Runs in my blood ✿ for skyroll
Title: Runs in my blood
Recipient: skyroll
Rating: PG-13
Side pairing/s: n/a
Word Count: 2043 words
Summary: They don't talk about it.
Warning/s: mentions of murder, some kind of strange voyeurism, arson, alcohol, some swearing, smut references
Notes: Thanks to C for letting me write this and thanks so much to the recipient for your fabulous prompts. I took a few metaphorical liberties with this one but I hope you like it. Thanks to A for not killing me and to that person because I say so.
The silhouette of Jongdae on the white blinds was angular, sharp. He cut the light from the Tiffany lamp into sections with his chin as he sat undressed, feet planted in the thick carpet, one arm resting on his knee, the other holding a half-smoked cigarette. The smoke trailed up in a fine swirl, dissolving into the air and across the room to where the sponsor sat, hair still dripping, plush hotel bathrobe tucked shut. The eyes were still open, surprised, the second smile across the throat speaking a carmine language of steel tongues. Baekhyun lay on the bed, bare stomach to Egyptian cotton, toes in the air.
"Can you get me a drink?" His voice was smooth, silkier than skin. Softer than the first time Jongdae had heard it. He nodded.
"What do you want?"
"What is there?" Baekhyun kicked his feet back and forth in the golden lamplight like an over-grown five-year-old, if you ignored the scarlet-painted toenails. Jongdae took a drag of his cigarette before butting it out on the glass-topped table, the ash crumbling off in indecipherable patterns.
"The usual, I would expect." His voice was rougher now, too many cigarettes but he didn't care and Baekhyun didn't either. Deep-throating required no honey throat. He strode over to the bar, the muscles in his back shifting and Baekhyun could feel a warm glow begin to grow once more in the pit of his stomach.
"Stop walking like that or you'll have to fuck me again," he laughed, the sound vibrating in his chest. "I thought you were tired."
"I did most of the work again, if you'd care to notice." Jongdae wasn't petulant, just faintly teasing. Glass clinked and reverberated as he explored the contents of the refrigerator. "How about Sex on the Beach?"
"Overrated. Sand gives nasty friction burns." There was a muted chuckle.
"Gin and tonic?"
"Beefeaters?" Baekhyun had his favourites, no use changing with the latest fashion. "What's the tonic?"
"Little Indian."
"Sure." Jongdae coaxed the stainless-fronted door closed with an ankle and set the two bottles on the marble bar, taking down two crystal glasses from the shelf. The clink of ice was followed by bottles being unscrewed and liquid being poured, one part gin to one part tonic because they haven't needed to drive for a long time.
"Are there any limes?"
"No." A regretful sigh, followed by a muffled curse as a cold drop of liquid splashed up to assault his skin. Laughter.
"As much as I appreciate the view, you could put some clothes on." Jongdae only shrugged, soft sighs of wool pile against bare feet as he walked over to the bed, handing Baekhyun a glass before settling down on the edge of the bed. They clinked glasses idly, old habits die hard, and knocked back a couple fingers.
"Do you ever wonder," Jongdae began later, the level of the liquid in his glass considerably lower than before, "what we'll be like when we're older?" He looked at his knees, at his feet in the carpet, at the shadow of the sponsor on the wall. Baekhyun set his empty glass down on the floor where it canted slightly to the side, ice melting.
"There is no older," he said, and yawned. "There only now, and later now, and even later now." His eyes were supernovas in the lamplight, hair a burnished bronze. Jongdae wanted to kiss his nose but he didn't.
"So we're only as old as we let ourselves be?" he asked, his voice only slightly sardonic. Baekhyun frowned.
"Why are we talking about the future; you're making me want another drink." Jongdae shifted, ready for the question to be posed, but Baekhyun curled himself up from where he was sprawled out on the comforter and hopped off the bed. The nobs of his spine glistened in the light like strange pearls; Jongdae felt the sudden need to feel them with his mouth.
"Do you want another one?" Baekhyun asked, splashing sounds as he poured a shot of vodka, neat.
"No thanks." Jongdae set his glass down on the nightstand, no coaster. There was still one finger left.
"You know I don't like to talk about the future," Baekhyun apologized, curling up into Jongdae's warm side, skin to skin, his soft wrists brushing Jongdae's thigh. He sighed and nodded, laying his cheek on Baekhyun's shoulder. He could feels their heartbeats under the skin.
"I love you," Jongdae said, the words worn but the feeling never old.
"I know," Baekhyun grinned, shifting on the bed so he could tilt his head up and bottom the vodka out in one shot. His toes curled as he gulped. Jongdae admired the effect of the red toenails in the lamplight.
"You look good in red," he commented.
"So does white porcelain," Baekhyun smirked. They didn't have to look at the bathroom, cold florescent lights illuminating a pretty picture beyond the doorway.
"You're prettier than that."
"Flatterer."
"It's the truth," Jongdae protested, the conversation already stale yet comfortably predictable. He unfolded himself from the bed and Baekhyun to go in search of something to wear.
"Cold feet?" Baekhyun's laugh could cut sometimes, shards of glass hidden in carpet.
"You wish," he retorted over one shoulder as he stepped into black YSL leather pants, back to the bed. He could hear rustling; someone was interested.
"I can't tell if I prefer undressing you or watching you dress." Baekhyun's voice had dropped half an octave and it wasn't the cigarette he hadn't smoked yet. "I'm imagining peeling those off you..."
"Let me get them on all the way," Jongdae smirked over one shoulder, zipping himself up before shimmying into a blue silk tee. He padded on bare feet back to the bed. "Want some help?"
"Fuck off." Baekhyun waved his hand, the long fingers floating through the air. He didn't mean it, he never did.
"Want to watch?"
"Fuck you."
"Gladly." Jongdae tossed a pair of red pants at the man on the bed, a splash of crimson against the white. He thought about Baekhyun, limbs artfully arranged on white sheets, fingertips red.
"See something you like?" Baekhyun shimmied into the second skin; his hair catching red in the lamplight.
"I like your pants."
"Shut up." Jongdae threw him a shirt, white silk to lie in pools under his collarbones.
"Dress me?" Baekhyun held his arms up; Jongdae crossed the room and brushed his lips over the succulent rise of Baekhyun's Adam's apple. Baekhyun swallowed, eyes blinking.
"Dress yourself," he whispered, ghosting warm breath over prickling skin before stepping away from the bed. Glistening eyes followed, the breathing and the stationary.
Out on the balcony, the stars spilled across the sky like splatter patterns, Baekhyun took a drag of a cigarette, letting the smoke sit in his lungs and stain the pink cells black.
"Solved the mysteries of the universe?" Jongdae pulled another cigarette out of the carton, now empty, crushing it idly between his fingers.
"Bet you can't drop that onto someone's head," Baekhyun prodded. Jongdae only stuck out his tongue.
"That's littering," he protested.
"And you haven't broken the law before?" Neither of them looked at the occupant of the winged armchair, light falling across wide eyes.
"Only when I feel like it," Jongdae shrugged, resting his elbows on the railing, unlit cigarette still tucked between pale fingers in the moonlight. Baekhyun bent, pressed the glowing tip of his cigarette against the unlit paper and tobacco and rolled-up death.
Paper smouldered.
Jongdae took a drag of the cigarette before exhaling into the night, Baekhyun joining them.
"Do you ever feel like smoke?"
"I feel more like fire," Jongdae mused. He reached a hand into his pocket to caress the engraved lighter sitting in it like an anchor. HODIE MIHI CRAS TIBI.
"The only thing that's real is today," Baekhyun said, changing the subject. "Yesterday doesn't exist." Jongdae looked at his hands, fingers spread on the railing. There was red under his fingernails. He nodded.
Baekhyun stubbed his cigarette out on the railing and flicked the butt over the edge. Jongdae hung out over the side but he couldn't see anything.
"If you met me again, would you still want me?" He hadn't meant to ask, but the words slipped out. Baekhyun turned to look at him.
"Ride or die."
"I like living."
"Good." Baekhyun grinned. He leaned his head back, offering his neck to the sky. Jongdae just watched in silence.
It was getting chilly, past the bottom of the night, but neither one made any move to go back inside.
"Do you have another cigarette?"
"No."
Baekhyun sighed, rising on tiptoes to stretch his arms to the sky. His fingers mixed with the stars.
"Do you know that story about the dragon pearl?" Jongdae hadn't thought about it in years, but something about the sight of Baekhyun, earlier that night... You in my mouth.
Baekhyun shrugged. "Not that I remember."
"My...aunt told me I think." He didn't say mother.
"Yeah?" Baekhyun turned, smelling blood. The sky reflected in his eyes was cold.
"A kid finds a pearl and hides it in the family rice sack, I think."
"So his parents don't find it?"
"Yes. And then a strange thing happens." Jongdae looked over. Baekhyun was examining his fingernails.
"The sack of flour never gets emptier."
"So like the original bottomless cup."
"Kind of. So the kid puts it in the money bag and that never gets empty either." He thought about their sponsors, a never ending sack of coins. Digital dollars with a couple lines of code.
"And then the other shoe drops..." Baekhyun sounded sad, somehow. His face was small, in the moonlight.
"He takes the pearl to the river where he found it because he wants to find another one."
"Greedy bastard." Jongdae wondered who Baekhyun was talking about.
"He thinks he sees one but it's just an empty shell, but he trips and tries to catch the pearl and swallows it."
"So he turns into a monster." Baekhyun closed his mouth.
"Monster, dragon..." Jongdae shrugged. "Depends on what you want to call it."
"Am I a monster?" Baekhyun's voice was empty.
"You're Baekhyun."
"Thanks." His voice was mocking.
"I mean it." Jongdae nudged him, blue silk against white. Baekhyun let his face relax into a smile.
"If you ever leave me..."
"I know."
Neither of them cared for Cuban cigars much, but cigar cutters on the other hand -
"We should get one of these."
"What for?"
"Cutting things," Baekhyun shrugged, taking the freshly cut cigar and propping it in the hand of the sponsor. He giggled. The sound made Jongdae smile.
"Just take this one then."
"Maybe I will." There was another clink of crystal as Baekhyun poured two fingers of whiskey over ice.
"One for the road."
Jongdae ducked into the washroom to clean his hands. He didn't like waking up with errant red dotting the skin like persistent memories. The cracks between the tiles ran cherry.
"Do you want any?" Baekhyun asked from the room, the sound of crumpled foil.
"No thanks." He dried his hand on the white hand towel, leaving no pink behind.
There was a beep from the microwave in the kitchen of the suite.
"I liked this room," Baekhyun remarked, crunching a honey butter potato chip between his teeth. Jongdae shrugged as he picked up the viridian scarf trailing over the back of the chaise longue. There were white stains on the upholstery.
"This one's used up." Jongdae handed Baekhyun his aviators and put his own shades on. Wind from the open window stirred the drapes.
"How much was this one worth?" He sounded like he was asking about the weather, and in a way he was. Jongdae grinned.
"Triple that Prague hotel." The zeroes coalesced under his tongue, and he felt the sudden need to share. "Can I kiss you?"
"You're so childish," Baekhyun laughed, but leaned over. Their mouth met, before their sunglasses.
"Ouch."
"You were the one who asked for it."
Jongdae looked back at the sponsor, enthroned on a meaningless chair, water still dripping. There was a crackling from the microwave. Baekhyun took his hand.
They had no baggage.
"Is it tomorrow?"
"It's today."
Flames grew as the sun rose.
Additional Author's Notes: This story was not exactly inspired by Hemingway's Hills Like White Elephants and Ginsberg's Howl. The title is from Scream by Name by Tove Lo. Hodie mihi cras tibi is Latin for today me tomorrow you, words enscribed over the arch of the cemetery in Sucre, Bolivia.
Recipient: skyroll
Rating: PG-13
Side pairing/s: n/a
Word Count: 2043 words
Summary: They don't talk about it.
Warning/s: mentions of murder, some kind of strange voyeurism, arson, alcohol, some swearing, smut references
Notes: Thanks to C for letting me write this and thanks so much to the recipient for your fabulous prompts. I took a few metaphorical liberties with this one but I hope you like it. Thanks to A for not killing me and to that person because I say so.
The silhouette of Jongdae on the white blinds was angular, sharp. He cut the light from the Tiffany lamp into sections with his chin as he sat undressed, feet planted in the thick carpet, one arm resting on his knee, the other holding a half-smoked cigarette. The smoke trailed up in a fine swirl, dissolving into the air and across the room to where the sponsor sat, hair still dripping, plush hotel bathrobe tucked shut. The eyes were still open, surprised, the second smile across the throat speaking a carmine language of steel tongues. Baekhyun lay on the bed, bare stomach to Egyptian cotton, toes in the air.
"Can you get me a drink?" His voice was smooth, silkier than skin. Softer than the first time Jongdae had heard it. He nodded.
"What do you want?"
"What is there?" Baekhyun kicked his feet back and forth in the golden lamplight like an over-grown five-year-old, if you ignored the scarlet-painted toenails. Jongdae took a drag of his cigarette before butting it out on the glass-topped table, the ash crumbling off in indecipherable patterns.
"The usual, I would expect." His voice was rougher now, too many cigarettes but he didn't care and Baekhyun didn't either. Deep-throating required no honey throat. He strode over to the bar, the muscles in his back shifting and Baekhyun could feel a warm glow begin to grow once more in the pit of his stomach.
"Stop walking like that or you'll have to fuck me again," he laughed, the sound vibrating in his chest. "I thought you were tired."
"I did most of the work again, if you'd care to notice." Jongdae wasn't petulant, just faintly teasing. Glass clinked and reverberated as he explored the contents of the refrigerator. "How about Sex on the Beach?"
"Overrated. Sand gives nasty friction burns." There was a muted chuckle.
"Gin and tonic?"
"Beefeaters?" Baekhyun had his favourites, no use changing with the latest fashion. "What's the tonic?"
"Little Indian."
"Sure." Jongdae coaxed the stainless-fronted door closed with an ankle and set the two bottles on the marble bar, taking down two crystal glasses from the shelf. The clink of ice was followed by bottles being unscrewed and liquid being poured, one part gin to one part tonic because they haven't needed to drive for a long time.
"Are there any limes?"
"No." A regretful sigh, followed by a muffled curse as a cold drop of liquid splashed up to assault his skin. Laughter.
"As much as I appreciate the view, you could put some clothes on." Jongdae only shrugged, soft sighs of wool pile against bare feet as he walked over to the bed, handing Baekhyun a glass before settling down on the edge of the bed. They clinked glasses idly, old habits die hard, and knocked back a couple fingers.
"Do you ever wonder," Jongdae began later, the level of the liquid in his glass considerably lower than before, "what we'll be like when we're older?" He looked at his knees, at his feet in the carpet, at the shadow of the sponsor on the wall. Baekhyun set his empty glass down on the floor where it canted slightly to the side, ice melting.
"There is no older," he said, and yawned. "There only now, and later now, and even later now." His eyes were supernovas in the lamplight, hair a burnished bronze. Jongdae wanted to kiss his nose but he didn't.
"So we're only as old as we let ourselves be?" he asked, his voice only slightly sardonic. Baekhyun frowned.
"Why are we talking about the future; you're making me want another drink." Jongdae shifted, ready for the question to be posed, but Baekhyun curled himself up from where he was sprawled out on the comforter and hopped off the bed. The nobs of his spine glistened in the light like strange pearls; Jongdae felt the sudden need to feel them with his mouth.
"Do you want another one?" Baekhyun asked, splashing sounds as he poured a shot of vodka, neat.
"No thanks." Jongdae set his glass down on the nightstand, no coaster. There was still one finger left.
"You know I don't like to talk about the future," Baekhyun apologized, curling up into Jongdae's warm side, skin to skin, his soft wrists brushing Jongdae's thigh. He sighed and nodded, laying his cheek on Baekhyun's shoulder. He could feels their heartbeats under the skin.
"I love you," Jongdae said, the words worn but the feeling never old.
"I know," Baekhyun grinned, shifting on the bed so he could tilt his head up and bottom the vodka out in one shot. His toes curled as he gulped. Jongdae admired the effect of the red toenails in the lamplight.
"You look good in red," he commented.
"So does white porcelain," Baekhyun smirked. They didn't have to look at the bathroom, cold florescent lights illuminating a pretty picture beyond the doorway.
"You're prettier than that."
"Flatterer."
"It's the truth," Jongdae protested, the conversation already stale yet comfortably predictable. He unfolded himself from the bed and Baekhyun to go in search of something to wear.
"Cold feet?" Baekhyun's laugh could cut sometimes, shards of glass hidden in carpet.
"You wish," he retorted over one shoulder as he stepped into black YSL leather pants, back to the bed. He could hear rustling; someone was interested.
"I can't tell if I prefer undressing you or watching you dress." Baekhyun's voice had dropped half an octave and it wasn't the cigarette he hadn't smoked yet. "I'm imagining peeling those off you..."
"Let me get them on all the way," Jongdae smirked over one shoulder, zipping himself up before shimmying into a blue silk tee. He padded on bare feet back to the bed. "Want some help?"
"Fuck off." Baekhyun waved his hand, the long fingers floating through the air. He didn't mean it, he never did.
"Want to watch?"
"Fuck you."
"Gladly." Jongdae tossed a pair of red pants at the man on the bed, a splash of crimson against the white. He thought about Baekhyun, limbs artfully arranged on white sheets, fingertips red.
"See something you like?" Baekhyun shimmied into the second skin; his hair catching red in the lamplight.
"I like your pants."
"Shut up." Jongdae threw him a shirt, white silk to lie in pools under his collarbones.
"Dress me?" Baekhyun held his arms up; Jongdae crossed the room and brushed his lips over the succulent rise of Baekhyun's Adam's apple. Baekhyun swallowed, eyes blinking.
"Dress yourself," he whispered, ghosting warm breath over prickling skin before stepping away from the bed. Glistening eyes followed, the breathing and the stationary.
Out on the balcony, the stars spilled across the sky like splatter patterns, Baekhyun took a drag of a cigarette, letting the smoke sit in his lungs and stain the pink cells black.
"Solved the mysteries of the universe?" Jongdae pulled another cigarette out of the carton, now empty, crushing it idly between his fingers.
"Bet you can't drop that onto someone's head," Baekhyun prodded. Jongdae only stuck out his tongue.
"That's littering," he protested.
"And you haven't broken the law before?" Neither of them looked at the occupant of the winged armchair, light falling across wide eyes.
"Only when I feel like it," Jongdae shrugged, resting his elbows on the railing, unlit cigarette still tucked between pale fingers in the moonlight. Baekhyun bent, pressed the glowing tip of his cigarette against the unlit paper and tobacco and rolled-up death.
Paper smouldered.
Jongdae took a drag of the cigarette before exhaling into the night, Baekhyun joining them.
"Do you ever feel like smoke?"
"I feel more like fire," Jongdae mused. He reached a hand into his pocket to caress the engraved lighter sitting in it like an anchor. HODIE MIHI CRAS TIBI.
"The only thing that's real is today," Baekhyun said, changing the subject. "Yesterday doesn't exist." Jongdae looked at his hands, fingers spread on the railing. There was red under his fingernails. He nodded.
Baekhyun stubbed his cigarette out on the railing and flicked the butt over the edge. Jongdae hung out over the side but he couldn't see anything.
"If you met me again, would you still want me?" He hadn't meant to ask, but the words slipped out. Baekhyun turned to look at him.
"Ride or die."
"I like living."
"Good." Baekhyun grinned. He leaned his head back, offering his neck to the sky. Jongdae just watched in silence.
It was getting chilly, past the bottom of the night, but neither one made any move to go back inside.
"Do you have another cigarette?"
"No."
Baekhyun sighed, rising on tiptoes to stretch his arms to the sky. His fingers mixed with the stars.
"Do you know that story about the dragon pearl?" Jongdae hadn't thought about it in years, but something about the sight of Baekhyun, earlier that night... You in my mouth.
Baekhyun shrugged. "Not that I remember."
"My...aunt told me I think." He didn't say mother.
"Yeah?" Baekhyun turned, smelling blood. The sky reflected in his eyes was cold.
"A kid finds a pearl and hides it in the family rice sack, I think."
"So his parents don't find it?"
"Yes. And then a strange thing happens." Jongdae looked over. Baekhyun was examining his fingernails.
"The sack of flour never gets emptier."
"So like the original bottomless cup."
"Kind of. So the kid puts it in the money bag and that never gets empty either." He thought about their sponsors, a never ending sack of coins. Digital dollars with a couple lines of code.
"And then the other shoe drops..." Baekhyun sounded sad, somehow. His face was small, in the moonlight.
"He takes the pearl to the river where he found it because he wants to find another one."
"Greedy bastard." Jongdae wondered who Baekhyun was talking about.
"He thinks he sees one but it's just an empty shell, but he trips and tries to catch the pearl and swallows it."
"So he turns into a monster." Baekhyun closed his mouth.
"Monster, dragon..." Jongdae shrugged. "Depends on what you want to call it."
"Am I a monster?" Baekhyun's voice was empty.
"You're Baekhyun."
"Thanks." His voice was mocking.
"I mean it." Jongdae nudged him, blue silk against white. Baekhyun let his face relax into a smile.
"If you ever leave me..."
"I know."
Neither of them cared for Cuban cigars much, but cigar cutters on the other hand -
"We should get one of these."
"What for?"
"Cutting things," Baekhyun shrugged, taking the freshly cut cigar and propping it in the hand of the sponsor. He giggled. The sound made Jongdae smile.
"Just take this one then."
"Maybe I will." There was another clink of crystal as Baekhyun poured two fingers of whiskey over ice.
"One for the road."
Jongdae ducked into the washroom to clean his hands. He didn't like waking up with errant red dotting the skin like persistent memories. The cracks between the tiles ran cherry.
"Do you want any?" Baekhyun asked from the room, the sound of crumpled foil.
"No thanks." He dried his hand on the white hand towel, leaving no pink behind.
There was a beep from the microwave in the kitchen of the suite.
"I liked this room," Baekhyun remarked, crunching a honey butter potato chip between his teeth. Jongdae shrugged as he picked up the viridian scarf trailing over the back of the chaise longue. There were white stains on the upholstery.
"This one's used up." Jongdae handed Baekhyun his aviators and put his own shades on. Wind from the open window stirred the drapes.
"How much was this one worth?" He sounded like he was asking about the weather, and in a way he was. Jongdae grinned.
"Triple that Prague hotel." The zeroes coalesced under his tongue, and he felt the sudden need to share. "Can I kiss you?"
"You're so childish," Baekhyun laughed, but leaned over. Their mouth met, before their sunglasses.
"Ouch."
"You were the one who asked for it."
Jongdae looked back at the sponsor, enthroned on a meaningless chair, water still dripping. There was a crackling from the microwave. Baekhyun took his hand.
They had no baggage.
"Is it tomorrow?"
"It's today."
Flames grew as the sun rose.
Additional Author's Notes: This story was not exactly inspired by Hemingway's Hills Like White Elephants and Ginsberg's Howl. The title is from Scream by Name by Tove Lo. Hodie mihi cras tibi is Latin for today me tomorrow you, words enscribed over the arch of the cemetery in Sucre, Bolivia.
