Work Text:
The low hum of the air conditioner is the only noise in the car as Jinyoung watches the house with the pale yellow door.
It’s been hours since he’s been sitting here, watching, waiting. No one has gone in or out of the house since he’s been here and there has been no movement inside that he can tell. Jinyoung is patient as he waits, as he always is in these situations, though his eagerness has been steadily growing more than it usually does. He chalks it up to being outside in the real world for the first time in six months and thinks nothing more about it.
When dusk falls over the quiet street, a blue car pulls into the driveway and two people get out. One of them is the man Jinyoung has been waiting for and the sight of him is enough to make his veins thrum with anticipation. He takes a slow breath.
Even from afar, Jinyoung can tell Jackson has changed in both body and spirit. His face is paler, his hair longer, and he looks slightly more delicate than he has in the past, almost to the point of frailty but not quite. It’s not hard to see that Jackson has been struggling in more ways than one. The bright light of energy that powers his every waking moment has become dimmer, giving him a melancholic air that he’s never had before. Jinyoung feels a twisted sense of pride that he had a hand in causing emotional devastation to this degree.
Jackson shuffles to his doorstep, forces a smile and says something probably reassuring to his friend. The other man, who Jinyoung now recognizes as Mark, doesn’t seem convinced by Jackson's façade but he doesn’t push. Jackson waits until Mark nods and steps off the porch, and only when Mark actually turns away—rather reluctantly, Jinyoung notices curiously—does Jackson open his front door and quickly dart inside.
How interesting.
Mark waits in the driveway for a minute too long once Jackson disappears, his head rested on the steering wheel in a way that echoes exasperation and hurt. Jinyoung might have felt sorry for him, if he cared about Mark at all, or if he was capable of such a thing, but then the blue car drives off and the street returns to stillness once more.
Jinyoung waits exactly eight minutes before making his approach. Part of him knows he should wait longer, to be sure Jackson isn’t expecting anyone else and is home for the night. But Jinyoung only has one day before he has to go back, which means he is feeling uncharacteristically impatient tonight.
He turns off the car and flips up the collar of his black leather jacket, fitting the baseball cap low over his face. As he crosses the road, he checks his peripheries but doesn’t turn his head, just in case. Even though he’s allowed to be out, he’s not exactly allowed to be here, and he doesn’t want to give the prosecutors any excuses to make his life in prison any harder than it needs to be.
Not that prison is so bad. Jinyoung has a private cell, which was probably meant to be a punishment but works out better for him since he prefers having his own space. Most of the guards are enamoured with him, which is no surprise, so he is usually able to persuade them to bring him things from the outside when he wants them or let him fuck them in dark corners where the cameras don’t reach. And the warden, after feeling him out for a week or so, is now comfortably in his pocket and lets Jinyoung do most anything he wants—hence the reason Jinyoung is currently on Jackson's porch instead of behind bars. So, all in all, it could be a lot worse.
The front door is locked, so Jinyoung carefully lifts the edge of the potted plant on the porch and, sure enough, there is a small silver key underneath. He smirks. Even after everything, Jinyoung chuckles to himself as he fits the key slowly into the lock, you still keep it in the most obvious spot.
The house is quiet but Jinyoung is quieter. He always has been, growing up the way he did and taking on a profession like the one he’d had. He hangs his cap on the coat hooks and removes his shoes, both to help with staying quiet but also because he’s not an asshole, and steps further into house.
It’s not as messy as far as houses go, but it’s messy for Jackson, who has always been tidier than people expected. There are dishes in the sink, clothes haphazardly thrown around the living room, and papers strewn about on the kitchen table. Just small indications of Jackson's state of mind, how his usual priority of keeping his living space tidy has fallen prey to other, less healthy tendencies.
The sound of water running comes from far end of the house, where Jinyoung knows is the bedroom. He smiles at the thought of surprising Jackson in the shower—imagining Jackson's hair and body soaking wet and glistening—but instead settles on taking a seat in the armchair by the window. Jinyoung doesn’t want to alarm him too much, after all.
He grabs a book from the coffee table, one that has been dog-eared on almost every other page for the first half of it and is thereafter completely pristine, as if the reader was interrupted constantly during their pursuit of reading it before eventually giving up.
Jinyoung opens the book and waits.
It’s not long before the shower turns off. Jinyoung listens for the soft singing that should follow, but it doesn’t come. That’s odd.
Jackson doesn’t notice Jinyoung when he enters the room, too preoccupied with getting a glass of water from the kitchen to see the intruder sitting in his armchair, reading the book he’s tried and failed to finish. His sweatpants sit low around his hips—more filled out than they used to be, Jinyoung notices hungrily—and he doesn’t wear a shirt. His hair is damp and uncombed, giving him an air of dishevelled vulnerability that Jinyoung finds incredibly endearing. Some droplets of water still cling to the bare skin of Jackson’s arms and torso, and Jinyoung watches as one slides down his elbow and onto the linoleum floor, adding to wet, foot-shaped tracks trailing in from the bedroom.
“You’re dripping, Seun-ah.”
A yelp and the subsequent sound of glass shattering come from where Jackson now whirls to face Jinyoung, his eyes wide with surprised terror.
Still so beautiful, Jinyoung muses to himself delightedly.
“How the fuck did you get here?” Jackson asks, breathless, as the shock begins to wane and a flash of anger crosses his face.
Jinyoung raises a brow at Jackson's complete disregard for the mess of glass at his feet in favour of furrowing his brow and gritting his teeth at Jinyoung. It’s nothing more than a glimmer of the spark Jinyoung has been waiting for, but it’s enough to confirms Jinyoung’s suspicions that have been building these past few months.
Before, he’d thought that Jaebeom was his endgame—his last, most perfect masterpiece—but the man became boring rather quickly with his clockwork-like visits and pathetic ennui, and Jinyoung began to feel unfulfilled. Despite himself, he started reminiscing, and he was surprised when his mind brought up memories of none other than Jackson. Of his carefree laugh and beautiful smile, the way he would blink his giant eyes when he wanted something. Of how easy, eager, willing he was with everything Jinyoung wanted from him in the bedroom, sometimes even suggesting things of his own. But, more than anything, Jinyoung began to recall the way Jackson had rejected him the moment he’d discovered Jinyoung’s identity. How, even though he had evidently loved Jinyoung deeply up until that point, he didn’t hesitate to fight him when he learned the truth. It had surprised Jinyoung, sure, but there had been more important matters to focus on at the time and he never gave it much thought. It was only in those quiet moments many months later, when he was alone in his cell, did Jinyoung find his thoughts wandering back to that fateful day and everything that came before it. To Jackson's words, his disapproval, his disgust. It gnawed at him, that tiny voice telling him he had failed—and not because he had been caught, but because Jackson was no longer his. Before, Jinyoung had taken Jackson for granted, and now he was the one that got away.
“The potted plant,” Jinyoung says at last, answering Jackson's question.
“The potted pl—” Jackson seems confused until the understanding dawns on him, mixed with humiliation. “Fuck, I knew I should have moved the spare key,” he mumbles to himself as he rubs his face with his hands, sighing.
“You should have,” Jinyoung agrees with a mischievous smile, placing the book on the coffee table, “there are a lot of dangerous people out there.”
A muscle in Jackson's jaw clenches. “Well, I thought I put the worst one in prison.”
Jinyoung doesn’t suppress his satisfied grin at the compliment. “Was it you?” he asks nonchalantly. He stands, taking casual, unhurried steps around Jackson's living room. “It seemed more like a group effort.”
There is a pause and Jinyoung glances over to find Jackson gazing at his feet, or perhaps the broken glass at last. “I—I helped,” he says weakly, the crack in his voice betraying his insecurity.
Isn’t that lovely, Jinyoung thinks as he watches Jackson shrink into himself.
“You certainly did, my darling,” Jinyoung assures him, straightening a painting—a Matisse imitation, he thinks—on the wall, “you did very well.”
“Don’t patronize me,” Jackson spits.
“Uh oh, did I hit a nerve?” Jinyoung asks with feigned concern. “Do the others boast about their contributions to my capture and make you feel inadequate?” When Jackson says nothing, Jinyoung snorts. “I bet Youngjae is the worst for it, the brat looks like a gloater.”
Pettiness is a funny thing, because Jackson nods furiously and starts to speak before he can remember that he’s supposed to be angry at Jinyoung instead of agreeing with him—it’s a rather amusing display.
“He is the worst,” Jackson grumbles and crosses his arms, “even though technically I found out before him and so did Jaebeom-hyung—”
“Well, Jaebeom-ah has nothing to gloat about,” Jinyoung interrupts with a simple tilt of his head.
The absentminded comfort Jackson had fallen back into is snapped away by that comment, or perhaps the intimate way Jinyoung says Jaebeom’s name, and he narrows his eyes, hardening his resolve again. Jackson clearly wants to ask Jinyoung what he means, but in the end he doesn’t take the bait. Oh well, Jinyoung thinks, a little disappointed, I guess that story will have to wait.
“Are you here to kill me?” Jackson asks bitterly, back to his same determined fierceness. He squishes his lips into a delectable, concentrated pout and clenches his fists by his sides. The stance resembles something like an angry teddy bear.
It’s too adorable for Jinyoung not to laugh. “No, my dear Seunie, nothing like that,” he replies as he takes step into the kitchen and lazily leans against the wall across from Jackson, “I just wanted to see you.” He marvels at how easy it is to slink back into the affectionate pet names and the low, melodic cadence he’s used on Jackson a hundred times before.
Jackson clearly has a hard time withstanding it. He bristles for a moment, the edges of his demeanour shifting as he fights off what Jinyoung guesses is his instinct to either run into Jinyoung’s arms or very far away.
“You look good,” Jinyoung continues in that same tone, giving Jackson a once-over again, more pointedly this time, so that Jackson can see every movement of Jinyoung’s eyes as he appreciates his form. Luckily, Jinyoung doesn’t have to fake any of it. Jackson still glows the way he always has, in every inch of his now fair skin and delicate body. His beauty has always been unmatched, but like this, broken and damaged, Jackson is stunning in a new way. In a way that makes Jinyoung want to take him, to make him his, and never let him go.
But the compliment makes the anger swell in Jackson again, likely a defense mechanism to quell the fleeting happiness it ignited in him, and Jinyoung feels his blood sing in response. Jackson hisses and moves to take a step forward, but Jinyoung tsks, gesturing to the broken glass around his bare feet.
“Careful, darling, we wouldn’t want you to get hurt,” he says smoothly.
“Fuck you.”
Jinyoung grins, one of his more feral-looking ones. “Now, now,” he chides, crossing his arms over his chest, “is that any way to speak to someone you once loved?”
That seems to be the drop in the bucket. Jackson growls, swiftly grabbing a large piece of the broken glass from the floor and lunging over the rest of the mess. He launches himself at Jinyoung, faster than Jinyoung would have expected given his visibly fragile state, and pins him to the wall, one hand on his shoulder and the other holding the broken glass to his neck.
There it is, Jinyoung thinks to himself with a smile, watching Jackson's eyes wild with rage and unfettered emotion, there’s that spark I’ve been waiting for.
“I never loved you.”
“Never?” Jinyoung quirks a brow, easily spotting the lie in Jackson's eye.
Jackson doesn’t respond, probably because he’s never been very good at lying—not to Jinyoung, anyway—and digs the glass deeper into Jinyoung’s skin. Still not enough to draw blood, just enough that any normal person would feel something like fear. It’s not a bad attempt at intimidation and Jinyoung isn’t sure if he should be more proud or amused.
“Do you want to kill me, Seunie?”
“Very much so.”
Jackson's face is determined, his teeth clenched and brow furrowed with focus. He really does want to do it, Jinyoung can easily tell. How adorable.
“Go on, then,” Jinyoung challenges, watching the fierce desire for retribution in Jackson's eyes, “I won’t stop you.”
The rage doesn’t leave Jackson, it seeps off his entire body in waves that Jinyoung can almost taste, but it must not be enough to drive him to hurt Jinyoung, because Jackson does nothing. Well, either that, or Jackson’s motivation for revenge is not the only thing on his mind, which is very interesting.
“Why are you here?” Jackson whispers, his voice low and stern.
“I missed you.”
The fury on Jackson's face breaks for a second, giving way to something so deliciously vulnerable underneath. “You—what?”
“I missed you,” Jinyoung repeats, bringing a hand to rest on Jackson's hip. Just testing. Just to see if Jackson is tired enough of the game to let Jinyoung win.
Jackson flinches but doesn’t recoil from Jinyoung’s touch. In fact, he almost seems to lean a hair closer. “Did you break out of prison?”
“No,” Jinyoung replies as he drops his hand again, keenly watching the way Jackson's face twitches, “I got furlough, I’m going back tomorrow.”
Confusion crosses Jackson's expression and he narrows his eyes. “They granted you furlough?”
“My great-aunt is sick.”
“You don’t have a great-aunt.”
“No, I don’t.”
At that, Jackson finally, finally cracks the smallest smile. Jinyoung feels a wave of gratification overcome him at the sight.
“So, what? You went through the trouble of faking a sick relative and getting furlough just to see me?” Jackson asks, his tone filled with disbelief and an attitude Jinyoung finds rather charming.
“Yes, actually.”
Jackson blinks once. He probably didn’t think Jinyoung would admit it, or maybe he just didn’t think it would be true. There is a pause as he pulls the glass away from Jinyoung’s throat and lowers his hand. He stares at it, at how tightly he holds it in his grip, the edges of the glass digging deep into his palm, almost enough to break the skin.
“Really?” he asks, and when he looks up at Jinyoung again, there is no more anger in his eyes. Only hurt, and an accompanying need to be comforted.
With a nod, Jinyoung finds Jackson's hand and carefully takes the broken glass, placing it on the counter beside them. He leaves his hand in Jackson's, then settles his voice into a soft, soothing tone. “When did you stop singing after your showers, Seun-ah?”
“What?” Jackson's voice is distant, his gaze on their intertwined hands.
“You always used to sing when you got ready after your shower,” Jinyoung says lightly, stroking his thumb in circles over Jackson's wrist.
Jackson glances up, his eyes giant and as close to truly happy as Jinyoung has seen today. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything about you.”
Colour fills Jackson's cheek, the pink on his otherwise pale face making him glow. “Oh, well, I guess it was around the time you, uh, left.”
That was what Jinyoung had suspected, but hearing it still gives him a warm feeling at the base of his chest. He trails his finger along the red skin of Jackson's hand, the glass having left two deep indented lines. “You should start doing it again,” he says as he brings Jackson's hand to his lips, kissing along the marks slowly, carefully, until he reaches a small prick where the glass broke the skin. He kisses that spot too, darting his tongue out gently to clean the tiny bead of blood from Jackson's palm, a hint of copper lingering in his mouth.
“Okay.”
When Jinyoung’s eyes flit back up to Jackson's, he sees a mix of yearning and only a hint of self-hatred. Which, considering everything, isn’t bad.
“Have you missed me too?” Jinyoung asks as he moves his lips to Jackson's wrist, to the place where Jinyoung has bound them with rope or cuffs or ribbon so many times before. “Or has Mark been a suitable enough replacement?”
Jackson blushes again but his eyes never leave Jinyoung’s lips. “Mark isn’t—it’s not like that.”
“You don’t like him?” Jinyoung asks curiously, not halting in his exploration up Jackson's arm, reaching the smooth skin of Jackson's inner forearm with his mouth, “he likes you.”
“How do you know that?” Jackson doesn’t sound surprised to hear that Mark has feelings for him, only that Jinyoung seems to know about it.
“I saw him drop you off earlier,” Jinyoung explains as he kisses Jackson's bicep, the muscles still toned but less firm than Jinyoung remembers.
“You were watching me?”
It’s not an accusatory question. If anything, Jackson is more flattered than scared or disgusted. The realization brings Jinyoung a deep sense of satisfaction in his belly.
“I was.”
Jackson inhales, a small, barely-there thing, as Jinyoung’s lips find his shoulder, his tongue licking the lingering drops of water that have fallen from his hair. The scent of pomegranate body wash fills Jinyoung’s nose.
“And?”
Jinyoung turns to meet Jackson's eyes. There is a trace of that trademark playfulness and he is pleased to see some of it surface again so quickly. He smiles and straightens to face Jackson head-on, letting his hand replace where his mouth was on Jackson's shoulder, running his thumb across Jackson's clavicle.
“You looked like you missed me too.”
There is a moment of silence as Jackson finally tears his gaze away from Jinyoung’s. He swallows, the shame clear as day on his face, but Jinyoung can see there is so much longing in it too. “Jinyoung, I can’t—"
The sound of Jackson saying his name for the first time in six months does something to Jinyoung. Like a light switch that Jackson flipped by simply uttering a word. Jinyoung flips Jackson around, holding him against the wall that Jackson had pinned him against only a minute ago. He grasps the side of Jackson's head firmly with one hand and keeps the other on Jackson's bare waist, pressing their bodies together. Jackson gasps, trembling against him, but doesn’t protest, doesn’t fight. He simply looks into Jinyoung’s eyes, the plea written all over his face.
“Yes, you can, my love,” Jinyoung tells him as he noses Jackson's cheek, murmuring the words into Jackson's skin and urging him to let go, feeling the tension in Jackson's body as he fights with his morals in a way only he can.
“Jinyoungie—"
Jackson whispers his name like a wish. It lights a fire in Jinyoung’s core, burning him from the inside out as he holds back every desire he’s been nursing all these long months.
Except this is not the time to hold back, Jinyoung tells himself as he watches the war in Jackson's eyes, not when there will never be a next time.
With an impulsiveness that often accompanies such a realization of finality, Jinyoung kisses Jackson hard. Jackson doesn’t kiss him back right away, his lips limp against Jinyoung’s as he battles with his instincts, but Jinyoung doesn’t give up. He brushes his hand down Jackson's side, goosebumps prickling to the surface, and Jackson quivers. Something in him seems to releases at that and he finally kisses Jinyoung back, though there is still strain in his movements.
“That’s it,” Jinyoung says as he pulls Jackson flush against him, the heat of Jackson's body searing him at each point their bodies meet, “my sweet Seun-ah.”
A small whimper comes from Jackson's lips, the sound filled with desire and shame. Jinyoung smiles into the kiss.
“Let me have you one last time, my love,” he whispers, running his hands along Jackson's bare torso, “just for tonight.”
Jackson moans as his own arousal growls, as he seems to finally let go of the judgment he no doubt had harbouring inside him. He kisses Jinyoung in earnest now, slipping his hand underneath Jinyoung’s shirt and sighing into him. His movements are hurried and desperate, but also steady and familiar. More than anything, Jinyoung feels comfortable, calm, and he hums low into Jackson's mouth.
Suddenly, Jackson pulls back and bites his lip, his face flushed and eyes wide. “Just. . . just for tonight?”
“Yes, Seunie darling,” Jinyoung says as he strokes the side of Jackson's face, noting the way Jackson leans into the touch immediately, “tonight is all I have.”
Jinyoung takes his time appreciating the view of Jackson naked on his bed—more specifically, the changes to Jackson's body that have come with the past few months of emotional strain and exhaustion. The usually tan, golden skin of Jackson's body is paler and some of his muscles have atrophied from disuse, making him appear softer and more delicate. There are bags under his eyes, deep, purplish ones from fatigue that goes well beyond a lack of sleep. Each difference is minor, only noticeable when looking very attentively, the way Jinyoung is. Most people might simply say Jackson looks tired or overworked, but Jinyoung knows it is far more than that.
“God, you are beautiful,” he says softly, feasting his eyes upon every part of Jackson he can see, his mind’s eye doing the rest, “somehow even more than you were before.”
Jackson turns shy and he averts his eyes shamefully. “No, I’m not,” he says as his cheeks turn rosy, “I don’t take care of myself like I used to, I’m—"
Jinyoung interrupts him with a soft kiss. “You are perfect,” he insists, kissing the praise into his mouth, because it’s clear this has been an insecurity of Jackson's for a while and Jinyoung isn’t about to let it fester any longer, “the most beautiful you have ever looked.”
“Oh,” Jackson says, staring up at Jinyoung with wide eyes and batting his lashes demurely, his lips puckered prettily in mild surprise, “okay.”
And to think, I made you like this without even trying, Jinyoung tells himself, immensely proud of his inadvertent achievement, the masterpiece I never intended to create.
Jinyoung sits back on his knees to regard Jackson again. The softness of his chest, the lines of his abdominal muscles that are less defined now and just as beautiful, the way his hips and thighs have filled out from not being so stringent with his diet, the slimness of his waist that is even more noticeable than it used to be. Jackson's body is impeccable, pristine, except for three thin lines on his abdomen. The skin has fully healed over and is probably unnoticeable for someone who doesn’t know they are there, but Jinyoung’s eyes are drawn to them immediately. With a finger, he traces the first one, a short line on the right side of Jackson's belly, the skin just slightly darker there than the rest of him. Jackson trembles at the touch as if it’s still sensitive.
“Do you remember when I gave you these?” Jinyoung muses aloud as he runs his finger along the second scar, the long mark following the line of the edge of Jackson's left ribs.
Jackson nods slowly. “It took a lot of convincing before you agreed to it.”
Almost ten minutes, if Jinyoung recalls correctly. Jackson had begged him profusely, but Jinyoung had been worried it would get out of hand, that he wouldn’t be able to stop—even though knives were never his preferred method of killing. In the end, he’d only agreed to it because Jackson had shoved Jinyoung’s entire cock in his mouth and, well, it had been difficult to refuse him after that.
“You were always so eager,” Jinyoung replies softly, trailing the pad of his index finger over the last scar, from Jackson's navel down to the crease between his hip and groin, “always so good for me.” He brings his mouth to lick the base of the scar, Jackson trembling as his tongue flicks over the tender skin of his groin. “So willing to try anything.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t figure you out sooner,” Jackson says distractedly as he shivers again, his voice throaty and hoarse, “given everything we did.”
Jinyoung hums pensively. Maybe you did know, he thinks as he licks a stripe up Jackson's abdomen, almost to his waist, maybe you knew all along and didn’t care.
He knows it’s not true. Given Jackson's reaction to finding out his identity that day, there is such a slim chance it could be. But there is a part of Jinyoung that wants to live in the fantasy, in a world where Jackson knew all about him and stayed with him anyway, loved him in spite of it.
In between kisses around Jackson’s navel, Jinyoung glances up to see Jackson watching him with round eyes. No mistrust, no anger, only innocence and comfort. It feeds the fantasy a little more.
Jinyoung moves his mouth laterally along Jackson's torso until he reaches his waist. A soft whine comes from Jackson and Jinyoung smiles, continuing to suck and lick along the skin of Jackson's slender waist until he finds the spot he’s searching for. He knows he’s reached it when Jackson's body jolts, his back arching involuntarily, and he lets out a tiny squeak. Jinyoung smirks, sucking hard on the same spot until Jackson begins to whimper, and his already hard cock twitches against Jinyoung’s abdomen.
“I’d almost forgotten how sensitive your waist is,” Jinyoung breathes against the spot he’s wettened, keeping his voice a low rumble to send vibrations along the delicate skin.
“Fuck,” Jackson moans, his hands finding purchase in Jinyoung hair, “fuck, Jinyoungie.”
Jinyoung chuckles at how quick Jackson is to arouse before moving to suck on the nubs of his nipples one at a time, keeping his hands firm on Jackson's waist. The muscle and fat underneath mold around his fingers as if accepting his touch, welcoming him, and Jackson groans, running his hands down Jinyoung’s still-clothed back.
“I want to feel you,” Jackson whines as he tries to ruck up Jinyoung’s shirt, “I need to touch you, please.”
Fuck if it doesn’t take every ounce of Jinyoung’s willpower not to give in to that.
“Soon, my love,” he assures him as he releases Jackson's nipple with a small pop, “let me touch you first.”
The only response Jackson has is another moan as Jinyoung squeezes his waist tighter, his thumbs pressing into the tender spots on either side. The sound of it fuels Jinyoung’s building desire and he presses their mouths together again. Jackson parts his lips instantly and Jinyoung sweeps inside, tasting every inch of his mouth as his hunger grows.
Jackson becomes more needy with his movements, wrapping his arms around Jinyoung’s neck and arching into him, tugging him closer as if he never wants him to leave. The thought of it roils the pool of satisfaction in Jinyoung’s gut and he hums into Jackson's mouth, pushing his hands into his skin even harder. Jackson groans and his legs fall open, the unsubtle invitation enough to make Jinyoung smile.
“So very eager,” Jinyoung murmurs before capturing Jackson's lips again, “so good, my Seun-ah.” He kisses Jackson one more time and then starts to trail his mouth down his torso, slowly and calmly. The whimpers Jackson lets out make it sound like Jinyoung’s kisses are torturous more than pleasureful, and the thought amuses Jinyoung more than it probably should. He continues on, stopping briefly at Jackson's waist again to yank out another delectable squeal before letting his tongue explore the smooth, milky skin of Jackson's full hips. He bites along Jackson’s inner thighs, not enough to cause harm but enough to make him gasp in surprise. He grabs onto the meat of Jackson’s legs, lifting them easily onto his shoulders and spreading Jackson’s ass to see the little pink puckering hole within. Jinyoung feels himself salivating and he gazes at Jackson's surprised, expectant face once more before lowering himself down.
He licks along the rim of Jackson's tight entrance and pushes his tongue inside, tasting Jackson’s clean, pomegranate scent again in his mouth and nose. Jackson writhes beneath him but Jinyoung holds him down easily, gripping his legs tightly, his fingers digging into the thickness of his thighs. Jackson's own fingers lace through Jinyoung’s hair and he groans at the flick of Jinyoung’s tongue inside him. He is impossibly wet now, dripping with Jinyoung’s saliva so much that there is a small pool of it on the sheets below. Jinyoung moves his hand to replace his mouth, slicking up his fingers with the wetness around Jackson's hole and pushing two of them inside. It’s more than Jackson is ready for, he knows, and Jackson makes a garbled, hollow noise. But he doesn’t complain, he just takes what Jinyoung gives him like it’s the thing he’s been waiting for.
How did I think anyone else could be more perfect? Jinyoung chides himself as he thrusts his fingers slowly in and out, watching how Jackson’s eyes blink lazily and his mouth hangs open.
Jinyoung wipes the mess of saliva from his chin with his free hand and then grabs Jackson's hard cock, the wetness of his hand helping his caresses. He keeps his movements slow, twisting his fingers inside Jackson while stroking his shaft with the other. It doesn’t take long before Jackson is a mess below him. He spreads his legs wider with every second as his moans increase in pitch, gripping Jinyoung’s hair tighter. His orgasm crests until it swells and overwhelms him, and Jinyoung watches with calm awe as Jackson falls apart on his hands. Jackson whines and swears until Jinyoung captures his mouth again, his hole clenching around Jinyoung’s fingers as warm come spills onto his other hand.
Keeping his fingers inside, Jinyoung continues to thrust into Jackson until he squirms from oversensitivity. Jinyoung licks the come off his hand, watching Jackson's fucked-out eyes as he does, hungrily lapping up the slightly bitter liquid with a smile. The sight makes Jackson whine again and he pulls Jinyoung down for another kiss, tasting himself on Jinyoung’s tongue and moaning.
“Fuck me,” Jackson pleads, gasping as Jinyoung twists his fingers, “please, Jinyoung-ah, I need you.”
Jinyoung almost refuses him. He wanted to toy with Jackson longer, make him come at least twice on his fingers before finally fucking him with his cock. But the wide eyes, the pouty red lips, the begging want and desperate need all over Jackson's face tugs at the edge of Jinyoung’s control and he finds himself wavering. After all, Jinyoung may be a monster, but he’s still a man.
He quickly grabs the lube from its usual spot in the drawer of the bedside table and pulls off his shirt before settling back over Jackson, whose hands immediately roam his bare body with something like reverence.
“How do you look this good after being in prison for six months?” Jackson murmurs, more aroused than disbelieving, his hands deftly undoing Jinyoung’s pants.
“There’s not much to do besides working out,” Jinyoung replies with a chuckle, shifting to let Jackson remove his pants and underwear completely.
“Fuck,” Jackson breathes, and when Jinyoung looks, he sees that Jackson's eyes are on his cock, “I forgot how big you were.” He gazes up at Jinyoung again through his long lashes, his eyes round and glassy with want, his tongue darting out subconsciously to lick his red, kiss-swollen lips. He is a vision of vulnerability and pure, uninhibited desire. Absolute perfection.
Jinyoung stares at him, almost pouring the entire bottle of lube on his cock before realizing what he’s doing.
“I might still be, uh, a little tight, by the way,” Jackson continues quietly, batting his pretty lashes shyly and swallowing hard, “it’s been. . . a while.”
Oh.
“How long?” Jinyoung asks without missing a beat, hearing the way his voice sounds more breathless than usual. Overwhelmed with the need to know the answer, with the possibility now racing in his mind, he brings his face just inches away from Jackson's. “How long has it been since you’ve slept with someone?”
Caught a little unawares by Jinyoung’s urgency, Jackson sputters, as if he’s embarrassed by the answer. But then he looks between Jinyoung’s eyes, sees what must be pure lust and desire there, and his face relaxes.
“Six months.”
The confirmation of his suspicions makes Jinyoung’s blood thrum with power and hunger and he clenches his fist.
“All this time, you didn’t want anyone else,” he says greedily, lining his cock up with Jackson's hole without even looking, not wanting to tear his gaze from Jackson's face, needing to see every millisecond of Jackson's reaction at this moment. “Did I ruin all other men for you?”
Jackson answers in a huff of breath, without hesitation or shame. “Yes.”
Even though it’s the answer he wanted, Jinyoung isn’t ready for the reaction his body has for it. Hearing Jackson so readily admit it is doing something to him Jinyoung can’t quite understand. The control he’s had on himself for as long as he can remember slips a fraction and heat fills his body. Jinyoung has never felt quite so overwhelmed, desperate to follow his most primal instincts to take Jackson, to wreck him. He takes a breath and shakes it off, regaining some of his discipline, forcing himself to take back his control, before folding Jackson's legs into his chest and driving inside him.
Jackson was right—he is so, so tight. Watching the way Jackson winces and bites his lip, his eyes wet and pained, Jinyoung knows should’ve taken more time to open him up. But even still, Jackson doesn’t stop him, only pulls him closer, urging Jinyoung to continue anyway. Which Jinyoung does slowly, deliberately. He takes his time but he is far from gentle, sighing with pleasure and relief at being inside Jackson again after so long. Jackson seems to feel a similar sense of gratification and he moans, his eyes fluttering shut.
“No,” Jinyoung almost growls, gripping Jackson's waist tighter, “eyes open, Seun-ah.”
Jackson obeys and opens his glassy eyes again, his skin flushing prettily. He keeps his gaze directly on Jinyoung, even as Jinyoung thrusts deeper and harder each time and the force of it shakes his entire body.
“Yes, like that,” Jinyoung purrs approvingly as Jackson clenches down around him, and he plunges inside him even harder, “just like that, my darling.”
Jinyoung continues to take his time, rolling his hips in slow thrusts that make Jackson whimper and whine, a mixture of agony and ecstasy on his face. The entire time, he never looks away from Jinyoung, never closes his eyes for more than a blink. It fuels every urge Jinyoung has been holding onto and adds to the fantasy he’s created in his mind. That Jackson wants him, the real him, the same way he wanted him before. That he still loves Jinyoung, even now, even though he knows he’s a monster.
If they had more time, Jinyoung would nurse it over weeks or months, watch Jackson's feelings grow again until they blossom into the same intensity as they had once. Jinyoung would finally coax it out of him one day, make Jackson whimper his confession in the throes of an orgasm with Jinyoung’s name on his lips. It’s a beautiful thought, one that Jinyoung wants more than he realizes.
But they don’t have more time. All they have, all they will ever have, is tonight.
Maybe it’s the knowledge of wanting something he can never have, or perhaps it’s the way Jackson murmurs his name like a prayer as he takes Jinyoung’s cock like he was made for it, but something at last makes Jinyoung let go of his tenuous grasp on his self-control. He has no idea what he is capable of like this, what he might do in the heat of such unbridled passion, whether he might hurt Jackson in a way he doesn’t intend or something worse. But he can’t bring himself to hold back any longer, not with the looming deadline of tomorrow always at the peripheries of his mind.
In a blur of insatiable, ravenous lust, Jinyoung flips Jackson onto his stomach and sinks into him again. He holds Jackson down with a hand firmly on the back of his head and grips his ass with the other. There are no more measured, languid thrusts. Jinyoung drives his hips as fast as he can, watches his cock slide into Jackson's warm, tight hole, watches the way Jackson arches his back to let him in deeper, how his ass jiggles with every collision of their hips. Jackson's moans into the sheets become sobs and cries as Jinyoung fucks him into the mattress harder than he ever has.
Time seems to dissolve around him as Jinyoung succumbs to his most feral instincts, his vision red and unfocused. He sees Jackson beneath him, feels him tight around his cock, hears his screams of pleasure echo in his mind. It all feels so much like a dream.
Forever, Jinyoung thinks, if only this could last forever.
But then Jackson stops making noises, his body stilling, and Jinyoung is snapped out of his trance with a jolt. He stops mid-thrust, panic rising in his throat as he releases his hand, and yanks Jackson's head to the side so that his face is no longer buried in the bedsheets. Jackson promptly takes a huge inhale and Jinyoung sighs in relief, even as Jackson's face is red and splotchy from the lack of oxygen.
“I’m sorry, Seun-ah,” Jinyoung murmurs as he leans over to kiss Jackson's neck and shoulders. He’s said these words before without ever meaning them, because he can’t ever truly mean them, but he wonders why they don’t feel insincere now. “I’m so sorry, my sweet.”
Jackson continues to pant but looks at Jinyoung with a calm expression. “You could’ve kept going, Jinyoungie,” he strains out around his fragmented breaths, “if you wanted.”
Jinyoung blinks at him.
“You—you would let me—” he sputters out, completely caught off-guard by the comment and all its implications.
“Yes,” Jackson says evenly as his voice returns to normal, or as normal as it can be after screaming for so long, “I would let you do anything.”
This man is dangerous for me, Jinyoung thinks wildly, his mind racing with possibilities that he absolutely cannot indulge. No, he cannot give in to those terrible, horrible desires, even if Jackson would let him. It’s precisely because Jackson would let him that he can’t. He cannot risk losing the one person he has ever felt comfortable enough with to let go of all restraints, the one person that made him stop himself when he’d almost gone too far.
Jinyoung feels a sudden urge to protect Jackson, to keep him safe for as long as he can. I cannot let anything happen to you, my darling, Jinyoung thinks as he combs the hair away from Jackson's beautiful face, I won’t let anything happen to you.
He only realizes he’s started fucking Jackson again when Jackson resumes his cries, and the pace he sets and strength he uses are no more merciful than before. When Jackson comes three thrusts later, the sound is like a birdsong through Jinyoung’s entire body. He continues ruthlessly, squeezing Jackson's ass with both hands as Jackson teeters on the edge of oversensitivity again—but, true to his word, Jackson lets him do it without complaint. It’s so overwhelming, this notion that Jackson knows him for who he is and still wants to give him everything. Jinyoung has never experienced it before, this kind of unconditional acceptance and willingness, but Jackson is filled with it.
With that idea thrumming through his brain and spurring on the adrenaline in his blood, Jinyoung comes with a loud moan. He buries himself in Jackson and spills all of his come inside, holding onto Jackson's ass for balance as his world seems to tilt in more ways than one.
Jinyoung sighs, breathless and dazed, and moves to pull out, but Jackson stops him.
“Stay,” Jackson insists sleepily, using what little strength he has to pull Jinyoung’s arms around him, “just for a little while.”
The normalcy of it all calms some of Jinyoung’s shaken heart and he clumsily shimmies them onto their sides. The scent of pomegranate and sweat and sex fills his nose as he nuzzles into the crook of Jackson's neck.
“Okay, Seun-ah,” Jinyoung murmurs with a small smile, “for a little while.”
He was never very good at refusing Jackson, after all.
Jinyoung wakes up well before sunrise, the heat of Jackson's sleeping form still tight against him. He props his head up on his elbow to get a better look, blinking the fatigue from his eyes and letting them adjust to the low moonlight coming through the cracks between the curtains.
Jackson looks like an angel when he’s asleep. Jinyoung isn’t sure how he never noticed it before. The soft, unconscious pout of his slightly parted lips, the peaceful fluttering of his eyelashes as he dreams, the smooth, serene expression on his face. Some of the brokenness Jinyoung saw before even seems to have faded, the cracks of Jackson's heart a little more filled, the light that shines from him somewhat brighter.
Jinyoung reaches out to comb a stray piece out of Jackson's eyes, and Jackson hums happily at the touch. The intimacy makes Jinyoung smile despite himself, makes him dream of a world where it might become real. A fantasy, he knows—fuck, he knows—but he can’t help wishing for it anyway.
“Don’t go yet.”
Jackson's sleepy murmuring brings him back to the present, and Jinyoung strokes a hand along his cheek and down his jawline.
“You know I have to.”
Jackson sighs in disapproval and bats open his dark eyes, shifting himself lazily to face Jinyoung. “Let’s just run away together.”
“What?”
Just as serious, Jackson repeats himself. “Let’s run away, just the two of us,” he insists, “we’ll go somewhere far away and live as completely new people. You’re a genius, you can make it work.”
The adorable naïveté of the request is incredibly endearing, even as the idea itself gives Jinyoung a pang in his chest. “That only works in the movies, Seunie darling, and usually not even then.”
“We could try.”
Jackson, bless his heart, actually looks excited about the prospect. Jinyoung stares into his eyes, sees the deep affection there, and sighs.
“People only do that if they’re crazy, Seun-ah,” Jinyoung says with a laugh, “are we crazy?”
“No, we’re not,” Jackson breathes with one, very small shake of his head. Then he pauses and takes a sharp inhale before adding quietly, “People do it if they’re in love, too.”
What’s funny is that Jinyoung should have known it was coming. And even as he hears the word, he doesn’t feel the familiar sense of disinterest he usually does. Instead, he is intrigued, inching closer to Jackson without meaning to.
“Are we in love?” Jinyoung tries to keep his tone light but he finds himself searching Jackson's face intensely.
“You can’t fall in love,” Jackson answers softly, his eyes glossed over with something like sadness, but there is hope too. Hope in the form of a silent question, one that Jinyoung truly doesn’t know how to answer.
“I can’t fall in love,” Jinyoung repeats, in the end, because it’s easier than trying to figure out the answer that would be closer to the truth.
Jackson gives him a small, sad smile. “Seems like we’re out of options, then.”
All that remains unspoken hangs around them in the air. It wraps them up in a cocoon of uncertain comfort as they lie in silence, sharing each other’s breath and warmth, acknowledging but not quite understanding exactly what else is passing between them.
Jinyoung waits until Jackson's eyes become heavy. He waits as Jackson fights the sleep and he waits when his eyes finally fall closed. He waits as Jackson's breathing evens out and his lips part, fully succumbing to his peaceful slumber once more.
It’s only when Jinyoung tells himself he’s waited long enough that he realizes he really doesn’t want to go. And not because he doesn’t want to be back out there and face the rest of his life in captivity, but because he doesn’t want to leave this bed, this house, this moment.
“Too bad we’re not crazy, Seun-ah,” Jinyoung whispers, placing one last kiss to Jackson's perfect lips.
When Jinyoung finally leaves the house, he tries not to think too hard about the growing emptiness in his chest, about everything he’s leaving behind, as he closes the pale yellow door for the last time.
Coda
Jackson wakes to a silent house.
With a sigh, he rolls onto his side and stretches out his arms, but his hand meets nothing except the crumpled bedsheets, still slightly warm from the person who’d been there only a few hours before. He realizes then that his house is not only silent, but empty too.
A familiar sadness surrounds him momentarily and threatens to pull him down, but he takes a deep breath and shakes it away. He gets out of bed and sets about tidying his house.
When he opens his bedroom door, he smiles.
There is no shattered glass on the kitchen floor. The dishes from the sink are clean and drying on the rack. The clothes strewn about the living room have been carefully folded in a small pile on the couch. The papers on the kitchen table sit in a neat stack.
Jackson sighs, feeling something akin to peace, and then finally turns away.
When he finishes his shower, the mess of previous night washed away in body but not in mind, Jackson does his routine as usual. He works mostly on auto-pilot, as is the case for most people with this sort of thing—he combs his hair, applies his facial products, moisturizes his body, and gets dressed.
It’s only when he’s finished, when he looks at himself in the mirror and remarks how there seems to be more colour in his face today than there was yesterday, that he realizes he’s been singing to himself the whole time.