Off to the Races (2/3)
“Kyungsoo!” Zitao yells happily when he sees Kyungsoo making his way through the crowd. He’s not nearly drunk enough to be doing this but he’d had to stay at the hospital late and didn’t want to miss the fights entirely. “Finally! Your friend and I were wondering when you’d show up.”
“Friend?” Kyungsoo asks distractedly, eyes drawn towards the ring where Wu Fan is choking a blond guy Kyungsoo doesn’t recognize. The blond guy stomps on Wu Fan’s foot, loosening his grip enough for the man to turn around and drive a knee up into Wu Fan’s groin. The crowd yells in sympathy.
“Yeah, that guy. I forget his name, sorry,” Zitao says, pointing across the ring. Kyungsoo follows the direction he’s pointing until he’s looking directly into Jongin’s eyes. Jongin lifts a cigarette to his mouth and blows out a cloud of smoke, smiling so smugly Kyungsoo’s half sure he’s just killed one of his worst enemies.
“You’re going to kill yourself with those things,” he yells when he gets close enough for Jongin to hear him, Zitao close on his heels.
“Yes, doctor,” Jongin smirks, tossing his cigarette onto the ground and grinding it under the heel of his thick black boot.
“Ha! D.O. a doctor, that’s a good one,” Zitao laughs, and Kyungsoo sees Jongin’s eyes widen briefly before that self-satisfied smirk is back.
“What are you doing here?” Kyungsoo hisses, twisting around to make sure Zitao is distracted by the fight going on behind them. The crowd erupts into a chorus of boos and jeers. Wu Fan must be losing-everyone like seeing Wu Fan win. He makes a good winner, scarily handsome even with his hair dripping with sweat, bloody fist raised high in triumph.
“His number was one of the ones you called most often,” Jongin says, jerking a thumb in Zitao’s direction. “I figured he was a friend, boyfriend, someone I could blame for last night. I would never have expected…this.”
And here Jongin sweeps a hand outwards as if to take in the crowd, the ring, the dirty alleyway-so different from the clean, sterile hospital. Kyungsoo still can’t believe that Jongin had slipped his phone out of his pocket in broad daylight and Kyungsoo hadn’t even noticed.
“We’re leaving,” Kyungsoo says shortly, wrapping his fingers tightly around Jongin’s wrist, ignoring the way his skin sears white-hot at the contact.
“But I haven’t seen the great D.O. fight,” Jongin protests, trying to yank his arm out of Kyungsoo’s grasp. But Kyungsoo hasn’t been fighting this long for nothing. Slipping his other arm around Jongin’s bicep, he twists harshly and Jongin gasps in pain, eyes wide with surprise flicking up to meet Kyungsoo’s.
“And you’re never going to, if I have anything to do with it,” Kyungsoo growls, dragging Jongin forward despite his small yelps of pain. He doesn’t let go until they’ve reached the end of the alleyway, and Jongin is punching his shoulder hard with his free hand.
“Maniac!” Jongin says when Kyungsoo finally lets go of him, massaging his wrist.
“You weren’t supposed to see this,” Kyungsoo spits, staring into Jongin’s defiant eyes. “No one’s supposed to see this.”
“Why, because you don’t want anyone knowing that calm, dependable Dr. Do spends his evenings beating up people in illegal street fights halfway between drunken brawls and MMA matches?” Jongin sneers, and Kyungsoo can’t take that smile anymore and his hand jerks out, fist landing hard between Jongin’s ribs. Jongin gasps, all the air driven out of his lungs.
Kyungsoo immediately steps forward, apologies spilling out of his mouth like water from a broken pipe, but Jongin ignores him, jumping forward and clashing their mouths together. Jongin’s not being gentle, biting and pulling at Kyungsoo’s lips, but Kyungsoo’s heart is doing that same racecar impression anyway. Jongin tastes like nicotine and sweat and brass and terrible life decisions and Kyungsoo can’t get enough of it.
“Come with me,” Jongin says. And Kyungsoo, fairly certain he’s making a terrible mistake, does.
They end up at a club, music so loud it can be heard from several blocks away, heavy bass notes making the sidewalk ripple and shiver. There’s a long line waiting to get in but Jongin steps up to the golden-haired man standing by the door-Luhan the sometimes-bartender, Kyungsoo realizes with surprise-and leans in close, whispering in his ear. Luhan immediately stands aside, beckoning them forward, and Kyungsoo feels a sharp twist of something almost like jealousy before he remembers that Jongin isn’t his.
He follows Jongin into the darkness and the throbbing music, not surprised this time when someone calls out Jongin’s name, shoving through the crowd to make his way over to them.
“Sehun,” Jongin says teasingly, and the boy laughs, dark circles under his eyes making him look terrifyingly pale and gaunt under the dim lights of the club. Kyungsoo is a little surprised when the two embrace and Sehun pulls their mouths together. Jongin moans loudly, and Kyungsoo feels another rush of possessiveness, like he wants to break Sehun’s pretty little jaw so he’ll get his tongue out of Jongin’s mouth.
“So,” Sehun says loudly, finally pulling back until he only has an arm draped around Jongin’s shoulders. “Who’s this?”
“This,” Jongin says, licking his glossy lips so slowly it’s almost obscene, “is D.O.”
“Nice name,” Sehun says, eyes flicking up and down Kyungsoo’s body. Kyungsoo has the distinct impression he’s being sized up.
“What can I say?” Jongin says, reaching his finger around to trace the shell of Sehun’s ear and laughing when Sehun’s breath hitches. “I have good taste.”
“Debatable,” Sehun snickers, reaching up his own hand and peeling Jongin’s wandering fingers away from his face. “Remember Jongdae?”
“I thought you were fucking him,” Jongin says with a frown, as if the subject of Sehun’s sexual encounters is something he keeps track of. For all Kyungsoo knows, maybe it is.
“Oh, I am,” Sehun says happily, arm sliding down around Jongin’s waist so he can pull him closer. Kyungsoo would really like to break his wrists too. “But I’m hating every minute of it. That’s what makes it so good. Jongdae’s so fucking loud, I swear, sometimes I worry the neighbors are going to realize I’m not the innocent young graduate student they all think I am.”
Kyungsoo snorts derisively and Sehun turns those hollow eyes on him, lips twitching upwards in a sarcastic smile.
“Something funny?” he asks, threading his arm through Jongin’s and grinning viciously at whatever emotions he sees flitting across Kyungsoo’s face.
“No, nothing at all,” Kyungsoo spits back, and Jongin slaps Sehun on the back of the head.
“Stop intimidating every new person I bring by,” Jongin laughs, and Kyungsoo tries not to think of how many people Jongin has “brought by.” He wonders if he introduces them all to Sehun this way. But then Jongin’s arm is around Kyungsoo’s waist, towing him onto the dance floor, and by the time Kyungsoo looks over his shoulder Sehun has disappeared into the crowd.
“Can you dance?” Jongin shouts over the pounding music and Kyungsoo has never really done this before-not since college anyway, and even then he didn’t exactly get out very much. But Jongin doesn’t really give him a chance to respond before he’s pressing against him so tightly Kyungsoo can feel Jongin’s skin burning through the thin fabric of his shirt. Jongin rolls his hips downward and Kyungsoo groans, hand flying to his mouth as he blushes in embarrassment. But Jongin is shameless, hand slipping between them to palm at the zipper of Kyungsoo’s pants, and Kyungsoo has definitely never done this before, but he can’t really complain because he just needs some sort of friction and his jeans are suddenly much too tight.
Jongin slips his hands into Kyungsoo’s back pockets, cupping his ass gently, and Kyungsoo’s pretty sure he’s not allowed to be doing that but he can’t bring himself to care as Jongin grinds harder against him-hot, lithe body leaving Kyungsoo breathless, heart flaming in his chest. And he knows he should be embarrassed because Jongin is practically fucking him here on the dance floor but it’s dark and humid and the music is loud enough to drown out all of Kyungsoo’s stuttering moans. Jongin looks positively wrecked-head tipped back, hair stuck to his face with sweat, incredibly seductive gaze wild with abandon. Kyungsoo can’t tear his eyes away.
He’s not sure how they make it back to his apartment, but he doesn’t worry about it because now Jongin is his, those dark eyes and that red mouth and those thin fingers are all his. And Jongin is gorgeous, spread out of the bed in front of him, breath hitching as Kyungsoo thrusts his cock in and out, picking up speed when he hears Jongin moan, sound flooding him, warming his veins faster than any alcohol.
“Please, I, fuck-Kyungsoo-” Jongin stutters, and Kyungsoo loves that he’s the one who’s made Jongin so incoherent, normal sarcastic remarks completely evaporated into gasps of pleasure as Kyungsoo leans down and presses their mouths together, tongues twining smoothly around each other. And Jongin smells like cologne and alcohol and a bit like flowers, and Kyungsoo breathes in deeply, trying to swallow every inch of him, from his shivering thighs to his slick lips, slanting so urgently against Kyungsoo’s own.
And Jongin is so tight and hot that Kyungsoo knows he won’t be able to hold on for much longer, the sensation of Jongin below and above and all around him far too intoxicating, so he reaches up and wraps a hand around Jongin’s painfully hard cock, pulling in time with his thrusts. Jongin’s breath hitches so hard it sounds like he’s choking and then he comes all over Kyungsoo’s hand, still sliding his hips down hard to meet Kyungsoo’s thrusts until Kyungsoo feels Jongin’s walls clenching around him. And then he’s coming as well, spots exploding along the edges of his vision as he collapses back onto the bed, drawing Jongin’s scorching body tight against his bare chest.
When he wakes up in the morning, still naked, sheets dirty and rumpled, Jongin is gone.
*
“Wait-something’s happening!” Minseok yells in amazement, and Kyungsoo jerks his head away from Jongin’s still form, eyes fixed on the tentative blips dancing along the screen. First one. Then another. Then another. Like birds, Kyungsoo thinks wildly. Like birds flying in long lines across the sky.
*
“Can you see them?” Jongin asks from where he’s lying with his head in Kyungsoo’s lap, pointing up at the sky.
“See what?” Kyungsoo asks distractedly, more interested in the way the autumn light catches in Jongin’s silky hair.
“The birds,” Jongin says, pointing again, and this time Kyungsoo looks up to see several small dots flying in a dark line against the puffy clouds. “I think they’re going south for winter.”
“I don’t know if that kind of bird migrates south,” Kyungsoo says thoughtfully. “They look kind of small to fly all that way.”
“Well, all right then, Mr. Science,” Jongin snorts, but Kyungsoo knows he’s not really upset because he’s smiling. “I like to think that they’re migratory birds. It makes them seem more mysterious. You know, always on the move, never settling down in one place.”
“Kind of like you?” Kyungsoo laughs, and Jongin sits up long enough to glare at him.
“I’m not a bird,” Jongin sniffs before sprawling back across Kyungsoo’s lap.
“Sure you’re not,” Kyungsoo says soothingly, sliding his fingers through Jongin’s hair again. But inside, he thinks Jongin is a lot like a bird. Beautiful, mysterious, curious, but with tiny bones so fragile they can snap under the slightest bit of misplaced pressure. Kyungsoo slides his hand down Jongin’s side and tries not to think about the dips between his ribs, dark like bruises under the dim lights of Kyungsoo’s apartment. Hollow.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!” Minseok says cheerily, sitting down next to Kyungsoo in the cafeteria. Kyungsoo doesn’t usually go to the hospital cafeteria for lunch-much preferring the comfort of his own office and the food he brings from home, but Jongin had been hungry last night, whining at Kyungsoo at 2am until he’d groaned and gone to the kitchen to make him some eggs and rice, nearly letting everything burn because Jongin decided the best way to while away the minutes was to push him against the counter and kiss him hard, over and over again until Kyungsoo couldn’t even remember his own name. He certainly hadn’t remembered to pack himself food for today.
“It’s been kind of crazy lately,” Kyungsoo replies, possibly the understatement of the year. Crazy doesn’t even begin to describe Jongin-the way he shows up at Kyungsoo’s apartment at all hours, usually smelling of smoke or liquor, the way he drags Kyungsoo out to crowded dance floors and dark, empty parks where they sit and watch the stars and Jongin wonders when he’s going to die, the way he never stays until the morning. The way he leaves Kyungsoo feeling so full and so empty at the same time.
“I’m sure,” Minseok says sympathetically, clapping Kyungsoo on the shoulder and Kyungsoo’s suddenly surprised to realize that, for once, he doesn’t feel sore and bruised. He hasn’t gone to Yixing’s since that first night with Jongin. He hasn’t had to.
“And how are you doing?” Kyungsoo asks, because Minseok doesn’t look tired but he does look worn out, like the world is following just a bit too close behind him.
“Oh, I’m all right,” Minseok says quickly. “It can just get a little lonely, you know?”
“I know,” Kyungsoo says, because he still feels the crushing weight of emptiness sometimes, when he wakes up in the morning and Jongin is gone, not a trace left behind to prove that he was real, that he was more than just an ethereal breeze coalescing into the shape of Kyungsoo’s dreams. “I think I know someone I want you to meet.”
“What do you mean?” Minseok asks warily, and Kyungsoo grins.
“His name is Luhan,” he says, and he sees Minseok’s eyes brighten imperceptibly though his mouth stays turned down into a worried frown. “I think you two would really hit it off.”
“Who’s this guy?” Yixing whispers very unsubtly as Kyungsoo walks into the bar, sitting Minseok down at a table before heading over to get some drinks. “I thought you were with the other kid. Don’t tell me you’re that kind of guy.”
“Shut up,” Kyungsoo says good-naturedly. “He’s one of my friends from work. I want to introduce him to Luhan.”
“From work, huh?” Yixing says thoughtfully, hungry smile curling across his lips.
“Don’t even think about asking him what I do,” Kyungsoo warns. “I warned him not to talk to anyone who asks what he does because you’re all not to be trusted.”
“Aww, you don’t trust us?” Yixing snickers, glancing around Kyungsoo to take another look at Minseok. “He looks too nice to be an insurance salesman.”
“You think I’m an insurance salesman?” Kyungsoo laughs, as Yixing puts up his hands helplessly.
“It’s the most mind-numbing and frustrating job I could think of,” Yixing explains. “Well, you’re in luck, Luhan’s actually here today for a change. Apparently he’s had to take another part-time job so I’m lucky if he gets in a few times a week. Poor kid.”
“Why, what happened?” Kyungsoo asks interestedly. Maybe that was why Luhan’s still working at the club Jongin seems to favor.
“I don’t know, he said something about needing to pay medical bills,” Yixing says, handing Kyungsoo a few bottles. “Now you go sit down with your colleague and I’ll be sure Luhan drops by to clean something.”
“Thanks,” Kyungsoo says, grabbing the bottles and heading back towards the table where Minseok is sitting, looking a bit uncomfortable. And Kyungsoo can’t help the sick twisting in his stomach as he remembers the way Jongin had pressed so close to Luhan that first night, the way he still leans against Luhan like he’s his anchor against the wild currents that flow through Jongin’s life.
“So,” Minseok says with a slight smile, “this is where you spend your free time.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Kyungsoo laughs, hoping that Minseok doesn’t notice the worry and anger he can’t seem to erase from his eyes. “I’ve just come here a few times and thought it would be nice to take someone else here for once.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve finally decided to be social,” Minseok says happily, and Kyungsoo gives him an annoyed glance. “We’re all kind of worried that you would die friendless and alone if left to your devices.”
“Yeah, yeah, worry about my emotional wellbeing some other time, huh?” Kyungsoo snorts, and Minseok laughs.
“What can I say? I care-oh.”
Kyungsoo looks up to see what’s made Minseok suddenly stop talking and grins when he sees Luhan walking up to their table, looking a little confused. Minseok can’t seem to tear his eyes away, even when Kyungsoo clears his throat to signal that maybe Minseok might want to stop staring.
“Yixing told me to clean this table?” Luhan says hesitantly when he gets closer. Then, recognizing Kyungsoo, he smiles. “Oh, hi! I didn’t see that you were the one sitting here.”
“Hi, Luhan,” Kyungsoo says smoothly, though all he wants to do is find Jongin and strangle him if he’s the reason Luhan looks so tired. “Uh, this is my friend Minseok. Care to join us?”
“Well, I should really be working,” Luhan says sadly, eyes sliding across Kyungsoo’s face to glance at Minseok. But when he turns to look towards the bar, Yixing gives him a thumbs-up followed by an obscene hand gesture that Kyungsoo’s glad Minseok can’t see. Luhan rolls his eyes, but doesn’t waste any time is sliding into the booth next to Minseok, who jumps and scoots over as far as possible, eyes wide.
After an hour or so-around the point when Luhan starts getting very touchy, leaning his head on Minseok’s shoulder and placing a friendly hand on his thigh-Kyungsoo excuses himself, waving at Yixing on his way out the door. He’s almost reached his car when he sees a dark shape peel itself away from the wall of a nearby building, outside the circles of light cast by the streetlamps. He waits for Jongin to get close, close enough to wrap his arms around Kyungsoo’s waist, pressing his cheek against the top of Kyungsoo’s head. But then Kyungsoo is flipping them roughly around, slamming Jongin against the car, ignoring his gasp of surprise and pain.
“You don’t have a job,” Kyungsoo hisses, and Jongin raises an eyebrow.
“Sure I do,” Jongin says, though Kyungsoo has no idea what it could be if he’s even telling the truth. “What, you suddenly worried about my welfare?”
“No, I’m worried about Luhan’s,” Kyungsoo spits, and Jongin stills, eyes glittering dangerously in the dim yellow light. “He looks half-dead, Jongin.”
“Everything I got from Luhan I’m going to return,” Jongin snarls, hands curling tightly around Kyungsoo’s forearms. “And that is none of your business.”
“It is if I’m going to be associated with you,” Kyungsoo growls, forcing himself to ignore the way Jongin’s eyes widen at the words. “I don’t want to have to look at Luhan and know that it’s my fault he’s so tired, my fault.”
“None of it is your fault,” Jongin says gently, reaching up and placing a hand soothingly on Kyungsoo’s cheek. “Kyungsoo, none of this is your fault. It’s my fault. And I’m fixing it, don’t worry.”
And Kyungsoo wants to be angry, wants to scream at Jongin for taking advantage of his friends, for being stupid enough to ride a fucking motorcycle, for continually finding new ways to kill himself as slowly and painfully as possible, for making Kyungsoo worry until he thinks he’s going to shiver apart with the force of his fear and his want. But he can’t stop himself from yanking Jongin down and kissing him roughly, because he just looks so beautiful in the smoky light, glowing darkly in Kyungsoo’s grasp, and Kyungsoo has never been strong, has always been so weak. Jongin is soft and pliant beneath his hands, twisting his fingers into Kyungsoo’s hair and moaning so softly it sounds like he’s sobbing, and Kyungsoo is just so weak.
Kyungsoo’s seen so many people walk into the hospital having willingly poisoned themselves, purposefully sent themselves into giddy spirals of wild abandon and grateful amnesia, and he always wondered what kind of person, what kind of mind, would choose to give in to that attraction. With Jongin, he thinks he’s beginning to understand.
“Those really are going to kill you,” Kyungsoo says sadly, stepping out beside Jongin onto the balcony and coughing as the cigarette smoke coats the inside of his lungs.
“Good thing I’m not afraid of dying,” Jongin laughs, delicate fingers flicking up and down, bright yellow-orange spot glowing like a firefly in the summer darkness.
“Why not?” Kyungsoo asks, placing a hand on top of Jongin’s where it rests on the balcony railing, tracing every vein and fragile bone. “Everyone’s afraid of dying. It’s evolutionary.”
“I don’t think so,” Jongin says thoughtfully, blowing out another cloud of smoke. The moonlight coats his skin with a strange pattern of light and shadow, and Kyungsoo thinks that if he weren’t touching him he wouldn’t believe Jongin was actually standing here, talking to him. “I don’t think you’re afraid of dying.”
“I am,” Kyungsoo says quickly. “I really, really am. I know exactly how people die, Jongin. I’ve watched it. And it’s not dramatic, like it is in the movies. Their friends and relatives aren’t there in the operating room screaming at you to save them. It’s just really quiet and a little sad, and then you have to go out to where their friends and family really are and no matter what happens, they already know. Death is like a disease, Jongin. It leaves a mark on you that doesn’t come off.”
“Some people want marks like that,” Jongin says, and Kyungsoo laughs softly, remembering the time he’d asked Jongin why he didn’t have any tattoos and Jongin said he was afraid of needles.
“Not like these ones,” Kyungsoo says and Jongin shifts his hand until their fingers are tangled together, metal of the railing cold against Kyungsoo’s skin. “No one wants marks like these.”
“Well, I like them on you,” Jongin says. “They make you look dangerous.”
“It figures you’d like something like that,” Kyungsoo says, smiling when Jongin looks up at him, moonlit eyes shining. He’s never looked so beautiful. “Why do you always want dangerous things? You’re so crazy.”
“It lets you know what it feels like to die,” Jongin says simply, leaning his head against Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “But afterwards you get to do it again.”
“Wow, you look really upset,” Yixing says, as Kyungsoo pulls himself up to the bar and immediately slumps over, forehead pressed hard against his forearms. “I’d almost thought I wasn’t going to see you around here anymore. That kid of yours seemed to be doing you good.”
“Right. Good,” Kyungsoo mutters with a harsh laugh, and the vibrations make his throat hurt. He wonders if he’s coming down with something.
“Let me guess, you guys had a fight,” Yixing says knowingly, and Kyungsoo wants to launch himself over the bar, laughing hysterically at the overstatement. Because you can’t really fight if you’re not really in a relationship. And if you’re not really in a relationship it’s not supposed to hurt this much. It’s not supposed to hurt this much when one night he’s letting Jongin fuck him into his mattress, heart racing wildly as he tries to drink in all of Jongin’s small gasping breaths, memorize the feel of Jongin’s skin against his own, and the next night he’s alone, not quite sure how everything came crashing to a halt.
Zitao seems to realize that he’s not in a mood for small talk, because he simply stands aside and lets him into the ring, and Kyungsoo doesn’t even hear who he’s facing, doesn’t hear the name of the thin, wiry man standing before him, fists held protectively near his face. The man moves like a dancer, all sharp hipbones and swift fingers, and he lands several blows on Kyungsoo’s stomach before Kyungsoo even realizes he’s moved. Kyungsoo jerks backwards, arms coming up to ward off several more blows, and then he darts forward, fist colliding with the man’s chest hard enough to knock him backwards. The crowd roars but Kyungsoo gasps with pain, dropping to his knees on the hard ground.
His fingers are aching dully but Kyungsoo doesn’t care. The man had felt so much like Jongin, slightly sunken chest and firm muscles flexing under Kyungsoo’s touch the same way Jongin’s had that night he came to watch Kyungsoo fight. And suddenly Kyungsoo has no idea why he’s here and he’s rising, throwing himself angrily into the crowd, and it’s only as he’s running down the alleyway, gasping in ragged breaths that tear at his lungs, that he realizes he didn’t have anything to drink before arriving. The night air is cold, and it wraps itself around Kyungsoo’s arms like a frigid shroud, yanking at his hands and his hair, trying to pull him backwards.
Kyungsoo throws himself down onto dark grass and looks up at the stars, willing them to give him some sort of answer, willing them to do anything other than sit there glistening millions upon billions of seconds away, time flowing blackly past him in the darkness. Kyungsoo has always been addicted to sweetness, savoring soft words and warm glances, sugar melting gently on his tongue, and he’s always surprised to find that he can’t coat the walls of his mind in candied gloss. Some thoughts always eat through, acid burning brighter than the moon he can feel reflected in his own eyes, and Kyungsoo knows he’s let this go too far-he never meant to let himself feel anything more than pure, crystalline desire, but this is more than that. This is something brighter, a polluted fire boiling in his blood so hot he thinks it might set his skin ablaze, leaving nothing behind but ashes.
Part 3