As cooped up as they are and as easily impressionable Mark is, it was bound to happen.
“They’re not all that different from what the stylist noonas make us wear sometimes,” Donghyuck said, stretching in his chair, his spine cracking in three places.
Johnny and Yuta were going back and forth about guys and girls, guys in girls, guys in girls’ things (skirts, bras, and those skin-colored stockings that still confuse him) while Mark was dozing off on Johnny’s bed because it was almost midnight. Donghyuck was trying not to break his keyboard in half because the wifi was lagging.
“Panties?” Johnny snorted as he was trying to finish off the last of the wine in one of those fancy glasses he and Donghyuck keep in their room.
“Yeah,” Donghyuck shrugged, and then as he turned back to his computer, “I’d wear ‘em.”
Yuta screeched, throwing one of Donghyuck’s pillows at him and Johnny was laughing too hard to catch his cup before it fell, and Donghyuck went back to his game with a smile.
“As if, dude,” Johnny said, out of breath from laughing for so long, over the spilled wine, or the joke, or from Donghyuck taking a pillow to the head, Mark couldn’t tell.
It was too late though, to remind him that it was a joke. Mark, half-asleep, was already thinking about Donghyuck in panties.
It didn’t take much, really, when you think about it.
While the world grows sick, sicker, Donghyuck thrives.
What he means by that is, lately, every time Mark sees him there’s something new to learn. It’s like while he sleeps, Donghyuck shifts and shakes to crumble inward, so he becomes someone slightly different overnight almost every night. On the other hand, Mark thought he was settling into himself, and into them, but it feels like someone’s capped his bottle and shook him up until he’s spilling out around the edges.
The past two days he’s been agonizing about whether or not he should tell Donghyuck about it, this kink, or whatever the internet calls it.
He’s got at least ten tabs open on his phone, all incognito, while watching Donghyuck get his ass whooped by Jaehyun in some game, again, out of the corner of his eye. He’s also got five minutes until Johnny comes back from the 10th floor.
Donghyuck will be the first one to say I like this, I don’t like that, and what’re you gonna do about it, if he even suspects you’ve got a problem with it. That goes for everything, from his food to his clothes, and to how Mark touches him.
“Ah, I’m fucked,” Donghyuck sucks his teeth, sinking into his chair and reaching for his third can of Red Bull.
“Donghyuck-ah,” Mark calls out before he loses his nerve, scooting to the edge of Donghyuck’s bed and clearing his throat.
He turns towards Mark, unsuspecting.
“Remember when you told me that if I wanted to-uh, try something to like--tell you?”
“Yeah?” Donghyuck hums, raising one eyebrow at him as he pops the tab on the can.
Mark takes another look at Donghyuck’s gamer-boy-slouch, his wide hands, the sprawl of his legs, and thinks there’s no fucking way he’ll say yes. He’ll give Mark his down the nose stare and then destroy his ego in five words or less.
But Donghyuck’s thighs are made out of the same plush as his mouth that softens out his face, and those wide hands with crooked pinkies are soft-palmed and get clammy when Mark talks to him sweet, and he’s kept the worst of Mark’s secrets. It’s a 50/50 chance he’s willing to take.
“Then would you--” Mark takes a deep breath, his throat closing up, “would you wear panties? For me?”
Donghyuck’s hand freezes for a millisecond, can mid-air before he brings it to his mouth without breaking eye contact. With one look, he flays Mark open like he doesn’t recognize him, lays out his innards, and makes him as transparent as the mint green mesh panties Mark’s been thinking about seeing him in. They’re already in his cart in one of those ten tabs he’s got open.
“Okay,” he says once he’s knocked back his entire can of Red Bull, wiping his hand over his mouth. “Only if you’re buyin’.”
He turns back towards his computer without another word. Mark’s five minutes are up and the ball is back in his court, ego and insides still intact. Not much to it at all.
In the week that it takes everything to get delivered, Mark learns that cheap websites have the best stuff, the good panties come in lingerie sets with funny names (Come To Bed Red, Petunia Pussy Pink, Mustard Thrusters), and $22 for express shipping is money well spent.
The last package comes in bright pink plastic, the mailman looks Mark up and down when he hands it over, but he shuts the door in the guy’s face in his haste to scuttle back to his room and rip the thing open. Mark narrowed down his choices to a handful, to the ones that made him dizziest the quickest and left out the ones that looked so complicated that Donghyuck wouldn't have even been able to figure them out.
After each delivery, Mark would separate the tiny matching bras and tops and stuff them beneath his mattress so he wouldn’t have to throw them out, not with everyone on the 10th floor trying to figure out what he was being so secretive for. Once he was done eyeing the chiffon, or the slippy silk, or the coarse lace, or the soft cotton, he’d fold the panties back into their waxy paper or clear, crinkly plastic to hide them in one of his drawers for safekeeping. He wanted to hand them over to Donghyuck all at once.
Now, Mark unearths all the panties from beneath his socks and boxers to stuff them into the yawning hole he made in the bright pink plastic packaging with the newest pair, puts the plastic in an old shoebox, and then starts making his way to the fifth floor.
“Where you going?” Yuta asks right before he leaves, eating a bowl of cereal in the kitchen.
“Nowhere, just giving these sneakers to Hyuck,” he answers without looking back.
Mark texts Donghyuck with numb fingertips after he crams the panties somewhere Johnny won’t think to look, sitting at the end of Donghyuck’s unmade bed.
To Lee Donghyuckie: tell me when
If Johnny were here, he’d be able to see it all over Mark’s skittish face and in the tremble of his hands. He’d say, Looks like Mark Lee’s got another dirty little secret or something like that. Johnny’s good at piecing things together when he needs to but this isn’t a secret Mark’s willing to give up.
He pokes around on Donghyuck’s shelf while he waits for a response, sniffing a new bottle of lotion (white musk), steals a few m&m’s from the open pack laying around (stale), and inspects a picture of Donghyuck and Johnny he hasn’t seen yet. They’re both cheesing and Johnny’s holding up a wine bottle between their faces.
He jumps when his phone vibrates in his pocket.
Lee Donghyuckie: no duh.
He eases the picture back between the mess and tears the shoebox into scraps over the trash can on his way out.
Lee Donghyuckie: where’d you put them anyway?
Mark doesn’t twiddle his thumbs for just about anything, he’d rather forget about it before he wastes too much time waiting for the when, the where, the how.
“Haechan-ah came by, said he returned something to you,” their manager tells him as soon as he comes back from shopping with Yuta and Jungwoo.
“Okay, thanks, hyung,” he answers, storing that away for later because Donghyuck borrows things and gives them back, only for Mark to find them missing again.
He eats the least questionable leftovers in the fridge with Yuta, showers, and messes around with his guitar for a little before turning out the lights so he can look at his phone until he falls asleep.
Lee Donghyuckie: did you get them?
Mark’s halfway through a documentary about ufos when the text pops up on his screen. He sends back a quick get what? and turns up the volume so he can hear the documentary better over the sound of the manager showering in the en suite bathroom.
Lee Donghyuckie: check your pillow
Mark grabs for the one above his head and digs into the pillowcase with one hand while he keeps watching his video. He’s about to give up, arm cramping, but there, sitting balled up and scratchy at the end of his pillowcase, sits a nice reminder from Donghyuck.
Mark’s heart shoots up into his throat, phone dropping onto his chest as he drags the panties out and holds them up to his face to untangle them. He only needs the low light of the moon to see they’re the virgin-wears-the-white mesh ones with little daisies sewn into them.
“Fuck,” he wheezes, thumbing gently across the front, realizing it’s damp. “Fuck.”
When Mark brings the panties down to his nose to take a whiff, he knows immediately that, yeah, that’s him, Donghyuck, stained all across the front, faint and a little sweet. He knows that smell better than the grilled pork belly Taeil’s been making for weeks.
He tears his headphones out his ears, the narrator going on about ufo abductees having out of body experiences and never being the same again. Mark’s pretty sure he won’t be the same after this either.
He spreads his legs beneath the blanket and trails a hand down to his shorts, eager to get a hand on himself. He’s already sensitive, the same way he gets when he and Donghyuck can’t do more than makeout for almost half an hour, and he has to go to the bathroom to finish himself off. The first few strokes have him hissing, making his stomach and thighs lock up, fat-dicked and desperate.
He wonders what made Donghyuck cream the panties, was he thinking about Mark, and what about Mark got him off, and where’d he do this, and where’d he find the time between Dream and 127 to do it, and how’d he even come up with something like this, all while he whacks it so hard someone might be able to hear if they passed by, his blanket whump whump whumping against his frantic fist.
Someone, either Yuta or Jungwoo, he can’t tell, starts singing loudly from the kitchen when he opens his mouth to get a taste of the cum Donghyuck left behind. Salty, sweet, and sorta bitter when it floods his mouth, and he sucks on the mesh like he might be able to make them as clean as they were when Donghyuck slipped them on.
Donghyuck probably never got the panties off if he came in them. Mark stiffens up when he thinks about the off chance that Donghyuck likes this just as much as he does instead of him doing it just to appease Mark.
“Shit,” he groans, peeling the panties away from his face just in time to stuff them inside his shorts to catch his load, getting off in record time.
His cock pulses for what feels like minutes, spilling thick and hot into the cup of his mesh-covered palm while he blinks blearily into the darkness without breathing. Mark’s upper lip is coated in Donghyuck’s dick scent, his saliva tastes like him too, and his head is pounding from the whole thing. He could fall asleep like this.
Lee Donghyuckie : ???
Mark manages to pick up his phone and text him back
To Lee Donghyuckie: yeah, got them
Lee Donghyuckie: I bet those got you off in 5 mins. Gross.
While Mark tries to get himself together enough to make it to the bathroom, he gets another message.
Lee Donghyuckie: I like that
He locks his phone and throws an arm over his face.
“What’s up with you lately?” Donghyuck murmurs, sprawled out underneath Mark, headset askew, and his striped pajama shirt falling right up above his wink of a belly button.
After another heavy rotation of practice, not practice, practice, Mark found his way back to the 5th floor. Donghyuck was in front of the mirror trying to shimmy into his shorts underneath a towel, talking to Doyoung and Johnny about the gym while Mark was strewn across his bed.
He was all wrapped up in the tendrils of hair curling against the damp nape of Donghyuck’s neck, and the peach pit top of his spine, and the fuzzy trail of hair disappearing into Donghyuck’s boxers once he dropped the towel when it hit him, mac truck decimation.
Donghyuck’s got a sweet swell of tits.
That left Mark reeling for a long, buzzing minute until Donghyuck caught his eye in the mirror, his shirt in one hand and his shoulders starting to bend in, away from Mark’s heavy gaze. At some point, after arguing about who was going to go find the lost delivery guy, Doyoung and Johnny went together, leaving Mark to stew in Donghyuck’s curious silence. That never ends well.
“I wanna try something.”
Right now, Mark has Donghyuck exposed like some cheap thrill, his shirt bunched up near his armpits so he can watch Donghyuck’s skin burst into a million goosebumps when he ghosts a thumb around one of his tawny nipples.
Get ready for the next battle! comes out of Donghyuck’s headset, small and far away, but unable to hide his shivery breaths and the absence of Mark breathing at all.
Donghyuck digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, cheeks watercolor-red, and his heart trying to reach out to the palm of Mark’s hand when he hiccups, “Just hurry up, hyung.”
Mark misses at first, mouth skidding against Donghyuck’s collarbone before he gets it right, glossing his tongue over one of those itty bitty nothing tits, the ones Donghyuck never lets him linger on for too long. This time Mark swallows him whole, messing up the clean smell he had with warm spit and an eager tongue.
“They’ll be back soon, dumbass,” Donghyuck says, high and breathy, as he arches into Mark’s mouth, cradling the back of his head when he switches over to the other side to make it even.
There isn't much to gather up in his hands but Mark tries his best anyway, squeezing the warm little bit he's got in his hand, rolling his nipple stiff between his fingers, and his mouth suction cup tight around the other one.
Donghyuck doesn’t let him do this often because all the achy, hungry, feel-good sounds that he makes when Mark sucks on his oversensitive chest would be a dead giveaway for anyone listening, the same ones he’s trying to muffle with one arm over his face. Mark’s so turned on his legs are numb and Donghyuck’s hand can’t decide whether to hold him close or tug at the back of his shirt to pull him away.
They hear Doyoung and Johnny coming down the hallway at the same time and scramble to right themselves. Donghyuck knees him in the dick and Mark's forehead knocks into his mouth, but he gets to the opposite end of the bed by the time Johnny kicks the door open.
“The guy was in a different building,” Johnny sighs, dropping the bags on his own bed and telling Doyoung to go get extra chopsticks.
Their hyungs probably think that the kids are alright, they’re up to the usual no-good when they’re together, and they’re into regular things behind closed doors, but the fact that he and Donghyuck are 19 and 20, horny, and up to their necks in forced normalities should tell them otherwise.
“I’m gonna--upstairs, left something,” Mark stutters as he stands up, blood rushing to his head, and starts to trip his way out of the room.
Donghyuck walks with him to the elevator in silence, hiding his blush-bruised face behind his hair and trying to smooth out his wrinkled shirt, his slippers slapping the floor of the empty hallway.
When Mark pushes the up button, Donghyuck turns to look at him with accusing eyes, the look that usually has Mark apologizing before he knows what he did.
“You made ‘em all wet,” he says, plucking his shirt away from his body.
Instead of apologies or playing it safe, Mark reaches out and treads his thumb over where one of those wet spots should be. The elevator chimes, coming closer from the floors below, and Donghyuck grabs him by his wrist, but not hard enough to stop Mark’s wandering hand.
“Would you wear other stuff for me?” Mark mutters, pressing into the sore spot his mouth made of Donghyuck’s nipple.
Donghyuck opens his mouth, Mark’s spit soaks through his shirt, blooming against the pad of his thumb like an answer, and the elevator arrives right on time.
Look at him, don’t look at him, look at him, or don’t look at anyone at all. Donghyuck is wishy-washy like that. Mark’s still figuring that out.
In between the crush of boy-sweat, fart jokes, and ear drumming practice music, Donghyuck calls his name. The first time, Mark thinks he’s hearing things, that happens sometimes, but the second time is louder and he spins in a circle to see where it’s coming from.
Mark finds him in the periphery of everyone’s vision, in a corner of the practice room, a blip that balloons when Donghyuck pushes a crooked pinky into those loose, green cargo pants he loves so much and comes out with yellow lace hooked on.
It's over quicker than he can blink, Donghyuck's oversized shirt falling back into place like it never happened, but he can’t bring himself to make a sound, panic making his ears ring and a fragment of shame zapping him.
But it's nothing in comparison to how much he wants to see Donghyuck do it again.
While no one’s paying attention, Donghyuck escapes where Mark’s tunnel vision can’t reach him.
In the bathroom around the corner, third stall with the faulty lock and a sticky door, Mark finds him again.
“Aegyo for entry, puh-lease,” Donghyuck sing-songs, echoing against the tile as he leans against the door from the inside.
“Hyuck-ah, come on,” he groans.
Donghyuck sucks his teeth and sighs like he’s the one giving him trouble. Mark puts his forehead against the cool stall door, inhaling antiseptic, and his pride when he speaks.
“Let Markie inside, pwease.”
Donghyuck throws the door open, a tongue-between-the-teeth smile on his face, and Mark crowds him inside, haphazardly shutting them in. He’s still giggling when Mark kisses him, dizzy off his small cruelty, and velvety-hot from the cut of his jaw to the unmarred skin of his neck and shoulder.
“Lemme see,” he pants, shoving his hand down the back of Donghyuck’s cargos to grip a good handful of his panty-clad ass, slippy material with a maze-like design that covers most of Donghyuck’s skin.
Donghyuck pushes him away and slouches against the wall, tipping his hips forward as he goes for the button of his pants, and says, kinda sleazy, “You really like this, don’t you?”
Mark just nods because there’s no hiding it, there’s no need to hide from Donghyuck with his unkempt hair in his eyes and his fingers undoing his button, dragging down his zipper to show Mark which pair of panties he chose to wear. To practice. For hours. For him.
It's the mustard yellow hipsters with small scalloped edges, a random pretty pattern in lace, and silk at the crotch. The kicker is the little yellow bow right at the top, nestled underneath the weepy head of Donghyuck’s fattening cock.
“Wow,” he says, more of a gurgle, thick-tongued and dumb while Donghyuck holds his shirt up so Mark can get a good fucking look at him.
Mark gets to his knees before he realizes, nosing at Donghyuck through his panties, sniffing at that wet-dick scent he could smell on the soiled pair that first night. He licks a saliva-drenched path from the heavy curve of Donghyuck’s satin covered balls up to the tip sticking out of the top of the waistband to start sucking on him gently.
“You’re disgusting, hyung,” Donghyuck whispers, head knocking back against the stall wall when Mark slips his panties down to take him deeper, soothing over the angry grooves the elastic edges made in the soft, unused skin of Donghyuck’s hips.
You’re so gross, this is so nasty, you’re weird, hyunghyunghyung, Donghyuck tells him in reedy, toe-curling pants. For all that Donghyuck is taunting him, his dick is leaking something vicious on Mark’s tongue. He squirms and digs his fingers into Mark's shoulders when he kisses the tiny mole in the crook of his thigh, another on his hip, and on his tummy.
More than anything, Donghyuck likes knowing he throws Mark into a frenzy and then getting worshipped because of it.
“I like you just like this,” Donghyuck says, looking down at Mark as he rocks into his mouth, deep enough to make him gag and spit up around him.
Mark closes his eyes and almost sprains a wrist trying to stuff his hand down his sweatpants to get his dick out and pump himself with tight, fast strokes, breathing hard through his nose without responding to Donghyuck’s mean words, or the gentle hand in his hair, Donghyuck’s watch ticking next to his ear.
He lets Donghyuck come in his mouth, thighs trembling in front of Mark’s eyes, and his stomach going concave from the breath he’s holding so he doesn’t yell while Mark suckles him soft, the way he learned to do from Donghyuck himself. Mark's going to be able to taste him in the back of his throat until he can make it home but Donghyuck's going to have to keep practicing in these panties, wet through with Mark's spit, for hours.
“Do you want me to--” Donghyuck starts to say, but stops when he hears Mark splattering the tile, sounding like he’s hyperventilating.
Mark wrings himself dry, heart thundering, and leans his head against Donghyuck’s sweaty inner thigh once he’s done. Donghyuck doesn’t even laugh at him.
“‘M not a girl, y’know?”
Mark, his brain on autopilot in the middle of wiping his own come off the floor, snorts. There's nothing girly about him.
“You’d still be my favorite, even if you were.”
He gets a wet paper towel to the head, and Donghyuck stalking out of the bathroom with a hand over his flaming face for his troubles.
The slow churn of quarantine does nothing to stop Donghyuck from stringing Mark up amidst all the normal things when he least expects it.
Donghyuck has Cheeto dust on every finger except his ring, licking them one by one as he stares blankly at the infomercial running on the tv in a hoodie and sweats. Mark’s sitting beside him on the couch, spacing out because it’s midnight and he’s waiting for Johnny to get dressed so they can go to the store.
“Why’s missionary your favorite position?” Donghyuck asks all of a sudden, thoughtful.
Mark whips his head around when the question settles in.
“Wha--do you not like it? Do you wanna switch, or like switch?” he stammers.
Donghyuck smiles slowly, entertained, and slumps further into the couch, his legs spreading until his knee bumps into Mark’s. The stale late-night movie about some boring couple stuck in some boring life Donghyuck was watching comes back on, and he sets his sights on it, hiding his eyes.
“No,” he mutters, biting at a nail, “it’s not that, it’s just— it’s like we’re married.”
Some part of Mark, a huge one, sloughs off and spills onto the hardwood floor like murder.
“You fuck me like we’re married,” Donghyuck says, muted, a bit shy, but with enough force to slop Mark back together faster than he can handle.
On this same couch in January, back when Mark wasn’t allowing Donghyuck to stick his hand down his pants just yet, Donghyuck saddled up beside him and said, if you’re really the no-sex-before-marriage type of Christian there’s other things we could do. Mark had asked like what, eyes on the ten o’clock news, when Donghyuck did this--this thing with his tongue in Mark’s ear that made his eyes cross.
That Donghyuck must be different, because this one’s peeled back a layer of himself like old wallpaper to give Mark a front-row seat to something he had to have been stewing in; matching last names, shared clothes, and missionary as their go-to.
“Alright, let’s go,” Johnny says, appearing out of thin air to slap Mark on his shoulder.
Donghyuck’s gone back to licking Cheeto dust off his fingers, all of them except the ring, settled back into his skin, as Mark stands to leave and that bland ass romcom reaches its climax.
He doesn’t free Mark there.
Dinner’s on the stove, they’re all starving, and Mark's one of the first to skid into the kitchen when Donghyuck and Jaehyun tell them the food is ready. He’s about to take his bowl of beef stew back to the living room like everyone else but Donghyuck stops him with one arm around his waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder.
“Taste it,” he says, lips brushing Mark’s neck, head-tilting those saccharine eyes at him in his periphery.
He makes a small, happy sound when soy sauce and brown sugar simmers over his tongue, this nice balance of savory and sweet that only Donghyuck can manage. They’ve started the drama back up again in the living room, chattering about who they think is about to get killed off. Donghyuck rubs Mark’s ear between his fingers while he watches him take a couple more bites without pause, humming, mh, it’s good isn’t it? right beside his ear. Mark nods, says, of course it is, because when isn’t it?
“Yeah, made you your favorite, hyung,” Donghyuck murmurs, slithering both his arms around Mark’s waist and nuzzling his forehead against his shoulder. “Like a good wifey, hm?”
His spoon floats between his bowl and his mouth, dripping on the counter, and Donghyuck holds him tighter, burying his face into Mark’s shoulder blades silently. Mark tries to keep every piece of himself taped together.
“Yeah,” he croaks, feeling all shaken up again, “exactly like that.”
Mark closes his eyes and lets Donghyuck sway them side to side, feeling like meat falling right off the bone, tenderized.
When it’s 2 am and he’s in the kitchen scarfing down the leftovers Donghyuck gave him to take back to his floor, he realizes he forgot to pray before eating.
God is good, God is great. Let us thank Him for our food.
It goes on like that, Donghyuck getting bold and Mark trying not to lose his footing when they’ve got another comeback soon.
Panties smeared in precome or ripe with I-wore-these-all-day-for-you-sweat get shoved in Mark’s pants pockets, his old ass Jansport bookbag when he goes to look for his deodorant, and mixed in with his clean laundry, still warm to the touch.
Donghyuck sends Mark blurry pictures taken beneath his blanket and in the bathroom before a shower. The one Mark gets tonight is at his desk, plucking the band of his basketball shorts away from his body so Mark can get a glimpse of his soft cock in frilly, mint green chiffon, thin ribbons gift-wrap-tied at either hip to keep them up.
Lee Donghyuckie: thanks, oppa.
Mark slaps his forehead with his phone, his bowl of cereal sitting soggy on his nightstand, and thinks this kid is crazy. They’re crazy.
But it feels like liberation in the humdrum of back to back schedules and not being the first one Donghyuck turns to after a joke anymore.
They see each other early in the morning or late at night or not at all, but one thing stays constant, Donghyuck keeps casting off old skin to come out all dewy and new again, like serpent clockwork. Mark can barely keep up.
It’s another day off. Frank Ocean is playing from his speaker amongst all the other day-to-day things on his dresser (Old Spice deodorant, the face masks Jaehyun gave him, his new glasses), and Donghyuck is giving Mark a quick fix.
“Sometimes I can’t tell the difference,” Donghyuck mumbles, splayed out horizontally on Mark’s bed.
He’s in a huge black hoodie hasn’t gotten sick of wearing, a borrowed pair of shorts, and the white nylon knee-highs Mark managed to snag at half-price online last week. Donghyuck's worn knee-high socks before, thigh highs too, but they've never been like these. Waterfall-smooth nylon with black lace, daisy printed ribbons threaded through the top, tied into droopy, graceless bows because Mark did them himself. It took longer than he’d liked, but he was nothing but determined to get it done before someone (Yuta) came barging into his room.
Mark watched him bunch the socks to the toes and then carefully slide them up to his knees, snapping the elastic against his skin once he was done. A nice chunk of Mark's conscious sluiced out of his ears when Donghyuck lifted his shorts up and up, showing him miles of freshly waxed skin and the paler, cushiony insides of his thighs, asking him how they looked (Nice, you've got nice legs, Hyuck).
That's both the point and not right now.
“Between what?” he asks, edging closer to Donghyuck on his knees.
“Me,” he clarifies leisurely, kicking his socked feet in the air in front of Mark’s face with just as much care. “Donghyuck and Haechan, Haechan and Donghyuck.”
There are sides of Donghyuck that he’ll never know, moments he isn’t a part of. Did Donghyuck start to think about this separation of self when he was tucked away in his room with Johnny, or when he was drinking with Taeil two months ago, or has this been a thing since the beginning?
“Why do they have to be different?” Mark asks, squeezing Donghyuck’s calf and running his fingers over the old, smooth scar on his left knee.
Donghyuck creeps his feet up Mark’s body, using those little nylon-covered toes to slowly trail his t-shirt up to his nipples, tucking it underneath Mark’s armpits while he looks on from below, appreciating. Mark holds onto him at the knee, fingering the lace ribbons and trying not to go toppling backward because his dick is seeing more blood than his brain is right now.
“Which one do you like better?” Donghyuck presses, playing with one strand of long, honey blonde hair, longer than he’s ever seen it, and peers at Mark with bored, feline eyes.
For him, Donghyuck’s always been Donghyuck. Haechan is just a descriptor.
“You,” he answers as two feet criss-cross snugly behind his neck, soft at the heel. “Just you.”
Frank Ocean sings about his guy being prettier than a girl, Donghyuck assesses his worth, and Mark doesn’t fold under the pressure. This Donghyuck has options and Mark doesn’t need to be one of them.
But his answer has to be enough because Donghyuck giggles a little, like Mark’s out the loop or he just got in, and rubs the top of one foot underneath Mark’s balls in snail-slow strokes.
“How do you want me?” he asks, wriggling his toes up over Mark’s cock, hot, throbbing, and tenting his sweats.
“Could you--on the edge, on your knees and elbows?”
Donghyuck finally gives him a full-bellied laugh as he turns over, letting Mark prop him up the way he wants, knees spread, ass up, and his cheek resting on his crossed forearms on the bed.
Come on, he urges as Mark clambers up behind him, practically on top of him, and slots his hard dick between the slippy, no-underwear-on-underneath slope of his ass through the shorts.
Mark dry humps him through another Frank Ocean song, some of the members coming home, and his own desperation. Donghyuck bites into the sleeve of his hoodie to keep quiet while Mark jerks him off over his shorts, slipping another hand under his hoodie to grope at one of those mosquito bite tits, riding his ass.
We should stop, he gasped, sweet and unbelievable, at some point, the tips of his ears red and the blonde hair at his nape dark with sweat while Mark worked him over, we should stop, hyung.
He let Mark follow through though. All the way through.
“I’m gonna cut my hair,” he tells the entire room one night, sitting in his gaming chair.
Mark can tell Donghyuck is waiting for his answer, eyes finding his between the chorus of go bald, grow a mullet, get a bowl cut, from Jaehyun and Yuta and Johnny.
“Ya,” Donghyuck shoves at Mark’s thigh with one foot, “don’t you think my hair looks better short?”
He’s wearing socks again, but they’re the thick, scratchy kind, nothing like the delicate nylon from a week or two ago. His hair is faded purple and Mark’s a lot in love with it.
“I like your hair either way,” he shrugs, twisting Donghyuck’s pinky toe until he snatches his foot back.
“You’re shit help, why'd I ask?” he gripes and turns around.
Johnny starts up about Mark not having any fashion sense, but Mark sees Donghyuck biting both his lips to suppress a smile in the reflection of his computer screen before he starts it up.
“Oh-kay! Johnny hyung, Jaehyun hyung, let’s play!”
Mark should’ve known he wouldn’t ask him to do something simple, like a chore or buying him food at 4 am or sending a video of himself jerking off (At least lemme see you cum, hyung. I’ll delete it later). Those things he can do, he does, but this makes him hesitate, feet shuffling over the cold bathroom tile.
He was supposed to be working on a song with Johnny, that was the point of coming down here, but Donghyuck dragged him by the wrist to the bathroom as soon as he stepped foot inside his room.
“Wear them if you wanna see me in the new stuff you bought,” Donghyuck insists, twirling a tiny pair of burgundy panties around his finger.
Mark’s a pleaser but he’s got boundaries but relationships are also about compromise. Just looking at Donghyuck right now, playing with the zipper on his hoodie with unsure puppy dog eyes, Mark knows he’d let him back out, say no. He'd get rolled eyes and a snarky comment (Mark Lee really isn't the man everyone thinks he is), and they’d walk out of the bathroom like nothing happened.
It’d be a let down though, Mark getting his way all the time.
“Alright,” he sighs, holding out his hand, “but turn around.”
“Not like I haven’t seen it before,” Donghyuck grumbles, smiling a little as he faces away.
Mark drops his jeans, his boxers, and tries to figure out which way the panties are supposed to go before sliding them up his legs. They’re frilly trimmed and he’s pretty sure Donghyuck wore these at some point, the edges twisted up from him taking them off, and Mark snaps the elastic bands a few times to straighten them out. He can’t even look in the mirror.
“You can look.”
He tries to cover himself with both his hands as Donghyuck turns around, but he tuts and raises a finger at him. Don’t.
“Look at that,” Donghyuck rasps as he gets up in Mark’s face, “that big dick of yours doesn’t even fit.”
Mark wheezes, breath punched out of him because Donghyuck is right, his cock is bulging out the waist and his right nut is about to fall out the leg of the panties and the back is way up his ass crack, but he didn’t have to say that.
Donghyuck licks one thumb, batting Mark’s hands away from where they were still hovering uselessly, so he can tuck it inside and draw lazy, lingering hearts right between Mark’s balls until he’s about to vibrate out of his skin.
“I don’t care about the panties though, it’s that look you get on your face when I wear them,” Donghyuck says, grabbing Mark by the jaw and forcing him to look in the mirror.
“Wha’ look?” he asks, even though he can see it, red to high hell cheeks with coal eyes and a sloppy mouth.
“Like you really, really want me,” Donghyuck admits, guttural, eyes like mirrors.
It ends like you’d expect it to, with words like that.
Mark’s clumsy about kissing him as he turns them around, hoisting Donghyuck up on the counter and yanking him practically flat as he tugs his ratty sweatpants and briefs down to his knees with too much force. He goes for the zipper of Donghyuck’s hoodie next, hesitating to see if he'll stop him, watching Donghyuck with bated breath before undoing it all the way.
He told Donghyuck to open up, open up to me, months ago, more like eons, but maybe Mark hasn’t been looking hard enough lately. It must’ve been scary putting the panties on for Mark that first time, every time, things not meant for him, not meant to fit. And it had to be uncomfortable dancing in those panties for hours that one day, betting on the odd chance he’d get to show Mark a sliver of it in the middle of all the chaos.
“Just do it, you weirdo,” he hisses, kicking at Mark’s shoulder as best he can with his legs still trapped in his sweats and underwear.
Creep, weirdo, pervert, Donghyuck’s called him that and more but he’s saying it about himself too, the tip of his nose and his cheeks glowing red. He doesn't have a shirt on under his hoodie, bare from the delicate line of his sternum to his stiff nipples, his hard cock, all the way down to his knees.
This entire time, he’d been hoping that Mark would like it so much he’d follow him around like a dog. Mark would paw at his door until his nails turned to bloody pulp if that’s what Donghyuck wanted.
“You’re so pretty I could die, Hyuck,” he confesses, coming from someplace in his chest that he’s always too scared to speak from.
Donghyuck’s mouth trembles like he might curse him out or cry or laugh, looking up at Mark through his hair with a you-did-this-to-me kind of glare, stripped him down to those dewy, misted parts he never shows much of anybody.
“Then die, hyung.”
In a dorm bathroom with a dripping faucet, a bottle of hand sanitizer as soap on the counter, and his dick slip-sliding in the sweaty, tight grip of Donghyuck’s thighs, Mark dies a good death.
The day before his birthday, Donghyuck shows him all the places he stashed the panties; folded neatly in the same box as his coveted Yeezy’s, in a ziploc bag at the bottom of his hamper, and underneath his fitted sheets where he lays his head.
Mark hands over his present when Donghyuck finishes putting his closet back in order.
“Kinda expensive,” he says and plops down on his bed as he starts to take the phone out the box.
“Kinda? I think that’s the most money I’ve ever spent on anyone, dude.”
“Now we won’t match anymore,” Donghyuck says as Mark sits down beside him so he can watch him set it up.
“So? It’s what you wanted,” he shrugs and looks away. “And we match in other ways.”
They both shoot up off the bed after a long moment of silence, yelling and laughing off the embarrassment. Wah, Donghyuck said, fist to his mouth, I can’t believe you said that, after they calmed down and Doyoung had come in from the kitchen to see what the commotion was about.
“Don’t tell anyone I said that, seriously,” Mark says before he leaves. He’s got to help with the cake.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Donghyuck snickers as he turns on his computer.
“And thanks, Hyuck, for--you know.”
It takes Donghyuck a second to figure it out but he turns around and waves him off.
Mark leaves him to it.
To Suhnny Side Up Hyung: how bad is the cake?
Nine at night, the sun is still making its descent to the other side of the world, and Mark’s on the elevator with an old lady who hasn’t stopped staring at the pillow under his arm since he got on.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5.
He was spread eagle on his bed, strumming his guitar with no aim because practice left him wired when his phone vibrated on his nightstand. He hadn’t even showered yet.
Lee Donghyuckie: bring an extra pillow
Mark bows to her as the elevator doors open with a small ding, eyes flitting from the floor to her face as he steps off and tells her to have a good night.
“You have yourself a good night too, young man,” she coos, a relieved grin on her wrinkled face.
She must be thinking he’s a good boy, such a sweet boy, the pillow must be for a friend, for anything other than the same reason he’s carrying a condom in his pocket.
Donghyuck was facing away from him when Mark slipped into his room, holding one finger up at him with his phone to his ear. Johnny hyung, are you sure you’ll be back in an hour? you said we’d play the game, he’d asked over the phone, playing with the mic on Johnny’s desk. Mark stuffed the pillow he bought between the shelf of Donghyuck’s bed and the wall while Donghyuck watched him through the reflection in the window.
Bring an extra pillow is their code word for a quickie. It makes every hair on the back of Mark’s neck stand up whenever he thinks of it; dirty, secretive, and just between the two of them. The kind of quick fuck that leaves his entire room smelling like sex because they forgot to crack a window and he doesn’t always change the sheets after they’re done.
Jungwoo and Yuta call it a human smell, but Mark likes it enough to bask in it before having to air it out. What else could you expect from him?
When Donghyuck got off the phone (we’ve probably got less than 45 minutes) and ambled towards him, Mark stutter-stepped and kissed the corner of his permanent-pucker mouth, jitterbug energy making him a little nervous. Donghyuck huffed and held his face still, kissed him properly with an open mouth and burning tongue, just as keyed up as Mark.
They topple onto the bed when Donghyuck starts walking him backward, everything on the shelf rattling. Donghyuck doesn’t stop kissing him, straddling his waist and smelling like his citrusy cologne, dabbed lightly behind his ears as if Mark wouldn’t notice.
Donghyuck pulls away and sits up, wiping at his mouth. Mark leans up on his elbows and tries to lift the hem of Donghyuck’s shirt, ready to see the skin that he’s been peep-showing him in that stretched-at-the-neck, tie-dye blue tee, but he grabs him by the wrist.
“I didn’t wear panties this time,” he says, testy.
“‘S okay, don’t care if you didn’t."
He scans Mark’s face, mouth pinched. Taeyong’s music starts blaring from his room, deep bass, as Mark watches Donghyuck reach inside his shirt and pull two strings out, tying them in a bow behind his neck before he pulls his t-shirt over his head.
Mark’s heart seizes then restarts, thundering to a different tune when the shirt comes off first and then his shorts in slow succession.
Donghyuck’s a menace, a tormentor, a slipshod horror that Mark’s been trying to escape since they were pre-teens, and he reminds Mark of that at least a few times a week.
The bra is two dusky pink satin triangles over his flat chest, held together in the middle by a hollow silver heart lined in faux diamonds, and spaghetti thin straps tied halter top style around his neck. When Mark manages to look down, he sees that the panties match, silver hearts at the hips, shiny satin cupping the curve of Donghyuck’s balls and chubbed up cock, and a silky smooth strip in the back when Mark gropes him.
“Well? Do you like it?” Donghyuck tries for put-out but only sounds insecure as he toys with the silver watch still on his wrist.
He sits in Mark’s lap with his broad, wheatish shoulders curling in, his knees drawing up and knocking together, and his cold toes trying to wriggle their way underneath Mark’s ribs. His hair is cut above his ears, but below his brows, and all washed out, chocolate roots bleeding into powdery lilac that glows almost white in the low lamplight, with lavender-trickle tips. There's even a tiny bit of stubble on his chin that does nothing to make him any less pretty.
Donghyuck’s just an unassuming sun; shedding layer after burning layer so he won’t implode or explode, killing Mark softly in the scorching aftermath.
“A lot, seriously, I think--I can’t even think. For me--you did this for me?” he stutters, running his hands up Donghyuck’s thighs once he relaxes, downy hairs and warm skin against his palms.
“Who the fuck else?” he rolls his eyes, smiling as he leans forward to grab lube from the shelf before leaning back on Mark’s bent legs.
Donghyuck stays in his lap a little longer so Mark can peel his panties off to the side and hook two of his trembling fingers inside to get him wet again. He groans when Mark massages his thumb into the sensitive, swollen spot beneath his balls, head rolling back as spreads his legs wide, resting his elbows on Mark’s knees.
“Look, it even comes undone in the front,” Donghyuck pants, going for the tiny diamond heart clasp in the middle of his bra with shaking hands and cracks it open to show him two stiff, neglected nipples.
Mark feels a little like that as he turns them over; one huge, pulsating thing split down the middle, damned to love until he stops beating.
When they switch places, he tosses his shirt and shorts and fumbles trying to get the condom open when his hands won’t stop trembling.
“Excited?” Donghyuck laughs, raising an eyebrow at him as Mark tears the foil open with his mouth and tries to roll it on with butter fingers.
“Yeah,” he pants, completely honest, and finally gets the thing on.
Donghyuck pulls his knees up and plucks his panties to the side, watching Mark nudge up against him before slowly easing inside with a groan. They’ve never done it without a condom for one reason or another, it’s always good regardless, but Donghyuck murmurs something into his ear, over and over, as Mark starts rocking into him.
“Huh? What’s wrong?” he asks, pulling back to look at him.
Donghyuck, flushed face and throaty, says, “Bare. Do me bare, hyung.”
Like we’re married.
“You won’t get me pregnant anyways,” he urges, not that Mark can’t get him pregnant but won’t.
“Okay, okay,” Mark murmurs, pulling out in a daze and tugging the condom off, the snap of the rubber making them both jolt, flinging it someplace they won’t find it later.
He starts panting harder when Donghyuck’s hand is there to lube him up and tuck him back inside clumsily.
“Damn,” he says against Donghyuck’s sweaty temple, croaky and dumb and almost cross-eyed as he digs deep into soft, wet, raw heat.
“Feels so much better,” Donghyuck breathes, looking down at where his cock is sticking out way over the waistband of the panties, drizzling pre near his belly button, and where Mark’s hips are twitching, making space in him.
Donghyuck’s a menace, a tormentor, a slipshod horror that Mark’s been trying to escape since they were pre-teens, but he’s also a demon right out one of those old wives tales turned into all of Mark’s real-life, jizz-soaked-underwear dreams.
He can’t do anything but hammer Donghyuck into the bed, knobby knees digging into Mark’s ribs and a sweetheart’s cross of ankles behind his sweaty back, arms locked around Mark’s neck so he can kiss him sloppily. Donghyuck doesn’t let him get far, not even when he slurs, ‘s hot, too fucking hot, against Mark’s open mouth because it’s muggy and they forgot to crank the AC and summer is finding its way in through the cracks.
Mark kisses Donghyuck’s chin, his throat, back bowing as he slows down some so he can suck on one of his nipples. Donghyuck shudders and sighs, pushing Mark’s sweaty hair off his face when he tells him to hurry up.
“Let me do it like this all the time,” Mark pants.
Raw dog quickies while everyone’s out, or in their rooms with their music too loud to hear Mark babble to Donghyuck, you’re not a girl but you still get all wet between the legs on your own like one, and how he yelps when Donghyuck grabs him by the back of his neck and bares his teeth, yeah, and you like it, perv.
He doesn’t tell him to shut the fuck up even though Mark’s got the habit of staining his boxers if Donghyuck doesn’t get him out of them fast enough.
“Shit, shit, gonna come,” Donghyuck rasps, hair matted to his forehead, and his face beet red.
There’s 17 minutes left on the clock when Mark bends him in half and pounds him out, the backs of his knees cradled in the crook of Mark’s elbows as he gets him right where he likes it, the bed frame sounding like it might splinter.
Donghyuck shows him the pearly whites of his eyes when he comes, making these little uh, uh, uh noises that rise in pitch as Mark fucks him through it, rubbing his thumb beneath the head of his throbbing cock as it spits over his heaving belly.
Mark unties the bow digging into Donghyuck’s neck and the bra falls completely loose as he runs a thumb over the angry red marks it made in the skin of his shoulders from being too tight.
“Just a little more?” Mark asks, begs, tongue-heavy and stomach going tight as he shoves in, in, in, even though he’s as deep as he can get because Donghyuck’s hole is doing that sticky, grip-release trick as he trembles through the aftershocks.
“Go ahead,” Donghyuck says, out of breath and sweet cheeked, patting Mark’s cheek.
There isn’t much time left but they make good use of it.
Donghyuck keeps him close again, arms and legs wrapped around him so Mark can’t do more than fuck him in short, too intense strokes.
He starts whispering in Mark's ear again, trashy, embarrassing things that make Mark bury his face in Donghyuck’s sweat-damp neck when he gets loud (kept thinking about you whenever I wore them, bet you’ll have to jerk off again when you leave, you’re gonna come in me the same way you did those dirty panties I gave you, aren’t you?).
“Ah, fuck,” Mark whines, getting the same tingle-behind-the-balls feeling he got when Donghyuck stuck his tongue in his ear that time as he starts to come, Donghyuck’s legs locking him in.
If Donghyuck had the parts, with the way Mark blows his wad somewhere deep in his guts, they’d have to have a shotgun wedding. He’ll just be leaking Mark for hours instead.
“Big baby,” Donghyuck mutters, petting the back of Mark’s thumping head while he tries not to pass out. The watch he never took off snags a few of Mark's hairs but he can't complain.
He’s tired, hot, buzzing, and right at home, Donghyuck's come between them and Mark going soft inside him, but he drags himself up and away when Donghyuck yanks at his ear so they can get the room in order before Johnny comes back home.
Donghyuck’s still an oil painting smudge of red cheeks and petunia pussy pink lips and mussed angel hair when he walks Mark to the door. Johnny hadn’t said much when he came back. They’d opened the window and sprayed cologne and lit a candle to get rid of the stink.
“Here,” he says, stuffing something in Mark’s pocket and sends him on his way out, extra pillow and all.
5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
It’s the heart-clasp scrap of a bra and cum-stained panties, still warm. Just for keeps.
The last thing you ever want is for Donghyuck to get bored of you. A bored Donghyuck will turn his attention elsewhere and leave you as cold as the dark side of the moon.
“I thought you’d want to try something more vanilla first,” Donghyuck says as they’re walking towards the practice room.
Mark punches him in the arm.
“It was a surprise, not saying I didn’t like it,” he snickers, shoving Mark inside the practice room.
“Don’t say anything then,” he laughs.
"Maybe you should wear them again next time."
Donghyuck starts to walk away from him but stops, spinning around.
“I want to show you something later.”
“I wrote a song but I want you to look at it first,” Donghyuck says, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie.
Every time Mark tried to look over his shoulder while he was typing small notes on his phone or scribbling on scraps of paper, Donghyuck would elbow him out the way or hide it from him, I'm not ready yet.
Jungwoo calls out for Donghyuck but he doesn’t bother to look, rocking on the balls of his feet while waiting for Mark's answer.
“Cool, yeah, I’ll just go back with you after this,” he nods, reaching out to bring Donghyuck under his arm.
Donghyuck plants a huge, slobbery kiss on his cheek and scurries away before Mark can grab him, throwing a quick, love you, don’t kill me over his shoulder.
Mark blends back into the slow churn of routine, warm, and settled comfortably.