ygjunkie

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The first time he saw Jiyong was, ironically, at the church. Ironically because Jiyong is anything but religious. 

Now he knows that he was dragged by Youngbae that day. The both of them have decades of history between them; from childhood till now. So when Youngbae had asked him to come see him sing at the church, Jiyong had no choice. Because for one, Youngbae is really good at extortion and for another, singing was his passion and Jiyong knew better than to say no to that. 

So he went. Clad in his uniform of black; the shock of his blonde hair standing out in his black leather jacket, leather pants and boots. His shirt inside had been white but unnoticeable compared to his black kohl eyeliner and that tiny cross he kept drawing under his left eye since Chaerin doodled it on him for fun. 

The assorted tattoos scattered all over his body peeked out here and there. Mostly those on his hands and fingers, the one down his neck and nape and some when he pulled back the sleeves to his jacket. 

Everyone stared. 

But Jiyong was no stranger to attention, he walked in like he owned the place and sashayed his way to the front row bench. His eyes were fixed on one single person and it was his best friend, Youngbae. At least Youngbae didn’t look at him any different than he always did. Additionally, the pronounced delight when he noted Jiyong’s attendance was more than worth it. 

That’s when Daesung saw him for the first time. He thought the devil himself had walked into the holy place.  

Mother had taught him better than to judge but he couldn’t stop looking back. The guy was - Everyone looked at him. But he had eyes for only one person and until the very end, those kohl smeared gaze never strayed even once. 

- 

Jiyong now still dresses similarly. His black uniform stays but his blonde hair is now jet black, swiped back with gel, highlighting his sharp brows and the tiny cross has been gone for a while now. Daesung likes him either way; anyway.

He catches the stubbly chin and kisses the smoke out of his mouth. Takes him by surprise, and Jiyong straightens a bit from his slouch to angle his body towards Daesung, hands coming up to cup his face and another crawling up his thigh.  

Daesung flings one leg over him, shuffles until he’s straddling and he cradles his boyfriend’s face to kiss him properly. Like he’d been dreaming about it since last night. Like he wanted to suck everything Jiyong has to give for him; all of his heart and affection. 

“You’ll be the death of me, baby,” Jiyong tells him later, murmuring into his skin where he pulls back to rest his kiss-bruised lips. The gust of his exhale is wet and warm, his thumb caressing a line over and over on one of Daesung’s ribs where he’d sneaked under the shirt and he’s hard in his pants. Both of them know, but it’s fine. It’s alright, they’re not in a rush. 

Daesung cards his hands through Jiyong’s gel hardened hair and pulls on it until his boyfriend looks up - pupils blown inky wide with rings of hazel around them. “And you; me.” He presses his mouth to his forehead and tucks him close so Jiyong’s practically breathing down his neck.