Chapter Text
Last year it was Hong Kong, this year it’s Tokyo.
Park Seonghwa has been forced to take part in these annual family trips for the past few years or so. It’s his mom and dad’s way of desperately clinging on to their illusive family bond involving two adult children who don’t live with them anymore.
His parents don’t even have the fondest view of Japan, but they must’ve negotiated that it’s the closest and most inexpensive option left without traveling outside of Asia. They’d rather go to Japan than anywhere outside of the continent that they belong to. And that’s just the type of parents they are; racist, xenophobic, and homophobic to boot.
There are forty-something countries in Asia though so Seonghwa still doesn’t understand the thought process behind their travels at all.
The main readerboard inside the train says 21:00 above the doorway; the day is just now surrendering to 9:00PM.
Seonghwa is Shinjuku-bound on the Toei Subway Line, a straight shot to his destination from Asakusa. It’s only Day 3 of the fun family getaway and it hasn’t been too unbearable so far, but it hasn’t been fantastic either.
Seonghwa dropped out of college at the beginning of this year, after making a struggled headway towards a degree in interior design.
He didn’t exactly drop out per se, he’s just on a special leave from courses. Failing college isn’t known to be probable at the institution he’s attending, it only rarely happens, but apparently it is indeed possible because here Seonghwa is.
So, that’s been cool.
Troubled, bored, and apparently in the mood to make his parents hate him even more, Seonghwa bleached his hair platinum blonde just a handful of days before they left for Tokyo. Every time his mom looks at him she appears as though she deeply regrets ever having a son. His father won’t make eye contact with him when he wears makeup.
They hate his labret piercing, they hate any expressions of individuality, really.
“Is that wound on your lip not healed yet?”
His mom nags him about his piercing every day, if not multiple times a day, and he never has any respectful responses to provide so he doesn’t respond at all.
Seonghwa has been floating around like a lone bubble, a bubble that wobbles aimlessly for a little bit longer than any of the others do; just waiting for something to come along and compel it to pop, waiting to get hit with some clarity, to be freed from the confines of the iridescent trap.
The train is crammed, but most passengers are solo and keeping to themselves, reading, napping, spellbound by their phones. Seonghwa glances ahead to where his sister is standing with her arm raised above her head, fingers clasping tight to the ring of the tsurikawa handle, other hand with a firm hold on her unbelievably large tomato-red purse.
He’s not even a consistent employee at work anymore. Seonghwa doesn’t know what has happened to him, truthfully. He used to be such a diligent individual, he used to be actively involved in sports clubs at school and he used to try to date around. At some point over the past year he just started to feel a heaviness. He wouldn't be able to explain it even if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to paint a picture of it for anyone. He never used to think about what it feels like to get up, or to simply walk, but it’s as if those natural things suddenly felt hard; contrived.
Seonghwa is honestly surprised that his parents even wanted him on this vacation after the hair situation, let alone what a fuck-up he’s been these past several months. They just barely tolerate him.
They’re not here visiting during Japan’s cherry blossom season, unfortunately, but Seonghwa’s parents wanted to avoid the Golden Week crowd in addition to fitting in their trip before the rainy season starts, which is all valid enough.
The weather has been ideal, the days are starting to stretch longer. There lacks a stickiness in the air that’ll certainly be seething back home in Korea by the time Seonghwa returns from his trip in three weeks’ time. And in the furthest, innermost corner of his mind, as this train shifts and chugs along, he’s making a half-assed promise to himself to get his shit together by that time, too.
Nothing could’ve prepared Seonghwa for how much of a turning point tonight would actually shape out to be.
He spent the day exploring around the Imperial Palace area downtown in Chiyoda with his parents and sister, and now he’s on his way to meet up with his high school friend San, who’s attending some world-renowned culinary school in Shinjuku.
Which is fitting for San; he used to cook for Seonghwa all the time. They’d eat his cooking more than they’d eat takeout. And any cooking skills that Seonghwa has he can credit to San for teaching him.
He’s just hoping that their conversation this evening will mostly revolve around San and what he’s been up to. Seonghwa isn’t looking forward to bullshitting about any school or work-related questions on his end. Because of course Seonghwa hasn’t told a single living soul about any of his shit. Not even his roommate, Yunho, who he probably spends the most time with more than anybody else. But why tell anyone about a temporary setback.
Seonghwa’s sister is going to spend her night out in Shinjuku with some online influencer friends of hers. She had mentioned something about hanging out at an izakaya for drinks and a bite to eat.
They’re about four stops away from their station, according to the multilingual voice on the overhead speakers inside the train’s packed compartment.
Seonghwa’s phone vibrates in his pocket.
Seung-yeon:
I feel uncomfortable
Seonghwa:
?
Seung-yeon:
Guy behind me
He peers up from his phone and eyes a guy wearing a leather jacket, towering over his sister from behind. The guy next to him seems to be his acquaintance, they’re smirking and speaking in undertones to one another. The aura drafted on both of their faces isn’t necessarily virtuous.
Seonghwa:
Did he touch you
Seung-yeon:
No
Not exactly
Just feel like he might
Idk
Seonghwa stows his phone and scoots his way through the hushed crowd of standing commuters. He gives this guy one more look over as he approaches. He’s unusually tall and has a pendant on a chain around his neck that Seonghwa doesn’t bother to contemplate in detail. He’s not paying much attention to Seonghwa, or his sister now, thankfully.
There’s not enough room for them to relocate very far, but with a gentle hand on his sister’s back, Seonghwa guides them away a few steps, the both of them staggering slightly and apologizing quietly to a woman in business attire.
“Are you okay?”
Impetuously, Seung-yeon nods and tucks her hair behind her ear. “I think so, I don’t know I was just getting a bad feeling….”
“It’ll be fine. Don’t get separated from your friends, stick together, and from here on out I’ll make sure that we’re always next to each other when we’re on trains together,” Seonghwa says, keeping his voice low. “Text me when you find your friends, and later on when you get back to the hotel, too.”
“I feel stupid for wearing a skirt….”
Her voice is quavering, just enough for Seonghwa to detect.
“You’re not stupid, you’re allowed to wear what you want to,” Seonghwa murmurs, looking down at their shoes. “It’s his fault, not yours.”
No, Seonghwa doesn’t feel close to his sister whatsoever. He feels like ultimately she alienates him alongside their parents, but how could he not care for her in a circumstance like this.
And he should be the last one judging anybody on their fashion choices. He’s wearing a pair of black pleather pants and a studded crossbody harness. His loose-fitting knit sweater pacifies the whole outfit and makes it feel more casual though.
Seonghwa unceremoniously parts ways with his sister after they exit the train at their stop and scan their Suica transportation cards at the automatic ticket gate.
He meets San right outside underneath the lofty green sign at the station and it’s a lively reunion. Seonghwa scoops San up in his arms.
“Sanni are you eating well? You have a patch in your hair,” Seonghwa says, overwhelmed at the sight of a familiar face and pleasantly surprised by San’s new look. “Sorry, I haven’t really kept up with stuff on social media lately….”
“I had it blonde at first, but now it’s teal! My classmates call it my pie chart hair,” he explains cheerfully, tightening his hug around Seonghwa and wiggling the both of them around a bit.
“That’s so cute, do you like your classmates? And god, have you been working out?”
San wants to show Seonghwa around some bars in Ni-Chome, Tokyo’s gay district, so they take off leisurely and Seonghwa promptly realizes that he has more catching up to do with San than he thought.
San has been open about his sexuality for as long as Seonghwa can remember. People in high school were always quick to assume that the two of them were a secret couple. And those rumors never really bothered Seonghwa.
Seonghwa does receive a text from his sister letting him know that she’s safe with her friends, as he and San begin passing by narrower roads and alleyways, the color red boasting in lanterns and signage everywhere they turn. It’s busy outside with Friday’s thriving nightlife.
Next to San, Seonghwa feels as if he’s where he belongs. San has a way of making people feel comfortable, one of many things Seonghwa has always admired about him. Seonghwa wishes that he had the capacity to be this type of person for someone.
Together they stride through streets upon endless streets filled to the brim with flashing signs, vertical and jumbled perfectly; the city is almost more alive in this evening saturation than it is during daylight hours, melodies pouring out of each building they walk by, traffic like marching ants even now.
They wait to cross the road alongside a swarm of other pedestrians, shock waves of music tumbling from the giant mouth of an arcade on the street corner directly behind them. Those tunes are layered on top of more jingles from large screen projections with advertisements on major crosswalks like these, echoing out and reaching all the way to taller skyscrapers in the distance, their little windows illuminated like planets.
EAGLE Tokyo is a clean, modern bar that San and Seonghwa meander inside and find seats at, and it feels nice to laugh again. Seonghwa doesn’t know much Japanese or English but San knows a notable amount of both and the bartender is convivial and good at what he does.
Condensed packs of people are meeting up, bowing, embracing, shaking hands; loud voices, loud conversations. Some guys are checking Seonghwa out, maybe, he doesn’t know, it’s probably just because of his damn hair.
After a couple of drinks they step back out into the night air and carry on to check out a neighboring bar called Dragon, that’s much darker, smokier, a photograph with bokeh blur.
There’s music playing inside and quite a few people dancing, this bar has the space for it and the atmosphere unlike EAGLE.
Some guy approaches Seonghwa and San while they’re ordering drinks and it’s a scruffy effort to understand him because of the volume in the place and a language barrier that they can’t even identify and a heatwave like a spear shoots skywards in Seonghwa’s body, rising to his face. After the guy hobbles away from them, San and Seonghwa giggle in each other’s ears, laughing off the confusion, and they make crude comments about how tight his pants were.
They continue loitering near the bar area with their beverages and Seonghwa’s eyes snare on someone dancing alone.
The guy might as well have a spotlight on him.
He’s expressive. And he’s noticed Seonghwa watching, at least Seonghwa thinks so, and he’s now doing quite a number of body waves. Seonghwa looks away, down at his hands.
His hair is an ashy blonde, or silver maybe. It was almost hard to tell though, with all of the different colored lights on the dance floor taking to his hair like a moth to a flame.
Seonghwa loses sight of him for a while. He and San chat about what their favorite music comebacks have been since the last time they saw each other.
It can’t be any more than ten minutes later when Seonghwa glimpses a couple of guys approach him, the boy with a prismatic halation; proof that he wasn’t just an illusion.
Prying his eyes away from the scene is turning into a bit of a challenge for Seonghwa, he’s curious for no good reason whether or not one of these men is going to lead the fair-haired guy anywhere.
But neither of them do. Because the guy, kind of petite in all honesty, caught Seonghwa looking again, and those other guys are suddenly not there anymore, like maybe they never were, like maybe they were the mirage all along.
Maybe Seonghwa is capsizing a little bit aboard this game of hide-and-seek. He swirls his drink around absentmindedly.
“Do you know who that is?”
“Who?” San asks, turning his head to cast a look out into the bar’s crowd.
“The one that’s looking right at me.”
“Oh, god. That’s HJ. He’s- a good guy, but he’s a bit of a mystery, I don’t know much about him other than he’s got about a month left here,” San says.
“Oh.”
“Heard he bought a one-way ticket to Tokyo and has just been here wilding on his 90-day tourist visa,” San explains, “he’s from Korea too and he’s actually staying with my friend Wooyoung, who’s a classmate of mine who’s also here studying abroad.”
“Oh, who’s this Wooyoung, why’d you say his name like that?” Seonghwa questions inquisitively.
“Shut up, he’s… someone,” San mutters, failing to camouflage the twinkle in his eye. “You gonna go dance with HJ or what?”
San throws every ounce of his regard into hyping Seonghwa up for the next few minutes and it’s super unfair because they should totally be discussing this Wooyoung fellow instead.
But, if Seonghwa really does intend to go over and talk to this tiny dancer, he doesn’t want to wait until it’s too late.
San really should sell himself as a personal chef and life coach combo or something because his motivating mumbles have Seonghwa setting his drink down with abrupt purpose and walking right up to this person who absorbs all attention, the alcohol doing the rest by taking the edge off of Seonghwa’s anxiety.
And the first words he ever hears HJ say, he might remember them for the rest of his life.
“I’m crossfaded as fuck.”
He’s smiling smugly, eyelids delicate doilies half-reposed. HJ is even more striking up close, his complexion lucent, pristine smooth like sea glass.
Seonghwa is concerned; isn’t weed illegal in Japan? This guy can’t be that far gone though, he was dancing with the precision of a K-pop idol.
“You’re really fucking hot,” HJ utters, running his tongue across his teeth in thought. “…Kinda wanna sit on your cock.”
Seonghwa is grateful that his brain seems to be one step ahead of his heart because he doesn’t even blink.
“Just kind of?” he says calmly, scanning the shorter boy’s face.
He tilts his head, mouth ajar. “You’re Korean?”
“Yeah, I’m here on vacation. What’s your name,” Seonghwa asks above the noise, and it’s in moments like these that he wishes he wasn’t so soft-spoken.
“HJ, yours?”
“Seonghwa.”
HJ hums. “Pretty boy….”
“Are you here with anyone?”
“No,” HJ replies with a laugh, almost as if it’s humorous that Seonghwa would ask. “What, you gonna buy me a drink or something?”
His tone is lyrical and golden, like toffee, like burnt sugar.
“If you want me to.”
After letting San know about their plans, and after San gives him an encouraging pat on the ass, Seonghwa takes HJ back to EAGLE, since it was less rowdy there and more upscale.
He pays for HJ’s cherry pie cocktail and a whiskey ginger highball for himself.
HJ is swinging his legs back and forth on his stool next to Seonghwa at the bar. He’s dressed in all black, his jacket is cropped and slouchy; light-weight and embellished interestingly.
There’s hardly a millimeter on his ears that isn’t consumed by a piercing and jewelry. On his right ear, in the semi-flat space up near his cartilage, he has a small tattoo of a flower, a dainty stem carrying a bell-shaped lily of the valley.
His hair is silverish-blonde precisely, and it’s styled back away from his forehead. His nails are a chipped baby blue and his eyes are somehow both mischievous and the most saccharine almond shape.
When HJ isn’t thieving glances at Seonghwa, Seonghwa is observing HJ’s profile; a dreamlike silhouette at odds with muddled background noise that holds no meaning.
Every time HJ peeks at him, Seonghwa stays for just a second longer before looking down at his drink as if it’s the most captivating thing in the room. Seonghwa has a bad habit of gliding his tongue over the center of his bottom lip, where his lip ring sits.
It’s a perplexing yet not at all unpleasant silence in which HJ simmers and stares at Seonghwa through really long eyelashes.
“How is it?” Seonghwa asks.
HJ smiles roguishly where his mouth rests on the rim of the glass, and he sets it down on the bar table. “Tastes good.”
“You should try,” he insists, nudging his drink towards Seonghwa.
Keeping eye contact, Seonghwa takes a sip.
“Wow, it’s sweet.”
“You don’t like ‘em sweet?” HJ says as he takes his drink back and plucks the cherry out, biting it off of its stem.
“I don’t mind sweet, it’s just not what I typically go for.”
Seonghwa watches HJ pop the cherry stem in his mouth now, and a moment later it’s lying atop his tongue, tied in a perfect knot.
“Impressive.”
HJ looks thoroughly tickled, his hands splayed on the edge of the stool in between his legs, crinkling his nose and smiling with lips pressed into a playful grin.
“Yours is probably really bitter then, huh,” he comments, after spitting the cherry stem into his almost-empty glass.
Seonghwa slides his drink over.
HJ smacks his mouth and grimaces.
“Tastes like alcohol.”
Seonghwa laughs in both amusement and agreement.
“Yeah, guess my ideal type is a little bit sweet, and a little bit not.”
“Mmm…,” HJ croons in comprehension.
“That’s deep,” he goes on to say jokingly, “didn’t expect to have such a deep conversation right away like this.”
His elbows are supported by the bar top, his chin propped up on the bed of his palms.
“We don’t have to go deep right away.”
It quite literally skids out of Seonghwa’s mouth, out of his grasp, and HJ’s smile falls from his face.
He stares at Seonghwa, half-lidded in a craving pensiveness.
Holding his powerful gaze, Seonghwa gulps, and tries to do so in the most inconspicuous way.
HJ wets his lips. “Wanna dance?”
()()()()()()()()
Seonghwa follows HJ down the road to a club called Arty Farty, bassline punching beneath their footsteps before they even cross the threshold of the place. They bicker momentarily at the door until HJ gives in and allows Seonghwa to pay for their entry.
It’s exceptionally dark inside, save for the giant disco ball suspended from the ceiling and all of the colored strobe lights staining pathways on sweaty bodies. Three poles are situated up on the stage and a shirtless guy is dancing on the center one.
Seonghwa feels clumsy at first, he hasn’t danced in a million years, and he’s also pretty damn inebriated now after that last drink, but dancing used to be one of his favorite things. People would even tell him that he was gifted at it and that he could pursue it seriously if he really wanted to, but they were probably all just kissing his ass. Plus, it’s hilarious, because Seonghwa could never imagine doing something so freeing as a profession. Or maybe it wouldn’t be as freeing as it seems.
But HJ moves in a different way, a flashlight in the shadows. And Seonghwa hopes that he doesn’t lose him in the dark, but there’s no possible way he could lose him.
Arms like streamers in the air, dragging his hands down along his body, snags on clothing and close-eyed smiles from a swanky bass.
He spins and blooms, geometric shapes flying; sharp edges like forgotten polaroid pictures in a shoebox, knocked over and splashing out across the floor.
He circles around Seonghwa. And up on his toes, he braces himself by resting his hands on Seonghwa’s shoulders.
“…Can I touch you while we dance…?”
His words are slurred in Seonghwa’s ear but Seonghwa can appreciate the courtesy.
Seonghwa tilts his face in towards HJ’s ear, silver strands tickling his cheek.
“Mhm… can I touch you?”
In response, HJ takes Seonghwa’s hands in his own and places them directly on his ass, his smirk cutting through the smoke. Seonghwa’s heartbeat glitches for just a second, feeling HJ below his fingertips, for the very first time.
HJ turns around and grinds his ass on Seonghwa and Seonghwa enfolds HJ’s waist and their movements have Seonghwa rubbing up and down at the hem of the shirt under HJ’s jacket.
“…This okay?” Seonghwa questions in HJ’s ear, but maybe he wasn’t loud enough, HJ doesn’t seem to hear.
He turns back around and throws his arms in a keen loop at Seonghwa’s neck, and he speaks so brilliantly above the forceful music.
“This is fun.”
Seonghwa feels goosebumps underneath his clothes, as he’s holding HJ in his arms, as they’re dancing close.
He genuinely can’t remember the last time he had fun doing anything. Maybe when he was a kid, when ignorance was bliss? When all it took was a fallen branch lying in the grass in the park and suddenly it’s your ceptor, your sword, your magic wand, and you’re off on an adventure.
HJ has a point, this really is kind of fun.
But there’s really nothing fun about being ridiculed by your own flesh and blood when you try to share your world with them, nothing glamorous about being rejected by society as a whole. His parents had essentially laughed in his face and told him that he is in fact not homosexual and could never in a million years be homosexual, after Seonghwa had cried his eyes out for several weeks on end working up the courage to tell them, after several years on end….
On this darkened dance floor is the most alive Seonghwa has felt in a long time.
“You’re a really good dancer,” Seonghwa comments, raising his voice a little louder, smiling down at HJ.
“I’m a better lap dancer, just saying,” HJ replies with the biggest shit-eating grin.
“Okay. You gonna show me?” Seonghwa says, quizzical. “Or will I just have to assume you’re all talk.”
Hooking a finger on Seonghwa’s harness, HJ leads him through the tight-knit intoxicated mob.
There’s a limited amount of eclectic seating over on the opposite side of the room beyond the perimeter of the dance floor. Seonghwa plunks down on a large upholstered armchair, and HJ, jaunty and without pause, sits down in Seonghwa’s lap, twisting his body around to eye Seonghwa; kittenish, rosy cheeks.
Seonghwa legitimately shivers, and watches as HJ lowers his top half down onto his elbows, shimmying to bring his legs up onto the chair as well, straddling Seonghwa backwards.
He’s belly down, almost entirely horizontal, humping and honing his hips down on top of the bulge in Seonghwa’s pants. And Seonghwa has completely forgotten how breathing works.
“HJ- how gone are you right now…,” Seonghwa says, gripping into HJ’s hips and praying that he can hear him, “…I don’t want to do anything with you or to you if you’re not in your right mind right now.”
“Wow, such a gentleman,” HJ carols, “you don’t want to take advantage of me?”
Seonghwa offers no answer because he can definitely feel HJ’s dick through his pants and there’s no describing just how good it feels in this very moment touching and rubbing against Seonghwa’s own hardness.
“…Pretty boy you can use me not just anybody can, but you can, you’re an exception….”
“I don’t- I don’t want to use you….”
HJ says nothing to that.
Hastily, he lifts himself up and rotates in Seonghwa’s lap, scooting himself as close as possible with knees on either side of Seonghwa’s body.
HJ bends himself backwards gradually, until he’s practically lying down on his back, and Seonghwa grapples his thighs so that he won’t fall off of the chair or hit his head on the ground. Subconsciously, Seonghwa bucks his hips up on HJ.
HJ rises in Seonghwa’s lap languidly, sensuously, until he’s face to face with Seonghwa, and Seonghwa cradles him as he resumes their friction in a steady rhythm.
“…I am in my right mind, everything’s just… fuzzy, around the edges…,” HJ drawls. “…But not you, you’re… really clear to me….”
There’s a hand combing through the back of Seonghwa’s hair at the nape of his neck and the magnetism feels like a compass pointing him North.
“…You’re really clear to me, too….”
Their bodies as close as they can get, they’re breathing in each other’s ears, declaring the nightclub soundtrack irrelevant. HJ is riding Seonghwa like the rolling tide, like waves in a dark blue ocean.
Maybe this is what Seonghwa needed.
Maybe he just needed a body close to him, a body to remind him that he’s more than just a speck on the globe.
But why is HJ looking at him like this is what he needs, too.
His pupils are dilated in this neediness, his lips wet as he’s rocking on Seonghwa’s body faster.
“…You gonna cum in your pants?” HJ asks, biting down on his lip, his eyes flitting from one feature to another on Seonghwa’s face.
Seonghwa licks his lips heatedly. “I- I might, if you don’t stop.”
HJ leans in near enough for their noses to touch, and he’s now furrowing his brow, whimpering and gazing down at Seonghwa with eyes scarcely open, looking tortured and on the brink of orgasm, a sorrowful splendor.
“Oh god oh fuck….”
Seonghwa can’t help but moan at hearing HJ so unfettered, so ruined, and he relocates his hands from HJ’s hips to HJ’s hair, and his hair is very soft.
HJ is grinding fiercely, whining in Seonghwa’s ear, and he then stops.
Seonghwa wills his vision to focus. “Wha- excuse me?”
They’re panting.
HJ trails his hands down Seonghwa’s torso.
“…Don’t want you to cum in your pants, want you to cum in my ass.”
Seonghwa blinks and his dick twitches.
“Your place? Aren’t you- are you staying around here…?”
“Yeah but my roommate, Wooyoung, is home tonight, he told me not to bother him because he’s studying for an exam…,” HJ pouts.
Seonghwa raises an eyebrow dubiously, he wonders what kind of exams they have in culinary school. He quickly looks around to see if San is still present, but remembers that they’re not even in the same building anymore.
“Your place?”
“My hotel is like forty minutes away.”
“Fuck,” HJ snivels. “Darkroom?”
He starts thrusting his hips again, slowly, materializing like an oil painting in motion.
“Um, they have one of those here?” Seonghwa questions.
“Apparently yeah.”
“Aren’t people gonna pounce on us in there?”
“No it’ll be just you and me no matter what…,” HJ promises, “…if anyone tries anything I’ll bite their balls off.”
They stumble to the furthermost corner of the establishment where there’s an ominous-looking door. HJ leads the way inside eagerly.
It appears to be even darker in here than out on the main floor, there’s very little to light their path aside from bold beams in different primary colors.
There’s not a whole lot of people utilizing the room either, maybe because it’s not a Saturday night, or maybe not that many people use it in general? Maybe they’re being outlandish? Seonghwa doesn’t know.
It’s genuinely difficult to tell what all is going on, Seonghwa is pretty sure that there’s a foursome happening over on the right, with a guy down on his knees tending to three cocks at once.
Seonghwa feels HJ pluck him by his crossbody harness again, and they step away off to the left side of the space, near a wall drenched in deep blue light.
“You’re like… really, really hot…,” HJ moans, his vocals palpitating. “…Really fucking hot want you to fuck me….”
Seonghwa sloppily, but gently, presses HJ up against the wall, and brings their throbbing bodies together.
“…You’ll let me have you like that…?” Seonghwa nearly whispers, and he drags his lips down HJ’s neck, reverberations climbing the ladder in his throat.
Seonghwa doesn’t want to kiss HJ on his lips. Well, he does, he’s just not sure if that’s a great idea, or if HJ wants all of that.
And HJ isn’t seeming to initiate anything of that exact nature either.
So it’s chill, it’s fine, they can keep it this way. Seonghwa doesn’t always kiss when hooking up anyway. He doesn’t even know why he’s thinking about it that profoundly, doesn’t know why he’s so fixated on the glassy red pucker of HJ’s lips.
“Do you have anything on you…,” HJ asks faintly.
“If by anything you mean condoms and lube then no sorry, wasn’t exactly planning on going on vacation with my family and fucking around.”
“I don’t have one either,” HJ sulks.
“I’m not about to ask a horny stranger for a spare condom.”
It’s not an option to proceed without protection. Seonghwa doesn’t even know this guy. HJ could’ve slept with every willing participant in Shinjuku over the past sixty days. Going about it raw is not at all a safe course of action, but Seonghwa is still ridiculously tempted.
“…Do you have lube with you at least?”
“What a rude assumption, you’re rude…,” HJ frowns, and he leaves an aggressive little bite in the space between Seonghwa’s neck and shoulder.
Seonghwa kisses HJ along his jaw, apologetic, from his chin to the shell of his ear. He senses HJ tugging on his knit sweater, now sucking at his neck. Just the feeling of HJ’s mouth on his skin is making Seonghwa think some crazy things, his imagination is in hyperdrive.
“…Spit?”
HJ surfaces for air, shakes his head, and gives Seonghwa puppy dog eyes. “Won’t be good enough, I’m really, really tight….”
Seonghwa grinds his hips on HJ in response and they both exhale in rapture.
“…Will you call me baby? Please- please call me baby….”
HJ sprinkles miniature kisses on Seonghwa’s collarbone.
“Baby… mhm, anything you want…,” Seonghwa coos, and he cups his hands on HJ’s ass and grinds on him rougher.
HJ is mewling; inspired, inflamed. “Y-You’re making me wet….”
“How wet baby can I see.”
Fighting his own breath, HJ unfastens his pants and tweaks them down to his knees.
“Can I touch you?”
With HJ’s small nod in approval, Seonghwa paws at the tent in his underwear, and HJ suspires in a tactile gratification.
Seonghwa slips his hand in HJ’s underwear and starts stroking his length with a careful solid grasp.
Head lolling and sighs like singing, HJ removes all of the various rings on his right hand fingers, and reaches around woozily to store the jewelry in Seonghwa’s back pocket.
He unbuttons and unzips Seonghwa’s pants, and Seonghwa had literally forgotten how much better it feels having someone else’s hand around him like this.
“Oh my fucking god your cock feels good…,” HJ gasps unsteadily, “…it’s so- i-it’s so stunning…? It’s so hard I don’t think- I don’t think I’d even be able to breathe if you fucked me….”
“Baby no I would want you to breathe, I would want you to breathe… I could fuck you slow…?”
And he slows his rhythm on HJ’s arousal to an agonizing pace.
“Oh my fucking god Seong- Hwa-” HJ chokes out, arching his back on the wall, his eyes closed feather-light.
Seonghwa had almost assumed that HJ had forgotten his name, or didn’t care.
He might’ve reduced his pace on HJ but HJ has not slowed his pumping on Seonghwa’s cock and Seonghwa is astronomically aroused. If this doesn't turn out to be the best damn orgasm of his life he’ll be sorely surprised.
HJ is actually really… cute. He’s a firecracker, sure, but he’s cute, very small, and his voice is actually very pretty. He kind of fits perfectly in Seonghwa’s arms and he’s kind of the perfect height if Seonghwa were to kiss the crown of his head.
Seonghwa feels unjustifiably protective of him, he’s relieved that nobody is approaching them in the darkroom. No way in hell he’s going to share HJ with anyone. But the sounds of strangers moaning and fucking around them are surreal, provoking, and almost nonexistent all at the same time.
Seonghwa is finding it increasingly difficult to keep from kissing HJ’s lips. He just keeps alternating between lapping at HJ’s piercings and sucking down and all over his neck, more than likely leaving some memories on his skin in the process. He occasionally pecks at HJ’s temples, too.
Seonghwa kisses past HJ’s Adam’s apple and resumes jerking him off unbridled.
“Oh god fuck- yes- f-faster-”
He repositions them up against the wall by hooking his free arm underneath one of HJ’s knees.
It looks like HJ has two tattoos on either one of his hip bones but they’re indiscernible in the bleary shade.
Seonghwa is surprised at his ability to make any sort of judgement or snap decision in the state that he’s in right now but he pulls HJ’s shirt up and out of the way, tugs HJ’s underwear up over most of his length so that there’s at least some sort of a barrier between them, some sort of protection, and when HJ’s hand falls away from him he angles his body and grinds his dripping cock onto HJ’s clothed one, which has HJ positivity whimpering.
“I wanna cum Seonghwa I wanna cum,” he sobs fervently.
“…You gonna cum for me baby…?”
“Oh god oh god yeah, yeah I am-”
Seonghwa keeps his one hand clasped under the leg wrapped around his hips, the fingers on his opposite hand sinking deeper into HJ’s bare ass. “Fuck HJ fuck-”
“…Feels good Seonghwa-”
“Baby you feel so good-”
“God I want you I want you to fuck me-”
Seonghwa draws in a shuddered breath. “Want me to fuck your tight little ass?”
HJ is moaning and grabbing at Seonghwa’s shirt frantically. “Fuck Seonghwa show me how deep you’re gonna fuck my ass, fucking me h-harder, and faster and faster-”
Seonghwa witnesses his own seams coming undone, as if he’s watching this disentanglement from outside of his body, he can only whisper.
“…Fuck… y-you’re beautiful.”
“Fuck!”
It’s HJ’s high-pitched gasp that knocks Seonghwa out, he feels the wiring in his brain kink and then unravel, and he’s respiring harshly in devastating pleasure as he cums on HJ’s abdomen.
HJ’s nails are digging into Seonghwa, near the dimples on his lower back, HJ’s other hand clutching desperately on the front of Seonghwa’s shirt. Their breathing is so heavy, as they continue to rock and sway with each other.
Seonghwa kisses his cheeks, his forehead, and HJ whimpers, as if these kisses sting.
HJ’s one leg remains hitched around Seonghwa’s hip. Seonghwa’s fingers are pressing lighter now into HJ’s thigh, and it’s soft and sticky like cotton candy.
Seonghwa’s other hand is pushing flat on the wall behind them, holding the both of them together by a dangerous thread.
He wishes there was someplace comfortable to lie HJ down. The shorter boy is limp and leaden, and he slowly brings his thigh down, resting his head on Seonghwa’s chest. He’s hiding his face on Seonghwa’s heart, that’s been reduced to a drowned down ringing, much like the treble living inside of the club’s sound system.
HJ’s hair smells like strawberries, with a hint of weed.
He nuzzles into Seonghwa, quiet. Clinging to him like a baby koala.
“…Um, HJ, are you okay?”
“Yeah… I’m… I’ll be okay. Please, just hold me for a minute.”
And he does, Seonghwa holds him, his heart drumming so hard now it almost hurts, but he doesn’t feel any pain, really.
After a minute or two, Seonghwa captures a fuddled memory of a bandana that he had noticed earlier, tied around one of HJ’s belt loops.
He reaches blindly in the dark for the patch of fabric and manages to unbind it from HJ’s pants, and uses it to clean the both of them up, as best as he can.
“I hope this wasn’t Gucci or anything.”
“It’s not.”
Seonghwa folds the bandana into a square as HJ does up his pants, and he sticks it in one of HJ’s front pockets, before he fastens his own pants back into place.
Seonghwa is only able to locate a sketch of HJ’s unspoken eyes and the tip of his nose in the dusk.
“Want to get some fresh air?”
As they make their way through the deafening club towards the exit, Seonghwa feels HJ’s fingers brush up against his, and HJ laces their hands together.
Seonghwa doesn’t know why this of all things is eliciting the highest number of flips and somersaults from his stomach.
He also doesn’t know why he’s so damn disappointed when HJ lets go of his hand as soon as they’re outside, breeze revitalizing, the scarlet lanes not as bustling anymore, neon pipelines pointing up to a metropolis with no stars.
They wander into Lawson and Seonghwa gets a better look at HJ in the bright convenience store lighting, with his black distressed jeans and black combat boots. HJ opts for peach milk and a pack of ring donuts. Seonghwa buys a bottle of water and a few onigiri.
There’s a dire lack of seating and trash bins in this city Seonghwa has observed, but they find a place to rest near a tree, on the edge of the brick landscaping surrounding it.
They sit down side by side to the droning sound of an ambulance somewhere nearby, clouds turning the inky sky a grey.
“Do you happen to know anything about why it’s nearly impossible to find trash bins around Tokyo,” Seonghwa asks.
“Yeah, actually, there was some sort of a terrorist attack a long time ago?” HJ says, pulling his jacket around him tighter and taking a bite of his donut. “I don’t know the whole story but I guess a bomb or some deadly gas or something was hidden inside a bin at a train station and there were a lot of casualties.”
“So they removed them from public places to avoid that happening again.”
“Yeah,” HJ confirms.
“Interesting.”
“Yeah, this your first time in Japan?”
“Mhm, have you been here before?”
“No, this has been my first time too.”
“Oh.”
Seonghwa stares at HJ’s hands.
“Oh, um-”
He fishes for the rings in his pocket, and returns them to HJ in a little pile. HJ continues conversing as he arranges them on his fingers.
“Where are you staying? How long are you here?”
“In Asakusa.”
“Oh, tourist trap.”
“Yeah, but it’s a nice hotel, and it’s like, a two-minute walk to the train station,” Seonghwa shrugs, “and I’m here for almost three weeks.”
“Oh,” HJ says. “How old are you? And where are you from.”
“I turned twenty-three last month, born in Jinju living in Seoul.”
HJ just glances at Seonghwa emotionless, and he takes a sip from his tiny milk carton.
“So, I just gave you all this information about me, you gonna tell me about yourself at all?”
“No,” HJ says, smirking.
“Sounds really unfair but okay.”
Someone rides past them on a bicycle, the chime of the bell fashioning a wavelet in their turf.
“I turn twenty-three in November,” HJ murmurs. “Thanks for the drink… and the dance… and everything else.”
Seonghwa wonders why HJ is being kind of awkward. Not that Seonghwa isn’t being awkward, he’s not one to judge, but HJ probably does this every single night with a new person. Maybe Seonghwa really ought to stop making assumptions.
“I should probably go…,” Seonghwa admits, bringing himself to his feet, thinking about the long ride back to his hotel.
“Do you need to call for a taxi?” HJ asks, standing up too.
“Oh, I mean, I’ll just take the train.”
“Last Train is at midnight.”
“Oh, shit.”
“I’ll pay for your taxi,” HJ says, and before Seonghwa can blink HJ is handing him a 5000 yen note.
Seonghwa gawks at him.
“I- no, no, that’s- unnecessary,” he sputters, “I’ve got it covered, I can’t just take your money like that.”
“You wouldn’t be taking it from me, I’m giving it to you.”
HJ folds up the cash and slots it in between Seonghwa’s harness and chest.
Seonghwa removes it with a sigh, wraps his arms around HJ, and slips the bill into HJ’s back pocket.
He keeps HJ in his embrace, but pulls back to see him scrunch up his nose in an indignant yet harmless scowl, his cheeks still flushed from the contents of the evening.
Seonghwa feels his phone buzz, perfect timing; the perfect opportunity for Seonghwa to let go of HJ’s body and for him to break their gaze because HJ’s face is perilously close to his for the third time tonight, to the point where he can feel HJ’s climate casting off of him, and to the point where a strange urge to kiss his nose tore through Seonghwa’s consciousness.
Sanni:
im just gonna assume that u & hj left together
Seonghwa:
Where the hell did you end up
Sanni:
went over to wooyoungs place to help him study
Seonghwa:
Oh 👀
Sanni:
shut uppppp
Seonghwa:
Sorry for ditching you
Sanni:
lol bb i was not even surprised 🤠
Seonghwa:
Can we hang out again asap
🥺
Sanni:
yesssss ill let u know we should grab dinner after i get off school
and next weekend for sure
u owe me details 😉
Before Seonghwa puts his phone away he glances up, to see HJ watching him in subdued thought. Their eyes meet, but only until HJ turns his face away, chary and repressed.
He simply holds his hand out, palm up.
Wordlessly, Seonghwa closes his messages with San, and hands HJ his phone.
“If you’re bored, or need a break from your family, or if you miss me.”
HJ gives Seonghwa his phone back after he’s finished typing in his number.
“Okay.”
They study each other’s faces.
“Are you gonna make it home okay, on your own?”
HJ continues staring at Seonghwa for a moment more, says nothing, and looks at him now as if he had said something unusual.
“Yeah… thank you.”
Neither of them can bring themselves to smile.
HJ gathers his trash with him, flashes Seonghwa a peace sign, and he’s gone.