It just wasn’t fair, not by a long shot, and if anything the very fact that they still blamed Hyeon for the mixup at the audition was reinforcing his victim complex. How could he have known the artistic director for that studio was one of his old clients? Who would have thought that someone in a position as prominent as the old faggot’s would frequent the seedier parts of Seoul’s underbelly? When he tried to make another pass at the young idol in training, Hyeon had him on the ground punching his ugly old face before anyone could blink, and they were less than impressed he caused thrity-four sitches than they were how it rippled through the community of aritsts that their member had a bad attitude. Chul even went so far as to suggest he should have “taken one for the group” and fucked that nasty old fag again, like any of them would have done it in his place.
No, it was with that chip on his shoulder and the fact that his “temper” cost the group another audition with a big fashion house who wanted live performers for their next show that had Hyeon in a bad mood while he wandered the city at night. It wasn’t long before he was back in his old haunts, the places he’d picked up his ink and his attitude slinging a little dope and selling his body to the highest bidder on a nightly basis. The streets had inadvertantly created the body that made his first audition go so well, tight and trim with just the right amount of muscle to make the little girls (and the boys, not that they’d admit it) go crazy. Add in the way he and Chul would dance against each other and suggest the dirty depraved things they did together in bed off stage, and most of their shows needed double the security of any group at their stable. Not that his prudish fellow performer wanted anything they choreographed, the son of a preacher from TV would never admit to getting hard as Hyeon gyrated against his ass.
On the streets getting distracted was a bad idea, especially in the areas where Hyeon’s feet seemed to take him. Well away from the bustling shopping centers and glitzy splendor of “Rich” Seoul were the warehouses and modern opium dens of the city’s underground. Here, he’d made a living the only way he knew how, selling himself for a night of pleasure to some sleazy dirt bag with a little dick and a big gut, maybe sometimes pulling a woman because of his pretty face and seemingly nice body, but it was always the gross, old men that picked out the pretty boys like him. If anything it had turned him completely against sex of any kind, even if Chul had a nice ass and a petulant mouth, the thought of anything sexual was disgusting to the former sex worker, and nothing seemed to change that, even with the hot young girls and boys screaming his name in the crowd.
Rounding the corner of his old street, Hyeon didn’t expect to see the gang of punks standing there, shooting dice and drinking from bottles hidden in brown paper bags. Like any other street, they were just a fixture of the neighborhood, but when they caught sight of the idol in a pair of shoes that cost more than most earned in a week, the designer bespoke jeans and trendy pea coat from some major fashion line, they smelled money whether there was real money or not. He passed, walking on his way still oblivious to the danger of it all, not seeing the six guys following along behind him, stalking him like a delicious snack to be devoured by their greedy hands.
The next street was even darker, the tenament homes along each side as depressing as the stories of the people inside. It was a house like that where Hyeon had grown up, in fact the one at the corner another block down was the only home he’d known before his career took off. The same smell of despair and old kimchee filled the road, not exactly inviting but still pulling him in. Not until he reached the halfway point along the street did the group strike, one of the larger guys moving up ahead of Hyeon to give him a little shove down the alley between buildings. “What’s up, pretty boy? You think you’re gonna walk our hood and not pay the toll?” he asked, voice deep considering he wasn’t very tall.
Hyeon was no pushover, but this guy seemed to have a good twenty pounds on the idol, twenty pounds of muscle no less as he easily forced the taller guy down the alley. The other five fanned out behind the ringleader of their little group, cutting off the only escape out the mouth of the alley. On the far side there was only darkness, either a wall or a fence or a fate worse than these six was waiting there, no indication he could escape that way. “What the fuck do you want?” came the hissed reply, not exactly helping his position.
If he took offense, the way the street tough smirked at the young idol didn’t seem to indicate there were any hard feelings over the harsh tone. “Now, is that any way to refer to the neighborhood watch? We keep this place safe, wouldn’t want something bad happening to that pretty face, huh?” he asked, moving in slowly. He pulled a knife from his pocket, flicking his wrist as the blade popped out with a dangerous schlick. It glinted in the low light as step-by-step he moved in closer, threatening Hyeon with his blade. “Becuase, I think it would be a pity if there were scars on that face. Might make it harder to sell that face to the Johns. What pimp would have you if you had a big, thick line down your cheek?”
There wasn’t hesitation in Hyeon’s reaction, hand flying out to land a solid punch in the leader’s throat, the fleshy thud of it making contact almost sickening. But it had the intended result, sending the man to his knees as the knife dropped to the ground. It was hardly what anyone expected, the pretty young thing fighting back. That’s now how this worked, he handed over his cash and let them play for a bit, then he walked away with his bruises but still alive and still pretty. Now they needed blood to answer for blood, and there was no escape left. While they all pondered this, though, Hyeon already had the blade in his hand and was running into the darkness of the alley, seeking his way out of there and off to whatever lay beyond.
Luck was on his side, the alley narrowed between building until even he had trouble sneaking through, but opened again to the other side of the block. Back in the open, he was free to run as hard and as fast as he could. There wasn’t a chance some random cop would stop him, no patrols, the gangs greased the right hands to keep the cops out of this part of town. No, his only hope was the subway or a bus, maybe a taxi on the way to work willing to pick up someone in nice clothes. Otherwise he’d run until he tired and they’d find him and beat him to death. That was too risky, too reckless, he should have known better. There was too much on the line, all of which was flashing through his head when he turned to look back and spot a few of the guys a block behind him and gaining on him.
That one moment to look back cost him his footing, though, and sent him sprawling on his ass. It felt like he had run face-first into a brick wall, but instead of the road rash and pain of broken bones, he only had the discomfort of his face running down the length of a zipper. It didn’t make any sense, his head all jammed up from the shock of bouncing off of a wall and landing hard on his ass while running a good twenty kilometers per hour. The first few things that he heard didn’t make sense, a couple of the guys catching up stopped short of him and the rain of blows he expected to land on him for his attack didn’t happen. Blackness didn’t move in, just a hushed murmur of words he could barely make out and the narrow tunnel of light he could see slowly widening as the world came crashing back in around him.
Hyeon -hurt- from the fall, and he realized he’d flown through the air almost a meter before he landed on the ground, or at least it seemed he had when he sat up and shook loose the cobwebs from his brain. The gang of thugs had finally caught up, the little leader huffing and puffing quite satisfactorally as he stood staring at the wall where Hyeon had hit. This had to be it, the end of it all, and he pulled himself to his feet to take it like a man. Somewhere he’d lost the knife, but that meant the punk had lost it, too, so at least he could try and beat two or three of them before this was over. “Come on, bitch, you going to stare or you going to fight?” he asked, realizing almost too late that they were all staring over his shoulder, ostensibly at the wall he’d hit.
“Just because I’m a little punch-drunk doesn’t mean…” he trailed off, looking over his shoulder to see the mountain of a man he’d run into. Fuck that dude was big, Hyeon had to blink a few times before he could comprehend the tall, muscular “wall” he’d run into, easily twelve or so centimeters over his own hundred and eighty five and definitely over a hundred kilos. If anything, he was more impressed than scared, knowing how hard it was to put on that kind of mass, to keep up his own training and the dietary restrictions of his stable. Whoever was helping this guy out, they’d done their job well.
“Hyung, this guy was in our turf, he was asking for it…then he…he punched me,” the punk said, his voice more reverent than anything else. It seemed there was at least one person the gang leader was more afraid of than a gun, since that was the only thing Hyeon could think of to get that kind of reaction. Smugly, he turned back to smirk at the shorter gang banger, his chin lifted a bit in defiance. “You gotta let us kick his ass, I can’t let people hear some little faggot got off a shot…” he trailed off, his face going white as a sheet.
Hyeon looked back over his shoulder, seeing the man’s bare finger lifted, counting off one for some reason, at least that’s what it reminded the young idol of. A few sputters from the punk made him lift as eyebrow as if questioning if he wanted to continue. “Fine, but tell that faggot not to show his face again, or I’ll beat it in with a pipe.”
In a blink, the massive man was around Hyeon and had the punk lifted a good four inches off the ground by the grip in his shirt. It was impressive, he barely seemed to struggle from the effort of someone as densely muscled as the gang banger, but with that tree-trunk of an arm clad in his sweatshirt, it was clear he had enough strength to back up their fear. “What did I tell you, so-nyeon, about your language. Do I need to wash your mouth out with soap again?” came the low, rumbling voice, only fitting that muscular frame.
Bizzare as the whole situation was, Hyeon could only stand there and gape at the way it was all playing out. Here was this hunk right off the pages of a fitness magazine, the kind of guy that he’d always looked up to as a boy and wanted to look like, throwing around the gang of thugs that had chased him like they weighed nothing. How had he never seen this guy before in the neighborhood, was it really that long since he’d been back? Someone like that, growing up long enough to get that term of endearment from a group of idiots who didn’t respect anyone or anything…damn, those eyes and that face were distracting. Why did he have to be hot, too?
Lost in feelings he hadn’t felt in what seemed a lifetime, Hyeon missed the subtle nuance of the situation, the way the bodybuilder was protecting him not because he needed help but because the punks were calling him a faggot. It seemed he took a particular exception to that word, growling low in his throat from the low rumble of his displeasure. It seemed the leader of the little gang used the word a third time, because all Hyeon saw was the massive fist balled up as it slammed hard enough to make bone crunch into the guy’s head before his limp and lifeless body dropped to the ground in a heap.
Only the bloody drops flying out with his breath showed he was alive, but the reaction was almost instantaneous. All but two of the other guys took off running down the street, disappearing into the alleys and doorways of the tenamants and ignoring their fallen friend. Catching the other two in his gaze, the man only murmured, “take care of him,” before they lifted their friend onto their shoulders and took off almost running down the street. Watching them go, he seemed to ignore Hyeon for the time being, making sure he watched them take their friend home instead of dumping him somewhere he might get hurt.
“You should be more careful walking out here. Most people won’t stop to help someone in need. Especially someone in clothes like that,” he said louder, more forcefully. Hyeon was shocked, the man wasn’t looking at him, but the shorter idol was certainly staring almost open-mouthed at his savior. Wearing a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt that would have been baggy on any other man, the grey material hugged his muscular frame like a second skin in places, broad shoulders and thick arms clearly visible as well as the heavy thighs and quads that made the idol’s skin tingle. He was wondering what they felt like, the power in those legs and that rounded ass when the voice snapped him out of his reverie.
“I lost track of where I was. Besides, I could handle it, I grew up here,” he said, haughty self-absobtion filling his voice as he spoke. That was something they taught you early on, to be aloof and better than those around you. After all, you were the idol, and God forbid they realize how hard your cock was in your designer jeans because of some slum bodybuilder with eyes that could cut through steel. Fuck, how was that face so good looking, it wasn’t pretty like the idol boys on TV or in the movies, but it made the blood rush South in a way Hyeon hadn’t felt in a very long time.
A low snort was all the response he got, those steely eyes staring down into his face before the man shrugged and turned to retreive the gym bag he’d dropped to go beat up the gang punk. It was like a pile of boulders shifting before an avalanche in his clothing, massive traps and heavy deltoids capping the arms that looked like they could crush a boulder to dust. “Suit yourself, just don’t die in front of my house. Too much trouble to clean off the blood,” he added, already turning to countinue down the street, ignoring what he’d done and the fact that Hyeon was still there in the gang-riddled neighborhoods of the seedy side of town. That was all of his patience for offering help, and it was very clear he could care less what Hyeon did now.
“Hey…HEY!” he yelled, jogging to catch up with the brute, walking side-by-side with him for a bit as he looked up into that face. “At least let me say thank you for saving me. I don’t even know your name, and I fucking grew up here. There sure as hell wasn’t anyone as big as you around back then, or maybe it would have been a nice place,” he added, trying a little honey since the vinegar didn’t seem to work.
Another snort followed, but there wasn’t an answer. Just the mountain staring forward as he walked, making Hyeon struggle with each long stride to keep up. It was only a dozen centimeters difference between them, but the way the bodybuilder held himself there was a purpose and a confidence to his stride. “Seul-Gi, but everyone calls me Hyung. And I know who you are, so save it. You may not have seen me, but I saw you plenty of times, Hyeon,” came the reply, as well as a piercing look into the smaller man’s eyes.
That took Hyeon back a bit, that this man had seen him was disconcerting but the tone made it very clear that it wasn’t good that he’d had his eye on the idol. “People did what they had to do. I don’t need some steroid popping freak to lecture me on morality,” came the reply, Hyeon finally looking away with a huff. That just brought another snort of amusement before the bodybuilder turned to enter one of the buildings.
“Call yourself a cab, get back out of the gutter. You don’t need me, so I’ll avoid telling you what to do with your life, little man,” Gi said, staring down at the other as he stood on his steps, fishing his keys out of the pocket of his sweatpants. It was a dismissal, and he knew it, but the idol didn’t have his phone…or his wallet. He still needed this man and his help.
“I ah…forgot my phone at the recording studio. Can I borrow your phone?” he asked, looking up hopefully. Not that he wanted to owe the man a favor, but damn if he didn’t find himself pulled in for more. After being sexless and uninterested for so long, it was an odd feeling to realize his cock was hard as steel and his eyes were drifting to those arms. He could imagine so many dirty, depraved things to do with a man like that, and he couldn’t let this be the end.
“Fine. One call. Then you wait outside. Wipe your feet,” Gi replied without looking back at the other, simply moving into his house and letting the door slip shut until Hyeon lept up and grabbed it just before it closed. So much for a warm welcome, but still he was inside the man’s house and that was a start. “I wasn’t raised on the street, you big idiot. I know how to behave in somoene’s house.”