Work Text:
These are the moments Taeyong loves the most: Yuta, lips slightly parted as he breathes deep and even in his sleep, the pale golden light of morning glistening on his cheeks, the blue tones of his hair shifting almost imperceptibly with his tiny movements. Yuta hadn’t really slept, before he’d met Taeyong, but now he loves it – will whine for Taeyong to go to bed with him if he feels it’s getting too late. The concept of time was also new to Yuta when they met, beyond the visible passing of seasons, and sometimes Taeyong almost regrets teaching him what ‘reasonable times’ for sleep and meals were. Yuta uses them against him far too often.
It’s not his fault that he tends to get caught up in things, there are just so many things to do that are far more interesting than the basic necessities of rest and sustenance.
Taeyong wishes he could stay and watch Yuta wake up; see him stretch his back in a sensual arch, flicker open his startling cerulean eyes. Yuta always likes to smile, cat-like and slow, when he sees Taeyong getting ready in the morning, trying to tempt him back into bed with heavy-lidded eyes and whining. And as much as he enjoys those mornings, he really needs to get work done today, and so Taeyong sends a final longing look to Yuta’s sleeping form before slowly making his way through the cottage into the kitchen.
The kitchen has always been Taeyong’s favourite room in their home. It smells of bay, marjoram, and rosemary; comforting and powerful and soothing all at the same time. The windowsills are east facing, to soak up as much morning sun as possible, and burst with herbs and flowers of all colours and aromas.
Taeyong fills the gleaming copper kettle with fresh water from the spring just outside the door that leads from the kitchen to the outdoors and places it on the stovetop. He focuses his energy into his fingertips, gently brushing them over the ring on the hob and sparking fire as he goes. Once the fire is burning hot and low, Taeyong places the kettle down onto the hob and moves towards the cupboard to pull out one of his teapots. This one is a deep russet-brown, with a strainer inside, which Taeyong fills with petals, roots, and leaves from the jar of echinacea lined up in the cupboard with all his other teas. It’s late October, and the forest is getting frostier, and Taeyong can feel his typical seasonal cold coming on, so echinacea it is.
Once the water has boiled and the tea is steeped, Taeyong carries the teapot and matching teacup on a tray through to his workroom. There are half-finished charms strewn across his desk, crystals neatly arranged on altars and shelves, several decks of tarot cards carefully stacked alongside countless books covering everything from the history of occult practices to modern ecological treatises. He clears aside a few of the half-empty bottles of herbs and pulls out the sheets of wrapping paper he uses for the soaps, bottles, and teas he sells. Yuta had designed it for him a few months ago, and Taeyong cherishes each sheet he gets printed. He runs his fingers over the pattern, a soft smile gracing his lips, and gets to work.
The next time he looks up, a few hours have passed, and Yuta is leaning in the doorway watching him with a gentle smile. His dark blue hair is softly rumpled and pushed back from his forehead, betraying the fact that he’s only been awake for a few minutes. Taeyong’s eyes skim over the rest of his body, trailing appreciatively down the expanse of smooth, pale chest left on display by the way Yuta’s crimson robe is only tied loosely around his waist and hangs open teasingly, almost slipping off one slender shoulder. Taeyong makes eye contact again and Yuta’s gaze is sly and sharp, irises slowly shifting and darkening from their usual deep enticing blue to a shade that is almost black.
Taeyong swallows. This man – no, not man, not really. This beautiful creature, who loves him and he loves in return, will most certainly be the death of him one day.
He can’t bring himself to mind.
“Taeyongie…The stream is going to freeze over soon. Come back to bed and keep me warm.” Yuta purrs, moving slowly towards Taeyong. His steps flow smoothly over the plush carpet, bare toes sinking into the fabric. Taeyong tries to drag his eyes away from the gentle undulation of Yuta’s hips as he moves, but instead lands on Yuta’s face, which is much more dangerous.
“I can’t, Yu, I have to finish packing these to I can take them to the village to be sent off tomorrow. And you don’t even feel the cold, you can’t use that to keep me to yourself.” Taeyong knows his soft brown eyes have gone wide and pleading, because Yuta pouts but stops advancing.
“Do you actually have to, or are you overworking yourself for no reason again?” He says, and his voice is clear and sharp as ice-cold water running over bare skin. Sometimes Taeyong wishes his lover was not quite so perceptive.
“I promise I won’t take on so many commissions next time, darling, but I really do need to get this done today. I have to go to the village tomorrow anyway, Doyoung finally got more sandalwood incense and I need to pick it up.”
Yuta pouts at the mention of Doyoung, and Taeyong sighs. The two had gotten off on the wrong foot, with Doyoung bluntly suggesting that Yuta was using his glamour to ensnare Taeyong and Yuta being so insulted by the accusation that he made Doyoung’s toilet explode. They had slowly recovered from their terrible first impressions and developed something of a friendship independent of Taeyong’s interference; just last week Doyoung had told Taeyong he was coming over and upon being informed that Taeyong had planned to go out gathering that day Doyoung had blankly replied, “I know, I’m coming to see Yuta.”
But still, when Yuta is feeling protective of Taeyong, mentions of Doyoung can make him pouty and clingy. Not that Taeyong really minds.
Yuta huffs, leaning over to press his lips to Taeyong’s forehead in a gentle kiss before pushing away. “Fine, I suppose I’ll let you get back to work. But finish up soon, because I have no intention of getting dressed today. I’m going to go check on my river.”
And with that, he swishes out of the room, and Taeyong allows himself a moment to let his gaze linger on Yuta’s back as he goes. Then he smiles, soft and secretive, and returns to his work.
~
It had been inevitable, really, that Taeyong would meet Yuta as he built his cottage. Taeyong hadn’t known that at the time, hadn’t even been sure that there were such things as water spirits any more. It sounded jaded, but so few places held the same magic that his grandmother had told him about when he was a child. He’d learned his craft from her, the way she had from her mother, the way his family always had for generations. She’d told him that she’d seen a faerie, once, in these very woods just an hour’s walk from the nearest village, but that had been almost 80 years ago.
Taeyong had decided it was time to build his home in the woods when he was 18. It took him five years to finish it, since he was determined to cause as little disruption to the natural running of the woods as possible, but he eventually found himself with a comfortable little home tucked away in a clearing. His home was a perfect mixture of modern amenities (how is a witch to make his living without access to the internet, after all) and traditional life, surrounded by flowers of all hues and scents, bursting with life even in the depths of winter when the plants lay sleeping under blankets of frost and snow. He had been alone, mostly, and that was how he liked it – the occasional visit from Doyoung or Johnny or Jaehyun was enough to keep him happy. Taeyong had always liked the quiet of his own company more than the buzzing bustle of other people.
So you can imagine how shocked he was when, in the middle of winter during a snowstorm, there had been a knock on his front door and a half-naked man had been stood outside. His bare feet were covered in snow, his dark blue hair dusted with flakes of white, and his cheeks had taken on a bluish tinge that terrified Taeyong enough to drag the stranger into his house without a second thought and push him towards the fire. The stranger had eyed the fireplace warily, the flickering orange casting dramatic moving shadows across the strikingly delicate features of his face.
Taeyong had wrapped him up in a blanket, ignoring his own flush at the sight of the scantily clad stranger. His chest was bare, his lower half covered only by a few layers of some material that shimmered like gossamer, at once blue and green and white, barely covering from his waist to his knees.
“You must be freezing, why the hell would you be out dressed like this in a storm?” Taeyong admonished, fussing around the stranger.
His visitor looked at him questioningly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I thought humans were supposed to wear clothes? Ten said humans are afraid of nudity, though he could be lying. I don’t know why I would believe him, anyway.” With that, he stood, and began unwinding the long strip of material from around him.
Taeyong jumped up immediately, cheeks flushed bright red as he tried to stop the man from removing his clothing. “Stop, stop, what are you doing?! I meant why are you wearing so few clothes, it’s freezing outside! You should be wearing more clothes, not less!”
The man paused, looking down. Taeyong followed his gaze, realising that in his haste to stop the man from undressing he had ended up holding the material against the stranger’s slender hips. He looked back up in time to spot the feline smirk growing on the man’s face.
“He also said that humans shy away from touch. Clearly he doesn’t know as much about humans as he thinks.” His tone was teasing, and Taeyong jerked his hands away suddenly as if the man’s skin had suddenly burned him. The man’s laughter burst out of him, clear and bright as water rushing over smooth stone.
Taeyong stepped back slightly, bringing one hand to his face to hide the blush burning on his cheeks. “You keep talking about humans like you aren’t one. What are you?”
The stranger tutted, shaking his head slightly. “That’s a bit rude, asking me what I am before you even ask me my name.”
Taeyong flushed even darker, avoiding looking directly into the man’s eyes. There was something unsettling about them, blue and shifting like the tide. “Oh, sorry. What- what is your name then?”
Before, Taeyong had been unnerved by the man, his beauty so sharp and distinct that he looked inhuman, otherworldly. But suddenly his face broke out in a wide and genuine smile, his eyes crinkling shut and cheeks rounding out. “I’m Yuta. Nice to meet you! And to answer your other question, I’m the stream that runs behind your house.”
Taeyong paused, blinking at him in silence for a moment. “I’m sorry, did you just say that you’re the stream?”
Yuta nodded, letting Taeyong’s blanket slide off his shoulders. “Well, technically I’m the manifested spirit of the stream, but I’m connected to it so deeply that it’s basically me, and vice versa.”
Taeyong looked at him for another moment, then nodded. “You know what, that makes more sense than any other explanation for why you’d be half-naked in the snow. But I’ve been living here since the summer. Why haven’t I seen you before?”
“I didn’t need you to see me before.” Yuta shrugged. “I’ve never had a reason to talk to a human before. To be honest, you seem pretty weird.”
Taeyong tried not to take that personally. “So why now? What’s the reason for talking to a human now?”
Suddenly it was Yuta’s turn to flush, and Taeyong aggressively ignored the way his stomach flipped at how cute the man was. “I. Um. The surface of my river froze over while I was visiting friends and it was too thick to break through. I can’t get back into it until the storm blows over.”
Taeyong couldn’t help but laugh. “If you are the stream, can’t you just…pass through the ice?”
Yuta glared, grabbing Taeyong’s hand and pressing it to his chest. “Do I look incorporeal to you? Just because I’m connected to the river doesn’t mean I’m made of water.”
“No, of course not, that would be ridiculous.” Taeyong rolls his eyes, trying not to think about the cool, smooth feel of Yuta’s skin under his fingertips. He didn’t feel human, that was certain. Taeyong pulled his hand away, turning towards the kitchen. “You can stay here until the storm is over, you can sleep in my bed if you want.”
Yuta shook his head. “It’s fine, I don’t sleep. Don’t let me bother you.”
Taeyong gave him a considering look, then shrugged and made his way into the kitchen. “Do you want tea? I was just about to have my tea before I went to bed.”
“I’ve never had tea before. I’d like to try it, though.” Yuta trailed after him, watching with interest as Taeyong brought a flame to life on the stovetop. “Oh. You’re a witch.”
Taeyong nodded. “I am. Is that a problem?”
“No. It explains why you’re calm about the whole river spirit thing. Ten says he’s heard that witches are much more relaxed than most humans.” Yuta’s gaze was curious as Taeyong prepared then poured out the tea.
Taeyong continued talking as he carried the mugs of tea through into the living room, settling himself in one of the armchairs in front of the fire and gesturing for Yuta to do the same. “Seems like this Ten thinks he knows a lot about humans. Is he a friend of yours?”
Yuta nodded. “He’s connected to a patch of trees not far from the edge of the forest, near a path that humans take sometimes, so he’s seen a lot more of them than I have. I’m pretty young compared to most of the other spirits around here, but his trees were planted not long after I appeared so we’re closer than most.”
“Is it impolite to ask how old you are as well?” Taeyong asked, not wanting to push his luck.
“This is my twenty-third winter.” Yuta answered with a smile, taking a sip of his tea. His face lit up. “This is really good!”
Taeyong felt himself smiling back, soft and genuine. “Thank you.” Then his eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, the stream has only been here for 23 years?”
Yuta shook his head, took another sip of his tea, then continued. “I’m not sure how it is for others elsewhere, but my stream has always been cyclical. Every hundred years or so the previous manifestation fades away and a new one is born, a brand-new person with the memories of all the versions before us tucked away in our heads.” He smiled, tilting his head, and as his hair moved Taeyong was suddenly hit by the smell of grass after fresh rainfall. “Pretty cool, right?”
Taeyong nodded and felt himself warming. It didn’t have anything to do with the fire. “That is pretty cool.”
They stayed up late into the night, sharing their worlds with each other, until Taeyong could barely keep his eyes open. When he woke up in the morning, the storm had blown over, and he felt a sinking disappointment in his stomach at the thought that Yuta was probably long gone.
He found Yuta in the kitchen, where he was greeted with a cheerful smile and a request for more tea.
~
Taeyong’s trip into town had ended up taking him around four hours, between the walk and the sweet but slow-moving elderly lady that manned the post office. But now, he’s home, and he can smell lavender and mint wafting out of the bathroom.
He finds Yuta in the living room, still in his robe as promised. He’s watering the plants, and Taeyong can see the way they follow him as he carefully tends to them.
Everything in this house loves Yuta, because everything in this house is connected to Taeyong.
Yuta is singing to himself, softly, something low and gentle that makes Taeyong feel at peace the way a babbling brook does, cool and sweet like fresh water on the hottest day of summer. Yuta draws him in, always, with how at home he looks with their little green family. Taeyong could watch him for hours.
It’s almost a shame, how fun it is to scare him.
“I’m home!” Taeyong yells, cackling at the way it makes Yuta jump and turn to glare at him.
“Very funny, asshole.” Yuta pouts, but he comes over to press a chaste kiss to Taeyong’s lips anyway.
Taeyong giggles, resting one hand on the back of Yuta’s neck and playing with the soft hairs that are getting long enough to twine his fingers in and pull in a way that makes Yuta let out the most delicious noises. Yuta’s own hands come to rest on Taeyong’s hips, cool and solid even through the warm denim of his jeans.
Taeyong lifts his other hand, waving the plastic bag he’s holding in front of Yuta’s face. “Doyoungie said he’s been practicing making your favourite, since your birthday is coming up.”
Yuta’s eyes light up and he grins, letting go of Taeyong so he can make a grab for the bag. “Takoyaki? For me? Ah, that Doyoungie, so sweet to me.”
Yuta cradles the bag of food like a small child, carefully carrying it into the kitchen and laying it out neatly on two plates. “You’re all done with work now for the day then, Taeyongie.”
From anyone else it would sound like a question. Yuta says it like a statement.
Taeyong hums, watching his boyfriend potter around their kitchen pouring wine for them both. “I have a few other things that I should finish off tonight…”
He trails off at Yuta’s look, unimpressed and slightly pouting.
“No more work. I drew you a bath, and I put your special lavender and mint bath milk in there because you need to relax and make sure you don’t make yourself sick again by overworking when you have a cold. You’re going to sit in the bath and eat your takoyaki, and if you’re a good boy I’ll wash your hair for you and suck you off in the bathtub, then you can come to bed. Understood?” Yuta says. His arms are folded over his chest, still on display where his robe hangs open. He does not look like saying ‘no’ is an option.
Taeyong looks at him, his love, surrounded by plants they’ve grown in this home they’ve moulded around themselves for the past few years, and he feels his heart swell. This man, who isn’t really a man at all, so unlike any human Taeyong has ever met, who is otherworldly and uncanny and unbelievable, whose heart is so full of love that it spills out of him like a waterfall with every movement. Taeyong loves him so much, in a way he can never really put into words, and so he decides to put it into his actions instead.
“Yeah, ok. That sounds perfect.”