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There's something magical about the time right before sunrise. Something ethereal and otherworldly about the strange twilight zone of pre-dawn, about how quiet everything is before the rest of the world really starts to wake up. It almost feels like being suspended between two realms. A sort of limbo where you can seemingly exist as another being entirely, untethered to who and what and where you are in the real world.
For all of these reasons, this is probably Chan's favorite time of the day. Whether he gets to experience it from waking up really early or from going to bed really late, he loves taking a moment to himself to sit on the back porch and enjoy the tranquility of early morning. The air is still cool, but Chan always runs hot, anyway. He enjoys the chill of the slight breeze against his skin, the way it nips at the tips of his nose and ears and his bare arms, exposed in the tanktop he's wearing. He takes another drag on his vape and watches the steam billow and rise towards the pale sky on an exhale.
Chan doesn't really expect anyone else to be awake at this time of the day, which is why he's startled when the sliding glass door suddenly opens with a squeak. Jisung is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, and he looks a little disheveled and a lot sheepish. “I'm sorry,” he mutters as he rubs sleep out of his eye with a knuckle. “Didn't mean to scare you.”
“God, I need to oil that thing,” Chan says, clutching at his chest. His heart is racing, and he knows it's not just because of being caught by surprise. He inhales a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. It doesn't really help much in the way of calming him down, but he manages to put on a smile. “You're up early.”
“Couldn't sleep,” Jisung says. He shifts his weight back and forth on his feet for a bit before he seems to come to some sort of decision in his mind. He slides the door closed and shuffles across the porch until he can sit next to Chan on the wooden bench. Chan resists the urge to press himself up against the armrest to be as far away from Jisung as possible. He knows it would be too obvious. Jisung kicks off his slippers and lifts his feet up on the bench, his knees drawn to his chest. His toes wiggle where they stick out under the hem of his slightly too-long sleep pants. “What about you?”
“Hm?” Chan hums. He'll admit he's a little distracted.
“You're up early, too,” Jisung says, and Chan makes a noise of understanding.
“Ah, I didn't actually sleep yet,” he says, tugging at the lobe of his ear. It's an anxious habit. He wishes he was better at hiding his own nerves instead of wearing them on his sleeve. He wishes he wasn't so fucking transparent all the time. “I was about to go to bed after this.” He shakes the vape pen, then takes another inhale of it. He turns his face away from Jisung to blow out the steam through pursed lips. It also doubles as a way for him to avoid Jisung's gaze. He can't handle the way Jisung always looks at him. “Felix told me you quit smoking.”
“Yeah,” Jisung says. “It was getting too expensive. Plus, you know… the whole health thing. I've been trying to treat my body a little better.”
“Good boy,” Chan says without thinking, and when he looks back on this interaction later, he will be able to pinpoint this as the exact moment where he first fucked up. Next to him, he hears Jisung breathing in sharply, and Chan grimaces. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He manages a shaky laugh. “Better than me, at least. I can't quite seem to kick the nicotine addiction.” It's not the only addiction he has trouble getting over, either, and that is exactly the problem.
Jisung's toes are still wiggling. “Hyung,” he says, but Chan cuts him off:
“Don't call me hyung. I'm too old for that.”
“Ahjussi,” Jisung corrects with a huff, and Chan clenches his jaw. Jisung is being a brat on purpose. Chan knows it's on purpose. He knows that Jisung is just trying to get a rise out of him. He tries his hardest not to entertain it. Jisung hums. “No? What about Daddy, then?” It's sheer incredulous surprise that makes Chan snap his attention towards Jisung. He stares at him with wide eyes, aghast. Jisung is clearly trying to fight a smile. He has his arms wrapped around his shins, and when he rests his cheek on top of his knees, it squishes up cutely. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely not,” Chan finally gets out. His heart rate should have returned to normal by now, but it never seems to be possible whenever Jisung is involved. The constant movement of Jisung's feet in the periphery of Chan’s vision is impairing his ability to focus. Instinctively, he grabs a hold of Jisung's foot to still him. That is the second fuckup. Chan shouldn't be touching him, and he definitely shouldn't slide his hand up Jisung's pant leg to curl loosely around his ankle, fingertips tapping at the jut of his bone. Jisung is holding his breath. His lips are parted just slightly, and he's still looking right at Chan in that way that always makes Chan fraught with tension. He gulps. “You're cold.”
Jisung does a small, one-shouldered shrug. “It is kind of cold out here,” he mutters. He drags his bottom lip through his teeth. Chan shouldn't be noticing that. He shouldn't be looking at Jisung's fucking mouth. “Maybe you should find a way to warm me up.”
Chan doesn't really know who moves first. Perhaps it's Jisung crawling into Chan's lap. Perhaps it's Chan grabbing him and pulling him closer, manhandling him into exactly the position he wants him in. Perhaps it's a joined effort, guided by the desire that floats in the air around them like sparks. Chan imagines himself floating alongside them, untethered. “Talk me out of this,” Chan whispers. He's so close now he can feel Jisung's breathing on his own face, can count every freckle, can see that small scar on his forehead from when he crashed his bike as a kid.
“Why would I do that?” Jisung asks, and he sounds a little cocky, but Chan can tell that he's just as nervous as he is. Jisung has an arm wrapped around Chan's shoulders, and Chan can feel it trembling. Chan is dizzy. If this twilight zone is really a different realm, a realm where he's free from consequences, it would probably be okay for him to kiss Jisung right now. His hands find home in the dip of Jisung's waist, and he can feel his ribcage expand when Jisung takes a deep breath, fingers curling into the back of Chan's tanktop. “Hyung.”
“This is such a bad idea,” Chan mumbles, but he leans in to kiss Jisung, anyway. The way Jisung whimpers against his lips makes him feel insane. Jisung makes him feel insane. With his tiny waist and plush thighs and messy morning hair and cute little mouth that opens up so easily when Chan licks at it. Chan wants to devour him. He feels fucking famished. His fingers are like claws, gripping Jisung’s trim body in a vice-like hold to keep him from escaping his clutches.
When Jisung pulls away, Chan dumbly tries to follow. Jisung emits a hoarse chuckle, muffled when he bites down on his own bottom lip again. The sun has finally begun to rise over the horizon, and it bathes Jisung in a golden, backlit glow, a shimmering halo. His eyebrows furrow. “Should we really be doing this out here?” he asks. He leans in to nip at Chan’s jaw as he waits for a reply, much like the chilly air had nipped at Chan’s skin earlier.
“We shouldn’t be doing this at all,” Chan counters. He still knows that this is a terrible idea. He doesn’t do anything to stop Jisung when he leads a trail of open-mouthed kisses all the way back to Chan’s lips, though. Chan slides his hand up under Jisung’s T-shirt and drags the fabric along with it. His other hand slides further down, groping Jisung’s ass. Chan gladly swallows down the moan it elicits. He can feel the goosebumps rising on Jisung’s skin, though, and he knows they should probably go inside.
This time, Chan is the one who retreats. There’s a string of spit connecting their lips, broken only when he leans in to peck Jisung’s mouth, already all red and puffy from making out. “Hyung,” Jisung whispers again. Again, again, again.
Chan squeezes his waist. “Let’s go to bed,” he says.
Having Jisung in his bedroom feels like something forbidden. In a way, it kind of is. And yet, he seems to swim unencumbered in the vast sea of Chan’s black satin sheets. Jisung doesn’t make much noise while Chan fingers him open, only occasional sighs and gasps and moans muffled into the back of his own hand. He keeps regarding Chan in that same maddening way the entire time, though. “What?” Jisung asks breathlessly when he catches Chan staring back.
“You’re quiet,” Chan remarks. Jisung just smiles a wry smile and inclines his head towards the ceiling, and Chan gets it without him really having to say anything else. He lands a kiss on Jisung’s hip, then trails his lips up the lettering of Jisung’s rib tattoo, stark black against his caramel skin. “This is new.”
“Not that new,” Jisung argues. “Got it done last year.” He has to bite back a groan when Chan slides in his third slicked up finger. Jisung twitches when Chan crooks them to press right against his prostate. “Guess-guess you just haven’t seen it before.”
“Guess not,” Chan agrees as he curls his hand around Jisung’s cock to stroke him off in the same rhythm as the thrusts of his fingers. Chan would’ve remembered, just like he remembers the compass tattoo. He kisses that as well, lets his lips linger against Jisung’s collarbone for a few self-indulgent moments. Everything about this is so fucking self-indulgent. In his mind, he replays the mental snapshot of Jisung gesturing wordlessly at the ceiling. The reason why they have to be quiet. The reason why this is such a terrible idea. The reason why Chan most definitely shouldn’t do what he’s about to do.
But Chan does it, anyway. He must really be insane. He discovers a new unhealthy addiction in the way Jisung’s voice cracks on a moan when Chan slides his cock deep inside of him. Chan’s hands curve around Jisung’s waist again like they were made to fit there, and he fucks Jisung until he can no longer keep his voice down. Jisung’s fingers scramble at the sheets for purchase, and he squirms, desperate and needy, tears beading in his lashes. “Hyung,” he whines. His words are punched out of him with the rhythmic snaps of Chan’s hips. “Hyung, f-fuck, please.”
“Shhh,” Chan shushes, even though he does want Jisung to be loud. He wants to hear him, but they can’t. They can’t. Chan changes positions so he can kiss Jisung quiet while he fucks him. It’s slower like this, smoother, more intimate. Jisung is panting against Chan’s mouth rather than really kissing him back, but that’s okay. Chan presses his palm to the side of Jisung’s neck, skirts his thumb over Jisung’s throat, and Jisung mewls, his spine arching like a bowstring pulled taut. Chan groans. “Fuck. You’re so pretty. So good for me, baby boy.” It slips out before he can do anything to stop it. His fuckups just keep getting worse and worse, it seems.
Jisung’s thighs are quaking where they’re framing Chan’s hips. One of Jisung’s hands slides into the hair at the back of Chan’s head to pull at it, the other sneaks in between their bodies so he can touch his own leaking cock. “Can I come?” he begs. “Please? Fucking please?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Chan whispers. He’s getting close as well. His stamina isn’t really what it used to be anymore. He feels Jisung’s hand speeding up where it’s moving between them, and then Jisung throws his head back into the pillow as he comes. He’s loud. As loud as Chan wished he could’ve been the whole time, and he knows that might be a problem, but he can’t find it within himself to be worried at the moment. He gets another few thrusts in before Jisung’s clenching ass pulls him under, drags him down into the abyss to face death by drowning. Chan has never understood the reason for the name la petite mort more clearly than he does at this exact second.
It takes a while for Chan to gather himself. He’s sprawled on top of Jisung like a deadweight, but Jisung certainly doesn’t seem to mind as he’s simply running his fingers through Chan’s unruly hair. “You ever think about getting your nipples pierced?” Jisung asks out of nowhere.
Chan huffs. His brain is already scrambled. He doesn’t quite have the mental capacity at the moment to consider such a question. “Why do you ask?” he mumbles.
“Dunno,” Jisung says. “Just a thought. I think you’d look hot with them.”
“I’m too old for nipple piercings,” Chan says with his face pressed into the side of Jisung’s neck.
Jisung clicks his tongue. “You’re not even that old,” he insists, which only makes Chan huff again. Easy for Jisung to say when he’s a spry twenty year old, while Chan feels his age more and more heavily for each day that passes. “Think of it as a midlife crisis project, if that helps.” He squeals when Chan bites his jugular in retaliation, and somehow the sudden loud noise is exactly what makes Chan freefall back into his own reality. A reality where they can’t be loud. A reality where they most definitely should not have fucked.
The sun has risen fully now. Gone are the long shadows and the pale twilight, and instead there is a bright spotlight shining on all of their mistakes. However, as Chan helps Jisung clean up with a warm washcloth, he can’t help but think that he could get used to the sight of him sprawled out in his bed like this. That is such a dangerous thought. Chan wrings the washcloth in his nervous hands. “This was a bad idea,” he says. “We shouldn’t have done this.”
Jisung smiles. He stretches his limbs with a satisfied groan, languid and pleased. “That’s what you said last time as well,” he points out. “And then you sucked me off in the shower. Is that still on the table, by the way?” He wiggles his eyebrows obnoxiously, and Chan smacks him lightly with the washcloth in reprimand. Last time, Chan had felt the ache in his knees for a week afterwards, a painful reminder of the stupid mistake he had made.
“You should go back to Felix’s room before he wakes up,” Chan says instead of bothering to respond to Jisung’s proposition. He remains silent as Jisung puts his clothes back on, and he doesn’t even have it within himself to turn down Jisung when he straddles Chan’s lap once more for another kiss that leaves them both breathless. Chan is quiet, still, unmoving, doesn’t give in to the overwhelming urge to tell Jisung not to go, the desire to get up and pull him back to bed. He only smiles and waves and lets Jisung slip out the door without saying anything at all.
And then Chan is by himself once more, left on his own to try to come to terms with the fact that this isn’t a twilight zone or a state of limbo or another realm. This is reality. Chan’s reality. A reality where he just made the colossal mistake of having sex with his son’s best friend. And not for the first time, either.