Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There was something almost tender about a fashion magazine’s office after ten, when the noise finally gave up and went home. During the day, the third floor of Harper's Bazaar ran on a carefully maintained illusion that everything was under control. In reality, interns were panicking, editors were surviving on iced coffee and spite, and at least one publicist an hour was treating a minor inconvenience like a national crisis.

But at night? At night, the ghost of the glamour remained, suspended in the scent of expensive French perfume that had settled into the carpets. The only sounds left were the hum of the air conditioning, the distant clack-clack of a single keyboard, and the ghostly sigh of a floor that was usually overrun by people wearing designer clothes.

Hong loved it. Or, at least, he usually did.

The blue light of his monitor cast a pale, slightly ghoulish glow over his face, reflecting in the dark glass of his lukewarm, third cup of coffee. As the Culture Editor, Hong’s life was a carefully curated, colour-coded calendar of deadlines, launch parties, gallery openings, and layout approvals. It was a life lived in three-month increments, always thinking about the next season, the next trend, the next big thing.

If you stripped away his title and his curated knowledge of the world's coolest micro-trends, Hong was—by his own quiet admission—a remarkably boring person. While other twenty-somethings in the fashion world spent their weekends nursing hangovers at secret warehouse parties or cultivating messy social lives, Hong preferred the comforting silence of a spreadsheet. He didn't want a life. Having a life required spontaneity and emotional vulnerability. It was a perfect system, right up until he met Pete.

Next week was their one-year anniversary, and while there was no shortage of love between them, there was a distinct clash in their natural habitats. Hong wasn't a bad boyfriend, but he was a professional-grade homebody. He didn't want to conquer the world; he wanted to nest in it. While Pete was a creature of spontaneous sunshine, outdoor adventures, and sudden weekend trips, Hong’s ideal Saturday involved wrapping himself in a linen duvet like a burrito, sipping iced matcha, and watching cute animations. He was a pouter by nature. He liked soft textures, cute pastel ceramics, and the utter luxury of doing absolutely nothing.

Pete, with his infinite pool of patience, had spent the last twelve months willingly adapting to Hong’s quiet gravity. He had traded spontaneous road trips for cosy movie nights, learning to find charm in the way Hong would dramatically sigh and pout whenever outdoor activities were suggested. But Hong knew the score. Pete was a natural adventurer, and he had spent a year letting his own wild edges get softened by Hong's domestic bubble. Pete deserved to run free, to climb mountains, and to live spontaneously. This surprise Krabi trip—even if Hong had opted for a luxurious resort where he could safely pout under a beach umbrella while Pete explored—was Hong’s grand gesture of compromise. He was willing to pack a bag, brave the humidity, and step out just to prove he could show up for Pete's lifestyle, too

To secure a completely uninterrupted week of domestic bliss, he had spent the last five hours running a self-inflicted marathon through his editorial checklist. Vacation wasn't something you took in magazine publishing. It was something you survived long enough to reach. If you wanted seven days of uninterrupted freedom without your phone blowing up with frantic messages about misplaced image credits, you had to pay the ransom in blood, sweat, and perfect kerning.

Hong stared at the latest proof of the culture section, resisting the urge to close his laptop and pretend it no longer existed. The print issue was the one thing he never trusted to chance—or junior editors.

He zoomed in on a spread and immediately found a problem. A sliver of space between a block of text and an image of a concrete chair that looked uncomfortable enough to qualify as performance art. The gap was barely noticeable. Most readers would never see it. Most editors probably wouldn't see it.

Hong saw it.

Twenty minutes later, he nudged the image into place, reviewed the spread one last time, and finally dragged the completed files into the production folder. Then he hit save. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. He was actually going to do it. In less than thirty-six hours, he'd be on a plane. A week away from deadlines, emergency emails, and people marking messages as urgent when they absolutely were not urgent.

A whole week.

Just him and Pete.

And then, his phone buzzed on the desk.

The vibration broke through the quiet. Hong looked down to find half a dozen new messages from Phuwin waiting for him. Whatever was happening, it was apparently urgent. At least according to Phuwin, whose definition of urgent included everything from celebrity breakups to finding a good parking spot.

Hong stared at the screen, a tired smile touching his lips. Phuwin and Est were chaotic enough under normal circumstances. Give them a Friday night, an open bar, and a room full of people, and they became everyone else's problem. He began typing a reply, his fingers moving easily over the screen: "I'm in the middle of preserving this magazine's cultural credibility, Phuwin. Go spend a thousand baht on a cocktail and leave me alone."

Before he could hit send, another buzz cut him off.

An attachment from Est.

Hong tapped it open.

The photo was loud even without sound—a high-contrast smear of violet and neon blue strobe lights, a hazy cloud of vaporiser smoke, and the glint of expensive champagne flutes. And right there in the middle of it was the reason Est had sent it.

There was Pete.

The same Pete who had texted him 'Goodnight, love you, sleeping early x' exactly forty-two minutes ago from their shared apartment.

He wasn't sleeping. He was sitting on a tufted leather booth, his face split into a handsome laugh that Hong knew intimately. But he wasn't laughing at Hong. A younger man, wearing a sheer designer mesh top and tight leather pants, was practically draped over Pete's lap, his head thrown back in a private joke. Worst of all—the detail that knocked the air from Hong's lungs —was Pete’s hand. It was splayed flat, fingers digging greedily into the fabric of the other man's pants, squeezing his ass with a familiarity that needed no explanation.

Hong’s fingers froze over the keyboard. The air in his chest suddenly felt thin, as if the entire floor of the office had been suddenly depressurised. His heart did a strange roll, a sickening drop like an elevator with a snapped cable.

A final text bubbled up from Phuwin.

Hong didn't reply. He couldn't have formed a sentence if his life depended on it.

He stared at the photo, zooming in until the pixels blurred into a mosaic, but the reality remained stubbornly sharp. He looked at the hand. He looked at the smile. He looked at the ease of the betrayal.

He blinked, slowly looking down at himself.

Because he had come straight from a gallery opening earlier that evening, he was wearing a non-traditional jacket in a dusty pink, a crisp white button-down, and a perfectly knotted dark tie. He looked like he was about to moderate an intellectual panel on contemporary architecture at the Bauhaus, not storm a sweaty nightclub.

Who are you kidding? He thought, a strange detachment settling over his mind. Are you really going to go to a club dressed like a high-fashion editorial on avant-garde pastel tailoring?

It was a ridiculous thought. A stupid coping mechanism. Really, Hong? Your boyfriend of a year is currently treating someone else’s backside like a stress ball, and you’re worried about whether your pink jacket is too editorial for a club line?

But there was no crying. There was no shaking. The sadness was there, a heavy block of ice settling deep in his stomach, but wrapping around it was indignation. All that hard work. All those hours of editing pretentious ceramicists and scheduling peasant-dress articles so he could clear his week for this.

He slid his phone into his pocket.

Hong stood up, his knee joints popping. He didn't turn off his computer. He didn't close his digital layout tabs. He didn't even log out of the CMS. He simply walked down the dimly lit hallway toward the corner office, where a warm slice of yellow light still spilt onto the carpet.

Tu, the Executive Editor, was typing furiously, her reading glasses perched on the very tip of her nose, her desk cluttered with print proofs and half-eaten sushi rolls.

Hong knocked once on the glass doorframe. "Uh, Tu. I’ll head out."

Tu didn't look up from her screen, her fingers flying across her keyboard. "I thought we were going together. I was going to drop you home at midnight, remember? We still have to sign off on the jewellery spread."

"Emergency," Hong said. His voice was incredibly level. Too level. It lacked any of his usual end-of-the-day exhaustion.

That caught her attention. Tu paused, her fingers hovering over the keys, and slowly looked up. She took one look at Hong’s face and pushed her glasses up into her hair.

"All okay?" she asked, her tone shifting from executive editor to protective older sister in a fraction of a second.

"My soon-to-be-ex is cheating on me," Hong said, the words tasting like copper in his mouth.

Tu’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous flicker passing through them. She slowly closed her laptop with a soft click. "Do you want me to come with you? I can even call Nanon. We can make it look like an accident. I know a guy with a yacht in Pattaya, we can dispose of things."

A dry laugh escaped Hong’s throat, though it didn't even come close to reaching his eyes. "Nah. Unlike me, you actually have an article due. You should finish."

"Hong—"

"I'm fine," he said, and for a fleeting second, he actually believed it. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He walked back to his desk and stared at his heavy designer leather work bag sitting on the floor. It was stuffed to the brim with layout proofs, colour swatches, and a heavy iPad. Going into Club Eclipse carrying an oversized leather tote full of editorial assets was a boundary he refused to cross. It was bad enough his life was falling apart. He left the bag where it was. He would get it tomorrow.

Hong stepped into the elevator, the metal doors sliding shut. He adjusted his tie in the reflection of the polished doors, smoothed down the lapel of his dusty pink jacket, pressed the button for the lobby, and prepared for war.

Club Eclipse did not smell like expensive French perfume. It smelled of cheap tequila, spilled energy drinks, and synthetic watermelon. Beneath that was the heavier, more primal scent of sweat, expensive hairspray, and the burning desperation of people trying very hard to look like they were having the best night of their lives. It was a performance of joy, where everyone was simultaneously the actor and the exhausted audience, constantly holding up phone screens to ensure their fun was properly documented for people they didn't even like. The bass was a physical entity. It vibrated through the thin soles of Hong’s loafers, travelling up his legs and rattling his ribs.

In a sea of crop tops, sheer mesh, and leather harnesses, Hong stood out like a misplaced piece of origami. His pink jacket was pristine, his dark tie was perfectly knotted. He looked less like a club-goer and more like an art director who had accidentally wandered off.

"Oh, thank god," a voice hissed.

Phuwin grabbed Hong’s arm with a grip that threatened to cut off the circulation to his hand. Beside him, Est was holding a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

"I was about to throw myself over the VIP barrier," Phuwin yelled over the deafening remix of a pop song. "He’s over there. Booth four. He’s been doing it for an hour, Hong. It’s sickening."

Est pointed a grim finger toward the elevated VIP section.

Hong followed the line of sight. And there, sitting beneath a massive LED screen, was Pete. He was laughing, his head tilted back, his hand draped casually over the shoulder of the younger guy in the mesh shirt. As Hong watched, the boy leaned in, whispering something that made Pete grin, before pressing his lips directly against Pete's mouth.

Pete didn't pull away. He leaned into it, his hand sliding down to squeeze the boy's hip.

The air in Hong’s lungs went entirely still. Without a word, Hong reached out and smoothly slid the wine glass out of Est’s hand.

"Hong—" Phuwin started, but Hong was already moving.

The crowd parted around him, instinctively sensing the weaponised energy radiating from him.

He climbed the three carpeted steps to the VIP section. The security guard at the rope took one look at Hong’s face, then at his immaculate tailoring, and slowly stepped aside, deciding that whatever was about to happen was far above his pay grade.

Hong stopped directly in front of the low glass table of Booth Four.

Pete was still mid-kiss, his eyes closed.

Hong cleared his throat.

"Did you sleep well, Pete?"

Pete froze. His eyes flew open, his pupils blowing wide in immediate terror as they landed on Hong. The boy in the mesh shirt blinked up at Hong, looking confused and slightly annoyed by the interruption.

"H—Hong?" Pete stammered, the colour rapidly draining from his face. "What—what are you doing here?"

"I was just thinking about your text," Hong said, his voice cutting clean through the thumping bass. "The one where you said you were going to sleep early. I didn't realize sleep-walking involved a VIP booth and someone else's lap."

"Hong, wait, it's not what it looks like—" Pete scrambled backwards, his hands flying up in a defensive gesture. "Listen to me, we were just—"

Hong didn't let him finish the sentence. With a fluid motion of his wrist, he tipped the wine glass forward. Cabernet Sauvignon splashed through the air, landing with precision directly over Pete’s face and the front of his white designer shirt.

The wine soaked instantly into the cotton, spreading like a blooming inkblot across his chest. Pete squealed, a pathetic sound, squeezing his eyes shut as the dark red liquid dripped from his chin onto his lap. The boy in the mesh shirt scrambled away, pressing himself against the back of the booth to avoid the splash.

A collective gasp rippled through the surrounding tables. The VIP section, for all its arrogance, went entirely quiet.

"Oh my god!" Pete sputtered, wiping his eyes with a wet sleeve, looking up at Hong with a mixture of shock and mounting outrage. "Are you insane? This shirt is brand new!"

"Consider it an editorial edit," Hong said, his voice dripping with venomous composure. "It lacked contrast."

Pete wiped his face, his shock turning into defensive anger. He stood up, towering over Hong, "You know what, Hong? You're unbelievable! You always do this! You act like you're so perfect, like you're above everything."

"I am currently above you," Hong noted, his eyes scanning the red ruin of Pete's collar. "Visually and morally."

"You're never there!" Pete shouted, his voice cracking as he tried to claw back some dignity. "I'm always the one adapting to you! You're a homebody, Hong. You're boring. You wrap yourself in your little linen blankets, you pout, and you stay inside your safe bubble. I wanted to live. I wanted adventure. I got tired of sitting in silence with a guy who treats a Friday night on the couch like a religious experience!"

The words were meant to cut. They were meant to reduce Hong to the boring caricature he had always feared he was.

But as Hong looked at Pete—at the dripping wine, the cheap excuses, the desperate need to make his own cowardice someone else's fault—the scaffolding of indignation around Hong’s heart clicked into place.

He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing to lethal slits.

"I didn't stay home because I was boring, Pete," Hong said. "I stayed home because I trusted you enough to let my guard down. My office, my job, my entire life is a performance. Home was the one place I didn't have to put on a show. I built a safe harbour, and you wanted a circus."

Pete opened his mouth to speak, but Hong cut him off with a raised hand.

"If you wanted to run wild, if you wanted to climb mountains and sleep with teenagers in mesh tops, you should have had the entry-level human decency to break up with me. But you didn't. Because you're a coward who wanted a warm place to land after you finished playing adventurer. You wanted the peace I gave you, but you didn't want to pay the emotional price of being loyal to it."

Hong took a deep breath, his chest rising beneath his jacket.

"I was literally in my office at ten-thirty tonight, editing pretentious garbage and scheduling articles for the next week, just so I could surprise you with a luxury week in Krabi for our anniversary. I was willing to step out of my bubble for you. I was willing to brave the humidity. But thank god I found out you're a cliché before I wasted my vacation on you."

Pete stared at him, his mouth slightly open, utterly speechless. For twelve months, he had only ever known Hong’s soft, sighing, pouting side. He had never seen this Hong.

Hong looked at Pete, then at the wide-eyed boy sitting in the corner of the booth.

He let out a soft sigh.

"Clearly, secondhand is your preference," Hong said sweetly. "Keep him. I don't make a habit of taking things back once I've thrown them away "

He turned on his heel, his jacket flaring slightly behind him, and walked away before the security guard could decide whose side he was on.

By the time his feet hit the sticky floor of the main club, Hong could feel the adrenaline beginning its slow crash. His heart felt like it was being squeezed by a cold hand, his pride was an open wound, and his loafers were pinching his toes.

"Hong!"

Phuwin and Est materialised out of the haze, cutting through the crowd like a two-man search-and-rescue team. Phuwin immediately grabbed Hong by the shoulders, his eyes scanning Hong's face for any sign that the tears were about to breach the dam.

"You're a legend," Phuwin declared, though his voice was laced with concern. "That was the single greatest thing I have ever witnessed. But we are leaving. Right now. It’s past eleven thirty, and frankly, if we stay here any longer, Est is going to actually commit a felony. He’s been cracking his knuckles for twenty minutes."

Est nodded grimly, though he was already checking his phone, his face illuminated by the screen's light. "William just texted. He’s home. And Pond is waiting up for you, Phuwin. He’s already tracking your location."

"Exactly," Phuwin said, turning back to Hong, his tone softening. He reached up, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of silver hair from Hong's forehead. "Come back to our place, Hong. Or Est's. William will make that ridiculous tea you like—the one that tastes like hot grass but somehow cures anxiety—and we can spend the next six hours listing every single flaw Pete has ever possessed, starting with his questionable taste in footwear. Do not go back to that apartment tonight. You can sleep on the sofa, or we’ll make Pond sleep on the floor. Seriously."

A fragile swell of gratitude warmed Hong’s chest. But he shook his head, offering them a tired smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "No. Go home to your boys. You guys have actual functional relationships to maintain, and I am not about to be the depressing, newly single third wheel who ruins your Friday night with weeping."

"Hong—"

"I mean it," Hong said. "I just need a very stiff drink to stop my hands from shaking, and then I’ll call an Uber. I’ll crash at my parents' place tonight. They're out of town in Chiang Mai, and the house is quiet. No Pete, no reminders. I just need... quiet."

Phuwin stared at him for a long moment, trying to read the micro-expressions on Hong's face before letting out a defeated sigh. He reached out, smoothing down the lapel of Hong's pink jacket, a habit born from years of working in fashion. "Okay. But you text me the second your feet touch the floor of your parents' place. If you don't, I will call the police saying you got kidnapped"

"I will," Hong promised.

With a final hug from Phuwin that squeezed the last bit of tension from his shoulders, and a supportive pat on the cheek from Est, his friends turned and disappeared into the crowd, heading toward the exit.

Hong was officially on his own.

He navigated the humid mass of bodies toward the main bar, finding an empty stool at the far corner, away from the worst of the flashing strobe lights. He leaned his elbows on the counter, his head throbbing in time with the sub-woofers. The bartender, sensing the icy 'do not cross me' energy radiating from Hong, slid over immediately, bypassing three people holding up credit cards.

"Double whiskey. Neat," Hong said, "Whatever your most expensive bottle is. I’m having a terrible night, and I want to pay for it."

A few minutes later, a heavy crystal glass was placed in front of him. He picked it up, staring at the amber liquid, watching the light refract through the glass. He was just about to raise it to his lips, desperately seeking the burn to numb his chest, when a voice cut through the roar of the club.

"Do you always look this annoyed?"

Hong didn't even glance up from his drink. His guard was up, his claws were out, and he was in absolutely no mood for small talk, pickup lines, or the inevitable exhausting dance of casual bar conversation. "Do you always annoy people for fun?"

A low chuckle rumbled beside him. It was a warm sound that felt entirely too grounded for a place like this. "Only attractive people. It usually gets a better reaction than asking about the weather."

Hong slowly turned his head.

The stranger sitting on the stool next to him was, unfortunately, ridiculously handsome. He was wearing a chocolate-brown leather jacket over a tight white tank top that clung to the broad plane of his chest. His collarbones were sharp, his skin was a warm, sun-warmed gold, and his dark hair was effortlessly messy, slightly short yet falling over a pair of incredibly expressive eyes that seemed to hold a spark of amusement. He looked like the human equivalent of a golden retriever who had somehow been styled by an edgy French fashion house—rugged, warm, and entirely too confident.

He was grinning, his elbow propped on the wooden bar, looking at Hong with an unapologetic warmth that made Hong’s throat go dry.

Hong took a deliberate sip of his whiskey, letting the burn coat his throat and steady his nerves before speaking. "If you're looking for a conversation, I should warn you that I just committed a minor act of public violence upstairs, and I am currently entirely out of polite banter."

Nut’s grin only widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, I know. I saw."

Hong paused, his glass hovering mid-air, a sudden spike of self-consciousness hitting him. "You saw?"

"The red wine?" Nut leaned in a little closer, and suddenly, the scent of cedarwood, patchouli, and clean cotton washed over Hong, completely cutting through the cloying vape smoke of the club. It was an intoxicating smell. "The 'it lacked contrast' line? Absolutely legendary. I was sitting at the table opposite Booth Four, trying to enjoy a terrible overpriced gin and tonic. I think I actually stopped breathing for a second when you threw it. It was incredibly hot."

A strange spark flared in Hong's stomach, hot and sudden. It was a dizzying mix of lingering adrenaline, the whiskey, and the sudden, heady realisation that this gorgeous stranger was looking at him like he was the only fascinating thing in a room of hundreds.

"Is that your metric for hot?" Hong asked, his voice dropping an octave, a defensive flirtation slipping out before his filter could stop it. "Vindictive property damage?"

"When it’s executed with that much style? Absolutely," Nut said, his eyes dropping to Hong’s lips for a fraction of a second before rising back to meet his gaze with unwavering intensity. "I'm Nut, by the way."

"Hong," he replied, his name feeling entirely new on his tongue.

"Well, Hong," Nut said, sliding off his stool and extending a hand, his palm warm, "You look like you're carrying the weight of the entire world in that very pretty pink jacket. Come dance with me. Let’s get rid of some of that weight."

Hong let out a incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "I don't dance. Especially not to... whatever this DJ is playing."

"Everyone dances," Nut insisted, his fingers gently, daringly wrapping around Hong’s wrist. The touch was light, almost respectful, but the heat of it shot straight up Hong's arm, making his breath hitch. "And if you don't know how, I'll teach you. It's easy. You just have to let me guide you. No thinking allowed."

Hong looked at his whiskey, then back at Nut’s inviting eyes, which were practically begging him to make a mistake. Why not? he thought. He had spent a year playing the sensible, quiet, predictable homebody who stayed in his safe bubble. He had spent a year being boring for a man who had ultimately betrayed him anyway. He had spent tonight planning a perfect future that had evaporated in a single photo.

He wanted to forget. He wanted to feel something—anything—other than the hollow ache in his ribs.

Hong set his glass down on the bar with a sharp click, slid off the stool, and let Nut lead him into the pulsing heat of the dance floor.

At first, it was cute. Nut stood in front of him, moving to the heavy beat with an easy, unpretentious grace, his eyes locked onto Hong’s. He laughed as Hong made a show of pouting and looking stiff, mock-complaining about the bass vibrating through his shoes. But as the crowd pressed tighter around them, pushing them closer together, the space between them evaporated.

Nut stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. His hands, warm and surprisingly large, slid gently around Hong’s waist, the heat of his palms burning through the fabric of Hong's pink blazer.

Before Hong could protest, Nut smoothly turned him around, pulling Hong’s back flush against his chest.

The shift was sudden, breathless, and incredibly sensual. Hong’s shoulder blades pressed against the firm, solid muscle of Nut’s chest. The leather of Nut's jacket rubbed against the smooth silk of Hong’s pink blazer, creating an intoxicating friction with every movement.

"See?" Nut’s voice was a hot vibration against the shell of Hong’s ear, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of his neck. "Just follow my hips. Let me do the work. Don't think about the music, just feel."

Nut began to sway, his movements slow. Hong, caught in the gravity of Nut’s solid frame, let his own body loosen. He leaned back into the heat, letting his head rest against Nut's shoulder. His hips began to slide against Nut's.

A desperate heat flared to life in Hong’s lower stomach. He had broken up with Pete. He was a free agent. He owed no one his loyalty, his caution, or his restraint. And right now, the thought of his ex was being utterly incinerated by the reality of the man behind him. One good fuck after a year of average sex could do its magic. He deserved this. He deserved to be held, to be wanted, to be consumed by someone who looked at him with hunger rather than routine.

Hong got bold. He tilted his head back further, exposing the long line of his neck, his hands reaching back to grip the cool leather of Nut’s jacket for balance. He pressed his backside firmly into Nut’s groin, grinding back with an insistence that made Nut let out a ragged intake of breath against Hong's skin.

Nut’s hands gripped Hong’s hips tighter, his large fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers, pulling him flush against him. There was absolutely no doubt about how hard Nut already was; the thick length of him pressed directly into the cleft of Hong's backside.

The heat became overwhelming. Hong’s skin was flushing beneath his shirt, his breath coming in short, needy gasps as Nut's hips rolled against his, setting a relentless good pace.

Suddenly, Nut’s grip tightened, and he pulled Hong out of the crowd. He didn't say a word, just kept his fingers wrapped possessively around Hong’s wrist as he dragged him through the gloom, bypassing the main bar and pulling him into the dimly lit, shadowed hallway that led toward the private restrooms.

The hallway was quiet, the heavy bass muffled by thick concrete walls. The air here was cooler, but the tension between them was boiling over, thick and electric.

The moment they were out of sight of the main floor, Nut spun Hong around and slammed him gently, but with undeniable authority, against the cool tiled wall.

Hong barely had time to gasp before Nut’s mouth was on his.

The kiss was loud, wet, and absolutely filthy. It was a collision of tongues and teeth, a desperate, starved exchange that tasted like high-end whiskey, sweet mint, and raw desire. Nut’s hands slid inside Hong's jacket, his palms burning through the thin cotton of Hong's shirt as they mapped the lines of his ribs, his waist, before sliding down to grip his thighs. Hong groaned into the kiss, his hands tangling in Nut’s messy hair, pulling him closer, wanting to dissolve into the sensation, to lose his mind in the taste of him.

With a low grunt, Nut hooked his hands under Hong’s thighs and lifted him effortlessly.

Instinctively, Hong wrapped his legs tightly around Nut’s waist, locking him in, his arms clinging to Nut's neck. The change in height brought them perfectly in line. Nut pressed Hong hard against the wall, the full weight of their bodies colliding, leaving no space between them.

They began to move against the wall. The friction of their crotches rubbing together through their trousers was almost agonizingly good, a sweet torture. Every upward thrust of Nut’s hips sent a shockwave straight to Hong's core, making his toes curl inside his loafers.

"Ah... god," Hong whimpered, the sound swallowed by Nut's mouth as Nut sucked his bottom lip, his tongue sliding deep, tasting every corner of Hong's mouth with hunger.

Nut pulled back just an inch, his breathing heavy, ragged, and hot against Hong's face. His eyes were dark, his pupils completely blown. He buried his face in the crook of Hong's neck before his lips found a soft spot just below his jaw.

Nut bit down, sharp and demanding.

A sharp gasp escaped Hong’s throat, his fingers digging into the leather of Nut’s shoulders as Nut sucked, claiming the skin, marking him with a dark hickey that would definitely require a turtleneck or high collar tomorrow.

"You're so hot," Nut growled against his skin, his hips rolling upward, grinding his rock-hard length directly against Hong’s aching cock. The pressure was unbelievable, making Hong’s head roll back against the wall, a breathless whine escaping his lips.

"Nut... please," Hong gasped, his hips twitching, begging for more friction, more heat. They were both hard, panting, and completely unraveled in the dim hallway, the muffled thumping of the club floor a million miles away.

Nut took a shuddering breath, pulling back just enough to let a sliver of cool hallway air pass between their chests, though his hands remained locked beneath Hong's thighs, holding him to the wall as if he had no intention of ever letting gravity reclaim him. The leather of his jacket creaked softly in the quiet corridor.

Nut’s gaze swept over Hong's flushed face, tracing the messy spill of his hair, the sharp angle of his jaw, and his swollen lips that still parted to catch the ragged drafts of air.

Slowly, Nut’s eyes dropped to the collar of Hong's white shirt, which was now wrinkled and pulled wide to reveal the dark, blooming mark of his teeth just below the jawline. It was a beautiful contrast against Hong's pale skin, a consequence of a choice he hadn’t thought twice about making. It was proof that he was alive, that he was capable of being messy, and that for the first time in a year, someone wanted to consume him rather than just fit him into a convenient corner of their life.

"Do you want to leave?" Nut whispered, his voice thick and rough. "My apartment is ten minutes away."

Hong’s response was devoid of his usual hesitation. He tightened his legs around Nut’s waist, his fingers sliding down to grip the front of Nut's leather jacket, pulling him in for another bruising kiss. "Yes. Take me."

Nut let out a delighted laugh, slowly letting Hong slide down the wall until his feet touched the cool floor. He didn't let go of Hong's waist, his thumb stroking Hong's hip through his trousers.

"My driver is waiting outside," Nut said, his eyes glittering with a confident charm as he smoothed down his white tank top, though his breathing was still noticeably shallow.

Hong let out a low groan, his briefly returning, though it was thoroughly coated in desire. He adjusted his wrinkled jacket, looking down at his disheveled state with a strange sense of satisfaction. "Right. A rich playboy. Of course."

Nut winked, a beautiful flash of gold-retriever mischief. "Just a rich boy, pretty thing. Come on."

The car ride was torture. Separated from Nut by a few feet of supple leather in the backseat, with his driver silently and professionally navigating the midnight streets of Bangkok, Hong felt like he was vibrating. It was agonizing. Every time the car turned a sharp corner, their shoulders brushed, or Nut’s thigh would slide lazily against his, leaving a trail of static electricity in its wake that seemed to sing straight to Hong's nerve endings. Under the cover of the shadows and the tinted windows, Nut’s fingers would occasionally creep across the seat. His warm palm grazed the fabric of Hong’s trousers, his thumb tracing the curve of Hong's knee. Hong would catch his breath, his eyes darting reflexively to the rearview mirror, terrified the driver would catch them, only to find Nut staring at him with a heavy-lidded heat that made his stomach drop in the best possible way.

By the time the elevator doors of Nut’s building opened directly into the private foyer of his penthouse, the dam broke.

They didn't even make it past the entryway before they were on each other.

Nut kicked the heavy wooden door shut behind them, and the definitive click of the lock was immediately swallowed by the wet slide of their mouths colliding. It was messy, urgent, and desperate. Hong’s hands scrambled for purchase, digging into the soft, worn leather of Nut’s jacket as he was pressed back against the wall. The material creaked beneath his fingers, a delicious contrast to the cool plaster behind his head.

Somehow, they kept moving, a tangle of limbs, hot gasps, and bruised lips, shuffling blindly down the dimly lit hallway toward the bedroom. Hong’s loafers were kicked off somewhere near the kitchen island; Nut’s leather boots joined them a second later with a dull thud. Hong's jacket was peeled off his shoulders by Nut's large hands and discarded carelessly onto a rug, followed immediately by Nut’s leather jacket.

When they finally tumbled into the bedroom, the sudden expanse of space made them break apart for a dizzying second.

A tiny fluffy white Munchkin-Ragdoll cat with short, stubby legs and massive, round blue eyes was sitting on the very edge of the mattress, looking at them with a mixture of mild judgment and boredom.

"Moji, bedtime," Nut panted, his voice a raspy rumble that sent a shiver down Hong's spine. He scooped the cat up in one smooth motion, carrying him to the door. "Not tonight, sweet boy. Go guard the kitchen."

He gently set the cat outside and closed the bedroom door with a soft click.

Hong stood in the centre of the room, his breathing still shallow and erratic. He looked around, his eye instantly taking in the space. It was minimalist but warm—low-slung wooden furniture, rich textures, and, most notably, a massive, floor-to-ceiling glass window that spanned the entire outer wall, offering an unobstructed view of the glittering Bangkok skyline.

"This is beautiful," Hong breathed, his dark silver hair catching the warm glow of the city lights, making him look almost ethereal in the dim bedroom.

Nut walked back over, his footsteps silent on the dark wood floor. "Thank you."

Hong stared at the glass, a sudden wave of self-consciousness washing over his usually composed frame. The vulnerability of the giant window made him feel exposed. He wrapped his arms around himself, his fingers clutching the cotton of his white shirt. "Do you never feel... I don't know, self-conscious? Like someone is watching you? I mean, I know we're high up, but..."

Nut came up behind him. He didn't touch him yet, but the proximity alone was enough to make Hong's skin prickle with anticipation. "It's one-sided," Nut murmured, his voice incredibly close to the shell of Hong's ear, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin there. "Only I can see out. From the outside, the glass is completely reflective. It just looks like a giant mirror. Nobody can see in, Hong. It's just you and me."

"Oh," Hong said.

An incredibly vivid image flashed in his mind. He saw himself pressed flat against that cold glass, his silver hair messed up, his hands splayed helplessly against the pane while Nut took him from behind, their bodies illuminated by the neon lights of the city, their movements reflected in the dark sky. The thought was so dirty, so utterly uncharacteristic of his usual self, that a dark blush rushed up his neck, staining his cheeks a flush pink.

Nut caught the shift in his posture immediately. He let out an incredibly sexy chuckle, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to the side of Hong's flushed neck, right over the collar of his shirt.

"Not tonight, my love," Nut whispered, his fingers gently catching Hong's chin to turn his face, his thumb stroking his jawline. "You've had a terrible night, and right now, you need to be worshipped. We can fuck against the glass some other time."

"Uh—I—" Hong stuttered, his tongue suddenly feeling three sizes too big for his mouth.

His brain halted on the phrase some other time. It implied a future. It implied this wasn't just a single, reckless night of venting anger and finding a temporary distraction. It meant Nut was already thinking about next time. But before Hong's hyper-analytical mind could spiral into its usual panic, Nut cut him off.

Nut reached down, hooking his hands under Hong’s thighs, and lifted him effortlessly.

Hong let out a surprised gasp, instinctively wrapping his legs around Nut's waist and clinging to his shoulders. Nut carried him the short distance to the bed, lowering him down onto the soft sheets.

Nut crawled onto the mattress behind him, hovering over him like a protective shadow. In one fluid motion, Nut reached down, grabbed the hem of his white tank top, and pulled it over his head, discarding it onto the floor.

Hong’s breath caught in his throat.

Without the shirt, Nut was a masterpiece of golden skin, sharp collarbones, and mouth-watering abs that shifted beautifully with every heavy breath he took. His chest was broad, his shoulders muscular. He leaned in, his dark, messy hair falling forward to brush against Hong's forehead as he captured Hong's lips in another melting kiss that tasted of lingering whiskey and sweet anticipation.

Hong kissed back with a desperate hunger, his hands instantly flying to Nut's torso. His palms slid over the firm planes of Nut's abs, mapping the hard lines of his ribs, marvelling at how solid, real, and present he felt.

Nut groaned into the kiss, his hand sliding up to Hong’s collar. His fingers worked with deliberate ease, gently unknotting the dark tie that was still looped loosely around Hong's neck. He pulled the tie free, but instead of tossing it aside, he held it in his hand, letting the silk drape over his knuckles.

They broke the kiss, both of them panting, their chests rising and falling in frantic tandem.

Nut looked down at him, his expressive eyes dark with a mix of heavy lust and unwavering respect. "Are you into bondage, Hong?"

"Huh?" Hong asked, his voice dazed, his silver hair splayed out against the dark pillows.

"Can I tie your hands above your head?" Nut asked softly, showing him the dark silk tie. His voice was completely devoid of pressure, offering the question like a gift, a boundary to be agreed upon rather than an expectation. "I'm not going to tie you to the bed or anything. Just together, above your head. Only if you want to. Only if it sounds good to you."

Hong’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He had spent his entire life in neat, predictable, safe boxes. His sex life with Pete had been entirely vanilla—a routine chore rather than a passion. This was entirely new. It was slightly wicked, incredibly intimate, and the thought of surrendering his rigid control to this gorgeous stranger made a hot wave of arousal pool heavy and demanding in his lower stomach. He could just let go.

He swallowed hard, looking from the dark tie to Nut's waiting eyes, and nodded. "Yes. Please."

Nut’s lips curved into a deeply fond smile. "Good boy."

Before he tied him, Nut reached down, his fingers undoing the buttons of Hong's white shirt one by one. He parted the fabric, sliding it off Hong's shoulders and tossing it off the bed, leaving Hong bare from the waist up.

Gently, Nut gathered Hong’s wrists together. He brought them up above Hong's head, looping the silk of the dark tie around them. He secured it with a snug knot—tight enough to hold, but loose enough that Hong could feel the soft, luxurious slide of the silk against his skin with every movement.

"Perfect," Nut whispered, leaning back slightly to admire his work. The contrast of the dark silk against Hong's pale wrists was visually stunning.

And then, it began.

Nut didn't rush. He descended upon Hong's body like a man who had finally been given access to a sacred temple and intended to savour every single inch of it. He started at the collarbone, pressing soft, biting kisses along the sharp line, making Hong whimper.

"Ah... Nut," Hong gasped, his wrists straining slightly against the silk tie above his head. The restriction was minor, but the psychological weight of it made his senses feel ten times sharper, every touch amplified to an intoxicating degree.

Nut's mouth travelled down, his warm tongue tracing the dip of Hong’s sternum. He moved to Hong's chest, his warm hands sliding up to cup his sides, his thumbs sweeping over Hong's ribs, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. Nut’s lips found Hong's left nipple, circling it with his tongue until it was tight and sensitive, before drawing it into his mouth and sucking gently.

"Oh! God, please," Hong whined, his head rolling back into the plush pillows. His hips gave a desperate, involuntary twitch on the sheets. The sensation of Nut's wet mouth, combined with the pressure of his thumbs digging into his ribs, was overwhelming.

Nut chuckled against his skin. He switched sides, his mouth sliding across the smooth, pale plane of Hong’s chest to lavish the same agonisingly slow, teasing attention on his other nipple. Nut’s hands stretched upward, his fingers gently tracing the sensitive skin under Hong's armpits, making Hong shiver and stretch his bound hands higher, yielding completely to the sensory onslaught.

Slowly, Nut worked his way down. His kisses became heavier, more demanding, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin over Hong's ribs, leaving blooming pink marks that would match the dark hickey on his neck. He reached Hong's stomach, his tongue licking a slow path down the centre line, swirling around his navel before biting gently at the soft skin of his lower belly.

Hong’s breath came in high-pitched gasps. He was completely unravelled, his wrists twitching in their silk cuffs, his thighs rubbing together on the sheets as the friction became too much to bear.

Nut paused, resting his chin on Hong’s flat stomach, looking up at him with a grin that was equal parts filthy and incredibly fond. "You are so beautiful, Hong. Seriously. How do you even have a waist this tiny? It’s ridiculous. It’s not fair."

Hong let out a breathless laugh, his face completely flushed, his silver hair damp with sweat. "P-Pilates," he whimpered, the ridiculous word slipping out in the middle of a ragged moan as Nut’s hand slid down to grip his hip, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh.

Nut laughed, a rich sound that filled the warm bedroom. He leaned up, kissing Hong’s navel once more with sweet adoration. "Pilates. Of course. Well, it’s perfect. You're perfect."

Nut slid back up, his muscular body lining up over Hong's once more, the heat of his bare chest pressing against Hong's. He reached down, his fingers finding the waistband of Hong's trousers, his dark eyes locked onto Hong's dazed, silver-framed gaze.

"Now," Nut whispered, his voice thick with intent that left no room for doubt. "Let's get you out of these pants."

In one deliberate movement, Nut's hands slid beneath the fabric of Hong's trousers, hooking over the waist of both the pants and his underwear in a single grip. He peeled them down his legs, tossing them carelessly over the foot of the bed.

Hong lay completely bare before him. The cool air of the room hit his skin, but it was instantly neutralised by the intensity of Nut's gaze as it swept over him.

A breathless, almost disbelieving laugh escaped Nut's lips. His eyes crinkled with an expression that wasn't just lust, but a deep adoration that sent a wave of heat straight to Hong’s chest.

"Oh," Nut murmured, his voice dropping into an impossibly sweet register. "Look at you. You are so cute, Hong. Seriously. Everything about you is just... perfect."

The word cute was whispered like a sacred secret. It was an adoring endearment that made Hong’s chest swell, his toes curling into the sheets as a deep blush burned across his cheekbones. No one had ever called him that in this state.

"Let’s get you on your stomach, love," Nut whispered, his voice warm.

Nut didn't wait for Hong to struggle with his bound hands. He reached down, wrapping his hands securely around Hong's hips, and gently rolled him over. Hong let out a surprised gasp as his body turned, his face pressing into the plush pillows, his wrists still secured together above his head. He felt utterly exposed, his back arched, his hips lifted slightly as Nut guided his thighs apart.

Nut’s hands were possessive as they settled on the rounded curves of Hong’s ass. His thumbs traced the dip of his lower back. He squeezed, kneading the soft flesh with a pressure that made Hong let out a muffled whimper against the pillow.

"So soft," Nut muttered, his breathing turning ragged.

Before Hong could process the heat of Nut’s hands, Nut leaned down. The first touch of his mouth was a shock of searing heat against the sensitive crease of Hong’s inner thigh. Hong gasped, his fingers curling helplessly into the sheets above his head. And then, Nut moved.

With slowness, Nut parted him, his warm tongue sliding flat and demanding against the tight entrance of Hong’s heat.

A loud whine tore from Hong's throat, echoing in the bedroom. He bucked slightly, his hips twitching upward instinctively as the slick, wet slide of Nut's tongue sent a direct current straight to his lower stomach. Nut held Hong’s hips steady with a firm grip, his mouth working with a sweet hunger, licking and parting him, tasting him so deeply that Hong’s entire world narrowed down to the gasping sounds of his own breath and the intoxicating friction.

"Nut—ah! God, Nut," Hong cried out, his silver hair messy against the dark pillows, his bound hands straining against the silk tie as he tried to find purchase. He was completely unravelled, his body trembling, his hips rolling helplessly against the mattress.

And then, just as Hong felt like he was about to dissolve from the sensory overload, Nut pulled away.

Hong let out a pathetic whine, his hips giving a pleading twitch against the sheets. "N-Nut... please, don't stop. Why did you—"

"Shh, easy," Nut murmured, his voice a soothing rumble as he reached over to the bedside table. The sharp click of a bottle lid opening echoed in the room. "I'm just getting you ready, pretty boy. Just breathe."

Hong heard the slick sound of lube being dispensed, followed by the friction of Nut rubbing his fingers together, warming the cool gel before bringing it to Hong's skin.

The touch of Nut's slick fingers against his entrance made Hong gasp, his back arching in anticipation.

"Relax for me, Hong," Nut whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the small of Hong's back.

One finger slid inside, slow and deliberate. Hong’s breath hitched, the tight heat of his body stretching to accommodate the intrusion. Nut paused, letting him adjust, before beginning a stroking motion. Before Hong could even sigh in relief, a second finger joined the first, the stretching sensation turning into a deep, full ache that made Hong whimper, his head buried in the pillows.

"That's it. You're taking it so well," Nut coaxed, his voice thick with pride.

With a quiet groan of encouragement, Nut slid a third finger inside. The fullness was unbelievable, stretching Hong to his absolute limit. Hong’s thighs trembled, his bound wrists shaking as he tried to handle the overwhelming presence of Nut's hand inside him.

But Nut wasn't just stretching him. He began to move his hand with a deliberate slide, his fingers curving slightly upward inside Hong's heat.

On the very first upward stroke of those curved fingers, they brushed against a highly sensitive swell of pressure deep within him.

A sharp gasp cut through the bedroom. Hong's entire body went rigid, his eyes flying wide in the dark as a white-hot spark of pleasure shot straight to his core.

"Ah! What—what—" Hong choked out, his voice shaking.

Nut let out an incredibly pleased growl. He had found exactly what he was looking for. "Right there? You like that, love?"

Nut didn't give him time to answer. He kept his fingers curved, targeting that precise spot with a relentless rhythm. It was unlike anything Hong had ever felt. The pleasure was so deep, so agonisingly direct, that it felt almost structural. His mind went entirely blank. His thighs shook violently, his hips rolling helplessly with every stroke of Nut's hand.

He didn't even realise he was building toward a climax until his lower stomach tightened. He was so close, his erection rubbing friction-heavy against the soft sheets beneath him, but he couldn't move his hands to touch himself, couldn't find any release.

"Nut! Nut, I'm—I'm going to—" Hong sobbed, his voice cracking with a sweet panic. "I need—please, touch me..."

"No," Nut whispered, his voice incredibly close, his warm breath fanning across Hong’s neck as his hand kept up the driving bend inside him. "Don't touch it. Just let me do it. Let me take you there, Hong. Just let go."

Hong’s chest heaved. He had never surrendered this much control in his life. But as Nut’s fingers hit that deep, aching spot again and again, the mounting pressure inside him fractured.

Hong's vision went entirely, beautifully white.

A loud, shattered cry tore from his throat as his body spasmed, a thick rush of release spilling out onto the dark sheets beneath him.

For a long minute, the only sound in the room was the ragged rhythm of Hong’s breathing. He lay entirely spent, his face half-buried in the pillow, his heart hammering an echoing beat against his ribs. The cooling air of the penthouse tickled his bare skin, but the heat of his own body and the residual hum of his release kept the chill at bay.

Nut remained hovering over him, having stripped off his own pants and boxers. Slowly, gently, he pressed a tender kiss to Hong’s damp shoulder blade, letting his lips linger there until Hong’s shallow gasps began to slow, turning into trembling sighs.

"Breathe, love," Nut murmured, "Just like that. You did so good."

Hong let out a weak, dazed noise of agreement.

Nut shifted, the mattress creaking softly beneath his weight. He sat up, settling against the upholstered headboard. Hong felt the shift, blinking sleepily in the dim light of the room, his bound wrists still resting above his head. He looked over his shoulder, silver hair falling messily across his eyes, only to find Nut staring down at him with a gaze so thick with affection and hunger that it made Hong's stomach do another dizzying flip.

"Do you want to ride me?" Nut asked softly.

Hong’s pulse jumped. He swallowed hard, his dazed mind struggling to keep up with the thrilling prospect of being in control. Nut saw the immediate dilating of Hong’s pupils and the soft parting of his bruised lips. Smiling, Nut reached over to the bedside table, his fingers finding a small square foil wrapper. With a sharp tear, he extracted the condom, rolling it on with a smooth efficiency that Hong found ridiculously attractive.

Once he was ready, Nut reached down, his hands around Hong's waist, and lifted him easily. He pulled Hong onto his lap, guiding him to straddle his thighs.

Sitting face-to-face like this, the height difference was erased. Hong looked down at Nut, feeling the rigid heat of Nut's erection brushing against his inner thigh.

Gently, Nut reached up to Hong's wrists. His thumb stroked the sensitive skin of Hong's inner arm before his fingers worked the knot of the tie. With a soft slide, the silk gave way. The tie fell free, draping over Nut's thigh, and Hong's hands were finally his own again.

"Your turn, pretty boy," Nut whispered, his hands sliding up to rest lightly on Hong's hips, letting him set the pace. "Take as much as you want. Whenever you're ready."

Hong’s hands felt heavy, but they found an instinctive home on Nut’s muscular shoulders. He leaned forward, letting his silver hair brush against Nut’s cheek, before slowly aligning himself.

He lowered his hips.

A ragged gasp tore from Hong's throat as he began to slide down. The fullness was immediate, a tight stretch that made his toes curl into the sheets. He paused, his forehead resting against Nut's neck, his chest heaving as his body stretched to accommodate every single inch of Nut's thick, uncompromising length.

"God, you're so warm," Nut groaned, his hands tightening on Hong’s hips, his head tilting back against the headboard as his eyes closed in pleasure. "So tight, Hong..."

Hong took a shuddering breath, and then he began to move.

Slowly first, he lifted himself and sank back down, finding a rhythm that belonged entirely to him. With every downward slide, the friction of their bodies colliding sent a wave of liquid fire straight to his lower belly. He was taking all of him, consuming Nut just as Nut had spent the last hour consuming him.

As the pleasure began to mount, Hong leaned in, his lips finding the column of Nut’s throat. He bit down, soft at first, before sucking the warm skin, leaving a dark hickey right over his pulse point. He wanted to mark him. He wanted everyone to see that this gorgeous man belonged to him tonight.

Nut let out a rough growl, his hips jerking upward instinctively to meet Hong's down-stroke. The sudden, deeper penetration hit Hong’s sweet spot, making him let out a fractured cry.

"Ah! Nut—"

Hong picked up the pace, his movements turning from slow and deliberate to a bouncing rhythm. His silver hair splayed wildly, sweat dripping from his chin onto Nut’s bare chest. The slapping sound of their skin colliding echoed in the room, a dirty beat that matched the wild hammering of his heart. Hong was moaning loudly now, his head thrown back, his throat exposed, totally lost in the overwhelming sensory onslaught.

But after a few minutes of the relentless pace, Hong’s thighs began to tremble. His muscles, unaccustomed to this level of exertion, began to ache, his movements faltering as fatigue crept into his limbs.

Nut noticed the shift immediately. He opened his eyes and let out an understanding chuckle.

"I've got you, love," Nut rumbled.

Before Hong could protest, Nut’s strong arms wrapped securely around Hong's back and thighs. In one powerful motion, he pulled Hong flush against his chest, locking him in a crushing embrace, and rolled them. Suddenly, Hong was flat on his back, his legs hooked over Nut’s broad shoulders, and Nut was hovering over him, driving deep, ruthless thrusts into his heat.

The change in position and angle was devastating. Nut was railing into him with a relentless power, each driving stroke bottoming out inside him, making Hong's entire body slide upward on the sheets.

"Oh! God, Nut!" Hong screamed, his voice completely wrecked, his fingers scrambling helplessly on the mattress before reaching up to claw at Nut’s shoulders. The pleasure was too much.

Desperate, Hong reached up, his arms wrapping around Nut's neck, and pulled him down. As another deep, driving thrust hit him, Hong leaned in and bit Nut's bicep. It was a light nip, but it was enough to leave a perfect, blooming pink semi-circle of teeth marks in the golden skin of Nut’s muscle.

Nut let out an incredibly pleased grunt at the pain, his pace turning savage. He drove into Hong three more times, hard and fast, his breath hot and ragged against Hong’s ear.

The friction was overwhelming. Hong’s vision fractured into a thousand brilliant lights as his body went rigid.

"Nut—I'm coming, I'm—"

With a shattered cry, Hong came for the second time, the thick release spilling across their stomachs. The pulsing spasms of his climax clamped hard around Nut’s cock.

Nut let out a guttural groan, his head buried in the crook of Hong’s neck as the intense friction of Hong's release pushed him over the edge. He gave two final shuddering thrusts, holding Hong tightly against him, and came, his body vibrating as he filled the condom to the limit.

They collapsed together onto the sheets, tangled, sweating, and completely spent.