Souvenir

“What are you looking at?” he asks, an eyebrow cocked up into his dampening hair. Mark knows it isn’t appropriate, but contrary to his inhibitions, he runs his fingers down to the curve of Donghyuck’s hips, finally allowing his eyes to detach themselves from the other boy’s eyes, as pretty and doe-like as they were, and rake themselves down his neck.
“you, Donghyuck.” His name escaped in a rasp, and Mark feared that if he made any attempt to speak again, his voice would crack under the pressure building between them.
Alternatively, Mark comes home from SuperM promotions with Donghyuck on his mind. Angsty smut ensues. It's a bit deeper than that though.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

The days were long, and the nights were even longer, his muscles straining against his own skin, pulling and writhing in pain and exhaustion. He was overworked, he knew that, and he knew that more than the company’s fault, it was his own, because he could’ve rested if he so wanted, but being the insufferable perfectionist he had trained himself to be, he kept trying to push the limits, be superman, become what no human could be. So even when he lay in his bed amongst those plush white pillows, his mind would race, and every time he closed his eyes, he felt wired, tripping over the lines of an LSD addict. The colours behind his eyes were beautiful and the constant thrumming in his veins left him in a daze, he was hung up on the mental debilitation that came with over- expenditure of his body’s energy. So he would lay in bed at night, in that luxurious house that the company had leased just to showcase their expensive business venture with more gold and diamonds, and boy Mark wished he could enjoy it, watching from his window, where his Jongin and Taeyong hyungs seemed to be getting closer to eachother in more ways than one, in that dimly lit pool. There was stinging in his heart, pinching and pulling and annoying, gnawing at his skin, threatening to set his nerves on fire, and it felt like having a younger sibling, so similar to the feeling that Donghyuck used to ignite in Mark when they were younger, it was annoying and incessant. But with Donghyuck, he’d give in, sinking into that mischievous joy that was singed in everything Donghyuck touched. This was starkly different. Mark’s body was becoming drained, that feeling, feeding like a parasite, and becoming even more insatiable, every time he saw a boy and girl hold hands, every time Yuta would take Winwin hyung for a walk along the han river, every time he sees the watery glazed over expression that that one anime girl has when she sees the cute boy from the library, and Mark thinks he can be that boy for… for…

For… well, he didn’t know quite yet who that was. And at that, his train of thought ended, and his body became restless once more, the cycle growing into relentless routine with each increasingly detestable day that passed: bathe, dress, slip under the covers, check for messages, close eyes, and accept that he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep for the next 3 hours. His thoughts were like the fucking church bells from the Vancouver suburbs, chiming day and night, 24/7, all year round, inescapable. So when it became unendurable, he’d drown it out, dragging his fingers down his chest, too fucking fatigued to be bothered with the miniscule details like teasing, and he’d wrap his fingers around himself, making a feeble attempt at sinning so just maybe the church bells would cease their resonation in horror at his vile act, like when Donghyuck’s pretty little body would paint its melanin pictures behind Mark’s eyes and those soft swears slipped his own lips instead of Donghyuck’s, like how he’d envisioned they would. It definitely worked, shutting his brain up and off, because then clouds would form and the damned rain would break behind his eyes, as he repented, trying to forgive himself, because asking for forgiveness was no longer an option for someone who’d already given up on the almighty. Trying to forgive himself for defiling his closest friend, a brother he would say, if that didn’t bring to mind the horrid connotations of his actions. He’d fallen from grace, in keeping those secrets, deep in those brown irises so no one could know, how good, Christian boy Mark Lee, undoubtedly SM’s Pride and Joy, successor of the prejudice of the industry, was a sinner, was broken, and was everything the public so desperately wanted him to be. Only then can sleep take his body, when exhaustion wasn’t enough but dehydration and physical pain worked like a charm.

Mark woke up the next morning, soiled boxers and drenched in sweat, with the same dullness that had plagued him the night before becoming more nagging. Maybe he’d become numb, maybe his nerves may grow weary. Maybe his body would mend itself, his muscles would forget how he’d almost ripped a ligament or two trying that new dance, maybe his brain will forget those hazy fantasies of a certain boy naked and gasping beneath him, replace them with images of a pretty girl with long black hair framing a porcelain body with tender curves, nothing like the short brown tufts, sun-kissed skin that had a constellation of moles for Mark’s fingertips to endlessly trace, playing connect the dots, the tender curves will always remain similar, a scar that Mark could never rid himself of.

“Mark get up, its time to go home!” Taeyong’s voice was ringing through his room, like those church bells, all it took was a single tug on the tongue and the alarms were set off, as rampant and ceaseless as if they’d never stopped.

The flight was restless, Lucas’ steady hand planting itself on Mark’s shaking leg was enough, but concern was etched into the lines of his face, written under the circles beneath of eyes, “Something’s wrong and you’re not telling us, Mark.” Simple enough.

“Nothing, I’m fine, I… I just have a lot on my mind,” there would have been room for conversation if the dismissiveness in Mark’s tone had left any. Taeyong’s caring hands were a constant flutter around Mark, Lucas’s body becoming comparable to a support beam as they waded gingerly through the sea of cameras and fans. Mark could hear his name being called, young, delicate females waving their small hands in his direction, smiles on their faces, the long, flowing black hair, that porcelain skin, it was everywhere, it all looked the same, everyone looked the same. It was overwhelming, the feeling of annoyance towards these women for loving him, its ugly metamorphosis into contempt for their blatant heterosexuality, their star-struck smiles anything but endearing to Mark. He was nauseated by how easy their life seemed, running around, falling in love, like it was a game they played every day, like it was their willing and conscious choice, like it was in their control. They were privileged, Mark concluded bitterly, as he dodged a camera, stepping into their company vans. He was out like a light, as his back hit the seat rest, that race to their car stripping him of his remaining motivation.

“To walk away from one’s worries is to walk away from one’s life, face it or accept that you’d be committing suicide”

Mulling over those words was useless, Mark thought, because when he’d hoped to numb the buzzing that inundated his daily life, he found himself numbing the catalysts of provision. The wine bottle was newly opened, the scent fresh and tenacious in his closed room.

They’d just gotten back, but Mark’s strength had failed him, making a simple goodnight wish for his ever-present hyung a chore. He’d entered the dorm, it smelled of air freshener and bleach, the dorm auntie must have paid them a visit today for Mark and Taeyong’s return, if the clean countertops, and varnished floors weren’t a strong enough testimony. Anxiety was beginning its nightly course, the thrumming settling in the prefrontal cortex of his left brain, all dregs of logic were soon to be flooded out, and his limbic movement was sustained primarily on the primal hunger for the warmth of another human. His target being the sleeping boy, swaddled in white sheets on Johnny’s bed, Mark could see his soft features from the sliver of light that made its way through their ajar bedroom door. In the time that he stood, peering through the bedroom door, and bringing himself to step away and retreat to his single bedroom that he’d so vehemently negotiated for, he resigned that even at home, he’d suffer alone, his hopes of a temporary cure dashed through a glass floor, cracking and shattering into smithereens, his heart breaking merely a distant wolf’s howl in the night, forever and always muted by that church bell.

He couldn’t jerk off, not with such fresh images of Donghyuck sleeping in the room next door, he wasn’t ready to face the guilt, not ready to face the innocent boy whom his disgusting mind had corrupted so many times, Mark wasn’t ready to let Donghyuck hold his hands tomorrow after he’d sinned the night before to thoughts of him. So, he opted for the only other way to muffle his thoughts, some Cabernet Sauvignon and the largest glass he could find.

Which brings mark to where he was now, hunched over his desk, shirt long discarded, jeans unbuttoned and hanging low on his hips, glasses sitting low on his nose, and his eyes trained on the burning red of the digital clock, the numbers 12:45 repeating over and over, his lips mouthing the sound of the words, as if tasting them for the very first time, like and elementary school kid earning time, but for some reason he couldn’t process it. The alcohol was finally getting to his head he thought, recognising the familiar heat pooling in his stomach, the heady rush of the blood and the ironic lowered blood pressure, he couldn’t feel his heart beat anymore but he could finally feel the blank dullness fading out into blunt grey knives that stabbed into that fiery heat, the blinding pain of loneliness bringing relief, because he could breathe because choking for air was so much better than no air at all. Because he finally had the energy to gasp for breath instead of relenting to the shackles. The drug gave him something that lasted, making that flurry of post-orgasm endorphins pale in comparison.

“Mark-hyung?” the voice was soft, and only too recognizable. There was only one person who could call him hyung in this household. Mark’s eyes shifted to the door, settling on the small figure of Donghyuck, peering in, there was something in his eyes that Mark couldn’t place, something off and it didn’t settle well because Mark never wants to see his dongsaeng so unhappy.

Donghyuck’s feet were rooted to the ground as he stared at Mark’s crouched frame, the boy looked haggard and devoid of the light he’d left Korea with. The dorm was as frigid as an ice box, yet Mark was shirtless at his desk, the aircon blasting cold wind onto his pale body. Donghyuck didn’t want to move, he didn’t know who this person was, he didn’t recognize him, he felt some alien desire to call for Taeyong, cower behind Johnny as they tossed this strange man out of their dorms. But his voice betrayed him as he called out his hyung’s name, he was scared that the person that looked up would be deranged. But instead, all Donghyuck could discern was the abysmal emptiness in Mark’s usually comforting eyes, his gaze held some sort of longing, and Donghyuck could feel every bone in his body fracture, as if he’d been run through a medieval skull crusher, the sleepiness was robbed from his body, somehow he managed to look past that initial paralysis of fright, protectiveness infiltrating his senses.

“Mark, oh my god!”

Donghyuck’s body was moving on its own, he was a slave to the dictatorship of his emotions. His eyes immediately fell on the half empty wine bottle, the stained glass, and then to Mark, who was fumbling for words, “Donghyuck-ah, Hyung is sorry for not coming to look for you,” the sentence an incoherent jumble slurred syllables, Mark’s proficiency in Korean failing him as he made a feeble endeavour to raise himself from the chair.

“Hyung, how did you… why?” If anyone asked, Donghyuck really couldn’t place why he found it suitable to ask questions, as if Mark was in any frame of mind to realistically answer in a practical manner, but he figured it seemed fitting considering the utter disbelief he was enduring at that point. Donghyuck’s hands were on Mark, an arm around his back the other under his arm, as he tugged Mark onto the bed, Mark barely protesting, consciousness leaving him quickly. Pulling over the sheets he released the older. “Hyuck, I’m okay, really, I can dea…”

“Shut up Mark,” Donghyuck said flatly, it was soft, indiscernible to even himself, but somehow Mark heard him.

“That’s no way to speak to your hyung, Donghyuck-ah” He tried, he really did, Donghyuck will give him props for that, but the words were as messed up as his grown out black hair, and Donghyuck had a better chance of understanding them if they were in English rather than Korean. He also concluded that even when drunk, Mark liked to assert their age difference over Donghyuck.

“Well this is no way to greet your dongsaeng after being away for a month,” there was more hurt and frustration seeping through Donghyuck’s voice than he would like to admit. He was hurt, there was seething rage inside of him directed to the flushed boy that lay strewn on the bed in front of him, anger for not texting him back, pain at the lack of interest he seemed to have, shame because he was running right back, to check on Mark when he hadn’t come to see Donghyuck after a month of carefree fun in LA with his idols, hadn’t even bothered to touch him and tell him that ‘hey, I’m home, nice to see you’ but rather linger behind the curtains of alcohol, wrapping himself in the warmth of a drug that was somehow better than himself.

Donghyuck was pissed, and he wanted to fling Mark’s legs onto the bed instead of gently resting them, wanted to cut those expensive, skinny jeans off his legs and burn them in the oven in front of the breakfast table, instead of slowly pealing them off Mark’s thinning frame and neatly fold them onto the chair, just as Mark would like. He wanted so badly to slap Mark out of his drunken daze, but instead he brushed the dark hair from his eyes, combing his fingers through it. Mark keened at the touch, his eyes closing and he seemed to enjoy the attention for once, and that only fuelled the fire because why the hell allow Donghyuck to run his fingers through Mark’s hair, here in the privacy of his bedroom, drunken and alone, but not when he’s sobered and spritely, where the daylight can make them visible to the rest of the world, and the fans could enjoy it just as much as Donghyuck himself does.

After stripping the boy down to his briefs, Donghyuck pulled the blankets over Mark, the cold linen making him shiver as he curled into the warmth that would eventually form. The motion made Donghyuck frown, vulnerability had never set Donghyuck’s nerves on edge the way it did with Mark, it was foreign and strange and Donghyuck felt detached from the boy, as if he wasn’t the same person who had left, but simultaneously, there was this inert desire to care and protect and maybe, Donghyuck decided, that was the reason it felt alien. Mark had always been the steady hand on Donghyuck’s shoulder, the more logical of the pair and the one with the firm grasp of reality. Right now, it seemed like Donghyuck had to keep his head on his shoulders, had to be the earth line that Mark could use to see himself. Donghyuck’s hands felt weak as he clasped the cold glass of the wine bottle into his hands, taking a long swig before capping it tightly and replacing it on the desk. He was stressed and tired, and while he wasn’t a fan, the alcohol might be best for cooling some nerves.

“Haechan, its cold!” Mark complained. And Donghyuck sighed, his drunken English was worse.

“Haechaaaann,” Mark drawled from the bed, he was turned onto his side, coddled into the blankets, face barely visible, and Donghyuck wanted to ask ‘what he wanted him to do about that’ because the heater wasn’t working and he’d already taken off the aircon.

“Donghyuck,” ah… the good ole’ ‘real name’ tactic, Mark may be inexperienced and shy but he knew his way so well around Donghyuck, even inebriated with cheap wine, the gears in his brain could never misjudge the skill of capturing the younger’s attention. It was like clockwork, repeating over and over, familiar and indelible. “Donghyuck, stay please,” Mark’s voice was quiet, it was almost ludicrous how Mark, even in his liquored up drowsiness was still too much of a pussy to ask for company from Donghyuck.

And Donghyuck had a good, fucking mind to donate a flat no straight to his face, but even his petulant, antagonistic self wouldn’t resist an opportunity to dote on Mark, because if he couldn’t do it now, then he’d never be able to do it again.

Before Donghyuck settled into the other side of the bed, he set out a painkiller and a bottle of water on the bed side and given that Mark was a light-weight at best, the hangover would not be pretty.

Mark moved into Donghyuck’s space immediately, soaking up the warmth from his body, Donghyuck’s breath hitched as cold fingers wrapped around his waist, he could feel icy fingertips through his sleep shirt, and the icicle tip of Mark’s nose touch his neck. The boy’s hair was tucked under Donghyuck’s chin, and he carefully wrapped his arms around Mark holding him close. The sensation was new, Donghyuck never gave attention like this, he always expected attention, he was always the little spoon, the one to ask for warm embraces and lingering fingers that could hopefully stray to his hair. But today, in the twin bed of Mark’s room that had been vacant for too long, he held Mark to his chest, savouring the warm puffs of air that Mark let out onto his neck, as he moved his fingertips over the bareness of his back, tracing inconsequential patterns into his skin, hoping that even though they weren’t permanent, the feeling of Mark’s skin against Donghyuck’s would be enough to burn it like gold engravements into his memory, because he knew once Mark awoke, the drugs he’d filled himself up on would fade and he’d erase Donghyuck’s kindness with a single jeer and as the morning light came, it would bleach the room, rewriting its genetic code, removing the hardship it had seen and nullifying the scars it had given.

“Goodnight Lee Mark” a whisper into the dark of the room.

The soft exhalation of warm air was Donghyuck’s response.

It was 4am when Mark awoke, a light headache at his temples threatening to ruin his day, as he looked up at the ceiling. Mark groaned, detangling his arms from where they had been wrapped around a small body Mark immediately recognised as Donghyuck. Donghyuck’s legs were braided into Mark’s, their bodies pressed together, the smaller settled comfortably into Mark’s chest, arms wrapped around his mid-section. It was a struggle to recall how he’s ended up here, because he could only sparsely remember making it back home to Korea.

“Mark?” Donghyuck responded to the movement, detangling himself and leaning back out from their intimate position to get a better focus on Mark. And it was only then that their state of undress became an actual problem because they were too close to be comfortable while conscious. Mark took no notice of Donghyuck’s startle, leaning back down into the sheets, resting his head back, “What happened?” he asked plainly.

Mark already knew, he could feel the memories rushing like a waterfall, coming back and playing through his mind’s eye like an acid trip, the blurry black and white, bleeding into colour. The past night was a flurry of emotions and he was back to feeling numb, but for some reason there was emotion radiating off Donghyuck like a broken heater, and it infiltrated his space, inundating him and overwhelming like Donghyuck’s nature in itself, and it was addicting like the drug that he was, and Mark wanted to drown himself in the feeling, in everything that the boy was, to feel that comfort. It was so close to him, but it felt so fucking far, like the site of Mt. Everest from miles away.

“You got drunk on your own, and I found you close to passing out earlier,” the reply was frank albeit laced with tiredness, and Mark wasn’t surprised in the least at how quick the other had answered even in his sleep-addled state.

“Fuck...” it was simple, Mark had fucked up for the first time in a long time, he’d let his weakness show, and the self-loathe was threatening to wash over him in a tsunami. Because he wasn’t Yuta, who slipped up every once in a while, and would resolutely sulk in self-pity for a solid 2 days before returning to an idol’s norm, nor was he Taeyong who seemed to gracefully slither on thin ice rather than unceremoniously skate like the rest, and he certainly wasn’t Donghyuck who could come crashing through the thickest of thorny thistles all tattered and torn apart but never failed to present that tenacious smile, as infectious as the flu in their air-conditioned dormitories.

“Yeah” Donghyuck mutters.

Mark was Mark, an ever-struggling presence in the battle-field of the practice room, but somehow always managing to peak in a timely fashion, what the members bore witness to- a fractured shell of the stage presence Mark Lee was. Perfection in its most fragile form.

“There’s a pill on the night stand,” Donghyuck directed him to the tiny purple painkiller, a tiny pill that could carry him into dream-land, where he could pretend that he wasn’t constantly battling himself in the wake of his members, where he could accept his demise wilfully and without looming responsibility, where he wouldn’t feel guilty for leaving Donghyuck when he knew that he could’ve been a better hyung, a better friend, a better idol, a better person. Maybe in his next life, he’d be able to conform to society and be the child his mom thought he was, he’d actually be the person everyone thought he was, and not simply, a façade, a brittle shell of the expectations.

Mark’s outstretched arm grasped the pill and without moving another muscle, he tossed the pill to the back of his throat, swallowing it dry, wincing at the pain as it dragged itself down his oesophagus.

“What?” Mark directed the word, harsher than intended to Donghyuck who sat, spine curved with fatigue, eyes trained on Mark and his actions.

He looks gaunt Donghyuck thought, finding frozen cold ice where he looked for Mark’s usual warm campfire sparks that blazed in his eyes. “Mark are you okay?”

Petrification, that was what the growing tumour in his throat was, and it was stifling him but he had to know, if the breathing human sitting beside him was really breathing or if he was suffocating on the air around them. And Mark knew that Donghyuck already knew the answer, because he’d have to be a fucking imbecile to ask someone who got himself piss drunk in the darkest hours of night, if he was ‘okay’, because Mark doesn’t drink, and Mark doesn’t take sleeping pills, and Mark doesn’t accept help, from his members, from his friends, from Donghyuck. And he could feel some weird bubbling in his chest, like some putrid acid was mutilating his guts, ripping and shredding, dissolving everything inside of him, and then he was off the bed running the bathroom, slamming the door open as he slid onto the tiles knees scraped raw as he opened the toilet lid, ejecting the nasty plane food, all the alcohol, caustic against his throat, and the dissolved remains of the purple pill.

There was a hand on his back, warm against the bare skin, rubbing and soothing, some fingers running through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead, wet with sweat and blistering with heat.

A towel was thrown over his shoulders and Donghyuck’s heat was suddenly his salvation, the only thing keeping him from blacking out, white wiping all colour from his vision, as he collapsed onto Donghyuck’s chest, the pungent scent of bile emanating in their bathroom, and even with the frenzied beating of his heart and the smouldering burn of retching his insides up, he still felt bad for dirtying the room that their dorm auntie had cleaned so well for himself and Taeyong. Donghyuck’s arms wrapped around Mark, soft shushes slipping past his lips into Mark’s damp hair, fingers holding him, grounding him and keeping him awake, as they rubbed up and down his arms, and at some point while laying strewn on the ground, disgraced in his black briefs, shivering and holding the towel close around him, the cold from the tiles, seeping through his thin skin, he held onto Donghyuck, nails boring their way into the boy’s skin making sharp indentations, crescents that mimicked the dull moon, watching into their disparage. And for the first time, Mark scratched and clawed, ripping the bricks from their place finally demolishing the dam. He could feel the relief washing over him, the pain and hurt that he harboured, that was eating away at the walls, released and diluting in Donghyuck’s warmth and comfort. Mark cried.

The tears were single drops, dripping one by one devastatingly slowly, until they were a torrential downpour, coming in renewed waves every few minutes, and with every heaving breath Mark took, gasping for air, holding Donghyuck close because if he let him go, he would’ve lost his will to release himself, and offer up his dignity on a gold platter on that bathroom floor at 4am. And with every soft, “hyung…” that Donghyuck uttered, incredulity lacing the syllables, Mark would bite back his whimpers and the boy will tell him quietly to ‘let it out’, rubbing his back as if attempting to guide the anguish out of his system. Mark cried and cried and he felt bad for putting Donghyuck through this because if he ever had a chance of Donghyuck loving him before, tonight was definitely the last straw, for how could someone who burned so bright with passion and positivity, love someone who would so inevitably dampen his light with his dark colours, painting his yellows black, tainting his character. Mark needed that light; he was too selfish to allow himself to deluge Donghyuck in his mental putrefaction.

“Donghyuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, don’t hate me please,” the words were like trills from the river, seeping past whether he liked it or not, he had no control. He knew what he was apologizing for, for pushing the younger away for all these years, for contaminating his happy spirit with his own blatant distrust in himself, for pulling Donghyuck into his storm and tugging him down, smothering him until he couldn’t breathe, for making Donghyuck feel his own pain without even trying.

“Hyung, no, don’t…” Donghyuck’s voice was wet, it was the watered down honey dripping off the comb, and it was strange how even with the rasp in his voice, the familiar lisp was enough to bring Mark down from his high, anchoring the run-away race horse that was his mind and lips in such detrimental disconnect. “Don’t apologize,”

“no-no,no…” each syllable stuttered, breaking and cracking like a metaphor for Mark himself, “Don’t Hyuck,” the pet name slipped past his lips, comfortably and familiarly, “Let me finish,” and Mark tried to push himself up, legs slipping from beneath him, his body shaking violently, making him a hologram, something unreal and unlike anything Donghyuck found recognizable. Mark was so close, the acid smell from his mouth was faint but present, his veins were as blue as the sky weaving lines over his porcelain skin, and Donghyuck reached out to take the boy’s hands in his own, afraid of his bones breaking if he rested his weight on his limbs. “I’m sorry I ignored you,” Mark throat was closing up, and Donghyuck could see his Adam’s apple bop, “I’m sorry for treating you the way I do, I promise I don’t mean it, I just-…” he was dry-heaving, coughing and it felt like the demons from his dreams were trying to crawl their way up his throat, stifling him before he could tell Donghyuck everything he wanted to but Donghyuck didn’t know where any of this was coming from. “I just didn’t know what I wanted, I don’t know what I want,” and the waves were breaching the shoreline, forcing the sand up and wrenching it back into the sea, the tears were soaking his pale cheeks, and Donghyuck thought Mark looked like brittle glass, shards that had been pieced together with paper glue, barley holding itself together, strong enough if left alone, but ready to fall apart with a singular touch. He didn’t know where any of this was coming from, yes he deserved an apology, yes he’d been angry at Mark, for years, like a sleeping tiger in hungry rest, because Mark was himself and Donghyuck could do nothing about that. But here, he felt his agony dissolve in Mark’s earnest gaze.

“shhhh, shhh, it’s okay darling,” Donghyuck whispered, his fingers running steadily up Mark’s arms and pulling him into himself, and Donghyuck was trying so hard, as his own tears began its reign, staining his golden cheeks, falling into Mark’s hair where his own face was buried, and where Donghyuck’s lips touched Mark’s scalp, he left insignificant kisses, scared that Mark would see through his actions, but too overpowered by the rush of protectiveness for Mark, for Lee Minhyung, for the boy whom he’d been star-stricken by for the latter half of his life, for the boy who was ruby embellishments to his gold goblet, for Mark, the man he was yesterday, the man he is today, and the one he will be tomorrow. Because in a house filled with people who’d raised him in his teenage years, Mark was his home, his safe place, and before him, Donghyuck saw the dynasty he’d built, falling apart at the seams, everything he considered his was obliterating itself, as if it had hit its self-destruct button, and he could see the scarlet flame igniting dynamite, he saw the living breathing testimony of his love, giving its last breaths, and Donghyuck wouldn’t stand for it.

“Listen to me, Mark Listen to me,” Donghyuck urged, his voice fringed with petulant indignance, “you’re punishing yourself, you’re punishing me, don’t do this, there’s no fucking apology that you could give that I won’t accept, do you hear me?” and the demanding tone was slipping through Donghyuck’s fingers, melting into a sobbing plea, as he ran his fingers through the boy’s hair, holding him closer than he’s ever held another human, lips speaking those simple words into Mark’s head, muffled by his hair, and the feeling of Donghyuck’s lips moving against his head was enough to drain that never ending flow of tears.

They lay there for seconds, minutes, hours, time morphing into the illusion of human perception that it was, their breaths intermingling, heart beats aligning with eachother, pumping blood into their veins, and Mark could feel the frozen cold ice begin to melt, emotions and hormones flooding his system, overriding his brain in a frenzy, colouring his white canvas, as the heat from Donghyuck’s chest and the puffs of air he exhaled, engulfing mark. And suddenly, he could breathe again.

“I love you,” Mark confides to Donghyuck like a prayer, it didn’t matter what kind of love, all that mattered was the truth interwoven in every syllable that left his vocal cords as he said those three words.

“I know,” Donghyuck confesses, reciprocation of the comment was unnecessary because Donghyuck wasn’t ready and he knew M

ark wasn’t either, it would be selfish. “I know you do, don’t worry,” he whispers instead.

Silence

“Can you stand?” Donghyuck helped him to his feet, bringing Mark to the sink and turning the tap on softly, and handing him his toothbrush with some toothpaste. “I’m going to run a bath, you need one.”

Mark can hear the quaint padding of Donghyuck’s feet on the floor, the sound of running water creating a gentle ambience, and maybe it was the warmth of the steam, clouding over the glass, enwrapping Mark’s body in water molecules, or maybe it was the heated gaze Donghyuck directed in Mark’s direction, the emotions behind his eyes forming an imperceptible muddle that Mark failed to decipher, but the feeling was returning to his fingertips, defrosting him, and there was hope that maybe the cold was dying.

Donghyuck was behind Mark in a matter of minutes, linking their pinkies, and pulling him away from his hunched stance over the sink, arms outstretched and acting as support beams for the rest of his body as he tried to avoid his reflection. Turning around, he could see the bathtub filled, light, iridescent bubbles lifting into the atmosphere from the foaming soap Donghyuck had added. And he led Mark to the edge of the tub, arms reaching up to Mark’s shoulders to tug the towel off leaving Mark’s torso exposed to the biting air of the darkest before the dawn. “Go on in, before it gets cold,” Donghyuck says, eyes failing to meet Mark’s, instead finding fixation with the dirtied towel he was fiddling with. Donghyuck turned to leave, but Mark was quick to capture his hand pulling him back.

“Stay…” he proposed, and he could hear the screws turning in Donghyuck’s head, stoppered and stuttering like a rusty gauge, trying to process the statement, “Join me, I mean…”

Only then did Donghyuck meet his eyes, gaze searing like charcoal, but instead of an interrogation, all Mark received was a nod of affirmation. There was so much the younger wasn’t saying, and Mark knew it was because of his condition, Donghyuck must have questions, and for that he was so grateful the other was willing to comply with Mark’s emotional schedule for once.

Wordlessly, they stripped, it wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen before, the only difference being the context. Mark’s fingers moved to tug at the hem of the sleep shirt sitting loosely on Donghyuck’s shoulders, a mute request for his friend’s compliance with his proposition, a silent plea lurking in Mark’s dark eyes, and then Donghyuck’s t-shirt was pulled over his head, the younger becoming pliant under Mark’s gaze, as his fingers threaded over the hot skin. Donghyuck’s sleep shorts were dropped to the ground, and he gingerly stepped out of them, turning to face Mark who was already dipping into the welcoming warmth of the tub. Donghyuck hesitated, he’d never been so unabashedly naked in front of Mark before, hell, he’d never been naked in front of any of the members before, all his appeals being turned down with wilful aversion and the all-too common excuse, “too young, our baby maknae,” fondness dripping from their voice, cleverly masking their disinclination.

But he refused to look at Mark’s body, his pale, bare skin, a pretty ivy with great semblance to the marble tiles, instead he chose to focus on Mark’s boxer briefs strewn over the floor along with his own shorts and oversized top. “It’s okay,” Mark confirmed, but all Donghyuck could think about was how Mark had done this with the members of his new group, with their childhood idols, Taemin, Baekhyun, Jongin-Hyung, how even Xuxi had bore witness to that body before him, the best friend, the so-called soulmate, somewhere just below the surface of Donghyuck’s boiling blood, his bitterness was laughing, a sour, half-hearted resentment tying up his heart so its beat was stuttering. “it’s okay,” that voice repeated to him, he gets to do this, without prying eyes, without the haste of a performance as an excuse, without the benefit of functional mentality, but with the daze that winter-nights bring, with the curse of the duty of companionship and unspoken commitment to Mark Lee, because he was the one that had tied the red string between them and he refused to be the one to cut it. So he let the skimpy piece of clothing drop from his hips, those black orbs that sparkled with curiosity, so characteristic of Mark, trained on Donghyuck’s sharp gaze, too fearful to steal a glance anywhere but Donghyuck’s face, as he kicked them to the pile of clothes, and carefully descended into the water.

They sat on opposite edges of the tub, their arms wrapped around their legs that were brought up to their chests, but close enough that their toes touched each-other’s. The cold draft from the running aircon made Hyuck shiver slightly, the heat of evaporating water droplets not doing enough to keep the exposed skin above the surface warm. And in the space between them, Donghyuck could feel their hormones, their thoughts and their bodies yearning to meld into one another and seek out that comfort they were so blaringly used to that it became a mundane exhibit, until they missed it. Donghyuck wanted their colours to crosshatch into each other, like the dim light of their bathroom, the warm dull amber that flickered with the unstable voltage of their dorm, its gold dying as the blues and whites of the tiles dampened its hue to a solemn grey, the rays crossing the room from above the sink to the bathtub on the opposite side.

“Are you cold?” Mark cocks his head towards the slight trembling of shoulders opposite to him.

“It’s fine…”

“No, it isn’t”

“I said it’s-,” the terse retort was cut short by Mark moving towards Donghyuck, leaning forward, fingers deliberating for a mere millisecond before grasping the arms wrapped loosely around the other’s legs and unravelling them. He moved Donghyuck’s arms to the sides of the tub, letting them hang limp in the water. Any resistance dissipated as his gaze followed Mark, dipping a wash cloth into the water, lightly wringing it, and Donghyuck couldn’t miss the way his lean muscles shifted and tensed under the wet skin, tongue unconsciously licking at the condensation that had collected above his lip. Donghyuck hoped it could pass as a nervous habit, as Mark’s eyes asked for permission, but there was nothing left to give because Donghyuck had caved since he’d staggered into the bathroom, swift on Mark’s heels, earlier.

And soon, Donghyuck felt the warm water being squeezed from the towel onto his skin, Mark kneeling in the water, in front of him, Donghyuck’s knees still pressed to his chest, trying his best to protect the last inklings of his modesty, but his hands were now planted on the sides of the tub, gripping with a strength that drained the blood from them, turning his knuckles white, the warmth feeling so good, but not enough, and he wanted more, he wanted what he couldn’t ask for, he wanted Mark’s heat, the feeling of them pressed together, the elder’s chest against his back. And Mark continued for a while, until Donghyuck’s upper body was glistening in the soapy water, and Mark’s skin was covered in raised pores, and damp hairs that stood on their ends.

“Let me,” Donghyuck says quietly, hoping Mark would allow him. He pushed Mark to his former position, spine pressed against the hard tiles of their tub, except, “relax your legs, Hyung.”

And then he was climbing onto Mark’s outstretched legs, straddling him above his knees. Mark’s hands were on his bare waist, and Donghyuck could see it was taking a lot out of the older to repress the innate human urge to look down to where his hands were steadying Donghyuck into his new position. He knew Mark could feel him, feel parts of his body he’d never let anyone feel before, touch before, and Mark’s reserve was quaking in Donghyuck’s wake because he wanted to move his fingers from where they were gingerly threading on Donghyuck’s waist, to his hips, to the small of his back, and run that hot water over his body, make him glisten in that honey lighting that made his skin look darker than sin. He wanted to throw the younger off and run, scared of tracing boundaries, before he’d trade his sanity for the burn of the acid trip that was Lee Donghyuck, and inevitably crash through the glass barrier he’d put up between them; always allowing himself to peer through, but they’d never touch, relenting to just enough of his desires but not enough to face guilt in the advent of his actions.

The water was running over Mark’s skin, before he could adjust to Donghyuck’s body atop his, and he could register every movement that Donghyuck made, the way his hips slightly rocked in his lap with the cycle of dipping the towel into the water and wringing it over Mark’s chest. It was tormenting having the younger so close, and not being able to completely ravish him, have all of him, as wrong as he’d been taught it was, so he planted an earth line by staring at Donghyuck as he took care of him, face expressionless, but he knew Donghyuck was no less aware of the compromise to their friendship they were so willingly feeding into, as he was; because then Donghyuck stops and sits back, shamelessly unreactive as the skin of his rear dragged against Mark’s thighs.

“What are you looking at?” he asks, an eyebrow cocked up into his dampening hair. Mark knows it isn’t appropriate, but contrary to his inhibitions, he runs his fingers down to the curve of Donghyuck’s hips, finally allowing his eyes to detach themselves from the other boy’s eyes, as pretty and doe-like as they were, and rake themselves down his neck, perspiration collecting slightly in every indent, and he can see Donghyuck swallow under his gaze, possibly out of self-consciousness, to his collarbones that were becoming increasingly prominent and Mark reminds himself subconsciously, to ensure he eats well tomorrow, and even further down to Donghyuck’s chest, that he’d proclaimed forbidden from viewership, but now he lets himself drink in the honey coloured skin, feasting on the sharp contrast between the dark colour of his nipples that made his actual skin pale in comparison, and trying to print every image of the boy’s faint happy trail into his memory. And then he finally looks back up, replying in a tone lower than he wanted to, “you, Donghyuck.” His name escaped in a rasp, and Mark feared that if he made any attempt to speak again, his voice would crack under the pressure building between them.

The feeling of Donghyuck’s body just sitting on his, the way the boy’s hands were resting on Mark’s thighs, forged a static between them that Mark found deafening. It was primal, how quickly Mark’s reluctance to touch Donghyuck was being devoured by the thick haze of lust. And Donghyuck wasn’t any better off, the heat coiling in his stomach at Mark’s firm grip on his hips and how good it felt to have someone else’s skin touching him where he’d only ever touched himself, the heat from between Mark’s thighs where his dick rested only fueling the arousal, and he couldn’t help but try to repress the effect Mark already had on him, coupled with their closeness.

And then Donghyuck felt feather light touches moving from his hips, up and up and up and cold, wet fingers were dripping water onto Donghyuck’s drying chest, brushing against his nipples and Donghyuck was responding with the instinct of his animal ancestors, discarding any logic, centuries of human evolution laying crushed under the rubble of the walls Donghyuck was wrecking a path through, to meet Mark. So Donghyuck’s hands dragged themselves from Mark’s thighs, up his pelvis, Donghyuck trying to memorize the feeling of the wrinkling skin under his touch, linking the softness to how a butterfly’s wings feel, how the wet slide reminded him of when he’d dragged Mark into the salty sea water of Miami beach, the blistering sun and buzzing crowd not intimidating enough of a deterrent, to make him think twice about living through his daydreams, how the shiver and masked tensing of the muscles in Mark’s stomach as he ran his hand over the boy’s front, reminded him of the anxiety they feel before a stage, where they hadn’t had food in hours and coffee was keeping their nerves firing like a faulty shot gun. And Donghyuck planted his hands on Mark’s chest, feeling the swell of wiry muscle under his fingers, and his hips were already shifting to bring their cores closer together, his body’s eagerness making futile attempts at disarming his brain’s tripping breakers. Because his hormones and cell-signalling were at war, body pushing for a domino effect of bad decisions and brain exercising all possible restraints, holding Donghyuck back from going too far, but giving all the signs to Mark, and it became so blaringly obvious why people would commit crimes, the addictive feeling keeping them coming back for more even when they knew it would end in flames. Take and take and take and give when it falls apart because he was ready for the fall.

And then their eyes met, and like a spark to gasoline, they were blazing with fervour and lust and tension that was building ready to release shock waves between the two, tremors that could be felt by the members in the other rooms, over the country if they let it slip, and if they were scandalous enough, across the globe. They could take the risk and run, and Mark was down to say fuck it, but Donghyuck wasn’t crossing the line without him. They didn’t need words, they never did. Spewing lyrics onto a dingy sheet of scrap-book paper was Mark’s forte, but when it came to Donghyuck, answers were as wordlessly meaningful as cherry blossoms in spring to examination classes, instilling hopeful fear and anxious anticipation. They didn’t need words, they needed real answers, and Mark found that in Donghyuck’s stiff thighs, heavy cock too close to touching his own, and the tremble he evoked when he rubbed over the younger’s chest, pressing onto raised nipples, the soft curse that Donghyuck let slip past his lips carelessly. Mark’s hands dropped to Donghyuck’s hips and he didn’t waste any time gripping the flesh harshly pulling the boy closer, Donghyuck’s hands locking onto Mark’s shoulders to steady himself, and Mark didn’t hesitate to nuzzle into Donghyuck, letting their noses touch, like the flutter of a moth to the light, there and gone within a nanosecond, flitting and evading. Breathing in each-other’s soapy scents, the mint from Mark’s Listerine invading Donghyuck’s nostrils, they brought their lips together, slowly, barely touching. Hearts were racing, aching, and Mark was trying to control its pace while Donghyuck had already given up, drowning in the defeat that came with love because he’d wanted this and had been running from this for so long and he was tired, he was ready to succumb to his weaknesses. Mark may have kept his head above water, sputtering for breath, as the rough skin of his own lips first made contact with Donghyuck’s soft, plush ones, but he was lost at sea, lost in Donghyuck’s eyes, and then he was underwater, and everything went black, they closed their eyes, and Mark pressed his lips fully against Donghyuck’s with purpose, sick of sticking and stalling and saying, ‘maybe next time’. There was no going back, no magical reverse button that they could hit, because Mark knew that even if Donghyuck could forget this, he couldn’t, he couldn’t cut the memoires of tonight out of his DNA where they were now written, indelible and never to be forgotten, but doomed to be repressed.

Their lips moved in tandem, ricocheting off the other every time they meet, softly at first, because finding a rhythm wasn’t onerous, falling into each other’s pace without second thoughts, wavelengths aligning as they always did. Mark’s hands shivered from where they rested on Donghyuck’s hips and if it weren’t for the water, Donghyuck would’ve felt how sweaty his palms were becoming. Donghyuck’s lips tasted like the melody of a mocking bird, so characteristically Donghyuck, bitter dark chocolate with a sweet aftertaste, and it made Mark grow insatiable, a vicious cycle of finally caving and giving into his cravings for the decadent softness that was Donghyuck’s mouth, but realizing that it wasn’t enough and with every passing second lasting like light years, they flashed away, before his eyes, and savouring every sensation of the second proving to be monstrously insufficient, because the boy was boundless, infinitely expanding. Everything Mark thought he knew about Donghyuck was suddenly mere surface details, because the light was shedding itself onto his ignorance, and Mark could feel the curve of Donghyuck’s spine, he could taste the silk of his skilled tongue, could see the glistening of sweat on his brow, smell his scent, so familiar and yet being so close, it inundated Mark’s senses, fucking up the breakers in his brain, shutting down his nerves and then lighting them up like New York City.

And Mark wasn’t okay, the fragments of his being becoming peddled into a puddle. He kissed Donghyuck, felt his body moving against him, responding in soft moans and gentle caresses that tightened into sharp crescent scratches on his skin whenever he licked into the boy’s mouth with just a bit more force than he intended. Mark was a pawn in his mind’s manipulative mastery, a slave to his lust. So he did anything and everything his brain told him to, hormones controlling his heart and head. To scratch, scrape, massacre his skin into a painting of their misery, Mark listened only too well, adopting the role of the slave he was trained to be after all these years, so easy to slip into the submissive persona, masking it with his projection onto the head strong soul that simply needed a break. His break that was lee Donghyuck, submitting so readily, but only for his eyes, and Mark knew that, as he seared his gaze over the inconceivably pretty canvas of Hyuck’s skin, dotted with a constellation of small moles bared for him and him only, and he wanted to hide those moles under purple flowers that would only blossom the next morning for everyone to see that he was Mark’s, whether they liked it or not, whether he wanted it or not and whether Donghyuck was ready for it or not.

So he proceeded to suck into the skin, pulling it, supple between his teeth, biting harshly and he could feel Donghyuck’s hips jerk forward, ever sensitive to touch, so contrasting to his tactile nature, and he trying to muffle the embarrassing whimpers into Mark’s shoulder, lips hot, lapping at Mark’s skin like liquid flames. And the weak endeavour at salvaging his dignity spurs Mark on, threatening to drive him wild, because they were immersed fully in the act now, and drowning wasn’t suffocating but liberating in its very essence of relenting. Mark moves his lips from his neck to his collar bones, laying down the delicate foundation for their friendship’s grave, as those nips, and bites left reddening bruises against sugary skin. And Mark leaned back to admire his work.

Mark was tugging Donghyuck like the strings of his guitar, closer to him, trying to envelop him, and Donghyuck was drawn in to the heavy gravity, pressing his body farther and farther up Mark’s legs, until they meshed together, bodies finally touching each other, atoms close enough to form bonds, and Donghyuck could feel their arousals rubbing against the other, their mouths breaking the puzzle pieces from where they were previously slotted together, to elicit pained hisses of pleasure. And then Donghyuck was grinding down onto Mark, bringing them impossibly close, and Mark’s hands were no longer delicate against skin, but as harsh as the winter wind, blistering every inch of skin that he could touch, raking his nails on Donghyuck’s back, marking up that virgin skin, head thrown back, lips parted, and a soft, “fuck,” barely making it past, breath hitching because his body’s cognitive functions were failing with the festering heat. And Mark could feel soft lips, a wet mouth pressing against his neck, arms laced over his shoulders as Donghyuck continued to pleasure himself using the tensed muscle of his thighs, and the quiet pants with pitchy weeps being sobbed into his skin made the blood rush south and he could feel the precome leak from his tip, smearing onto Donghyuck’s stomach. It was sinful, the way the boy’s hips flared from his waist, too feminine, too fucking pretty, the way his ass was so full and how Mark could feel the indents of dimples at the base of his spine, like they were placed there for Mark to settle his hands as he bucked into the heat between the thighs that straddled him. And Mark had never been touched this way before, he’d never felt anyone’s body but his, and there was desperation washing over him, an incessant crying in his head to completely claim everything he saw before him and ruin it with everything he had. So, he repeated the action and Donghyuck’s teeth were latching onto the skin of his neck, whimpering at the sensation, and hips stuttering in their movements to pick up any pace, frenzied in an attempt to procure any ounce of friction. ‘Shameless’ Mark thought, seeing Donghyuck’s hips rock forward and back against him, his cock hot and heavy against their stomachs, feeling his arms tighten, suffocating Mark in the best way, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Bed, now” he whispered, and any movement ceased, leaving their hardened dicks rubbing together and making the construction of a full, cohesive sentence insurmountable. Abstract words would have to do, because Donghyuck was off Mark, and the lack of contact made Mark hungry for his skin. And then, they were both stumbling out of the tub, Mark’s lips already attached to Donghyuck’s as he pushed the boy out of the bathroom.

Mark knew it was wrong, to look at Donghyuck like that, his dongsaeng, someone he’d called a brother for so long, and even in the haze of sex hormones that were flooding out his logical thought processes, he could draw his eyes away from the lithe form of the boy backing up and teasing him as if to say, “come get me,” and as Donghyuck’s legs were back against the foot of the bed, it took nothing out of Mark to lay him into the mattress, one arm around the small of his back, holding his body close so they won’t separate and that sinful friction between their cores was maintained to the highest degree, with the other resting at the side of Donghyuck’s head, caging him and keeping him down and under Mark. And Mark was grateful for Donghyuck’s compliance, remembering all the times the boy would let himself be tossed around, pinched, hit, choked and all in the name of innocent play, but Mark needed the control right now and he was finally understanding that Donghyuck’s bratty nature was a futile, laughable compensation for his primal passivity, his readiness to be tamed and domesticated.

Mark’s eyes didn’t linger long enough to see Donghyuck’s heaving chest, the dip of his throat when he swallowed, anxiety belatedly kicking into his system, nor did Mark see the way his cock twitched when Mark’s hand, no longer around his waist, but rather much lower, hand squeezed on the flesh of his hips, kneading it and making it red to the rough touch, but Mark did see the frazzled hair splayed across Donghyuck’s forehead, dampened from the heat of the water and from the perspiration caused by Mark’s ministrations on him, he saw Donghyuck’s eyes and how they were darker, pupils blown wide and black, sucking Mark in for more and more, because there were so many questions etched around them in the golden brown of his irises, albeit clouded over by the tenacious lust.

It was riveting, Mark finally grinding into Donghyuck to find purchase against their naked bodies, to see Donghyuck’s head get tossed back, neck stretched and back arched, and hands no longer wrapped around Mark but reaching out onto the sheets, grasping them and wringing, pulling on them to keep his body from slipping off the edge of the bed, as he writhed under Mark’s touch. And Donghyuck was hard, Mark could feel it where his own erection was pressed onto Donghyuck’s and the reality was bringing waves of intravenous shots of adrenaline into alcohol doused blood, lighting it aflame because instead of bringing him down from his high, he could only process the fact that he had the prettiest boy in their group irrefutably laid beneath him, with almost preconceived pliancy, long legs spread far and plush thighs tensing with every grind Mark ministrated on him, making him cry for more. So Mark couldn’t help but use a single hand, manoeuvring his fingers into the interior of the boy’s thighs, he heard the soft, pained gasp Donghyuck released, turning into a whine because he couldn’t help himself, too fucked out to care, and he pressed lightly, close to Donghyuck’s core, but not close enough and the teasing was making him insatiable. Donghyuck’s head got flung to the side once more, neck craned and stretched, ready to be painted in hues of purples by Mark’s teeth.

“Open wider Hyuck,” Mark whispered, pushing his thighs apart, voice low and raspy, cracking because he’d never seen such demonic beauty before his eyes, and Mark was scared because those biblical fairy tales of sensual seduction by incubi were no longer erroneous but rather too similar to the scene he was so invested in at that moment. He was obsessed, hypnotised by the way Donghyuck’s hips were bucking into his with every motion he made, and the way he complied to Mark’s every proposition, spreading himself below him and making himself look suitable for ravishing by Mark’s hands only, but he knew Donghyuck had the upper hand, had Mark entangled in his gaze, synchronising Mark’s thoughts with his deadliest desires. Mark was stuck in a maelstrom of desires, running his hands up to Donghyuck’s head, tangling his fingers into the boy’s hair and pulling so that his body shifted up the bed, eyes shutting but his mouth falling open eliciting a small, “Fuck,” as his midsection bent. Donghyuck looked like an angel being resurrected, wet hair, previously stuck to his forehead, falling back, giving Mark a brief moment to get a good look at his face twisted in pleasure, as his legs came up for his feet to brace himself on the bed, trying to meet Mark’s thrusts. And then they both realised they were trying to get by on the very little they weren’t inordinately terrified of, but it wasn’t enough, and the cravings were growing to a mammoth magnitude.

It was when Mark’s angle slipped over Donghyuck’s slit and the precome dribbling out made the slide only too easy, that Donghyuck shamelessly retched out, “more… please – ”

And then they were frozen in cold space again, Mark’s lips millimetres away from sucking another bruise into Donghyuck’s chest, and Donghyuck, whose body stilled, knowing that asking for more would be asking for too much. Mark’s voice, however, came as a breathless request, soft but demanding, “Can I… touch you?” the words were fragile, shaking through the air, like the chords of a viola, trembling but incontrovertibly present.

And Donghyuck looks at Mark, meeting his glazed over eyes, nodding slowly. It was terrifying, because Mark saw Donghyuck when their gazes connected, he saw the same boy he’d met when he first walked into SMent, he saw the boy who made his blood boil and then still to a simmer in mere moments, he saw the boy whom he’d watched grow up, and he was fucking terrified, because he was his first for everything, Mark realised. Donghyuck had made himself Mark’s first and had made Mark his own first for everything. And now Mark was asking Donghyuck for something he could never give back, and Donghyuck had given a yes.

“Words Hyuck.” Mark was obliviously persuasive, using the pet-name.

And Donghyuck was breaking his silent persona, because they both knew his mouth couldn’t stay shut for long, “fuck, please Mark, please touch me,” and Mark didn’t wait, that was all he needed, to let loose, previously blissfully unaware of how badly he wanted to hear those implorations whispered like prayers to him, from Donghyuck’s salivary lips and directed to him.

His fingers were no longer in Donghyuck’s hair but trailing their way down Donghyuck’s chest, eyes still in a gridlock, as if any movement would set off an alarm, send everything around them crumbling into dust, spilling propane beneath their skins and lighting them up into unquenchable flames. Mark was carelessly careful, making sure to graze the nails of his fingertips lightly into the boy’s skin, gently at first and then harshly enough to leave marks, because he knew Donghyuck loved it when they played rough, he loved to rile Mark up, see the burning in his eyes, and watch how he was the only one to kill those flickering beats of heat with his touch, a smile. But now he desired nothing less than an eternal blaze, he wanted Mark to edge him and keep them there forever, so he could feel the elder’s body pressing down on him, making his scent the only thing he was capable of processing, his body the only thing his sparking nerves could recognize. And he felt Mark’s fingers thread over the dark skin of his nipples, pushing down gently onto the raised buds, scraping along his skin, making him writhe and whine, a wordless invocation for more, until he finally felt those deft digits reach where he wanted them most.

“Are you sure?” of course he had to ask, always inquiring, ever so fucking curious, never satisfied the first time, but something was different, because in his voice, Donghyuck could hear a lilt to it, something that wasn’t there before, and when Donghyuck managed to clear the fog from his own eyes, he could see a teasing twinkle, the smirk settled smugly on Mark lips, that endearing dimple beneath his right cheek making an appearance.

“I told you what I wanted, are you deaf?” it was a snarky response, but the desperation of Donghyuck’s throbbing dick was leaking into his words and he didn’t sound as intimidating as he usually does, and nowhere near as annoying as he intended, because Mark snickered, and the heaviness that was resting pregnant in Donghyuck’s chest lightened, hearing that sound again, something he hadn’t heard in a while. And this situation was so characteristically them, Donghyuck’s caustic sarcasm being fired into Mark’s cold water, always managing to make his Gemini attributes look weakly immature with his indelible fondness.

“Beg for it,” an awfully bold appeal, but Mark wanted to see Donghyuck on his knees so badly.

And his words went straight to Donghyuck’s dick, and Mark could tell because he could feel Donghyuck’s precome leaking onto their fronts and his cock twitch as the words dropped from his lips. And Donghyuck stared at Mark, a pause that Mark felt would devour him into a pit of doubt, remorse, guilt, the initial cockiness of his dominance giving way to abashed reassessments, but then his lips parted, and just when he thought he’d cracked open all the possible surprises Donghyuck held in the palms of his hands, he had one more up his sleeve, ever present and conceiving.

“How about I make you beg instead Lee Mark,” and Donghyuck managed to flip them over in a swift motion, his spread legs locked to Mark’s hips as he sat atop him. And slowly, Donghyuck slid back until his face was hovering above Mark’s stomach, where smears of his own clear precome were staining the milky skin. And Mark’s heavy cock was sitting, full and erect and Donghyuck wanted nothing more than to part his plump lips and take Mark wholly until he hit the back of his throat. So he did. And if anyone were to be tossing in a restless sleep at that very moment, they’d most likely to be awoken indiscriminately by Mark’s surprised screech, that quickly subsided into a whimpering moan, hands immediately nestling themselves in Donghyuck’s locks as he looked down to see the boy’s lips wrapped delicately around his pink, flushed cock, sinking down inch by inch, saliva and the white semen smearing the sides of his mouth, eyes blown wide and innocent, tears forming because he was taking Mark so well, and Mark could feel the softness of his tongue on the underside of his cock burning hot and it was better than anything he’d ever felt.

“Fuck, Donghyuck-ah” one swipe of Donghyuck’s tongue, instinctively over Mark slit, sent him thrusting into the tight heat of his mouth, hand firmly clasping the back of his head, pushing him down onto his length, but the loud whine that vibrated around his length sobered Mark up completely, and then he was pulling that wet warmth off without a second thought with a harsh tug to the back of his head.

“Why’d you-“ The words from Donghyuck’s sticky lips hung, staling in the air between them, and as Donghyuck looked up through his bangs at Mark, he recognized trepidation in watery eyes.

“You- you made a sound, I- I thought you were hurt…” the stuttered explanation was too similar to their everyday-conversations for Donghyuck to not find it endearing, and grin that creeped onto his face served to only add confusion to Mark’s minute hemisphere of thought.

“Pull me off when you stop hearing that sound would you?” and Donghyuck didn’t wait for permission as he sank back down onto the length. He could feel where the foreskin was being pulled up, by Mark’s growing erection and the sides of his mouth were sensitive to the veins running along his cock. Donghyuck had never sucked a dick in his life but he was sure Mark had never received one either, first impressions shouldn’t be too inconspicuous.

Donghyuck’s lips looked so pretty around his cock, Mark’s eyes made note of the way tear drops framed Donghyuck’s cheeks, and how his saliva had made the slide devastatingly easy, how, from this position, he could see the way Donghyuck’s body curved. His small waist, effeminate, Mark concluded, because not even Taeyong had such a pretty waistline, and flared hips, flesh from his ass complimenting a figure that was well hidden under heavy blazers and baggy shirts, Mark’s last saving grace, those blessed skinny jeans.

The drag of his tight little mouth against his cock was intoxicating and for some reason, his brain muddled with the framed images of Donghyuck on his knees, was unable to process anything else, he couldn’t think, his heart rate was plummeting and skyrocketing, pulsing through bitten and broken capillaries, and he’d forgotten how to breathe, his lungs playing a gambit for gasps. Donghyuck’s lips moved up and down, tongue swirling around the tip and into the slit, teasing, then sucking hard as an apology, the sound of lewd wetness only serving to enhance how inebriated they both were, drunk off each other and their actions. When Donghyuck decided to speed up, sucking and basing his tongue on the underside of Mark’s hardness to make the heat tight and welcoming, and placing his fingertips gently at the base to compensate for where his mouth couldn’t reach, it only took the accidental thrust of Mark into the back of Donghyuck’s throat, grazing it and making Donghyuck whimper and gag, for him to hit his height with the vibrations of the boy’s voice muffled and choking around him. Mark’s grip was struggling in Donghyuck’s hair, trying to pull him off, “I’m gonna…” Mark had started.

The bliss was gone for a split second, “then come,” he said, and Donghyuck latched himself onto Mark’s length once more, and with a single lick, the flat press of his tongue onto his slit, his white streaks were already roping into Donghyuck’s tightened heat, as if he wanted it, because Mark met Donghyuck’s defiant gaze, palms flat on his pelvis, mouth locked onto Mark sucking him dry, and Mark’s grip loosened, letting Donghyuck do what he wanted, Mark wasn’t complaining, not that he could either way with his voice evaporating at his vocal chords, a broken sound escaping softened by the need to maintain quaint modesty. His spine arched and his lips parted, a silent scream, in their black and white movie, the tension releasing into the space between them loud enough.

And when Donghyuck was sure Mark was done, his hips stopping their relentless spasming, the come lapped up clean with no evidence besides the listless slackness of Mark’s face, and limpened body, he pulled off his length, kissing the tip and moving to the trembling thighs to leave kitten licks in his wake, and it was amazing, Donghyuck thought, how Mark’s dick could still twitch at his actions in the fresh aftermath of an orgasm. Donghyuck moved to sit on his heels, untouched hardness hanging between his legs unabashedly. Mark’s head was turned, gazing at Donghyuck from an angle.

“Have you ever…?” coming out breathlessly, a whisp of sound in pervading tension was the open ended inquiry, that had the propensity to be proposed rhetorically and to which Donghyuck replied, “You know I haven’t,” innocently but agile and knowing.

Donghyuck was sat on Mark’s thighs, trembling slightly, and erection softening. “My turn,” was Mark’s response. In his head, he knew it was Donghyuck’s first, he knew he was Donghyuck’s first, he was going to touch Donghyuck where no other hands have been but the boy’s own. It was terrifying, the responsibility looming, but he’d never felt greater certainty in so selfishly feeding into a desire.

And he planned to make it soft and sweet, because that was all Donghyuck was deserving of, sunlight kisses and moonlight magic and fairy dust that would draw shivers of fragility in the darkness, but Mark wasn’t capable of that, suffering from an ineptitude in empathetic strokes, making his fingertips scrape. And Mark, instead of feather-light touches, left imprints in place of love bites, and Donghyuck’s voice was as beautiful as wilful pain could be, the cries that surfaced indicating submission to what he thought he deserved, needed. It hurt them both, this wasn’t love, but maybe it was, because love was pain, right? It was hypnotic agony that fostered inevitable addiction. Mark’s lips were carving his name into Donghyuck’s virgin skin, destroying capillaries and leaving bruises that would ache, appearing more as maul-survival than sinful raucous. He sucked on the skin until slick saliva had coated the surface and could amply reflect the dismal light from the window, and he could retreat for a moment to admire his massacre, only to dive back in, nuzzling Donghyuck’s neck, clavicle, biting down softly and moving on to his chest.

Donghyuck’s fingers wove themselves into Mark’s hair, pulling with every nip, in misery and bliss because he wanted Mark to feel the pain he’d put him through all these years, their dysfunctional friendship, how Mark tossed away his love like his scrapped lyrics, as if they were meagre morsels of his innocent desires. Because it was so fair, to treat your best friend like he was meat to be passed around, instead of a prized possession worthy of employed attentiveness. Every mindless tug of Donghyuck’s normally gentle fingers latched defiantly into Mark’s hair reminded him of how much he deserved to put himself through the burn of Donghyuck’s blaze, electrifying himself in every harsh nail against his skin, and swallowing the permanent tumour in his throat finally accepting that he deserves to see Donghyuck unravel beneath him for one time, only to have the memory of it indelibly clawed into raw gashes in his mind, so that he can actively work on supressing the gore for the rest of his life. He deserved this. He deserved the memory of Donghyuck’s skin on his as they slotted themselves together, gathering the perfect friction, something that no woman would be willing to give him, because she won’t fit into his hands like Donghyuck would, and she wouldn’t have the softest whimpers that Donghyuck was able to procure despite being a boy. She’d be generic, Mark figured, petite and pretty and she’d look like Donghyuck, but her skin wouldn’t glow warm embers in the cold of night like Donghyuck’s did.

Settling on the indent of Donghyuck’s ribs, he sucked bruises into the skin, licking his nipples and biting gently, because as much as he wanted to be rough, he was again, incapable of executing what his body asked of him. It was too soft, to loving, when he finally stroked the boy below him back to full hardness, threading lightly, an irrefutable tease because he wanted to see him tears, know that Donghyuck hated him, to make sure that Donghyuck would never think of him in the same light, to drag this out to unbearable lengths until, Hyuck realised Mark wasn’t good enough for him.

So Mark let his fingers hold the soft flesh of Donghyuck’s waist down and stroke his cock, smearing the precome even more, making it messy and wet like he imagined Donghyuck would like it, and he pressed his left thumb on his nipple, rubbing and teasing relentlessly, scraping lightly so that in 2 days, when Donghyuck decides to strip in their dressing room instead of in the privacy of the wardrobe, the members will see the crescents Mark left, his name written over Donghyuck’s skin in temporary tattoos of red . And for a moment, he shifted from pleasuring the boy, pulling himself up to Donghyuck’s lips, their eyes meeting for fleeting moment, promptly curtailed by Hyuck’s eager lips, arms that were still woven around Mark’s neck and hair dragging him down into the drowning sensation of subtle cannibalism, their lips no longer a main facet of their kiss, rather a clash of teeth and tongue and quite frankly the most sinful filth either have ever engaged in, raw lust with no regard for the burning taste of blood from Donghyuck’s bitten bottom lip, Mark’s carnivorous nature avidly leaching between them and frightening Donghyuck at how ardently he sucked on the sharp taste of iron. Mark could taste himself on Donghyuck’s tongue, and the thought that the boy had swallowed his seed so well, so willingly, with such dedication carved fault lines into his already sacrificial morality, his indebted nature prepared to offer himself up on the gilded platter for Donghyuck to destroy so beautifully.

It was irresistibly agonising, how Mark tasted like precious poison on Donghyuck’s lips, and how his teeth on his skin felt like religious anointment, how he responded promptly to every one of Donghyuck’s little noises with a kiss, like an apology, like a promise meant to be broken as the morning woke. It was a tug of war, when he felt fingers wrapping around his softened cock, slipping over the tip, rough pads pressing on the under-vein and gently pumping when it became simultaneously too little yet too much. And then Mark began to pump steadily, collecting the precome from the head and spreading it as lube, the slide becoming easier and producing that slick dirty sound, coupled with his own pretty harmony. Donghyuck wondered if he was using techniques he used on himself, and the thought of the elder’s hand wrapped around himself, propped weakly on the wet tiles, hand jerking fervently trying to find release but struggling to keep quiet in the echoing walls of their bathroom, drew out a moan past his lips. Donghyuck’s face twisted, his head nuzzling the pillow, mouth trying to latch onto any material to muffle himself. and Mark wished he could film Donghyuck, to catch how the saliva and remnants of Mark’s come smeared across his lips, and how the corners of his eyes were watering from Mark’s fingers, how he writhed from every light touch, with the sheets framing his lithe dancer’s body.

“Tell me babe,” it was English that Donghyuck barely registered, and he could see Mark staring at him from beneath his dark black fringe, hair pressed to his forehead some hanging and perspiration collecting in his hairline.

“What do you want from me?” he continued once in English, and a second time in Korean, possibly not retaining sufficient sense to silently translate for himself, but all Donghyuck could do was moan in response, twitching from hypersensitivity under Mark, twisting fingers from his hair into the sheets, arching himself to maximise the contact from Mark’s hand.

“So pretty,” English again, but words that were comprehensible by anyone, Donghyuck could see the daze in his eyes, a response to how fucked out he looked himself, a glazed gaze fixated on Mark’s every ministration, a steadfast whimper with every tug on his leaking member, Donghyuck knew Mark could feel him twitch when he talked to him. “hmm?” he hummed from above Hyuck, abandoning his focus on getting Hyuck off, to meet his lips as he sat up. They met in the middle, Hyuck’s back now off the bed, his torso slotted between Mark’s thighs, their cores rubbing against each other, almost scissoring but not quite as Mark picked up his pace, jerking him off from between their bodies, swallowing every moan from Donghyuck, and the ones he couldn’t completely silence, he instead made him choke on them with a particularly harsh brush over his slit. Against his lips, Mark’s voice made vibrations, “Talk to me baby,” and Donghyuck mewled softly against the sweet sweat of Mark’s upper lip. “Want you…” Donghyuck said quietly.

“Want me to what, huh?” Mark teased over his head, tugging at his cock in beat with Donghyuck’s hips that were now rocking, trying to find any meagre purchase with how close he was.

“Want you to…” Donghyuck couldn’t finish, he knew what he wanted but he could never admit, because he knew Mark already knew, knew this was some sick power game, it always was.

“What do you want Haechan-ah” so indifferent, the stage name making him detached. It wasn’t a question; it was tantalising how persistent Mark was in tormenting him.

“Don’t make me fucking say it Mark,” he gritted out, burying his head into Mark’s neck, biting down into the skin and bucking up into the rough pumping.

“Say it baby,” Mark whispered into his ear, a gasp of English and mangled Korean after, “come for me, I know you’ve always wanted to…” the lust-induced rasp that pushed Donghyuck over the edge in a flurry of agonising truth, “Ah- Mark, fuck, please…”

It destroyed him more than Mark’s lips biting down onto his lips and neck, hard enough to draw the blood to help him ride it past, so his emotions could bleed through as he hit his highest high only to come down to his lowest low. He wasn’t sure if the tears were from his orgasm or falling into the chasm that was naked actuality of their demolished companionship.

And when it was over, Mark’s lips were still attached to Donghyuck’s and the mess drying between them didn’t matter because Mark was lowering the younger back onto the bed, hovering above him, a hand on his hip and the other holding himself above Hyuck, who’s hands were wrapped loosely around his neck, a single leg around his waist keeping them attached at the hip. And they continued to pepper kisses onto each other, never straying from their lips, blind to the world around them, Donghyuck’s world muffled as if he were underwater, drowning in the confusion of what they just committed but too blissed by the carefree façade that the post-orgasm haze crafted to pay mind. Mark’s hands were no longer roaming but remained on Hyuck’s waist, and softly caressing his face. Donghyuck’s fingers were simultaneously smoothing and messing with the hair on Mark’s nape, twisting and twirling in a gentle way he’d been too scared to do before now. Mark’s eyes were closed, Donghyuck could see the shift beneath his eyelids, hair covering most of them from Donghyuck’s sight, but Mark’s lips felt like his pillow did on a late Saturday morning, it felt like comfort and safety, but there was the haste of knowing he had to be up in 10 minutes, a sense of uneasiness, hesitance.

And to Mark, the past is meant to be admitted and repented for, but he didn’t want to repent for this. He wanted to cast his sins in gold and frame their image on the coliseum’s stone walls. But ‘terrified’ could never be enough to describe how fast he wanted to run from the boy beneath him and deny what had been emblemised onto their sheets… their sheets. Donghyuck had done this with him, and the realisation was washing over him in streams of icy hale, knocking him out of the haze he was in, and suddenly, Mark was backing up, lips detaching from Donghyuck’s own chasing his. “Mark- wha-?”

Mark’s naked body was retreating from Donghyuck’s own, the stickiness of Donghyuck’s come making him flinch, and by the sharpened shock on the boy’s features, he could tell Donghyuck knew their midnight escapade was over.

“Give me a minute…” the only words Mark could procure, it was too soon, too slow, too loving, they’d been too gentle for Mark’s mind to pass this off as fleeting horniness, a laugh over dinner in a few years, they hadn’t fooled around, they’d bore themselves to each other tonight.

“Mark, no, don’t do this. Please!” Donghyuck started, already perceiving the spiralling clockwork, but Mark was stepping into the bathroom without a moment’s hesitance. His functionality switched to auto pilot; he knew what he had to do:

Get the soft towelette
Dampen it with warm water
Softly wipe Donghyuck down
Dispose of it
Lay down with the person you just slept with

Protocol, that’s Mark’s specialty, he could work with that, so he did. A machine meant to do the bidding of society’s expectations. Pulling up a spare pair of boxers from where they were strewn on the floor, Mark grabbed the softest towelette he could find and lightly dampened it, half with warm water and the other half kept dry, and he re-emerged stoically to Donghyuck sitting up with purpose, as if awaiting the next chapter after a cliff-hanger, jaw set and anxious.

“Lay back,” Mark says voice disjointed like his mind was trying to maintain composure, but his body couldn’t properly receive the nerve impulses. The request came more as a command and Donghyuck didn’t know if he should comply or run.

But Mark’s hands were on his torso, and Donghyuck conceded to his inhibitions, resting onto the pillows but body tense with every touch. He could feel Mark wipe him, a forced benevolence, where the stains were most prominent on his stomach, then flipping the wash cloth to a cleaner side, and pushing his thighs apart unabashedly wiping the smudged slick, carefully gliding over the areas of Donghyuck’s skin that were blemished beyond black and blue, much of his honey skin bruising from Mark’s teeth and they could both see where a sharp bite had left it tarnished in a way makeup couldn’t conceal.

Discarding the cloth mindlessly, Mark returned to the bed, gingerly climbing in. Donghyuck shifted to the other side, revealing a small space for Mark to squeeze into. Mark threaded carefully into the sheets, Donghyuck’s eyes searing questions onto his skin, as he helped him into the bed. Finally, they both lay parallel to each other, Donghyuck gazing at Mark, evidently conscious of his racing thoughts and mental spiral, while Mark stared blankly towards the ceiling, arms limp at his side, neck craned to rest his head snuggly into the pillow.

“If you’re going to wake up tomorrow and act as if nothing just happened, you can tell me right now,” Donghyuck said plainly. His face was expressionless, his voice coarse and laced with resentment, as if he’d already formulated a conclusion based on Mark’s body language, “cause I could leave, and we’d never have to speak about this ever again…”

“Shut up, Donghyuck”

“What?”

“I said shut up,” Mark’s voice was a flailing attempt at dominance, because the desperation that wallowed in every syllable drew silence from the impudent boy lying next to him. “Do you really believe that I could forget this? Do you really think I could throw our relationship aside, our friendship, cast our lives away because we made a dumb mistake!” he proclaimed to the roof.

When no reply followed, Mark turned to face Donghyuck. He was a scene from a movie, made for the cameras even in his most intimate moments with his eyes welled but only a single tear glistening on his cheek. A UNICEF advertisement, static cinematography for a romance film, Donghyuck’s image was a million-dollar portrait to be auctioned off.

“-a mistake…” he asked simply, a chafing contrast to Mark’s aloof proclamation. And Mark could see the gold melting off his Donghyuck’s shining skin, simmering with the burning metal rod Mark has indiscriminately tossed his way.

And for all the religious sacrament Mark had endured throughout his upbringing, it had all surmounted to words that neither he nor God could reverse, “Hyuck, no!” the realisation, an equivalent to a nuclear bomb, and his body had erupted into an attempt to explain what he meant, to take it back, because what they had done, what they were, it wasn’t a mistake, Mark knew that, but the effector between his brain and mouth was futile, the connection isolated and his congruency with Donghyuck diminished until he’d lost the ability to speak, eyes shifting rapidly over Donghyuck to try and communicate that he didn’t mean it, he was dumb, he was careless, he was never good with words, and Donghyuck should know that by now but, tonight he was blinded.

“A mistake,” the younger spat, “I should’ve known…” he resigned, a caustic soreness encapsulating his laugh, it was raspy, hoarse… it sounded bitter, and it was searing through Mark’s skin, setting it aflame atop ice caps, worse than the vomit that had trudged itself up his throat and out his mouth. His mouth… his unfiltered, nasty mouth that forced the boy, beneath him only a few minutes ago, from his stained sheets, to the door.

“Hyuck- stop”

“Save it Mark,” the words were spat with a disgust he didn’t know Donghyuck was capable of.

At Donghyuck’s heels were Mark’s scrambling feet and incoherent apologies, being whispered to ears inundated by blaring radio static. Mark’s empathy was blinded by his sins and Donghyuck was deaf to his monotonous atonement. Mark’s eyes could barely distinguish the black tufts of hair straggling, the darkness of the room, for the first time that night, finally making its presence imminent. Donghyuck meant for his movements to portray practiced composure, but his emotions were bleeding through wounds Mark had stitched so gently with his lips mere minutes ago. The space between them laden with a torturous tension, as Donghyuck pulled on a discarded boxer shorts, he didn’t check for its rightful owner, it didn’t matter, they’d shared everything to date, it didn’t matter. Old habits will die hard.

They were bare bodied for the most part, shivering in the biting cold as Donghyuck opened the door, allowing in the chill of their dorm. Donghyuck’s supposed to be in his and Johnny’s room, Mark’s room is supposed to be desolate of human existence, characteristic of a busy star-boy whose home was 5-star hotel rooms to be abandoned in the morning. But tonight, when Mark grappled for fingers that had the door frame in a white-knuckled grip, Donghyuck’s singular response was sharing bleeding betrayal. Mark could see it in the glory-hole reflection of cum-stained sheets, fibrous remains of their virgin selves laid to waste in the advent of their own self-proclaimed hurricane.

“Hyuck, you know I didn’t mean that.” Mark’s trying, Mark’s deranged, crippled brain could only supply his ego with words that fed it in return. Donghyuck, Haechan, whoever he decided to be in that moment, could risk it all and fall into bed with the beast that Mark was. Or he could walk out on the unsteady legs that had been spread wide for feasting. The latter suit his persona better.

“No Hyung, I know you didn’t…” voice barely above an angel’s whisper, the honorific stung like the bitten-short nails that scraped Mark’s skin raw. “But you crave its reality,” Donghyuck did him the honour of scattering the remaining shards of his glass heart over their disgraced bedroom floor, over their strewn sweaters and sweat-stained sheets.

Donghyuck’s posture finally straightened itself, and he stood Mark’s height, piercing his gaze into the guilt that festered within Mark’s eyes. He slipped through the door, out of Mark’s faltering grasp and weakened reserve.

“Donghyuck STOP!” his mouth was always faster than his mind, unfiltered and brusque. Donghyuck thought it was pathetic, like the snake that shed its teddy bear skin, how Mark’s fangs were unmasked bravado for Donghyuck and Donghyuck only.

“Don’t raise your voice at me” it was a warning Mark had always failed to heed.

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just listen to me”

“I said, ‘stop fucking yelling at me Mark!” and his body clicked into autopilot, weak, trembling legs aimlessly guiding him out of Mark’s room and into the hallway. And Donghyuck was naked evidence of broken rules and a brittle relationship. Decked out in shorts stained with remnants of his arousal and thighs painted with Mark’s heart-shaped bruises, he was a one-man parade of the dysfunctionality he’d allowed himself to indulge in.

Mark was terrified.

Of what the unfortunate soul who lays eyes on them in those moments, would think, if they awoke in the midst of their ruckus;

Mark was possessive.

Over Donghyuck who was strutting away like a Mesopotamian incubus who’d just chewed out his sacramental confessions and licked it back into his mouth, fucking him plain and pretty.

They had made it to the living room, urgent whispers of Hyuck’s name and rebuttals with refusal clear in the pronunciation. Mark’s fingers reached out to lace into Donghyuck’s. The space around them sweltered, bare bodied heat concentrating and suffocating them. Mark’s fingertips burned like alcohol poisoning. Addictive at first with bullet riddled consequences as a chaotic aftermath. And Donghyuck let him entwine, let him do the work, no reciprocation, and it tied knots tighter than their shoelaces before a performance, in Mark’s chest, as he felt the unresponsive appendages between his.

“Donghyuck, please, I’m sorry, I’m scared, you know this” soft, sweet, words that dripped of the honey Donghyuck obsessed over. The silence was louder than cheers for rival groups that beat them out on music shows. The silence was the kind that could slit arteries with its pen knife sharpness. Then Donghyuck’s fingers tensed, squeezing and letting Mark know he’d heard him. And he moved towards Mark a soft smile on his lips, eyes focused behind Mark’s head, empty, emotionless. And he nuzzled his ear, the tip of his nose so cold against the flushed lobe. His lips grazed the pale skin of Mark’s neck, the skin he’d ruined with blemishes he’d hoped will last.

“You were scared,” Donghyuck says, his usual stability caving for shaky vocal chords.

“Yes,” Mark drags the word hoping to memorize the feeling of the boy’s other hand caressing him.

“Of course you were scared…” Donghyuck continues, “when you watched me strip down in the bathroom earlier.” Soft lips were threading Mark’s jaw.

“And you were scared…” Mark was pulling Donghyuck, pressing him against a wall, “when you felt me on top of you, all naked and wet, vulnerable”

“Yes,” the word was a breath into Donghyuck’s hair, Mark’s grip was light, so contrasting to the hands wrapped around Mark’s neck, softly stroking stray hairs. Donghyuck’s eyes were grazing questioningly over the pretty face staring at him.

“And you were also so scared when you threw me onto your bed”

“Yes”

“and told me to,” Donghyuck’s voice dropped, warm air from his mouth bathed Mark’s cheek, “beg for you.”

Donghyuck’s hands were on Mark’s chest, but he didn’t spare a moment to feel the wiry muscle, or to trace his fingers over indentations and tease. Instead, he pushed hard, opening a cavernous space between them. And Donghyuck’s voice was no longer soft, delicate nor was it intimidating, it was saturated with indignance and regret.

“And you were so fucking scared when you let me put my mouth around your cock for you to fuck it, weren’t you!”

He was loud, the sentence echoed off the walls but he couldn’t care less, they’d all see their matching hickeys, their bruised lips, and they’d feel the tension eventually. It didn’t matter, their relationship was always up in the fucking air, with red flags flying high but not a white one to be seen.

“so absolutely fucking scared when you came down my throat not even half an hour ago, scared when you asked me to come for you, made me beg like I was your cockslut, because that’s what you want Mark Lee!”

His words were dirty and vile, wicked like his on-screen persona.

“I’m your fucking cockslut, nothing more…”Donghyuck’s voice broke. His irises were blown wide and rimmed with tears, and his fists were clenched but he’d never throw a punch.

Mark was never good with spoken words, his body was his instrument, he danced with passion and aggression, he strummed the strings of his guitar as gently as he wanted to thread them through Donghyuck’s locks. He could throw a punch and make it hurt as much as words do.

“And you begged didn’t you?” Mark began, but suddenly his vision was blurred by the testimony of his feelings., “You begged me to let you come.” Mark closed the space, his own tears breaking the dam before Donghyuck. Mark held his face, but Donghyuck’s eyes were casting daggers through his pupils past the tears. “You wanted this just as much as I did and you know that.”

“I can’t believe that Mark,” Donghyuck whispered into Mark’s palm, “and you know that.”

“Believe it Donghyuck, believe me, fuck, for once, just believe me when I say I care about you, I don’t regret anything we did.”

“I can’t believe you, because you love women, and maybe we love each other or maybe you’re confused… but this,” Donghyuck’s hands gestured vaguely between them, “you can’t live like this, with me, knowing me, knowing how I feel.”

Tongue tied and brittle boned, Mark was never strong enough for the truth, his blood turned to ice and his heart was frozen over, he wasn’t good at telling the truth… turns out he wasn’t good at hearing it either. Donghyuck continues.

“It’ll kill you, suffocate you because you wouldn’t be able to face your parents with your hand in mine, because you’d live in unfaithful lust for as long as you’re with me, because you’d never be able to walk into church again before shielding yourself from your own guilt by hiding in a confessional”

Their foreheads rested together so gently, the thrum of Donghyuck’s pulse was the only movement Mark could feel under his hands. Slow and steady breaths, he reminded himself, as he closed his eyes. They stood encapsulated by their own darkness, sharing the oxygen around them, Mark’s thumb resting gently on Hyuck’s jaw, and a hand on his hip. Donghyuck’s arms remained limp at his sides. The resolution was decided like fate and without further words. They were star-crossed and inevitable, thwarted by the shining spotlight that brought them together.

“how do you feel Donghyuck?”
“you already know”

“tell me one last time, please”
“I’m in love with you”

“me too”

“I’m sorry”

“me too”

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading, I'd love to read your comments and I'd take constructive criticism any day, I'm also sorry about that ending, I really wanted this to be as realistic as possible, hope you all enjoyed, maybe one day I'd write something happier, leave your ideas and prompts in the comments, I NEED inspiration

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