Traces [2/2]
anonymous
October 18 2009, 23:58:43 UTC
Kiku only half-smiles in response to that, as his slender, short fingers gently start to work at tensed up muscles behind Yong-soo’s neck.
“I was thinking a terrier,” continues the taller Asian. “How about a Yorkie?”
Kiku’s response to that is a derisive snort as he lets his thumbs dig in and rub little circles around taut muscle and tendons. This makes the Korean grunt a little bit, in both relief and mild protest.
“No? Why not?” And Yong-soo pulls out another cigarette from a sterling silver case and sticks it between his lips. He doesn’t light it but instead continues typing another array of mingled, mangled phrases in English, Korean and possibly Greek. The song list shifts from techno to an attempt at R&B.
“Or I guess we can just get one of those robot dogs,” concludes the Korean, typing with one hand as he reaches to get his glasses nearby. Kiku puts them on for Yong-soo, taking the opportunity to brush a few strands of dark hair out of the wide red-brown eyes.
“It’ll be easier to clean up,” says the man at the computer as he lets his cheek rub against a cool palm. “Mm… Kiku, your circulation is bad again. Have you been taking your medication?”
“There is nothing wrong with me.”
“Bullshit.” But Yong-soo only continues to type away, eyes fixed on the screen. The online puppy hops up and down frantically, waiting for a thrown ball. “Tomorrow, I’m taking you to a Korean doctor. You should start taking supplements.”
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“You’re coming, Kiku.”
The Japanese man makes an exhalation that can almost be called a sigh. “Perhaps.”
“Which means ‘no,’ you scheming little bastard.”
“Perhaps.”
“You’re such a little prick, Plum. But that’s why I love you.” The words are delivered lightly, casually, as though remarking that the sky was blue.
Kiku always never knows how to feel when he hears things like that from the other man. He gazes in mild consternation at his mostly inattentive companion. But then Yong-soo looks up, glancing over the rim of his titanium glasses.
“You know I don’t like that nickname,” Kiku says, uncomfortably and feeling his cheeks flush red.
A lazy grin crosses the Korean’s generous mouth. “Of course. Even though it suits you that well.” He presses on the “Delete” key once. And the interface upon the laptop shatters, leaving nothing but a flat, empty screen. He closes it and leaves it on his desk, turning his chair around so he can properly face the other man. His hands reach out and wrap around the Japanese man’s waist.
“So,” breathes Yong-soo. “Can I see what color that fish is?”
“I was thinking a terrier,” continues the taller Asian. “How about a Yorkie?”
Kiku’s response to that is a derisive snort as he lets his thumbs dig in and rub little circles around taut muscle and tendons. This makes the Korean grunt a little bit, in both relief and mild protest.
“No? Why not?” And Yong-soo pulls out another cigarette from a sterling silver case and sticks it between his lips. He doesn’t light it but instead continues typing another array of mingled, mangled phrases in English, Korean and possibly Greek. The song list shifts from techno to an attempt at R&B.
“Or I guess we can just get one of those robot dogs,” concludes the Korean, typing with one hand as he reaches to get his glasses nearby. Kiku puts them on for Yong-soo, taking the opportunity to brush a few strands of dark hair out of the wide red-brown eyes.
“It’ll be easier to clean up,” says the man at the computer as he lets his cheek rub against a cool palm. “Mm… Kiku, your circulation is bad again. Have you been taking your medication?”
“There is nothing wrong with me.”
“Bullshit.” But Yong-soo only continues to type away, eyes fixed on the screen. The online puppy hops up and down frantically, waiting for a thrown ball. “Tomorrow, I’m taking you to a Korean doctor. You should start taking supplements.”
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“You’re coming, Kiku.”
The Japanese man makes an exhalation that can almost be called a sigh. “Perhaps.”
“Which means ‘no,’ you scheming little bastard.”
“Perhaps.”
“You’re such a little prick, Plum. But that’s why I love you.” The words are delivered lightly, casually, as though remarking that the sky was blue.
Kiku always never knows how to feel when he hears things like that from the other man. He gazes in mild consternation at his mostly inattentive companion. But then Yong-soo looks up, glancing over the rim of his titanium glasses.
“You know I don’t like that nickname,” Kiku says, uncomfortably and feeling his cheeks flush red.
A lazy grin crosses the Korean’s generous mouth. “Of course. Even though it suits you that well.” He presses on the “Delete” key once. And the interface upon the laptop shatters, leaving nothing but a flat, empty screen. He closes it and leaves it on his desk, turning his chair around so he can properly face the other man. His hands reach out and wrap around the Japanese man’s waist.
“So,” breathes Yong-soo. “Can I see what color that fish is?”
Forgive my HTML fail... -head desk-
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<3 I absolutely love this <3
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