Work Text:
A tattoo.
A black ink tattoo spread across the base of his stomach and disappeared passed the rim of his pants. Beomgyu wants to see it, all of it. He wants to memorize every etch and curve of it in his mind until he closes his eyes and doesn't see red anymore, only black, only the smooth ink of his recklessness. He wants to touch it, trace the lines of the ink, and know it so well that he can stare him in his eyes, dip his fingers underneath the fabric, and map out everything from memory. But that's not enough, is it? Beomgyu wants to taste it. God, he wants to be that fucking tattoo.
Has he gotten greedy? It seems all of a sudden all he ever does is want, but wanting is better than always needing, and before him, needing is all he could do. It seems Choi Yeonjun's benevolence will be his destruction.
Maybe not every fuck up deserves a chance to escape their inevitable dystopia. Who was he to try and escape something he crafted with his own hands, anyway? The want will start to itch under his skin until it turns to cravings, and then he won't be able to live a single second without this boy, without the tiny pill-shaped freedom this boy lends him in doses.
"Am I losing you? Come back to earth, Rockstar."
But just because he knows that doesn't mean he'll stop, doesn't mean he could.
"Yeonjun."
"Hm?" Is it starting to make sense now?
"Take it all away. All of it. I don't want it anymore."
"I'll take it all away, Gyu." His hands found Beomgyu's thighs, like a tether back to reality if he needed it. But he didn't want reality, he wanted... what did he call it? The static? The release? He wanted it. "Close your eyes and let Hyung take you to the stars."
He didn't see red. For the first time, he didn't see red. He was free. He was clean.
It wasn't enough.
"Hyung... Hyung I can't breathe."
"I know."
"No, Hyung– Hyung, I–" He chased the tether, gripping the sleeves of his jacket desperately until Yeonjun's presence was a furnace against the side of his body, holding him, wiping his tears. Since when did Beomgyu cry in front of anyone?
"Shh, you can breathe." His voice was solid rock in this state, a tether to safety instead of a tether to earth. His voice, his hands, the entire side of his body. "Listen to me. You can breathe. Breathe, Beomgyu."
His voice, his hands, the side of his body. Yes, he could breathe. He could feel the air and that was it, only air and Yeonjun, maybe the water floating around in his body.
It wasn't enough.
His hand slid between Yeonjun's thighs and, God, it made for such a pretty sight. He could be his tether, he could be Yeonjun's tether. He'd be such a good tether for him, reliable and pretty with the wow factor tucked somewhere permanently deep in his back pocket. Yeonjun squeezed his thighs and leaned further against him, hotter, closer.
"You can breathe just fine, yeah?"
You wanna be my tether? Yeah, okay, tie me down then, Rockstar.
His stomach was hot, hotter than his breath, hotter than every other part of his body.
"Wanna trace your tattoos." Was that his voice?
"Oh yeah?"
"Wanna trace 'em with my tongue, Hyung."
Yeonjun's stomach was hot, but his mouth set him ablaze, his tongue burning his neck and teeth grazing over his skin. His hand made its way to the other side of Beomgyu's neck, and he leaned into the touch on instinct, his head static. No. The world was static. His head was in some untouchable desolate plane pumping out scenes from pornos and every scenario that involved Yeonjun's tongue on his body.
Teeth dug into the meat of his neck and if he were sober, the sound he let out would've been embarrassing, with his fingers slipping down the band of Yeonjun's pants and his hand grabbing his waist and tugging him closer.
Yeonjun was searing against his skin.
Beomgyu wanted.