desideratum.
@idmilo, after party for the awards ceremony.
milo’s his sort-of date in the middle of a room filled with mildly-familiar people to them both. industry something-or-others intermixed with idols. san knows mostly everyone in the industry at this point. he’s been in the game for so long. sometimes it feels like too long. but he doesn’t mind the parties. an excuse to get drunk. san takes a lot of those.
he knows why he brought milo. it was to piss johyun off. it’s unfair. he knows it is. knows milo likes him. or, likes the idea of him at least. but san knows him. or, parts of him, more realistically. knows he leaned hot and cold against him, back before atlas debuted. back when milo knew all of olympus’ dances just as well as san did. knows the feel of his hands, and knows that despite being fit into a room of too-attractive people, milo will gravitate back toward him. and san likes that. at least for the moment. he likes milo’s attention, even if it’s maybe misplaced.
he likes getting under milo’s skin, too. because milo is always finding him. eyes heavy. and san likes holding himself just out of reach. likes making people run. tipping them off balance. tottering uneasy. almost falling. knowing he has the power to give one firm, final shove and send them crashing. he shouldn’t treat milo like a distraction. but he does..
so when he’s off to find drinks. he stops. smiles. touches. flirts. if only because milo’s watching. because he knows milo will get all wrapped up in it. and he knows milo has that strange way about him, that in the end he’ll only serve to build him up higher and higher in his mind. san knows that one day it will all topple. san’s half sure that milo’s written him out as a completely different person than who he really is in his head. but san’s used to that. so he lets him. there are two flutes of something expensive in his hand. almost back to milo but he stops again. smiles. a hand on his forearm and san leans into it. because he knows milo’s watching. maybe it’s cruel. but san doesn’t care.
he just wants to work him up. wants to pull out the angry slant of milo’s brow. wants fingers curled tight against his biceps. possessive and insistent. gnashing at the edge of anger. that’s how san lives his entire life lately. volatile and violent. a reckless ocean of a thing, and he wants milo to dash him against the rocks. a water-tombed rage.
he makes it back to him, eventually. hands off a glass, sips from his own. his eyes are lidded, he smells like someone else’s cologne. “having fun?” he asks, a play at demure. because they both know he isn’t. and that milo isn’t having fun.
