Kiss Me Like You’re Not Married.

The bruise was still there. It been three days since that day and they're fading slowly.

Faint, yellowed at the edges, but visible—two soft rings of pressure, side by side, just above his wrist. Tae-hyun hadn't noticed it until he was already kneeling on the floor of his son's room, guiding Min-jun's tiny arm through the sleeve of his school jacket. The boy had paused, glancing at his father's hand.

"Appa, what's that?"

Tae-hyun froze.

Min-jun's eyes were wide, curious. Not suspicious—just innocent, in the worst way. Tae-hyun curled his fingers around the bruise and smiled, too quickly.

"Oh, that? It's nothing," he said, chuckling lightly. "Just bumped into a drawer. You know how clumsy I am in the morning."

"But it looks like a circle," Min-jun insisted, leaning in. "Daddy's hur—"

"Hey," Tae-hyun interrupted gently, placing a finger to his lips. "Let's not tell mom, okay? She'll worry over nothing."

The boy hesitated. Tae-hyun ruffled his hair, masking the subtle panic in his chest with a practiced grin.

"Secret between men," he added, and that was enough to earn a small, conspiratorial nod before Min-jun looked away and continued buttoning his jacket.

But Tae-hyun's hands were shaking.

.

.

After that day at the restaurant and the car situation..

They didn't speak for three days.

Not with voices, at least.

But the messages… the messages never stopped.

Joon-Won:

"Still sore? Still craving my cock deep inside you?"

Tae-hyun:

"Fuck you."

Joon-Won:

"You'd let me."

Tae-hyun:

"Maybe.."

It didn't stop. The night-texting. The silence during the day. The need creeping under his skin like something viral. Like something he couldn't sweat out. He hated himself for checking the phone every five minutes. For watching the door when he should be working. For getting hard at the sound of Joon-Won's name like a fucking teenager.

.

.

.

Later that day, he made sure he wore a shirt that covered his wrists this time after his sons comment. He was now at work, between client calls and paperwork, his phone buzzed beneath the table. Just the name flashing on the screen made his pulse shift.

⸻

Later that day, between client calls and paperwork, his phone buzzed beneath the table. Just the name flashing on the screen made his pulse shift.

Joon-Won:

"Where are you?"

Tae-hyun:

"Work. Why?"

Joon-Won:

"Text me the address. I'm picking you up at 6."

Tae-hyun:

"Why?"

Joon-Won:

"Because I'm not done with you. And neither are you."

⸻

The sky was bleeding gold and blue when Joon-Won's car pulled up.

Sleek. Silver. Tinted windows. The kind of vehicle that didn't draw attention, but couldn't quite disappear either. Joon-Won was in the driver's seat, wearing a dark wool coat over a turtleneck, his ash-blond hair pushed back the way he always wore it when he was composed and dangerous. Something about him seemed off but he didn't ask.

Tae-hyun opened the passenger door without a word. He was still in his navy slacks, his white shirt slightly wrinkled from a long day at the office. He didn't look at Joon-Won as he sat down, just stared ahead.

The car smelled faintly of cedar and cologne. The engine purred low.

Joon-Won didn't greet him. He pulled out onto the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting idly on the gearshift. The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was charged. Like an unlit match balanced between two fingers.

"Where are we going?" Tae-hyun asked eventually.

"My place."

"You mean your apartment?"

"No. Another one."

Tae-hyun finally turned to look at him. "You have another apartment?"

Joon-Won didn't glance his way. "A long time ago, I bought a place I never told her about. I go there when I want to disappear."

"…Why now?"

Joon-Won's jaw shifted slightly. "You'll see."

⸻

The apartment was on the twelfth floor of an old building. Quiet. Tucked between a tea shop and a shuttered art gallery, the kind of place no one looked twice at. The hallway smelled like wood and dust and years of untouched stories.

Inside, the air was still. Dim. Lived-in but not lived-with.

A couch sat against the far wall, deep green velvet with a throw blanket folded precisely at one corner. The walls were painted a muted gray, bookshelves partially filled, no family photos. Just one framed print of a Kandinsky painting. A single whiskey glass sat on the kitchen counter. No dishes in the sink. Clean. Controlled. Private.

Tae-hyun stepped inside slowly, setting his bag down. He felt the door close behind him, heard it, really. That soft finality of being shut in with someone who saw too much.

He didn't turn around right away. He took in the scent of it: Joon-Won's cologne, old smoke, something woody and clean. Safe. Dangerous.

"You live here sometimes?" he asked quietly.

"No," Joon-Won said from behind him. "I retreat here."

Tae-hyun finally turned. Joon-Won was watching him with that same unreadable look—hazel eyes dark under the low light, coat still on, hands in his pockets. He looked calm. But something about his stillness was deliberate. Like a panther waiting to lunge.

"Take your shirt off," he demanded in a low voice.

"What?"

Joon-Won stepped forward. Not close enough to touch. Just enough to make Tae-hyun feel his presence wrap around him.

"You said you wanted it again. I'm here. So strip."

Another beat of silence passed. Then Joon-Won finally touched him, two fingers, under the jaw, lifting his chin. His eyes dark and calm but there was a glint of something unreadable behind them. As if he's trying to see what will Tae-hyun say next.

"You want me to be cruel to you again?"

Tae-hyun didn't answer. He hesitated and stared up into his eyes quietly. His Adam's apple popping softly as he swallows thickly.

"Say it."

"…Yes." He whispered softly while averting his gaze from him.

Joon-Won's eyes narrowed slightly. But not with anger.

With restraint.

Tae-hyun glanced back at him, finally looking at him.

His eyes were dark. But it wasn't lust. Not just lust. There was something quieter underneath. Something defensive. Guarded.

Tae-hyun's throat tightened.

"…Why am I here?"

Joon-Won walked toward him slowly. His dress shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, black slacks pressed sharp. Hair still immaculate. He stopped barely a breath away behind him.

"You said you wanted it again, right?."

"I did."

"You said it like you meant it."

"I do."

"Then take your fucking clothes off."

The air between them went still. Heavy. Charged as he took a step back to stare down at Tae-hyun. His fingers off of his chin and hands now inside his pockets.

Tae-hyun's hands shook a little as he unbuttoned his shirt. Each motion deliberate. Exposed skin met the chill of the apartment air, nipples hardening slightly from the cold. He tried to keep his breathing steady.

Joon-Won didn't help.

Didn't touch.

Didn't move.

Just watched.

His eyes dragged across Tae-hyun's chest, his collarbones, the fading bruise on his wrist, now exposed. Something flickered there—something dangerous.

"You didn't cover that," he murmured.

"I forgot."

"Who saw it?"

"My son."

Joon-Won's jaw clenched. His voice dropped, quiet. "Did he ask questions?"

Tae-hyun nodded. "I lied."

That seemed to please him. Just a little.

He leaned in, and whispered by his ear, "That's how it starts."

Then… nothing.

He stepped back, sat on the edge of the couch in the living room, crossed one leg over the other, and lit a cigarette like it was any other Tuesday night.

Tae-hyun stood there shirtless. Breathing hard.

"…Aren't you going to do something?"

Joon-Won exhaled smoke. His gaze didn't shift. "Do you need me to?"

"Yes."

"You didn't last time."

Tae-hyun's voice cracked. "That was different."

"No," Joon-Won said. "You were already mine then. You just didn't want to say it."

Then suddenly, there was storm outside, rain drops hitting hard against the windows. Somewhere down the hall, a pipe groaned. Ignored by both men.

Tae-hyun took one step forward. Then another.

Joon-Won's voice stopped him mid-stride.

"Don't get confused," he said as he ash's his cigarettes on the floor. "I'm not here to comfort you."

"I didn't ask you to."

"You will."

There it was again. That cold possessiveness. The way he didn't reach for him, didn't chase or pin or beg. The way he just watched, knowing that Tae-hyun would come undone on his own.

And he did.

Eventually, Tae-hyun knelt before him. He dropped to his knees like he was about to worship him.

Not because he was told. But because it felt inevitable.

Joon-Won didn't smile. But something shifted in his eyes—just a little. Like satisfaction. Like fear.

Because this wasn't just dominance. This wasn't just power.

It was vulnerability too.

The kind you can't name out loud.