o5. Mélange
Title: Mélange
Character(s): Sungmin, Kyuhyun, Kibum, Shiwon, Leeteuk, Kangin, Donghae
Rating: PG13-NC17 range (yes, we have smut)
Word Count: 6000
Summary: So when I said I wanted to write a Christmas story for retarded vampire antics, what I meant was a November-December collection of short stories for porn and angst and I don't even know what.
References: Story Archive
i. timeless (the common dilemma of the non-aging immortal vampire)
The mall is packed, but that's to be expected - after all, it's the day after Thanksgiving. Sungmin wasted no time in waking at the crack of dawn to haul Donghae and Kibum out of bed to go shopping (the former complained, but Sungmin was used to that, and the latter basically sleep-walked). Donghae perks up once they reach the stores because he's like a kid in a candy store, but Kibum still isn't all that functional, so Sungmin is saddled with the task of looking after both of them. An hour or so later, Kibum has been pumped full with enough coffee to jumpstart his system and Sungmin is free to browse the stores without babysitting.
By noon, he's crossed off the majority of his list, weighed down with bags and is quite pleased with himself. It's still a little early to meet up with the others, so he buys a cold drink (the amount of people inside make some stores stifling) and wanders the second floor. All around, children are barely held in check by their haggard parents, crowding around windows and pointing, exclaiming, "I want, I want!"
Sungmin stands by his opinion that kids are adorable when they're not his responsibility and outright monsters when they are. He remembers Donghae having his moments (he still has his moments), particularly one terrifying memory where he ran off to disappear in the crowd. Sungmin and Eunhyuk had shared a panic attack until they found him harassing Santa at the center of the plaza.
Speak of the devil, there's Donghae now, browsing through a stack of CDs. Sungmin leaves him to that, but gives the other rows of music a cursory look. He grins and pulls out the one he's searching for. Naturally, music was the first thing that came to mind when he thought of what to get Kyuhyun, and he's already bought him an iPod (Kyuhyun will say it's too expensive, but he doesn't know just how long Sungmin has had to save up money). Kyuhyun also has a large collection of CDs - they're the only thing he really spends a lot on and gets mildly obsessive-compulsive over. Everything is arranged neatly in alphabetical order, and God help you if you crack a jewel case because to Kyuhyun that's nearly as bad as scratching the disc. He once relayed a bitter story to Sungmin about his aunt's cat knocking over half the collection, and then showed him the broken case like it was an unhealing wound on his person.
Sungmin gets a text message a while after he's paid for the replacement CD. It's not from either Donghae or Kibum, or even Kyuhyun, but a grin spreads across his face when he sees it.
* * * * *
The door opens after his knock, and Sungmin doesn't even step into the room before poking a finger at Kyuhyun's chest and stating, "You're not working on Christmas Eve or anything insane like that, because you're going to be staying with us."
"...Noted." Kyuhyun blinks at him, and he looks awfully tired and it is kind of late and oh, right, he works at Wal-Mart of all the heinous places on Earth. On the day after Thanksgiving, too. Ick.
Sungmin leans up to kiss his cheek before stepping inside, hooking him by the arm and leading him to the couch. "You need a better job, honestly. You've eaten dinner, right?" He tilts his head and samples the various aromas in the air, picking out the not-so-appetizing salt and grease of fast food that probably isn't too old, but with that kind of cuisine one can't be sure. A vampire's heightened senses are a matter of concentration; they're out of sorts in the beginning for those who are turned, but one learns to control them (unless you're Donghae and have Super Senses that never quite settle down).
"I had some McDonald's- Don't give me that look, it was convenient." With an amused expression, Kyuhyun pinches Sungmin's pouting cheek. He's lucky Sungmin indulges him; he usually only lets naïve girls baby him like that. "I could be worse. If I was living on campus, I'd survive on nothing but cup noodles. I'd get scurvy within the year."
"That's an urban legend, it didn't happen for real." Sungmin scowls and punches lightly at Kyuhyun's shoulder.
"Most people don't think vampires are real either," Kyuhyun points out, sort of beside the point. Sungmin stares at him.
"You did not just compare me to a gross disease." He straightens up, crosses his arms, and doesn't let the displeased expression falter until he's kissed in apology. Somewhat mollified, he sinks back into the crook of Kyuhyun's arm. Then he remembers, "Oh, and I almost forgot- This Christmas you'll get to meet Shiwon. We try not to bother him when he's away, but I told him if he wasn't home for the holidays this year then Donghae would be kidnapped by gypsies, Kibum would drown his sorrows and become a raging alcoholic, and I'd elope with you to a tropical island. Unfortunately, he texted me today to say he's coming. I think he only wanted to dash my hopes and dreams."
Kyuhyun shakes with quiet laughter, and Sungmin half-closes his eyes with his ear to the other's chest, listening to the rumble of his voice. "A tropical island, huh?"
Yes, Sungmin imagines, with a private beach and perfect weather, a house that's big and airy and there would be a grand piano set up in the sunniest room so light could shine off of the polished black surface and ivory keys, and the sound would filter out through open windows and wind-blown curtains...
He's hugging Kyuhyun tightly before he knows it, face pressed into his shirt, and then he has to remind himself to ease his grip and that doesn't help. Sungmin sighs heavily, making a warm spot with his breath. He feels Kyuhyun's hand in his hair, petting gently, and the boy has no idea, he really has no idea when he asks, "What's wrong?"
"Just tired," Sungmin says, and it's true enough. Actually, he's frustrated, and confused, and maybe a little bit terrified. He skims his fingers lightly down the inside of Kyuhyun's arm, tracing over the veins in his wrist and tries not to think possessive thoughts. But no matter what he thinks, he's still stretching up to put his lips to Kyuhyun's neck, dusting dry kisses all along his skin and oh, to hell with it, he nibbles with blunt teeth.
Kyuhyun tenses under him and Sungmin knows he shouldn't tease, he should really keep his mouth far away from that neck because he's never been very good at resisting temptation. "I thought you were tired," Kyuhyun jokes, and Sungmin can feel his pulse jump - that's his cue to pull away.
"You are the one who's tired." He untangles himself and stands, tugging Kyuhyun by the hand. "Come on, I'm putting you to bed."
"Are you staying?" Thankfully, there's no hesitance in the typical question, and Sungmin draws Kyuhyun's arm over his shoulders in answer.
Kyuhyun's bed isn't meant for two, but Sungmin doesn't mind being squished close together and both of them tend to sleep like the dead. Unsurprisingly, Kyuhyun is out as soon as his head hits the pillow (and while the bed itself could be called into question, somehow Kyuhyun has fantastic, comfy pillows), but Sungmin isn't that exhausted. He indulges in gazing, eyes trained to see well in darkness even without the bits of city light that glimmer through the blinds. Kyuhyun's breathing is rhythmic and whisper-soft, chest rising and falling. If Sungmin leans and listens close enough, he can clearly hear the beat of his heart.
With every gentle thump, thump, thump, Sungmin attaches a mine, mine, mine, and he knows better than anyone how to want something and then all of a sudden stop wanting once it's his. He also knows he's had Kyuhyun since day one, and that he's wanted him since he heard him sing (middle of the night, empty streets, not a soul around as if nothing else had the privilege to hear that voice - it's Sungmin's secret and he guards it jealously). All this knowing and the fear it brings, the waiting for the other foot to drop, only makes him cling more helplessly.
The last thing Sungmin knows is that he's weak, where it's really going to matter he knows he'll be weak and selfish, so he's pinning his hopes on Kyuhyun being strong enough for the both of them. Cheesy as that sounds. But Sungmin has never had a problem with being cheesy, so long as it works.
Sungmin finally closes his eyes and shifts around until he's comfortable, and Kyuhyun makes a small noise in his sleep, but after that it's quiet.
ii. wake-up call (linn is writing porn, head for the hills)
While Kibum is typically very punctual for his morning classes, it's because he follows his schedule down to the precise minute. He knows exactly how long he can afford to doze in bed after hitting the alarm, how long he needs to shower to approach a semi-conscious state, and how long it takes for him to dress and grab breakfast before heading out the door. Most importantly, he's learned to factor in the Donghae Variable, who is likely to distract or otherwise impede him during his morning routine, and adjust his timeframe accordingly.
So when his alarm spits out a series of grating beeps (it's the sole sound he's trained himself to wake up to after years of conditioning), Kibum reaches out blindly to hit it once before retreating back into the warm luxury of his bed. He lies there for a while longer, curled slightly on his side with his face half tucked beneath the covers, until the alarm starts up again. He shifts, but before his hand can make contact with the device, the noise stops. Kibum lets his arm fall limply, half-hanging over the edge, and stirs as the mattress dips with extra weight.
Through his muddled sleep-haze, Kibum is a bit surprised that he didn't wake up with that weight at his back where Donghae usually is in the morning, arms tightening with a mumbled complaint about the sudden clamor. In accordance with this thought, there's a brief rush of cool air and then warmth settling along the relaxed bend of his spine, blanketing him, and making Kibum want to melt back into slumber. But he knows better.
"I can't stay," he sighs, and struggles lethargically when an arm loops around his waist, mental clock ticking away. A hot, open-mouthed kiss to his nape makes his limbs freeze in contrast, eyes blinking furiously in an effort to wake up and process everything. A definite malfunction occurs in his inner clock - more like a train wreck actually, and Kibum's schedule crashes along with it.
"Can't you?" Shiwon asks flippantly by his ear, close enough for his lips to just barely brush against the curve. His arm isn't very restricting, languidly draped as it is, but his fingers slip under the hem of Kibum's t-shirt to swirl over his stomach.
Kibum's brain is still playing catch-up and the patterns being drawn on his skin aren't helping. "When did you get back?" He breathes in sharply when the material of his shirt is hiked up along with the passing of Shiwon's hand, over ribs and muscle and stopping at the scar on his chest. All of a sudden it's too hot under the covers and he pushes them off, making it easier to mold to another's body heat.
"Just a few hours ago." Flat teeth scrape across Kibum's neck, followed by a teasing lick that cools rapidly once Shiwon pulls away. Kibum hears the grin in his voice. "So are you staying?"
In answer, Kibum abandons words and thoughts; he grabs Shiwon's wrist and pulls his hand out from under his shirt, dragging it lower. Shiwon doesn't need any guidance beyond that, fingers massaging slowly through the thin layer of pajama bottoms. Kibum sighs at the pressure and how hard he already is, how readily he flexes into Shiwon's palm. His eagerness would be somewhat embarrassing if he wasn't so enthralled with Shiwon's scent once again permeating the room after a long absence; never dissipating completely, always lingering and easily becoming the focus of Kibum's awareness when he jerks off during snatches of privacy. Those are the only times when he vaguely misses Shiwon's presence, in the fierce, fleeting moments where the physical ache gives way to abstract, mental yearning.
In the present, he suppresses a whimper when Shiwon slides his hand beneath the waistband, streaking his fingers through pre-come while taking him in a sure grip. Kibum shudders and snakes an arm back so he can clasp Shiwon's thigh, urging their bodies closer, legs tangling, and Kibum can feel Shiwon's erection press against him from behind.
Shiwon strokes him steadily, lips and tongue warm and wet on his neck. Kibum still hasn't even seen his face but he doesn't care, he's gotten good at imagining, and nothing short of the apocalypse is going to make him want to stop. So he twists the sheets in one hand, digs his fingers into Shiwon's leg with the other, and writhes in utter abandon. Kibum's gasp is loud, rough, and unhindered when he comes.
He sprawls loose-limbed immediately afterwards, his shallow breaths filling the air, and Shiwon leaves smears on his stomach before tugging at Kibum's pants. He lazily helps in squirming out of the garment when urged, and rolls pliant and prone as Shiwon stretches over him momentarily. The bedside drawer makes a muted, shuffling sound, and then Shiwon's weight eases off of him. Still feeling pleasantly unraveled from his orgasm, Kibum lets himself be nudged into position; with light touches he spreads his legs, cants his hips, and buries his face in the pillow when cool, slippery fingers push into him.
Oh... Yes, he's missed this, and he doesn't know why the longing is sharp and distinct now, with Shiwon right here, kissing along his back, fingers pumping. Kibum squeezes the pillow closer to muffle his noises and the way he moans Shiwon's name, afraid of how plaintive it would sound, because shameless want isn't as condemning as identified need. The thing about Shiwon is that he's kind, so Kibum never has to ask. But the thing about Shiwon is that he's cruel, so he makes Kibum admit.
Kibum's flushed face is dragged away from the pillowcase as he's turned on his back, legs drawn up, hips raised, and for the first time since Shiwon slid into bed with him they lock eyes. Shiwon's expression is familiar and focused, his gaze inescapable and full of heat that starts a slow burn all along Kibum's skin. He should know by now how effortlessly Shiwon sees right through him, how he drags the unspoken confessions out, but the lesson was apparently forgotten (or at the very least, healed and scarred). But more importantly, Shiwon responds in turn. He enters Kibum with deliberate, delicious care, and in the span of a slow intake of breath, a relieved exhale, Kibum gives it all up. His legs tighten around Shiwon's waist and he's poised on a precipice, heart shuddering; he rocks up as Shiwon plunges down and they're lost in a rush of acceleration from there.
Low moans and little gasps are wrung from him, and every hard thrust sinks him into the bedding. He grabs the sheets to gain purchase and ends up pulling the corner loose, so he reaches for Shiwon instead. Kibum's grip is bruising, digging furrows in Shiwon's arms and climbing, grasping upwards to clutch his shoulders and pull him down. Shiwon purrs into his mouth and grinds into him, rubbing just so, and Kibum's whole body shivers, toes curling, back arching, breathing in the dizzying blend of sex and sweat and Shiwon most of all-
And Shiwon gasps Kibum's name between them, his eyes closed, lips parted, which Kibum give a trembling kiss before the release.
Then the collapse.
His legs are shaking when he uncurls them and an uncomfortable grimace crosses his face when Shiwon pulls out, but his limbs won't budge after that and it's all Kibum can do to lie back and catch his breath. A handful of tissues sweep across his stomach and the insides of his thighs, and then Shiwon is warm beside him, the sheets pulled up as an afterthought. Kibum murmurs and turns his head to rest on Shiwon's shoulder, ready to drown in lassitude for the rest of the morning with Shiwon's arm slung across him, thumb rubbing lazy circles in the curve of his hip.
"By the way," Kibum says in a thick, drowsy tone, and hears an answering hum of equal indolence. "Welcome home."
Shiwon's hand slips through his hair and caresses the side of his face, mapping the lines of his jaw and neck, and lingers in a language of touch over the content beat of his pulse.
iii. recollect the snow (kangteuk is linn and sy's favorite mystery)
"After great pain, a formal feeling comes-"
The cold manages to seep in through the window Leeteuk is seated by, ugly brocade curtains shoved to the side so he can stare out at the cityscape. His reflection is superimposed over the view, but if he lets his eyes wander out of focus, all he can see is a blanketing darkness and fuzzy spots of light, occasionally glimpsing the quick sparkle-and-fade of snowflakes whirling in and out of view. His legs are curled up and tucked into the chair, elbows propped on the armrest, and there's a warm mug of hot chocolate cradled in his hands. Leeteuk lowers his eyes to watch the marshmallows float and slowly melt into the steaming liquid. They're the small kind, not the big, fluffy kind, but they're shaped like snowmen so on a scale of one to five he gives them a three-and-a-half. Maybe a four if he's feeling generous, because it's kind of fun to watch them be swallowed up by chocolate.
He sips the drink and returns his attention to the world outside, wondering how much more it will snow. In the background, Kangin surfs through T.V. channels, work set aside for now. It's been frustrating, Leeteuk muses, since their arrival at the City they've had little luck with their assignment.
But it's the holidays, so who cares. He sets his mug down on the table and pushes it out of the way, folding his arms and resting his head. He can see Kangin reflected in the window, lounging on the bed, remote in hand. The drone of the weather forecast makes Leeteuk close his eyes. Snowfall scattered throughout the night and tomorrow morning, expected three-to-four inches. A white Christmas.
He smiles a little, the corner of his mouth curving against the back of his hand. The last time it snowed on Christmas Eve, they all went caroling - him and Kangin with Heechul and Jay - to the disgruntlement of some of their neighbors (it had been impromptu and maybe they'd had a few drinks right before). None of them were assigned any hunting jobs at the time, so it was doubly special. Someone started a snowball fight and it might have been him, probably because Heechul said he was off-key, or maybe he and Kangin had attacked at the same time, but either way they wound up on teams. The only thing that cut through the chaos was a shout that came from the front porch, calling them back inside before they caught their deaths in the cold. The tone was good-humored, but it brooked no arguments, so they shambled forward to obey (after Kangin dumped more snow down the back of Heechul's coat).
"...and at 11:15 this evening, a white male teenager was found murdered in ..."
Leeteuk cracks his eyes open to catch sight of Kangin focusing in on the news and turning up the volume. Lights from the T.V. flicker across the dark window. He doesn't recognize the street name where the body was found, but Kangin opens up their laptop to search for a map. The victim's identity hasn't been revealed yet, nor the manner of death, but if it's declared a murder right away it must be a violent case. This could be a lead. Or not. Their target is much more subtle, not the type to leave a swath of bodies. Just a few disappearances here and there, people vanishing almost without notice, and most of them not the sort who would be dearly missed. This instance is probably a shot in the dark, but they've learned to think suspiciously (and the lesson came with an impossibly high price).
Murder in the snow, Leeteuk thinks. On Christmas Eve. Red on white. He remembers:
The red juice stain on the white carpet from a while back, the little girl staring at the spill and looking abashed while her mother scoops her up with a weary sigh. The yearly Christmas parties, the yearly blackmail photographs of drunken holiday antics (what happened to those old albums anyway? Kangin would know). Red wine in crystal glasses lined in a row on the snowy tablecloth. Blushing cheeks lit by glowing ivory candles and mistletoe overhead, and Leeteuk laughing and leaning in while someone makes gagging noises over the 'sappy couple.' Flushed faces and pearly smiles, and later, racing hearts and soft sheets. In the morning, they attempt to clean up the juice stain. They never do get that out.
It doesn't matter. The blood spatters are worse. Fresh and soaked thick into the carpet, the smell hitting him in the face like a physical blow, and then another sharp pain in his chest when realization hits. It's on the walls, on the furniture, and pretty soon it's on his hands, up to his arms, crimson and sticky, and someone is crying but it isn't him-
No, this time it is him, head buried in his arms, shoulders trembling. Kangin's hand is a steady weight on his back and then he's being pulled up, off the chair and off his feet, placed on the bed where he clings to his partner until the sobs subside. He makes a mess of Kangin's sweatshirt, a ratty old thing that he knows has a hole or two under the arms, but it's warm and soft against his cheek. Leeteuk sniffles and eventually his breath matches the calm pace of Kangin's, following his lead, settling down.
"Hey," he says later, the lights off but the T.V. still on, volume low. He tucks himself more easily into the crook of Kangin's arm. "Got a mint?" The words are the start of a pattern because Kangin doesn't have any mints, but he does have an Altoid tin, $1.99 from some middle-of-nowhere gas station and long emptied of its original contents.
Leeteuk holds out his palm expectantly and curls his fingers around the object that's offered, feeling the dents that have been punched into its surface over time. Nothing rattles inside when he turns it over, but there's a single, muted thump, too heavy to be an Altoid. He pushes and pulls at the lid but it remains stubbornly shut, so bent out of shape from the abuse in Kangin's pocket that it's a real bitch to get open anymore. He runs his finger along the worn, but smooth edge, and sometimes he wonders about smashing it open one day. The torn, jagged metal would bite into flesh like teeth if he grasped it then, and he'd let it, he'd let it cut and make tatters of his skin to get inside.
He also wonders about leaving it behind or throwing it away, winding his arm back and flinging the tin with as much strength and incoherent rage he can muster. Leeteuk thinks he would have done that by now, or else collapsed under the burden, if not for Kangin (and he knows with steel certainty that the weight of that unassuming box is no lighter in Kangin's possession).
It's Kangin who gently, firmly pries the mint tin from his death-grip, and Leeteuk lets it slide free with a familiar ache and bereft feeling between his fingers. Kangin's hand covers his to keep him from twisting something that isn't there, clamping down to cease his fidgeting and rubbing a thumb over his knuckles to drive the point home: he's only imagining.
Leeteuk draws in a shaky breath, lets it out, and repeats over and over until at some point, his hand has flipped and his palm is merely resting on Kangin's. Their fingers are only loosely laced, and without looking Leeteuk knows that Kangin has fallen asleep. He reaches for the remote without disturbing his partner, turns off the T.V., and whispers a soft, sincere, "Merry Christmas."
"This is the Hour of Lead-
Remembered, if outlived.
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow-
First-Chill-then Stupor-then the letting go-"
iv. kaleidoscope redux (introducing reason #1 why cityverse will lose readers)
"What the hell?"
Shiny red wrapping paper falls to the floor, adding to the other shreds and ribbons strewn over the ground. Donghae automatically reaches out to grab whatever he can, crumpling the paper into a large wad. He grins cheekily while as Sungmin glowers at the book in his hands.
Kyuhyun's face peers over Sungmin's shoulder, breaking into an incredulous grin when he sees the gift. In between laughing, he reads the title out loud, "'Communication Miracles for Couples: Easy and Effective Tools to Create More Love and Less Conflict'?"
"I'm thoughtful when I pick out presents!" Donghae tosses a ball of mixed pieces of decorated paper back and forth, finger snagging on a curly ribbon and spinning the colorful concoction around (he narrowly misses smacking Kibum in the face). He feels wired today, senses kicked up in excitement, and there's a good feeling all around. Plus, he has every right to judge after being subject to his housemate's foul mood during that one period early on in the relationship. Besides, if not for his help, they might have never gotten together.
"Completely unnecessary," Sungmin announces from where he sits in Kyuhyun's lap. And okay, Donghae will concede that this morning they've been sickeningly cute, but sometimes beneath all the smiles and sweet gestures, Sungmin will feel intensely enough that even on sidelines Donghae will blink at the raw force of it. Sungmin isn't one to hide his feelings, but he usually wears them more skillfully.
"I got you a bookmark for it and everything," Donghae points out, and luckily Kyuhyun is gracious enough to take a hint.
"Thank you-" Kyuhyun glances down as two thin rectangles flutter out from between the marked pages, and is struck speechless when Sungmin holds them aloft. Donghae's grin widens as he senses disbelief melting into joy; Kyuhyun is easy to read and he's wonderfully uncomplicated at the core, though occasionally layered. He's been hiding the fact he has a headache all morning, probably from the drinks last night (Sungmin had been all too happy to put his bartending experience to use in celebration). The ache is easily forgotten in the flurry of Christmas day. "I thought those tickets were sold out," he manages to speak, finally.
"Connections," Donghae says with a smug, mysterious flair. Well, more like Shiwon's connections, but it'd been his idea. Shiwon, for his part, keeps silent, but Donghae's knee taps against his leg and there's a ticklish impression of amusement. More importantly, Shiwon likes Kyuhyun as the newest addition to their circle. Not that his approval is strictly necessary, but keeping humans out of the loop is kind of the norm. Fortunately, Kyuhyun is totally cool, and if he were any closer and not being monopolized by Sungmin, Donghae would tackle him just on principle.
He settles for flopping over on Kibum instead, who is right next to him on the couch and has a conveniently unoccupied lap. Who smells like coffee with a hint of cinnamon and radiates enough contentment to go around. Donghae turns so he's lying on his back, feet tucked against Shiwon to keep them warm, and he holds a postcard from Eunhyuk in front of his face, grinning at the message scrawled in familiar handwriting. He ignores the fact that it doesn't say much of anything, that it's come all the way from Paris, and that he probably can't write back to the same address.
Donghae passes the next several minutes lounging there, balancing the postcard on the tip of his nose and listening to the rustle of wrapping paper being cleaned up. Sungmin treads into the kitchen, Shiwon following, and Donghae stretches his legs out in the space made available while the two go about fixing breakfast. The T.V. drones in the background and for a while, all he does is bask.
He's half-asleep, senses going fuzzy and fading, so he doesn't pick up on the abnormal spike of alarm until he hears Kibum inquire, "Kyuhyun, are you okay?"
Donghae props himself up and angles his head to see where Kyuhyun is still sitting, back a little rigid and eyes trained on the television screen. "It's just-" He tears his gaze away, awkwardly redirects it first to his hands, then to the floor. "Sorry, it's not a big deal." He looks about as uncomfortable as he feels, and Donghae turns his attention to the news broadcast that has Kyuhyun so unnerved.
It's about a murder that occurred late last night, and that alone is a sobering thought, but Kyuhyun is more surprised than sad, and there's a curious lack of pity. Donghae scrutinizes the image of the victim being displayed - the announcer informs that he was a seventeen year old student, and he has the appearance of a gangly teenager with a disgruntled, clearly forced smile stretching his features, unable to hide the jarring gap from a missing tooth. Donghae can't get anything from pictures on a screen, or anyone who's dead for that matter (actually dead, not like sleeping-vampire-dead), but Kyuhyun's reaction says enough to color his own view with dislike.
And Kyuhyun's tentative negativity is nothing compared to the utter contempt projected by Sungmin, who has wandered over with an incongruous smile on his face- and a glass of champagne in each hand. "That's too bad," he half-trills and half-purrs, and Donghae isn't the only one raising an eyebrow. "Kyuhyun, we should drink in honor of his memory."
Or in honor of something. The relaxed brightness returns to Kyuhyun's expression as if reflecting Sungmin's evident good mood, and they link arms to drink. Donghae doesn't know exactly why this toast is called for, and Kibum is only vaguely interested, mostly unconcerned. Unable to bear being left out, Donghae almost demands an explanation, but he's stopped by the thoughtful presence of Shiwon leaning on the back of the couch, watching the report. There's no thread of amusement from him now, and Donghae predicts a few discreet phone calls later and maybe an absence tomorrow morning.
His entire countenance noticeably droops at the prospect of holiday together-time being interrupted, but his upper torso is still slung over Kibum's legs and he allows himself to be the tiniest bit placated when Kibum lays a hand on his shoulder. Donghae fishes for the remote and determinedly changes the channel, good riddance to bad news.
The phone rings and he's distantly aware of Sungmin answering it, and then suddenly the receiver is blocking his view of the T.V. "Hello?" he greets curiously, and when the caller's identity registers he shoots up, leaps over the back of the couch, and scrambles for his room. There's a cloud of collective bewilderment left behind but he doesn't care, grinning madly as he shuts the door for privacy. "Merry Christmas to you too, Alicia."
The girl laughs a little, and it's a quiet, sort of husky sound that he's gotten used to hearing while they both play with the kids at the daycare center. "Thank you for the CD," she says with a smile in her voice, and Donghae's heart beats double-time. Maybe triple.
"You're wel-"
"And thanks for the necklace. You have surprisingly good taste."
He can't really get any words out after that, or feign the slightest bit of offense, he's simply stunned and thinking, 'she likes it, she likes it, she likes it' on loop. He'd gotten her the heart charm necklace to replace the locket she always used to wear, because ever since losing it her fingers would brush over her collarbones with palpable longing where the chain once rested. That locket had been from her ex-boyfriend. Donghae didn't know how his gesture would be taken, but he's adored Alicia since meeting her the first day on the job when she was knee-deep in children with paint handprints all over her jeans, a green glob stuck in her hair, and in desperate need of assistance.
"I'm glad you like it," he finally manages to say, back pressed against the door as he slides down until he's sitting, knees bent. "So... Are you doing anything for New Year's? I mean, of course you'll be celebrating, but I was wondering if, you know, you want to hang out..."
"Hmm..." And he's holding his breath until she answers, "Sure, it's a date."
"Great!" He's up on his feet again in an instant, and by some miracle his grip on the phone doesn't cause it to break.
There's another low chuckle through the line, followed by a muffled thump. "Hey, I'll call you back later. The Terrible Twins have been unleashed on the house with all their new toys, and you know what that means."
"Damage control," he acknowledges, still grinning widely. He'll probably never stop. "Good luck."
"Thanks, I think I'll need it," are her last words, wryly spoken, before the dial tone.
By the time Donghae finishes the call and reigns in his giddiness, he's forgotten all about everyone waiting back in the living and is taken by surprise when he returns to find them, well, staring at him.
"So then," Sungmin begins, his innocent smile baring a wicked edge. "Are you going to tell us about that girl who just called?"
v. whiteout (for the hell of it)
The flakes aren't bearing down as heavily as they were before, thankfully starting to lessen while I was tracking. They've slowed to a delicate flutter, drifting down from a dark sky and glistening in the lamplight. I tilt my face to watch them fall all around, swirling in a gust of wind. My breath puffs into the air when I open my mouth, and I catch a snowflake on my tongue. I can hear snow crunch beneath the shoes of the person behind the corner. He knows I'm here, and he knows I know he knows, and he's wondering what the fastest way to kill me is or when I'm going to follow him into the crevice between buildings. I've been following him for a while, but I'm not in much of a hurry.
He can probably smell the steel on me, like I can smell the fresh blood on him. Washed or wiped away, it will still linger. It's their daily diet. It's easy to pick out the vampires that way, by blood-scent if not by mark-scent. I don't need to know about mark-scent; we're not friends. We're not enemies. What do I care about their Selves, their Lives, or whether they drink from people or storage cartons? That's not for me to worry about.
At last, I step in front of the alleyway, a shadow merging into the darkness between the walls. There he is: his eyes are bright and glinting. He's young, about my age. Neither of us appears very impressed with what we see. He snorts and breaks into a grin, or maybe it's more of a sneer - one of his canines is missing, which makes for a disjointed image. A vampire with a missing fang? Is that like a man with one leg?
He ducks low and darts in, maybe to slip past, or perhaps to attack. It's sadly not a matter of skill so much as it is of speed and years of training. I can hear the clean slice through cloth and flesh, and the wet splash on a frozen wall. The scent is next, rich and powerful and personal, and meaning little to me in the end. The blood makes a warm spot on my sleeve, not showing against the dark fabric, but spattering in vivid scarlet over the snow. It soaks in and shimmers with ice crystals, runs in rivulets down the straight, flat edge of my blade and drips from the point.
I flick the excess off, collect the rest on my thumb and lick it clean, then sheath the sword, tucking it beneath my coat. I walk away.
end
Sapphy: "Oh my god, het." Yeah, we went there. I'll say this to calm the masses: Alicia is not a main character. However, if you cannot stand the thought of girls near the boys, Cityverse is not for you.
The poem in part iii is by Emily Dickinson. The Mystery Person in part v will be revealed...eventually. :D
Sorry this installment took so long! It's been a busy time for everyone involved, and this part may not be as well-edited as usual. Unfortunately, it's likely that #6 will also be delayed for a few weeks, but we have a surprise to make up for it. Presenting, forgetangel. Leeteuk will now be broadcasting to you live from the City! ...He's kind of Not Right in the Head, so we promise nothing.
Happy Holidays, everyone~
Character(s): Sungmin, Kyuhyun, Kibum, Shiwon, Leeteuk, Kangin, Donghae
Rating: PG13-NC17 range (yes, we have smut)
Word Count: 6000
Summary: So when I said I wanted to write a Christmas story for retarded vampire antics, what I meant was a November-December collection of short stories for porn and angst and I don't even know what.
References: Story Archive
i. timeless (the common dilemma of the non-aging immortal vampire)
The mall is packed, but that's to be expected - after all, it's the day after Thanksgiving. Sungmin wasted no time in waking at the crack of dawn to haul Donghae and Kibum out of bed to go shopping (the former complained, but Sungmin was used to that, and the latter basically sleep-walked). Donghae perks up once they reach the stores because he's like a kid in a candy store, but Kibum still isn't all that functional, so Sungmin is saddled with the task of looking after both of them. An hour or so later, Kibum has been pumped full with enough coffee to jumpstart his system and Sungmin is free to browse the stores without babysitting.
By noon, he's crossed off the majority of his list, weighed down with bags and is quite pleased with himself. It's still a little early to meet up with the others, so he buys a cold drink (the amount of people inside make some stores stifling) and wanders the second floor. All around, children are barely held in check by their haggard parents, crowding around windows and pointing, exclaiming, "I want, I want!"
Sungmin stands by his opinion that kids are adorable when they're not his responsibility and outright monsters when they are. He remembers Donghae having his moments (he still has his moments), particularly one terrifying memory where he ran off to disappear in the crowd. Sungmin and Eunhyuk had shared a panic attack until they found him harassing Santa at the center of the plaza.
Speak of the devil, there's Donghae now, browsing through a stack of CDs. Sungmin leaves him to that, but gives the other rows of music a cursory look. He grins and pulls out the one he's searching for. Naturally, music was the first thing that came to mind when he thought of what to get Kyuhyun, and he's already bought him an iPod (Kyuhyun will say it's too expensive, but he doesn't know just how long Sungmin has had to save up money). Kyuhyun also has a large collection of CDs - they're the only thing he really spends a lot on and gets mildly obsessive-compulsive over. Everything is arranged neatly in alphabetical order, and God help you if you crack a jewel case because to Kyuhyun that's nearly as bad as scratching the disc. He once relayed a bitter story to Sungmin about his aunt's cat knocking over half the collection, and then showed him the broken case like it was an unhealing wound on his person.
Sungmin gets a text message a while after he's paid for the replacement CD. It's not from either Donghae or Kibum, or even Kyuhyun, but a grin spreads across his face when he sees it.
* * * * *
The door opens after his knock, and Sungmin doesn't even step into the room before poking a finger at Kyuhyun's chest and stating, "You're not working on Christmas Eve or anything insane like that, because you're going to be staying with us."
"...Noted." Kyuhyun blinks at him, and he looks awfully tired and it is kind of late and oh, right, he works at Wal-Mart of all the heinous places on Earth. On the day after Thanksgiving, too. Ick.
Sungmin leans up to kiss his cheek before stepping inside, hooking him by the arm and leading him to the couch. "You need a better job, honestly. You've eaten dinner, right?" He tilts his head and samples the various aromas in the air, picking out the not-so-appetizing salt and grease of fast food that probably isn't too old, but with that kind of cuisine one can't be sure. A vampire's heightened senses are a matter of concentration; they're out of sorts in the beginning for those who are turned, but one learns to control them (unless you're Donghae and have Super Senses that never quite settle down).
"I had some McDonald's- Don't give me that look, it was convenient." With an amused expression, Kyuhyun pinches Sungmin's pouting cheek. He's lucky Sungmin indulges him; he usually only lets naïve girls baby him like that. "I could be worse. If I was living on campus, I'd survive on nothing but cup noodles. I'd get scurvy within the year."
"That's an urban legend, it didn't happen for real." Sungmin scowls and punches lightly at Kyuhyun's shoulder.
"Most people don't think vampires are real either," Kyuhyun points out, sort of beside the point. Sungmin stares at him.
"You did not just compare me to a gross disease." He straightens up, crosses his arms, and doesn't let the displeased expression falter until he's kissed in apology. Somewhat mollified, he sinks back into the crook of Kyuhyun's arm. Then he remembers, "Oh, and I almost forgot- This Christmas you'll get to meet Shiwon. We try not to bother him when he's away, but I told him if he wasn't home for the holidays this year then Donghae would be kidnapped by gypsies, Kibum would drown his sorrows and become a raging alcoholic, and I'd elope with you to a tropical island. Unfortunately, he texted me today to say he's coming. I think he only wanted to dash my hopes and dreams."
Kyuhyun shakes with quiet laughter, and Sungmin half-closes his eyes with his ear to the other's chest, listening to the rumble of his voice. "A tropical island, huh?"
Yes, Sungmin imagines, with a private beach and perfect weather, a house that's big and airy and there would be a grand piano set up in the sunniest room so light could shine off of the polished black surface and ivory keys, and the sound would filter out through open windows and wind-blown curtains...
He's hugging Kyuhyun tightly before he knows it, face pressed into his shirt, and then he has to remind himself to ease his grip and that doesn't help. Sungmin sighs heavily, making a warm spot with his breath. He feels Kyuhyun's hand in his hair, petting gently, and the boy has no idea, he really has no idea when he asks, "What's wrong?"
"Just tired," Sungmin says, and it's true enough. Actually, he's frustrated, and confused, and maybe a little bit terrified. He skims his fingers lightly down the inside of Kyuhyun's arm, tracing over the veins in his wrist and tries not to think possessive thoughts. But no matter what he thinks, he's still stretching up to put his lips to Kyuhyun's neck, dusting dry kisses all along his skin and oh, to hell with it, he nibbles with blunt teeth.
Kyuhyun tenses under him and Sungmin knows he shouldn't tease, he should really keep his mouth far away from that neck because he's never been very good at resisting temptation. "I thought you were tired," Kyuhyun jokes, and Sungmin can feel his pulse jump - that's his cue to pull away.
"You are the one who's tired." He untangles himself and stands, tugging Kyuhyun by the hand. "Come on, I'm putting you to bed."
"Are you staying?" Thankfully, there's no hesitance in the typical question, and Sungmin draws Kyuhyun's arm over his shoulders in answer.
Kyuhyun's bed isn't meant for two, but Sungmin doesn't mind being squished close together and both of them tend to sleep like the dead. Unsurprisingly, Kyuhyun is out as soon as his head hits the pillow (and while the bed itself could be called into question, somehow Kyuhyun has fantastic, comfy pillows), but Sungmin isn't that exhausted. He indulges in gazing, eyes trained to see well in darkness even without the bits of city light that glimmer through the blinds. Kyuhyun's breathing is rhythmic and whisper-soft, chest rising and falling. If Sungmin leans and listens close enough, he can clearly hear the beat of his heart.
With every gentle thump, thump, thump, Sungmin attaches a mine, mine, mine, and he knows better than anyone how to want something and then all of a sudden stop wanting once it's his. He also knows he's had Kyuhyun since day one, and that he's wanted him since he heard him sing (middle of the night, empty streets, not a soul around as if nothing else had the privilege to hear that voice - it's Sungmin's secret and he guards it jealously). All this knowing and the fear it brings, the waiting for the other foot to drop, only makes him cling more helplessly.
The last thing Sungmin knows is that he's weak, where it's really going to matter he knows he'll be weak and selfish, so he's pinning his hopes on Kyuhyun being strong enough for the both of them. Cheesy as that sounds. But Sungmin has never had a problem with being cheesy, so long as it works.
Sungmin finally closes his eyes and shifts around until he's comfortable, and Kyuhyun makes a small noise in his sleep, but after that it's quiet.
ii. wake-up call (linn is writing porn, head for the hills)
While Kibum is typically very punctual for his morning classes, it's because he follows his schedule down to the precise minute. He knows exactly how long he can afford to doze in bed after hitting the alarm, how long he needs to shower to approach a semi-conscious state, and how long it takes for him to dress and grab breakfast before heading out the door. Most importantly, he's learned to factor in the Donghae Variable, who is likely to distract or otherwise impede him during his morning routine, and adjust his timeframe accordingly.
So when his alarm spits out a series of grating beeps (it's the sole sound he's trained himself to wake up to after years of conditioning), Kibum reaches out blindly to hit it once before retreating back into the warm luxury of his bed. He lies there for a while longer, curled slightly on his side with his face half tucked beneath the covers, until the alarm starts up again. He shifts, but before his hand can make contact with the device, the noise stops. Kibum lets his arm fall limply, half-hanging over the edge, and stirs as the mattress dips with extra weight.
Through his muddled sleep-haze, Kibum is a bit surprised that he didn't wake up with that weight at his back where Donghae usually is in the morning, arms tightening with a mumbled complaint about the sudden clamor. In accordance with this thought, there's a brief rush of cool air and then warmth settling along the relaxed bend of his spine, blanketing him, and making Kibum want to melt back into slumber. But he knows better.
"I can't stay," he sighs, and struggles lethargically when an arm loops around his waist, mental clock ticking away. A hot, open-mouthed kiss to his nape makes his limbs freeze in contrast, eyes blinking furiously in an effort to wake up and process everything. A definite malfunction occurs in his inner clock - more like a train wreck actually, and Kibum's schedule crashes along with it.
"Can't you?" Shiwon asks flippantly by his ear, close enough for his lips to just barely brush against the curve. His arm isn't very restricting, languidly draped as it is, but his fingers slip under the hem of Kibum's t-shirt to swirl over his stomach.
Kibum's brain is still playing catch-up and the patterns being drawn on his skin aren't helping. "When did you get back?" He breathes in sharply when the material of his shirt is hiked up along with the passing of Shiwon's hand, over ribs and muscle and stopping at the scar on his chest. All of a sudden it's too hot under the covers and he pushes them off, making it easier to mold to another's body heat.
"Just a few hours ago." Flat teeth scrape across Kibum's neck, followed by a teasing lick that cools rapidly once Shiwon pulls away. Kibum hears the grin in his voice. "So are you staying?"
In answer, Kibum abandons words and thoughts; he grabs Shiwon's wrist and pulls his hand out from under his shirt, dragging it lower. Shiwon doesn't need any guidance beyond that, fingers massaging slowly through the thin layer of pajama bottoms. Kibum sighs at the pressure and how hard he already is, how readily he flexes into Shiwon's palm. His eagerness would be somewhat embarrassing if he wasn't so enthralled with Shiwon's scent once again permeating the room after a long absence; never dissipating completely, always lingering and easily becoming the focus of Kibum's awareness when he jerks off during snatches of privacy. Those are the only times when he vaguely misses Shiwon's presence, in the fierce, fleeting moments where the physical ache gives way to abstract, mental yearning.
In the present, he suppresses a whimper when Shiwon slides his hand beneath the waistband, streaking his fingers through pre-come while taking him in a sure grip. Kibum shudders and snakes an arm back so he can clasp Shiwon's thigh, urging their bodies closer, legs tangling, and Kibum can feel Shiwon's erection press against him from behind.
Shiwon strokes him steadily, lips and tongue warm and wet on his neck. Kibum still hasn't even seen his face but he doesn't care, he's gotten good at imagining, and nothing short of the apocalypse is going to make him want to stop. So he twists the sheets in one hand, digs his fingers into Shiwon's leg with the other, and writhes in utter abandon. Kibum's gasp is loud, rough, and unhindered when he comes.
He sprawls loose-limbed immediately afterwards, his shallow breaths filling the air, and Shiwon leaves smears on his stomach before tugging at Kibum's pants. He lazily helps in squirming out of the garment when urged, and rolls pliant and prone as Shiwon stretches over him momentarily. The bedside drawer makes a muted, shuffling sound, and then Shiwon's weight eases off of him. Still feeling pleasantly unraveled from his orgasm, Kibum lets himself be nudged into position; with light touches he spreads his legs, cants his hips, and buries his face in the pillow when cool, slippery fingers push into him.
Oh... Yes, he's missed this, and he doesn't know why the longing is sharp and distinct now, with Shiwon right here, kissing along his back, fingers pumping. Kibum squeezes the pillow closer to muffle his noises and the way he moans Shiwon's name, afraid of how plaintive it would sound, because shameless want isn't as condemning as identified need. The thing about Shiwon is that he's kind, so Kibum never has to ask. But the thing about Shiwon is that he's cruel, so he makes Kibum admit.
Kibum's flushed face is dragged away from the pillowcase as he's turned on his back, legs drawn up, hips raised, and for the first time since Shiwon slid into bed with him they lock eyes. Shiwon's expression is familiar and focused, his gaze inescapable and full of heat that starts a slow burn all along Kibum's skin. He should know by now how effortlessly Shiwon sees right through him, how he drags the unspoken confessions out, but the lesson was apparently forgotten (or at the very least, healed and scarred). But more importantly, Shiwon responds in turn. He enters Kibum with deliberate, delicious care, and in the span of a slow intake of breath, a relieved exhale, Kibum gives it all up. His legs tighten around Shiwon's waist and he's poised on a precipice, heart shuddering; he rocks up as Shiwon plunges down and they're lost in a rush of acceleration from there.
Low moans and little gasps are wrung from him, and every hard thrust sinks him into the bedding. He grabs the sheets to gain purchase and ends up pulling the corner loose, so he reaches for Shiwon instead. Kibum's grip is bruising, digging furrows in Shiwon's arms and climbing, grasping upwards to clutch his shoulders and pull him down. Shiwon purrs into his mouth and grinds into him, rubbing just so, and Kibum's whole body shivers, toes curling, back arching, breathing in the dizzying blend of sex and sweat and Shiwon most of all-
And Shiwon gasps Kibum's name between them, his eyes closed, lips parted, which Kibum give a trembling kiss before the release.
Then the collapse.
His legs are shaking when he uncurls them and an uncomfortable grimace crosses his face when Shiwon pulls out, but his limbs won't budge after that and it's all Kibum can do to lie back and catch his breath. A handful of tissues sweep across his stomach and the insides of his thighs, and then Shiwon is warm beside him, the sheets pulled up as an afterthought. Kibum murmurs and turns his head to rest on Shiwon's shoulder, ready to drown in lassitude for the rest of the morning with Shiwon's arm slung across him, thumb rubbing lazy circles in the curve of his hip.
"By the way," Kibum says in a thick, drowsy tone, and hears an answering hum of equal indolence. "Welcome home."
Shiwon's hand slips through his hair and caresses the side of his face, mapping the lines of his jaw and neck, and lingers in a language of touch over the content beat of his pulse.
iii. recollect the snow (kangteuk is linn and sy's favorite mystery)
"After great pain, a formal feeling comes-"
The cold manages to seep in through the window Leeteuk is seated by, ugly brocade curtains shoved to the side so he can stare out at the cityscape. His reflection is superimposed over the view, but if he lets his eyes wander out of focus, all he can see is a blanketing darkness and fuzzy spots of light, occasionally glimpsing the quick sparkle-and-fade of snowflakes whirling in and out of view. His legs are curled up and tucked into the chair, elbows propped on the armrest, and there's a warm mug of hot chocolate cradled in his hands. Leeteuk lowers his eyes to watch the marshmallows float and slowly melt into the steaming liquid. They're the small kind, not the big, fluffy kind, but they're shaped like snowmen so on a scale of one to five he gives them a three-and-a-half. Maybe a four if he's feeling generous, because it's kind of fun to watch them be swallowed up by chocolate.
He sips the drink and returns his attention to the world outside, wondering how much more it will snow. In the background, Kangin surfs through T.V. channels, work set aside for now. It's been frustrating, Leeteuk muses, since their arrival at the City they've had little luck with their assignment.
But it's the holidays, so who cares. He sets his mug down on the table and pushes it out of the way, folding his arms and resting his head. He can see Kangin reflected in the window, lounging on the bed, remote in hand. The drone of the weather forecast makes Leeteuk close his eyes. Snowfall scattered throughout the night and tomorrow morning, expected three-to-four inches. A white Christmas.
He smiles a little, the corner of his mouth curving against the back of his hand. The last time it snowed on Christmas Eve, they all went caroling - him and Kangin with Heechul and Jay - to the disgruntlement of some of their neighbors (it had been impromptu and maybe they'd had a few drinks right before). None of them were assigned any hunting jobs at the time, so it was doubly special. Someone started a snowball fight and it might have been him, probably because Heechul said he was off-key, or maybe he and Kangin had attacked at the same time, but either way they wound up on teams. The only thing that cut through the chaos was a shout that came from the front porch, calling them back inside before they caught their deaths in the cold. The tone was good-humored, but it brooked no arguments, so they shambled forward to obey (after Kangin dumped more snow down the back of Heechul's coat).
"...and at 11:15 this evening, a white male teenager was found murdered in ..."
Leeteuk cracks his eyes open to catch sight of Kangin focusing in on the news and turning up the volume. Lights from the T.V. flicker across the dark window. He doesn't recognize the street name where the body was found, but Kangin opens up their laptop to search for a map. The victim's identity hasn't been revealed yet, nor the manner of death, but if it's declared a murder right away it must be a violent case. This could be a lead. Or not. Their target is much more subtle, not the type to leave a swath of bodies. Just a few disappearances here and there, people vanishing almost without notice, and most of them not the sort who would be dearly missed. This instance is probably a shot in the dark, but they've learned to think suspiciously (and the lesson came with an impossibly high price).
Murder in the snow, Leeteuk thinks. On Christmas Eve. Red on white. He remembers:
The red juice stain on the white carpet from a while back, the little girl staring at the spill and looking abashed while her mother scoops her up with a weary sigh. The yearly Christmas parties, the yearly blackmail photographs of drunken holiday antics (what happened to those old albums anyway? Kangin would know). Red wine in crystal glasses lined in a row on the snowy tablecloth. Blushing cheeks lit by glowing ivory candles and mistletoe overhead, and Leeteuk laughing and leaning in while someone makes gagging noises over the 'sappy couple.' Flushed faces and pearly smiles, and later, racing hearts and soft sheets. In the morning, they attempt to clean up the juice stain. They never do get that out.
It doesn't matter. The blood spatters are worse. Fresh and soaked thick into the carpet, the smell hitting him in the face like a physical blow, and then another sharp pain in his chest when realization hits. It's on the walls, on the furniture, and pretty soon it's on his hands, up to his arms, crimson and sticky, and someone is crying but it isn't him-
No, this time it is him, head buried in his arms, shoulders trembling. Kangin's hand is a steady weight on his back and then he's being pulled up, off the chair and off his feet, placed on the bed where he clings to his partner until the sobs subside. He makes a mess of Kangin's sweatshirt, a ratty old thing that he knows has a hole or two under the arms, but it's warm and soft against his cheek. Leeteuk sniffles and eventually his breath matches the calm pace of Kangin's, following his lead, settling down.
"Hey," he says later, the lights off but the T.V. still on, volume low. He tucks himself more easily into the crook of Kangin's arm. "Got a mint?" The words are the start of a pattern because Kangin doesn't have any mints, but he does have an Altoid tin, $1.99 from some middle-of-nowhere gas station and long emptied of its original contents.
Leeteuk holds out his palm expectantly and curls his fingers around the object that's offered, feeling the dents that have been punched into its surface over time. Nothing rattles inside when he turns it over, but there's a single, muted thump, too heavy to be an Altoid. He pushes and pulls at the lid but it remains stubbornly shut, so bent out of shape from the abuse in Kangin's pocket that it's a real bitch to get open anymore. He runs his finger along the worn, but smooth edge, and sometimes he wonders about smashing it open one day. The torn, jagged metal would bite into flesh like teeth if he grasped it then, and he'd let it, he'd let it cut and make tatters of his skin to get inside.
He also wonders about leaving it behind or throwing it away, winding his arm back and flinging the tin with as much strength and incoherent rage he can muster. Leeteuk thinks he would have done that by now, or else collapsed under the burden, if not for Kangin (and he knows with steel certainty that the weight of that unassuming box is no lighter in Kangin's possession).
It's Kangin who gently, firmly pries the mint tin from his death-grip, and Leeteuk lets it slide free with a familiar ache and bereft feeling between his fingers. Kangin's hand covers his to keep him from twisting something that isn't there, clamping down to cease his fidgeting and rubbing a thumb over his knuckles to drive the point home: he's only imagining.
Leeteuk draws in a shaky breath, lets it out, and repeats over and over until at some point, his hand has flipped and his palm is merely resting on Kangin's. Their fingers are only loosely laced, and without looking Leeteuk knows that Kangin has fallen asleep. He reaches for the remote without disturbing his partner, turns off the T.V., and whispers a soft, sincere, "Merry Christmas."
"This is the Hour of Lead-
Remembered, if outlived.
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow-
First-Chill-then Stupor-then the letting go-"
iv. kaleidoscope redux (introducing reason #1 why cityverse will lose readers)
"What the hell?"
Shiny red wrapping paper falls to the floor, adding to the other shreds and ribbons strewn over the ground. Donghae automatically reaches out to grab whatever he can, crumpling the paper into a large wad. He grins cheekily while as Sungmin glowers at the book in his hands.
Kyuhyun's face peers over Sungmin's shoulder, breaking into an incredulous grin when he sees the gift. In between laughing, he reads the title out loud, "'Communication Miracles for Couples: Easy and Effective Tools to Create More Love and Less Conflict'?"
"I'm thoughtful when I pick out presents!" Donghae tosses a ball of mixed pieces of decorated paper back and forth, finger snagging on a curly ribbon and spinning the colorful concoction around (he narrowly misses smacking Kibum in the face). He feels wired today, senses kicked up in excitement, and there's a good feeling all around. Plus, he has every right to judge after being subject to his housemate's foul mood during that one period early on in the relationship. Besides, if not for his help, they might have never gotten together.
"Completely unnecessary," Sungmin announces from where he sits in Kyuhyun's lap. And okay, Donghae will concede that this morning they've been sickeningly cute, but sometimes beneath all the smiles and sweet gestures, Sungmin will feel intensely enough that even on sidelines Donghae will blink at the raw force of it. Sungmin isn't one to hide his feelings, but he usually wears them more skillfully.
"I got you a bookmark for it and everything," Donghae points out, and luckily Kyuhyun is gracious enough to take a hint.
"Thank you-" Kyuhyun glances down as two thin rectangles flutter out from between the marked pages, and is struck speechless when Sungmin holds them aloft. Donghae's grin widens as he senses disbelief melting into joy; Kyuhyun is easy to read and he's wonderfully uncomplicated at the core, though occasionally layered. He's been hiding the fact he has a headache all morning, probably from the drinks last night (Sungmin had been all too happy to put his bartending experience to use in celebration). The ache is easily forgotten in the flurry of Christmas day. "I thought those tickets were sold out," he manages to speak, finally.
"Connections," Donghae says with a smug, mysterious flair. Well, more like Shiwon's connections, but it'd been his idea. Shiwon, for his part, keeps silent, but Donghae's knee taps against his leg and there's a ticklish impression of amusement. More importantly, Shiwon likes Kyuhyun as the newest addition to their circle. Not that his approval is strictly necessary, but keeping humans out of the loop is kind of the norm. Fortunately, Kyuhyun is totally cool, and if he were any closer and not being monopolized by Sungmin, Donghae would tackle him just on principle.
He settles for flopping over on Kibum instead, who is right next to him on the couch and has a conveniently unoccupied lap. Who smells like coffee with a hint of cinnamon and radiates enough contentment to go around. Donghae turns so he's lying on his back, feet tucked against Shiwon to keep them warm, and he holds a postcard from Eunhyuk in front of his face, grinning at the message scrawled in familiar handwriting. He ignores the fact that it doesn't say much of anything, that it's come all the way from Paris, and that he probably can't write back to the same address.
Donghae passes the next several minutes lounging there, balancing the postcard on the tip of his nose and listening to the rustle of wrapping paper being cleaned up. Sungmin treads into the kitchen, Shiwon following, and Donghae stretches his legs out in the space made available while the two go about fixing breakfast. The T.V. drones in the background and for a while, all he does is bask.
He's half-asleep, senses going fuzzy and fading, so he doesn't pick up on the abnormal spike of alarm until he hears Kibum inquire, "Kyuhyun, are you okay?"
Donghae props himself up and angles his head to see where Kyuhyun is still sitting, back a little rigid and eyes trained on the television screen. "It's just-" He tears his gaze away, awkwardly redirects it first to his hands, then to the floor. "Sorry, it's not a big deal." He looks about as uncomfortable as he feels, and Donghae turns his attention to the news broadcast that has Kyuhyun so unnerved.
It's about a murder that occurred late last night, and that alone is a sobering thought, but Kyuhyun is more surprised than sad, and there's a curious lack of pity. Donghae scrutinizes the image of the victim being displayed - the announcer informs that he was a seventeen year old student, and he has the appearance of a gangly teenager with a disgruntled, clearly forced smile stretching his features, unable to hide the jarring gap from a missing tooth. Donghae can't get anything from pictures on a screen, or anyone who's dead for that matter (actually dead, not like sleeping-vampire-dead), but Kyuhyun's reaction says enough to color his own view with dislike.
And Kyuhyun's tentative negativity is nothing compared to the utter contempt projected by Sungmin, who has wandered over with an incongruous smile on his face- and a glass of champagne in each hand. "That's too bad," he half-trills and half-purrs, and Donghae isn't the only one raising an eyebrow. "Kyuhyun, we should drink in honor of his memory."
Or in honor of something. The relaxed brightness returns to Kyuhyun's expression as if reflecting Sungmin's evident good mood, and they link arms to drink. Donghae doesn't know exactly why this toast is called for, and Kibum is only vaguely interested, mostly unconcerned. Unable to bear being left out, Donghae almost demands an explanation, but he's stopped by the thoughtful presence of Shiwon leaning on the back of the couch, watching the report. There's no thread of amusement from him now, and Donghae predicts a few discreet phone calls later and maybe an absence tomorrow morning.
His entire countenance noticeably droops at the prospect of holiday together-time being interrupted, but his upper torso is still slung over Kibum's legs and he allows himself to be the tiniest bit placated when Kibum lays a hand on his shoulder. Donghae fishes for the remote and determinedly changes the channel, good riddance to bad news.
The phone rings and he's distantly aware of Sungmin answering it, and then suddenly the receiver is blocking his view of the T.V. "Hello?" he greets curiously, and when the caller's identity registers he shoots up, leaps over the back of the couch, and scrambles for his room. There's a cloud of collective bewilderment left behind but he doesn't care, grinning madly as he shuts the door for privacy. "Merry Christmas to you too, Alicia."
The girl laughs a little, and it's a quiet, sort of husky sound that he's gotten used to hearing while they both play with the kids at the daycare center. "Thank you for the CD," she says with a smile in her voice, and Donghae's heart beats double-time. Maybe triple.
"You're wel-"
"And thanks for the necklace. You have surprisingly good taste."
He can't really get any words out after that, or feign the slightest bit of offense, he's simply stunned and thinking, 'she likes it, she likes it, she likes it' on loop. He'd gotten her the heart charm necklace to replace the locket she always used to wear, because ever since losing it her fingers would brush over her collarbones with palpable longing where the chain once rested. That locket had been from her ex-boyfriend. Donghae didn't know how his gesture would be taken, but he's adored Alicia since meeting her the first day on the job when she was knee-deep in children with paint handprints all over her jeans, a green glob stuck in her hair, and in desperate need of assistance.
"I'm glad you like it," he finally manages to say, back pressed against the door as he slides down until he's sitting, knees bent. "So... Are you doing anything for New Year's? I mean, of course you'll be celebrating, but I was wondering if, you know, you want to hang out..."
"Hmm..." And he's holding his breath until she answers, "Sure, it's a date."
"Great!" He's up on his feet again in an instant, and by some miracle his grip on the phone doesn't cause it to break.
There's another low chuckle through the line, followed by a muffled thump. "Hey, I'll call you back later. The Terrible Twins have been unleashed on the house with all their new toys, and you know what that means."
"Damage control," he acknowledges, still grinning widely. He'll probably never stop. "Good luck."
"Thanks, I think I'll need it," are her last words, wryly spoken, before the dial tone.
By the time Donghae finishes the call and reigns in his giddiness, he's forgotten all about everyone waiting back in the living and is taken by surprise when he returns to find them, well, staring at him.
"So then," Sungmin begins, his innocent smile baring a wicked edge. "Are you going to tell us about that girl who just called?"
v. whiteout (for the hell of it)
The flakes aren't bearing down as heavily as they were before, thankfully starting to lessen while I was tracking. They've slowed to a delicate flutter, drifting down from a dark sky and glistening in the lamplight. I tilt my face to watch them fall all around, swirling in a gust of wind. My breath puffs into the air when I open my mouth, and I catch a snowflake on my tongue. I can hear snow crunch beneath the shoes of the person behind the corner. He knows I'm here, and he knows I know he knows, and he's wondering what the fastest way to kill me is or when I'm going to follow him into the crevice between buildings. I've been following him for a while, but I'm not in much of a hurry.
He can probably smell the steel on me, like I can smell the fresh blood on him. Washed or wiped away, it will still linger. It's their daily diet. It's easy to pick out the vampires that way, by blood-scent if not by mark-scent. I don't need to know about mark-scent; we're not friends. We're not enemies. What do I care about their Selves, their Lives, or whether they drink from people or storage cartons? That's not for me to worry about.
At last, I step in front of the alleyway, a shadow merging into the darkness between the walls. There he is: his eyes are bright and glinting. He's young, about my age. Neither of us appears very impressed with what we see. He snorts and breaks into a grin, or maybe it's more of a sneer - one of his canines is missing, which makes for a disjointed image. A vampire with a missing fang? Is that like a man with one leg?
He ducks low and darts in, maybe to slip past, or perhaps to attack. It's sadly not a matter of skill so much as it is of speed and years of training. I can hear the clean slice through cloth and flesh, and the wet splash on a frozen wall. The scent is next, rich and powerful and personal, and meaning little to me in the end. The blood makes a warm spot on my sleeve, not showing against the dark fabric, but spattering in vivid scarlet over the snow. It soaks in and shimmers with ice crystals, runs in rivulets down the straight, flat edge of my blade and drips from the point.
I flick the excess off, collect the rest on my thumb and lick it clean, then sheath the sword, tucking it beneath my coat. I walk away.
end
Sapphy: "Oh my god, het." Yeah, we went there. I'll say this to calm the masses: Alicia is not a main character. However, if you cannot stand the thought of girls near the boys, Cityverse is not for you.
The poem in part iii is by Emily Dickinson. The Mystery Person in part v will be revealed...eventually. :D
Sorry this installment took so long! It's been a busy time for everyone involved, and this part may not be as well-edited as usual. Unfortunately, it's likely that #6 will also be delayed for a few weeks, but we have a surprise to make up for it. Presenting, forgetangel. Leeteuk will now be broadcasting to you live from the City! ...He's kind of Not Right in the Head, so we promise nothing.
Happy Holidays, everyone~