dirty bottles - drabble (jaemin)
Title: dirty bottles
Author: skybacktoblue
Pairing: jaemin
Band: DBSK/THSK/TVXQ
Word Count: 200
Genre: gen/angst
Rating: pg-13
Warning: drug use, cussing
Disclaimer: Don't own these guys, just my interpretations of them.
Summary: you always feel a little lightheaded.
Notes: first person pov 8| orig posted for dbsk_flashfic (is it still alive?;;) here.
i play stupid games.
i play the kind of games that go on your permanent record, marked in ink or red sharpie or some other obvious instrument of accusal: 'this boy did this' and 'this boy didn't do that' and 'this boy hasn't been in school for a week.'
i play stupid games, out back in the shady field with the street light half-out. it doesn't really matter, i'm only there during the midday, your tongue decidedly not in my mouth. my teeth touching down lightly onto the blunt and breathing in; i feel a little lightheaded.
fucking you, you snort. you always feel a little lightheaded.
i could grace you with a reply but it doesn't feel worthwhile. there are still grass stains on my cheapest pair of jeans from the last time we got in a fistfight: some cheap matchbook romance could have made a scene out of it. as it was, we both got chewed out by the principal and sent home to parents who didn't care.
so i'd like it if you'd pass the cigarette my way again, please and thank you, and kiss that girl to your left a little harder.
i'm thinking russian roulette.
Author: skybacktoblue
Pairing: jaemin
Band: DBSK/THSK/TVXQ
Word Count: 200
Genre: gen/angst
Rating: pg-13
Warning: drug use, cussing
Disclaimer: Don't own these guys, just my interpretations of them.
Summary: you always feel a little lightheaded.
Notes: first person pov 8| orig posted for dbsk_flashfic (is it still alive?;;) here.
i play stupid games.
i play the kind of games that go on your permanent record, marked in ink or red sharpie or some other obvious instrument of accusal: 'this boy did this' and 'this boy didn't do that' and 'this boy hasn't been in school for a week.'
i play stupid games, out back in the shady field with the street light half-out. it doesn't really matter, i'm only there during the midday, your tongue decidedly not in my mouth. my teeth touching down lightly onto the blunt and breathing in; i feel a little lightheaded.
fucking you, you snort. you always feel a little lightheaded.
i could grace you with a reply but it doesn't feel worthwhile. there are still grass stains on my cheapest pair of jeans from the last time we got in a fistfight: some cheap matchbook romance could have made a scene out of it. as it was, we both got chewed out by the principal and sent home to parents who didn't care.
so i'd like it if you'd pass the cigarette my way again, please and thank you, and kiss that girl to your left a little harder.
i'm thinking russian roulette.