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maayacolabackup“I know it shouldn’t hurt,” Seungri says. “I know it shouldn’t, but it does anyway.”
“What?” Jiyong pulls his headphones off one ear.
“When you ignore me,” Seungri says. “I know it’s just the way you are, but it feels like I’m being punished for caring.”
“I’m not punishing you,” Jiyong says shortly, turning back to his laptop. Jiyong’s fingers tap lightly on the keys. His nails are bitten to the quick.
I’m punishing myself, Jiyong thinks, as Seungri sighs, and starts to leave the room.
“If you don’t want me,” Seungri says, standing in the doorway. “You should let me go.”
“I’ll never let you go,” Jiyong whispers to the empty doorway, but Seungri is gone.
“You’re sort of an idiot,” Seunghyun says into the phone. Jiyong almost hadn’t answered, because Sean and Yang Hyun Suk had just given him a blank schedule and asked him to pick songs for himself and for the band for the YG Family concert, and told him they expected it in the morning. Jiyong wonders if anyone else has such a strict deadline, or if this limit-pushing is part of Jiyong’s unspoken punishment. “I got maknae wasted because I’m nosy, and you, leader, are an idiot. Daesungie is patting his back right now as he sobs into cheap beer. He’s so sad he’s drinking cheap beer, Jiyong. You know maknae doesn’t drink cheap beer.”
“Hyung,” Jiyong starts, but Seunghyun makes a weird noise in the back of his throat.
“All you have to do is be honest,” Seunghyun says.
“That’s very difficult for me to do outside of music.”
“Try harder.”
”Go bother Seungri instead of me,” Chaerin says, when Jiyong calls her.
“Maknae is mad at me,” Jiyong says to Chaerin, and Chaerin snorts. “Anyway, I’m calling to ask you about doing ‘The Leaders’ for the Family Tour, and…”
“Mad at you again?” Chaerin asks, still polite but a little incredulous, and Jiyong wishes he hadn’t said anything. “You guys seriously just made up over your last secret fight two months ago, right?” Chaerin coughs. “What did you do?”
Jiyong doesn’t mean to answer, but he’s been bubbling lately, and he can’t seem to keep anything to himself. Chaerin doesn’t speak like she expects him to answer, but Jiyong finds himself doing so anyway.
“I got too greedy,” Jiyong says quietly. “I… He told me he was tired of games. That he’d finally learned his lesson about what kind of person I am.” Jiyong’s kind of embarrassed by the way his voice shakes.
“Oppa, are you okay?” Chaerin asks, suddenly sounding more interested in the conversation. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound so… well, sad.”
“It’s just… maknae is… he’s…”
“Well, he’s always been special to you,” Chaerin says. “We all knew that.”
“Except for him, apparently.”
“He was too busy thinking about how special you were to him, probably, to see the evident facts,” Chaerin says. “Trust me, I’ve got valuable insight.”
“It sounded like you were about to say I should trust you because you’ve got 'woman's intuition' or something.”
“No, you should trust me because I have eyes, and because I’m not all caught up in your head like you are.”
“No one but me is caught up in my head,” Jiyong says. “It’s my head.”
“You’re always so busy worrying about your own problems, and trying to keep them to yourself, that sometimes you miss the obvious,” Chaerin says.
“You sound like Youngbae.”
“Youngbae’s known you for a long time. You should listen to him.”
“I listen to him more than I listen to almost anyone else.”
“So anyway,” Chaerin says. “This is long distance, and I want to know what else Seungri said.”
“I should probably talk to you about the Family Tour instead-“
“Okay, we’ll do the song, we’ll make it work, and yes, making a remix is a good idea, because it’ll sound new to fans that have come to previous shows.”
“You’re starting to get to know me too well, too.”
“You’re such a control freak that it’s kind of predictable. Story, please.”
“He told me… he didn’t want to be a toy.” Jiyong studies the leopard-print of his sweatpants, letting his nails trace the outlines of the spots because he’s at a loss for what to do with his hands. His cell phone is cradled between his shoulder and his ear as he leans against the wall of the studio. “I don’t…”
“What is he to you, if he’s not a toy?” She asks, and Jiyong swallows. The silence is expensive, because Chaerin is in Japan, working on fine-tuning songs for her US album with some big American producer, and overseeing a new Japanese 2NE1 single with Teddy. “You always used to play with him when you felt like it, and snapped at him and made him go away when you didn’t. It’s always been like that. I’m not remotely surprised that-” Chaerin seems to catch herself. “I said too much. You’ve never really cared about water-cooler talk.”
“Not really,” Jiyong says. “But that’s not… I only pushed Seungri away when he got too close because I…” Jiyong gulps. It’s like there isn’t enough air, and he keeps seeing Seungri’s frustrated, angry face, and Jiyong wishes he were better at all this. It’s like he can only say the right thing to strangers, and only when it doesn’t really count. “It’s not like that,” Jiyong protests, and it’s like there’s something alive in his gut, squirming around and clawing at the edges. “It’s not like that at all.”
“That’s what it looked like,” Chaerin says. “Like he was a pet.” She says it a little harshly, like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. The words cut at Jiyong, because he’s never thought about it that way before.
Jiyong only told Seungri to go away when he felt so on edge he might explode. When Seungri’s eyes were so bright that Jiyong couldn’t look away, and he’d wanted to make sure Seungri felt the same way about him. When he thought to himself mine, mine, mine because Seungri was talking to someone else… That’s when Jiyong got scared, because he didn’t know what that meant in terms of everything else in his life that should have mattered more. He didn’t know why he felt like that, about Seungri, and it unsettled him. Jiyong was not used to feeling uncomfortable in his own skin, because Jiyong has always known who he is and what he wants. Seungri made Jiyong feel so safe, but he also made Jiyong feel everything else more fiercely, too.
It seemed easier to back away. It seemed easier to ignore the phone calls and emails and quit cold turkey than to deal with all those emotions. Clinging to Seungri was an addiction Jiyong had needed to break, because Jiyong didn’t want to need Seungri; Jiyong just wanted Seungri to need him. But Seungri would call Jiyong back, every single time, and each time, Jiyong’s control became a little more threadbare.
But it’s been two years and one wife and hundreds of different ways things could have turned out since then, and behind Jiyong’s eyelids is still the boy Jiyong met when they were both teenagers, with his too-loud laugh and the dark circles under his eyes.
And Jiyong loves him.
“Ever since I was a trainee, I saw the way he looked at you. Seungri has always looked at you with stars in his eyes, oppa.” Chaerin hesitates, and Jiyong wonders what she’s not saying. “He still does, when you can’t see him. I saw him watching you at Se7en-oppa’s wedding. He looked like he wanted to walk over to you, but he was too scared. I asked him to dance just to distract him. I think it’s because he…” She stops. “So figure out what you really, truly want, and then do something about it, so you can both stop being so miserable.”
“How are you so smart?” Jiyong asks, and Chaerin laughs. “You’re only twenty-six.”
“And you’re twenty-eight going on fifteen, damn.” Chaerin laughs. “Don’t you know I’m the baddest female?” Jiyong can imagine her tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder and buffing her nails on her leather jacket. “It’s my job to be good at everything.”
“Don’t think you can be me,” Jiyong jokes. “I’m the one who’s good at everything.” Jiyong stares at his shoes now, and he feels nervous, like he hasn’t in years, because he’s an adult now, and he’s G-Dragon, and dragons aren’t supposed to be scared of anything.
“Except feelings,” Chaerin says. “I’m not saying I’m the best at it, but… It’s so strange to me how you can feel so much and have no idea what to do with it all. But I guess I have faith you’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks, I guess,” Jiyong says, imitating her. “This call is costing a fortune.”
“Less than one of your hair extensions, probably,” Chaerin says. “But I’m about to go into make-up for a performance, so I have to go. But oppa,” and her voice is serious. “What do you want from Seungri? Not what you’re supposed to want, but what do you really want?”
“Thanks,” Jiyong says again, and Chaerin laughs.
“So how did I do? Did I say something good?”
“Yeah,” Jiyong says. “I think you did.”
The first time Jiyong realizes he’s in love with Seungri, more than he’s ever been in love with anyone else, Jiyong is paralyzed with fear.
Jiyong will always put music first, but Seungri is the sweetest song Jiyong knows.
Jiyong means to call Seungri, or to go see him, but Seungri calls him first. “Hello?”
There’s no answer, just Seungri’s ragged breaths.
“Maknae?” Jiyong asks, softer than he usually speaks.
“I’m so afraid to feel about you the way I used to.” Seungri releases a soft, painful sigh. “Like I want to let you do anything you want to me. Like I’ll never be free of you.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know what you’ll do.”
“Can’t I just like you?”
“You don’t know how to do that, do you?”
“I don’t know if I do or not.”
“Then how am I supposed to be friends with you?” Seungri might be crying. His breath is coming so fast. Jiyong’s breath feels like it’s trying to catch up. It sounds like static between them.
“Don’t go away,” Jiyong says, before he can stop it, and he wishes he could take it back, but he can’t. Jiyong’s been taking that back for as long as he remembers, because he doesn’t want to be weak. “You’re mine.”
“I’m no one’s,” Seungri says. “I’m my own person.” Seungri pauses. “But sometimes, when you look at me, I forget that.”
“I just want to keep you,” Jiyong admits, and Seungri ‘s breath hitches. “Keep you and make sure no one but me can ever look at you. But I can’t do that. I know I can’t do that.”
“But why do you… It’s like you can’t even stand me sometimes, and then other times, you’re… I don’t know what to think except it’s fun to you, to watch me fall apart.”
“I’m not good… at being honest with you,” Jiyong says. “But I’ve realized I need to try.” Jiyong licks his lips. “I’m really going to try. Because I can’t let you go. So let me…”
“Okay,” Seungri says. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
”Seungri, are you listening? I love you.”
Jiyong plays so many games because then the stakes matter less. Jiyong plays games because he likes to be in control. Jiyong likes knowing that it’s he who decides when to roll the dice, and Jiyong likes knowing that whatever happens, at least it was only a game.
But Jiyong hates to lose, and Seungri is victory, so Jiyong is going to hold on to him with everything he has. Seungri has never really been a game, anyway; Seungri is the point of all the games, and Jiyong will never let him go.
Jiyong takes his wedding ring off, and sets it on the kitchen counter, and doesn’t miss the weight of it at all.
Seungri shows up in forty-five minutes, and Jiyong opens the door and doesn’t invite him in.
Jiyong hasn’t put on a shirt, and his hair is damp from the shower, and he’d meant to look more put together to make up for how he feels inside but he just hadn’t managed it.
Seungri walks in anyway, slipping off his shoes and sitting down on Jiyong’s sofa, shoulders hunched like he’s gearing up for an interview where he’s not allowed to laugh.
His button-up plaid shirt has a hole in the collar, and it’s well-worn and faded. It looks soft to the touch.
Jiyong gave it to him, a few years ago. Maybe five, or maybe six. Jiyong had sent it in the mail from Japan, and Seungri had sent him a thank you note written in Japanese just to tease him. Jiyong still has the note, even though he can't read it. It’s with Kiko’s locket, and a bunch of other things that tell a happy story Jiyong wishes were the truth.
“Why?” Seungri asks, when Jiyong sits next to him and curls up, wrapping his arms around his knees.
“Because you couldn’t possibly want what I have to offer as an explanation,” Jiyong says, and Seungri chuckles humorlessly.
“Anything is better than nothing.”
“You’re wrong,” Jiyong says.
“Let me be the judge of that,” Seungri says. “For once, let me have all the information, instead of just the scraps.”
Jiyong exhales, through his nose, and it makes an unattractive whistling sound. “Okay,” he says. “What is love, to you?”
“What kind of question is that?” Seungri asks. “There are so many different answers.”
“But you know what I mean,” Jiyong says lowly, and Seungri picks at the hem of his shirt.
“Love is…” Seungri sighs, and Jiyong wonders if Seungri is going to cry. There’s the waver in his voice that Jiyong recognizes. It shakes Jiyong’s heart. “Love is giving up control. In a way, it’s like being free, right?”
Jiyong bites his lip, and looks up at Seungri. His hair is sticking up on the sides, because he’d clearly hopped straight out of bed to come over to Jiyong’s big lonely house without thinking about it. Seungri is vain enough that it means something, that Jiyong’s answers are important to Seungri.
Jiyong wishes he would stay.
“That’s not what love is for me,” Jiyong says. Jiyong tightens his hands into fists, and looks into Seungri’s eyes.
“What is love, for you?” Seungri asks. “Is it someone who’ll do whatever you say and not give a fuck how you treat them? Is it someone who likes everything about you, even when you’re the world’s biggest asshole? Is it a weakness for people who are less ‘professional’ than you are?”
“No,” Jiyong says, and oh, his chest is burning, blazing, and Jiyong is falling apart like the ash at the end of a cigarette. “Love is wanting to keep someone’s laugh in a jar so no one else can hear it. Love is needing someone so much that it’s like a drug, one that is slowly poisoning you.” Jiyong shifts closer, slowly, so that Seungri can move away if he wants. He doesn’t move, though, and instead keeps looking Jiyong in the eyes, eyebrows furrowed like he’s preparing for battle.
“Love is not wanting to hear a person’s voice because you like it so much. Love is pretending you don’t care, so it hurts less when they inevitably want to leave. Love is waking up in the middle of the night and staring down at the perfect shape of someone’s nose, and knowing that he doesn’t belong to you rips you apart inside until you can’t take it anymore.” Jiyong exhales, and new breath won’t come. There’s not enough air.
“Hyung,” Seungri says, and Jiyong doesn’t let him look away.
“Love is getting married to someone you like, because you can’t have the person you’ve always loved, because they don’t want you. It’s thinking that that will help you forget, and then realizing that you’ll never be able to forget, because you’ll never feel that way about anyone else again.” A deep breath, and Jiyong is drowning, but he can’t suffocate yet, because he hasn’t said it all. “Love is pretending it’s a game so the other person won’t know you’re playing with your chips all-in, and if you lose, you’ll have lost everything.”
Seungri looks… Jiyong doesn’t know what that look means, but Seungri doesn’t look afraid. He doesn’t look angry, and Jiyong’s not quite sure, but he thinks that light in his eyes might be aching, painful hope. His eyes are wet, though, and now he’s definitely crying.
Jiyong doesn’t want Seungri to leave, even if he has to show him all his cards.
“Are you saying-“ Seungri starts, but Jiyong doesn’t let him finish.
Jiyong kisses him. Jiyong just reaches up and grabs Seungri’s face with both hands and drags him forward, pressing their mouths together, and Seungri opens to him with a choked sob, tentatively resting his hands on Jiyong’s shoulders and tilting to the right to allow Jiyong to move in closer. Jiyong eases Seungri’s lips apart with tiny licks at his lower lip, and Seungri shudders, and Jiyong can feel Seungri’s stubble beneath his palms, and the trembling of Seungri’s hands against his bare skin, and it’s simultaneously too much and not enough.
“Love is wanting to lock you away so I never have to share you, and knowing I can’t.”
Jiyong feels like the world is suddenly spinning backwards on its axis, and he loves it, just like he’s always loved taking risks and the adrenaline rush that accompanies it, and Jiyong wants to move in closer, move faster, and fall into Seungri until you can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins.
“Love is wanting to carve my name into you so no one will ever think you don’t belong to me.” He whispers it, but he knows Seungri hears him, because Seungri reacts.
Seungri is shaking, even as Jiyong slips his tongue into Seungri’s mouth to taste him, mapping the insides of his cheeks and the backs of his teeth and the roof off his mouth, marveling at how it feels, suddenly, that the little fractured pieces missing from Jiyong’s heart seem to be found here, in this moment, Seungri soft and pliant against his lips.
“Love is Lee Seunghyun. Lee Seungri.”
And then Seungri is kissing him back, and the Earth moves beneath Jiyong’s feet, and Seungri’s tongue is as quick and clever as he is, tangling with Jiyong’s as his fingers tighten on Jiyong’s shoulders, nails digging into the skin in a way that Jiyong likes more than it hurts. Jiyong thinks Seungri breaks the skin, and he hisses his appreciation into Seungri’s mouth, and Seungri gives this tiny, mewling noise that makes Jiyong release the other man’s face to find purchase in his hair, and he pulls away to lick along the perfect bow of Seungri’s upper lip before he sucks it into his mouth, biting down a little too hard, but not hard enough that Seungri will pull away.
And Seungri lets him, and Seungri’s hands slide down Jiyong’s bare chest, and the way his palms skate across Jiyong’s tattoos, and rub Jiyong’s nipples, sends little jolts of electricity straight to Jiyong’s cock, and he can feel himself hardening in his jeans. Jiyong presses closer, throwing one of his legs over Seungri’s lap to straddle him, and yes, just like that, his chest is rubbing against Seungri’s still clothed one, and now Seungri is beneath him, and Jiyong can delve deeper, tasting all that he can taste and reveling in how soft and silky Seungri’s mouth is.
Jiyong’s been living in the dark for years and years, and now, suddenly, there’s light, and Jiyong never wants this to end: he never wants to stop feeling Seungri unravel beneath him with tiny gasps that go straight to Jiyong’s dick, and almost inaudible cries that make Jiyong want to tear Seungri apart piece by piece just so he can keep on hearing them. Seungri is deliciously wanton beneath him, writhing and wriggling between Jiyong’s thighs as he lifts his hips for friction, and Jiyong loves loves loves the way Seungri’s hands have found his waist, thick fingers leaving bruises in the skin as he tries to hold himself together.
Jiyong loves the way Seungri’s falling apart though, unshaven skin rubbing Jiyong’s skin raw, lips tirelessly clamoring for more contact, leaving wet and sloppy trails of saliva in his wake as he blindly kisses anything he can reach as Jiyong kisses Seungri’s nose and cheeks and chin, tasting Seungri’s salty skin, and the remnants of Seungri’s tears.
“Maknae,” Jiyong whispers, and presses an open mouth to Seungri’s neck. He can feel Seungri’s blood singing beneath his lips, and he bites down, and Seungri pulls away even as his hips jolt up, and he’s hard too, and Jiyong is so fucking stupid, because this, right here, right now, is what Jiyong’s wanted, needed, all along, but hadn’t been able to admit aloud. “Maknae.” It’s like a prayer on his lips as he says it over and over, a Buddhist chant, but Jiyong’s dreams have been answered, in the form of Seungri’s quick, shallow breaths and needy whines, and Jiyong sucks hard enough to mark him. Hard enough to claim him; the way Jiyong has always wanted, but has never been able to explain.
His hands trail down to the buttons of Seungri’s shirt, and Jiyong’s hands fumble with them, the high of the moment making it hard for him to keep still long enough to undo them. Seungri’s hands come up and grab Jiyong’s, closing around them, and Jiyong looks up, and Seungri’s eyes pin him in place.
And Seungri isn’t a boy anymore. Seungri isn’t the seventeen year old who looked at Jiyong like Jiyong has never done wrong, and Seungri isn’t the twenty-six year old man who’d looked at Jiyong like he was angry and afraid, only a few weeks ago. The man who looks back at Jiyong is both of those people, and also a man who is surrendering to Jiyong, in a way that awes Jiyong as much as it thrills him. And it’s alright, Jiyong thinks, that Seungri has changed and grown up, because there’s still, inside of Seungri, everything Jiyong loves, and maybe it’s better that Seungri can push and pull now, too.
Maybe it’s better that Jiyong will let him, now.
But Seungri is still Seungri, still looking for Jiyong’s approval as he pushes Jiyong’s hands away, and Jiyong smiles at him softly, letting his lips curl up on one side. They feel tight, and a little sticky, and they tingle, even now, making Jiyong yearn to take Seungri’s mouth one more time, or a hundred more times, or a thousand more times, even if it means he would have to stop watching the flush that slowly steals its way across Seungri’s cheeks and down his neck.
But Seungri doesn’t let go of Jiyong’s gaze, holding it even as he undoes his own shirt, Jiyong’s hands opting to explore the planes of Seungri’s face instead, even when a stripe of pale flesh slowly appears as Seungri’s hands make their way down.
“Hyung,” Seungri says seriously, and finally, Seungri starts blinking, that obnoxious way he does when he’s trying to find the right words, and he has no idea what they are. Finally, Jiyong finds enough control rest his thumbs under Seungri’s eyes, gently rubbing where the flesh there is darker. “This isn’t a game for me. I don’t think…” Seungri winces. “Don’t shut the door on me, now.”
Jiyong swallows, and closes his eyes for a moment. Behind his lids, there’s Seungri, laughing; Seungri, dancing; Seungri, arms wrapped around Jiyong’s waist and looking up at him like he has all the answers; Seungri, who is so completely irreplaceable that Jiyong’s been walking around for the past few years without his heart. Seungri, who is his, whether he knows it or not.
Jiyong will never be able to let his butterfly free, and that knowledge chills him at the same time as it makes him soar.
“It’s not a game for me, either,” Jiyong says, and it’s too gruff, and it doesn’t sound romantic, or like Jiyong’s feelings are threatening to leak out of his ears and nose and mouth and anywhere else they might find to escape. Seungri seems to know what Jiyong means, because his lips part slightly in surprise, and his eyes get a bit glassy again, and one of his hands comes to rest on Jiyong’s wrist, hanging there heavy like the bracelets they both used to wear. “I can’t let you go.”
Seungri licks his lips, and Jiyong can’t resist the invitation, diving forward and grabbing at Seungri’s shirt for balance. Seungri welcomes him with a soft sigh, and maybe Jiyong’s finally found home.
“You’re…” Seungri manages, between kisses, but Jiyong nibbles lightly on Seungri’s lower lip, and Seungri abandons speech, opting instead to lap at Jiyong’s mouth, eager, puppy-like, and Jiyong smiles, smiles, smiles, because that’s what he wants too.
“Stop telling me ‘no’,” Jiyong says, and it rumbles, and Seungri’s fingers tighten. “Tell me ‘yes’.”
“Yes,” Seungri says, and it’s a sob, and Jiyong hears in it everything he’s felt for the past three years, or the past ten years, or who the fuck knows how long, because everything is Seungri, and Seungri is his.
Jiyong’s never been able to let Seungri go. “You’re mine,” Jiyong says, and he leaves his teeth marks everywhere he whispers, and Seungri squirms and whimpers delightfully beneath him. Jiyong feels wild, and out of control, but Seungri is his, and it’s worth it.
“Yes,” Seungri says again, and Jiyong, who plays with words for a living, has never heard a word more beautiful. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Seungri looks like something out of Jiyong’s dreams spread out on Jyong’s bed, riding Jiyong’s three fingers as Jiyong watches him from above. His entire body is flushed, but he’s not embarrassed. Instead he just looks disbelieving, looking up at Jiyong through a half-lidded gaze, hands fisted in Jiyong’s sheets and mouth parted as Jiyong stretches him slow.
“More,” Seungri whimpers, and Jiyong licks dry lips and ignores the way his balls ache.
“Slow,” Jiyong says. “Slow, slow.” Seungri is so tight around his fingers, and his hips, canting up to press Jiyong’s fingers deeper into him, seem so needy, and desperate, and Jiyong knows the feeling; he feels it himself.
“I know how much I can take,” Seungri says. “More.”
And Jiyong frees his fingers from inside of Seungri, after crooking his fingers one more time into that spot that makes Seungri moan, voice cracking along the sound like it’s been wrenched from him, and he misses that heat, and the strength of Seungri shaking around him.
Jiyong slicks himself with hands that are barely steady enough, pouring too much oil into his palms; so much that in runs in tiny rivulets down his wrist and arm, and Seungri laughs, and catches some with his thumb, and Jiyong laughs too.
Then Jiyong puts his hands on Seungri’s hips and pulls him a little forward on the bed, pulling his thighs apart and up, and Seungri closes his eyes as Jiyong presses his tip to Seungri’s entrance.
Jiyong means to go slow, but Seungri is impatient, hips jerking up, closer, as If trying to force Jiyong inside of him, and Jiyong’s control, like it always does with Seungri, shudders and breaks, and he slips smoothly inside.
It’s too hot, and too tight, and Jiyong’s losing his mind, lost his mind, and his fingers are probably leaving bruises on Seungri’s thighs, they’re gripping so hard.
Jiyong’s in so deep Seungri is breathing for him, legs wrapped around Jiyong’s hips and mouth open wide as he gulps enough air for the both of them. Jiyong feels like maybe he’s breaking, or coming together, but it’s them coming together, and Seungri’s hands grapple for purchase on Jiyong’s sweat-slicked back, and his perfectly filed nails scrape at Jiyong’s skin, and Jiyong tries to hold still; tries to give Seungri a chance to adjust to Jiyong’s intrusion, but Seungri’s having none of it.
“Fuck,” Jiyong says, and Seungri nods fervently, and Jiyong laughs again, as Seungri’s legs lock around his hips.
“Yes, that please,” Seungri pants, and Jiyong slides all the way out, before thrusting back in, hard enough to shake the bed, and Seungri is loud, so loud, but it’s a good kind of noise, the kind that makes Jiyong want to write songs about the way Seungri writhes and pleads for Jiyong to move “faster, harder”.
When Jiyong comes, Seungri is gazing up at him as if… Jiyong feels exactly like he felt the first time he saw Seungri, like he’s been waiting his whole life to have someone look at him just like this.
Later, as Seungri drifts in and out of sleep, aligned as close to Jiyong as he can manage, legs intertwined, and chest half on top of Jiyong’s chest, arms holding too tight across Jiyong’s waist, Jiyong presses a soft kiss to Seungri’s forehead and thinks about the future.
“I love you,” Jiyong whispers, and Seungri shifts, pressing his nose into the curve of Jiyong’s neck.
“How much is that going to cost me?” Seungri asks, words muffled by Jiyong’s skin.
“You’ll have to be mine forever, probably,” Jiyong says.
“You drive a hard bargain,” Seungri says. “But I suppose that’s a price I’m willing to pay.”
Jiyong drops the locket into the envelope, along with the stamped and notarized divorce papers and a tiny note.
Thanks for the loan, but I don’t need it anymore. the note says. He signs it Kwon Jiyong, and adds a postscript at the bottom. I found my happiness, too.
He seals it, and sends it via insured mail, and when he leaves the post office, he feels light.
Youngbae laughs as he pushes the cake into Seungri’s face, coating the younger man in spongey dessert, icing, and pieces of fruit as Seungri sputters.
The cake, only moments before, had said ‘Congratulations’, and it had been left for them by Yang Hyun Suk to congratulate them on their first Mutizen for this comeback. The dancers had clapped, and Seungri had made an ill-advised comment about the cake going straight to Youngbae’s hips, and Youngbae had gotten his revenge.
Now the cake is nothing but a memory, but the dancers seem pleased enough, and Daesung is picking up handfuls of it and wiping it in Seungri’s hair as Seungri tries to escape.
“Well, I don’t see any daggers sticking out of Youngbae’s back, yet,” Seunghyun says. “Maybe I overestimated your creepy.”
“No,” Jiyong says, but then Seungri looks up and smiles at Jiyong, eyes glimmering with adrenaline and mirth, and Jiyong’s heart beats a rhythm of mine, mine, mine that’s so comforting and familiar that Jiyong misses it when it’s gone. “But I don’t have anything to be jealous of.”
“Oh no,” Seunghyun says. “Does this mean all our songs now are going to be about middle aged dogs and cuddling?”
“I don’t know,” Jiyong says, already starting to walk toward the other three, planning on joining the mischief. Seungri looks delicious, and he can't wait. He pauses, and looks over his shoulder playfully. “I guess we’ll find out.”
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Date: 2012-06-14 04:19 am (UTC)(I made a D: D: face at the lack of G-Ri tbqh... but the member antics were still great, and the photobook was beautiful T__T <3)
Thanks for reading!!! :D :D
--Maia
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Date: 2012-06-14 08:57 am (UTC)the lack of gri is a little odd to me? they barely interacted in the dvd, and it's the only pairing that was ignored. idk maybe they were in the middle of a fight during the shoot or something.