P092: A Thousand Facets of You
From: j2ster
Title: A Thousand Facets of You
Prompt Code: P092
Rating: PG-13
Length: 4700 words
Summary: Junmyeon’s a face model by day and a painter by night, but night and day he loves Jongdae dearly and keeps him close to heart.
Warning/s: implied sex, unbeta’ed
Notes: dear prompter, I think I strayed away from the prompt a bit (a lot?? I’m sorry ;; ) but I truly hope that you enjoy this! thank you mods for being so very kind with me <3 this is unbeta’ed bc my beta is busy with lots of stuff (I wish you all the best my dear friend!!) but I hope the self beta that I did reduced the mistakes a bit.
Junmyeon angles his face and pushes down the urge to block, with the back of his hand, the strong lighting directed at his face. He can’t see it, but as the camera clicks and the studio lights flash repeatedly, he can imagine the way his face glows, the sparkle that it radiates as the highlighter works wonders on his cheekbones, making him look almost surreal.
There are people in front of him, scattered around the room, doing various behind-the-scenes jobs to ensure that the pictures come out good and the product sells even better. Junmyeon appreciates each one of them - all he has to do is look pretty, after all - but his full attention is set on one person only.
To the side stands his makeup artist, the person whose magical hands never fail to make Junmyeon look exceptionally striking. For all the attractiveness and proportionality that his face holds, Junmyeon still thinks it’s nothing compared to Jongdae’s. With those defined cheekbones, playful eyes and soft complexion, Junmyeon’s sure sales would surge if only he’d modelled it in Junmyeon’s place.
Junmyeon gets a smile from him when their eyes meet, one that makes breathing easier and being constantly exposed to excessive lighting just a tad bit less numbing. It’s with reluctance when Junmyeon tears his gaze away at the photographer’s instruction to look into the camera.
Junmyeon sets the water-filled jar by his palette.
The night air is calm, the moon outside a bright yellow. The streetlight shines a dim glow through the window and onto the paper Junmyeon has set on the table surface.
In all honesty, it’s horrible lighting.
Mornings are usually the best time to paint, the sunlight projecting an equal amount of natural lighting upon his work space, but modelling always takes up much of his daytime, so Junmyeon settles for the night.
Turning on the light in his room only distributes uneven lighting all over and casts ugly shadows everywhere, so Junmyeon doesn’t really have a choice. After all, having artificial light being shone directly at his face for hours on set gets tiring, and Junmyeon has learned to appreciate the lack of brightness.
Junmyeon dips the tip of his brush into clear water.
He starts with cadmium red and then adds in yellow ochre, spreading the pigment on the flat surface of the palette. He makes another, but adds in a third colour this time - cerulean blue. It’s for the shadows.
Mixing colours is so easy; Junmyeon knows it like the back of his hand. Paint gets lighter when it touches paper and a bit darker as it dries, and Junmyeon takes pride in always being able to get the right shade of skintone. It’s a matter of practice.
It’s been a while since Junmyeon has last made pencil sketches before diving in with his watercolour. These days, he finds it easier to let his hand do what it wants, let the brush leave behind crooked lines and uneven strokes.
And so Junmyeon paints, sliding the brush down as he puts skin on paper and lets the colour flow. There’s an image, in his mind, of a face tilted at an angle, protruding its jaw at him and exposing its smooth neck, untainted save for the constellation of beauty marks spanning across it. On the drying base, he paints tiny dark spots with burnt umber.
Lips that curl at the edges, pulled up into a soft smile that’s so beautiful, so familiar. Junmyeon dips his brush in water and swipes it over cadmium red, letting the pigment stain the hairs before quickly moving back to his paper. The red is almost striking against the subtle colour of the skin, just like the image in his mind, the lips glossy and the smile pretty, feline.
“Dinner’s ready,” is called out in a muffled voice from the other side of the apartment just as Junmyeon sets his brush down.
Junmyeon leans back against his chair and lifts the paper up just slightly so that he can look at the finished work fully. The kitten lips, the jawline, the prominent adam’s apple. It resembles Jongdae so much.
“Coming,” Junmyeon shouts back, breaking the silence in the quiet room, as he stands and sets the painting aside to let it dry completely.
He can smell a waft of what smells like chicken curry and hot, delicious steamed rice as he makes his way out, patting his growling stomach absently.
It’s time for dinner.
“What are you doing?”
Junmyeon blinks as Jongdae’s adam’s apple bobs under his touch, the vibration as Jongdae speaks sending a pleasant hum beneath his fingertips.
“Memorising,” Junmyeon says softly, not pulling away from where he has his fingers pressed to Jongdae’s neck, letting them glide down each dent and slope and all the beauty marks that decorate his skin.
The slightest gap they’ve left open on one of the windows lets the chilly night air in, the wind blowing past Jongdae’s hair and causing the soft, dark strands to brush against the thin material of Junmyeon’s shorts.
The snort that Jongdae lets out is a fond one. “What for?”
Jongdae’s weight on his lap is welcome, an all too familiar pressure that weighs down his thighs and feels so real. Junmyeon smooths down the side of Jongdae’s neck, feather-like touches travelling down the juncture where Jongdae’s neck meets his shoulder. The dip of his collarbone, the smooth skin that leads to his chest. He’s so beautiful.
“References,” Junmyeon whispers, careful not to disturb the quiet of the night.
When Jongdae’s lips spread into a smile that curls at the edges, Junmyeon captures the image with his eyes and stows it in his mind. He’s already thinking of a colour scheme, possibly permanent rose with a hint of crimson and plenty of water to soften out the richness of the deep red tone so it matches with the blush on Jongdae’s lips.
The tiny gasp that Jongdae lets out when Junmyeon presses at the fading dark spot resting just under his jaw makes Junmyeon want to press harder and watch as Jongdae’s breath quickens and his lips part and he leans in to Junmyeon’s touch pliantly. Junmyeon doesn’t do that. Instead he pulls away to brush Jongdae’s hair back, rubbing softly at the scalp and smiling when Jongdae sighs softly.
“Go to sleep,” Junmyeon tells him, smoothing out Jongdae’s forehead with his thumb, a soothing gesture.
Jongdae hums in reply, reaching up to take Junmyeon’s other hand in his. He kisses the back of it, a gentle press of his mouth that makes Junmyeon smile just a little wider.
Jongdae’s lids are heavy with sleep, Junmyeon can tell even under the dim lighting. “We’re not sleeping on the couch, Jongdae,” Junmyeon says even as he keeps on rubbing Jongdae’s forehead gently.
It’s well past a minute of Jongdae lying on Junmyeon’s lap, eyes closed and serene-looking, before he pulls away reluctantly and gets to his feet, eyes half closed and an adorable frown on his face as he makes his way to their bedroom. Junmyeon trails behind wordlessly as Jongdae drags himself to bed. He watches fondly before climbing to bed just the same, slipping under the covers and scooping Jongdae into his arms.
Tonight is one of Junmyeon’s luckier nights. Sometimes, Jongdae would fall asleep on his lap, and Junmyeon would be too reluctant to wake him up and remind him that they weren’t, in fact, in bed. Even then, Junmyeon would wake up in the morning, with a stiff back and sore neck, and it would still be fine.
This is fine too, Junmyeon thinks, as he tightens his arms around Jongdae and buries his face in Jongdae’s chest, Jongdae’s warmth enveloping him in a familiar heat.
It feels like home. Junmyeon wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
“That’s cheating,” Junmyeon says, narrowing his eyes and leaning away as Jongdae uncaps the mascara, the one for natural-looking lashes.
Jongdae just looks at him, his eyes soft as he pulls Junmyeon in with a hand on his nape. “Don’t move.”
He’s modelling for a local brand lash curler today, one that goes with a silicone refill for every purchase made. That, and a mislead expectation until one finds out that the product alone isn’t going to give them full and beautifully curled lashes. Plus, Junmyeon’s pretty sure the pictures are going to be photoshopped before being put up in public. It’s this kind of deceiving act that gets under Junmyeon’s skin sometimes.
“You know, they wouldn’t have to go through this kind of fraud if they’d chosen you to do it instead,” Junmyeon says as Jongdae coats his curled lashes, skilled fingers making sure it comes out nice and neat.
Jongdae taps his nose and lets his finger slide down, touch featherlight when it brushes against Junmyeon’s bottom lip, totally on purpose, before pulling away. “Fraud is a harsh word.”
“Well then it should describe their way of marketing perfectly.”
From where he’s leaning back on his seat, the vanity lights lighting up his features, Junmyeon can see Jongdae’s lovely lashes, the way they flutter against his cheeks as he pokes around the table for something. Junmyeon reaches out to brush his thumb against the lashes, causing Jongdae to look up in surprise, almost jerking away from the touch.
“People might look,” Jongdae chides, voice low as he takes Junmyeon’s hand in his, away from his face.
“Let them look.” Junmyeon still doesn’t understand why Jongdae wants to keep it stealthy, something around the line of professionalism and work ethic. He squeezes Jongdae’s hand in his before letting go. “What are you looking for? False lashes?”
Jongdae gives him a soft smile, leaning against the dressing table as he reaches out to fix Junmyeon’s bangs. They’re letting his hair down today, going for the softer look. “No falsies for this shoot.”
It’s a brow pencil that Jongdae’s been searching for - Junmyeon finds out a moment later when Jongdae’s face loses its frown - and he uses it to give Junmyeon’s brows some light shading. He doesn’t pull away to examine his work like he usually does, instead leans in to press his lips near Junmyeon’s brow bone, his hand on Junmyeon’s neck to keep him still, before he pulls away just as fast. It catches Junmyeon off-guard, leaves him reeling as one of the crews’ voice rings through the open door, signaling the start of the shoot.
No one notices, not with how swift Jongdae can be sometimes, and Junmyeon smiles at his hands, gets to his feet and out of the room. He’s going to get him back for that.
Junmyeon is propped on the counter in their bathroom, the surface cold and hard against his rare, but the warmth of Jongdae’s hand on his nape makes up for it. His legs still ache a little from how hard Jongdae’s bent them over last night, and he feels his skin tingle at the thought of it.
“Don’t move,” Jongdae chides with a glare when Junmyeon opens his mouth to voice it out. He feels Jongdae’s hand tighten around his nape to hold him in place.
The sharp tip of the razor is cold when Jongdae glides them down Junmyeon’s chin, cutting off moist stubble in its wake. He has a shoot scheduled for today, one for a “high coverage” concealer, so it’s only proper that he shows up on set with a clean shaven face.
“Jongdae,” Junmyeon says when Jongdae pulls away to run tap water down the blade, rinsing it clean. “Jongdae.” Junmyeon already misses having him so close.
“What?”
Junmyeon reaches out to grab at the side of Jongdae’s shirt. The questioning look that he receives as he gets off the counter to latch himself onto Jongdae’s back pleases him greatly. “Do we really have to go to work?” he asks into the crook of Jongdae’s neck, arms snaking around Jongdae’s middle because it’s warm when they stay like this. “Can’t we just-”
The sigh that Jongdae lets out cuts him off. “Let go,” Jongdae says, nudging Junmyeon away with his elbow, the sharp tip digging into his rib unforgivingly.
It’s with great reluctance when Junmyeon pulls away. “Why are you always so mean?” he pouts, though it never works.
Jongdae shakes excess water off the razor before putting it away. “Because you’re insufferable,” he reasons, half distracted as he reaches over for the tiny towel by the sink and the bottle of aftershave. “Come here.”
Junmyeon does as he’s told. He’s still a little groggy with sleep, hair unkempt when he checks himself on the mirror, but the water is cold when he washes his face clean. It wakes him up.
Jongdae is gentle when he pats Junmyeon’s face dry with the towel.
“I’m not insufferable,” Junmyeon corrects him, a little too belatedly. “Work is.”
“Both of you are,” Jongdae says, the smile apparent in his tone. Indeed, he’s smiling softly when the towel is pulled away from where it’s covering Junmyeon’s vision.
“Besides,” Junmyeon sniffs curtly, feeling slightly put off by Jongdae’s honest answer even as he places his hands on Jongdae's hip, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt to rest on the soft skin beneath. “My thighs are still hurting from last night, so I don’t think I can-”
He’s cut off for the second time when Jongdae leans in for a kiss. Junmyeon’s arms wrap around Jongdae instinctively, the skin of his arms against the skin of Jongdae’s back, pulling Jongdae forward and pressing their bodies flush against each other as Jongdae cradles him close just the same. Jongdae tastes minty and all sorts of amazing, and being close like this, like he’s the only being Junmyeon’s entire universe is made up of - it makes Junmyeon think that Jongdae is finally caving in.
Which, of course, isn’t true.
All that is needed is a grind of Junmyeon’s hip before Jongdae is pulling away, a hand on Junmyeon’s chest to keep him at bay. Junmyeon pouts. It still doesn’t work. After all these years, Junmyeon has come to learn that, somehow, pouting only works when he’s at the receiving end. It is extremely frustrating and inconvenient, especially in times like this.
“Don’t you dare,” Jongdae warns, looking at Junmyeon cautiously before reaching for the bottle of aftershave. Junmyeon uses the distraction to dip his thumb in Jongdae’s navel, earning him an accusatory yelp as Jongdae scrambles away. Junmyeon sighs. Guess he doesn’t have a choice but to wait until they get back home later.
The door barely clicks close before Jongdae is pushing Junmyeon against the front door of their apartment, diving in to press their mouths together as he holds Junmyeon still by the hip, fingers digging into skin from where he’s hiked Junmyeon’s shirt up in practised ease. The slow but deep, slick slide of Jongdae’s lips against his is addicting and Junmyeon leans in for more, pulling Jongdae closer himself by the nape.
Jongdae’s breath is hot against Junmyeon’s cheeks when he pulls away. “Cherry,” he hums, tongue swiping over his bottom lip where the flavoured lip gloss Junmyeon has on has clearly smeared over it as they made out. “Tastes sweet.”
They’d just gone back from today’s shoot - a sheer, flavoured lip gloss that smells a little too strong for Junmyeon’s liking, though he’s got to admit that it tastes pretty delicious. Jongdae had insisted that Junmyeon doesn’t remove the gloss right away, and Junmyeon had to go through another hour of the strong scent irritating his nostrils until they reach home. Though, admittedly, what greets him at home is worth the torture.
When Jongdae kisses him again, licking at the seam of Junmyeon’s lips to gather some of the sweet-tasting gloss, Junmyeon wraps his arms around Jongdae’s back to pull him closer, fingers slipping under the back of his shirt and hands climbing up his back, hot under the touch.
Junmyeon isn’t one for lip gloss because it’s goopy and smears all over when they kiss - lip balm is always much better - but Jongdae doesn’t seem to mind, kissing Junmyeon like it’s a taste he can never tire of.
“We’re getting this once it’s launched. This exact flavour,” Jongdae tells him, leaning in for a peck.
Junmyeon’s pretty sure they’re going to be sending him free products sooner or later, but he pats Jongdae on the butt in agreement, anyway, before pushing him away so they can wash up and order lunch because it’s getting late.
“Remember that time I asked you out?”
They’re at the neighbouring park, huddled up close together in one of the benches, cuddling away the hint of cold that autumn brings. Jongdae has an arm linked around Junmyeon’s and his chin resting on Junmyeon’s shoulder so that it sends a pleasant hum traveling through Junmyeon’s skin whenever he talks.
Junmyeon only hums, content with basking in the warmth that Jongdae radiates. He’s got one of his sketchbooks and his go-to set of ochre palette laid out on his lap, a portable brush in one hand as he paints a line of tiny trees, orange and red and umber and gold.
“You’d stared at me with that dumb face of yours.”
“When will you stop trying to embarrass me?” Junmyeon inquires, turning to face Jongdae. They’re so close Junmyeon can feel the warmth of Jongdae’s breath, and he smiles when Jongdae leans in for a soft kiss.
“It was endearing,” Jongdae says, tightening his grip around Junmyeon’s arm as Junmyeon turns back to his painting. He briefly wonders if gouache will work better with the hues of autumn instead.
“I’m pretty charming. That’s probably why.” That gets him a light pinch to his side.
“It was memorable. You’d gaped and sputtered and it was adorable and I’d told you-”
“You’d told me that I was the most unsubtle person you’d ever met.”
“Still true,” mutters Jongdae, half of his face now buried in the crook of Junmyeon’s neck.
Admittedly, it had been a little too overwhelming for Junmyeon to handle. He had spent several miserable months pining over his makeup artist, and Jongdae was but alluring all the time, so really, Junmyeon had suffered a lot. And when Jongdae approached him one day and told him pretty much everything that Junmyeon had been trying to articulate, he could only stare. It had felt like a dream, and the soft blush colouring Jongdae’s face had been the anchor keeping him from flying into the clouds.
“I think you should add some birds,” Jongdae suggests, voice warm and the touch of his thumb soothing where it presses to the inside of Junmyeon’s wrist.
Junmyeon wets his brush with a light squeeze to the barrel, dabs it against shungite. “Lots of them?”
He feels more than sees Jongdae nod, against his shoulder. “Lots and lots.”
Across them, a few neighbourhood kids laugh and squeal joyfully as they play catch. An old lady walks her dog, a dog-walker walks other people’s dogs, dogs bark delightedly, and leaves twirl and dance in the wind. It’s such a happy picture, one that warms Junmyeon even as the autumn chill does the opposite.
Junmyeon laces his fingers with Jongdae’s and holds.
The noisy pitter-patter of water doesn’t stop even after Junmyeon’s turned the shower off. It’s started raining when he was in the shower - Junmyeon realises this once he steps out of the bathroom, clad in a fresh shirt and shorts as he rubs his wet hair dry with a clean towel.
Jongdae is sitting cross-legged on their bed, flipping through an album of pictures propped on his lap, when Junmyeon reaches the bedroom. He looks almost solemn and doesn’t look up even as Junmyeon approaches.
“What are you looking at?” Junmyeon knows what it is, but he asks, anyway, just for the sake of it.
Jongdae barely peers up at him.
Junmyeon likes to think this is a tiny part of what drives their relationship - Jongdae loves going through Junmyeon’s late night works as much as Junmyeon loves painting a thousand facets of Jongdae’s smile onto paper, and Junmyeon likes to call Jongdae out on it as much as Jongdae does Junmyeon.
“I would think I’m a creep if you didn’t spend so much time looking at paintings of your own face,” Junmyeon quips, moving to sit beside Jongdae, their knees touching.
“You always paint me so pretty,” Jongdae says, voice a little muffled by the heavy rain outside, but Junmyeon hears him clearly.
The page Jongdae is looking at bears a sketch of his own brows and eyes, drawn with charcoal on a page torn off one of Junmyeon’s older journals. A lot of the “paintings” aren’t even coloured. They’re merely half-page sketches Junmyeon does in the small amount of spare time he has at night, some sort of a stress relief from the burden of work that weighs down his shoulders. That, and a way for him to pour his then presumably unrequited love for Jongdae onto something - in this case, paper.
These days, Junmyeon hasn’t been able to paint as much as he used to. He’s more occupied with other things now that he has Jongdae, but Jongdae still spends some nights looking through his works, so Junmyeon paints him, sometimes.
“That’s because you are,” Junmyeon says, looking at Jongdae’s face, at his beautiful eyes and the lashes that rest against his cheeks.
Jongdae has a subtle smile on his face when he turns to face Junmyeon.
Junmyeon doesn’t think he knew what love was before Jongdae, but he gets it now. It’s like this. Just like this. It’s Junmyeon staring at Jongdae as Jongdae stares back, their gaze locked, this intimate gesture that even the loud noise of the rain outside can’t break. It’s Junmyeon’s hand on Jongdae’s nape, firm and steady, and Jongdae not breaking eye contact even as he tilts his head to the side, the fond smile still on his face, bottom lip sucked between his teeth, like he’s in love, so in love.
It’s the immediate respond that Junmyeon gets when he leans in to press their lips together, one hand pushing the album aside and the other pulling Jongdae closer until Junmyeon can sit on his lap. It’s Junmyeon gently pushing Jongdae down so he’s lying on the bed, eyes bright and the veins on his neck taut with want, all laid out for Junmyeon to kiss and touch and love.
Jongdae is willing to give, and Junmyeon is willing to give back to him. Jongdae kisses with his tongue hot and wet in Junmyeon’s mouth and his hands finding purchase on Junmyeon’s back, on his shirt, under the hem, pulling it off. Junmyeon kisses Jongdae with the intent to taste, to savour, to remember so he never forgets.
They realise too late that Junmyeon’s hair is still wet and that Jongdae has drops of water dripping onto his face, but he resolves it by burying his fingers in Junmyeon’s hair, holding it away so it doesn’t hinder and scratching at the scalp because he knows it sends a surge of desire in Junmyeon, knows it makes him pant with want.
“I love you,” Junmyeon mutters into the kiss, now a messy fit because they’re too close for it to be the right angle but Jongdae won’t loosen his grip.
Junmyeon’s pretty sure Jongdae would tell him to shut up if he weren’t so busy shutting Junmyeon up with his mouth on Junmyeon’s mouth, his hands on Junmyeon’s back, their legs tangled in the sheets.
Jongdae flips them over. “I love you,” he says, diving in to kiss Junmyeon again.
It catches Junmyeon off-guard. He wasn’t expecting it - there was no need for Jongdae to say it back to him - and now there’s a huge smile on Junmyeon’s face. He can feel it, the stretch of his mouth against Jongdae’s, Jongdae struggling to kiss him properly because it’s hard when Junmyeon’s grinning like he’s a little kid and Jongdae’s just treated him to cotton candy at a town carnival.
Junmyeon’s so happy he bites Jongdae’s bottom lip accidentally, a tad bit too hard that Jongdae pulls away with a yelp, bopping Junmyeon on the shoulder in retaliation, but it’s okay. Junmyeon’s hair is wetting the sheets underneath and it’s cold and comfortable but it’s okay.
This is fine, Junmyeon thinks, as he smiles up at the pout on Jongdae’s face that’ll soon be melting into a grin that makes his eyes crinkle because it always does. This is alright - Junmyeon’s never wanted anything else.
“Don’t look.”
Junmyeon can feel Jongdae smile against his palms, the wrinkles and the smile lines as his face lights up. He tries not to think of how much of a waste it is to not be able to look at that smile right now and pushes Jongdae forward, guides him to their bedroom as he covers his face with his hands.
“No peeking.”
“Junmyeon, this is getting old,” Jongdae comments, chuckling.
Junmyeon hushes him.
Their room is dim, the light from outside the only lighting illuminating the space, poorly so. Junmyeon likes it this way, and Jongdae’s never insisted otherwise.
Junmyeon pulls his hands away. The smile on Jongdae’s face when he looks down and finds a birthday card on the table is rewarding.
“A whale,” Jongdae says, picking the card up as he smiles up at Junmyeon before turning back to it, smoothing a thumb over the dried watercolour paint. Junmyeon has used a lot of water on it, letting the prussian blue pigment flow freely. “It’s so pretty.” It sounds sincere, but there’s also that flippant tone in his voice that Junmyeon knows too well means Jongdae knows what’s coming.
Two years ago, Junmyeon had made him a birthday card with a blue finch on the front and a ‘happy birdday’ on the inside. Jongdae had said, “You can’t be serious,” had looked like he was this close from strangling Junmyeon on the neck and maybe breaking up with him while he was at it, though later he’d wrapped Junmyeon in this warm, enveloping hug that’s so characteristically Jongdae and Junmyeon was so happy he could burst.
Just last year, Junmyeon had painted a bear on the front and wrote ‘I hope you have a beary wonderful birthday’ on the inside and Jongdae had sighed so heavily, though Junmyeon knows alright that Jongdae had kept the card, and the one from the previous year, too.
So it’s only expected by now that Jongdae get a rough idea of what’s waiting for him.
Jongdae flips the card open.
“Happy birthday, Jongdae,” Junmyeon says, leaning with his back against the table as he watches the smile drain from Jongdae’s face, sees the way his adam’s apple bob as he swallows and doesn’t tear his gaze from the card.
The moonlight casts an ethereal glow on Jongdae’s face.
“Yes,” he says, not looking away from where he’s still holding the card open with his hand.
Junmyeon brushes his own hair back, rests his hands at the edge of the table. “You should be saying ‘thank you’ when someone wishes you a happy birthday,” he jests.
When Jongdae looks up, he looks into Junmyeon’s eyes with this sort of unreadable expression, and Junmyeon can only focus on how beautiful he is, how soft and serene he looks in the confines of their apartment, an image of perfection only Junmyeon gets to see. How, from the millions of people in this world, Junmyeon has chosen Jongdae and Jongdae has chosen him and he knows he wouldn’t want it to be any other way.
Jongdae steps forward, not before putting the card away, and kisses Junmyeon. Kisses Junmyeon deeply as he holds Junmyeon close with his fingers welcome and familiar in Junmyeon’s hair and on his neck, tugging at the strands and pressing against skin. Kisses Junmyeon long and hard as he pushes their bodies flush against each other until Junmyeon can feel the edge of the table dig into his back and finds that he doesn’t mind. Kisses Junmyeon as Junmyeon kisses back just the same, holds Jongdae close with his hands on Jongdae’s hip, holds Jongdae close because he can never get enough of him.
Wind from the air conditioner sways the curtains that cover the windows just barely, light filtering through and casting a dull glow onto the room.
On the table lies Jongdae’s birthday card. He turns twenty-four today.
“Whale you marry me?”
Title: A Thousand Facets of You
Prompt Code: P092
Rating: PG-13
Length: 4700 words
Summary: Junmyeon’s a face model by day and a painter by night, but night and day he loves Jongdae dearly and keeps him close to heart.
Warning/s: implied sex, unbeta’ed
Notes: dear prompter, I think I strayed away from the prompt a bit (a lot?? I’m sorry ;; ) but I truly hope that you enjoy this! thank you mods for being so very kind with me <3 this is unbeta’ed bc my beta is busy with lots of stuff (I wish you all the best my dear friend!!) but I hope the self beta that I did reduced the mistakes a bit.
Junmyeon angles his face and pushes down the urge to block, with the back of his hand, the strong lighting directed at his face. He can’t see it, but as the camera clicks and the studio lights flash repeatedly, he can imagine the way his face glows, the sparkle that it radiates as the highlighter works wonders on his cheekbones, making him look almost surreal.
There are people in front of him, scattered around the room, doing various behind-the-scenes jobs to ensure that the pictures come out good and the product sells even better. Junmyeon appreciates each one of them - all he has to do is look pretty, after all - but his full attention is set on one person only.
To the side stands his makeup artist, the person whose magical hands never fail to make Junmyeon look exceptionally striking. For all the attractiveness and proportionality that his face holds, Junmyeon still thinks it’s nothing compared to Jongdae’s. With those defined cheekbones, playful eyes and soft complexion, Junmyeon’s sure sales would surge if only he’d modelled it in Junmyeon’s place.
Junmyeon gets a smile from him when their eyes meet, one that makes breathing easier and being constantly exposed to excessive lighting just a tad bit less numbing. It’s with reluctance when Junmyeon tears his gaze away at the photographer’s instruction to look into the camera.
Junmyeon sets the water-filled jar by his palette.
The night air is calm, the moon outside a bright yellow. The streetlight shines a dim glow through the window and onto the paper Junmyeon has set on the table surface.
In all honesty, it’s horrible lighting.
Mornings are usually the best time to paint, the sunlight projecting an equal amount of natural lighting upon his work space, but modelling always takes up much of his daytime, so Junmyeon settles for the night.
Turning on the light in his room only distributes uneven lighting all over and casts ugly shadows everywhere, so Junmyeon doesn’t really have a choice. After all, having artificial light being shone directly at his face for hours on set gets tiring, and Junmyeon has learned to appreciate the lack of brightness.
Junmyeon dips the tip of his brush into clear water.
He starts with cadmium red and then adds in yellow ochre, spreading the pigment on the flat surface of the palette. He makes another, but adds in a third colour this time - cerulean blue. It’s for the shadows.
Mixing colours is so easy; Junmyeon knows it like the back of his hand. Paint gets lighter when it touches paper and a bit darker as it dries, and Junmyeon takes pride in always being able to get the right shade of skintone. It’s a matter of practice.
It’s been a while since Junmyeon has last made pencil sketches before diving in with his watercolour. These days, he finds it easier to let his hand do what it wants, let the brush leave behind crooked lines and uneven strokes.
And so Junmyeon paints, sliding the brush down as he puts skin on paper and lets the colour flow. There’s an image, in his mind, of a face tilted at an angle, protruding its jaw at him and exposing its smooth neck, untainted save for the constellation of beauty marks spanning across it. On the drying base, he paints tiny dark spots with burnt umber.
Lips that curl at the edges, pulled up into a soft smile that’s so beautiful, so familiar. Junmyeon dips his brush in water and swipes it over cadmium red, letting the pigment stain the hairs before quickly moving back to his paper. The red is almost striking against the subtle colour of the skin, just like the image in his mind, the lips glossy and the smile pretty, feline.
“Dinner’s ready,” is called out in a muffled voice from the other side of the apartment just as Junmyeon sets his brush down.
Junmyeon leans back against his chair and lifts the paper up just slightly so that he can look at the finished work fully. The kitten lips, the jawline, the prominent adam’s apple. It resembles Jongdae so much.
“Coming,” Junmyeon shouts back, breaking the silence in the quiet room, as he stands and sets the painting aside to let it dry completely.
He can smell a waft of what smells like chicken curry and hot, delicious steamed rice as he makes his way out, patting his growling stomach absently.
It’s time for dinner.
“What are you doing?”
Junmyeon blinks as Jongdae’s adam’s apple bobs under his touch, the vibration as Jongdae speaks sending a pleasant hum beneath his fingertips.
“Memorising,” Junmyeon says softly, not pulling away from where he has his fingers pressed to Jongdae’s neck, letting them glide down each dent and slope and all the beauty marks that decorate his skin.
The slightest gap they’ve left open on one of the windows lets the chilly night air in, the wind blowing past Jongdae’s hair and causing the soft, dark strands to brush against the thin material of Junmyeon’s shorts.
The snort that Jongdae lets out is a fond one. “What for?”
Jongdae’s weight on his lap is welcome, an all too familiar pressure that weighs down his thighs and feels so real. Junmyeon smooths down the side of Jongdae’s neck, feather-like touches travelling down the juncture where Jongdae’s neck meets his shoulder. The dip of his collarbone, the smooth skin that leads to his chest. He’s so beautiful.
“References,” Junmyeon whispers, careful not to disturb the quiet of the night.
When Jongdae’s lips spread into a smile that curls at the edges, Junmyeon captures the image with his eyes and stows it in his mind. He’s already thinking of a colour scheme, possibly permanent rose with a hint of crimson and plenty of water to soften out the richness of the deep red tone so it matches with the blush on Jongdae’s lips.
The tiny gasp that Jongdae lets out when Junmyeon presses at the fading dark spot resting just under his jaw makes Junmyeon want to press harder and watch as Jongdae’s breath quickens and his lips part and he leans in to Junmyeon’s touch pliantly. Junmyeon doesn’t do that. Instead he pulls away to brush Jongdae’s hair back, rubbing softly at the scalp and smiling when Jongdae sighs softly.
“Go to sleep,” Junmyeon tells him, smoothing out Jongdae’s forehead with his thumb, a soothing gesture.
Jongdae hums in reply, reaching up to take Junmyeon’s other hand in his. He kisses the back of it, a gentle press of his mouth that makes Junmyeon smile just a little wider.
Jongdae’s lids are heavy with sleep, Junmyeon can tell even under the dim lighting. “We’re not sleeping on the couch, Jongdae,” Junmyeon says even as he keeps on rubbing Jongdae’s forehead gently.
It’s well past a minute of Jongdae lying on Junmyeon’s lap, eyes closed and serene-looking, before he pulls away reluctantly and gets to his feet, eyes half closed and an adorable frown on his face as he makes his way to their bedroom. Junmyeon trails behind wordlessly as Jongdae drags himself to bed. He watches fondly before climbing to bed just the same, slipping under the covers and scooping Jongdae into his arms.
Tonight is one of Junmyeon’s luckier nights. Sometimes, Jongdae would fall asleep on his lap, and Junmyeon would be too reluctant to wake him up and remind him that they weren’t, in fact, in bed. Even then, Junmyeon would wake up in the morning, with a stiff back and sore neck, and it would still be fine.
This is fine too, Junmyeon thinks, as he tightens his arms around Jongdae and buries his face in Jongdae’s chest, Jongdae’s warmth enveloping him in a familiar heat.
It feels like home. Junmyeon wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
“That’s cheating,” Junmyeon says, narrowing his eyes and leaning away as Jongdae uncaps the mascara, the one for natural-looking lashes.
Jongdae just looks at him, his eyes soft as he pulls Junmyeon in with a hand on his nape. “Don’t move.”
He’s modelling for a local brand lash curler today, one that goes with a silicone refill for every purchase made. That, and a mislead expectation until one finds out that the product alone isn’t going to give them full and beautifully curled lashes. Plus, Junmyeon’s pretty sure the pictures are going to be photoshopped before being put up in public. It’s this kind of deceiving act that gets under Junmyeon’s skin sometimes.
“You know, they wouldn’t have to go through this kind of fraud if they’d chosen you to do it instead,” Junmyeon says as Jongdae coats his curled lashes, skilled fingers making sure it comes out nice and neat.
Jongdae taps his nose and lets his finger slide down, touch featherlight when it brushes against Junmyeon’s bottom lip, totally on purpose, before pulling away. “Fraud is a harsh word.”
“Well then it should describe their way of marketing perfectly.”
From where he’s leaning back on his seat, the vanity lights lighting up his features, Junmyeon can see Jongdae’s lovely lashes, the way they flutter against his cheeks as he pokes around the table for something. Junmyeon reaches out to brush his thumb against the lashes, causing Jongdae to look up in surprise, almost jerking away from the touch.
“People might look,” Jongdae chides, voice low as he takes Junmyeon’s hand in his, away from his face.
“Let them look.” Junmyeon still doesn’t understand why Jongdae wants to keep it stealthy, something around the line of professionalism and work ethic. He squeezes Jongdae’s hand in his before letting go. “What are you looking for? False lashes?”
Jongdae gives him a soft smile, leaning against the dressing table as he reaches out to fix Junmyeon’s bangs. They’re letting his hair down today, going for the softer look. “No falsies for this shoot.”
It’s a brow pencil that Jongdae’s been searching for - Junmyeon finds out a moment later when Jongdae’s face loses its frown - and he uses it to give Junmyeon’s brows some light shading. He doesn’t pull away to examine his work like he usually does, instead leans in to press his lips near Junmyeon’s brow bone, his hand on Junmyeon’s neck to keep him still, before he pulls away just as fast. It catches Junmyeon off-guard, leaves him reeling as one of the crews’ voice rings through the open door, signaling the start of the shoot.
No one notices, not with how swift Jongdae can be sometimes, and Junmyeon smiles at his hands, gets to his feet and out of the room. He’s going to get him back for that.
Junmyeon is propped on the counter in their bathroom, the surface cold and hard against his rare, but the warmth of Jongdae’s hand on his nape makes up for it. His legs still ache a little from how hard Jongdae’s bent them over last night, and he feels his skin tingle at the thought of it.
“Don’t move,” Jongdae chides with a glare when Junmyeon opens his mouth to voice it out. He feels Jongdae’s hand tighten around his nape to hold him in place.
The sharp tip of the razor is cold when Jongdae glides them down Junmyeon’s chin, cutting off moist stubble in its wake. He has a shoot scheduled for today, one for a “high coverage” concealer, so it’s only proper that he shows up on set with a clean shaven face.
“Jongdae,” Junmyeon says when Jongdae pulls away to run tap water down the blade, rinsing it clean. “Jongdae.” Junmyeon already misses having him so close.
“What?”
Junmyeon reaches out to grab at the side of Jongdae’s shirt. The questioning look that he receives as he gets off the counter to latch himself onto Jongdae’s back pleases him greatly. “Do we really have to go to work?” he asks into the crook of Jongdae’s neck, arms snaking around Jongdae’s middle because it’s warm when they stay like this. “Can’t we just-”
The sigh that Jongdae lets out cuts him off. “Let go,” Jongdae says, nudging Junmyeon away with his elbow, the sharp tip digging into his rib unforgivingly.
It’s with great reluctance when Junmyeon pulls away. “Why are you always so mean?” he pouts, though it never works.
Jongdae shakes excess water off the razor before putting it away. “Because you’re insufferable,” he reasons, half distracted as he reaches over for the tiny towel by the sink and the bottle of aftershave. “Come here.”
Junmyeon does as he’s told. He’s still a little groggy with sleep, hair unkempt when he checks himself on the mirror, but the water is cold when he washes his face clean. It wakes him up.
Jongdae is gentle when he pats Junmyeon’s face dry with the towel.
“I’m not insufferable,” Junmyeon corrects him, a little too belatedly. “Work is.”
“Both of you are,” Jongdae says, the smile apparent in his tone. Indeed, he’s smiling softly when the towel is pulled away from where it’s covering Junmyeon’s vision.
“Besides,” Junmyeon sniffs curtly, feeling slightly put off by Jongdae’s honest answer even as he places his hands on Jongdae's hip, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt to rest on the soft skin beneath. “My thighs are still hurting from last night, so I don’t think I can-”
He’s cut off for the second time when Jongdae leans in for a kiss. Junmyeon’s arms wrap around Jongdae instinctively, the skin of his arms against the skin of Jongdae’s back, pulling Jongdae forward and pressing their bodies flush against each other as Jongdae cradles him close just the same. Jongdae tastes minty and all sorts of amazing, and being close like this, like he’s the only being Junmyeon’s entire universe is made up of - it makes Junmyeon think that Jongdae is finally caving in.
Which, of course, isn’t true.
All that is needed is a grind of Junmyeon’s hip before Jongdae is pulling away, a hand on Junmyeon’s chest to keep him at bay. Junmyeon pouts. It still doesn’t work. After all these years, Junmyeon has come to learn that, somehow, pouting only works when he’s at the receiving end. It is extremely frustrating and inconvenient, especially in times like this.
“Don’t you dare,” Jongdae warns, looking at Junmyeon cautiously before reaching for the bottle of aftershave. Junmyeon uses the distraction to dip his thumb in Jongdae’s navel, earning him an accusatory yelp as Jongdae scrambles away. Junmyeon sighs. Guess he doesn’t have a choice but to wait until they get back home later.
The door barely clicks close before Jongdae is pushing Junmyeon against the front door of their apartment, diving in to press their mouths together as he holds Junmyeon still by the hip, fingers digging into skin from where he’s hiked Junmyeon’s shirt up in practised ease. The slow but deep, slick slide of Jongdae’s lips against his is addicting and Junmyeon leans in for more, pulling Jongdae closer himself by the nape.
Jongdae’s breath is hot against Junmyeon’s cheeks when he pulls away. “Cherry,” he hums, tongue swiping over his bottom lip where the flavoured lip gloss Junmyeon has on has clearly smeared over it as they made out. “Tastes sweet.”
They’d just gone back from today’s shoot - a sheer, flavoured lip gloss that smells a little too strong for Junmyeon’s liking, though he’s got to admit that it tastes pretty delicious. Jongdae had insisted that Junmyeon doesn’t remove the gloss right away, and Junmyeon had to go through another hour of the strong scent irritating his nostrils until they reach home. Though, admittedly, what greets him at home is worth the torture.
When Jongdae kisses him again, licking at the seam of Junmyeon’s lips to gather some of the sweet-tasting gloss, Junmyeon wraps his arms around Jongdae’s back to pull him closer, fingers slipping under the back of his shirt and hands climbing up his back, hot under the touch.
Junmyeon isn’t one for lip gloss because it’s goopy and smears all over when they kiss - lip balm is always much better - but Jongdae doesn’t seem to mind, kissing Junmyeon like it’s a taste he can never tire of.
“We’re getting this once it’s launched. This exact flavour,” Jongdae tells him, leaning in for a peck.
Junmyeon’s pretty sure they’re going to be sending him free products sooner or later, but he pats Jongdae on the butt in agreement, anyway, before pushing him away so they can wash up and order lunch because it’s getting late.
“Remember that time I asked you out?”
They’re at the neighbouring park, huddled up close together in one of the benches, cuddling away the hint of cold that autumn brings. Jongdae has an arm linked around Junmyeon’s and his chin resting on Junmyeon’s shoulder so that it sends a pleasant hum traveling through Junmyeon’s skin whenever he talks.
Junmyeon only hums, content with basking in the warmth that Jongdae radiates. He’s got one of his sketchbooks and his go-to set of ochre palette laid out on his lap, a portable brush in one hand as he paints a line of tiny trees, orange and red and umber and gold.
“You’d stared at me with that dumb face of yours.”
“When will you stop trying to embarrass me?” Junmyeon inquires, turning to face Jongdae. They’re so close Junmyeon can feel the warmth of Jongdae’s breath, and he smiles when Jongdae leans in for a soft kiss.
“It was endearing,” Jongdae says, tightening his grip around Junmyeon’s arm as Junmyeon turns back to his painting. He briefly wonders if gouache will work better with the hues of autumn instead.
“I’m pretty charming. That’s probably why.” That gets him a light pinch to his side.
“It was memorable. You’d gaped and sputtered and it was adorable and I’d told you-”
“You’d told me that I was the most unsubtle person you’d ever met.”
“Still true,” mutters Jongdae, half of his face now buried in the crook of Junmyeon’s neck.
Admittedly, it had been a little too overwhelming for Junmyeon to handle. He had spent several miserable months pining over his makeup artist, and Jongdae was but alluring all the time, so really, Junmyeon had suffered a lot. And when Jongdae approached him one day and told him pretty much everything that Junmyeon had been trying to articulate, he could only stare. It had felt like a dream, and the soft blush colouring Jongdae’s face had been the anchor keeping him from flying into the clouds.
“I think you should add some birds,” Jongdae suggests, voice warm and the touch of his thumb soothing where it presses to the inside of Junmyeon’s wrist.
Junmyeon wets his brush with a light squeeze to the barrel, dabs it against shungite. “Lots of them?”
He feels more than sees Jongdae nod, against his shoulder. “Lots and lots.”
Across them, a few neighbourhood kids laugh and squeal joyfully as they play catch. An old lady walks her dog, a dog-walker walks other people’s dogs, dogs bark delightedly, and leaves twirl and dance in the wind. It’s such a happy picture, one that warms Junmyeon even as the autumn chill does the opposite.
Junmyeon laces his fingers with Jongdae’s and holds.
The noisy pitter-patter of water doesn’t stop even after Junmyeon’s turned the shower off. It’s started raining when he was in the shower - Junmyeon realises this once he steps out of the bathroom, clad in a fresh shirt and shorts as he rubs his wet hair dry with a clean towel.
Jongdae is sitting cross-legged on their bed, flipping through an album of pictures propped on his lap, when Junmyeon reaches the bedroom. He looks almost solemn and doesn’t look up even as Junmyeon approaches.
“What are you looking at?” Junmyeon knows what it is, but he asks, anyway, just for the sake of it.
Jongdae barely peers up at him.
Junmyeon likes to think this is a tiny part of what drives their relationship - Jongdae loves going through Junmyeon’s late night works as much as Junmyeon loves painting a thousand facets of Jongdae’s smile onto paper, and Junmyeon likes to call Jongdae out on it as much as Jongdae does Junmyeon.
“I would think I’m a creep if you didn’t spend so much time looking at paintings of your own face,” Junmyeon quips, moving to sit beside Jongdae, their knees touching.
“You always paint me so pretty,” Jongdae says, voice a little muffled by the heavy rain outside, but Junmyeon hears him clearly.
The page Jongdae is looking at bears a sketch of his own brows and eyes, drawn with charcoal on a page torn off one of Junmyeon’s older journals. A lot of the “paintings” aren’t even coloured. They’re merely half-page sketches Junmyeon does in the small amount of spare time he has at night, some sort of a stress relief from the burden of work that weighs down his shoulders. That, and a way for him to pour his then presumably unrequited love for Jongdae onto something - in this case, paper.
These days, Junmyeon hasn’t been able to paint as much as he used to. He’s more occupied with other things now that he has Jongdae, but Jongdae still spends some nights looking through his works, so Junmyeon paints him, sometimes.
“That’s because you are,” Junmyeon says, looking at Jongdae’s face, at his beautiful eyes and the lashes that rest against his cheeks.
Jongdae has a subtle smile on his face when he turns to face Junmyeon.
Junmyeon doesn’t think he knew what love was before Jongdae, but he gets it now. It’s like this. Just like this. It’s Junmyeon staring at Jongdae as Jongdae stares back, their gaze locked, this intimate gesture that even the loud noise of the rain outside can’t break. It’s Junmyeon’s hand on Jongdae’s nape, firm and steady, and Jongdae not breaking eye contact even as he tilts his head to the side, the fond smile still on his face, bottom lip sucked between his teeth, like he’s in love, so in love.
It’s the immediate respond that Junmyeon gets when he leans in to press their lips together, one hand pushing the album aside and the other pulling Jongdae closer until Junmyeon can sit on his lap. It’s Junmyeon gently pushing Jongdae down so he’s lying on the bed, eyes bright and the veins on his neck taut with want, all laid out for Junmyeon to kiss and touch and love.
Jongdae is willing to give, and Junmyeon is willing to give back to him. Jongdae kisses with his tongue hot and wet in Junmyeon’s mouth and his hands finding purchase on Junmyeon’s back, on his shirt, under the hem, pulling it off. Junmyeon kisses Jongdae with the intent to taste, to savour, to remember so he never forgets.
They realise too late that Junmyeon’s hair is still wet and that Jongdae has drops of water dripping onto his face, but he resolves it by burying his fingers in Junmyeon’s hair, holding it away so it doesn’t hinder and scratching at the scalp because he knows it sends a surge of desire in Junmyeon, knows it makes him pant with want.
“I love you,” Junmyeon mutters into the kiss, now a messy fit because they’re too close for it to be the right angle but Jongdae won’t loosen his grip.
Junmyeon’s pretty sure Jongdae would tell him to shut up if he weren’t so busy shutting Junmyeon up with his mouth on Junmyeon’s mouth, his hands on Junmyeon’s back, their legs tangled in the sheets.
Jongdae flips them over. “I love you,” he says, diving in to kiss Junmyeon again.
It catches Junmyeon off-guard. He wasn’t expecting it - there was no need for Jongdae to say it back to him - and now there’s a huge smile on Junmyeon’s face. He can feel it, the stretch of his mouth against Jongdae’s, Jongdae struggling to kiss him properly because it’s hard when Junmyeon’s grinning like he’s a little kid and Jongdae’s just treated him to cotton candy at a town carnival.
Junmyeon’s so happy he bites Jongdae’s bottom lip accidentally, a tad bit too hard that Jongdae pulls away with a yelp, bopping Junmyeon on the shoulder in retaliation, but it’s okay. Junmyeon’s hair is wetting the sheets underneath and it’s cold and comfortable but it’s okay.
This is fine, Junmyeon thinks, as he smiles up at the pout on Jongdae’s face that’ll soon be melting into a grin that makes his eyes crinkle because it always does. This is alright - Junmyeon’s never wanted anything else.
“Don’t look.”
Junmyeon can feel Jongdae smile against his palms, the wrinkles and the smile lines as his face lights up. He tries not to think of how much of a waste it is to not be able to look at that smile right now and pushes Jongdae forward, guides him to their bedroom as he covers his face with his hands.
“No peeking.”
“Junmyeon, this is getting old,” Jongdae comments, chuckling.
Junmyeon hushes him.
Their room is dim, the light from outside the only lighting illuminating the space, poorly so. Junmyeon likes it this way, and Jongdae’s never insisted otherwise.
Junmyeon pulls his hands away. The smile on Jongdae’s face when he looks down and finds a birthday card on the table is rewarding.
“A whale,” Jongdae says, picking the card up as he smiles up at Junmyeon before turning back to it, smoothing a thumb over the dried watercolour paint. Junmyeon has used a lot of water on it, letting the prussian blue pigment flow freely. “It’s so pretty.” It sounds sincere, but there’s also that flippant tone in his voice that Junmyeon knows too well means Jongdae knows what’s coming.
Two years ago, Junmyeon had made him a birthday card with a blue finch on the front and a ‘happy birdday’ on the inside. Jongdae had said, “You can’t be serious,” had looked like he was this close from strangling Junmyeon on the neck and maybe breaking up with him while he was at it, though later he’d wrapped Junmyeon in this warm, enveloping hug that’s so characteristically Jongdae and Junmyeon was so happy he could burst.
Just last year, Junmyeon had painted a bear on the front and wrote ‘I hope you have a beary wonderful birthday’ on the inside and Jongdae had sighed so heavily, though Junmyeon knows alright that Jongdae had kept the card, and the one from the previous year, too.
So it’s only expected by now that Jongdae get a rough idea of what’s waiting for him.
Jongdae flips the card open.
“Happy birthday, Jongdae,” Junmyeon says, leaning with his back against the table as he watches the smile drain from Jongdae’s face, sees the way his adam’s apple bob as he swallows and doesn’t tear his gaze from the card.
The moonlight casts an ethereal glow on Jongdae’s face.
“Yes,” he says, not looking away from where he’s still holding the card open with his hand.
Junmyeon brushes his own hair back, rests his hands at the edge of the table. “You should be saying ‘thank you’ when someone wishes you a happy birthday,” he jests.
When Jongdae looks up, he looks into Junmyeon’s eyes with this sort of unreadable expression, and Junmyeon can only focus on how beautiful he is, how soft and serene he looks in the confines of their apartment, an image of perfection only Junmyeon gets to see. How, from the millions of people in this world, Junmyeon has chosen Jongdae and Jongdae has chosen him and he knows he wouldn’t want it to be any other way.
Jongdae steps forward, not before putting the card away, and kisses Junmyeon. Kisses Junmyeon deeply as he holds Junmyeon close with his fingers welcome and familiar in Junmyeon’s hair and on his neck, tugging at the strands and pressing against skin. Kisses Junmyeon long and hard as he pushes their bodies flush against each other until Junmyeon can feel the edge of the table dig into his back and finds that he doesn’t mind. Kisses Junmyeon as Junmyeon kisses back just the same, holds Jongdae close with his hands on Jongdae’s hip, holds Jongdae close because he can never get enough of him.
Wind from the air conditioner sways the curtains that cover the windows just barely, light filtering through and casting a dull glow onto the room.
On the table lies Jongdae’s birthday card. He turns twenty-four today.
“Whale you marry me?”