The drag of Jongin's brush recalls the drag of his hand down Junmyeon's side, the rough canvas a start contrast to the smooth skin of Junmyeon's waist; he dips his brush into red paint, remembers the way it felt to dip his tongue into Junmyeon's eager mouth, the press of Junmyeon's fingers into his shoulders, how exquisite he looked with his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut as he gasped, "more, Jongin, please."

He looks at Junmyeon now, and beautiful, his eyes fixed on Jongin, and Jongin's heart aches, full of so much love for the man before him; but it will never be more than this, Jongin thinks as his brush moves over the canvas, paint forming the defined lines of Junmyeon's abs; not in this lifetime - he'll only ever be the Prince's secret, called to his room under the cover of darkness.

"It will be morning soon," Junmyeon states, stretching his arm out toward Jongin, "come here," and Jongin obeys, sitting on the edge of the bed, sighing as Junmyeon wraps his arms around his waist, pressing kisses to his side, promising to call for him again tonight, promising that he'll find a way, that one day they'll be together the way they want to be - Jongin knows better than to get his hopes up.