Between the thighs is where Mark runs the hottest. Three-in-the-morning-warm, after-practice-with-no-shower-sticky, edged-for-an-hour-pulsating, that’s how hot he is in Donghyuck’s loose fist.
Donghyuck’s iPad is propped up on Mark’s stomach, a drama on, and his head on Mark’s chest so he can rut his hard dick against Mark’s hip while he jerks him off from behind the screen, lube-wet and slow. This wasn’t his intention when he came up to the 10th floor, honest to god, but it’s a good set up.
“I think she killed her husband,” Donghyuck rasps, eyes burning from being too close to the screen.
Mark doesn’t respond, panting softly into Donghyuck’s hair and throbbing hard in his hand when Donghyuck swipes his thumb over his sticky tip. Donghyuck can’t see him from here, his face or his cock, but he squeezes Mark gently from base to tip just to hear him moan softly, thighs spreading restlessly in the trap of his underwear and sweats.
When he looks up, Mark’s eyes are glazed and heavy, mouth parted dumbly.
“Ya,” Donghyuck says, reaching up to smack Mark lightly on his dazed face twice with his lube and pre-come wet hand. “Pay attention.”
Mark’s eyes go wide, eyebrows drawing together under his hair, and Donghyuck almost thinks he hurt him before he notices Mark trembling, a confused noise escaping his mouth.
“Did you—” Donghyuck begins to ask, sitting up completely.
Mark’s coming all over the back of Donghyuck’s iPad when he looks, pouring thick and sluggish down the pulsating length of his cock, orgasm ruined.
“Oh, Mark,” he sighs, dreamy, feeling like he could come too when he makes a grab for him, just to work him through the last of it, and Mark dribbles out a little more.
“Don’t,” Mark says, putting his palms to his eyes and drawing his knees up, sending the iPad tipping onto the bed.
Donghyuck makes no promises, watching Mark’s come web between his fingers as he spreads them out in front of his face, white and gummy (and salty when he sticks a finger in his mouth).
He’s never been obsessed with how things start.
But Donghyuck’s wanted to eclipse everyone else in Mark’s life since he said he hated him and still decided to stay. That’s close enough to the beginning.
“What if I wanted to collar you?” Donghyuck asks, muffled through his mask.
Taeyong is in the pet store searching out a thing-a-ma-jiggy for his fish tank while him and Mark wait outside, looking in at the puppies they have on display.
Mark is glaring at him like he’s gonna kill him in the middle of the mall, the stare he gives when anyone younger than him does something that might be career-ending on camera. There aren’t any cameras though.
Tit-for-tat isn’t Donghyuck’s game when it comes to sex. He likes to please and be pleased, that’s about it. But the two of them have been on a roll ever since Mark went on that frenzy about panties a month or two ago.
Exhibit A: Mark choked him last week. Not like the guys who hold too tight or too wrong just for show, but practiced, gently pressing a hand on either side of Donghyuck’s esophagus until he cried love-tears that pooled warmly in his ears, until Donghyuck said hyung in this windpipe-crush whisper while Mark watched him from above, curious and careful.
People who don’t matter, people who don’t know them, flit past. Donghyuck can almost see Mark’s nostrils flaring under his mask, his chest heaving under his white t-shirt.
“Not here,” he says and looks back at the dogs in the display window.
“‘Kay,” Donghyuck answers and runs his fingers down Mark’s arm, rubbing over the whorl of his elbow.
Who else could get Mark to choke them? Gentle, sweet, Mark Lee.
Donghyuck tried to say, I love you, but he couldn’t get it past Mark’s hands, not even when he let off and thumbed away Donghyuck’s tears gingerly (You okay? Yeah? ). Donghyuck smiled, spit in the corner of his mouth, come on his inner thigh, and let his shaky fingertips glide up Mark’s arms, following that one vein that should have led to his merciful heart.
God, I fucking love you, he wanted to say when he could get a breath in, tears welling up under Mark’s patient stare, but he croaked, again, instead.
Mark’s hard to pin down. You can ask, but you don’t tell him what to do, and he’d be (god) damned if anybody thought they owned him. Mark’s got his pride but it’s not his pride Donghyuck’s after.
“I thought about it.”
Donghyuck hums, drifting around a corner in Kart Rider, his legs warm under his blanket. Mark is sitting on the side of his bed, back towards him. He’s dressed for sleep, a t-shirt and shorts on, and his hair is wet from a shower that he didn’t take on the 5th floor. He texted Donghyuck ten minutes ago and asked if Johnny was in the room. He’s not.
“About the slapping, not the—the collar,” Mark clarifies, hands clenching and relaxing on the edge of Donghyuck’s mattress. “I’m down.”
“Seriously?” Donghyuck asks, locking his phone in the middle of the match. He’s sure Jungwoo will wonder where he went, but that can wait.
“Yeah, but we’ve gotta make sure we know what we’re doing,” Mark rushes on, his leg starting to bounce, making Donghyuck’s bed vibrate.
The back of Mark’s neck is hot when Donghyuck puts his hand there, shoulders going predator-taut underneath his fingers. Donghyuck chances rubbing his back for a quiet moment, listening to Mark blow out a long breath, head bowing before he rolls it around his shoulders.
“Only if you really want it, hyung,” Donghyuck tells him, coaxing, leaning forward until his lips press to Mark’s shoulder blade through his shirt. “Do you want it?”
He snakes his damp mouth from Mark’s shoulder to his neck while he waits, lips dragging over the clean glide of his skin. Donghyuck knows Mark likes it, came all over himself from those two love-taps Donghyuck gave him a week ago, but that’s not what he’s looking for here.
“Yeah,” Mark answers, barely a breath, his eyes closed as he bows his head, plucking at a loose thread on his shorts. “I want it.”
Donghyuck scritches at the base of Mark’s skull, the short hairs there, and Mark lowers his thin guard, leaning into him an inch, letting Donghyuck take the lead.
“You’ll get it,” Donghyuck says, wrapping his arms around Mark serpent-tight and mouthing weakly at the spot just below Mark’s ear to keep himself from biting down.
It’s about permission. It’s about the yesses.
Donghyuck didn’t finish school, a small sacrifice in the grand scheme, but he was fucking great at it. No sweat.
The days are busy with filming for their comeback, getting his hair done, re-working lines last minute, but he always makes time before he falls asleep to crack away at research. None of it gets too deep and some of the sites are blocked, but what he doesn’t find Mark does.
He texts Donghyuck articles in the middle of the day, no message following, or something short (this one was pretty good). Impact play, erotic pain-play, humiliation kink, all of the stuff he reads relates it to something different depending on whoever wrote it.
Earlier, Mark told him that getting slapped across the face is what does it for him, what did it for him that time (that was, like, kinda hot). Donghyuck had asked if that was the only place he didn’t mind getting slapped, looking somewhere below Mark’s belt. Mark laughed, high and nervous (that’s cool, too), before he zipped away with his hands still wet.
But the internet is a rabbit hole, that’s for sure, and what Donghyuck stumbles onto tonight is deep in the hush-hush bits.
“What ‘cha reading,” Johnny sing-songs, stretching across their beds to take a peek at Donghyuck’s phone.
Donghyuck snatches it away and leaves Johnny looking stunned, his mouth hanging open.
“Not this, hyung,” Donghyuck tries to beg off quietly, to get Johnny to understand that he can’t share this with him. Not Mark.
“It’s okay, there’s stuff we shouldn’t get to see,” Johnny smiles, hunkering back down into his bed and putting his headphones back on.
Johnny keeps doing what Johnny does and Donghyuck hurts like he always does when he remembers they’ve all got parts they can’t show.
Donghyuck’s wanted to crawl inside Mark since he was 13.
Not the bend-over-let-me-see type of inside, that doesn’t come until later. Donghyuck means in him, where Mark is slimy-scarlet and congealing and a breadbasket of intestines, the places you only get a peep at when they cut you open from your throat to the cradle of your abdomen after you expire suspiciously.
Donghyuck’s tried to chalk it up to his zodiac sign, his blood type, his personality type, anything other than the fact that he just wanted to know where Mark was hiding all his tenderness, his worst secrets, like which chamber of his heart Donghyuck lived in (Donghyuck wants to occupy them all). The simple facts that Mark still keeps trapped between his teeth sometimes.
“Stop staring at me like that,” Mark says, scolding, but he puts his elbow on Donghyuck’s shoulder without looking his way.
There’s 23 of them now, penned in on set and bumping into each other every time they turn around. Donghyuck finds himself gravitating towards Mark, so blonde the light bounces off of him, regardless.
“Mark sunbaenim, tell me what your heart’s like,” Donghyuck hums, low, pressing his entire front into Mark’s side, and clasps his hand between both of his. “I wanna know.”
Mark smiles out at the set, biting his entire bottom lip, and pulls away to grip Donghyuck by the back of his neck, fingertips stabbing into tendon and bone until Donghyuck taps out against his back with a flurry of pats (okay, okay!).
Mark is dodgy, never allowing Donghyuck too close, not close enough, and that’s the problem. Donghyuck wants to know all of him, every viscous part, and let it all rest in the cup of his covetous hands.
Without letting Mark get too close to all of him.
“Shouldn’t you call me—something?” Donghyuck snickers, pouring the last of the seasoning into their ramen bowls.
It’s not late, barely 10 pm, and they’re whispering in the kitchen like everyone is asleep. Mark gets back later and later these days, but Donghyuck managed to squeeze his way into the 10th floor dorm with a promise to Yuta that they wouldn’t make a racket.
“What am I supposed to call you?” Mark says, his mouth pursed like he’s about to laugh too loud, leaning his elbow on the counter.
“Sir?” Donghyuck suggests.
They both giggle at that, trying to keep it down.
“Master? Daddy?” Mark keeps it going, hyped up now that he knows Donghyuck will laugh.
“Daddy?” and Donghyuck gags, Mark following behind.
Donghyuck stirs his bowl of ramen first, licking the end of his chopsticks to check the taste, and then does Mark’s next.
“Careful, it’s hot,” Donghyuck tells him as he hands him his bowl and holds out his chopsticks, he can find another pair.
“Okay,” Mark says, smiling gratefully at his food. “Maybe I should call you mommy.”
Donghyuck fingers go loose around the chopsticks, tongue-tied, and Mark’s smile slips into the sodium-addled water in his bowl. He takes the chopsticks from between Donghyuck’s fingers slowly, eyes zeroed in on his face.
Mark can pull your insides out through your eyes if you don’t act fast enough, peering in when you don’t want him to, racking your brain for what it is he thought he saw before your eyes got away. Donghyuck looks over Mark’s shoulder, trying to avoid the scrutiny of a left-field kink.
“You know I can work with whatever,” Mark says when the silence has stretched on and on, stirring his ramen needlessly because Donghyuck made sure it was just right before he let Mark get his hands on it.
“Alright?” he urges, smiling again as he bends some so Donghyuck isn’t looking at his nose. “Anything, okay?”
“I know ,” Donghyuck mutters and starts looking for a pair of chopsticks before Mark tries to tell him to be honest, to open up , like he always does whenever Donghyuck doesn’t feel like being seen.
Sincerity is Mark’s guilty pleasure, but if he got a long raw look into Donghyuck, he wouldn’t recognize what he sees.
No one would.
The closest Mark’s been to Donghyuck’s creepy-crawler-heart is when he’s had him split open, lodged comfortably somewhere beyond what feels like Donghyuck’s second ring as he tells him in an secret-between-us pant, you’re gonna make me cum inside you, except they both know having Mark that deep will come with a stomach ache if he leaves anything behind.
Donghyuck wants it each and every time.
They manage to fit in some time early one morning, a Wednesday.
Donghyuck watches Mark go through his usual routine after his shower: put on some music, reorganize his dresser, towel off his violet hair while he sings along, and then dropping the tiny towel knotted around his waist to give Donghyuck an eyeful while he steps into a pair of shorts and throws on his Vancouver shirt.
It’s like Donghyuck isn’t there at all until he turns off his speaker and says, okay, ready, sitting at the edge of the bed. He sits up straighter when Donghyuck comes to stand in front of him, his right foot overlapping his left nervously while he stares ahead at Donghyuck’s stomach.
“Safeword?” Donghyuck asks, skimming the back of his knuckles against Mark’s jaw, making sure his skin isn’t damp, and tilts his face up towards him.
“Billionaire,” Mark whispers, hands fidgeting in his lap, already showing through his shorts. He can barely look at Donghyuck.
Avoid the ears and eyes, give the signal, start off light, and one hand on the opposite cheek to keep his face steady, Donghyuck knows the basics. Mark tastes like toothpaste when Donghyuck leans down to kiss him, cheeks baby-bottom-soft as he cradles his face without any of Mark’s usual resistance.
Even his tongue in Donghyuck’s mouth is shy.
He rubs his thumb steadily across the apple of Mark’s left cheek, trying to take the moment in. Mark’s closed eyes, the patient pout of his mouth, the twitch of his arched eyebrows as he waits for impact, trusting. Donghyuck almost smiles when he pulls back to slap him twice, cruel little taps that make Mark’s breath stutter and his eyes fly open, surprised.
“Don’t clench your jaw,” Donghyuck tells him quietly, rubbing his thumb across Mark’s other cheek, a warning.
Donghyuck kisses him again, full-on and lazy, sucking on his bottom lip, and pulls away to slap his face three times, soothe over it, and land two more on the other side. Mark gasps, small and surprised, hands fluttering over his lap before he runs them down his thighs to calm himself.
“Good?” he asks, syrupy, thumbing under Mark’s eyes, his lashes tickling Donghyuck’s fingertips.
Mark nods quickly, his cheeks turning piglet-pink, and blows out a heavy breath, shoulders falling.
“Go ahead and touch yourself,” Donghyuck encourages when he sees Mark hesitating, smacking him firmly across his right cheek twice and gripping his slack jaw after. “I know you want to.”
It's the best kind of disrespect, the sound of skin hitting skin, Mark’s breath coming faster. He makes aborted sounds from the back of his throat when Donghyuck hits him like he’s spitting on him, touching himself over his shorts like he’s not being watched as Donghyuck whispers into his panting mouth (nuh-uh, focus. don’t hide, you’re already letting me smack you around like it’s nothing, hyung.)
“I wanna leave the shape of my hand right here,” Donghyuck admits, caressing Mark’s cheek after landing a hit that should’ve snapped his face sideways, but only made him lean into Donghyuck’s other hand dumbly, one hand reaching out weakly for Donghyuck’s knee.
“Harder,” Mark mumbles, his cheeks spotted red between Donghyuck’s fingers and kneading the heel of his hand into lap. “You can hit me harder.”
It’s not that he’s ever wanted to hit Mark like this but he’s fucking asking for it.
Donghyuck smacks him, open-palmed, and Mark’s body rocks to the side, the noise ricocheting around the room. He almost thinks that was overboard, about to wrap it all up, but Mark eyes spin triple sevens when he turns his face back towards Donghyuck, jackpot.
“I needa come,” Mark gasps, looking up at Donghyuck with hooded, glassy eyes, trying to fumble a hand inside his shorts but struggling to get a good grip when he’s all out of sorts. “ Fuck, I wanna come.”
Donghyuck wants to crush him right there between his stinging hands, panting and hard-dick whimpering, and then iron Mark out so he can do it again and again. He sits down next to him instead, bringing Mark close, tucking his blotchy face into his throat and reaching into his shorts.
“Please, yeah, make me come,” Mark trembles, desperate and throaty, straining into Donghyuck when he gets a hold of the smacked-stiff, pulsating length of him. Donghyuck has to lean forward to keep Mark from tipping them backwards.
“I’ve got you,” Donghyuck shushes him, holding his burning face against his neck, tugging at his cock; tight, safe, warm. Something bright and feverish and all-consuming floods his chest. “Mommy’s got you, baby.”
Mark goes rigid, his heart thrumming in Donghyuck’s hand, before he sobs into his neck and finally comes, gasping thinly. Donghyuck holds him there, warm, warm, warm, until he’s slumping like a skin bag of jumbled organs against his chest with a sigh.
It’s about taking care of him, he thinks, when Mark slurs, mommy? against his throat, a question and not-question, and makes that hot, bright, gooey feeling seep through Donghyuck’s every limb as he brushes some of Mark’s sweaty hair behind his ear.
Donghyuck just wants to take care of him.
Mark gets shy about it, of course, everything’s got a new edge to it.
Some days, Donghyuck speaks to him in a sweet-potato-pie voice, saccharine and firm around the edges, something for Mark to sink his aching teeth into after a long day. Donghyuck saves him food from the 5th floor when he cooks so he can watch Mark eat something he took his precious time to make, and if there’s no food Donghyuck drops off some of the snacks he likes in his room and leaves because he knows Mark likes his alone time.
“That’s not really why I call you—y’know,” Mark murmurs, wringing his hands, and quieter, “mommy.”
Donghyuck scans the practice room and slides closer to him where they’re both sitting against the mirrors. Mark is juggling more than Donghyuck can count but he looks as happy as he’s ever seen him, his hair fried, and a perpetual smile on his face. Donghyuck hopes he’s had at least a small part in that.
“It’s the feeling, like—” Mark pauses, taking a breath and stares ahead to gather himself.
It’s the warm knot he gets in his stomach when Donghyuck tells him, you burnt the egg, dummy, but takes his time to show Mark the right way to do it, telling him he did a good job even though the egg is shriveled and chopped to pieces, and how he can hide his face in Donghyuck’s neck or chest while he talks him down for a nap, carding his fingers through Mark’s hair, and the red-hot brand of embarrassment that hisses across his face and neck when Donghyuck brushes his hair off of his forehead like he’s about to kiss him there, when he does.
“But I always did that, some of it at least,” Donghyuck huffs, leaning his head back against the mirror.
“Yeah, but it’s—it’s different now,” Mark insists, playful agitation. “You know what I mean, dude.”
Different now that Mark has an excuse to let Donghyuck guide him with a caring hand, a reason for the way he has to tug the hem of his shirt over his pants when Donghyuck babies him for too long. Mark likes to hold onto their ages like a lifeline when he feels himself getting too comfortable in Donghyuck’s doting palm, thinks he should be the one leading and doing the taking care of. He should know Donghyuck does it better than him by now, well-versed in it.
It probably bothers Mark, always hanging onto what he thinks he should be.
“Why do you like it? Let’s talk about that,” Mark asks suddenly, smirking, like he’s got Donghyuck cornered.
Donghyuck bites at a nail, looking at the tiny mole on Mark’s cheek, his chapped lips, and doesn’t say what he means, “Because you like it.”
“Seriously, after everything I said, that’s it?” Mark scoffs, face scrunched up.
Liking what Mark likes is the same thing as liking him, it’s that much closer to being a part of him. If Donghyuck were to open his mouth, no filter, all his ugly would come rushing out. It’d flood the practice room, submerge their friends, and take out the entire country in a wave of a prickly, black, lovesick goop.
Mark’s head slowly ticks to the side as he watches Donghyuck stand up, trying to see him for all his sharp corners.
“Let’s get back to practice, Mark-ssi,” he sighs, ambling away.
Donghyuck’s timid affections save them all every day.
You don’t tell the person you like about wanting to squeeze them so hard they pop into blood and guts confetti.
This isn’t something a doctor could find by unzipping Donghyuck from head to toe. It’s not resting behind his pancreas or cauliflowering in his lungs or dissolving in his stomach. The world’s best surgeon wouldn’t be able to touch it even if they sunk their gloved hands elbow-deep into his body. Donghyuck could tell them that with his eyes wide open on the operating table. It's why he calls Mark his soulmate.
But Donghyuck’s always loved a little too hard and Mark isn’t good with scary things.
Donghyuck holds his phone up as he spins and spins in his chair, tells Mark that he’s home, and gets another text in 30 seconds, a video attached.
Minhyungie: think we could?
Mark, if Donghyuck had to choose, is a boobs man through and through. The video is fifteen minutes long and Donghyuck can only watch for five of them before he tosses his phone onto Johnny’s bed and covers his eyes. He listens to his blood siphon south while the same image of some guy hanging off his girlfriend’s tit, nursing, burns onto the back of his retinas until he starts seeing Mark, him and Mark.
Minhyungie: we don’t have to
Minhyungie: it’s weird right haha
Donghyuck let him do it once, a stolen minute or two, before Johnny and Doyoung came barging into the room, and it wasn’t like it was in that video. Mark wasn’t swaddled in his arms, face cuddled up to his chest while he sucked gently. That time was rushed and Mark was sloppy and Donghyuck felt like he could burst from how much of Mark’s want was tearing into him.
To Minhyungie: you know how to ask me nicely, hyung
Minhyungie: fuck you, hyuck
Donghyuck waits a moment, sucking on the smooth inside of his cheek.
Minhyungie: please, mommy, can we?
The ceiling spins when Donghyuck looks up at it, his entire body humming to an old tune called power.
Johnny sleeps, Taeyong sleeps, Doyoung sleeps, and Donghyuck sneaks out the door before nine in the morning.
“Hey,” Mark whispers when he lets him into the 10th floor dorm, glasses on, and wearing a grey sweatshirt and sweats.
Yuta sleeps, Taeil sleeps, Jaehyun sleeps, Jungwoo snoozes, and Mark gets lucky with an empty room. His humidifier is going and there’s a bottle of water on the nightstand like Donghyuck asked for, but his bed is piled with more pillows and comforters than normal.
“I didn’t know what would be comfortable for your back, so I just grabbed a bunch of everything from the closet,” Mark says, sitting on his bed.
“I should probably—” Donghyuck gestures behind Mark and he shoots back up (right, sorry).
Donghyuck’s face is a tea-kettle-scream by time he gets settled, propped up enough against the pile so his back won’t hurt and not too flat so Mark can latch on comfortably. Donghyuck waves Mark up on the bed after he takes off his glasses, arms open, and the first thing Mark does when he’s close enough is peck him on the mouth.
“Remember you can say no, too,” he murmurs, looking Donghyuck dead in the eyes, smelling like fresh laundry. Donghyuck just nods, pulling him down to get situated.
Donghyuck’s chest is flat and there weren’t any instructions online on how they should go about this, so it’s awkward until he gets Mark to lay completely on his side across his lap, head cradled in the crook of his arm, and one of his knees bent behind Mark’s broad shoulders for extra support. Mark squirms in his hold, readjusting so he sits a bit higher, looking up at Donghyuck with sleepy eyes.
“Comfy?” Donghyuck asks, going for the zipper of his hoodie, and Mark gives him a small yeah, fists curling and uncurling where they’re tucked against Donghyuck’s stomach.
Donghyuck pulls down his zipper, naked underneath, and tries to push one side of his sweater out of the way. His nipples feel tight, already peaked, and he reminds Mark to take it slow as his warm breath washes over the left one gently as he leans in. He presses butterfly kisses around his nipple slowly and Donghyuck tenses with each one.
His eyes dart around Mark’s face, the little mole on his cheek, the curve of his nose, not knowing where to look, excitement and the knife’s edge of sensitivity giving him the shakes.When Mark looks up at him from the corner of his eye and finally puts his mouth around his little-nothing-tit, Donghyuck lets out a shuddering breath.
Mark’s mouth is as kind as his heart, suckling softly, tongue rolling over Donghyuck’s nipple over and over, and then letting it rest there while his eyes lower, not really looking at anything as he pretends to feed. Donghyuck sighs when he gets into a nice rhythm, relaxing some more into the pile behind him as he circles his thumb around Mark’s temple when he fidgets, shushing him as his mouth skips a beat and makes a wet noise echo in the quiet room.
Mark pulls from him even though there’s nothing for Donghyuck to give, snuffling against his chest after a deep breath, pacified. Having Mark like this, literally in his arms, makes Donghyuck feel heavy and full, like he could go to sleep. He rubs a comforting hand down Mark’s side just to notice that he’s starting to tent his sweatpants.
“You’re hard,” he says outloud, sounding surprised.
Mark grunts, legs shifting around, and Donghyuck tries to hold the back of his head with his free hand, but Mark reaches for it blindly and drags it down his body, pressing it tight to his swollen cock.
“Could you?” Mark mumbles, garbled, giving Donghyuck big, pleading eyes.
“Mark-ah,” Donghyuck coos, pulling his hand away.
Mark hides his pink face against Donghyuck’s spit-damp chest, writhing. He knows what he needs to do to get Donghyuck to give him what he wants. Donghyuck doesn’t push, sometimes Mark needs a moment.
“Mommy,” he whispers, breathless, still hiding as he brings Donghyuck’s hands between his thighs again, grinding against his palm. “I want mommy to touch me here.”
Donghyuck nudges him back to his chest, letting Mark take his nipple back into his mouth, and grips his dick through the cotton of his sweats, squeezing.
“Hungry boy,” Donghyuck dotes, sounding like he swallowed nails, feeling Mark suckle a little faster, his toes curling in his socks. “You needed this, didn’t you?”
Mark nods as much as he can, tucking his face closer to Donghyuck’s chest so his nose is pressed tight to his skin. He cups Donghyuck’s other tit in his clumsy hand, kneading it none-too-gently, rubbing his thumb against his nipple like a small comfort against what Donghyuck’s doing to him. It hurts good, Donghyuck’s brain going a little haywire from it, and he tries to keep Mark quiet, gripping the hairs at his nape in his fist and dipping his other hand lower to cup his balls.
The morning is muted by Mark’s stifled grunts, his hips bucking forward, and the slow slip of Donghyuck’s sweater down one shoulder like a caress when Mark whimpers, mommy—god, Donghyuck.
Donghyuck’s got Mark in his arms, showing him everything oh-so-close to his naïve heart.
Mark hates when people wear house slippers in his bathroom. He’s clean in the weirdest of ways.
It’s why Donghyuck can feel their bare toes overlapping on the cold tile while he lets Mark’s tongue get reacquainted with his mouth, dragging across the roof, his teeth, his tongue, reaching far, far back, like he wants to slither down into Donghyuck’s belly. Mark kisses him slow and molasses, sucking on his tongue before tilting his head to find new angles, their noses brushing whenever they fit back together.
Donghyuck threaded their fingers together after the first kiss, innocent, palm-to-palm, and he hasn’t let go, their hands hanging by their sides now. Mark’s hands twitch every so often, like he wants to be able to hold him, but he rubs his thumbs over Donghyuck’s knuckles in hypnotic circles.
The bathroom light is off, the door open to let in the natural, grey light coming into Mark’s bedroom through the spread curtains. Their soft breathes and wet sounds of their mouths meeting the only thing Donghyuck can hear.
Don’t ask him the day, the time, the purpose.
Ask him about the icky creature trying to hike its way up his throat, sharp-legged and starved, wanting to drag Mark into him by his tongue the longer they meld together in this dark bathroom. Donghyuck tries to tamp it down, white-knuckling Mark’s hands, toes wriggling excitedly over his when they kiss for so long he can’t breathe, but he lets out a voracious noise, crackling.
Mark moans back at him, thinking Donghyuck’s looking for more, and he is.
“Hold on,” Mark says, wrenching his fingers out of Donghyuck’s grabby vines to close the door.
“I want—” Donghyuck croaks, sounding not himself, and stops when Mark turns back towards him.
Mark blinks owlishly, waiting for Donghyuck to tell him before he shuts the door.
“Nothing,” he whispers.
The ends of Mark’s mouth tip upwards, not a real thing, his you-should-know-better-because-I-know-better smile that makes Donghyuck think that Mark is aware, he knows about the thing festering inside of him.
But Mark says, okay, and closes the door with the tips of his fingers. It groans on its hinges until it leaves them in complete darkness, shadowy smudges in the bathroom mirror.
He finds Donghyuck sightlessly and kisses him from behind his ear, down his neck, to his shoulder, while Donghyuck feels along the tight muscles of his stomach, the bit of softness at his hips, the expanse of his back.
“I can wait,” Mark whispers, running his palm over each knob of Donghyuck’s spine. “For when you’re ready to tell me.”
He wants Mark to know Donghyuck, not the sun. The little water-me-please flower that blooms in dark, dank places, waiting for Mark’s light, to be nurtured by butterfly touches over his ribs, his stomach, his bottom lip, his secret places.
“If you can handle it,” he says into Mark’s shoulder.
The lack of light is good, so Mark can’t see the gluttonous, half-starved thing he’s been feeding in Donghyuck’s chest for years when he fits them back together again (I don’t need to handle you).
Donghyuck woke up with his dick pressed between his hip and the mattress, drool on his pillow, the ghost of Mark’s fist wrapped around his pinked-up cock from the picture he sent last night like film over his crusted eyes, but he didn’t do much about any of it.
He spent most of the rainy day laying down in his room, groggy and horny, until Taeyong came home from his schedule with SuperM. He was switching between Mark’s picture, hips twitching into his bed, and looking at leather collars, the simple ones with a d-ring in the middle, nothing like the thick chain with the heavy metal star Mark wore that time for a Punch performance, when he heard Mark’s voice in the hallway.
He didn’t make a sound, willing Mark closer (come here, come to me), tugging at their invisible string and watching the light underneath his door until Mark’s feet became two shadows as he knocked on Donghyuck’s door.
Oh? Mark smiled when he popped his magenta head in first and then let the rest of his body follow through, done up in an army green patterned shirt and light jeans. It’s just you here?
Donghyuck, palpitating from his belly to his balls, turned over on his back without a word to show Mark just how much of him there was.
“You’re like a fucking dog,” Donghyuck says, a reedy whisper, trying not to be loud.
Mark’s between his knees on the floor, shoulders hulking, breathing heavily through his nose while he sucks Donghyuck off tight and slow, taking him and taking him. Donghyuck’s got Mark’s necklace leash-wrapped twice around his trembling knuckles, one foot eased between his legs, grinding against his stiff cock. Donghyuck should’ve plucked that chain off the stylists when he had the chance.
D is for doggy, Donghyuck said to him when he showed Mark the leather collar. He sat Donghyuck up, got his sweats off and told him to shut the fuck up while he huddled up between his knees.
“I still wanna put a collar on you,” Donghyuck hiccups quietly, fisting Mark’s chain taut at the back of his neck.
Mark coughs and slobbers around him when Donghyuck grinds his heel down, but keeps at it, burying his cherried face closer and pushing his hips up. He’s a try hard, always takes it as a compliment if Donghyuck makes him choke on every solid inch of him, and won’t stop until Donghyuck’s spine wants to soften into marrow.
“Don’t make me come yet, not yet, wait,” Donghyuck says in a rushed whisper, begging and yanking at Mark’s shirt with his free hand, but he grabs Donghyuck’s wrist with surprising strength, bones grinding together, and forces it down to the edge of the bed.
Mark makes a mess out of him, drooling down his balls, gagging, and his lips do a perfect split around the thickest part of Donghyuck’s cock when he finally looks up at him with wet eyes in the low light of his room, it’s good, right? show me how good.
He can’t make a sound when he comes, a thin shriek vacuuming out of his throat before he goes silent, biting both his lips, feeling his balls going and going until it feels like they’ll draw up into his body. Mark chokes on it because he never quite mastered swallowing.
“Get up, you don’t have to do that,” Donghyuck giggles when he realizes Mark’s rutting against the sole of his foot, holding onto the back of his calf with both hands.
Mark stands up clumsily, using Donghyuck’s thighs and shoulders to right himself, standing tall with his chest puffed out. He’s a rigid line in his jeans, pointed up towards his belt in front of Donghyuck’s face.
“This looks painful,” Donghyuck murmurs, placing little hush-puppy kisses along his throbbing cock through the denim.
Mark says something like put your mouth on it.
Taeyong and Doyoung talk in the hallway while Donghyuck gets him unbuckled and unbuttoned, rolling his jeans and underwear down his pale hips. This is probably Donghyuck’s favorite part of him, drippy at his valentine’s-pink tip, hips pushing forward so it smacks a soaked kiss against Donghyuck’s lips, smelling like warm skin.
Mark isn’t as quiet as he should be when Donghyuck suckles at the head, cheeks hollowing. He mumbles down at Donghyuck, his belt tinkling as he twitches his hips forward, groaning like Donghyuck is killing him.
Shut up and c’mere, Donghyuck says and opens his mouth wide. Mark gives him guilty-eyes and asks about his schedule tomorrow, even though he knows Donghyuck can’t answer while he’s politely pushing his cock down his throat.
He makes Donghyuck sing for him, a throat-clicking composition that has Mark humping his face until he’s spilling what feels like a month’s worth of nut against Donghyuck’s award-winning tonsils. He holds the hair at the top of Donghyuck’s head so tight he can hear some of it rip from the root, moaning too loud to be appropriate, leaving Donghyuck milky-mouthed when he pulls out before he’s done coming.
“You barely choked,” Mark says, awed, wiping at the corner of Donghyuck’s mouth with his thumb.
Mark’s eyes mirror Donghyuck’s fucked up hair as he looks down at him. He blinks back at himself, looking self-satisfied, and wonders if Mark can hear it somehow (see me, see me), know that Donghyuck’s one of the reasons he’s a god-fearing man, the sicko boy who wants him so bad he gets gruesome.
“Practice, maybe you need more of it,” he says, looking away.
Freak-show pretty boys don’t choke. Not on any stage.
Mark pokes little air pockets of possessiveness and greed and blinding desire into him in short-lived, almost violent bursts. Donghyuck used to think all he felt was infatuation, that it’d be over quicker than it came, but it never left him. All his feelings for Mark cemented themselves, bricks some days and a weighted blanket on others.
“Mark-ah!” Yuta waves Mark over to the semi-circle he’s in with Johnny and Taeyong on the other side of the practice room.
Donghyuck tracks Mark through the mirrors, watching him bounce from one person to another happily, wondering when he’s going to come back to the conversation with Renjun, Jeno, and Jaemin that he hasn’t been paying attention to for the past five minutes.
“Are you even listening?” Renjun elbows him.
“Uh-huh,” he says, not listening.
Donghyuck gets jealous. Secret-jealous, seethe-in-silence-jealous, you-don’t-feel-like-mine-jealous because there’s others like him, wanting to make Mark theirs, but Donghyuck’s never had to envy any of them, there’s a difference.
He got in with Mark early, sunk his teeth in when he walked up to Donghyuck with a lukewarm bottle of water and a nervous hello, and survived every remedy Mark used to get him out from under his skin until he started trying to keep him there.
Donghyuck is tried and true.
“Mark hyung!” Donghyuck calls out and Mark turns around. “Is this how you treat your dongsaengs?”
“You think he’s gonna listen to you?” Jaemin says, pinching Donghyuck’s side.
Mark gives a sheepish smile when Jeno and Renjun join in, ambling back towards them and scratching at the back of his neck, his necklace catching on one finger. Donghyuck cracks his knuckles one-by-one (he loves me, he loves me not), thinking about how Mark’s chain felt wrapped around them and the blood-burst blotches along his neck where Donghyuck held it too tight.
“Mark hyung’ll do whatever I want him to,” he tells Jaemin, more hope than truth.
So Donghyuck wants to eat Mark’s heart out, sue him. He got to it first, fair and (god) damned square.
“What was that about?” Mark asks when they end the vlive, plucking at his guitar strings.
“What was what?” Donghyuck says, holding his body pillow tighter.
“You were a lot more--I dunno, cute,” Mark tells him with a slight shrug, scrunching his nose to adjust his glasses.
Donghyuck woke Mark up on a whim. He was starfished on his stomach under the covers when Donghyuck snuck into his room, the curtains shut tight. Donghyuck whispered his name until he woke with a start, looking around with one eye closed and his hair flat on one side. What’re you doing here? Everything okay? he slurred, stretching out and falling back into his pillow. Donghyuck told him everything was fine and let him sleep for a few more minutes, silently etching his name into Mark’s bare back with one finger until his breath evened out.
Donghyuck can’t explain it but the day has left him wide open and buttery.
“Would you wanna?” Donghyuck asks him, coy, unzipping his hoodie some and parting one side like he’s flashing Mark a nipple.
Mark’s eyebrows shoot up. He left Donghyuck’s nipples puffy and chafing the last time, head stuffed under Donghyuck’s shirt in an empty room after he caught Mark staring at his chest whenever he thought Donghyuck wasn’t looking. If the ache wasn’t a sweet reminder under his clothes for the rest of the day, Mark, relaxed and soothed, was.
“Definitely,” Mark breathes, fingers barely brushing his guitar strings.
Taeyong calls for them from the kitchen, telling them to come eat before the food gets cold.
“Let’s eat what the hyungs ordered,” Donghyuck says, stomach swooping, “and then you can feed.”
Mark nods and rubs a hand over his mouth, staring at Donghyuck’s chest like he can see through his hoodie and t-shirt.
There’s no fumbling this time around.
Mark shuts his door and takes off his glasses, putting them away in their case on his dresser, while Donghyuck makes do with Mark’s comforter and his one flattened pillow against the headboard to support his back.
Mark waits with one knee up on the bed patiently, tip of his tongue between his lips, until Donghyuck opens his arms.
He settles himself across Donghyuck’s lap easily, getting cozy, and rucks Donghyuck’s shirt up above his nipples through the half-open gap of his hoodie, holding it there in his fist so he can get in close without interruption.
“You should—mh,” Donghyuck stiffens, wincing at the sudden, blunt stimulation of Mark’s lips closing around him noisily.
It doesn’t take more than a minute for him to get used to the warmth of Mark’s greedy mouth, watching him suckle, eyes falling closed and his five o’clock shadow showing on his top lip. Donghyuck starts to feel empty-headed, the hot-air-balloon-floaty way he felt all morning in bed with his blanket over him. His mind keeps trying to go up and up, but Mark’s tiny, huffing breaths and his fingers twitching against his bare skin keep him tied to the moment.
“Do you want me to take care of that?” he asks faintly, trying not to disturb the stillness of the room, but Mark’s chubbing up in his grey shorts. It’s easy to bring him off when he’s like this, lazy strokes that make him dribble thickly instead of shoot when he’s done.
“‘S cool,” Mark says back, gravelly and unfocused, “think I might fall asleep like this anyways.”
Donghyuck hums and guides Mark’s face back to his chest, pushing his pink hair off of his forehead carefully. Mark’s not as insistent when he latches back on, suckling quietly, and only pausing to make a kittenish noise when Donghyuck cradles the back of his head, pressing him closer. Mark hasn’t called him mommy in weeks and Donghyuck hasn’t mentioned it, doesn’t even really care about that part of whatever this is anymore. It feels nice just holding him here.
Mark does doze off eventually, mouth going lax as his body grows heavy in Donghyuck’s arms, vulnerable. Donghyuck should let him down so he can sleep properly, but before that, with a trembling hand, he cards his fingers through Mark’s hair, through the fluffy top and then the sides when he doesn’t stir.
Mark’s a huge star, bigger than when they met, and it could be stardom that’s rolling-pinned him smooth and gratefully tired, but he might not be big enough to swallow Donghyuck when his want grows so ginormous it feels like he'll explode and take everyone with him.
Donghyuck leans down and kisses Mark’s temple and then his forehead, leaving his lips there for a supernova moment, Mark’s lips smacking against his throat sleepily, before pulling away.
Mark, his big, oversized star. His, his, his.
He tends to forget that Mark’s gentleness is a choice.
Exhibit B: Donghyuck played keep away with Mark’s phone, twisting this way and that on his bed so he couldn’t grab it (Dude , c’mon). He wriggled out of Mark’s grasp, eyes on his door, cracked open just enough for Donghyuck to think he had a chance to escape into Taeyong or Doyoung’s room.
Mark got Donghyuck by the back of his shirt and yanked him back onto the bed, his bed frame scraping the floor from the force of it. Mark’s face, ruby-cheeked, was hovering over his, saying sorry, didn’t mean to grab you that hard, did I hurt you? with apologetic eyes and his thumb resting in the alcove at the base of Donghyuck’s throat.
All Donghyuck could pay attention to was the sweat was gleaming on Mark’s temples while he caught his breath, huffing warmly over Donghyuck’s face, and the dust motes made out of his dead skin, hair follicles, and fuck-me-gut-me-want-me pollen snow-flurrying in the sunlight. All those teensy tiny pieces of himself were scurrying inside of Mark with every breath he took.
The thought had Donghyuck’s hands grabbing at the sleeves of Mark’s sweater while he looked down at him curiously, like his hands were around his throat again, wanting to tell him that all his unquenched desire makes him sick in tiny bouts. It gets worse every time Donghyuck sees him.
Doyoung called out faintly to ask if they were alright before he could say a word and Mark shifted, knee coming up higher, finding Donghyuck swelling in his sweatpants. We’re good, hyung! Mark called back and ghosted his knee over Donghyuck’s cock, whispering, good, right? Donghyuck trembled head to toe, pushing his hips up into it with a terse nod.
Mark closed Donghyuck’s door without a word and pushed his sleeves up to his forearms on his way back to the bed, a sweet smile on his face. The hand he curled underneath Donghyuck’s neck, barely cradling his skull, as he lifted his head off the bed, sitting him up easily, was firm.
Tell me if you don’t like it, okay? he told Donghyuck softly, like he always does, and dug his fingers into Donghyuck’s neck until he nodded, their noses brushing. Donghyuck’s entire body buzzed, bees in a bottle, when Mark yanked him up by the front of his shirt just to push him back down onto the bed, looming over him.
For a few careful, afternoon-quiet minutes, Mark made him small. He threw Donghyuck around by his shirt and held him down by the back of his neck when Donghyuck gave a half-hearted struggle, talking to him like they were having a regular conversation (you wanted me to toss you around a little bit, huh?).
When he took Donghyuck’s feet out from under him one last time, a helpless gurgle escaping Donghyuck’s mouth when his back hit the mattress, his body was tingling, dick so hard his vision was nothing but the mottled sun across the ceiling and Mark’s blonde hair and searching eyes hanging over him as he cupped Donghyuck’s face with his warm hands.
Hey, come back to me, right here, Mark said in hushed, tender whispers, thumbs caressing beneath Donghyuck’s eyes. Let’s take care of you, alright?
It left Donghyuck feeling like a little bug flattened beneath glass, grasping for Mark’s wrists with numb, shaky hands, nodding as he tried to say Mark’s name through the cotton in his throat.
Maybe, this whole time, it was all about surrender.
“Feels like you’re gonna burst, it’s so hot,” Mark says over his shoulder, right against his ear, breathy, holding Donghyuck’s lube-soaked cock in his hand, running his thumb over the swollen head in knee-jerk circles.
Donghyuck groans, squirming bare-assed on his bed because Mark only shucked his sweatpants down enough to get to his dick after he dragged Donghyuck between the circle of his arms and legs, back to chest. There’s nowhere to hide as Mark keeps his chin hooked over Donghyuck’s shoulder, staring down at where he’s jerking him off, wet fist hugging his fit-to-pop cock, balls tight like it’d be nice if Mark gave them some attention too. He knows he’d go shooting off if Mark did though.
“You’ve got such a fat fucking dick,” Mark mutters, and Donghyuck only has a second to be embarrassed at how hard he is before Mark’s slapping the sensitive underside of Donghyuck’s cock against his open palm.
He cries out hoarsely, doubling over when Mark does it again, quick, mean little taps, and tries to writhe away, but Mark drags him back with an iron grip around his waist. Donghyuck’s toes curl in his socks as Mark uses both hands to stroke him, wrist twisting on the up stroke.
“C’mon, let me work it out of you,” Mark urges under his breath, letting a hand slip inside Donghyuck’s sweats, massaging his inner thigh.
It’s too good too fast and Mark won’t let up, caging Donghyuck in between his arms when he curls forward, whimpering, and then arches back against his chest, hips twitching when Mark slips a couple fingers beneath his balls.
Mark kisses behind his ear (let me do this for you, baby) and Donghyuck chokes on every shame-laced noise he can’t help but make when he twists to bury his face in the sweaty column of Mark’s throat as he comes, holding onto Mark’s wrists as he milks him through it, muttering little encouragements in his ear.
Donghyuck stares out at his room, sinking back into Mark’s chest, pulverized to mush. Getting off on his own is good but letting Mark get him off is a lot better. His you-before-me attitude can be a nuisance though.
“You couldn’t wait a minute?” Donghyuck snickers, sitting up some and reaches a hand behind him, knocking into where Mark’s hand is flying over his own cock, slick with Donghyuck’s come.
“Just let me use your hand,” Mark asks, a begging, panting-pout as he grabs for Donghyuck’s hand with his sticky one to wrap it around him, heavy and burning from waiting.
Mark crowds against his back again, chin over his shoulder, and keeps his hand over Donghyuck’s so he can fuck his fist properly, rocking his hips up as best he can while taking the brunt of their weight. The angle is a little awkward with Donghyuck’s arm behind his back, thumb pointed down and his knuckles brushing the small of his back, but Mark whimpers like it’s the best he’s felt in weeks, murmuring, make it tighter, and a throaty, yeah, that’s so good, when Donghyuck makes his fist skintight, rubbing at the base of Mark’s cock with his thumb when he can reach it.
Mark’s free hand feels him up from where he’s still hanging out of his sweatpants, soft and tacky, trailing under his shirt, over his belly and chest, brushing over his nipples, and pulling away when Donghyuck flinches. But Donghyuck doesn't put up a fight when Mark dips his middle and ring finger inside of his mouth, sliding them all the way back to his fluttering throat, dry and salty, getting Donghyuck in a spider-gag lock.
He hiccups softly when Mark turns his face towards his, thumb pressing underneath his jaw, and spreads his fingers wide so he can fit his tongue inside, too.
Spit dribbles down Donghyuck’s chin and his heart tries to clamber out of his mouth somewhere between Mark coming all over their joined hands and him kissing Donghyuck’s tear-streaked cheeks.
Thought I felt something back there, Mark said after, watching where his fingers were still resting between Donghyuck’s hurting lips, and went diving into his throat again, heart-hunting.
Donghyuck would rather have Mark smash him to piggybank-smithereens, valuables gushing out amongst ceramic and glass in ruby, ribbon-tied boxes to soften the blow of each hideous and selfish thing Donghyuck’s ever thought about him, than to have to say it all on his own.
“Do you remember that day in the bathroom? Like two weeks ago?” it rakes out of him, sandpapery, while he watches Mark singing a happy song in front of Johnny’s mirror as he pulls off his stained shirt, creamy, beauty-dotted skin shifting over the muscles of his back.
Mark’s stomach tenses in the mirror as he pulls one of Donghyuck’s white t-shirts over his head, tight at the shoulders when he pulls it down, and mutters, “Uh, yeah. When you didn’t want to finish your sentence?”
Mark won’t do that, break him. Has never, will never, because he’s got patience that’ll get Donghyuck to spill his guts because he has to, unless he wants to bloat with all that he lets go unsaid until he pops. Even here, Mark waits with his hands by his sides, sucking on his top lip as he follows Donghyuck standing up and coming over to him through the mirror with mellow eyes.
“That day, I was going to say, I want to split you open from here,” Donghyuck whispers, carefully trailing his index finger from the hollow of Mark’s throat down to his belly button, “to here and climb inside.”
He pulls his hand away, strangling it in his other one, as he says, hush-hush beneath his eyelashes, “I wanna be inside you like that.”
Mark stands stock still, his mouth tight and his eyes the two hooks that make Donghyuck’s lips spread bashfully, feeling like a two-bit weirdo.
He’s always struggled to tell Mark about the huge feelings, the building-block-emotions that only grow bigger, because Donghyuck doesn’t want to scare Mark off in such close quarters. Where would he run if it got too heavy to carry?
“Joking,” Donghyuck tries, stepping backwards.
“No, you’re not,” Mark scoffs, turning to grab him by the arm, “I knew it was something like that, you’ve always been like that.”
Donghyuck rolls his eyes, prepared for another one of Mark’s long-winded shit-talking sprees where he tells Donghyuck about how he can’t do that and what does that even mean? and how can you say that?
“I don’t know if I should even tell you this,” Mark says, scratching at the back of his neck and pressing his thumb into the inside of Donghyuck’s elbow. “But me too. I feel that way about you sometimes, too.”
Mark rambles for a moment, rubbing at his stubbled chin, unaware of Donghyuck’s pulse crashing against the pad of his thumb, flying apart, “I think that’s—how do I say it—it’s human. I think everyone feels like that about someone at some point—it’s kinda scary, dude, but—hey, you okay?”
It’s human nature, the yearning, but this gluttonous, black mass banging around Donghyuck’s ribs has never felt human.
Donghyuck makes himself smaller, wrapping his arms around Mark’s waist and hiding his face in Mark’s shoulder when he tries to pull back. He smells like a clean shirt and powdery-sweat and Donghyuck squeezes him until Mark groans, laughing, and holds the back of his head with one hand.
“Really?” Donghyuck asks after they sway on their feet quietly, turning in a slow circle. “You’d wanna be in me? Like that?”
“I wanna know you, Donghyuck-ah,” Mark murmurs, his fingertips finding their way under Donghyuck’s shirt, digging into the divots of his spinal cord like he wants to tear him anew. “All the time. Everything.”
Donghyuck doesn’t think Mark will ever understand how deep it runs in him, but something about knowing that Mark wants to make a place for himself in all of his slimy innards, too, makes him swoon.
“What a freak, hyung,” Donghyuck grumbles, rubbing his nose into his shoulder, wanting to liquefy into Mark right then and there.
Donghyuck catches himself peering over Mark’s shoulder in the mirror, his hair long and fried and in his possessive little eyes, as Mark squawks, talking against his ear (I can see you being creepy sometimes, I have eyes! That means you’re a freak too).
Donghyuck wants to know Mark the way flesh knows bone but he’ll settle for burying him alive in the deepest coves of his creepy-crawler-heart.
Half of the internet, depending on who wrote it, would say that he’s sick. The other side would say he’s just in love.
“I wanna know everything about you too,” Donghyuck murmurs.
Disgustingly, disgustingly in love.