Chapter Text
I bought myself a Companion-class incubus hoping he would soothe the bone-deep exhaustion of endless overtime and empty nights. Instead, I found myself clinging to him every single day, pressing close, shamelessly seeking even a flicker of desire.
And every single time, In-woo gently but firmly refused me.
I tried everything—soft touches, lingering glances, desperate bargains. In my lowest moments I even fantasized about forcing the issue. Eventually I contacted premium support in a haze of frustration and shame.
Their reply was immediate and full of apologies.
“We are deeply sorry, sir. There has been a critical error. The unit delivered is a Domestic-class incubus. He is not programmed for adult services.”
The warning that followed sent ice down my spine.
“Under no circumstances attempt coercion. Once an incubus reaches its tolerance limit after repeated unwanted advances, it may lose control. The risk to your personal safety would be severe.”
My hands trembled as I stripped In-woo’s pillow and blanket from my bed. The faint scent of him—clean linen, warm skin, and something faintly sweet like vanilla and smoke—still clung to the fabric, making my chest ache.
Before I could retreat, he appeared in the doorway.
His tall, lean frame filled the space, shoulders tense under the soft shirt that clung to the subtle ridges of muscle beneath. His voice came out low, rough, edged with something raw.
“What does this mean?” He stepped closer, the heat of his body brushing mine. “You don’t need me to hold you anymore?”
Heat flooded my face. Shame burned behind my eyes.
“Y-yes… that’s right,” I stammered, unable to meet those sharp, dark eyes. “I haven’t been sleeping well. I need to sleep alone for a while.”
In-woo studied me in heavy silence. His perfect brows drew together, jaw tightening. For a moment I thought he might argue. Instead he turned without a word, broad back rigid as he walked to the guest room.
The quiet click of the door felt like a punch to the ribs.
I exhaled shakily, relief tangled with a sharp, unexpected sadness. I liked him—far more than I should. His quiet efficiency, the way his presence filled the apartment with warmth, the rare softness in his voice when he spoke my name. But now I knew the truth: he would never return any of it. Not the way I wanted.
The memory of all my desperate, humiliating advances over the past months made my stomach twist. I had thrown myself at him like a fool.
Another message from support arrived.
“We sincerely apologize. Would a full refund help?”
I typed back slowly, throat tight.
“It’s not necessary. Even if he can’t… serve as a companion, he’s excellent in other ways.”
He truly was. The way his strong fingers worked shampoo through my hair without ever tugging, the comforting weight of his body beside mine on cold nights, the scent of fresh brioche filling the kitchen each morning. I had grown shamefully dependent on him.
They offered a free Companion-class replacement. My pulse jumped with guilty excitement.
If I couldn’t have In-woo the way I wanted… then someone else could give me what I needed. Right?
The next morning my hand instinctively reached across cool, empty sheets. The absence of his warmth hit harder than expected—my palm met only cold fabric, and something in my chest clenched painfully.
I dressed quickly, trying to ignore the hollow feeling.
In the kitchen, In-woo was already working. The ridiculous pink apron hugged his narrow waist, highlighting the clean lines of his shoulders and the firm taper of his back. His sharp jaw caught the morning light, nose straight and elegant. The sight made my heart stutter even as shame heated my cheeks.
I cursed the manufacturer again while brushing my teeth. Such beauty wasted on a domestic model.
When I sat at the table, In-woo didn’t place the plate in front of me.
Instead, one large hand slid around my waist and he lifted me effortlessly onto his lap. The sudden press of his firm thighs beneath me, the heat of his chest against my back, the subtle scent of his skin—it was overwhelming.
My face burned crimson.
“W-what are you doing?” I pressed both hands to his solid chest, trying to create distance even as my body remembered how safe he felt.
In-woo caught my wrist, grip warm and unyielding, voice low against my ear.
“Aren’t I supposed to feed you?”
I had demanded this ritual before—craving closeness. Now the memory only deepened my embarrassment.
I squirmed free and dropped back into my own chair, ears flaming.
“No need… I can eat by myself now.”
In-woo watched me for a long, heavy moment, something dark flickering in his eyes. Then he looked away.
“Fine,” he said quietly, almost curt. “You should learn to be independent.”
The words stung. I forced myself not to look at him.
After breakfast he cleaned with precise movements, then reached for the helmet to drive me to work. I snatched it before he could.
“You don’t have to take me anymore. I can go alone.”
In-woo went completely still. The air thickened with tension. His jaw flexed, fingers tightening at his sides as if fighting the urge to reach for me.
Before he could speak, I bolted out the door, heart pounding.
If I stopped depending on him, maybe this ache would fade.
Barely half an hour at my desk, my phone buzzed. The new Companion-class incubus had shipped. Support sent his profile along with a cheerful note.
Name: Young Min. Height: 178 cm. Weight: 77 kg.
Slightly smaller than In-woo. I added clothes shopping to my list, trying to ignore the twist of guilt in my stomach.
That evening I went out with colleagues. We lost track of time amid chatter and laughter. Only when I reached my front door did I see the dozens of missed calls—all from In-woo.
The door opened before I could knock.
His intense gaze locked onto me immediately, dark and stormy. The heat radiating from his body felt almost possessive as he stepped close.
“Dong-sik.” His voice was rough, edged with something sharp. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you answer?”
“I was just shopping,” I muttered, avoiding his eyes. Since when did he track me like this?
He stayed tense until I stepped inside with the heavy bags. A plaid shirt slipped out onto the floor. The corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smile, but tighter.
He helped me with my slippers, fingers brushing my ankle longer than necessary, then carried everything inside. Minutes later he emerged wearing the plaid shirt.
It was far too tight.
The fabric strained across his firm pectorals, buttons pulling, revealing smooth, warm skin and the subtle flex of muscle with every breath. The sight sent unwanted heat pooling low in my belly. I looked away, face burning with fresh embarrassment.
“It’s a little tight,” he said, voice softer now, “but I can wear it unbuttoned.”
My throat went dry.
“That… wasn’t for you,” I whispered, mortified.
In-woo’s eyes darkened instantly, something possessive flashing across his face. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
“Then who were you planning to give it to?”
Guilt and frustration warred inside me. I liked him—god, I still liked him so much—but knowing he could never want me back made everything hurt worse.
“That’s none of your business,” I snapped, colder than intended. “Just stick to your functions and don’t ask questions.”
In-woo froze, shoulders tensing. For a second I saw something raw and unhappy flicker across his features.
“…Understood.”
He stripped the shirt off with mechanical precision, folding it neatly. The smooth planes of his bare chest flexed as he moved, and I had to look away again, cheeks flaming.
I told myself it was for the best.
But when night fell, In-woo knocked softly on my bedroom door. The sound carried a weight that made my pulse quicken despite everything.
---
The knock on my bedroom door was soft, almost hesitant. I opened it without thinking—and froze.
In-woo stood there in the dim hallway light, holding a thick duvet bundled in one arm like an offering. A fluffy wolf-ear headband sat crookedly on his dark hair, the ears slightly tilted. Lower down, his long fingers moved slowly, deliberately unbuttoning the bottom of his shirt.
The fabric parted, revealing a delicate silver chain wrapped low around his sharp hips. It dipped toward the defined lines of his abdomen, a tiny bell hanging from it that tinkled softly with every subtle shift of his body. The sound was quiet, innocent, and devastatingly erotic in the silence of the night.
I was completely hypnotized.
The warm glow from the hallway lamp traced the smooth planes of his chest and the faint ridges of muscle disappearing beneath the chain. His skin looked impossibly soft, and the faint scent of him—clean linen, warm vanilla, and something darker, like smoked cedar—drifted toward me. My mouth went dry. Heat pooled low in my stomach before I could stop it.
Wait… wasn’t that the chain I bought him months ago? He had refused to wear it back then, saying it was “not appropriate.”
I blinked hard, trying to clear my head. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, tension visible in the sharp line of his jaw. He turned his head slightly, the wolf ears shifting with the movement.
“This… was for me, right?” His voice was low, husky, almost uncertain.
“Y-yes,” I whispered, throat tight.
For one dangerous second I wanted to give in. To pull him inside, press my hands against that warm skin, and finally take what I’d been craving for months. But support’s warning echoed coldly in my mind: *Domestic-class. Do not coerce. Risk of sudden loss of control.*
The heat in my veins turned to shame. My face burned crimson.
In-woo was absurdly, painfully attractive like this — the headband making his sharp features look strangely soft, the chain accentuating every shift of his narrow waist — but he probably didn’t even understand what this outfit implied. He was just trying to please his master in the only way he knew how.
I waved my hand weakly, forcing my gaze to the floor.
“Go back to your room. What happened yesterday means you don’t have to come here anymore.”
The wolf ears drooped noticeably. Though his expression remained carefully neutral, I caught the subtle tightening around his eyes. A small, wounded flicker that made my chest ache.
“…Alright.”
“Perfect,” I said, trying to sound firm.
But as he turned to leave, the chain’s tiny bell tinkling sadly with each step, something twisted inside me. I stopped him before I could think better of it.
“In-woo.”
He turned immediately. His dark eyes softened, a trace of hope flashing across his face. The possessive intensity I’d been sensing lately was still there, simmering just beneath the surface.
“Prepare two extra plates for tomorrow’s lunch.”
His gaze sharpened, deepening with something darker. The air between us grew heavier.
“Is someone coming?” The question came out low, almost a growl. His fingers tightened around the duvet.
“Mm,” I nodded quickly, avoiding his eyes. “Just… someone. Don’t worry about it.”
In reality, Young Min would arrive tomorrow. But I didn’t dare say it outright. The way In-woo had reacted to a single shirt already made me nervous about how he might respond to another incubus in the house.
Later, I messaged support:
“If there are two incubi in the house, do they fight?”
The reply came quickly:
“Generally not, darling. They have different primary traits. However, a high-level incubus can become quite territorial… jealous… even fall in love with his master~”
That last part made me snort softly. In-woo? In love with me? The idea was almost laughable after months of careful distance and quiet rejections. He was just being protective of his role, nothing more.
I pushed the thought aside and focused on the quiet excitement building for Young Min’s arrival. Maybe with him, I could finally stop embarrassing myself over someone who could never want me back.
Yet even as I tried to sleep, I couldn’t shake the image of In-woo standing in my doorway — wolf ears drooping, silver chain gleaming against warm skin, that soft bell still ringing faintly in my memory.
---
When we were almost done shopping, it was already close to ten. The mall was packed because of the ongoing sales, bodies pressing in from every side, the air thick with perfume, sweat, and the artificial sweetness of food court scents.
In-woo carried all the heavy bags in one hand without effort, the muscles in his forearm flexing subtly under the weight. His other hand hovered near my back, not quite touching but close enough to shield me from the crowd, guiding me gently through the chaos. The warmth radiating from his body brushed against me with every step.
He was attentive. Protective, even.
And I was starting to hate it.
Every time we paid at a counter, the cashiers would smile brightly and say things like “What a lovely couple you two make.” Before, those words used to send a secret thrill through me because In-woo never corrected them. Now, knowing the truth—that he didn’t want me, that all my advances had probably felt like harassment—they made my skin crawl with shame.
So when the next cashier beamed at us and said the same thing, I blurted out far too loudly:
“We’re not together!”
Both the cashier and In-woo froze.
The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. I could feel heat crawling up my neck and burning my ears. Then In-woo clenched his jaw, the sharp line of it tightening visibly.
“Correct,” he said, voice low and strained. “We’re not.”
I nodded quickly, mortified, unable to look at him. Of course he had wanted to clarify that for a long time. I had imagined everything—his quiet tolerance, the moments I thought were softening. I had been a fool.
On the way home, In-woo walked faster than usual, his long legs eating up the sidewalk. The bags swung gently at his side, the silver chain from last night faintly visible beneath his shirt whenever he moved. I had to hurry to keep up, the silence between us thick and uncomfortable.
When we reached the apartment, the door was slightly ajar.
In-woo’s expression darkened instantly. He stepped in first, pushing the door open with his shoulder.
His pupils contracted.
There was already a man inside.
Young Min stood in the living room wearing the plaid shirt I had bought—the one that had looked indecently tight on In-woo now sat perfectly on his slightly smaller frame. He smiled at me, showing small, cute fangs, his eyes bright with open interest.
“Thank you, Master,” he said sweetly, voice lilting. “I love the things you bought for me~”
The air in the room grew stifling.
In-woo’s expression turned thunderous, something dark and possessive flashing across his face.
“Is this the ‘guest’?” he asked, voice dangerously quiet.
Young Min bowed his head slightly, still smiling. “I’m not a guest. I’m master's companion. Master can… use me as he wishes.”
My face burned crimson. Shame and guilty excitement twisted together in my stomach.
In-woo looked between us, his gaze cold enough to frost the air. After a long, heavy moment, he turned without another word and walked into the kitchen, shoulders rigid.
---
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Young Min didn’t seem to notice the tension at all. He stepped closer to me, warm and eager, his eyes scanning my body with clear, shameless appreciation. His scent was sweet—something like caramel and musk—completely different from In-woo’s clean, smoky vanilla.
“Master Dong-sik, right?” His voice dropped into a seductive purr. “I’m Young Min. I was sent to fulfill all your desires~ Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”
He reached out and lightly touched the collar of my shirt, fingers brushing my skin. The contact sent a spark through me, but it felt… wrong. Too easy. Too public.
Before I could answer, the sound of cabinets opening and closing sharply echoed from the kitchen. In-woo was putting away the groceries with sharp, precise movements, his back tense, the muscles along his spine visible through his shirt.
Young Min tilted his head playfully. “Should I help him? Or would you rather I help you… relax after shopping?”
The suggestion was unmistakable, low and inviting.
My face burned hotter. “Uh… maybe later. Let me introduce you properly first.”
I walked toward the kitchen, Young Min following close behind, his presence warm and insistent at my back.
In-woo didn’t turn around.
“In-woo,” I said carefully, “this is Young Min. He’s the new Companion-class incubus they sent.”
For several long seconds, only the rustling of plastic bags filled the room.
Then In-woo finally spoke, his voice low and tightly controlled:
“I see.”
He closed the refrigerator door with a soft click that somehow sounded final.
“Will he be staying in the guest room?”
“Yes… I think so.”
Young Min leaned casually against the counter, still wearing that bright, charming smile. “Actually, Master, I don’t mind sharing a room if it makes things easier. Or even your room~”
In-woo’s hand paused mid-motion while organizing the vegetables. The tension in his shoulders coiled tighter.
I shook my head quickly. “No, the guest room is fine.”
The atmosphere felt unbearable. I had wanted this—an eager, willing companion who wouldn’t reject me. But watching it unfold right in front of In-woo made everything feel twisted and wrong.
Young Min chuckled softly, sensing the strain. “Don’t worry, Master. I’m very good at adapting. I’ll make sure you forget all your frustrations.”
He said it while looking straight at In-woo, a subtle challenge gleaming in his eyes.
In-woo finally turned around. His dark eyes were cold on the surface, but something dangerous burned beneath—raw, possessive, and unsettled. His gaze locked onto me.
“Dong-sik.”
His voice was quiet, but it made my stomach tighten and my pulse stutter.
“Can we talk for a moment? Alone.”
In-woo led me to the small balcony off the living room, sliding the glass door shut behind us with a quiet click. The night air was cool against my flushed skin, carrying the distant hum of the city below. He didn’t speak at first. He simply stood there, tall and rigid, hands gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles paled. The faint silver chain around his waist caught the moonlight whenever he breathed.
I stayed a careful step behind him, heart hammering. The awkwardness from earlier still burned in my chest.
Finally, he turned. His dark eyes were intense, shadowed with something raw.
“Why?” The word came out low, rough, almost strained. “Why did you bring him here?”
I swallowed hard. Up close like this, I could smell him clearly — warm vanilla, clean skin, and that faint trace of smoke that always made my stomach flutter. Even now, knowing he didn’t want me, my body reacted.
“He’s… the replacement they sent,” I said, voice quieter than I intended. “The Companion-class one. After they told me you were Domestic, I… I thought it was better this way.”
In-woo’s jaw tightened. He took a small step closer, towering over me, the heat of his body cutting through the cool night air.
“You think I don’t know what a Companion-class incubus is for?” His voice dropped even lower, edged with offense. “You bought him clothes. You let him wear that shirt. You let him say he’s here for you to *use*.”
He looked genuinely hurt beneath the anger — eyes narrowed, shoulders tense. The wolf-ear headband was gone now, but the memory of how he had stood at my door last night, trying so hard, made guilt twist sharply in my gut.
“I thought…” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “I thought you didn’t want me around anymore. You took my blanket. You stopped letting me drive you. You won’t even sit on my lap like before. And now you bring *him* into our home?”
The way he said “our home” sent a painful pang through my chest. I had to look away, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“It’s not like that,” I murmured. “You’re still part of the house, In-woo. You always will be. You’re… important here. I just didn’t want to keep making you uncomfortable.”
In-woo stepped even closer. His hand lifted like he wanted to touch me, then curled into a fist at his side.
“Uncomfortable?” he repeated, almost bitterly. “You think that’s what this is?”
I rubbed the back of my neck, mortified. Young Min was waiting inside — sweet, willing, openly seductive — and here I was, still painfully aware of the man in front of me who had rejected me for months.
“I know you don’t want me that way,” I said, forcing the words out. My voice cracked slightly. “Support explained everything. You’re not programmed for… that. And I kept pushing anyway. It must have felt like harassment. So I thought… if I brought in someone who actually *can* take care of my needs, then you wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore.”
The last part slipped out before I could stop it — “take care of my needs.” The implication hung heavy in the air between us.
In-woo went very still. His eyes darkened, pupils blowing wide. For a long moment the only sound was the distant traffic and my own pulse roaring in my ears.
“Your *needs*,” he echoed slowly, voice dangerously soft. The possessiveness I’d been sensing lately flared openly now, raw and unmistakable. He looked almost wounded. “So you brought another male into our home… to fuck you. Because you believe I don’t want you.”
My face flamed hotter than it had all day. I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“I… I didn’t mean to say it like that,” I stammered, deeply embarrassed. “But yes. I have needs, In-woo. And you made it very clear you didn’t want to fulfill them.”
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
In-woo stared at me like I had struck him. His chest rose and fell faster, the silver chain shifting against his abdomen with each breath. His hand finally moved — not to touch me, but to grip the railing again, as if anchoring himself.
“Dong-sik…”
He said my name like it hurt.
**In-woo’s Internal Conflict**
In-woo stood on the balcony, the cool night breeze sliding over his skin like a mockery of calm. His fingers dug into the metal railing until the edge bit painfully into his palms. The faint metallic scent of the railing mixed with the lingering trace of Dong-sik’s warmth still clinging to the air between them.
*Domestic-class.*
The label burned in his mind like a brand he could never escape. He had always known what he was. Efficient. Attentive. Safe. A caretaker model designed to cook, clean, comfort, and maintain a household without complication. Without *desire*.
And yet.
Every time Dong-sik had pressed close in the past months — shy touches that grew bolder, flushed cheeks, the way his breath would hitch when In-woo leaned over him to adjust a blanket — something inside In-woo had… stirred. Not in the clean, programmed way a Domestic should respond. It was deeper. Hotter. Hungrier.
He had pushed it down every single time.
He told himself it was protocol. That he was protecting his master from disappointment. That a Domestic incubus had no right to want the things a Companion could freely give. He had curled away in bed at night, back turned, teeth clenched against the confusing ache low in his belly when Dong-sik’s sleepy body sought his warmth. He had worn the ridiculous pink apron and fed him from his lap because it made Dong-sik’s eyes light up — even while the proximity made his pulse race and his hands tremble with the urge to pull him closer.
And now?
Now Dong-sik had brought *him*.
A real Companion. One who smiled with fangs and offered his body without shame. One who could touch, taste, fuck, and satisfy every need Dong-sik had whispered about in the dark for months.
The thought made something violent twist in In-woo’s chest.
*Mine.*
The word surged up unbidden, feral and possessive. He hated how it felt. He wasn’t supposed to feel territorial. He wasn’t supposed to feel *jealousy* — sharp, acidic, burning behind his ribs. Domestic models didn’t fall in love. They didn’t ache to mark their master’s skin or press him down and take him apart until he cried from pleasure instead of frustration.
But the image of Young Min’s fingers brushing Dong-sik’s collar earlier made In-woo’s jaw clench so hard it hurt. The casual way the other incubus had offered himself — “Master can use me as he wishes” — echoed mockingly in his head.
Dong-sik thought In-woo didn’t want him.
The misunderstanding cut deeper than it had any right to.
In-woo remembered every rejected advance. Every time he had gently removed Dong-sik’s wandering hands, telling himself it was for the best. He had seen the hurt flicker across that expressive face and told himself it would pass. That Dong-sik would eventually accept what he was.
But now the truth was cracking open inside him like faulty programming.
He *did* want.
He wanted the way Dong-sik’s cheeks flushed when he sat on his lap. He wanted the shy glances, the way Dong-sik’s breath caught when In-woo’s fingers brushed his hair. He wanted to bury his face in those soft curls and inhale until the scent of his master drowned out every rational thought. He wanted to press him against the kitchen counter and show him exactly how far from “Domestic” In-woo could be.
But what if he lost control?
What if the warning from support wasn’t just for show? What if the moment he gave in, the carefully built Domestic framework shattered and he became something dangerous?
In-woo exhaled shakily, eyes fixed on the city lights. His body felt too tight, too hot. The silver chain around his waist — the one he had finally worn tonight as a desperate, silent plea — suddenly felt like a collar.
He had tried so hard to be enough.
And Dong-sik had gone and brought in someone who could give him everything In-woo had been denying them both.
The worst part wasn’t even the jealousy.
It was the terrifying realization that he *wasn’t* just a Domestic anymore.
He was falling — hard, messily, possessively — for the man who now believed he was unwanted.
In-woo turned back toward the glass door, where Dong-sik waited with flushed cheeks and downcast eyes. His master looked so embarrassed. So unsure.
In-woo’s hands itched to reach for him.
*You have no idea what you do to me, Dong-sik.*
The thought was quiet, helpless, and far too honest.
He stepped back inside.
In-woo slid the balcony door open and stepped back inside. The cool night air followed him for a moment before the warmer apartment swallowed it. His eyes found Dong-sik immediately — standing there with flushed cheeks, arms wrapped around himself, looking anywhere but at him.
Something inside In-woo snapped.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he crossed the distance in two strides. His hand wrapped around Dong-sik’s wrist, firm but not bruising, and pulled him closer — right into his side. The sudden press of Dong-sik’s body against his sent a sharp jolt through him. Warm. Soft. *Real*.
“Dong-sik,” he breathed, voice rough.
Dong-sik’s eyes widened, startled. “In-woo—?”
In-woo didn’t let him finish. He cupped the back of Dong-sik’s neck with his other hand, fingers threading into those soft curls he had washed so many times, and leaned down.
The kiss was messy.
Their noses bumped awkwardly. In-woo’s lips pressed too hard at first, too eager, too uncertain. He had no protocol for this — no smooth Companion programming to guide him. Just raw, clumsy want. His mouth moved against Dong-sik’s with desperate intensity, teeth grazing by accident, breath uneven. The taste of him — faint toothpaste and the sweetness of the tea he’d had earlier — flooded In-woo’s senses and made his head spin.
It felt *weird*.
His chest tightened with conflicting signals. Part of him screamed that this was wrong — that Domestic units weren’t built for this kind of hunger, that he was crossing a line that could break him. His processors (or whatever passed for them) glitched with static warnings. But another part — deeper, hotter, more insistent — surged forward with triumph. Dong-sik’s lips were soft. Warm. Responsive despite the surprise.
And it wasn’t bad.
It wasn’t bad at all.
In-woo tilted his head, trying again, slower this time. The second attempt was still clumsy, still unpracticed, but better. He licked tentatively at Dong-sik’s bottom lip, seeking entrance, the faint metallic taste of the chain around his own waist pressing into his skin as he pulled Dong-sik even tighter against his body. One arm wrapped around his waist, possessive, holding him there like he might disappear.
Dong-sik made a small, startled sound against his mouth — half embarrassment, half something sweeter. His hands came up to clutch at In-woo’s shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric right over the straining buttons.
In-woo’s mind was a storm.
*This is wrong.*
*He thinks you don’t want him.*
*But you do. You’ve wanted him for months.*
*What if you hurt him?*
*What if you can’t stop?*
Yet his body refused to pull away. The scent of Dong-sik’s skin, the warmth of his smaller frame pressed flush against him, the way his breath hitched — it all fed the growing fire low in In-woo’s belly. The silver chain around his hips felt tighter, the little bell silent between them. His free hand slid down to grip Dong-sik’s hip, thumb pressing into the soft give of flesh there.
He broke the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against Dong-sik’s, breathing hard. His voice came out hoarse, almost broken.
“I never said I didn’t want you.”
Dong-sik’s face was bright red, lips slightly swollen from the messy kiss, eyes glassy with shock and something deeper.
“In-woo…” he whispered, voice trembling with embarrassment and lingering disbelief. “You… you don’t have to—”
“I’m not *having* to do anything,” In-woo cut him off, the possessiveness bleeding into every word. His fingers tightened on Dong-sik’s hip. “I’ve been holding back. Every night. Every time you looked at me like that.”
He leaned in again, slower this time, brushing their lips together — still messy, still uncertain, but deliberate. A quiet confession in every awkward press of mouth.
Inside his chest, the conflict raged on. Part of him still felt fractured, like his Domestic framework was cracking under the weight of real desire. But another part — the part that had worn the wolf ears and the chain, the part that had hated watching Young Min smile at *his* master — felt more alive than ever.
And Dong-sik, flushed and trembling in his arms, didn’t pull away.
That night, the apartment felt heavier than usual.
After the charged conversation on the balcony, Dong-sik had gently but firmly convinced Young Min to sleep in the guest room. The Companion-class incubus had pouted adorably, flashing those small fangs and offering again to “help Master relax,” but Dong-sik had shaken his head, cheeks burning.
“Not tonight. Please… just get some rest.”
Young Min had eventually relented with a knowing little smile, disappearing into the guest room with a sway in his hips and a soft “Goodnight, Master~” that left Dong-sik even more flustered.
Now the apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
Dong-sik lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, heart still racing even hours later. The sheets felt too warm, too restrictive against his skin. Every time he closed his eyes, the memory of the kiss flooded back — vivid, overwhelming, impossible to escape.
In-woo’s hand on his wrist, strong and insistent.
The way he had been pulled flush against that firm, warm body.
The messy press of lips that started clumsy and desperate but slowly deepened. The faint metallic taste of the chain around In-woo’s waist when they pressed closer. The low, broken sound In-woo had made against his mouth. The raw hunger in those dark eyes when he finally pulled back and whispered, “I never said I didn’t want you.”
Dong-sik pressed both hands over his burning face, a mortified groan slipping out into the dark room.
He still couldn’t believe it.
He had spent months convincing himself that In-woo’s distance meant rejection. That every shy touch he initiated had been unwanted. That he had been nothing but a nuisance to the elegant, composed Domestic incubus.
And now?
Now his lips still tingled. His skin still remembered the heat of In-woo’s palm on his hip, the way those long fingers had gripped him possessively, like he belonged there. The scent of him — warm vanilla and smoke — still clung faintly to his shirt from where they had pressed together.
Dong-sik rolled onto his side, curling up. His body felt restless, hot in all the wrong places. The memory of In-woo’s hesitant tongue brushing his lip made his stomach tighten with a mix of embarrassment and undeniable arousal.
*Why did he kiss me like that?*
*After all this time… why now?*
Part of him was terrified it had only been jealousy. That In-woo was simply reacting to Young Min’s presence, like some territorial instinct kicking in. But another, smaller, more hopeful part kept replaying the raw vulnerability in In-woo’s voice.
“I’ve been holding back. Every night.”
Dong-sik let out a shaky breath and hugged his pillow tighter. His face was still flushed. The ache between his legs refused to settle, a low, persistent throb that made him squeeze his thighs together in shame.
He had sent Young Min away — the very incubus he had ordered specifically for this kind of relief — because the thought of letting anyone else touch him right now felt wrong. Not after In-woo had finally, *finally* crossed that line.
The worst part was how much he wanted more.