Big Bang Fic: G-Ri
me you and the dance floor
jiyong/seungri, porn romance
x-posted to bigbang_fanfic, yokshim, and gd♥ri.
It’s not exactly the smooth press of tongue to skin or the blinding white heat racing through your pulse; not exactly. But it’s sure as hell as close to it as you can get with words. Pulses rise like racecars before a finish line. Zoom zoom, go, go faster, take me, take me with you.
He palms you roughly through your jeans with a sort of hesitation that makes the both of you blush. You both know that you shouldn’t be doing this, but. Well. (What idiot makes the rules anyway? You’ll both do whatever you damn fucking please.) He’s no genius, not here, not when the dance floor morphs into a bedroom and the only stage you’ve got is air and heavy breathing and simple heart-shattering touches, and it shows. But, god, you don’t think you’ve ever melted so thoroughly into something before, complete liquid from darkened, dilated eyes to the tips of your toes, curling and clenching with anticipation.
He whispers words into your shoulder, verses and rhymes that don’t quite rhyme or make sense but somehow narrate everything your feeling. Capsized cups on frozen cement sidewalks.
‘I see you. I got you, I got you. Hold tight. God, fucking hell. Ri, don’t fucking let go. Don’t you fucking dare. Because fuck fuck fuck. God, do that again.’
Play. Rewind. Repeat.
Your stomach tingles and drops, flips, thoughts crashing around in your head until you’re crashing into him, all hot and tense and everywhere, just. Just everywhere. ‘Ji-‘
You start and stop and stutter and breathe and, fuck, god, please please please. He laughs all dry and slow like, pulling your face close to his with ghostly, searing fingertips.
‘Have you found it yet?’
You have no idea what the fuck he is talking about but you nod because, hell, you’ve found something. (Him.) And he laughs and laughs and laughs before suddenly you’re pushing harder and forcing him to stop, notice you. Notice, you beg, just notice me. Know that I’m alive.
His smile lilts, sliding lazily over your neck and into your heart, your thoughts, kissing his way down you until. Yeah. He notices. He notices. God, he notices.
‘Promise,’ he says into your hip bones, sharp and angular with smoothened fingertips running over the trail of hair from your bellybutton into your jeans (half unbuttoned, clinging, hot, sticky).
You blink through the haze and stare down at his mess of hair, gripping his shoulders tightly as he lays burn marks (kisses) onto your stomach. ‘Promise what?’ you ask and he stops and laughs some more, briefly and out of breath, and. God, you don’t get him.
‘I don’t know. But promise me anyway.’ You stare and he laughs (again, again, and over again). He gives. ‘Because I like how it sounds,’ he whispers into the inside of your thigh. Your hands fall to your side, unable to reach him anymore. Poetry, sound waves, diction, articulation, liking the way words fall together; it makes sense if only because it’s Jiyong.
‘Okay,’ you say. ‘I promise.’
You shift together, wrapped in something inexplicably lovely, like the sheen of fireworks or the mirror in your dance studio, reflections and feelings pooling into an image of fluid dance moves. And this. god, fuck, ‘Holy hell,’ you hiss and stretch and pull and melt and. And.
Inexplicable. Lovely.
Play. Rewind. Repeat.
And crash boom bang. It’s love.
T'was originally for MJ, though I realized that porn is slightly inappropriate, so. Uhm. To flamingkey. Because of this comment thread. Even though she hates porn. |DDD
jiyong/seungri, porn romance
x-posted to bigbang_fanfic, yokshim, and gd♥ri.
It’s not exactly the smooth press of tongue to skin or the blinding white heat racing through your pulse; not exactly. But it’s sure as hell as close to it as you can get with words. Pulses rise like racecars before a finish line. Zoom zoom, go, go faster, take me, take me with you.
He palms you roughly through your jeans with a sort of hesitation that makes the both of you blush. You both know that you shouldn’t be doing this, but. Well. (What idiot makes the rules anyway? You’ll both do whatever you damn fucking please.) He’s no genius, not here, not when the dance floor morphs into a bedroom and the only stage you’ve got is air and heavy breathing and simple heart-shattering touches, and it shows. But, god, you don’t think you’ve ever melted so thoroughly into something before, complete liquid from darkened, dilated eyes to the tips of your toes, curling and clenching with anticipation.
He whispers words into your shoulder, verses and rhymes that don’t quite rhyme or make sense but somehow narrate everything your feeling. Capsized cups on frozen cement sidewalks.
‘I see you. I got you, I got you. Hold tight. God, fucking hell. Ri, don’t fucking let go. Don’t you fucking dare. Because fuck fuck fuck. God, do that again.’
Play. Rewind. Repeat.
Your stomach tingles and drops, flips, thoughts crashing around in your head until you’re crashing into him, all hot and tense and everywhere, just. Just everywhere. ‘Ji-‘
You start and stop and stutter and breathe and, fuck, god, please please please. He laughs all dry and slow like, pulling your face close to his with ghostly, searing fingertips.
‘Have you found it yet?’
You have no idea what the fuck he is talking about but you nod because, hell, you’ve found something. (Him.) And he laughs and laughs and laughs before suddenly you’re pushing harder and forcing him to stop, notice you. Notice, you beg, just notice me. Know that I’m alive.
His smile lilts, sliding lazily over your neck and into your heart, your thoughts, kissing his way down you until. Yeah. He notices. He notices. God, he notices.
‘Promise,’ he says into your hip bones, sharp and angular with smoothened fingertips running over the trail of hair from your bellybutton into your jeans (half unbuttoned, clinging, hot, sticky).
You blink through the haze and stare down at his mess of hair, gripping his shoulders tightly as he lays burn marks (kisses) onto your stomach. ‘Promise what?’ you ask and he stops and laughs some more, briefly and out of breath, and. God, you don’t get him.
‘I don’t know. But promise me anyway.’ You stare and he laughs (again, again, and over again). He gives. ‘Because I like how it sounds,’ he whispers into the inside of your thigh. Your hands fall to your side, unable to reach him anymore. Poetry, sound waves, diction, articulation, liking the way words fall together; it makes sense if only because it’s Jiyong.
‘Okay,’ you say. ‘I promise.’
You shift together, wrapped in something inexplicably lovely, like the sheen of fireworks or the mirror in your dance studio, reflections and feelings pooling into an image of fluid dance moves. And this. god, fuck, ‘Holy hell,’ you hiss and stretch and pull and melt and. And.
Inexplicable. Lovely.
Play. Rewind. Repeat.
And crash boom bang. It’s love.
T'was originally for MJ, though I realized that porn is slightly inappropriate, so. Uhm. To flamingkey. Because of this comment thread. Even though she hates porn. |DDD