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writetomyheart2015-10-05 05:01 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in writetomyheart2015-10-05 05:01 pm
Entry tags:
[team sonic] tremble
First word from easy to please.
The title is from Boreal Sons' Tremble.
Written for the xuanjoo ficfest.
"You," Yixuan whispers into Sungjoo's ear, warm breath tickling his ear, the feeling sending shivers down his spin as he raises his fingers, softly, tentatively to Yixuan's hair, "you are everything to me." His voice wraps around Sungjoo, like the warmth of his arms, skin touching skin, and Sungjoo can't help but sniffle, blinking the wet out of his eyes.
"I'm still sorry you had to come over," he rasps, voice raw from coughing as he blinks, presses his closed eyes to Yixuan's shoulder. "I don't want you to get sick too."
"Nonsense," Yixuan says, pressing a kiss to Sungjoo's hair. "Of course I want to take care of you."
They lie like that together, curled up in the sheets, and Sungjoo drifts asleep to the sound of Yixuan breathing softly in time with his heartbeat, a soothing whoosh whoosh of air and thump thump beneath his fingers, slightly spread on Yixuan's chest.
The sky is pink, birds singing outside the window when Sungjoo cracks open his eyes, takes a deep breath as the air in his lungs catches—smooth for a moment before he starts coughing again, a kind of persistent hack hack hack as he tries and fails to dislodge the fluid stuck in his throat, trying to smother the sound in the sheets and failing as Yixuan stirs, groans faintly before rolling to a sitting position as he takes in his surroundings.
"Are you okay?" he asks, and Sungjoo wants to answer yes but he's too busy coughing, eyes streaming; Yixuan just slips over and starts to gently pound at his back, dislodging the mucous as Sungjoo coughs up a wad of ugly disgusting muck into a tissue and finally, blessedly, takes a deep breath of fresh air, slumping slightly into Yixuan's arms.
"I'm sorry for waking you," he rasps, eyes blinking shut. I'm so tired.
"Don't apologize," Yixuan scolds, though he's the furthest from angry, and collects the tissue from Sungjoo's hand to toss it into the wastepaper basket before reaching for the water bottle by the bed.
"Do you want some water?" he asks, and Sungjoo nods, taking the bottle after Yixuan uncaps it and lifting it to his lips. "I'll just be a moment," Yixuan says, slipping off the bed and padding out to the kitchen, feet in Sungjoo's slippers. Sungjoo leans against the pillows, tipping the water down his throat until the bottle is empty. His throat feels raw, the water only a temporary balm, and it bursts back into flames as soon as the water is all gone.
He's just about to get up, look for anything to take the edge back, when Yixuan is back with a bowl of what smells like—
"porridge?" he asks, and winces as the words grate over his throat. Yixian nods, passing him the bowl and a spoon and Sungjoo just sits with the bowl in his lap and breathes in the smell.
"Don't you like it?" Yixuan asks, slightly worry creasing his forehead, and Sungjoo is quick to shake his head.
"No," he whispers, and even though talking hurts he needs to explain, "It's been a long time." He smiles, lifting the spoon of porridge to his mouth, letting the rice and abalone slip over his tongue. Perfect.
Yixuan relaxes into a grin, reaching forward to ruffle his fingers through Sungjoo's extreme bed hair before heading back to the kitchen, and Sungjoo can hear the water running in the sink as Yixuan washes the dishes.
You're everything to me too, he thinks, taking another bite and waiting for Yixuan to be done so he can crawl back into bed and wrap his arms around him.
Sungjoo drifts to sleep in a tangle of sheets and Yixuan, his head nestled on Yixuan's arm, and even though his throat hurts and he doesn't like being sick, not one little bit, his heart feels so full that it almost makes up for everything else.
The title is from Boreal Sons' Tremble.
Written for the xuanjoo ficfest.
"You," Yixuan whispers into Sungjoo's ear, warm breath tickling his ear, the feeling sending shivers down his spin as he raises his fingers, softly, tentatively to Yixuan's hair, "you are everything to me." His voice wraps around Sungjoo, like the warmth of his arms, skin touching skin, and Sungjoo can't help but sniffle, blinking the wet out of his eyes.
"I'm still sorry you had to come over," he rasps, voice raw from coughing as he blinks, presses his closed eyes to Yixuan's shoulder. "I don't want you to get sick too."
"Nonsense," Yixuan says, pressing a kiss to Sungjoo's hair. "Of course I want to take care of you."
They lie like that together, curled up in the sheets, and Sungjoo drifts asleep to the sound of Yixuan breathing softly in time with his heartbeat, a soothing whoosh whoosh of air and thump thump beneath his fingers, slightly spread on Yixuan's chest.
The sky is pink, birds singing outside the window when Sungjoo cracks open his eyes, takes a deep breath as the air in his lungs catches—smooth for a moment before he starts coughing again, a kind of persistent hack hack hack as he tries and fails to dislodge the fluid stuck in his throat, trying to smother the sound in the sheets and failing as Yixuan stirs, groans faintly before rolling to a sitting position as he takes in his surroundings.
"Are you okay?" he asks, and Sungjoo wants to answer yes but he's too busy coughing, eyes streaming; Yixuan just slips over and starts to gently pound at his back, dislodging the mucous as Sungjoo coughs up a wad of ugly disgusting muck into a tissue and finally, blessedly, takes a deep breath of fresh air, slumping slightly into Yixuan's arms.
"I'm sorry for waking you," he rasps, eyes blinking shut. I'm so tired.
"Don't apologize," Yixuan scolds, though he's the furthest from angry, and collects the tissue from Sungjoo's hand to toss it into the wastepaper basket before reaching for the water bottle by the bed.
"Do you want some water?" he asks, and Sungjoo nods, taking the bottle after Yixuan uncaps it and lifting it to his lips. "I'll just be a moment," Yixuan says, slipping off the bed and padding out to the kitchen, feet in Sungjoo's slippers. Sungjoo leans against the pillows, tipping the water down his throat until the bottle is empty. His throat feels raw, the water only a temporary balm, and it bursts back into flames as soon as the water is all gone.
He's just about to get up, look for anything to take the edge back, when Yixuan is back with a bowl of what smells like—
"porridge?" he asks, and winces as the words grate over his throat. Yixian nods, passing him the bowl and a spoon and Sungjoo just sits with the bowl in his lap and breathes in the smell.
"Don't you like it?" Yixuan asks, slightly worry creasing his forehead, and Sungjoo is quick to shake his head.
"No," he whispers, and even though talking hurts he needs to explain, "It's been a long time." He smiles, lifting the spoon of porridge to his mouth, letting the rice and abalone slip over his tongue. Perfect.
Yixuan relaxes into a grin, reaching forward to ruffle his fingers through Sungjoo's extreme bed hair before heading back to the kitchen, and Sungjoo can hear the water running in the sink as Yixuan washes the dishes.
You're everything to me too, he thinks, taking another bite and waiting for Yixuan to be done so he can crawl back into bed and wrap his arms around him.
Sungjoo drifts to sleep in a tangle of sheets and Yixuan, his head nestled on Yixuan's arm, and even though his throat hurts and he doesn't like being sick, not one little bit, his heart feels so full that it almost makes up for everything else.