Chapter Text
don’t say the words we know are true
It’s the sort of nightmare that disappears from his memory the moment his eyes snap open, but it stays in his body for far longer.
He’s not had one this bad in a while - possibly not since those first few weeks after leaving the military. Jiyong’s heart is racing so fast it pounds in his throat, breath coming out in pained, shaky wheezes. The darkness presses in on all sides, hiding monsters in the shadows. A movement by the door makes him start, and, instinctively, he reaches out to his right to grab for the safety of the warm body he knows is next to him.
His hand finds nothing but cold sheets, and the sick, half-asleep dread sinks lower in his stomach.
Jiyong’s up and out of bed so fast he collides with the side table, pain blooming, bruise-like, across the top of his bare thigh. It jolts him back into reality; the room starts to shift into focus, the creatures lurking, ready to pounce, now resembling furniture and clothes and one very concerned-looking cat in the doorway.
Jiyong takes a deep and steading breath as he rubs the tender skin of his leg. This isn’t the first time he’s gone to sleep with Seunghyun lying beside him and woken up to an empty bed. It’s a horrible game they’ve played for years when Seunghyun goes through the worst of his anxious insomnia - where will Jiyong find him at four in the morning this time? Curled up on the couch, staring dead-eyed at his phone screen? Out on the balcony, a pile of cigarette butts in the ashtray? Or maybe there’ll be a repeat of that one frightening time Jiyong almost tripped over him in the kitchen, where he lay sprawled out on his back on the floor, unfocused gaze on the ceiling and an empty wine glass held limply in his hand.
Jiyong scoops Iye up into his arms, nuzzling into the top of his head when he butts up against Jiyong’s chin.
“Where’s appa, hm?” he murmurs against his soft ears as he pads out of the bedroom. Iye chirps in reply.
It doesn’t take long to find him. Seunghyun is sat in one of the armchairs, legs tucked up underneath him, looking uncharacteristically small in his oversized hoodie. He’s exhausted - Jiyong can see it in his bloodshot eyes, illuminated by his phone.
“Hey,” Jiyong says, voice hoarse with the remnants of his nightmare. Seunghyun jumps and drops his phone into his lap.
“Oh,” he replies, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have, which is almost true. They’ve had arguments, again and again, over how much self-flagellation Seunghyun invites by scrolling through the worst of the online forums and social media comments. He seems to know this is coming, because he picks up his phone and gives it a shake. “I was on Christie’s.”
“Okay,” sighs Jiyong, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He’s too tired to care if it’s true or not.
Seunghyun chews on the inside of his cheek. “Are you alright?”
“Not really.” Iye squirms in his arms, so Jiyong sets him down again. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands now, and resorts to biting at his thumbnail so hard that blood seeps across his tongue, sickly and metallic. “How long have you been out here for?”
“Um.” He checks the clock on his lock screen. “A few hours.”
They went to bed at about one. Chances are, Seunghyun didn’t even last thirty minutes lying next to him before needing to seek out somewhere alone. Jiyong swallows the dry ache of hurt building in his throat and nods. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
There’s a part of him that wants Seunghyun to follow him into the kitchen, to curl his arms around his waist and bury his face into the small of his back as he makes tea for them both, but he knows he won’t. Jiyong moves around like a marionette, distracted and unsteady. It’s just another bad patch. Fill the kettle up with water and set it to boil. He’ll get better. Scoop chamomile and passionflower tea leaves into the strainer. You’ll get better. Spoon extra honey into his cup because he likes it sweet.
When he comes back again, Seunghyun’s phone is face-down on the arm of the chair and he’s picking anxious holes into the sleeve of his hoodie. He manages a small smile of thanks when Jiyong passes him his tea, and then huffs out a concerned laugh and points at the painful, purpling bruise just below the hem of his underwear.
“What did you do?”
“Lost a fight with the table,” Jiyong tells him as he sits on the floor in front of him. He takes a sip of his tea, and it’s far too hot, of course it is, but he needs the scalding burn of it right now. Seunghyun hums, rumbling from the back of his throat.
“Nightmare?”
“Mm.” He’s not expecting Seunghyun to ask about it, because he never quite knows how to, and so Jiyong doesn’t bother wasting the energy he doesn’t have coming up with a lie to tell him. There’s more he needs to say instead. Jiyong rests his head against the chair’s arm; it’s easier to have these conversations when they’re not looking each other in the eye, he’s learnt over time. “I don’t like waking up and not knowing where you are. It scares me.”
A pause. Then: “I’m sorry.”
Jiyong closes his eyes. He doesn’t know how many more times he can hear that. “Sure.”
“I hate lying there when I can’t sleep. It feels like I’m losing my mind.”
“I get that. Just…” He doesn’t even know how he wants to end that sentence. Just wake me up so I can sit with you and share in your misery? Just leave me a note letting me know where you’ve disappeared off to? Just tough it out, for me? In the end, he sighs and shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
He can’t remember the last time they had a shouting match, and it’s mostly because these days Jiyong gives up before an argument can even kick off. He used to have so much fire for it before, back when everything was new and exciting and terrifying, back when there was always so much to lose. Maybe they’re just getting too old for it. He feels old, far older than he should in his thirties, but then he supposes they’ve lived hundreds of regular lifetimes already.
Or maybe something deeper has changed between them now. The whole world seems different after COVID, and while Jiyong is fighting with everything he’s got, digging his fingernails in as he tries to keep this together, it’s like Seunghyun is drifting further and further from his grasp. He's been talking about the possibility of going to America once they can travel again, just by himself, and the thought terrifies Jiyong but he doesn’t know why. The paranoia of having him so far away, he supposes. The uncertainty over whether he’ll come back.
Suddenly there’s a hand on his head, and long, familiar fingers twist and comb through his hair. Seunghyun’s voice is deep and thick with something, some emotion that makes Jiyong’s heart rocket up his throat, when he says, “Come here.”
He guides Jiyong to stand, takes his tea cup out of his hand and places it on the side table, then pulls him into his arms until Jiyong is curled up in his lap. He doesn’t know whether Seunghyun’s doing this because he wants to, or simply because he knows Jiyong needs it, but he doesn’t care right now. All he can do is wrap his arms around Seunghyun’s waist and bury his face into his hoodie, trying not to let the tears burning behind his eyes fall.
Seunghyun returns to carding his hand through Jiyong’s hair, slowly, like soothing a baby.
“What are you thinking about?”
“You. I’m always thinking about you.”
Seunghyun snorts, but there’s a wobble to his words when he says, “There are much more interesting things out there, I’m sure.”
Jiyong’s own wet laugh is muffled by Seunghyun’s chest. “Probably. But not to me.”
With a long sigh, like Jiyong is squeezing the very air out of him, Seunghyun pulls him in tighter and rests his cheek against the top of his head. They sit like that for a while, in the dark, nothing but the far-distant sound of Seoul’s neverending traffic to break the silence. Then Jiyong moves back in Seunghyun’s hold and rubs his hand across his forehead where a headache is threatening.
“Come back to bed?” he mumbles. Seunghyun thumbs at the wetness under Jiyong’s eyes and nods. His smile looks something like heartbreak; Jiyong does everything he can to ignore it.
‘cause I been thinking about forever
It takes Seunghyun precisely three minutes - the time from meeting him in the lobby to entering his apartment - to realise there’s something different about Jiyong.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“That.”
His voice comes out higher pitched and more demanding than he intends, which, embarrassingly, makes his cheeks burn red-hot. Jiyong grins at him over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised in question, and looks down at where Seunghyun is pointing.
There’s definitely something poking out of his sneaker, something dark on his skin that wasn't there before, curved around the top of his ankle. Jiyong laughs, but it's a surprised, bashful sound, and once he’s toed his shoes off at the door he skitters away towards the kitchen on bare feet before Seunghyun can even catch a glimpse.
“It's nothing!”
“It's not nothing,” Seunghyun calls back, yanking his own shoes off and dropping them in a haphazard pile on Jiyong's. “What have you done?”
“Nothing!” Jiyong shouts again, followed by the thumps and bangs of groceries getting put away. They’ve not seen each other in two weeks, between Jiyong flitting off for photoshoots and networking with other celebrities and artists, and Seunghyun alternating between staring at the walls of his apartment and staring at the walls of his studio. Jiyong had been the one to make plans first, because he often always is: “if I bring you stuff to make dinner, will you cook for me while I admire you?”
When Seunghyun reaches the kitchen, Jiyong whips around from the refrigerator to face him, pink-cheeked and shifty-eyed, his right foot tucked behind his left calf.
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he says meekly, which makes Seunghyun smirk.
“Well, there's no point hiding it now.”
His reflexes have always been good. He darts out to grab Jiyong’s leg before he can move away, leaving him shrieking and grasping at the kitchen counter to keep himself from toppling over.
“Seunghyun! Stop-!” he yelps, but he’s laughing too, and then he gives in and lets Seunghyun angle his foot into the light so he can see it better. It’s a new tattoo, the lines thin and crisp and stark black against his pale skin: a crescent shape fitted neatly against the curve of his ankle. Seunghyun swallows hard, as a rush of something not altogether pleasant hits the back of his throat.
“It's a moon,” he says, and the tone of his voice is definitely off, because Jiyong’s shy smile drops.
“Yeah,” he replies, pulling his foot out of Seunghyun’s grasp. He chews on his bottom lip, shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “You don’t like it.”
“No, I- it’s great.” He clears his throat, tries again. “When did you get it done?”
“Few days ago. Spur of the moment sort of thing,” Jiyong says with a shrug as he turns back to the groceries, in that airy way of his when he’s trying to seem like it’s not a big deal to him when it clearly fucking is. And here it comes again - that bubbling tar in his chest, the sensation like he’s drowning from the inside out, the confirmation that maybe he really is the worst person in the world. Seunghyun drops onto one of the kitchen stools, wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, and forces the words to come out.
“Is it for me?”
Jiyong shrugs again, but the back of his neck and tips of his ears are ruby-flush with embarrassment. Of course it’s for Seunghyun. There’s nobody else it would be for, no other reason for Jiyong to get a tattoo like that right now. Seunghyun has seen the Google searches of MZ’s newest project on his laptop, has sat with him on the balcony to watch the strawberry moon together, has heard him absently mention renting property in Houston. He’s all-in on this silly little dream that Seunghyun has, in the way he’s always been since the day they met. Jiyong is so full of love it’s a wonder he doesn’t burst with it.
It’s almost foreign to Seunghyun.
“Does it not scare you?” he says now before he has the chance to register the words tumbling out of his mouth. Jiyong frowns at him over his shoulder and turns to rest his back against the refrigerator, arms crossed over his chest.
“Why would it scare me?”
“It’s permanent.”
Jiyong scoffs, that harsh sound Seunghyun knows means he’s gotten under his skin.
“I know. That’s kind of the point.”
It stings, and it’s meant to. This was supposed to be a nice evening for just the two of them: comfort food and bad movies, red wine and piled-up blankets, stupid laughter and those long, comfortable stretches of silence that Seunghyun can only share with Jiyong. Now he’s on the verge of ruining it, because somehow he always seems to.
It’s just so much, sometimes. How deeply and intensely Jiyong thinks about the future, how certain he is that Seunghyun has a place in it. How can he be so sure when Seunghyun doesn’t know what place he has in his own future some days? How can he have so much faith?
But now Jiyong is staring at the floor, those lovely eyes of his glassy and distant. Seunghyun sighs and rests the side of his head against his arm on the kitchen island.
“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking this up, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, you are,” Jiyong says, a touch wetly. He sniffs hard and scrubs a hand over his face, then looks up at Seunghyun again, waiting.
“I do love it. Honestly.” He glances down at Jiyong’s foot, smiles sadly when Jiyong tries to hide it. “Come here.”
Jiyong looks for a second like he doesn’t want to, but he shuffles forward after a beat and allows Seunghyun to gently pull at the back of his knee until his right leg is bent and his foot rests on Seunghyun’s thigh. He traces the tattoo with his fingertip as he gives himself some time to piece the words together.
“It makes me feel like… like I’m a real person.”
Jiyong frowns again, but softer this time, more curious. Seunghyun takes Jiyong’s left hand and strokes the pad of his thumb over the smiley face, blurred at the edges now. They’ve been together for so long.
“You see me. You know me, you know things about me. And when I see it on you like that, a part of me on your skin forever, it’s like… I exist again. I stop just being smoke. Does that make sense?”
“Not really,” says Jiyong, but he’s smiling now, small and shy. Of course he understands; he always does. He drops his foot and moves to stand in between Seunghyun’s knees instead, then tilts his chin up with his fingers. His thumb brushes his bottom lip and the cut of his cheekbone, eyes sharp and serious as they roam every inch of his face. “I love you.”
He says it like a warning and a reassurance all at once. Seunghyun traps the tip of his thumb between his teeth, bites down gently, then presses a kiss there.
“I love you too.” Then, as it seems he’s been forgiven, he pulls Jiyong the extra inch forward by his wrist until he’s slotted between his thighs and tugs him down by the back of his neck for a proper kiss. When Seunghyun breaks away to speak, Jiyong chases his lips, eyes half-lidded. “I’ve missed you.”
Jiyong just closes the gap again in answer, slanting their mouths together as he buries one hand in his hair. They kiss for a while, just because it’s been too long, just because they can, when Jiyong grins wickedly against his lips.
“Did you notice where it is?” he murmurs, pressing several small kisses against his jaw and the side of his throat. Seunghun chuckles and kneads at Jiyong’s hip, slips his fingers up under his t-shirt to press against the warm skin there.
“Of course. First thing I noticed, actually.”
Jiyong hums, amused, looking down at him with dark, hungry eyes. “Pervert.”
“Oh, I’m the pervert?”
Seunghyun stands up and twists them around, pressing Jiyong into the kitchen island with his hips so quickly it makes Jiyong squeak. He grins at what he finds, pushes a thigh up between Jiyong’s own, trails his lips against Jiyong’s neck.
“You want to try that again?”
Jiyong laughs, a little breathlessly, as he buries his face against Seunghyun’s shoulder. He lets himself be lifted off the ground and placed onto the counter, lets Seunghyun hold his right leg out so he can kiss the new tattoo, and then the top of his foot, and then his calf and his knee and finally his thigh, shorts pushed up as high as they’ll go. These measured, deliberate breaths keep leaving his parted mouth, like he’s focusing hard on keeping himself together, which simply won’t do; Seunghyun stands to his full height, plants his hands on Jiyong’s hips, and kisses him with such force and heat that he has no choice but to lie flat across the marble. Jiyong’s legs wrap around his waist, and now he’s beginning to lose himself in it. He makes these beautiful, desperate noises in the back of his throat as he pulls Seunghyun in to kiss him deeper, fingernails digging into the back of his neck and his shoulder, hips rocking up to find whatever friction he can. Seunghyun allows him another minute of this. He slides his hands under his shirt and up his sides until he’s bracketing his ribs, waits until he hears Jiyong’s first, proper moan into his mouth, then breaks away and stands back up.
God, he’s beautiful, even though he looks like he wants to kill Seunghyun right now: lips cherry-red and bruised, cheeks flushed the prettiest pink, eyes glazed, chest heaving, spread out across the island like he’s all Seunghyun’s for the taking. With a smirk, Seunghyun lets his hands sweep down to his waist again.
“I thought you wanted me to cook dinner?”
“Fuck you,” Jiyong gasps out a laugh, shaking his head, then he digs the heels of his feet into the small of Seunghyun’s back to force him down again.
sunday morning, rain is falling
Despite all his bravado, his well-honed sultry gaze, the twitch in his jaw when he knows he's being caught on his best side - Seunghyun doesn't like having his photo taken.
More accurately, he doesn't like having his photo taken when he's not prepared for it, at least not anymore. It's a shame, because one of Jiyong's greatest joys in life is taking his picture, especially when he's not expecting it. He has a whole album on his phone full of photos of Seunghyun: messy and imperfect and utterly divine. Photos of him first thing in the morning, hair sticking up at odd angles, eyes heavy-lidded, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips as he makes coffee for two. Photos of him rearranging the furniture in his apartment for the billionth time, grin bright, in loose jeans and one of Jiyong's t-shirts that hits at his navel and reveals a delicious strip of tanned skin. Photos of him when he gets silly and childish a few wines deep, when he touches and grabs and makes stupid faces, fingers hooked around Jiyong's wrist like a kid tugging at their parent to show them something.
Seunghyun has a very particular grumble that he makes when the phone camera has clicked at him, and if he’s close enough he’ll put his hand over the lens, and if he’s not he’ll put his hand over his face or he’ll yank the neck of his sweater up until only his narrowed eyes are visible. He’s rarely appeased by Jiyong's giggles or whines, and he’s even less happy when Jiyong tells him he takes the pictures because he’s beautiful.
He used to be okay with it, once upon a time, back when every facet of their lives was recorded in some way, back before Seunghyun hid himself from the world. Even when he sees the nicest photos of himself - the ones Jiyong takes when Seunghyun has that dreamy, distant expression on his face, curled up in his chair on the balcony and watching the city in the low, golden sunset, or hunched over his notebook scribbling lyrics with the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips - he tends to scoff shyly, rub his thumb over his earlobe and tell Jiyong he shouldn’t waste his phone memory or his time.
“It’s not a waste of my time. I like taking pictures. I like taking pictures of you,” Jiyong insists, and then, usually, he adds, “I’ll stop if you really don’t want me to.”
Seunghyun never stops him. He says he doesn’t mind. He just doesn’t understand it. Jiyong often wants to roll his eyes and remind him there are still hundreds of thousands of people around the world who would give up a limb to be in his position, taking candid, intimate photographs of T.O.P., but he knows it won't go down well. Instead he smoothes his hair back and soothes his fragile ego with a kiss.
It's on an overcast Sunday morning, the type for tea and baths and quiet piano music, when Jiyong pads into the bedroom to find Seunghyun lounging on the bed. He's in sweatpants and a baggy white t-shirt, bare feet up against the headboard, fingers buried in Zoa's fur as she naps on his stomach. He looks so content, half-asleep himself, taking full advantage of their rare free day, it seems.
Jiyong can't help himself. He tiptoes towards Seunghyun, leans over the end of the bed, and snaps an upside-down picture of him. Moments later, a hand looms up towards the phone to cover the lens.
“Stop,” grumbles Seunghyun, but without much bite, voice deep and sleepy.
“But you’re so pretty.”
“And you’re a bastard.”
To follow his insult, Seunghyun drops his arm and pulls the most hideous face he can manage, eyes crossed, tongue lolling. Jiyong grins, but just as quickly reaches down with his fingers to tickle Seunghyun’s neck, making him squirm and let out one of his rare high-pitched giggles that only Jiyong gets to hear. He's perfect - dimples and teeth and happy crinkled eyes - so Jiyong seizes the opportunity and snaps two more pictures in quick succession.
“Evil,” he gasps, squirming out of reach of Jiyong's torture and upsetting Zoa in the process. She hops off the bed, tail high and affronted, which just makes Seunghyun laugh weakly again. “Now look at what you've done. You've made her angry.”
“She's always angry with me,” Jiyong says airily as he kneels on the end of the bed and pulls up his gallery to find his newest photos. He flips the phone to show Seunghyun, knowing his reaction before his face changes, but still hoping maybe this will be the time he beams brighter.
No such luck. His smile falls a little, becomes something soft and sad, something that knits his eyebrows together.
“God, I look old,” he murmurs, touching his face with his fingertips as he frowns at the screen.
Jiyong sighs and flops onto his back next to him. He presses his own socked feet against the headboard and, after a second, hooks his left foot around Seunghyun’s right, turns over and curls up against him.
“Oldest man in the world.”
Seunghyun grins. “Shut up.”
It’s often the way to get through moments like this, where the tension pulls so taught it could snap - stupid humour. And of course he doesn’t look old, to an almost enviable and infuriating degree, but Jiyong kind of gets it too. There’s a tightness to Seunghyun’s mouth now, a hollowness to his dark eyes, that didn’t exist before. Jiyong feels guilty, sometimes, for seeking out ancient video clips and photosets on Instagram, tapping that little heart again and again as he tries to remind himself what they used to look like together, but it’s one of those two a.m addictions he just can’t seem to shake.
Jiyong presses his nose against the juncture between Seunghyun’s neck and shoulder and breathes deeply. Now this is familiar, like home, and Jiyong never tires of it: fresh laundry, mint and tobacco, and something else warmer and sweeter that always seems to linger on his skin.
“How come you're still in bed? I thought you had plans today.”
“I do.” Seunghyun’s voice vibrates against Jiyong’s cheek. “I’m just tired.”
He doesn’t say any more than that. Jiyong doesn’t ask him any more.
Instead they doze for a short while, caught up in that rare bliss of silence they’re rarely afforded. No rushing around for meetings, no drivers buzzing impatiently at the intercom, no-one demanding their attention. Just quiet, twin breaths and the light patter of rain against the window.
Jiyong gets bored after about fifteen minutes.
He blows out a heavy exhale against the long column of Seunghyun's throat, grins when he feels him flinch away. He moves his hand from his chest to his hair, curling silky, sleep-soft strands around his fingers, stretching and wriggling next to him until Seunghyun finally huffs out a laugh. He does his best to stop him by looping his arms around Jiyong's shoulders and pulling him in tight, encouraging more mid-morning rest. Jiyong is having none of it.
“You’re too hot,” he complains, voice muffled by Seunghyun's t-shirt.
“Aw, flatterer.”
“Idiot. I mean you're suffocating me.”
“Mm, you shouldn't be so nice to cuddle, then,” Seunghyun mumbles against his temple, holding him even closer until Jiyong has no choice but to bat half-heartedly at his stomach.
“Stop,” he says with a weak giggle, but he's already given in. He's enjoying it too much; it's not every day that Seunghyun invites this much physical affection.
Until, that is, a set of sly fingers begin moving, ever so lightly, against the back of his neck. Jiyong hunches his shoulders, torn between riding it out and rolling away. Seunghyun must realise this, because he hums in amusement.
“Do you like that?” he murmurs.
“No. It tickles,” Jiyong tells him.
“Sorry. It’s supposed to be relaxing.”
Seunghyun switches to kneading his knuckles over the back of Jiyong’s neck instead, which is much better.
“Okay, I prefer that,” Jiyong says, closing his eyes and letting himself sink against Seunghyun’s chest, relishing in the feeling of the tension releasing between his shoulder blades. “Keep doing that.”
The comfort is short-lived. After a while, Seunghyun rolls properly onto his side so that they’re nose to nose, and he brings one hand to rest against Jiyong’s waist. It’s a warm, pleasant weight at first; then his fingers start to prod there, very gently, in a way all too reminiscent of when they used to lie like this in the old dorm rooms, drunk and stupid and seeking each other out for warmth. At least, that was what they would tell themselves in the mornings.
“No,” Jiyong mumbles, eyes still shut, not moving, not allowing him the satisfaction. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Hm?”
“I hated it then and I’ll hate it now. Stop it.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Seunghyun says, and there’s that petulant whine to his voice, the one that makes Jiyong roll his eyes but grin until his face aches. Seunghyun continues to walk his fingers up and down Jiyong’s waist, coming dangerously close to slipping under the hem of his t-shirt each time, and Jiyong squirms.
“You are,” he says, and he can’t help the smile pulling at his mouth, even though he knows this is going to end badly. He tries to edge away as he says, “you’re tickling me-” but it ends on a high-pitched squeal when Seunghyun’s big, quick hands launch their attack.
Jiyong yelps and kicks his legs in some vain attempt to block the assault on his sides. He skitters away across the bed and gains respite just long enough to gasp out, “You fucker,” before Seunghyun catches up with him, drags him back by his ankles and tickles up his sides to his neck and, under his arms. It feels like he’s got twelve hands, the speed in which he moves, and it has Jiyong laughing hysterically and shrieking in equal measures.
“Get off me!” he cries, but he’s still laughing, and Seunghyun’s laughing too, that wonderfully deep sound that Jiyong is completely obsessed with, even after all this time.
Jiyong summons all his energy to yank himself out of Seunghyun’s grip and rolls away, until he feels the corner of the nightstand press against his upper back, and his legs slip as he almost topples over the side of the bed. Seunghyun catches him just in time with a grinning, breathless, “Woah!” and pulls him up into his hold, collapsing back against the pillows with such force that Jiyong has no choice but to fall with him until they’re a mess of limbs.
And oh, how Jiyong has missed this. The ease that comes with being around him, the fizzy joy that bubbles up in his chest when he’s the centre of Seunghyun’s attention. The quiet safety of his arms. Jiyong wants to lean his head back and kiss the underside of his jaw and tell him how much he’s missed him, but he knows it won’t end well. He knows Seunghyun will go all prickly and defensive, will tell him he’s literally right here, will untangle himself from him and stalk off to somewhere quiet and lonely where he can pretend what’s happening between them isn’t actually happening. It wouldn’t be the first time.
As if sensing Jiyong’s thoughts, Seunghyun leans in and noses at the spot just behind his ear, then licks a stripe up his neck which makes Jiyong cringe and squirm and giggle.
“Why?” he groans, pulling his head away while holding even tighter onto Seunghyun’s arms around his waist.
“Because you’re just so sweet and cute, Jiyong-ie.”
“M’not,” he replies weakly, before realising he sounds just like Seunghyun. What a pair. “Come here.”
He pushes out of Seunghyun’s grip, kneels between his outstretched legs and kisses him, briefly, to distract him from any more tickling. When he pulls away, Seunghyun chases his lips for another kiss, so clearly the distraction has worked.
“You’re so handsome,” Jiyong says before he’s even registered the thought, because it’s true. Even slightly dishevelled and pink-cheeked, with no make-up and in yesterday’s clothes, he’s still the most gorgeous man he’s ever laid eyes on. Seunghyun rolls his eyes but smiles this time, so Jiyong chances it. “Can I take a picture?”
Seunghyun sighs but he doesn’t say no, still smirking. Once Jiyong has salvaged his phone from where it’s gotten tangled up in the bedsheets, Seunghyun tugs him back towards him by his hips.
“Let’s both be in this one,” he suggests. Jiyong beams.
He turns in his spot and rests his back against Seunghyun’s lovely, warm chest, feeling arms go around his waist again. He’s got the phone lined up, pout perfected, when, just as his thumb is about to hit the button, Seunghyun turns his head and presses a kiss to his cheek.
overwhelming ecstasy, your name repeated endlessly
It’s about thirteen hours from LA to Seoul. The trip is hardly new to him, but today every slow minute that drags by is a nail in the head. Seunghyun sighs and reclines back in his seat, trying to stop his leg from bouncing with the restless energy he’s felt since this morning.
He wants to be home. It’s a weird feeling: home has become such a loaded concept for years now, both his only sanctuary and his jail. But Seunghyun got a text as he was getting ready to head to LAX, of a sushi order a mile long that Jiyong wants to get once he lands, and it’s like his very bones are set alight with his need to be back with him again.
It’s all too easy to act cold; it comes naturally to Seunghyun to put distance between himself and everyone around him. But the neediness, the urge to crawl under Jiyong’s skin and never resurface, can feel so embarrassing it almost hurts. The worst part is knowing it’s always reciprocated. Seeing Jiyong’s face light up when Seunghyun becomes desperate for affection will never not send a shudder of guilt down his spine, because he knows soon he’ll be back to pushing Jiyong away when he gets too stifled and overstimulated. It’s like clockwork.
And there it is when Seunghyun staggers into his apartment, bags in tow, exhaustion hanging around his neck like a lead weight - that delighted, hopeful beam Jiyong offers him as he peeks over the back of the couch.
“Hey,” he says, rising to his feet and stretching in that cat-like way of his, arms above his head. There’s several days worth of stubble gracing his jaw and top lip, and he’s practically drowning in one of Seunghyun’s t-shirts, and God, Seunghyun needs him so much he’s dizzy with it. Jiyong starts to ask him something about how his flight was, but he cuts himself off with a surprised, pleased “oh!” when Seunghyun steps across the apartment and pulls him into a hug so tight it lifts him up onto his toes.
“Everything okay?” Jiyong laughs softly into his ear, arms looped around his neck, hand tenderly petting the hair at his nape. Seunghyun shrugs and nods, breathes him in. He always smells like something expensive and peachy; Seunghyun can never figure out which of his many perfumes and fragrances it is, but once he knows, he’s going to buy twenty bottles and drown his bedsheets in it.
“Just missed you.”
“Ah,” says Jiyong, and Seunghyun can hear the smile in his voice. He kneads his knuckles into a painful knot between Seunghyun’s shoulders. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
The jetlag hits all at once when he’s got some food in him - one minute he’s laughing over a story Jiyong’s telling him as he works his way through a plate of saba nigiri, and the next he can barely keep his eyes open, chin propped on his hand to keep his head upright. Jiyong hums, amused, and taps his wrist with his chopsticks.
“Time for bed?”
“Probably a good idea,” Seunghyun says around an undignified yawn. He doesn’t particularly want to sleep. He wants to hide under the covers with Jiyong and wrap around him like a vine, kiss him for hours until they don’t know where each other begins and ends, have him shuddering and gasping and begging in that gorgeous, wrecked-out way of his. His body, on the other hand, drifts about on autopilot as he showers, brushes his teeth, changes into something comfy, and finally collapses into bed.
Jiyong sits next to him for a while, scrolling on his phone with one hand and running his fingers through Seunghyun’s damp hair with the other.
“You’ll wake me before you’ve got to run off tomorrow, right?” Seunghyun mumbles into Jiyong’s thigh, nose pressed against the softness of his sweatpants. Jiyong hums and absently brushes the pad of his thumb across one of his eyebrows.
“Sure.”
And then, said so quietly that Seunghyun almost doesn’t catch it as he drifts into the welcome darkness:
“I missed you too, by the way. But I always miss you.”
He dreams about him. It’s vivid and voracious, as though his subconscious is making up for the fact that he was just too tired to indulge in him the way he wanted to. In his dream, Jiyong laughs, not hidden behind the back of his hand but open and full-bodied; he touches him with those long fingers, teasing and feather-light, nails painted sky blue; he’s nineteen one minute, still high off the excitement of their debut, then twenty-nine the next, all ribs and sunken eyes and hollow smile. Seunghyun wakes up at that point, breathless and shaky, and in the time it takes him to realise the real Jiyong is beside him, curled up against his back with his arm slung over his waist like he normally does, he’s sinking into the recesses of sleep again.
Thankfully, the dream he has the second time around is nice. Very nice. The sort of very nice that has him jolting into consciousness with a half-formed groan in the back of his throat.
Christ, he’s horny.
Seunghyun grapples for his watch off the bedside table and peers at it, the face blurred without his glasses on. Somewhere around six in the morning. That would make it about one in the afternoon in the States, which explains why he’s so shockingly awake. Seunghyun sighs and flops onto his back, hand brushing the space beside him, and frowns when all he feels are empty, warm sheets.
The panicked frustration that bubbles up when he thinks Jiyong might have already snuck out to his meeting evaporates when Seunghyun registers the distant sound of the shower running. He grins as he slips out of bed and pads towards the bathroom. Perfect.
Jiyong is singing something in English to himself as he showers, face turned to the wall; he looks radiant as the morning summer sun filters in through the large frosted windows. Seunghyun works in quick silence to shuck off his pyjamas and step under the warm spray of water. It’s at this point Jiyong turns his head, as if he’s got some uncanny sixth sense when it comes to Seunghyun, and laughs in surprised delight when he wraps his arms around his middle and presses a kiss against his wet neck.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Seunghyun repeats, now kissing the spot just behind his ear. “You abandoned me.”
Jiyong snorts and squirms in his hold, clutching Seunghyun’s wrists, angling his head so he can continue his ministrations against his throat. “I wanted to let you catch up on your sleep! You looked so comfortable and precious, I didn’t have it in me to disturb you. I was going to wake you up before I had to go, honest.”
Seunghyun hums against his skin, trails his fingers across Jiyong’s bare stomach, smiles when he feels his full-body shudder against his chest. He loves this part and always has - slowly winding Jiyong up like a toy, turning him into a whiny, writhing mess before he’s even done anything to him. He drops his hands to settle on his hips and pulls him against him even tighter.
“Probably not a bad thing that you didn’t wake me up. I was having a great dream.”
“I can tell,” says Jiyong, shifting his weight on his feet so his ass grinds back against Seunghyun in a way that has him sinking his teeth into his lower lip. He loves playing the game too. “Thought you’d come finish it off in person, huh?”
“That okay with you?”
“It’s always okay with me.”
Seunghyun grins against his neck and bites down - not enough to leave a mark, but enough to have Jiyong’s breath hitching and his hand coming up and over his shoulder to grab the back of Seunghyun’s head, keeping him there. Then he turns further in his hold until he can kiss him properly, and it hits Seunghyun all at once that it’s his first time kissing him in weeks. He’s sighing the words “I need you so much,” against his lips before he realises, and Jiyong pulls away to look at him properly.
God, he’s beautiful like this: none of the trappings of G-Dragon, none of the make-up and the jewellery and the expensive clothes. Just Jiyong, the boy he’s known for over twenty years now, bare and vulnerable and his. Only his. He wants to devour every inch of him.
As if reading his mind, Jiyong rubs tenderly at the tip of Seunghyun's ear and whispers, “I’m all yours.”
Seunghyun smiles and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Lean forward.”
Jiyong does without hesitation, feet anchored to the shower floor, back arched, hands braced against the wall. There’s steam condensing against the windows, heat curling and rising around them, and it’s almost a breath of cool relief when Seunghyun drops down to a squat. He runs his palms up the backs of Jiyong’s thighs, feels how they tense and shudder, then kneads at his ass. When he first gets his mouth on him, Jiyong gasps and rocks forward onto the balls of his feet, so Seunghyun grabs him by the hips and pulls him back towards him. He’s not letting him get away from him that easily.
He works with slow, teasing patience, eyes closed, until all he can taste and hear and feel is Jiyong. The water drums hot against his back, keeping him grounded and focused, as he tongues and laps at him in all the ways he knows will get Jiyong shaking and groaning. Eventually, Jiyong’s arms give way and he rests his forehead against the tiles, breath coming out in short, sharp pants.
“Stop,” he manages weakly, and Seunghyun knows exactly what he means. He stands up and crowds him against the wall; when his cock presses at his entrance, Jiyong whines into the crook of his elbow.
“It’s fine if you miss your meeting, right?” Seunghyun says against his ear, voice low. He grins when he feels Jiyong shiver, skin erupting into goosebumps. He’s so tiny in his hold, almost breakable, and if Seunghyun were in one of his darker and more destructive moods, he’d probably use that to his advantage. Instead he kisses Jiyong’s temple and his cheek and his chin, desperate for the scratch of stubble against his lips; he runs the flat of his hand up Jiyong’s stomach and his chest and along the jut of his collarbones; he drops his forehead against Jiyong’s shoulder and mumbles, “Stay here with me today?”
It’s so painfully and familiarly vulnerable it makes Seunghyun cringe. There used to be a time where he would ask and Jiyong would say he couldn’t. There were always lyrics to write, songs to produce, companies to suck up to, photoshoots and interviews and fan meets to attend. It got to the point where Seunghyun stopped bothering, unless he was blind drunk and breaking at the seams. Only then would Jiyong stay with him, but not because he wanted to - it was out of necessity and fear of what he might return to if he didn’t.
This time, however, Jiyong melts against him, like he’s put all his trust in Seunghyun to keep him standing, and he breathes, “Yeah. Yeah, baby, of course.”
Seunghyun moves with increased urgency after that. He grapples for the lube they keep in the shower caddy, one arm still looped around Jiyong’s middle, unable to pull himself away for a second. He presses a slicked finger against his entrance and pushes in, feeling Jiyong’s moan reverberate against his chest where he’s flush against his back. He keeps going for as long as either of them can stand it, opening him up, rubbing against the spot that makes him swear and buck his hips forward, desperate and aching. Seunghyun strokes his cock in his other hand to take the edge off, and Jiyong drops his head back to land on Seunghyun’s shoulder, exposing the long column of his throat, Adam's apple bobbing.
“God,” he chokes out, clutching at Seunghyun where he can - at his forearm and his thigh, blunt fingernails marking crescent moons into his skin. Seunghyun can barely breathe. The hot spray is getting too much, and that combined with how turned on he is is making his head swim. He removes his fingers from Jiyong, who whines at the loss, and smacks around behind him for the dials to turn the shower off. Now, without the roar of falling water around them, Jiyong’s desperate moan echoes across the bathroom when Seunghyun finally lines up behind him and slowly, achingly slowly, pushes in.
It’s so much all at once that Seunghyun has to brace one hand against the cool tiles and catch his breath. Jiyong reaches back again to thread his fingers through his hair and pull him forward to kiss him over his shoulder, mouths slanted together, needy and messy. When Seunghyun starts to move, Jiyong lets out a stuttered gasp against his lips, eyelashes fluttering. His cheeks and neck are flushed pink, cock hard and leaking, entire body shaking - he’s so perfect that it makes Seunghyun’s chest hurt. If he does anything stupid like start crying, he’ll have to blame it on the jetlag.
They hit a good rhythm, with Jiyong now bent forward, face buried in his forearms as they rest against the wall, hitching breaths and choked cries bouncing around the room in a way that’s all-consuming. Seunghyun thrusts into him again and again, kissing the angel on the back of his neck, catching the leftover water droplets across his shoulders with his tongue. That slow, tell-tale roll of pleasure begins surging through his whole body, swelling in his spine, his toes, the pit of his stomach. His fingers tighten in the places where they’re holding on to Jiyong, in danger of leaving bruises with how hard he’s gripping, but Jiyong doesn’t seem to mind if the broken moans of Seunghyun’s name over and over again are any indication. He feels like he could lose control at any moment, but he forces himself to keep going, to see Jiyong to the other side first.
His hand wraps around Jiyong’s cock again, giving him something to work against that’ll tip him over the edge. Jiyong’s voice is raspy and ruined when he bites out “Oh, fuck, fuck,” and it doesn’t take long before he’s tensing up and his orgasm rips out of him with a sharp, shuddering gasp. Seunghyun almost wants to slow down, to ease him through it, but Jiyong extracts one arm from where it’s propping up his head and reaches around to grab at him.
“Don’t stop,” he whines, shivery and bordering on overstimulated. “Please.”
And who is Seunghyun to ever deny him anything?
Seunghyun lets his eyes flutter closed as he drops his head onto Jiyong’s shoulder and loses himself in it - the tightness and heat clenching around him, the soft, warm skin under his fingertips, the smell of Seunghyun’s shampoo in Jiyong’s hair, the weak, mewling noises Jiyong makes like he can’t get enough of this either. He groans, low and wrecked, hips snapping quicker and rougher as he chases that delicious burn coiling tighter and tighter within him until- until–
The force of it leaves him breathless, teeth sinking into the round of Jiyong’s shoulder. He doesn’t expect it to last as long as it does, crashing into him again and again, but he supposes this is the culmination of many desperate hours. When it’s finally done and he’s left exhausted and tingling all over, Jiyong lets out a tired but pleased laugh.
“You can go away more often if that’s what you’re going to be like when you get home.”
Seunghyun snorts and slides out of him, then reaches behind to turn the shower back on. The hot water is clean and welcoming and helps to clear his fuzzy head.
“You’re coming with me next time.”
Jiyong finally turns away from the wall to face him, gaze heavy-lidded and utterly devoted. He smiles and reaches up to push Seunghyun’s wet hair out of his eyes, then curls his arms around his neck and kisses him softly.
“Whenever you want.”