Speak of the Tiger (Omegaverse!Jongkey with side Onho) 1b/?dubu_dubuMay 25 2012, 05:28:13 UTC
The young man passes Kibum and his mother on the way up to the check-out counter. As he brushes by, Kibum feels his mother’s fingers dig slightly into his shoulder. Kibum looks up and sees the light catch on something around the boy’s neck.
It’s a thin strip of metal no wider than Kibum's littlest finger. The battered metal band is a faded dark red, the color of wilted roses. There’s an engraving on the side.
Ω 80-98-E
The man cuts into the front of the line, unceremoniously plunking his two bottles on the counter. To Kibum’s surprise, neither his mother or the young woman in front of them protest the sudden intrusion. It’s like they’re both making a concentrated effort to avoid interacting with him.
“Two thousand won,” the cashier says. Her voice is frosty and her mouth is drawn in a thin line of displeasure. Kibum wonders what the stranger did to warrant such unmasked contempt.
The young man is in the midst of opening his wallet when the man in the suit walks up to the cash register and lays down two 1,000 won notes.
“Here,” he says. “It’s on me.”
He smiles, but it’s a strained expression, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. His suit jacket is unbuttoned, revealing a wrinkled blue dress shirt underneath. He’s wearing slacks that need to be hemmed. He looks like your average salary man.
“No thanks,” the younger man says coldly. He doesn’t even glance at the other man, just shoves his money back towards him.
“But I insist.” The man in the suit is leaking a foul, oily desperation, a putrid scent that makes Kibum want to bury his face in his mother’s skirt to block it out.
The younger man scoffs, throws a few of his own bills on the counter and makes to leave.
He doesn’t get very far. The older man grabs him by the wrist.
“What? My money’s not good enough for you?” There’s a frantic, dangerous edge to his voice that makes Kibum tense. His eyes look a little unfocused and he’s breathing heavily like he can’t get enough oxygen in his lungs.
“Darling,” the younger man drawls, his eyes cutting into the other man, “don’t even pretend like you could ever afford me.”
The older man’s face contorts into an ugly scowl, purpling with rage as he spits, “No wonder no one wanted you.”
The younger man’s mouth curls into a wry smile. “And you don’t? Can you even smell yourself? You’ve been hard ever since I walked in here.”
“You son of a bitch!” The older man grabs him by the front of his shirt. The cashier screams as he throws the younger man onto the counter. One of the bottles of soju crashes to the floor and shatters. Kibum’s mother grabs him by the wrist, practically dislocating his shoulder as she yanks him back. He spills juice all over himself in the confusion.
What is happening?
The two men grapple for a moment before the man in the suit lets out a savage growl and slams the younger man’s head on the table. Dazed, he goes limp, and then the man in the suit is all over him, lining their bodies up, pinning the other man down with his weight. Kibum sees him bury his face into the younger man’s throat right before his mother’s hand claps over his eyes. It doesn’t stop him from hearing the harsh shuddering breaths or the guttural moan that escapes the older man.
It’s a thin strip of metal no wider than Kibum's littlest finger. The battered metal band is a faded dark red, the color of wilted roses. There’s an engraving on the side.
Ω 80-98-E
The man cuts into the front of the line, unceremoniously plunking his two bottles on the counter. To Kibum’s surprise, neither his mother or the young woman in front of them protest the sudden intrusion. It’s like they’re both making a concentrated effort to avoid interacting with him.
“Two thousand won,” the cashier says. Her voice is frosty and her mouth is drawn in a thin line of displeasure. Kibum wonders what the stranger did to warrant such unmasked contempt.
The young man is in the midst of opening his wallet when the man in the suit walks up to the cash register and lays down two 1,000 won notes.
“Here,” he says. “It’s on me.”
He smiles, but it’s a strained expression, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. His suit jacket is unbuttoned, revealing a wrinkled blue dress shirt underneath. He’s wearing slacks that need to be hemmed. He looks like your average salary man.
“No thanks,” the younger man says coldly. He doesn’t even glance at the other man, just shoves his money back towards him.
“But I insist.” The man in the suit is leaking a foul, oily desperation, a putrid scent that makes Kibum want to bury his face in his mother’s skirt to block it out.
The younger man scoffs, throws a few of his own bills on the counter and makes to leave.
He doesn’t get very far. The older man grabs him by the wrist.
“What? My money’s not good enough for you?” There’s a frantic, dangerous edge to his voice that makes Kibum tense. His eyes look a little unfocused and he’s breathing heavily like he can’t get enough oxygen in his lungs.
“Darling,” the younger man drawls, his eyes cutting into the other man, “don’t even pretend like you could ever afford me.”
The older man’s face contorts into an ugly scowl, purpling with rage as he spits, “No wonder no one wanted you.”
The younger man’s mouth curls into a wry smile. “And you don’t? Can you even smell yourself? You’ve been hard ever since I walked in here.”
“You son of a bitch!” The older man grabs him by the front of his shirt. The cashier screams as he throws the younger man onto the counter. One of the bottles of soju crashes to the floor and shatters. Kibum’s mother grabs him by the wrist, practically dislocating his shoulder as she yanks him back. He spills juice all over himself in the confusion.
What is happening?
The two men grapple for a moment before the man in the suit lets out a savage growl and slams the younger man’s head on the table. Dazed, he goes limp, and then the man in the suit is all over him, lining their bodies up, pinning the other man down with his weight. Kibum sees him bury his face into the younger man’s throat right before his mother’s hand claps over his eyes. It doesn’t stop him from hearing the harsh shuddering breaths or the guttural moan that escapes the older man.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Reply
Leave a comment