Fic: To Have And Hold
Title: To Have And Hold
Pairing: Hyukjae/Donghae
Rating: PG-13
Summary: More hooker!fic! Deliveryboy!Hyukjae, because the OTP demands it <3 Gets kind of rambly, does no justice to one of my OTPs of all time, but ah well
It is early and the streets are empty, the horizon tinted with faint streaks of orange. It is autumn and chill out, and a week until his next paycheck. Hyukjae remembers these things, and more, but he remembers his first glimpse of Donghae best of all -his knees drawn up to his chest, his chin in his hands, dark hair slightly tousled from sleep- and this is the way he sees him, in the dark of night, eyes screwed shut and hands grasping, clenching, clinging to the sheets, sounds caught behind his teeth. Donghae looks up when Hyukjae cycles closer, draws to a halt. “Delivery”, Hyukjae barely manages to say, and Donghae smiles, face pale, wan, slightly drawn. “Thank you.” Hyukjae hands the packets over, fights the urge to turn and run when Donghae’s fingers brush his. “Eeteuk”, he finds himself blurting, eyes still fixed on the name on the receipt, and Donghae laughs, presses the money into his waiting palm.
“No, not Eeteuk. Donghae.”
“Donghae”, Hyukjae repeats dumbly, almost stumbles backwards when Donghae bends to peer at the tag on his shirt.
“Lee Hyukjae”, Donghae recites, straightens. “Hello, Lee Hyukjae.”
“Just - just Hyukjae.” Hyukjae glances down at his watch, almost swears, fumbles in his pocket for change. “I’m late -”
Donghae smiles, shakes his head. “Keep it. You can come back with it later.”
“I - okay.” Hyukjae climbs back on, pedals swiftly away, and wonders at the relief he feels, the insane urge he has to turn back, the erratic beat of his heart.
---
It is still just as early, the streets just as empty, when Hyukjae cycles up with the order the next morning. “Thank you”, Donghae breathes gratefully, cradles the cup of coffee Hyukjae hands him, takes a sip. He sighs in satisfaction, head tilted back, and Hyukjae distracts himself by coming up with the change. Donghae smiles, pockets it, doesn’t move from his perch on the stair.
“Aren’t you going in?” Hyukjae asks, glances down at the sheet in his hand, notes that the order today is only enough for one person. Notices the name for the first time, Donghae, scrawled in the counter lady’s messy hangul next to the address.
“Nope. It’s nice out.” Donghae raises an eyebrow, lips quirking in query. “Do you have somewhere else to be?”
“No”, Hyukjae admits; he’s free for the rest of the morning, Donghae’s order being his last. Donghae smiles up at him, pats the spot next to him, and Hyukjae eases himself down carefully; studiously ignores the way their shoulders almost touch.
“Want some?” Donghae is thrusting the styrofoam cup into his face, and Hyukjae stutters his thanks before taking it. The liquid is rich, cloyingly sweet, comforting. He can feel himself relaxing, his limbs loosening. Donghae talks around his noodles, about nothing, about everything, and Hyukjae lets his words wash over him like rain, laughs at the appropriate moments, commits the lilt of his voice to memory. Donghae’s hand is warm and light on his thigh, and Hyukjae mourns the rising of the sun, the slow awakening of the city around them. When Donghae draws his hand away he knows its time to leave.
“Come back tomorrow”, Donghae says over his shoulder on his way back up the steps, and Hyukjae laughs, nods, does.
---
“Oooh, this place. Have you ever been inside? What’s it look like?”
Hyukjae frowns at Shindong’s sudden interest in his deliveries. “What’re you talking about?”
“This place.” Shindong stabs at the piece of paper with a finger for emphasis, sighs at Hyukjae’s bewildered look. “You don’t know? It’s really fancy. A place for all the rich men-” Shindong leans in, whispers conspiratorially into his ear, “- who have different tastes, if you know what I mean. Very exclusive.”
“I-” Hyukjae pauses. “You mean-”
“Indeed I do.” Shindong is nodding emphatically then, before tipping a wink at Hyukjae. “I heard the boys there are gorgeous.”
Gorgeous. Hyukjae thinks of dark eyes, soft skin, delicate hands. Gorgeous. Shindong yelps when the manager strolls past and hits him none too lightly on the back of the head.
“Get back to work, you.”
“Yes, sir.” Shindong mumbles, turns back to his mopping. The manager turns to fix Hyukjae with a steely glare.
“You, too.”
“Y- yes, sir.”
---
Gorgeous. Well, this at least is true, Hyukjae muses, then jumps when Donghae jabs him unceremoniously in the ribs.
“Why aren’t you talking?”
“I heard - that is to say, someone told me that - this place -”
“Oh.” Donghae looks away, fingers picking at the empty, greasy carton in his hands.
“I didn’t mean - So you work here, then?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” Donghae falls silent again, fingers shredding, shredding, tearing, and Hyukjae feels terrible.
“That’s not what I meant! I mean, I don’t mind, it doesn’t change anything, I-” Hyukjae is this close to wringing his hands when Donghae turns back to face him, eyes wide and oddly wet.
“That’s nice.”
“I-” but then Donghae is kissing him, soft and slow and smooth, and Hyukjae abandons the notion of talking.
---
They meet in the evenings now before Donghae is scheduled to begin, Donghae guiding him into the shadow of crates, of doorways, of alley corners before kissing him breathless. Hyukjae remembers the sticky sweetness of his cherry flavoured lip gloss, the smokiness of his eyes, the pervasive scent of hair product. “Don’t you ruin my hair”, Donghae warns, and Hyukjae laughs, tangles his fingers in his shirt instead.
Hyukjae comes bearing a gift one morning, after his next paycheck, and his fingers fumble with the delicate clasp of the silver chain; fastens it around Donghae’s wrist awkwardly. Donghae preens, holds it up to the light. “I’m never taking this off”, he declares, and Hyukjae laughs into his shoulder. He stops when Donghae shifts slightly, stares at the floor, worries at his bottom lip.
“Want to come up?” He says, finally, and Hyukjae shakes his head.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Donghae-ah-”
“They’ll all still be asleep. They’ll never know!”
“Donghae- wait, Donghae-”
Donghae’s grip on his arm is firm, uncompromising, and they steal up the stairs, Donghae barely able to suppress his giggles. Hyukjae’s heart is in his throat when the door opens, when Donghae leads him down the dimly lit hall.
“Here”, and then he is being pushed into a room, Donghae shutting the door firmly and latching it behind him. Hyukjae lets his eyes accustom to the gloom, takes in the large four poster, the closet, the adjoining bathroom. The handcuffs, on the sheets, and he opens his mouth to ask, but Donghae is already scooping them up, tossing them into a corner of the room.
“Sit.” He points, and Hyukjae does, running a hand over the softness of the sheets.
“Donghae, I-”
“Shh.” Donghae is half on his lap, shifting, adjusting, squirming slightly. “I’ll dance for you”, lips by Hyukjae’s ear, hips already beginning to move, and Hyukjae groans, lets him.
---
Sneaking Hyukjae out doesn’t go quite according to plan, and there is a heart-stopping moment when a tall boy steps out of a room just ahead of them, spots them, freezes. For nearly a minute they stare at each other, locked in an impasse, when the other boy shakes his head, frowns, walks away in the other direction. Hyukjae can hear Donghae’s exhaled breath, and then “Go, go”, and then Donghae is ushering him out, back onto the stop of the stairs and into sunlight, near blinding after the dimness of the building’s interior.
“That was Han Geng- I have to go, make sure he doesn’t tell-” Donghae kisses the corner of his mouth, quick, fleeting, and then he is gone.
---
Hyukjae doesn’t see Donghae the next day, or the next, and he’s just about to start to panic when Donghae reappears one evening, flies down the stairs into his arms.
“I missed you”, Hyukjae says into his hair as Donghae’s arms tighten about his waist.
“I’m sorry. Han Geng didn’t tell, but I was so worried they would find out, and-”
“It’s okay, silly.” Hyukjae reaches out to brush at his cheek, stops when Donghae winces, as his eyes finally notice the dark bruise, faintly illuminated by the glow of the streetlamps.
“What happened?”
Donghae winces again. “Customer. He…wanted me to take everything off. When I wouldn’t, he got angry.”
“When you wouldn’t-” Donghae raises his left wrist in reply, and Hyukjae catches a glint of silver.
“Fuck, Donghae.” Hyukjae wants to laugh, to cry, to murder the filthy scum who’d dared to do this. “Why?”
Donghae shrugs, smiles ruefully. “I said I wouldn’t.”
“Did he- did he do anything-”
“No.” Donghae sighs. “He stormed out yelling about substandard service. Eeteuk came in and saw me and he was furious. He marched right up to Kibum’s office and yelled, because the customers aren’t allowed to hurt us but all Kibum-sshi did was refer the guy to Rella and told me to take a day off and-” Donghae peers up at Hyukjae, and his hands start stroking, stroking, up and down Hyukjae’s spine, soothing. “I’m okay, Hyukjae-ah. Really.”
“No.” Hyukjae pulls away, holds him out at arm’s length. “You have to come with me.”
Donghae pulls away, steps back. “What?”
“Come away with me. Leave this place.”
Donghae looks stricken. “I can’t.”
“I’ll find a new place, we’ll move-”
“I can’t, Hyukjae-ah.”
“Now, Donghae, now-”
“I can’t-”
“Of course you can, now let’s go-”
“Hyukjae!” Donghae realizes he’s shouting, realizes he’s wrenched himself out of Hyukjae’s grip, realizes Hyukjae is staring, pale and still and silent. “I’m sorry”, he manages, “I’m sorry-” and Hyukjae watches as he turns, flees up the stairs, ducks behind the door.
---
For days Hyukjae stays away.
The nights are the longest. Hyukjae stares up at the ceiling, thinks of Donghae, all red, red lips and dark eyes, of nameless, faceless, laughing men, of Donghae’s gasps and sighs and moans, Hyukjae, Hyukjae, yes, please, except it’s not his name Donghae breathes tonight, not tonight, not tomorrow, and Hyukjae thinks of crashing, of screaming, of dying.
A week passes, two. The leaves fall, pile up, crackle underfoot. There are no more orders from Donghae. It is cold enough for Hyukjae to puff out clouds on his rounds around the city. Shindong nudges him, asks him if he’s still delivering to that address, asks if he’s seen any pretty boys. Hyukjae smiles, stretched, tight-lipped, doesn’t reply.
Maybe it’s habit or something deeper -longing, he thinks later- that leads him on the same familiar route one morning almost three weeks later. He is struck by the similarity to that very first time -the dark, bowed head, the knees drawn up all the way to the chest- and he stops, climbs off, pushes his bicycle along. Donghae is shivering when he approaches, when he looks up, and it’s only then that he notices Donghae isn’t wearing much more than a thin shirt and jeans.
“God, Donghae, it’s freezing out-” His hands reaching to draw Donghae up, to capture his hands, to start rubbing warmth into them. Donghae smiles, paler, more weary than the first time, Hyukjae thinks with a pang.
“You came back.”
“Stupid.” Hyukjae says into his hair, kisses an apology into his skin, brings him home.
---
There is a difference, Hyukjae thinks, between having and holding, between wanting and needing. He thinks he recognizes the nuances now, even if he doesn’t always understand the distinction. Donghae is warm in his arms, ethereal, here. Hyukjae kisses his shoulder, his collarbone, his closed eyelids, holds his breath when Donghae stirs.
“I have to go back”, Donghae mumbles, voice still fogged with sleep.
“I know.” Hyukjae moves to Donghae’s neck, scrapes with his teeth. “Stay a while longer.”
Donghae groans, laughs, opens his eyes. “Okay.”
There is a difference, Hyukjae thinks, between having and holding. At times like these, though, with Donghae stretched out under him, with Donghae’s voice in his ear, hand on his hip, he thinks they might just be one and the same.
Pairing: Hyukjae/Donghae
Rating: PG-13
Summary: More hooker!fic! Deliveryboy!Hyukjae, because the OTP demands it <3 Gets kind of rambly, does no justice to one of my OTPs of all time, but ah well
It is early and the streets are empty, the horizon tinted with faint streaks of orange. It is autumn and chill out, and a week until his next paycheck. Hyukjae remembers these things, and more, but he remembers his first glimpse of Donghae best of all -his knees drawn up to his chest, his chin in his hands, dark hair slightly tousled from sleep- and this is the way he sees him, in the dark of night, eyes screwed shut and hands grasping, clenching, clinging to the sheets, sounds caught behind his teeth. Donghae looks up when Hyukjae cycles closer, draws to a halt. “Delivery”, Hyukjae barely manages to say, and Donghae smiles, face pale, wan, slightly drawn. “Thank you.” Hyukjae hands the packets over, fights the urge to turn and run when Donghae’s fingers brush his. “Eeteuk”, he finds himself blurting, eyes still fixed on the name on the receipt, and Donghae laughs, presses the money into his waiting palm.
“No, not Eeteuk. Donghae.”
“Donghae”, Hyukjae repeats dumbly, almost stumbles backwards when Donghae bends to peer at the tag on his shirt.
“Lee Hyukjae”, Donghae recites, straightens. “Hello, Lee Hyukjae.”
“Just - just Hyukjae.” Hyukjae glances down at his watch, almost swears, fumbles in his pocket for change. “I’m late -”
Donghae smiles, shakes his head. “Keep it. You can come back with it later.”
“I - okay.” Hyukjae climbs back on, pedals swiftly away, and wonders at the relief he feels, the insane urge he has to turn back, the erratic beat of his heart.
---
It is still just as early, the streets just as empty, when Hyukjae cycles up with the order the next morning. “Thank you”, Donghae breathes gratefully, cradles the cup of coffee Hyukjae hands him, takes a sip. He sighs in satisfaction, head tilted back, and Hyukjae distracts himself by coming up with the change. Donghae smiles, pockets it, doesn’t move from his perch on the stair.
“Aren’t you going in?” Hyukjae asks, glances down at the sheet in his hand, notes that the order today is only enough for one person. Notices the name for the first time, Donghae, scrawled in the counter lady’s messy hangul next to the address.
“Nope. It’s nice out.” Donghae raises an eyebrow, lips quirking in query. “Do you have somewhere else to be?”
“No”, Hyukjae admits; he’s free for the rest of the morning, Donghae’s order being his last. Donghae smiles up at him, pats the spot next to him, and Hyukjae eases himself down carefully; studiously ignores the way their shoulders almost touch.
“Want some?” Donghae is thrusting the styrofoam cup into his face, and Hyukjae stutters his thanks before taking it. The liquid is rich, cloyingly sweet, comforting. He can feel himself relaxing, his limbs loosening. Donghae talks around his noodles, about nothing, about everything, and Hyukjae lets his words wash over him like rain, laughs at the appropriate moments, commits the lilt of his voice to memory. Donghae’s hand is warm and light on his thigh, and Hyukjae mourns the rising of the sun, the slow awakening of the city around them. When Donghae draws his hand away he knows its time to leave.
“Come back tomorrow”, Donghae says over his shoulder on his way back up the steps, and Hyukjae laughs, nods, does.
---
“Oooh, this place. Have you ever been inside? What’s it look like?”
Hyukjae frowns at Shindong’s sudden interest in his deliveries. “What’re you talking about?”
“This place.” Shindong stabs at the piece of paper with a finger for emphasis, sighs at Hyukjae’s bewildered look. “You don’t know? It’s really fancy. A place for all the rich men-” Shindong leans in, whispers conspiratorially into his ear, “- who have different tastes, if you know what I mean. Very exclusive.”
“I-” Hyukjae pauses. “You mean-”
“Indeed I do.” Shindong is nodding emphatically then, before tipping a wink at Hyukjae. “I heard the boys there are gorgeous.”
Gorgeous. Hyukjae thinks of dark eyes, soft skin, delicate hands. Gorgeous. Shindong yelps when the manager strolls past and hits him none too lightly on the back of the head.
“Get back to work, you.”
“Yes, sir.” Shindong mumbles, turns back to his mopping. The manager turns to fix Hyukjae with a steely glare.
“You, too.”
“Y- yes, sir.”
---
Gorgeous. Well, this at least is true, Hyukjae muses, then jumps when Donghae jabs him unceremoniously in the ribs.
“Why aren’t you talking?”
“I heard - that is to say, someone told me that - this place -”
“Oh.” Donghae looks away, fingers picking at the empty, greasy carton in his hands.
“I didn’t mean - So you work here, then?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” Donghae falls silent again, fingers shredding, shredding, tearing, and Hyukjae feels terrible.
“That’s not what I meant! I mean, I don’t mind, it doesn’t change anything, I-” Hyukjae is this close to wringing his hands when Donghae turns back to face him, eyes wide and oddly wet.
“That’s nice.”
“I-” but then Donghae is kissing him, soft and slow and smooth, and Hyukjae abandons the notion of talking.
---
They meet in the evenings now before Donghae is scheduled to begin, Donghae guiding him into the shadow of crates, of doorways, of alley corners before kissing him breathless. Hyukjae remembers the sticky sweetness of his cherry flavoured lip gloss, the smokiness of his eyes, the pervasive scent of hair product. “Don’t you ruin my hair”, Donghae warns, and Hyukjae laughs, tangles his fingers in his shirt instead.
Hyukjae comes bearing a gift one morning, after his next paycheck, and his fingers fumble with the delicate clasp of the silver chain; fastens it around Donghae’s wrist awkwardly. Donghae preens, holds it up to the light. “I’m never taking this off”, he declares, and Hyukjae laughs into his shoulder. He stops when Donghae shifts slightly, stares at the floor, worries at his bottom lip.
“Want to come up?” He says, finally, and Hyukjae shakes his head.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Donghae-ah-”
“They’ll all still be asleep. They’ll never know!”
“Donghae- wait, Donghae-”
Donghae’s grip on his arm is firm, uncompromising, and they steal up the stairs, Donghae barely able to suppress his giggles. Hyukjae’s heart is in his throat when the door opens, when Donghae leads him down the dimly lit hall.
“Here”, and then he is being pushed into a room, Donghae shutting the door firmly and latching it behind him. Hyukjae lets his eyes accustom to the gloom, takes in the large four poster, the closet, the adjoining bathroom. The handcuffs, on the sheets, and he opens his mouth to ask, but Donghae is already scooping them up, tossing them into a corner of the room.
“Sit.” He points, and Hyukjae does, running a hand over the softness of the sheets.
“Donghae, I-”
“Shh.” Donghae is half on his lap, shifting, adjusting, squirming slightly. “I’ll dance for you”, lips by Hyukjae’s ear, hips already beginning to move, and Hyukjae groans, lets him.
---
Sneaking Hyukjae out doesn’t go quite according to plan, and there is a heart-stopping moment when a tall boy steps out of a room just ahead of them, spots them, freezes. For nearly a minute they stare at each other, locked in an impasse, when the other boy shakes his head, frowns, walks away in the other direction. Hyukjae can hear Donghae’s exhaled breath, and then “Go, go”, and then Donghae is ushering him out, back onto the stop of the stairs and into sunlight, near blinding after the dimness of the building’s interior.
“That was Han Geng- I have to go, make sure he doesn’t tell-” Donghae kisses the corner of his mouth, quick, fleeting, and then he is gone.
---
Hyukjae doesn’t see Donghae the next day, or the next, and he’s just about to start to panic when Donghae reappears one evening, flies down the stairs into his arms.
“I missed you”, Hyukjae says into his hair as Donghae’s arms tighten about his waist.
“I’m sorry. Han Geng didn’t tell, but I was so worried they would find out, and-”
“It’s okay, silly.” Hyukjae reaches out to brush at his cheek, stops when Donghae winces, as his eyes finally notice the dark bruise, faintly illuminated by the glow of the streetlamps.
“What happened?”
Donghae winces again. “Customer. He…wanted me to take everything off. When I wouldn’t, he got angry.”
“When you wouldn’t-” Donghae raises his left wrist in reply, and Hyukjae catches a glint of silver.
“Fuck, Donghae.” Hyukjae wants to laugh, to cry, to murder the filthy scum who’d dared to do this. “Why?”
Donghae shrugs, smiles ruefully. “I said I wouldn’t.”
“Did he- did he do anything-”
“No.” Donghae sighs. “He stormed out yelling about substandard service. Eeteuk came in and saw me and he was furious. He marched right up to Kibum’s office and yelled, because the customers aren’t allowed to hurt us but all Kibum-sshi did was refer the guy to Rella and told me to take a day off and-” Donghae peers up at Hyukjae, and his hands start stroking, stroking, up and down Hyukjae’s spine, soothing. “I’m okay, Hyukjae-ah. Really.”
“No.” Hyukjae pulls away, holds him out at arm’s length. “You have to come with me.”
Donghae pulls away, steps back. “What?”
“Come away with me. Leave this place.”
Donghae looks stricken. “I can’t.”
“I’ll find a new place, we’ll move-”
“I can’t, Hyukjae-ah.”
“Now, Donghae, now-”
“I can’t-”
“Of course you can, now let’s go-”
“Hyukjae!” Donghae realizes he’s shouting, realizes he’s wrenched himself out of Hyukjae’s grip, realizes Hyukjae is staring, pale and still and silent. “I’m sorry”, he manages, “I’m sorry-” and Hyukjae watches as he turns, flees up the stairs, ducks behind the door.
---
For days Hyukjae stays away.
The nights are the longest. Hyukjae stares up at the ceiling, thinks of Donghae, all red, red lips and dark eyes, of nameless, faceless, laughing men, of Donghae’s gasps and sighs and moans, Hyukjae, Hyukjae, yes, please, except it’s not his name Donghae breathes tonight, not tonight, not tomorrow, and Hyukjae thinks of crashing, of screaming, of dying.
A week passes, two. The leaves fall, pile up, crackle underfoot. There are no more orders from Donghae. It is cold enough for Hyukjae to puff out clouds on his rounds around the city. Shindong nudges him, asks him if he’s still delivering to that address, asks if he’s seen any pretty boys. Hyukjae smiles, stretched, tight-lipped, doesn’t reply.
Maybe it’s habit or something deeper -longing, he thinks later- that leads him on the same familiar route one morning almost three weeks later. He is struck by the similarity to that very first time -the dark, bowed head, the knees drawn up all the way to the chest- and he stops, climbs off, pushes his bicycle along. Donghae is shivering when he approaches, when he looks up, and it’s only then that he notices Donghae isn’t wearing much more than a thin shirt and jeans.
“God, Donghae, it’s freezing out-” His hands reaching to draw Donghae up, to capture his hands, to start rubbing warmth into them. Donghae smiles, paler, more weary than the first time, Hyukjae thinks with a pang.
“You came back.”
“Stupid.” Hyukjae says into his hair, kisses an apology into his skin, brings him home.
---
There is a difference, Hyukjae thinks, between having and holding, between wanting and needing. He thinks he recognizes the nuances now, even if he doesn’t always understand the distinction. Donghae is warm in his arms, ethereal, here. Hyukjae kisses his shoulder, his collarbone, his closed eyelids, holds his breath when Donghae stirs.
“I have to go back”, Donghae mumbles, voice still fogged with sleep.
“I know.” Hyukjae moves to Donghae’s neck, scrapes with his teeth. “Stay a while longer.”
Donghae groans, laughs, opens his eyes. “Okay.”
There is a difference, Hyukjae thinks, between having and holding. At times like these, though, with Donghae stretched out under him, with Donghae’s voice in his ear, hand on his hip, he thinks they might just be one and the same.