Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Do you really have to go?” Jeno perused, one elbow propped on their king-sized bed with his head tilted to the side. The silk duvets drape over his long, slender legs, laid in a way that’s so bewitchingly sinful that Johnny nearly couldn't resist. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Johnny pulls on his leather belt, slipping it through his crisp slacks as he turns to his husband with a chuckle, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Jeno sighs. He drops back to the mattress, the bed now colder, lonelier without his husband by his side, without his warm, wiry arms wrapped around him, without his intoxicating musk and his lean chest near him. It’s an emptiness that digs itself deeper and deeper in Jeno’s stomach. 

“I love you,” Johnny says one last time before pressing a kiss on his forehead. Jeno keens into the touch, basking in the rough feeling of his hand against his cheek. But the moment goes by as quick as it came. 

Johnny’s leather shoes amble across the timber floors, the doors closing shut with a soft click, and Jeno’s left with an empty bed and nothing but purple marks on his body as a bittersweet memory. The night is a vicious one, more so with Johnny’s boss calling him up in the middle of their rare precious time together. He had slipped out of Jeno’s fingertips without a second to lose. As another man takes his husband for himself, Jeno can’t help but be greedy in his lonesome and pathetically abandoned state.

Jeno hauls his drawer open, rummaging through the papers and half empty perfume bottles. He pulls a cigarette to his lips, clicking the silver lighter that rips the darkness through and through. The room’s scent of roses and peaches is overwhelmed by tar-infesting smoke, as Jeno takes one heave in and out. Anything is good enough to fill the empty spaces of the room, even if it meant flirting with death itself, just as long as Jeno isn’t alone. Just as long he isn’t reminded of the bites on his husband’s neck that looked nothing like his, or the lingering sweet yet unfamiliar aroma on his suits and ties. 

And at that moment, in the eye of the storm he had made, accompanied with nothing but heavy tar and a cold bed, it was enough. 

The next day, however, held no promises for yesterday to be anything like it. Jeno awakens in his bed without Johnny again, just like how most of his mornings have started since a month ago. It was bound to happen, Jeno muses. What could someone get in an arranged marriage after all, aside from a miserable couple who would rather be in someone else’s presence than their own spouse. 

Good things don’t last, nothing does. Like the addicting cigarette that he had shared the night with, it disappears into the air away from Jeno’s grasp without a trace, leaving him on his own. Nothing but a memory left for him to cherish.

It had only been a month since Taeyong took over the company Johnny worked under, but Jeno had caught a whiff of unfamiliar perfume and his shirts suspiciously wrinkled long ago. 

Both Taeyong and Johnny had been getting braver, greedier, and Jeno can’t do anything but sit pretty in evening parties and act as his cheating husband’s arm candy. It’s hard to believe that this was what Jeno’s parents had wanted for him, marrying their youngest to a family friend’s son, one who’s strikingly gorgeous in each and every angle, with a kind heart and is tremendously hard working. And although it had become more to Jeno's advantage than Johnny’s–with him covered in studded diamonds and a mansion under his name–it’s even harder to believe that Jeno still isn’t content with it all. 

What he wants isn’t hard. He just wants a husband who acts exactly like one although not perfect, but willing to fill in for his shortcomings. A man who he doesn’t have to share with anyone, a man he could spend the lifetime without someone always taking seconds, minutes, hours and later days of their so-called bonded lives.

He wants someone to lay the whole world on his feet, not precisely with riches, but with overwhelming love and care that he won’t even think of anything else but him. Won’t even dare to think of another existence other than him.

But to Jeno, a lot of things fade away before his very eyes. His hopes and dreams, taken away by his very own parents who insisted he’d be happier with a capable man by his side, his very life plucked and molded mercilessly to fit the hierarchy, his own husband who had sworn to love, cherish and respect him now fulfilling his duties to someone else. 

To Jeno, nothing is constant. And ironically so, that is the only constant in his life. 

“Good morning, Mr. Suh,” a sweet, lovely voice chirped at the first light of Jeno’s morning. Ever since he had been hired four months ago, Jeno’s day had started with this man without falter. He always has this toothy smile on him, all bubbly with his light blue hair and passionately attentive gaze. 

Jeno hums him a response, walking past his pool boy with only nothing but his robe and a pair of boxers on. Jaemin doesn’t think twice about his boss’ lack of reply and goes right back to his job. He cleans the people with practised ease and familiarity. At this point, he had grown accustomed to the mansion itself already, although he can’t quite say the same with its owners. The couple had been quite strange to him. 

Jaemin would always see Mr. Jeno on his own, spending most of the day drabbling on various things. He’d start his day with a rather fancy English breakfast, before walking back to his room and sauntering out in fresh new clothes and what happens next varies from time to time. Sometimes, Jeno would lock himself in his quarters or in the study room that’s lined with dusty books that date from decades ago. When he’s in a good mood, he’d stay in the indoor garden to read a magazine or two, bathing under the sun’s jocund glow for as long as he’d like. 

On rare occasions, where Mr. Johnny is home and has time to spend, they’d quietly eat dinner and never part ways. They’d do almost everything together. Mr. Jeno would cling onto him like his husband would disappear if he wouldn’t, frequently pressing chaste kisses down his neck as the latter drew thoughtless shapes on his skin, gaze never leaving the humongous television screen. Then, they’d retire for the night together too. 

Jaemin has seen them a number of times. Them being all sweet and mushy; it’s envious. But Jaemin has seen other things, too. Things he never should’ve in the first place. 

At times when Jaemin’s body refuses to let him sleep, he’d walk out of his quarters to join the moon’s lonely state. He can’t count the times he has seen Mr. Johnny walk out of their shared room, dressed in slacks and a wrinkled shirt, and disappear into the night with his matte porsche. Jaemin had always been curious to what kind of affairs he attends to at such a late hour, especially as to why he’d leave a gem like Mr. Jeno on his own. 

Jaemin’s curiosity, however, had never been quenched. And he dares not to satiate it even a little bit. He dares not to pry on anyone’s business, especially in his new bosses’, and he sticks to his job without question. 

The two had been married for two years now, or so he heard, and he doubts a third year college student like him would know any better. It hasn’t even been half a year since he had been employed by the Suhs, so he figures it really is best not to stick his nose on where it doesn’t belong. Especially with how intimidating Mr. Johnny could be at times, his gaze stern and piercing, with sharp features down to his jaw and thick lips. 

It’s inevitable though to not think about it from time to time. Jaemin recalls the first night he had caught Mr. Johnny in the act. Dim ships of clouds sailed over the crescent moon, as threads of silver and white peeked from behind and into the open yard. The light had trailed towards Mr. Johnny by the gate, his hands mellowly shoved in his slacks’ pockets, his sleeves pulled back to his wiry forearms. 

A breath hitched in Jaemin’s throat as he tried to remain quiet. But that little action, no matter how silent he prayed himself to be, is exactly what had caught his boss’ attention. He remembers how Mr. Johnny steadily tilted his gaze over his shoulder, a sharp gaze struck directly towards Jaemin’s soul, as a knowing smirk ghosted over his lips. 

A finger was raised up to his lips and Jaemin had understood the message loud and clear amidst the misty night. Jaemin had vowed to himself to never tell a single living soul. 

It had been some sort of secret agreement between them. Whenever Jaemin would chance upon Mr. Johnny’s midnight trips, he would turn a blind eye on each one like a reflex. He had assumed his boss had to work extra hours to make ends meet or in order to spoil his husband. After all, he’d come back the next morning looking worn out, heavy bags under his eyes, draped in a new shirt or in a turtleneck despite the warm weather. 

That’s all it is, Jaemin supposes. 

The morning had come out once again, but Mr. Johnny’s car had yet to arrive. Jaemin had woken up early to open the gate for him, only for his effort to go to waste as both breakfast and lunch passed, and he still wasn't anywhere to be seen. Mr. Jeno didn’t look as bothered as he was, quietly delving into his own affairs and afternoon naps. Johnny soon returned at around a little after 4 in the afternoon, joining his husband in the bed. 

The next week, Mr. Johnny’s sudden “business calls” occurred more often than not. He’d leave even in the middle of the day, at the freezing dawn, or as soon as his phone rang. He'd be out even before the fourth ring. Mr. Jeno would only either nod him a farewell or place a chaste kiss on his cheek. And it’ll be their last form of intimacy before Mr. Johnny comes back in a day or two. 

Despite how clear and obvious the situation presents itself to be, Jaemin still keeps his secrets under the rug. He keeps his mouth shut at his unsolicited nightly adventures, including the strong and different scents of perfume on his work shirts, and even the lipstick stain on his collar from that one time he delivered the dirty laundry to the maids. He’s determined to take this secret to his grave. 

One other secret, however, that he fears is getting more and more obvious by the day, is the unfamiliar feeling he harbors in his chest whenever Mr. Jeno would finish his own late night affairs. 

It had started the day after Mr. Johnny had left for a week-long business trip. Surprisingly, Mr. Jeno looked blooming at the absence of his husband with a salacious smile on his pretty face, dressed in translucent silk and lace with nothing but a light robe over his wide shoulders, skipping around the mansion like he was walking on air. As soon as 11 o’clock struck, when the night is still young and playful, he’d jaunt into his room and wait.

The gate would always ring at 12 on the dot. The guards would pull the metal walls open ever so slightly, letting a stranger amble in. It’s different each time, but it always starts and ends the same. He’d be shown his way in by the maids and into Mr. Jeno’s quarters, then leave the next morning. A repeating cycle.

This morning is not any different. A man that’s roughly three heads taller than Jaemin, clean shaven face and a mole or two under his lip, dark tattoos littered over his shoulder and down his arm. Jaemin had bowed down to greet him before gesturing to the louvered doors.

The man had only given him a small smile and off he was. Jaemin turns back to the pool, taking out the fallen leaves and wriggling bugs. Once the water returned to its clear, pristine form, Jaemin huffed out in relief. His classes will start in an hour and unless he wants to hear another earful from his professor, he’d better prepare soon. 

But just as Jaemin could take a step forward, he froze upon hearing a sound from Mr. Jeno’s room. His feet stilled. The noise then grew a pitch higher, along with low whispers of, Jaemin could only assume, the man from earlier. The heavy, pleasure-filled breathing rang obnoxiously in his ears.

Jaemin freezes on his spot. Another moan seeps through, louder, sweeter, and Jaemin loses grip on his net and it instantly drops to the other end of the pool. The sound it makes harshly pulls Jaemin back to the present. He scrambles to pick it up, nearly tripping over his own foot, before he’s rushing frantically into his own quarters. 

Within the confines of his tiny room, the noise bounces off the four corners like an echo, plays over and over to no end as Jaemin flushes red. A sheen of sweat starts to form on his forehead and nape, not from the blaring heat, but from the lascivious sound that seemed to have engraved itself in Jaemin’s skull. It haunts him like a vengeful ghost, sending shivers up his spine, whispering cold air into his ear, and pierces right through his erratic heart. It holds him captive even in his class and instead of the professor’s teachings, he hears an array of sweet noises that he imagines Mr. Jeno could let out in such beautifully mind-numbing ways.

To think of his boss like this—one of the people who had taken him under his wing, gave him a bed to sleep on and food to eat-- made his stomach twist and churn in guilt like a furnace on a hot summer’s day. It made his mind race in places that it shouldn’t be in: him locked up in a familiar bedroom with none other but Mr. Jeno himself, his hair splayed out against the silk sheets like a halo, and he is close to an angel–a god, perhaps, with how Jaemin so badly wishes to worship every part of his being. 

And no matter how much Jaemin wants to shove his thoughts away, they keep coming back in. 

Desire sweeps him ever so naturally, as if he’s done this a number of times, when in truth Jaemin has never even gone this far with his nightly fantasies. He’s never even touched himself in case needed, never went as far as kissing a partner because they’d cut ties before they could. Jaemin is all new to this, but the vivid pictures in the back of his eyes make it seem otherwise. He sees Jeno like a painting from an era of romance and perfection, displayed in a dream-like haze, limpid sheets of silk and satin damp against his pale skin, radiating an iridescent glow underneath his sweat and the faint light from Jaemin’s heart.

Jaemin knows it’s wrong, he knows that well enough and he keeps punishing himself over it. He tries so hard to deflect and distract himself for days on end, but he could only do so much. Because no matter what he does, he still ends up the same way. Him behind closed doors as he strokes himself and cums at the thought of Mr. Jeno underneath him. Guilt eats him up again after every time and haunts him in his waking hours. 

If these walls could talk, they’d speak of unspeakable, detestable things. How hopeless romantic and inexperienced Jaemin got off to his own boss. There’s multitude of layers to this, but it all comes down the same: this is wrong. 

Mr. Jeno is married, while he’s nothing but a mere pool boy who’s undeserving of even an ounce of his attention. So, Jaemin had no choice but to keep his feelings locked and sealed. He tries to keep everything at bay, but the way his eyes trail all over his boss’ body is something now beyond his control. His gaze would drift ever so slightly during his shifts, going from a queasy one to a full blown stare that soon searingly dig into his skin. 

Mr. Jeno would often lay on his sun chair nowadays, a pair of flashy shades perched over the sharp slope of his nose, a loose silk robe dangling down his shoulders, his one leg bent up and wrapped in nothing but his swimming shorts. Jaemin’s hold around his net tightens. His shoulders tense, breath in his throat, with a blush that could trick anyone into thinking it’s from the summer’s blistering heat. It isn’t, despite how much he wants it to be, and is undeniably from the way his boss glistens under the sun and how his sweat trickles down the softening curves of his taut muscles. 

Jaemin does everything he can to act normal for the next few days, albeit unable to look straight at his boss’ face now, he could say he’s playing it off well so far. He pours all his attention to his job and would nervously beam his usual greetings to Mr. Jeno, only with his head hung low and his voice barely above a whisper.

It was only when Mr. Jeno greeted him back was he able to return his gaze. 

“Morning,” Mr. Jeno had shown him a tight-lipped smile and although it was their only interaction for that day, Jaemin had cherished it close to his heart. He had choked out a reply and both went on with their businesses.

The next day, Jaemin was certain it would go just like the last, peacefully uneventful and warm. A small exchange between him and his boss before parting towards their own ways. Jaemin had risen early which is considered a normal Saturday for him now compared to his peers. After his morning routine, he had pulled the net out of the storage room and with a bounce on his step, he was determined to start the day. 

Jaemin dips the rod down, letting the net splay open amidst the cool, calm waters. The door behind him opens and he hears a hoarse yet not any less sweet and lovely to his ears, “Good morning, Jaemin.”

Like an automatic response, Jaemin’s back pulled taut and his throat dried, his stomach dropping at the mere mention of his name for the first time in months. He throws his boss a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back to his job, knuckles white around the rod, “Good morning, sir.”

“My husband isn’t here, Jaemin. Not for another week that is,” Mr. Jeno chuckled with a dismissive and elegant wave of his hand, ambling towards his sun chair to leisurely sit on. “There’s no need to be so formal then. Call me Jeno.”

Ironically so, Jaemin has been here for at least half a year now and this is the longest conversation they’ve ever held. When Jaemin first came in, he was interviewed by Mr. Johnny and as soon as he was accepted, it was the head maid who had shown him the ropes around the mansion. Mr. Jeno had only woken up to a new face and paid little to no attention to him ever since then.

With Mr. Jeno always keeping to himself and Mr. Johnny often running off to his work, Jaemin hadn’t been given a chance to even warm up to them. He had wished he tried a little harder before, so now it wouldn’t bite him back in the ass till he’s left speechless in front of his devastatingly captivating but intimidating boss.

“I’ll keep that in mind then, Jeno,” Jaemin bowed slightly, his lower lip squeezed out of life under his own sharp teeth. His grip tightens and quivers around the rod of his net, his joints like gears out of oil with how awkward and tense his each movement was. 

Jaemin could hear his heart in his ears as a gaze from behind refused to leave. It stuck for as long as it could, lingering on his nape, trailing down his spine that sent shivers up despite the overbearing heat. Mr. Jeno’s stare grew more intense by the minute and Jaemin could only wish he wasn’t as obvious as he was for the past few days. Although, he doubts it. The way he looks at him is so indescribably knowing, as if he could read and flip through him like a book, an enticingly profane grin across his plump lips.

No matter how much Jaemin prayed, it was like Mr. Jeno knew what he had been up to. His lingering gazes and nighttime routine. His hopeful eyes and nervous greetings. 

Jaemin never felt so exposed in his entire life to the point that no matter how tightly shut his mouth is, and as much as he tries to brush his hidden fantasies away, it’s like Mr. Jeno already knows him so well, scrutinizing every inch of his desire and his lust-clouded mind. He knows. Too much, that is.

A cold bucket of realization flushes over Jaemin. He’s drenched in the mind-freezing curiosity of just how much Mr. Jeno knows. His smile is sweet and demeaning, pulling on his heartstrings without mercy and flipping the situation around with a playful twinkle in his eye. 

“Jaemin,” and even the way he says his name is lewd, drawing it out like honey on his tongue, “Do you mind?”

The scent of coconut and artificial hints of aromas tingle under Jaemin’s nose. He turns his head to face Mr. Jeno, who’s now smiling up at him as he rubs sunscreen across his veiny arms. The baby pink robe has long been discarded, putting his bare back on full display towards the pool, his one leg folded on his chair, and now, Jaemin could see him clearer like he’s the only person that matters as of the moment. Or for a long, long time at that matter, with how Jaemin leers at him with so much desire and adoration–something Jeno’s been longing for as long as he could remember. 

A spark ignites in Jaemin’s head. In one part, it screams at him to kindly reject his request. Another encourages him to do the opposite, knowing his job’s at sake, while an even smaller portion knows it’s not enough to risk his sanity, too. Everything becomes a jumbled mess and instead of grunting a sound out, all he could do was shake his head. 

With careful, trembling steps, Jaemin crosses their distance. He grabs the lotion in his sweaty palm, popping it open and squeezing its sticky sap out, before hesitantly bracing Mr. Jeno’s back. Their skins touch for a split second and like he had been burnt, Jaemin immediately backed away when Mr. Jeno spoke, “Not like this, sweetheart.”

Jaemin's brain stutters. The endearment had slipped off of Jeno’s tongue like it was the most normal thing in the world and hearing it. A sugarcoated name meant for a husband, a lover, now being used on him with such grace along with something else behind it, did nothing to help him. 

Mr. Jeno takes his time on readjusting himself. He lays over the sunchair on his chest, arms folded as his cheek’s pillow, and his eyes flutter as his whole body goes lax, “Now, Jaemin.”

There isn’t any other word to describe it but downright erotic. Jeno’s broad back is wide open just for him, his for the taking, his to hold and run his hands down, a privilege that not even his husband had been blessed with. His long, porcelain legs framed beautifully around his silk shorts, strips of lace stitched at the hems, and its smooth, glossy material creases around his plump ass, accentuating it in a way that has Jaemin choking on air.

Jaemin’s mouth salivates at the sight of the hollow dip at his sides, the unholy curve of his back and how it sinks lower and lower to his light pink silk shorts. He could see the defined lines of his thighs, embellished across his legs like streaks of comets and Jaemin does find himself wishing for something the longer he stares. 

“We don’t have all day,” Jeno listlessly reminded him. Jaemin squeaks and fumbles to oblige. He presses his palms against Jeno’s skin, hands wary and nervous, with eyes restlessly flitting everywhere but on him. 

“Is it really a good idea to sunbathe in those, Jeno?” Jaemin tries to start off. Although his voice is coarse, Jeno had managed to understand him well enough. Too well for his liking, actually, as if he knows exactly what’s going on in Jaemin’s mind better than him. 

“Oh, these old things?” Jeno drops his gaze to his shorts over his folded arm, shifting his legs slightly till one is over the other, his toes curling playfully. “Johnny seems to like them though. Not a surprise, really, since he seems to like collecting pretty little things.”

Jaemin tensely gulped, “Oh.”

The word trails off to the wind and Jaemin had thought their conversation would end there. A pin to end things for now, fearing he’d embarrass himself sooner than later if he doesn’t. 

“Why?” Jeno peered over to him, flames of mischief dancing across his moony eyes with a playful lilt in his sultry voice, “You don’t like them?”

“No, no, they’re pretty!” Jaemin’s hands flew away from his back, showing his lotioned palms to take a defensive stance, “Just not something that someone normally wear to sunbathe is all.”

Chuckling, Jeno prompts his chin over the back of his hand, “Would you rather I wear a bathing suit?”

Jeno covered in nothing but a two piece, leaving nearly nothing to the imagination, tied strings wrapped around his slender neck and thin waist, something that could easily come undone with an effortless tug or a bite and pull of Jaemin’s teeth. Jaemin pauses. Heat rises from his stomach and into his cheeks, “You’re beautiful as you are, Jeno.”

Then, he slowly brings his palms closer. He presses on the taut muscles of Jeno’s back, feeling it tense and go lax from time to time. Like waves buried underneath skin, Jaemin kneads and fondles the expanse of his back with practised rolls of his palms.

Suddenly, a sound pushed past Jeno’s lips. A warm, lovely, “Ah!” that touched Jaemin in all the wrong places. It sent Jaemin flinching back again, hands now far away from Jeno’s skin and a blush high on his cheeks. 

“Again,” Jeno breathes out. “Do that again.”

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. And yet Jaemin finds himself pressing his hands on that same spot again, eliciting a string of whispered curses and noises that seem too privy and too dirty for his liking. 

Jeno moans, “There.”

Jaemin takes a gulp in and it’s akin to swallowing glaring lava down his throat with how it burns down to his hollow system. It melts and pours through his skin, taking everything down with it, including the remnants of Jaemin’s thoughts. 

“Fuck, Jaemin,” Jeno cried even louder, a pant between. 

And oh, did that do wonders. Jaemin jumps back, mind a scrambled mess and hands flailing around him, “I just remembered I’m needed in the kitchen today!” 

Immediately, he bows and scurries out, “I’ll see you later, Mr. Jeno!”

Then, he’s gone.

Nothing is left for Jeno again. This time, however, he doesn’t seem to mind. Rather, relishing in the way his innocent pool boy trips on his route, as Jeno bites his wet lip to contain his growing excitement. Things were interesting in the mansion for once. 

✵

Jaemin has done everything in his power (which wasn’t a lot for a pool boy against his own liege) to avoid Mr. Jeno. In his mind, he had decided to return professional around Mr. Jeno again, hoping it would lessen the spark of hope in his chest and remind him of their true status. Nothing but a master and his lowly servant. 

And pushing past anything from that, even thinking of anything beyond it, is just too intimate, too intoxicating for his taste. Jaemin can’t risk getting drunk from how his own boss looked deliciously sinful under the August heat, or how plump and full his ass looked against satin, neither how downright gorgeous he was in his bare glory. It’s all too much for a weak man like him. 

Jaemin could only clasp his hands and pray that next Sunday would come sooner. Mr. Jeno had claimed that his husband would return home that day, only a week late from his previous promise because of “emergencies.” 

Only six days left. Jaemin could do this. 

But with a minx like Jeno, undeviatingly tempting and cunning, it was expected that the poor boy wouldn’t stand a chance in the first place. He had roped him into his dance with his heart-tipped tail, eyes gleaming red as his horns and all with a sharp, indelicate smile on his face. And it’s only the beginning of hell on earth for Na Jaemin. 

“A bit hot today, no?” Jeno had pulled open his bedroom’s wooden doors. He prompts his elbow against its frame, palm slowly ruffling the back of his head with nothing but his long robe and boxers on. 

Jaemin’s whole system is set on fire. He tries not to look out the corner of his eyes, head fixated on cleaning, coal burning in his gullet, “Hm.”

Jeno chuckles at the sudden turn of the tables—Jaemin being tongue-tied for once, contradicting the over enthusiastic boy who greets him every morning without falter. Jeno takes a breath in and out, taking Jaemin’s timidness as more of a challenge than hard cold rejection, before tip-toeing towards him, hands innocently clasped behind him, “Have you ever swam here before, Jaemin?”

Something catches Jaemin’s breath, making his heart skip a beat and pang painfully against his chest. He flinches back at the sudden close of their distance, Jeno now right beside him with his head tilted slightly, stars dancing in his eyes and a crescent moon for lips, “Should we?”

“I really shouldn’t,” Jaemin stuttered, inching towards the opposite side so he could breathe better. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Jeno beamed through his moony eyes and Jaemin couldn’t say no even if he wanted to. 

Jeno reigns over him like a trance, pulls on his numb limbs like puppet strings, draws him in with his flaring hedonistic eyes. One minute, he’s got a net in his hands and a job to do, the next he’s in the same pool with no one other but his own boss—his very pretty and half-naked boss. Jeno didn’t bother changing into a swimming attire, simply trekking the stairs down in nothing but his satin shorts. 

Jaemin is grateful for the unsteady water, distorting the images of their neck below, but soon finds himself in an even more suffocating spot than before. His mind starts to wander into make-shift depiction of what Jeno’s thighs would look like underneath, the satin and lace flowing amidst the waters, the imprint of his bulge and the sinfully tempting accentuation of his cheeks, wet and plump, making Jaemin’s mouth run dry. 

He turns away from Jeno, splashing cold water into his face in a feeble attempt to bring his nerves to a lower and less fiery state. It works for a little while, only to be disrupted with a presence behind him, a chin on his shoulder and a whisper to his ear, “Don’t you wanna take it off, sweetheart?”

Jaemin, whose mind was deep in waves of silk and godless lace, now jumps and stutters altogether, cheeks fuming like strong and warm belches of shrieking exhaust pipes, “What?!”

“Your shirt,” Jeno innocently drifts his gaze to Jaemin’s covered torso. “It’s only us here. You don’t have to be so shy.”

Being shy doesn’t even begin to cover half of his reasons. He kept it on not only because of insecurity, but also out of respect for his boss. He wasn’t willing to risk being seen with a hard on now out of all times—what would Mr. Jeno think? He’d be disgusted, repel him to the point of firing and banning him from their property. Never able to lay an eye nor a foot near them ever again. Or, he’s being dramatic. But he’s not willing to risk that yet.

“I think,” Jaemin moves away with his hands still on his own arms, wrapping and shrinking himself in shame with a nervous, tight-lipped smile, “I’ll keep it on.”

Jeno pushes his lower lip out, putting on a pout that Jaemin is so inarguably weak to, “That’s no fun, Jaemin.”

Delicate, dainty fingers glide down Jaemin’s damp skin, starting from his shoulder to his arm, to his firm chest, all so teasing and evocative. His skin leaves a trail of sparks in its wake and being in water with Jeno half-naked, begging , just makes it worse. A warm flame sparks from his stomach and spreads throughout like a forest-fire, so devastatingly beautiful. 

It’s unfair how Jaemin has lost to him before they even started. He takes a gulp in, takes in the warm yet gentle grazes against him, takes in the sight of Jeno with wide, innocent eyes, an irresistible pout in his rosy lips, and finally yields in defeat once he hears him whisper, “It’s just us.”

Jaemin's entire system ignites into an inferno amidst the waters, body warmer than summer itself. And the one to blame is practically cheering to himself, his orbs gleaming like the sun in August and his smile curled in that mischievous way that Jaemin still can't quite comprehend. 

He finds himself liking it either way; how Jeno knows he's got him wrapped around his finger, how he uses it to his advantage each and every time, how he takes and takes so greedily with a sweet smile on. He knows Jaemin wants to give him the world and pluck the stars for him, wants to be used and discarded and treated like nothing but a little plaything for him to enjoy. He knows it all. And he wouldn’t think twice over indulging this cute, innocent pool boy of his. 

Grip trembling, lip bitten, Jaemin slides his wet shirt over himself. Jeno doesn’t bother hiding his staring, gaze locked and seemingly dazed on the rigid shifting of Jaemin’s lean arms. He hungrily eyes on his firm and broad chest, the evident protrusion of his Adam’s apple from his long, slender neck and the way his golden skin reflects against the spirited sapphire waters. 

“See? Nothing to be embarrassed over, sweetheart,” Jeno beams in utter innocence that drives Jaemin beyond insane; he makes his heart flip and his head swim. 

The water’s not as cold as it was anymore, now heating up in a way that Jaemin isn’t fond of and the last thing he wants is to stay another second here with him, but with Jeno across him, smile bright and welcoming, he makes it harder to leave. The steady waves surround Jaemin like an embrace, but without a hint of comfort or safety in it. Rather, a fuming tension, a push and pull, that has Jaemin sweating more than normal.

“I’m not embarrassed,” Jaemin whispers, half the truth, half a lie. He really wants the pool to open and swallow him whole, but the desire that nips on his chest overrides it more. Reigns over him like a devil on his shoulder, singing sweet nothings and planting seeds of delicious temptation into his ear. “I’m scared…”

Another truth, but not complete just yet. The words die down like withering tumbleweed in his desert of a throat. 

I’m scared that once I have a mere taste of you, I would no longer know what to do without it. Jaemin is terrified of losing himself, but more so when he loses Jeno in the process, too. The risks of it all: getting caught and losing his job, losing his time and chance with him. However, what he fears the most is that a bigger, louder part of him doesn’t mind being driven to the point of no return, sanity and everything else be damned. 

“Hey,” Jeno whispers, running the pad of his wet thumb across the sharp protrusion of his cheek, “It’s okay. We won’t do anything you don’t like, sweetheart.”

Jaemin has noticed long ago, he’d be a fool if he hadn’t. The lingering gazes, the way Jeno pranced and flaunted his captivating beauty with that sultry stare and purr–but Jaemin had all but brushed them off. After all, neither of those were an invitation or anything of the sort.

But when Jeno himself is toeing behind his own words, something unspoken and yet so loud and clear, Jaemin is more certain now than ever. His songs mean more than one thing, they always have been, with an intent to lure and take him in for himself till he’s the only humming sound in his mind. Jaemin’s voice comes out strangled, weak, and so vulnerable, “That’s not it…” 

Jeno’s interest is piqued once again. His concern melts, now intrigued with a wide smile threatening to pull around the corner of his lips, “What is it then?” 

The silence that overtakes them is more than welcomed to Jeno. As if he’s got all the time in the world, Jeno hums and twirls dreamily so. He rests his back against Jaemin’s bare chest, delicately taking his strong arms to wrap around himself, and if he thinks that it’s somehow better than being in his husband’s and in a mountain of fluffy sheets and silk, then that’s his problem to fathom later on—if it is even a problem to begin with. 

Jeno’s found comfort, warmth and home in a person he had least expected. All this time he was closer to him than he imagined and it’s all so perfect. He could feel Jaemin’s heartbeat against the blade of his shoulder. Loud and demanding and greedy–just how Jeno likes it. 

Jaemin, however, is stuck in a dilemma of his own. They shouldn’t be doing this, if this had a name at all. It’s far from what Jaemin’s family had taught him, completely disregarding his morals and dignity. This is wrong. There were no doubts, no but’s or excuses for it.

And yet Jeno stays close, too up and about in his space, the water between them dissipating, the heat rocketing higher. It’s more than wrong, but what’s happening below the still waves felt so right; Jaemin’s arousal is tight in his stringed shorts, as Jeno’s warmth pressed closer and closer into it, teasing like the devil.

What was Jaemin scared of then, when the devil himself was right there?

Jeno runs his palms across Jaemin’s veiny arms, pressing his skin with a hint of suggestion, a hint of encouragement that has Jaemin spilling everything before he could even think, “I’m scared that maybe I want this more than you do.”

Grinning, a content hum thrums in Jeno’s chest, reverberating against Jaemin’s in a way that has the latter keening, especially at the delighted praise, “Good boy.”

Jaemin nearly whimpers. He bites down on his lip, barely able to contain himself with his last shattered pieces of shame and dignity, “Jeno…”

How he called his name was barely a gasp. A speechless, edged gasp. Broken and hopeful and pathetic and even that Jeno finds it pleasing. He finally turns to him, his orbs just as wide and interested as Jaemin’s, but behind a more calm and collected veneer. Although, if Jaemin looks long enough, it’s clear in the bursting galaxies in Jeno’s eyes, that he wants this just as much as he does. It’s in the erratic pounding of his heart in his rib like an animal shrieking to be let out; a prey begging to be devoured.

“What is it you want then, Jaemin?” Jeno asks like the snake that had tempted Eve, low and wispy, and wraps around him till every last bit of his life is drained through his eyes.

It makes Jaemin’s head spin dizzy. Mind clouded with thousands of things he’d want to do once he lets him, once he has his hands on him and he’ll never let go; to rub and grind on his plump ass and cum like nothing but an inexperienced hormonal teen, to take his lips to his own and trail down his pale, inviting skin, to make a mess out of the perfectly sculpted and refined Jeno Suh. 

Jeno Suh. 

That thought alone is enough to haul Jaemin back to the harsh cold pavement of reality. With a sputter in his tongue, he pushes Jeno back, ears hot and disbelief storming in his chest, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this!”

Jaemin hikes himself out of the pool backwards, palms on the pebelled ground, heels ready to sprint when he feels a hand to his thigh, a tug on his arm. 

“And why not?” Jeno challenges. He inches closer until he’s got the poor boy’s legs trapped in between his arms, “I know I want this as much as you do, Jaemin. And now you do, too. So what’s stopping us now?”

Jaemin speaks before thinking, “Your husband.” He takes a gulp in once Jeno’s expression drops, but continues nonetheless, “This–this is wrong. I can’t do this. Not to you or—”

“Or to who?” Jeno scoffed in amusement, “To my cheating good for nothing husband?”

Jaemin freezes.  

“Is that it?” Jeno’s voice is sickeningly sweet, not the least bothered with the burning truth of it all. Jaemin’s answer is never spoken aloud and yet Jeno sounds like he’s heard it echo into his ears, a smile on his face and a nonchalant shrug, “Looks like we just don’t have to tell him then.”

Jeno rests his palms on Jaemin’s chest, feeling his speeding heartbeat, an unsaid assurance that he’s just as excited as he is. He lowers one down, smooth and slow, until it’s against his thigh again, his head resting on the other, his eyes big and bright with a low lilt in his tone, “He doesn’t have to know.”

Who is Jaemin to deny him of anything, really? He’s nothing but a mere servant, a pet for him to toss and order around, and even if that wasn’t the case–Jaemin still would’ve done everything for Jeno anyway. It’s unfair . And somehow, Jaemin likes it better that way.

It always has been like that, with how Jeno exudes both purity and wickedness altogether. It’s unfair how he yields his beauty like a weapon, soft and enticing with innocence that has Jaemin surrendering without a second thought. So painfully mischievous, cunning that it makes Jaemin’s heart bleed red, spilling on the floor with his deepest, darkest secrets. Jeno is there, mouth ready and open, to drink each drop up either way. 

Jaemin’s grip tightens around the edge of the pool and yet, he’s the one that breaks.

He gives him a taut nod.

It’s Pavlovian what Jeno does next. Slow, teasing fingers against his shorts, palm running and feeling him like he’s never done before. He takes his time. He likes to watch, delights in it even, from the way Jaemin goes rigid under his touch, tense and awkward, but nevertheless brimming with anticipation. Makes him feel wanted, loved. 

“You’re a cute one yourself, Jaemin,” Jeno starts off and the latter inwardly thanks the distraction, the lulling and sweet tone of his words, the warm but not baleful hand on him. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to hit on my husband.”

Jaemin flushes red, “I would never!”

A chuckle. Jeno lights up like the moon itself, crescent eyes and bright smile, “That’s assuring. Then, are you into men like me?”

Jeno’s gaze is enough to coax a nod out of Jaemin, as if it had casted a bewitching spell into him, makes him say and do the craziest things he’s only imagined before. The truth befalls from his lips with no rhyme or reason. 

“Pretty,” Jaemin breathes out, speechless.

The laugh that falls from Jeno is heavenly, like singing angels and jingling church bells. He’s in awe of Jaemin’s speechless and dazed state, enough to convince him that he’s got him on a tight leash now. 

Jeno hooks a finger around Jaemin’s waistband, still in his own insufferable pace. Each graze of his skin against his shorts has Jaemin flinching, a moment close to being burnt or electrocuted, and Jeno relishes with amusement.

Although, that small smile of his doesn’t last long. Once he has pulled Jaemin’s shorts down, his mirth crashes and builds into astonishment and, inevitably so, hunger. Jaemin has always been wrapped in loose clothes, appropriate for his job and the balmy weather, if not he’d be draped in oversized hoodies or tees. He’s got a fairly large build for his age, slightly above average from the glimpses he’s got of his arms and the prominent greatness of his chest. 

But this wasn’t what Jeno was expecting. His length bends beautifully to his stomach, with a protruding vein or two, long and thick enough that has Jeno’s mouth watering humiliatingly so. Beads of precum over its pinkish head and how Jeno wished that they had done this sooner. 

Jaemin’s face goes hot, “Jeno?” He tries to look for his eyes, he himself now doubtful from Jeno’s sudden pause, “Are you—ah!”

Jaemin is rudely interrupted with a warmth around his cock. Jeno’s mouth closes in on him, wet and soft and so, so welcoming, takes him in with nothing but moans and choked but pleasure filled groans.  

“Slow—” Jaemin panted, knuckles twitching and tears brimming from his hooded eyes, “–slow down, Jeno.”

His pleas come silent to Jeno’s ears. Jeno who’s busy sucking, nipping at his cock, wrapping his palms around what he couldn’t take, with an eagerness like no other. Spit drools over his chin and into the rough ground, but neither of them care any longer; only focused on the feeling of each other, of finally having Jaemin in him in some way, of Jeno’s rough teeth and tongue on him. 

Even the way his rosy lips stretched around him, the way he looked up at Jaemin with wide, expectant eyes, were beyond lewd. Jeno bobs his head with such passion and attention that Jaemin has no choice but to grip on his dark hair. Quivering fingers grasp tight on Jeno’s wet messy hair like they were the last thinning strands of his rationality. 

Jeno curls his tongue along the vein of Jaemin’s dick, swirls around his head and licks down his length. It’s all too much and not enough simultaneously. A rattly sound shoots out of Jaemin’s throat, high and shaken with the way his face tilts heavenwards, whimpering as if muttering a prayer when in truth what they were doing had nothing to do with God and everything to do with a certain, fiery ring in hell. 

“Jeno!” Jaemin cried, “Sir— please! ”

At that, Jeno leans deeper towards him till his air’s knocked out and he’s close to gagging. He hums in delight from that, from being filled and inciting pleasure, sending vibrations up Jaemin’s system like shock waves. 

Without warning, Jaemin came into Jeno’s mouth. Or most, as drops of cum dripped from Jeno’s lips and into the pool. That’s something future Jaemin will worry about.

Now, all he’s concerned over is the wet, swollen lips of Jeno, the tears from his eyes and their streaks down his pretty face, and more particularly, the heavy heaving of his red chest. Worry does pang in Jaemin’s chest, but not too long.

Because somehow, Jeno still finds it in himself to weakly smile, a delicately poised finger stroking against his cum stained lips, “Had fun, sweetheart?”

✵

Although Jaemin will never admit it, he did spend a little more time getting familiar with the mansion. The Italian villa was akin to a maze, at least to Jaemin, and he had every right to think so. Covering acres of land and touching the sky with its sunny stark bricks, the garden luscious and well attended to. The pool curves at one end, tiled steps leading towards clear, pristine waters and towering trees. 

At one side, Johnny and Jeno’s shared room stand with a pair of faded cobalt blue louvre doors, old and venerable, yet so perfect for Jeno, a timeless piece of home with stardusts in its bones from lifetimes ago. 

Despite being raised in a much humbler abode, Jaemin could still feel as if he belonged in here. A second home, in one way or another. This dangerous game of theirs, however, threatens to take that home away from him. Not only is his job on the line, but the family he had made within those warm archaic walls.

Jaemin will miss them, that’s an irrevocable fact. But what Jaemin doesn’t quite understand yet is that maybe, he’ll miss Jeno even more. Ironic, he muses, how he had been the one to pull him in this dance of theirs, he’s one of the reasons Jaemin would be out fending for himself outside once they’re caught, and yet not an even tiny ounce of anger or frustration settles in his heart. 

Jaemin will miss him most. 

“A picture would last longer,” Jeno offered indifferently. 

Yeah, he’ll definitely miss him most. 

Lathered in glistening sun screen, swimming attire on this time, a pair of shades over his nose. Jeno tilts his head towards the ogling Jaemin, moving his glasses down along with a quirk of his brow and in his lip. 

Jaemin squeaks. It really wasn’t his intention to gawk so openly. But the situation had made it impossible not to. Jeno laid over his sunchair again, a leg idly bent and tight swimming shorts on. He’d only do this in mornings, when the sun isn’t so harsh and unforgiving, before sauntering into his quarters for the rest of the day. 

Just like yesterday. 

Jaemin came without warning and Jeno was kind (or evil) enough to even ask if he had fun. Even kinder of him to reject Jaemin’s offer of something in return. He had politely raised a hand up, chuckled lightly, “No need.”

With that, Jeno walked out of the pool and into his room. Jaemin was left stunned.

That night, not a single guest was invited over to the Suh residence. And yet Jeno’s moans were louder, sweeter, as if being heard was exactly what he wanted. He triumphed in that, too, like in most things. Jaemin glowed red even to his sleep. 

Now, the day of rest and worship, Jaemin expects exactly that. His job doesn’t offer rest days, considering he lives in the mansion and what he does isn’t as hard as what the maids and butlers do. So his Sunday starts off like any other. 

Except, of course, with Jeno there to disrupt it with a teasing smile on his face, “Wanna go again, sweetheart?”

“ Again?! ” scandalized, Jaemin gaped. He could feel the heat crawling its way up to his face already.

“Swim,” Jeno easily supplied. “I wore something more appropriate now. What do you think?”

He thinks it’s less than appropriate, if Jaemin was being honest. He thinks it’s too much for his poor heart, his lust brewing stomach and leaden head. What more when Jeno started hiking a palm up against himself, as if he was feeling himself, exploring his own body like nobody else could see him, touching him in ways that Jaemin could only wish those were his hands instead. 

“They’re great,” Jaemin struggled to say. He turns to the pool again, picking up the fallen leaves and dust. He had to change the water yesterday, which wasn’t on the schedule and had the head housekeeper wondering, but Jaemin made sure to say nothing that could satiate her curiosity. 

What happened yesterday is their business, after all. 

And what will happen next is, too. 

“Jaemin, are you any good with your hands?”

“What?!” Jaemin shrieked yet again. 

“Calm down now,” Jeno laughed, “A good massage is all I need. What else were you thinking?”

“Oh.”

Jaemin nearly hits himself at how disappointed he sounded. 

But Jeno seemed pleased enough, the corner of his lip tugging upward, “But whatever it was, I’m sure I wouldn't be against it.”

Blushing, Jaemin averts his gaze to the already clean pool, but keeps throwing his net around either way to help ease his nerves, “Should we call your masseur then, Mr. Jeno?”

A pause. A painfully embarrassing one. Both a scoff and a laugh heaves out of Jeno, “My masseur?”

“The men that visit everyday,” Jaemin stammered out, cheeks aflame. He tries again, “Your masseurs?”

The extremely amused smile on Jeno’s face reaches his ears, “What did you think we were doing in there, Jaemin?”

In truth, masseurs really was his first guess when the first few men came in. Jeno’s pleasured moans and noises only supported his guess even more. But as days and nights passed by, his guess gradually turned into something else. Jaemin isn’t so sure though, settling on the safer, family friendly bet instead, “What else?” 

Jeno takes a moment, in complete and utter awe with a giggle, “You’re a cute one, aren’t you?” He rises from his seat, sauntering towards Jaemin with careful, elegant steps, like a minx in its kingdom with predatory eyes, running a finger from below Jaemin’s arm and upwards, “I like it.” 

He smiles up at him, loosely wrapping his arms around Jaemin’s neck, “I’d love to show you what we do sometime.”

Jaemin neither pulls an expression nor mutters a response. Jeno then retracts his hands away with a sweet and thoughtful smile, “Only if you want to, of course.” He makes a show of his palms, as if surrendering, and the line between them widens, “But for now, come swim with me again, sweetheart.”

For some reason that Jaemin still can’t quite understand, Jeno is able to pull both the best and worst out of him. Makes him want to keep his head straight, to impress, to strive amidst his menial job and studies, but also to just let everything go. He makes him want to throw all else away for once, to be free and take, to claim something– or someone –that isn’t his. He makes him greedy in all the most undignifying and yet greatest of ways. 

With his long legs, Jeno ambles towards the pool with an encouraging fold of his finger over his shoulder, easily pulling Jaemin in with him. Like a leash around his neck, Jaemin is quick to oblige; albeit queasy and nervous, the look of want and eagerness to please is clear in his eyes. 

Jeno dips a toe in the water, testing, and soon becomes one with it. The pool cradles him in a spine-chilling embrace, but nonetheless he stands still, gaze heavy and expectant on Jaemin who’s still standing outside.

“Off,” Jeno commands after raking his eyes up and down Jaemin’s lean figure. And it shouldn’t be as easy to do so, stripping in front of someone like their respected boss, of someone they fooled around with no strings attached. Yet Jaemin feels there is one too many of it, tied all over his system and each push-and-pull has him following either way. He slides his shirt over his frame and waits.

“Come here,” ordered Jeno. His voice is low, barely above a whisper, but still so commanding and graceful as ever. How Jeno does it, Jaemin will never know. He follows nonetheless.

Even with his shorts on, Jaemin feels bare. Seen too much to the point of eliciting embarrassment. Jeno has never bothered to hide his staring, he sure is likely not doing it today either, and he drinks Jaemin in like fine wine; keeps him long enough in his tongue, tasting, feeling, and waiting just how long till he’s filled with a strong urge to get more of him. He doesn’t have to wait long, in truth, with how Jaemin looks like Adonis himself, a body sculpted by gods and hair tufted by angels. He’s barely done anything and Jeno’s drunk off of him already. 

Now standing across him, Jaemin is more lax and calmer than yesterday. Jeno nearly preens at the improvement. Although, there is still a hint of rigidness in his shoulders and in how he carries himself with an unmatched confidence compared to Jeno. He feels tinier, drenched in shame and insecurities compared to him, that he nearly has Jeno cooing. 

“Have you ever fallen in love before, Jaemin?”

The question is too sudden for Jaemin’s liking. But this was Jeno after all, a man who’s too unpredictable for his own good. Always has been. Jaemin shakes his head.

Jeno sighs wistfully. He rests against a tiled wall, the back of his head idly against it with Jaemin now by his side, “I have. Once.”

A small, weak smile streaks across his sullen face, “To that so called husband of mine.” 

It falls quiet for a moment. Jaemin could hear the faint ripples of the water, the cool lulling of it in his ears, and his heart that’s induced with anticipation and, although he won’t admit it, pity. 

“Johnny was a good man,” Jeno looks down for once and at that moment, the Jeno Suh that looked so powerful and unfettered finally breaks. Jaemin adores him either way. Still does and always will. “They said we’d be perfect for each other. But this, they didn’t tell me this.”

Jeno’s eyes pierce through the water, staring at the ring wrapped around his finger, and was it beautiful. Silver and white against his skin, an eternal promise bound in brilliant stone, a pretty yet silly little thing now. Nothing but a grand front to their family and peers. 

“Arranged marriages rarely work,” Jeno murmurs, “I was a fool to think we’d somehow be an exception.”

It’s new to hear Jeno so unconfident in himself, as if he’s carrying the whole world on his shoulders instead of having it laid to his feet. But a part of Jaemin thinks he must’ve known before: how in everything else Jeno did, he was loud with his despair. He had openly longed for affection, for attention and love, and yet Jaemin and everyone else was blind to it all. 

Or did he simply refuse to see it? 

Jeno bitterly laughs, “But don’t get me wrong though. Even if he’s like this now, my husband was—”

Jaemin kisses him. 

Not rushed or tense, but rather languid and solemn. And they stay like that for a long, sweet moment. It’s nothing close to special, but to Jaemin, it’s everything to him. Everything his heart had truly desired ever since he could remember. 

The water stills, the whole world too, and it’s just them and no one else in those fleeting seconds. A moment so comparably close to the alignment of the moon and and stars and everything good. 

Jaemin is the first to pull away, bracing himself for what Jeno would say and do. His mind rushes with countless possibilities, from disgust and anger, to the worst case scenario: him being thrown right out and left on the street to rot. An expectant and hopeful look sits in Jaemin’s eyes. 

Jeno finally speaks, “Have you ever kissed anyone before, Jaemin?” 

Unpredictable as ever. It’s contagious, Jaemin muses. Flustered, he shakes his head. 

Jeno giggles at that, “I figured.”

If it was even possible, Jaemin blushed harder. It starts from the tips of his ears and down to his clavicle. Jeno finds him and his attempt adorable. Although the angle was awkward and the kiss was stock-still, it was enough to make him feel like he’s floating and his heart fluttering in appreciation. 

“Here,” he pulls Jaemin over and guides him through it. Jeno gently places Jaemin’s hand against his cheek and the other around his waist, “Let me show you, hm?” 

Jeno initiates first. He kisses Jaemin square on the lips and this time, he can feel and taste him better. Dry, chapped skin against his, the scent of mint and flavored toothpaste, mingling with Jeno’s sweet and soft lips. It’s what Jaemin exactly imagined kissing Jeno to be like, if not more, like biting into a citrus fruit, one that explodes on his mouth and tingles his tongue. 

Jeno looks just as sweet and lovely as he tastes. And oh, did Jaemin crave for more. 

“Open your mouth,” Jeno panted.

Jaemin is quick to comply. He takes Jeno in without hesitance, but with equal hunger and desire, his stomach churning in heat. The pool’s temperature rises tenfold and neither of them bother. Jeno’s too swept away in mapping Jaemin’s mouth with his own, running and swirling his tongue around his, pressing him impossibly closer into his skin with a burning warmth in between their bare bodies. They keep going until they’re sharing the same air in, until their movements start picking up a faster, cursory pace, until they’re groaning in both pleasure and frustration of not having enough. 

It’s all so raw and addicting. With nothing but carnal instincts moving, Jaemin’s hand drops to Jeno’s ass, giving it a squeeze that has him moaning into his mouth. Though the sound is muffled, nearly quiet, Jaemin deems it as music to his ears and does it again. 

At a distant part of Jeno’s head, a voice refuses to back down. He wraps his legs around Jaemin’s waist, letting the lack of gravity do its wonders, but he wraps his arms around his neck for good measure either way and is it a good excuse to just pull him closer. He’s never felt so complete this way before. Never felt this needy and needed.  

Jaemin’s back hits the cold wall; however, the shiver he does is not from it, but from the heated kiss of Jeno and how he pulls away in a trance with a string between them. 

Behind his hooded gaze, Jaemin’s eyes are bursting with stars as Jeno’s cheeks bloom with a dusty glow. Their chests are panting heavily against each other and it’s mind blowing to Jaemin how they lasted this long. Just them kissing the pain and doubts away from each other, a moment that only they could share, in complete awe of how they fit into one another like puzzle pieces. 

If anyone had walked in on them, turned the other way with a blind eye, Jaemin no longer cared. 

It’s their business after all.

✵

“Breakfast?” Jeno beamed at the first light of the morning. 

Jaemin had just opened the doors of his compact room, dressed in nothing but flip flops, a pair of shorts and a loose polo shirt. His eyes are wide from the unexpected greeting, not really anticipating to see Jeno first at such an early hour, and just like that, his routine goes crashing down. 

“Should I call the chef?” nervously, Jaemin offered. 

“No, silly!” Jeno giggled, so lovely and soft like the morning grass. “I meant, would you like to come join me for breakfast?”

Jaemin’s brain does a hard reset. “Me?”

Jeno leans in, hands innocently behind him with pleading eyes, “Who else?”

Jaemin’s life had always been boring. Mundane, repetitive—exactly what one would expect for a textbook goody-two-shoes’ life to be like. And he liked it that way. So what if he had never experienced such intimacy, found love and comfort in a person, or if he hadn’t felt his heart go into a frenzy over anything or anyone except for tests and terrifying professors. He felt comfort in normalcy anyway. 

Normalcy, however, seemed to have long left Jaemin’s vocabulary. So far out for him to reach now. He doesn’t know when it did, perhaps when he first entered third year college and met rowdy people he had never expected to be with (the freshmen Jisung and Chenle from the engineering department, the intimidating yet gold-hearted part time librarian Renjun, the crazy popular Donghyuck of music and arts, and his boyfriend, the foreign student from Canada, Mark, who he shares a class with). Or when he first saw the job application for the Suh residence, thinking it would be like any tedious job out there, and he stepped in without thinking twice. Perhaps it’s the latter. It has to be.

College really wasn’t what he was expecting it to be, but the surprise was given to him in a rather good way. He met so many people he now holds close to his heart. Everything was well. But then his little sister finally started highschool and Jaemin, good and perfect son Jaemin, volunteered to help with the expenses by looking for a job. He had asked around campus, tried a few shifts here and there, been thrown around left and right, until he met a second year with an offer. 

A pool boy. At the same mansion that Jaemin sees whenever he walks back to his dorm. He had always stared at it a little longer than necessary, eyes gleaming with hope and wonder along with a pocket full of dreams. A dream that he’d one day have something similar in his grasp, a grand home for he and his family to live in, to have dinner without bumping elbows and with a ton of space for his sister to dance and prance around in. 

A phone call and an interview later, Jaemin finds himself in that same mansion he had wished upon. Although not exactly his, it was still something. They were nice to let him have a room for himself and patient enough to put up with his rookie mistakes when he first started. Now, he had created a routine for him and that gigantic pool of theirs. 

Currently though, he’s sure this wasn’t in his list of things to do today. To have breakfast with his boss and also the man he’s secretly been crushing on. The man he had kissed and fooled around with. Where did sweet, innocent and goody-two-shoe Jaemin go?

“We should do this more often, don’t you think?” Jeno asked with a smile. His arm is raised with a forkful of pancakes, elbows on the lily-white table cloth, his legs gracefully crossed under it. 

Jaemin can’t do anything but hum. There really isn’t much to say to someone like Jeno, who’s been built with nothing but elegance and art. Even sitting in such an open area, the grass below his bare feet, in nothing but a silk robe and shorts, he’s still beautiful. A man sculpted in perfection. Only the table stands between them but no matter how far or near he may be, Jaemin has him close to his heart. 

Although, he can’t say if Jeno could say the same.

“Johnny and I used to spend our mornings like this,” Jeno picks another strawberry from the antique porcelain plates. He observes it in between his dainty fingers, crimson red against his hazel eyes, irises swirling with fascination and with a nostalgic chuckle he says, “I used to scold him over his sweet tooth. Chocolate fondue for every breakfast really didn’t seem like his greatest idea. But we went and did it every time anyway.”

Jeno dips the strawberry into the creamy fondue, its half now coated in smooth, irresistible chocolate. His eyes lock in with Jaemin, creating an unforeseen tension without uttering another word further, only him and a plump fruit in between his pink lips, teeth digging into its sour flesh. 

It’s criminal how he looks at Jaemin with his widely innocent, unwavering eyes, how his lips stretch around its scarlet color, sucking on the fruit like it was anything but. Jaemin clutches onto the  table cloth for his dear life. 

A drop of chocolate slides down his milky skin, creating a perfectly delicious contrast that has Jaemin going hungry over something that is no longer pancakes nor fondue. It drips onto his wrinkled white shirt. Jeno feigns his surprise, like the teasing vixen he is, gasping, “What a mess.”

A mess. That’s exactly what Jaemin wants him to be. A disheveled, panting mess under him. Coated in sweat and pleasure instead of his husband’s shirt and bittersweet memories of chocolate fondue. 

Jeno seems to know this fact better than him. Because then he starts licking on his thumb, on the remnants of chocolate and the strawberry’s lingering taste across his long, pretty fingers. He scoops the drip off his shirt, puts in his mouth all while staring directly into Jaemin, eyes twinkling with mirth and challenge. 

When Jeno finally drops his gaze to his shirt, Jaemin had thought it was the end of his suffering. Little did he know it was only the beginning. 

“This is no good,” Jeno hummed. “I should bring this to the maids, no?”

It’s a fairly small stain, but that little spot sticks out like a sore thumb amidst the crinkled waves of his—Johnny’s—bright shirt. Jaemin was about to make a sound of agreement when suddenly, Jeno started unbuttoning his shirt. 

“What are you doing?!” Jaemin squealed. 

Jeno, who knows exactly what he’s doing, plays innocent, “Taking it to the cleaners?” 

“I’ll do it!” Jaemin blurted. “Later, I mean! Not now!”

“Oh?” Jeno stops at the third button and his shirt opens to the sight of white, pearly skin, hollow collarbones and a prominent line running in the middle of his firm chest. “Why should you do it?”

“‘Cause it’s my job!” Jaemin stammered out, a squeak in his voice. 

Jeno barks out a laugh, “You’re a pool boy, sweetheart. It isn’t your job to take my clothes to the cleaners, is it?” 

Without waiting for an answer, Jeno’s hand slips to unclip another. Jaemin’s hand tightens harder around the sheet. Jeno notices it, hard not to, and he smirks in delight.

“Tell me exactly why you don’t want me to,” Jeno prompts his cheek against his fist, shirt hanging distractingly low, “And maybe I’ll consider.”

Oh, is Jeno mean. Jaemin couldn’t breathe around the lump in his throat, couldn’t speak or move, like Jeno has him pinned to the ground, gagged and tied with only that powerfully warmly apprehensive gaze of his. 

“I’m waiting, sweetheart,” Jeno says in a sing-song manner. He isn’t one to ask for things, neither is he one to vocally express what he wants and longs for, but to Jaemin, it changes. It’s nearly comical. 

Jeno hikes the tip of his foot against Jaemin’s leg, going higher, lower, with a slow, teasing pace. Jaemin stills from the movement. He grabs the cloth like it’s his losing sanity, but it could only do so much against Jeno. The devious, conniving Jeno who’s got everything to give and nothing to lose. 

And give is exactly what he does. Gives Jaemin an even harder time to breathe, an igniting spark deep in his stomach, and a tingling feeling racking through his veins. He moves and moves until he reaches his inner thigh, close to dangerous territory and yet he tip-toes with such ease, so ambitious and adamant in getting something for once. 

The truth is all he needs. But Jaemin says nothing. He rises from his chair, turning away, “I appreciate the breakfast, Mr. Jeno. But please, excuse me. I have work to do.”

Jeno has never gotten what he wants. Although this time, he doesn’t seem to mind anymore. He’s pleased in watching Jaemin walking away, delighted in the awkward shuffling of his feet, and nearly moaned at the thrill and endless possibilities he could play out with it all. 

✵

Jaemin likes to think he’s a patient man. He had gone through highschool and soon college without experiencing a higher, more passionate level of intimacy. In short: he’s never had sex. A complete and utter virgin. Not really something to be proud of to people close his age, but he takes pride in it anyway. 

He’s that hopeless romantic, waiting for the perfect one to do something so special, something so sacred and loving, to share that sweet, magical moment with. He’s patient. And he took pride in that, too. 

Whenever Renjun’s shift was running late, he’d sit and wait for him anyway. When Chenle and Jisung were being too much, typical freshmen and their crazy ideas, Jaemin kept quiet and never snapped at them even once. When Donghyuck needed help with his projects, ever the strict perfectionist he is, Jaemin and Mark had to take his temper and oblige down to even the tiniest of details. When Mark took too long to decide on which outfit was better for a party and Jaemin was the designated driver, he stuck around with a smile and encouraged him on. 

Jaemin is and always has been patient. At least, he thought he was. 

“Do you think Johnny would like this?” Jeno probed, eyes trained on his figure against his bedroom’s large mirror. He twirls slightly, showing off his legs and pulling the skirt higher, giving Jaemin a closer yet barely enough view. 

Jaemin gulps. He’s tempted to lie just to get this over with. But Jaemin also likes to think he’s an honest man. Although he likes to hide the truth from Jeno, with his either vague or lack of answers, he still can’t find it in himself to deny his ethereal beauty. 

“Mhm,” Jaemin strategically turned away. 

Jeno notices, he always does, and pushes a glossy lip out with a whine, “Jaemin!”

Jeno has never been the type to demand for attention either, since he knows well enough that he doesn’t have the need to. He draws people in like moths to a flame. Brings them closer with his alluring eyes and low lovely voice. He’s gentle, elegant, as if royal blue ran through his veins and he’s a gift of the gods. 

But they both thought wrong today. Jeno’s being a spoiled little brat and Jaemin’s patience is running thin. 

“He’ll love it,” Jaemin bellowed through gritted teeth. 

Jeno does a cute twirl again. The black sheer fabric flutters around his thighs and it hides nothing from Jaemin’s hungry gaze; his soft, creamy skin, the shadows of the translucent cloth and the subtle lines of his thighs, even down to his lush ample cheeks. 

It’s all lace and Jaemin’s fucking lucid. The skirt was already short enough as it was, the flower patterns of lace high around his waist, and rides up even in the smallest of movements along with his cropped see-through blouse. Woven from humanity’s communal bond of lust and desire with beautiful strings that beckon Jaemin to come and tear them apart. 

Something stirs deep in Jaemin’s stomach at the sight. But then it twists into something brutal, dark, and far too greedy. 

“Hm, Johnny likes pink on me better though,” Jeno loudly pondered. 

Jaemin’s certain his soul had been to heaven and back. Jeno speaks everything that’s on his mind, a stark contrast to when Jaemin first entered here, and he could only wish that was the case again. Because then, Jaemin wouldn’t have to stand and take everything, every little whim that falls from Jeno’s lips, every piece of diaphanous lingerie he tries on, every innocently lovely smile that has him reeling. 

And, perhaps the worst one yet, every mention of his husband from the roll of his tongue. Johnny this, Johnny that, Jaemin has always been patient, selfless and kind, but it appears that Jeno has made it his lifelong goal to constantly prove him wrong these days. 

“Jaemin, sweetheart, could you give me a hand here?” 

Jaemin escapes one trance and he falls right back into another. Somewhere deeper, riskier, with thick clouds of smoke that blur out his last remaining pieces of his cognition. His feet move on their own accord, tapping across the floor board, and leads him to Jeno’s broad back. 

In a hazy state of mind, Jaemin reaches his hand out to clasp the metal hooks. Jeno watches him through the mirror. Careful and keen. Jaemin starts with quavering fingers, taking in the cold feeling of silver against his skin, listening to his own breathing, and ends with his hands back to his side, as if not knowing what to do with them. 

“What do you think?” the smile on Jeno’s face is devious. The perfect image of innocence and yet behind his beam, he holds sharp teeth that ache to bite and tease, owns a tamed flame of mischief and playfulness that he could relinquish any moment he likes. 

He really is a mystery; easy to please, hard to figure out yet even harder to be at the end of his blustering impulsiveness. Jaemin forces out a nod, trailing off, “It’s lovely.”

Even that is an understatement, does no justice to how Jeno actually looks. He looks stunning under all that pink lace and its beautifully frilly top, a tulle robe running down his legs and its tiny skirt exquisitely wrapped around his slim waist. The color looks even better on him, shrouds around him like a garden of flowers and blushing mesh.

Jeno twinkles at the praise, but it’s far from enough. It’s that overbearing eagerness that he isn’t quite familiar with yet. This is new even to him. He had always been warned not to fly too close to the sun or else he’ll be in ruins. But that’s exactly what he wants. 

Jeno wants to touch the bright, pure sun that is Jaemin, and watch his true beastly, merciless nature in the closest way possible. He wants to feel his warmth against his skin, his scorching anger and vexation pressing into him like a brand, and to go down in flames because of it. He wants all of him. 

And if he needs to do things he’s never even thought of before, then so be it. 

Jeno’s back shifts gracefully, the robe falling from his shoulders and below his blunt blades. There’s a myth that says these blades are the remnants of our angel wings when heaven was still our home. Jaemin never believed it, but seeing Jeno now, more angelic even without soft, paper-white feathers fluttering behind him, he starts to believe there is a god somewhere out there, blessing him with such an unworldly beauty like him. 

With Jeno dressed in pink, neither the purity of heavenly white nor the burning red of the buried inferno, Jaemin thinks that maybe he is an ethereal incarnate of both. Glowing like a radiant halo, an envoy of divine power and truth, but also so magically malevolent and dangerous with his twisted grin and baleful gaze. Jemin has been told to be wary of demons, to praise angels, but when a fuse of both comes offering its hand to play an either ravenous or chaste game with him, he’s left with nothing but himself to pray for. 

“What do you think, Jaemin?” Jeno asks again, breathless, heart running with anticipation. 

Jaemin’s heart rings in his ears. Beats and works like a train engine, loud and warm, races around his mind with no brakes or a direct route. It’s all a jumbled mess and Jaemin really should go before he says something he might regret later on. 

But Jeno gapes at him through the full-length mirror, waits so patiently and politely that he makes it hard to say anything remotely close to a lie. Jaemin’s mind wanders deeper until Jeno’s grabbing his hands behind him. He holds Jaemin’s arms and wraps them around himself. He lays it low around waist with Jaemin’s heat of arousal against his ass. 

Jeno’s back touches Jaemin’s chest again and they’ve only done this twice, but he’s drunk off of the feeling of his warmth already. Jaemin really is just so perilously addicting; the worst part is he’s so painfully oblivious to it. Jeno doesn’t mind though; he’d love to show him just how sickeningly intoxicating he is. 

“You sure are taking your time, hm?” Jeno chuckled sweetly. 

“You’re beautiful, Jeno,” Jaemin finally manages out. “You’re the prettiest angel I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

Jeno is in a state of utter euphoria. He grins up at his reflection, runs his palm on Jaemin’s cheek and rests his head on the other side of his face, “You really think so?”

The bewildering scent of floral hints and fruity wisps tenderly graze Jaemin’s senses. Soft, cotton lace against his fingertips and snow white skin. Unconsciously, he pulls Jeno closer, a sliver of greed coursing through his veins. From that action alone, Jeno delicately tilts his head to the side and smiles against Jaemin’s jaw, “A charmer, aren’t you?”

Jeno kisses the junction between his neck and jaw. With a soft, gentle peck on Jaemin’s skin, Jeno sends him into a sensual state of intoxication, leaving him shivering at the press of his bated breath against his throat. His cloying fragrance hovers around him and has him pinned in place. 

Fuck. Jaemin can’t even think straight with how good he smelled, how close he is, how his barely clothed ass feels against the growing tent of pants. He stutters through his daze, “Jeno…”

Then he’s gone. 

Jeno slips from his arms like he was never there to begin with, ambling towards his mirror with a behaved smile, “My husband would love it then!”

Jaemin nearly ripped his own hair at the spot. He doesn’t though, gladly, and decides to simply nod and leave. Jeno grins to himself in silent triumph.

✵

Mr. Johnny will finally be coming home tomorrow. Much to Jeno’s chagrin and not to anyone else’s, really. He makes it known to everyone. 

Jaemin had pushed his disappointment into the back of his head. Has no time in sulking over the bitter taste in his tongue and just swallows it down. Because of this, his emotions come tangling over one another, nothing can be pinpointed nor labeled from how much is laid ahead of him today. 

Jeno had ordered everyone to turn the mansion upside down and make it impossibly spotless. Jaemin, who didn’t do much with the pool, had decided to lend a hand out. Dressed in his tank top and khaki shorts, he moved the dusty boxes out, rearranged the furniture per Jeno’s request, and carried trash bags out the gate. 

The maids worked to their bones. The personal chef, exhausted from the feast that Jeno ordered him to make in preparation for Johnny’s arrival tomorrow. An array of both Korean and Western food stored in tupperwares, shoved into the fridge for later, and the dining room underwent a rather adequate make over. 

It really isn’t how Jaemin expected his Saturday to go and it was a surprise to all of them, too. Everyone knew what Mr. Johnny was up to at his usual business trips and his late night phone calls for even a blind man would know. Which is why when Jeno awoke them with a “general cleaning” for his cheating bastard of a husband, they were all hesitant to oblige. The look on Jeno’s face was nowhere near joking though and soon, they all scrambled to their feet. 

The sun is now out and about, glaring, with everyone below at its mercy. The maids have long changed into a lighter attire with their work now nearly done. Jaemin’s tank top is drenched from the back and a thin layer of sweat glistens his golden body. He runs a hand through his messy hair and straightens out his posture with a sigh. 

“Drinks, anyone?” Jeno came chirping in, a tray of iced cool lemonade on hand. The maids immediately come flocking towards him with a grateful beam. They start passing out the tall glasses with fun straws as Jaemin stays seated on a box full of soon to be donated books, watching the scene unfold before his very eyes. 

The tray is then placed on the garden table with a satisfying clinking of ice against glass. Jeno slips past the crowd with a perspiring cup in hand, a smile on his lips and inevitably, a trick or two up his sleeve. His loose summer day robe flutters around his dainty bare feet, a pair of shorts and neatly buttoned polo underneath, and Jaemin thinks it’s a new yet chic look on him. 

Not exactly something they’re both used to. A far cry from his usual shirtless stature, either low boxers or hellish lace around his waist, and his silk robes. The maids have grown accustomed to his usual bare look anyway, so he’s certain they’re all wondering what’s gotten into their boss today. Perhaps it’s because of his husband’s arrival for tomorrow, or he’s really got a screw loose now from the gravity of his situation—who knows?

Jeno now stands across him, pushing the glass towards him, “Here, drink up.”

The lemonade’s salutary sunny glow beams through Jeno’s fingers, a striped bendy straw and a tiny umbrella within its rim. Jaemin, albeit skeptic, reaches a hand out. The glass never touches his palm though and slips through both of their grips. 

Freezing cold lemonade pours into Jaemin’s shirt and shorts. Jaemin yelps and abruptly rises from his seat but the drink is quick to seep through the fabric and sticks against his already sweaty skin. Jeno gasps, “I’m so sorry!”

A maid comes rushing up to them with a napkin, which Jeno takes and dabs into the damp spots, “I really am sorry, Jaemin! Here, let me help!”

Then, Jeno kneels. He fucking kneels.  

Jaemin nearly screamed. He immediately backs away from Jeno and he could see the bigger picture better of pretty, picture perfect Jeno on his knees, his robe loosely dangling from his shoulders like he’s ready for him, and his mind goes to places it shouldn’t. 

“I—I’ll just change. Thanks,” Jaemin fumbled, face hot and sweaty that the summer heat has no longer played a part on. He dashes out. 

Jaemin’s feet pitter patters against the wooden floors and into the bathroom tiles. It’s a shower and lavatory intended for their employees, a smaller yet nonetheless gorgeous copy of Johnny and Jeno’s. Its sky hue walls have somehow brought comfort into Jaemin, easy on the eyes and adamant to its 1930’s style space. 

Today, however, it does nothing to calm his nerves. Jaemin’s breathing goes heavier at each second. He leans over the sink and looks straight into the antique framed mirror, a tint of pink across his cheeks, sweat and lemonade dripping all over his body. 

His heart paces in his ears and won’t stop no matter what he does. Jaemin clutches it over his chest in a feeble attempt. In that spur of the moment, everything comes sinking into him. 

This is nothing but a game to Jeno. The likes of him play with fire as if it’s another Saturday for them, parading around their lover’s home with teeth marks and heavy cologne, twisting people around their fingertips like a coin; something they cherish from time to time, but holds no greater significance into their lives. 

Jaemin is no one to Jeno Suh. He’s nothing but a plaything to pass the time. Now that his husband’s coming home, Jaemin is thrown to the side like nothing ever happened between them. As if he didn’t just give his first kiss, something he had cherished and saved for so long, to a cruel and deceitful man. As if the sparks were only one-sided, an unrequited feeling of admiration and fondness, now something stepped on and thrashed. 

Jaemin’s heart breaks into a million pieces and there’s nothing else to it. He’s left to pick up the pieces himself for it was his fault to begin with. He never should’ve tried to even look into Jeno’s way, never should’ve stepped into this hellhole and got caught up into this mess. 

Shards and bits of his heart come to prick his calloused hands and he takes it because he knows he deserves it. For forgetting the line between him and his own. A man who’s married, tied and bound to another, and a man who shifts between his halo and devilish silver tongue like he was changing clothes. 

This should’ve been a day of celebration from being free of the shackles of Jeno’s heartless game. And yet, the ghost of lust eats him up and clasps its sharp jaws into him. After everything he’s done to him, it’s pathetic how he still can’t stop thinking about him.

A clearer image of Jeno splays behind the lids of his eyes and it’s concerning how he gets all the details right, down to the mole under his eye, his comely cupid’s bow, his decently long and fair lashes, his ruffled brown locks, to the lines of his muscles across his pale skin. Jeno laid on the silk sheets just for him, panting with a heavy blush on his cheeks, begging breathlessly at him for once. 

Jaemin’s eyes snap open. His grip on the tiled sink nearly breaks a pair. He gasps and stumbles backwards. It’s getting even warmer now, the lemonade dry and his sweat now one with his body. He hastily pulls his shirt over his frame as he tries not to think about Jeno or lace or silk sheets or sinfully captivating moans. 

Teeth caught between his lips, Jaemin turns the faucet on and cups the warm water. He bends and swiftly washes his face, over and over, until he could no longer feel the sun in his cheeks or the erratic pounding of his heart. Water drips down his face and onto his body, trailing over the firm mounds of his chest and through the shallow lines of his abdomen. The lemonade over his shorts is still there, although somewhat drier now. 

But the fact remains that he looks like a hot mess. Jeno to blame. He pushes his hair back again, the faded blue strands easily following from heavy sweat and water off his fingertips. 

Throwing his damp shirt over his shoulder, Jaemin leaves the bathroom with his sanity still thankfully intact. Although he fears it won’t last long. He scampers towards his quarters, hoping Jeno won’t notice him walk through the Italian columned entryway, but even that seems to be a long shot. 

He tries either way. Jaemin beelines to his room, grabs a clean pair of clothes, and practically darts back to the bathroom. The door closes shut behind him and only then does he heave a relieved sigh. 

The shower pours over him as something akin to a warm summer rain. And although Jaemin would love to stay longer, thinking he’s safe in here, he hastens his pace. He had a job to do after all and those semester fees won’t pay themselves. 

Now in ripped denim jeans and a white loose-fitting button down, Jaemin steps out of the bathroom. He repeatedly runs his towel over his damp hair, ambling out with careful steps and a slower, steadier heartbeat this time. There’s a certain ravenette he’s trying to avoid and if he could skip back into his job without being noticed again (or being poured with ice cold lemonade), that’ll be much appreciated. 

Jaemin stops short. The lawn is now empty; heavy boxes, maids, butlers, and anything or anyone else gone. The lack of trace of dust or labeled cartons tell him that they have long disappeared, much to Jaemin’s confusion. 

“I gave them the rest of the day off,” a voice rang from behind him, a voice that has always been there, exactly where Jaemin is used to. He could hear the smile in his tone, “You’re free to join them if you want.”

That is the question, isn’t it? What does Jaemin want? 

He wants to do his job with dignity, to come home with money he had earned through hard work and a face he could show to his family with respect and pride, to finish off the semester and finally graduate, meet a lady he likes and marry her and give her a moment so special and memorable. That was the plan. 

Before Jeno came sauntering into his life with barely anything on, robes fluttering through the crisp summer breeze behind him, and he had been nothing but hellbent on driving Jaemin to the wall with his cloy smiles and knowing gazes. He’s shaped him into something unrecognizable, carved him into something so selfish and sinister under his warm, grazing touches. 

That’s what he likes to think; Jeno had pulled his strings and made him think and do unspeakable things. When in truth Jeno did nothing but show him how much of a greedy, immoral man he really is, brought out the worst in him that has always been there, sitting and waiting for the perfect muse to come. And it just so happened to be him, Jeno Suh, once happily married and still bound to another man that isn’t him, more capable and dashing than him, and yet he had chosen him.

Perhaps it’s luck, perhaps it’s fate. But that was the least of Jaemin’s concerns now. Because now, he’s being asked what he really wants and he could feel something deep and maniacal stir around the heating pit of his stomach. There’s a string inside of him, pulled so unimaginably taut, so close to snapping that it hurts. Jaemin’s throat runs dry. 

Jeno leans against the threshold with his hands in his shorts’ pockets, one leg idly over the other, and it’s like everything’s aligned itself up just for this. The universe is finally at his side for once and oh, does it feel good. 

Jaemin turns to him, head slightly tipped upwards. It has always been like this too. Him standing and watching from afar, chin up for Jeno had always been towering over him from the elevated floor of his room, too high and far up for him to reach. He was like a dream—and like most of his dreams, a man like Jaemin could never have them.

Now, however, Jaemin looks at him straight into his eyes and he finds that maybe, he doesn’t mind this. Doesn’t mind this eminent difference of power between them. For a man like Jaemin, who’s been chained to rules and society’s values, perhaps Jeno, a man who has thrown caution into the wind, free from everything else, is exactly who he needs. 

“Did you,” Jaemin pauses, a little breathless, “Did you plan this?”

Jeno's whole face lights up. He’s got that all too familiar twinkle in his eye and it’s all starting to come back to Jaemin. This is the Jeno he knows, the Jeno he’s been with for the past week, and the Jeno he’s still undeniably pining over despite it all. 

“Why don’t you come over here and find out, hm?” 

There’s no doubt about it this time. Jeno is exactly who Jaemin wants and needs. 

It’s a blur how Jaemin managed to cross their distance, how they ended up behind locked doors and swimming in the dim light of Jeno and Johnny’s room, and neither of them find any shame in it. 

Jaemin stills with the door behind him and watches. He gingerly takes in the sight of Jeno’s robe falling around him like a curtain, dropping to the ground with a faint sound and yet it resonates loudly in Jaemin’s ears. It’s almost surreal. 

Jeno smiles at him, all crescent eyes and innocent facade, “Won’t you help me, sweetheart?”

Jaemin would pluck every star from the sky if he asks. It really has been that simple, hasn’t it? How Jaemin would drop everything just for him. To hell if he wouldn’t do the same. 

Cold, chary hands reach up to the first clasped button. Jaemin’s hand trembles so slightly, almost unrecognizable, but even that doesn’t go unnoticed from Jeno’s keen yet mirthful gaze. Jaemin was close to frozen, in an intersection between astonishment and excitement, but the slow show of skin inch by inch, and each second, minute, hour and day was worth it all for this very moment. 

Soon, Jaemin reaches the last button and his hands fall to his sides again. He knows exactly what his place is and did Jeno take pride in it. Power really wasn’t something he thought he’d get addicted to, but it felt too good to even ponder over or remotely let go. Something he now craves to no end. 

Everything flows through so naturally, like they’ve done this ever since heaven and earth were made. Jaemin so pliant and patient, Jeno so thoughtful and caring; perfection molded into two. And soon, a complete, long-awaited whole.

Jaemin slides the shirt down to the floor, letting it join the discarded robe and now, he feels too overdressed. Jeno reads him like an open book and runs a finger down his chest, stopping right at the waist band of his pants, “Off.”

They both take their sweet time, but Jaemin could only hold back so much. Jeno bore his eyes into the wide expanse of his chest, firm fields of gold and evident lines of his protruding muscles. The fruit of his hard work now offered to Jeno for the taking. He licks his lips at the sight. 

“On the bed,” Jeno orders. Even he’s a little out of breath and Jaemin had almost keened from the sound, but a part of him says that he doesn’t have the right to just yet. 

Jaemin is gently pushed onto the bed and he tilts his head back again to let their gazes meet. Jeno cusps his cheek so gently, so full of care and a gaze that practically gleams at just how much he has in store for him. His eyes have always been tremendously telling, but it’s never always in match with the words he says or the actions he does. It’s what made him so hard to figure out. 

And in a moment like this, where there’s nothing but honesty and vulnerability, Jaemin thinks that maybe he can see him under a better light this time, find out what he really wants—because, coincidentally so, that’s all what Jaemin wants.

“Be good, hm?” Jeno says it without room for argument but makes it sound so sweet like amber honey. “And maybe then I’ll let you fuck me.”

Pretty words often sound better around pretty mouths, but Jeno manages to make everything he says sound like a choir of angels and harps. He straddles Jaemin’s lap and he sits right in like it was made for him. 

Jaemin’s head starts to spin dizzy, “Mhm.”

Suddenly, Jeno grabs him by the jaw, smile unfaltering, “Use your words, sweetheart.”

Jaemin eagerly nods, “Yes, Jeno.”

Jeno coos, “Good. Now, can you lay down for me?”

Jaemin does just that. His back hits the mattress with a soft thump, smooth silk against his bare skin, and sends a cold shudder up his spine. Jeno hikes his hand up his chest, touching everything he can and leaves a warm trail at his wake. At every run of his palm, every press of his finger into his frame, the fire in Jaemin’s system grows larger and larger. A forest-fire so quick and unsparing. 

But before it starts to eat him from inside out, Jeno finally leans in and starts peppering kisses from his cheek below. He starts off with the sharp protrusion of his face, down to the sides of his neck and to his chest, where he takes most of his time with. A shock of electricity sparks into Jaemin’s nerves each time. And it only goes downhill from there. 

Jeno’s legs sit at each side of Jaemin’s frame, his ass up and perked as he refuses to let any inch of his skin unmarked. Jaemin really shouldn’t have seen him in lace, because then that’s all he could think about: unabashedly imagining Jeno in them, nothing to hide and everything to offer with strips of translucent pink adorning his porcelain body. 

“You’re so pretty like this, sweetheart,” Jeno breathes out. He had pulled away, a finger running across his lower lip like licking up dessert, when in truth they’re far, far from over. He sits his ass over Jaemin’s arousal, grinding slightly, teasing, “You should see yourself.”

Jaemin whimpers, “Jeno, please…”

“You like it that much, hm?” Jeno giggled, hands still roaming around his torso. “Give me a minute to think about it, sweetheart.”

A tease. That’s all he is. So sly and devious that Jaemin wonders how he had managed to come this far. Jeno keeps innocently rubbing against him, grazing their erections together ever so slightly, but not, never will be, close to enough. 

“How about this,” Jeno offers a proposition and Jaemin just hopes he’d be able to understand despite his delirious state. “You make me feel good and I’ll decide from there. What do you think?”

Jaemin nods, “I’ll be good, Jeno. I promise.” His voice broken, desperate, and it sounds more like he’s convincing himself, “I’ll be good…” 

Jeno beams, “You can touch me now, sweetheart.”

Like being given a divine once in a lifetime opportunity, Jaemin reaches his hand out so slowly, disbelief and admiration flashing before his hazy eyes. He grabs his waist and grazes soft, warm skin and he relishes in the way they go so well with each other. Gold and silver look even prettier together, Jaemin muses. 

His rough, calloused palms streak across smooth, pale skin and did they revel in the electrifying sensation of it all. Jeno doesn’t whine just yet, not when Jaemin doesn’t deserve it. And it seems like Jaemin notices through his daze, promptly switching their positions over till Jeno’s spread on the bed. 

It’s even better than Jaemin imagined; Jeno splayed all over the sheets just for him, his hair fanned out like a halo, but instead of a panting, blushing mess, he’s got this unyielding look of mirth in his face. Jaemin will be more than glad to wipe that smirk off his face. 

“Don’t cum just yet,” Jeno snickered after his eyes had flitted from Jaemin’s near painful erection. 

Only Jeno could turn such a sweet moment into some sort of wicked competition. It’s so downright mean and everything Jaemin could ever ask for. Jeno toeing around dangerous territory, walking along the thin line of Jaemin’s patience and frustration, cheerily waiting when it’ll snap and break once and for all. 

He’s so close. So, so close. Jaemin abruptly leans in, catching Jeno’s lips in his, and the quiet sound of his moans finally fill in the air. He hikes a hand up and presses the pad of his thumb against a perked nipple. Jeno gasps into the kiss. 

Sensitive, Jaemin notes. He leans in again and rubs it harder under his finger, pinching and pushing, until Jeno’s hands are on his hair. With a barely stifled whimper, Jeno tugs on Jaemin’s light blue hair, pulling just enough for their lips to part with a tasteful string between them, “Wait a little, hm?”

All Jaemin ever did was wait. He had thought he could, be that good and patient boy for him, but Jeno’s the one making it harder to do so. Not when he’s under him as a panting and beautifully tempting mess. With no other choice, Jaemin gives an obedient nod.

Jeno smiles with his eyes again before shifting slightly. He prompts an elbow up, his other arm reaching out to pull a drawer from the nightstand, and he roots out a pink petite bottle along with silver packets. Jaemin’s eyes spark up. 

“Should I?” Jeno offers. Jaemin is to tempted to say yes because fuck, he’s never done this before and does he really want his first time to go up in smoke? But soon, his desire to have such a memorable first, without actually embarrassing himself, is overpowered by the need to impress, to take care of Jeno in the same way he does to him. 

So Jaemin wraps his hand around his, quietly pleading with his eyes, and Jeno gives in with gladness, “Have you done this before?”

Jaemin shakes his head, pouring the sticky liquid to his fingers, but his heart is into it. He could put one and one together—he can do this. 

“Move a little for me, sweetheart,” Jeno taps his hip. Once Jaemin shifted, Jeno delicately adjusted himself over. He presses his chest into the mattress, his ample ass up, throwing an expectant beam over his shoulder, “This’ll be easier for the both of us.”

Jaemin’s heart melts. Jeno’s so thoughtful, so mindful of him, and maybe he does care a little, more than Jaemin thought. His stomach does a little flip at that, just a little bit. 

He delicately pulls Jeno’s shorts down with his free hand and hell, his gut now drops from a lengthy free fall. Jeno, in nothing but lace panties, pink and pretty just for him, has him nearly backing away to catch his breath for a moment. He’s gonna be the fucking death of him. 

One thing’s for sure now, Jeno did plan this. If the whole set up to justifiably shoo the maids and butlers were anything to go by. Jaemin’s throat hitches. To be loved and wanted are what they both want and now, they’re getting even more than that. They had found it in the most surprising people, but that didn’t make it feel any less, but rather perfect and dear. 

Jaemin pulls the panties down, not wasting any more time with staring and feeling the plump mound of his ass against his palm, and pushes right in. He starts with a hesitant pace in, one finger meekly pushing and pulling. It’s exactly how Jeno pictured it and he laughs, “You can go faster, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

This is fucking insane. Jeno’s insane. Jaemin’s sure he’s next. Nodding, he presses in deeper, harder, aimless and restrained, but Jeno lets out a more satisfied sound at that. Jaemin really isn’t sure what he’s doing, or when he had thrusted another finger in, even the one after that, but he knows he’s been driven by nothing but Jeno’s moans and whimpers, his whispers of guidance and encouragement. He makes it feel like he’s there holding his hand, leading him on what and where is right. 

Jaemin feels so taken care of. Feels like he’s gotten a small taste of heaven and now he can’t let go. He feels like he’s finally gotten a hold of a greater purpose in life and it’s all because of Jeno. Jaemin has never felt incomplete in his life and yet Jeno fills up a part in his heart beautifully and seamlessly so. 

“There,” Jeno cried out. Jaemin’s finger pushes right on that spot again and Jeno wails an even louder sound. 

“That’s enough, Jaemin,” Jeno slurred, looking completely out of it. He turns over, grabs a packet and rips it open with his teeth. Fuck , that’s hot, Jaemin’s head rang. 

Knee-deep in his trance, Jeno sits upright and leans forward to Jaemin. Mindlessly, he hastily pops open the button and slides down Jaemin’s boxers. Nothing but a nuisance to him and his burning body. 

Jaemin could’ve screamed right on the spot at how fast things were suddenly going. Jeno doesn’t notice his surprise though and even if he did, it was at the back of his things to worry about. Dazed and with only one goal in mind, Jeno promptly slides the rubber over Jaemin’s length. 

Jeno sheds his skin like a snake in its kingdom. He leaves one and puts another with such elegance and ease. His perfect and calm mask, his sweet and innocent guise, to this, his broken and desperate plea. Jaemin finds a liking to each one but maybe, just maybe, he likes the last one most. 

Cupping his chin, Jaemin bends lower to kiss Jeno again. A surprised noise rasps through Jeno’s throat, but he quickly goes lax from it anyway. The kiss steeps with a passion that ignites, has Jeno melting like fine wax, and slowly, intimately, he starts to lose a little bit of himself more. 

Jaemin lovingly runs a thumb across the hinge of his jaw, before kissing the spot again like he couldn’t get enough of him. He adorns his body with a gentle but full press of his lips and moves at his own fervent pace. They’ve got time to spare and even if they didn’t, Jaemin would still do this all over again. 

Tender and loving, Jaemin presses a kiss over the mole under his eye. A mark where his past lover had kissed him the most and it made sense more than anything in the world. The closest to his enthralling moony eyes, his orbs a vast, midnight sky, and it’s like his mole was a star that fell from the clouds, now forever a celestial part of him. 

Not a single word is spoken between them, but Jeno could see the look in Jaemin’s eyes, brewing with so much love and affection that he had nearly lost himself in them. 

Jeno feels so seen. Feels like he has a tiny part of heaven and everything divine and he can’t stop indulging Jaemin with it. He feels like he’s finally got a hold of a greater purpose in life and it’s all because of Jaemin. Jeno has never felt like he had a place anywhere, belonging to nowhere and no one, but now, he had found refuge in Jaemin’s heart like it was made for him. 

“It hurts, Jaemin,” Jeno whispered, near to tears. It hurts how he’s only found him now, how he had managed to put up with his Johnny’s shortcoming, oblivious that someone was ready to give him twice as much than he deserves, twice as much than his husband had ever given him. “Make it all go away.”

Jaemin has always been weak to him, but there’s something today that’s nipping at his chest to shower him with more, to love him beyond possible, and to lay the whole universe on his feet just for him. He lays Jeno down on the bed once and for all, sweetly kissing him as he slowly enters him. 

“Jaemin!” Jeno pulled his head away, gasping, nails digging into his back. Jaemin takes the pain, knowing Jeno’s going through much worse, and he tries to think of a way to ease him even just for a little bit.

He kisses him again before leaning away to brush the loose strands of his hair away from his pretty face, then softly placing another kiss to his cheek, “It’s okay. I’m here now, Jeno. I’m here…”

Jaemin stills. He waits a moment, lets Jeno catch his breath and loosen his grip around him. Every second that passes goes sweeter than the last, Jaemin so patient and passive that Jeno would’ve praised him if he wasn’t so high off of the feeling of being so full. 

Jeno bites on his lip hard and gives him a nod. The thin string within Jaemin snaps. 

With a trembling gasp, Jaemin completely pushes in. They both moan out at the overwhelming sensation, filling the warm air with a titillating mix of their sounds, and the feeling transcends past stars and beyond heaven. 

A long awaited connection that has the both of them seeing fireworks. Jaemin pulls back and slides back in, still so careful and languid, wary of breaking or hurting Jeno. But the airy laugh that erupts past Jeno’s lips tells him otherwise, “Is this all you got, sweetheart? Please, I know you can do better than this.” 

His smile is so mocking, so knowing. He pushes all the right buttons and even if he didn’t, Jaemin would’ve followed nonetheless. 

Jaemin slams back in. It’s a miracle how he managed to even string Jeno’s words together through his haze. He snaps his hips to pick up a pace, going harder, faster, that Jeno gleams in bliss. To put the prince-like Jeno down and pin him in place is something Jaemin would never want. Because he knows Jeno deserves to be on top of the world, everything underneath his fingertips, and Jaemin likes that thought better. Serving this god of his, this religion that’s built on nothing but blind faith and pleasure. 

Jeno’s eating his own words now and they’ve never tasted this good on his tongue. It’s exactly what he wants; Jaemin’s thick, long string of patience finally snapping into two, and he binds him around them, rendering him helpless and completely under his mercy. 

Johnny, their failed marriage, their what could’ve been and what if’s are the last thing in Jeno’s spinning mind. He knows it’s wrong, but he can’t stop either way. For the sins of flesh has never tasted nor felt this great before. It makes everything worth it. 

The longer Jaemin thrusts into him, each harder and more delicious than the last, a hint of regret flutters past Jeno’s stomach. Not out of breaking his sacred vow with his lover, but from thinking that he should’ve done much sooner. He could hear nothing but the loud smacking of skin to skin, the low grunts and whimpers of Jaemin losing himself each time he thrusts into him, and the content singing of his heart. 

Nothing’s ever been so wrong and yet felt so right. It’s almost bittersweet, more sweet than bitter, as it tingles around Jeno’s tongue like champagne; an addicting poison on his lips. 

Jeno’s glossy nails sink deeper into Jaemin’s tanned back, leaving a mark on him and he decides that alone isn’t enough. Jeno whines, leaning in to him closer to bite that inviting spot between Jaemin’s collar and chest. Purple and blue immediately bloom like flowers in spring, amidst a field of gold and everything lovely. Jeno licks it one last time and smiles at his work. 

Jaemin decides it’s the best feeling on earth. Not exactly this, not the connection of their bodies as one, but the feeling of bringing contentment in Jeno. It mirrors his, their silly and dazed grins across swollen lips. Warmth flowed from their entangled limbs and into their chests until neither knew what piercing loneliness felt like anymore. 

“Jeno,” Jaemin panted, eyes droopy, “I can’t…”

Cooing, Jeno slides his thumb across his flushed cheek, “It’s okay. Just a little more, Jaemin. You’re doing so well.”

The praise ignites something deep in Jaemin’s belly. He whines, tears brimming his blown eyes, as he quickened his pace. It elicits a surprised gasp from Jeno, promptly melting into a low sound of pleasure and mirthful disbelief. 

“Sweetheart likes the praises, hm?” Jeno chuckled, “You don’t even try to hide it. So honest.”

Jaemin lets out another whine, thrusting in with no aim or rhythm that Jeno almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He leans in, giving a peck before pulling away, “Here, let’s switch.”

With his mind high in the skies, Jaemin weakly nods but nothing registers. Jeno seems to know, guiding him down to the mattress till his back’s against the headboard, sitting idly amongst the crumpled silk sheets, “Let me take care of you then.”

“Mhm,” Jaemin wordlessly hummed, flushed and fucked out. 

It’s cute, Jeno finds. But he’s far from over. Not when he’s finally got Jaemin all to himself after a week of back and forth. Jeno wastes no time. He slowly sinks, grip on Jaemin’s shoulder and finally, finally , seats himself completely. 

Jaemin’s grasp around his waist tightens and Jeno’s more than sure it’d leave marks. Seeing himself the next morning, against his mirrors, bringing him back to this particular moment, excites him even more. Jeno’s head drops back, sighing through his smile, “You’re perfect, Jaemin. You don’t even know.”

Even through his exhaustion, Jaemin knows they’re nothing but empty praises. Pretty little things for Jeno’s pretty little mouth to spout to get his way. But Jaemin’s body sings in delight anyway, cock hardening and clutch tightening around him. 

Jaemin thrusts upwards. Jeno moans, so loud and perfect, “Fuck. Just like that, Jaem.”

Mouth falling open, Jeno rises and drops back down. He rides Jaemin with a sensual move of his hips, feeling so full and euphoric that he has him babbling with broken moans, “Keep doing that.”

Seeing Jeno like this, far from his calm and perfect demeanor, so filled with nothing but a storm of pleasure, Jaemin’s chest couldn’t help but swell in pride. He’s like this because of him. No one else. No one has the privilege of seeing Jeno like this, glistening in sweat and hair a disheveled mess, his lips plump and red like cherries, and Jaemin feels so lucky. 

He really wonders what he did to deserve this, but he assumes it’s more on what Johnny didn’t do for him to get this in his place instead. And he feels so used . So filled with purpose and contentment like this. 

“Use me all you want,” Jaemin moaned, low and guttural, snapping his hips up again in time with his, “I’m yours, Jeno. I’m all yours.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jeno cooed at him again it’s almost mocking. Suddenly, he grabs Jaemin by the jaw, their faces so close it’s suffocating, “You don’t know what you’re saying. Being mine is a curse, not a blessing that you think it is.”

Because nothing is ever Jeno’s. Nothing is ever completely, whole-heartedly his. That is the only constant in his life. 

So when Jaemin says this, the only assurance is that he’ll soon fade away too. It’s better this way, when he isn’t Jeno’s, but he isn’t his own person either. A dangerous game, just like playing with fire, but Jeno’s always been one to flirt with death and risks anyway; after all, they’re one of the few things that are constant in his life, too. 

“But I want to be yours.”

Jeno stills. 

Jaemin’s eyes are still heavy, hooded with exhaustion, but not any less sincere. People always say the craziest things when they’re high off of emotions, substance or in anything at all. Similarly when drowsiness is hanging heavy on their lids. That’s all this is, Jeno wants to say. But there’s something in Jaemin that makes it feel like that wasn’t the case at all. 

Sincerity. Jeno’s never felt that before. He wants to back away, unfamiliar with a domain where there isn’t anything at stake. His guts turn into knots. The longer Jaemin stares, the longer he feels like it’s real. And he can’t have that.

He can’t have another promise only for it to break on itself in the end again. He can’t have hope dangling so beautifully in front of him, only to be snatched away from him on the very last moment. Not again, never again.

“Jaemin.”

“I’m serious, Jeno,” Jaemin’s gazes pierces right through him and yet, it feels more like arms cradling his heart than a needle to his chest. “Because trust me, there’s no worse curse in existence than not having the chance to love you.”

Jaemin takes Jeno’s hand in his, placing it over his beating heart, and they never look away from each other’s gazes, “I want you today and forever.”

Jeno lets out a small laugh as he pulls his hand away, “Nothing lasts forever, Jaemin.”

“Then let me be your nothing.” Jaemin says. Jeno doesn’t know whether to laugh at his antics or melt at the sincerity wrapped around his tone like a warm hug, but he settles somewhere in the middle.

“Did you hit yourself, Jaemin?” Jeno asks, mirth dancing in his voice, “I think we should—”

Jeno never gets to finish his sentence as Jaemin flips them over. In a blink of an eye, Jaemin hovers over Jeno, his wide, golden frame towering him like he’s right where he belongs. Between Jaemin’s arms, safe from the uncertainties of the world. Home , Jeno thinks. He’s home.

“I can give you more than what you deserve, Jeno,” Jaemin whispers, sharing the electrifying air between them. Jeno wants to laugh at how serious he looked, thick brows furrowed and jaw clenched, but still so soft and young around the edges, to the point that he’s nearly convinced he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Just another kid uttering nonsense. Another promise waiting to be shattered. “I’ll take good care of you.”

And yet, Jeno feels like he belongs for once. Where he’s someone’s someone. 

Jeno’s heart stops.

“You just have to let me,” Jaemin softly pleads, hope shining in his eyes and falling through his lips. “Please?” 

It feels odd to be the one being begged to, the one being wanted and desired, the one being chased and looked at with so much love and yearning. Jeno feels like floating. And in the spur of the moment, among the high clouds and golden sun, Jeno lets himself drift away.

Jeno doesn’t touch the sun and go down in flames, but finds himself something else. Or someone, at that matter. Someone who isn’t as harsh and unforgiving as the star’s heat, but his love is just the same, passionate and warm. Someone who won’t let him try his luck and watch him crash down, but someone who’ll be there to catch him when he does, someone who’ll hold him tight when they dance across the sky together. 

Jeno bites his lip. He nods. 

And that’s all Jaemin needs. 

Jaemin kisses Jeno again, sweet and languid, but overflowing with so much emotion that he nearly drowns under it. It’s clear that Jaemin has been pent up and Jeno watches him pour his heart out like a broken dam, lets him sweep him away to his feet, and savors every moment of it. 

Their sounds mix and fuse into the room’s stuffy air. Jaemin thrusts into him again, slower, so profound and true that tears started to prick Jeno’s eyes. Pulling away, Jeno bites on his lower lip till it’s enough to draw blood, anything to not let his sob out with a turn of his head to the side. His arm is thrown over his closed lids and Jaemin, sweet, loving Jaemin, gently holds and prods it away, before running his thumb across his lower lip, “You deserve the world, Jeno. You deserve so much more.”

This really was Jeno now. No more lavish mask, nor teasing eyes and vexatious grins, but the real, broken and vulnerable Jeno. He loves him even more.

Jeno scoffs, but the blush pooling in his cheeks is so painfully obvious, “I don’t like this color on you.”

Jaemin chuckles, hearty, “I’d keep telling you this till you believe it yourself.”

“You’ve got a long way to go then,” Jeno grinned.

“I don’t mind,” Jaemin kisses his temple, going lower to his cheek, to his beauty mark till he’s satisfied with the low breath that slips past Jeno’s lips. “I have all the time in the world for you.”

It’s a quiet, amorous promise of more. A promise willing to be kept and did it feel euphoric.

Although, Jeno really appreciates all the mush, but he’d appreciate it more if Jaemin did less talking and more fucking. He breathlessly laughs, “Your flattering won’t work in here, sweetheart. Either you fuck me now or you could join your friends outside. Your choice, Jaemin.”

Jaemin is finally reminded of who calls the shots between them. And his belly does that thing again, coils so tight and warm it’s both infuriating and exciting. He grabs Jeno’s legs, prompting each over his shoulders and hikes them high enough till he’s inside him deeper, more intimate than ever. 

“I’ll be good,” Jaemin breathes out. He wraps his hand around Jeno’s length, stroking him with the same intensity and pace as his thrusts, as spurts of precum spilled between them. 

It’s amazing how Jeno takes him in so well. His velvet walls clench around him, rendering Jaemin into a complete, hip-stuttering mess, and he’s quickly reminded of how much control and power he lacks not only over Jeno, but to his own body as well. It’s maddening. 

Jeno grins, “That’s right, sweetheart. Know your place and lose yourself in me.” He moans, devious and buzzing in fervor, “Be a good boy and come for me, hm?”

That was all it took for Jaemin to finally let go. He cums inside the condom the same time Jeno does. Ropes of white spurt between them, making a mess out of the two of them, and it’s fucking perfect. Everything Jaemin could ever want for in life. 

Jaemin sighs out. Sweat drips off his forehead and neck, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in the column of his veiny neck, and was it a sight to see in Jeno’s post ograsm state. He would’ve stayed like that forever if he could. Jaemin thinks the same thing and no longer shrinks in shame for it. 

They fucked in his married bosses’ bedroom. He has gone way too far now, beyond the need for embarrassment and shame. And even as he comes down from his high, not a single ounce of regret pores into him. He loves this man, it was nothing to hide or be shy over. He’d shout it to the whole world if he needs to. And he will. God knows he will. 

Pulling out, Jaemin shifts away from the bed, running his hand through his messy hair and his muscles tense from the movement. Jeno tries not to dwell on it too much, but even he admits that this man’s a sight for sore eyes. Drop dead gorgeous with his golden skin and sharp, blinding teeth, a beast hidden underneath a soft, stammering facade and a man who, Jeno hopes, will stay true to his word. 

“This is the last time I’m fucking a virgin,” Jeno claimed, out of breath but with a wary yet teasing smile on his face as he laid on the bed in his spent state. 

Jaemin laughed, equally breathless as he tied the condom and walked towards the bin, “You’re in luck since I won’t let anyone make love to you other than me.”

“Make love?” Jeno’s face turned sour, “Way to sound like a complete virgin, sweetheart.”

“Well, I’m not one,” Jaemin blushes, shyly ambling towards him, “And you know that more than anyone.”

Jeno lifts himself up with his elbow, laying in a seductive position with a fist over his temple, grin wide, “I really am not fond of this shade on you, Jaemin. Should I gag and tie you up, hm?” 

He looks like an absolute dream. Dripping in his own beads of cum, glowing through hazy streaks. Jeno lays like an opulent painting amidst his moire sheets, beaming around his bare glory, “Knowing you though, you’d most definitely like that.”

“Jeno!” Jaemin’s face goes hot, shoulders running taut as he turns away. 

“That’s better,” Jeno smiled, lying completely against the mattress with a soft thump. “Keep doing that and this will last for as long as you like, Jaemin.”

A shy, stuttering mess is what Jeno wants. Someone pliant and heeds his commands without question. Jaemin can be just that, a mindless little plaything. But when he looks back, the glint of hope in Jeno’s eyes and through them, he sees nothing but a broken soul who deserves love. And he deserves to know that.

“I’d love to,” Jaemin ambles towards the bed, a wet towel in hand. “But I wasn’t lying when I said I’d give you the world either.”

His touch is delicate against his skin. Jaemin runs the towel across Jeno’s skin, treating him like porcelain, dear and frail. Something crawls up in Jeno’s throat. Something warm and leaden and all that could slip through is a quiet and weary laugh, “That isn’t something you’d do for a married man, Jaemin.”

Jeno pushes his hand away, the other caressing Jaemin’s cheek like a silent farewell, “Go and find someone else, hm? That way, neither of us get hurt. Neither of us light up in hope, only to be abandoned in the end.”

And yet, Jaemin has never been more sure in his entire life. Because if he didn’t really have a chance, why would he touch him like this, why would tears glaze his eyes like they were begging him to stay, why would he look at him in the same way he does to him? 

“I can wait,” Jaemin holds Jeno’s hand tight, a vow that is not bound in a ring or anything, but only in the undying love that he has for him, “I’ll wait for as long as it takes.”

They hold each other’s gaze for as long as they could, for as long as time would allow them. And it’s Jeno who looks away first, feeling that sprout of hope blooming in his chest and it’s been so long since it last did. 

Jeno doesn’t need lavish things anyway. All he needs is to be taken care of, to be loved and protected. All he needs is Jaemin. 

He just has to let him. 

Jeno pauses, “I’ll think about it.”

Jaemin lights up, his excitement nearly child-like it's terrifying. He suddenly leans in to invade Jeno’s space, “Can I?” 

Confused, Jeno slightly backs away, “Can you what?”

Jaemin protrudes his lips. A kiss. 

Jeno scoffs, rolling his eyes but his amusement is more than obvious across his lips, “Only you could be so polite after sex.”

“So, is that a yes or a no?”

Jeno does it for him. He kisses him, hard and passionate. Overflowing with love that it transcends all greatest forms of poetry and art combined. 

“There,” Jeno pulls away, pulling his hand away from Jaemin’s nape. “Now, get back to it. I’m exhausted.”

Jaemin’s smile reaches to the red tips of his ears, more than content, “Yes, Mr. Jeno.”

Jeno scoffs. But if his heart had flipped from that, Jaemin doesn’t have to know. Who knows what the man would do then. 

They stay like that for a moment. Just Jaemin cleaning Jeno up and dressing him in his favorite lace shorts and robe (which only happened after Jeno had given up from their small yet amusing argument), and they lay together again in silence (which only happened after Jaemin gave into Jeno’s order to join him). 

It’s nice like this, too. Them behind closed doors, in soft, silk sheets, in a kind night and even kinder moonlight, far from the gruesome and immoral reality of it all. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” Jeno turns his head to Jaemin, smiling that smile of his, “How Johnny won’t be back till two more days?”

Jaemin sinks between his shoulders and how he wishes the mattress would take him too, “I may have heard it yesterday. Who knows?”

Humming, “You should kiss me.”

“What?” Jaemin sputtered, “What, did you seriously think that was hot or something?”

“And what if I did?” Jeno sounds serious now, face nonchalant, “Kiss me. Or you could get out. Either way, not my loss.”

Jaemin pouts, but goes to work anyway, “You’re so bossy.”

He starts with his cheek, chaste and soft. His lips touch him in ways that are indescribably tender and fond. Jeno grins, “Just putting you in your place, sweetheart,” 

Suddenly, a ring. 

They both turn to the nightstand, the vintage telephone lined with gold and white shaking lightly. Jeno reaches up to it. “Hello?”

Jaemin stills. But Jeno’s gaze flits to him, warning, and Jaemin finds himself immediately obliging. Jeno speaks with that homely voice of his, “Johnny? Hi, sweetheart. How are you?” 

Fuck. Jeno was right. Even Jaemin is driven with an unfamiliar type of desire, an overwhelming surge gradually enveloping him. It takes over his body, pushing him to kiss and mark even more, knowing full well Jeno’s husband is on the other line. 

Jaemin can’t stop even if he wanted to. He dips lower, reaching Jeno’s bare chest with open-mouthed kisses. His warm, calloused hands graze against his skin, rubbing against his perky nipples and Jeno immediately arches into him. 

Jeno barely stifled a moan, “You’ll be back next week then? Monday?"

Jaemin’s tongue darts out, licking Jeno’s nipple with his gaze on him, their knowing yet clouded stares unwavering, “No, no, sweetheart, it’s fine. I understand you’re busy. Next week, okay?”

Quicker than either of them expected, Jaemin is sunken deep into his daze. He loses all control over himself. He places himself between Jeno’s legs, going lower and lower to his navel, as Jeno’s breathing goes ragged, “You promise?”

This is so wrong in a million ways, but Jaemin’s logic has long disappeared into the room’s warm breeze. He bites the strap of Jeno’s shorts, sharp teeth bringing it down till his growing arousal is finally out and he drools at the sight. Even his cock is so pretty, pink and just long enough to keep Jaemin’s mouth busy.

“Hm. What’s this? You’re asking permission now? Can you, really?” Jeno peers over at Jaemin, as if silently saying his decision relies solely on him. “Let me think about it.” 

Jaemin immediately takes him in. And he does it so well, engulfing Jeno in his warm and wet mouth, so good and pliant that Jeno would’ve moaned if his husband wasn’t listening, waiting. The thrill has both of them panting and eager for more. 

Albeit sloppy, Jaemin bobs his head with ease. Gentle but eager exploration around Jeno’s length, his eyes droopy and blown wide in haze, and it’s almost sacrilegious how he does it. Jeno grips on Jaemin’s hair tight, “You should go.” 

Jaemin keens. Heart jumping out his chest with how he was able to change Jeno’s mind so easily. 

Jeno smiles, “They’ll take good care of me here. Don’t worry.”

Jaemin nods around his cock. The filthy image is a juxtaposition of how his eyes gleam fondly, lovingly. A silent promise that he’ll do more than just take care of him. He’s excited just thinking of it already.

With a tug to his hair, Jaemin lets Jeno pull him closer till their lips touch. Jeno tastes himself on Jaemin, sweet and even sweeter with Jaemin’s tongue pressing into him. He kisses him with the same passion, more carnal than anything, and both no longer try to hide their moans any longer. 

But despite that, Jeno waits. It’s selfish of him to do so, but a man can hope. He waits for those three little words to cut through the line. Just one last time. So he’ll know exactly what to do then. 

Nothing comes. 

“I’ll see you soon,” is all Johnny says.

The line ends.  

Jeno lets the phone fall from his grip, pulling Jaemin closer till that familiar spark ignites between them. He says it for him.

Jaemin whispers, “I love you.”

And just like that, Jeno is finally certain that something other than change is constant in his life for once.