The Bones of You
Title: The Bones of You
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Sho/Jun
Word count: 1149
Summary: Jun has a crippling fear.
Warnings/Notes: Nothing much to say, really. I just wanted to get this fic off my hands because it's been haunting me for far longer than it should have. Warning for an extremely emotional Jun, though, if you despise that sort of thing?
He sinks deeper into the downiness of the pillows, wondering what he has done in his lifetime to deserve this moment.
It is a quiet afternoon, except for the sound of Sho playing the piano in the next room. Sunlight streams in the bedroom, through the thin slats of the blinds. It renders everything awash in stripes of wholesome gold. He watches the careworn shadow of Sho’s back through the open door, subtly moving up and down as he draws out every note. Without seeing Sho’s face, he knows that his head is bowed low, brows knitted together in concentration-he has that expression etched in his memory, giving him the ability to easily conjure up the face painted by Sho’s intensity to learn and work. Sometimes it’s funny, Jun thinks. Most of the time it knocks the air right off his lungs.
The piece reaches a glittering crescendo, and Sho plows through it with conviction. In Sho’s world, everything pays off because he just wants it that much, give and take a few clumsy notes.
“Am I good or what.” Sho’s animated voice echoes through the short distance, as he continues to play.
He can’t quite find the right words, he has never found the right words, so he doesn’t say a thing.
The possibility that it would all come crashing down meanders in his mind constantly, because it’s just too good to be true. He always needs to be told that no, it’s real, he’s here, you’re here, and this is your reality: the gentle melody of ivory and black keys, his soft, forgiving eyes, the peace of an afternoon spent together under one roof, time standing still.
Tell me that you love me. Tell me that I’m yours. Tell me again. Always tell me.
The music stops completely, snapping him out of his reverie. The sound of padded feet shuffles against the wooden floor: schk, schk, it goes.
“Hey!”
“What.” Jun smiles as the bed creaks with extra weight.
It’s just like those hushed conversations at night, when, as good as he thinks Sho is for him, he still wants more-I wish you could treat me better, like the way it was in the beginning-and the moment the words leave his lips, he regrets it. Sho’s eyes grow unbearably cold, enough to shake him to the core, and the rest of the night is spent with a barrier of empty air because Sho couldn’t stand being so close to his insecurities and his reproach, because you’re an asshole and I am so tired.
“I’m here, what else would you have of me?”
It crushes him to see Sho mastering his own emotions, sighing and blinking away the cloudy frustration in his eyes.
Everything, Jun thinks, and again, his heart caving in at the enormity of his newfound fear.
Instead, the word that comes out of his lips is “nothing.” Sho would sigh. Jun would bite his lips to the blood, and he stops to think how anyone could be so raw and so vulnerable? He thinks about how he has become that kind of person. With heaviness, he curls into the cocoon of their sheets, turning away as he closes his eyes. Right then, he would always settle for having Sho’s warm body beside his, even if Sho is thrumming in anger quietly. On those nights, there is no arm circumnavigating his waist, no breathing against his ears, no leg pretzeled around his own, none of those tactile assurances that he will never escape and will always crave.
He waits for Sho to forget in the morning.
“You weren't even listening to me play,” Sho accuses, tickling him on the exposed area on top of his jeans. He wriggles and squirms away from his fingers, laughter stuck at his throat as Sho tackles him, becoming a pleasant weight over his body. “Guess I’m not good enough to hold an audience captive yet.”
You’re the only thing in any room you’re ever in, Jun thinks, and he feels overwhelmed as Sho presses their lips together. Sho shifts his weight on his elbows and forearms as he adjusts his body to fit Jun’s, like clay fitting slowly into a mold. They have mastered which limb goes to which crevice, which lack needs to be filled-when there are no words needed, they fit together effortlessly and thoughtlessly. His hands travel instinctively to Sho’s hair and nape, and he needs this, will always need this.
He thinks he has lost the capacity to breathe when Sho begins to find his way down. His tongue darts out to the curved shell of Jun’s ear, following an invisible trail mapped by gasps and fevered exhales of the past. Sho’s lips land on the ivory of Jun’s neck, so briefly and gently; he loves the sound of it, slight wetness melting with supple skin, and he wants more.
“You smell good,” Sho says as he surfaces.
“Come back,” he demands.
Sho brings his grin down to Jun’s lips. He reaches to the side and helps Jun take his shirt off. His moving hands are painted gold by the afternoon sun until it finds a resting place on the dip of hipbones, as if it belonged there. Jun unbuttons his jeans to the smirk on Sho’s lips-he archs into assurance, he can’t be more transparent than he already is, and Sho’s tongue does obscene things, obscene, loving things, and again, a voice of fear speaks up ever so timidly.
He watches Sho’s head slowly bob up and down, feels his hold on him, and there is Sho, only Sho.
They lay there, minutes later, all flushed in a sea of white. There was more breathing than feeling, and these are the only moments that he felt secure enough to stop. Sho’s hand creeps up over his stomach, memorizing the plane of his chest, ghosting the area where Sho supposed his heart was. I feel you. Beating, beating, beating.
When Sho closes down on him to kiss the patch of skin by his heart, Jun vows to keep this moment as a snapshot of him. Just in case. Breathless, he cups Sho’s face into his veined, white hands and brings him down to his lips.
“Don’t leave,” he says into the kiss, and it sounds painful even to his own ears.
“Don’t,” Sho says, warning laced into the shortest of utterances. He pillows Jun’s lower lip with his, demanding more and nothing else at the same time. Jun opens up to let him in, and he shivers as Sho reaches down to tangle their hands together. It would be enough to tide Jun over, for now. It is his to keep.
For now, for now, for now.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Sho/Jun
Word count: 1149
Summary: Jun has a crippling fear.
Warnings/Notes: Nothing much to say, really. I just wanted to get this fic off my hands because it's been haunting me for far longer than it should have. Warning for an extremely emotional Jun, though, if you despise that sort of thing?
He sinks deeper into the downiness of the pillows, wondering what he has done in his lifetime to deserve this moment.
It is a quiet afternoon, except for the sound of Sho playing the piano in the next room. Sunlight streams in the bedroom, through the thin slats of the blinds. It renders everything awash in stripes of wholesome gold. He watches the careworn shadow of Sho’s back through the open door, subtly moving up and down as he draws out every note. Without seeing Sho’s face, he knows that his head is bowed low, brows knitted together in concentration-he has that expression etched in his memory, giving him the ability to easily conjure up the face painted by Sho’s intensity to learn and work. Sometimes it’s funny, Jun thinks. Most of the time it knocks the air right off his lungs.
The piece reaches a glittering crescendo, and Sho plows through it with conviction. In Sho’s world, everything pays off because he just wants it that much, give and take a few clumsy notes.
“Am I good or what.” Sho’s animated voice echoes through the short distance, as he continues to play.
He can’t quite find the right words, he has never found the right words, so he doesn’t say a thing.
The possibility that it would all come crashing down meanders in his mind constantly, because it’s just too good to be true. He always needs to be told that no, it’s real, he’s here, you’re here, and this is your reality: the gentle melody of ivory and black keys, his soft, forgiving eyes, the peace of an afternoon spent together under one roof, time standing still.
Tell me that you love me. Tell me that I’m yours. Tell me again. Always tell me.
The music stops completely, snapping him out of his reverie. The sound of padded feet shuffles against the wooden floor: schk, schk, it goes.
“Hey!”
“What.” Jun smiles as the bed creaks with extra weight.
It’s just like those hushed conversations at night, when, as good as he thinks Sho is for him, he still wants more-I wish you could treat me better, like the way it was in the beginning-and the moment the words leave his lips, he regrets it. Sho’s eyes grow unbearably cold, enough to shake him to the core, and the rest of the night is spent with a barrier of empty air because Sho couldn’t stand being so close to his insecurities and his reproach, because you’re an asshole and I am so tired.
“I’m here, what else would you have of me?”
It crushes him to see Sho mastering his own emotions, sighing and blinking away the cloudy frustration in his eyes.
Everything, Jun thinks, and again, his heart caving in at the enormity of his newfound fear.
Instead, the word that comes out of his lips is “nothing.” Sho would sigh. Jun would bite his lips to the blood, and he stops to think how anyone could be so raw and so vulnerable? He thinks about how he has become that kind of person. With heaviness, he curls into the cocoon of their sheets, turning away as he closes his eyes. Right then, he would always settle for having Sho’s warm body beside his, even if Sho is thrumming in anger quietly. On those nights, there is no arm circumnavigating his waist, no breathing against his ears, no leg pretzeled around his own, none of those tactile assurances that he will never escape and will always crave.
He waits for Sho to forget in the morning.
“You weren't even listening to me play,” Sho accuses, tickling him on the exposed area on top of his jeans. He wriggles and squirms away from his fingers, laughter stuck at his throat as Sho tackles him, becoming a pleasant weight over his body. “Guess I’m not good enough to hold an audience captive yet.”
You’re the only thing in any room you’re ever in, Jun thinks, and he feels overwhelmed as Sho presses their lips together. Sho shifts his weight on his elbows and forearms as he adjusts his body to fit Jun’s, like clay fitting slowly into a mold. They have mastered which limb goes to which crevice, which lack needs to be filled-when there are no words needed, they fit together effortlessly and thoughtlessly. His hands travel instinctively to Sho’s hair and nape, and he needs this, will always need this.
He thinks he has lost the capacity to breathe when Sho begins to find his way down. His tongue darts out to the curved shell of Jun’s ear, following an invisible trail mapped by gasps and fevered exhales of the past. Sho’s lips land on the ivory of Jun’s neck, so briefly and gently; he loves the sound of it, slight wetness melting with supple skin, and he wants more.
“You smell good,” Sho says as he surfaces.
“Come back,” he demands.
Sho brings his grin down to Jun’s lips. He reaches to the side and helps Jun take his shirt off. His moving hands are painted gold by the afternoon sun until it finds a resting place on the dip of hipbones, as if it belonged there. Jun unbuttons his jeans to the smirk on Sho’s lips-he archs into assurance, he can’t be more transparent than he already is, and Sho’s tongue does obscene things, obscene, loving things, and again, a voice of fear speaks up ever so timidly.
He watches Sho’s head slowly bob up and down, feels his hold on him, and there is Sho, only Sho.
They lay there, minutes later, all flushed in a sea of white. There was more breathing than feeling, and these are the only moments that he felt secure enough to stop. Sho’s hand creeps up over his stomach, memorizing the plane of his chest, ghosting the area where Sho supposed his heart was. I feel you. Beating, beating, beating.
When Sho closes down on him to kiss the patch of skin by his heart, Jun vows to keep this moment as a snapshot of him. Just in case. Breathless, he cups Sho’s face into his veined, white hands and brings him down to his lips.
“Don’t leave,” he says into the kiss, and it sounds painful even to his own ears.
“Don’t,” Sho says, warning laced into the shortest of utterances. He pillows Jun’s lower lip with his, demanding more and nothing else at the same time. Jun opens up to let him in, and he shivers as Sho reaches down to tangle their hands together. It would be enough to tide Jun over, for now. It is his to keep.
For now, for now, for now.