clocks are barely breathing at seconds before now
title: clocks are barely breathing at seconds before now
pairing: Donghae/Eunhyuk
word count: 5494
rating: nc-17
summary: They're on a never ending pause. Donghae measures life in nows; Hyukjae counts the seconds in elapsed time frames that will end in tomorrow.
clocks are barely breathing at seconds before now
When Donghae is with Hyukjae, it is like cutting out a part of their lives. Leave everything that isn’t them, out.
Hyukjae sits at his desk and maps out his life in scribbled words and memories, plans for the next five, ten, fifteen, thirty years. Donghae watches from the bed, the sheets sprawled over his hips and his skin prickling in the cold. He sees Hyukjae write his name, Donghae, in big bold letters beneath the date stamped as Now.
The scissors are sharp as Hyukjae cuts out Now from the rest of, well, his life. He sets it apart, and fills everything else out, directions and diagrams and projections in his precise, clear writing. Finished, he pushes it all away, and picks up Now. Donghae loses count of how long Hyukjae stares at it, how many times he flips it over, how many times he goes to write something then changes his mind and lets the pen dangle from his hand.
He gives up and leaves it be. Donghae wonders if he’s gotten bored or simply can’t find the right words. Getting up from the chair, Hyukjae shuts the window, drags his hand all the way from the window frame to the wall until he settles his fingers in Donghae’s hair and fits his mouth against Donghae’s lips.
This. This is Now.
---
The sunlight streams in through the windows and fades in Hyukjae’s eyes. Donghae is drenched in darkness, blind and stumbling, left only to hear and feel.
He drowns himself in the weight of Hyukjae’s body, light yet holding him down against the sheets. The creak of the bed is loud, disrupting and breaking the quiet, each smack of the headboard against the wall sends a wave of pain through Donghae’s head.
Hyukjae breathes out. Donghae breathes in, soaking in every stutter, every gasp, each and every little sound Hyukjae makes. He swallows all the noise, turns it inside out inside himself and pushes it back out in his own voice, loudly whispered in Hyukjae’s ear.
They teeter at the edge, shoving and pushing to see who will fall off first. Both hold on stubbornly, neither willing to go without the other, neither willing to admit they’re waiting. Hyukjae keeps his balance, proudly stands on tiptoe dancing off the edge as long as he can, until his feet are numb and it hurts not being able to feel. So Donghae goes first, making the fall last as long as he can. He doesn’t know whether Hyukjae can tell if he jumped or not.
---
How long does now last, Donghae wants to ask.
He does and Hyukjae says,
“Now is now. It lasts for however long it’s meant to last.”
Rolling onto his side, Donghae studies his expression. It’s somewhere around midnight and it’s always hard to make out faces, figures, at this hour of night. Even harder to distinguish sincerity from lies, illusion from reality.
“How long is this meant to last?”
Hyukjae smiles and Donghae can’t tell if it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever seen or the ugliest. “Until it ends.”
Laughter dances in Hyukjae’s eyes, it bursts out into fits of chuckles when Donghae looks un amused and says, “Stop talking in code.”
“But I’m not,” Hyukjae says, and despite the laughter, his voice is dry of any joy or mirth. “It lasts until it ends. Don’t all things work that way?”
Donghae isn’t sure. All he’s sure of is that Hyukjae has mapped out his future and Donghae is already not a part of it.
---
“I have to go,” Hyukjae says with a hand on Donghae’s jaw, the other wrapped around Donghae’s cock.
“Now?” Donghae asks, disbelieved. He feels himself twitch in Hyukjae’s hold, bites down a groan when Hyukjae squeezes tighter before letting go. On impulse, because he’s so close and Hyukjae holds the promise of release in his trembling fingertips, Donghae grabs his wrist, fingers pressing down on his pulse point.
“Now.”
“You’ve got to be fucking me.” He has to be.
Hyukjae smiles, dislodging himself from the warmth between Donghae’s bent knees. “I wish.” I’m sorry says the quick press of his lips on Donghae’s neck. “If I don’t go right now, I won’t make it.”
Hyukjae isn’t thinking about Donghae. Not thinking about himself either. He’s thinking about down the road, further up ahead. What needs to be done now in order for later to exist.
The door clicks softly in the muted air. The air stays the same after Hyukjae has left, as if no one else was here to begin with.
Donghae thinks about finishing himself off. He doesn’t really need Hyukjae, his hand would suffice. Dragging his hand down his stomach, Donghae presses down on his fleshed skin hard enough to leave marks. His entire body aches, it throbs for a touch, anything. Instead, he lets his hand goes from hot to cold when he presses his palm against the window.
Donghae cracks open the window, lets the cold seep into his skin. Exposed, he lets the wind shell shock him until all the desire, all the need, is drained from his body and all he wants is nothing.
---
They pick off where they left off.
Donghae is still sitting by the window, elbows resting on his knees.
Hyukjae unwinds his scarf from his neck, the red of cotton stark against the paleness of his skin. He comes closer, closer, back to where he was, to where Donghae had wanted, needed, him to be. His knees sink into the cushion of the window sill, the sound he makes as he kneels between Donghae’s legs is almost comical.
A unhook of metal, the whisper of zipper on fabric. Donghae’s vision is cloudy when Hyukjae bends his head. Hyukjae’s tongue is too hot on his frozen skin, Donghae’s stomach clenches in pain almost as Hyukjae licks him to where he wants him. Hyukjae pushes him, higher and higher, and brings him back down with his mouth, the slide of his bruised lips, the press of his fingers until he leaves marks that’ll have faded away by morning.
Donghae wants to push him away, say he doesn’t need him, doesn’t want him. His thighs tighten themselves like a harness around Hyukjae’s body, hands pulling at Hyukjae’s hair, pulling him closer, voice urgent and desperate, the window fogging where his mouth is pressed to glass.
---
Hyukjae makes dinner. Rummages through the fridge and the cupboards selecting things at random. He tosses it all in the one pot they have: a mix of what fresh greens are still edible, the broken pieces of noodles shaken out of the bag, a dash of salt, a bit of some spice that always burns his tongue but Donghae adds to everything.
They eat it straight out of the pot, hovering close to the source of heat. A splinter digs itself into Donghae’s finger, he cuts himself when he knocks and smashes into his water glass. He drops his chopsticks and watches as he bleeds.
Hyukjae picks the splinter out with some tweezers, washes the blood away and bandages Donghae’s hand in thick white gauze he keeps beneath the sink.
“Thanks.”
Hyukjae smiles and goes back to his dinner, the shards of glass still glistening on the floor.
Donghae has lost his appetite but he’s dying of thirst. “I’m sorry.” He licks his dry lips and goes on when Hyukjae looks at him puzzled. “About the glass.”
Shrugging, Hyukjae wrinkles his nose, downs a gulp of his milk after a particularly spicy bite. “It’s okay. It wasn’t that nice of a set anyways.”
Hyukjae doesn’t say we will buy a new set or we’ll get some replacements to complete it again. Donghae stares at the bits and pieces on the floor, the two green lines that circled the rim. They started with six. They are now down to four and they’ll probably keep going until there’s only one.
---
Hyukjae lets Donghae fuck him against the wall in the hallway, the skin of his back rubbed raw on concrete where the wall paper has peeled off. Donghae’s shirt hangs around his neck, Hyukjae digs his nails into his shoulder blades to match the angry red marks the zipper of his jeans leaves on his thighs with each thrust.
Breathing into his neck, Donghae brings Hyukjae’s leg higher around his waist, as high as it can go, buries himself deeper, as deep as Hyukjae can take him.
“There,” Hyukjae grunts, trying to push against Donghae without toppling them backwards. He contents himself with stroking his cock, hard and searing between their stomachs, a second or two off with each time Donghae’s hips snap forward. “Donghae! Right. There,” he breathes, he stutters, he moans and this is when Donghae sees Hyukjae most vulnerable, open and wanting. Not someone, but something.
Donghae throws away rhythm, forgets finesse and just mindlessly, erratically pushes in and out of the heat of Hyukjae’s body until he forces Hyukjae over the edge first. Watches his fall with hungry eyes, the way Hyukjae’s body twists and clenches around him until Hyukjae is a liquid mass and despite himself, Donghae catches him right before he crashes and falls into nothing.
His knees give out and he sinks to the floor with Hyukjae in his lap boneless arms clinging to him. Letting them both fall, Donghae lies flat on his back, the harsh carpet adding to the pain in his back, the strain in his muscles. Hyukjae lays on top of him, face pressed into Donghae’s sweaty neck, lazy tongue soaking up all the moisture from his skin.
Hyukjae presses his hand to Donghae’s chest, grasping the notes his heart beat makes in the spaces between his fingers. Donghae feels Hyukjae’s heart beating as well. It beats fast, a tempo or two faster than his and he can’t seem to catch up, try and make his heart beat at the same speed or coax Hyukjae’s to slow down just a bit, just a little, only a little. That’s all he asks.
When the sweat has cooled off and the harsh breathing has turned to soundless inhales, Hyukjae gets up, mumbles something about showering.
Donghae stays, spread out on the floor, listening to the water rush so loud it sprays him in the face, cheeks wet and water tangling in his eyelashes.
---
“Because I don’t have just me to think about,” Hyukjae says when Donghae asks why he works himself so hard, in excess, till the sun comes down hard and burns his bones. “One day, it’s not going to be just me.”
“What do you mean?”
Hyukjae rolls his eyes. Donghae knows exactly what he means.
“Why can’t it be not just you now?”
The sigh Hyukjae exhales is pleading. His eyes are genuinely sad when he looks at Donghae. “Donghae, don’t. Please.”
So he doesn’t. Donghae gives in to the pull of Hyukjae’s mouth and kisses him until his mouth is wet with Hyukjae’s taste and for a little while he can forget that there is a now and anyone else they’ll one day have to think about.
---
Sometimes, while Hyukjae sleeps with his mouth half open in a snore and the sheets kicked off due to the heat, Donghae tries and map out his own future.
His writing is never concise, it’s not even in letters or characters really. More like colors, shapes, the outline of a building or an address. He pictures himself. Thirty years from now. Twenty. Fifteen. Ten. Five. One. Six months from now. Two months. A week.
Donghae draws blank. He knows that one day he won’t be just trying to picture himself in that future, he’ll be in it.
Right now, as he lies in bed, Donghae can’t see beyond light snoring, the soft hair caught in his fingers and the warm skin twisted around his.
---
After particularly long days, no matter how hot or cold it is, Donghae likes soaking in the tub. He runs the water until it’s comforting when he tests it with his forearm and adds some bath salt or liquid soap from the kitchen dispenser when they have nothing else.
The water reaches his collarbones, water lapping around the border with each movement he makes.
“You are insane,” Hyukjae laughs when he appears at the bathroom door. “It’s freezing,” he says but strips of his clothes, yelping when the cold air smacks his body, and steps into the tub, nestling himself between Donghae’s spread legs.
“It’s warm here,” Donghae murmurs into the kiss Hyukjae gives him, wet hands darkening Hyukjae’s hair.
Hyukjae agrees. He runs his hands up and down the length of Donghae’s body, warming his cold hands from being outside with no gloves or mittens. The water is still hot; it sloshes dangerously over the edge as they move against each other, slow and sliding against soapy needy skin.
Eyes widen in surprise, Hyukjae almost goes under when Donghae turns them around, Hyukjae lying against the bottom of the tub and Donghae straddling his hips. Donghae’s movements are urgent, shaky as he trembles in the cold air cooling his upper body. Hyukjae tries to bring him down against him, back into warmth, but Donghae doesn’t budge, fingers clenched iron tight on the edge of the tub.
Hyukjae tries to speak, Donghae can tell by the twitch of his lip and the furrow of his brow. Donghae doesn’t want to hear it.
He presses backwards and lowers himself onto Hyukjae without stopping, pushes himself all the way down in one go and tries not to scream out. He keeps it all in, focusing on the feel of Hyukjae deep inside him.
Hyukjae seems to choke on nothing but air, the vein in his neck strung as tight as his body in surprise. He can’t hold himself up right anymore. He slips and sinks further in, his mouth at water level and Donghae wonders if he might drown.
Nails digging into the sides of the tub, Donghae starts to move over Hyukjae, his hips jerking in awkward stumbling circles and it hurts, all the way down to his toes and up into his chest where it stays and stays and never seems to want to leave, but he doesn’t stop. The air in his lungs burns; it comes out like smoke out his nose and stings his eyes.
Something seems to click inside Hyukjae, eyes blinking once, hard and fast. He gasps as he sits up, water rushing down his shoulders, chest shaking in tremors at being able to breathe again. Wrapping one arm around Donghae’s shoulders he pulls and pulls, trying to get him to collide against his chest, and grasps Donghae’s cock in his other hand, gentle yet firm strokes.
“Donghae. What the fuck, Donghae. Oh,” he says, this tone in his voice Donghae can’t pin point but it makes him finally give in and the water engulfs him in heat so fast it sends his body shaking violently and the water finally, finally, pushing past the edge and wetting the rug.
He presses his face to the side of Hyukjae’s head where the skin is warm and he feels the intensity, the adrenaline grow inside himself with each squeeze and pull of Hyukjae’s fingers. Donghae’s movements increase, his hips smack against Hyukjae’s as he pushes in and out of the heat of Hyukjae’s hand. But Hyukjae.
Hyukjae doesn’t move. He stays still, breath hissing through clenched teeth, eyes screwed so tightly closed his forehead bunches in knots.
Donghae tries to urge him on, he goes down and clenches around him, feeling Hyukjae throb inside himself, silently telling Hyukjae it’s okay it’s all right. I’m fine. I want this. I want you.
Hyukjae cries out, his body spasms and his back is strung out in a tight arc, ragged breath fanning Donghae’s shoulder.
But all he does is shudder, a dry sob racking the walls in the sound of his voice. And Donghae wants to hit him, cause him a pain so great, the marks so deeply imprinted into his skin, Hyukjae has no choice except to think about Donghae every time he looks in a mirror. Break Hyukjae apart until he is a shadow of what he was and then, bring him together piece by piece, arranging all the parts so Hyukjae can be, not what he thinks he should be, but what he wants to be.
Donghae traces Hyukjae’s ear with parted lips, he gasps into his sound waves and says, “Hyukjae. Please. I want it.” I want you. Donghae stops, to moan and twitch when Hyukjae tugs on him, all of his muscles clenching to keep himself from being pushed over. He pushes back against Hyukjae again, a sharp slap of hip against, skin on skin, dragging a shiver from Hyukjae’s body at the same time he drags Hyukjae’s earlobe between his teeth and pulls, tasting the smooth skin in his mouth. "I need it, Hyukjae.” I need you.
Hyukjae’s answer comes out in a strangled snarl and he finally moves, bucking his hips into Donghae and he doesn’t stop, bringing them both over the edge so fast neither notices who loses footing first.
---
The water is cold, all the heat soaked up in skin and bones.
Hyukjae’s hands circle over the small of Donghae’s back, trying to keep some recess warmth.
Their skin is wrinkled, scratched and weighed down by too much water. Donghae can’t bring himself to move but he knows he has to. Bracing himself, he starts to lift himself up, and it hurts, but he can bear it.
Hands on his back tighten, then wrap around his waist to stop him.
“I’m just,” Donghae starts to explain, voice hoarse and his throat on fire, but Hyukjae shakes his head. He rolls over so they lie on their sides and he’s the one that gets up.
He wraps them both up in the big beach towels they’ve never used. Donghae mumbles something about how pretty the beach is during the summer, how he wants to build sandcastles in the sea and roll around in the sand. Hyukjae doesn’t pay him much attention, hands busily dressing himself, then Donghae, taking care to towel dry Donghae’s hair as best he can.
Pulling the covers tight, Hyukjae enfolds Donghae in his arms, tucking the corners in around them and brushing their cold feet together, his toes rubbing the back of Donghae’s ankles. Closing his eyes, Donghae draws in as much warmth as he can, so much so until he feels he might burn himself and he can’t take it.
Donghae pulls away after a few minutes of lying in his arms, faces the wall with his back to Hyukjae.
“I feel sick,” he warns when Hyukjae presses up from behind him. “You have work.”
“I don’t care.” Hyukjae places his palm on Donghae’s waist, the touch tentative but firm. “I’m probably sick too.”
“Hyukjae, don’t.” He says when Hyukjae’s arm holds him against his chest.
“It’s okay,” he assures and Donghae tries to not melt into his arms when Hyukjae presses his lips to the back of his neck.
Back going ram rod straight, Donghae inhales once, long and deep and manages to find the voice to say, “I don’t want you to touch me right now.”
Hyukjae flinches, his entire body going stiff like a lightning bolt has just stricken him, immediate and unforgiving.
An eternity seems to pass, Donghae’s whole life, past and future, flashes before him in a huge map of tricycle tracks and airplane wheel skids.
Then, the hand is gone, the slowly growing heat at his back vanishes, and the door is shut soundlessly.
Hours pass. Donghae’s throat aches. His eyes feel heavy, his entire body begs for rest. Donghae stares at the wall, shivering under two blankets and the quilt Hyukjae’s grandmother made for Hyukjae when he was a boy for hours until his eyes are almost as sand paper dry as his heart is.
---
Donghae finally staggers out of bed days later, head feeling disoriented, his legs wobble like he’s forgotten how to walk.
He can breathe again. The pain in his throat is gone, each lungful of air goes down smooth. He takes a shower trying to remember the last few days but it all comes back in fragments he’s not sure he dreamt or made up or actually happened.
Twisting in a retched fever. Burning flames consuming everything, from his body to the drapes hanging off the windows. Soft hands pushing his hair from his eyes. The cooling sensation of water drinking up the pools of sweat. A hushed murmur of words, soothing and song like. The linger of soft lips on his heat stricken cheeks.
Padding into the living room, the first thing Donghae sees is the pillow and sheets on the couch. The second, Hyukjae lying on his back and the light spilling over his skin.
Hyukjae sits up when he sees him, watches as Donghae stretches out next to him.
“How do you feel?”
“I feel okay. Human.”
Hyukjae doesn’t laugh. He falls back, head smacking lightly against the floor but he shows no sign of pain except a small groan, then nothing but breathing. Loud and constant, the air he exhales makes the dust particles in the air illuminated by the sun dance pirouettes and ballroom waltz across the room.
The sun warms Donghae’s skin and he feels alive for the first time in a while. He wants to drown himself in this. The sun. The sound of Hyukjae’s breathing. The dust in the air.
Donghae records this moment, this memory, but when he tries to fit it somewhere, he’s not sure if it’s part of his past or his Now. His fingers itch to write future above it in bright red letters.
---
“What do you want from me?”
“You know what I want. You want the same thing.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I do. I know you.”
“But will you know me later? The me of tomorrow? Of next year or next life?
“I don’t care about that. I care about you now.”
“Exactly. So, who says you’ll care about me tomorrow?”
---
Basking in the sun’s warm glow, Donghae falls in and out of sleep and sees it all in fragments.
Hyukjae’s head on his chest, hair spread out and fanning over his heartbeat. The smell of tea brewing heavy and potent in the air. Fingers outlining his skin, counting his bones in presses of an index finger or thumb. Toe’s rubbing and scrapping up against his ankles, then his shins. A phone going off. The knock of the door a minute or three later. The never leaving presence of skin, warm with cold fingers, near his.
Heat pulling him awake to Hyukjae lying next to him, naked. The sun reflecting off his skin, lighting it on fire and his hair taking on the color of dry wood during autumn. The heat of Hyukjae’s hands is intoxicating; Donghae feels it in the distance between them. Their hands meet first, somewhere along the line of tracing the cold floor beneath their backs. Skin peeling off and sticking together. Hands filling themselves with the spaces between bones, and muscles, and flesh. He needs and he wants and it’s been days. Only days and he wasn’t even conscious during them.
But he registers this feeling that he’s lost a life time in those days. In Hyukjae’s eyes when they look into his as they pull and push each other apart to make room for themselves, carefully bending and molding arms and knees and lungs, trying to find a way to fit but not enough to lose something in the process or end up breaking one of them. Almost there, just a bit more and it would all fall into place. But they’re never willing to push enough, fearful too much pressure would snap them to pieces and then, there wouldn’t be anywhere to try to fit into anymore.
The moonlight spills into the room by the time Donghae is lucid enough to tell dream from reality, fact from fiction, the power of desire fueling his imagination against the coldness in his hands laid flat on the floor.
Hyukjae sleeps on the couch wrapped up in blankets and the cool breeze of night. The bedroom door is open, Donghae can see the light from the bathroom he must have left on illuminating the wall. His stomach rumbles but he can’t think of anything at the moment except wanting to crawl into bed to warm awaiting arms. There won’t be anyone waiting for him and the bed sheet will be freezing.
Donghae grabs a couch cushion, tucks it beneath his head, and pulls one of Hyukjae’s blankets down and over his body. It smells like Hyukjae when Donghae pulls it up and over his head but it doesn’t feel like him. Donghae knows he’ll never find anything or anyone that will.
---
He’s surrounded by softness. The softness at his back, on his legs and arms, toes tangled in cotton. The hands in his hair, the mouth on his cheek.
Donghae forces his eyes awake. The sun fills the room in a fuzzy haze, like watching a reel of film that’s been washed out with time. Hyukjae’s eyes are dark looming over him as his hands stroke Donghae’s hair, fingers gently rubbing his scalp.
“Hyukjae? What?”
“Shhh,” Hyukjae mumbles into his skin, sending vibrations through Donghae’s body at rapid speed. One of the hands in his hair weaves in and out, gently tugging at the ends and settles on his neck stroking with his thumb.
“But. How did I get here?” Donghae desperately tries to fight against the softness of Hyukjae’s hands and mouth. He goes over yesterday and last night. The memory of falling asleep on the floor, Hyukjae’s hand dangling above his face.
Hyukjae smiles, Donghae makes out his gums in all the haze. “You slept here,” he says and Donghae stares at him confused, brow creasing and body going tense. Hyukjae chuckles, lips grazing over Donghae’s cheekbone. “Forget about how you got here. All that matters is that you’re here now.”
His breath is coming harsh and loud, he feels it increase with each stroke of Hyukjae’s hand. It goes lower, down his chest and stomach and Donghae draws a sharp breath, inhaling brusquely as it slips beneath his t-shirt.
“Donghae,” Hyukjae whispers, his voice stretching over each sound like thick honey going down Donghae’s throat. He leans in closer, mouth at the corner of Donghae’s, hands grasping firm skin, and hip brushing Donghae’s thigh. “I want you,” he breathes into Donghae’s mouth.
Donghae tastes the words and drinks in their sound, the roll of them on his tongue and the after taste they leave in his mouth when he swallows them.
Hyukjae fists his hands in Donghae’s hair, pulling him up so their mouths meet, harsh and demanding, and the heat coils and clenches in Donghae’s stomach with such force it leaves him trembling, hands reaching for Hyukjae’s hips to bring them against his. There has never been a doubt in his mind that Hyukjae wants him, always there in his hands, in his eyes, in his body, open and willing. But his mouth, spelling it out and letting it hang in the air between them, sends him into a frenzy where he wants to soothe that want, be the only one who can and will.
They turn and pull at what little fabric covers their bodies, hands searching and uncovering, finger nails digging and hands leaving hand prints and finger marks. Donghae wishes they’d be left there forever, marking and branding their skin for someone else to find and be overwhelmed by.
Hyukjae lies on his back, hands reaching out to cover his body with Donghae’s as Donghae finds a place for his mouth on Hyukjae’s neck, teeth scarring the soft skin there. Hyukjae runs his hands down the expanse of Donghae’s back, framing his shoulders to cupping his ass, feeling the curve of his spine and the muscles of his buttocks clench and flex in his hands. Hyukjae strokes Donghae’s sides, spreads his limbs out wide, arms and legs as far as they can go, eyes sharp when Donghae looks up at him making Donghae feel unsteady, like he might crumble at any second.
Donghae’s fingers stroke Hyukjae’s insides, skin engulfed by wet smoldering heat. He watches Hyukjae’s face, the twist of his muscles under tight skin, and he thinks he might go insane from the look on his face and he makes himself go slower, keep his movement controlled, measured. Hyukjae only spreads his legs wider, uncontrollable sounds spilling from his mouth. He moves against the push and pull inside his body, pushing Donghae’s fingers deeper, the want smeared and spreading over his body with each exhale of his mouth and each writhe of his limbs against the mattress.
Leaning on his elbows, Hyukjae almost falls backwards when Donghae’s mouth goes down on him. He clenches the sheets in his hands, caught between thrusting upward and pushing back against Donghae’s hand.
“I. Donghae, I,” Hyukjae moans something Donghae can’t make out when Donghae applies more pressure, here and there, there, he slips when he reaches for Donghae’s hair, body clenching around Donghae when his fingers reach inside and stay. His legs tremble around Donghae’s head, his voice comes out labored and breathless. “Donghae, now. I want you now.”
Now. And maybe something breaks inside of Donghae. Or maybe it simply twists inside his gut, leaving him empty because there will never be a tomorrow but there will always be a now and maybe that’s okay. Maybe, if he tries hard enough, if he wants it enough, Donghae can make now last forever.
Hyukjae tries to push him away, he’s about to come Donghae can feel it, but he doesn’t relent to Hyukjae’s hands. Keep his mouth where it is and fingers pressed up inside Hyukjae’s body until Hyukjae shudders and groans, body pulled impossibly tight, mouth open in a silent shout or scream or word, Donghae’s name maybe or maybe nothing at all.
Hyukjae softens in his mouth, so Donghae pulls away and sits back looking away from the disbelieved look in Hyukjae’s eyes and the sweat glistening off his chest.
It doesn’t take long for Hyukjae to crawl over to him, his breathing still harsh and his hair a sweaty mess. He kisses Donghae, tasting himself on Donghae’s tongue and coaxing Donghae to kiss him back. He gives in and he does, because he always does, always will.
Hands on Donghae’s thighs, Hyukjae skims him with his fingertips, rubs Donghae back into hardness with ease, able fingers knowing where and how to touch. Hyukjae strokes his tongue as fast as he strokes his cock, quick flicking touches, or longer deeper strokes that have Donghae bucking his hips and asking for more, more, more, he’ll always want more.
Getting up on wobbly but rough knees, Donghae grasps Hyukjae’s hips and thrusts against him, body slick with sweat and Hyukjae’s cum. Hyukjae touches him, fingers gliding and dancing everywhere and nowhere Donghae needs it. His mouth presses against him differently now, in kisses that are almost comically chaste, kisses made out of story book endings and forever and ever and ever, and it’s like their mouths spin in a completely different stratosphere than their bodies.
Later, when he’s rung out dry and on his back, Donghae stares at the ceiling imagining how last night it must have looked black. It looks yellow now, or maybe it’s colorless, bright and blinding in the morning glow.
Hyukjae is staring at him. Donghae can feel it, but he doesn’t look back, too busy painting sunbeams and rivers of gold on the ceiling along with the memory of someone’s smile.
He feels Hyukjae get up. Hears his feet pad across the room to the window, Donghae makes out the outlines of his body through the corner of his eye. He doesn’t count how long Hyukjae stands at the window, face pressed to the glass and skin chilling by the breeze. But eventually, he hears the window closed shut, the drapes being pulled closed but not all the way. Footsteps on the floor. The bed dipping beneath added weight. Skin clinging and pulling at his.
Hands laid flat, Hyukjae looks down at Donghae but his eyes don’t absorb all the light; Donghae sees and feels and hears everything. Donghae takes Hyukjae’s hand and threads it through his own hair, Hyukjae looking at him curiously for a few seconds before doing the same with the other. It is Hyukjae who bends his neck, dips his head down to brush their lips together, mouths pliant and soft finding a way to, somehow, fit. For a while. For now.
This. This is Now.
---~---
pairing: Donghae/Eunhyuk
word count: 5494
rating: nc-17
summary: They're on a never ending pause. Donghae measures life in nows; Hyukjae counts the seconds in elapsed time frames that will end in tomorrow.
clocks are barely breathing at seconds before now
When Donghae is with Hyukjae, it is like cutting out a part of their lives. Leave everything that isn’t them, out.
Hyukjae sits at his desk and maps out his life in scribbled words and memories, plans for the next five, ten, fifteen, thirty years. Donghae watches from the bed, the sheets sprawled over his hips and his skin prickling in the cold. He sees Hyukjae write his name, Donghae, in big bold letters beneath the date stamped as Now.
The scissors are sharp as Hyukjae cuts out Now from the rest of, well, his life. He sets it apart, and fills everything else out, directions and diagrams and projections in his precise, clear writing. Finished, he pushes it all away, and picks up Now. Donghae loses count of how long Hyukjae stares at it, how many times he flips it over, how many times he goes to write something then changes his mind and lets the pen dangle from his hand.
He gives up and leaves it be. Donghae wonders if he’s gotten bored or simply can’t find the right words. Getting up from the chair, Hyukjae shuts the window, drags his hand all the way from the window frame to the wall until he settles his fingers in Donghae’s hair and fits his mouth against Donghae’s lips.
This. This is Now.
---
The sunlight streams in through the windows and fades in Hyukjae’s eyes. Donghae is drenched in darkness, blind and stumbling, left only to hear and feel.
He drowns himself in the weight of Hyukjae’s body, light yet holding him down against the sheets. The creak of the bed is loud, disrupting and breaking the quiet, each smack of the headboard against the wall sends a wave of pain through Donghae’s head.
Hyukjae breathes out. Donghae breathes in, soaking in every stutter, every gasp, each and every little sound Hyukjae makes. He swallows all the noise, turns it inside out inside himself and pushes it back out in his own voice, loudly whispered in Hyukjae’s ear.
They teeter at the edge, shoving and pushing to see who will fall off first. Both hold on stubbornly, neither willing to go without the other, neither willing to admit they’re waiting. Hyukjae keeps his balance, proudly stands on tiptoe dancing off the edge as long as he can, until his feet are numb and it hurts not being able to feel. So Donghae goes first, making the fall last as long as he can. He doesn’t know whether Hyukjae can tell if he jumped or not.
---
How long does now last, Donghae wants to ask.
He does and Hyukjae says,
“Now is now. It lasts for however long it’s meant to last.”
Rolling onto his side, Donghae studies his expression. It’s somewhere around midnight and it’s always hard to make out faces, figures, at this hour of night. Even harder to distinguish sincerity from lies, illusion from reality.
“How long is this meant to last?”
Hyukjae smiles and Donghae can’t tell if it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever seen or the ugliest. “Until it ends.”
Laughter dances in Hyukjae’s eyes, it bursts out into fits of chuckles when Donghae looks un amused and says, “Stop talking in code.”
“But I’m not,” Hyukjae says, and despite the laughter, his voice is dry of any joy or mirth. “It lasts until it ends. Don’t all things work that way?”
Donghae isn’t sure. All he’s sure of is that Hyukjae has mapped out his future and Donghae is already not a part of it.
---
“I have to go,” Hyukjae says with a hand on Donghae’s jaw, the other wrapped around Donghae’s cock.
“Now?” Donghae asks, disbelieved. He feels himself twitch in Hyukjae’s hold, bites down a groan when Hyukjae squeezes tighter before letting go. On impulse, because he’s so close and Hyukjae holds the promise of release in his trembling fingertips, Donghae grabs his wrist, fingers pressing down on his pulse point.
“Now.”
“You’ve got to be fucking me.” He has to be.
Hyukjae smiles, dislodging himself from the warmth between Donghae’s bent knees. “I wish.” I’m sorry says the quick press of his lips on Donghae’s neck. “If I don’t go right now, I won’t make it.”
Hyukjae isn’t thinking about Donghae. Not thinking about himself either. He’s thinking about down the road, further up ahead. What needs to be done now in order for later to exist.
The door clicks softly in the muted air. The air stays the same after Hyukjae has left, as if no one else was here to begin with.
Donghae thinks about finishing himself off. He doesn’t really need Hyukjae, his hand would suffice. Dragging his hand down his stomach, Donghae presses down on his fleshed skin hard enough to leave marks. His entire body aches, it throbs for a touch, anything. Instead, he lets his hand goes from hot to cold when he presses his palm against the window.
Donghae cracks open the window, lets the cold seep into his skin. Exposed, he lets the wind shell shock him until all the desire, all the need, is drained from his body and all he wants is nothing.
---
They pick off where they left off.
Donghae is still sitting by the window, elbows resting on his knees.
Hyukjae unwinds his scarf from his neck, the red of cotton stark against the paleness of his skin. He comes closer, closer, back to where he was, to where Donghae had wanted, needed, him to be. His knees sink into the cushion of the window sill, the sound he makes as he kneels between Donghae’s legs is almost comical.
A unhook of metal, the whisper of zipper on fabric. Donghae’s vision is cloudy when Hyukjae bends his head. Hyukjae’s tongue is too hot on his frozen skin, Donghae’s stomach clenches in pain almost as Hyukjae licks him to where he wants him. Hyukjae pushes him, higher and higher, and brings him back down with his mouth, the slide of his bruised lips, the press of his fingers until he leaves marks that’ll have faded away by morning.
Donghae wants to push him away, say he doesn’t need him, doesn’t want him. His thighs tighten themselves like a harness around Hyukjae’s body, hands pulling at Hyukjae’s hair, pulling him closer, voice urgent and desperate, the window fogging where his mouth is pressed to glass.
---
Hyukjae makes dinner. Rummages through the fridge and the cupboards selecting things at random. He tosses it all in the one pot they have: a mix of what fresh greens are still edible, the broken pieces of noodles shaken out of the bag, a dash of salt, a bit of some spice that always burns his tongue but Donghae adds to everything.
They eat it straight out of the pot, hovering close to the source of heat. A splinter digs itself into Donghae’s finger, he cuts himself when he knocks and smashes into his water glass. He drops his chopsticks and watches as he bleeds.
Hyukjae picks the splinter out with some tweezers, washes the blood away and bandages Donghae’s hand in thick white gauze he keeps beneath the sink.
“Thanks.”
Hyukjae smiles and goes back to his dinner, the shards of glass still glistening on the floor.
Donghae has lost his appetite but he’s dying of thirst. “I’m sorry.” He licks his dry lips and goes on when Hyukjae looks at him puzzled. “About the glass.”
Shrugging, Hyukjae wrinkles his nose, downs a gulp of his milk after a particularly spicy bite. “It’s okay. It wasn’t that nice of a set anyways.”
Hyukjae doesn’t say we will buy a new set or we’ll get some replacements to complete it again. Donghae stares at the bits and pieces on the floor, the two green lines that circled the rim. They started with six. They are now down to four and they’ll probably keep going until there’s only one.
---
Hyukjae lets Donghae fuck him against the wall in the hallway, the skin of his back rubbed raw on concrete where the wall paper has peeled off. Donghae’s shirt hangs around his neck, Hyukjae digs his nails into his shoulder blades to match the angry red marks the zipper of his jeans leaves on his thighs with each thrust.
Breathing into his neck, Donghae brings Hyukjae’s leg higher around his waist, as high as it can go, buries himself deeper, as deep as Hyukjae can take him.
“There,” Hyukjae grunts, trying to push against Donghae without toppling them backwards. He contents himself with stroking his cock, hard and searing between their stomachs, a second or two off with each time Donghae’s hips snap forward. “Donghae! Right. There,” he breathes, he stutters, he moans and this is when Donghae sees Hyukjae most vulnerable, open and wanting. Not someone, but something.
Donghae throws away rhythm, forgets finesse and just mindlessly, erratically pushes in and out of the heat of Hyukjae’s body until he forces Hyukjae over the edge first. Watches his fall with hungry eyes, the way Hyukjae’s body twists and clenches around him until Hyukjae is a liquid mass and despite himself, Donghae catches him right before he crashes and falls into nothing.
His knees give out and he sinks to the floor with Hyukjae in his lap boneless arms clinging to him. Letting them both fall, Donghae lies flat on his back, the harsh carpet adding to the pain in his back, the strain in his muscles. Hyukjae lays on top of him, face pressed into Donghae’s sweaty neck, lazy tongue soaking up all the moisture from his skin.
Hyukjae presses his hand to Donghae’s chest, grasping the notes his heart beat makes in the spaces between his fingers. Donghae feels Hyukjae’s heart beating as well. It beats fast, a tempo or two faster than his and he can’t seem to catch up, try and make his heart beat at the same speed or coax Hyukjae’s to slow down just a bit, just a little, only a little. That’s all he asks.
When the sweat has cooled off and the harsh breathing has turned to soundless inhales, Hyukjae gets up, mumbles something about showering.
Donghae stays, spread out on the floor, listening to the water rush so loud it sprays him in the face, cheeks wet and water tangling in his eyelashes.
---
“Because I don’t have just me to think about,” Hyukjae says when Donghae asks why he works himself so hard, in excess, till the sun comes down hard and burns his bones. “One day, it’s not going to be just me.”
“What do you mean?”
Hyukjae rolls his eyes. Donghae knows exactly what he means.
“Why can’t it be not just you now?”
The sigh Hyukjae exhales is pleading. His eyes are genuinely sad when he looks at Donghae. “Donghae, don’t. Please.”
So he doesn’t. Donghae gives in to the pull of Hyukjae’s mouth and kisses him until his mouth is wet with Hyukjae’s taste and for a little while he can forget that there is a now and anyone else they’ll one day have to think about.
---
Sometimes, while Hyukjae sleeps with his mouth half open in a snore and the sheets kicked off due to the heat, Donghae tries and map out his own future.
His writing is never concise, it’s not even in letters or characters really. More like colors, shapes, the outline of a building or an address. He pictures himself. Thirty years from now. Twenty. Fifteen. Ten. Five. One. Six months from now. Two months. A week.
Donghae draws blank. He knows that one day he won’t be just trying to picture himself in that future, he’ll be in it.
Right now, as he lies in bed, Donghae can’t see beyond light snoring, the soft hair caught in his fingers and the warm skin twisted around his.
---
After particularly long days, no matter how hot or cold it is, Donghae likes soaking in the tub. He runs the water until it’s comforting when he tests it with his forearm and adds some bath salt or liquid soap from the kitchen dispenser when they have nothing else.
The water reaches his collarbones, water lapping around the border with each movement he makes.
“You are insane,” Hyukjae laughs when he appears at the bathroom door. “It’s freezing,” he says but strips of his clothes, yelping when the cold air smacks his body, and steps into the tub, nestling himself between Donghae’s spread legs.
“It’s warm here,” Donghae murmurs into the kiss Hyukjae gives him, wet hands darkening Hyukjae’s hair.
Hyukjae agrees. He runs his hands up and down the length of Donghae’s body, warming his cold hands from being outside with no gloves or mittens. The water is still hot; it sloshes dangerously over the edge as they move against each other, slow and sliding against soapy needy skin.
Eyes widen in surprise, Hyukjae almost goes under when Donghae turns them around, Hyukjae lying against the bottom of the tub and Donghae straddling his hips. Donghae’s movements are urgent, shaky as he trembles in the cold air cooling his upper body. Hyukjae tries to bring him down against him, back into warmth, but Donghae doesn’t budge, fingers clenched iron tight on the edge of the tub.
Hyukjae tries to speak, Donghae can tell by the twitch of his lip and the furrow of his brow. Donghae doesn’t want to hear it.
He presses backwards and lowers himself onto Hyukjae without stopping, pushes himself all the way down in one go and tries not to scream out. He keeps it all in, focusing on the feel of Hyukjae deep inside him.
Hyukjae seems to choke on nothing but air, the vein in his neck strung as tight as his body in surprise. He can’t hold himself up right anymore. He slips and sinks further in, his mouth at water level and Donghae wonders if he might drown.
Nails digging into the sides of the tub, Donghae starts to move over Hyukjae, his hips jerking in awkward stumbling circles and it hurts, all the way down to his toes and up into his chest where it stays and stays and never seems to want to leave, but he doesn’t stop. The air in his lungs burns; it comes out like smoke out his nose and stings his eyes.
Something seems to click inside Hyukjae, eyes blinking once, hard and fast. He gasps as he sits up, water rushing down his shoulders, chest shaking in tremors at being able to breathe again. Wrapping one arm around Donghae’s shoulders he pulls and pulls, trying to get him to collide against his chest, and grasps Donghae’s cock in his other hand, gentle yet firm strokes.
“Donghae. What the fuck, Donghae. Oh,” he says, this tone in his voice Donghae can’t pin point but it makes him finally give in and the water engulfs him in heat so fast it sends his body shaking violently and the water finally, finally, pushing past the edge and wetting the rug.
He presses his face to the side of Hyukjae’s head where the skin is warm and he feels the intensity, the adrenaline grow inside himself with each squeeze and pull of Hyukjae’s fingers. Donghae’s movements increase, his hips smack against Hyukjae’s as he pushes in and out of the heat of Hyukjae’s hand. But Hyukjae.
Hyukjae doesn’t move. He stays still, breath hissing through clenched teeth, eyes screwed so tightly closed his forehead bunches in knots.
Donghae tries to urge him on, he goes down and clenches around him, feeling Hyukjae throb inside himself, silently telling Hyukjae it’s okay it’s all right. I’m fine. I want this. I want you.
Hyukjae cries out, his body spasms and his back is strung out in a tight arc, ragged breath fanning Donghae’s shoulder.
But all he does is shudder, a dry sob racking the walls in the sound of his voice. And Donghae wants to hit him, cause him a pain so great, the marks so deeply imprinted into his skin, Hyukjae has no choice except to think about Donghae every time he looks in a mirror. Break Hyukjae apart until he is a shadow of what he was and then, bring him together piece by piece, arranging all the parts so Hyukjae can be, not what he thinks he should be, but what he wants to be.
Donghae traces Hyukjae’s ear with parted lips, he gasps into his sound waves and says, “Hyukjae. Please. I want it.” I want you. Donghae stops, to moan and twitch when Hyukjae tugs on him, all of his muscles clenching to keep himself from being pushed over. He pushes back against Hyukjae again, a sharp slap of hip against, skin on skin, dragging a shiver from Hyukjae’s body at the same time he drags Hyukjae’s earlobe between his teeth and pulls, tasting the smooth skin in his mouth. "I need it, Hyukjae.” I need you.
Hyukjae’s answer comes out in a strangled snarl and he finally moves, bucking his hips into Donghae and he doesn’t stop, bringing them both over the edge so fast neither notices who loses footing first.
---
The water is cold, all the heat soaked up in skin and bones.
Hyukjae’s hands circle over the small of Donghae’s back, trying to keep some recess warmth.
Their skin is wrinkled, scratched and weighed down by too much water. Donghae can’t bring himself to move but he knows he has to. Bracing himself, he starts to lift himself up, and it hurts, but he can bear it.
Hands on his back tighten, then wrap around his waist to stop him.
“I’m just,” Donghae starts to explain, voice hoarse and his throat on fire, but Hyukjae shakes his head. He rolls over so they lie on their sides and he’s the one that gets up.
He wraps them both up in the big beach towels they’ve never used. Donghae mumbles something about how pretty the beach is during the summer, how he wants to build sandcastles in the sea and roll around in the sand. Hyukjae doesn’t pay him much attention, hands busily dressing himself, then Donghae, taking care to towel dry Donghae’s hair as best he can.
Pulling the covers tight, Hyukjae enfolds Donghae in his arms, tucking the corners in around them and brushing their cold feet together, his toes rubbing the back of Donghae’s ankles. Closing his eyes, Donghae draws in as much warmth as he can, so much so until he feels he might burn himself and he can’t take it.
Donghae pulls away after a few minutes of lying in his arms, faces the wall with his back to Hyukjae.
“I feel sick,” he warns when Hyukjae presses up from behind him. “You have work.”
“I don’t care.” Hyukjae places his palm on Donghae’s waist, the touch tentative but firm. “I’m probably sick too.”
“Hyukjae, don’t.” He says when Hyukjae’s arm holds him against his chest.
“It’s okay,” he assures and Donghae tries to not melt into his arms when Hyukjae presses his lips to the back of his neck.
Back going ram rod straight, Donghae inhales once, long and deep and manages to find the voice to say, “I don’t want you to touch me right now.”
Hyukjae flinches, his entire body going stiff like a lightning bolt has just stricken him, immediate and unforgiving.
An eternity seems to pass, Donghae’s whole life, past and future, flashes before him in a huge map of tricycle tracks and airplane wheel skids.
Then, the hand is gone, the slowly growing heat at his back vanishes, and the door is shut soundlessly.
Hours pass. Donghae’s throat aches. His eyes feel heavy, his entire body begs for rest. Donghae stares at the wall, shivering under two blankets and the quilt Hyukjae’s grandmother made for Hyukjae when he was a boy for hours until his eyes are almost as sand paper dry as his heart is.
---
Donghae finally staggers out of bed days later, head feeling disoriented, his legs wobble like he’s forgotten how to walk.
He can breathe again. The pain in his throat is gone, each lungful of air goes down smooth. He takes a shower trying to remember the last few days but it all comes back in fragments he’s not sure he dreamt or made up or actually happened.
Twisting in a retched fever. Burning flames consuming everything, from his body to the drapes hanging off the windows. Soft hands pushing his hair from his eyes. The cooling sensation of water drinking up the pools of sweat. A hushed murmur of words, soothing and song like. The linger of soft lips on his heat stricken cheeks.
Padding into the living room, the first thing Donghae sees is the pillow and sheets on the couch. The second, Hyukjae lying on his back and the light spilling over his skin.
Hyukjae sits up when he sees him, watches as Donghae stretches out next to him.
“How do you feel?”
“I feel okay. Human.”
Hyukjae doesn’t laugh. He falls back, head smacking lightly against the floor but he shows no sign of pain except a small groan, then nothing but breathing. Loud and constant, the air he exhales makes the dust particles in the air illuminated by the sun dance pirouettes and ballroom waltz across the room.
The sun warms Donghae’s skin and he feels alive for the first time in a while. He wants to drown himself in this. The sun. The sound of Hyukjae’s breathing. The dust in the air.
Donghae records this moment, this memory, but when he tries to fit it somewhere, he’s not sure if it’s part of his past or his Now. His fingers itch to write future above it in bright red letters.
---
“What do you want from me?”
“You know what I want. You want the same thing.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I do. I know you.”
“But will you know me later? The me of tomorrow? Of next year or next life?
“I don’t care about that. I care about you now.”
“Exactly. So, who says you’ll care about me tomorrow?”
---
Basking in the sun’s warm glow, Donghae falls in and out of sleep and sees it all in fragments.
Hyukjae’s head on his chest, hair spread out and fanning over his heartbeat. The smell of tea brewing heavy and potent in the air. Fingers outlining his skin, counting his bones in presses of an index finger or thumb. Toe’s rubbing and scrapping up against his ankles, then his shins. A phone going off. The knock of the door a minute or three later. The never leaving presence of skin, warm with cold fingers, near his.
Heat pulling him awake to Hyukjae lying next to him, naked. The sun reflecting off his skin, lighting it on fire and his hair taking on the color of dry wood during autumn. The heat of Hyukjae’s hands is intoxicating; Donghae feels it in the distance between them. Their hands meet first, somewhere along the line of tracing the cold floor beneath their backs. Skin peeling off and sticking together. Hands filling themselves with the spaces between bones, and muscles, and flesh. He needs and he wants and it’s been days. Only days and he wasn’t even conscious during them.
But he registers this feeling that he’s lost a life time in those days. In Hyukjae’s eyes when they look into his as they pull and push each other apart to make room for themselves, carefully bending and molding arms and knees and lungs, trying to find a way to fit but not enough to lose something in the process or end up breaking one of them. Almost there, just a bit more and it would all fall into place. But they’re never willing to push enough, fearful too much pressure would snap them to pieces and then, there wouldn’t be anywhere to try to fit into anymore.
The moonlight spills into the room by the time Donghae is lucid enough to tell dream from reality, fact from fiction, the power of desire fueling his imagination against the coldness in his hands laid flat on the floor.
Hyukjae sleeps on the couch wrapped up in blankets and the cool breeze of night. The bedroom door is open, Donghae can see the light from the bathroom he must have left on illuminating the wall. His stomach rumbles but he can’t think of anything at the moment except wanting to crawl into bed to warm awaiting arms. There won’t be anyone waiting for him and the bed sheet will be freezing.
Donghae grabs a couch cushion, tucks it beneath his head, and pulls one of Hyukjae’s blankets down and over his body. It smells like Hyukjae when Donghae pulls it up and over his head but it doesn’t feel like him. Donghae knows he’ll never find anything or anyone that will.
---
He’s surrounded by softness. The softness at his back, on his legs and arms, toes tangled in cotton. The hands in his hair, the mouth on his cheek.
Donghae forces his eyes awake. The sun fills the room in a fuzzy haze, like watching a reel of film that’s been washed out with time. Hyukjae’s eyes are dark looming over him as his hands stroke Donghae’s hair, fingers gently rubbing his scalp.
“Hyukjae? What?”
“Shhh,” Hyukjae mumbles into his skin, sending vibrations through Donghae’s body at rapid speed. One of the hands in his hair weaves in and out, gently tugging at the ends and settles on his neck stroking with his thumb.
“But. How did I get here?” Donghae desperately tries to fight against the softness of Hyukjae’s hands and mouth. He goes over yesterday and last night. The memory of falling asleep on the floor, Hyukjae’s hand dangling above his face.
Hyukjae smiles, Donghae makes out his gums in all the haze. “You slept here,” he says and Donghae stares at him confused, brow creasing and body going tense. Hyukjae chuckles, lips grazing over Donghae’s cheekbone. “Forget about how you got here. All that matters is that you’re here now.”
His breath is coming harsh and loud, he feels it increase with each stroke of Hyukjae’s hand. It goes lower, down his chest and stomach and Donghae draws a sharp breath, inhaling brusquely as it slips beneath his t-shirt.
“Donghae,” Hyukjae whispers, his voice stretching over each sound like thick honey going down Donghae’s throat. He leans in closer, mouth at the corner of Donghae’s, hands grasping firm skin, and hip brushing Donghae’s thigh. “I want you,” he breathes into Donghae’s mouth.
Donghae tastes the words and drinks in their sound, the roll of them on his tongue and the after taste they leave in his mouth when he swallows them.
Hyukjae fists his hands in Donghae’s hair, pulling him up so their mouths meet, harsh and demanding, and the heat coils and clenches in Donghae’s stomach with such force it leaves him trembling, hands reaching for Hyukjae’s hips to bring them against his. There has never been a doubt in his mind that Hyukjae wants him, always there in his hands, in his eyes, in his body, open and willing. But his mouth, spelling it out and letting it hang in the air between them, sends him into a frenzy where he wants to soothe that want, be the only one who can and will.
They turn and pull at what little fabric covers their bodies, hands searching and uncovering, finger nails digging and hands leaving hand prints and finger marks. Donghae wishes they’d be left there forever, marking and branding their skin for someone else to find and be overwhelmed by.
Hyukjae lies on his back, hands reaching out to cover his body with Donghae’s as Donghae finds a place for his mouth on Hyukjae’s neck, teeth scarring the soft skin there. Hyukjae runs his hands down the expanse of Donghae’s back, framing his shoulders to cupping his ass, feeling the curve of his spine and the muscles of his buttocks clench and flex in his hands. Hyukjae strokes Donghae’s sides, spreads his limbs out wide, arms and legs as far as they can go, eyes sharp when Donghae looks up at him making Donghae feel unsteady, like he might crumble at any second.
Donghae’s fingers stroke Hyukjae’s insides, skin engulfed by wet smoldering heat. He watches Hyukjae’s face, the twist of his muscles under tight skin, and he thinks he might go insane from the look on his face and he makes himself go slower, keep his movement controlled, measured. Hyukjae only spreads his legs wider, uncontrollable sounds spilling from his mouth. He moves against the push and pull inside his body, pushing Donghae’s fingers deeper, the want smeared and spreading over his body with each exhale of his mouth and each writhe of his limbs against the mattress.
Leaning on his elbows, Hyukjae almost falls backwards when Donghae’s mouth goes down on him. He clenches the sheets in his hands, caught between thrusting upward and pushing back against Donghae’s hand.
“I. Donghae, I,” Hyukjae moans something Donghae can’t make out when Donghae applies more pressure, here and there, there, he slips when he reaches for Donghae’s hair, body clenching around Donghae when his fingers reach inside and stay. His legs tremble around Donghae’s head, his voice comes out labored and breathless. “Donghae, now. I want you now.”
Now. And maybe something breaks inside of Donghae. Or maybe it simply twists inside his gut, leaving him empty because there will never be a tomorrow but there will always be a now and maybe that’s okay. Maybe, if he tries hard enough, if he wants it enough, Donghae can make now last forever.
Hyukjae tries to push him away, he’s about to come Donghae can feel it, but he doesn’t relent to Hyukjae’s hands. Keep his mouth where it is and fingers pressed up inside Hyukjae’s body until Hyukjae shudders and groans, body pulled impossibly tight, mouth open in a silent shout or scream or word, Donghae’s name maybe or maybe nothing at all.
Hyukjae softens in his mouth, so Donghae pulls away and sits back looking away from the disbelieved look in Hyukjae’s eyes and the sweat glistening off his chest.
It doesn’t take long for Hyukjae to crawl over to him, his breathing still harsh and his hair a sweaty mess. He kisses Donghae, tasting himself on Donghae’s tongue and coaxing Donghae to kiss him back. He gives in and he does, because he always does, always will.
Hands on Donghae’s thighs, Hyukjae skims him with his fingertips, rubs Donghae back into hardness with ease, able fingers knowing where and how to touch. Hyukjae strokes his tongue as fast as he strokes his cock, quick flicking touches, or longer deeper strokes that have Donghae bucking his hips and asking for more, more, more, he’ll always want more.
Getting up on wobbly but rough knees, Donghae grasps Hyukjae’s hips and thrusts against him, body slick with sweat and Hyukjae’s cum. Hyukjae touches him, fingers gliding and dancing everywhere and nowhere Donghae needs it. His mouth presses against him differently now, in kisses that are almost comically chaste, kisses made out of story book endings and forever and ever and ever, and it’s like their mouths spin in a completely different stratosphere than their bodies.
Later, when he’s rung out dry and on his back, Donghae stares at the ceiling imagining how last night it must have looked black. It looks yellow now, or maybe it’s colorless, bright and blinding in the morning glow.
Hyukjae is staring at him. Donghae can feel it, but he doesn’t look back, too busy painting sunbeams and rivers of gold on the ceiling along with the memory of someone’s smile.
He feels Hyukjae get up. Hears his feet pad across the room to the window, Donghae makes out the outlines of his body through the corner of his eye. He doesn’t count how long Hyukjae stands at the window, face pressed to the glass and skin chilling by the breeze. But eventually, he hears the window closed shut, the drapes being pulled closed but not all the way. Footsteps on the floor. The bed dipping beneath added weight. Skin clinging and pulling at his.
Hands laid flat, Hyukjae looks down at Donghae but his eyes don’t absorb all the light; Donghae sees and feels and hears everything. Donghae takes Hyukjae’s hand and threads it through his own hair, Hyukjae looking at him curiously for a few seconds before doing the same with the other. It is Hyukjae who bends his neck, dips his head down to brush their lips together, mouths pliant and soft finding a way to, somehow, fit. For a while. For now.
This. This is Now.
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