syzygy
syzygy / baekai / r / 2307
the fact – the big dirty fact – is that jongin is kind of madly in love with the idea that baekhyun might love him.
the fact – the big dirty fact – is that jongin is kind of madly in love with the idea that baekhyun might love him.
syz·y·gy /ˈsizijē/:
(biology) the pairing of chromosomes in meiosis
“It’s more than a time and a place. It’s a whole moment that begins when I first thought of you and took the picture and ends with you looking at the photograph and getting it.” Baekhyun smiles in self-satisfaction as Jongin passes him back a picture of a desolate, almost forlorn beach at sunset. The colours fold over each other, orange and purple and blue. It’s a beautiful beach. “Like a delayed sort of, transferred telepathy or whatever, you know?”
Jongin stares at Baekhyun. He doesn’t know. But it’s just so embarrassingly and achingly romantic that he nods. They’re grabbing lunch between a shoot – well, Baekhyun is and Jongin is gnawing at celery stalks halfheartedly, trying not to think about pizza.
“Where is that?” Jongin asks, watching as Baekhyun polishes off a rather dry looking sandwich.
Baekhyun shrugs almost too nonchalantly. “I don’t remember.”
“You were thinking of me?” It’s sort of cute, if he was. And Jongin knows he was, he just wants the gratification that he will get from hearing it. Again.
Baekhyun looks up, concerned. “Am I not allowed to?”
“No– I mean, sure. I guess.” Jongin says, looking away hurriedly because he can’t quite hide the smile threatening to split his face. “No, it’s not that. I was just wondering.”
They get back to business and Baekhyun spends a lot of time draping Jongin across the sofa at exactly the right angle. He presses the most subtle of caresses to the soft underside of Jongin's right knee. Maddeningly close, the heat of his fingers along Jongin’s thigh as he repositions his limbs again is enough to make Jongin have to think very hard about the most unappealing things he can think of. Things that are not the kisses Baekhyun hides against the corner of his mouth when they're outside and he can't help himself but they can't let anyone know and it's quick and exciting but tender and sweet all at the same time.
The sad fact is, Jongin realizes it too late, only as Baekhyun steps back to observe him. Satisfied, Baekhyun hurries back behind the camera and starts clicking away.
What it all boils down to is that Baekhyun loves him obsessively and objectively. Like a beautiful painting, Jongin is on a different plane and all Baekhyun can do is gaze longingly and touch superficially but never really be one with. The staccato glare of the flash is harsh and blinding. In minutes, Jongin's tongue feels like it's made of cotton. He's done this countless times, for much longer, and rarely tires but he finds himself exhausted all of a sudden. There are countless times Baekhyun tells him he’s beautiful, perfect, flawless, magnificent, breathtaking, surreal and he means it, every single time, but.
But what Baekhyun loves is a different thing.
(rare) a union of opposites
Baekhyun has the sort of taste in life that makes Jongin exhausted just to think about. What he likes ranges from old cameras and forgotten daguerreotypes to broken fiddles and treasure hunting in abandoned storage units. He collects receipts and ticket stubs from commutes he makes almost daily. Like he’s constantly afraid of needing to prove an alibi. The little things he holds on to, they always have a story, but that doesn’t make knowing him less frightening. Baekhyun might forget all the big, important things, but they say the devil's in the details and he never forgets the most infinitesimal little bits of information.
He’s constantly travelling for work, but he does it in a very self-conscious, introspective sort of way. When he’s in a new city or country, he’s thinking of all the catastrophes and consequences and wild strokes of luck and miraculous recoveries the universe has conspired to create to bring him there.
Every step he takes forward actually began three steps ago, well before the seed of thought was sown, a constant paradoxical cycle of existential crises giving way to an almost elementary evolutionary sort of progress.
So very exhausting.
("Lately, I pick up books and fall madly in love with them," Baekhyun confesses on the phone at 3 AM on a flight to some far away corner of the world. "Then I reach the halfway mark and it's not that I lose interest but things happen. I'm forced to put them down. And then I forget. My memory is so terrible, Jongin."
Jongin had been asleep, curled around the receiver of his hotel phone, sheets crumpled and whispering along his waist. "Don't forget me, Baekhyun. You promised. Said I was your muse. I'm your secret island. No coconuts, lots of bananas..."
"I miss you," Baekhyun says and Jongin can picture him closing his eyes, the words spilling from his lips like an endless waterfall of vomit. "I can't wait to be back so I can kiss your irritatingly beautiful, diamond-sharp face and show you how you make my heart burst."
Jongin falls asleep listening to him.)
Baekhyun likes to send postcards that he writes in the format of telegrams
(I THINK IM BEGINNING TO STOP
FALL IN LOVE WITH STOP
YOU FULLSTOP)
and enjoys when people smudge prints of his photographs.
In contrast, Jongin is very simple. People like to photograph him and he likes to get paid for being photographed. The days are long and sometimes the dietary restrictions annoy him, but he likes the free clothes and the money’s not too bad and besides, that’s how he met Baekhyun.
("I wish you would clip your nails," Jongin sighs, as they're pressed close together, Baekhyun's mouth warm against the jut of his shoulder blade.
"No, I like the marks," Baekhyun whispers, tracing a row of reddened half-moons just below the nape of Jongin's neck with his tongue. "They make you look young. Impressionable. Under all that make-up, you disappear, but like this, you come alive.")
(mathematics) a relation between the generators of a module
Sehun is the connoisseur of great excuses. He's the worst person Jongin knows. He’s never without an answer and usually fast to lie his way out of a situation that would be easier solved with the truth. If he has a suggestion that is helpful, chances are his gains from it are larger, much larger. It would, in fact, make more sense to say ulterior motives were almost never without Sehun. Still, he was Jongin's manager and any idea that would put him onto better jobs– regardless of what Sehun was getting out of it (a night with a model, most likely)– was an idea Jongin would be willing to try. This time, however, the windfall is all Jongin’s – a meeting so fortuitous Jongin feels a little bad about having planned it as well as he had. It's Sehun's idea to go to the party to try and get a meeting with Seoul's hottest photographer, Kris. Instead, Jongin meets Byun Baekhyun.
It's a nice place: all glass and plush velvet, simultaneously cold and inviting, sharp-edged and cozy. Jongin wearing his best and he's smiling to charm, but he still feels like he's falling a little short.
Sehun gives him an encouraging push in the right direction. “Go talk to him. I’m sure he doesn’t bite.”
Baekhyun is drinking red wine when Jongin starts to talk to him. Within minutes, he switches to scotch. He's like a diamond, bright and so different. It doesn't take very long.
“–Anyway, I like you. You've got that something – well, I'm not sure, it might just be the alcohol and the way the light is catching your face right now, but.” Baekhyun sighs abruptly, slender fingers curling reflexively around his tumbler; he uncrosses his legs and re-crosses them like he's nervous, which makes no sense at all. “We'll keep in touch via email–”
“Sorry. I don’t check my email.”
Baekhyun smiles. Wryly. “Too many backdated love letters?”
Jongin nods though he doesn't know what Baekhyun means, feeling a belated, misplaced nervousness, like he's on a blind date and not on an unofficial job interview. Baekhyun's fingers are cold against Jongin's as he accepts the business card. They're beautiful fingers, slim and gracefully long. "You have very nice hands," Jongin blurts, and then, resisting the urge to smack himself in the head, hurriedly adds, "Call me."
"Thanks." Baekhyun sounds surprised and he studies his fingers like he'd never noticed them before. "Maybe some day you can give in to the impulse."
"What impulse?"
Baekhyun shakes his head and smiles but doesn’t answer. Someone else steps into the conversation and Jongin fades into the dark walls of the background, swaying to the pulse of the music. When it's time to head home and Jongin manages to extricate Sehun from a tangle of limbs that appear to be a rather gorgeous Chinese model halfway out of a very tight suit, he looks back to see Baekhyun on the arm of this tall guy with a mop of unruly blonde hair. Baekhyun is standing on his toes, reaching up to wipe a smudge of sauce or chocolate or something away from the corner of the tall guy’s mouth. He licks his finger clean and it’s like a punch to the gut. Jongin stumbles out with Sehun, feeling distinctly winded; almost as badly as Sehun, but Sehun looks glassy-eyed with pleasure and Jongin is burning, raw and yearning for the touch.
That impulse.
(astronomy) straight line configuration of three celestial bodies
The fact – the big dirty fact – is that Jongin is kind of madly in love with the idea that Baekhyun might love him. It's a lot of postulating, lots of maybes, no one's sure of anything anymore when everything is postscripted with LOLs and besides. Prozac is a thing. Baekhyun has a special addiction for them. He keeps them in an old Altoids tin box and pops one whenever he feels like people are smiling around him a bit too much. He insists he's not depressed and they just help him get to his 'special work place'. And then he immerses himself in work. Tells Jongin he's not giving him enough depravity, sensuality, not enough despot, tyrant, not enough longing, spontaneity, vulnerability, not enough animal, ethereal, thrall, excitement, madness, not enough, never enough, never, ever close to enough.
Sehun watches their shoot from the sidelines. Sometimes he smokes. Most of the time he grins. Flirts with that one Chinese model. Jongin learns his name is Lu Han and that he suffers from a totally false sense of security. It's almost as if he doesn't know that anyone could break him in half by bending him over a tripod, but he's harmless; a drifting nymph on a floating cloud. Why would anyone hurt a beautiful, helpless creature like him?
Themed parties seem to become a part and parcel of Jongin's work life. They fill the vapid hours before mornings. People drink and get high and throw up and fall asleep. It's strangely suffocating, in the way that makes Jongin taste his make-up on the back of his tongue, thick and bitter and choking.
Baekhyun says, over little petri dishes of slick black beads of caviar and beakers of frothing, buttery champagne, "Suffering is the heart of any masterpiece."
Jongin sighs, unimpressed and hungry. No one, least of all Baekhyun, is ever quite like their usual selves at these parties. Something about the noxious mix of exhaustion and alcohol.
"It's true, think about it. The guy who cut off his ear. People love him. And Beethoven. Couldn't hear what he composed. Towards the end of his life? Whenever." Baekhyun pauses to drain his beaker of champagne. Then he begins to slather a slice of green-yellow avocado thickly with caviar. "Fact is, my life is boring. I have no great tragedy, no terrible secret, no obstacle I've overcome. My parents paid for school and gave me everything I've wanted, within reason. I have everything: good company, great food, enough money for any eccentric excesses and – you."
"What about," Jongin frowns as he watches his dinner – a lettuce leaf – get roasted on a bunsen burner, "The Mona Lisa?"
"Eyebrows singed off," Baekhyun murmurs, swallowing his mini avocado-caviar green-black sandwich whole. "Tragedy."
Jongin stares witheringly at his dinner. It wilts.
Baekhyun claps a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, eat something. And we'll burn it off by having athletic sex."
"No, you won't," Sehun says wryly, coming up beside Baekhyun out of nowhere. "You're a terrible influence. Jongin, wait until after the shoot. Until then, only greens or things you hate."
Jongin shrugs. "I guess that means no athletic sex."
But Baekhyun is staring at the thermometer that passes for a stirrer in his Bloody Mary. "I swear, they take this parties too seriously."
(poetry) the combination of two metrical feet into a single unit
When Baekhyun fucks him, it's always desperate and in the end, usually, a little sad. He is, singlehandedly, the most fascinating person Jongin knows. With his little haiku text messages and the way he pretends he's in a CF sometimes and the way he makes self-deprecating jokes even though he takes his appearance very seriously. The way his lips shine in the dark after he kisses Jongin, the shimmering streak of lube on his cheek from when he swept the sweat crawling down his skin with the back of his hand.
But then Baekhyun takes him to bed and it's soft, lingering kisses like they're actually lovers and not – whatever they really are. Baekhyun touches him reverently, says things like, "I want to kiss you in the most secret places, tongue-fuck the millimetres and inches until you're breathless and wanting."
Things like, "This brown doesn't exist anywhere else in the world, except this patch above your left hipbone and if I suck a lovebite onto it, it turns a delicious shade that I think is called burnt sienna. No, that's more orange and this is more red."
"And I think I do alright until I wake up and realize you are a part of my life," Baekhyun says, when he's in Jongin, hand fisting Jongin's erection keeping it stowed and steady and red rubbing raw against his belly and god this is the worst time for one of his little speeches, "Because then I hope you're half as mad for me as I am for you but I know you think. I know this goes one way. And sometimes I think you feel like this is part of the job–"
"It's not," Jongin says through clenched teeth, feeling the flush crawl up his body, "At least now–just fuck me, I promise we can talk about this la– ah!"
Baekhyun's fingers, pretty, beautiful fingers dip into Jongin's open mouth, hooking into the soft insides of his cheeks, scissoring above his tongue and stroking his palate.
"Mine. Though, I wish you would say," Baekhyun smiles, sad like his smoke-and-mirrors photographs, like his idyllic, empty camera-box of a life, "that you love me."
(biology) the pairing of chromosomes in meiosis
“It’s more than a time and a place. It’s a whole moment that begins when I first thought of you and took the picture and ends with you looking at the photograph and getting it.” Baekhyun smiles in self-satisfaction as Jongin passes him back a picture of a desolate, almost forlorn beach at sunset. The colours fold over each other, orange and purple and blue. It’s a beautiful beach. “Like a delayed sort of, transferred telepathy or whatever, you know?”
Jongin stares at Baekhyun. He doesn’t know. But it’s just so embarrassingly and achingly romantic that he nods. They’re grabbing lunch between a shoot – well, Baekhyun is and Jongin is gnawing at celery stalks halfheartedly, trying not to think about pizza.
“Where is that?” Jongin asks, watching as Baekhyun polishes off a rather dry looking sandwich.
Baekhyun shrugs almost too nonchalantly. “I don’t remember.”
“You were thinking of me?” It’s sort of cute, if he was. And Jongin knows he was, he just wants the gratification that he will get from hearing it. Again.
Baekhyun looks up, concerned. “Am I not allowed to?”
“No– I mean, sure. I guess.” Jongin says, looking away hurriedly because he can’t quite hide the smile threatening to split his face. “No, it’s not that. I was just wondering.”
They get back to business and Baekhyun spends a lot of time draping Jongin across the sofa at exactly the right angle. He presses the most subtle of caresses to the soft underside of Jongin's right knee. Maddeningly close, the heat of his fingers along Jongin’s thigh as he repositions his limbs again is enough to make Jongin have to think very hard about the most unappealing things he can think of. Things that are not the kisses Baekhyun hides against the corner of his mouth when they're outside and he can't help himself but they can't let anyone know and it's quick and exciting but tender and sweet all at the same time.
The sad fact is, Jongin realizes it too late, only as Baekhyun steps back to observe him. Satisfied, Baekhyun hurries back behind the camera and starts clicking away.
What it all boils down to is that Baekhyun loves him obsessively and objectively. Like a beautiful painting, Jongin is on a different plane and all Baekhyun can do is gaze longingly and touch superficially but never really be one with. The staccato glare of the flash is harsh and blinding. In minutes, Jongin's tongue feels like it's made of cotton. He's done this countless times, for much longer, and rarely tires but he finds himself exhausted all of a sudden. There are countless times Baekhyun tells him he’s beautiful, perfect, flawless, magnificent, breathtaking, surreal and he means it, every single time, but.
But what Baekhyun loves is a different thing.
(rare) a union of opposites
Baekhyun has the sort of taste in life that makes Jongin exhausted just to think about. What he likes ranges from old cameras and forgotten daguerreotypes to broken fiddles and treasure hunting in abandoned storage units. He collects receipts and ticket stubs from commutes he makes almost daily. Like he’s constantly afraid of needing to prove an alibi. The little things he holds on to, they always have a story, but that doesn’t make knowing him less frightening. Baekhyun might forget all the big, important things, but they say the devil's in the details and he never forgets the most infinitesimal little bits of information.
He’s constantly travelling for work, but he does it in a very self-conscious, introspective sort of way. When he’s in a new city or country, he’s thinking of all the catastrophes and consequences and wild strokes of luck and miraculous recoveries the universe has conspired to create to bring him there.
Every step he takes forward actually began three steps ago, well before the seed of thought was sown, a constant paradoxical cycle of existential crises giving way to an almost elementary evolutionary sort of progress.
So very exhausting.
("Lately, I pick up books and fall madly in love with them," Baekhyun confesses on the phone at 3 AM on a flight to some far away corner of the world. "Then I reach the halfway mark and it's not that I lose interest but things happen. I'm forced to put them down. And then I forget. My memory is so terrible, Jongin."
Jongin had been asleep, curled around the receiver of his hotel phone, sheets crumpled and whispering along his waist. "Don't forget me, Baekhyun. You promised. Said I was your muse. I'm your secret island. No coconuts, lots of bananas..."
"I miss you," Baekhyun says and Jongin can picture him closing his eyes, the words spilling from his lips like an endless waterfall of vomit. "I can't wait to be back so I can kiss your irritatingly beautiful, diamond-sharp face and show you how you make my heart burst."
Jongin falls asleep listening to him.)
Baekhyun likes to send postcards that he writes in the format of telegrams
FALL IN LOVE WITH STOP
YOU FULLSTOP)
and enjoys when people smudge prints of his photographs.
In contrast, Jongin is very simple. People like to photograph him and he likes to get paid for being photographed. The days are long and sometimes the dietary restrictions annoy him, but he likes the free clothes and the money’s not too bad and besides, that’s how he met Baekhyun.
("I wish you would clip your nails," Jongin sighs, as they're pressed close together, Baekhyun's mouth warm against the jut of his shoulder blade.
"No, I like the marks," Baekhyun whispers, tracing a row of reddened half-moons just below the nape of Jongin's neck with his tongue. "They make you look young. Impressionable. Under all that make-up, you disappear, but like this, you come alive.")
(mathematics) a relation between the generators of a module
Sehun is the connoisseur of great excuses. He's the worst person Jongin knows. He’s never without an answer and usually fast to lie his way out of a situation that would be easier solved with the truth. If he has a suggestion that is helpful, chances are his gains from it are larger, much larger. It would, in fact, make more sense to say ulterior motives were almost never without Sehun. Still, he was Jongin's manager and any idea that would put him onto better jobs– regardless of what Sehun was getting out of it (a night with a model, most likely)– was an idea Jongin would be willing to try. This time, however, the windfall is all Jongin’s – a meeting so fortuitous Jongin feels a little bad about having planned it as well as he had. It's Sehun's idea to go to the party to try and get a meeting with Seoul's hottest photographer, Kris. Instead, Jongin meets Byun Baekhyun.
It's a nice place: all glass and plush velvet, simultaneously cold and inviting, sharp-edged and cozy. Jongin wearing his best and he's smiling to charm, but he still feels like he's falling a little short.
Sehun gives him an encouraging push in the right direction. “Go talk to him. I’m sure he doesn’t bite.”
Baekhyun is drinking red wine when Jongin starts to talk to him. Within minutes, he switches to scotch. He's like a diamond, bright and so different. It doesn't take very long.
“–Anyway, I like you. You've got that something – well, I'm not sure, it might just be the alcohol and the way the light is catching your face right now, but.” Baekhyun sighs abruptly, slender fingers curling reflexively around his tumbler; he uncrosses his legs and re-crosses them like he's nervous, which makes no sense at all. “We'll keep in touch via email–”
“Sorry. I don’t check my email.”
Baekhyun smiles. Wryly. “Too many backdated love letters?”
Jongin nods though he doesn't know what Baekhyun means, feeling a belated, misplaced nervousness, like he's on a blind date and not on an unofficial job interview. Baekhyun's fingers are cold against Jongin's as he accepts the business card. They're beautiful fingers, slim and gracefully long. "You have very nice hands," Jongin blurts, and then, resisting the urge to smack himself in the head, hurriedly adds, "Call me."
"Thanks." Baekhyun sounds surprised and he studies his fingers like he'd never noticed them before. "Maybe some day you can give in to the impulse."
"What impulse?"
Baekhyun shakes his head and smiles but doesn’t answer. Someone else steps into the conversation and Jongin fades into the dark walls of the background, swaying to the pulse of the music. When it's time to head home and Jongin manages to extricate Sehun from a tangle of limbs that appear to be a rather gorgeous Chinese model halfway out of a very tight suit, he looks back to see Baekhyun on the arm of this tall guy with a mop of unruly blonde hair. Baekhyun is standing on his toes, reaching up to wipe a smudge of sauce or chocolate or something away from the corner of the tall guy’s mouth. He licks his finger clean and it’s like a punch to the gut. Jongin stumbles out with Sehun, feeling distinctly winded; almost as badly as Sehun, but Sehun looks glassy-eyed with pleasure and Jongin is burning, raw and yearning for the touch.
That impulse.
(astronomy) straight line configuration of three celestial bodies
The fact – the big dirty fact – is that Jongin is kind of madly in love with the idea that Baekhyun might love him. It's a lot of postulating, lots of maybes, no one's sure of anything anymore when everything is postscripted with LOLs and besides. Prozac is a thing. Baekhyun has a special addiction for them. He keeps them in an old Altoids tin box and pops one whenever he feels like people are smiling around him a bit too much. He insists he's not depressed and they just help him get to his 'special work place'. And then he immerses himself in work. Tells Jongin he's not giving him enough depravity, sensuality, not enough despot, tyrant, not enough longing, spontaneity, vulnerability, not enough animal, ethereal, thrall, excitement, madness, not enough, never enough, never, ever close to enough.
Sehun watches their shoot from the sidelines. Sometimes he smokes. Most of the time he grins. Flirts with that one Chinese model. Jongin learns his name is Lu Han and that he suffers from a totally false sense of security. It's almost as if he doesn't know that anyone could break him in half by bending him over a tripod, but he's harmless; a drifting nymph on a floating cloud. Why would anyone hurt a beautiful, helpless creature like him?
Themed parties seem to become a part and parcel of Jongin's work life. They fill the vapid hours before mornings. People drink and get high and throw up and fall asleep. It's strangely suffocating, in the way that makes Jongin taste his make-up on the back of his tongue, thick and bitter and choking.
Baekhyun says, over little petri dishes of slick black beads of caviar and beakers of frothing, buttery champagne, "Suffering is the heart of any masterpiece."
Jongin sighs, unimpressed and hungry. No one, least of all Baekhyun, is ever quite like their usual selves at these parties. Something about the noxious mix of exhaustion and alcohol.
"It's true, think about it. The guy who cut off his ear. People love him. And Beethoven. Couldn't hear what he composed. Towards the end of his life? Whenever." Baekhyun pauses to drain his beaker of champagne. Then he begins to slather a slice of green-yellow avocado thickly with caviar. "Fact is, my life is boring. I have no great tragedy, no terrible secret, no obstacle I've overcome. My parents paid for school and gave me everything I've wanted, within reason. I have everything: good company, great food, enough money for any eccentric excesses and – you."
"What about," Jongin frowns as he watches his dinner – a lettuce leaf – get roasted on a bunsen burner, "The Mona Lisa?"
"Eyebrows singed off," Baekhyun murmurs, swallowing his mini avocado-caviar green-black sandwich whole. "Tragedy."
Jongin stares witheringly at his dinner. It wilts.
Baekhyun claps a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, eat something. And we'll burn it off by having athletic sex."
"No, you won't," Sehun says wryly, coming up beside Baekhyun out of nowhere. "You're a terrible influence. Jongin, wait until after the shoot. Until then, only greens or things you hate."
Jongin shrugs. "I guess that means no athletic sex."
But Baekhyun is staring at the thermometer that passes for a stirrer in his Bloody Mary. "I swear, they take this parties too seriously."
(poetry) the combination of two metrical feet into a single unit
When Baekhyun fucks him, it's always desperate and in the end, usually, a little sad. He is, singlehandedly, the most fascinating person Jongin knows. With his little haiku text messages and the way he pretends he's in a CF sometimes and the way he makes self-deprecating jokes even though he takes his appearance very seriously. The way his lips shine in the dark after he kisses Jongin, the shimmering streak of lube on his cheek from when he swept the sweat crawling down his skin with the back of his hand.
But then Baekhyun takes him to bed and it's soft, lingering kisses like they're actually lovers and not – whatever they really are. Baekhyun touches him reverently, says things like, "I want to kiss you in the most secret places, tongue-fuck the millimetres and inches until you're breathless and wanting."
Things like, "This brown doesn't exist anywhere else in the world, except this patch above your left hipbone and if I suck a lovebite onto it, it turns a delicious shade that I think is called burnt sienna. No, that's more orange and this is more red."
"And I think I do alright until I wake up and realize you are a part of my life," Baekhyun says, when he's in Jongin, hand fisting Jongin's erection keeping it stowed and steady and red rubbing raw against his belly and god this is the worst time for one of his little speeches, "Because then I hope you're half as mad for me as I am for you but I know you think. I know this goes one way. And sometimes I think you feel like this is part of the job–"
"It's not," Jongin says through clenched teeth, feeling the flush crawl up his body, "At least now–just fuck me, I promise we can talk about this la– ah!"
Baekhyun's fingers, pretty, beautiful fingers dip into Jongin's open mouth, hooking into the soft insides of his cheeks, scissoring above his tongue and stroking his palate.
"Mine. Though, I wish you would say," Baekhyun smiles, sad like his smoke-and-mirrors photographs, like his idyllic, empty camera-box of a life, "that you love me."