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The night sky explodes with shades of aquamarine and violet. In his drunken state, Hongjoong nearly tips over in an attempt to reach up and grab the fireworks display from the sky. As if he can catch it. As if he can grab it with his fingers and hold it against his chest to feel the warmth there. His lips part excitedly to notify Seonghwa of the beautiful display above them, but when he turns to the side, his friend, Seonghwa, is already looking at him.
The way Seonghwa looks at him is sometimes too much to bear. He looks at plenty of people the way he looks at Hongjoong, but Hongjoong has always been a little queer about pleasantries. Lingering glances and brushed fingertips often leave him frozen with no words to be found in his mind. It’s quite embarrassing, so he tries to avoid being alone with suitors for too long in hopes that he doesn’t make a fool of himself.
There aren’t many suitors that make his face flame the way a long glance from his best friend does. Hongjoong often wonders why that is. He knows his friend is strong, a man with many talents and a commanding aura that cannot be ignored. It’s how he made it so far in the royal houses: his good looks, clever charm, undeniable style, and grace. Take your pick. Any one of those things could bring a fair lady to their knees.
Though the royal houses are still quite conservative, the past few years since the revolution have left them torn to bits when it comes to rights and morals. Hongjoong is just a scribe and a librarian, so he’s not one to judge the morals of anyone. He just writes it all down and goes about his business. In the future, people will read his words and know what transpired during these tumultuous times. It will be Hongjoong’s sharp words and keen eye that carry the excitement and drama of these times to the masses.
“Do you like the display?” Hongjoong forces the words out like they physically pain him as they leave his throat.
Seonghwa’s lips curl up at the corners. He finally releases Hongjoong from his gaze, takes a sip of wine, and gazes up at the dark sky. What looks like a red chrysanthemum brightens the darkness as Seonghwa takes in the sight. He looks back over at Hongjoong, his gaze tracing every detail of Hongjoong’s face and frame, then nods.
It’s a shameful game they play. Seonghwa pushes and pushes until Hongjoong feels queasy with the lecherous nature of his friend’s stares and begs him to forfeit.
In a surprising move to both of them, Hongjoong maintains eye contact while he takes a sip of his own wine and hums with pleasure at its heady sweetness. His head is already so close to spinning from the drink, but he swallows the remainder of the glass down before he can second guess it.
It’s his night off, and he plans to enjoy it.
The House of Choi is throwing a ball, as always. Their celebrations are almost sickening in their extravagance. Back inside, enough food to feed a village for a week adorns the massive tables lining the hall's outer perimeter. In their midst, royals dip and spin with their partners, beautiful costumes shimmering in all shades of colors under the swinging chandeliers that dot the ceiling above them.
The youngest Choi, Jongho, is an extraordinary dancer. He is rarely seen without a woman or man on his arm, flushed and giggling at whatever clever jab the young royal has spouted off about.
Hongjoong had the pleasure of dancing with Choi Jongho once. He remembers it fondly. Jongho was wearing red velvet and shredded lace. His off-white stockings came to his knees and were embroidered with the most beautiful scenes Hongjoong had ever seen. It’s how Hongjoong earned a dance with the young sir. Though he usually stayed off to the sides and kept to himself, writing or painting a scene for his records, the beauty of the young royal’s attire had drawn him right out to the middle of the dance floor with a twinkle in his eye and a gallop in his step.
He rarely lets himself linger too much on what he wears to these things. That’s not what he’s here for. Seonghwa tries to make him get all dressed up, but Hongjoong would rather be comfortable. He has a fine caramel suit with pale green accents that he looks just fine in. He wears it to every dance. He can’t afford much more than that right now, and that’s okay.
Seonghwa can afford anything he wants. The Park Family is obscenely rich and rightfully so. They were the family that led the charge on taking down the old monarchy after all.
The power and riches belonged in their pockets, and luckily, the Parks weren’t all that bad.
“Ah…here comes your future bride, Hongjoong.”
Seonghwa grins into his wine glass while Hongjoong looks away from him long enough to register the young lady approaching them. Annie Kim. A young lady as beautiful as she is talented. A dancer, singer, and writer of all things. That’s how they met in the first place…in the library, over one of her own books that he had been smiling while reading.
“There’s my favorite boys!” Ever the brave one, Annie (known as Chungha in her professional life) topples over drunkenly between Hongjoong and Seonghwa. It’s a tight squeeze, but she manages it. She smells like a pleasant mixture of vanilla scones and fruity wine when she turns to address Hongjoong, as if she isn’t partially sitting in Seonghwa’s lap, “Having a lovely evening?”
Smiling politely and ignoring the long nails digging into his thigh, Hongjoong nods and replies, “Of course.”
“And it’s even more lovely now that you’ve joined us,” Seonghwa adds from beside them. He wraps an arm around Annie in an off-center hug, forcing a flustered laugh out of her.
She continues through a giggle, “Oh, you flirt. Save that for your real love.”
This causes Hongjoong to still. He tries not to look over at Seonghwa to gauge his response, but it’s difficult. Seonghwa takes up so much space with his larger-than-life persona. Even if Hongjoong looks away, it’s like his eyes can still detect the subtle movements of Seonghwa, his ears can draw a picture from the sound of a mouth opening then closing awkwardly.
“Too soon?” She pushes on, almost like she doesn’t notice the thick smog of strange in the air that she’s created. Or maybe she does notice it. She’s always been such an envelope-pusher. “I have a gift for you, Hongjoong.”
This one phrase somehow manages to cut through the thick air between them. He tries not to sound audibly relieved when he responds, “Oh, you shouldn’t—”
“She should. It’s your Name Day soon. You deserve all the presents. Presents overflowing out of every door and window in your home.”
The darkness of the night is kind enough to cover the glow on Hongjoong’s cheeks. Maybe he can just use the wine as an excuse if Seonghwa brings it up like he always does.
“Whatever. Where’s this gift?”
Instead of words, Annie makes a mess of herself in an attempt to stand upright without flashing her petticoat. Her dress is hard to see in the dark, but Hongjoong thinks he recognizes the pattern from another ball.
It’s tighter than tight up top, crimson with silver piping that matches silver streamers threaded through her dual braids. Her eyelids are similarly dusted with silver, her calling card. She’s a star—an absolute star.
Hongjoong has to admit that he does fancy her a bit, but not how Seonghwa does. It’s like watching a cat after a mouse with those two if mice were prone to chasing cats right back.
They stumble after Annie in the darkness like two tails splintering off of a falling star. Their own sparks are magnificent as they giggle and joke their way back into the great hall, past the debauchery, up a few flights of stairs, and straight into one of the guest hallways that Hongjoong has never seen.
He’s sure Seonghwa has seen it. He’s one of the royals, after all. Hongjoong is only ever invited to the proper parts of the palaces.
Sometimes, he’s allowed to peek behind the veil, but never like this.
His fingers itch to draw the moment Annie uses her hip to bump open a guest room door. It’s dimly lit by candelabra and the most magnificent tapestries Hongjoong has ever seen line the walls and ceiling. It’s a bit of a somber room with dark reds and charcoal accents, but the tapestries are a sight to see—stitched frescos of beautiful men and women dancing and singing and watching the stars.
He’s still fighting the urge to make his own fresco when Seonghwa grabs Annie’s hand to pull her into an impromptu waltz, despite the music downstairs being almost impossible to hear at this point.
It’s loud enough for the duo to keep time, though. Hongjoong knows that much. A glance around the room lets him know there are no seats, so he flops onto the bed with a huff and leans back on his elbows to watch the angels flap their wings.
Hongjoong wonders if tonight is the night. Seonghwa always says that Hongjoong has a crush on Annie, but Hongjoong thinks Seonghwa is just projecting.
In reality, all that is obvious is that Annie is positively smitten with them both, so the conversation could go either way.
It’s a conundrum for Hongjoong. He wonders if he should just go for it. Annie Kim is picture perfect in every way, and he’d be absolutely insane to ignore her advances. He can picture it now. Her soft, gentle lips. Her delicate fingers. His eyes trail down her body in the dim lamplight and stop at her exposed ankles. Her skin is so clear of blemishes. Not a bruise in sight. No unsightly features. She’s a royal, but she’s a writer. She’s smart.
Swallowing hard, Hongjoong inhales with a shaky breath and lets his eyes return to Seonghwa in Annie’s gentle arms. He’s so different from Hongjoong and Annie alike. His slicked-back hair is long but well-kept. It frames his face in a way that makes the edge of his jaw look razor-sharp. The muscles that line his arms bulge obviously along the clean, white fabric of his dress shirt. He’s looking particularly winsome in baby blue silk. His waistcoat is cinched dangerously tight, while his pantaloons are a little looser until they come to a tight squeeze just below his knees.
His shoes are nowhere to be seen. He must have kicked them off the moment they entered the room.
It’s an utterly dizzying sensation that shoots through him when he takes in Seonghwa’s legs below his pants. The hair there is sparse but dark, covering his legs and ankles. His feet are calloused and a little dirty. A man. A real man. The kind of man that many envy. That many desire.
“—sn’t that right, Hongjoong?”
Coming to, Hongjoong’s eyes snap to Seonghwa’s expectant gaze. “Sorry?”
“Too much to drink?” He grins and releases Annie from their dance. With a laugh that comes from way too low in his chest, Seonghwa does a twirl to come flop on the bed a few spaces away from Hongjoong. Never too close. “I said you’re a much better dancer than I.”
It’s true, but Hongjoong would never tell his best friend the truth.
He shakes his head and laughs under his breath. “Not at all. I’m ever your student.”
A strong hand reaches out to shove Hongjoong. He nearly tips over at the force, but Annie comes to his rescue, putting a steady hand on his other side.
“Enough of that…your gift, Hongjoong.”
Hongjoong swallows hard, stares at the intricately wrapped gift then back up at Annie’s excited eyes. She’s smiling beautifully, and it takes everything in Hongjoong not to tear up. He’s always so gentle, too gentle. It’s humiliating.
His cheeks burn, but he forces himself to smile back and reply, “Thank you so much. You really didn’t have to.”
Annie’s cheeks are just as tinted. She shakes her head while sitting down on the bed between her two visitors. “Of course I did.”
He takes his time unwrapping the gift and gasps at its contents. It’s an old book. A very old book. One that Hongjoong has been seeking for ages. Its spine is beaten to bits, and a few pages are torn, but it’s readable. Readable enough that…
“I figured if you wanted something to do in your free time…you could help get this tome back in circulation. Right?”
Her eyes sparkle so beautifully, and it’s all Hongjoong can do to stop himself from kissing her on the spot. One glance over her shoulder has Hongjoong taking a deep breath and settling for a pat on her knee. Seonghwa had a strange look in his eye when Hongjoong glanced at him.
It’s quite difficult to understand what Seonghwa wants from him. His friend obviously likes Annie too, which Hongjoong understands, but he also pushes Hongjoong to go after Annie.
At the end of the day, Hongjoong isn’t sure how he feels about Annie, but he does know that he won’t do anything to risk his friendship with Seonghwa.
He’ll always choose Seonghwa.
“This is perfect, Annie. Thank you. Really.”
He takes a deep breath and steels his nerves before leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to her cheek. She moves slightly during the action so his lips actually land on the corner of her lips. It’s more of a kiss on the lips than anything.
Her lips taste like chamomile. They’re just as soft as he had imagined they would be. Though his face and chest heats at the sensation, it still leaves him feeling a tad mournful.
Is this what it is to be a bachelor close to his expiration? Is there some measure of mourning that comes with the beauty of love and passion?
He barely notices when she turns to face him entirely. His mind is in the clouds like it always is. It’s what makes him a good writer, a detail-focused artist.
“I’d like to give you one more gift if you’ll let me.”
Her voice is low and sweet, as gentle as he’s ever heard. It seems to sink into his ears, skip along his neural pathways, landing finally somewhere in the center of his heart—forcing it to thump double time against his ribcage.
He can only nod, his breath caught in his chest. Her eyes are on his lips, not his eyes. She licks her own lips and leans forward only slightly, her eyelids sliding closed as if she believes in her heart that Hongjoong knows what to do next.
There’s a good chance he would know what to do next, but Seonghwa sitting right beside them has him hesitating for a moment too long. Annie pulls back slightly, a sad smile forming on her face. “You don’t have to…if you don’t…”
Hongjoong shakes his head hurriedly and clears his throat, nervously correcting her, “Not at all…I do. It’s just. Well, I, uh—”
“—what he’s trying to say, Annie Dear,” Seonghwa reaches two long fingers over to place them on Annie’s chin to direct her attention to him. Always suave, always calculated. Seonghwa’s eyes cut to Hongjoong for a moment; they trace Hongjoong’s wide, scared eyes then drop down to his lips, just like Annie had only moments before. “He doesn’t have a lot of experience, so he’s a little shy.”
“I—”
Hongjoong tries to object, but Seonghwa continues on smoothly, “What a gift it would be for him to learn from someone as fair as you, though.”
The words Hongjoong had been trying to locate disappear completely. His stomach feels even stranger now. There’s an unbearable amount of emotions beating at the gates of his skull, begging to flood his eyes with tears. He won’t let them out, though. He can’t let them out.
“But first,” Seonghwa’s fingers slide from their place on Annie’s chin, across her jaw, and down to cup the side of her bare neck. “A demonstration may do him well, don’t you think?”
That wretched feeling in his stomach spreads up to his chest, and even more degradingly, it spreads down lower and lower still. He can’t breathe.
The back of Annie’s neck and exposed shoulders are pink as posies against the dark trim of her dress. Her beautiful black hair in braids shakes against her back when she nods her agreement. She seems to be completely entranced by the man in front of her, which Hongjoong cannot fault her for. Seonghwa is a serpent of sorts. Hongjoong has drawn him as one before. It was meant to be a critical artwork, but instead, it morphed into something quite risque.
Hongjoong shakes his head to focus on the scene in front of him. Finding it hard to breathe, he undoes the first two buttons of his dress shirt and slides his overcoat off. Though Seonghwa is leaning forward to kiss Annie, his hand now firmly locked around the back of her neck, his eyes stay on Hongjoong just behind her.
It is Hongjoong who is now transfixed on the serpent’s stare, mortifyingly so. His breaths quicken when Seonghwa darts forward, his lips full and parted, capturing their target seamlessly. It’s almost as if the couple in front of him have done this before, but Hongjoong knows they haven’t. Seonghwa would have told him. He tells him everything he does. That’s why Hongjoong knows that Seonghwa is just good at this. It’s one of his many talents, though not one that is easy to add to a resume.
Hongjoong doesn’t necessarily want to watch, but there’s not much else to do when you’re seated on a bed with two people in the throes of passionate kissing, so he settles in and spectates. If anything, this will be great fodder for the fire of his thoughts when drawing or writing later. Maybe he’ll even write his own memoir someday.
“How I Missed The Kiss and Watched In Horror: The Story of Kim Hongjoong”
It’s not a lengthy kiss. Hongjoong isn’t sure he can even remember much of what happened by the time they broke apart, breathing just a little heavier, and Annie turns to look at Hongjoong. Her lips shine with what Hongjoong can only assume is a mixture of her own spit and Seonghwa’s. For some ungodly reason, this is what really pushes Hongjoong over the edge.
Between his thumping heart, his swirling stomach, and his aching loins, he loses his wits entirely and pushes two hands straight into Annie’s mussed hair to pull her forward into a crushing kiss. He only spares a moment to watch the corner of Seonghwa’s lips quirk up into a grin before he closes his eyes and focuses on the moment.
Kissing is not Hongjoong’s forte. He has tried it many times, but there is something about focusing on all the moving parts that makes his brain feel like it will fall out of his ears. All he can think about are the moving parts as he kisses her. The plush lips, the sweet taste of wine and scones on her tongue, the way her breath feels against his own lips, her gentle breaths increasing in pace.
Hongjoong loves Annie’s speaking voice, but he has to say that the soft sound of her increasing excitement as he tightens his hold on her hair has his head spinning. It’s incomparable and hypnotizing.
When Seonghwa leans forward to place his lips on Annie’s neck, Hongjoong almost wants to be annoyed, but instead, he tries his best to emulate Seonghwa. He channels his friend’s confidence, his blasé attitude. Loosening his grip on Annie’s hair, Hongjoong reaches out and lets his fingers slide into Seonghwa’s coiffed hair until his nails can scrape against his scalp.
Though Hongjoong is kissing Annie, and Annie is now running a hand along Hongjoong’s chest, Seonghwa truly moans first. He’s just layering Annie’s throat with kisses with Hongjoong’s fingers in his hair, but his low voice unsettles Hongjoong, in a way that isn’t all that negative.
He breaks away from Annie with a gasp, his eyes watering despite himself. Swallowing hard, he shakes his head and moves away only slightly to take in the sight in front of him, scared. He’s scared. He’s so scared. He feels like the smallest mouse that has stumbled its way right into a pit of vipers.
For some reason, he’s overwhelmed. He’s not sure what he can do, where he can go.
Who he is…
Annie puts her hands on his cheeks and forces his focus back on her. “It’s ok, Hongjoong.”
He’s breathing heavily, half hard in his slacks, but he can’t seem to focus properly. When Seonghwa’s hand layers over Annie’s on Hongjoong’s cheek, he really finds some kind of anchoring.
Slowly, Annie backs up until all Hongjoong can see is Seonghwa. His sharp cheeks are glowing red in the dull light of the room, and his usually neat hair is mussed and falling into his eyes. Sweat clings to his neck. He’s more than half hard in his own slacks.
Hongjoong swallows roughly.
Annie removes her hands and then places them on Hongjoong’s back to push him forward slightly. Just slightly. Seonghwa leans forward hesitantly at the same time as Hongjoong. His eyes look slightly watery too, if Hongjoong’s mind isn’t playing tricks on him. Slightly unnerved, Hongjoong’s eyes shoot over to Annie sitting between them. Hongjoong isn’t sure whether he’s asking for help or permission.
Either way, she smiles shyly and nods excitedly, pushing him the rest of the way.
When they meet in the middle, it isn’t a dead-on kiss. Seonghwa’s lips brush Hongjoong’s cheek softly, slowly. His lips feel rougher than Annie’s, but they still feel plump and tender. A shiver racks through Hongjoong’s body at the feeling of a hand much bigger than Annie’s landing on his knee to slide up his clothed thigh.
Seonghwa takes the lead with him, and Hongjoong supposes this has always been written in the stars for them. He has led them in dances, led him through orchards at night with a mischievous grin on his face, and led him into fights in alleys over some barmaid’s honor. Seonghwa leads, so Hongjoong follows, and it feels like he was always meant to end up here.
Like a bolero, Seonghwa rocks Hongjoong’s psyche with one soft kiss, another more languid and deep. He sways him side to side with a flick of the tongue, a tug of his hair. Between them, Annie is reclined and watching, a clever cat smile on her face like this is what she wanted all along.
Hongjoong can barely spare her a glance. He doesn’t want to breathe. He doesn’t want to open his eyes lest the moment be ruined by his own fumbling faults.
The bolero morphs into a Viennese before Hongjoong can even remember how to breathe. He’s on his back and gasping with Seonghwa looming over him, his knees on either side of Hongjoong’s hips. Hongjoong is afraid to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to see if Seonghwa is disappointed in him. He feels lips on his forehead, his cheeks, his nose.
When Seonghwa’s lips return to brush lightly against Hongjoong’s, another pair of lips join the fray. Delicate petals push against the already-bruising flesh of Hongjoong’s neck while Seonghwa slips a tongue into his mouth.
Hongjoong’s hips buck upward; his eyes squeeze shut even tighter. Sensations overwhelm him like waves beating against the shore. A tongue behind his teeth, a hand around his throat, gentle fingers unbuttoning his shirt, and slowly trailing down the slim patch of hair on his belly.
Above him, Seonghwa breaks away to remove his own shirt. Hongjoong knows this because Seonghwa grabs his jaw with one hand and tilts his face upward. “Look at me, Hongjoong.”
Hongjoong gazes at Seonghwa, awestruck. His friend’s lips are more swollen than ever; his fingers are deft as they move along his own buttons to rid him of his clothes as quickly as possible. The shirt he’s wearing is his worst enemy. His pants are the second wave of infantrymen leading him to his demise.
As if in a trance, Hongjoong reaches up to feel the sculpted planes of Seonghwa’s abdomen. His chest is bare of any hair, waxed most likely, but Hongjoong can feel where the hair must have been.
Where Hongjoong’s legs dangle over the edge of the bed, Annie is between them. She has already removed most of Hongjoong’s clothes while he was in his love-laden stupor. Swallowing hard, Hongjoong leans up as much as he can with a man straddling his waist and a woman between his legs. The skin in front of him is endless, and his body seems to know what it wants to do without his conscious command.
Without thought, his reddened lips wrap around the erect tip of Seonghwa’s left nipple. He drawls hard, suckling as if he could pull milk with enough effort. His hands wrap around Seonghwa’s middle, fingers dancing lower and lower to take in every muscle, every tendon. At one point, Annie grabs Hongjoong’s hand and pulls it forward to gently kiss the soft skin of his inner wrist.
He feels the minuscule kiss in every cell of his body.
“Do you want more?” Seonghwa asks.
Annie is flushed and stripped to her underclothes when she peeks around Seonghwa to see Hongjoong’s response.
They both look at him so expectantly, so excitedly. The edges of the Earth could fold in on him, and he would not mind it a bit with these two spectacular phenoms smiling at him.
It all falls into place at once. So obviously. So easily.
There is so much love to be shared. There is enough love here to power a city in the evening.
It’s evident to Hongjoong now that Seonghwa has always loved him. Just the way Annie has. Just as Hongjoong has admired both of them from the very core of his being.
It’s more than admiration, though. It’s more than desire, more than infatuation.
In the low light of the bedroom they’re in, Hongjoong can sense a golden rope that seems wrapped around each of them, glowing and swelling with each kiss they exchange, each brush of fingers over flesh.
“I want it all,” Hongjoong replies simply, his lips splitting into a shy smile.
Annie moves on him quickly, her mouth latching onto the inside of one of his thighs while her small fingers wrap around his cock. Without delay. Quick and ready, as always. A star, that one.
Seonghwa is still looming above him, but he slumps slightly, relieved. His usually confident and sharp eyes melt down to semi-sweet chocolate ponds. It reminds Hongjoong of when they first met as kids—his heart thrums.
“You’ll have it all,” Seonghwa promises.
In an act as humiliating as it is expected, Hongjoong cums the moment those words hit his ears.
He’s only human. With a woman’s soft hand wrapped around him and the tender eyes of the most beautiful man he’s ever seen boring holes into him, Hongjoong is weak. His back arches, his eyes cross. It’s lewd. It’s indecent. He can hear Annie laughing as she strokes him through it. His eyes water with shame and arousal, but Seonghwa doesn’t bat an eye. He shuffles forward to feed his now exposed cock into Hongjoong’s gaping mouth.
Hongjoong has never tasted another man like this before. He has barely tasted a woman. Seonghwa is as clean as a man can be after hours of dancing in the summer heat, but Hongjoong can only hum with delight when the salty musk of Seonghwa makes contact with his tongue. There is no sweetness there. It is not fruit and sweet tea. This is a man. The taste of a man who has kissed him and held him through nightmares and fought at his side after long nights at the bar.
Seonghwa is all brine and grit, his flavors soaking into Hongjoong’s slathering mouth with each measured thrust of his hips forward. Every sensual roll of Seonghwa’s hips forward forces his length further and further into Hongjoong’s tender throat. He only chokes a few times, to his surprise. Maybe he’s meant to do this.
It’s a welcome distraction. Between his thighs, Annie has taken it upon herself to prepare Hongjoong for what he assumes having it all means. He can’t see her, but he can feel one of her fingers inside of him, and he can hear her moaning as she touches herself while she does it.
It’s a carnival for the senses; his head spins with every ride he’s fortunate enough to have a token to ride. Seonghwa alternates between fast and slow thrusts into his mouth, but he also pulls out entirely at times to take a deep breath and lean down to kiss Hongjoong. It’s as charming as it is positively enrapturing.
To know that Seonghwa finds Hongjoong’s lips as decadent and irresistible as his mouth or any other part of his body is addicting. Hongjoong twists with mounting arousal the more Seonghwa kisses him. His legs and body ache with each finger that Annie adds inside of him. His eyes roll back; his fingers fall from Seonghwa’s back to dig into the bedsheets on either side of him.
He’s stiff between his legs again, and all he can think to say is, “Please. More.”
It’s more of a plea than anything. He’s begging. If he weren’t sprawled on his back, completely immobilized, he would drop to his knees in prayer. More. He’s so close. Just a little more. More .
Seonghwa sits up straight and smiles down at him. His chest is heaving, too, but he seems right at home like this. Debauched, enamored.
After some rearranging, Seonghwa pulls Hongjoong up onto the bed and flips him over so his face is shoved into the mattress.
“Though I’d love to see your beautiful face, I’ve heard it feels a little better like this for you. Is that okay?”
Hongjoong can hear the tenderness in Seonghwa’s words. His chest feels swollen with light and love once again. Annie has also made her way onto the bed, but she’s keeping a safe distance. She pressed a quick kiss to Hongjoong’s lips, then his cheek, before getting comfortable at the head of the bed with a hand between her legs.
It’s an irresistible sight, Hongjoong must admit.
“Ah, actually…” Seonghwa rearranges Hongjoong one more time. He’s still on his hands and knees, but when he looks forward, he has a perfect view of himself and Seonghwa in the mirror in front of them. Just to the side of the mirror is a perfect view of Annie. He sees it all at once and nearly loses consciousness when Seonghwa splays a steady palm on his lower back to help bring their bodies closer together.
Gravity does its job, and before Hongjoong can respond, he can feel the heat of Seonghwa’s length pushing into him. It’s a slow process, and Hongjoong is thankful for that. Though Annie’s fingers had felt heavenly, they were nothing compared to the swollen warmth of Seonghwa driving into him inch by inch, like molten lead splitting him in half from the inside.
That is not to say that the feeling is unwelcomed. Hongjoong has to admit that the sensation, though tinted with a raw ache, is like nothing he has ever felt before. And there is something so sensational about the idea of becoming conjoined with his best friend like this, sewn together in a tapestry of sweat and passion.
In a low, shaky voice, Seonghwa asks Hongjoong if he is okay to continue.
Hongjoong’s eyes well once more with tears, but he nods, and pleads again, “Yes. More. Please.”
His response is a bit pitiful, so it comes as a surprise when Annie’s fingers speed up between her legs. She’s still partially clothed, so it’s hard to see everything that she’s doing, but Hongjoong can hear the slick motions. He can imagine her parts, so glossy and new, parting for the same fingers that had plunged into Hongjoong’s depths.
Annie’s mouth hangs open, but there’s a sparkle of a smile in her eyes when she finally catches Hongjoong watching her. The act of him watching her watch him seems to spur her on, make her restless with lust. She grabs one of her tits from her tight bodice and pulls it out to knead with her free hand.
Her moans are so much shakier than Seonghwa behind Hongjoong. Her voice is tremulous as the wings of a dragonfly, whereas Seonghwa moans like the dragon itself, all fire and rising smoke.
Seonghwa pulls out slowly, inch by inch, then pushes back into Hongjoong with a tortured groan that Hongjoong can feel in his lungs. His face is being shoved into the soft sheets of the bed, but they do nothing to silence the pathetic mewl that slips out of him with Seonghwa’s rough thrust.
As expected, Seonghwa checks on Hongjoong again, but Hongjoong is less intimidated now. He pulls his face from the mattress to grit out, “I told you more, now give me more!”
The breathy laugh Seonghwa emits strikes a certain fear in Hongjoong’s heart at that moment. Not actual fear, just tempered intrigue, really.
He gets himself ready by biting the sheet his face had previously been pushed into.
Again, the sight seems to rattle Annie as she whines and moans louder than ever, “So pretty, Hongjoong. So quaint. Can’t wait to take you apart.”
At those words, Seonghwa begins his conquest of flesh. His blunt nails dig into the thick meat of Hongjoong’s hips as he rolls his hips forward. He folds over on top of Hongjoong in a show of ownership that changes the angle of his thrusts in a way that has Hongjoong drooling all over the sheet in his mouth.
With Seonghwa’s firm chest lining his back, and his hands now reaching out to act as manacles along each of Hongjoong’s wrists, Hongjoong feels truly pinned in a way that sends him hurtling toward nirvana.
It is this ownership that Hongjoong has been searching for, he realizes. With Seonghwa sucking his neck and grinding his hips forward in an a bruisingly precise fashion, Hongjoong feels mounted and taken. He feels swollen from the inside out, his body slick with sweat and spit from the man inside of him. All over him. All around him in every way.
Annie across from them folds forward into herself, her limbs shaking with an orgasm that seems to have taken her by surprise. Hongjoong can barely keep his eyes open to watch her, but he has ears that work just fine, and thank the Gods for that.
She sounds like the sight of those flowers in the sky earlier in the evening. Fireworks, red and gold and silver. She is a star, and Hongjoong would love to pluck her from the sky to keep in his breastpocket for all time.
He wants to tell her that he is so thankful to have her by his side. He is so fulfilled with Seonghwa pulling him up to kneel, a strong arm tucked around his waist like a barricade.
Hongjoong feels gifted beyond measure when Annie pulls herself over to kiss a path from Hongjoong’s exposed chest down to his throbbing cock that bobs with each of Seonghwa’s messy thrusts.
Annie smiles up at Hongjoong with his heat on her tongue, and it brings him right up to the edge.
It is Seonghwa’s words that send him hurtling over it, “She’ll take you like this after me, you know? Our Annie has wanted to feel you spread out beneath her for ages. Bet you’d like that, right? Both of us inside of you at once?”
The fireworks are a memory lost to time by now. Every light and color in God’s creation melts around Hongjoong until all that is left of the room around him is fire and ice, swelling and contracting with each thump of his beating heart.
From far away, he knows he must be experiencing an orgasm, but he can barely form words in his mind to express it. It’s like nothing he’s ever known. He feels untethered, floating amongst the ether as Seonghwa finishes inside of him, and Annie slowly lowering him to the bed with a hundred tiny kisses on his face and neck.
Hongjoong can hear it now that his heart is not pounding in his ears. He can hear the waltz below them, the jovial cries of people in love and rulers becoming bigger rulers. There’s a sweet cadence to the waltz that lulls him further into the sweet darkness that is rushing toward him at a dizzying rate.
It’s a back and forth. A push and pull. The strongest arms of a man with the most gentle fingertips of a beautiful woman. The Earth keeps spinning, but Hongjoong is held completely still between them. He dances in silence without movement with two sets of feet to keep him steady where he stands.