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miel de lune

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Johnny doesn’t recognise the hotel room he’s in.

Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, or anything out of the ordinary, but this is a business trip. Doyoung had dragged him here for moral support on his presentation just as much as his gambling. The presentation is at 2pm. Johnny checks his phone, but only after checking the subtle tan line that indicates where his watch had been the night before. It’s only 9am. His head is pounding. Doyoung has texted him at least 15 times, probably with a matching hangover, just in a different quarter of the city.

That’s fair. That’s the point of Vegas, Johnny thinks, massaging his temples and considering calling room service for the sole purpose of not having to make his own coffee when his legs are threatening to give out underneath him.

The sunlight is pretty, but bright, too much for Johnny’s aching head. He totters to the window to close the curtains, ignoring the way the steel of the city skyline reflects sunshine back at him.

Only when the light disappears to a thin shiver that casts across the bed in which he’d awoken does Johnny realise he isn’t alone. He presses a hand to the small of his own back, makes sure he doesn’t have any weird scars from stolen organs. A little grunt fills the space between himself and the lump of blanket that Johnny had assumed to be… well, more blanket, folded in on itself. Warm and downy. Johnny doesn’t remember skin on skin, but -- a glance down at himself tells him that he’d forgotten more than just getting undressed before bed.

“Good morning?” he asks the air between himself and whoever’s in his rented -- their rented? Logistics of grammar and possession are not his strong suit with a hangover the size of the entire state of Nevada -- bed. “Hello? You aren’t going to murder me, are you?”

Another little noise of displeasure -- whoever this is doesn’t like being woken up any more than Johnny likes being awake now -- and then a voice, sweeter than any he’s heard to his recollection, choruses back at him: “Depends, did you add me as a beneficiary on some life insurance policy already?”

Johnny blinks once, twice, then sits tentatively at the edge of the bed, ignoring the nausea that wells up inside him at the mere notion, nevermind the act, of moving. “What do you mean?” he asks quietly, in case whoever he’d spent the night with feels as bad about noise as he does.

From beneath the mountainous comforter pokes out a head, prettily disheveled. Fawn eyes blink up at him, syrupy slow. Johnny remembers a lot of things from last night, but he doesn’t remember those eyes. He’s sure he would, if given the chance.

The boy in the bed offers Johnny a hand for shaking. Clasped around his wrist is the watch Johnny had been wearing when he’d left for the casino the night before. “Good morning. I’m Donghyuck. I’m your shiny new husband.”

Johnny chokes on absolutely nothing, because what the fuck? He makes a weak noise of -- well, there isn’t really an emotion to assign to it other than fear, and swallows hard around the base of that fear, building at the back of his throat. He very pointedly does not shake Donghyuck’s hand, if only because he isn’t entirely sure that shaking your husband’s hand is the proper course of action in terms of etiquette. Instead he traces the line of Donghyuck’s shoulders, the shapes they make against the headboard, the gentle shadows beneath Donghyuck’s eyes. “Right,” he agrees slowly. “Right, uh, can I just--”

“You probably need to make some phone calls,” agrees Donghyuck; there’s a trace of hurt in his gaze though his tone is completely businesslike, “and I really want to take a shower. Unless you want to join me?”

“No, that’s--” Johnny’s brain is taunting him with the image of what Donghyuck’s pretty, golden-tone skin might look like under a dazzling stream of water. Then it clouds over completely and he mutters a “maybe next time” with his fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his head. “Go shower. I do need to talk to someone.”

His eyes follow the exact path Donghyuck makes, tottering around the bed, stumbling toward the bathroom. He must feel as bad as Johnny does. He’s too cute to suffer, but not too cute for Johnny to notice his thighs and think about what it must be like to bite all kinds of marks into them. Just for funsies. No other reason whatsoever.

There’s a desk across from the bathroom. Weird orientation for a hotel room, but whatever. Johnny sits in it, not wanting to disturb whatever fragile feelings of peace and good fortune have settled on the bed he was just in with Donghyuck. His phone is almost dead. His phone is always almost dead, but it’s enough that he can make his own personal 911 call.

Doyoung picks up on the third ring. The sound of the shower running fills Johnny’s other ear and he has to plug it to guard against the interference. “So, uh, you wanna explain your Instagram feed?” he asks, rapidfire, too quick for Johnny’s head to handle. “Did you fucking get married?”

“Yeah, I guess so?” Johnny says, ignoring the vague notion of wonder laced through Doyoung’s voice and all that implies. “Did you see me at all last night after you got off the penny machines?”

He can practically hear Doyoung rolling his eyes. “No. I went to bed. You said you were coming up in a little bit. I haven’t seen you since. Where are you?”

Johnny considers going to the window, approximating a location, but the idea of seeing the sun again this soon after shutting her out has his stomach roiling all over again. “Can you text me the address of the conference… whatever the fuck it is? I’ll get a car, I just gotta deal with--”

“Your wife?”

“Husband, actually. Donghyuck.”

“Oh. You two didn’t post any pictures together. You were just crying about how pretty the chapel was. I can send you--”

That sounds like the Johnny that he himself knows. He snorts, a low sound under his breath, not wanting to know any more than he has to right now. “Okay. Text me the address. I’m hanging up now. Don’t be nervous, I’ll be there.”

“Why would I somehow be less nervous when you’re around?” Doyoung laughs in that way he does when he throws his head back, when his shoulders meet his earlobes. “I’ll bring your phone charger and some coffee, if you don’t have any by then.” The line goes dead, and Johnny’s left staring down at his phone, the kind wrinkles around his eyes reflected back up at him as the screen falls dark. He doesn’t remember smiling, but then, his best friend does that to him.

He takes a breath. He drags his palm along the nape of his neck, a few passes for good measure. Like it’ll relieve the tension that waking up married to a stranger might cause. Like it’ll help him forget that there is a very pretty, very gorgeous guy in the shower right now, washing all his worries away.

Naked. It’s the naked part that’s doing him in. If Donghyuck’s legs had been that stunning Johnny shudders to think what it might be like underneath the rest of it. He’s a man with preference and good taste, but hangover brain and horny brain like to hang out far more often than he’s comfortable confessing to.

Eventually the water cuts off. Johnny has been idly buttoning and unbuttoning the collar of his shirt, in the hopes that oxygen deprivation will somehow make him able to think better. It doesn’t. The top, then the next, then the third button all come undone, and he can breathe. It’s not coffee, but it’s not nothing, either. He thinks about his next move. He’s got some hours before he has to summon an Uber from the ether or however the fuck he’s going to meet up with Doyoung.

How will he pass the time? (Like he doesn’t already know.)

“Hey, husband?” It’s weirdly easy for him to adjust to those words. “Can I talk to you?”

“Sure,” is Donghyuck’s immediate reply, reverberating off tile walls. “Do you want me to answer or do you just want me to talk?”

Johnny ignores this, as well as the self-satisfied giggles Donghyuck lets out. “So, uh, we got married, and that. Is kind of a big deal? I think?”

“I can see that I married you for your eloquence,” teases Donghyuck from behind the bathroom door.

“I just, you know, I don’t marry someone for no reason. Do you remember last night?”

“Yeah, a bunch. And you took a ton of pictures on your phone, which, by the way, should I have your number? Since we’re married and whatever?”

Johnny stills completely, blood turning to concrete in his veins. “Listen, I have, obligations to attend to back home.”

“Where’s back home?”

His hands come up to cradle his forehead, the heels of his palms pressed into his throbbing eyes. “Chicago,” he says in a low voice, “and I think you should’ve known that before I decided to pledge my life and loyalty and sickness and health and whatever to you.”

“Chicago?” Donghyuck’s previously muffled voice is cut through by the creaking of the bathroom door. “That’s cool. I’m visiting from California, so…”

Johnny dares lift his eyes, praying that Donghyuck is wearing clothes. Apparently there is no God or mercy or anything even a little bit resembling either of those things, because Donghyuck is not, in fact, wearing clothes. And he’s pretty. Everything about him is pretty? Johnny is about to be seduced and Donghyuck isn’t going to have to do a single thing except stand there? Why is life so hard? He blinks a couple times, forcing the pressure static from his eyes in an attempt to take in everything that’s right there before him.

“When are you leaving?” asks Donghyuck. Johnny cannot think of anywhere he wants to be more than this hotel room right now, so the question is a real puzzler. “Back to Chicago.”

“Oh. Uh. In a few days.”

“Then we’ve got a few days to get to know each other and decide whether or not this was a mistake,” singsongs Donghyuck. “I had a thought while I was in the shower.”

“As most great philosophers do.”

Donghyuck’s mouth quirks at the corner. Johnny takes this as a victory. “You don’t seem like the type of person who makes a lot of mistakes. Would you say that’s true?”

Johnny doesn’t think so, but his conscience -- it’s weird, right, because his conscience speaks in Doyoung’s voice instead of his own these days -- reminds him of a bunch of little things he’s had to learn recently. Like not to shake the slot machine if you don’t want to get kicked off the casino floor. He’d figured that one out on his first night in Vegas.

“I try not to,” Johnny says after a long, thoughtful pause. It’s really hard to either think or speak, both because his head is begging him not to say anything, and because he keeps checking Donghyuck out in a not so subtle way. “But I’m a person.”

“I mean big mistakes.” Here Donghyuck leans against the doorframe to the bathroom, an arm stretched over his head. Johnny leans forward, hands folded beneath his chin and elbows on his knees. He’s definitely not counting the moles that dot Donghyuck’s face, neck, chest, hips. He’s definitely not up to 12 in his head. Definitely not. “What if getting married to me wasn’t a mistake?”

It was a mistake, Johnny’s Doyoung-voiced conscience tells him, but his dick is definitely not one to leave its own opinion unsaid. “Maybe it wasn’t.”

“Right! Maybe it wasn’t. And we won’t know if we’re rushing to get the divorce papers signed, and I’m sure an upstanding guy like you doesn’t want a Las Vegas divorce on his record, or wherever that information ends up. So like…” And here Donghyuck falters. “I was thinking, what if we just. Did not make that decision yet?”

Those damned doe eyes. Johnny knows, despite not knowing the second thing about Donghyuck (the first being that he is beautiful and that California knows how to make them from time to time), that he could be weak for those eyes, and that this would explain everything about why he’d decided to marry Donghyuck in a fit of gambling-and-liquor induced passion.

If that’s the why, then the what doesn’t seem so bad.

“What if we didn’t?” Johnny agrees in a murmur. “Are you suggesting we get to know each other?”

“I’m not so much suggesting as I am standing here naked while you obsess over the mole on my cock,” Donghyuck says cheerily. “But you can interpret it however you want.” He crosses the few steps between them, and Johnny straightens the bow in his spine so as to not be eye-level with his husband’s balls. Because that’s weird, right? Just looking into them like someone might look into the camera on The Office? “Hey, you can tell me no if you don’t want to. I’d understand. But I had a really good time last night, and it would not be good of me to kick you out before I at least got that good picture you took of me, the one where I’m leaning out of your passenger seat to kiss the drive-thru chaplain on the face?”

Johnny really, really needs to look at those pictures.

“So, uh, how do you-- I mean…” He stands up, taking Donghyuck’s face in his hands, studying the angles of Donghyuck’s face with an intensity usually reserved for subjects of photography and animals behind glass. “Can I kiss you?”

Donghyuck’s so little that he has to tip his face up to meet Johnny’s. “I’m saying that you can do whatever you want if you keep asking it like that,” he demures, the soft inner of his bottom lip visibly caught between his teeth. “But yeah, kissing might be a good start.”

So Johnny leans in, fully aware that he probably smells like the inside of a barrel of whiskey and smoke and something like regret, and kisses the mole that sits high on Donghyuck’s cheek. “How old are you?” he asks, when his too-dry mouth leaves Donghyuck’s skin.

“Old enough to get married,” and here Donghyuck shifts a little, sheepish in the way he ducks his head to press a kiss of his own to the hollow of Johnny’s throat. “Twenty-three. Is that okay with you? How old are you?”

“Older than twenty-three,” and God, but does Johnny feel it. He kisses the top of Donghyuck’s head, suppressing a shiver when that pretty mouth is against his sternum. “Twenty-eight, actually.”

“An old man,” laughs Donghyuck under his breath. His hands find the slimmest part of Johnny’s waist and he digs fingertips in there, hard enough that Johnny wants to check for bruises blooming just below his ribs. “You’re gonna go grey soon and then what are you gonna do?”

“Steal your youth like a demon,” Johnny laughs right back. “Are your parents still together?”

“Yes,” says Donghyuck, remaining still so that Johnny can kiss the tip of his ear through the damp curtain of his hair. “Are yours?”

“Yeah,” Johnny breathes when he ducks so that he might ghost his lips against the seam of Donghyuck’s mouth. “A long time. Probably forever.” He pauses, a hair’s breadth from the kiss he’s so intent on taking, and then, “Do you usually learn about strangers like this? Kissing them and grilling them about their family?”

“Nah.” Donghyuck’s eyes flicker up briefly from Johnny’s mouth to meet his gaze. “I don’t ask a lot of questions most of the time.” His fingers tug at the fabric of Johnny’s wrinkled dress shirt. “Do you want to take this off?”

“Maybe in a minute.” It’s like dancing, trading off steps, switching positions. Johnny can think of a few dances he might be better at. “Do you want to kiss me first?”

And Donghyuck hesitates, just a moment, processing the request before he surges forward, stealing Johnny’s mouth with his own. He’s a good kisser, and his lips are soft, and soon they’re sliding together in a tandem that Johnny’s never found in anyone he’s ever kissed before. Their heartbeats seem to match rhythm as Donghyuck leans in, presses the pair of them together, chest-to-chest. Cute. Johnny hadn’t taken him for something so aggressive, but judging by the way he tugs at Johnny’s bottom lip between his teeth -- well, looks are deceiving, or some other such platitudinal bullshit.

Johnny’s tongue slots into the space between Donghyuck’s parted lips, and he tastes like honey and moonlight and a memory that Johnny doesn’t know for certain he has. They stay like this, mapping out each crevice of one another’s mouth. When Johnny sucks on Donghyuck’s tongue, earns himself a little whine high in the back of Donghyuck’s throat, it’s like he’s gone to heaven, just for a minute, just to see what it’s like.

He thinks he could get used to finding heaven in Donghyuck.

Eventually, though, the need for breath supersedes the desperate urge to kiss Donghyuck until he’s dizzy with it. “Do you wanna move?” he asks when they break and his chest is tingling with the tautness of his lungs. “Like, to bed or something?”

“Or something,” Donghyuck chuckles weakly. His hands, once firmly rooted in Johnny’s shirt and coming up with creative ways to be rid of it, find the sides of Johnny’s neck instead. His palms are sweaty and his eyes are so pretty blown out and goodness, but Johnny doesn’t know that marrying anyone is a mistake, if anyone is as starry-eyed and precious as Donghyuck is.

“What, you don’t put out on your wedding night?” Johnny feigns affront. But then he dusts two fingers along the hinge of Donghyuck’s jaw. “It’s okay. If you don’t want to yet, I mean.”

As if it’s a real answer to the question, Donghyuck shifts so that their hips can at least sort of slot together. The height difference between them means that his hard-on is more wedged against Johnny’s thigh, and it isn’t the relief that he wants it to be, but he likes it. Likes knowing he has this effect on anyone, least of all someone as breathtaking as Donghyuck, who’s blushing all the way down his throats, whose beauty marks constellate every part of him like a map to some faraway place where they won’t be disturbed by ideas like ‘mistake’ and ‘regret’.

“We can move it anywhere you like,” Donghyuck says at last. “If you carry me, of course.”

Johnny’s hands, which had been chastely admiring the shape of Donghyuck’s face, the curve of his neck, the hollow spaces of his clavicle, have plenty of ideas about that. He hooks his palms around the backs of Donghyuck’s thighs and hefts him up. Donghyuck makes a brief, indignant sound as he flings his arms around Johnny’s neck, his legs around Johnny’s waist. His dick is still hard and when he accidentally ruts against the flat board of Johnny’s abdomen he makes a sort of needy attempt at words that comes out more blender garble than anything. “Mean,” he says, bottom lip sticking out.

God, but he’s so pretty. Johnny kisses that pout immediately as he blindly navigates toward the bed.

He spills Donghyuck into the rumpled mess of blankets and sheets first, then topples over himself, the pair of them splayed out against white, white, white. The sheets are cold despite having been recently occupied, and they sting against what bare skin Johnny has exposed, in that way that sunlight sometimes does when you’ve been inside awhile. Johnny props himself up on an elbow and shivers, fighting the cold by looking up and down the long, lean lines of Donghyuck’s body.

“Why are you in Vegas?” he asks.

“My friend’s graduation present. He invited me, him and his other best friend and their boyfriend. Actually, he was supposed to be rooming with me, but he kicked himself out when I brought you back here.” Donghyuck sniffs, pretending that he doesn’t squirm under Johnny’s intense scrutiny. “Poor thing. Fifth wheeling on his own trip.” He changes tacks, and when he does, there’s a certain sharpness to him that Johnny finds himself pleasantly surprised by. “You’re here for work, aren’t you? You said that last night.”

It’s weird. Johnny has to admit that it’s weird having this whole conversation while Donghyuck is laying there, naked and hard and obviously waiting to be touched in some way or another. “Oh. Yeah, sort of. It’s my friend’s work. My work is a lot different than that. I just wanted to support him, he’s up for this big project--”

“Doyoung,” says Donghyuck. “You mentioned him once or twice, too. Seems like you really like him.” Donghyuck curls his legs beneath him. “Come back, I want you to kiss me again.”

What is Johnny gonna do? Say no?

So he crawls forward, mostly on his elbows, and wraps Donghyuck in his arms. God, but he’s so small. Strong, yes, judging by the careful tone of his muscles. But there’s something in him that feels like it wants to be delicate. Johnny loves this, loves learning by doing, loves feeling Donghyuck start to shake a little when Johnny kisses him for all he’s worth and then some. His nails drag faint-pink paths along every bump in Donghyuck’s spine, drawing him closer with every ridge, until the pair of them are pressed flush together. Here, Johnny is lower, so Donghyuck’s dick is pressed into his stomach. He can feel the gentle damp of sweat through his shirt, and at first he mistakes it for pre-cum, but when he peers down between the two of them--

“What do you want to do?” Donghyuck asks, panting gently for breath.

What does Johnny want to do? God, but even Donghyuck’s dick is pretty. He’d been right to call Johnny out for staring. That mole had been captivating.

“Kind of want to suck you off,” Johnny admits, with absolutely no shame. “If that’s okay. Are you into that?”

Donghyuck laughs. “Show, don’t tell,” he says. Whether that’s a promise of himself or a demand made of Johnny is unclear, but that’s fine. Johnny is happy to find out the hard way. (Or the easy one, judging by how, when Donghyuck pulls away, his thighs part, revealing more of him. There’s a mole on his inner thigh that Johnny hadn’t seen before. It leaves him salivating.)

Johnny makes this huge show of kissing down Donghyuck’s body, starting at the swell of his throat and working a slow trail in the direction he wants to go. He lingers in certain spots -- the curve of Donghyuck’s shoulder, and the soft inside of his elbow, and the spot just below his left nipple as it pebbles at the ghost of contact. He swipes his tongue against the nub of it, and Donghyuck keens in the back of his throat.

“Cute,” says Johnny in a mumble, and does it again. He’s rewarded with fingers threaded through his hair. “Are you clean?” he asks, almost as an afterthought. “I had condoms in my room but--”

“Got paperwork in the bag if you wanna see it,” Donghyuck grits out from between clenched teeth, presumably an attempt to not make another embarrassing sound like the one he just did a minute ago. “Got condoms in the bedside table.”

Johnny grins up at Donghyuck, just a flash of a second, before tenderly kissing the spaces between his ribs. “Did you plan to get laid while you were here?” he asks when he reaches the soft upper arc of Donghyuck’s belly.

“Well, yeah,” Donghyuck says, fingers in Johnny’s hair tightening in a way that Johnny would be a fool not to find pleasing. “Just didn’t think they’d be as hot as you.”

It goes without saying that Johnny knows he’s hot, but there’s something about the extra whistle of breath in Donghyuck’s laboured voice that makes it that much more pleasing. Not for the first time his dick springs to life in his slacks. He’s really gotta lose these clothes. “Is it weird if I take my shirt off before I blow you?” This is a joke. Johnny doesn’t laugh, doesn’t check to see if it lands, instead sucking faintly purple marks into Donghyuck’s skin. Between Donghyuck’s thighs he fits his hands against the remaining fastened buttons of his shirt, works them open clumsily. It should be embarrassing that he trembles with anticipation. It isn’t. When at last he can shrug the fabric from his shoulders, Donghyuck’s hand finds the back of his head.

“Stop. Let me see you.” Donghyuck’s bossiness would be unattractive on literally anyone else. Johnny decides he likes it.

“Did we not see each other naked last night?” he teases as he sits up, fitting his enormously long legs beneath himself and showing off his chest, his abs. He’s worked hard on these, goddamnit; they deserve to be appreciated.

Donghyuck makes a strangled noise that turns into a bright peal of laughter that fills the room. “No. We got back here after the ceremony and you passed right the fuck out. Not like I wasn’t trying, by the way,” and he reaches into the space between them, using Johnny’s shoulders as leverage to haul himself up. “I didn’t mind being married to you if I got to take your clothes off at least once.”

“Do you mind being married to me now?” asks Johnny, conscious of the way that Donghyuck’s gaze is wandering every plane of him the same way he’d done to Donghyuck since waking up maybe a half-hour ago.

“Not even a little bit.” Donghyuck laces his fingers together at Johnny’s nape and pulls him into a kiss. Lazy. Tongues tangling with no hurry. Johnny would never lie and say he isn’t turned on simply by how good a kisser Donghyuck is, the way his fingers feel against Johnny’s skin as they map the backs of his ribs through the muscle of his back, the gentle jut of the small of his back and leading to his ass.

When Donghyuck grips him tight, sharp fingers digging into the pert meat of his ass cheeks, each in turn, Johnny is the one making the embarrassing noises. Somewhere between a yelp of surprise and a flat-out moan, with a series of white-hot tingles that run all through him. It’s been awhile since anyone has touched his butt. He isn’t used to someone going for it with the gusto that Donghyuck had used, and it shows. He turns tomato-coloured at the implication of this, at the kiss he’d ruined. It’s fortune alone that earns Johnny the chance to bury his burning face in the crook of Donghyuck’s neck.

“Aw, baby,” and here Donghyuck cards one hand through Johnny’s hair. “You like it when someone feels you up?”

Johnny nods, gnawing at his bottom lip as his body works against his need to put up a front and his spine arcs in such a way that he’s pressing his ass into Donghyuck’s patient hand. “Could feel me up more.”

“I will,” Donghyuck sings, kissing the side of Johnny’s head. “I will. You still wanna suck me off?”

Johnny has to wonder if that’s even a question. He gently pulls Donghyuck’s hands from his shoulders, carefully pushes him away so that he collapses into the pillowtop mattress with a soft grunt that has nothing on the noises he’d been making before he was ever touched. Almost as if there’d been no interruption, Johnny kisses down Donghyuck’s stomach, mapping over the possessive marks he’d made before, teasing them with the slick underside of his tongue. Each mole he finds he kisses again, gently bites into the beauty marks, learning them by the sounds they draw out of Donghyuck’s mouth.

Still, he works lower, the covers bunching up around his hips as his lips find each side of the V of Donghyuck’s hips. On the left side is a mole that Johnny doesn’t remember seeing during their conversation in the bathroom; he kisses it once, twice, thrice, tilting his head each time to get a different angle, see Donghyuck’s skin in a different light. He wishes he’d had the balls to keep the drapes drawn, if only to see Donghyuck shimmer in the sunshine like he was clearly meant to do. Curse his aching head, curse the fact that it hasn’t abated one bit since they started talking--

“Up here,” Donghyuck tuts, and when Johnny looks up it’s to see Donghyuck grinning brighter than any light Johnny’s ever seen.

It’s stupid, probably, but Donghyuck’s so pretty that Johnny wants to cry. He doesn’t, because that would be weird, would ruin the mood. Instead he puts every feeling he’s got in him into his kisses, the way he lavishes Donghyuck with attention the way he might on a lazy Sunday morning. It’s a promise for the future, if they even have one, and Donghyuck drinks it in. His thighs part further, and Johnny shifts so that he might settle between them, propped up on his elbows with his fingers splayed against the inside of Donghyuck’s knees.

He watches Donghyuck’s reactions to every kiss, every caress, every tease. Because he’s teasing, of course. He couldn’t do anything else even if he tried his hardest to skip to the good part. He drags his tongue in careful, measured strokes along the soft inners of Donghyuck’s thighs, learning them too. He finds that Donghyuck jolts with something that isn’t arousal when Johnny bites into the supple skin just above the inside of his knee, and they share a breathless laugh that only cuts off when Johnny kisses that spot instead. He traces lines along Donghyuck’s hips, fingertips dotting against every raised bit of skin he finds in his exploration.

“You’re beautiful,” breathes Johnny against spit-damp skin at the join of Donghyuck’s impossible thigh to his hip. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

Donghyuck doesn’t answer at first, and Johnny wonders how he’s had the patience to tolerate all this. If he has at all. When he pushes up onto his own elbows and gazes down into Johnny’s face, it’s clear he hasn’t been doing it well. “Not without wanting something from me,” says Donghyuck, in the most serious voice. “Do you want something from me?”

Johnny laughs, careful of the angle of his neck, that his chuckling huff of breath ghosts along the length of Donghyuck’s dick. It gets him a little whine. “Just to make you cum,” Johnny tells him. Like it’s promised. Like it won’t be the last time. With a certainty that he so rarely has. “If that’s alright with you?”

He dusts a kiss to the mole he’d first fixated on, the one slightly off-center, toward the head of Donghyuck’s length. Then he prods his tongue into Donghyuck’s slit, and tastes the faint salt of precum, and knows everything he needs to know all at once.

“You’re okay?” he asks, one last time. Just to be sure. Can’t be too sure with a stranger even if that stranger is wearing your watch in place of a wedding ring.

“Please, for the love of God, if you don’t put my d-- mmmmmmph.”

There is something deeply satisfactory about being the one who is bossy in this moment. Johnny fixes his eyes on Donghyuck’s as he takes him in, suckling carefully at the crown of his dick just to coax out more precum, get accustomed to the taste of this man he’d married. Johnny has always been a huge fan of sucking cock, and the circumstances haven’t changed that about him at all, even if it feels like everything else about him has. He hollows his cheeks just a little, just enough to get himself another of those high, unbridled keens that Donghyuck seems so fond of.

He makes a startled sound in the back of his throat when he feels Donghyuck’s ankles lock, one behind the other, around his shoulders. When he pulls away it’s to fix his new husband with a look of consternation. “Possessive?”

“Why’d you stop?” Donghyuck’s bent in on himself, belly bunching together in a way that makes Johnny want to kiss it all over. Again. “Please don’t stop. Please?”

And it isn’t like Johnny isn’t used to begging, but to hear it in that voice, blissed out and cracking in spite of itself, is music the likes of which Johnny could have only imagined until now. So he swallows Donghyuck down again, deeper this time, just to feel his thighs tense up and his knees shake too close to Johnny’s ears.

It’s with a certain care that he drags his tongue across the underside with each bob of his head. A certain attentiveness that he digs the tip of his tongue into Donghyuck’s slit to feel his spine try and twitch out from under his skin. An affection unspoken when he cups Donghyuck’s balls in his palm, thumb dragging over the skin. This blowjob might be a blowjob, and he might have drool trailing from the corners of his mouth, but Donghyuck deserves the same worship he’d received while Johnny was getting to exactly this.

The noise in the room -- Donghyuck’s, of course, sharp and lovely -- is punctuated with the occasionally slobbery sound of Johnny pulling off to nestle his nose lovingly in the neat-trim thistle of hair at the base of Donghyuck’s cock, the petulant whimpers and demands for more. Johnny has long since given up the idea that this will be over quickly, that he wants to make short work of someone so obviously open to receiving some spoiling. “Can I take my time with you?” Johnny asks, in the same voice he’d used for his fake interview questions, albeit a little cracked -- Donghyuck’s tip had brushed the back of his throat a couple times, and he’s a touch hoarse. Needs some water. Not for thirst.

Donghyuck swallows so loud it fills the room with its weight, its importance. “Don’t you have somewhere you have to be?” He’s so swollen that the base of his dick is an impatient, dusky shade, the head practically pulsing when Johnny so much as inches closer. His words come out in staccato bursts. “We can fuck again later. If you want. If this time doesn’t make you want to leave me.”

Johnny thinks to himself that this would be the last thing that would scare him off. Here he is, caged between Donghyuck’s perfect thighs, a future he’s never guessed at promised to him. They don’t have to be in love for that.

“Wanna cum in my mouth?” he asks, mouth quirking wryly.

“Wanna let me?” moans Donghyuck, barely getting the words out before he’s sheathed in Johnny’s mouth again. His fingers wind into Johnny’s hair, tugging at the strands with the relentless ferocity of a man on the edge of release. Johnny’s eyes flirt upward to meet Donghyuck’s, a go-ahead for permission already given.

Donghyuck sounds so cute when he cums. Like he’s about to cry. Music to Johnny’s ears, even as his whole body tingles with a need that he doesn’t have any particular drive to sate. He grips tight at Donghyuck’s inner thighs to steady him even as his hips cant uselessly toward Johnny’s mouth. Johnny relishes in every drop of release as it spills down his throat and, when he pulls away, fighting the urge to tease at overstimulation, smacks his lips like some cereal commercial bastard with no better sense about him.

“Good?” he asks, slithering up the length of Donghyuck’s limp, tremulous frame to lie beside him instead.

“Kiss me,” Donghyuck asks as he slides his hands around the back of Johnny’s neck to draw him in.

“Gross,” Johnny teases when he slips his tongue between Donghyuck’s parted, waiting lips.

They lie like this, Donghyuck chasing the taste of himself on Johnny’s tongue, for quite some time. Their legs tangle. There’s no way Donghyuck doesn’t notice that Johnny is harder than he’s been since he was a hormonal teenager with no semblance of self-control; for crying out loud his dick is stabbing directly into the mole Johnny had nearly made a meal of when they’d first gotten to bed.

There really isn’t time for this, though. Donghyuck is the first to acknowledge it, when he pulls away, all starry-eyed and precious and dragging his tired fingers through Johnny’s hair.

“Hey,” he says, “you’re supposed to do that thing for your friend, right?” It’s just as whiny, just as bossy as it had been when Donghyuck was trying to get off, but there’s an edge of care to it that catches Johnny off-guard.

“Do you have a suit?” asks Johnny before he has the sense to stop himself. “I mean, you don’t have to, but it’d be cool if you came with me. To, uh, the thing with my friend.” Not to mention, Donghyuck was glistening with the sweat he’d worked up, all that twitching and moaning he’d done in the process of getting sucked off having done a number on him. “You wanna get in the shower with me?”

“You got papers?” Donghyuck sniffs.

“Not on me, but we don’t have to fuck to shower. We can just, like, talk. If you feel like it.” Johnny puts on a grin that he knows to be patently charming. “C’moooon. I’ll wash your back, and if you don’t wanna come with me, I can just come back here when I’m done.”

“There’s a lot of ‘come’ being thrown around.” Donghyuck’s cute as hell when he’s boneless and clinging loosely to Johnny’s frame. Nevermind a future and all that shit; he could just get used to this, to mapping the curve of Donghyuck’s side down to where it meets his hip, to subtly shifting so that Donghyuck can feel how badly Johnny wants to be touched by him.

It’s nice. It’s domestic. Distinctly lacking in sunlight. Johnny thinks that the sunlight would do them both wonders.

Donghyuck seems to consider this awhile, his index finger tucked between the ducklike purse of his upper lip and his nostrils. Then he shrugs a shoulder. “I have a suit,” he admits finally.

Johnny takes this as a victory, and a good omen for their future as husbands, however long that lasts.