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.”