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Where to even begin with all of this?
Dohoon's friends can’t even begin to parse out his relationship with Shinyu. Half the time, people are convinced that they are secretly dating. The others were asking Dohoon for Shinyu's number (“It’s not a big deal, right? If he’s single”), which Dohoon hands out with some degree of reluctance or makes excuses about, telling them not to put him in the middle, that they’re grown women and can ask a man out on their own.
So what does it mean that he hopes they won’t?
Dohoon is now 28, and Shinyu is even older, a bit. He is already deep into the second decade of having Shinyu as his brother after his father married Shinyu's mother. Related not by blood, but by something just as strong. These days, he thinks he knows everything there is to know about the man. He knows the way Shinyu likes his eggs, at what point the pinched expression on his face goes from mildly pissed to possibly violent when he’s arguing with another guy, his preference for coffee over tea, the particular way he sighs when he’s tired to the bone, the distinct feel of his fingertips, the texture of his hair, the way he’ll clear his throat after a drink of water—
The point being, Dohoon knows this man inside out.
Their bond has always been a bit closer than most sibling relationships. That is why he’s different with him than other people he considers family, why he’s extra touchy-feely with him, even though Shinyu’s always been a tactile person. It’s just little things, like massaging Dohoon’s shoulders when he’s just standing around or throwing an arm over his shoulders when he’s with other friends.
Sometimes the two of them tiptoe over the line, but Shinyu is always careful to pull back before things get messy. There are moments, though. Play wrestling that gets out of hand and ends with Dohoon pushing on his shoulders and whining, “Get off, Dohoon!” while he growls into his neck, fitting his teeth loosely there. Just playing. Drunk cheek kisses after walking back home, leaning over Dohoon outside their house with a hand on the wall while he talks a bit too close for comfort. Sometimes Dohoon has to keep him from following him in.
Dohoon himself was not sure when the line got crossed. It feels abrupt and somehow, entirely natural. Like he should’ve seen it coming, should’ve heard it on the telly or sirens blaring through town, but instead, he sat inside with his ears plugged up.
It comes out when the two of them drink a bit too much on a night out, huddled at a table at the back of the bar with Shinyu’s arm stretched behind Dohoon like usual. Dohoon blurts it out in between two other thoughts, when his eyes are drawn to another couple sitting towards the back of the bar, pressed so closely together that their noses almost touch.
“God, I need that,” Dohoon sighs, the words coming out unbidden.
The noise in the bar is just loud enough that Shinyu asks Dohoon to repeat himself and he does, a decibel louder, nose wrinkling when he does. Just tipsy enough to lose most of his shame. He arches a brow, taking another sip of his beer.
“Need what?” Shinyu asks, leaning in closer to Dohoon, probably to make sure that he can hear him better this time.
“To get laid.” It falls out of Dohoon like an aside, but that’s because he hardly hears himself saying it. His eyes are still locked on the couple across the room, envy making his stomach clench. Feeling it in his guts.
Dohoon only frowns when he realises he hasn't heard Shinyu say anything in a while. When Dohoon turns back, he finds him staring down at him with a peculiar intensity. Eyes darker than Dohoon has ever seen before, more alert.
“Why?” His tone is hard, insistent. “Are you looking around or something?”
It catches Dohoon off guard; the sudden interrogation is scaring him. The tension rolled off him.
“No— I—” His mouth opens and closes, words only holding their form for a handful of seconds. Shinyu’s stare makes Dohoon reconsider his words. “I, just…”
He must finally notice where Dohoon's eyes keep being drawn to because he looks over. His shoulders relax when he spots the couple, the two seated at the back of the bar still tangled up in each other. He hums as he gets it.
Dohoon can feel the heat burning under his cheeks. “Just forget I said anything. It’s really nothing. I know this is so weird, I’m sorry.” Dohoon buried his words behind another long pull from the bottle, deliberately avoiding the taunt written all over the older man’s face.
When Dohoon happens to glance up, he finds Shinyu’s pupils dilated. “You know, I could help you with that.”
The offer makes him pause, the rim of his glass pressed to his lip where he was just about to sip.
“Help me with what?”
“You feel hot and bothered? I’d be happy to lend my services.”
Dohoon frowns. “Oh shoot? Please don’t say it like that.”
“You can call it whatever you want. Just know I wouldn’t pass up the chance to get you naked. Can’t say I haven’t thought about it.”
The glass shakes faintly in his hand, and he decides to put it down before it becomes noticeable. “You have?”
Dohoon won't normally keep the conversation going, but he has way too many gin and tonics tonight. There’s just enough liquid courage in him to delicately lay the question there like a snare looking for a compliment. He tells himself it’s nothing more than that. Shinyu’s his oldest friend, sure, but he’s also a red-blooded man with a lean body, broad shoulders, and a pair of beautiful eyes. Dohoon’s blood practically sings when his eyes travel over him, as he can see underneath his clothes.
“Yeah,” Shinyu breathes, scooching a bit closer to Dohoon. “Think about it all the fucking time. Can’t remember the last time it wasn’t top of my mind.”
It’s incredible that the world still seems right-side up. Everything might as well be upside down for Dohoon now. “That’s— are you serious, Hyung?”
“Deadly. You need proof?” The proof feels self-evident. It’s his tight, bunched-up muscles and the eager look in his eyes, the hint of teeth when he speaks. Dohoon does not, under any circumstances, look down at his lap.
“No, I don’t need proof. Oh wait—.” Dohoon glances around in case anyone nearby overhears, but no one pays a lick of attention to the two of them. From an outsider’s perspective, they probably look just like the other couple, Shinyu’s fingers twirling around the ends of his hair, his head angled towards Dohoon intimately.
A smile blooms across his face, bright enough to blind. Like looking directly at the sun and forgetting to look away.
“We don’t have to figure anything out tonight. Just think about it, okay?”
His free hand pushes his glass nearer, clean nails catching briefly in the dim light before his knuckles graze Dohoon’s hand that was wrapped tightly around the drink.
“Come on. Drink up. I’ll walk you back home after this one.”
He’s like a dog with a bone in the days after, eyes following Dohoon with an intensity that Dohoon knows for a fact he reserves for the battlefield of his own. Shinyu’s never looked at him this way, never hovered around him with the same energy radiating off him in palpable waves, but it seems ever-present now.
He brings the question up whenever he has a chance. Dohoon just hasn't taken him up on his offer yet. Maybe he hasn't fully reconciled it yet, this new revelation. Dohoon has long seen Shinyu as an attractive one, but it’s always been a passing observation, something too distant for him to actually touch. It’s always too dangerous of a thought; the possibility of reciprocation never even occurred to him, never let him take that candle and let it become a blaze.
Dohoon calls Shinyu because he has some important questions to ask about the water heater on his lunch break at work. He couldn't figure it out earlier. His answers are sort of stilted, sort of like he's really having to think about the answers. It takes Dohoon a minute to realise that he can hear the strangest wet, sloshing sounds on his end.
“Hyung?” He asked hesitantly. “Are you good? Is everything alright?”
The sound again, but this time accompanied by a muffled groan, like he's biting his lip to hold in it. “Yeah. Never better.”
It slowly starts to dawn on Dohoon about what he's doing on the other end of the line and his face goes so hot that he can feel the heat radiating off his cheeks.
“Hyung,” Dohoon hissed, covering his mouth and the phone with his other hand, peering around as someone at work might overhear. “Are you— are you jerking off right now?”
“Aw, c'mon,” Shinyu complains, no longer making an effort to be quiet. Just panting into the phone like he has it pressed between his ear and shoulder while he works himself with his hands. “You called me right in the middle of something. Gimme a break, yeah?”
“Oh my god, Hyung! I'm at work.”
“Urgh… Can… Can you just… let out a little moan or something? Fuck, I'll be finished in ten seconds flat if you say you were missing me.”
Dohoon suddenly feels hot like there’s a star in his belly. No one knows if he whispers those words back into his phone. No one knows if Shinyu groans on the other end of the line, and Dohoon’s whole body goes tight and hot, quivering a little where he rocks on his toes. No one knows. Except Shinyu knows.
It doesn’t take long for Dohoon to give in after that. Between work in his florist studio and his mother’s insistent nagging about finding a girlfriend and his auto-insurance that just went up again for the third year in a row, the stress eats away at him. He needs a reprieve, a way to burn off the tension, and Shinyu's offer suddenly seems like the most straightforward solution.
On the short drive home from work, contemplating again just selling his car and just getting a bike, even though he does use it for camping and the annual drive into Busan with his friends, he consoles himself with thoughts of running a bath, pouring himself a glass of wine, and putting his vibe to good use.
Dohoon nearly shrieks in his room when he finds his sex toy is out of batteries. Predictable. It’s been months of use.
It feels inevitable, the only possible conclusion, the one that’s been staring him in the face for years. And for what? For him to turn his nose up at his brother’s offer of casual sex? A way to burn off stress? It feels selfish if anything matters.
Dohoon posed the question coyly during a short phone call. Shinyu’s not due home for another month or two for business out of the city, so he has time; it gives Dohoon a momentary feeling of freedom, yet longing. It’s been years without Shinyu around.
His breathing goes ragged. “Are you sure, Dohoon? Had enough time to think about it?”
“Y-yeah. It’s been, uh… It’s been a rough week.”
“Yeah?” Shinyu curses under his breath on the other end, so low that Dohoon almost doesn't hear it. “Need me to make it feel better?”
“Hey, Hyung, we’re not doing this now.”
“What? So you wanna do it later at home?”
“Well, just… not over the phone—”
“Fuck, all right,” he breathes. “Won’t ask you if you’ve been a needy little thing over the phone. I’ll find out for myself when I’m back.”
“Hyung, I swear to god—” He cuts Dohoon off with a laugh, a delightful curl of his voice that sends a shiver down Dohoon’s spine. Damn. How does it even happen?
The intervening weeks feel eternal, but they slip by like river water down a stream soon after.
In Dohoon’s apartment, he says all the right words when he walks Shinyu inside. Trying to calm himself down when all his actions speak otherwise. Meanwhile, Shinyu says things like, “We’ve known each other for years, Dohoon. This won’t change anything,” and “You know I could make it so good for you. We’ll keep it good and casual, alright? Make you come a couple of times and teach you a few things.”
“Like you’ve learned so much,” Dohoon sniped, agitated. Not acknowledging the red-hot feeling that bubbles up in his stomach.
Shinyu grins down at him, leaning Dohoon’s back against the door and tipping his chin up. “C’mon, Dohoon,” he croons, kissing everywhere but his lips, “I’ll do all the work. I promise.”
Promises, promises, white lies, Dohoon thinks. Shinyu gives him a look like he can see the thought-form in his head and then leads him to the bedroom.
In Dohoon’s room, Shinyu turns into someone he’s never met before. Not cruel, not even unkind—just frighteningly certain. The air around him changes the moment the door clicks shut behind them. He still carries himself with that same easy arrogance, shoulders broad, chin tilted like he owns every room he steps into, but now there’s something darker threaded beneath it. Purposeful. Predatory in a way that makes Dohoon’s pulse stumble.
Shinyu grabs the hem of his shirt and drags it over his head in one rough motion, and Dohoon’s breath catches before he can stop it. Not because he hasn’t seen skin before, but because it hits him all at once that Shinyu is no longer the boy he used to brawl with in hallways and laugh beside under neon lights whenever things went rough. Somewhere along the way, he becomes devastatingly, unmistakably grown.
The low light from the bedside lamp cuts across the hard lines of his body, gold against muscle and shadow. Then he crawls onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight. Dohoon instinctively leans back, palms pressing into the sheets, and Shinyu follows immediately, one hand braced beside Dohoon’s head while the other hooks beneath his shirt and shoves it upward with impatient force. The fabric catches around Dohoon’s ribs before finally peeling away, leaving him flushed and breathless beneath that burning stare.
“Look at you,” Shinyu mutters, voice roughened into something almost unrecognisable.
The words alone make the heat coil low in Dohoon’s stomach.
Dohoon’s breath catches when Shinyu’s hand slides higher along his waist, slow enough to feel as time has stopped ticking. Worse still is the way Shinyu keeps looking at him—steady, deeply, like he’s studying every reaction Dohoon tries and fails to swallow down.
And humiliatingly, some part of Dohoon wants to be looked at like that forever.
His grip tightens helplessly in the sheets as Shinyu leans in, near enough that his breath brushes softly against Dohoon’s lips. For a moment, it feels like he might tease him again, say something smug enough to make Dohoon flush and shove weakly at his chest.
But Shinyu only goes quiet.
Something sharper settles into his expression.
And then he kisses him.
Shinyu crashes his mouth against Dohoon’s, hands immediately cupping his jaw as if he needs to feel him there. His thumb presses against the frantic pulse fluttering beneath Dohoon’s skin, and Shinyu realises instantly—there isn’t a single lie hiding in it. He’s nervous to death, so overwhelmed he can’t even manage to kiss back properly.
So Shinyu takes over.
He hums softly against Dohoon’s mouth before dragging his tongue across his lips, slow and shameless, like something starved, finally getting a taste of what it wants.
Everything after that blurs into sensation—the room grows warmer and warmer, the sheets twisted beneath restless limbs, Shinyu’s hands everywhere at once. He kisses like he’s starving, all intensity and teeth and breath stolen between gasps. Every touch feels slow and reaches deeper beneath his skin, calculated to pull another helpless sound out of Dohoon’s throat.
Time loses shape from now on.
By the end of it, Dohoon is trembling bonelessly against the mattress, exhausted from being wanted so thoroughly. His face burns with overstimulation, eyes glassy, chest heaving every time Shinyu presses another kiss somewhere soft and sensitive. And Shinyu—the relentless, focused Shinyu—only looks more ruined by it the longer he stares at him.
When Shinyu finally pulls him close, folding him against his chest with possessive care, Dohoon finally realises that the tears slipping down his face aren’t even from pain or tenderness.
It was simply too much. Everything was too much.
Too much heat.
Too much wanting.
Too much Shinyu.
Shinyu stays above him for a long moment afterwards, breathing hard against the inside of Dohoon’s thigh like he’s trying to collect himself. His hands slide up slowly, thumbs pressing into the soft skin of Dohoon’s waist while he watches every little reaction flicker across his face so honestly.
Dohoon can barely think anymore. His brain melts into the sensation.
He’s warm all over his body from head to toe, oversensitive to the point that even the brush of fingertips makes his stomach tighten. His legs tremble weakly where they’re spread open beneath Shinyu, and when he tries to close them out of sheer embarrassment, Shinyu catches one behind the knee and pushes it back gently but firmly.
“What’s the point of hiding now?” he murmurs.
The tone alone sends another helpless shiver through him.
Shinyu leans down to kiss him again, slower this time. Not frantic anymore, but he feels heavy and needy instead. Dohoon tastes himself in Shinyu's mouth, and the realisation makes his face burn hotter. He turns away instinctively, but Shinyu only follows, kissing the corner of his jaw, the pulse fluttering wildly beneath his skin.
“You’re shaking,” Shinyu says softly, almost sounding amused by it.
Dohoon hates how breathless his voice comes out. “Whose fault is that?”
That earns him a low, pleased laugh.
Then Shinyu shifts between his thighs fully, and the mood changes again.
The teasing disappears from his expression, replaced by a concentration sharp enough to make Dohoon’s chest tighten. One of Shinyu’s hands slides down, fingers brushing carefully along Dohoon’s thigh before settling at his hip.
“Look at me,” he says.
Dohoon does. He surely is a submissive one.
And suddenly it feels unbearably intimate, holding eye contact while Shinyu presses closer, forehead nearly touching his. The warmth of him surrounds Dohoon completely now, solid and inescapable, until even breathing feels shared between them.
Shinyu moves slowly like he’s restraining himself with a lot of gentleness. Every inch closer pulls another shaky breath from Dohoon, tension knotting tighter and tighter inside him until he doesn’t know whether he wants to pull away or drag Shinyu closer.
“Relax,” Shinyu whispers. “I’ve got you.”
The words settle somewhere dangerously deep inside Dohoon. When Shinyu finally pushes into him, very carefully despite the hunger written all over his face, Dohoon’s fingers clutch helplessly at the sheets beneath him. The sensation steals the air straight from his lungs—overwhelming after everything Shinyu already dragged him through tonight. He squeezes his eyes shut immediately, overwhelmed by the stretch, by the closeness, by Shinyu’s hand instantly tightening around his waist to steady him.
“There you go,” Shinyu gasped. “Fuck… there you are.”
Dohoon makes a broken sound somewhere between a gasp and a whine, and Shinyu stills at once, pressing his forehead against Dohoon’s shoulder while both of them try to breathe through the intimacy.
Now the room feels unbearably small. There’s just heat, tangled sheets, uneven breathing and sweet small voices they never made before. There’s just Shinyu holding Dohoon together while he slowly falls apart.
Dohoon comes back to reality tumbling over onto his stomach with his hips hiked high up in the air. Despite how many times he had taken it, Shinyu’s cock still stretches him nicely; Dohoon is still so wet that he can hear the soft sound every time he pulls out. When Shinyu’s thumbs touch the small of Dohoon’s back, it drives him a bit wild and makes him really put his back into it.
There’s a possibility Dohoon might genuinely go insane.
The sheets are twisted beneath his body, warm from hours of tangled limbs and ruined breathing. There’s a damp spot near his mouth where his cheek rests against the mattress, and he’s vaguely aware of how pathetic he must look right now.
But more than that, Shinyu seems to like it.
A finger slips into his mouth again, tapping lazily against his tongue, and Dohoon immediately melts around it without thinking. Too exhausted to pretend dignity. Too gone to even feel embarrassed anymore.
“Pretty thing,” Shinyu murmurs above him, voice low enough to vibrate straight through Dohoon’s spine. “Look at how obedient you get.”
Dohoon’s skin immediately burns at the praise.
He can hear the smile in Shinyu’s voice even without looking at him. Feel it in the slow drag of fingers along his jaw, the possessive weight of a hand settling at the back of his neck.
Every word out of Shinyu’s mouth makes things worse. Because of how he says it like he’s fascinated. Like he could spend all night taking Dohoon apart piece by piece just to see what sound comes out of him next.
Dohoon’s head feels heavy, and his mind grows distant, thoughts slipping away every time Shinyu touches him. He drifts somewhere soft and blurry, somewhere made entirely of heat and the smell of skin and the rough sound of Shinyu breathing above him.
Then Shinyu laughs quietly.
“Two isn’t enough,” he says, almost to himself.
Before Dohoon can even process the words, Shinyu’s hands are already on him again.
The world tilts suddenly as he’s turned onto his back, the mattress dipping beneath both their weight. Dohoon lets out a startled sound, and Shinyu immediately crowds over him, caging him in completely.
Shinyu looks ruined now—hair falling into his eyes, lips reddened, chest flushed from exertion. Still devastating. He braces himself over Dohoon with one arm, the other hand sliding slowly up Dohoon’s thigh like he has all the time in the world.
“Look at me,” he says again.
Dohoon tries.
Really tries.
But the moment their eyes meet, something in Shinyu’s expression turns dark with lust, and Dohoon feels his stomach flip helplessly.
“Yeah,” Shinyu breathes, staring down at him like he’s found exactly what he wanted. “There he is.”
Dohoon turns his face away, overwhelmed, only for Shinyu to catch his chin and guide him back with surprising gentleness.
“You keep looking at me like that,” Shinyu murmurs, thumb brushing slowly across Dohoon’s lower lip, “and I’m never letting you go.”
In retrospect, it starts to piece together. Dohoon really should’ve seen it coming. Well, before drunkenly admitting to being lonely and horny, Shinyu’s always been clingy, always been touchy-feeling, but in recent years, it’s morphed into something that Dohoon has been able to just accept as normal, like a frog in boiling water. He didn’t see it until it was pointed out to him right away.
Shinyu has always been one to drape himself over Dohoon during his weekly movie nights, head either in Dohoon’s lap or his whole body pressed tight by his side. Dohoon finally understands why guys have always been reticent to ask him out, especially when Shinyu still lived in town.
Before bed, he would always complain that the couch was too small, not springy enough for his back. So Dohoon would make him a spot next to him in his bed, waking up with Shinyu plastered around him, his morning wood pressed against Dohoon’s back.
“Ignore it, baby, it’s just usual, no?” he’d mumble into Dohoon’s neck, pressing his hips closer to him, arms pulling Dohoon into him. Neither of them acknowledged his hips occasionally grinding into the smaller guy.
Some days, he would stay nearly the whole day, roaming around Dohoon’s apartment half-naked after taking a shower because “the hot water in his apartment was off” and he “didn’t have a spare change of clothes in Dohoon’s apartment.”
Sleeping together doesn’t alter that behaviour, but it does suddenly make Dohoon see it for what it was.
He didn’t realise how the added degree of intimacy could change his perception of Shinyu. He thought it might be a bonus, like… Perhaps an add-on. Something to look forward to during his visits, like an extra scoop of ice cream before bed.
The image Dohoon has of his brother is opposed to the reality of the man who occupies his bed every couple of months. He’s not the funny, unserious, Shinyu who gives him raspberries on his tummy and ruffles his hair. Not silly, goofy Shinyu that sends him texts like [You so smart, Dohoon, when r u done work 2day] (never one to know the right version of ‘your’). Not playful, smiley Shinyu, who's been his sibling for 15+ years, with the fluffiest hair and puppy dog eyes.
It’s a completely different person that Dohoon see when he glances over his shoulder when he's fucking him in his bed. Brows furrowed and mouth a tight snarl, his laughter too rough or too high-pitched sometimes. His hands clench a bit too tightly around his hips, a hidden strength Dohoon has barely ever encountered in his daily life with him.
He clamps a hand down on Dohoon’s shoulder when he unconsciously tries to crawl up the bed and away from him, growling, “No, no, no, you get fucking back here,” wrenching Dohoon back onto his cock.
The imprints of Shinyu’s teeth in his ass only fade after a day or two.
It’s an uneasy arrangement. Some days, Dohoon regrets it, even though the trade-off has been nothing less than spectacular for him. On bad days, when he can’t so much as look Shinyu in the eye because he keep thinking about the fact that two days ago, Shinyu had his knees pressed up to his ears while staring down at him with those piercing brown eyes, Dohoon remind himself that he could’ve hooked up with some loser who wouldn’t even deign to eat him out. Thankfully, that’s not Shinyu.
The week after he visits, Dohoon’s thighs are always chafed for a few days, scraped raw from the bristles on his cheeks and chin. Tender and achy; he winces if his bare thighs rub together.
Still though, it has its complications. Shinyu doesn’t usually take his leave all in one go, so Dohoon is used to him popping by every couple of weeks. It keeps Dohoon on edge, waiting for him when he knows he’s not due back in town for another few weeks. He gives up his lease and moves most of his stuff into Dohoon’s apartment the next time he’s in town, cooing his apologies into his mouth when he fingers him on the couch.
It gets weird with friends. No one’s supposed to know—it’s supposed to be just a casual arrangement between the two of them—but how could anyone miss the obvious? Shinyu pulls Dohoon into his lap when he goes out with friends, laying drunken kisses on his cheek and resting his chin on his shoulder.
Even without friends, Dohoon’s boundaries evaporate within weeks, within days even. Even when he’s away, Shinyu blows up Dohoon’s phone at all hours of the day, whenever he’s got a spare minute. Not just his usual texts, but raunchier messages that have Dohoon angling the phone away from whoever he’s currently with, going hot at his collar. Dohoon has a whole folder on his phone for Shinyu’s nudes, carefully hidden amongst his other folders.
That’s another recent development that sometimes leaves Dohoon in shambles when he sends him shirtless photos and dark videos where Dohoon just hears him grunting in the background, the sound of his lubed-up hand stroking his cock.
Worse are the videos he sends Dohoon of him using the Fleshlight that he didn’t even know he had. The videos are always filmed from a wide angle, like Shinyu propped the phone up on his bedside table against the lamp to get the full length of his body. It’s obviously meant for Dohoon’s benefit; he can’t stop looking over at the camera and smirking, flexing a bit. Clearly showing off.
He spends an inordinate amount of time slicking the Fleshlight up. He stares directly at the camera from the corner of his eyes when he drizzles lube over the Fleshlight and then pushes two thick fingers in. Groaning and biting his lip.
His mouth hangs open on a half-sigh, pupils dilating when he wonders out loud, “Fuck, you wouldn’t believe how tight it is. Cute little replacement pussy.” His head turns back towards the camera, giving a little breathless laugh when it squelches around his fingers.
He gasps when he finally sinks it down over his cock, lube spilling down his shaft. “Damn, Baby. Fuck. Miss yours though, baby. Miss him so fucking much.”
Dohoon watches from under the blankets in his bed, face horribly flushed and blood pounding in his ears, hardly able to believe that he sent him that.
Dohoon made him promise the first time he hooked up that it would stay just that. A hook-up. No feelings involved, no intimacy. He’d almost folded under his puppy dog look, but somehow found it in Dohoon to hold firm.
That collapses too, the second time they sleep together and Dohoon’s teeth clack against each other with how rough he kisses him. It’s wet and a bit savage, like he’s been craving it for too long to be sweet about it.
The sex is a degree of unhinged that Dohoon didn’t think would be possible. Not with him. If he had thought about sex with Shinyu—the few times he might have entertained the thought throughout the years because Dohoon is only human and he’s a level of attractiveness that he really only sees a couple of times in his life—Dohoon might’ve assumed it’d be with the backdrop of slow jazz, something romantic and sensual, staring into each other’s eyes and slow thrusting.
Instead, he spits in his mouth and on his asshole to slick him up. His chin is always glistening with Dohoon’s juice, smiling big and unabashedly when he looks up from in between his legs. He makes Dohoon lie back in bed and licks whipped cream off his nipples when he’s feeling particularly debaucherous, running his tongue over a swollen bottom lip and winking up at him when he catches Dohoon staring. Dohoon never finds the right words to say.
Dohoon digs his teeth into slabs of honeycomb or lemon wedges, whichever is most convenient; at the heart of his being, he knows that incoherence is indicative of a larger pattern at play.
Still there’s—Dohoon thinks this with no small amount of guilt, chewing his lip when he mulls it over at the coffee shop the day before Shinyu’s due back in town—something that feels wrong about the casualness of his relationship. Like things that shouldn’t be there are blending together, affection where there should be distance; gestures that would’ve felt friendly at one point, now half-clouded under the possibility of affection.
That voice gets louder and louder until it’s a roar in his ears; it says that he wants too much, that he’s getting this all mixed up. This situation with Shinyu is not only deluding Dohoon, but keeping him from real partnerships, partnerships with men who might want Dohoon for the long run.
What Dohoon feels like doing is running away.
Overhead, the sky crystallises in dark blue.
Shinyu is lounging around Dohoon’s apartment (because he never leaves these days) when Dohoon mentions that a guy at work named Hanzhen might be interested in him and he’s thinking of asking him out on a date. The words come out uneasy. Dohoon means them, but he doesn't mean them at the same time. The date is incidental. The guy is incidental. The only thing that matters is getting the point across that this isn’t exclusive or permanent; it’s about cementing that understanding between them.
Shinyu looks up at Dohoon’s words, stone-faced. There’s a look in his eye that feels out of place, atypical for someone as easygoing as he usually is.
“Don’t you think you were looking for a boyfriend?” he says lightly.
Dohoon is still putting in his earrings when he’s pulled down onto the couch by a big hand. It catches him off guard, makes him yelp until he’s pulled up against Shinyu’s side.
Dohoon likely should’ve anticipated it, but his demeanour comes like a whiplash.
He smooths a hand up his inner thigh and murmurs hotly in his ear, “Don’t you remember? We have plans with our parents this weekend. Probably won’t have time for any boys or dates.”
That makes Dohoon try to shift away from him, but he drags him back like it’s nothing. “It doesn’t… I’ll go next week then. It doesn’t have to be this weeke—”
Shinyu cuts him off, squeezing his fingers around Dohoon’s thigh. “Anyway, Dohoon. Have I not been treating this ass just right? Wanna go lie down for a bit? If he’s needy, I can give him a little kiss, or a lot. I don’t mind.”
That’s how easy it is for him to whisk Dohoon back to the bedroom. Just a few words and he’s already dripping for him, following him on coltish legs. Dohoon knows he’s not usually like this. It’s him. It’s the way the man presses him back against the mattress with that look in his eyes—the sharp, dark one that always appears whenever Dohoon gets too restless, like Shinyu was born to drag him back into place.
He catches Dohoon by the back of the neck and reels him in for a kiss, tongue already licking at the seam of his lips. Dohoon goes a bit lightheaded when he moans into his mouth; his clothes aren’t even off and he already feels like he’s being taken apart.
He’s quick to remedy that, though, leaning back on his haunches and tearing Dohoon’s pants off as they’ve personally offended him. The roughness nearly undoes him; when he tosses Dohoon around and reminds him starkly how much bigger he is than him, the packed on muscle from years of hard work.
Dohoon can sense his urgency in how he steps off the bed for only a handful of seconds, only long enough to strip his clothes off before crawling back over him. Rougher this time, pausing to nip and bite at Dohoon’s nipples, covering them in livid red marks. His mouth is hot on every inch of him except his neck, like he needs to hear him beg for it and Dohoon did, easily. So easy for him.
“Yeah, that’s right, good boy,” Shinyu murmurs, the flat of his tongue laving over his nipple. “Just me, right, Dohoon? Gonna beg me like you're my good boy, huh?”
“Hyung, stop teasing!” Dohoon whines, yanking him up by the ears.
Shinyu only laughs. The sound rumbles low in his chest, wild with the sudden frenzy that overtakes him whenever he spreads Dohoon’s thighs wide enough to ache. There’s something near-manic in the glint of his eyes, something that burns straight through him. Shinyu touches him with the easy confidence of a man who already knows Dohoon is his; his large hand slides over his ass, feeling just how needy and sensitive he’s become, greedy for more of him. There’s no hesitation in the way he handles him, no room for doubt to creep in.
“When’d you get so fucking grabby?” Dohoon gripe, face flushed. He squeaks when Shinyu tweaks a nipple.
“When’d you get so fucking mouthy?” he snarks right back. In a different time, it might’ve made Dohoon laugh, but he chooses that moment to take his cock in hand and press it into his opening. One heaving thrust all the way in, gaze rapturous when he stares down at Dohoon.
It’s like his ass absolves him of blame when he gets inside. His earlier aggravation vanishes in a blink, eyes glazed over with lust instead. No prep makes Dohoon tight, wincing at the stretch even though he’d last had him between his legs only a day or so ago.
“No one’s ever gonna give it to you like this,” Shinyu growls, pounding him with an iron grip around his thighs. “Never gonna fuckin’ find someone else like me, Dohoon.”
He takes up so much space above Dohoon that he has nowhere else to look. It’s borderline addictive; how Dohoon ever thought he could go without this seems absurd.
“T-thought you said this was— ah, Hyung, AHH—!”
"What's that, baby?” he taunts, all casual like he isn’t railing him within an inch of his life.
“You said this was— fuck, fuck, I can’t—” Dohoon gasp out, thought bitten off because he leans down to bite and suck at his nipple, pressing his legs closer to the bed. Dohoon can’t even take in a full breath, never mind finishing a thought.
“Aw, c’mon, Dohoon, you gotta finish your sentence. Can you, ahh—how can I help you if I don’t know what you're asking?”
It’s futile to try. The room is hot with Dohoon’s inferno breath, sweltering. His skin feels close to blistering where his hands hold him tight, with no chance of escape. Every thrust of his hips makes Dohoon’s teeth clack together, sending him almost careening up the bed. Shinyu’s always been rough in bed, always a bit more than Dohoon can handle (he’d had to soak in the bath after his first time with him, a fact he delights in regaling), but this is something else entirely.
His hands lock around Dohoon’s shoulders, pinning him helplessly beneath him as the tension finally snaps. A low sound tears from Shinyu’s chest, the tightening of his jaw the only warning Dohoon gets before it hits him too. Dohoon writhes under his grip, restless and so desperate now, balanced right on the edge of unravelling, close enough to taste it in every ragged breath between them.
“I’ve got you,” Shinyu murmurs, pulling out of him and slinking down his body until his chest is on the bed between Dohoon’s legs. “Got a little shy because your feelings got all big, huh?”
Dohoon stares up sightlessly at the ceiling, body flush with heat. Maybe that is what happened. He just got shy.
Shinyu’s mouthing soft praise against Dohoon’s skin when a sudden thought hits him. His gaze stays fixed on the way Dohoon opens for him so easily, so helplessly, that Dohoon starts to wonder if Shinyu’s forgotten everything else entirely. He presses a lingering kiss there, almost tender, rough fingers spreading him open just to look again, eyes dark and half-lidded with fascination. Like he’s completely captivated. Like he can’t bear to look away for even a second.
“Gorgeous little lover of mine,” Shinyu breathes, pressing a sweet kiss to Dohoon’s ass, making him nearly jump halfway up the bed, but his hands tug him back to his face. “So, so pretty. As if I’d let anyone else have you, lovely.”
There’s no way Dohoon could do anything else but flush and keen.
When he answers the door to his studio the next morning in nothing but boxers, greeting their mom for Sunday brunch with sleep still clinging to his face, Dohoon finally starts piecing things together. Maybe he’s been working under the wrong assumptions this whole time.
Because Shinyu beams shamelessly when their mother starts cooing over her “two babies” finally getting together. He lets her fuss and ramble and look far too pleased with herself, all while acting like this is the most natural thing in the world.
And the worst part is—he knows exactly what he’s doing.
He knows Dohoon would die before correcting her. Knows he’d be too mortified to explain that they’re only casually sleeping together and that Shinyu’s staying over because his studio was in trouble. So instead, he just lets the misunderstanding grow roots.
Dohoon catches his eye from across the table, immediately narrowing his eyes when Shinyu winks at him over his coffee.
Then Shinyu has the audacity to look smug about it.
Dohoon scrunches his nose at him in silent offence, cheeks already warming, and Shinyu nearly smiles straight into his mug.