“Wait—can men get fat on just their cocks? Is that a thing?”
Seungho’s palm hit the table with a thunderclap. Bowls jumped. Haneul flinched, wide-eyed, a sauce bowl tipping, meat sliding.
Seungho stood, looming.
Haneul leaned back, frowning, stubborn. “What’s your problem?”
“Finish your dinner,” Seungho said, voice deadly.
Haneul scowled, but for once—he obeyed. Kept eating, mouth tight with a grin, eyes dancing with the thrill of chaos, of finding a crack in the king’s armor.
He didn’t stop.
“Wait…” Haneul mumbled, standing on his knees, robe hiked scandalously high over strong thighs. “Is the word “cock”…?” He licked juice from his thumb, braid slipping over his shoulder, eyes sharp and fever-bright. “Is that what made you snap? Cock? Is it that?”
Seungho turned, pacing once, trying to wring the heat from his bones, eyes wild. But Haneul followed, relentless, shoving another slice into his mouth like a child with stolen sweets, voice muffled: “You all pissy ‘cause I tried to castrate you once—in that forest?”
A laugh, sharp and bright.
“And now I say cock and you lose it? Is it because of that?”
The Fire King watched, statue-still. Not calm—bracing.
Haneul leaned across the table, elbows planted, chin propped, eyes wide and hungry.
“…Why aren’t you answering??”
Seungho’s jaw clenched. His hands curled white on the lacquered wood.
Haneul grinned, sensing victory, pushing harder. Because that’s what he did—tested the limits, looking for the moment when the world would finally give way.
Seungho exhaled—slow, ragged. Stepped around the table.
Haneul’s eyes tracked him, sharp, predatory, expectant.
Seungho leaned down, caging Haneul with arms on either side of his knees.
Haneul froze. The air went thick. His grin flickered, wavered—became something like awe, like fear, like delight.
Seungho brought his mouth close—so close that frost and fire mingled in the space between them.
“You want to keep saying the word cock, Sky?” Seungho’s voice was dark with warning, a secret forged in the mouth of a volcano.
Haneul swallowed, lips shiny, cheeks pink.
“Say it one more time.”
A dare. A demand. The kind of line you cross only once.
Haneul blinked, wide-eyed, trembling with suppressed laughter—too close to the flame to turn back, too far gone to fear the burn.
“C-cock.”
A whisper. A prayer. A warning.
And Seungho moved—hand snapping up to cradle Haneul’s jaw, thumb pressing into the soft hinge, palm warm and steady.
Haneul’s eyes widened, lips parted, a tremor running from his spine to his fingertips. The fire king tilted his head, holding Haneul’s gaze, voice molten:
