Archive of Our Own ^beta

Paris is beautiful.

“Paris is cold,” Jisung says, his nose red-tipped. Renjun resists the urge to coo and pinch his rosy cheeks. If Jisung wanted to be warm, he probably should’ve layered up instead of wearing his usual uniform of a zip-up hoodie with nothing underneath. Renjun dresses for fashion over function most days though, so who is he to judge?

So, okay, Paris is cold. But it’s also beautiful. That much is undeniable. Renjun has never been here before, and he’s been dreaming of it for longer than he can remember. The air is crisp and the clouds are white and fluffy. Even the sky looks a little bluer. Renjun, eternal romantic, squints up and snaps a picture of the horizon to send to his parents. Mark smiles over his shoulder and sticks his hand in front of the camera on the second shot just to be annoying, and only grins when Renjun swats at him for it.

The time they have here is short. Predictably, none of them can agree on what they want to do, or when they want to do it. Mark and Chenle are interested in sightseeing. Jeno wants to go back to the hotel and sleep. Donghyuck and Jisung want to go back to the hotel and do things that aren’t sleep, that Renjun refuses to think about.

“I want to go shopping,” Renjun tells them, prepared to make the trek alone. He doesn’t want to go sightseeing when all the tourist attractions are probably packed to the brim with fans hoping to catch an eyeful, he doesn’t want to sleep, he wants to indulge. He’s already looked up a route that will let him hit all the essential boutiques, and even stop at a famous bakery along the way. It’ll be nice to be by himself for a bit.

“I’ll go with you,” Jaemin says casually.

The offer hits Renjun like a truck. He doesn’t do a good job of hiding his surprise. Everyone else nods, accepting this like it’s normal. They move on. Renjun can’t.

“What did you just say?” he asks, thinking he must have heard wrong. Mark’s hand is warm in his pocket.

“I said,” Jaemin repeats slowly, long and drawn out, without meeting his eyes. Avoidant as ever. “I’ll go with you.”

—

In hindsight, it probably starts with the ring.

Renjun wonders sometimes if Jaemin’s refusal to wear it was somehow a punishment. It was hard not to feel that way at first. Hard not to feel like Jaemin showing up to schedules bare-handed was targeted aggression. They all knew what that ring symbolized to Renjun. It was no secret that it meant more to him than it meant to them. So he’d been quietly hurt by the absence of it, even if he had no right.

Maybe it was hypocritical considering their history with matching jewelry. But if Renjun had known what the bracelet meant, if Jaemin had told him clearly what it meant, then maybe he would have worn it more. Would it even have made a difference in the end? It’s impossible to say. Doesn’t stop Renjun from thinking about it, though.

The ring magically re-appears on Jaemin’s right hand around the beginning of the new year, shortly after Renjun has successfully nagged Jeno and Chenle into re-purchasing the matching jewelry. He flashes it in front of Renjun deliberately, like he’s trying to draw attention. Renjun resists commenting on it for an entire two weeks before he breaks.

“You bought it again?” he asks. He lifts the baseball cap on his head long enough to push back his bangs, matted to his sweaty forehead.

Jaemin is barely sweating. Dance practice is supposed to be grueling, but it’s anyone’s guess whether Jaemin is actually exerting any effort half the time or if he’s just very good at making it look effortless. His throat bobs as he swallows around a mouthful of water. “It was important to you,” he says simply, in the tone of voice that suggests it could be an explanation or just a statement of fact.

It’s been important to me, so why now? Renjun wants to ask. He nagged Jeno and Chenle for months before they gave in. But he didn’t bother nagging Jaemin, because he knew despite his perennial optimism that there was no nagging Jaemin. A fact of life: Jaemin only does the things he wants to do, whenever the timing best suits his own needs. It can’t just be simple peer pressure. There has to be more to it than that.

Mark tells him he’s overthinking it. Unfortunately, he’s probably right. “Just because it used to be complicated between you two doesn’t mean it still has to be complicated,” he says, despite knowing the full history of their non-relationship. “Sometimes you have to make the choice to let things be simple.”

Sometimes Renjun can’t tell if Mark is talking to him as a leader or a friend or a boyfriend, or maybe some combination of the three. Knowing that he’s probably overthinking things doesn’t make him any less prone to give into that urge. But it helps to have at least one simple, uncomplicated thing in his life that he doesn’t have to second-guess. To memorize the timbre of Mark’s sleep-laden voice in the mornings and the feel of his body against his own and think—this is safe. This is something I can be sure of.

There were others, before Mark, after the demolition and subsequent patching and second-time demolition of whatever he had with Jaemin. It was just that Renjun always came crawling back to Jaemin when those men failed to measure up. He remembers the last time they fucked like it was yesterday. Jaemin’s words were sharp but his hands were gentle, like he could tell Renjun was upset. He lingered after. Renjun looked at him and saw possibility; he saw a future he desperately wanted but knew Jaemin could never provide. One that had stability, certainty. He wondered if he could let himself hope this time would be different.

But that was the thing about hope. It ate at you. After a certain point you got tired of it.

That night, Jaemin said that Renjun didn’t want to be treated all that nicely. Renjun didn’t think that was true. He still doesn’t. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be treated nicely, it was that he wanted Jaemin. Whatever he could get from him, which was usually not all that nice. He wanted Jaemin mean, he wanted Jaemin sweet, he wanted Jaemin ugly and nice and doting and hot and cold. Maybe he still wants that, and that’s the reason he can’t just let this be simple. It feels greedy. To have so much and still want more. To hope for something he doesn’t need.

But that’s the thing about Renjun. He has to believe there’s something worth fighting for at the end of all of this. So he always hopes. Even when it’s unrealistic, even when it eats away at him, even when he tires of it. Especially then.

—

Before they go their separate ways Mark darts down to press a kiss to the corner of Renjun’s mouth. The wet smack his lips make as they part is enough to make Renjun blush all the way down to his neck. There’s an unbearable affection in his gaze, his breath skating warm over Renjun’s cheek as he lets his lips linger.

Renjun will never get used to it. The sucker punch of looking at Mark Lee and realizing that’s his boyfriend. That his stupid first crush turned out to be not so stupid after all.

“Have fun,” Mark says, grinning boyishly. “Buy something sexy to wear for me.”

Renjun swats at his arm and hisses, “Mark.” The others are pretending not to see them. Except Jaemin, who’s staring openly. Renjun’s gotten so used to having that gaze on him it practically feels like second nature.

Mark laughs. He grabs Renjun’s jaw and kisses him once more before he lets him go. “I mean it, have fun.”

Whatever that means.

Being alone with Jaemin is unremarkable and remarkable all at once. Usually they have at least one other person to act as social lubricant. Another member, a manager, anyone. Renjun tries to rack his brain to place the last time they were really alone, just the two of them. It feels like it hasn’t happened in forever, maybe not even since Jaemin decided to pack up and move out of the dorms. They used to spend a lot of time alone together, even before they started falling into bed together. Holding hands over the covers, dimming the lights, whispering soft and sweet to each other.

It’s odd. They must have talked about a lot of things, but right now Renjun’s brain isn’t letting him remember any of it at all. He shivers in his thin trench coat and walks a little faster (fashion over function, maybe he shouldn’t have laughed at Jisung after all). Unfortunately, Jaemin takes that as his cue to fall into step beside him as they cross the street. Getting this close allows Renjun to catch the scent of Jaemin’s cologne on his skin, even with the wind whipping past his face. Warm, earthy, woody. Same as always. Renjun used to moan into sheets that carried that smell. Used to let Jaemin press his lips against his neck and kiss him until even his own mouth tasted like bergamot.

He pulls his scarf tighter around his throat. He can’t be thinking about this right now. Jaemin’s eyes don’t leave his face. Renjun feels the imaginary weight of his attention until they turn the corner onto Rue Saint-Honoré, at which point he realizes they’ve been walking in silence for too long. As much as he dreads conversation, he has to at least make an attempt.

“Are there any shops you want to look at?” he asks, because that’s easy. Related to the activity at hand. Safe.

Jaemin shrugs. “Not really.” It’s the kind of vague response that just leaves Renjun with more questions.

Renjun wants to ask, so why are you here? “If there’s nothing you want to buy, I’m okay with going by myself.”

“I didn’t think you weren’t,” Jaemin says. His face is hidden behind the brim of his cap and a mask. Only his eyes blink back at Renjun when he stares. “Do you not want me here?”

“No, that’s—”

“Would you rather it be your boyfriend?” Renjun must make a face at that, because Jaemin finds the loose thread in his defenses and starts picking at it. “Why isn’t he here? Trouble in paradise?”

Renjun frowns. Squares his shoulders and straightens his spine. It’s useless, Jaemin still dwarfs him even with his hunchback posture. “Mark and I are fine. We don’t have to do everything together. Couples are allowed to have different interests.”

“Hmm,” Jaemin says. “That’s true. They are.” His tone of voice toes the line between pleasant and vaguely passive-aggressive. If anyone is good at that, it’s him. He practically plays jump rope with that line. A tightrope walker of agreeable-disagreeableness. Sometimes Renjun walks away from an interaction not knowing if he should be offended or flattered or something else entirely.

Even considering all that, there’s no reason such an innocuous comment should rub Renjun the wrong way so severely, but it does. Jaemin is good at getting under his skin, inadvertently or otherwise. “What are you trying to imply?” he asks, defensive as a default. “Why are you even—”

“When was the last time you ate?” Jaemin asks abruptly, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“What?” Probably too long ago. He slept through dinner service on the train, and the timezones have had his mind and head and body all confused for days now.

“It’s bad to skip meals. And you always get grumpier when you’re hungry.”

“I do not, that’s not even true. And I’m not hun—” Renjun’s stomach chooses the most opportune moment to start rumbling. “—gry…” he trails off lamely.

Jaemin laughs, like Renjun wasn’t red in the face and on the verge of causing an incident by screaming at him on the street just two seconds ago. “I still know you better than you think,” he says, as if Renjun needs to be reminded of that very fact. “Come on. Let’s grab something to eat.”

It’s almost infuriating how Jaemin seems to take everything in stride. Everything seems to come so easily to him. Must be nice.

“By the way,” Jaemin says, turning so Renjun can only see a sliver of his face, all high cheekbones and long lashes and nothing else. His voice quiet, barely audible over the sound of the city moving around them. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”

So that’s it, then. Jaemin wants to be here. Renjun is still trying to figure out if he wants Jaemin to be here, too.

—

They choose the first empty restaurant they both come across that looks semi-decent. Jaemin makes a big show out of looking at the menus posted in the streets, even if Renjun knows he can’t read a lick of French. He finds that it’s a lot more difficult to stay angry with a full belly. Turns out Jaemin still knows him after all. There’s a simultaneous sense of relief and discomfort in that. Somewhere between dessert and post-dessert coffee, the sun begins its descent into the horizon. Paris in the day is beautiful, but Paris at night is saturated with magic.

Jaemin is always sweeter when he thinks other people can’t see them. Warm, attentive, easy to love. It takes some conscious effort for Renjun to remind himself that the person sitting across from him at the table is his friend. To remind himself that Jaemin is not a bad person for not being able to give Renjun what he wanted. He’s not the enemy for not wanting the same things as him. Acknowledging that stings, but it’s also freeing in a certain way.

Renjun doesn’t try to stop Jaemin when he reaches for the bill. He wonders if this is what acceptance feels like.

Shopping turns to walking. Jaemin takes pictures of him on lamplit corners and carries his shopping bags and holds open every door, keeping a hand at his waist the whole time. He follows Renjun dutifully into every boutique and says, that looks great on you, no matter what Renjun shoves in his face.

Jaemin is a man with very particular tastes, and a very particular manner about him. There’s something odd about him today. It feels a little bit like he’s trying to be Mark. Or what he thinks Mark is to Renjun, at least. Renjun tests this theory at Chanel with a pair of green velvet quilted sandals that he likes, but knows Jaemin will find abhorrent.

“They look great on you,” Jaemin says, smiling. He looks like he wants to slam dunk them into the nearest waste bin when Renjun isn’t looking.

Another piece of a puzzle Renjun isn’t sure how to solve. There’s an image forming in his mind, but it’s hazy. He redirects his attention to a washed denim handbag sitting on a brightly-lit shelf nearby. “You’re trying too hard,” he tells him.

“Am I?” Jaemin asks. “I thought you wanted me to try.”

The fabric of the purse is soft to the touch. Renjun thumbs the engraved silver logo and ponders this. “I did,” he decides. “I do.”

When he told Jaemin to try harder, he meant it. Only because he thought Jaemin would never deliver. Except Jaemin is trying. He’s trying, and they’re in Paris, and Renjun hates himself a little bit for the stirring in his chest.

What a strange thing; to have gotten what you wanted, and still feel unsatisfied.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“There isn’t a problem.”

The sales associate standing a short distance away gives them a curious glance over her shoulder. There’s a girl sitting on the sofa pretending to try on a pair of heels who thinks she’s being subtle about sneaking pictures of them. There are probably better places to be having this non-conversation, but Renjun has never known subtlety in his emotions. His throat feels like it might threaten to close up permanently if he doesn’t keep talking. He lowers his voice and tries to explain the muddled thoughts knocking around his hollow skull. “I don’t… I don’t want you to be what you think I want you to be. I want you to be you.”

Maybe, he thinks, Jaemin is no longer himself when he’s trying.

Jaemin goes eerily silent. The steady rise and fall of his chest is the only evidence he’s even still breathing, but Renjun can’t bring himself to look him in the eyes. The quilted stitching of this purse is suddenly fascinating. Finally, Jaemin says, “That’s confusing.”

Renjun deflates, biting into his lower lip. It is confusing, it is unfair. “I know,” he says. “I know.” He wants too much, all the time. He wants Mark. He wants Jaemin. He wants Jaemin to want the same things as him at the same time that Renjun wants them, and he wants Mark to be okay with that. His greed is boundless. “I’m just… trying to be honest.”

Suddenly he feels exhausted. Jisung was right, Paris is cold. And weird.

“On the topic of honesty,” Jaemin says. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you since you started yelling at me on the street.” When Renjun looks at him in disbelief, he offers, “Sorry.”

In another world Renjun probably lets Jaemin lean down and kiss him, Chanel employees and furtively pointed phones be damned. In this world Renjun has self-respect, and a boyfriend he loves. He’s not willing to jeopardize that.

It’s impossible not to feel like Jaemin only wants what he can’t have. Like a kid, putting down a toy, and then deciding they weren’t done playing with it quite yet when someone else picks it up. Renjun’s heart leaps into his throat despite that. He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky sigh that feels like it comes from somewhere deep within him. “You really are an asshole,” he tells Jaemin.

Jaemin smiles. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Renjun lets him pay for the purse because he knows Jaemin is easily pleased by that sort of thing. In return, Jaemin lets him carry the shopping bag back to the hotel himself. An odd generosity, equivalent exchange.

—

Part of Renjun appreciates having a room to himself. Space to unwind alone after hours of being surrounded by so many other people. Sometimes it’s nice to come back to a quiet hotel room, and a big empty bed, and not have to worry about existing in the same space as anybody else.

Tonight his thoughts are too loud. The hotel room feels too much like their half-empty dorm. He misses fighting over who gets to shower first with Chenle and ill-advised 3 AM adventures with Donghyuck and Jeno asking him to turn off the lights before they sleep because he’s too lazy to get out of bed. It should be impossible for Renjun to feel lonely when he spends sixteen hours a day with his best friends.

But he is. He’s lonely. His bed feels too cold, just like the rest of this city. Mark is the promise of warmth.

Mark’s hotel room door opens for him on the second knock. He must’ve been sleeping, but even with the back of his hair sticking up in every possible direction, Mark looks like a knockout. Renjun feels a little bad for waking him up, but that dissipates into nothingness as soon as Mark pulls him in by the waist and crowds him up against the door as it closes behind them. “Hey,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around Renjun’s waist loosely.

A kiss to the side of Renjun’s throat has him shuddering, melting. “Hey,” he whispers. “I missed you.”

Anybody else would probably point out that they only saw each other a few hours ago. Mark just cards his fingers through Renjun’s hair and smiles, warm and mischievous, like this is a secret between them. “I missed you too,” he says. His reply is interrupted by a yawn. “Sleep?”

“Sleep,” Renjun agrees, and allows Mark to drag him to bed just a few meters away.

He shouldn’t be here. The managers found him in bed with Mark once already, and they both had to explain it away as a bout of homesickness. It’s not like their relationship is a secret, but they stick to their separate hotel rooms more often than not. As tempting as Mark’s company is, it’s difficult for them to keep their hands off each other without it escalating into more. And it always escalates into more, which is risky on tour. Renjun showed up to practice the night before their Osaka concerts kicked off with a hoarse throat and got jeered at all day for it.

But even the elation of experiencing their first world tour isn’t enough to keep the bone-deep exhaustion that accompanies it at bay. Renjun is drained; he never sleeps properly in unfamiliar beds. He never sleeps properly without Mark pressed against his back, snoring into his hair, his arm draped heavy over his body.

A familiar weight pushes him into the mattress. Mark’s body is a hearth, furnace-warm, smelling a little bit like the hotel shampoo when he nuzzles into Renjun’s neck, clean and soapy. Renjun breathes him in and fully relaxes for the first time all day.

“You’re warm,” he whispers, their legs tangled together underneath the sheets.

Mark slips a hand underneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips pressing divots into Renjun’s abdomen as he breathes. He kisses Renjun, soft and chaste, and murmurs, “Am I? It’s all for you.” Which doesn’t make any sense, but his pickup lines rarely do. He yelps when Renjun shoves his cold toes underneath his calves.

The second kiss is longer. Deeper. Mark’s hands know their way around Renjun’s body, caressing the curve of his waist, squeezing around his thighs, cupping his jaw as their lips move against one another. He sighs into Renjun’s mouth when Renjun threads a gentle hand through his hair. They’re going to dye it in the bathroom tomorrow morning, and Renjun is as sad to see the blond go as he is happy to say goodbye to it.

Renjun closes his eyes when they part, breathing shallowly into the damp air between them. His hands are locked around the nape of Mark’s neck. He’s so comfortable, he could stay like this for weeks. Months. It’s easy. It’s so easy. Renjun likes that. It just also feels like something is missing.

I thought about letting another man kiss me today, he thinks, a silent confession. Isn’t that fucked up? Aren’t you mad?

“I think this is the most time we’ve gotten to spend together,” Mark says.

Renjun composes himself to ask, “You mean since we started dating?”

“No, like, since ever.” Even in the darkness Renjun can see the flush threatening to overtake his entire face. “I dunno, I’m just really happy, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Renjun swallows. I’m happier than I ever thought I could be, and I still want more. Greedy, greedy, greedy. “Me too.” He pushes Mark flat onto his back, throwing a leg over his torso. Mark’s hand settles reflexively on his thigh and pulls him in closer. “Did you have fun sightseeing?”

“Yeah, the Louvre is dope,” Mark says enthusiastically, which forces a laugh out of Renjun. For a moment he forgets his worries. “Mona Lisa’s not as cool as they made it seem in the Da Vinci Code, though.”

“The arts are wasted on you,” Renjun says, his voice faux-mournful.

“Hey, that’s not true. I appreciate art. I like you, don’t I?”

“How long did it take you to come up with that one?”

Mark grins down at him. His tongue darts out to wet his dry lips. Renjun hears Jaemin’s admonishment in English in his head. Chapstick, chapstick. “A really long time. Are you impressed?”

“Sooo impressed,” Renjun says, laying it on thick, pressing his thigh meaningfully between Mark’s where he’s already starting to chub up. “So impressed, I think I’m not actually all that tired anymore.”

Mark is predictable. The movement of his throat as he swallows has Renjun wanting to chase it with his tongue. “Hey,” he murmurs, dragging his palm across Renjun’s leg. “Not that I’m not like, totally ready to go, but don’t start anything you can’t finish, baby. We can just cuddle if you want.”

Greed rears its ugly head again. It would require very little effort to reach down, to take Mark into his hand the way he’s done countless times before, and get him off nice and easy. Renjun can’t lie and say he doesn’t want it; he also can’t guarantee Mark wouldn’t insist on returning the favor, which, knowing Mark’s stamina, could turn a quick ten-minute handjob into something decidedly not quick at all. They’d probably sleep straight through the morning until the concert, though, and their managers would maim them and toss their remains into the Seine. Would it still be worth it? Probably. Renjun is tempted to let it happen anyways.

He forgets sometimes that he’s allowed to be in Mark’s bed with no justification, though. His proximity doesn’t require an excuse. He always wants Mark. There will be other nights. Renjun deflates all at once, the hot air rushing out of him like a pricked balloon. “Sorry,” he mumbles. At times like these the one-year gap in their maturity feels particularly insurmountable.

“Don’t apologize,” Mark says. He tugs Renjun closer, kisses the side of his forehead. “The museum really was great, though. I think you would’ve liked it.”

You should have come, you should have been there. Coming from anyone else the loaded meaning would be obvious. When Mark says stuff like this, he just means it. Like, I saw this painting of an angel and thought of you, it would be nice if you were here, I love you. He texted that to Renjun alongside a few choice pictures while he’d been at dinner with Jaemin, and even if the last part was only implied Renjun heard it loud and clear anyway.

There’s no malice in him. When they started dating, Donghyuck complained to Renjun that he was just too in love to see the flaws in Mark, which is maybe only half-true. No one is perfect; Mark is quietly stubborn to a fault, and so driven that Renjun used to fear he would break himself on his own ambition if it came down to it. He masquerades his insecurity as selflessness. He sometimes says things he doesn’t mean. He’s prone to jealousy as much as anyone else is.

But he’s never jealous of Jaemin. Even when Renjun sat him down and tried to explain the mess of their non-relationship, Mark just said ohhh, so that’s why he looks at you like he wants to eat you sometimes. Ignoring the fact that Jaemin looked at everyone like that. Ignoring the fact that Jaemin sometimes looked at him like he wanted to crawl underneath Mark’s skin and live there.

“Yeah,” Renjun sighs. “I think I would’ve liked it, too.”

“How was your day?” Mark asks, like he can read his mind. That’s one way to get Renjun out of the mood.

“It was… fine.” Fine, as in, Renjun is still ignoring the dull aching mess of his own heart, trying to shake the way Jaemin’s admission has eaten under his skin. Burrowed deep inside him, gnawing at him like a compulsion.

Mark laughs. “That’s not very convincing.”

“I just don’t know how to act around him,” Renjun admits, which he thinks is probably a strange way to feel about someone who’s been such an integral part of his life. For so long, Jaemin has been so static, so unmoving, that even the slightest nudge feels like a shove. “I feel like there’s no winning with him sometimes.”

“Since when did you care so much about winning?” Mark asks. His voice is soft, a small comfort in the eye of this storm. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

Wouldn’t be the first time. “I don’t care,” Renjun lies, because doing anything else would be like admitting he has a disproportionately-sized Jaemin shaped hole in his chest. “I just—”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, you know,” Mark says. Renjun’s confused for a second, before he clarifies, “All that love you have. You’ve always had more of it to give. That doesn’t make you a bad person.”

Renjun reaches up, pushes a strand of Mark’s hair behind his ear. “You’re the only one who’s ever been deserving of it,” he says, even though the words make something simmer in his gut. It’s not fair of him to push Mark into the center of all his mess without warning. It should be enough to love one person this much.

Mark turns his head to the side to press a kiss against the inside of his hand. “That’s not true. I’m human, I’m more selfish than you think I am. Besides…” His smile grows, pressed into Renjun’s palm. “Who says you’re the only one who feels that way?”

Renjun’s mind races. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, maybe you’ve spent so long thinking you were a bad person for wanting things, that you never stopped to consider whether anybody else wanted the same things,” Mark says. “Like Jaemin. Like me.”

It takes a moment for the pieces to settle into place. “You planned this,” Renjun says, brow furrowed. Torn between surprise and hope. “You and Jaemin. You talked, didn’t you?”

Mark lowers his voice and bats his eyelashes, the picture of innocence. “I just think there’s a way for all of us to win.”

The implication isn’t lost on Renjun. Is Mark really so unselfish that he’d let his boyfriend fuck their mutual friend and coworker and ex-situationship for fun? For closure? For any other reason?

As if sensing Renjun’s hesitation, Mark adds, “If that’s what you want.”

Renjun wants too many things. Nobody should ever ask him what he wants. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s try it.”

—

All of the following day is spent preparing for the concert. Renjun doesn’t get a moment to himself until sunset, twenty minutes before doors open. The sky oscillates between a dozen different shades of orange; wisps of bubblegum clouds fade into the distance. Jaemin is outside by the back door staring out at the hazy horizon when Renjun finds him.

He offers Renjun a sidelong glance as the door opens. “Hey,” he says, before his gaze slides back to the sky. He’s golden in the dying light of the sun. Too beautiful to touch.

“Hi,” Renjun breathes.

Truthfully, he’s terrified. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what he could say. He’s come to terms with the problem overnight: as much as he loves Mark, feels like he could burst from it sometimes, a part of him will always have love for Jaemin, too. The kind of love that could have bloomed into something else if Renjun tended to it. If Jaemin wanted it.

He and Jaemin have been on the precipice of something since they met. Standing at the edge of a cliff, looking over the steep edge, neither of them willing to take the fall. A tentative equilibrium that sometimes felt more like a stalemate than anything else. The stagnancy scares Renjun less than the thought of taking the first step only to open his eyes while falling and see Jaemin, stuck in place, staying at a standstill.

What he wants from Jaemin is something he’s not even sure Jaemin is equipped to give. But hope licks at the open wounds of his doubt, forces him into action. He reaches out and pushes his hotel keycard into Jaemin’s waiting hand.

A flash of recognition replaces the careful blankness in Jaemin’s expression. When his fingers close around the smooth plastic they brush against Renjun’s skin, lingering.

Schrodinger’s longing. Maybe the spark Renjun feels when they touch is just nostalgia. But the hunger feels real either way.

—

“So,” Jaemin drawls. “I knew Mark-hyung was generous, but I didn’t know he was this generous.”

Renjun’s skin is warm and already flushed pink from the scalding hot shower he took. He doesn’t know if it’s the lingering adrenaline from being onstage that has his pulse racing, thrumming underneath his skin, or if it’s merely his body’s natural response to being in the same space as Jaemin. Fight or flight. He shifts on the couch; doesn’t miss the way Jaemin stares when the collar of his bathrobe loosens, sliding down his shoulder.

He doesn’t know how to navigate this situation. Sitting in a hotel room across from his ex-something while his current boyfriend washes off the remnants of the day. Trust Jaemin to actually show up early when it’s the most inconvenient. Renjun really thought he’d have more time to prepare.

“Is that what you think this is?” Renjun asks. He can dimly hear the faucet turning off in the other room. “A matter of generosity?”

Renjun might not be sure what this is, but it’s not generosity. If it were anybody else besides Jaemin he thinks he might’ve recoiled just from the thought of letting someone besides himself see Mark this way. To touch him the way Renjun touches him.

It’s not generosity. It might be the opposite. It’s okay, because it’s Jaemin. Only because it’s him.

He isn’t the kind of person who regularly invites people into bed with his boyfriend. He didn’t think Mark was the kind of person who would suggest it, either. Part of him is morbidly curious to know how that conversation went, but either way, Jaemin is here. Still in his stage makeup, standing near the door and watching Mark emerge from the bathroom with barely-concealed hunger. The question is forgotten, tabled for now.

He’s learned the hard way that when it comes to Jaemin, sometimes ignorance is the best deterrence. Easier to pretend not to notice something than it is to deal with it head-on. There’s an obliviousness to Mark that is particularly effective at disarming Jaemin, or at least temporarily neutralizing him. If he notices Jaemin is already hard in his sweats he doesn’t show it. He pulls him into a hug and says, “Hey, man, thanks for coming.” Like this is a totally casual, normal thing they’re about to do, and not something that could fundamentally alter the dynamics of the group that they can never take back.

Jaemin looks like he’s barely resisting the urge to bite down when he presses his face into the crook of Mark’s neck and inhales deep. They look good together like that. It’s moments like these that make Renjun remember that they were a part of each other’s lives long before he came into the picture. He’s spent a lot of time thinking about that lately—the unique sort of intimacy they share now outside of him. The memories they keep for themselves. The tenderness they’ve always held for each other.

Maybe in another universe Renjun is the stranger in their bed, and not the other way around.

“Sure,” Jaemin says. “How are we going to do this?”

They look at each other before they look at Renjun, who misses whatever silent conversation they have. He crosses and uncrosses his legs out of nervousness. The hem of his robe creeps upwards. He debates tugging it back down, but it’s probably a lost cause. It’ll all be gone sooner or later.

“I’m okay with anything.” Nonchalance doesn’t come easy to Renjun. Forcing it feels wrong; the words are awkward and weighty in his mouth. “Mark?”

Mark grins, lopsided and soft. He doesn’t seem nervous or weirded out by any of this at all, which is—not what Renjun expected. There had been this tense excitement underlying his nerves as they drove back from the venue. That’s all gone now. “You could start by coming over here,” he says.

Somehow he ends up between them. Mark’s hands settle on his hips, pulling him back against his chest. This close, Jaemin’s eyes are all black, swallowed by his pupils. Renjun doesn’t miss the way he looks at Mark first before pressing a warm, calloused hand around the nape of his neck. Renjun can’t help it—he tenses.

“Could you at least act like you want this?” Jaemin asks.

It’s reflexive, the way he tries to resist Jaemin, but it’s probably useless when he folds just as quickly. “I do want it,” Renjun protests, deflating. “You know that.”

I hate how weak I am for you, he wants to say, but he knows Jaemin likes that about him. All the more reason he can’t say it. Mark’s breath, hot at his shoulder, is an unsteady comfort.

Jaemin huffs, a touch petulant. It reminds Renjun of the Jaemin he knew when they first started dancing around each other, barely eighteen and only beginning to figure themselves out. The tall, skinny boy who just wanted to plaster himself all over Renjun’s back and wear matching jewelry. “Then relax,” he says.

And then he’s leaning down, and for the first time in almost half a year, Jaemin is kissing Renjun. It surprises Renjun just how easily they fall back into each other. Just enough time has passed since the last time they were together that the feeling of kissing him has some novelty; not enough time has passed for the feel of Jaemin’s tongue in Renjun’s mouth, his hands in his hair, to not be familiar.

Mark wastes no time in putting his lips on Renjun’s throat. He’s already half-hard, pressing into the small of his back. Renjun is trying to focus on sinking his teeth into Jaemin’s lower lip, refusing to get swept up between the two of them with no control over the situation, but it’s difficult when Mark’s mouth is so distracting.

Renjun whines into Jaemin’s mouth and tugs at his sweatshirt, which is all Jaemin needs to hear for his hands to start roaming, traveling from Renjun’s waist to his ass to his thighs. All Renjun can do is kiss him back, grip his shoulders, rock backwards against Mark’s thickening cock. He’s trembling; his calves are starting to grow sore from rocking up onto his tiptoes. Jaemin keeps him anchored with a hand against his jaw, doesn’t let Renjun pull away until his lungs are burning and he’s dizzy with the need to breathe.

“Fuck,” Renjun gasps. The first lungful of air is bliss. He doesn’t give himself a moment to relax, turning in Mark’s grip to kiss him, too. They’ve been dating for six months but this will never stop being good, the way Mark lets him take over, pliant and malleable and single-minded in his desire. Lets himself be led through it. Renjun pushes the hem of Mark’s shirt up so his stomach is warm and bare beneath his palms.

Jaemin’s lips drag across his skin, satin and knifepoint. He bites down, then runs his tongue against the bruise to soothe the sting. Renjun breaks for air again as Mark slides a hand between their bodies to palm at the front of Jaemin’s sweats. The touch is tentative at first, and then not at all. Mark is a quick learner. Jaemin hisses, leans in to cover Mark’s mouth with his own, and from there it unravels.

Their hands are restless; it almost doesn’t matter who’s touching who. Even if it somehow did, Renjun isn’t sure he’d be able to tell. He expected this to feel weirder. It shouldn’t be this easy to let someone else into their bed. Except Jaemin isn’t just someone else. He’s always occupied too much of Renjun’s past for that.

Jaemin smiles as he bites Mark’s lower lip, the soft skin behind his ear, the muscle on his throat. Sandwiched between them, Renjun’s attention is torn. He can feel Jaemin pressed into the cleft of his ass, Mark’s dick filling against his hip. They’re still kissing over his shoulder; Renjun may not be able to see it very well from this angle, but he can hear it. The wet sound of lips parting and connecting again between soft, huffed out breaths is resonant in the quiet of their room. Renjun grinds back against Jaemin just to feel him, and receives his reward in the form of two identical bruises laid at the base of his throat. One in the shape of Jaemin’s mouth, the other in the shape of Mark’s.

Renjun loses his robe on the way to the bed; Mark loses his shorts and his flimsy excuse for a t-shirt shortly after. Together they make quick work of helping Jaemin out of his sweats. Jaemin’s workout regimen hasn’t gotten any less intensive since they started going on tour. He usually hits the gym first thing whenever they touch down in a new country, and clearly it’s still paying off. Renjun isn’t as familiar with this particular version of his body as he might like to be. He wants to put his mouth all over him. He wants to fill his hands with him, re-learning all the ways Jaemin’s body is new and familiar and different.

“You’re staring,” Jaemin observes, one thumb hooked into the waistband of his boxers, inching downwards. Of course he’d notice; he’s watching the two of them with eyes like a predator, blown wide and dark. Hungrily taking in the sight of their bodies fitted together, Renjun’s legs bracketed by Mark’s.

Renjun shivers involuntarily, leaning back into the breadth of Mark’s chest. He’s struggling to form words as Mark strokes him base to tip, firm and steady. “Do you not want me to look at you?” he asks.

Jaemin laughs. His smile is bruised red and sharp at the edges. “Why look when you could touch?” I’m right here, he seems to be saying. So what’s holding you back?

“If you want something, you can ask for it,” Mark reminds him, dragging his mouth along the slope of Renjun’s shoulder. With his free hand he’s holding Renjun down by the hip, his palm scorching into Renjun’s skin. Holding him up and open for Jaemin to see.

Jaemin’s thumb inches lower, just enough to reveal the flushed head of his cock, and raises an expectant eyebrow. When the wanting overrules the desire to keep his pride intact, Renjun closes his eyes and swallows, mouth dry. “I,” he starts, mumbling. He’s never found it so hard to ask for anything before. “I want to suck you off.”

Mark’s fist twitches around him. The mattress dips with added weight; when Renjun opens his eyes again Jaemin is already close, smiling down at him indulgently. “Then go ahead,” he says, like he’s being particularly charitable about it.

It takes some maneuvering, partly because Renjun is reluctant to leave the comfort of Mark’s lap. Partly because none of them can keep their hands to themselves long enough to settle. Eventually Renjun ends up between Jaemin’s legs with Mark pressed against his back.

Mark rubs a soothing hand down the curve of his spine and asks, “Are you gonna be gentle with him?” His grip closes around Renjun’s thigh and tightens. The curiosity in his voice has Renjun shuddering in Jaemin’s lap.

The soft pad of Jaemin’s thumb teases the seam of Renjun’s mouth, testing. Instinctively Renjun closes his lips around the intrusion, blinking up at Jaemin, his pulse thrumming with anticipation. “Depends on what he wants,” Jaemin says, perfectly calculated, which means—no, I won’t, but don’t worry, you’ll probably get him back in one piece.

Renjun has never considered himself a particularly competitive person, but he still feels like he has something to prove as he wraps his fingers around the base of Jaemin’s cock. They barely close the loop. He sinks down slowly, mindful of his teeth. By the halfway point it’s a struggle. Nothing about Jaemin is small, least of all this.

“Keep going, baby,” Mark says, squeezing his thigh sweetly. “You’re doing so well.”

It should feel ridiculous to have his boyfriend pep-talking him through sucking another man’s dick, but it actually kind of helps. Renjun takes the encouragement and relaxes his throat, pawing at Jaemin’s thigh to anchor himself. It’s been a while, but he still remembers what Jaemin likes. Takes the encouragement to pull back, licking a long stripe along the underside of the shaft before he’s sinking back down again. The slide is easier the second time.

Jaemin groans, long and drawn-out, but doesn’t ask if he’s okay. He knows Renjun is okay. Knows he can take it. His breaths come in uneven pants, skin flushed down to his collarbones. He slides a hand into Renjun’s hair as soon as his cock hits the back of his throat, and tugs. That’s all the warning Renjun gets before Jaemin starts moving in earnest, flexing his hips up, guiding Renjun’s head forward.

The stinging in Renjun’s scalp feels better than it should. He can barely keep his eyes open, can feel Mark’s gaze burning into the back of his skull, hungry and unashamed. He thinks he might like being watched almost as much as he likes letting Jaemin use his throat. He’s so hard it hurts; his hips jerk helplessly against the sheets. He barely notices the sound of a bottle uncapping before there’s pressure at his rim, two cold fingers pressed right against him.

Mark is hard against his back. He opens Renjun up on one finger, then two, then three, sucking a hickey into the back of Renjun’s thigh, raking his free hand down the side of his ribs. Good is a miserably inadequate word for how it all feels. He’s full, he’s surrounded, he can hardly think. Renjun rocks back onto Mark’s fingers, chasing the feeling, nearly forgetting to breathe as Jaemin’s thrusts start growing faster, more erratic. Every motion pushes Mark’s fingers deeper, drags a cry from Renjun’s throat.

By the time Jaemin’s release finds him, Renjun barely has the strength to keep his own head up. He’s just barely lucid enough to pull back enough so he doesn’t choke on it. The taste is bitter, and he swallows all of it.

“There you go,” Jaemin murmurs, letting his softening cock slip free from Renjun’s mouth, replacing the sudden emptiness with two of his fingers. His hair is disheveled, his mouth red and glistening. His eyes are stormy and wanting as he looks down at Renjun. “So sweet for us. Our beautiful boy.”

Mark hums his agreement from behind him, and Renjun lets himself whimper as he collapses onto his own chest. He knows better than to give any real weight to Jaemin’s words spoken in the heat of the moment. That doesn’t make it any less thrilling to hear him say us, ours. Renjun presses his face into the sheets and closes his eyes. He feels completely spent, his breath still coming in short pants, and they’ve barely even begun.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting tired already,” Mark says, teasing, still fingering him open with a distracting thoroughness.

“I’m not,” Renjun whines, muffled, his cheek pressed against Jaemin’s thigh. His eyes slip shut as Mark’s fingers curl inside him. “Just give—ah—just give me a second.”

Eventually Mark leaves him empty. Gentle hands turn him onto his side. Renjun turns his head just in time to watch Jaemin surge forward, dragging Mark into another kiss. Observes them with what feels a little bit like morbid curiosity, the way his past and his present collide. They grapple with each other for a bit before Jaemin comes out on top, shoving Mark down into the mattress and crawling on top of him. There’s something primal and hungry, almost violent, about the way they touch each other. Where Renjun might be overwhelmed, Mark pushes back as much as Jaemin presses forward. He gives as good as he gets. Renjun can’t tear his eyes away from them. Between the two of them they seem like they still have boundless energy; enough stamina to last several rounds and then some.

They look good together, long stretches of lean muscle pressed against each other. Mark’s waist is narrow beneath the wide spread of Jaemin’s palms. Renjun has the fleeting thought that it might be nice to sit back and watch them tear into each other properly if they do this a second time. He wants to see Jaemin pin Mark down and bite at his throat. He wants Mark to make Jaemin fight for it. He wants—

“Baby,” Mark says, breathless, like he’s just ran laps around the entirety of Paris. Jaemin drags his mouth down Mark’s throat, sweeping his tongue across the dip of his collarbones, his shoulder, his chest. “Baby, come here.”

Renjun reaches across and grabs a handful of Mark’s hair. Kisses him the way he saw Jaemin kiss him: wet and open and hard and wanting. More teeth than tongue. They pin him on his back between them, Mark’s mouth on his throat and Jaemin’s hands spanning his hips. They’re not as careful or gentle with him as they were a few minutes ago, like they’ve suddenly been wound up. Mark guides Jaemin’s hand to Renjun’s cock, leaving his own on top. Shows him exactly how Renjun likes it, how fast to move, how much pressure to apply.

All his hookups with Jaemin in the past were rushed encounters. They would barely kiss before they were trying to get each others’ clothes off. Some days Jaemin wouldn’t even bother prepping him, if they were desperate enough, if he was feeling mean enough, if Renjun begged him for it sweetly enough. All that to say it’s strange, just how intimately Jaemin knows his body, and for this to still be a novelty.

“You’re so wet already,” Jaemin says, so quietly his tone is almost indistinguishable. A little awestruck, a little mocking. Renjun whines, low in his throat, shoving his hips up into their hands. “Do you think you could’ve come untouched, just from me fucking your throat?”

Mark guides Jaemin’s thumb over the head of Renjun’s cock. He sounds proud when he offers, “He’s done it before.”

Renjun digs his fingers into Mark’s shoulder and squeezes his eyes shut. His mouth falls to Mark’s neck, his hands sliding across smooth, defined muscle. He’s shaking all over; the cold air of the room has him shivering. The only warm places in the world are where they’re both touching him. “Stop,” he says. “Stop, I’m gonna—”

Jaemin does not stop. “It’ll be easier to take us later if you come now,” he says, matter-of-fact, and leans down to kiss him again. He tastes sweet underneath the bitter, biting into Renjun’s mouth with a viciousness that Renjun has sorely missed.

Renjun gasps and rolls his hips up, coming with a choked-out whimper over their fists, across Jaemin’s chest. He shudders all the way through it, whimpering into Jaemin’s mouth. As soon as the glide becomes oversensitive he pushes their hands away. Mark strokes a gentle thumb over his cheekbone as Renjun stares at the ceiling, open-mouthed, chest heaving.

“Us?” Renjun asks belatedly.

Mark and Jaemin glance at each other. Suddenly Renjun is made aware of just how much he isn’t privy to. When exactly did they have time to conspire against him? It’s something they used to talk about, him and Jaemin. Just a small subset of the bullshit Jaemin would say to him while they fucked. All hypothetical, or so Renjun thought.

But if he only gets to be greedy once, he might as well indulge to his fullest. He’ll gorge himself so full he’ll never want this again. Enough to kill all lingering desire.

Mark reaches out, drags a hand down his heaving chest. His palm splays across Renjun’s ribcage, warm and solid. “Is that something you would want?” he asks hesitantly, eyes wide and earnest. It’d be funny if it weren’t so absurd. The sincerity with which he asks Renjun if he’d be okay trying to take both of them at once.

“You’re not going to be able to walk,” Jaemin murmurs, smiling down at him indulgently. If he didn’t sound so gleeful about the possibility, maybe Renjun would take it as a warning.

“I…” Renjun gnaws on his lower lip. His heart pounds a little harder. “You’ll take care of me, right? Both of you.” Vulnerability is easier when he’s already half-fucked out of his mind. The softest parts of him need to hear reassurance. He wonders if any part of them needs to give it, too.

Unexpectedly Jaemin is the one to answer first. “Yeah,” he says. Soft, indulgent. It makes something familiar and sweet erupt beneath Renjun’s skin, and the sensation is almost unbearable. “Yeah, baby, we’ll take care of you.” Mark kisses the side of his neck and hums his agreement.

“Okay,” Renjun breathes, indenting his fingers into the soft skin of Mark’s bicep, clinging like an anchor. “Okay. Yes.”

Jaemin leans in. Renjun catches the barest hint of something tender in his eyes, but it’s gone so fast he wonders if he imagined it. If it was only wishful thinking, nothing more. He kisses the corner of Renjun’s mouth fleetingly before turning to take Mark’s lower lip between his teeth instead.

“Ow,” Mark says when they part. “That kinda hurt.” Renjun thumbs over his swollen lip sympathetically. Jaemin hadn’t bitten hard enough to bleed, but just shy of it. He looks proud of that.

“Let me make it up to you,” Jaemin purrs. Renjun can’t imagine denying him anything.

Renjun lays back in the sheets, as Jaemin slicks Mark up, rolling the condom over him in one smooth slide. Mark’s hips jerk up into Jaemin’s fist helplessly. The whine Renjun lets out is involuntary—he’s empty, restless. When he reaches for Jaemin’s cock, Jaemin grabs his wrist, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about me,” he says. “This is about you.”

Renjun wants to refute that. It shouldn’t just be about him, it should be about Jaemin, too. It should be about Mark, and all three of them, together. Maybe it’s the idealist in him, ever-present.

“He’s right,” Mark says, helping Renjun into his lap once more. Jaemin follows, his skin clinging to Renjun’s in a way that would probably feel sticky and gross in any other situation. “Just relax, baby, we’ve got you.”

They do. He feels steady, caught between both sets of their hands as he sinks down onto Mark’s cock. They’ve got him. His heart is still stumbling in his chest as his hands clutch at Mark, who is holding him steady and feeding his cock into his giving body, inch by careful inch, until Renjun is fully seated. Jaemin gets a hand under his thigh to open him up further, his lips pressing warmly against the top knob of his spine. Renjun’s voice warbles, and he bites at Mark’s chest to muffle his cries.

Jaemin doesn’t like that. He bites at the back of Renjun’s neck so hard he must taste copper in his mouth. Renjun cries out, jerking underneath him. It makes everything worse and better. “Let me hear you,” he says, cajoling. “Haven’t heard you in so long. I want to hear everything.” Mark’s hips hit the backs of his thighs. Renjun wants, he wants. “Tell me how he feels.”

It doesn’t take Mark long to work himself up into a rhythm. He rocks his hips up, and Renjun collapses against his chest. If Jaemin wants to hear him, Renjun will let him hear everything. He whines like a dog against Mark’s shoulder, even though he probably sounds dumb and ugly “Feels good,” he whimpers. His throat is tighter than he expects. He’s already so full, he’s having trouble imagining what it will feel like when Jaemin joins them. “Feels fu—”

His voice cuts off in a yelp as Jaemin grips a handful of his ass, pulling him apart. It opens him up for Mark to sink deeper, but Renjun has a feeling Jaemin was more concerned with getting an eyeful of Mark’s cock, pushing in and out of his body.

“Keep talking,” Jaemin says, teasing his slick fingers around Renjun’s already-stretched rim.

Renjun moans, aching, wanting. “Please,” he says. “Please, please.” He hopes Jaemin won’t tell him to say any more than that, because he doesn’t really remember how to make words with his mouth. He’s all pathetic noises and fireworks behind his eyelids.

Jaemin’s touch is prodding at first, but it’s not long before he’s pushing two fingers into him, testing the stretch, the give of Renjun’s body. Mark grunts at the added pressure, hips still pistoning up into Renjun like he’s got something to prove. They usually fuck like this when they want to get off quick. Fast and desperate, usually still with most of their clothes on, just greedy to feel each other. It’s like Renjun’s body is responding to that urgent need even though they technically have all the time in the world right now, already racing towards the finish line.

“Fuck,” Mark says, voice thick, like he’s swallowed a spoonful of honey. He presses his mouth to the side of Renjun’s sweaty forehead and breathes in. “Junnie, are you already—”

“Now,” Renjun gasps against Mark’s collarbone. “Jaemin, now.”

Jaemin doesn’t need to be told twice. He quickly withdraws his hand and plasters himself against Renjun’s spine. Pressed together back to chest like this, Renjun can feel every hard beat of Jaemin’s heart against his ribs, the stutter of his breath against his cheek. Mark holds him around the hips as Jaemin wraps his fingers around Renjun’s waist and pushes in slowly. All of Renjun’s focus snaps to the burn of the intrusion at once. His vision swims, eyes fluttering shut; his awareness is tied to Mark’s voice in one ear, Jaemin’s voice in the other.

“Breathe, baby,” Mark says, stroking the curve of his cheekbone. “Just breathe.” Even he sounds strained. His voice breaks into a moan as Jaemin nudges himself that much deeper inside. It must feel so good for him. Renjun is almost jealous. He knows it will feel good, but it doesn’t yet. Too intense. Too much all at once to even parse whether the sensation is good or bad or something else entirely.

“Renjun,” Jaemin groans, low and guttural. “Renjun, look at him.”

Renjun can’t. He gasps for air he seemingly doesn’t have and shakes his head. Mark’s thumbs brush gently across his cheeks, his eyes still shut tight.

“You look so pretty,” Mark says, even though Renjun is sure he looks like a mess. Flushed red, sweaty, kiss-bitten. “You’re doing so well. Does it feel okay? Do you want to take a break?”

Renjun shakes his head again, more violently this time. It’s still too much right now, but if they stop he’ll die. Jaemin huffs out a laugh against his shoulder that sounds more like a moan. Mark pets his hand down Renjun’s quivering side, coaxing him to relax. It feels good, and some of the tension in him dissipates. Renjun lets out a long, slow breath and says, “Just give— Just give me a minute.”

It must be torture to sit still. Jaemin moves a hand to his hair, massaging behind his ears and then down to the nape of his neck. The most tender he’s been all night. Renjun loosens in increments with every circular motion, untensing by degrees, until he can sit all the way down without feeling like they’re going to tear him apart. His fingers clench and unclench, his thighs twitch. Finally he lifts his head from Mark’s neck and kisses him, slower than he should. He tastes like sex and sweat and home. He’s sweet, and Renjun is starving.

Then he turns to look at Jaemin. Everything about the way Jaemin is looking at him—at them—makes him want. He wants to tip his head up and bare his throat. He wants to touch everywhere at once, to hold both of them close and tuck himself in between Jaemin’s ribs, into the open space next to his heart. He wants this to be over, he never wants it to end.

“Kiss me, please?” he manages weakly, so far gone that the sound of his own voice is only embarrassing to his own ears.

At this angle Jaemin can only manage to kiss his mouth off-center. He’s pressing his thumb into the softness of Renjun’s side, right underneath his ribcage, where he’s most fragile. He shifts a little as he pulls Renjun closer. Pain pin-pricks up Renjun’s spine lightning-hot, but it subsides quickly, overcome by the pleasure. Renjun reaches back to hold him around the wrist. Begging him not to pull away.

“Now?” Mark breathes out.

Renjun nods silently, letting out a slow breath. Jaemin is the first to move, and Renjun falls back against his shoulder, writhing, spine curling. Mark leans forward; sweat spreads from his chest to Renjun’s. He offers his hand for Renjun to squeeze. Renjun takes it gladly, curling their fingers together and crying out into the damp air between them. It feels like sensory overload. The soft pets and stroking from both of their hands continues. He wants to squirm away from them and bear down at them at the same time.

“Baby,” Mark says, strained. He sounds a little like he’s losing his mind. Renjun can relate. “You’re—ah—fuck—”

“You’re taking us so well,” Jaemin says. That’s good news for Renjun, he feels like he’s breaking. Each adoring word is followed by a pointed thrust. “Doing so good. You’re so beautiful like this, Renjun-ah, did you know?”

Renjun exhales sharply and squeezes his eyes shut, barely registering the praise fluttering numbly around his head. He wishes Jaemin would try to sound a little less enamored about it, because the idea of him leaving is already sort of making his stomach hurt. He pushes that thought out of his mind and deliberately grinds down, clenching around them. Mark groans, thrusting up, and Jaemin follows, his voice tapering off into a moan. They’re barely doing more than grinding together inside him, hot, sweat-sticky skin-on-skin, but that’s still enough to make him come. There’s nowhere for him to go; he jerks against their hands, coming for the second time all over his stomach, letting the beat of Jaemin’s heart below his shoulder help ground him.

When he comes to awareness, Jaemin is sliding two fingers through the mess on his stomach, then pushing them into Mark’s mouth. He presses his face to the side of Renjun’s neck. “You liked it that much?” he asks, teasing. “Liked being full of us?”

“Shut up,” Renjun whimpers, watching Mark’s lips go taut around the fingers in his mouth. His hand, still holding Mark’s like a lifeline, falls limply to his side. “Keep going.”

His body has gone completely boneless. It takes both of them to keep him upright, all his own effort focused on keeping himself open and pliant. Thankfully they handle him with ease, grinding up against each other, each of them pressing up into him alternately. He’s so full he could choke on it. He feels stretched thin, like he’s holding his breath underwater, his lungs screaming at him. It hurts, it’s rapture. He was so foolish to think it was possible to overindulge; for him to trick himself into possibly not wanting this.

Jaemin moves his hands to hold Renjun’s hips steady, his stuttering breaths tickling the back of Renjun’s neck. Mark makes his way to Renjun’s throat with his mouth and Renjun finds, to his horror, that the pressure in his abdomen is building again, impossibly quick. His head is already tipping off Jaemin’s shoulder, breathy little whines leaving his throat with each movement.

Mark hauls him closer and presses himself in deep—so deep. Renjun clutches at him and whines, endlessly greedy. He’s come twice already, and now that he’s close again, he feels like he’s been on the precipice forever. Jaemin skims his palm up Renjun’s trembling abdomen, settling around his throat. For a moment Renjun feels himself stop breathing.

“Is this okay?” Jaemin asks.

You’ve never asked that before, Renjun thinks, and only belatedly realizes he isn’t the one being asked for permission. Somehow that makes him want it more.

Mark’s eyes, lazy and half-lidded, suddenly widen. Bright with focused attention. He gives Renjun only a fleeting glance before he resumes fucking into him, nodding in Jaemin’s direction. “Do it.”

Jaemin kisses the side of Renjun’s throat. “I’ll be careful,” he promises.

The pressure of Jaemin’s hand at the base of his throat is sweet and familiar. It’s not something Renjun realized he wanted or even missed until it’s there, squeezing lightly. Barely restricting his airflow. He knows Jaemin won’t actually choke him, that he can’t even do anything close to it knowing the circumstances, but just the implication has him crying out, going limp in their arms. Everything else besides his arousal is an afterthought.

He comes hard, almost violently, even though his body has nothing left to give, gasping out some garbled mix of both their names. He’s half out of his mind and full of them. It’s enough to tip Mark over the edge, too, holding Renjun down by the hips and spilling into the condom, his mouth pressed against his chest, right atop his pounding heart. Jaemin pulls out of him, and Renjun is barely aware of his own voice when he gasps, on me, do it on me.

Jaemin looks awed. “God,” he says, staring at Renjun like he’s seeing him for the first time. He slides a hand over himself and comes in stripes across Renjun’s lower back.

Mark hauls them both down to lay back in bed, and Renjun locks his legs around Mark’s hips, not ready to be fully empty yet. “How are you feeling?” he asks Renjun, combing his fingers through sweat-damp hair. Loaded question.

“Tired,” Renjun answers. When Mark finally pulls out of him it hurts to be empty. He clings to Mark’s shoulders as he leans aside to dispose of the used condom. He’s distantly aware of Jaemin’s eyes on the two of them, but he’s too exhausted to do anything about it.

Thank god for Mark, who reaches out and hooks his hand around the back of Jaemin’s thigh to bring him back into the fold. Renjun is so sure Jaemin will reject him—but turns out he goes easily when Mark is the one pulling him in. Impressive, considering he never particularly liked to stick around when it was Renjun trying to get him to stay.

Jaemin presses himself against the curve of Renjun’s back and allows Mark to kiss him. Then he ducks down to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Renjun’s ear, cupping his flushed cheek. “Don’t give me that look,” he says.

Renjun frowns until Jaemin has the sense to kiss it off his face. “What look?”

“It’s the look you get when you think I’m about to leave.”

“Well, are you?” Renjun asks, propping his head up against the pillow. Jaemin’s mouth twists into a grimace.

Mark squeezes his waist. “Baby, we can’t force him to stay.”

Renjun probably knows that better than anyone else. “Jaemin-ah,” he says, his voice wavering. “I know you know what this was. If you leave now…” He can’t even bring himself to finish the threat. He doesn’t even know what he’s threatening to do. They all know that if Jaemin wanted something Renjun would bend over backwards trying to give it to him on a silver platter.

“There’s space for you here,” Mark says. “If you want it.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Jaemin unpeels himself from Renjun’s sticky back. “I have a lot to think about.”

“Fine,” Renjun says, distinctly aware that he’s being petty. “Go.” Jaemin’s hand hovers over his shoulder. “Jaemin, go.”

He turns his head into the crook of Mark’s shoulder and refuses to watch as Jaemin dresses himself. The temperature in the hallway must be set lower than it is in their room. When the door shuts behind Jaemin, all Renjun can think about is how cold it is.

—

They depart for the airport early in the morning, when the air is still chilly and the sun has barely risen. Renjun does his best not to look Jaemin in the eye as they wheel their luggage out to the vans. Mark’s hand is warm in his.

Renjun tried to be careful. He’d been so careful not to want, and to not ask for more, and last night he’d blown all that careful effort out of the water—for what? For a few hours in bed? He knew Jaemin would never stay. It would’ve been stranger if he did.

He gets it now. There’s no winning. Maybe, he thinks, Jaemin is only himself when he’s leaving Renjun in his dust.

Frankly, he looks like shit. Like he hasn’t slept in days. His weight is slouched all the way forward; his mask is pulled down underneath his chin. There’s the faintest smattering of stubble along his jawline that Renjun wants to reach out and feel underneath his hand. He’s still too beautiful to touch, exchanging quiet whispers with Jeno and shoving his unkempt hair underneath a hat.

Mark can always sense when he’s in a mood. At least this time he doesn’t have to try too hard to guess the reason why. He swings an arm around Renjun’s shoulder and ushers him into the van. Maybe Mark really is too good. He’s been too understanding about all of this. He’s given Renjun everything, and all Renjun has managed to do is fuck it up royally.

He crawls into the backseat and puts his purse in his lap, staring out the tinted window. A warm body settles next to him. And then another.

“Injunnie,” Jaemin says.

It’s a tight squeeze to fit three grown men back here. Their only option is to press shoulder-to-shoulder. Renjun closes his eyes. “Don’t.”

“Baby.” Mark squeezes his thigh. “Just hear him out.”

“He can talk if he wants to. I’m not stopping him.”

“Will you at least look at me, then?”

Renjun glances over his shoulder and regrets it immediately.

“I really did have a lot to think about,” Jaemin says. “It’s not about not wanting you. It was never about that. I’m not trying to confuse you. You understand that, don’t you?”

No, the irrational part of Renjun wants to tell him. No, it’s very simple really, you either want me or you don’t. You either want us or you don’t. What is there to think about?

“Yes,” he says.

“I’m trying,” Jaemin says, sounding small for maybe the first time in his life. “I meant it when I told you that. I know it doesn’t seem like I am, but I’m really trying.”

Mark hums, hooking his chin over Jaemin’s shoulder. “We know you are.”

Renjun deflates. “I know.”

“This is new to me. I’m selfish. I’m not always going to be good. I’m not like Mark, I can’t always say the right thing.”

“Mark doesn’t always say the right thing,” Renjun mumbles. “Sometimes he calls me dude when he gets too riled up.”

“Hey,” Mark protests. “It’s a term of endearment. You said you liked it!”

Jaemin laughs. “Right.” He reaches out and turns his hand supine on Renjun’s knee. “What I’m trying to say is—I’m trying to figure this out. I’m trying to figure myself out. Can you be patient with me while I do?”

Renjun spends a moment thinking it over. He looks at Mark, smiling into Jaemin’s shoulder and looking at him with what looks a lot like hope in his eyes. He looks at Jaemin’s hand, still outstretched. Slowly, he curls their fingers together. His hand is nearly as warm as Mark’s.

“We can promise to be patient,” Renjun says. “As long as you promise to keep trying.”

Relief breaks over Jaemin’s expression like the morning sun. He lifts their hands and presses a smile to the inside of Renjun’s wrist. “I will,” he says. Softly, quietly. “I will.”