancing with friends. Away, away from those assholes, you think, closing your eyes and smiling as your dance partner slides his arm around your waist.
They are far away now. Not one of them knows where you are, what you are doing, who you are with. Not that it's any of their business. You're a free man, lacking official ties to anyone-family, friends, lovers-they are, for all intents and purposes, dead to you. (Well, except for one of them, but no matter how much you want to get him out of your system, he's always there, embedded in your mind, your body, your heart. Oh, how you wish you could rip his memory off you-the sound of his voice, the feel of his skin against yours, the taste of his lips, the way his eyes shine when they gaze at you. However, it has been impossible so far (you wonder if you could do it now)).
But, whatever, no thinking about that, you remind yourself, closing your eyes, feeling the music, each note dancing into your ear and staying inside your head; you visualize them as colorful written notes (red, green, purple, blue…), jumping up and down between your ears, or floating in the limited and dark space you imagine the inside of your head to be-the thought makes you giggle; does that mean you don't have a brain? (Do you?)-each bright color lighting it up, until it looks like a mini version of the club you have been dancing at for hours. You sing along with the songs you know (nearly all of them, except for Techno and other mostly instrumental tunes, though you still hum along).
"Hey, don't ignore me," your dance partner whispers in your ear. You don't remember his name, but you find him terribly attractive: dark skin, hair dyed red, a slim body with lean muscles that feel so good under your hands (no dark hair, nor nearly black eyes; no pale skin; no deep voice making your shiver).
Automatically, you smirk flirtatiously. He is, after all, your chosen partner for the night, one of several men who followed you throughout the evening, until they got tired of your endless energy, dancing and dancing, your skin covered in perspiration, your head a mindless mess invaded by the melodies and beats (you can see them, smoky lines and waves of blue, purple, red, green, surrounding you, dancing around the room much like the wavy colors from the visualization setting of the computer's music player), further clouded by the ridiculous amount of alcohol you have imbibed in the course of a few hours. Cute Redhead-as you've decided to call him-was the only one willing to stick by you. He's hopelessly attracted to you, the poor guy; you can see the desire in his eyes clearly.
"Then, keep me entertained," you whisper back. He smiles and takes your hand, gently tugging at it, wordlessly asking you to follow; you do, fighting the throng of sweaty, horny men who frequent this gay club, perhaps the most popular in the entire city. You expect him to take you into the bathroom (by midnight, it's already a disgusting mess, but it's the only place that offers privacy in the building); however, soon you find yourself standing in front of a door-green? Blue? You can't tell under the dim and colored lights-his hand still holding yours, while the other knocks on hard wood.
"Hey, you mind?" Cute Redhead asks when the door opens a sliver. A second later, he's leading you past the door and inside a corridor. You don't even think about questioning him-you honestly don't care; you're attracted to him and sexual desire has begun to take over until you can't think about anything else.
The bedsprings creak when he pushes you to sit down; next thing you know, he's leaning down to kiss you, pushing you down until you're on your back. There's some gentleness in his touch, but that is not what you want-you take control of the kiss, lightly biting on his lower lip; you shift until you can reverse your positions, straddling his hips, pulling off his shirt, undoing his belt buckle, and more, more, until you feel like you have become one with him, your mind utterly abandoned to pleasure and nothing else. When he enters you, you give yourself to the feeling, closing your eyes and savoring every thrust, every touch of his surprisingly soft hands. Life is good, you think, perfect, wonderful. You had forgotten what this felt like, acting freely, fucking without a worry in the world.
"I've been going out with Changmin for a few months."
You close your eyes, trying to push away the memory. The man you thought loved you now loves someone else, you could tell right away. At that moment, you hated Changmin, the stupid, needy jerk who stole Yoochun from you. Now he had to steal Yunho, too?
"Oh. I've been sleeping with Yoochun for months," you replied, anxiety creeping in, yet you acted as though you were casually discussing the weather. Before you even realized what you were doing, you grabbed the hardcover book on top of the coffee table and threw it at him. After that, you honestly don't remember what happened. You don't remember whether you yelled, if you fought, if you hit him. Your mind is trying to protect you, you think; that voice inside your head that tells you what to do, what to say, what to feel, it's blocking out anything that could cause you pain.
You push it away, all of it, and focus on your partner once more. He's passionate, he knows where to touch, where to kiss. Maybe Cute Redhead should stick around for a few more days.
When you both finish, he's exhausted. You rode him hard, you're absolutely aware of that and greatly enjoying yourself. You could go on and on, though, your lust controlling your body, your mind. You need it so badly, your body is on fire; you need more.
"Give me a moment," Cute Redhead says, chuckling when you kiss him again. "Let me recover." He lowers his voice, making you shiver. "I promise I won't disappoint."
You decide that you want to find out.
How long has it been since you locked yourself in a room with Cute Redhead? Minutes? Hours? Your mind is hazy, cloudy, but you aren't tired. When you leave the room and go back to the club, you see people dancing, and all you want to do is join them. Oh, how wonderful, to be free, to feel amazing, throwing all your worries to the wind. You can sleep with whomever you want, whenever you want.
Briefly, you think about the men you've left behind. Would they be disappointed if they saw you now, dancing almost obscenely with a man you've just met, wishing you were still in the bedroom, fucking like your life depended on it? They would hate you, probably.
However, you don't care; you don't feel guilty. On the contrary, both of your former lovers (former?) kept holding you back, forcing you to become the person they wanted, someone you could never be. This is you: wild, crazy, sensual, sexual; carefree and happy. Tying you down until your entire being feels restrained and suffocated by the weight of expectation; being a useless zombie thanks to that ridiculous medication; trying to be like the boy he loved once upon a time; no, you can't be any of that. That is not you, not now, not ever.
Cute Redhead leaves you to buy more drinks. Happily, you follow. You need to have fun. The world is so pretty! The colors are so bright, surrounding you, loving you as you love them. Dance, dance, and dance some more, until the world becomes yours.
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing: JaeChun (main)
Genre: AU, Angst, Romance
Warning: Suicidal feelings; suicidal ideation; suicidal actions; substance abuse; self-harm
Summary: A short scene told from Jaejoong's point of view. It takes place around SWG Chapter 12
N/A: Short one-shots from Jaejoong's point of view that take place in the Sleeping with Ghosts timeline.
N/A2: Title from A Song to Say Goodbye by Placebo.
N/A3: Spoilers for Sleeping with Ghosts. It should be read before the one-shots.
The music is loud, loud enough that the bass vibrates inside your head, your chest, your entire body. It should be bothersome, but you don't mind it-this is what you need right now: a dark nightclub, drinking and dancing with friends. Away, away from those assholes, you think, closing your eyes and smiling as your dance partner slides his arm around your waist.
They are far away now. Not one of them knows where you are, what you are doing, who you are with. Not that it's any of their business. You're a free man, lacking official ties to anyone-family, friends, lovers-they are, for all intents and purposes, dead to you. (Well, except for one of them, but no matter how much you want to get him out of your system, he's always there, embedded in your mind, your body, your heart. Oh, how you wish you could rip his memory off you-the sound of his voice, the feel of his skin against yours, the taste of his lips, the way his eyes shine when they gaze at you. However, it has been impossible so far (you wonder if you could do it now)).
But, whatever, no thinking about that, you remind yourself, closing your eyes, feeling the music, each note dancing into your ear and staying inside your head; you visualize them as colorful written notes (red, green, purple, blue…), jumping up and down between your ears, or floating in the limited and dark space you imagine the inside of your head to be-the thought makes you giggle; does that mean you don't have a brain? (Do you?)-each bright color lighting it up, until it looks like a mini version of the club you have been dancing at for hours. You sing along with the songs you know (nearly all of them, except for Techno and other mostly instrumental tunes, though you still hum along).
"Hey, don't ignore me," your dance partner whispers in your ear. You don't remember his name, but you find him terribly attractive: dark skin, hair dyed red, a slim body with lean muscles that feel so good under your hands (no dark hair, nor nearly black eyes; no pale skin; no deep voice making your shiver).
Automatically, you smirk flirtatiously. He is, after all, your chosen partner for the night, one of several men who followed you throughout the evening, until they got tired of your endless energy, dancing and dancing, your skin covered in perspiration, your head a mindless mess invaded by the melodies and beats (you can see them, smoky lines and waves of blue, purple, red, green, surrounding you, dancing around the room much like the wavy colors from the visualization setting of the computer's music player), further clouded by the ridiculous amount of alcohol you have imbibed in the course of a few hours. Cute Redhead-as you've decided to call him-was the only one willing to stick by you. He's hopelessly attracted to you, the poor guy; you can see the desire in his eyes clearly.
"Then, keep me entertained," you whisper back. He smiles and takes your hand, gently tugging at it, wordlessly asking you to follow; you do, fighting the throng of sweaty, horny men who frequent this gay club, perhaps the most popular in the entire city. You expect him to take you into the bathroom (by midnight, it's already a disgusting mess, but it's the only place that offers privacy in the building); however, soon you find yourself standing in front of a door-green? Blue? You can't tell under the dim and colored lights-his hand still holding yours, while the other knocks on hard wood.
"Hey, you mind?" Cute Redhead asks when the door opens a sliver. A second later, he's leading you past the door and inside a corridor. You don't even think about questioning him-you honestly don't care; you're attracted to him and sexual desire has begun to take over until you can't think about anything else.
The bedsprings creak when he pushes you to sit down; next thing you know, he's leaning down to kiss you, pushing you down until you're on your back. There's some gentleness in his touch, but that is not what you want-you take control of the kiss, lightly biting on his lower lip; you shift until you can reverse your positions, straddling his hips, pulling off his shirt, undoing his belt buckle, and more, more, until you feel like you have become one with him, your mind utterly abandoned to pleasure and nothing else. When he enters you, you give yourself to the feeling, closing your eyes and savoring every thrust, every touch of his surprisingly soft hands. Life is good, you think, perfect, wonderful. You had forgotten what this felt like, acting freely, fucking without a worry in the world.
"I've been going out with Changmin for a few months."
You close your eyes, trying to push away the memory. The man you thought loved you now loves someone else, you could tell right away. At that moment, you hated Changmin, the stupid, needy jerk who stole Yoochun from you. Now he had to steal Yunho, too?
"Oh. I've been sleeping with Yoochun for months," you replied, anxiety creeping in, yet you acted as though you were casually discussing the weather. Before you even realized what you were doing, you grabbed the hardcover book on top of the coffee table and threw it at him. After that, you honestly don't remember what happened. You don't remember whether you yelled, if you fought, if you hit him. Your mind is trying to protect you, you think; that voice inside your head that tells you what to do, what to say, what to feel, it's blocking out anything that could cause you pain.
You push it away, all of it, and focus on your partner once more. He's passionate, he knows where to touch, where to kiss. Maybe Cute Redhead should stick around for a few more days.
When you both finish, he's exhausted. You rode him hard, you're absolutely aware of that and greatly enjoying yourself. You could go on and on, though, your lust controlling your body, your mind. You need it so badly, your body is on fire; you need more.
"Give me a moment," Cute Redhead says, chuckling when you kiss him again. "Let me recover." He lowers his voice, making you shiver. "I promise I won't disappoint."
You decide that you want to find out.
How long has it been since you locked yourself in a room with Cute Redhead? Minutes? Hours? Your mind is hazy, cloudy, but you aren't tired. When you leave the room and go back to the club, you see people dancing, and all you want to do is join them. Oh, how wonderful, to be free, to feel amazing, throwing all your worries to the wind. You can sleep with whomever you want, whenever you want.
Briefly, you think about the men you've left behind. Would they be disappointed if they saw you now, dancing almost obscenely with a man you've just met, wishing you were still in the bedroom, fucking like your life depended on it? They would hate you, probably.
However, you don't care; you don't feel guilty. On the contrary, both of your former lovers (former?) kept holding you back, forcing you to become the person they wanted, someone you could never be. This is you: wild, crazy, sensual, sexual; carefree and happy. Tying you down until your entire being feels restrained and suffocated by the weight of expectation; being a useless zombie thanks to that ridiculous medication; trying to be like the boy he loved once upon a time; no, you can't be any of that. That is not you, not now, not ever.
Cute Redhead leaves you to buy more drinks. Happily, you follow. You need to have fun. The world is so pretty! The colors are so bright, surrounding you, loving you as you love them. Dance, dance, and dance some more, until the world becomes yours.