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“So, this choreo…” Mark trails off, aware of twelve pairs of eyes twinkling at him. This is what it must feel like to be targeted by the devil. Years of Vacation Bible Camp warned him about this.
“Oh? What’s wrong with the choreo, Mark?” Actual Satan—Jaemin—asks, voice cool, smile sharp.
“Yeah, it’s so cute,” says Donghyuck with less outward evil radiating off of him, but still plenty of nefarious intent hiding in his put-upon pout.
Mark is used to this. This is what he expects. Being a leader is a thankless job and he respects Taeyong so, so much.
“It’s great,” he agrees, for the sake of their poor lead choreographer who is giving him a look of mild distress. “Yeah, it’s so good, just that one part…”
“What part?” Chenle joins in the game, goading. He knows what part. They all know, and yet, here he is.
Mark’s favorite part of a comeback is learning new choreography, and When I’m With You is awesome, truly. Upbeat, fast-paced, fun—with the one stipulation that it gives the members the perfect chance to torment him in front of a live audience many, many times over. It’s quick, barely a second of movement. The idea is for six pairs of hands to graze Mark, lightly, inoffensively—but this is Dream. The move will be very offensive.
Mark doesn’t answer because the others will sniff out his weakness and make this even worse for him. Jaemin reads his mind anyways.
“Mark, who do you think we are?” he demands, faux gasps to really sell the outrage. “We’re professionals.”
“Right…” Mark draws out the word, trying to make it sound as threatening as the pointed look he’s giving Jaemin. It’s a dare—try me, Na. It’s probably the wrong idea. “My bad. Yeah, you would never.”
“We would never,” Donghyuck agrees, and there’s something about his expression, his tone. Mark knows Donghyuck; they’re extensions of each other at this point, so usually, Mark isn’t afraid of him. Sure, Donghyuck was born to push Mark’s buttons and gets under his skin in a way that Mark can’t fully explain—but he knows him. He can tell when he’s truly plotting, and this situation seems like a Jaemin Original, not something Donghyuck has his hands all over.
But Mark never knows. Donghyuck is a sleeper agent.
“We so would,” Chenle stage-whispers to Jisung like none of them have functional hearing. Renjun rolls his eyes but even he giggles and Mark knows that this comeback has the potential to be his downfall.
“I love it,” Mark grits through his teeth, giving their choreographer a big, (fake) encouraging smile. “Let’s get practicing.”
At first, everybody behaves, but Mark isn’t stupid. They’re biding their time before they start getting bolder—heightening the stakes. The laughter gives it away; they can’t get through the move without giggling, like they have an inside joke. And, look, Mark doesn’t mind being the butt of it—he’s good-natured, he’s cool—but he’s also on edge. Mark isn’t a prude or anything; he’s into skinship as much as the rest of them. It's nice to be able to touch his friends without it being weird, but when there’s an audience—he’s shy, alright? He gets flustered.
Like, with Donghyuck—Mark thought he was standoffish at first, kind of a bitch and definitely not the touchy feely type, but no. He was, and consistently is, the worst offender. The rest of them at least gave Mark some time to get used to the huge culture difference with touching, but not Donghyuck. He licked Mark, like, two weeks into knowing him. He has his own perfectly good bed, but seems to like Mark’s more, no matter how violently Mark swears he’ll kick him in the middle of the night. Zero boundaries.
And now here he is, acting like Mark is the insane one for being uneasy.
“You’re so tense, Markie,” he says. “Relax. No one is going to tarnish your purity.”
Mark points an accusatory finger at him. “That’s what you want me to think.”
“Oh my God, he’s so paranoid,” huffs Jaemin from across the room. “You wound us, Mark-hyung.”
“Maybe if your track record wasn’t so bad.” Mark wipes the sweat from his eyes before fixing Jaemin with what he’s sure is a threatening look, even if Jaemin laughs in his face for it. “As soon as I relax, you’re gonna mess my day up.”
Donghyuck pushes Mark’s hair out of his face—normal, totally normal—and Mark goes rigid. Donghyuck rolls his eyes to the ceiling and smacks Mark’s forehead with the back of his hand.
“Fine, stress yourself out. Have a heart attack by age twenty-five. But it’s for nothing!”
“Absolutely nothing,” Jaemin agrees.
Mark keeps his suspicions high—they’re acting innocent now, but he knows. He knows.
Jaemin tweaks Mark’s nipple. Mark is so vindicated.
“Ah!” He stumbles in his shock and tries to right himself, but finds Donghyuck has gotten there first, hand reaching out for Mark’s bicep. In normal circumstances, this is fine, but Mark is all messed up from the torment he knew was coming, so he shudders involuntarily.
“Dude, no,” he snaps, wriggling out of Donghyuck’s grip and using the momentum to elbow Jaemin in the chest. “Knock that shit off, I’m gonna, like—”
Chenle and Jisung howl with laughter. Even Renjun cracks a smile. Traitor. Jeno is the only one on his side here—well, maybe; Mark can’t even tell because he turns around and faces the wall. He’s probably laughing. Mark can trust no one.
“You’re gonna what?” Donghyuck teases, poking Mark in the ribs. “Nana is just doing the choreography as intended.”
“Yeah, what’s the issue?” Jaemin puts on an exaggerated frown. “Am I not a good enough dancer?”
“You’re a problem, that’s what you are. You’re all problems.”
“If you don’t react, it ruins their fun,” Renjun points out. “You’re playing right into their hands, hyung.”
“You’re making it too easy,” Jeno agrees, half-hearted.
Yeah, actually—they have a point. If Mark schools his reactions, if he stops anticipating so hard, then Jaemin will get bored. He’s obviously the ringleader here—even if Donghyuck is giving off the vibes that he’s going to strike when Mark least expects it, he’s keeping his focus on Jaemin. Jaemin has an attention span that lasts, like, a few days tops.
He doesn’t even know why he’s so pressed about it. It could happen on stage, but so what? Mark’s a professional; he trusts his own reactions. He’s got this. Renjun and Jeno are right. Mark will let Jaemin have his fun.
“Yeah,” he says, gaining confidence with every second. “Yeah—do your worst. I don’t even care.”
Famous last words. Mark’s gotta learn some day, but it isn’t today.
He figured he wouldn’t get off easy, but what he didn’t count on was Jaemin’s ability to recruit for his cause.
The next day starts, again, with Jaemin. He sticks his face right next to Mark during the move, stares into his soul, which causes Mark to burst into an ugly snort-laugh that Jisung claims sprays spit in his direction. Mark tells Jaemin if they don’t get through this fully, he’ll keep him for extra practice, knowing full well Jaemin and Jeno have shopping plans this evening.
So, Jaemin must think he can get around it by ordering the others around. Chenle, always on board with the prospect of making people uncomfortable, enthusiastically pinches Mark’s cheeks and immediately runs away giggling about it. Jisung is always down to clown and shows it by tickling Mark’s armpit—a move that ends up with both of them on the floor screaming. Jeno will follow Jaemin to the ends of the earth, even when he should be following his alleged moral compass, so Mark isn’t safe from him, either. Even Renjun, who Mark counts as the most mature in the group, himself included, is sticking his fingers in Mark’s ear. He can’t take it.
By the end of the day, Mark is a live wire. They haven’t run through this successfully even once and Mark is tempted to use his Power of Leadership to make everyone behave—but he hates doing that. He’s not good at playing the bad guy. Besides, everyone is tired, so maybe this last one will be safe. It has to be. They all want to go home.
Mark starts the music one last time and they get into position. He hits every move perfectly, focuses on the beat, and when the time comes for the cursed move, everyone hovers in his space but doesn’t touch. Everyone but Donghyuck.
Mark wasn’t expecting it, so it hits him like a truck. Donghyuck smacks Mark’s thigh, way too high up for Mark to ignore it. Even worse, Donghyuck lets it linger for just a second too long, fingers crawling quickly up even higher. Mark squeaks and jumps back, nearly bowling Chenle over in the process.
“Hey,” he chokes, trying for stern but coming out shaky—what the hell is wrong with him? Mark can handle it, the homoerotic stuff. He’s secure in his sexuality and he’s in NCT, so he can’t be shy about playing gay chicken when it’s their game of choice, but Donghyuck… Donghyuck doesn’t know when to quit.
Donghyuck touches Mark a lot. He’s used to it, really, but he can’t help his reactions. His stomach drops; his brain goes a little fuzzy. Mark has gotten good at continuing to dance through the others’ intrusions but Donghyuck throws him off his game. It’s just because Donghyuck is so—bold about it, or something.
“Sorry,” Donghyuck sings. “My hand slipped.”
“Oh, you’re full of it.”
Jaemin coughs to cover up a cackle and it spreads to the rest of the room. Mark can feel his ears burning up. He’s a good sport, he’s cool, it’s just—Donghyuck. Mark’s never been able to explain the way he gets to him.
“I thought you didn’t care.” Donghyuck is grinning. The others watch them like a tennis match, waiting for Mark’s reaction—and you know what? Donghyuck’s words put Mark right at ease. He’s doing his usual thing, teasing, bidding for Mark’s attention. Mark is above that; he knows how to deny Donghyuck, on occasion. He can ignore him, keep the desired freak-out well out of Donghyuck’s reach.
Maybe that plan would’ve worked with anyone other than Donghyuck.
They run through the dance three more times. Donghyuck’s hands find Mark’s hip, squeeze lightly, and Mark punches him in the stomach on impulse. After a thorough show of dramatics in which Donghyuck pretends to need an ambulance, they start again, and Donghyuck kisses Mark on the cheek. Mark groans and wipes it off, sending Donghyuck a look that says last warning.
But when has Donghyuck ever cared about Mark’s threats? Never. On the third run through, Donghyuck smacks Mark’s butt and Mark, wholly unprepared for the assault, nearly falls onto the floor.
His ears are ringing.
“Alright, we’re done.” His voice cracks, which is even more humiliating than what just occurred. Mark’s mouth is dry. He heads for his water bottle, gulping down half of it at once. He catches Donghyuck watching him—watching his throat? No, Mark is insane right now. He needs a break. “That’s enough for today.”
The others start to filter out, still giggling like middle schoolers, until it’s just Mark and Donghyuck in the room. Donghyuck, unbothered by his own terrible behavior, plops down next to Mark on the floor.
Mark glares at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” Donghyuck says, the picture of innocence. “Wanna stay late and practice together? You need it.”
The nerve of this guy—unbelievable. “And whose fault is that, Hyuck?”
Donghyuck shrugs, angelic, faultless, like he always is in his own mind. “Dunno what you’re talking about, Mark Lee.” He pauses, then puts a hand to his heart. “Consider it my sincere apology for messing with you. I’ll practice for real.”
They’re at a standoff, because Mark saying no to extra practice is an admission of weakness and Donghyuck will go run to Jaemin, telling him that his plan is working and Mark is bothered. He can’t deal with that, not when he’s been working so hard to be normal.
So, he nods. “Sure. I’ll buy you dinner after.”
Donghyuck mock-gasps. “Thank you, baby.”
If Mark’s cheeks heat up, it’s only because the room is so warm—he’s easily flushed and Donghyuck is so shameless. His only reprieve is that Donghyuck is also a performer through and through: if he doesn’t have an audience, he probably won’t pick on Mark so much. They should get through extra practice unscathed—Donghyuck is right; Mark needs it.
And as much as Donghyuck is, like, actively stressing him out—Mark still breathes easier when it’s just the two of them. There’s a calmness that hanging out with the others doesn’t give him. If Donghyuck actually behaves, this could be what Mark needs to chill out.
Mark queues up the song and they get themselves into position. It’s always odd to watch themselves in the mirror when the group isn’t around—the choreo is too bare, and Mark doesn’t have enough places to look that aren’t at his own reflection, which always throws him off. He loves dance and he knows he’s good at it, but it’s a lot to stare yourself down when you’re trying to get something right.
Usually he switches his focus around to the others, but he doesn’t tend to watch Donghyuck. Maybe he feels like he doesn’t need to, since they’ve been around each other so long, but tonight, there’s no choice. His eyes follow Donghyuck in the mirror, watching the fluidity with which he moves. He’s not putting full effort into it right now, and it’s obvious, but it’s not doing anything to dampen the appeal. Donghyuck has a natural talent like that—people are always staring at him on stage, even when he’s only operating at fifty percent.
Mark might be staring at him a little too hard right now, because Donghyuck catches his eye in the mirror and winks. Then he twirls around before Mark can defend himself and slots himself into position for what has been Mark’s biggest headache. He let his guard down, got distracted—thought he might actually be safe, but Donghyuck goes straight for him, lifting his shirt to graze his stomach. His fingers dance over the waistband of Mark’s shorts, dipping just under.
Mark stumbles backwards so hard he would’ve hit the ground if his reflexes weren’t so honed.
“Dude, what the hell?” Mark complains when he’s gotten his bearings back. His heart is hammering in his chest. Shit, it sounds loud, obvious, and there’s that feeling in his stomach again, the one that never goes away with Donghyuck. And, and—fuck, no way. He’s not, he’s not hard. No, it’s a fluke. He’s imagining it.
Donghyuck is grinning at him like it’s his birthday, all gleeful. Mark half wants to push him, half wants to lift his shirt up and give him the same treatment back—but that’s a weird feeling. He doesn’t—he’s not usually like that with Donghyuck. He’s not…
He’s all messed up. Donghyuck and the others have actually been psychologically tormenting him.
“What?” Donghyuck asks. He has enough nerve to sound exasperated. “It’s just us here, and I’ve seen your tummy plenty of times. Not sure why you’re getting all shy on me.”
“It’s—you can’t just touch people, Hyuck. It’s rude!”
Donghyuck rolls his eyes. He’s gotten closer to Mark in the past thirty seconds, somehow—Mark’s been too caught up in his indignation to notice, but here Donghyuck is, right in front of him. “I’m not touching people. I’m touching you.”
He punctuates his sentence with a hand to Mark’s neck, basically cradling it. “You think it’s rude when I touch you, Mark? We’ve known each other so long.”
The weird and uncomfortable feeling starts to bubble violently in Mark’s stomach. Donghyuck’s touch is burning and he’s right there, looking at Mark like he wants to eat him. He’s never seen this look in Donghyuck’s eyes before. He—
Mark’s fight or flight activates out of nowhere. He shrugs Donghyuck off, trying not to come across pissed about it, but he is. At least, he thinks he’s mad. He doesn’t know. He’s tired. That’s all it is—exhaustion.
“I’m going home.”
“What about dinner?” Donghyuck grouses. The thought of being alone with Donghyuck for even a second longer in this state makes Mark’s skin itch, so he pulls out his phone and sends Donghyuck enough money for a meal, trying to smile at him in a way that will come across as normal.
“There. On me,” he says. Before Donghyuck can complain, and before Mark can face whatever is going on, he turns to the door and flees like a coward.
“Dude, it’s like—I don’t wanna make it sound like something it’s not, but, like—”
“Mark,” Johnny interrupts. He’s been patient while Mark tries to flounder through what he’s trying to say six different times. His words aren’t making sense, sentences coming out all garbled. “I have a theory. You’re not going to like it.”
Mark blanches. “Why wouldn’t I like it?”
“Because,” Johnny drags out the word like he’s killing time. He sighs. “These are the kind of conversations I dreaded having with my son.”
Mark scrunches up his nose. “Come on, man. Stop stalling.”
“Let me ask you a question,” Johnny begins again. “If you were doing the choreo with 127—if it was, say, me, doing what Hyuckie is doing, would you be in crisis mode?”
“No, of course not,” Mark scoffs. “It’s you.”
“Okay, and Hyuck is Hyuck.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Exactly!” Johnny points at him. “There’s a but—the but is that you just see me as your buddy, so you don’t care if I fondle your nipples—”
“I mean. I probably would care if you did that, dude. Please don’t.”
“—but you don’t see Hyuckie as just your buddy,” Johnny steamrolls over him. “You never have. I’ve been patient with you denying it, with you pretending that your relationship with him is all just fanservice, but there comes a point where you have to be real, and that time is now. You’re uncomfortable because you like the way Donghyuck is touching you.”
“You’re not even listening,” Mark groans, ignoring eighty percent of what Johnny said. He doesn’t have time to process it right now. “I’m uncomfortable because I don’t like it.”
“Describe how it makes you feel,” Johnny says. “In detail.”
“Uh.” Mark doesn’t want to, but Johnny is looking at him in that way that says he’ll know if Mark is holding back, so he figures he has no choice. “It’s like—my stomach gets all twisted. But it’s not—it’s not like that!”
“What’s it like then, Mark?”
“Shut up.”
Mark is straight. Mark likes girls. He’s only ever liked girls. The fact that he’s never really had an opportunity to be in a relationship notwithstanding—you just know these things. Mark finds all of the Aespa girls really pretty, and he had that really embarrassing crush on Hwasa all those years ago. Of course he’s straight.
He likes soft skin; he likes a fiery attitude; he likes someone he can banter with, someone who will call him out on his shit. He wants someone who can match him, who can—who can—
Donghyuck is all of those things. But he’s a man!
“It’s such a joy to watch you figure things out,” Johnny says. “Makes me feel like all my hard work paid off.”
“No,” Mark chokes out. “No, I’m not figuring anything out—Donghyuck is my best friend.”
“I’m your best friend,” Johnny corrects him. “Hyuckie is your boyfriend.”
“You’re the worst. I’m going to get advice from Yuta.”
“Oh yeah, Yuta is less likely to call this a gay thing. Yuta has been praying for your gay awakening for a decade.”
“Whatever,” Mark huffs. He’s just being ribbed—he thought he could count on Johnny for legitimate advice, but this is ridiculous. He loves Donghyuck, obviously, but he’s not, like, into Donghyuck. He could never picture Donghyuck’s hands trailing lower than they do during the choreography, couldn’t imagine him pushing Mark’s sweats down, shoving him against the mirror and kissing him—
Oh. Uh oh. He definitely can picture it, and is, right now.
“Aha!” Johnny grins. “You’re getting it, aren’t you? I’m so good.”
“I’m—no. No way.”
“What’s so bad about it?” Johnny cajoles. “Hyuck thinks the sun shines out of your ass. He worships the ground you walk on.”
“He’s mean to me, like, all the time!” Mark argues.
“He’s flirting. It’s playground shit. He’s obsessed with you.” Johnny rolls his eyes. “Trust me. We all see it. We’ve just been waiting for you to see it.”
“What.” Mark might go a little catatonic. He’s reliving the past ten years of his life that he’s known Donghyuck, and then his entire life in general that he’s believed he was a straight man. Is it possible to be so wrong? Does he even know himself? “How could I just, like—don’t you always know who you like?”
Johnny scoffs. “Obviously not. You’re gonna like who you’re gonna like. If that person happens to have a dick, you’re gonna get really into dicks.”
Mark frowns. He’s not repulsed by the idea. He’s very into his own dick, obviously. He goes back over Johnny’s words.
“Wait, are you—”
“This is not about me,” Johnny interrupts him. “But if it were, then I would say yes. If I found myself in a situation where I’m very into a particular dick, I’d be on it. So if you are too—no big. Safe space and all of that.”
“Dude, are you serious? I can’t tell.”
“Deadly.”
Okay. Okay, this changes things. Maybe Mark has been repressed. It’s really hard to find time to think about mundane things like his sexuality when he’s focusing on when he’s going to find time to eat and sleep in between engagements. Mark has been way too busy to explore anything—so maybe that’s what this is. He missed his window of exploration and now his sexuality is barging down his door. He’s not really prepared for it, but it… it makes sense.
Donghyuck, though? That’s the worst possible scenario. What if it doesn’t work out? What if Mark fucks up a good thing?
“Oh, are you ever overthinking,” Johnny says, pulling him out of his spiral. “Relax. Taeyong isn’t going to care if you mess around with someone in the group. You’re not the first.”
“I’m not?”
Johnny nods. “You’re not even the second.”
“Who?”
“We let people keep their secrets here.”
Okay, so one of them is Johnny. Mark is going to come back to that, he swears, when he doesn’t have his own crisis to deal with. He shakes his head like he’s trying to banish said crisis, like he can expel all the impure thoughts that are suddenly flooding his head—thoughts about Donghyuck.
Mark has always known Donghyuck is something special. He’s… he’s gorgeous, alright? Mark knows that. It’s just new that he wants to do something about it.
But no matter what Johnny—or Taeyong, apparently—says, Mark can’t let himself even entertain the idea. It’s a passing phase, that’s all. Mark has been sleep-deprived for the past two years, and it’s finally catching up to him. Donghyuck is messing with him and it’s making him delusional. Mark will just—avoid it. He’ll avoid Donghyuck for a bit, something he’s had to do so many times when Donghyuck is getting on his nerves. They take space, they get over it, they go back to normal. Easy. Problem solved.
“Sooo, are you gonna go give Hyuckie a big kiss?” Johnny teases, trying to tickle Mark in the stomach. He gets an elbow to the face for his trouble. “Ow. Dick.”
“Nope, I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened,” Mark says, standing up from Johnny’s desk chair. “Thanks for the help, man.”
“You’re so hopeless,” Johnny grouses. Mark ignores him, already leaving. “I can’t believe I raised you!” he calls at Mark’s back. Mark just holds up his hand in a wave and shuts the door behind him.
Avoiding Donghyuck is usually easy. Donghyuck takes it so personally, he makes it his mission to avoid Mark harder than Mark is avoiding him, so Mark doesn't have to work too much. He just has to be the one to end the standoff—which he will, once he’s gotten his brain more in order.
The good news is, they’ve almost gotten the choreography down to a science. It’s perfect. They’ll still run through it before their performances, but it won’t be a constant grind. It also seems like Jaemin and his band of minions are losing steam on tormenting Mark. He was hoping Donghyuck would feel the same, but he makes a beeline to Mark as soon as he steps foot in the practice room.
Donghyuck pokes him in the chest. “Did you break your phone?”
“No?”
“Hmm. Weird. Because I texted you last night and you didn’t answer.”
“Okay, mom.” Mark rolls his eyes. He’s being bitchy but it’s only because he’s on edge—he hasn’t had a chance to get his emotions straightened out and the proximity to Donghyuck is making him nervous. He takes a step back and Donghyuck’s eyes follow the movement.
“What—are you seriously mad about last night?” He narrows his eyes.
“I’m not mad,” Mark says quickly because while he is mad at Donghyuck, like, all the time, his brain rejects the idea of him thinking that Mark is mad now. He’s not mad, he’s… unsettled.
Donghyuck doesn’t say anything for a moment. He stares at Mark hard, like he’s trying to look into his mind. Mark’s heart beats faster.
Then, Donghyuck smiles. “Okay, you’re not mad. Glad to hear it, Markie.”
“Um.”
Donghyuck waits for no one, as usual, so he’s gone before Mark can form a thought. In his place, almost instantly, Jaemin spawns.
“Hey,” he says, nudging Mark. He grins. “Ready for tonight?”
Tonight is their first performance of the new song. Mark is the furthest thing from ready. He knows the choreography perfectly but he’s going to have to disassociate the whole time to have a chance of not messing it up on cameras. At least Music Bank is mildly forgiving. He just hopes his cherished group mates are also.
“Don’t try anything, Jae. I’m not in the mood.”
“Oh, we’ve been over that for hours now. Keep up.” Jaemin laughs. “Torturing you is only fun when you don’t get so mopey about it.”
Mark eyes him. “Did Hyuck not get the memo?”
“Does he ever? He does his own thing.” Jaemin sighs and leans into Mark’s side. “But I talked to him for you, because I’m such a good friend. You have nothing to worry about. You’ll have fun tonight, promise.”
Mark relaxes infinitesimally. “You talked to him?”
“Of course. I care about my babies.”
“Oh, yeah, we’re your babies.”
“Age is but a number—mentally, I’m the hyung.”
Mark shoves him but he smiles, feeling lighter already. It shouldn’t matter—Mark should be the one talking to Donghyuck, but he’s allowed to be a coward every so often. He’s earned that, and he appreciates that Jaemin is so in-tune with the situation.
“Just remember to thank me later, okay?” Jaemin winks.
“I could just thank you now? Thank—”
“No, no.” Jaemin holds up a hand. “Trust me. Save it.”
Everyone in this group is so damn weird. Mark just stares at him and Jaemin smiles like an evil little fairy before flitting away.
Waiting around is the worst part of these shows. Mark is caked in makeup and jittery. Donghyuck is ignoring him, like expected, but not in a pissy way—he keeps throwing him glances and acting like he’s not, which is more annoying than when he refuses to make eye contact with Mark. They’ve been here for hours and have not shared a word, but have shared so many looks. Mark plays a card game with Jeno and Chenle to keep his mind off it, gets his hair touched up three times, scrolls on his phone so that his brain has no time to form even a single thought that might be about Donghyuck.
About how good he looks. It’s probably because Mark is, like, aware of the attraction now but he swears Donghyuck’s stylist went in extra on him today—he’s all sparkly and glowy and beautiful. It’s giving Mark a stomachache.
They’re going on in fifteen minutes and Mark lies to himself that everything he’s feeling is adrenaline. It’s not convincing, but it’ll work, for now. He’s always been good at hyping himself into performance mode—it takes a lot to take him out of the zone once he’s in it. So he rides that high as they walk out onto the stage, into their positions.
He rides the high as he nails every verse, every step, every charming smile for the camera and for the few lucky fans in the studio and those that will watch this at home later.
And then, everything comes to a head. Mark centers himself for the move—that move—and he realizes that Jaemin and all of his friends are dirty liars.
Renjun grabs one shoulder, Chenle the other. Jaemin tickles the back of his neck with nimble fingers while Jeno and Jisung each take one of his sides to squeeze. Donghyuck—Donghyuck ghosts over Mark’s crotch, quick, but not quick enough for Mark not to notice. His feet stutter and he loses control of the choreography all at once, stumbling backward.
He can hear the fans’ concern. Mark’s face heats up.
He manages to recover, but it’s a close thing. His hands are clammy, his legs shaking through every move. His face is burning hot, and he’s sure his red cheeks are going to be plastered on fancams all over the world.
It’s a miracle Mark finishes the performance at all, and by the time the cameras get out of his face, his ears are buzzing.
“I need a minute,” he croaks to the group and before anyone can respond, he high-tails it backstage, dodging staff to make it to their dressing room. He shuts the door behind him and sinks to the floor, breathing heavy.
Not twenty seconds later and someone is throwing the door open onto Mark’s back. “Ow, fuck,” he complains.
“Don’t sit in front of the door, idiot,” says Donghyuck.
“Get out of here. You’re the last person I want to see.”
“Yeah, I really believe that.” Donghyuck scoffs. He pushes the door further. “Move.”
Mark does, but only because Donghyuck won’t stop until he’s mowed Mark down completely, and he does have a show to get back to. They’ll have to go out for the goodbye soon. Mark shuffles an inch, just enough for Donghyuck to slip in and shut the door behind them.
The lock clicks. Mark stares up at him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling around inside of him. “What’s your problem, Hyuck?”
“Mine?” Donghyuck frowns. “You’re the one who ran off the stage like an insane person. We have, like, an hour, so. We’re not leaving until you figure your shit out.”
“I don’t have any shit to figure out.”
“Oh, you have so much shit to figure out, Mark,” Donghyuck laughs.
“You’re the—you’re the one who won’t stop fucking messing with me!” He stands up now, everything coming to a head. He needs to run, needs to punch something, needs to—
“And why is it affecting you so much? Why are you so bothered?”
Mark needs to—
“It’s only me, isn’t it?” Donghyuck is in his face. He always gets in Mark’s face in these arguments. There’s a breathiness to his tone that makes Mark’s heart rate speed up.
He needs to—
Donghyuck is staring at him, into his eyes, and then—then down to his lips. Mark tracks the movements, notices when Donghyuck pokes his tongue out, running it over his lips.
He needs to—
“You’re so annoying,” Mark hisses, and then he shoves Donghyuck back into the door and kisses him.
If Donghyuck is at all surprised, he doesn’t show it. He kisses Mark back without hesitation, deepening it. He wraps his arms around Mark’s neck, bringing their bodies flush together, like he can’t get them close enough. Mark’s kissed people before—not, like, a ton, but a few—and it hasn’t felt like this, like he’s burning from the inside out.
“Hyuck—”
“Finally,” Donghyuck cuts him off. “I was running out of creative options to make you break.”
“Huh?”
“I was so desperate I had to recruit Jaemin for help—you owe me, Mark. He’s going to make fun of me for this for the rest of my life.”
“You—the choreo thing?”
“Obviously on purpose,” Donghyuck confirms, grinning. He presses his thumb to Mark’s cheek, and for once, Mark doesn’t flinch away. Donghyuck rubs the thumb down to his bottom lip and pulls at it. “It’s so fun to make you squirm—but this is what I wanted to get out of the whole thing.”
“You’re—man, you’re evil. Why didn’t you just come onto me like a normal person?”
Donghyuck shrugged. “Dunno, but it worked. So I don’t want to hear any complaints from you. Kiss me again.”
It’s the easiest command Mark has ever obeyed. They stay pressed together against the door, occasionally bumping against it loudly enough to make it shake. Mark unintentionally covers the noise with a moan when Donghyuck pulls away to kiss up his neck, feather-light nips that make Mark’s vision go a little blurry.
“How—how much time did you say we had?”
“Maybe forty-five minutes now,” Donghyuck replies. “Jaemin can be very distracting.”
“Great, yeah.” Mark is losing concentration fast, fighting to keep his eyes from fluttering shut as Donghyuck bites at his earlobe. “Come back here.”
The kiss is frantic, no finesse, and Mark can’t get enough. Now isn’t the time to take it slow, and even if they had hours, Mark doesn’t think he has it in him to take his foot off the gas, even a little bit. Donghyuck has been tormenting him for weeks and Mark has been so stressed out, so pent up—God, he wants to eat Donghyuck alive. What had he been thinking?
He shoves him hard against the door now, pushing their bodies flush together, taking control. Mark’s been living the past several weeks of his life feeling insane; maybe the past several years? But it's not like Donghyuck gives him a choice: Donghyuck moans so pretty—he does everything so pretty.
They find a rhythm so quickly, with Donghyuck’s lips sliding against Mark’s with intention, no shyness. Of course, Donghyuck has never been shy with Mark.
“I want to take your clothes off,” Donghyuck says, and—case and point. Mark’s down, though. He’d do anything Donghyuck asks him to do at this point. It should freak him out that he’s so willing, but it just gets him hotter. He unbuttons his shirt, swears he’s being quick—but Donghyuck is so impatient. He smacks Mark’s hands away, pulling the shirt the rest of the way open, popping a button in his haste.
“Dude, you’re going to get reamed out by the stylists.”
“Ask me how much I care.”
Mark laughs. “Your turn. Let me do it, I’m not an animal.”
Donghyuck smiles at that, sweet, to any unbiased onlooker. Mark knows better. “Bet I could make you one,” he says. He doesn’t let Mark undress him, but rather tears his own shirt over his head and pops the button on Mark’s jeans, all at once, in quick succession.
Mark is dizzy. Donghyuck is still grinning, like he’s so proud his little plan worked. Mark can’t be mad at it. He can never stay mad at Donghyuck for long, especially when he’s so—so beautiful.
Donghyuck keeps smiling as he walks Mark backwards towards the couch, keeps smiling as he pushes him with just enough force for him to go down. Donghyuck could’ve blown on Mark and he would’ve fallen. He bounces onto the couch, knocking against the plush backrest, and Donghyuck doesn’t give him even a second to breathe before he’s sliding down into his lap and wrapping his arms around Mark’s neck.
“Markie,” he breathes. “I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”
Donghyuck grinds down and swallows Mark’s moan before it can fully leave his throat. Mark’s hands fly to Donghyuck’s waist, digging his fingers in, trying to get at as much bare skin as he can. Donghyuck is sucking on his tongue, tickling the back of his neck, and moving his hips in a steady, torturous rhythm; Mark doesn't know which sensation to focus on, so overwhelmed by them collectively. He tries desperately to meet him halfway but he’s out of his element.
Mark moves his hands from Donghyuck’s waist, trailing them up to brush over his belly, his sides, his chest, anywhere he can touch. His hands are shaking—it’s so embarrassing, but he can’t stop. He’s been trembling all over, his heart beating out of his chest; Mark has never felt pleasure this intense.
Donghyuck pulls away, takes his arms away from Mark’s neck and rests his hands over Mark’s wandering ones. He guides them, slowly upwards, until they’re lingering over Donghyuck’s nipples.
“I like it,” he tells Mark, a whisper, like they’re sharing a secret. “I’d like it if you used your mouth too.”
And Mark, desperate to obey, yanks their hands away and starts lavishing Donghyuck’s chest with kisses. He sucks one nipple into his mouth, until it’s hard enough for Mark to bite. He licks over it, soothing, and Donghyuck writhes in his lap, bringing their clothed cocks together. They both moan; they’re both wild-eyed and deranged.
“I want to suck your dick,” Donghyuck blurts. Mark nods without thought; he’s having an out of body experience. Donghyuck practically falls out of Mark’s embrace, dropping to his knees. He’s greedy when he pulls Mark’s pants down, frantic, uncoordinated. Mark isn’t faring much better. Damn tight pants, damn wardrobe—he finally gets them off and Donghyuck wastes no time in licking over the bulge in his boxers, dampening the fabric.
“Oh my God,” Mark groans. “Hyuckie. Please. For once, please don’t tease me.”
“But it’s so easy,” Donghyuck simpers. He squeezes Mark’s cock, mouths at the underside of it, and hooks his fingers on the waistband of his underwear. “You want it so bad, Mark, it’s so sweet. I wanna make you cry.”
“Yeah, you’re about to if you don’t—”
Donghyuck pulls Mark’s boxers down and swallows his cock in one swift movement. Mark hits the back of the couch, spreads his legs wider. He can't look down at Donghyuck—on his knees on their dressing room floor, circling his tongue around the head of Mark’s dick, licking over the slit and using one free hand to gently squeeze his balls—or Mark will come on the spot.
When Donghyuck pops up, Mark’s eyes flick down against his will. Donghyuck looks debauched, pupils all blown out—like something out of a porn video, like he knows everything Mark likes.
He kisses the tip, just once, before licking over a vein and sinking back down. Donghyuck can take all of him, easy. Mark hits the back of his throat and has to bite back a truly humiliating noise. His hand goes to Donghyuck’s hair, unconsciously, and Donghyuck whines when he pulls.
“You’re so—you’re unbelievable.”
Donghyuck hums and Mark’s entire body shivers. He feels so good; he’s a string pulled taut, ready to snap.
“You’re so fucking—good with your mouth,” Mark moans. “You like it, yeah? You like sucking dick?”
Donghyuck pulls off, lips slick with spit, a little drool on his chin. He smiles. “I do. Especially yours.” He squeezes it once and then licks it like a lollipop. “Delicious.”
“Fuck.” Mark loses his coherence, his sanity, his senses—he comes so hard he sees colors behind his eyelids. Donghyuck doesn’t let him off easy. He sucks him through it, sloppy and desperate and Mark holds his head down so he can’t pull away.
Donghyuck swallows it all, and sticks his tongue out to Mark to show him.
Mark is insane. He must be; Donghyuck makes him feral. He’s not in control of his own body when he jumps from the couch and nearly drags Donghyuck onto the floor. He wrestles his pants down while kissing his neck, sticks his hands into his boxers and gets a fist around him.
“Yeah, yeah, Markie—touch me.” Donghyuck is moving under him, thrusting up into Mark’s grip. He’s—he’s wet, in a way Mark didn’t know was possible for men. He’s leaking into Mark’s hand, easing the glide. It’s the hottest thing Mark has ever experienced.
Donghyuck is loud, whimpering, begging, demanding and Mark is powerless to do anything but please him. He wants to do anything Donghyuck asks of him for the rest of his life. He’s addicted.
Mark kisses him—kinda. It’s sloppy and open-mouthed, more of them breathing into each other’s mouths than anything else. Donghyuck is whispering something, over and over again. He’s saying please.
Donghyuck is hot and heavy in Mark’s hand and he’s—begging for it. Mark loses the last tether to his sanity. He twists his fist over the head of Donghyuck’s cock and Donghyuck wails, shaking under Mark and coming all over his hand. Mark watches, fascinated, as Donghyuck trembles through it, eyes screwed shut and cheeks a lovely pink.
Man, Mark has been stupid.
Donghyuck opens his eyes slowly, blissful. Mark never sees him this at peace. It’s nice.
“Hi,” he says. “I have your cum all over my hand.”
Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “We’re going to have to work on your romance. Lucky for you, I have endless patience.”
“You’re the one who touched my dick mid-performance to get my attention. What kind of romance is that?”
“An elaborate plan like that is always romantic, Mark.”
Mark laughs. He slowly gets up and finds a sweat rag to wipe his hands on, then kneels back down to clean Donghyuck off, carefully and meticulously. Donghyuck watches him with starry eyes.
“Okay, maybe you’re not entirely hopeless,” he admits.
“Come on, we need to go,” says Mark. “Everyone’s probably already thinking of weird questions to ask us.”
“Hmm, can we leave?” Donghyuck asks. “Did you figure your shit out?”
Mark grins. He kisses Donghyuck on the nose. “Yeah, I think I did.”
Twenty minutes later, they’re back on stage, standing in a cluster. Not a single member of Dream has subtlety to them, so they’ve been staring, grinning, and giggling since Mark and Donghyuck came back from the dressing room to their place backstage—holding hands.
Jaemin won’t stop smiling. It’s freaking Mark out.
“I made this happen,” he declares. “I’m the love doctor—I’m infallible. Anyone with a hopeless crush, line up.”
“Yeah, you’re something,” Mark says in a low voice. “Oh, hey, Jae? I’ve actually been working on an idea for a new choreo. It involves you and Jeno.”
The smile slips right off of Jaemin’s lips. Donghyuck laughs and squeezes Mark’s hand. He still hasn’t let go. Mark isn’t sure if he ever will.