68
Blood and Steel
Super Junior/Supernatural (HanTeuk, CinHan, CinTeuk)
823 words. R. Third person. Fucked up. More in the adventures of car!Hannie.
The pull is the first thing he feels, a yank like fingernails digging into his chest and pulling, hooking into his flesh and not letting go. He presses his fingers into the metal and tries to stay, he doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to leave, but the pull is too strong and hard and pain lancing through him (no, not supposed to leave, his, his), and his glass is shattering, metal is bending and twisting and he gasps like his ribs are splintering in his chest, muscle twisting and ripping and pulling apart. No! he screams, Heechul in the back seat bleeding, bleeding inside his broken body.
Hankyung he thinks, Hankyung, he named me Hankyung, and I am his, his, only his.
And then the pull comes and he can’t resist it.
*
The voice is like oil on leather, smooth and slimy, shiny in its insincerity, and he hears it even before he knows that he does. He wakes to it in his ears and knows that he’s already been listening.
“You want him, right, little one? You want him, don’t you? Come on, little one, open those eyes.”
He doesn’t mean to obey, doesn’t want to, and just because the pain is gone doesn’t mean that everything is alright, but he can’t not. The sky is grey, grey that goes on forever in every direction, and he growls low in his chest when he turns to look.
“Now there, little one, that’s not so bad, is it?” The voice slides over him like rotting silk, pleasurable in texture but wrong, wrong in some fundamental, untouchable way. Eeteuk smiles, wide and clear, dimple on his cheek, and Hankyung tries not to shiver. “Nothing to be frightened of, I won’t hurt you, I promise,” and Hankyung knows, know, knows that he doesn’t mean it, that maybe even by saying it he means it less.
He’s naked, lying on the ground that isn’t ground, but grey like everything else. He reaches, reaches in to find himself (remembers twisted metal and broken glass, oil and gas dripping like blood, tears, life) but he can’t, and he whimpers before he can stop it from wrenching out, pulled from his chest, and it sounds like defeat. Hankyung doesn’t see him move, doesn’t hear it, but Eetuek’s fingernails dig into his chin, matching the smile on his face.
“Oh,” Eeteuk says, “you’ll find that you’re quite cut off from all that.” And he leans in, so quick so fast that Hankyung can’t even breathe, much less move. He licks at the side of Hankyung’s mouth, fitting his tongue into the corner and tasting, fingernails sharp enough to draw blood, and Hankyung whimpers again.
“Not yours, not yours, his,” Hankyung says against Eetuek’s mouth, and squeezes his eyes shut. Eeteuk just laughs, full throated and cruel.
“Come now, little one, you can’t possibly think it’s as easy as all that?” Fingers sliding over his chest, soft soft, soft like the threat they are, and Hankyung wants him, wants Heechul, not this. Not this.
“No, don’t. Not yours! He named me,” his voice is desperate and the fingers are skittering down over his stomach, Eetuek’s tongue sliding into his mouth, teeth digging into his lower lip, drawing blood, drawing blood and lapping it up.
Weight on his thighs and hips and Eeteuk pulls back long enough to speak.
“Yes, indeed, you’re his. But do you know whose he is, hm?” That laugh again, and Hankyung wants to deny it, but he can’t. “He’s mine. And so are you.”
*
He wakes up to painpainpainpain and curls up on the bed before he realizes that he’s in Heechul’s dream again, the hotel room that never changes from anything other the rotting bones of a one-loved place.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Heechul says, and Hankyung looks up.
“No,” he says, and curls up, away, doesn’t want to see Heechul’s bare torso and bitten lips, the bruises that disappear under the waistband of his jeans, the scratches and cuts.
“I’m sorry,” Heechul says, voice almost a whisper. “He fixed you.” And all Hankyung can feel is pain, pain everywhere, inside him.
“What did he do to me?” Hankyung asks, gasps, and Heechul’s fingers trail over his bare back. “What did he do to you?”
“He fixed you. And he fucked me.”
*
He wakes up again, and this time he’s awake, and he’s whole. Healed. He flexes his muscles and feels the rev of his engine; he runs his hands over the metal, feeling it whole and unmarked and clean. Heechul is still asleep in the back seat, shirt rucked up to his armpits, pants sliding down his white thighs, and he’s shivering. Hankyung turns up the heat a few degrees, watches him. Remembers sharp fingernails and teeth, pressure and pain and sacrifice.
He’s mine. And so are you.
Hankyung’s not sure that he wouldn’t rather be broken, instead.
*
End Notes: I blame k0uryuu for this, also. It's her cracky AU that did this, ahahaha. It was fun to write, actually. I have such LOVE for car!Hannie.
Super Junior/Supernatural (HanTeuk, CinHan, CinTeuk)
823 words. R. Third person. Fucked up. More in the adventures of car!Hannie.
The pull is the first thing he feels, a yank like fingernails digging into his chest and pulling, hooking into his flesh and not letting go. He presses his fingers into the metal and tries to stay, he doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to leave, but the pull is too strong and hard and pain lancing through him (no, not supposed to leave, his, his), and his glass is shattering, metal is bending and twisting and he gasps like his ribs are splintering in his chest, muscle twisting and ripping and pulling apart. No! he screams, Heechul in the back seat bleeding, bleeding inside his broken body.
Hankyung he thinks, Hankyung, he named me Hankyung, and I am his, his, only his.
And then the pull comes and he can’t resist it.
*
The voice is like oil on leather, smooth and slimy, shiny in its insincerity, and he hears it even before he knows that he does. He wakes to it in his ears and knows that he’s already been listening.
“You want him, right, little one? You want him, don’t you? Come on, little one, open those eyes.”
He doesn’t mean to obey, doesn’t want to, and just because the pain is gone doesn’t mean that everything is alright, but he can’t not. The sky is grey, grey that goes on forever in every direction, and he growls low in his chest when he turns to look.
“Now there, little one, that’s not so bad, is it?” The voice slides over him like rotting silk, pleasurable in texture but wrong, wrong in some fundamental, untouchable way. Eeteuk smiles, wide and clear, dimple on his cheek, and Hankyung tries not to shiver. “Nothing to be frightened of, I won’t hurt you, I promise,” and Hankyung knows, know, knows that he doesn’t mean it, that maybe even by saying it he means it less.
He’s naked, lying on the ground that isn’t ground, but grey like everything else. He reaches, reaches in to find himself (remembers twisted metal and broken glass, oil and gas dripping like blood, tears, life) but he can’t, and he whimpers before he can stop it from wrenching out, pulled from his chest, and it sounds like defeat. Hankyung doesn’t see him move, doesn’t hear it, but Eetuek’s fingernails dig into his chin, matching the smile on his face.
“Oh,” Eeteuk says, “you’ll find that you’re quite cut off from all that.” And he leans in, so quick so fast that Hankyung can’t even breathe, much less move. He licks at the side of Hankyung’s mouth, fitting his tongue into the corner and tasting, fingernails sharp enough to draw blood, and Hankyung whimpers again.
“Not yours, not yours, his,” Hankyung says against Eetuek’s mouth, and squeezes his eyes shut. Eeteuk just laughs, full throated and cruel.
“Come now, little one, you can’t possibly think it’s as easy as all that?” Fingers sliding over his chest, soft soft, soft like the threat they are, and Hankyung wants him, wants Heechul, not this. Not this.
“No, don’t. Not yours! He named me,” his voice is desperate and the fingers are skittering down over his stomach, Eetuek’s tongue sliding into his mouth, teeth digging into his lower lip, drawing blood, drawing blood and lapping it up.
Weight on his thighs and hips and Eeteuk pulls back long enough to speak.
“Yes, indeed, you’re his. But do you know whose he is, hm?” That laugh again, and Hankyung wants to deny it, but he can’t. “He’s mine. And so are you.”
*
He wakes up to painpainpainpain and curls up on the bed before he realizes that he’s in Heechul’s dream again, the hotel room that never changes from anything other the rotting bones of a one-loved place.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Heechul says, and Hankyung looks up.
“No,” he says, and curls up, away, doesn’t want to see Heechul’s bare torso and bitten lips, the bruises that disappear under the waistband of his jeans, the scratches and cuts.
“I’m sorry,” Heechul says, voice almost a whisper. “He fixed you.” And all Hankyung can feel is pain, pain everywhere, inside him.
“What did he do to me?” Hankyung asks, gasps, and Heechul’s fingers trail over his bare back. “What did he do to you?”
“He fixed you. And he fucked me.”
*
He wakes up again, and this time he’s awake, and he’s whole. Healed. He flexes his muscles and feels the rev of his engine; he runs his hands over the metal, feeling it whole and unmarked and clean. Heechul is still asleep in the back seat, shirt rucked up to his armpits, pants sliding down his white thighs, and he’s shivering. Hankyung turns up the heat a few degrees, watches him. Remembers sharp fingernails and teeth, pressure and pain and sacrifice.
He’s mine. And so are you.
Hankyung’s not sure that he wouldn’t rather be broken, instead.
*
End Notes: I blame k0uryuu for this, also. It's her cracky AU that did this, ahahaha. It was fun to write, actually. I have such LOVE for car!Hannie.