dibble dabbles

light, faded blue

part of my Christmas Writing Project 2016: a little less lonely on Christmas

prompt #2: SoonHoon - Sofa by Ice

“Min. Yoongi.”

That got his attention alright. Jimin hardly used that voice.

Crap.


“Yoongi.”

“Yoongi-hyung to you, brat,” Yoongi snapped back at the younger, barely paying attention to him, his eyes locked on the lyrics typed out on the iPad in front of him. He was trying to get two lines to rhyme for the rap and for the love of all things good and pure in the world, the words just couldn’t pop up in his head.

“Min. Yoongi.”

That got his attention alright. Jimin hardly used that voice; it was the voice reserved for Jungkook when he refused to study for his exams and Jimin had caught him on his computer. It was the same voice Jimin used when Taehyung was being overly hyper and was blind to his bad mood. Most importantly, it was the same voice that Jimin used whenever Yoongi was being a terrible boyfriend and had forgotten to do the chores, or had neglected him in favour of work.

Crap.

Yoongi ran through a mental checklist in his head. He had done the dishes after breakfast, thrown the laundry into the washing machine, kissed Jimin before he had left for work. He had also ordered pizza for dinner (it was Wednesday, it was pizza night), collected the laundry in before the rain had come pouring down, and also taken out the trash before the collectors had come along. He had even made love to Jimin last night, with the younger all spent and panting sprawled out on their sheets, his orange hair an absolute mess. Yoongi’s mint green locks hadn’t fared much better either.

He hadn’t done anything wrong, as far as he was concerned.

Min Yoongi raised his eyes to meet Park Jimin’s slowly, his fingers hovering over the suface of his iPad.

“Yes?”

Jimin’s eyes weren’t on him, they were on the sofa. The new sofa that Yoongi had ordered two week ago from IKEA via the online catalogue; it was a light, faded blue, with soft, plush cushions and an end that could be used to lie down on. It came with pillows that had stripes in the matching hue of blue and white, and was the exact colour of Yoongi’s favourite scarf that Jimin loved to steal so much, especially in the winter. It had come in the afternoon, the workers quickly moving it in and setting it up, and the old, ratty leather couch that had been handed down by Seokjin and Namjoon now sat in the studio room in the apartment, where the two would occasionally sing and rap together on their days off.

Yoongi cleared his throat, watched Jimin’s eyes take in every single detail of the new piece of furniture. He stood up from where he had been sitting on the floor, stepped around the new sofa, pulled his boyfriend into his arms and pressed a kiss to his temple. Jimin automatically dropped the gym bag with his sweaty clothes on the floor and let his hands rest loosely on Yoongi’s arms, his eyes still wide with surprise, gaze still locked on the sofa as he turned his head, searching for Yoongi’s lips.

Yoongi laughed, tilting his head so that he could press a proper kiss to Jimin’s lips. He nipped at the younger’s lips lightly, grinning at the wonder that was still painted across his boyfriend’s face as the other twisted around to continue staring at the sofa that now sat in the middle of the living room, amongst the nicks and nacks that they had accumulated in three years of living together.

He was startled by Jimin’s lips on him, stealing the breath out of his mouth as Jimin dug his fingers into Yoongi’s shirt and pulled him forward, making the rapper stumble forward. There was another push, and Yoongi felt his back hit the soft, downy material of the new sofa before Jimin’s weight was on him, fingers carding through his mint green hair, mouth working his open with kisses that tangled their tongues together.

Jimin pulled back, his lips swollen from the kissing, propping himself up on his elbows so that his face was inches from Yoongi’s. His orange hair, the dye now faded to a dusky hue, was still ruffled from his shower at the studio, an obvious sign that he hadn’t combed it before he came back. Yoongi smiled at him, slid his fingers into the smooth locks, massaging his scalp gently as the younger swiped his tongue across his lips, eyes still locked on Yoongi.

“Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Jimin’s voice was pitched higher, the sound coming out slightly cracked, but his eyes were pressed into lines, the smile on his face so bright that it knocked the breath out of Yoongi. It had been five years since he officially introduced Park Jimin as his boyfriend; they had broken up once and taken more than five breaks to be apart, gone on more than fifty dates at more than twenty locations, watched more than fifteen movies together. They had shared countless kisses, made love so many times, and had fallen asleep beside each other on even more nights.

That smile still made his knees weak, still made the butterflies in his stomach flutter, still made warmth burst through his chest; because he loved Park Jimin so fucking much.

“I love it,” Jimin told him, the sound a whisper against his skin, before kissing him again. Yoongi laughed against his lips, wrapped an arm around his neck to pull him tighter. He drank in the taste of honey and chocolate on Jimin’s tongue, inhaled the scent of rain and fresh laundry that was always on the younger, and pressed himself against the hard lines of his lover.

God, he could kiss Jimin forever.

As they pulled apart to catch their breaths, Jimin’s fingers snuck under his t-shirt, pressing the cold digits to the skin of his stomach there. The dancer looked up at him with hooded eyes through his eyelashes, lips still glued to his jaw, and Yoongi’s heart stuttered as his boyfriend pushed up the hem ever so slowly.

“Baby?” he queried, his own hand snaking in between their bodies to play with the hem of Jimin’s sweater, a dusty grey that looked breathtaking against the contrast of his bright hair. Jimin only grinned cheekily at him, his eyes dark with desire, before removing his hands from under Yoongi’s shirt. The older whined at the loss of contact, opening his mouth, intending to reprimand his younger lover.

The words got stuck on his tongue as Jimin pulled back to sit on his heels, pulling off his sweater to reveal the sharp lines of his ass, cut cleanly on the canvas of his sun-kissed skin. The younger tossed his sweater back, running a hand through his hair as he straddled Yoongi’s hips, a devious smirk on his face.

“C’mon, hyung, we gotta break it in, right?”

Yoongi had never moved so fast in his entire life.

Mark - Atlanta, GA

BW: What was it like growing up in Ohio?

Mark: Poor… The economy there was really poor. My dad was in the military. My grandma raised me. My mom passed away in my arms at fourteen. She had this medication that would almost immediately stop seizures. She locked her jaw and she wouldn’t let me put it in her mouth and that was it. She didn’t want it. She wanted to go. 

She had renal cell cancer but it was the seizure that killed her. She went through almost two years of chemo. That’s when I started dibble dabbling with pain pills. That’s how I started on heroin. 

Then my brother committed suicide two years later. He was only twenty-one. Then my grandpa passed away two years after that and he was like my best friend. All my grandma’s got left is me and my sister. 

BW: Do you ever talk to her?

Mark: I talk to her almost every day. I’m the only person who talks to her. 

BW: You ever think about getting back to Ohio?

Mark: Ah yeah. I’d love to get back to Ohio. I’m not going now because it’s getting cold. It’s freezing up there. I’m fighting with the VA right now for my benefits. Once I start getting my benefits, then yeah I’ll shoot back up to Ohio. 

BW: Do you have any regrets?

Mark: Using drugs for starters. I wish I’d never touched a needle in my life. 

My dad just passed away this year and I was in jail when he passed away. That’s a big regret.

BW: I’m sorry, man.