The press conference for Kiss of Desire was held in a downtown hotel ballroom.
The hall was bright, stage lights pouring down on a long table where nameplates of the cast had been neatly arranged. Reporters filled the seats below, flashes sparking in rapid bursts, the whole place buzzing with heat, curiosity, and expectation.
Noah's pulse almost leapt out of his chest as he stepped into the room. His nameplate was there, right beside Asher's. Only then did it sink in: he was about to sit shoulder to shoulder with the man who had always existed for him only on screens and in dreams—now his co-lead.
Suppressing the tightness in his chest, he took his seat. Asher was already there, dressed in a deep charcoal suit, his face composed, unreadable. Even in silence, he radiated a presence that seemed to command the entire room.
"Let's hear a greeting from our two leads," the host announced.
Asher picked up the microphone first. His voice was calm, clipped:
"Happy to be part of this project. I hope we create something worthwhile together."
Applause rippled through the hall. That was the poise of an emperor of the screen.
Then it was Noah's turn. His palms were damp, his smile a little tight.
"Hello, I'm Noah. This is my first drama, so I hope I can learn from everyone and not cause too much trouble for the crew."
His voice carried a trace of nervousness, but it was clean, clear. Reporters pounced immediately—flashes went off like a storm.
A hand shot up. "Noah, with almost no acting experience, how did you land a co-lead role right away? Was this because of Mr. Asher's recommendation?"
The air shifted. Eyes turned toward him, sharp and probing.
Noah froze, but before he could open his mouth, the man beside him lifted the mic.
"The casting was the director and writer's decision," Asher said coolly, gaze sweeping the room like a weight. "Noah's aura fits the role. As for his acting, you'll see on set. Don't be impatient."
The hall went silent. No one had expected Asher to step in so bluntly for a newcomer.
The reporter regrouped quickly: "So Mr. Asher, you mean you have confidence in your partner?"
Asher let out a low laugh, not denying it.
"I trust the director's judgment."
His tone was still detached, yet the implication was enough. Another flurry of camera flashes. Pens scratched furiously across notebooks.
Sitting beside him, Noah's chest felt faintly warm. He knew Asher's voice was as cold as ever, but the way he had shielded him in front of the press made Noah, for the first time, feel less invisible under the harsh glare of the public eye.
The conference went on. The director spoke. The screenwriter, Sarah—with her striking red hair and glasses—took the stage and said with a smile, "Casting was carefully considered. Personally, I think Noah is naturally close to the character. That's why the decision was made."
When she spoke his name, Noah glanced up instinctively—straight into her gaze. Clear, assessing, almost like confirmation.
Finally came the group photo. Reporters shouted, "Asher, over here! Noah, closer!"
Amid the chaos, Noah felt a subtle nudge at his shoulder. Asher's hand, fleeting but firm, urging him forward. In that blinding storm of flashes, Noah felt shoved into a spotlight he couldn't escape.
---
Afterward, backstage was a swirl of movement. Crew packing up, actors chatting in small clusters. Noah was about to slip out quietly when a voice cut through the noise.
"Come with me."
He turned. Asher was standing a few feet away, face unreadable, tone leaving no space for refusal.
Noah's heart lurched. He wanted to protest, but the moment he met that dark, steady gaze, the words lodged in his throat. All he could do was nod, silently trailing behind.
The car ride was short. Soon they pulled up before a high-rise apartment. Noah's stomach dropped when he recognized it.
Asher's place. He had been here before—just two nights ago. On that bed, pressed down until his voice broke, until sweat soaked the sheets. The memory alone made his face burn.
"What… what are we doing here?" His voice trembled.
Asher arched a brow, a hint of a smile curling beneath the chill. "You know very well."
The door closed, and the air seemed to ignite.
Asher tossed his jacket aside and in the next breath pinned Noah to the wall, mouth crashing down on his.
Heat. Tongue against tongue, breath colliding, every movement demanding surrender. Noah's wrists were caught, slammed against the wall, helpless.
The kiss deepened, relentless. His body softened, breath catching in desperate gasps.
Then—suddenly—Asher scooped him up, throwing him down onto the sofa.
Noah landed with a soft thud, a startled cry escaping. Before he could draw breath, Asher's weight pressed over him, caging him in.
The narrow sofa was a trap, forcing his legs open, leaving him nowhere to hide.
"Asher… don't—" His voice shook, hands pushing weakly, instantly overpowered.
The reply was another searing kiss, rough, all-consuming. Noah's head spun, his whimpers breaking between stolen breaths.
A hot palm slid under his shirt, dragging up along the lines of his waist until fingers found his chest. A sharp squeeze.
"Ah—!" Noah cried out, body jerking violently, shame flooding his face. He turned away, teeth sinking into his lip.
Asher chuckled low against his ear. "So sensitive here?"
He didn't wait for an answer—his mouth was already closing over Noah's chest, teeth and tongue teasing mercilessly.
"Mm…" Noah's hands clawed at the cushions, knuckles white. His voice broke into soft, pleading sounds, his spine arching despite himself.
It was unbearable—humiliation and heat twisted together, pushing him to the edge of collapse.
Asher's lips dragged lower, tracing down his torso, slow, deliberate. One hand pressed into the tense line of his thigh, fingers brushing closer, closer—
Noah held his breath, heart hammering, unable to speak, his entire body drawn taut, waiting for what was about to—
The phone rang.
The shrill sound slashed the air in two. Both froze.
Asher swore under his breath, dragging himself back, fishing his phone from his pocket.
"...Hello." His voice was cold, clipped. A pause, his brows knitting. "Fine. I'll be there."
He hung up, gaze cutting back to the sofa.
Noah was sprawled there, shirt tugged halfway down, chest marked in red, lips swollen, eyes wet and dazed. He looked wrecked—beautifully wrecked.
For a moment, Asher's stare darkened, dangerous. But at last he straightened, grabbing his jacket.
"That's enough for today."
The door slammed shut behind him. Silence fell like a weight.
Noah sat stunned, his chest heaving, his skin still burning where Asher's mouth had been. His body throbbed with a hunger that had been ripped away, like fire doused in cold water.
Slowly, he fumbled with his clothes, every muscle weak. In the end he gave up, curling into the corner of the sofa. His eyelids grew heavy, breath slowing.
With heat still lingering on his skin, and emptiness gnawing in his chest, he drifted into uneasy sleep.