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The music was deafening. Off could barely make out what Gemini was saying despite the younger actor being only inches from his ear. They had reached the part of the evening he usually avoided. The beginning had been easy. Posing for the fashion journalists stationed along the carpet. Playing with the props provided by the brand. Filming quick TikToks. Giving short interviews. Smiling for cameras. Even flirting with Gun…
That part had become second nature to him.
The middle of the event, though more demanding, remained enjoyable. He liked talking with guests, congratulating colleagues on their latest projects, meeting new people and sampling a few appetizers despite the strict diet he had been following for Gunshot. It was just networkingand after years in the industry, he knew exactly how to navigate those conversations. But all of that was finished now and the people who had remained were the ones who intended to stay until the very end.
The bar had been busy for hours. Champagne glasses clinked together beneath the colorful lights while waiters carrying cocktails squeezed through the crowd. The DJ, hidden behind an enormous pink installation displaying the CService logo, had abandoned the lounge music from earlier in the evening in favor of aggressive dance remixes that made the floor vibrate beneath their feet. The venue itself looked like something straight out of a dream.
The brand had transformed the industrial event space into a giant sleepover fantasy. Neon signs glowed in shades of pink and purple. Oversized pillows had been arranged around conversation areas. Satin curtains cascaded from the ceiling, softening the harsh architecture of the building. Everywhere he looked, guests were dressed in silk pajamas, lace-trimmed robes, or playful sleepwear-inspired outfits that somehow still managed to look impossibly expensive. Photographers continued circulating through the crowd, capturing candid moments for Instagram stories and promotional content. Every few seconds a flash illuminated someone's laughter or a frozen dance move before disappearing into the darkness again.
The atmosphere had shifted dramatically since the official launch presentation. Earlier, everyone had been careful and professional but now the event felt alive. Industry hierarchies had dissolved somewhere around the third round of cocktails. Even Off found himself relaxing. Just a little bit. Not enough to join the dancing. He didn’t like that at all. But enough to stop checking the time every ten minutes.
Across the room, a group had formed around Gun. Off's gaze found him automatically. It was instinct at this point, ten years of partnership will do that to you. Gun stood at the center of the chaos surrounded by his friends. He was laughing so hard he nearly doubled over, one hand resting on a friend's shoulder while the other held a drink he seemed to have forgotten to actually drink.
Off loved his laugher. He always felt like he won the lottery when he was the one causing it but even from afar he couldn’t contained the reflective smile to reach his lips.
The heat generated by dozens of dancing bodies had begun to affect everyone. Gun's dark hair had started curling slightly from the sweat accumulating at the base of his neck, forcing him to pull a baseball cap lower over his head. One of the buttons of his pink pajama shirt had come undone at some point during the evening, exposing a glimpse of warm skin every time he moved. He looked impossibly comfortable, he belonged here in this chaotic sea of music.
It was strange.
Normally, he would have left an hour ago. Maybe even two. He didn’t feel at home here with the loud music. The dancing. The endless energy….
Off let his gaze linger on Gun for a few seconds longer before looking away.
The sight made something uncomfortable twist inside his chest.
Years ago, none of this would have happened. Year ago, he would have laughed if someone had suggested he would willingly choose to attend an after-party, stand in the middle of a dance floor packed with celebrities, and spend half the evening pretending to flirt with another man for the benefit of cameras.
Yet here he was.
The strange thing was that very little of it felt like pretending anymore. The partnership had changed him. Gun had changed him. It had take time, a thousand tiny compromises, a thousand tiny decisions….Off used to overthink anything, a touch, a joke, afraid of what people will think of him…but being with his partner felt as easy as breathing now.
Gun was the total opposite. He wasn’t embarrassed by affection. He didn't spend three days analyzing whether placing a hand on someone's shoulder might send the wrong message. He simply existed. Comfortable in his own skin. Comfortable around Off. At first, Off had followed along because it was good for work. Then because it made fans happy. Eventually he stopped knowing exactly why. Maybe because he enjoyed it.
That realization had taken longer to admit.
Long enough that it still occasionally caught him off guard. He liked the physical closeness, the casual touches…Gun would always be the friend who had somehow convinced him that maybe the world wouldn't end if people thought he was a little less traditionally masculine than expected.
But as fulfilling as playing boyfriend to Gun for the camera had been ,some needs couldn't be solved by friendship. No matter how close that friendship became.
Between filming schedules, promotional tours, brand obligations, family responsibilities and the constant scrutiny surrounding him, his dating life had quietly withered into nonexistence. Not that he'd been trying particularly hard. The few opportunities that presented themselves usually came with complications. A random hookup sounded appealing for approximately five minutes. The risks far outweighed the reward.
Especially now. His career was finally stabilizing again. Projects were going well. People were trusting him with opportunities. The last thing he needed was unnecessary drama. So he tried to forget about it, worked long hard hours and went home. Everyday.
Unfortunately, that did absolutely nothing for his libido.The situation was becoming ridiculous.
It had been months. Almost a year.
Sometimes he wondered whether the universe was mocking him. Because in certain ways, his life already contained pieces of a relationship. Just not the useful pieces. He spent an absurd amount of time with Gun, more than some married couples probably spent together. There were dinners. ,travel schedules, long conversations, hours trapped together in vans, dressing rooms and airports and enough physical affection to confuse anyone looking from the outside. Recently they even went to the beach together, playing in the water, enjoying times with their friends…It was enough companionship to keep loneliness at a distance but only slightly. No amount of fanservice changed the fact that he was still a healthy adult man whose body occasionally demanded attention.
Watching Gun laugh across the dance floor certainly wasn't helping.
Off groaned quietly. It was not about Gun specifically. At least that was what he told himself. The problem was broader than that. The entire room seemed determined to remind him that he hadn't touched anyone in months. Everyone looked beautiful and carefree. They were people flirting openly, body pressed together beneath the flashing lights without worrying about cameras or consequences….
Off took another sip of his drink and played with the little horse plushie at his waist. A gift from Gun...Their eyes met through the crowd. Gun immediately grinned and raised his drink in greeting, he shouted something Off couldn't hear over the music. Probably an invitation to join them. That was a terrible idea, the worse idea on earth…
Off sighed but started walking toward the dance floor anyway. He regretted joining them almost immediately. Not because he disliked Gun's friends, he had learned to apreciate them but they were all having fun. The kind of effortless fun that made him painfully aware of how out of place he felt. The moment he stepped onto the dance floor, Ling let out a victorious cheer.
"HE MOVED!"
Several heads turned. Gun spun around so quickly he nearly lost his balance.
"There he is!" he shouted.
The grin that spread across his face was bright enough to compete with the strobe lights. Off already wanted to leave. The circle immediately opened to let him in. Music thundered through the room. The bass was so powerful he could feel it vibrating through his ribs. The DJ had fully committed to chaos now, blending Thai pop songs with electronic remixes that made even the most rhythmically challenged guests attempt to dance.
Unfortunately, Off belonged firmly in that category.
"Oh no." Said Ling dramatically.
"What?" shouted Off tring to talk above the music.
Ling pointed at him. "I finally found something you’re not good at ."
The entire group burst into laughter, even Off couldn't argue. Gun was practically wheezing.
"I told you!" added Gun enthousiasly as if he was the reason for the disaster Off was on a dance floor.
"I didn’t want to belive you."
"Because you like him." Replied Gun.
Off rolled his eyes at the bickering. It was a game they played often. Link faking an impossible crush on him, Gun acting all jealous.
"I’m going if you’re mocking me." He said to stop the back and forth.
"No stay. Please, I want you to have fun with us." Begged Gun.
"And I always do what you want me to do..." sighed Off.
"Exactly." Beamed Gun. He was not drunk yet just pleasantly buzzed. His cheeks were slightly flushed. The usual filter between thought and action seemed significantly weakened which could be dangerous for Off's peace of mind.Gun laughed so hard at a thing Ling said that he stumbled sideways directly into him, his hand landed automatically on Off's chest to steady himself.
It was warm, completely innocent…. Off's brain and body immediately betrayed him. Gun didn't move away right away. His fingers remained curled into the fabric of Off's shirt.
"See?" Gun said breathlessly. "You're useful even if you’re not dancing."
"yeah…for balance…"
"For many things."
Off couldn’t help but stare. Gun stared right back. The smile lingering on his lips felt suspiciously flirtatious. It was always like that lately, flirting even when there was no reason to. Ling appeared between them.
"Absolutely not."
"What?" shouted Gun.
"I saw that." Accused Ling.
"Saw what?" asked Off.
"The look."
Gun immediately started laughing again. Off wanted the floor to open beneath him. Ling pointed accusingly at both of them.
"You two are impossible." Added Ling.
"We didn't do anything." Said Off and Gun at the same time.
"That's exactly what guilty people say."
Thankfully the music shifted and Ling’s attention moved elsewhere. Off survived another three minutes before things somehow got worse. Gun became clingy. The heat of Gun's palm, the scent of his cologne mixed with sweat, the soft silk of his pajama shirt brushing against his arm, the exposed sliver of skin visible where the missing button had opened the collar…
Months.
It had been months.
And his body was reacting accordingly. At one point Gun threw both arms around his shoulders.
"Dance with me!" he ordered.
"I don’t dance." Off was just trying to survive.
Fortunatly, Gun squeezed him once then immediately got distracted by something Ling said and disappeared.
"I'm done." Said Off to the group after one more song. He made his way toward the bar and claimed an empty stool.
The relief was immediate.
No more touching. No more dancing. No temptation to embarrass himself. His gaze found Gun again. He couldn’t help it. He looked too tempting beneath the pink light. Off wrapped both hands around his soft drink, took a long sip and kept staring. Unfortunately,that wasn't helping his problem at all. Off had barely managed five minutes of peace before Gun appeared beside him.
"Hi." Gun grinned. The grin alone was enough to reveal he had consumed at least one more drink since their last conversation. Still not drunk. Just pleasantly, dangerously uninhibited.
"What are you doing?" Off asked.
"Getting another drink."
Gun leaned farther onto him.
"Why are you sitting alone like a chaperone?"
Off snorted. Gun waved at the bartender. Then remained exactly where he was, occupying half of Off's personal space, still smelling faintly of expensive cologne and sweat and champagne. Off stared straight ahead.
"You know there are other stools." Off said in an attempt to distract himself.
"There are." Nodded Gun.
"You could use one."
"I could." Gun made absolutely no effort to move.
The bartender arrived. Gun ordered another cocktail. He turned back toward Off,narrowing his eyes.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Denied Off. Gun knew him too well.
"You're doing the thing." Gun was waving his hands near his face.
"What thing?" The best defence was playing dumb.
"The thing where you say nothing when there's obviously something."
"There is nothing." Lied Off but he could never hide anything from him. Gun hummed. The sound conveyed approximately zero belief.
"You've been staring at me for twenty minutes."
Off nearly choked on his drink.
"I have not." Off had been sure he was discret.
Gun rolled his eyes. "Ling saw it too."
"She’s a traitor."
"That's not a denial."
"I admit nothing." Gun's smile widened. The bartender placed his drink on the counter. Gun thanked him and completely ignored the drink before sitting down of the stool next to Off.
"You usually leave these things early."
"Correct." Replied Off. Gun folded his arms.
"So why are you still here?"
Off opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say. Unfortunately he did not possess an answer that wouldn't make him sound ridiculous. Gun suddenly slid off his stool.
"What are you doing?"
"I’m investigating."
Before Off could stop him, Gun moved closer. And, to Off's horror, rested his head directly on Off's thigh. He froze completely. Gun was using his leg as a pillow.
"Oh, that's comfortable." Muttered Gun.
"Gun. Please get up." Off was almost begging at this point.
"No."
A couple of people pulled out phones. This was exactly the kind of thing fans loved. Off took his own phone and filmed a quick story for instagram too. Gun looked entirely unbothered. His cap had slipped slightly during the evening, exposing curls flattened from sweat and dancing. His cheeks were pink. He looked ridiculously pleased with himself.
"I have to stay with you, you looked lonely."
Off groaned.
"Go bother Ling."
"Ling told me to bother you."
"Of course she did."
Gun laughed. The vibration carried through Off's entire body which was not helping. Nothing tonight was helping. Absolutely nothing.
"You're really tense."
Gun tilted his head to look up at him. Off looked away. That was his mistake.
"Oh."
The teasing smile faded slightly. His voice softened.
"Hey."
Off sighed.
"What?"
"Something actually is wrong." Said Gun.
"No." Replied Off. Gun raised his head.
"Papii…" The use of his nickname always made him feel things.
"I'm fine."
Gun studied him. The music pounded around them. People danced. Yet for a moment it felt strangely private. Just the two of them in the middle of the chaos. Then Gun's eyes fixed his crotch before looking back at him. And Off knew instantly something terrible was about to happen.
"Oh."
"No."
"Oh."
"Gun."
"Oh my God."
Off closed his eyes. Because he knew. He knew. The realization had arrived. The pieces had connected. And Gun, unfortunately, was smart enough to understand exactly what he was seeing. The grin returned.
"Gun."
"No way."
"Don't.Stop talking." Gun immediately started laughing with the pure delight of someone who had accidentally discovered the answer to a puzzle.
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Please lower your voice."
"Oh, this is amazing."
Off wanted to disappear. Actually disappear.Vanish into thin air.Leave the country. Change his name. Any option seemed reasonable. Gun sat upright again.
"You've been grumpy all night because you're horny?"
"Gun."
The laughter doubled.
"THAT'S what this is?"
"Keep your voice down."
"Oh my God."
Off buried his face in one hand. This was a nightmare. An actual nightmare. The kind specifically designed for him. Because of course Gun wasn't embarrassed.
"I thought it was something serious."
"It has been months." The words escaped before Off could stop them. Gun blinked. Then immediately lost all ability to breathe from laughter.
"Months?"
"Stop laughing."
"How many months?"
"Not answering that."
"Oh, it's bad."
"Gun."
"It's really bad." The laughter became contagious despite himself. Off felt a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. Which only encouraged Gun further.
"This is the saddest thing I've ever heard."
"Thank you."
"No, seriously."
Gun wiped at his eyes.
"It’s a crime that no one want to take advantage of you." Off barked out an unwilling laugh. Gun pointed triumphantly.
"There! I did it !"
"What?"
"You laughed."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
The answer came automatically. Effortlessly.
"No. I don’t."
Gun smiled. For a second neither of them spoke. The moment settled between them. Then Gun reached over and squeezed his forearm.
"You know," Gun said, "for future reference, normal people usually just go on dates."
Off groaned.
"Not you too…Tay already gave me the talk."
"We’re just trying to help."
"You're not."
Gun laughed again. Then finally picked up the cocktail he'd abandoned five minutes earlier.
"Come dance with me."
"No."
"Just one song."
"No."
"Papii…Please."
Gun grabbed his wrist. He was already pulling, sure of his victory.
"Come on."
"Gun…"
"You'll feel better."
"I seriously doubt that."
Gun's grin returned in full force.
"Don’t worry. I definitely won't make the problem worse."
The look he gave him was so outrageously mischievous that Off nearly walked straight back out of the venue. Instead, he let Gun drag him toward the dance floor. Again. Which, in retrospect, was probably his second mistake of the evening.
Gun’s grip on his wrist was warm and insistent as he pulled him back into the pulsing heart of the dance floor. Off told himself he’d only stay for one song. Just long enough to satisfy Gun’s ridiculous demand. Then he could leave. But Gun had other plans. The moment they reached the middle of the crowd, he turned and pressed in close, closer than necessary even for dancing. His hands settled on Off’s waist, fingers splaying over the thin fabric of his shirt like they belonged there. The heat of his palms burned through the material.
“Come on, Papii,” Gun murmured, voice low enough that only Off could hear it beneath the music. “Move with me.”
Off tried. He really did. His body felt stiff and uncoordinated next to Gun’s effortless rhythm, but he didn’t seem to care. He simply guided him, hips rolling gently, encouraging Off to follow. Their bodies brushed together with every beat, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Each accidental graze sent electricity skittering across Off’s skin. The easy camaraderie from earlier was rapidly dissolving. Gun’s hands slid lower, resting just above the curve of Off’s ass as he pulled him in tighter. The missing button on Gun’s pajama shirt had become a full-on distraction; every movement offered a wider glimpse of smooth, flushed skin and the sharp line of his collarbone. Sweat glistened at the base of his throat. Off’s mouth went dry.
“You’re thinking too much again,” Gun teased, lips brushing the shell of Off’s ear. His breath was warm, faintly sweet from the cocktails. “Just feel it.”
Off swallowed hard. He could feel everything. The firm press of Gun’s body, the way his hips moved in slow, suggestive circles, the occasional brush of Gun’s crotch against his thigh when the crowd pushed them closer. His own hands had nowhere safe to go, one ended up on Gun’s shoulder, the other at his waist, fingers digging into soft silk.
Every touch felt dangerous.
Gun tilted his head back slightly to look at him, eyes dark and sparkling with mischief… and something hotter. The grin he gave Off was slow and knowing. He leaned in again, this time letting his lips ghost along Off’s jaw for a fraction of a second, barely there, but enough to make Off’s pulse spike.
“Gun.” Off warned, voice rough.
“What?” Gun asked innocently, even as one hand slipped under the hem of Off’s shirt, fingertips tracing the skin at the small of his back. The touch was light, teasing, but it sent a bolt of heat straight down Off’s spine. “I’m just dancing.”
This wasn’t dancing. This was torture.
Off’s body was betraying him spectacularly. Months of denial, months of ignoring his own needs, and now Gun, sweaty, flushed, smelling like sin and champagne was pressed against him, moving like he knew exactly what he was doing. Every roll of Gun’s hips, every casual caress of those clever fingers, every lingering look made the ache worse. Off was painfully hard. He tried to create space, but the crowd and Gun’s hands wouldn’t let him. Gun simply followed, closing the distance again like it was magnetic.
“You feel good,” Gun murmured against his neck, the words half-lost in the music but loud enough to ruin Off completely. His thumb stroked slow circles on Off’s lower back, dipping just beneath the waistband. “Warm. Tense. I like it.”
Off’s breath hitched. He was dying inside, trapped between the overwhelming urge to pull Gun even closer and the desperate need to push him away before he embarrassed himself in front of half the industry. His mind kept flashing warning signs: cameras, people watching, tomorrow’s headlines. But his body only wanted more. More of Gun’s heat. More of those teasing touches. More of the way Gun was looking at him like he’d happily drag him somewhere dark and private. Gun shifted again, sliding one thigh between Off’s legs, pressing up just enough to make Off bite back a groan. Their faces were inches apart now. Gun’s lips were parted, eyes half-lidded, that damn playful smile still lingering like he knew exactly how affected Off was.
“Relax,” Gun whispered, but his hand was doing the opposite, sliding up Off’s back, nails grazing lightly. “I’ve got you.”
That was the problem. Off didn’t trust himself with how much he wanted Gun to have him. Playing boyfriend had already been so hard last month at the beach, he didn’t know if he could endure it much longer.
The song bled into another, slower and filthier. Gun’s forehead rested against his, their breaths mingling. For a moment the rest of the party faded, all of it narrowed down to the maddening press of Gun’s body and the hungry look in his eyes.
Off couldn’t take it anymore.
He pulled back abruptly, chest heaving. “I need… I’ll be back.”
Gun blinked, concern flickering across his face for half a second before that knowing smirk returned. “Papii…”
But Off was already moving, pushing through the crowd with single-minded desperation. His heart hammered against his ribs. His skin felt too tight. Every nerve was screaming. He didn’t stop until he reached the dimly lit hallway leading to the restrooms. The door swung shut behind him, muffling the music into a distant throb. He braced both hands on the sink counter, staring at his flushed reflection, his eyes were too bright, his lips parted,his hair slightly messed from Gun’s wandering fingers.
“Fuck,” he breathed, gripping the porcelain hard enough for his knuckles to whiten.
He was painfully, embarrassingly aroused. And the worst part was he could still feel the ghost of Gun’s hands on his skin. He turned on the cold water and splashed his face, but it did nothing to calm the heat raging through his body.
This was getting dangerous.
Off stared at his reflection in the mirror, water dripping down his face. The cold shock helped a little, but not nearly enough. His heart was still racing, and the persistent ache below his waist refused to fade.
Enough.
He couldn’t keep doing this. Not when Gun had turned innocent dancing into something that felt like foreplay. Off grabbed a handful of paper towels, dried his face, and straightened his shirt. The decision settled in his chest like a stone: he was going home. He would text Gun a quick excuse, tired, an early schedule or whatever sounded believable and slip out the back. Distance was the only safe option right now.
He pushed the bathroom door open, the muffled bass immediately rushing back over him like a wave. The hallway was quieter than the main floor but still thick with the scent of perfume. He took one step toward the exit and froze. Gun was leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, baseball cap tilted low. The moment their eyes met, Gun straightened, a slow smile spreading across his face. He looked unfairly composed despite the dancing and drinks though his cheeks were still flushed.
“Thought you might try to run,” Gun said softly, pushing off the wall.
Off’s stomach flipped. “I’m not running. I’m going home.”
Gun’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. Before Off could sidestep him, Gun caught his wrist, fingers warm and firm. “Just talk to me for a second.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
But Gun was already tugging him gently down the hallway, away from the main venue and the bathrooms. Off could have pulled away. He should have. Instead he let himself be led, pulse hammering in his throat. They passed a few lingering guests, but Gun seemed to know exactly where he was going. He pushed aside a heavy satin curtain the same deep purple as the neon lights outside, revealing a small, hidden alcove.
The space was clearly designed for exactly this kind of escape, plush oversized cushions piled on low benches with sheer curtains creating soft walls and a single dim lamp casting everything in warm rose-gold light. It felt intimate. Too intimate. Like a secret corner of the sleepover fantasy the brand had built. Gun pulled the curtain closed behind them. The noise of the party dulled to a distant heartbeat. They were alone.
“Sit,” Gun said, not quite a request. When Off hesitated, Gun placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him down onto the cushions. The fabric was cool and silky against Off’s overheated skin. Gun dropped down right beside him, so close their thighs pressed together. There was barely space between them.
Off’s body tensed. “Gun…”
“I’m sorry,” Gun started, voice lower now, almost gentle. His hand found Off’s knee, resting there lightly. “I went too far on the dance floor. I was just messing around, but I know you’ve been… stressed. I didn’t mean to make it worse.”
His fingers started tracing small, absent circles on Off’s knee. The touch was light, almost soothing, but it sent sparks racing up Off’s leg. Gun kept talking, eyes sincere, but his hand never stopped moving sliding slowly up to mid-thigh, then back down, then higher again.
“I just like being close to you,” Gun continued, leaning in slightly. “You know that. Tonight you looked like you needed someone to pull you out of your head. I thought dancing would help, but…” His palm settled fully on Off’s thigh now, squeezing gently. “I can be an idiot sometimes.”
Off tried to focus on the apology. He really did. But Gun’s hand kept moving, slow, casual strokes that felt anything but innocent. The heat from his palm seeped through the denim of Off’s jean. Every pass of those fingers crept higher, closer to where Off was still painfully hard and trying desperately to hide it.
“It’s fine,” Off muttered, shifting slightly. The movement only pressed their legs closer together. “Just… I need to go home.”
Gun hummed, unconvinced. His other hand came up to play with the collar of Off’s shirt, fingers brushing the skin at the base of his neck. “You always say that when you’re overwhelmed.”
The hand on his thigh squeezed again, thumb rubbing slow circles dangerously close to his inner thigh. Off’s breath caught.
“I’m not overwhelmed,” he lied.
Gun smiled softly, but his eyes were dark. “You’ve been hard since the dance floor, haven’t you?” The words were spoken so casually they stole the air from Off’s lungs. Gun’s fingers drifted higher, tracing the seam of his pants. “I could feel it when I pressed against you. You were trying so hard to hide it. It was kind of adorable. And really fucking hot.”
“Gun…” Off’s voice cracked.
“I’m sorry for teasing,” Gun whispered again, but he was leaning closer, lips brushing the shell of Off’s ear. His hand never stopped its slow exploration, occasionally grazing the growing bulge with the side of his palm like it was accidental. “I just… I like seeing you like this. All tense and pretending you don’t want it. It was the same at the beach, on the yacht… You’ve been driving me crazy for months too, you know.”
Off’s head was spinning. The alcove felt smaller, the air thicker. Gun’s cologne, mixed with sweat and the faint sweetness of champagne, wrapped around him. The plush cushions sank beneath their weight, making it impossible to create distance. Every time Off shifted, Gun followed, their bodies staying connected. Gun’s fingers traced higher again, bolder this time, cupping the outline of Off’s erection through his pants for a brief, devastating second before sliding back down like he hadn’t just set Off on fire.
“I keep telling myself to behave,” Gun murmured against his neck, lips barely grazing skin. “But then you look at me like that on the dance floor and all I want to do is touch you more. Make you feel better.” His hand squeezed Off’s thigh again, possessive. “Let me help, Papii.”
That nickname, low and rough in Gun’s voice, snapped something inside Off. He turned his head, grabbed the front of Gun’s half-open pajama shirt, and kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle.
Months of frustration, of wanting, of pretending poured into the kiss. Off’s mouth crashed against Gun’s with desperate hunger. Gun made a surprised sound that quickly melted into a soft moan, and then he was kissing back just as fiercely. His hand tightened on Off’s thigh, fingers digging in as he angled his body closer. Off tasted champagne and heat. the way he kissed was pure fire, open-mouthed and eager, tongue sliding against Off’s like he’d been waiting for this just as long. So different from the calculated kiss they have to shoot for their show. Off’s free hand came up to cup Gun’s jaw, thumb brushing over the flushed skin of his cheek as he deepened the kiss.
Gun whimpered softly into his mouth when Off nipped at his bottom lip. The sound went straight to Off’s cock. He pushed Gun back against the cushions, half-climbing over him without breaking the kiss. The plush pillows sank beneath them, creating a private cocoon. Gun’s hands roamed freely now, one sliding up Off’s back under his shirt, nails scratching lightly, the other gripping his hip and pulling their bodies flush.
The kiss turned messy, urgent. Off could feel Gun’s own arousal pressing against his thigh, hard and insistent. Every roll of Gun’s hips, every gasp and quiet moan between them fed the fire that had been building all night. Off’s hand slipped into Gun’s hair, knocking the baseball cap off so he could grip those damp curls properly. When they finally broke apart for air, Gun’s eyes were glassy, lips swollen and wet. He looked devastating.
“Fuck,” Gun breathed, voice wrecked. “I knew you’d kiss like that when no one is around.”
Off didn’t let him finish the thought. He dove back in, kissing him slower this time, savoring the way Gun melted beneath him. One of Gun’s legs hooked around Off’s waist, pulling him down harder. Their bodies aligned perfectly, cocks rubbing together through too many layers of fabric. Off groaned into the kiss, hips rolling instinctively.
Gun’s hands were everywhere, squeezing his ass, slipping under his shirt to map warm skin. “You’re shaking,” Gun whispered between kisses. “Been wanting this too?”
Off answered by biting down on Gun’s neck, sucking a mark just below his jaw. Gun arched up with a broken moan, fingers digging into Off’s shoulders. They were losing control fast. The distant thump of music reminded them they were still at a party, hidden only by thin curtains and good luck. But neither of them cared enough to stop. Off pulled back just enough to look at Gun, his eyes were dark with the same hunger he felt. For the first time in months, the ache inside his chest felt like it might finally ease.
Gun reached up, brushing a thumb over Off’s bottom lip with surprising tenderness. “Don’t run home now, Papii,” he whispered, voice husky. “Stay with me a little longer.”
Off didn’t answer with words. He answered by kissing Gun again, harder this time, pouring every ounce of pent-up frustration into the press of his mouth. Gun met him eagerly, lips parting instantly, tongue sliding hot and slick against his own. The plush cushions sank deeper beneath their combined weight as Off settled fully between Gun’s spread thighs.
“Fuck, Papii,” Gun gasped between kisses, the nickname sounding filthy now. His hands roamed greedily under Off’s shirt, palms gliding over the warm skin of his back, nails dragging lightly down his spine. Every touch sent shivers racing across Off’s body. They kissed like they were starving, messy and open-mouthed, desperate. Off nipped at Gun’s bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth before soothing the sting with his tongue. Gun moaned softly, the sound vibrating straight into Off’s mouth and down to his cock. Their hips rolled together instinctively, the thin fabric of their pajama pants doing almost nothing to hide how hard they both were.
Gun’s hands were everywhere. One moment they were squeezing Off’s ass, pulling him down harder; the next they were sliding up his chest, thumbs brushing over his nipples until they hardened under the attention. Off retaliated by slipping a hand between them, palming the obvious bulge in Gun’s pants. Gun bucked up into the touch with a broken whimper.
“Been thinking about this so many times.” Gun panted against his mouth, voice husky and teasing even now. “You, all tense and pretending you don’t want to fuck me in the middle of a party.”
“Shut up,” Off growled, but there was no heat in it,only pure want. He ground down against Gun, letting their clothed cocks slide together in one long, delicious drag. The friction pulled identical groans from both of them. Gun laughed breathlessly, the sound turning into a moan as Off did it again. “Make me.”
So Off did. He kissed him deep and filthy, tongues tangling while their hips found a slow, grinding rhythm.. Every roll of Off’s hips dragged his cock against Gun’s, the head catching just right and sending sparks up his spine.
Gun’s hands pushed Off’s shirt up impatiently. Off sat up just enough to yank the shirt over his head and toss it aside. Gun’s eyes darkened as they raked over his bare chest. “Look at you,” he murmured, hands immediately exploring, tracing the lines of muscle, thumbs circling his nipples, then sliding lower to hook into the waistband of Off’s pants. “So fucking hot when you stop thinking.”
Before Off could respond, Gun surged up and flipped their positions with surprising strength. Off landed on his back against the cushions, Gun straddling his hips. The new angle pressed their cocks together perfectly. Gun grinned down at him, flushed and wicked, hair messy from Off’s fingers.
“My turn,” he declared, rolling his hips in a slow, deliberate circle that made Off’s eyes roll back.
“Shit…Gun…”
Gun leaned down, mouth latching onto Off’s neck. He sucked a mark just below his collarbone while his hips kept moving in long, filthy grinds that dragged their hard lengths together through dampening fabric. Off’s hands gripped Gun’s ass, squeezing the firm muscle and encouraging every movement.
Gun’s pajama shirt hung open completely now. Off pushed it off his shoulders, hands greedily mapping every inch of revealed skin. His chest was smooth and soft,but his stomach was toned with an hint of muscle. He tugged Gun’s pants lower, freeing his cock. It slapped heavy and wet against Off’s stomach, leaving a streak of precum. Gun did the same, opening his jean and slipping his hand inside his underwear. Off batted his hand away and wrapped a hand around both of them, stroking slowly. “Yes… just like that.” Gun hissed in pleasure.
They fell back into kissing, tongues fucking each other’s mouths while Off’s hand worked them together. Gun’s hips stuttered, chasing the tight heat of Off’s fist. Precum slicked the way, making every stroke obscene and wet.
“You’re leaking so much,” Off muttered against Gun’s lips, thumb swiping over the head of Gun’s cock on the upstroke. Gun shuddered, burying his face in Off’s neck with a whimper.
“Been hard for you all night,” Gun confessed, voice muffled. “Watching you try not to stare at me. Trying not to drag you somewhere and suck you off in a bathroom stall.”
The words hit Off like gasoline on fire. He flipped them again, pinning Gun beneath him. Their pants were shoved down just enough to free them completely. Off braced himself on one forearm and guided their cocks together again, thrusting against Gun’s length in long, purposeful strokes. The friction was perfect. Hot, slick skin sliding together, heads bumping with every roll of his hips. Gun’s legs wrapped around Off’s waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him on.
“Harder,” Gun demanded, nails raking down Off’s back. “Want to feel you.”
Off gave it to him. He rocked faster, grinding down with purpose. The cushions creaked softly beneath them. Their breaths mingled, whispering filthy encouragement.
“You feel so good,” Off groaned, burying his face in Gun’s neck. He sucked another mark there, then licked the sweat from Gun’s collarbone. “So fucking hard for me.”
“All for you,” Gun gasped. One hand tangled in Off’s hair, the other gripping his ass, pulling him closer. “Been mine for years. Just took you this long to admit it.”
Off laughed breathlessly, the sound breaking into a moan as Gun tilted his hips just right, creating devastating friction right under the heads of their cocks. Pleasure coiled tight and hot at the base of Off’s spine. He could feel Gun trembling beneath him, his breaths coming shorter.
“Close?” Off asked, voice rough.
Gun nodded frantically. “Don’t stop…fuck, just like that…”
Off shifted slightly, changing the angle so every thrust dragged along the sensitive underside of Gun’s cock. Their bodies moved together in a slick, desperate rhythm, precum and sweat making everything messy and perfect. Gun’s hand joined Off’s between them, stroking them together faster. The pressure built rapidly.
“Papii….I’m gonna…”
“Come on,” Off growled, biting Gun’s shoulder. “Come for me.”
Gun came with a choked cry, hips jerking as he spilled hot and wet between them. Gun falling apart beneath him pushed Off over the edge seconds later. Pleasure crashed through him in powerful waves. He groaned Gun’s name against his neck as he came, adding to the mess between their stomachs. They kept grinding slowly through the aftershocks, drawing out every last spark of pleasure until they were both oversensitive and trembling. Eventually Off collapsed half on top of Gun, both of them breathing hard in the quiet alcove. For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the distant thump of the party outside the curtains.
Gun started laughing first, soft and breathless. “Holy shit.”
Off buried his face in Gun’s sweaty neck, smiling despite himself. “Yeah.”
Gun’s fingers carded gently through his hair. “You okay?”
Off lifted his head. Gun looked beautifully ruined, lips swollen, eyes hazy with pleasure, skin flushed and marked where Off had sucked bruises into his neck and chest. The sight made something warm and possessive bloom in Off’s chest.
“Better than okay,” Off admitted. He leaned down and kissed Gun softly this time, a stark contrast to the frantic heat from minutes earlier. Gun hummed happily into it, one leg still hooked lazily around Off’s thigh. They stayed like that for a while, trading lazy kisses and gentle touches as they came down. Gun traced patterns on Off’s back with his fingertips. Off brushed damp hair off Gun’s forehead.
“Months, huh?” Gun teased quietly, a playful glint returning to his eyes.
Off groaned. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying,” Gun continued, grinning, “if I’d known all it took was some grinding on the dance floor and a fake apology with wandering hands, I would’ve done it ages ago.”
Off pinched his side, making Gun squirm and laugh. “You were insufferable tonight.”
“You loved it.”
Off didn’t deny it. Instead he kissed Gun again, deeper this time, savoring the way Gun melted beneath him. Their bodies were sticky, clothes rumpled and half-off, but neither of them cared. The alcove felt like a private sanctuary in the middle of chaos. Eventually Gun pulled back just enough to look at him, expression softening. “So… not going home alone tonight?”
Off pretended to think about it, then shook his head. “No. Not alone.”
Gun’s smile was blinding. He tugged Off back down, wrapping arms and legs around him like he never planned to let go. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet. Not by a long shot.”
Off chuckled against his lips. “We’re still at a party, you menace.”
“Details,” Gun murmured, already kissing him again, slow and promising. His hand slid down Off’s back to squeeze his ass. “We’ve got time. And these cushions are very comfortable.”
Off groaned, but it was fond. He was already half-hard again, body responding to Gun’s touch like it had been waiting years for permission. The night was far from over, and for once, Off didn’t want to run. He kissed Gun deeply, hands roaming over warm, sweat-slick skin, and let himself finally stop thinking.