Cillisian Thatcher (desultoryspeech) wrote,
Cillisian Thatcher
desultoryspeech

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Sweeter Than Apples (One-Shot)

Decided to actually try my hand at this yaoi business.
Implications set a side, I think I can really improve upon my tolerance to homosexuality if I get used to the idea of some of my most revered idols (DBSK) being as such.
I didn't ask you to make sense of my beliefs - I'm feeling hebetudinous... perhaps my logic isn't fuctioning correctly...

Title: Sweeter Than Apples
Chapters: Oneshot
Author: Desultory Speech/Cillisian Thatcher
Genre: Angst, Drama, Romance
Rating: Teen
Pairing: YooChunxJunsu, YooSu - MILD
Synopsis: I can’t say it isn’t wrong, because I know it is. To betray you; you, who always loved me so unconditionally… it’s wrong. So wrong. So wrong that I, rightfully so, should be thrown into a pit of never ending torment and misery. That you should be let out of the gates that make you suffer, free from me and my tainted touch; free from me and my venomous allure.
Comments: I am in no way affiliated with DBSK, Super Junior or SM Entertainment, nor do I know or associate with any of the people in question. I'm not even Korean. This is a work of pure fiction; any similarities drawn between people, places and events are purely by coincidence. This is not meant to offend. The views and opinions in this story are not necessarily the views and opinions of the author. Directed at a mature youth audience. Implicative material, homosexual themes. May be uncomfortable to some readers. Nothing R or M rated.
I apologize for grammar errors and spelling mistakes.

Story © Cillisian Thatcher/Diese Stifte/DesultorySpeech, May 14th, 2008



I say I’m a jerk.

You say that’s not true.

I say I’m a bastard.

You say that’s a lie too.

I say I’m possessive.

You say just to you.

I tell you I’m sorry.

You ask me what I did to make me apologize.

I tell you we can’t be.

You ask me, ‘why not?’

I’ve done so much, but all you do is deny it. But it’s the truth, honey.

Lying here, with her, tangled in a mess of sheets and sweat… I feel so dirty, so unclean. So much like I’ve thrown away my life for a temporary fix; a moment of passion that died out like the candles you lit on my birthday cake, only a few hours prior.

I can’t say it isn’t wrong, because I know it is. To betray you; you, who always loved me so unconditionally… it’s wrong. So wrong. So wrong that I, rightfully so, should be thrown into a pit of never ending torment and misery. That you should be let out of the gates that make you suffer, free from me and my tainted touch; free from me and my venomous allure.

That’s what you told me I have; allured you. Allured you like the serpent did Eve, so many thousands of years ago. I am no better than that snake, that devil of biblical times. No better than the thing that damned the world to an eternity of sin and shortcomings. My allure and me… Satan, that allure, and me. The allure that sucked you in and enthralled you. An air about me that drew you towards me, when all I wanted was to push you away.

You were always so daring, so bold in your movements. You spoke with confidence so strong that I couldn’t fathom how you’d possessed it. You’re frail; so tiny. It was unbelievable that such blunt statements could come from your perfectly shaped, beautifully rose-coloured lips.

“YooChun ah, I like you.”

So straightforward, you were, that it took far too many moments to properly register your words.

“YooChun ah, I like you.”

And I had stared, in disbelief. It was unthinkable to me that you, YOU, so flawless and content, would like someone as unseemly as me. The fact that you referred to me without demeaning title was odd enough to me – I was raised believing all hierarchy thought little of me, but you changed that so quickly, adding respectable honorifics to my name as you spoke.

Honorifics I didn’t deserve.

Different worlds, we come from. You, from prestige and richness, clothed in only the best and eating nothing that was not prepared by professional hands. And then me, living in a crammed housing complex with my numerous family members, all under one small roof. Often, unable to bath in clean water, was I. Unable to eat a full meal, was I. Unable to say that I loved…

Was I.

And you were so new to the world, untainted by any pain or suffering. Your marvel at my life was something I caught from the beginning, whether you had intended that or not. You, so innocent and pure, so ready to love without consequence…

With our given status, we couldn’t be so reckless.

I grew up under the wing of a blacksmith living not far from the town square, my parents laid to ashes soon after my birth. My upbringing is nothing compared to yours; taught by the best and second to none, were you. While I… I studied to follow in the footsteps of the metal worker – a grimy man who hadn’t washed in weeks. A man with no love in his life, no passion other than the burning metal he molded with his strength.

You know so much more of the world then I, and it’s useless for me to even envy it.

I’m just a peasant, and you’re just a prodigy.

They say you were prophesied; that some dithery woman, hundred of years before you, said that you would come, beautiful and smelling of sweet lavender. Yet, I suppose you would not have heard of such a thing. Peasant tales, the called them as I grew. The guards laughed as my Aunt defended that you were just that – a prophecy. Said, you were just a child born by the Queen, he did. You, a class built of monarchs, have never heard of such a thing as religion; didn’t spare the time to believe in something higher than you.

To be honest, neither did I.

God never made sense to me, a child orphaned before I aged past two. A person so cruel, hanging in the sky, watching all the falls of man… never appealed to me. Something about a man watching everything I do was just too odd to stomach, so I left it at that. I don’t believe in him, still, and I suppose that sets me apart from the majority of people.

But if God were as kind as you, I would be a saint.

I remember so vividly the first day we spoke. I was working at a slow pace, barely enough to be called one, and gazing at the plethora of sky that hung above me. Remarkable, I thought, how clouds could hang there in the sky and not fall. They looked as if they sat on glass above the world, watching us below. You were walking about, dressed down beyond what was acceptable, to blend with the crowds. I knew it was you, though, as soon as you spoke. Your voice was too pure for a peasant, words, too innocent. You spoke as if you had never seen the town before, asking me quite boldly, “What are you doing?”, as if I were doing something incorrectly.

And instantly I was drawn to you – beautiful, polite, and so unattainable that it burned. I was kind to you in return for your humility towards me, and, at seeing that, you returned daily to visit me. Asking me what I had done, where I had went, what I was doing tomorrow. You acted so much like you knew what I was talking about when I said something along the lines of ‘Mrs. Millie’s barn’ or ‘Kendal’s Bakery’, but I could tell by the look in your eyes that you were clueless. It was endearing how you tried so hard to cover your virginity to the city, that you won me over further.

And then you started to flirt. I had not noticed until an elderly lady had later pointed it out to me; I had never heard such banter before. You complimented me on my metal work, asking if you could make rings or jewelry, pretending not to be upset when I said I couldn’t. You teased me when you said a word I had not heard before, and told me stories of your life as a farmer.

But your stories changed each time I heard them.

And I had never heard of a man named HyuKan; the man you claimed to be your father.

And I knew you were lying.

But I said nothing, nodding along as you spoke, carefully taking in each well-practiced word. I loved the way you spoke – I still do – as each word rolled off your tongue like you had said it just for me. My name sounded differently from your mouth as well, like you said it with affection, but I scolded myself as soon as I thought that. It was my ears deceiving me, I had told myself, tricking me with what I wanted to hear.

I still loved it when you said it; whined it; chanted it; giggled it; greeted me with it.

It made my day all the brighter.

Then came the day you admitted to me that you were not a farmer at all, but a child of the royal line. I had to admit and tell you I knew, to which you had been stunned.

“Why did you not tell me?” You sounded so offended in your proper-tongue.

I had smiled cheekily, patting your head. “I like hearing your stories.”

Your face had flushed a brilliant crimson then, and you had muttered something along the lines of embarrassment.

“And here I was, looking like a fool.”

But you were adorable, whether or not you were foolish. Your makeshift tales of childhood were indefectible to me, no matter how untrue I knew they were.

It amazed me that you continued to come after you told me of your heritage. You said that it was so you could set straight your past, but I knew from the look in your eyes that that was not the reason.

We were friends.

You made up for those false stories by telling me true ones of your life. You allowed me a glimpse into your life, and for that, I allowed you a peek into mine. We still kept our respectable distances, and I told you nothing I didn’t feel you could handle. My drab life came as an excitement to you, and everything I put down my working tools, you would gather by me, eagerly awaiting a page of my life, no matter how far fetched or low key it was. When you begged for more, I had to reprimand you for being so enthralled, telling you that your life was far more refined than mine. But it wasn’t my concern for you that prevented me from telling those stories – it was the fear that, at hearing them, you would discontinue your visits to me, under the shack in the back of the town square. A story of my past could possibly send you away from me, indefinitely.

But I had not factored that you had seen horrors in your lifetime as well.

I had been tossing in bed, thinking unfailingly of you, when I heard a racket from the front door. I entered the living room, armed with a pitch, expecting a thief. Astonishment met me when I found you in the living room, crying uncontrollably. I threw away any questions as to how you had gotten into my home, running to you instantly to find out what was the matter.

I had seen the marks before I had brought the candle near you. Your arms, neck, and your polished face, decorated with purple and midnight blue marks of rage. Each a different size upon itself, glittering dangerously in the dark.

I had dropped to my knees, pulling you tightly into my arms as you cried. Beaten, you had been beaten, by whom I did not know. I coaxed you with words, telling you to cry it out, that I was there. You held to me as if I were your last lifeline, refusing to let go of me. I didn’t mind, holding you close, stroking your silky, clean hair.

And indeed, you smelt of lavender.

Your head nestled in my chest, and I carried you carefully to my room, placing you on my bed and pulling the covers up to your chin. You begged me to stay, so I did, placing myself contently by your side. Lying next to you, as you cuddled into me.

Your sobs did not go unheard that night – they embedded themselves in the dark of my mind, teasing the part of me that hurt to think of you in pain.

The next day, you had looked at me, eyes wide and scared, pleading that I let you stay.

I told you to stay as long as you wanted.

I hoped you’d never leave.

But you had to; you couldn’t stay. If you did, soldiers would raid the village for you, leaving no corner unearthed. So you left, returning the next day with a smile on your face and a bag in your hand.

You brought your lunch – ‘To share,’ you said – though I thought it unnecessary. The things you held in that tiny bag, I had only heard of from gossip of the people. I tasted, for the first time, beef and pasty. For the first time, apples.

Apples are sweet, and I could easily see why Eve chose a life of sin for a bite of one.

And truly, you were an apple to me. I wanted to badly to sink my lips to yours, but knew you would no longer come, had I. The forbidden fruit I wish I could have, so badly, that it burned.

Like a ray of the shining sun, you continued to some with bits of your lunch, forcing me to try them, though I told you I would rather not. I always thanked you afterwards with a hug, one that sometimes took long minutes to break.

Before I had prepared for it, the day I had desired for so long came. You had been sitting with me, together, we had been, in my room, you tempting me to eat one of the cherries you had brought. After much persuasion, I had still refused the fruit. That was when you offered me something else.

The cherry, or something less sweet.

I had, of course, taken the latter, not wanting to disadvantage you at all.

I couldn’t even think before your lips crashed onto mine. Overwhelmed, suddenly, I was trapped in your embrace, my senses completely nulled beyond repair. Your lips moved, inexperienced, against mine, pushing forward for a response I was too shocked to give.

But as you were about to move your lips from mine, I moved closer to you, not wanting the bliss to end. I pulled you onto my lap, caressing your back as we kissed. Passionately, hungry for one another’s reaction.

All to soon, we had pulled apart, breathing heavily as we tried to recall what we had spent the last few minutes doing. And then, bluntly, you had said it;

“YooChun ah, I like you.”

I couldn’t suppress the smile, pressing my lips against yours as soon as you said it. Again we enwrapped ourselves in each other, slower, more passionate than before. You removed yourself from me again, whispering, huskily;

“YooChun ah, I like you a lot.”

And again we were kissing, my hands sliding slowly under your shirt. You denied me nothing, not as we kissed upright, and not as you were pinned under me on the floor.

I don’t know how long we were like that, lip locked together, but I stopped slowly, feeling much more than the desire to kiss you rising inside of me. We stopped, and then I held you, tightly in my arms as you nestled against my chest.

You told me my heartbeats faster from time to time.

I told you it was because you were there, making my heart race.

Our relationship progressed faster than I had ever anticipated, but, then again, I had never anticipated much of anything.

And suddenly, one morning, I awoke with you lying on my chest, my mind racing with numerous thoughts, none of which fit well together. I recalled so much and yet, as I tried to grasp the thoughts in my mind, they raced past my hands, through my fingers.

I knew from looking at the garments tossed carelessly on the floor that we had gone farther than I ever thought we would have. I knew from the smell of sex in the air that we had done more than just kiss.

I knew from your breath on my skin that our intentions were no longer innocent; our relationship no longer fluffy and cute.

Intimate, passionate…

It was so wrong, and yet I wanted so much more of it.

We disclosed our relationship from the public eye, you never telling your father or mother and me, never any of my friends or acquaintances. It was risky, for someone as high up as you to be dealing with someone like me, and, for that reason only, we said nothing. Because forbidden love was not to be bragged about, no matter how sweet.

But they put it together themselves, the townspeople, as your frequent visits became overnight stays, and our carefully covered affection for each other became to difficult to mask. It was just second nature to me that I kiss you as a greeting, but I had forgotten of the eyes of the people; eyes that never stopped watching. Whether or not it was only one person, by the end of the day, they all knew.

They understood, though, and kept it a secret with us. The best kind of Accomplices, they were. They took an oath of silence with us, assuring us we could continue on happily, that no one else would know.

We breathlessly agreed.

But it was too good to be true; love without reason or halt. Too good for someone like me, and not good enough for someone like you.

Your father found out, and, without you knowing, approached me one day. The medieval life had faded to pass, so I could not be killed. I had no worries as he came closer, knowing very well what he was going to say – to stop seeing you. But he could do no more then say, as death was not an option.

But then he had thrown down a paper.

A threat of exile.

It was a warning, not to me, but my family.

I confronted my family about it almost instantly, unable to hold back my tears as the realization that it was you or them was a vivid reality. They had comforted me, and said that their banishment was fine if it meant keeping you, but I knew that it was hard for them to say it. They were all so supportive of us, that they would risk their own well being.

I couldn’t bear to know that I had caused the damnation of my family. If there was a God, he would punish me accordingly for that, and, as much of an unbeliever as I was, I didn’t want that. I was caught in the worst sort of dilemma; one I couldn’t solve with or without you.

The next day, at you arrival, you instantly knew something was the matter. Your joyous smile faded as you saw my frown – you fumbled uneasily with the small box you held in your hand. I assured you it was nothing, and instead took you inside for tea.

It worried you, I knew.

I had never been so quiet.

I couldn’t bear it, having to tell you what I did, but it was that or my family. A difficult decision, as I loved you so much more…

But the lives of many would be bloodier on my neck than the lives of one.

I couldn’t hold it off; as soon as you sat, the worlds had pushed their way past my lips.

“We can’t be together anymore.”

Your expression was incredulous, your eyes, as if you had misheard me.

“Pardon?” You asked, eyes confident that what I had said was not the truth.

“We can’t see each other, anymore. Stop coming.”

Your head shook in disbelief; you laughed bitterly at me, believing this a joke.

If it were, I would have been a sick person.

As it was, it was the truth, and I wanted to die.

“I’m serious; I can’t stand you anymore. It was fun at first, it was, but it’s getting way too serious for me. I… I don’t love you.”

I’m not serious, love, I’m not. This relationship is the best thing that ever happened to me; I want to marry you, I want to stay by you until we’re both old and aloof. I want to forever be by your side, wiping your tears as they fall, assuring you that things are okay. I want to hold your hand as I die, telling you I’d save you a seat in heaven if I managed to make it there.

Because I love you, when I thought I’d never experience such emotion. I love you, so much more than anything I’ve ever loved before. With so much conviction that it was worth every second I spent with you.

Tears swelled in your eyes, dripping pathetically down your smooth cheeks, staining them a tormented pink. It pained me to see you so upset, and I wanted nothing more than to take you into my arms again and apologize; tell you that I’m sorry, that I was only kidding. Remind you that I love you and that I have no intentions on leaving.

But I couldn’t.

It was a raging battle to stop myself, but I managed, forcing a façade of calmness, coldness, in order to stop myself from breaking down.

“B-but you said…” you started, shaking your head lightly again. I frowned, covering my wavering confidence with a tired sigh.

“I’m sorry, really, I am, but I don’t love you. I thought that maybe you’d learn it on your own, but I don’t.”

There was one last thing to say, but I found my mouth unable to speak.

“You…”

No, I couldn’t.

I can’t do this to you.

I can’t say something like this.

I can’t…

“You honestly disgust me.”

That was all it took.

You turned, crestfallen, dropping the box you had came with as you ran from me.

I knew you were gone.

I knew it was over.

There wasn’t anything I could say to fix this.

I could imagine you so well, rushing into your well-furnished room and weeping as your heart bled. I could imagine so vividly your father, the same person who ended our relationship, consoling you in a difficult time; convincing you I was using you for something else.

Unbeknownst to you, I would remain here, bleeding along with you.

I fell to my knees, sobbing uncontrollably, as I knew I would never again have the opportunity to love you. I’d regret this, I knew, ‘till the day I was to die. With my tears came rage; rage for a society of upper-class that refused to believe love could exist over status. Rage for your father, who threw an obstacle too difficult for me to pass.

Bitterly, I reached for the box you had brought, tearing of the lid to see…

A cake.

Small, as it was, it was a cake; with candles and icing… something I had never had before.

A small note was attached to top of the lid, telling me that it was my birthday, and that birthday cake was the best sort of sweet.

And at the end, after your name, written in your dainty handwriting, was the one sentence I hadn’t been able to choke out as you ran.

‘I love you.’

And truly, I’ll never forget you. Wherever you are, I hope to God you won’t forget me, nor hate me. You have every right to, and I despise that I gave you reason. I hope you continue to remember the love that we had, the strength it held. Please, I beg of you, that you refuse to believe it was all a lie.

I beg you.

Because I love you.

God dammit, Junsu, I love you. So much that it hurts to breath without you around; so much so that dead is better than living without you. So much so that I hope those who kept us apart burn in a purgatory of hell that I never believed in, even if that means it would be me burning as well. I love you. I love you more than those three words can describe. Love you so much that the saying itself is inaccurate. Love you so much that anything else beside you feels cheap, because I’ve learned that forbidden fruit is the sweetest.

But I know you’ll forget me, and rightly so. I know you’ll move on with your life, that you’ll find a girl to marry and be happy. Happiness you attain, without me. I know that you’ll move on, but I know that I won’t. Because your smiles are sweeter than apples, and your touch softer than an angels.

And I’ll never forget that.

Because I’m still bleeding.

~

© Cillisian Thatcher/Diese Stifte/DesultorySpeech, May 14th, 2008.
Tags: dbsk, fanfiction, fictional, junsu, one-shot, story, yoochun, yoosu, yuchun
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