Archive of Our Own

If this were a fairytale, he thinks it would be more of a cautionary story than anything else. Perhaps on the necessary importance of harnessing one's urges, as if controlling an unruly horse. Or of abiding by that old adage — sharing is caring, his elementary school teachers would trill whenever a classmate of his would grab his favoured toy of the week. Hanbin would protest, naturally, then soon erupt into sobs. He was always the one that was berated for his behaviour even though he laid claim first. He never understood it.

He still doesn't now, not really. There are some things that just aren't meant to be shared.

He can envision the storybook now: Zhang Hao in his metaphorical tower, lonely and beautiful. Hanbin sneaking in to defile him again and again, to ruin him for anyone else.

Of course, this isn't quite correct. Real life is a lot more complicated than a fairytale. But it's something.

“Sweetheart,” he calls out as he shucks his shoes off. “Are you home?”

It's a ritualistic question, albeit pointless. Zhang Hao is always home; Hanbin's made sure of that.

“In here!” Zhang Hao replies, voice carrying from the kitchen.

Hanbin follows the sound of it, ridding himself of his blazer on the way. Zhang Hao's back is to him as he flips over something in the pan, cheeks puffed out in concentration and his silver bracelet catching the light. Hanbin approaches him as if under a spell.

“Hi, princess,” he sighs, arms wrapping him in an embrace from behind. The accumulated tension from the day drains from his body as he breathes in his scent. “I missed you.”

Zhang Hao pats at Hanbin's forearm gently, like one would with a child in need of consolation. “I missed you too.” He turns his head so they can kiss in greeting, short and sweet. He turns back to the pan afterwards.

Hanbin doesn't want short and sweet, and he especially doesn't want Zhang Hao's attention to be elsewhere. He forces him to the side, away from the stove.

“Missed you,” he repeats, fumbling one-handed to undo his belt and work his zipper down, “a little too much.”

His other hand splays on the small of Zhang Hao's back and pushes him down against the counter. Zhang Hao goes easily, with zero resistance, though he quickly reaches out to turn the heat off. He doesn't utter a word as Hanbin yanks his shorts down, nor when he smooths his fingers around the base of the plug nestled inside him.

He's too impatient to tease him today so he pulls the plug out without finesse, watching his hole stretch tantalisingly around it. Zhang Hao is arching for it unthinkingly, raising himself onto his tiptoes. Hanbin crowds him from behind, already hard. Even just seeing Zhang Hao preparing their dinner has some kind of Pavlovian effect on him.

“You really are always ready," he marvels, pushing in steadily and holding back a groan. Zhang Hao always feels so fucking tight, no matter what; he almost doesn't understand it. “What, you knew I'd come home desperate to have you?”

Zhang Hao laughs breathlessly, tightening around him. “You're always desperate to have me.”

He's not wrong by any means, but if he has the ability to talk back then it means Hanbin isn't doing his job correctly. He decides that Zhang Hao no longer deserves any reprieve and increases his pace accordingly, abandoning the languid rocking in favour of short, animalistic snaps of his hips.

“Hanbin,” Zhang Hao slurs, scrabbling at the counter uselessly even as he pushes back to meet Hanbin’s thrusts. “Too much.”

“No such thing.” He drags his hips back, pulling him up to nail him deeper. “Not with you.”

Zhang Hao gasps, still desperately trying to find leverage. But this is exactly why Hanbin likes fucking him over the kitchen counter — there's nothing for him to hold onto here, so all he can do is lie there and take it.

It's been a long day at work so he's not surprised when he feels himself approaching climax quicker than usual. Being buried inside Zhang Hao is the only thing that truly relaxes him nowadays, what saps all the pent-up frustration that he experiences elsewhere. It's what his mind always drifts to on the way back home from work — that feeling of being whole again, so close to each other that it's impossible to set his sights on something even more fulfilling. He doubts such a thing exists.

“Wish I could get you pregnant,” he whispers, pressing inside as deep as he can go, and comes as Zhang Hao clenches down around him.

After he's done filling him up, he sighs, pleased, and grinds inside once before pulling out. Zhang Hao's hole clenches around air and his leaking spend, spurring him on. He hurriedly plugs him up and pulls his shorts back up for him too, kissing him behind the ear as he does so. Zhang Hao's cock is already softening. As is usual, Hanbin rubs circles into his lower back, letting him come back to himself at his own speed.

Zhang Hao straightens up, slowly, still holding onto the counter as if he's worried he'll fall. He blinks the unfocused sheen away from his eyes, straightening his sweater where Hanbin had rucked it up.

Hanbin smiles fondly and kisses him. He's too cute like this.

“So,” he starts breezily. “Do you need any help with dinner?”

Zhang Hao swallows and raises the pan to a simmer once again, stirring its contents. “Just setting the table,” he manages. “Thank you.”

Hanbin waits for him to remember their rule. When Hanbin only continues to stand there, fingertips grazing the hem of his sweater, Zhang Hao clocks on and turns to him with a sheepish smile. He presses a kiss to Hanbin's mouth a second later.

“Just the table,” he repeats, sweeter now. Hanbin's hand clamps around the back of his thigh, keeping him in place. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He taps two fingers against his skin, lazy smile lining his mouth. “But give your husband another.”

Zhang Hao, of course, does what he’s told.

They both wake with the alarm, although Hanbin is always the one to turn it off. Zhang Hao shifts then freezes, an odd stillness sweeping over his body. Hanbin suppresses a smile and kisses him good morning on the cheek, unable to see his expression in the faint morning greyness.

They run through their morning routine like a well-oiled machine now.

As he showers he listens to the faint sounds of Zhang Hao in the kitchen, likely packing Hanbin’s breakfast and lunch for him. He absently hums a tune to himself as he rinses off, some catchy girl group number that Zhang Hao has been obsessed with recently. Whenever the song worms its way into Hanbin's head at work, his fingers always itch with the urge to check the camera feeds.

Afterwards, Zhang Hao slips into the bathroom and helps him shave. His usual precision is noticeably faltering; Hanbin has to point out a couple of small patches he missed along his jawline, which Zhang Hao quickly rectifies.

He ties his tie for him once Hanbin is dressed, his movements sluggish. Hanbin waits patiently as Zhang Hao frowns to himself and redos the knot after the first one isn't up to his usual standards. He doesn't mind the delay; all it means is that he's afforded more time to catalogue the slight pout of Zhang Hao's mouth, the divot in his brow as he focuses, the mole under his eye.

Once in the entryway, Hanbin checks his backpack. He normally doesn't, but he thinks this time his suspicions might be confirmed. Which they are.

“Thermos,” Hanbin reminds him gently, and Zhang Hao exclaims ah! to himself, as if shocked that he would forget. Hanbin smiles as he watches him hurry back to the kitchen, a slight limp to his steps.

Hanbin had drugged him last night, stirring fine powder into his tea, so he could take his time fucking his limp body. And again, when the first time wasn't enough to sate him. When they fuck — when Zhang Hao is awake, that is — it's this side of intense and rough, a hedonistic chase of pleasure. Like Zhang Hao is some dirty secret that needs to be treated as such.

When he's asleep, however, there's no rush. Hanbin gets to worship him as he should be. He treats him with the same careful reverence that one would offer a prized artifact. Unravelling him slowly, from the inside out. It's almost absurd, how much Hanbin wants him all the time, but this living arrangement has been exceedingly helpful in allowing him to indulge in his urges. They always existed, but now he has complete freedom to do whatever he wants.

Zhang Hao himself is clearly still listless now, rubbing at his eyes groggily as he clings to Hanbin's arm. He hasn't said anything about it but he's pleased, Hanbin can tell — satisfied to wake up with his hole loose and an ache in his lower back, the knowledge that Hanbin fucked him only abstract rather than a lived memory.

He debates calling in sick so they can spend the day repeating last night's activities, but he's already treading dangerous waters at work for taking too much time off in the last six months. He mourns the loss of opportunity. Still, today is Friday. Their weekend together will be entirely uninterrupted.

“Got everything?” Zhang Hao checks at the door, smoothing out the crease on the shoulder of Hanbin's blazer before stepping back.

“Mm-hmm.” He opens his arms. “Come here.”

Zhang Hao does. Hanbin treasures any time he spends with Zhang Hao in his arms — in his rightful place — and this is no different. He feels the moment their bodies instinctively relax into each other.

“Sleepy baby,” he says fondly, swaying them back and forth. Despite knowing that he's like this solely because of Hanbin, he asks: “What's up with you today?”

Zhang Hao yawns into his neck, arms tightening around his waist. “Don't know. Just tired.”

Hanbin cranes his neck to drop a kiss on his head, slipping a hand under his shirt to trace the knobs of his spine. “Rest a lot today, okay? Go back to bed after I leave.”

“Don't have to tell me twice,” Zhang Hao mutters, and extricates himself. Hanbin misses the weight of his body already. It would be nice if Zhang Hao were invisible to everyone except him, he thinks, so that he could take him everywhere. His hand lingers on Hanbin's cheek, thumb stroking under his eye. "Doenjang jjigae for lunch. Warm it up in the microwave. Three minutes.”

Hanbin catches his wrist and kisses the centre of his palm. “Thank you, baby.”

“Don't take your lunch at your computer this time. Go for a walk.” He pauses. “You'll call me?”

Hanbin makes a face; he'd love to, and he usually does, but recently his manager has acquired an affinity for roping him into taking their lunches together. “I'll try.”

Zhang Hao nods and seems to accept this.

Hanbin brushes a hand over his waist, preparing to leave. “Stay safe.”

Zhang Hao smiles, eyes warm. “I always do.”

Another pointless ritual of theirs. Zhang Hao's safety is something that Hanbin has invested a lot of time and money into; he shouldn't need to worry about it, but he still does. He has cameras set up all over the place, along with a complicated remote central locking system on the doors and windows. He leaves the patio door unlocked during the day, so that Zhang Hao can freely wander in and out of the garden, but otherwise he has him literally under lock and key. It's not so much about keeping Zhang Hao in but keeping everyone else out.

Hanbin steals another kiss and takes his leave. The door locks behind him, the dull snick a comforting sound.

Fridays are usually his slowest day at his job. He works in sales, either gallivanting in meeting rooms or stuffed into his cubicle. He doesn't keep any pictures of Zhang Hao there as he doesn't want his coworkers seeing what belongs to him only, but he does keep mementos. A small raccoon plushie that faces him while he works, pressed and dried flowers from their third date in a frame, a Paris keychain from when they got engaged.

Besides, his coworkers know he's married. If the ring on his finger isn't enough indication, then his eagerness to leave at five o'clock on the dot every day, along with a general combination of daydreaming and reticence, should help. Hanbin keeps himself to himself. Once, one of his older coworkers had asked to see any pictures of him and his wife. Hanbin had only smiled and said sorry, but my wife is pretty camera-shy. Ironic. Zhang Hao had laughed when he told him.

He texts Zhang Hao intermittently throughout the day, too, small asides just to let him know that Hanbin is thinking of him. Zhang Hao gets all whiny, otherwise. Sometimes he doesn't text him on purpose, for this very reason; he gets to come home to a sulky Zhang Hao and ply him with kisses and reassurances.

Thinking of Zhang Hao always makes him want to check the cameras. There's a brief moment of panic when the app automatically opens to the camera in the empty living room, before he remembers to switch to the one facing their garden.

Hanbin owns the surrounding acres of land as well, as a precaution, but he doesn't want Zhang Hao roaming such a large area. Hence, the garden. Fenced-in, completely inaccessible from the front, thick privacy trees towering over the slats of the fence. Their house sits at the very end of a dirt track road, and before he bought the house Hanbin had checked there were no footpaths or trails around. There's no reason for anyone to come here. But the trees provide another layer of security which Hanbin very much welcomes.

True to his word, Zhang Hao seems to have only rolled out of bed very recently. He's still in his sleepwear — although he’s thrown one of Hanbin’s hoodies on — and his hair is sticking up at the back, a bird’s nest which Hanbin instinctively wants to smooth down. He yawns as he waters the plants lining the patio, then rubs at his eye drowsily. The action is so adorable that Hanbin has to catch himself before he actually utters cute out loud.

Contented, he locks his phone and goes back to work.

The drugging came later. A lot of things came later, as it turns out. The shift to what they are now was gradual, as slow as molasses. He thinks, secretly, he grows worse each day.

Hanbin never used to be like this, believe it or not. He took great pride in showing Zhang Hao off to the world, in having everyone understand how lucky Hanbin was to have won the love lottery. He would boast about Zhang Hao's achievements, show his pictures to anyone who did and didn't ask for them.

Their circle of friends was large but well-trusted. They called their families once a month. They discussed getting a dog, or a cat, or perhaps even both. They were, in effect, normal.

Until they weren't. He can't pinpoint why it changed.

What he knows is how he began to hate walking the streets of Seoul with Zhang Hao at his side, that all he felt was a black hole of anger whenever he caught the covetous stares trailing after him. Glaring at the perpetrators usually convinced them to back down, to avert their eyes and pretend they were merely zoning out, but sometimes this show of possessiveness only bolstered them, only made them raise a mocking eyebrow at Hanbin and allow their undeserving eyes to linger on Zhang Hao. Hanbin could only grit his teeth and bear it, especially as Zhang Hao was often oblivious and would be talking his ear off next to him.

It was worse when they weren't together. If he knew that Zhang Hao would be out by himself or with a friend, he couldn't focus on anything else. He would be consumed with thoughts of baristas flirting with Zhang Hao, of being passed an endless stream of numbers. It was ridiculous, he knew. But no matter how hard he tried to refocus, his mind would inevitably drift.

“You can be really obvious, Hanbinie,” Zhang Hao said to him once from where he was straddling his lap. His nails dug into Hanbin's shoulder, a gleeful look in his eyes. “You must hate it, huh?”

“Hate what?” Hanbin asked, puzzled. There was a bit of a delay; he was preoccupied with admiring the stretch of Zhang Hao's shorts over his thighs.

Zhang Hao's smile grew wider. “Seeing how I get stares from those people when we're out. How much they pay attention to me. Because you just want to show them that I'm yours, right?” Hanbin blinked, stunned at being flayed bare in the span of a few seconds. He must have taken too long to respond because Zhang Hao pouted. “Ah, you must not want me…”

“Not true,” he protested immediately, tripping over the words in his desire to get them free. “You know that's not true.”

“Do I?” Zhang Hao said nonchalantly, head tilted to the side. “I wouldn't blame you. We have been together for a long time, after all.”

“I haven't looked at anyone else since I met you,” he said vehemently. “And I never will.”

“Good,” Zhang Hao hissed, eyes hardening at just the thought of it. He cupped Hanbin's chin in one hand and tilted his face up, nails biting into his skin. “I'd kill you if you ever did. You don't look at anyone but me, okay?”

Perhaps all of that was still within the bounds of propriety and reason. A little intense, sure, but still normal enough.

Then Hanbin got in a fight.

It’s a bit of an exaggeration. Neither person threw a punch. No harsh words were exchanged. But that was only because they left before it escalated.

Hanbin wasn't the type of person to get into fights. Everyone in his life knew this about him. Verbal disagreements were always smoothed over quickly, much less physical. When they were children, his sister would make fun of him crying for having to kill the flies in their house during the peak of summer.

So it made no sense that he had allowed himself to be controlled by his urges, to be swept up in this storm of outright insanity. That was the most fitting word for it.

He was drunk, he (and later Zhang Hao) reasoned with himself. Emotions rose too quickly, too headily to the surface, like a corpse in water. Bloated and disfigured beyond recognition.

The man had been a fellow patron of the bar that they'd just stumbled out of. Zhang Hao was tipsy, Hanbin more so. They'd left early, keen to get home. It was becoming more and more common to the point their friends expected to be deserted after a mere hour or two. He and Zhang Hao would exchange small, private smiles with each other whenever the ribbing started but they never discussed it.

Hanbin wished they had left even earlier. Maybe hadn't shown up at all if it meant that he would have remained in control of his instincts for a little longer.

He noticed him immediately. He was always doing this now — sweeping his eyes up and down the street or around whichever café or restaurant they were stationed in, on the lookout for anyone who needed a reminder of what — or who — Hanbin had and they didn't.

This man looked to be around the same age as them, if not a little older. He was smoking, his back to a streetlight, a subtle slackness to his movements which spoke to his insobriety. And he was staring. It was a greedy kind of stare, one that he didn't have the right to wear. Even Hanbin only stared at Zhang Hao like that when he wasn't looking — it was far too revealing otherwise.

He confirmed his hypothesis about the man being drunk; he didn't notice Hanbin staring back at him with equal fervour, features drawing tightly together. Naturally, Zhang Hao was oblivious to all of this. He leaned into Hanbin's side as they walked, but not even the warmth of him could distract Hanbin.

He understood, then, that this is how it would always be. The rest of his life rolled out before him: Hanbin forever walking a path seething with vines determined to trip him up and send him flat on his face, yet unable to cut these vines down. He would always be constrained by what was expected of him. Zhang Hao liked Hanbin because he was sweet, doting, different. At least that was what he thought Hanbin was. Hanbin couldn't live a lie for so long, he resolved.

In his addled mind, it made sense that this man was baiting him, another vine scratching his ankle with its thorns.

He approached, slowly and steadily, and pushed him, hard enough that the man stumbled backwards and he fell flat on his back in the road. Hanbin kicked him for good measure, the toes of his sneakers delivering a swift punishment to his shin. Zhang Hao's gasp rang loudly in his ears. There were other people watching, too, heads turning at the commotion like meerkats, intrigued by the promise of violence that lurked. Hanbin himself felt like he was possessed, watching this play out somewhere outside of his own body.

The man's face, already flushed from alcohol, turned redder — whether from rage or embarrassment, Hanbin didn't know. He made a move to get up and Hanbin kicked him again, sending him back to the ground with a glare. He wanted to do worse, wanted to gouge out this man's eyes and leave him wallowing in blackness forever, an inescapable reminder that he'd coveted what didn't belong to him.

And then Zhang Hao was there at Hanbin's side, an iron grip around his bicep as he started to tug Hanbin away, and Hanbin was suddenly back in his body. Up until the man's eyes moved towards Zhang Hao and Hanbin saw it, that sharp flicker of interest, so he ground his heel into the man's ankle this time, smiling when a cry of pain left him. At least his attention had been redirected.

But Zhang Hao's grip was too strong to resist. The man snarled expletives as they retreated, stumbling up from his position like he was planning to chase them. Zhang Hao abandoned his bicep and clutched his hand as they ran, tightly enough that Hanbin could feel his bones shifting. Hanbin was breathless from the adrenaline, a strange mix of exhilaration and regret and anger taking ownership of him. Zhang Hao was muttering to himself in Chinese, a steady stream of words that Hanbin couldn't summon the focus to translate.

Zhang Hao called a taxi while they hid in an alleyway. The adrenaline deserted Hanbin; he crashed out, embarrassingly so. Tears pricked at his eyes. Zhang Hao noticed because of course he did.

“Oh, Hanbinie,” he breathed, pulling him into his arms and stroking his back. “It's okay, baby, you're okay, I've got you.”

“Hyung,” he choked out, voice cracking on the single syllable. Zhang Hao's arms tightened around him. “Hyung, what's wrong with me?”

“Nothing's wrong with you,” he said fiercely, voice low and sure. “Don't say that. I'm sure you—you had good reason to do what you did, right?”

After a beat, Hanbin nodded. He couldn't elaborate.

But Zhang Hao didn't let him escape that easily. Once they were home and Zhang Hao had finished checking him over in the bathroom (Hanbin was wise enough not to ask why), he tried again.

“So,” he began, a shade too neutral, as if they were discussing what flavour of soju to buy and not Hanbin assaulting someone. He brushed Hanbin's bangs back from his forehead. “What happened?”

Hanbin chewed on his lip, gaze directed to the floor. “Don't know,” he mumbled after the silence stretched out.

“Don't lie to me,” Zhang Hao said sharply, and Hanbin flinched. Zhang Hao's hand rested atop his a second later. More forcefully this time: “What happened? Why did you hurt him?”

The unending path with the vines, he reminded himself. But now that he was sobering up, he realised how childish it sounded, how unstable it made him appear. And Zhang Hao, above all, valued stability.

“Hanbin,” he prompted, thumb stroking his knuckles.

He took a deep breath. “He was staring at you. Uncomfortably.”

“He was staring at me,” Zhang Hao echoed. There was an odd note in his voice which Hanbin couldn't read. He hadn't ever heard it before.

The silence returned. Perhaps Zhang Hao was waiting for him to elaborate, perhaps he was thinking. Thinking about that conversation from so long ago where he’d accused Hanbin, albeit with delight, of caring far too much about the intrusion of strangers. But he’d only been delighted because he hadn’t seen it, Hanbin, in action. Now he had and he was silent.

Hanbin couldn't summon the willpower to glance upwards and find his face. “Please don't leave me,” he begged instead, the words tangling in his mouth. He felt like he might start crying again. He grasped Zhang Hao's hand like a lifeline. “I'm sorry, I'll do anything, just please don't leave me, I can't—”

“Hanbin-ah,” he cut in, not harshly. “I'm not going to leave you. Don't spiral.” He sighed and drew Hanbin into his arms, guiding his head to his shoulder. “It's okay, I understand why you did it.”

Hanbin frowned in bewilderment, eyelashes clumping together. He couldn't understand why Zhang Hao was taking this so calmly. “But—”

“You're my Hanbin,” he soothed, voice a low murmur as he rocked Hanbin like a baby. Hanbin sniffled into his neck. Zhang Hao continued, gently petting Hanbin's nape, “You were drunk. You thought you were protecting me. You wanted him to know that I'm yours. That's all. Don't overthink it.”

Zhang Hao pressed his lips to his head. They sat there in silence, balanced on the edge of the bathtub and Hanbin's knuckles aching with wistfulness.

That was, in all likelihood, the beginning.

He gets to work from home on Wednesdays, a mid-week treat. He has his setup in the spare bedroom they've purposed into half-storage, half-office for this reason. Usually he requests Zhang Hao's company on these days, having him quietly curl up in his lap while he answers emails or types away in spreadsheets. Usually Hanbin ends up sitting him on his cock too, staying inside of him for so long that Zhang Hao starts to doze off in his lap like a spoiled housecat. The analogy makes him smile.

Today, though, the weather is nice enough that he wants to sit at the dining table by the patio door. And he can stare out at Zhang Hao toiling away, attacking the ivy sneaking in through the fence. He had thought they had an agreement that that's Hanbin's job, because he knows how much Zhang Hao hates doing any kind of manual labour, but Zhang Hao had shrugged and said he liked the upkeep aspect of it.

The sun warms him pleasantly as the day progresses. The only hiccup he experiences is a call from his manager warning him of a client’s very public scandal, which leaves him truly dumbfounded, but otherwise he zips through his tasks.

At around twelve, Zhang Hao comes in from the garden and presses a kiss to Hanbin's hair before going to take a shower and make them lunch. Hanbin takes his break with Zhang Hao in his lap, the two of them feeding each other. Zhang Hao is, to both of their surprises, an excellent cook now. Practice really does make perfect, he muses.

He has another meeting after lunch which Zhang Hao keeps him company throughout, sitting opposite him to evade the camera. His head is bent as he reads his book, chin resting on the heel of his hand. Now that he has no social obligations, he takes pleasure in dyeing his hair various colours: brown, blond, even a pastel pink once. It's currently a reddish shade, but in the sunlight some strands gleam like gold. He really is unfairly beautiful; Hanbin has to tear his eyes away from him more than once.

They don’t speak, obviously, but when Hanbin hooks his foot around his ankle and lifts it up Zhang Hao doesn’t protest. Hanbin already misses the feeling of having his hands on him; this meeting is dragging on for far too long. He has to settle for what he can do, which is to prop up Zhang Hao's socked foot on his knee underneath the table and massage it.

Zhang Hao raises an eyebrow at him, small smile on his face, before turning back to his book. Hanbin thinks he could die happy.

His ring camera sends him a notification at work, one thar Hanbin had been expecting. His manager is patrolling, so he ducks into one of the bathroom cubicles and watches the deliveryman ring the doorbell for the second time.

Zhang Hao is sitting cross-legged at the coffee table and organising their pile-up of letters over the past couple of months, ignoring the trill of the doorbell. Hanbin switches back to the ring camera.

It's not that he doesn't trust Zhang Hao, far from it. He knows that he would never betray him like that. He simply cherishes the rush of satisfaction he gets watching hapless deliverymen dither outside, staring at a door that refuses to open. It doesn't take long for them to place the parcel by the door and leave. Hanbin is always the one who collects it.

They come bearing either books or clothes, mainly. Zhang Hao orders everything through Hanbin's account. It's part of their quest to effectively make Zhang Hao persona non grata to everyone but Hanbin, expunge him from the record. Six months ago they'd shut down his bank account. He doesn't need it anymore, not when everything goes through Hanbin now. And Hanbin's always loved providing Zhang Hao with whatever he wants: back when they started dating and Hanbin was determined to show him that no one could treat him better, he would only look at his outgoings with a small fizz of pleasure. That's a feeling that's multiplied now.

This morning, right as he was about to leave, Zhang Hao had said casually, “I should have some new clothes arriving today.” He trailed his fingers across Hanbin's shoulder, sly smile on his face. “Maybe I'll send you some pictures when you're at work, give you something to look forward to.”

“I always have something to look forward to,” Hanbin had pointed out fondly, gathering him in his arms and kissing the tip of his nose. “I have you.”

Zhang Hao had pouted even as he leaned into the touch. “So you don't want the pictures.” There had been a glint in his eyes which spoke to where this was going.

Hanbin had laughed, hand drifting down. “What do you think?”

“I don't know,” Zhang Hao had replied, head tilted and an unreadable expression on his face. “What's the point of having a husband if he won't do all the thinking for me?”

Regrettably, Hanbin had ended up being a little late to work.

Summer weather here is always an uncomfortably volatile seesaw ride, teetering between blistering, muggy heat and raindrops that pound the pavement like gavels.

This afternoon, it's the latter. He dashes the short distance through the sheets of water, blinking it away when it collects on his eyelashes. He has to jiggle the key a few times when it refuses to budge, but eventually the door opens into the warmth of his home.

“Welcome home,” Zhang Hao says as soon as he steps through the doorway, already waiting for him with a towel. A deep swell of gratitude almost knocks Hanbin off his feet. They trade, Zhang Hao taking his backpack from him as Hanbin pats his damp hair and shirt. Zhang Hao's bouncing in place a little, like an overeager puppy. “How was work?”

Hanbin can't help his giddy smile at such an inane question, at Zhang Hao coming to greet him at the door. It almost hurts, then, a sharp pain in his chest at the realisation that he would do anything to keep this.

Hanbin forgoes answering in favour of reeling him in for a kiss. Zhang Hao makes a small noise, startled, but soon relaxes, arms winding around Hanbin's neck. Hanbin's tongue prods at the seam of his mouth, slipping inside when his mouth parts. Zhang Hao is allowing him to take the lead, which is a good sign for what Hanbin has in store later.

He taps the backs of his thighs; Zhang Hao understands the signal for what it is and jumps, wrapping his legs around Hanbin's hips as he catches him.

He's in an especially good mood today, thanks to a successful meeting with a new client at work, and this only bolsters it. Still kissing, he takes them through to the living room while visualising his route. One time, he'd accidentally backed Zhang Hao into the little table by the arm of the couch and he’d sulked about it for days. Hanbin had enjoyed the display, but he wants him pliant and willing today.

He lowers himself onto the couch with Zhang Hao in his lap, knees on either side of him. Hanbin pulls back, appeased for the moment. “What did my baby get up to without me?”

Zhang Hao smiles, small and pleased. “Nothing much. The tomatoes in the garden are coming along nicely. Decided to weed the patio as well ‘cause it was getting a bit neglected. Read a few chapters, watched some TV, started planning next week's meals. Oh, and I did our laundry and ironed your work shirts.”

Hanbin listens to all of this raptly. “That doesn't sound like nothing to me. Thank you, baby.” He squeezes his ass and teases, “What a perfect wife you are.” Zhang Hao huffs in response, tilting his head as Hanbin's smile grazes his jaw.

He scrapes his teeth over the sensitive spot beneath his ear, knowing from experience that Zhang Hao will bend to his will after that's taken care of. Zhang Hao shivers in response, fingers curling into his hair as Hanbin continues to pay him attention there, sucking at the skin.

When Zhang Hao starts to squirm in his lap, Hanbin pulls back to peel his shirt off for him. He keeps him permanently marked up, a smattering of bruises tracking down from his jaw all the way to his thighs. When one of them fades, Hanbin revitalises it with his mouth, blood rushing to the surface once again.

“Pretty,” he says as he drinks in his shirtless form, hand trailing over his waist. He absently watches the flex of Zhang Hao's thigh muscles. “Never seen anyone prettier than you. You know that's why I have to keep you here, right?”

Zhang Hao smiles coyly, hand brushing through Hanbin’s bangs. “I know. My husband always does what's best for me.”

“That's right,” Hanbin agrees, pulling him in for another kiss. Zhang Hao always feels so perfect in his lap, fitting there just right, as if he was purposefully crafted by the universe to always have a seat for himself there. Hanbin thinks he was.

“Missed you today,” he murmurs, dotting kisses down the length of his neck. He takes Zhang Hao's earlobe between his teeth, tugging at it before releasing it with a slick sound. Zhang Hao's thighs squeeze around his hips. “Couldn't stop thinking about you at work.”

“Yeah?” Zhang Hao says, matching his volume. His fingers scratch lightly at the cropped hair at the base of his skull. “Was thinking about hyung too. Wondering if hyung was thinking about me.”

Hanbin inhales deeply, savouring the spark of heat that rushes to his groin. If that's how he wants to play it, Hanbin will gladly partake.

But first: “I think about you every second I'm not with you,” he says sincerely, which is just the level of cheesy that Zhang Hao pretends to hate but secretly loves. Sure enough, his ears pinken as his gaze skitters away, over Hanbin's shoulder. A shy smile plays at his lips, one that Hanbin can't help but kiss.

His hands settle over Zhang Hao's waist, squeezing lightly. “How much did you miss hyung?”

“So much,” he affirms, bottom lip jutting out into a pout. “I get lonely without hyung here.” He pokes Hanbin's forehead, a scowl on his face now. “Doesn't hyung think it's cruel to leave me all alone?”

“I have to work, baby,” he mollifies, wide smile contrasting Zhang Hao's scowl. “To keep my wife happy. You like spending all my money, right?”

Zhang Hao's scowl only deepens. “What else were you planning to spend it on,” he grumbles. “I'm the only valuable thing in your life. All of your money should go to me anyway.”

“And don't I know it,” Hanbin says, grinning. There are times he loves being put in his place. Just like there are times he loves putting Zhang Hao in his place. He quirks his head. “But you still have to keep up your end of the bargain.”

Zhang Hao smiles slyly, taking Hanbin's hand and sliding it down to his hip bone so the tips of his fingers dip underneath his waistband. “I always do. Hyung gets to have me whenever he wants. I'm all his for the taking.” He smiles again as Hanbin's fingers sink into the fat of his ass. “What more could you want?”

What more, indeed. Hanbin answers that question with a raised eyebrow and a tweak of his nipple, smirking at the squeak he receives. His mouth closes over the nub greedily, feeling it harden against the flat of his tongue. He sucks, gripping Zhang Hao's ass to keep him in place. Zhang Hao's hands have flown to his head now and Hanbin continues swirling his tongue, soaking his skin. Zhang Hao's moans are always lower, more wanton whenever Hanbin appreciates him here. He leaves that wet patch of skin to create another, mouth transferring to the other nipple. Zhang Hao arches up into him, his voice breaking as Hanbin gently takes it between his teeth and tugs. He releases it, resisting temptation to redden his skin further, and brings Zhang Hao down for a kiss.

Zhang Hao has gone lax, although he whimpers softly into his mouth when Hanbin rubs his chest. He takes pity on him and occupies his hand with something else instead. Zhang Hao's mouth opens for him instinctively.

“Look at you, properly house-trained,” Hanbin teases, watching Zhang Hao's lips close around his thumb. His tongue swirls around the pad. Hanbin feels breathless just watching him. “You're so needy.”

Zhang Hao throws him a disgruntled look. His teeth nip at his thumb in retribution, enough to make Hanbin hiss. A faint indent is left behind, one he examines with great pleasure.

Zhang Hao watches him, mouth parted and lips shiny with saliva. Hanbin is reminded of his mission.

“Gonna use your mouth,” he tells him, tossing one of their many cushions on the floor and depositing Zhang Hao there. He brushes his hair, a little overgrown, out of his eyes as Zhang Hao blinks up at him. He's run out of words in any language to describe Zhang Hao's beauty. “It's been a while, hasn't it?” It's been three days; Hanbin had forced him onto his knees in the bathroom before bed, one hand gripping the sink and one hand fisted in his hair.

Despite this, Zhang Hao agrees. “It has.” His gaze drops to Hanbin's crotch hungrily. When Hanbin spreads his legs in silent demand, he surges forward and mouths over the bulge in his slacks. Hanbin cups his cheek and traces over the mole underneath his eye. Zhang Hao's hair feathers over his forehead artfully.

Hanbin thinks there aren't many feelings in the world that can measure up to Zhang Hao on his knees for him. Only Zhang Hao snuggled up in his arms and Zhang Hao panting underneath him can compare.

His belt is undone by efficient hands, fingers grazing over his clothed cock. To be cheeky, Zhang Hao applies the slightest bit of pressure there, his eyes blackening in desire when Hanbin groans. He indulges Hanbin by catching the zipper between his teeth and dragging it down slowly, making a show of it. Hanbin watches him with his breath trapped in his throat. He only exhales when his briefs are tugged down to his ankles and his cock springs out, curving towards his stomach.

Zhang Hao, a lazy smile on his face, pillows his cheek on Hanbin's thigh and watches as he strokes once from base to tip. Hanbin twitches, fighting the urge to rock his hips up. Zhang Hao's gaze flickers up to meet him as he gives another stroke, eyes glinting. “My husband is so big.”

Hanbin bites his lip and watches as Zhang Hao sways up to press a kiss to the head, beginning to gleam with precome. It takes a moment for Zhang Hao's words to resound in his skull. “It's all for you.” He pinches his cheek a little meanly. “Size queen that you are. You wanted to be broken in.”

Zhang Hao scowls up at him, his cheek still caught between Hanbin's fingers. He looks like a cat. “Even now that we're married, you fuck me like you're still trying to break me in.”

Hanbin releases him from his hold, massaging his skin in silent apology. Zhang Hao leans into his touch. “That's how you like it, baby,” he says, warm and fond. “Can't have you running off on me now, can I?”

“I wouldn't,” he says sincerely, turning his head to quickly kiss Hanbin's palm. He runs his knuckle up Hanbin's shaft, blinking up at him prettily. “But you've destroyed that option for me anyway.” He makes a show of thinking. “Although I think it would be kinda fun if you had to track me down and drag me back kicking and screaming.”

Before Hanbin can parse through the implications of that statement, Zhang Hao effectively puts a stop to their conversation by letting drool collect on his tongue before it drips down onto Hanbin's cock. Hanbin wants to die. He feels like he seriously might. He must choke out a sound because Zhang Hao smiles, pleased with himself. Always so pleased with himself.

Hanbin won't allow him to have the upper hand. He wraps a hand around himself and Zhang Hao understands, lowering his head slightly so Hanbin can smear precome across his lips and make them glisten. He waits patiently, obediently, as Hanbin then drags his cock across to his cheek and slaps his cheekbone with it, leaving a sticky trail behind. When he redirects it back, Zhang Hao wraps both hands around it, fat head nudging at the seam of his mouth. He suckles at the tip, eyelids lowering and faint blush already sitting high on his cheekbones.

Hanbin could watch him do this all day. Maybe he should test out that theory. Another time, though, when he's not craving a quicker release.

He reaches out and feeds Zhang Hao more, twining his fingers into his hair, then tilts Zhang Hao's head for him so he can stroke over the bulge in his cheek. Zhang Hao's eyelids flutter as Hanbin's thumb presses down, before he makes an odd noise and pulls back to cough.

Hanbin's cock slips out of his mouth with a lewd popping sound. Zhang Hao wipes his chin, a crease of confusion in his brow. “Hyung?”

“Yeah, baby,” Hanbin breathes, guiding him down again with the threaded fingers in his hair. “Like this.”

Zhang Hao's mouth envelops him slowly, at Hanbin's pace. It would be easy enough for him to break out of Hanbin's grip, as weak as it is, and swallow him down to the root from one moment to the next. But he won't, because he's good like that. Admittedly, he's also likely a little tired of gagging on Hanbin's cock too — Hanbin likes forcing him to take it all before he's ready, likes fucking his face as Zhang Hao's eyes widen in panic, likes Zhang Hao hurriedly pulling off to cough and splutter over him. Likes when Zhang Hao perseveres with determination and finishes him off with watery eyes and saliva running down his chin.

Zhang Hao always slaps his thigh afterwards and calls him a caveman, then slaps him again when Hanbin replies that he shouldn't be so pretty when he sucks cock, then. As if Hanbin doesn't see the self-assured smile he tries to hide in vain. It makes him smile, sometimes, reminiscing on how fumbling they were at the start of their relationship in comparison. He was still learning Zhang Hao's whims, then, back when he thought that Zhang Hao actually meant it when he said stop. Cute.

Now, though, Hanbin has mercy on him. He allows Zhang Hao to take the lead once he's reached halfway, hand moving to curve around the nape of his neck but not forcing any movement from him. Zhang Hao understands and huffs through his nose, Hanbin's eyes momentarily rolling back in his head as the wet heat of his mouth slides up and down with renewed vigour. It's a wonder that Hanbin doesn't have him on his knees all day, every day.

He can't help noticing that his back is arched prettily for Hanbin's benefit. He wonders if Zhang Hao has to make a conscious effort to remember his preferences, at this point, or if they're so in tune with each other that his body settles into its cast instinctively.

He appreciates the view, regardless.

The soft, wet sounds of Zhang Hao working him fill the silence along with Hanbin's heavy breathing and low moans. He massages Zhang Hao's neck throughout, until his muscles are straining with the effort not to move.

“A little deeper, baby,” he coaxes, and Zhang Hao complies immediately, spreading his knees so he can get more comfortable. The movement draws attention to his own bulge but they both ignore that for now.

“Look so pretty like this,” he says as Zhang Hao takes him deeper, knowing how much he desires praise when he sucks Hanbin off. He sweeps Zhang Hao's hair out of his eyes as he bobs up and down, keeping to a rhythm with his hand. Hanbin grits his teeth against the impulse to snap his hips up. “My pretty, pretty wife. Never stop thinking about you, you have no idea.”

Zhang Hao moans around him and abruptly snatches his hand away, cock sliding deeper down his throat. Hanbin gasps as he swallows him down to the base, choking a little at the sudden movement. They both moan as Zhang Hao's throat constricts around him, before he makes an effort to relax. The sensation, the tightness of it, is too much — his hips jerk upwards and Zhang Hao gags, eyes immediately filling with tears. But he stays put, even as his throat flutters in panic.

Hanbin takes it as the tacit permission it is and gives in, cock hitting the back of his throat repeatedly. Zhang Hao takes it perfectly, lashes spiking with tears. They create a discordant, muffled duet together, Zhang Hao's whimpers drowned out by Hanbin's grunts. That sharp ache in his stomach only intensifies at the realisation that Zhang Hao is simply allowing himself to be used for Hanbin's pleasure, a vessel for Hanbin to fuck into when the need arises.

Zhang Hao has long grown used to Hanbin's tells by now, his moans pitching higher and legs beginning to shake, so Hanbin doesn't feel bad about the lack of warning when he releases into his mouth. Still, he has the presence of mind to cup his hand underneath Zhang Hao's chin for him to spit into, but Zhang Hao only blinks at him and swallows it all. He sticks his tongue out afterwards to show Hanbin.

He's perfect.

“You're perfect,” Hanbin slurs, pulling him up into his lap. He's hard, unsurprisingly; he loves sucking Hanbin off.

They kiss, messy and frantic, as Hanbin's hands slide around to grope him, kneading the fat and muscle there. Zhang Hao moans as Hanbin pulls him closer, softening cock poking his thigh. If he wasn't so sensitive, he would jerk them both off together, Zhang Hao's hot breath washing over his chin as they both watch.

But he has other ways of making him fall apart. “How d'you want it, sweetheart?” he murmurs. “Want me to suck you off? Eat you out?”

Zhang Hao shakes his head, eyes still a bit red. “Like this,” he says hoarsely, guiding Hanbin's hand so his fingers rub over his hole.

He decides to make good on that unspoken promise and pushes two fingers into Zhang Hao's mouth so he can wet them while he tugs his shorts down to his thighs. Zhang Hao sucks on them desperately, cheeks hollowing. Hanbin deems it good enough and probes at his rim, fingertips circling the muscle so he can feel it flutter impatiently. Smiling to himself as Zhang Hao whines, he fucks both fingers in at once and immediately curls them. Zhang Hao's thighs have started to shake.

“Always feel so tight, baby,” he marvels, stroking against his prostate so as to not completely overwhelm him. “Like you were made for me, right?” When Zhang Hao only inhales shakily, open-mouthed and wild-eyed, he presses: “Right?”

Zhang Hao swallows. “Made for you,” he echoes, tightening around him. “Just for you.” He slumps onto Hanbin, then, kissing him uncoordinatedly as Hanbin worms his other hand between them so he can get it around him. Zhang Hao shudders when Hanbin finally starts to jerk him off, then whimpers into his mouth as Hanbin bounces him a little.

“Feels good?” Hanbin asks, even though it's obvious how much Zhang Hao likes it.

Zhang Hao moans in answer and alternates between thrusting into Hanbin's fist and pushing back into his fingers. Hanbin watches him, feeling only a strange mix of pride and affection to see him take his pleasure so unabashedly. It's not like it's anything out of the norm but Hanbin always loves seeing it, loves knowing that he can bring him to the brink of desperation.

“Hanbin,” he's panting, rocking in his lap and nails scratching crescents in his shoulders. “Hanbinie, husband—”

He comes with a weak shudder and a pitched groan, head thrown back. Just from watching him, Hanbin feels similar.

Zhang Hao melts onto him as they trade soft kisses, Hanbin continuing to taste himself in his mouth. It's not entirely pleasant but he wouldn't dream of refusing Zhang Hao kisses after sex, who sometimes seems to prefer the aftercare to the actual sex. And Hanbin loves both kissing him and making him happy, so this is no hardship on his part.

He quickly reaches to the side for a tissue before he returns to holding him in his arms, rubbing a gentle hand down his back and trailing a line of kisses from his mouth to his jaw. His hands continue their petting as he pulls back to evaluate Zhang Hao. “Okay?”

“Mm.” Zhang Hao presses a hand to his throat and winces. “Put a lot of honey in my tea tonight.”

Even like this, he looks so cute that Hanbin can't help but kiss him. Chastely, this time. “I will. Don't worry, princess, I'll take care of you.”

Zhang Hao sniffs, lightly thumping Hanbin's shoulder with a closed fist. “You better. It's your fault.”

Hanbin smiles fondly. “I know, I'm such an awful husband.” He arches up for another kiss. “But I'll make it up to you.”

Zhang Hao has been lying in the same spot for hours now, knowledge courtesy of the cameras, so when Hanbin arrives home from work he makes a brief stop in the living room to place his bag down. He slips through the ajar patio door and approaches Zhang Hao's figure, sunbathing facedown on the lounger and head resting on his folded arms. He's only wearing a pair of shorts which Hanbin hasn't seen before. The speaker on the table is playing some pop playlist, songs that Hanbin recognises from a lifetime ago.

The constellation of moles on his back, still so striking, comes into focus as he nears. Hanbin reaches out to touch him, entranced.

Zhang Hao jolts when his fingers glide over those same moles, then relaxes once he opens his eyes and catches sight of Hanbin. “I didn't even hear you come home.”

“That's dangerous,” he says lightly, keeping the swarm of feelings at bay. He knows Zhang Hao is lying to rile him up, only because there's no way he wouldn't have heard Hanbin's car pull up. But the knowledge doesn't help his instincts. “What if I was someone else?” He switches the speaker off; Zhang Hao makes a little affronted noise, pouting up at him. “Don't listen to music when you're out here without me.”

“Okay,” Zhang Hao agrees easily. He flips over onto his back, the lounger squeaking. Hanbin runs his eyes over him greedily, taking special pleasure in the yellowed bruises over his waist where Hanbin likes to hold him as he fucks him, his nipples pebbled from the slight breeze, his smooth legs shining in the sun. Sometimes he thinks that even he shouldn't be allowed to touch something so perfect. “You haven't kissed me yet.”

“How terrible of me,” Hanbin says, and means every word. He kneels down by the lounger, uncaring of dirtying his slacks.

Zhang Hao smiles into their kiss, propping himself up to card his hand through Hanbin's hair. Hanbin slides an arm around his waist to hold him up and ease the strain. He nips at Zhang Hao's bottom lip, then nudges at his jaw with his nose so he can work on his neck. Zhang Hao's head rolls to the side easily, his hand still petting Hanbin's hair.

“It's a nice day today,” he offers as Hanbin presses butterfly kisses to his skin. “We should eat dinner outside, don't you think?”

“Whatever you want,” Hanbin replies absently, preoccupied with teasing the thin skin over his Adam's apple. Zhang Hao has tilted his head back without needing to be directed. Hanbin loves it when he's this malleable. Which is more often than not these days, but he still treasures it. He switches to the other side of his neck, hand creeping down to his lower back. He presses his fingertips into the muscle and smiles to himself when Zhang Hao hisses. Even Hanbin's daily massages can't rid him of all of his aches.

Zhang Hao takes his other hand and leads it down to his waistband. “These came today. They're new.”

Hanbin splays his hand over his stomach, pinky and ring finger brushing the fabric. “I know.” He perhaps has a bit too much of his brain’s real estate dedicated to Zhang Hao's wardrobe. It entertains him during slow days at work.

“So,” he draws out, and Hanbin gets the hint. He pulls back to look properly: they're pink, hang low on his hips, criminally short, soft to the touch. There's a bite on his hip bone from two days ago which is peeking out. Hanbin can't quite seem to drag his eyes away from the mottled purple. “What do you think?”

“I think you're very pretty,” Hanbin says immediately, dancing his fingers over the bruises on his thigh. They look especially stark in the sunlight. He digs his thumb into one of them just to have Zhang Hao gasp and spread his legs wider. “But you'd look even prettier without them.”

Zhang Hao looks up at him expectantly. Hanbin huffs out a laugh; he can be so lazy sometimes.

He slides his shorts — and his briefs — down his legs slowly, teasing it out, more for himself than for Zhang Hao. He usually only drags any undressing out like this when Zhang Hao has been drugged unconscious, so it’s nice to be doing this before the sun has set for once.

“As I said,” he murmurs when Zhang Hao is completely bare, “prettier without them.” He bends his head and sinks his teeth into the swell of his thigh to illustrate his point. He’s paler here, in comparison to his face and arms, and Hanbin enjoys tracking how the bruises on his body manifest against the different backdrops.

When he sucks another mark into his skin, Zhang Hao jolts in his hold. “I was only—” His voice breaks. “I was only showing you my shorts.”

Hanbin tamps down a smile and pillows his head on his thigh, pouting up at him. “I know, baby. But I’ve been watching you all day on that camera.” He flicks his gaze up, glancing at the lens in question. “And you just looked too pretty lying here. So now I’m going to take care of you, okay?” He doesn’t wait for Zhang Hao’s answer. He doesn’t need one.

The sun beats down on the nape of his neck as he strokes Zhang Hao to full hardness, running his thumbnail along the vein and watching how his cock swells in his hand. If the sun lounger could take both of their weights then he’d get them both off together, either bracing himself over Zhang Hao or on their sides facing each other. It’s been a while since they’ve done that, he thinks mournfully.

He makes Zhang Hao spit into his hand, then, getting him wet enough before returning. It’s probably still a little too dry for Zhang Hao’s sensibilities, who prefers it as wet as possible, but he leaks enough that the problem will solve itself soon.

He's been neglecting Zhang Hao's chest for much too long, in his humble opinion. As he starts to jerk him off, he bends and sucks on the nipple closest to him, intent on darkening the pink areola.

The movements of his wrist mean that his shirt chafes painfully at his skin, but he doesn't want to pause to roll his sleeve up. Zhang Hao twitches on every downstroke, his gasps startlingly loud in the quiet of nature. There's no one around to hear them except Hanbin, but he still frowns to himself and leans over him to only have them echo in his own mouth instead.

“You're mine,” he vows, feeling the words take shape in his mouth and push their way into Zhang Hao’s.

“I'm yours,” Zhang Hao feeds back to him, arching upwards for a kiss. Hanbin gives him it, tongues twining together, and strokes him faster until his moans rise in pitch, until he’s squirming, until the lounger won’t stop creaking.

He’s curled his fingers into the loosened knot of Hanbin's tie. It cuts into Hanbin’s neck when he comes, the material gripped tightly in Zhang Hao's hand.

Hanbin kisses the hollow of his throat, where his pulse flutters. He's reminded of the frantic beating of a hummingbird's wings in the air, trying ferociously to keep itself alive. His lips rest there for a moment, Zhang Hao's pulse trapped between his teeth. Then he straightens up.

Hanbin sweeps his lax body into his arms and carries him inside for round two.

It was actually Zhang Hao's idea. It's not like Hanbin hadn't thought about it, but he had been ashamed of these thoughts. He was a good boyfriend. Doting, loving. That's what everyone said — his parents, his friends, even his former boss once when she'd seen him rushing around to make sure their anniversary party was perfect. Zhang Hao never said it but he didn't need to; it was obvious that he, too, shared these sentiments, from the way he seemed to glow more and more with each passing day and would reverently trace over Hanbin's features when he thought Hanbin was sleeping.

Hanbin himself wasn't so sure. Good boyfriends didn't think like he did. Good boyfriends didn't wish for everyone else on the planet to just disappear into thin air so he could have Zhang Hao all to himself, didn't fantasise about locking Zhang Hao up and throwing away the key. He wanted it so badly that it hurt, sometimes. Lying there awake while Zhang Hao hummed softly and stroked his cheek, thinking to himself if you knew even a fraction of all the terrible things I think about you, then you would be gone from my life forever.

He slipped the idea into his dirty talk, hesitantly at first before he learned how loudly Zhang Hao would moan, how hard he would come, whenever Hanbin made allusions to being his keeper. But he never dared to broach the topic outside of the confines of sex. Even he knew that there were wishes Zhang Hao wouldn't grant him, wishes which he would have to stifle until the day he died.

Well. He thought he knew.

Hanbin had been promoted at work a couple of years ago, shortly after that man outside the bar and the bathtub and Zhang Hao carefully reassembling him into a person.

Zhang Hao had tentatively asked over dinner if his new income was enough to support two people, the implication evident. It had surprised Hanbin, in the most neutral of ways. He hadn't known what to think. Zhang Hao's ambition, his hunger for more, was something that Hanbin was deeply attracted to. Both of them were perfectionists and hard workers, a shared kinship found in the art of building yourself from the ground up. A perfect match.

(But, that small, greedy voice whispered. But.)

“I don't know,” Zhang Hao had mused when Hanbin brought this up late at night, facing each other in bed. “It, my work, feels like it's just what I have to do. I just…don’t care about it anymore.”

Hanbin stroked up and down his back rhythmically. “Because you've lost enjoyment in the job? Or just the idea of working in general?”

“Working in general. Sometimes I think…” He paused before forging ahead with renewed determination, “Sometimes I think that what I'm best at is being yours. And that’s what brings me the most satisfaction. Taking care of you. Giving you what you need.”

Hanbin smiled a little, amused despite the serious conversation they were having. “What do I need?”

“Me,” he said at once, and Hanbin knew it to be the truth. “You need me. And you need me to be yours.”

“Very true,” Hanbin agreed, squeezing his hip. “Which you are.”

Zhang Hao shifted, then, their chests pressing together. “What do you think?” he whispered. “Do you think I should quit?”

He struggled for a moment to articulate his thoughts. He couldn't be selfish here. “I don't know. It's a big change, gege. You've worked so hard to get where you are now…” He hurriedly added, “But of course I’ll support you in whatever you choose. I just want it to be your decision.”

Zhang Hao was silent for a few moments, considering. The air around Hanbin seemed to wait with him, a stillness in each atom that he felt like static upon his skin. He didn't know, exactly, what he was waiting for.

“One of my coworkers likes to flirt with me,” Zhang Hao said abruptly.

Hanbin stiffened. That nauseous feeling returned to his stomach as if it had never left. “What?”

“He flirts with me,” Zhang Hao repeated. “He compliments me on my outfit or my hair. I always catch him staring at me. And last week, he waited for me at my desk so we could go have lunch together. I keep brushing him off but I can only do it so many times.” He pouted, thigh sliding between Hanbin's legs. “What should I do?”

“Ignore him,” Hanbin said automatically, then felt his face flame in embarrassment. Not good enough. This coworker needed to be shown his place, shoved to the very bottom rung. Hanbin was always Zhang Hao's plus-one at his work parties, so it's not like this coworker could have been under the impression that Zhang Hao was single.

Zhang Hao's pout was audible. “I already do. That's the problem.” His fingertips skimmed over Hanbin's cheekbone. “But he doesn't really bother me, you know. Sometimes I think it's nice to have someone's attention like that…”

Hanbin's stomach roiled. His face pulled into a scowl, something he only noticed when Zhang Hao's finger brushed over the notch in his brow. “You have my attention. You don't need anyone else's.”

Zhang Hao hummed. “It's different, with us both working. All that time apart from each other. He probably sees me more than you do.” He twirled a lock of Hanbin's hair around his finger. With a detached quality to his voice, he continued, “He probably thinks about how pretty I am more than you do. Probably spends more of his time thinking about fucking me. He must be desperate for it, at this point. Wondering how long it'll take before I—”

“Stop that,” Hanbin said sharply. Zhang Hao didn't flinch, though his movements paused. “You think I want to hear that?”

“No,” he replied immediately. “Why do you think I said it in the first place?”

Hanbin tried to look away from him, hide whatever expression must surely be on his face, but Zhang Hao tutted and hovered over him so that he was all Hanbin could see. Which really wasn't much of a diversion from the norm.

“Just tell me what you want me to do,” Zhang Hao murmured, voice and eyes soft. “The truth, baby.”

The words rushed out of him. “I want you to quit. I want you to stay here while I work. I want you to only ever see me.”

Zhang Hao's smile was bright. “Good boy.” He cupped Hanbin's cheeks and pressed a kiss to his puckered mouth. “You're so cute. You just want me all to yourself, don't you?” Hanbin must have looked like an anxious hamster because Zhang Hao smiled again and said, “It's okay, I want that too. I'll give my notice on Friday.”

(To this day, Hanbin still doesn't know if he was lying about the coworker just to convince him of their new arrangement. He's never asked, and Zhang Hao has never told him.)

Even then, there was nothing Hanbin adored more than giving Zhang Hao everything he wanted. But it goes both ways, he supposes. A mutual desire to see the other truly free.

They fell into their roles easily, naturally. It was unspoken, always unspoken. Perhaps it would have benefited them to cement the change in their relationship as something more official, but he can't see how. They didn't need to talk about it, not when they instinctively knew exactly what they wanted from each other. They knew what the other was expected to provide.

It was fun, actually, to test those paper-thin boundaries and see how far they could stretch until there was no boundary at all. Zhang Hao chanting no no no but still laughing as he clung to the door frame, Hanbin's arms around his waist as he pulled him back into the cocoon of their bedroom. Throwing Zhang Hao on the bed as he shrieked and called Hanbin a brute. Pulling him down the bedspread by his ankles when he tried to clamber away.

God knows what their neighbours thought.

Having Zhang Hao always at home and immediately available to him made him indescribably happy. Still, he'd felt bad having him cooped up in their tiny apartment, although Zhang Hao always insisted he didn't mind.

Then, over a year ago, Hanbin had bought a house just outside of Seoul. A real house, with a garden, and their closest neighbours far enough away that Hanbin knew they wouldn't be bothered. It had taken a long time for him to find something that suited their needs. A lot of failed meetings, a lot of sneaking around behind Zhang Hao's back. Zhang Hao had half-jokingly asked if Hanbin was cheating on him, his tone hinting that there would be a lifetime of hell waiting for him if Hanbin even pretended to laugh.

Hanbin had managed to placate him, just about, promising that he would tell Zhang Hao when he could. He just didn't want to get his hopes up in case the plans fell through once again.

Thankfully, fortune was on his side.

His commute lengthened, sure, but it was worth it to see Zhang Hao's face light up when Hanbin first gave him the tour of the place. Hanbin knew that he could relax when Zhang Hao saw the garden.

He adores that garden; Hanbin buys him seeds for both flowers and vegetables, indulging his beginner subsistence farming fantasy. A lot of what they grow isn’t viable but neither of them mind — it’s a hobby, more than anything. Something to keep Zhang Hao occupied. And it's peaceful, watching him totter around and tend to the earth. Not just on the cameras but in-person too, on a lazy, sunny afternoon. Hanbin likes to sprawl out on one of their loungers, sunglasses on and arms folded behind his head, and simply watch before Zhang Hao returns to him. He thinks of the garden as Zhang Hao's domain. Although everywhere is his domain, really.

My little housewife, Hanbin likes to call him. Zhang Hao had bared his teeth at him in mock anger the first time he said it, but Hanbin saw that he was pleased. He can't be annoyed, anyway, not when it's the truth. House-wife. Has there ever been a more apt term? Even merely thinking the word brings him a dreamy state of euphoria.

There's nothing that makes him happier than Zhang Hao being sequestered away where only Hanbin can reach him. Wholly his; no one else will ever see him again. It takes his breath away each time he remembers that.

He had only truly realised that Zhang Hao was just as terrible as him after they'd already started whatever this was. There used to be a stone of fear lodged in his chest that Zhang Hao was appeasing him more than anything; he'd learnt that he was wrong from a conversation in their old apartment, back when they still attempted to keep up pretences. Back when they still had anyone to keep up pretences to.

“Taerae asked about you today,” Hanbin said casually as he stirred in cheese to the pasta sauce. “He wanted to know why you keep blowing him off when he tries to meet up with you.”

At his side, Zhang Hao cocked his head. “And what did you tell him?”

“I said you're much busier these days. I said—” He stopped. The white lie he had fed Taerae took on a different light when he was preparing to divulge it here.

Zhang Hao's eyes shifted in curiosity. “You said what?”

He swallowed and turned down the flame. “That you're working a lot. That you come home late and wake up early. That even I barely see you now.”

“Oh?” He sounded delighted. He pressed himself up against Hanbin, breath tickling his ear. “So you come home to an empty apartment and no one to warm your bed? You go to sleep alone and wake up alone? How tragic.”

“Gege,” he pleaded, though he didn’t know what for.

“Poor darling,” Zhang Hao said, voice mocking. “Now imagine if you told him the truth. How do you think they would all react if they knew that you locked me up to have as your plaything, your own personal sex doll at your beck and call?”

Hanbin’s face burned in shame. It was as if Zhang Hao had pried open his skull with his bare hands and instantly understood the awful, congealed mess of thoughts he found there. “I don't know,” he whispered.

“You do,” he prodded. “I think they would call you sick, a monster. I think they would call the police. I think they would cry when they broke in and found me here, poor little me who's been trapped against my will. A prisoner to a very unstable man.”

Hanbin stayed quiet. He couldn't think of anything to say. His face must have resembled a tomato.

“Of course,” Zhang Hao murmured into his ear, “they've got it all wrong.” He pulled away. Hanbin could breathe again. “You're burning the cream.”

“Early night,” Zhang Hao remarks as he pats serum into his face, bending down to see himself in the mirror atop their vanity.

“Long week,” Hanbin says simply, openly watching him finish up his nighttime routine from the bed. His satin slip shifts with each movement. It's almost ridiculous how even this is enough to excite him.

When Zhang Hao checks the alarm on Hanbin's phone on the nightstand, Hanbin reaches out, hand slipping down the satin. “This is new.”

“I thought it was cute,” Zhang Hao says absently, placing the phone back.

“It is. You look beautiful.” Zhang Hao gives him a small, pretty smile. Everything about him is so pretty. “What are you wearing underneath?” He slides his hand up under the hem and pinches his inner thigh, grinning when Zhang Hao smacks his hand away none too gently.

“Thermal underwear,” Zhang Hao snarks, fixing him with a glare softened by amusement.

Hanbin pouts. “You just killed my boner.” He reconsiders, eyes lingering on Zhang Hao's legs. “Or maybe not.”

Zhang Hao sighs. “Hanbin, you get a boner just from the way I eat and do my stretches. I don't need to check to know that no boner-killing of the sort has occurred.”

“You're welcome to, anyway,” Hanbin leers. He giggles when Zhang Hao sighs again. “And those are perfectly standard examples. Of course I get hard watching you eat.”

“Really,” Zhang Hao says skeptically, crossing his arms. “Why is that?”

“You do this thing with your tongue. It's the same thing you do when you blow me.”

Zhang Hao shakes his head in disbelief. “Your mind is in the gutter,” he mutters, as if he doesn't rile Hanbin up with his table manners on purpose. Hanbin's just about to argue his point when Zhang Hao bends down to kiss him. Hanbin always shuts up and takes what Zhang Hao gives him because he's well-trained like that, so the task of proving him wrong flies out of his head.

He runs his hands over Zhang Hao's body as they kiss, one hand curved around the swell of his thigh and one hand gliding up and down his waist. The satin feels like butter against his fingertips. He tugs at Zhang Hao's thigh, attempting to have him straddle Hanbin on the bed, but Zhang Hao pulls away.

Hanbin employs his most pathetic expression. “It's nice,” he repeats, squeezing his hip over the slip.

Zhang Hao seems unswayed by Hanbin's wide eyes. “It is.” He fakes a shiver. “Although it doesn't do much in terms of warmth…”

Hanbin pats the empty space next to him, the covers already peeled back in preparation. “Come and let your husband warm you up, then.”

Zhang Hao leaves the lamp on and heads around to his side of the bed, supposedly not wanting to risk the outcome of clambering over Hanbin on his hands and knees. Which is very unfair, Hanbin thinks — there are occasionally times he's able to keep his hands to himself.

He slides in next to him, flinging the covers over himself and cuddling up to Hanbin as soon as possible.

Hanbin turns to face him and slings Zhang Hao's leg over his hip, rubbing his hand over his leg and kneading his thigh. “Better?”

“Mm.” He nuzzles into Hanbin's neck, tracing the tattoo on his collarbone with the tip of his index finger. “Thank you, Hanbinie.”

“Of course, baby,” Hanbin says, craning his neck to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Can't have my wife getting all cold.”

Zhang Hao relaxes into him, body losing all of its tension under Hanbin's attention, then freezes. “Fuck, I forgot to moisturise my legs.” His head shoots up, squinting over at the vanity. “Go get the lotion for me,” he whines, thumping Hanbin's chest. Hanbin would have fetched it for him anyway, but then Zhang Hao arches up against him and whispers against the shell of his ear, “Husband.”

Hanbin practically jumps out of bed. He hands the lotion to Zhang Hao a few seconds later.

“Thank you,” he accepts, stretching out in self-satisfaction. There's a small smirk on his face.

“You're so spoiled,” Hanbin says, achingly affectionate, as he sits on the edge of the bed. “Because you know that your husband will do everything for you, don't you?”

“I do.” He pats Hanbin's thigh in praise, then kicks the covers down to the foot of the bed. God, Hanbin loves his legs.

He gestures for the lotion. “I'll do it,” he says, a little too quickly.

Zhang Hao hands him the tube. “I'm sure you will,” he says imperiously, stretching out his leg to place it in his lap. “You never pass up an opportunity to get your hands on me.”

Hanbin can't deny it. He settles for opening the tube instead.

Zhang Hao's foot nudges Hanbin's bulge, snorting derisively at what he finds there. “From this?”

Hanbin keeps his head bowed as he squeezes out the lotion onto his shin. “You know I want you all the time.”

“Who said you're getting it?” he says haughtily. He sighs, tipping his face up to the ceiling. “I'm tired tonight. Long week, like you said…”

This charade he's putting on is ultimately unconvincing when the heel of his foot is insistently rolling over Hanbin's bulge. His cock twitches at the pressure.

“Who said I need your permission?” Hanbin parrots. “Maybe I'll just wait until you fall asleep.”

Zhang Hao tuts in mock disapproval. “That's not very husbandly of you. I thought I married a gentleman.”

“That was just to get your parents to trust me,” Hanbin says cheekily, smiling widely.

Zhang Hao rolls his eyes with a hint of amusement. “Oh, of course. I suppose you lied about the other thing, too.”

Hanbin will gladly play along with this fake story if it means Zhang Hao's foot doesn't leave his crotch. “What other thing?”

“You told them you'd give me a baby within a year.” He sighs dramatically, hand tracing shapes over his stomach. “But I'm still empty…”

He briefly closes his eyes. Sometimes Hanbin really has to ask himself how he doesn't spend every second of his life fucking him. Who needs money?

“You're right,” he says, voice gravelly as Zhang Hao's foot shifts over the obvious tent in his shorts. “What kind of terrible husband am I?”

His hands slide up his right leg smoothly, massaging his calves. The barely-there stubble prickles. He continues upwards, pushing Zhang Hao's slip up until his progress is cruelly halted.

“Not so high up,” Zhang Hao says breathlessly, thigh muscles flexing underneath Hanbin's hands as he hurries to readjust the slip. “I need to preserve my modesty.”

“For what reason?” Hanbin asks, amused. “I'm your husband. I've already seen everything.”

He shakes his head. “If you see too much of me too often, then you'll get bored. I need to keep some mystery going.” The tilt to his mouth means that they both know he's not being serious, so Hanbin only smiles and continues rubbing the lotion in.

“According to who? You know how much I want you.”

“So even if I walked around naked all the time, nothing would change?”

Hanbin's hands still on his thigh. “Of course not,” he says readily. “But I can't promise I won't bend you over whenever I see you.”

Zhang Hao's smile breaks through. “You already do that now.”

“Exactly.” He lifts Zhang Hao's leg to kiss his shin, the scent of coconut filling his nose. “So think of how much worse I'll be.” He prepares to lotion his left leg, too, but Zhang Hao stops him.

“Leave it,” he whispers, curling his fingers into the hem of Hanbin's shorts. “I just want my husband in me.”

Hanbin surges forward to kneel between his legs and kiss him. Zhang Hao opens for him easily — not just his mouth but his legs as well, knees grazing Hanbin's hips. Hanbin's tongue traces his teeth and the roof of his mouth, thoroughly exploring.

Kissing Zhang Hao is one of his favourite things to do, but it doesn't quite beat fucking him.

He slinks down. “You shouldn't wear this to bed,” he murmurs as he rucks up the slip, “with your husband being what he is.”

Zhang Hao fastens a hand around his wrist as Hanbin fondles him, but makes no move to actually stop him. “And what's that?”

He throws Zhang Hao's legs over his shoulders. “Insatiable.” Zhang Hao shudders when his breath ghosts over the bulge in his panties, peach-coloured to match his slip.

Hanbin nuzzles the shape of him and laves his tongue over him, leaving a wet spot on the lace. Zhang Hao moans above him and winds his fingers into his hair, guiding him further down. Hanbin presses a smile into his thigh as he hooks a finger underneath the lace and pulls the panties to the side.

He pushes Zhang Hao's thighs up to his chest, baring him as much as he needs, and puts his mouth here too. If there's anything that beats fucking Zhang Hao, it's this. He loves it, could do — and has done — it for hours, even when the muscles in his cheeks and jaw ache horribly and his tongue goes numb and his neck starts to cramp and he can't summon an ounce of coordination to his lips. They both get fucked out from it, lost in the sensations.

Zhang Hao's hole welcomes the jabs of his tongue eagerly, rim stretching to accommodate him. Saliva runs down his chin messily. Zhang Hao is moaning continuously, hips trying to bear down on Hanbin's face.

He pulls back to breathe and is about to dive in again until he realises he's humping the mattress. Hanbin has to switch tack, then, wiping his mouth as he straightens up before the both of them get far too carried away, Zhang Hao riding his face as Hanbin eats him out like he's starving for it. His cock, still trapped in his pants, throbs at the thought and he has to cup himself so that he doesn't completely lose his mind. Another time.

He's pulled down for a kiss as he stretches out to the nightstand, fumbling for the lube.

Zhang Hao loops an arm around his neck. “I'm not stretched.”

Hanbin smiles against his mouth. "’S okay. It's been a while since I've fingered you, anyway. I've missed it.”

“I've missed it too,” Zhang Hao confesses, watching hungrily as Hanbin warms the lube up between his fingers. “Always think of you whenever I stretch myself.”

“Yeah?” he asks, uselessly. He knows; he's seen Zhang Hao on the cameras, rocking down on three fingers and Hanbin's pillow pressed over his face. The image sends a bolt of heat through him, sharp and clarifying. There's very little that can trump the knowledge that Zhang Hao wants him just as much. He rewards him for his honesty with a kiss, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, then pulls back. “You know that if you want something, all you have to do is ask.”

If Zhang Hao replies to that, Hanbin doesn't hear it — his attention has been stolen away.

“And you're loose,” Hanbin adds delightedly, immediately sinking two fingers in to the knuckle. Zhang Hao tenses slightly around him, then relaxes.

“Probably because you spend too much time fucking me.” He sounds more fond than anything.

“Too much?” he repeats, gently fucking three fingers inside now. He curls them, feeling him out and staring admiringly at how his hole stretches. It really has been a while since he's done this. “Not enough, I think.” He sighs heavily. “You're still not pregnant, after all…”

Zhang Hao's flush streaks down to his chest. “Then you'd better make sure this one takes.”

“Mm, I don't mind.” He wipes his fingers on the sheets — a problem for future him — and slicks himself up, drawing Zhang Hao’s legs up over his shoulders. “Don't even care if you're barren, baby, just love fucking you. It makes no difference to me, you know I'll look after you anyway.”

He pushes inside steadily, groaning at the suction. It takes great restraint to open him up slowly rather than shoving inside in one fell swoop.

“I know,” Zhang Hao whispers, voice breaking as Hanbin starts to move without giving him a moment of reprieve. “My, hah, husband treats me so well.”

Hanbin draws Zhang Hao’s wrists together and pins them above his head, squeezing them once before his hand returns to his waist. Zhang Hao understands and leaves them laying on the mattress, although his back arches. Hanbin stares down at him: his nipples poking through the satin, his wrists above his head, the slip pooling at his waist and his hair falling into his eyes. He looks like a dream.

He grinds into him almost gently as they kiss, cock not quite catching deep enough at this angle. When Zhang Hao starts knocking his heels against his back, urging him on impatiently, Hanbin capitulates. He withdraws slowly, enjoying the way Zhang Hao's mouth falls slack in pleasure, then flips him over onto his hands and knees.

Despite how much Zhang Hao complains about how roughly Hanbin treats him, Hanbin knows it's all just pretence. Sweet and sensual sex has its place, he's not denying that, but they both prefer it like this: hard and fast, no room left in their heads for anything except how good it feels.

He sets a brutal pace from the get-go, hips snapping forward relentlessly. He still can't believe how every time feels like the first time, like he's an overwhelmed virgin in disbelief that he's been missing out on this for so long. “My baby,” he pants as he pounds into him, chest tightening in exertion.

“Your baby,” Zhang Hao agrees mindlessly, bearing down on him with each thrust.

When he's this out of it, Hanbin can push his luck. He curls an arm around his waist, draping himself over him so he’s all that Zhang Hao can feel. Fucking Zhang Hao always reduces him down to nothing but the barest bones of animal need, that instinctive demand to split him open and own him. His teeth catch against Zhang Hao’s shoulder. “My wife.”

“Your wife,” he echoes, a strain in his voice that wasn't there before. Hanbin moans, mouth dragging against his skin, and slams into the spot that always renders him dumb.

Zhang Hao jolts, his arms trembling before he collapses with a whimper. Hanbin's cock slips out at the movement.

Hanbin snorts. “Lazy wife,” he says, light and amused. “You can't even hold yourself up?” He hitches Zhang Hao up with the hands on his waist, exerting more strength than necessary so that he doesn't lose his grip on the satin. “That's okay, I'll do it for you.”

He uses one hand to line himself up, hurriedly re-entering him, before it returns to his waist. Zhang Hao is presenting for him now, body sloped downwards and his hole greedily sucking him in.

“Mean,” Zhang Hao chokes out in reprimand, though his body is saying something entirely different. He's tightened around Hanbin so much that he can barely move. “Not lazy.”

A dizzying rush of affection floods Hanbin so powerfully it almost blinds him. “You're right, baby, of course not,” he soothes, pressing kisses to the nape of his neck. “You work so hard for me, I know that. Make me so happy.”

Zhang Hao reaches around for one of Hanbin's hands, guiding it to his stomach. At first Hanbin thinks he's just being told that Zhang Hao wants them even closer, not a sliver of space left between their bodies, so he obliges and blankets himself over him. Then Zhang Hao presses his hand down harder and says softly, “Want to make you happier.”

Hanbin makes a strangled noise once his brain understands the implication, thrusts instantly growing sloppy. He bites down as he comes, another bruise to add to the collection. He vaguely registers Zhang Hao taking himself in hand and coming too, moaning prettily.

He collapses again when Hanbin gently pulls out of him so that he's sprawled on his front, limbs akimbo. Hanbin's cum is beginning to seep out of him. He looks—used. Hanbin, acknowledging that if he stares at him any longer then they'll never leave this bed, reluctantly tears himself away.

Zhang Hao whines when he hears him get up and Hanbin shushes him, kissing his shoulder blade where the slip has been dragged down. “Just going to get the hot water running, sweetheart. I'll be right back.”

“Hurry,” is all Zhang Hao mumbles.

Hanbin cleans him up thoroughly, Zhang Hao practically asleep as he hangs off Hanbin's shoulders.

He fetches the clean sheets afterwards, making the bed while Zhang Hao dozes off on their desk chair. He truly is tired, now, so when one of the corners pops out from underneath the mattress he only gives it a bland look and turns around. Heaving Zhang Hao into his arms and getting him comfortable is much more pressing.

Zhang Hao curls up against him, pulling Hanbin's arm around himself. “G'night.”

“Night, gege,” Hanbin whispers, nuzzling his neck. “Sweet dreams.”

There's a primitive element to what they have, one that intensifies each day. Akin to the snake eating its own tail, an ouroboros that spins out of control like a black hole, destroying everything in its path. There's no going back now; both of them know this. Yet Hanbin can't say he's ever experienced cold feet. He doubts Zhang Hao has, either.

Maybe he would second-guess their decision if everything wasn't so perfect. He gets everything he needs from Zhang Hao: friendship, love, support. Anyone else trying to fill in these gaps would be a poor substitute. Zhang Hao is all he thinks about — he can't imagine a world where they're not the centre of each other's universes.

Really, he should've seen it coming. Looking back on it now, he sees how lonely he was before they met. He's always been a romantic at heart, always waiting to meet his person. His person only. It makes sense that this is the point they've arrived at: Zhang Hao only exists in the context of Hanbin. And neither of them would have it any other way.

Hanbin, finally done with fixing the computer, tracks down Zhang Hao as a reward. He finds him stretched out on the living room couch, head lolling to the side as he watches TV.

Hanbin takes him in with a certain degree of reverence: grey shorts that end mid-thigh, an unbuttoned red flannel overshirt, a grey crop top. Crop top is very generous — it's more of a strip of fabric, ending right below his nipples and the smooth flesh of his stomach all Hanbin's for the taking.

Zhang Hao leans forward automatically when Hanbin halts next to him, then settles back into his chest when Hanbin climbs in behind him. He's always unreasonably focused on this show, one about four American women and their relationship problems. Which is fine, actually — Hanbin doesn't require his focus here.

He links his hands over Zhang Hao's stomach first, wincing a little at how ice-cold the skin is there. He skims his fingers over his belly then upgrades to caressing, splaying his hand wide and admiring the image. His other hand steals up to the hem of his crop top.

Zhang Hao squirms when his fingers dig in a little too hard, trying to shove his hands away to no avail. “Stop that. You know I'm ticklish.”

Hanbin relents, pouting. Zhang Hao's head falls to his shoulder, gaze still trained on the TV.

Hanbin presses a kiss to his hair and rubs his hand over the expanse of his stomach to warm him up. “You're so cold, baby.”

“Mm, a little.” He smiles cheekily, craning his neck to look at Hanbin. “That's what you're here for.”

Not quite, but Hanbin appreciates the thought. He pulls Zhang Hao up so that he's no longer using him as a leaning post, ass snug against Hanbin's crotch. That's what he's here for.

Zhang Hao has no reaction to this and only allows himself to be manhandled. Before his body can sink into Hanbin's again, Hanbin decides to plant kisses where he can reach: his cheek, his jaw, his ear. He tugs at the latter with his teeth, then kisses the red mark he leaves behind.

Zhang Hao pays him no mind, only continuing to stare at the TV. “Hanbin.”

“Hanbin,” he imitates, high-pitched and whiny, just to annoy him. He grins in victory when Zhang Hao's fist hits the side of his thigh, before kissing his cheek again. His hand slides between Zhang Hao's parted legs to wrap around one of his thighs, thumb worming into the loose gap between clothing and skin.

Zhang Hao's breaths are coming quicker now, but he holds himself still. “You fucked me two hours ago.”

Hanbin had, sliding into a sleepy Zhang Hao in the golden glow of a Sunday morning. He's always extra pliant in those early weekend mornings, letting Hanbin move him as he sees fit. Today, his eyes hadn't even been fully open as Hanbin fucked him. He shifts at the memory. If Zhang Hao thinks reminding him of that is going to deter him in his current quest, then he's sorely mistaken.

“So?” he prompts, thumb stroking his skin.

“So,” Zhang Hao parrots, legs shifting a little. Hanbin's hand stays glued to his thigh. “You're still not bored of me?”

He bites down on a smile. Zhang Hao gets like this, sometimes, seeking reassurance that Hanbin still wants him desperately. He's always happy to oblige. Zhang Hao gets off on Hanbin never having his fill of him and Hanbin gets off on Zhang Hao, period.

“Of course not,” he says into his neck. “How could I ever grow bored of you?” He grips his chin and turns Zhang Hao's head so they can kiss sloppily, until Zhang Hao pulls away with an irritated sound.

“I'm trying to watch my show, Hanbin,” he huffs, arms crossing over his chest and gaze resolutely fixed on the TV. Only his red ears betray him.

“So watch,” Hanbin says. “I won't bother you.”

This, of course, is a lie. He tugs Zhang Hao's shorts down smoothly, leaving the waistband mid-thigh. He's plugged up from this morning, naturally, and Hanbin spreads him open to admire him. Zhang Hao squirms again, likely in embarrassment, but doesn't make a sound.

Hanbin soothes him anyway, rubbing one hand down his back and gently pulling out the plug with the other. His cum rushes to trickle out and he feels his mouth water at the sight — if Zhang Hao didn't completely lose control of himself when he gets eaten out, Hanbin would happily sit him on his face right now. He could still do it, of course, but then Zhang Hao would complain afterwards about having to rewind because Hanbin only thinks with his dick and huff and puff around the house for the next two days.

Instead, he fucks three fingers in and out lazily. His gaze flickers over his back muscles tensing and relaxing underneath his flannel, his hole hot and tight around his fingers. He withdraws and spits into that same hand.

Up to now, Zhang Hao has been very skilled in stifling his noises — a big feat for him, as they used to receive several complaints from their previous neighbours — but even he can't quite hide the startled gasp at Hanbin shoving his way inside. He fills him abruptly and all at once, cock disappearing inside him.

He lifts him up halfway to thumb at where they're connected, watching his hole quiver at the added stimulation.

“So pretty here too,” he murmurs over the drone of the TV. Zhang Hao is shifting, restless in that way when his muscles have started to tremble. Hanbin sighs, put-upon. “Why is my wife so pretty? Sometimes I really don't know what to do…”

He takes pity on him and allows Zhang Hao's weight to drop. The movement punches another noise out of Zhang Hao, who slaps a hand over his own mouth. Cute, Hanbin thinks, biting down on a smile.

It creates a dissonant melody: the chatter from the TV, their own heavy breathing, their skin slapping. He ghosts a hand over Zhang Hao's front and finds that he's not even hard, which makes heat twist in his stomach. He slides his hands underneath the flannel and grips his waist harshly so that he can use him like a fleshlight.

Any noises Zhang Hao makes now are muffled. He tries to hold onto the backrest of the couch for support as Hanbin jolts him around, but quickly gives up when he realises the futility. It's a lot easier to use him when he relaxes, to fuck up into him and marvel at the smooth slide of it.

For someone who spends such a large chunk of his life getting fucked, Zhang Hao really is tight.

“Feel so good, princess,” he mumbles, hand spread over his stomach and deluding himself into thinking he can feel himself there. It's not the correct angle — maybe tonight, after Zhang Hao has fallen asleep. He presses a kiss to his neck, mouth lingering there as he grinds up. “Always feel so good.”

It doesn't take long for that same heat to flash through him like a supernova.

Hanbin plugs him back up after he comes and starts to massage his back, heel pressing into the spots he knows ache the most. Zhang Hao swallows and gets comfortable again.

“I don't understand Carrie,” Hanbin says after a few minutes of watching the TV. “Why does she care so much about this man when he finds her very existence embarrassing?”

Zhang Hao just sighs.

“Baby,” he calls out into the hallway, past the open door. Zhang Hao appears there about six seconds later, hovering in the doorway. Hanbin smiles and pats his lap. “Come here.”

Zhang Hao quirks his head cutely, gaze flicking to the back of his computer. “I thought you had that meeting?”

“I do,” Hanbin confirms as Zhang Hao rounds the desk and settles into his lap, arms coming up around Hanbin's neck. “But it's pointless.”

It's more of a webinar than a meeting. Hanbin signs up for these when work is slow and he needs his calendar to look full. None of his coworkers are ever in these; if these conferences fall on Wednesdays, then he can spend the time with Zhang Hao instead. This one has just over two hundred people in it, most of them muted and with their cameras off, Hanbin included. The presenter, a grey-haired man, drones on and on from Hanbin's speakers. Or he would be, if Hanbin hadn't already muted him in preparation.

Zhang Hao hums. “You're not interested in,” he squints at the presentation on the screen, “project management strategies to appease a challenging clientele?”

Hanbin sighs, giving the slide a perfunctory glance. “Not quite.” He noses at Zhang Hao's neck. “Especially when something a lot more interesting just dropped into my lap.” He grins at his own joke.

“Eurgh,” Zhang Hao mutters, but plays along. “And what do you plan to do with this something?”

In answer, Hanbin lifts his head for a kiss. Zhang Hao meets him halfway, hand cradling Hanbin's cheek. Their lips move together lazily, with no urgency. Hanbin keeps kissing him, chasing after him until Zhang Hao has moved too far out of his reach, smiling at Hanbin indulgently like he finds him particularly cute.

“You're so beautiful,” Hanbin says in wonder, thumb rubbing circles into his thigh. “I lose my breath every time I see you, you know that?”

“Cheesy,” Zhang Hao murmurs, but kisses him again anyway. His ears are dyed a pretty pink when they part.

“Like you don't love it,” Hanbin points out, sliding a hand underneath his shirt to hold his waist. “Wasn't it my cheesiness that brought us together in the first place?”

They met in a bar, Zhang Hao a grad student at the time and Hanbin in the unforgiving world of internships. Hanbin had joined a few of his coworkers for their Friday night drinks solely to network. He'd just been about to make his excuses and leave until he saw Zhang Hao sitting alone in a booth, far too dressed up and anxiously biting his lip as he checked his phone every three seconds. Hanbin had found himself standing in front of him, as if propelled. Zhang Hao had looked up, then, and Hanbin had seized upon how interest flitted across his face as he took Hanbin in.

He'd quickly learnt that Zhang Hao had been stood up for his second date with a guy on his course. What kind of man stands up someone as beautiful as you, he remembers saying earnestly. Zhang Hao had hidden his smile behind his glass. An hour later, Hanbin had him sitting on his face in a motel room. It remains one of his greatest achievements.

“No,” the Zhang Hao of today lies with a serene smile on his face. He grinds down pointedly. “It was this.”

“Yeah?” Hanbin says, grinning. “Don't worry, you'll get that soon enough too.” He brings Zhang Hao down with a hand on the nape of his neck and kisses him again, messier now. He has a soft spot for their sloppy, desperate kisses. Zhang Hao does, too; he moans softly into his mouth when Hanbin grasps his hips and grinds up into him, saliva slipping out of the corners of his mouth.

“Obviously,” Zhang Hao says belatedly, breathy now that Hanbin is kissing along the bare line of his shoulder. “You can't go an hour without sticking it inside of me. Are you trying to knock me up?”

Well, now he's just asking for it. He knows that talking like that will only get him one thing. “Always, princess,” Hanbin says, balancing Zhang Hao over him so he can tug down his own basketball shorts enough. His cock, approaching full hardness, springs out. “See?”

Zhang Hao, bright-eyed and with a coquettish smile on his face, loosely wraps his hand around him and strokes him once. Hanbin's hips jerk up abortively. “All this to get me pregnant?” He tilts his head, all wide-eyed and innocent now. “Won't it hurt?”

Hanbin fails to hold in his groan. “I'll make it good for you,” he promises, hand slipping into the back of his shorts. “All you'll have to do is take it, baby.”

“I trust you,” Zhang Hao says sincerely. “I know you won't hurt me.”

Hanbin isn't sure if they're still role-playing here. As if hearing his thoughts, Zhang Hao shoots him a reassuring smile and rocks back into his touch. “What's my husband waiting for?”

A very valid question. He helps Zhang Hao kick off his shorts — somehow very gracefully — and plays with the base of the plug at his entrance, dragging it out halfway before pushing it back in.

Zhang Hao slaps his shoulder lightly. “No teasing,” he reprimands, hint of a whine slipping through. Hanbin hides his smile in his shoulder and complies.

He breaches Zhang Hao slowly; he's in no rush, although the presenter on the screen would surely beg to differ. Then Zhang Hao sighs when he bottoms out, head tipped back, and Hanbin completely tunes out everything else around him.

They work up to an unsteady, desperate rhythm, Zhang Hao rocking down at the same time Hanbin thrusts up. Zhang Hao’s nails are leaving marks behind on his shoulder, ones that will surely sting afterwards. They grip each other tighter, tighter. They could curl their fingers right into each other’s intestines and it still wouldn’t be enough.

He thinks the chair might be slowly inching across the floor.

“Maybe I should turn your camera on,” Zhang Hao goads, “so they can all see how pretty I look when I’m getting fucked.”

Hanbin leaves the meeting. Zhang Hao laughs, delighted, though his laugh transforms into a startled moan when Hanbin picks him up and eases him off his cock. He spins him around and slams him down onto the desk, rising to his feet and entering him again. Zhang Hao moans, long and low, as he's filled repeatedly, rapidly.

“Don’t play dirty,” Hanbin hears himself saying over the harsh smacking of skin. “You know no one else can ever see you like this.”

Zhang Hao's body jolts with each movement, back muscles flexing as he twists his hips back to meet Hanbin. One of them is moaning in time with their hips meeting; it has to be Hanbin because Zhang Hao is currently gasping out, “I know, I know.”

Hanbin grips the nape of his neck and pushes him down again until anything he tries to say will come out garbled, cheek smushed against the wood and body pinned underneath Hanbin's hand. When he tries to struggle, hips wriggling, Hanbin delivers a light slap to his ass which has him sagging back down.

“Can ever see you at all,” he continues, winded now from the force of his thrusts. It's addictive, fucking Zhang Hao, and he only has himself to blame; his walls suck Hanbin in deliciously whenever he pulls back. His hand flexes around Zhang Hao's neck. “Just for me, only me. You're too pretty to share with the rest of the world.” Where his previous words had been slow and deliberate, he's reduced to incoherent babbling within seconds. “That's why I do it, you know, I can't help it, baby, I just see you sitting there looking all pretty and—”

Zhang Hao cries out wordlessly, tightening around him. Hanbin chases the tight heat of him, crazed, hips working away and sweat prickling his nose bridge.

“Though I think,” he pants, “you'd look even prettier with a baby inside you.”

He holds Zhang Hao tight as he comes, fingers digging into his skin. Zhang Hao milks him through it, pretty hole fluttering around him, but he's making those discontented noises which mean he wants to come, too. He'll have to wait his turn.

And he's drooled onto one of Hanbin's envelopes, but he doesn't mind. The opposite, actually; all that means is that he's been well-fucked. Hanbin trails his fingers over the marks on his neck, then swipes a thumb underneath his right eye and finds wetness there. He pops his thumb into his mouth, cock twitching inside. Zhang Hao is shuddering underneath him, panting open-mouthed and skin blotchy.

It's funny, looking back on it now, for his past self to once think that the ever-present need to be buried inside Zhang Hao would eventually fade into something quieter.

“Gonna fuck you again, okay?” he says, considerably gentler. He strokes his hands up and down Zhang Hao's waist in comfort. “I have to fuck a womb into you, don't you think? A baby for my baby.”

Zhang Hao makes a small shocked noise. Hanbin smiles and curls an arm around his hips, hiking him up for a better angle.

“You're crazy,” Zhang Hao says later, while they're soaking in the bath. It's the first thing he's said in over an hour; he lost the ability to speak somewhere between orgasms three and four.

Hanbin, slightly relieved to hear him speaking, holds him closer. The water rises around them. “How so?” he asks, indulgent.

Zhang Hao sniffs and tosses his head. Sulking, then. Hanbin's face melts into a grin. “I'm too sore. No fucking me for three days.”

The grin slides off immediately. “What?” he protests. “I can't last that long. What am I supposed to do?”

“Get creative. Come into a sock, I don't know.” Hanbin doesn't want to come into a sock when he can come in Zhang Hao instead. “What did you do right after we started dating when I had to go on that work trip to Singapore?”

Hanbin remembers. “I came on your pictures.”

“Hanbin!” Zhang Hao exclaims, scandalised. He sighs. “Of course you did. Even though we live in the digital age, you printed out my pictures just to come on them.” There's a pleased glow to the back of his neck.

“That's right,” Hanbin confirms, thumb stroking his stomach. “It added to the experience. I was going to come on your pretty face even if you couldn't be there with me.”

“You're awful,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Even now you still can't control yourself.”

He is, of course, referring to Hanbin hardening against his back.

“I can't help it,” Hanbin whines, appealing to how Zhang Hao loves his cute side. His arms snake around him. “You know how I get when you start pouting.”

“I know how you get whenever I do literally anything, it seems,” he remarks. He likely meant to sound like he's complaining but he only sounds deeply happy. Hanbin kisses his neck.

“I'll massage you after dinner,” he offers. “And I'll cook tonight too.” He thinks Zhang Hao has been through quite enough.

“Do we have enough money to put a pool in the garden?” Zhang Hao asks him one day, legs stretched out over Hanbin's lap. “I kinda miss swimming.”

Hanbin thinks, envisioning his bank account balances. “If we don't now, then we will soon.” He pinches Zhang Hao's thigh. “I'll give you your pool, baby.”

Zhang Hao's face brightens, and Hanbin's with it. There's nothing more he loves than making Zhang Hao happy. “Yay! Thank you, Hanbinie.” He leans in to kiss him in gratitude and Hanbin tugs him into his lap so he doesn't have to strain his neck.

It quickly turns heated — part of the reason that Hanbin enjoys spending large amounts of money on him is because Zhang Hao always thanks him for it quite thoroughly. Only part, though.

Hanbin revels in that thoroughness until Zhang Hao pulls back, brow exaggeratedly creased in thought. “It will be interesting, though. Me all alone with the pool guys.”

The type of anger that Hanbin hasn’t felt in a long time resurfaces within him from one second to the next, as quick and echoing as a bell being struck. “Don't,” he warns, fingers pausing over the hem of Zhang Hao's shorts.

Zhang Hao ignores him. He tries to hide the gleeful undertone to his voice, but he can never hide anything from Hanbin. “I bet at least one of them would find me pretty, don't you think? You know how alluring I can be when I'm sunbathing. And with my husband away at work…”

Hanbin snaps. Zhang Hao yelps as he's flipped over and pressed facedown into the couch. There's a roar of static in his mind, a great sea of nothingness. He only has his instincts to follow.

He yanks Zhang Hao's shorts down and drags him back by the hips when he tries to scramble away, keeping him pinned underneath Hanbin as he frees himself. A burst of quiet, exhilarated laughter leaves Zhang Hao's mouth, though it cuts off abruptly when Hanbin slaps his cock against his hole.

He's loose from earlier, when Hanbin had taken him in the shower. Hanbin spits, curses when it's still too dry, then spits again. This time, it's good enough to fill him from one second to the next. Zhang Hao's voice cracks around a moan.

There's a continuous string of little whines from the back of Zhang Hao's throat as Hanbin fucks him, like a trapped animal. His body is limp, putty in Hanbin's hands as he arranges him how he wants, one leg slipping off the couch to create more space for Hanbin. He holds it in place, bent at the knee, as he rams into him over and over again.

His pace is so intense that it sounds like Zhang Hao can't even breathe. Hanbin watches as his hand slides down the arm of the couch while he tries to hold himself up, spent.

They don't usually have sex like this. It can be rough but not this rough, as if Hanbin is trying to drill a hole through him. Usually, when he arrives home frustrated from work for some reason or another, just seeing Zhang Hao's figure cooking at the stovetop soothes him. But he hasn't really had cause to be angry. He thinks probably only one thing can truly get him angry these days, and Zhang Hao's hit an arrow into that target with terrifying precision.

“Look what you've done to me,” he pants, fisting a hand in Zhang Hao's mop of hair and tugging his head up. When he lets go, Zhang Hao’s head immediately flops back down. A marionette with all the strings cut. “You think I was always this crazy? You think I was like this before I met you?”

Zhang Hao tries to say something but it comes out unintelligible and breathless, so Hanbin pays him no heed.

“Maybe I've given you too much freedom,” he continues, thumbnail carving a crescent into Zhang Hao's thigh. “Maybe I need to start tying you to the bed when I leave for work. Do you think anyone else will look after you as well as I do? Give you what you need?”

Zhang Hao comes, untouched, with a dry sob that tapers off into a pitched whine. Hanbin bites over the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Selfishly, he hopes he breaks skin. But when he withdraws, he only sees the indents of his teeth printed there. It will have to do.

He continues thrusting even after Zhang Hao's whines take on a more pained tone to them, his shoulders and legs trembling with sensitivity. He's completely crumpled onto the couch now.

“Almost there,” he chants, grip bruising on his hips. “Almost there, baby, I'm sorry, I'm almost there.”

His thoughts tumble into each other like stones in a river, scraping against each other until there are only fragments. Anyone else would be on a suicide mission. Let them try. They're married, husband and wife. No one would dare.

He really will tie him to the bed if he has to. It's with this thought that he comes, shaking through his orgasm. It hits him far too intensely, a weight slamming into him until he's bowed over. Hanbin rides it out, rocking his hips shallowly, until he can muster up the energy to pull out completely.

He gingerly turns Zhang Hao over to find him glassy-eyed and fucked into a stupor. Such a sight would normally have Hanbin rearing to go for round two, but his current priority is Zhang Hao.

“Hey,” he says softly, brushing a hand over his cheek. “Hao, baby, you still with me?”

Zhang Hao blinks, gaze drifting to his face and settling there. “Just about,” he mumbles.

Hanbin gathers him in his arms, wincing in sympathy when Zhang Hao hisses. “I'm sorry. I told you not to,” he says, too raw. Too emotional. The words scrape against his throat, like jagged shards of glass. Guilt churns in his stomach.

"’S okay,” Zhang Hao soothes, stroking Hanbin's hair. “It's okay, it's okay.”

Hanbin kisses him, desperately at first before he remembers that Zhang Hao has already been through the wringer. He softens it, hand lightly skimming over his waist in comfort. Zhang Hao hums and nudges into him, arms encircling Hanbin's waist. Hanbin can tell just from the way he moves his lips that he has no energy remaining.

He draws back, noting the angry teeth indents on his neck. He grimaces again. “Sorry,” he says guiltily.

“It's okay,” Zhang Hao repeats. “I shouldn't have provoked you. I knew what I was doing.” He smiles and gently tugs him down so that Hanbin's head is pillowed on his chest. Hanbin listens to the steady drum of his heart beating as Zhang Hao's fingers work through his hair again. “And I liked it, besides.” He tweaks Hanbin's ear gently.

“I really can't think about it,” he whispers after a few minutes of silence and Zhang Hao's breathing. “Anyone else seeing you. It makes my stomach hurt.”

Zhang Hao's nails scratch against his scalp. “Don't think about it. I’m yours, yours only. That's never going to change. You know I would never do that to you.” He pauses, a note of worry filtering in, “Right?”

“Right,” Hanbin confirms immediately. He kisses over Zhang Hao's heart. “Of course I do.”

He stamps down on that paranoia. That's all it is: paranoia. The snake eating its own tail.

Paranoia or not, it had been disturbing to experience the severity of that emotion, how much worse he could get. He should be tamed, now, not a dog still straining at the leash with its teeth bared. And Zhang Hao, content to let him run wild even if it means being mauled.

Hanbin kisses his chest again. “Let's just spend the day cuddling,” he whispers. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Zhang Hao agrees, relaxing in his arms. “That sounds nice.”

Hanbin presses another kiss to his shoulder. “I love you,” he offers.

“I know.” His fingers graze over the shell of Hanbin's ear. “I love you too.”

What a meaningless word.

Zhang Hao is the more handy one out of the two of them, the one who knows how to get the boiler to stop making that godawful noise or fix a broken hinge, but occasionally they encounter a problem which requires professional help. Their bathroom sink has been leaking for the past few days and Hanbin’s called in their regular plumber, who should be arriving today.

Zhang Hao knows that he needs to make himself scarce, keep up the ruse that Hanbin is merely a hardworking bachelor. Hanbin even goes as far as hiding Zhang Hao's skincare — it's too much stuff for one person.

He deposits Zhang Hao in the bedroom, book in hand, where he'll silently remain until the plumber leaves.

“Don’t get up to any trouble without me,” he says, kissing his cheek. Zhang Hao only gives him a smile.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Zhang Hao had probably taken it as a challenge.

He shows the plumber to the bathroom and hovers as he inspects the sink, most of his mind still stuck in the bedroom. He already misses Zhang Hao.

When the plumber starts to work, there's a small thump from the bedroom against the closed door, a few metres down the hallway. Hanbin writes it off, assuming Zhang Hao has accidentally stumbled into it or something, but then it happens again. A solid thump which can only come from the weight of another being. Deliberately.

Hanbin's fingers twitch. The plumber gives him a vaguely questioning glance.

“I had to shut my dog away,” he lies effortlessly, with his most friendly smile on. A tad sheepish, teeth on display, cheeks creased. “He's bad with visitors.” For a split second, his smile falters — he's stunned at how easily the lie came to him, how quickly it materialised on the tip of his tongue.

“Oh, that's a shame,” the plumber says absently, turning back to the pipe. “I love dogs.”

He wonders if Zhang Hao will try to provoke him again. If he'll ram his body harder against the door next time. If the plumber will go to investigate the second Hanbin has his back turned, expecting to only find an untrained dog. Maybe he really should have tied Zhang Hao to the bed for the shock factor.

A sick part of him wants the plumber to discover what kind of person Hanbin is, to discover Zhang Hao locked away inside four measly walls. It would no doubt be the most interesting thing to ever happen to him, a story he can trot out on second dates or with strangers at the bar. His heart pounds at the potential, that horrible thrill of it. There's sweat beading along his shoulder blades.

Zhang Hao does ram his body harder next time, to the point the whole house shakes with it. Hanbin finds himself smiling.

The plumber gives him another cautious look. “He's very energetic,” he observes.

“Yeah,” Hanbin rasps, then clears his throat. “I'll be downstairs if you need me.” It's in fate's hands now.

He sits on the couch, as motionless as a statue. His ears strain. He doesn't hear any more thumps. Disappointment or relief? He's not sure.

The sink doesn't take long to fix. The plumber packs up and sighs quietly to himself upon leaving the bathroom. Hanbin's hands clench around his knees; he's prepared to shoot up there if he hears another door open. And do what? He's not sure here, either.

Time hangs in the balance as the plumber walks to meet him downstairs. A chill washes over him when his footsteps pause in the middle of the hallway, right outside the bedroom. I dare you, he thinks with a certain viciousness.

The footsteps resume to the stairs. Hanbin closes his eyes and releases the breath he'd been holding.

When the plumber leaves with an assurance that everything is back to normal, Hanbin runs upstairs before his car has even peeled out of the driveway. As soon as he opens the bedroom door, Zhang Hao pounces on him and they end up fucking right against the wall half-clothed, pants around their ankles and both of them too desperate to consider making it to the bed.

“It's kinda strange,” Zhang Hao told him once, while they were still basking in the afterglow. Hanbin's fingertips paused where they were tracing his sternum. “That before I met you, there was nothing I hated more than being idle.”

Hanbin looked up at him in curiosity, admiring the almost supernatural glow of his eyes in the sunlight. “What do you mean?”

“I used to get so bored whenever I spent my days like this. With nothing to do, not really. It's why I used to keep myself so busy. Constant go go go.” He sounded lost in his memories, before a small laugh shook his chest. “But I like…the freedom of it now. You make me enjoy being lazy.”

“You're not lazy,” Hanbin refuted, lifting himself up onto his forearm so he could hover over him. “Even if you're at home, you still have a very important job.”

Zhang Hao's head turned towards him, wearing a ghost of a smile. “And what would that be?”

He leaned down to give him a short kiss. Their lips brushed as he murmured, “Keeping your husband happy.”

Hanbin felt, more than saw, Zhang Hao's sly grin. “I think I do that pretty well, don't I?”

“The best,” Hanbin said, even as he slotted himself between Zhang Hao's legs again. Zhang Hao's thighs fell open instinctively, like there was no other conceivable action to take. He sighed in contentment, watching how Zhang Hao's face mirrored his own simple happiness. “The best.”