“Or a liar.” Haneul’s elbow jabbed into his ribs. “You were probably secretly taking dick behind a church bell tower.”
Seungho laughed, grabbed him.
“No! Help!!” Haneul shrieked as he was pulled on top of Seungho, flailing like an angry, naked snow fox. “Heeeelp! The monk has been possessed by a cock demon!!”
They wrestled. Laughed. Gasped for breath. Limbs tangled and mouths pressed to necks, to cheeks, to collarbones. “You started this!” Seungho laughed, wrestling him back down, one hand catching both of Haneul’s wrists above his head with practiced ease. “And I’m not a monk.”
“You lie like one,” Haneul growled, squirming, his voice almost fond through the panting. “All that quiet pining. All that moral nobility. And then—bam—you snap my fucking pelvis in two.”
“Your pelvis is intact.”
“Barely! I’m gonna need a new ass!”
Seungho laughed so hard his shoulders shook.
They collapsed together in a panting heap—Haneul on top now, legs tangled, hair in his face, boneless against Seungho’s chest, heart drumming a little too fast for someone who claimed to hate affection.
He didn’t pull away.
Just laid there, breathless, bare skin against bare chest, and muttered into the hollow of Seungho’s throat:
“You’re lucky I like pain.”
Seungho pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
“You’re lucky I like sass.”
Outside, gulls cried above the glittering sea. Waves rolled in, careless and blue. And between them—tangled, aching, still thrumming with night’s memory—a rare peace unfurled, quiet and shy.
??????
Seungho, back in full armor, looked like a CEO again.
Pressed navy suit. Crisp white shirt. Gold cufflinks glinting. Calm expression that only cracked when Haneul said something outrageous—so, approximately every forty seconds.
Haneul looked… like vacation had been forced upon a reluctant myth.
Loose sun-bleached linen shirt half unbuttoned, oversized sunglasses, sandals and slouchy linen pants that clung to him like sea wind. His hair was damp. His grin feral.
They strolled into the breakfast lounge like sin on two legs.
The breakfast buffet was pristine—fresh flowers, white linen, whispering executives already at their tables, sipping coffee, murmuring about stock shifts and corporate agendas.
Mr. Kang, seated near the window, saw them and bolted.
Haneul smiled sweetly at his retreating figure. “Someone forgot to finish his shrimp toast.”
Seungho ignored the words and tried to look dignified.
Until Haneul slid into the seat beside him, legs sprawling, lips pink from a second round of hotel kisses, and chirped loud enough to echo:
“Ugh, fancy chairs. I feel like I’m going to get pregnant again just sitting near you.”
Three tables froze.
One executive dropped a fork.
Seungho knocked over his coffee.
