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Ju Taeseon huffs, “is that what you think?” he asks, in that rhetorical way he does when he doesn't want to face the truth in Lee Chaeha's words, as he continues unbuttoning Chaeha’s shirt, fingertips cold against Chaeha’s overheated skin.
“That's what I think,” Chaeha confirms. “I think you like taking care of me, but don't want to admit it,” he asserts, even more confident than before, brazen from too many shots of soju, and further emboldened by Taeseon’s initial bristling.
“You think yourself so important, Lee Chaeha?”
Again, Chaeha knows he's not really asking. It's not a question. It's avoidance laced in affection, masquerading as annoyance.
Chaeha doesn't speak again, just lets Taeseon push the shirt from his shoulders, the thin white cotton fluttering down to the floor behind him, Taeseon's hands moving with easy surety to Chaeha's belt, sliding the leather strap through the buckle and pulling it free from the sharp, silver tongue.
“You shower first, I have some paperwork I need to take a look at”. Then, when Chaeha opens his mouth in protest, Taeseon adds, “go on. It's a command, not a suggestion”.
Chaeha wonders if he's pushed too far, drunken audacity revealing too much of the both of them.
Reluctantly, he makes his way to the bathroom by himself, goosebumps raising along his skin in the chill of the room, before he manages to strip off the rest of his clothes and get under the hot water.
He half expects Taeseon to join him not long after, but is instead left to bathe alone, before drying himself off, treating the healing wound he's been nursing, and returning to find Taeseon intently poring over a thick stack of documents, highlighted and colour coded.
Chaeha, relatively sober now — standing in the doorway with a towel around his shoulders, catching the water that drips from his hair, a fluffy, oversized dressing gown tied loosely at his waist — admires him whilst he can.
Taeseon's brow is furrowed, deep as he is in concentration, and Chaeha imagines interrupting him, imagines climbing into his lap, and taking the pad of his thumb to the wrinkles to smoothen them out. Instead, though, he gazes at him a while longer, taking in the sight of his broad shoulders, angled jaw, determined eyes, and those lips that smirk more often than not when he's goading Chaeha.
He slowly leans his head against the door jamb, sighing quietly, wondering how he can keep this, or how he can rid himself of it, or how he can go back in time and change both of their lives for the better.
They never would have crossed paths, never would have even known of each other's existence, if not for that fateful night. Maybe they could have been happy, unburdened, normal.
Taeseon shifts in his seat, leaning forward to grab a pen from his satchel, drawing Chaeha's gaze downwards, away from the set of his mouth and the eyes that always seem to see all of what Chaeha is.
His tie is gone now, slipped from around his neck and folded neatly on the bedside table, his blazer and waistcoat both hang on the coat rack, and several buttons of his shirt are open. The lamp beside him paints him in a delicate ochre, highlighting the lines of his chest, chasing the Stygian shadows down to the silhouette of his waist.
Chaeha pulls his lower lip between his teeth, abusing the flesh and dying it crimson, watching as Taeseon's Adam's apple bobs in his throat when he swallows, the way his gaping collar reveals the stark line of his collarbone, the muscle of his shoulder, the creaminess of his exposed skin.
Maybe Chaeha really was a pervert, maybe Taeseon already knows.
Gulping, he moves then, the thought knocking him violently from his reverie, the action catching Taeseon's eye.
“Your turn,” Chaeha says awkwardly, voice coming out much too thin, too fast, too breathy.
He practically lunges towards the kitchen island, grabbing the bottle there and flicking open the cap, before quickly dispensing a few of the pills into his palm.
Taeseon is at his back before he can take them, and Chaeha curls his fingers over them, just for something to hold onto, however small.
“Lee Chaeha…” Taeseon murmurs, brushing his lips against the sensitive shell of Chaeha's ear, sending a shiver down his spine.
A trembling exhale is all Chaeha can manage in return, his body reacting just as swiftly as any other time that they've been this close.
He squeezes his eyes shut when Taeseon kisses his neck, following an invisible line around to his nape, and to the other side, the tablets feeling as if they're turning to powder in Chaeha's hand with how hard he's clenching his fist.
“Lee Chaeha…” Taeseon repeats, into his other ear now, before he takes the lobe between his teeth, tugging at the flesh as his hand does the same to the belt of Chaeha's dressing gown.
“I…” Chaeha starts, grabbing for Taeseon's wrist, the simple word turning to a moan when Taeseon's teeth find the tendon in his neck, taut like a bowstring, an imitation of Chaeha's resolve.
He wonders if he really wants it to stop, wonders if he needs it to live, wonders if Taeseon feels the same.
Chaeha tightens his grips on Taeseon's wrist all the same, stilling his movement.
“You started this, remember?” Taeseon teases, voice low and thick with intention.
Chaeha remembers.
He remembers their first night together, when Taeseon had first uttered those words — memories that feel like distant dreams now — right here in his apartment, when Taeseon had taken him, claimed him for his own, without a second thought. He remembers the way Taeseon pushed himself inside of him, the way he took what he wanted without question, the way Chaeha would have let him take infinitely more, if only he'd demanded it.
The cascading slew of visions of that night have Chaeha's cock twitching, leaking against the fabric of his dressing gown.
“I remember,” he breathes, tipping his head back to rest on Taeseon's shoulder, his grasp loosening, freeing Taeseon from his hold, “I remember”.
He gasps when strong fingers encircle his aching cock, unconsciously bucking up into the tunnel of Taeseon's fist, earning him a breath of a laugh into the crook of his neck.
“Ju Taeseon,” Chaeha moans, the name sounding odd now. Not unpleasant, not really, but incomprehensible in a way he can't describe; false in the way sweetener leaves its aftertaste, jarring in the same way as someone telling a blatant, flagrant lie.
Now he knows Taeseon's true identity, now he knows the hurt he had lived with all this time, the resentment that had built with each and every glance he'd sent Chaeha's way.
Kang Taeseon.
The name that had died the night his father had, the night he had found his father's corpse, the name that had been whisked away with an act that is wholly monstrous and very nearly indescribable. An act that Chaeha's own father might very well have committed, a name Chaeha's father might very well have stolen.
His thoughts are dashed, blown away like so much smoke, when Taeseon twists at Chaeha's nipple with his free hand, cruelly catching it between his thumb and forefinger, sending Chaeha's mind blissfully blank.
“Taeseon,” he begs, knowing exactly what he wants but questioning himself all the same.
Taeseon hums in satisfaction, before biting at the skin of Chaeha's neck, nipping behind his ear and making him moan.
All the while, he keeps working him, striping his hand up and down his cock in a steady rhythm, urging Chaeha closer to the edge of his release.
Then, he's gone, and Chaeha turns to the sound of the bedside drawer sliding open, and watches, breathlessly, as Taeseon pulls a bottle of lube from amongst the mess.
Chaeha's stomach jumps, along with his cock, and he shudders, licking at his lips as his mouth goes dry at the thought of what's to come, those memories hurtling back to the forefront of his mind: Taeseon inside him, above him, behind him, taking everything Chaeha is.
Taeseon warms the lube between his fingers first, pressing kisses to the top of Chaeha's spine, then he probes at his hole with practised precision, slicking him up, before breaching him as easily as any other task set before him.
He pumps his finger inside of him, crooking it to seek out Chaeha's prostate, smiling against Chaeha's skin when Chaeha gasps out at his success.
Taeseon bends him forwards slightly with a firm yet gentle hand between his shoulder blades, and Chaeha spreads his forearms across the top of the kitchen island, before Taeseon slides another finger inside of him, stretching him out, readying him to take his cock.
Chaeha can't think straight, can't think at all except for how good Taeseon makes him feel, how much he wants this, wants him, wants them.
He grasps onto the far side of the countertop, the pills spilling from his hand and skittering across the laminate, and bites at his lower lip so hard he thinks he might draw blood, desperate to keep quiet, moans trapped, almost painfully, in the hollow of his chest.
Burying his face into his bicep, Chaeha can barely breathe, can barely stand, with the way Taeseon is continually teasing at his prostate.
The sound of a zipper fills the room, and Chaeha bites at his own arm to keep from crying out at the slick sound of Taeseon taking himself in hand, pleasuring himself to the same punishing pace he's set for Chaeha.
He's so close, his fingers aching where he's still gripping onto the edge of the kitchen island but, just as he's about to come, heat coiling low in his gut, his legs quivering, threatening to drop him to the floor, Taeseon stops.
He abruptly drops his hand free of Chaeha's body, stepping back, warmth leaving with him, sending Chaeha dizzy with it.
Chaeha whimpers against his will, his breath coming in sharp gasps as his body tries to catch up with what's happened.
“On the bed,” Taeseon instructs, his cock hard and flushed red, and Chaeha stumbles, eager to comply.
Taeseon huffs an affectionate laugh, climbing up onto the mattress after him, kneeling between Chaeha's thighs, parting them further as he shuffles closer.
Swallowing hard, Chaeha studies Taeseon's face as he palms Chaeha's thighs, kneading at his flesh.
He takes his time, peppering kisses over the expanse of Chaeha's torso, sucking and biting and marking, as Chaeha writhes beneath him, fingers clinging to Taeseon's shoulders as if they were his own sanity.
Then he starts his assault once more, fingers slick and sure, delving back in as if they'd never left, taking up the maddening rhythm of before.
Chaeha arches his back, every muscle in his body tense and singing with the need to come, his mind totally consumed by it as his cock throbs, dripping incessantly with pre-come.
He throws his arm over his eyes when Taeseon pulls back again, sobbing when Taeseon's insistent cock finally sinks inside of him, agonisingly slowly, Chaeha's entire body tingling, so on edge that he feels like he could come just from this, this fullness, this ache, this feeling of being utterly devoured yet completely starved.
Chaeha turns his head, closing his eyes tightly shut, until Taeseon wraps his fingers around his throat, jerking his head forward.
“I want to see you,” Taeseon growls, his palm pressed to Chaeha's Adam's apple, eyes boring into Chaeha's own as he begins fucking into him.
It's so different from their first time, when Taeseon had gripped Chaeha's hair and forced him to look away, that Chaeha nearly chokes on the intimacy of it, the affection in Taeseon's heated gaze squeezing at Chaeha's heart.
They're different people now, Chaeha realises with belated bewilderment.
Then Taeseon's lips are on Chaeha's again, before he can think anymore about secrets and the revealing of them, mouths colliding in another desperate, frantic kiss, all tongue and teeth and slick lips.
Pressure builds quickly, pushing him higher, until he can barely stand it, until he feels like he could scream, or cry, or both, until he finally tips over the edge, his orgasm rushing over him like sand in a desert storm, very nearly suffocating him with the intensity of it.
When Taeseon comes inside of him, the heat of it is almost overwhelming, the feeling heightened by the overstimulation and the wave of fondness that practically makes him seasick.
Taeseon collapses against him — a soothing weight after everything — kissing languidly at Chaeha's neck, and Chaeha tentatively lifts his hand to stroke at Taeseon's sweat slick back.
Chaeha muses over this feeling, the act of longing for someone when you already have them in your arms.
He speculates on whether things would be easier if he didn't crave this, didn't think about it when they were apart, didn't feel himself falling, again and again, for Ju Taeseon.
The tenderness in Taeseon's touch as he strokes a hand down Chaeha's arm sends goosebumps rising in its wake, and Chaeha knows that what they have can't be undone, not now, no matter how much he ponders on it.
He smiles, quiet and secret, as Taeseon's breaths become deeper and slower as he slips into a usually hard won slumber.
Maybe they could still be happy, like this, here, now, in this timeline. Not unburdened, not normal, but happy. He barely knew how to begin to hope.