Archive of Our Own

Renjun saying, “Don’t expect me to announce that I’m head over heels in love with you,” was, in all honesty, a defense mechanism. (Truth is, Renjun may be closer to “head over heels” than not “head over heels”.)

Of course, when Doyoung admitted that he reciprocated Renjun’s feelings, Renjun’s initial reaction was shock. At first, he assumed the shock was because he didn’t expect Doyoung to feel that way, but it was very soon after (mere seconds after, actually) that he realized the shock wasn’t because he didn’t expect Doyoung to have feelings for him… in fact, his shock was because he didn’t expect Doyoung to admit it so quickly.

There was, weirdly enough, not a single ounce of doubt over the fact that this man felt for him in Renjun’s heart at that moment. Instead, his pulse pounding in his ears, his held breath, his tensed body language was because he was on edge as to whether or not Doyoung could look himself in the eye, the same time he looked Renjun in the eye, and accept that Renjun had managed to get his foot in the door to his heart.

Apparently, it wasn’t Doyoung that Renjun should’ve been worried about.

He had always thought of himself as the one who was a little bit more emotionally in-touch out of the both of them. Doyoung easily came off as intimidating, steely, and uncaring, but Renjun is learning that it’s entirely possible Doyoung simply comes off that way, and in reality, he truly isn’t much like that at all. Not to say he’s a big softie, but his “meanness” is never as a result of ill intention, and instead is always for the sake of something noble -- for the sake of work ethic, for the sake of being respectful, for the sake of experimental integrity. 

And sure, he might seem rather sharp and unforgiving in many contexts, especially if your view of him is tainted by whatever you’ve heard through the grapevine. But, people who are in power don’t get to be in power by being nice and accommodating. At least Doyoung has never purposely gone out of the way to step on someone (as far as Renjun knows), as long as there was an option to avoid doing so. 

Renjun calls him power-hungry. That’s not 100% a joke, but Renjun has also learned that sometimes, all Doyoung is seeking is simple, no questions asked, no doubts given recognition, equal to what he believes is deserved by both the quality and the significance of his work. 

His job is hard. No job in academia is easy. But, regardless of how diligent he is, how careful he is, or how much of his soul he pours into those papers, someone out there is always doubting, simply because he’s him. And yet, the papers are the only way he knows people will give him validation.

So, it is natural he would learn to become outwardly guarded. His life more or less operates in this vicious cycle.

Doyoung being guarded had, to some degree, been a comfort to Renjun -- if Doyoung remained guarded, then Renjun had an excuse to not bother confronting himself on not only how he felt, but why he felt that way too. He’s hypocritical in this way, being the one having pushed Doyoung to open up to him, to be closer to him, to feeling like he deserved just a little bit of accessibility to Doyoung’s person; and yet, when the gates are finally being lifted, he’s beginning to realize the fear.

He hesitates to explicitly say he’s already “in love”, and that's because he's scared and unsure of what the phrase means, not because he doubts it.

Renjun doesn't exactly know what it means to be “in love”. He doesn't know what “love” means outside of the context of how he loves his parents and loves his friends. He's never had someone break his heart, and he's also never had someone make it whole.

Why in the world is Doyoung the first person he decides he could love?

The thought definitely has occurred to him that it's a bit fucked up, for obvious reasons that he doesn't need to detail, mostly because he's already spent enough time freaking out about them in the first place. But, for however much he's fucked up for falling for Doyoung, then Doyoung must be equally as fucked up for falling for him too.

There's absolutely no other word Renjun has in his vocabulary to describe the sheer emotional tangle Doyoung sometimes puts him in. Desire and lust are one thing, but what do you call it when he's the person you think of for comfort, even if you know there's a non-insignificant chance he'll just make you more frustrated? What do you call it when you just want to monopolize his time and attention, because the way he looks at you and touches you makes your cheeks warm and your spine tingle? What do you call it when all you want to do is just feel him, to be pressed skin on skin, breathing in each other, absorbing each other, having each other -- and not necessarily in the context of sex?

He didn’t ask for this. He just went along with his life as he usually did, only to find his feet unrooted and his body swept away in a turbulent current of rushing waters. 

But, even if he didn’t ask for it, does that also mean that he didn’t have the ability to say no? Does that also mean that this whole time he’s been carried away by the rapids, he has been completely helpless to those waters, unable to attempt to stand back up even if he were to utilize the strength of every single cell in his body?

He is young--very young by some people’s standards--but he’s still old enough to make his own decisions. After all, you don’t just learn a whole new language and go to grad school in a completely unfamiliar country without being decently self-sufficient and responsible.

Also, he knows that Doyoung would absolutely let him go if he were to say no. That thought should be comforting to him, but instead, it makes him uneasy.

It makes him uneasy, because a not-so-insignificant part of him wishes that Doyoung would try as hard as he can to hold onto him.

Everybody in academia drinks -- well, everybody with exception to those who are recovering addicts and those with pre-existing liver problems. The field is gruelling and oftentimes soulless, even leading some to dabble in the illegal on the side. (Doyoung recalled that he once worked with a guy who would often disappear for random twenty-minute periods throughout the day. Everyone assumed he must have terrible IBS -- that is, until someone found him completely passed out in the men’s bathroom with a can of paint thinner next to him. Turns out he’d been huffing it regularly throughout the workday. Doyoung’s opinion of the situation was, “If you want to get high off of paint thinner for fun, then that’s up to you. But, don’t do it at work, of all places.” How incredibly progressive of him.)

Everyone has their choice of drug. Doyoung’s is alcohol, like most other scientists. The emergency brandy locked in a drawer in his office was initially funny, and then Renjun saw the man’s liquor cabinet.

Scientists are truly some of the world’s most high-functioning alcoholics.

Doyoung is stressed out. Grant renewal is due in a week and a half, which means it’s actually due in 2 days. Everyone has already emailed him their relevant contributions, and now Doyoung is trying to trim. Trim, trim, trim. He has spent the last three days attempting to trim. Grant applications never allow enough space to provide all the relevant information, so it becomes a game of seeing what you can omit or reword while garnering the least amount of scrutiny from your reviewers. While it’s true that first submissions are never approved--grants will always get bounced back at least once for revisions--it’s always a good idea to make the revision process as short as possible. After all, revised submissions are still length-capped, even if they do allow you more pages to respond to suggestions.

Doyoung is on his fourth, soon-to-be fifth drink of the night (and that’s only if Renjun listens to his request to refill the glass; but, if Renjun refuses, then it doesn’t make much of a difference, since Doyoung can just get up and pour it himself). It’s 2am and Renjun wants to go the fuck to sleep. Jaehyun is showing him a new protocol in the morning, and he wants to be able to retain at least some of it, instead of staring off into space and aimlessly following Jaehyun around while unconvincingly nodding and murmuring “uh-huh” the entire time.

He’s been curled up on the couch for the past two hours, knees tucked into his chest and stuffed into the bottom hem of his hoodie. Nothing beneficial ever happens from scrolling social media, and he is tired of staring at his phone screen anyway. By midnight he’d decided that he could no longer cram any more notes for tomorrow’s experiment into his notebook, and so he’d shoved the thing back into his backpack and rolled himself into a ball on the couch. The past two hours have been filled with silence with the exception of the tapping of Doyoung’s keyboard and the occasional dull thud that indicated him putting his glass back down on the desk.

Renjun wearily slides himself off of the couch. His knees are briefly wobbly from sitting with them tucked for so long, and his socked feet make no sound against the carpet as he approaches.

“Doyoung,” he murmurs, nudging Doyoung gently on the shoulder with the sleeve-covered knuckles of one hand. “Go to bed. Please.”

A wrinkle appears between Doyoung’s eyebrows. He’s furrowing them just enough that it indicates the tension he feels, without making him outright frown. “I will once I am satisfied with this section,” he replies, like responding to Renjun’s plea is an afterthought in comparison to the text on the screen in front of his eyes. “Go to sleep first. Take the bed, I will sleep on the couch tonight so as to not disturb you.”

He both sounds and looks perfectly coherent. He’s even as stubborn as he is when sober, but there’s no way he isn’t feeling something. Alcohol does make grueling tasks a teeny bit less grueling; however, at 2am and approaching your fifth drink, just shelve it for the daytime and go to sleep. 

But, there's also the fact that the pours Renjun has been giving him have been purposely light.

Renjun makes a frustrated noise. Stupid, stubborn Doyoung. Renjun has an inkling that if left to his own devices, Doyoung will stay up until daylight is filtering through the crack in the curtains. This is the first time Renjun has personally been around as a firsthand witness to Doyoung deep in the midst of grant renewal, and he briefly wonders how bad it’s gotten in the past, with Doyoung left alone in the dark in this apartment.

Without thinking much of it, he clumsily nudges Doyoung’s arms away from his laptop and swings a leg over Doyoung’s thighs to seat himself in the professor’s lap. He teeters while doing so--nobody’s balance is perfect when they’re drowsy--but gripping onto Doyoung’s shoulders helps.

Doyoung radiates warmth. Renjun can feel it even through the sweatshirt he’s wearing.

“If you don’t go to bed, then maybe I’ll just fall asleep here,” he murmurs, sounding negligibly threatening, spine curved and slouched as his forehead rests on Doyoung’s shoulder.

“Suit yourself,” he hears. He mutters something incoherent and wiggles into a more comfortable position.

The next couple of minutes consists of more silence with the exception of keyboard tapping. Multiple times, Renjun senses Doyoung shifting his upper body, moving it one direction, then the other, like he’s trying to maneuver around Renjun’s person.

“Renjun, please get off of me. You’re too tall. I’m having difficulty seeing the screen.”

“No,” Renjun immediately replies. “‘Too tall’ m’ ass,” continues, sounding muffled and hummed, as if he’s having difficulty enunciating. “‘M three inches shorter than you. Jungwoo says ’m a shrimp.”

Doyoung momentarily sounds like he’s laughing. Even if it’s brief, at least he smiled.

“Jungwoo calls anyone who can’t stare eye-to-eye with him a shrimp.”

Renjun lifts his head. “Do you think I’m a shrimp?” he asks, in all seriousness. 

“No. Though I do think it’s endearing that you are shorter than me.”

Renjun’s lips twist into something that isn’t quite a smile nor a frown. They eventually settle into a flat line, his cheeks poking out from his face. 

“But, right now you are too tall and blocking my view of the screen.”

“You said to suit myself.”

Doyoung sighs. The air he exhales is warm and scented lightly like cinnamon. Renjun must certainly be drowsy to the point of delirium, to be temporarily tempted to taste it. All Doyoung will likely taste like is traces of fried rice and digestive juices, human saliva, and the bitter kick of alcohol. Whatever sweet notes of caramel, vanilla, or cinnamon in the brandy he’s been drinking will be nothing but an afterthought to everything else.

Renjun doesn’t bother kissing Doyoung. Instead, he leans forward and throws his arms over Doyoung’s neck, enveloping him in a firm, but not suffocating embrace. His chin comes to rest on one of his own biceps, and Doyoung’s face is somewhat smothered into one of his shoulders.

“Renjun…” Doyoung begins, quietly. There’s no annoyance or exasperation in his voice, and instead, he simply sounds… exhausted.

“I’m gonna stay like this, okay?” Renjun murmurs, eyelids fluttering shut as he buries his face into the pocket created by the side of Doyoung’s head, his shoulder, and Renjun's own arm. The next breath he inhales is deep, soaking into his body and seeping through him, spreading to the tips of his toes and fingers.

Doyoung is silent -- at least he doesn’t seem like he’ll attempt to resist. Renjun feels a pair of arms gently wrap around him. Then, Doyong’s body gradually slumps, starting with his head, then his neck, his chest, his abdomen -- it’s as if the tension that had been holding him upright in his chair is leaving in a wave that cascades down him like ripples emanating from a rock thrown into still waters. 

He curls inwards, right into Renjun’s embrace, similar to how he would if he’d fallen asleep on his feet and Renjun was the one to catch him before his head hit the floor.

Maybe staying like this long enough will lull him to sleep, Renjun thinks. At least, Renjun himself is being pulled in that direction. But, he’ll definitely have difficulty if he is to seriously attempt to fall asleep in this position -- Doyoung is certainly warm and smells nice, but Renjun would prefer to be supine, and his spine being curved at this angle for an extended period of time will absolutely result in pain.

His eyes slowly open, eyelashes fluttering as he lazily blinks a couple of times, vision refocusing. All he sees is darkness, but then he turns his head so that he’s resting on his cheek. He’s met with a view of Doyoung’s neck, ear, and some of his hair, absolutely immobile and unindicative of anything regarding the rest of the human attached to them. 

The fact that Doyoung has some silver hairs is a given for his age and the high-stress job. However, the fact that he’s greying is not really noticeable unless you are to get within a couple feet of him; and even then, the grey is still mostly confined to his hairline and otherwise vaguely scattered about the rest of his head, instead of forming visible streaks or clumps void of color.

Yet, the base of his skull, where the hairs are shortest, tells a different story. Being this close, the level of detail Renjun perceives is almost sharp enough for him to be able to count the number of individual follicles. Obviously, he’s not going to do that, but what he does see just looking at this part of Doyoung’s head elicits mixed emotions inside him.

The hairs here are some of the newest growth, since they’re the shortest. The majority of them have a black body, but a significant number show slivers of white at the root. It’s a display--an announcement--of the fact that Doyoung’s body is changing. His body is changing, because he’s living, he’s experiencing, he’s moving -- his life is going on and on and on, and it has been going on and on and on, and these silver hairs are proof of that.

Renjun doesn't have anything like that. Sure, he has a weird scar on one knee that he got from falling off a bike as a kid, and sometimes his lower back hurts, but these are not things that scream, Yeah, I've really been through some life.

“I'm hardly a relic,” Doyoung had said in response to Renjun calling him old, but Doyoung was correct. Thirty-seven is honestly not that old in the grand scheme of things, but to Renjun, sometimes thirty-seven can feel like standing on empty railroad tracks, facing them and staring off into the distance, then realizing you can't tell at all where they might end -- all you see is dust.

After all, they say that as you get older, time begins to feel shorter. The years are long only before you're of a certain age, and then after that, they begin to feel like the equivalent of mere days.

“Have you… have you ever been in love?” Renjun suddenly asks. “Like, in love in love… the kind of love where you love that person with your whole entire being.”

He is met with silence. Maybe Doyoung actually fell asleep.

Then, after a long pause, Doyoung shifts slightly. “Once,” he murmurs, so quiet that Renjun can barely hear him. “Why are you asking?”

“I'm just curious.” A thumb and index finger fiddle with the sleeve cuff covering part of the other hand. “Will you tell me about them?”

“Will you get upset if I do?”

“Not more upset than if you don't.”

Doyoung momentarily chuckles. He audibly inhales, like he's taking a deep breath.

“They--”

He hesitates. No, he stops. Renjun freezes, ears perked for any sign of Doyoung continuing.

After several long seconds, Doyoung is still mute. It's almost as if he'd literally choked on his own words.

“Hey, if it's too hard to talk about--” Renjun begins, cautiously. He was sleepy for obvious reasons, but now he's alert because Doyoung caught him off-guard. “--forget that I asked. It's nice enough that you tried.” 

It must have been a very difficult experience if Doyoung of all people is having a hard time talking about it. While this just makes Renjun even more curious, he still has the mind to be respectful. Not to mention, Doyoung is also unused to casually spilling his past in the first place, and Renjun doesn't want to upset him too much. (Though, establishing the fact that their relationship is definitely not casual means Renjun can leverage this to ask these sorts of questions, but don't tell Doyoung he thinks that.)

Almost like he's able to read Renjun's mind, Doyoung finally speaks up. “It… it wasn't all bad, you know,” he says, quietly and sounding uncertain, as if he isn't trusting himself with his own words.

Renjun tenses. Doyoung has never sounded this unsure before. Briefly, Renjun wonders if it's because Doyoung is extra cautious to reveal this part of his history to Renjun. 

To have that thought is an uncomfortable sensation, because that thought has an underlying implication that Doyoung might not be willing to be vulnerable with Renjun, even despite all they've said and argued. Renjun feels small prickles of annoyance begin to pick at him, but he quells them by reasoning that hey, at a minimum, Doyoung is trying. 

“But I was twenty-two… and stupidly naive… and fell for someone who couldn’t--”

There's a pause. It's at that moment that Renjun realizes the uncertainty in Doyoung's voice isn't directed at Renjun -- it's directed at himself. Doyoung is uncertain how to fit those words in his mouth, maybe because doing so is the equivalent of acknowledging vulnerabilities he'd rather ignore. Everyone has their weaknesses, but some people can be cursed with traits that constantly clash with each other. It makes their inner world a continuous battlefield, only intermittently punctuated by brief bouts of peace that are spent with both parties refusing to accept the existence of one another.

“--who couldn't learn how to see me the way I saw myself… or even the way I wanted to be seen, too.”

Renjun is quietly contemplative for a couple of seconds. 

“That's their loss, you know.”

Doyoung doesn't reply, but he lets Renjun know he heard him with a hushed noise, released into Renjun's shoulder. The warmth of his breath billows marginally against Renjun's neck, causing the hairs on Renjun's skin to rise.

“How nice of you to say so.”

There it is. Doyoung can’t not be at least a little bit sarcastic, even in the middle of being sentimental. Otherwise, Renjun might begin wondering if the professor is drunk drunk.

That reminds him. The faint scent of cinnamon still lingers in the air.

“Are you only willing to tell me these things because you’ve had a lot to drink?”

Doyoung suddenly lifts his head, turning his chin to glance down at Renjun’s face on his shoulder, and Renjun peeks at him up through his eyelashes.

“‘A lot to drink’?” Doyoung murmurs, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’ll have you know that I would never work on a grant while actually inebriated. Four drinks is an unconcerning amount if consumed over the course of several hours.” His lips downturn, and suddenly a grimaced expression appears on his face. Then, his eyes are squeezing shut, like he’s in momentary pain. The grimaced expression is gone as fast as it arrived. “If anything, I feel the exhaustion more than the alcohol right now,” he mutters, opening his eyes. “But, well, to actually answer your question -- I am simply being honest with you. That’s what we both agreed you need, correct?”

Well, sure. Doyoung isn’t wrong. However, framing it that way makes it sound impersonal and transactional, and Renjun doesn’t like that.

Something in his expression must betray his discomfort, because Doyoung then pointedly looks at him and says, with noticeable firmness, “Renjun. I would not care to be this degree of honest with you if I did not also care about you.”

Renjun blinks, then glances away, as if shy. Hearing Doyoung say it so forwardly, as innocent as it is, is still vaguely shocking to Renjun’s ears. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to it. “I know,” he murmurs. “I guess it’s also just nice to know that you are actually capable of loving someone else.”

Doyoung scoffs. “If you truly had that little faith in me, would you even be here right now?”

“Maybe I’m a masochist.” Renjun sighs, then turns his head so he’s back to burying himself into Doyoung’s shoulder. “No, I definitely am a masochist, for deciding to fall for you of all people.” His voice comes out muffled and slightly slurred.

The sound of Doyoung’s subsequent laugh is tired, but still genuine. “You and me both, I suppose,” he offhandedly says, quiet and moderately pensive. He doesn’t offer any clarification. The remainder of his words are added on silently; he can’t bring himself to say them out loud, because he feels that something isn’t ready for them, whether that be himself or Renjun or something else entirely.

I must be a masochist too, for deciding to fall for you, given where we are and who we are.

Renjun then makes another plea for Doyoung to go to bed, and Doyoung finally relents.

Twenty minutes later, when Doyoung is flossing his teeth and Renjun is patting something into his face, Renjun nonchalantly states, “Fifteen years is a pretty long time to go without being in love again.”

Doyoung pauses, eyeballs gravitating towards Renjun next to him. He takes a moment to finish flossing the current section of teeth. “It passes easily. It’s not like I didn’t date other people that entire time. However, there are major differences between simply enjoying someone else’s company versus developing a deep romantic attachment to them.”

“Hm.” Renjun maneuvers around Doyoung to pull a bottle off the countertop and shake some of its contents into his palm. 

“Why the sudden interest in my dating history?”

“Just curious, that’s all.” Renjun rubs his palms together before beginning to smear whatever is on his hands into his cheeks. “And, well, I don’t think I’ve ever really been in love in love with someone before. I don't know what it's like.”

“It’s enjoyable, but it’s also suffering.”

“You know, that’s how I feel about you.”

Doyoung raises his eyebrows.

“You can be enjoyable, but you’re also mostly just suffering.”

Doyoung’s eyebrows go back down, and instead, his eyes narrow. “That’s terribly romantic of you to say.”

“I’ll put it on your Valentine’s Day card, don’t worry.”

Doyoung opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Renjun interrupts him.

“Finish flossing, then come to bed, you old man,” he says, brushing past Doyoung.

“You like me.”

“Yes.” No hesitation.

“I like you.”

“Yes.” Again, no hesitation.

“We’re technically dating.” 

“Yes.” A third time, no hesitation.

“So, does that mean I call you my ‘boyfriend’?”

Doyoung pauses. “You’re lucky that I have decent control over my reflexes,” he says, face unreadable, “or else I would’ve accidentally hit the gas over the brake just now.”

They're at an intersection, and the light is red. “S-Sorry,” Renjun apologizes, attempting to cover his laughter. The corner of Doyoung’s mouth is twitching, and Renjun bets he’s trying his hardest not to scowl. This was not the first-thing-in-the-morning-on-the-way-to-work conversation Renjun intended to have, but when the car is silent and all you can do is stare out the window and watch the trees pass by, you start thinking.

“I’m… conflicted about you calling me that,” Doyoung says.

“Then what do I call you instead?”

“My name.”

“...”

If Renjun was the one driving, he’d pull over to the curb and make Doyoung get out. Doyoung can walk the rest of the way to campus, Renjun doesn’t give a fuck.

“No shit, Sherlock.” The sound of Renjun's eyes rolling in their sockets is practically audible, but he still giggles.

Unfortunately, the hilarity of Doyoung's response is fleeting. Renjun's laughter fades, and quickly all that's left is an uncomfortable silence.

“You needn’t put a label on things,” Doyoung quietly speaks up. 

All of a sudden, Renjun notices the hum of the engine and the slight grinding of the tires against pavement. It's briefly jarring. 

In this day and age, over half of the vehicles on the road in China are fully electric. The drive in an electric car is almost completely silent. But, in the States, things are different. Americans still prefer their fuel guzzlers. Renjun thought he'd already gotten used to the noise.

He slides further down his seat, lips pursed as he stares out the window. For whatever reason, it feels awkward to look at Doyoung right at this moment.

“It's not that I want to put a label on it,” he says, softly.

“I know. I know what you mean.” The blinker turns on, and the clicking noise only marginally reduces the tension in the air. “You can honestly call me whatever you want. I don't particularly care. I just ask you to be mindful of referring to me as anything that has a non-professional connotation, even to people who don't know of me, lest an accident or a coincidence occurs and someone manages to connect the dots.”

Renjun nods, the bob of his head minimal. “No, I get it. You're right.”

Doyoung is pulling up to their building now. There’s an empty loading zone spot next to the curb, and he slowly slides the car into it. The ignition then shuts, but he doesn't take out the keys.

“And, well, I apologize if telling you that I'm conflicted about you calling me your boyfriend disappointed you.”

“No, it’s--” Renjun is about to say it's no big deal. It's seriously not, and he wasn't disappointed by Doyoung saying he was unsure about being called that. If anything, he found it funny that Doyoung could be so reactive to the suggestion. Maybe Doyoung didn't outright express his discomfort by frowning or making a strange noise, but Renjun made him pause. Renjun made him say more than a few acute words. Hell, Renjun made him crack a joke, even if in a parallel universe, Renjun would've kicked Doyoung's ass out of the car for it.

Surely, Doyoung has changed. At the minimum, he's grown more comfortable, and that's enough.

Doyoung continues. Apparently he wasn't done talking.

“I was just startled, that's all. I haven't had someone call me their ‘boyfriend’ in a while, you know. After all this time, it feels… juvenile, almost. Like I'm suddenly ten years younger.”

Renjun finally turns his head to look at him. By now, he has slid far enough down the seat that the collar of his jacket is hiked up to cover his earlobes, and his mouth is barely visible above the zipper. It’s cold, everybody’s coats and jackets are big, and Renjun looks like he’s being engulfed. It’s almost cute.

“Are you saying the last time you dated someone seriously was ten years ago? Jeez, I know you don't care to chase romance--or be a romantic in general--but don’t go telling me you’ve got commitment issues, now--”

Doyoung crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow, staring pointedly, as if to nonverbally ask, Are you being serious right now?

Renjun shuts his mouth. He’s only teasing. Logically, Doyoung probably doesn’t have commitment issues. The two of them have been fooling around for the better part of the year now, and usually someone with commitment issues would have either already dipped or balked at the proposal of exclusivity after all this time.

“HR always emphasizes that you need to use ‘partner’ or ‘significant other’,” Doyoung says. The statement is simple and plain. 

“Oh.” Well, that makes sense. If Irene was anything of an indicator, Doyoung wouldn’t be interested in anyone who’s not a professional, and the #1 enemy that any professional would never want to make is their own HR department.

“Yes.” The professor uncrosses his arms. “So, like I said, call me anything you want, even your ‘boyfriend’, if that’s what you desire. Just be mindful of who you’re talking to.”

“Of course.”

“Okay, now get going. You’re already late, and despite what he says, Jaehyun doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Renjun lugs his backpack, sitting at his feet, onto his lap. He puts one hand on the car’s interior door handle, but pauses before pulling on it. “Are you sure you don’t want to come in today?”

“Yes.” Doyoung sighs wearily, shoulders slumping. Renjun feels bad for a moment. Doyoung always looks tired--both of them do--but if it's even possible, he looks worse today. The shadows on his face are hollow, tinging his skin gray, and the shine of his eyes is dulled, like he's having trouble focusing on anything directly in front of him.

Looking at him is mildly uncomfortable even though his exhaustion is not Renjun's fault, and nor can Renjun do anything.

“I will either be in a meeting or glued to the grant the whole day, so there's no purpose for me to be in the lab.”

“If you say so.”

“Now, go.” Doyoung glances at his watch. “I have a meeting at 10. Don't make me regret offering to drive you.”

Renjun smiles. His smile is flat and bland. It's a smile that's an attempt to comfort himself, if anything. “Wouldn't think of it.” He pulls on the door handle and pushes it open, then placing one foot on the ground. However, he freezes before both feet are outside.

“Hey.”

Doyoung stares, appearing mildly annoyed. “What now?”

“Can I kiss you?” 

His eyebrows raise, but he is otherwise unreactive to the question.

“Like, uh, kiss you goodbye?” Renjun chuckles awkwardly. What had even prompted him to ask in the first place? He hadn't been thinking about kissing Doyoung at all the entire drive, and yet, suddenly, as he was hauling himself out of the car, the idea popped into his head. “...On the cheek?”

Doyoung briefly swivels his head around, obviously scanning for anybody who might be walking by or approaching at the moment. A couple of service trucks rattle down the road, and a handful of people wearing backpacks pass through. Everything seems to be quiet and relatively undisturbed. The current time is not a half or full hour, so classes haven't let out yet.

“Close the door first.”

Renjun does as he's told.

Doyoung puts an elbow on the center console as he leans over.

Gently, Renjun places a small kiss on the high point of Doyoung's cheekbone. “See you later,” he says, voice steady.

“See you later,” Doyoung echoes.

The actual kiss was relatively minute and uninspiring, but its effect is significant. When the car door is closed behind him and Renjun turns away, all the blood in his body finally goes rushing to his face. He was beginning to break a sweat in those last several seconds, trying to prevent the heat from rising to his cheeks. It makes no sense, he thinks. He shouldn't be embarrassed about this, because he's obviously done way less innocent things to Doyoung than simply kissing him on the cheek. But, that doesn't change the fact that he is embarrassed. Even though he seemed outwardly unaffected (and that was because he was actually trying to appear unaffected), he still felt his pulse spike and his heart threaten to beat out of his chest.

Five minutes later, when he walks through the lab door, Jungwoo greets him by asking what's got him smiling so stupidly. 

“First thing in the morning, too,” Jungwoo adds, a hint of suspicion in his voice. 

Renjun immediately frowns. “Oh no,” he whispers.

Jungwoo chuckles. “That's more like it,” he hums, before walking away.

“Oh no,” Renjun repeats, to himself. He didn't even realize he'd been smiling.

Jaehyun comes back from lunch to see Jungwoo and Chenle crowded together over Jungwoo’s bench. Jaehyun normally would think nothing of it--maybe Doyoung is finally having Chenle trained on a protocol, even if choosing Jungwoo to do it is an interesting decision, to say the least--but, the two are not staring at anything actually on the benchtop.

Instead, they are staring through the opening of the pass-thru shelving, presumably focused on the happenings of the bench attached on the opposite side. Their bodies are not so much hunched--just moderately--so their faces cannot be seen through the opening and nor can they themselves see anything besides the abdomens and hands of the two people working on the opposite side, but it’s clear they are at least eavesdropping, if not also gauging the actions of their subjects.

“What am I interrupting?” Jaehyun asks, casually approaching with his hands in his pockets.

“Nothing,” Jungwoo immediately replies. He doesn’t sound at all surprised or embarrassed or guilty, as if he’s absolutely not doing anything he shouldn’t be caught doing -- as if Jaehyun had asked him something basic and simple that he always replies with “nothing” to, like “What’s up?”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Jaehyun tilts his head, a curious glint in his eye. Jungwoo and Chenle look at each other once, a thread of tacit understanding seemingly passing between them. Then, Chenle gestures for Jaehyun to come over and puts his index finger over his lips in a shh motion.

Jaehyun joins them and hunches too, just for effect. Though, he’s not sure why they’re hunched; it’s not like either of them are actually trying to see through the opening of the pass-thru shelving. That would probably make it too obvious to the two on the opposite side that they’re being observed.

“So…” Jaehyun begins, voice lowered. “What’s so interesting that it’s got you two stumped?” He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t hear or see anything unusual.

“Shhh,” Jungwoo shushes. “Listen to him. Does he sound… different?”

Jaehyun frowns. On the opposite side of the shelving is just Doyoung and a postdoc from a different lab. That lab has a lot of samples to process for a paper, and they asked Doyoung for help in refining the protocol just because he happens to be well-versed in that specific experiment. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Experimental favors are almost always repaid, and it’s usually beneficial for junior PIs to get in the good graces of as many other collaborators as possible.

“So it was low-key horrid, really,” the postdoc says. “They all spoke French the entire time even though they knew my French is terrible; and, don’t get me started on the weather. Seriously, for some strange reason he insisted we visit in the winter.”

“Uh-huh,” Doyoung murmurs in response, initially not exactly seeming like he’s actually listening, but then the sound of a pipette ejector snaps, and a pipette tip hits the bottom of a plastic container with a click. “Well, I can imagine. Unfortunately you didn’t exactly escape that kind of weather -- I’m sure down here it might not be as bad, but the winters can still be harsh.”

The postdoc groans. “Don’t even mention it! At least it's civilization here and not the forsaken Canadian wilderness, where the roads are closed off for half the season because no one plows, which means things are accessible only by ATV or horseback.”

Doyoung then chuckles--a few puffs of breath with a layer of gentle laughter--whether he's laughing just to be respectful, or he actually finds that statement amusing.

“‘Different’?” Jaehyun whispers. “Whaddya mean? He's just small-talking.”

“And that's the point!” Jungwoo hisses back. “Doesn't he sound like… like he's being pleasant?”

Jaehyun blinks once, ears twitching like he's a cat picking up the smallest of noises from across the room. “...Huh,” he mutters, and Jungwoo looks at him with a withering stare, like he can't believe a simple “huh” is all the reaction Jaehyun has to offer.

“I think he's been a bit nicer recently too, don't you think?” Chenle adds, sounding curious. “At least, the only thing he did when I used the wrong flasks to make the TB yesterday was tell me to redo it.”

“Are you two implying that he’s not already a nice and pleasant man?” Jaehyun asks, crossing his arms. The tone of his voice is teasing, but there’s a solemn undercurrent to it, one that’s so slight it’s practically non-existent. “Wow, badmouthing your boss while on the job. You guys have got some guts.”

Jungwoo’s eyes narrow at him. Neither he nor Chenle seem to have picked up on the nuance in Jaehyun’s voice. “You can’t seriously be meaning you don’t notice a difference,” he says. “When was the last time you saw him engage in conversation so casually while right smack in the middle of an experiment?”

Jungwoo has a point. Jaehyun never said he didn’t, but Jaehyun has also been purposely avoiding openly saying that Jungwoo has a point.

Doyoung has--more or less--been noticeably more chipper recently, even despite the duress he’s been under due to grant renewal. Actually, Jaehyun hesitates to use the word “chipper” -- perhaps “open” is more appropriate.

Yes, Doyoung has been more open. He’s been less procedural, less structured, less exacting. He’s been just a little more willing to engage in break room chatter, just a little more informal in lab meetings, and just a little more empathetic towards anything having to do with Chenle and his clumsiness. 

Jaehyun is willing to bet his retirement plan on the fact that his first guess as to the reason behind Doyoung’s new shift in demeanor is correct. However, Jungwoo and Chenle don’t have a single clue.

“You two are so strange,” Jaehyun comments, completely deflecting Jungwoo’s question. “Stop gawking at him and get back to work.”

Jungwoo and Chenle stare at him, unmoving except to blink blankly.

“Or else I’m going to tell him that I think he’s recently gotten too soft.”

Chenle immediately scurries off, but Jungwoo remains, glaring at Jaehyun wearily.

“You’re strange,” he retorts, after a pause, before turning on his heel and walking away.

Renjun comes back at nearly one in the morning. The apartment door clicks shut with the careful precision of someone who’s trying not to wake a roommate. There’s the soft shuffle of him taking off his shoes, then a loud thud as he trips over a stray sneaker.

“Welcome home,” Doyoung says, looking up from his book. Those words momentarily feel strange leaving his lips. This isn’t Renjun’s home, technically -- and it won’t be, for a while, no matter how much the two of them act like it is.

Doyoung is seated on the couch, glasses resting just below the bridge of his nose, legs bent and tucked to one side, the opposite side of his body leaning against a cushion. A blanket rests over his lap, and there’s an untouched glass of water on the coffee table in front of him. He doesn’t smile, not fully -- but there’s a softening around his eyes.

“I saved you a muffin,” Renjun begins, sounding light, slightly slurred, and warm. “But it’s probably crushed to death in my pocket.”

“That’s very considerate of you.”

Renjun giggles as he shrugs off his jacket and haphazardly tosses it somewhere on the coat rack. He then walks over, balancing himself with the excess caution of someone who is exactly the amount of tipsy to know that they’re tipsy. 

However, he suddenly turns on his heel, as if he just realized he forgot something -- and, well, he did, because he stalks back over to the coat rack to fish the mangled muffin out of a pocket, before placing it on the table in front of Doyoung with ceremony.

“It’s chocolate chip,” he murmurs, squinting at it like his vision is too blurry otherwise. “I think? Or maybe blueberry… whatever, it’s a muffin of mystery now.”

Doyoung glances at it, then glances up at Renjun. Renjun’s hair is slightly mussed and his cheeks are flushed, whether that’s from the alcohol or the cold nighttime air. Something in Doyoung’s chest flickers, and he looks away.

Renjun flops down beside him, letting the tension in his body drain like he’s a balloon being deflated. He’s close -- a little too close for the scent of tequila and warm skin to not drift over. Leaning his head back against the couch, he closes his eyes and sighs.

“They tried to get it out of me, you know,” he murmurs.

“Hm?” Doyoung hums.

“My friends. And well, who I’m seeing.”

Doyoung turns a page in his book, too slowly to be natural. He doesn’t look up.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing particularly interesting.” A sleepy, pleased hum escapes Renjun's throat. “Said I was seeing another academic. Someone I met at a networking event. Boring. Quiet. Older. Accomplished. Mark said that it sounded like a cryptid.”

Doyoung says nothing.

Then, Renjun opens one eye, grinning. “And then, Donghyuck just had to say it's a professor.”

Doyoung finally reacts, raising his eyebrows. 

“He was only joking, of course, though they were probably already halfway to thinking it was true. But, I totally said no way, I’m not into men that old. ‘Cause, you know, most of ‘em are at least double my age and stuff.”

Doyoung’s eyebrows knit together. He’s not quite frowning. In fact, he’s unsure how he would describe the way he feels right at the moment.

“And yet--” Renjun gestures lazily towards him. “--not you. Here you are, my professor-slash-boss-slash-boyfriend. That’s hot.”

Doyoung first makes sure to dog-ear the page he’s currently on, before closing his book -- not abruptly, just neatly. He sets it aside.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m charming.”

“You’re both.”

Renjun laughs, and Doyoung watches him for a moment -- the way his face lights up, all rosy and pink and soft, as if his lips curled into a smile are a pair of arms he’s holding out in a welcoming embrace wide open to the entire world. He’s shedding his night like a coat, letting it slide like silk off his shoulders as he sinks deeper into the couch, into this space they’ve created together -- quiet, hidden, unknown, safe.

And yet…

There’s something small that twists sharply in Doyoung’s chest; it’s nothing piercing, but it’s uncomfortable. It’s nothing he can put a name to, just an old, creeping feeling, like watching someone walk toward a door they don’t know is locked. He briefly wonders if this moment is the kind of thing Renjun will look back on in ten years and reminisce -- not with regret, but with that particular type of nostalgia that tastes faintly like grief.

Renjun turns his head, eyes half-lidded, voice low. “I missed you.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “You were gone for four hours," he responds, plainly, not a single hint of the thoughts running through his mind evident in his voice.

“Felt like longer.” Renjun climbs into his lap, still slightly chilled from the nighttime air, a heavy, but comfortable weight on Doyoung’s thighs.

Doyoung doesn’t answer. He just leans back, shifting his position so he can face Renjun and stretch out his legs a bit. His fingers curl into the blanket, gripping the fabric harshly before he has to consciously tell himself to let go. He observes Renjun, the way he’s still got glitter on his cheek from someone’s hug, someone’s laugh, someone’s moment that Doyoung didn’t share -- and won’t share.

Doyoung will never really know what that party looked like -- who Renjun smiled at, what he ate, what songs he sang during karaoke.

“Did you have fun?” he asks, kindly.

Renjun blinks, almost as if he didn’t expect the question. Or, maybe he didn’t expect the way Doyoung asked it. He nods. “Yeah. I did.” The expression on his face is still smiling and warm, but it relaxes. “Though this is nicer.”

He closes his eyes again, letting his body slump forward until they’re chest-to-chest and his forehead touches Doyoung’s shoulder. 

Doyoung doesn’t move. He just breathes in, slowly, wrapping his arms around Renjun’s body, pulling him in close, keeping him there as he lets that small thing inside him twist again.

They don’t do it often, this -- whatever you want to call what this is. On paper, Doyoung is not particularly sentimental or cuddly, and Renjun doesn’t have a need to frequently seek out physical affection. There's also the fact that the non-professional aspect of their relationship started out being completely casual, where there was no distinct reason to physically engage with one another outside of sex. So, they’re not used to it.

But, this is nice.

This is nice, and for some reason, it’s making Doyoung hurt. That thing inside him twists again, but this time it leaves a dull, throbbing ache, one that’s hardly there but still there enough to make him feel it, to ignite a spark of frustration and annoyance in him like a constant source of high-pitched nagging in the back of his mind that simply won’t shut up.

He takes a deep breath, and his lungs are filled with the scent of cold air, of wind, of sweat, of warmth, of comfort. Subconsciously, his arms squeeze just as his heart squeezes, and Renjun lifts his head to look at him, having felt the brief tightening of Doyoung’s embrace.

“Doyoung?” he asks, quiet, blinking gently in Doyoung’s direction.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

Doyoung hesitates, the question unexpected. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, because he doesn’t know how to respond. Even through the tipsiness, Renjun is as sweet, as sensitive, as attentive as ever to him.

“You’re--” he pauses. “--beautiful,” he ends up saying, though he has no idea why. The moment he realizes what just came out of his mouth, he instinctively diverts his eyes. He recognizes the feeling of embarrassment creeping up his throat, heat prickling at his cheeks, and he has to take a second to mentally ask himself -- why?

Why is he, at his age, embarrassed for calling someone ‘beautiful’? It’s a perfectly standard compliment to give someone you’re dating, and it’s not the first time Doyoung has told someone he’s dating that they’re beautiful, either. It’s also not like it’s the first time he’s called Renjun that -- but, it technically is the first time he’s called Renjun that while they’re not in the middle of fucking.

First, the corners of Renjun’s eyes crinkle. Then, his nose scrunches. Then, his lips curl upwards. Finally, he laughs. He laughs like Doyoung just told a joke, but there’s still something about the sound of his laugh that reassures Doyoung that he doesn’t think it’s a joke.

“W-Why--” he begins, stammering in between laughter, “--why all of a sudden?” He calms himself down and clears his throat lightly. “You’re not just saying that to get me into bed, are you?”

“No,” Doyoung replies. And then, quietly, he adds, “I mean it.”

He really does mean it. Renjun has given him plenty of crap about how “unnecessarily” handsome he is, and Doyoung isn’t oblivious -- he’s aware that he’s genetically blessed in that regard, if the multitude of experiences in his past with many different people are anything to go by. 

But, he also thinks that perhaps Renjun gives him too much credit, and Doyoung himself has not been giving enough of it in return. He can’t deny that Renjun is attractive--handsome, cute, endearing--with the slightly downturned corners of his eyes, a smile that seems to light up his entire face, and a voice that’s pleasant and harmonious. Doyoung does think he’s beautiful, and not just when he’s flushed, begging, and moaning -- Renjun is beautiful all the time, even when he’s frowning and frustrated and sarcastic and looks like he wants to kick Doyoung in the face.

“Well,” Renjun says, sounding surprisingly unfazed, “I’m happy you think so, but I kinda was hoping you were saying that just to get me into bed.”

Doyoung’s ears perk up. An eyebrow raises slightly. “You’re drunk,” he points out, again.

“And? I still want you just as bad even when I’m sober.”

The other eyebrow raises too. Doyoung would be lying if he said that statement didn’t make his dick twitch with interest.

“It’s one in the morning,” he says, sounding indifferent.

“It’s Saturday,” Renjun replies. “Well, Sunday, technically.”

When Doyoung doesn’t respond, Renjun snuggles up against him, breath warm against Doyoung’s cheek. 

“Please?” he whispers. “I want you.”

Doyoung swallows thickly. He actually doesn’t know why he’s hesitating. Involuntarily, he’s having a hard time replying.

“Call me ‘beautiful’ with your hands on the back of my neck.”

Doyoung’s breath audibly hitches, and he can feel Renjun smile against his cheek, knowing he’s having an effect on the professor. The image of that--Doyoung’s palm pressed against the back of Renjun’s neck, fingers curled over, muffling Renjun’s moans and pants by holding him down into the sheets as Doyoung works him open with his other hand and leans over him, whispering into his ear how beautiful he is--briefly flashes in Doyoung’s mind, and the heat of arousal gathers in his core, deep and dangerous.

He would love to make everything in his imagination at that moment a reality, but maybe -- maybe not right now, for whatever reason. For whatever reason, right now he just wants to cherish Renjun, to treasure him, to worship him. 

“Renjun,” Doyoung murmurs, taking off his glasses and setting them on the table with one hand, the other hand pulling Renjun in closer. The small gasp that Renjun lets out is captured by Doyoung’s mouth, by Doyoung’s hand on his cheek, by Doyoung’s arm wrapped around his waist. The manner in which Doyoung kisses him, touches him, holds him is gentle but urgent, his caresses trembling and his grip tight, almost like he’s worried Renjun will disappear from his reach. 

Warm hands slip under Renjun’s shirt, smooth and dry against his lower back. The way their mouths move against each other is not quite rushed, but still with a heavy undercurrent of haste, teeth biting and pulling on lips, tongues sliding across each other, corners of mouths shiny with saliva. There’s a wet smack when they disconnect, only so Doyoung can peel Renjun’s shirt off. He claws at it, tugging and pawing, actions rough not because he wants to rip, but because he needs to get closer, like he’s removing barriers and not fabric.

He trails damp kisses over Renjun’s cheek, then his ear, his jaw, and his neck, the scent of him, the feel of him, and the sound of him flooding his senses like there’s absolutely nothing else in his world at the moment except for Renjun. That soft, warm skin, those gentle, unrestrained whimpers, the comforting, familiar scent of his body -- all of it is only for Doyoung to explore and experience right in this moment, and the realization of that has something rushing through his chest and into his head, blowing past him and leaving him light-headed and winded.

Renjun’s hands slide over his shoulders and wrap around his neck and head, embracing him in a way that’s firm, but not suffocating. He mouths at Renjun’s shoulder, not biting, just pressing -- pressing his nose and his lips into Renjun’s skin, like he’s branding the shape of Renjun into his memory… like he wants to remember how Renjun feels against every part of his body, not for the sake of being able to have power over him, but for the sake of something else; for the sake of something unnameable.

“Doyoung,” Renjun whispers, hooking a finger over the collar of Doyoung’s shirt. “Off. Wanna feel you.”

Doyoung pulls back slightly and looks at him, expression unreadable.

“Please,” Renjun adds, cheeks flushed and lips red and swollen.

Doyoung’s eyes narrow just slightly, and his grip around Renjun’s waist tightens. “You ask,” he says, voice low and threaded with heat, “like I could ever say no to you.” There’s no softness in his words -- no gentleness. There’s nothing but fact.

The moment his shirt comes off over his head and is tossed unceremoniously to the side, Renjun’s palms are back on him, hot and desperate. He tangles their bodies together, chest to chest, bare skin against bare skin. Doyoung licks into his mouth without waiting for a response, and when Renjun moans, Doyoung swallows it like it’s owed to him.

He topples them over, forcing Renjun onto his back, the blanket between them sliding off onto the floor. His legs bracket Renjun’s thighs and hips, his hands grip Renjun’s wrists to forcefully pin them into the cushions, and he takes a second, lips slightly parted with shallow breaths, just to observe--to absorb--the moment, to ingrain it in his memory and make sure it’s an experience he’ll never lose, even when he’s old and withered and the sharp, slicing blade that is his mind has been rusted and dulled with time.

Renjun’s chest rises and falls in pulses. He’s flushed, patches of scarlet trickling down his neck and his chest from his cheeks. His lips are shiny and wet, held agape. The gleam of his pupils is glassy, sparkling at Doyoung like it’s teasing him, and his hair is splayed around his head in an imperfect halo.

Doyoung’s breath is held tight in his chest. He’s seen this exact scene many times before, but this time, there’s something different -- there’s something different, thrumming through his veins and threatening to consume him. It’s no longer just lust. There’s something else there, starting at his chest and spreading through his limbs and into the tips of his fingers and toes, as if it’s no different than the blood that pulses through his body with each beat of his heart.

He makes haste with removing Renjun’s pants and underwear, and he stumbles when getting up to retrieve the half-empty bottle of lube sitting on his desk. 

Renjun laughs when he returns, the curl of his lips climbing up his cheeks and igniting the color in his face. “You’re real impatient today,” he comments. “Not going to make me work for it tonight?”

“No,” Doyoung replies, sticking the top of the bottle in between his teeth and flipping open the cap with a click. 

“Why not?”

“Just don’t feel like it.” He dribbles some of the contents onto his fingertips and rubs them together. “You want me to make you work for it?”

“No--” Renjun begins, interrupted with a sharp gasp as he feels cold and slick fingers prod at his entrance, before a single digit slips in. He throws his head back, hands coming up to grip Doyoung’s biceps, body briefly tensing from the shock of the intrusion. “Doyoung-- agh-- it’s cold,” he whines.

He’s still a bit soft from when they did this in the morning. Doyoung probably won’t need to spend much time on prep. 

“Relax,” he says. “You’ll be all nice and warm very soon, I promise.”

Renjun tries to glare at him, but it barely lasts a second, with Doyoung extending then curling his finger in. Renjun’s reaction is immediate, knuckles turning white as his grip around Doyoung’s biceps tightens, eyelids fluttering and a whimper so soft and pleasant and needy escaping his throat.

It’s so, so easy to start breaking him apart. Or, maybe Doyoung has just gotten really good at it with practice. The thought that he can’t believe that this--Renjun trembling beneath him, panting and moaning and rubescent, all open and vulnerable and wanton as he hikes his knees higher around Doyoung’s waist to give him easier access--that this is all just for him is brief, but fleeting, in his mind. He can’t believe that it had taken him so long to lay claim to this, that there was a period of months in between the first time they had sex and now where he just sat back and accepted it but never sought out more -- that there was a period of time that he stupidly believed all he needed from Renjun was his body and nothing else.

Renjun peeks at him, expectant, and Doyoung slips in another finger. “Gorgeous,” he murmurs, the tip of his tongue tracing the shell of Renjun’s ear, causing goosebumps to rise on Renjun’s arms and a shiver to run down his spine. “You feel amazing inside,” he says, in time with a squelch as he thrusts his wrist, making sure to crook his fingers on the pull out so that they rub right against the spot that has Renjun seeing stars. It’s incredible, the way Doyoung knows exactly what to do for him, to him -- and his body is quick and desperate, because hardly any time passes before he’s relaxed and pliant and is begging for more.

“A-Another one,” he stammers, sounding vaguely like a hiss, knees squeezing around Doyoung’s sides and one arm thrown over his eyes. “I can take it. I want it.”

“Sure,” Doyoung says, but then he pauses, dragging a hand over Renjun’s body, starting at his cock, then his stomach and chest, brushing over the leaking head and dipping a finger into the sticky pool of precum gathered on his stomach, before grazing over his nipples with a feather-like, teasing touch. Renjun’s body automatically curls in, like he’s trying to shift away; he’s sensitive, and it’s borderline too much, but Doyoung just presses his hand flat against his sternum, stilling him.

“Don’t squirm.”

He leans back slightly, gaze travelling -- not just with want, but with sharpness and with focus, like he’s appraising.

“Let me look.”

Renjun flushes, the red over his neck bleeding down onto his chest like he’s embarrassed. Trembling, he lifts his arm from his eyes, hand clenching into a fist next to his head. The intensity of Doyoung’s gaze trained on him has his throat bobbing as he swallows, and he blinks away, turning his face to the side.

Doyoung catches his jaw and turns it back, forcing Renjun to meet his eyes.

“Do you want to give yourself to me?” he asks, voice low and even.

Renjun nods.

Doyoung doesn’t even blink. “Then let me see what’s mine.”

Those words make Renjun shiver.

When Doyoung’s hand moves again, pushing in that third finger, it’s slower this time, with something almost gentle -- almost reverent. The effect is still as visceral as ever, with Renjun squeezing his eyes shut and moaning, low and desperate. He clenches, tight, burning hot and eager around Doyoung’s fingers. Despite his best attempts to hide it, there is a slight grimace of pain detectable on his features, but it quickly becomes consumed by pleasure, with Doyoung stroking relentlessly against his sensitive spot and kissing across his chest, biting and nipping blossoms of pink and purple, pulling a nipple in between his teeth and sucking on it just to feel it stiffen and redden beneath his lips.

He wants these sounds of pleasure to play in his ears like a tape on an endless loop. He wants to know and memorize every possible noise Renjun can make and the exact combination of actions to get him to make them. He wants to hold the key to Renjun’s body, and he wants to be the only one to ever hold that key.

Renjun certainly reciprocates at least some of that raw and unrefined desire, or maybe it’s bleeding and seeping into him through Doyoung’s touches, Doyoung’s expression, Doyoung’s labored and hot breaths. His legs are climbing up, hips straining, until his knees are almost high enough to be hooked over Doyoung’s shoulders. He scrabbles at Doyoung’s biceps, fingers shaking and arms trembling, as he whispers, “D-Doyoung, now.”

Doyoung slows. 

“Now, please, I’m ready. I want you.”

Doyoung stares at him for a moment, taking in the sight of his beautifully flushed face, stray strands of hair matted to his forehead with sweat, dry and cracked lips held apart for each shallow inhale and exhale.

“Okay,” he says, softly, nuzzling Renjun's cheek. “Okay.”

He sits back slightly, pulling his fingers out, then freezes. He doesn’t exactly remember where the nearest condom is -- perhaps it’s on his desk or in Renjun’s wallet.

As if Renjun is reading his mind, Renjun adds, “Raw is fine,” and licks his lips. “Hurry.”

Doyoung sucks in a sharp breath, those words feeling as if they’ve just knocked the air out of his lungs. He senses something strong and hot pulse inside him, and his vision briefly trembles, like whatever it is is threatening to overtake him.

“You’re--” he begins, but the words get stuck in his throat.

“I’m what?” Renjun responds, laughing. It’s almost devilish, the way he sounds.

There’s multiple ways Doyoung can finish his sentence: beautiful, gorgeous, amazing, insane, going to be the death of me. But, the only thing that ends up coming out of his mouth is none of those.

“--mine.” He says it, sounding like he almost doesn’t believe it.

Renjun blinks, the features of his face softening. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I’m yours.”

Doyoung is clumsy about getting his pants and underwear off. It’s like all of his usually perfectly composed and controlled self is gone. The hand that pours more lube into his palm and slicks himself up is shaky, and Renjun has to help him hook his knees onto his shoulders. Doyoung leans forward, but not too much -- just enough so that he can put one hand on the back of Renjun’s thigh, opening him up, the other one guiding his cock so that the head presses gently against Renjun’s entrance.

Renjun shifts under him, willing and pliant, hands clenched into fists, chasing every little movement Doyoung makes like he’s starved for it. Doyoung watches him--really watches him--and there’s something quiet in his expression -- not soft, not smiling. Just… intent.

He bends forward slowly, cautious of overstretching Renjun’s limbs, until their foreheads are almost touching.

“You’re always so eager to be good for me,” he whispers, as he begins to push in, steadily, feeling the heat of Renjun’s body gradually engulf him, like a fever. His words are minimal and breathless, the air escaping his lips warm and wisp-like.

Renjun’s eyes flutter as he arches into him, wiggling his hips, encouraging him. “I like being good for you,” he whispers back.

Doyoung exhales through his nose, harshly. Something about that answer lands hard, sweeping him off his feet and giving him whiplash. He bottoms out and holds still, feeling the way Renjun quivers around him, letting those small sensations send tingles of pleasure to the base of his spine. Carefully, he brushes a hand through Renjun’s hair, a touch gentler than anything he’s done all night, and says, soft enough that the volume of his voice trembles -- “I know.”

Then, he kisses Renjun like it’s not about lust anymore -- like he’s laying claim to him with his mouth.

The first thrust is slow, controlled, like Doyoung is taking the time to savor every inch of Renjun around him, to feel every little tremor, clench, twitch. He knows he could just be hard and fast from the get-go and Renjun would take it and love it, but he isn’t feeling that kind of urgency right now. Right now, what he feels is simply that he wants to feel. He wants to extend this moment, to freeze time, to make it so that the two of them are swept away in their own little world.

So, he continues like that, moving in a manner that is precise and methodical, but still nonetheless with gritted teeth and force, making sure to bury himself as deep into Renjun as humanly possible on each intake. Even if this isn’t the rhythm they usually prefer, Renjun is still engulfed in pleasure, eyelashes fluttering and heady whimpers escaping him each time Doyoung’s cock slides all the way into him, a heavenly feeling of weight and firmness rubbing against the spots that make him tingle.

He’s very, very slowly unraveling at the seams, like Doyoung is picking at loose threads, one-by-one. By now, Doyoung would usually feel some temptation to ruin him and to make him beg, but instead, he’s too focused--too enamored--observing the smallest changes and movements of Renjun’s expression and body, eyes fixated like he’s watching magic happening right in front of his face.

And, well, it kind of is like magic, the type of magic that leaves Doyoung breathless, his pulse pounding in his ears, and a light feeling in his head. He thinks he’s barely doing anything--certainly his breathlessness is not because he’s panting from taking Renjun hard and fast--but even then, Renjun still reacts like Doyoung is doing everything; has Renjun always been so sensitive and receptive to Doyoung’s touch, and has Doyoung just been so blindly accepting of it, not realizing what he's had in his hands this entire time?

Renjun is already writhing beneath him, breathing broken and uneven. But, Doyoung’s pace doesn’t change -- he maintains, slow and controlled, each motion deliberate like a sentence he’s finishing with his body. He can feel slight, altering pressure at his shoulders, and he notes that it’s Renjun using his legs as leverage to meet Doyoung part of the way, to seat himself harder and farther onto Doyoung’s cock with each thrust. Renjun’s body is pleading, whether he realizes it or not.

Doyoung presses his hand firm over Renjun’s stomach, holding him down.

“Stay just like that,” he says, stilling his hips. “Don’t move.”

Renjun lets out a small gasp--perhaps one of disappointment--his voice cracking. “Oh, I-- I wasn’t trying to--”

Doyoung cuts him off with a thrust that makes his words scatter into noise. He watches Renjun closely, eyes sharp but unreadable, as Renjun throws his head back, mouth falling open in a silent moan, Doyoung no doubt making his vision go momentarily haywire.

Doyoung’s voice drops. “Renjun,” he begins, sounding rough and precise, “I want to feel every second it takes to pull you apart.”

Renjun looks at him, head still tilted back, lips parted. “Then don’t stop,” he whispers. “Don’t stop, Doyoung, give it to me--” His words choke in his throat, garbled, and Doyoung feels himself slipping, now fucking into Renjun as hard as he can, the force of his hips causing Renjun to slide up the couch until his head hits the armrest. Renjun’s hands come up above his head, palms placed flat against the armrest like he’s anchoring himself against Doyoung’s energy, to take everything and anything Doyoung is throwing at him.

He must feel some sort of discomfort in this position, practically folded in half with Doyoung’s hands on the backs of his thighs, pushing his legs up until his knees are almost at his ears. But, the position is perfect to give Doyoung just the right amount of room and access so that Renjun takes every inch of Doyoung’s cock with each thrust, and Renjun himself certainly isn’t complaining. If anything, he might actually love the discomfort, love the feeling of the slight pinch in his lower back, if it means that he gets all of Doyoung into him, feeling so full and thick and incredible.

And, well, to Doyoung, it’s just so -- just so borderline unbelievable that Renjun wants it so much that he’s beyond willing. In fact, he's desperate to take it all.

Take, he does. His knuckles are white with force against the armrest, back arching beautifully as Doyoung moves inside him, rhythm fast and precise but getting heavier -- more frantic. Doyoung braces a hand on the back of Renjun’s knee, and pushes just a little more, thumb dragging lazy circles in the soft hollow behind the joint. 

His voice comes out hoarse, like he’s losing himself. “God, you take my cock so well -- every time. It feels good, doesn't it?”

Renjun whimpers, breath stuttering. “Yes--” And then he trembles, moaning lowly, another thrust from Doyoung sending white-hot pleasure coursing through his body. “Yes, it does, it's so, so good, please, more, Doyoung--”

Doyoung’s eyes flicker over him as he leans forward, just a little bit, his lips brushing the corner of Renjun’s jaw, feeling the heat wafting off of his body and the dampness of the sweat glazing over his chest. The lines of Renjun’s body as he twitches and squirms, the sweet and addictive scent of his skin, the desperate and syrupy sound of his shameless moans -- to the Doyoung in this moment, it’s like Renjun is beyond anything he could’ve ever imagined, asked for, prayed for.

He says it, mostly unintentionally, the edges of his voice fracturing: “I don’t even have to tell you how perfect you are like this, do I?”

Renjun exhales hard, opening his mouth like he wants to reply, but he can't, his eyes threatening to roll into the back of his head the next second. 

Doyoung then sinks his teeth into the junction between Renjun’s neck and shoulder. The action is harsh and piercing and absolutely painful, but the pain that percolates from the bite, like the tendrils of a bolt of lightning, burn in a way that’s pleasurable, searing into Renjun’s skin as if the indents of Doyoung’s incisors are being permanently tattooed onto him. It’s barely anything of an outlet for the smoldering, scorching something running through Doyoung’s veins, the something that’s not quite lust, but a something that he's also unable to describe. It makes his knuckles pale and his jaw tense and the veins in his neck pop out, and he honestly can’t remember the last time in his life he felt something this strong, this intense, this passionate.

Sure, Renjun is breaking apart. But, so is Doyoung himself.

Renjun moans again, louder this time, the outline of his voice trembling, just one single indication that the pleasure built within him is threatening to burst.

It sparks something in Doyoung’s chest and makes his breath stutter. When he speaks again, his voice cuts through the sounds of the room -- not angry, not cruel, but keen and tight, wound up with emotion that he can’t--and isn’t ready to--name.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he pants out, gruffly. His grip on Renjun’s thigh tightens, guiding the rhythm of his hips again, this time rougher, sharper. His other hand reaches up to thread into Renjun’s hair, pulling to anchor him so that their eyes connect.

“The way you sound when you want me--” he grits out, “--you have no idea what that does to me.”

“Show me, then,” Renjun whispers, eyes half-lidded and glimmering, almost as if there’s a layer of moisture coating his pupils. Their mouths are just a hairs’ breadth apart from each other, and as Renjun’s lips move, they barely graze against Doyoung’s own, the brief, stuttered, half-second connection of their mouths like a fluttered, ticklish kiss. “Make me feel it, Doyoung.”

Doyoung’s breath audibly hitches, and he digs his feet even harder into the cushions just for leverage, the balls of his feet red and somewhat burning from the friction of his skin against fabric. There’s something passing between them as they look at each other in that moment, a connection that isn’t severed even when Renjun’s head tips farther back as Doyoung drives into him yet again. He arches against Doyoung beautifully, spine curving in a perfect arc, chest pushed up to the sky, hips digging beneath him, fingers trembling above his head. 

A hand runs over him, tracing his cheek, his jaw, his neck, his collarbones, his chest -- it’s damp skin against damp skin, and Doyoung is watching and feeling every twitch, every tremble, every hitch in breathing, every flicker of tension in Renjun's shoulders. It’s building -- close, tangible, and Doyoung knows it.

A sound that’s low and sure--almost a growl--rises in his throat. They’re right at the edge, skin slick, breaths uneven, and Doyoung can feel it in how Renjun clenches, how he whines, how he reaches for something he doesn’t even know he’s asking for. He catches Renjun’s face in one hand, keeping him steady, keeping his eyes locked.

“Come for me--” he leans in closer, almost as if he’s about to kiss Renjun. “--right where I want you. Right where you always end up.”

Renjun nods, mouth open, eyes glassy. “Please--” he whispers, “please--”

Doyoung sees his own reflection in Renjun’s eyes. He takes up Renjun’s entire vision, and he’s not letting that go.

“You’re beautiful.” He traces the soft skin under Renjun’s eye with his thumb, the touch gentle and fleeting. “Let me see what you look like when you give in.”

And then, when Renjun finally breaks, Doyoung’s name choked in his throat, Doyoung doesn’t close his eyes -- he watches, wide and unblinking, making sure he doesn’t miss a single movement, a single breath, a single sound. There’s nothing performative in the way Renjun comes; he moves with pure instinct and need and the sheer, helpless relief of it, fingers clawing for something to hold, whether it be the cushions, Doyoung’s shoulders, or his own skin -- anything to ground him. His mouth drops open, but no sound comes out at first, like he’s forgotten how to breathe before the pleasure hits.

Doyoung continues to fuck him through it, hard and fast and everything in between. Renjun’s voice comes out several seconds into it -- “It’s too-- too much--” he stammers, breathless and slurred, but he says it like he doesn’t want Doyoung to stop anyway. 

Moments later, Doyoung himself barely realizes that he’s coming apart too, only just recognizing the feeling of that coil wound tightly within him beginning to snap. Splotches appear in his vision as Renjun clenches down around him, violently hot and tight and making him briefly feel like he’s dreaming, his body light as a feather; but, what finally does him in isn’t that. It’s actually the feeling of Renjun shaking against him--the feeling of those aftershocks like heat waves rolling through muscle--and the way Renjun looks, completely undone -- wrecked, vulnerable, ruined, open, his.

Doyoung bites into him, stifling the low groan that leaves his throat as he comes, once again leaving painfully pleasurable marks embedded into Renjun’s skin. His whole world goes white and buzzing, the only sensation being conveyed to him in that moment the wet, sloppy feeling of him fucking his own cum deep into Renjun beneath him. Renjun squirms, thighs twitching and muscles tensing not only from the hypersensitivity of his body, but also because Doyoung filling him up has him feeling so warm and full and deliciously dirty, the slickness between his legs and the squelching noises making his neck and face flare with heat.

Doyoung heaves a sigh as he slows down, eventually stopping. He rests his cheek on Renjun’s chest, vaguely recognizing the strong thump of Renjun’s heartbeat. His inhales and exhales are purposefully deep in an attempt to control his own pulse, breaths ghosting across Renjun’s bare skin.

“That was intense,” Renjun murmurs, fingers absentmindedly threading through Doyoung’s hair. 

Doyoung weakly chuckles and can’t find it in himself to give a proper reply. He shifts his position, pulling himself out, and his muscles and joints are already complaining with stiffness.

“Hey.” Renjun pokes at Doyoung’s head, just to make sure he’s listening, and Doyoung silently lifts his chin to look at him.

Renjun looks spectacular, all shiny and sweaty and sated. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Doyoung briefly glances away. It’s enough of a tell that it’ll have Renjun questioning, regardless of whatever answer Doyoung chooses to give him.

“Just--” he’s hoarse, and he clears his throat. “Just tired, especially after that. Would be good to shower and sleep now.”

Renjun appears to be obviously skeptical for a moment, but tonight, he chooses not to continue and pry.

“Okay,” he murmurs, softly. “Let’s do that.”

The following weekend, Jaehyun picks Doyoung up at half-past ten in the morning.

Doyoung pulls open the trunk and tosses in his duffel bag before shutting the trunk closed and proceeding to slide into the passenger seat.

“Mornin’,” Jaehyun hums, stuffing part of a breakfast sandwich into his face with one hand, the other casually resting on the steering wheel.

“Good morning,” Doyoung replies, closing the car door and fumbling over his shoulder for the seatbelt. As Jaehyun begins to pull out of the lot, Doyoung's eyes briefly coast up and down Jaehyun’s form, as if judging.

Jaehyun swallows the current bite of food in his mouth. “I woke up late,” he explains.

“It’s not that,” Doyoung says. “I know you tore a hole through your old pair, but are you really going to play today wearing Converse?”

Jaehyun chuckles. “Nah, I know that next time I break an ankle or something, they’re gonna have to put screws in me, so I’m totally not risking it.” Doyoung huffs, rolling his eyes. “I did buy a new pair. They’re in my bag. I’m just wearing the ol’ high tops right now ‘cause I didn’t want to drag the new shoes through today’s mud.”

He has a point. It’s currently raining.

Doyoung leans his temple against the window as Jaehyun drives, vacantly watching rivulets of water trickle down the glass.

“I saw Jungwoo and Chenle doing something real funny last week,” Jaehyun mentions, casually.

“Oh?” 

“Caught them gawking at you while you were working with Julia.”

Doyoung frowns slightly. “Why?”

“Apparently they think you’ve recently gotten nicer.”

Doyoung’s reaction to that statement is a laugh. “Yeah, you’re right, that’s funny,” he says, in between laughter.

Jaehyun glances at him through the corner of his eye, one eyebrow very slightly arched. “Well, they’re not wrong, you know. Kinda noticed it myself, too.”

“Oh come on,” Doyoung sighs. “I’m not mean. Just strict.”

“Well, okay, but you can be…”

“Be what?”

“A pain in the ass.” When Jaehyun hears Doyoung scoff, he adds, “Sometimes,” though it’s hardly anything to ease the withering stare on Doyoung’s face.

“I think he’s doin’ at least some good for ya,” he continues. “It’s nice to see you be relaxed and unserious at work sometimes, even if it’s just a little bit.”

Momentarily, Doyoung is confused by what Jaehyun means. Who’s “he”? Doyoung blinks blankly, silence filling the car for a couple of seconds.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone--friend, relationship, anything--affect you like that before.”

He finally connects the dots. Turning his head, he looks out the window. “He’s…” he begins, but pauses. The words in his mind that he could choose to finish his sentence don’t feel quite right to say at the moment, especially to Jaehyun. “Special”? “Different”? “Interesting”? Doyoung still has to be cautious.

"He does make me feel younger, sometimes."

Jaehyun is as perceptive as ever. He’s probably almost as good as Taeyong at picking up Doyoung’s nuances, but his ability to read Doyoung is mostly because he’s good at reading people in general, whereas Taeyong’s ability to read Doyoung is simply from experience.

“No judgment from me,” Jaehyun says. “One of my undergrad professors married a student after she graduated, and it was whatever.”

“Jesus fuck, Jaehyun--” Doyoung begins, incredulous, “--you know that’s different--” and then he interrupts himself, wincing, because when his own words hit his ears, he doesn’t like the way they sound. They sound like something someone would say when they’re making excuses.

Jaehyun laughs, the sound full and rounded. The tension in Doyoung’s shoulders relaxes marginally. “I mean, yeah, Renjun’s definitely not half your age. And nor did you meet him when he was 18.” He takes a breath, then sighs. “I only brought this up ‘cause I’m a little worried about you.”

Doyoung furrows his eyebrows. Suddenly, the tension in his shoulders is back at full force. “Why?” What good reason is there for Jaehyun to be worried about him?

“I genuinely mean it when I say I think it’s great that he’s doing some good for you. But, also, the number one way admin gets a whiff of these kinda things going on is because it affects the workplace.”

Doyoung opens his mouth to protest, but Jaehyun continues.

“And yeah, I know you’re about to say that you being a bit nicer hardly constitutes as ‘affecting the workplace’.”

Doyoung opens his mouth again, but Jaehyun still hasn’t finished.

“And yeah, I know you’re about to say that you and Renjun aren’t idiots and that you’ve both been good at keeping a tight lid on things this entire time. Yes, I agree, and I think you’re probably the most un-idiot person I know -- I have faith in you so that’s not why I’m worried. I’m just worried ‘cause I’m your friend so sometimes I have a duty to say things like this, and it would actually really suck to see admin--or anybody, really--up your ass about this.”

Doyoung doesn’t open his mouth this time. 

“You’re a good man, even if some of your decisions are… interesting.”

Doyoung lets out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “You’re…” he begins. “Nevermind.”

Jaehyun laughs again, this time softly.

“Well, thank you, I suppose, for the caution. It's reassuring to know that you're supportive of me.”

“Yeah. Gotta look out for each other, right?” They’re at a slow down on the highway, so Jaehyun shoots him a smile. “After all, you saved me from potentially having to work for good ol’ Adrian.”

Almost as if it’s infectious, Doyoung slowly begins to mirror Jaehyun's smile. “Don’t talk about him,” he groans, leaning his head against the window once more. “But, now that you mention it--'looking out for each other’--I forgot to tell you that your mother called me again a couple of weeks ago.”

Jaehyun’s expression immediately falters.

“And yes, she asked me if she knew anything about if you’d met a nice girl yet.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry--” Jaehyun begins, “--I told her multiple times to lose your number--”

Doyoung laughs. “At least she isn’t calling my cell phone,” he says.