Chapter Text
"You"
The word landed like a hard decision, as if Haechan wasn't giving just a simple answer.
It was strange how the room felt like it didn't belong to Mark anymore. How one small syllable rearranged the hierarchy he'd been living with inside his mind. He didn't move, but his fingers still held the base of the dancer's chin with a slight pressure change.
This time it was more aware and Haechan didn't look away.
But that was the problem.
For Mark, he was used to people breaking first, but the other's eyes stayed steady with shimmering curiosity as if he was the one watching him instead. "Don't say things like that so lightly," he said at last.
Haechan's expression shifted slightly. "Why?"
Mark examined him, the "why" settling into brief silence until he finally released the male's chin. He didn't step back and his hand hovered for a second before dropping to his side completely.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he said. He was forcing his body to remember restraint and Haechan could see it.
"I think I do," the dancer replied. He wasn't trying to sound convincing, not in the slightest.
Mark's phone vibrated in his pocket, yet he didn't bother to check it. "Say that again, angel."
Haechan tilted his head. "Which part?"
"The part where you pretend not to be aware of what you're doing to me."
"Who said I was pretending?" He voiced softer this time. “I’m as intrigued with you as you are with me, sir.”
Mark’s eyes fixed onto the dancer as he studied him like a problem that refused to be resolved. He knew within himself that Haechan didn’t belong in his world—but—he couldn’t resist him.
His soft almond eyes that had a slight rounded lid line. His clean and smooth olive skin. His small, yet elegantly curved bo—
His phone vibrated again.
Haechan’s gaze landed on Mark’s pocket. Then slowly, he looked up again with a small smile around his eyes. “You gonna get that?”
Mark didn’t move right away. For a brief second, his attention stayed on Haechan instead of the device in his pocket—like ignoring it was easier than breaking eye contact. Then, slowly this time, he glanced at his phone with a quiet exhale through his nose.
It was a message from Renjun.
Jaemin is here with his guest.
Who won’t stop asking about the whereabouts of his brother.
Mark locked the screen again immediately. When he looked back up, Haechan was still watching him. His eyes told a thousand tales…one that trusted something would happen next.
“Your brother is here.”
Haechan blinked, but he didn’t move an inch. “With yours?”
Mark hummed softly in acknowledgment. “You’re not going downstairs,” he declared after a moment. It wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t phrased like a suggestion either.
Haechan’s brows lifted slightly. “Because of my brother?”
“Because of me.”
Mark stepped closer once more. It was slow enough that Haechan could’ve moved away if he wanted to, yet he didn’t. If anything, his breathing steadied. “I want you to rest.” He reached up again before he could stop himself, fingers brushing against the side of the dancer’s neck this time. “And don’t argue with me.” His thumb rested just below the other’s jaw while his gaze remained fixed on him.
Haechan swallowed beneath his touch. The intensity of it all filled the air around him, but his eyes never left Mark’s. “Okay.”
“Good girl.”
It was only two little words, yet it made something possessive twist low in the dancer’s stomach. Mark noticed the subtle shift in his breathing immediately. At the way Haechan’s fingers curled faintly against the sheets beneath him like he was resisting the urge to reach out again. His thumb dragged once beneath the younger’s jaw before he finally stepped back.
Haechan’s brows furrowed slightly at the movement. “You’re leaving?” To him, the lost of contact felt abrupt.
Mark stared at him for a long moment before answering. “Yes.”
That clearly wasn’t what Haechan expected. “You said you wanted me,” the dancer murmured.
Mark’s expression didn’t change, but something colder slipped beneath it. “I do.”
“Then why stop?”
The older dragged a hand slowly over his mouth before taking a step backward toward the door. He needed to create distance manually because his body clearly wasn’t going to do it on its own.
“You’re staying here tonight,” he said.
Haechan watched him carefully. “And you?”
There was a pause, then— “in my office.” His hand landed on the doorknob, ready to exit before he changed his mind and walked back to the pretty dancer occupying the edge of his bed.
“Mark.” The younger’s soft voice sent a shiver down his spine.
Mark stopped immediately. He wasn’t delayed in his actions, but even that said a lot more than it needed to. When he glanced back, Haechan was still sitting exactly where he’d left him. Calm and beautiful while watching him like he already knew he’d won something tonight.
“Will you come back in the morning?” he asked softly.
In that moment, Mark came to realize the inevitability of their relationship.
“Yes,” he answered before thinking better of it.
The morning after, Haechan woke up tangled in sheets that didn’t smell old or worn out. They were new and soft—paired with an expensive ceiling staring down at him.
For a few seconds, he forgot where he was entirely until the fragmented memories of the previous night came flooding back all at once. He could still feel the intoxicating presence of Mark hovering over him with his hand beneath his jaw.
With a slow exhale, the dancer rolled onto his back, pressing the heels of his palms briefly against his eyes. His body still felt strangely warm despite the cold temperature of the room.
Moments later, a soft knock sounded at the door. Haechan sat up immediately. “Come in?”
One of the house staff stepped inside carefully, carrying a tray with breakfast and a fresh set of folded clothes. “Mr. Lee had this prepared for you,” she said politely.
Of course he had. The dancer expected something of this sort to happen under the older’s care. His eyes drifted briefly toward the doorway behind her, half expecting Mark to appear.
But he didn’t.
“Thank you,” Haechan said softly. The woman bowed slightly before leaving again, shutting the door behind her with quiet efficiency.
Everything fell quiet again and the disappointment of not seeing the mysterious man had painfully settled in his mind in a way it shouldn’t have.
Haechan stared at the breakfast for a moment before finally reaching for his phone from the nightstand. He had multiple unread messages from the studio, two missed calls from an unknown number, and—
Jeno.
Three missed calls.
His stomach twisted immediately as he pressed call back. The line barely rang once.
“Finally,” Jeno answered instantly. “Do you know how close I was to searching that entire fucking mansion of a house down?”
The younger blinked, unable to stop the small smile that tugged at his mouth. “Good morning to you too.”
“I’m serious, hyuck.”
“I know,” he replied softer now. “I’m okay…I mean it.”
There was silence on the other end for a second until Jeno exhaled heavily through his nose. “Did he do anything to you?”
”No.”
“Are you sure?”
Haechan looked down at the sheets gathered around his waist, his mind tracing back to the way he had behave with the older man. If his brother was there, he’d be shocked to know that Mark was the one trying to maintain as little contact as possible.
“Haechan?” Jeno called from the other end.
“Yeah. I’m sure,” the younger admitted quietly. “Are you at the gym?”
“Where else would I be while that bastard Kim is around.”
“Is it alright if I come see you later then?”
The other sighed softly. “You know how weird it gets in here. I can’t trust these guys around you.”
Haechan leaned back against the headboard slowly. “I’ll bring someone with me.” There was silence again. He could tell that Jeno was contemplating longer this time.
“Okay,” he finally agreed. “That’s only if you’re with someone.”
The dancer smiled faintly. “See you then.”
After ending the call with his brother, Haechan finally forced himself out of bed. The clothes Mark left for him fit too well to be accidental. Soft black fabric hung from his frame comfortably, expensive enough that he almost felt guilty touching it.
When he stepped out into the hallway, the mansion was quieter than before. Sunlight spilled through massive windows and stretched across polished floors which still didn’t feel real to him. For a while, he wandered through the unfamiliar home that was less intimidating than the night before. The more he walked around, the more it seemed like he was seeing parts of Mark that existed when nobody else was watching.
After some time, voices eventually pulled him toward the kitchen.
Chenle, if he’d remembered correctly, was already there, leaning against the counter while scrolling through something on his phone. Across from him sat Jisung, who was quietly eating a small bowl of oats and yogurt.
Neither of them noticed Haechan immediately.
“I still think he’s insane,” Chenle muttered.
Jisung shrugged lazily. “He’s been insane.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“He brought someone home…for the first time.”
That made Jisung pause briefly. “True,” he admitted.
Haechan stepped further into the kitchen then, causing both of them to look up. “Good morning,” he greeted softly.
Jisung gave a small awkward nod almost immediately. “Morning.”
One the other hand, Chenle’s eyes narrowed slightly, lingering longer than necessary before he replied. “You’re awake early. I’m surprised.”
Haechan hummed lightly as he moved toward the fridge like he was already comfortable with navigating himself through Mark’s stuff despite arriving less than twenty hours ago.
Chenle scoffed. The annoyance of it all tumbling over because Haechan was nowhere near rude. In fact, he was polite—graceful—the intimidation most people ran from he was facing with gentle confidence.
Tha act alone felt invasive. Like Mark had brought home something beautiful and dangerous and everyone else was expected to simply adjust around it without asking any questions.
Meanwhile, Haechan pulled a bottle of water from the fridge before glancing toward Jisung. “Can you come somewhere with me?”
Chenle looked up immediately.
Jisung blinked. “Me?”
“Mhm.” Haechan twisted the cap open casually. “I’m going to see my brother.”
“And you need supervision?” Chenle asked dryly.
The dancer looked at him innocently. “Not so much as supervision, but Jeno requested I bring someone with me.”
That somehow irritated the orange haired male even more. “Oh,” he muttered. “So now you’re taking people too.”
Jisung glanced between them immediately.
Haechan tilted his head slightly. “Taking?”
Chenle shut his phone off with a quiet click before setting it on the counter. “You got here last night,” he said flatly. “Now you’re walking around asking for Jisung like you own the place.”
The room fell quiet, but Jisung looked mildly alarmed already. He knew how impulsive and possessive his boyfriend got. However, earlier that morning Mark had asked him specifically to accompany the young male even if he wanted to refuse. The older male stated that he needed eyes on his guest even when he wasn’t around.
The dancer stared at the orange haired male calmly as a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think I own anything here,” he replied softly. “Your boss made it pretty clear this morning that I’m a guest.”
That should’ve diffused it. Instead, Chenle’s eyes narrowed further because somehow the mention of his cousin made it worse. “Right,” he said. “A guest.”
Jisung finally sat up straighter. “Chenle.”
“What?” Chenle looked at him incredulously. “You don’t think this is weird?”
“In our line of work…not really.” He then glanced at Haechan, “I can go.”
The orange haired male looked offended immediately. “You’re just agreeing?”
Jisung sighed quietly. “Yes. Plus, Mark told me this morning to stay with him today. He said he’d be in meetings until noon.”
Chenle frowned. “So?”
“So I’m basically his bodyguard for the day.”
Haechan looked over with slight amusement at the wording, but stayed quiet. Apart of him felt fuzzy at the news of Mark thinking that much about him.
Chenle scoffed under his breath while Jisung rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. “Calm down will you? I’ll see you later,” he added lazily.
The other male stared at him for a second before exhaling sharply through his nose. “Fine…whatever. I’m leaving first.”
Jisung let out a quiet sigh before standing from his seat, reaching over to tug Chenle closer by the wrist. He pressed a brief kiss against his forehead. “You’re being dramatic over someone Mark brought home,” he murmured.
Chenle frowned immediately despite the way he instinctively leaned into the affection for a second. “I’m not being dramatic.”
“Right,” he agreed with his lover nonetheless. Then, he glanced at Haechan who was still watching them quietly. “Give me five minutes and I’ll drive you.”
The underground gym smelled like sweat, old blood and worn out leather.
It always did.
Haechan stepped inside quietly with Jisung following him at a distance. The familiar sounds of gloves striking punching bags and shouting immediately filled his ears.
The place itself paid more bills than ballet ever had—and Jeno—well, he paid for most of it with bruised knuckles and split lips.
Haechan’s gaze drifted near the back of the ring automatically before he froze slightly. Someone with bright pink hair was already there and watching intently. It was the same male who dragged Jeno away the previous night—Mark’s younger brother— seated close to the ropes of the squared stage.
In a matter of seconds, he looked up from where he sat and immediately recognized the dancer. “Well if it isn’t my brother’s handpicked ballerina.”
Multiple heads turned at the sudden excitement in his voice, but Jaemin ignored every single one of them. He hopped down from the edge of the ring and walked over without hesitation like they were already friends. “Oh my god,” he said dramatically. “You’re even cuter during the day.”
Haechan blinked.
Jaemin stopped directly in front of him, looking genuinely delighted. “No seriously—how are you real? You look so delicate.” His eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “I can see why Mark fancy’s you.”
And that’s what caught the dancer’s attention again. So far, everyone connected to Mark had hinted at his interest in him. Before Haechan could respond though, movement near the ring pulled his attention away.
Jeno had stepped down from the platform with tape still wrapped around his hands. Sweat dampened the collar of his shirt and the moment his eyes landed on Haechan, his entire posture shifted into a something along the lines of relief.
“There you are,” he muttered, walking closer. His gaze flickered toward Jisung briefly before settling back onto his younger brother again. “You okay?”
Haechan nodded softly. “I told you already.”
“Yeah, well, I wanted to see for myself.”
Jaemin made an offended noise beside them. “Wow. You’ve hardly acknowledged my existence since last night."
”You mean since you kidnapped me and tried to keep me in that huge ass house against my will?” Jeno shot back flatly.
The pink haired male shrugged lightly without shame. “Didn’t seem like you disliked it very much when I was pouncing on your—“
Jeno immediately slapped a hand over the other’s mouth before he could finish his sentence. “Don’t finish that,” he warned.
Jaemin laughed against his palm, completely unbothered. “Just saying you’re a bit risky,” he mumbled against his hand.
“Are you two….”Haechan moved his finger back and forth between the two males.
”No.”
”Yes.”
The dancer slowly blinked. “Right…”
Jaemin grinned lazily after Jeno removed his hand from his mouth, completely unashamed. “What? I was just going to say I'm impress by your brother surviving a whole night in Mark’s bed.”
The boxer looked at Haechan. "You were in his bed? I thought you told me-"
"We didn't," Haechan interrupted quickly then he turned to Jaemin. "And he didn't sleep in the room with me either."
The pink haired male leaned back against the ropes of the ring, crossing his arms. “Now that's the real surprise."
The dancer tilted his head in interest, but said nothing. Jaemin quickly caught the look on his face. "Oh?" He mused. "Would you look at that."
"Huh?"
"You want to ask about Mark without sounding too interested."
Heat crawled faintly crawled up Haechan's neck. "I wasn't—"
"Jaemin—" Jeno tried to stop the direction in which the conversation was going, but his brother responded too quickly.
"You were," Jaemin cut him off cheerfully. "It's alright. I will say though," he tapped the tip of his chin as if he was thinking. "He does become a bit terrifying when he likes something."
The dancer stared at him. "Likes?"
Jaemin waved a hand lazily. "Obsesses. Same difference."
"Okay. That's enough." Jeno stepped between the two males before averting his gaze to Haechan. "You should head to the studio. I have to get back to practice with the match being in just a few days. And you," he turned to Jaemin. "Please find someone else to distract."
Jaemin smirked. "So you're saying I'm a distraction for you? Noted."
Haechan heard his brother grumble something, but he wasn't really listening anymore. His thoughts had already drifted back toward the older man haunting his thoughts. Toward the feeling of his hand against his neck.
The weight of his gaze.
The restraint in him.
And that's what made Haechan want to test him more. To see how far Mark would go to stop himself over and over before finally giving in.
Mark sat at the head of the conference table, Renjun discussing quarterly reports beside him. The conversation flowed with enough efficiency as they targeted distribution routes and investments.
He was meant to be paying attention, the numbers being called out demanded his sharpest criticism, yet Mark found himself periodically glancing at his phone.
A single message from Jisung sat on the screen.
At the gym with his brother.
He locked the device and continued the meeting.
“…the new shipment should arrive by Thursday.”
“Move it to Wednesday,” Mark replied immediately. The conversation continued with no objections. Twenty minutes later, his phone buzzed again.
He’s still with his brother….and Jaemin.
His jaw tightened slightly. Jaemin had a habit of saying too much at times. He didn’t want the dancer to get the wrong impression of—
Wait.
Mark locked his phone.
He shouldn’t be this concern about the young male. This was nothing but a simple transaction of bettering a dancer’s well being for his public image.
He knew that was the reason, yet he found himself opening his phone again to read the updates being sent to him.
Leaving the gym.
Mark returned his attention back to the meeting transpiring in front of him.
Until his phone vibrated one final time.
He wants to go to the dance studio.
The executive speaking immediately lost Mark’s attention. His gaze remained fixed on the screen. Going to the dance studio meant that Director Kim would be there—watching him—in a way that a professional boss shouldn’t be.
Across from him, Renjun noticed the shift. He knew the other for years to sense the small mannerisms that announced his displeasure.
He leaned over slightly and asked, “what is it? Are you not satisfy with the shipment details?”
Mark grunted with an hardened expression. “I’ll be taking my leave,” he announced at the table.
Everyone paused, clearly caught off guard at the sudden adjournment. The silence was uncomfortable, yet no one was foolish enough to point it out.
Renjun followed suit as Mark stood from his chair. With a bow, he said, “our apologies. Shall we reschedule?”
Neither of the two males waited for a response as they exited the room. The conference room doors closed behind them with a quiet click.
For several seconds, no one spoke.
Mark walked ahead with measured steps, his expression unreadable as he loosened the cuff of his sleeve.
Renjun followed beside him. He wasn’t an idiot. Before Mark’s outburst, he had taken a glance at his phone.
“You’re joking,” he finally said. “Right?”
“I’m not.”
“You ended a two-hour meeting because Haechan wants to visit a dance studio.”
Mark shot him a look. “I ended a meeting because Director Kim lacks boundaries.”
“Sure.” The response was so dry that Mark glanced at him again. Renjun sighed, “you know I’ve worked for you long enough to tell when you’re lying, right?”
“I don’t lie.”
“You absolutely do.”
The older male remained silent. Unfortunately, his silence was enough of an answer.
Renjun rubbed a hand over his face. “Are you aware that you sound insane?”
Mark pressed the elevator button. The doors opened immediately, allowing them to step inside.
The moment the doors shut, Renjun continued. “He’s a dancer, Mark.”
“I’m aware.”
“He has to be involve with the person that owns him.”
Mark’s jaw tightened with irritation. He immediately glared at the other. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“That’s the semantics of his and Director Kim’s relationship. That man owns the people who work for him. Do not play dumbfounded.”
Something dark flashed across Mark’s face. Despite it being brief, it was enough for Renjun to immediately regret his wording.
The elevator continued descending.
Silence settled between them.
Then—
“No.”
The single word landed heavily.
Renjun glanced toward him.
Mark’s gaze remained fixed on the numbers above the elevator doors.
“He doesn’t.”
The response was calm— but that somehow made it worse. The younger male studied him carefully before letting out a quiet sigh.
“Fine.”
The elevator doors slid open.
Both men stepped out. Neither spoke again until they reached the private parking level beneath the building.
Renjun finally broke first. “You know you’re just proving my point.”
Mark unlocked his watch with a practiced motion.
“And what point is that?”
“That you’re far too invested in someone you’ve known for less than forty hours.”
A muscle ticked in Mark’s jaw.
“He’s a dancer.”
Mark remained silent.
“Director Kim is going to be around him whether you like it or not.”
Still nothing. The parking garage echoed with the sound of their footsteps. Renjun was beginning to suspect he’d pushed too far. Then Mark stopped walking. The sudden halt nearly caused him to walk directly into the older man.
“What?”
Mark turned toward him.
His expression was composed.The kind he usually showed his competitors when they had lost a negotiation—cold and professional.
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”
Renjun immediately closed his mouth. There it was.
The warning. Just enough to remind everyone exactly who they worked for.
Mark held his gaze for another second before looking away. “Go home.”
Renjun blinked. “What?”
“I’ll be driving myself.”
The younger male frowned. “Mark—”
“I said I’ll be driving myself.”
His tone left little room for discussion. Renjun studied him for a moment, but he knew the decision had already been made.
Renjun exhaled, “fine.”
Mark pressed a button on his key fob. A black car flashed its lights several rows away. “Don’t wait up.”
Renjun watched him start toward the vehicle.“What are you planning to do?”
The other didn’t answer. A moment later the driver’s door opened. Then closed as the engine started. And before the younger could make one final comment, Mark was already gone.
The studio was quiet. There was no music at first, only the faint hum of the building’s appliances and the soft sound of Haechan’s breath as he stood at the barre.
Everything about him looked controlled. The way his leotard fitted close to his frame caused his tights to embrace the light each time he shifted his weight. It was something almost angelic despite him being still.
Outside the glass door, Jisung lingered in the hallway, seated low against the wall with his phone in hand.
Haechan rose onto relevé. It was slow and precise before he dropped with a quiet control, never fully releasing the tension from his body.
He repeated the move again.
And again.
Each repetition was perfect.
When the music finally started—soft piano sounds—he moved across the floor. At first, it was with discipline. His lines clean with extended arms trained in elegance. And his turns measured, landing exact as if he had rehearsed a million times.
He moved like a dancer who knew exactly where every part of his body belonged. But somewhere between the second combination and the next phrase, something shifted.
His focus wavered.
It wasn’t even a full thought at first—just a flicker that caught in the timing of his breath.
A memory of a hand—Mark’s hand—under his chin.
The way it had felt like he was being held and examined at the same time.
His next turn came sharper than intended.
He corrected it immediately.
Again, perfect.
But his movements started to change after that.
A reach slightly longer than necessary.
A pause held half a beat too long.
A landing softer, as if he was trying not to disturb something fragile right beneath his feet.
Mark’s voice surfaced in him without permission.
Don’t say things like that so lightly.
Haechan’s arms lifted through a port de bras that should have been graceful and detached. Instead, it looked like desire disguised as discipline.
He turned, faster this time. The motion spilled into another until the room blurred at the edges and all he could feel was the weight of being seen.
His breath caught as he landed a jump slightly off-centered. It was a mistake—a small one—almost unnoticeable, but he did.
A slow exhale escaped him as he reset at the barre. He knew exactly what had caused his mishap, yet he allowed his fingers to steady against the wood. It was an attempt to ground himself, to shift his consciousness back to his body.
But he knew how futile it was because he could feel the intention behind his movements starting to drift elsewhere.
Haechan pushed off the handrail once more, softer this time. He intended to regain control again—to allow the soft rhythm to speak.
After a few moments, the studio door opened without warning. There wasn’t a knock or and a voice of interruption. Only the sound of clean footsteps that sounded to intentional as they entered the building.
At first, Haechan hadn’t noticed.
He was still moving.
Caught in the middle of a sequence that demanded full surrender to momentum—one leg extended and arms carving through space like he was pulling something invisible toward him.
He had landed lightly, transitioning into the next step until he froze mid-motion.
Not because he meant to, but because his body had simply…stopped. It was no longer listening to the music, instead, it forced his eyes to lift at the mirror.
And through it reflected Mark—standing just inside the doorway.
His suit jacket was unbuttoned slightly, like he hadn’t bother to focus on the final detail of professional, yet he still looked composed.
Jisung stood a few inches behind him, visibly surprised by the other’s presence. But Haechan wasn’t looking at him.
He was looking at Mark.
And Mark was looking at him.
The dancer’s chest rose slightly with a hitched breath, but even that felt louder than the music that continued to play.
Mark finally stepped forward, his gaze flickering to the barre then towards the mirror before settling on Haechan. “You can continue,” he said.
His tone wasn’t a suggestion or encouragement. It was careful—flat—and controlled.
Haechan’s fingers flexed faintly at his side, as if his body had forgotten what it was doing before the older man had arrived and was now trying to remember the basics.
“I was,” he said quietly.
Mark’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Then don’t stop on my account.”
The words should have sounded dismissive, but they didn’t.
Haechan turned slightly. Just enough to face him more directly, rather than only through the mirror. “I didn’t stop because of you,” he calmly said. Then, softer this time, “I stopped because you came here.”
An unknowing presence settled into the air. Something so uncomfortable, yet daring that it had urged Jisung to shift outside the door.
Mark didn’t acknowledge it. His attention stayed on the beautiful male in front of him. “Finish your rehearsal.”
Haechan held his gaze until he slowly turned back toward the center of the floor. His movements no longer felt practical, but performative because he was watching.
Every step, extension—it all had weight to it now.
Every time he extended his leg, he was aware of the line of sight behind him. Every time he lifted through relevé, it felt like the air had grown heavier—not restricting—just…present.
He held a controlled breath, arms opening and closing through space like measured statements.
And then—
Footsteps.
Quiet ones.
Mark had moved.
Haechan didn’t look immediately, he kept dancing, but something in him registered each step anyway.
The older man grew closer and closer until he was in the dancer’s peripheral vision.
He was so close, to the point where the mirror now held an image of them both in the same frame. But Mark had stopped walking. He leaned lightly against the barre, following the other with only his eyes as if he had all the time in the world.
Haechan began a traveling sequence. Each step landing with trained clarity as he moved diagonally across the floor.
Then, he passed near Mark—and that alone made him fully aware of how he had missed his timing by half a second.
Mark’s hand tightened slightly on the barre, barely visible, but to the dancer it said more than enough.
“Your timing was off,” his voice was low and pummeling.
Haechan landed a step without looking at the older. “I know.”
“Correct it.”
Two words.
Two simple words that struck a nerve in the dancer’s body.
He wanted to keep Mark’s attention. Wanted to keep him watching and watching until his eyes bore holes into his tan skin, only for him to repair later on.
Haechan pushed back into movement before it could settle too heavy in his chest. He restarted from center. Arms opening through first position, breath controlled, spine aligned as he transitioned into a traveling sequence once again.
Everything was precise and contained until—finally—Mark stepped away from the barre.
Haechan didn’t look at him, he couldn’t, but he felt it almost immediately—like a moth drawn to a sudden flame.
Footsteps followed him. Matching his timing in a way that wasn’t intimidating.
Every time he crossed the room, the older man crossed it too. Every time he changed direction, Mark adjusted without hesitation. Not once did he ask him to stop. Not once did he offer praise.
He simply remained there.
The music entered its final phrase. Haechan travelled backward through the combination, never looking directly at the other man. He already knew where he was—his body had memorized the distance.
And by the time he’d completed his final turn, Mark had stopped—directly in front of him. The music continued to play out, but neither moved.
Haechan’s chest rose with controlled breaths. “You’re distracting me.” There was no answer, only those impossibly calm eyes. The dancer smiled faintly as he continued to speak. “You told me to continue practicing.” The mirror reflected them only inches apart now. “But you keep following me.”
Mark didn’t deny it, but he hadn’t confirmed it either. His gaze remained fixed on the other’s face, unreadable as ever.
Haechan swallowed. “What are you thinking?”
“What am I thinking?” Mark repeated quietly.
The dancer nodded once.
The older man’s gaze moved over him slowly. Not like the way other people looked at him—like something beautiful they wanted to possess.
No.
It was worse than that.
“You want the truth?” He asked.
“I believe that’s why I asked, sir.”
A humorless breath left Mark’s nose. Haechan was endearing, asking for things without understanding the consequences of them. But in knowing that, Mark realized how quickly his interest was becoming something more dangerous. He should’ve kept a considerable amount of distance before the dancer became someone he needed to have.
Instead, he drove across the city because the younger simply wanted to dance. He wanted to do the one thing Mark had apparently invested his money into.
But that was the problem.
“You’re a problem, angel,” Mark said quietly, his intentions telling as he stepped closer and closer to the younger.
A smile appeared on Haechan’s lips. “And what’s your solution to this ‘problem’?” As the older stepped forward, he took matching steps back—until his waist collided with the cold metal of the barre.
He could feel Mark's hand move to his nape. The older leaned closer to his face, their lips centimeters apart as his other arm settled on the dancer’s lower back.
There was something in the way he hadn't kissed him—something intimate. "Being involved with me doesn’t come easy," Mark spoke, his voice thick and reverberating. There was a slight tug at his soft hair, causing him to release a quiet moan, but it only made the younger smile wider. "Do you still want this?"
Haechan looked at him with hooded eyes because of course he did. Mark was his savior—his insight to freedom. "Yes." The fingers that were tugging at his hair now trailed to the base of his jaw until the other’s thumb graced over his lips.
Without breaking eye contact, the dancer gratefully opened his mouth, his cheeks hallowing slightly as he gave it a slow suck.
There was a sudden shift in Mark's eyes, his pupils dilating at the mere scene of Haechan taking in his finger once again. "Taste good?" His voice was gravely, coated with greed as he asked the question.
Warmth climbed up Haechan's neck and reached his face in one rush as he responded with a dragging, "mhmm." His body jerked upwards because the older pushed his thumb in further before removing it.
"Turn around, beautiful," Mark whispered.
And Haechan immediately listened. He should've been alerted, afraid of someone walking in and seeing them in such a way. But he wasn't.
He knew that if anyone did, Mark would handle it. And that thought alone made goosebumps litter across the his skin.
"Nervous?" Mark asked against his neck—he held the younger's chin up so that he was looking at their reflection properly. "Don't be."
"I'm not," Haechan revealed, but his voice wavered slightly as he felt Mark trail his fingers down his spine. The older then traced the outline of his leotard until his hand landed on his lower abdomen. "Are you?"
A deep, dark, chuckle sounded behind his ears. Mark pressed himself against the curve of the dancer's back. The action sent a sholt of pleasure through his body because he craved the older's warmth. It was sickening to imagine, but Haechan wanted to be dragged into Mark's labyrinth.
"You truly are an angel, Donghyuck." Haechan's eyes widened slightly. "So naive and delicate…I could sense the purity behind your words."
Mark was only touching him. His hand was long gone from his chin because it had met his other by the ridges of his hips. There was a slight pressure in the way he settled his palms there, but Haechan loved it.
"But I think we should do something about that," Mark looked at him through the mirror. "Don't you?" The way they looked at each other felt obscene, as though they were already sharing something no one else was meant to witness.
Haechan was in a trance, his face caught in a cloud of desire, but so was Mark's.
The older man reached into his pocket to retrieve a midsize pocket knife. The flicking sound of it opening sent a reeling shiver of anticipation down the younger’s skin.
“I’ll buy you another,” was all Mark said before dragging the sharp object through the dainty fabric along Haechan’s spine.
He then tossed the knife aside, his hand now tracing the bare, tanned-skin that refuse to exit his thoughts.
“Ahh,” Haechan pressed his cheek against the mirror as he took in the gentle touch.
“How about I make a sculpture of your body?” Mark’s voice was barely above a whisper as he pressed a soft kiss on the other’s shoulder—
Then his neck.
Then behind his ear.
“Actually,” he slowly dragged his tongue along the curve of his helix. “I prefer to worship the real thing.”
The subtle action made Haechan's dick become fully erected.
"How cute," Mark looked down at the wet spot that formed on leotard covering the other's lower half. "You're all wet for me already."
"Sir—"
"Say my name, angel." He grazed the tips of his fingers over the younger's hardened length in a tauntingly manner. "Say it."
Haechan's mouth parted slightly. "Mark," he breathed, voice cracked like ice splitting down the center.
Mark's eyes landed on the other's glistening ones. He looked so needy—so expressive—he'd be damned if he didn't give his angel everything he wanted. "Tell me what you want me to do," he said earnestly. His mouth brushed against the dancer's ear before taking it between his lips, lapping and biting the earlobe.
Haechan was too absorbed in the hazy feeling of the the older's half touches. He could only throw his head into the crevice of Mark's neck.
"Come on," the older's breath was hot against the dancer's skin as his hands reached his thighs, urging them to spread just enough for his knee to slip between them. "Or are you going to rut on my leg like a good girl?"
Haechan whimpered softly, the air too thick for him to form a coherent thought. Mark wouldn't allow him to.
Mark let his free hand drift down the length of the younger's arm with unhurried intent—because there was no rush—not even slightly. His fingers traced every inch of veins until it reached his wrist.
He caught his hand and laced their fingers together with quiet certainty. "That's what you want, right?" Mark murmured.
Then he lifted their joined hands and pressed them firmly against the mirror, his grip tightening just enough to keep them there while his body remained close to his back. The hand that rested on his thigh now settled on the curve of his waist again. "Let me help," Mark's rugged voice sounded.
His fingers spread naturally along Haechan's side, his thumb anchoring near the crest of his hip. With gentle, steady pressure, he guided the younger's hips into a slow back and forth rhythm against. "That's it. You listen so well."
Haechan drew his bottom lip between his teeth the moment the sensation deriving from his dick colliding with Mark's knee hit him. It was so simple—yet entirely overpowering.
Releasing his lips, he brokenly called," M-mark?" His eyes fluttered with lust, drawing the said man's attention through their reflection. "Can we go faster?"
Mark tipped his head with a smirk as he met his gaze. "You're in control, angel. No need to ask."
That did something to the younger. The permission to ruin himself while using the body of such a dangerous man was telling enough.
He sped up his movements, each rut dragging from Mark's groin to the edge of his kneecap drew pleasureable sounds from his mouth. Without a moment of hesitation, his free hand pulled Mark's hand from his hips and placed it against the column of his throat. He could feel the groan vibrate through the older's chest due to the action.
The older rested his thumb instinctively beneath the line of his jaw while his eyes lingered on confidence blooming throughout the dancer's body. "Needing more I see," he squeezed a little.
"Ahh—yes," Haechan moaned out.
"Just look at you…look at yourself."
And the younger did. His flushed face, their interlocked hands, Mark pulling his face to look at their reflection—all of it was a sight to behold.
It was intoxicating.
Despite their clothes being in the way, their bodies still felt intimately connected.
"Beautiful," Mark whispered at the scene. "So fucking beautiful."
He then removed his leg and flipped Haechan around to face him. The cold feeling of the mirror pressing against the younger's bare back made him gasp lightly, but his eyes remained fixated on Mark as if he was god himself.
"I'm going to pull this down now," Mark said as he worked the brunette's torn leotard down his waist until it pooled around his thighs.
Almost instantly, Haechan's hardened dick spring free at the release. His tip was glistening red with precum, begging for more friction—for more of anything.
Mark licked his lips. "Pretty little thing," he said in response as he wrapped his hand around it at the same time. "You've never used this on anyone have you? It's too perfect to partake in something like that." He gave the younger's dick a tug, capturing the sight of Haechan throwing his head against the mirror as an image to store in his memory.
His cheeks were red and his soft hair—dampened from his dancing—stuck to his forehead with intensity now. There were beads of sweat trickling down his neck, highlighting how shallow his breathing had become.
"I would ravage you whole," Mark murmured as he began to stroke Haechan slowly. "Until you couldn't speak or think, but not without your consent. Not without your permission to take control of your entire body and soul."
Haechan panted breathlessly as he felt an ache of longing in his chest, the sudden want to feel every bit of Mark clouded his mind.
The older could see the burning in his eyes as they looked up at him. He could see his resolve—if he had any to begin with—slip away with every heartbeat.
"You're so smooth, baby," Mark noted. It was a noticeable contrast with the skin of his hand.
"Oh—sir," Haechan gasped out, feeling the heat and pressure grow inside him.
"No," Mark paused at the base of his length. "Say my name."
"M-mark," Haechan stuttered between a blissful sigh. "Mark."
"Good girl."
The older began to pump him again—faster this time—adding pressure in the midst of each drag.
Moans after moans slipped from the Haechan's pink lips as he reached up to steady himself on Mark's shoulders.
Using his free hand, Mark held onto the younger's nape as he connected their foreheads. The action forced the other's dazed eyes to focus on the older's hungry ones.
"Give me your cum, beautiful," Mark breathed against his lips. "Let it out."
The sounds echoeing throughout the studio were heavenly as they landed on Mark's ears. Haechan was louder this time, his pants and pitched moans melded into an aching harmony. His spine arched and his grip on Mark tightened as he chased the stimulation boiling in his pelvic region.
With a few more angled strokes, the dancer spurted all over Mark's hand, evidence of himself even landing on the older's polished attire.
"Fucking hell, angel," Mark drawled reverently at the view. Haechan twitched and shook through his orgasm, his eyes fluttering shut as the finishing touch to his fucked-out state.
"Change of plans, baby," he heard the older's voice rumble at a distance. "I'm going to savor you instead."