Archive of Our Own

The email's subject line reads simply " Firstfruit "—short, sweet, to the point.

Thirteen audio files stare back at him, and when he double clicks the first one, the window that opens reminds him of the last time Mark let him listen to a track before it was released. He wasn't given a night to weed through it, to translate, to censor his review. Mark was sitting right there, the title ' 200 ' shining like a beacon in the top left corner of the otherwise dark computer screen as the audio file played. Donghyuck remembers how excited Mark had been to play the song for him. How he'd stared at Donghyuck with the headset on like a gambling addict eyeing a slot machine, hoping—begging to win big. There was so much hope there that Donghyuck almost felt bad for pretending not to understand the clear and obvious references to the two of them in the lyrics. Almost . But Donghyuck has always had a pet peeve about Mark's lyrics, and ‘ 200 ’ was no exception. "Who is she?"

Mark's expression cracked. "What?" He replied as if Donghyuck were entirely ridiculous for not understanding who and what the song was about. And he was being intentionally obtuse, but the word sounded straight from the serpent's mouth, whispering doubts in Donghyuck’s ear, telling him to say something that might ruin this Eden he’s been presented with—not perfect, but still beautiful. He couldn't, however, deny the truth dripping from that forked tongue. The way Mark uttered the word was almost compulsive, like he was trying to prove something, because he always was.

"You keep saying 'girl', so I'm just wondering who the song's about," Donghyuck explained.

Mark deflated, pleading with his eyes not to do this now, not to make him say it. He'd obviously hoped the song would do enough of the talking for him, but Donghyuck held firm, and Mark didn't protest. Donghyuck took the headphones off and stood, heart lodged in his throat. The song was an admission of guilt. Mark said all the things Donghyuck had always wanted to hear, but the guilt was key. The guilt kept him clarifying in every chorus, ensuring enough plausible deniability for him to sleep soundly at night, all the while keeping Donghyuck awake, turning the lyrics in his head one more time. "It's a really good song, Hyung. Congrats."

He regretted it almost immediately. At the time, the reaction felt fair, even justified, but with time came clarity, and he came to the realization that, if the positions were switched, Mark wouldn't dare. Donghyuck could call Mark every name under the sun, disgrace his family, and tell everyone his deepest darkest secrets in the lyrics he wrote and Mark Lee would still be on every damn talk show raving about how talented of a songwriter Donghyuck was. How the song Donghyuck wrote was his favorite.

But Donghyuck didn't apologize. He never does. He just changes. As the release of Mark's album drew closer, Donghyuck made his interest undeniably known. "I'll be the first person you send it to, right, Hyung?" He'd say at every passing mention.

Mark seemed confused at first, even suspicious, but slowly his reaction turned to one of soft exasperation, and he'd placate Donghyuck with a sighed "Whatever you want, Haechan-ssi."

Journey Mercies

Donghyuck turns the title over in his mind until the familiarity is replaced with remembrance.

2016. The year their shared dream came true. Donghyuck remembers it in near picture-perfect clarity. The drive, bag check, TS, their gate, and most of all the overwhelming anxiety that ate away at him. He's not sure if it was some odd one-time fear of flying or if it was at that moment that he realized this was it—his childhood was over.

'At least we're together.' Donghyuck assured himself, but no matter how many times he reached out for Mark, looking for the comfort they had promised each other, Mark jerked away, his eyes hastily flickering between the different people with phones out and the few paparazzi that had shown up for such a new group's arrival at the airport.

Mark was just so certain they had to hide back then.

So that's what they did. After one final attempt at contact ended with Mark having long, angry scratches on his arm from where Donghyuck had sunk his claws into him when he wrenched himself out of reach, Mark found an alcove by their gate where they wouldn't be seen.

Donghyuck wanted Mark to hug him, but Mark didn't do that back then. He did tender touches that felt far more intimate than a hug, but never a proper hug. It was too far for him, and Donghyuck knew that. So his hands stayed limp at his sides as Mark asked what was wrong with a hand that burned like a heavenly flame, cupping his cheek. It felt like his skin was blistering under the heat, only for the burn to be soothed with dry ice, when even now, Mark refused to meet his eyes.

Donghyuck reached up to lace their fingers together against his face. Mark's gaze flickered up to watch before he looked away again, and Donghyuck let their clasped hands fall between them. The visual seemed to spark an idea in Mark. "Do you want to pray with me?" His eyes were hopeful to the point of desperation as they stared into Donghyuck's. 

In hindsight, Donghyuck wonders why Mark felt that prayer was the only thing he had to offer, or why Mark could only look at him when actively professing his faith, but he would have taken anything Mark was willing to give back then, and this was all he volunteered. 

"Like Journey Mercies," Mark clarified in English, as if Donghyuck would have any idea what that meant.

"What's that?" Donghyuck asked, and somehow his voice sounded even more defeated than before. Mark's blind commitment to his God was intimidating. He would always deny Donghyuck with his own assertion that there was nothing scary about God—that He was pure love given form. As time passed, Donghyuck found it increasingly difficult to believe him, and he realized they both feared God, albeit in different ways.

Regardless, Mark brightened up at the openness he must have interpreted Donghyuck to be showing. "It's like praying for safe travels. My mom and I used to do it before we got on planes." 

At least Mark's memories seemed fond, and Donghyuck had learned through practice that sometimes praying was the only way to get Mark to hold him, so he agreed. 

He'd never been sure if he was supposed to close his eyes or not. He was always told to at church. They'd tell all the kids that God could hear them better if they pressed their hands together and closed their eyes, but he was pretty sure it was just a way of keeping them from getting distracted. It just came naturally ever since he started praying with Mark. Closing his eyes helped him tune Mark out and focus on the feeling of their fingers laced together. Mark's hands were warm and a little clammy, and his grip twitched around Donghyuck's like he was never entirely comfortable. His words blurred together in a way that was best for both of them until a question stuck out amongst the noise. "Do you feel better?" Mark asked. Donghyuck's eyelids fluttered open; he must have lost track of time. Gazing back into Mark's ever-present stare, he wondered for a moment if Mark also closed his eyes when they prayed; somehow, he had never bothered to check. 

"Mmmh." Donghyuck hummed in affirmation, and he meant it.

"I'm sorry," Mark murmured. He meant it too. 

"Just don't do that again."

Mark nodded his head, and to his credit, he never did do it again. From that day forward, Donghyuck was never alone. His side was always occupied by Mark, always a little too close, always a little too flippant about how they appeared on camera, every airport, every airplane, everywhere.

They no longer pray before they travel. Donghyuck hasn't felt the need ever since Mark stopped avoiding him. And he finds more and more, as the years fly by, that Mark only feels like praying when Donghyuck prompts him.

The last time he prayed on his own must have been when Mark flew to the U.S. with SuperM.

It was the first time Mark had flown without him in years, so in a moment of pure anxiety, he swallowed his pride, closed his eyes, and clasped his hands in prayer to a god he didn't believe in, because he knew that if their positions were switched, Mark would be praying for him without a second thought. Donghyuck envied that faith, and maybe that's why he did it. 

'Can we still end our messages with wishes that are lifelong?'

The sound of Mark's voice was seared into Donghyuck’s memory from when he called one morning while in the US.

"Hello?" Donghyuck answered, voice still heavy with sleep.

Mark's voice crackled through his phone speaker a little slurred. "Hey, I didn't wake you up, right?"

Donghyuck wiped the sleep from his eyes while he shook his head before realizing Mark couldn't see him. "No, I was already up." He glanced at the clock on his desk—11:00 A.M. "Isn't it like midnight there?" 

"Uh…yeah." Mark sounded distracted, like there was someone else in the room, which there probably was. Time alone was scarce in their line of work. 

"Then what are you doing up?" 

Mark hummed on the other end of the line; he must have been considering how truthful he should be before speaking. Donghyuck recognized his hesitation well. When he did speak, it was quieter than before, as if he was trying to go unnoticed by whoever else was in the room. "I—uh—wanted to hear your voice, but you said you wanted to sleep in this morning."

Too truthful . 

"Are you drunk?" Donghyuck asked, trying to defuse the tension.

Donghyuck heard Mark's amused exhale. "Um…a little."

God, Donghyuck loved Mark's voice like this—raspy and low from overuse and intoxication, but still whiny whenever his lips became particularly loose. 

Donghyuck felt bad for keeping him on the phone. Mark was tired; it was late for him, but Mark was being so sweet, it felt like a dream. The only consolation was that Baekhyun was Mark's roommate for the night and would have kept him up all night regardless. He was the supplier of the alcohol, after all.

"He's the devil, Hyuck," Mark murmured after Baekhyun had butted in on their conversation to tease Mark for his dreamy cadence.

The nickname stood out like a sore thumb. Mark hadn't called him that in a while. It was always 'Haechan' or 'Lee Dong-Hyuck' if he'd done something bad. He felt sick to his stomach.

He heard Mark yawn, offering an escape. "Why don't you go to sleep, Hyung?" Donghyuck offered.

But Mark had always been quick to deny himself. "No, no, no, I'm not tired," he reasoned, but his voice gave him away.

Donghyuck found it hard to keep the smile off his face throughout the call, now more than ever. "Are you sure about that?" he teased.

Mark paused, considering again. "...I'm sure I don't want you to hang up yet." 

Too truthful.

"You really miss me that much?" Donghyuck wondered out loud. He didn't expect a response, and he didn't get one. 

Silence stretched between them, and for a moment, Donghyuck thought Mark had fallen asleep on him after all, but the line crackled to life once more. "Do you think it's weird that I don't…that you always mix my drinks?" Mark asked slowly, like he wasn't sure how to phrase it.

It was weird—undeniably so. Mark was older, Mark paid for the alcohol when they drank together, and he'd definitely had more drinks in his lifetime than Donghyuck, but still, when soju and beer were placed in front of them, Donghyuck poured it. It was weird, but Donghyuck definitely didn't want it to stop. "...No," he hesitantly replied.

"Cause the hyungs were teasing me about it," he explained further. 

Donghyuck doubled down, figuring that if he was going to lie, he should at least commit. "I don't think it's weird," he asserted.

What Mark said next caught him off guard. "I just…Sometimes I think I'm broken." 

Donghyuck didn't know how to take it. "...What do you mean?"

"It's stupid, just forget about it." Mark dropped the topic as quickly as he'd brought it up.

But Mark had sounded the most earnest he had in a while when he said it, so Donghyuck didn't let him. "Nothing that you think is stupid is actually stupid. It’s the stuff you think is smart that's fucking idiotic," he argued honestly.

Mark sighed. "That doesn't make me feel better."

"But I'm right."

"Yeah…" Mark trailed off. If he was going to tell Donghyuck what he was thinking, Donghyuck had to let him gather his constantly scattered thoughts. He owed Mark that. "I just…" he started again and Donghyuck held back his fond laughter at Mark's go-to catchphrases when having deep conversations. People were right to describe him as someone who speaks and compels you to listen, even if they're ultimately saying nothing at all. This was an exception. "When you're not here I don’t know what to fucking do with myself. Like I've forgotten how to function when it's just me." Mark explained and assured Donghyuck that Baekhyun was truly no longer in earshot, because even drunk Mark would never have said something like that where anyone could hear. Frankly, Donghyuck never thought he'd say it at all.

Donghyuck tried to play it off with his usual nonchalance, "Careful, Hyung, you'll give me an ego."

He was afraid for a moment that the conversation would stay serious and spiral entirely out of hand, but they were good at this part—dancing around each other. "As if it could get any bigger." Mark scoffed. 

This was better, easier, safer. "Trust me, you haven't seen the half of it. When you finally admit you're in love with me, I'm gonna be insufferable." Donghyuck assured him. It was second nature.

"Right." Mark relented.

And in a way, Donghyuck kept that promise, even if it wasn't exactly in the way he had originally wanted to. Mark didn’t admit he was hopelessly in love with Donghyuck with clear directness, the way he'd always hoped. There was no grand gesture. It manifested in everyday things and culminated in Mark coming to him the day he'd had a meeting about doing the solo album, and told Donghyuck in no uncertain terms that he wanted to do this with him. 

As their busy days trudged forward, the assertion morphed.

"There's no one else I'd rather do this with," Mark had assured him when Donghyuck asked ‘Why me?’

"I don't want to do this without you," Mark decided when they chose '82 Pressin' instead of the R&B track he had written just for Donghyuck, and he’d asked if the song would be on the track list anyways.

"I can't do this without you," Mark had begged when they got back to the apartment after the first day of '82 Pressin' MV shooting.

"I don't believe you," Donghyuck mumbled under his breath. 

He was being petty. Mark didn't come up with the MV idea; he didn't choose to add a random woman he would fall in love with and leave Donghyuck— his partner— for. It was entirely out of his control, but the way Mark broke hearts had never been all at once. Mark, the world, their job, chipped away at Donghyuck's heart until there wasn't enough left, until he couldn't cry over the boy he loved anymore. And today, the girl reflected in Mark's eye—reflecting the impossibility of his love—was too much. 

Mark confronted him about the bad mood he had been in the whole rest of the day, when they finally got back to the apartment. He followed Donghyuck to his instead of retreating to his own. "What did I do wrong?" Mark asked, vulnerable for once.

"Nothing," Donghyuck assured.

He was exhausted, everyone was, but he'd been elated when the director explained the concept to them—partners in crime, a cat and mouse chase, being rivals in every sense of the word. It felt unreal that the whole thing was actually happening and in such a cathartic way. However, as he was filming one of his parts, he overheard the assistant director discussing story points with Mark. His expression soured instantly; he didn't even care that the behind-the-scenes camera person was in his face, he just hurt and didn't want to anymore. Mark was collateral. He placed his belief in someone too fragile to be believed in, too reactionary, too quick-tempered, too…

Donghyuck can’t help but remember how they'd ended that call years ago when they were thousands of miles apart. 

"Next time you'll come with me," Mark spoke it into existence like an irrefutable truth.

Donghyuck couldn't deny it; it was probably true, but he didn't give Mark breaks back then. "Is that a question or an order?" he asked, a flirty edge slipping into his tone, the way he could never really stop when it came to Mark. Donghyuck liked him so much.

"Neither," Mark replied, like it made any sense at all.

"Neither?" 

Mark paused to think again. "It's a belief…faith," he explained.

Donghyuck's fingers flexed around the phone. It made him sick to his stomach when Mark propped him up like one of his deities—when his lips formed around Donghyuck's name with the same reverence he endowed his God’s. 

Because when you're with Mark Lee as much as Donghyuck, you know what he sounds like when he prays. And when he calls Donghyuck days before the album deadline, asking for guidance, he sounds like a man on the verge of apostasy.

"I can't do this."

The line was quiet; they hadn't talked since the MV filming.

"Do you want to go do something? Leave the apartment, get your mind off things?" he offered, running through the usual motions, but he already knew the answer. If Mark just needed a friend and a night on the town to forget, he would have called Jungwoo.

"I don't think I can move," Mark whispered like he was scared to exist—to take up space. 

"Do you want me to come to you?" Donghyuck asked. 

Mark didn't answer, which meant ‘yes’ . 

Mark opened the door to his room as soon as Donghyuck knocked, as if he had been waiting directly on the other side. But even then, Mark didn't reach out for him, even after his intentions were clear and recognized by both of them. In silence, Mark left the door ajar as he planted himself in his desk chair, turning back to the computer that illuminated the space. Donghyuck sat on his bed, ankles crossed, as he leaned back on his arms. 

"So what's the problem, Mark?" Donghyuck asked. 

Mark was less anal about honorifics when they were like this—alone. The double standard and facade used to piss Donghyuck off, but somewhere along the way he'd learned to show Mark some grace. At least they had this.

Mark spun his chair to face him, and his eyes flickered between his face and his bare legs exposed by his choice of shorts like clockwork; it was vindicating. "It's not gonna be done in time." Mark croaked with a voice entirely used and abused by countless hours spent in the studio.

"The album?" Donghyuck clarified

Mark nodded, pouting like a child.

"Then tell them you need more time," Donghyuck instructed. He was oversimplifying, but to him, it was simple.

Mark scoffed. "Tell SM Entertainment to wait?" He spun back towards the computer.

"Hyung," Donghyuck called, unsatisfied by the shift in focus. Mark turned back again. "You really think you need them more than they need you?" Rather than answering, Mark avoided eye contact, and Donghyuck sighed. "You hold the cards. You don't have to ask 'how high?' when they tell you to jump."

"You always ask 'how high'," Mark argued.

Donghyuck rolled his eyes and laid back on the bed. "Yeah, well, I only feel alive when I'm being worked to death."

He could hear the wheels on Mark's chair roll over the hardwoods, but he didn’t move—didn’t look. Mark's hands were cold, but they felt like flames licking at Donghyuck's thighs. His breath caught, and then Mark spoke. "We're more alike than we are different, even if you don't like to admit it."

Donghyuck lifted himself on his elbows, catching Mark as he tested the give of his skin under his fingers like he'd done a million times before—so many times that there shouldn't have been anything else to learn from his experiments. 'What's the quote about the definition of insanity?' Donghyuck wondered. He felt something bittersweet bloom in his chest. If Mark was insane, then so was he. "That's my line, Jagiya," Donghyuck purred. 

The office chair rattled backwards as Mark slid out of it onto his knees. 

Donghyuck arched an eyebrow at Mark's forwardness but uncrossed his legs nonetheless, allowing Mark to shuffle in between them. He must have needed this even more than Donghyuck thought. He propped himself up a bit more to look at Mark properly and run his hand through his hair.

Donghyuck wasn’t hard yet. Over the years, his knee-jerk reaction to seeing Mark on his knees for him had been dampened, but when Mark nuzzled his face into the soft inside of his thigh, he felt it everywhere, like jumping into a pool after roasting in the sun for hours, like he was finally able to breathe. They were good at this part—making each other feel good—they always had been. 

The split ends of Mark's long, bleach-fried blonde hair felt familiar when they brushed against Donghyuck's most sensitive areas. Something about the abrasive nature reminded him of a time before Mark got laser, when, depending on the time of day, a customary scratch would accompany Mark's every move, setting his nerves alight.

"I thought I was here to help you , Hyung," He protested with no real intent behind it. 

Mark mouthed at the skin of Donghyuck's inner thigh enough for it to bruise. He'd always liked the way they looked. "This is helping," he assured. 

Donghyuck's attempted self-control was gallant, but when Mark shifted forward enough to finally nuzzle at the steadily forming tent in his shorts, Donghyuck's hands went taut in Mark's hair, holding him in place as his hips rolled forward of their own accord. Mark closed his eyes and opened his mouth, surrendering himself. 

Out of breath, Donghyuck asked, "So this is what you wanted?" Already knowing the answer. He rutted forward again, grinding his clothed cock against the planes of Mark’s face. "Wanted someone to just take what they want from you?"

He gave Mark the clearance to answer. "Wanted you."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," he admitted. Mark had always known what to say to have Donghyuck body and soul; whether or not he chose to say it was his own prerogative. 

He fussed with Donghyuck's waistband, slipping it down his waist inch by inch, until his erection was freed from its confines. 

Mark kissed his cock like it was something precious, perfect even. He pressed his lips sweetly along either side of it before planting them square around the tip, not yet taking the length into his mouth but teasing how good it would feel when he finally did. 

Donghyuck petted his hand through Mark’s hair until he looked back at him, waiting. "You don’t need me to tell you how to suck cock."

Mark reddened and he occupied his attention once again with kissing at Donghyuck’s cock as if it was a good enough excuse for his silence. It was nice. Better than nice, but Donghyuck was going to need more, and he knew Mark was already aware of that. 

Mark's hand was pure heat against his when he reached up to lace his fingers with those running through his hair. Then his grip tightened, forcing Donghyuck to gather a handful of his hair in his fist like he had before. Donghyuck knew, long before he did it, what Mark needed, he just liked making Mark ask for it—implicating him in his own undoing. 

He kept his hold firm long enough for Mark to drop his, trusting that Donghyuck got the message. It was easy to press past Mark's lips like this, he was so pliable it almost felt wrong, but Donghyuck knew him better than he knew himself, and he knew Mark wanted it like this—wanted even more than this—wanted far more than what Donghyuck could give for both of their sakes.

Each shallow roll of his hips into Mark's mouth felt like the first time. The unimaginably wet heat swallowed Donghyuck's senses and bathed him in euphoria punctuated by the creak of the mattress. 

Mark was an open book flipped to his favorite page as he gazed up at him. "Want me to make you pretty?" He murmured, only half aware of what he was saying. Donghyuck used his grip on Mark’s hair to angle his head to the side before fucking his cock gently against the inside of Mark’s cheek and making it bulge outward obscenely every time. The taught muscle there felt like heaven. It was wrong, getting to see Mark like this; surely it was wrong. He can clearly remember a time when Mark would have thought so. But now there were tears in Mark’s eyes, and Donghyuck hadn't even started fucking his throat yet. 

Mark was humming around him when Donghyuck started to go further, hips lifting from the mattress with each intensifying rut. Mark's fingernails were planted firmly in the skin of Donghyuck's upper thighs, surely leaving rosy crescents in their wake. 

His hum was cut off when a particularly deep thrust had Donghyuck's cock jumping the barrier created by the hinge of his jaw and invading Mark’s tight throat. "God." He groaned as Mark gagged around him, throat constricting rapidly. The tears were streaming, and Donghyuck wondered for a moment if he was the only person who had seen Mark like this. 

Mark blinked up at him, trying and failing to clear his eyes of moisture, but Donghyuck wasn’t pulling back, his incessance cleaving a space for himself in Mark's pretty throat—his money maker, his livelihood. 

He sat in wait until the spasming around his cock stopped and Mark took a desperate breath in through his nose. He would have been concerned if Mark’s hands hadn't snaked their way behind him, and weren't actively holding him in place. 

His grip did loosen eventually, allowing Donghyuck the freedom to slip his cock out of the overwhelming heat, only to press in all over again. "When did you get so good at this?" He wondered aloud. Mark squeezed his eyes shut, like he was trying to block out Donghyuck's rambles. He didn’t like to admit how good they’d become at bringing each other to the edge over the years, because it would prove their continued existence as 'them'—Mark and Donghyuck, Donghyuck and Mark, forever intertwined and far past hidden glances and fleeting kisses in the dark of night where no one could see and where Mark could deny they ever were. No female figure left reflected in Mark's iris, just lust—love even.

Donghyuck thrusts grew sloppy, failing to mind the delicate channel of Mark's throat in favor of fucking it with abandon, walls clenching around him like a vice trying to milk his orgasm from his very soul with every wet gag. Red welts trailed after Mark’s fingernails as he dragged them painfully down Donghyuck's thighs, eyes going glassy and unfocused as a trail of spit joined his tears in their trek down his cheeks until they dripped from the pretty angle of Mark's chin. 

Donghyuck reached a hand down to rest around Mark's jugular, mind stuttering to a halt when he felt the way his cock deformed it, changing Mark fundamentally so he could fit perfectly inside. Sweat collected on Donghyuck's brow, each cluster of muscles going tight one at a time as he neared his release. And then Mark was sucking. "F—fuck, Jagiya, you’re so fucking good for me," Donghyuck cried. He didn't often catch himself calling Mark that pet name during sex, but he'd been calling Mark 'Jagiya' almost exclusively now, and it just slipped out. 

Mark whined high in the back of his throat, eyelashes fluttering as much as they could while being weighed down by tears. It gave Donghyuck an idea. At the last second, he yanked Mark off his cock, replacing his mouth with his hand and after a few jerks and a whiney moan, he came over Mark’s face. His release caught on Mark's eyelashes, just as he'd hoped, streaking across the pretty bridge of his nose and dripping into the hollows of his cheeks, gathering gracefully at his cupid's bow.

Mark moved to gather what was near his mouth on his tongue, but Donghyuck was pulling him up by his hair before he could. The whole thing seemed to throw Mark off balance and he stumbled backwards, landing in his desk chair as Donghyuck closed in on him, their lips meeting in what was more tongue and spit and cum than actual kissing as he straddled Mark’s thighs. 

He pulled away, dragging Mark’s sweatpants down just low enough to pull his cock free, precum leaking heavily from his tip. There was really no need for further lubrication. Still, something primal—dirty seemed to take over whenever they were together and Donghyuck found himself swiping his fingers through his release still staining Mark’s face and using it to aid the glide of his hand over Mark’s cock. “F—uck.” Mark’s voice cracked around the expletive, sounding thoroughly fucked as he lunged forward trying to capture Donghyuck’s lips again, but Donghyuck was faster even in his post orgasmic haze. The hand he wasn't using to jerk Mark off wrapped around his neck, holding him pliant against the chair’s backrest. 

‘I fucking love him.’ Donghyuck thought as Mark’s eyelids drooped. He wasn’t actively blocking any air or blood flow, but Mark had always seemed to like the lack of control, and his expression made that clear as he practically panted with his lips parted, every audible breath rising in pitch. 

Donghyuck leaned in closer so that they were nearly chest to chest and licked a stripe across Mark’s cheek, taking the last bit of his cum left on Mark’s face with him. Mark whined high in his throat, and Donghyuck could feel him swallow under his palm. He moved his other hand even faster. “Cum for me, Hyung,” he whispered and, with a moan that put pornstars to shame, Mark did.

Donghyuck kept stroking his cock until Mark was whimpering and swatting his hand away. He took the hand off his throat as well. “Who would have guessed you'd be such a masochist?” He wondered aloud, smirk ever present as he grabbed a tissue from the desk to clean his hand. 

Mark was still slouched against the back of the chair, catching his breath but he made a vague motion towards Donghyuck's just hardening cock. “Well you're a fucking sadist, so chicken or the egg?” He breathed out a laugh. 

It was an offhand comment that obviously wasn't supposed to mean much, but the implications were weightier than Mark knew—that they had somehow made each other, either being the reason for, or becoming what the other liked, wanted, needed. Not made for each other, but made to become each other’s like Eve created from Adam’s rib. Donghyuck had known it all along, but hearing Mark imply it so casually was foreign, inconceivable. “I love you,” Donghyuck murmured. Mark already knew, but Donghyuck just wanted to remind him. 

Mark broke into a fit of laughter—the bright twinkling kind he seemed to reserve just for Donghyuck. “Yah! that's what did it—me calling you a fucking sadist?”

“I always love you,” Donghyuck corrected, voice truthful in the way Mark never seemed able to parse. 

His laughter died down, and the small part of Donghyuck that pretended he didn't know Mark as well as he did wondered if he was going to say it back, but he wouldn't, he never would. It didn't mean he didn't, it just meant he couldn't say it. 

Donghyuck caught himself wondering why this wasn't enough, why he always wanted more. What did ‘more’ or ‘enough’ even look like? If Mark said, ‘I love you,’ would he be satisfied? He already knew Mark did, so how would three words change anything? Did he want something official? ‘ Maybe.’ Did he want it to be public? ‘No, definitely not .’ Was ‘more’ marriage, a house, children? He wasn't sure. ‘ Whatever Mark wants,’ he'd tell himself. But what if this is all Mark wants? Would it be enough? ‘No…never.’

Mark squeezed his thighs, snapping him from his thoughts. “Can I eat you out?” He asked.

It was Donghyuck's turn to scoff. “Is that as much as I'm gonna get?” He complained, but he was moving out of Mark's lap and taking his shirt off at the same time, undermining his protests. “A guy confesses his undying love for you, and all you have to say is ‘can I eat you out?’” He was bluffing, and Mark knew it. Donghyuck had professed his undying love at least 2 times a week for the past ten years. 

Mark stood with him, letting his shirt join Donghyuck's on the ground before kissing him far, far too sweetly, his hand cupping Donghyuck's cheek so softly that he burned like the bush God showed Moses, his continued existence despite the flames proof of something divine. And they were divine. When Mark pulled away, his smile looked like love. “Do you want me to, or not?” He asked.

Donghyuck could die like this. “Yes, please.” He replied. 

And that's how Donghyuck found himself writhing on Mark's desk, his laptop long since pushed aside, with Mark Lee sandwiched between his thighs.

‘ How is he so fucking good at everything? ’ He wondered, but his thoughts seemed to be flickering on and off.

And the sounds…they were horrid, defiling things that brought tears of humiliation to Donghyuck's eyes, not because of what Mark was doing, but because of how the noises were almost drowned out by Donghyuck's moans. He sounded like a fucking girl, he sounded like a slut.

He draped one arm over his eyes, and the other hand gripped the edge of the desk with white knuckles. His heels dug into Mark’s upper back, keeping him close. 

Mark's tongue made quick work of him, reducing him to a shaking, whining mess in no time at all. He was nearing release embarrassingly fast. “Mark,” he cried, the desperation evident in his tone.

Mark pulled away, giving him a second to breathe. “There's no way you're already close.” He goaded, grinning, cocksure, but worst of all, right. 

“Fuck you,” Donghyuck whined, uncovering his eyes. He sounded pathetic and wanted to hide, but Mark looked so pretty like this.

“Cute,” Mark responded, leaning back in and this time letting two of his fingers join his tongue in the mess he had made of Donghyuck's hole. His other hand pried Donghyuck’s fingers from the edge of the desk, lacing them with his. 

“Fuck, Mark, I can’t…” He slurred, but Mark paid him no mind. He pressed his fingers in even deeper, brushing over Donghyuck's prostate every time, making his back arch up off the desk. “Mark I…Mark I really…” He tried, but his voice sounded distant, dreamy, and detached. His tower of Babel was closing in too quickly on the heavens, leaving God no choice but to steal his words. “I can't…” He sobbed. 

Mark let his fingers replace his mouth entirely, rising to his feet between Donghyuck's whorish spread legs. “You can.” He assured, bringing their clasped hands to his spit-slicked mouth and kissing each of Donghyuck's knuckles while his other fingers were drilling into his prostate.

Donghyuck couldn't look at him any longer—never wanted to look at him again, truthfully. If he ever did manage to move on from Mark Lee—which felt more impossible than ever in that moment—he knew he'd never cum like this again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh God,” He rambled.

“C’mon, Babe,” Mark coaxed, voice like crushed velvet.

Donghyuck came all over his stomach with a long, drawn-out whine and a few sobs mixed in.

“Good boy,” Mark praised, kissing Donghyuck’s hips, stomach, and chest until his breathing slowed.

The overwhelming emptiness when Mark removed his fingers forced Donghyuck's deepest desires from his lips. “I want you to fuck me.” He rushed to say once he'd caught his breath enough to form words.

Mark’s eyes fluttered up to look at him, confused, then slightly concerned. “Can you really go again?” His eyes flickered between Donghyuck's face and his flaccid cock.

Donghyuck seriously considered how it could be a horrible mistake he instantly regretted, but if it was, then he'd just suck Mark off and call it a day. He couldn’t deny how the electric buzz under his skin felt like it would go to waste if he didn't get fucked. 

“No fucking chance I cum again, but you …” Donghyuck’s voice trailed off, gaze obviously catching on Mark's erection that had reappeared following his prior transgressions. Mark seemed to shrink under the hungry gaze. “Seems like a waste, don't you think?”

“You're sure?” Mark searched his face for hesitation, but must not have found any because he continued. “On the bed or…” He asked.

The edge of the desk was digging into Donghyuck's back in a slightly painful way, but he found he didn't mind it. “Here. Want it here.”

Mark seemed to falter, eyes going distant before they refocused with the firey need Donghyuck had always fucking burned for.

When he pressed inside, Donghyuck's worry subsided. There was no blinding flame of pleasure dampening the slide or dulling his senses; Donghyuck felt every inch. He watched Mark's face contort in pleasure from the sidelines, committing it all to memory with the clearest mind he'd ever had while being presented with such an image.

Mark collapsed forward on top of him when he bottomed out, overwhelmed by the sensation and wrongness of it all. Donghyuck's arms wrapped around the back of Mark's neck, cradling his head in his crisscrossed grasp. “Go on, Hyung.” He whispered against Mark's ear, voice far away and saccharine, laced with the disconcerting calm of the angel Gabriel consoling a terrified, virgin mother Mary. “Fuck me.” 

Mark let out a whiny groan before pulling out and thrusting back in hard and fast. It was dizzying to feel Mark take without a single part of his mind concerning itself with Donghyuck's pleasure. Donghyuck found himself gasping for air over Mark's shoulder, the ache almost too much to handle. His body wasn't built to be pushed this far, at least not initially, but he'd trained it somewhere along the way. Somewhere between endless hours of practice and the yearning for this boy that never seemed to fucking end. “God, it hurts.” He moaned high-pitched and filthy, not a hint of actual pain in his voice, only the metaphysical ecstasy of it all, but Mark's hips still stuttered. He'd never been any good at separating the part of himself that wanted to hold Donghyuck close—closer than anyone else—and the part of him that had wanted to wring his fucking neck for the past decade. “It’s so fucking good .” Donghyuck gritted out, pressing his heels into the small of Mark's back, desperate for him to continue, and Mark was always so perfectly compliant to Donghyuck's demands when he was like this.

He fucked Donghyuck harder still and the sound of the desktop hitting the wall and the way it dug into Donghyuck's lower back was the only thing tying him to the physical. Both of them were leaving trails of red behind the paths carved by their fingers. Donghyuck tried desperately to make it good for Mark, using any bit of leverage he had to chase the press of his cock, their hips meeting almost painfully each time. “Fucking ruin me, Hyung.” Donghyuck rambled, sentence catching on every interrupting thrust as if the air was being fucked from his lungs. “Want you to cum inside me.” He hadn't realized how much he wanted it until the words were already tumbling from his lips, and by then the want was more of a need—Mark claiming him inside and out, taking what he wanted until he's filled with it, all the while Donghyuck wasn't even hard—just a warm body willing when Mark needed.

Mark groaned even louder. “Haechan, You can’t—fuck.” Mark whimpered.

Donghyuck found that he was much more capable of running his mouth than he usually was when Mark was moments from cumming inside him. And unfortunately for Mark, Donghyuck knew he was as simple as men come—entirely consumed by the need to claim, own, and break in. “You're the best I've ever had,” he started, taking in short little breaths between the back-breaking thrusts of Mark's cock that hadn't slowed down one bit. “Wanna be yours.”

Before Donghyuck had even finished his sentence, Mark was pulling back with a growl, properly towering over him before planting his hand around his throat, effectively silencing him. It was the barbaric show of force that had Donghyuck's cock finally twitching against his cum stained stomach, even if only weakly. 

Mark was squeezing his eyes shut, face pinched with exertion but whorish moans were tumbling from his lips now, loud and piercing. ‘I love you. I love you. I love you,’ Donghyuck thought, but he didn't have the voice to say it, so he reached for Mark’s wrist, wrapping his fingers around Mark’s forearm. His eyes snapped to look immediately, afraid he had actually hurt Donghyuck, but all he did was hold Mark's hand there. ‘Love me. Love me. Love me,’ He tried to beg with his body, because his mouth had begged for it too many times. With the last of his strength, he rolled his hips against Mark, and to the relief of his body and mind, Mark came. 

“Fuck—Haechan-ah,” he whined. 

‘ No…call my name—the one you give me,’ Donghyuck admitted, but only in his head. His parents might have chosen it, but the name became Mark's to call him somewhere along the way. Maybe he was a bad son, but he would happily be whatever Mark made him.

Mark looked drunk. His eyes were unfocused, his face was red, and his body was flushed all over as he slouched back into his desk chair. 

Donghyuck didn't want to be apart. “Aish, Hyung, don't get comfortable, you have to carry me to your bed.”

Mark laughed, breathy and attractive. “You're joking, right?” he asked, clearly not feeling up to it but absolutely willing to try if Donghyuck insisted.

Donghyuck pushed himself onto his feet. “Yes, but I should make you.” He relented, groaning at the pain in his back. 

“I'm sorry…” Mark murmured, running his fingers down Donghyuck's spine when he turned his back towards him, taking more tissues from the desk. 

Donghyuck caught himself smiling again, that sickeningly in-love smile he tried desperately to hide from everyone but always failed miserably to. He wiped it from his face as soon as it had appeared. “Yeah, yeah, I told you to do it, so it's fine,” He dismissed as he did his best to clean himself with the supplies immediately available.

Mark must have stood up again while he was occupied because Donghyuck felt his arms snake around his waist. “I don't like hurting you.” His voice seemed to hold more weight than usual. 

Donghyuck responded before he could think better of it. “Isn't lying a sin, Jagiya?” 

Mark froze behind him, and Donghyuck panicked, thinking he'd actually pushed Mark too far, before Mark's arms tightened exponentially around him, and his feet were lifted off the ground just enough for him to walk a couple of steps to the bed and throw Donghyuck onto it. “You are a menace, Lee Donghyuck.” He scolded, fondness still lacing every word, before flopping onto the mattress beside him. “Talking to me about sin…” He muttered wistfully, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yah! I'm a good Christian, Hyung.” Donghyuck complained as he turned to look back at him, doing his best impression of someone actually offended.

Mark laughed, loud and bright. “Obviously," He agreed. They both let out happy little sighs every couple of breaths. It was horribly comfortable until Mark spoke up again. “And here I was thinking you only prayed with me to hold my hand.”

The day after Donghyuck listened to the album, he and Mark were in a van on their way to practice with Dream. “I listened to the album.” Donghyuck started, not looking up from his phone.

But the comment got Mark to look up from his. “Yeah?” He asked.

“Mmh,” Donghyuck hummed.

Mark scoffed at the way Donghyuck was making him ask. “What did you think, Haechan-ssi?” He said it in the tone a show host might use. 

Donghyuck shrugged. “Pretty good,” He conceded.

Mark scoffed again. “Well, I'm glad it was to your taste.” He responded, all stuffy and corporate.

The van fell back into silence, and Donghyuck looked back at Mark to find him once again on his phone. “I liked ‘Journey Mercies’,” Donghyuck added, voice quieter and more earnest.

Mark looked back at him, smiling shyly. “Good.” He said, and they fell silent. 

‘Maybe this is enough,’ Donghyuck thought.