Seungho didn’t last long after that.
He shoved in deep, as deep as he could go, wrapped an arm under Haneul’s back, and came with a groan that was more animal than man—flooding him with heat, body trembling, hips stuttering.
And still he held him.
Collapsed on top of him, both of them gasping, stuck together by sweat and come and something that felt dangerously like forever.
The room was dark.
The sea whispered outside.
The only sound inside was breath, slowing. Haneul curled into the crook of Seungho’s arm—limp, marked, opened, but safe.
Seungho pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.
They stayed like that—messy, exhausted, real—until sleep came.
??????
Chapter 41 – Not Made for Beaches
There were birds.
Seagulls, to be exact.
Squawking like demons outside the high hotel windows, winged heralds of some infernal morning choir.
Haneul groaned into the pillow like he’d been resurrected against his will. The sheets were tangled around his waist, legs sprawled, braid clinging to his shoulder like seaweed dragged from the tide. He didn’t open his eyes.
He felt the smug heat of a certain body beside him. Felt the quiet inhale, the faint rustle of the comforter, the way the mattress dipped as a weight shifted closer.
Then a voice—soft, cautious, amused:
“…Are you breathing?”
“Barely,” Haneul croaked, face still smashed into the pillow. “If I die, it’s your fault.”
A pause. Then:
“Did I break you?”
“You and your monster-sized cock…” Haneul lifted his head half an inch, eyes slitted, glaring with the tragic betrayal of someone who had tasted heaven and woken up in hell. “I can’t feel my legs.”
Seungho tried. He really did. But the grin slipped out anyway—molten, dangerous, entirely pleased with himself.
“Want to test that theory again?”
“You need to leave this room,” Haneul hissed. “Go join a monastery. Take a vow. Redeem that weaponized dick of yours. Go become Saint Repression—First of His Name.”
Seungho snorted.
“You’re not exactly a blameless victim, snowdrop. You begged for it.”
“I was delirious from emotional constipation and lack of carbs—!”
Haneul rolled onto his back with a hiss, limbs creaking. “You sure you hadn’t done that before? Because I’ve never met a straight guy who ruts like a demon and whispers poetry while doing it the first time with another dude”
Seungho stretched beside him, gloriously unbothered, arms behind his head. “Maybe I’m a prodigy.”
