and it was like a shot of quicksilver [ fic ]
mercury in my veins, part 1
gd/top (+ yb/seungri) | nc-17, 2798 words, au
jiyong's an addict to more than just the cocaine.
i wouldn't be this if i were a good man
but i'm not a bad man either, am i?
A GOOD MAN/BIG BANG
Every time Kwon Jiyong trudges up the seven cracked cement steps to Choi Seunghyun's house, what is left of his instinct tells him to run far away in the opposite direction fast as his wiry legs will carry him. This side of the neighborhood is a little better than where his own tiny apartment is located, but Seunghyun's screen door creaks all on its own, and he can hear the voices and music already wafting out towards him almost as thick - and twice as ominous - as the smoke.
Seunghyun will be in there already buzzed despite the early hour, and he'll be entertaining some bums he calls his friends who do little more than legally steal his shit from him as long as he's too high to notice. And they'll all be giggling like morons, all dude this shit is fucking the shit and goddamn I can hear the moon from here, do you hear that - or they'll be zoned out on the couch like zombies, and all Jiyong will gain from the encounter is a bad mood and a few unwanted gropes.
Or maybe, and this is the part that really scares him because even though it's a rare occurrence it's happened enough he knows it won't just stop, Seunghyun's friends will be sober enough to stumble out the door and leave the two of them alone, and then Seunghyun's undivided attention will be on Jiyong.
And then. Jiyong bites his lip. It repulses him, makes him shiver every time he thinks about it, and yet here he is, on the perpetrator's doorstep again like a fucking lost puppy dog.
Like he really can run the other way now, he thinks bitterly. He pushes the door open and slips in.
The smoke hits him like a heat wave, curling around his arms and the tips of his hair, and through the haze he sees the outlines of three people slumped on Seunghyun's leather couch, including Seunghyun himself, dressed in dark jeans and a gray shirt, hair messy and undone.
One of the friends Jiyong recognizes, the broad shoulders and sharp Mohawk now wedged into the folds of the couch as Dong Youngbae deeply inhales a homemade joint, the orange tip of the flame crackling to life as he does. Out of all the deadbeats Seunghyun calls his friends, Youngbae is one of the better ones, if you could call fucking everything that walked a good guy.
The other one is buff and tall with an artificially yellow mop of hair who Jiyong has never seen before.
"Kwon Jiyong," Youngbae notices him first, his usual smooth voice currently slow and stupid from the weed. "What you doin' here this early?"
Jiyong's eyes flicker over to Seunghyun, who hasn't moved an inch, but before he can crank out some lie, Youngbae accidentally slides a few centimeters down on the couch and his body friction with the material makes the couch squeak.
"Oh shit," The blond guy suddenly says, breaking into peals of high-pitched laughter, "Lookit. Do it again, Bae!" Youngbae ignores him, so the blond rubs against the couch himself, his giggles even more raucous when same sound emits. "Seunghyun! Youngbae - !"
Youngbae and Seunghyun ignore him, and Jiyong rolls his eyes. He's already getting irritated, and at this rate he's thinking he might as well leave and just get his dust from somewhere else.
"Pretty boy doesn't like it," the blond says, disappointed at Jiyong's expression, which darkens another 30 degrees at the nickname. Belatedly, he realizes he has no idea who Jiyong is, and maybe shouldn't be talking to him like a buddy. His homeboy grin slips off his face and he jabs a lazy finger at Jiyong's chest. "Oy, who is this kid?" Appraising Jiyong for a minute through blurry eyes, he then smiles, though it's a different kind and more of a leer. "Hey, Choi, this your entertainment or something?" He fingers the silver chain hanging from Jiyong's jeans. "Damn, you didn't have to get all dressed up for us. How much, sexy?"
Jiyong scowls. "Who the fuck--" he starts, but Seunghyun, who up until now didn't even look like he was paying attention, has stood up, surprisingly steady on his feet.
"Time to leave," he says. In one motion he has hoisted the wobbly blond upright, though the guy has trouble staying that way. Youngbae agreeably stands up after a minute of his own accord, and then Seunghyun is herding the both of them out of the house, plucking the joint from between Youngbae's fingers before shutting the real door, not just the screen one, and triple-locking it.
He turns around, leaning against the door and looking at Jiyong, who is still standing by the couch and is still bearing knotted eyebrows and narrowed eyes. Seunghyun's mouth coils into a mildly amused quirk.
"Who in the fuck was he?" Jiyong says as soon as the last lock clicks. He hates these drifters always coming and going from Seunghyun's house. He's told Seunghyun to take his business to another place so, if anything, dissatisfied customers won't know exactly where the hell to find him in the middle of the night, but the fucker has insisted that his house is the safest location for these things. Seunghyun never listens to him.
The taller boy shrugs with his right shoulder, taking a drag of the joint between his thumb and forefinger. "Some friend of YB's. Said he was cool."
Jiyong scoffs, freshly angry at the lack of response he's getting. "Right."
After a small pause, Seunghyun's tiny smirk of amusement widens. "Well, to be fair, you kinda look like one."
It takes a minute for Jiyong to fully take in that Seunghyun is calling him equivalent to a hooker, and again he wonders why he didn't choose today to put his running shoes on - that is, if he owns a pair - and start the other way for the horizon. "Fuck you," he finally snarls, and heads for the back kitchen door so he can get the hell out because there is no way he is using the front door, which would mean pushing past Seunghyun, taller than he is by about a head and a half not to mention stronger, and three steel locks.
As it is, he barely makes it five strides before Seunghyun catches up and grabs his wrist, twisting his arm so Jiyong spins around to face him again. At the same time he slams Jiyong against the wall beside the television, so hard he sees stars for a second.
"I don't think so, Ji," Seunghyun says lowly, lips and breath tickling Jiyong's ear, and Jiyong almost immediately feels his body tensing. "You want to come to my house, you can fucking stay at my house till I say otherwise."
When Seunghyun dips his head and licks Jiyong's neck, he shudders heavily before gaining his bearings enough to struggle rather fruitlessly against him. God, it's always like this. Jiyong might as well be invisible around Seunghyun until he tries to leave, and then it's like he's done something wrong all of the sudden the way Seunghyun will fucking morph into the devil reincarnate. "Get - the fuck - off me," Jiyong hisses, but he sees a flash of teeth as Seunghyun merely grins at him. Jiyong manages to peel himself off the wall, but Seunghyun uses his body to press Jiyong against it again. His legs tangle between Jiyong's, and his left hand holds the base of Jiyong's neck against the wall. The other is already up Jiyong's flimsy white t-shirt.
"Why are you so ready to leave anyway, huh?" He says. His right knee brushes purposely against Jiyong's crotch, and Jiyong gives an involuntary jerk, breath hitching and dying in his throat. Seunghyun seems pleased, fire igniting in his dark eyes as he breathes his words directly into Jiyong's ear again. "I mean, why the fuck did you even show if all you were gonna do is run out five seconds later? You really think you could just leave me hanging like that?"
It's hard for Jiyong to form coherent sentences by now, Seunghyun's fingers ghosting past his ribs and rubbing his nipple, but he bites the inside of his cheek and looks Seunghyun in the eye. "I just - want my shit," he says through his teeth. "I need to get straight. That's it, Choi."
This, apparently, is the wrong thing to say. As pleased as Seunghyun looked a second ago, it is replaced by surprise, and his lip curls in a sneer after a rare dumbstruck moment, Seunghyun trying to play it off like he doesn't give a fuck. "And is that all I am, Ji? Your supplier?" Jiyong chooses not to answer, and Jesus he might as well have called Seunghyun's momma fat and backwards the way Seunghyun immediately drops the composed act and slams him against the wall again. "I'm your dealer? That's it? Is that all I am? Is that it!" Another slam against the wall, and Jiyong watches dust get shaken loose from the ceiling and thinks the house might come down with it, them inside.
His head is spinning, but he tilts his head through the pressure on his neck. "What else is there?" He says.
The fire in Seunghyun's eyes turns red, and Jiyong is sure that if he had a gun in his hands, he would shoot him right then and there, between the eyes. He has no fucking idea why Seunghyun even cares this much - he's pretty sure Seunghyun gets a shit-ton of tail - and cock, at that - anywhere he wants, without Jiyong's attitude or skinny frame or apparently resemblance to a goddamn hooker... or maybe Seunghyun just hates being the one rejected first. Either way, Jiyong is suddenly whirling around and crashing face-first into the wall, and it's all he can do to twist his face to the side before Seunghyun's hand is pressing heavily on the back of his neck again, making him lightheaded.
"Well, well," Seunghyun growls, and his voice is now a perfect mask of detached amusement, "'Pretty boy' Jiyong's forgotten just who the fuck he is." Seunghyun's other hand snakes around Jiyong's waist to fumble with the button on his ripped black jeans, and Jiyong can't even move, or maybe he doesn't want to, the way he holds perfectly still until the button is undone and the zipper ripped down.
Seunghyun's teeth are gritted as well, and Jiyong feels his erection pressing on his back. "I thought we sorted this shit out the first time around, but," and his hand slips down Jiyong's pants, "apparently we need a do over." His hand circles around the base of Jiyong's cock, and it isn't until he twists his grip almost painfully that Jiyong realizes he has an erection as well.
"Dammit," he chokes out as Seunghyun twists his hand again, and Jiyong holds both arms out on either side of him, palms flat against the wall, to brace himself or something, and for fuck's sake to hold on for dear life.
Seunghyun laughs roughly. "Kinda feels like I'm not just your dealer, Jiyong," he says, and Jiyong hates the fucking cocky bastard who thinks he's top shit, hates how he always has to win and always does, and how to him, the most satisfying successes always have to involve Jiyong somehow. It isn't enough that Jiyong has nobody and nothing but a couple hundred dollars to his name anymore, it isn't enough that Jiyong's nose and throat are stained with the aftertaste of white powder he collects too habitually to remember, it isn't enough that the crooks of Jiyong's arms are black-and-blue tipped and he sometimes wakes up with no idea where the fuck he is or why he's alive. No, Seunghyun has to bring him down and win over him again every week, if not every day.
Why does he keep coming back?
His pants are roughly shoved down a few inches, and he draws in a sharp breath as he is exposed to the crisp early morning air, present even through the mugginess of Seunghyun's smoked-up living room. He wonders if Seunghyun is going to fuck him right there against the wall, and whether he'll pass out from banging his head against the wall or from Seunghyun's hand still holding his neck in place, and how much it'll hurt unless Seunghyun carries lube around with him in his pockets now.
But no, Seunghyun makes no motion of undoing his own pants even though Jiyong can feel him through his shirt, almost as loud as their heartbeats. So Seunghyun is just going to hand-fuck him, out here in the open with Jiyong's head nailed against the wall as he listens to Jiyong pant and moan all on his whim like a helpless little animal.
Seunghyun is alternately twisting and pumping, and goddamn, Jiyong doesn't even remember when Seunghyun learned all his sensitive spots or the exact right way to get him off. He tries to get his bearings and think of something else, but Seunghyun's hands are blazing trails of fire. Seunghyun grinds against him and a desperate moan escapes Jiyong's lips and he bucks back against him, wanting more, wanting contact, wanting the heat - when suddenly the man behind him stops his motions.
"You know what I want?" And Ji is afraid to answer, so Seunghyun continues after a pause. "I wanna hear you beg for it, Ji," Seunghyun's lips are moving against Jiyong's neck above where his hand is, and Jiyong scowls as Seunghyun continues, "I want to hear how much you want it. Just how much?" He bites Jiyong's earlobe.
"Go to hell," Jiyong snaps, nails digging into the wall. Seunghyun isn't put off, but resumes what he was doing except tantalizingly slow, eliciting more embarrassing noises from Jiyong's throat, his knuckles pale and strained. His head is all hissing and white noise, and he can't remember anything except for Seunghyun's face, his name, the feel of skin on his skin.
"Fuck," Jiyong's voice is a strangled yell. "What are you doing?"
"I want you to beg for it, baby," Seunghyun repeats, and this time Jiyong can't even think straight to deny him; he has no idea what the hell he says, except for please about sixteen thousand times, and Seunghyun's name almost as much, and somewhere in between Seunghyun's hand is moving again, and his lips, and Jiyong feels faint from the sudden increased force on his neck and at the same time dizzily aware. He stares at the television through blurry vision, for a second forgetting what it is. It's a flat screen, bolted to the wall and too extravagant for a place like this. The corners of the black screen shake slightly as Jiyong's torso is pushed yet again into the wall.
It doesn't take him long to come, and his shout is raw before he slumps against the wall.
For a moment, everything is silent except his ragged breathing, and then he feels Seunghyun twist his head towards him. "Next time you want your shit, Jiyong, don't expect to just walk out of here after five fucking seconds, and this won't have to happen again."
In that second Jiyong could hate him, and he almost can, through the crude pangs of want and even as Seunghyun lowers his head to catch Jiyong's lips in his own, crushing Jiyong's mouth underneath his, tongue coarsely twining with Jiyong's and grazing his teeth and it's almost like he's searching for something past Jiyong's mouth. Seunghyun tastes metallic and smokey, with none of his own flavor mixed in between the blood and smoke.
Seunghyun breaks away after a second, releases his hold on Jiyong's neck, and disappears, leaving Ji panting and bruised. He tiredly looks at the mess on the green wall paint and his clothes and prods the tender spots on his neck, no doubt a dark purple contrast against his pale skin by now.
After a minute, he slowly pushes himself into a standing position and tugs his pants up. Something falls out of his pocket, and he sees glitter in the hazy rays of sunlight streaming through the windows. He bends down to pick up the small plastic bag of white dust, no doubt placed there by Seunghyun when he wasn't aware. He feels undeniably antsy looking down at the small thing, and thirsty, something neither water nor Seunghyun can fix. The powder falls away from his fingers as he pockets it again before starting the trek home, where Jiyong will do a line or two by the small window in his room, and feel the beginning effects kick in before he will tiredly flop into bed and spend the rest of the day in a state of unconsciousness, with nothing to wake him later but his own hunger.
next
gd/top (+ yb/seungri) | nc-17, 2798 words, au
jiyong's an addict to more than just the cocaine.
i wouldn't be this if i were a good man
but i'm not a bad man either, am i?
A GOOD MAN/BIG BANG
Every time Kwon Jiyong trudges up the seven cracked cement steps to Choi Seunghyun's house, what is left of his instinct tells him to run far away in the opposite direction fast as his wiry legs will carry him. This side of the neighborhood is a little better than where his own tiny apartment is located, but Seunghyun's screen door creaks all on its own, and he can hear the voices and music already wafting out towards him almost as thick - and twice as ominous - as the smoke.
Seunghyun will be in there already buzzed despite the early hour, and he'll be entertaining some bums he calls his friends who do little more than legally steal his shit from him as long as he's too high to notice. And they'll all be giggling like morons, all dude this shit is fucking the shit and goddamn I can hear the moon from here, do you hear that - or they'll be zoned out on the couch like zombies, and all Jiyong will gain from the encounter is a bad mood and a few unwanted gropes.
Or maybe, and this is the part that really scares him because even though it's a rare occurrence it's happened enough he knows it won't just stop, Seunghyun's friends will be sober enough to stumble out the door and leave the two of them alone, and then Seunghyun's undivided attention will be on Jiyong.
And then. Jiyong bites his lip. It repulses him, makes him shiver every time he thinks about it, and yet here he is, on the perpetrator's doorstep again like a fucking lost puppy dog.
Like he really can run the other way now, he thinks bitterly. He pushes the door open and slips in.
The smoke hits him like a heat wave, curling around his arms and the tips of his hair, and through the haze he sees the outlines of three people slumped on Seunghyun's leather couch, including Seunghyun himself, dressed in dark jeans and a gray shirt, hair messy and undone.
One of the friends Jiyong recognizes, the broad shoulders and sharp Mohawk now wedged into the folds of the couch as Dong Youngbae deeply inhales a homemade joint, the orange tip of the flame crackling to life as he does. Out of all the deadbeats Seunghyun calls his friends, Youngbae is one of the better ones, if you could call fucking everything that walked a good guy.
The other one is buff and tall with an artificially yellow mop of hair who Jiyong has never seen before.
"Kwon Jiyong," Youngbae notices him first, his usual smooth voice currently slow and stupid from the weed. "What you doin' here this early?"
Jiyong's eyes flicker over to Seunghyun, who hasn't moved an inch, but before he can crank out some lie, Youngbae accidentally slides a few centimeters down on the couch and his body friction with the material makes the couch squeak.
"Oh shit," The blond guy suddenly says, breaking into peals of high-pitched laughter, "Lookit. Do it again, Bae!" Youngbae ignores him, so the blond rubs against the couch himself, his giggles even more raucous when same sound emits. "Seunghyun! Youngbae - !"
Youngbae and Seunghyun ignore him, and Jiyong rolls his eyes. He's already getting irritated, and at this rate he's thinking he might as well leave and just get his dust from somewhere else.
"Pretty boy doesn't like it," the blond says, disappointed at Jiyong's expression, which darkens another 30 degrees at the nickname. Belatedly, he realizes he has no idea who Jiyong is, and maybe shouldn't be talking to him like a buddy. His homeboy grin slips off his face and he jabs a lazy finger at Jiyong's chest. "Oy, who is this kid?" Appraising Jiyong for a minute through blurry eyes, he then smiles, though it's a different kind and more of a leer. "Hey, Choi, this your entertainment or something?" He fingers the silver chain hanging from Jiyong's jeans. "Damn, you didn't have to get all dressed up for us. How much, sexy?"
Jiyong scowls. "Who the fuck--" he starts, but Seunghyun, who up until now didn't even look like he was paying attention, has stood up, surprisingly steady on his feet.
"Time to leave," he says. In one motion he has hoisted the wobbly blond upright, though the guy has trouble staying that way. Youngbae agreeably stands up after a minute of his own accord, and then Seunghyun is herding the both of them out of the house, plucking the joint from between Youngbae's fingers before shutting the real door, not just the screen one, and triple-locking it.
He turns around, leaning against the door and looking at Jiyong, who is still standing by the couch and is still bearing knotted eyebrows and narrowed eyes. Seunghyun's mouth coils into a mildly amused quirk.
"Who in the fuck was he?" Jiyong says as soon as the last lock clicks. He hates these drifters always coming and going from Seunghyun's house. He's told Seunghyun to take his business to another place so, if anything, dissatisfied customers won't know exactly where the hell to find him in the middle of the night, but the fucker has insisted that his house is the safest location for these things. Seunghyun never listens to him.
The taller boy shrugs with his right shoulder, taking a drag of the joint between his thumb and forefinger. "Some friend of YB's. Said he was cool."
Jiyong scoffs, freshly angry at the lack of response he's getting. "Right."
After a small pause, Seunghyun's tiny smirk of amusement widens. "Well, to be fair, you kinda look like one."
It takes a minute for Jiyong to fully take in that Seunghyun is calling him equivalent to a hooker, and again he wonders why he didn't choose today to put his running shoes on - that is, if he owns a pair - and start the other way for the horizon. "Fuck you," he finally snarls, and heads for the back kitchen door so he can get the hell out because there is no way he is using the front door, which would mean pushing past Seunghyun, taller than he is by about a head and a half not to mention stronger, and three steel locks.
As it is, he barely makes it five strides before Seunghyun catches up and grabs his wrist, twisting his arm so Jiyong spins around to face him again. At the same time he slams Jiyong against the wall beside the television, so hard he sees stars for a second.
"I don't think so, Ji," Seunghyun says lowly, lips and breath tickling Jiyong's ear, and Jiyong almost immediately feels his body tensing. "You want to come to my house, you can fucking stay at my house till I say otherwise."
When Seunghyun dips his head and licks Jiyong's neck, he shudders heavily before gaining his bearings enough to struggle rather fruitlessly against him. God, it's always like this. Jiyong might as well be invisible around Seunghyun until he tries to leave, and then it's like he's done something wrong all of the sudden the way Seunghyun will fucking morph into the devil reincarnate. "Get - the fuck - off me," Jiyong hisses, but he sees a flash of teeth as Seunghyun merely grins at him. Jiyong manages to peel himself off the wall, but Seunghyun uses his body to press Jiyong against it again. His legs tangle between Jiyong's, and his left hand holds the base of Jiyong's neck against the wall. The other is already up Jiyong's flimsy white t-shirt.
"Why are you so ready to leave anyway, huh?" He says. His right knee brushes purposely against Jiyong's crotch, and Jiyong gives an involuntary jerk, breath hitching and dying in his throat. Seunghyun seems pleased, fire igniting in his dark eyes as he breathes his words directly into Jiyong's ear again. "I mean, why the fuck did you even show if all you were gonna do is run out five seconds later? You really think you could just leave me hanging like that?"
It's hard for Jiyong to form coherent sentences by now, Seunghyun's fingers ghosting past his ribs and rubbing his nipple, but he bites the inside of his cheek and looks Seunghyun in the eye. "I just - want my shit," he says through his teeth. "I need to get straight. That's it, Choi."
This, apparently, is the wrong thing to say. As pleased as Seunghyun looked a second ago, it is replaced by surprise, and his lip curls in a sneer after a rare dumbstruck moment, Seunghyun trying to play it off like he doesn't give a fuck. "And is that all I am, Ji? Your supplier?" Jiyong chooses not to answer, and Jesus he might as well have called Seunghyun's momma fat and backwards the way Seunghyun immediately drops the composed act and slams him against the wall again. "I'm your dealer? That's it? Is that all I am? Is that it!" Another slam against the wall, and Jiyong watches dust get shaken loose from the ceiling and thinks the house might come down with it, them inside.
His head is spinning, but he tilts his head through the pressure on his neck. "What else is there?" He says.
The fire in Seunghyun's eyes turns red, and Jiyong is sure that if he had a gun in his hands, he would shoot him right then and there, between the eyes. He has no fucking idea why Seunghyun even cares this much - he's pretty sure Seunghyun gets a shit-ton of tail - and cock, at that - anywhere he wants, without Jiyong's attitude or skinny frame or apparently resemblance to a goddamn hooker... or maybe Seunghyun just hates being the one rejected first. Either way, Jiyong is suddenly whirling around and crashing face-first into the wall, and it's all he can do to twist his face to the side before Seunghyun's hand is pressing heavily on the back of his neck again, making him lightheaded.
"Well, well," Seunghyun growls, and his voice is now a perfect mask of detached amusement, "'Pretty boy' Jiyong's forgotten just who the fuck he is." Seunghyun's other hand snakes around Jiyong's waist to fumble with the button on his ripped black jeans, and Jiyong can't even move, or maybe he doesn't want to, the way he holds perfectly still until the button is undone and the zipper ripped down.
Seunghyun's teeth are gritted as well, and Jiyong feels his erection pressing on his back. "I thought we sorted this shit out the first time around, but," and his hand slips down Jiyong's pants, "apparently we need a do over." His hand circles around the base of Jiyong's cock, and it isn't until he twists his grip almost painfully that Jiyong realizes he has an erection as well.
"Dammit," he chokes out as Seunghyun twists his hand again, and Jiyong holds both arms out on either side of him, palms flat against the wall, to brace himself or something, and for fuck's sake to hold on for dear life.
Seunghyun laughs roughly. "Kinda feels like I'm not just your dealer, Jiyong," he says, and Jiyong hates the fucking cocky bastard who thinks he's top shit, hates how he always has to win and always does, and how to him, the most satisfying successes always have to involve Jiyong somehow. It isn't enough that Jiyong has nobody and nothing but a couple hundred dollars to his name anymore, it isn't enough that Jiyong's nose and throat are stained with the aftertaste of white powder he collects too habitually to remember, it isn't enough that the crooks of Jiyong's arms are black-and-blue tipped and he sometimes wakes up with no idea where the fuck he is or why he's alive. No, Seunghyun has to bring him down and win over him again every week, if not every day.
Why does he keep coming back?
His pants are roughly shoved down a few inches, and he draws in a sharp breath as he is exposed to the crisp early morning air, present even through the mugginess of Seunghyun's smoked-up living room. He wonders if Seunghyun is going to fuck him right there against the wall, and whether he'll pass out from banging his head against the wall or from Seunghyun's hand still holding his neck in place, and how much it'll hurt unless Seunghyun carries lube around with him in his pockets now.
But no, Seunghyun makes no motion of undoing his own pants even though Jiyong can feel him through his shirt, almost as loud as their heartbeats. So Seunghyun is just going to hand-fuck him, out here in the open with Jiyong's head nailed against the wall as he listens to Jiyong pant and moan all on his whim like a helpless little animal.
Seunghyun is alternately twisting and pumping, and goddamn, Jiyong doesn't even remember when Seunghyun learned all his sensitive spots or the exact right way to get him off. He tries to get his bearings and think of something else, but Seunghyun's hands are blazing trails of fire. Seunghyun grinds against him and a desperate moan escapes Jiyong's lips and he bucks back against him, wanting more, wanting contact, wanting the heat - when suddenly the man behind him stops his motions.
"You know what I want?" And Ji is afraid to answer, so Seunghyun continues after a pause. "I wanna hear you beg for it, Ji," Seunghyun's lips are moving against Jiyong's neck above where his hand is, and Jiyong scowls as Seunghyun continues, "I want to hear how much you want it. Just how much?" He bites Jiyong's earlobe.
"Go to hell," Jiyong snaps, nails digging into the wall. Seunghyun isn't put off, but resumes what he was doing except tantalizingly slow, eliciting more embarrassing noises from Jiyong's throat, his knuckles pale and strained. His head is all hissing and white noise, and he can't remember anything except for Seunghyun's face, his name, the feel of skin on his skin.
"Fuck," Jiyong's voice is a strangled yell. "What are you doing?"
"I want you to beg for it, baby," Seunghyun repeats, and this time Jiyong can't even think straight to deny him; he has no idea what the hell he says, except for please about sixteen thousand times, and Seunghyun's name almost as much, and somewhere in between Seunghyun's hand is moving again, and his lips, and Jiyong feels faint from the sudden increased force on his neck and at the same time dizzily aware. He stares at the television through blurry vision, for a second forgetting what it is. It's a flat screen, bolted to the wall and too extravagant for a place like this. The corners of the black screen shake slightly as Jiyong's torso is pushed yet again into the wall.
It doesn't take him long to come, and his shout is raw before he slumps against the wall.
For a moment, everything is silent except his ragged breathing, and then he feels Seunghyun twist his head towards him. "Next time you want your shit, Jiyong, don't expect to just walk out of here after five fucking seconds, and this won't have to happen again."
In that second Jiyong could hate him, and he almost can, through the crude pangs of want and even as Seunghyun lowers his head to catch Jiyong's lips in his own, crushing Jiyong's mouth underneath his, tongue coarsely twining with Jiyong's and grazing his teeth and it's almost like he's searching for something past Jiyong's mouth. Seunghyun tastes metallic and smokey, with none of his own flavor mixed in between the blood and smoke.
Seunghyun breaks away after a second, releases his hold on Jiyong's neck, and disappears, leaving Ji panting and bruised. He tiredly looks at the mess on the green wall paint and his clothes and prods the tender spots on his neck, no doubt a dark purple contrast against his pale skin by now.
After a minute, he slowly pushes himself into a standing position and tugs his pants up. Something falls out of his pocket, and he sees glitter in the hazy rays of sunlight streaming through the windows. He bends down to pick up the small plastic bag of white dust, no doubt placed there by Seunghyun when he wasn't aware. He feels undeniably antsy looking down at the small thing, and thirsty, something neither water nor Seunghyun can fix. The powder falls away from his fingers as he pockets it again before starting the trek home, where Jiyong will do a line or two by the small window in his room, and feel the beginning effects kick in before he will tiredly flop into bed and spend the rest of the day in a state of unconsciousness, with nothing to wake him later but his own hunger.
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