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There are many things about this lifestyle that Seonghwa thinks he enjoys, but this is not one of them.
He’s in a long, black shimmery gown, the material just the right amount of sheer that leaves little to the imagination. The living room and dining room are packed with guests, the noise of the guests’ chatter carrying over the sound of the string quartet he’d specially hired for this.
Seonghwa’s lips contort into a cynical expression. The string quartet was his husband’s idea too, and he’d insisted on it, even though he wasn’t even going to fucking bother showing up in the first place.
Sure, being a wealthy man’s kept wife had its perks, like how Seonghwa could walk around dripping in diamonds, wearing clothes from the finest couture collections, a seemingly endless collection of red bottom heels - but even all that wouldn’t satisfy Seonghwa.
His stupid - albeit absent husband is to blame. The fool had taken their private jet again, leaving Seonghwa alone in their Paris house for work in Prague. Seonghwa still remembers their last conversation as his husband gathered his things in his office, the handle of his leather Ferragamo suitcase round his wrist.
“You couldn’t even spare me even a tiny dot of space in your schedule?” Seonghwa had asked with folded arms. It was early in the morning, and they just barely finished breakfast. Seonghwa had even requested their private chef to make his husband’s favorite Blumenthal omelettes. But the ungrateful wretch of a man hadn’t even bothered to say a single thank you, not even so much as giving a kiss goodbye. Not even on the cheek.
“Sorry, cheri," the cold bastard had said as he pushed his way out through the oak office door. “I still need to bring home the bacon for us.”
It was far from being the first time. And each time, he never failed to say the same thing, or at least allude to it. Seonghwa couldn’t help but wonder, then, why did the man practically grovel, begging Seonghwa to marry him? Three years on, this was a truly baffling fact.
Needless to say, these repeated occurrences did not help Seonghwa’s self-confidence at all. He would spend hours on his mobile phone lamenting to his best friends - not that his husband really minded, he just paid for everything Seonghwa put on the black credit card.
Seonghwa would think wistfully of their courting days in his previous life, when Seonghwa was once a high-profile supermodel who’d walked Paris, Milan and Seoul's runways. That was until this man with his warm eyes and charming lips swept him off his feet with destination date getaways, then asking him to be his forever with a gorgeous diamond ring amidst a rooftop view of the Eiffel Tower.
Those days seemed so distant now, to Seonghwa’s chagrin. The honeymoon days seemed to have quickly faded as soon as they began.
Of course, being married to someone as high profile as Seonghwa’s husband meant that he had responsibilities as the pretty trophy wife. His husband would remind him to find occasions to throw extravagant, lush parties, just like the other wives would do.
Yeah, Seonghwa would think bitterly, but at least those wives had their husbands’ full support.
Now, whenever Seonghwa hosted parties, it only seemed like the only support his husband was providing was financial. Fuck it all, then, Seonghwa had told himself. Going on the advice of his best society friends, he decided to go all out for the end of summer season and throw the most elaborate Venetian masquerade themed party. He’d made sure to hire the best musicians, artisans and chefs to provide the dining and entertainment for the evening.
Seonghwa flits about the lower floor of his Parisian mansion like a monarch butterfly, taking a champagne flute off of one of the busboys with a tight lipped smile.
“This is so fun, Seonghwa-hyung,” Wooyoung, one of his closer society friends that was married to Choi San, an owner of multiple globally successful wellness-related businesses, clasped Seonghwa by the shoulder with finely manicured nails. “You always throw the best parties.”
Seonghwa throws back a long gulp of his champagne. This was the good stuff, flown in freshly from Florence earlier in the day. “Thank you, Wooyoung-ah,” Seonghwa says with a genuine smile. There was no need to wear his fake company smile in front of Wooyoung - he’d come to know that Wooyoung was one of the realer ones.
“It’s too bad he isn’t here,” Wooyoung says with a dramatic sigh. Just then, San reappears with a happy, puppy-like grin with two hands full of plates of canapes.
“Here you go, my darling,” San says, carefully handing over a plate as though the thing was made of glass rather than good quality porcelain. Wooyoung leans over to kiss his husband on the cheek, whispering something dirty in French, but San, being a bit of a lovable himbo as described by Wooyoung, does not catch the entendre at all.
“Disgusting,” Seonghwa says with a firm shake of the head, though he’s smiling. Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at him, earning an amused chuckle. “Don’t ruin your Chanel Rouge,” Seonghwa tuts, waving a black lacquered fingernail in Wooyoung’s face, before shoving Wooyoung along lightly. “Go enjoy the party, you two,” Seonghwa grins, his mood lightening thanks to his friends.
Seonghwa continues his slow inspection of the party, champagne flute still in hand. He does a quick scan of the surrounding area, making sure that all the guests were enjoying themselves. Some of those on the list were among the highest and mightiest in society, and he needed to make sure that they were kept happy - also because his wretched husband’s reputation was on the line.
Suddenly, there’s a clinging of a spoon against a glass, and the party knows to take the signal to pause their conversations. They turn their attention to one of Seonghwa’s chief butlers standing on the grand staircase, wearing an ornate mask that resembles an owl’s face. “Monsieurs and madames and mademoiselles,” he says with a wide smile, “we are now opening the dance floor. Please enjoy the music by our Venetian artistes in the next room,” he gestures. The party exchange excited whispers before shuffling into the next room, the sound of heels and leather dress shoes clacking loudly against the tiled floors.
Seonghwa waits for the crowd to clear, before he proceeds to join the guests in the next room, which in times past was indeed utilized as a mini ballroom. The musicians have already set up, and gotten a simple melody going. Gradually, as the minuet continues, the dance floor fills up with more and more people.
The guests are evidently enjoying themselves out there, and it’s a combination of that satisfaction of being a good host along with the bubbly that helps Seonghwa visibly relax. He’s keen to stay in a quiet corner, swaying on the spot to the pleasant music, his long skirt swishing on the tiles.
That is, until he’s interrupted with a gentle touch to his arm.
“Madame Park,” a voice, low as a whisper, calls his name. He turns to see a masked figure standing in front of him, clad in a dark gray suit. The voice is somewhat familiar, but Seonghwa finds himself unable at the moment to recall where he’s heard it from. Him and his husband’s lifestyle meant that they often had to network, meeting many people in a short span of time.
“Is something the matter?” Seonghwa puts on his best company manners voice, fingers wrapped delicately around his champagne flute. He’s only mildly annoyed at being interrupted in the middle of enjoying a portion of his favorite Saint-Saëns.
The masked figure tilts his head, eyes peering intently into Seonghwa’s. “I was going to ask if this beautiful one might dignify me with a dance,” he says, bowing with a flourish.
After hearing the stranger speak a little more, he laughs, finally recalling where he’s heard this voice, belonging to none other than his husband’s personal assistant. His husband relied on him plenty, especially to be his proxy back home when he couldn’t be present for events.
“You? My husband’s assistant, asking to dance with me?” Seonghwa tosses his head back in laughter, covering his mouth with one hand. “What would people say, if they saw us. The gossip forums would have an absolute field day.”
The young man only smiles all the wider, brimming with confidence that Seonghwa’s not sure where he’s gathered it from. Perhaps an aftereffect of basking in his husband’s presence over too long a period of time, he thinks. “Please, just one. Your husband did ask me to step in when he couldn’t be around.”
“Did he now,” Seonghwa hums, words dripping with bitter venom. “That’s all he’s good at, delegating everything else.”
His husband’s assistant still appears unfazed, stretching a hand out. “May I have this dance?”
Seonghwa considers him for a moment, swirling the golden liquid in his glass. Well, he did just say one dance, and this man might be the biggest fool or the most brazen one in this party to ask him for a dance.
Ah well. One indulgence was harmless in the grand scheme of things. Seonghwa stretches out his hand, allowing his husband’s assistant to take his hand and lead them out to the dance floor.
“Where did you learn to dance, Mr. Kim?” Seonghwa asks, his hand lightly resting on his dance partner’s forearm as Mr. Kim leads them around the dance floor with adept moves.
Mr. Kim chuckles. “Oddly, it was your husband, Madame. He said that his assistants needed to have some aptitude in the fine arts if they wished to work for him - music, dancing, visual art, the like.”
Seonghwa sniffs. “That sounds like him. I will give him credit for this one thing - you are very good at what you do, Mr. Kim.”
“Please, call me Hongjoong, Madame. It’s been four years, after all,” Mr. Kim - no, Hongjoong, says with a slight smile - but it’s subtle enough that Seonghwa can pick up that he’s only acting coy.
“Hongjoong, then,” Seonghwa replies, voice smooth as silk.
Hongjoong continues to lead them, swaying Seonghwa smoothly left and right. Towards the end, as he spins Seonghwa around in a perfect circle, pulling him in to catch him in his arms, Seonghwa feels his breath catch as he’s facing eye to eye with Hongjoong - their lips inches apart. He’s held in that spot for a moment too long, until Hongjoong lets go at last.
Seonghwa’s breaths are much heavier, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. He suspects the alcohol for making him feel this way. But up close, he could see Hongjoong’s intense eyes, lips plush, the smell of his cologne.
“Madame,” Hongjoong whispers, voice low. Seonghwa knows that look in his eyes too well. It’s a look he’d seen other men look at him with, back before he’d met his husband.
Hunger.
Seonghwa swallows, turning away from Hongjoong. He clutches the diamond pendant around his neck, before storming off the dance floor without a single word, wanting nothing but to hide his face and seek solace elsewhere.
He’s running and running for what seems endless, until he finds a nearby open door to dart into, and once he’s inside he belatedly realizes that he’s in his husband’s study. His husband had a fine collection of classics, as well as some of the finest art pieces, be it paintings or sculptures.
By the fireplace, there is a bust of Aphrodite.
Seonghwa rests his hands on his husband’s desk, nails digging into the fine wood as he attempts as best as he can to collect himself. He lifts up one hand to clutch his diamond necklace - it had been an anniversary gift from his husband, on their one year anniversary. Even if his husband was a fool now, he certainly wasn’t a fool back then.
But now Seonghwa finds himself on the cusp of a personal crisis. He’d never expected to react to something as simple as dancing with his husband’s assistant in such a strong way as he did. That early descent into attraction was something he hasn’t felt in a long time.
How long had it been, since he felt desire - real, incendiary desire?
Too long.
Seonghwa is still trying to calm his breathing with the techniques he’d learned from his yoga class, when he hears the door creak open. It’s too loud in the silence of this part of the house, out of bounds save for only himself and his husband.
The footsteps behind him grow louder and louder, and Seonghwa slowly pushes himself up to stand, hand groping around the desk for some hard object to throw towards the potential intruder.
He’s about to grab the small bust of Zeus when he hears a familiar sound.
“Madame Park.”
Seonghwa swallows, wondering if Hongjoong had actually followed him all the way here to this part of the house. “Hongjoong?” Seonghwa’s voice comes out so softly, almost like a squeak.
“What are you doing here, all alone in the dark?” Hongjoong murmurs, placing a gentle touch of the hand onto Seonghwa’s elbow.
Seonghwa turns around sharply, shaking off Hongjoong’s touch to glare at him. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he whispers. “This place is out of bounds.”
“But aren’t I the one who’s the next person closest to your husband, Madame?” Hongjoong leans forward, placing a hand next to Seonghwa, half-trapping him. “This place is not at all new to me.”
“You clearly aren’t all that great of an assistant,” Seonghwa spits, “because apparently you don’t know how to gauge when a person requires their privacy.”
Hongjoong chuckles, a soft, deadly sound echoing in the dark of the study save for the fireplace in the corner. “Are you sure that’s what you need right now, Madame?” He lifts up a hand, touch ghosting against Seonghwa’s cheek, but Seonghwa turns sharply to the side, making Hongjoong’s hand fall from his face.
“You - you know nothing about what I need, Kim Hongjoong,” Seonghwa tries to spit venom at Hongjoong, but Hongjoong looks as if whatever was coming out of Seonghwa’s mouth were honeyed words, not toxic darts to drive him off.
Hongjoong cups Seonghwa’s cheek, gently turning his face so that their eyes now had to meet. “I think I have a pretty good idea of how it feels, my dear Madame Park - when your husband has to constantly travel for work, leaving you behind in a house far too large for one person, even with many staff at your beck and call. How it feels to sit at a dining table with the opposite seat empty, though the table is full of the other person’s favorite food, lovingly thought over. How it feels to have prepared a thoughtful gift for the other person’s birthday, only for it to be left forgotten and unopened. How it feels to lie in an empty bed night after night, the other side cold, lacking warmth.”
Seonghwa swallows, throat bobbing. “You -,” and at last, Seonghwa lets himself crumple, shaking as he sobs softly. Hongjoong wraps his arms around Seonghwa, letting him weep against his shoulder, patting him through the tremors.
“There, there, Madame. You’re not alone, you know,” he whispers against Seonghwa’s hair.
Seonghwa then pulls away, wiping the tears from his face. He’s so glad that Wooyoung had reminded him to tell his makeup artist to use waterproof mascara, lest he start crying tears of black ink. “God, I’m pathetic. I can’t believe I feel so fucking lonely,” he says bitterly.
Hongjoong takes out his pocket square to gently dab at Seonghwa’s face. “It’s alright, Madame Park. You’re only human, after all.” Like this, Seonghwa looks so vulnerable, so soft. Hongjoong pauses in thought for a moment, before he leans in to whisper into Seonghwa’s ear, “Shall I help you forget your loneliness?”
Seonghwa gulps. He’s not naive to a person’s choice of tone. His breath catches in his throat, as he rasps out a barely audible, “Please.”
Hongjoong chuckles, lips pressed against Seonghwa’s temple. “I’ll help you forget how that bastard treats you.” And with that, Seonghwa turns so that their lips meet, and Hongjoong drops all his hesitation as he pulls Seonghwa close, breaths shallow as they kiss. Seonghwa’s hands rest on Hongjoong’s wrists, and soon Seonghwa is pushing himself backwards to lean on to desk as he lets Hongjoong lean down to deepen the kiss, the sounds wet and echoing in the room.
As Hongjoong pushes him down on the desk, Seonghwa’s hands slip as he tries to keep himself balanced, shoving off the items on the table. His husband’s ridiculously expensive Zeus bust and pencil holders crash to the carpet, landing with a loud thud.
Hongjoong then lifts Seonghwa up so that he’s now sitting on the desk, gripping the underside of his knees to make him wrap his legs around his waist. Hongjoong rucks the long skirt up, revealing the black lace stockings that Seonghwa was wearing.
“Fuck -” Hongjoong lets slip a curse, and he bites back the next thing that Seonghwa knows he was going to say.
“Call me Seonghwa, Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa moans as he feels Hongjoong’s soft hands slide up the smooth silk covering his thighs. “Might as well call me that if we’ve come to this point.”
Hongjoong laughs softly as he leans down to press a kiss to where the garter of the stocking was. “Alright, Seonghwa,” he hums. “I’ll make you feel really good, now.”
Seonghwa lifts up his leg, resting it next to Hongjoong’s shoulder and watching him through hazy eyes as Hongjoong slides off the stocking, taking his time to feel how the silk felt on his fingers. As he does that, he leaves a trail of kisses along Seonghwa’s leg, then his knee and calf, Seonghwa tossing his head back at how sensitive he felt. Hongjoong does the same with the other, and he pushes the skirt up further until his hand touches what seems to be textured lace at Seonghwa’s hips.
“Fuck, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong murmurs. “Are you wearing -”
“Agent Provocateur,” Seonghwa whispers. “Do you like them, Hongjoong-ah?”
Hongjoong’s smile is wide and uninhibited. “I think I’ll like them better when they’re off.”
Seonghwa bites down on his lower lip as he feels Hongjoong tug at the waistband, tugging down the black panties till they're at his ankles. Hongjoong then gently nudges Seonghwa down so that he’s lying flat on the desk, knees in the air.
“Beautiful,” Hongjoong muses as he lowers himself to his knees. “I want to eat out that pretty pussy of yours, Seonghwa.”
Seonghwa shivers at that, and he nods enthusiastically, as Hongjoong adjusts himself so he’s nestled between Seonghwa’s legs. Hongjoong’s tongue darts out to lick at the rim, and Seonghwa lets out a soft cry, earning an amused chuckle from Hongjoong. “I haven’t even done anything yet and you’re so sensitive already. Did you husband never do this to you?”
Seonghwa whimpers, placing his arm over his head to mask the embarrassment he was feeling. “No,” he whispers. “He never did.”
“Not even once?” Hongjoong clicks his tongue. “Now that’s not acceptable, for a person as beautiful as yourself.” Hongjoong then focuses back on what he was trying to do before, licking Seonghwa’s hole with his tongue. It’s wet and warm, and Seonghwa’s never felt this good in his life.
Seonghwa spreads his legs out a bit wider, and Hongjoong now seizes the chance to lick deeper into Seonghwa, fucking his hole with his tongue.
“Oh, fuck, oh please -” Seonghwa moans, head tossed back again as he writhes beneath Hongjoong’s hold. “I - I’m gonna - hah-”
Tremors of Hongjoong’s laughter trickle along Seonghwa’s skin as he feels Seonghwa wriggle in his hold, unable to keep still. Then, after licking a little bit more, he stops, and Seonghwa lifts his head up to actually glare at Hongjoong. “Did I ask you to stop?” he snaps at Hongjoong.
Hongjoong smirks, pressing a kiss to Seonghwa’s inner thigh. “I thought we might do something else more…exciting,” he whispers, as he stands up, taking Seonghwa by the hands, his panties dropping to the ground. He leans in to leave a trail of kisses along Seonghwa’s jaw, before turning his head aside to kiss at his neck.
Seonghwa breaks the kiss by cupping the sides of Hongjoong’s face, his grip firm. “Well, get on with it then.”
Hongjoong takes Seonghwa’s hand tightly, walking towards the wall just next to the window which had a view of the exterior of the mansion. He stands behind Seonghwa, gently pushing him to lean against the glass, before lifting up Seonghwa’s hair to kiss the bare skin on the back of his neck.
“Shall I fuck you here, like this?” Hongjoong whispers, lips pressed to Seonghwa’ back. “Let everyone see the Madame of the house getting herself fucked senseless against the window?”
Seonghwa’s breath catches at that suggestion. Even though it was late at night, and most of the staff were in the house, none on the grounds, there was also that small chance that someone just might be outside.
“Yes, please,” Seonghwa hisses, and Hongjoong shifts back, fingers curling into the soft material of Seonghwa’s dress until he reaches where the zip was.
“I’ll be taking this off, now,” Hongjoong whispers as he gently pinches the zip, tugging it down slowly in order to savor how the fabric looked cascading down Seonghwa’s smooth skin. There’s a hint of toned muscle in the back, as Seonghwa did exercise, and Seonghwa’s mouth slightly parts, awed at the privilege to see Seonghwa like this.
He leaves behind a trail of warm kisses from Seonghwa’s shoulder, then along the knobs of his back, Seonghwa tilting his head, eyes fluttering closed as he leans into the touch. He winces when he feels Hongjoong cop a feel of his bare ass, fingers digging into soft flesh.
Seonghwa leans forward, resting his face on the top of his hands, arching out his lower back.
“So fucking beautiful,” Hongjoong murmurs. “The Chairman is a fool for not seeing your beauty for what it is.” He then reaches down, past Seonghwa’s tailbone, parting his legs to slide a finger into Seonghwa’s hole.
“Fuck, you’re so tight. Has he not fucked you for a long time?” Seonghwa could laugh at how crude Hongjoong sounded, but he shakes his head as it’s the cold truth. He lets out a soft whimper when he feels Hongjoong slide his finger in and out slowly, letting him get used to the slight stretch.
“Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa turns his head to the side so that his voice sounds less muffled. “Lube, in the lowest drawer of the desk.”
He can hear Hongjoong make what sounds like a strangled noise, before he gently pulls his finger out of Seonghwa, walking to his husband’s desk to find a small bottle in the lowest drawer. Seonghwa can hear him uncap the bottle, squeezing out some of the lube onto his hand.
Seonghwa’s neck relaxes, head hanging as he feels Hongjoong reach between his thighs again to slide not one, but two fingers this time. He begins to slowly scissor Seonghwa open, while with his other hand he tries to make quick work of his jacket, and then undoing his pants, tugging down his underwear.
“More, Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa moans. “I can take it.”
“Just - a bit more, Seonghwa, then I’ll give you what you want.” Hongjoong gnaws on his lower lip as he removes his damp fingers from Seonghwa. “Fuck, so wet for me.”
Hongjoong lines up his cock at Seonghwa’s entrance, before gently pushing into the wetness there. Seonghwa lets out a wordless moan, toes curling into the carpet as he feels Hongjoong enter him.
“Such a tight, pretty pussy,” Hongjoong breathes, before he’s thrusting in and out of Seonghwa, hands gripping on tight to his hips. The sound of skin slapping against skin sounds so loud in the room, and only for a brief moment Seonghwa worries if the door is closed, but as he feels Hongjoong’s cock stretch him open, nearly hitting that sweet spot - he finds he can’t give a damn.
“Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa whimpers. “Faster.”
Not wanting to be less than pleasing, Hongjoong’s thrusts speed up and become sharper. He releases one hand to grip into the soft flesh of Seonghwa’s ass, taking in the sight of his cock sliding in and out of his hole.
He leans down to reach between Seonghwa’s legs to curl his fingers round his cockhead, leaking precome. “Let me rub at that pretty clit of yours, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong whispers as his fingers rub up and down the slit of his cockhead.
Seonghwa buries his face into his arm, almost biting down into his skin as he feels pleasure cresting in the pit of his belly.
“Am I fucking you good, Seonghwa? Am I better than that sorry bastard who calls you his husband?” Hongjoong licks at his lips, releasing his hand from Seonghwa’s cock to slap lightly onto his ass.
“Y-Yes, oh God, yes, Hongjoong-ah, you fuck me so good, oh fuck-” Seonghwa gasps as he feels Hongjoong fuck deeper into him, hitting his sweet spot.
“He doesn’t know what he’s missing-” Hongjoong mutters between thrusts, “doesn’t know how to fuck you like this.”
Seonghwa’s eyes flip back as Hongjoong thrusts deeply, urgently into him.
“Shit,” Hongjoong curses under his breath. “Gonna come, Seonghwa - fuck - shit, gonna come-”
“Come inside me,” Seonghwa whimpers. “Fill me up, please -”
Hongjoong laughs, darkly and shallowly. “I’ll give you what that sorry bastard cannot. Shall I come inside, make you full and round with my child?”
“Y-Yes, oh fuck, please, Hongjoong-ah-” Seonghwa gasps until at last his hips give out and he’s coming with a shudder and a soft, desperate cry.
Hongjoong curses when he feels Seonghwa tighten around him, and he follows soon after, pleasure rising like a wave in a storm, and he comes inside Seonghwa, filling him full of his come. His strength drained, he lets himself lean onto Seonghwa’s back, mouth pressed against the back of his neck as he catches his breath.
“How do I look, Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa rolls his hips and Hongjoong lets out a sharp gasp, feeling the dampness of everything.
Hongjoong slowly pulls out with a wet noise, and fuck, Seonghwa looks like a dream, hands pressed to the wall, ass out, and hole wet, white with his come. He takes a couple of his fingers to fuck his own come back into Seonghwa, as if not wanting to waste any of it. Seonghwa shivers at the touch, close to overstimulated.
After a moment, Seonghwa turns backward in Hongjoong’s hold, hands coming to curl around Hongjoong’s face, untying the ribbons that were holding the mask to his face. “You idiot,” Seonghwa says, barely able to bite back his smile as he runs his fingers through Hongjoong’s mildly damp hair. “You didn’t give me any hints you’d be coming back home, tonight of all nights. And you even missed the bloody Venetian string quartet."
Hongjoong laughs, wiping his hand clean on his white cotton shirt. “Then where would be our fun in all that? You did say you wanted the surprise to be cranked up, this time.”
Seonghwa snorts. “I think that was very much cranked up, to say the least. I was actually doubting that the assistant story would work, it didn’t sound too sexy on paper.”
At his husband’s admission, Hongjoong lets out a belly laugh, eyes forming crescents on his face. “Are you a believer now?”
“Yeah,” Seonghwa mutters hesitantly. “Fuck, my legs feel like jelly. I don’t think I want to do it against the wall for a while.”
Hongjoong leans in to kiss Seonghwa on the side of his jaw. “But you held on so well, baby. You looked so hot from behind.”
“But I want to see you,” Seonghwa says with a slight pout. “I missed your face, even if it drives me crazy most of the time.”
Hongjoong’s smile softens as he brushes Seonghwa’s long hair from his face, but it soon warps into a smirk, reminding Seonghwa of that charcoal drawing of the Cheshire Cat from the first edition Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland that Hongjoong had gifted him for his birthday. “Also I didn’t know you were into the whole breeding kink thing,” he licks at his lower lip cheekily, enjoying how his husband squirmed in his touch.
“Shut up,” Seonghwa swipes weakly at his chest.
“You love me, though,” Hongjoong tiptoes to kiss Seonghwa’s hair. “Missed you so much. I hate being parted with you for so long, though it pains me to actually say it.”
“Yeah, I do,” Seonghwa hums as he presses their foreheads together. “My favorite thorn in my side. My love.”