Chapter Text
“Miss Jung is at the door,” the Suh main house maid said, always neutral and polite “Should I send her away?” she offered as her only indication that she knew what happened behind closed doors. After all, it is she who washed the linens in Johnny's room after each of Mr. Lee’s overnight stays, going into the guest room to make the bed only to realize that it was never slept on.
Mrs. Nzuyen had devoted most of her life since migrating to the States, to the service of the Suh family. She had almost raised their youngest, and came into Johnny’s life when he was just starting high school, a bright man with a future warrantied through last name, but the drive to make it on his own if he had to.
Seeing that promising young man turn 35 and take over the American branch of his father's business had felt like watching her own son succeed in life, even though she knew leading a branch wasn't considered success for the eldest son. No, Johnny's rightful place was back in Korea, in charge of the main operation while Mark deals with their overseas business. And he will, after he marries Miss. Jung.
It was risky, what Johnny was doing—had been doing for at least 5 months—, bringing that special guest over, keeping him in his room overnight where all the—thankfully loyal, NDA-signed—staff could see just how little he cared about his future bride.
Some were more openly judgemental than others, glaring behind the man's back, gossiping about the young master among themselves. The debauchery, the shamelessness, the sinfulness of it all.
Mrs. Nzuyen had come with her own opinions about homosexuality as a concept, but seeing it in someone she loved so dearly had challenged those, and meeting the guest in question, she had understood.
He had honey tan skin like hers, but in his youth, it shines like gold, terse and unblemished, the only “imperfections” were a collection of birth marks all over that made him look even younger than he already was. His hair had been almost black when he first walked into the mansion—blue business suit, leather dress shoes, an entirely different kind of guest—but had now been dyed a lighter brown that made him somehow even more handsome.
And handsome was the right word, it was the proper word, but Mrs. Nzuyen’s first instinct had been to call him beautiful. He had been beautiful that day and he was even more beautiful now; suit replaced with a burnt yellow pure cotton robe that was probably more expensive than a house robe should ever be, the Dolce and Gabbana logo loud on its sleeves. It looked soft, like his slightly mused hair, and his red pouty lips and the whole air around him: homey, like he belonged.
“Donghyuck, go to the guest room, I'll make it quick.” Johnny said.
But he didn't belong.
“I'm afraid she seems to have brought a bag with her.” the maid spoke, halting the young man in his tracks with just that, because that meant the woman was spending the night, her belongings would be brought up to that room most likely, or she might try to be humble and walk there herself. The guest room is out of the question and so is Johnny’s. Public spaces like the study won't do because there is no telling where she'll go, and the open concept of the mansion makes it almost impossible to hide anywhere that isn't someone’s personal room.
The maid stalls Miss. Jung long enough for the tan male to rush to the guest room and grab his own overnight bag, thankful that he never got comfortable to the point of leaving toiletries in Johnny's en-suite.
In his panicked rush, he walked into a random room and even once inside, the minimalist decor didn't betray who the owner was, but it was clear it wasn't an unused guest room, so he didn't waste time before losing the robe and looking into his bag for clothes to change into so he could hopefully sneak out.
But it was just his luck that before he could even put on his boxers, the bathroom door opened. And out came Mark Suh: youngest brother; black hair, brown eyes, pale skin with a scattering of moles that wants to compete with his own, six pack, long hairy legs and around 5 inches soft.
And Donghyuck knew these because Mark came out of that bathroom with no clothes, no towel, all confidence.
Until he saw the intruder in his room, a shocked scream building in his chest that forced the younger man to act fast and a little irrationally. With 3 quick steps he closed the distance between them, rushing to cover the young master’s mouth with his hand.
“I'm sorry, I won't be long I'm… fuck, I— I'm your brother’s… yeah, you get it.” He trailed off with mounting embarrassment, the feel of Mark’s firm frame against him—exceedingly warm after a hot shower—only adding to the blush dusting his cheeks. “Mina came unannounced so I'm hiding here for a minute, please don't scream.”
Mark's hands had reflexively come to his hip, pushing him back with a force that would have landed him on the floor if his own arm hadn't looped around him for stability. He removed his hand from the other's lips, begging that the gesture would pacify him, but he didn't step away, staying close and maintaining eye contact, begging for understanding with his wide eyes.
Mark’s gaze had gone from wide with shock to narrow and suspicious, a frown creasing his brow, but he had stopped pushing the younger back and for whatever reason, wasn't stepping away either.
“I'm gonna get dressed and when the coast is clear, I'm gonna go, ok?” Donghyuck tried to compromise, still standing too closed, too naked, too flushed.
He smelled like Johnny had been wrapped around him for long hours, a woody scent that Mark recognizes as the complex notes of his brother’s favorite Bleu de Chanel. And he looked like it too, with red marks littered over his chest and shoulders that could be hidden without resorting to a turtle neck, but were impossible to miss in his naked state.
Right, his, no, their naked state.
He was finally contemplating putting some distance between when someone knocked on his door, three polite knocks and no attempt to turn the knob that he, as always, hadn't locked.
And Mark’s first panicked instinct should have been to push the stranger away, but his arms had other plans, wrapping around the small waist and pulling him ever closer like he could protect him from the embarrassment of being caught in that position… by making it worse.
“Mark, dearest,” came the soothing voice of the head maid, relaxing his muscles immediately with the knowledge that she wouldn't step foot inside unless invited. But he didn't let go, anyway “Miss. Jung is visiting, so don't go around shirtless, ok?” She warned, a note of amusement in her tone.
“Yes, Má!” he shouted loud enough to be heard through the thankfully thick door, a smirk lighting up his own face at the memory of the time he had walked into the kitchen, parading his sweaty chest in front of his brother’s fiance.
But that slip up could never compare to him going full frontal—mutually—on his brother’s… lover?
The beauty in his arms was too tempting for a one-night bag, and Johnny wasn't stupid. A hook-up was the wrong term. This was a long-term lover, an affair that wasn't exactly illicit—not yet—but certainly amoral.
But Mark is single, and openly gay—his parents didn't love it, but were counting on their oldest son for the strategic marriage anyway, letting the younger son live as he pleases—, so he can look.
And look he did, he looked and he felt, letting his hands roam without need. The maid had walked away, no threats around, but still refusing to let go. The tan male had gasped when he originally pulled him closer, but made no more sounds afterwards, only shivering at the feel of soft hands caressing his naked back.
Mark had enough sense not to let them wonder anywhere else, only feeling up and down the warm skin of his waist, tickling up his spine and relishing the tremors and the little whimpers escaping his lips, the hand that he had used to balance himself against him now on his bicep, fingers curling in response.
“Mark.”
“Yeah?” he answered automatically before it downed on him that he was getting handsy with A) a complete stranger and B) his brother’s lover. Eyes wide, he finally untangled himself from the tempting heat, pushing the shorter male back with more force than necessary and watching in horror as he fell down to the thankfully soft carpet “Oh shit! I'm so sorry, god, here, let me help,” he spoke in a panic, reaching out to help him up and trying not to look now that they weren't stuck together. It was a big ask.
He was… he looked…
Mark had no words. And it didn't help that pushing him down to a sitting position on the floor had made those pretty lips perfectly levelled with the part of him that didn't know how to lie, more than happy to express its growing interest in the stranger in his room.
Not a stranger, he silently reminded himself as he helped him back up to his feet and rushed to his walk-in closet, a stranger could be seduced, but this is your brother's secret lover, you don't get to steal this one.
“I'll get dressed in here, you can stay there or go into the bathroom, whatever makes you comfortable. Sorry again for… yeah.” He trailed off, watching himself disapprovingly in the full length mirror. Flushed, tense, half hard.
He heard the door of his bathroom closing and the thought occurred to him that maybe he should have switched places and offered his closet to the beautiful man because now he can't go in the shower… and he desperately needs a cold one.