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The soft hum of the city below barely filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of In-ho Hwang’s hotel suite. Everything inside was immaculate: dark walnut paneling, minimalist furniture, and the faint scent of sandalwood from the diffuser by the bar. He had just finished another grueling dinner with partners from the Shanghai office and poured himself a neat whiskey, still wearing his navy suit, tie slightly loosened.
He hadn’t expected the knock.
He certainly hadn’t expected him.
The door opened with a quiet click. At first, In-ho thought it was room service—maybe an overeager concierge or one of the staff mistaking him for someone else.
But then he stepped in.
Tall, lean, dressed in a sharp black coat over a fitted turtleneck and slacks, the man had a face that was too smooth to belong to a stranger. Wide, soft eyes under messy dark hair. A smirk tugged at the edge of his lips as he closed the door behind him.
“In-ho Hwang?” he asked, his voice smooth, lightly amused. “Your friend sent me.”
It took In-ho a beat longer than it should’ve to understand. Then came the second wave: realization.
“Oh my God,” he muttered, taking a step back. “Are you a—?”
“Hooker?” the man offered, almost playfully. “Escort, technically. But I don’t mind the word.”
In-ho stared. “He sent you?”
He remembered the text his best friend had sent just a few hours ago:
"Loosen up a little, yeah? Room 2108. My treat."
He thought it was a joke.
Clearly not.
But what unsettled him most wasn’t the audacity, or the fact that this was a man. It was… him. The man standing there, so damn calm, so confidently beautiful. The angles of his face, the lean frame beneath those clothes, the subtle scent of something expensive and warm—vetiver, maybe. Or cedar.
“Name’s Gi-hun,” he said, stepping further into the room. “You can tell me to leave. No hard feelings.”
In-ho didn’t speak. His mind whirred with reasons—why this was a terrible idea, why this couldn’t happen. But Gi-hun kept walking, slow and fluid, stopping only a few feet from him.
Now he could really see him.
The quiet curve of a jawline. The way his dark eyes glimmered just slightly when he looked up. A single mole just under his left eye. He looked younger—maybe three or four years—and was just barely taller. Not by much. But enough that In-ho had to tilt his chin a little to hold his gaze.
“You’re staring,” Gi-hun said softly, a tease in his tone.
“You don’t look like a…” In-ho started, then stopped. Regretted saying anything.
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Gi-hun said, shrugging. “Would it help if I acted the part? Should I unzip my coat and pretend I’m someone else?”
In-ho's mouth felt dry. He didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t know what to do.
Gi-hun’s eyes softened. “Or you could just talk to me. I’m actually good company. You seem… tense.”
That earned a quiet, bitter laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”
Gi-hun stepped closer—close enough now that In-ho could feel the warmth of him. The scent of cologne was stronger, grounding. Clean and intimate. His breath caught.
“Look,” Gi-hun said, lowering his voice, “we don’t have to do anything. Not unless you want to. I’m not here to mess with you.”
In-ho blinked, gaze flicking from Gi-hun’s lips to his eyes and back again.
“What are you here for?” he asked quietly.
Gi-hun smiled, small and real. “To help you loosen up, apparently. But that’s up to you.”
A long pause stretched between them. In-ho could feel the blood pulsing in his fingertips, the heat rising to his ears. His mind screamed to keep his distance, to hold his composure.
But Gi-hun’s hand reached out, just resting lightly on his wrist. Not forceful. Not seductive. Just… there.
And In-ho didn’t pull away.
Gi-hun’s fingers barely moved at first, just tracing a slow, lazy circle against the inside of In-ho’s wrist. Like he was waiting—inviting a reaction, a protest. But none came.
So he stepped even closer, their bodies nearly touching now, and dipped his chin just enough to meet In-ho’s eyes fully.
"You still haven’t told me to stop,” he murmured, voice low and warm.
In-ho swallowed hard, throat suddenly tight. His instincts were all tangled. His brain told him to walk away, to keep it clean. But his body—the way it leaned ever so slightly forward—said otherwise. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak.
Gi-hun’s smile widened just a bit. “Noted.”
And then he reached up with both hands, undoing the first button of In-ho’s dress shirt. Slow, unhurried. Like he was unwrapping something delicate. His fingers were cool, precise, but there was something intimate in the way he did it—something that made In-ho’s breath hitch.
The second button came undone just as gently.
“You wear this suit like armor,” Gi-hun said, tilting his head as he worked. “Sharp. Controlled. But underneath… I wonder if you’re as buttoned-up as you want people to think.”
In-ho let out a slow exhale, half a laugh, half a warning. “Don’t push your luck.”
Gi-hun gave him a grin, all mischief. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”
Another button, and the shirt opened a little more, exposing the smooth line of In-ho’s chest. Gi-hun’s gaze drifted down, and his fingertips followed, brushing lightly over skin. In-ho’s muscles tightened under the touch, but he didn’t move away.
“Still no complaints,” Gi-hun murmured.
In-ho’s voice finally came, rough and low. “You’re cocky.”
“Only when I know I’m right.” Gi-hun looked up at him again, his expression softer now, more curious than taunting. “You done this before?”
The question hit like a stone dropped in water—no judgment, just pure honesty. “Had sex with a hooker?” In-ho asked with a grin, then gave a barely-there nod of his head. “But if you mean if I ever had sex with a man before… then, yes. I have.”
Gi-hun’s hands stilled for a moment on his chest, watching In-ho closely.
He leaned in, close enough that In-ho could feel the faint brush of breath against his neck. Then, slowly, he pressed his mouth just beneath In-ho’s jaw—featherlight, testing. A kiss that wasn’t quite a kiss, just the suggestion of one.
In-ho let out a sharp breath through his nose, his hands twitching at his sides.
Gi-hun took it as a green light.
One hand slipped behind In-ho’s neck, drawing him closer. The other kept moving down—sliding the shirt off his shoulders, revealing inch after inch of skin beneath the fabric. Every movement Gi-hun made was deliberate, teasing, like he was savoring the slow unraveling.
And In-ho—still tense, still trying to act like he was in control—was letting him.
Gi-hun smiled against his skin. “You know,” he whispered, “for someone who acts so in charge, you’re really good at letting go.”
That pulled a soft, strangled sound from In-ho’s throat. He didn’t know if it was protest or arousal anymore. His hand finally came up—not to stop Gi-hun, but to grip his waist. Hard. Like he needed something solid to hold onto before the rest of him slipped.
Gi-hun’s breath hitched at that. His eyes darkened.
“See?” he said, voice husky now. “I knew there was something under all that.”
In-ho pulled him closer.
And this time, he kissed Gi-hun.
Gi-hun tasted faintly of whiskey and something sweet, like cinnamon gum, and he kissed like he had all the time in the world. His mouth moved slowly, deliberately, coaxing rather than taking—like he enjoyed pulling In-ho in piece by piece.
In-ho let him, at first.
But Gi-hun didn’t stop teasing.
He broke the kiss just as it deepened, pulling back with a breathless grin. “Careful,” he whispered, eyes half-lidded, lips slick. “You’re starting to like this.”
In-ho’s jaw clenched. “You don’t shut up, do you?”
Gi-hun chuckled, dragging his fingertips down In-ho’s now-bare chest, lingering at his waistband. “Only when you make me.”
The way he said it—it was a dare.
His fingers danced over the buckle of In-ho’s belt, undoing it without even looking, and then flicked open the button of his slacks with a confidence that made In-ho dizzy. The soft rasp of the zipper sounded too loud in the quiet room.
“Let’s see what all that control is hiding,” Gi-hun murmured, and slipped his hand inside.
In-ho gasped—a sharp inhale, head tipping back just slightly as Gi-hun wrapped his hand around him, warm and sure, stroking slow.
Gi-hun leaned close, lips brushing In-ho’s ear now. “Oh,” he breathed. “You’re already hard.”
In-ho grabbed his hips, hard, grinding against Gi-hun’s touch. “You think this is funny?”
Gi-hun grinned, still stroking. “A little. You look so—wrecked already. That prim little business mask of yours? Gone.”
He gave a slow twist of his wrist and watched In-ho’s eyes flutter. “Bet your partners would lose their minds if they saw you like this.”
That did it.
In-ho growled low in his throat, grabbed Gi-hun by the back of the neck, and kissed him—fierce this time, no more hesitating. He walked them backward until Gi-hun’s back hit the wall, mouths crashing, hands pulling at clothes. Gi-hun moaned into it, hips bucking against In-ho’s. His coat hit the floor. The turtleneck was next, pulled off in a rough tug, revealing that lean, sinewy frame.
In-ho broke the kiss only long enough to stare—chest rising and falling, hair mussed, lips red and parted.
“You’re really pretty,” he said, voice rough.
Gi-hun’s grin flickered, surprised by the honesty. “So are you,” he said, quieter now.
In-ho dropped to his knees like a man possessed.
Gi-hun’s mouth parted, a sound catching in his throat as In-ho unfastened his pants and pushed them down in one smooth motion. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed, and In-ho didn’t even hesitate—he took him in slow, lips wrapping around the head, one hand gripping the base, the other steadying himself on Gi-hun’s hip.
“F-fuck—” Gi-hun choked, head thudding back against the wall. “You don’t—hah—you don’t mess around, do you?”
In-ho looked up through his lashes, not pulling off. Just looking. And then he hollowed his cheeks and took more.
Gi-hun groaned, one hand tangling in his hair, fingers flexing with each slow drag of In-ho’s mouth. The rhythm was unforgiving—messy, wet, hungry—as if In-ho had something to prove now. Like he wanted to drown out every teasing word with the heat of his mouth.
“You’re gonna—god, In-ho—you’re gonna make me come,” Gi-hun warned, voice cracking.
In-ho didn’t stop. He just pulled back slowly, letting Gi-hun slip free with a wet pop, and stood—face flushed, lips red, eyes dark.
“Turn around,” he said.
Gi-hun blinked, dazed. “What?”
In-ho grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the bed. “You heard me.”
Gi-hun laughed breathlessly. “Look who’s giving orders now.”
“You talk too much,” In-ho growled, pushing him down onto the mattress.
“Then make me shut up.”
And In-ho did.
Gi-hun’s breath hitched as he landed on the bed, sprawled out on his back first, legs still tangled in his half-pulled-down pants. In-ho didn’t give him time to catch up. He shoved them down all the way, dragging them off Gi-hun’s ankles and tossing them aside.
Gi-hun’s lean frame stretched across the sheets, skin kissed with faint scars and beauty marks, chest rising fast with every breath. His cock stood hard, flushed, glistening at the tip.
“You gonna stare all night?” Gi-hun panted, licking his lips. “Or you gonna fuck me?”
In-ho’s pulse pounded in his ears. Gi-hun pointed toward the nightstand. In-ho reached over and tugged open the nightstand drawer—his friend had clearly been very thorough in preparing for this—and grabbed a condom and lube. He kicked off his slacks, his briefs, and crawled onto the bed over Gi-hun, his body tense with want.
Gi-hun met him with a wicked little smirk. “You gonna be rough?”
In-ho tore the condom open with his teeth. “You want me to be?”
Gi-hun arched his back just enough for their cocks to brush, their hips grinding together. “I want you to let go.”
In-ho’s breath caught.
He slicked his fingers, kissed Gi-hun again—messier this time, mouths sliding open against each other—and reached down between them. Gi-hun parted his legs easily, eagerly, and let In-ho press in with one finger, then two.
Gi-hun hissed, gripping his forearm. “Fuck—yeah—don’t stop.”
In-ho didn’t. He watched Gi-hun’s face closely, saw the tension shift to need, saw the way his lips parted, how his eyes fluttered shut. He leaned down and mouthed along Gi-hun’s jaw, his neck, biting just enough to leave a mark.
When he finally rolled the condom on and lined up, Gi-hun opened his eyes, flushed and wild.
“Do it,” he whispered.
In-ho pushed in slow, deliberate, burying himself inch by inch as Gi-hun gasped beneath him, hands scrabbling for something to hold onto. In-ho gritted his teeth, trying to keep control, but the heat, the tightness—it was overwhelming.
“Holy shit,” Gi-hun groaned, one leg hooking around In-ho’s waist, pulling him deeper. “You feel so good—fuck—you feel so fucking good.”
In-ho’s control— the little but of it he still had left inside him— snapped.
He pulled out halfway and slammed back in, drawing a cry from Gi-hun’s throat. Again. And again. Their bodies moved in rhythm, skin slapping against skin, breathless and desperate. Gi-hun clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, dragging him down for another kiss as their hips met in a brutal pace.
Gi-hun was moaning now, barely coherent. “Harder—yeah—just like that—don’t stop, don’t fucking—”
In-ho covered his mouth with his own, swallowing every sound, rutting into him so deep Gi-hun saw stars.
He reached down between them, grabbing Gi-hun’s cock and stroking it in time with each thrust. It was hot, slick, twitching in his grip.
Gi-hun’s whole body arched. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna—”
“Come,” In-ho growled. “Now.”
And Gi-hun did—shuddering hard, crying out into In-ho’s shoulder as he spilled between them, ropes of it streaking across his belly and chest. His body clenched around In-ho, dragging him down with him, and In-ho groaned, cursed, and came deep with a final, brutal thrust, his vision blurring at the edges.
They collapsed into each other—sweaty, breathless, tangled.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything.
Then Gi-hun let out a soft laugh, voice wrecked.
“Well,” he whispered, lips against In-ho’s neck, “that loosened you up.”
In-ho barked a low, surprised laugh, still panting.
“Shut up,” he said, a small grin unfurling on his lips.
But he didn’t move.
And Gi-hun didn’t let go.