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They’re settled against the bar. Seungwoo draped over Subin, an arm curled around his waist. Subin’s cheek rests against his shoulder, a hand tucked in one of Seungwoo’s pockets. There’s a visible flush to them both, high in their cheeks, almost enough to look alive. They’ve got drinks on either side of them, untouched and sweating against the counter.
They really make quite the pair.
Seungwoo, long-limbed and pale, shirt loose, low on his collar. There’s leather wrapped around his neck, attached to a harness that trails under his shirt. It lifts easily, the slightest movement revealing the straps fitted around his waist. He meets the eyes of every stare, smile smug and throat bared to show he’s something owned. He’s so blatant it’s almost off putting at times, like he’d brand himself if Subin would only let him. Subin had done him up nicely for tonight and that was close enough, he supposed.
(Hair clipped out of place, Subin in his lap, the gentle pass of fingers over his eyelid, a pencil tracing along his eyeline. A grip on Subin’s waist, wandering hands always trying to be a distraction. Subin had stayed the course, tugged him up to get him dressed, fastened the collar around his neck with every ounce of sweetness left in his corpse. Teeth scraping along Seungwoo’s jaw, maybe Subin did get a little distracted, he’d made such a pretty picture who could blame him—)
Subin is always something more understated, at least at first glance. A surly shadow under Seungwoo’s arm. But then you see the layers and layers, too hot for the persistent humidity of the club, the straps and rings and necklaces that catch the light just so, gaudy and shining. The smoke and sheen of days-old makeup dutifully reapplied. There’s always a hand in Seungwoo’s pocket, a thumb hooked into a belt loop, fingers around a wrist. Constant connection, like distance hurts.
(And then Seungwoo, over-fond, eyes trailing after Subin as he putters around their shitty little apartment. Soft answers for, “Have you seen my—?” Leaning against the doorframe as Subin presses close to the mirror, makes himself up just as nice. Subin lets Seungwoo rifle through his jewelry for him, heirlooms and cheap little things alike, lets him slide the rings on his fingers, a kiss pressed to each knuckle, lets him fasten the bracelets around his wrist, a kiss pressed against his veins.)
The light is low enough to obscure the sickly yellow of Subin's eyes, no longer hidden behind the tint of his glasses which instead rest low on his nose as he looks over the club. His gaze dances from body to body, taking in the way they press together almost urgently. Hands gripping hips, faces tucked against necks. There’s a desperation in the air mingling with all the sweat and alcohol, the cling of cigarette smoke and weed, the persistent thrum of blood. The bass is heavy, pounds in his ears in place of a heartbeat.
There’s the other eyes, too. Just like their own. Tucked away in the corners, the low tables, honey sweet voices and beckoning fingers for unwitting kine. Some Subin knows, others he doesn’t care to. Seungwoo is the more social of the two though that’s hardly saying much. Seungwoo is easy smiles and pleasantries, polite small talk but only ever staying as long as he needs to. Subin is prickly and reclusive, tires of the noise and press of bodies much quicker. He’d brought them into the city, ironically, decades spent in the quiet seclusion of the country wearing him thin. He’d regretted it just as quickly, but here they stayed. Something to be said about the city dog and the country dog, maybe.
Seungwoo nuzzles his face into Subin’s hair, tracing his nails along the skin of his hip. His fingers absently inch past the press of Subin’s waistband, ignoring the elbow that digs into his ribs. He just snorts, hand trailing under his shirt to rest flat against his stomach. There’s a faint sensation of warmth, the blood keeping them lukewarm and his brain supplying what must be a phantom feeling of life. Seungwoo pushes just so slightly against the gentle give of his stomach, claws scraping against the skin. Feels the coarse catch of hair under his fingertips, peach fuzz thickened by time spent running wild. Always the excuse of letting his bones breathe.
He remembers times before, long before, when Subin would wander but always came back to him bloody and proud, carcasses of this and that dragged to his porch like trophies. And Seungwoo would thank him, kiss him, taste the blood on his teeth and tongue, let him rut against him and see him cleaned when he had his fill. His little wild thing.
And there were times Seungwoo would wander, too, Months and months spent gone without a word. It scared Subin at first and that he felt sorry for, even then. It didn’t keep him home but Subin would wait for him, curled up like a well-trained dog, until he didn’t. He’d taken for granted the security of coming back to something, forgetting the sting of an empty house. Seungwoo doesn’t remember those days as fondly.
“You’re being sentimental, I can feel it,” Subin’s tone is almost-scolding but too distant to carry any real harshness, attention still focused elsewhere.
“Mm, I’m just thinking of old times.”
He noses along the shell of Subin’s ear. His is the scent of old earth and long-stale perfume that he rations diligently, won’t throw out because it stopped being made a century ago.
“God, you’re a sap.”
“Won’t you humor me for just a moment, love?”
“I thought we were supposed to be window-shopping,” not quite put out but getting there. He’s still just as neatly tucked against Seungwoo’s side, hand still anchored in his pocket, but Seungwoo wants more of him. Always more.
“I just want you tonight,” it’s almost a whine, face pressed against Subin’s hair. Subin sighs heavily, the push and pull of air a little clumsy. He tries to shake Seungwoo off but he won’t budge, all long-limbed dead weight.
“Then why did we even go out?” Now he’s annoyed. Subin all but shoves his face away, a palm over his mouth and a grimace when Seungwoo’s tongue inevitably presses against the skin.
“You’re awful.”
“I can be worse.”
“Knock it off.”
“Oh, come on.”
Seungwoo crowds him against the bar, hips pressed against hips, forehead pressed against forehead. His eyebrows are furrowed, a frown set on his lips, but Subin drapes his arms over Seungwoo’s shoulders, hands in his hair and nails scratching lightly at his nape. There’s a drag of hips and Seungwoo licks into Subin’s mouth, tongue catching on his teeth.
They worried for a time if the fire would ever go away. Would they grow tired of each other? Would the other’s touch grow dull, the familiarity stifling rather than a comfort? But there’s an answer in the sweet sound Subin makes against Seungwoo’s mouth, exhaled on an ever clumsy sigh. There’s an answer in the way they fit together so perfectly, the way Seungwoo’s hands settle over his hips, the way Subin’s fingers curl around his neck.
“If you two try to fuck on my bar again I’ll never forgive you,” Sooyoung’s voice is dry and loud, punctuated by a glass placed on the counter. Then the telltale sound of splintering glass and a quiet curse. It’s a loss to mourn, not one of her vessels matching the other. This casualty was bright green, textured with foliage that wrapped around and around. She liked things eclectic, or maybe tacky was the better word.; every inch of Eden was filled with her, with her love, and no one would ever think otherwise.
The scowl on her face is close to permanent when it comes to dealing with the two of them, but Subin is a scrunched smile, elbows against the bar as he turns away from Seungwoo. Weight settles against his back, not warm but a comfort all the same.
“We’ll get out of your hair soon, promise.”
Sooyoung scoffs.
“While you're here, Chaewon is looking for you. She’s with one of yours.”
She leans over the bar with her arm outstretched. Subin cranes his neck to follow the point of her finger, eyes landing on two shocks of blue tucked away in a corner. Two sets of eyes raise almost simultaneously at the attention and Subin can catch the happy gleam of teeth. He turns to peer up at Seungwoo, snorting at the way he’s pushed his lower lip out into a lazy pout.
(They both had a good deal of fondness for her. Chaewon had lugged her girl half-dead to their apartment, tears streaming red down her face and babbling long past any hope of comprehension. All they’d been able to get out of her was her insistence that, “She can’t be like me, she can’t be like me.”
They still didn’t know what had really happened and they weren’t going to ask. It wasn’t their business to begin with, really. Hyejoo didn’t care for them much, the already rare trace of kinship among their bunch skipping her completely it would seem, not that they could really blame her. And Chaewon was dodgy about everything whether she meant to be or not and it never felt right to press too much.)
“We’ll catch up with her before we go. Right, Seungwoo?”
Seungwoo groans, knocking his head against Subin’s but giving a nod all the same. Like he wasn’t the reason they were here to begin with. One of the hands still settled on Subin’s hips gets an only mostly condescending pat before he’s pulling the both of them off to the side.
Their greeting is an iron grip on Subin’s wrists, wide eyes peering up at him, and the knowledge that they most certainly wouldn’t be on their way out any time soon. Subin is wrestled from Seungwoo’s grasp and squeezed into the booth alongside Chaewon and Sejun, the two of them chattering a hundred miles a minute, interspersed with some chastising about how difficult he was to get a hold of. It’s a moment before Seungwoo accepts his fate, taking a seat opposite to Subin and watching on in mild amusement.
This was just as fine, the night was young after all.