DRABBLES; 15-minute challenges
15-minute drabbles ; various pairings
roselit @ viewscape
angst, gen ; varying wordcounts
A/N: These are short pieces I wrote for several of the challenges on kpfw 9.0, in which writers were given 15 minutes to produce something based on a given prompt (pictures, poems/words, songs). All of these are stand-alone writings, unrelated to one another.
____________________
junsu-centric jaesu; PG, 242w.
(did not post or submit this one because i was too late)
Junsu sees it first.
It's in the way Jaejoong lets his hand linger on the magazine pages, fingers sliding across thin paper in a haphazard outline of Changmin's smiling face. It's in the way Jaejoong still presses the speed dial at two in the morning, a cracked smile on his lips that falters when Yunho says still at the studio, can't talk. Jaejoong's next breath releases in tandem with the click of disconnection on the other end, and Junsu slips back into his room, pretends he doesn't see.
Yoochun is a little different. It's like he knows, and every night, Junsu presses an ear to the door, hoping for leaked secrets, but all he can catch are feather-light whispers and the rustle of sheets.
And as always, he stumbles upon Jaejoong in the hallway the next morning, sleep in his eyes and hair mussed. Jaejoong gives him a look, the same one that Junsu swears says everything, but he's just not listening quite right.
"Morning, hyung," Junsu says first. Jaejoong smiles, something small that tugs the corners of his lips upward.
"Morning, Junsu." Jaejoong slips past, heading toward the bathroom and yawning as his slippers scratch along the hardwood floor with each step.
Junsu watches him for a moment, pondering whether to tell him that he agrees-no, he wouldn't want this any other way-but the bathroom door clicks shut.
Tomorrow, Junsu decides, because if there's one thing that won't change, it's that.
jaesuchun; R, 149w.
It's shameful, and Jaejoong knows it. He knows it in every brush of lips against skin, every moan and gasp drawn, and he doesn't know what's worse-the way Yoochun melts so willingly under his fingertips or the fact that he knows Junsu's watching, the door left ajar with every ounce of intention.
Jaejoong redeems himself, he thinks, he redeems himself because it's easy to pretend that these thin fingers are Junsu's, these lips are his, these touches, this hunger. He's looking down at Junsu's face in the dark, fingers twisting into sweat-ridden sheets. He's stealing Junsu's every breath, push and grind, and release is that much closer.
When Jaejoong finally collapses to the side, he threads his fingers between Yoochun's. He starts to speak, but Yoochun shushes him, chases delirium from his lips.
Junsu walks away then, as he always does, and misses his name whispered along Jaejoong's tongue.
jaesu; PG, 146w.
An hour to sunrise, Jaejoong feels fingers skirting along his arm, tangible enough to pull him from the lure of laundered cotton pressing against his cheek. He stirs, warmth aligned against his back in the hyperboles and uneven planes that are Junsu, familiar and inviting all at once, and he's blinking sleep from his eyes.
Junsu shifts then, all faded musk and skin-deep heat, and Jaejoong feels a smile against his neck. It's slow, drawing him in with every breath Junsu releases along his skin.
And always, as if without a will of his own, Jaejoong opens, lets Junsu seep against and into him. He smiles, a cracked attempt whose only witness is the dark ceiling above.
Jaejoong was never one to resist. As Junsu moves closer, he meets him halfway, like only lovers ever do, and tightens the embrace if only to keep from waking.
hosu; PG, 203w.
Junsu's never had a problem speaking, singing, letting himself get carried along by stream of consciousness. More often than not, he doesn't think, but it's worth it when the first thing to greet his ear is laughter.
But sometimes (or every time, he's not sure), Yunho makes an appearance, easing into the conversation as easily as if he's been born for it, all million-watt smiles and gentleness etched in every look. And like this, Junsu finds his voice stuck in the space between chest and throat.
So when he stumbles into the bathroom one night to find Yunho sporting nothing more than a towel around his waist, skin glistening and hair matted to scalp, the only thing he's capable of is gawking and pretending that the steam is what's making his body burn. Junsu forgets to apologize and starts to back out, but Yunho's beside him in the next instant, and then he finds himself pressed back against the door.
The distance between is closing quickly, and Junsu fidgets, tries to mutter something about an accident and he's sorry, but nothing coherent comes out.
"Shhh," Yunho soothes, and when lips meet his, firm and sure, Junsu finds his voice just enough to moan.
jaesu; R, 202w.
Half an hour to midnight, Jaejoong finally lets himself snap and go, heavy bass and the tight press of bodies fueling a heady adrenaline rush. Sweat trickles down his back and the club lights are as blinding as the haphazard masses of people around him, but with alcohol in his veins, his inhibitions have long since abandoned him.
Jaejoong thinks his morals must've left, too, because the next thing he knows, there's someone close-closer than close-and dark eyes meet his, hips rolling rough and hard against his own.
Jaejoong grins in response, all too eager to let the intoxication push him into addiction. The stranger is both familiar and different, eyes never leaving Jaejoong's and his body screaming sin in every push and grind. Jaejoong finds he has to bite his lip to suppress a moan, heat pooling south, but the other man leans in until Jaejoong feels his breath along his ear.
"Junsu," he says, and it takes Jaejoong five seconds to realize it's his name, another three to manage a shaky moan of a curse when Junsu's hands are suddenly down there, and all of one second to find Junsu's lips, messy and desperate, almost clumsy but somehow so right.
jaemin; R, 261w.
Four knocks against wood, the last two in quick succession, so soft they're barely audible in Jaejoong's run-down apartment. It's a code of sorts, something that only the two of them know, like a secret itching to be said.
Sprawled lax across the couch, springs digging into his hip and torn cloth scratching against his skin, Jaejoong pretends not to hear. But for all his wishes to be deaf, the knocks come again, a little faster, and with bones feeling heavy as lead, Jaejoong rises and makes his way to the door.
When he pulls it open, Changmin's standing on the threshold, tall, rigid, dark with a smirk that only widens across familiar lips. Jaejoong meets his eyes, clutching onto that last strand of defiance, even as Changmin suddenly shoves him backward.
He hits the wall with a grunt, knees threatening to give in, but Changmin is pressed flush against him, fingers cold and hard as they jab and grasp. Jaejoong ignores the dull pain, ignores the promise of bruises in the morning, slumped between man and wall like a soldier who's lost the will to fight long ago.
Like every time, Jaejoong clenches his eyes shut as he lets Changmin take each piece of him. And Changmin does, sharp edges and brute force that he is, and Jaejoong pretends that this is just another sad love song he plays on loop in his head.
And the first line of the chorus is always the same, a line that Jaejoong can't bring to roll over his tongue: What happened to us?
____________________
A/N: Speedwriting drabbles isn't something I have any particular strength in, I've realized. :| I'm only satisfied with two of these, but I'm just glad I was able to write. ♥
roselit @ viewscape
angst, gen ; varying wordcounts
A/N: These are short pieces I wrote for several of the challenges on kpfw 9.0, in which writers were given 15 minutes to produce something based on a given prompt (pictures, poems/words, songs). All of these are stand-alone writings, unrelated to one another.
____________________
junsu-centric jaesu; PG, 242w.
(did not post or submit this one because i was too late)
Junsu sees it first.
It's in the way Jaejoong lets his hand linger on the magazine pages, fingers sliding across thin paper in a haphazard outline of Changmin's smiling face. It's in the way Jaejoong still presses the speed dial at two in the morning, a cracked smile on his lips that falters when Yunho says still at the studio, can't talk. Jaejoong's next breath releases in tandem with the click of disconnection on the other end, and Junsu slips back into his room, pretends he doesn't see.
Yoochun is a little different. It's like he knows, and every night, Junsu presses an ear to the door, hoping for leaked secrets, but all he can catch are feather-light whispers and the rustle of sheets.
And as always, he stumbles upon Jaejoong in the hallway the next morning, sleep in his eyes and hair mussed. Jaejoong gives him a look, the same one that Junsu swears says everything, but he's just not listening quite right.
"Morning, hyung," Junsu says first. Jaejoong smiles, something small that tugs the corners of his lips upward.
"Morning, Junsu." Jaejoong slips past, heading toward the bathroom and yawning as his slippers scratch along the hardwood floor with each step.
Junsu watches him for a moment, pondering whether to tell him that he agrees-no, he wouldn't want this any other way-but the bathroom door clicks shut.
Tomorrow, Junsu decides, because if there's one thing that won't change, it's that.
jaesuchun; R, 149w.
It's shameful, and Jaejoong knows it. He knows it in every brush of lips against skin, every moan and gasp drawn, and he doesn't know what's worse-the way Yoochun melts so willingly under his fingertips or the fact that he knows Junsu's watching, the door left ajar with every ounce of intention.
Jaejoong redeems himself, he thinks, he redeems himself because it's easy to pretend that these thin fingers are Junsu's, these lips are his, these touches, this hunger. He's looking down at Junsu's face in the dark, fingers twisting into sweat-ridden sheets. He's stealing Junsu's every breath, push and grind, and release is that much closer.
When Jaejoong finally collapses to the side, he threads his fingers between Yoochun's. He starts to speak, but Yoochun shushes him, chases delirium from his lips.
Junsu walks away then, as he always does, and misses his name whispered along Jaejoong's tongue.
jaesu; PG, 146w.
An hour to sunrise, Jaejoong feels fingers skirting along his arm, tangible enough to pull him from the lure of laundered cotton pressing against his cheek. He stirs, warmth aligned against his back in the hyperboles and uneven planes that are Junsu, familiar and inviting all at once, and he's blinking sleep from his eyes.
Junsu shifts then, all faded musk and skin-deep heat, and Jaejoong feels a smile against his neck. It's slow, drawing him in with every breath Junsu releases along his skin.
And always, as if without a will of his own, Jaejoong opens, lets Junsu seep against and into him. He smiles, a cracked attempt whose only witness is the dark ceiling above.
Jaejoong was never one to resist. As Junsu moves closer, he meets him halfway, like only lovers ever do, and tightens the embrace if only to keep from waking.
hosu; PG, 203w.
Junsu's never had a problem speaking, singing, letting himself get carried along by stream of consciousness. More often than not, he doesn't think, but it's worth it when the first thing to greet his ear is laughter.
But sometimes (or every time, he's not sure), Yunho makes an appearance, easing into the conversation as easily as if he's been born for it, all million-watt smiles and gentleness etched in every look. And like this, Junsu finds his voice stuck in the space between chest and throat.
So when he stumbles into the bathroom one night to find Yunho sporting nothing more than a towel around his waist, skin glistening and hair matted to scalp, the only thing he's capable of is gawking and pretending that the steam is what's making his body burn. Junsu forgets to apologize and starts to back out, but Yunho's beside him in the next instant, and then he finds himself pressed back against the door.
The distance between is closing quickly, and Junsu fidgets, tries to mutter something about an accident and he's sorry, but nothing coherent comes out.
"Shhh," Yunho soothes, and when lips meet his, firm and sure, Junsu finds his voice just enough to moan.
jaesu; R, 202w.
Half an hour to midnight, Jaejoong finally lets himself snap and go, heavy bass and the tight press of bodies fueling a heady adrenaline rush. Sweat trickles down his back and the club lights are as blinding as the haphazard masses of people around him, but with alcohol in his veins, his inhibitions have long since abandoned him.
Jaejoong thinks his morals must've left, too, because the next thing he knows, there's someone close-closer than close-and dark eyes meet his, hips rolling rough and hard against his own.
Jaejoong grins in response, all too eager to let the intoxication push him into addiction. The stranger is both familiar and different, eyes never leaving Jaejoong's and his body screaming sin in every push and grind. Jaejoong finds he has to bite his lip to suppress a moan, heat pooling south, but the other man leans in until Jaejoong feels his breath along his ear.
"Junsu," he says, and it takes Jaejoong five seconds to realize it's his name, another three to manage a shaky moan of a curse when Junsu's hands are suddenly down there, and all of one second to find Junsu's lips, messy and desperate, almost clumsy but somehow so right.
jaemin; R, 261w.
Four knocks against wood, the last two in quick succession, so soft they're barely audible in Jaejoong's run-down apartment. It's a code of sorts, something that only the two of them know, like a secret itching to be said.
Sprawled lax across the couch, springs digging into his hip and torn cloth scratching against his skin, Jaejoong pretends not to hear. But for all his wishes to be deaf, the knocks come again, a little faster, and with bones feeling heavy as lead, Jaejoong rises and makes his way to the door.
When he pulls it open, Changmin's standing on the threshold, tall, rigid, dark with a smirk that only widens across familiar lips. Jaejoong meets his eyes, clutching onto that last strand of defiance, even as Changmin suddenly shoves him backward.
He hits the wall with a grunt, knees threatening to give in, but Changmin is pressed flush against him, fingers cold and hard as they jab and grasp. Jaejoong ignores the dull pain, ignores the promise of bruises in the morning, slumped between man and wall like a soldier who's lost the will to fight long ago.
Like every time, Jaejoong clenches his eyes shut as he lets Changmin take each piece of him. And Changmin does, sharp edges and brute force that he is, and Jaejoong pretends that this is just another sad love song he plays on loop in his head.
And the first line of the chorus is always the same, a line that Jaejoong can't bring to roll over his tongue: What happened to us?
____________________
A/N: Speedwriting drabbles isn't something I have any particular strength in, I've realized. :| I'm only satisfied with two of these, but I'm just glad I was able to write. ♥