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05 June 2011 @ 08:49 pm
.017 - breathe in deep (and cleanse away our sins) [super junior]  
Title: breathe in deep (and cleanse away our sins)
Fandom/Pairing: [Super Junior] Sungmin/Shiwon
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, alcohol, recreational drug use, slashiness
Notes: AU in which Sungmin is a rockstar and has a band (with Heechul) and Shiwon is . . . not in it, and really this is just a snippet from a larger fic that I have not yet written so it lacks things like HOW DID THEY MEET and exposition and development. >.>; Basically it’s all [profile] ky_rin’s fault and everyone should blame her. This was GOING to be Jin/Junno so IDEFK okay For [profile] delacrymosa, prompt from [profile] turnupthestars is below. Unoriginal title ganked from Muse’s Fury. I just can’t stop with the fail. :(


I can't keep up with your turning tables, under your thumb I can't breathe

His head is heavy, tilting precariously—and his smile will tip right off his face, landing wetly on the floor—before he remembers how to use his neck muscles to keep it upright for a few precious seconds.

There it goes again. A disco ball turns amongst coloured lights that blink in and out of existence like fireflies. What if the back of his skull were connected to his spine and all he could stare at was the sky? Would he be more of a dreamer then?

He giggles on a hiccup. “Hickiggle.” Maybe his smile will slide up into his nose, and he’ll suffocate on happiness.

Weight on the sofa—VIP lounge for the beautiful people, their lives as bright and transient as the lights, but he's not one—next to him makes his head bob, and he drunkenly rolls it to the side. “H’lo.”

Soft laughter beats against his cheek in time with his pulse, or maybe the pulse of the music, and really it's all the same, isn't it? “I think you’re done for the night.”

Stubbornness pulls his smile down at the corners, the words to a childish song spinning in his head. Anything you can do, I can do better, I can do anything better than you. Dizzying.

“I can keep up.”

The charred stink of a match tickles his nostrils, and Shiwon snorts to get it out. It’s sickly sweet now, the smell of burning alcohol and sugar, the sizzle and pop and drip of a sugar cube before it’s dropped into a glass of beautiful, vivid poison green. He’s had one glass already, but it was milky and served with cold water. He hadn’t meant to, had intended to stick with his one glass of beer, but then the beer was finished and a glass had appeared in front of him. It looked so harmless, like minty milk, milky, milkyish, milkish—what a word, milkyish—cloudy—it was cloudy like a chemical reaction—pale mint that tasted like herbs and licorice and Shiwon still can't figure out if he liked it or not.

“It’s more alcoholic than you think.” Sungmin’s breath tastes of something grassier than absinthe. Shiwon inhales, and tastes through his nose.

Do scientists know?

He inhales through his mouth. The taste isn’t the same.

“You want?” Sungmin raises the joint up between them, rising to his knees on the sofa to hover over Shiwon. His head blocks out the disco ball, gives him a halo of twinkling, spinning lights. A broken, breaking halo, angel in the middle of falling in a sky of fragmented lights that will become stars. He needs to tell that to Sungmin, it can be their next single.

But the joint is still there. He can’t smell it through his nose as well as he could on Sungmin’s breath. Funny, that.

Shiwon makes bad decisions around Sungmin. Good intentions and the road to hell, and torn and fragmented angels—he needs to pray. His head is too heavy to shake in a “No.”


Sungmin raises the joint to his lips, and Shiwon’s field of vision narrows to his mouth, lips pursed tightly around the end as he sucks deeply. Our Father who art in Heaven . . .

“Well?” Sungmin leans closer, the word dragging across Shiwon’s lips in a wisp of smoke. He breathes it in automatically, and coughs.

“I shouldn’t.” Shouldn’t is the same as won’t and Sungmin knows it. Shiwon knows it. Anything you can do— Horrid, nasty taunt of a song, it's worse than peer pressure. Shiwon can ignore peer pressure; the thoughts inside his head are harder.

He doesn’t miss the word, “no.”

Sungmin’s hands frame his face—the joint is gone, passed off to Heechul—and strokes the corners of Shiwon’s mouth with his thumbs. His lips part, just a bit, automatically, because Shiwon is still focused on the soft touch of his thumbs, smooth but not as smooth as the skin next to his lips and—Sungmin whispers, “Breathe.”

He does, and fills his lungs with Sungmin, who is so close that Shiwon can nearly feel the heat of his lips, wants to feel them, because tonight he can’t stop the thoughts like he normally would. He can’t stop wanting, and he breathes Sungmin in until he’s dizzy from lack of oxygen and his thoughts feel clouded over with smoke, the inside of a glass of absinthe, too hazy for regret or desire. Whited-out, poison green.

“It’s too hard to think,” he frowns—smile upside down, where are all the questions.

Sungmin laughs, shattered halo dancing all around them, and presses another glass into Shiwon’s hand.

There is no clarity at the bottom, and questions fall away with broken glass when one of them trips into the table, and everyone laughs until they’re gasping for breath.

Shiwon thinks of thumbs stroking the corners of his lips, and falls with the rest of them.

Current Mood: anxiousanxious
Current Music: Muse - Fury
zacksbekuh on November 1st, 2011 01:54 pm (UTC)
Very intereresting reading. thx