Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It started with laughter—the kind that left you breathless and dizzy. Baby was telling some wild story, Jinu was rolling his eyes, and Mystery was quietly texting under the table, pretending not to listen but grinning all the same. Romance sat wedged between Abby and Mystery, his thigh pressed just barely against Abby’s.

“Did you see Jinu’s face when the waiter called him ‘ajusshi’?” Baby cackled, nearly spilling his shake.

“He looked like he aged five years!”

“I’m not that old,” Jinu muttered, but everyone ignored him.

Romance nudged Abby under the table, catching his eye as he smirked. “Don’t worry, Jinu. Next time, we’ll take you someplace senior citizen friendly, ajusshi.”

Abby snorted. Jinu rolled his eyes, but Romance saw the way Abby’s lips twitched, the way his fingers drummed against the tabletop. It was such a small thing, but Romance’s heart sped up every time their knees brushed, every time Abby’s hand hovered just a little too close to his on the cracked faux-leather seat.

After the outing, as they walked out into the neon-lit night, Romance threw an arm around Abby’s shoulder, and he dragged his free hand slowly down Abby’s back.

“You’re really touchy tonight,” Abby whispered, just loud enough for Romance to hear.

Romance shrugged, feigning innocence. “You complaining?”

Abby arched an eyebrow, but didn’t pull away. “Not yet.”

By the time they made it back to Abby’s place, the city’s energy had faded into something quieter, heavier. The apartment was dim and still, shadows pooling in the corners. Abby tossed his bag onto the couch and flopped down with a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

Romance hovered by the door, suddenly uncertain.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, his voice softer now, without the bravado he’d worn all evening.

Abby looked up at him. “Yeah. It was good. You were… different.”

Romance shifted, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Different how?”

Abby’s gaze was sharp. “You kept touching me. Like you couldn’t help yourself.”

Romance looked away, cheeks flushing. “Sorry. I can stop.”

A silence stretched between them. Abby’s jaw tightened, and he sat up straighter on the couch. “That’s not what I meant. I just… can’t tell if you’re messing with me or if you actually want something.”

Romance crossed the room, slow and careful, and sat on the far end of the couch. “Maybe both,” he said quietly. “I like touching you. It feels… right.”

Abby stared at him, eyes unreadable. “You’re not usually like this.”

Romance shrugged. “Guess I got tired of pretending.”

Abby was quiet for a moment, the tension between them thick as fog. Then he said, almost daring, “If you’re going to keep doing it, you might as well do it properly.”

Romance blinked. “What does that mean?”

Abby slid closer, closing the gap between them. His voice was low, almost shaking. “It means I’m done pretending, too. If you’re going to touch me, stop acting like you’re not.”

Romance’s breath stuttered. “Abby—”

Abby cut him off, grabbing Romance’s wrist and pressing it firmly to his own thigh. The touch was hot—deliberate.
“You want to be handsy?” he murmured, eyes locked on Romance’s. “Then stop pretending it doesn’t mean anything.”
Romance froze. The air shifted between them—thicker now, electric, a breath away from combustion.
“It does,” he said, voice low. “It always has.”
Abby’s lips quirked, not quite a smile. “Then act like it.”
He leaned in, slow and close, their foreheads nearly brushing. “I’m tired of guessing. Tired of holding back.”
“So stop,” Romance whispered. “Take what you want.”
The look that crossed Abby’s face wasn’t a smile—it was something darker, hungrier. A decision.
“Careful,” he said, voice a soft threat. “I will.”
Romance closed the distance, their kiss slow and searching — not desperate, but deliberate. A question and an answer passed between them with every brush of lips, every breath.
When they pulled apart, Abby didn’t let go. He pressed their foreheads together, his voice low. “If we do this… I want all of you. No hiding. No second-guessing.”
“You already have me,” Romance said. “I’m just scared shitless.”
Abby exhaled a shaky laugh. “Good. Me too.”
He kissed him again, softer this time. Then, pulling back, he offered his hand.
“Come with me,” Abby said.
Romance took it.
Abby guided him back towards the bedroom, step by deliberate step, until the backs of Romance’s knees hit the edge of the bed. The soft thud of their footsteps was the only sound in the room aside from their shallow breathing.

With a gentle push, Abby urged him to sit, sinking onto the mattress. Romance’s hands twitched, instinctively reaching out, but Abby intercepted them, pinning them to the bed on either side of him.

Before Romance could form a reply, Abby moved, his presence commanding the room. He stepped closer, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension. His fingers brushed lightly against Romance’s jaw, tilting his head up until their eyes locked.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” Abby murmured, his voice low and rough, a shiver of heat threading through every word.

“Touching me, teasing me—do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

Romance opened his mouth to respond, but Abby silenced him with a sharp look.

“Don’t. Just—” His hands slid down to grip Romance’s wrists, firm but not unkind. “Just listen, okay?”

Romance stilled from the weight of the moment. Abby wasn't playing. This was real.

"Are you okay?" Abby asked, voice softer now.
Romance met his gaze. His chest was rising fast, his body flushed and wired. But the answer was clear.

"Yeah," he breathed "I trust you."

Abby leaned in close, his lips brushing against the shell of Romance’s ear.

“Good. Then let me show you what it means to be mine.”

His breath was hot, sending a shudder down Romance’s spine. “Because when I’m done with you, you won’t even remember how to pretend.” He pressed a soft kiss to Romance’s neck before pushing his shirt up and over his head.

He crossed the room to a dresser, pulling open the top drawer. Romance’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm of anticipation and a flicker of nerves. He watched, mesmerized, as Abby returned with two simple, dark silk ties.

"You don't get to touch me," Abby said, his voice calm, steady. "Not until I say so."

Abby knelt before him, the gesture strangely reverent. He looped the silk around Romance’s left wrist, his fingers deft and sure as he tied a secure but not punishing knot. He guided that bound hand to the bedpost, securing it there. He repeated the process with the right wrist, until Romance was sitting upright against the headboard of the bed, arms stretched slightly apart, completely and utterly exposed.

“There,” Abby said, his voice a husky whisper. He ran a single fingertip down the center of Romance’s chest, a light, teasing touch that made him shake.

“Now you can only feel.”

A whimper escaped Romance’s lips. The restraint wasn’t cruel; it was a liberation. It stripped away the need to perform, to reciprocate, to do anything but simply experience.

Abby’s gaze was possessive, drinking him in. He leaned forward, and instead of a kiss, he pressed his open mouth to the frantic pulse at the base of Romance’s throat. His tongue darted out, a hot, wet stripe, before his teeth closed in a gentle bite. It wasn’t painful—it was a claim. A sharp, exquisite jolt of pleasure-pain that made Romance cry out and strain against the silk ties.

“So responsive,” Abby murmured against his skin, his breath a hot brand. “I knew you would be.”

His mouth traveled lower, tracing the line of Romance’s collarbone with more of those playful nips and sucks. Each one sent a corresponding throb straight to his cock, which was already straining painfully against the confines of his jeans. Abby’s hands worked at the button, then the zipper, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room.

He peeled the denim and underwear down Romance’s hips in one go, freeing his erection. Abby didn’t touch it. Not yet. He just knelt back on his heels, his eyes raking over Romance’s naked form, from his flushed face to his trembling thighs.

“Look at you,” Abby breathed, a note of awe in his voice.

He wrapped a hand around his own cock, giving himself a slow, firm stroke as he watched Romance squirm.

“Just look at what you do to me. All that noise you made all night, all those little touches… you were begging for this.”

He leaned in again, his mouth finding Romance’s nipple. He laved it with his tongue until it was a hard, pebbled peak, then sucked it deep into the warmth of his mouth.

Romance arched off the bed, a broken gasp tearing from him. The sensation was electric, a direct line of fire to his groin. Abby’s free hand cupped his other pec, thumb rubbing rough circles over the neglected nipple, the dual assault waves of pleasure so intense they bordered on agony.

Abby’s mouth left his chest, trailing a wet, burning path down his sternum, over the quivering plane of his stomach. He paused to dip his tongue into Romance’s navel, then continued his descent until his hot breath ghosted over the head of Romance’s dick.
Romance held his breath, every muscle tensed.

But Abby bypassed it, instead spreading Romance’s legs wider and pressing a kiss to the soft skin of his inner thigh. His teeth grazed the sensitive flesh there—another gentle, maddening bite—before he finally, finally took Romance into his mouth.

It wasn’t a slow taking. It was a deep, hungry swallow, burying his nose in the coarse hair at the base. Romance shouted, the sound ripped from somewhere deep inside him. The heat was unbelievable, a wet, velvety tightness that threatened to undo him instantly. Abby’s head began to move, a relentless, perfect rhythm, his tongue swirling around the head with every upward stroke.

He pulled off with a wet pop, his own breathing ragged. “You close already?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

Romance could only nod, his head thrashing against the comforter.

“Good.”

Abby stood, shucking his own clothes with a focused, hurried energy. His cock, thick and flushed, stood proudly from his body. He retrieved a bottle of lube from the nightstand, the click of the cap opening sounding like a gunshot. He coated his fingers generously, then knelt between Romance’s splayed legs.
The first touch was a cool, slick pressure against his entrance.

Romance flinched-not from pain, but panic.
It was too much. Too fast. Too exposed. For a moment, he wanted to bolt.

Then Abby murmured, "Still with me?" And just like that, the floor steadied beneath him again.

“You’re taking it so well,” Abby groaned, watching his finger disappear inside.

He crooked it, and Romance saw stars, a choked sob escaping his lips. A second finger joined the first, the burn a sweet ache that promised so much more. Abby scissored them, stretching him with an expertise that made Romance’s toes curl. He brushed that incredible spot inside him again, and Romance’s hips jerked off the bed of their own volition.

“Please,” Romance begged, the word torn from him. “Abby, please, I need—”

“I know what you need,” Abby interrupted, his voice guttural.

He withdrew his fingers, leaving Romance feeling empty and desperate. He positioned himself, the blunt, slick head of his cock pressing against Romance’s entrance. He held himself there for a torturous moment, just applying pressure, letting the tension build until Romance was trembling, tears of frustration and want pricking at his eyes.
Then he pushed.

It was a slow, inexorable invasion. The stretch was immense, overwhelming, a feeling of being split open. Romance cried out, his back bowing, the silk ties cutting into his wrists as he strained. Abby leaned over him, one hand braced by his head, his face a mask of concentrated ecstasy.

“Breathe,” he commanded, his voice strained. “Just breathe for me. Take it.”

Romance dragged a ragged breath into his lungs, forcing his body to accept the incredible intrusion. And then, as the burning stretch began to subside, it was replaced by something else entirely: a profound, devastating fullness. Abby was seated to the hilt, their bodies joined completely.

He began to move.

The first thrust was experimental, a slow drag that made them both groan. The next was harder, deeper. Abby set a punishing pace, each drive of his hips hitting that perfect, mind-melting spot deep inside Romance. The sound of skin slapping against skin, of their ragged breaths and guttural moans, filled the room.

Romance was lost in it, a creature of pure sensation. Every nerve ending was on fire, every thrust sending jolts of white-hot pleasure through his entire body. He was babbling, a stream of yes and more and Abby, Abby, Abby.

Abby’s rhythm began to falter, his thrusts becoming more frantic, less controlled. His own moans were sharp, desperate things. He reached between them, his slick hand wrapping around Romance’s neglected cock, stroking him in time with his brutal thrusts. The dual sensation was too much.

Romance’s climax slammed into him without warning, a seismic eruption that tore a raw, broken scream from his throat. His release painted his stomach in hot, wet stripes, his entire body seizing up, clenching tight around Abby’s pumping cock.

The intense, rhythmic clenching was Abby’s undoing. With a guttural shout, he buried himself as deep as he could and came, his own release flooding into Romance in hot, pulsing jets. Romance could feel every spurt, the intimate, messy heat of it filling him up.
For a long moment, Abby collapsed on top of him, his weight a warm, comforting pressure. His breath was a hot gust against Romance’s neck.

Slowly, carefully, he reached up and untied the silk binds from the bedposts, then gently freed Romance’s wrists. He didn’t pull out, staying buried inside him as he shifted to the side, cradling Romance against his chest.

They lay there in the aftermath, sticky and spent, the only sound their gradually slowing breaths. Abby nuzzled into Romance’s hair, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his temple.
A warm, trickling sensation began between Romance’s thighs. He shifted slightly, and a trickle of Abby’s release escaped, a warm dampness on his skin. Abby’s arm tightened around him, holding him in place.

“Leave it,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and satisfaction.

Chapter Text

The ramen bubbled, the steam rising thick enough to fog the glasses perched on Romance’s face. He was stirring lazily, trying to focus on dinner, when arms slipped around his waist from behind.

“Smells good,” Abby murmured, but instead of looking at the food, his mouth brushed against the curve of Romance’s neck.

The spoon clattered, broth splashing as Romance gripped the counter. 

“Abby—” His voice trembled, betraying how quickly his composure unraveled. 

He tried to focus on the ramen, but Abby’s presence was overwhelming, a slow burn that spread through his whole body.

“Mhm,” Abby hummed into his skin, lips dragging slow across the sensitive spot just below his ear. 

He kissed there once, twice, then opened his mouth and sucked until heat bloomed against Romance’s skin. Abby’s tongue flicked along the spot before he bit down gently, sending a sharp jolt through Romance. He soothed the bite with slow, languid kisses, teasing the skin until it tingled, then licked a path down to the edge of Romance’s collar. His breath was hot, his mouth relentless—every touch deliberate, meant to unravel him piece by piece.

Romance gasped, half protest, half surrender. His head tilted before he realized it, baring himself, giving Abby more to claim. Every nerve felt exposed, the closeness between them both comforting and electrifying. He wanted to resist, but even more, he wanted to let go.

“That’s it,” Abby whispered, teeth grazing, tongue soothing. “Every time I touch you here…” He kissed the spot again, harder, “…you melt.”

Romance shivered, pressing back against him helplessly. “You’re going to ruin dinner.” His voice was weak with laughter and want, the words barely more than a breath.

Abby’s hands slipped under his shirt, palms spreading heat over his stomach as his mouth worked lower, tracing the slope of his shoulder. “Who cares, let it burn.”

Romance turned, desperate, and Abby caught his lips in a kiss that was messy, claiming, tasting of the hunger he never hid. Abby’s hands roamed over his sides, fingers digging in just hard enough to leave a mark. They stumbled from the stove, shirts tugged up, mouths never parting for long, laughter and gasps mingling in the heated air between them.

By the time they hit the couch, Abby had already found his neck again. He shoved Romance down into the cushions and straddled him, eyes dark, mouth wet from the kiss. 

“Mine,” he growled softly, diving back in. The world narrowed to the feel of Abby’s weight, the scent of him, the relentless pressure of his lips on Romance’s skin.

Romance arched, his breath breaking into gasps as Abby kissed his throat with single-minded obsession—sucking, biting, licking as though he couldn’t get enough. Abby’s hands roamed over his body, slipping beneath his shirt, fingers tracing the line of his ribs and making Romance shudder. Every mark he left made Romance writhe harder beneath him, hips lifting to meet Abby’s in a desperate, wordless plea for more. 

Abby’s mouth wandered from his neck to his jawline, then down to the hollow of his throat, where he lingered, nipping and soothing the sensitive skin until Romance was trembling in his arms.

“Abby—God—” His voice cracked, his hands clutching Abby’s shoulders, nails digging in. 

“You’re driving me insane.”

“That’s the point.” Abby’s tongue dragged up the length of his neck before he nipped the underside of his jaw. “You love it.”

Romance bucked against him, proving him right. The friction of their hips, the weight of Abby pressing down, only made the kisses sharper, wetter, until Romance was grinding back in desperation. The room filled with the sound of ragged breathing, the couch creaking beneath their movements, every sensation heightened by the risk of being overheard, the thrill of surrender.

Abby never stopped his assault on his neck—sucking hard enough to bruise, kissing soft enough to soothe, mixing pain and sweetness until Romance was trembling, voice reduced to broken moans. His teeth grazed along Romance’s pulse, tongue chasing the thrum beneath his skin. 

Abby’s hand tangled in Romance’s hair, tugging his head back to expose more of his throat, and he lavished attention on every inch, leaving a trail of heat and color. The air between them felt electric, each gasp and whimper spurring Abby on, relentless in his devotion.

The couch rocked under them as their bodies moved together, urgency building with each kiss, each grind, until Romance couldn’t hold back. He came undone beneath Abby’s mouth, the sound of his release swallowed by Abby’s lips still claiming his throat. For a few long seconds, nothing else existed—just the heat, the ache, the trembling release that left him boneless in Abby’s arms.

Abby followed soon after, collapsing onto him, teeth still scraping playfully over the damp, flushed skin of his neck. Their bodies tangled together, Abby’s laughter muffled against Romance’s shoulder as he pressed lazy, affectionate kisses to the places he’d marked. They lay there for a while, lost in the warmth they’d created, breaths slowly returning to normal.

They lay tangled in the aftermath, sweat cooling, breaths uneven. Abby kissed one last time just under his ear and whispered, smug and tender, “Cold ramen. Warm neck.”

Romance groaned, but his smile gave him away. “Worth every second.”

The city hummed outside, but inside, on the couch, time held them gently—just the two of them, tangled together and utterly at home.

Chapter Text

Romance didn’t need more clothes. Abby knew it, the closet knew it, hell, the entire team knew it. The guy had jackets stacked so high they could bury a lesser man. But the second the leaves started to turn, Romance declared he had “absolutely nothing to wear for fall” and dragged Abby to the mall.

Now Abby stood with an armful of hangers while Romance bounced between racks, holding up sweaters and long coats like each one was the holy grail.

“You have three jackets exactly like that,” Abby muttered, juggling another hanger as Romance tossed it his way.

“This one’s different.” Romance spun, the hem flaring dramatically. “See? The buttons are matte.”

Abby rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at his lips. It was impossible to stay annoyed when Romance was glowing like that — hair perfect, outfit perfectly put together, energy radiating like sunlight.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because it wasn’t just Abby noticing.

People kept looking. Some subtle, some not. A group of girls near the entrance had been whispering since they walked in, stealing glances every time Romance laughed. A guy “casually” browsing jackets two racks down had been staring openly at the line of Romance’s legs. Even the cashier at the café earlier had nearly dropped Abby’s latte while checking Romance out.

Abby tried to brush it off at first. Romance did look cute. The stupid fall scarf he’d thrown on matched his eyes, and the way his jeans clung when he bent to check a lower shelf—

Abby cut the thought off. Cute? Sure. Gorgeous? Absolutely. But all that was for him. No one else knew what it meant when Romance smiled that way, or how his laugh sounded in the dark, pressed close, when no one else could hear.

None of these staring strangers deserved a single piece of it.

“Abby,” Romance called, holding up a burnt-orange coat against his shoulders. “Hot or hottest?”

Abby swallowed hard, eyes catching on the way people nearby paused to look too. “Hottest,” he said, voice a little too flat. Then he added, quieter, “But only for me.”

Romance blinked, brows pinching. Before Abby could clarify, the clerk appeared — the same one who’d been lingering too long all along.

“Wow,” the clerk said, stepping closer with a bright smile. “That color is perfect on you. You’ve got the frame for it, honestly, you’d look amazing in anything.”

Romance chuckled politely, about to answer, but Abby moved faster.

He stepped in, closing the distance, one arm sliding firmly around Romance’s waist. His grip was tight, his smile sharp. “He already looks amazing,” Abby cut in. “Doesn’t really need anyone else to tell him that.”

The clerk faltered, blinking at the sudden claim, before stammering something about being available if they needed help and scurrying off.

Romance turned to Abby sharply this time, his expression no longer amused. “What the hell is your problem?” His voice was low but edged, like he was holding it together for the public.

Abby blinked, caught off guard. “I’m just—he was staring at you—”

“So what?” Romance snapped, stepping out of Abby’s hold. “You don’t get to bark at strangers like that. You embarrassed me.”

Abby’s mouth opened, then shut. “I didn’t mean—”

Romance cut him off, shoulders rising with a tense breath. “Forget it.” He turned, scanning for the clerk, and called out, “Sorry about that!” His voice was tight but polite.

The clerk gave a small wave from across the store. Romance didn’t look at Abby again as he folded the coat over his arm and headed toward the register.

They finished the shopping trip in near silence, Romance answering Abby’s few attempts at conversation with short, clipped replies.

They didn’t talk the whole ride home. Romance kept his eyes fixed out the passenger window, the new coat draped over his lap like a barrier. Abby drove stiffly, white-knuckled on the steering wheel, his chest a knot of frustration and something heavier he couldn’t name.

By the time they walked through the door, the silence had curdled into something unbearable. Abby went to set the shopping bags down, but Romance’s voice stopped him.

“Sit.”

It wasn’t a request. Abby turned slowly, seeing the set of Romance’s jaw, the fire in his eyes. He sat on the couch, shoulders tense. Romance remained standing, pacing for a moment before rounding on him.

“You embarrassed me, Abby.” His voice was sharp, cutting. “At the store, at the café before that—you keep doing this thing where you decide every person who looks at me is some kind of threat. Do you realize how it makes me feel?”

“No. You’re gonna listen for once.”

The words hung in the air, sharp as broken glass. Abby snapped his jaw shut, the metallic taste of his own anger blooming on his tongue. He watched, every muscle in his body coiled tight, as Romance stood over him, a beautiful, furious storm.

"You don't own me. I'm not your property," Romance pressed, each word a precise, clean cut. "I'm not a prize you have to defend from thieves. I love you, but I don't belong to you." 

Belong. The word was a spark thrown on gasoline. Abby flinched, his head jerking up. "You don't belong to me?" The question was a low, guttural thing, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. 

Romance didn't even blink. "No. I'm not something you can guard like a dog. If that's all this is to you-if you only want me because you think you own me-then maybe you don't actually-" 

He didn't get to finish. 

Abby moved without thought, a surge of raw need. He shoved Romance back, hard. Romance gasped, his perfect composure shattering as he landed against the soft cushions of the couch, his eyes wide with shock. Abby was on him in an instant, caging him in, knees on either side of his hips, hands planted by his head. The air crackled, heavy with the unsaid, with the heat of a fight twisting into something else entirely. 

"Maybe I don't what?" Abby snarled, his face inches away. His breath was hot on Romance's lips. "Finish your sentence." 

Romance's chest heaved. For a heartbeat, there was only defiance in his eyes. Then, a shift. A flicker of something hotter, darker, more willing. A challenge answered. His hips arched up, a deliberate, grinding pressure against Abby's. "Maybe you don't deserve me." 

It was the final match to the fuse. Abby's control shattered. 

His mouth crashed down on Romance's, not a kiss but a claiming. It was all teeth and desperate tongue, a messy, furious clash. Romance struggled for a second, a muffled sound of protest lost against Abby's lips, before his body went pliant. His hands, which had come up to push, instead tangled in Abby's hair, pulling him closer, deepening the brutal kiss. 

Abby tore his mouth away, breathing ragged. "You want to talk about deserving?" He ripped at the buttons of Romance's shirt, the fabric giving way with a soft tear. "You think any of those fuckers at the mall deserve to see this?" His palm scraped over a peaked nipple, making Romance jolt. "You think that clerk deserved to imagine my Romance spread out like this?" 

He yanked the ruined shirt open, then made quick work of Romance's jeans, pulling them and his briefs down in one rough motion. Romance lay bare beneath him, his skin flushing, his cock already hard and leaking against his stomach. Abby's gaze raked over him, a possessive, hungry look that felt like a physical touch. 

"Look at you," Abby murmured, his voice dropping into a husky, degrading whisper. He traced a finger down Romance's sternum, circling a nipple. "My perfect boy. All dressed up for everyone to look at. But this..." His hand slid down, cupping Romance's balls, making him gasp. "...this is all for me. This tight, pretty ass is all mine to ruin." 

Romance moaned, a broken, wanton sound, his head tipping back. The fight was gone, replaced by a trembling anticipation. Abby leaned down, his lips near Romance's ear. "You're going to take my dick like the good boy you are, and that I know you to be. And you're going to thank me for it." 

He didn't wait for an answer. He shoved Romance's legs up and apart, exposing him completely. The sight was obscene, erotic. The pale, perfect curve of his ass, the tight, clenched pucker of his hole, the way his whole body trembled with vulnerability. Abby spat roughly into his palm, slicking his own hard length, the crude act a part of the degradation. He notched the broad head against Romance's entrance, applying a relentless, unforgiving pressure. 

Romance cried out, a sharp, pained sound that quickly morphed into a deep, guttural moan as Abby pushed inside, inch by brutal inch. "Fuck... Abby..." 

"Shut up," Abby gritted out, his own breath stuttering as he was sheathed fully inside the impossibly tight, hot heat. "You don't get to talk. You just get to take it." 

He began to move, a punishing rhythm that had the couch frame creaking. Each thrust was a claim, a punishment, a promise. He leaned over, his mouth against the sweat-slick skin of Romance's shoulder. "You belong to me," he whispered, the words a venomous contrast to the desperate way his hips snapped forward. "Always have. Always will! Just a pretty face everyone wants to fuck. But I'm the only one who gets to. Say it." 

Romance was incoherent, a mess of pleasured sobs. "You... you're the only one..." 

"Louder." Abby's thrusts became jagged, erratic. 

"You're the only one!" Romance screamed, his nails digging into Abby's back. 

The admission tipped Abby over the edge. With a raw, torn shout, he drove in one last, deep time, his body locking up as his release ripped through him. Heat pulsed into Romance, wave after wave, filling him up, a visceral, claiming spill that had them both shuddering. 

Abby collapsed on top of him, spent, his face buried in Romance's neck. They lay there, gasping, stuck together by sweat and cum. The room was silent except for their ragged breathing. 

Then Abby moved, slowly made his way down in between Romance's thighs. 

Romance watched, dazed, as Abby kissed the inside of his thigh, right where the skin was soft and sensitive. 

"I'm sorry for being so rough, pretty boy," Abby said, his voice rough but quiet now, all the fury bled out. "But you're mine, and I'll do this every day if that's what it takes to remind you." 

"I'm sorry..." 

Abby looked up, confused. 

"I'm sorry for not noticing everyone staring at me for ignoring how you felt. I love you, you know?” Romance whispered. 

Abby sighed, his eyes softening, the anger completely drained now. He leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Romance's lips. "My beautiful boy. I love you too." 

Chapter Text

Romance had stopped trying to drown out the voice weeks ago. Gwi-ma didn’t shout—shouting would have been easier to resist. Instead, it whispered with surgical precision, slipping into the cracks and widening them.

You shouldn’t even exist. He only stays because he pities you. You know that, don’t you?

The words slithered through his mind until he couldn’t tell where they ended and where his own thoughts began. He pressed the heels of his hands against his temples, as if he could squeeze the noise into silence. The surrounding walls blurred, breathing in sync with his panic.

The apartment light flickered—one, two—like a heartbeat stuttering. Outside, rain pattered softly against the window, mingling with the faint thud of bass from a neighbor’s music. But all of it faded beneath Gwi-ma’s low hum.

You deserve this. You built this hell yourself.

The voice was right, and that was the worst part. He’d done nothing to stop it, nothing to fight back, because some broken part of him thought maybe he’d earned the torment. The idea that anyone might see him like this, cracked open and raw, made bile rise in his throat.

Then came the soft, unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. His body tensed. No one else had the nerve to let themselves in.

Abby’s voice broke the stillness. 

“Romance?”

Just hearing it was a jolt to the system—an intrusion of warmth in a room that had forgotten how to feel. Romance didn’t answer. The silence between them stretched, taut and dangerous.

Abby stepped closer, cautious but steady, scanning the mess—scattered sketches, cold coffee, the evidence of sleepless nights. His gaze finally landed on Romance, curled in on himself, eyes rimmed red.

“He’s here again, isn’t he?” Abby asked, voice barely above a whisper.

The question shouldn’t have made sense. But somehow, Abby always knew. That was the problem—he saw too much.

Gwi-ma hissed inside his skull. Don’t let him touch you. Don’t let him try to fix you. You know he can’t. He’ll see what you really are.

But Abby ignored the invisible barrier and knelt beside him anyway. The air felt charged—like the calm before a storm.

“You’re not what he says,” Abby murmured, fingers hesitating before brushing gently against Romance’s jaw.

The contact was grounding, but it hit like a shock. Gwi-ma’s voice wavered, distorted, then faltered altogether. For the first time in hours, the noise receded into a low, uncertain hum.

Romance’s breath caught. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare look away. The silence that followed wasn’t empty; it was heavy with everything unspoken between them.

Abby’s hand lingered, trembling now, as if fighting the same battle—the one between what he wanted and what he shouldn’t. The air thickened, breath against breath, as if even the room knew this was a line neither of them were meant to cross.

He pities you. He’ll see the rot, Gwi-ma hissed, a serpent in his mind.

But then Abby’s fingers brushed against his jaw again, and the voice stuttered. The contact was electric—a jolt of pure, undiluted real against the phantom poison.

Romance’s eyes flew open. Abby’s face was inches from his, a turbulent mix of worry and something fierce and hungry in his gaze.

“Abby, what if he’s right? What if I’m everything he says I am?”

“You’re perfect in every way,” Abby murmured, thumb stroking the high line of Romance’s cheekbone.

The air vanished between them. The space between their lips hummed with a decade of unsaid things. This was wrong—a violation of every unspoken rule—but Gwi-ma was silent, and all Romance could hear was the frantic beat of his own heart.

It was Romance who moved first, desperate and collapsing forward. His mouth found Abby’s.

It wasn’t gentle. It was a collision. A claiming. Abby made a raw sound against his lips—half surprise, half triumph—and his hands framed Romance’s face, holding him there.

The kiss was salt and desperation, the bitter taste of coffee and the sweet warmth of Abby’s mouth. It deepened instantly, tongues tangling—not in exploration, but in consummation. They drowned in it, and Romance welcomed the flood.

Abby’s hands slid down his neck, pulling him closer until Romance was half in his lap. The hard line of Abby’s cock pressed against his thigh, and Romance groaned, a sound torn from somewhere deep and neglected inside him. He scrabbled at Abby’s shirt, fists clenching the soft cotton, needing skin.

“Off,” Romance gasped, breaking the kiss briefly. “Please. Now.”

They both knew it was wrong. Fucking while the demon king screamed in your head was something they'd have to deal with later—but for now…

They tore at each other’s clothes, a frantic dance of flying fabric and grasping hands. Abby wrestled Romance’s shirt over his head, mouth immediately finding pale skin, sucking a dark mark over his pounding heart.

Romance cried out, head falling back. His fingers worked open Abby’s jeans, pushing them down, then wrapping around the hard, hot length in his hand.

Abby’s cock was smooth and iron-hard, a perfect weight. A drop of moisture beaded at the tip; Romance swiped his thumb over it, spreading slickness and making Abby shudder and thrust into his grip.

“Fuck, Romance.”

They stumbled toward the bedroom, tangled limbs never breaking contact. Abby pushed him down onto the disheveled sheets, eyes dark, pupils wide. He took Romance in, his gaze a physical caress over the trembling form.

He knelt on the bed, a lean masterpiece of muscle and intent. Leaning down, he captured Romance’s mouth in another searing kiss as his hand found Romance’s cock, stroking with firm, knowing pressure that made his hips jerk off the bed.

“I need to be in you,” Abby breathed against his lips. “Not like last time. I need all of you. Everywhere. Everywhere he is, I need to be there too.”

Romance nodded, voice gone, mind blissfully empty except for want. The poison shouts of Gwi-ma faded beneath Abby’s filthy whispers.

Romance watched, breath caught, as Abby found the lube bottle on the nightstand. He poured a generous amount into his palm, the sound obscenely loud, warming it between his fingers without breaking eye contact.

“Turn over,” Abby said, voice low and thick.

Romance obeyed, moving onto hands and knees. The position made his face burn with delicious shame. He felt exposed, presented.

Abby’s sharp intake of breath was a caress.

“God, look at you,” he whispered.

His thumbs gently parted the firm globes of Romance’s ass, exposing him completely. Cool air teased the tight opening, making Romance tremble.

A slick, lubed finger traced the tight fold, feather-light circle, making him clench involuntarily.

“So perfect.”

The first press was slow, inexorable. Romance buried his face in the sheets; a low moan ripped free as the digit stretched him. The sensation was a bright, sharp shock melting into deep, overwhelming fullness.

Abby worked him open with a patient, torturous rhythm—one finger, then two—crooking, scissoring gently, finding the spot that made Romance see stars behind closed lids.

Panting, pushing back against Abby’s hand, wordless pleas fell from his lips.

“Ready?” Abby asked, breathing ragged.

“Yes. Please. Abby, now.”

The blunt, broad head pressed against him. So much more than fingers. Romance braced every taut muscle. Abby leaned over him, chest pressed to back, mouth near ear. One hand found Romance’s, their fingers lacing together, squeezing tight on the sheets—an anchor before the storm.

“Relax for me,” Abby murmured, then pushed.

Slow, breathtaking invasion. Romance cried out, the sound muffled by the mattress, inch by inch filled.

The stretch burned, immense and borderline pain, before tipping into something blindingly good.

Fully sheathed, hips flush, they froze, breathing ragged.

“So good,” Abby ground out, voice strained. “You feel… unbelievable.”

He moved slowly, deep, dragging thrusts that whitened Romance’s vision. Withdrawal was agony; return, ecstasy.

Abby’s grip bruised, their fingers intertwined—a testament to connection, wrongness, and rightness. Rhythm built; thrusts harder, faster, urgent. Skin slapped slick skin, punctuated by ragged gasps and guttural moans.

Abby’s free hand slid around hips, grasping the leaking cock, stroking in time with thrusts.

The dual sensation overwhelmed. Pleasure coiled tight, a spring wound to breaking.

Romance babbled, begging—words without meaning, just raw need.

“I’m close,” Abby warned, thrusts erratic, brutal. “Gonna come inside you. Gonna fill you up.”

Words triggered the final wave. Romance’s orgasm erupted—a silent, searing flood.

His ass clenched rhythmically, milking Abby, who followed over the edge with a raw shout.

Romance felt the hot, pulsing rush inside—a flood that seemed endless. Abby collapsed over him, weight a welcome burden, breath hot on his neck.

They stayed joined, spent, only their struggling lungs and quiet rain outside breaking the silence.

Slowly, Abby pulled out. Romance gasped at the sudden emptiness, a slick trickle escaping down his thigh. Abby rolled him onto his side, dark, satiated eyes, tracing lines of his body before settling between his legs.

He watched intently as his own release seeped onto sheets—a possessive, carnal display stirring Romance anew.

Abby’s voice was a rough whisper. “Any time you hear him, any time he gets to you while I’m around, I’ll shut that bastard up in a heartbeat and make my pretty boy feel good.”

“Promise?”

“Of course, I promise, baby.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Romance noticed was warmth—a deep, steady heat radiating from the solid wall of muscle pressed against his back. Then came the slow, rhythmic brush of Abby’s breath stirring the hairs at his nape. Soft, golden morning light filtered through the blinds, casting stripes across the rumpled sheets.

A contented sigh slipped from Romance, barely more than a breath. But Abby heard it. His arm, draped possessively over Romance’s waist, tightened just a fraction, pulling him closer into the curve of his body.

Abby’s lips found the sensitive spot just behind Romance’s ear, his morning voice a delicious rasp. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep.

A shiver, entirely pleasant, traced its way down Romance’s spine. He shifted, pressing back against the insistent pressure. “Morning,” he whispered back, his own voice still thick.

He turned in Abby’s arms, the movement languid. Facing him, he could see the flecks of amber in Abby’s brown eyes, the lazy, affectionate smile that played on his lips. Abby’s hand came up, his thumb stroking over Romance’s cheekbone with a tenderness that made his breath catch.

Their lips met in a soft and tentative kiss, pressing and retreating like a slow dance. Abby’s lips were warm, insistent, and Romance answered each gentle press with one of his own. His hand rose to cup the side of Abby’s neck, feeling the steady pulse beneath his fingertips.

The kiss deepened by imperceptible degrees. A flick of a tongue, a soft sigh shared between them. The tenderness began to simmer into something warmer, something more urgent. Without breaking the kiss, Abby rolled onto his back, pulling Romance down to straddle his hips. The thin fabric of their briefs did little to disguise the hard lines of their arousal pressed together.

Abby’s hands slid down Romance’s back, gripping his hips, guiding him into a slow, grinding rhythm. A low groan rumbled in Abby’s chest, a sound that vibrated through Romance’s entire body. He broke the kiss, breathing heavily, his forehead resting against Abby’s.

“I need to feel you,” Abby breathed, his voice rough with desire. “All of you.”

Romance nodded, his own need a sharp, bright wire tightening in his gut. He pushed himself up, kneeling over Abby, and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his own briefs. He shimmied out of them, tossing them aside, his skin prickling in the cool morning air. Abby watched him, his gaze dark and intent, devouring every inch of exposed skin. He made quick work of his own underwear, kicking them off the end of the bed.

Now skin-to-skin, the feeling was electric. Romance lowered himself again, and the feel of Abby’s hard length sliding against his own, of their stomachs pressed together, drew a sharp, gasping moan from him. Abby’s hands were everywhere, sliding over his back, cupping his ass, pulling him closer as if he could somehow erase the last molecules of space between them.

“The lube,” Romance managed to say, his voice barely more than a whisper. “In the drawer.”

Abby reached over, fumbling for a moment before his hand closed around the small bottle. The click of the cap opening was obscenely loud in the quiet room. He slicked his fingers, his eyes never leaving Romance’s.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice a husk of its normal self.

“Yes,” Romance breathed, spreading his legs wider in invitation.

The first touch was cool and wet, a sharp shock that made Romance flinch. Abby’s finger circled him slowly, teasing, preparing him with practiced patience that made him writhe. He pushed forward, a single digit sliding inside, and Romance’s head fell back, a choked sound of pleasure escaping his throat. Abby worked him open with an almost worshipful reverence, adding a second finger, scissoring and stretching him until Romance was a trembling, begging mess above him.

“Abby… please… I’m ready. I need you.”

Abby withdrew his fingers, and Romance whimpered at the loss. He slicked himself generously, his grip firm on his own length. He guided Romance’s hips, positioning him. Their eyes locked.

“Look at me,” Abby said, and it was a request, a command, a prayer.

Romance held Abby’s gaze as he slowly lowered himself. The pressure was immense, stretching and filling him, stealing the air from his lungs. He paused, breathing deeply, letting his body adjust to the overwhelming fullness. Abby’s hands came up, not to push or pull, but to hold. His thumbs stroked soothing circles on Romance’s hips, his expression one of awestruck patience.

When he was seated fully, buried to the hilt, they both stilled for a long moment, connected in the most intimate way possible. The world narrowed to this bed, to the feel of Abby inside him, to the overwhelming rightness of it.

Then Romance began to move.

He rose, almost until Abby slipped free, then sank back down, setting a slow, deep rhythm. A ragged groan was torn from Abby’s throat, his hands tightening on Romance’s hips. “God, you feel… incredible.”

Romance found his pace, riding him, each downward stroke driving a soft grunt from his own lips. He braced his hands on Abby’s chest, feeling the powerful muscles flex beneath his palms. The slide of skin on skin, the wet, rhythmic sound of their joining, the way Abby’s eyes glazed over with pleasure—it was all too much, and not nearly enough.

Abby’s hands suddenly left his hips. They slid up his arms, his calloused palms a rough contrast to the soft skin of Romance’s inner arms, until their fingers met. Abby laced their fingers together, squeezing tightly, and pulled their joined hands down, pinning them to the bed on either side of his head.

The new position changed everything. It anchored Romance, allowing Abby to thrust up into him from beneath, driving deeper than before. It was a surrender and a claim all at once. Their intertwined hands became the focal point, the tether that held them together as the pleasure built to a fever pitch. Romance could feel the fine tremors running through Abby’s arms, could see the desperate need in his eyes, and it mirrored his own perfectly.

“I’m close,” Abby gasped, his thrusts becoming less controlled, more frantic. “Romance, I’m—”

“Do it,” Romance begged, his own release coiling tight in his belly. “Inside. I want to feel it.”

The permission seemed to shatter the last of Abby’s control. With a guttural cry, he drove up one final time, burying himself as deep as he could go. Romance felt the hot, pulsing rush of his release, a flood of warmth that seemed to fill him. The sensation, the sheer intimacy of it, tipped him over the edge. His own orgasm ripped through him, a silent, breathless convulsion that left him shaking, vision spotting, as he spilled himself across Abby’s stomach.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Abby’s grip on his hands loosened, but he didn’t let go. He gently tugged, and Romance collapsed forward onto his chest, spent and boneless. Abby’s arms came around him, holding him close.

They lay like that, still joined, the evidence of their passion cooling between them. Romance could feel the slow, comforting thud of Abby’s heart against his ear. He nuzzled into the crook of Abby’s neck, breathing in his scent.

A soft, lazy chuckle rumbled through Abby’s chest. “We’re a mess.”

Romance smiled against his skin. “A good mess.”

Chapter Text

The full-length mirror stood cold against his chest, the glass a shocking contrast to the heat flooding his skin. Romance’s breath stuttered out, a shaky puff of air that fogged a small circle on the surface. Abby’s hands, firm and knowing, settled on his hips, pressing him harder against the reflective glass.

“Look,” Abby murmured, his voice a low thrum against Romance’s ear. His lips brushed the sensitive skin there, making him shiver. “Look at yourself.”

Romance’s eyes, which had been squeezed shut, fluttered open. The sight punched the air from his lungs. There he was, utterly exposed, his lean frame pinned between the hard, unyielding mirror and Abby’s solid warmth. His own face was a mask of flushed anticipation, lips parted, eyes wide and dark with want. And behind him, Abby, a head taller, his gaze locked on his reflection, a possessive, hungry look on his sharp features.

“See how pretty you are like this?” Abby’s words were a dark caress. One hand slid around, fingers splaying across Romance’s stomach to keep him in place while the other dipped lower, tracing the crease where thigh met torso. “All laid out. Just for me.”

A whimper escaped Romance’s throat, his head falling back against Abby’s shoulder. His own cock, a flushed, slender length, stood stiff against the mirror, a bead of moisture already glistening at the tip. He watched, hypnotized, as Abby’s large, calloused hand wrapped around him, the contrast of rough skin against his smooth, sensitive flesh making his knees buckle.

“N-not just pretty,” Romance breathed, the words a struggle.

Abby’s chuckle was a dark, pleasant sound. He tightened his grip, a slow, torturous pump that had Romance’s hips stuttering forward. “No? What are you, then? Tell me what I see.”

He increased the pace, his thumb swiping over the slick head on every upward stroke, spreading the wetness. The sensations were a lightning storm under his skin, and in the mirror, Romance watched his own composure unravel. His mouth hung open, his eyelids fluttered, his body trembled.

“I’m… I’m yours,” he gasped, the admission torn from him.

“Mine,” Abby affirmed, his voice dropping into a gravelly register. He released Romance’s cock, leaving it twitching and aching in the air. His hands went back to Romance’s hips, turning him, maneuvering him with an effortless strength that left Romance pliant. “Now, on your knees. I want to watch.”

Romance sank down, the carpet rough against his skin. The new angle in the mirror was even more devastating. He saw the elegant line of his own back, the curve of his rear, and Abby standing over him, a dominant shadow. Abby’s cock, thick and heavy, with a prominent vein running its length, was right there. The musky, clean scent of him filled Romance’s senses. He leaned forward, his tongue darting out to trace the velvety crown.

A guttural groan came from above. “Yeah. Just like that.”

Romance forced his eyes open, meeting his own gaze in the glass. He saw the debauched image: him on his knees, lips stretched around Abby’s girth, cheeks hollowed. The visual, combined with the weight of Abby on his tongue, the saltiness of his skin, sent a jolt of pure heat straight to his own neglected erection. He worked harder, taking him deeper, worshiping him with his mouth, all while watching his own submission.

Abby’s fingers tangled in his hair, not guiding, just holding. “God, look at you. So desperate for it. You’d do anything, wouldn’t you? My good little slut. My pretty boy toy.”

The filthy word, spoken in that tone of absolute admiration, shattered the last of Romance’s control. He moaned around Abby, the vibration earning him another broken sound from above. Soon, Abby was pulling him off, his own breathing ragged. “Enough. I need to be inside you. Now.”

He helped Romance up, turning him back to face the mirror. He poured a generous amount of cool lube onto his fingers, warming it for a second before his touch was back on Romance, slick and insistent. A single finger pressed against his entrance, circling the tight ring of muscle. Romance jerked, a sharp gasp catching in his throat. He watched his own face contort in the mirror, saw the flash of tension and then the slow, dawning bliss as the pressure gave way and Abby’s finger slid into him.

“There,” Abby soothed, working him open with a precision that spoke of intimate knowledge. A second finger joined the first, scissoring, stretching. Romance’s head lolled back, his eyes struggling to stay on their reflection, on the sight of Abby’s hand working between his legs, on the absolute surrender etched into his own features.

“You take it so well. Always so ready for me.”

When Abby finally replaced his fingers with the blunt head of his cock, Romance was a trembling mess of need. “Please,” he whispered, the word meant for the man behind him and the man in the glass.

“Watch,” Abby commanded, his voice tight.

He pushed.

Romance’s eyes flew open, locked on the mirror. He saw the moment his body yielded, the slow, incredible invasion as Abby filled him, inch by exquisite inch. A broken cry was torn from him, his hands slapping flat against the cool glass for support. The stretch was immense, a perfect, burning fullness that stole his thoughts and left only sensation.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Abby groaned, his hips meeting Romance’s rear, sheathing himself completely. He held there, letting them both feel the thrumming connection. Then he moved, a slow, deep withdrawal followed by a rolling thrust that made Romance see stars.

The rhythm built, each drive punctuated by the soft slap of skin and their ragged breaths. Abby’s hands were everywhere, gripping his hips, skimming up his sides, pulling him back onto his cock. Romance was lost in the duality of feeling: the physical ecstasy of being taken, and the visual depravity of watching it happen. He saw the glistening length of Abby’s cock disappear into his body, saw the muscles in Abby’s abdomen clench with every thrust, saw his own face, a perfect picture of ecstatic ruin.

“You close?” Abby grunted, his pace becoming punishing, each stroke hitting that spot inside him that burned white-hot.

Romance could only nod, his words gone, his body coiling tighter and tighter

“I want to hear you,” Abby demanded, his voice raw. “I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

The permission, the command, was all he needed. The coil snapped. Pleasure, sharp and absolute, ripped through him. His climax was silent for a heart beat too long, a suspension of all reality, before a raw, ragged shout was torn from his throat. His release painted the mirror in stark, white stripes, his body seizing, clenching violently around Abby who was still moving inside him.

The overstimulation was instant, a sharp, almost painful sensitivity that had him crying out, trying to squirm away from the relentless friction. Abby held him fast, his thrusts becoming shallow, frantic.

“Take it,” he growled, his own control fraying. “Look at yourself. Look at you milking my cock. Just a used, messy little thing, aren't you? Coming all over the glass like you’ve got no control at all.”

The degrading words, paired with the overwhelming sensations, sent another, weaker shudder through Romance. He was sobbing openly now, oversensitive and raw, held up only by Abby’s arms.

Abby’s rhythm stuttered, then stilled. He drove in one last, deep time, burying himself to the hilt with a choked, guttural cry. Romance felt the hot, sudden pulse deep within him, a flood of warmth that seemed to go on and on, marking him, filling him. His own spasming muscles pulled every last drop from Abby, who collapsed over his back, their sweat-slicked skin sticking together.

For a long moment, the only sound was their harsh breathing fogging the glass. Abby nuzzled into the nape of his neck, placing a soft, unexpected kiss there. Then he shifted, pulling out slowly.

The feeling was intimate and lewd, a slow, hot trickle escaping down the inside of Romance’s thigh almost immediately. He shuddered at the sensation, his eyes, heavy-lidded and spent, watched the evidence of their union in the mirror.

Abby turned him around, his expression shifting from animalistic hunger to something softer, though no less intense. He traced a finger through the mess on Romance’s stomach, then brought it to his own mouth, his eyes never leaving Romance’s.

“Such a messy boy.”

Chapter Text

The heavy oak door of the apartment clicked shut, muffling the steady drumbeat of rain against the windowpane. Abby’s broad shoulders were damp, a few droplets of water clinging to the dark fabric of his jacket, an elegant black box tucked under his arm. He shrugged it off, his eyes never leaving the man standing in the center of the room.

“You’re soaked,” Romance said, his voice a soft murmur almost lost in the quiet hum of the rainy evening.

He took a hesitant step forward, a clean towel in his hands. Abby just smiled, a slow, easy curl of his lips that made Romance’s heart stutter.

“It’s just water.” Abby’s voice was a low, calming rumble.

He set the box down on the kitchen counter as he reached out—not for the towel, but for Romance’s hand. His fingers, still cool from the outside air, laced perfectly with Romance’s warmer ones. The simple contact sent a jolt straight through Romance, a familiar electricity that never seemed to fade, even after a year had passed.

A year.

“Happy anniversary,” Romance breathed out, his thumb stroking the back of Abby’s hand.

“Happy anniversary,” Abby echoed, his gaze intense.

He used their joined hands to gently pull Romance closer until their chests were almost touching. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. About you.”

Romance’s breath caught. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Abby’s free hand came up to cup Romance’s jaw, his thumb stroking the line of his cheekbone. “About how patient you were last week when I was buried in work. How you always know exactly how I take my coffee. How you look at me…” He leaned in, his lips hovering a hair’s breadth from Romance’s. “…like I’m the only man in the world.”

The kiss started tenderly, a soft meeting of lips that spoke of a year of shared mornings and quiet nights. But the slow, insistent pressure of Abby’s mouth soon stoked a deeper hunger. Romance sighed into it, his free hand coming up to grip Abby’s shirt, anchoring himself as the kiss deepened, becoming wetter, more urgent.

Abby’s tongue swept into his mouth, a confident, claiming stroke that made Romance’s knees feel weak. This, he thought, this is where I belong.

When they finally broke for air, both were breathing heavily. Abby’s eyes were dark with desire. “I got you something,” he murmured, his voice thick.

“You didn’t have to,” Romance started, but Abby silenced him with another quick, firm kiss.

“I wanted to.” He released Romance’s hand and reached for a small black box on the counter. “Open it.”

Fingers trembling slightly, Romance lifted the lid. Nestled in black silk was not a watch or cufflinks, but a delicate confection of black lace and transparent mesh—lacy lingerie, cut high on the thigh, designed to accentuate and frame. His breath stilled in his lungs.

“I…” Romance stammered, his face flushing hot. “Abby, what is this?”

“A gift,” Abby said, his voice impossibly gentle. He leaned forward, his knuckles brushing Romance’s flaming cheek. “You always do stuff for me, so I thought, why not give you something in return?”

He took the box, his fingers brushing Romance’s. “Put it on, baby. Will you show me how much you like it?”

The trust, the raw vulnerability in that question, propelled Romance to his feet. He took the box and retreated to the bedroom without another word, his heart hammering against his ribs.

When he emerged, the fine lace felt alien and thrilling against his skin. He stood in the doorway, silk and lace doing barely anything to cover his chest and hips. Abby stared, his composure finally cracking—a sharp intake of breath, the slow, deliberate set of his jaw.

He didn’t speak, just closed the distance between them, his hands coming up gently to cup Romance’s face.

“God, Romance,” he breathed, his eyes drinking in the sight. The lace clung to his hips, the dark material a stark contrast to his pale skin. The mesh panel left little to the imagination. “You’re stunning. Absolutely perfect.”

The praise hit Romance like a physical touch, warming him from the inside out. He preened under the attention, his earlier shyness melting into a boldness he didn’t know he possessed.

“You like it?” Romance asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“I love it,” Abby corrected him, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just above the lace waistband. A shiver racked Romance’s frame. “But I think I’ll love what’s underneath even more.”

Abby gently took his hand and led him to the bedroom. Once inside, Abby turned to face him. His large hands settled on Romance’s hips, his touch both possessive and reverent.

“Take off your lingerie for me.” It wasn’t a question, but the gentle command was so filled with warmth that Romance shuddered with want.

He obeyed, slowly slipping the delicate lingerie off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, revealing his bare skin beneath. The cool air brushed against him, but Abby’s heated gaze felt like a physical touch.

“So stunning,” Abby whispered, his eyes roaming over every inch of Romance’s exposed skin. “Every single part of you.”

With a look of pure adoration, Abby began to unbutton his own shirt. He took his time, each button revealing toned muscle and warm skin. Romance watched, mesmerized, as the fabric parted and was shrugged away—a potent mix of strength and vulnerability that left him speechless.

Abby stepped closer, his bare chest brushing against Romance’s. The skin-to-skin contact was electric.

“My turn,” he whispered, fingers moving to the waistband of his trousers. He slid them down with practiced ease, along with his underwear, standing before Romance completely naked and fully erect.

“All for you,” he said simply.

He joined Romance on the bed, their bodies aligning, skin flushing against skin from head to toe. The rain outside provided a rhythmic, soothing soundtrack as Abby covered him, his weight a comfortable, protective pressure.

Their breaths mingled in the charged air, shallow and quickening. Abby kissed him again, a deep, searching kiss that left them both gasping for air, tongues exploring and coaxing, tasting the desire they both held.

Abby’s hand slid down Romance’s side, fingers tracing slow, deliberate paths over the curve of his ribs, down to his hip, then dipping lower between his legs. He took Romance’s length in his firm grip, warm and sure.

Romance arched off the bed with a sharp cry, muscles tightening under Abby’s touch.

“That’s it,” Abby murmured against the sensitive skin of his neck, his breath hot and intoxicating. “Let me hear you. You feel incredible.” His hand began to move in a slow, building rhythm, each stroke measured and precise, coaxing moans and gasps from Romance that filled the quiet room.

“So responsive for me,” Abby praised, his voice a husky whisper close to Romance’s ear. “You have no idea what you do to me. How good you are.” His fingers tightened just slightly, sending a fresh wave of electricity racing through Romance’s body.

“So beautiful. Every inch of you.” The words were like a caress, each one igniting a deeper fire between them.

Now tangled in the sheets, that same reverence was etched into every line of Abby’s body. He moved above Romance with a controlled, relentless rhythm—steady and sure, yet driven by a growing need. Each deep, claiming thrust was punctuated with a hushed word of praise, like a sacred chant.

“You take me so well.” Thrust. “You feel incredible.” Thrust. “My good boy.” Thrust.

Romance’s head fell back against the pillows, a broken moan escaping his lips. The sound was raw and vulnerable, feeding a desperate hunger within him, pushing him higher, making every sensation sharper, more intense. He was laid bare—not just physically, but emotionally, completely surrendered to Abby’s commanding affection.

Abby’s hands roamed, fingertips sketching fire along Romance’s ribs, lower back, and thighs, grounding him even as their bodies moved in perfect sync. He leaned down, lips brushing over Romance’s collarbone, then trailing a slow, tantalizing path lower—each kiss a promise, each breath a vow.

Abby slowed, sheathing himself fully, and stilled inside Romance. The sensation was exquisite—the fullness, the warmth. Romance’s eyes, which had squeezed shut moments before, fluttered open to find Abby’s waiting gaze, dark and intense.

“I said look at me,” Abby reminded him softly, breath coming in short, ragged gusts.

He laced their fingers together, pinning Romance’s hands to the bed on either side of his head. The gesture was protective, anchoring. It wasn’t restraint—it was connection. A claim.

Their intertwined hands tightened as Abby began to move again, slower now, deeper, savoring each movement. The air crackled between them.

The rain outside continued its relentless, private soundtrack to their union. Romance felt the climax building, a coiling tightness deep in his gut, threatening to shatter him. He was hyper-aware of everything: the scent of Abby’s skin, the feel of his weight pressing down, the rough texture of the sheets against his back, the overwhelming rightness of their joined hands.

“Abby…” It was a plea, a prayer, raw and desperate.

“I know,” Abby soothed, voice ragged with his own need. “I’m right here with you. Let me see you. Let me see how beautiful you are when you fall apart for me.”

Their eyes locked. Abby’s gaze was dark, full of fire and unexpected tenderness that made Romance’s throat tighten. He could see the love there—the raw pride, the sheer awe. It was that look, more than anything, that pushed him over the edge.

Pleasure detonated inside him, white-hot and blinding. His back arched off the bed as a cry was wrenched from his chest, his entire world condensing into the man above him, the hands holding his, the eyes that refused to let him look away. Waves of sensation crashed over him, each one more intense than the last, his body trembling with the force of it.

Abby followed him over with a low, guttural groan, his own release crashing through him in powerful surges. His body shuddered, spilling deep inside Romance, the connection between them fierce and unbreakable.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing and the steady rain. Abby, careful not to crush him, shifted his weight but didn’t pull away. He kept their hands linked, bringing one to his lips to press a tender kiss to Romance’s knuckles.

“Happy Anniversary, my beautiful boy,” he whispered, voice thick with spent passion. “You were absolutely incredible.”

“Happy Anniversary, Abby. I love you.”

He lowered himself, gathering Romance into a protective embrace, tucking him against his chest. Their sweat-slicked skin pressed together, hearts pounding in unison, lingering tremors still coursing through them. The storm’s dim light wrapped around them like a shield. Safe. Desired. His.

Abby nuzzled into Romance’s hair, breath warm against his ear. “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

The door clicked softly as Abby stepped inside, his gaze immediately locking onto Romance’s mischievous grin. Romance lounged on the couch, one leg thrown over the armrest, looking far too relaxed for someone who hadn’t bothered to check in. Abby’s voice was calm, but the undercurrent of something serious ran deep. 

“Where have you been?”

Romance smirked, a spark of defiance lighting his eyes. “Out. Didn’t think I owed you a report.”

That smirk was the exact thing Abby had been waiting for. He stepped forward deliberately, closing the distance between them until the space was charged with unspoken tension. 

“You really think you can just disappear without a word? That you can play by your own rules?”

Romance’s grin only widened, clearly enjoying the game. “Maybe I like pushing the boundaries.”

Abby’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a low, steady rumble. “Freedom isn’t just given, Romance. It’s earned. And right now, you’re losing it.”

Romance’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment before his eyes flashed with challenge. But Abby was already moving, his fingers curling around Romance’s wrist, pulling him up from the couch with firm insistence.

“Look at me,” Abby commanded softly, tilting Romance’s chin upward so their eyes met. “I don’t like being tested. Not by you.”

Romance’s breath hitched, caught between stubbornness and something deeper—something wanting to surrender.

 Abby’s hand slid into Romance’s hair, tugging gently but with unmistakable control, drawing him closer.

Their lips met in a kiss that started slow and sweet, all soft promises and quiet longing. Romance’s hands hesitated before resting against Abby’s chest, feeling the steady beat of a heart that was fierce beneath calm skin.

But Abby’s touch soon hardened, fingers gripping Romance’s hips as the kiss deepened, growing more urgent and demanding. 

“No more games,” Abby whispered against Romance’s lips, his voice low and serious.

Romance’s pulse quickened, the air between them thick with tension and promise. Abby’s hands slid beneath Romance’s shirt, peeling it away slowly, revealing skin flushed with anticipation.

Abby’s eyes darkened as he pressed Romance against the doorframe, his body a solid weight that left no room to escape. 

“You’ve been pushing limits all week,” he said, voice firm but filled with something like care. 

“It’s time you learned what happens when you do.”

Romance’s gaze dropped, a mix of excitement and nervousness flickering through him. Abby’s hands moved with purpose—unzipping, unbuttoning, sliding Romance’s jeans down fast, exposing him completely.

One hand gripped Romance’s hip tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh, while the other held his shoulder, pinning him gently but firmly. Abby’s cock pressed against Romance’s entrance, steady and insistent.

“You’re going to listen to me tonight,” Abby said, his voice thick with command and 

Something softer beneath. “No more running.”

And then he pushed in.

The sharp burn made Romance gasp sharply, fingers digging into the wood of the doorframe as Abby held him steady. Abby started slow, his thrusts deep and deliberate, giving Romance time to adjust and ease into the sensation. Romance’s breath hitched with every movement, his body trembling as the new feeling stretched and filled him.

“Good,” Abby murmured, voice low and thick with satisfaction. “That’s my boy.”

But the gentleness didn’t last.

Abby’s pace gradually quickened, each thrust growing harder and more insistent. His hands gripped Romance’s hips tightly, nails digging into the pale skin beneath his shirt, marking him with bruises that bloomed beneath Abby’s rough touch. Romance’s back arched involuntarily, muscles coiling around Abby’s as his fingers scrabbled at the doorframe, desperate to hold on.

“You like it rough, don’t you?” Abby growled, teeth sinking into the sensitive skin of Romance’s neck, biting just enough to leave a fierce mark, a claim that spoke volumes.

Romance whimpered, torn between sharp sting and fierce pleasure, his breath ragged as the sensations crashed over him. His knees threatened to buckle beneath Abby’s relentless rhythm, but Abby held him firm, his grip ironclad.

With each brutal thrust, Abby drove deeper, his cock hitting places inside Romance that made his whole body tremble with a mixture of pain and overwhelming pleasure. 

The sound of their skin slapping, mingled with Romance’s gasps and Abby’s growls, filled the room with raw urgency.

Abby’s hand left Romance’s hip to find his cock, stroking roughly in time with his thrusts, the friction scorching. Romance’s legs shook, body curling tighter around Abby’s, muscles tightening as the coil in his gut wound tighter and tighter.

“Say it,” Abby demanded, voice rough but charged with care. “Tell me whose you are.”

Romance’s voice broke through the haze, shaky but full of surrender. “Yours.”

“Good boy,” Abby whispered, voice ragged as he pounded into Romance with frantic, desperate energy. 

Their bodies moved together in perfect, fierce rhythm, each thrust harder and faster than the last, chasing a release that burned hotter with every second.

Romance’s cries torn from deep in his throat, every nerve alive as he shattered with a broken moan, his release splashing against the door, muscles clenching hard around Abby. The sensation ripped through Abby as well, driving him over the edge with a guttural groan, his own climax pulsing deep inside Romance.

Still buried, Abby held Romance close, their bodies slick with sweat, breaths mingling in ragged gasps. The pounding slowed, then stopped, leaving only the sound of their heavy breathing and racing hearts.

After a long moment, Abby softened, pulling back gently and turning Romance to face him. The fierce edge in his eyes melted away as he cupped Romance’s face, thumb stroking his cheek with tender care.

“I’m sorry,” Abby whispered, voice thick with regret and love. “I got carried away. You didn’t deserve to be pushed that hard.”

Romance’s body was still trembling, but the tension slowly eased as Abby lifted him effortlessly into his arms, settling him sideways in his lap. Abby wrapped the worn quilt around them both, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles along Romance’s skin.

“You’re safe,” Abby murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Romance’s temple. 

“I would never hurt you on purpose. You’re my good boy, and I’ll always take care of you.”

Romance’s eyes fluttered closed as Abby’s hand stroked his hair, the steady rhythm of the touch grounding him. 

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” Romance whispered, voice small.

Abby shook his head, pressing another kiss to Romance’s temple. “It’s okay, Sweet boy. Just promise there’ll be no more running. No more hiding. We face everything together. You mean too much to me.”

He rocked them gently, humming a low, calming melody as Romance melted into the warmth of Abby’s embrace. The fierce lesson faded into quiet comfort, the storm passing to leave only love, care, and the steady promise of protection.

Chapter Text

Backstage was a cramped, dimly lit space cluttered with props and loose cables, the only light a faint glow from a flickering overhead bulb. The faint scent of sweat and dust hung in the air, a stark contrast to the heated, desperate moment unfolding in the shadows behind the main curtain.

Romance’s back was pressed firmly against the cold, rough wooden paneling of a set wall. He could feel the warped texture beneath his thin shirt, grounding him against the burning heat of Abby’s body pressed against his front. 

Abby’s mouth claimed his with urgent insistence, stealing his breath away and replacing it with the sharp taste of mint.

Abby’s hand traced from Romance’s jaw down his neck and chest, pausing only when his palm settled possessively over the denim stretched tight against Romance’s groin. 

Romance gasped into the kiss, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily.

“Someone’s eager,” Abby murmured, his voice a low rumble that resonated deep inside Romance. 

Without waiting for a response, Abby’s fingers deftly undid the button and zipper. The cool backstage air brushed against Romance’s heated skin, causing a shiver that quickly turned into a full-body tremor as Abby’s warm hand slipped inside his boxers, grasping him firmly.

“Fuck, Abby,” Romance breathed out, his head falling back against the set wall with a soft thud.

“Quiet,” Abby whispered close to his ear, breath hot and urgent. 

His hand began a slow, torturous stroke that had Romance biting his lip to stifle any sound. “You want the crew or the stage manager to hear what a desperate little slut you are? To catch you like this? Getting off backstage?”

The raw, harsh words ignited a fresh surge of pleasure. Romance loved the contrast of Abby’s filthy language and skilled hands. He moaned low and ragged.

Abby’s grip tightened. “That’s it. You love it, don’t you? My filthy little cock slut. Made for this. To take what I give you.” 

Suddenly dropping to his knees, the sound of his knees cracking against the wooden floor echoed faintly. Romance’s world tilted at the sight of Abby kneeling there, his face gleaming in the dim light, almost undoing him then and there.

Abby wasted no time. He took Romance fully into his mouth, a deep, smooth descent that sent stars spinning behind Romance’s eyes. His mouth was a furnace—wet, perfect, his tongue exploring sinfully along the sensitive underside.

Romance’s fingers clawed at the wooden panel behind him, seeking something to hold onto as white-hot pleasure overwhelmed his senses. Abby’s head moved with unrelenting rhythm, one hand cupping and gently squeezing while the other steadied Romance’s hip, pinning him in place.

A sudden noise—a door creaking open somewhere near the stage exit—cut through the tension. The glow from the hallway spilled into the backstage area, a sharp reminder of the risk. The danger coiled tight in Romance’s gut, a mixture of panic and adrenaline that somehow made Abby’s mouth feel even more electric.

Abby pulled off with a wet pop, a thin thread of saliva connecting his lips to the glistening tip. His eyes, dark and intent, locked onto Romance’s.

“Do you jerk off in your lonely little dressing room, thinking about this? Or dream of getting on your knees for me? I bet you do, my perfect, beautiful fucking whore.”

Without waiting, Abby dove back down, taking him deeper until the head nudged the back of his throat. Romance choked back a sob, fingers tangling in Abby’s hair, holding on without pushing. The sensation was overwhelming—suction, heat, the thrilling edge of gagging just held at bay by Abby’s skillful control.

Abby moaned around him, the vibration traveling straight up Romance’s spine. He’s enjoying this, Romance thought deliriously. He loves it. The thought made him throb in Abby’s mouth.

“You taste so good,” Abby growled as he came up for air, nuzzling the inside of Romance’s thigh, stubble scratching deliciously. 

“Mine. All fucking mine. You take me so well. Such a good boy.” His hand resumed stroking in sync with his tongue flicking over the leaking tip.

The praise, rough and filthy, unlocked the final surge. Romance’s orgasm built like a tsunami in his stomach, inevitable and overwhelming. His thighs trembled. 

“Abby… I’m… I’m gonna…”

“Look at me,” Abby commanded, voice sharp and certain.

Romance forced his eyes open, meeting Abby’s fierce gaze. Abby’s lips were swollen, chin glistening. Without breaking eye contact, he took Romance in again, swallowing deep—and that was it.

Romance came with a silent, shattered cry, his body seizing as waves of bliss tore through every nerve ending. Abby took it all, throat working steadily, eyes fixed on him. That fierce connection made the climax endless, waves of pleasure rolling through him.

Spent, Romance slumped back against the wall. Abby rose smoothly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied smirk on his lips. He leaned back in, trapping Romance once more against the wooden panel.

“See?” he whispered, voice rough with pride. 

“I told you, you were born for it.”

Before Romance could respond, a sharp metallic screech echoed nearby—wheels on the stage floor. A door to the hallway swung open, flooding the backstage with bright white light and the murmur of approaching voices.

Abby stiffened, smirk gone, replaced by alertness sharp as a blade. He pressed himself flush against Romance, both melting into a single dark shape in the shadows.

The voices grew louder—two people laughing, stepping closer.

Abby’s lips brushed Romance’s ear, whispering just above the pounding of his heart.

“Don’t. Move.”

Chapter Text

The orange moon, a bruised fruit in the perpetual twilight, cast long, skeletal shadows across the twisted iron gates of Halloween Town. Romance, his long pink hair a silken cascade against his shoulders, watched the final, riotous burst of fireworks erupt over the town square. A sigh, barely a whisper, escaped his lips.

“Another year. Another fright.” His voice, a low hum, carried on the crisp, autumn air. “Is that all there is?”

A rustle of dried leaves, then Abby emerged from the shadows of the graveyard, his magenta hair a vibrant shock against the gloom. He moved with a quiet grace, his towering frame a familiar comfort. A small, carefully stitched sack dangled from his hand.

“You’re not celebrating, Romance?” Abby’s voice, a deep, resonant tone, held a gentle inquiry. “The townsfolk are still reeling from your grand entrance.”

Romance turned, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Oh, they loved it, didn’t they? The shrieks, the delightful terror. It was… perfect.” He gestured vaguely towards the distant sounds of lingering revelry. “But perfect grows… predictable.”

Abby offered him the sack. “I brought you a pumpkin fritter. Freshly baked. I added a touch of nightshade for that extra kick.”

Romance took it, his fingers brushing Abby’s. A shiver, not of cold, but of something else, traced its way down his spine. “You always know just what I need, Abby.” He bit into the fritter, the sweetness and subtle bitterness a familiar comfort. “But my soul, dear friend, hungers for something new.”

“New?” Abby tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. “Halloween is our purpose. Our artistry.”

“And I have mastered it,” Romance replied, a hint of melancholy in his tone. “Every scream, every shadow, every intricate spiderweb. I’ve woven them all. But the tapestry feels… complete. Finished.” 

He looked out over the town again, his eyes searching the horizon for something unseen. “There must be more than just this cycle of fright and delight.”

“Perhaps there is,” Abby murmured, his gaze following Romance’s. “The world is vast, Romance. Full of things we haven’t yet imagined.”

“Imagine with me, then,” Romance urged, turning to face Abby fully. “Imagine a world where the air smells of something other than rot and decay. Where the colors aren’t just muted grays and oranges.”

“That sounds… intriguing,” Abby allowed, a small smile touching his lips. “But also, perhaps, a little frightening.”

“Frightening?” Romance chuckled, a soft, melodic sound. “That’s our métier, isn’t it? To embrace the unknown.” He took another bite of the fritter, then his eyes widened. “This nightshade… it’s particularly potent tonight, isn’t it?”

“Just a little,” Abby confirmed, his voice a low rumble. “Thought you might appreciate the extra… vividness.”

Romance felt a strange pull, a shimmering distortion at the edges of his vision. “Vividness, indeed. It feels like… the very fabric of reality is thinning.” He looked at Abby, a playful glint in his eyes. “Are you trying to send me on a journey, Abby?”

“Only if you’re ready to go,” Abby replied, his smile widening. “Sometimes, a little push is all it takes to find a new path.”

Romance felt an irresistible urge to follow the strange, shimmering light that now pulsed just beyond the graveyard gates. “Then a journey I shall embark upon!” He threw the half-eaten fritter playfully at Abby, who caught it with practiced ease. “Wish me luck, my dear Abby. I shall return with tales to chill your very bones!”

“I’ll be waiting,” Abby said, his voice soft, as Romance, drawn by an invisible force, stepped through the shimmering veil and vanished.

Romance stumbled, landing amidst a swirl of blinding white. “What in the…?” He blinked, rubbing his eyes. The air here was sharp, cold, and smelled of pine and something sweet, like gingerbread. “Abby, are you there?” He called out, his voice swallowed by the vast, silent expanse.

He looked around. Everything was soft, rounded, covered in a pristine white blanket. Twinkling lights, not the eerie glow of ghoul-lanterns, but warm, golden sparks, adorned strange, conical trees. “This is… utterly unlike anything I’ve ever seen.” He reached out, touching a snowflake that melted instantly on his finger. “It’s cold. And beautiful.”

A small, round, red creature, with a white beard and a booming laugh, suddenly zipped past him on a sled pulled by flying reindeer. “Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!”

Romance stared, mouth agape. “Merry… what now?” He watched the creature disappear into the distance. “This is a truly perplexing place. No screams, no shadows, just… cheer?” He shivered, pulling his long hair tighter around him. “It’s so… bright.”

He spent what felt like hours wandering, observing. He saw children, not cowering in delightful terror, but giggling with unadulterated joy as they opened brightly wrapped packages. He saw families gathered, singing songs that were oddly harmonious, not discordant wails.

“They call it ‘Christmas’,” he murmured to himself, picking up a discarded candy cane. “And they speak of a ‘Santa Claus’ who brings gifts.” He sniffed the candy cane. “It smells of peppermint. And… happiness.”

He felt a strange stirring within him, a curious excitement that eclipsed his usual Halloween thrill. “This is it! This is the new thing!” He held the candy cane aloft. “A whole world, waiting to be explored! A whole new way to… to bring joy!”

He knew he had to return to Halloween Town, to share this discovery. He had to tell Abby. He had to tell everyone! He found the shimmering portal again, the edges of his world calling him back. He stepped through, his head buzzing with new ideas, his heart alight with an unfamiliar warmth.

He burst back into Halloween Town, the familiar gloom now seeming dull and uninspired. “Abby! Where are you?” He practically vibrated with excitement.

Abby, who had been tending to his nightshade garden, looked up, his magenta hair catching the faint moonlight. “Romance! You’re back. You look… different.”

“Different? I’m transformed, Abby! Transformed!” Romance practically danced towards him. “I’ve seen it! A world beyond our wildest imaginings! A world of… Christmas!”

Abby slowly rose, his tall frame unhurried. “Christmas?” He repeated the word, tasting it. “What is ‘Christmas’?”

“It’s… it’s wonderful, Abby! It’s all about joy and gifts and flying reindeer and a big, red man who delivers presents!” Romance’s words tumbled out in a rush. “And snow! So much snow! And lights! Bright, warm lights!”

“No screams?” Abby asked, a hint of concern in his voice. “No delightful frights?”

“None!” Romance declared, throwing his hands wide. “Just… pure, unadulterated happiness! And I’m going to bring it here! To Halloween Town!” He grabbed Abby’s hands, his eyes sparkling. “We’ll make Christmas our own, Abby! We’ll make it even better!”

Abby looked at their joined hands, then up at Romance’s eager face. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his features. “Romance, are you sure this is a good idea? We are creatures of Halloween.”

“And we shall be creatures of Christmas too!” Romance insisted, pulling Abby into a spontaneous, twirling dance. “Imagine, Abby! Jack-o’-lanterns filled with candy canes! Ghosts singing carols! Skeletons riding sleighs!”

“Skeletons riding sleighs,” Abby echoed, a faint smile playing on his lips. “It certainly is… a vision.”

“A glorious vision!” Romance released Abby’s hands, pacing excitedly. “I need to tell everyone! We must prepare! We must understand this ‘Christmas’ fully!”

The entire town gathered, a motley collection of ghouls, goblins, and monsters, their faces a mixture of confusion and curiosity as Romance stood before them, a crude drawing of Santa Claus in his hand.

“My dear friends! My beloved fright-makers!” Romance’s voice boomed, full of a newfound fervor. “I have seen the future! And it is… Christmas!”

A low murmur rippled through the crowd. A vampire bat fluttered closer. “Christmas? What’s that, Romance?”

“It’s a holiday of joy!” Romance explained, holding up his drawing. “And this, my friends, is ‘Sandy Claws’!”

A zombie scratched his rotting head. “He looks… plump. And not at all scary.”

“That’s the beauty of it!” Romance exclaimed. “He brings gifts! To all the good little boys and girls!”

A witch cackled. “Gifts? What kind of gifts? Severed heads? Petrified eyeballs?”

“No, no!” Romance waved his hands dismissively. “Toys! And candy! And… and warmth!” He looked at Abby, who stood quietly at the edge of the crowd, his expression thoughtful. “Abby, tell them about the snow!”

Abby stepped forward, his voice calm amidst the rising chatter. “It’s a soft, white substance that falls from the sky. It covers everything in a pristine blanket. It’s… quite beautiful, in its own way.”

“See?” Romance beamed. “Beautiful! And we’re going to make our own Christmas! We’re going to take over! We’re going to bring Christmas to the world, Halloween style!”

The town buzzed with a mix of excitement and bewilderment. They trusted Romance, of course. He was their leader, their inspiration. But Christmas? It was so… foreign.

Over the next few weeks, Halloween Town transformed. Romance, consumed by his new obsession, directed the entire operation. He gathered the townsfolk in the town hall, where he tried to explain the essence of Christmas.

“It’s about spreading cheer!” Romance declared, holding up a small, hand-knitted stocking. “And these are for presents!”

A ghoul, attempting to knit, entangled himself in yarn. “Cheer? What kind of cheer? The kind where you jump out from behind a tombstone and make someone shriek?”

“No, not that kind of cheer,” Romance sighed, running a hand through his pink hair. “The kind where you feel warm inside. Like… like a fresh coffin on a cold night.”

“Oh, I know that feeling!” a skeleton chimed in.

Abby watched Romance, his magenta eyes filled with a quiet concern. He saw the fire in Romance’s eyes, the unbridled enthusiasm. But he also saw the subtle misinterpretations, the Halloween filter through which Romance viewed this new holiday.

“Romance, perhaps we should try to understand ‘Christmas’ a little more deeply,” Abby suggested one evening, finding Romance surrounded by blueprints for a sleigh made of bones.

“Understand it? I am understanding it, Abby!” Romance looked up, his eyes bright. “It’s about giving! About spreading happiness!” He held up a drawing of a toy. “This is a ‘teddy bear’! And we’ll make them terrifyingly cute!”

“Terrifyingly cute?” Abby raised an eyebrow. “Is that truly the spirit of Christmas?”

“It’s the spirit of Halloween-Christmas!” Romance corrected, a playful glint in his eyes. “We’re putting our own spin on it, Abby. Making it unique!” He gestured to the bone-sleigh. “What do you think? Will it fly?”

“With enough effort, I suppose anything can fly,” Abby mused. “But Romance, I worry. Your vision of Christmas… it’s still very much our vision.”

And what’s wrong with that?” Romance challenged, a touch of defensiveness in his voice. “We’re the masters of fright! Imagine the joy of being surprised by a gift that also makes you scream just a little!”

Abby sighed, a soft sound. “I just… I wish you wouldn’t lose yourself so completely in this, Romance. We have our own traditions. Our own beauty.”

“And we’ll simply add to it!” Romance insisted, his excitement undimmed. “This is not replacing Halloween, Abby. It’s expanding it! Making it grander!” He reached out, taking Abby’s hand. “Won’t you help me, truly? I need your meticulous eye for detail. Your touch for the unexpected.”

Abby looked into Romance’s earnest eyes. How could he refuse? “Of course, Romance. I’ll help you. I always do.” He squeezed Romance’s hand gently. “But please, promise me you won’t forget who you are.”

“Forget? Never!” Romance laughed, pulling Abby closer. “I’m Romance, the Pumpkin King! And soon, the Christmas King too!”

The preparations escalated. The town buzzed with frantic activity. Abby, ever the pragmatist, found himself trying to temper Romance’s more outlandish ideas, often with little success.

“Romance, are you sure these shrunken heads are appropriate for ‘stocking stuffers’?” Abby asked, holding up a rather gruesome, but beautifully preserved, specimen.

Romance examined it. “Perfect! It’s a talking head! Imagine the delight! ‘Merry Christmas, little one! Don’t forget to brush your teeth!’” He mimicked a high-pitched, raspy voice.

Abby pinched the bridge of his nose. “Romance, the children in Christmas Town are accustomed to plush toys and candy. Not… conversational severed heads.”

“They’ll love it!” Romance insisted. “It’s unique! It’s memorable!” He turned to a group of goblins struggling to paint a toy train. “Faster, you laggards! These trains need more fangs! More claws!”

Abby watched the chaos, a knot tightening in his stomach. He saw Romance’s passion, his absolute belief in this new venture. But he also saw the growing disparity between Romance’s intentions and the inevitable outcome.

One evening, as the moon hung low and heavy, Abby found Romance on the highest peak of the graveyard, gazing up at the stars. He carried two mugs of warm, spiced pumpkin broth.

“You’ve been working tirelessly, Romance,” Abby said, offering him a mug. “You should rest.”

Romance took the mug, his fingers brushing Abby’s. “Rest? How can I rest when Christmas awaits? When joy needs spreading?” He sipped the broth, a contented sigh escaping him. “This is perfect, Abby. As always.”

“Your enthusiasm is infectious,” Abby admitted, sipping his own broth. “But… are you truly happy with the way things are progressing? The toys… they’re a little more frightful than festive.”

“That’s our unique touch!” Romance declared. “We’re putting our Halloween twist on it! Imagine the children’s faces! A delightful mix of surprise and terror!”

“I’m imagining it, Romance,” Abby said softly. “And I’m not sure it’s what ‘Sandy Claws’ would want.”

Romance turned, a frown creasing his brow. “What are you saying, Abby? Are you doubting me?”

“I’m just… worried,” Abby confessed, his gaze unwavering. “You’re so focused on the idea of Christmas, you’re not seeing the reality of what we’re creating. It’s not Christmas, Romance. It’s… something else.”

“It’s better!” Romance insisted, a sudden edge in his voice. “It’s our Christmas! A Christmas that truly makes an impact!” He stood, his pink hair flowing around him like a silken cape. “And I need you to believe in me, Abby. More than anyone else.”

Abby remained silent for a moment, the weight of Romance’s words hanging in the air. “I believe in you, Romance. Always. But I worry about this path you’ve chosen. It feels… off-kilter.”

“It feels exhilarating!” Romance countered, his voice brimming with conviction. “It feels like destiny! And I won’t let anyone stand in my way, Abby. Not even you.”

Abby felt a pang in his chest. “I would never stand in your way, Romance. I would only… guide you. If you would let me.”

Romance looked at him, his initial defensiveness softening. He reached out, gently touching Abby’s cheek. “My dearest Abby. Your concern touches me. But I must do this. I must see this through. For the first time in a long time, I feel truly alive.”

Abby leaned into the touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “Then I will support you, Romance. With every fiber of my being. Just… be careful.”

The night before Christmas Eve, Romance stood before the assembled townsfolk, his Christmas suit, complete with a long, flowing pink cape, a dazzling sight. He had a sack full of the Halloween-Christmas toys slung over his shoulder.

“My friends! The moment has arrived!” Romance announced, his voice filled with triumphant joy. “Tonight, we bring Christmas to the world! Tonight, we show them the true meaning of frightful delight!”

The townsfolk cheered, their monstrous faces alight with anticipation. The skeleton reindeer, their bones clattering, were harnessed to the bone-sleigh. 

Abby stepped forward, a small, worried frown on his face. “Romance, are you certain about this? About… ‘Sandy Claws’?”

“He’s resting!” Romance waved a dismissive hand. “He needs a break! I’m taking over for one year. Just one year!” He pulled a long, white beard from his pocket, affixing it to his chin. “How do I look? Jolly enough?”

Abby looked at the beard, then at Romance’s eager face. “You look… like ‘Sandy Claws’, Romance.” He swallowed. “Be careful out there. The world… it might not be ready for our kind of Christmas.”

“Nonsense!” Romance laughed, a booming, Santa-like sound he’d been practicing. “They’ll adore it! Everyone loves a good scare, don’t they?” He stepped into the sleigh. “To the skies, my skeletal steeds! To Christmas!”

With a creak of bones and a whoosh of wind, the sleigh lifted into the air, carrying Romance and his macabre gifts into the stormy night. Abby watched him go, a profound sense of unease settling in his heart.

The reports started trickling in almost immediately. Not from the grateful recipients of gifts, but from terrified parents, screaming children, and bewildered authorities.

A monster under the bed, not a teddy bear. A vampire doll that bit. A shrunken head that offered unsolicited, unsettling advice.

“The news channels are calling it a ‘Christmas nightmare’,” a bat creature reported, flapping frantically. “They’re saying ‘Santa Claus has gone mad!”

Abby paced the town square, his tall frame radiating anxiety. “Oh, Romance. What have you done?” He looked up at the stormy sky. 

Suddenly, a massive explosion rocked the town. A fiery streak plummeted from the sky, crashing into the graveyard.

“He’s been shot down!” a ghost shrieked. “They shot down ‘the Pumpkin King’!”

Abby’s heart leaped into his throat. He ran towards the crash site, dread consuming him. He found Romance amidst the wreckage of the bone-sleigh, his Christmas suit torn, his pink hair singed. He lay motionless amongst the twisted metal and broken toys.

“Romance!” Abby dropped to his knees, his hands trembling as he gently touched Romance’s face. “Are you alright? Say something!”

Romance stirred, groaning softly. He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze unfocused. “Abby? What… what happened?”

“You crashed, Romance,” Abby said, relief flooding him at the sound of Romance’s voice. “They shot you down. They thought you were… a menace.”

Romance slowly sat up, a dazed look on his face. He looked at the shattered remains of his Christmas dream, the grotesque toys scattered around him. “A menace? But… I was bringing them joy.”

“Your kind of joy, Romance,” Abby said softly, helping him to his feet. “Not theirs.”

Romance walked through the wreckage, picking up a burnt teddy bear with sharp teeth. He looked at it, then at his torn suit, then at the distant lights of Halloween Town, now seeming so comforting.

“It was a disaster, wasn’t it?” Romance’s voice was barely a whisper, devoid of its usual vibrancy. “My grand plan. My glorious Christmas.” He dropped the teddy bear. “I failed, Abby. I failed utterly.”

Abby stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Romance’s shoulders. “No, Romance. You didn’t fail. You simply… misunderstood.”

Romance leaned into Abby’s embrace, the warmth of it a small comfort against the cold sting of his disappointment. “I thought I knew what joy was. What happiness was. But I just… I made them afraid.”

“You made them afraid in the wrong way,” Abby corrected gently. “Our fright is a playful fright, Romance. A thrilling, delightful scare. Their fear was… real. And unwelcome.”

Romance sighed, a deep, shuddering breath. “All this time… all this effort… for nothing.” He looked up at Abby, his eyes filled with a raw vulnerability. “What do I do now, Abby? I don’t know how to be the Pumpkin King anymore. Not after this.”

Abby held him tighter. “You are the Pumpkin King, Romance. You always have been. And you always will be. You just… needed a reminder of what truly makes you special.”

Romance looked around at the familiar graveyard, the crooked tombstones, the whispering wind. It suddenly felt like home again. “It’s… it’s good to be back, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Abby confirmed, a gentle smile gracing his lips. 

Romance nodded, a flicker of his old self returning. “Thank you, Abby. For always being there. For always seeing through my… my follies.”

Abby just squeezed his shoulder. “That’s what friends are for, Romance. And… more.”

The town worked quickly to undo the damage of Christmas. The grotesque toys were reabsorbed, the Christmas decorations replaced with their familiar Halloween counterparts. The air once again smelled of pumpkin and decay, a scent that now felt wonderfully familiar.

Romance stood on the highest peak of the graveyard, the orange moon once again a friendly presence in the sky. Abby joined him, bringing two mugs of warm, spiced pumpkin broth.

“It’s quiet now,” Romance observed, a peaceful smile on his face. “A good, familiar quiet.”

“It is,” Abby agreed, handing him a mug. “The townsfolk are already planning next year’s fright night. They missed you, Romance.”

Romance sipped his broth, the warmth spreading through him. “I missed them too. I missed… us.” He looked at Abby, his gaze lingering. “I missed you, most of all.”

Abby’s magenta eyes met Romance’s. “I was here, Romance. Always.”

“I know,” Romance said softly. “And I’m so grateful for that.” He reached out, gently cupping Abby’s face in his hands. “All this time, searching for something new, something grander… and the greatest joy was right here, wasn’t it?”

Abby leaned into the touch, a soft sigh escaping him. “Perhaps it was, Romance. Sometimes, the most extraordinary things are found in the most familiar places.”

Romance’s thumb traced the line of Abby’s jaw. “I spent so long trying to replicate joy, to create it. But with you, Abby… it just is.”

Abby’s smile was gentle, filled with an unspoken understanding. “And with you, Romance, life is never dull. Even when it’s a little… chaotic.”

Romance chuckled, a low, melodic sound. “Chaotic, perhaps. But always with you.” He leaned in, his pink hair mingling with Abby’s magenta. “My dearest Abby. My anchor. Perhaps we are truly meant to be.”

Abby closed his eyes, savoring the moment. “And you, my Romance. My heart. My beautiful, chaotic Pumpkin King are truly right.” 

Romance’s lips met Abby’s, a soft, tender kiss under the Halloween moon. It was a kiss that spoke of understanding, of forgiveness, and of a love that had always been there, waiting to be truly seen. The air, crisp and cool, carried the scent of nightshade and pumpkin, a perfect blend of their world, their home. And for the first time in a long time, Romance felt truly, completely content. He was home, with his heart, exactly where he belonged.