In Good Taste [Part Two]
Title: In Good Taste [Part Two]
Pairing(s): YulTi
Rating/Genre: PG-13 + Language; Coming Out, Girl-Meets-Girl
Disclaimer: I don’t own Soshi. I don’t own anyone, in fact. All Fiction.
Warning(s): Consent discussion.
Author’s Notes: In the latest episode of me and boxxsaltz’s podcast, someone asked about gay/queer shows. Well, I’m currently obsessed with BBC America’s Killing Eve. It’s several parts twisted and several more parts queer. I love it so far.
Yuri
--
These women called Yuri ‘delectable.’
Yuri lapped up her fourth? fifth? cocktail of the night, as drunk on compliments as the free vodka. Their large booth happened to be inhabited by a circle of professionals-none younger than their late thirties. Designer attire, jewelry that rivaled the club lights, and flawlessly preened. Sooyoung had been onto something when she mentioned sexy maturity.
And Yuri caught wind of their tastes. Over the following hour, ladies in their twenties materialized at each lady’s side. Pink Halter slung a slim arm around Yuri’s neck, staking an overt-yet, intoxicating-claim.
“Have you ever left Korea, Yuri?”
She warmed at how an innocuous question dripped with sensuality. “I haven’t.”
Fruity breath grazed her ear in a, “I can’t believe that. Surely, someone’s whisked you away to a foreign island once or twice.”
No whisking. No island. Not that Yuri had an opportunity while making minimum medical bill payments from teen age to twenties. By the time those were paid off, she and Sooyoung acquired matching jobs at Craftie’s. Yuri shyly shrugged off her lack of travel. “Less than once, I’m afraid.”
“I’ve a villa in Tuscany.”
She nodded, indifference coated in a curious, “Oh?”
“Mm, yes.” She snuggled closer, wavy hair held back by the snapback she coyly stole from Yuri. “Suppose you tag along with me someday. Every night, we’d feast on the finest wine until the clothes come sailing off your gorgeous body. How incredible would that be?”
Blushing, Yuri replied, “Pretty incredible.”
She knew better than to accept the empty calories of flattery. The professionals at this table had a short-term agenda-to seize life by its sexually fluid horns for the weekend. Come Monday morning, they’d shroud themselves in society’s respectable robes and scoff in her direction dare she approach them. They proffered no names of their own. Many even wore their wedding bands prominently.
Yuri pictured herself leading a similarly deceptive existence. Further reason to hit the ice of her drink.
In a brisk flourish, Pink Halter refilled it from a pitcher. “When you’re on my tab, your glass isn’t allowed to be empty.”
“I think I’ve had en-” Yuri gulped at the tease of lips to her neck. She shivered, slurring, “Who’s gonna take me home?”
“I am, if I play my cards right.”
She’d meant her own apartment alone, but even the thought of engaging in the curves pressed to her body noodled her response into a girlish snort. “You’re bluffing.”
“Not at all.” Pink Halter leered. “I swear you’d contort me into so many kinky positions.”
Yuri flushed crimson. She had no expertise in contorting anyone. She’d barely mastered lying still until Taekwoon came. Something told her that her youth + dykey costume broadcasted the wrong signals. “A yoga instructor, I am not.”
“Nonsense. I know how you millennials fare. Play hard, complain hard, sex hard.”
“Massive generalizations there.”
“Care to dance?”
She sipped through the subject change. “Um, um...”
“You can dance, right?”
“I have a few moves.”
“Then, finish that and come on.” Pink Halter crawled over Yuri, leaving an alluring mélange of perfume, softness, and confidence in her wake. “Hurry. I bet you’ll feel as amazing as you look.”
Yuri drowned her inhibitions in a tropical blend. She wanted to live, to indulge. To fit in with everybody else under this rainbow-flagged roof. It’s not like Regular Yuri was that exciting, anyway.
...
Two songs in and the pleasure coursing through Yuri felt too good, too dangerous. Like, cheating dangerous. Conflict raged within her, featuring Pink Halter’s fingers in Yuri’s hair, a hipbone to her center, the lingering thought of Taekwoon innocently awaiting her return, and this burgeoning sexuality…brought on by that delicious hipbone on her center.
Her dance partner had it all in the looks department, including those laugh lines. And she appeared close to a meltdown, too. If Yuri drank less, maybe she’d be able to envisage some consequences, the inevitable aftermath of behaving recklessly. Yet, the voice of those free cocktails whispered, ‘Fuck behaving.’
Their gyrating rocked out of accord with the music. Pink Halter’s lips now accompanied teeth upon her skin. The indentions of Yuri’s nails into bare, hairless, unmanly thighs were real and raw and tantalizing. The current of lust between her own legs parted the heavens for a disclaimer:
Yuri liked women
and this was foreplay.
“We gotta…” She withered as Pink Halter’s leg hiked up higher. “We gotta cool off.”
She received a long lick on her jaw for an answer. Yuri coiled, shocked that she’d ever be tested sexually. This woman was accomplishing what Taekwoon couldn’t in complete nudity.
“P-p-please? Can we step away for a sec?”
That nabbed Pink Halter’s attention. With a smirk, she danced away, holding out an expectant hand. Yuri intertwined their fingers like she depended on it, noting how she herself resembled that poor bastard Taehyung, desperate for the attention she’d dreamt of. They walked a bumpy path (avoiding elbows and runaway groins) to the hallway leading to VIP, near the bathrooms. Yuri contemplated giving her face a much-needed splash when in a split moment, her back collided with the wall.
“I don’t think I can wait,” Pink Halter breathed, x-ray eyeing through Yuri’s thin t-shirt.
As the flannel at her waist got untied, Yuri threw panicked glances at the other clubgoers walking by. “Isn’t this too um, public?”
“Let them watch.”
In seconds, their lips were one. Not the ghosted pecks and nibbles while grinding on the floor. Full-on, tongue-to-tonsil, head-tilted kissing that’d been Taekwoon’s and only Taekwoon’s for years. And Yuri hated herself for not stopping. For not refusing the smoothness of this woman’s mouth and how she’ll miss it when it’s gone. But, as Sooyoung reminded her: she had to investigate this. Or else she’d live full of regrets. The regrets of not knowing how this sprung her flesh to life.
So, they continued to kiss.
And writhe, and moan, and pant broken obscenities.
Drawing out this fantasy. A safe, gay haven for Yuri to probe, please herself and-
“Oh,” Yuri sighed, snatching her hand off the other woman’s breast. “Not too far, please?”
Pink Halter grinned in her arousal, grabbing the hand to place back on the firm roundness of her chest. “You are so damn hot, you know that? In that outfit of yours.”
The tryhard gay getup was a success. “Thank you.”
“Thank youuuu,“ She mocked lightly, guiding their hands downward. “Quit it with the innocent act and take charge, sexy.”
“I’m not...” Yuri created an excuse on the fly. “I don’t top, sorry.”
“Bullshit.”
Yuri let her head bobble, wondering if she imagined that tone in her drunkenness. “People are staring.”
“Then, you’d better step it up, huh?”
“What if I don’t want to?”
Swiftly, Yuri’s lips were reclaimed. Except, the flush of their faces didn’t burn the same as before. Too persistent, more aggressive than earlier. And Yuri’s hand-she flinched, eyes ajar-had been flattened and directed into Pink Halter’s unbuttoned shorts. The roughness of lace reached her fingertips and her heart jumped.
“I uh, I shouldn’t.” Yuri tugged with a bit more force to drive her point, only to be trapped tighter. “I’m off.”
“You were on a minute ago.”
Sweat wet the hair along Yuri’s neck. She didn’t want to make a scene, bring eyes to herself. That fear and anxiety of visiting a gay club came barreling back faster than her glass had been refilled. “Please, let go.”
“This virgin roleplay again? You were all over me a second ago.”
Maybe she’d been naïve. Assuming any woman to be kinder, safer than a random dude. She felt pressured all over again and this was a fucking stranger. Not Taek in his alma mater socks. “I changed my mind.”
“Then, you-”
“I-I have a boyfriend!” The grip on her shirt loosened; she went on. “A boyfriend that-that I love very much so would you kindly let me go before I cry for help?”
Pink Halter blinked to realization, glancing to her left and right. “Jesus, I thought we were teasing each other, Yuri. I can’t make you fuck me.”
“Just-” The tears trickled from Yuri’s chin. Tears of disappointment. Mostly embarrassment. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Really, bitch? Actual tears?” She slinked off, buttoning herself. “You’re not the only one with a man at home.”
Facing a gorgeous someone who’d never lover her, Yuri sobbed, “Leave me the fuck alone, then.”
“With pleasure.”
Two sad minutes passed before Yuri released a shuddering breath, sinking to the floor like a violated cliché. Was this punishment? Like, how come nobody warned her about female predators and their emotional fucking terrorism? And, sadly, time had only weighed onto her alcohol, added kilos to her slowed brain. She shook her head. Shook it again. And her body followed suit, quaking as it sank in what had just transpired.
“I sh-should’ve gone home,” she muttered as passersby scaled obvious arcs around the wasted, sorry drunk. “I should’ve…”
She slipped on and buttoned her flannel shirt up to her neck, further realizing Pink Halter made off with her hat.
And for reasons unknown, that made her break down yet again.
...
Trap music beats echoed from the floor to Yuri’s body, bullying her in sync with everyone having a better time than her. She blinked bloodshot eyes, rolling her wretchedly dry tongue.
Still drunk, still stupid.
Still worthless and causing congestion in a hall that had somehow grown smaller. The single thing bringing her comfort was her phone in her back pocket-she wasn’t completely stranded. Once she could gather her wits, she’d call for a ride home.
Her wits weren’t gathered just yet. So, she stayed. Ass flat on the hard floor, brow beaded. And the minutes crept by.
Why did that woman assume she’d take charge? Did she give off leader vibes? Sexual freak vibes? Butch vibes? Yuri tugged the frayed heel of her Chucks, humiliated all over again for not knowing the rules. So fucking dead-set on entertaining these…tendencies, she’d thrown her safety out the window. She’d made a fool of herself.
Her jaw slacked open in a silent cry, wracked by a fit of shakes. The kind sourced from deep within her chest. Moving her out of tandem with the music, to pathetic-lady-on-the-floor territory.
Then, as she buoyed into another consciousness, something-someone seized Yuri’s right shoulder. Her other side was hauled up as well. Pulling at her arm, drawing her to her knees.
Maybe security chose to take out the trash. She struggled to protest, but the upward movement sent shockwaves through her skull, a lurching to her stomach, and stars to her eyes.
The escort on her left groaned miserably and Yuri flinched an eye open. Security wouldn’t wear those open-toed heels with the glitter straps. Her nails wouldn’t be painted, either.
Who…who was carrying her?
“St-st-” Yuri stuttered as the bathroom door swished open. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what Pink Halter had been wearing. Did she return to punish Yuri for leading her on? Had she called in friends to lay her to waste?
With renewed strength, she yanked an arm free from the glitter sandal person. If Yuri were to suffer, she’d suffer alone.
The lady let out a noncommittal sigh and retreated to a stall.
The second escort, however, managed to push Yuri into an empty corner. A shadow and a mild fragrance casted onto Yuri before her stern, close voice asked, “Are you on drugs?”
If only. It’d excuse why she couldn’t be normal. Yuri’s head swam after a brusque shake no. Eyes averted, ashamed.
“Then, tell me what’s wrong. Too drunk?”
The concern in this woman’s voice spun loops in her sick stomach. “She…she…”
The person leaned nearer, along with her perfume. “Hm?”
“She…” Yuri held her stomach. “She made me put my hands on her.”
That stopped the questioning. Followed by an unceremonious flush of Glitter Shoes done peeing. Once the stall door opened, the kind voice called out to her, “Yoona, go grab me a water.”
Her friend-Yoona, apparently-whined like a siren. Nevertheless, she washed her hands, disappeared, and returned minutes later. Yuri listened for the bottle’s plastic seal to crack (it did) before holding her hand out for a rather small bottle of drinking water. It dripped down her hand and wrist as she quivered.
“A half-size? Honestly, Yoona…”
Yoona remained livid, hissing, “We don’t know her!”
Yuri took one long sip while they whisper-bickered. Spring water flowed down her throat in the most satisfying, refreshing stream of crystalled heaven. She pursed her lips, content.
Until the stream took an ugly turn and gushed back up her throat, bringing a stomach full of vodka with it.
“For the love of tits,” Yoona wailed as the nicer escort led Yuri crawling into a stall to throw up. “Does it end!?”
“Please, come he-come here and hold her hair!”
“This is fucking gross.”
“Pretend to be human and help her.”
A shuffle of exchanged heels echoed as a ponytail’s worth of Yuri’s hair was handed to Yoona…who did a shitty job of keeping it off the toilet bowl and Yuri’s sweating neck. Yuri heaved all the same, finding more tears, more shame. Maybe her body rejected this. This homosexuality. Expelling the flirting, the alcohol, the dancing, the splash of lemon lime. She wasn’t built for this lifestyle.
Another piece of hair stuck right on Yuri’s wet cheek. She hated herself.
Seconds snailed on like lifetimes. She heard clueless-and soon aware-ladies enter the bathroom and hurry to unoccupied stalls. Nothing like a chick vomiting her guts out to squash the clubbing atmosphere. When the nicer escort returned, Yoona immediately dropped her hair and shimmied out.
“I’m done. Babysit her by yourself.”
The sink sounded and Yoona soon left with the other girls.
“Endless apologies for my friend,” the leftover saint murmured as she passed some paper towels over. Half of them had been moistened in the sink, the other half dry.
Yuri nodded as well as she could, wiping the whole of her face with both options.
“Can you stand?”
She wasn’t sure. So, her escort helped her up and out the stall.
“I’m not normally this wasted,” Yuri slurred, holding her hands under the automatic tap.
“My dad says when someone drinks that much, they’re running away from something.” She scoffed. “He’s not the most reliable source of advice, unfortunately.”
“He sounds wise to me.”
“Are you wearing an undershirt?”
The wall-length mirror in front of them had the stark lighting of a vanity. So, in all its HD glory, a dark strip of wetness spread on the front of Yuri’s plaid top. From its collar down to the dripping edge. Mortifying. “Oh, shit.”
The other woman drummed her manicured nails while Yuri clumsily unbuttoned herself, as if she’d wanted her to hurry up. It was disgusting, after all.
When the last button flicked apart, Yuri got spun around for the shirt to be flaked off and tossed into the counter hole garbage. “Smart you for having on layers.”
More sentient than earlier, Yuri thought to actually look this angel in the face and thank her.
To thank her...concerned, sparkling eyes. A long, feminine face framed in hair luscious enough for Pantene commercials-dark brown with a dusting of light bronze. Lips sculpted by God. And a stunner body in a little black dress that deserved better than playing nurse on a Saturday night.
Yuri whimpered instead, swinging her head. Fuck, her body hadn’t exorcised all the gay.
“Are you-” A careful hand met Yuri’s shoulder. “Going to be sick again?”
“No, I-I-I…” What should’ve been an explanation died in a few pathetic sputters.
Call it a humble brag, but Yuri couldn’t handle any more beautiful women at this gay club. Her rational mind, saying that this woman and Pink Halter were diametrically different, was influenced by the earlier incident. By the alcohol and low self-esteem. She squeezed a tear from either eye in a shudder, wishing all these complications away. A rattling from the woman’s purse interrupted her self-wallow, though.
“You’d think this club would have refreshments in the bathrooms, but…” She sighed, not unlike Yuri’s mother whenever a ‘C’ stained her high school report cards. “Here, eat this.”
A plastic-wrapped mini candy cane slipped into Yuri’s unclenched hand. “F-for?”
She laughed out in another sigh, tone wry. “The mint-well, artificial mint-may soothe your nausea. I haven’t used this purse since a Christmas party last year, but I swear it’s not lethal.”
Had Yuri accepted her fill of substances from strangers? She ripped open the dusky wrapper, wishing for the stranger’s best intentions. And fresher breath.
“Does it taste too terrible?”
A gaggle of wannabe starlets marched into the bathroom, crowding the mirror to touch up their makeup and expensive blowouts. A couple used the facilities. And Yuri waited until the very last one left to finally reply, “Tastes fine. Preservatives do their job.”
Shit, even this lady’s smile belonged in dramas. “Brilliant. Um, what do I call you?”
“Yu-” Should she be foolish with her name twice in a night? “-ra. Yura.”
“And I’m Marie Antoinette. I can fake a name, too.”
Yuri grinned like she hadn’t all night-free of tension. Lips pinned upwards on the right. “Kwon Yuri.”
“Pretty. I’m Tiffany Hwang.” She bowed demurely, like a model in etiquette. “Nice to meet you.”
“Is it?”
This time, they laughed together. Tiffany smiled long and hard, then flinched as though she remembered something. “Wait here, okay?”
As if Yuri would wander out on her own in this state. She nodded meekly. Beauty shouldn’t trick her again, but damn, that smile. Yuri closed her eyes in a quiet swoon once she was alone. In about half an hour, this Good Samaritan managed to improve her trashy club experience. Questions and qualms abounded and somehow…she felt safe from the Pink Halters of the world.
Roughly ten minutes and a few dance-ready groups elapsed until Tiffany returned, catching the door at her heel. “You’ve gone through…” She bit her lip, obviously grappling for PC words, “enough for one night. So, I have my friend holding a cab for you.”
Yuri could cry. Oh, sweet retreat. “I…yeah. Cool.”
“Give me your phone?”
Reluctance flooded her; she reflexively placed a protective hand on the phone in her back pocket.
Tiffany’s eyes softened and so did her voice. “Nothing skeevy, I promise. Just text me when you arrive home and once after you wake up.” She glanced down at her stilettos, then up to Yuri. “Double coverage to know you’re okay.”
Yuri silently acquiesced, chewing her candy.
Tiffany quickly entered her information, handed the phone over, and guided them through the throng of pretenders. The only contact between then was a gentle, respectful nudge at the small of Yuri’s back. And Yuri appreciated that.
Outside, Yoona, the annoyed friend from before, leaned her thin body against the reserved cab. She hadn’t learned how to smile, even after Yuri managed a grateful ‘thanks’ to her.
Tiffany shooed Yoona out the way and offered Yuri a colder bottle of water. “Text me? I’m saved as ‘Tiffany Hwang from the club.’”
She’d never forget Tiffany’s name. “Sure.”
“You swear?”
“Solemnly.”
Pleased, Tiffany shut the door for her and the cab driver requested an address. It wasn’t until they were halfway to the apartment that Yuri realized she hadn’t thanked her.
…
Yuri slogged up their two-floor walkup, each step more miserable than the last. That ride home dipped more into the bank than a 30-hr retail worker could afford. She knocked, calculating how many hours she could con out of Sooyoung, and Taekwoon received her like a big, abandoned puppy.
“Oh, ho, hooooo, girl.” He tried his best sassy, in-a-circle snap. Per usual, it was clunky and adorably awful. “Someone had a night!”
All the infidelity of the past hours slung around Yuri’s heart in rusty chain links. What had she done? She played up the drunkenness for his amusement and eventual bear hug. “I’m gonna shower.”
“Of course, of course.”
Yuri picked from the oversized tees, panties, and pajama pants folded neatly on her dresser. Hell, he even did laundry while she was out flirting and retching in guilt. She shouldn’t have floored it into Lesbo Acres; maybe starting small could’ve saved her a lot of-
“Does Sooyoung have your hat?” Taekwoon asked, wrapping his arms around her. He lightly kissed the crown of her head, stroked his large hands along her abs, angled her ass and his hips into alignment. So, she froze. Wanting to want it. Through her jeans, all she could pray for was that slight bulge to turn her on like Pink Halter’s hipbone before all went to hell.
No dice.
“I’m disgusting, Taek,” she said within a fake giggle, squeezing away playfully. What if thinking about her clothes, her failure as a girlfriend and sexual being, triggered another panic attack? Explaining that to Taekwoon would be way too uncomfortable and laced with lies.
…
The shower restored her thoughts as much as her body. She tiptoed onto a towel soberer to her night; less harsh on herself. A huge tragedy here was suppressing part of herself for so long.
Her friends-Sooyoung, for example-fell into bed with various boyfriends in high school. Yuri assumed her disinterest in sex and dating stemmed from financial hardships and her parents’ health. On her few dates, back when a boy attempted to hug goodnight or kiss her cheek or-heaven forbid-feel her up, she’d felt nothing. Then, she refused to call or set up a follow-up date, despite her friends urging her about the guy being “the whole package” and “boyfriend material.”
Sooyoung didn’t burden her, though. She knew the person for Yuri would come. And-for just the two of them-she’d schedule a binge session of dramas, even the cheesiest ones. Dramas rescued her thoughts from veering into “why don’t I like them” territory, which lived on as Yuri’s coping mechanism for these anxieties. And when Taekwoon introduced himself at a friend’s Halloween party, decked out head-to-toe as a handsome Jack Skellington, those worries retreated to the recesses of her mind. She’d found her dream guy; what more could she ask for?
Years later, the answer escaped from those recesses with a vengeance. Yuri had sworn a message to-she closed her eyes in a moment of indulgence, reminiscing on a smile that could end wars-Tiffany from the club. Procrastinating, she scrolled through an inebriated Sooyoung’s ‘are you okay?’/ ‘this club is the littest’ texts and replied accordingly.
Leaving her sipping from the now lukewarm water bottle, texting that helpful beauty. An emoji would be nice. Two emojis would be nicer-no, too much. One would do fine.
Yuri: I’m home safely. thank you v much tiffany. ❤️
Gross, no. Too forward.
Yuri swapped the heart for a blushing face emoji, hit send, and vacated the bathroom without a second guess.
She tossed and turned in bed, managing to hit on one of Taekwoon’s rare pet peeves. He mumbled in his sleep, shuffled closer, and cuddled her as the big spoon. He was too warm for comfort, but not warm enough to push such a wonderful guy aside. She restlessly lay through it until her phone chirped. And she counted to 60. Not because she cared about looking cool by not answering immediately, but as a self-bargaining chip. If she could wait a full minute, the response would be from Tiffany and not Sooyoung’s picture texts of gold champagne bottles or her sweaty charge’s Black Card.
Quietly, she leaned to her bedside table and blocked the light with a cupped hand to read:
Tiffany Hwang from the club: You’re not in a ditch somewhere! 💃🏻Drink lots of water. Don’t forget to text me when you wake up. 🙏🏻✌🏻
Oh, Yuri wouldn’t forget. Not a chance.
She simplified the name to ‘Tiffany.’
Yuri: ok. night.🌛
Tiffany: 😇😇😇
Soon after, she drifted to sleep. An outsider would presume the security of Taekwoon’s lean arm supplied the calm she needed. When that cute exchange with Tiffany did everything.
[A/N: Yay, gifs]
Idk, these gifs are cute and fit the characters well. :33
