Ever Seaward Echoes More

Find The Spark Again: Part Two

“You know,” Intouch says flatly as he stares into the depths of the closet, eyeing the line where his and Korn’s clothes have merged together in the middle too much for him to remember which articles had been his to begin with, “if you keep biting those, they’re going to get infected.”

Korn huffs on an annoyed little sound, but obligingly lets go of where he’d been mouthing at the silver star on Intouch’s earlobe. “It’s been awhile,” he grumbles as he nestles his chin against his shoulder instead, arms around his middle. “They’re basically healed.” He pauses, and when he speaks again Intouch rolls his eyes at the distinct sound of offense in his tone. “Wait. Are you saying my mouth is dirty?”

“It is a little when you had my dick in it less than an hour ago,” Intouch informs him, laughing when Korn gives that point a considering hum. His attention shifts primarily back to the contents of the closet again then, eyes narrowed as he glances at Korn’s side. “You don’t own a suit?”

Straightening up a bit, Korn says, too close to his ear for someone who isn’t considering biting it again, “Why would I own a suit? I don’t go anywhere.”

True to form, he does indeed scrape his teeth over the metal again, and Intouch lifts a hand to curl fingers warningly into his hair. “Fair,” he decides after a moment of thought. The only times Korn might have ever even worn a suit would have been when his brothers got married, but that was well over twenty years ago by now. And, Intouch suspects, he’d probably just rented one. Still, “I thought you wanted to go out to a fancy dinner with me,” he pouts. 

He snickers as Korn’s arms around him tighten, draw him back until they’re even more flush together, and a kiss is pressed to his neck. “I do. Is that what you want for date night this week?”

After their totally botched trip to the floating market, they’ve been trying to make an effort to go out at least once a week, even if it’s just to the grocery store (which Intouch had fiercely argued absolutely counts as a date if you do it right). For the most part they’ve kept it fairly low-key, both equally wary of being too pushy or overstepping the other person’s comforts in the wake of the last time. As much as Intouch wishes it weren’t that way, he still finds himself doubting the affection he receives at times, second guessing his own presentation. And Korn, despite his growing boldness, will probably always have those moments where he has to look over his shoulder, where he’ll tense up if he catches someone’s gaze on them for too long while they’re out somewhere together. 

It’s fine though, so long as they both understand those things about each other. In fact, it’s a little more than fine, most of the time. It’s so much easier when they can notice those faults, soothe those old wounds together so they sting a little less. 
Intouch is alright with being brave for both of them, so long as Korn keeps murmuring those soft assurances whenever he falters at his own reflection. 

“I have an old black suit,” Intouch says, reaching out to fiddle with the sleeve of it in the depths of the closet. “But I was thinking I should get a new one.”

Korn hooks his chin over his shoulder again, “Something flashy?”

“No,” Intouch sighs. “But a little more color might be nice. Maybe . . . Teal?”

He’s nervous as he suggests it, fingers still idly smoothing over the cuff of his old suit coat as he waits for a response. “Teal’s a good color on you,” Korn says after a minute. “Dark or light?”

Flushing, a smile blooming across his face, Intouch replies, “Midtone, actually. Too dark and I might as well just stick with a black one, and it’ll probably border on gaudy if it’s pastel.” He moves to the left, taking Korn with him since the man is all but plastered to his back, and pulls out a slim, cuffed button-up shirt in champagne gold. “Maybe with this?”