Chapter Text
It’s a quiet night, the streets devoid of traffic and the hour late enough that most people are already tucked inside their homes to stay until morning. Rows and rows of identical houses line the road, each one a carbon copy of the next - a series of white edged in green that, when seen from the right angle, look like a row of dominoes poised to be tipped over at any moment. Even their vehicles are the same - all white, compact, resting on the pads along the driveway to charge.
Jongdae’s never liked the uniformity of the neighborhood. It unsettles him and he keeps his eyes fixed downward as he makes his way toward his house. The hexagon pattern of the solar panels that make up the road catch the light that occasionally spills from a window, and Jongdae hops from panel to panel mindlessly, simply enjoying the warm air and the silence around him. It’s a rare gift.
Ten blocks from here - back in the bustling hubbub of the city - is a man sitting at a table for two, probably beginning to worry because Jongdae had gotten up in the middle of their dinner to use the bathroom and never came back. And it’s not that Jongdae is an inherently cruel person, but being set-up on date after date with people he has nothing in common with has worn down his patience and he’s through with it.
He knows his parents mean well, and it’s important for Jongdae to find someone to eventually marry and immediately begin having children with, but it feels like they aren’t even trying to find anyone who’s compatible with him. It doesn’t help that Jongdae is the independent type, a man who is still struggling to find himself amidst a society that presses for impersonal marriages and turns people like him into faceless breeding factories.
He’s lucky to have the freedom he does, being the second son of a well-liked career politician. Instead of having someone chosen for him flat out, he has a modicum of input, but it’s not going to last for much longer. Jongdae is nearly twenty-one, a full two years older than most people when they marry. The college Jongdae attends is full of young parents, most of them opting to call in to their classes with a holographic feed in their chair instead of physically attending. Jongdae, however, prefers to brush shoulders with real people, have conversations that don’t include the low hum of a hologram, eat with someone he can steal bites from.
A man out of his time, Jongdae’s brother, Joonmyun, always jokes. And maybe he’s right.
Jongdae sighs, hands deep in his pockets as he finally makes it to the right building. There are no lights on inside which at least means his parents won’t be waiting, frowns on their faces as they question why Jongdae is back so early and what was so wrong with this one. It’s the same song and dance every time. Jongdae thinks about the man, boy really, that he’d left behind. He’d been nice enough, but a complete bore. If he wanted boring, he’d ask Joonmyun to recite one of his law texts.
A press of Jongdae’s palm to the scanner opens the door and he walks inside, toeing off his shoes to leave by the door atop the others. It’s silent, but Jongdae is used to an empty house. With his father ensconced in politics and his dad following to be supportive, Jongdae was often left to his own devices, especially after Joonmyun got married and moved out.
The light in the kitchen comes on when Jongdae steps inside and he immediately recoils, wishing he’d been left in the darkness. “Don’t you have your own place to do that?” he shrieks, screwing his eyes shut before peeking them open a moment later, grimacing.
On top of the kitchen table - the place where Jongdae eats - is Joonmyun and his large husband, Yifan, in a disturbing state of undress. Jongdae sincerely wishes he hadn’t noticed Yifan’s hand slipping out of Joonmyun’s pants. At least Yifan appears embarrassed at being caught defiling the eating area, but Joonmyun is unphased.
“Shouldn’t you be out, dazzling some potential spouse or something?” Joonmyun inquires, not bothering to pull his shirt down and Jongdae can see the red marks from Yifan’s mouth blossoming on his chest. How is it that Joonmyun can still manage to look chastising in such a compromising position? Jongdae shudders. Leave it to their parents to have someone around to scold him over a bad date in their place.
“I was dazzling,” Jongdae answers flippantly. “He wasn’t.”
Joonmyun sighs, clearly more upset over Yifan lifting off him to rebutton his slacks than Jongdae’s dismissal of another suitor. It’s been years since they married and they’re still all over each other. Jongdae won’t admit it out loud, but he’s jealous of his brother; he found love. Marriage is about reproducing, never about love and what Joonmyun and Yifan have is a rare and beautiful thing.
Jongdae doesn’t have such illusions for his own future, but it would at least be nice enough to marry someone he’s moderately physically attracted to, perhaps even someone who can hold a conversation without putting him to sleep. Until then, he has to deal with his brother sexing up the house while he still lives in it. It’s enough to make his stomach churn. Instead of sticking around to watch the show, Jongdae backs out of the room. If there’s any justice in the world, their parents will come home in time to find Joonmyun and Yifan still defiling the table. The light in the kitchen has already gone off and he hears the sound of Yifan’s weight hitting the table again.
It’s amazing Jongdae has made it this far in life without being permanently emotionally scarred.
There is nothing more worrying to Jongdae than his parents’ complete lack of disapproval when he tells them his date went horribly. The two men sitting across from him - his dad and father - don’t bat an eyelash when Jongdae explains that his latest in a long, disastrous line of matches was poorly thought out. He’d been prepared for the lecture and heavy sighs of disappointment that follow every morning after. He’d even measured out the right distance to be out of the range of his dad’s glistening, pouty eyes that always leave Jongdae with a wedge of guilt in the back of his throat.
But it’s oddly peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Jongdae is worried.
“Why are neither of you launching into your memorized monologue regarding responsibility and entitlement and all that other stuff I never listen to?” Jongdae finally demands.
“Because it’s not necessary,” his father replies, sharing a secret smile with his spouse. Jongdae decidedly fears what that look could mean.
“And why not?” Jongdae asks, shrinking back on the couch.
“Because it’s all been arranged,” his dad answers.
A sickening dread fills Jongdae’s stomach, icy cold and ruthless, and his eyes grow wide, jaw dropping in disbelief. “But you told me I would have a choice,” he argues weakly.
The matching pointed stares they direct at him have Jongdae feeling five years old again, scolded like the time he’d uprooted his dad’s tomato plants so he could use the dirt to fill Joonmyun’s shoes. But this is so much worse than that. This won’t be a simple reprimand. This will be the rest of his life.
“You’re too stubborn, son,” Jongdae’s father announces, his dad nodding his agreement. “We’ve given you ample time, allowed you too many freedoms and you’ve done nothing but cast every potential husband to the side without a moment’s thought. It’s time for you to marry. It looks poorly on our family to have a son so old who hasn’t started his own family.”
The blood drains from Jongdae’s face and his fingers bunch in the dark blue fabric of his pants to find purchase. He knew he’d been living on borrowed time, but this? “Who am I marrying?” he finally asks.
“The only child of the Lu family,” his father announces with pride.
Jongdae feels numb, even as his dad tells him not to go anywhere tonight because they’re all going to have dinner with their intended in-laws. Something inside Jongdae breaks a little, his future perhaps, and the rest of the conversation goes unheard.
The real reason behind the sudden betrothal becomes all too apparent as soon as Jongdae is shown into the Lu’s living room. A genteel woman ushers them inside, sitting across from them when they take up the couch. If the Lu’s son was birthed by a fertile female, then he would be in high demand. It’s been over four hundred years since most of the world’s population of women were rendered infertile by an improperly tested birth control - nearly leading to the extinction of the entire race - and even now it’s rare to find a female who isn’t born sterile. It’s been men who have carried the burden of replenishing the population, all males implanted with a female reproductive system just after birth because female bodies would reject the new uterus from the lingering effects of the drug.
The pressure to have children will be higher, their marriage put under a microscope to ensure they do their utmost to produce fertile females within the limited time frame a grown uterus is useable. Jongdae feels nauseous even as he smiles graciously at the woman who is gushing over how handsome he is, how much her son will be taken with him. Being the son of a public figure means Jongdae is used to scrutiny, to people appraising him and it comes as no surprise when his newly betrothed’s parents do the same. Even when they all retire to the dining room to eat, Jongdae feels their gazes burning into him.
“Please forgive our son for his tardiness. Sometimes he forgets the time when he’s out with his friends.”
Jongdae’s parents laugh, assuring them they aren’t insulted, that Jongdae is the same way and they will make quite the pair. The pressure is taken off Jongdae somewhat when the adults take over the conversation, never leaving a moment for Jongdae to pipe in. He suspects that’s the plan because every lull has his father peering over at Jongdae almost nervously. He may be an unpredictable, opinionated boy, but he’s not foolish enough to create a scene during an evening such as this.
The conversation turns to politics, something Jongdae is accustomed to tuning out. Despite the high quality of the food, his stomach still bubbles and his nerves twist with apprehension. The sound of a door opening has Jongdae jumping in his seat, his heart attempting to climb up his throat and out his mouth. His chest feels heavy, weighted.
A man walks into the dining area, stopping short at the presence of the five people at the table, their dinner mostly finished. It’s obvious he takes mostly after his mother; his hair is blond, his eyes a light brown and complexion fair. There’s a feminine quality about him that begins and ends with his face.
“Ah, Han, so good of you to appear before dessert.”
Han peers at Jongdae, blinking once with disinterest on his handsome face and Jongdae holds his gaze, keeping himself the picture of indifference to match. There’s a soft huff that’s loud in the room and then Han is turning to leave, ignoring his parents’ calls for him to cease being rude to their guests.
Jongdae’s fists clench under the table, indignance replacing his nervousness. The clear dismissal has left a bad taste in his mouth and he glares at his father even as he’s being placated by people clearly accustomed to making excuses for their son’s behavior. Jongdae stares at the vacant doorway and tries not to let his disappointment show too clearly. It wouldn’t be polite.
Jongdae feels like exploding.
He’d pleaded and fought with his parents to cancel the engagement as soon as they’d gotten home and he’d been rewarded with a harsh slap across the cheek from his father and a stern you earned that look from his dad. And as if it had never happened, they’d cheerfully announced the next morning that the wedding would be held in only two weeks, expecting Jongdae to be happy about it. He’d lost his appetite, storming out of the house with his school terminal clutched in his hand.
Luckily, Jongdae’s very best friend in the entire world is willing to listen to Jongdae spit and rant about how horrible the entire situation is until Jongdae finally loses steam and falls into a vacant seat in front of the History building on campus.
Kyungsoo sits beside him, an arm around Jongdae’s shoulders to comfort him. Jongdae leans against him, resisting the urge to bury his face in Kyungsoo’s neck and stubbornly spend the rest of his day refusing to move. “Let’s run away together,” Jongdae suggests only to get a pinch on the thigh for it.
“You knew this was coming,” Kyungsoo says, his hand rubbing up and down Jongdae’s arm comfortingly. “It was inevitable what with you constantly turning down everyone who shows interest.”
“I didn’t turn you down,” Jongdae croons, laughing when Kyungsoo’s face goes sour. They’ve been the best of friends forever; sometimes it feels like far longer than that. They’d tried turning their friendship chemistry into a romance once and, while explosive, it also hadn’t been particularly healthy or meant to be long lasting. Jongdae is just thankful their friendship was too strong for even that to break them apart and he treasures every day Kyungsoo puts up with him.
“Yes and we nearly burned down the unused Chem Lab by the end, so maybe you should have,” Kyungsoo teases.
“But you looked so hot with the reflection of the flames flickering in your eyes,” Jongdae jokes, laughing when Kyungsoo elbows him in the ribs. That had been one harrowing, nearly disastrous night and Jongdae is usually glad he survived.
Together, with their arms linked - something Kyungsoo would never do with anyone else - they head for the building behind them for their first class of the week. There aren’t many people out, most of the students either already in their classrooms or opting to show up via hologram. Jongdae has always found the low hum distracting, but he’s learned to tune it out over the years. He plugs his terminal into the port at his seat and his screen fuzzes to life in front of him. With a few swipes of his fingers, he sends his assignment to the professor’s terminal and watches as his name turns from red to green on the display on the front wall.
At least with school Jongdae has something to take his mind off his impending doom. He shifts to get comfortable in his seat, allowing the droning in the background to lull him, pull him in. History isn’t one of Jongdae's strengths, but he’s still struggling to find what he is good at. His entire family is politics - his father, his dad, his brother and even his brother’s husband dabbles in the area. And yet Jongdae doesn’t have a political bone in his body. He leaves the silver-tongued mind games to his betters; he’s never been particularly eloquent anyway.
Getting married is something Jongdae didn’t want to do until he found himself, found that one thing he’s good at and can be passionate about, but the decision has been taken out of his hands.
Things take a turn for the this is really happening when Jongdae comes home to find his brother waiting for him on the porch, a pleasant, polite smile on his face. “Don’t you patronize me,” Jongdae demands with a curl of his lip. “I’m not so easily taken by your tricks.”
Joonmyun laughs at him, throwing an arm around Jongdae’s shoulders to bring him in for a hug. “You never did fall for that smile.”
“Why are you here?” Jongdae inquires, immediately suspicious.
Joonmyun sighs, backing up a step to appraise his brother. “Dad says you’re angry with them - “ Jongdae snorts. “And they’ve asked that I take you in for your doctor’s appointment.”
Jongdae’s stomach wobbles dangerously. “Already?” he says with a whimper, his posture deflating instantly.
“Come on,” Joonmyun coaxes, once again pulling his brother along, this time into the car.
Jongdae doesn’t put up a fight. He’s still in shock; things are moving too fast. It’s been less than a full day and he’d hoped for more breathing room, hoped his reaction this morning would have convinced his parents to maybe push back the date. But if he’s being taken to the doctor for a mandatory pre-wedding check-up, those hopes have been dashed.
All citizens are required to go to a standard fertility screening before they’re allowed to marry. In a society where having children is the main reason for marriage, it’s important to ensure both parties are healthy and fertile and able to carry a child. Jongdae doesn’t look forward to being hooked up to a machine to see inside him and he absentmindedly runs his hand over the small scar just above his pubic bone from where he was surgically implanted with a uterus and ovaries as a newborn.
The only thing that helps is Joonmyun holding his hand as they wait. “It’s not so bad,” Joonmyun says in a voice that sounds encouraging. Jongdae knows that he’s not talking about the having babies part. Joonmyun has gotten special dispensation to put off having children for the sake of his career.
“The check-up or the marriage?” Jongdae snaps back, too upset to notice the smile slide off his brother’s face.
“Both,” Joonmyun answers. “You know how important this is, Jongdae. This is a responsibility that rests on all our shoulders and I’m sorry it’s fallen on yours so heavily, but there’s nothing I can do for you. I tried.”
Jongdae leans over, resting his head on Joonmyun’s shoulder. “But I don’t know him and he clearly doesn’t want to know me.”
“It takes time,” Joonmyun responds, his thumb brushing over Jongdae’s knuckles comfortingly.
“We can’t all be lucky like you,” Jongdae mumbles.
Joonmyun sighs. “No, but you have a way of making people like you whether they want to or not,” Joonmyun explains with a genuine grin. “Your natural love of life is far better at luring people in than my practiced compliments and faux smiles.”
“Well,” Jongdae sighs, squeezing his brother’s hand, “you’re not wrong.”
Being with Joonmyun makes it better for a little while.
Jongdae has seen his fair share of marriages, of two people who barely know each other pushed together with the expectations of the entire population guiding their actions. He’s always looked at them with pity, safe behind his glass cage with his family name as a shield and the determination that it would never be him. Perhaps it’s the reason Jongdae is headed for a mental breakdown.
All his life, he’d been told by his parents that they wouldn’t do exactly what they’re doing now, and maybe he’d taken advantage of it. When he imagined finally getting married, it was always in the far off future; never this soon. And it was always someone of his own choosing. Not someone they hand picked.
Jongdae’s last hope at getting out of this mess is stolen from him when both his and Han’s tests come back, and he knows he’s doomed the moment his parents’ faces light up. He slinks out of the room unseen, willing his stomach to stop churning. He wishes Joonmyun was here as an anchor to keep him grounded. Joonmyun would know the right thing to say to calm the angry sea roiling to life inside him.
It’s almost worse when he hides inside his room, looking around at the four walls that have been his sanctuary his entire life. Where they used to protect him, now they show him everything he’s about to lose. Pictures flicker around him, the bright smiling faces of his family and friends he’d put over his display terminal to encourage him while studying. There’s a loop of him and Kyungsoo that plays out on the frame by Jongdae’s bed, sitting nestled in the mess of stacked movie holos and a few pieces of jewelry he wears so often he never bothers to put away properly. Jongdae remembers the day it was taken - their high school graduation - and both of them are grinning from ear to ear because Kyungsoo had kissed him for the first time only minutes earlier.
Jongdae slumps on his bed, palms pushed to his eyes to ease the ache that precedes the need to cry.
Things don’t get better.
Jongdae’s dad wakes him up early for a surprise, either unwilling to take note of his son’s deathly pallor or uncaring. Either way, Jongdae is forced out of his comfy bed, made to put on clothes - not those, they’re wrinkled - and herded into the car without a bite to eat. It’s just as well. Any sort of food right now would probably make him feel worse.
The lurch of the car initially lifting to hover over the road makes him groan and he stares out the window in lieu of striking up a conversation. The band around Jongdae’s wrist beeps, an incoming call from Kyungsoo that Jongdae declines. Kyungsoo will be upset with him, but he isn’t in the mood.
The drive isn’t long, Jongdae peering at a house that looks like every other house in a neighborhood that isn’t theirs, but looks just like it. The only difference is the bed of towering sunflowers that’s grown as a fence between this house and the one next door. Jongdae likes them; they’re bright and colorful, standing proud and tall out in the open when most people keep their gardens hidden away in the backyard.
Jongdae’s dad gets out of the car, waiting for Jongdae to do the same before following him up the stone pathway to the door. “Unlock the door,” his dad says with a betraying warble of excitement in his voice.
Momentarily confused, Jongdae presses his hand to the scanner, realization hitting him square in the chest when the front door slides open, accepting his fingerprints as the owner of the home.
“Surprise!” Jongdae’s dad exclaims.
Jongdae thinks he might bless his new home by throwing up in it.
It doesn’t have the same layout as his parent’s home; the living room is smaller, more concentrated to add in a bar that separates it from the dining area and kitchen. Jongdae, admittedly, likes that part, smoothing his palms over the cool granite countertop as his dad rambles on about the efficiency of the upgraded solar panels on the roof that store almost twice as much energy as the ones they have. Plus the screens mounted in every room - seamless in the wall and invisible to the eye until turned on through voice command - that are connected to the worldwide feed for news and entertainment.
The kitchen is large enough to move around in comfortably, an island in the center and a back door that leads directly to a greenhouse Jongdae has no intention of filling. Perhaps Han will be the gardening type; Jongdae never has been.
The downstairs has its own small bathroom, but the upstairs bathroom is massive. Jongdae stands inside the tub in wonder before crouching down to play with the control panel that allows the user to set the water temperature, how high to fill it and what soaps or perfumes to add.
The entire place is already furnished. Jongdae sees his dad’s handiwork in it, sighing at the pale shade of gray that covers the four-poster bed in the master bedroom. The comforter looks soft, like he could sink into it, but Jongdae desires color. Perhaps he’ll use part of his student stipend to find something with a little more personality.
“What do you think?” his dad asks, clapping gleefully as Jongdae stands in the hall, two empty bedrooms on his sides for his future children. “Don’t look that way. There’s plenty of growing room and your father and I will only be a few blocks over if you need anything.”
I need my freedom back.
But that’s too much to ask and he knows it. There will be no arguing his way out of this. His parents are determined to see him married off to Lu Han and, as a dutiful son, Jongdae should obey, should be proud his parents have chosen such a fine, upstanding family for him to be a part of. It doesn’t lessen the sting, but if Jongdae thinks of the happiness it will bring his parents, then maybe he can use it to get through this.
Then again, maybe not.
They’re over at the Lu residence for another dinner, this time with Han sitting at the table with them, conversing with Jongdae’s father. (He’s only mildly jealous his father seems more interested in Han’s college goals than he does his own son’s.) Jongdae tries not to watch Han from across the table, but he can’t help himself. Han has a surety about himself, a confidence that’s attractive until he laughs, his jaw practically unhinging. Jongdae resists the urge let out a distressed laugh of his own knowing this man - the one who has made no motion to speak to Jongdae since they arrived - will soon be tied to Jongdae for the rest of his life.
It's almost as if Jongdae is an afterthought, a particularly bad taste that lingers and makes Han's face pinch when his father tries to steer the conversation in Jongdae's direction. It's easy enough to keep his answers limited to the one or two word range, preferring to glance at his father for help only to get nothing in return.
"Have you seen the house?" Jongdae's dad graciously cuts in, saving Jongdae from Han's polite, yet disinterested stare.
Han's attention is diverted, allowing Jongdae to breathe as Han puts on the charm, smiling and acting as if he's actually intrigued by the wedding gift. Jongdae sees through him in an instant, but his dad doesn't. His dad’s always been easily taken though, so it’s no real surprise. There is, however, a twist in his father’s face that Jongdae knows well. He doesn’t buy Han’s enthusiasm either.
Naturally, the parents just can’t help themselves, declaring they’re going to take dessert in the living room while Han and Jongdae are left in the dining area to get to know each other. Jongdae would rather eat Joonmyun’s cooking from when he started learning - it put him in the hospital once because Joonmyun had mistaken the medicinal plants in the garden as herbs - than be left alone with Han, but he doesn’t have a choice.
The silence is heavy, awkward and Jongdae sits back, refusing to look at his husband-to-be. He hears the scrape of Han’s chair on the expensive flooring and an amused noise after.
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Han announces, the tone of his voice biting, bitter.
Jongdae’s head snaps up. “Excuse you?”
“Don’t act like an imbecile. You and I both know how much my genes are worth. Your daddies bought me for you. So good job.”
Jongdae’s fingers twitch to wrap around Han’s pale throat, squeeze until he feels it give beneath him, fair skin turned mottled red and blue. His heart rate is through the roof, and Jongdae has to contain himself before he does something regrettable. “I’d expect someone who’s been bought and paid for to behave in a manner befitting his station,” he spits out, watching with delight as Han’s cheeks color with indignation. It’s a sharp insult that has the intended effect.
The city that thrives around them has a dark side, one that goes unspoken of in polite society. There’s an underground human trafficking ring that acts as a breeding farm, selling off nameless, faceless people to be used for reproduction then cast aside as waste. Insinuating Han is one of them - a Breeder, an entity stripped of name and individuality - is the harshest insult Jongdae could have used against him.
“If you think for one moment that I’m going to let you -”
“What!?” Jongdae exclaims through gritted teeth, trying to keep it down to avoid interruption. “There’s no use trying to get out of it. I’ve tried.” Jongdae ignores the look of surprise that sweeps over Han’s features and stands, turning and leaving without another word. He’s seething, burning with rage and his parents do nothing to stop him from waltzing right out the door to walk home alone. The night air will do him good.
“I can’t believe you called him a Breeder,” Kyungsoo laughs, his face red and tears of mirth clinging to the corners of his eyes. He’s clutching his belly, lunch forgotten and hand slapping down on the table.
“I didn’t outright call him a Breeder,” Jongdae clarifies. “But he deserved it.” Jongdae’s blood boils just thinking about that haughty tone in Han’s voice, the cutting hatred. If that’s how he wants this to play out, Jongdae will play.
“At least your marriage will have that spark of excitement!” Kyungsoo wheezes, trying to breathe.
“Homicidal spark, maybe,” Jongdae grumbles, sighing as he picks at his food.
As upset as he was at Han’s attitude, he does feel mildly guilty over his rebuttal. Amidst all the chaos of suddenly being thrown into a marriage he is unprepared for, Jongdae still grasps at the hope of there being a friendship, if nothing else, with his spouse. But after last night, he’s not sure their relationship can be salvaged despite barely forming.
“You certainly know how to leave an impression,” Kyungsoo remarks, pulling himself together. The small restaurant they’re sitting in front of is relatively empty, the two of them partaking in a late lunch before the dinner crowds begin pouring in. There’s a lovely aroma to the place, the scents of fruit from the trees lining the outside adding to the appeal. It also blocks the midday sun from blinding Jongdae as he drains the last of his tea with honey, to chase his toasted egg salad sandwich. The tea washes it down wonderfully.
“He started it,” Jongdae quips, grinning at the ridiculousness of his own statement as Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow at him knowingly. “I know,” he sighs. “I’ll start working on my apology.”
They both know it’s a lie, but the subject is dropped. The two of them leave arm-in-arm, Kyungsoo leaning heavily against him as they languidly begin the trek back to their homes. Kyungsoo lives two blocks closer to the city than Jongdae does and they part ways at the end of the road, Kyungsoo giving Jongdae a hug and a, “don’t do anything stupid, Kim Jongdae, I know that look on your face,” before leaving.
Once again, Kyungsoo is right.
Jongdae is home for less than an hour before he can’t take the pleasantries of his parents trying to coerce him into paying a visit to the Lus on his own. They entreat him to be gracious to his future in-laws and Jongdae barely gets out the front door with his sanity intact.
He thinks about calling Kyungsoo, but he doesn’t. Instead, Jongdae heads back toward the city on his own for something to help him forget about this nonsense if only for the night. Jongdae may be a free spirit, but he’s not reckless by nature, and yet the very place he winds up is as reckless as they come.
The city’s underground is known for its illegalities, but there are some places that are well within their rights to operate even if the government doesn’t want the word spreading. Jongdae finds himself slipping through the small space between two buildings, following the narrow path to the end, and then taking an abrupt left down a staircase. At the bottom is a door - no touchpad or identification required. Just a door. Jongdae raps on it three times.
A large, imposing man opens the door and Jongdae is ushered inside, required to leave his identity bracelet at the door after his age has been verified. The entire place is built on the foundations of the old city, the ceiling a concrete slab slapped atop a vacated factory before it was repurposed.
Nowadays, it’s a club where the younger people go to get away from the uniformity of their daily lives. Jongdae had been brought here for the first time just after he’d turned eighteen, astounded at the amount of color splashed against the walls, booming music he’d never heard before playing loud from all sides, the amount of alcohol - highly frowned upon in public but free flowing behind closed doors - more than he’d ever seen. Not much has changed in the last few years, and Jongdae revels in the beat that rattles in his bones, the slide of bodies as people dance wherever they want without a care as to who is around them.
The music is dated, pulled off the archives; Jongdae has some of it at home to listen to when he needs to drown out his thoughts. The particular thoughts plaguing him of late, however, require more. He begins a wandering trail toward the drinks, allowing himself to be drawn into the dancing crowd multiple times before he gets there. There’s a smile on his face as he leans against the small bar, ready to order something that looks very unhealthy - are drinks supposed to glow? - when there’s a tap on his shoulder.
“Chanyeol!” Jongdae exclaims in his surprise. It’s been a long time since Jongdae’s seen his old friend. Chanyeol’s taller, if that’s possible, his dark hair threatening to fall in his eyes and his smile as soft and sincere as it always was. “What are you doing here?” This is the last place Jongdae would have expected to see Chanyeol.
Chanyeol says something that gets drowned in the music and Jongdae lifts to his toes to hear him, but all he gets is the sound of mumbling. Graciously, Chanyeol takes Jongdae by the arm, guiding him away from the music and into a room above the speakers before letting go. Jongdae’s ears pop.
“I said,” Chanyeol begins, “what are you doing here?”
Jongdae tilts his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I hear you’re getting married.”
Ah, there it is. Jongdae’s mood evaporates, his heart sinking in his chest. “Not by choice,” Jongdae chokes out, backing away from Chanyeol like a wounded animal. For his part, Chanyeol looks repentant for his words and steps forward hesitantly only to retreat.
“I’m sorry.” Chanyeol sounds sincere, but the apology feels hollow.
Jongdae smiles up at his old friend, remembering the days when they were comfortable with each other, when Jongdae wasn’t afraid to tell Chanyeol everything. He misses it. “Let’s dance,” Jongdae decides, grabbing Chanyeol’s hands to pull him forward.
Chanyeol laughs, confusion gone as he tries, and fails, to get out of Jongdae’s grip. “You know I can’t dance.”
“Then let’s fake it, come on.”
Chanyeol allows himself to be pulled back down into the crowd, the music bursting in Jongdae’s ears and the warmth of Chanyeol’s hands on his sides luring him deeper. Jongdae has to put Chanyeol’s arms around his waist, be the one who begins moving freely to the beat, sloppy and a little uncoordinated. It’s not like Jongdae’s ever been much of a dancer either, but it’s not about the movement, but about the release that follows.
It’s freeing, invigorating and everything drains away until all that’s left is the way Chanyeol is moving against him and the taste of alcohol on his tongue from when they’re too parched to keep dancing. His head is fuzzy, spinning and the lights all around melt together to create a fantasy setting that purges Jongdae of his worries even if it’s merely a temporary fix to a permanent problem. His inhibitions, insecurities, that little voice that strains to be heard over the potent mix of music and alcohol are all subdued, drowned.
The more he drinks, the more liberating Jongdae feels until he’s winding his arms around Chanyeol’s neck, standing on his toes to kiss his old friend. Chanyeol takes Jongdae by the wrists, pushing him away enough to stare at him incredulously for only a moment before he’s bringing Jongdae back to him. Jongdae knows he shouldn’t be doing this; he knows he needs to be responsible, but he can’t bear the weight of it all without a way to release.
Chanyeol licks the alcohol from the back of Jongdae’s teeth, sucks Jongdae’s tongue into his mouth and Jongdae is hot all over, his hands running underneath Chanyeol’s shirt to sweep over heated skin. It’s easy to fall. It’s easy to break.
Jongdae inhales sharply at the rush of cold air that hits when Chanyeol drags him out of the club, pushing him against the concrete wall to kiss him until he can’t breathe. His head is cloudy, his emotions bubbling and Jongdae greedily takes in everything Chanyeol has to offer.
“I should have accepted you when you asked me to marry you,” Jongdae confesses in a heated whispered against the shell of Chanyeol’s ear. “I’m so sorry.”
Chanyeol leans away just enough to trail his thumbs over Jongdae’s cheekbones, cup his face and leave a light, lingering kiss on his lips. “Will you let me have you now? Just this once.” His words trail off and Jongdae swallows over the knot in his throat, nodding without a second thought.
Even if it’s only for a night, Jongdae wants to feel what it’s like to be desired one last time.
The chill of the night does nothing to temper Jongdae’s desire, the alcohol thrumming through his veins and Chanyeol’s presence a solid weight to keep him grounded. Chanyeol keeps him warm, keeps him safe as they rush to the small apartment Chanyeol lives in; it’s further into the city than Jongdae remembers, but he’s a little too preoccupied to dwell on the thought when Chanyeol’s mouth is on his neck, fingers curled around his hip possessively.
This late, they’re alone along the road, silence following them into the tall building. It’s only broken by their hurried footsteps and panting breaths as Jongdae tries his best to fight the urge to just shove Chanyeol against the nearest surface and grind against him, beg to be bent over and taken.
“This is a really fucking terrible idea,” Jongdae announces to Chanyeol’s apartment as soon as they’re inside.
Chanyeol’s eyes are dark, burning when he turns to stare at Jongdae. “It is.”
Jongdae, however, doesn’t resist when Chanyeol grabs him, large palms fitted on the curve of Jongdae’s thighs to pluck him from the floor. His fingers dig into Chanyeol’s back for purchase, moaning when he feels the press of Chanyeol’s cock against his stomach, the heat of Chanyeol’s breath where it fans over his face.
It’s not long before Jongdae is pressed to the plush mattress of Chanyeol’s single bed, chest heaving and shirt pushed up as Chanyeol fixes his mouth over Jongdae’s left nipple. “You’re going to regret this in the morning,” Jongdae groans, fingers sifting through Chanyeol’s hair to hold. For his part, Jongdae won’t regret a thing.
“Yeah,” Chanyeol mumbles, mouth insistent as he licks his way through Jongdae’s lips for another kiss.
“As long as you know what you’re getting into,” Jongdae says, jaw falling slack after as Chanyeol palms his hardening cock through his pants.
Chanyeol is eager, his nails scraping down Jongdae’s hips and thighs when he pulls his pants and underwear off to toss aside and Jongdae hisses at the sting that pulses under his skin. He tries to tug Chanyeol up by his hair, stopped by the wicked grin on Chanyeol’s mouth, narrow eyes shining and locked on Jongdae’s as he drags his tongue over the tip of Jongdae’s dick.
Jongdae moans unabashedly as Chanyeol leaves long licks over his dick, teasing with a scrape of his teeth before he fixes his lips around the crown and sucks. It feels like the bottom of Jongdae’s stomach has dropped out, his breath stolen as Chanyeol hollows his cheeks and sinks down, lips swollen and red and so slick around the girth of Jongdae’s cock. He stutters out Chanyeol’s name, Chanyeol humming in return and the vibration runs along his cock, settling in Jongdae’s gut. His thighs try to close in, held open by Chanyeol’s hands and he tries his best not to fuck upward into the heat of Chanyeol’s mouth, but he can’t help it.
Jongdae’s cock falls from Chanyeol’s mouth, saliva and precome coating his chin and Jongdae hauls him up, licking over the mess before kissing him. It’s a frantic race to get Chanyeol’s pants off, Jongdae looking down between their bodies to groan at how large Chanyeol’s dick is, voicing aloud how much he wants it inside him.
Chanyeol curses, words mumbled against Jongdae's mouth, teeth nipping at Jongdae's lower lip and hips grinding down. The alcohol loosens Jongdae's lips; it's the only reasoning he has for how much he begs Chanyeol to touch him, fuck him, love me, Chanyeol.
Lube drips from Chanyeol's fingers and Jongdae keens when the cool gel hits his cock. It flexes, lifting from his stomach only to fall back, a line of precome connecting the tip to his belly from the chill. Jongdae spreads his legs further, head tipping back and lower lip trapped in his teeth when Chanyeol pushes two slick fingers into him at once. Jongdae knows Chanyeol owns a stretcher - a device the width of a small finger that slides easily inside a man to slowly stretch him open - but it's much more personal this way and Jongdae prefers it.
Jongdae grinds on Chanyeol's thick fingers, appreciating the subtle burn that accompanies each move until even that fades.
Chanyeol is so considerate, careful as he rolls a condom down the length of his cock and slowly pushes his way into Jongdae in one long, seemingly never ending thrust. Jongdae flushes hot, wiggling his hips to appreciate how full he feels, how much Chanyeol stretches him open as he clenches down. With a deep, rumbling groan, Chanyeol falls over Jongdae, his weight on his forearms as he slides his cock out carefully, letting Jongdae feel every centimeter of it before slamming forward to bury himself.
Jongdae can't breathe. Chanyeol fucks him desperately deep, Jongdae's nails scratching red trails down his back as he cries out for more, for Chanyeol to fuck him fast enough, hard enough to forget. Sweat sticks his skin to the blanket beneath him, pulling it along as he's shunted up the bed with every powerful thrust that reverberates in his hips. There's no doubt he's going to be sore tomorrow, but that's the last thing on his mind.
This feels like more than a fuck, like maybe a goodbye, and Jongdae clings tighter to Chanyeol, allowing the pleasure to override the ache in his chest. Chanyeol mouths at his shoulder, pressing kisses to the skin and mumbling words Jongdae doesn't want to hear. He wraps his thighs around Chanyeol's waist, heels pushing at his lower back to bring him deeper. His hips jerk up as Chanyeol moves down and Jongdae loses himself to it, mindlessly rutting against Chanyeol’s cock.
The way his cock rubs - trapped between their stomachs - has Jongdae gasping out his orgasm, toes curling and spine bowing, his fingers twisting in Chanyeol’s hair. It wracks through him in strong pulses that leave his thighs twitching and ass clenching so tight around Chanyeol’s cock as he fucks him through it, never wavering.
Jongdae comes down with black fuzzing around his vision, Chanyeol’s grunt loud in his ear when he fills the condom, hips stuttering forward until he stills. Jongdae drapes his arms loosely around Chanyeol’s shoulders, content with the heavy weight over him, the warmth of Chanyeol’s body keeping him comfortable even if he’s sticky and sweaty.
It’s minutes later when Chanyeol lifts. Jongdae had been so certain Chanyeol was asleep, but he’s peeling off Jongdae to stand and Jongdae reaches for him with a whine. Chanyeol smiles, and Jongdae’s stomach wobbles.
“Drunk or not, I’m not letting you catch a cold,” Chanyeol rumbles in a raspy voice. He disappears, reappearing with a towel that he uses to clean Jongdae before tossing aside. And instead of trying to move Jongdae, who is content to watch Chanyeol amble around, a longing in his limbs, Chanyeol gets out another fluffy comforter to drape over him, cuddling underneath it and letting Jongdae wind around him, head tucked just under Chanyeol’s chin.
Jongdae lets sleep take him, but not before mumbling a sincere thank you into Chanyeol’s chest.
There’s an empty spot on the bed next to Jongdae when he wakes, sitting up with a groan because his head is positively pounding. Other parts of him ache too, but it’s a pleasant ache and while he’s waiting for that pang of regret to slice through him, right now he feels nothing short of calm. And kinda gross, but that’s something a shower and a toothbrush can easily fix.
Chanyeol shuffles in as Jongdae is midway through talking himself out of leaving the warmth of the blanket to find his clothes. There’s a mug in his hand and a lopsided smile on his face and Jongdae wishes. . .
“It’ll help,” Chanyeol says, handing over the steaming cup.
Jongdae takes a tentative sip only to sigh as the hot ginger tea coats his tongue. “This is perfect,” he tells Chanyeol, taking another, larger swallow even if it burns.
“It probably won’t help much with the headache, but at least you won’t get sick,” he jests, sitting on the furthest corner of the bed from Jongdae.
“Thank you.”
They sit in companionable silence, Jongdae drinking his tea and Chanyeol resolutely staring at the floor between his feet. Jongdae thinks about crawling over and draping himself over Chanyeol’s back, kissing his neck and telling him how very sorry he is for managing to fuck everything up again, but he doesn’t have the courage.
Chanyeol leaves the room for Jongdae to dress, politely offering to drive Jongdae home, but Jongdae declines. “The walk will do me some good,” he uses as an excuse and Chanyeol allows him to leave without so much as touching him.
Jongdae’s done some questionable things in his life, but never to another person before. He’d used Chanyeol’s leftover feelings from nearly two years ago as a way to comfort himself, satisfy his own needs without thinking about how it was going to affect Chanyeol after. It’s clearly taken a toll and Jongdae hates it.
And the worst bit - he still doesn’t regret it.
He’s halfway home when he stops abruptly, looking down at his wrist and cursing before turning back around. He left his identification bracelet at the club last night. He jogs most of the way back, out of breath and sweating despite the early morning chill in the air. Jongdae doesn’t even know if they’re open, but he knocks anyway, huffing out a laugh of relief when the door opens and he’s allowed into the small entryway.
A quick check ensures he hasn’t missed any calls and he slides the uniform, standard gray band back onto his arm with a nod of thanks before leaving. He doesn’t make it far.
An incoming call has Jongdae backing against a building wall, answering on speaker mode with as casual a tone as he can muster. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your dulcet tones so early in the day?”
“Jongdae,” Joonmyun chides, a tone of resignation in his voice. “You’d better be glad dad tasked me with keeping tabs on you after you stormed out last night. If our parents knew where you were -”
Jongdae’s throat closes. “You know?”
“Look, I know this marriage has you wound up, but an underground club?”
“It’s legal,” Jongdae responds, his nerves settling a little when he realizes Joonmyun thinks he was at the club all night and not getting the fuck of his life with his old friend slash ex-suitor. “And I was careful. The family reputation is still squeaky clean.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Joonmyun snaps back and Jongdae can just picture his brother with his head down, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he breathes to keep himself from losing his temper. “I’m more worried about you than anything else right now.”
“Aww,” Jongdae coos teasingly. “I never knew you cared so much.” And Jongdae nearly laughs because Joonmyun’s silence means he’s trying to figure out what to say without being impolite. “I know,” Jongdae says softly. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. It’s all out of my system.”
“Where are you now? Should I pick you up?”
“No, I’m close to home. I’ll see you later.” Jongdae disconnects the call before Joonmyun can protest. It’s amazing what a little fresh air can do to clear the head.
The first thing Jongdae does when he gets home is shower. He strips down, standing in front of the full length mirror and taking stock of his trophies. There’s a large bruise on his shoulder from Chanyeol’s mouth, a few smaller bruises spread along the insides of his thighs and two glaringly obvious handprints that bracket his hips. Jongdae finds himself smiling at them, remembering the night before even if his memory isn’t entirely reliable.
With the water steaming hot, Jongdae cleans himself quickly, efficiently before stepping out to let the fans air blow him dry. He still has a class later in the day, his curriculum light this term - something his parents suggested and now he knows why.
As he dresses, he thinks about calling Kyungsoo to talk about Chanyeol, but eventually decides against it. He doesn’t want Kyungsoo to know the type of person his best friend has become.
Jongdae means to put it behind him. It’s easy enough not to think about the dead look in Chanyeol’s eyes as he walked out the door when his head is being crammed full of wonderful facts. It’s simple enough to ignore the pleasant ache of his hips that flares when he walks with Kyungsoo at his side, chirping his ear off about someone he may have met.
Jongdae envies Kyungsoo; he has an older brother who is already married with three children of his own and with that, the pressure for Kyungsoo to do the same is non-existent. They all know Kyungsoo is too belligerent to marry just anyone and he’ll find the right person of his own accord. And unlike Jongdae, Kyungsoo has been actively searching for someone to settle down with for quite a while.
As per usual, Jongdae’s house is empty when he gets there. His parents are out - his father at the government offices downtown listening to citizen complaints and his dad volunteering at the hospice. It’s been this way for years and Jongdae remembers when he used to enjoy the silence, but not right now. Not today.
It eats at him, picking away at his bones. He finds a message left for him on the refrigerator, reminding him they’re getting together with the Lus over the weekend to discuss wedding details. Jongdae erases it, resisting the urge to slam his fist into the screen until it cracks and breaks. He needs to get away.
He means to go to Kyungsoo’s, but his feet keep moving, this festering inside him ushering him further away until the lines of houses are replaced with businesses - a bakery, the little natural remedies shop beside it that his dad enjoys visiting, a holo game shop with flashing signs advertising the newest in interactive gaming. And even then Jongdae keeps going, chewing relentlessly on his lower lip, eyes cast to the sidewalk. There aren’t many places for him to go; the club is off limits now that Joonmyun knows about it. Jongdae stops, scuffing his shoe on the cement and blowing the hair out of his face with a drawn out sigh.
He takes pause, looking around. The only thing around here that he knows is . . . Chanyeol’s apartment.
Jongdae wavers. There's a part of him that wants to turn tail and run far from Chanyeol, to ease the niggling guilt wiggling inside him. But then there's the part that craves Chanyeol, wants to see him again and soak up the affection, the tender moments, because soon he'll be thrown into a marriage that will hold none.
Jongdae stands there, indecisive before finally deciding he's already screwed up with Chanyeol so it's not as if he could make it worse. Where's the harm in trying? (There's a lot of harm actually, but Jongdae assuages his worries by convincing himself Chanyeol is going to throw him out before Jongdae can turn things into a total disaster.)
Still, something holds him back when he reaches Chanyeol's apartment, poised to announce his presence, but faltering. There's a good chance Chanyeol isn't even home; he has a job instead of going to school, opting to jump into the workforce to move out on his own instead of staying at home. Chanyeol's always had the luxury of his own freedoms. It came with being raised by a sterile couple after his own parents died when he was young. He loves them dearly, but Chanyeol's always craved getting out into the world and he's smart enough to have landed a steady job in energy efficiency upgrading research.
Jongdae sighs, running both hands through his hair, gripping it tight at the roots, and pulling before trying to pat the strands down again. His stomach is twisted in a knot and his throat feels like it's closing up and he needs to make a decision now. Jongdae uses the last dregs of his courage to press the intercom, listening as the dull bell goes off inside.
Jongdae fidgets anxiously, resting his weight on one foot then the other, opting not to wait too long. Chanyeol's probably not home anyway.
The door slides open with a whoosh and Jongdae is face-to-face with a surprised Chanyeol. "Jongdae?"
"I'm sorry if I'm bothering you," Jongdae nervously starts, "I just didn't know where else to go."
"No, no, it's fine. Come in."
Chanyeol backs up enough for Jongdae to fit through the doorway and Jongdae feels small, insignificant suddenly. With his shoes left beside the door, Jongdae is ushered into a small living room, sinking into the soft brown couch as Chanyeol takes the chair beside him.
"I'm surprised you came back at all," Chanyeol voices and Jongdae tilts his head at him, confused. "I mean we were drunk and I know you never -" Chanyeol stops, frowning and staring at his clasped hands in his lap.
"I was a dumb kid," Jongdae admits. "I didn't know what I wanted. We were always different that way. You always knew exactly what it was you wanted and you went for it."
"And look where that got me," Chanyeol jests, but there's a pain there just beneath the surface. Jongdae feels about a thousand percent worse.
“Sorry,” Jongdae mumbles, wondering how many times he’s going to be apologizing today.
“I should be the one saying that,” Chanyeol says, a tight smile on his face.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
“But last night - I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you that way.”
Jongdae snorts out a laugh unintentionally. “And I thought I was the one taking advantage of you.”
Chanyeol seems to relax, his shoulders drooping and a hand ruffling through his messy hair. “I guess it goes both ways then.”
“Mutual usery,” Jongdae agrees, relieved Chanyeol isn’t pissed at him. And Jongdae just can’t stop himself. “Maybe we could do it again,” he suggests. “Sober this time.”
Chanyeol goes still, his eyes fixated on Jongdae’s mouth and Jongdae really has no idea why that just slipped out, but his heart is racing and his palms smooth over his thighs nervously. He’s prepared to really get tossed out by his ear now, already preparing for a hasty retreat, but he’s blocked. Jongdae finds himself on his back, Chanyeol over him on the couch and wow this is a great view.
“You can’t say something like that and not mean it,” Chanyeol says, his voice several octaves lower than usual. It sends a shiver down Jongdae’s spine.
Jongdae leans up on an elbow, his face close enough to Chanyeol’s to feel his breath, see the way his pupils have expanded. “I never joke about great sex.”
Now that there’s no liquid courage running through his veins, Jongdae is a little more hesitant when it comes to touching, but Chanyeol definitely is not. He keeps stealing Jongdae’s breath, touching him with steady hands that burn hot on bare skin and put Jongdae right where he wants him.
All self consciousness has dissipated by the time they’re naked, Jongdae muttering a premature apology into the arm of the couch for intentions of messing up the upholstery as Chanyeol presses inside him from behind. Chanyeol laughs, his chest vibrating and Jongdae can feel it on his back when Chanyeol drapes over him, holding Jongdae’s hands still with his own. It feels amazing, Jongdae’s arms going lax, his ass pushing higher into the air when Chanyeol fucks into him hot and hard. The couch isn’t really wide enough for them both and Chanyeol has to brace a leg on the floor, but it changes the angle and Jongdae moans loud.
It’s better than Jongdae remembers; Chanyeol gives no recourse even as Jongdae cries out, nails digging into the couch as he clenches around Chanyeol’s cock. The constant slide in and out is slick and unyielding, fucking Jongdae open deeper and deeper. His spine bends downward, his eyes rolling back in his head and Jongdae comes untouched on Chanyeol’s soft, pretty couch.
Chanyeol grunts as Jongdae’s muscles flutter around him, snapping his hips hard enough to leave Jongdae’s thighs stinging before he comes. Jongdae nearly collapses if not for Chanyeol’s arm around his middle catching him. It sends a pang of longing through Jongdae’s chest which is odd considering Chanyeol is physically still inside him and there’s nothing to long for.
“Can you stay for dinner?” Chanyeol asks.
Jongdae laughs with his entire body. He laughs harder when Chanyeol hisses because he’s squeezing his dick. “Yeah,” Jongdae manages to get out. “Dinner would be great.”
It’s a rare thing for Jongdae to wander into the living room where his parents are talking without intending to walk out the front door. They look over at him curiously as Jongdae sits on the opposite couch.
“This . . . engagement with Lu Han,” he begins, his stomach rebelling with a traitorous flip, “is it final? I know you want me to marry and I understand where you’re coming from, but does it have to be him?”
Jongdae’s father narrows his eyes while his dad looks him over thoughtfully.
“It’s already been set in motion. We can’t back out now,” his father says, not even bothering to take the edge off his words.
“But what if I found someone else? Wouldn’t that be good enough?”
“The Lus are a respectable family,” his dad answers. “Their genetic line is predisposed to birth fertile female children. Joining our families is mutually beneficial.”
“Not for me,” Jongdae insists, trying to keep himself calm. He doesn’t want another strike across the cheek.
“We gave you ample opportunities -
“With suitors you picked out. That’s not ample, that is stacking the odds in your favor. I’m telling you I’ve found someone on my own that I want to marry.”
“No.”
Jongdae stands, fists balled at his sides. “You never intended for me to choose anyway. You always said I could pick, but my only options available were people you’d already screened and approved.” His father’s face is stern, unyielding, but his dad looks guilty, refusing to meet Jongdae’s eyes. He laughs, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have expected you to really be on my side. After all, it’s only ever about your name.”
“Jongdae!” his father yells. “That is enough. You’ve had your fun and it’s time for you to settle down. Don’t blame us for your failings.”
“The only one I see here who failed is you,” he spits and then Jongdae is gone, out the door with so much rage knotted in his stomach that he cries, wiping furiously at his eyes. He feels betrayed, used, like his very existence was only to raise the family name.
He races to Kyungsoo’s house, letting his friend usher him inside despite the unannounced arrival. Kyungsoo knows Jongdae is supposed to be at the Lus later and doesn’t ask questions as Jongdae clings to him silently, shoulders shaking.
Jongdae is on dangerous ground. He’s standing in the Lu’s massive garden, not really taking in the scenery because his mind is elsewhere. Inside, there are two sets of parents happily discussing arrangements for the upcoming nuptials. Reality is settling in the foundations of his fantasies now, uprooting all of Jongdae’s would-bes and replacing them with inevitables. Jongdae can only hope he gets off easy with a small, short ceremony and nothing too gaudy. It’s guaranteed some of his father’s political allies will be in attendance, but he doesn’t particularly want the entire council staring at him from behind like they did at Joonmyun’s wedding. (Of course, Joonmyun was too enraptured with Yifan to notice, but Jongdae did.)
Han is flittering about somewhere, steadfastly avoiding Jongdae now that there’s no one around to force them to stay together. Jongdae had, at least, given him a half-hearted attempt at an apology for the last time and Han had muttered out one that sounded just as genuine before they went separate ways. This isn’t the relationship Jongdae wants.
He finds himself thinking about Chanyeol despite himself. Their dinner had been comfortable, happy even and Jongdae misses that. He misses how he feels when he’s with someone who cares about him and he doesn’t know if it’s specifically Chanyeol he wants or that type of open, consensual relationship. He knows he was grasping at strings even thinking about marrying Chanyeol, but Jongdae knows he could live with Chanyeol and be happy. Now even that chance has been dashed, but he can’t help himself. He knows what he’s doing with Chanyeol is wrong and it’s going to hurt them both in the end and yet he’s too selfish to give it up.
Jongdae makes it through the afternoon relatively unscathed, his ego nursing a few bruises after Han snubbed him with a scrunched nose that made him look almost exactly like his mother when she’d inspected a few color swatches for the tablecloths. Jongdae doesn’t even know why they need tablecloths. If he had his way, they’d just thumbprint the damn document and get it over with.
It’s after dark when they arrive home and Jongdae is emotionally exhausted. His parents don’t seem to notice his mood or the fact that he leaves, headed to the one place he’s been thinking about all day.
Chanyeol doesn’t seem quite as surprised to see him this time, drawing Jongdae in with a hug. “One more time,” he begs, clinging to Chanyeol. “Please, just one more time, Chanyeol.”
It becomes a habit, an addiction. Every night he finds himself standing in Chanyeol’s apartment, struggling with himself as he asks Chanyeol to make him forget about everything. And Chanyeol does. Chanyeol cherishes Jongdae with his hands, worships him with his tongue, fucks him open nearly everywhere in his apartment. Jongdae finds himself bent over the small dining table, sat on top of the kitchen counter with his legs around Chanyeol’s waist, hefted against several walls, and pressed deep into a soft mattress as Chanyeol takes him however Jongdae asks him to. Sometimes he wants it hard; most of the time he wants it hard. Jongdae wants his teeth to clack and his bones to rattle with the force of Chanyeol driving his cock into him.
But not tonight.
Tonight, Jongdae wants it slow, sweet. His face is pressed to Chanyeol’s neck, arms looped around Chanyeol’s shoulders to hold on as he lifts and drops on Chanyeol’s cock. There are tears stinging in his eyes, his mouth thick with everything he’s left unsaid and is afraid to speak. Chanyeol holds him reverently, knowing this is the last time.
Jongdae is getting married tomorrow.
Kyungsoo had taken Jongdae out earlier for drinks to calm his nerves, but Jongdae barely drank anything while Kyungsoo drank enough for the both of them. He’d left Kyungsoo nearly passed out on his bed before slipping away to see Chanyeol.
Chanyeol takes Jongdae’s hand, squeezes their linked fingers and Jongdae feels the first tear slide hot down his face. He sniffles, trying to be discreet and Chanyeol notices despite his efforts. When Chanyeol tries to pull him away to look at him, Jongdae shakes his head and clings tighter, sitting on Chanyeol’s cock and rotating his hips in circles until Chanyeol is grabbing his hips, coaxing him to move up and down again.
It’s the oddest feeling, this heartbreaking sensation that claws at him even as he shudders in pleasure when Chanyeol thrusts into him harder, deeper. It’s so good, so so good and Jongdae’s toes curl, his thighs tensing as he goes a little faster, panting a little harder as Chanyeol gradually picks up speed. Chanyeol kisses across Jongdae’s shoulder and up his neck, careful not to leave any lingering marks. In turn, Jongdae leaves four red scratches from one shoulder blade to the other on Chanyeol’s back when he comes, moaning Chanyeol’s name against his neck.
Chanyeol holds him carefully, gently as Jongdae slumps after, his body pulsing and thoughts chaotic. And Jongdae hates himself.
He leaves after Chanyeol falls asleep, dropping a kiss on the corner of his mouth with a whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Jongdae won’t be back.