Their mouths crash together against the door, frantic and hungry, hands roaming without patience, breaths already broken.
Jiwoon feels Hanjae’s body pressed against his, hot, solid, alive. His scent wraps around him—jasmine and heated skin, thick with arousal, flooding Jiwoon’s senses and clouding his thoughts. His cock throbs painfully against his jeans, so hard it almost hurts.

Hanjae bites his lower lip gently.
“On the couch,” he whispers, voice rough and urgent.

He pulls him by the hand into the living room, never breaking eye contact. Jiwoon follows, breathless, heart pounding out of his chest. He’s excited. No—beyond. He’s not sure he’s ever felt like this before—so starved, so lost, so fucking desperate to touch him, to feel him grip his cock inside, to get fucked until he blacks out.

Hanjae sits on the couch and pulls him down to his knees for another kiss, slower, deeper. He licks into his mouth like he wants to steal his soul. He sucks. He bites. He challenges.

Jiwoon moans into the kiss, because Hanjae tastes both salty and sweet, stripping away every inhibition, making him feel like he’s about to explode.

Then Hanjae leans back. He unbuttons his pants, lies down, and throws one leg over the armrest, spreading himself open without hesitation—like he’s done this a thousand times. Like he knows exactly what he wants.

Jiwoon’s breath catches.

Hanjae’s eyes devour him, stripping him bare, burning with want. Slowly, he brings two fingers to his lips. He licks them, sucks them, savoring them as if they were Jiwoon’s cock.

Jiwoon swallows hard, trembling with the urge to rip off his clothes and press himself into that alpha until he’s begging him to stop.

After what feels like an eternity, those fingers slip between Hanjae’s spread thighs, teasing the muscle before pushing inside.
One finger. Then two. Sliding in with practiced hunger.

“D-Doesn’t… doesn’t it hurt?” Jiwoon manages to ask, voice caught in his throat.

Hanjae smirks faintly. “No… not anymore.”

That answer punches Jiwoon in the chest. A dull ache, heavy and sharp. But he can’t think about it, not now. Not when the alpha before him is fucking himself on his own fingers, face flushed, lips parted, sweat on his brow.

Suddenly his toes curl, a guttural moan rips out of his throat, raw and dirty.

Jiwoon can barely breathe. He doesn’t know if he wants to cry or come. Maybe both.

The jasmine scent grows thicker, almost sharp. His cock throbs wildly in his jeans, so hard it’s unbearable. His briefs are already soaked.

“Christ, Han…” he mutters, broken, pressing a hand over his jeans, squeezing the painful bulge.

Hanjae’s eyes snap open at his moan. Those red, hell-deep eyes pin him in place.
“Don’t touch yourself,” he orders.

Jiwoon nods—or maybe trembles. He can’t speak.

Hanjae stops moving, plants his foot on Jiwoon’s chest, and pushes him flat onto the floor.

Jiwoon freezes, shackled by the sight.

Hanjae rises, slips off his pants completely, then towers over him. He studies him. No—he devours him.

“You know…” his voice is low, dark, “I’ve always wondered what your face would look like in a moment like this…”

He peels off his cardigan slowly, tossing it aside, then unbuttons his shirt, leaving only the bottom three fastened.

Jiwoon licks his lips, drinking in his silhouette. Hanjae isn’t soft or slender like an omega. His muscles aren’t chiseled but they stand out under the loose shirt. His hips, his groin line—they confuse him, drive him insane.

“Do you… like my expression?” Jiwoon asks hoarsely.

Hanjae straddles him and unzips his jeans. “It’s to die for…” he whispers against his lips. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

Then he kisses him—wild, sweet, everything at once. His hand finds Jiwoon’s cock and with one smooth motion he sinks down onto him, taking him whole, hot, tight, deep.

“Fuck…!” Jiwoon cries, head thrown back. His hands claw at Hanjae’s hips like he’s holding on for life, fingers digging deep into skin. His neck strains, a vein throbbing visibly.

Hanjae moans, riding him with practiced ease, slow and steady. Their skins slap with a dull, wet rhythm, obscene, hypnotic.

Eyes shut, teeth biting back louder cries. Then he bends down, bites his neck, scratches his chest.

Jiwoon’s guts twist, his mind detonates, the whole world narrowing into Hanjae’s body, his jasmine scent, his guttural moans.

It’s heaven and hell tangled together.

But just as the pleasure peaks, as his body tenses, memory betrays him.

Minji’s face. His voice. The betrayal, the burning ache in his chest.

And then—guilt. Crushing, merciless.

His body stiffens. Tears well up.

Hanjae stops. Stares. “Don’t cry…” he whispers.

“I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry…” Jiwoon sobs.

Hanjae leans down, cupping his face, thumbs wiping away tears with trembling gentleness, as if afraid Jiwoon might shatter.

“It’s okay…” he murmurs.

He kisses his wet lips. His cheeks. His eyes. Collects the salt, but never rejects him.

Jiwoon whimpers into his touch, body trembling with spasms, muscles tightening. Finally he comes inside him, heart tearing apart, Minji’s name on his tongue, wrapped in Hanjae’s arms.

And as the world fades, he hears a whisper:
“You’re not alone… I’m here, Jiwoon…”