Archive of Our Own

For as long as Taeyong can remember, there’s always been some kind of masochistic pleasure in wondering whether or not Kim Dongyoung would show up for him. 

The full structure of that feeling holds up in his mind when he thinks about it, even in its broken down form when Taeyong thinks of every piece and implication of what they are and what they aren’t, and the fact of it boils down into so many things all at once. He’s had over two years to think about it, consider every possible explanation for why they’ve been able to make so much out of so little—and somehow, at the same time—so little out of so much. 

The overarching conclusion that Taeyong’s come to is that he’s always enjoyed the thrill of things. He wouldn’t be here, after all, if he didn’t—leaning back against the hood of his ride, trying his hardest to hide his darting eyes. It’s too cold out on the track for him to be wearing what he’s wearing—or, rather, not wearing—but the way that the chill in the air fuels him wins out over the natural instinct to shiver in his white tank top. And it figures, because this has always been where Taeyong felt the most at home anyway: out on the streets, chasing speed and danger and the cheap adrenaline rush, or watching all the other racers chase it for themselves.

Taeyong’s on the sidelines tonight, waiting like everyone else for it to be late enough at night for the races to start. He’s restless enough as it is, even without wondering if a certain black sedan would pull up by the entrance, just as he always is when no one’s beside him to tell him to quit acting like a high schooler with a foolish crush. Johnny’s racing tonight and Jaehyun’s helping him set up, and unless Yuta was going to race, he’s always been flaky when it comes to showing up and tonight is just one of the nights that he doesn’t. And as much as he’d maybe like to, Taeyong understands well enough that he can’t exactly just make small talk with any of the other racers in the stands—because he might know some of them, but all of them definitely know him—and he keeps a safe distance at the risk of being taken advantage of or simply scaring them off. His own circle knows he’s virtually harmless, sure, but Taeyong can’t help that his reputation precedes him, follows him around at every turn; and at this point in his life and career, he’s learned how to live with it hanging over his shoulder. There’s not much he can do about how he looks and who he is, so he pays his courtesies to his competition and sticks close to the ones that he’s always called his friends.

It goes without saying that whatever Taeyong has with Doyoung doesn’t exactly do anything to help that image, because no matter how Taeyong likes to think about it, Doyoung isn’t just Doyoung—and everyone knew it from the moment he first stepped onto the racing grounds. That was nearly two years back, when Doyoung had just turned twenty and was suddenly allowed to go out whenever and wherever he wanted—and against all odds, he went to see a goddamn street race, betting a decent sum of money on the best racer of that night.

Taeyong, of course, won that race, and Doyoung certainly wasn’t disappointed.

And everyone knew who he was. There was a stir amongst the crowd that night because Doyoung wasn’t just some guy—he was their kingdom’s youngest prince, and his regality made him stick out like a sore thumb—from the clothes he was wearing, to the way he was dropped off in a fancy car by his personal valet, to the sheer amount that he bet on Taeyong just under a minute before the race even started. Doyoung stayed for the rest of the races after Taeyong won his, until the night’s events were over and he could corner Taeyong for a little chat before he could leave. The rest was history, as far as anyone is concerned. Taeyong thinks sometimes that it shouldn’t be so simple, so straightforward how they got from there to here, but that’s just how it was. Maybe there was a little more to it—if he really got down into the nitty gritty of his thoughts—but the bottom line was that Doyoung chatted him up, kept coming back to the races, and Taeyong always let him in, let them get closer. There was nothing else to it besides the two of them, just getting pulled and pulled and pulled right into each other’s gravity, nothing pushing them from outside or getting in between.

They make a mean pair—couple, if they can even be called that—and everyone knows it. They’ve only ever been together in Taeyong’s world, really, out on his streets where he knows the lay of the land and Doyoung follows him around without question. At some point it stopped feeling like a brush with royalty—because Taeyong called him ‘Your Highness’ literally once when they first met, and then never again after he introduced himself as Doyoung, a casual spin on his full name that was too well-known by the general public. Taeyong doesn’t really call him that either, though—not unless they’re being serious—and he settled with Doie from the very start (half to be a menace, and half to feel like he has a part of Doyoung all to himself). There’s affection, playfulness, maybe even a claim all wrapped up into that single name; something that only Taeyong gets to call him, honey sweetness that Doyoung can only ever hear when it comes off Taeyong’s lips.

That said, it isn’t like Taeyong hasn’t ever done anything to exploit their particular connection; he knows it, and so does Doyoung. Because Taeyong isn’t just one of the top racers in the game—he’s also something of a pillar in their circles, a figure that the rest look to as some kind of torchbearer for their community whether or not they know who Lee Taeyong is as a person. The street races are just as much in Taeyong’s blood as being a literal prince is in Doyoung’s, and as far as everyone else is concerned, it doesn’t matter which of their fathers is a king and which one drove fast cars back in his hayday. Everyone on the scene always called Taeyong a prince on the tracks anyway—knew who he was, who his father was, and made it clear pretty quickly that he couldn’t just hide his identity behind a street name—and it always gets him wondering just how much of that made him and Doyoung some kind of mischievous coincidence of the universe. Either way, it works in Taeyong’s favor—which means it works in everyone else’s. 

The first few times that Doyoung came to their racetrack, the place wasn’t what it’s come to be in the present. In simple terms, it was barely legal—not as underground as it was back in Taeyong’s father’s days, but not exactly the safest place to be for anyone who was looking to be on the straight and narrow—and everyone knew that if things went on as they were, they’d be looking at more risk than whatever reward they get from going on their too-fast drives. It was Johnny’s dad who owned the property, who was trying to get the place at least aboveground enough for it to be safe for everyone there—but it was Taeyong who told Doyoung that if he liked the races so much, then maybe, possibly, he could get the process moving after years of sitting idle at some underpaid government agent’s desk. Because Taeyong looks out for his people—for every crew he sees in the stands or even races against, for all the other racers who expect him to stick up for them—whether it’s because they think he has a good enough heart, or because they just see it as the responsibility of someone who was his father’s son.

And Doyoung—green as he was back then—did what he was told. Admittedly, surprisingly. It’s why they can enjoy the races freely, here and now. Ever since then, Taeyong can vouch that no matter how hard he, or anyone, tried to pick Doyoung apart and boil him down to this spoiled rich kid in his rebellious phase image, Doyoung has never given them a reason to be unimpressed. Taeyong would ask, and Doyoung would deliver. The prince had never backed down on any of his promises.

(It’s not as if he makes many of them, though.)

But tonight, as if right on cue, Doyoung does show up. Taeyong doesn’t need to take a second look to know that it’s him even before he steps out of the royal car, sleek black and as discreet as ever. Taeyong sees him talking through the passenger window to his valet, Taeil, who’s about as young as Taeyong never expected Doyoung’s parents—the actual king and queen—to approve of, but somehow did. Taeyong’s grown familiar with him, because all three of them understand that it’s Taeil’s job on the line every time Doyoung wants to drive all the way out to the heart of the city, and it’s Taeyong’s responsibility to return their precious prince without a scratch so that Taeil can keep being lax when it comes to “supervising” him. Taeil doesn’t get out of the car today, though, just drives off right after his brief exchange with Doyoung, leaving the younger boy to dart his eyes around in search of his target in the gathered crowd.

It takes a few seconds before Doyoung spots Taeyong and locks on, not fazed at all by the latter’s piercing stare.

And Taeyong, he doesn’t bother to look away anymore, because the air suddenly seems a lot less chilly and Doyoung just looks good, dripping confidence with the way he tilts his head, walking towards him and sparing nothing and no one else even a single glance. He’s wearing one of his stupid-looking jackets like he always is—one that’s a little more subtle but still definitely what Taeyong would call royal attire—the thinnest of gold details on black suede, but Doyoung at least kept the buttons open and chose to forego the pin of his family’s crest. Underneath is some more-normal-looking white shirt, business casual because that seems to be the most casual that Doyoung can even do, but Taeyong isn’t complaining about the way it contrasts the shadows of the dips where Doyoung’s chest meets his neck. Taeyong licks his lips the moment Doyoung is close enough to approach—eager, shameless—because it isn’t as if Doyoung is going to complain about it if he notices—and he’s bold enough not to smile when Doyoung settles wordlessly at his side, leaning back on the hood of Taeyong’s car.

Taeyong watches as Doyoung sheds that stupid jacket, ever so subtly clicking his tongue before moving to drape the piece over Taeyong’s shoulders.

And Taeyong moves away a little but they both know it’s just for show—everyone who has eyes on them right now knows that it’s just for show—Taeyong knows that the weight of Doyoung’s expensive royal fabric isn’t actually so far off from the feel of that leather jacket he loves stealing from Yuta, nor is the scent of Doyoung’s perfume any less familiar than it was when the two of them last saw each other. The satisfied smirk on Doyoung’s face is nothing new either, turning into a softer smile the more Taeyong settles into the jacket and leans back against his car with it just barely hanging off his shoulders—and he should look ridiculous, they both should, the pair of them leaning back against this sickly neon green race car—but they just don’t.

“Suits you,” Doyoung remarks, the cool, level tone of his voice the first to break their silence—at least in the midst of cheers and engines running and everything else that Taeyong’s already tuned out since Doyoung’s presence became the loudest sound within their space. Taeyong only nods, doesn’t even need to look in a mirror to agree, because he knows that there is something attractive about himself in this suede and lavish gold in such a cheap part of his city, his streets, breathing in the scent of his prince boyfriend-or-whatever-he-is. Taeyong knows he looks good, wearing Doyoung’s clothes in ways and places that they were never intended to be worn—and it’s always been this way with them. With him.

They’re both royalty, after all. It’s just that only one of them belongs in a palace.

“Hi, Doie,” is all that Taeyong says, though, because it’s not like anything else going on in his head is anything he would admit out loud—at least not this early in the night. Doyoung’s smile softens a little, and Taeyong relaxes his shoulders before leaning in closer to his space. “Missed you.”

Taeyong knows it’s a vulnerable admission. But he excuses himself in his head faster than he can reprimand, because three weeks will do that to you when you’re dating a prince, off the books and in the shadows. Most days, Taeyong tries his very best not to think about it too much, drowns out his crew’s chiding about where exactly he thinks this thing between him and Doyoung is ever going to go, and the adrenaline whiplash that’s pre-packaged into this lifestyle is exactly what Taeyong needs to make the pill easier to swallow or spit out completely. When he’s not racing, he’ll lose the chattering thoughts in smoke clouds or whiskey on ice, but the nights do creep in when Taeyong’s completely sober and just has to feel everything he feels that he wished he just didn’t.

“God, you have no idea how much I missed you.”

Nights like tonight, when Doyoung’s sincerity cuts through the flashing lights and engines revving, and Taeyong knows what they have isn’t just some kind of scandal, some dirty affair.

“So, who’re you betting on tonight?”

“You’re not racing?”

Taeyong clicks his tongue. It’s not like there was any way for him to know, after all. “Not tonight, Doie.”

“Whoever’s on your team, then.”

“So, Johnny?” Taeyong asks, eyeing Johnny and Jaehyun setting up just a few meters away, and then pushes off the hood of his car to walk over to the tables. “I’ll put you down for Johnny.”

Doyoung stops him, though—just a light grab of his wrist, barely even gripping—but it’s enough to get Taeyong to stand back down. “Don’t sweat it. I didn’t come here to bet, anyway.”

Taeyong only looks at him, one eyebrow raised in his attempt to seem cool and nonchalant as ever. Doyoung, of course, sees right through him, and the tension betrays them both when Doyoung doesn’t fall for it, brushing a thumb on Taeyong’s brow instead to tap lightly on exposed skin.

“Hm,” he hums, too smug for his own good. “This supposed to be hot?”

And then Taeyong remembers that Jaehyun pressed on him the other night to get an eyebrow slit done, when they were drunk and they’d all won their races and Taeyong was sulking over Doyoung not having shown up at a race for his third week in a row.

All he snaps back with is, “Got your attention, didn’t it?”

Doyoung laughs that small little laugh of his, and presses his lips lightly on the spot where his thumb used to be instead. “And now I have yours, yes?”

Taeyong sucks in a breath because he knows this is his battle to lose—but at the end of the night, it’s all the same to them both. No one on the street racing scene really questions them anymore, and the two of them don’t question why—maybe it’s to cover their own asses, or just because they know that Taeyong and Doyoung are both basically untouchable, or because Doyoung earned his stripes with them long ago by getting their operation running in the first place, or whatever confusing combination of any of those things and more. They don’t worry about the press, either, because Johnny’s dad runs a tight ship and he takes care of his people too. So there really isn’t any reason for Taeyong not to retaliate on Doyoung right here and right now, in front of his friends and every other racing crew out on the street on this fine night. It’s only the warmth in his cheeks and the thoughts in his own head—the pride he intends to keep by not giving himself away so easily—that stops him from dragging Doyoung into the passenger seat and just driving off and out of here, finishing what they started by not starting anything for nearly a goddamn month.

“Five minutes before the first race, our teams are getting ready! On the far left we have…”

“Your announcer’s new,” Doyoung remarks over the voice on the speakers, a little louder over the growing cheers of the rest of the people in the audience.

“Lots can change in a month, you know.” Taeyong smirks, shaking his head and gesturing towards the commentator’s tower. “Jungwoo. He’s real cute. Needed some cash, so Johnny set him up. Was shy at first, but as you can see,” Taeyong looks back at the riled up crowd behind them, “they all warmed up to him like that.”

Taeyong punctuates the word with a snap of his finger, hesitating a split second after seeing some of the girls waving at him, before deciding it’s best not to wave back.

Doyoung only acknowledges his story with a nod and some noncommittal noise, and when he speaks up again, Taeyong gathers that he lost him earlier at just his first sentence. “Hasn’t been a month yet, you know.”

“Well, I—” Taeyong begins without really thinking, and when he finds after two seconds of silence that he’s coming up empty, he gulps the words down and concedes. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Is that why you’re so on edge tonight?” Doyoung asks, half-teasing and half-concerned.

“No,” Taeyong replies, way too fast, scrambling to think of any other reason than the real one—luckily, Johnny sends a look in his direction right at that moment, and Taeyong sends back a half-hearted thumbs up before he uses him as tonight’s excuse for whatever was threatening to bubble in his chest. “It’s Johnny that’s on edge. I don’t like the looks of it.”

“Something happen?”

“His girl dumped him,” Taeyong shrugs halfheartedly. He knows it’s a white lie at best, because Johnny’s always breaking up with someone and his moods are as predictably unpredictable as the changing of the seasons. It’s less and less of a big deal as time goes by, because Johnny’s always been the type of racer who’s still better than most even when he’s doing objectively bad, and if this girl didn’t stick around long enough for Johnny to even introduce her to the rest of them, then it can’t be that important. Still, the tall dumbass looks sulky enough for it to be believable—at least to Doyoung—and the prince doesn’t seem to notice Taeyong’s subtle falter.

Either way, Taeyong’s saved by the bell when Jungwoo’s sweet voice rings loud over the speakers, announcing that the races were about to start. Doyoung doesn’t react any further to Taeyong being short with him, leaning forward instead to catch a better glimpse of Johnny stepping into his car at the far end of the track, and also sending a sly smile Jaehyun’s way in the process. Taeyong clicks his tongue in the same direction—ambiguous enough not to warrant any more suspicion—and then engines are revving and the audience is counting down and Taeyong pinpoints the exact moment he gets lost in the noise, adrenaline flowing through his veins even if he’s just watching, eliciting familiar goosebumps even underneath the warmth of Doyoung’s jacket.

Doyoung—he’s faring just about the same.

And Taeyong’s attention gets pulled back again, because somehow he always circles back to thinking about how when it all boils down, the two of them aren’t really that different despite coming from different worlds. Doyoung has that same hunger as the rest of them here, excitement from hearing the roaring engines, light in his eyes whose sparkle is only intensified by Johnny’s bright orange race car reflected back in them. It’s taken a lot for Taeyong to try and pick him apart, figure out why Doyoung chose to come here of all places on that one night two years ago—because for all that they were, Taeyong never really had it in him to just ask. The racers start their cars and Jungwoo’s voice on the speaker yells go!, and then Doyoung’s cheering and wolf whistling until they’re out of sight and the audience has to look at one of the big screens.

There are five of them racing in the first round, only a couple of which Taeyong doesn’t see all that often. He knows Jeno for sure (and Haechan who helped him set up), since those kids only started racing about a few months back when they turned eighteen, and Taeyong famously had to help Jeno out of a ditch the one time they even raced against each other. It cost Taeyong a win, obviously, and they barely even knew each other—but Taeyong isn’t evil and had enough of a heart to make sure the kid didn’t get hurt anywhere other than his pride. These days Jeno’s gotten a lot better, and quick, and since Johnny’s sulky Taeyong thinks maybe Jeno could even give him a run for his money. Realistically, however, Taeyong’s money was on Jieun: basically the golden girl, the only person that Taeyong’s ever lost to more than once, and the owner of the lilac car Taeyong can see on the drone camera shot beside Johnny’s, already trying to run him off the road this early in the game. (It’s badass, honestly. Johnny doesn’t need to know that Taeyong’s laughing a little.)

Doyoung is invested, immersed in what he’s doing like he always is, and Taeyong catches his little side comments about how he can tell that Johnny’s driving differently tonight or that Jungwoo was doing pretty well commentating on the events. Doyoung keeps his attention locked on the camera footage while the racers are somewhere a bit farther along the track, out of view of the rest of them. When they do emerge again after a few minutes of purple and orange fighting over the lead, Johnny is forced to brake just a few more meters before the second lap. Doyoung’s on his toes, and it takes a moment for Taeyong to notice the cars even amidst the boisterous engine noise that he usually enjoys so much, because—he realizes—he might not have actually been paying that much attention to the race this whole time.

He’s observing the shifts in Doyoung’s expressions, sizing up the way he cheers and yells and how it might be so easy for everyone else to see him as this sheltered, spoiled kid in his rebellious phase, a stereotypical picture of boys being boys. Taeyong can see an alternate universe where the racing scene isn’t so tight-knit, gossip and malicious headlines flooding the news: Prince Dongyoung Likes Fast Cars and Hot Street Racers, or some shit. It’s what Taeyong’s friends tell him and he knows they’re just trying to have his back, understands because even he sometimes goes into downward spirals of wondering whether Doyoung keeps coming back for more because he likes the thrill just as much as Taeyong does. Because he likes illicit things and he likes doing them with Taeyong, because Taeyong’s illicit, too.

Maybe it’s the real reason Taeyong’s being snippy with him right now; Doyoung hadn’t shown upwards of three weeks before tonight, and Taeyong is getting to the breaking point of trying to pretend that it didn’t make him restless, keep him on edge and not in any of the good, exciting ways that it did two years ago when they were just some clandestine liaison. It gets more and more difficult not to ask Doyoung all the hard questions waiting for them somewhere in the future, but Taeyong holds his ground because he knows deep down that the answers to those questions lie somewhere near the end of this—the end of them. Which is unfair, and Taeyong knows it, but he also knew what he was signing up for and it’s also him who just stays, letting Doyoung come and go as he pleases. He gets that it’s complicated, and he’s patient and unselfish and just grateful to still even have him in the first place—but at the end of the day, Taeyong is only human. 

Maybe he missed Doyoung too much. Missed hearing I love you almost every night.

“Doie. Can I ask you something?”

Doyoung turns his head to the side, eyes just a little wide with curiosity. “Yeah. Of course.”

Taeyong keeps his eyes trained on the cars coming back toward them for the third and final lap, wraps Doyoung’s jacket around his shoulders just a little tighter. “You know you can come see me whenever you want, right?”

Doyoung tilts his head. “Yes…?”

“Well,” Taeyong tuts, searching his brain for any way not to sound stupid about this. (He didn’t actually think he would even get this far.) “How about when I miss you? Am I supposed to just get high and then hope you show up the next day?”

Taeyong looks away after hearing what just came out of his own mouth. Jesus fuck.

Doyoung makes no show of hiding his concern upon hearing that, and neither does the softness of his voice when he speaks again. “Taeyong.”

And Taeyong—his gaze is focused on some insignificant spot on the ground right now, avoiding Doyoung’s surely piercing stare because he’s fully aware that this is stupid. It’s stupid that there are hints of blurry tears pooling in both his eyes, that he feels like he’s about to lose his mind and just whisk Doyoung away and never find out who won tonight’s races. It’s stupid, sort of unfounded, because Doyoung isn’t even really the problem here—it’s Taeyong who’s never stepped into the prince’s world, has never wanted to, and never will. Doyoung is the one who’s invited him to many a royal palace event, and Taeyong is the one who simply can’t find it in himself to face who the love of his life is amidst pleasantries and politics, instead of laid-back, good old danger and fun. Doyoung always stands down easily—maybe because he just loves him, but maybe also because he agrees. Doyoung finds pockets of time in which to remind Taeyong that he’s the only one who gets the best of him, that he would choose Taeyong over anything in a heartbeat, if he could.

Taeyong doesn’t believe in fairytales. He’s hard pressed to believe that he’s living in one.

“Give me your phone.” Doyoung holds his hand out, not waiting any longer for Taeyong to speak up after a good few seconds of silence. “Baby, come on.”

Taeyong snaps his head at him, jaw locked, lip caught between teeth. There’s no way anyone could have heard the pet name over the noise of the racers coming back into the audience’s peripheral—lilac and orange cars neck and neck—but Taeyong raises his eyebrow threateningly anyway. Still, this is Doyoung—and that can only get him so far. So Taeyong takes his phone out of his pocket, and wordlessly hands it to the other man.

“Alright,” Doyoung starts, tongue peeking out between his lips while he gets past Taeyong’s long-ago memorized password. Taeyong doesn’t see much of what he’s doing, just sees Doyoung’s typing something for a few seconds, and before he knows it, Doyoung gives one final tap and hands the phone back to him with hopeful eyes. “Now, when you miss me, you can let me know. I’ll come running. Okay?”

What Taeyong stares down at on his phone screen is a call to some random cell number, still ringing. And he just has to ask— “You serious?”

“Have I ever lied to you before?”

No. He hasn’t, actually. But then again, Taeyong’s never really asked too many hard questions to begin with. 

“I don’t hear anything ringing on you.”

“It’s in the car with Taeil,” Doyoung huffs, softening at Taeyong’s growing pout. “Look, I left it there so I could focus on you tonight. Us.”

“Dumbass,” Taeyong remarks, scoffing, but with no bite. He ends the call before pocketing his phone, sending Doyoung a thin line of a smile. “Thanks.”

“Love you,” Doyoung whispers, right when the first two cars reach the finish line, and the declaration is almost dissolved into a wisp of air. Not for Taeyong, though—he hears the tenderness over the noise, louder than anything despite his eyes not even being fixed on its source. “I’m sorry I went dark. I missed you, like I always miss you. Please don’t be mad anymore.”

“I’m not mad.”

The race is basically a photo finish. Taeyong waits until Jungwoo announces that Johnny lost to Jieun by a hair, and replaces his stoic expression with an award-winning smirk.

“Get in the car, Doie,” Taeyong commands playfully, already toying with the keys. “Let’s get out of here.”

Doyoung and Taeyong drove away from the racing grounds before anyone could stop them. Taeyong got into the driver’s seat and booked it to the quieter parts of the city, pockets of stillness where they’d always go, away from too much noise and all those prying eyes.

While it goes without saying that the city never sleeps, the way that Taeyong drives them around after every race is still always a ways more peaceful, compared to the noise of running motors and enthusiastic announcers and the unmatched energy of Taeyong’s circles of adrenaline junkies. When it’s just the two of them, Taeyong takes Doyoung on lazy drives around the city and is so fucking obedient to the speed limits that no one would be able to tell that his neon green race car spews literal fire when he drives it on the track. And Doyoung enjoys his moments, too, sticking his head out the window and letting the warm night breeze brush against his cheek like some coming-of-age movie scene, not a care in the world except for being in the moment, the here and now. Taeyong supposes it’s something they have in common, something that’s kept them both afloat for as long as they’ve been.

They’re not blasting any music on the radio tonight, in favor of ambient city noise and cut-off remarks that still, somehow, say all they need to say. Taeyong steals glances at Doyoung—the prince flashing his gummy smiles as his face gets bathed in what’s left of the city moonlight—and it’s in moments like this when Taeyong feels like they’re just some reckless teenagers, like he’s dumstruck in love with his first boyfriend who’s giggling in his passenger seat, whose jacket he’s now fully wearing instead of draping over his shoulders. It still feels the same a lot of the time, even though they’ve been at this for a couple of years already, stealing the best moments of their lives with each other in desolate parking lots to talk or drink or make out, and then driving to Taeyong’s place when they decide they want more. As brash as it sounds, maybe Taeyong wishes sometimes that that was the fact of the matter—that they were just two normal people who hadn’t been born into fame or power or institutions to which they’ve had to swear allegiance.

Doyoung rolls up his window when he knows they’re nearing their stop. The silence is suddenly deafening; Taeyong keeps his eyes on the road.

“Were you serious earlier?” Doyoung asks out of the blue, suddenly serious himself. “Got me worried, you know?”

Taeyong steals a split-second glance, biding his time while he turns a corner. “About what?”

“You, getting high. Missing me.” Doyoung breathes out easily, sinking into the passenger seat. “Are you…? Now—”

“Completely sober,” Taeyong laughs, turning into one of their favorite spots, parking the car with ease as he says his piece. “Didn’t think you’d be worrying about that. You’re not all that innocent.”

“Hm, don’t I know it.” Doyoung smirks. “I trust you. Just don’t want you going off the rails on me, yeah?”

Taeyong scoffs, looking out at the convenience store they were parked outside of. Fluorescent lights, no customers this late at night. It’s one of their favorite spots—Taeyong’s friendly with the owners and he and Doyoung had never run into trouble here before—and he recalls the second time they came here, breaking all sorts of rules, discovering all sorts of things. “Oh, yeah? And who finished most of the six-pack when we had some beers here that one time?”

At that, Doyoung still doesn’t back down. He sends Taeyong a mischievous grin, a glint in his eye betraying the softness of his voice. “And people say you’re the fun one.”

Taeyong fucking glares at him, eyeing the sly way his tongue is caught between his teeth. Despite the playful mirth in his stare, there’s still a thrill to knowing that it won’t be much longer before one of them cracks, is too consumed by fondness to keep up this practiced game of back and forth. “Oh, fuck off, Doie.”

And Doyoung just giggles, again, showboater that he is. Taeyong’s suspicions are confirmed, though, when he makes his next remark. 

“We’re alone now, you know. You don’t have to be so smug.”

And just like that—in one impossibly swift motion—the keys are out of the ignition and Taeyong undoes his seatbelt, reaching over for Doyoung’s cheek to plant his lips on his, hungrier than Taeyong usually goes for just to start. 

Screw it, is what Taeyong’s thinking, he’s fucking missed this, and Doyoung is kissing back just as eagerly, going at Taeyong’s pace like he always does. He still tastes the same, a mix of fancy lip balm and faint remnants of familiar race car smoke. Doyoung unbuckles his own seatbelt and reaches out farther to meet Taeyong in the middle, deepening the kiss with every breath that they get closer.

Before they can do anything else, (i.e. before Taeyong can forget all about what’s been going on in his head in favor of just climbing into Doyoung’s lap), Taeyong reaches for a concealed compartment by Doyoung’s knee, opening it with a click. Doyoung pauses his attack on Taeyong’s lips, and they both take a look-see at the rolled up joints inside—Doyoung’s eyes widening a little. Wow, Taeyong muses to himself, it’s like he’s never seen them before.

Anyway, Taeyong only really opened the compartment to make a point. The weed is technically Jaehyun’s, hidden in Taeyong’s car because Johnny’s dad took Jaehyun under his wing and he can never, ever find out. Even though Jaehyun also technically isn’t opposed to sharing—with Taeyong, Johnny, Yuta, all of them—Taeyong knows himself well enough to step back before he goes off the rails, like Doyoung had said. He has his moments, sure, but the compartment hasn’t been touched any more than it has when Doyoung still came around every other couple of nights, and the last thing Doyoung needed to be was worried about Taeyong when there’s nothing they can both really do about it.

“You don’t need to worry about me, you know,” Taeyong chuckles, quiet, still right next to Doyoung’s lips. “Johnny and the others, they’re good people.”

“You don’t have to convince me.” Doyoung leans into the inch of space that has their lips touching again, just a brief second before pulling away. “You gonna light one up?”

Taeyong raises an eyebrow, doesn’t make an effort to hide the way he licks his lips after the gesture. “I’m not getting you high, Your Highness,” Taeyong says, both to tease and get his point across, and then, “wait, no, that actually kind of makes sense.”

Doyoung laughs this time, full-bodied and unabashed unlike his earlier smug giggles and breathy puffs of air, and the wonderful sound has Taeyong following in a split second. It’s always like this with Doyoung, he finds—Taeyong disarms so easily, his heart out in the open, unguarded, so ready for the taking. Doyoung doesn’t even seem to mind his terrible attempt at a joke. “You’re fucking adorable.”

And Taeyong smiles wide, leaning forward with a hand hovering over the open compartment, just because he can’t resist Doyoung when they’re this much into their shared alone-ness. “Not the best thing to say when you’re trying to convince me to return you to Taeil smelling like marijuana.”

Doyoung scoffs, both hands help up beside his head, “Hey, I said light one up—”

“And chainsmoking is a thing, so I can never be too careful.”

“God, trust me, I think I’m already kinda high from how hard you just kissed me.”

Well. Well. That draws the line for Taeyong—who is, at the end of the day, so, so much just a mortal man—so he pulls Doyoung in and kisses him again, harder than before just to run it home.

And he pulls out a joint without looking, too, compartment clicking closed without Taeyong so much as letting Doyoung come up for air. He only pulls away to pull out the lighter from his pocket and get the show going, minutely aware of Doyoung’s palm having found its way to resting dangerously on his thigh. It only makes it all the more easy for Taeyong to slip into some semi-lucid state, even more than what he’s been feeling the whole night with Doyoung’s scent lingering stubbornly onto the inside of the jacket that’s been keeping Taeyong warm.

“Roll your window down,” Taeyong commands simply, doing the same on his side of the car. He doesn’t wait for Doyoung before taking a huff, maybe a bit more than he can really take on a normal day, but his brain isn’t really doing much of the thinking anymore and Doyoung’s just sitting there, watching him, eyes wide and lips parted and so much more inviting than the floatiness in his head.

Taeyong doesn’t know what comes over him when he pulls Doyoung in by the hand on his thigh, slotting perfectly into the younger’s parted lips, and blowing the smoke into his mouth like he’s not one of the highest ranking members of the royal fucking family.

Right now, it’s just the two of them, Taeyong and his Doyoung, Doie, the latter’s eyes fluttering shut as he gauges the foreign feeling.

And Taeyong gets bold when Doyoung doesn’t say anything after that—so he gets out of the driver’s seat and climbs the familiar way onto Doyoung’s lap, legs caging his hips—takes another huff, and kisses him again.

They get lost in it, in each other, and Taeyong somehow can’t tell if Doyoung’s heartbeat is getting slower or picking up the pace the more they breathe in stray smoke. All he knows is that Doyoung’s hands are on his waist, squeezing just the right amount over the tank top but under his jacket, both of them losing whatever composure they’d left home with at the beginning of the night. They’ve both been at this long enough for Taeyong to understand that the euphoria’s become more than just breaking the rules—within it there’s a myriad of passion, intensity, love. The reason Taeyong has held out this long on wondering how much longer he can have this for is the very fact that he’s just that sure that when it comes to Doyoung, the having is worth more than any loss or pain in the world combined. In the midst of all the things about the two of them that are so much larger than life, they both know that the only place they’re really meant to be is right by each other’s sides.

Taeyong halts his attack on Doyoung’s lips to continue his way down to his jaw and the column of his neck, eliciting breathy exhales on Doyoung’s end. The joint in Taeyong’s left hand is all but forgotten, so he snuffs it out on the ashtray the moment he realizes he’s still holding it, in favor of holding Doyoung as close as he can, one hand on his shoulder and now another on the side of his cheek.

“Mmh, Taeyong—” Doyoung gasps, after a particularly more… insistent nibble on his neck. “Baby. No marks.”

Goddamn. Taeyong wishes all of a sudden that he hadn't snuffed out the joint so soon; he’d grab the lighter from his pocket again if it weren’t for the slight husk of Doyoung’s voice, if they weren’t both already so caught up in what they’re doing. But Taeyong has a feeling that he’s had his fill already anyway, judging by the state of mush he feels like his mind is in or the nonsense that comes spilling out of his mouth next. “So unfair, baby.”

“Hm.” Doyoung hiccups on a chuckle, kissing Taeyong back in between. “What’s unfair?”

“I can blow smoke into your mouth, but I can’t leave a little mark behind to remind you?”

Fucking hell. Honest to god, Taeyong doesn’t know what’s come over him that he doesn’t even care what he’s saying anymore. Doyoung’s eyes are blown wide and Taeyong roughly registers that he himself probably isn’t faring any differently, and he’s a little lost in his haze but not enough not to spiral into doubts and wishful thinking yet again. Hell, they’re in some sketchy convenience store parking lot in the deep city, making out over the still-strong smell of weed smoke and there’s just so much that Taeyong wants, so much that he wishes he could just give and take from Doyoung without pause. It’s funny, because in the middle of all the he-said, she-said, they-said, whoever-said, Taeyong has never once been the type to ask Doyoung for nice or expensive things, nor even accept them when Doyoung went above and beyond. Taeyong’s well-off enough from just the races themselves, doesn’t work at Johnny’s dad’s car shop or wait tables in the daytime like Jaehyun, but it’s still barely a comparison compared to the luxury and prestige of royal life. Perhaps it’s just because Taeyong knows the only thing he’ll truly ever want to ask for is costlier than all the gold or diamonds in Doyoung’s family’s palace combined, something Doyoung the prince just can’t give him; there is so much of Doyoung that Taeyong knows is only his—Doyoung his lover, best friend, Doie—but Taeyong also knows that it’s fleeting and fragile, visible through the glass and yet still untouchable at the best of times.

Doyoung just kisses him again. There are no words to acknowledge the implication of every word that Taeyong had just let out into the open, just breathy inhales and touches and the silent wishing that they both always do when they get to this point, whose rhythm Taeyong can recognize from the synced-up beating of their hearts. Taeyong wants these moments with him, suspended in the in-betweens of time when Lee Taeyong and Kim Dongyoung are just two people under one sky, intertwined and in love and unafraid to drive just a little faster. Doyoung’s hands on his waist are still delicate in their wandering, considerate of Taeyong’s vulnerable state and this is the same Doyoung that’s told him a million times, I don’t care who knows you’re mine, as long as you do, the one that Taeyong has seen either naked or in full royal attire, crown and all. Maybe Taeyong wants the in-betweens, to see him get out of his bed and put on some normal clothes, some cheap clothing store sweater that neither of them remember buying or fluffy sweatpants right out of the dryer. He wants Doyoung to stay with him at night and still be there when the morning comes, wants to spend lazy, rainy afternoons with him drinking coffee on the floor by the living room couch. Taeyong has never said all this, because this fantasy of them playing house is a pipe dream in comparison to what Doyoung would have to and can’t just give up so easily, and again, Taeyong doesn’t believe in fairytales. It’s why he only chooses to believe in the here and the now, the taste of Doyoung now that all the fancy lip balm’s been kissed clean off of him. They’re both hungry for more, as much as they can have, and Taeyong pushes Doyoung back roughly into the seat before capturing his lips again and biting, half to distract him and half just to see what he would do.

“Fuck,” Doyoung winces, calm still kept intact despite the darkening of his expression. “You can say what you’re thinking, you know. I— ah,” he pauses, “You know I’d do anything for you.”

And maybe he would, Taeyong thinks. Doyoung could have been asking by this point for Taeyong to drive back to his apartment so they could do things properly, get down to business, but Doyoung’s always been able to sense when Taeyong’s a little bit too in his own head to really have a grip on anything that’s happening. I’d do anything for you, Doyoung likes to say. The scary thing is, despite the contradictions to that statement that Taeyong’s cooked up already, he still knows in the deepest parts of him that it’s true. That maybe Doyoung would have let him into his world already if Taeyong actually wanted to give it a shot. But that life just isn’t for him. He’s still debating whether or not it would be unfair to propose that maybe it isn’t for Doyoung, either.

“I want you, forever.” Taeyong swallows, and takes a deep breath for good measure. “And not just like this.”

Doyoung nods, patient. “How do you want me, then?”

“Wanna see you in a sweater,” Taeyong blurts out, slurring a little, and what the fuck. They both pause, and Doyoung is the first to laugh, bright and sweet and good, Taeyong following shortly after because he can’t believe that that’s what he chose to say—there’s no way he’s that high just after a few puffs of smoke. Despite the sheer embarrassment, he does his best to carry on. 

“No, I—” Taeyong struggles through a giggle, “At home, in the mornings, doing the groceries, riding shotgun in broad daylight. In my bed, pretty, sleepy. Staying there.” Taeyong brings a hand up to swipe a thumb across Doyoung’s cheek before adding, “Mine.”

Doyoung lets out a shaky breath, as if he was the one who just said all those stupid things with a shaky voice and glassy eyes, voice soft when he replies. “Is that you talking, or the weed?”

“All me,” Taeyong chuckles, whining a little, and places a kiss on Doyoung’s forehead of all places—too innocent, sweeter and sappier than what they’re used to. But neither of them protest afterward. “I love you.”

Doyoung stares at him incredulously, stars in his eyes, a quivering, soft smile on his lips. “Then you’ll have me. Forever. In all the ways you want.”

Taeyong doesn’t realize what’s happening until the night wind hits the tear track that’s fallen down his left cheek, and Doyoung’s thumb falls under his eye, mirroring Taeyong’s.

“Hey, hey,” Doyoung soothes, swiping the wetness away, “Have I ever lied to you before?”

It’s reminiscent of earlier in the night, Taeyong recalls fondly. He shakes his head no because he knows that he hasn’t. Doyoung has always had a way of easing the ugliest thoughts in Taeyong’s mind. “No. Never.”

“Good answer,” Doyoung muses, pressing their lips together softly, yet again. “And I love you, too.”

Taeyong smiles. It’s enough. With Doyoung, it’s always enough. 

“What do you wanna do, then, hm?” Doyoung asks—no intent, just a gentle prompt. “Your place, or?”

Taeyong kisses him one last time before climbing out of Doyoung’s lap, easing back into the driver’s seat and checking the clock before answering. And as much as he would like to do exactly as Doyoung had suggested— “Have to get you home before midnight, Cinderella.”

Doyoung pauses, staring to his left at Taeyong, seemingly deep in thought. “Would you smack me if I said I already am?”

“Oh my god.” Taeyong does smack him, lightly in the arm before putting the keys into the ignition again, but he makes up for it by grabbing Doyoung and kissing him roughly, again. “How can you just say shit like that?”

“You walked right into it,” Doyoung smirks, quickly faltering when Taeyong lightly hits him again. “Okay, okay! You win,” he laughs, and Taeyong savors the light in his precious smile. “Now drive.”

Taeyong shrugs, tongue caught between his teeth again. Well, fuck it. “I’m too high to drive.”

“Seriously?” Doyoung rolls his eyes, gesturing vaguely to the backseat with a nod of his head. “If you wanna make out some more, you can just say so.”

Taeyong doesn’t have much patience anymore to fight back, so he mirrors Doyoung’s smirk with one of his own. “Then get in the back, you fucking tease.”

Taeyong takes the keys out again when Doyoung does exactly as he’s told, smiling against Doyoung’s lips when he gets his hands all over him in the backseat of the car.

(Taeil isn’t exactly pleased that Doyoung made him wait 30 minutes at their pick-up location, with no way to reach him because his phone was left in the back of the car.

Doyoung leaves his jacket with Taeyong, and decides when he sees him waving goodbye in the rearview mirror that he’s always, definitely worth it.)