Seungho exhaled once. Then again. Then—rumbled.
The sound was low. Hungry.
He wrapped one arm around Haneul’s waist, the other under his thighs.
Haneul yelped as his feet left the tile.
“Hey—hey! What the hell—”
But Seungho was already carrying him, bridal-style, out of the bathroom.
“To the bed,” he said, voice husky. “Before I fuck this up on a bathroom counter.”
Haneul squirmed, kicking weakly. “Put me down, skyscraper—what are you—”
“Making good on all the restraint I’ve been bleeding for the last five months,” Seungho growled.
By the time they reached the bedroom, both of them were shaking.
And neither of them planned to stop.
??????
The bedroom door slammed behind them with a force that made the walls flinch.
Haneul landed on the bed with a thud, limbs flung open across the sheets like dropped wildfire—cheeks flushed, eyeliner smudged, legs splayed without grace or fear. His ribcage heaved under his rain-soaked shirt. He looked drenched, not just inweather but in want—knees up, thighs parted from the tumble, collarbones gleaming like porcelain sliced with heat.
Seungho didn’t approach—he descended.
A war god crawling over him on all fours, jaw set, eyes blown wide with something between reverence and possession. His body moved with the inevitability of a tide hitting shore: not asking if it could stay.
“You—” Haneul’s voice cracked, breath sharp, eyes flicking from Seungho’s bare chest peeking under the half-unbottoned shirt, to the thick outline straining in his slacks. “Wait—uh—are we—”
“Yes,” came the low, reverberating growl.
The bed dipped between his knees as Seungho settled between Haneul’s thighs, hands bracing either side of his head like the world might tilt if he let go. His thigh slipped in between Haneul’s legs—solid, hot, firm muscle pressing up against the curve of Haneul’s ass.
“But—wait—I’m a man, you know that.. You… ” Haneul stammered, voice rising as Seungho’s weight settled deeper, spreading him open without removing a single article of clothing.
“I know exactly what you are.”
“I mean—just because I kissed you first doesn’t mean—ah fuck, wait—”
He arched hard when Seungho bit down at the base of his throat, right in the hollow where heartbeat thudded against fragile bone. Not enough to break skin, but enough to make Haneul shiver from scalp to heel.
“I’ve been holding back for months, Sky,” Seungho murmured against that skin, voice thick with strain, every syllable brushinglips against artery. “If this is the moment you want to walk away, say it now.”
The air between them thrummed. Every breath Haneul took rattled inside his ribs like birds against cage bars.
He stared up—lip bruised, pupils blown, legs still spread beneath that immovable weight—and bared his teeth in a snarl of surrender.
“Fuck no,” he spat. “But stop looking at me like I’m a feast if you want me to survive the night—”
Seungho didn’t reply. He devoured him.
The kiss wasn’t soft. It was a claiming—tongue, teeth, breath—one hand fisting the back of Haneul’s braid, the other dragging down his side to yank him up by the waist so their bodies slammed. The hand gripping his waist pulled—grinding their bodies together, all clothes and friction and groans that sounded more like begging than pleasure.
Haneul could feel everything—the heat and size of Seungho’s cock grinding through layers of clothes against his own, the tension in every coiled muscle, the hum of restraint ready to snap.
