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theblueintheday2015-09-07 08:20 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in theblueintheday2015-09-07 08:20 pm
Entry tags:
[team sonic] a light in the crack
First words from here.
Title from Halsey's Young God.
The door swings shut, the muffled sound echoing like ripples in the air, changing nothing.
Sometimes Junmyeon wonders what he's even doing. Sitting here, at the bottom of the swimming pool, eyes staring through the blue as bubbles drift up from his mouth, popping gently on the surface, tiny explosions that leave only inconsequential ripples behind.
"Come on," he'd said. "You know you want this." And Junmyeon had let himself get swept away by the feeling of skin, a connection, even if he'd only been taking everything Junmyeon had to give, drinking the marrow of his bones and the sinew in his joints, eating up a piece of heaven.
It's a long time, since Junmyeon's been to heaven. He doesn't even remember what it looks like. Maybe if he lets faceless strangers fuck it out of him, one day he'll be sitting here, cracked tile cold under his bare thighs, thin t-shirt barely covering his hips, and as the water rushes in, maybe he'll be able to drown the thoughts out of his head, as the water pours into his lungs.
"I can see heaven when I fuck you," he'd said, and Junmyeon hadn't said anything, lying limply on the tangled bedsheets, a dull pain throbbing at the base of his spine in time with his slowly beating heart.
He doesn't think about how it used to be, when he still felt so alive. Now it's just cracked porcelain tiles and sharp edges, fingers rough and dry skin as his teeth worry at a bottom lip that's puffy and red.
"What's it like, being a god?" he'd asked, but he hadn't waited for an answer as he flooded Junmyeon with a warmth that was so ephemeral it was already dripping back out of his body before the door even swung shut.
"It doesn't feel like anything at all," Junmyeon had whispered to the empty walls, as he imaged running, imagined trying to hard to get back into heaven. Like a siren song, that he'd long since grown dead to, Junmyeon couldn't hear the music anymore.
He could only let people drain it slowly out if him, like blood seeping from a wound.
Junmyeon wonders how long it will take him to run out. He walks out of the lobby, looking up at the sky as tiny drops of rain fall on his face.
Title from Halsey's Young God.
The door swings shut, the muffled sound echoing like ripples in the air, changing nothing.
Sometimes Junmyeon wonders what he's even doing. Sitting here, at the bottom of the swimming pool, eyes staring through the blue as bubbles drift up from his mouth, popping gently on the surface, tiny explosions that leave only inconsequential ripples behind.
"Come on," he'd said. "You know you want this." And Junmyeon had let himself get swept away by the feeling of skin, a connection, even if he'd only been taking everything Junmyeon had to give, drinking the marrow of his bones and the sinew in his joints, eating up a piece of heaven.
It's a long time, since Junmyeon's been to heaven. He doesn't even remember what it looks like. Maybe if he lets faceless strangers fuck it out of him, one day he'll be sitting here, cracked tile cold under his bare thighs, thin t-shirt barely covering his hips, and as the water rushes in, maybe he'll be able to drown the thoughts out of his head, as the water pours into his lungs.
"I can see heaven when I fuck you," he'd said, and Junmyeon hadn't said anything, lying limply on the tangled bedsheets, a dull pain throbbing at the base of his spine in time with his slowly beating heart.
He doesn't think about how it used to be, when he still felt so alive. Now it's just cracked porcelain tiles and sharp edges, fingers rough and dry skin as his teeth worry at a bottom lip that's puffy and red.
"What's it like, being a god?" he'd asked, but he hadn't waited for an answer as he flooded Junmyeon with a warmth that was so ephemeral it was already dripping back out of his body before the door even swung shut.
"It doesn't feel like anything at all," Junmyeon had whispered to the empty walls, as he imaged running, imagined trying to hard to get back into heaven. Like a siren song, that he'd long since grown dead to, Junmyeon couldn't hear the music anymore.
He could only let people drain it slowly out if him, like blood seeping from a wound.
Junmyeon wonders how long it will take him to run out. He walks out of the lobby, looking up at the sky as tiny drops of rain fall on his face.