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GOLDEN HOUR • WHISKEY SOUR
amber swirls in the glass, brightened by the cloudy kiss of lemon. foam rises like breath caught at the back of a throat, trembling before it settles. the scent is warm – oak, citrus, a faint whisper of something sweet you can’t quite name.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
As the door swung shut behind them, the night air slipped away, replaced by whiskey, citrus peel, and the faintest ghost of cedar clung to the surface.
“...So if the drinks are terrible,” Jeno’s voice drifted over Donghyuck’s shoulder as they moved further inside, “we’re blaming Renjun.”
Renjun only hummed, scanning the room with familiarity that suggested he’d been here more than once. “You’ll thank me later.”
Jaemin slid into the booth nearest to the bar, one arm draped along the backrest. “It’s nice,” he murmured, eyes flicking over the dim space and the slow-moving crowd. “Better than the last place Jeno took us to. Remember that hole in the wall–”
Donghyuck didn’t sit.
The burnished wood of the bar gleamed in the low light, the polished curve of the counter catching the gold from the sconces. And behind it, the bartender.
About his height. Black hair that fell just close enough to his eyes to make you wonder if it ever got in his way. A white shirt fitted so precisely it looked stitched to him, sleeves rolled to the elbow.
He smiled at someone at the far end of the counter – dimples deepening, warm and unguarded – before turning back to the bottles at his side.
“Not sitting?” Jaemin’s voice cut in, smooth as ever.
“Maybe in a minute,” Donghyuck replied, eyes still fixed on the bar.
He peeled away from the booth with a lazy sway. The low murmur of the room thinned as he crossed to the bar – ice settling in glass, the soft thunk of a bottle set down, the faint hiss of something being poured.
Up close, the bartender was steadier than Donghyuck expected. Every movement was unhurried, like he didn’t need to announce himself. And there, against the open collar of his shirt, a thin silver chain caught the light. A delicate cross rested at the hollow of his throat, swaying almost imperceptibly when he reached for another bottle.
Donghyuck leaned an elbow against the polished wood, gaze flicking over the line of the man’s jaw before settling on his eyes. The bartender’s expression was even when he looked up, dimples threatening but not fully breaking through.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, voice smooth and casual in a way that made it absolutely clear he’d said those words a thousand times before.
Donghyuck let his smile curve slow, like he was already halfway to a game neither of them had agreed to play yet.
“Something sunset-coloured,” he said, watching like he was daring him to impress.
The bartender didn’t blink. He only nodded once and reached for a bottle, calm as if this wasn’t a challenge at all.
The bottle came first – amber liquor sliding smooth into the glass, catching the low light like molten gold. He reached for a lemon next. Juice and sharp scent bloomed in the air, making Donghyuck’s mouth water.
He didn’t look down. Not once.
Donghyuck felt the weight of it – the way the bartender’s gaze stayed on him even as he worked. Ice cracked in the shaker, the sound sharp in the hush between them. A smooth rhythm followed. Liquor. Lemon. A whisper of sweetness from the simple syrup.
When the drink was poured, the foam rose in a pale cloud over the amber, trembling before it settled. He set it down in front of Donghyuck, fingers brushing the counter but not his hand, as though he knew exactly how close to get without crossing.
“See if this works,” the bartender said.
Donghyuck wrapped his fingers around the glass, the chill bleeding slowly into his skin. He lifted it to his lips, tilting just enough to let the scent hit first – lemon bright and sharp, mellowed by something sweeter underneath.
The first sip came slow. The citrus bit at the edges of his tongue before the honeyed warmth melted over it, spreading down in his throat in a way that felt far too decadent for a first drink.
He set the glass down lightly, not looking away from the man across the bar.
“It’s good,” he said at last, tipping the rim towards him in a lazy salute. “Could’ve been colder, though.”
That earned him a faint arch of an eyebrow. “I could’ve made it sweeter, too,” the bartender countered.
Donghyuck scoffed, tilting his head. “If I wanted sweet, I would’ve asked for candy in a cup.”
“Some people do.” He reached for a bar rag, folding it in his hands with the same calm precision. “Guess you’re not one of them.”
“You’re not one for compliments, are you?”
One dimple appeared this time, small but sharp. “I just gave you one. I made the drink for you, didn’t I?”
Donghyuck opened his mouth to retort but closed it again, deciding not to give him the satisfaction. He leaned forward instead, elbows on the bar, meeting the bartender’s gaze with an ease that was more calculated than casual.
“You always look at customers like that?” he asked finally, voice lilting in the middle like it wasn’t a serious question.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to figure out if they’re worth your time.”
That earned him a fuller smile, both dimples cutting in now. “Only the ones who think they’re more mysterious than they actually are.”
It was meant as a throwaway line, maybe even a joke, but it hit just right – enough to pull Donghyuck a little closer without realising it. The drink in his hand was good, sure, but suddenly, it wasn’t the only thing keeping him here.
Renjun appeared at his side like he'd been there the whole time, slipping neatly into the space between Donghyuck’s stool and the next. He rested an elbow on the counter, eyes drifting over the neat rows of bottles on the back shelf.
“Glass of white wine, please,” he said at last.
The bartender turned to him, his movements still carrying that same measured calm. “Dry? Sweet? Somewhere in between?”
Renjun’s lips pursed, considering. “Something sweeter on the tongue.”
A quiet hum of acknowledgement, and then the bartender bent to open the cooler. His hand found a bottle resting on its side, the glass beading faintly from the cold. He cradled it in one hand while retrieving a corkscrew from his back pocket.
“This one’s from the Mosel valley,” he said as the cork eased out with a soft pop. “Late harvest Riesling – a touch of honey in the nose, plenty of fruit. You’ll get peach and apricot first, but the finish is all ripe pear.”
Renjun arched a brow, watching as the pale gold liquid filled his glass in a clean, unbroken stream. “Sounds like you’re trying to sell me a whole bottle.”
The bartender’s mouth curved, dimples deepening just slightly. “If you like it as much as I think you will, you’ll want one.”
Renjun took a slow sip, letting it roll over on his tongue before swallowing. His brows lifted, just enough to betray satisfaction. “That’s good.”
“I thought it might be,” the bartender replied, setting the bottle aside with quiet precision.
Renjun angled himself towards Donghyuck with a sigh so exaggerated it could have been drafted in advance. He let it stretch just long enough to be dramatic before speaking. “You know,” he said, voice pitched for maximum grievance, “Jeno and Jaemin are unbearable when you’re not there to keep them from killing each other.”
Donghyuck glanced towards the booth, where the two of them were locked in what looked like a heated standoff, their hands moving sharply in the air.
“What’s it about this time?” Donghyuck asked, smirking into his glass.
“Who’s taking the deposition next week,” Renjun replied, swirling his Riesling in his glass. “Jaemin swears he’s better at reading witnesses. Jeno swears he’s less likely to accidentally antagonise opposing counsel.”
“Let me guess,” Donghyuck murmured, “this is round three of the day?”
Renjun gave a humourless little laugh. “Three that you’ve missed. Once in the bullpen, once in the elevator, and now here.”
“Sounds like billable hours I won’t get back,” Donghyuck tipped his glass towards him in a mock apology. “I was busy making friends.”
Renjun’s gaze slid past him, catching on the bartender moving behind the counter, before returning with a hum that carried more weight than it needed to. “Mhm. I can see that.”
Donghyuck arched a brow, feigning ignorance. “See what?”
Renjun didn’t bother to answer – he just took another slow sip.
A shadow moves at the edge of Donghyuck’s vision, and when he looked up, the bartender was there again, sliding an empty tray under the counter. The soft scrape of it against the wood seemed louder in the low thrum of the room.
“Is everything all right with the drink?” His voice was casual, but Donghyuck could hear the faint rasp at the edges, like the words had been worn in by years of use.
Donghyuck tilted his head, meeting his gaze without flinching. “More than all right,” he said. “Though I might need another, just to be sure.”
For a moment, the bartender didn’t answer. Then one corner of his mouth lifted lazily. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Donghyuck smirked, draining the last swallow of the drink, savouring the way the lemon and whiskey still lingered warm in his chest. He set the glass down with care, fingertips brushing the rim before he reached for his wallet.
He slid a few notes onto the counter; far more than the whiskey sour and the Riesling together could have cost. “Keep the change,” he murmured, pushing the money forward in a slow, deliberate motion, eyes never leaving the man behind the bar.
He stood then, the leather of the stool creaking softly as he stepped away. Renjun rose beside him, finishing the last of his wine in one efficient swallow before falling into step.
They’d barely gone two paces before Donghyuck glanced back over his shoulder. The bartender was still there, one hand braced lightly on the counter, watching him with that same steady calm that felt less like passivity and more like the quiet claim of someone who could afford to wait.
Donghyuck let a slow smile curl across his face before turning back. The echo of it stayed on his lips as he slid into the booth beside Renjun, the hum of the bar rising again around them, but the weight of that gaze still trailing after him like a fingerprint.
🍷
NIGHT BLOOM • FRENCH 75
pale gold under soft fizz, the kind that tickles the nose before it reaches your lips. the twist of lemon is almost indecent in its curl, a ribbon against crystal.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Donghyuck told himself it wasn’t unusual to go out alone after work. Not in this city. Not in their line of work.
Still, he’d spent the entire subway ride debating whether to head home, order something, and collapse face-first into his couch – or to be here.
Today was endless. Morning status calls that bled into afternoon prep, reviewing deposition transcripts until the words lost meaning. One too many phone calls from clients who used “urgent” as a synonym for “I want to hear myself talk.”
And the cherry on top – Jeno and Jaemin picking up their argument about strategy right where they’d left it the week before, using Renjun’s office as neutral ground and Donghyuck as unwilling referee.
By the time he’d walked out of the building, the air still carrying the day’s heat, he’d known he didn’t want to go home yet. Home meant thinking about tomorrow. The bar –this bar– meant something else entirely.
He slipped in casually, letting the warm hush settle over him like a blanket. The booths were half-full, clusters of quiet conversation tucked into the red leather, but the corner of the bar was empty.
He took it.
The stool sighed under his weight, the polished wood cool beneath his forearms as he leaned forward. It wasn’t hard to spot him, the bartender, moving behind the counter with the same ease as last time. White shirt crisp, cuffs rolled, necklace glinting when he reached up for a bottle.
The bartender’s gaze caught on him mid-motion, just for a second, before he set the bottle down and finished pouring for another customer. When he finally crossed over, his expression was as even as the first time.
“What can I get you?”
No flicker of recognition. No good to see you again. Just the same polished, professional cadence he’d use with anyone sliding into that stool.
Donghyuck let one corner of his mouth tilt, a silent acknowledgement of the game. “Something classy,” he said, resting his chin briefly in his hand. “You can decide what that means.”
The bartender’s eyes flicked over him once, then towards the shelves behind him. “Classy,” he repeated, as if testing the word on his tongue. “I’ll see what I can do.”
He reached for a bottle of gin, the glass cool and green under the bar light, and set it beside the shaker. “Champagne or prosecco?” he asked without looking at him, his voice as even as the pour that followed.
“Surprise me,” Donghyuck said, watching the clear stream hit steel with a muted splash. He tracked every movement – the shift of his wrist, the way his cuffs slid up just enough to show tendons flexing under skin. “Though I think you already know what I like.”
The bartender’s only reply was the quiet twist of a lemon between his fingers, oil misting in a tiny arc before the peel dropped into the shaker.
“You get a lot of people asking for ‘something’ rather than a regular drink?” Donghyuck pressed, keeping his tone airy but letting curiosity curl around the edges.
There was the faintest curve at the corner of the bartender's mouth, one dimple threatening to appear before he smoothed it away, reaching for a tall champagne flute. “Can’t say I keep track.”
“Really?” Donghyuck tilted his head, studying him. “I’d think it’s the kind of thing you’d remember.”
The man didn’t look up. He topped the drink with a slow pour of champagne, the bubbles rushing to the surface before calming beneath a perfect ribbon of lemon twist.
“I remember the drinks,” he said finally, sliding the glass across, “not the customers.”
Too smooth. Too rehearsed. A neat, polite barrier.
Donghyuck took the stem of the glass in his fingers but didn’t drink yet. He let his thumb trace the rim as he leaned forward, elbows settling on the bar. “Then maybe I should start ordering the same thing,” he said, voice threaded with amusement. “That way you’ll have no choice but to remember me for the drink and the customer.”
It was an open dare, wrapped in playfulness, and he watched closely to see if the dimple would reappear.
For a moment, the bartender didn’t move. The pause was so slight most people wouldn't have noticed, but Donghyuck did. The way his hand stilled on the bar rag, the faint lift at one corner of his mouth like he was deciding whether to play along or keep the wall up.
Then, quietly, “Some things are easier to remember, I guess.”
The words slipped out smoothly, but there was something in the way his eyes held Donghyuck’s for that extra beat. Not a challenge, exactly, but a warning dressed as one.
Donghyuck let the smile tug wider. “Guess I’ll risk it.”
He brought the glass to his lips, the lemon’s perfume hitting first before the bubbles touched his mouth. The gin was sharp at the edges, smoothed by champagne. It wasn’t a drink that demanded attention; it coaxed it, lingered, made you lean in for more.
He set the glass down slowly, thumb brushing the condensation from the stem. “Mm,” he hummed, eyes still on the bartender. “You might’ve just outdone yourself.”
The man didn’t answer right away, just folded the bar rag with neat precision, as if the compliment wasn’t new to him. His hands moved instead, not the hasty fold of someone just tidying up, but the kind you could repeat blindfolded. A quiet habit shaped by years behind a counter.
His knuckles were faintly nicked, little healed lines that spoke of broken glass.
“So,” Donghyuck began, idly turning his glass by the stem, “how do you like it here?” His tone was light, almost bored, filled with lazy curiosity that slipped under the radar until it didn’t.
The man’s eyes lifted, just a flicker. “Depends on the night.”
“And the customer?”
The faintest pull at one corner of his mouth before he stepped away to greet someone at the far end. Donghyuck followed him with his eyes – the way his white shirt stretched clean across his shoulders when he reached for a bottle, the easy roll of his sleeves to mid-forearm.
He moved like he had nothing to prove, which somehow only made Donghyuck want to see him crack.
The man laughed softly at something the other patron said, poured with one hand and steadied the glass with the other. And still, just before setting it down, his gaze slid back across the bar.
When he returned, it was with a cloth in hand, wiping a faint crescent of condensation from the polished wood.
“That wasn’t much of an answer,” Donghyuck said, leaning forward.
The man didn’t look up from the counter. “Wasn’t much of a question.”
“Mm. So you’re careful with your words.” Donghyuck swirled the last of the champagne in his glass, watching the bubbles scatter. “I can respect that. I just think it makes you a little harder to read.”
“I’m fine with that,” the man murmured.
Another customer down the bar caught his attention, and he went, the sound of bottles clinking softly against one another. But as he moved, he tilted his head almost imperceptibly towards Donghyuck’s corner, like a subtle reminder of don’t go anywhere.
So he didn’t. He let the noise of the room swell and fade, letting the warmth of the drink spread through his chest. By the time the man came back, the glass was low enough to look intentional.
“You want another?” he asked, voice dipping just enough to brush the edge of something other than courtesy.
Donghyuck’s mouth curved slowly. “Only if you make it better than the first.”
The man’s eyes held his for a beat, weighing the words, before he set the rag aside and reached for a bottle that wasn’t among the usual suspects. The label was dark, edges worn.
The preparation was slower this time – he crushed a twist of orange peel between his fingers, releasing a faint spray of oil into the glass, then poured the liquor over a single, perfect cube of ice. The deep, spiced scent of rye drifted up, chased by the dark sweetness of vermouth. A stir, slow and measured, and then he slid it forward.
Donghyuck wrapped his hand around the glass. “You really don’t like giving names to things, do you?”
The man’s mouth curved. “Names make people think they know what they’re getting.”
“And I don’t?”
“You’ll tell me when you’re done.”
The rye hit harder than the first drink, warmth flaring at the back of his throat before settling deep, curling low in his chest.
He let the silence stretch again, listening to the low hum of conversations and the muted thump of bass from somewhere underfoot. Every few minutes, the bartender drifted away to tend to another customer, but he always came back.
Sometimes with a fresh glass for someone else, sometimes with just a glance, sometimes standing close enough that Donghyuck could catch the faint trace of cedar again.
The minutes slid by in that warm, slow rhythm. A refill of water appeared at his elbow without him asking. A fresh napkin, placed just so. The crowd thinned, the music softened, and somewhere in the quiet shift towards closing, the clock on the wall edged towards midnight.
The glass in front of Donghyuck was empty, save for the single cube of ice melting into nothing. He rolled it lightly with a fingertip, feeling the cool against his skin before pushing it forward.
“I should call it a night,” he said. “You gonna tell me your name, or do I have to make one up?”
The man’s gaze flicked up. Instead of answering, though, he leaned in just a little – close enough for Donghyuck to notice the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.
“Why don’t you tell me yours first?”
Donghyuck tilted his head, smiling like he’d just been caught in a game he didn’t realise he’d started.
“Donghyuck.”
“Donghyuck,” the man repeated it once, under his breath, tasting it. Then, after a long enough pause, he offered, “Mark.”
Donghyuck’s smile curved sharper. “Guess I don’t have to make one up, then.”
Mark’s dimple deepened, but he said nothing more – just reached for the empty glass and set it neatly out of sight, as if ending the night with that one word was enough.
Donghyuck slid off the stool. He adjusted his jacket, gave one last look at the man behind the bar, and walked out into the cool night air with the name still settling on his tongue like the aftertaste of good whiskey.
🍷
BLACK VELVET • GUINNESS AND CHAMPAGNE
dark as spilled ink, topped with a pale froth that clings to the rim. it smells faintly of toasted bread and fruit – a strange, magnetic pairing, impossible to ignore once you’ve tasted it.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The bass rolled up through the floorboards and into Donghyuck’s chair, rattling through the soles of his boots. The air was thick with perfume, beer, and the warm tang of sweat from the crowd pressing shoulder to shoulder near the dance floor. Lights shifted slow over the red leather booths, glancing off the gloss of half-empty glasses and the glint of rings on strangers’ hands.
Donghyuck’s own caught the light just as easily – three silver bands stacked along one hand, a gold signet on the other. He’d dressed sharper tonight; black silk shirt unbuttoned enough to hint at the chain beneath, trousers cut to skin rather than cling.
Jaemin had clocked the change of atmosphere immediately when they sat down, smirking into his drink. “Planning on seducing someone tonight?” he’d murmured, earning himself a lazy middle finger for the trouble.
Donghyuck had claimed that corner table with Jeno and Jaemin an hour ago, but their drinks were barely touched. The music was too loud for real conversation, which was probably why the three of them had settled into some low-voiced debate – Jeno leaning in with the steady tone, Jaemin gesturing with sharp flicks of his fingers.
Donghyuck caught snippets between the throb of bass – “precedent,” “bad optics”, “client appeal” – and decided he had no interest in that tonight.
Instead, his attention kept drifting towards the bar.
Mark was there. Of course he was, moving through the chaos behind the counter like the crowd was just background noise. White shirt again, but the sleeves were shoved up messier tonight, hair a little undone from heat and motion.
He leaned towards a tall man in a loosened tie, laughing at something the guy said. A laugh deep enough to flash both dimples and tip his head back for half a second.
It hit Donghyuck like a hook.
He told himself he was just… Observing. That it was curiosity, nothing more, watching the way Mark’s hand lingered a beat too long as he slid the man a drink. That it was purely idle interest in how Mark’s mouth tilted when the man leaned in closer.
But curiosity wouldn’t make his jaw tighten like that.
Jaemin said something sharp enough to pull Jeno’s mouth into a thin line, but Donghyuck barely heard it. His glass was still half full, condensation slick under his fingers, but the idea of sitting here and watching from a distance was already souring in his mouth.
Mark hadn’t looked over yet, hadn’t given the faintest sign he’d noticed Donghyuck was here. That alone was enough to make his chest burn.
“Go on, then,” Jaemin said, loud enough to cut through the bass. There was a sly little smile to his mouth.
Donghyuck turned his head slowly. “Go on what?”
“Spare us the pain and go talk to him.”
Jeno’s brows drew together. “Talk to who?”
Jaemin didn’t even glance at him – his eyes stayed fixed on Donghyuck like a cat watching a mouse. “The bartender he keeps sighing about in the bullpen. You know, the one with the dimples.”
Jeno blinked and Donghyuck set his glass down with exaggerated care, letting a smug smile creep in.
“I wouldn’t call it sighing,” he said. “More like… Acknowledging the craft.”
“Mm-hm,” Jaemin drawled, clearly unconvinced.
Without another word, Donghyuck slid from the chair, smoothing the front of his shirt. He didn’t look back – just started weaving through the crowd towards the bar, every line of his body carrying the confidence meant to be noticed.
If Mark hadn’t seen him yet, he would now.
When he finally leaned in onto the bar, he didn’t look at Mark right away. Fingers tapped idly against the wood, the slow rhythm at odds with the noise around them.
Mark glanced over eventually before turning back to finish the pour for the guy in a gray wool coat. “One sec,” he said, voice raised just enough to carry.
Donghyuck’s mouth tipped in a faint, knowing smile. One sec, sure. He could play that game.
He adjusted the fall of his shirt, brushed a ringed thumb over his bottom lip, and waited.
When Mark did come over, it was without commotion; just that steadiness in his shoulders and the faint trace of cedar when he leaned close enough to be heard.
“What’ll it be?”
Donghyuck didn’t answer right away. He let his gaze drift lazily over Mark’s face, the line of his jaw, the faint shadows under his eyes.
“Do you even have time for games tonight?” he asked finally, voice pitched just loud enough to slip past the bass. “Wouldn’t want to be a bother.”
Mark’s eyes flicked towards the room – the press of bodies, the orders flying, the clink of glass against glass. By any sane measure, he had no time for anything except keeping up.
But then his gaze returned, a dimple threatening in the corner of his mouth.
“I’ve got time,” he said.
Donghyuck let that sink in for a beat before leaning on the bar, his rings catching the light.
“Then make me the oddest thing you’ve got,” he said. “Surprise me.”
Mark’s smirk deepened – not much, but enough for Donghyuck to see the faint crease at the corner of his eye before he turned towards the shelves. He didn’t bother asking if Donghyuck was serious. He just reached up, sliding a tall flute off the rack with one hand while the other pulled a dark bottle from the lower shelf.
Donghyuck watched, brows lifting when the familiar black-and-gold label of Guinness caught the light. “You’re joking.”
Mark didn’t answer. He popped the cap with a swift flick of the wrist, the hiss and rush of malt rising between them. The glass took the stout first –deep, velvety brown sliding up the sides in a slow climb– before he reached for another bottle.
This one was pale gold in a green glass. He eased it open, the soft sigh of champagne fizzing to life, and poured it in a thin, steady stream over the back of a spoon so it floated over the stout in two distinct layers.
The contrast was almost decadent – black giving way to gold, the bubbles racing upwards through the dark like they were trying to escape.
Mark set it in front of him and waited. No explanation, no name, no enjoy.
Donghyuck tilted his head, eyes flicking between the drink and the man behind it. “You really are dangerous when you’ve got time.”
Mark’s mouth curved like he might answer, but before anything could leave it, a voice from the far end cut through the air.
“Hey, Markie! Ice is running low!”
He tipped his head in silent acknowledgement, then glanced back at Donghyuck. “Give me a minute.”
Donghyuck only lifted his glass in a lazy salute as Mark stepped away, threading through the narrow gap behind the counter to where a girl in a black apron was wrestling with one of the stainless-steel buckets. Mark’s hands slid in without hesitation to help her tip the heavy bin. The clatter of ice against metal was loud enough to cut through the music for a moment.
When the last cascade of cubes rattled into place, Mark reached in and plucked one out – a small, perfect square – and without breaking stride, popped it into his mouth. The girl barked a laugh, swatting at his arms as he grinned, a flash of something boyish breaking through that usual composure.
He straightened, running a hand over the back of his neck. Two girls in shimmery tops leaned over the centre of the bar, waving him down. He stopped without hesitation, sliding into that easy rhythm of bottle, pour, garnish, their laughter rising above the swell of music.
Donghyuck didn’t drink. He didn’t even pretend to be interested in the glass in front of him.
He just watched, the faint burn of the Guinness-champagne mix already curling low in his gut, his fingers tapping idle patterns against the cool wood while Mark’s shoulders moved in easy lines across the distance.
When the two girls finally had their drinks in hand, Mark lingered for a moment, exchanging a few more words that made them lean in, smiling. Then he slipped past them, weaving the curve of the counter until he was back in front of Donghyuck.
“Still in one piece?” he asked, voice carrying a low thread of amusement that could almost be mistaken for care.
Donghyuck swirled the drink slowly, watching the bubbles rise through the stout. “Barely. It’s a miracle I survived without supervision.”
Mark’s mouth pulled into something between a smirk and a real smile. “Looks like you managed.”
They let the music fill the space for a moment, Mark’s hands busy with straightening the bar mat, wiping a faint ring of water from the wood. He didn’t hurry, but he didn’t drift away either.
Donghyuck tilted his head. “You know… The bartenders here are getting too friendly.”
Mark’s brow ticked, a small tell, though his tone stayed light. “Part of the job.”
“Mm,” Donghyuck’s mouth curved, but the look in his eyes didn’t quite match it. “Guess some are friendlier than others.”
The pause stretched just a fraction before Mark set the rag aside. “Guess some customers notice more than others.”
Donghyuck’s fingers tightened a bit on the glass, his mouth tilting like he’d just heard the opening to a song he liked. “Hard not to notice when you’re laughing like that,” he said.
Mark’s smirk stayed in place, but his eyes sharpened a touch. “And here I thought you were too busy with your friends to keep track of me.”
“Guess I’m better at multitasking than you thought,” Donghyuck took a slow sip. “Some of us don’t forget people so easily.”
Mark’s hands stilled on the bar. “If you’re implying I did…”
“I’m implying you’re good at acting like you did.”
Mark’s jaw worked just once, barely visible under the warm light. He leaned a hip into the counter, abandoning the service for a moment under the pretence of polishing glasses. “Maybe I just like to see how far someone’s willing to go to get my attention.”
Donghyuck’s smile turned razor-edged. “Dangerous game to play with someone like me.”
The music pulsed faintly between them, muffled, and for a long second neither of them looked away. Then Mark leaned in, voice low enough to be swallowed by the hum of the bar.
“You could just tell me you don’t like sharing.”
Donghyuck didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t like wasting my time, first and foremost,” he countered, the words smooth.
Mark’s smirk deepened before the sound of someone shouting his name from the far end of the bar cut through the air. He straightened, tapping the edge of Donghyuck’s glass once with two fingers.
“Hold that thought.”
And just like that, he was gone, sliding into the bustle like it was second nature.
Donghyuck watched him weave between barbacks and servers, watched his shoulders shift under the clean lines of his shirt as he poured, fetched, and leaned in to hear customers over the noise.
When he came back down the line, it wasn’t directly to Donghyuck – it was to the cutting station behind him, where a loose-leaf notebook sat half-tucked under the tray of lemons. Mark bent slightly, tearing a strip from one of the pages with a clean, quick motion.
His pen moved sharply, like every stroke was as measured as the drink he made.
Donghyuck tracked him as he crossed past, not slowing, not breaking stride – just brushing close enough to slip the folded paper under the base of Donghyuck’s glass before heading for a pair of men waiting in the corner.
Donghyuck pretended to ignore it, fingers drumming lazily on the glass, until the men’s voices rose over the music. Then he slid a finger under the glass and pulled the paper free.
A phone number.
And beneath it, in quick, teasing script: For when you’re done pretending you don’t like the game.
The corner of his mouth curled, satisfaction settling in his chest. He tipped back the rest of the Guinness in one swallow, the last of the bubbles burning pleasantly at his throat, then set the glass down with a muted thud.
When he came back to the table, Jeno was mid-rant about something Jaemin had said. Donghyuck slid in between them, lounging like nothing had happened, the scrap of paper folded once and tucked between his fingers.
🍷
SMOKED HONEY • SMOKY OLD FASHIONED
the smoke curls over the glass like it’s alive, weaving into the air before it fades. beneath it, amber glows around a single ice sphere. the first sip burns, but the honey lingers long after.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The music from the party was still thudding faintly in his bones by the time he stepped out into the night. Cool air slid under his collar, sharp enough to make him shiver.
He’d left without saying goodbye, slipping out between a group of interns hailing cabs, the glitter of the rooftop fading behind him. His phone was warm in his hand, screen lit with the texts he’d fired off in the elevator.
Nothing too incriminating – a blurry shot of the dessert table, a picture of Jaemin mock-serenading Renjun with a champagne flute, and one of his own half-empty glass next to the view from the balcony.
Then, a caption under the last one.
[me]
not bad for a friday night
Mark hadn’t replied to any of them until two minutes ago.
[mark (dimples)]
Should I be flattered or concerned?
Donghyuck smirked to himself, weaving around a couple on the sidewalk.
[me]
depends.[mark (dimples)]
On what?[me]
whether you’re free.
Another pause. He could almost picture Mark’s brow ticking, the way his fingers might hover over the screen before committing to an answer.
[mark (dimples)]
You’re drunk[me]
tipsy[mark (dimples)]
Tipsy people make bad decisions[me]
only if theyre boring
😉
This time, the pause stretched. Long enough for him to catch his reflection in a darkened shop window – black shirt rumpled from dancing, the first few buttons gone, gold chain catching the streetlight. Hair a little too undone and a tie hanging from his pocket like an afterthought.
Another buzz.
[mark (dimples)]
Come by the pub
I’ll make you something to sober up a bit
His smile curved, lazy and sharp.
[me]
bossy
The dots blinked.
[mark (dimples)]
Consider it community service.
Donghyuck didn’t bother replying. He was already turning down the street that would take him there, boots catching on the uneven pavement, the faint taste of champagne still clinging to his mouth.
He didn’t step inside right away. He paused just over the threshold, letting the warmer air wash over him, letting his eyes adjust to the light. His fingers worked at the buttons of his coat until it slid from his shoulders and into one hand.
The walk from the party had taken the edge off his tipsiness but not the shine. His sleeves were still messily shoved up, and the faint heat in his cheeks wasn’t from the cold.
The pub was quiet for a Thursday night, almost eerily so after the blur of music and voices he’d just slipped away from. Only a handful of people occupied the booths along the wall – two middle-aged men hunched over pints, a girl with her laptop and a stack of papers, a couple sitting close enough their knees had to be touching.
Behind the bar, a second bartender moved without hurry, stacking clean glasses by the shelves.
Mark was at the far end, hair a little damp at the temples from the heat. He was bent over the sink, rinsing a shaker, the warm overhead light catching the curve of his wrist and the slick steel.
Donghyuck didn’t head straight for him. Not yet. His coat hung over one forearm, his steps slow, gaze fixed just long enough to make the contact deliberate when Mark finally glanced up.
The recognition was subtle – a faint lift of an eyebrow, the shadow of a dimple tugging before it was smoothed away. Mark didn’t beckon, didn’t call out. Just went back to what he was doing, like he knew exactly how to pull Donghyuck across the room without a word.
By the time he reached the bar, the stool waiting for him was empty and the last patron moved away with their drink in hand.
He slid onto it like it had been reserved for him all night.
Mark didn’t speak right away. He took a towel, wiping a slow line across the condensation beading on the wood.
“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” he said finally, voice pitched low enough that Donghyuck had to lean in a little to hear.
Donghyuck’s smile was lazy, like he knew the line was a bait. “You invite me, I show up. Seems fair.”
Mark’s eyes swept over him once – the hair undone, the black shirt open at the collar, the faint pink on his cheeks – before he set the towel aside.
“Still calling this ‘tipsy’?”
“Depends,” Donghyuck murmured, resting his elbow on the bar. “On what you make me next.”
Mark didn’t move for the bottles. Instead, he reached for a tall glass, filled it with ice from the bin, and topped it off with water from the tap.
He set it in front of Donghyuck without a word.
Donghyuck glanced down at it, the back up at him, one brow arching. “That’s… Not exactly what I had in mind.”
“You can’t even pretend you’re sober enough for a real drink yet,” Mark said like he’d already made the decision for both of them.
Donghyuck’s smile sharpened, but he lifted the glass anyway, ice clinking softly against the rim as he took a slow sip; the way one might humour someone they had no intention of obeying.
“Is this standard protocol,” he asked lightly, gaze half-lidded over the rim, “or do I just get the special treatment?”
Mark’s eyes flicked over him, assessing, as if counting the faint flush high on his cheeks and the faint trace of cologne tangled with the ghost of someone else’s party.
“Let’s call it preventative maintenance,” he said. “You look like you left somewhere before you were ready, but you haven’t quite decided if you regret it.”
Donghyuck set the glass down with exaggerated care, fingers drawing a lazy path through the condensation on the bar. “Or maybe I left because there was somewhere better I’d rather be.”
Something passed over Mark’s face – a shadow of smirk, caught and kept inside. He rested his fingertips against the glass and pushed it just a fraction closer until it nudged Donghyuck’s knuckles.
“Humour me. Finish it. Then we’ll see if this is better.”
Donghyuck tilted his head, holding his gaze the way someone might hold a lighter to paper, almost daring it to burn. Then he tipped the glass back and let the water go down in two swallows, the last piece of ice bumping against his teeth.
“There. Empty,” he murmured. “What’s the verdict?”
Mark took the glass without breaking eye contact and slid it out of sight with the same care he’d poured it.
“Verdict’s pending.”
Only then did his hands dip under the counter and came back with a short, heavy tumbler and a small wooden box the colour of burned sugar. He set them down with a quiet click.
The bourbon Mark chose wasn’t the flashiest bottle on the rack. He poured slowly, precisely, letting the liquid slip over a single block of ice with a steadiness that made it hard not to watch.
A thin strip of orange peel came next, rolled and twisted.
The other bartender, a tall guy with a knot of curls at his nape, glanced over from rinsing pint glasses and let out a low whistle.
“Breaking out the toys again? Show-off.”
Mark didn’t even look embarrassed. He just flashed him a grin – wide, teeth-bright, tipping his whole face open. Something Donghyuck hadn’t seen before.
That little difference lodged hot and inconvenient in Donghyuck’s chest.
Mark turned back to him, pinching a handful of wood chips and dropping them into the chamber. “Oak and cherry,” he said, as if nothing had happened. “Sweet at the start, heavier once it sits with you.”
Donghyuck leaned in, heat from the bar lamps catching on the sheen of his shirt. “This is you showing off?”
A flame snapped to life in Mark’s hand, the chips catching with a soft crackle before curling into smoke.
“This is me making use of a slow night,” he said. “And maybe… Seeing how you handle something a little heavier.”
The smoke swirled under the cloche, pale ribbons wrapping the bourbon in loops. Mark let it sit, fingers resting lightly on top, before lifting it and letting the scent break free – woodfire, citrus, the faintest ghost of sweetness.
Donghyuck’s mouth curved despite himself. “I’m listening.”
Mark nudged the drink forward until the base tapped one of Donghyuck’s rings. “Smoky Old Fashioned. Thought you might appreciate it.”
As Donghyuck’s fingers closed around the tumbler, Mark added, almost casually, “Fun fact – the Old Fashioned was originally just called a ‘whiskey cocktail.’ The name only stuck when people kept coming back asking for it the old-fashioned way.”
Donghyuck raised a brow. “So basically, it’s a drink that got its name because people couldn’t let go of what they liked.”
Mark’s mouth curved and it was nothing like the wide, easy grin he’d thrown to the other bartender. This one was smaller, warmer, something that caught the edges like it was meant only for him.
“Something like that.”
Donghyuck took his first sip.
The bourbon rolled in heavy, the smoke curling through it like a low hum. The citrus cut in at the end, bright but not sharp, a thread of sweetness lingering like it had nowhere else to be. And under it all, there it was – that smoky difference.
The same subtle shift he’d caught earlier in Mark’s smile, except now it was right here on his tongue, impossible to ignore.
He set the glass down slowly, thumb brushing the rim, and didn’t bother hiding the way his gaze stayed on Mark. “I think I like your version better.”
Mark rested his palms on the bar, leaning just far enough forward that Donghyuck could catch the faint trace of cedar again – and maybe, if he was imagining it right, a hint of smoke that had nothing to do with the drink.
“Most people do,” Mark said. His eyes flicked briefly to Donghyuck’s mouth before finding his eyes again. “But then, most people don’t admit it.”
Donghyuck let a slow smile spread. “Guess I’m not most people.”
“That’s becoming pretty obvious,” Mark murmured, straightening just enough to put an inch of space between them. He reached for the bar rag, but his gaze lingered a fraction too long before he turned away, leaving Donghyuck with the weight of that attention still on him.
The music from the other end of the room drifted faintly into the lull and Donghyuck took another sip of the Old Fashioned, letting it burn just enough to match the heat curling slowly in his chest.
Mark came back sooner than Donghyuck expected, sliding into place across from him with the same unhurried pace. His hand rested briefly on the bar beside Donghyuck’s glass, close enough that the edge of his thumb brushed the condensation.
“You’re nursing this one,” he said softly.
Donghyuck tilted the glass lazily. “Maybe I’m pacing myself.”
“Or maybe,” Mark countered, “you just like an excuse to stay here longer.”
The words hung there. Donghyuck’s gaze caught on that almost-smile he’d seen Mark give to no one else tonight.
“You ever get tired of it?” Donghyuck asked finally.
Mark’s brow ticked. “Of what?”
“Just watching,” Donghyuck said, eyes flicking briefly to the room – the scattered booths, the hum of conversation in the far corner, the faint clink of glass from the other bartender. “People coming and going. Never staying.”
Mark’s fingers tapped once against the wood, a small, thoughtful rhythm. When his eyes met Donghyuck’s again, they were a shade darker.
“Sometimes,” he said. “Mostly when I want to do more than watch.”
The words slid between them like a match struck in a dark room – enough to set everything else simmering.
Donghyuck didn’t move right away. He let the weight of it sink in, watching Mark’s mouth as though he could catch the aftertaste of the sentence still on his lips. His pulse was steady, but only because he was keeping it there by force.
“And what’s stopping you?” he asked finally, tone pitched in that easy, almost lazy drawl he knew could pull people closer without them realising it. His thumb traced a slow circle over the rim of his glass; the motion was casual, except for the way the pad of his finger pressed just a fraction harder than it needed to, betraying the heat threading through him.
Mark’s eyes lingered on the movement, dark and unreadable, before lifting back to meet his.
“Sometimes it’s better to wait,” he said, voice barely above the hum of the bar, but deep enough that Donghyuck felt it low in his chest. “Let the right moment land.”
The corner of Donghyuck’s mouth tilted. “And you already decided when that moment is?”
Mark’s gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe I have.”
Something tightened between them, the air going heavier in the narrow space over the polished wood. Just two glasses, a scattering of citrus peels, and the faint trace of cedar and bourbon smoke between them.
Mark leaned in a little, not enough to close the gap, but enough that Donghyuck could feel the heat of him and smell the faint bite of charred orange still clinging to his shirt.
Donghyuck’s fingers stilled on the glass. His eyes flicked briefly to Mark’s mouth, then back up. “Aren’t you confident?”
Mark’s lips twitched, just shy of a smile. “Confidence, or a good read.”
“And which am I?”
Mark didn’t answer, but his look said enough – a slow sweep from Donghyuck’s eyes to his mouth and back again.
Donghyuck’s heart knocked once, hard.
“Mark!” a voice called from the far end of the bar, bright and oblivious.
Mark’s gaze lingered for one beat longer before he straightened, slow as if reluctant to break the moment between them. He set the bar rag neatly aside. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Donghyuck only chuckled.
“I’m going to hold that thought,” he said and then Mark was gone, moving back into the easy rhythm of service, leaving the tension hanging exactly where it was – unresolved and heavy enough to keep Donghyuck’s pulse kicking.
🍷
DARK CHERRY • AMARETTO AND COLA
deep brown with flashes of red when the light hits. the cherry sinks slowly, bleeding color into the liquid, staining it sweeter than it was meant to be.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
By the time Donghyuck came back from the bathroom, the air in the pub had shifted – a subtle current he felt before he even reached the bar. The stool he’d left was no longer his.
Jaemin sat there now, angled forward with elbows braced wide and posture loose in that calculated way that said he knew he looked good under the amber lights. His head was tipped just enough for the chain on his neck to catch the glow, smile aimed squarely at the man behind the counter.
Mark.
He was steady as ever, posture unbothered, movements efficient. But his smile wasn’t the same Donghyuck had been getting. This was the customer-service version; something you could wrap in cellophane and hand to anyone without risk.
Still, Donghyuck clocked the way Jaemin leaned closer, the way Mark’s brow ticked once. The glint of the bar spoon turning in Mark’s hand that caught the light, silver against the deep glass of whatever he was stirring.
Off the side, Jeno and Renjun had taken up residence at the far end of the bar. Jeno nursed a pint, gaze angled towards Jaemin with quiet amusement. Renjun, less restrained, had his chin propped in one hand, eyes flicking between Jaemin and Mark like he was watching a stage play and waiting for the second act to start.
Donghyuck slowed halfway there, letting himself take in everything – Jaemin’s grin, Mark’s patient tilt of the head, the subtle line of his jaw as he reached for another bottle.
Jealousy? Maybe.
Irritation laced with heat and a spark that hooked somewhere behind his ribs and wouldn’t let go? Definitely.
Jaemin said something that made Jeno snort into his drink, and that was enough. Donghyuck closed the distance in three measured steps, catching the tail end of Mark saying,
“–depends on who you ask.”
“Depends on who’s answering, too,” Donghyuck cut in smoothly, sliding between Jaemin’s stool and the bar with the easy precision of someone who’d been aiming for the space all along. His shoulder brushed Jaemin’s – not hard, but enough to leave no doubt he was reclaiming it.
Jaemin turned, brows up in mock surprise, voice dripping with innocence. “Oh, hey. We were just–”
“I can see,” Donghyuck said without looking at him. His eyes stayed on Mark like they’d been mid-conversation before this interruption.
Mark’s hand stilled on the glass for half a second. Jeno muttered something under his breath, hiding another smirk in his pint.
Jaemin leaned back just enough to glance between them. “Didn’t know the bartender was taken,” he said lightly, testing the air.
Donghyuck finally let his mouth curve. “That’s funny,” he murmured. “I thought you were into shiny, new things. Not things that are someone else’s.”
That earned him a sharp look from Jaemin, a low whistle from Renjun, and – most importantly – the barest flicker of a smirk from Mark before he turned back to the drink in his hand.
Donghyuck didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned a fraction closer to the counter, forearms resting on the polished wood like he had all the time in the world.
“So,” he said, tone deceptively casual, “how about you make something strong enough to make me forget Jaemin’s voice for five minutes?”
“Rude,” Jaemin mumbled, though his grin didn’t waver.
Mark’s eyes flicked between them, a low hum caught in his throat. “That’s a tall order,” he said, reaching for a clean glass.
Donghyuck watched the motion and the curl of Mark’s fingers around the stem. “You’ve gotten taller since we’ve met. I think you can manage.”
Jaemin made a face, tilting towards Mark like he was determined not to lose ground. “If you’re making him something, you should make me one too. You know, for fairness.”
“That’s not fairness,” Donghyuck said without looking at him. “That’s you riding my order.”
That got Jeno’s attention. He looked up from his pint, pushing his sleeve back far enough to flash the watch Donghyuck had given him last year. “If you start bickering, I’m out. I already work late enough without having to invoice my bar tab.”
Renjun hummed. “You’re just mad you’re not on the clock right now so it counts as billable hours.”
And Donghyuck would agree, because that’s what coffee-fuelled nights in the library turning into a shared floor at the firm does to a person. They knew each other’s tells as well as they knew each other’s case histories.
Which meant Jaemin knew exactly when Donghyuck was staking a claim, and Donghyuck knew Jaemin was doing it just to get under his skin.
Mark slid the glass towards the ice well. “I’ll make one drink,” he said. “For the person who actually ordered it.”
Donghyuck let his mouth curve slow and pleased. “Guess that’s me.”
Jaemin gave an exaggerated sigh, swivelling towards Jeno and Renjun. “See? This is why partnership tracks are toxic. Everyone’s territorial.”
Renjun didn’t even look up from his drink. “You’re just mad you lost.”
Mark didn’t so much as glance at Jaemin’s theatrics. He reached for the amaretto instead, the bottle catching a warm glint from the overhead light. The pour was unhurried, a smooth ribbon pooling into the glass before he reached for the cola and tilted the bottle just enough for a slow fizz to rise.
The ice shifted with a soft clink when he set the glass down, and his knuckles brushed the polished wood as he nudged it towards Donghyuck.
“Sweet,” Mark said, voice low enough that it threaded under the chatter behind them. “But not shy.”
Donghyuck’s fingers closed around the glass, thumb tracing the faint condensation as if testing the temperature. “Sounds familiar.”
Mark’s mouth twitched. He didn’t move right away, standing just close enough that Donghyuck could see the faint crease where his cuff was rolled and the dark glint of the chain at his collarbone.
Behind them, Jaemin tipped his chin at Renjun. “And you’re both just gonna let him monopolise the bar?”
Renjun smirked into his drink. “Looks like Mark’s the one doing the monopolising.”
Donghyuck lifted the glass, letting the cola’s caramel sweetness and the amaretto’s almond warmth meet him halfway. The first sip was smooth and deceptively easy, as if it could slide past unnoticed if you didn’t pay attention.
Impossible to ignore once you did.
When he lowered the glass, Mark was still there, watching. Not the idle curiosity of a bartender checking if someone liked their drink, but with the quiet, steady intent of someone filing away the smallest tells.
Donghyuck let the corner of his mouth lift slowly. “Drinkable,” he said.
Mark’s gaze didn’t shift. “That’s the point.”
It hung there, enough to make Jaemin mutter under his breath, “God, get a room,” which earned him a shove from Jeno and a soft laugh from Renjun.
Mark finally eased back, sliding down the bar towards a cluster of waiting glasses, and it was like Jaemin had been holding his tongue just long enough.
“So,” he said, drawing out the words as he swivelled lazily on his stool to face Donghyuck. “Are we all supposed to pretend you weren’t just making heart eyes over the drink, or…?”
Donghyuck didn’t look at him, still tracing his thumb along the condensation on his glass. “I was appreciating the craftsmanship,” he said, tone perfectly even.
Jaemin snorted. “Right. That’s what we’re calling it now. You’ve been ‘appreciating craftsmanship’ for, what, three months?”
“Four,” Renjun supplies without looking up from his own drink.
Jeno cut in, shaking his head. “You’re all ridiculous.”
“Not all of us,” Jaemin said, eyes still on Donghyuck. “Some of us don’t flirt with the staff until they’re on a first-name basis with our drink orders.”
Donghyuck finally met his gaze, unbothered. “Maybe that’s why you’re still single.”
That earned a low ‘oooh’ from Renjun and an unguarded laugh from Jeno, loud enough to make a couple of heads turn from a booth.
Jaemin rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him. “Keep deflecting, Hyuck. We all know you’ve already decided how this is gonna go.”
Donghyuck just took another slow sip, letting the almond-sweet burn linger before he said, “Good. Then I won’t need your advice.”
Mark’s return was heralded by the faint click of ice against glass and the warm shadows that fell over the edge of their table. He slid back into place behind the bar like he’d never been gone at all, towel in one hand.
“What won’t you need advice for?” he asked, eyes flicking between them in that careful, unreadable way of his.
“Nothing important,” Donghyuck said smoothly, leaning back on his stool as if that half-smile on his mouth hadn’t been there a heartbeat ago. “We were just discussing partnership strategies.”
Jaemin barked a laugh, clearly unable to help himself. “Is that what they call flirting with the bartender in your department?”
Mark’s brow shot up, a glint of curiosity slipping through. “Flirting, huh?”
Donghyuck kept his eyes on Mark, ignoring Jaemin entirely. “Apparently, that’s the story going around.”
The other man tilted his head, drying his hands on the towel slowly. “And what do you think?”
Renjun looked like he was trying not to choke on his drink, while Jeno was doing a poor job hiding his grin. Jaemin, however, looked positively smug – right up until Donghyuck’s mouth curved in something languid.
“I think some people talk too much,” he said, voice low enough that it might’ve been for Mark alone.
For a beat, Mark didn’t move. Didn’t break eye contact. Just let the noise of the pub fade into something distant, like the two of them had quietly stepped out of it. Then the edge of his mouth lifted.
“Well,” he said, setting the towel down. “Good thing I’m better at listening.”
Jaemin groaned under his breath. “Oh, for–”
But Renjun’s sharp kick under the table cut him off, and Jeno’s soft laugh bled into the low thrum of the bar again.
Mark peeled away towards the far end of the bar, drawn by a sharp wave of a credit card. The light caught in the dark of his hair as he moved and the moment his back was turned, Jaemin’s elbow found Donghyuck’s ribs.
“So that’s what you’ve been sneaking off for,” he murmured, voice pitched just low enough that Jeno had to tilt his head to catch it.
Donghyuck didn’t even blink. He lifted his glass in a slow arc, like it was a shield he could sip from. The amaretto caught the light, gold deepening in the shadow of his hand.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mmhm,” Jaemin’s gaze didn’t leave the far end of the bar. “Tall, sharp jaw, dimples when he smiles–”
“Sounds like half the city,” Donghyuck cut in smoothly.
Renjun let out a quiet snort. “No, I’m with Jaemin. That was… A lot of eye contact for someone you’re just ordering drinks from.”
Jeno glanced between them, brows knitting faintly. “Wait– This is the same guy you pretend you’re ‘just friends’ with?”
Donghyuck took his time with the sip, letting the fizz bite and almond linger, his thumb rolling idly against the glass stem. “I never said friends.”
Jaemin tipped his head back in a soft, knowing laugh. Donghyuck only let his brows lift in reply, half challenge and half warning, before setting the glass down with a muted tap. His eyes slid back towards the far end of the bar, where Mark was bent over a drink shaker, backlit by the warm glow of the shelves.
Jaemin was still talking – something about a client dinner and an impossible deadline – but Donghyuck’s attention had already drifted back to the bar.
Mark had moved again, further down, leaning over to speak with a girl in a dark green dress. She was smiling too much, tapping her nails on the counter in the rhythm of the song. And Mark… He wasn’t smiling the way he smiled at Donghyuck, not exactly, but there was an ease that pulled heat low in Donghyuck’s chest anyway.
He didn’t mind people looking.
It was the same thrill as walking into a hearing in a suit that fit just right, the same satisfaction in watching an opponent struggle to clock the details and know, without being told, that they were already outmatched.
Let them look. Let them notice. That was the point.
But it only worked if, at the end of it, Mark’s attention came back to him.
Jaemin nudged his knee under the table. “You’re staring,” he said with all false innocence.
Donghyuck didn’t bother to look at him. “You’d stare too.”
“True,” Jaemin conceded, smirking. “I just wouldn’t look like I was plotting the other guy’s funeral while doing it.”
Renjun gave a soft huff. “You could just go over there.”
“I could,” Donghyuck said, slow enough to make them all look at him, “but then he wouldn’t have to come to me.”
It was petty. He knew it.
But the way Mark’s shoulders shifted, like he could feel the weight of Donghyuck’s gaze from across the room, made it worth every second. And sure enough, a minute later, Mark excused himself from the green dress and made his way back in a pace that said he knew exactly what he was doing.
Donghyuck let his spine settle, mouth curving slow and easy, every inch of him arranged like the scene had been set in advance.
His.
🍷
BLOOD ORANGE • NEGRONI
bittersweet red, shining like a wound under dim light. the scent is all citrus bite and herb bitterness; the taste hits hard before softening into something addictive
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Donghyuck’s glass was almost empty when he caught it – a flicker of movement near the middle of the bar.
Mark, leaning in just slightly over the counter, head tipped towards a man in a navy button-down. Not leaning enough to be improper, but enough to make Donghyuck’s jaw tighten.
The man’s laugh was loud enough to carry over the low hum of the pub, weaving somewhere in the territory of using it because he thinks he has a chance. And Mark didn’t match it, but he stayed there. Listening.
Donghyuck’s knee bounced once under the bar before he stilled it. No point making a scene.
Instead, he tipped the last swallow of his drink down, set the empty glass exactly where Mark would see it if he looked this way. Then he leaned back in his stool, one arm hooked over the backrest, gaze pinned to the side of Mark’s face with all the patience he had.
Mark didn’t look.
He moved behind the bar, reaching for a bottle that didn’t really need reaching, setting down a coaster with unnecessary precision. Every move was calm. Professional. A little too professional.
Donghyuck knew that pace.
Fine.
Two could play.
He let his fingertips drum once against the bar. When that didn’t work, he shifted, letting the heel of his boot tap against the brass rail with a muted thud.
Still nothing.
Mark was rinsing a shaker now, head bowed, the light catching in the dark sweep of his hair. The man in the navy shirt said something else, and Mark’s mouth twitched like he was fighting back a grin.
Heat curled sharp in Donghyuck’s chest.
He lifted his phone instead, angling it under the bar, and sent a text.
[me]
empty glass here
In case you’re shortstaffed
He watched the notification light up Mark’s back pocket when he shifted to grab a towel. Saw the way Mark’s hand slipped into his pocket, the quick glance at the screen. And then, deliberately, he slid the phone away without replying.
So that’s how he wanted to play it.
Donghyuck set his phone down face-first, letting his thumb drum once against the table before curling into his palm. If Mark wanted to ignore him, fine. Two could play that game… And Donghyuck had always been a fast learner when it came to winning.
The other bartender drifted into view – tall, broad-shouldered, with a looseness to his stance that calmed even Donghyuck. His hair looked like it had been combed once this morning and then ignored in favour of running a hand through it every hour since.
“Need a refill?” Johnny asked, leaning one forearm onto the counter, voice a friendly drawl.
Donghyuck let his gaze flick down the bar to Mark, still turned to the guy in the navy shirt.
“Yeah,” Donghyuck said, sliding his empty glass forward. “Make it a Negroni.”
Johnny’s brows lifted, just a fraction, like the request had caught him off guard. “No riddles tonight?”
Donghyuck let his mouth curve a bit. “Going for something that actually tastes like something.”
Johnny grinned and pulled two tumblers from the shelf, setting them down with an easy clink. “You make a good one?” Donghyuck asked, leaning in just enough to make the exchange look casual.
“Best in the city,” Johnny replied without hesitation, already reaching for the Campari. “But only if you’re one of those rare people who actually appreciate balance. Most just want it sweet.”
“Oh, I can handle balance,” Donghyuck said, tone slow, letting the words turn over like a coin in his mouth.
That was when Mark’s gaze finally cut down the bar. Just a flicker, but enough for Donghyuck to catch the stillness in his jaw and the way his fingers stopped mid-polish on the shaker.
Johnny kept talking, oblivious or pretending to be. “See, the trick is letting the vermouth breathe just enough before–” He broke off, reaching for the gin. The bottle’s neck gleamed under the light.
Mark moved.
A clean line down the length of the bar. He stopped just as Johnny was uncapping the vermouth, hand closing over the bottle. “I’ll take this one,” he said lowly. Politely. Almost.
Johnny looked between them, his grin sharpening into something sly. “Sure, man,” he said, letting go without a fight. “He’s all yours.”
And then, just to twist the knife, Johnny clapped Mark once on the shoulder before retreating towards the other end, whistling under his breath.
Donghyuck tracked him for a beat before his eyes slid back to Mark, letting the smug tilt of his mouth linger like the aftertaste of something sweet. “Change of heart?”
Mark said nothing at first, lining up the bottles with precise, unhurried movements, as though the other man’s touch on them had left something to be corrected. Only then, without looking up, he answered.
“Just making sure it’s done right.”
Mark set the bottles down in a perfect line, his fingers brushing the label of the gin as if reacquainting himself with it. Donghyuck leaned forward on his forearms, pretending to watch the bottles, but really watching the curve of Mark’s hands and the way his wrists flexed as he reached for the mixing glass.
A measure of gin slid in first, followed by the Campari, its deep red shining like a jewel in the bar lights. Mark’s movements stayed steady, his gaze fixed on the pour as though the rest of the room had ceased to exist. Only when he reached for the vermouth did he glance up, holding Donghyuck’s eyes for a fraction too long before tipping it in.
The bar around them felt smaller in that moment; the chatter from the booths softening under the steady clink of ice against glass. Mark stirred with slow, deliberate turns of the bar spoon, the liquid turning more opaque with each pass.
“You don’t trust Johnny?” Donghyuck asked, light enough to mask the challenge underneath.
Mark didn’t look away from the glass. “I trust him,” he said evenly. “I just like to know where the weight lands.”
He strained the drink into a chilled tumbler and caught an orange peel from the garnish tray, twisting it over the glass until the oil bloomed sharp in the air. The slice grazed the rim once before he set it in place, perfect.
Then he slid the Negroni towards Donghyuck, not across the wood in a casual push, but directly into his waiting hand. Donghyuck’s fingers closed around the glass, but he didn’t take a sip right away. “You like to know where the weight lands,” he repeated slowly. “That’s a bartender thing, or a you thing?”
Mark’s eyes lifted at that, the faintest pull at his brow. “It’s a not-letting-things-slip thing.”
“Mm,” Donghyuck leaned in, elbows on the bar. “Sounds exhausting. Always trying to keep everything in control.”
Mark’s mouth twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Some people like knowing the result before they start. Makes it cleaner.”
Donghyuck finally took a sip, letting the bitter bite of Campari bloom across his tongue and settle there. It wasn’t the kind of flavour that flattered easily, and maybe that was why he liked it.
“And some people,” he said after a beat, voice low enough to pull Mark’s eyes up, “like a little mess. Keeps things interesting.”
Something passed through Mark’s gaze – not surprise, exactly, but a brief, assessing spark that was gone almost before Donghyuck could pin it down. His reply was even, measured.
“Mess is easy. Precision takes effort.”
The corner of Donghyuck’s mouth lifted. “You’re just afraid of what you can’t control.”
The pub’s low din –the scrape of a chair leg, a laugh from a booth– felt like it was coming from somewhere far away. It was just the two of them, with the polished wood of the bar acting less like a boundary and more like a taut line neither seemed willing to cut.
Mark tilted his head a fraction, impossible to tell if he was humouring him or challenging him. “You just don’t like not being the centre of someone’s attention.”
It shouldn’t have stung. And yet, there it was – a sharp, unwelcome pang under Donghyuck’s ribs. He didn’t let it show, though.
“Wouldn’t know. You’ve been staring at me all night.”
Mark’s gaze dipped to the Negroni, lingering on the glass like he was considering something he wouldn’t say aloud, before coming back up. “Only because you keep putting yourself in my line of sight.”
“Guess we’re both guilty, then.”
Mark didn’t bite. He didn’t answer at all, actually. Just reached for the towel at his hip, stepping out of a conversation without giving any explanation. He peeled away towards a couple flagging him down with empty glasses.
Donghyuck sat back on his stool, thumb tracing the glass. The Campari's bittersweet hum still clung to his tongue, but the taste was now tangled with the sharp, metallic edge of something else.
This wasn’t how he’d wanted the night to turn, but the unfinished charge between them was a live wire now. And he couldn’t decide if he wanted to touch it just to feel the jolt, or cut before it burned.
From the far end of the bar, Mark’s voice drifted back – lower than usual, pitched for the couple he was serving. A polite smile, a quick pour, smooth rhythm Donghyuck had watched him fall into a hundred of times.
But tonight, it felt different. Removed.
The Negroni sat warm in his hand now, ice melting into it until the line between bitter and sweet blurred. He set it down without drinking, fingers lingering on the rim like he might change his mind.
He didn’t.
When Mark turned just enough to glance down the bar, their eyes almost caught before someone else’s voice pulled him away again.
Donghyuck let out a short breath through his nose. He slid a few bills onto the counter, tapping them once with two fingers like he was sealing an unspoken point.
“For the drink,” he said, just loud enough to cut through the clink of glassware. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”
That got Mark’s attention. His head lifted, brow pulling in faint confusion, as if he’d only just realised Donghyuck was cashing out.
Donghyuck’s mouth curved – not in warmth, but in the kind of smile that knew it could turn sharp if it stayed too long. “Guess I’ll let you get back to… Whatever’s more important.”
He pushed back from the bar, the stool legs dragging in a slow scrape. No rush, but no hesitation either. The walk to the door was steady, each step saying I’m leaving because I want to.
The bell above the door gave a soft, final chime as it shut behind him, and the faint scent of orange and Campari bled into the cool night air.
🍷
KILLER BEE • MEZCAL, HONEY, AND LIME
gold with a faint haze, the sweetness of honey wrapping around mezcal’s smoky bite. it clings to the tongue – sticky, lingering, impossible to rinse away.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The pub was already deep into its Thursday rhythm when the door swung open and let the night spill in. Laughter from the corner booth, the soft slide of a dart into cork, the steady murmur over pints and lowball glasses.
Mark was wiping down the end of the bar, half-listening to the usual crowd, when the air shifted.
And Donghyuck stepped inside.
Not the careful, measured version that usually showed up here – tie loosened from work, hair neat enough to pass, voice honed to a quiet edge. Tonight was something else entirely.
He’d traded his usual neat lines for something looser, more careless in its intent. The shirt was deep red, striped narrow and white, buttons left open far enough to bare a sweep of collarbone and the suggestion of a black mesh top underneath. The fabric hung light, shifting when he moved, tucked just enough into black trousers cinched high at the waist.
Silver glinted where his rings caught the light, and there was a faint sheen at his mouth that made it difficult not to notice when he smiled. A sheer wine-coloured tint blurred at the edges of his lips and his eyelids carried a faint, burnished shimmer.
His hair was soft but planned in its disarray, falling over one side of his forehead. It made him look younger until he tilted his head, and it was abundantly clear how calculated all of this was.
Mark’s chest tightened before he could stop it.
Donghyuck’s didn’t rush. He let the hum of the room fold around him, gaze dragging slow across the space before he started walking towards the bar. His pace had that particular looseness of someone who’d been drinking somewhere else, but the precision in the way his chain shifted and caught light made it clear he still knew exactly where he was putting his feet.
When his eyes finally caught Mark’s, it wasn’t with warmth, but with a sharpened edge to his smile that remembered exactly where they’d left things.
Donghyuck slid onto a stool near the centre, the hush of the almost-empty bar wrapping around him. No greeting. No lean over the counter to make it easier for Mark to come to him. Just an arm draped along the edge of the bar.
Mark didn’t ask what he wanted. He simply reached for the mezcal without breaking eye contact. Honey followed, thick and slow as it slid into the shaker, then a squeeze of lime that broke sharp against the air.
The sound of ice hitting metal was crisp in the stillness.
Donghyuck’s expression didn’t shift, but his eyes followed every movement – Mark’s fingers curling around the shaker, the way his wrist turned in even, measured arcs.
When he finally slid the glass across the polished wood, the liquid inside was pale gold. “Killer bee,” Mark said matter-of-factly.
Donghyuck wrapped his hand around the glass, the metal of his rings tapping once against the rim. He lifted it without looking away from Mark – the honeyed scent curled up towards him before the drink ever touched his lips.
Mark didn’t move, elbows braced against the bar, one hand loose around a bar spoon he clearly wasn’t using anymore. His gaze tracked the tilt of the glass, the parting of lips, the slow swallow. The way Donghyuck’s tongue darted just briefly to catch a stray bead from the corner of his mouth.
Donghyuck set the glass down, ice shifting lazily inside. “Different,” he said at last.
Mark’s brow twitched. “Good different?”
Donghyuck smiled lazily. “You’ll know if I order another.”
They honey melted on his tongue warmly before the mezcal’s smoke rolled through after, dry and deep. He leaned back slightly, letting the taste sit, and Mark’s eyes followed the movement like he was measuring the space between them.
“What’s in it?” Donghyuck asked, though he already had an idea.
“Mezcal, honey, lime,” Mark said evenly. “I was wondering if you could handle the smoke tones.”
That earned him a slow lift of Donghyuck’s brows. “You think I can’t?”
Mark leaned in then – not the polite bend of a bartender, but closer, crossing the invisible line between service and something else entirely. His forearm brushed the wood beside Donghyuck’s hand, close enough that the heat from his skin reached across the gap. The faint scent of his cologne threaded warmly against the sweet-citrus haze of the drink.
Donghyuck didn’t move at first, his grip on the glass loosening fraction by fraction. But when Mark dipped his head, the rest of the pub blurred into background noise.
“You know you taste like this?” he murmured, voice low enough to barely make it over the faint music. “Sweet at first… Smoke after.”
The words fell warm against the shell of Donghyuck’s ear, breath tracing the edge before sinking down the line of his neck. A shiver slid under Donghyuck’s skin, pooling low and hot in his stomach. His knuckles tightened against the glass, and his other hand pressed to the bar.
He angled his head just slightly, not enough to break the proximity, but enough that the corner of his mouth brushed the air Mark left between them.
His breath came a touch slower and when Mark eased back a fraction, only then did Donghyuck let his mouth curl in a satisfied smile. “You’ve been thinking a lot about me, haven’t you?” he asked softly.
Mark just stood there, one hand braced lightly on the counter, the other curled around the neck of an unused bottle. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said at last, the word easy enough, but carrying an edge that didn’t quite match their tone.
Donghyuck lifted the glass, taking another sip and letting the pause stretch.
“You’re the one talking about me like I’m another drink,” he murmured, setting the glass down with a soft click. “Not really my ego talking.”
Mark’s fingers traced idly along the rim of an empty glass like muscle memory. “That was an observation,” he said.
Donghyuck tipped his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “And the difference is?”
Mark’s eyes wandered away for a moment, as if he was checking the room before locking back on him. The shift was subtle, but there was something in it… The same kind of assessing stillness Donghyuck had seen him use when a stranger got too close at the bar.
“Observation’s casual,” Mark said finally. “Thinking’s… Intentional.”
Donghyuck’s lips stretched in a winning smile. “Sounds like you’ve been doing both.”
Mark didn’t move for a moment, but the air between them thickened. When he did lean in, it was unhurried, like he wanted Donghyuck to notice every inch closed between them. His voice, when it came, was low enough that Donghyuck felt it against his skin before he processed the words.
“Maybe I have.”
Donghyuck let his elbow rest on the bar, angling himself so he was turned fully towards Mark. But Mark’s eyes dipped briefly to the line of Donghyuck’s throat, to the place where his shirt fell open, before coming back up. And in that look, there was no hesitation, but hunger that wasn’t about being seen at all.
The kind that wanted to strip every layer until nothing was left.
Then, his eyes shifted higher, tracing Donghyuck’s mouth like he was memorising it for later. His hand slid from the counter to rest just beside Donghyuck’s, close enough that their knuckles almost brushed.
“You’ve had enough?” Mark asked, nodding faintly towards the half-finished glass. The words sounded casual, but Donghyuck knew it was less about the drink and more about the fact that Mark wanted to decide for him.
He smirked, deliberately taking another sip before setting the glass down between them. “That depends on what you’re offering next.”
Mark’s fingers drummed once against the bar, then stilled. “Careful,” he said quietly. “Keep talking like that and I might stop serving everyone else.”
That earned him a small laugh, but Donghyuck leaned in anyway, chin propped in his palm. “And that would be a problem because..?”
Mark’s attention had dropped again – to the dip of Donghyuck’s collar, to the faint sheen on his lips from whatever gloss he’d been wearing. He looked like he was considering something that didn’t belong in public. His hand finally moved, slowly, sliding forward until the side of his finger brushed Donghyuck’s.
It wasn’t much. Barely a contact, but the intent in it was heavy enough to anchor the moment and to make it feel like the rest of the pub didn’t matter at all.
Donghyuck didn’t pull away. He didn’t give him the satisfaction, either. He just sat there, letting Mark watch him, letting him feel that line between control and crossing it tighter with every breath.
Mark’s hand shifted, turning as if he was going to close the space entirely, palm just shy of the back of Donghyuck’s hand.
And then–
A burst of laughter from the far booth cut through, someone waving a bill at the other bartender. Mark straightened, the movement clean but slow, as though peeling himself out of the moment was the last thing he wanted to do.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he murmured, eyes catching Donghyuck’s once before walking away.
So Donghyuck stayed where he was, one finger idly turning the base of his glass, eyes following Mark as he worked the far end of the bar. Smooth mechanics – measured pour, clean shake – but Donghyuck could see the tightness in his shoulders. And it had nothing to do with vermouth ratios and everything to do with him.
Mark wasn’t just irritated. He was coiled. Thinking.
One of the girl bartenders passed by with a smirk, muttering something under his breath, and Mark didn’t react. Didn’t look at her. Didn’t look at anyone. Not until he was walking back down the length of the bar with a steady pace that was just a little too deliberate.
Donghyuck barely looked up when Mark stopped in front of him, though his fingers tightened on his glass. “Thought you had your hands full,” he said, letting it hang somewhere between a jab and an invitation.
Mark leaned in and his forearm came to rest on the bar, close enough that their elbows might brush if either of them breathed wrong.
“Not too full,” Mark said, eyes fixed on him.
They tracked over Donghyuck like he was taking stock – mouth, jaw, collarbones – and it wasn't rushed, but wasn’t polite either.
“You’re staring,” Donghyuck murmured, aiming for smugness, but it came out quieter than intended.
Mark grinned lazily. “Making sure no one else thinks they can.”
The way it came out was nowhere near casual. It wasn’t a joke. It was a line being drawn with a quiet, deliberate hand. Donghyuck felt it catch low in his chest – a strange, coiled mix of heat and something sharper, like the moment you realise the warmth of a fire is also the thing that could burn you.
Mark didn’t look away. His eyes stayed on him like he was mapping every flicker of his expression, committing it to memory. It was the same intent he used behind the bar, watching customers without seeming to, but now it was stripped of the professional gloss. This was naked, focused. Consuming.
Donghyuck’s fingers tightened around his glass, his rings clicking softly against the rim. He opened his mouth to answers – something to break it, to push back, to see if Mark would follow the shove – but before he could, Johnny’s voice cut clean through the quiet.
“Mark! Storage!”
Mark’s eyes stayed locked on him for a heartbeat longer, as if weighing whether to answer Johnny or stay right here and see where this went. Then, with the smallest shift of his jaw, he straightened.
“Text me,” he said, softer now, but threaded with something that still hummed like a low-voltage current. “Soon.”
And just like that, he was gone, slipping towards the back without a single glance over his shoulder, leaving Donghyuck with the faint scent of smoke, lime, and a question he wasn’t sure he wanted answered.
🍷
MOLTEN GLASS • RUM, SPICED SYRUP, AND CINNAMON SMOKE
dark rum swirls like lava under the soft haze of cinnamon smoke. the surface gleams gold-red, as if lit from within, warm enough to fog the glass with every breath.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Mark didn’t expect the absence to stretch this long.
The first night after that last look across the bar, he expected to see him slide in the door again, like nothing had happened. The second night was worse, because it was no longer a maybe, it was a choice.
Two days passed before his phone lit up with Donghyuck’s name.
[hyuck]
you working tonight?[me]
Yeah[hyuck]
pity[me]
Why?[hyuck]
cuz i’m not there to make it interesting
It should’ve been nothing – just a jab, a throwaway line to pass the time. But Mark’s thumb hovered over the screen longer than necessary. He caught himself rereading it, before setting the phone face-down on the counter as if that could keep it from pulling at him.
Three more days passed. No sign of him, but the messages kept landing, small sparks in the quiet.
[hyuck]
made someone else a little jealous tonight[me]
Congratulations?[hyuck]
wasn’t half as fun as you
Mark didn’t reply. Not because he didn’t have an answer, but because the image was too clear – Donghyuck doing it on purpose, knowing exactly what kind of picture it would put in his head. And worse, knowing it would stay there.
It kept him restless all night, pouring drinks while his thoughts circled back to the smug weight of those words.
Day seven hit harder. The message came in just past midnight, when the pub was in that drowsy lull before last call. The glow of the screen caught him mid-polish on a pint glass.
A picture. Low-light, blurred edges, messy like it wasn’t meant to be perfect. Donghyuck’s face wasn’t in it – deliberate, Mark knew – but the shirt hung open, black mesh glinting faint gold over the lines of his chest. His phone blocked just enough in the reflection to leave the rest to suggestion, and somehow that was worse than anything explicit could’ve been.
[hyuck]
thought you might miss the view[me]
You send that to everyone?[hyuck]
no
you’re special
Mark stared at the image too long before answering. He could feel the corner of his mouth twitch.
[me]
I like knowing no one else is seeing that[hyuck]
possessive much?[me]
You have no idea
The days blurred. The messages came in irregular bursts – sometimes just a quick hook that never got an answer, sometimes enough to drag him into a conversation that was over too soon. The gap never closed, but something thrummed quietly under the skin.
By day fourteen, Mark had stopped pretending he wasn’t waiting for his phone to light up.
[me]
When are you coming in?[hyuck]
maybe tomorrow[me]
Maybe?[hyuck]
depends
if you’ll make it worth my while[me]
Two weeks
That’s how long you weren’t here[hyuck]
guess you’ll have to be patient[me]
Not my strong suit[hyuck]
i know
And then the next night, he walked in.
The Monday shift had been unremarkably slow. Just the usual churn of regulars, the low chatter under the tap’s steady hiss. Mark had resigned himself to another night without him, until the door swung open and Mark’s head came up almost without thought.
Two weeks of teasing and taunting messages made flesh again in black trousers and an oversized dark sweater slipping just enough at the collar. Hair falling into his eyes like it was accidental, though Mark knew better.
Donghyuck didn’t hurry. He never did. He let the room bend around him first, eyes scanning with precision before he started strolling towards the bar. The same walk as always, like he owned the ground he stepped on.
Mark didn’t bother with a greeting. Didn’t ask what he wanted. His hands were already moving before Donghyuck reached the stool, the bottles pulled into reach with a clean sweep – dark rum, spiced syrup, a cinnamon stick waiting on the cutting board.
Donghyuck leaned one elbow against the wood without speaking, watching as Mark struck a match and held it under the upturned glass dome, letting smoke bloom inside it until it swirled heavy and fragrant. The cinnamon caught slow, curling into sweet heat before he set it over the tumbler, trapping the scent against the rum.
No slide across the counter or casual push. Mark set the drink directly into Donghyuck’s waiting hand.
The other man’s fingers curled around the glass and, for the first time since walking in, he let his mouth tilt in something close to a smile. The glass was warm from the smoke, the spiced syrup giving the surface a deep amber sheen. Donghyuck picked it up slowly, rolling it once like he was testing the balance.
“Didn’t even ask what I wanted.”
“Didn’t need to,” Mark replied, his voice steady but threaded with a quiet finality that suggested this was less about knowing and more about deciding for him.
Donghyuck brought the rim to his lips, taking a slow sip. “Still bossy, I see.”
Mark’s mouth twitched, like he’d heard exactly what he wanted. “You’ve been gone for two weeks. Figured I’d remind you how things work.”
“Things?” Donghyuck’s brow lifted, the words on the edge of mocking.
“You sit at my bar,” Mark said, leaning his forearms against the counter, “you drink what I make you.”
Donghyuck smirked, tilting his head like he was weighing whether to argue or to let Mark think he’d won. “And if I don’t like it?”
“You’ll like it.”
The certainty in his voice wasn’t just confidence – it was ownership, quiet and unshakeable. Donghyuck’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on the glass, the faint clink of his rings against the surface betraying the shift.
“Confident,” he murmured.
Mark’s eyes stayed locked on him. “I know you.”
The way he said it landed heavier than it should have; enough to make Donghyuck glance away for the briefest second before covering it with another sip. The rim of the glass brushed against his glossed mouth, catching a faint glint from the low lights.
“You’ve been thinking about me.”
Mark didn’t blink. “Every fucking day.”
It wasn’t playful and it wasn’t shy. It was blunt, stripped of any cushioning. Donghyuck swallowed slowly, letting the burn of cinnamon and rum sit heavy on his tongue before speaking again. “Dangerous thing to admit.”
“Not really,” Mark said, his gaze dipping briefly to Donghyuck’s mouth before dragging back up. “I don’t mind if you know.”
Donghyuck leaned his elbow on the bar, chin tilting, pretending casual even as his shoulders had gone just a tad tenser. “You don’t mind,” he repeated like he was testing the words for cracks.
Mark shifted his weight, leaning in until his forearm brushed the wood beside Donghyuck’s. The air between them tightened – not just from the proximity, but from the fact that Mark wasn’t pretending this was casual anymore.
“You’re in my pub,” he said, low and steady. “I see you walk in, I decide how the night goes.”
Donghyuck’s fingers drummed once against his glass, a small sound in the hush between them. “And if I decide otherwise?”
Mark’s mouth curved slightly in amusement, making it feel like he was already past the point of giving Donghyuck a choice.
“Then we see who wins.”
He didn’t stop there. His hand slid forward, slow enough for Donghyuck to notice every inch closed, until his knuckles barely brushed against the side of Donghyuck’s hand on the glass.
Mark’s eyes didn’t move from his, but his tone dipped even lower. “You’re going to move your hand?”
Donghyuck held his gaze, still propped on his elbow, still pretending to be in control. “No.”
The faintest drag of Mark’s thumb traced over the curve of his knuckle – not hard enough to claim, but not soft enough to ignore. His shoulders shifted forward, crowding the space until their foreheads were close enough that Donghyuck could count the gold flecks in his irises under the dim lights.
“Good,” Mark said.
Donghyuck took a slow sip, more to make a point than from thirst, letting the cinnamon curl up the back of his throat. “You shouldn’t be so pushy at work,” he said, tone lighter than look in his eyes.
Mark’s mouth ticked at the corner. “I’m simply wanting something.”
“And what exactly?”
His gaze dropped to Donghyuck’s mouth and stayed there. “I don’t think you need me to spell it out.”
The noise from the rest of the pub felt far away, blurred into a dull hum. All Donghyuck could register was the solid heat leaning into his space, the faint smell of smoke still clinging to Mark’s shirt, and the sharp pull low in his stomach.
Mark’s hand didn’t move from the bar as if it kept him anchored in place. His next words were quieter, almost flat in their honesty.
“I don’t like when you disappear.”
Donghyuck’s mouth caught somewhere between a smirk and something sharper, but the edges didn’t quite hold. “You don’t own me,” he said, aiming for dismissiveness, though the faintest catch on the last word betrayed him – a slip quick enough that anyone else might have missed it.
Mark didn’t. He caught it and held it.
If anything, he leaned in another fraction, a shift so minimal it could’ve been a trick of the light, except Donghyuck felt it – the extra inch of heat and the subtle crowding of space.
“You’d be surprised,” Mark murmured, the words almost coaxing in their certainty.
The pause after wasn’t silence so much as it was pressure. Mark’s hand stayed exactly where it was, knuckles grazing skin, the contact steady in a way that made it harder to think about moving.
Donghyuck shifted in his seat; a small, useless motion that did nothing to reclaim space, and he hated that Mark would notice. That Mark probably already had.
It was the way he was being looked at – not glanced at, not skimmed over, but held in place, every detail of him studied like Mark was lining them up in some private ledger.
His thumb brushed his knuckle again, testing. The smallest of movements, but it sank under Donghyuck’s skin in a way that felt unfair, tilting the ground under his feet. He didn’t pull back. Couldn’t, not when it would mean admitting that Mark was close enough to make him hesitate.
“Not everything you give away is yours anymore, Hyuck,” Mark said quietly.
The words threaded through the haze of smoke and cinnamon between them. Donghyuck swallowed once, too slowly, and knew by the faint smirk on Mark’s mouth that the other man had felt the shift. That he knew he was winning.
He didn’t close the distance, but he didn’t give it back either. He stayed in that narrow band of space, the air between them too warm, too tight, his eyes tracing Donghyuck’s face like he was cataloguing every reaction and naming every mole.
Donghyuck hated how aware he was of his own breathing and the way it kept syncing to Mark’s without him meaning to; of the faint hitch when Mark’s gaze dropped to his mouth again.
“You’re going to say something?” Donghyuck asked finally, his tone low and uneven, “or are you just staring at me until I melt?”
Mark’s answer was a slow drag of his thumb over the edge of Donghyuck’s hand, the motion so slight it might’ve been nothing – except for the way it sent heat creeping up his arm.
“Why would I talk,” Mark said, “when you’re already giving me everything I want without it?”
Donghyuck’s chest tightened, equal parts irritation and pull, and he had the sudden, dangerous thought that maybe staying away for two weeks had been the only thing keeping this from boiling over.
🍷
MIDNIGHT BURN • TEQUILA WITH CHILLI SYRUP
golden fire in a shot glass, the rim dusted with salt and crushed pepper. the smell is heat and sharpness, promising a sting that’ll make you remember it.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The streets were mostly empty at that hour, their usual Friday churn long since burned out. Donghyuck wasn’t expecting anyone. He’d just finished an overnight grind, coat hanging open. The shortcut past the pub was more habit than choice – faster to get home, easier to avoid whatever noise was still spilling from the main road.
That’s when he saw him.
Mark was leaning in the narrow side alley, half in shadow where the light from the pub door didn’t quite reach. A cigarette burned low between his fingers, its smoke curling in slow ribbons that caught the faint glow of his phone screen. His shirt was loose, three buttons undone, collar open just enough to let the night air touch skin still faintly flushed from the heat inside.
He didn’t notice him at first – or at least, he didn’t look up right away. His thumb moved over the phone lazily, tap, pause, drag. The other hand rested low on his hip, the faint tension in his shoulder relaxed now that the night’s work was done.
Donghyuck slowed without meaning to, steps quieter on the slick ground. There was something about the way Mark looked in that moment… Not the composed bartender with sharp edges and unshakable stare, but a little unguarded, framed by smoke and streetlight.
When Mark finally lifted his head, the cigarette glowed at the edge of his mouth.
“Working late?” Mark’s voice was rougher than it had been hours ago, as though it hadn’t been used since last order.
Donghyuck shifted his weight, pretending he wasn’t just taking him in – the loosened shirt, the ink of his hair falling over his brow, the way he looked like he belonged in this kind of hour. “Something like that,” he said.
Mark flicked ash to the damp ground and exhaled smoke slow enough that it curled between them before the breeze pulled it away. “You walked past here on purpose?”
“Shortcut,” Donghyuck’s tone was even, but his eyes didn’t move from Mark’s collar, the small triangle of skin catching faint light.
Mark’s mouth slipped into a lazy smile, like he’d heard a different answer entirely. “Lucky for me, then.”
Donghyuck’s gaze flicked to the cigarette in Mark’s fingers. The smoke curled up and dissolved in the cool air, faintly sweet with cinnamon from the bar’s earlier hours.
“Didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t,” Mark said, taking another drag anyway. The ember flared briefly against the curve of his mouth, a small glow in the dim. “Not often, at least.”
Donghyuck tilted his head. “So this is..?”
Mark let the smoke out slowly, the gray ribbon twisting between them and catching briefly in the hollow of Donghyuck’s collar before drifting away. His gaze didn’t waver. “Something to do while I waited.”
“For what?”
“Guess.”
Donghyuck felt the pulse in his throat tick a little harder, though his voice came out steady, almost dismissive. “Not everything’s about you.”
“Maybe not,” Mark said, pushing off the brick wall with an easy shift of weight. The cigarette dangled loose between his fingers now, glowing faintly with each step he took forward. “But this is.”
He closed the gap by inches, enough that the narrow alley seemed to fold in around them. The damp brick at Donghyuck’s back was still a few feet away, but the suggestion of how little space was left was enough to thicken the air.
“You’re doing it again,” Donghyuck murmured.
“What?”
“Looking at me like–”
“Like I’ve been thinking about you?” Mark’s voice cut in, sharper than he meant, the words landing with more weight than he tried to disguise. He didn’t pull them back.
Donghyuck’s hand shifted inside his coat pocket, fingers flexing once, curling into a first he didn’t realise he’d made. “You make that sound like it’s a problem.”
“Not for me.”
Mark’s eyes moved over him openly now, following the sweep of hair mussed by the wind just enough, catching on the fold of his white collar where it dipped to show the line of his shirt, lingering on the faint, sleepless shadows under his eyes. His gaze paused at his mouth, as if he was marking the shape for later.
“You’re staring,” Donghyuck said quietly.
“Yeah,” Mark said, just as quiet. “I am.”
The pause that followed pressed between them like a palm to the chest. Somewhere in it, the cigarette burned low to the filter, the glow dimming until Mark dropped it to the damp pavement and crushed it out without looking away.
“I could walk home,” Donghyuck said finally.
“You could.” Mark’s tone was easy, but his step forward wasn’t. “You won’t, though.”
It didn’t leave room for pretending otherwise.
Mark didn’t move quickly. He never did. Just enough to make the space between them fold smaller, until the faint heat from his body cut through the cool night air. Donghyuck’s heel shifted half an inch against the pavement.
“You’re tired,” Mark said, though it sounded more like an observation he planned to keep in his pocket.
The cold damp from the alley wall seeped faintly into the air, but it was eclipsed by the warmth bleeding from Mark’s chest. The smell of smoke lingered in the curl of his hair near his temple, sharp in the quiet.
“You’re crowding me,” Donghyuck noted.
Mark’s brow lifted a fraction. “You can go if you want.”
It was then that Donghyuck realised he’d leaned. Not much, but enough that their shoulders would brush if either of them breathed a little deeper. He felt the pull low in his stomach again, and it pissed him off that Mark could see it.
Could feel it without him having to admit a damn thing.
“Say it,” Mark murmured.
“Say what?”
“That you missed me.”
Donghyuck huffed a laugh, though it came out thinner than he meant. “Keep dreaming.”
Mark didn’t flinch. He just let the quiet stretch, his gaze holding in that way that made Donghyuck feel like his next move had already been accounted for.
And somehow, without realising it, Donghyuck had shifted another inch. Close enough that the cold brick was a memory now, and all he could register was the solid heat in front of him and the faint scent of smoke on Mark’s breath.
Mark’s hand came up, slow enough to feel deliberate, brushing past Donghyuck’s side to press his palm flat against the wall just beside his head. It wasn’t a grab, but it pinned him all the same.
Donghyuck’s breath caught –quick enough to betray him– but he didn’t move back.
Mark’s eyes dropped to his mouth and stayed there. “Are you going to stop me?” he asked quietly.
Donghyuck’s fingers twitched at his side, torn between pushing him off and catching the front of his shirt. “You wouldn’t listen.”
“Exactly.”
Mark didn’t wait for the air to settle after that.
The faintest flex of his hand against the brick, and then his mouth was on Donghyuck’s, hard enough that the sound that escaped him was lodged somewhere between surprise and relief.
It was months of circling each other, of smart remarks and sidelong looks, of fingers brushing in passing just to see if the other would flinch. Every unsent text, every picture, every withheld answer – all of it burned through in the heat of the kiss.
Donghyuck’s grip found the front of Mark’s shirt and dragged him closer, crumpling the white fabric between his knuckles. Mark leaned in until there was no space left, his other hand coming to the back of Donghyuck’s neck, holding him there like letting go wasn’t an option.
The scrape of stubble grazed along Donghyuck’s jaw as Mark angled in deeper, the taste of smoke curling hot against his tongue. Donghyuck bit back a sound –failed– and the low hum from Mark sent a jolt right down his spine.
Mark pressed him back just enough that his shoulder blades brushed brick, pinning him with the weight of his own body. Donghyuck’s fingers slid higher, over the planes of his chest, before fisting in the loose collar to keep him right where he wanted him – and he knew Mark felt it, knew from the sharp exhale against his mouth.
When Mark’s hand slipped from the wall to his hip, fingers digging just enough to make Donghyuck’s breath hitch, it was claiming. It made perfectly clear he didn’t just want him close – he wanted every inch, until there was nothing left that wasn’t his.
Donghyuck kissed him back just as hard, matching the press of his mouth and the push and pull of their bodies. His rings caught faintly in Mark’s shirt when he tugged his closer still, and Mark answered by pressing in until their chests met fully, heat locked tight between them.
Mark didn’t ease up when they broke for air.
If anything, the pause just sharpened him – his grip staying firm at Donghyuck’s hip, thumb dragging in a slow arc over bone like he could etch it into memory. His other hand stayed braced on the brick beside his head, close enough that Donghyuck could feel the residual heat from his palm.
Before Donghyuck could fully catch his breath, Mark leaned in again, kissing him like he hadn’t meant to stop in the first place. This one was slower, heavier, as if he was tasting every fraction of every second they’d spent apart. The scent of smoke clung to him, curling in with the faint spice of whatever drink he’d last poured, the combination sinking sharp and warm into Donghyuck’s head.
“You disappear for weeks,” Mark said lowly, “and I’m supposed to just… Wait politely?”
“Maybe you should,” Donghyuck countered, though the slight hitch in his voice betrayed him more than he wanted.
Mark smiled, honest to God smiled , but Donghyuck couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was more wicked than warm. He leaned in again, brushing their lips together in a kiss that was more push than pull – deliberate enough to feel like a warning.
“Not my style.” His fingers pressed in again, not enough to bruise but enough to feel like a hook. “If you vanish again, I’ll make sure you remember exactly what you walked away from.”
The quiet, matter-of-fact delivery carried more than enough weight, especially paired with the faint, lingering pressure of his mouth before he pulled back half an inch.
Donghyuck opened his mouth to retort, but Mark’s eyes were already locked on him – not just looking, but holding, tracing every flicker in his expression and every shallow breath, as though committing them to some private ledger.
“You think I don’t notice when you start to crack?” Mark’s voice dropped even further. “I do. And I like it.”
The heat in Donghyuck’s stomach curled tighter, pulling dangerously close to that sharp line between irritation and want. He didn’t answer, and that silence was enough to make Mark’s smirk deepen before he caught his mouth in a kiss that was nothing like the ones before.
This one hit like he’d decided to take back every inch of space Donghyuck had ever put between them. Mark’s hand slid from his hip to the small of his back, pulling him in fully until their bodies aligned from shoulder to thigh. The pressure was unyielding, and the angle made it impossible for Donghyuck to think about anything but the heat pressed against him and the rough drag of Mark’s mouth against his own.
When Mark finally pulled back, it was deliberate – leaving just enough time for Donghyuck to feel how empty the space became without him there. His breathing was uneven, and his balance wasn’t quite right, like the ground hadn’t settled yet.
Mark’s gaze swept over him once more, heavy enough to pin him in place. “Go home, Hyuck,” he said, though it sounded nothing like dismissal. His voice was still thick with whatever had just passed between them. “Before I change my mind and keep you here.”
He stepped back then, giving Donghyuck his space, but the ghost of his grip still lingered at his back, and the taste of Mark was still warm on his mouth.
🍷
BLACK LACE • BLACKBERRY LIQUEUR WITH CHAMPAGNE AND EDIBLE SILVER
midnight purple laced with silver that drifts lazily through the bubbles. sweet, decadent, and almost too pretty to ruin by drinking.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
He’d come with Jaemin, Jeno, and Renjun, but within twenty minutes, Jaemin was in the middle of the floor holding court, and Jeno had been dragged into some debate near the booth by the wall. Too many people crammed into the space, music pushed louder than usual, bodies crowding shoulder-to-shoulder.
That left Donghyuck and Renjun –both two drinks past steady– weaving their way back towards the dancefloor with fresh shots in hand.
Renjun had that flushed, loose grin he only wore when the night had tipped past polite. “You’re so stiff,” he shouted over the bass, grabbing Donghyuck’s wrist and pulling him into the mess of moving bodies.
“I’m so not,” Donghyuck protested, though he was already following the beat, hip rolling slow to match Renjun’s sway.
Renjun laughed, leaning in close enough to speak against his ear, the smell of tequila sharp on his breath. “Your boy is watching.”
The music shifted – heavier bass, like it was meant to drag you under. A lazy, rolling rhythm threaded through the bodies on the floor, and Donghyuck let himself sink into it without thinking. The beat caught in his muscles like something he’d done a hundred times before; hips rolling slow, shoulders loose, his weight sliding from one foot to the other in an easy sway.
Renjun matched him without missing a beat, their movements meshing like they’d done this a hundred times too. It was nothing on paper but looked like more – close enough for the brush of hips every few counts, Renjun’s arm slung over his shoulder at one point, Donghyuck’s palm skimming down his side before catching at his waist to pull him back in.
They laughed at nothing, grins wide and eyes bright, their rhythm dipping into something just on the edge of provocative.
It wasn’t about Renjun, never was. This was about the eyes and knowing someone was watching.
Donghyuck felt it before he turned – that prickle up the back of his neck, a weight pressing in from across the room. He let the song draw a few more beats through his body before letting himself look.
Mark was behind the bar.
Not leaning and watching, not idly holding a drink – working. His hands moved fast, precise, building orders for a line of customers. The roll of his sleeves stopped high on his forearms, showing the clean lines of muscle that flexed each time he reached for a bottle or cracked ice into a shaker.
Every so often, he glanced up to check the floor – and when his eyes found Donghyuck, they stayed there for half a second too long before dragging back to the order in front of him.
That was all Donghyuck needed.
His mouth curled as he turned back into Renjun’s space, hips tipping forward into the beat. His hand skimmed down Renjun’s side, catching at his hip and pulling him in close for a roll of their shoulders that bled into the sway of their hips.
Renjun laughed and played along, looping an arm around Donghyuck’s neck, letting their foreheads brush for a second before spinning him out and pulling him back in. From the outside, it looked like heat. From the inside, it was nothing but friendship. But that wasn’t the point.
The point was the image.
He risked another glance at the bar. Mark was pouring, eyes on the glass, but his jaw was tighter now, his movement a little too clipped for someone this practised. The second his hands were free, his gaze found Donghyuck again – brief, weighted, before the next customer pulled him back.
Donghyuck kept moving. The crowd pressed in, the bass rolled deep through his chest, but every sway of hips and drag of his palm over Renjun’s side felt tuned to that fixed thread between him and the man working the bar.
And he knew –he knew– that Mark wouldn’t come to him, not while the line stayed long and the orders kept coming. Which made the game better. Because eventually, if he wanted something, Donghyuck would have to go to him.
The thought made him grin. He leaned in to Renjun, their foreheads brushing as the bass thumped around them, lights splashing gold and red across their faces.
“You’re in the kissing mood tonight?” Donghyuck asked, pitched low but clear enough to cut through the noise.
Renjun’s grin was instant, wicked. “Always, if it’s to piss someone off.”
“Good,” Donghyuck’s eyes flicked over Renjun’s shoulder, catching the exact moment Mark looked up from sliding a drink across the bar. “Make it count.”
Renjun didn’t even need to ask who. His hand was already curling into the back of Donghyuck’s neck, the other pressing flat to his chest as they closed the distance.
Their mouths met with the kind of artificial heat that made people nearby falter for a moment – open-mouthed, tilting into it, bodies flush from chest to hip. Renjun’s fingers slid into Donghyuck’s hair, tugging just enough to tip his head and deepen the kiss. Donghyuck’s hand pressed low at the small of Renjun’s back, dragging him closer like he had no intention of letting go.
The music pounded through them, bass vibrating in their ribs, and Donghyuck let himself lean into it; into the way Renjun’s mouth moved against his like they had nowhere else to be. And then, without breaking, Donghyuck shifted his grip, spun them both in a lazy turn that left his back to the dancefloor, and his eyes locking directly with Mark’s across the room.
Mark was in the middle of pouring something dark into a highball, but his gaze caught and stuck. The slow precision of his hands didn’t falter, but the air between them thickened, invisible and sharp.
Renjun made a sound –a low, knowing hum against Donghyuck’s lips– because they’d done this before. A thousand little provocations over the years, all in the name of whatever friend needed backup in making someone squirm.
And tonight, Renjun knew exactly who that someone was.
Donghyuck smiled into the kiss, deepening it just a fraction, not for Renjun but for the man behind the bar whose jaw had gone a shade tighter. Mark’s gaze didn’t drip or waver, and the faint flicker in his expression –irritation or hunger or both– was enough to make Donghyuck’s pulse trip.
Mark kept working, sliding a drink to a customer without looking away fast enough to hide that he’d been watching.
When they finally broke for air, Donghyuck stayed close enough for his mouth to brush Renjun’s cheek as he laughed, pleased with himself, because he’d just won a round Mark probably didn’t even realise they were playing.
Renjun peeled away towards the edge of the floor when the song shifted, but Donghyuck didn’t follow. His pulse was still up, the taste of tequila from earlier lingering faintly on his tongue, and that restless, bratty curl in his chest was telling him exactly what to do next.
He crossed the room, weaving between the crowd until the thrum of the bass gave way to the low clink of glassware and the hum of bar chatter. Mark was still working –pouring, shaking, sliding drinks– but his eyes cut towards Donghyuck the second he stepped into the strip of light spilling across the bar.
Donghyuck didn’t say a word, just leaned an elbow on the counter and let the music from the dancefloor ripple faintly in the space between them. Mark’s gaze lingered a fraction longer than necessary before he reached for the bottles without asking.
Blackberry liquor slipped into a chilled flute, the deep purple catching the light. Champagne followed in a slow pour, bubbles rising and swirling like they were chasing the silver shimmer he added last. Edible silver leaf caught the bar lights in soft flashes, swirling lazily with the fizz until it looked like liquid night sky in a glass.
Mark slid it across the wood towards him with a steady push that made sure Donghyuck took it directly from his hand.
“You having fun out there?” Mark’s tone was light on the surface, but the undertow wasn’t. His gaze didn’t leave Donghyuck’s, even as his fingers lingered a second longer on the base of the glass before letting go.
Donghyuck let his mouth tilt into a slow, deliberate smile, lifting the drink and watching the silver swirl.
“Maybe,” he said, letting the word hang as he took the first sip – sweet, sharp, and rich enough to warm his insides.
Mark’s jaw ticked. “Looked like it.”
“Then I guess you’ve been watching me,” Donghyuck replied, the champagne fizz cooling his lips. The faintest sparkle of silver clinging to his bottom lip when he lowered the glass.
Mark noticed. Of course he noticed. The tiny flecks caught the bar light every time Donghyuck’s mouth moved, like they were put there just to test him. His fingers twitched against the towel in his hand – the instinct to either wipe it away or just lean in and take it between his teeth tightening low in his chest.
“Hard not to,” Mark said finally. “You make sure of it.”
Donghyuck hummed into his drink, tilting it so the silver swirled again. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I didn’t,” Mark’s gaze dragged back up slowly, deliberate enough that it felt like a hand on his jaw. “I’m just not sure you want me to tell you what I was thinking while you were out there.”
“Try me,” Donghyuck murmured, leaning an inch closer, elbow sliding along the bar until his forearm brushed the edge of Mark’s workspace.
Mark’s mouth curved in a wicked grin. He leaned in that last fraction, enough that Donghyuck could feel the warmth of his breath over the faint chill of the champagne glass in his hand.
“You want to know?” Mark’s voice dropped so low it was almost a growl, roughened by restraint. “I was thinking about pulling you off that floor, pinning you up against the wall in the back hall where nobody could pretend not to hear you.”
Donghyuck’s throat worked once. He tried for a slow blink, like the words hadn’t landed square in his chest, but Mark’s gaze was already locked on the faint shimmer of edible silver clinging to his lower lip. The drop caught the light when he shifted, and Mark’s voice dipped another notch.
“Thinking about leaning in,” he said, “and wiping that silver off your mouth with my tongue. Taking my time with it. Just to see how long you’d keep still for me.”
The sound Donghyuck made was quick and his annoyance at himself for letting it slip was immediate. He set the glass down more carefully than necessary, as if the control in the movement could undo the heat in his chest.
Mark didn’t buy it. His eyes stayed on him. “Then I’d make you keep your mouth open for me,” he added, “until you forgot every single step you were showing off out there with Renjun.”
Donghyuck’s jaw tightened. “Big talk for someone stuck behind the bar,” he said, but it came out thinner than he’d have liked.
Mark’s brow lifted lazily, but his tone was anything but. “You think a slab of wood’s going to save you when I’m ready to come get you?” His hand flexed once on the polished counter, the faint tap of his ring finger against the wood like a quiet punctuation. “If I wanted to, I’d have you out of here before your friends even noticed you were gone.”
His voice stayed low, roughened, hooked under Donghyuck’s skin. “I’d pull you into the storage room, press your back against the shelves until you felt every bottle at your spine, and keep on fucking you there until you couldn’t remember the song you were dancing to.”
He didn’t stop to see if Donghyuck flinched. “Or maybe I’d take you down the hallway, right past the door. Put my mouth on you while the music’s still shaking through the floor, and make sure you walk back out with that little mascara dripping down your cheeks so they know exactly where you’ve been.”
Donghyuck’s grip on his glass shifted just enough to make the liquid inside tilt, a slow roll of deep violet catching the light. Mark’s eyes dipped to it briefly, then back to the faint silver clinging stubbornly to his bottom lip.
“Could have you out here, bent over the counter, actually. Moaning little mess,” Mark went on, “just to see how long before you start begging me to let you come.”
The words hung there, heavier than the noise of the crowd. The thump of music was still in Donghyuck’s bones, but it was fading under something else – the weight of Mark’s stare, the way his mouth shaped every word like he meant to follow through.
“And the worst part?” Mark said finally, leaning back a fraction but keeping his eyes locked. “If I did it right now… You wouldn’t stop me.”
Donghyuck didn’t rise to the bait, didn’t toss something back just to prove he could. He just held Mark’s stare for a beat too long – long enough for the words to settle low in his stomach, heavy and hot – and then tipped the glass up.
The blackberry champagne hit his tongue cold, the faint metallic sweetness of the edible silver dragging over his lips as he drained it in one swallow. It was almost obscene, the way his throat moved when he swallowed.
He didn’t say a word when he set the crystal back down on the counter.
Just dragged his tongue slowly over his bottom lip, catching the last stubborn fleck of silver, knowing full well Mark’s eyes followed the motion. And then he turned, the hem of his shirt brushing against the edge of the bar as he stepped back into the crowd, swallowed by the pulse of the music before Mark could say anything else.
Yeah, he lost that one.
🍷
DEVIL'S KISS • RED VERMOUTH WITH CINNAMON
red as fresh blood under dim light, the black salt biting the lips before the heat blooms from the cinnamon. sweet and cruel at once.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The last stragglers had stumbled out twenty minutes ago, leaving only the faint scent of spilled liquor and the low hum of the bar fridge. Chairs were flipped onto tables, the floor damp in patches where Mark had mopped.
Donghyuck sat in his usual spot, elbow on the counter, nursing the dregs of a drink that had long since gone warm.
He wasn’t in any hurry. Watching Mark close up was its own entertainment – the way his forearms flexed as he stacked glassware, the methodical pace like nothing could break his rhythm.
The place felt bigger empty, the quiet settling between them in slow, heavy layers. Mark crossed to the far end of the bar, drying his hands on a rag. He didn’t look at Donghyuck right away, but when he did, it was direct with no polite out.
“Come with me,” he said.
Not a question. Not a suggestion.
Donghyuck let the silence hang for a beat longer than necessary, his mouth curving slightly. “Where?”
“My place,” Mark said as he set the rag aside and moved towards the back door, glancing over his shoulder once to make sure Donghyuck was following.
The air outside was cooler than Donghyuck expected, making the back of his neck prickle under his collar.
Mark didn’t speak once they stepped out, just locked the back door and started walking, his pace steady, unhurried, as if certain Donghyuck would keep up without needing to be told.
The street was mostly deserted, the city’s weekend noise having burned itself out hours ago. A lone taxi rolled past at the far end of the block, its headlights briefly washing over them before disappearing around a corner.
Donghyuck walked half a step behind at first, watching the easy roll of Mark’s shoulders under his leather jacket. Every so often, a pool of lamplight broke the dark, and in those moments, the gold spill caught Donghyuck's hair, turning the softer waves at his temple into something brighter.
It made him look less like the sharp-tongued brat who’d been baiting Mark for weeks and more like something the night itself had dressed in shadow and glitter.
The only sounds were the faint scuff of their shoes on the pavement and the rustle of fabric when one of them shifted. The quiet didn’t feel awkward – it felt stretched tight.
Mark’s eyes flicked sideways once, catching the line of Donghyuck’s jaw lit pale under a streetlamp. He didn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth moved slightly, before he turned his eyes forward again.
Donghyuck pretended not to notice, though the smallest curl of a smile tugged at his own lips as they turned onto a narrower street, the shadows crowding closer as the lamps thinned out until the world seemed to be just them.
The walk ended in front of a low, dark-brick building tucked between two taller ones. Mark didn’t pause at the door, just keyed them in and let the faint click of the lock break the quiet.
Inside, the stairwell smelled faintly of rain-soaked concrete and something metallic from the old pipes. Their footsteps echoed soft against the worn wooden steps; Mark’s heavier, more certain, Donghyuck’s a half-beat behind.
Mark unlocked the flat on the third floor with the same easy, practised motion, nudging the door open with his shoulder.
Warm air met them immediately, the faint scent of cedar threaded through it, grounding and dry. There was a whisper of something sharper underneath – maybe the soap Mark used, maybe the ghost of his cologne caught in the room’s stillness.
It was small, more long than wide. The kitchen was visible from the door, all clean lines and a narrow counter. Without a word, Mark crossed straight to it, shrugging out his jacket and tossing it onto a hook by the door.
He moved with the same efficiency he did behind the bar, pulling two glasses down from the open shelf and setting them on the counter like he’d already decided they’d be used.
Donghyuck didn’t follow right away. He lingered just inside the door, eyes sweeping over the space – the stacked records by the wall, the half-burned candle on the counter, the soft spill of lamplight catching on the bottles lined neatly on the kitchen shelf.
When he finally stepped in, the cedar scent deepened, pulling him further in without meaning to. He could hear the faint clink of glass as Mark worked, the sound fitting too neatly into the quiet of the space.
Mark didn’t glance up when Donghyuck finally crossed the room, but there was no mistaking that he’d registered the movement – the subtle shift in his shoulders, the way his reach for the bottle slowed by a fraction.
He plucked the red vermouth from the shelf, the deep glass catching the warm kitchen light, and set it down with a soft thud. A small jar followed –cinnamon sticks the colour of burnished copper– and a knife he rolled between his fingers before splitting one stick cleanly down the middle.
The spice opened into the air in a warm, sweet curl that folded right into the cedar and heat already clinging to the space.
Mark poured with the kind of precision that didn’t belong to someone just throwing together a late-night drink. He added the cinnamon, twisting it once between his fingers before letting it sink into the red like it was meant to live there.
The faint scrape of the glass on the counter marked the end of the motion. He didn’t look away as he reached across the narrow space, the drink held steady between them.
Donghyuck lifted the glass without looking away from him, the rim brushing his lower lip.
The first hit was sharp – black salt catching at the edge of his tongue, bright and electric – before the cinnamon unfurled slow and warm. The vermouth’s deep sweetness followed close behind, coating everything it touched.
Mark’s eyes tracked the entire thing, like each swallow was something he could feel in his own throat. His gaze didn’t waver when Donghyuck’s tongue darted out to catch the last trace of salt from the corner of his mouth, the movement small but wicked in the low light.
Mark moved without hurry, but there was nothing casual in it. One step closed most of the space, the floor creaking faintly under his weight.
His hand came up – not to reach for Donghyuck, not yet – but for the glass. He took it from him before he was even halfway though, fingers brushing his in the exchange, the step slipping from Donghyuck’s grip like it had never really belonged there.
Mark set it down on the counter with a muted clink. His other hand was already lifting, sliding into the warm space between Donghyuck’s hairline and collar. His palm fit there with unshakeable certainty, thumb dragging slow over the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, making them stand on end.
The contact wasn’t rough, but it had weight – like Mark had been measuring the exact moment to touch him this way and wasn’t planning to waste it. His gaze stayed low, fixed on Donghyuck’s mouth for a heartbeat before dragging up to meet his eyes again.
“I’ve been patient,” he said, the words low and unpolished, as if they’d been kept in his chest too long and had lost any softness on the way out.
Donghyuck’s smirk came, faint but sharp at the edges, though it didn’t quite disguise the hitch in his breath.
“And now?” he asked, voice more breath than sound.
Mark leaned in, the space between them collapsing until Donghyuck could feel the faint warmth of his breath against his cheek. His mouth brushed just close enough to catch the rim of his ear, lips grazing the curve like he was testing how much it would take to make him shiver.
“Now,” Mark murmured, “I take.”
The words sank in like heat through fabric. His hand at the back of Donghyuck’s neck tightened a bit, not to pull, but enough to say don’t think about moving.
The kitchen’s dim light pooled golden along the side of Mark’s jaw, catching in the faint sheen of his skin. Every shift of air between them carried cedar and cinnamon, wrapping around Donghyuck until he couldn’t tell if it was the room or Mark that felt so impossibly warm.
Mark didn’t rush.
The pressure of his palm at the back of Donghyuck’s neck stayed steady as he stepped forward, guiding him back one slow stride at a time.
The muted thud of each step seemed to sync with the pulse in Donghyuck’s ears, the air between them thick with the smell of smoke from the pub still clinging faintly to Mark’s shirt.
The edge of the couch caught Donghyuck behind the knees, stopping him mid-step. He barely had time to register the give of the cushions before Mark’s hand left his neck only to press at his shoulder. It was gentle, measured even, but left no doubt who was in control.
Donghyuck sank into the couch, the plush dip swallowing him until he was half-reclined. Mark didn’t pause; he followed immediately, one knee planting to either side of Donghyuck’s hips in a movement that felt so effortless. Like he’d already mapped it out in his head.
The heat of him was instant, radiating through denim, sinking low into Donghyuck’s stomach. Mark’s hands settled, one braced on the back of the couch near Donghyuck’s head, the other resting lightly against his ribcage, as though he was weighing exactly how much pressure to use.
From this close, the lamplight picked out every detail – the faint roughness of stubble along Mark’s jaw, the gold flecks in his eyes that sharpened when he looked down, the rise and fall of his chest brushing against Donghyuck’s.
Mark didn’t speak yet. He just looked at him like he was exactly where he’d wanted him for far too long.
His fingers didn’t wander aimlessly – they explored with purpose, mapping every line of skin like he was committing it to memory.
His knuckles skimmed up Donghyuck’s sternum, brushing the thin fabric stretched there, until his fingertips found the sharp edge of a collarbone. He traced it slowly, pressing just enough for Donghyuck to feel the drag of skin.
The other hand came up to cup his jaw, tilting Donghyuck’s face just slightly until their eyes locked. Mark’s eyes dragged down to his mouth before travelling back up, heat pooling dark and low in it.
His thumb brushed the seam of Donghyuck’s lips once, slow, like testing the edge of restraint.
“You’ve been driving me fucking insane,” he said. His thumb dipped, pressing lightly against Donghyuck’s bottom lip until it parted, just enough for Mark to drag the pad of it across the wet heat inside.
Donghyuck’s breath hitched – not because he meant to give him the satisfaction, but because it was impossible not to. Mark felt it, and his mouth curved faintly, wicked and knowing, before his hand slid back down the line of his throat and the rapid beat beneath skin.
Two fingers under Donghyuck’s chin, just enough pressure to tip his head back, to bare the line of his throat and keep him still. His other hand stayed braced at his chest, pinning him without looking like he was pinning him at all.
The angle forced Donghyuck to meet his gaze. Feel every slow sweep of Mark’s eyes as they roamed over him.
“Perfect,” Mark murmured, almost to himself. His thumb ghosted over the hinge of Donghyuck’s jaw, a barely-there graze that promised more; that teased at the idea of what his hand could do if he wanted to turn the touch rough.
Donghyuck tried to shift –maybe to close the gap, maybe to break it– but Mark’s fingers tightened just enough under his chin to keep him exactly where he wanted him.
“I could keep you like this all night,” Mark said, voice dipping dangerously low. “Just… Looking at you. Making you wait.”
Mark’s thumb slid down, brushing the corner of Donghyuck’s mouth.
“Bet you’d let me keep you right here,” he said. “Waiting for me to decide what I want to do with you.”
Donghyuck’s lips curved in a challenge he knew Mark would bite at. “I think you like the chase,” he said softly.
A quiet laugh broke from Mark. “I like the catch better.” He let the words hang for half a breath before adding, “And right now, you’re caught.”
Donghyuck leaned closer, their noses almost brushing, his breath curling hot between them. “Then do something about it.”
Mark didn’t need more than that. His hand slid to Donghyuck’s lower back, grip firm, and in one smooth pull he flipped them – Donghyuck barely catching himself with a hand on the couch cushion as he ended up straddling Mark’s hips.
The new position pressed them close. Mark’s hand found his thighs, sliding up slowly until his fingers pressed into the curve where hip met leg, holding him there like he wasn’t going anywhere.
“You’re even prettier like this,” Mark murmured, looking up at him with that same heavy-lidded focus that made Donghyuck’s pulse kick. “Right where I want you.”
Donghyuck leaned in first. His hands slid up Mark’s chest, over the loose fabric, bunching it in his fists until there was nothing but heat and fabric-wrinkled tension left.
Mark tilted his head up, catching Donghyuck’s mouth in a kiss that was rough from the start. Lips parting on impact, teeth grazing just enough to sting. Donghyuck’s breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t pull back.
If anything, he pressed down harder, their hips aligning in a way that sent a sharp pulse through both of them.
Mark’s fingers dug into his sides, dragging him closer, thumbs sliding under the hem of his shirt to feel bare skin. Donghyuck’s hips rolled once slowly and the sound Mark made against his mouth was half groan, half warning.
They kissed like they’d been starving for it – months of sidelong glances, taunting messages, and close calls finally burning out in the open. Donghyuck’s teeth caught Mark’s bottom lip before he licked into his mouth again.
Mark’s hands roamed higher, palms hot against Donghyuck’s back, pulling him into every movement. One hand came up to tangle in Donghyuck’s hair, tilting his head just so, deepening the kiss until Donghyuck’s breath went uneven.
“Fuck,” Donghyuck murmured against his mouth, the word almost swallowed by Mark’s next kiss.
Mark smirked against his lips, breath rough. “Yeah,” he rasped, dragging his hands lower again. “That’s exactly what I had in mind.”
Mark’s mouth broke from his just enough to drag in a breath. His gaze was heavy, sweeping over his flushed face, the way his chest rose and fell, the damp part in his lips.
“Tell me something,” Mark said slowly. His thumbs pressed slow circled into the curve of Donghyuck’s hipbones. “Do you like to be praised… Or degraded?”
The question landed like a spark in a pool of heat. Donghyuck blinked once, not because he didn’t hear it, but because he didn’t expect it – the blunt, shameless way Mark asked, as if the answer was something he fully intended to use.
“Why?” Donghyuck’s voice came out thin.
Mark’s smile shifted into something dark. “Because I want to be of service,” he murmured, fingers flexing just enough to draw a sharp inhale from Donghyuck. “I want to know which one’s going to make you come apart faster for me.”
Donghyuck swallowed thickly. Then he tilted his chin slightly, meeting Mark’s eyes with a steady, simmering look. “Praise,” he said with a deliberate edge.
Mark’s smile deepened and his grip tightened in approval. “Good.”
He leaned up, his mouth catching Donghyuck’s again, slower now before breaking just enough to speak against his lips. “You’re so fucking gorgeous up here,” he rasped, his hands sliding up Donghyuck’s back. “Every move you make… Every sound you give me… It’s perfect.”
Donghyuck’s breath caught, hips rolling again almost involuntarily. Mark felt it, and the low groan in his throat turned into more words.
“That’s it… Just like that. You have no idea how good you look straddling me. I could watch you like this all night.”
He tilted his head, catching Donghyuck’s jaw in one hand, thumb dragging along the flushed skin there. “You’re driving me insane, Hyuck. Every inch of you is… Fuck, perfect.”
The praise hit harder than Donghyuck expected – his stomach tightened, and his next kiss came harder, hungrier, almost desperate in the way he pressed himself down against Mark.
“You like hearing it, don’t you?” Mark breathed against his mouth, his voice breaking just enough to betray how much this was undoing him too. “That you’re the best thing I’ve ever had on top of me?”
Donghyuck braced himself on Mark’s shoulders, grinding down with an unhurried roll of his hips that made both of them suck in a sharp breath.
Mark’s head tipped back a fraction, eyes half-lidded but fixed on him. His hands roamed again – over the lines of Donghyuck’s meaty thighs and the curve of his ass, fingers flexing before running up his sides.
“God, you move like you know you own me,” Mark muttered, raw. His grip slid back down, pulling Donghyuck tighter to him until their hips aligned, making them feel the growing hardness beneath their zippers. “You feel so fucking good…”
Donghyuck smirked, but it was faint, unsteady at the edges. “Thought you didn’t get owned,” he teased.
Mark’s hand came up, threading into his hair and tugging just enough to draw a gasp from him. “I could be,” he said, eyes dragging down the flushed lines of Donghyuck’s neck. “By you. Right now.”
He kissed him again, messy this time – tongues sliding, teeth catching briefly on Donghyuck’s bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. His hands never stilled, always moving, squeezing his hips as if making sure Donghyuck understood exactly how much control he had in this moment.
“Fuck, Hyuck…” Mark mumbled against his mouth between kisses.
Donghyuck pressed harder, his thighs tensing against the couch cushions as he moved in a steady rhythm, every drag of friction sparking hotter between them.
Mark’s lips brushed his ear again, his voice low enough to curl right into the heat pooling in Donghyuck’s stomach. “Don’t stop. I want you to feel how hard you make me.”
Donghyuck moaned softly at the words, determined now to make Mark feel even better. To keep praising him and mumbling sweet nothings into his ear. “Mark–” he whined, shifting his hips slightly so their clothed hard-ons brush against each other again.
Mark bit lightly at the curve of his jaw, the brief sting sending a shiver through him before Mark soothed it with a slow lick. “That’s it… That’s my gorgeous boy.”
Mark’s hands slipped under Donghyuck’s shirt like he’d been waiting for permission he was never going to ask for. His palms dragged up over bare skin, slow enough to feel every shiver.
Donghyuck’s head tipped back, eyes half-shut as Mark’s mouth found his throat, kissing, tasting, biting just enough to leave a mark. His hips kept moving – an easy, deliberate grind that made the couch creak and Mark’s grip tighten to the point of bruising.
Mark’s teeth grazed his skin again before he pulled back, breathing hard, his gaze locked low. “Lift your arms.”
The words came out as an order and Donghyuck obeyed – not quickly, but with a slow raise of his arms that made Mark’s eyes darken. The shirt came off in one rough pull, tossed somewhere neither of them cared about.
Mark leaned back against the couch, just enough to get a better look, his hands sliding up Donghyuck’s sides. “Fuck, look at you,” he said, voice thick with reverence. “You’re unreal.”
Donghyuck shifted forward, bracing his hands on either side of Mark’s head, pressing close again until their chests met bare to clothed. He kissed him, deep and messy, and Mark groaned into his mouth.
Mark’s hands went straight to the button of Donghyuck’s jeans, fingers deft but slow, like he was dragging out the inevitable just to watch the anticipation flicker over Donghyuck’s face.
“I want these gone,” he said against his lips, “and I want you closer.”
Donghyuck smirked faintly, even as his breath stuttered. “Then do it.”
Mark didn’t need telling twice.
His fingers made quick work of the button and zipper, knuckles brushing over Donghyuck’s dick as he dragged the denim down just far enough to slip his hands inside.
The sound Donghyuck made – sharp, cut off in his throat – was exactly the kind of fuel Mark had been waiting for.
He pulled the jeans the rest of the way, Donghyuck shifting to help, and tossed them aside without looking.
“Better,” he said low, his gaze dragging from Donghyuck’s face down to the length of him, taking in every line, every tense muscle, the imprint of his cock pressing against the gray boxers.
His hands gripped Donghyuck’s hips again, pulling him flush. They rolled down slow and Mark’s fingers clamped tighter, holding him there as if he could keep him in that exact angle forever.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” Mark said, voice rough.
Donghyuck’s answering hum was shameless. “Maybe I am.”
That earned him a sharp squeeze at his hip. “Keep it up and I’m going to forget I promised myself to be patient.”
“Who said I wanted you to be?” Donghyuck murmured, leaning down so their mouths hovered just shy of touching, their breaths mixing hotly in the small space.
Mark’s restraint cracked. One hard pull and Donghyuck was flush against him, grinding harder now because Mark wasn’t letting him do anything else. The couch creaked faintly under the push and pull of them, Mark’s hands roaming down to grab a fistful of his ass.
“Fuck–” Mark’s head tipped back for a second, eyes closing like the sensation hit too deep. Then he looked up again, gaze locked and unblinking. “That’s it. Just like that. You feel so fucking good.”
Donghyuck’s breath caught, but he didn’t stop – couldn’t stop. Every shift of his hips made Mark’s hands tighten, made his praise spill lower.
“Look at you,” Mark groaned. “On my lap, moving like that. You like feeling how hard you make me, huh?”
Donghyuck’s answer was a sharper grind, teeth catching his own lip to stifle the sound it pulled from him.
“Don’t hold back,” Mark said, reading it instantly. “I want to hear it. Every little noise. Every single one’s mine tonight.”
Donghyuck arched above him, a broken sound catching in his throat when Mark’s thigh pressed in on his dick. Mark felt it instantly, the shift in his body, the quick intake of breath – and he pressed in harder, deliberate pressure right where he wanted it.
“Yeah,” Mark breathed, his voice thick with satisfaction, “just like that. You feel that?”
Donghyuck’s head tipped back, the sound that escaped him too raw to disguise, and Mark’s hand shot up to cup his jaw, forcing his gaze back. “Eyes on me,” he said, the order sharp enough to make Donghyuck obey before he thought about it.
His eyes didn’t drop from Mark’s as he shifted, slow and deliberate, sliding down from where he’s been straddling him. His knees pressed into the carpet, one hand braced against Mark’s thigh for balance. The other dragged lazily over the line of his zipper, knuckles grazing in a way that made Mark’s jaw tighten.
Mark leaned back against the cushions, watching him like he was memorising every inch. “You’re not even pretending to behave, are you?”
Donghyuck didn’t answer – at least not with words. He just hooked his fingers into the belt loop and tugged, his mouth ghosting close enough to make Mark’s breath catch. The heat of him was maddening.
Mark’s hand slipped into his hair, not forcing, just holding. “Go on,” he murmured, the encouragement thick with something darker. “Show me.”
Donghyuck’s fingers found the metal at Mark’s waist, unbuttoning them and dragging the zipper down in slow, measured pulls, like he wanted Mark to hear every single click split the quiet.
The sound was sharp in the otherwise still room, each notch an unspoken countdown. His palm pressed in over the thick outline of his dick beneath, a deliberate weight that made Mark’s breath catch low in his chest.
The slow drag of his thumb across the length was almost lazy, until he gave a light, testing brush that made Mark’s jaw flex.
Donghyuck tugged at the waistband of his black boxers, letting Mark’s already hard cock spring free from restraint. The air seemed to shift – thicker, heavier, heat radiating from more than just the body in front of him.
Maybe it was the way Mark’s gaze sharpened to something so, so focused, or the subtle tug of fingers curling deeper into Donghyuck’s hair like he’d been waiting all night to do it.
Donghyuck leaned in, close enough that the heat from Mark’s skin kissed his lips before he touched him. His mouth parted, breath warm and teasing over the sensitive head, already leaking faintly with precum, and then –no hesitation– he wrapped his lips around him.
Mark’s head tipped back against the cushions instantly, the faintest sound breaking loose before he could bite it back.
“Fuck–” It came out on an exhale, barely a word at all, almost drowned by the slick pull of Donghyuck’s hot mouth. Mark’s grip tightened in his hair without conscious thought, fingers threading closer to the scalp. “Just like that. You look so good with your mouth on me.”
Donghyuck hummed low in his throat, and the vibration shot through Mark’s spine, making his hips shift forward before he caught himself. He stilled again, but the restraint was fraying, this as a thread. Donghyuck’s rhythm stayed filthy, practised – one hand wrapped at the base, the other steady on Mark’s thigh, bracing himself so he could take him deeper.
Mark’s free hand moved, cupping Donghyuck’s jaw and brushing his thumb over the flushed curve of his cheek, feeling the tension and the stretch there.
“Eyes up,” he ordered, the roughness in his voice more a demand than request.
When Donghyuck looked at him –lips stretched, pupils blown, heat pouring from his gaze– it slammed straight through him. Mark’s breath stuttered.
“You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this,” he said, the words raw enough to scrape. “How many nights I’ve wanted to fuck your mouth until you couldn’t speak.”
The faint curl of Donghyuck’s lips around him almost passed for a smile, like he was amused at the idea of being wrecked. His tongue worked with precision – flattening to drag slowly on the underside of Mark’s cock before curling around the head; a subtle twist that made Mark’s thighs tense under his hands.
A quiet, wet pull sounded in the air, broken only by the faint, involuntary hum Donghyuck let slip when Mark’s fingers tightened in his hair.
The vibration made Mark’s breath falter, his jaw clenching as a low sound tore from his chest. “God–” he exhaled sharply through his nose, watching the way Donghyuck’s lashes lowered in concentration.
Donghyuck’s movements had a rhythm, practiced without being mechanical – an obscene mix of skill and intent. Every time he slid lower, his throat relaxed just enough to take more, and Mark could feel the warm pull of it all the way down to his gut. A soft, pleased noise escaped Donghyuck between swallows, and Mark swore under his breath.
When Donghyuck drew back to the tip, his lips stayed wrapped tight, tongue flicking in a quick, teasing pass over the slit before sinking down again. It was filthy in its precision, each shift in pressure making Mark’s grip flex reflexively, his knuckles paling against dark strands of hair.
“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he breathed, the praise slipping out before he could stop it.
And then Donghyuck sank lower, swallowing him until Mark’s eyes threatened to roll back, his head tipping sharply against the edge of the couch.
“Jesus, Hyuck–” Mark’s voice cracked on the syllables. His chest rose unevenly now, every ounce of composure from earlier stripped clean. His hand tightened in Donghyuck’s hair again, his hips starting to rock in short, deliberate thrusts. “You keep this up, I’m not gonna last.”
Mark’s hand tightened in Donghyuck’s hair, not to pull him closer this time, but to stop him. The sound Donghyuck made in protest was low, questioning, his lips still slick when Mark guided him back with a slow pull.
“That’s enough,” Mark said, voice low and thick. His gaze dragged over the sight in front of him – Donghyuck flushed and breathing hard, bare skin glowing faint in the lamplight, lips plump and red. “Not here.”
Donghyuck blinked up at him, still catching his breath, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he knew exactly what was coming next.
Mark stood, keeping one hand locked around Donghyuck’s wrist as if there were any chance he might slip away. He tugged him up from the carpet in one smooth pull and led him down the short hallway without letting go.
The bedroom was darker, quieter – just the faint glow from the city lights spilling through the blinds. The air smelled faintly of cedar and Mark’s cologne, warm and heavy compared to the cooler living room.
Mark didn’t waste time. He steered Donghyuck to the edge of the bed and pressed him down, the mattress dipping under his weight. Donghyuck’s knees bent automatically, his body following the push, his back meeting the sheets with a soft rustle.
Mark stood over him for a moment, just looking – taking in the way Donghyuck’s chest rose and fell, the mess of his hair against the pillow, the strip of bare skin leading down into the dark waistband of his boxers.
He braced one knee on the bed, leaning in until his shadow swallowed Donghyuck whole, his hands planting firm on either side of his head.
Donghyuck’s smirk curled as his fingers went for the first button on Mark’s white shirt. He didn’t rush – he slid each one free with maddening precision, parting the fabric inch by inch until it hung loose over Mark’s frame. The warmth of his hands bled through as he smoothed it down his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
The jeans came next – his knuckles brushed the sides of Mark’s hips as he pushed the denim, letting it pool at Mark’s thighs until he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers. He tugged them down until Mark stepped out, completely bare now, the muscles of his stomach flexing under the faint tension in his stance.
Mark didn’t let him linger. His own hands slid down to Donghyuck’s hips, curling into the band of his last layer and peeling it away in one smooth pull. The fabric caught briefly at the curve of his ass before it joined the pile on the floor.
They didn’t touch for a moment – just looked.
Donghyuck’s gaze dropped and his breath hitched when it landed on Mark’s dick – thick, flushed, and already heavy and curling towards his stomach. For a beat he just stared, his mouth going dry, the ache low in his belly tightening at the sight. The sharp line of Mark’s hipbone led right to it, the faint trail of hair only drawing his eyes lower again.
Mark didn’t move, letting him look, the corner of his mouth ticking up when Donghyuck’s pupils darkened.
His eyes dragged down Donghyuck’s body, unapologetically pausing at his chest and the soft lines of his stomach, before stopping dead where he wanted to most.
He took his time there. Donghyuck was flushed, the head already slick enough to catch the low light. Mark’s jaw flexed once, a muscle ticking as his fingers twitched with the urge to wrap around him right then.
The sight was almost obscene in its perfection, lean muscle tapering to a cock that matched the rest of him – beautiful and infuriating in the same breath.
Mark let out something between a hum and a quiet exhale, not looking away, not hiding how much he liked what he saw.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, like it wasn’t even meant for Donghyuck to hear. His eyes flicked up briefly to catch the faint rise in Donghyuck’s chest, then dropped again, hungry.
When his gaze finally dragged back up slow enough to make Donghyuck’s breath catch, it wasn’t just heated – it was claiming.
“Yeah,” Mark murmured, low and certain, “just how I wanted you.”
Mark finally closed the last inch between them, his hand coming up to rest just under Donghyuck’s ribs – warm, broad palm spanning almost the whole width of him. He traced down slowly, calloused fingertips mapping the lines of his stomach, the faint dip of muscle, the way the skin gave slightly under his touch.
When he reached him, Mark’s fingers wrapped around his cock without hesitation, the heat of his hand sending a shudder through Donghyuck’s whole body. He stroked once – slow and deliberate – the pad of his thumb dragging over the head like he was committing every detail to memory.
“God, Hyuck…” Mark’s voice was thick. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”
The praise hit harder than Donghyuck expected, and his breath came in sharp through his nose, chest lifting as if he needed the extra air to steady himself. Mark’s grip tightened just enough to make his cock twitch in his hand, enough to have Donghyuck’s hips shift towards it without thought – his body answering before his pride could catch up.
Mark’s other hand slid to the inside of his thigh, thumb pressing into the soft muscle there, holding him open like he wasn’t about to let him close up ever again. Donghyuck’s fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles pale, trying to ground himself under that gaze.
“Look at you,” Mark murmured, eyes locked on his face.
Donghyuck’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, heat climbing under his skin at the sheer certainty in Mark’s tone. His mouth opened, but nothing came out – just a quick, shaky breath as Mark leaned in, lips brushing the edge of his lower belly.
“You’ve been driving me insane with this body for months, you know that?” Mark’s breath was hot against him, and when that slow stroke came again, Donghyuck’s back arched, a quiet curse falling from his lips.
“Mine now,” Mark said, and Donghyuck’s eyes fluttered shut – not because he agreed, but because fighting it suddenly felt like trying to hold back the tide.
Mark’s hand didn’t leave him, but his mouth began its slow descent, dragging kisses down the flat of Donghyuck’s stomach like he had all night to get there. Every press of his lips felt like a claim, forcing Donghyuck to feel the weight of being wanted like this.
When Mark’s breath finally ghosted over the tip, Donghyuck’s fingers tightened in the sheets, voice catching on a broken, “Mark–”
It wasn’t a plea exactly, but the sound of his own name in that cracked tone sent something sharp through Mark’s chest.
The first swipe of his tongue was slow and Donghyuck’s hips twitched like his body didn’t know whether to push up or away. “F-fuck,” he mumbled, head tipping back, the sound catching halfway to a whimper.
Mark hummed low in his throat. “Yeah? That good?”
His voice was rough against skin, and before Donghyuck could answer, he took him deeper, swallowing around him until the air in Donghyuck’s lungs left in a single, trembling exhale.
“Oh– God–” The words broke apart, muffled against the back of his hand when he tried to quiet himself. His thighs flexed, instinct warring with restraint, but Mark’s hand on his hip was firm, holding him down, thumb stroking small, grounding circles even as his mouth worked him over.
“You taste,” Mark’s voice dipped low when he pulled back for a breath, his thumb stroking along the slick head, “better than I imagined.”
Donghyuck’s laugh was breathless, dissolving into a shiver when Mark’s mouth closed over him again. “You–fuck–don’t… Don’t say shit like that,” he mumbled, though the shake in his voice stripped it of bite.
Mark only smirked around him, bobbing his head in a rhythm that made the heat coil tight in Donghyuck’s stomach. His free hand slid up, palm warm against the sharp line of his hipbone, anchoring him in place.
“Mark–”
It was half warning, half plea, and Mark knew he could keep him here – balanced right at that edge – until Donghyuck forgot his own name.
But Mark didn’t give him that satisfaction.
Instead, his pace eased – languid pulls, long pauses where his mouth barely touched, just letting his breath skim over damp skin until Donghyuck’s thighs trembled in frustration.
“Mark…” The name came out softer now, almost a whine, his hips twitching as though the movement alone might coax more from him.
“Patience,” Mark murmured, voice a low rasp against the inside of his thigh. He let his mouth wander, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the crease where thigh met hip, his stubble scraping faintly over sensitive skin.
Donghyuck’s breath caught when he realised where Mark was heading.
His whole body went taut, heat pooling low in his belly and rushing up his neck in a flush that felt almost feverish. The sheets bunched under his fists, twisting tighter as if that could ground him.
“Don’t–” he started, voice pitched high, but it was filled with anticipation wearing a thin enough disguise.
Mark’s hands settled firmer on his thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft skin in a way that made Donghyuck feel both pinned and exposed. He eased him apart slowly, his gaze fixed with such intent it felt like a touch all on its own.
“Relax for me,” he said.
The first slow drag of Mark’s tongue over his rim shattered what little composure Donghyuck had left. His spine arched sharply off the bed, a tremor running the length of him as the moan escaped him – raw, involuntary, unguarded.
“God–” he breathed, the word catching on a shaky exhale.
Mark hummed low in satisfaction against him, and the vibration alone sent a fresh jolt through his nerves. “Knew you’d sound like that,” he murmured before dipping back in.
Each stroke of his tongue was measured, pressing shallow only to pull back and circle again, like he was intent on dismantling him one small push at a time.
Donghyuck’s hand flew down, threading into Mark’s hair before he even realised he’d moved. His hips shifted on their own accord, searching for more. “Mark, fuck–”
“Yeah,” Mark mumbled against him, his breath hot where it ghosted over the damp hole. His grip on Donghyuck’s thighs tightened, holding him in place, forcing him to take it at the pace Mark chose. “Just like that. Take it.”
The air felt thick, every inhale tinged with the faint scent of cedar from the sheets and the warm, intoxicating smell of Mark himself. Donghyuck’s breathing had gone ragged, uneven, his body torn between the desperate urge to push back into that pressure and the dizzying surrender that came with letting Mark control every inch of movement.
Mark pulled back slowly, his breath still hot against Donghyuck’s skin, and pressed one last kiss on Donghyuck’s fluttering hole before easing up onto his knees. His hands didn’t leave him; they slid down the inside of his thighs, coaxing them wider as he shifted their positions on the bed.
“Up,” he said quietly, guiding Donghyuck higher onto the pillows so that his back was supported and his hips were angled just right.
The mattress dipped under Mark’s weight as he followed, settling between his legs, gaze never wavering from the flushed, wrecked sight of him.
Donghyuck’s pulse was still racing, the aftershocks of Mark’s mouth leaving him restless and twitchy. His skin prickled everywhere Mark touched him, and when Mark reached for the small bottle from the nightstand’s drawer, his breath hitched in relief and dread tangled together.
Mark worked the slick over his fingers slowly, his eyes on Donghyuck’s face. The first brush of a finger against his hole was maddeningly light, barely there, just enough to make him tense.
“Relax,” Mark whispered again, the same steady command as before. His other hand splayed warm against Donghyuck’s hip.
When the first finger pushed in, the stretch was slow, excruciating in its precision. Mark didn’t force it; he eased in bit by bit, giving Donghyuck’s body time to yield. The pace was torturous – Mark curling just slightly before pulling back, circling his fingertip as though mapping him out.
Donghyuck’s head tipped back into the pillows, a sharp sound slipping past his bitten lip. “You’re– Fuck, you’re doing that on purpose.”
“Of course I am,” Mark said, voice low with satisfaction. His finger slid deeper, the heel of his hand pressing close enough to tease. “You feel too good to rush.”
The second finger joined the first with the same infuriating patience, the stretch pulling a choked sound from Donghyuck’s throat. Mark’s thumb stroked a slow arc over his hipbone to steady him while his fingers curled inside.
“You’re gonna drive me insane,” Donghyuck managed, his thighs twitching involuntarily.
“That’s the point,” Mark murmured, leaning down to press his mouth to the side of Donghyuck’s knee.
Mark kept the rhythm steady –slow in, curl, drag out– until the heat in Donghyuck’s face matched the flush down his chest. He watched every twitch, every uneven breath.
When he angled his hand just slightly, the pads of his fingers pressed into that small bundle of nerves that made Donghyuck jolt. His thighs clamped briefly, hips jerking upwards in a helpless reaction, and a startled sound broke from his throat.
“There,” Mark murmured, his tone shifting from coaxing to claiming. He pressed into that same spot again, slower this time, dragging over it until Donghyuck was writhing.
“Mark–” Donghyuck’s voice cracked, his hips chasing the movement despite himself. His hand shot down to clutch at Mark’s forearm, nails digging in like it might keep him anchored. “God, don’t…”
Mark’s mouth curved in the faintest smirk. “Don’t what?”
He pushed in deeper, hitting his prostate again, and the sound Donghyuck made this time was downright obscene.
“Don’t stop,” Donghyuck admitted in a rush, voice trembling, head tipping back into the pillows.
Mark’s pace stayed maddening – never fast enough to let him tip over, never slow enough to give him space to breathe. Just enough pressure, over and over, to keep him strung tight on the edge. His other hand roamed idly over Donghyuck’s chest, tracing circled over flushed skin, brushing deliberately over a perked nipple until Donghyuck arched into the touch.
The tension in his body coiled tighter with every curl of Mark’s fingers, his breath coming shallow and quick. His cock was hard and leaking against his stomach, twitching with each pass over that spot.
Mark’s gaze dropped to take in the sight – Donghyuck spread open, squirming under him, eyes glassy with need – and his smirk deepened.
Just when Donghyuck’s back arched and his voice went high on a moan that sounded dangerously close to breaking, Mark’s fingers stilled. He eased them out, slow enough to feel every inch, leaving Donghyuck panting, wide-eyed, and ready to curse him out.
“You,” Donghyuck’s breath caught on the words, frustration and want tangled tight in his voice. “You fucking–”
Mark only wiped his fingers on the inside of Donghyuck’s thigh, leaning down to kiss the hollow of his throat. “Not yet,” he murmured against his skin. “You’ll come when I say you can.”
He shifted, guiding Donghyuck’s legs until they were on either side of his hips. His hands were firm on Donghyuck’s thighs as he brought him forward. “Up here,” he said, pulling him into place.
Donghyuck moved without thinking, body loose from the haze Mark had kept him in, knees sinking into the mattress. The shift made their cocks brush – Mark’s hard length pressing against Donghyuck’s – and the contact pulled a shaky breath from both of them.
Mark leaned back onto the pillows, one arm braced behind his head, the other sliding lazily up Donghyuck’s thigh. “That’s it,” he mumbled, eyes heavy-lidded as they raked over him.
But instead of reaching for Mark’s cock like expected, Donghyuck leaned forward, bracing one palm on the mattress beside Mark’s head. The other slid down, fingers curling around the thick length and his thumb dragged over the head, spreading slick already gathered there, and Mark’s breath hitched hard.
“Fuck,” Mark muttered, his head tipping back for a second before he caught Donghyuck’s gaze again.
Donghyuck’s lips curved faintly, the bratty spark still flickering even through the fog. He gave him a long, slow stroke, watching Mark’s jaw tighten. Then, he bent lower until his mouth found the line of Mark’s collarbone. His lips trailed lower – over the slope of his chest, until they closed around one of Mark’s nipples.
Donghyuck lingered there like he had all the time in the world, mouth working slowly. He could feel every tiny twitch and jump of muscle beneath his tongue, the way Mark’s breathing kept stuttering in his ribcage like he couldn’t quite get it under control.
His lips closed around the nipple again, sucking harder this time, and he left the faint, helpless shiver that ran through Mark’s body.
“Fuck–” Mark’s voice cracked on the word, rougher than he probably meant it to be. The sound that slipped out of him next –low, desperate, almost a whine– had Donghyuck smiling against his skin. He let his teeth graze lightly before easing off and lapping at the same spot.
Mark’s hand in his hair tightened like he was trying to anchor himself. “Hyuck… God, that–” he cut himself off with a sharp exhale, hips twitching involuntarily when Donghyuck switched to teasing flicks. “You’re gonna –fuck– drive me insane.”
Donghyuck just kept going, alternating between wet, sucking pulls and those slow, deliberate swirls that made Mark’s voice slip into breathy, half-formed curses.
“Don’t stop,” Mark groaned out. “Feels so fucking good, Hyuck.”
But then Mark’s grip in his hair tugged firmly. Not rough enough to hurt, but enough to make Donghyuck pause and look up, lips wet and smug.
Mark’s eyes were molten, the last threads of composure knitting themselves back into place even as his chest rose unevenly.
“Enough,” he said, sharp in a way that made it impossible to mistake for a suggestion. He pulled Donghyuck up until their mouths crashed together – hot, searing, messy.
Mark’s tongue slid deep, tasting his own sweat on Donghyuck’s mouth, his hand cupping the back of his neck to hold him there like he had no intention of letting him go.
Between breaths, Mark spoke against his lips, words broken by the heat of the kiss. “Fucking perfect–” another kiss, hot and wet, “–so gorgeous–” his teeth caught Donghyuck’s bottom lip, dragging it slow enough to make him shiver, “–mine.”
Donghyuck whimpered into his mouth; a short, helpless sound that had Mark deepening the kiss instantly, swallowing it down like he’d been starving for it. His fingers flexed against the back of Donghyuck’s neck, keeping him right where he wanted him, and Donghyuck felt it all the way down his spine.
By the time they broke for air, Donghyuck’s chest was heaving, his eyes blown wide and glassy. Mark leaned in again, mouth brushing the shell of his ear, and the words came low and steady.
“Ride me.”
Donghyuck’s breath caught, sharp enough to be heard, but Mark didn’t back off; his thumb stroked over the rapid thud of Donghyuck’s pulse at his throat, while his other hand slid down to cup the curve of his ass.
“Mar–” Donghyuck’s voice cracked halfway through his name, the sound breaking into something dangerously close to a moan.
Mark’s smirk was brief and sharp. “You hear me, Hyuck?”
“Yes,” Donghyuck breathed, the word barely there.
“Yes what?” Mark’s hand squeezed his ass, making him gasp.
“Yes, I heard you,” Donghyuck said, his thighs tightening instinctively where they straddled Mark.
“That’s not enough,” Mark murmured, his mouth ghosting over Donghyuck’s jaw. “Say you’ll do it.”
“I’ll…” Donghyuck swallowed hard, the heat pooling low and heavy. “I’ll ride you."
“Good boy,” Mark said, and the praise sent another involuntary shiver through Donghyuck. “Now.”
Donghyuck’s fingers curled against the solid plane of Mark’s chest, dragging slightly over warm skin. He could feel the steady thud of Mark’s heartbeat beneath his palm, matching his own frantic rhythm.
The blunt, heated press at his entrance made his stomach flip, and before he even pushed down, his thighs were already tightening, bracing against the mattress.
When the first inch slid in, a startled gasp tore from his throat. His lips parted around a shaky curse, eyes squeezing shut at the sharp, toe-curling stretch. “Fuck–” The sound was ragged, and he bit the rest off, chest rising and falling too fast. “Give me… Give me a second.”
Mark’s grip eased instantly, thumbs sweeping slow, grounding circles into the soft skin of his ass. “Take your time,” he murmured, the tone of his voice wrapping around Donghyuck like a second touch. “I’ve been waiting for this too long to rush it.”
Donghyuck swallowed hard, trying to breath through the slow, deliberate push of Mark’s cock filling him inch by inch. It was too much and exactly right, the ache turning molten as it spread. His head dropped forward, hair shadowing his flushed cheeks.
“That’s it,” Mark coaxed, his palms sliding higher, guiding but never forcing. “Look at you, taking me so fucking well. You feel so good around me, Hyuck. Like you were made for this.”
Donghyuck’s hips twitched at the praise, a small roll that made them both groan. “You’re–” his voice cracked, “too big.”
Mark’s mouth curved slowly, a wolfish satisfaction in it. “You can handle it,” he said, tone almost daring. His hand flattened against the base of Donghyuck’s spine, the other stroking up his side. “You’re so tight I can feel every little squeeze, and you’re still taking more. Knew you could.”
Another slow push, and Donghyuck’s nails dug faintly into Mark’s chest.
Mark’s thumbs pressed into the dip of his hips again. “Breathe, baby,” he murmured. “Feel how hard you’ve got me? That’s all you.”
Donghyuck finally sank all the way down, his thigh quivering as he settled against Mark’s lap.
“Fuck, Hyuck,” Mark groaned, eyes fixed on where their bodies were joined. “You’re gonna ruin me like this.”
Donghyuck’s thighs trembled with the first slow lift, the stretch easing only to be replaced by the dragging pull of Mark’s cock inside him. He lowered himself again in an unhurried roll of his hips, drawing a low, rough sound from Mark’s chest.
Mark’s hands gripped him tighter, guiding his pace without stealing it. “You’re holding back,” he said through his teeth. “Don’t.”
Donghyuck glanced down through his lashes, a flicker of defiance even as his body betrayed him – hips rolling deeper, slower, testing every inch. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t keep your sounds from me.” Mark’s eyes locked on his. “I want to hear exactly what I’m doing to you.”
That broke something loose in Donghyuck. His next movement was sharper, dropping down hard enough that the impact made him gasp. The sound wasn’t pretty – it was needy, unrestrained, and it shot through Mark like a live wire.
“You like that?” Donghyuck’s voice was breathless. He bounced on him again, harder this time, letting his head tip back and his mouth fall open. “You like watching me fuck myself on you like this?”
Mark’s grip flexed bruising-tight at his hip, pulling him down into each thrust until the air was hot with the wet slap of their bodies. “You have no idea,” he grunted out, eyes burning as they followed Donghyuck’s every movement.
Donghyuck leaned in close, their foreheads almost touching, breaths tangling in the minimal space between them. “Bet you’ve thought about it,” he rasped, rocking in a slow, grinding circle that drew matching groans from them both. “Bet you’ve pictured me like this – spread open, dripping for you – while you fist your own dick in that bed of yours.”
Mark’s curse came low, a punch of breath through gritted teeth. His jaw flexed, but the way he wrenched him down harder told the truth – he wanted it, wanted all of it.
“You’re fucking shameless,” he said, each word bitten off between moans.
Donghyuck’s laugh was wrecked, catching on a breathless moan as he rode the drag of Mark’s cock deep inside him. “Good,” he panted, eyes glassy. “I want you to watch. I want you to see every time I take you all the way in.”
Mark’s gaze was locked between the frantic roll of Donghyuck’s hips and the way his own length disappeared into that tight heat. Every bounce, every grind was etched into his brain. “Fuck, Hyuck, look at you,” he groaned, voice breaking in the middle. “You’re dripping down my cock, making a mess all over me.”
“I want to make a mess,” Donghyuck gasped, pushing himself down harder, faster. “Want to ruin you, ruing your sheets– Fuck, Mark, you’re so deep–” His words dissolved into a whimper when Mark’s hips rolled up to meet him, the sudden angle grinding right against his prostate.
Mark’s fingers slid up, framing his waist, thumbs pressing into the flutter of his stomach as if he could feel the way Donghyuck clenched around him. “You’re milking me,” Mark said, tone sharp with awe and filth at once. “Every time you sink down, you’re fucking squeezing me like you want every drop I’ve got.”
Donghyuck moaned openly at that, nails biting into Mark’s shoulders as his movements turned desperate, grinding in place. “I do,” he admitted, voice shaking. “I want you to fill me up so bad I can’t walk tomorrow. I want to feel you dripping out of me when I leave your bed.”
Mark’s breath caught, his eyes going darker, hungrier, tracing the flex of Donghyuck’s thighs, the roll of his hips, the way his flushed chest rose and fell.
The couch had been loud; the bed was worse – the headboard giving a faint thud against the wall every time he dropped down and Mark drove up to meet him.
Mark’s gaze was molten, fixed on where they were joined, his teeth catching on his lower lip like he was trying not to lose it too soon. His hands slid from Donghyuck’s waist to his ass, fingers digging in and guiding each bounce, forcing him down harder than he intended.
“Fuck, Mark,” Donghyuck’s head fell back, hair sticking to his damp skin. “You’re hitting it, oh fuck–”
“Yeah?” Mark’s voice was raw. “You like that? You’re so fucking tight like this, Hyuck. Using me like that.”
Donghyuck’s thighs trembled but he kept going, biting down on his lip in a failed attempt to muffle the filthy moans spilling out of him.
Mark’s patience snapped right there. With a low curse, he grabbed the back of Donghyuck’s neck, pulling him into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, before rolling them both over in one swift motion. The shift forced a sharp gasp out of Donghyuck, his legs instinctively wrapping around Mark’s waist as his back hit the mattress.
Mark didn’t give him a second to adjust – he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in with a force that punched the breath right out of Donghyuck’s lungs. The mattress groaned beneath them, the headboard rattling in time with the relentless drive of his hips.
Every thrust landed deep, dragging a high, broken sound from Donghyuck that he couldn’t bite back even if he tried.
“That’s it –fuck– take it, Hyuck,” Mark rasped, his voice low. “God, you feel so fucking good. My perfect boy, taking me so well.”
Donghyuck’s fingers scrambled for purchase against Mark’s shoulder, nails digging in just enough to make him hiss. His eyes fluttered, unfocused, lips parting as moans and breathless whimpers poured out of him with each snap of Mark’s hips.
“Mark, fuck , you’re–”
The rest dissolved into a choked sound when Mark angled his hips just right, nailing that spot again and again until Donghyuck’s thighs shook around his waist.
“Yeah, right there, isn’t it?” Mark’s grin was wicked, sweat dampening the strands of hair clinging to his temples. “Can feel you clenching, fuck. You love this, don’t you? Love me fucking you like you’re mine.”
“Y-yeah–”
Donghyuck’s head tipped back against the pillow, throat exposed and working with each gasp. Mark’s hand slid up, fingers curling around his jaw to force his gaze forward. “Look at me,” he ordered, voice sharp but undercut with heat. “I want to see your face when I ruin you.”
Donghyuck whimpered, his fingers sliding from Mark’s shoulder to clutch at the sheets, knuckles white. “Feels so… Fucking good, Mark… Can’t– Can’t think.”
“Good,” Mark bit out, kissing the corner of his open mouth before dragging his lips along his cheek. “Don’t think. Just feel me.” He punctuated it with a thrust that made Donghyuck’s back arch off the bed, a strangled moan spilling out before he could stop it.
Mark’s eyes darkened, drinking in every twitch, every clench. “That’s my boy. Taking me so deep. Feel how full you are with me?”
“Yes, fuck.” Donghyuck’s legs trembled around his waist, the word almost swallowed by another moan as Mark adjusted the angle just enough to drag over that spot again.
Mark’s hand slid down, flattening over the taut plane of Donghyuck’s stomach before catching his wrist and dragging it there too. He pressed until Donghyuck could feel the firm, blunt weight of him from the inside, the way he was filling him so completely.
“You feel that?” Mark’s voice was thick with heat, almost a growl. “That’s me, Hyuck. I’m so deep inside you, I can put your hand right on it.”
Donghyuck’s mouth fell open in a wrecked little gasp, his fingers twitching helplessly under Mark’s palm. “Oh my– Fuck, Mark–” The words tangled in a half-sob, his head tipping back against the pillow.
“That’s it,” Mark coaxed, keeping their hands pressed together against his belly so Donghyuck couldn’t pull away. “You’re wrapped so tight around me, taking me so well… Every inch. You’re perfect for me.”
A broken moan tore from Donghyuck’s throat, his body twitching under the stimulation. “Too much– Feels so–”
Mark leaned closer, lips brushing his ear. “You can take it. You love taking it. Love knowing I’m this far inside you, touching you from the inside out.”
Donghyuck’s thighs shook around his hips, his breath coming fast, the babbled sounds spilling from his mouth barely words now – Mark’s name, pleads, curses, all tangled together.
“Look at you,” Mark groaned, pulling back just enough to see his face and pupils blown wide. “Fucking mess for me. My mess. You gonna come just from knowing how deep I am?”
Donghyuck’s back arched hard, a choked, broken sound tearing from his throat as his body seized under the weight of it. His hand stayed trapped beneath Mark’s, pressed to his own belly, feeling every deep, relentless push right where Mark had promised he’d be.
“Yeah, fuck–” Mark’s voice dropped into something raw. “That’s it, Hyuck. Let go for me.”
Donghyuck’s cries pitched higher, hips twitching erratically as the orgasm ripped through him – hot and sudden, spilling over his stomach without a single touch to his cock. His walls fluttered around Mark, clutching at him like they didn’t want to let go.
Mark cooed low in his ear, pace steady. “That’s my boy… Came just from me being inside, didn’t you? So fucking good for me.”
Donghyuck could only gasp, the world lodging somewhere in his chest before spilling out half-formed. “F-fuck, Mark. Can’t–”
“Yes, you can,” Mark soothed, the praise winding tight with hunger. He pressed their hands harder against his stomach, making sure Donghyuck still felt him there. “You love it.”
A whimper slipped from Donghyuck’s swollen lips, his head rolling back, every nerve still singing.
Mark’s mouth curved, eyes heavy as he drank in the sight. “You’re mine like this, Hyuck. No one else gets to see you fall apart like that. No one.”
Donghyuck shuddered hard, his voice breaking on the tail end of a moan, too wrung out to argue – too gone to want to.
Mark didn’t give him a chance to catch his breath. He was driving into him again, pace relentless, his hips snapping with a controlled, punishing rhythm.
“Stay with me,” he ordered, voice roughened to gravel. “Gonna push you through it, Hyuck. You can take it.”
Donghyuck’s nails bit into Mark’s shoulders, his thighs trembling around Mark’s hips. Every deep thrust made him jolt, his overstimulated body teetering between pleasure and too much. He whined openly now, babbling incoherent curses and pleas, but his hips still moved to meet every snap forward, chasing something he couldn’t name.
Mark’s gaze never left him – drinking in the way his flushed chest heaved, how his hair clung wet to his cheeks, the messy gloss of spit and moans on his mouth.
“God, so wrecked and still begging. You don’t even know how good you are for me.”
Donghyuck’s voice broke into another cry, his back arching as Mark’s thrusts grew sharper.
Then Mark’s mouth was at his ear, breath hot and deliberate. “Where do you want me to come, Hyuck?”
The question dragged a fresh shiver down his spine. Donghyuck tried to form the words, but they came out slurred, needy. “O-outside.”
Mark groaned low, the sound heavy with restraint. “Yeah? You want me to mess you up right here, make a mess all over your pretty stomach?”
Donghyuck whimpered, the noise being enough of an answer.
In the last second, Mark pulled out with a sharp, shuddering breath. His hand closed around himself, pumping fast, and then he was spilling hot over Donghyuck’s already marked skin. The ropes of cum painted across his stomach, mingling with the streaks from Donghyuck’s earlier release.
Mark stayed braced above him, his breath ragged, watching intently as their releases blended, shining under the low light. His thumb swiped lazily through it before dragging it over Donghyuck’s hip like he was branding him there too.
His breathing slowed just enough for his focus to sharpen again.
He didn’t look away from Donghyuck – not when he dragged two fingers slowly through the mess on his stomach, gathering it in thick, glistening ribbons, not when he swirled them deliberately, blending their releases together until it was nothing but one slick, pearlescent sheen.
“Look,” Mark murmured lowly. “Ours.”
Donghyuck’s eyes followed every lazy circle of Mark’s fingers, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling fast despite the slow pace of the moment.
Mark lifted his hand, coated fingers catching in the dim light, and brought them to his own mouth without breaking eye contact. His tongue met the mess first, curling around his knuckles, before his lips closed over them and drew them in deep.
He hummed, pleased, the sound vibrating right through his chest as he sucked them clean. His jaw flexed around the motion, slow and indecent, until the last trace of slick was gone and he pulled his fingers free with a soft, wet pop.
Donghyuck’s breath caught hard in his throat. He was watching like he couldn’t stop, like every move Mark made was keeping him suspended in that same sharp-edged haze.
“You’re…” Donghyuck started, but the words fizzled out into nothing, his voice too thin.
Mark only smirked faintly, running the tip of his cleaned fingers along Donghyuck’s flushed hip. “I know.”
He let his fingers linger against Donghyuck’s skin for a moment longer before dipping back down, dragging through the sticky heat of their release again. This time he moved slower, almost teasing in the way he traced the lines across Donghyuck’s stomach, gathering the mess until his fingers were slick to the knuckle.
Donghyuck shivered, every nerve still raw from the aftershocks, but he didn’t look away – not even when Mark brought his hand up again.
“Open,” Mark said, voice low but carrying that same tone from earlier, the one Donghyuck didn’t even think to disobey.
His lips parted, breath shaky, and Mark slid the coated fingers past them. Donghyuck’s tongue met them instinctively, tasting the sharp salt and the warm, heady blend of them both. His cheeks hollowed, taking them in deeper, and the faint hum that rose from his throat had Mark’s eyes darkening all over again.
“That’s it,” he coaxed, his free hand curling into Donghyuck’s hair as he watched him work his tongue over every inch. “Taste what you do to me.”
Donghyuck swallowed around the touch before Mark finally drew his fingers out, trailing them across his swollen lips, smearing the last trace there before leaning in to press a slow, grounding kiss over them.
He stayed close, his mouth lingering against Donghyuck’s like he could coax him back one breath at a time. When he finally pulled away, it was only far enough to see his face – cheeks flushed, lashes still heavy, lips parted as if his body hadn’t quite gotten the message that the frenzy was over.
“Easy,” Mark murmured, brushing his thumb along the curve of Donghyuck’s cheekbone. “Still with me?”
A faint hum was all he got in return, but the way Donghyuck’s eyes flicked to meet his told him enough. He stood up from the bed and reached for the small stack of folded towels near the dresses, the fabric still warm from the radiator, and came back to kneel between Donghyuck’s knees.
The clean-up was slow – Mark dragging the warm cloth in careful sweeps over sensitive skin, never pressing too hard, never breaking eye contact for more than a heartbeat. He murmured in between each pass, soft things, grounding things.
“That’s it, Hyuck. Just breathe for me.”
“So fucking gorgeous.”
“Baby.”
Each praise seemed to sink deeper than the touch itself, and Mark could see it in the faint way Donghyuck’s chest eased, in how the tension bled out of his shoulders.
When the last trace of mess was gone, Mark set the towel aside and reached for the sheets, tucking them snugly around Donghyuck’s hips before sliding in beside him.
Mark gathered him in with one arm, the other hand slipping up to cup the back of his head, fingers combing slowly through sweat-damp hair. “You were perfect tonight,” he said softly. “Took everything I gave you and still begged for more. You have any idea what that does to me?”
Donghyuck’s lips parted, but no words came – just a breath that caught halfway, his body shifting instinctively closer, drawn to the heat and steadiness anchoring him.
Mark smiled faintly against his temple, pressing a kiss there. “That’s all right. You don’t have to talk yet.”
When Donghyuck’s eyes began to flutter shut, Mark shifted them carefully – pulling him into his lap, sheets still wrapped around him. He kept his voice soft but unyielding, coaxing him through each small movement.
“Drink some water for me.” He reached over to the nightstand without letting go, uncapping the bottle and holding it to Donghyuck’s lips. He tilted it slowly, watching the swallow travel down his throat. “Good boy. Every drop.”
The bottle was set aside, replaced by Mark’s palm cupping his jaw. He bent to press a long kiss to Donghyuck’s temple, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.
“I love seeing you like this,” Mark murmured, and though the words were gentle, they still carried that low, possessive edge. “Soft and wrecked because of me.”
He pulled Donghyuck down again, cradling him so that the sheets swallowed them both. Mark kept talking, letting the praise drip slow and steady into Donghyuck’s ear.
“You were perfect tonight.”
“No one’s ever taken me like you do.”
It was the last one that seemed to finally break through the haze. Donghyuck shifted against him, the beginning of a smirk tugging at his lips, though his voice was hoarse when he spoke.
“You keep talking like that,” he murmured, “and I’m gonna make you fuck me again before you get the chance to sleep.”
Mark huffed a low laugh against his hair, but the heat in his eyes said he was already considering it. He tilted his head just enough to catch Donghyuck’s smirk, his thumb stroking over the damp curve of his lower lip.
“Yeah?” he said, voice still slow and weighted with the afterglow. “You think you could take me again already?”
Donghyuck’s hum was threaded faintly with a challenge. “Mm… Maybe I just like seeing you try.”
Mark’s mouth curved –lazy, knowing– and instead of answering, he leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t sharp or hungry this time; it was molten, unhurried, the kind of kiss that lingered and curled around itself until they both forgot where it began.
Their lips slid wetly, the taste of each other still fresh between them, and the occasional low sound escaped when Mark sucked softly at his bottom lip.
Donghyuck shifted, rolling them just enough that they could tangle easier, legs draped over Mark’s thigh. The sheets slipped down, baring the heat of their skin to the cool air, but neither moved to pull it back up. Mark’s hand wandered, slow and aimless, tracing the dip of Donghyuck’s waist, the ridge of his spine, fingertips skating low enough to make him squirm.
They broke for breath only to fall right back into it, foreheads brushing, mouths parting again with messy little sounds that were closer to sighs than moans. Every now and then Donghyuck gave a teasing nip to Mark’s lip just to feel his answering hum vibrate against him.
Mark kept his hand splayed between Donghyuck’s shoulder blades, keeping him close like he had no intention of letting the moment end. His tongue slid against Donghyuck’s in a languid sweep, and the answering sound from him was a pleased hum that made Mark smile into the kiss.
Donghyuck shifted again, this time pressing his thigh between Mark’s legs, and the lazy drag of heat was enough to pull a sharper exhale from him. Mark’s hand, once resting idle at his back, smoothed down to cup the curve of his ass, squeezing just enough to make Donghyuck’s hips twitch forward.
“Mmh,” Donghyuck breathed into his mouth, fingers curling in the short hairs at the back of Mark’s neck. “You’re–” His voice broke into a soft, breathless laugh when Mark’s hand pressed him closer. “–not playing fair.”
Mark only hummed, kissing him deeper, slower, with more deliberate pushes of his tongue, like every kiss was meant to coax a sound out of him. His free hand found its way to Donghyuck’s jaw, tilting his face so he could drink in every warm, messy kiss without missing a fraction of it.
Donghyuck rolled his hips lazily against Mark’s thigh, the friction enough to make him gasp softly against his lips. Mark swallowed it, his own hips shifting in a subtle grind.
“Still so worked up,” Mark murmured against his mouth, thumb stroking his jaw.
Donghyuck’s lips curved in a slow, smug smile, but Mark could feel the heaviness pulling at his body in the way Donghyuck’s kisses slowed. His hands, once gripping and teasing, started to just rest against Mark’s shoulders.
Mark let him set the pace, matching the slower drag of lips and tongue, slipping a hand up into his hair to stroke through it in steady, grounding passes. Donghyuck’s exhales grew longer, softer, until they were almost sighs between kisses.
“Mm,” Donghyuck murmured against his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut even as Mark leaned in for another kiss, and the press of his lips turned lazy, unfocused.
Mark smiled faintly, brushing a softer kiss to his mouth, then another to the corner of it. “You’re done for,” he murmured, but Donghyuck just made a faint hum and nuzzled against his jaw.
Mark shifted them so Donghyuck was tucked more securely against his chest, one arm around his waist, the other still carding slowly through his hair. The steady rhythm seemed to sink him further, until the weight of his body melted fully into Mark’s.
When the last of his tension slipped away, Mark dipped his head and pressed one last kiss to his temple.
🍷
VELVET NIGHTCAP • ESPRESSO MARTINI
black as midnight under cafe lights, crowned with a froth that smells of roasted beans and sweet liqueur. smooth going down, but wired enough to keep you awake thinking about it.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Donghyuck blinked awake to the low hiss of a coffee machine somewhere beyond the bedroom door, followed by the faint, rhythmic drip of liquid into a cup. The smell hit him, curling through the air like a hand coaxing him fully from sleep.
For a few seconds, he just lay there, tangled in sheets that still held Mark’s heat, the events of last night flickering in hazy fragments – Mark’s voice low in his ear, the weight of his hands, the way every inch of him still hummed faintly from being touched.
The thought alone made his stomach twist in that molten, lingering way, and he let himself sink into it for just another breath before moving.
When he sat up, his legs gave a small, traitorous wobble. The ache in his thighs and the pleasant soreness deep in his hips made him snort quietly to himself – Mark really had worked him over.
Still, he padded across the room with zero shame, opening the top drawer of Mark’s dresser and rifling through it like he had every right to.
His fingers caught on soft cotton, pulling out a well-worn white t-shirt that smelled faintly of Mark’s detergent and the nearest trace of his cologne. He tugged it over his head, the hem falling halfway down his thighs, then scooped his boxers from the heap on the floor, sliding them on without hurry.
For a moment, he stood there, toes curling into the rug, sinking into the quiet weight of the morning and letting the memory of last night flood back – every kiss, every word, every time Mark had touched him like there was no one else in this world.
The thought made his lips curve faintly, almost unconsciously, before he padded out towards the kitchen.
The smell of coffee grew stronger as Donghyuck padded barefoot down the short hallway, the morning light spilling in from the kitchen’s single window.
Mark was at the counter, back turned, one hand braced on the edge while the other poured steaming coffee into two mugs. He looked different in daylight – less shadow, more definition, hair a little messy where it had dried in sleep.
When he turned at the sound of footsteps, he froze – not long, not obvious, but enough for Donghyuck to catch it. Mark’s gaze dragged over him in a slow, unhurried sweep, lingering on the hem of his own t-shirt hanging halfway down Donghyuck’s thighs.
The fabric clung in places where his body had warmed it, loose in others, and it didn’t take much to imagine what was under it. Something in Mark’s jaw shifted, tightening like he was biting back a thought that was far from polite.
Donghyuck felt the falter too, but for entirely different reasons.
Mark in the morning was unfair. Thin-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose softened that knife-edged stare just enough to make it seem like a blade wrapped in silk. His sweatpants were loose but hung indecently low, riding the line of his hip bones.
Nothing else covered him. The top half of his body was built in a way that didn’t scream for attention, but rather commanded it – broad shoulders tapering to a trim waist, faint lines of muscle running along his chest and cutting low towards his pelvis. Not bulky, but every inch purposeful.
Donghyuck’s mind was already running back through flashes of last night – Mark’s weight above him, the press of that chest, the feel of those hands gripping his hips hard enough to leave ghost bruises. And now those same hands were steady on the counter like those fingers hadn’t been inside him hours ago.
“Morning,” Mark said finally, his voice low and rough-edged from sleep. His mouth twitched and it was unclear whether it was about the sight of Donghyuck in his shirt, or the knowledge of what they’d done.
“Morning,” Donghyuck answered, slower, letting his gaze dip in an exaggerated pass from head to toe before dragging it back up again. The corner of his mouth curved, not innocent in the slightest.
Mark quickly closed the space between them in three slow steps, one hand finding Donghyuck’s hip, the other cupping the back of his neck before pulling him in. The kiss was immediate and messy, all heat and unspent energy from the night before, their mouths sliding and catching in a rhythm that was more hunger than finesse.
Donghyuck made a low, pleased sound against his lips, fingers curling in the waistband of Mark’s sweatpants to anchor him there.
It could have gone further –should have, judging by the way Mark’s grip tightened– but just as Donghyuck was leaning in for more, Mark pulled back. The air between them was still warm when Mark turned towards the counter, picked up one of the mugs, and handed it over.
Donghyuck raised a brow but took it, letting the steam curl between them. He hopped up onto the counter without being told, the cool marble against the backs of his thighs making him shiver. His legs spread without thought, leaving a deliberate gap for Mark to step into.
Mark didn’t waste the invitation. He fit himself there like it was the only place he belonged, one hand braced on the counter beside Donghyuck’s hip as they both sipped their coffee, eyes locked.
The faint bitterness of the drink sat heavy on Donghyuck’s tongue, but the weight of Mark’s gaze was sweeter, thicker – like he could taste it if he leaned forward again.
Donghyuck tipped the mug towards him in a mock toast, the corner of his mouth curving. “So… What does last night make us?” His tone was casual enough to pass, but the heat under it was impossible to miss.
Mark’s brow lifted slightly. “What do you want it to make us?”
Donghyuck hummed, dragging the pad of his thumb lazily over the rim of his mug. “Depends. If I say ‘nothing serious’, do I still get to be fucked like that?”
Mark’s answering smirk was slow. “You’ll have to deal with me fucking you harder than that.” His voice dipped low, making it sound more like a promise than a threat.
Donghyuck bit into his lower lip, leaning forward until his knees brushed Mark’s hips. “I could live with that.”
Mark’s gaze didn’t waver, cutting through the haze of steam between them. There was still that hint of sleep roughness in his voice, but it carried an edge – something that made Donghyuck’s stomach twist and tighten.
“I don’t just want to fuck you, Hyuck,” Mark said slowly, like he wanted each word to land where it mattered.
It knocked Donghyuck just enough off-balance that the easy curl of his smirk slipped. His lashes flickered down for a second, a heartbeat where he wasn’t sure if the warmth spreading over his skin was embarrassment, satisfaction, or both.
Mark leaned in on the counter, hands braced like he could pin the space between them in place. “Don’t get me wrong,” he continued, his mouth tilting with the faintest suggestion of a grin, “I do want to fuck you. I want you spread out on my bed again, making those sounds that ruin me. I want to drag you onto my lap in the middle of a slow night at the pub just to watch you lose yourself.”
Before he went on, he dipped his head, the scrape of his stubble catching faintly against Donghyuck’s skin as his lips found the slope of his neck. A slow press, meant to leave warmth blooming under the skin long after he pulled away. The heat of his breath lingered, coaxing a barely-there shiver down Donghyuck’s spine, and Mark let his mouth curve just enough to graze along the tendons there before leaning back.
“I want to fuck you until you can’t even remember what you were trying to say to me.” His gaze dipped briefly to where Donghyuck’s legs were still parted around him on the counter, and his voice dropped even lower. “But if you think that’s all this is, then you’re underestimating me.”
Donghyuck’s fingers tightened around the coffee mug, nails faintly tapping against the ceramic, eyes narrowing in a way that was equal parts defensive and intrigued. “And the point is?” he asked.
“That you don’t need to walk into the pub every other night and work me from across the room just to get my attention,” Mark said. “You’ve already got me. Every part. Whether you’re grinding against Renjun on the dance floor or sitting here in my shirt.”
Donghyuck’s mouth curved slow, the corner lifting just enough to show he’d caught every single word. “Every part, huh?” he murmured, tilting his head, his eyes glinting like he’d just been handed something to play with. “So if I said I wanted your mouth on me right now, coffee still on your tongue, you’d do it?”
Mark didn’t even blink. “In a heartbeat.”
Donghyuck’s grip on the mug loosened, letting his free hand slide down the inside of his thigh where Mark could see it. “What if I wanted more than your mouth?” he asked, voice dropping. “What if I wanted you to bend me over this counter?”
Mark’s jaw tightened. He let his eyes drag slowly from Donghyuck’s mouth down to the hand on his thigh, and back up again. “Then I’d do it,” he said, voice a low thrum, “slow enough that you’d forget the difference between begging me to keep going and begging me to stop.”
Donghyuck’s smirk tilted sharper, but there was a flicker in his eyes that gave him away. “You sound so sure I’d be begging.”
Mark leaned in until their noses almost brushed, his tone dropping into something that made the air between them feel heavier. “Hyuck, you’d be clawing at me before I even got you all the way open. You’d look at me like you did last night – like you knew you were mine, and you liked it.”
The words landed deep, cutting past the lazy edge of morning and finding that raw, tender place still thrumming from last night.
They sat heavy in Donghyuck’s chest before pooling low, a sharp ache that made his legs shift on the counter without thought, his knees brushing against Mark’s hips.
“And you’d get off on it,” he murmured, gaze locked on Mark’s, “knowing you can take me apart like that. Knowing I’d let you.”
Mark’s hand slid up, finger curling against the inside of Donghyuck’s thigh, the press firm enough that it wasn’t just a touch. His thumb dragged in a slow circle, the heat of his palm bleeding into skin.
“Not just let me,” Mark said thickly. “You’d give yourself over.”
Donghyuck’s pulse skipped, breath catching, but his smirk stayed – sharper now. “Careful,” he drawled. “Talk like that, and I might not leave this counter.”
Mark didn’t pretend to hesitate. He stepped in until his hips pressed flush between Donghyuck’s spread legs, his other hand sliding up to grip the counter beside Donghyuck’s hip, caging him in.
“Good,” he said, his thumb still stroking the inside of Donghyuck’s thigh. “I can keep you right here, then. Where you belong. Where no one else gets to touch you.”
Donghyuck’s mouth quirked like he wanted to toss something back, some slick little remark to tip the power just enough in his favour – except Mark’s thumb pressed higher, just shy of where Donghyuck already ached.
Mark’s hand slid from Donghyuck’s thigh to the small of his back, pulling him forward until their chests met. The mug in Donghyuck’s hand tilted dangerously, forgotten on the counter as Mark’s other hand came up to cradle his jaw.
“Still thinking about leaving?” Mark asked, his breath warm against Donghyuck’s lips.
Donghyuck leaned in, closing the tiny gap between them, mouths meeting in a slow, unrestrained clash. The kiss was messy – coffee-sweet and bitter all at once, teeth grazing, tongues tangling. Mark groaned low in his throat when he tasted the faint trace of coffee fresh from the cup, deepening the kiss until Donghyuck’s head spun.
Donghyuck’s fingers fisted in the waistband of Mark’s sweatpants, holding him close, like he might disappear. Mark’s hand tightened at his jaw, thumb brushing over the swell of his cheek as if to feel every tiny shift of the kiss.
Mark kept his mouth on Donghyuck’s, slower now but claiming every inch he could reach, like he had no intention of giving back what he’d just taken. His fingers eased from Donghyuck’s jaw to the nape of his neck, rubbing lazy, grounding circles there.
Donghyuck breathed into him, eyes half-lidded, the taste of coffee and Mark coating his tongue in equal measure.
His knees stayed hooked around Mark’s hips, not in a needy squeeze but in a quiet, possessive hold of his own, as if saying, you’re not going anywhere either.