Dal always liked it when Seong texted him. He didn’t know much about the guy – not terribly unusual in Dal’s line of work – but he was always nice to spend time with. Nice to Dal, anyway. And he never expected much. Never sex. Most times, they just laid in bed together, completely clothed, and snuggled.
Seong was touch-starved, he supposed. A slightly less desperate and more ethical person might suggest he see a masseuse instead of a hooker. Maybe Seong’s considered that and decided this was better. Dal couldn’t know and he didn’t pry.
He liked not getting fucked for a couple of hours. He liked keeping his clothes on. He likes not feeling the crusty old bedding on his bare skin or the chill in the air – he got so cold so easily.
This evening found them in the same shitty motel not far from Dal’s corner. Seong lay there with his head in Dal’s lap, Dal absently combing his fingers through Seong’s hair. It was nice. Quiet. Comfortable. He never worried that Seong was going have some burst of temper or go psycho on him (maybe he should worry, but he didn’t – Dal likes to think he has a pretty good instinct for people, especially people he sees more regularly).
Suddenly, he paused and looked down at Seong with genuine curiosity.
“Can I draw you?” Another nice thing about Seong? He speaks Korean.
A little touch-starved, but mostly for a very specific kind of touch. The kind of touch a masseuse doesn't provide (he's thought about that before), and the kind the boys he's dated in the past didn't provide. Well, maybe it's a little more accurate to say that he didn't like the way his exes provided the kind of touch he wanted so he always brushed it off. Or he just didn't like his exes. That one is probably the most accurate.
Regardless, he's fine with paying Dal just to spend time with him. Just to lay with him and cuddle with him and play with his hair. He's fine with giving Dal the money he doesn't really have to be spending to just be with someone who isn't expecting sex from him. It's odd when he really thinks about it, spending money on a hooker because he doesn't want sex, but it works for him. He doesn't need anyone else to understand it.
Seong lays with his eyes closed, head in Dal's lap. It's nice. The way Dal runs his fingers through Seong's hair is comforting. It's peaceful. It's quiet, aside from the noises creeping in from the other rooms. So it takes him a little by surprise when Dal speaks up. It's not that they don't speak to each other when they're together, but tonight . He opens his eyes and rolls over just enough to look up at Dal.
"Draw me?" Getting to speak Korean with Dal has also been nice. It makes him feel a little less homesick. "Um, okay. Sure."
Dal felt much the same. Though others frequently laid hands on him, it was never with affection. It was never because he craved their touch. It was never because someone wanted to make him feel good. So this? This was much nicer.
He often drew the people who spent time with him. Dal has an incredible memory for faces and usually spends his mornings in the all-night café drawing them. He’s often thought about attending one of those free life drawing sessions, but he’s typically sleeping when they occur. Dal dare not ask any of the people who pay to fuck him.
But Seong? Seong who just wanted to spend time with someone? He might agree to such a request.
And look at that! He said ‘sure.’
A small, genuine smile came to his face and lit up his dark eyes. Stretching where he sat, Dal reached for the small bag he always had with him. Inside, he pulled out his sketchbook with the pencil stuck in the spiral. It made a little scraped clicking sound as he pulled it free.
no subject
Seong was touch-starved, he supposed. A slightly less desperate and more ethical person might suggest he see a masseuse instead of a hooker. Maybe Seong’s considered that and decided this was better. Dal couldn’t know and he didn’t pry.
He liked not getting fucked for a couple of hours. He liked keeping his clothes on. He likes not feeling the crusty old bedding on his bare skin or the chill in the air – he got so cold so easily.
This evening found them in the same shitty motel not far from Dal’s corner. Seong lay there with his head in Dal’s lap, Dal absently combing his fingers through Seong’s hair. It was nice. Quiet. Comfortable. He never worried that Seong was going have some burst of temper or go psycho on him (maybe he should worry, but he didn’t – Dal likes to think he has a pretty good instinct for people, especially people he sees more regularly).
Suddenly, he paused and looked down at Seong with genuine curiosity.
“Can I draw you?” Another nice thing about Seong? He speaks Korean.
no subject
Regardless, he's fine with paying Dal just to spend time with him. Just to lay with him and cuddle with him and play with his hair. He's fine with giving Dal the money he doesn't really have to be spending to just be with someone who isn't expecting sex from him. It's odd when he really thinks about it, spending money on a hooker because he doesn't want sex, but it works for him. He doesn't need anyone else to understand it.
Seong lays with his eyes closed, head in Dal's lap. It's nice. The way Dal runs his fingers through Seong's hair is comforting. It's peaceful. It's quiet, aside from the noises creeping in from the other rooms. So it takes him a little by surprise when Dal speaks up. It's not that they don't speak to each other when they're together, but tonight . He opens his eyes and rolls over just enough to look up at Dal.
"Draw me?" Getting to speak Korean with Dal has also been nice. It makes him feel a little less homesick. "Um, okay. Sure."
no subject
He often drew the people who spent time with him. Dal has an incredible memory for faces and usually spends his mornings in the all-night café drawing them. He’s often thought about attending one of those free life drawing sessions, but he’s typically sleeping when they occur. Dal dare not ask any of the people who pay to fuck him.
But Seong? Seong who just wanted to spend time with someone? He might agree to such a request.
And look at that! He said ‘sure.’
A small, genuine smile came to his face and lit up his dark eyes. Stretching where he sat, Dal reached for the small bag he always had with him. Inside, he pulled out his sketchbook with the pencil stuck in the spiral. It made a little scraped clicking sound as he pulled it free.
“You don’t have to move if you don’t want to.”