Fic: Here/There
Title: Here/There
Pairing: Jaejoong/Youngwoong
Rating: R
Side story to Facets. UM. There isn't really a point to this, except it's been floating around in my head ever since orionsroad promised me Yunho/Youngwoong/Jaejoong smut, and I just read it today here so I suppose this is a direct result of that. That, and the fact that I got home from school early =D
Imagine this- your fingers, splayed out, stretched wide, glass cool under your palms. Your face, eyes dark, skin pale, familiar, drawing close, close, closer, as you lean in, as your breath starts to fog the surface.
Imagine this- your fingers, splayed out, stretched wide, only it isn’t glass, under your palms, but flesh, hands, hands and fingers that fit to yours, warm, identical. Your face, eyes dark, skin pale, familiar, the only difference the disparity in the colour of your hair, pale gold to your black. Close, close, closer, until there’s barely any space left, between the both of you, until you draw away, lean back. “Wait”, you say, breathless, “wait-” but then his lips are there, soft, soft, demanding, and you let him; lace your fingers together. Strange, you think, when you pull apart, how you can want him, the way you do, this boy with your face, your hands, the line of your jaw, a raw magnetism that you can only aspire to. There is cool infallibility in that gaze that lasts until he fucks you, and then there is heat, heat, fire, words, phrases and imprecations that make you blush, that send you over the edge. You watch, when he comes, head tilted back, eyes closed; wonder if you look the same, when you do; open, vulnerable, breathtaking. Delicious, even as your heart wrenches at the look in his eyes, as you draw him close. You can read him now, like words off a page, his guards down, shattered. There are no barriers between you, when you kiss him, when you run lazy fingers down his spine. You like him like this, sated, sleepy, sweet; relish the way he shivers under your fingers as you trace old scars on hip, on side, on knee.
“Stab wound”, he’d told you once, nonchalant, in the days you’ve had since the first time, your fingers tracing the slightly puckered flesh, the scar old, faded, still visible. “Oh, Youngwoong”, into his shoulder, “Youngwoong-” He’d laughed, low, brittle about the edges. “Comes with the job”, he’d told you, half amused, and you’d tangled fingers in his hair so you wouldn’t have to see the look in his eyes (cold, cold, resigned).
“He loves you”, you say this time, his breath warm on your neck. It doesn’t sting as much, out loud. You think you could learn to share, when he draws away, expression plaintive, disbelieving, think you could live like this, limbs and sheets tangled about you.
“He does”, you insist, when he doesn’t say a word, when the silence stretches too long. “And you love him.” He opens his mouth but doesn’t deny it. “I love him. I would never- I could never take that away- take you away from him- He loves you, Youngwoong.”
“And you?” He asks, soft, soft, a breath of wind, of air, there and then gone again, and you almost miss it.
“I could.” The truth, the truth- “You, me, we could- I could-”
You stumble, trip over the words, stop; think he understands, when he smiles, wide, genuine, when he moves to press a kiss into your cheek, to mouth into your skin.
“Thank you.”
Pairing: Jaejoong/Youngwoong
Rating: R
Side story to Facets. UM. There isn't really a point to this, except it's been floating around in my head ever since orionsroad promised me Yunho/Youngwoong/Jaejoong smut, and I just read it today here so I suppose this is a direct result of that. That, and the fact that I got home from school early =D
Imagine this- your fingers, splayed out, stretched wide, glass cool under your palms. Your face, eyes dark, skin pale, familiar, drawing close, close, closer, as you lean in, as your breath starts to fog the surface.
Imagine this- your fingers, splayed out, stretched wide, only it isn’t glass, under your palms, but flesh, hands, hands and fingers that fit to yours, warm, identical. Your face, eyes dark, skin pale, familiar, the only difference the disparity in the colour of your hair, pale gold to your black. Close, close, closer, until there’s barely any space left, between the both of you, until you draw away, lean back. “Wait”, you say, breathless, “wait-” but then his lips are there, soft, soft, demanding, and you let him; lace your fingers together. Strange, you think, when you pull apart, how you can want him, the way you do, this boy with your face, your hands, the line of your jaw, a raw magnetism that you can only aspire to. There is cool infallibility in that gaze that lasts until he fucks you, and then there is heat, heat, fire, words, phrases and imprecations that make you blush, that send you over the edge. You watch, when he comes, head tilted back, eyes closed; wonder if you look the same, when you do; open, vulnerable, breathtaking. Delicious, even as your heart wrenches at the look in his eyes, as you draw him close. You can read him now, like words off a page, his guards down, shattered. There are no barriers between you, when you kiss him, when you run lazy fingers down his spine. You like him like this, sated, sleepy, sweet; relish the way he shivers under your fingers as you trace old scars on hip, on side, on knee.
“Stab wound”, he’d told you once, nonchalant, in the days you’ve had since the first time, your fingers tracing the slightly puckered flesh, the scar old, faded, still visible. “Oh, Youngwoong”, into his shoulder, “Youngwoong-” He’d laughed, low, brittle about the edges. “Comes with the job”, he’d told you, half amused, and you’d tangled fingers in his hair so you wouldn’t have to see the look in his eyes (cold, cold, resigned).
“He loves you”, you say this time, his breath warm on your neck. It doesn’t sting as much, out loud. You think you could learn to share, when he draws away, expression plaintive, disbelieving, think you could live like this, limbs and sheets tangled about you.
“He does”, you insist, when he doesn’t say a word, when the silence stretches too long. “And you love him.” He opens his mouth but doesn’t deny it. “I love him. I would never- I could never take that away- take you away from him- He loves you, Youngwoong.”
“And you?” He asks, soft, soft, a breath of wind, of air, there and then gone again, and you almost miss it.
“I could.” The truth, the truth- “You, me, we could- I could-”
You stumble, trip over the words, stop; think he understands, when he smiles, wide, genuine, when he moves to press a kiss into your cheek, to mouth into your skin.
“Thank you.”