Chapter Text
Two nights later, Seonghwa found himself back where it all began.
Hongjoong led him back into the club, and the past crashed into him all at once.
Yunho's hand on his back. The teasing lilt in his voice as he reassured him, "They're going to love you, trust me."
And love him, they did. To the point of obsession. To the point of possession.
The nervous excitement he'd felt that night—the way he'd fussed over his appearance, the way Yunho had kissed him, soft and teasing, grounding him before leading him inside—felt like a memory belonging to someone else.
Because in a way, it did.
That Seonghwa, who had stepped into this club wide-eyed and unaware, no longer existed.
And as much as he hadn't wanted to admit it until now, Yeosang had been right. This game changed him.
When they last talked, Yeosang had said the game freed him from his career, from his family’s expectations, from the weight of the world. And while Seonghwa had never truly felt trapped by those particular things, there had still been something suffocating about the way he’d been living.
And now, here, feeling the slow, steady weight of Hongjoong’s touch guiding him, grounding him—he realized that he was free.
Free from the rigid expectations he had set for himself.
For so long, he had been forcing himself into a mold—trying to shape his life into what he thought it should be. Even during the game, he had fought to control every aspect, to push things into a perfect picture of what he believed he wanted.
But now?
Now that he had fully given himself over to Hongjoong—he didn’t have to do that anymore.
He could allow himself to want something different.
He didn’t need the perfect life with the perfect family, the perfect home, the perfect everything.
It was okay to move into a mansion with a terrifying mob boss—one who wouldn’t even let him into half the rooms until he could prove he could throw a proper punch.
It was okay to let that same dangerous, possessive man carve his initials into his skin, despite the fact that they had only known each other for a few weeks.
It was okay to let go.
To indulge in the madness.
To stop forcing himself into a mold, that he realized now, had never really fit.
Hongjoong had once told him that there was nothing about him that he would ever want to change.
And yet—Hongjoong had changed him.
And Seonghwa was so, so grateful for it.
For the last week, his world had shrunk, reduced to the walls of Hongjoong's estate. A limbo, a purgatory. The only things he'd known were the cold emptiness of Hongjoong's absence and the overwhelming whirlwind of his return.
And for the past two days, it had been just them. No interruptions. No outsiders. Just Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and the quiet, inescapable truth of what they had become.
But today was Seonghwa's first venture out into his new life, into the world as a changed man, and he was ready for it.
A hand settled on his lower back—not Yunho's this time, but Hongjoong's. The touch was steady, guiding, a silent claim that sent something warm winding its way through Seonghwa's chest.
"Don't be nervous," Hongjoong said, his voice low, steady. Unlike Yunho, who had grinned and teased him to wash away the nerves, Hongjoong didn’t charm—he reassured, quiet, steady and unwavering. "You've already done the hard part. Tonight is just a night for us to celebrate. To welcome you into the family."
Into the family.
Something about that felt... right.
Seonghwa didn’t fully understand it. Most of these men were still strangers to him, and the ones who weren’t—well, they weren’t exactly people he had imagined willingly spending time with again.
And yet.
There was a pull, a quiet curiosity that hadn't been there before.
Yunho was proof that wounds could start to heal, even if scars remained. There were still things Seonghwa hadn’t completely worked through, things Yunho had done to him that lingered at the edges of his mind like old bruises—but despite that, he missed him. And after reassurance from Hongjoong that Yunho would never hurt him like he did again, Seonghwa found himself almost looking forward to whatever came next between them.
Yeosang was easier. Yes, he had indirectly led Seonghwa back into Yunho's manipulations, but never with any ill intent. Seonghwa couldn't fault him for that. And despite everything, there was a warmth in Yeosang that Seonghwa gravitated toward, a quiet reassurance that had made him the perfect choice when Seonghwa needed someone to talk to, and Seonghwa knew he'd likely make that choice again.
Jongho and Mingi were still mysteries, practically strangers, but Hongjoong seemed so sure that Seonghwa would fit in with them. And well—Hongjoong knew Seonghwa better than most by now. If he believed that, then who was Seonghwa to question it?
But San and Wooyoung?
They were different.
Seonghwa had tried, over and over, to push the image of each of them standing over him in that basement out of his mind, but it clung to him like a shadow. Even with Hongjoong’s reassurances, even knowing that things had changed now that the game was over, there was a part of him that still didn’t trust them.
And yet, when he thought of Wooyoung, he didn’t only think of that night.
He thought of the first time they met at this club. The way Wooyoung had been carefree, affectionate, all laughter and teasing touches. The way Seonghwa had liked him then.
"That’s who he really is," Hongjoong had told him. "That’s the real Wooyoung."
And if that was true...
Then maybe Seonghwa could believe that Wooyoung wasn’t just the man in that basement.
"Nervous?" Seonghwa scoffed, dragging his mind back to the present, "Who said I'm nervous?"
Hongjoong smirked. He could see right through Seonghwa, but instead of calling him out, he let his hand drift just slightly lower, pressing him forward as they crossed the club.
The bass thumped beneath Seonghwa's feet as they weaved through the crowd, Hongjoong leading him through the sea of people with effortless control, making room for Seonghwa so his crutches wouldn't get caught up on anyone dancing a little too close.
The moment they slipped past the bouncer and through the velvet rope to the VIP area, Seonghwa's gaze swept over the familiar faces.
Yunho sat between Mingi and San on a circular couch, his laughter bright, even over the pounding music behind them. Wooyoung was perched comfortably on San's lap, his arms lazily draped around his neck, fingers idly playing with the strands of San's hair. Yeosang and Jongho were curled up together beside Mingi, much less showy in their affection, but still close in a way that left no question about where they stood.
And then, all at once, all eyes were on them.
A split second of silence—then the entire group erupted into cheers, and whoops of congratulations.
Just like last time, Wooyoung was the first to greet Seonghwa—but thankfully, this time, he was a lot more subdued.
He approached with an easy grin, his gaze flicking between Seonghwa and Hongjoong before holding a hand out toward Hongjoong.
"Congratulations," Wooyoung said, "It was a pleasure competing against you."
"That's not what you've been saying for the last week," Jongho called from where the others were still gathered.
Laughter rippled through the group, Seonghwa included.
Yesterday, he'd asked to read through some of their chat logs—curious to see more of what they talked about—and the results had been... about as horrifying as he expected. But between all of the recounts of Seonghwa's torture, and the reminiscing of past games, Wooyoung was loosing his mind over how unfair it was that Hongjoong had gotten to keep Seonghwa locked away in his house, out of his reach.
Eventually, Yunho had gotten him to stop complaining by reminding him, Isn't that exactly what you tried doing with him in your basement? It's not Hongjoong's fault he's better at it than you.
It seemed Wooyoung hadn't taken the loss of his first game well, but at least he was accepting defeat graciously now.
"Thank you," Hongjoong said smoothly, shaking Wooyoung's hand with a nod.
Then, Wooyoung turned to Seonghwa, extending his hand towards him as well.
"I hope there's no hard feelings?"
Seonghwa hesitated. He could feel everyone watching him—Hongjoong most of all.
Two days ago, Hongjoong had called these men his family. They, along with Lina and possibly even a few others Seonghwa had yet to meet, were the people he truly loved. And now, he was waiting.
Waiting to see if Seonghwa would accept them too. All of them. Including the most unhinged and dangerous.
Hongjoong had never asked him to do something that would put him in real danger. In fact, he'd stubbornly gone out of his way to make sure Seonghwa never would be. That had to mean Wooyoung was okay, right?
Seonghwa stared at Wooyoung's outstretched hand, debating.
And then, in a split-second decision, he ignored it entirely—stepping forward and pulling Wooyoung into a hug instead.
"No hard feelings."
Wooyoung stiffened for only a moment, as if in disbelief, before he melted into it, his arms wrapping tight around Seonghwa's waist.
When they finally pulled apart, Wooyoung's grin was wide, unrestrained. And just beyond him, Seonghwa caught the more subtle curl of Hongjoong's lips. Clearly, he'd made the right choice.
"Alright, alright," Yunho's voice cut through the moment as he appeared out of nowhere, gesturing for Wooyoung to move aside, "Make some room for third place."
Before Seonghwa could react, Yunho pulled him in—arms wrapping around him in a firm, familiar embrace, like there had never been any bad blood between them.
And honestly? Seonghwa was kind of relieved.
He was tired of dwelling on the past, of letting all the tangled emotions between them fester. No, he couldn’t ignore it—he’d learned the hard way what happened when he tried to live in denial when it came to Yunho—but maybe, just maybe, if he let himself focus on the good while working through the bad, they’d be okay.
When Yunho finally let go, Seonghwa’s gaze flicked toward Hongjoong—whose eyes were already on him, sharp and molten. But there was something else beneath the possessiveness, something that made the hairs on the back of Seonghwa’s neck stand on end.
Amusement? Anticipation?
Before Seonghwa had a chance to dissect that look any further, Yunho turned to Hongjoong grabbing his attention with and offered hand—only to yank him into a hug instead, clapping him on the back with an easy grin.
"If I had to lose to anyone, I’m glad it was you. Congrats, Joong."
Hongjoong chuckled, smooth and self-assured. "Thanks. Though… if we’re being honest, there was never really any competition."
Seonghwa felt the shift in the air before he even processed Hongjoong’s words.
The tension was instant—thick and electric, crackling between them like a live wire.
Yunho’s brow lifted, his expression amused, but his posture straightened slightly, a subtle challenge.
Seonghwa knew this wasn’t about him—this was about them. About a rivalry that stretched back years, about two friends who had turned competition into an art form and never quite knew when to stop.
Seonghwa knew better than to get between two powerful, domineering men locked in a silent battle of wills.
It was dangerous. Maybe even a little bit terrifying.
But god, wouldn’t it be fun?
For half a second, his mind betrayed him—flashing with the image of being between them in a very different way, caught between Hongjoong’s sharp control and Yunho’s relentless hunger, both of them vying for him in a way that was more about dominance than it ever would be about desire.
It wasn’t an impossible thought. He and Hongjoong had talked just this morning about how sharing within the group was common, but never an expectation.
Hongjoong had brought it up while fucking Seonghwa on the bathroom counter—they hadn’t even made it into the shower yet.
His fingers had been down Seonghwa’s throat, his breath hot against his ear as he murmured, “Just think about it, Hwa. Mingi’s cock all the way back here while I fuck you from behind. Every time he makes you gag, you’ll clench down on me. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
Seonghwa had come almost instantly.
At the time, it had felt like nothing more than a passing thought, a filthy fantasy whispered in the heat of the moment.
But now, with the heat in Yunho’s gaze and the knowing glint in Hongjoong’s, with the memory of Hongjoong’s voice in his ear like a brand seared into his mind—Seonghwa suddenly wasn’t so sure.
He’d had both men separately, had felt firsthand how overwhelming, how relentless they could be.
But together? They might just tear him apart.
The thought curled hot in his stomach, dangerous in its allure, sinking deep into his bones—
Until a staff member stepped into their secluded space, carrying a tray with a large bottle of liquor and eight empty glasses, walking straight toward the low table at the center of the group.
Seonghwa exhaled sharply, latching onto the distraction before his thoughts could spiral any further.
"Oh, thank god. Alcohol."
Without another word, he turned toward the table, eager to put space between himself and the dangerously alluring powder keg that was his ex-boyfriend, and his... well, whatever Hongjoong was to him now.
Seonghwa busied himself pouring drinks, working his way around the table, filling a glass for each of the men with steady hands despite the lingering buzz of tension in his veins.
By the time he reached the last cup, Hongjoong was there, plucking the bottle from his grip and smoothly tipping the liquid into the glass for Seonghwa himself.
He barely had a second to process the action before Hongjoong set the bottle back onto the table, slid onto the couch, and pulled Seonghwa down with him, close enough that Seonghwa was practically in his lap.
One of Hongjoong’s hands curled loosely around his own drink, the picture of ease. The other settled high on Seonghwa’s thigh—so high that the heat of his palm burned through the fabric, dangerously close to something far more compromising.
Seonghwa's cock twitched at the proximity, his breath catching in his throat.
And, of course, it didn’t go unnoticed.
He could feel the others watching, their gazes flicking from Hongjoong’s hand to Seonghwa’s face, tracking every subtle shift in his expression, every betraying reaction.
Waiting.
Anticipating.
Seonghwa swallowed hard, heart hammering against his ribs. Because, god help him—he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull away, or press closer.
"You've got a nice glow, Seonghwa," San was the first to speak up, "It's been so long, I must've forgotten. Is Hongjoong's dick really that good?"
Seonghwa nearly choked on his drink.
Wooyoung snorted, clapping a hand over his mouth as Yeosang shook his head in exasperation.
Hongjoong, however, didn’t even blink. "I don’t know, San," he replied, voice rich with amusement. "Why don’t you ask your boyfriend?"
Mingi, who had been mid-sip, promptly coughed.
"Oh, don't worry, Sannie," Wooyoung who had plopped back down into San's lap leaned dramatically into him, "No one is as good as you."
"He's just saying that because Hongjoong's too busy breaking in his new favorite toy," Yunho cut in after taking his place between Mingi and San again, his gaze flicking hungrily to where Hongjoong's hand still rested.
Seonghwa flushed under the attention, gripping his glass a little tighter as he brought it to his lips again, pretending he couldn’t feel the weight of their gazes pressing down on him.
Because this was strange.
And even stranger was how much he liked it.
The heat of Hongjoong’s palm sat heavy on his thigh, high enough that everyone else knew exactly what Hongjoong was doing—what he was allowing them to see.
It should have embarrassed him.
Instead, it sent something hot and electric curling through him, sharp in its intensity, setting his nerves alight. It was the same dizzying rush he felt when Hongjoong whispered threats against his skin, when danger bled into desire so seamlessly he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
Maybe Hongjoong was right.
Maybe his body didn’t know the difference between fear and arousal.
Suddenly, Seonghwa tipped back his glass, finishing his drink in one go.
Hongjoong chuckled, low and knowing, the sound curling around Seonghwa like smoke. He reached forward, refilling Seonghwa’s drink with an unhurried ease.
Then, he shifted closer, his lips ghosting along the curve of Seonghwa’s ear, his breath warm against his skin.
"Slow down for me, Hwa," he murmured, his voice smooth, edged with something dark and sultry. "We have a long night ahead of us, and I want you to feel every second of it."
Seonghwa swallowed hard, his breath catching, heat prickling at the base of his spine.
"Pace yourself."
A shiver rolled through him, but still, he nodded.
That simple motion did not go unnoticed. Especially not by Yunho.
He stared at Seonghwa like he’d just witnessed a miracle, brows lifting in genuine disbelief. "Holy shit." His gaze flicked to Hongjoong, then back to Seonghwa, like he was trying to reconcile what he’d just seen. "He actually did it. Just like that?"
Seonghwa blinked. "Did what?"
Yunho let out a breath, shaking his head. "You actually listened." He turned to Hongjoong, eyes narrowing. "You told him to do something, and he just... agreed? No argument? No attitude?"
San, who had seen firsthand just how much Seonghwa liked to push back inside of that basement, simply gaped. "No, he's right. That’s insane."
Jongho, thoroughly amused, took a slow sip of his drink. "You’re just jealous because Seonghwa listens better than Wooyoung."
"Hey," Wooyoung protested, placing a hand on his chest like he was personally offended. "I listen."
San gave him a look. "You listen, and then you do whatever the fuck you want anyway."
"That’s called independent thinking, babe."
Jongho snorted. "That’s called being a pain in the ass."
"And yet," Wooyoung smirked, tipping his glass toward the group, "you all keep coming back for more."
Hongjoong let out a sharp breath, shaking his head with an exasperated sort of fondness before shifting his focus back to Seonghwa. His arm came up and around him, fingers finding the curve of his neck, stroking lazily, possessively.
"I think Yunho’s just bitter that no one’s ever even tried taming him," Hongjoong mused, his lips curling, but his eyes never once leaving Seonghwa.
"Tamed?" Yunho scoffed. "Me? Like hell."
"Mmm." Hongjoong’s hum was thick with amusement. "Tell that to Mingi. He just can’t seem to stop going on and on about how cute you’d look all tied up for him."
Mingi, mid-sip yet again, full on choked this time. "The fuck are you bringing me into this for?"
Seonghwa bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, warmth unfurling in his chest—soft and unfamiliar, something he suspected wasn’t entirely due to the alcohol.
Because the longer he sat here, the easier it felt.
The easier they felt.
The conversation continued around him, voices blending into the steady bassline of the club beyond the walls of this room. He could hear Wooyoung laughing, San murmuring something low in his ear, Jongho making some sharp remark that had Yeosang nudging him in retaliation.
But all of it was background noise.
All he could focus on was the weight of Hongjoong’s gaze, heavy and smoldering. Hongjoong's fingers setting fire to every inch of skin and clothing he touched as his hand glided back down to his thigh. His touch feather-light, yet burning like a brand.
Then, with a slow nod of his head, Hongjoong gestured toward the bouncer at the entrance of the VIP section.
Seonghwa barely had time to register the motion before the heavy curtain was drawn shut, sealing them off from the rest of the club.
His stomach twisted in anticipation.
"How are you feeling?" Hongjoong’s voice was soft—almost too soft for how hard Seonghwa’s heart was pounding. But he was grateful for it, grateful that this was just for him, a private moment wrapped in the hum of conversation and the steady pulse of the music beyond the curtain.
Seonghwa swallowed hard, shifting slightly where he sat. He wasn’t afraid, not really, but there was an energy curling in his gut—something electric, something unfamiliar, and he knew Hongjoong could tell.
Still, he was too proud to admit it, so he simply answered, "I’m okay."
Hongjoong studied his face for a moment, his sharp gaze peeling back layers, searching for anything Seonghwa might not be saying, any sign that Seonghwa was genuinely uncomfortable, not just nervous. Then, seemingly satisfied, he nodded, a slow smile creeping onto his lips.
"Okay enough for a little fun?"
Seonghwa’s stomach flipped.
He’d known, from the moment they walked in, that Hongjoong was going to put him on display. Part of him had hoped it would only be more of this—subtle, possessive touches, teasing smirks, little reminders both to him and to the others that Seonghwa belonged to him now. But another part of him knew that wouldn’t be enough.
Because this was Hongjoong.
And Hongjoong never did anything halfway.
His breath caught as he nodded, throat too dry to form words.
Hongjoong, as he had so many times before, reminded him, "Tell me if you want this to stop. Anytime, okay? The second you say you're done, you're done."
Another nod.
"Good."
Then, Hongjoong turned his face, guiding Seonghwa into a kiss—not deep, not urgent, just a simple press of lips, deceptively gentle. But the context of it, the weight of the moment, the fact that every single person in the room was watching, waiting, expecting—that was what sent a sharp pulse of arousal through him.
By the time Hongjoong pulled back, Seonghwa’s breath was unsteady.
"Now," Hongjoong murmured, his voice still quiet, still just meant for the two of them, "take off your clothes."
His fingers brushed the hem of Seonghwa’s shirt, toying with the fabric, teasing him with the inevitable.
"I want to show off all those beautiful new marks I've given you these last few days. One in particular."
Seonghwa's breath hitched, his fingers tightening around the glass in his hands for only a moment before he reached forward to set it down.
The conversation, which had already taken a backseat to whatever was happening between Seonghwa and Hongjoong, suddenly came to a halt as every man present noticed the way Seonghwa's hands came to the hem of his shirt.
What the fuck was he doing?
A rush of panic surged through him—hot and sharp—but then Hongjoong’s hand was back on his thigh, steady and grounding, and Seonghwa forced himself to keep going.
Hongjoong began speaking again.
About what, Seonghwa had no idea.
No one was paying attention.
But Seonghwa knew the words were for him—a way to keep the room from falling into a silence so thick it would drown him in it, a way to keep him from hearing the frantic staccato of his own heartbeat.
Seonghwa exhaled, then slowly pulled his shirt over his head.
The moment it was gone, a fresh wave of heat crawled up his neck, sinking into his chest, and he kept his eyes firmly on the floor.
He couldn't look at them.
Because if he did—if he caught Yunho’s hungry stare, if he saw the sharp glint of curiosity in Wooyoung’s eyes, if he met Mingi’s or Jongho’s unfamiliar gaze—he might falter.
He might stop.
He might freeze up, hesitate, and then Hongjoong would have to push him, and that would be humiliating for both of them.
So instead, he focused on his hands, on the slow, methodical way he worked his belt buckle free, on the way he unfastened the button and pulled down the zipper.
And then, bracing himself, Seonghwa stood.
His cock twitched as he pushed the fabric down over his hips, the cool air kissing newly exposed skin.
The movement was fluid but deliberate, his body humming with tension as he stepped out of his pants completely, leaving them in a pile at his feet.
And then, even Hongjoong stopped speaking.
And when Seonghwa finally forced himself to look up, he knew exactly what they saw.
The bruises, the bites—far more now that they'd spent days alone together—the evidence of Hongjoong’s touch painted in purples and reds across his skin. But most of all, their eyes were drawn to his hip, to the raw, healing letters carved into his golden flesh.
KHJ.
It stood stark and unyielding, a permanent claim for all to see.
Before he could even process the moment, Hongjoong was standing and his hands were on him again—steady, grounding, fingertips tracing slow, possessive circles along his ribs. He wasn’t shielding him, wasn’t offering him a way out.
He was holding him in place.
Keeping him exactly where he wanted him.
Then he felt the soft brush of Hongjoong’s hips against him, the firm pressure of his arousal straining against the fabric of his pants, nestled against Seonghwa's bare ass. Even through the layers of clothing, the heat was unmistakable—a silent declaration, a wordless claim, letting Seonghwa know exactly how much he was enjoying this.
Then, Hongjoong’s fingers drifted lower, ghosting over Seonghwa’s hip, tracing the raised edges of his healing wound with something almost reverent—like he was recalling each precise cut, each moment he’d spent carving himself into Seonghwa’s skin.
"Isn't he beautiful?" Hongjoong mused, his voice rich with pride as he brought his lips to the sensitive curve of Seonghwa's neck.
"Jesus Christ," Yunho breathed, his shock immediately echoed by a few others.
"Stunning," Jongho murmured, his gaze drinking in every inch of exposed flesh.
"He's perfect," Wooyoung added, his voice almost dreamy as he tipped his head against San's shoulder.
Seonghwa’s breath stuttered, his heart fluttering under the weight of their words.
He had never felt more exposed.
More on display.
But it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.
At least, not until Hongjoong’s hands left him.
It was only for a second—just long enough for the chill of absence to creep in, for his pulse to spike and embarrassment to curl hot and tight in his chest.
Then, before he could fully register the loss, Hongjoong was there again.
His hands found Seonghwa’s hips, steady, insistent, guiding him back—down—until he was settled in Hongjoong’s lap.
Heat flared up Seonghwa’s neck as he felt him beneath him again—solid, unyielding. The sensation stole the breath from his lungs, and then Hongjoong’s lips ghosted over his ear, his voice a low, sultry murmur meant for his ears alone.
“You’re doing so well for me, Hwa.”
A kiss—soft, reverent—pressed just behind his ear, a secret shared between them even under the weight of countless watching eyes. It wasn’t a display. It was a promise. A reassurance that Hongjoong didn’t take this for granted, that Seonghwa’s submission wasn’t a just thing to be claimed, but it was also to be cherished.
“Keep being good for me, okay?”
A shudder wracked through Seonghwa, his body answering before his lips could, nodding without hesitation.
Apparently, he had a thing for praise as much as he did for threats. Or maybe he’d love anything as long as it came out of Hongjoong’s mouth in that sinful rasp of his.
And then, their private moment was gone.
Seonghwa's attention returned to the others surrounding him, watching him as fingertips grazed over his ribs, featherlight against his stomach, his hips—drifting lower, lower—
Seonghwa sucked in a sharp breath as Hongjoong wrapped a hand around his cock. The first slow stroke had him tensing, had his breath catching so fast it nearly choked him.
Heat coiled tight in his gut, winding even tighter when Hongjoong gave another deliberate pump. A helpless whine tore from Seonghwa’s throat before he could stop it.
“Fuck—” someone, maybe Mingi, breathed out.
But Seonghwa barely heard him. Barely registered anything beyond Hongjoong’s hand on him, stroking him, working him up with languid, effortless movements.
His breath hitched, hips jerking into the touch, helpless against the pleasure unraveling inside him.
And then, Hongjoong started talking.
Not to him.
Not about this.
But about something so completely, utterly mundane.
Some idle conversation, some meaningless thread of discussion that shouldn’t have even existed in the same breath as what he was doing to Seonghwa.
Because how—how—could Hongjoong sit there, voice smooth and easy, spinning words like nothing was happening, while Seonghwa was falling apart in his hands?
When he was moaning for him, trembling for him, utterly at his mercy?
Before, Seonghwa felt like his words were for him, to ground him against the silence of it all. But now they felt like nothing more than a taunt.
Seonghwa wanted to protest.
To demand his attention.
To drag Hongjoong’s focus back to where it belonged—
And then somebody fucking responded. Continued carrying on the conversation.
Was that Yunho?
Seonghwa’s mind was too fogged with heat to parse the words, but he knew one thing for certain—Yunho hadn’t said, “Hongjoong, kindly shut the fuck up so we can fully appreciate everything you're doing to Seonghwa.”
And that was the only acceptable response.
Frustration curled low in his gut, but he was too far gone to form words.
So instead, he let them talk.
Let them carry on their conversation as if this was nothing—
As if he was nothing but background noise.
He let Hongjoong show him off, let him prove that he could make Seonghwa unravel with barely half his attention. That was what this was about, wasn't it?
Hongjoong was supposed to be showing just how much control he had over him now. Showing that he could easily make Seonghwa just sit there and take it.
Time blurred, seconds stretching unbearably long, each stroke winding him tighter—
And then Hongjoong’s hand was gone.
The sudden loss sent a jolt through Seonghwa’s body, his breath hitching sharply as his cock twitched against nothing—aching, neglected, left wanting.
A cruel chuckle rumbled low in Hongjoong’s chest, and then his voice followed, warm and teasing, but deliberately loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Poor thing. You’re that needy already?” A pause, just long enough for the humiliation to settle in. “Maybe you weren’t lying after all.”
Lying?
The word snapped Seonghwa out of his haze, and he stiffened, head swiveling back toward Hongjoong, searching his face.
Hongjoong’s smirk was wicked, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “Oh, you thought I’d forget about that, did you?”
“About…” Seonghwa started, but the moment the memory clicked and his stomach plummeted.
You seem to think that when I was with Yunho last, you somehow found your way into my thoughts. That something about it became about you. But you couldn’t be more wrong.
His own words were coming back to haunt him.
Those bold, reckless lies he had thrown at Hongjoong in the height of his frustration.
Yunho knows how to get into my head. He knows how to make me feel things, what I want, what drives me absolutely crazy.
Seonghwa squeezed his eyes shut for half a second, but it did nothing to drown out the phantom echoes of those words—nothing to shield him from the weight of Hongjoong’s stare, heavy with intention.
Yunho knew how much I liked it when I saw Wooyoung watching us. He knew the idea of someone watching would get me worked up, so when I was close, he told me to look at the camera. To think about being watched. He knew I’d love it.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, heart hammering wildly against his ribs as he swallowed hard.
"Pay attention everyone." Hongjoong stroked his thigh in a soothing way, but his voice rang out sharp and cold, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade. Seonghwa felt his blood turn to ice. "Seonghwa here is about to give you all a show. And I want to make sure you all watch."
Seonghwa barely had time to react before Hongjoong was guiding him forward, a firm hand on his arm maneuvering him down, down—until his knees met the floor. His pulse pounded in his ears as he watched Hongjoong worked his zipper down.
In one fluid motion, Hongjoong freed himself from his pants, fingers wrapping around his length in slow, deliberate strokes.
Seonghwa's breath hitched, his gaze locking onto the movement, drawn in, captivated—like a dog with a bone, singular in his desire.
But then, reality crashed back in. He remembered where they were, who was watching. Heat flared across his face, embarrassment curling tight in his chest.
"What's wrong, Hwa? I thought you liked to be watched." Hongjoong cooed, his voice a quiet, taunting caress, "You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?"
A gentle touch, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind Seonghwa's ear, a stark contrast to the razor-sharp edge in his tone. "You wouldn’t try to make me jealous?"
Seonghwa’s throat was too dry to answer.
"You were just trying to let me know how you like to get off best, right?"
The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop, but that didn't mean Seonghwa could pretend the others weren't there. He could feel their eyes on him. He could taste their desire in the air—thick, electric, a slow-burning hunger that coiled around him, waiting, watching, anticipating.
"Then go ahead," Hongjoong murmured, "Show us just how much you love to be watched."
Seonghwa swallowed hard.
His heart thundered in his chest, a frantic, deafening rhythm, but he couldn’t stop now.
This was a dare. A challenge. A punishment.
This was as much a show of his control to the others as it was to Seonghwa.
Hongjoong was reminding him what happened when he stepped out of line. Hongjoong liked the push and pull, but he would always push back. He would always remind Seonghwa of his place.
So, Seonghwa exhaled, pushed past the hesitation curling in his stomach, and leaned in—taking Hongjoong into his mouth, the way Hongjoong wanted him to.
In front of all those prying eyes.
Because this was what Hongjoong wanted, and Seonghwa knew he would never be able to deny him.
Seonghwa worked with practiced precision, drawing on everything he’d learned over the last two days about exactly what Hongjoong liked best. The better he was, the faster Hongjoong would come, and the faster this would be over—the faster Seonghwa could be done with the burning weight of every gaze on him, the heat of his own humiliation.
He took Hongjoong as deep as he could, swallowing around him, his tongue working in that way he knew drove Hongjoong crazy, pulling back just enough to tease before sinking back down.
A sharp, breathless curse slipped from Hongjoong’s lips. "Fuck, Hwa," he rasped, voice thick with pleasure. "I didn’t know you liked it this much. Guess we’ll have to do this a lot more often."
Seonghwa flicked his gaze up, shooting Hongjoong a sharp warning glare—one that had no bite while his mouth was still wrapped around him.
Hongjoong just chuckled, head tilting back slightly, fingers flexing in Seonghwa’s hair as he let himself enjoy the moment.
From somewhere behind them, Seonghwa barely registered Yeosang’s hushed, almost reverent whisper—his voice more breathless than Seonghwa had ever heard it. "Now I get why it took you so long to introduce him to everyone."
A quiet laugh, unmistakably Yunho’s. "Yeah. I wanted to keep him all to myself. But I knew that couldn't last."
Seonghwa’s stomach clenched, but he couldn’t focus on the fact that they were talking about him—not when Hongjoong’s grip in his hair tightened slightly, not when he could feel him nearing the edge but deliberately holding himself back, drawing this out just to make him suffer.
But even Hongjoong had his limits.
Seonghwa felt it the moment Hongjoong’s control started to slip—the subtle shift of his hips, the sharp intake of breath, the tension coiling in his thighs beneath Seonghwa’s hands.
And then, finally, he came.
Seonghwa tried to take him deeper, let his throat squeeze around him the way he’d learned Hongjoong loved, but Hongjoong’s hand kept him exactly where he wanted him, fingers tangled in his hair, holding him at a shallow depth—forcing Seonghwa to let the heat of him pool on his tongue before swallowing it down.
When Seonghwa finally pulled back, his lips were slick, his chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths as he looked up at Hongjoong—who was watching him with something dark and satisfied. There was a slight sheen on his brow, and Seonghwa leaned into the touch as his fingers brushed Seonghwa’s mussed hair back into place.
Hongjoong tucked himself back into his pants and leaned forward, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to Seonghwa’s forehead. "What about you?" His voice was softer now, almost affectionate. "Would you like to come too, Hwa?"
Seonghwa flushed, but god, he did. His cock was throbbing, aching, the pressure unbearable after everything.
"Please," he whispered, looking up at Hongjoong with wide, pleading eyes.
A sharp inhale came from somewhere behind them.
"Jesus," San murmured.
Something flickered across Hongjoong’s face—a warmth, brief but undeniable—before it vanished beneath something else.
Something darker.
"Then go sit on Yunho’s cock."
Seonghwa stilled, breath catching. "Wh—what?"
Wooyoung’s voice echoed his own disbelief, "Yunho?"
Hongjoong's gaze never wavered, locking onto Seonghwa's with a quiet intensity, and in that silence, Seonghwa understood.
This was still about consequences.
That night, after Seonghwa had pushed too hard, after he'd tasted Hongjoong for the first time—he’d gone straight back to Yunho. Had let Yunho fuck him. Had tried to hurt Hongjoong.
And now, Hongjoong was telling him to do it again.
Go on. Let him fuck you. It doesn't change anything. You still belong to me.
Had Hongjoong noticed the quiet flicker of intrigue two nights ago when he'd first mentioned the idea of sharing him? Had he seen the way Seonghwa was already thinking about using it to make him jealous? To turn him into something lethal?
Hongjoong quirked a brow, and suddenly, Seonghwa knew what he was thinking. It was as if Hongjoong were speaking straight into his mind, throwing his own words back at him with that smug, knowing smirk.
Yunho knows how to get into my head. He knows how to make me feel things, what I want, what drives me absolutely crazy.
"Go on," Hongjoong commanded, his voice smooth, composed, but edged with satisfaction. He tilted his head toward Yunho, "I won't tell you again."
Seonghwa swallowed hard, his pulse thrumming in his ears. Slowly, he let his hands slide from Hongjoong’s thighs, bracing himself with a deep breath before turning around.
The sight that greeted him sent heat prickling across his skin.
Wooyoung was still curled in San’s lap, his gaze devouring Seonghwa as his hand drifted lower, palming San through his pants. San, for his part, was watching just as intently, his fingers tightening against Wooyoung’s hip.
Mingi sprawled back in his seat, legs spread wide to make room for his growing arousal, his eyes dark with something unreadable.
Jongho sat stiffly, his grip locked tight around Yeosang’s thigh, his muscles drawn taut as if he were holding himself back. Yeosang, however, was watching openly, his lips parted, gaze burning into Seonghwa with something dangerously close to reverence.
But worst of all was Yunho.
Yunho sat there like he owned the world—like he already knew exactly how this was going to play out. Thighs spread wide, one arm draped along the back of the couch in a show of lazy confidence, the other stretched out toward Seonghwa, waiting. Inviting.
Seonghwa’s stomach twisted.
Of all people, why Yunho?
Yes, Yunho was the one he had gone to. The one he had used against Hongjoong. But what happened to all of that tension from before? Why would Hongjoong willingly hand him over like this—why would he let Yunho have him, in front of everyone, in front of him?
The thought burned through him, but it didn’t stop his feet from moving.
He stepped carefully, skin flushed pink with embarrassment, past parted legs and burning stares. The anticipation in the air was thick, clinging to his skin like something tangible, sinking into his bones.
He could feel Wooyoung just beside him as he settled over Yunho, his excitement practically vibrating off of him, and for a moment, Seonghwa’s mind flickered with something else. Something dangerous.
A different scene. A different arrangement. Seonghwa just as he was, only it was Hongjoong beneath him instead of Yunho. And next to them, Wooyoung perched prettily on San’s lap, sinking down on him at the exact same time.
Heat shot straight to Seonghwa’s core.
But that wasn’t what was happening right now.
He wrenched himself back to the present, forcing his gaze forward, locking eyes with Yunho.
A bottle of lube was handed to Yunho from somewhere beyond Seonghwa’s field of vision, and he slicked himself up with practiced ease. The sound of it, the slow glide of Yunho’s fist, sent the hairs on the back of Seonghwa’s neck standing on end.
He was really about to do this.
A shiver rolled down his spine, and he lifted himself up, positioning Yunho’s cock at his entrance, and then—inch by inch—he sank down.
A sharp exhale left Yunho’s lips, a hissed, “Fuck—” as his fingers tightened around Seonghwa’s waist.
Seonghwa barely gave himself time to adjust before he started moving, rolling his hips, testing angles, shifting forward and back, up and down, until he found a rhythm that made pleasure coil hot and sharp in his stomach.
But then, Hongjoong spoke up.
“Make it good for him, Yunho. I’m sure you remember, but he’s a romantic.”
Yunho’s eyes flickered, dropping to Seonghwa’s lips, and that lazy, knowing smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.
Oh, he remembered.
He remembered exactly how much Seonghwa loved being kissed while being fucked.
Seonghwa swallowed, steeling himself for things to get a lot more intimate with Yunho—in front of six other people—but that’s when he tasted it. Or better yet, tasted him.
Seonghwa’s eyes widened slightly, realization settling deep in his chest.
That’s why.
Yes, Hongjoong was punishing him, making him relive the very mistake he’d made when he ran to Yunho that night. But it wasn’t just about that.
It was about this.
Hongjoong was letting him take his revenge.
Because as soon as Yunho’s lips touched his own, he wouldn’t just be kissing Seonghwa. He would be tasting Hongjoong.
He would taste the proof of what Seonghwa had done just moments ago, the unmistakable evidence of who Seonghwa belonged to now.
He would taste everything he had lost—the power, the control, the claim he had tried to have over Seonghwa.
All the manipulation, the lies, the ways Yunho had tried to break him down, to make him question himself—it had all been for nothing.
Because Seonghwa was still here.
And he wasn’t Yunho’s to break anymore.
A sharp inhale rattled through Seonghwa’s lungs, a new heat curling in his gut—something dark and heady, something that sent a shiver through his spine, tightening his muscles in anticipation.
Yunho didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, capturing Seonghwa’s mouth in a firm, claiming kiss, and Seonghwa let him, let his lips part easily, let Yunho’s tongue slip inside and—
The exact second Yunho’s tongue brushed against his own, Yunho stilled.
Seonghwa felt it—the way Yunho’s fingers flexed against his waist, the subtle hitch in his breath. It was barely a pause, just the smallest hesitation, but it was there.
And that hesitation made Seonghwa ravenous.
Without thinking, he deepened the kiss, licking hungrily into Yunho’s mouth, forcing him to taste him—to taste Hongjoong on his tongue. A sharp inhale from Yunho was all the encouragement Seonghwa needed, his fingers threading into Yunho’s hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. Their tongues clashed, desperate and messy, and Seonghwa could feel Yunho's pulse thrumming beneath his fingertips, matching the frantic rhythm of his own.
Pleasure curled in Seonghwa’s stomach, his body trembling with each drag of Yunho’s cock inside him, each flick of his tongue against Yunho’s. He could hear himself, the soft, broken moans spilling shamelessly from his lips, swallowed up by Yunho’s mouth.
The heat, the pressure, the weight of every single gaze pinned to him—it all coiled tight, winding him up higher and higher, the tension in his gut stretched taut like a bowstring until—
Everything snapped.
His orgasm crashed through him, a violent shudder wracking his body as white-hot pleasure seared through his veins. His vision blurred, his breath caught in his throat as his release spilled across Yunho’s stomach, hot and slick between them. A choked moan broke from his lips, swallowed instantly by Yunho’s mouth as his body trembled through the aftershocks.
Seonghwa slumped forward, his chest heaving, forehead pressing into Yunho’s shoulder as he tried to regain control of himself. His heart was still hammering against his ribs, his muscles still trembling with the force of his release. But Yunho wasn’t done.
Fingers dug into Seonghwa’s hips, and Yunho bucked up into him, chasing his own pleasure. His lips were back on Seonghwa’s, hungry, insistent—
But something told Seonghwa to pull away, so he did.
Behind him, Hongjoong chuckled, low and knowing, and then something clicked.
If Hongjoong was giving him an opportunity for revenge, wouldn’t it be even sweeter to leave Yunho wanting?
The thought sent a sharp thrill down Seonghwa’s spine, and before he could overthink it, he sat up, letting Yunho slip out of him.
Yunho’s hands tightened around his waist, preventing him from standing all the way up. “Wait, Seonghwa, where are you going?” His voice was breathless, edged with confusion and want.
Seonghwa turned, meeting Hongjoong’s gaze. He was watching him closely, eyes dark and heated, but there was something else there, too—something deeper. Amusement. Satisfaction. The glint of something proud.
And in that moment, Seonghwa understood.
Anytime.
That was what Hongjoong had told him. “Tell me if you want this to stop. Anytime, okay? The second you say you’re done, you’re done.”
And Hongjoong had meant it.
Seonghwa held his gaze, letting the full weight of the realization settle in his chest. He didn’t need permission, but Hongjoong gave it anyway—the smallest nod, subtle, almost imperceptible, but there. A silent confirmation. Go ahead.
So, Seonghwa turned his gaze back to Yunho, a barely subdued smirk playing on his lips. “I’m done.”
Yunho blinked. “Done?” He looked between Seonghwa and Hongjoong, clearly caught off guard, thrown off his rhythm, blindsided by the shift in control. “But I’m not.”
Hongjoong merely tilted his head, but then, his gaze flickered to Mingi, who had been watching intently from just beside them, lips parted, pupils blown wide.
“No,” he mused, “but I’m sure someone here is willing to help you out.”
Yunho exhaled sharply, then let out a low, surprised chuckle, shaking his head. Finally, the realization of what had just happened settled in—Seonghwa had ended it. Seonghwa, who had once been nothing more than a pawn caught between them, had been granted the power to make Yunho want.
Seonghwa could tell that Yunho wanted to be mad, wanted to be offended, but how could he? This was his doing after all.
Yunho's amusement deepened as he looked between the two of them. “Well, shit,” he laughed, shaking his head. “You got me. Good game, Joong.”
But Hongjoong didn’t respond.
He just wore a proud, knowing smile as he pulled Seonghwa back to him, their fingers lacing together, his grip firm and unwavering.
And as Seonghwa let Hongjoong hold him again, he remembered those reassuring words he'd told Seonghwa.
Yunho will never hurt you like that again.
Because Hongjoong wouldn’t let him.
Because Seonghwa belonged to Hongjoong now. And Hongjoong protected what was his, even from his own people.
The only hesitation Seonghwa had about coming back to this club, to this group, had been the fear of losing control all over again. Of becoming powerless, just another pawn in another game.
But he should’ve known better. Hongjoong would never let that happen.
Instead, he had given Seonghwa power.
Not over him—never over him.
But over himself.
It was power disguised as submission. Control disguised as obedience. Hongjoong was still the one pulling the strings.
But this time, he’d let Seonghwa cut one.
A rush of something fierce and consuming surged through Seonghwa—desire, gratitude, something deeper that defied words. Before he could second-guess it, his fingers tangled in Hongjoong’s hair, pulling him into a kiss that burned.
Hongjoong met him without hesitation, his hands sliding over Seonghwa’s waist, gripping tight, pulling him flush against him like he wanted to devour him. The kiss was raw, unguarded—an unraveling, a surrender, a claiming.
And when they finally pulled apart, Hongjoong was grinning. Wide, genuine, something warm and real.
A beat passed, then Hongjoong bent down, retrieving Seonghwa’s scattered clothes and pressing them into his hands with a smirk. "Get dressed."
Seonghwa exhaled, his pulse still racing as he tried to pull himself back together, buttoning his shirt with fingers that trembled only slightly.
Meanwhile, Hongjoong turned back to the others, his gaze sweeping over them with the same effortless command that always set him apart. "We’re going to go dance for a bit. If anyone wants to join us… after you’ve finished taking care of things, please do."
The moment Hongjoong led Seonghwa through the heavy curtain, the pulse of the club hit him all at once—the deep bass thrumming through his ribs, the low hum of conversation, the electric energy of bodies moving, pressing close.
He glanced down at his cast, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "You do realize I can't really dance right now, right?"
Hongjoong barely spared his leg a glance, his grin widening as he leaned in, voice rich with amusement. "What a shame."
His breath was warm against Seonghwa’s skin as he brushed his lips against his ear. "Guess we’ll just have to find some dark corner to make out in instead."
Seonghwa pulled back with an exasperated huff, rolling his eyes, ready to tease him about his insatiable appetite—
But before he could, Wooyoung and San materialized out of nowhere, followed closely by Jongho and Yeosang.
"Come on, Seonghwa, let’s dance!" Wooyoung practically vibrated with excitement as he slipped an arm around his waist.
Seonghwa arched a brow, glancing between them all. "Oh? You’re out here already?"
Hongjoong smirked, amused. "I thought you’d be… busy."
San scoffed, shooting him a look. "In there? With Yunho? After that stunt you just pulled? No, thank you."
"Yeah," Jongho added, snorting. "Especially after you told Yunho that Mingi wanted to tame him. The poor guy probably isn’t going to be able to walk for a week."
Laughter rippled through the group, and before Seonghwa could process it, Wooyoung was dragging him out onto the dance floor, the rest of them following close behind.
He moved as best as he could, awkward and unsteady at times, but Wooyoung was relentless—pressing close, guiding him with fluid grace.
Then Yeosang joined them and the three of them moved together, their bodies swaying in sync to the beat pulsing through them. Seonghwa wasn’t doing much, just standing there between them mostly, but Wooyoung and Yeosang more than made up for it—hands trailing, bodies brushing, teasing just enough to toe the line between playful and dangerous.
And when Seonghwa finally looked up, he saw exactly what they were doing.
Just a few feet away, San, Jongho, and Hongjoong couldn't look away, their expressions carefully neutral—but their eyes said everything.
They were trying to play it off, trying to pretend they were just observing a bit of harmless fun, but Seonghwa knew better. He could see the way Jongho’s fingers curled around his glass, the way San’s jaw tensed slightly, the way Hongjoong’s tongue swiped across his bottom lip, his fingers drumming idly against his thigh.
They were restraining themselves.
Holding back.
Exercising every ounce of self-control they had not to take what they wanted right then and there.
Seonghwa’s stomach tightened, heat curling low, and he let himself sink into it, indulging in the power of their attention.
Then, after a while, Mingi and Yunho reappeared.
Yunho looked satisfied as ever, but Mingi—Mingi looked downright wrecked. His movements were a little looser, his pupils blown wide, but there was a lazy, blissed-out grin on his face as he and Yunho made their way toward the group, slipping easily into the space beside them.
The music pulsed around them, a steady thrum that Seonghwa could feel in his bones. The warmth of bodies pressing close, the sound of laughter, the low, teasing murmurs exchanged between the others—it all wove together into something effortless, something natural.
It was strange to think about how much had changed, how much he had changed.
When he first stepped into this world, he had been helpless—lost and drowning, fighting just to catch a breath of fresh air. But now, standing here, surrounded by these people—Hongjoong’s people, his people—he finally understood.
Just a week ago he had raged at Yunho for bringing him here, for ruining his life. He had once looked at Wooyoung and seen a man broken by his past, a victim who succumbed to his trauma and became a perpetrator himself. Then, he had looked at Yeosang and seen the same.
And maybe that’s what had happened to him too. Maybe Seonghwa was just another casualty of fate, another victim molded by circumstance.
But standing here now, he realized—he didn’t care, because he was happy.
And for the first time, he truly understood.
He understood the pull of this world, the reason behind the game.
He understood it all.
And when Hongjoong’s hands found his waist, pulling him back against his chest, away from Yeosang and Wooyoung, Seonghwa let himself sink into it.
Seonghwa let himself sink into it all.
Into the touch. Into the world he once feared.
Into their game.