Work Text:
This has to end tonight.
It’s not the first time that Hyunjin has had this thought. It’s passed through his head dozens of times, like a twisted mantra, in the four hours that have passed since the last student trickled out of his classroom. He’s able to push it out of his mind for a couple of minutes whenever he finds a task to distract himself with - reshelving all of the books, wiping down the desks for the second time that day, reading over the comments he’s prepared for student-teacher discussions next week - but every time he falls into a lull, the thought echoes in his head like the pounding of a drum.
This has to end tonight.
As the minutes tick by and the school goes quiet around him, his gut churns. Nausea reaches its sour fingers up into his throat, and he wishes that he had gum to distract himself from the taste. When his phone buzzes, he nearly drops it in his haste to grab it from the desk.
Normally, he’s delighted to receive a notification that he’ll have a package arriving tomorrow, but seeing that instead of the text he’s waiting for only makes him more anxious. His hands are trembling violently, like he's had six cups of coffee on an empty stomach, and he wraps them around the hard edge of his desk, letting the pressure of it digging into his palms give him something to focus on. He closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths to try and slow his heartbeat.
Once he’s calmed down enough to function, he takes a look at the clock over the classroom door, the numbers emblazoned in big, bold numbers. It’s just past eight o’clock. He last heard footsteps about an hour ago, and unless someone is really putting in overtime, he should be the last person in the building. The custodial staff start their shift at eleven o’clock, so he still has plenty of time to bring the evening to its conclusion.
He shouldn’t even be here. He should be at home in his excruciatingly small apartment, having a quiet dinner with no other company but the television. Or he could have asked one of his friends out for dinner. Hell, he could have opened one of the dating apps on his phone, gone looking for a quick hook-up, someone who would fuck all thoughts of Han Jisung out of his goddamn head.
(Never mind that absently scrolling through an app while drunk and swiping right on the faceless picture of a sculpted abdomen with the slightest hint of a treasure trail leading into low-slung leather pants was what got him into this situation in the first place.)
Maybe it’s not too late to flee. If he packs up now, he could be out the front door in less than five minutes. He could be on the train home, with dinner ordered and Jisung’s number blocked, by the time Jisung finally arrived.
However, before he can make a decision, his phone buzzes again. This time, when he glances at the screen, it’s lit up with the text that he’s been waiting for.
at the front door. come let me in?
He doesn’t bother to reply. Instead, he sets his phone back down, takes a deep breath and crosses the room to open the door. Even though the school has been quiet for hours, he still looks down the hallway in both directions. The motion lights are dim from inactivity, and there’s not a soul in sight. As he steps out and walks towards the front door, the lights flare back to fluorescent life. It feels like a blistering hot spotlight being trained directly on him, and he moves faster, footsteps echoing off the tiled floor as he reaches the glass door leading out into the night. He opens it just wide enough to stick his head out (if he stepped outside, it would lock behind him, which would lead to an awkward conversation with the superintendent that he is not prepared for) and glances around.
The parking lot is empty, but a couple of meters away, there’s a man standing underneath one of the lampposts, bathed in an orange glow much warmer than that at Hyunjin’s back. He’s wearing all black, tight pants with the knees ripped out, an oversized sweater with the hood pulled up, combat boots that add an inch or two to his height, a small satchel over one shoulder. Despite Hyunjin’s intentions for the night, he can’t deny the effect that Jisung has on him, the itch he feels in his fingers to shove that hood aside and thread his fingers into Jisung’s dyed hair.
Before Hyunjin can call out, Jisung glances up. His grin is obvious from across the parking lot, as is the fact that, despite the time of night, he’s wearing fucking sunglasses, black aviators that probably cost more than Hyunjin earns a month.
“For fuck’s sake,” Hyunjin mutters as Jisung strolls across the parking lot, hands buried in his pockets. Every time they meet up, despite his proclamations that he's trying to go under the radar, Jisung is wearing something that acts like a neon sign screaming “I'm an idol!”
At this point, Hyunjin is fairly certain that it's pure luck that has kept them from being caught.
“Hey,” Jisung says as he steps into the light. He doesn't lean in for a kiss, but he does tuck a lock of hair that has escaped from Hyunjin’s ponytail back behind his ear, and Hyunjin hates how quickly the anxiety in his stomach shifts into fucking butterflies. He hates that, despite knowing that there's zero future between them, that if he doesn't end things tonight they're either going to be exposed or Jisung will toss him aside, Jisung's touch still makes his nerves spark like a live wire.
“Hey,” Hyunjin replies, taking a surreptitious look around the parking lot to confirm that they’re alone before he steps back and holds the door open. Jisung follows him in, brushing by close enough that Hyunjin can smell his cologne, citrus and salt, like having a fresh drink beside the ocean. He can’t help but inhale deeply as he closes the door, making sure it’s locked firmly before he turns back to the hallway. This isn’t the first time they’ve met up on school property, and Jisung is already walking in the direction of Hyunjin’s classroom without a backward glance. Hyunjin has to stride to catch up with him.
“You cleaned,” Jisung says once they’ve both entered the classroom.
“Had to do something while I was waiting for you,” Hyunjin says, closing the door and leaning back against it.
“It smells nice.” Jisung takes his sunglasses and satchel off, sets them on a desk, and sweeps a hand through his hair. He’s mostly barefaced, but there are light smudges of makeup along his lower lash line, remnants of whatever schedule he had today. With only a few taps on his phone, Hyunjin is sure that he could bring up countless photos of said schedule, could see the full makeup look rather than just the echoes of it.
Maybe later.
In the meantime, he has a task to do. His chest aches, his stomach is swirling, and his palms are sweaty where they’re resting at his sides. His brain is screaming at him to do what he needs to do, but when he parts his dry lips, nothing comes out. Jisung steps closer to him, head tilted, lips curved into a frown, and Hyunjin’s blood seems to speed up on its journey through his veins, panicked and hot.
“Are you okay?” Jisung reaches out and curls his hand around Hyunjin’s cheek. “You’re bright red.”
“Jisung,” Hyunjin says, licking his lips to try and bring some moisture back into them. “I… We can’t do this.”
Jisung’s frown deepens, and his eyes peel away from Hyunjin’s face, darting to the clock over the door.
“What do you mean? The cleaning staff don’t come in until eleven, right?”
Hyunjin nods numbly. “Yeah. But-”
“We’ve never been caught before. We’ll be fine.” Jisung trails off and wraps his fingers around Hyunjin’s wrist. Hyunjin wonders if Jisung can feel how hard his heart is beating, if his pulse feels like a raging river. Gently, Jisung pulls Hyunjin’s hand away from the door, wearing down Hyunjin’s resolve bit by bit. Only once Hyunjin’s palm is resting against Jisung’s ass does Jisung let go, and Hyunjin instinctively squeezes. Jisung lets out a shaky breath and curls his fingers tightly into the front of Hyunjin’s lavender sweater.
“Besides,” he says, and oh, his voice has dropped low, into the one he uses sometimes between songs when he’s performing, the voice that makes whole arenas dissolve into a frenzy of screams. When he glances up at Hyunjin through his eyelashes, Hyunjin’s legs go molten. “I’m already wet for you.”
What little remained of Hyunjin’s resolve shatters thoroughly and completely, like someone throwing an errant baseball through a plate glass window. His stomach floods with heat, and he tightens his grip on Jisung’s ass, relishing the breathy sigh he receives in return.
“What do you mean?” Jisung grins up at him and slides his palms down to curve around Hyunjin’s waist, pressing him back against the unyielding surface of the door.
“I was out for dinner with my manager before I came over.” Jisung inches Hyunjin’s sweater up to the bottom of the ribs. “And I opened myself up in the bathroom. Brought a plug with me so I could stay open for you.”
Hyunjin’s brain flashes white with desire. He knows that he’s betrayed himself, that he shouldn’t have even let Jisung in the building, should have broken up with him in the parking lot, but no amount of desperate scrabbling will get him back on track, not when Jisung is pressed against him, when his breath is hot against Hyunjin’s neck, not when Jisung took so many risks earlier so he could be ready for Hyunjin.
So he commits to the betrayal.
Before Jisung can say anything else, Hyunjin kisses him hard. He keeps his hand on Jisung’s ass, gripping like he’ll be able to leave fingerprints even through the thick material of his jeans. With his free hand, he roughly tears at the zipper of Jisung’s hoodie, yanking it down in fits and bursts. Jisung reciprocates in kind by shoving Hyunjin’s sweater up even further, until it’s bunched around his collarbone. The cool air rushing over his flushed skin makes his nipples harden, and when Jisung roughly digs his thumb into one, Hyunjin sinks his teeth into Jisung’s bottom lip. It’s a dangerous move - if he splits the skin, he’s sure that Jisung will have to answer questions from half a dozen different people tomorrow - but he doesn’t care. He wants to leave something behind, wants Jisung to think of him every single time he looks in the mirror, wants him to get distracted during schedules when he feels a bruise pulse or tastes a drop of blood from the corner of his torn mouth.
Even if no one else in the world can know about them, he wants Jisung to know.
He sucks on Jisung’s bottom lip until he has to breathe, leaving the flesh swollen and red. Jisung’s round cheeks are flushed an incredible shade of pink, and Hyunjin wishes he could take a picture of them, wishes he could use the colour as inspiration the next time he’s itching to paint something. Instead, he tries to capture the image in his mind as he finally manages to fully unzip Jisung’s sweater, which he roughly shoves to the ground.
“Want you on the desk,” he says as he pulls his own sweater off. Before he reaches for his belt, he makes sure that the door is well and truly closed. There’s no lock on it, but at the very least, it’ll keep errant noises from escaping into the hallway on the off chance that someone does arrive early. As an afterthought, he flicks the overhead light off, leaving the room illuminated only by the soft glow spilling through the windows from the streetlights outside.
“Can I ride you instead?” Jisung’s fingertips trail down Hyunjin’s chest until they reach his waist. As they make short work of his belt and zipper, Jisung continues, “I want to see your face.” He almost sounds reverent, and Hyunjin doesn’t know whether he wants to moan or scream in frustration.
What he does know is that he isn’t going to say no.
“That really what you want?” he asks, dropping his head back against the door as Jisung tugs his pants down, leaving him only in his briefs. He’s already hard, tenting the plain black fabric, and when Jisung palms at his cock, Hyunjin bites down on his own lip.
“It is.” Jisung nips at Hyunjin’s neck as he curls his fingers around the base of his dick. “I like seeing your eyes roll back.”
“Fuck,” Hyunjin groans, unable to stop himself from arching up into Jisung’s grip before he shoves at his shoulders, pushing him back towards the desk. Jisung goes willingly, works on getting the rest of his clothes off as Hyunjin yanks his chair away from his desk, shoves his briefs off and sits down. The chair creaks quietly underneath him - it’s held up to them having sex before, but he really hopes that today isn’t the day where it decides to splinter into a thousand pieces.
As Jisung steps out of the last of his clothes and reaches for his bag, Hyunjin takes a moment to simply look at him, standing in the circle of light coming through the window. His body is always changing, shifting to better suit whatever concept he’s currently portraying on stage. Currently, he’s a little softer around the middle, toned rather than cut, but his biceps are sculpted and strong, and his thighs are coated in a thick layer of dancer muscle that Hyunjin wants to sink his teeth into.
After a surprising amount of scrabbling around, Jisung’s fingers emerge from the bag, clutching a travel sized bottle of lube.
“I have condoms too, if you want,” Jisung says, coming around the desk. “But I’m clean. I got tested last week.”
A condom would still be the smartest way to go, if only to make clean-up a little easier. But he has enough cleaning supplies in the room to tidy up before the custodial staff come in, and he wants to properly feel Jisung, wants there to be nothing between them, not even the thinnest layer of latex.
“I’m fine without the condom.” As soon as Jisung sets the bottle of lube down on the desk, Hyunjin wraps his hands around Jisung’s thighs and yanks him forward. Jisung stumbles forward, all of his on-stage grace gone, and settles heavily into Hyunjin’s lap, one leg on either side of his waist. His cock is jutting against his stomach, and Hyunjin trails one finger up it before he delves between Jisung’s legs. There's dried lube coating the insides of Jisung's thighs, leading up to a metal plug. Hyunjin presses on the base firmly, and Jisung tosses his head back, hands scrabbling at Hyunjin’s shoulders.
“Please fuck me, been thinking about it all day.”
“Even during your schedule?”
“Especially then,” Jisung moans, wriggling in Hyunjin’s lap. Hyunjin takes pity on Jisung and slowly eases the plug out. When it slips free, Jisung buries a whimper into Hyunjin’s mouth, and even though Hyunjin aches to be inside of Jisung, the next few moments dissolve into a blur of their mouths moving together, of Jisung’s tongue slipping against his own, of his teeth scraping along the line of Hyunjin’s jaw. It’s only the realization that he’s still holding the plug in one hand, severely limiting how much he can touch Jisung, that gets him back on track.
“Hold still,” he says, surprised at how raspy his own voice is, as he wraps his free arm around Jisung’s lower back and leans forward. He’s just able to reach the desk, and he swaps out the heavy plug for the bottle of lube.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jisung pants, ducking his head down into the curve of Hyunjin’s neck. Hyunjin tries his best to focus on slicking up his fingers, but it’s hard when Jisung’s mouth is hot against his skin, when he’s licking up the drops of sweat coursing down the side of Hyunjin’s throat. Eventually, he’s able to collect himself long enough to drop the bottle to the floor beside the chair, where he’ll be able to reach it, and dip his fingers back between Jisung’s legs. He rubs the pads of his fingertips against Jisung’s hole before sliding two of them inside, and Jisung gasps into Hyunjin’s ear as he rolls his hips down, taking Hyunjin’s fingers fully.
“Oh my god,” Hyunjin groans. The all-encompassing heat of Jisung around his fingers is intoxicating - knowing that it’ll be wrapped around his dick in a matter of minutes makes his head swim. “Feels like you're on fire.”
Jisung moans wordlessly and swoops back in for a kiss that verges on violent in its intensity. There’s not a single thought in Hyunjin’s brain - he’s been broken down only to the points where they’re touching, where his teeth are grazing against Jisung’s lip, where his fingers, three of them now, are curling and scissoring into Jisung, stretching him out even more. He doesn’t have to thrust them in and out - Jisung does that for him, rides his fingers like he’ll die if he doesn’t. He’s flushed red right down to the compass tattoo on his right pectoral, the one the fans don’t know about but that Hyunjin first saw when it was still fresh and healing. Hyunjin leans in and drags his tongue over the inked lines, and Jisung threads his fingers up into Hyunjin’s hair, pulling it free of the ponytail it’s been in all day.
“Fuck me,” he moans, raising his hips so that Hyunjin’s fingers nearly slip out of him. “Please, baby.”
The term of endearment makes Hyunjin’s blood run hot and cold at the same time. He decides to lean into the heat as he withdraws his fingers, wiping them off on his own thigh before he reaches down and grabs the lube from the floor. As he reaches around Jisung to slick himself up, Jisung raises himself up to a half-standing position, cock hard and leaking against Hyunjin’s chest. Once Hyunjin drops the bottle again, he barely manages to wrap a hand around the base of his cock, holding himself steady, before Jisung lowers back down. The head of Hyunjin’s dick catches against Jisung’s rim for only a moment before it slides inside, and Jisung lets out a string of curses as he sinks down. He’s unbelievably hot and slick, and Hyunjin closes his eyes, loses himself in the feeling, of being fully enveloped.
“You feel amazing,” Hyunjin gasps. Jisung groans and licks at Hyunjin’s mouth. He lifts his hips up, until only the head of Hyunjin’s cock is still sheathed inside of him, and drops back down, punching a cry out of his chest.
Hyunjin’s vision momentarily whites out. When it comes back, he’s unable to look at anything but Jisung. His hair is falling across his forehead, the remnants of his eyeliner are smeared onto his cheekbones, and his lips are rosy-red, slick with saliva.
Hyunjin isn’t stupid - even though Jisung’s training and schedules don’t leave much time for sex, he knows that he isn’t the only person in the world who has seen Jisung like this, thoroughly debauched, begging to be fucked. But it still feels utterly absurd that he’s the one currently seeing this, that of all the people in the world that Jisung could choose to hook up with on a semi-regular basis, it’s Hyunjin.
He isn’t sure how to feel about that. Overwhelmed, mostly.
“Wish we could do this every day,” Jisung abruptly says, fingers slipping through the sweat gathered on the back of Hyunjin's neck. His breath feels like a sunburn against Hyunjin's lips as he grinds down on Hyunjin's cock, and Hyunjin digs bruises into the taut muscles of Jisung's thighs, uses the leverage to arch his hips off the chair and press even deeper into Jisung.
“Do what?” Hyunjin asks. He knows exactly what Jisung is referring to, of course - kind of hard to ignore the fact that Jisung is bouncing on his dick hard enough to make the chair creak alarmingly - but he wants Jisung to elaborate. He wants him to spell out exactly what he's talking about.
“This,” Jisung pants. His short, painted nails catch on Hyunjin's nape with a sting. “Want you inside me every day. Think about it, fuck, think about it all the time.” He grabs Hyunjin's wrist, pulls his hand up to his mouth, and licks a stripe up Hyunjin's middle and forefinger. “Sometimes, if I'm stuck in a boring interview, I think about you opening me up with these.”
“Shit, Jisungie,” Hyunjin manages to grit out as Jisung wraps his lips around Hyunjin's fingers, swallowing them down with a pleased groan that Hyunjin feels in his bones. “Want that too.”
“Tell me more,” Jisung moans, rolling his hips down and letting Hyunjin's fingers slip free from his mouth.
Hyunjin doesn't want to. Anything that leaves his mouth now is going to be the pure and honest truth. Once it's out in the world, there's no taking it back, even if he asks Jisung to forget. But even as he bites his lip, teeth sinking savagely into his own flesh, he can feel his throat bubbling over with words that simply refuse to be held back.
“Think about you every day,” he confesses, closing his eyes so that he doesn't have to look at how Jisung's incredibly beautiful face is twisted with pleasure. “Wish I could come home from work and bend you over the couch, fuck you with my fingers until you're begging for more.” He thrusts upward as hard as he can, and Jisung chokes on a moan, forehead rolling against Hyunjin's. “Think about how your fans would feel if they knew how much you liked getting fucked by someone like me.”
“By you,” Jisung replies, smearing a kiss along the line of Hyunjin's mouth. “Just by you.”
Suddenly, it's too much - the tender words that Jisung can't possibly mean, the way he's wrapped around Hyunjin like wrapping paper around a gift, how loud his increasingly desperate noises are in Hyunjin's ears. It feels like a plastic bag drawn tight across Hyunjin's face, sucking the breath from his lungs. If he stays where he is, he’s going to forever be trapped in Jisung’s orbit, no chance of escape, dragged into a black hole.
He needs space to breathe, but he also doesn’t want to stop, so he slaps at Jisung’s thigh.
“On your back,” he says. “On the desk.” When Jisung whines, mouth hot against Hyunjin’s temple, Hyunjin says, “You can still watch my eyes roll back but please, want you on your back. Want to fuck you harder.” It’s not the whole truth, but it’s part of the truth, and that must be obvious, based on the way Jisung nods and slowly eases himself off Hyunjin’s cock with a whimpering groan. In his efforts to clamber onto the desk, he knocks over the can of pens resting on the corner, and Hyunjin winces as they hit the ground with a clatter. Thankfully, the noise isn’t followed by footsteps outside the door, so he stoops down to grab the lube so that he can slick himself back up. The desk isn’t quite wide enough for Jisung to lay flat, so he’s holding his head up at an angle that looks uncomfortable, peering down the length of his body at Hyunjin with eyes the inky black of a countryside sky. When he draws his legs up towards his chest and hooks them around Hyunjin’s back, his hole is exposed, puffy and slick with lube, and it’s only the remaining feeling of breathlessness in Hyunjin’s chest that keeps him from dropping to his knees and dipping his tongue inside.
Instead, he tosses the lube aside, fairly certain that they won’t need any more, and presses back in, curling his fingers tight around the taut muscles of Jisung’s thighs. Jisung throws his head back over the edge of the desk, exposing the stretched out tendons in his neck, and moans from low in his throat as Hyunjin bottoms out again.
“Harder,” he gasps, fingers scrabbling at the worn surface of the desk. “Wanna feel it tomorrow when I’m on stage.”
“You little slut,” Hyunjin mutters. He doesn’t really mean for the words to leave his lips, but before he can apologize, Jisung clenches tight around him, hot as an incinerator.
“Yeah,” he replies, voice nearly as blown out as his pupils. “Just for you though.”
Hyunjin’s stomach churns again. If Jisung keeps saying these things, if he keeps acting like he’s fucking enraptured by Hyunjin when he could have his pick from literally millions of people, Hyunjin is going to start believing him.
And he can’t. He simply can’t.
So he doesn’t reply. Instead, he tightens his grip on Jisung’s legs and uses the leverage to fuck him even harder. Jisung keeps trying to lift his head up and look at where their bodies are joined together, but every time he does, Hyunjin snaps his hips forward until Jisung’s arms give out and his head drops back down. It’s not a pace that he can maintain for long - there’s sweat pooling at the base of his spine, and his legs are starting to tremble - but based on the way Jisung is writhing against him, the way his heels are digging bruises into Hyunjin’s back, Hyunjin doesn’t think he’ll have to keep it up for more than a couple minutes.
“Touch yourself,” he pants, eyes locked on the pre-come glistening in Jisung’s navel. “Wanna see you come.”
Jisung slurs out a reply and spits into his hand, and the noise of it makes Hyunjin’s stomach tighten up in anticipation. Jisung wraps a hand around his dick and sets up a rapid rhythm, free hand gripping the edge of the desk.
Hyunjin wonders if, later, he’ll find fingernail marks embedded there.
“Ah!” Jisung gasps. “Fuck, just like that, don’t-” The next word is lost in a loud groan as Jisung comes, back arching off the desk. Come streaks his abdomen and chest, and he clamps down on Hyunjin’s cock like he’s trying to prevent him from ever leaving. Hyunjin manages to find enough space to press forward, once, twice, three times before his own orgasm passes through him like a hurricane. He doesn’t know how he manages to stay standing as his whole body goes staticky at the edges. At some point, he closes his eyes, and when he eventually opens them again, it’s to the sight of Jisung fucked into oblivion. His flushed chest is still rising and falling rapidly, his come is nearly pearlescent in the faint light from outside, and his arms have dropped to his sides, like his strength is entirely gone. On a whim, Hyunjin gently strokes his thumb down the spent line of Jisung’s cock and is met with an exhausted twitch.
“Can’t,” Jisung says, nearly in a whisper. Even if he could, Hyunjin is fairly certain that they don’t have the time it would take to go through their respective refractory periods and finish another round. As he prepares to pull out, he notices that Jisung’s plug has, miraculously, managed to stay on the desk, albeit rolled so that it’s resting against Jisung’s hip. Taking it between his fingers, Hyunjin steps back and carefully withdraws from Jisung’s body. When his softening cock pops free, a trickle of come follows, and Hyunjin uses the plug to mop it up before he gently presses it back inside.
It’s purely to make clean-up easier. It has nothing to do with the fact that thinking about Jisung having to go back to his condo with Hyunjin’s come inside of him makes his mind burst into flame.
As the plug glides back in, flush with Jisung’s swollen, reddened hole, Jisung sobs.
It’s the prettiest sound Hyunjin has ever heard.
As he lets Jisung regain his breath, he rustles in the second drawer of his desk until he finds the pack of wet wipes stored there. They come in handy on a daily basis, with wiping marker off the desks or jam off a child’s face, but there’s no denying that they also make it easier to remove the evidence of their tryst. He cleans himself off first, hissing through his teeth at the touch of the damp cloth on his sensitive skin, and then turns his attention to Jisung. He cleans up the come speckling his stomach and chest and, after a moment of consideration, wipes up the remnants of lube drying on the inside of his thighs. By the time he finishes up, Jisung’s breathing has steadied out, but as he slides off the desk, he’s still wobbly on his feet.
“Damn,” he says. There’s a goofy grin stretching his mouth, so unlike his practiced stage smirk, and for a second, it feels like Hyunjin is getting a glimpse behind the curtain. He’s had a couple of these moments in the past, moments where it felt like he was seeing the real Jisung, a version of Jisung that he could actually have a future with.
They never last long.
Today is no exception.
“Gonna have to come up with some excuse for my trainer tomorrow,” Jisung continues. “He’s gonna wonder why I’m wincing.”
Hyunjin forces himself to smile. Based on the way he feels his facial muscles contort, it’s likely more of a grimace than anything, but Jisung doesn’t seem to notice.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he manages to spit out as he untangles himself from Jisung’s grip and moves towards their pile of clothes.
“Always do.”
They dress in silence. Once Hyunjin has pulled a spare elastic out of the pocket of his jeans and pulled his hair back up, he glances at the clock over the door.
Just past nine thirty. Barely over an hour, and yet, this single hour is going to occupy his thoughts for the rest of his week, is going to be the reason why he can’t sleep tonight, why he’s going to show up for brunch with his friends in the morning with bags under his eyes.
It’s not too late for him to end it. He can still tell Jisung that this is the last time. Hell, it would probably be easier to do it now, now that his head isn’t swimming with arousal.
He opens his mouth.
What comes out is, “You should go.”
“Yeah.” Jisung sighs and rubs at the back of his neck. His voice is a wreck, and Hyunjin wonders if it’ll affect his performance tomorrow, if the fans will notice that something is off. “I have to go to Japan in a couple days. Should only be there a week. I’ll text you when I’m back?”
Hyunjin just nods. Jisung smiles at him, closed-mouth, and Hyunjin expects that will be the end, that Jisung will slip out, the way he always does, without another word.
Instead, he closes the space between them, slips his hands underneath the hem of Hyunjin’s sweater, and kisses him. It’s soft and sweet, not a hint of tongue or teeth, just his hot mouth against Hyunjin’s, and Hyunjin suddenly feels like he’s been thrown onto a spinning carousel, like the ground has gone out from underneath him.
This isn’t supposed to happen.
He’s startled, but not so startled that he doesn’t kiss back, curling one hand around Jisung’s jaw, feeling the faintest hint of stubble scrape against his palm. That contact is the only thing keeping him from dissolving to the floor, and he holds onto it for as long as he can, until his lungs are utterly empty. Only then does he pull back. Even after Jisung pulls back in return, Hyunjin can feel his touch, burned into his skin like a brand.
“I’ll let you know when I’m back,” Jisung murmurs. With that, he silently slips out into the hallway. The door closes soundlessly behind him, and for a few moments, Hyunjin remains motionless, listening to the soft noise of Jisung’s footsteps fading away into the distance. Only when they’re gone does he collapse to the floor, a puppet whose strings have been cut. His chest heaves, but no matter how much breath he sucks in, his lungs don’t fill up. He flattens his palms against the ground, feeling the slightly gritty tiles dig into his skin, and tries desperately to ground himself as his mind spins and churns.
He had one goal for tonight. One single goddamn goal, and he couldn’t accomplish it. Not only that, he’s worse off now than he was when he first let Jisung into the building. Even if it was unintentional, Jisung gave him the smallest flicker of hope, and it feels like a wildfire raging through his very soul.
His phone vibrates, and he automatically fumbles it from his pocket, sure that it’s just a stupid email or one of his friends sending him a meme. Instead, even though his footsteps have barely faded away, it’s a text from Jisung.
can still feel you inside of me. kind of don’t want to shower until tomorrow morning.
Hyunjin stares at the phone, knuckles white around the edge of his case. It would be easy enough to shoot off a reply, a message that might stay on read for days, if Jisung’s past behavior is anything to go off of.
It would also be easy to hit the menu button at the top of their text conversation and select the block number option.
Minutes tick by as he stares at his screen. The series of dots indicating that Jisung is drafting another message come and go a couple of times, but they eventually stop, with no follow-up text. Hyunjin’s palms grow slick with sweat, his tailbone starts to ache from sitting on the unforgiving floor, but still he stares at his phone, barely able to breathe. Eventually, the screen goes dark with inactivity, and he taps it to bring it back to life.
He reads Jisung’s message again.
And then he makes his decision.