Work Text:
The CORTIS chatroom was usually quiet — a ghost town of funny reel links and unanswered messages.
Until now.
James had sent a faceless picture. In it, his black tank top was pulled up slightly, exposing just enough honeyed skin to reveal a freshly inked tattoo. Resting right over his left hip bone was a delicate spider — a subtle tribute to his favorite hero.
Martin stared at the image far longer than he should have. He’d already saved it and added it to his favorites. Thankfully, none of the other members were paying attention to him; if they saw how hard he was biting and licking his lower lip, he would have wished for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
James was always doing unpredictable things — like suddenly directing a music video in the middle of a street in a foreign country simply because he found the lighting pretty. But getting a tattoo was something Martin had never seen coming. Not that he was complaining. James could do literally anything, and Martin would fall apart just as easily.
CORTIS Group Chat:
Keonho: hyung this looks GOOD GOOD! I can't wait to get one.
Sean: stop being a copycat keonHO
Across the room, Keonho tossed his phone onto the couch and tackled Seonghyeon to be obnoxious.
Juhoon: 😯😯
Martin flipped his phone screen down onto the cushion beside him. Keonho and Seonghyeon eventually retreated from their wrestling match, walking out of the shared room arm-in-arm. Their shoulders bumped as they mumbled about a game they’d suddenly decided to play, acting as though Martin hadn't just heard them tearing the room apart moments ago.
Juhoon joined Martin in the living room, a bag of honey-butter chips in hand. Carefully munching on one to avoid dropping crumbs on the floor, he sat on the far end of the couch.
"Martin, why are you zoning out?" Juhoon asked.
Silence was the only response.
"Hey?" Juhoon snapped his fingers in front of Martin’s face, bringing him sharply back to reality.
"Huh?" Martin flinched. He blinked, looking around to find three pairs of eyes fixed on him in curiosity.
Seonghyeon shook his head in amusement, shifting his attention back to the large TV to adjust the game settings.
"Have you seen James hyung’s picture?" Keonho asked, a teasing grin plastered across his face.
The image flared vividly in Martin’s mind, as if it had ever left. He felt like he could see it projected onto the living room wall. He was definitely losing his mind.
"Uh, yeah. I did. It’s... good."
Fucking pretty. Gorgeous. Devastating.
He forced his voice to stay even, desperate to sound normal. If the members caught even a glimpse of the thoughts running through his head, they’d tease him mercilessly for the rest of the week.
At the end of the day, Martin was just a boy with too much love held hostage in his chest, and James held the key.
The others carried on with their small talk, admiring James’s bold move and taking bets on how hard their manager would lose his mind once he found out. Soon, the click of controller buttons filled the space, punctuated by sudden yells as the twins lost a round. Juhoon went back to scrolling idly through his phone.
Martin fell back into his favorite routine: thinking about James when he wasn't there. (Which wasn't any different from how he acted when James was there, constantly calculating how to hug him without coming across like a clingy, desperate puppy). He let himself sink into a daydream where only the two of them existed.
A quiet, foolish smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
The soft clack of the front door unlocking broke his reverie. Metal keys jingled lightly between James’s fingers as he stepped into the entryway. Every eye in the room locked onto him as he slipped off his black leather jacket, leaving him in that same tight black tank top.
"You guys are creeping me out," James scoffed softly, dropping onto the couch right next to Martin.
Their shoulders brushed. The movement pulled the soft fabric up just enough to reveal a sliver of smooth skin and dark ink. This time, it wasn't behind a screen. It was right there. Real, raw, and inches away.
Martin’s breath hitched, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Did it hurt, hyung?" Keonho asked, scrambling off the floor to kneel right in front of James’s legs for a better view.
Seonghyeon nudged closer too. "Let us see!"
They looked up at him like stray cats begging for treats. James chuckled, his deep dimples showing. "It’s just a small tattoo, stop overreacting."
Keonho leaned in as James lifted the hem of his top and nudged his waistband down a fraction to reveal the entire design. The skin was still tender and flushed pink, the black ink slightly raised.
"Looks like it hurt a lot," Juhoon noted from the side.
"Only a little," James replied smoothly. "The artist was really gentle."
"The detail work is crazy," Keonho said, impulsively reaching out to brush his fingers against the fresh ink.
James let out a quiet laugh at the touch. Keonho really had no filter.
Seonghyeon shot Keonho a stern look. "Hands off, idiot."
"Right, sorry! My bad, haha," Keonho chuckled, letting Seonghyeon drag him back toward the game console.
Beside them, Martin was choking on a dark, suffocating wave of envy. A quiet rage simmered beneath his skin. Did Keonho really just reach out and touch him so casually? The person Martin was going completely feral over? And James had just smiled at him like it was nothing.
Martin parted his lips, desperate to grab James’s attention, to say something, a compliment... anything. Didn't he deserve a piece of him too?
Before he could form a word, James turned to him. He offered Martin a brief, soft smile, then stood up. The heat vanished from Martin's side, leaving a cold, heavy void in its place.
"I’m gonna go take a shower," James murmured softly.
"Okay," Martin managed to hum, his voice small and defeated.
The frustration weighed heavily in his chest. It wasn't the first time he’d felt completely undone like this, nor was it the first time he’d been consumed by a selfish, ugly greed for James’s complete attention. He wanted to be the only one allowed to touch him, the only one who got to watch him soften and melt.
But James was his teammate. His bandmate. Which meant anyone could drape an arm over James's shoulders, tease him, or touch his tattoo without a second thought, and Martin couldn't say a single word.
It wasn't that James gave him nothing.
Off-camera, James was generous with his affection. He gave Martin long, grounding hugs when the fatigue became too much to bear. He let Martin pull him into quiet late-night cuddles when work felt overwhelming. And he gave Martin that specific, dimpled smile — the gentle, whisker-soft grin that could make Martin feel like he could survive anything.
Martin cherished those moments desperately. They kept his ribs warm and his nights free of nightmares, and he was beyond grateful for whatever pieces of James he was allowed to keep.
Yet sitting alone on the couch, watching the hallway light turn off behind James, Martin couldn't stop the aching hunger from pulling him under once again.
About thirty minutes later, James emerged from the bathroom wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants, shirtless. His hair was still damp, droplets of water trailing down his chest and abdomen before sinking into the cotton waistband of his pants. And the tattoo... the fresh ink over his left hip bone looked slightly flushed from the hot water.
James looked absolute perfection.
Martin’s eyes followed him like a shadow, watching him disappear into the kitchen. Before he could talk himself out of it, his legs betrayed him, moving on instinct to follow. Whatever happened, he was the leader. And leaders were supposed to take action.
Martin stepped into the kitchen.
James was standing in front of the kitchen counter. He plucked a single cherry from the bowl by its stem, popping it into his mouth. He nibbled on it absently, his shoulders moving as he scrolled through something on his phone with his free hand.
Without overthinking, Martin walked up behind James and closed the distance. He pressed his chest flush against James’s bare back, pulling him close as he wrapped his arms around James’s warm, bare waist. Nuzzling his face into the crook of James’s neck, Martin breathed in the familiar, comforting scent of shea butter and warm vanilla lotion. It was a scent that Martin had secretly memorized, a scent that haunted his dreams every time they slept in the same room.
James flinched slightly at the sudden touch.
Martin had never given him a back hug like this before.
"Martin?" James murmured, tilting his head slightly to give Martin better access to his neck, leaning his weight back into the younger’s solid warmth. "What is it? I thought you were watching the game."
Martin took another long inhale, closing his eyes and letting the grounding moment settle over them.
"I hate the game," Martin confessed quietly into his skin. "I hate Keonho."
A low giggle bubbled from James’s chest. It all made sense now. Martin was suffering from a sudden, unexpected spike of petty jealousy.
"Care to tell me why?" James asked softly.
Martin hesitated for a fraction of a second, considering whether he should filter his thoughts, before completely giving in.
"Because he just gets to touch you," Martin murmured. He dragged his fingertips up to hover right over James’s hip bone, pressing his lips against the warm skin right beneath James’s ear. James shivered instantly. "He touched you," Martin repeated, his voice tightening with a raw, possessive edge that made James stiffen in his arms. "He touched your waist like it meant nothing. And you just sat there and let him."
James’s breath hitched. He carefully turned around in Martin's hold to face him, studying the younger boy’s pouty, agitated face. Cute.
Silence stretched between them in the soft light of the kitchen, save for the muffled sounds of yelling from the living room TV.
"Are you... jealous?" James asked, a small, teasing grin playing on his lips.
"Yes," Martin admitted bluntly. His hands slid lower down James’s abdomen, his fingers hovering tantalizingly close to the fresh ink. "I’ve been going out of my mind all night. I spent months... months, trying not to make you uncomfortable, keeping my hands to myself because I thought you didn't like being touched so casually. And then you just let everyone else touch you like it’s a joke."
"I don't want to only hug you anymore. I want more." As he spoke, Martin’s gaze dropped down to James’s lips. They were stained a flushed, deep pink from the fruit. The cherries had done absolute wonders.
The rest of Martin’s thoughts dissolved instantly. The last remaining brain cells in his head were locked in a frantic debate over whether he should just throw caution to the wind and devour his hyung right then and there.
James placed another cherry between his lips, biting down just enough for a drop of dark juice to spill onto his lower lip.
Martin swallowed hard. Was he being intentionally tormented? No, the entire universe was clearly conspiring against him.
"Hyung, you’re making a mess," Martin rasped, his eyes fixed intently on James’s mouth.
"Clean it up then," James challenged, his voice barely a murmur.
Well, fuck.
Martin’s heart dropped straight into his knees. Had he actually heard that right, or was his vivid imagination finally playing tricks on him? Either way, reality felt infinitely better than any fantasy he’d ever nursed.
"Yes, yes hyung," he whispered.
Finally, he was going to get a taste. No more lying awake late into the night, wondering what if. James was right here, inches away, leaning in until their hot breaths mingled.
Just as Martin closed the remaining distance, James raised his index finger and pressed it against Martin’s lips, raising an eyebrow.
"Someone could walk in," James warned gently.
Martin nearly cried in frustration. Not after all this. He pressed a firm, lingering kiss against James’s finger, a silent plea that spoke volumes.
James dropped his hand.
Martin was completely helpless against him, drawn in like a magnet. Reaching up with his left hand, he cupped James’s jaw in a firm, unyielding grip, tilting his head up. He dragged his tongue slowly, deliberately across James’s lower lip, lapping up the sweet, sticky cherry juice.
James let out a sharp, shuddering gasp against his mouth.
Without breaking the rhythm, Martin captured James’s lips with his own.
It wasn't a tentative kiss. It was a long-awaited, heavy, demanding kiss, overflowing with every unspoken confession and stolen glance Martin had kept hidden. He pressed James back against the edge of the marble counter, his tongue sliding past James’s parted lips to capture the lingering sweetness of the cherry.
A low, needy hum vibrated deep in James’s chest. Abandoning the container of cherries on the counter with a soft clink, James reached up, his long fingers tangling desperately into the hair at the nape of Martin’s neck to pull him closer, crushing their mouths together with equal urgency.
"Ah—Martin..." James gasped out when Martin briefly pulled back to catch his breath, only for Martin to immediately drag his lips down James’s jaw, biting gently at his pulse point.
"You have no idea," Martin growled softly against his neck, his hands finally dropping to explore the skin he’d been denied all evening. His palms slid over the bare expanse of James’s waist, his thumbs tracing the raised, fresh lines of the tattoo. The skin was warm, vibrant, and incredibly alive beneath his touch. "You have no idea what you look like with this ink. It’s driving me insane, James."
James arched his back, a tiny whimper escaping his throat as Martin’s thumb rubbed a slow circle over his hip.
"You like it?" James asked, his eyelids heavy and dark with sudden heat.
"Yes, hyung..." Martin mumbled between desperate kisses. "So much."
When their lips finally parted for a brief, breathless second, a thin thread of saliva stretched and snapped between them in the dim light of the kitchen. Martin didn’t pull away entirely; he hovered just inches above, his eyes searching James’s face with a sudden, quiet intensity. James was breathless beneath him, his lips parted and flush-pink, his eyes heavy-lidded and glittering with a raw, unguarded warmth that made Martin’s chest ache. Every detail felt agonizingly precious—the faint, familiar line of his brows, the soft flush climbing up his neck, the way his dark lashes fluttered every time he exhaled. A sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion crashed over Martin, settling deep into his bones with absolute, undeniable clarity: he was utterly, helplessly in love with him. Unable to contain the quiet reverence blooming in his heart.
So this was what butterflies felt like?
Martin leaned back in and sealed their lips together once more, harder this time, his hands slipping just beneath the waistband of James’s sweatpants to grip his hips, lifting him slightly onto the edge of the counter. James wrapped his legs instinctively around Martin’s waist, pulling him close against his body.
The air between them was electric, a sudden firestorm waiting for a single spark. Martin’s hands roamed freely, mapping out every inch of James’s ribs, chest, and waist, while James held onto Martin’s shoulders like a man drowning.
Their kisses grew wet, messy, and breathless, the quiet kitchen filling with the sound of friction and soft, ragged gasps.
Thump.
A sudden, loud cheer erupted from the living room, followed by the heavy sound of footsteps slapping against the floor, heading straight for the kitchen.
"Hey, is there any more cold water in the—"
In a split second of adrenaline-fueled panic, Martin shoved himself backward, nearly tripping over his own feet. James scrambled off the counter, grabbing the bowl of cherries with trembling hands and staring with absolute intensity at his phone screen as if his life depended on it.
Juhoon walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. He stopped near the doorway, blinking at the two of them.
The silence in the room was deafening.
"Uhh..." Juhoon looked at James, whose face was bright red, his chest heaving, his lips swollen and visibly stained. Then he looked at Martin, who was standing three feet away staring rigidly at the floor tiles, his clothes completely disheveled. "Are you guys okay? You look... weird."
"We’re fine!" James squeaked out, his voice a full octave higher than normal. He cleared his throat loudly. "Just... getting some cherries."
Juhoon stared at them for three agonizing seconds. He slowly reached into the fridge, pulled out a water bottle, and unscrewed the cap.
"Right. Cherries," Juhoon muttered, shaking his head as he turned on his heel and strolled back to the living room, completely oblivious.
The moment Juhoon disappeared, James let out a long, shaky breath and sank back against the counter, covering his burning face with both hands. Martin let out a breathless chuckle, leaning his forehead against James's shoulder, both of their hearts hammering against their ribs like caged animals.
By 1:30 AM, the dorm had finally fallen completely silent.
The television was off, the living room lights were dark, and the other members had retired to their respective rooms.
In his own bed, Martin lay flat on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling. He was wearing his sweatpants and a thin t-shirt, his hands resting behind his head.
He couldn't sleep. It was an absolute physical impossibility.
Every time he closed his eyes, his brain replayed the exact feeling of James’s soft lips on his own. His waist under his hands — the contrast of smooth, warm skin and the slight, raised texture of the ink. He could still taste the sweet, dark tang of cherries on his tongue. His skin felt like it was buzzing with an electric current, his entire body tightly wound with a restless, agonizing need that simple breathing couldn't fix.
After tossing and turning for another twenty minutes, Martin threw back his blanket and sat up.
He padded silently in his socks out of his room and down the dark corridor, stopping in front of the room James shared with Juhoon.
He pushed the door open. It gave a microscopic, high-pitched creak, but the sound was instantly swallowed by Juhoon’s deep, heavy sleeping breath coming from his twin bed on the left side of the room.
Martin’s eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight filtering through the window blinds.
On the right side of the room, James was lying awake. He was tucked under a thin duvet, but he had pulled it down to his waist, his bare chest exposed to the cool night air. His dark eyes were open, staring at the door as if he had been waiting for the handle to turn all along.
Martin didn't say a word. He didn't need to.
James immediately shifted over to the far edge of his bed, lifting the corner of the heavy duvet in a silent, clear invitation, opening his arms wide.
Martin crossed the room in three long strides. He climbed onto the narrow mattress, slipping beneath the warm blanket, and slid straight into James’s waiting embrace.
The moment they made contact, a collective sigh left both of their chests. James wrapped his long arms tightly around Martin’s shoulders, burying his nose directly into the crook of Martin’s neck, taking a deep, contented breath of Martin’s scent. Martin wrapped his own arms around James's waist, pulling James flush against his front, their legs tangling together beneath the heavy duvet.
"Couldn't sleep?" James whispered into his skin, his voice soft, raspy, and thick with late-night intimacy.
"Not a chance," Martin murmured back, his fingers resting lightly against the bare skin of James’s back, feeling the gentle, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. "You ruin everything."
James let out a quiet, breathless chuckle that vibrated against Martin’s collarbone. "You started it in the kitchen."
"You let Keonho touch you first," Martin retorted softly, though the bite was entirely gone from his voice, replaced by an overwhelming, heavy fondness.
"I won't let him do it again," James promised, his hand moving up to gently tangle into the hair at the back of Martin’s head, stroking the soft strands with a slow, soothing rhythm. "Only you. You can touch it whenever you want."
Martin pulled back just enough to look down at James in the dark. The duvet had slipped down a few inches, exposing the dark, hypnotic ink wrapping around James's side.
Unable to resist, Martin shifted downward under the covers. He propped himself up on his elbow and leaned in close, pressing a soft, lingering kiss directly over the fresh tattoo on James's waist.
James gasped softly, his entire stomach contracting sharply in a sudden, ticklish shiver. "Martin...?"
Martin didn't stop. He dragged his lips across the curve of James's hip bone, his breath hot against his bare skin, his tongue briefly tracing the line of the dark ink.
"Martin... ah..." James gasped, his fingers instinctively digging into Martin’s shoulders, pulling him tighter against his hip instead of pushing him away.
The touch melted naturally from soft, affectionate worship into something far more dangerous. Driven by the lingering heat from the kitchen and the suffocating closeness of the narrow bed, Martin slowly shifted his body upward, crawling over James until he slotted himself firmly between James's legs.
James looked up at him through dark, heavy-lidded eyes, his breathing already turning shallow. He tilted his head back into the pillow, his full lips parting as Martin lowered himself, pressing their chests flush together.
Martin dropped his head into the crook of James's neck, biting softly at the warm skin there, while his hands slid down to firmly grip James's bare waist, his thumbs pressing right over the inked hips.
And then, as naturally as breathing, Martin rolled his hips forward.
James’s head snapped back against the pillow, a choked, breathy gasp flying from his throat. He bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from making a loud sound with Juhoon sleeping barely six feet away. The heavy, dry friction of their sweatpants pressing together sent a violent jolt of pure warmth straight down both of their spines.
"Martin — wait," James rasped, his hands clutching desperately at the fabric of Martin’s shirt, his dark eyes wide and burning with heat. Yet, as if by pure instinct, James lifted his hips to meet Martin’s next slow, deliberate roll, his back arching off the mattress.
"He's asleep," Martin whispered roughly against James’s jaw, his breathing ragged, his hips moving in a slow, agonizingly sweet rhythm that made both of their heads spin. "He sleeps like a corpse... you know he does."
"Fuck... do that again," James rasped softly against Martin's ear, his fingers knotting desperately into the fabric at Martin's back, his chest heaving with sharp, shallow breaths.
Hearing James swear in that broken, needy whisper was all the permission Martin needed. Without a second of hesitation, Martin obeyed, rolling his hips forward again, harder and deeper this time, pinning James to the mattress with a deliberate, heavy pressure that made James whimper under his breath.
"Ah... fuck," James hissed, his legs wrapping tightly around Martin's waist, locking them together as his hips lifted involuntarily to meet Martin's pace.
Martin leaned down, capturing James’s mouth in a deep, wet, frantic kiss to smother the breathless sounds James was making. They ground together in a slow, suffocatingly sweet rhythm under the heavy blanket, chasing the electric heat that coiled tighter and tighter in their stomachs. James’s hands clawed at Martin’s back, his chest heaving, completely lost in the slow, agonizing friction of their bodies tangled together.
James was arching up, his hips meeting Martin's with a desperate, feverish pace, both of them hovering right on the absolute edge —
BRRRRRRR! BRRRRRRR! BRRRRRRR!
A sharp, blaring alarm exploded from across the room.
Fucking hell.
Both of them froze instantly.
Juhoon let out a horrific, guttural groan from his bed, thrashing loudly under his blankets as he swung his arm out to hit his phone screen. "Ugh... what... what time is it..."
In a moment of pure, blinding panic, Martin scrambled backward off of James so fast he nearly rolled off the edge of the bed, frantically pulling a loose blanket over his lap to hide his utterly undeniable state. James violently yanked his duvet up to his chin, turning his face flat against the wall, his chest heaving as he tried to muffle his ragged breathing.
Juhoon sat up slowly, hair sticking up wildly in every direction, rubbing his eyes with both fists. He blinked, peering through the gloom toward James's bed.
He stared at Martin, who was sitting rigidly on the edge of the mattress, clutching a blanket like a shield, his face bright red in the dim light.
Juhoon squinted in profound confusion. "Martin?" he croaked, his voice thick with sleep. "What the hell are you doing over there?"
Martin cleared his throat violently, praying his voice wouldn't betray him. "Oh. I... uh... came to talk. But then... I thought I heard your alarm."
Juhoon stared at them, then looked at his phone, then back at Martin.
"It's my 2 AM reminder to turn off my game download, bro," Juhoon grumbled, slapping his forehead before flopping heavily back onto his pillow. "You guys are totally insane. Go to sleep."
Within thirty seconds, Juhoon's breathing evened out into heavy snores once more.
Under the safety of the blanket, James turned his head back toward Martin. He buried his face into the pillow to muffle a helpless, breathless fit of giggles that shook his entire body, his eyes shining bright in the shadowy room.
“I might love you a little too much, hyung… and I’m scared I’ll never know how to love you any less,” Martin whispered. A long, shaky exhale escaped his lips as he leaned in, his forehead pressing to James’ with a soft chuckle. He began tracing gentle, lingering kisses all over James’ face, giving every inch of skin its own quiet moment of devotion. His hands wandered down, resting firmly over James’ waist, feeling the warmth radiating through the tattooed skin that had started it all.
The geometry of the ink, the taste of cherries, and the scent of warm vanilla were going to be the death of him.
And he couldn't wait for tomorrow.