[SJ] Mirrorverse prompt post (HenHae, KyuHyuk, YeKyu, HenWook, HanChul)
The other half of the fics from the prompt post. It was actually pretty fun writing darker takes on typically fluffy fandoms and prompts.
This half is from Prompt B: Mirrorverse (everything is dark!)
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1 :: mondays
Henry, Donghae, PG-13, hands in mittens
Henry looked down.
A dirty woolen mitten lay at his feet. It had been red and white striped originally, but had rather endeavored to merge into one large brownish splotch.
He squatted for a better look. It was damp, too, but not from the snow. Snow didn't leave that kind of stain.
The hand inside would be cold, he knew. There were some things a detective knew instinctively, without a lot of poking and prodding involved. Hell, he barely needed to deduct. It was a given when the hand inside the dirty mitten was disconnected from the rest of its body.
"Man," said Donghae, and the spotlight on the mitten danced as he shifted, "I hate Mondays."
They called it in. Kyuhyun took down the report with a grunt and they could hear the keys tapping away over the line. Nothing seemed to faze him; nothing gruesome at least. Henry snapped a surgical glove over his right hand and gently plced the mittened hand into the specimen bag Donghae held open. It got labeled, sealed, and tucked away into the evidence box.
"I guess we should go see if we can find the rest of her."
Henry rose smoothly to his feet with a grimace.
"Lead on, rookie," said Donghae. He swung the flashlight around, and the arc of yellow light followed, briefly illuminating the dank, cramped corners of the storeroom. Mildewed boxes and odd bits of furniture lurched from the shadows in strange silhouettes, turned unfamiliar in the dim light.
"Next time," said Henry, as he edged forward, "we better get desk duty. I bet Kyuhyun's got Starcraft open behind his files."
"Yeah, well, better let me draw straws next time. Your luck sucks."
It was all a matter of interpretation, though, because Henry felt something give under his next step, a crunch that wasn't quite so sharp, as if it were softened by something like...flesh. He looked down. Good luck or bad, it seemed like he'd found another piece of evidence.
"I think it's, uh, an arm."
"I really hate Mondays," Donghae said feelingly.
*
2 :: target: locked
Kyuhyun, PG, fake ID
"Cho Kyuhyun," said Siwon severely. "I think this ID is faked. You know we cannot hold with imposters here."
Kyuhyun only looked calmly back at him. "Do you want to risk it?"
Siwon looked down at the laminated card again, brows furrowing. They were quite expressive, his brows; they were currently expressing his disbelief mixed with concern. What if Kyuhyun were telling the truth... It was unlikely, but in their world, the unlikely often reigned true and the impossible often becam possible.
"But you're so young," Siwon said. The seed of doubt had been planted, however. Kyuhyun could hear it in his voice.
It was all he could do to stifle the smile of triumph before it spread across his face. He schooled his features carefully instead, maintaining his cool demeanor.
"I'm a prodigy."
"I suppose Heechul did train you."
And so Kyuhyun, with some reluctance and some admiration on Siwon's part, was ushered into the elite gentleman's club. Only those with a special license were permitted here, those who could perform magic with a whisper of a blade, a creative twist of wire, or an invisible drop of poison.
These were the gentlemen with a license to kill and the cold-bloodedness to enjoy it.
Kyuhyun was in. Now all he had to do was tread carefully until he found the man who had killed his father. My name is Cho Kyuhyun, he thought. I am licensed to kill. If I don't die first, I will have my revenge, Zhou Mi.
It was only a matter of time.
*
3 :: love of an artist (for his art)
Kyuhyun/Eunhyuk, PG-13, falling in love in a coffeeshop
I fell in love with you on a Tuesday, Kyuhyun says with an awkward smile. At the coffee shop on the corner.
You walked in and I couldn't look away. The first thing I noticed, you know, was your legs. I'm a singer, not a dancer, but I still noticed you and your legs. They were skinny, you know. Not much to look at upon first glance, but they're graceful if you keep looking. Powerful. I bet you were a dancer. You could tell from the way you moved.
His hands stroke Eunhyuk's throat, gentle. His fingertips graze the bump of the Adam's apple and the corner of his mouth curved.
I fell in love with your narrow shoulders, your tiny waist. I didn't know if you were any good at singing, but you walked like you owned the world. I wanted to watch you dance, Kyuhyun confesses. That's what I was thinking while looking at you and drinking my hot chocolate. I wanted to watch you. Maybe learn from you.
Your hair's the same as it was then. Kyuhyun moves his hand to sweep the bangs across Eunhyuk's forehead, still the stylish cut from the first time Kyuhyun saw him, a striking white blond. There are red lowlights if you know where to look and it warms a little place in Kyuhyun's heart, because they match now. Kyuhyun has red in his hair too. It's such a couple thing, but he loves it.
You ordered a pumpkin spice latte, you know. You smiled at the barista and that's when I knew. I had to have you. It's sounds so dumb, doesn't it? I never used to believe in love at first sight but... But Eunhyuk, you were different. You are different.
She called your name when the order was ready. Eunhyuk.
Kyuhyun whispers it again. Eunhyuk.
I'm so glad you're mine now, Eunhyuk. He leans close, until his lips graze Eunhyuk's cheek. It's cool and smooth. Eunhyuk, don't you know how much I love you?
He slides Eunhyuk's arm around him and sighs, content. His eyes dip close as he nuzzles his face into the crook of Eunhyuk's neck, against the pale column of skin. It's still beneath his touch.
I love you, Eunhyuk.
Above him, Eunhyuk's eyes stare glassy and unseeing into the ether.
Note: Inspired by JJ Lin's song & MV 杀手/Killer. :D
*
4 :: black pine
Fuji/Ryoma (PoT), PG, problems reaching things in high places
"I'm not tall enough for this." Ryoma stepped back.
Fuji chuckled. "Would you like a chair, Echizen?" He took the ball of wire Ryoma passed him, which trailed a long length from across the ways. Beside him, Ryoma scowled and tugged down his knit cap.
"Like there are chairs around here."
A cold wind blew through their layers and Ryoma shivered in his coat. His scowl deepened. Out here under steel skies and snowy snopes turned gray in the gloom, there were no chairs in sight. There were no other people either, or any signs of civilization. In the morning, under the sun, they might be able to make out the little signs marking the ski trail, visible between the trees. At the moment, the shadows swam together as each pine massed into a looming, indistinct form.
Fuji looped the ball of wire around the nearest tree trunk, slightly above shoulder level. His fingers worked deftly despite the gloves, and Ryoma watched. From the trunk, the length of wire disappeared above Ryoma's head into the dark.
Unseen, some meters away, the other end was secured around another tree.
"This had better work," Ryoma muttered as he handed Fuji the wire cutters. "If I froze my ass of for nothing, I'll be pissed."
"Saa, have a little faith."
If the moon hadn't been tucked away behind the clouds, the razor-thin wire may have gleamed under its light. As it was, it was nearly invisible in the night. If all went well, it wouldn't be any more visible when day came, lost in the blinding gleam of sun on snow. Ryoma wasn't an optimist by nature, but he was sensible enough to trust (mostly) a good record. Fuji had an impeccable one.
They smoothed out the faint impressions of their footsteps in the snow. On snowshoes over packed snow, the marks weren't deep, and the weather forecast had called for light flurries in the next few hours, which would cover the remainder in powdery white. Ryoma took hold of their supplies, Fuji took hold of Ryoma's hand, and they set off back to the lodge with their flashlight. They likely hadn't been missed in the midst of the drunken revelry Atobe had set up at his mountain "cabin", where half the guests were making use of the private upstairs rooms and the other half were approaching the point of blacking out. It was useful having Atobe Keigo on one's side.
Tomorrow, someone would meet with an inexplicable skiing fatality. It couldn't be an accident, not with a wire that high; there could only be one intent: a murderous one. Suspicions and rumors might run rampant, but nothing could be proved.
Fuji and Ryoma got results. That's all their clients ever asked of them.
*
5 :: copper and salt
Kyuhyun, Yesung, PG-13, testosterone
Yesung spits on the floor and runs his tongue over his teeth. The coppery feeling of blood lingers.
Kyuhyun hands him a fresh towel, which he swipes across his forehead. His hair is soaked with sweat, dark and clinging to his skin. There might be blood mixed in there. Yesung honestly can't feel much at the moment aside from the adrenaline in his veins, the strong, heady thump thump of his heartbeat in his ears.
"You okay?" Kyuhyun asks.
He got a couple knocks to the head earlier and he doesn't want to imagine what his ribs will feel like tomorrow, but Yesung can't imagine stopping now and walking away. Inside his gloves, he flexes his fingers. He grins, bloody and not a little feral, he imagines.
"All right," says Kyuhyun, who knows him. He trades the towel for a bottle of water so Yesung can rehydrate himself.
The average person wouldn't look at Yesung and think boxer. The average person, however, has no part in their world - underground, dirty, and mean, with their own set of rules. Go big or go home: risk it all and winner takes all. Cheating is a relative term, but an honor code of their own binds them nonetheless. It's a complicated code, though; the average person shouldn't risk it.
You learned how to fight to survive, they say. Yesung learns to fight because he loves it - the thrill, the rush, the pain; everything.
Yesung's not the tallest or brawniest of men. He is, however, among the top fighters, and that gets respect. Yesung ensures it.
He emerges from the ring sweaty, bloody, breathless, and triumphant. Kyuhyun's at his side immediately, grinning like he can't help himself. He tends to be serious, this kid, likes to brood and glower and set people on edge with that wicked curl of his smirk - but when he smiles, he looks like a child, young and whole-hearted.
"You like that, huh?" Yesung laughs as Kyuhyun reaches for his gloves to unlace them. He nudges him away with his hip. "Get the prize money first, genius. Always the money first."
Kyuhyun rolls his eyes. "It's not going-"
Yesung cuts him off with a light cuff to the side of his head. Red streaked across Kyuhyun's cheekbone, a smear of someone else's blood.
"Do as you're told," said Yesung.
Kyuhyun does.
It doesn't do to disobey Yesung in their world; it's a lesson Yesung likes to keep teaching. So far, twenty-one wins under his belt and counting. He figures he's doing pretty damn good for the weird kid who used to get shoved into the dirt. Little freak's come a long way, and he's got a long way yet to go, if Yesung has anything to say about it.
*
6 :: fridays
Henry, Donghae, PG, from the "Mondays" AU above - Fridays
Donghae hates Mondays, but he thinks Fridays are interesting. They're not always fun and most of the time they sure as hell ain't casual, but they're interesting.
Like it or not, a giant squid ringing them up and asking for a meeting is pretty interesting, for all objective definitions of the word.
All the weird shit happens on Fridays.
They're at the harbor just past lunch and the docks, typically crowded, are worse than ever. It's Friday, which means long lunches are getting extended even longer, until it's just about time to call it a day and leave early for the weekend. People are milling about the harborfront, some lazing on their boats, some planted on restaurant patios, enjoying their pink lemonade.
A number of them are eyeing the squid floating remarkably close to Dock 42, wide dark eyes just visible above the surface.
Henry doesn't look thrilled to be following Donghae down the dock. They're usually a well-matched pair - neither of them flinches much at gore anymore. They handle the blood and guts on too regular of a basis to not get accustomed to it at some point. ("Desensitivity," says Ryeowook with a frown. "That can be concerning. Do you want me to schedule an appointment with our department psychologist?") They typically even deal pretty well with the weird shit ("Extraordinary circumstances," says Zhou Mi, who is a Class A bullshitter and who does it with a smile).
Today, though, Henry is grumpy, because he doesn't think this is their department and Donghae has been hearing about it the whole way down to the harbor.
"Hello," says the squid. "Are you from the Authority?"
"That's us," says Donghae cheerfully.
"Look," says Henry. "No offense, but why did you request us specifically? We tend to deal with homicides and inexplicable deaths. Not so much used to the Interspecies Affairs."
The dark eyes seem to go liquid and wobbly in response. Donghae is faintly alarmed.
"But this is an inexplicable death. My sister-"
They get a tearful - can giant squid cry? Donghae wonders - recount of the inexplicable passage of another giant squid. Henry, Donghae can tell, is refraining from making comments under his breath. He bites his bottom lip and makes faces at Donghae. He's been a good partner for the past four months, but he's young yet. Still a rookie.
Donghae decides to step in. "Henry, why don't you get Kyuhyun or Zhou Mi down here. It sounds like it's at least partly their branch too - Homicide and Interspecies Affairs." He looks at the giant squid, friendly. "I'll come with you to check out the scene of death once our colleagues get here. It shouldn't be a long wait."
So Donghae spends Friday afternoon in fish form, accompanied by a long-suffering Kyuhyun (in turtle form) and a mournful giant squid. The inexplicable death turns out to be the result of a mistakenly ingested pufferfish. "I'm sorry for your loss," Donghae tells the squid, but there's nothing to be done. He emerges wet and naked from the water to find that Zhou Mi has turned up to collect his partner; he and Henry are swapping case stories.
Fridays are never boring, but Donghae is tired. By the time he dries off and gets redressed, it's time to call it a day, so he looks at Zhou Mi and Kyuhyun. "Clock us out. You owe us." Then he wraps an arm around Henry and grins. "Basketball and dinner?"
Henry grins right back. "Sounds awesome."
Note: This turned cracky but I still kind of love this AU. If I don't totally fall off the wagon of writing, maybe I will play around in it some more. There are five more days of the week, after all!
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7 :: the etiquette of gate-crashing
Henry/Ryeowook, PG-13, oceans
The rule of lost things, as Ryeowook interpreted it, meant that sometimes things just went missing, like the occasiona left sock or that notepad where you'd written down that phone message. Some things people just gave up for ever finding again; they moved on.
This rule applied equally to people.
At least, in the world Ryeowook knew, and thrived in, this was accepted as true..
Give it a few months (sometimes it only took weeks) and peopel would eventually forget and move on. Sometimes, they didn't even mourn the missing, presumed dead. Sometimes, it was even a relief.
Siwon had left the kid in Ryeowook's suite, tied up and lying on his side. The waves were stong tonight and he rocked with the the ship. He looked a little worse for wear, but it was hard to tell if it was due to the stormy motion of the ship or the rough handling. Siwon tended to avoid unnecessary roughness, but sometimes he didn't know his own strength.
Ryeowook was reputed to be kindhearted. For a mafia boss's son, was the qualifier, but the compliment stood regardless.
He helped the kid sit up, though he left him bound. "What's your name?"
"What's it matter?"
Ryeowook sighed. "I know Siwon took your wallet along with your camera. You might as well tell me now, since I can find out in thirty seconds anyway."
He got a glare for that. "Henry."
Sullen. Typical for someone his age, Ryeowook supposed. Henry looked even younger than Ryeowook, and unmarred by the trials and tribulations that came with being someone important in the family. Ryeowook had learned a lot of lessons young. He wondered if Henry had.
He sat back on his heels in front of the kid, still for the most part friendly and approachable. "Do you need some water?" he asked solicitiously.
"Why're you being so nice?" Henry looked suspicious.
"There's no need to be rude to guests." Ryeowook smiled at him, his best one, the one that unnerved people the most - the genuine one. No one expected sincerity. They didn't know what to do with it.
Henry seemed equally offput by it. He shifted uneasily in his bonds.
"To be fair, you were being a bit rude," said Ryeowook. "I don't really appreciate people snapping pictures of my private business. Especially if they plan to sell it to the media later."
"I wasn't going to sell it!"
Ryeowook titled his head in question. "Oh?"
"I am the press," Henry admitted, sulking. "I don't need to sell it to them."
"You're lucky I'm not helping you to a lifetime's supply of water, courtesy of a short trip off the side of this cruise ship," Ryeowook told him frankly, smile disappearing abruptly.
Kindhearted Kim Ryeowook might be, but he did not enjoy the press nosing its way into his business. He stood and crossed the room to the table where Siwon had left the personal items he'd liberated from Henry. Wallet, camera, pack of gum, phone. Inside the wallet, an ID. Ryeowook clucked his tongue. Always thinking about other people's business, these nosy reporters never seemed to take very good care of their own.
Henry Lau. Ryeowook didn't glance at him as he pulled out his cell phone. "Siwon, make accommodations. Our guest will be staying with us for a while."
How long that stay would be depended entirely on how helpful Henry could make himself.
Note: Bonus points if you can name the (obvious, I think) influence on this AU.
*
8 :: achilles' heel
Han Geng/Heechul, R, in this rich kid AU
Kim Heechul. It's a name everyone knows. The face of Korea, practically, this big name model with a big personality to match. He's everywhere you look - in magazines, on a wall in a fashionable clothing store, on TV. He's branching into acting these days and his reputation from the fashion industry follows him: unique, to be polite; irrepressible, to those who like him. He acts like he doesn't care about the media, but there's a charm there, something unlikely that woos people into admiring him and respecting him, even if they don't like him. He runs his mouth and doesn't hide his flashy nightlife, but he can be startling self-deprecating about it. Perhaps it's that self-awareness that draws people in. He may be a bit of a showy asshole, a gilded lily, but he knows it.
Kim Heechul rolls with the high rollers. The cameras and lights follow him, like he was born to be under the spotlight of public scrutiny. He knows which angles he looks best, but he doesn't always give a fuck, which makes him even more interesting. He drinks too much, gambles with the stakes too high, and corrupts the pretty stalwart sons of Korea's businessmen. He flirts shamelessly with men like Choi Siwon, who is filthy rich and disgustingly good-looking, the dream of nearly every single girl and their mother. He takes Cho Kyuhyun out at least once a week, whose squeaky clean good university boy image is fast disappearing.
Everyone knows Kim Heechul. He makes himself accessible that way, carelessly, fearlessly.
Even Kim Heechul has secrets, though. Dirty little secrets he won't let out of his bedroom, where the blinds are drawn and the door's shut tight. Spread out on his ostentatiously large bed, wearing black nylon track pants and a thin white t-shirt, is Kim Heechul's secret.
He's ordinary. So ordinary, if you compare him to the rest of Heechul's life. He's not rich, he's not poor, but from a middle-class middle-of-the-road family. He's an international student studying dance, still stumbling over his Korean after three years. He's an only child and he loves his mom. He should bore Heechul to tears, but he's the most fascinating thing Heechul's seen - or done - in years.
There are people who bow obsequiously and scurry to do Heechul's bidding. There are people who snap back at him, matching him barb for barb, who keep him on his toes. He likes the latter better. Han Geng is neither of those.
He lies back when told but not without rolling his eyes; he never trades quips with Heechul (his language isn't up to muster) but he's quick to roll them over and pin Heechul beneath him. If he's docile, and quiet, it's only on the surface. Han Geng bides his time and doesn't waste his breath when he doesn't have to; he knows when to concede. But he also knows when to push, when to pull, when to sink his teeth into the curve of Heechul's neck and make him arch and moan.
He doesn't want any part of Heechul's fame or notoriety. He doesn't want the hassle of nosy tabloids trailing him from class to dorm. He doesn't want them to dig up his past or pester his family or speculate about what dirty things he may be up with Korea's biggest star. So Heechul keeps his mouth shut, except for when Han Geng's fucking him slow in his gigantic bed with the sheets hanging half off the sides. He pants curses and broken attempts at Han Geng's name as Han Geng grips his hips, white-knuckled, and rocks forward steadily.
Han Geng is Kim Heechul's dirty little secret and he likes it that way. He doesn't see the way Heechul looks at him afterwards, can't interpret the way Heechul trails nonsensical patterns on his arm and spins fantastical stories about dragons and cats. He doesn't know that Heechul doesn't kiss the corner of his mouth, the underside of his jaw, the inside of his wrist unless he means it.
Han Geng is Kim Heechul's dirty little secret, but it's not because he's a no-name who's intruded his way into a megastar's bed, no. It's not that.
This half is from Prompt B: Mirrorverse (everything is dark!)
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1 :: mondays
Henry, Donghae, PG-13, hands in mittens
Henry looked down.
A dirty woolen mitten lay at his feet. It had been red and white striped originally, but had rather endeavored to merge into one large brownish splotch.
He squatted for a better look. It was damp, too, but not from the snow. Snow didn't leave that kind of stain.
The hand inside would be cold, he knew. There were some things a detective knew instinctively, without a lot of poking and prodding involved. Hell, he barely needed to deduct. It was a given when the hand inside the dirty mitten was disconnected from the rest of its body.
"Man," said Donghae, and the spotlight on the mitten danced as he shifted, "I hate Mondays."
They called it in. Kyuhyun took down the report with a grunt and they could hear the keys tapping away over the line. Nothing seemed to faze him; nothing gruesome at least. Henry snapped a surgical glove over his right hand and gently plced the mittened hand into the specimen bag Donghae held open. It got labeled, sealed, and tucked away into the evidence box.
"I guess we should go see if we can find the rest of her."
Henry rose smoothly to his feet with a grimace.
"Lead on, rookie," said Donghae. He swung the flashlight around, and the arc of yellow light followed, briefly illuminating the dank, cramped corners of the storeroom. Mildewed boxes and odd bits of furniture lurched from the shadows in strange silhouettes, turned unfamiliar in the dim light.
"Next time," said Henry, as he edged forward, "we better get desk duty. I bet Kyuhyun's got Starcraft open behind his files."
"Yeah, well, better let me draw straws next time. Your luck sucks."
It was all a matter of interpretation, though, because Henry felt something give under his next step, a crunch that wasn't quite so sharp, as if it were softened by something like...flesh. He looked down. Good luck or bad, it seemed like he'd found another piece of evidence.
"I think it's, uh, an arm."
"I really hate Mondays," Donghae said feelingly.
*
2 :: target: locked
Kyuhyun, PG, fake ID
"Cho Kyuhyun," said Siwon severely. "I think this ID is faked. You know we cannot hold with imposters here."
Kyuhyun only looked calmly back at him. "Do you want to risk it?"
Siwon looked down at the laminated card again, brows furrowing. They were quite expressive, his brows; they were currently expressing his disbelief mixed with concern. What if Kyuhyun were telling the truth... It was unlikely, but in their world, the unlikely often reigned true and the impossible often becam possible.
"But you're so young," Siwon said. The seed of doubt had been planted, however. Kyuhyun could hear it in his voice.
It was all he could do to stifle the smile of triumph before it spread across his face. He schooled his features carefully instead, maintaining his cool demeanor.
"I'm a prodigy."
"I suppose Heechul did train you."
And so Kyuhyun, with some reluctance and some admiration on Siwon's part, was ushered into the elite gentleman's club. Only those with a special license were permitted here, those who could perform magic with a whisper of a blade, a creative twist of wire, or an invisible drop of poison.
These were the gentlemen with a license to kill and the cold-bloodedness to enjoy it.
Kyuhyun was in. Now all he had to do was tread carefully until he found the man who had killed his father. My name is Cho Kyuhyun, he thought. I am licensed to kill. If I don't die first, I will have my revenge, Zhou Mi.
It was only a matter of time.
*
3 :: love of an artist (for his art)
Kyuhyun/Eunhyuk, PG-13, falling in love in a coffeeshop
I fell in love with you on a Tuesday, Kyuhyun says with an awkward smile. At the coffee shop on the corner.
You walked in and I couldn't look away. The first thing I noticed, you know, was your legs. I'm a singer, not a dancer, but I still noticed you and your legs. They were skinny, you know. Not much to look at upon first glance, but they're graceful if you keep looking. Powerful. I bet you were a dancer. You could tell from the way you moved.
His hands stroke Eunhyuk's throat, gentle. His fingertips graze the bump of the Adam's apple and the corner of his mouth curved.
I fell in love with your narrow shoulders, your tiny waist. I didn't know if you were any good at singing, but you walked like you owned the world. I wanted to watch you dance, Kyuhyun confesses. That's what I was thinking while looking at you and drinking my hot chocolate. I wanted to watch you. Maybe learn from you.
Your hair's the same as it was then. Kyuhyun moves his hand to sweep the bangs across Eunhyuk's forehead, still the stylish cut from the first time Kyuhyun saw him, a striking white blond. There are red lowlights if you know where to look and it warms a little place in Kyuhyun's heart, because they match now. Kyuhyun has red in his hair too. It's such a couple thing, but he loves it.
You ordered a pumpkin spice latte, you know. You smiled at the barista and that's when I knew. I had to have you. It's sounds so dumb, doesn't it? I never used to believe in love at first sight but... But Eunhyuk, you were different. You are different.
She called your name when the order was ready. Eunhyuk.
Kyuhyun whispers it again. Eunhyuk.
I'm so glad you're mine now, Eunhyuk. He leans close, until his lips graze Eunhyuk's cheek. It's cool and smooth. Eunhyuk, don't you know how much I love you?
He slides Eunhyuk's arm around him and sighs, content. His eyes dip close as he nuzzles his face into the crook of Eunhyuk's neck, against the pale column of skin. It's still beneath his touch.
I love you, Eunhyuk.
Above him, Eunhyuk's eyes stare glassy and unseeing into the ether.
Note: Inspired by JJ Lin's song & MV 杀手/Killer. :D
*
4 :: black pine
Fuji/Ryoma (PoT), PG, problems reaching things in high places
"I'm not tall enough for this." Ryoma stepped back.
Fuji chuckled. "Would you like a chair, Echizen?" He took the ball of wire Ryoma passed him, which trailed a long length from across the ways. Beside him, Ryoma scowled and tugged down his knit cap.
"Like there are chairs around here."
A cold wind blew through their layers and Ryoma shivered in his coat. His scowl deepened. Out here under steel skies and snowy snopes turned gray in the gloom, there were no chairs in sight. There were no other people either, or any signs of civilization. In the morning, under the sun, they might be able to make out the little signs marking the ski trail, visible between the trees. At the moment, the shadows swam together as each pine massed into a looming, indistinct form.
Fuji looped the ball of wire around the nearest tree trunk, slightly above shoulder level. His fingers worked deftly despite the gloves, and Ryoma watched. From the trunk, the length of wire disappeared above Ryoma's head into the dark.
Unseen, some meters away, the other end was secured around another tree.
"This had better work," Ryoma muttered as he handed Fuji the wire cutters. "If I froze my ass of for nothing, I'll be pissed."
"Saa, have a little faith."
If the moon hadn't been tucked away behind the clouds, the razor-thin wire may have gleamed under its light. As it was, it was nearly invisible in the night. If all went well, it wouldn't be any more visible when day came, lost in the blinding gleam of sun on snow. Ryoma wasn't an optimist by nature, but he was sensible enough to trust (mostly) a good record. Fuji had an impeccable one.
They smoothed out the faint impressions of their footsteps in the snow. On snowshoes over packed snow, the marks weren't deep, and the weather forecast had called for light flurries in the next few hours, which would cover the remainder in powdery white. Ryoma took hold of their supplies, Fuji took hold of Ryoma's hand, and they set off back to the lodge with their flashlight. They likely hadn't been missed in the midst of the drunken revelry Atobe had set up at his mountain "cabin", where half the guests were making use of the private upstairs rooms and the other half were approaching the point of blacking out. It was useful having Atobe Keigo on one's side.
Tomorrow, someone would meet with an inexplicable skiing fatality. It couldn't be an accident, not with a wire that high; there could only be one intent: a murderous one. Suspicions and rumors might run rampant, but nothing could be proved.
Fuji and Ryoma got results. That's all their clients ever asked of them.
*
5 :: copper and salt
Kyuhyun, Yesung, PG-13, testosterone
Yesung spits on the floor and runs his tongue over his teeth. The coppery feeling of blood lingers.
Kyuhyun hands him a fresh towel, which he swipes across his forehead. His hair is soaked with sweat, dark and clinging to his skin. There might be blood mixed in there. Yesung honestly can't feel much at the moment aside from the adrenaline in his veins, the strong, heady thump thump of his heartbeat in his ears.
"You okay?" Kyuhyun asks.
He got a couple knocks to the head earlier and he doesn't want to imagine what his ribs will feel like tomorrow, but Yesung can't imagine stopping now and walking away. Inside his gloves, he flexes his fingers. He grins, bloody and not a little feral, he imagines.
"All right," says Kyuhyun, who knows him. He trades the towel for a bottle of water so Yesung can rehydrate himself.
The average person wouldn't look at Yesung and think boxer. The average person, however, has no part in their world - underground, dirty, and mean, with their own set of rules. Go big or go home: risk it all and winner takes all. Cheating is a relative term, but an honor code of their own binds them nonetheless. It's a complicated code, though; the average person shouldn't risk it.
You learned how to fight to survive, they say. Yesung learns to fight because he loves it - the thrill, the rush, the pain; everything.
Yesung's not the tallest or brawniest of men. He is, however, among the top fighters, and that gets respect. Yesung ensures it.
He emerges from the ring sweaty, bloody, breathless, and triumphant. Kyuhyun's at his side immediately, grinning like he can't help himself. He tends to be serious, this kid, likes to brood and glower and set people on edge with that wicked curl of his smirk - but when he smiles, he looks like a child, young and whole-hearted.
"You like that, huh?" Yesung laughs as Kyuhyun reaches for his gloves to unlace them. He nudges him away with his hip. "Get the prize money first, genius. Always the money first."
Kyuhyun rolls his eyes. "It's not going-"
Yesung cuts him off with a light cuff to the side of his head. Red streaked across Kyuhyun's cheekbone, a smear of someone else's blood.
"Do as you're told," said Yesung.
Kyuhyun does.
It doesn't do to disobey Yesung in their world; it's a lesson Yesung likes to keep teaching. So far, twenty-one wins under his belt and counting. He figures he's doing pretty damn good for the weird kid who used to get shoved into the dirt. Little freak's come a long way, and he's got a long way yet to go, if Yesung has anything to say about it.
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6 :: fridays
Henry, Donghae, PG, from the "Mondays" AU above - Fridays
Donghae hates Mondays, but he thinks Fridays are interesting. They're not always fun and most of the time they sure as hell ain't casual, but they're interesting.
Like it or not, a giant squid ringing them up and asking for a meeting is pretty interesting, for all objective definitions of the word.
All the weird shit happens on Fridays.
They're at the harbor just past lunch and the docks, typically crowded, are worse than ever. It's Friday, which means long lunches are getting extended even longer, until it's just about time to call it a day and leave early for the weekend. People are milling about the harborfront, some lazing on their boats, some planted on restaurant patios, enjoying their pink lemonade.
A number of them are eyeing the squid floating remarkably close to Dock 42, wide dark eyes just visible above the surface.
Henry doesn't look thrilled to be following Donghae down the dock. They're usually a well-matched pair - neither of them flinches much at gore anymore. They handle the blood and guts on too regular of a basis to not get accustomed to it at some point. ("Desensitivity," says Ryeowook with a frown. "That can be concerning. Do you want me to schedule an appointment with our department psychologist?") They typically even deal pretty well with the weird shit ("Extraordinary circumstances," says Zhou Mi, who is a Class A bullshitter and who does it with a smile).
Today, though, Henry is grumpy, because he doesn't think this is their department and Donghae has been hearing about it the whole way down to the harbor.
"Hello," says the squid. "Are you from the Authority?"
"That's us," says Donghae cheerfully.
"Look," says Henry. "No offense, but why did you request us specifically? We tend to deal with homicides and inexplicable deaths. Not so much used to the Interspecies Affairs."
The dark eyes seem to go liquid and wobbly in response. Donghae is faintly alarmed.
"But this is an inexplicable death. My sister-"
They get a tearful - can giant squid cry? Donghae wonders - recount of the inexplicable passage of another giant squid. Henry, Donghae can tell, is refraining from making comments under his breath. He bites his bottom lip and makes faces at Donghae. He's been a good partner for the past four months, but he's young yet. Still a rookie.
Donghae decides to step in. "Henry, why don't you get Kyuhyun or Zhou Mi down here. It sounds like it's at least partly their branch too - Homicide and Interspecies Affairs." He looks at the giant squid, friendly. "I'll come with you to check out the scene of death once our colleagues get here. It shouldn't be a long wait."
So Donghae spends Friday afternoon in fish form, accompanied by a long-suffering Kyuhyun (in turtle form) and a mournful giant squid. The inexplicable death turns out to be the result of a mistakenly ingested pufferfish. "I'm sorry for your loss," Donghae tells the squid, but there's nothing to be done. He emerges wet and naked from the water to find that Zhou Mi has turned up to collect his partner; he and Henry are swapping case stories.
Fridays are never boring, but Donghae is tired. By the time he dries off and gets redressed, it's time to call it a day, so he looks at Zhou Mi and Kyuhyun. "Clock us out. You owe us." Then he wraps an arm around Henry and grins. "Basketball and dinner?"
Henry grins right back. "Sounds awesome."
Note: This turned cracky but I still kind of love this AU. If I don't totally fall off the wagon of writing, maybe I will play around in it some more. There are five more days of the week, after all!
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7 :: the etiquette of gate-crashing
Henry/Ryeowook, PG-13, oceans
The rule of lost things, as Ryeowook interpreted it, meant that sometimes things just went missing, like the occasiona left sock or that notepad where you'd written down that phone message. Some things people just gave up for ever finding again; they moved on.
This rule applied equally to people.
At least, in the world Ryeowook knew, and thrived in, this was accepted as true..
Give it a few months (sometimes it only took weeks) and peopel would eventually forget and move on. Sometimes, they didn't even mourn the missing, presumed dead. Sometimes, it was even a relief.
Siwon had left the kid in Ryeowook's suite, tied up and lying on his side. The waves were stong tonight and he rocked with the the ship. He looked a little worse for wear, but it was hard to tell if it was due to the stormy motion of the ship or the rough handling. Siwon tended to avoid unnecessary roughness, but sometimes he didn't know his own strength.
Ryeowook was reputed to be kindhearted. For a mafia boss's son, was the qualifier, but the compliment stood regardless.
He helped the kid sit up, though he left him bound. "What's your name?"
"What's it matter?"
Ryeowook sighed. "I know Siwon took your wallet along with your camera. You might as well tell me now, since I can find out in thirty seconds anyway."
He got a glare for that. "Henry."
Sullen. Typical for someone his age, Ryeowook supposed. Henry looked even younger than Ryeowook, and unmarred by the trials and tribulations that came with being someone important in the family. Ryeowook had learned a lot of lessons young. He wondered if Henry had.
He sat back on his heels in front of the kid, still for the most part friendly and approachable. "Do you need some water?" he asked solicitiously.
"Why're you being so nice?" Henry looked suspicious.
"There's no need to be rude to guests." Ryeowook smiled at him, his best one, the one that unnerved people the most - the genuine one. No one expected sincerity. They didn't know what to do with it.
Henry seemed equally offput by it. He shifted uneasily in his bonds.
"To be fair, you were being a bit rude," said Ryeowook. "I don't really appreciate people snapping pictures of my private business. Especially if they plan to sell it to the media later."
"I wasn't going to sell it!"
Ryeowook titled his head in question. "Oh?"
"I am the press," Henry admitted, sulking. "I don't need to sell it to them."
"You're lucky I'm not helping you to a lifetime's supply of water, courtesy of a short trip off the side of this cruise ship," Ryeowook told him frankly, smile disappearing abruptly.
Kindhearted Kim Ryeowook might be, but he did not enjoy the press nosing its way into his business. He stood and crossed the room to the table where Siwon had left the personal items he'd liberated from Henry. Wallet, camera, pack of gum, phone. Inside the wallet, an ID. Ryeowook clucked his tongue. Always thinking about other people's business, these nosy reporters never seemed to take very good care of their own.
Henry Lau. Ryeowook didn't glance at him as he pulled out his cell phone. "Siwon, make accommodations. Our guest will be staying with us for a while."
How long that stay would be depended entirely on how helpful Henry could make himself.
Note: Bonus points if you can name the (obvious, I think) influence on this AU.
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8 :: achilles' heel
Han Geng/Heechul, R, in this rich kid AU
Kim Heechul. It's a name everyone knows. The face of Korea, practically, this big name model with a big personality to match. He's everywhere you look - in magazines, on a wall in a fashionable clothing store, on TV. He's branching into acting these days and his reputation from the fashion industry follows him: unique, to be polite; irrepressible, to those who like him. He acts like he doesn't care about the media, but there's a charm there, something unlikely that woos people into admiring him and respecting him, even if they don't like him. He runs his mouth and doesn't hide his flashy nightlife, but he can be startling self-deprecating about it. Perhaps it's that self-awareness that draws people in. He may be a bit of a showy asshole, a gilded lily, but he knows it.
Kim Heechul rolls with the high rollers. The cameras and lights follow him, like he was born to be under the spotlight of public scrutiny. He knows which angles he looks best, but he doesn't always give a fuck, which makes him even more interesting. He drinks too much, gambles with the stakes too high, and corrupts the pretty stalwart sons of Korea's businessmen. He flirts shamelessly with men like Choi Siwon, who is filthy rich and disgustingly good-looking, the dream of nearly every single girl and their mother. He takes Cho Kyuhyun out at least once a week, whose squeaky clean good university boy image is fast disappearing.
Everyone knows Kim Heechul. He makes himself accessible that way, carelessly, fearlessly.
Even Kim Heechul has secrets, though. Dirty little secrets he won't let out of his bedroom, where the blinds are drawn and the door's shut tight. Spread out on his ostentatiously large bed, wearing black nylon track pants and a thin white t-shirt, is Kim Heechul's secret.
He's ordinary. So ordinary, if you compare him to the rest of Heechul's life. He's not rich, he's not poor, but from a middle-class middle-of-the-road family. He's an international student studying dance, still stumbling over his Korean after three years. He's an only child and he loves his mom. He should bore Heechul to tears, but he's the most fascinating thing Heechul's seen - or done - in years.
There are people who bow obsequiously and scurry to do Heechul's bidding. There are people who snap back at him, matching him barb for barb, who keep him on his toes. He likes the latter better. Han Geng is neither of those.
He lies back when told but not without rolling his eyes; he never trades quips with Heechul (his language isn't up to muster) but he's quick to roll them over and pin Heechul beneath him. If he's docile, and quiet, it's only on the surface. Han Geng bides his time and doesn't waste his breath when he doesn't have to; he knows when to concede. But he also knows when to push, when to pull, when to sink his teeth into the curve of Heechul's neck and make him arch and moan.
He doesn't want any part of Heechul's fame or notoriety. He doesn't want the hassle of nosy tabloids trailing him from class to dorm. He doesn't want them to dig up his past or pester his family or speculate about what dirty things he may be up with Korea's biggest star. So Heechul keeps his mouth shut, except for when Han Geng's fucking him slow in his gigantic bed with the sheets hanging half off the sides. He pants curses and broken attempts at Han Geng's name as Han Geng grips his hips, white-knuckled, and rocks forward steadily.
Han Geng is Kim Heechul's dirty little secret and he likes it that way. He doesn't see the way Heechul looks at him afterwards, can't interpret the way Heechul trails nonsensical patterns on his arm and spins fantastical stories about dragons and cats. He doesn't know that Heechul doesn't kiss the corner of his mouth, the underside of his jaw, the inside of his wrist unless he means it.
Han Geng is Kim Heechul's dirty little secret, but it's not because he's a no-name who's intruded his way into a megastar's bed, no. It's not that.