“Is that face paint?”

Siwon raises an eyebrow sceptically at the unexpected sight. Three paces away and nearing, Kyuhyun turns to look him fully in the eye, pearly white skin and rich dark eyes and all-too-pronounced lips that curve into a smirk.

“I know. It’s cool, right?”

Stifling the verbalisation of his misgivings, Siwon settles for the more neutral: “It’s… certainly unique.”

“Nowhere as ‘unique’ as yours,” Kyuhyun points out with a snicker, the coarse ends of the blonde wig that Siwon has quickly learned to hate in the thankfully short duration of his photo shoot.

“Hey, I totally had no say in this whole project. When I opened my eyes, I already looked like this.”

Kyuhyun’s reply is stalled by the art director’s calling his name. He releases the pale golden strands, tips of his fingers brushing against the side of Siwon’s jaw, and holds his gaze for a second.

“Watch me.”

I always do, Siwon would have blurted, except the words die unsaid like many of their predecessors as Kyuhyun walks past him, into the glare of the studio lights. The midnight black of his background has been removed in favour of a soft beige shade, and Siwon begins to see how it might work, his lover’s colouring blending seamlessly into the picture. Settling into an empty chair in a corner, he resigns himself to wait as his stylist begins to remove his wig and ornaments.

Then Kyuhyun takes his place before the camera, squares his shoulders, tilts his head backward—and there, amidst the quiet hum of subdued conversations, the whir-and-click’s of the camera, the shouted instructions from the photographer and the faint, stirring notes of one of their songs from somewhere outside, Siwon falls in love all over again.

Kyuhyun is juxtaposed perfection, the seemingly careless dashes of paint starkly different from the rest of him. The simple play of contrasts is stunning, from his artfully tousled hair to the slight gap between his lips, his chiselled nose, his defined jaw, and the length of his white, flawless neck exposed so beautifully it nearly hurts when it disappears into the folds and creases of his clothes. Siwon does not, cannot stop staring until he finally has Kyuhyun pinned against the door of the changing room, fifteen minutes later.

“So that’s why you told me not to leave marks,” he murmurs against that soft, soft skin he longs to lay claim on in the shape of little, unmistakable love bites. (Unfortunately, the majority of Kyuhyun’s wardrobe is his bitterest enemy at this battlefront.)

Kyuhyun laughs, the sound low and rich in the base of his throat. “Blame the concept. I’m supposed to be y, free, and single, remember?”

“You can be the first two, but not the last one, no,” Siwon states, before moving to capture his lover’s lips. Kyuhyun’s smile fits like a frame against his, and there is a hint of urgency in the way he slips his tongue into Siwon’s mouth, boldly, impatiently, like he owns the place, that tickles a victorious grin from the depth of Siwon’s chest. He does not surrender to it; instead, his tongue rises to the challenge, sliding alongside his lover’s and demolishing spaces between them, as his fingers walk a meandering path, smearing and spoiling the paint on Kyuhyun’s cheeks that feels rough under his tips.

Then there is that sound—that quietly desperate yet unmistakably wanton trace of a moan that stirs the birth of its twin in Siwon’s own throat. It is a marriage of sounds, with both of them so closely entwined, and Siwon deepens the kiss until his head spins and peripherals blur and there are only the two of them, together, kissing and madly in love.

He knows they are slipping. He can hear it in the soft, breathy sounds that Kyuhyun makes. He can feel it in his own heartbeat, in the way his restless hands descend and delve beneath the folds of Kyuhyun’s clothes; the warmth seeps, skin on skin, and it nearly drives him mad with lust. Despite his almost incessant practice, to maintain a semblance of control over his desire seems impossible now—and neither does he want to.

He has always liked the feeling of falling.

It is the sudden burst of distant laugh that breaks the spell. Siwon wrenches himself away, gasping, panting against the near-physical pain of denial. The force of it slams into his chest and nearly sends him reeling. He blinks the mist away from his eyes, waiting for the door to open and announce the arrival of their friends.

The moment never comes. No footstep approaches, and Siwon meets Kyuhyun’s gaze, across the few paces he has put between them. His lover's eyes are too bright and perhaps they are neither tears nor some wordless proofs of hate-hate-hate-for-what-Cho-Kyuhyun-and-Choi-Siwon-are-and-what-they-cannot-be, but it is the sight of them that brings him back into the circle of those arms. Proximity is a forbidden fruit from which he takes small, surreptitious bites; he rests his forehead against the wall next to Kyuhyun’s left ear, hands clawing at the hard, unyielding surface, for they cannot risk more than this in so public a place. And that is how time passes, with them standing there, eyes closed, bodies pressed, just breathing quietly against each other.

And the world is suddenly, absurdly perfect.

Siwon smiles despite himself. It is moments like this that reminds him what to be in love really means. It does not make sense, but then again, what he feels for Kyuhyun often does not either.

“When are we going to be done for the day?” he asks after what feels like a too fleeting eternity.

“I don’t know,” Kyuhyun’s answer reverberates, muffled against Siwon’s shoulder, both arms still curled loosely around his waist.

“I want you.”

It earns him a chuckle and a second smile, brushed against his collarbone. “That, I do know.”

“But we cannot have the real thing now, can we?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Siwon pushes himself back, looking into his lover’s eyes. “So now I’m going to kiss you again.”

Kyuhyun’s lips slowly quirk upward and Siwon catches them once more, caught in the beauty of that motion. Yet the barest brush is all it takes to have the world knocking at their door again—this time in the shape of real knocks on the actual door. Then Leeteuk’s carefully neutral voice wafts into the room.

“Kyuhyun, are you in there?”

For the second time, Siwon immediately withdraws, swallowing an urge to curse out loud. He reads the same frustration in the way Kyuhyun squeezes his eyes shut, lips pressed together into a thin line, fingers curled tightly at the front of Siwon’s shirt. “Yes,” the younger man finally answers, his voice surprisingly steady. “Sorry, but can you wait for a moment? I’ll be there in a minute.”

Leeteuk murmurs his acknowledgment and departs. Siwon listens to the sound of his receding footsteps and then, when it is safe enough, chances a hesitant question.

“So, I’ll see you later tonight?”

Something wild and reckless flickers in Kyuhyun’s eyes and his hand suddenly moves, gripping the hair at the back of Siwon’s head. “Get that ridiculous wig from your stylist,” Kyuhyun tells him in a low voice, eyes veiled by countless dark promises. “And the headpiece too. I want to see you wearing them when you’re ing me tonight.”

Siwon stares, swallows, and then laughs. “Whatever you want, babe,” he whispers, a thrill chasing up his spine.


End