Chapter Text
The hum of the train is different from home. Seonghwa notices immediately, built for experience versus efficiency, and why wouldn’t it be. The landscape it traverses is almost fiction. Seonghwa feels like he’s not really there, couldn’t possibly be looking out into the hills, the city far behind.
Hongjoong rests his hand on Seonghwa’s thigh, then. It makes him blink behind his glasses until the chair materializes beneath him. Of course he’s there. Hongjoong’s taking him on a trip. For once, an itinerary he has no clue about. It stresses and excites him in equal measure. If it were anyone else, he’d sneak a peek to look at confirmation emails over their shoulder. But it’s not anyone else. It’s Hongjoong, bleached hair yellowing with time.
So, he sits. His fingers grip at the bottoms of his sleeves. He watches other passengers as they depart and arrive at the different stops. He doesn’t exactly blend in, but they don’t particularly stand out, European gazes sliding over them without much pause.
Hongjoong talks quick as he muses about their plans. Seonghwa’s half listening, because the Alps have started to roll in.
“Almost there, Seonghwa-yah.” He says, squeezing. The muscle at the top of Seonghwa’s thigh barely resists twitching, though Hongjoong’s adjusted his grasp. Now, his fingertips nearly curl underneath Seonghwa’s leg. He relaxes his hips, bidding for the attention. Hongjoong’s gaze traces the spread of him.
Seonghwa can hear him inhale, deep breath.
When Hongjoong asked him if he wanted to stay a few extra days in Italy, that he’d found a town removed enough from Milan, Seonghwa agreed before he even gave it any thought. It’s funny to realize in those moments, how embedded his trust is. It’s instinct, to follow not-so-blindly.
It’s on a lake, Hongjoong had said, cajoling, there’s art museums.
Seonghwa had kissed him, smiling, laughing around the words I already said I’d go.
Aish, Hongjoong had wrinkled his nose, annoyed, saying see if I tell you anything about it.
Seonghwa didn’t reply, because he had known, decided, that he didn’t want to hear.
Now, it has him noticing the ice-capped tips of mountains. Now, he can feel every jostle of the train car. Hongjoong took it to heart and hadn’t spoiled one bit.
-
Humility is Hongjoong’s strong suit right up until it isn’t. He’ll bow and blush and downplay and wave off for only so long.
Seonghwa experiences the end of Hongjoong’s rope outside the train station. He starts walking to the rideshare area before Hongjoong redirects him with a hand on his elbow. The valet loop has a red Ferrari idling behind the stand, the first in a line of parked sports cars.
Seonghwa hopes he represses his blush, but it’s anyone’s guess. Hongjoong speaks to the attendant in English, and Seonghwa doesn’t hear him as much as he takes in the smooth sound of Hongjoong’s English vowels.
The attendant stows their bags and gives Hongjoong the key. Pulling down the butterfly door behind him is mortifying. Hongjoong grins, revving the engine once before he puts it into gear.
“No use trying to lie low with you.” Seonghwa says, once they’re into a busier part of the city.
Hongjoong laughs, the glint of the sunglasses he slid on at the last stoplight blocks Seonghwa from seeing the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Why would you want to?” He pushes his bangs off his forehead, the early evening holding him in its glow.
Seonghwa can’t reply, won’t.
The city isn’t Milan, and it shouldn’t be compared. The culture permeates, sets it apart. Seonghwa can read it in every brick and stone. The lake breathes through it all.
The building they pull up to overlooks the lake. The sun’s begun to set, reflecting all its brilliance onto the water. Seonghwa has to pause once he’s out of the car. He knows this will change him, this sight and whatever comes after.
Another valet appears, and a porter along with him, and there’s a few per favore ’s and grazie ’s passed around.
Seonghwa would be overwhelmed by the circumstance if he didn’t already know Hongjoong’s modus operandi . If it’s Hongjoong, it’s going to be unnecessarily lavish.
The hotel intimidates, history built and seen so plain in front of him, beautiful filigree and bespoke design. Hongjoong comes up from behind him, resting a hand on Seonghwa’s hip. His voice speaks low, by his ear.
“You like it?”
It’s the heat that tumbles into him that he likes the most. He nods, and lets Hongjoong lead him into the lobby.
The lobby makes him feel underdressed, out of place, the kind of scene from western movies he’d watched ages ago. His life now is nothing if not wrenched out of his idle daydreams. Hongjoong has his palm spread on the small of his back.
The mixture of English and broken Italian Hongjoong uses works well enough. This time he's paying enough attention to catch the conversation.
“Mr. Kim,” the clerk says, accent pleasantly heavy, “we have you here for two nights.”
“That's correct.” Hongjoong replies, tucking his passport back into his bag.
“ Fantastico ,” He types, clicks, “Will you and your wife be celebrating? We can have wine brought to your room.”
Hongjoong’s hand slips under his jacket, Seonghwa watching the clerk’s eyes drawn to the movement. Through one layer, Seonghwa blinks in time with Hongjoong’s fingertips, tracing something unknowable over his skin.
Seonghwa waits for Hongjoong to correct him. Waits for him to wave his hand, laugh, and say he’s my friend, we sing together, and for the clerk to get flustered over his mistake.
“She likes red,” He says, instead. “So, you can pick.”
“ Naturalmente .” The clerk smiles at Seonghwa, and gives Hongjoong the room key.
Seonghwa can hear his own heartbeat, its insistent thrum like a clicktrack.
-
Hongjoong suggests they take a drive while the bottle chills. Seonghwa, floating above his body since they left the lobby, agrees easily. He hopes the road makes him whole again.
Hongjoong hasn’t mentioned what he’d said. Though, he wouldn’t think so little of Seonghwa to assume he didn’t understand, that he couldn’t follow the conversation. Seonghwa takes his jacket off, folds it neatly for Hongjoong to tuck into the backseat.
The Ferrari comes alive under Hongjoong’s hands. He simply drives off, assuming he’ll find the highway that encircles the lake. It’s the kind of bravado Seonghwa’s come to expect, though he can’t think of a time it hadn’t been proven.
Much the same, Hongjoong finds the route with ease. In twilight, the clusters of lights show small villages tucked in the shoreline. They crystalize, almost, twinkling as Hongjoong shifts gears, picking up speed.
Seonghwa looks away from the lake briefly, guides his gaze up from the steering wheel to Hongjoong’s face. His expression burns bright, confident and handsome beyond description. Wanting him suffused into Seonghwa before he knew what it meant. Now, he’s helpless to its influence, spends his days in the ebbs and flows of his desire.
Seonghwa distracts himself with the sights for as long as he can. The scenery exerts a spell of its own. He’s back in his body, simply because his teeth are aching with want.
“Pull over.” He says, the hum of the Italian radio muffling him.
“Hmm?” Hongjoong raises a brow without looking away from the road.
“Can you pull over?” Seonghwa’s fingers are going numb. “I–” He pauses, “I want to see the water up close.”
Hongjoong shrugs, drives, turns onto an overlook. There’s a few that have dotted the route.
The night hangs, the two of them illuminated by the instruments on the dashboard.
“We’ll take the ferry tomorrow.” Hongjoong says. “Then you’ll see it all.”
Seonghwa cuts his losses. He reaches over, unbuckling Hongjoong’s seatbelt after his own.
In the dark, Seonghwa lets his fingers curl at the clasp of Hongjoong’s pants.
“Please,” He speaks half-voiced, just as desperate as he’s letting on. He won’t hide from Hongjoong, not ever.
Hongjoong smiles, raising an arm to trace the edge of Seonghwa’s jaw. It’s trembling, embarrassingly, but that’s the kind of thing Hongjoong likes.
“Seonghwa-yah,” His tongue peeks out to lick his lip, “Can’t be gone too long.” Seonghwa’s vision blurs with his eyelids fluttering. “Remember the wine, jagi. ”
Hongjoong’s tone betrays him, easy commands at odds with the hardness Seonghwa feels growing.
The button comes undone and Seonghwa traces his cock briefly before exposing it to his sight. Seonghwa’s reaction comes natural, the saliva gathering, the palms sweating. Hongjoong’s cock trained him to respond.
Seonghwa’s too big for this, he knows, legs too long, but there’s something else. All evening, a delicateness cast over him, familiar-femininity taking unfamiliar ground. He bends new, gentler, the lines of his body so acutely refined by a hotel clerk’s mistake.
Will you and your wife be celebrating?
He moves, slow, to kneel in his seat. When he leans over, he can turn fully, arch his back and purse his lips and–
He can hear Hongjoong’s already labored breath. The discomfort melts away.
Immediately, the noise defines the scene. There’s no mistaking, wet slide cock-sucking fills the Ferrari, eclipsing the Italian radio hosts.
Seonghwa doesn’t bother using his hand to do anything other than steady Hongjoong’s cock for his throat.
Hongjoong pulls at his hair, no force behind it.
“Mmm,” He hums, Seonghwa licking around his tip, “Couldn’t hold back, could you?” A strand gets tugged by Hongjoong’s ring.
Seonghwa doesn’t answer, lets the obscenity speak for him, lowering his head till he chokes up. Hongjoong’s hips chase it. Seonghwa knows precisely what he likes.
“Look at me.” Hongjoong cups the nape of his neck, turning him until his cock just barely rests on Seonghwa’s lips. Seonghwa pushes his tongue up, lets the spit and precome slide down the side of Hongjoong’s cock, slow-blinking at him in the dim light. Seonghwa licks up the mess before it can get on Hongjoong’s pants.
“You take it so well,” Hongjoong praises, uncharacteristically easy to hear in these moments. Seonghwa relishes it. “Pretty.” He pets Seonghwa’s cheek, “So pretty, yeobo. ”
His thoughts snap in two. The lake drains away. He’s left there, in the lakebed, draped in a jeogori and painted good-fortune red.
His thin breath hitches and he moans, blood hot down to his toes.
Hongjoong grinds up into it, and his cockhead nudges the roof of Seonghwa’s mouth. His eyes water.
“That’s who you are, isn’t it?” Hongjoong’s words are thinner, hotter, “My p-pretty wife.”
Seonghwa squeezes his eyelids shut till he sees stars.
Every sense, every angle is manipulated by his want. He wants Hongjoong to come down his throat, he wants to feel it, he wants to be his wife.
Hongjoong’s humming’s resumed, close to the brink. He won’t hold down Seonghwa’s head unless he asks for it. When he’s worked up, Hongjoong can’t stop touching him. Seonghwa feels him trace his ear, the corner of his mouth, the side of his neck.
“ Yeobo ,” Hongjoong's voice comes out strained. “ ‘ou want my come?”
Seonghwa takes him all in again, a circuit nearly complete. It’s enough of an answer.
Hongjoong’s come coats his tongue, his molars.
They drive back to the hotel, and the wine’s too cold.