Chapter Text
A diamond of a morning
Waked me an hour too soon;
Dawn had taken in the stars
And left the faint white moon.
O white moon, you are lonely,
It is the same with me,
But we have the world to roam over,
Only the lonely are free.
“Morning Song”, Sara Teasdale
It was only supposed to be one time.
That was what Chan told himself as he sat in his car, gripping the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles had gone white and his fingers had long since started to feel numb. He was deep in the bowels of the nondescript parking garage attached to the oddly foreboding building his GPS had easily directed him to. It was a brightly-lit parking garage, in fact, and very clean, just like everything else on this side of the red light district seemed to be.
Chan had found himself giggling almost hysterically at how incredibly unlike his imagination it had been as he’d navigated his way through it. No narrow alleyways spilling tired-looking purveyors of the sins of the flesh in torn fishnets onto the street corners with their hips popped out like a billboard; no shifty-looking middle-aged men skulking in and out of shadowy doorways with their hats pulled low over their eyes and their hands shoved into their pockets, guilty palms sweating all over their rolls of cash; no seedy bars with flashing neon logos depicting women pulling their tops down, vibrantly glowing tits blinking down at the drunken patrons stumbling out with their wandering fingers sticky with sour and grenadine and their liquor-soft cocks sticky with lipgloss.
Instead, the building he was looking for was apparently situated on a wide-laned block lined with industrial, office-type buildings in various modern styles, each of them stamped with large brass plaques denoting the building numbers, their businesses’ logos marked out in everything from brutal steel to neatly lettered paint, and yes, a couple of glaringly bold neon signs, though they were all tasteful and not a one of them flashed Chan with cartoon bosoms as he passed by. His destination had been a tall, fairly pretty brick building with a stately black sign affixed to the front, the words ‘God’s Menu’ emblazoned on it in curling crimson calligraphy, lit discreetly so as not to cause a nuisance to surrounding businesses.
And there were surrounding businesses, and not all of them were havens of hedonism, either. Probably. There was a squat, bright yellow building catty-corner to it that said it was a veterinarian clinic, and Chan couldn’t tell if it was an actual animal hospital or some kind of specialty shop for petplay enthusiasts. Next to the clinic was an office building that housed, among other things, a law firm that was probably not some kind of niche roleplay thing. Across the street from God’s Menu was a pretty cafe with big windows and way too many plants that definitely actually served coffee, judging by the scattered patrons indulging in the warmly-lit interior.
People in perfectly normal winter coats and fuzzy beanies and earmuffs walked up and down the power-washed pavement, wandering in and out of buildings, and he couldn’t tell if they worked at any of the locations or patronized them. He’d never been so disconcerted in his life.
He was in the right place, though. 11586 Magpie Lane, the ‘Location’ tab of the app had told him, with the parking entrance in the alley on the west side of the building. ‘Parking for God’s Menu Clients on Levels 4-6’ the signage had informed him as he passed through the turnstile. Chan had bypassed most of the client parking levels to park at the highest level he was allowed to, in the farthest client spot he could find, like it might make his presence there less real. He wasn’t as there as everyone else if he parked so far away, right?
He couldn’t stop staring at the parking pass - a temporary piece of paper that he would be able to exchange at the front desk for a less temporary piece of plastic he could hang from his rearview mirror. A pass that had his membership number on it. A one-year membership, to be renewed by the 31st of January next year. A membership that allowed him to make requests for one- to five-hour time slots totalling up to ten hours a week for fifty-two weeks.
But it was only supposed to be one time.
The elevator that took him down to the lobby level was small, but scrubbed meticulously clean and smelled of lemons and pine. A ragtime version of Rondo Alla Turca played softly overhead. The inspection certificate was nicely framed on the wood-panelled wall above the number pad, and Chan didn’t feel grossed out to be leaning against the brass railing as he watched the numbers tick down.
The doors opened onto a classy sort of lobby, all plush, deep red carpets, brass fixtures and intermittent collections of fat little armchairs upholstered in velvety black fabric arranged around short tables with strange glass sculptures serving as centerpieces. There were tall, broad-leaved plants along the walls and ample wall-washer lighting that invoked the feeling of an art gallery. Glancing up, he paused for a moment in front of the elevator to stare at the gorgeous fresco depicting a lewd orgy of angels and demons surrounding an ostentatious chandelier made of cascades of gold and crystal. More soft music played, some kind of string piece, sensual without feeling like a joke.
There was a woman at the desk in business casual clothing and understated makeup, a little older than him, and when she looked up at him as he approached her, she gave him a polite, professional smile.
“Welcome to God’s Menu, how can I help you this evening?”
“I, uh.” Chan couldn’t help but make direct eye contact, but everything in him screamed to avert his eyes, like that would be what would identify him in a line-up. “I have an appointment?”
“Excellent, sir. Do you have your member or guest number?”
Nodding, he pulled out his phone and opened the app to his membership page and tilted it towards her so she could scan the barcode.
“Perfect. I have you down for a three-hour slot with Bunny at 8:30 PM?”
He nodded. His tongue felt far too big for his mouth, and his heart probably shouldn’t be racing so fast. Somehow, this woman knowing his details – down to how long he was supposed to be there – made his stomach clench with anxiety. She was talking about it so casually. Like this was normal for a person to do.
Well. Obviously it was normal , there was nothing wrong with availing yourself of the services of a legal sex worker. And she didn’t know what he’d requested. She couldn’t know – it was part of the privacy policy that unless he violated any of the brothel’s well-outlined rules, anything he discussed or did with a Fantasy was kept completely between them. The Fantasy wasn’t even allowed to discuss it unless it was to requisition special items, and even then, they weren’t allowed to say why they needed them. His secret was safe.
He couldn’t tell if that made him feel better or worse.
“And I see you’ve already submitted your STI and BBP NOS paperwork, excellent,” she was saying, clicking around on the computer, verifying that the almost ludicrous amount of paperwork he’d had to file to become a member was all in order. “And your background check came back with no problems, good.”
He nodded along despite the fact that what she was saying didn’t actually require his input. She wasn’t even looking at him. His eyes caught on the gold-on-black name badge she wore.
Sweetpea . Delicate pleasures, Chan thought absently. How apt.
“I have here that you signed up under the BliS protocol,” Sweetpea spoke up again after a moment. “Just so you are aware, this is essentially a good-faith arrangement between yourself and the Fantasy – it will be up to both of you to uphold the protocol by refraining from speaking or removing the Fantasy’s mask in any situation excepting an emergency, and you are welcome to make a complaint should the Fantasy fail to comply with the protocol. This does not, of course, include instances where the Fantasy may need to use a safeword,” she recited.
“Of…of course,” Chan breathed, feeling his ears heat up further.
“The Fantasy – Bunny in this instance – will be alerted that it is you when you scan your member card at the door by a chime particular to you only, and he will already be masked and unable to see you. We do ask that you take this into consideration during the scene that you laid out via the request chat – please do remember that your Fantasy is blind in this case and may need assistance occasionally. Are you confident that you will be able to abide by these rules and requests?”
“Yes,” he answered, more surely than before. If there was anything Chan was confident in, it was his ability to both follow rules and be helpful.
“Excellent,” Sweetpea said with a bright smile. “And just between us, you don’t have to worry when you’re working with Bunny – he’s very reliable and very experienced, we’ve never heard a complaint from any of his clients. You’re in very good hands.”
“I…thank you?” He couldn’t tell if that was sincere or if it was something she would have said about any of the Fantasies, but it was strangely reassuring, even if it was a little embarrassing that he was so obviously flustered by the entire process.
“If you’ll give me your temporary parking pass, yes, thank you, this is your permanent one,” she continued, taking the piece of paper he held out and sliding a bright orange piece of plastic towards him, followed by a smaller black rectangle with a stylized apple stamped on it in gold, “and this is your member card.”
He picked both up. The parking pass just had his membership number on it, ostensibly so it could be looked up by security if needed. He flipped the member card over. On the back, also stamped in gold, was his membership number and his chosen alias and nothing else.
“Bunny’s room is on the third floor, to the right of the elevator,” Sweetpea said, gesturing to a second elevator to the left of the desk. “Room 325. There’s a bank of lockers across from the elevator that you can put your things in if you don’t want to bring them in with you that you’ll key into with your member card – make sure to keep your card on you, though, as you’ll need it to get into the room and back into the locker once you’re done.”
“Thank…you?” Backing away, Chan bowed a little too low to her, almost hitting his head on her desk, cringed at himself, and scurried to the elevator. It dinged open the moment he pushed the call button.
“You’re welcome,” Sweetpea called as he stepped into the elevator – identical to the one that brought him down from the parking garage. He met her eyes as the doors closed him into the space, and she flashed him another perfectly professional smile. “Enjoy your stay at God’s Menu, Tenerezza.”
The first thing that Chan had thought when he’d laid eyes on Seo Changbin for the first time was that he hadn’t tried his hand at a villanelle in a while. The man struggling to juggle a cardboard box onto his hip and fumble for his car keys at the same time begged a poem that evoked obsessive thoughts. There was something in his sharp, dark eyes and the soft curve of his cheek that brought to mind Roethke and Plath. The way his mouth turned down when he smiled at Chan’s offer of help whispered of “The Waking”, of the cycle of life and death.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear , indeed.
Chan had leaned beside him in the elevator heading for the eighth floor – his floor – with an armful of cardboard box and thought that he might be a little melodramatic. Which was perfect, because what else was melodrama for but to fuel an embarrassing slew of odes to a stranger? Let this peculiar beauty pass by him in their hallway a couple days a week and he’d be over his current writer’s block in no time.
He was too busy picturing sitting on the bench at his dining room window, composition book pressed to his knees, scrawling out longing stanzas in the warm wash of sunrise with a cup of tea cooling at his feet to realize that they were moving closer and closer to his own door. The odd vision at his shoulder was saying something about west-facing windows, and then Chan was picturing the same scene, but awash in the blaze of sunset and his stranger at the kitchen table, watching his mad scribbling fondly. But then he caught sight of his own door, and the pretty stranger was unlocking the door directly across from his, and Chan had needed a moment to recalibrate, because this man, this…this being wasn’t going to be an occasional delight to savor once in a while. He was going to be Chan’s neighbor, and he was already saying something about getting recommendations for fun things to do nearby, and Chan…
Well, it was only a little bit of a meltdown, and he had been pretty sure his neighbor – Changbin – hadn’t noticed, because he was taking the box from him and thanking him and backing into the apartment and shutting the door and Chan hadn’t even said anything -
“Come knock on my door when you’re done unpacking,” he’d blurted out like that was a normal thing someone said to a complete stranger, no matter how viscerally, humanly beautiful they were. “I’ll make us dinner, give you a rundown of the local hotspots,” he’d continued, like a madman.
And Changbin hadn’t seemed too put off by the sudden, far-too-familiar invitation. He’d just blinked those bedroom eyes at Chan, quirked a little smirk that made Chan’s fingers itch for the piano keys, and nodded. “Sure,” he’d said in his sun-warmed sand voice. “I’d like that.”
And Chan had scrubbed his apartment down (and himself, as well, just in case, because a man could hope ) and made an attempt at a carbonara that he was actually a little proud of and, well, he’d needed to open the ten-year-old Benanti Pietra Marina his parents had sent him from Sicily, because a quick internet search said it would pair well, and sure, it was the classiest wine he had and he’d been saving it for the day he won a Pulitzer, but this would be so much better than that. An award was a culmination, a crescendo, the end result of a lifetime of effort. This…this was going to be a beginning .
If he’d known then what it was going to be the beginning of, he might not have picked something with such a bitter aftertaste. Maybe it had been an omen.
Not that Changbin hadn’t been lovely. He had been. He always would be. Everything about him was just that – lovely . In every sense of the word, in the most earthen and tangible way possible, Changbin was lovely . His staccato laughter, the way he pouted when he was teasing, the calm and steady way he let Chan’s giddy nature break against him like so much weak, frothing surf. Lovely.
He’d been lovely that night, chatting about a drama he’d been catching up on, about sports and storytelling, about his theater degree and how he never used it. He’d asked a million questions about Chan’s poetry, about his music, about his family in Australia and his decision to move away and how much he missed his dog. They’d talked for hours, curled up on Chan’s couch, socked feet bare inches from each other, leaning their heads onto the backrest and smiling, smiling, smiling as they talked their way through the Etna Bianco and opened a much less classy bottle of Decoy Cab and talked their way through that, as well. It had felt like writing, like playing piano, as natural as breathing. Changbin had insisted on washing the dishes, had thanked him for dinner and his company, had offered to order takeout for them soon because he was a menace in the kitchen. He’d lingered at the door and had run a hand through his hair and smiled sweetly and said goodnight and left, taking Chan’s silly daydreams about wine-flavored kisses and wandering hands with him.
Lovely, lovely, lovely.
Chan had blown out the candles (rose and vanilla) and stood in his suddenly too-quiet apartment, breathing in the snuffed-out hope and then breathing it out steadily. When he inhaled next, he made sure to fill his lungs with cold sense and reason.
They had just met. Of course this wasn’t going to be the start of some epic romance. They didn’t even know each other. Changbin could be some kind of meth dealer, for all Chan knew. And Chan was not – absolutely not – going to lose his head over a man, no matter how peculiar and real and lovely he seemed. He was an artist, yes. That didn’t mean he had to be one of the actually unhinged ones. He could be normal about a crush. He could handle his emotions in a measured, mature fashion. He could get to know Changbin, let him know he was interested, and see if that interest was returned, and ask him on a date like a normal, mature, entirely hinged person.
Unfortunately for Chan, Changbin was incredibly, unbelievably, almost supernaturally obtuse. Like, genuinely dense, at least in the very specific context of having no idea when someone was flirting with him. That, or he was so agile when it came to dodging that sort of thing that Chan couldn’t even see him move.
How many times could he compliment his smile with a finger pressed into his dimple? Reach out to brush his hair off his forehead and let his fingers rest against his temple just a bit too long? Recite an achingly longing love sonnet while they sat in the sun eating ice cream together and stared meaningfully into each others eyes? How often could a man squeeze another man’s bicep and giggle about how strong he was before said other man caught a hint, really?
Eventually, Chan had to accept that Changbin just…wasn’t interested. So uninterested that Chan was actually a little afraid to be any more overt with his flirting. The last thing he wanted was to make Changbin actually uncomfortable. Being friends would have been fine. Painful, at first, but fine. Chan was too old to think that being rejected by one lovely man was the end of the world. He would write something suitably dramatic about it and move on, let himself settle into that soft, comfortable friendship that they’d been developing without clinging to the potential for something else, something that wasn’t more , but felt more right , at least to Chan. It wouldn’t be fun, or particularly easy, but he could do it. Would do it, to keep Changbin, because for all he was falling in love with him, he also just… liked him. It would have been fine. Great even.
Except that for every bit as bad at recognizing Chan’s attempts as Changbin was, he was equally as good at doing or saying things that made Chan hope again. Made his whole body fill with an almost agonizing mix of adoration and desire. Made him fill dangerously, always threatening to spill over and make a sticky, unacceptable mess of the connection they were forging together, a mess Chan wasn’t confident he could clean up. It didn’t matter, because Changbin was filling him up unknowingly, and if he didn’t know, he couldn’t stop, but if he did know – if Chan told him, if he found out …
The hope might have been killing him, but losing it entirely, losing Changbin entirely…he’d burn in Hell before he let that happen.
It was sharp, gutting, every time. Changbin’s eyes catching Chan’s for a little too long. The way he’d sometimes sway into Chan’s space like he wanted to be held, or worse, like he wanted to be kissed. How comfortable he made himself in Chan’s home, how beautifully he blossomed open for Chan whenever they hung out there, like he was meant to be there, to flourish there, a pretty bud of petals basking in the light of Chan’s adoration. The way he’d let their fingers brush over the remote being passed or a book being lent. Every time, it hooked Chan, a barbed twist of metal spearing his mouth, bleeding him, dragging him out of the quiet depths of acceptance and into the frantic fight of fantasy, until he was too exhausted to resist. Until he let himself curl, cold and slimy in Changbin’s hands, only to be unhooked and thrown back.
Sometimes, he’d think about that, and he’d give himself a little grace for the way he’d let his life slip into that unhinged artist territory. He wasn’t exactly keeping rotting fruit around the place, and honestly, on the spectrum of artistic eccentricity, he was probably more towards the ‘well-adjusted’ side, but he was competing with the likes of Dalí, who threw off the curve considerably.
In any case, he had let his life slip into unhinged artist territory, and when competing with the likes of Dalí and Mishima and the great Romantics, he probably could have done worse than take an old friend’s advice on how to deal with unrequited longing. It was no keeping-one’s-dead-husband’s-heart-in-one’s-desk, after all.
“Isn’t God’s Menu a brothel?” Chan had asked, tentative, incredulous, over crepes one fateful afternoon in mid-January.
Brian had shrugged, folding his hands in front of his face and tilting his head side to side. “It is. Nothing wrong with that.”
“No, of course not,” Chan had dismissed. “But…I don’t see how that would help with my issue. I’m not horny, I’m…”
“Your heart is horny for love,” Brian had cut in, ridiculously. “Look, I’m not saying it’s a good long-term solution, or that you should even try it more than once. I’m just saying that maybe if you get some of the more… intense feelings out of your system, you can kind of…I don’t know, regulate? Like a pressure cooker.”
“A pressure cooker.” Chan had blinked down at his crepe, considering. “So, just getting it all out. Like a purge?”
“I never saw it, but sure.”
“I didn’t, either.” Sighing, Chan had picked up his fork and stabbed at the strawberry slices oozing out onto the plate. “I don’t know. It sounds…I don’t know.”
“Look, try it once, and if it doesn’t scratch the itch enough to let you get your head back on straight, just…don’t go back,” Brian had said easily, going back to devouring his own lunch. “And if you do go, definitely request Bunny.”
“Bunny?”
“Oh, yeah.” Brian had nodded with a little grin. “Totally worth it. Kind of expensive, but he’s good at making even the weirdest requests work. I’m sure whatever you come up with to deal with all of… this ,” he had laughed, gesturing at Chan with his fork, “he can make it happen.”
Chan had squinted at him, unconvinced.
“Plus,” Brian had added as an afterthought, “he’s really buff.”
Chan’s first impression of Bunny’s room was that if he got a kitchenette installed and put in a couple of windows, it would be the most luxurious studio apartment on the market.
It was pretty, in a dark academia kind of way, and not nearly as small as Chan would have guessed, plenty of open space and dark hardwood floors. The walls were a soft, light blue-gray that probably should have clashed with the occasional colorful accents, but didn’t. There was a sitting area set up with a single leather armchair and a coffee table and a nice burgundy rug. There was a door that looked like it led to a bathroom. The shelves along one wall were a little disconcerting, given the neatly stacked, entirely unlabelled black containers they held, no doubt full of lascivious mysteries. There was also some kind of apparatus along the ceiling that gave the impression of a very squarish spiderweb. It admittedly made Chan a little uncomfortable looking at it.
It looked like Bunny had gone to the trouble of making the room look lived-in, unless he actually lived there and hadn’t bothered to straighten up before their appointment. There was a paperback on the coffee table with a bookmark halfway through – some kind of tawdry romance novel with a lady in a torn dress being manhandled by a hulking, shirtless beefcake on the cover. Next to it was a take-out cup with the logo of the cafe across the street on it. A navy blue throw blanket that was probably usually neatly folded on the chair was half crumpled on the floor, half wedged down the side of the seat cushion. Even the entryway was carefully domestic, with a rug in front of the door with a big daisy on it, a couple of hooks on the wall for coats.
Turning his head to the left, he saw the bed, lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp like a perfectly staged movie scene. The lamp sat on a small table with two drawers – the bottom one had a lock on it, he noticed – and there was a small bottle of lube on it, the only real indication of what this room was actually for. The bed itself wasn’t too terribly fancy, no built-in restraints or anything, just a plain, dark wood bedframe with four tall, sturdy posts that matched the coffee table. On the bed were a couple of pillows, and soft-looking matte black sheets that had been rumpled artfully.
And there, seated on the edge of the bed, motionless, was a man in a mask.
Chan almost jumped out of his skin at the sight. The mask was a blank white one, no eyeholes, no nothing, and it was tilted to face him even as the rest of Bunny’s body stayed put. It looked like something out of a horror film, and he was a little tempted to just run for it before he ended up getting chopped into tiny pieces and blended into a smoothie or something. Then, as if sensing his uneasiness, Bunny turned his body to face Chan as well, and held out his hand. His pale pink shirt fit the curves and dips of him perfectly, the long sleeves stretched over the backs of his hands, and he wore a matching pair of boxer briefs and fuzzy, mint-green socks. And Brian hadn’t been wrong, Bunny was buff , but there was something undeniably soft about him. It made Chan feel a little soft, as well.
Bunny’s head was tilting to the side, curious, and Chan pressed his lips together, remembering at the last second that he was not going to greet the man. He cleared his throat instead, and moved to hang up his coat and take off his boots. He stared at them for a moment, displeased, before moving them just under his coat, lined up neatly with the wall. He was a guest, after all. In a brothel, sure, and his host couldn’t even see what he was doing, but that was no reason to be a slob. What he was about to do was bad enough.
Slowly, he shuffled towards Bunny and placed his hand on Bunny’s forearm, pushing it until he dropped it into his lap. Tentatively, he sat beside the stranger he was about to…to do things to and swallowed hard against the rising panic in his throat.
He knew Bunny could feel the way his hands shook when he had touched him a moment ago, but the man didn’t make any move towards or away from him, conscious of Chan’s request to lead. He was sort of regretting it at the moment, because he had no idea what to do next. He knew what he’d asked for – he just had no clue how to go about getting from here to there.
He raised his arms, moving to hug Bunny, then hesitated and pulled back a little. Was a hug weird? He was about to do weirder, he felt, but hugging your sex worker felt like it would be a little too weird. Still, it was his only idea at the moment, so he scooted closer until their thighs touched and wrapped his arms around Bunny’s bulky shoulders.
He was really buff. God.
Chan was never sure just how built Changbin was, but he could tell he worked on his arms and shoulders religiously. He didn’t seem to skip leg day, but it was hard to tell. The younger man had a habit of wearing the baggiest jeans known to man and tee shirts that would cling to his biceps and pecs and nothing else. It was frustrating. A mystery, like so many facets of Changbin that the man held back from Chan.
Bunny was buff, sure, but he was also as soft as Chan had thought, and he’d picked clothes with a very pleasant texture, and he relaxed into Chan like he’d done it a million times. And, well, maybe he had? Maybe he got hugs from his clients all the time? He was so warm and made such a nice armful, Chan wouldn’t blame any of them if they snuck in a stealthy cuddle while they…well. While they did things to him.
Chan’s stomach twisted a little. He wasn’t sure what was making him so unsettled now, with an allegedly experienced and seemingly pliant man pressing against him. It wasn’t as though Chan was a stranger to casual sex, a quick blow job in a club bathroom, and fumble in the backseat of a car, a nameless bedmate stumbling out of his arms in the wee hours of the morning to do their walk of shame. He’d had plenty of encounters that weren’t exactly tender, emotional lovemaking with a committed life partner. He’d probably say the majority of his sexual encounters hadn’t been tender, emotional lovemaking with a committed life partner, really.
There was something about Bunny, he presumed. Something that was just…it was throwing him off. There was something about him that made Chan feel even more like he was doing something dirty and shameful. And it wasn’t like Chan had any issues with sex work – he’d been to one of those strip ‘n’ sucks before, a couple of times even, back in uni when that kind of thing had been about the only play his nerdy ass could get. There had never been any shame attached to it.
But it had been different. None of those people had been, at the heart of things, a replacement for someone he couldn’t have. A stand-in for a man who was unaware and would no doubt be creeped out by the very thought. He was about to do things to a man who he was paying to play a facsimile of Changbin. And that was…
God, he was going to kill Brian for this if it didn’t actually help. He was going to end up actually losing his mind and buying a pet lobster to walk around town at this rate.
But he would do this. He would let loose all his pent-up desires on this innocent sex worker who had no idea what was really going on in his head, and then he’d box the entire encounter up in his brain and tuck it where his memory would never find it and Changbin would never, ever have to know.
Slowly, he let himself relax into Bunny, breathing out slowly, willing his racing heart to just slow down. Oddly, he’d started rocking Bunny a little without realizing it, and the other man had slumped against his side, letting his head come to rest on Chan’s shoulder.
Cute.
Swallowing, Chan reached out and placed his hand against the mask. He felt Bunny tense a little, so he made what he hoped was a reassuring noise, pulling away to sandwich the mask between his hands.
Changbin, he thought, pressing his lips to the forehead of the mask. This is Changbin. He kissed underneath one of those creepy, sightless eyes. I’ll have one night with Changbin, and then I’m done.
He hesitated again, then resolved it would be the last time. He was here. He was in this. He was going to make this count.
Leaning in, he pressed his lips to the mask’s stiff mouth.
Changbin. Changbin. Changbin.
I love you, Changbin.
Sighing, Chan let the rest of his worries leave him. He could pick them up at the door later. For the time being, he scooted back onto the bed and tugged Bunny with him, pulling him close against his chest and threading his fingers into his hair. It was soft and sleek, but it didn’t smell of any sort of product. Nothing in the room really smelled of anything, except maybe a light cleanser and the generic detergent of the bedclothes. He put it out of his head, running his fingers through Bunny’s hair as best he could with the mask’s strap in the way.
Bunny, for his part, cuddled like a champion, all sweet and warm in Chan’s arms. His breath was damp against Chan’s collarbone, one of his fuzzy-socked-feet hooking over Chan’s calves. He felt a little sorry that Bunny had clearly chosen his outfit with Chan’s comfort in mind, but Chan had turned up in jeans and a button-down, all stiff fabric and hard little buttons against Bunny’s smooth skin. Next time, he’d-
No. No next time. He could regret that he hadn’t thought of it later, when he was done, but there would be no do-over.
Tightening his grip on Bunny, Chan maneuvered one arm under his shoulder to cradle him closer, using the other to dip up underneath Bunny’s shirt to feel more of that skin. His belly wasn’t fat, exactly, but it was generous, giving deliciously under his fingers like the rest of him, and Bunny squirmed a little at the feather-light touches. Humming an apology, Chan kissed the forehead of the mask again, pressing his palm into Bunny’s bared waist firmly.
He kept his eyes on the clock on the bedside table as best he could – three hours was so long, but it would go by so quickly, he knew.
As time ticked on, though, he felt himself sink into a strange sort of headspace. A gentle, pulsing kind of place where he could just drift, his hands full of Changbin…no, Bunny , his mind full of…actual-Changbin. He imagined they were in Changbin’s bed, probably. He’d never seen it, but maybe it looked like this one. He imagined it was the end of a long day, and Changbin was curled up against him, tired from…whatever the hell he did for a living. Just as greedy for comfort as Chan was. Seeking Chan’s warmth and steady heartbeat like Chan sought his. He imagined he could even be that comfort for anyone, much less someone as reliable and grounded as Changbin.
The man in his arms practically purred, stretching a little against him like a cat as Chan’s hands began to wander further, his daydreams wandering with them. It could be so good, to curve his body around Changbin’s like this, envelop him, explore him anew, like he’d done so many times before in this daydream. Lavish him with attention, cover him in kisses and leave marks on his skin. And maybe Changbin would reciprocate, would touch Chan-
Huffing, Chan pushed Changbin- no, pushed Bunny onto his back and stared down at the mask for a moment. Reminding himself. This wasn’t for him. Not really. This was so he could get this need out of his system so that he could be the friend Changbin deserved. A friend who respected him. A friend he could trust. A friend who wasn’t about to defile some poor sex worker like a fucking pervert and wish it was him instead.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Chan wavered, hands trembling against Bunny’s shoulders where he had the man pinned. His throat felt too tight, and his ears were ringing. Maybe he was having an allergic reaction to betrayal, and he’d drop dead here in this brothel on top of this stranger and Changbin would never know.
Soft hands covered his, steadying the trembling, and he opened his eyes to see Bunny’s mask. But more than that, he saw Bunny.
He saw the way he’d spread his legs to cradle Chan’s hips carefully, the way he lounged back on the pillows, completely relaxed, willing, open . He saw the confidence in the hands that squeezed his own reassuringly, and the generous way he tilted his head and shrugged one shoulder. A question.
Are you okay?
Collapsing against Bunny, Chan buried his face in the man’s neck and sucked that petal-thin skin into his mouth, trying his best to be gentle, his heart pounding with bittersweet affection. The little gasp Bunny let out made his stomach clench, and the way his thighs pressed into Chan’s hips had his cock twitching, but he ignored it. He couldn’t ignore Bunny’s hand wandering down, fingers catching on the button of his fly, and he caught it in his fingers, cupping it like he was holding a fragile moth and bringing Bunny’s knuckles to his mouth before placing it pointedly beside Bunny’s head. He didn’t need to get off to do this. That wasn’t the point. This was about Bunny.
About Changbin.
About…
Groaning, Chan moved to mark up the other side of Bunny’s neck as he rucked Bunny’s soft shirt up to his armpits and set to making sure every inch of his chest – God, so big – was covered in kisses. He dragged every bit of his unwanted love and his sickest desires and let them pour over his lips, coating Bunny, hoping, praying he would take it and let Chan leave this place empty .
Changbin. Please, let me…let me…
Moaning, Chan ran his hands up Bunny’s sides, then back down, tugging at his shorts until they were around his thighs and his cock, just beginning to chub up, was exposed. It was nice – clean-shaven, uncut, thick, not too long. It looked like it would fit perfectly in Chan’s mouth. A little bit beautiful.
So perfect, Binnie.
He nuzzled Bunny’s cock lovingly, mouthing at it, nibbling at the wonderful softness of his belly just above the base of it. Bunny squirmed, mewling, and something about that had Chan pressing his teeth down just a little harder.
So good for me, baby. My good boy. My Binnie.
Maybe his breathing was getting a little shaky. From arousal. No other reason.
He kept teasing at Bunny’s cock with his mouth, suckling kisses on the shaft, dainty swipes of his tongue under the foreskin, nuzzling against it with his cheek. He pulled all manner of adorable sounds from Bunny, little gasps and sighs and whimpers, until the other man was throbbing and leaking everywhere. Sitting up, Chan pulled at Bunny’s shirt until the man wriggled out of it, his pretty, smooth hair tufting up a bit. Chan couldn’t help himself, he snorted a little and reached out to smooth it down.
So cute, Binnie.
Scooting back, he pulled Bunny’s shorts off and looked at his socks for a little while, wrapping his hands around the man’s ankles and stroking them thoughtfully. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he pulled the socks off, setting them aside neatly with the rest of Bunny’s clothes. He heard Bunny huff a little, bemused, but it was swiftly cut off by Chan wrapping his hand firmly around Bunny’s cock and stroking it agonizingly slowly, shuffling until he was kneeling in the cradle of his spread legs again.
Just want you to feel good, Bin. Please, please, please let me make you feel good…
Grunting, Bunny’s hips lifted into the motion, hands slapping down onto the sheets to bunch them up in his fists. Clicking his tongue against his teeth, Chan pressed down on his hip with his free hand, pinning him to the mattress as he carefully, methodically stroked his weeping cock. He writhed, tossing his head back and forth on the pillow, his carefully smoothed hair fluffing up, little ‘ah’ noises punching out of him.
So good, Binnie. So pretty for me.
Moaning breathlessly, Chan reached for the lube, slathering it on the fingers of both hands and rubbing them together to warm them up. Too much, way too much, but he kind of liked it that way. In his daydreams, Changbin didn’t mind it, thought it was cute the way the real Changbin said so many of Chan’s idiosyncrasies were cute. He wrapped one too-slick hand around Changbin’s… Bunny’s cock, tamping down the urge to strip it ruthlessly until the man underneath him screamed -
Shaking himself, Chan kept his steady, teasing pace, his grip firm, but with just a bit too much slide to give Bunny the friction he really needed. Bunny tipped his head back, exposing his throat, and Chan almost headbutted his chin in his eagerness to latch his mouth onto the pale column of skin, one elbow sinking into the squishy pillow to keep his balance. Bunny’s throat vibrated under his teeth and tongue as the man moaned, hips lifting into Chan’s grip again. This time, Chan let him, sitting back to trail his other slick hand down over Bunny’s taint to tease his hole. Bunny shuddered, his next moan coming out delicate and shivery.
That’s it, Binnie, just like that.
He watched, entranced, as Bunny did his best to fuck up into Chan’s fist and press down against his fingertips at the same time. Binnie…Bunny…he was beautiful like this, hands grasping at the bedclothes, flushed all down his chest, hips undulating so lewdly Chan thought he must have been born for this. He slipped a finger smoothly into Bunny, gasping at how hot and soft and tight he was. He took Chan so easily, but he clenched down so hard, whining and rocking as best he could, trying to get Chan deeper. He was pulling one of his legs up, tilting his pelvis, doing his best to open himself up for Chan to use -
This wasn’t for Chan. This wasn’t for his pleasure. He was doing this for Changbin. For their friendship.
It wasn’t about him. It couldn’t be.
Biting his lip, Chan squeezed his eyes shut, hands stilling for a moment. Bunny grunted, panting, and stilled as well. He made a quizzical little sound, tilting his head and shrugging one shoulder again.
Are you okay?
Chan nodded, then felt a little stupid. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the knee Bunny had up in the air instead, trying to make reassuring noises as he pulled his finger out of Bunny so he could slip two back in.
The noise Bunny made was somewhere between a sigh and a groan, his talented hips going back to work, shaking when Chan scissored them apart and slicked his hand over his cock a little faster. His balls were already drawing up tight, his cock leaking precome like a faucet, and Chan focused in, determined to get this right. For Binnie. Bunny. Him.
When Bunny’s moans rose dramatically in pitch, his body starting to tense, his cock throbbing once, hard , Chan slipped his hand away and pressed it to Bunny’s belly firmly. An order.
Don’t come, baby. Not yet.
Sobbing, Bunny quaked, every muscle in his body clenching and flexing, his rim gripping at Chan’s fingers so tightly he couldn’t do much more than crook them. It took a long, tense moment, but slowly, Bunny relaxed, gasping for breath, shivering, but calming under Chan’s soothing touch.
Good boy, Binnie. God, you’re so good for me.
Focusing on his other hand for a moment, he let the one on Cha- Bu- on his belly massage the soft swell there gently. He fingered him open carefully, doing his best to avoid Bunny’s prostate, only skating the pads of his fingers over it by accident once. It made Bunny choke a little, even as his pleading noises settled into soft moans.
By the time he’d worked up to three fingers, Bunny’s hole stretched so pretty over his knuckles, lube dripping absolutely everywhere, Bunny had started to grind down against his fingers again, and Chan let his free hand return to Bunny’s cock. The man underneath him keened, lost again between the sensation of Chan’s tight fist and his questing fingers.
So beautiful, Binnie. My beautiful Binnie.
I love you so much.
Closing his eyes again, Chan let himself sink into that quiet place in his head again, that quiet, everyday evening in their bed in Changbin’s apartment. He pressed tender kisses along Changbin’s calf to his knee, stretching his pretty, soft, perfect hole and stroking his pretty, hard, perfect cock with every ounce of adoration he had.
All for you, Binnie, please. Please please please.
Changbin wailed underneath him as he rubbed over his prostate, this time with intent, his fingers tightening around his lover’s cock, thumb pressing against his frenulum and slicking over the messy head of it. The slick sounds that filled the room were filthy , and Chan had to turn his head and bite down on the tender skin at the side of Changbin’s knee to stop himself from praising him, from pouring everything out, every beautiful, ugly, raw scrap of his heart, from moaning his name in the hopes that Changbin would say his name in response. Just once. God, just once.
Changbin. Please.
Please let me go. Don’t let me go. Let me go.
Please.
Changbin.
Changbin’s hole clenched hard, trapping Chan’s fingers uncomfortably, and he let out a broken, beautiful sound, hips jerking, coming in almost violent spurts over Chan’s fist as he stroked him through the shuddering high. He was sure it was a glorious sight. He didn’t open his eyes to check.
When Ch…when Bunny was grunting and shying away from his hands, Chan released his cock and did his best to slip his fingers out smoothly. He could hear Bunny panting for air, and a hand reached out to brush against the bulge in his jeans he hadn’t even noticed until just then. He opened his eyes, catching the questing hand gently once again, wincing at the squelch of the lube and come between their fingers. Lying down beside the man, he paused, glancing over the mask.
Swallowing bitter bile, he turned Bunny over so he was facing away and spooned up behind him, tucking his hand up against his heaving chest and stroking over it with one disgusting thumb. Bunny shivered against him, and he wrapped his arms tightly around the other man, tugging him close and closing his eyes again.
He had no idea how long he drifted in that space where he and Changbin could lie together like this, door shut to the world, just them and their love, but at some point, his erection had flagged a little, and Bunny had wrapped his fingers tightly against Chan’s wrist where it rested against his sternum. It was the first thing he noticed when an alarm went off. He blinked his eyes open, groggy, disoriented, the wash of sunset replaced by the glow of a bedside lamp in a windowless room in a brothel, a complete stranger in his arms.
He looked at Bunny again, really looked, and sighed. Peeling himself away, he sat for a moment, one hand running up Bunny’s flank.
Thank you. I’m sorry.
Bunny rolled onto his back, head tilting again, the mask no longer creepy so much as…a little sad. But Chan had made his choice. He wasn’t sure which frightened him more – the idea of looking this man in the face and seeing anyone but Changbin, or the idea of this man seeing him, every wretched bit.
Scooting off the bed, he pressed one hand to Bunny’s sternum, a request to stay still. The man complied easily, stretching and sighing and lounging against the pillows, covered in come and lube, every inch the hedonist. Chan’s cock, still half-hard, definitely found the sight pleasing, but something about it made Chan’s heart want to throw up.
Shuffling to the bathroom, he flicked the light on and blinked around at the shiny, luxurious space. The rain shower with rows of bottles, the soaking tub that had a basket of bath bombs perched on a table beside it, the vanity sink with drawers full of skin and hair care products. And there, on a shelf by the door, stacks of fluffy towels and washcloths.
Chan washed his hands thoroughly, of the lube and come and the feel of Bunny’s warm, pliant body, then grabbed a few washcloths and wet them with warm water. He didn’t look at his reflection in the vanity mirror. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to look at himself again without retching.
He peeked back out to see Bunny still lying where he’d left him, obedient to the last, and made his way back to him.
Who are you?
Chan pressed his lips together, biting his tongue, and did his best to wipe Bunny down thoroughly. Wiping away the evidence of his transgressions, his betrayal. Cleaning Bunny of all traces of Chan save the bruises in the shape of his teeth.
They would fade.
He folded the last washcloth and placed it on the bedside table so Bunny could clean his face, then sat back on his heels and reached out to grasp Bunny’s hand, giving it a little squeeze and stroking the warm pulse on his wrist with his thumb.
I’m so sorry.
The timer went off again, and Chan glanced at the clock. 11:30 PM. His time was up.
He stood, staring down at the man in the bed, this flesh and blood person who drank coffee and read trashy romance novels and snuggled like it was his calling in life. He let his fingers brush along the mask again, then leaned down to press a kiss to the mouth, just under one eye, and the forehead. Undoing a spell. Closing the circle. Whatever.
Finishing it.
He did realize until he was slipping on his boots that it had worked, if only a little. He looked back at Bunny, and for the first time since he’d met Changbin, Chan felt empty . It wasn’t a nice feeling, a little nauseating, actually, but maybe, just maybe, he could fill all that empty space up with friendship before any of the sweet sickness had a chance to rush back in.
Thank you, Bunny.
The sound of the lock whirring when the door shut behind him was final, and all at once he felt like he could breathe.
He’d done it. He’d let all his feelings out, and left them there in that room for the cleaning staff to scrub out of the sheets, and locked the door behind him. He was done. It had worked.
It was over.
Eight Months Later…
Chan exhaled slowly against Bunny’s sweat-slick shoulder, not even noticing his hand still stroking the man’s spent cock until Bunny was whining, too exhausted to even flinch away. Humming, he let go, petting Bunny’s pretty belly soothingly. He’d been so good, letting Chan make him come twice, each time washing something horrible inside Chan clean again. He kissed the man’s shoulder, grateful, apologetic. Sweet, because for all he put up with, Bunny deserved it.
A tip, Chan supposed. Gratuity for service above and beyond.
The first time he’d run into Changbin after his first encounter with Bunny, Chan had felt…something. Something new, something that wasn’t love or longing or lust or any other damning L words. It felt sour like bile at the back of his throat, but the sensation of being able to fully breathe hadn’t left, and the emptiness was as empty as ever, and so he’d smiled and chatted and asked Changbin if he wanted to go to the new gallery that just opened that evening, and for once he didn’t feel that foolish hope when Changbin said yes. He didn’t feel anything at all.
The problem was, there was nothing he could fill that emptiness, no trappings of a normal, trusting, respectful friendship, that didn’t make him love Changbin more. All of the things he loved about his friends – their wit, their kindness, their loyalty, all the tiny things, all the multitudes they contained – those were all things he loved about Changbin, too, but instead of that warm, comfortable platonic affection, it was an aching, covetous kind of love. Greedy. Painful. Toxic.
He’d tried, really tried, to fill that emptiness with friendship, but every moment he spent with Changbin that weekend just dragged him further and further towards the edge of the cliff. Changbin dragged him, entirely innocently, just by existing. Just by being his peculiarly beautiful, uncommonly lovely self, his innumerable, beloved multitudes. By Monday morning, Chan found himself lying in bed, one hand reaching out for someone who wasn’t there, the phantom sensation of dewdrop lips on his, and he knew it wasn’t over. Only two days, and he was brimming over again, threatening to spill all the ecstatic agony he held on Changbin. Lovely Changbin, who didn’t want it. Didn’t want him.
And so here he was. Slipping his cock out of Bunny’s warm, willing body, putting his clothing to rights and cuddling close and trying desperately to push every bit of this…this disease out of himself and into Bunny, and feeling guilty all the while. Bunny didn’t deserve this. Whoever Bunny was, he’d long since proven himself to be considerate, understanding, and generous, ever the professional. Every week, he let Chan mold him into someone he wasn’t, malleable, a blank slate.
He wasn’t sure who he thought should hate him more, Bunny or Changbin.
When Chan made his way back to his car, he snatched the parking pass from its place on his rearview mirror, determinedly not looking at his reflection, and threw it onto the passenger side floor. He let his head fall back against the headrest, and cried. Whether they were tears of mourning or relief, he couldn’t say, but that empty space within him echoed, cavernous. Peaceful.
Putting his car in reverse, Chan dashed the tears from his face roughly. It didn’t matter, he knew well enough by now he’d be crying the entire way home. Mourning, or relief. Grief, or peace. Guilt, or absolution. It didn’t matter, in the end.
It wouldn’t last.
It never did.