(no subject)
Title: Tomorrow Is A Long Time (1/2)
Authors:butterflyweb and rawthornewrites
Rating: NC-17
Pairing:GDTOP
Summary:What could've been, what might've been, what should've been, and what is.
Pain surges up his knee and up his hip but it's nothing new. He hates running for this very reason. This and the lack of air, the sense of suffocating with every step. The PE teacher calls him lazy because he doesn't try.
The PE teacher doesn't hang around after hours to see that sometimes he does try. Sometimes he doesn't have any choice.
"Hey, fatty, hold up," they call after him, taunts and catcalls like individual claws sinking into his back.
Air burns his lungs on every inhale, sending fire like a lit trail of gasoline down the back of his throat and into his chest. He wishes a heart attack would just put him out of his misery but no such luck, sweat dampening his hair and the small of his back.
The boys catch up with him easily, slapping hands over his shoulders when he bends forward, panting into the tarmac.
"Just... leave me... alone." He wishes he could cry but all he feels is anger. Hatred. He's as afraid of them as he is of dogs, that's why he doesn't have pets.
"Aw, what's a matter, Choi? Gonna cry? Go ahead, lose some of that water weight!" the tallest one jeers, arm tight around his shoulder and neck.
He tries to shake off the grip, but his limbs are weak and aching and he doesn't make it any further than a feeble shove. He's rewarded with one right back, hard enough to make him trip over his feet.
"Come on, get up! Grow some balls!" one of them snaps, a mean glint in his eyes that says he's in it to genuinely hurt, with fists and feet and words.
"Fuck off," Seunghyun pants, bravery where there's none, even though he knows it's just going to come back ten fold.
There's a halfhearted kick to his legs, like they can't believe he has the nerve for a comeback, but they don't do much worse and he manages to pick himself up to hands and knees. It's a bad idea. As soon as he's done it, he goes back again, the left of his face aching.
"Stay down, bitch." It's punctuated by a sneakered foot pushing hard at his shoulder, sending him down on his back, the three of them standing over him.
"I'm surprised you can even feel it under all that," he taunts.
They talk to him like he's not fully human. A few pounds and he's another species, somehow deserving of their rage. He has dreams of kicking their skulls in when he sleeps, so maybe it's a mutual thing.
He doesn't speak up again, trying to shift away from the shoe pressing on his bones, gripping weakly at a muscled ankle. Tears well in his eyes and he blinks them away, just barely, before they spill.
"What, no smart comebacks? Huh? Run out of clever fucking things to say?" Another shoe kicks at his side. "Come on, fatty, fight back! I dare you."
He curls in on himself, wanting to die. Wanting to disappear. This is why he's anti-social, he thinks, wishing his parents could see him. This is why he doesn't bring people home and why he doesn't talk about girls.
The boys tire of him, cussing and kicking weakly. Losing interest when it becomes apparent he's too broken to fight back.
"Fucking loser," one of them spits, thankfully not literally, and they leave him there, like a cat abandons a dead mouse once it fails to give sport.
He listens to their footsteps fade on the blacktop, limbs aching and fingertips sticky with blood when he touches the cut on his cheek.
One day, he's gonna get back at them for this.
He sits up wearily, biting his wrist to hold back a shout of frustration. Why do they do this? What do they get out of it?
More selfishly, he wonders why it has to be him.
There's the scrape of footsteps on the cement and he feels his stomach flip in disgust and worse, fear. What, they didn't fucking have enough?
"Are you...are you okay?"
The voice is quiet, decidedly younger and less cruel than the assholes who'd just cleared out. It doesn't make it any more welcome.
"Go away."
He doesn't want to be seen and pitied when he's like this. He may be a loser but he has his pride.
"I think you're, uh, bleeding." The figure kneels beside him, but he doesn't reach out to touch him, not like the school nurse who pokes and prods at him whenever he goes in to see her from walking into too many doors.
"I said, go away," Seunghyun snaps, knowing he's pressing his luck. What upper hand does he have if the kid decides to drop the good Samaritan routine and take a shot himself? The expensive Nike's on his feet and school-issued sweats only serve to underline the possibility.
He glares like a wounded animal, nervous. Scared.
The other boy holds up both hands. "Sorry, I'll go, I just... uh, what's the way to the field? I got lost." He flushes with heat, dropping his eyes to the gravel.
"What field?" Seunghyun asks reluctantly. Well, the sooner he can give him the information, the sooner he'll leave and he can be alone to lick his wounds before he has to call his mom to pick him up. He's more than sure he's missed the bus by now.
"Baseball," the kid replies, and Seunghyun just now takes notice of the glove tucked under his arm.
"You don't go to my school," he points out, astutely. He may be a ghost to everyone else, but he sees them. He knows their faces. Which ones he should avoid and which are safe to be around.
The boy ducks his head, speaking to the tarmac instead of him. "I don't. I'm with the other team?" His posture says don't hate me, shoulders hunched and hand dragging in the dirt.
"We play you guys today." Dark bangs in bad need of a cut fall in the other boy's eyes, half obscuring his face and he's hiding. Seunghyun knows--he's done it often enough himself. What he doesn't understand is why a jock is sitting there, kneeling on the hard ground, acting like he's the one who's going to have his head taken off.
"I hope you kick our asses," Seunghyun tells him, dead serious. "We deserve it." They deserve it. He's no more a part of the student body than he is part of their cliques. They don't want him here.
It startles something like a smile out of the other kid, spindly legs shifting until they're crossed and tucked under him, settling down like he plans to stay.
"Well, my team might. I kind of plan to stay in right field and hope the ball isn't hit to me."
"Why?" Seunghyun surprises himself by asking, inviting conversation and maybe he really is that lonely that he'll talk to anyone who won't swear at him. "Aren't you supposed to be really good to be on the team?"
The kid shrugs. "I'm second-string. Youngsoo hyung has bronchitis, he's out for the next few games."
He has no idea who Youngsoo is and he doesn't really care, picking himself up gingerly because the bruises still show, no matter how many times he experiences them.
"Come on, I'll walk you to the field."
The kid gets quickly to his feet, something between a smile and a flush on his cheeks. "Yeah? Thanks. I'd never hear the end of it if I missed the game cause I was lost." He tilts his head a bit. "How old are you?"
"Sixteen." It doesn't occur to him to lie, to think anything of it. No one ever asks how old he is or what he wants to do after high school. It's like the whole school, teachers and students alike, have decided that once he hits eighteen, he'll get a heart attack and die. Isn't that what fat people do?
He presses nails into his palms, trying to walk without a limp. "Why? How old are you?"
"Fifteen." The kid hangs close to him, a few inches shorter and it's not even worth guessing how much lighter. "So you're my hyung then." He scratches at his wrist. "I mean, if you don't mind me calling you that."
"As long as you don't call me names, we're cool." It's a foreign phrase and he almost didn't know he could fathom it let alone say it to someone flesh and bone. "What's your name?"
"Jiyong. What's yours?"
It feels strange. Too painfully normal and he thinks it says something about how fucked up he is that he can't stop waiting for the shoe to drop. "Seunghyun."
"Seunghyun," the kid repeats, as if comminiting his name to memory, then looks up, making eye contact with him for the first time. "Thank you for being so nice, Seunghyun hyung."
He doesn't know if he's supposed to smile or take the other boy's temperature because he's not known for being nice. He's not known for being much else besides the fat kid. In the end, he's the first to look away.
"No problem." His throat feels tight for a long moment, because maybe if he went to another school, maybe if he knew someone like Jiyong here... It's a pipe dream. Every school is hell for someone like him. He clears his throat. "I don't think our team is very good. So the odds are in your favor."
Jiyong smiles, even as he doesn't quite look up, gaze turned back to the pavement, watching his shoes as they walk.
"You should stay. Cheer us on. Away games suck cause everyone acts like you're there to spit in their face." He hesitates for a moment. "I mean, you don't have to. I'm sure you have other things to do."
He doesn't and he almost says so, the words on the tip of his tongue. He could spend the rest of the day here and half the night before his parents start looking, but cheering for the other team will only end with more pain for him. Especially if they win.
"I need to get home and do... homework." It's a poor excuse.
The kid's face shutters a bit, but he nods, punching his hand into his glove. "That's cool. I mean, that's good. It'll probably be a boring game anyway."
They're coming up on the diamond, parents and students and players milling around between the stands and the refreshments, cars parked haphazardly in the grass.
It's another world, different from that of Seunghyun's normal school days. He hovers at the edge, because he doesn't belong here.
"I don't think it'll be boring," he mutters quietly, hands thrust deep into his pockets.
They stop, Jiyong turning to him, picking at the seam of his glove. "Then come. You might have fun." His voice is hardly audible.
"I don't know..." If he should. It's asking for trouble, in so many ways. At least when you're alone, there's no one to let you down but yourself. "I don't know the rules," he admits, sheepishly and darts a nervous look in Jiyong's direction.
"It's...um, it's easy. If you hit the ball, you run to get on base and if you get tagged, it's an out. If three people get out, then its the other team's turn to hit. If, uh, if i catch someone's ball, it's an out, too. And everyone's trying to run home..."
He trails off, looking up at Seunghyun. Hopeful.
Something tugs at his heartstrings, says come. Don't let him down. He shuffles his feet.
"Okay. That's not too complicated..." He betrays a smile, wondering if he can honestly stay in the bleachers and root for the other team. Or maybe just for one player from the other team. Maybe that makes it sort of okay.
A smile lights up the other kid's face, his cheeks flushed. "Awesome. I better run, my coach is probably wondering where I am, but stay, okay? It'll be fun and you can watch us beat your school."
He starts to head towards the dugout, turning around to walk backwards, calling back to him, "I'm number eight!", tripping slightly from not looking and flushing bright before he turns and runs towards the field.
Seunghyun follows him with his eyes until he's out of sight, lost between too many striped shirts and blue-black ball caps. Reluctantly, he makes his way to one of the bleachers, climbing to one of the higher rows, where no one can see him and comment on how he looks. It's subconsciously done, he tells himself. He doesn't really care what anyone thinks.
5 years later
It's subconscious alone that tells him to bypass the guy with the happy eyes and go straight for the one with crazy hair, like knowing that only a kindred spirit would do what he fucking pleases with his looks.
"Can I buy you a drink?" he offers, not beating around the bush, not pretending he's smoother than he is.
Skinny limbs brace the guy against the bar, kohl dark and heavy around his eyes. He smirks, tilting his head in a way that says he's clearly assessing the risk and gain.
"Rum and coke," the guy replies in lieu of explicit permission, loud enough to be heard over the din of the club, pushing himself up to sit on a stool. He's poured into tight, dark denim, rips up the thighs taking fashion to an edge.
Seunghyun takes him in inch by inch and smirks, delivering the order to the bartender and paying for it as promised. Hopefully, it won't be the last.
"Taking it slow?" he queries, shamelessly pressing into the other man's personal space. "For some reason, I thought you'd go for vodka."
A grin from the other man, tongue poking between his teeth just slightly. "Don't need to be drunk to dance with you, sexy."
And just like that, he's in, deeper than he expected to be within thirty seconds of spotting the guy. Let it never be said he has bad taste.
The drink is served and Seunghyun trails his fingers over the glass, taking in cold moisture. Thinking about something else. "Have your drink and I'll think about it."
"No, you won't," the other man replies, cocky and confident. "You want to dance with me." He leans in with a smirk. "Why else would you be here?"
Seunghyun has never been very good at playing other people's games. It's why he makes his own. He cups a hand against the back of a thin neck, tasting heat under his fingertips and notes this isn't the first drink the other man has had tonight.
"Easy. I want to take you out back and give you a nice, long fuck."
A pink tongue darts out, wetting the other man's lips in a deliberate tease. "Sweet talker. You like this with all the boys?"
Seunghyun shifts forward, a knee between the guy's legs. "What if I am?"
Dark eyes meet his, eyelashes long and dark. "Then you better do something to make me feel special."
He leans in slowly, making as though to kiss him before he tilts his head to the side and planting a sucking kiss to a pale neck. He makes no pretense about his intentions, grabbing the guy's crotch and grinding his palm against the zipper.
"Why don't we take this somewhere more private so I can show you?"
A quiet 'fuck' is whispered against his ear, enough to know he got just under the guy's skin and it makes him smirk, squeezing a little to hear him moan.
"Yeah," the other man mumbles, lips close to his ear, voice low with want. "Yeah, let's do that."
He pulls away slowly, because he likes to see their faces when they're needy and full of want for him and drags him by the belt hoops out to the backroom. It's always crowded and tonight's no exception, but filing past guys making out and guys having full-blown sex up against the walls, he finds a quieter spot where the light is perfect and the interminable wait can end. He stands for nothing if not immediate satisfaction.
He pushes the guy up against the wall, feeling hands slip into his back pockets, dragging him close. It's a high, to demand this kind of attention. To know he can do what he wants, when he wants it and he has men like this begging for more.
Seunghyun drops his head to kiss wetly along the guy's jaw, smelling sweat and the vestiges of colonge, pushing their hips together.
A broken "fuck--" echoes against his ear, warm breath pouring over his skin as the other man writhes against him. It dawns on him as it does with the others that he doesn't know his name. That he doesn't care to.
His lips catch a thin earlobe between his teeth and he flicks his tongue against it, teasing because he can. Just because he can.
Hands slide from his pockets to the front of his pants, fumbling with the close before the button and zipper give way and the man's cupping him through his underwear, grasp sure and practiced.
"You're not fucking me," comes the taunt, breath hot against his ear. "Making a promise you can't keep?"
He's better at this than the others, Seunghyun finds himself thinking, laughter rumbling from deep in his chest. It fades into a moan as the grip on his cock turns purposeful, a twist in the other man's hand sending a shiver down his spine.
"Turn around," he bites out, words thick with want.
The guy obeys, turning around and bracing himself with palms against the wall, breathing harshly. He's skin and bones under wild clothing and Seunghyun half thinks he'll break him. Doesn't stop him from taking a rough hold of his hips and tugging at him until his ass is sticking out.
He slaps his hip lightly by way of a compliment, pulling the belt open with his other hand because he's learned to multitask over the years.
The other man's cock is longer than he figured, expectations easily deceived after too many one night stands and too many shortcomings. Some of which his own. He's learned not to judge either way and gives a playful tug on the guy's length, mostly to keep him entertained until he's ready, condom and lube within reach.
It earns him a hot little whimper, slim hips pushing forward and into his fist. He's eager and willing, and it's doing things to Seunghyun that he doesn't expect after so many faceless, nameless fucks. The excitable virgin routine should be old by now.
He wonders if he is and thinks he should ask, but then reminds himself that even if it's the case, he's not about to stop. They're all adults here or they wouldn't be in the club in the first place.
Lips fasten to the nape of his neck, tasting salt, and he sinks a finger into him, not taking his time so much as satisfying curiosity.
"Fuck, you're tight," he moans, unable to hold himself back entirely. If he says he is, Seunghyun thinks he'll stop. Maybe.
"Lucky for you I'm discerning, huh?" The kid shoots back, pushing back on him, fingers curling into the wall. "Thinking about how good it's going to feel around your cock?"
"Thinking about how good it's going to feel with my cock inside you," Seunghyun corrects with a bite against soft skin. He presses deeper, searching and stretching him with sure movements. "Hope you can handle it."
Another soft, hot little noise and he feels muscles constrict around him.
"Give me two and hope you can back it up."
"Relax," he drawls softly, sinking another finger into him and scissoring them slowly. His cock slides against the other man's hip, latex smooth around it. They're in full view of countless other men doing pretty much the same thing and he doesn't give a shit.
He likes an audience.
Whether the other man thinks it's sound advice or just likes to obey, he's not sure, but he lets out a shuddering breath, tension visibly bleeding from his body and Seunghyun licks his lips, pushing in and out of him. Mimicking the motion that's soon to come.
"Three," the other man murmurs a few moments later, elbows bent and forehead pressed to the wall.
He's rarely ever seen a bottom with this kind of nerve. "Two's not enough?" Seunghyun asks softly, voice in perfect counterpoint to the movement of his fingers into the tight body before him. He grips his hip to keep him steady, drawing back his hand before thrusting deep and curling his digits forward.
The other man lets out a hot, raw sound that goes straight to his cock, almost making him wish he could see his face, see the pleasure that he's creating, that the other man's body is begging for, if not his mouth.
"You like that, huh?"
A keening sound sends him a little deeper, the other man's hips restless under his hands. As much as he likes teasing, it makes it hard to focus and he stops trying, wiping his fingers against stick thin thighs, angling his cock.
"Fuck, wait, you have a condom, right?"
"I'm not an idiot," Seunghyun mutters against his ear, tugging at the other man's cock in reprimand, making him moan. "Now shut up."
He takes a firm hold of a small waist, pushing inside of him and feeling the guy shudder under his hands.
"Oh yeah," he sighs and Seunghyun notes, detachedly, that his voice goes a little deeper when he's excited. Not that it was all that high pitched when they were trading innuendo over rum and coke.
He sets a punishing pace, thrusts sharp and ragged. Watches beads of sweat run down a pale nape, caught by the remnants of strobe lights from the floor. Sliding an arm around the other man's chest to pull him closer, his licks across smooth skin to taste the salt, burying himself deep.
The man in his arms is nothing if not vocal, a constant melody of sighs and gasps and moans falling from parted lips, and not a one sound the least bit fake. It's a high for his ego as well as his body and he rewards the other man with a harsher rhythm, practically driving him into the wall.
He's a good boy and doesn't try to speak, which is just as well because it might interfere with the way he pants, fingers curled into the brick wall as he tries to hang on. It's too dark to see properly and his face is turned away but Seunghyun glimpses a flutter of dark lashes against pale skin, a grimace caught between pleasure and agony on too young features.
"Touch yourself," he tells him, tweaking a nipple through his shirt. Maybe the kid needs encouragement. Maybe he likes being told what to do. Maybe it doesn't matter either way so long as he does it.
There's a shudder and a push of slight hips back onto his cock, and then the man's hand drops, fisting himself in slow counterpoint to Seunghyun's rhythm. He wants him to come first, wants to hear his noises and feel the spasm of a thin body around his cock. Seunghyun inhales sharply at the thought. Knows his orgasm will be better if the other man has his first. Funny how that works out.
Seunghyun draws back, spine arching almost painfully before he sinks in again. Loves the sound his partner makes so he does it again, gripping dark hair in a fist and forcing their lips together. He wants to be memorable.
The other man shakes, whimpering against his lips but he doesn't say stop so Seunghyun doesn't bother to consider the possibility. Just pushes, pushes forward and pushes himself closer and closer to his own release, listening to the musicality of the man's moan as he jerks in Seunghyun's grasp, going tense as a live wire, and comes hard over his hand and the wall in front of him.
It's not pretty so much as it's beautiful, Seunghyun thinks, because he made it happen, and it twists something inside him to know that he can. Both fists dropping to grab onto slim hips, he drives hard into clenched muscle, listening to moans that become sharp little cries of surprise, fueling his own release.
The other ceases to be a man, be a partner, so much as he becomes a sensation. A validation. A triumph, and Seunghyun bites hard into the pale skin of his shoulder when he comes, burying himself deep inside the other in his release, sure to leave bruises on sharp hips.
He hangs on long moments after, listening to their combined pulse return to something resembling normality. His lips taste wet skin and cologne he doesn't recognize, something sweet under it all that's probably the other man's own scent.
It's enough to wake him up, pulling back and out of the other man, listening to the soft noise of discomfort his makes as he pulls up his pants. Seunghyun tucks himself back inside his jeans, having tossed the condom to the floor, nothing sanitary in a place, an act like this.
The other man turns to face him, a hand against the wall and face still flushed from his orgasm. He grins and for a moment his face is unguarded and there's no innuendo between them.
"Man of your word, huh?" he chuckles, breaths a little labored.
Seunghyun smirks and reads adoration in eyes that say different things to different people. "I'll see you around."
"Wait, did you want to hang around? Maybe grab another drink?" The other man asks, taking a step forward.
It's sweet in the way puppies are sweet, but Seunghyun knows he's not looking for a relationship. This was just a bit of fun. Totally harmless.
"Nah, I'm good," he retorts, walking backwards. "But hey, it was fun." Smirks at him as he turns his back, striding out of the backrooms and onto the club floor. Leave them wanting and waiting and missing out.
It's about damn time.
1-3 months later
He really likes the song playing on the club's PA. That's why he's not out there in the center of the dancefloor, grinding with the rest of them. He likes the song so he sits on the sidelines and lets it pour over him.
More than one twink gives him the eye, but it seems like too much work, so he keeps his stare impassive and they all lose interest pretty fast. It's not that he's gotten tired of it. Who can get tired of a fresh fuck any time he wants it? It just that he's not in the mood tonight. He just wants to sit by the bar and listen to music and maybe dance a little later. It's not a fucking crime.
"Can I buy you a drink?" intones a soft voice somewhere on his left, like a genie sitting on his shoulder.
He turns to deliver a terse "fuck off" when something in the tonality of the question tugs at his memory. Makes him hesitate long enough to see who's asking. Hair styled stiff with gel and a set of lashes drawn under his eye in pencil. A broad smile.
For the life of him, Seunghyun can't remember his name. Past precedent would suggest he never even asked it. Sincerely hoping this won't turn into some 'why didn't you call me' trap, he nods. "Yeah, sure. Soju with lime."
The answering smile is almost brighter, if that's possible.
He orders a rum and coke for himself, something nervous in the way he taps his fingers against the bar. "I love this song," he calls over the music, as though apologetic.
Odds are they fucked at some point. It's fairly likely, considering he's fucked half the people who come here since he found the place.
"Me too," he offers in return, a bit at a loss. Small talk with old fucks really isn't his forte and unless the kid wants a replay, he's failing to see the point of it.
A flush rises to pale cheeks. "I'm waiting for someone and I hate to drink alone," he explains, as though sensing the awkwardness. "And you don't look busy."
Seunghyun bristles slightly at that, but shrugs. "Yeah, well..."
The other man scoots closer, moving from the stool he's on to the one between him, tucking a foot up under himself in a feat of balance Seunghyun has to admit he himself isn't capable of. "I'm Jiyong. We've....met, but it's cool if you don't remember."
The bartender sets Seunghyun's drink in front of him.
He smiles into the bottle, not bothering to pour into the empty glass set beside it or confirm that he has no idea who this man is. Maybe if he saw him naked, he thinks and takes a swig.
"So. Who're you waiting for?" he asks after a pause, alcohol burning down his throat.
"My boyfriend. He's meeting me here after work." Jiyong sips at his drink, still smiling, looking out over the crowd of people. "I have a bad habit of being early."
Ugh, relationships, Seunghyun thinks and barely holds a grimace from his face. "Won't he mind seeing you drinking with strangers?" he asks instead, making conversation.
A shrug from the other man, his foot kicking absently against the stool. "Fucking them, maybe, but I think he's cool with me talking to people." It's said with almost playful sarcasm, emphasis on the word talking. "We're very modern that way."
Touché. On a better day, he might counter with an offer for a quickie for old times' sake, but right then and there, he'd rather sit and drink, even if the music has changed to the usual peppy shit they play in here.
"So what's your name? Or are you not big on sharing?" Jiyong asks, not seeming to give up on the idea of the conversation his boyfriend so emphatically approves of, tilting his head to the side as he looks at him.
Seunghyun takes another swig and arches an eyebrow. "Thought we met already. Don't tell me you can't remember. I'm hurt."
"I said we met. I never said you introduced yourself," the other points out, smirking. "But fine, we'll play your game. I'm an inconsiderate one night stand."
"Cheers," he snorts, lifting his half-empty bottle in toast. The other man obligingly clinks his glass against it. For that and that alone, Seunghyun offers his name.
"Seunghyun," the other man repeats, smirk still a little too close to a smile on his lips. "Nice to meet you. Again."
"You too. Jiyong." It's like they're repeating each other's names so they don't forget. As if it's important to remember. As if there's going to be a next time. Perish the thought.
Next
A/N: Please do not comment unless you accept the basic dignity, equality, and inherent worth of all human beings.
Authors:butterflyweb and rawthornewrites
Rating: NC-17
Pairing:GDTOP
Summary:What could've been, what might've been, what should've been, and what is.
Pain surges up his knee and up his hip but it's nothing new. He hates running for this very reason. This and the lack of air, the sense of suffocating with every step. The PE teacher calls him lazy because he doesn't try.
The PE teacher doesn't hang around after hours to see that sometimes he does try. Sometimes he doesn't have any choice.
"Hey, fatty, hold up," they call after him, taunts and catcalls like individual claws sinking into his back.
Air burns his lungs on every inhale, sending fire like a lit trail of gasoline down the back of his throat and into his chest. He wishes a heart attack would just put him out of his misery but no such luck, sweat dampening his hair and the small of his back.
The boys catch up with him easily, slapping hands over his shoulders when he bends forward, panting into the tarmac.
"Just... leave me... alone." He wishes he could cry but all he feels is anger. Hatred. He's as afraid of them as he is of dogs, that's why he doesn't have pets.
"Aw, what's a matter, Choi? Gonna cry? Go ahead, lose some of that water weight!" the tallest one jeers, arm tight around his shoulder and neck.
He tries to shake off the grip, but his limbs are weak and aching and he doesn't make it any further than a feeble shove. He's rewarded with one right back, hard enough to make him trip over his feet.
"Come on, get up! Grow some balls!" one of them snaps, a mean glint in his eyes that says he's in it to genuinely hurt, with fists and feet and words.
"Fuck off," Seunghyun pants, bravery where there's none, even though he knows it's just going to come back ten fold.
There's a halfhearted kick to his legs, like they can't believe he has the nerve for a comeback, but they don't do much worse and he manages to pick himself up to hands and knees. It's a bad idea. As soon as he's done it, he goes back again, the left of his face aching.
"Stay down, bitch." It's punctuated by a sneakered foot pushing hard at his shoulder, sending him down on his back, the three of them standing over him.
"I'm surprised you can even feel it under all that," he taunts.
They talk to him like he's not fully human. A few pounds and he's another species, somehow deserving of their rage. He has dreams of kicking their skulls in when he sleeps, so maybe it's a mutual thing.
He doesn't speak up again, trying to shift away from the shoe pressing on his bones, gripping weakly at a muscled ankle. Tears well in his eyes and he blinks them away, just barely, before they spill.
"What, no smart comebacks? Huh? Run out of clever fucking things to say?" Another shoe kicks at his side. "Come on, fatty, fight back! I dare you."
He curls in on himself, wanting to die. Wanting to disappear. This is why he's anti-social, he thinks, wishing his parents could see him. This is why he doesn't bring people home and why he doesn't talk about girls.
The boys tire of him, cussing and kicking weakly. Losing interest when it becomes apparent he's too broken to fight back.
"Fucking loser," one of them spits, thankfully not literally, and they leave him there, like a cat abandons a dead mouse once it fails to give sport.
He listens to their footsteps fade on the blacktop, limbs aching and fingertips sticky with blood when he touches the cut on his cheek.
One day, he's gonna get back at them for this.
He sits up wearily, biting his wrist to hold back a shout of frustration. Why do they do this? What do they get out of it?
More selfishly, he wonders why it has to be him.
There's the scrape of footsteps on the cement and he feels his stomach flip in disgust and worse, fear. What, they didn't fucking have enough?
"Are you...are you okay?"
The voice is quiet, decidedly younger and less cruel than the assholes who'd just cleared out. It doesn't make it any more welcome.
"Go away."
He doesn't want to be seen and pitied when he's like this. He may be a loser but he has his pride.
"I think you're, uh, bleeding." The figure kneels beside him, but he doesn't reach out to touch him, not like the school nurse who pokes and prods at him whenever he goes in to see her from walking into too many doors.
"I said, go away," Seunghyun snaps, knowing he's pressing his luck. What upper hand does he have if the kid decides to drop the good Samaritan routine and take a shot himself? The expensive Nike's on his feet and school-issued sweats only serve to underline the possibility.
He glares like a wounded animal, nervous. Scared.
The other boy holds up both hands. "Sorry, I'll go, I just... uh, what's the way to the field? I got lost." He flushes with heat, dropping his eyes to the gravel.
"What field?" Seunghyun asks reluctantly. Well, the sooner he can give him the information, the sooner he'll leave and he can be alone to lick his wounds before he has to call his mom to pick him up. He's more than sure he's missed the bus by now.
"Baseball," the kid replies, and Seunghyun just now takes notice of the glove tucked under his arm.
"You don't go to my school," he points out, astutely. He may be a ghost to everyone else, but he sees them. He knows their faces. Which ones he should avoid and which are safe to be around.
The boy ducks his head, speaking to the tarmac instead of him. "I don't. I'm with the other team?" His posture says don't hate me, shoulders hunched and hand dragging in the dirt.
"We play you guys today." Dark bangs in bad need of a cut fall in the other boy's eyes, half obscuring his face and he's hiding. Seunghyun knows--he's done it often enough himself. What he doesn't understand is why a jock is sitting there, kneeling on the hard ground, acting like he's the one who's going to have his head taken off.
"I hope you kick our asses," Seunghyun tells him, dead serious. "We deserve it." They deserve it. He's no more a part of the student body than he is part of their cliques. They don't want him here.
It startles something like a smile out of the other kid, spindly legs shifting until they're crossed and tucked under him, settling down like he plans to stay.
"Well, my team might. I kind of plan to stay in right field and hope the ball isn't hit to me."
"Why?" Seunghyun surprises himself by asking, inviting conversation and maybe he really is that lonely that he'll talk to anyone who won't swear at him. "Aren't you supposed to be really good to be on the team?"
The kid shrugs. "I'm second-string. Youngsoo hyung has bronchitis, he's out for the next few games."
He has no idea who Youngsoo is and he doesn't really care, picking himself up gingerly because the bruises still show, no matter how many times he experiences them.
"Come on, I'll walk you to the field."
The kid gets quickly to his feet, something between a smile and a flush on his cheeks. "Yeah? Thanks. I'd never hear the end of it if I missed the game cause I was lost." He tilts his head a bit. "How old are you?"
"Sixteen." It doesn't occur to him to lie, to think anything of it. No one ever asks how old he is or what he wants to do after high school. It's like the whole school, teachers and students alike, have decided that once he hits eighteen, he'll get a heart attack and die. Isn't that what fat people do?
He presses nails into his palms, trying to walk without a limp. "Why? How old are you?"
"Fifteen." The kid hangs close to him, a few inches shorter and it's not even worth guessing how much lighter. "So you're my hyung then." He scratches at his wrist. "I mean, if you don't mind me calling you that."
"As long as you don't call me names, we're cool." It's a foreign phrase and he almost didn't know he could fathom it let alone say it to someone flesh and bone. "What's your name?"
"Jiyong. What's yours?"
It feels strange. Too painfully normal and he thinks it says something about how fucked up he is that he can't stop waiting for the shoe to drop. "Seunghyun."
"Seunghyun," the kid repeats, as if comminiting his name to memory, then looks up, making eye contact with him for the first time. "Thank you for being so nice, Seunghyun hyung."
He doesn't know if he's supposed to smile or take the other boy's temperature because he's not known for being nice. He's not known for being much else besides the fat kid. In the end, he's the first to look away.
"No problem." His throat feels tight for a long moment, because maybe if he went to another school, maybe if he knew someone like Jiyong here... It's a pipe dream. Every school is hell for someone like him. He clears his throat. "I don't think our team is very good. So the odds are in your favor."
Jiyong smiles, even as he doesn't quite look up, gaze turned back to the pavement, watching his shoes as they walk.
"You should stay. Cheer us on. Away games suck cause everyone acts like you're there to spit in their face." He hesitates for a moment. "I mean, you don't have to. I'm sure you have other things to do."
He doesn't and he almost says so, the words on the tip of his tongue. He could spend the rest of the day here and half the night before his parents start looking, but cheering for the other team will only end with more pain for him. Especially if they win.
"I need to get home and do... homework." It's a poor excuse.
The kid's face shutters a bit, but he nods, punching his hand into his glove. "That's cool. I mean, that's good. It'll probably be a boring game anyway."
They're coming up on the diamond, parents and students and players milling around between the stands and the refreshments, cars parked haphazardly in the grass.
It's another world, different from that of Seunghyun's normal school days. He hovers at the edge, because he doesn't belong here.
"I don't think it'll be boring," he mutters quietly, hands thrust deep into his pockets.
They stop, Jiyong turning to him, picking at the seam of his glove. "Then come. You might have fun." His voice is hardly audible.
"I don't know..." If he should. It's asking for trouble, in so many ways. At least when you're alone, there's no one to let you down but yourself. "I don't know the rules," he admits, sheepishly and darts a nervous look in Jiyong's direction.
"It's...um, it's easy. If you hit the ball, you run to get on base and if you get tagged, it's an out. If three people get out, then its the other team's turn to hit. If, uh, if i catch someone's ball, it's an out, too. And everyone's trying to run home..."
He trails off, looking up at Seunghyun. Hopeful.
Something tugs at his heartstrings, says come. Don't let him down. He shuffles his feet.
"Okay. That's not too complicated..." He betrays a smile, wondering if he can honestly stay in the bleachers and root for the other team. Or maybe just for one player from the other team. Maybe that makes it sort of okay.
A smile lights up the other kid's face, his cheeks flushed. "Awesome. I better run, my coach is probably wondering where I am, but stay, okay? It'll be fun and you can watch us beat your school."
He starts to head towards the dugout, turning around to walk backwards, calling back to him, "I'm number eight!", tripping slightly from not looking and flushing bright before he turns and runs towards the field.
Seunghyun follows him with his eyes until he's out of sight, lost between too many striped shirts and blue-black ball caps. Reluctantly, he makes his way to one of the bleachers, climbing to one of the higher rows, where no one can see him and comment on how he looks. It's subconsciously done, he tells himself. He doesn't really care what anyone thinks.
5 years later
It's subconscious alone that tells him to bypass the guy with the happy eyes and go straight for the one with crazy hair, like knowing that only a kindred spirit would do what he fucking pleases with his looks.
"Can I buy you a drink?" he offers, not beating around the bush, not pretending he's smoother than he is.
Skinny limbs brace the guy against the bar, kohl dark and heavy around his eyes. He smirks, tilting his head in a way that says he's clearly assessing the risk and gain.
"Rum and coke," the guy replies in lieu of explicit permission, loud enough to be heard over the din of the club, pushing himself up to sit on a stool. He's poured into tight, dark denim, rips up the thighs taking fashion to an edge.
Seunghyun takes him in inch by inch and smirks, delivering the order to the bartender and paying for it as promised. Hopefully, it won't be the last.
"Taking it slow?" he queries, shamelessly pressing into the other man's personal space. "For some reason, I thought you'd go for vodka."
A grin from the other man, tongue poking between his teeth just slightly. "Don't need to be drunk to dance with you, sexy."
And just like that, he's in, deeper than he expected to be within thirty seconds of spotting the guy. Let it never be said he has bad taste.
The drink is served and Seunghyun trails his fingers over the glass, taking in cold moisture. Thinking about something else. "Have your drink and I'll think about it."
"No, you won't," the other man replies, cocky and confident. "You want to dance with me." He leans in with a smirk. "Why else would you be here?"
Seunghyun has never been very good at playing other people's games. It's why he makes his own. He cups a hand against the back of a thin neck, tasting heat under his fingertips and notes this isn't the first drink the other man has had tonight.
"Easy. I want to take you out back and give you a nice, long fuck."
A pink tongue darts out, wetting the other man's lips in a deliberate tease. "Sweet talker. You like this with all the boys?"
Seunghyun shifts forward, a knee between the guy's legs. "What if I am?"
Dark eyes meet his, eyelashes long and dark. "Then you better do something to make me feel special."
He leans in slowly, making as though to kiss him before he tilts his head to the side and planting a sucking kiss to a pale neck. He makes no pretense about his intentions, grabbing the guy's crotch and grinding his palm against the zipper.
"Why don't we take this somewhere more private so I can show you?"
A quiet 'fuck' is whispered against his ear, enough to know he got just under the guy's skin and it makes him smirk, squeezing a little to hear him moan.
"Yeah," the other man mumbles, lips close to his ear, voice low with want. "Yeah, let's do that."
He pulls away slowly, because he likes to see their faces when they're needy and full of want for him and drags him by the belt hoops out to the backroom. It's always crowded and tonight's no exception, but filing past guys making out and guys having full-blown sex up against the walls, he finds a quieter spot where the light is perfect and the interminable wait can end. He stands for nothing if not immediate satisfaction.
He pushes the guy up against the wall, feeling hands slip into his back pockets, dragging him close. It's a high, to demand this kind of attention. To know he can do what he wants, when he wants it and he has men like this begging for more.
Seunghyun drops his head to kiss wetly along the guy's jaw, smelling sweat and the vestiges of colonge, pushing their hips together.
A broken "fuck--" echoes against his ear, warm breath pouring over his skin as the other man writhes against him. It dawns on him as it does with the others that he doesn't know his name. That he doesn't care to.
His lips catch a thin earlobe between his teeth and he flicks his tongue against it, teasing because he can. Just because he can.
Hands slide from his pockets to the front of his pants, fumbling with the close before the button and zipper give way and the man's cupping him through his underwear, grasp sure and practiced.
"You're not fucking me," comes the taunt, breath hot against his ear. "Making a promise you can't keep?"
He's better at this than the others, Seunghyun finds himself thinking, laughter rumbling from deep in his chest. It fades into a moan as the grip on his cock turns purposeful, a twist in the other man's hand sending a shiver down his spine.
"Turn around," he bites out, words thick with want.
The guy obeys, turning around and bracing himself with palms against the wall, breathing harshly. He's skin and bones under wild clothing and Seunghyun half thinks he'll break him. Doesn't stop him from taking a rough hold of his hips and tugging at him until his ass is sticking out.
He slaps his hip lightly by way of a compliment, pulling the belt open with his other hand because he's learned to multitask over the years.
The other man's cock is longer than he figured, expectations easily deceived after too many one night stands and too many shortcomings. Some of which his own. He's learned not to judge either way and gives a playful tug on the guy's length, mostly to keep him entertained until he's ready, condom and lube within reach.
It earns him a hot little whimper, slim hips pushing forward and into his fist. He's eager and willing, and it's doing things to Seunghyun that he doesn't expect after so many faceless, nameless fucks. The excitable virgin routine should be old by now.
He wonders if he is and thinks he should ask, but then reminds himself that even if it's the case, he's not about to stop. They're all adults here or they wouldn't be in the club in the first place.
Lips fasten to the nape of his neck, tasting salt, and he sinks a finger into him, not taking his time so much as satisfying curiosity.
"Fuck, you're tight," he moans, unable to hold himself back entirely. If he says he is, Seunghyun thinks he'll stop. Maybe.
"Lucky for you I'm discerning, huh?" The kid shoots back, pushing back on him, fingers curling into the wall. "Thinking about how good it's going to feel around your cock?"
"Thinking about how good it's going to feel with my cock inside you," Seunghyun corrects with a bite against soft skin. He presses deeper, searching and stretching him with sure movements. "Hope you can handle it."
Another soft, hot little noise and he feels muscles constrict around him.
"Give me two and hope you can back it up."
"Relax," he drawls softly, sinking another finger into him and scissoring them slowly. His cock slides against the other man's hip, latex smooth around it. They're in full view of countless other men doing pretty much the same thing and he doesn't give a shit.
He likes an audience.
Whether the other man thinks it's sound advice or just likes to obey, he's not sure, but he lets out a shuddering breath, tension visibly bleeding from his body and Seunghyun licks his lips, pushing in and out of him. Mimicking the motion that's soon to come.
"Three," the other man murmurs a few moments later, elbows bent and forehead pressed to the wall.
He's rarely ever seen a bottom with this kind of nerve. "Two's not enough?" Seunghyun asks softly, voice in perfect counterpoint to the movement of his fingers into the tight body before him. He grips his hip to keep him steady, drawing back his hand before thrusting deep and curling his digits forward.
The other man lets out a hot, raw sound that goes straight to his cock, almost making him wish he could see his face, see the pleasure that he's creating, that the other man's body is begging for, if not his mouth.
"You like that, huh?"
A keening sound sends him a little deeper, the other man's hips restless under his hands. As much as he likes teasing, it makes it hard to focus and he stops trying, wiping his fingers against stick thin thighs, angling his cock.
"Fuck, wait, you have a condom, right?"
"I'm not an idiot," Seunghyun mutters against his ear, tugging at the other man's cock in reprimand, making him moan. "Now shut up."
He takes a firm hold of a small waist, pushing inside of him and feeling the guy shudder under his hands.
"Oh yeah," he sighs and Seunghyun notes, detachedly, that his voice goes a little deeper when he's excited. Not that it was all that high pitched when they were trading innuendo over rum and coke.
He sets a punishing pace, thrusts sharp and ragged. Watches beads of sweat run down a pale nape, caught by the remnants of strobe lights from the floor. Sliding an arm around the other man's chest to pull him closer, his licks across smooth skin to taste the salt, burying himself deep.
The man in his arms is nothing if not vocal, a constant melody of sighs and gasps and moans falling from parted lips, and not a one sound the least bit fake. It's a high for his ego as well as his body and he rewards the other man with a harsher rhythm, practically driving him into the wall.
He's a good boy and doesn't try to speak, which is just as well because it might interfere with the way he pants, fingers curled into the brick wall as he tries to hang on. It's too dark to see properly and his face is turned away but Seunghyun glimpses a flutter of dark lashes against pale skin, a grimace caught between pleasure and agony on too young features.
"Touch yourself," he tells him, tweaking a nipple through his shirt. Maybe the kid needs encouragement. Maybe he likes being told what to do. Maybe it doesn't matter either way so long as he does it.
There's a shudder and a push of slight hips back onto his cock, and then the man's hand drops, fisting himself in slow counterpoint to Seunghyun's rhythm. He wants him to come first, wants to hear his noises and feel the spasm of a thin body around his cock. Seunghyun inhales sharply at the thought. Knows his orgasm will be better if the other man has his first. Funny how that works out.
Seunghyun draws back, spine arching almost painfully before he sinks in again. Loves the sound his partner makes so he does it again, gripping dark hair in a fist and forcing their lips together. He wants to be memorable.
The other man shakes, whimpering against his lips but he doesn't say stop so Seunghyun doesn't bother to consider the possibility. Just pushes, pushes forward and pushes himself closer and closer to his own release, listening to the musicality of the man's moan as he jerks in Seunghyun's grasp, going tense as a live wire, and comes hard over his hand and the wall in front of him.
It's not pretty so much as it's beautiful, Seunghyun thinks, because he made it happen, and it twists something inside him to know that he can. Both fists dropping to grab onto slim hips, he drives hard into clenched muscle, listening to moans that become sharp little cries of surprise, fueling his own release.
The other ceases to be a man, be a partner, so much as he becomes a sensation. A validation. A triumph, and Seunghyun bites hard into the pale skin of his shoulder when he comes, burying himself deep inside the other in his release, sure to leave bruises on sharp hips.
He hangs on long moments after, listening to their combined pulse return to something resembling normality. His lips taste wet skin and cologne he doesn't recognize, something sweet under it all that's probably the other man's own scent.
It's enough to wake him up, pulling back and out of the other man, listening to the soft noise of discomfort his makes as he pulls up his pants. Seunghyun tucks himself back inside his jeans, having tossed the condom to the floor, nothing sanitary in a place, an act like this.
The other man turns to face him, a hand against the wall and face still flushed from his orgasm. He grins and for a moment his face is unguarded and there's no innuendo between them.
"Man of your word, huh?" he chuckles, breaths a little labored.
Seunghyun smirks and reads adoration in eyes that say different things to different people. "I'll see you around."
"Wait, did you want to hang around? Maybe grab another drink?" The other man asks, taking a step forward.
It's sweet in the way puppies are sweet, but Seunghyun knows he's not looking for a relationship. This was just a bit of fun. Totally harmless.
"Nah, I'm good," he retorts, walking backwards. "But hey, it was fun." Smirks at him as he turns his back, striding out of the backrooms and onto the club floor. Leave them wanting and waiting and missing out.
It's about damn time.
1-3 months later
He really likes the song playing on the club's PA. That's why he's not out there in the center of the dancefloor, grinding with the rest of them. He likes the song so he sits on the sidelines and lets it pour over him.
More than one twink gives him the eye, but it seems like too much work, so he keeps his stare impassive and they all lose interest pretty fast. It's not that he's gotten tired of it. Who can get tired of a fresh fuck any time he wants it? It just that he's not in the mood tonight. He just wants to sit by the bar and listen to music and maybe dance a little later. It's not a fucking crime.
"Can I buy you a drink?" intones a soft voice somewhere on his left, like a genie sitting on his shoulder.
He turns to deliver a terse "fuck off" when something in the tonality of the question tugs at his memory. Makes him hesitate long enough to see who's asking. Hair styled stiff with gel and a set of lashes drawn under his eye in pencil. A broad smile.
For the life of him, Seunghyun can't remember his name. Past precedent would suggest he never even asked it. Sincerely hoping this won't turn into some 'why didn't you call me' trap, he nods. "Yeah, sure. Soju with lime."
The answering smile is almost brighter, if that's possible.
He orders a rum and coke for himself, something nervous in the way he taps his fingers against the bar. "I love this song," he calls over the music, as though apologetic.
Odds are they fucked at some point. It's fairly likely, considering he's fucked half the people who come here since he found the place.
"Me too," he offers in return, a bit at a loss. Small talk with old fucks really isn't his forte and unless the kid wants a replay, he's failing to see the point of it.
A flush rises to pale cheeks. "I'm waiting for someone and I hate to drink alone," he explains, as though sensing the awkwardness. "And you don't look busy."
Seunghyun bristles slightly at that, but shrugs. "Yeah, well..."
The other man scoots closer, moving from the stool he's on to the one between him, tucking a foot up under himself in a feat of balance Seunghyun has to admit he himself isn't capable of. "I'm Jiyong. We've....met, but it's cool if you don't remember."
The bartender sets Seunghyun's drink in front of him.
He smiles into the bottle, not bothering to pour into the empty glass set beside it or confirm that he has no idea who this man is. Maybe if he saw him naked, he thinks and takes a swig.
"So. Who're you waiting for?" he asks after a pause, alcohol burning down his throat.
"My boyfriend. He's meeting me here after work." Jiyong sips at his drink, still smiling, looking out over the crowd of people. "I have a bad habit of being early."
Ugh, relationships, Seunghyun thinks and barely holds a grimace from his face. "Won't he mind seeing you drinking with strangers?" he asks instead, making conversation.
A shrug from the other man, his foot kicking absently against the stool. "Fucking them, maybe, but I think he's cool with me talking to people." It's said with almost playful sarcasm, emphasis on the word talking. "We're very modern that way."
Touché. On a better day, he might counter with an offer for a quickie for old times' sake, but right then and there, he'd rather sit and drink, even if the music has changed to the usual peppy shit they play in here.
"So what's your name? Or are you not big on sharing?" Jiyong asks, not seeming to give up on the idea of the conversation his boyfriend so emphatically approves of, tilting his head to the side as he looks at him.
Seunghyun takes another swig and arches an eyebrow. "Thought we met already. Don't tell me you can't remember. I'm hurt."
"I said we met. I never said you introduced yourself," the other points out, smirking. "But fine, we'll play your game. I'm an inconsiderate one night stand."
"Cheers," he snorts, lifting his half-empty bottle in toast. The other man obligingly clinks his glass against it. For that and that alone, Seunghyun offers his name.
"Seunghyun," the other man repeats, smirk still a little too close to a smile on his lips. "Nice to meet you. Again."
"You too. Jiyong." It's like they're repeating each other's names so they don't forget. As if it's important to remember. As if there's going to be a next time. Perish the thought.
Next
A/N: Please do not comment unless you accept the basic dignity, equality, and inherent worth of all human beings.