Masterpiece
this is set in the same whore!geng verse but is very different to the other three smut. this is more of a prequel of sorts and is kind of....angst smut? ohwhat. i need to stop writing. right about now.
**************************
MASTERPIECE
No matter how many years pass by and how many people he meets, he will forever remember the day Hangeng died. It was a winter’s day, the bite of the cold almost taunting, cruel and unrelenting, biting through clothes and sinking deep into the hollow of white bones. A shrill howl as the wind bellowed its twisted pleasure, mocking those who were lost and broken.
He remembers the edge of the building, solid and faint under bare feet, the faint dots of people as they scurried quickly indoors far below. The wind clawed at his thin frame and brown locks, sucking and pulling until he was tilting on the edge of the world and just as he was about to take his fall into eternity, the unmistakable sounds of a violin could be heard, piercing and rising through the anguished moans of the thwarted wind. There’s a rush of memories, an avalanche of emotions and he almost feels the tears that well and fall from his cheeks, but only imaginery droplets hit the soft snow near his feet. He had run out of tears a long time ago.
Snow was starting to fall as he jerked himself away from the edge, his feet carrying him towards the sound of the melancholy notes flowing through the air. The music was pure and breathtaking, but there was a searching manner to it, as if it was trying to be molded into something even more perfect, a masterpiece of sorts, only that it was falling short. Always, just that little bit lacking. The whiteness was almost blinding around him as the music continued to rise and fall, unperturbed by the violence of nature and it was through a thick curtain of snowflakes, that he saw the creator of such a devastating piece. The man, or rather the boy, had hair that hid his eyes although somehow the brunette instinctively knew they were closed. Those eyes did not open nor did those red parted lips move to speak, but the music lifted then dropped, the change the only acknowledgement of his presence.
The music took on an eerie edge, the notes wrapping like tentacles around his soul. And squeezing hard enough for it to shatter. This boy here- a complete stranger- was orchestrating a symphony of his pain, of everything he did not want to remember. Of the part of him that mattered more than anything and was no longer there. He had no tears left, so he smiled instead. Shiwon had always loved the violin.
The boy stood almost hidden in the shadows of the wall, mostly untouched by the snow under the narrow covering. He doesn’t even realize when the music stopped, because this talented creator was now playing another piece, one that was all sliding bows and quivering strings, only there was no music, no sound at all save the heavy breathing of the two broken souls. He could do nothing but listen, to feel, the way the wooden bow slid slowly across the soft skin of the exposed neck and the way the strings hummed as they were strummed tight between red lips.
It was as if he was under a spell and the magic pulled him closer, closer than close and the boy only tilted his head back and the bow was slowly sliding from that soft neck down the half exposed chest to disappear between milky legs, only to slide between his own thighs. The air was still biting, but they didn’t seem to feel it, not when they are pressed in tight and there’s only heat and anticipation and need. He didn’t love this boy, didn’t even know him, but something about that music and the violin and the dark look- as if this boy knew everything about him and more- in his eyes lit a fire he never knew he had within him. It wasn’t gentle and flickering like it had been with Shiwon, but wild and consuming. Powerful.
It was his first time fucking someone. His second time having sex, because the first time wasn’t a fuck, it was love making and they had loved with every fibre of their being, until there wasn’t anything left. The hotter the fire burned, the colder it is after it is extinguished. But now, here, this wasn’t soft and gentle and full of promises, it was about pleasure and dominance as he fucked this boy up against the cold, concrete wall. Legs wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him closer than should’ve been possible, and hand gripped tight in soft hair, sending sparkles of pleasure and pain down his spine as he attacked the boy’s soft neck as the other threw his head back and simply panted. The look on the boy’s face was one of wanton pleasure, but the look in those eyes held the secrets of a hidden world. It was to the unspoken promises of a new life, that he set his hard rhythm.
The boy had taken his hand then- after they had slid down the wall together, after they had left marks and bruises all over each other’s body- and led him to Heaven. Hangeng died on that icy rooftop that day, disappearing as the strings of the violin snapped one by one. He lived in Heaven now, a place where sorrows were forgotten amid the creation of pleasurable sins. He never made love again, the feeling of being taken by someoone who you meant the world to, who meant the world to you, forgotten with the melting snow. All that belonged to Shiwon and.. to Hangeng. Hankyung didn’t need all that anymore. The Master didn’t need love.
At long last, the Creator had his perfect masterpiece.
**************************
MASTERPIECE
No matter how many years pass by and how many people he meets, he will forever remember the day Hangeng died. It was a winter’s day, the bite of the cold almost taunting, cruel and unrelenting, biting through clothes and sinking deep into the hollow of white bones. A shrill howl as the wind bellowed its twisted pleasure, mocking those who were lost and broken.
He remembers the edge of the building, solid and faint under bare feet, the faint dots of people as they scurried quickly indoors far below. The wind clawed at his thin frame and brown locks, sucking and pulling until he was tilting on the edge of the world and just as he was about to take his fall into eternity, the unmistakable sounds of a violin could be heard, piercing and rising through the anguished moans of the thwarted wind. There’s a rush of memories, an avalanche of emotions and he almost feels the tears that well and fall from his cheeks, but only imaginery droplets hit the soft snow near his feet. He had run out of tears a long time ago.
Snow was starting to fall as he jerked himself away from the edge, his feet carrying him towards the sound of the melancholy notes flowing through the air. The music was pure and breathtaking, but there was a searching manner to it, as if it was trying to be molded into something even more perfect, a masterpiece of sorts, only that it was falling short. Always, just that little bit lacking. The whiteness was almost blinding around him as the music continued to rise and fall, unperturbed by the violence of nature and it was through a thick curtain of snowflakes, that he saw the creator of such a devastating piece. The man, or rather the boy, had hair that hid his eyes although somehow the brunette instinctively knew they were closed. Those eyes did not open nor did those red parted lips move to speak, but the music lifted then dropped, the change the only acknowledgement of his presence.
The music took on an eerie edge, the notes wrapping like tentacles around his soul. And squeezing hard enough for it to shatter. This boy here- a complete stranger- was orchestrating a symphony of his pain, of everything he did not want to remember. Of the part of him that mattered more than anything and was no longer there. He had no tears left, so he smiled instead. Shiwon had always loved the violin.
The boy stood almost hidden in the shadows of the wall, mostly untouched by the snow under the narrow covering. He doesn’t even realize when the music stopped, because this talented creator was now playing another piece, one that was all sliding bows and quivering strings, only there was no music, no sound at all save the heavy breathing of the two broken souls. He could do nothing but listen, to feel, the way the wooden bow slid slowly across the soft skin of the exposed neck and the way the strings hummed as they were strummed tight between red lips.
It was as if he was under a spell and the magic pulled him closer, closer than close and the boy only tilted his head back and the bow was slowly sliding from that soft neck down the half exposed chest to disappear between milky legs, only to slide between his own thighs. The air was still biting, but they didn’t seem to feel it, not when they are pressed in tight and there’s only heat and anticipation and need. He didn’t love this boy, didn’t even know him, but something about that music and the violin and the dark look- as if this boy knew everything about him and more- in his eyes lit a fire he never knew he had within him. It wasn’t gentle and flickering like it had been with Shiwon, but wild and consuming. Powerful.
It was his first time fucking someone. His second time having sex, because the first time wasn’t a fuck, it was love making and they had loved with every fibre of their being, until there wasn’t anything left. The hotter the fire burned, the colder it is after it is extinguished. But now, here, this wasn’t soft and gentle and full of promises, it was about pleasure and dominance as he fucked this boy up against the cold, concrete wall. Legs wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him closer than should’ve been possible, and hand gripped tight in soft hair, sending sparkles of pleasure and pain down his spine as he attacked the boy’s soft neck as the other threw his head back and simply panted. The look on the boy’s face was one of wanton pleasure, but the look in those eyes held the secrets of a hidden world. It was to the unspoken promises of a new life, that he set his hard rhythm.
The boy had taken his hand then- after they had slid down the wall together, after they had left marks and bruises all over each other’s body- and led him to Heaven. Hangeng died on that icy rooftop that day, disappearing as the strings of the violin snapped one by one. He lived in Heaven now, a place where sorrows were forgotten amid the creation of pleasurable sins. He never made love again, the feeling of being taken by someoone who you meant the world to, who meant the world to you, forgotten with the melting snow. All that belonged to Shiwon and.. to Hangeng. Hankyung didn’t need all that anymore. The Master didn’t need love.
At long last, the Creator had his perfect masterpiece.