ft. @wxboreum
ah yes, there it is. there’s the sharp smell of strong liquor masked by a drizzle of sweet. he lets it pour into his mouth, face scrunched from the shot he lets roll on his tongue, and there’s the euphoric sigh to come after the swallow. and it tastes like this: tight bodies rubbing against each other as they meander their way through the sweaty crowd, the devil-may-care chatter and laughter to make up the white noise in this congested space, and the sweet, sweet come-hither glances from strangers with red strings from across the room.
it tastes like life— like living, just as he remembers it. ( perhaps this academy thing isn’t such a bore after all. )
and living, as he remembers her, is spending some nights wrapped in bang yeoreum’s sure arms—well, hers amongst the many others. and life… well, she plays favourites, dotes on park beomseok the way his mother never could. why, here she is now, spoiling him with a little treat, a sour candy with an oozing centre.
here is bang boreum, one of his many lovers’ daughters, busying herself at the makeshift drinks table. and he shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t play with her the way he does, not when he’s come to this costume party sans the costume, and certainly not when he’s fucking her old mother. but it’s precisely because he shouldn’t do this that he wants to. adam was only a man, after all, and evidently, so is he.
she doesn’t see him yet, back turned to him as she’s facing the table, so he braces. and by brace, he doesn’t mean to prepare himself for the fallback—no, his naked arms create a brace around her frame, traps her by the waist as he places his hands on either side of her to loosely grip the table’s edge.
“hey,” the way in which the whisper falls is sweet, from the vexing curve of his plump lips into her pretty ear.