Work Text:
Dunk knows about it, because of course he does.
He sees it in the way his glass gets topped up with whatever drink he's having for the meal as soon as he's a couple of sips in, or in the way his bags get taken away from his hands when he's browsing around souvenir stalls during their work trips around the world.
He sees it in the scrawny handwritten notes that he finds on the coffee cup that is always waiting for him on his assigned make-up desk of the day, or in the good mornings and good nights and are you home yet that light up his phone screen daily.
He knows, of course he does.
He feels it in the hand that warms the small of his back in front of seas of people and lightly squeezes his shoulder in encouragement in the few private moments that they get during press days.
He feels it whenever he has to sit in his lap, might it be for a scene or a game, and Joong’s heartbeat quickens up so fast that it shows in pink patches all around his neck.
Dunk also knows that he should do something about it, and yet.
And yet he lets Joong indulge.
He doesn't react when Joong’s warm hand ends up on the inside of his thigh. Doesn't even flinch for the cameras. He can't even remember if the first time that he had gotten that close was in private or in public. He doesn't remember ever moving away from it.
He lets him snuggle close, usually during filming breaks but also during those few evenings when, after work, Joong would look at him with big eyes and low shoulders and invite him to eat together just to suggest take-out a second later, app already loaded on his phone, and for the both of them to end up on his couch, Joong’s head buried down the collar of his shirt.
Dunk knows that he’s being unfair, because of course he knows. He feels dirty with guilt, too weak to draw clear boundaries, too needy to distance himself from the warmness of Joong.
He knows he’s hurting them both, he knows because the edge he forces Joong on is slippery, and he’s not sure if, in the end, he will be strong enough to keep them both from falling down.
He knows he’s being unfair.
He knows because he sees the hunger behind Joong’s eyes, a low simmer that has been consuming him for years. He keeps tasting the edge of it every time Joong’s ministrations end up an inch closer to his core.
He's not sure if Joong knows the whole of it. If he knows, and he's persisting. If he's scratching the wound on purpose.
It's the sugary pleas that make him doubt. The I need it - just today, please. The big watery eyes, wandering hands faking shyness. The performance. The I couldn't stop thinking about you all day when they had met just a few hours prior.
Dunk doesn't know what to make of all of it. It's so much that it feels gluey, sticky in all the wrong places. He feels it creep up on his legs, keeping him stuck.
Yet, it's warm.
It clings to him like Joong does on those early mornings when they wake up together, Joong having slept over, another inch freely given.
Like he does to his shins after a rough day, draped all over the floor, soft humid cheek on his knee. I want to stay at your feet forever. Please, let me. I want to.
He knows he shouldn't. He knows because he feels it, the final responsibility resting on him.
He also feels drowning in honey.
He keeps giving in anyway.