Work Text:
Hot water.
It flows over his body, crashes against his head.
Washes away his thoughts.
Washes away his very existence.
Sometimes Cheong Myeong hopes that if he stands under the scorching shower long enough, he'll melt like a block of ice.
"The city shook so much today, I'm sure all the books at home fell out of the bookcase."
Cheong Myeong blinks slowly, blinking away the water that's been pouring into his eyes for some time now, and turns toward the voice, like a poorly oiled robot.
A stranger, just as naked as he, leans against the wall, looking at him with a smile. Cheong Myeong ignores him, finishing his shower.
The next day they meet again.
"They served pickled eggs in the cafeteria today, but don't you think they've gone bad?"
And again.
"After a day of running errands, my legs hurt like I ran a marathon, hahaha!"
And again.
Cheong Myeong turns to him.
"Why are you following me?"
"It just so happens that our work hours end at the same time. Is that so weird?"
"You're talking to me."
"You look lonely, you could use some venting."
"Fuck you."
He leaves, accompanied by warm laughter.
* * *
Cheong Myeong doesn't notice how he begins to relax at the sound of the other's voice, how he sometimes hums thoughtfully in response, how he stops spending an hour simply staring at the wall under nearly boiling water, trying to come to his senses, to break out of battle mode.
He never saw himself as an object of affection. He calmly goes naked during medical examinations, calmly allows himself to be touched and stitched up without thinking too much about it. When he's given chocolate or lunch is made for him, he eats it silently, because who in their right mind would pass up a free home-cooked meal?
But when Tang Bo, as the stranger introduces himself one day, touches his back, offering to help him lather it, something inside warns, like an error message on the screen occupying his entire field of vision inside the mecha, that this is more than just a touch. He refuses, but the touch on his back continues to sting even when he returns to his room, collapsing on the bed.
The last thing Cheong Myeong expects is for Tang Bo to hug him, right there in the shower.
"What are you doing?"
The bottle of shower gel fits in his hand like a weapon, slamming down on the other's head with such force that the lid flies off, splashing the viscous liquid all over him.
"I'm cold just standing next to you!"
"Turn on the water and stand under it."
"That's not what I meant! You've been standing under the icy water for minutes, your lips are turning blue!"
Cheong Myeong blinks, realizing he's right. His body has indeed begun to shiver from the cold. Without thinking, he turns the water back to its usual scalding temperature, but... it's still cold.
"..."
Tang Bo turns off the water completely, still clinging to him, warming him with his body.
"You're not even going to apologize for hitting me?"
"You could have just said the water was cold when it turned cold."
But he doesn't struggle anymore. The human touch has become so alien. So unfamiliar.
"I'm not omnipotent, hyung." Tang Bo places a light kiss on his shoulder, sending shivers down his spine. That feeling, the pop-up error warnings, fills his head again. "I can get distracted too."
Cheong Myeong doesn't move, feeling as if he's caught between the parts of a machine.
When Tang Bo releases him, sighing in disappointment, he stands there, trying to figure out what exactly this man wants. What is he trying to achieve with this behavior? What is Cheong Myeong's intuition warning him about?
"Where do you live?" Tang Bo smiles.
"None of your business."
Tang Bo laughs quietly in his irritating, snake-like voice.
"What do you do in your free time?"
Cheong Myeong doesn't deign to answer, heading for the locker room to get dressed and escape this conversation. Naturally, Tang Bo clings to him like a burdock.
"Would you like me to treat you to some fresh berries? Maybe some wine?"
He stops.
"You're not lying?"
He definitely could use something with alcohol degree higher than zero. Tang Bo squints, coming closer.
"Check it yourself."
That evening, Cheong Myeong follows the annoying stranger to his apartment, rewarded with the precious alcohol he's been deprived of for years.
"So this is what you look like with clothes on."
"Do you like it better without them?"
"I wasn't looking."
Cheong Myeong drinks the offered can of beer, downing it in one gulp. The bottle of wine he'd drunk lies under the sofa, forgotten in its emptiness.
"But I was. Very carefully. And I wouldn't mind touching."
"Dream on."
* * *
Gradually, these visits to Tang Bo become a habit—he shows up at his door whenever he has free time, enough so he can have a drink and sober up afterward.
And he still doesn't comb his hair himself—if that leech wants to untangle his ponytail, he won't stop.
And a massage isn't bad either.
And, really, the other's lap looks so cozy, no one would notice if he dozed off on it.
And Tang Bo is a good cook—passable for someone who looks like he only eats instant noodles.
"Hyung, do you want to go shopping with me today?"
Tang Bo is still standing behind him, smiling so loudly you can hear it in his voice.
"Okay."
His hand touches his back again, holding his hair back so he can lather it up.
"Would you like to spend the night at my place tonight?"
"I'm sleeping on the bed."
"Of course."
Cheong Myeong ignores the familiar warning screaming in his intuition when Tang Bo takes his hand, bringing it to his lips. For the first time since they've known each other, Cheong Myeong fully looks at Tang Bo, noting his rosy cheeks, the visible outline of his ribs, his pale skin, the marks of a hidden holster on his hip.
The other's lips wrap around his finger, drawing it deeper. Warnings blare in his head, but Cheong Myeong doesn't pull away.
And that's enough to bring a smile to the green eyes.
When Cheong Myeong plops down on the other's bed, shamelessly occupying all the space, he doesn't expect this leech to dare to make a move on him—to hover over him, trying to hold his hands, even though it's obvious which of them is stronger.
"Do you yearn for a punch in the face?" Cheong Myeong growls, yanking his hand hard, but freezes, realizing that even with all his effort, he can't shake it off.
Tang Bo is still smiling, slowly descending toward him, until Cheong Myeong finally realizes why his entire system is sparing no resources to scream out danger.
This bastard wanted to kill him.
The other's face continues to approach, no doubt to sever his carotid artery. Cheong Myeong hunches his head, baring his teeth in response, searching for the right moment to kick the other's head.
But the head doesn't descend toward the neck; instead, the neck is in front of Cheong Myeong's face as Tang Bo presses his lips to his forehead.
…
What?
Then the lips touch the eye, breaking his concentration.
Then the cheekbone, the cheek.
Until they press their lips together.
Fuck.
This bastard isn't trying to kill him. He's trying to fuck him!
His body relaxes, realizing there's no danger to his life. If it's such a small thing, then one more blow to the other's head would be enough for this desire to disappear as quickly as it appeared. But still—when does Tang Bo plan to pull away from him?
Something wet touches his lips, and Cheong Myeong unconsciously opens his mouth to avoid the touch. But it goes deeper—touching, caressing, enticing to meet him halfway. Blushing, Cheong Myeong bites down on Tang Bo's tongue with all his might, after which he finally pulls away, looking at him with tears of pain in his eyes.
"You almost bit it off!"
Cheong Myeong tries to calm his breathing.
"What. Are. You. Doing?"
"Trying to kiss you, you idiot!"
"As soon as you let go of my hands, I'll shove those words down your throat. Idiot? Are you tired of living?"
Tang Bo pouts, turning away, but settles on top of Cheong Myeong, entwining their legs.
"When I'm affectionate, you bite; when I berate you, you hit, and what am I supposed to do with you?"
"Leave me alone."
"Are you sure you want this?"
Cheong Myeong blinks.
Yes?
But for some reason, he can't say it out loud.
"I'll be there," the man understands his answer. "Just be gentle with this Tan Bo."
Cheong Myeong snorts, turning away, earning kisses on his neck—without trying to rip out his carotid artery with his teeth. But it's still unnerving. Scary.
"I'm not holding you anymore. Just... don't kill me, okay?"
In one movement, Tang Bo is pinned beneath him, an elbow pinning his throat.
"I'll think about it," Cheong Myeong says condescendingly.
* * *
Surprisingly, it's becoming a sort of routine. Increasingly insistent touches, kisses before bed, hands helping him apply shower gel to his back. He lets it slide, when Tang Bo's hands linger at his waist, squeezing briefly before moving higher. He lets it slide, when the fingers that touch his face as he lies on the other's lap, slide from the tip of his nose to his forehead, across his temples to his cheekbones. He lets it slide, when the thumb, 'discreetly' tucked under his shirt, is touching his navel.
It's not that bad. No, seriously—it doesn't repulse him, it doesn't make him uncomfortable. And he's too tired to think about anything more.
* * *
When Tang Bo grows bold enough to tug the hem of his shirt up, he instantly intercepts his hand.
"We've seen each other naked before. Is this so different?"
"Yes."
He doesn't know how exactly, but it is different. Maybe it's because they're in private now. Maybe it's in the act of undressing itself.
Tang Bo sighs in frustration, but lets go of his shirt.
* * *
While putting on his work clothes early in the morning in the locker room, Cheong Myeong glances in the mirror, assessing his figure. Trying to figure out what it is about this perfectly ordinary body that attracts Tang Bo. Remembering the touch of hands on his back, hair, stomach...
These silly thoughts dissolve like a pill under his tongue as he leaves the room, sitting down in his mecha before the next battle.
* * *
"Hyung, you have cream on your cheek," Tang Bo grumbles.
Cheong Myeong shrugs, licking what he can reach with his tongue and continuing to eat the pastry Tang Bo bought him. He relaxes so much that he doesn't notice the other man's face getting close, his tongue touching his cheek, licking the cream.
Soft. Hot. Wet.
Cheong Myeong turns his head sharply, catching the cream from the other's tongue with his lips before Tang Bo can eat it.
A look. Hot breath.
For the first time, Cheong Myeong kisses first, the first time they kiss without his hands being held down.
They fall to the floor.
The weight on him takes his breath away, but it's pleasant in its own way, comforting. Like the weighted blanket he had as a child.
Tang Bo pulls away, stroking his face with his palm, into which Cheong Myeong clings, his eyes closed.
The palm on his stomach slowly rises, lifting his shirt, but this time he doesn't mind. He even arches, helping to pull the fabric out from under him.
That night, they lie together on the bed.
Cheong Myeong breathes softly into Tang Bo's chest, while Tang Bo whispers something into the back of his head in a smiling, lullaby-like voice.
* * *
It's frightening how much Tang Bo has been occupying his thoughts lately. All the time that he's not busy fighting. Cheong Mun says it's normal, the psychologist says he's still stable, his mecha is still operating as usual, but it's frightening.
He's practically settled in with Tang Bo.
Tang Bo purrs as Cheong Myeong massages his scalp, rubbing in shampoo.
Tang Bo touches his lips with his fingers, tugging at the lower lip with a playful look.
He even seems to smell like Tang Bo—the mechanic, checking the readiness of the machines, casually asks if he's started wearing perfume.
When... when the angelic invasions will end...
Cheong Myeong cuts himself off, gritting his teeth.
Tang Bo kisses his palm as Cheong Myeong reaches out to tuck a strand of bark-colored hair behind his ear.
Tang Bo lets him lick his fingers clean of the seasoning he used on the scrambled eggs.
Tang Bo has a spare set of clothes for him at home.
Tang Bo shows him an abandoned patch of berries an hour's drive outside the city. They spend their weekend picking berries, pecking them from the branches, reveling in the sweet and sour abundance.
Perhaps Cheong Myeong will start looking for a replacement. He's not getting any younger, and the angels keep coming, changing forms.
And when he retires... They might...
Tang Bo whispers that he loves him.
It makes him go limp under the other's hands, letting them do whatever they please.
In another universe, in a world where they don't have to fear the destruction of civilization every day...
They could travel together.
They could get married.
He could bring Tang Bo to Cheong Mun, asking for his blessing.
They could grow old together.
"I love you, hyung," Tang Bo smiles, kissing his temple.
"I love you, hyung," he whispers, taking his collar, refusing to tell him how to open it and put it back on.
"I love you, hyung," he turns in the next seat, separated by a transparent wall that Cheong Myeong couldn't break through, no matter how hard he tried, leaving only bloody streaks from his broken knuckles. "The next time we meet... answer my confession, okay?"
His throat, raw from screaming, rasps, trying to squeeze out the cherished words, to prevent Tang Bo from leaving, to force him to choose another reason, to...
Tang Bo slumps in his chair.
Cheong Myeong continues to stare at the face frozen in a perpetual smile.
'I love you too.'