The silence that followed Rinwoo's question was deafening. Taekyun's mind raced, scrambling for an explanation that would erase the devastating hurt in Rinwoo's eyes. The truth—Yuna's manipulative visit, her calculated embrace—felt too complicated, too exposing. It would lead to more questions, to a conversation he was utterly unequipped to have.
A lie, smooth and simple, formed on his lips.
"On the way back to my office," he said, his voice deliberately casual, though it felt stiff to his own ears. He gestured vaguely. "I got bumped into by a female employee. It must have been then. Her lipstick… left a stain. I didn't notice." He forced himself to meet Rinwoo's gaze, hoping his face didn't betray the frantic beat of his heart.
Rinwoo stared at him. For a long, agonizing moment, he simply looked. His eyes, usually so easy to read, were uncharacteristically still, as if searching Taekyun's face for the truth hidden behind the words.
Then, slowly, the tension in Rinwoo's shoulders eased. The devastating hurt in his eyes receded, replaced by a quiet, accepting warmth. A soft smile touched his lips a little sad, perhaps, but genuine. He nodded.
"I see," he said softly, his voice accepting the flimsy story without challenge. "It happens."
He didn't press. He didn't question the unlikelihood of the stain being so perfectly placed. He simply turned and sat down in the chair across from Taekyun, picking up his chopsticks as if the earth-shattering moment had never occurred. "Please, eat before it gets cold," he said, his tone gentle, almost soothing.
Taekyun stared at him, his own food forgotten. A strange, uncomfortable feeling twisted in his gut. The lie had worked. Rinwoo had believed him. He should have felt relief.
Instead, he felt a profound sense of shame and a confusing, prickling nervousness. Why did he feel so guilty? Why had he felt the sudden, desperate need to explain himself to Rinwoo? He never had before. Rinwoo's quiet acceptance had always been a given, a backdrop to his life. But now, that acceptance felt like a weight. It felt undeserved.
He looked down at the meal Rinwoo had made for him, the meal he'd tried and failed to heat up himself. He looked at the bandaids on Rinwoo's fingers. And then he looked at the lipstick stain on his own collar—a mark of deception on the fabric, mirroring the one now surely staining his conscience.
He picked up his chopsticks, the food turning to ash in his mouth. For the first time, sitting across from his gentle, forgiving husband, Taekyun felt like the biggest fraud in the world. And he had no idea why it suddenly mattered so much.
The fragile, silent truce at the dining table was violently shattered.
The main door of the estate burst open with a force that echoed through the grand hall. Eunjae stormed in first, a blazing fury contained within a devastating red suit. His footsteps were heavy and fast, clipping against the marble as he made a beeline for the staircase, not sparing a single glance for the dining room or its occupants. The air around him crackled with palpable anger.
Seconds later, Daon followed. His entrance was less explosive but no less tense. His usual stoic composure was frayed, replaced by a clear, worried frustration. His eyes were fixed on Eunjae's retreating back, his mind undoubtedly still racing through a catalog of failed apologies and new strategies to breach the defensive walls he himself had built.
The dramatic entrance was over in a flash. The sound of a bedroom door slamming shut upstairs reverberated through the house like a gunshot, followed by an heavy, echoing silence.
The door to their bedroom had barely clicked shut before the storm broke. Eunjae marched to the center of the room, spinning around to face Daon with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The bold red suit seemed to amplify his fury.
Daon stood frozen just inside the door, looking every bit like a man who had wandered into a battlefield without a weapon. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
"What's wrong?" Daon finally asked, his voice uncharacteristically tentative. "What have I done?"
Eunjae's only response was a sharp, dismissive "Hmph!" He turned his head away, the picture of righteous indignation.
Daon bit his lip, a nervous habit he thought he'd conquered in childhood. He took a hesitant step forward. "What… what should I do to make it up to you?"
A traitorous smile threatened to break through Eunjae's angry facade. The sight of the mighty, stoic Daon Lee looking so lost and asking for instructions was utterly disarming. He bit down hard on his lower lip to stop the smile, forcing his expression to remain stern.
"Why do you care?" Eunjae shot back, his voice laced with a challenge. "Aren't you the cold Vice President? The robotic Mr. Perfect? Why do you suddenly care if I'm mad or not?"
The question hit Daon like a physical blow. He froze. Eunjae was right. This wasn't him. He didn't coddle people. He didn't fret over moods. He gave orders and expected them to be followed. So why did the sight of Eunjae's pout make his chest feel tight? Why did the silent treatment make him feel so… anxious? He stood there, completely bewildered by his own reactions, looking like a lost puppy who had forgotten his way home.
Eunjae watched the internal struggle play out on Daon's face the confusion, the frustration, the genuine, uncalculated vulnerability. His own anger began to evaporate, replaced by a surge of something else entirely: power, affection, and a deep, irresistible attraction.
He couldn't help the smirk that finally broke free. All the fight drained out of him. This was better than any apology.
With a slow, deliberate stride, he closed the distance between them. He didn't say a word. He simply reached up, wrapped his arms around Daon's neck, and pulled him down into a deep, searing kiss.
Daon's eyes widened in shock, his body stiffening for a fraction of a second. But the resistance was gone, melted away by the warmth of Eunjae's mouth and the feel of his body pressed close. A low groan escaped him as he surrendered completely. His hands came up to grip Eunjae's thin waist through the fine fabric of the suit, pulling him flush against him, answering the kiss with a hunger that surprised them both. The argument was forgotten, every unanswered question lost in the language of a much more effective apology.
Daon broke the kiss, breathing heavily. His hands remained on Eunjae's waist, anchoring himself. The floodgates had opened, and the words, clumsy and earnest, finally tumbled out.
"You…" he started, his voice rough. "You looked… so hot today." The admission was blunt, inelegant, and it made his ears burn. He struggled, trying to articulate the whirlwind inside him. "I felt… weird. Seeing you in that suit. I couldn't… I couldn't think straight."
He was failing miserably. He was a man who commanded boardrooms, yet he was rendered inarticulate by a red suit and a pout.
Eunjae watched him, a slow, delighted chuckle escaping his lips. The frustration was gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated triumph. This was better than any polished compliment.
He stepped back, letting Daon's hands fall from his waist. With a look of pure, seductive challenge, he walked backward until his legs hit the edge of the bed. He sat down, then leaned back on his arms, making the red jacket fall open even more, revealing the smooth, tempting lines of his torso.
His eyes locked with Daon's, dark and promising.
"Oh?" Eunjae purred, his voice a low, inviting tremor. "You couldn't think straight? That's a shame." He let his gaze travel slowly, appreciatively, over Daon's stunned form. "So, Mr. Vice President… now that you have me here… show me. What else did you want to do when you saw me?"
It was a command. An invitation. A challenge to finally act on all the desperate, hungry looks he'd been giving him all night. The ball was squarely in Daon's court, and Eunjae was waiting, a beautiful, smirking prize ready to be claimed.
A low, possessive growl rumbled in Daon's chest, a sound Eunjae had never heard before. It wasn't one of anger, but of pure, unbridled want. He watched, mesmerized, as Daon advanced, his fingers working to loosen the constricting knot of his tie, his eyes dark with an intensity that made Eunjae's breath catch.
Eunjae looked up at him through his lashes, putting on his most innocent, wide-eyed expression, a silent plea for Daon to take control. He bit his lip, his body thrumming with anticipation. He expected to be pushed back onto the mattress, to feel the weight of Daon pinning him down, a familiar script from past encounters.
But Daon shattered every expectation.
Instead of moving over him, Daon sank to his knees on the floor before him. The mighty, proud Daon Lee, on his knees. Eunjae's breath hitched, a shocked gasp escaping him. He could only stare, utterly captivated, as Daon's capable hands, usually reserved for signing documents or steering a car, gently took hold of his ankle. With deliberate, almost reverent slowness, Daon began to remove Eunjae's designer shoes, one after the other, setting them aside neatly.
Once the task was done, Daon didn't move. He stayed on his knees, looking up at Eunjae. His gaze was still sharp, still filled with that fierce intensity, but it was now layered with a profound, questioning respect.
"May I?" Daon asked, his voice a husky whisper that vibrated through the space between them. He was asking for permission. He was yielding control to Eunjae.
The gesture was so unexpected, so utterly devastating in its humility, that Eunjae felt a blush scorch across his entire body. He brought his hand to his mouth, biting down on his knuckle to stifle a overwhelmed sound before managing a jerky, eager nod.
Permission granted, Daon leaned forward. But he didn't push Eunjae down. He leaned in and captured his lips in a searing kiss that was both possessive and worshipful. And then he began to undress him, not with frantic haste, but with a painstaking, torturous slowness that felt like a form of devotion.
Each button of the red jacket was undone with deliberate care. Each inch of skin revealed was met not with a grab, but with the soft press of Daon's lips a kiss on the jut of a collarbone, a whisper against the smooth plane of his stomach. It was an exploration. A claiming. It was Daon, the man of action, speaking a language far more eloquent than words ever could be, telling Eunjae without a single syllable just how much he truly admired him.
Eunjae's back finally met the softness of the mattress, a small, breathy sigh escaping him as Daon's weight settled over him, not crushing, but enveloping. The world had narrowed to this room, to the feel of Daon's hands and mouth mapping his body with a reverence that was unraveling him completely. He felt Daon's strong hands gently shift him further up the bed, a considerate adjustment to make sure he was comfortable.
Then, a pillow was carefully slid beneath his head. The gesture was so unexpectedly tender, so far from the rough urgency he was used to, that it made Eunjae's heart ache. Daon pulled back slightly, his dark eyes raking over Eunjae's now bare chest. His gaze caught on Eunjae's nipples, peaked and flushed a delicate pink. A low, almost awed murmur escaped Daon's lips, more to himself than to Eunjae. "How can a man have such a pretty body?" The raw, unguarded admiration in the words sent a fresh wave of heat through Eunjae. This gentleness, this slowness, was a sweet, exquisite torture.
He was used to being taken, but this... this was being worshipped. Daon's thumb, calloused and warm, brushed over one taut nipple, a slow, circling caress that made Eunjae jolt as if electrified. A sharp gasp was torn from his throat. He bit his lip, trying to stifle the sound, his eyes squeezing shut against the overwhelming sensation. Then Daon leaned down, and the wet, hot swipe of his tongue replaced his thumb. "Ah! Daon...!" Eunjae's back arched off the bed, a broken moan escaping his tightly pressed lips.
His hands flew up, tangling in Daon's hair, not to push him away, but to hold him there. "D-Don't play like that..." he pleaded, his voice a shaky, breathless whisper, every word a lie. Because deep down, buried under the shock and the overwhelming sensation, was a desperate, screaming need for him to never, ever stop. This careful, attentive unraveling was awakening something in him he didn't know existed, and it was already too late to turn back. He was completely, utterly at the mercy of Daon's unexpected and devastating tenderness.
Daon was utterly captivated, a scientist discovering a new, reactive element. The soft gasp that escaped Eunjae when he'd bitten down on his nipple, the way his back arched off the bed, the desperate, tight grip in his hair-it was a symphony of response that made Daon's own desire burn white-hot. He wanted to hear every note. His sharp, curious gaze drifted lower, landing on the soft, delicate dip of Eunjae's navel. It was an innocent spot, but on Eunjae, everything felt charged. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head and swiped his tongue across it. The reaction was instantaneous and electric.
Eunjae's entire body jolted as if shocked. A sharp, surprised cry was torn from his throat, his eyes flying wide open. He'd never, ever considered that spot to be erogenous. But under Daon's exploring tongue, it was a live wire, sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. It was too much and not enough all at once. He was unraveling, and Daon was patiently pulling the thread. "Daon..." Eunjae gasped, his voice a wrecked, pleading thing. He couldn't take the torturous, slow exploration anymore. The teasing was driving him insane.
In a move of pure surrender and demand, Eunjae let his legs fall open, a clear, unmistakable invitation. He was putting himself on display, his body language screaming what his voice couldn't: Stop playing and take me already.
The sight was Daon's undoing. The blatant need, the raw vulnerability combined with that bratty, demanding edge-it shattered the last of his control. The curious explorer was gone, replaced by a man consumed by a singular, primal goal.
Daon's exploration was far from over; it was only deepening. His hands, strong and sure, slid under Eunjae's hips, lifting them with an effortless grace that left Eunjae feeling both exposed and utterly cherished. The air grew thick, charged with a raw intimacy that made Eunjae's skin prickle. Then Daon stilled. His intense gaze focused, not with lust, but with a reverent awe, as if he had discovered something infinitely precious. The way he looked-so utterly captivated-sent a wave of scorching embarrassment through Eunjae. This was too much. This vulnerable, worshipful attention was overwhelming
"Yah... stop..." Eunjae pleaded, his voice muffled as he desperately grabbed a pillow and shoved it over his own face, hiding from Daon's penetrating stare. "Don't look like that... just... stop already." But Daon was on a mission. The pillow was a flimsy barrier. He gently but firmly pulled it away from Eunjae's grasp, tossing it aside without breaking eye contact. His expression was one of single-minded focus, completely undeterred by Eunjae's flustered protests. Eunjae's eyes widened in a mixture of shock and anticipation. "Daon, wait -!"
His plea was cut off as Daon leaned down. The touch wasn't rough or demanding. It was a slow, deliberate, and incredibly intimate lick that made Eunjae's entire body jolt as if electrified. A broken, gasped "Ah!" escaped him, all previous attempts at protest vanishing. His face flushed a deep, mortified crimson. "S-Stop... please..." he begged, his voice now a shaky whisper, but his hands were fisting the sheets, his back arching slightly off the bed, betraying his true desires.
Daon wasn't listening to the words. He was responding to the body, to the unspoken language of Eunjae's reactions. He continued his slow, teasing exploration each touch a deliberate act of worship designed to unravel Eunjae completely, to show him that every single part of him was worthy of admiration. The cold Vice President was gone, replaced by a man utterly consumed by the need to map and cherish every inch of the husband he was only just beginning to truly see.
Eunjae's mind, which had been briefly trying to analyze Daon's intense silence, short-circuited completely. A sharp, breathy cry was torn from his throat as Daon's finger breached him, a slick, confident intrusion that stole all coherent thought. His head fell back against the bedsheets, his eyes squeezing shut as a wave of pleasure-pain shuddered through him.
Daon didn't speak. He watched. His sharp, focused gaze tracked every minute change in Eunjae's expression -the flutter of his eyelids, the part of his lips, the way his brow furrowed in sensation. The silence was profound, broken only by Eunjae's ragged breathing and the soft wet sounds filling the room. Then, Daon's voice cut through the haze, low and rough with a possessiveness that made Eunjae's toes curl. "You look so pretty like this." The words, so blunt and utterly unexpected from Daon, sent another jolt through Eunjae. His eyes flew open, meeting Daon's dark, hungry gaze. Seeing the raw effect he was having-the way Eunjae was coming undone just from his words and his fingers-seemed to shatter the last of Daon's control.
A low groan escaped Daon as he carefully, insistently, pressed a second finger inside. Eunjae's back arched off the bed, a broken moan escaping him. The stretch was exquisite, overwhelming. He squirmed under Daon's relentless, practiced touch, his hips bucking involuntarily, trying to take more, to ease the delicious friction. "D-Daon..." he whimpered, his hands fisting the sheets, completely at the mercy of the man who was meticulously unraveling him, one silent, searing touch at a time. The focused intensity wasn't off-putting anymore; it was the most erotic thing Eunjae had ever experienced.
Daon was studying him, learning him, and worshiping him all at once, and it was driving Eunjae out of his mind.
Eunjae's world had narrowed to sensation. His eyes were squeezed shut, his fingers twisting desperately in the sheets as a pleasure so intense it was almost painful coiled deep within him. His head felt foggy, heavy, floating. "Yes... it feels so good..." he managed to gasp out, his voice a broken thing.
Then, his eyes flew open. A sharp, electrifying jolt shot through him, straight to his core, as he felt the precise, deliberate press of Daon's finger against his prostate. A ragged gasp was torn from his throat, his back arching off the bed. But before he could even process the overwhelming sensation, it was gone. Daon withdrew his finger's leaving Eunjae panting and trembling on the sheets, achingly empty.
The sudden absence was a torture all its own. He didn't want to relax; he wanted more. He needed Daon deeper, filling the void that was making him feel hollow and desperate. He looked up, his vision blurry with need, and saw Daon just... staring. His gaze was fixed on Eunjae's body, but it wasn't with raw lust. It was with something else-a kind of awe, a deep admiration, as if he were memorizing every detail.
A flicker of confusion cut through Eunjae's haze. This isn't right, he thought, his mind struggling to compute. How can a person like him be so... slow? So gentle? This wasn't the frantic, dominating pace he was used to past.
This was something entirely different, something that was unraveling him in a way he didn't understand. Frustration and need warred within him. Biting his lip, he made a decision. He reached down, hooking his hands behind his knees, and pulled his legs open wider in a silent, blatant act of begging. Please. Fill me. The sight seemed to jolt Daon from his reverie. His sleepy, admiring gaze sharpened, focusing on Eunjae's
vulnerable, pleading form. He gave a slow, single nod, as if answering a question only he had heard. Then he did something that made Eunjae's embarrassment war with a strange, fluttering feeling in his chest. He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead. The gesture was so tender, so out of place in the heat of the moment, it stole Eunjae's breath.
Daon continued his gentle assault, kissing his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, his flushed cheeks, before finally capturing his lips in a deep, soul-searing kiss. Eunjae was so lost in the unexpected tenderness that he barely registered the initial pressure. But then he felt it. The slow, inexorable stretch as Daon, his eyes locked on Eunjae's, began to enter him. There was no sharp pain, no brutal thrust. Just a gradual, filling pressure that stretched him perfectly, a burning pleasure that made him moan aloud, his head falling back against the pillows.
His eyes were wide with shock. There was no pain. Despite Daon's significant size, there was only a deep, overwhelming fullness, a pleasure so profound it bordered on unbearable. Daon's agonizing slowness, his worshipful attention, had prepared his body completely. This wasn't just sex. It was something Eunjae had never experienced before, and it was utterly terrifying and magnificent all at once.
Eunjae's head fell back against the sheets, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat as Daon slowly, inexorably, pushed deeper. The stretch was intense, overwhelming, and his teeth sank into his lower lip, a habit of biting down on sensation. Daon noticed instantly. He stilled his movements, leaning down to capture Eunjae's mouth in a deep, consuming kiss. "Don't," he murmured against his lips, his voice a rough command softened by concern. "Don't bite. Let me hear you."
He began to move again, a slow, deliberate glide that made Eunjae feel every single inch. It wasn't a frantic race to finish; it was a methodical, devastating exploration. Electric shocks radiated from Eunjae's core, making his entire body flinch and tremble with each measured thrust.
"Daon... please," Eunjae begged, his voice already wrecked, his fingers scrambling for purchase on Daon's back. "Faster. Don't... don't make me beg." But Daon was relentless in his control. His pace remained steady, his focus entirely on Eunjae's reactions, ensuring the stretch was bearable, transforming it into a building, torturous pleasure. He watched the expressions flit across Eunjae's face-the pain, the frustration, the dawning, desperate need.
A broken cry was ripped from Eunjae's throat, his back arching off the bed, offering himself completely. "Please!" It was the raw need in that cry that finally broke Daon's control. His thrusts lost their measured pace, becoming harder, deeper. And then he angled his hips, and on the next thrust, he hit Eunjae's prostate dead-on. Eunjae's eyes rolled back into his head, a white-hot bolt of pleasure searing through him. A strangled, guttural moan was punched from his lungs.
"There?" Daon growled, his own breath coming in ragged gasps, his composure finally, gloriously shattered. "Is that what you wanted?" He didn't wait for an answer. He set a new, punishing rhythm, each thrust aimed perfectly, hammering into that exquisite spot until Eunjae was nothing but a writhing, pleading mess beneath him, his world narrowed to the friction, the heat, and the man who was ruthlessly, beautifully ruining him.
In Rinwoo's room, Rinwoo lay in the dark. The fleeting happiness from sharing a meal with Taekyun was a small, warm ember, but it was rapidly being smothered by the cold dread of Yuna's note and the vivid image of that lipstick stain. A dull throbbing had started behind his eyes, and a strange, feverish heat was spreading through his body. He curled into a tight ball under the covers, trying to will the pain and the thoughts away.
Tap. Tap-tap.
The sound was faint at first, barely registering over the buzz in his head. It came again, sharper this time the distinct sound of small pebbles hitting the glass doors of his balcony.
Confused and weak, Rinwoo dragged himself out of bed, his body feeling heavy and uncoordinated. He shuffled to the balcony door and pulled it open, squinting into the night.
He froze.
Standing in the shadows below, looking up at him with a sheepish, guilty grin, was Taemin.
Panic instantly cut through Rinwoo's feverish haze. What is he doing out? He's supposed to be grounded! If Taekyun finds out…
Without a second thought, Rinwoo hurried out of his room and down the grand staircase, his steps unsteady. He unlocked the main door and pulled it open.
Taemin slipped inside like a ghost, his grin widening. "Rinwoo hyung! You saved me!"
Rinwoo sighed, quickly closing the door and peering into the darkness to ensure no one had seen. "Taemin-ah, what are you thinking? You can't just sneak out! Especially not now!"
He hurried a still-grinning Taemin up the stairs and into his own room, far from Taekyun's hearing. Once the door was shut, Rinwoo leaned against it, his energy spent. "Where have you been?" he asked, his voice a mixture of concern and exhaustion.
Taemin didn't answer with words. He just threw himself at Rinwoo, wrapping him in a tight, happy hug. "I'm just so happy!" he mumbled into Rinwoo's shoulder.
Rinwoo couldn't help but chuckle weakly at his infectious, childish energy. "Why? What happened?"
"I went to see Juwon!" Taemin declared, pulling back, his eyes sparkling. "It always makes me so, so happy when I'm with him." He then flopped backward onto Rinwoo's bed, spreading his arms wide. "But he wants to go on a proper date. And my cards are all blocked! What should I do, hyung?"
Rinwoo sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the dramatic youngest Lee. He thought for a moment. "Why don't you… apologize to Taekyun hyung? Properly this time. Promise him you'll work harder and that you won't run away again. Maybe he'll forgive you and unblock them."
The mere thought made Taemin shiver. Apologizing to Daon was one thing; facing the icy, imposing judgment of Taekyun was another entirely. He rolled onto his side, looking up at Rinwoo with his most potent weapon: a full-blown, devastating pout.
"Hyung," he pleaded, his voice dripping with manufactured despair. "Please. You talk to him for me. Please? I'll owe you forever!"
Rinwoo looked at the pleading face, then thought of Taekyun's stern expression. The idea of intervening made his own head ache worse. But the hope in Taemin's eyes was hard to refuse. He was caught, as always, between the brothers, trying to keep the peace.
Rinwoo hesitated, the weight of the request settling on his already weary shoulders. Talking to Taekyun about anything was a daunting task; pleading Taemin's case felt like scaling a mountain.
Seeing his reluctance, Taemin unleashed his ultimate weapon. He leaned forward, his eyes widening into pools of pure, unadulterated innocence. His bottom lip jutted out in a perfect, trembling pout. "Please, hyung? For me?" he whispered, his voice soft and pleading. "You're the only one who can."
The display was so theatrically earnest that Rinwoo couldn't help but let out a soft, weary chuckle. The kid was impossible to refuse. He sighed, the sound full of fond exasperation. "Alright, alright. I'll… I'll try. But I'm not sure he'll listen to me."
Taemin's face instantly transformed, the fake sadness replaced by a brilliant, triumphant grin. "Yes! Thank you, hyung! You're the best!" In a burst of impulsive gratitude, he lunged forward and planted a quick, smacking kiss on Rinwoo's cheek before bouncing off the bed. "I'll be in my room! Good luck!"
And with that, he was gone, leaving Rinwoo sitting alone, slightly stunned by the sudden affection. He shook his head, a small, genuine smile touching his lips despite everything. Taemin was a hurricane, but he was their hurricane.
The smile faded as the reality of his promise set in. How exactly was he supposed to approach Taekyun? 'Your brother who stole a car and sneaked out wants his allowance back so he can go on a date with the son of your business rival'? He sighed again, rubbing his temples where the headache was intensifying into a pounding throb. He was so lost in thought, mentally drafting and rejecting opening lines, that he didn't feel the warm, wet trickle at first.
He only noticed when a single, perfect crimson drop fell onto the back of his hand, stark against his pale skin.
Rinwoo stared at it, his mind slow to process. He blinked, his vision slightly blurry. Then another drop fell.
Slowly, he raised his other hand, his fingers coming away from his upper lip wet and stained red.
A nosebleed.
He looked from his bloody fingers to the drop on his hand, the feverish heat in his body suddenly making terrifying sense. It wasn't just stress or heartache. It was the curse. It was reacting to the lies, the hidden pain, the fractured bonds. And it was starting to bleed him for it. The small ember of hope from dinner was extinguished, replaced by the cold, metallic scent of blood.
The air in Daon's bedroom was thick and heavy, saturated with the musky, sweet scent of sex. Clothes were strewn across the floor, the bold red suit tangled with Daon's discarded dress shirt. Eunjae lay on his back, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His body was a glorious, trembling mess, glistening with a sheen of sweat. He'd lost count of the intense, overwhelming peaks Daon had wrung from him, his release a mix of things he was too spent to separate. Every muscle ached pleasurably.
The crushing, wonderful weight of Daon was still on top of him, still buried deep inside him. Eunjae's breathing began to even out, a contented drowsiness pulling at him. "Hey," Eunjae mumbled, his voice hoarse. He gave Daon's shoulder a weak shake. "Get up, you oaf. You're so heavy. Let me breathe." There was no response. No grunt, no movement. Just the deep, even rhythm of Daon's breathing against his neck. Eunjae shook him again, harder this time. "Daon?"
Realization dawned. The man had fallen asleep. Still inside him. Eunjae's eyes flew open. With a grunt of pure disbelief and an aching protest from his back, he shoved at Daon's dead weight. "What the fuck, Daon?" he groaned, his voice a mix of exasperation and awe. "How could you just pass out like that, you idiot?" Daon didn't stir. He just slumped to the side slightly, his face, in sleep, looking younger and utterly peaceful, devoid of all its usual sternness.
Eunjae raised a hand, fully intending to smack him awake. But he stopped, his hand hovering in the air. He looked at that innocent, sleeping face, the face of the man who had just worshipped every inch of his body with a shocking, unprecedented tenderness. The fight drained out of him. A long, deep sigh escaped his lips, this one filled with a fond, exhausted resignation. "Unbelievable," he muttered to himself.
Instead of pushing him away further, Eunjae turned onto his side, his back pressing against Daon's chest. He wriggled back slightly, settling into the curve of Daon's body, pulling the man's heavy arm over his waist. The weight, which had been suffocating moments before, now felt strangely anchoring. Secure. With a final, soft shake of his head, Eunjae closed his eyes, letting Daon's deep, sleeping breaths lull him into his own much-needed rest. The mighty Vice President had conquered and then promptly passed out, and Eunjae, for reasons he didn't quite understand, found he didn't mind at all.