Round 1, Challenge #1: "a faint reflection on the sea"
Title: a faint reflection on the sea
Rating: PG
Word Count: 984
Summary: When JaeJoong backs away, YunHo's lips are tinted red, his eyes wide, a streak of white across one razor sharp cheekbone. His lips are parted, glittering, and when he closes them, swallows, he can taste other men on his lips.
Warnings: hints at prostitution, angst
JaeJoong has a contemplative look in his big, dark eyes. He's sitting next to YunHo, mere inches away, porcelain hands folded delicately in his lap. There is a faint frown that tugs down the edges of his razor sharp mouth, the red of his lips glittering in the sunlight. His face is a death mask of white powder and gentle, sweeping rushes of red, his eyes lined in folds of black so thick the intelligent gleam in his eyes is almost swallowed whole.
He does not look sad, he does not look happy. The look in his eyes is as though he is pondering a great puzzle, an impossible maze that he cannot seem to find the end of. His kimono flutters prettily in the soft wind, the obi- tied at the front, a constant reminder- shifting as JaeJoong does.
“You're staring again,” JaeJoong says, though his eyes do not stray, and the look stays fixed in his dark depths, a smirk rising, unbidden, to his lips, “Do I have something on my face?”
“You're prettier when you're not talking,” YunHo says in a calm, authoritative voice, like he always does. JaeJoong's hand comes to play against the slope of his sugar lips, a delicate flick of his hand revealing the slender curve of his wrist. JaeJoong is very good at what he does, after all, YunHo thinks, watching the ornate decorations in the other man's hair jangle as the wind picks up.
YunHo shifts closer still, the space between them dwindling to nothing as JaeJoong's leg presses against YunHo's own, soft silk against scratchy cotton. YunHo's hands tighten on the katana to his left, the handle twinkling innocently in the dying sunlight. JaeJoong presses closer, the umbrella clutched in his right hand twirling as he twists the bamboo stem, watching the play of shadows fall onto the river in front of him. The water is murky, but a fish flashes a sudden fin, glittering silver and bright under the water.
“I have to go back,” JaeJoong says, the lilt of his accent barely perceptible under his soft, fake voice, “If I'm not back by nightfall-”
His words stop in his throat, and he swallows against the sudden dryness, straightens his back, a perfect porcelain doll tugged up by the strings. YunHo glances down, laughs in a breathless way that has JaeJoong's eyes shifting, turning, contemplating. YunHo's gaze has wandered over to shifting waters and falling blossom petals, soft bottom lip caught between the harsh hold of his teeth. His grip is still strong on the weapon by his side, and JaeJoong wonders what this is a guard against- an unseen enemy, hiding, ready to ambush? Or an Orian's Geisha boy's unwanted affection, fleeting, like a silver fin flashing below the surface of deep and murky water?
“You have client's to see,” YunHo whispers, nods his head, smiles harshly, “I know. Be safe, JaeJoong-San.”
He stands, clutches his weapon close, long hair swaying in strands of pitch black, harsh against the orange sky, and his face fades from YunHo to warrior, a change so sudden that JaeJoong beings to wonder if there was even any YunHo there to begin with. And he thinks, just for a second, that they're not as vastly different as they seem, YunHo and he. They both wear a mask, it's just that JaeJoong's is a mask of powder white and charcoal, of fleeting, brilliant red and suppressed feelings, unwanted affections and seductive glances.
YunHo is walking away, his steps careful, measured, the stride of a man used to danger, used to purpose, something JaeJoong greatly lacks.
“YunHo-San,” JaeJoong calls, his voice choked, sees the tightening of YunHo's shoulders under his loose yukata, “Wait a minute.”
JaeJoong walks quickly over to the man, umbrella dangling loosely from his hand to streak a line in the loose, sandy dirt, and it stops to land in a crumbled pile of silk and wood as JaeJoong pauses in front of YunHo, his face sliding from neutral to something YunHo cannot decipher.
JaeJoong leans forward, watches his reflection's lips tremble in YunHo's eyes, sees YunHo's do the same, and he swallows YunHo's gasped, don't with the curve of his own lips, presses so hard against YunHo's lips that he can feel his own begin to bruise, and it's a kiss that is as harsh as JaeJoong is.
When JaeJoong backs away, YunHo's lips are tinted red, his eyes wide, a streak of white across one razor sharp cheekbone. His lips are parted, glittering, and when he closes them, swallows, he can taste other men on them.
He reaches forward and brushes a soft thumb against JaeJoong's cheek so gently it feels like nothing but the winds fleeting hand, and yet JaeJoong can feel it burn as the other man's hand traces up the bridge of his nose, as it sweeps sweetly across his jaw bone to rest against the arched curve of his neck. YunHo's hand retracts, trembles, falls in slow motion to land at his side.
“Be safe,” He whispers, as always, backs away, like always, eyes glimmering, face quickly swallowed by shadows. JaeJoong watches him go, face carefully set. No emotions play across his features, but as he turns away, sways his way forward, his candy lips frown, his eyes fall closed, and his white mask is not one of seduction anymore, but of carefully hidden despair.
JaeJoong gathers what little courage he has left around him like a cloak, tightens his hands into fists, and begins to walk away, his movements jerky, like a nearly broken puppet.
Behind him, the fish flashes beneath the water, a glimmer of hope in such a desolate, murky place. It waits and waits until the next, brief meeting, when maybe that hope will have a chance to skip out of the murky depths and shine brightly in the sunlight.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 984
Summary: When JaeJoong backs away, YunHo's lips are tinted red, his eyes wide, a streak of white across one razor sharp cheekbone. His lips are parted, glittering, and when he closes them, swallows, he can taste other men on his lips.
Warnings: hints at prostitution, angst
JaeJoong has a contemplative look in his big, dark eyes. He's sitting next to YunHo, mere inches away, porcelain hands folded delicately in his lap. There is a faint frown that tugs down the edges of his razor sharp mouth, the red of his lips glittering in the sunlight. His face is a death mask of white powder and gentle, sweeping rushes of red, his eyes lined in folds of black so thick the intelligent gleam in his eyes is almost swallowed whole.
He does not look sad, he does not look happy. The look in his eyes is as though he is pondering a great puzzle, an impossible maze that he cannot seem to find the end of. His kimono flutters prettily in the soft wind, the obi- tied at the front, a constant reminder- shifting as JaeJoong does.
“You're staring again,” JaeJoong says, though his eyes do not stray, and the look stays fixed in his dark depths, a smirk rising, unbidden, to his lips, “Do I have something on my face?”
“You're prettier when you're not talking,” YunHo says in a calm, authoritative voice, like he always does. JaeJoong's hand comes to play against the slope of his sugar lips, a delicate flick of his hand revealing the slender curve of his wrist. JaeJoong is very good at what he does, after all, YunHo thinks, watching the ornate decorations in the other man's hair jangle as the wind picks up.
YunHo shifts closer still, the space between them dwindling to nothing as JaeJoong's leg presses against YunHo's own, soft silk against scratchy cotton. YunHo's hands tighten on the katana to his left, the handle twinkling innocently in the dying sunlight. JaeJoong presses closer, the umbrella clutched in his right hand twirling as he twists the bamboo stem, watching the play of shadows fall onto the river in front of him. The water is murky, but a fish flashes a sudden fin, glittering silver and bright under the water.
“I have to go back,” JaeJoong says, the lilt of his accent barely perceptible under his soft, fake voice, “If I'm not back by nightfall-”
His words stop in his throat, and he swallows against the sudden dryness, straightens his back, a perfect porcelain doll tugged up by the strings. YunHo glances down, laughs in a breathless way that has JaeJoong's eyes shifting, turning, contemplating. YunHo's gaze has wandered over to shifting waters and falling blossom petals, soft bottom lip caught between the harsh hold of his teeth. His grip is still strong on the weapon by his side, and JaeJoong wonders what this is a guard against- an unseen enemy, hiding, ready to ambush? Or an Orian's Geisha boy's unwanted affection, fleeting, like a silver fin flashing below the surface of deep and murky water?
“You have client's to see,” YunHo whispers, nods his head, smiles harshly, “I know. Be safe, JaeJoong-San.”
He stands, clutches his weapon close, long hair swaying in strands of pitch black, harsh against the orange sky, and his face fades from YunHo to warrior, a change so sudden that JaeJoong beings to wonder if there was even any YunHo there to begin with. And he thinks, just for a second, that they're not as vastly different as they seem, YunHo and he. They both wear a mask, it's just that JaeJoong's is a mask of powder white and charcoal, of fleeting, brilliant red and suppressed feelings, unwanted affections and seductive glances.
YunHo is walking away, his steps careful, measured, the stride of a man used to danger, used to purpose, something JaeJoong greatly lacks.
“YunHo-San,” JaeJoong calls, his voice choked, sees the tightening of YunHo's shoulders under his loose yukata, “Wait a minute.”
JaeJoong walks quickly over to the man, umbrella dangling loosely from his hand to streak a line in the loose, sandy dirt, and it stops to land in a crumbled pile of silk and wood as JaeJoong pauses in front of YunHo, his face sliding from neutral to something YunHo cannot decipher.
JaeJoong leans forward, watches his reflection's lips tremble in YunHo's eyes, sees YunHo's do the same, and he swallows YunHo's gasped, don't with the curve of his own lips, presses so hard against YunHo's lips that he can feel his own begin to bruise, and it's a kiss that is as harsh as JaeJoong is.
When JaeJoong backs away, YunHo's lips are tinted red, his eyes wide, a streak of white across one razor sharp cheekbone. His lips are parted, glittering, and when he closes them, swallows, he can taste other men on them.
He reaches forward and brushes a soft thumb against JaeJoong's cheek so gently it feels like nothing but the winds fleeting hand, and yet JaeJoong can feel it burn as the other man's hand traces up the bridge of his nose, as it sweeps sweetly across his jaw bone to rest against the arched curve of his neck. YunHo's hand retracts, trembles, falls in slow motion to land at his side.
“Be safe,” He whispers, as always, backs away, like always, eyes glimmering, face quickly swallowed by shadows. JaeJoong watches him go, face carefully set. No emotions play across his features, but as he turns away, sways his way forward, his candy lips frown, his eyes fall closed, and his white mask is not one of seduction anymore, but of carefully hidden despair.
JaeJoong gathers what little courage he has left around him like a cloak, tightens his hands into fists, and begins to walk away, his movements jerky, like a nearly broken puppet.
Behind him, the fish flashes beneath the water, a glimmer of hope in such a desolate, murky place. It waits and waits until the next, brief meeting, when maybe that hope will have a chance to skip out of the murky depths and shine brightly in the sunlight.