Archive of Our Own

So far Taeyong's day has been nothing but a series of unfortunate events.  

He has already forgotten the stack of homework assignments back in the classroom, then trips over the power cable under his desk in the office. He fixes it, then proceeds to hit his head on the desk on the way back out. 

On top of it all, it has been exactly a month since Taeyong had broken it off with his ex, and he does not feel a bit better about it than the day he did it. Not when he is still avoiding opening his texts. 

Then, the shit pile is topped off with a knock on his office door. 

“Professor Lee?” 

The student does not wait for the signal before barging in, and Taeyong is about to tell them off before he realizes who it is. 

“What do you want?” he says, out in one breath. 

At his tone Johnny freezes and so does Taeyong, really not having meant to sound so cold. Although he feels at the end of his own rope, he doesn't need to take it out on anyone. Forget about professionalism — his reputation was on the line here. Being a professor of philosophy was already a severe enough blow to his image.

“Uh,” Johnny hesitates. “Should I come back another time?” 

Taeyong presses out a tense smile, trying to diffuse his own nerves. 

“No, it's fine,” Taeyong shakes his head, adjusting his glasses at the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, what can I help you with?” 

Johnny takes out what he has been holding behind his back — his laptop. 

“My code for the online portal,” Johnny explains. “I can't get it to work.” 

Taeyong lets out a long, pointed sigh. 

“And you're just now trying to access it?” 

Johnny does not have anything to say to that, only shifting in an awkward shuffle from one foot to another. Taeyong has no choice but to look him over, not with how Johnny's height of a giant fills his entire field of vision. His hoodie sits comfortably on his shoulders, and his hair has grown out noticeably since the start of the semester. 

Taeyong rarely meddles in the lives of his students, especially those that choose to take his class as an elective and then never think about its content ever again. He personally prefers the students within his major, at least they stick around long enough to become memorable.  

Johnny is not one of those students, and he is not the first of his kind to pass through Taeyong's class. A senior athlete with more potential than he can handle, both effortlessly good in class as well as outside it. Taeyong wonders what it's like to have everything go your way. 

“It's probably expired by now. I'll have to send you a new one,” Taeyong says, reaching over to his keyboard and tapping a button to wake it up.  

But after more than a few taps, it refuses to give any signs of life. 

Taeyong swears under his breath. He is not about to crash out in front of a student. 

“What is it?” Johnny asks, refusing to ignore Taeyong's very forced silence. 

Meanwhile he is going through all the options in his head for the quickest fix. Slamming the power button three more times, that seems to do absolutely nothing. Maybe tripping over the power cord completely short-circuited his computer. It was university property, after all, and not in its best shape. 

Taeyong tries not to visibly freak out.

“Is everything alright?” 

Taeyong groans under his breath again. “It's my computer. It's nothing.” 

“Have you tried—” 

“Just let me figure this out, Chan.” 

They both freeze completely still. 

“I—”

“I mean… Chan..i… I meant Johnny.” 

Taeyong pushes his chair away from the desk and the resulting screech makes them both jolt. He feels himself burning up hot and it’s likely evident in the redness of his face, but he ducks under the desk, using the excuse of the power strip to hide away. He finds the power cable to the computer lying unplugged, tucked into the corner of his space. Using his foot to reach for it he brings it over and plugs it in. 

When he crawls back out, Johnny is still standing there but this time with a polite smile. It makes Taeyong feel self-conscious, like Johnny can tell why that name left him so shaken. 

“Poetry?” 

The word is the last thing that Taeyong expected to hear. But Johnny just stands there, still adorning the same smile and reaching out to point to Taeyong's desk, where within from a stack of books peeks out a hardbound collection of haikus. 

“It's… short.” 

For some reason Johnny laughs at that. “You're in philosophy, though.” 

Taeyong's mouth crooks into a smile, thrown off by where Johnny is taking this. The confines of his office are hardly the place for banter about Taeyong's reading preferences. 

Still, he entertains it. “Kyoshi gets to the point much faster than Plato does.”

Johnny's smile spreads wider, making Taeyong nearly forget the embarrassment he felt just moments ago. He wonders if Johnny is thinking about his slip up at all. 

“Then teaching philosophy is some kind of self-punishment then?” he asks. 

“That's any job,” Taeyong answers. He tries the power button again and his monitor instantly awakens, his computer humming as it slowly comes on, draining each agonizing second stuck with the student who is finding himself a little too familiar. 

Yet he still can't shake the impact of the name, still stinging his lips where it slipped away by accident. 

Taeyong makes a note to get his window open as soon as he is done with Johnny. With all these bodies the small room is quickly starting to get stuffy. Serves him right, being one of the newer faculty and stuck in one of the smallest offices, with its single window. 

Soon enough Taeyong is pulling up the school online portal on the screen, digging into the student settings and finding Johnny by name. Johnny Suh — first logged on two days ago, total time of activity less than ten minutes. Taeyong sighs and finds the option to resend the code, hoping to cut this dragging silence short. 

“It should be on its way now.” 

Johnny perks up in an instant, flipping his laptop open where he balances it on his forearm. Effortless, just like everything else he does. 

“Got it!” he says, a pitch too excited for something like having access to homework. “I think I can take it from here.” 

“Let's hope,” Taeyong says, meaning to keep it under his breath but Johnny catches it. He doesn't take offense to it though, only offering another one of his light laughs. Taeyong wonders if everything rolls off him this easily. 

Johnny slams his own laptop closed and slips it back into his backpack, closing it up and slinging it over his shoulder. He is already heading for the door, accurately sensing that his professor's patience has worn thin by making his own dismissal swift.

“Thanks, Professor,” Johnny says, one foot out the door still unable to resist leaving a mark in the room. “And also, good luck. With whatever is going on.”

tennie [6:43 pm]
what did he want?

me [6:50 pm]
to pick up the air fryer. he remembered he was the one that bought it.

tennie [6:51 pm]
shit, you were hoping to keep that one. you okay?

me [6:55 pm]
trying to accept going back to using the oven again.

tennie [6:56 pm]
not exactly what I meant!

me [7:02 pm]
i'm fine. could be worse.

Taeyong tosses his phone aside to reveal his laptop again, already gone to sleep. The black screen reflects him for only a moment before lighting up, the image reflecting in his glasses with a momentarily blinding glow. When the first impact dies down Taeyong is faced with worse — the nearly dozen homework assignments he still has left to grade. 

He thought he had it figured out after five years, how to structure his class so he could have the maximum impact with the least of his own input. But with the very few assignments and exams that make up the syllabus, Taeyong knows that each one tends to carry even more weight, making up a significant portion of the student grades.

His attention span can only stretch so far, combing through each twenty-page assignment. He wonders again to himself, why he assigned such a god awfully long analysis. He himself could barely take so much reading on determinism, having successfully avoided it during his graduate studies, let alone be tortured with the students' interpretations of the theme. 

But as he sits trying to work at the dining table, the only remaining distraction is the bare living room space in front of him, where all he sees is the crowding of unpacked boxes. Just another reminder of what he had done to himself by breaking it off with Chan.

Taeyong thought he broke it off for his own happiness, for no longer being to take the constant reminder of being too much, too little, all at once. He thought he did it for the better of himself, but all he had done was give himself more work. It has only been a month and yet this new apartment only looks half lived-in.

Taeyong pushes away from the table and the wooden chair screeches against the floor. He cannot take this emptiness, and at the same time he does not have it in him to unpack his stuff to fill it. There was still so much furniture that he had left to build, the delivery boxes piled up tall in the corner. 

His sweater is making it onto his head faster than he can think about it, feet slipping into his sneakers. Grading can wait but his mental breakdown apparently cannot — and right now, Taeyong would rather be anywhere but in the vacancy of this apartment. 

The remnants of winter can barely reach him as he ducks away from the evening into his car, pulling out of the neighborhood and taking him to the main road. If he could not fill the emptiness with the effort of restarting his life with what he has, then he will just have to fill it with something else. 

It's a quick drive through the narrow, winding streets tucked away into the city. The road widens out as he drives out towards the plaza of shops, setting his sights on the home improvement store. 

He makes a big circle around the building, looking for the gated-off outdoor area of the garden, then parks right outside it. Making a conscious effort to walk slower into the store and not look like he is going through a manic episode, he grabs the first cart he sees and makes his way towards the plants. 

One problem arises, as he rolls up in between aisles of flowers, is that he realizes that he knows next to nothing about plants. 

Taeyong shakes his head, determined to push through the self-doubt and accomplish what he came here for. This self-doubt is what kept him bound up in that relationship for a few years too many. Besides, he could always ask Ten what he is supposed to do with these. Something that barely moves cannot be that high maintenance. 

“Sir, can I help you?” 

Taeyong groans and this time the sound flies out of his mouth — realizing, mortified, that he is a sir now. He is barely halfway into his thirties. 

He whips his head towards the voice, readying to dismiss the orange-aproned worker, but the words stop cold and get stuck in his throat.  

“Oh!” Johnny exclaims, very obviously taking in the sight of Taeyong, drowning in sweats from head to toe and a headband pushing his unstyled hair out of his face. “Hi, Professor Lee.”

Taeyong cannot bring himself to say a greeting back, feeling much less than friendly this time. 

“Or, should I say… 'What do you want'?” Johnny emphasizes the words, laughing loudly after he makes what is meant to be a joke. When Taeyong gives little back, he clears his throat and continues. “You know, like, when I came to see you earlier?” 

Taeyong's shoulders fall with the breath that leaves him, an exasperated sigh.  

“Sorry, not my best,” Johnny apologizes and Taeyong almost feels bad that he feels like he has to, when Taeyong is the one coming down like a dark cloud harboring a storm. “Anyway, what, uh, brings you here?” 

The thought of making conversation makes Taeyong want to fall through the floor, but he figures he should attempt to be a little pleasant. This wasn't just anybody, after all, this was one of his students. One that, for what it was worth, still has not managed to piss Taeyong off as the semester went along.

“Procrastinating,” he answers.

That seems to disarm Johnny instantly. He approaches, wearing that same bright smile. 

“Got a lot to grade?” he asks.

“Yeah, that too,” Taeyong says, turning back towards the shelves before Johnny can pry. “So, then, which of these can handle being forgotten about?” 

A snort from Johnny. 

“Actually, the garden center is closed,” he explains with a sheepish look on his face. “Because, well, it's getting dark now.” 

Taeyong has not noticed until Johnny points it out. In his mind, the time from when he first sat down to grade until now passed in the span of an hour, but it's painfully obvious now that they are probably steadily approaching closing time. 

“Oh, right,” Taeyong laughs, painfully awkward. “Who shops for plants at night anyway?” 

Somehow Johnny still looks unbothered. 

“Maybe you could start by looking at some pots?” Johnny offers. “So you didn't come here for nothing.” 

Taeyong doesn't know why he even stops to consider his advice. He should save himself more embarrassment, turn on his heel and make the straightest line for the door. 

“Sure,” he says, against his better judgement. He cannot stand it, when his nerves get the best of him like this. Still staring back at him is Johnny's light smile. 

“This way,” Johnny turns and finally takes his gaze with him, leaving Taeyong to quietly fall apart. This was a bad idea from beginning to end. Those papers are still waiting for him at home, to grade now in a worsened mood. 

He follows Johnny inside the warehouse of the store, where thankfully the plant pots are immediately to their right, lining the shelves up to the ceiling. The basic ones are just at his eye level, while the more elevated ones are higher up, catching his eye. Maybe this wasn't the worst idea. 

“Could I help you, uh, get any of those?”  

Taeyong does not immediately respond, his back straightening out on instinct. He did not expect Johnny to call out their height difference like that, and it made Taeyong feel self-conscious, judging by the stroke of heat up his back.  

Besides, he was the older of the two, more mature — Taeyong is Johnny's professor. He could get his own damn pots if he needed to. 

“I'm sure you have more important things to get to,” he says, hoping that will do enough to chase him away. 

But Taeyong could not be so lucky.  

“Not at all,” Johnny sighs. “I tend to get all the boring shifts.” 

Taeyong sighs, absolutely delighted by the idea that he has become a part of his same bore. 

“I didn't realize you had time for a job, with all your extracurriculars,” Taeyong blurts out, immediately feeling odd about it.  

He thinks then that he probably shouldn't have brought that up. There is no reason for him to know anything about the life of Johnny Suh outside the confines of the humanities building. Nothing other than the whispers of the small school population, with Johnny being one of its favorite subjects. 

Nevertheless, Johnny is shrugging before replying. “I quit the team at the start of the semester.” 

Taeyong cannot quite decipher how Johnny's expression, not when his feelings are covered with a grin. 

“I'm sure they will miss you out on the field,” Taeyong offers, not really knowing what else to say. 

Johnny laughs at that, sharp. His movement shakes a few strands of his hair from behind his ear, getting into his face. 

“Basketball,” Johnny says. “So, court, technically.” 

Before his skin can redden with more embarrassment Taeyong turns away, filling his response with a cough. He looks back to the row of pots above him, suddenly interested in the difference between plastic and ceramic. 

“Please don't feel obligated to continue supervising me,” Taeyong says, sensing how his cold tone takes Johnny back. 

“I just thought you might need—” 

“Someone stupidly tall?”

“Some… company.” 

Taeyong bites his tongue back until it nearly bleeds. Despite the discomforting silence Johnny refuses to look away from him, all while Taeyong cannot help but feel like a boundary is being tested. 

“Is that really what I look like?” 

Johnny is immediately shaking his head. 

“No, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out,” he explains, his voice noticeably going softer. “You just don't seem like the kind of person to be found wearing pajamas outside the home, shopping for plants right before closing. Then there's still the pen marks on your face.” 

Taeyong's eyes widen as he's hit with the realization that he is at the point of no return. There is nothing that can save him the embarrassment now, experiencing this low in the aisles of a store in front of a senior student. 

“Sorry, I'll just…” 

Before he can register Johnny's words Taeyong feels his hand, two fingers touching just under his mouth, over at the side of his chin, wiping intently at the skin. When he pulls away Taeyong catches the glimpse of black ink, the pen that Johnny had wiped off his face.

“To figure out what?” Taeyong asks, echoing Johnny's words, still stuck in the second right before his fingers made contact with his skin. 

Johnny drags the moment on for longer than feels comfortable, and Taeyong is faced with the momentum of his own heart, hammering away in his chest. 

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Johnny suddenly says, stepping away. Before he turns, he gives a final wave of a hand toward Taeyong. “I'll leave you to it, Professor.”

“Before you go, I believe you all have something for me,” Taeyong calls out into the classroom. “I'll collect it on your way out.” 

The class erupts into a cacophony of moving chairs, notebook pages turning then being shut closed. Taeyong welcomes the chaos because teaching never gets easier, being put in the spotlight every day like this. And today he does a good enough job ignoring the eyesore in the corner of the auditorium, who in turn gives him no trouble back, none other than the memory of the contact of skin on skin. 

Johnny is lagging behind like he usually does, but this time for seemingly a different reason. He is usually involved in at least two conversations, always entering and leaving within a crowd of friends. This time as the line of students takes a detour to Taeyong's desk before heading for the exits, Johnny trails on the very tail of it. 

He is the very last to approach, dropping off his stapled packet right on top of the stack. 

“Have a nice weekend, Professor,” Johnny grins before turning to leave. 

Taeyong just nods in response, taking the stack of papers and wrapping a rubber band around it to hold it together. As his hand wraps around, the pages feel uneven under his thumb. He pauses, sensing a strange feeling. Though he probably has no reason to feel suspicious he reaches for the top page anyway, pulling it up to reveal the inside of Johnny's assignment. 

Between the pages, tucked away on a sticky note within his ramblings about philosophy, the printed words that now that feel so irrelevant, there is written in neat cursive:

A new beginning
Is turning the worst seasons
Into better days

Taeyong instantly recognizes it's a haiku, but the author is unfamiliar. He then thinks back to Johnny spotting the book among the mess of piles of material on his desk.  

He brings the note closer, reads the words again and only the second time do they really sink in. He feels a strange hint of comfort written in between them, how the words find a home in his mind. Before he realizes it, he is grinning under the hand that pushes his glasses up his nose. 

The reality of his environment hits like whiplash, and he snaps his attention up to look around him. All he sees is the emptiness of the classroom, then a movement in the entryway before the door slams shut. 

“Don't you think it would be a good idea to get out?” 

Ten always brings this idea up to him when he wants to hear it the least. Taeyong's pace across the cement hastens, heels hitting against the metal grating. 

“Look at me now,” Taeyong answers, eyes fixed on the train station. He should have taken his car today. “I'm out.” 

Ten giggles next to him, seemingly never phased by Taeyong's uncanny ability to drag them both down. 

“Have you even tried to be with anyone since Chan?” Ten presses on. “It's been long enough.” 

Come to think of it, by now Taeyong has stopped counting how many days it has been. 

“I guess I haven't,” he answers, and for some reason, it does not feel like the complete truth. “I don't know if I'm ready.” 

“You've been ready,” is Ten's instant answer, his gaze intently locked on the side of Taeyong's face instead of at the intersection they were approaching. “It just hasn't been with the right person.” 

Taeyong sighs, rushed with the instant need to defend Chan. But he knows they are not a unit anymore, and Taeyong could just say what is on his mind. 

“Chan was…” he starts, unable to find the proper word. Chan was there at the right time, in the right parts of his life. But Taeyong had soon found out what it was like to have to be faced with what he feared most — complacency. “He was fine.” 

Taeyong can almost hear Ten roll his eyes.  

“And I know you. Just fine could never be enough.” 

“I don't know what you mean,” Taeyong argues, but he already feels the speech coming from the other. He would call it a pep talk, but it could only pep up someone that it actually worked on. 

“You need someone that makes you feel safe,” Ten says. “Complete security. And Chan, well… he kind of judged you.”

Taeyong never saw it that way until Ten put it into words like this. Maybe he should have gone into counseling instead of teaching art history. 

“One time I asked him to slap me in bed,” Taeyong says. “He refused to sleep with me for a month after.” 

Ten hisses at that, seeming in actual pain at the revelation. Between meeting Johnny in the store to how Ten talks to him now, Taeyong wonders if he has truly reached his rock bottom. There is simply nothing worse to him than seeming like someone who needs to be saved.  

“Hyunwoo has asked about you,” Ten says, like that should change anything. “I could set you two up.” 

Taeyong scoffs at the idea. “I don't know anything about him. I don't even remember what he looks like.” 

Ten smirks. “Well, that could be hot, right? Low expectations, low commitment.” 

Taeyong sighs, surprised to find himself giving this idea even a spare second thought. But he quiets nonetheless, and he knows Ten feels it, that he's gotten into Taeyong's head. 

Not like Taeyong is hiding how fragile he feels now. After a while, it became too tiresome to. 

“That could be something.”  

Ten stops them just short of taking the stairs down to the train, where they'd have to part ways for the day. 

“Is that a yes?” Ten insists. 

Taeyong is nodding, already feeling the nerves in his knees. He hates feeling like this, the vulnerability of anticipation. He knows he can't be lucky enough to have something go right. 

“Yeah.” 

“Great,” Ten's grin is imminent, and he is already reaching for his phone in his back pocket. “I'm sure he'll clear his schedule for you. Wait for a text.” 

Waiting became something Taeyong became completely incapable of doing. He fills the rest of the time with getting ready, then getting himself unready when he realizes he started to look like he is trying too hard. He does not want to try hard at being liked anymore. He just wants to get laid, to take the advice of that note that he still somehow has not thrown away. 

He knows that without his glasses he has a better chance, but for his own sanity he opts to keep them on. Eventually he settles for a white blouse tucked into black jeans. It hangs off his bony shoulders and it's just a couple layers of jacket and tie away from something he would wear to teach. But getting dolled up is something he was simply not that interested in, not when he wanted to believe that he still somehow had the power to make a man fall for him without needing all that. 

He takes the taxi to the agreed bar and gets there way too early, which he knew he would do. He has accepted this ultimate flaw within himself, the utter inability to let things go. 

Finding his place at the end of the bar top Taeyong ensures he has a nice view of the entrance. The place is still fairly empty for a weekend night, most of the noise being the people outside passing by, the sound of them threading through the cracked windows.  

The hanging glasses clink above his head when the bartender approaches him, and Taeyong orders a drink to get started. He is much less nervous than he thought he would be, because somehow, in the back of his mind, he feels it going nowhere. 

The minutes drag on long enough for him to pull out his phone. He opens the first app he sees and fights the urge to close it, hit with all the notifications at once of all his time away.  

He does not have Hyunwoo's number, but it feels too stupidly late to ask now. It would mean giving up on the romanticism of it all, and Taeyong is just not ready to stop being so stubborn.

me [9:27 pm]
how long until i'm allowed to leave?

tennie [9:32 pm]
omg what happened??

me [9:33 pm]
he's not here

Taeyong's phone vibrates the next second. 

“What do you mean he's not there!?” Ten's voice is so shrill through the speaker that Taeyong has to turn down the volume. 

He pushes his empty glass away as he fumbles with the buttons of his phone, cursing himself under his breath. 

“I mean, don't make me say it out loud in front of all these people,” Taeyong presses through his teeth, watching absently how the bartender pours him his next drink.  

“Let me call—”

“Don't even bother,” Taeyong cuts him off before Ten could go on ruining his night any further. “I can take a hint.”

“I'm sure it was some kind of misunderstanding,” Ten tries, but Taeyong cannot really bear hearing any more. He needs to be left alone with his thoughts, just like he is so obviously meant to. 

“It's fine,” Taeyong finally says. “It wasn't anything anyway.” 

Taeyong squeezes the bridge of his glasses in between his thumb and pointer finger, fiddling with the metal as it slides down his nose. He sets them down next to the emptied glass, quickly swept away by the bartender and replaced by two more. Did he really look so pathetic that the bartender knew that his only option to making the most of this night is getting hammered? 

His phone goes on the bar top too, face down with the screen black.

He cannot deny it to himself, that maybe he wanted something tonight. Getting off would have been nice, since it has been so god-damned long. Everything with Chan had become so complicated that Taeyong has almost entirely forgotten what it is like to be wanted. His fingers slip around the stem of the glass this time, tipping the martini back and ignoring how much stronger it tastes the second time around. 

Maybe it is his own damn fault — everything, down to the end of their relationship. He was too much and not enough at the same time, never loose enough in the ways that it mattered. Maybe he should have let Chan go sooner, realizing that they had both been holding on for way too long. 

He drinks for so long through these thoughts that he barely notices the bar fill up, the people starting to push their backs into him as they mingle with their own. The squeeze of the crowd is comfortable but at the same time makes him feel trapped, the noise of it ebbing in and out of his head. He squints his eyes, realizing how long he has sat unfocused, his gaze drowning in his next drink. He searches for his glasses, but the bar lights have dimmed, washing everything into a blur. 

As his hand searches the sticky surface of the bar it comes into contact with something warm — someone else's fingers. He pulls back like he's been burnt, readying an apology.

“Hey, Professor.” 

Taeyong freezes at the voice, his vision focusing in on a figure taking up the entire space of his vision as he turns. 

He feels his hand be covered with another, be taken then pulled on top of his glasses. Without wasting a second Taeyong's fingers wrap around the frame and bring them to his face, just barely missing almost poking out his eye. 

When he gets the glasses on, he realizes his vision does not fix itself entirely. He might not have paced his drinking into despair well enough. 

“Just say Taeyong,” his words finally come, faster than his mind can catch up. “And we're going to have to discuss this whole following me around thing.” 

Johnny laughs at that, somehow understanding Taeyong even though he definitely slurred through the last bit. 

“Well, Taeyong, you're the one that showed up at my job,” Johnny's smile widens, impossibly huge and warm.  

Taeyong narrows his eyes. “What are you even doing here?” 

“It's Saturday?” Johnny waves his arms around. “I'm twenty-two?” 

Every uncounted drink hits Taeyong at once and he feels it in the sudden pounding of his head.  

He tries to stand up, but he has not moved for hours, and his knees buckle under his own weight. He is not that old to lose his balance like that, and yet he still needs to find purchase against the edge of the bar. In the process he kicks his stool behind him, and it's sent off flying towards the floor.

Johnny is faster than both of them and catches it before it can do any further damage. Taeyong finally steadies himself, breaths heavy as he watches Johnny set the chair down again. 

“I- I should probably go.” 

“I hope you didn't drive,” Johnny emphasizes, and his eyes are a darker brown than Taeyong remembered. They narrow, looking at Taeyong like he's the only one in the room. It dawns on him at once, how gorgeous Johnny is, but he knows he cannot think like this now. He is just frustrated — desperate, even to look at his own student like that. 

Taeyong shakes his head. “I'm gonna—” 

“Wait, I'm worried about you,” Johnny's hand is on his arm before Taeyong can get away, slip into the crowd and leave behind every conversation they've ever had. “You seem pretty out of it.” 

“I think I can handle my way back,” Taeyong insists, knowing that the quicker the alcohol courses through his system, the less fight remains in him. 

“Of course you can,” Johnny says, his warmth unrelenting. “Are you here alone?” 

Taeyong lets out a humorless laugh.

“I might be,” he answers, already despising himself for how transparent he is being. All it took was one abandoned night for him to start falling apart. “It doesn't matter.” 

“Did something happen?” Johnny keeps on, insisting on wedging his way into Taeyong's life, getting into his head. 

Maybe Taeyong had much less fight in himself than he thought. He underestimated just how worn down it made him, trying to be distracted from everything that bothered him about himself. 

“Nothing,” Taeyong sighs again, releasing the last bit of breath that kept him upright. He looks out towards the exit, having watched it for all those long, dragging minutes waiting for his date to show up. Now he feels repulsed at having to cross its threshold. Or maybe it was the gin making him nauseous. 

“Let me take you home.” 

Taeyong turns back to Johnny, who suddenly edges close enough to him for Taeyong get his scent, freshly clean. 

“Aren't you here with someone?” Taeyong turns away from him, though Johnny's presence is ever unavoidable.  

“Just some friends from work,” Johnny explains. “It's fine, they won't care. I want to make sure you're home safe.” 

His arm makes its way around Taeyong's shoulders, heavy and comforting and Taeyong cannot find it in him to pull away. 

Johnny guides them seamlessly through the crowd, people of all ages, reassuring Taeyong that he did not mix up the place or go somewhere he was not welcome. It was just his luck to run into one of his students, the one who just seemed to find it impossible to stay out of his life. 

Exiting the bar the expanse of the street nearly stirs Taeyong to sobriety. The spring air is still cold as they walk along the road, passing a line of parked cars. 

“You drove?” 

The headlights of a car blink twice, as if in response to him. 

“Yeah, I wasn't planning on drinking tonight,” Johnny says. 

The car happens to be his as they approach it, with Johnny opening the door for Taeyong before himself getting in behind the wheel. Taeyong does not take too much notice of either the outside or the interior of it, not ever caring much for things like these beyond functionality. Besides, in the moment, he is more pressed to stay conscious the entire ride home as his drinking catches up to him in a worsening headache. During the ride he will have to fight to keep it from turning into nausea. 

He mumbles out his address to Johnny directly out of stored memory, his lips moving without him having to be aware of the content of his words. Johnny enters it into his phone, letting the map guide him to the destination as he pulls the car out into the street. 

The road is a slow lull below them, at least Taeyong feels it to be. He thought it would be awkward to sit here, in this enclosed space with him, but everything with Johnny ends up being easy, one way or another. Something about him feels as smooth as the rolling of sand hills, changing shape and adjusting. 

“Bad date, wasn't it?” 

Johnny's voice makes him jerk up in response, mostly for feeling like he has been caught thinking about him. Taeyong clears his throat, nudging himself deeper into the passenger seat and keeping his eyes out the window on the passing street. 

“What?” 

Johnny shifts in his seat too, and when Taeyong looks at him, he notices for the first time Johnny's smile faltering. 

“You had a bad date, didn't you?” Johnny asks. “It's why you were there alone.” 

Taeyong wants nothing less than to be honest with Johnny. The less they knew each other, the better off they both were.  

Through his wavering, drunken haze the truth comes back to Taeyong all at once — he didn't know what he was doing here, in the passenger seat of his student's car. Two more months before the end of the semester, and Taeyong will likely never see him again. 

“No date, more like,” Taeyong answers, still. 

But Johnny does not seem to be pushed away by Taeyong's elusiveness. His fingers slip from the top of the wheel, around and to the bottom.  

“I don't know what you mean,” Johnny says and for some odd reason that makes Taeyong feel better, his confusion around him. Like the scales of confidence were tipping in his favor. 

And with this admission, the scales tip back. “Got stood up.” 

Johnny shakes his head at that, says something incoherent under his breath. He adjusts in his seat again, glancing at the map on his phone at least twice as he thinks of the best thing he could offer Taeyong in this moment. 

“That's shitty,” is what he says, and Taeyong shouldn't have expected more.

“I guess I tried for better days,” he says, the words coming before he realized he even put them together. 

Johnny perks up at that, adjusting in his seat again. Taeyong does not know why he feels the need to call out the obvious now, but somehow being here, where no one else could hear them, he feels like he can. 

“You wrote it?” he asks. “The haiku.” 

Johnny grins at that, not attempting to hide. “Yeah, I did.” 

Taeyong tries to bite down the smirk stretching his mouth. 

“It wasn't really part of the assignment,” he says. 

Johnny's hands cross over on the wheel as he turns at a stoplight, into streets that Taeyong finally starts to recognize. They are quiet for a while, and for a moment Taeyong thinks that Johnny will say nothing at all. 

But then, Johnny shows up like he always does. 

“It wasn't meant to be graded.” 

Taeyong has to make it back to his front door one way or another, and trying get a glance at the time on Johnny's phone made him dizzy. Luckily enough for him they are pulling up to his apartment complex within minutes, slowing through what seems like an eternity of speed bumps. When Johnny pulls up, he parks the car and instantly gets out, coming around to the other side of it. 

He opens Taeyong's door and holds his hand out. 

Taeyong has too much pride even this many drinks deep to take the offer of his hand, but he isn't above himself to hold onto the sides of the car when he climbs out. Johnny cautiously follows him, quickly getting the hint to not stay too close. Taeyong wonders why Johnny didn't leave then, but something about him told him that dropping Taeyong off in the dark lot was not good enough for Johnny.

Up the stairs to the second floor, Taeyong's front door opens directly to the outside. He fumbles around his pockets to find his key, having moved it for some reason while dealing with all his pre-date nerves. He feels these same nerves now too, just as stupidly hopeless as they were at the start of the night. 

“I suppose I should thank you,” Taeyong says when he turns back to Johnny. 

Johnny smiles again. 

“All good,” he says before hesitating another moment. “Could I, uh, use your bathroom before I go?” 

Taeyong shrugs, which in his world means agreement, then pushes his door open to let both of them in. His hands are piloting themselves as they reach for the light switch, feet wiggling his shoes off and tucking them under the rack. 

“First door on the right,” Taeyong points down the hall. “Don't trip on the boxes.” 

Johnny does not hesitate as he follows Taeyong's direction, stepping over the boxes and piles of half-unpacked things that crowd his way. He does not make any unnecessary comments about it as Taeyong was hoping he would not, shutting the bathroom door behind himself while Taeyong makes his way to the kitchen to chug water. 

By the time Taeyong is downing his second glass Johnny comes out of the bathroom, with him the smell of Taeyong's hand soap. This time he looks directly at the unbuilt furniture, most of its still scattered around in unopened boxes. 

“Seems like an odd time of the year to move,” Johnny says. 

Taeyong rolls his eyes, because he can do that now, within the safe confines of his home. 

“Yeah well,” Taeyong says. “Things happen.” 

Johnny approaches the kitchen and stops on the other side of the island, inquisitive eyes looking Taeyong over.  

“Chan?” 

Taeyong cannot understand why he won't just leave. 

“What about him?” he bites back.

That makes Johnny pull back, holding up a hand. “Sorry, just guessing.” 

The water glass slams on the marble so hard that Taeyong worries for a split second that his force will break it. He looks up to Johnny again after confirming no cracks. 

“Instead of guessing you can just ask.” 

Johnny looks taken aback by that, yet does not let the opportunity go to waste. 

“Sure,” he says. “Chan is your ex, isn't he?” 

Taeyong did not actually expect Johnny to seize the chance so boldly like this. He could try to be bold too.

“He is.” 

“Why did you break up?” 

Taeyong scoffs and averts his gaze, losing. 

“Why should I even answer that?” 

Johnny is just ready to say something but stops himself. Taeyong wonders how long he will spend wondering exactly what he wanted to say, in that split moment. 

“You're answering everything else.”

Johnny moves again, this time stepping around the surface between them to approach Taeyong. At the same time that he stops Taeyong takes a step back, not ready to have Johnny in his space like this. He cannot guarantee that he will be able to stop himself if Johnny makes the first move. 

Taeyong knows he has to be the better of them two — the one who knows better than to do this, to lean into the tension pulling taut between them. Taeyong senses the faintest hints of how Johnny could completely fill his life. 

Suddenly Johnny is reaching around himself, into his back pocket. He pulls out a phone — Taeyong's phone, and sets it on the table. 

“Almost left it at the bar,” he says. 

Taeyong is entirely dumbfounded, not bothering to push his glasses up his nose back to their place.  

“You shouldn't keep your friends waiting,” Taeyong says. 

He can tell that Johnny does not want to leave but once again cannot understand him for it. They should be nothing but names to each other, the same polite exchanges.

“Yeah, you're right.” 

Nevertheless Johnny agrees, making his way out of Taeyong's apartment without having to be told twice.

One chance is lost once
A mistake I will not make
If you will let me

###-###-####

Taeyong stares wide-eyed at the note until the paper starts to tremble. 

It's still the middle of the class period and he knows he cannot make it obvious how much these words threw him off balance. Even more so, the numbers. 

The quiet of the room feels like it's closing in on him, all while the students silently take their exams. Why Taeyong had not graded this assignment until now, he has no excuses for himself.  

Two more students turn their exams in and clear out, and he cannot get himself to look up, to see whether Johnny is noticing his reaction. It would make it so, so much worse if he did. 

A chair screeches and this time it must be Johnny, making his way down the aisles and forcing Taeyong's gaze again. He cannot look away now, and the eye contact is crushing him into his seat as Johnny makes his way to the front. 

Taeyong has to put an end to this now. 

“See me in my office after class.” 

Johnny tenses, so clearly swallowing his own reaction down. 

“Sure,” he says, before walking away to wait out the final minutes of the hour. 

The final student leaves before the full hour is up, and Taeyong carries the stack of papers in a tense silence all the way back to his office, turning over and over in his head exactly what he is going to say.  

Johnny is sitting on a wooden bench outside the closed door, still seeming so large under the low ceilings of the oak halls. Taeyong clears his throat to get his attention, opening his door without a word for Johnny to follow. 

“First of all,” he starts, trying to keep his voice low and steady. “Thank you for the other night. I… appreciated your help getting me home.” 

It comes out as strained as it feels, over the understanding that just as Taeyong despises the obligation to do this, Johnny in turn has no need to be thanked. 

“You don't have to do this,” Johnny reassures him, almost convincing enough for Taeyong to believe. Taeyong has to make the distance clear, to draw the line. 

“Second of all,” he presses on. “You cannot leave me your number.”

Johnny has the audacity to smirk at that, even when Taeyong tries to stare every dagger into him, every frustration he can manage. 

“How can you be sure it's my number?” Johnny asks, his suspended smile showing the flicker of his tongue as he speaks. “You want it to be?” 

Taeyong is astounded — equally by Johnny's forwardness and his own inability to answer to it. His anger usually came so easily to him, but around Johnny he feels it all just cave in. 

“I saw that your bedroom is still in bad shape after the move,” Johnny says, his words rendering Taeyong completely speechless. “Call me if you need any help with it.”

Taeyong must have gone completely insane. 

He's been staring at the screen of his phone for what feels like hours, watching it go black before tapping it awake again, back to the numbers on the dial pad. 

He should have thrown out the note as soon as he returned to his office. A part of him wanted to do it — to rip it up across the scribbled lines of Johnny's handwriting, to completely erase its existence out of this world. But he believes in some of what he teaches in units on ontology — the nature of the universe, that once something has been created its idea does not cease. 

The note lingers in Taeyong's fingers, over the opened void of the trash can. The longer he hesitates the stronger the pull to the other end, succumbing him to his feelings about Johnny. The words spoken in his office come back to him again, how Johnny pummeled through his weak attempts at setting a boundary to get to where they both really wanted to be.  

Johnny seems like someone who knows exactly what to do with him. 

Taeyong gets the entire string of numbers into the neon white line on his phone, his thumb hovering over the green button still hesitating to dial. He thinks about what Johnny will sound like when he picks up the phone. Remembering the night he was left waiting for his date that never showed up — Taeyong wonders how far Johnny is willing to go to be with him. 

Before he can press the button, his phone starts vibrating in his hand. 

It's a call, coming in from Johnny. 

“How is your name already saved in my phone?” is the first thing that Taeyong says when he picks up, bypassing all the unnecessary niceties. How could he be surprised at this point, that he is on Johnny's mind when Taeyong is thinking of him too? 

“Did it when I used your bathroom,” Johnny says, his voice warm, sleepy on the other end. “Sorry, not sorry.” 

Taeyong chews on his lower lip. 

“Why are you calling?” 

His own voice gives away the intent of the question, circling around him. 

“How's your bed?” Johnny asks. “You built the frame yet?” 

A heat crawls its way up Taeyong's neck. 

“You're very forward,” he says. 

Johnny's answer is instant. “And yet you haven't told me to back off.” 

Taeyong goes completely quiet, tethering right on the edge of giving in. Everything in his right mind should be pulling him off the ledge, while the worst part of him fights to become the loudest. It faces him with the truth — that he would probably let Johnny do anything to him. 

“Listen, Taeyong,” Johnny says, his voice deliberately quieter, making Taeyong hold his breath. “I can be there in ten minutes.” 

Taeyong swallows a knot in his throat. 

“I-I only have a mattress on the floor.” 

Johnny chuckles. “I really don't care.” 

When the call goes dead, Taeyong cannot stop himself from noting the time. But it ultimately does not matter, how fast the ten minutes pass by — because as soon as Johnny gets here, Taeyong will have to tell him to leave. 

He cannot sleep with his student — not even if he was the most desperate man on Earth and Johnny is one of the most attractive men he could ever be with. Taeyong still has to admit to himself, that he would not have thought about Johnny twice, not noticed him from within the sea of students in his class. Not until Johnny climbed his way into his life, made him laugh, took him home. 

A knock on the door — and Taeyong gathers all his thoughts in his mouth. 

He probably should check what he's wearing, at least take a good look in the mirror to see if he's worth touching at all. But he senses Johnny's palatable presence on the other side of the door, and it tells him that Johnny is ready to take him as he is. 

Taeyong's hand grips the door handle, the other undoing the lock, and they pull in unison. Taeyong takes a step back to let the door open all the way, slow at first. Just as Taeyong had anticipated it reveals Johnny — in a shirt a layer too light for this weather, in dark-washed jeans. His palm comes up against the door, pushing it open as he steps into the apartment. 

“Johnny, we c—” 

“Tell me you want me to leave,” Johnny's hand grips the edge of the door, throwing it closed behind him. It shuts with a bit of force, sending a gust of wind to toss his hair out of place. “Like you mean it.” 

Taeyong averts his gaze but in his view is only Johnny's body — everywhere he looks there are parts of him, no longer his student but a maddeningly gorgeous man. His long legs, shoulders widening out to toned arms. When Taeyong looks up to his face his lips are just as devastatingly perfect. And Johnny's eyes, a mesmerizing dark brown that pulls him in, hinting at everything that he will give Taeyong, if only he will let him. 

Taeyong's hands find their fit around Johnny's neck, pulling him down to himself and he rises on his toes in turn. He tilts his head up and Johnny is already meeting him halfway, meeting his mouth in a kiss. 

Johnny's arms wrap around him and Taeyong falls into him in an instant. He is warm and sturdy under his hold, his lips moving intently against his. Kissing Johnny feels like floating, like he's trying to speak to Taeyong through his touch. His lips are so tender against Taeyong's, teeth coming out to nip at his only to hear him gasp.

“Fuck,” Johnny is gasping between them in the brief moment that he pulls way. “Taeyong.” 

Words become completely lost on Taeyong then, when Johnny bends in front of him and slides his hands under his thighs, hoisting him up against the wall. 

Taeyong is about to protest about the position, but Johnny presses him harder into the wall, his lips finding their way to the column of Taeyong's neck. With a moan rolling out of him Taeyong turns his head to give him more access, feeling how Johnny goes from using his tongue into letting his teeth scrape against the skin, nipping at the vein. 

His hands gripping into Johnny's hair Taeyong rolls his hips against him, feeling the hardness of his body against his groin. Until now, Taeyong was not certain of the extent of Johnny's fitness. But any remaining doubt leaves him when Johnny holds him up against the wall, steady on his feet with one hand still managing to roam Taeyong's body, mouth moving up to nip at the shell of his ear. 

“Let's see that mattress.” 

Before Taeyong can answer he feels himself be pulled off the wall, away from its security under him. Taeyong has no choice but to find his grip around Johnny's shoulders, clinging onto him for balance. Not that Taeyong had spent an excessive amount of time thinking about what it would be like, to sleep with Johnny.  

Still, he did not expect Johnny just to take him wherever he needed him. 

Johnny has a good memory of his apartment as he carries Taeyong directly to the bedroom. He does not mess with the door too long, kicking it open to take him directly to the mattress on the floor — scattered with an embarrassing number of pillows and blankets, with Taeyong never really expecting to get laid here.

But Johnny seems entirely focused on nothing but him, laying Taeyong down on his back and reaching for his glasses. He takes them off his face, sets them aside on the shelf that makes its use as a bedstand, then immediately goes for the tie of Taeyong's sweatpants. He pulls them down his hips, leaving him in the cut-up muscle tee that serves as his sleep shirt. Johnny takes it by the hem and rides it up Taeyong's stomach, finally diving in for his body.

His lips make contact with the sensitive skin of his abdomen, just under his belly button. Taeyong groans at the touch, completely covers with goosebumps as Johnny's hands slide down his torso. He takes Taeyong's hips and pushes them down into the bed to stop Taeyong from writhing, all while his breaths picking up with soft, pleading moans.  

Johnny does not hesitate to take him into his mouth, lips wrapping around the head of Taeyong's cock and sucking him in. Taeyong arches, resisting against Johnny's hold while his own hands grip down in the blankets, trying to ground him. But he is already losing his mind — it just feels too good to be touched by someone who seems like he will not get enough of him. 

Sinking his lips down his length Johnny moans around it too, panting as he really works around him. At this pace Taeyong knows he will not last long and his hands fly down to grip Johnny's hair, pulling him off as his own mouth goes dry. 

Johnny comes up with a frown — his eyebrows low over dark eyes, mouth glistening with spit. He shakes his hair out of his face, taking Taeyong's hands away from him one by one. 

“Hands behind your back,” he says.

Taeyong thought he would have a little more resistance in him, but Johnny's voice lulls him into some sort of dream. He bites down on his lip and does as he is told, awkwardly folding his arms and tucking them under himself between his lower back and the mattress. 

Johnny sinks down on him again, sucking him in until the head of his cock hits the back of his throat. His mouth feels so good around Taeyong, somewhere in the back of his head the thoughts knocking on, wondering who else had Johnny been with prior to him. Although Taeyong is older — much older, and with that likely more experienced — Johnny's hunger for him is nothing like Taeyong has ever felt before. 

The next moment Johnny is pulling off, taking advantage of Taeyong's position to take him and roll him over onto his stomach. He grabs hold of the bundle of Taeyong's hands against his back, bringing his wrists together under one grip.

With the other he takes Taeyong's hips and pulls him up towards his face, bringing him closer until Johnny's tongue meets his flesh. Taeyong groans and the sound gets stuffed into the pillow that his face is smashed into, silencing his cries. 

Meanwhile Johnny's tongue continues working him, circling around his entrance and probing its way inside. He puts his entire mouth around him and Taeyong feels completely devoured, with Johnny's hums running as vibrations throughout him as he eats him out. 

After a moment Johnny pulls away, panting heavily as he catches his breath. His hand presses harder into the lock of Taeyong's wrists against his back. 

“You taste really fucking good.” 

His voice is scratchy when he says it, and Taeyong fears for a moment that it's what will finally bring him over the edge. But he hangs in there, still somewhat tethered to reality and so, so close to coming. 

This time Johnny comes up to crawl over him, his lips traveling over the shirt on his back until it meets the bare skin of his shoulder. Johnny's scent overwhelms Taeyong, barely catching the smell of his own bedroom with how it takes him over. The grip is loosened on his hands, and he brings them back up next to his head, to cling onto the sheets under him as Johnny comes up to kiss his ear. 

“I want to give you what you like,” he says. 

Taeyong grins at that, so wide that it probably looks deranged, deformed by its pressing into the pillow.  

“You seem to have figured it out.” 

Johnny's hand travels from his shoulder down his back, gripping Taeyong's ass as his hips push back up into him. 

“You just seem like…” Johnny trails off, finding it impossible to keep his mouth off Taeyong even for a spare second. “Like actually fucking crazy.” 

“Mmm,” Taeyong moans, feeling Johnny's hand grip and knead his ass. “I don't know about that.” 

Johnny's hand leaves him, then lands on his ass in a slap. At the first spank Taeyong is surprised, but when the next one comes he relaxes into it immediately, feeling the impact electrifying and frying up all the nerves in his brain. As if on instinct he curves up into the impact, letting Johnny take up all his senses as he floats away. 

“I knew it,” Johnny says, raising his voice to be heard over the sounds of the slaps. “Knew you'd be like this.” 

“Like what?” Taeyong asks over his own gasps, his cock weeping with arousal and trapped between him and the bed. Each spank drives it deeper into the fabric, the tip of it leaks a tiny stain.  

“Perfect,” Johnny says. “So fucking perfect for me.” 

He stops the spanking and pulls away, then Taeyong hears the sound of Johnny's jeans unzipping. His mind barely keeps up until there’s a package ripping open, Johnny spitting out, then the smell of latex. Taeyong can certainly appreciate that he came prepared tonight, even if it does make him feel a bit slutty for it.  

But he is long past the point of worrying about that, whatever impression he is leaving. He wants to be fucked, so badly, and he has a feeling that Johnny is not going to go easy on him — he hopes he won't. 

Johnny pushes his cock against his ass, sliding in between without going inside. When its heavy heat first touches Taeyong he releases a guttural moan, rabid with the need to feel it fill him. He pushes back against him again, receiving a hand in his hair that turns him face-down, burying his sounds into the bed. 

Thankfully Johnny starts with his fingers first, the two of them feeling out Taeyong's sensitive ass before going inside, pushing and pulling him apart. Taeyong shakes under him, struggling to relax when Johnny is doing everything that he can to make him go into overdrive, stimulating him by fulfilling all his fantasies, everything that Taeyong has dreamt about. Taeyong cries out and it gets deafened again, his body starting to go limp to the pressure of Johnny's fingers stretching him out. 

By the time the third finger comes Taeyong gives in much more to it, letting himself be pulled apart. Johnny is slow and methodical but shows little mercy to Taeyong's cries from being so overwhelmed with pleasure. He pulls his fingers out and that makes Taeyong cry out too, punished by the harder press of the hand against the back of his head.

When Johnny's cock pushes inside it feels almost too big to fit. Taeyong's breaths come out fast and shallow, ready to beg Johnny to keep going until he is all the way in. Taeyong needs to feel him — all of him, to know exactly what Johnny is made of. 

Johnny moves in agonizingly slowly, his mouth hanging open against the back of Taeyong's neck, then closing up in a kiss. His hand releases its grip from Taeyong's hair, coming down in a tender slide down his back to where he can grab hold of his hips. 

Taeyong's hands ball up into fists next to his head, feeling Johnny fill him out completely as he is almost all in. He is so much bigger than Taeyong had imagined him to be — and with the way Johnny worships Taeyong, Taeyong thinks he really should have done this sooner. 

“O-oh—” 

Taeyong moans out when Johnny is all the way in, then stops. 

“I know,” Johnny says, his voice a low whisper. “I know it's deep.” 

By now Taeyong is seeing stars, feeling how Johnny's fullness presses against his prostate, against every part within him, stretching him out to his limits. He tries to move his hips against him and it's even more maddening, the feel of his slow grind inside him. 

“Please,” Taeyong pleads. 

Johnny's arm somehow wiggles in under him and wraps around, pressing him so close against his chest that Taeyong almost loses the ability to breathe. 

“I got you,” Johnny says. “I'll give it to you.” 

The first thrust of Johnny's hips has Taeyong's mind spinning. He fucks into him slowly, and the slow drag of him against Taeyong's prostate has him quickly falling apart into a trembling mess, coming into the first layer of blankets on his bed.

Johnny stops as soon as he feels Taeyong tense up, pulling up off him to give him the space to breathe. He is red from his shoulders down his arms, his neck is blushed hot, and there are remnant marks from Johnny's fingers along his ass. Johnny looks him over as he himself gathers his breath before taking him and turning him over onto his back, limb by limb.

The scattered light of his bedroom shocks Taeyong, even if it's just the few lamps that he has plugged into the corners of the room. His vision is still blurry when he regains whatever he has of it, seeing Johnny's silhouette towering above him. 

Taeyong's legs are still weakly trembling in the aftermath of his climax, with Johnny's cock still hard and filling him out. He mindlessly grinds down into it, his hips circling a lazy, reckless pattern, watching how the lines of Johnny's face contort, and his mouth fall open.

He takes Johnny's hand and brings it up to his mouth, his wet breaths scattering along the skin as his lips press a few kisses then open to it, letting Johnny's thumb hook onto his teeth. He closes his mouth around it and sucks in, letting his tongue lap at the salty skin. 

“Fuck—” Johnny moans. “You are literally the hottest person I've ever—” 

Taeyong bites down onto his finger, then innocently opens his mouth to release it. He thinks Johnny will shove more fingers inside, fuck his face as he fucks his guts out, but instead Johnny's hand slides until his palm covers Taeyong's mouth. His hand grabs around nearly the entirety of his jaw and squeezes, choking down any words. 

Taeyong's eyes roll to the back of his head as he feels Johnny's hips pick up speed into him, letting Taeyong feel more and more of his length with each thrust. Johnny fucks him up the mattress until the pillows are a fort piled against the wall.  

Taeyong's hands fly up to grab around Johnny's wrist — not to pull him away but rather to keep himself hanging on. He feels that his own cock has filled out again, bouncing wetly against the skin of his abdomen as Johnny fucks him faster. And just as he's about to pull Johnny's hand off he feels his movements stutter and lose their rhythm before he drives in deep and lets out a long moan, coming inside Taeyong into the condom. 

He slumps over, his hand loosening around Taeyong's mouth and moving up to caress his hair. Taeyong thinks he'll pull out and roll away, find himself in the clarity of the aftermath, but instead Johnny comes closer and kisses him. Taeyong releases a surprised gasp into his mouth but kisses back anyway, letting his hands slide under Johnny's shirt and up his waist. Johnny is still clothed and Taeyong blames his own desperation, regretting not getting to see his body that he has no doubt is as gorgeous as is everything about him. 

Johnny is the one that breaks the kiss first, pulling away from him to start to slowly pull out. He looks down to where their bodies are connected and notices Taeyong's cock, his erection still not having died down. 

“I can keep going.” 

Taeyong bites down his lip to keep a moan from slipping out, trying to stop it in his throat. He cannot deny Johnny in the state that he is in, and Johnny is already wearing a determined look on his face as he pulls out, his hands taking the filled condom off his cock and disposing of it. 

He lines up again and this time he is hesitant, eyes back to searching Taeyong's face.

“Is it—”

“Yes,” Taeyong's response is instant, shoving at all his doubts. “Yes, k-keep fucking me.” 

Johnny nods and braces himself over Taeyong again — his one hand props him up on the wall right above him, no doubt thinking that a bed frame would come in very handy right now. His other hand wraps around Taeyong's thigh and pushes his leg up, spreading him in a crude position that exposes him. He lines his cock up again and pushes in, Taeyong still gaping and allowing him in with less resistance. 

Releasing his thigh he feels Johnny's hand come up to grab around his throat, using the hold on him to push his body down onto his cock. This time Johnny does not wait to pick up his speed, fucking shallow but hard into Taeyong to have him a crying mess under him in seconds. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes as he is pushed to the edge so fast, ready to throw himself over it. 

Then after a moment Johnny's hand on his neck releases and moves down to wrap around Taeyong's cock, still tender from his first orgasm but receptive to his touch, sensitive to every movement. Within two strokes Taeyong is crying out in a series of pleas and plunges into his climax, pleasure curving his back and permeating through his body. 

Johnny's hips come to a stop with his cock still buried in Taeyong, taking in his breaths as hisses through his teeth. He pulls out slowly, likely at the limit of his sensitivity from fucking Taeyong with a spent cock. Still he lets out a deep breath when he is all the way out, falling on top of Taeyong without a care for his own size or the pool of Taeyong's release between them.

“Tomorrow,” he says. “I'll build you that bed frame.”

In the morning, Taeyong gets out of bed as soon as he wakes up. 

It's not the most pleasant experience, walking with the dried-up lube still between his legs, way too low on his thighs. His stomach had been cleaned up when Johnny had helped him wipe up his own release, soon drifting into sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow again. 

But now he doesn't look back behind him as he quietly makes his way out of the bedroom. His thoughts are already going a million miles ahead of him, and seeing Johnny's sleeping form on the bed might add a million more.  

He goes to the bathroom to wash his face, brushing his teeth while avoiding the mirror and staring off into the stained-glass window in the upper corner of the room. He decides not to take a shower for now because it would make too much noise, and Taeyong is not really prepared to be facing Johnny awake. 

So he takes himself into the kitchen, thankfully tucked into the far corner of his apartment past the living room. He doesn't have anything in his fridge to cook, nothing to really offer, so he starts setting a pot of coffee to brew. Maybe giving his hands something to do will get him distracted enough to get his mind together.

Taeyong slept with his student — and if he was honest with himself, he would do it again. There was no going back from this admission, and yet Taeyong still feels completely lost.  

He should have a little more control over his life than this. He had it when he broke it off with Chan and has not looked back since, no matter how lonely he ended up feeling.

Then why is it so hard for him to deny himself this? 

The coffee machine hisses and hums, eventually starting the slow drip into the mug. Even over its sound Taeyong hears the footsteps coming, heavy even though he is sure that Johnny means to be unintrusive. 

When Taeyong turns, Johnny is slow to cross the room to come up to him, still wiping the sleep out of his eyes. Taeyong drops his gaze, and it makes Johnny stop just short of closing in on him. Taeyong knows that any hesitation that comes from him is nothing but a reflection of his own. 

“Is it okay if I touch you?” Johnny asks. 

He has no right to make Johnny feel bad about this when Taeyong wanted it as much as Johnny did. Waking up today, he still wants it. 

“Of course,” he says, letting himself give in, just for now. 

Johnny comes up behind him and places his hands around his waist, circling around Taeyong until he can rest his palms on the hips. Taeyong's breath hitches at the touch, so warm, all-encompassing. He leans back into Johnny who receives him, wraps around him more. 

“Are you still gonna panic about this?” 

Taeyong sighs again. “Maybe.” 

That has Johnny pulling away, using the grip on Taeyong's hips to turn him around until they're face-to-face. Taeyong is surprised at how much hurt paints Johnny's expression, his hands still on Taeyong's body but restless atop his skin. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” Johnny insists. “There isn't some rule against this.” 

“Let's not talk about this right now,” Taeyong cuts him off, turning out of his hold completely, back to face the counter. “You want coffee?” 

Johnny pauses before answering, his hands folding up where they moments ago held onto him. “Sure.” 

Taeyong goes quiet too, pulls out a mug from the cabinet and pours Johnny's coffee. He wonders if Johnny feels this tension too, because it's almost suffocating him. Even worse knowing that it's nothing but his fault.

“Sorry,” he finally breaks his own silence. “I know I'm difficult.” 

Johnny smiles at that. “Nothing wrong with that.” 

Taeyong slides the coffee along the counter to Johnny, all while the pull to him seems stronger than ever. All these barriers that Taeyong had created in his head, they only made him want him more.  

“You seem to take everything really easy,” he says. 

Johnny shrugs at that, looking into his own mug as he takes it, tests the temperature. He seems to gather his thoughts for a while before he finally speaks. “I've dealt with a lot in my life.” 

Taeyong nods at that, even though he can feel how much there is bubbling under the surface. He knows he should not meddle, but his curiosity gets the better of him, wondering how much more Johnny hides beneath what he could see. Taeyong does not know if he even has the right to ask him.  

“Would you tell me more?” he says regardless of the echoes of guilt knocking at the back of his head. 

“I have four siblings, and my parents aren't the best at taking care of them,” Johnny explains. “As the oldest I pretty much always have to make sure they're okay. It's not easy, balancing all that and trying to graduate at the same time.” 

Taeyong hides his reaction in the sip of his coffee, processing all the information at once. It's no wonder Johnny has been so thoughtful with him, so gentle. Even now he lets Taeyong have his own space to reach out, without overwhelming him with his touch. 

“Is that why you quit sport too?” Taeyong asks. 

“Yeah,” Johnny says. “Needed to start working more.” 

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Taeyong offers, though the words come out tense. “For what it's worth, I can tell that you care a lot. I'm sure they see it too.” 

Johnny smiles at that but it comes weighed with a sadness. “Thanks.” 

Taeyong sets his mug down in a sort of defeat, shooting a few stray droplets of coffee on his hand in impact.  

“Sorry, I'm…” Taeyong trails off. “I'm no good at this.” 

Johnny shakes his head as his free hand moves towards Taeyong's on the countertop, steadily until their fingers can entwine. 

“Not at all, Taeyong,” Johnny says, his eyes fixated on the meeting of their hands. “I really like being around you. With you, I feel a sense of peace I don't often get.” 

Suddenly he's looking up and into Taeyong's eyes, his pupils shaking as he breaks out into another smile, so unapologetically sincere. 

“Ah, sorry, if it's too much,” he says. “You're also insanely attractive, so I'm having a hard time.”

Taeyong has failed to notice how his own body already pulls itself towards Johnny, turning towards him and neck stretching, tilting his head up to lean in closer, like a magnet to his lips. 

Just before he meets his mouth Johnny turns away, his hands coming up in front of his face. 

“I s-should brush my teeth first,” he smiles sheepishly at Taeyong, half covering it up. “Sorry.” 

“No, I'd rather you did,” Taeyong pulls back too. “There will be spares under the sink.” 

Johnny's eyebrows rise suggestively but he does not say anything other than one word. “Thanks.” 

When he leaves Taeyong first realizes how hot he has burned up, his heart racing in his chest at the smallest touch. He either had to be the most neglected man alive, or something about Johnny made all his nerve endings cross. 

He takes both of their mugs and leaves the kitchen for the living room, the small walk to shake out his thoughts. He sets their drinks on the coffee table and collapses on the couch, still feeling so tired despite an impressively full night of sleep. Taeyong has been surprising himself at every turn, down to not kicking Johnny out as soon as he saw him occupying his bed in the morning's light. 

Taeyong is deep into his own thoughts when Johnny comes back, taking him by surprise when he takes the seat next to him.  

“You know, it feels nice being in a quiet home like this for once,” Johnny says. 

Taeyong understands what he means. In all his years, he had a lot of living arrangements. During his studies, half of his struggle was just getting along with the people he was living with. 

“It's still a long way away from being a home,” Taeyong says, unable to ignore the packages in boxes stacked up in the empty spaces of the apartment. This was not like him, to leave clutter everywhere. But since his life started feeling so empty he seemed to cling on to anything that would not make it feel like so.  

It's why when he looks over at Johnny, he wants to crawl into his lap, to pick up where they left off. 

“You'll get there,” Johnny turns to him with another grin. “You've got me now.” 

Taeyong pushes up off his seat as if by command of something other than him. It's like he is outside of himself, watching himself climb into Johnny's lap, assuming his place with legs around his hips. Johnny's hands are on him in an instant, pulling him hard enough so that Taeyong falls forward onto his chest. As soon as he can reach him Johnny is kissing Taeyong, lips pressing roughly against his, knocking his glasses aside as his fingers take his face. 

They both slept in shorts so getting them naked against each other takes little effort. Taeyong throws his clothes aside, yearning to feel Johnny's skin against his everywhere he can get access. He takes Johnny's cock out and tries to fit them both in one hand, squeezing them against one another. 

Johnny's hands move down to kneading his ass, forcing a rhythm into Taeyong's hips as he grinds against him. Retreating his tongue from Taeyong's mouth he pulls away, looking down to where Taeyong strokes them both. As much as he can bend down, he spits down onto the heads, aiming impressively well as Taeyong spreads it out over them, the slide feeling a bit easier.

He feels each one of Johnny's moans against his neck, stuck right under his ear where he kisses the skin. His lips close up around it and he sucks down, memorably hard. Taeyong usually wouldn't be caught dead with hickeys on his neck, especially not in class, but this time he finds it hard to care. Johnny feels so good under his lap, holding him so close that Taeyong has no space to think. 

“I'm close…” Johnny murmurs when he detaches from the wet skin, his words broken off with a gasp. “Fuck, Taeyong.” 

Taeyong's hand loosens around them but does not slow down, filled with pride at how little it took to bring Johnny here. Taeyong has a feeling that Johnny would do anything that he asks. 

“I still want you to fuck me,” Taeyong says. 

“Oh, oh— Then s-slow down—” Johnny's hands are gripping into his skin, thumbs digging deep into his hipbones. “Ah, wait…” 

Taeyong releases them both as they pant against each other, trying to regain whatever air they can into their lungs. But Taeyong does not wait long before he is guiding Johnny's cock between his legs, still slicked up with Johnny's spit and their pre-come. It might take some effort but Taeyong hopes he is still loose enough from last night because he does not think he can keep being patient anymore. He can't just keep on being good. 

Nudging the head of Johnny's cock against his entrance Taeyong lifts his hips and breathes out, letting him sink inside him slowly. Taeyong gasps at the first intrusion, using Johnny's shoulders to hold himself up as he guides himself down on his cock, again a tighter fit than he was ready for.  

He does not stop until he is all the way inside, shaking down to his ankles as his overwhelmed body tries to adjust. 

Johnny's hands stroke slow paths up his back, one hand coming to brush though his hair. It's so much more tender than how roughly he treated Taeyong last night, and the duality makes Taeyong even more confused, more entranced by him. This is way too much for just a simple hook-up, Taeyong thinks, way too intimate. 

Using the hold on Johnny's shoulders Taeyong experimentally moves his hips, grinding down onto him. They moan in unison at the movement, Taeyong squeezing the life out of Johnny while Johnny fills him up to the brim. 

“God, you're so hot,” Johnny says, his hands feeling trails up Taeyong's curves, squeezing him anywhere he can reach. “Oh, God.” 

Taeyong's eyes focus as much as they can on the image of Johnny underneath him, panting and glistening with sweat, his face fragmenting into something broken as Taeyong's hips drive him mad. When they finally make eye contact Taeyong cannot look away, the look in Johnny's eyes piercing him through. 

“Johnny, I'm—” 

“Almost, I'm almost— Fuck—” 

Their cries die out in the space between them as Taeyong's hips slam down into Johnny's lap and he is releasing between them into the fist of Johnny's hand. As he tenses and clenches up around Johnny he is coming too, driving his cock up and deeper into him to ride out the small, stuttered waves of his orgasm.  

Johnny head falls back against the couch, exposing the red and wet panes of his neck as he releases a long breath. Watching him take long, exhausted puffs like he is the one that just rode his life out has Taeyong leaning into him, teeth going for his neck.  

Johnny gasps at the touch, his hands answering where his words cannot. He pulls Taeyong up towards his face again, meeting him with his lips. Johnny never seems to tire of kissing Taeyong, and Taeyong finds himself feeling the same. 

They manage to catch their breaths while sharing slow and lazy kisses, hesitating to pull apart. But Taeyong knows the longer he waits the worse the situation on their soiled groins will be, so he forces himself to break off. 

“I'm going to need to clean up,” he says, his voice hoarse from a dried-up throat. 

Johnny nods. “If you want to take a shower, I'll get started on the bed frame.” 

Taeyong groans, forgetting that Johnny meant that seriously. 

“Then I'll be taking my time.”

“Hey, Taeyong—” 

“Oh!” Taeyong jumps up in his chair, his heart jolting into his throat. “Don't scare me like that.” 

Ten lingers in the doorway of Taeyong's office, his hand hovering just next to the wood of the doorframe like he meant to knock. Taeyong thinks he probably should have, because he was completely gone in his own thoughts, not having even heard the other professor come in. 

“It's just me, relax,” Ten says, crossing his arms across his chest. “Just wanted to check that you're still up for happy hour tonight.”

Taeyong nods, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down from the initial shock. 

“I am,” Taeyong answers, throwing himself back into the chair. “I can meet you there after my last class.”

“Fine with me,” Ten says, and he is about to make his way back out but another look at Taeyong has him lingering in the doorway. “What's got you so tense?” 

Taeyong hasn't really thought about how to tell Ten about his relationship with Johnny, whatever it was between them. He felt much too ashamed to admit it, that he had fallen so easily for a student. Ignoring the decade difference in their ages, let alone the fact that Johnny was still dependent on Taeyong to pass him in class. Everything about this screamed trouble, and yet Taeyong is the fool who somehow managed to ignore all of that. 

“I'll tell you over drinks,” Taeyong finally answers, not realizing how long he had Ten hanging. But Ten seems satisfied with that response, slipping back out of the office with a cheery goodbye. 

When Taeyong makes his way to the classroom, he carries the heaviest weight on his chest, guilt and shame and his attraction to Johnny outweighs the rest of it. He does not know how he will make it through this session, knowing that Johnny will be sitting there, listening to him lecture while knowing how Taeyong sounded when he pounded him into the mattress. 

Then with another horror Taeyong realizes today is day of presentations, with Johnny on the docket for one of them. Taeyong does not think he can handle sitting through even a minute of watching Johnny present, not without his face burning up and otherwise making it all very obvious. Taeyong has a terrible poker face, and he just cannot stand any sort of pretending. 

“Change of plans today, everyone,” Taeyong walks in front of the class, waving his hands to get the attention of the students. “Pick a partner. You'll be presenting to each other.” 

The students pause in unison, looking around to check with each other like they don't all share the same confusion. A student from the front of the class speaks up among all. 

“Isn't that a bit chaotic?” he asks. 

Taeyong shrugs, walking back around his desk to assume his seat. 

“Prepares you for the chaos of life,” he says, ready to come up with excuse after excuse. “Think of this as an elevator pitch for your chosen philosopher's theories.” 

Stewing within his thoughts Taeyong tries his hardest not to look at Johnny to gauge his reaction. He has to be strong enough at least this one time.  

Some students begin pairing up, most of them moving slowly and afraid to make the first advance. Taeyong does not care how they get it done, just allows them to do it. They are adults and should be able to figure this out. 

Again he finds it hard to resist his own curiosity when his gaze jumps up, almost entirely against his will, to look directly at Johnny. The other is already looking back at him, a frowning expression on his face as his partner tries to get his attention. Johnny quickly softens then as they both struggle to look away, until Taeyong throws his laptop open in front of him, completely breaking off his line of sight. 

The class proceeds just as disarrayed as one would expect, but Taeyong is pleasantly surprised at how well the students manage it. Perhaps they were already too burned out to fight it, as this is the last assignment before the final exam coming up next month. Most students at this point just start idly waiting for the finish line. 

When the class ends Taeyong stays in the room, not entirely ready to go off and have to explain to Ten everything that has happened up until now. The vast emptiness of the lecture hall is deceptively comforting, and he lingers for longer than he means to, slowly gathering the students' reports rating their partner presentations. 

Thankfully Taeyong remembers before leaving the building that he left his wallet in his office. The hallways have mostly cleared out as he takes a shortcut back, cutting around an area that is usually swarming with students. He turns the corner into the hallway housing his office and catches someone standing by the entrance.  

Taeyong is only halfway through the hall when he realizes that it's Johnny, waiting for him. 

With his heartbeat picking up, Taeyong stops, turns around on his heel and goes in the other direction, out of the building and into the street. 

His feet carry him across the campus so fast that by the time he gets to the bar he is out of breath.  

He is not usually a fan of going to social events so close to the university, mostly for fear of running into anyone he knows, professors and students alike. But he will allow this indulgence to Ten then and now, otherwise Taeyong would find himself spending no time with his friend at all. 

“Finally,” Ten says, with the exact annoyance that Taeyong expected from him. 

“I thought I said I'd need more time,” Taeyong says, shaking his jacket off his shoulders and slipping into the seat across from him. 

“Don't recall,” Ten says, rolling his eyes even though he does not seem all that annoyed. “But it’s fine, Jae is running late too.”

“Oh, he's in town?” Taeyong reaches for the untouched water glass, bringing it towards his mouth to wash down his stress. 

Ten gives him a prolonged look, like Taeyong should have already known this. Somewhere in his mess of a mind, he probably does. 

“You saw him just two days ago,” Ten's face changes from a smile to an actual look of concern, which is the worst-case scenario for Taeyong. He would rather take Ten's roasting any day. “What's been up with you?” 

Taeyong's sigh comes out sharp, dramatic. Thankfully a bartender comes and interrupts them before the pause between them can get too awkward, Taeyong making it even more obvious that something is bothering him. After they order and the bartender leaves, Taeyong is back to gathering his thoughts.

“Ten,” he starts, wincing at how sad he sounds. “It's bad.”

In an instant his friend is rising up in his seat, even more worried than before.

“What's going on?” 

Taeyong pushes his voice down as low as he can, so the admission is barely audible.  

“I slept with a student.”

“Oh,” Ten pulls back, expression even more confused than before. “One of yours?” 

Taeyong nods. 

“A senior?” 

“Of course a senior,” Taeyong says, like that fact makes it any better. 

“Still pretty bad, even for you,” Ten comments, so skilled at lifting the weight off Taeyong's shoulders. “Was it any good? Who was it?” 

“You wouldn't know him,” Taeyong says, completely bypassing his first question.

Ten scoffs. “It's a small school. Try me.” 

The bartender chooses this moment to return then, setting their drinks between them. They thank him in unison, both their voices sweet until they return to the hushed whispers reserved only for the most shameful topics. 

“Johnny Suh.” 

“An athlete?” Ten says with a laugh, mouth spreading into a satisfied grin. At least one of them is finding this amusing. “Damn, Taeyong, talk about having a type.” 

“You're not helping.” 

Ten takes a long sip of his drink, softening the look in his eyes while Taeyong buries his own gaze in the dark liquid inside his glass. 

“I mean, it's really not that bad if it only happened once.” 

Taeyong winces, still avoiding Ten's eyes. 

“Twice.” 

“Jesus, Taeyong,” Ten's hands slide back on the table as he leans into his seat. “Of all the rebounds you could have chosen.” 

“That's not what this is.” 

“Even if it isn't, you can't pretend that this won't affect how you view him in class,” Ten circles his straw in his drink, too many sips into it to worry about the volume of his voice. “And I'm sure Johnny knows that too.” 

Taeyong narrows his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Ten shrugs, like his apparent uncertainly will soften the blow of his words. “I really wouldn't put it above students to do anything for a better grade.”

“In an intro to philosophy class?” Taeyong scoffs, hardly believing that Ten would even suggest this. Taeyong wants to argue that he knows Johnny better than that — but the truth is even tougher to face than having to admit all his sins out loud. 

That despite what it feels like when they're together, Taeyong does not know Johnny at all.

Johnny [8:14 pm]
The butterfly dance
When I find you looking back
I miss it dearly

“How could I miss this the first time?” 

Taeyong laughs at that, even though he does not find Hyunwoo's joke particularly funny. Not when it calls back to him being stood up — but clearly he is not broken up about it enough not to give him another chance. 

Hyunwoo is a great kisser, at least there is that.

“Had something better to do,” Taeyong answers, hissing as he is pressed into the column holding up the stunningly tall ceilings of Hyunwoo's home. 

His lips are soft and full when they move past the line of Taeyong's jaw to his neck, tensing as Taeyong swallows. With Hyunwoo pressing into him like this, encompassing him whole, Taeyong can let go and forget it all. Maybe he can get Hyunwoo to fuck him hard enough to never have to think again. 

He hears a chuckle coming from him as Hyunwoo's lips leave him, pulling up to get a look at Taeyong. Meanwhile Taeyong protests, not wanting to give even the smallest chance for the doubt to start creeping in. He needs Hyunwoo to be rough enough to erase all the previous touch marking him, so he can stop being driven crazy by the memory. 

“Whoa,” Hyunwoo says, his thumbs pressing into either side of Taeyong's neck. “Looks like you found someone to take my place anyway.” 

Taeyong opens his eyes and finds Hyunwoo staring at his neck, the spot where even Taeyong still felt tender from where Johnny had bitten into it. He thought he had covered it up well enough before the date, but clearly he was wrong.  

He thinks back to the way Johnny's fingers weaved into his hair, searching for his lips to kiss them over and over again. The way Johnny held him in his hands, so secure in his lap like both of them could breathe the same breath and never want for more. 

Seeing Hyunwoo tonight, Taeyong hoped to prove something to himself. That all this behavior, all of his faults were from nothing but feeling lonely after Chan. That anyone would be able to fill that void, that Hyunwoo should have been able to. 

But his fingers feel foreign on his skin, grabbing at his arms rather than wrapping around his waist. Hyunwoo wants to take Taeyong for himself, while Johnny wanted nothing but to give him everything he could.  

Ever since Johnny started occupying his mind, Taeyong has not thought about Chan at all. 

The words of the haiku in Johnny's text spin in his mind — I miss it dearly — does he also mean that he is missing Taeyong too? 

“I have to go.” 

“What do you mean?” Hyunwoo lets Taeyong pull away from his hold, struck in his place as he watches Taeyong walk back to where he left his shoes.  

It seems to take Hyunwoo a moment before it finally dawns on him that Taeyong really intends to leave. Watching him crouch down to tie his laces, Hyunwoo finally speaks up.  

“Is this some kind of payback for last time?” 

Taeyong stands up, feeling the sting of hurt from how Hyunwoo seems to think of him. But that is entirely on him, for dragging Hyunwoo into his mess in the first place. 

“This isn't going to work,” Taeyong says, holding his breath. “I'm still hung up on someone. I'm sorry.” 

Without waiting for a response Taeyong leaves, not knowing where to go from there.

Taeyong manages to avoid everyone for nearly a week — not only Johnny, but Ten too, cutting his own office hours short and canceling plans. He does not linger after class any longer than he needs to, making swift way out of the building the first chance he gets.  

He knows what he is doing but he can't get himself to stop. Everything is just too complicated to face right now, too much to even start picking it all apart one by one. The shame wound up in all his longing — he cannot sit still for too long before it starts consuming him completely. 

This thing with Johnny — he doesn't know how he let it get so far, so deep under his skin. And he is still lost at what to do about it. 

He thought he was being sneaky when he had decided to come in on the weekend to finish his work rather than staying after classes. The campus tends to clear out into a calm silence, everyone rather being anywhere else but here, and Taeyong wanted to take advantage of that. 

That's why he is even more surprised that Johnny figures out his play too, catching him in his office before Taeyong can get any serious work done. 

“You've been avoiding me,” he says all matter-of-fact, like he isn't cornering Taeyong.

“Yet you insist on finding me,” Taeyong says, squeezing the bridge of his nose, hoping he can massage some of the pressure away. He should have known that Johnny would not make this easy for him. 

“Tell me what's going on,” Johnny is almost pleading, wearing a sincere look in his eyes that rips Taeyong apart. 

Meanwhile Taeyong doesn't understand how Johnny can't see it, that they were doomed from the second they crossed the line. 

Taeyong pushes to stand up from his chair, wanting to be on the same level with Johnny — at least as much as he could manage. When he sat at his desk, Johnny absolutely towered over him, and it made Taeyong want to swallow all his defenses down his throat.  

He circles around the wooden surface of the desk, standing to lean back against it while leaving a palatable distance between the two of them. 

“Johnny,” he starts, crossing his arms over his chest. “We can't do this.” 

Johnny is shaking his head before Taeyong can even finish. 

“Why didn't that stop you the first two times?” 

Taeyong frowns, already sensing himself be thrown off-balance by Johnny's unwavering defenses. Johnny takes a step toward him and Taeyong finds himself with nowhere to go, blocked in between his desk and Johnny slowly crossing the distance. 

“That…” Taeyong starts, trailing off as he swallows a heavy knot in his throat, the words threatening to choke him up if he doesn't let them out. “It was a mistake.” 

Abruptly Johnny stops in front of him. His face falls, changing into something completely broken. 

“Do you really think that?” he asks. 

Taeyong cannot bring himself to answer, his throat closing up against his will. He just can't bring himself to lie. His hand comes up to his face, shaky, adjusting the glasses by the frail wire frame. 

“It wasn't a mistake to me,” Johnny says, his voice quiet but certain. His eyes jump between Taeyong's, full of so much emotion that Taeyong can feel it filling the space around him, suffocating them in this tiny office in an otherwise quiet building. 

Taeyong takes in a slow breath, deliberately trying to calm the erratic beating of his heart. 

“You're my student,” Taeyong says, not intending for it to sound so meek. 

“That doesn't matter!” Johnny's voice echoes through the room. “I know you're into me. I can feel it when we…” 

He stops before he says anything else, and Taeyong holds onto his breath. He knows all his arguments will die in vain because he barely believes in them himself. 

“I'll drop the class if I need to,” Johnny insists. 

“Don't,” is Taeyong's instant answer. 

“It's fine, I can take something else in the summer,” Johnny continues, all while Taeyong sways, feeling his defenses begin crumbling one by one.  

Taeyong cannot wrap his mind around it, what Johnny sees in him. He would barely call himself a good man — a full-on cynic, stubborn to a fault. He should have stopped them long before they ended up here, yet a part of him is still left wondering what it is about Johnny that makes all his own barriers seem so negligible. 

Johnny has inched so close to him that Taeyong can feel his warmth in the small space between them. He lowers his head just enough so that his soft whisper can slip in between the cracks, ripping Taeyong apart from the inside. 

“Please, Taeyong,” Johnny says. “This is real for me.” 

When Taeyong looks up Johnny's eyes are glistening, heavy and unwavering from Taeyong. The last shred of control he clung onto moments ago slowly slips from his hands, already a lost battle the second his look lingered too long. He loses sight of who makes the first move but he can feel his own body be pulled to Johnny's like their collision was inevitable. The next moment, they're kissing. 

Johnny pulls him in at the same time as Taeyong wraps around him, already sitting back onto his desk to trap him in between his legs. Johnny's hands fall to his thighs, squeezing and spreading them to accommodate as he groans into Taeyong's mouth, their hips colliding and trapping the heat in between them. 

Though their wet dance of mouths Taeyong murmurs something, commanding Johnny to undress him. Johnny does not hesitate even a moment before going for Taeyong's belt, undoing it in succession with the button and the zipper. Taeyong can feel his desperation in the rushing but confident work of his fingers, shoving his pants down his legs. 

Taeyong does not let Johnny part from his mouth for too long, though the other tries. Johnny takes Taeyong’s underwear off too, his hand stroking the soft skin of his inner thigh before moving around and gripping his ass, ignoring Taeyong's ready erection. 

“Need to taste you again,” Johnny says, his wet mouth sending shivers down Taeyong's back from where the words are whispered in his ear. Taeyong trembles through its effects, squeezing Johnny in between his legs again. 

“J-just fuck me— Ah!” 

He throws his head back as Johnny's hand takes his cock, wraps around and tugs, satisfying the touch Taeyong has been craving for days. At this point he is convinced that anything that Johnny does to him will feel good. 

Johnny releases him and brings his hand up to his face, spitting into the palm. 

“What's the rush?” he asks, bringing the hand back down to Taeyong's cock and pumping twice as fast. 

“We're in m-my— fucking office—!” Taeyong manages through his words, arms trembling and struggling to hold himself up as he writhes against the pleasure.  

Johnny does not intend to slow down — he licks a stripe up Taeyong's neck, mouth stopping where Taeyong had already been marked up by him the last time they ended up like this. It has surely mostly faded by now yet Johnny finds it, precisely outlines it with the tip of his tongue. He bites down around it again but gentler this time, like he knows that this is the last time he would have to wait this long. 

“Do you really want this?” Johnny asks, nuzzling his nose right under Taeyong's ear. “I haven’t brought anything.” 

Begrudgingly Taeyong leans away from him, stretching for the other side of the desk where his drawers are. He pulls out the topmost, finds the hand lotion there and tosses it back to Johnny. 

“Make do,” Taeyong says, meanwhile trying to push aside his laptop and the stack of papers he was working on when Johnny had interrupted him. Though finding himself in this position now, he clearly did not mind the distraction. 

He lays back onto the freed-up surface of his desk, looking up at Johnny as he watches the other lather up his fingers, wearing a grin that has not wavered since they kissed. 

“Just get on with it,” Taeyong urges, pulling himself closer to Johnny by the wrap of his legs. The sudden movement has Johnny falling forward, catching himself with a palm next to Taeyong's hand.

“I've thought about this so much,” Johnny says, his fingers finally finding their way in between Taeyong's thighs. All his preparation had the lotion warmed up, his hand feeling enticing and hot when he caresses the sensitive flesh. He pushes one finger in and Taeyong exhales a choked-up sound, arching up on the desk. 

“K-keep going—” he says, his voice nearly a whimper as he reaches for Johnny's hand, clutching onto it and wordlessly begging him to continue. Thankfully Johnny starts to feel the urgency too, pushing in a second finger and letting Taeyong tense up around him as he goes all the way in. 

Taeyong pulls Johnny's face to his own again, going directly for his lips. He's rough and careless, nipping with teeth and sometimes missing his mouth entirely. All while Johnny fucks his fingers inside him, adding a third and slowly ruining him with it until Taeyong is wanting for another. 

But tonight, even Johnny seems to be short on patience as he soon pulls his fingers out, surprising Taeyong with the sudden emptiness. Then Taeyong hears the sound of a buckle going undone, then the shuffling around of Johnny's clothes.  

“Hold onto the desk,” he hears Johnny say. 

Taeyong's eyes widen yet he does as he is told anyway, reaching up over his head until he feels the edge. His fingers wrap around the wood and hold on, bracing him for what Johnny has in mind. 

“Never thought I'd be doing this here,” Johnny says, babbling on. “That you'd be letting me fuck you in your office.” 

“Keep talking if you want me to change my mind,” Taeyong says, but Johnny only continues to grin down at him, his shoulders shaking with a laugh. With such an innocent look on his face he lines his cock up at Taeyong's entrance, this Johnny so completely unassuming. 

He pushes inside and Taeyong's hands clench where they hang onto the surface under him. He arches up from the wood at the intensity of the intrusion, the slide taking more effort with just the lotion just barely holding them over. Johnny's hand sneaks up under Taeyong's thigh and pushes his leg up, adjusting his own angle. 

“Fuck—” Taeyong moans out, getting more and more pliable the deeper Johnny moves in. His arms reach up for him and grab at his shirt, dragging him onto himself as Johnny tries hard not to make any sudden movement with his hips. 

“Taeyong…” 

Johnny is kissing him again, his own way of relaxing them both. He worships him with his mouth, and Taeyong's skin buzzes everywhere, from his lips where Johnny licks at them down to where their bodies connect. 

Taeyong's hand is clutching at the fabric on Johnny's back and he suddenly remembers that he never got to see Johnny's body, to feel him skin on skin the first time they did this. His hands sneak back up to Johnny's shoulders to push him away, all while Johnny seems like he is trying everything he can to stay close.

“W-wait,” Taeyong says. “Take your shirt off.”

Johnny seems surprised by the request, but he nevertheless readily obliges, leaning back just enough to grab onto the bottom of his shirt and pull.

“Yes, Professor.” 

Taeyong's mouth falls open, both at the use of the title and at the view when Johnny throws his shirt aside.  

“Don't act like you don't like it,” Johnny says, pressing the words down to almost a whisper. “I felt you tense up.” 

Even with what little light the pathetic window of his office can manage, Taeyong sees everything he needs to see. Johnny is beautiful from head to toe, entrancing shadows falling down the planes of his body as he crawls back over Taeyong, his hands coming down to take hold of his hips. 

“You try to be so right,” Johnny's voice is scratchy, slow when he gets the words out. “And yet the next time you sit here, you're going to be thinking of this.” 

Johnny starts off by fucking him in a slow wave, having Taeyong grabbing onto the desk like he is clinging on for his life. He knows that Johnny can feel how this speed makes him lose his mind, forces Taeyong to feel every single inch of him and pushing for his limit.

“You don't have to be anything that you don't want to be, Taeyong,” Johnny's mouth is wet against Taeyong's neck, face buried into the skin. “Not with me.” 

Johnny is quick enough to pick up his pace, his thrusts pushing Taeyong up the desk as the sounds of slapping skin fill the room. His hands are digging in so hard they're sure to leave marks in the hips, a reminder of what they had done here. Taeyong's eyes roll back until he is no longer staring at the ceiling of his own office, somehow even more turned on at being ravaged by Johnny in here, only proving Johnny's words true. 

Slowing down again, Johnny is nearly pulling out all the way before slamming back in, hard enough to push Taeyong's head off the edge. He gasps as he feels Johnny hold onto him with his grip onto his hips, thrusting himself in so deep that Taeyong thinks he can feel it in his throat. 

He feels Johnny push up, his body pulling away from his and leaving a cold space between them. Taeyong groans in protest, grabbing onto him with weak hands tugging onto his arms. 

“Taeyong, I—” 

“Don't— say anything… that you'll regret,” Taeyong says, quick even though he's still being ridden up and off the desk. And no matter how his words come — cold as intended or softened by his breathy moans — Johnny still laughs, his head dropping to hide his smile. 

“You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

Despite his vulnerable voice his hand taking Taeyong's cock again is anything but gentle, confidently wrapping around and taking Taeyong into a frenzy.  

Taeyong clenches his teeth as he feels himself be driven closer to his climax.  

“You s-seem to— ah— like a challenge…” he grits out.

Johnny chuckles in response and the sound sends Taeyong over the edge, his orgasm hitting as an avalanche throughout his body. In its intensity he claws onto Johnny to keep himself from falling off the desk and Johnny holds onto him, allowing him to fully ride it out. 

“F-fuck— Just a little—” Johnny gasps, his hips not slowing down, relentlessly driving into him.  

Taeyong's body tethers between pain and sensitivity, so he wraps his legs around Johnny's hips and pulls him into himself, taking him even deeper. With a shaky moan Johnny groans and comes inside Taeyong's tight body, hips slowing down until they're a lazy grind inside him, riding out the last fallout of his own orgasm.

He doesn't allow himself to linger too long in their silence, filled with sweat and heavy breaths. Johnny pushes up off him before they can make an even bigger mess of Taeyong's release coating his stomach. As Johnny moves away he reluctantly pulls out of him, then less hesitantly drops onto his knees. 

His mouth is open when it closes around the skin, licking up the stray droplets of Taeyong's release. His tongue comes out to follow its slow trail around his stomach, feeling the muscles under it twitch and tense up as Taeyong lays pliant under his touch. 

His glasses have fallen off somewhere onto the floor in the process of him getting fucked off the desk, and he makes a mental point to find them but find it otherwise difficult to focus. All of this attention on him, Johnny's endless outpouring of generosity — he cannot understand why he would choose to give it all to Taeyong.

Taeyong was never a good man, and he feels no need to start trying now. But Johnny seems to see something in him, so maybe he was worth this love after all. 

“Drop the class tomorrow.” 

Johnny looks up from where he has nearly licked all of Taeyong up, his mouth resting on the glistening skin.  

“But I thought you said…” Johnny trails off. 

“I'll make sure you still get credit for it. You'll just have to do some annoyingly long essay,” Taeyong sits up so he can look at him — a sight between his legs that he finds himself liking a little too much. “But then, no summer classes. You need the break.” 

Taeyong knows that even though he is attempting to do what is right, he would still end up showing Johnny preferential treatment. At least this way he did not have to worry about keeping up the pretense in front of a classroom of other students. 

“Taeyong…” Johnny starts, for once the one with the lesser words between the two of them. It almost makes Taeyong nervous that he could have misjudged the situation entirely, that maybe Johnny only wanted this part of what was between them. 

But Johnny does not allow those doubts to make their home in Taeyong's mind, not when the smile returns to his mouth, hiding something playful.

“Does this mean I can take you out on a date?” he asks. 

The question is the last thing Taeyong expects, though he does not know what else he was expecting. Maybe gratitude, maybe a slap back into reality. He does not expect how his heart flutters at the words, his thoughts intermingling with his feelings. 

“Only after you graduate,” Taeyong reasons, figuring he could wait out the last month if it meant preventing a potential scandal. 

Johnny hesitates for a moment but then nods, seeming to be in the same agreement. 

“Deal,” he says, smiling again before leaning in for another kiss.