Work Text:
Yeonjun will be ready.
He will be.
I am.
“Didn’t you want to watch the sunset?”
Yeonjun looks back to Beomgyu then, with his half-lidded eyes and wet pouty lips, blush scrawled like sin. It was sin, they were both living in sin – together? Alone? Yeah. Yep. Sin. Sin.
Yeonjun would sin if sinning looked like Beomgyu. Hell, he’d dive down into the hotter-than-hell fires of damnation if he got Beomgyu out of it.
Beomgyu was hotter. Way, way, way hotter.
“Yeonjun?”
Yep. “Yeah, yes – sorry.” He points somewhere behind him – what was he even doing before? He turns, spotting the red kettle he set on the stove. Right . “Making tea.”
He grins, he grins . “Well hurry up Ahjussi. Sunsets don’t last long here.”
Yeonjun swats at Beomgyu, he’s too quick, his hands paw at air. Shame. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”
He was right, though. Beomgyu. About the sunsets.
The two of them fucked off out of the city for a week and the minute they did – the minute it was just the two of them. The two of us. It was like God looked at some Angels, said ‘want to see something funny?’ and turned the Great Dial in the Sky.
It’s what they get. For living in sin, probably . Yeonjun looks up ruefully at the thick white stucco ceiling. He’d do anything to get time to just fucking stop. Just for a second. But the moment he and Beomgyu stepped out of Seoul and into each other, the days passed faster than he can process, the sun set like it had an early bedtime – golden hour was more like a few good golden minutes .
And Beomgyu? Beomgyu deserves more than a few good minutes. Yeonjun would beg if he could – if God would listen. Please, just a bit more time . It was almost scary, actually, the force of his love. He couldn’t just write sonnets, couldn’t just write a letter, couldn’t just propose (though he did do that already, actually). He needed to go right to the Big Man in the sky. Needed to fight to turn that dial back and back and back.
Immortality was usually seen as a curse. Yeonjun was already cursed, what was one more thing? What was one more thing to have more time with Beomgyu? What was another ailment if it meant Beomgyu got more, if Beomgyu was looked after , if Beomgyu was endlessly happy? It’s all Yeonjun dreamt about.
He pulls the kettle off right as it screams and pours out enough for a single cup of chamomile tea.
The first date Yeonjun went on with Beomgyu, he hit Yeonjun with his ice cream after he made a shitty joke and didn’t think twice about kissing the soft cream off his cheek. Yeonjun had never been liked like that – he’d never been loved like that. Like it was easy. Like loving him was easy.
Beomgyu made love feel easy . Isn’t that what anyone wants? For things to be easy?
Life is so hard as it is … When something good comes along, we cling, we bargain, we love and love and love that thing until it is ours and ours alone. It’s part of human nature, it’s ideal , it’s overwhelming and heavenly and straight food that employs our souls in the process of eating a feast.
Beomgyu was a feast, well, more than that probably. But Yeonjun was ravenous, so, so, so hungry – like he’d never eaten before in his life.
“Finally.” Beomgyu turns from where he’s sitting curled up in one of the lounge chairs outside. The sky is creamsicle orange with swirls of strawberry red. “You took forever.”
“I’m sorry.” Yeonjun is not sorry. “Get up.”
“I was here first.” Beomgyu gets up anyway.
“I know.” Yeonjun sits down and makes sure to grunt horribly loud when Beomgyu sits in his lap.
“Shut the fuck up.” Beomgyu swats at him now. Strikes. Like a dagger through Yeonjun’s pathetic, bleeding, heart.
He grins. “You can’t make me.” He says it like it's true , like it’s not the biggest lie in the world. He says it like he really wouldn’t do something Beomgyu wanted, like he could stop himself from crashing, diving, going deeper and deeper until he hits rock bottom.
Well, he looks at Beomgyu on his lap, looks up at his perfect face, leans into the gentle fingers that move the hair out of his eyes. I can always dig.
Neither of them are watching the sunset.
It’s slow then, finally, finally , time slows. Right here, between the spaces of their bodies, blindingly real against the brusque wind of the countryside. Every place they touch is hot, loving – so full of them both Yeonjun thinks he’s boiling alive, sun soaked, lovesick, dizzy, drunk, drunk, drunk.
He can’t lean upwards much more and Beomgyu loves this part, he’s told Yeonjun a million times over and over and over again. I love kissing you, I love the way your face looks. Yeonjun was certain he looked dumb, that was the only logical explanation for Beomgyu reveling in his silent begging. So, yes, time slows.
It was torture, it seemed, either way. But Yeonjun was not a God, so he took what he could get. Hoarded it, bared the searing touches and the vacuum of space between their hearts. Every second that was too fast and every other moment that was frozen just as they were. He would split himself into two infinite and improbable maxims for Beomgyu. He could live like this, he could. I can .
Yeonjun was a warrior, a holy paladin , his heart sworn to a God – a God that sat in his lap. A God that was loud mouthed. A God that was difficult. That argued . That moaned like the devil and put Yeonjun through agony.
Maybe it’s true. Maybe Beomgyu is a God.
Yeonjun would believe it for the way he finally drops his hand, for the way he finally kisses Yeonjun like he’s answering his prayer.
They glimmer in sunset lighting, Yeonjun’s hands pull Beomgyu that much closer, tea long and well forgotten. Time speeds up like this, faster and faster, like Yeonjun’s heartbeat, like his thoughts. It’s hands and lips and hazy sunset light that crack their hearts together, breaking them open for their soft fleshy insides.
They breathe each other in and Yeonjun thinks that if Beomgyu told him that he controlled time, that he was a God, Yeonjun would believe him wholeheartedly. He already did.
Choi Yeonjun will dig. He will dig down through the skin of the earth and of himself until he hits bone.
Until he and Beomgyu share more than a name, more than rings, until they are both infinite and maximal. Until they are hot and cold and bright and dark all at once. Until they are so close together, they are weaved together as one. Like fibers of a single thread. Until they nestle in the blank spaces of each other’s rib cages where flowers bloom – red and bloody but there . Just there, Beomgyu, do you see? Under my heart, in my heart. It’s you. It’s all of me, for you.
Yeonjun could never say that out loud. But of course, Beomgyu already knows.
The next morning is a warm one. It reminds Yeonjun of the first night Beomgyu stayed over, they were so hot when they woke up but neither person wanted to let go. They’ve learned how to regulate, they’ve been together long enough, but they’ve never been closer.
Beomgyu’s already out of bed, probably brewing coffee – probably refilling the ice tray since Yeonjun likes iced coffee.
The coffee brews too hot here, they need a lot of ice to get Yeonjun’s coffee perfect. Beomgyu knew how to get it perfect.
Extensions. Extensions, that’s what we are. Blankets, coffee pots, objectified, obliviated, acts of service that run Beomgyu’s hands into blankets, that force him face down, slack jawed, dazed.
Yeonjun should probably shut up. But they’re on vacation, they’re on vacation and it’s probably closer to lunch than sunrise. He’s totally allowed to objectify Beomgyu, he’s allowed to fantasize when he’s out of arm's reach.
Beomgyu, in the other room, was so far away. Yeonjun stretches, sits up, and looks outside. The sun is back, brighter – too bright without coffee.
It’s weird how far they’ve come. Well, it was weird for them. They never thought they’d be here. Neither of them did. Between them both, they can’t quite recall the moment things changed. It was more like a bunch of little things, miniscule things. Like droplets of rain, little by little, something you never notice until suddenly it’s torrential and you’re caught in the midst of it.
Loving Beomgyu was like loving downpour.
They didn’t quite have walls the way most people do. Beomgyu knew Taehyun, Yeonjun did too – but they also were part of something bigger. Other couples, more family, more friends. Always around one another, but never with one another.
There were other people, more relationships that overlapped their own. When they were finally saddled together for a task (it was Soobin’s birthday and Taehyun sent them out to get more beer) it was quiet and casual and nothing short of awkward. But Yeonjun was adamant to make Soobin’s birthday the best, and Beomgyu was there and wanted to help.
So they went, and Yeonjun struggled because he had heard Kai describe how fucking terrible Beomgyu’s hair is for their dorm shower drain. And he knew that Beomgyu was somewhere in the room when Yeonjun explained, in precise detail, what jajangmyeon did to his toilet. It was never a big deal before when it was more than just the two of them. But now? It was painfully obvious to them both that they weren’t that close. Not willingly , at least.
Nothing they knew about each other was the sort of thing you kick off a close relationship with. Nothing .
It was the issue with having no walls, they both knew each other in details you’d never freely tell someone that you might fuck or fall in love with. They didn’t have the liberties of romantic firsts.
They loved from the top down, visions of each other like marble statues: already carved, already dented, the surprises long gone. They knew each other before they knew that they might want to.
It was like the palms of their hands. Creased from birth, very little choice in the matter. Yes, just as their palms, Yeonjun and Beomgyu just were . No other way to be, like it or not.
Yeonjun liked it. Loved him. He’d be mad not to.
“Good morning.” Beomgyu pushes open their bedroom door with his body, two cups of coffee in his hands.
“I don’t remember ordering coffee.”
Beomgyu sits at the edge of the bed, handing him one mug. Black. Iced. Yeonjun takes a sip and sighs. “It’s on the house. For now,” Beomgyu replies.
Maybe it was obvious when they finally got together, Maybe it was a long time coming, and by the tail end of all their pathetic passes their friends and family were getting tired of waiting. Either way, Yeonjun was thankful, like fall-to-his-knees thankful.
Kissing Beomgyu on their first real date was sweeter than the ice cream they had bought. It was like this person he had known for so long was really alive, on full blast, fidgeting like a bird against him.
“For now?”
“Yeah, until you piss me off.” Beomgyu looks outside, still smiling. Yeonjun always managed to piss him off.
He laughs, voice half groggy. “So it’s not free.”
“Is it that hard to not piss me off, Choi Yeonjun?” Beomgyu snaps, brows raised like he was presenting a challenge.
Yeonjun grins, takes another long sip, they stare at one another over the rims of cups. “Kind of seems like I’m annoying you right now.”
Beomgyu grins, caught in his own trap. Yeonjun leans over their mugs, kisses him on the forehead before he can pull away which he does, of course he does . Yeonjun follows.
Their kisses are coffee flavored, languid, steeped in morning light that Beomgyu looked divine in. Heavenly and debauched, thank God there are a billion surfaces around them because Yeonjun was seconds from throwing his coffee over his shoulder.
Beomgyu pulls him down, letting Yeonjun run his hands over his chest, under his thighs. They’ll be tangled soon, sooner than soon if Yeonjun can help it. It’s not as close as fibers and string and the spaces of his ribs, but Yeonjun is only human – it’ll do. It’ll have to do.
And when Beomgyu finally gasps his name and breathes into the crook of his neck and goes I’m ready , Yeonjun will be too. He will be.
I am.