The Idol Wants One Exception to the No-Dating Rule novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Next Door

At 2 a.m. in socks, Ha-jun knocks on the manager's door and kneels where he is told.

At two in the morning, Ha-jun stood in his socks in front of door 1204 and did not knock.

He had promised himself he wouldn't come.

He had showered, lain in his bed in 1203 for three hours, and listened to the wall.

The wall was thin, and he had heard Seung-ho walking, once, from one end of the apartment to the other.

Now he stood in the hall in a gray T-shirt and sweatpants, and the door opened before he could lift his hand.

Seung-ho stood there without his jacket.

His shirt was open at the collar and his glasses were gone.

Without them his eyes were darker and tired, and they went over Ha-jun from his hair to his socks.

"Go back to bed," Seung-ho said.

"You didn't finish."

"Ha-jun-ssi."

"You were hard the whole way up in the elevator. I saw."

"That is my problem."

"I'd like it to be mine."

Seung-ho stood in the doorway for a long moment, with one hand on the frame.

The hall was empty and the camera at the far end pointed the other way.

Ha-jun watched a muscle jump in the man's jaw.

"Inside," Seung-ho said. "Don't talk."

Ha-jun went in, and the door clicked shut behind him.

The apartment was bare, with a single lamp on and a rice cooker on the counter.

There was no sofa.

There was one low bed through an open doorway, with gray sheets, and Ha-jun looked at it once and then looked away.

Seung-ho stopped in the middle of the small front room and turned to face him.

"Stand there," he said.

Ha-jun stood on the cold floor where he was told.

"I am going to tell you what to do, and you are going to do exactly that. Nothing more, and nothing sooner."

"Yes."

"That wasn't a question."

"I know," Ha-jun said, and his voice cracked a little.

"Take off your shirt."

Ha-jun pulled the gray T-shirt off over his head and dropped it.

Cold air touched his chest, and his nipples tightened.

Seung-ho looked at him for a long time.

It was not the look of a manager.

It was slow, and it traveled from his throat to his stomach and stayed on the dark line of hair below his navel.

"Good," Seung-ho said quietly.

Ha-jun's cock twitched against his sweatpants.

"Now come here."

Ha-jun crossed the floor in three steps.

Seung-ho took his chin in one big hand and turned his face up.

His thumb dragged across Ha-jun's lower lip, pressing it open.

"Kneel."

Ha-jun's knees went at once.

He hit the floor in front of him, and the cold wood bit through his sweatpants.

Looking up, he saw Seung-ho's whole body, the broad chest and the open shirt and the heavy shape pushing at the front of his trousers.

"Open my belt."

Ha-jun's hands shook.

He undid the buckle, then the button, and drew the zipper down over the thick hard line.

Seung-ho wore plain black briefs, and they were wet at the front.

Ha-jun pulled them down just enough, and Seung-ho's cock sprang out, flushed and thick, curved a little to the left.

It was bigger than he'd thought.

His mouth went dry and then, a moment later, very wet.

"Look at me," Seung-ho said.

Ha-jun looked up.

"You don't use your hands. You hold them behind your back."

Ha-jun folded his hands behind him and gripped one wrist with the other.

"Open."

He opened his mouth, and Seung-ho put the head of his cock on Ha-jun's tongue.

Ha-jun closed his lips around it.

The taste was salty and warm, and Seung-ho's hand tightened in his hair.

"Slowly," Seung-ho said, and his voice had gone rough. "Take what I give you. No more."

Ha-jun took it.

He took the head, then a little more, and he swirled his tongue under the ridge and felt the man shiver.

Seung-ho pushed in a few inches and held there.

Ha-jun's eyes watered, and his jaw ached pleasantly, and a deep, shameful pleasure spread through his whole body.

Nobody told him what to do.

For five years there had been schedules, cameras, choreography and a smile to wear.

Nobody had ever just told him where to put his mouth.

Now he knew exactly where, and what to do next, and it was the only thing on earth.

"That's it," Seung-ho said. "That's good. Breathe through your nose."

Ha-jun breathed.

Seung-ho pulled back and pushed in again, a little deeper, in a slow and steady rhythm.

The wet sound filled the quiet room.

Ha-jun moaned around him, and the vibration made Seung-ho swear under his breath.

"Don't do that," he said. "I want to last."

"Mm."

"Do it again."

Ha-jun moaned again on purpose, and Seung-ho's head tipped back.

His free hand braced against the wall behind him.

Spit ran down Ha-jun's chin and dripped on his bare chest, and he didn't care.

He was hard enough to hurt in his sweatpants, and he kept his hands behind his back because he'd been told.

Every time Seung-ho thrust, his cock hit the back of Ha-jun's tongue, and Ha-jun swallowed around the head and made the man curse.

"You were made for this," Seung-ho said, and his voice broke. "Fuck. Look at your mouth."

Ha-jun looked up with watering eyes.

He wanted to say thank you, and it made no sense, and he moaned instead.

"Touch yourself," Seung-ho said suddenly. "One hand. Only until I say."

Ha-jun let go of his wrist at once.

He pushed his hand into his sweatpants and wrapped it around his own cock, and the relief was so sharp that he almost choked.

He stroked in time with Seung-ho's thrusts.

The two rhythms matched, and Ha-jun felt the room tilt.

"Stop," Seung-ho said.

Ha-jun's hand froze.

Seung-ho pulled out of his mouth with a wet sound and bent down.

He took Ha-jun's face in both hands and looked at him, flushed and swollen-lipped, with spit on his chin.

"Why did you come to my door?" he asked.

"Because you didn't finish."

"That's not why."

Ha-jun swallowed.

"Because nobody ever tells me what to do," he said. "Not really. They tell me where to stand."

"And?"

"Nobody decides anything for me except the schedule."

Seung-ho's thumb stroked his wet cheek.

"And you want someone to?"

"I want you to."

"Say it again."

"I want you to decide for me."

Something in Seung-ho's face broke open, quick and quiet, and was shut again.

"Open your mouth," he said, much more gently. "All the way."

Ha-jun opened it.

Seung-ho fed his cock back in, deep and slow, and held the back of Ha-jun's head.

"Both hands on me now," he said. "You can touch."

Ha-jun's hands flew to his thighs and gripped the dark cloth.

He slid one up to the base of the thick shaft and stroked what his mouth couldn't reach.

He sucked hard, taking him as deep as he could, and hollowed his cheeks until Seung-ho's knees shook.

Seung-ho groaned long and low.

He fucked Ha-jun's mouth with short hard thrusts, one palm cupped against his jaw, and the sound of it was filthy and wet.

Ha-jun's own cock throbbed against the waistband.

"I'm going to come," Seung-ho said, hoarse. "Swallow it. All of it."

Ha-jun moaned his answer.

Seung-ho shuddered, his hips jerked once, and the first hot pulse hit the back of Ha-jun's tongue.

Ha-jun swallowed.

There was more, thick and bitter, and he took every drop while Seung-ho's whole body shook above him.

Seung-ho's fingers were clenched so tight in his hair that it hurt.

It was the best thing Ha-jun had ever felt.

When it was over, Seung-ho pulled out and slid a thumb across his lower lip to catch the wetness there.

He pushed the thumb into Ha-jun's mouth, and Ha-jun sucked it clean.

"Now you," Seung-ho said.

"I'll be quick."

"You'll be fast, and you'll look at me while you do it."

Ha-jun stroked himself in four hard pulls, with his eyes locked on the dark steady gaze above him.

He came with a choked sound, over his own fist and onto the floor between his knees.

Then he sagged forward and rested his forehead against Seung-ho's thigh, and the big hand settled on his hair and stayed there.

Neither spoke for a while.

The rice cooker clicked off in the kitchen.

Seung-ho lifted him up by the arms, found a towel, and wiped his face and his chest without a word.

He was careful, and it was so unexpected that Ha-jun nearly cried.

"Get some sleep," Seung-ho said at the door.

"You said it couldn't happen again."

"I said a lot of things."

Ha-jun smiled.

"Rule two," Seung-ho said, and held out his hand. "Your phone sleeps at my door at eleven. Starting tonight."

Ha-jun dug the phone out of his sweatpants pocket and put it in his hand.

Seung-ho looked at the time on the screen and almost smiled.

"It's ten past two," he said. "You're three hours late."

"Then punish me."

"Tomorrow."

Seung-ho shut the door.

Ha-jun stood in the empty hall for a long time with his mouth still tasting of him.

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