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When Mark’s eyes fluttered open, he was still dreaming.
The sheets smelled like his mild, hypoallergenic detergent, but there was something else. Pine, and a faint citrus and cedar cologne, and the mild musk of clean sweat. The pillow had soaked up the smell, as if the owner of the scent had lived with it so long it had become intertwined with the threads. Mark snuffled happily, snuggling deeper into his pillow even as he turned his face to the side. He already, instinctively, knew the sight that would meet him.
Soft hair, splayed across a white pillow, black strands like silk glistening in the soft morning light. Mark’s hair never shone like that when he woke up, it was too coarse. The short, straight line of a nose, curving into a prominent slope that met a pronounced cupid’s bow, a full lower lip, a small chin. Warm light highlighted a round cheekbone, revealing smooth golden skin. Just the slightest morning stubble. A wide, muscular chest, half-revealed by pushed back sheets, rising and falling steadily with slow breaths.
Johnny.
A happy sigh escaped his lips, and Mark inched forward. His ankle slipped between Johnny’s, easily slotting into his side as he fit their bodies together. Mark’s nose met the base of Johnny’s neck when he spooned him like this. With every breath, soft, short hairs tickled his nose, and he took greedy inhales of that scent. Pine shampoo, Versace cologne, just like Johnny always used.
God, this was such a good dream.
At his side, Johnny’s chest rose and fell with a particularly deep breath, accompanied by a snuffle. His voice croaked out like gravel in his dry throat. “Mark?”
A happy shiver ran down Mark’s spine, and here in dream-land, he allowed himself to luxuriate in it. He’d heard Johnny’s just-woke-up rasp a million times – in green rooms, cars, couches, even occasionally his own bed when Mark was sent to get him up – but rarely did he get to enjoy it.
“Yeah,” he breathed happily, pressing his cheek harder into Johnny’s shoulder. He was so warm.
“Mornin’, baby.”
Eyes slipping back closed, Mark tried to make the moment stretch into infinity. Any second now, he would be waking up, back in his full-size mattress with the navy sheets in a room with black-out blinds. He always did, in dreams like this. Even his subconscious would only allow him a glimpse of happiness with Johnny. Most of the time, Mark thought it was better that way. Safer. Made it easier to look his friend in the eye.
But damn, what he wouldn’t do to live like this forever.
It was rare that Mark had lucid dreams, and when he did he never managed to stay asleep too long. He suspected something about becoming conscious of his dream shook him back into real consciousness. But that was fine. Mark would savor this while it lasted. He didn’t want to grab the reins of this dream and wrangle it into submission, make himself fly or fuck or anything crazy. He just wanted to stay curled in bed beside Johnny for a little longer. But surely it wouldn’t hurt to…
Gently, like Johnny’s skin might shatter on impact, Mark brushed his hand over Johnny’s chest. When nothing happened, he let his palm settle, sliding to rest it over the hard line of Johnny’s sternum, measuring each happy breath. A happy rumble vibrated Johnny’s chest, and Mark couldn’t stop himself from opening his eyes, desperate to see. And he did see — Johnny’s kittenish mouth curving into a closed smile, the soft brown peaks of his nipples, and a gold ring on his own finger. On his ring finger. On his left hand.
Oh, Jesus. Mark blinked, lips parting. That was a new one. His fingers flexed compulsively (side note, his hand looked great on Johnny’s chest, and the gold set his skin off beautifully) but still, nothing changed. No waking up. Huh. His lips pursed as he reluctantly withdrew his hand, even as Johnny’s soft sigh of disappointment sparking something low in his gut.
Wow, this really was awfully lucid. He pinched the flesh of his arm and winced. Damn, that hurt. He counted his fingers — five on each hand (and one with a very conspicuous gold band), like there should be. But still.
This was a dream. A new and unusual one, to be sure, but not wildly out of the realm of what his subconscious might feed to him. A life with Johnny. A life where he woke up at Johnny’s side, in Johnny’s bed, wearing Johnny’s ring.
Sure. Mark would definitely savor a dream like this. He hoped he could hold onto it when he woke up, grasp the details before they could slip away like smoke between his fingers. He’d journal this one, he thought, and maybe read it over when the longing wouldn’t hit quite so sharply, when the yearning had gone and become sweet rather than bitter.
“Where’d you go?”
Mark blinked, startled by the sleep scratchy voice that was far closer to him than usual. Johnny gazed at him with soft eyes, turned fully on his side to better regard Mark. There were deep pillow creases on his cheek.
“Huh?”
“Where’d you go just now?” Johnny repeated, lips curving up in the smallest, fondest, most quietly loving smile Mark had ever seen. His heart ached with a sudden intensity that startled him. God, had he ever seen Johnny with that expression before? He would give damn near anything to see it again, to pull that special, private smile out of Johnny for real. “Mark?”
“Uh-huh.” Still dumbstruck by his smile, Mark’s tongue flicked out to wet his sleep-chapped lips, eyes flicking up to meet Johnny’s once more. They crinkled fondly, whiskering at the corners in that way Mark loved. Except – the lines there that creased up when Johnny was happy, they were – Mark squinted. They were deeper than usual. And there were more of them.
“Someone’s lost in his head this morning.” The gentle teasing yanked Mark out of his observations, pulling him back to bed. He blinked, offering Johnny a shy smile of his own, one that felt unfamiliar on his mouth but so, so right.
“Guess so.”
“Whatcha thinking about?”
“Mmm.” Mark exhaled softly, pointing his feet in a gentle stretch, reveling the way his toes brushed Johnny’s shin. This was a dream. There was no reason to watch his words. “Your smile. How much I love it.”
“Well, aren’t you awfully romantic today.” Johnny’s eyes brightened, some of the sleep haze falling away. A mischievous delight lilted his tone.
“This is such a good dream,” Mark agreed in a murmur, fingertips tracing down Johnny’s bicep, over his forearm. Johnny’s eyes shut in drowsy satisfaction for a moment.
And then they snapped back open. “Dream?” he asked. A long moment passed. Mark held his breath, fingers freezing at Johnny’s warm wrist. Shit, had he pushed it too far? Stepped over the bounds of lucidity, stretched the dream to its breaking point? Was he going to startle awake now? “Aw, that’s sweet, jagi. You’re a dream to me, too.”
“Yeah,” Mark agreed, relieved he hadn’t been jolted awake in his lonely bedroom in a luxury apartment in Seoul, in a building where Johnny had never lived and certainly never slept beside Mark. But dream-Johnny didn’t fade back to his perfect, sleepy, beautiful self. He propped himself up on an elbow, turning to face Mark fully.
Deep brown eyes narrowed, suddenly sharp with awareness, brow furrowing. He scanned Mark’s face, searching for something. Mark arched a single brow in question. “Wait— Why—”
“Johnny?”
“Oh, shit.”
And with that curse, Johnny leaped out of bed. Mark’s lips pursed in a disappointed moue, but Johnny didn’t slide back between the sheets. Instead, he stood frozen at the side of the bed, eyes wide and locked on Mark with a kind of shocked horror. Mark’s brow creased, and he sat up in the bed, sheets pooling around his waist.
“Johnny? Why are you…looking at me like that?”
“Fuck,” Johnny swore, unblinking. It was starting to unnerve Mark. He’d never seen that look on anyone before – a mix of awe and disbelief and fear. “You weren’t kidding, it’s — Oh my God. It’s real. Holy shit.”
Mark’s lip curled slightly, the confusion starting to shift to irritation. “What are you talking about?”
“Mark, you’re not dreaming." Weird thing to hear in a dream, even a lucid one. But Johnny was dead serious, face solemn in a way Mark almost never saw. “We are actually married.”
“Okay…?” Weird thing for a dream to say, but sure. Mark would rock with it.
“Mark, look at me. Look at me.”
Mark looked obediently, ignoring the flush that automatically rose to his cheeks. It was ridiculous that Johnny was making him blush in his own damn dream, but he was — he was naked. Mark tried not to focus on that, tried not to think about how his cock was just as perfect in full light as it was in stolen glimpses in dark dressing rooms. He wrenched his eyes away from the neatly trimmed hair at his groin, forced himself to look at Johnny’s eyes.
The unfamiliar deeper wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were still there, along with more fine creases under his lashes. The lines on his face weren’t the only thing that was different about this dream-Johnny. His shoulders were just as broad, and his arms were bulky, but not in that ultra-defined, tight way Mark was used to. There was still muscle tone on his abdomen, but it was softer, carrying more weight around his waist and lower belly. Johnny looked good, but he didn’t look like his Johnny.
His Johnny? Mark told himself to snap out of it. Johnny wasn’t his, first of all, and if any Johnny were his, it would be this dreamed-up version. Even if Mark had never dreamed about Johnny being older before, had never even considered what he might look like when middle-aged, and he was kind of wondering how his mind had managed to piece this familiar-yet-not face together.
“You’re not dreaming, Mark.”
Dream-Johnny was reading his thoughts, clearly. He snorted, eyebrows lifting high. “Sure.”
“No, really Mark. I know what you’re thinking, and I know this is fucking weird, and — well, unbelievable. But you’re not dreaming. This is real. We’re actually together now. We’re married, we have been for three years now, and—”
“And that’s great,” Mark interrupted gently, conciliatory. No need to cause a fight in what had began as a lovely dream. Mark would like to get back to them being naked in bed together, sleepy and hazy.
“It is 2034,” Johnny continued firmly, “I am Johnny Suh, and you are Mark Lee, and you are my husband. We were in NCT for fourteen years. We got married three years ago in the States.”
“Jesus,” Mark muttered, eyes darting around the room. It was oddly detailed for a dreamscape. “This is such a weird dream, dude.”
“Of course you’d call me dude.” The exasperated tone was belied by the fond grin hopelessly taking over Johnny’s face, eyes sparkling with poorly-masked delight. “As if I was the one who needed proof that you’re really Mark.”
“Obviously I’m really Mark?”
Shit, he hadn’t meant for that to be a question.
“I get it, Mark. You know, I really thought you were fucking with me first, when you told me you fucking time traveled to our future. Like, I get why you waited until after we got hitched, made sure I was really locked in before coming out with the crazy. Except you aren’t crazy. You warned me this would happen, and that you wouldn’t believe me at first.”
This was definitely a dream, but Mark was starting to feel weird about it. Oddly, Johnny’s vehement insistence that they were married and Mark was some kind of freaky de-aged time traveler was making Mark feel more self-conscious in his skin. He drew the sheets up to his chin, tucking his knees to his chest, suddenly very aware of his lack of clothes — and Johnny’s. All at once, Mark couldn’t ignore the nudity anymore, throat feeling as dry and neck burning the way it would if he were confronted with a naked Johnny in waking hours. It was stupid, that he was being prudish within the confines of his own damn mind, but it was overwhelming.
“Can you— do you mind —” Johnny shot him a glance over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. Mark swallowed, eyes trained at the ceiling, and gestured vaguely in Johnny’s general direction. “It’s just, we’re still. Um. So would you, uh...”
“Oh,” Johnny said, as if he’d divined Mark’s exact meaning from that word scramble. Evidently, he had, because he continued, “Yeah, sorry, I’ll—” and fished a pair of boxers out a drawer, stepping into them quickly, unbothered by his nakedness but easily conceding to modesty.
“Thanks,” Mark breathed, but it wasn’t really a sigh of relief. Johnny was being so weird. Wasn’t Mark supposed to have control over lucid dreams? Why was Johnny acting like some character who had slipped his (theoretical, unconscious) leash? This dream had started so good — but that was the nature of dreams, right? They got weird in inexplicable ways. Not even bad, just strange.
And Johnny suddenly looking about a decade older, was pretty strange. As was him saying Mark time traveled.
“I’m sorry,” Johnny apologized sincerely, in a way Mark hardly ever saw. Johnny kept so much genuine emotion tightly locked up, only letting choice glimpses show.
“Don’t be,” Mark replied automatically. “It’s all good, bro. I mean, this is my dream, so you know, really it’s my fault–”
But Johnny wasn’t listening to him. He’d started pacing at the foot of the bed, making sharp circuits of the room. “Shit,” Johnny cursed, hands pushing back his too-short hair (it was currently past his chin, last Mark saw his friend) with frustration. “I’m fucking this up. I should’ve eased into it better. Or come up with a plan with you before this happened. I’m sorry for not totally believing you when you told me last year. I kinda thought you’d just had a really sweet, really delusional dream though. Fuck, how didn’t I realize — you look so young. I should’ve seen it as soon as I—”
“Hey!” Mark squawked automatically, having endured too many years of teasing for his baby face to let that slide. “I do not look that young! I am a full grown adult! Jeez, you always act like I’m a baby or something.”
“No, Mark, you don’t…” Johnny sighed, halting his steps and turning to face Mark directly. Immediately, Mark wished he hadn’t. He drew up his knees tighter to his chest, clutched his arms around them harder. Johnny wasn’t afraid to look him dead on, eyes blazing with an inexplicable intensity. “To me, you are a baby. Because I’m thirty-nine-years old, and I’d bet my life that you’re not a day over twenty-five.”
A high-pitched laugh escaped Mark’s mouth. “Hyung, I know we joke about you being a hag,” he began, fingers twisting together in a way that belied his light words, “but you’re not actually pushing forty.”
Johnny hadn’t missed the panicked waver in his tone. He smiled wryly at Mark, shoulders sinking in a resigned kind of relaxation. “Actually, I am.”
Alright, maybe Mark could buy that. Dream-Johnny did look older, although equally fantastic as the Real-Johnny Mark knew. He lifted a conciliatory finger. “Okay, maybe you are, I’ll give you that. Looking good, hyung.”
“I was right about the twenty-five, wasn’t I?”
“Yeah,” Mark admitted begrudgingly, staring at a spot on Johnny’s shoulder. His bare shoulder, because he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on when he pulled on his boxers. I am truly the buzzkill to end all buzzkills, he thought miserably, because if the deepest urges of his subconscious were creating a half-naked Johnny that argued with him rather than fucking him through the mattress — he didn’t want to know what that said about him.
“If this was really a dream,” Johnny’s voice cut through Mark’s fixation on the edge of his collarbone, still just as sharp as he was used to, “you wouldn’t have asked me to put on clothes. You wouldn’t be blushing because we were naked together.”
“You don’t know that!” Mark protested, although it sounded weak even to his own ears. “I’ve had plenty of dreams where I was naked and embarrassed about it.”
“But have you ever had one where I was naked and you were embarrassed about it?” Johnny countered. Mark folded his lips together, and Johnny continued, voice too knowing. “Have you ever had a dream where I was naked, and you wanted me to put on clothes? Because I know you’ve had plenty of dreams start like that, and you never order me to get dressed so we can have the strangest argument of your life. You just climb on top of me and—”
“Okay!” Mark interjected, face well and truly burning now. “I get it! You don’t have to—”
“If this was really a dream,” Johnny pressed on, determined, “you wouldn’t be wondering how I knew that. You wouldn’t be upset that I know you fantasize about fucking me. It’s okay by the way. I dream about that too.”
“Jesus.” It came out a grieved moan as Mark’s forehead thunked to his knees, wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball and disappear, vanish from Johnny’s scrutiny, from his casual unearthing of Mark’s most deeply held secrets. “Stop talking.”
“Okay.” The determined edge disappeared from his tone. “Alright, I’ll stop. It’s okay. I got you.” Johnny’s voice was different now, softer. Like it got when he realized he’d pushed the teasing too far, had started to genuinely upset Mark, when he wanted to coddle him. “C’mon Mark, let’s just…let me make you breakfast.”
“I’m fine.”
“It won’t hurt,” Johnny coaxed. “And I know you love my omelets.”
Johnny had never cooked him an omelet.
“I don’t…”
“If it really is a dream, then it doesn’t matter, right?” Well, that was a good point. “So come have breakfast with me.”
“Alright,” Mark conceded. When he didn’t hear Johnny move, he lifted his head from his knees. Johnny was looking at him expectantly. Mark’s ears reddened again. “Can you. Do you mind, uh. I’m still.” He gestured down at himself, at the sheet protecting his modesty.
The smirk Johnny cracked was pure sin, his eyes darkening as they drifted lazily down Mark’s exposed chest. “Sure, honey,” he drawled. “Put some clothes on while your husband gets breakfast started.”
Choosing not to argue the husband point at this time, Mark mumbled, “Thanks.”
“Bottom two drawers are yours, and the right side of the closet,” Johnny called over his shoulder. “If you really want to get dressed. I don’t mind. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before!”
“Thank you!” This time, the words were bit out, but Mark wasn’t really annoyed, even when Johnny’s smug laugh lingered as he disappeared down the hall. When he could no longer hear Johnny’s footsteps, Mark scrambled out of bed. There was a plush throw rug beneath his feet that gave way to cool hardwood as he hopped to the door, closing the door as quickly as he could without slamming it.
Sure enough, the clothes in the bottom two drawers were Mark’s size, although mostly unfamiliar to him. There were a few t-shirts rolled up by folded boxers that looked vaguely familiar, but Mark didn’t spend too much time scrutinizing the drawer’s contents. He caught a glimpse of lace in the back corner, and — no. He couldn’t think about that right now. Keeping his gaze trained away from the damning lingerie, he snatched what he needed quickly, slamming it shut with relief and moving to the next drawer. He found a pair of soft gray sweats there, worn-in the way that only came with years of wear.
Tugging the clothes on, Mark found they all fit perfectly, baggy like he preferred. The color palette he’d gotten a glimpse of in those drawers seemed to fit his style as well. But that didn’t really mean anything. He glanced in the large hanging mirror above the dresser. He looked the same as ever. But then, hadn’t Johnny said Mark was twenty-five, a time traveler jumped a decade ahead? If that were true, Mark wouldn’t look any different, right?
He shook his head at his reflection. Christ, he was being ridiculous. Of course he would manage to think himself in circles even in his sleep. He blew out a breath and ran his fingers through his fringe, trying unsuccessfully to comb it into order. Whatever. Johnny had seen it worse.
Squaring his shoulders, Mark pushed the bedroom door open. He could smell eggs cooking already. Time for breakfast with his…husband.
Mark ignored the pleasant warmth that settled in his stomach from just thinking the word. He would wake up soon enough, and the details of this dream would fade away. Just like every other dream of Johnny.
He never stayed within reach.
...
Mark was still pretty sure this was a dream.
The house was fucking nice. He wasn’t sure how his subconscious had conjured up this level of taste in interior design, considering Mark’s actual bedroom in the apartment he shared with Donghyuck and Jungwoo was essentially a dark hole with barren walls and navy bedding that he occasionally got to pass out in. This house was flooded with light from spotlessly clean windows, all warm woods and soft creams and fancy art displayed beautifully on the walls. Like, actual art. Of quality.
Mark drifted behind Johnny as if in a dream – which he was – mouth gaping slightly as they passed by a massive deep blue couch that looked sinfully comfy, the room adorned with complimentary deep golden and emerald accents. It was neat, and very clean, and still managed to feel like a home. Like a place where Mark could throw his feet up on the low wooden coffee table and sink into the couch cushions.
The kitchen all but confirmed Mark’s belief that the fiction of him and Johnny being married was just that: fiction. No way would they have small pots of fresh herbs growing on a window sill, or a hanging rack of copper pots and pans that actually showed signs of use. Neither of them knew how to fucking cook.
But there Johnny was, already standing at the stove and stirring something in a pan, wearing a fucking apron. He turned his head when he heard the patter of Mark’s feet.
“Morning,” he greeted, like he didn’t just witness Mark have a whole meltdown in the bedroom. “It’s almost ready. Take a seat, my love.” He gestured grandly at the island, indicating the several stools lining the edge.
Perching on the edge of a high stool, Mark’s toes curled around the wooden rung. He rested his elbows on the edge of the (massive) granite island, afraid to encroach on Johnny’s space. Logically, he knew that was ridiculous. Mark could throw his entire upper body across this island and Johnny would still have room to plate up a feast for twelve.
Johnny kept saying this was Mark’s home, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt like a place Mark wanted to be home, a place so perfect he hadn’t even known to dream of it before now, but it wasn’t his. Not really. And how could he make himself comfortable, let himself sink into the fiction of this marriage, when any second now his alarm was going to blare and he’d be ripped away from heaven?
“Mark.” Johnny’s voice ripped him from his spiral. He looked up, feeling oddly guilty, only to find Johnny already staring at him. There was something wry about the curve of his mouth, but his eyes were soft and understanding. “Eat your omelet, jagi.”
Mark choked on air. “I – uh. Okay,” he squeaked. Johnny’s smile widened.
“You’ll like it,” he told him confidently. “I made your favorite.” Reaching across the island, he slid Mark’s plate closer. Hesitantly, Mark sectioned off a little bite and brought it to his mouth. Immediately his eyebrows shot up in surprise.
Mark had never eaten one of Johnny’s omelets before. He didn’t even know what was in it.
But Johnny was right. It was his favorite.
…
Once they killed the eggs, Johnny made them toast. He sipped his way through two cups of coffee and made Mark black tea without asking, adding a half spoon of sugar to the mug automatically. An odd anxious energy filled him, making him fidget on his stool. By the time they were finally done, Mark still didn’t know what to say. He helped Johnny wash the dishes silently, but couldn’t help put them away. Johnny did so quickly, automatically. He knew the cabinets like the back of his hand. Mark had never even seen this kitchen before.
“Can we go for a walk?” The weather outside wasn’t great; overcast, likely chilly, and Mark could see the wind rustling tree branches. But he couldn’t keep sitting here beside this oddly self-aware dream-Johnny. He had a bad feeling he was going to wake up in the morning feel more stressed out than when he fell asleep.
“I’m not sure that’s a great idea.” Johnny’s voice was hesitant, face screwed up in an apologetic grimace. “Butterfly effect and all that, right? Better be careful.”
“But it doesn’t look busy out there at all.”
“People don’t follow us the way they did in our twenties,” Johnny explained. “But we are still famous.”
Mark wondered what his alleged future self was up to now. Did he still make music? Write lyrics? Did they still perform? Did he and Johnny become soloists, or debut as a subunit? Were they still part of NCT, did 127 get together and have a comeback after everyone’s enlistment was over? He was dying to ask, but those weren’t answers Mark’s own subconscious could provide for him.
“Well, do you need any help with anything today?”
“What, you finally going to reorganize and dust your office like you’ve been promising?” Johnny asked dryly, then shook his head. “Nah, just take it easy. It’s Sunday, we weren’t planning to do much anyway.”
Mark wasn’t pouting. He wasn’t. “But, like — what am I supposed to do?”
“Relax,” Johnny suggested, raising his eyebrows like he thought Mark was being a bit ridiculous. “Chill out. Take a nap, even.”
“I can’t — okay, a nap does sound sick actually, but — but I’m already asleep! How would that work?”
“What’s stopping you from napping in a dream?” Johnny queried, and Mark was just grateful he’d given up on trying to convince Mark that this was reality. “Certainly not me!”
“But that would be…” He trails off before finishing the thought. But that would be a waste of time.
Was it even possible to waste time in a dream? Does it say something about Mark that he feels guilty for wanting to vegetate on a couch in his own fucking dreamscape? He can hear Donghyuck’s voice in his ear now, ‘Yeah, you’re fucked in the head. We’ve been over this.’
Mark never gave himself a day off, not really. There was always something to do: unit preparations or meetings or solo stuff or making plans with friends long-neglected or rehearsal. He’d been working non-stop for ten years now, and yet Mark wasn’t quite sure what he had to show for it. Every day was different, and yet every day was the same. Every year brought with it new things to marvel over, and yet every year had brought the same since he was sixteen-years-old and shoved out on stage for the world to eat alive.
On his worst days, Mark thought of himself as a hamster: stuck running on a wheel, spinning in infinite unmoving circles for the rest of his life, heart pounding with exertion but his feet never moving forward. Sure, he might get a bit stronger, and faster — but what did it matter, when he didn’t actually go anywhere?
Mark tried not to dwell on his worst days. Better to keep his feet moving fast beneath him, and maybe one day he’ll finally manage to outrun his anxieties and fears and exhaustion and insecurities and like, general existential dread.
“Would it be so bad?” Johnny asked, breaking Mark out of the maudlin reverie he’d fallen into.
“Huh?”
Johnny gave him a fond look, the lines of his mouth smiling. “Having a break. A total day off. Absolutely nothing to do or worry about — you couldn’t work if you tried. Just for one day. Is that so bad?
“…No,” Mark said slowly, turning over the idea. “No, it sounds alright, I guess?”
“I guess,” Johnny parroted, and he could be sixteen or twenty-six or thirty-nine — that teasing cadence sparks up Mark’s neurons, pulls a goofy grin automatically to his face. “No one in the history of the world has ever been a worse workaholic.”
Mark squawked. “Hey! That’s definitely not true!”
“Can you prove it?” Johnny quirked a judgmental brow. Mark tried very hard to scowl at him, but the muscles of his face wouldn’t quite cooperate. He’s sure he ended up with some embarrassing dopey infatuated expression. Johnny looked pleased. Warmth bloomed in his chest, pleased to please Johnny. It was like some crazy good feedback loop. Is this what drugs were like? Probably not.
If Mark told Johnny that thought, he would laugh.
“C’mon Markie, stop arguing. Relax with me. I’ll even let you pick the movie.”
Mark perked up. “Ooooh, did they come out with a new Spider-Man?"
“Ah, shit,” Johnny pushed a hand through his hair. “Okay, one rule: it has to be from 2024 or before. No spoilers.”
“You are such a fun killer.”
“Me? Did you just call me a fun killer? Oh, you’re gonna regret that—”
Johnny tackled him onto the gigantic sectional, fingers digging into that spot just below his ribs that made Mark seize up laughing. Within seconds, he was wheezing for air, tears gathered in his eyes, face hurting from smiling too big.
“Get off, get off!” he gasped, kicking at Johnny, landing one at his hip that finally knocked the man back.
“You’re so fucking cute.” Johnny was laughing nearly as hard, face pink as he reclined back on a cushion. “God, I’m getting too old for that.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Mark kicked gently as his hip once again, only to find his ankle caught in Johnny’s grasp. His feet were yanked unceremoniously into Johnny’s lap, and Johnny held fast through some half-hearted wiggling. Despite Mark not putting up much of a fight, Johnny still looked smug when he conceded.
Thoroughly exhausted from laughing so hard, and frankly nursing a bit of a cramp in his ribs, Mark shoved himself into the crevice of the couch, face smushing against the arm. His eyelids suddenly felt very heavy, and the front of his brain was kinda fuzzy. And Johnny’s lap was so warm under his legs, and the thumb drawing aimless circles over his ankle was so nice…
…
“Dude.” Mark gaped at the clock. He rubbed crust out of the corner of his eye, and looked at it harder. The number had not changed. “You let me sleep for four hours?”
“You needed it,” Johnny said simply, and, well. Mark couldn’t argue with that. He was at the tail end of Dream’s comeback, and preparation for the next Dream Show was already well underway. He felt like a rubber band that’d been stretched out too many times and ended up all loose and flaccid. They had four days of relative peace before it was back to the fully booked schedule, appointments and rehearsals and meetings and photoshoots pressed up against each other in the calendar, fighting for space. Mark could probably sleep 15 hours straight and that would be just about adequate. “And like you keep saying, it’s a dream. Time isn’t real, bro.”
“I’m glad you’re finally admitting I’m right,” Mark grumbled, but his heart wasn’t in it. He scratched behind his ear, rolling his neck to crack it, and stood up with a lazy stretch.
“Sure,” Johnny replied cheerily, following Mark up and dropping a book he’d evidently been occupying himself with on the coffee table. Belatedly, Mark realized Johnny was wearing reading glasses. And now he couldn’t realize anything else, because his brain stopped fucking working, all power redirected to processing this new image.
Johnny cocked his head inquisitively at Mark, who’d just been standing there frozen like a fucking idiot, mouth ajar as his eyes fixed on Johnny in glasses. Glasses that he actually needed to read.
“You’re so hot,” Mark whispered, fighting valiantly against the urge to whimper. He only half-won.
A shit-eating grin spread slowly over Johnny’s face. “Don’t tell me the readers are turning you on.”
“Shut up, oh my God.”
“Oh, they’re totally doing it for you.”
“I’m not discussing this.”
Johnny slung an arm around his shoulder, pulling Mark close into his side. “I’d keep them on all night, but they fuck up my sight for anything but books.”
“Too bad,” Mark said automatically. He felt Johnny’s laugh more than he heard it, and didn’t even bother trying to stop the blush flooding his face. Ducking out from his arm, Mark absconded to the bathroom.
“You can’t escape me that easily!”
Mark flipped him off and shut the door firmly.
...
The sky had darkened while Mark slept the day away, and when he emerged from the bathroom he followed the sound of Johnny’s voice. He found him in the kitchen, chopping vegetables next to the stove, hips swaying as he sang to himself. Mark stilled on the threshold, drinking in the sight, trying to memorize all of it. He wished he could take a picture and bring it with him when he woke up.
No photograph could capture the feeling swelling up inside him, anyway.
Mark shook his head slightly, shrugging off the moment, and joined Johnny at the counter. “How can I help?”
He got a sidelong dance for his trouble. “Can I trust you to chop?”
“Dude,” Mark huffed. Johnny laughed, but passed Mark the knife anyway. Slowly (but successfully!) Mark chopped the rice cakes, onions, and tofu, pushing them to the side of the board as Johnny delivered pork shoulder for him to slice. He moved around Mark easily, carrying out the steps to choreography long since memorized.
It didn’t take very long to finish the kimchi jjigae, thank God, because Mark’s stomach was growling audibly. His leisurely nap had ran right through lunch time. The first bowl of stew was a quiet affair, Mark wolfing it down unselfconsciously, stuffing rice into his cheek with each bite. For a moment he considered trying to eat neater, what with this fancy, somehow more adult Johnny across from him — but then Johnny licked a splash of soup off the side of his hand, and all formalities were forgotten. Johnny had seen Mark stuff his face way too many times for modesty now. Only after he’d ladled out his second bowl of jjigae did Mark begin to prod at Johnny.
“How did we get together?” he asked, curious as to what his mind would cobble together as a story.
Johnny shrugged, chewing his rice and swallowing before answering. “Not anything crazy. You came over to my place with some coffee and asked me on a date, and I said yes, obviously, and it just went from there. Lots of sneaking around at first of course, but you know how it goes.”
“Wait, wait, wait — are you saying I asked you out?” Mark knew he looked stupid, sitting there with his mouth hanging open, chopsticks halfway to his mouth – but what the fuck.
Johnny quirked an eyebrow, asking dryly. “Is it really that much of a surprise?”
“Uh, yeah.” Mark nodded violently. The rice cake wobbled between his chopsticks. “Dude, I’ve been crushing on you off-and-on since I was seventeen. I swore myself to secrecy years ago.”
Johnny’s mouth took on an amused curve. “How do you swear yourself to secrecy?”
“Johnny!” It wasn’t a whine. Mark refused to let his lips purse into a pout. “I’m being serious!”
“So am I.”
“So I really…?”
In an instant, Johnny’s face softened. The line of his mouth melted into the most gentle smile, and his voice dipped quiet. “Yeah, you did. Just walked right up to me and…” Johnny paused and took a slow breath, head tilting as he met Mark’s eyes steadily. “You were so brave. You amazed me. You always amaze me, Mark Lee.”
Mark blinked, swallowing against the prickle of tears. Johnny’s eyes shined, and Mark imagined he could see his soul swimming in them.
“Oh,” he croaked, fingers clutching uselessly at his own thigh. “Oh, I…”
“Well!” Johnny’s voice cracked, and Mark clocked the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard. “That’s enough of that, I think. Anything else you want to know?”
“Do we have flying cars yet? Teleportation?” Mark asked hopefully. Johnny’s smile shifted into something much brighter, much easier.
“No, we fucking don’t.”
“Dang. That blows.”
“You know what, it really does.”
As he killed his second bowl, Mark pushed some rice around, soaking up the last bits of the soup. He examined the remaining food carefully, judging whether he could manage to find some space for it in his stomach.
“Okay, I think I’ll explode if I eat any more,” Mark said seriously. Johnny nodded solemnly in agreement.
“Nightcap?” he asked in his absolutely horrendous interpretation of a British accent. Mark grinned, lightly kicking the leg of his chair beneath the table.
“You know it.”
Their home had an entire bar area, complete with a drink cart, wine cooler, mini-fridge and glasses hanging upside down on a rack. Sick as hell. Mark wanted one of these in his house someday.
“You’re good with pinot noir, right?” Johnny asked absently, already cutting off the wrap covering the cork. Mark watched his forearms flex as he worked the cork free, teeth digging into his bottom lip.
“Uh, yeah,” he said belatedly. “I’m still on that?”
“You know what you like.” Johnny smiled lopsidedly at him, pouring a generous glass and passing it to him. “And you got good taste.”
He poured himself a more conservative cup and led Mark back to the table, collapsing heavily in his seat. He let his legs sprawl out long in front of him, slouching back in the chair, looking for all the world like a lazy panther. They kept talking, somehow — yapping had never been a problem between them — but Mark found himself losing the thread of the conversation. His mouth kept speaking, but his focus wasn’t on their words. It was catching on Johnny. On his fingers, wrapped elegantly around the stem of the wine glass. The full curve of his lips pressed against the edge. The sharp shadows of his face in the lamplight. The absent tap of his foot against the floor. The movement of his throat.
A small droplet of red wine lingered at the corner of his plush bottom lip. Mark couldn’t look anywhere else. The tip of a pink tongue poked out to collect the drop, and Mark was done. If he sat there at the dinner table another second he was going to lose it.
So he sat in Johnny’s lap instead.
“Oh — oh, shit, you’re—”
Mark licked over Johnny’s lower lip, like a goddamn animal, then finally, finally kissed him. It wasn’t polite, or gentle, or particularly skilled. Mark didn’t give a shit. He was too busy trying to eat Johnny’s fucking mouth, pressing their bodies together like they could become one. He didn’t give Johnny another chance to talk. Mark curled his tongue over the back of Johnny’s teeth, drinking from his lips like it was the antidote to the poison heating his veins, tightening his gut, filling his cock. It wasn’t enough. The arousal just burned worse. Every sound Johnny gasped into his mouth, every groan caught in the back of his throat, every place they touched just stoked the flames. Mark’s fingers found Johnny’s hair and grabbed it at the roots, like he could possibly drag Johnny’s mouth any closer, and Johnny gripped his hips tight enough to bruise.
Mark wanted to do this from the moment he woke up. Why had he waited all day? Why had he held out? Giving in felt like heaven. Johnny was quite possibly his salvation. When he bit down on Mark’s lower lip, pulling it into his mouth and sucking, Mark couldn’t remember why he’d ever held back at all. This was right. This was perfect.
When they broke apart, it was only on instinct; their burning lungs forcing their bodies to part for air. Mark didn’t stray more than an inch, nearly going cross-eyed as he intently observed Johnny’s face. After all this time knowing Johnny, watching Johnny, it was nearly as familiar as his own reflection. Except it wasn’t, because Mark had never seen Johnny older than twenty-nine. His eyes traced the planes of Johnny’s face greedily, trying to track every little difference. The bags under his eyes were more prominent, as were the laugh lines by his eyes. His smile lines were faint but permanent, and there was a little patch of dry skin on his forehead. This close, Mark could see a few gray hairs coming in at the roots, ones Johnny evidently hadn’t dyed yet.
His eyes were the same warm brown that Mark had sought for over a decade now. That hadn’t changed a bit.
“You’re gorgeous,” Mark whispered reverently. Johnny blinked at him for a moment, before his mouth curled into a fond smile.
“Yeah?”
“I love you like this.” Mark cupped Johnny’s face in his hand, thumb pressing into the lines at the corner of his eye. “Kinda unfair that you’re still so hot.”
“Good thing I married someone even hotter.”
Mark’s stomach jumped, his knees squeezing in around Johnny’s thighs. The itch to get closer, crawl inside Johnny’s very fucking skin was back. The floaty black spots of oxygen deprivation had receded from his vision, and Mark sealed their lips together once more.
“Take me to bed,” Mark pleaded, but made no move to rise from Johnny’s lap. Something dark flickered over his eyes.
“I’ll fucking take you,” Johnny promised lowly, hands squeezing Mark’s ass possessively before drifting down to his thighs. “Hold on, baby.”
Mark couldn’t stop the startled yelp that escaped him when Johnny stood from the chair, lifting Mark as they went. He shook with an exhilarated laugh and a painful bolt of arousal as he hooked his legs around Johnny’s hips, crossed his ankles over his butt.
Mark didn’t stop kissing him as Johnny walked them towards the bedroom, even though the bump with each step made it hard to maintain proper contact. He mostly ended up with his mouth all over Johnny’s chin and jaw, getting his face wet. Judging by the erection bumping Mark’s ass with each step, Johnny didn’t mind a bit. As they made their way down the hall, Johnny slowed slightly, re-hitching Mark in his arms. The front of his sweatpants rubbed against Johnny’s stomach, and Mark’s head tipped back with a moan. Fuck, he was so close. He wanted to rut his cock over Johnny’s abs for real.
“I’m getting too old for this,” Johnny huffed out, lips brushing together like he couldn’t bear to pull away. Mark clutched his biceps tighter.
“Doesn’t feel like it to me.” Mark pressed a messy kiss to the corner of his mouth, his chin, the edge of his jaw. The hands holding up his thighs flexed, fingertips digging in. Johnny’s panted breath was hot on his cheek. “You’re so fucking hot like this, Johnny.”
“And you’re so fucking heavy.” Johnny’s voice was strained, but not like he really meant it. He kissed Mark again as he kicked open the door blindly, stumbling through the threshold.
With a grunt, Johnny dropped him unceremoniously on the mattress. He tore his shirt over his head and kicked his pants off gracelessly. When he was naked, Johnny climbed onto the bed, crawling on all fours to follow Mark up the bed.
“I know you think this is a dream,” Johnny gasped out between frantic kisses, eating at Mark’s mouth like he could never get enough, “but I know. I know this is the first time you were ever touched by me.”
“Johnny.”
“That’s so fucking hot, baby.” Mark had never heard Johnny’s voice so low. He pressed open-mouthed kisses down the column of Mark’s neck. Every one felt like a brand. “It’s like having you for the first time all over again. Fuck, ‘m so lucky.”
Shoving Mark’s shirt over his head, Johnny continued his mission to kiss down Mark’s body. He made two delightful detours to suck at Mark’s nipples, giving the right one a playful bite before nosing along his ribs, dragging his lips over Mark’s navel. Before Mark knew what was happening, Johnny had his pants shoved down and was taking his cock out of his boxers. If Mark didn’t think he was dreaming, he’d be embarrassed by how much he was leaking already, when Johnny had barely touched him.
“I’m gonna blow you,” Johnny informed him perfunctorily, tilting his head and observing Mark through his eyelashes. Mark’s leg spasmed. If he didn’t know Johnny so well, he would’ve missed the mischievous glint in his eyes. “If that’s alright.”
“I — y-yes?“
“Mm.” Johnny sucked a bruising kiss just over the base of his dick. “Good.” And he swallowed Mark down like he was getting paid to do it. Like Mark was going to be grading his performance. Like he wanted to suck Mark’s brain out through his fucking cock. Mark’s hand flew to his mouth, biting down as his knuckles to try and stifle his yelp. It didn’t work. He held on for dear life, using every last drop of his willpower to abstain from thrusting into Johnny’s mouth.
“Christ,” Mark wheezed, fingers scrabbling frantically at the sheets. “What are you doing to me?”
“Well, I have had ten years to learn your body.”
“Why is that so hot?” he whispered brokenly. Johnny grinned like the Cheshire Cat and licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, finishing with a fancy flourish around the tip and made Mark’s thigh jerk involuntarily.
“It is pretty hot,” he agreed, lazily mouthing at Mark’s cockhead. “You can pull my hair, by the way. I like it.”
“Dude, do you want me dead?!” But Johnny just laughed, breath warm against his sensitized skin.
Yeah, this was definitely a dream. Through his haze, Mark’s fingers wound themselves through the roots of Johnny’s hair. When Johnny swallowed him down, he tugged sharply, and watched in awe as Johnny’s eyes fell shut as he moaned. Which felt fucking amazing on his dick, and he tugged Johnny’s hair more on impulse, and a mind-numbing feedback loop was started. Johnny whimpering around his cock was going to fuel his jerk-off sessions for at least twenty years. When Mark’s hips thrust forward and he hit the back of Johnny’s throat, he didn’t even gag. He took Mark in deeper, swallowing him down like he couldn’t think of anything better than choking on Mark’s cock.
“Johnny,” Mark said, with deep reluctance. He pulled at Johnny’s hair, but that just made him groan and force himself down Mark’s cock even more. He shoved at his shoulders, movements growing frantic. “Hyung, you gotta stop. I’m too close, I’m gonna cum.”
The slick ‘pop’ as Johnny pulled off was obscene. “That’s fine.”
“But I want you to fuck me,” Mark told him breathlessly. “I need you to fuck me.”
“I think you can give me two.” Johnny’s voice was wicked and wrecked, and Mark shook with arousal. “Gotta take advantage of that youth.”
“I’m twenty-five, not fifteen,” Mark protested weakly. Johnny squeezed his balls gently, his other thumb rubbing firmly against Mark’s frenulum.
“You’re gonna give me two.” His voice was filled with authority, and Mark believed him. It wasn’t up to him anymore; his body would simply expand its’ physical limitations to obey Johnny. Simple as that.
“Oh my God,” he said, and Johnny dipped his tongue into Mark’s slit, lapping up his precum, moaning like he fucking loved it, then hollowed his cheeks around Mark’s cock again.
“Oh my God,” he repeated, much weaker. Johnny hummed around him, and that was it. Johnny didn’t pull off for a second, swallowed Mark’s cum like it was easy. As he drank down the last pulses of his orgasm, Johnny kept Mark in his mouth, gentling the suction. His hand wrapped around the base of Mark’s dick, jerking him off slowly, slicked by his own spit drooling down the shaft. Johnny didn’t give Mark a chance to go soft, not when he mouthed around the tip, staring up hotly through his eyelashes as he let Mark’s cock rub along his chin, leaving a shiny trail of saliva to mark the path.
“Lube,” he ordered, still jerking Mark off, and somehow Mark managed to find it in the mess they’d already made of the sheets, passing it down and bending his knees, pulling his heels up, spreading himself open for Johnny. There wasn’t an ounce of shame left in his body, just shuddery arousal and a sick kind of tenderness. Johnny moaned appreciatively at the display, eyeing Mark hungrily. “Fucking look at you Mark, Jesus. Insane.”
He opened Mark up with his fingers quickly but skillfully, finding his prostate unerringly and stimulating it just enough that Mark found himself fully hard again in minutes without becoming unbearably sensitive. Eventually, he stopped lapping at Mark’s cock, propping himself up on one hand to hover over his body. Mark couldn’t complain, not when the shift meant he could kiss Johnny, lick the taste of himself out of his mouth. Taste the evidence that Johnny had sucked him off and made Mark shoot down his throat.
“I’m ready,” Mark insisted, lifting one leg to wrap it around Johnny’s hips. The lithe line of his body blocked out the cool air blown by the fan, and his weight settled into Mark like a comfort blanket. If Mark hadn’t been so goddamn horny, it would’ve been quite soothing, actually. Like one of those thunder shirts for anxious dogs. “I’m ready, hyung, fuck me. Please.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Johnny slid his fingers carefully out of Mark, patting his hip sympathetically when Mark winced, and sat up. Which was the opposite of what Mark wanted.
“Nooo,” Mark whined as Johnny pulled away from him, depriving him of that warmth and comforting weight. He made grabby hands, but Johnny just settled beside him on the bed. “Come baaack.”
“Get up here.” Johnny motioned for Mark to climb on his lap. He stubbornly refused to move, lips pursing into a moue as he gazed up at Johnny through his lashes.
“Can’t we do it like this?” he asked, hiking up his heel to spread his legs wider. Johnny’s eyes drifted down to the join of his legs for a moment, and Mark almost grinned in victory. Then he snapped out of it, shaking his head and dragging his eyes back to Mark’s face. “You’re so warm and heavy. Like, in a good way. And I wanna see you.”
Johnny softened at that last bit, melting against Mark’s side, cupping his cheek with his palm. Mark pouted his lips again, let his eyes gaze widely up at Johnny, wet and starry.
“Nah-uh. Those don’t work on me anymore.” Johnny shook his head, smiling as he flicked Mark’s nose. He scrunched it for a moment, then dialed the puppy eyes up a notch. Johnny remained unmoved. Mark sighed softly, and fully committed — best ‘spare coochie’ gaze: deployed. “Ah, fuck. Okay, they still kinda work.”
But that didn’t stop him from cruelly grabbing Mark by the hips and yanking him up, dragging him halfway into his lap. “Hey!”
It came out rather breathier than Mark intended. He tried to glare at Johnny, but his eyes got stuck on Johnny’s bare arms.
“Yeah, and that still works too.” Johnny was smug as hell, squeezing Mark’s hips. His thumbs dug into the divot beneath the bones, and a shiver raced down his spine. “You love it when I throw you around, baby.”
“Well.” Mark tried to sound haughty, but the way he settled himself fully in Johnny’s lap undercut it. Being sprawled out like that was uncomfortable, okay, and Mark knew a losing battle when he saw one. “So you’re making me do all the work, hyung?” Johnny grinned shamelessly, rolling his hips under Mark’s. His erection rubbed against Mark’s inner thigh, leaving a sticky smear behind. Swallowing hard, Mark wet his lips. He wasn't going to admit it, but maybe Johnny had a good idea with this position. Unconsciously, his hand ran down Johnny's chest, the softened plane of his abdomen, coming to rest on the slightest swell just beneath his navel. He felt Johnny's abs jump under his palm, felt the hitch in his breath at the barest of Mark's attentions. But still —
“Too tired to fuck me? Is your age catching up with you?”
“Markie,” Johnny drawled, hands slipping down to cup his ass, shifting Mark over his lap. “Not you slandering me. So mean.”
His fingers dug into the cleft, spreading his cheeks, and rocked his hips. His cock slipped over Mark’s hole, rubbing up into his crack, and Mark choked on air. Johnny used his hold as leverage, fucking himself between Mark’s ass cheeks, precum and sweat slicking the way. Every few thrusts he let his blunt tip slide over Mark’s stretched hole. Fucking tease.
His cock felt so fat spreading him like that. Mark wanted it splitting him open.
“You’re gonna ride me just like this.” Johnny’s voice dropped low. His gaze was a physical thing, burning hotly over Mark’s flushed chest, where his cock bounced against his tensing abdomen, fixing on his face. Their eyes locked. “This is your first time ever having me, you know?”
“Johnny,” Mark said hoarsely. “Johnny.”
It was the only word he knew right now.
“I’m gonna watch you take it.”
“Yeah,” Mark croaked, nodding helplessly. Johnny’s cockhead pushed against his rim again, not enough pressure to sink in. “Get the fuck inside me Johnny, oh my God.”
He didn’t know if his begging worked, or if Johnny was finally just too turned on to hold out any longer, but he stopped fucking with Mark. He held Mark’s hip in one hand and the base of his dick in the other, lining himself up carefully, until the blunt head kissed Mark’s hole.
The tip slipped past his rim, and that was it. Mark was never going to be the same. He’d been altered at the molecular level by Johnny’s dick.
Johnny’s shoulders and head were propped up by the pillow, giving him the perfect view of Mark. He drank up the expanse of his body hungrily, eyes nearly black. Mark rose on his knees and saw Johnny’s breath catch in his throat; then he sank back down. Unconsciously, his hand drifted to brush over his stomach. He could feel Johnny in his fucking guts.
“Perfect, baby,” Johnny said softly. “You’re fuckin’ perfect for me.”
The breath was knocked right out of Mark’s lungs. The words shouldn’t have hit him like that. It was just dirty talk. And it was hot, but also – it was so tender. Like Johnny really meant it. Like he wanted to fuck Mark until he cried and love him for the rest of his life, till death do them part.
“So good,” Mark whimpered, planting his hands on Johnny’s chest. The change in angle immediately ripped a moan out of him, Johnny’s cock hitting his prostate so much better like that. His sounds entwined with the filthy slapping noise of skin on skin, with Johnny’s heavy pants, with the whir of the ceiling fan. “So fucking good hyung, you’re so deep in me, holy shit. Best I’ve ever had, baby, fuck. ”
Johnny nearly growled. “You’re never gonna have anyone else.”
Like a switch had been flicked, he planted his feet on the mattress and thrust up hard into Mark. He yelped, losing his balance and falling forward. He caught himself on Johnny’s shoulders, noses an inch apart. Johnny didn’t stop though, fucked into him like he wanted to bruise Mark’s thighs with his hips, like he wanted to live inside Mark, cum so deep inside him Mark would be dripping his spend for days. His arms wrapped around Mark’s back, and Mark gave in. He rolled his hips to the rhythm set by Johnny and tried to catch his lips in a kiss. It was more like panting into each other’s mouths, really, but Mark would trade every other kiss he’d had in his life for one more moment of this.
Johnny’s cock was impossibly hot inside him. Mark kinda couldn’t get over how it felt with no condom. He tightened around Johnny once, twice, liked how it made the arousal in his gut twist even tighter. He clenched his muscles again, and felt Johnny’s cock twitch violently inside him.
“Fu- uck,” Johnny cursed, grabbing Mark’s ass desperately. He held him in place, kept himself buried balls-deep as his orgasm crashed over him. Mark moaned loudly, finally caving to the urge to take his own dick in hand. Through hazy eyes, Johnny saw him furiously jerking himself off.
“Give me another,” Johnny begged, barely getting the words out through his heaving breaths. Wet warmth was filling Mark’s hole, and it was almost painfully intimate, and so fucking hot his vision swam. He’d never let anyone hit raw before; and now Johnny’s cum was filling him up. Johnny didn’t stop even after he shot the last of his release into him. He kept fucking it deeper into Mark, like he needed it to take. “Cum for me, Mark, c’mon. Give it to me.”
He didn’t know how Johnny had fucking hardwired Mark’s brain to respond to commands given in that fucked-out voice, but he was once again helpless to obey. Johnny’s cum was hot and deep inside him, and Johnny’s hands were bruising his hips, and Mark barely stroked his cock twice before he was shooting his load all over Johnny’s torso, leaving white streaks from his ribs to his softer stomach to the hair curling above his groin.
When he came back to reality, it felt like his heart was beating out of his chest. He opened his eyes, not remembering having closed them, and immediately wanted to sear the image of Johnny covered in his cum on the backs of his eyelids. His hair was an absolutely mess haloed out on the pillow, face flushed and lips bitten red. Mark was sure he looked even more of a wreck. Head still spinning, he automatically shifted in Johnny’s lap to let his softening cock slip free of him, granting him some relief from the sensitivity. He dismounted Johnny, moreso toppling over than climbing free of his own volition. Settling beside Johnny, Mark lay his head on the pillow, feeling like a thoroughly cooked noodle.
“What the fuck,” Mark breathed, voice absolutely wrecked. His throat felt raw. Belatedly, he realized he’d screamed when he came, Johnny’s name ripped out of him like he was possessed.
Well then.
Johnny gave a happy little groan of agreement, pointing his toes and sighing in satisfaction at the stretch. “Fuck, that was so good. Watching you cum twice so quick…I forgot how hot that was.”
“You’re welcome?”
Johnny rolled onto his side, smirk sliding into place. “Thank you, baby. You’re so fucking sexy I think my brain melted.”
“Me?” Mark croaked incredulously. “You're the one who's...Johnny, you — do you know how much I’ve thought about that?”
“I've got a pretty good idea, yeah.” Mark wasn’t even mad that he sounded so smug. He’d earned it.
“I’ve never had a fantasy this good,” Mark confessed. “This is the best dream I’ve ever had. I’m gonna be so sad when I wake up, for real. Kinda pathetic, hah.”
“I don’t think so,” Johnny said softly. Mark let it hang in the air between them, still humid from their activities. The sweat on his body was beginning to cool, but Mark was too overheated for it to be uncomfortable yet.
“This is our first time, in a way,” Johnny mused, fingers dancing up Mark’s side. Mark relaxed into the touch, even as his eyebrows furrowed.
“Huh?”
“It was your first time with me,” Johnny clarified, lifting his eyes, pinning Mark with his stare. His eyes were still so dark, still drinking up Mark like he was greedy for the sight. “Your first time taking my cock. And you took it so fucking well.”
“It’s a dream,” Mark mumbled, hiding his face in the rumpled sheets. “Of course the sex was good.”
“Of course,” Johnny laughed, and didn’t argue further. “And we’ll get to have another first time again soon, once you find the balls to ask me out. Or will it not be your first time with me…?”
“Does it matter?” Mark grumbled, conceding to the conversation with a sigh.
He could see Johnny thinking, turning the question over in his mind. “Not really, I guess.” His palm flattened on Mark’s chest, right over his heart. “After ten years, there’s not much we haven’t tried, you know? We’re still so fucking good together, don’t get me wrong, but I guess there’s not much novelty. I’d forgotten how fun it was to watch you try something for the first time and like it so fucking much.”
“Mmm.”
Johnny continued. “But yeah. I do think it’s really special that we get to have that moment twice.”
“Yeah,” Mark agreed. He didn’t want to argue about it. And…it was a nice thought.
“I love you,” Johnny said easily, holding Mark’s gaze. Blood rushed to his face, and he swallowed heavily, heart immediately picking up speed. But Johnny didn’t linger any longer. With one last past to Mark’s chest, and a cheeky tweak of his nipple, he heaved himself off the bed. His hip popped loud enough for Mark to hear. It startled him, broke him out of the panic that had overtaken him. He snorted. Johnny flipped him off, rolling his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the fond smile curving his lips as he sauntered into the bathroom.
Mark stared shamelessly at his ass — look, if there was ever a time to indulge in some ogling, it was now — and sighed mournfully when the view disappeared. And then he followed suit, trailing after Johnny into the ensuite. His thighs were quite fucking sore, which seemed unfair to be suffering through in a dream, but Mark supposed it added another layer of realism. And the warm, viscous trickle of Johnny’s cum dripping down his thigh…yeah. He thanked whatever horny depraved little section of his brain was responsible for conjuring this up, and stepped right into Johnny’s scalding hot shower.
…
They made out until the water turned lukewarm, and then rushed through scrubbing themselves down before it got icy. Mark insisted on washing Johnny’s hair though, which made the man grin so widely it looked goofy. They had a towel warming rack (“Bougie,” Mark said approvingly. Johnny sighed deeply. “We are literally millionaires, Mark.”) and toothbrushes waiting in a happy pair by the sink.
Patting his face dry, Mark tucked the towel around his waist and went to grab his serum. Only to be confronted by a huge array of skincare items and accoutrement, many of which he’d never seen before. He stared at it wide-eyed, too overwhelmed to begin picking through all the little pots and tubes and bottles.
“Your stuff’s on that side.” Johnny gestured vaguely at the left, where a slightly smaller collection of products was clustered. Mark nodded gratefully, picking up each one to give it a quick look. He sighed in relief as he found a familiar tub of face cream. Apparently Nature’s Republic was still making this stuff in 2034. He scrubbed his face with a gentle foaming cleanser, patting his face dry with a fluffy towel hanging beside the mirror and grabbing the most basic serum option to press into his skin. Beside him, Johnny went through his routine in parallel. Mark had to suck in his cheeks to keep the wide smile off his face. He couldn’t explain the strong urge to grin, but he didn’t want to come off like a lunatic.
He was just picking up his toothbrush when Johnny squeezed his own moisturizer into his palm — whitish-clear, viscous, so viscerally resembling certainly bodily fluids that Mark couldn’t stop his nose from scrunching in distaste. That goddamn snail shit.
Johnny caught his expression in the mirror and laughed loudly.
“Look,” Mark started, ready to defend himself. “I’m trying to be a hater. I’m just saying, it looks like cum. Like you’re smearing spunk all over your face. You literally cannot deny that.”
“I’m not denying it,” Johnny countered, still laughing. “It’s just — damn. You really don’t change, Mark Lee.”
Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “I still say that?”
“Yup.”
“Have you ever considered it’s because I’m right? And the texture is gross?”
“I don’t wanna hear it from you, Mr. Still Using Nature’s Republic Because We Had A Brand Deal With Them in 2020.”
“Well, does my — I mean, like, future-me’s — skin look bad?”
“No.” Johnny’s mouth remained in the cat-like smile, eyes glowing with amusement.
Mark shrugged, squeezing out some toothpaste at last. “Then if it ain’t broke.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
When they returned to the bedroom, they were greeted by an absolute mess of sheets and twisted blankets. Johnny’s nose wrinkled in immediate distaste and he set to work stripping the bed. He pulled the corners of the covers free from the mattress, bundling it all up in his arms.
As he walked past Mark, sheets piled higher than his heads, he hip-checked him. “Come on, Mark, pull your weight.”
“Ughh, really?” Mark whined, but he forced his jelly-like limbs ahead. He found the second set of bedding on a shelf in the walk-in closet, and picked through until he found the bottom sheet. Johnny returned from his trip to the washer, and together they remade the bed. Mark would’ve been perfectly content to pass out in the dirty bedding, but even he couldn’t deny that sliding between fresh sheets with Johnny felt lovely.
“What’s the thread count on this?” Mark asked idly, pulling the sheet up to his face and keeping it tucked right under his chin with his hand.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head.” Johnny leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. “I’m the one who does all the home goods shopping.”
“Bet,” Mark murmured, head resting heavy on the pillow as Johnny flicked off the bedside lamp. He’d barely done anything today (well, besides some fairly vigorous sex), why was he so sleepy?
“It’s alright, Mark.” Johnny’s voice washed over him like a summer breeze. “I’m not going anywhere. Rest, jagi.”
Mark didn’t want to fall asleep. He wanted to look at Johnny, how the shafts of moonlight danced on his skin. He wanted to feel Johnny’s heart beat steadily beneath his palm, feel his chest raise with every breath. He wanted the warm metal of Johnny’s gold ring resting on his stomach, Johnny’s hand tucked beneath his shirt like it belonged there.
Mark didn’t remember the moment he fell asleep. It blanketed him like a fall of snow, and he knew no more.
…
When Mark’s eyes fluttered open, he knew he wasn’t dreaming.
For one, his alarm was blaring unpleasantly in his right ear. With a groan, he reached his hand out blindly, slapping at his phone until he shut it off. The sheets weren’t especially soft, and his pillow just smelt like hypoallergenic detergent and Mark’s own muted sleep musk. He was wearing an oversized t-shirt and boxers. He cracked his eyes open, and the room wasn’t flooded with morning light. Heavy blinds blocked most of it out, only allowing small slivers through.
And there was no one in bed beside him.
A heavy gust of sigh escapes Mark, and he let his eyes fall shut once more. He pressed his face into his pillow — his own pillow, in his own apartment, that he shared with Donghyuck and Jungwoo — and felt the sharp prickle of tears at the back of his eyes. He forced himself to breathe steadily, pushing through the urge to cry. He swallowed hard, and forced his eyes open once more. Pushing himself upright, he rest his feet on his carpeted floor, palms flat on the mattress beside him as he stared unseeingly at his unadorned walls, the ones he always meant to decorate but still hadn’t quite gotten around to. His fingers curled into the edges of his duvet, and he fought the urge to glance at the bed behind him once more, just to check, just to make sure —
Stop it, he told himself sternly. Johnny isn’t here. This is your bedroom. Your real bedroom, in your real apartment, in your real life. And when you check the date on your phone, it will be 2024, and Johnny will be living alone in his apartment two miles away.
The thought was oddly painful, even though the truth was really no different than that of yesterday. Mark swallowed again, tried to ignore the fracture line cracking down his heart. This was reality, and it was good. He had a good life. But still…
It had been such a good dream. It had felt so real. Was it real? Could it possibly –
Mark sighed heavily, lumbering to his feet and stretching his arms high above his head. Jeez, he was stiff this morning. His back cracked loudly, and he rolled out his neck with a grunt of satisfaction. His core muscles ached the way they did after a good workout, and his thighs…his thighs… They were sore. Tight and achy in places they never really were. The insides of them, up near his groin. His hamstrings, and the muscles in his lower back that connected to his glutes. They were sore, like they’d been well-used and then neglected, not stretched out properly. Like Mark had engaged in vigorous activity and then passed out after, not thinking to get up and go through his standard fifteen-minute pre-sleep flexibility routine.
Mark’s knees give out, and he sits down heavily on the edge of his bed.
What the everloving fuck had happened?
And, more relevantly, did it even matter?
Dream or not, it didn’t change the fact that Mark still wanted Johnny. He wanted him sleepy and soft in the morning, and cackling wildly in the afternoon, and in the kitchen cooking, and in his bed, and all of him. He wanted Johnny to want him just as much. He wanted those rings on their fingers to be real.
Fuck, he loved Johnny.
Mark hadn’t moved an inch. He felt frozen in place, fingers curled into his plain quilt as he stared at nothing. So he loved Johnny. Fine. Mark could accept that about himself. It was a truth that had long sat quietly in his chest, waiting to be acknowledged, a small flame that Mark now cupped in his hands and breathed into a consuming fire. He loved Johnny. What the fuck was he supposed to do about that?
Johnny’s dream-voice echoed through his mind. You were so brave, he’d said, smile so gentle and loving it nearly broke Mark’s heart, You amazed me. You always amaze me, Mark Lee.
For a moment that might’ve been a minute or an hour or a lifetime, Mark stared unseeingly into his own lap.
And then he stood, feet moving decisively as he gathered clothes for the day, hands efficient as he splashed his face with cool water and rinsed cleanser away, eyes determined in the mirror as he rubbed in moisturizer from the same container he’d used in a different bathroom, in a different time. He fished up his phone and shoved his feet into shoes, halfway out the door before his thumbs finished typing out the text.
hey johnny, can i come over today?
omg, the great mark lee wants to hang out w little old me???
what an honor
hahahaha
no but seriously, can i come over
of course mark, you know i don’t have a schedule today
bet
i’ll be there in thirty ??
im on the edge of my seat
…
This time, it was on Mark to make the first move. It was only fair, after all the first moves 39-year-old Johnny made on him.
Still, his heart jumps as he presses the buzzer and leans towards the speaker. “It’s me!”
Johnny doesn’t respond on the intercom, simply pulling the door open. Like he’s been standing at it, waiting for Mark’s knock.
Mark smiles up at him, bouncing on his toes and trying to ignore how his stomach just went queasy. “Thanks for having me over.”
“You know you’re welcome any time, Markie.” Johnny opens the door wider, stepping back to let Mark in. His eyes light upon the Caffè Bene paper bag and cup Mark’s juggling along with his phone. “Ooh, what’s this? A present? You shouldn’t have.”
It takes a moment for Mark to actually hear the words. His eyes are too caught on Johnny, drinking up his face like a man dying of thirst. The curve of his cheekbone, the slight darkness under his eyes, the bow of his lip. All the achingly familiar details that Mark hadn’t even realized he’d missed. Belatedly, he realizes Johnny is still waiting for a response, and feels his cheeks flush pink. He drops his eyes away from Johnny’s face, and immediately misses the view.
“Just wanted to get something nice for you,” Mark mutters, trying not to feel shy. He thrusts the coffee and honey bread into Johnny’s grabby hands. “Here.”
“So, what’ve you done? Out with it.” Johnny casts him a sidelong glance even as he sips at the coffee, an unconscious little happy noise escaping his lips at the taste. Mark blinks, again responding a moment too late.
“Huh?”
“Are you trying to apologize for something? You never get me treats,” Johnny accuses, falsely. Mark makes a noise of indignation at the blatant lie, prompting a peal of bright laughter. “No, but seriously, what’s gotten into you? Why were you texting me all formal?”
“I was being polite!” Mark protests, lower lip jutting out as he trails after Johnny into his kitchen. He could swear he hears Johnny mutter, “Cute.”
“Mark, we’ve known each other too long for politeness,” Johnny rolled his eyes fondly as he set the dripping cup and pastry bag on the counter. “Be fucking for real.”
Mark hmph’s, but he lets himself enjoy the rush Johnny’s words spark in him. He had Mark’s number, that was for sure. He knew Mark so well, always had. “Damn, can’t a guy just do something nice?”
“Sure you can.” Johnny takes one more sip of the coffee then sets it down, wiping condensation off his palm on his oversized tee. “But you never do, so. Is there something you wanna tell me?”
Mark swallows. This is it, this is the moment. Johnny has given him the perfect set-up. This is why he got up this morning, why he hauled ass to Johnny’s place. All Mark has to do is say it.
But all the fiery determination that carried him here has gone up in smoke. He takes a deep breath, then another, and tries to convince himself he isn’t about to start hyperventilating in Johnny’s kitchen. “I…I, uh.”
Johnny eyes Mark with something approaching concern, head tilting as he took him in. His hands rest on the edge of the counter behind him as he leans against it, one socked foot crossing casually over the other. Mark doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “Not gonna lie, you’re making me a bit nervous Markie. If something’s wrong, you know I’m always here for you.”
“Nothing’s wrong, hyung.” Mark takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as he lifts his chin. He looks Johnny dead in the eye. “But I actually do have something to tell you.”
He can’t let nerves overtake him now. Whether it was a dream, hallucination, drug trip, miracle or flat-out magic – over night, something had awakened in Mark. Knowledge about himself has been brought into the light, and Mark cannot condemn it to hide in the darkness any longer. Whatever the outcome, it doesn’t matter. Fuck divining the future. Mark is in control of his own destiny. All he has to do is open his mouth and speak.
“Johnny, I really, really like you. More than just a friend. A lot more. Can I take you on a date?”
Johnny blinks, mouth dropping open. Mark holds his breath, fingers curling into fists hidden away in his pockets.
And then Johnny smiles.
Fin.