He cut off.
Tongue licked his lips.
A sudden, savage shift of curiosity sparking behind his eyes. Hunger, not for pleasure, but for proof. For ownership.
Then—CHOMP.
His teeth found Seungho’s chest with shocking force, right above the heart, a wolf testing the strength of a rival. The king’s body jerked, heat exploding up his spine, not from pain but from the wild fucking audacity of it. No concubine, no enemy, no lover had ever bitten him in battle or in bed.
Haneul pulled back. Tongue flicked, mouth open, eyes bright, as if tasting new territory.
“Wh-what?” he blinked, innocence incarnate, voice high and pure. “I thought you tasted like the roasted boar—had to confirm.”
He pointed again at the untouched frostburn.
“Didn’t bite the burnt part, see?”
Seungho stared.
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to throttle the boy or worship him.
Andthen—he grabbed. Fast, rough, greedy, arms wrapping around the narrow waist, yanking Haneul fully onto his lap, hauling him close, face buried in that sharp, sweat-slicked neck, growling low, breath hot enough to melt glaciers.
“If you ever bite me like that again without warning,” he threatened, his voice husky, ruined, “I’ll pin you for real.”
A beat, pulse hammering beneath his lips.
“And you’ll like it.”
Haneul squeaked—a startled, delighted little noise—and instead of shying away, he latched on, arms looping around Seungho’s neck, thighs bouncing against his hips, chest to chest, all eagerness and mischief and complete lack of shame.
He wriggled, legs tight around Seungho’s waist, and shrieked with pure, unrestrained glee.
“That was FUN!!!”
Seungho blinked, arms full of boy and laughter and tangled silk, staring into a face so wild and luminous it was like wrestling the aurora. Haneul’s robe completely open, lean, fit chest, ribs sharp under marked skin, braid hanging like a banner of mischief.
“What do I need to do,” Haneul chirped—bouncing in place—“for you to throw me around?!”
Seungho stared, heat coiling in his belly, the hunger violent, unbearable, his cock already painfully hard in his breeches and the brat in his arms not even noticing. He growled—deep, threatening, lost—and stood with Haneul still clinging to him, lifted him bodily, one palm sliding down to grip a thigh, the other curling at the small of his back.
“You really want to be thrown?” he breathed, voice smoke against Haneul’s ear.
The answer came instantly, no thought, no shame—just hunger.
“Less talking and more throwing…”
And that—gods, that grin—deranged, beautiful, divine.
Seungho’s patience shattered. In a flicker of heat, he summoned fire under his feet, andlaunchedHaneul up, spinning him in a controlled arc. The room blurred. Furs scattered. Haneul went airborne, shrieking with joy, and landed hard on the sea of cushions by the ruined table, body sprawled, robe askew, hair a wild river of silver across the bedding.
He gasped—giddy, radiant, invincible.
Seungho was on him in an instant, straddling those narrow hips, pinning wrists with one large hand, the other pressed to Haneul’s heaving chest, lips a hairsbreadth from his wild, open mouth.
“Still think you’re in control?” he growled, voice like thunder.
“You asked for it.”
