[exo] castles of sand 1/2
castles of sand | kai/lu han, kai/sehun, kai/everyone | nc17 | angst, supernatural
jongin builds love up in other people like a child making castles of sand, and each time, he stays too close to the shore, jumping away when the tide comes, and watching as each turret and wall crumbles under the force of the waves.
a/n: this was written for my dear, sweet chang changdictator. claire, you poor thing, i know you asked for something that had jongin/everyone and involved sleep, but i am sure this isn’t what you wanted at all. either way, i hope you enjoy it and that you know how glad i am that you decided to visit my inbox that first time!
thank you so much to konnie for listening to me when i whined about this, and to maia for betaing it, being so dedicated to making sure it reached its full potential, and coddling me while i didn’t know what to do and actually cried my eyes out. maia, you’ve been a terrible influence on me, i wanted them all dead lol.
lastly, i know she’ll never read this, but thank you gina for being there at 3am and listening to me babble about this, because i know you don’t care about kpop fic, but i know you care about me ♥
while this was inspired by andamiro’s hypnotize, it’s best if read while listening to oOoOO’s burnout eyess yet another song maggie showed me, because she’s a genius)
warnings: character death (seriously), hallucinations, characters experience a loss of free will, consent becomes dubious in some situations
Castles of Sand
FIVE
He starts putting sand in Lu Han’s eyes after Lu Han comes home smelling like someone else.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, after he’s slipped out of his clothes and in between the sheets of their bed. “Work ran over at the restaurant.”
Jongin doesn’t respond and Lu Han curls around his back, leg clinging to Jongin’s hip and a palm pressed to his chest.
“Hey.” His breath is hot against Jongin’s ear.
He tries not to shudder because Lu Han smells wrong, reeks of someone else’s sweat and hair products, and as he presses a kiss to the side of Jongin’s neck, he wonders where else Lu Han’s mouth has been that night.
He’s never had to wonder that before.
Pulling himself out of Lu Han’s grip, Jongin tries to get up out of bed. “I have work,” he says, staring at the moonlight shining against the far wall of their bedroom.
Lu Han sits up, the blanket pooling at his waist and his skin is so pale in the darkness that when he looks, it takes Jongin’s breath away. “Is something wrong?”
He reaches his arms out to pull Jongin in for a kiss and blinks at him slowly when they part. His eyes are a lazy brown and his mouth tastes faintly like cigarettes that Jongin knows Lu Han has never smoked.
Jongin feels numb, distant, like he’s seeing Lu Han from the other end of a tunnel. He wants to lie and say nothing is wrong, but through the miles, he only manages to choke out, “I love you.”
Lips curling into a catlike smile, Lu Han tells him easily, “I know.”
It’s not a lie, it never has been. He watches Lu Han snuggle back beneath the sheets as though nothing is different and Jongin can almost believe it.
INHALE
Jongin is the sandman, and his sand lines the shores of people’s minds, giving them all pleasant dreams.
His life stretches out along the planes of time, countless nights and days spent thinking of all the dreams he can and giving them away, but Jongin has never once been able to keep a dream for himself.
Each sunset is lonely and his heart beats hollow in his chest like a drum.
EIGHTEEN
After Jongin begins using the sand for his own purposes, he finds that the amount needed differs from person to person. That first dose is always enough to make them come back, but there is no mistaking when they cross the threshold from interest to obsession.
“I love you,” the man says, just like they all do, and this one’s name is Minseok. His voice is wrecked from moaning and his skin slicked with sweat as he writhes in Jongin’s lap.
Jongin loves Minseok for his laugh and the way they look together in the reflection of store windows. Minseok had been a teacher, but now his whole life is Jongin, and Jongin takes and takes and lets the guilt fill him up until he is able to stopper it with Minseok’s love.
Jongin takes one of his hands from its place around Minseok’s hips to run his fingers along the other man’s jaw. He has a handsome, almost soft face, with cheekbones that catch the light from the bulb overhead. Snapping his hips harder, Jongin tightens his grip on Minseok’s face to hold it in place.
The embers burn in his belly. This is the part he has to see, he needs to see.
“I love you,” Minseok moans again. Jongin can feel his fingers digging into Minseok’s jaw, keeping his face in view as the other man’s hands move feverishly on his own cock, desperate for a release of pressure, and fucks up into the smaller man almost brutally.
Minseok’s eyes fly open, as if his orgasm is a revelation, and he screams out Jongin’s name.
The look of oblivion in Minseok’s eyes drives Jongin over the edge, and when his heart rate has slowed back down, he pulls Minseok to his chest. The other man is still practically sobbing, shaking through the afterglow, mumbling, “I love you, I love you,” over and over into the vein at the base of Jongin’s neck.
The words have Jongin’s skin prickling, all the little hairs standing on end as Minseok’s fingers scrabble at his biceps, trying to hold on tighter, to get closer.
“I know,” Jongin says, and it’s a lie, because what Minseok is feeling is nothing like love and something closer to madness, but that’s why Jongin does this.
Because lies feel pretty good when you know that’s all you’re ever going to get.
SIX
“Not now, I still have my side work.” Lu Han’s voice is breathless and almost mocking from where Jongin is standing outside of the storage room.
“Let Jongdae take care of it,” says another voice, deeper, more demanding. “I’ve had to stop myself from touching you all night.”
There is a thump and Lu Han sounds exhilarated, the way Jongin knows he gets when he’s been caged in. “So what are you waiting for, then?”
The sounds that follow don’t leave much to the imagination but Jongin finds himself moving further, he has to see, has to know. Part of his job is to remain unseen when he wants to, and so when Lu Han’s eyes open, even though he is looking across the closet to where Jongin is standing, all he sees are the stacks of cardboard boxes.
The man Lu Han is with is tall, almost big enough to shield him entirely from view, and his face is buried in the curve of Lu Han’s neck. Both their pants are already down, buckles jangling against each other from where they hang just above the floor as they rut together. The tiny noises Lu Han is making are all too familiar to Jongin. Little swallowed moans that used to make him flush, gasps that had his heart speeding up as he had gathered Lu Han into his arms and thought wildly, mine, all mine.
Now, though, Lu Han is moaning a different name, clawing at someone else’s shoulders, and Jongin feels sick.
He can see the man’s hand moving between them, hears Lu Han’s head fall back against the shelf behind him, and then the man says, “You love this, don’t you?”
Lu Han whines, rising up on the balls of his feet, as though to get closer to the man’s touch.
“You’re a slut, Lu Han.” Lu Han’s head thumps hard against the shelf again as the man shoves him back to speak low into the skin of his collarbones, barely audible over the sounds Lu Han is still making. “I bet you wish I could fuck you right here.”
“Please, just - “
“Say it,” the man growls, the naked muscles of the back of his thighs straining to to keep up with the motion of his arm between them. “If you want it, say how much of a slut you are.”
One of Lu Han’s hands is buried in the man’s hair, golden and ash in the halogen lights, and he practically sobs, teeth digging into the flesh of his lip.
Jongin’s fingernails are carving deep crescents into his palms. In all their time together, Lu Han has never gotten worked up so fast, preferring coy love-making and having control. This man has Lu Han boxed in, moaning and at his mercy, and Jongin realizes he doesn’t know anything.
“I’m - I’m a slut,” Lu Han chokes out, sounding desperate. “Just - Wu Fan, let me come - ”
The sounds of skin on skin quicken and Jongin stumbles out of the storage closet, unseen by any of the workers in the kitchen, and runs out the door into the back alley.
He thinks of Lu Han slipping into their bed, kissing his mouth and lying to him - and then replays Lu Han begging in the storage closet for an orgasm from someone else’s hand. Jongin is halfway through picturing Lu Han’s face as he comes, mind twisting his choked words from earlier into an “I love you”, and finds himself heaving, emptying his stomach onto the asphalt of the alley.
THREE
When Jongin kisses Lu Han for the first time, the realization crashes into him like a wave into the sand of a beach. The small flame in his chest roars into a bonfire, and Lu Han’s face is startlingly clear when their lips part. Jongin can feel Lu Han’s pulse flying wildly under his palm, can see each of Lu Han’s eyelashes as they flutter against his cheeks, and he feels his heart collapse into ashes, like a curtain falling to reveal the gaping emptiness inside of him.
Then Lu Han smiles, fingers threading into Jongin’s hair, and it fills him up, makes him feel almost whole again.
He thinks he must be in love.
EXHALE
Jongin has spent his existence giving away dreams, but he’s never given away himself.
SEVENTEEN
Sometimes, Jongin feels like a bucket with a hole in it, water pouring in the top and dripping out of it’s bottom, except instead of water, it’s love.
Every sound that Jongdae makes is like a melody, and he lets Jongin drink it in, the song filling the emptiness in his heart almost as much as when Jongdae looks up at him with sandy eyes, smiling, and says “I love you.”
But no matter how much love Jongin is given, it never seems to be enough to smother the coals that burn too hot in his belly, like a furnace in the lonely cavern of Jongin’s chest. It’s a useless exercise, but Jongin draws bucket after bucket of love from others, until their well runs dry.
SEVEN
“Say you want me.” It has never been a question of wanting. Lu Han has never made a secret of how in lust he is with Jongin, and it’s apparent even now, in the way he laps at Jongin’s skin, tasting, savoring, as though he wants to devour Jongin’s body whole.
Jongin is not asking Lu Han to lie.
“I want you,” Lu Han gasps, breath ragged as their skin rubs together, slick with a sheen of sweat. “I always want you.”
Always, Jongin thinks with a shiver of pleasure, wrapping up the word deep in his heart.
It is almost enough.
TWENTY-FOUR
When the rain begins to seep through the collar of Jongin’s jacket, he finally gives up and ducks into the closet building for shelter. It’s late, and he had gone on a walk to clear his head. The image of Yixing, the last man, is still pasted to the insides of his eyelids and the way he spoke keeps climbing up and down his spine, words of Mandarin so reminiscent of Lu Han that they have Jongin’s stomach churning.
The glass of the store door is cold against his forehead as he leans against it, watching as the rain sheets down against the asphalt.
Yixing had looked so thin at the end, refusing to eat even when Jongin had begged him. He thinks of Yixing’s cold hand in his, palm small and clammy like Lu Han’s; of Minseok’s, Chanyeol’s, Baekhyun’s, all the others. No matter how he’s tried, each of their endings has only dug the loneliness deeper and despite the rain, Jongin’s heart feels wrung out like old sponge.
“Can I help you?”
Jongin jumps, chin bumping the patch of fogged glass where his mouth had been, and turns around.
The place he’s ducked into is a DVD bang, the front room plastered with movie posters and two of the far walls covered with a mosaic of different dvd cases, and in between is the front desk, with a boy staring at him curiously from behind it.
“Did you want to watch something?” the boy asks, and Jongin takes a few steps closer to the desk. The boy looks younger, maybe twenty years old, and there are dark circles under his eyes that Jongin recognizes from when he has looked at himself in the mirror.
“Watch something?” he repeats dumbly, wiping a stray drop of water that has dripped from his hair down into his eyes.
“Yeah, since this is, you know, a DVD bang.”
“Oh.” Jongin’s shoes squish wetly as he walks and he cringes at the feeling. It might be nice to sit and dry out a bit before going home. “Sure.”
The boy looks at him expectantly and the silence stretches out between them.
“Did you have any idea of what you want to watch?”
The boy has dyed blond hair that sweeps across his forehead and has his lower lip sucked into his mouth as he watches Jongin with dark eyes. “What’s your favorite?”
“Mine?” The boy seems kind of surprised at the question and switches to chewing on the lip instead. After a moment, he points out a spy movie in the DVD listings. Jongin thinks his hands are pretty - pale, with the nails trimmed short. “I saw this one a while ago and it was pretty good.”
“Okay,” Jongin says. “I’ll watch that one.”
The boy’s lips are pretty too, his delicate chin casting a shadow on his neck, and his eyes are focused on Jongin’s mouth.
The vacancy left by Yixing aches, raw and open in his throat, and so Jongin says, on a whim, “Want to watch it with me …?”
“Sehun,” the boy says, tearing his gaze from Jongin’s lips to meet his eyes. “My name’s Sehun.”
Sehun leads him into one of the viewing rooms after pressing a few buttons behind the counter, and Jongin wastes no time shucking his sodden coat off and hanging it up on one of the hooks next to the door. The shirt he has on underneath is still damp, and Jongin shivers, shoving his hands inside his pockets.
“Want any snacks?” Sehun asks him, fiddling with the remote. Jongin shakes his head and settles into the leather chair next to him as the credits start to roll.
The seats are close enough that Jongin can feel the heat of Sehun’s thigh near his, and he slips his shoes off too, leaning down to roll off his socks and laying them out in the hopes that they’ll have time to dry.
He’s just settling in, the leather starting to stick to his still damp skin, when Sehun crawls into his lap. He places a knee on either side of Jongin’s hips, reaching up to steady himself with a hand on Jongin’s neck, and Jongin automatically reaches to stop him from falling back, catching his waist. Sehun’s head is silhouetted by the light of the movie screen behind him, but Jongin can still make out the shape of his mouth, burning red in the darkness.
“What’s your name?”
Their breath mixes between them, hot and humid, and the heat of Sehun’s ass is bleeding through the wet material on Jongin’s thighs. Sehun’s fingers are cold on his neck and the sensation takes his breath away.
“Jongin,” he breathes, swallowing as Sehun’s hand moves to the nape of his neck to play with the hair there.
“Kiss me, Jongin,” Sehun says, and Jongin does.
Compared to the chill of his hands, Sehun’s mouth is molten, their chests bumping as he presses into Jongin’s space, as if to claim him. Jongin tightens his grip on Sehun, digging into the flesh above his hip bones, and Sehun moans into his mouth.
The movie is still playing and when Jongin runs a hand up Sehun’s shirt, pushing it until it bunches under his armpits, the light shining from the screen makes his pale skin look like a watercolor painting. Sehun seems desperate, tongue licking at the inside of Jongin’s cheeks and the backs of his teeth, even as he arches into Jongin’s hands like he’s hungry for the touch.
There’s something about that hunger that sinks deep, settling down in Jongin’s gut and burning like a hot coal, because Jongin thinks he understands.
He uses his hands to pull Sehun closer, fingers dipping below his waistband to feel the hot skin at the base of his spine, and presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to Sehun’s throat.
“More,” Sehun says, moans, throwing his head back and grinding into him. Jongin hears himself make a sound low in his throat, almost a growl, and shoves his hand deeper into Sehun’s pants, until he’s gripping the bare skin of Sehun’s ass. Sehun’s fingernails are digging hard into his shoulders, but Jongin doesn’t feel any pain, mesmerized by the writhing boy in his lap.
Sehun’s hair is a mess now and his throat is swallowing as he rubs himself against Jongin. He looks frantic and amazing.
Yes, says the slow, hungry burn in the pit of Jongin’s stomach, more.
Sehun’s fingers fumble with the zipper of his soaked jeans, back still arched to allow Jongin to suck a hickey into the fluttering pulse in his throat. Jongin can’t hear the movie anymore over the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears and the noises Sehun is making, dirty little whines that have his cock jumping in Sehun’s hand.
Sehun pulls back to look at him, fingers still cold but warming on the hot skin of Jongin’s shaft, and licks his lips. Jongin can just barely see the mark he’s left on Sehun’s neck, bruise stark on otherwise unblemished skin, and he traces it with a fingernail. Sehun shivers into the touch, rubbing his thumb into Jongin’s slit, and Jongin presses down into the bruise until Sehun’s mouth drops open, breath harsh even as he grinds himself down hard on Jongin’s thigh.
Jongin finally pops the button of Sehun’s pants and Sehun scrambles off Jongin’s lap to peel them off his legs. His briefs hit the floor too, and he reaches between the cushions of the other seat, pulling out a bottle of lube and setting it on the table. Amused, Jongin almost asks Sehun if he’s the one that put that there, but before he can, Sehun is crawling back into his lap, tugging down the waist of Jongin’s jeans and underwear past his hips, until they rest mid-thigh.
Then he runs his palms under Jongin’s shirt, fingernails scraping and breath short and harsh next to Jongin’s ear, and Jongin grabs two handfuls of Sehun’s ass, pulling him until their cocks are rubbing together. The friction makes them both hiss, and Sehun shoves the bottle at him. Jongin thinks he can hear Sehun whimpering “hurry, hurry - “ as Jongin slicks his fingers, quickly bringing them around so he can wet Sehun’s entrance before pressing inside.
Sehun clenches around his fingertip, sucking in a breath through his teeth, and Jongin stills, studying Sehun’s face for any traces of pain. He must pause for too long though, because Sehun suddenly grips his wrist, pressing him in deeper. Jongin lets Sehun do the work, watching him fuck himself on Jongin’s hand and only pausing to tell Jongin he wants more.
Jongin’s cock is leaking against his shirt and when Sehun reaches back around, pouring a trail of lube that drips down the length and then spreading it, Jongin groans, low and loud.
“Hurry,” Sehun gasps at him, lifting himself up on his knees and guiding Jongin’s cock to where he wants it. “Oh god, just - “
He sinks down and Jongin can only hold on, feeling Sehun’s thighs tremble as they strain. Sehun is so, so tight around him, hot and pulsing as he takes more of Jongin in, and when he’s down all the way, ass flush with Jongin’s hips, he lets out a noise, almost a sob, and buries his face in Jongin’s shoulder.
Sehun’s whole body is quivering in his lap, arms thrown around Jongin’s neck, and Jongin finds himself moving his fingers in long strokes up and down Sehun’s spine, as if to soothe him.
“It’s okay,” Jongin hears himself murmur, “I’m right here.”
Sehun raises his head after a moment, hands gripping Jongin’s hair tightly, and claims Jongin’s mouth again before rocking his hips.
The pleasure is so sharp it almost stings, tearing into Jongin more and more with every move Sehun’s makes. Digging his teeth into Jongin’s lip one last time, Sehun pulls back, fucking himself down hard on Jongin’s cock until Jongin almost thinks he can see stars.
“Harder, oh please,” Sehun sobs, throat glistening with sweat that catches the colors of the movie screen and makes Jongin want to lick at the hollow of his throat.
Sehun’s cock is bouncing between them, flushed dark, and Jongin releases Sehun’s waist to take ahold of it, fingering the crown and then giving it a long stroke. Sehun shudders around him, breath shaky and Jongin feels his own orgasm filling him up, almost ready to burst.
He leans forward, sinking his teeth into the hickey he’d left on Sehun’s neck, and Sehun comes, spilling hotly over Jongin’s fist.
“Jongin,” he cries out, body arching harshly, and Jongin barely manages to free his hand, pulling Sehun up off of him by the torso until his chin rests on Jongin’s shoulder, jerking himself off until he comes wetly on the back of Sehun’s thighs.
Over Sehun’s shoulder, Jongin can see the movie playing, but his vision is blurred, so he can’t make out more than fuzzy shapes. Sehun’s exhales are loud in his ear, the soft skin of his lower back warm under Jongin’s palms, and the contented hum of release sinks into his chest. The hungry burn in his belly is quieter now, replaced with the slow rhythm of Sehun’s heartbeat.
He closes his eyes, and thinks that Sehun smells like winter’s first snow.
ELEVEN
Lu Han’s insanity is like the slow, steady trickling of sand through an hourglass.
“Lu Han? You okay?”
Jongin stopped putting dream sand Lu Han’s eyes a few days before, guilt stilling his hand over Lu Han’s sleeping face.
Jongin wants it to be real when Lu Han says that he loves him, wants Lu Han to be free of the influence of his sand. The problem is that Lu Han isn’t the same as before, the outline of his body faint in the lamplight of their apartment, and when he reaches for his water glass, his hand shakes as if he’s going through withdrawal.
“It’s strange,” Lu Han says, Jongin’s oversized sweatshirt hanging off his collarbones alarmingly. “My head feels hollow and everything is blurry.”
Jongin picks up a piece of meat and brings the chopsticks to Lu Han’s lips. “Eat something. You’re so pale you’re like a ghost.”
Lu Han chews dutifully, but is too listless to move from the dining room chair, and Jongin watches in horror as Lu Han looks out the window, the sudden, silent tears on his cheeks glittering in the sunlight.
Jongin wonders if the more you love someone else, the more you grow to hate yourself.
EIGHT
“Say you love me,” Jongin says, and Lu Han whimpers in his arms as though gasping for air. Jongin knows he’s holding on too tightly but he can’t make himself let go. He wants to press the imprint of his palms on Lu Han’s skin so deeply that it never goes away, so that Lu Han never forgets him.
Instead, he tries to pacify Lu Han with soft kisses to his neck, nose brushing the underside of his chin.
“I love you,” Lu Han whispers finally, but it’s too weak, a thread too thin to bind Lu Han to him, and Jongin knows he needs more.
INHALE
Jongin builds love up in other people like a child making castles of sand, and each time, he stays too close to the shore, jumping away when the tide comes, and watching as each turret and wall crumbles under the force of the waves.
FOURTEEN
Jongin goes out, wandering through places he used to know and trying to clear the cobwebs that fill the emptiness of Lu Han's death from his mind, and finds himself at a club, music thrumming through his blood and jump-starting his heart until he feels like he can breathe again. There are too many people on the dance floor, a crush of bodies and sweat and the stickiness of liquor, but Jongin strips off his jacket and joins them.
It may seem strange, but Jongin loves to dance. The only problem is that dancing isn't a person; it can't love him back and the one-sided affection reminds him too much of Lu Han, so when the bass pulses extra hard, the beat makes his stomach churn and Jongin worms his way to the edge of the dance floor, desperate for air. He stumbles on the fringes of the crowd, only missing a hard landing because of a pair of large hands.
"Careful," someone says, and Jongin looks up into Wu Fan's face as he regains his balance. He's sure Wu Fan doesn't recognize him - Jongin only knows Wu Fan from the time when Jongin had watched Lu Han with him, sickly curious, and he's almost positive that Lu Han had never mentioned he had a boyfriend.
"You okay?" Wu Fan's voice is stilted, consonants curving in a way that belies the fact that he's not a native speaker, and Jongin's heart aches for Lu Han. The burning in his stomach reignites until the fire is licking at his throat, scorching it. Somehow, he nods. "You look like you need a drink," Wu Fan says, and he still hasn't let go of Jongin's shoulders. Wu Fan's palms fit perfectly over the bones, large and steady, and Jongin lets himself be guided over to the bar.
There's something magnetic about Wu Fan, and by the time Jongin has a drink in his hand, part of him doesn't even blame Lu Han for being attracted. The rest of him, though, is almost viciously angry. He wants to hurt Wu Fan, break him like Jongin had broken Lu Han in the end, out of his own selfishness, like a wind-up toy soldier missing all its gears.
"Come home with me," Jongin says, his breath hot against Wu Fan's mouth as he pulls him down by the collar until their faces are level.
"What are you going to do to me if I do?" Wu Fan smirks, and suddenly, even though Jongin's the one with his hands fisted in Wu Fan's shirt, he suddenly feels like the prey.
Jongin bares his teeth and hisses, "I'm going to tear you apart."
Wu Fan smiles, eyes dark, and lets Jongin take him home.
There’s a certain irony to seeing Wu Fan’s skin against the sheets of his bed, and even though they stopped smelling of Lu Han long ago, Lu Han had probably smelled more like Wu Fan than the rain in the end anyway.
Sex with Wu Fan is give and take, where Jongin gives up his body and Wu Fan takes control, and it’s exhilarating.
“What’s wrong?” Wu Fan says, teeth biting at the inside of Jongin’s thigh. “I thought you were going to tear me apart?”
Jongin suddenly remembers Lu Han begging in the storage room at Wu Fan’s mercy, and drags Wu Fan up by the hair. “I hate you,” he snarls, and Wu Fan moans, deep in his throat.
“Then show me.”
Wu fan lets Jongin fuck him open hard, arms trembling with their combined weight as he digs his palms into the mattress, and Jongin would think he was hurting Wu Fan because there are tears on his face, except that every time Jongin tries to stop, Wu Fan reaches back to grip Jongin’s thighs so hard he can feel them bruise.
This is the kind of sex Jongin and Lu Han had never had and Jongin feels consumed by it, his body shattering, melting, like glass on the surface of the sun.
Wu Fan comes into his own hand, other arm collapsing so his face is pressed into the pillow, and Jongin thinks savagely that his moans sound even better muffled by fabric. He jerks himself off onto Wu Fan’s back, crying out as his orgasm rips through him, and when he runs his finger through the semen, the jealousy that has been clawing away inside of him for so long somehow feels sated.
He cleans Wu Fan off carefully, almost regretting his roughness, and Wu Fan rolls over onto his back, taking in a deep breath.
“Wow,” he says, and then laughs a little breathlessly. “I guess you really must hate me.”
“Why’d you let me do that? You don’t seem the type to let someone…” Jongin trails off.
Wu Fan smirks at him through the dark. “Fuck me?” He shrugs, wincing a little as though his back hurts, and explains, “I figure I shouldn’t dish it out if I can’t take it. And if it hurts, then so much the better.”
Jongin can see the remnants of Wu Fan’s tears on his cheeks and shifts uncomfortably, unsure if he should apologize. Wu Fan doesn’t seem to notice.
“Doesn’t matter how much someone else hates you, because you’ll always hate yourself more, you know?” Wu Fan wipes at his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. “The important thing is that that other person feels something for you. Love, hate- we’ve all just got to take what we can get.”
Even knowing that Lu Han’s words came from the sand dreams and not from his heart, Jongin had felt some relief because at least Lu Han had felt something for him.
Jongin thinks somehow, he and Wu Fan might understand each other perfectly. “Have you ever been in love?”
“Once,” Wu Fan says. “It was nice.” Jongin nods, staring at the ceiling, and Wu Fan’s long fingers pressing into his hipbone. The touch makes him feel lonely. “Now I don’t feel anything.”
Wu Fan drifts off to sleep, frowning even then, and Jongin smoothes a finger across Wu Fan’s eyebrows. The scowl doesn’t go away, though, lips pulled into a tight downward curve. Jongin is captivated by the way Wu Fan’s eyelashes fan across his cheeks. Maybe…
Wu Fan had said he didn’t feel anything, had told Jongin that people just had to take what they could get.
Would it really be such a crime, Jongin wonders. Wouldn’t he be doing Wu Fan a favor? Taking what he could and making Wu Fan feel again, mending two broken hearts, even if the solution was only temporary.
Jongin thinks he might be able to love Wu Fan because part of him is just as selfish as Jongin, because while Wu Fan pretends not to care, he probably really cares most of all.
The space where Jongin had buried his grief over Lu Han and his hate for Wu Fan aches and eats at him, begging to be filled again, and Jongin just wants to be wanted.
“Just this once,” he promises himself, a whisper in the dark as he raises his hand, but when Jongin licks his lips, the untruth is heavy on his tongue, grainy and bitter like ocean sand.
| PART 2 |
jongin builds love up in other people like a child making castles of sand, and each time, he stays too close to the shore, jumping away when the tide comes, and watching as each turret and wall crumbles under the force of the waves.
a/n: this was written for my dear, sweet chang changdictator. claire, you poor thing, i know you asked for something that had jongin/everyone and involved sleep, but i am sure this isn’t what you wanted at all. either way, i hope you enjoy it and that you know how glad i am that you decided to visit my inbox that first time!
thank you so much to konnie for listening to me when i whined about this, and to maia for betaing it, being so dedicated to making sure it reached its full potential, and coddling me while i didn’t know what to do and actually cried my eyes out. maia, you’ve been a terrible influence on me, i wanted them all dead lol.
lastly, i know she’ll never read this, but thank you gina for being there at 3am and listening to me babble about this, because i know you don’t care about kpop fic, but i know you care about me ♥
while this was inspired by andamiro’s hypnotize, it’s best if read while listening to oOoOO’s burnout eyess yet another song maggie showed me, because she’s a genius)
warnings: character death (seriously), hallucinations, characters experience a loss of free will, consent becomes dubious in some situations
Castles of Sand
FIVE
He starts putting sand in Lu Han’s eyes after Lu Han comes home smelling like someone else.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, after he’s slipped out of his clothes and in between the sheets of their bed. “Work ran over at the restaurant.”
Jongin doesn’t respond and Lu Han curls around his back, leg clinging to Jongin’s hip and a palm pressed to his chest.
“Hey.” His breath is hot against Jongin’s ear.
He tries not to shudder because Lu Han smells wrong, reeks of someone else’s sweat and hair products, and as he presses a kiss to the side of Jongin’s neck, he wonders where else Lu Han’s mouth has been that night.
He’s never had to wonder that before.
Pulling himself out of Lu Han’s grip, Jongin tries to get up out of bed. “I have work,” he says, staring at the moonlight shining against the far wall of their bedroom.
Lu Han sits up, the blanket pooling at his waist and his skin is so pale in the darkness that when he looks, it takes Jongin’s breath away. “Is something wrong?”
He reaches his arms out to pull Jongin in for a kiss and blinks at him slowly when they part. His eyes are a lazy brown and his mouth tastes faintly like cigarettes that Jongin knows Lu Han has never smoked.
Jongin feels numb, distant, like he’s seeing Lu Han from the other end of a tunnel. He wants to lie and say nothing is wrong, but through the miles, he only manages to choke out, “I love you.”
Lips curling into a catlike smile, Lu Han tells him easily, “I know.”
It’s not a lie, it never has been. He watches Lu Han snuggle back beneath the sheets as though nothing is different and Jongin can almost believe it.
INHALE
Jongin is the sandman, and his sand lines the shores of people’s minds, giving them all pleasant dreams.
His life stretches out along the planes of time, countless nights and days spent thinking of all the dreams he can and giving them away, but Jongin has never once been able to keep a dream for himself.
Each sunset is lonely and his heart beats hollow in his chest like a drum.
EIGHTEEN
After Jongin begins using the sand for his own purposes, he finds that the amount needed differs from person to person. That first dose is always enough to make them come back, but there is no mistaking when they cross the threshold from interest to obsession.
“I love you,” the man says, just like they all do, and this one’s name is Minseok. His voice is wrecked from moaning and his skin slicked with sweat as he writhes in Jongin’s lap.
Jongin loves Minseok for his laugh and the way they look together in the reflection of store windows. Minseok had been a teacher, but now his whole life is Jongin, and Jongin takes and takes and lets the guilt fill him up until he is able to stopper it with Minseok’s love.
Jongin takes one of his hands from its place around Minseok’s hips to run his fingers along the other man’s jaw. He has a handsome, almost soft face, with cheekbones that catch the light from the bulb overhead. Snapping his hips harder, Jongin tightens his grip on Minseok’s face to hold it in place.
The embers burn in his belly. This is the part he has to see, he needs to see.
“I love you,” Minseok moans again. Jongin can feel his fingers digging into Minseok’s jaw, keeping his face in view as the other man’s hands move feverishly on his own cock, desperate for a release of pressure, and fucks up into the smaller man almost brutally.
Minseok’s eyes fly open, as if his orgasm is a revelation, and he screams out Jongin’s name.
The look of oblivion in Minseok’s eyes drives Jongin over the edge, and when his heart rate has slowed back down, he pulls Minseok to his chest. The other man is still practically sobbing, shaking through the afterglow, mumbling, “I love you, I love you,” over and over into the vein at the base of Jongin’s neck.
The words have Jongin’s skin prickling, all the little hairs standing on end as Minseok’s fingers scrabble at his biceps, trying to hold on tighter, to get closer.
“I know,” Jongin says, and it’s a lie, because what Minseok is feeling is nothing like love and something closer to madness, but that’s why Jongin does this.
Because lies feel pretty good when you know that’s all you’re ever going to get.
SIX
“Not now, I still have my side work.” Lu Han’s voice is breathless and almost mocking from where Jongin is standing outside of the storage room.
“Let Jongdae take care of it,” says another voice, deeper, more demanding. “I’ve had to stop myself from touching you all night.”
There is a thump and Lu Han sounds exhilarated, the way Jongin knows he gets when he’s been caged in. “So what are you waiting for, then?”
The sounds that follow don’t leave much to the imagination but Jongin finds himself moving further, he has to see, has to know. Part of his job is to remain unseen when he wants to, and so when Lu Han’s eyes open, even though he is looking across the closet to where Jongin is standing, all he sees are the stacks of cardboard boxes.
The man Lu Han is with is tall, almost big enough to shield him entirely from view, and his face is buried in the curve of Lu Han’s neck. Both their pants are already down, buckles jangling against each other from where they hang just above the floor as they rut together. The tiny noises Lu Han is making are all too familiar to Jongin. Little swallowed moans that used to make him flush, gasps that had his heart speeding up as he had gathered Lu Han into his arms and thought wildly, mine, all mine.
Now, though, Lu Han is moaning a different name, clawing at someone else’s shoulders, and Jongin feels sick.
He can see the man’s hand moving between them, hears Lu Han’s head fall back against the shelf behind him, and then the man says, “You love this, don’t you?”
Lu Han whines, rising up on the balls of his feet, as though to get closer to the man’s touch.
“You’re a slut, Lu Han.” Lu Han’s head thumps hard against the shelf again as the man shoves him back to speak low into the skin of his collarbones, barely audible over the sounds Lu Han is still making. “I bet you wish I could fuck you right here.”
“Please, just - “
“Say it,” the man growls, the naked muscles of the back of his thighs straining to to keep up with the motion of his arm between them. “If you want it, say how much of a slut you are.”
One of Lu Han’s hands is buried in the man’s hair, golden and ash in the halogen lights, and he practically sobs, teeth digging into the flesh of his lip.
Jongin’s fingernails are carving deep crescents into his palms. In all their time together, Lu Han has never gotten worked up so fast, preferring coy love-making and having control. This man has Lu Han boxed in, moaning and at his mercy, and Jongin realizes he doesn’t know anything.
“I’m - I’m a slut,” Lu Han chokes out, sounding desperate. “Just - Wu Fan, let me come - ”
The sounds of skin on skin quicken and Jongin stumbles out of the storage closet, unseen by any of the workers in the kitchen, and runs out the door into the back alley.
He thinks of Lu Han slipping into their bed, kissing his mouth and lying to him - and then replays Lu Han begging in the storage closet for an orgasm from someone else’s hand. Jongin is halfway through picturing Lu Han’s face as he comes, mind twisting his choked words from earlier into an “I love you”, and finds himself heaving, emptying his stomach onto the asphalt of the alley.
THREE
When Jongin kisses Lu Han for the first time, the realization crashes into him like a wave into the sand of a beach. The small flame in his chest roars into a bonfire, and Lu Han’s face is startlingly clear when their lips part. Jongin can feel Lu Han’s pulse flying wildly under his palm, can see each of Lu Han’s eyelashes as they flutter against his cheeks, and he feels his heart collapse into ashes, like a curtain falling to reveal the gaping emptiness inside of him.
Then Lu Han smiles, fingers threading into Jongin’s hair, and it fills him up, makes him feel almost whole again.
He thinks he must be in love.
EXHALE
Jongin has spent his existence giving away dreams, but he’s never given away himself.
SEVENTEEN
Sometimes, Jongin feels like a bucket with a hole in it, water pouring in the top and dripping out of it’s bottom, except instead of water, it’s love.
Every sound that Jongdae makes is like a melody, and he lets Jongin drink it in, the song filling the emptiness in his heart almost as much as when Jongdae looks up at him with sandy eyes, smiling, and says “I love you.”
But no matter how much love Jongin is given, it never seems to be enough to smother the coals that burn too hot in his belly, like a furnace in the lonely cavern of Jongin’s chest. It’s a useless exercise, but Jongin draws bucket after bucket of love from others, until their well runs dry.
SEVEN
“Say you want me.” It has never been a question of wanting. Lu Han has never made a secret of how in lust he is with Jongin, and it’s apparent even now, in the way he laps at Jongin’s skin, tasting, savoring, as though he wants to devour Jongin’s body whole.
Jongin is not asking Lu Han to lie.
“I want you,” Lu Han gasps, breath ragged as their skin rubs together, slick with a sheen of sweat. “I always want you.”
Always, Jongin thinks with a shiver of pleasure, wrapping up the word deep in his heart.
It is almost enough.
TWENTY-FOUR
When the rain begins to seep through the collar of Jongin’s jacket, he finally gives up and ducks into the closet building for shelter. It’s late, and he had gone on a walk to clear his head. The image of Yixing, the last man, is still pasted to the insides of his eyelids and the way he spoke keeps climbing up and down his spine, words of Mandarin so reminiscent of Lu Han that they have Jongin’s stomach churning.
The glass of the store door is cold against his forehead as he leans against it, watching as the rain sheets down against the asphalt.
Yixing had looked so thin at the end, refusing to eat even when Jongin had begged him. He thinks of Yixing’s cold hand in his, palm small and clammy like Lu Han’s; of Minseok’s, Chanyeol’s, Baekhyun’s, all the others. No matter how he’s tried, each of their endings has only dug the loneliness deeper and despite the rain, Jongin’s heart feels wrung out like old sponge.
“Can I help you?”
Jongin jumps, chin bumping the patch of fogged glass where his mouth had been, and turns around.
The place he’s ducked into is a DVD bang, the front room plastered with movie posters and two of the far walls covered with a mosaic of different dvd cases, and in between is the front desk, with a boy staring at him curiously from behind it.
“Did you want to watch something?” the boy asks, and Jongin takes a few steps closer to the desk. The boy looks younger, maybe twenty years old, and there are dark circles under his eyes that Jongin recognizes from when he has looked at himself in the mirror.
“Watch something?” he repeats dumbly, wiping a stray drop of water that has dripped from his hair down into his eyes.
“Yeah, since this is, you know, a DVD bang.”
“Oh.” Jongin’s shoes squish wetly as he walks and he cringes at the feeling. It might be nice to sit and dry out a bit before going home. “Sure.”
The boy looks at him expectantly and the silence stretches out between them.
“Did you have any idea of what you want to watch?”
The boy has dyed blond hair that sweeps across his forehead and has his lower lip sucked into his mouth as he watches Jongin with dark eyes. “What’s your favorite?”
“Mine?” The boy seems kind of surprised at the question and switches to chewing on the lip instead. After a moment, he points out a spy movie in the DVD listings. Jongin thinks his hands are pretty - pale, with the nails trimmed short. “I saw this one a while ago and it was pretty good.”
“Okay,” Jongin says. “I’ll watch that one.”
The boy’s lips are pretty too, his delicate chin casting a shadow on his neck, and his eyes are focused on Jongin’s mouth.
The vacancy left by Yixing aches, raw and open in his throat, and so Jongin says, on a whim, “Want to watch it with me …?”
“Sehun,” the boy says, tearing his gaze from Jongin’s lips to meet his eyes. “My name’s Sehun.”
Sehun leads him into one of the viewing rooms after pressing a few buttons behind the counter, and Jongin wastes no time shucking his sodden coat off and hanging it up on one of the hooks next to the door. The shirt he has on underneath is still damp, and Jongin shivers, shoving his hands inside his pockets.
“Want any snacks?” Sehun asks him, fiddling with the remote. Jongin shakes his head and settles into the leather chair next to him as the credits start to roll.
The seats are close enough that Jongin can feel the heat of Sehun’s thigh near his, and he slips his shoes off too, leaning down to roll off his socks and laying them out in the hopes that they’ll have time to dry.
He’s just settling in, the leather starting to stick to his still damp skin, when Sehun crawls into his lap. He places a knee on either side of Jongin’s hips, reaching up to steady himself with a hand on Jongin’s neck, and Jongin automatically reaches to stop him from falling back, catching his waist. Sehun’s head is silhouetted by the light of the movie screen behind him, but Jongin can still make out the shape of his mouth, burning red in the darkness.
“What’s your name?”
Their breath mixes between them, hot and humid, and the heat of Sehun’s ass is bleeding through the wet material on Jongin’s thighs. Sehun’s fingers are cold on his neck and the sensation takes his breath away.
“Jongin,” he breathes, swallowing as Sehun’s hand moves to the nape of his neck to play with the hair there.
“Kiss me, Jongin,” Sehun says, and Jongin does.
Compared to the chill of his hands, Sehun’s mouth is molten, their chests bumping as he presses into Jongin’s space, as if to claim him. Jongin tightens his grip on Sehun, digging into the flesh above his hip bones, and Sehun moans into his mouth.
The movie is still playing and when Jongin runs a hand up Sehun’s shirt, pushing it until it bunches under his armpits, the light shining from the screen makes his pale skin look like a watercolor painting. Sehun seems desperate, tongue licking at the inside of Jongin’s cheeks and the backs of his teeth, even as he arches into Jongin’s hands like he’s hungry for the touch.
There’s something about that hunger that sinks deep, settling down in Jongin’s gut and burning like a hot coal, because Jongin thinks he understands.
He uses his hands to pull Sehun closer, fingers dipping below his waistband to feel the hot skin at the base of his spine, and presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to Sehun’s throat.
“More,” Sehun says, moans, throwing his head back and grinding into him. Jongin hears himself make a sound low in his throat, almost a growl, and shoves his hand deeper into Sehun’s pants, until he’s gripping the bare skin of Sehun’s ass. Sehun’s fingernails are digging hard into his shoulders, but Jongin doesn’t feel any pain, mesmerized by the writhing boy in his lap.
Sehun’s hair is a mess now and his throat is swallowing as he rubs himself against Jongin. He looks frantic and amazing.
Yes, says the slow, hungry burn in the pit of Jongin’s stomach, more.
Sehun’s fingers fumble with the zipper of his soaked jeans, back still arched to allow Jongin to suck a hickey into the fluttering pulse in his throat. Jongin can’t hear the movie anymore over the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears and the noises Sehun is making, dirty little whines that have his cock jumping in Sehun’s hand.
Sehun pulls back to look at him, fingers still cold but warming on the hot skin of Jongin’s shaft, and licks his lips. Jongin can just barely see the mark he’s left on Sehun’s neck, bruise stark on otherwise unblemished skin, and he traces it with a fingernail. Sehun shivers into the touch, rubbing his thumb into Jongin’s slit, and Jongin presses down into the bruise until Sehun’s mouth drops open, breath harsh even as he grinds himself down hard on Jongin’s thigh.
Jongin finally pops the button of Sehun’s pants and Sehun scrambles off Jongin’s lap to peel them off his legs. His briefs hit the floor too, and he reaches between the cushions of the other seat, pulling out a bottle of lube and setting it on the table. Amused, Jongin almost asks Sehun if he’s the one that put that there, but before he can, Sehun is crawling back into his lap, tugging down the waist of Jongin’s jeans and underwear past his hips, until they rest mid-thigh.
Then he runs his palms under Jongin’s shirt, fingernails scraping and breath short and harsh next to Jongin’s ear, and Jongin grabs two handfuls of Sehun’s ass, pulling him until their cocks are rubbing together. The friction makes them both hiss, and Sehun shoves the bottle at him. Jongin thinks he can hear Sehun whimpering “hurry, hurry - “ as Jongin slicks his fingers, quickly bringing them around so he can wet Sehun’s entrance before pressing inside.
Sehun clenches around his fingertip, sucking in a breath through his teeth, and Jongin stills, studying Sehun’s face for any traces of pain. He must pause for too long though, because Sehun suddenly grips his wrist, pressing him in deeper. Jongin lets Sehun do the work, watching him fuck himself on Jongin’s hand and only pausing to tell Jongin he wants more.
Jongin’s cock is leaking against his shirt and when Sehun reaches back around, pouring a trail of lube that drips down the length and then spreading it, Jongin groans, low and loud.
“Hurry,” Sehun gasps at him, lifting himself up on his knees and guiding Jongin’s cock to where he wants it. “Oh god, just - “
He sinks down and Jongin can only hold on, feeling Sehun’s thighs tremble as they strain. Sehun is so, so tight around him, hot and pulsing as he takes more of Jongin in, and when he’s down all the way, ass flush with Jongin’s hips, he lets out a noise, almost a sob, and buries his face in Jongin’s shoulder.
Sehun’s whole body is quivering in his lap, arms thrown around Jongin’s neck, and Jongin finds himself moving his fingers in long strokes up and down Sehun’s spine, as if to soothe him.
“It’s okay,” Jongin hears himself murmur, “I’m right here.”
Sehun raises his head after a moment, hands gripping Jongin’s hair tightly, and claims Jongin’s mouth again before rocking his hips.
The pleasure is so sharp it almost stings, tearing into Jongin more and more with every move Sehun’s makes. Digging his teeth into Jongin’s lip one last time, Sehun pulls back, fucking himself down hard on Jongin’s cock until Jongin almost thinks he can see stars.
“Harder, oh please,” Sehun sobs, throat glistening with sweat that catches the colors of the movie screen and makes Jongin want to lick at the hollow of his throat.
Sehun’s cock is bouncing between them, flushed dark, and Jongin releases Sehun’s waist to take ahold of it, fingering the crown and then giving it a long stroke. Sehun shudders around him, breath shaky and Jongin feels his own orgasm filling him up, almost ready to burst.
He leans forward, sinking his teeth into the hickey he’d left on Sehun’s neck, and Sehun comes, spilling hotly over Jongin’s fist.
“Jongin,” he cries out, body arching harshly, and Jongin barely manages to free his hand, pulling Sehun up off of him by the torso until his chin rests on Jongin’s shoulder, jerking himself off until he comes wetly on the back of Sehun’s thighs.
Over Sehun’s shoulder, Jongin can see the movie playing, but his vision is blurred, so he can’t make out more than fuzzy shapes. Sehun’s exhales are loud in his ear, the soft skin of his lower back warm under Jongin’s palms, and the contented hum of release sinks into his chest. The hungry burn in his belly is quieter now, replaced with the slow rhythm of Sehun’s heartbeat.
He closes his eyes, and thinks that Sehun smells like winter’s first snow.
ELEVEN
Lu Han’s insanity is like the slow, steady trickling of sand through an hourglass.
“Lu Han? You okay?”
Jongin stopped putting dream sand Lu Han’s eyes a few days before, guilt stilling his hand over Lu Han’s sleeping face.
Jongin wants it to be real when Lu Han says that he loves him, wants Lu Han to be free of the influence of his sand. The problem is that Lu Han isn’t the same as before, the outline of his body faint in the lamplight of their apartment, and when he reaches for his water glass, his hand shakes as if he’s going through withdrawal.
“It’s strange,” Lu Han says, Jongin’s oversized sweatshirt hanging off his collarbones alarmingly. “My head feels hollow and everything is blurry.”
Jongin picks up a piece of meat and brings the chopsticks to Lu Han’s lips. “Eat something. You’re so pale you’re like a ghost.”
Lu Han chews dutifully, but is too listless to move from the dining room chair, and Jongin watches in horror as Lu Han looks out the window, the sudden, silent tears on his cheeks glittering in the sunlight.
Jongin wonders if the more you love someone else, the more you grow to hate yourself.
EIGHT
“Say you love me,” Jongin says, and Lu Han whimpers in his arms as though gasping for air. Jongin knows he’s holding on too tightly but he can’t make himself let go. He wants to press the imprint of his palms on Lu Han’s skin so deeply that it never goes away, so that Lu Han never forgets him.
Instead, he tries to pacify Lu Han with soft kisses to his neck, nose brushing the underside of his chin.
“I love you,” Lu Han whispers finally, but it’s too weak, a thread too thin to bind Lu Han to him, and Jongin knows he needs more.
INHALE
Jongin builds love up in other people like a child making castles of sand, and each time, he stays too close to the shore, jumping away when the tide comes, and watching as each turret and wall crumbles under the force of the waves.
FOURTEEN
Jongin goes out, wandering through places he used to know and trying to clear the cobwebs that fill the emptiness of Lu Han's death from his mind, and finds himself at a club, music thrumming through his blood and jump-starting his heart until he feels like he can breathe again. There are too many people on the dance floor, a crush of bodies and sweat and the stickiness of liquor, but Jongin strips off his jacket and joins them.
It may seem strange, but Jongin loves to dance. The only problem is that dancing isn't a person; it can't love him back and the one-sided affection reminds him too much of Lu Han, so when the bass pulses extra hard, the beat makes his stomach churn and Jongin worms his way to the edge of the dance floor, desperate for air. He stumbles on the fringes of the crowd, only missing a hard landing because of a pair of large hands.
"Careful," someone says, and Jongin looks up into Wu Fan's face as he regains his balance. He's sure Wu Fan doesn't recognize him - Jongin only knows Wu Fan from the time when Jongin had watched Lu Han with him, sickly curious, and he's almost positive that Lu Han had never mentioned he had a boyfriend.
"You okay?" Wu Fan's voice is stilted, consonants curving in a way that belies the fact that he's not a native speaker, and Jongin's heart aches for Lu Han. The burning in his stomach reignites until the fire is licking at his throat, scorching it. Somehow, he nods. "You look like you need a drink," Wu Fan says, and he still hasn't let go of Jongin's shoulders. Wu Fan's palms fit perfectly over the bones, large and steady, and Jongin lets himself be guided over to the bar.
There's something magnetic about Wu Fan, and by the time Jongin has a drink in his hand, part of him doesn't even blame Lu Han for being attracted. The rest of him, though, is almost viciously angry. He wants to hurt Wu Fan, break him like Jongin had broken Lu Han in the end, out of his own selfishness, like a wind-up toy soldier missing all its gears.
"Come home with me," Jongin says, his breath hot against Wu Fan's mouth as he pulls him down by the collar until their faces are level.
"What are you going to do to me if I do?" Wu Fan smirks, and suddenly, even though Jongin's the one with his hands fisted in Wu Fan's shirt, he suddenly feels like the prey.
Jongin bares his teeth and hisses, "I'm going to tear you apart."
Wu Fan smiles, eyes dark, and lets Jongin take him home.
There’s a certain irony to seeing Wu Fan’s skin against the sheets of his bed, and even though they stopped smelling of Lu Han long ago, Lu Han had probably smelled more like Wu Fan than the rain in the end anyway.
Sex with Wu Fan is give and take, where Jongin gives up his body and Wu Fan takes control, and it’s exhilarating.
“What’s wrong?” Wu Fan says, teeth biting at the inside of Jongin’s thigh. “I thought you were going to tear me apart?”
Jongin suddenly remembers Lu Han begging in the storage room at Wu Fan’s mercy, and drags Wu Fan up by the hair. “I hate you,” he snarls, and Wu Fan moans, deep in his throat.
“Then show me.”
Wu fan lets Jongin fuck him open hard, arms trembling with their combined weight as he digs his palms into the mattress, and Jongin would think he was hurting Wu Fan because there are tears on his face, except that every time Jongin tries to stop, Wu Fan reaches back to grip Jongin’s thighs so hard he can feel them bruise.
This is the kind of sex Jongin and Lu Han had never had and Jongin feels consumed by it, his body shattering, melting, like glass on the surface of the sun.
Wu Fan comes into his own hand, other arm collapsing so his face is pressed into the pillow, and Jongin thinks savagely that his moans sound even better muffled by fabric. He jerks himself off onto Wu Fan’s back, crying out as his orgasm rips through him, and when he runs his finger through the semen, the jealousy that has been clawing away inside of him for so long somehow feels sated.
He cleans Wu Fan off carefully, almost regretting his roughness, and Wu Fan rolls over onto his back, taking in a deep breath.
“Wow,” he says, and then laughs a little breathlessly. “I guess you really must hate me.”
“Why’d you let me do that? You don’t seem the type to let someone…” Jongin trails off.
Wu Fan smirks at him through the dark. “Fuck me?” He shrugs, wincing a little as though his back hurts, and explains, “I figure I shouldn’t dish it out if I can’t take it. And if it hurts, then so much the better.”
Jongin can see the remnants of Wu Fan’s tears on his cheeks and shifts uncomfortably, unsure if he should apologize. Wu Fan doesn’t seem to notice.
“Doesn’t matter how much someone else hates you, because you’ll always hate yourself more, you know?” Wu Fan wipes at his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. “The important thing is that that other person feels something for you. Love, hate- we’ve all just got to take what we can get.”
Even knowing that Lu Han’s words came from the sand dreams and not from his heart, Jongin had felt some relief because at least Lu Han had felt something for him.
Jongin thinks somehow, he and Wu Fan might understand each other perfectly. “Have you ever been in love?”
“Once,” Wu Fan says. “It was nice.” Jongin nods, staring at the ceiling, and Wu Fan’s long fingers pressing into his hipbone. The touch makes him feel lonely. “Now I don’t feel anything.”
Wu Fan drifts off to sleep, frowning even then, and Jongin smoothes a finger across Wu Fan’s eyebrows. The scowl doesn’t go away, though, lips pulled into a tight downward curve. Jongin is captivated by the way Wu Fan’s eyelashes fan across his cheeks. Maybe…
Wu Fan had said he didn’t feel anything, had told Jongin that people just had to take what they could get.
Would it really be such a crime, Jongin wonders. Wouldn’t he be doing Wu Fan a favor? Taking what he could and making Wu Fan feel again, mending two broken hearts, even if the solution was only temporary.
Jongin thinks he might be able to love Wu Fan because part of him is just as selfish as Jongin, because while Wu Fan pretends not to care, he probably really cares most of all.
The space where Jongin had buried his grief over Lu Han and his hate for Wu Fan aches and eats at him, begging to be filled again, and Jongin just wants to be wanted.
“Just this once,” he promises himself, a whisper in the dark as he raises his hand, but when Jongin licks his lips, the untruth is heavy on his tongue, grainy and bitter like ocean sand.
| PART 2 |