Noah had barely stepped into the parking lot when his wrist was yanked hard. He stumbled forward, crashing into a body he knew far too well.
The heat of that chest seared through his shirt, making his breath catch. Before he could lift his head, Asher bent down, lips pressed hotly against the curve of his neck—followed by a sharp nip.
A shudder bolted through Noah's chest. Instinct kicked in, telling him to push away, but the grip on his hand was iron. There was no escaping.
"You—" The word barely formed before it was swallowed whole.
Asher didn't let go, half dragging him toward the car, shoving him against the door.
"Get in." His voice was low, threaded with steel. No room for argument.
The door slammed shut beside Noah's ear. The air felt too thin. By the time the engine roared to life, he was still stunned, struggling to piece together what had just happened.
The drive was silent.
Only when the car pulled up did Noah realize where they were: the peeling façade of his rented apartment.
Relief pricked through him. He reached for the handle, forcing composure into his voice. "...Thanks for driving me back."
But again, fingers locked around his wrist—unyielding, cold.
"Pack your things. We're leaving."
He froze. "...What?"
Asher turned his head, eyes obsidian-dark, impossible to meet. "You're moving in. With me."
The words knocked the air out of the car.
Noah's throat worked. He wanted to shake free, to say no, but that grip was a vise. Asher's tone dropped, sharper this time. "Didn't you hear me?"
The weight of it pressed down on him, breath growing shallow. He thought about resisting, about saying this was impossible, but those eyes bore into him, heavy with command.
And the truth was, he had no real choice. He'd signed the contract. He'd already agreed to be a toy at the man's disposal.
A long silence stretched. Finally, Noah lowered his eyes, voice barely audible. "...Okay."
---
That night, they entered the apartment together.
Asher kicked off his shoes, movements careless, like he'd dragged home some stray cat that wouldn't behave.
Noah stood by the door with his suitcase, fingers clamped tight around the handle, voice low and uneven. "...Why are we living together?"
Asher glanced up, tone almost bored. "To make it easier to f*ck you every day."
The words were tossed out as casually as commenting on the weather.
Noah froze. Heat shot up his ears, his breath going ragged.
"...Every day? Isn't that… too much?"
A brow arched. The corner of Asher's mouth curved into a slow smile as he stepped closer.
The suitcase thudded back against the wall. Noah had nowhere left to retreat.
"Too much?" His voice was silk over steel, dropping low.
Fingers hooked under Noah's chin, forcing his head up. His thumb brushed across parted lips, firm, inescapable.
Noah tried to turn away, but the man's other hand clamped on his shoulder, locking him in place.
His pulse thundered, lungs squeezed tight.
"Who was the one screaming hoarse the first night?" Asher murmured, mouth grazing his ear.
The hot whisper scorched his skin. Noah went rigid, ears flaming crimson.
His lips parted, but no words came. His grip on the suitcase handle only tightened, knuckles bone-white.
Asher's smile deepened. His palm slid down the curve of Noah's back, lingering at the hollow of his waist. A subtle push. A claim.
"Be good. The contract never mentioned a limit on how many times."
Shame lanced through Noah, sharp and unbearable. He shoved his hand away, yanking up his suitcase, retreating toward the bedroom in clumsy haste.
The door slammed shut, lock clicking into place.
The apartment fell quiet.
Asher stood outside the door, gaze fixed on the wood, lips curling slow.
---
Inside, Noah leaned hard against the door, one hand gripping the knob until his fingers ached.
His chest heaved, breath wild and messy. His ears still burned as if set aflame.
That line—to make it easier to fuck you every day—carved itself into his mind, relentless.
Panic spiked. He twisted the lock tighter, fingers trembling. He half-believed Asher might burst in, press him down without a word, take what he wanted.
In a rush, he dragged his suitcase across the floor, shoving it against the door with a loud, hollow thud.
The noise seemed deafening in the still night. He froze, heart in his throat, ears blazing.
—Shit.
Outside, footsteps stilled. A pause.
Then a low chuckle slipped through the silence.
"Hm?" The drawl was lazy, teasing, and far too close. "Blocking the door with your luggage?"
Noah's breath stuttered. His grip on the handle tightened until it hurt.
Footsteps approached, deliberate, stopping just beyond the barrier. The voice came next, deep and hushed, slipping right through the wood.
"Scared I'll come in?" A beat, then a darker lilt: "Or scared I'll come in and f*ck you right here?"
Noah shut his eyes, body trembling, lips sealed tight. Words failed him.
The quiet stretched, filled only by the thundering of his heart.
But the knob didn't turn. Asher didn't push.
After a long silence, knuckles rapped twice against the door. His tone was almost light.
"Relax. I won't come in tonight. Don't lose sleep over it—you've got filming tomorrow."
With that, footsteps faded down the hall.
Noah crumpled to the floor, back sliding down the door. His chest rose and fell violently, sweat dampening his brow.
It felt like surviving a storm by the skin of his teeth.
---
The next day, on set.
"Cut! That's a wrap," the director called, and the set dissolved into chatter. Actors peeled off their costumes, crew winding down.
Noah was barely out of wardrobe when an assistant nudged him. "The behind-the-scenes clip dropped."
He blinked, pulling out his phone.
On the screen, a trending video blazed:
['Desire's Kiss' BTS | Asher × Noah]
The footage replayed the kiss they'd filmed yesterday. Even through the camera, the tension dripped off the screen, thick and undeniable.
The comments section was chaos:
—What kind of god-tier chemistry is this?!
—I'm losing my mind, this is insane!!
—Crazy actor × cold little idol… help, I'm shipping already.
—That look—are they sure it's just acting?
Noah's palms dampened with sweat. His breath stilled.
But other voices rose quickly, sharp and cutting:
—Please, this kid's just riding the hype.
—Who even is Noah? Zero talent, just lucky he's paired with Asher.
—He's only here because of his face. Or his body.
By the time Noah refreshed, two hashtags dominated the trending page:
#DesiresKissKissScene
#WhoIsNoah
His fingers went cold around the phone.