Aimless

He could feel Kai’s fingers pressing harsh against him, no doubt leaving small bruises climbing up his back like stepping stones to some sort of revelation. Probably the type that warned him to stay away from the man in front of him, but Taemin never listened well and his grip tightened instead of doing something logical like breaking away, running. Then again, maybe it wasn’t the best to test the patience of someone holding a loaded gun. “How?” he asked ragged as Kai spoke of impressions and his apparent lack thereof. It all seemed like such a waste of time when no matter how many circles he’d talked him in, no matter the small touches, kisses and legs tangled in twisted sheets; no matter what he did Kai still remained so very passive to the idea of him. Or perhaps just him in general. It would have felt like a blow if he didn’t force himself not to focus on it. A foldout of intricacies and loopholes written out of rulebooks, it littered his path and tended to leave Taemin confused and just a bit more than lost. A game of getting his hopes up before dispelling the balance and leaving him tripping over insecurities left ignored on the floor. He didn’t necessarily like that, but he did like Kai despite the protests his mind regularly fed him like a diet of stupidity and brash decisions.

The music shivered to a stop with the last trill of the violin and Taemin stared wide eyed up at Kai. He was handsome, impossibly so with that debonair sort of grace that could command a room. Command an army. Taemin felt goosebumps rise on his arms as hot breath hit his ear, teeth finding his lower lip and he bit down hard enough that he could feel his skin split, taste copper on his tongue like some malformed type of sympathy. It did nothing but make his stomach twist, distractions dealt in pain as Kai gripped his wrist hard enough he swore he could feel his bones grinding together to mimic the vibrato of the cellist as he slid his bow over strings and wove out notes that permeated the air.

His bullet spun into life in D flat. Split open a skull in A minor. Waltzed it’s way to death and swept their affectionately named Raoul out of existence along with the concerto and Taemin figured that was a hell of a way to go.

 “If you’re not a game, why do you let people play you as if you are?” Taking the wrist that tore away from his grasp, he met the eyes of the frightened with the smug confidence of the killer who knew no wrongs and confessed to the crime, praying for penitence in his cell upon a later date. This was his element and their words the script, scene playing out in the climax to unheard violin trills and the suspended breaths of the audience. “Raoul could’ve been playing you and yet you’ll never know.”

He led them out of the crowd and into the night, panicked shrieks and rumors of the cause left to be broadcast over tomorrow’s breakfast – a modern day rendition of the Phantom of the Opera. Perhaps the media would spin a parody off the faceless killer and his damsel in distress, blood splattered across perfection and footprints trailing to his chambers, out into the streets and among glass mansions. “It’s funny to me, how hard you think it is to take another’s life.” His words came quiet and hushed against the wall they were pressed against, flickering candlelight an innocent means to make the mood and caught alight the temptation in his eyes. “I’d say it’s no different than the one you lead now; you’re hardly in control of yourself and you think the decisions you make matter.”

One step closer and Kai loomed tall over Taemin’s smaller frame, tone menacing yet playful when he spoke the words of truth the other would deny hearing.  “Your entire life has been a ruse. Show after show, you’re only wanted for your body, your voice—oh how you scream at night, and I could teach you more.” The last word was ground out between grit teeth and he lifted a hand to trace the glimmer of gold woven into his hair, brushing a lock behind the other’s ear in mockery of the role he was to play: a fallen angel, naïve and blind outside of what he was taught. “There’s so much more to learn and see and you’re just an actor in the opera, Christine, since when was your life ever in your own hands?”

His hands folded around slim wrists and brought them to his chest, pressing the other’s palm flat against his chest and against a heart that beat steady, heartbeat an echo in his chest of the adrenaline once deafening in his ear. There were some tragedies best left untold and mysteries left unanswered, the prone body before them a picture of more than a thousand words – a novel of gore, betrayal and the differences of humanity that brought out the worst. Neither of them wished to read sentences that spoke of their fate or explained psychology in drawn-out metaphors and examples, speaking of life with a professional air that stole away impulse and replaced it with rationality. For killing wasn’t simply a science; it was an art that captured the essence of the moment and shot bullets free from the barrel with a spin of emotion, painting colors of crystalline tears and crimson hatred in the eyes of the tortured. Only his kind understood this, murderers and criminals hidden beneath the shadows of the city past calculations and the glass sky-line, and it was a profession that left no heart untouched or mind untainted – Taemin wouldn’t understand.

“You’re not a game to me.” A sigh left his lips where a prayer should be, quiet and just as misunderstood as it blew warm across kiss-swollen lips, pressing petty comforts against the corners of the other’s mouth. He spoke slowly and each word weighed heavy with purpose, gentle murmurs of faked love and temporary peace in promises neither would keep – their truce for the night, an end to justify their means.

xiumin

miryo

owes replies to:

yixing

hyungseok + taemin (eventually?)

luhan

myungsoo

hyosung

kris

waiting for:

If one asked if he were in a relationship, Kris would probably tell whoever asked to get the fuck off whatever drug they were on and to come back when they were sober, or better yet, to not come back at all. If asked if he were capable of being in a relationship, Kris would probably raise a simple brow and ask in return what sort of dumbass would think that a narcissistic sex god such himself ever be in want of a relationship. 

However, if one were to ask if he were capable of caring for another, he would take a few deep breathes and narrow his eyes before replying with a simple “No, I don’t think so.” because caring for others was the biggest weakness that could ever be exploited. 

If you’ve got nothing to lose, you have everything to gain. 

Wu Yifan only had a few things to lose, among them was Kim Jongin. 

But Yifan was Kris and Jongin was Kai. They were business partners, they sipped expensive wines while discussing the fine details of how to take lives, they met at meetings and shot daggers at each other from across the table, each trying to outdo and degrade the other. If one asked who Kai was to him, Kris would reply with a mocking “Nothing,” but if they were to ask who Jongin was to him, they would find themselves suddenly at gunpoint. Because Kris did not care for anyone- perhaps Yifan did, but no one would ever know who Yifan is, what Yifan thinks, or how Yifan feels. 

Kris thinks that Jongin is halfway towards deciphering Yifan, Kai isn’t but Jongin is- during the nights they stow away inside ones apartment playing a videogame or throwing sarcastic comments at each other over a box of pizza. Friends as one would call them, they were alike in almost every way possible. 

Personal affairs only served to complicate things and fuel the desire of humans to crave some more than what they had, work only the means to which they could get it. He understood this for it was the consequence of his actions that played out different than death, when he avoided bullets by sheer luck and shot them with conviction, now facing the petty ordeal of normalcy: revenge, hate, passion. No one was immune to the weaknesses of humanity, not even him who lived outside society with cold steel and a colder smile; even he was prone to slip-up after interactions unfamiliar, even Kai had a heart. But what kept it beating, why he lived for a life of crime without taking his own, was a question he couldn’t answer.

There were infinite possibilities of what could be said and all the lies he could weave with a convincing smile or a small brush of hands, but the truth remained a mystery and he never left things unanswered. If he could narrow it down maybe it’d be petty desire or the thrill of a kill, but physical longing wore away with the trials of time and he knew that wasn’t it. Jongin knew, he always knew exactly what Kai didn’t, the missing half of his personality locked behind bars strengthened by his fear of humiliation. He was afraid of himself and all the compassion lacking in his actions, knew what mercy meant and saw it at the guns of others but never his own, hesitation caused by attraction – by love, by Yifan.

That was his weakness and both knew of its exploitation and easy corruption; that was why Jongin had Kai and Yifan had Kris: business partners in sleek suits, enemies on the same side of a war, associates over red wine, competitors over business and friends within shadows. It was a ruse to keep them fooled and it worked, when his alarm clock counted the fluorescent green digits of time that should be spent sleeping and seconds spent curled up in the presence of another. Their relationship never had to be identified just as their identities were a mystery to themselves; like a secret whispered between two ears, someone was eventually bound to hear.

Time counted up into digits of 3:00 AM that shown bleary in his eyes when there was a knock at his door, body languidly draped over furniture that counted the years his clock didn’t. Rarely were there guests at this time of day and his senses were on edge, dulled from the consumption of  cocoa and the drone of static that once held songs of the afternoon, podcasts of night and then late-night talk shows – caught in between the time when the city slept and woke up to a dreamless reality. Now was the time for hazy, half-remembered fantasies and this was far from one, footsteps padding silent into the hall until met by the face of someone familiar: trademark blonde hair and bitchface unmistakable.  

He flicked his eyes up at the same time Kai did, found his date and shot him a hesitant grin; he was frowning now and he could see his eyes jumping from Kai, to him, to Kai. It was making Taemin dizzy, tipsy enough where his mind was swirling hazy, and perhaps that was what had him so dismissive of the danger lurking in Kai’s tone, hiding underneath the shadows of pretty dark eyes. “How much better?” he asked Kai soft as he spoke, got whirled away into a dance that seemed effortless and surreal. Nearly fantastical as costumed guests flitted about them, and with Kai - his gaze landing heavy and a smile tipping his lips up. It wasn’t real - Taemin would bet nearly anything on that, would have come across as almost unnatural if Kai didn’t have the grace, charisma to back it all up. He shivered as Kai’s palm pressed him closer, too caught up in the production building up around him to let out more than a disgruntled huff as Kai called him a girl. 

“What if I fell already?” Lie. “What if he wants me more?” Probability. “What if he’s easier? What if I never, ever know what to do around you?” Truth. Kai’s hand slipped away, but Taemin didn’t bolt. Why would he? He didn’t understand him, knew they weren’t much of anything but he was genuine in his affection even if it was misguided, ill-translated, unreciprocated. It would have to do, and so instead he looked up, felt eyes on his back and there was no guess to who it was but Taemin didn’t care, not really. Not with Kai willing, tipping his head down and capturing his lips forceful, primal. It was bruising and he could feel Kai’s teeth nipping his lip swollen, his own fingertips grasping at the front of his shirt like an anchor as he mewled into his mouth, wasn’t given room to protest, speak, breathe but it didn’t really matter. Not with Kai’s lips pressing insistent at his own - and besides, Taemin had never minded playing a little too rough.

How long should we two wait before we're one?

“Why don’t you ask that of him? What more could I give you, then that of which you want?” Kai trailed the barrel of the gun smooth between them and pressed against the layers of clothing to touch the body that was to be his tonight, fragility and pure skin tainted by marks he’d made before. The memory of pale skin aligned with the contours of his fingertips brought a sigh from his lips and each gesture was long and drawn out, amusement a spark in his eyes that lit up upon Taemin’s stuttering confusion.

“Should it matter if you’ve fallen, I can just as easily pick you up and brush you off. Your pathetic Raoul can’t do much more than sing and hold fancy, he’s too easy – the real challenge lies in gaining what attention you deserve.” Pressing himself closer, his grip only tightened and fingers thrummed in time to dulcet cello and quiet conversations, reminiscent of their first meeting under a different bass and shaper lights. “Impress me, Christine.”

When will the blood begin to race,

With one last slur of the violin, they parted long enough for a breath and a glimpse of the world around them: champagne and shimmering thread, mascara and shadow thick around eyes in a way that wasn’t of the sleepless, timeless beauty and proffered hands contrary to their professions. The entire night was a lie and they should be no different, yet they danced along to the grace of a break and the roles proffered them – two lovers in the tragedy of an opera, the Phantom and his Christine.

The sleeping bud burst into bloom?

When will the flames at last consume us?

“You’re wrinkling silk.” He whispered low and menacing into the curve of Taemin’s ear, hot breath ghosting over pale skin to be defiled by his abnormalities and obsessions, possession at its pinnacle as his hand lifted – his weapon with it. His free fingers reached up to coil tightly around the other’s wrist, squeezing with intention to bruise when his eyes glanced across nameless faces to rest upon the only stranger he’d never the chance to know, would never dare to. “Christine, you could do so much better.” The last word rang sharp with an easy pull and recoil absorbed easily through lithe limbs, bullet finding target in between lifeless eyes and a crack in the mask; death of the other punctuated by the slow exhale between gritted teeth.

Past the point of no return, the final threshold

The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn

A breathy laugh parted from his lips and Kai leaned forward to claim his reward, tongue and teeth demanding as their mouths met again under a different light and he licked slow and savory against a voice that only spoke quips. Neither protest nor protection could prevent the dull thud of the man dressed in black and shot through with grey, bleeding red and fading white until Raoul was just the name on a gravestone – number etching down dates and quotes that wouldn’t really apply. They’d attend his funeral together and his hand would grip the wrist of the boy he’d pulled the trigger for, tearing away his grasp as cool steel slipped back into his coat and his eyes held all the fury his smile didn’t.

“Should you choose to charm another man, make sure your Raoul can wield a sword, not only his tongue.” Another laugh ghosted soft over Taemin’s skin and he clicked his tongue in mockery, lips grazing skin and words unaware to the panic that answered him. “It’s no fun without a fight.”

We've passed the point of no return.

“Good evening,” he says, not turning his face to keep track of Kai’s movement because his presence is like a punch in the solar plexus. He can practically sense the man’s smooth glide of muscles under his shirt, see the cool metal of the gun he’s undoubtedly carrying. That’s okay. Luhan has had a client who was into gun play, too. The elevator starts going up again. Luhan leans against the side of the elevator, showing off the long, delicate lines of his body under the suit.

“What’s your name?” he asks, still smiling. His palms are cool, hands perfectly still.

- Richard Siken, Little Beast  

Kai knew exactly why he was here and what he was being summoned for, never one to miss an appointment but sauntering in minutes past what could be called ‘fashionable,’ dressed to impress and catching the eyes of all. Tonight would be just another show and the blonde-haired beauty his mistress, another Viper in line at the barrel of his gun, scum to scrape off his boot and bleach blood out of his clothing. There wasn’t much a thrill to these meetings anymore and eventually he’d have to look for bigger targets, better people, higher up the hierarchy until he could stand on their body and see an empire – call it his.

A small click of his watch and silence greeted the midnight slumber of Seoul, long past the times of stumbling drunkards and shattering glass when the night was still young and people still sober. Now was the time for clubs and pounding bass, rough kisses on worn-down mattresses and late-night to early-morning transactions of everything that anyone wanted to keep hid. He supposed that he was one of those that thrived off this time of day (or night, should he say, caught up in the times when slumber was taboo) and that he was in his element: sleek suit that emphasized only where people wished to look, gun cold against a pressed breast pocket and polished dress shoes reflecting flickering lamp light.

2:01. 2:02. Late, expectantly so.

By way of hacked files and conversational mentions, there was the name of Luhan: alluring, perfect, charming all those he wished to please and a syndicate of information for the Vipers – a piece in their games for what little they could offer. Peace, protection, it wouldn’t matter should he be bothered to care, all human actions were fueled by shallow desires and basic necessities. He was no different and this only proved it, intentions set on quick usage and disposal; the way all missions went when one life for another was left on the line. It was just a matter of who was ambitious enough to end the other first, a life for a life and the world could still see through the eyes of the one. His movements were quick and fluid now, chest rising and falling to the press of a concealed gun weighing heavy against his chest and light in each step. He had no reason to worry and his ease showed in the quick press of the button and the restless weight after, floorboards creaking under shifted weight and a steady gaze. Eventually, the doors parted for him to stand with the boy he’d seen in the photographs and the legendary beauty spoken about among hushed whispers – Luhan, his target.

“Kai.” Answered in one short, sharp syllable, it was the way he wanted to be remembered when the safety triggered pulled and a sharp breath accented the bullet that wasn’t shot, eyes watering and fear evident in glistening eyes that reflected back an amused smile. It was sadistic pleasure that had him toying with guns and going on missions where he didn’t belong, in the misplaced hope that out there in the shadows of Seoul there’d be a part of him that he’d lost – now to hold and call his, maybe a heart, a conscience or something more twisted.

Taemin knew he wasn’t necessarily anything special, was just someone who he called around for a few hours with when he got bored, and sometimes when Kai played his little games Taemin got caught up in it, struggled to pick apart what was true and what wasn’t, like a snare - a form of entertainment for him. It felt like it now, because really, what other reason would there be for Kai be demanding he was his, holding him close in a crowded room of people. It wasn’t fair, really, and maybe that was what prompted Taemin in wiggling his hips in an attempt to shake his fingers free. “Besides, I already have a date.” he tacked on, some guy a friend had introduced him to didn’t know him that well but he was attractive and kept footing the bill for drinks and so Taemin was content.

He nodded his head back towards the corner of the room where the man stood, shot him a smile when their eyes met despite the confusion he was met with, probably due to the fact that he was currently wrapped up in Kai’s embrace. He was spun around anyway, malleable between Kai’s large palms, tipped his head to look up at him but was met with insistent lips, light kisses that left him breathless and taken off guard. Not that it was at all unwelcomed, found himself tipping forward on his toes to get closer, the final kiss lingering before he spoke, sent shivers down his spine as he thumped back down onto his heels.

To that moment where speech disappears into silence, silence;

This night was to be one of surprise and sensuality, a change from the recluse he had turned into in favor of his profession – as if one night could leave enough memorabilia to make impressions and change opinions. Yet here he stood, in the same ritual he summoned upon nights when sterility became lonely and he craved warmth, with Taemin in his arms and his identity forgotten behind a mask. There was no real reason for him to be here, petty excuses of fake smiles and spoilt riches, hardly knowing the reason why he was trying so hard to impress.

I have come here hardly knowing the reason why

“Excuse me?” His eyes followed the gaze of Taemin’s across lady and lies alike, past the face of rich men and their drinks, to a man of weak stature and pathetic jealousy. He had little aura and even less authority, suit the only thing to his name past mediocre features and an attempt to charm. The man was nothing less than disgusting, dirt in his eyes and a boundary to tear down in the true way of his goal – Taemin was his tonight.

In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining

“You could do much better, dear. With a face as pretty as yours; that man is hardly worth half your grace.” Smoothly, he wrapped an arm around the other’s waist and took his hand up in the left, feet already stepping into the timeless 1, 2, 3; 1, 2, 3; of the music – smile as sweet as his will to not let go. “I won’t let a lady of your stature fall in with the likes of him, the only thing he shall see will be what he can’t have; perhaps red if he tries to fight for it.”

Defenseless and silent and now I am here with you;

No second thoughts, I've decided, decided.

Letting a possessive hand slip from their grasp, his eyes met with Taemin’s for a second; a challenge to disobey – to run away from all he’s wanted. Their lips drew nearer and his gaze locked with Raoul’s, hand trailing down collarbone, chest, hip to coat pocket, gloves brushing against the grip of a pistol just as they did for a kiss. He wasn’t sweet nor gentle with him, teeth nipping and tongue forceful as he drew himself closer to the other and leveled his opponent with a challenge – a gun for a lover’s quarrel.

Still smiling, he put the rifle into its case and gathered up the bullets, before walking to the indoor range he knew was on this floor, positive the older man was following him.  It was designed for the weapons handlers, designers, and hitmen to play and practice with their guns.  A specific area was closed off for long range sniping, set up with targets at all different ranges, simulating targets up to a little over a mile away.  Dae was in there only sometimes, preferring to use knives in his line of work.  Though sometimes, a different method was required, and Kang Daesung was one of the best snipers in the Crests.  He grabbed some eye and ear protection, putting them on and walked into the range.

The section was empty and quiet, it being an unusual hour for people to be shooting, which was how Dae liked it.  He went to a lane and set up the rifle on the floor, lying down next to it and getting into his position.  The weapon fit perfectly to his body, and he grinned again.  Taking one of the bullets, he loaded it and sited in at a target at 50 yards. He would start small and work his way up, it was best to learn how it shot at all distances.  He took even deep breaths, aware of the fact the weapons designer was observing him, but he didn’t care.  His entire being was focused on the shot.  He slowly pulled the trigger back, and a loud crack ensued suddenly. A hole in the target appeared, dead center.

Daesung shot the weapon a few more times, and then moved to one and two hundred yards.  It was a nearly perfect shot every time.  He was pleased.  It shot brilliantly. Looking at the designer, he finally spoke, taking his ear and eye protection off.

"You should be impressed. It was custom built and designed for you, personally tested and trialed by myself. I don’t market anything short of perfection. Speaking of which, everything comes at a price – dare we discuss ours?”

Only hesitating for a split second before taking a few confident steps towards the other young, he only took another glance at the distant targets before procuring a cleaning cloth from his suit pocket. “Let me show you the proper way to care for this rifle. Hours of work were spent designing and producing each and every piece to this and it would be a waste if any part of it deteriorated due to… mistreatment.”

Gesturing to the various parts that could be de-attached and the parts that shouldn’t, he led them over to a small table to the side of the shooting range, indicating that the gun should be placed there. 

“Daesung,” He spoke to the younger man, in no way familiarly but bordering on informal, “Was this gun just a fancy for a boy who happened to have too much money on his hands and not enough toys or was it--”

His lips curved into the ghost of a smirk. He knew the workings of the mafia extremely well, and the hitmen he knew better than the rest. They required guns, and he provided them only to the best of the best and only then, those who could afford it.

Briefly wondering who it was that the young hitman would need to take out at such a distance, not that Kai really cared about lives being taken with his creations; he finished his sentence, placing emphasis on the end as if he knew that this was the real reason for the request.