Archive of Our Own

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

- Jane Austen

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Yeosang was bored. Before, it had been hard to feel bored with Wooyoung circling around him like a fly, buzzing about this and that and her and him and oh did you hear what happened to Lady Anderson last week? It’s absolutely hilarious - well, not for Lady Anderson, but really, she should know better by now. Yeosang liked to act like he didn’t really care that much for Wooyoung’s gossip and dramatics, but despite how annoying he could be at times, Wooyoung was far and beyond Yeosang’s closest friend. And talking with him was a damn good way to pass the time when all of the balls and parties and social events started to bleed together like a child's watercolor painting. 

But now he was gone, off gallivanting across the globe with his lover like he was the heroine of one of those Jane Austen novels Yeosang's mother liked to pretend she didn’t enjoy reading (she did. Yeosang also enjoyed them, but he simply never told anyone anything about that), leaving Yeosang here alone, forced to attend endless social gatherings just to exist as a pretty possibility standing in the corner of the room. He would never marry any of the women vying for his attention. Despite how much they asked him for a dance, he always found a way to politely decline, and he silently resented having to entertain them and their mamas when they pulled him into useless conversations. 

To be fair, it wasn’t their fault. Not really. 

They simply weren’t what he wanted, and he would never be what they expected, regardless of what they chose to believe. It really was an unfortunate situation for everyone involved. 

Yeosang released a long sigh, bringing his glass of wine to his lips and taking a long sip. It wasn't his favorite - a little too tart for his taste - but it would do. 

“You look like you're having a pleasant night,” came a familiar voice from his left, interrupting his thoughts. He didn't need to turn to see who it was, simply smiling against the lip of his glass.

“Oh yes, it's all very exciting,” he responded. The edge of his eyebrow quirked up as he stared blankly in the direction of the dance floor. “I've just learned that Earl Yoon is apparently knocking on death's door, but without any family to speak of, there's no one to take over his title. It's the most notable gossip around the ton. Isn't that fascinating?”

Yunho laughed, well-attuned to Yeosang's particular brand of sarcasm. “A bit morbid, I'd say, but it's at least moderately more interesting than this party.”

Yeosang nodded, turning his head to look at the other man. Yunho was tall, with blonde hair and round cheeks that were sure to charm anyone who so much as glanced in his direction. However, despite accepting significantly more invitations to tea or dances than Yeosang did, he also seemed in no rush to find a wife. Yeosang wondered if all the…peculiar nobility hidden among the rest of the aristocracy had unknowingly gravitated together like magnets dumped into a small wooden box. 

“Is there any chance you have a brilliant idea for a way that we could escape this hellscape?” Yeosang asked. He tilted his head in the direction of a group of women hovering nearby, whispering to each other as they pointedly stared at the two men. “I think there are only so many ways I can deny Lady Peruvia a dance before it's going to seem ungentlemanly.”

Yunho smiled at him knowingly. “And you are well-known for being so concerned about appearing ungentlemanly.”

Yeosang barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, yes, no need to be an ass, Yunho,” he said, dropping his voice to avoid being overheard speaking so casually. “Do you have any suggestions or not? I fear I may die of boredom if I don't get out of here soon.”

Yunho's laugh was loud and boisterous, drowning out the sounds of mindless chatter and still slightly untuned violins. “Alright, Your Grace,” Yunho said, teasingly overenunciating Yeosang's title. “I shall do my part in freeing you from the hell that is polite society.”

If only that could be true. 

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Yeosang had visited Mingi's club enough times that even if he weren't a duke, it was a strong probability that every member of staff and individual customer inside would recognize him and know him by name. And yet, he always found something new to be fascinated by the moment they stepped through the doors. This time it was the smell - the usual stale stench of cigar smoke and whiskey was overshadowed by a soft, woody aroma. It was like stepping into a forest after a storm and catching the scent of the rain clinging to mossy branches. 

Mingi waved from behind the bar when he caught sight of them entering the space, gesturing for them to make themselves comfortable at an open table while he finished pouring drinks for a group of tipsy noblemen laughing loudly at a card table positioned near one of the fireplaces. Yunho sank into one of the comfortable leather armchairs, waving a hand for Yeosang to take the other one. A small side table separated them, the dark wood pristinely polished and wiped down. Yeosang knew how seriously Mingi took the upkeep of his establishment - he'd worked hard for years in order to achieve his goal of owning his own business, and now he had one of the most reputable and selective clubs in the area. Yeosang was a regular both because he loved the peace and reprieve he found there and because he admired Mingi's seemingly tireless energy and determination.

“What can I get you two?” Mingi asked, leaning in between them as his hands gripped the tops of their chairs. His grin was wide, and his crooked white teeth gleamed in the soft, flickering light spilling from the hearth. “Let me guess: a glass of brandy for Yunho and a bottle of Madeira for Your Highness?” 

Despite the attempt at social correctness via noble titles (although inherently not the right ones), Yeosang could hear the teasing in Mingi's tone. It was hard to establish any sort of social pecking order among friends who had been together since they were still tearing holes in the knees of their trousers. Yeosang rolled his eyes. “Wine would be great, and I'd also like to ask for a plate of call me that again, and I'll shoot you. Only if you have some,” Yeosang replied, his voice sticky-sweet as he smiled innocently. 

Mingi snorted in return. “Please - I'm a better shot than you by a mile. All that would earn you is a clipped ear and a hefty fine that I would have to pay from prison.”

Yunho laughed as Mingi left to get their drinks, ignoring Yeosang's pout completely. Yeosang didn't miss the way Yunho's eyes barely left Mingi's figure, even when he'd returned with full glasses in hand.

“Busy tonight?” Yeosang asked as he took a small sip of the wine. He sighed, thankful that it was leagues better than whatever they'd been serving at the party. 

Mingi nodded, eyes scanning the room as he pulled up a chair next to them. “Busy every night it seems, at least during the season. Had to hire some new help just so I could take a few moments to play the part of a good host.”

Yeosang frowned. He'd been trying to convince Mingi to hire more staff for years - he was practically running the whole place on his own and the more popular the club became, the more tired he seemed. However, Mingi had always been particularly picky about the kind of person he wanted to hire to assist him in running his business. Yeosang couldn't help but feel curious about who had finally convinced Mingi that they were good enough to work with him.

Before he could even open his mouth to ask about the mysterious new member of staff, Yunho had already jumped in with a reply. “So you managed to convince Jongho to lend a hand while San is away?”

Mingi nodded, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his seat. “He gave Jongho the time off as paid leave since the whole family is off the estate and traveling. He told him to rest or take a vacation, but Jongho thinks now is a good time to work and save up some more money. Not sure whether society would approve of a baron's valet working a second job at a gentleman's club, but you know the Chois and Jongho have never really cared much about following the rules.”

Jongho. The name flickered inside Yeosang’s chest like a candle flame as he glanced around, looking for the man in question. “Jongho’s here?” he asked, trying to keep the feeling crawling up the back of his throat from shining through in the waver of his voice. 

Mingi nodded, tilting his head toward the back of the club, where Yeosang remembered the bar area to be. “He’s making some drinks for Lord Parker and his group, but I told him to come over when he finished to say hello.”

The candle flame burned brighter, flickers of light growing into something more substantial, more vibrant. The way it always had at the mention of Jongho, ever since he’d become San’s valet when they were still only youthful boys growing into the bodies of men. And Yeosang…well, one could say that meeting Jongho was the moment Yeosang realized he would never be able to take a wife. 

Yeosang was silent as Yunho and Mingi discussed a series of topics Yeosang couldn’t have even begun to follow were he actually paying attention - they always had been that way, speaking in their own secret language that no one else was ever able to pick up - rubbing his fingers across the condensation building on his glass. It had been months since Yeosang had last seen Jongho, almost as if the other man had been avoiding him completely. They hadn’t seen each other since…not since…

The memory rang out like a bell in Yeosang’s head at the exact moment that Jongho appeared in his line of sight, walking confidently between the tables of gentlemen as if he belonged there just as much as they did. It was something Yeosang had always respected about Jongho - while Yeosang felt outside of the life he’d been born into, an accidental anomaly that shouldn’t have been there, Jongho always seemed like he was meant to be nobility. That maybe they had been switched around before they’d even been born. While Yeosang had never wanted to be noble, Jongho never seemed to care whether he was or not. He was lucky that he worked for the Chois, who never really adhered to social expectations of class anyway, because he probably would have been fired or beaten long ago if he’d been in the service of any of the more traditional households. Yeosang wondered what it felt like for him when he made a space for himself in a room that didn’t always have a chair he was allowed to sit in. It never seemed to matter much either way. 

“Hello, gentlemen,” Jongho said, interrupting Yeosang’s musings about him as he stopped to stand a foot away from Yeosang’s seat. “Avoiding your noble duties again, I see.”

Yunho gasped dramatically, slapping a hand dramatically against his chest. “My good sir, I would never! You besmirch our names with that kind of unsolicited slander.”

“Is slander ever really solicited?” Mingi asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he contemplated his own question. “Does anyone ever truly search out slander?”

Jongho reached over to place a hand on Mingi’s shoulder. “Be careful not to work your brain cells too hard, Mingi, or you might run out of them.”

Yunho laughed while Mingi narrowed his eyes in a way Yeosang assumed he intended to be menacing. “Keep that up, boy, and I’ll have to fire you.”

“You’re only a year older than I am, I don’t think you’re allotted ‘boy’ privileges,” Jonhgo said. Then his eyes strayed away from Yunho and Mingi to find Yeosang’s gaze already trained on him. His smile was gentle, albeit somehow distant. “Hello, Your Grace.”

Your Grace. Spoken with a level of detached politeness, as if the last time they’d seen each other, Jongho hadn’t moaned Yeosang’s name reverently against his neck. Yeosang swallowed down the bitter taste on his tongue. 

“Jongho, hello. How are you liking your new position?” Yeosang asked, attempting to distract himself with idle chatter. Maybe if he pretended that this was normal, that the distance between them didn’t feel like tiny knives wedged harshly between his ribs, then Jongho’s avoidance wouldn’t hurt him so badly. 

Jongho glanced around the club as if trying to remember what he was doing there. “Oh, you know - it passes the time easily enough.”

Yeosang hummed in response, his eyes falling to the glass still clutched in his hands. “Lord Choi has been gone about a month now, correct? The season is almost over - will you continue to work here until he returns next year?”

“It is something I had considered,” Jongho said. “I have something I’d like to save up for, if I am able, so any extra opportunities I am afforded are not to be ignored.”

A thought, small and weak, flitted across Yeosang’s mind then. It wasn’t really even a thought, but more of a want. The wish for something he probably shouldn’t ask for, but then again - he had never really been told no in his life. He never asked for things he didn’t think he could have - which is why he never voiced the truth about his feelings concerning marriage - but he never really wanted much to begin with. 

He wanted this.

“I am actually looking for a new valet - Gregory left recently to work for a family moving to the States. If you’d be interested, I could pay you handsomely,” he said, looking up at Jongho. Jongho’s eyes widened in surprise, his bottom lip dropping open slightly. 

“Hold on now, Yeosang, are you trying to pilfer my new barkeep from me?” Mingi asked. He had previously been distracted by his conversation with Yunho, but apparently, the possible loss of his recently hired hands was enough to draw his attention back to Yeosang. 

Yeosang shook his head. “Not all the time - I am fine if he wants to keep doing his work here a few evenings a week or on the weekends. I am more than capable of dressing myself from time to time. Plus, business will slow once the rest of the ton make their way to the countryside. I am personally planning to stay in the city this year rather than going with my mother to visit my sister in Scotland, so it would not be so difficult for Jongho to manage both positions if he so desires.”

Mingi mulled this proposition over, chewing the offer between his back teeth as he glanced between Yeosang and Jongho. After a few moments, he shrugged. “It is true that it won’t be busy enough for you to make much extra coin once the season is over, Jongho, so if you’d like to just pop in from time to time, I can still pay you decently. However, it seems like the Kangs’ house might be a better fit for you if you’re looking to save.”

They all turned to Jongho - even Yunho seemed to be invested in the conversation now, his gaze volleying between the three of them as he sipped his brandy. Yeosang watched the doubt flicker across Jongho’s features before the slate of his face was wiped clean of any discernible emotion. “I will consider it, Your Grace. There is much to think about.”

Yeosang nodded, setting his glass down on the table beside him before standing up. He had only drunk a sip or two of the wine, letting the rest grow warm beneath his touch. He was almost eye level with Jongho now, and the memories of the last time they met burned under Yeosang’s skin. “If you decide you are interested, I will be home all day tomorrow doing some paperwork. Please come by for a visit, and we can talk more about your contract,” Yeosang said. Then he turned to smile at Yunho and Mingi, who were watching them as if trying to deduce the ending of a novel they couldn’t even remember reading. “Gentlemen, a pleasure as always. If you’ll excuse me, I have to explain to my mother why I once again left a party without dancing with a single lady. Until next time.”

Yeosang left them with a few smiles and the temporary goodbyes of people who had always known each other, hoping that he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life. 

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Yeosang wasn’t sure whether he was more surprised when Jongho showed up at his home the next day or that he agreed to take on the position, but a level of shock existed nonetheless. A level of shock that seemed to make Jongho doubt the validity of the offer. 

“You were being serious, weren’t you? About the position?’ Jongho asked, his eyebrow raised. He was wearing a cream button-down shirt tucked into a pair of pressed black trousers, a deep green vest completing the ensemble. It was casual - nothing like the suits that Yeosang and the other nobility wore daily - but it was clean and stylish in a way that almost made Yeosang forget that, once again, Jongho was not a nobleman. 

Yeosang nodded. “It was a serious offer,” he said, hesitating before he added, “I simply did not believe you would actually accept it.”

Jongho was silent for a moment, watching Yeosang with a gaze so intense that it made Yeosang feel itchy. They were sitting in the drawing room of Yeosang’s home, two cups of tea steaming in floral porcelain mugs on the table between them. Yeosang’s mother was out visiting another lady who lived nearby - despite how she tried to adamantly refute the idea, Yeosang knew they liked to talk about books together, sharing their ideas on the stories they read over sweets and tea - and Yeosang had sent the other servants away after being notified that Jongho had come to call on him. He knew they were all busy anyway, so it didn’t take much convincing to get them to return to their duties and leave the two men to talk in private. 

The silence dragged on for so long that Yeosang, who enjoyed silence, began to grow uncomfortable. “I am willing to pay one and a half times what Lord Choi pays you, and the contract can be considered complete once he comes home if you are interested in returning to work for him.”

Jongho raised an eyebrow. “If I am interested in returning to him?” Jongho repeated slowly. “Does that imply that I will be able to stay in this position for a longer period of time if I am…interested?”

The pause in his sentence felt intentional, filled with something neither one of them is willing to name. Yeosang swallowed. “I would never fire you, if that is what you’re asking. You will have a place here for however long you want it.” Forever felt like too weighty a word to say, but it hung between them nonetheless. 

“I will take that into consideration,” Jongho said. It should have sounded polite, simple, but instead it felt almost…sensual. Teasing, if Yeosang was willing to be hopeful. The smirk forming at the corner of Jongho’s lips certainly didn’t help anything. But that didn’t make any sense to Yeosang because Jongho had been avoiding him. Pretending that nothing untoward had occurred between them. He couldn’t tease Yeosang now as though the silence and distance had never happened - Yeosang didn’t understand. He couldn’t even form a question to ask any further about what it all meant before Jongho added, “For now, I would be grateful to start on a temporary basis to see if the arrangement fits both of our needs. If that is alright with you, Your Grace?”

Your Grace. Yeosang wanted to scream. To throw something in a fit of anger, shake Jongho by his shoulders until he started speaking in a language Yeosang could understand. 

Instead, he simply nodded. “Yes, that seems acceptable. If you would like to come back tomorrow, I can introduce you to the other members of staff. I assume I do not need to explain your duties to you, as you have been working for Lord Choi for quite a while, correct?”

Infuriatingly, the smirk on Jongho’s face only seemed to grow. “No, Your Grace,” Jongho said, his voice laced with something Yeosang couldn’t place, but which still managed to send a familiar shiver up his spine. “I believe I am quite well aware of my duties.” 

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“How does that feel, Yeosang? Do you feel good?” 

Yeosang moaned loudly around Jongho’s gloved hand, tilting his head back to rest on Jongho’s shoulder as Jongho’s grip on his waist tightened and he thrust into him faster, deeper. Yeosang could feel it in his stomach, his insides shifting to make room for Jongho’s hard, thick cock. Jongho laughed. “Hush now, the servants will hear.” 

They would not. It was the middle of the afternoon, and Yeosang had heard them scurrying around his office a few hours before, meaning they had now moved on to other rooms, different floors. Not that it mattered much - all of his senses had left him the moment Jongho had bent him over his desk. Drool pooled in his tongue and slipped from the corners of his lips, dripping down his chin. His own cock was trapped between his stomach and the polished wood beneath him, his precum smearing along his shaft. Heat coiled low in his belly, and he gripped the edge of the desk as he tried to hold off the waves of pleasure he could feel approaching. 

Jongho’s lips brushed the back of his neck before Yeosang felt the pinch of teeth biting into his skin. He moaned again, somehow even louder now, as Jongho’s thrusts became erratic and hurried. Jongho used Yeosang’s body wantonly as he chased his own high, and Yeosang was so turned on by the realization that it was physically painful. He wanted Jongho to use him, to make Yeosang’s body satisfy his needs without a second thought for what Yeosang needed. Yeosang would give it all to him if he demanded it. 

Jongho’s hand - the one not wedged between Yeosang’s teeth - slithered beneath Yeosang’s shirt, his gloved fingers gliding over Yeosang's sweat-slick skin until he reached the duke’s chest. His touch brushed over Yeosang’s hard nipples before pinching one between his thumb and pointer finger, twisting it harshly. Yeosang groaned and felt the heat breaking inside of his belly, pleasure rolling over him as he spilled across his desk. Jongho continued to thrust into him once, twice more before he pushed Yeosang against the desk with stuttering hips, coming inside of him with a low moan. 

Their pants harmonized with the wet squelch of Jongho weakly pushing into Yeosang again before slowly pulling out, his body slumped against Yeosang’s back a grounding weight as they both tried to regain their senses. Jongho’s hand slipped from Yeosang’s mouth and fell to the desk, resting gently on Yeosang’s as his hot breath swept across Yeosang’s bare shoulder. The duke’s shirt had slipped down as they fucked, his upper arm and collarbone now painted with the pink blush of exertion and on display. Yeosang almost imagined he felt Jongho’s fingers petting across the back of his hand - adoringly, lovingly - but then his touch and warmth were gone as he stepped back. 

Yeosang took a few more deep, grounding breaths before turning around. Jongho was tucking his white suit shirt back into the dark slacks that made up his uniform, his hair tousled and messy. Yeosang reached forward to run his hands through it, pushing the mussed-up strands back into place. When he pulled his hand away, an emotion Yeosang wasn’t quick enough to read flitted across Jongho’s eyes. It was gone just as quickly, replaced by his usual professionalism. 

“Would you like me to get a bath ready for you, Your Grace?”

Your Grace. The soft Yeosang that Jongho had whispered into his ear as they had sex was long gone, replaced by the distance that always pervaded the moments in between meetings. Yeosang sighed and nodded. He wanted to ask more questions, to find out why there was such a dissonance between the Jongho that touched him and the Jongho who stood in front of him now, acting as if Yeosang’s drying cum didn’t still stain the desk behind him. 

But Yeosang, who had never been very good at turning his thoughts into words, didn’t even know where to start. 

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Yeosang was doing work. Or rather, he should have been doing work. He meant to be doing work. But he’d abandoned the papers in front of him ages ago to stare at Jongho instead. Jongho, who was, in fact, doing work, his face scrunched up with concentration in a way that made Yeosang want to run a finger between his eyebrows just to straighten out the tight wrinkles. He was looking over some letters on Yeosang’s behalf, fulfilling the noble responsibilities that were, inherently, Yeosang’s duty. 

But he looked so handsome staring intensely down at the pages, and Yeosang was having trouble concentrating on his own tasks. Not to mention, the work he was meant to be doing was painfully boring. 

“Your mother,” Yeosang started, surprising both of them by interrupting the comfortable silence that had fallen between them. Jongho set the letter in his hands down onto the table and looked up at Yeosang. Yeosang cleared his throat in an effort to find an extra moment or two to collect himself and his wits. “How is she?”

Yeosang had never met Jongho’s mother before. He knew that she was a distant relative of San’s family, though she had married a merchant, a titleless worker, and had no real ties to the more noble members of the Choi clan. However, she’d managed to secure a high position for her son in the Choi household despite his lack of training or experience. Yeosang knew Jongho wrote to his mother regularly and sent money back to them after his father became too sick to work. 

Jongho tilted his head to the side. “She is doing well,” he said, his shoulders lifting in a small shrug. “My brother has started working for the same company as my father, though he has yet to find a wife and provide her with any grandchildren.”

Yeosang chewed on the inside of his cheek before asking, “Is that something she aspires to have? Grandchildren?”

Jongho’s laugh was light and teasing. “Isn’t that something all mothers aspire to have?”

A valid point, although one Yeosang spent a lot of time avoiding thinking about. “I suppose - although my mother is starting to understand that she will simply have to make do with whatever brood of little ones my sister has.” He glanced back down at his work, still not really reading the words on the page as he tried not to look at Jongho. Maybe if he seemed busy enough, Jongho would not question him further. He didn’t understand why he had said any of that, why he could not simply allow the two of them to sit in the quiet and do their work, why he had to -

“Your sister - she had a son recently, correct?” Jongho asked. Yeosang’s head shot up as he looked back at the man across the room, shocked that he had known that. Yeosang couldn’t remember when they had discussed his sister’s children. Seeming to understand the reason for Yeosang’s surprise, Jongho smiled placatingly. “I overheard Yunho and Mingi discussing it once at the club.”

“Oh,” Yeosang said, the word barely a puff of air. He fiddled with the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt just to give himself something to do with his hands. “Then yes, she just had a son. He second one, in fact. Which means that not only is her husband’s lineage secure, but the title of Duke will stay within our family as well - regardless of whether I have any children of my own.”

Yeosang cursed himself internally as he finished, wondering why he had once again brought up the topic of his own children. He didn’t like to discuss it with anyone, especially not with a man he had lain with on multiple occasions now. His proclivity for male affection did not leave much room for considering children, regardless of whether he believed he wanted them. He enjoyed spending time with his sister’s children, coddling them sweetly and playing games with them once they were old enough to walk on their own. She had just had her third child, now with two boys and a girl, and did not seem intent on stopping anytime soon. Her family was growing beautifully, and Yeosang tried not to think about the envy he experienced, realizing his own would not do the same. 

“For what it’s worth, Your Grace,” Jongho said, interrupting Yeosang’s thought spiral. His smile was gentle now, a whisper on a warm summer breeze. “I think you would make a fine father.”

Something tickled at the back of Yeosang’s throat, and he nodded, casting his eyes back to his desk so that Jongho would not see how wet they had become. “Thank you. That is very kind.”

The comfortable silence returned as they both went back to their work, and Yeosang did not feel the need to fill it this time.

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“F-fuck, Jongho, there, right there, please,” Yeosang moaned, gripping the sheets beside his hips as Jongho leaned closer, folding him in half with Yeosang’s ankles resting on his shoulders. Yeosang watched the sweat dripping down his cheek, the way his eyebrows pulled together in pleasure and concentration as he pounded into Yeosang in a way that made stars flash behind Yeosang’s eyelids. 

Jongho practically growled in response, picking up the pace as he turned his head to sink his teeth into the sensitive skin of Yeosang’s calf. Yeosang cried loudly, his back arching off the bed and one hand shooting up so he could grip the hair at the back of Jongho’s head. His brain felt liquid and hazy, his eyes watery as he blinked up at Jongho. He needed more, more, but he couldn’t find the words to say what he wanted. Jongho’s gaze met his, intense and deep, and Yeosang felt the moment Jongho seemed to understand what Yeosang couldn’t express. 

He paused his thrusts for a moment, ignoring Yeosang’s whines of frustration as he shifted his weight back so one of the hands that had been pressed into the mattress next to Yeosang’s head could move to wrap around Yeosang’s throat. He didn’t squeeze, but there was a firm pressure on either side of Yeosang’s neck, holding him firmly to the mattress as Jongho’s hips once again picked up their rhythm. Yeosang’s eyes widened, surprised, and the moan that slipped from his lips was by far the loudest sound he’d ever made. He was glad it was the middle of the night and most of the servants had long ago retired for the evening, because the volume of Yeosang’s moan could have possibly reached even the furthest corners of the house. 

“Is this what you want, Yeosang?” Jongho grunted, his gaze unwavering as he stared down at Yeosang. “Do you want me to fuck you dumb, leave your hole gaping and your mind empty of thoughts that aren’t my cock inside of you?”

Yeosang did his best to nod, the hand around his throat tightening slightly and restricting his movements. Fuck, yes, he did want that. A hole for Jongho, his only job to remain wet and warm for when the other man wanted him. He needed that, needed to be nothing more than a toy for Jongho to use at will. 

“Darling, it’s like you were born to be fucked by me,” Jongho said softly, the gentle tone at odds with the rough way he continued to thrust into Yeosang. 

Yeosang’s orgasm crashed into him then, unexpected and almost painful in its intensity. He cried loudly as white cum shot across his chest, some even reaching far enough to splatter on his cheek. Jongho wasn’t far behind, the clench of Yeosang’s body around his cock enough to send him over the edge with a choked groan. His hand fell away from Yeosang’s neck as he slumped forward, thrusting weakly to fill Yeosang with a last few pumps of cum. Their breathing was labored and spent as Jongho pulled out and rolled over onto his side so that his weight was no longer blanketing Yeosang’s body. 

“I will need to…get a rag to clean us off…”Jongho said. The words were broken around his deep inhales. 

Yeosang turned his head to look at him, his eyes tracing the curve of Jongho’s cheek and the long stretch of his neck, pretty beauty marks dotting the smooth skin. He was naked for once, their clothes abandoned across the room. Something squeezed inside Yeosang’s chest. 

“Tomorrow,” he said. “For now, I am tired.” Exhaustion was weighing down his bones, pulling him further into the soft, warm mattress. He didn’t even mind how slick his skin felt or the way a pool of cum was seeping through the sheets. 

Jongho blinked a few times, his senses slowly returning to him, before nodding and sitting up in an effort to leave the bed. Yeosang's hand shot out to grab hold of his wrist, his grip loose and weak as sleep began to seep into the corners of his vision. “Stay, please,” Yeosang mumbled, his eyelids already slipping closed. 

The last thing he heard before he completely fell asleep was a gentle, “Yes, Your Grace,” followed by warm, strong arms wrapping around him. 

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Yunho stared at him from his mother’s favorite chaise lounge, his mouth gaping open in surprise at Yeosang’s words. “Your sister wrote to you to say what?”

Yeosang rubbed his fingers over the bridge of his nose, a headache budding behind his eyebrows. “Apparently, their neighbors next door have a daughter who is two and twenty years old and is, I quote, ‘a beautiful, lovely young lady who would make a wonderful duchess.’ So now not only must I battle the mamas of the ton during the season, but my own sister is conspiring against me even from another country.” 

Yunho laughed, shaking his head. He lifted his glass of whiskey to his lips and sipped as he seemed to contemplate his response. “Do you think you’ll ever decide to marry?” He asked, more conversational than judgmental. They’d both commented before on how the prospect of marriage was unappealing for them, but they’d never fully given it a yes or no answer. 

Yeosang’s eyes strayed across the room to where Jongho was standing near one of the high windows that overlooked the gardens. He seemed to be staring out at the flowers, but Yeosang could tell from his stiff posture and tense shoulders that he was listening to everything. Yeosang sighed softly and forced his gaze back on Yunho. 

“It is unlikely,” Yeosang said with a shrug. “Sometimes I think it would make life…easier in some ways. But my sister has already birthed the next duke and seems to have plans for more children in the future, and I find the prospect of marriage to be contrary to my personal interests.”

Yunho grinned. “Be careful, Your Grace, or people might start to whisper that you’re a rake.” 

Yeosang scoffed, pausing before he replied to take a sip of his whiskey. “I have never lain with a woman, nor do I have plans to do so in the near future. I doubt I could be considered a rake.” 

Yunho laughed again, good-natured and a little too understanding. Then they both fell into a quiet, contemplative silence, lost to the draw of their own thoughts. Yeosang’s gaze found Jongho again, his heart rate speeding up when he found that Jongho was already watching him. His eyes were dark, almost predatory, and Yeosang felt that familiar burning in his stomach. The one that had never fully disappeared since the moment they’d met. 

“Have you lain with anyone, Yeosang?” Yunho asked suddenly. Yeosang slowly turned away from Jongho to see that Yunho’s gaze was trained on the cup still in his hands. His knuckles were white from how tightly he was gripping the glass. The tone of his voice was strained and somehow almost pleading. As if he wanted something from Yeosang, something he couldn’t ask for. 

Validation. Affirmation. Acceptance. 

Yeosang didn’t know what to say to give Yunho what he was looking for, so he settled on, “The world is quite large, Yunho. To think we are the only ones who think and feel the way we do is limited and close to an impossibility.” 

Yunho sighed and nodded, his smile small but genuine as his eyes once again found Yeosang’s. The quiet camaraderie that followed the exchange spoke volumes.  

 ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Jongho sauntered into the room that night while Yeosang was having his bath, prowling around the edges of the room with a stare that made the hairs on Yeosang’s arms stand on end. Yeosang, whose eyes were shut as he tried to relax into the warm water, felt his breath quicken as he opened them slowly and watched Jongho come to a stop next to the fireplace. They stared at each other for a moment, neither of them saying anything. The tension made Yeosang’s bath water warm as sweat slid down the back of his neck. 

“Are you just going to stand there?” He asked, swallowing down the saliva pooling on his tongue. 

Jongho raised an eyebrow in response. “What else should I be doing, Your Grace? Washing your back for you? That seems outside of my responsibilities.”

Yeosang scoffed. “Has anyone ever told you that you are terribly unaware of your position?”

Between blinks, Jongho had made his way across the floor and was now standing next to the tub, staring down at Yeosang with something dangerous glinting in his eyes. “Oh, I am perfectly aware of my position.” His voice was low, a drop of water in the already filled bath. 

Yeosang barely breathed as Jongho stripped out of his clothes, neither of them saying a word as he prepared himself to climb into the tub alongside Yeosang. There was not enough room for two grown men, not at all, but Yeosang shifted quickly to give Jongho the space to sink into the bath before he clambered into the other man’s lap, the water sloshing out onto the wooden floors as his knees bracketed Jongho’s hips. Jongho hooked his hand around the back of Yeosang’s neck before pulling him down harshly, their lips colliding into a kiss that was more biting than affectionate. It felt like Jongho was trying to take something from him, to claim him in the bruises he would undoubtedly leave on Yeosang’s skin. Yeosang moaned against his lips, scrambling for purchase on Jongho’s bare, wet shoulders. 

Yeosang would give him anything if Jongho would only ask for it. 

It did not take much preparation before Yeosang was open and gaping around the space where Jongho’s cock would undoubtedly fill him, sliding in slowly as Yeosang whined, his face pressed into the damp skin of Jongho’s neck. Jongho’s grip on his hips was tight and verging on painful. Yeosang could hardly think about it as he raised higher, almost pulling off of Jongho’s cock entirely, before slamming his hips back down. Water splashed against their skin and over the sides of the tub, creating a pool on the floor.

It wasn’t the most comfortable sex Yeosang had ever had, but it made his skin burn, and it felt like it was pulled tight over his bones. One strong push and everything inside of him would come tumbling out, spilling onto the floor in the pond of lukewarm bath water. He needed more from Jongho, wanted something that would hold him together as tightly as the press of Jongho’s fingers into his skin. He wanted, he wanted - 

“Would your little wife make you feel as good as I can?” Jongho asked, his words as velvety as the tongue lapping over the vein in Yeosang’s neck. 

Yeosang’s brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton, his hips stuttering in their rhythm as he tried to understand Jongho’s question. “W-what?”

“The little wife they want you to take,” Jongho said. His voice was low, a husky whisper that felt like it was branding itself into Yeosang’s skin. “Would she be able to make you feel like this? Would she be able to fill you the way I can? Or would you have to fill her and pretend it was good enough, pretend it was me calling out your name, telling you how good you are?”

Yeosang shook his head. He wasn’t able to follow Jongho’s thoughts, but they made him feel hot all the same. Simultaneously ashamed and turned on, wishing Jongho would stop while begging him to keep going. “I don’t - I wouldn’t -”

“Do you need me now when you want to come, Yeosang? Is it only me who can make you feel good, who can make you see the heavens?” 

Yeosang gasped as Jongho lifted his hips to meet Yeosang’s, his thrust reaching so deeply into Yeosang that it made white stars burn behind Yeosang’s eyelids. “Yes,” Yeosang moaned, his grip tightening on Jongho’s shoulders. “Only you, it’s only e-ever been you.”

Jongho’s breath stuttered, his thrusts pausing for a moment before picking up at an even more rapid rate. The tub was only half full now, the water long since spilled out. Yeosang’s staccato cries filled the room, echoing off the high ceilings. “Say my name,” Jongho groaned.

“Jongho, Jongho, Jongho, please, please,” Yeosang babbled, the words barely a thought as they tumbled from his lips. 

“Yeosang, my Yeosang,” Jongho replied, his touch and his words claiming. When Yeosang finished, painting their chests in ropes of white, his head felt dizzy and his vision blurred around the edges. He felt the warmth of Jongho’s cum filling his insides, seeping out around where his cock was still stretching Yeosang’s pink, gaping hole. Their movements slowed and stilled, their breathing labored as they held onto each other like they were both afraid of what would happen if they let go. 

“Well,” Jongho finally said, pulling his head back to look Yeosang in the eye. His smile was surprisingly gentle, his touch soothing as he stroked the damp skin at Yeosang’s sides. “At least we are already in the bath this time.”

Yeosang laughed - mostly because it was easier than crying - and reached up to push the wet hair away from Jongho’s eyes. 

Neither of them spoke about what had and had not been said. 

 ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Yeosang is twelve, no longer a child but still not yet a man, and he has been allowed the time to take a break from his studies to visit his friend. They don’t live that far apart, but the journey still takes too long in Yeosang’s opinion. By the time they reach the Choi estate, his leg is sore from all of the shaking he has done, and he’s picked at least three frayed strings from his coat. 

Inside the parlor of the estate, San and Wooyoung are already bickering about who ate the last lemon raspberry honeycake, and Yunho is standing over at the window with Mingi, pointing out some of the rare birds that make a home in the garden during this time of year. Mingi is technically supposed to be at his apprenticeship today, but Yunho convinced the tailor that Mingi is learning from to give him the day off. Yunho is not above using his station to get what he wants, especially where Mingi is involved. 

Then Yeosang’s gaze snags on the only other person in the room, a young boy he has never met before. His cheeks and eyes are round and curious, sparkling in the midday sun, and his hair is a soft hazelnut that reminds Yeosang of the brown bears from his storybooks. Yeosang chokes on a sound trying to escape the back of his throat, drawing the attention of the other boys in the room.

“Yeosang! You made it!” Wooyoung says, shooting up off the couch and practically running across the room to throw his arms around Yeosang’s shoulders. Yeosang staggers back under their combined weight. “You took forever!”

Yeosang rolls his eyes. “I am only an hour later than I said I would be, Wooyoung. My mother wanted me to finish my Latin lessons before leaving, and I had trouble with the infinitive conjugations.”

The rest of his friends crowd around Yeosang, telling him all about what had happened in the two hours he had missed. The stranger stays where he is, watching on from his corner with those big eyes. San follows Yeosang’s gaze to where the other boy is. “Oh! Yeosang, I haven’t been able to introduce you yet!” San takes his hand, pulling him away from a whining Wooyoung and across the room so that they are now standing in front of the other boy. Now that he is closer, Yeosang is able to study him better. His eyes are warm and there is a mole on his neck.

“Yeosang, this is Jongho! He is a distant relative and now he is training to become my butler!”

“He’s going to be your valet, Sannie,” Wooyoung says, his voice chiding.

San rolls his eyes. “I’m not sure what the difference is, but yes. He will be my valet.”

“Hello, Jongho,” Yeosang says politely, bowing his head in the way he was taught before he even really knew how to speak.

“Oh, hello, Yeosang,” Jongho says, his lips stretching into a soft smile. It is kind and warm and something in Yeosang’s chest stutters out of rhythm. 

“No, no, Jongho - Yeosang is going to be the duke someday,” San says. He’s using the lecturing voice that he puts on sometimes when he is trying to explain what he learned in his lessons, as if they don’t all share the same teachers. Wooyoung hates it, which he further proves now as he rolls his eyes. “You have to call him Your Grace.”

Yeosang opens his mouth to argue - he’s far from taking over his father’s title, and he’s not one for formalities anyway - when Jongho furrows his eyebrows in confusion and replies, “But Mingi doesn’t call him Your Grace.”

Mingi nods. “He’s right, I don’t.”

“That’s because you have no concept of station,” Yunho says, slinging his arm around Mingi’s shoulder. He grins sheepishly. “That’s probably my bad.”

Yeosang ignores the ensuing playful wrestling match that Mingi and Yunho fall into, his attention firmly fixed on the boy in front of him. “Just Yeosang is fine.”

When Jongho smiles again, something inside Yeosang lights up like a firefly on a summer evening. 

“Alright,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you, Yeosang.” 

 ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

A week went by and they still hadn’t spoken about that night in the bathtub. They said nothing about the bruises branded on Yeosang’s waist, or the way Jongho had referred to Yeosang as his Yeosang. They didn’t speak about the possessiveness in Jongho’s voice as he goaded Yeosang about his imaginary wife, and they certainly didn’t broach the subject of how Yeosang had agreed that Jongho was the only person who made him feel anything close to heaven. 

They didn’t really speak at all for a week, save for the business conversations that needed to be had, and they didn’t touch each other at all. 

It was driving Yeosang mad. He told himself he would hold out, that he wouldn’t push the conversation, and instead he would wait for Jongho to come to him and explain himself. Then one night went by, followed by a second and third and fourth, and by the end of the week, whatever was holding Yeosang together snapped. 

Jongho’s eyes widened almost comically large when Yeosang stormed into his room one night, not even bothering to knock and almost slamming the door shut behind him. Yeosang had had the forethought to send the rest of the house staff out for the night so that they would have the house to themselves, something Jongho had either not realized or hadn’t wanted to question him about. 

“Your Grace, what are you -”

“Am I yours?”

Jongho set down the book he had been reading, the pages pressed against his blanket, and stood up from the bed. Yeosang was still standing close to the door, his eyes narrowed as he watched Jongho.

“What do you mean?” Jongho asked, his tone devoid of any emotion. 

Yeosang clenched his jaw in frustration. He felt like he was a supernova ready to explode, his skin too tight and too warm, and Jongho continued to look completely unfazed. It wasn’t fair. “Last week, when we were in the tub, you called me yours. You laid a claim on me. I want to know if you meant it or if those were simply words spoken in the heat of the moment.”

Jongho’s gaze was as intense as it always was. “Do you want me to have meant them?”

Yeosang groaned, reaching up to press the palms of his hands against his eyes. “I want you to stop speaking in circles!” He shouted. When he dropped his hands, Jongho’s expression took on a tinge of surprise. He wasn’t used to Yeosang raising his voice; it certainly wasn’t a common occurrence by any means. “I am standing here, begging for an answer, begging to know that this means something to you as much as it does to me. Jongho, I am ruined.” He could feel the tears prickling at his lashline, and he didn’t bother to wipe them away as they spilled over slowly. “I am incapable of being with anyone else - I have always been. I couldn’t love anyone else even if I tried. And yet you speak circles around me like I am nothing but a fleeting thought to you.”

Yeosang watched as Jongho’s jaw tightened, as veins of frustration appeared on the smooth skin of his neck. His face, usually so calm and impassive, fell into an ocean of anger and sadness and hope all at once. The chaos overwhelmed Yeosang, but it was also so beautiful - like looking into the eye of a typhoon and innately understanding that it wouldn’t hurt you. “A fleeting thought?” Jongho said, his voice too smooth to match the intense emotions on his face. “The fact that you would believe yourself to be nothing in my eyes is simultaneously impossible and heartbreaking. Yeosang, you are the only thought I have most days. I remember your face the moment I wake up, your voice is the last thing I think about before going to sleep - your eyes and smile have found their way into every dream I have had since I was twelve years old. Every part of me has belonged to you from the moment you spoke my name; my very being exists solely because you are here.” He moved closer, shrinking the space between them to fill up only a few steps. “If I could, I would claim you in any way possible. I would crawl under your skin and find a home between your ribs; I would scream to the world that you belong to me; I would paint myself in the colors of your voice so that I only exist in the sound of my name on your tongue. I have loved you so wholly and completely that I do not know who I am when you are not around to perceive me.” He took another step forward and reached a hand between them to wipe the tears from Yeosang’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “If you are a fleeting thought, then it is the last thought I have before I leave this earth forever.”

Despite Jongho’s efforts to clean them away, the tears continued to fall even faster down Yeosang’s cheeks. He grasped onto Jongho’s wrist, tilting his face so that he could press his lips against Jongho’s palm, brushing his skin against the warmth of Jongho’s touch. “Then why did you say nothing?” Yeosang asked. “Why did you call me Your Grace as if to push me away?”

Jongho’s smile was both endeared and amused. “Because it is your title. Because I cannot call you by your name in front of the rest of the ton and the other servants and risk them thinking less of you.”

Yeosang narrowed his eyes and pouted slightly. “But you said it in private, too, when only you and I were around to hear it.”

The softness in Jongho’s eyes made Yeosang feel like he could melt into the floorboards. “Because I belong to you, Your Grace, the same way your title and your land and your money belong to you. I am yours, completely.”

Yeosang leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes. He listened to the sound of Jongho’s breathing, trying to match the rhythm. “When we are together, I want you to call me Yeosang. I want you to belong to me, as I am, the same way I have always belonged to you. I love you, Jongho.”

He heard Jongho’s breath hitch at the last few words, felt the weight of his hand resting on Yeosang’s waist. Yeosang lifted one of his hands to press against Jongho’s chest and noticed that their hearts were beating the same. 

When Yeosang kissed Jongho, he felt something inside of him settle, the hurricane of emotions he’d been carrying with him for as long as he could remember calming into something containable. He would never marry a woman of the ton, never give his mother the grandchildren she wanted. He wouldn’t become the kind of duke that would be remembered long after he was dead, and he wasn’t sure what his life would look like if he kept living this way. 

But he would know what it meant to love and be loved, and he would have the touch of someone who held him like he was something important, someone worth cherishing. 

When he pulled away, Jongho’s smile was as soft and warm as it had been the day they’d met. “I have loved you my entire life, Yeosang, and I will love you for the rest of it and for whatever else comes after.”

And Yeosang believed him.