Forget
Title: Forget
Author: vvipforseungri
Rating: NC-17 (seriously.)
Pairing: GRi
Word Count: 928
Genre: DARK. Angst.
Summary: Jiyong teaches Seungri how to forget with the kiss of the blade.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, no matter how hard I try.
Warnings: self-harm. cutting. death. something like abuse. drugs. I am serious, do not read if squeamish.
AN: Uh, was writing Lexi's gift when I watched Tablo's Bad again and yeah. Don't worry, this is not your gift, because this is seriously fucked up. Have fun anyway.
When Jiyong brings out the razor for the first time, Seungri feels his blood run cold.
Seungri can barely see it in the almost pitch-black darkness, the shards of the broken light bulb scattered around them. The only light in the tiny bathroom comes from the dull glow-in-the-dark of Jiyong’s wristwatch, but Seungri doesn’t really need to see. Not when he can feel; feel Jiyong’s slick skin against his, feel the heat of Jiyong’s heartbeat, feel Jiyong’s breath on his neck.
He can feel the blade against Jiyong’s hand.
“Do you trust me?” Jiyong whispers, his voice rough and broken. He looms over Seungri, knees on either side of Seungri’s torso, just enough weight that Seungri can feel. Seungri wants to close his eyes but he doesn’t, captivated by the sad curve of Jiyong’s eyes as they stare down at Seungri’s. He can feel the sting and throb of the tiny cuts all over his body, the bruises on his arms and face. It hadn’t been a fight, not really, because Seungri hadn’t fought back. Even when Jiyong had thrown and smashed everything within reach, when Jiyong had thrown Seungri to the ground among all the broken pieces of mirror and everything he’d destroyed. Because he’d trusted Jiyong, trusted that underneath all of Jiyong’s ugly anger, Jiyong still loved him.
Seungri nods, feels the prick of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Jiyong’s lips curve upwards in a twisted smile, but Seungri doesn’t see it.
He feels it, though, when Jiyong brings the sharp edge of the blade to the skin on his collarbone and drags, slowly, watching as blood began to pool instantly where the blade had kissed.
Seungri screams, his body on fire, panic and adrenaline rushing through his veins. He screams and thrashes against Jiyong’s hold because the pain is so bad because it feels like he’s going to die because it hurts. Sobs are half-ripped from his throat and he struggles to get free, away from the cut of the blade, fear choking him.
Jiyong drops the blade. Leans down. Kisses the long trail of blood until his lips are smeared with it. Whispers sorry over and over again, like a mantra, his voice strangled because he’s crying too.
He kisses Seungri. Seungri tastes his own blood on his tongue.
Jiyong loves him. He won’t leave.
---
Jiyong runs his hand along Seungri’s face gently, caressing the tear-stained skin, eyes soft with something like love. Seungri looks back up at him, sees how the moon shines down across Jiyong’s face, twisting his features until he looks like one of the monsters Seungri used to be afraid of when he’d been younger.
“Hurts,” Seungri whimpers pathetically, tears already thick in his voice. “Need you.”
“I know you do,” comforts Jiyong, quietly, pressing his lips against the curve of Seungri’s throat. “I know it hurts, baby. I'll make it stop. I promise.”
Promises. The one thing Jiyong was never good at. Seungri decides to believe him anyway.
Seungri’s breath hitches when he feels the pierce of the needle in the crook of his elbow, the slight pressure as Jiyong presses down. Jiyong’s still murmuring reassuringly against his skin, comforting and promising. Seungri’s eyes flutter as he feels the drug start to kick in, his thinking sluggish and his body thick and heavy. And bliss, so close that Seungri can almost taste it.
It was almost disconcerting, the mix between pain and pleasure. Pain at the raw sores and bruises that adorned his ravaged body, pleasure of Jiyong’s cock brushing oh so teasingly against his prostate. Pain from the pieces of wood and debris that he feels jabbing into him as he lies on the destroyed bed, pieces of lamp and chair and glass bottles hidden underneath the stained bed sheets. Pleasure running through his veins lethargically.
And then pain once more, when Jiyong makes his first cut of the night.
“I'll show you how to forget, Seungri.”
Seungri doesn’t scream anymore, but he does gasp and whine and sob as the blade digs into his arm. The pain is so raw, so real, so overwhelming that Seungri forgets pleasure for a moment, even though he feels Jiyong still moving in him. He forgets everything except for the bittersweet sting and the feeling of his blood running down his skin.
“Forget, Seungri.”
Seungri forgets, coming hard without a single touch, too high on the painpleasure of the knife and the drugs and Jiyong to remember that Jiyong’s dying.
---
This time it’s Seungri holding the knife, a sharp one stolen from one of cupboards that Seungri had rummaged through. He sobs in relief, gripping the handle as if his life depended on it, sinking down to the ground with the blade clutched against his chest.
He lands on the floor, disturbing the mess of used needles, broken dishes, and blood that littered the floor. Forgetting is coming, he promises himself, no more pain.
No more pain.
Seungri brings the knife to his wrist, seeing the dark ugly cuts that already adorned his arm. He runs a finger along these cuts, hissing at the pain as he touches the raw lacerations.
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Seungri chokes, the pain surging forwards, and Seungri can’t wait any longer. He cuts deep and hard straight across his wrist, screaming as he falls, sprawling on the floor. He screams and forgets the whole time as the life slowly bleeds out of him.
Seungri’s very last thought is of Jiyong, whose cold body he can feel right next to him as he dies.