The best moments in reading are when you come across something – a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things – that you’d thought special, particular to you. And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you’ve never met, maybe even someone long dead. And it’s as if a hand has come out, and taken yours.
so TC @itsygjunkie is interested and i gotta feed em:
The barbed wire snares at his shirt, its thin material going taut around his torso and it takes only a little pull to tear. The ripping sound makes him wince but his feet find the ground and the instant relief to his calf muscles makes up for his guilt. It’s fine he thinks, he’ll make up something when his mother asks. What she doesn’t know, won’t hurt.
That’s his modus operandi these days. Been such for the past two months and he doesn’t know if it’s right; it’s not black or white prints like they teach you in the bible. Instead it’s all various shades of grey. Muddled; guilt mixed with pleasure.
The shrill of his phone makes him pause, stepping aside as he swipes right to answer and the voice he hears makes him smile. “Almost there,” he says, noting the time on his watch. “Give me five,” and he chuckles, ears flushing pink. “Of course I’m bringing it. I did say I would, didn’t I?”
There’s a crackle down the line, “Hello?” he questions, but there is no response. He looks at the phone to check for the reception line and it’s fine. All three bars with the fourth flickering so it doesn’t explain -
“BOO!”
“ARgh!” He jumps, plastic bag in his hand flinging reflexively and it’s a near miss.
“I could have hit you!” he scolds. But Jiyong is doubled over, wiping tears of laughter. “Asshole,” he grumbles, adjusting the bag as he glares at the perpetrator.
‘Sorry, sorry,” the other scoops him up in a hug, leather jacket squeaking as it’s squished between their bodies. The kiss to his temple dampens his anger but not exactly erases it. The one to his lips however -
“Sorry,” Jiyong grins, puppy eyes and pouty lips.
He used to be immune but these days… “Fine.” he harrumphs, letting himself be tucked under his boyfriend’s shoulder as they climb the rest of the way up to the hilltop. “I get more than half though.”
Jiyong chuckles, pressing his nose to the side of his neck and inhaling sharply, “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
-
The first time he saw Jiyong was, ironically, at the church. Ironically because Jiyong is anything but religious.
Now he knows that he was dragged by Youngbae that day. The both of them have decades of history between them; from childhood till now. So when Youngbae had asked him to come see him sing at the church, Jiyong had no choice. Because for one, Youngbae is really good at extortion and for another, singing was his passion and Jiyong knew better than to say no to that.
So he went. Clad in his uniform of black; the shock of his blonde hair standing out in his black leather jacket, leather pants and boots. His shirt inside had been white but unnoticeable compared to his black kohl eyeliner and that tiny cross he kept drawing under his left eye since Chaerin doodled it on him for fun.
The assorted tattoos scattered all over his body peeked out here and there. Mostly those on his hands and fingers, the one down his neck and nape and some when he pulled back the sleeves to his jacket.
Everyone stared.
But Jiyong was no stranger to attention, he walked in like he owned the place and sashayed his way to the front row bench. His eyes were fixed on one single person and it was his best friend, Youngbae. At least Youngbae didn’t look at him any different than he always did. Additionally, the pronounced delight when he noted Jiyong’s attendance was more than worth it.
That’s when Daesung saw him for the first time. He thought the devil himself had walked into the holy place.
Mother had taught him better than to judge but he couldn’t stop looking back. The guy was - Everyone looked at him. But he had eyes for only one person and until the very end, those kohl smeared gaze never strayed even once.
-
Jiyong now still dresses similarly. His black uniform stays but his blonde hair is now jet black, swiped back with gel, highlighting his sharp brows and the tiny cross has been gone for a while now. Daesung likes him either way; anyway.
He catches the stubbly chin and kisses the smoke out of his mouth. Takes him by surprise, and Jiyong straightens a bit from his slouch to angle his body towards Daesung, hands coming up to cup his face and another crawling up his thigh.
Daesung flings one leg over him, shuffles until he’s straddling and he cradles his boyfriend’s face to kiss him properly. Like he’d been dreaming about it since last night. Like he wanted to suck everything Jiyong has to give for him; all of his heart and affection.
“You’ll be the death of me, baby,” Jiyong tells him later, murmuring into his skin where he pulls back to rest his kiss-bruised lips. The gust of his exhale is wet and warm, his thumb caressing a line over and over on one of Daesung’s ribs where he’d sneaked under the shirt and he’s hard in his pants. Both of them know, but it’s fine. It’s alright, they’re not in a rush.
Daesung cards his hands through Jiyong’s gel hardened hair and pulls on it until his boyfriend looks up - pupils blown inky wide with rings of hazel around them. “And you; me.” He presses his mouth to his forehead and tucks him close so Jiyong’s practically breathing down his neck.
It’s heady and he’s addicted to it; this whole being in love or whatever thingy. Or maybe it’s just Jiyong. Either way, he’s permanently screwed.
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