Work Text:
Sweat is accumulating between Yunho's back and the wooden wall he is leaning against, leaving him sticky. There's a low buzz of electricity, humming currents powering the heaters in the narrow space, drowned out by the ambient music playing in the private sauna. Every now and then, the generic soundtrack is accentuated by the off-beat tick of the clock hanging on the wall. Mingi had asked if clocks were designed to survive such dry heat, looking to Yunho like he held the secrets of the Universe.
Disappointing Mingi, as he always did, Yunho had responded with a shrug. He'd then pointedly ignored the clock for the rest of the duration they'd been in here. Having a constant reminder that their time alone was dwindling has his stomach rolling, the rice and salmon the hotel had fed them for breakfast churning in his gut.
The sauna is laid out with two stacked wooden benches morphing out of the four walls, staggered to form two levels. Reclining at the top, Yunho shoves his back into one corner. Stretching his legs out in front of him and forces the clock out of his peripheral vision.
The only other feature in the room is a single yellow-toned light bulb set into the ceiling. It casts its inhabitants in a golden-hued glow, transforming the perspiration gathering on their skin into drops of honey. The spa had been designed as a getaway. Distraction from the bustling world outside. An empty place for their eyes to relax. Instead, the lack of decor has Yunho's gaze continuously returning to Mingi, a familiar resting place.
He's sat on the step below Yunho, lying in the same direction. A tiny folded spare towel props his bad foot up. It had taken a lot of concentration for Yunho to force the white, fluffy cotton into such a neat square. Mingi had rolled his eyes at the exaggerated effort. Sure, Mingi's toe fracture is meant to have healed, but Yunho still gets anxious watching the younger jump around every performance with little care for health and safety, worried he'll re-agitate it.
As it has been for the last ten or so years, Yunho worries. Watches.
Protects.
Covets.
In the unknown amount of time they've been inside the sauna, the high temperature has already gotten their circulation moving. A mild sweat has broken out on Yunho's upper lip, forming an unflattering moustache. His bangs are sticking to his forehead, the constant warm air stopping the sticky droplets from evaporating. He's sticky and perspiring and feels a bit gross, self-conscious of how he must look like a wet dog.
Mingi, on the other hand, looks like a movie star. His hair is longer than it's been in a while — Yunho gets heart palpitations whenever he catches Mingi tucking it behind his ears — and the sweat from his scalp is forming the tendrils into little waves. They curl around his high cheekbones, softening his expression.
From his perch, Yunho watches as Mingi succumbs further to the heat, muscles unclenching and turning pliant. Blood has rushed to the surface of his skin, knuckles and knees and nose blushing sweetly, turning him tender. Sweat glistens on his brow, his chest, his bulging arms. It catches the dim light and refracts like scattered stars. Highlights all the things Yunho has grown to adore about him, his birthmarks and his moles, and the stammering inflation of his fractured chest as he breathes in the sweltering heat.
Despite Yunho wanting to relax, to let the tantalising privilege of having nowhere else to be, no schedule to rush to, his only duty being sitting here and letting the sauna cook him in its glow— he can't. His eyes stay on Mingi, a magnetic pull overpowering his conscience. That's why he'd brought them here in the first place, to stare and stare and hope it would act as a balm to his aching heart.
It's contradictory because Yunho can't relax. The more he looks at Mingi, with his pink face and gently closed eyelids, sprawled out leisurely below him, the more it hurts.
Hurts because Mingi is right in front of him, and all Yunho can do is sit there and stare, stuck with his own thoughts and feelings. Wonders how he can ever do enough good in his life to deserve to be beside him.
Hurts because Mingi is so soft like this, delicate as butter. Melting in the heat of the sauna and slipping through Yunho's outstretched fingers.
Hurts because Yunho melts with him, dripping between the wooden slats of the bench he sits on. Forms a pool on the floor, a small collection of liquid that used to be a person, concentrating into a mess of desire and hunger and yearning for someone he wishes could be his and his alone.
With the two of them here, softening and unravelling in the artificial heat, things should feel easy. Yunho should be able to slip under and allow his mind to rest, surrounded only by warmth and his favourite person in the world.
But he can't, hung up on the fact that even like this, it's not enough.
For when he looks at Mingi lying down, flushed with warmth, idol persona disappeared, leaving behind the boy he grew up with— he wants and he wants. Wants in a way no amount of confessions spoken in a stuffy wooden booth can absolve him of.
Wants not to melt with Mingi but melt into him. Wants to dissolve until they become one. Until it's impossible to separate where Yunho begins and Mingi ends. Wants them to churn together and form one joint mass of Mingi-and-Yunho, a long, run-on sentence that's slurred in one breath.
Then, they can never be separated. No one can think of Mingi and leave Yunho behind, not even the man himself. It won't matter that Mingi is immaculate, radiant, adept in every way. Or that Yunho is inadequate, selfish, insatiable. They'll be together, unquestionably, no matter how life tugs them apart.
Then, Yunho could breathe easy. Can push the fact that he will never be perfect enough to deserve Mingi aside. Ignore how the more he craves, the further down he falls.
But with the cards life has dealt them, this will never be enough for Yunho. And Yunho can never be enough for Mingi.
A soft thud breaks Yunho out of his spiral, and then hot flesh is pressed against his lower body. It's like Mingi had heard his plea. The sweltering skin contact ignites fireworks in his chest, scratching against the inside of his ribs. Sitting up so he can rest against Yunho's hip, his head fits in the curve between waist and hip. The blunt edge of his shoulder digs into Yunho's outer thigh. Soft pain flares at the action. It makes the moment feel real.
Over the years, all of Yunho has moulded itself to Mingi's shape, free for the taking. And Mingi takes graciously, scooting closer until his head fits in the divot in Yunho's leg.
"You're thinking too loud," he whispers, words like a secret. "We're meant to be here to relax."
Maybe the sauna has loosened his tongue as well as his muscles, for Yunho answers before he has time to reshape the words into something less revealing. "I can't relax around you."
It's clumsy. Unnervingly honest. The words clawed their way out of the secluded chamber of his heart, where he locks up all his feelings about Mingi, rushing out before he can take them back. In the heated air, they land on the uncomfortable side of genuine. The unexpected earnestness threatens to fracture the lazy atmosphere they're cocooned in.
Oblivious to Yunho's regrets about the effusive nature Mingi draws out in him, the source of his agonies shuffles around, granting Yunho a brief reprieve from the skin contact. Mingi settles perpendicular to Yunho, crossing his legs in front of him so he's as close as possible. Leaning in, his chin lands on Yunho's thigh again, forward-facing this time. He lets out a soft sigh in contentment, ignoring the way Yunho's muscles tense beneath him.
With his rearranging, Mingi's neck is at a better angle to look up at Yunho from his perch below. He fidgets a bit more, resting one arm under his chin so the sharp bone isn't digging into Yunho's gentle skin through the soft fibres of the towel. The other, he lies on the edge of Yunho's step, stretched out. The soft hairs of his forearm tickle Yunho's shin.
In contrast to Mingi's decompressed state, unwound and content, Yunho feels ablaze. His skin sizzles where it meets Mingi's, crackling loudly in his ear.
If they stay like this for too long, Yunho will get burnt, flames of Mingi's brightness licking at him. They'll reach deep under the layers of his fat and muscles, somewhere closer to the gentle fabric of his heart, igniting with a whisper.
Second degree, so it's raw but still hurts.
If Yunho was a more honest man, the man Mingi deserves, he'd know he's been burned from the first day he saw Mingi's dimpled smile.
"Try," Mingi murmurs, fidgeting some more. "I can only relax around you," he continues, sulking. Kneaded by the sauna, the muscles of his neck are so doughy that his head slips from its perch. The next words are mumbled into an exposed patch of Yunho's thigh instead of the air. The way he clumsily tugs at his vowels to sound more cutesy has plush lips meeting Yunho's skin in an imitation of a kiss. Yunho's nerve endings feel alight. "It's unfair if you don't reciprocate."
That's the problem, summarised in a single offhanded comment.
Yunho reciprocates Mingi in every way he physically can, naturally compensates for the other. From the words he speaks to the instinctive space he leaves between himself and the other members, waiting for Mingi to slot himself there when he's ready. Yunho carves parts of himself away for Mingi no matter how dull the ache of it becomes. Gravitates around him like the planets do the sun.
And yet, despite knowing a part of his heart has long since imprinted on Mingi, and will always belong to him, this is all Yunho has to offer. A small break in between tour dates. Rushed, sweaty skin contact. Words that barely mask the guilty conscience swimming beneath them.
There will never be more for Yunho to give. Not in a line of work where they are under scrutinised surveillance twenty-four hours a day. Not under the beam of a shared spotlight encircled by the red lines of their contracts. Not when even this brief respite at a spa was accompanied by the oppressive anxiety of being found out.
Outed just for being here. For being. For daring to share a moment together away from camera crews and telephoto lenses.
And Mingi doesn't deserve more; he deserves the most. To be bathed in devotion. For ballads and sonnets to be written about him, loved openly and freely.
With Yunho, all he can ever have are hidden moments stowed away in expensive bath houses or discreet clubs.
The vicious, wicked part of Yunho's subconscious tells him Mingi wouldn't mind. Would say "as long as it's you" with a dimpled grin.
The other part of Yunho, who strives towards God and cradles his rosary when he can't find his way, remembers he can't let greed convince him it would be worth it. To sacrifice Mingi's chance at happiness, to steal it for himself.
Want burns at him anyway, low and ravenous. Begs him to smother Mingi's flames. Hollows him out.
"You need more relaxing than me," Yunho reasons, words weighed down by shame. All Mingi is thinking of is Yunho's comfort, whilst Yunho has spent the better part of his week scheming how to get Mingi to himself. His heart is pounding as it works against his guilty conscience, reverberating and deafening in the quiet buzz between them. He's convinced the rhythm will travel downwards, to where Mingi is pressed against him. His blood is pumping so violently, there's no way Mingi can't feel it. There are many things Mingi feels from Yunho, courteously never mentioning them. He prays they will extend to today's pretence. "Your fracture won't heal itself."
"I told you I'm fine," Mingi snorts, chin slipping again. The towel around Yunho's hips has ridden up under Mingi's wriggling, the sweat coating his skin making it difficult for Mingi to find purchase. Sighing, Mingi leans forward, lips pressed close to Yunho's inner thigh. "I promise. You take such good care of me, it will mend in no time."
It feels wrong. Greedy. To have Mingi like this, all to himself. A test of Yunho's virtue. But with the two of them, alone, it's hard not to give in to the dark thoughts swirling around Yunho's head. To unhinge his jaw, bend forwards, and devour Mingi whole where he sits, all pliant and loving. Keep him all for himself, safe in the embrace of his teeth.
Yunho could have invited the other members. Everyone would have benefited from de-stressing, if not for their muscles then for their mind. The last year had been flat-out for all eight of them, and some quiet downtime enclosed in the natural healing of an onsen would have gone a long way to mending their fragile states.
The truth is, during the intensive research Yunho had done to find the perfect place for Mingi, the thought of asking anyone else — apart from the mandatory invite to their manager — had never crossed his mind. In the same way Mingi didn't tell San he was going to Yunho's movie premiere, Yunho didn't tell the rest about the spa.
This excursion, the latest in a series of outings over the years, was for the two of them. Time carved out to belong to each other.
Even if they never talk about it, Yunho shows the intention with every small, clumsy gesture he makes.
Hopes Mingi understands. Knows he does.
This truth fills the gouged cavity in his chest, thrumming within him. Louder than the clock and the electricity and everything else, until all he can think of again is Mingi and Mingi-and-Yunho and Mingi Mingi Mingi.
It's not good for them. For Yunho, and his gradual turn away from salvation the more he hungers. Or for Mingi, tainted by the reflection of Yunho's greed.
Last night, as Mingi snored, cocooned in silk bedsheets, Yunho had stared blankly at the ceiling and mouthed the prayer engraved in the roof of his mouth. Petitioned for a higher power, any higher power, to grant Yunho the strength to rise above this, to pass the test. To bestow on Mingi the clarity to see the unmatched scale of their relationship. For Yunho's appetite to subside. Or to allow him to fully relent to the devilish thoughts and scare Mingi away for good.
Reflections on his sins preoccupy Yunho's mind. They're ironic. The more he hungers for Mingi, the more certain he is undeserving. Every time he tries to be good, the kind of man he'd imagine as Mingi's equal, he pulls the other into bed and takes, flimsy excuse of it being his reward for trying. The contradictions wrap around his heart. A new knot for every year that passes, squeezing tight.
He ponders them, fingers fidgeting in the imitation of a rosary, until Mingi, bored with Yunho's silence, slips his hand beneath Yunho's towel and grasps his cock, pulling him back to the edge of sin.
Instinctively, Yunho's hips jerk upwards, further unravelling the knot in his towel. His thighs come unstuck from the wood beneath him. The sudden movement leaves him with little pinprick tingling on the backs of his thighs. Pierced with pins-and-needles, he plummets back into the squared-off, windowless room, pressure in his chest forgotten.
"What are you doing?" Yunho gasps. The air in the enclosed space is thick with heat, making his voice raspy and lending to his faux surprise. He's always known how the day would unfold.
"It's my turn to take care of you," Mingi says, lips tugging upwards lopsidedly. The words spill out of him easily. Simply. A truth Mingi utters with no hesitation. As if their relationship is a see-saw of give and take, as opposed to the cruel reality that Yunho will take and take and take until there is nothing left for Mingi to give.
As Yunho was busy daydreaming about a world where he can inhale Mingi whole — knowing deep down the satisfaction he feels at every ounce of affection he can squeeze from Mingi keeps him shackled from relinquishing this — Mingi's repositioned himself. He's sat upright now, head propped up by his left hand and bunching his cheek up cutely. Meanwhile, his right hand circles around the base of Yunho's cock. Tentative movements, waiting for Yunho's confirmation.
Yunho is not good. No matter how many times it happens, the temptation blinds him to all else. His reasoning is practised. This, hot and horny and primal, is all Yunho has. So he jerks his hips again into the loose grip of Mingi's fingers, blood rushing downwards so fast he gets a head-rush.
Starting gently, Mingi strokes upwards slowly, thumbing over the head. The careful movements still cause Yunho's towel to come undone, length fully exposed to the yellow light, colour masking the flushed-red tip of his cock. Mingi only gets a few jerks in before he's frowning. Spitting heavily into his hand, he hums, pleased, when there's less friction between the calloused skin of his palm and Yunho's pulsing dick.
Covered in Mingi's spit, the hot liquid mixing with the lustre of perspiration covering Yunho's entire being, he liquifies. Turns into a mess of desire under Mingi's ministrations. The threat of Yunho slipping between the wood reappears, body going slack and longing to fuse with the bench. Resolve leaks from him, capitulating to Mingi's wants.
Ignoring Yunho's dissolution, Mingi continues to jerk him off. Pauses to spit into his hand again until Yunho is even wetter, slick enough for his liking. Once again, Yunho's hips thrust upwards, seeking more.
Always craving more, gulping down whatever Mingi can spare him.
This time, Mingi shakes his head, disappointed. He digs his forearm into Yunho's thigh, restricting his movements.
"Mingi," Yunho complains, lower body still juddering. A physical manifestation of the overwhelming yearning raging through him.
"Sh, be good. Just sit there all cute for me, I'll take care of you."
Yunho wants to be good. Wants to let Mingi take whatever he wants from him, as retribution for how Yunho wants to take all of Mingi. He'll happily satisfy every whim, in any meagre way Mingi will let him. Even if it consists of letting his best friend pull him apart over pristine wood and ruined towels.
The longer he melts, groaning on every rut upwards, and the expert way Mingi thumbs over the leaking tip of his cock, the easier it is to let this overcome him. Fool himself into believing there is a reality where he can be good. Good for Mingi. There's no one else he could ever come close for.
Mouth dropping open in agonising gratification, Yunho emits choked grunts. They increase in volume when Mingi starts twisting his hand on every other stroke.
Shushing him again, Mingi hums, pleased. A low-pitched vibrato harmonising with the syncopated sounds Yunho lets out. "We're here to relax, remember? Relax, Yunho."
The task is equally as impossible as being good. Not when Mingi is pumping him up and down with learned skill, sticking his tongue out in concentration. Yunho's best friend may not be part of their group's demon line, but the faux innocent look in his eyes as he orchestrates Yunho's descent into insanity suggests otherwise.
In the distance, the clock on the wall continues to tick. The silence between each mechanical noise grows longer as Yunho continues to lose his mind, letting Mingi pull his consciousness out from his weeping cock.
Everything slows, air thickening with humidity, swollen and ready to burst. His thighs have re-stuck to the seat beneath him. It's hard to tell if it's from his own perspiration or Mingi's saliva spilling over him, but it drags at Yunho's thrusts. They slow until he's barely twitching into Mingi's caressing hand.
"That's it. Good, Yuyu, just like that," Mingi sings. Someone else might find the tone condescending. Yunho laps it up, starved.
Body responding to the praise, an obscene amount of precum spurts from his tip. Mingi works quickly to massage it up and down, making the glide nastier. A juxtaposition to his soft words. "You're relaxing for me so beautifully. Do you feel good?"
In his pleasure-blurred peripheral vision, he notices Mingi has pressed himself firmly against the base of the step Yunho's sat on, the firm edge cutting into the skin below his clavicle. If Yunho is lucky, it will leave a faint line on him. The redness will linger in the morning, proving that all of this is real.
That at one time, on this day, in a secluded spa in Kamakura, Yunho had belonged to Mingi, and Mingi had belonged to Yunho. Belonged so fully that he'd ignored the sting of the cut to prioritise Yunho's pleasure. It will leave a mark that matches the red lines covering Yunho's bottom half, blooming from how he's scraping at the skin of his thighs with blunt fingernails, trying to resist the urge to tangle fingers in Mingi's wild hair and pull plump lips over his cock.
And maybe, until the indent fades, Yunho can believe it's enough for him.
"Feels good, princess." Yunho is undeserving of it. Adds it to his list of wrongs to atone for in the afterlife. "You make me feel so good."
Letting out another pleased noise, Mingi continues. His pace remains constant, never speeding up. Measuredly, Mingi alternates between careful strokes to the thick vein on the underside of Yunho's cock to palming over the sensitive head. Slowly, under Mingi's purposeful caresses, Yunho melts further. Wax under a candle flame. The tension in his muscles comes undone, and he throws his head back against the wall to surrender to the feeling.
Deep down, he knows his gluttony will be his undoing. That for every time he lets Mingi pull an orgasm out of him instead of trying to better himself, he strays further. But it's hard to think of God and deliverance when his lower half feels like jelly, blurry and obscure. Maybe if Yunho is destined to be shunned from heaven for his gluttony, he can fool himself into believing the pleasure Mingi gives him is a close enough substitute.
Through drooping eyelids, Yunho sees the other man staring up at him through his long eyelashes, chin tilted down in faux-innocence. Picture of mercy and temptation coalesced into an unreal being.
Song Mingi hasn't been innocent for a long time. Not since the first time Yunho had shoved his tongue into a willing mouth, full of feelings too strong for a young adult to put a name to, and made his best friend come in his pants, hoping it would extinguish the embers of lust in his gut.
But Mingi pretends anyway. Preys on Yunho's desires. Knows it gets Yunho off to imagine he's still the young and sweet boy he'd met at dance class, before fame and money had warped them into the men they are now. Mingi doesn't know that part of it comes from Yunho longing for a time when he didn't spend every waking hour wondering when Mingi would give up on him.
The same Mingi who right now is peering up at him with blown pupils, concentrated on getting Yunho off. Doting and generous, he pushes him towards the precipice of an orgasm faster than normal.
Retaining more forethought than Yunho, whose rationality is dripping out of his sweat glands, Mingi tugs the towel off him fully. Bared to the hot room, all of Yunho ripens immediately. A red flush spreads from his cheeks to his toes like ripples of water.
"Keep being good for me, puppy." God. Mingi will be the end of him. A just punishment for the sinful ways Yunho yearns for him, doled out so delicately. "Come."
Mingi's face, close to Yunho's pulsing cock, open and adoring, is what forces him over the cliff. Reverent and patient, Mingi watches as Yunho's cum splashes over his own torso, over Mingi's hand, and even on the wood in between them.
Tutting, Mingi sticks his fingers in his mouth with no hesitation, slurping up Yunho's orgasm. The sight settles something deep in Yunho, knowing that a part of him is in Mingi, the way a part of Mingi has long-since been buried within Yunho.
Then, Mingi gathers the stray droplets on the lacquered wood with his thumb, clambering upwards. His movements force Yunho further into the corner of the room, two grown men squashed into a space built for one. The proximity burns, healed flesh beginning to fester again, and still, Yunho doesn't move away.
On his knees, Mingi towers over a Yunho who is sliding down the wall, slumped over. Boneless. Soft and ready for Mingi to manoeuvre to his will, or to rip into.
With a loving undercurrent to his movements that Yunho isn't deserving of, Mingi presses his thumb to Yunho's parted mouth. "Open up, puppy. We need to clean up your mess."
Yunho lets Mingi feed him his own cum, closing his eyes and sucking it off the heated flesh. The taste should be salty, yet underneath Yunho's hungry tongue, it comes off milky. Soft and sweet. Matches the feeling Mingi gives him, malleable and yielding. He gulps it down as fast as he can, before it can spoil, unsure if this will be the last time he can indulge in it.
"There you go." Gently, so gently it feels like a dream, Mingi retrieves his hand and brushes the pad of his thumb over Yunho's bottom lip, gathering escaped drool, before popping it in his mouth. Satisfied with his clean-up job, and clearly finding the sight of a pleasure-softened Yunho hilarious, Mingi giggles. "All better. Are you relaxed now, Yunho-ssi?"
Mingi says the words with a half-baked attempt at afflicting a posh accent. The kind you hear from a butler in a black-and-white movie. Goes as far as to put his hands in front of his stomach and tilt his head politely. It's ruined by the mischievous grin on his face, and the way his own, still hard cock tents the towel knotted on his hips.
"Very relaxed, Mingi-ssi," Yunho breathes. His dazed joke attempt sets the other off into giggles again, and the joyous noise brings about a sense of finality. This might be the last time Yunho gets to see Mingi carefree like this, dazed and happy. Either because the sauna will somehow force him to shed his transgressions and let Mingi go, or because fate will finally catch up to him and enact the punishment he's been dodging for half his life.
But Mingi is happy, happier than he's been in months. And that's Yunho's favourite thing for him to be. It's what he strives and toils day after day for, and he's not willing to puncture the moment yet. He continues to ignore the ticking clock, decides to make the most of today instead.
Hoping it will hush the tick-tock that is suddenly ringing louder than before, Yunho grabs Mingi by the shoulders. Pulls him into his lap. Fuelled by desire, the action is heavy-handed. Yunho ignores both the way his own back slams against the wall with force and the twinge of pain when his raw dick rubs against Mingi's tacky skin.
Their lips meet halfway through another of Mingi's laughs, and Yunho devours it eagerly. Kissing Mingi always feels like sin and salvation tangled in one. Feels like what Yunho needs to live. Pokes his weary heart into a rhythm that can be construed as deserving of the shy way Mingi licks into his mouth.
By the time they pull back, Mingi isn't laughing anymore. The cocky smile has been replaced with something smaller. Coy. Their foreheads rest against each other, a natural pause. Yunho stares at the perfect slope of Mingi's nose to distract himself from smashing their mouths together again. From thinking too much about the expression on the younger's face.
Happy. Mingi is happy, and Yunho will pretend he can be too.
"Let's get you cleaned up and head outside," Mingi suggests when it's clear Yunho isn't going to move on his own. Instead, he's preoccupied with measuring the angle of Mingi's cupid bow with his eyes. "I read great reviews on the hot spring, and you're not going to ruin our date by not letting me get in it."
Date. The word settles gooey over Yunho's body, before hardening instantly, immediately undoing Mingi's hard work at getting him to relax.
The single word puts the whole day— Yunho's whole life into perspective. He imagines this is what an out-of-body experience feels like. Vividly, Yunho can see himself, fenced in by Mingi, both of them breathless, pink skin glowing. Can trace every line of unmerited devotion on the younger's face. Sees how it is mirrored on his own, distorted by ugly thoughts and inadequacy.
The scene should be something out of a romantic comedy. A coming-of-age film. One with a happy ending where the repressed lead finally breaks free from the shackles of society and kisses the deuteragonist square on the mouth, professing his feelings. He tells his newly-appointed boyfriend that he's deserving of a much better first date than letting the hot, sauna air wring their bodies of water. They ride off into the sunset, and the screen fades to black, an uplifting theme blasting from the speakers.
With Yunho in the cast, it's the start of a tragedy. He stars as the childhood love interest who is slowly revealed to be a loser. The man the main character leaves behind after a series of eye-opening revelations. He's never seen again. He'll make a brief cameo as the credits roll, looking on enviously as Mingi gets his happy ending.
He's the clingy, obsessive, jealous crush who is never brave enough to take the leap to better himself. The one who deserves what he gets.
But today, Yunho doesn't want to watch that movie. He wants to pretend, just once, that things could be different. Preserve the memory of today so he can cultivate it, see if he can nurture its preciousness into something positive enough to offset his incompetence.
Wants to just be Yunho, who is alone with the boy he yearns for, even if he can't say the words out loud.
Mingi tries to tame Yunho's bangs, waiting for him to come back to the moment. Mingi is always patient, the foil to Yunho's worst traits. As the perspiration on his forehead is wiped away, Yunho nods in agreement. Careful not to agitate his injuries, he cautiously places Mingi next to him on the bench. Their thighs are scorching where they touch.
"Alright. Let me wash up first, then."
It's a slightly awkward manoeuvre to swing his legs over Mingi's body to get down the steps, not helped by the cool blow of air Mingi lets out when Yunho's cock comes in front of his face, making Yunho yelp. That sets Mingi off into a louder round of giggles, this time like popped champagne bubbles. Yunho has to turn his back on him to resist crawling back and settling into Mingi's lap to guzzle more of the cheerful sounds, wondering if that will be enough to fill the bottomless pit of his stomach.
As the warm water of the shower spills over him, Yunho knows he's been burned again. Deep inside, the skin of his heart is peeling away from itself, blistering and swelling as a mediocre form of self-protection.
There's no choice. Yunho allows the wound to fester. He's tempted to press against it to see how it hurts, how alive it makes him feel. It doesn't matter. The hurt from today won't minimise the want. Won't reduce it, no matter how much Yunho gives himself up, prays to be good enough so he can be the man Mingi deserves.
One who can take Mingi on a date.
A startled laugh escapes him at the absurdity of it all. In the white-tiled cubicle, it echoes futilely off the walls. The noise becomes distorted until it sounds more like a cry of desperation than of joy.
It will be okay.
Yunho can play make-believe for one day. He has enough acting experience under his belt now to convince Mingi and himself. Can give his all to faking a person who reciprocates Mingi, not only physically but emotionally.
And hasn't he earned, after slaving away for the last blurry weeks-months-years, a few hours of blissful ignorance?
He forces his guilt to bead off him, rolling down skinny legs and disappearing down the drain. It can creep back and clog his airways once he's alone again.
More water slips down his back, the crown of his head, his sternum. Temporarily rinses away his mistakes, his desire, and he steps out determined to persist for as long as possible.
When Yunho wanders outside, the wind whistling above the sea is loud enough to drown out the sound of Mingi's shower even through the ajar sliding door. As he takes in the scenery, salty air swirling in his nostrils, he rolls his shoulders back, committing to the role.
Their private bath is built in the style of an infinity pool, water stretching out for miles in all directions. Cerulean, tranquil waves lap at each other, sunlight glinting off its crescents. No matter how hard Yunho squints, and despite the knowledge they must, he can't see where they end.
Stepping down into the pool, the goosebumps on his skin from the balmy air smooth out, leaving him blank. The temperature of the onsen is hot enough to be uncomfortable after the icy drench of his self-inflicted baptism. It claws into his bones, painting him an awkward shade of salmon. Any desiredness he'd felt when Mingi had pulled him apart with his rough hands evaporates immediately. He's back to being plain, boring, and unassuming in the worst way, Yunho.
By the time Mingi joins him, Yunho is no less accustomed to the heat. However, the satisfied hiss from Mingi as he lowers himself inside soothes his discomfort. He knows the last few weeks have been tough on Mingi's injuries. Despite Mingi's insistence that everything is fine, Yunho has spotted him repeatedly limping post-practice, pulling a pillow over his chest in the greenroom to mask the way he can't quite catch his breath. Watching Mingi's hurt sap away in the healing water, his own agitation turns inconsequential.
Given it's only the two of them, they've foregone swimming trunks. Yunho gladly trades his self-consciousness about his pale, slender body in exchange for the vision Mingi cuts before him.
His best friend is a sight to behold as he wades deeper into the water. Exhaling shortly to push himself through the swirling currents and acclimatise to the temperature, he moves towards the edge of the infinity pool. Steam from the water, or residual humidity from the shower, has made Mingi's hair even curlier. The ends are forming delicate lowercase c's that stick to his face, making him look like he's walked out of a painting. Trudging determinedly to the edge of the pool, Yunho only catches a fleeting glimpse of a cherubic face before he's met with the silhouette of his back.
Over the past few months, Mingi's upper body has broadened before Yunho's eyes. Firm shoulders now taper to an impossibly narrow waist. The bare skin is tantalising, fanning the starving flames in his gut. Yunho wishes he could sink his whitened teeth into the creamy surface to satiate himself.
Gentle waves ebb away at any tension remaining after the sauna, peeling away their outer layers like freshly boiled vegetables. For Yunho, they reveal his mouldy, unsightly insides, misshapen under the weight of his mistakes, his wants. The biggest burden of all is the way he longs for Mingi. Hotly. Voraciously.
A good person would want Mingi in a normal way. They'd applaud all his accomplishments, celebrate the successes and accolades he collects. Any trophy would bring forth unrestrained pride, any win a joint one. They would let Mingi have other friends, forge strong friendships. Laugh at his silly antics and rest easy knowing that at the end of the day, he'll still slide into their arms. Will reaffirm their relationship with a sleepy kiss. They would be safe and secure in the knowledge that Mingi would always return to them, unimpeded by doubt.
Instead, Yunho balances all the pride he feels for Mingi with a swirling fear that the distance between them is widening. Worries about how the more Mingi gives naively, following Yunho's whims, the further he will be dragged down into the dirt with him. Anxiety overcomes him late at night, flaring up whenever Mingi makes a new acquaintance or has another solo schedule. Sleep is replaced by wondering when the goodwill he'd earned as a teenager will wear out, and Mingi will trade him out for a new, shinier, non-defunct friend. Co-worker. Fuck buddy. Whatever they are.
Mingi should have someone good and kind and thoughtful and selfless. Again and again, Yunho remembers he cannot be that.
But still, he wants Mingi. All of him. All the time.
There's nothing in Yunho's life he's wanted more.
It feels like a slow death to know no amount of repentance will let Yunho deserve him.
Mingi lets out a little noise of satisfaction as he reaches the border where their bath meets the sea. He grips the pool edge for support as he stretches out his back. Something tingles at the base of Yunho's spine like a phantom ache. He knew Mingi's old injury had been flaring up with the changing weather, and he is pleased the younger will hopefully leave here feeling better. It's barely anything. A drop of rain in a desert. Yunho watches as the satisfaction of it sputter hopelessly against the raging flames of desire anyway.
The sky is a calm turquoise, stretching forward until it meets the ocean and merges into an incomparable shade of rich blue. Clouds are scattered across the horizon, faint and whispery, melting like sugar under the warm light of the sun. There are no other suites on this side of the spa, and all Yunho can see ahead is the whirling blue dance of sky and water, and Mingi.
Out here, Yunho can pretend they are the only two people in the world, free from judgment and the threat of separation. Imagine that he's not unqualified to hold Mingi in his arms, because there are no other contenders. He can give in to the longing and feel free. Dream for a single day.
So he does. Lets the water continue to lap at his skin. Wiggles his fingers in the water and bites into the giving flesh of his lip, trying to provoke the gluttonous urges into leeching out of him. Struggles to relinquish the fears and the hunger and the imperfections. Forces himself to slip into the role he's chosen to play. Tries to become someone peaceful, relaxed. Like Mingi wants. Like he deserves.
Forever passes before Yunho is finally where he wants to be, shoulders brushing against Mingi's. Brief, shy, contact, but it settles him anyway. Slows the tempo of his pulse into a more manageable andante. No words are exchanged, both of them taking in the beauty in front of them.
For Mingi, the sea. For Yunho, Mingi.
If Yunho's living on borrowed time, whether it's measured by his own clock and the remaining time of his current performance, or God's, then he needs to make the most of it. Carve Mingi into the backs of his eyelids so the vision can never leave him.
Only half of the other's face is visible, staring out into the distance and the unending water. Mingi's face is completely smoothed out. If Yunho focuses, he can see the stubborn traces of baby fat still clinging to his cheeks. Spots the small scar from where he'd nicked himself shaving last night, gasping and dragging Yunho into the bathroom, forcing him to finish the job for him.
Everything about him is beautiful, even his scars— and it hurts. A deep-seated, lovely pain that will never go away. Will eventually be Yunho's demise.
Ahead of them stretches out an endless vision, the kind of timeless view that's plastered in guidebooks and printed on postcards, and all Yunho wants is to look at Mingi.
In the warm air, still clinging to the remnants of summer, the silence enveloping them feels saccharine sweet. Makes Yunho's teeth hurt. They itch, wanting to say something too honest again. Something raw. Where they will drip tainted blood over Mingi until he aches in the same way.
Then he remembers he is not Jeong Yunho right now, aching and cowardly.
"Atiny love your music video," is what Yunho says instead. Channels what a good, loving boyfriend — pretend boyfriend — might say. Dodges the other words swirling in the fog of his brain.
"Hmm," Mingi contemplates this. He's propped his forearms up on the edge of the pool to better submerge himself in the bath. Ripples on the water transform the birthmark on his back into a shaky heart. A smile cracks his face, crooked and showing off his uneven front tooth. "Good."
God, Mingi looks good relaxed. Looks best smothered in Yunho's arms, where no one can reach him.
"They loved your naked chest especially," Yunho adds. His tone is playful, but still sour around the edges. Bitter and green, the words taste like lemongrass.
"Shut up." Mingi doesn't look away from the water and the sky, seemingly not minding the glare of the sun in his eyes. Instead, he tilts his head upwards, bathing in its warm touch.
"They're going to be rewinding the video to watch your tits bounce for at least the next week." Yunho would know. He's longing to head back to the privacy of his hotel room to do the same thing. Imagine himself as another nameless fan, one with more freedoms to exercise than Jeong Yunho, idol. "Your poor fans."
"I said shut up."
Yunho tries — always trying — to mask the lingering jealousy as he continues, "Imagine if you'd filmed it now your tits are bigger. Atiny would probably have fainted."
A splash of water hits Yunho in the face. Although the water up his nose should sting, he takes it as a caress from Mingi's embarrassed hand instead. Wants the proxy contact to linger.
"You are such an asshole," the pillowy lips that haunt Yunho's dreams press together into a pout. He only catches a glimpse before Mingi swivels to face away from him. Cute.
This Mingi is one that only Yunho gets to see. All the members and their fans are obsessed with poking and prodding until Mingi turns sulky, but only he gets to see the true extent of it. Witness the frown painted on Mingi's blushing face, and how he sucks in his bottom lip to worry it with his front teeth. Notice the pleased sparkle in his eyes that he can't hide, loving the attention. The whine in Mingi's voice rattles around Yunho's brain, urges him to see if his curated words can turn Mingi even redder than the sauna.
"I was paying you a compliment." The water fights him as he moves closer to Mingi, pushing against the two small steps he takes to grab at a muscled shoulder.
"Sure. Thanks," Mingi snorts, resisting Yunho's grip.
"What, you put in all that work, fracture your ribs, and I'm the asshole for pointing it out?" Yunho is the asshole, that's the crux of this dead-end they're trapped in. It's the essence of Yunho's turmoil, and what keeps Mingi returning each time. As such, Mingi can't quite mask the familiar split of his grin. All of Yunho's doubts turn blurry, dazzled by his beauty.
Giving up on turning Mingi around, Yunho settles behind him instead. The earlier, bitter aftertaste in his mouth subsides as he feels how the man between his arms tenses at the proximity. When Yunho's breath ghosts over his ear, he's rewarded with a full-body shudder.
"Fine. I'm the asshole." It's one of the more honest things Yunho has said today. As he speaks, low in the way that makes Mingi shiver, he settles both hands against Mingi's supple skin. Traces a wet path over his back until they come to rest against the firm chest in question. Under treacherous fingertips, the flesh is warmed through, pliable.
"You win," Yunho whispers, resting his forehead against the crown of his best friend's head.
Beneath his palms, Yunho can feel a staccato heartbeat. Little quaver notes that stutter as he squeezes gently. As the waves continue to roll, he feels his jagged edges soften, slipping deeper under into pretend. The knots wrapped around his own heart feel on the precipice, unsure if another pull will tighten or unravel them completely.
Drowning out the fears that still linger, Yunho moves so his head is nestled in the side of Mingi's thick neck muscles. Staring forward, he watches as water laps at the tiled edge of the pool. The hot spring wishes to rush into the sea, and the sea longs to absorb it. Two opposite currents, bumping into each other endlessly over a fixed edge. Made of the same substance at the core of it all, shaped and shifted until they found themselves forced apart.
It's a practised routine. No matter how long passes, how they try to rush at each other, still, the routine doesn't change. Nothing moves. Neither force is strong enough to break through the barrier and fully fall into the other.
This is how Yunho feels about Mingi. Resisting and colliding. Sometimes, drops of unexpected honesty overflow and are absorbed into the other's skin. Other times, they never meet, brute strength pushing against an invisible barrier that has Yunho turning snippy and Mingi storming out of a dorm he doesn't live in.
They're natural when they have the chance to whirl together, uninhibited by external interference. They're kept separate by circumstance, nonetheless.
If one of them were stronger, if the sea surged just once, the two pools of water could flow together for the rest of time. Yunho knows this. Has memorised the physics and the formulae, ingrained in his brain.
But as much as he is courageous and forthcoming in his work, in his idol life, in the carefully manicured persona he's perfected over years of hardship, he weakens before the one boy he's always been overly afraid to lose. There's too much at stake, in his mind and career, keeping him from achieving the force required to spill over and finally break the barrier.
Giving himself to Mingi feels like asking the other to give a part of him up in exchange, diluting his liveliness. And Mingi, bright, burning Mingi, deserves to be whole. Untouched by Yunho's hunger.
For the rest of the afternoon, Yunho reminds himself, he is not hungry Yunho. He is a normal man, spending time with the person who holds his soul between large, bumbling fingers. Soaking in their presence and trying to let their warmth permeate through his scars. Normal Yunho presses himself as close to Mingi as he can physically be, chest-to-back, until the other's heartbeat is hammering into him through pounds of muscle and berry-sweet flesh. His own heart imitates it, pretending to be complete.
They don't speak for a while, Yunho reaching the closest form of contentment he can. Stripped down to basic functions, it's easier to pretend Mingi is just a person and not the centre of Yunho's solar system.
Silently, Mingi's hands come up to rest over Yunho's, turning them until their palms touch and water-wrinkled fingertips interlock. Yunho wants to memorise this as well. Engrave the birthmark on Mingi's back, and the vaccination scar on his left arm into his fragile mind. Brand himself with the feeling of holding the whole world in his pruny grasp, so he has something to live for when the day is over.
Through the backs of his hands, Yunho can feel how Mingi's breathing circulates like the tides ahead.
Inhale. Exhale.
An inhale that's cut off, paired with a slower breath out. The pattern stammers slightly, struggling against his injury.
Yunho breathes harder, trying to will his own lungs to work enough for them both.
Parts of Mingi are as familiar to Yunho as his own reflection. The vein on the side of his neck that bulges when he attempts to reach the lower octaves of his range. The awkward hunch of his shoulders when he's surrounded by strangers, tucked inwards as if he can diminish the presence his large — even larger, these days — body cuts in a bustling green room. Even the quiet that's cocooning them now, Mingi's calm appreciation of their surroundings, shows his true, considerate nature. The one that shines through when he's relaxed and comfortable. When he's with Yunho.
Just as many other parts are unrecognisable. The boy— man wrapped in his embrace is taller, bigger, happier than the Song Mingi that Yunho had first met. He's more confident, sure of himself. Effortlessly cool, even when the cameras are off, and his suave demeanour melts away to show the dork underneath.
And Yunho knows he's the same. Grown into the mould cast for him before they debuted, until the gentle boyfriend personality became a second skin. Gotten better at dancing through sweat and perseverance and tense practices. Been recognised for the fakery and pretence he'd used to shield himself, gotten jobs for it even. As a duo, and as a group, they've come a long way since the bumbling awkwardness of hormones and competition.
Before, they'd been starving for acknowledgement and acclaim, to prove their existence worthy. Now, with all the accolades under their belts, Yunho's appetite has shifted towards something beyond his reach.
They've changed, raised by the cut-throat business they'll live and die in. But where Yunho is hunkering down, embedding his roots deeper in the earth and waiting for the storm that sets his hair on end to arrive, Mingi continues to soar, drifting further away.
One day, Mingi will be so successful that Yunho becomes a faded face in the photographs of his youth. This year, watching his best friend gather brands and producers with a cocky wave of his ringed fingers has only cemented that fact for Yunho. The knowledge smarts as much as it soothes.
Don't leave me behind, is what the weak, cowardly person in Yunho wants to say.
"I'm proud of you," is what the Yunho in the onsen says instead, words tangled in Mingi's hair. The sudden sentence feels a bit awkward, the continuation of a conversation Mingi wasn't privy to. Yunho means it all the same. He wonders if this is one of the last times he'll be able to hold Mingi this close, to deserve this sweetness. Decides to make it count.
"What, for having big tits?" Mingi jokes. He tries to twist around so they're face-to-face, but Yunho can't let him, scared of what Mingi will see.
"Hmm, they are pretty nice, I guess," Yunho says, dodging again on instinct. He feels the way the body in his arms starts shaking with withheld laughter. Sees how it causes ripples to glide through the bath. Mingi is sun-kissed and giddy. Happy. It's infectious. Makes Yunho fall deeper, letting him finally voice the thoughts he's been holding inside for months. "But no, I meant your solo. You did a wonderful job."
"You did too," Mingi says without pause. Because he is good like that. Gives and takes in equal measures, the push and pull of the tide. "And you have some nerve calling me sexy. Don't think I haven't seen the tweets you get."
Yeah. Yunho had seen the comments from his own fans, liked an embarrassing amount of keyboard smash tweets that first night of tour. Absorbed the outpouring love and channelled it into his ego. But all of the commentary on the internet fails to compare to the satisfaction Yunho gets from a single, throwaway comment from Mingi.
The problem is that every word he gets grows the need for more.
Yunho is scared that one day the denied want will overcome him completely, and he'll ruin them both.
"This isn't about me," he counters. Alchemises his greed into bravery, committed to being honest until the sun sets. "I mean it, Mingi-yah. Roar. Your project. Everything. I'm proud of you."
Sensing a mood change, Mingi finally succeeds in turning himself around. He catches Yunho with his eyes, mouth, soul agape.
Eye contact is always difficult for Yunho. Once he looks at any part of Mingi, it's impossible to look away. The younger's eyes are always expressive. They kiss delicately at the outer corners, with irises that are a deep, welcoming brown. When the sun rises in the morning and slips through hastily pulled hotel curtains, and Mingi peels his eyelids open in irritation, their hue turns almost golden. Bright to match his personality and his future.
Everyone laughs at their height difference. Complains that the two centimetres between them is nothing to argue about when they are half a head taller than the other six members. But like this, chest to chest, Yunho's heart threatening to leap out of his throat and into Mingi's waiting mouth, those few centimetres are exaggerated. The distance stretches, keeping them apart. A tiled border keeping the sea at bay.
"Thank you," Mingi says softly.
"For what?" Yunho asks. His own sincerity has pierced the light-hearted atmosphere. He doesn't know how to pull them back from the edge.
"For being by my side as I made it happen."
This close, Mingi's words strike Yunho at his softest parts. They aggravate his old self-inflicted wounds. Leave him bleeding.
"You don't have to thank—"
"I do. You're always there for me. Whenever I need you." Somehow, they're still holding hands. Mingi won't let go, bringing them beneath the water. The blue-tinge as Yunho looks down at their joint limbs helps him feel like they belong to someone else. "Since the beginning, you've always been with me, Yunho. Always giving me what I need."
The small, intentional squeeze of their fingers that Mingi gives is nothing in comparison to the pressure spinning around inside Yunho, threatening to cleave him in two. Split him apart at the seam of who he is faking, and the greedy man he is. The Yunho who knows he will never be good enough, and the Yunho who craves anyway.
"I don't say it enough, but thank you," Mingi finishes. He adjusts his grip, all of Yunho's digits becoming cradled against the heart-line of his palms. As if Yunho is something precious to keep safe.
In the wake of Mingi's unabashed sincerity, numbness fills his mouth. Swallowing feels foreign. Yunho does it anyway, preparing his throat for the jagged words wanting to come out. His saliva feels unnaturally thick, almost choking. It coats his teeth and tongue with friction as he quietly replies, "You deserve the world, Mingi-yah. Anything you want, anything you dream— you'll get it. I know it."
Over the years, Yunho has become an expert in reading Mingi. Right now, thoughts flicker across his face so vividly that the unspoken sentiments are already too much to bear. Yunho could say anything at this moment, regardless of whether it comes from the actor or the hungry, and Mingi will forgive him. Use the one-off honesty, prettied by the scenery and sounds filling their senses as an excuse for all of Yunho's other trespasses.
But Yunho doesn't want — he always wants, just not this — Mingi to sever his own wings to remain grounded with the person clinging onto his ankles. He scrambles to come up with something faster. Searches his mind for a way to cut the disaster off before it has a chance to spring forth from Mingi's mouth, when one of them shifts their weight and Mingi's cock brushes against Yunho's lower stomach. A choked noise, on the edge of turning into a moan, escapes Mingi's parted lips instead.
Like a coward, Yunho jumps at the opportunity. Placing one hand into the water, he grips Mingi loosely, guiding his length. When their cocks rub up against each other, Mingi emits a breathless groan. It's more certain this time, rooted firmer in pleasure. Yunho can feel blood rush into Mingi's dick, firm against his own erection.
The next time Mingi moans, Yunho swallows it down, starved.
Fitting both of them together in one hand isn't easy, but Yunho has had sufficient practice over the years. The sensation is odd, hot water masking the drips of precum that Mingi would normally be leaking right now, but not unpleasant. Wet heat is everywhere, and Yunho jerks them into it, addicted to how Mingi hardens against him.
This is still all Yunho has to offer. The only act he can give. Yunho knows Mingi knows what it is he's hiding when he does this. In all his goodness, he indulges Yunho anyway.
"Yunho—" There's still a tenderness in Mingi's eyes that Yunho pretends he can't see, battling against the lust slowly clouding his face. Mouth parted, eyebrows furrowed, Mingi has shifted to grab at the pool edge behind him, lost to the building pleasure. Yunho speeds up. Hopes the hazier Mingi feels the less likely he is to bring up the startling truth lying between them.
This time, it's Yunho who shushes Mingi, roles reversed. "It's your turn. I told you, didn't I? You need more relaxing."
"I don't think cumming in an onsen is going to heal my chest fracture." The bite to his speech is gone, softened by the breathy ah he adds as punctuation when Yunho's pinky stretches down to tease over the base of his cock.
"Hmm, you're right." Seized by an idea so perfect it must be divine intervention, Yunho pauses his hand.
Ignoring Mingi humping against the water for continued friction, he gently pushes him backwards. Eventually, the tile of the wall stops them from moving further. A small rush of water spills into the sea with the movement, immediately mingling with the waves.
"Up," Yunho says. With a firm grip beneath toned legs — the younger has gotten bigger, but Yunho's worked hard on his upper body to be able to still carry him around when he lets him — he helps Mingi perch on the tiled edge of the onsen. He double-checks Mingi's wide hips are positioned closer to the pool than the sea, secured on their side of the water. It would be a disaster to lose control and tip him over into the unknown depths of Yunho's feelings.
Happy with the placement, Yunho stops to look at the man above him. Like this, Mingi rises over him, making him feel small. From their positioning against the sky, a faint shadow is cast over Yunho. It feels right.
Like this, he's a simple worshipper at the feet of the sun. A parishioner caught in the endless cycle of sinning and seeking forgiveness. A devotee built to look upwards at the blinding glow, shielding his eyes from the brightness as he prays.
He must pause for too long, staring into the light, for he's startled by the hand gently tugging his chin upwards. Mingi's hair is dripping pearls of water down his chest. A single droplet carves an intricate trail around a dusky nipple. It evaporates in the summer air now that Mingi is no longer submerged, cooling him down and perking up his chest. The saliva in Yunho's mouth dries up in empathy.
"What are you thinking about?" Mingi asks, staring down at him, fond.
"How much I want you." With firm hands, Yunho spreads the muscled thighs in front of him, slotting himself in the gap. From this position, Mingi's knees spread wide for the taking, it's impossible for Yunho to think of anything else.
The sun has been making its graceful descent in the sky during the time they've been out here. Now, it's angled perfectly for its rays to halo around Mingi's head, black hair glowing in its adoration, skin shimmering golden.
Against the backdrop of the sea behind him, endless and flowing into the ocean, things suddenly feel simple.
Yunho becomes united in his thoughts, at least for as long as he stares at the waves. At Mingi. The whirring of his mind pauses, honing in on a single realisation.
In the same way the water moves and circulates and feeds into something bigger, Yunho wants Mingi.
In an endless way.
An all-consuming way.
A way that feeds rivers and creeks, rushing and dangerous in the way it fills him. A way that forms lakes when he ruminates on the way Mingi laughed at him that morning. Lingers on the delicate look on his face when he's dissociating, deep and reflective. A way that swells into waves that crash against his psyche. Subsides slowly into a constant lullaby that soothes him after a long day. A way that ebbs and flows and leaves him breathless from struggling against its current.
In a way that is Yunho and Mingi, and no one else. The way that he prays for.
The horizon stretches out infinitely behind Mingi, gold dust shimmering on its ripples. Mapping his hands over the broad expanse of the younger's thighs, Yunho looks up. He traces the features he knows as well as his own, still hungering, and murmurs to himself the ending half of his prayer, "Just want you."
Beyond the low, tiled border of the onsen lies the rest of the world. Yunho's world is endless: tours and international flights and fame and money.
But before all of that, before anything else, is Mingi. His Mingi. Smiling down at him and playing with his hair. Laugh threatening to rip across his face because Yunho hadn't been as quiet as he thought.
"You're so sappy when you're relaxed."
Normally, the sentence would make the hairs on Yunho's arms stand on end, displeased that he'd accidentally exposed his soft underbelly, his devotion being poked at unintentionally. Right now though, his self-defence mechanisms have been lulled to sleep, soothed by Mingi's gratuitous endearment, pleased at their isolated togetherness. Instead, he bites halfheartedly at the bait just to make Mingi smile. "Sorry, I'm not a wordsmith. We can't all be Mr Falling Down And Wandering after all."
Mingi rolls his eyes, still affectionate. Even though it's everything Yunho longs for, it's too much, too much, too much. "Oh fuck y—"
Yunho swallows the rest of Mingi's sentence down with his cock. There's no preamble, only urgency. Need has been bubbling within Yunho, the hot spring boiling him from the outside in. It's created small, fizzy pockets of longing that leave tiny pricks on the lining of his stomach as they burst.
He needs to have Mingi like this before the scene ends and their bubble pops. Has to cement this moment before they return to their lives where they are Yunho and Mingi from Ateez, global superstars, desired by all and loved by none. Wants to feel Mingi pulse in his throat and feed his hunger before they go back to belonging to their fans and their company and anyone but themselves.
Mingi is thick in his mouth, gagging him and preventing any other revealing sentiments from slipping out. His cock always fills Yunho up nicely when he's pent up and desperate to fuck, stretching out the corners of his mouth as he shoves his cock deep to make use of Yunho's lack of a gag reflex.
Right now, he's calm. His only movements are random little jumps of his hips as Yunho parts his thighs wider, grabbing at the fleshy parts of his hamstring. Pushing himself further, Yunho breathes through his nose, taking in the scent of the man he adores. It clouds his brain and his judgment until the only remaining thought is making Mingi feel as perfect as he is.
Firm fingers grab at his hair. Not tugging or urging. Holding. Like feeling Yunho in his hands, knowing he's real and there, is all Mingi needs. The hands twirl slightly, coiling the strands around slender digits. Such sweet affection makes Yunho's stomach flip.
It feels like they have all the time in the world. A dangerous thing to imagine, ruthless hope with an expiration date. But the constant ticking of the clock in the sauna is inaudible out here, and Mingi's small, desperate noises drown out the timer in Yunho's head. He knows that it is counting down the minutes to the end. Chooses to ignore it anyway.
Desperately, Yunho brings his face as close to Mingi's pelvis as he can. He sucks greedily, milking the cock in his throat with abandon.
Loose-limbed and relaxed, Mingi is easy. Or maybe Yunho knows him too well. All it takes is a few more bobs of his head, swirling his tongue around the tip, and a well-timed squeeze to the roundness of his ass, and Mingi cums down his throat, letting out a high-pitched groan.
Mingi's fingers don't leave Yunho's hair as he pulls off. Instead, his thumbs move to stroke the space behind his ears, cradling his jaw.
Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Yunho straightens up in the water. His thirst is still not quenched. Can't be, not when Mingi stays above him, softening cock sat between his hips, skin still shimmering. Still dazzling and radiant as he heaves through the aftershocks.
One breath. Two breaths. Beneath the layer of muscle covering his internal organs, Yunho can see how Mingi's ribs flex to inhale. Keeps watching, waiting to realise this is all a dream. Stares at the faint indent that's fading beneath Mingi's clavicles. A reminder of how he'd pressed himself against that wooden step to dedicate himself to Yunho.
And then Mingi is tilting his head upwards again, forcing eye contact.
"Fuck me, Yunho."
At Mingi's mercy, standing at the temple of his hips, Yunho surrenders to the wanting.
Carrying Mingi back to the steps, there is no resistance. If anything, the spring water pushes him forward, like it knows this was always where they were going to end. It parts as they move. Drips off them gently as Yunho lays Mingi down, spreads him out on the decking in between the sauna and the pool.
Mingi squints up at Yunho, grinning, and there's his cute, odd tooth again. A remnant of the normal person he used to be before he was rocketed into stardom. The person that Yunho had loved first, before Mingi had even chosen a producer tag, before all the Instagram likes and viral fan-cams and rushed fame. Just a boy with large dreams and wavering self-confidence, loved by a boy with religion as a crutch for his crippling insecurities.
Selfishly, Yunho hopes he never fixes the tooth. That he'll leave it as an escape route for them to trace back to a simpler time, to when Yunho was delusional enough to think he could one day have Mingi in the way he truly needed. When things could be easy.
Squirming impatiently, Mingi manages to bring Yunho back to the matter at hand. That being the hurried need swelling within, searing where their skin touches.
Yunho doesn't rush through teasing Mingi apart. He slicks his fingers with the massage oil he'd hastily grabbed from the spa supplies. Savours the gift laid out before him. Below him lies the only man Yunho knows he will ever hunger for. His ruin and his grace all in one neat, beautiful package.
One orgasm in, Mingi is malleable. He's pink all over, skin littered with darker patches of red where the heat has clung closer to him. It highlights his joints and a patch of skin above one hip with a rosy glow.
The body in his hands is somewhere between solid and liquid as Yunho pushes one thigh against a firm chest to get better leverage. The position is familiar. This isn't the first time. Yunho treats it like it might be the last. As Yunho gently works Mingi open, pushing through the other's reactive clenching, his eyes trail over every detail. Committing it to memory. Just in case.
Long eyelashes flutter as Mingi blinks through the sensations racking his body. His chest trembles as he adjusts to the stretch. Yunho lets him breathe through it, tracing his middle finger around the flushed rim.
Success races through him, unfiltered ecstasy lighting up his nerves at knowing he gets to have Mingi like this. All for Yunho. He can stare all he wants, take as long as he wishes exploring the most honest parts of the man below him. Use the oil he adds to his fingers to represent the feelings and confessions aching to spill out.
Swept up in the simple intimacy of it all, Yunho embraces his spinelessness in the face of the object of his pining. Believes that if he can fuck Mingi well enough, channel all his muddled tenderness into raw physicality, he can somehow pay off his debts. Keep the hunger at bay and allow him to live the fantasy of two people giving themselves wholly.
No other complications or responsibilities. Their sole purpose being to belong to each other.
Outside of the spa, that isn't true. Song Mingi, larger than life, with dreams bigger than the small horizon their company and city can offer him, will always belong to the stage. Deserves to be loved by the world, flourishing and celestial. Adored by all for his talent and passion and kindness and humanity. And Yunho can't interfere with that. Can only settle in between Mingi's thighs. Small gaps in a crowded schedule. Contorting himself to squeeze in where he soon won't fit.
Small as he can make himself, he swallows down the scraps of affection and physical touch that Mingi graces him with. Even when Yunho denies what they mean, refusing to look beyond the surface, he puts up with the scalding heat of them. They singe his hair and scald his fingertips, and in exchange, Yunho gets a single sparing taste of the love that lies unspoken on their tongues.
It's love, Yunho thinks to himself. Maybe it always has been. Not that it makes a difference.
All the love he can store in his shrivelled heart won't be worthy of Mingi's affections. But today is his day to pretend there's another reality. A separate outcome. It's an unmerited reward, but Yunho has already chosen this path. Deems it worth an afterlife of punishment. Especially when one finger becomes two, becomes three, and Mingi starts complaining he's still stretched from the night before, wriggling around in desperation. It's music to his starving ears.
Yunho gives a few more hedonistic thrusts for good measure, revels in the pinched face Mingi makes when he jabs at his prostate, then places a soft kiss on the tip of Mingi's nose before repositioning them. He insists on Mingi being above him, knees anchored into the gap between his ribcage and hips.
It's not often they get to do this during the day; normally rushed by time constraints or Yunho's nerves, so Yunho wants to indulge. Fill up his mind with the image of Mingi above him — still flushed pink, his favourite colour— and whining as he attempts to get the tip of Yunho's cock to notch against his hole.
"Yuyu," he pouts when Yunho continues to watch him struggle. Every push of those lips breaks a piece of Yunho's sanity off. "Help, please."
Obedient in the face of a direct request, Yunho does. Fingers gripping the bottom of his length, he ignores how he trembles as he guides himself to where Mingi splits apart. They're still damp all over, courtesy of the sweat and the soaking, but he can feel the oil leaking out of Mingi's rim. Giving in to his darker wants, needing to stretch this out for as long as possible, he rubs around the opening a few times. His eyelids flutter as more liquid leaks out, slicking up his cock.
"Yuyu," Mingi repeats, knees squeezing at Yunho's waist. It feels good. To be constricted and seized in the embrace of the man who haunts his everyday. Yunho revels in the apricity.
Unfortunately, for Yunho's faux-normalcy, when Mingi lets himself be himself, shedding off his idol-ness, joints relaxed and muscles loose, he's a menace. "Please. Need you. Wanted you all day. All week. All the time. Please—"
Scared of what else will tumble out of Mingi's mouth if he doesn't move, Yunho lines himself up. Searing flesh presses against slick muscles. Prepared in a short exhale, Mingi moves. Slides home. As soon as his ass finally hits the lean muscle of Yunho's thighs, he sighs in relief. Yunho, on the other hand, grits his teeth at the scorching squeeze that envelopes him. Two of them slot in place habitually. They're two jagged puzzle pieces, rough around the edges but fitting together anyway.
With an exaggerated sigh, Mingi says, "Ah, I needed this."
"You're ridiculous," Yunho pretends the words don't set off butterflies in his chest. This will help the crash later when the badness sets back in. Give Yunho something to delude himself into thinking there exists a reality where Mingi wants him as much as he wants Mingi. He wonders if the delusions can stop him from smouldering into ashes.
"I'm relaxing," Mingi replies petulantly.
Despite the fever running through Yunho's body, he practices patience. Looks up reverently at the many expressions morphing over Mingi's face.
Perfect white teeth sink into a supple bottom lip. Pressure turns it apple-red, glossy and juicy. Yunho wants to take it in his mouth and taste it. Bite in and swallow the sweet skin and sweeter sound that Mingi would let out.
He doesn't move. Channels the patient man he has slipped into the skin of, and just watches.
Mingi is mostly still. A statuesque figure that Yunho, in all his mediocrity, could never hope to carve. The stillness is broken only by his heaving breaths as he adjusts and his unseen experimental clenches around Yunho. Tentative. Feeling. Testing how deeply they are connected.
He's tight. A gratifying pressure around Yunho's length, keeping them completely intertwined.
Mingi is giving. Allows Yunho to take and take and take. Even when it's an unkind thrust of his hips before Mingi is fully ready, he bears it with a tiny muffled yelp and another instinctive clench. Mingi is open, trusting. Generous. Doesn't complain as Yunho devours him when the hunger pangs grow. Waits when Yunho distances himself after, ashamed and guilt-ridden. Is ready when the wanting grows unbearable again and he succumbs to temptation, welcoming him with open arms and a cheeky smile.
Determined to finish the day as he'd committed to, Yunho surrenders. Easy as breathing, Song Mingi is the one person he feels safe to relinquish himself to. Devotes his body and his mind and allows Mingi to use him to feel good. Convinces himself that it will repay the things Yunho has taken from Mingi. That if he gives his time and his mouth and his hands and his cock, Mingi won't notice how Yunho will never be able to give his heart.
The hot sensation around Yunho's cock is delirium-inducing. It's a slow-burning heat, scalding when Mingi starts bouncing his hips up and down. They're small movements, lifting barely an inch off. The heat of the day must be getting to him, for Yunho lets himself believe it's because Mingi isn't willing to separate from him. Gradually, as Mingi warms up further, his hips start speeding up. Gentle and deep, the intentional circles set Yunho's nerves on fire.
Eventually, Yunho starts thrusting upwards, meeting every downwards bump of Mingi's hips. The satisfied pants Mingi releases make him sickeningly happy. It's easy like this, focusing on his base desires. Allows him to ignore the multitude of ways he lacks, and hone in on the singular talent he has. He puts all of his energy into it, torn between wanting to stretch the moment into eternity and wanting to rush Mingi towards climax.
As long as he makes Mingi cum, he's allowed to blank out the knowing, probing looks Mingi gives him in the lead-up. He can drown out everything apart from how good Mingi looks when he's lost in the throes of pleasure instead. Shifting the angle, Yunho finally manages to hit Mingi's prostate. A high-pitched moan leaks out of the corners of Mingi's kiss-bitten lips.
Like a dam breaking, Yunho starts fucking him without abandon. He lets the sounds of pleasure stuff his ears and lock away the guilt that is beginning to nip at him.
As they pick up the pace, Mingi's tits bounce in the descending sun, quickly sinking into blue hour. They've spent all day tucked away here, this idyllic paradise away from the real world. Here, Yunho's eyes are the only ones seeing the firm recoil as Mingi lifts himself up and down Yunho's cock, squeezing at the base the way he knows makes Yunho cum faster.
His earlier teasing wasn't unfounded. Mingi's chest really has gotten more defined since he filmed his solo music video. Yunho is greedy with the knowledge that no one else will get to see the glory of a built, needy Mingi above them, working a cock to try and edge himself to completion.
This belongs to him, Yunho's deranged brain says. Even if only today. Even if only when he is sweat-soaked and raw, and they are both hurtling towards the edge— this Mingi is his.
For some reason, despite wanting to be happy, good Yunho for once, it hurts more than normal.
Maybe Yunho is finally beginning to crack. The pressure of keeping his feelings from spilling out is at last going to crumple him from the inside, skin giving way to the raw longing screaming in his veins.
"Why do you keep looking at me like that?"
Blinking, Yunho ponders how to begin to answer that question.
He's always looking at Mingi. From the first time they met, shaking hands with the awkwardness that came from sizing someone up to be either a rival or a friend, to celebrating their seventh year together, Yunho stays with his eyes on Song Mingi. The sight of the face as familiar as his own tethers him to reality when everything else turns oppressive.
It's a precarious place to be. Turbulence tosses Yunho between joy and an unsettling sense of loss. He stupidly yearns for it all the same.
Over the years, there have been many looks. Yunho knows that. They range from quiet, checking on the other, to fuming, cursed jealousy taking over. Most common of them all is forlorn, wishing he could put the emotions surging through him into words.
In the years they've been doing this, Yunho had wondered if Mingi had noticed. He's never outright asked him about it before. Hazy mist covers them in Yunho's mind, keeping them wrapped in the gauze of memory so that they may be mistaken as a trick of the eye. Gives plausible deniability. Foolishly, he'd hoped Mingi was the same.
The answer is that all of his staring boils down to one thing: want. A want that plagues him incessantly. That's why Yunho is here. Why they're here.
Owning up to it feels like a death sentence.
"Like what?" he aims for ignorance. It sounds more like hysteria. It's a cosmic joke, the younger waiting for the final act to see through his splintering facade and peel the cracked pieces off with water-pruned fingers.
Mingi is thinking again, which is an awful outcome for Yunho. He's on the precipice of realising something. Whether it's exactly why Yunho had brought him here today, or the much larger, ugly truth lurking beneath the surface, Yunho isn't sure. Both outcomes terrify him equally.
Speeding up his hips, he tries to reach deeper, hit the spot that makes Mingi's eyes roll back and his lips drool, that makes words evaporate in small, breathy ahs. In response, Mingi's hips make little, quick circles. A muscle in his thigh jerks with the power he's using to keep himself upright. Greed disguised as worry has Yunho placing his hand on the muscle and squeezing, getting high off the guttural moan lingering in the humid air.
For a while, he gets away with it. Loud slaps of skin drown out everything else, the cresting of their building orgasms overpowering the crests of the waves in the distance.
Mingi is so beautiful, nothing else could compare. Yunho stares again, enamoured. His nose and cheeks are blushing with exertion, completely lost to the sensations Yunho drills into him. This Mingi is his favourite. Strung out and surrendering to the one thing Yunho has learnt he is good for, distracting him from the numerous ways he is bad.
Then, their eyes catch once more, gaze snagged on a sharp point, ripping Yunho's distraction to shreds.
"You're doing it again," Mingi gets out through his pleasure. His words are slow, spoken from a foggy mind. They drip over Yunho, sugary. Land like burnt caramel.
In another life, Yunho would be better. Be someone who could want in moderation, happy to let Mingi slip out of his grasp. An honest disciple who confesses to his sins when caught. A devotee who drops to his knees and opens his mouth to pray for long-term salvation instead of short-lived forgetfulness.
In this world, he dodges again. Reaches blindly for Mingi's cock where it is smacking against his defined abdominal muscles, leaving a slippery trail on golden skin.
He wraps his fingers around the pink-tinged muscle, hoping it's enough to distract Mingi from his line of questioning. That he can't see how the simple comment has cleaved Yunho clean in two. His puny, beating heart is peeking out from the rift. Quickening as it waits for Mingi to reach in and pull it out, squishing it between benevolent fingers to finally put Yunho out of his misery.
Yunho isn't ready for today to end yet. He doesn't want to go back to being bad Yunho. Craven, covetous, cowardly Yunho. Yunho, who fucks his best friend stupid and then pretends not to spend every waking minute of an unworthy life thinking about him.
Just once, he wants to feel like he can be enough as he is. Someone Mingi doesn't only lust after. Someone who sees the affection in the eyes above him and can return it without twisting it into a joke. A man who can laugh back when the love of his life giggles at him without it feeling like every deep gulp of air is using up the remaining oxygen in his diving tank.
The amount of precum dribbling from Mingi makes the glide of Yunho's palm easy. The skin-on-skin contact emits wet slap sounds on every upstroke. As he jerks Mingi off, his eyes turn unfocused.
Yunho breathes a sigh of relief. Safe for now.
It doesn't last for long, Yunho having already pulled this trick when Mingi's cock was in his mouth. Divine punishment sees a muscle spasm in Yunho's thighs, causing him to decelerate, and the reprieve brings Mingi back to his senses. Returns him to the pocket of self-inflicted ecstasy Yunho has sewn for them, stitches falling apart as Mingi repeats a flat, "Yunho."
"What?" Yunho concedes halfheartedly. Caught in the web he's weaved, Yunho is both relieved and terrified. He can't pretend anymore, yet he remains scared of what lies beyond the onsen. Beyond this day. Wonders if he is worthy enough to voice the emotion surging through him. It rises like bile in his throat.
He chokes it down.
Yunho grips at Mingi's thighs with both hands now. He clings desperately, imbues his fingertips with all the words he cannot say. Mingi remains firm. "The look."
"I always look at you like this," Yunho says. A half-truth. Rhyme with no reason. Mingi's brows remain furrowed, and Yunho's stare stays at the safe plane between them. In the smattering of days since their last concert, a few stray hairs have grown in. Mingi will need one of their make-up artists to reshape his eyebrows, but for now, they lend a softness to him. Less like an untouchable idol, more like the Mingi that Yunho's heart ached for first.
"I know," Mingi says. Leaning forward, he nuzzles the tip of his nose against the side of Yunho's cheek. The head of his cock smears sticky precum against Yunho's stomach, marking him. "Won't you tell me what it means?"
The words are gentle, rose petal soft. Their corresponding thorns leave Yunho bleeding.
Memories flit through his mind. So fast that they blur together like scenery out of a moving car. The looks again. Their meanings. The edges of them bleed into each other, a whirlwind of colour.
Underneath, a singular truth keeps them all connected.
Yunho reminisces on all of his failed attempts to bring it to the light.
The first time Yunho had wanted to tell Mingi how he felt, they were eighteen. It was the first time he'd ever felt like that. Starstruck and turned dumb when faced with a boy who was all smiles and a voice that was as quiet as it was deep.
Shy sentiment had grown larger than his body with no appropriate outlet, and Yunho decided he'd had enough. Hope beating in his ears, Yunho had let himself into their dorm. One hand was holding a white bag with a bag of honey-butter chips and morning rice. The condensation from the bottle was coating the inside of the plastic from how long Yunho had stood outside gathering courage for what he was about to do. In his other hand was a love note written in barely decipherable chicken scratch. All of his letters had scrunched up together on the page, attempting to mask the uncertain confession that they were spelling out.
When he'd walked into Mingi's room to see the other laughing with Wooyoung, all his false confidence had whooshed out of him like a punctured balloon. He had foolishly thought that the hiccupy giggles were a sound only he got to hear. Special, just for Yunho. The printer paper crumpled easily under his confused anger.
His confession had been thrown out with the garbage that weekend when the dorm ahjumma came to tidy up for them.
The second time, Mingi had newly returned from his hiatus. The months had given birth to one-sided grief for Yunho. Longing and uncertain, wanting Mingi to be back and whole. Good. Full of all the things he loved about Mingi. Not the hollow, dull-eyed clone that had taken his place without any of them noticing.
Waking up to see a scratched-up suitcase and a well-rested Mingi waiting for him in the kitchen had felt like a dream. Relief and remorse clashed in Yunho, their dissonance giving him a headache. This was the moment he had prayed for. Bargained with God to produce. The words sat heavy on the tip of his tongue, ready to trip off it as he soaked in the sight of Mingi. Mingi, who'd come back to him. To them.
But then, guilt overcame his conscience when confronted. He started doubting his wish. Had his need for the open-eyed admiration Mingi gives him outweighed the worry Yunho should have felt? Had he somehow rushed the younger through his healing, just to have him all to himself again?
That first night of Mingi's return, as the younger slept a room away, Yunho had turned to his bible and longed to find an answer in the yellowing pages.
The last time was at Coachella. They'd fucked the night before. Hurried and raw, Yunho had licked every noise Mingi made straight out of his mouth. As they stood backstage in the desert, wind howling in his ears, it had felt like a natural conclusion.
This was the crowning moment in their career. A peak he was doubtful he'd ever be able to beat. Across from him stood Mingi. Unshakeable and blonde, shirtless and wearing a rosary that dangled against his bare chest.
The sight had pierced straight through Yunho. Mingi must have snuck it off of Yunho's bedside table when he'd crept out in the morning. Whilst he'd been in an ancient cathedral, gazing at stained glass windows and praying for courage as the wooden bench made his hips ache, Mingi had been decorating himself with Yunho's faith.
It felt like a secret. A promise between the two of them. One that Mingi was waiting for Yunho to fulfil, and Yunho was hoping not to fuck up.
But at the end of the night, Yunho had watched platinum hair become a halo. Observed how radiant Mingi became, reflecting the camera flashes of a thousand fans. And in that moment, he realised that Song Mingi, superstar, could never belong to a mere mortal. Shouldn't be shackled down by a man who could barely summon enough courage to kiss him on the lips outside of hurried foreplay.
That realisation had been the start of his unravelling.
All of those moments. All of his failures. Those are what the looks mean, Yunho wants to shout.
He looks at Mingi, and he looks at Mingi. Inspects and contemplates and wants. Each time his eyes touch the other's beauty, they're filled with love and something meaner. It's adoration fuelled by the hurtful knowledge that what he yearns for remains out of his reach. Devotion tainted by the selfishness that stops Yunho from cutting him off.
There's pride and contentment, but above all, there's fury. Anger with himself for being too cowardly to spin out of Mingi's orbit when he knows that he can't catch up. That no matter how hard he prays or works or fucks Mingi to orgasm, he doesn't deserve to.
In the year and a half since Coachella, Yunho's gotten worse at pretending something hadn't shifted in the Californian desert. That any sparse hope hadn't dislodged itself from his chest, leaving a gaping, cavernous hole in its place.
In the last year and a half, Mingi has grown tired of waiting.
Yunho should want that to happen. For Mingi to get up and leave him high and dry. Feel repulsed at the loser beneath him, and find someone else to fill his bed and his arms.
But Yunho is a horrible, weak man. The thought of Mingi touching someone else, kissing them, smiling at them, makes him want to throw up violently, his body expelling the nightmare from his physical form. As he swallows down the sudden onset of nausea, Mingi continues to rub his face against him. His hips are still moving, massaging Yunho's cock, but the pleasure can't distract Yunho from the burn of Mingi's lips whispering against his jaw.
Air whistles through the crack in Yunho's chest, the break in his heart, like it's his chest that's fractured. Breath rattles through as he summons his courage. Against him, Mingi is sliding his hands down Yunho's shoulders. He's laying firm squeezes to Yunho's biceps, trying to massage the stuck words out of Yunho's throat. The lips on his face have turned firm, pressing one, unbroken kiss to the skin under his ear.
He's sure he's flushed all over, blossoming scarlet under Mingi's lovely mouth. Listening to the mouthed question against his heat-softened body. And Yunho was born to give Mingi what he wants, to reciprocate until he bleeds dry.
"It means you're beautiful," Yunho croaks. "Like the sun."
Encouraging, Mingi starts sucking at the heated skin beneath his lips.
He's gotten bolder lately. Meaner now that his patience with Yunho's pretence is running out.
Yunho has been growing his hair longer so he can brush it forwards and hide the inky bruises Mingi gifts him with.
"Staring at you too long hurts," Yunho continues, shaky. Stumbling both from the gravity of his words, and Mingi nibbling at him. "But I can't look away. I'll never look away."
Again, Yunho is overly honest. Years of hiding, and he releases it all at once. Tidal wave beating against familiar shores.
This time, his honesty is rewarded with the press of Mingi's lips against his, chaste. The kiss burns, holy forgiveness thrust upon a sinner. "Then don't. Stare all you want. I'm yours to look at."
Yunho knows that's a lie. He is just one of the crowd. Destined to be a faceless admirer in the vast ocean. It's by dumb luck, or relentless prayer, that he's been blessed with the chance to be this close. Still, now that the invitation has been extended, he can't stop staring at Mingi's face.
Above him, Mingi stares back. Peers deep into Yunho's eyes. Searching, confirming.
Waiting.
He's always been waiting.
For Yunho to get changed after a gruelling dance class, so they can go to the convenience store and spend the allowance their mothers gave them on spicy ramen and sugary energy drinks. He'll pull out a box of Pocky for them to share on the journey to the metro station, always Yunho's favourite flavour.
For Yunho to go to mass in a foreign country, glaring at the other parishioners who gawk at a young Korean man participating in a traditionally old white-person's hobby. He sits next to him on a crowded pew, clumsily mimicking the words falling from Yunho's mouth. A beat late, but perfect anyway.
For Yunho to kiss him the first time, hasty and desperate, orgasms still drying on both of their stomachs. The smile that had overcome Mingi's face when he had awkwardly pressed their lips together that first time had made up for how a missed drop of cum had stained Yunho's favourite t-shirt.
Yunho doesn't want Mingi to wait anymore. He says the only thing he's ready to be honest about. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Mingi asks, pulling his head up. The crease between his brows has relaxed, face smooth. Yunho reads him anyway, flicking through dog-eared pages of a book he has cherished for almost half his life.
He tries to come up with an answer half worthy of Mingi's attention. One that makes up for the countless hours spent like this, where he's known what Mingi's wanted to ask, and Mingi's known he was too cowardly to answer.
Now, despite telling himself he's ready, the words trap themselves in Yunho's chest, stuck between layers of scar tissue and scalded flesh. They're souvenirs from the other times he's gotten to hold Mingi this close, memories from trying to capture a supernova between his limbs and getting dazzled in the process.
Attempting to buy more time to let his thoughts float to the surface, Yunho sits up, shifting Mingi forward in his lap. He's hot inside, still slick with oil. Yunho is aching to melt beneath him. Forcing himself to use the dredges of his remaining energy, he tugs Mingi down for another kiss.
He fumbles, bruising his lips with how Mingi tastes. He parts his lips and bares his tongue. Allows his saliva to make its way into Mingi's mouth and serve as the feelings he can't say.
When they break apart, Mingi's eyes are glistening. The undulation of his hips causes the teardrops to trace down his perfect, beautiful face.
He's crying. It's Yunho's fault.
"I'm yours, Yunho. You know that, right?"
Oh. That's worse.
Yunho has agonised over this since he knew it was possible to break apart at the delicate caress of another. Ripped petals off fragile flowers and played with the chances of probability. Searched for evidence of his insanity, reciprocation. Had it burn through him and tear through his nightmares. Soothed him when Mingi picks him again for another silly throw-away question on a soon-to-be-forgotten variety segment.
He's suspected and thought and longed. But he's never known.
Knowing doesn't make things less painful.
Mingi's tears splash against Yunho's cheeks, making reality patter against sizzling skin. Sparkling, the droplets dissolve the threads of separation he'd woven to protect them both, melting the nebulous hesitation away like candy floss.
Mingi pulls no punches, continuing, "You're it for me. Always."
"Mingi, I can't," Yunho chokes.
This isn't fair. In his dreams, this would be his ideal way to die. Pinned underneath Song Mingi, making him feel good. In reality, being stuck beneath and within him, unable to squirm away from this conversation, has him an inch away from dry heaving. "I can't be that for you. Not in the way you deserve."
He kicks his hips up, a final attempt at distraction, but Mingi doesn't let him run away. He sits his full weight on the tops of Yunho's thighs to prevent him from speeding back up. Clenches inside, forcing Yunho still.
"You told me I deserve everything in the world," Mingi says. He's still an inch from Yunho's face, their lips lingering a breath apart. Panting, moans and other unsaid words clawing to get out of Yunho's throat, Mingi takes advantage to speak into Yunho. Talks into his open mouth. Resuscitates him. "That I could have anything I want."
It slices straight through him. Calls attention to something they've both always known.
That Jeong Yunho is a fucking hypocrite. He carries a bible with him on every tour. Its cover still reeks of plastic. He caresses his rosaries, buys a new one in every city, layering them over each other like the beads will stop his greed from seeping out of him. They don't stop him from being a selfish man. A sinner ruled by carnal desires, wielding them as excuses.
He might not deserve Mingi, but he wants anyway. Can't love him in the ways he should, so settles for the pleasures of their warm flesh. Breathes in the smoke from their coming together. Loses himself in it.
The hypocrisy has finally caught up to him, chasing him into a dead-end. If they continue down this road, with Mingi's soft interrogation, something in Yunho will morph forever. He'll permanently shatter and become lodged in the hairline fracture in Mingi's chest. A splinter embedded in an otherwise immaculate canvas.
But Yunho can't find the momentum needed to swerve the car. He presses his foot on the accelerator instead, speeding through to the disastrous conclusion awaiting him.
"I want you, Yunho," Mingi continues, pressing their foreheads together. More droplets land on Yunho's face, slide down his nose. Whether they're sweat or tears, he can't tell. They sting anyway, holy water on a sinner, bringing forth a mirrored response, Yunho's own tear ducts moistening.
Staring upwards, he sees everything Mingi is feeling. Frustration. Annoyance. Underneath it all, trust. Trust to bare his soul alongside his body. Faith to bring Yunho back to him. "Why won't you let me be yours? Why won't you let yourself be mine?"
On a perfect day, summer still clinging to its moment before relenting to the rainy season of October, it happens. The moment that Yunho has spent almost half his life trying to divert from. Every curt word, every time he showed himself out of Mingi's room immediately after cumming, afraid of what might tumble out of his mouth at the sight of a cuddly Mingi, every deflection when the fans ask about how strong their friendship was, was an attempt to re-route their journey away from this point. He's fought and struggled against it, but the current overcame him every time.
And now he's been swept to shore on a deserted island. No shelter for him to hide behind.
"I can't give you the world," the words pale in comparison to Mingi's. Mingi, who is passionate and fiery, always feeling so much, too much. And Yunho, who is resigned and weary, struggling to maintain eye contact with the bright star he orbits around. "I can't, Mingi."
He deserves more, the man straddling his hips.
Nothing else comes. No nouns or adjectives or verbs are adequate to encompass all Yunho thinks and feels. Knows.
Nothing surmounts how he knows Mingi is destined for more than this, more than him. More than a lanky boy from Gwangju who will always be scared to hold his hand for fear of tripping and bringing the career of the boy he loves tumbling down to Earth with him.
"We're— I'm— I'm too—." Every word is jagged, cutting into the inside of his mouth as it leaves Yunho. "I can't."
He wants to tell Mingi all the worst parts of himself. Bare his soul, let it be bleached out of him by bright rays. Explain the thoughts he's been ruminating on for the past few years. Shove the knowledge that haunts his every step — that he is undeserving of Mingi and is cursed to remain that way — through the thick muscles surrounding him. Scald him with the biting truth, pressing until his iron-hot insecurities leave him with matching scars.
None of it comes.
Jeong Yunho is a coward, always looking for an easy way out.
And Song Mingi, perfect and forgiving, provides one.
"I don't want the world." Simple. Decisive. Plain. As if there is no truth out there stronger than this one. "I only need you."
In Yunho's nightmares, this is their undoing. As soon as the words meet the air, everything will crumble. All the other touches, lingering hands, bruises made in the fit of passion on hips and necks and lips, can all be washed away with a brief drizzle. But acknowledgement of the deeper sentiment brewing between them, tethering them together, that is what tips them over the edge, out of their safe, isolated space, into the whirlwind depths waiting beyond.
They never come back from this, stranded out at sea. They wait to be torn apart by the beating waves or rescued from their demise by an unexpected saviour.
When Yunho sleeps, it is always Mingi who is saved first, leaving him to drown on his own.
None of that happens.
Mingi is still here, anticipating, anchoring him with his weight. Yunho is still crying, their tears mingling on flushed skin, swirling into one. Just like Yunho had daydreamed about, the two of them, fusing together.
"Who else could it be?" Mingi adds, hushed.
Yunho contemplates. Remembers rushed cycle rides, shared school lunches. Sweaty rehearsals. A nervous phone call. Elated acceptance and a familiar face. A hastily written letter, poor penmanship. Teasing Mingi on camera. Apologising off-camera, torn between his stage persona and his bleeding heart. The hiatus. Waiting for Mingi. Being chosen. Over and over again. Always Mingi picking Yunho. Mingi-and-Yunho.
The others are there, ingrained into the fabric of Yunho's life. But the focal point of each moment is always Mingi.
He realises, with a sudden, watery clarity, that it could be the same for Mingi.
Mingi reciprocating Yunho.
Mingi, who thinks of Yunho first. Inundates his phone with links and pictures, and random musings just because. Mingi, who sought out Yunho as soon as he returned to the dorms. Buried his head in Yunho's pyjama top and hadn't surfaced even when Seonghwa had started stress cooking around them.
Mingi, who spent all night writing a song about Yunho. Yunho and Mingi. Their journey and their story. Fought for it to be on their album. On the setlist. A performance that felt more and more genuine with each iteration, hurting Yunho with how it could never be real.
But maybe it was. Like how it had always been love. Maybe for Mingi, it has always been Yunho. Greedy, hungry, fucked-up Yunho.
Mingi's silhouette blocks the sun from blinding him, but his angelic face obscures his vision and eclipses his common sense all the same. Taking a deep breath, the daydream wins over the nightmare.
Or maybe it wasn't a nightmare. Just a prolonged, never-ending anxiety. A third-degree burn that scorched Yunho's nerve-endings and self-preservation, leaving him blindly leaning in for more. Either way, with one final pull, the knot he's nurtured in his heart comes loose.
Afraid, but not willing to prolong his suffering anymore, Yunho brings his barriers down. He wants Mingi to see for the first time, the depth of how badly Yunho yearns. How much he's hidden away over the years.
He stays still as everything bubbles to the surface, bearing his gnarled soul.
Mingi doesn't look away.
A beat passes.
Another.
Tick-tock.
Mingi is staring so hard he barely blinks.
Yunho looks back. Watches as Mingi appraises his stare. All his stares. The pain and the frustration. Anger. Jealousy. Want and hunger, remaining even as everything else evaporates.
After a few more watery blinks, Yunho grows impatient. He rushes forward and kisses Mingi again. Acquiescence instead of avoidance. Confession hidden in a coy press of tear-salted lips, hoping Mingi won't make him say it out loud.
This is all he's good for. It's different from the other times. Syrupy slow, the feeling fills him up. Patches up all the holes and cracks, until Yunho thinks he can pass as whole.
He drinks in Mingi's love. Waters the flames of doubt with it. Tries to believe this can be enough.
When he pulls back, Mingi is no longer crying. Yunho can't say the same, tears still sliding down his cheeks. But it's nice to feel something other than greed.
"Okay," Yunho whispers. He doesn't know which question of Mingi he's answering. Maybe it's a question of his own. It hangs in the air between them. Plugs the small space between their gasping lips.
The world doesn't explode. Yunho doesn't drown.
"Okay," Mingi repeats.
Slowly, Mingi resumes the circling of his hips. He eases them back into a rhythm, waiting for Yunho's cock to harden again fully before working them up to their previous pace. Yunho's tears finally dry when Mingi starts lifting himself off all the way, each meeting if their skin deep and fulfilling.
Their joining is deep. Raw but slow. Pent-up emotion drives them mercilessly forward.
Their kisses are soft caresses belying the tenderness they've deprived themselves of.
Mingi's fingertips dig into Yunho's shoulders, grip so tense it embeds his fingerprints in the skin, leaving his signature. Yunho's no better, grasping at Mingi like salvation, a buoy in the uncertain depths he's wading in.
When Yunho cums in Mingi, setting off the other's orgasm, he treats it like a promise, the setting sun and the crashing waves his witnesses.
The next morning, staring out the hotel window at the pale, still sea, Yunho posts to his Instagram feed. In the middle, tucked away to keep them safe, are the photos from the onsen. There's their shimmering backs, the angle distorting Yunho to seem bigger than Mingi. Then a photo Mingi had taken of him, Yunho having to smother his laugh with his hand, tasting sulfur on his lips.
Finally, the selfie Yunho had snapped in the reflection of the mirrored door, taken after they'd washed each other up. They'd rinsed away the sweat and dirt and tears before sinking back into the hot water. In the photograph, Yunho's hair is still messy, ruffled by Mingi's fingers as they'd kissed in the shower. Mingi's head is tilted back, artfully hiding the hickey Yunho had sucked into the nape of his neck.
Mine, Yunho thinks. He can't write it.
Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe not ever, if the world remains as cruel as it is.
He knows that's a possibility. This time, he doesn't let it fester.
It's okay. There are more photos in his camera roll. Ones that only his eyes have the grace of looking at. Frames of Mingi, arms outstretched, looking up at him with love as the golden hour bathes him in warm light. There are equally as many of Yunho staring back.
Love, and despite the rest of the world that watches and waits for them, it's Yunho's.
"Yuyu, come back to bed."
Somehow, this morning, Mingi's voice is even softer than it was yesterday, sleep muting the edges of his words, slurring his pronunciation.
They'd had a late night, Mingi making sure Yunho knew exactly how he belonged to Mingi. Mingi had fucked himself on Yunho slowly, deeply, gently. Mingi had fucked Yunho hard and forcefully. He'd shoved himself inside urgently, needily. Fucked him roughly until the sharp thrusts of his hips reduced Yunho into a blabbering mess, kissing away his tears. Knocked any remaining doubts out of his pores with the sweat of exertion.
Unlike Mingi, Yunho had had no onsen to relax the muscles of his spine. Only a hot bath that Mingi had drawn for him, full of an obscene amount of hotel-branded lavender soap. The way Mingi had used foam to sculpt faux puppy ears while washing Yunho's hair made it just as good as a hot spring, though. Better even.
Yunho doesn't mind, carrying the twinge in his back proudly.
A badge of honour. An act of repentance.
"Coming, princess."
Tomorrow they'll need to go back to rehearsals, finish up the tour, fly home, and practice for the next big thing. Mingi will have to go to more brand ambassador events, network, let everyone else see how bright his star shines, paving his path upwards. Yunho will go to more script readings, channel his love for Mingi into his words, and hope he has a backup job when his time limit for being an idol expires.
"I love you," Yunho says as he slips back into the rumpled bedsheets, hoping the rustle of cotton will hide the words. Saying the words out loud is inconsequential in the aftermath of all he's done for and to Mingi in the last twenty-four hours. They tug at his scars anyway.
"I love you too," Mingi says back, immediately burrowing into Yunho's side, warming him up. Within minutes, Mingi is asleep again, letting out hiccupy little snores that rattle their bones, an oddly comforting lullaby.
The hunger continues. The burns still sting.
Yunho surrenders to Mingi anyway; it's all he knows how to do. A predetermined ending, like the waves kissing the shore.
He gives in. Offers himself up piece by piece. All the misshapen parts that he'd hidden away in the past, ready for Mingi to devour.
He lets himself bleed into Mingi's ocean, hoping one day they can swirl into one and his possessiveness will ease.
As the tide carries him away, soaked and sun-warmed, Yunho tries to believe he can have this.