part 5.
Wow, does anyone even remember this fic?? @.@ I completely lost the urge to write until a few weeks ago when I was listening to a certain song and everything just started coming out. So here we are!! ;DD Another point of view for you all to keep up with~
Title: The Time After
Pairings: none yet
Rating: NC-17
Author: shinyasangel
Summary: Micky POV this time~
Past Part(s): Prologue | Part One : Only Me | Part Two : On Your Feet Again | Part Three : Plans Are Slowly Changing | Part Four : Before I Begin, I'm Over
-- The Void.
I've seen so many faces
These hands have lied before
I've kissed so many lips it's blocked my mind
I've whispered bullshit, nothings
I've cried alone in night
I thought I'd found the one a million times
But doesn't anyone fill the void?
Doesn't anyone kill the joy?
Doesn't anyone take the place of you in my heart?
And doesn't anyone fill the void?
Doesn't anyone kill the joy?
Doesn't anyone take the place of you?
I let a stranger love me
I gave away my pride
I bit my lips, so I could block my mind
I've called your name to others
Just like a spinal chord
Severed and broken but the spark still tries
And doesn't anyone fill the void?
Doesn't anyone kill the joy?
Doesn't anyone take the place of you in my heart?
Doesn't anyone fill the void?
Doesn't anyone kill the noise?
Doesn't anyone take the place of you?
Darren Hayes - Void
Sweat matted chocolate brown hair to warm skin as a soft moan tumbled from pouty lips, the young man’s fingers running down the smooth, toned, feminine body underneath him. Their grip tightened on slender hips while his own met hers in a sporadic, passionate dance; slick skin slapping together and then moving away.
Liquid heat was settling in the young man’s lower stomach, the dance trapping his mind in euphoric bliss as he sucked on his lower lip. Rosy bow lips grazed the glistening skin along the curve of his neck. Another moan. Another jolt of his hips.
Manicured nails dug into the tan skin of his back, puncturing the skin just enough to sting. Her breathless voice reaching a delicate crescendo before her grip softened. He could feel her body go lax, melting down against the mattress beneath him as his desperate dance solo reached its frenetic peak. Desperate to near oblivion as he thrust inside the depths of her warmth.
The heat was torrid now and he went tumbling over the edge. He bit back a name -- his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to swallow it down as he climaxed. His back arched and he let out a low, husky moan, lower muscles quivering as he was drained of his passion.
And then, as always, the chill of regret plagued him as he relaxed into the woman's soft body, his arms around her waist. And as always, he wished that it was a specific someone else.
“Yoochun oppa..?” came a breathless voice underneath him. The presence of her voice plunging the knife of guilt into the pit of his stomach. His grip tightened around her waist, taking deep breaths and wishing it would all disappear - wishing she would disappear.
Long, delicate fingers combed their way through his sweaty locks and a kiss was placed atop his head. Each action of love and devotion only twisted the knife inside of him, but a soft content smile graced his handsome features nonetheless - he had always been a good actor.
He lifted his head from its comfortable resting place on her shoulder and let out a mumbled grunt in reply. Placing a soft kiss on those rose-stained tiers, one arm released its grip on her waist to allow his hands to smooth her hair back. "Hyesu..." -- a soft murmur on his lips as he placed another kiss to her temple.
"I love you," she whispered, a satiated smile on her lips while her hazy, shadowed eyes met his.
Those words were like a bullet to the heart. Leaving him to bleed on the inside as the knife twisted and sliced in deeper.
Her smile dimmed in the silence that followed, her large eyes searching his for something they knew they would never find.
"I know," he mumbled as he pulled out of her and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his arms resting against his knees as he stared off into space. An awkward silence followed. A moment later, she sat up, the crisp sheets shifting as cool fingers trailed over his broad upper back. He shivered.
The young actor reached out for the comforting pack of cigarettes that lay on the bedside table, placing one stick between his lips and lighting it swiftly. “Don’t you have a shoot tomorrow morning?” he asked gruffly, inhaling as much nicotine as he could in one go. He could feel her soft body press stubbornly up against his, slender arms wrapping around his waist. “You should get some rest before then..” he continued, the bleeding getting worse as the knife cut in deeper.
Hyesu pressed a surrendering kiss to the back of his neck. "You're right. I'll go wipe this makeup off and..." Her voice trailed off, dejected, as she slid away from him.
Alone at last, he sighed, hearing her fumble around in the hotel bathroom for a while before the shower turned on. Glancing behind himself, he took in the mussed sheets -- evidence of their activities -- and felt his stomach churn. Why did he always end up here? Why was there always another hotel room? Another fuck; another cigarette. The vicious cycle was eroding, breaking him down into small fragments of himself.
Slipping on his boxers, he stood and paced the width of the room with a fresh cigarette between his lips. The nicotine calmed him as he glanced out the window and down at the busy streets of Seoul, watching people walk past in a hurry to get to their homes. And suddenly a weariness beyond his twenty six years overcame him, the weight of his world crashing down on his shoulders as he stood there, eyes affixed on the lives of others below him.
He envied them, those people comfortable in their everyday routines, without a care in the world, with families and friends to turn to when life dealt them a bad card. It wasn't that Yoochun didn't have friends -- he just somehow ended up in bed with most of them. Others only wanted him for his connections to film producers and extras try-outs. He had a family that loved him dearly -- if only they weren't half a world away. And the one connection, the stronghold he had found after his return to Korea, was gone. Unreachable.
With a shake of his head, the young actor snubbed his cigarette in the ash tray that rested on the bedside table. Picking up his clothes from the floor, he nonchalantly slipped into them, and placed a cap on top of his bed-tousled hair. Deciding it was time to escape to the sanctity of his own shower, he left a quickly scribbled note on the hotel notepad before heading out, shutting the door as he went. He paid for the room and returned the key before disappearing from the lobby in search of a cab that would take him home, as if running away would release him of his guilt and longing.
The cab ride was short and he soon found himself in front of his apartment building, paying the cab driver. As the cab drove off, Yoochun trudged up the steps that led to his door, fingers playing with stubborn keys that didn't want to be pulled from his pocket. Jingling in the quiet night, they finally relented and did their deed -- allowing him into his roomy, tastefully decorated apartment.
"I'm home..." he murmured to the empty air, shutting the door and slipping out of his shoes. Time for another cigarette. Once another burned between his lips, he made his way to the kitchen and dropped his jacket on the table, letting the expensive fabric crumple and crease as his slender body slid into a chair.
Staring off at the wall, he brought the stick to his lips again and again, giving himself hit after hit of the poison. Cigarettes were always too short for his tastes, and soon the horrible flavor of the filter made him grimace and snub it out in an ash tray.
His mind was empty, just the way he liked it. But he could still feel everything bubbling just beneath the surface. His breath hitched slightly as he stood and made his way over to his own personal bar. As he glanced over the selection of expensive liquors, a lone tear crept down his cheek, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake. Yoochun quickly lifted a hand to brush it away, using the same to grab a bottle of gin and a glass.
He carried both into the bedroom and set them on the bedside table. Slipping out of his clothes again, he headed toward the shower. Letting the warm water run down his smooth skin, he let out a contented sigh and tilted his head back to catch the droplets as they fell. A thousand faces faded in and out of focus behind his eyelids -- every one of them made his skin crawl. Thoughts began to rise from within and he turned off the faucets and stumbled out of the shower.
Forgoing drying off, Yoochun fell back on his bed and grabbed the glass, filling it to the brim with gin before downing it straight. The dry, strong, and bitter liquid burned a path down his throat. Licking his lips, he frowned and took another sip as his skin began to warm.
With the first glass swiftly drained, he poured another. And another. And another, until the room started to spin and his thoughts began to blur in and out of focus. His fingers relaxed around a nearly empty glass, and he vaguely felt it slip from his grasp and land on the soft bedding. His eyes slid closed, thoughts slipping away into the forgiving blank of sleep. Another rotation of the cycle complete.
Repeat.
And thanks to the wonderful sungie86 who helped me with betaing this time!! ♥
Title: The Time After
Pairings: none yet
Rating: NC-17
Author: shinyasangel
Summary: Micky POV this time~
Past Part(s): Prologue | Part One : Only Me | Part Two : On Your Feet Again | Part Three : Plans Are Slowly Changing | Part Four : Before I Begin, I'm Over
-- The Void.
I've seen so many faces
These hands have lied before
I've kissed so many lips it's blocked my mind
I've whispered bullshit, nothings
I've cried alone in night
I thought I'd found the one a million times
But doesn't anyone fill the void?
Doesn't anyone kill the joy?
Doesn't anyone take the place of you in my heart?
And doesn't anyone fill the void?
Doesn't anyone kill the joy?
Doesn't anyone take the place of you?
I let a stranger love me
I gave away my pride
I bit my lips, so I could block my mind
I've called your name to others
Just like a spinal chord
Severed and broken but the spark still tries
And doesn't anyone fill the void?
Doesn't anyone kill the joy?
Doesn't anyone take the place of you in my heart?
Doesn't anyone fill the void?
Doesn't anyone kill the noise?
Doesn't anyone take the place of you?
Darren Hayes - Void
Sweat matted chocolate brown hair to warm skin as a soft moan tumbled from pouty lips, the young man’s fingers running down the smooth, toned, feminine body underneath him. Their grip tightened on slender hips while his own met hers in a sporadic, passionate dance; slick skin slapping together and then moving away.
Liquid heat was settling in the young man’s lower stomach, the dance trapping his mind in euphoric bliss as he sucked on his lower lip. Rosy bow lips grazed the glistening skin along the curve of his neck. Another moan. Another jolt of his hips.
Manicured nails dug into the tan skin of his back, puncturing the skin just enough to sting. Her breathless voice reaching a delicate crescendo before her grip softened. He could feel her body go lax, melting down against the mattress beneath him as his desperate dance solo reached its frenetic peak. Desperate to near oblivion as he thrust inside the depths of her warmth.
The heat was torrid now and he went tumbling over the edge. He bit back a name -- his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to swallow it down as he climaxed. His back arched and he let out a low, husky moan, lower muscles quivering as he was drained of his passion.
And then, as always, the chill of regret plagued him as he relaxed into the woman's soft body, his arms around her waist. And as always, he wished that it was a specific someone else.
“Yoochun oppa..?” came a breathless voice underneath him. The presence of her voice plunging the knife of guilt into the pit of his stomach. His grip tightened around her waist, taking deep breaths and wishing it would all disappear - wishing she would disappear.
Long, delicate fingers combed their way through his sweaty locks and a kiss was placed atop his head. Each action of love and devotion only twisted the knife inside of him, but a soft content smile graced his handsome features nonetheless - he had always been a good actor.
He lifted his head from its comfortable resting place on her shoulder and let out a mumbled grunt in reply. Placing a soft kiss on those rose-stained tiers, one arm released its grip on her waist to allow his hands to smooth her hair back. "Hyesu..." -- a soft murmur on his lips as he placed another kiss to her temple.
"I love you," she whispered, a satiated smile on her lips while her hazy, shadowed eyes met his.
Those words were like a bullet to the heart. Leaving him to bleed on the inside as the knife twisted and sliced in deeper.
Her smile dimmed in the silence that followed, her large eyes searching his for something they knew they would never find.
"I know," he mumbled as he pulled out of her and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his arms resting against his knees as he stared off into space. An awkward silence followed. A moment later, she sat up, the crisp sheets shifting as cool fingers trailed over his broad upper back. He shivered.
The young actor reached out for the comforting pack of cigarettes that lay on the bedside table, placing one stick between his lips and lighting it swiftly. “Don’t you have a shoot tomorrow morning?” he asked gruffly, inhaling as much nicotine as he could in one go. He could feel her soft body press stubbornly up against his, slender arms wrapping around his waist. “You should get some rest before then..” he continued, the bleeding getting worse as the knife cut in deeper.
Hyesu pressed a surrendering kiss to the back of his neck. "You're right. I'll go wipe this makeup off and..." Her voice trailed off, dejected, as she slid away from him.
Alone at last, he sighed, hearing her fumble around in the hotel bathroom for a while before the shower turned on. Glancing behind himself, he took in the mussed sheets -- evidence of their activities -- and felt his stomach churn. Why did he always end up here? Why was there always another hotel room? Another fuck; another cigarette. The vicious cycle was eroding, breaking him down into small fragments of himself.
Slipping on his boxers, he stood and paced the width of the room with a fresh cigarette between his lips. The nicotine calmed him as he glanced out the window and down at the busy streets of Seoul, watching people walk past in a hurry to get to their homes. And suddenly a weariness beyond his twenty six years overcame him, the weight of his world crashing down on his shoulders as he stood there, eyes affixed on the lives of others below him.
He envied them, those people comfortable in their everyday routines, without a care in the world, with families and friends to turn to when life dealt them a bad card. It wasn't that Yoochun didn't have friends -- he just somehow ended up in bed with most of them. Others only wanted him for his connections to film producers and extras try-outs. He had a family that loved him dearly -- if only they weren't half a world away. And the one connection, the stronghold he had found after his return to Korea, was gone. Unreachable.
With a shake of his head, the young actor snubbed his cigarette in the ash tray that rested on the bedside table. Picking up his clothes from the floor, he nonchalantly slipped into them, and placed a cap on top of his bed-tousled hair. Deciding it was time to escape to the sanctity of his own shower, he left a quickly scribbled note on the hotel notepad before heading out, shutting the door as he went. He paid for the room and returned the key before disappearing from the lobby in search of a cab that would take him home, as if running away would release him of his guilt and longing.
The cab ride was short and he soon found himself in front of his apartment building, paying the cab driver. As the cab drove off, Yoochun trudged up the steps that led to his door, fingers playing with stubborn keys that didn't want to be pulled from his pocket. Jingling in the quiet night, they finally relented and did their deed -- allowing him into his roomy, tastefully decorated apartment.
"I'm home..." he murmured to the empty air, shutting the door and slipping out of his shoes. Time for another cigarette. Once another burned between his lips, he made his way to the kitchen and dropped his jacket on the table, letting the expensive fabric crumple and crease as his slender body slid into a chair.
Staring off at the wall, he brought the stick to his lips again and again, giving himself hit after hit of the poison. Cigarettes were always too short for his tastes, and soon the horrible flavor of the filter made him grimace and snub it out in an ash tray.
His mind was empty, just the way he liked it. But he could still feel everything bubbling just beneath the surface. His breath hitched slightly as he stood and made his way over to his own personal bar. As he glanced over the selection of expensive liquors, a lone tear crept down his cheek, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake. Yoochun quickly lifted a hand to brush it away, using the same to grab a bottle of gin and a glass.
He carried both into the bedroom and set them on the bedside table. Slipping out of his clothes again, he headed toward the shower. Letting the warm water run down his smooth skin, he let out a contented sigh and tilted his head back to catch the droplets as they fell. A thousand faces faded in and out of focus behind his eyelids -- every one of them made his skin crawl. Thoughts began to rise from within and he turned off the faucets and stumbled out of the shower.
Forgoing drying off, Yoochun fell back on his bed and grabbed the glass, filling it to the brim with gin before downing it straight. The dry, strong, and bitter liquid burned a path down his throat. Licking his lips, he frowned and took another sip as his skin began to warm.
With the first glass swiftly drained, he poured another. And another. And another, until the room started to spin and his thoughts began to blur in and out of focus. His fingers relaxed around a nearly empty glass, and he vaguely felt it slip from his grasp and land on the soft bedding. His eyes slid closed, thoughts slipping away into the forgiving blank of sleep. Another rotation of the cycle complete.
Repeat.
And thanks to the wonderful sungie86 who helped me with betaing this time!! ♥