Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Scattered petals on vibrant purple, off-set by an orange, circular pattern with golden outlines.

There was a folded crane sitting on Johnny’s desk, made from beautifully ornate paper. It had been there the moment he’d entered the classroom, and Johnny had simply sunk into his seat by the high window, ignoring the borderline obnoxious splash of color that had decided to join him for History. He’d unpacked his notes and nursed his coffee as fellow students were shuffling in, each in various stages of fatigue. More than one glance went to the folded paper but by the time class started, he was none the wiser as to who put it there. The professor gave it a look as well, brows knitting in subtle disapproval over the garish colors, but Johnny left it where it was. Only freshmen were bound to uniforms and yet his wardrobe was predominantly black. He was already doing more than he had to. A single splash of color wouldn’t kill anyone.

The lecture started and within minutes, Johnny’s mind was wandering. He’d never been the studious type and a large chunk of his History lessons were spent gazing outside, at the rainy side walk below. To the strangers down there, Johnny was simply one of the many faceless attendees of a private university focused on something vaguely economy-related; a university that was suspiciously unknown, and that never took applications - it only sent them. And they weren’t exactly optional.

There was no telling who had scouted him but one nebulous letter and two years later, 24-year old Johnny Suh was a college student on paper, and perfectly used to living parallel to regular society. And lacking as his academic performance was, there was no doubting the viable career path awaiting him after graduation.

To varying degrees, everyone in this place was able to see the spots. It was why they were here in the first place. Shrill shades of pink and green and orange, every color pushing against one another like oil slick as they stained plants, buildings, and sometimes people. Like neon-colored bacteria that had led to many wrongful diagnoses of germaphobia in the past.

Ancient civilizations had both feared and revered them; some had called them fairies, others described them as droplets of insanity. There was validity to either claim - they caused oddities in nature. Irregularities. Flowers that blossomed with mismatching petals, and boiling hot rain water. From distorted letters on a page to collapsing ceilings, the effects of these particles were as diverse as they were unpredictable, and while the past decades of secretive research had filled up more and more books, every observation came with a new question, a new gap to fill.

And while Johnny did have a passing interest in these questions, he was mainly focused on the way they affected humans. How they could cause infections and long-term illnesses of the body and mind. Those were the classes he took notes in, and that was the field he’d no doubt be working in after graduation. Because everyone may be able to see the spots, but only very few people were able to extinguish them.

Johnny was one such person. The only one in his year, actually. It was the reason he never had to do anything other than scrape by. He never wore gloves because stains meant nothing to him - his body simply absorbed spots, disintegrating them. It was a physically exhausting process but so long as he kept himself fit, he never had to fear an infection.

Not like there was a high risk of that inside the Academy - any object that went in and out of their walls was strictly monitored, and designated cleaners took care of any speck of color jumping out from the sea of dark uniforms and interior. Which was why this little paper crane was so very distracting. Johnny was good at feigning disinterest, however, and left it untouched until the end of the lecture, content to idly scan his fellow students as they packed up.

It was almost subtle, the way he glanced back as he swung his bag over his shoulder. It might have worked, too, if not for the fact that Mark Lee never bothered with the back of the classroom. Their eyes met for a split second before he whipped around, all but fleeing as Johnny tried in vain to suppress a smile. Who would have thought that Mark Lee, of all people, was the type to leave cutely folded notes?

Only after he was gone did Johnny reach for the crane, carefully taking it apart limb by limb until he was looking at black letters on wrinkled gold.

3-17
Meet me tonight.

By the time the residential wings had grown quiet, Johnny found himself lingering at the foot of a marble staircase, the flattened crane still back in his palm.

This request was delightfully vague, of course, and no one was forcing him to show. But who else could claim that they had received a private invitation by their residential prodigy boy? Mark Lee wasn’t known to fraternize, and Johnny was nothing if not curious.

There was no reason to expect this invitation to be of a frisky nature - though Johnny would bet his EOS 250D on Mark wishing it was exactly that. It wasn’t a conceited assumption so much as a fact. He’d seen him stare during field trips, and in between boring presentations. And Johnny would be lying to say he wasn’t interested.

Mark was cute. Not in the traditional sense of the word - he was gangly, apparently didn’t posses a single well-fitted shirt, and while he had a natural tan, a lack of sunlight made him look pasty in the wrong light. His facial features were awfully close to one another, his lips were small, and his skin tended to break out during their exam phases. To top it all off, his angular facial structure with dominant jaw- and cheekbones gave a perpetual impression of skipped meals.

None of that would be considered cute, and yet he had that certain something about him.

Johnny blamed his eyes. They were almond-shaped and doe-like, heavy-lidded and asymmetrical without being anything other than captivating, and completely at odds with the rest of him. They glowed amber in the rare case of sunlight hitting them, and were often glittering with more emotions than the rest of his body let on. There was an indescribable fire in them - a fire Johnny came face to face with the moment the mahogany door to room 3-17 opened.

Johnny gave Mark a quick once-over, from the unruly brown curls to the surprisingly nice shirt.

His smile came naturally.

“Good evening,” he said jovially, fingers buried in the pocket of his jeans. “I heard we had an appointment?”

Mark’s eyes widenend.

“Shut up,” he hissed, tugging Johnny inside with an impatience that did a horrible job masking his embarrassment, and that shouldn’t widen Johnny’s grin the way it did. There, that was another cute thing about him.

While Mark closed - and locked - the door, Johnny unabashedly took in his room. It was objectively nicer than any of the rooms Johnny and his friends were sharing, but that was a given with Mark being one of the top students. What surprised him, however, were the plethora of framed pictures scattered across the desk. He picked up one of them under Mark’s displeased frown.

“What?” he asked, clearly defensive. Johnny looked at the group of young teenagers around a bonfire, and shrugged.

“Nothing,” he said, carefully putting it back down. “Just surprised you had friends at some point.”

“I still do. You don’t even know me,” Mark argued, crossing his arms, only to keep them behind his back instead. “Anyway. I have a favour to ask of you.”

Cutting straight to the chase, then. Johnny raised his brows at him.

“Of me? What could someone like me possibly be doing for you?”

Mark’s gaze flickered down for a split second, but when he forced his gaze back up, it retained its steeliness.

“Don’t act dumb,” he complained. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Not very playful. Well, Johnny was nothing if not adaptable. He leaned against the desk.

“You want me to clean up some spots for you,” he offered. When Mark nodded, he cocked his head at him.

“Why?”

“You don’t need to know why,” came the reply. “It’s for my thesis. I need you to remove them, and to not ask questions.”

His big, mysterious thesis. Johnny wasn’t particularly nosy but Mark had been notoriously close-lipped about this year’s project. He inspected his nails, pretending to think about it.

“All I’m hearing are demands,” he said eventually, meeting his eyes. “What about the compensations?”

Mark rolled his eyes.

“What do you want?”

Johnny wasn’t above giving him a pointed once over, only to tease the flame in his eyes.

“What are you offering?”

“I asked first,” Mark sighed. “You need a written paper or anything? This semester’s History write up?”

Johnny pursed his lips. It was true that if anyone could fool the professor and provide him with an easy A, it would be Mark. And considering the twenty page minimum, that was a very generous offer for some one-time stunt. This must be really important for him. His curiosity was definitely piqued.

“Alright then,” he relented. “It’s a deal.”

He looked around the room in search of anything breaking the wooden color scheme.

“What do you want me to clean?”

Mark hesitated only a moment before his fingers wandered to the buttons of his shirt.

Instantly, the atmosphere in the room flipped as Johnny watched him undo one after the other, revealing a simple white top underneath. Mark kept his head down as he slipped it off his shoulders, reaching for the zipper on his full-length gloves. Johnny had wondered about why he’d bother to wear them in the quiet of his own room but the question evaporated before it could make it to his tongue. There had been pale specks near his shoulder but they were nothing compared to his hands that were downright drenched. From his wrist downward, not a single bit of skin was seen under the psychedelic clash of colors. Johnny was pretty sure he’d never seen so many spots on a living being and for a flash, he felt genuine worry that he tried to hide behind nonchalance.

“What kinda dirt have you been playing in?” he asked, slowly making his way over. Mark inched back, apprehension pulling him taught.

“No questions,” he reminded him. Johnny would have bought his confidence if not for the way the back of his knees hit the bed. Without breaking eye contact, Mark sank down. Johnny followed, his voice lowering with the proximity.

“You look like you’ve slaughtered something,” he hummed, holding out his hands. Mark offered his own, hesitated, and turned them around, wrist facing up. There was something unexpectedly vulnerable about it, about the way his fingers gradually uncurled as Johnny grasped his hands. The moment their skin touched, Johnny felt the characteristic, grainy burn. He pressed against it, schooling his face into a mask of indifference as he tightened his grip. Absorbing spots always felt like pressing bruises onto his own skin, but the ache would wander further soon enough.

He could see Mark bite his lips, saw a tongue peek out as Johnny’s fingers closed around his wrists. The fit was perfect.

“You could have gone to the nurse with this,” he murmured, focused on catching every stray speck along his knuckles. Mark shook his head, his eyes transfixed on Johnny’s fingers.

“They would have forced me to drop my thesis.”

“Maybe they’d be right to do so,” Johnny argued carefully, rubbing his way up Mark’s arm in slow, hard drags. It hurt, but the way Mark shivered under his touch kept him going.

“Just a little more,” he murmured. It was unclear what he was referring to but the warm, naturally gravelly tone settled way lower than it was appropriate. Johnny’s eyes flicked up as his hands wandered further, listened for the hitch in his breath as he let his nails scrape over pale, smooth skin - suspiciously smooth, really, considering how their gloves were notorious for leaving their skin damp and sticky at the end of the day.

“Did you shower for me?” he asked, not even bothering to hide any insinuations.

Mark didn’t answer. Somehow, they had gotten close enough for his gaze to be forced downward. Johnny dug his fingers into his deltoid muscle, revealing unblemished skin below. He already felt the ache all the way up into his shoulders but there were still some spots left, small and pale as they were, and Johnny was nothing if not a man of his word. An exchanged glance was all the warning he gave before leaning in to put his lips on Mark’s skin instead. Another hitch, but instead of pulling away, Mark immediately gave him better access, folding so, so easily. Johnny was pretty sure he could hear his hammering heartbeat - or maybe the spots were getting to his head, overstimulating his system. He mouthed over the last smudge of color, sharing the burn by sucking a love bite into his skin.

Mark let out a low, punched out sound. Johnny nosed along the crook of his neck, expecting a fresh bout of snark, maybe an embarrassed complaint. What he didn’t expect was for Mark to sink into his duvet. He went down slowly, every inch a juxtaposition to the intensity in his eyes. Johnny wedged a leg between his, shamelessly running a hand up his side, dipping beneath the strap of his top to cup the warm skin below. And Mark not just let him, he put his hands on Johnny’s waist, fingertips threatening to dip into his waistband.

“You’re all clean now,” Johnny informed him. Mark held his gaze.

“Are you sure?”

Johnny couldn’t fight a smile. So brazen. He kind of liked it.

“You know,” he began, toying with the fabric under his fingers. “You strike me as someone who’d benefit from having a partner on his thesis.”

Mark narrowed his eyes at him.

“Why would I share my research with you?”

Johnny hummed, his thumb grazing a nipple and staying there.

“Because you don’t want it to eat you whole,” he said eventually. “And I’m the only one who can help you with that.”

There was definitely apprehension in his eyes - he was calculating, looking for intentions he wasn’t going to find. Johnny himself wouldn’t be able to name any past the very immediate intentions keeping their bodies pressed together. They had to have that in common, at least, because Mark ended up slinging a leg around him.

“That’s a pretty big demand,” he said eventually. “What’s the compensation?”

Johnny broke into a small grin, mirth and promise both making it into his voice.

“Depends,” he said. “What do you want?”

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun was hanging low by the time Johnny reached the cathedral.

It loomed over the desolate park and forgotten graveyard less like a warning and more like a depressing shadow of the past with its dark, faded stone exterior and its gothic architecture. Yet it had to have retained some power because he couldn’t spot any signs of vandalism or even loiterers nearby - none except for the young man sitting on a park bench, furiously scribbling into a spiral block. Johnny considered sneaking up on him but he’d barely finished the thought when Mark abandoned his notes, turning towards him with a precision that felt unnatural.

The next look of his brown eyes went down to the phone in his lap.

“You’re late.”

He sounded slightly annoyed, which put a grin on Johnny’s face.

“Took me a second to unfold this little beauty,” he said leisurely, holding up the crinkled remains of a black crane he’d found on the window sill that morning. “You do know that nothing stops us from exchanging phone numbers, yeah?”

Mark scoffed.

“I don’t want your number,” he said, dropping his pencil back into a slim leather case. 

Johnny hummed, long and dragged out. He wasn’t surprised by his prickly reaction - it was clear as day that Mark didn’t trust him. With his body, maybe, but not with his research.

Almost two weeks had passed since their first… study session, and just standing next to him was enough to invigorate the memories he’d thought to be vibrant enough already. Johnny’s body had long recovered from their cleansing session and now his fingertips prickled with the itch to reach out and touch him again, to experience the smoothness of his skin without any pain to obstruct the sensation. If there had been a pull before, knowing what Mark Lee looked like with his head thrown back and thin lips parted in pleasure had him not just actively wanting for more, no, Johnny felt like he was yearning for it, and with an irrational violence.

They hadn’t even gone all the way back then - frankly, the way he had stroked them both off would be considered conservative by most people in his orbit, and he could only try to blame his fascination on that very fact. That maybe he felt this strongly because he hadn’t uncovered every part of Mark yet.

Or maybe he simply craved the undivided attention of his fiery eyes, wanted to feel them scorch him without abandon.

On the bench, Mark looked up from where he’d stashed away his notebook. The sober daylight made him look pasty and highlighted the washed out, emerald hues of his college jacket. He got to his feet now, messenger bag slung over his shoulder as he gave Johnny a pointed look, and yes, it were the eyes.

“Stop staring at me,” Mark demanded in a display that was so convincing, Johnny almost missed the way his gaze flicked down. Down to avoid his eyes, or down to his lips? There was no time to answer the question as Mark took the lead, making a beeline for the cathedral.

The note hadn’t explained why they were meeting up. There was no doubt this had to do with his thesis, though, and Johnny had made sure to get a healthy amount of both nutrition and hydration to be prepared for whatever Mark was going to throw his way next. Frankly, the fact that Mark had not only contacted him a second time, but had asked him to meet at the other end of town had him rather hopeful that he’d catch a glimpse at what it truly was that had left their local prodigy so mercilessly splattered from top to bottom.

The way Mark navigated the premises spoke of routine. They slipped inside through a missing door and weaved along rows of windows that were so weathered that every ray of sunlight flooding the ground appeared unfocused and grainy. Combined with the many, many colorful spots staining the ground and seemingly crawling along the edges of the floor tiles, Johnny felt mildly claustrophobic. There was a tendency of spots to settle in untouched spots, and this place was crawling with them. Just walking through it made him itch for a hot shower.

Mark apparently shared none of his sentiments and simply ducked past another exit that thankfully led out into open air; into a small courtyard, to be precise. Johnny slowed down, head thrown back to take in the high walls and fences. There was no way to see this place from the outside.

So this was the nook he was crawling into in order to mess around without any witnesses.

Mark came to a halt by one of the walls, sinking to his knees before an ornamented section that was even more stained than the rest of this place.

As Johnny slowly approached him, it quickly became obvious that something was off about it - not because of the half-transparent spots that seemed a bit too eager to form around this particular area, but because of the ornament itself. Johnny could see it clearly as he crouched down, could see all the ways in which the formerly circular seal had been interrupted. The proportions were off and the stone showed noticeable scratches and dents that looked neither purposeful nor like results of natural deterioration.

He bit back on the observation, keeping the ominous weight to himself as he took in Mark instead. Mark, who had already placed his bag in the grass where it was joined by his jacket and gloves. The fresh autumn breeze barely reached them down there, but in Johnny’s opinion, it was still a tad too cold for the thin sweater he was wearing beneath it. Mark rolled up his sleeves, anyway, and sat up straight with his fingers balled to fists in his lap. When he opened them, it was with a determined puff of air, a tiny encouragement to himself… and then he reached out.

He placed both hands on the stone, straight over the most infested area, and Johnny couldn’t help but feel a twinge of unease at the sight. Coming in contact with spots was unavoidable and they didn’t pose an immediate threat, but he’d never seen anyone knowingly plunge into them like that with their bare hands.

Immediately, the color stuck to his fingers. Mark’s breathing remained calm, and he closed his eyes. Slowly, as if it took him great effort to do so, he dragged his fingers across the stone. And the spots… moved as well. As if Mark was physically touching them, pushing them along.

“You see it?” he asked, his eyes still closed, his brows knitted.

Johnny did see it. He also wasn’t sure whether he was still breathing.

There was a trail in the stone where Mark’s fingers had just been. As if the wall had been nothing but warm wax to him.

Slowly, Mark retrieved his hands, wiping them on his thighs.

“I can touch them,” he said quietly. “I can make them do stuff. Control them. I just have to practice.”

His hands remained sullied, with not even a single spot ending up on his clothes. They clung to him like they’d sunken in ages ago.

Johnny should be impressed - being able to engage with spots was usually the result of decades of practice. Most people never achieved it at all. So why did he feel so nauseous?

After a moment of hesitation, Johnny slid closer, slinging his arms around Mark from behind to intertwine their fingers. There was a barely there hitch of his breath but Mark didn’t move away, reciprocating the firm press of Johnny’s hands. It didn’t entirely feel like self-defense.

Just like last time, it took a bit of force, a borderline mean press of his skin against Mark’s, to coax the spots off his skin. Like they were reluctant to go.

Johnny stared past him and at the markings on the wall that were now clearly visible without the smear of magic all over them.

Mark turned his head without any real intention of catching his gaze.

“You have nothing to say?” he asked. It was clear that he was expecting amazement, or at the very least push back. Johnny wasn’t the type to spill thoughts that he could not yet see the end of though. And the longer he stared at the mangled sigil, the more he felt like those thoughts were being dragged down into an endless abyss.

When the throbbing in his fingers started to travel up his veins, he let go of Mark’s hands. Absently, he pressed them into his own palms once, twice, checking for any remaining spots. Then he lifted them to cover Mark’s eyes instead. His shoulders went rigid right away.

“What’s this supposed to-”

“Do it again.”

He expected Mark to protest but after a drawn out pause, his breathing deepened again, and the flutter of his lashes came to a halt like an agitated butterfly settling, allowing the coverage. There was still a determined set to his shoulders but his hands were hesitating, running over the stone, searching for a concentration of spots.

“Higher,” Johnny whispered. Mark swallowed, his fingertips dragging upwards, just past the marred surface. When he hovered and no further instruction came, he placed his palms on the stone once more.

At first, nothing happened. Mark’s breathing deepened even further, his body rigid under Johnny’s loose embrace.

When the stone started to budge under the pressure, Johnny felt like it was his stomach being compressed instead.

He felt mildly sick.

“Mark,” he said quietly. “You’re not controlling the spots.”

“I am,” Mark snapped, annoyed and angry in a way that would never pierce the numbness Johnny felt.

He pulled away, watching him squint against the sunlight. Upon looking at the smooth, grey surface, he immediately turned his hands to check his palms for spots that weren’t there. Johnny had purposefully led him towards a clean area of the ornament.

When he shook his head the motion was choppy, and not a single word left his lips.

“It’s you,” Johnny said evenly. “You’re the one doing this.”

“No-” Mark muttered.

“The spots cling to you because you attract them.”

Johnny watched him wring his hands, hiding them in his lap only to check them again. The tremble in his fingers spoke in his stead, the message loud and clear.

When he reached out, Mark flinched back to the present, slapping him away.

“Don’t touch me-”

“Don’t panic,” Johnny retorted, but Mark was already angling himself away, ready to bolt. Johnny was faster, smacking his hand against the stone to cage him in on one side. It was enough to snuff out the initial fight-or-flight reaction but Mark’s eyes were still wide, his breathing shallow.

“Don’t panic,” Johnny tried again, keeping his voice calm. “Nobody knows. Right?”

Mark was still staring at his hands, so Johnny cupped his chin, forcing his gaze up without being rough.

“Mark,” he tried again. “You haven’t told anyone about this, right?”

Mark shook his head and Johnny let go, shooting him a smile that barely qualified as such.

“That’s good. See? Nobody knows.”

Nobody knew that Mark Lee was an anomaly, and that was worth everything.

People didn’t take kindly to anomalies in the best of circumstances, and while the Institution was working under the pretense of being driven by nothing but entirely transparent, academic interest, the collective of its student body wasn’t stupid. From gathering and coercing them all to study in one place down to keeping tabs on them for the rest of their lives and putting the talented ones into jobs benefiting them, it was more than obvious that they were simply resources for something bigger than them. It was an open secret that none of the rare disappearances could truly be attributed to students dropping out. There was no dropping out.

And it was hardly a coincidence that no anomaly of this caliber had been documented in the past twenty years. Whatever Mark Lee had discovered about himself was dangerous knowledge.

Even if he’d never looked less threatening than he did in that moment.

“Why is this happening?” he whispered. He was still curling and uncurling his fists, again and again, fingertips rubbing over his palm. “What’s wrong with me?”

Johnny reached for one of his hands. Mark grabbed it right away, squeezing tightly.

“Maybe this isn’t wrong at all,” he provided. It was the best he had to offer and while he was sincere, that truly didn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things, and they both knew it.

“Am I contaminated?” Mark asked, his voice threatening to break. “Maybe I’m sick-”

“Do you feel sick?” Johnny only asked. Unresponsive, Mark stared into his lap with wide eyes.

“They’ll take me away-”

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Johnny cut him off. When Mark threatened to mentally wander off again, he reached up to fully cup his face, fingertips buried in his hair. His touch was light but it was enough to coax Mark’s gaze up, meeting his with trepidation.

“Is that why it feels this way?” he whispered. Johnny tilted his head.

“What do you mean-” he began, only to catch sight of a small, purple bruise where the collar of Mark’s sweater had slipped. He wasn’t surprised to see it. After all, the memory of him sucking a hickey into his skin as Mark came undone under him was still luridly vivid. At the time, he’d been a little worried about how hard he was handling him but Mark only seemed to moan louder the rougher he was pushed, and Johnny was nothing if not eager to please. So yes, he had expected that particular spot to bruise - and it had, but it had been two weeks, and the closer he looked, the more Johnny was starting to see the pale, messy rings circling it like distorted ripples, leaving ghosts of purple and green in their wake. Like ink smears.

Like… ink smears.

“That’s a spot,” Johnny murmured, sweeping his thumb over it. Mark stayed very still, even as Johnny increased the pressure, but the spot wouldn’t budge. It should be borderline painful but Mark only shivered, lips parting to mask his uneven breathing. And the spot stayed where it was. If anything, Johnny was imagining it to become darker.

Something clicked into place.

“I think it’s under your skin,” he said carefully. Mark looked down but struggled to get the angle right.

“It just looked like a hickey last time I checked,” he said defensively.

“I’m sure it did,” Johnny conceded. “But the skin has recovered by now. And whatever this is, it’s inside you.”

He hooked a finger beneath the woolen collar in an unspoken question.

“Do you have more of them?”

Without hesitation, Mark pulled the sweater over his head, displaying planes of pale skin that Johnny was taking in with less greed now, fingers running down his torso in a touch that was unnecessary, but hopefully calming.  There were indeed more faint markings around his hip and on his shoulders. Anywhere Johnny had applied pressure. It was a safe assumption that this was not a focused infection so much as an overarching… condition.

“You have spots inside your body,” Johnny said again, but voicing it a second time did nothing to erase his disbelief. “There’s magic in your veins.”

“I haven’t done anything though,” Mark said, desperation slipping into his voice. “I just- there’s no explanation for this.”

Johnny shrugged.

“Maybe it’s always been like this-”

“I don’t want it to be like this though!” Mark snapped. “What if someone finds out? What if it’s dangerous? If it’s slowly killing me?”

He froze, lips still parted. Then he grabbed Johnny’s arms, his eyes alight with vigor.

“Try to remove them.”

Johnny’s eyes flicked down his bare torso, and back up again.

“I just did. It didn’t work.”

“Then try again,” Mark demanded, angling his head to present his marred collarbones. “Press down harder.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Johnny began, even as his fingers found their way back to the faded bruise. “And even if it did, shouldn’t you be scared?”

“Why?” Mark asked, his gaze fixed on a spot above them. Johnny pressed a little harder.

“I disintegrate spots, Mark,” he said quietly, but the other wasn’t fazed.

“Good,” he breathed out stubbornly. “Take them away.”

Johnny watched him, from the goosebumps on his exposed skin to his paradoxically wide pupils.

When he leaned in, Mark all but molded into his touch, as if seeking shelter from the cold air. With a hand buried in the short hair on his nape, Johnny held him in place as he put his lips over the blotches of pink and green. A soft brush turned to a moist, apologetic kiss snuck in right before he sank his teeth right into the bruised spot and sucked hard enough for Mark to let out a grunt.

Johnny kept pushing, kept sucking at his skin to the point that it couldn’t be pleasurable anymore, but the only sound escaping Mark was a soft hum turned moan as his fingers found Johnny’s waist, all but clawing at him. By the time Johnny pulled away, his naturally pale skin was already an angry red with faint shades of blue… and pink and green, and purple. Yet Johnny felt nothing but a tingling sensation on his lips.

“I can’t reach them,” he admitted. “It’s like I’m pulling them to the surface, but not past it.”

“Try harder-”

“Mark, I’m not going to bite you open.”

“You can try-” Mark offered, before the air was knocked out of his lungs as Johnny pushed him up against the wall.

“Are you listening to yourself?” he demanded, his patience running thin. “I’m already hurting you as is. Who knows what’s going to happen if I actually touch anything-”

“It feels good though.”

Johnny stared at him, dumbfounded, as Mark licked his lips.

“The harder you press, the better it feels,” he admitted, every syllable roughed up. The intensity of his gaze was arresting, his chest was already rising and falling noticeably, and as much as Johnny wanted him to stay on topic, it was hard to set a good example when Mark was pulling at Johnny’s hands, putting them onto his chest, closing his eyes as he dragged them lower and lower.

“It feels so good,” he murmured. “Like a magnet pulling at me. Like ice. Like the itch when you’re about to come.”

And just by looking at his flushed cheeks and dark eyes, Johnny believed that. He gave his bare waist a squeeze, fingertips dipping past the seam of his pants, watching him shiver, eyes fluttering closed as Johnny leaned in to cover more of his body with his own.

“So that’s why you let me into your bed?” he hummed against the side of his face. “Because I’m special? And here I was, thinking you were just particularly easy.”

“Fuck you,” Mark rasped out, squirming. Johnny let go of him, a condescending drawl waiting on his lips only to get snuffed out by Mark threading his fingers through his hair and crashing their lips together. 

He’d been confident last time, but now he was downright forceful, pushing against him like Johnny could just as well soak up his panic if only he pressed down hard enough. Their kiss was open-mouthed from the get go and Johnny would have complained about the mess if he wasn’t so busy keeping Mark flat against the wall. Plenty of people had approached Johnny for his height or build, but he rarely got to use it this way, rarely got to go all out. He’d feel bad about the way he had to shove his struggling body to keep him in place, pinning his arms against the rough stone, but Mark’s mouth made it very obvious that every hard press was more welcome than the last.

He was so noisy, and Johnny was kind of drunk off it. It wasn’t that he was loud, per sé, but there was a constant string of noises leaving his lips, from hums to urgent, punched out grunts and fragile, low moans that were somehow the lewdest of them all.

Johnny buried his nose in the junction of his neck and shoulder, getting lost in a string of wet, indulgent kisses, before his teeth pulled out more of the needier sounds. Mark’s deft fingers had gone from kneading Johnny’s ass to fumbling with the button of his pants. Johnny let out a shaky chuckle.

“We’re in public, you freak.”

“Hasn’t stopped you so far, now, has it?” Mark argued, shamelessly groping him over the fabric of his briefs, not bothering to point out how hard he was from nothing but a bit of push and pull games. The pang of shame was fleeting but added an odd thrill that tasted twice as sweet as Mark’s voice turned breathy.

“No one’s watching,” he assured him. When he started to pull him in, it was achingly soft; entirely different from his previous, rough tugs. Johnny went down willingly this time, hypnotized by the sight of Mark sinking into the grass. Slowly, carefully, he ended up on top of him, legs tangled and cheeks burning. Mark threw his head back, letting out a deep exhale… and then he threw Johnny a pointed look.

“See? You’re easier than me,” he rasped out.

Johnny scoffed. It hardly saved his dignity.

“I’m not the one begging to get rawed in the backyard of a church,” he countered.

“I never said anything about how I want you,” Mark argued even as he wrapped his legs around Johnny’s waist. 

The fire was back in his eyes, and so was the confident, borderline haughty tension in his jaw. The heat was fascinating above all else, but it didn’t erase the fact that Johnny was starting to see behind the facade. And he was a quick learner.

“You didn’t have to,” he said, pressing their lower bodies together to confirm that Mark was just as pathetically aroused as him. “I know exactly what this is.”

Mark glared at him, lips parted as he clearly considered taunting him, only to think better of it. Johnny decided not to let him off easy though.

“You think I can make them go away if I touch you from inside,” Johnny murmured against his lips, grinding down in a filthy motion that had Mark’s lashes fluttering. “How deep do you think I’ll have to reach?”

He half-expected mockery, but Mark only twisted in his grip to reach for his abandoned jacket, procuring what turned out to be a sachet of lube, pushing it against his chest.

“Here,” he said. “You’re talking too much.”

Johnny blinked, unsure if he was taken aback, challenged, or turned on beyond reason.

“You came prepared, huh?” he asked conversationally, at odds with the rough way he was groping Mark through his pants. “So am I right to assume you came here, expecting something like this to happen either way? Just for the record - are we gonna pretend you packed the lube but forgot about the condoms?”

Mark rolled his eyes.

“I’m clean,” he stated, brows knitted in annoyance. “Now get a move on.”

“What if I’m not?” Johnny fired back as he dragged Mark’s worn out jeans down his hips, pulling his briefs with him. He could see Mark bite his lips as he raised his hips to help. In retrospect, their first encounter was starting to make sense - if Johnny’s touch truly did pull at whatever was slumbering under his skin, it explained the other’s eagerness to fall into bed with him. Johnny was objectively handsome, sure, and he certainly didn’t lack confidence, but it had been odd just how easily Mark had caved, considering his reputation. Seeing him now, shuddering more from Johnny’s fingertips digging into his thighs than the sensation of having his bare ass and back against the grass, fully exposed to the crisp autumn air… the meaning of that was starting to really sink in. A magnet, was what he’d likened it to.

Pulling Mark closer by the hips, Johnny shoved the college jacket under him to support his lower back, contemplating whether or not to fully get him out of his pants - only to decide that he was already in for a nasty cold as it were. Besides, there was an undeniably raunchy aspect to his state of undress, and to Johnny remaining fully clothed, and he wasn’t going to complain about it.

Mark turned out to be surprisingly bendable for someone who was rarely seen outside the library, letting Johnny nearly fold him in half without so much as a twitch. At this point, Johnny was the one having to hold back on a groan. Stubborn, reclusive, rigid Mark Lee was folding for him so easily, so beautifully, it gave him a rush of emotions that was entirely inappropriate for this occasion.

The moment Johnny started to pet the sensitive skin around his rim, Mark’s hands flew up from where they’d been fisting the grass, holding onto his thighs instead. He held himself in the exact position Johnny had put him in, despite the violent flinch that zapped through him the moment Johnny pressed down a little harder. Adding some lube to his thumb, he continued to toy with him, half-circles increasing in pressure. Testing the give, dipping in just to see Mark’s nails dig into his own thighs.

“You really are sensitive,” Johnny murmured, watching him struggle to stay silent.

“Fuck off,” Mark snapped, the threat too breathy to do anything other than endear him to Johnny, who rewarded him by forcing his ring finger inside, slow but steady.

The sound that left Mark’s lips was punched out and urgent, and his fingertips were as white as his thighs. If a mere grip on his hip was intense enough to make him moan, this must be torture. He could barely see his face but the way his muscles squeezed around him spoke volumes.

“Tighter than any virgin,” Johnny muttered, moving in barely there circles. Mark’s response was a scoff turned groan, small and wounded. Johnny used his free hand to press down his thigh - over the fabric of his pants, so as not to add to the sensation.

“I’m serious,” he added. “Loosen up. Aren’t you making it worse like this?”

“Easy for you to say,” Mark pressed out, but he did force his breathing into a deeper, more deliberate rhythm. It stuttered when Johnny pulled out slowly, only to push back in a little harder. The moment he bullied his middle finger in as well, Mark tightened again, letting out a gasp. Johnny let out a breathy chuckle.

“Where’s that restrained persona of yours?” he hummed. “Can’t help but chase it, huh? Not that I blame you-”

“Just do it already,” Mark forced out. “It’s not gonna get any easier, anyway.”

Johnny’s immediate response was to spread his fingers, eliciting a sharp yelp.

“I’m not sure if you’re the most or the least eager lay I’ve had in my life,” he mused, struggling to even keep his fingers apart with how hard Mark was clenching down on him. “But what I can say with utmost certainty is that nothing’s going inside you at this rate. You’re barely taking my fingers. You sure you’re not a virgin?”

“Fuck off-” Mark groaned, struggling against the confines of his jeans in an attempt to spread his legs further. Johnny grabbed his thigh, holding him still.

“You know,” he began conversationally, completely ignoring the small, soft noises every jab garnered him, “I hate to disappoint but I’m pretty sure that this isn’t going to work. Usually, if I remove spots, I can physically feel them. It’s supposed to hurt me, and that’s not exactly what I’m feeling right now.”

Mark didn’t answer. His eyes were squeezed closed and his tongue darted over his parted lips. He looked so distractingly beautiful like this that Johnny wanted nothing more than to push him further. Until all his snark crumbled and turned to clinginess. Until he felt so good that he couldn’t remember how they’d gotten there in the first place and he was looking at Johnny with those sleepy, amber-colored eyes, calling out to him not out of necessity, but want-

“Don’t stop.”

Johnny blinked. He hadn’t realized that his fingers had slowed down as he’d gotten lost in the other’s silence. Mark’s head lolled to the side and while there was still a defiant tension to his brows, his eyes looked suspiciously wet.

“I said don’t stop,” he repeated, swallowing. “Maybe it’s not reaching deep enough.”

Johnny let out a puff of air, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re crazy.”

Mark scoffed.

“What? Does your dick not live up to your reputation?”

Johnny raised his brows at him. Biting back on a grin took everything.

“I have a reputation?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Mark snapped, somehow managing to sound exasperated even when his entire face was already flushed scarlet. “You’re such an annoying a-ah-”

“Hmm?” Johnny hummed in mock-interest, fingertips grazing his prostate completely on purpose. “What did you say?”

“Oh fuck- don’t do that, stop it-”

“Or what? You’re gonna come?”

Mark let out a choked squeal, blindly pawing at Johnny’s hand. Taking pity on him, he pulled away.

“Didn’t you just say it wouldn’t be easy for you regardless?” he taunted. “What does it matter if you come now? Make up your mind, Mark.”

“Just fuck me.”

It had come out small, a frazzled little voice threatening to break. He sounded like he was about to cry.

Around Mark’s hips and even on the back of his thighs, he could already see faint hues of pink and green. Grazing them with his thumb made him shudder. Johnny couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must feel like from inside, but he wasn’t surprised to hear Mark sob the moment he pushed in.

He barely made it past the tip with the way Mark’s body was violently clenching, only to spasm from sensitivity. His hands shot forward to grab Johnny’s arms tight enough to hurt and he was breathing like he was about to drown. Johnny forced himself to stay still, both physically and mentally.

“It’s too much,” he said calmly. “You can’t-”

“No!” Mark cut him off, clawing into his arms harder. “I can- I just-”

So stubborn. Mark Lee was so stupidly stubborn, and for what?

Johnny swallowed, channeling all the calmness he could summon.

“Then easen up,” he said, patting his hip. “Let it happen.”

Watching Mark shift, feeling the weight of his legs leaning into Johnny’s grip as he forced the resistance out of his body, going lax for him… it filled him with a sense of power that felt intoxicating. Sweet, alluring, and just that side of wrong. Johnny was the one advancing on him but he wasn’t sure who was less in control of this situation - Mark’s grip on him was tight, he was almost unbearably hot, and watching him gradually lose his mind made Johnny greedy to catch all the pieces. A month ago, he’d barely known him, and right now he was pretty sure he’d be capable of murder as long as it kept him safe. Because he was only supposed to crumble for him. 

It felt like an eternity until he was fully inside him, every inch coaxed along by distracting circles rubbed onto the clothed part of Mark’s legs. By the time he felt the cool back of his thighs against him, Mark was shaking like a leaf. Despite wanting nothing more than to touch him all over, Johnny only took a hold of his hips, holding him steady, fingers splayed over his bruises. The poor thing was so overstimulated that the touch barely registered to him. The second Johnny moved, however, Mark let out a weak cry.

“Shh. You’re gonna get us caught,” Johnny said, blindly reaching around to cover his mouth. All he accomplished was Mark tonguing at his fingers, mindlessly sucking on them. With a strained huff, Johnny wiped his wet fingers on his jaw.

“You’re so far gone,” he muttered, putting some authority into his voice. “Stay quiet or I’ll stop.”

It took a moment to register for Mark but when it did, he reached for his sweater, haphazardly pressing the fabric into his own mouth. The sight shouldn’t drive him crazy but Johnny leaned over him to drink in as much of it as he could. There were already tears sparkling at the corner of his eyes - tears that were flowing freely by the time Johnny had loosened him up enough to move. He had to exert actual strength to hold him still, to keep his writhing body from escaping the pleasure.

In the last, sober corner of his mind, Johnny knew that he should avoid the other’s prostate but with the way he was frantically clenching and fluttering around him, it was nearly impossible to tell, and even more so to make rational decisions. For a floaty moment, he did nothing but focus on the sensations and trying to prolong the inevitable. Then and there, he craved nothing more than to do this on a bed, in the privacy of their rooms, where he’d have the luxury to drag this as much as he physically could. They were out in the open though, and Johnny was supposed to listen for any sounds of potential people on the other side of the church walls - all he could focus on now was pulling Mark along for the most erratic, recklessly delivered pleasure he’d ever felt, and all he could hear were the muffled, high-pitched sounds punched out between harsh, wet breaths through a congested nose because while Mark let Johnny set the pace, he was sobbing-

His climax hit him just like that, as if ripped from him without his consent, and it was followed by an immediate wave of guilt. For just a second, the rush of power drowned out everything, whiting out every thought as he pushed into Mark with blind greed, riding out his own high. His entire body felt electrified and he could barely hear over the sound of blood rushing through his ears - and then the sensation quietened down, and he felt like he was resurfacing from the muddy depths, feeling disoriented and increasingly sober. For a handful of seconds, nothing but their ragged breathing was heard.

“Fuck,” Johnny muttered. “Are you okay?”

Mark didn’t answer but he was heaving for air. In one quick drag, Johnny pulled out, grimacing at a thick dollop of white running down his white thighs. He was more delicate about this, usually, but in this case, breaking their touch seemed like the most efficient course of action.

The moment Johnny let go of his thighs, Mark’s legs dropped onto the grass in a graceless heap as he barely even bothered to move off of his own jacket. His sweat-slicked chest was rising and falling with every rabbiting breath and there was a noticeable, sticky mess on his abdomen.

It was weird, not to have any idea when the other had come, or how far past it Johnny had pushed him. Not like that was a relevant concern, considering how a regular press of his lips was already pushing Mark.

As he reached for his own, discarded jacket, Johnny had to force his eyes off of the colorful splotches that marred his skin like abstract fingerprints betraying his every touch. He pulled out a pack of tissues and dabbed down the sweat on Mark’s neck and chest before taking care of his stomach. Mark just let it happen as he lay there with his eyes closed, entirely focused on breathing, his bangs plastered to his forehead. After fixing up himself, Johnny grabbed his velour leather jacket next, covering Mark’s upper body. It probably didn’t do much, but the other was still tangled up in his own jeans and seemed to have zero plans on changing that, so priorities had to be set. If Johnny thought he’d been dead weight before, he certainly knew better now. He patted his hip over the fabric.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Before you ruin your pants for good.”

With a hoarse groan, Mark turned, half-flopping onto his side. It didn’t help much, but at least he didn’t protest when Johnny pulled his legs apart to at least remove the worst of it, and he actually pulled his underwear and pants back up by himself, even if he didn’t bother with the zipper or button.

Then, without warning, he sat up so fast that Johnny almost ended up in the sullied tissues himself.

“What-”

Mark grabbed his arm, fingers closing around his wrist. His grip was sturdy, bordering on painful, and while Johnny was still processing the sudden flurry of kicked up emotions and whether or not the other would punch him… Mark let go again. It had happened as fast as a snake’s bite, and vanished like a changed TV channel.

Befuddled, Johnny watched Mark turn his hand around, taking in his palm, and then it clicked. He still didn’t move as Mark took in the faint hues of blue and purple, before falling back down in the grass with a breathy groan. Johnny only re-adjusted his jacket to cover him, before tentatively laying down next to him. Above them, the sky was crowded with clouds, but there were glimpses of azure in between. Now that their breathing was evening out, he could hear the wind rustle through the dry, colorful leaves. To his right, Mark had turned his back to him.

Johnny didn’t feel the need to point out that this entire undertaking had been more or less doomed to fail from the start. That even if this had had any chance of success, Johnny could have just as well found out by pressing a finger onto his tongue to figure out if he could feel the spots. He didn’t have to verbalize any of that because Mark Lee wasn’t an idiot. He had surprised him in many ways already - with his truly  relentless stubbornness, but also his guts and the open, unabashed ways in which he displayed desire. There was so much fascination to be gleamed past his dorky glasses, but one thing Johnny had never even questioned was his intelligence.

So no, on some level, Mark had been aware that this was not going to work, and while he was very clearly gaining pleasure from Johnny’s touch, this had gone so far beyond anything comfortable, he could only admire - or maybe fear - the amount of iron will it must have taken to push himself that far. And all that this crazy stunt had netted him was a crushing defeat, a set of fresh bruises, and tracks of crusty, dried tears that Johnny could see the edges of when he propped himself up on one arm.

Not quite knowing how to ask, he placed a palm onto his side, keeping it over the jacket. Initiating post-sex cuddles might net him ridicule or, at worst, make Mark uncomfortable. But leaving him like this just wasn’t right.

To his surprise, Mark not just tolerated the touch, he lifted the jacket enough for Johnny to fully sling his arm around him, gently pulling him into his chest. There was definitely a minor tremble going through Mark the moment his fingers splayed across bare skin, but whether it was from the cold or their new-found synergy, he didn’t know. Still, Mark didn’t pull away, even intertwining their fingers as he curled in on himself, letting out yet another, shuddery exhale.

“I’m so fucked.”

Despite all that had led up to this point, Johnny had never felt closer to him than in that moment.

He cradled him with a bit more confidence, tucking his head under his chin.

“You don’t know that yet.”

Mark didn’t answer, and Johnny rubbed his clammy skin.

“What we do know, however, is that you’re gonna be down with a horrible cold in approximately two days,” he said casually. “You do know that we could have done this anywhere else, yeah?”

He was met with more silence. Johnny gave his chest a pat.

“But that would have required actually leaving this place, and you’d risk me ratting you out to the authorities. Which was why you chose to try and make me complicit right here on the spot, am I right? And if not complicit, you were banking on me liking the sex enough to keep my mouth shut.”

In his hold, Mark stiffened, but Johnny just chuckled.

“I’m not an idiot, you know?”

“Your grades could have fooled me,” Mark muttered, but his grip on Johnny’s hand was loose and unsure. “Besides, you did go along with it.”

Johnny hummed. He had. And unlike him, Mark wasn’t content to theorize about the gaps by himself.

“Why?” he prodded warily. “Are you gonna pretend this wasn’t about sex now?”

“It wasn’t about sex for you,” Johnny argued. “But if it’s me, it’s implausible?”

“What else would you be gaining from this?” Mark countered, but he sounded tired. “You don’t strike me as the type who’d want to brag about getting rid of me, so what is it? The security of having eliminated a source of danger?”

“You don’t know if they’re dangerous yet,” Johnny argued once again, still calm. “You’ve spent two decades on this earth without them causing any harm. Even now you have to give it your all to tap into them in the first place.”

“You don’t have to try and placate me with empty words,” Mark only said. “Neither of us can say for sure that it’s going to stay this way. Maybe this is just the beginning.”

“Beginnings can lead anywhere. That’s the whole point of them.”

Mark hummed, the sound listless and dull. Somewhere in the distance, a bird was crowing, and a light breeze brushed over the grass, tossing crinkly leaves towards the wall that still held the proof of whatever was pulsing in Mark’s veins. The sight made Johnny’s insides dip. With a deep sigh, Mark ducked his head as if to hide from it, curling further in on himself.

When he spoke up, his voice was merely a whisper.

“I’m scared.”

Johnny tightened his grip as much as he dared.

“Like I said, I’m not going to tell anyone,” he hummed into his hair. “We’ll find a way.”

“You can’t promise that,” Mark retorted, hoarse and fragile. Johnny let out a breathy chuckle.

“You really are a menace,” he said, and it came out a tad too tender even for his own liking, so he was quick to move on. “You’re right, I can’t promise that we’ll find a way. But I can promise to have your back.”

Mark didn’t even try to prod at this statement or question his resolve. Johnny was pretty certain that he was feeling a hot bout of fresh tears against the back of his hand at some point, but he didn’t comment on it.

Frankly, he was rather glad Mark hadn’t demanded an explanation on why he was doing any of this. Because he wouldn’t have a logical answer to that. He was simply drawn to Mark for a myriad of different reasons, and none of them were entirely logical.

Maybe it was about sex, or the weird, enigmatic pull of contradictions painting the picture of Mark Lee. Maybe it was the magic in his veins, calling out to his own, and maybe he was sealing his own fate by giving into it.

Whichever it was, Johnny Suh decided then and there, on a late autumn afternoon, surrounded by colorful dust of forgotten times, that this was exactly where he was meant to be.