The Idol Wants One Exception to the No-Dating Rule novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Garage Level B3

In the dark parking garage, adrenaline and one forbidden question turn into the first kiss and a hand between them.

Ha-jun's face was pressed against Seung-ho's thigh, and the van was moving fast.

"Left," Seung-ho told the driver. "Then straight into the Seongsu Prime garage. Don't slow down."

The flashes stopped after two turns.

Nobody spoke until the van rolled down the ramp to the third basement level and stopped in a corner behind a concrete pillar.

"Go home," Seung-ho told the driver. "I'll park it myself."

The driver looked at them in the mirror and got out without a word.

His footsteps faded toward the elevator.

The garage lights hummed.

The van's windows were tinted black, and Seung-ho clicked off the dome light with his thumb.

Then there was only the dark and the sound of two men breathing.

Ha-jun sat up slowly, because Seung-ho's hand was still on the back of his head.

"Was that a fan?" he asked.

"Fans don't use long lenses on a moving car."

"Did it catch us?"

"It caught a silhouette. Your head down, my hand on it."

"That could look like anything."

"That could look exactly like what it is," Seung-ho said.

He took his hand away.

His glasses caught a little of the garage light, and Ha-jun couldn't read his eyes at all.

"What is it?" Ha-jun said.

Seung-ho didn't answer.

Ha-jun's heart was still pounding from the flash.

The air in the van was warm and smelled like Seung-ho's soap.

"You grabbed my wrist," Ha-jun said. "You looked at my mouth."

"You were reaching for a phone."

"I wasn't. I wanted to see what you'd do."

"Then you've seen."

"I've seen you look at my mouth."

"Ha-jun-ssi."

"Say it again."

"Sit back in your seat."

Ha-jun didn't sit back.

He climbed over the center console in one smooth dancer's move.

He settled onto Seung-ho's lap with a knee on either side of his hips.

The seat creaked.

Seung-ho's hands came up and caught Ha-jun's hips, hard, to stop him.

They didn't push him off.

"Get off," Seung-ho said, very low.

"Say it like you mean it."

"I'm your manager."

"And I'm asking you to kiss me."

Ha-jun leaned in until their noses touched and Seung-ho's glasses fogged.

Seung-ho's fingers dug into his hips, and Ha-jun felt how hard the man was breathing.

Then Seung-ho made a low rough sound, took off his glasses with one hand, dropped them on the seat, and kissed him.

It was nothing Ha-jun had imagined.

It was angry and hungry and it went straight to his stomach.

Seung-ho's mouth was hot, and he kissed like a man who had been holding something shut for a long time.

Ha-jun opened for him at once.

He tasted coffee and mint, and Seung-ho's tongue slid against his own, slow and deep and sure.

Ha-jun moaned into his mouth.

The sound seemed to do something to Seung-ho, because the big hands slid from his hips to his back and hauled him closer.

Ha-jun ground down without thinking.

He felt Seung-ho's cock already hard under his suit trousers, a thick line pressed right against his own.

He rolled his hips again, and they both groaned.

"Quiet," Seung-ho said against his lips.

"There's nobody here."

"Be quiet anyway."

"Is that an order?"

"It's the second one I've given you today."

Ha-jun smiled against his mouth and obeyed.

He made no more noise, even when Seung-ho pushed up under his white tee and his big palm spread across his bare stomach.

The skin there was soft and sensitive, and Seung-ho's hand was hot, and it slid slowly up over his ribs.

A thumb brushed one nipple.

Ha-jun shook, bit his own lip, and held on to Seung-ho's shoulders.

"You've been waiting for this since this morning," Seung-ho murmured.

"Since ten past nine. You didn't smile at me once."

"I don't smile at idols."

"What do you do to them?"

Seung-ho's answer was to undo Ha-jun's belt with one hand.

He did it with a rough easy skill, and he opened the button, drew the zipper down, and pushed his hand inside the black jeans.

His palm closed around Ha-jun's cock through his underwear.

Ha-jun's head fell forward onto his shoulder.

"Oh, fuck."

"Quiet," Seung-ho said again.

"I can't."

"Then bite me."

Ha-jun bit down on the dark gray shoulder of Seung-ho's suit.

Seung-ho pulled him out of his underwear, and the cool garage air touched him and made him gasp.

He was hard and leaking, and Seung-ho's big hand wrapped around the whole length of him.

The first stroke was slow, and it dragged.

Ha-jun's thighs trembled on either side of Seung-ho's.

"Look at you," Seung-ho said, his voice rough. "You're already wet."

"You did that."

"I did that."

"Do it again."

Seung-ho stroked him again, with a firm twist at the head that made Ha-jun see white.

He kept at it, slow and tight, his thumb sliding through the wetness, while his other hand held Ha-jun's hip so he couldn't rock away.

Ha-jun tried to reach for his belt in return, and Seung-ho caught his wrist for the second time that day.

"No. Just you."

"I want to touch you."

"I know. Not tonight."

The order should have made him angry, and instead it lit him up from the inside.

Nobody had told him what to do in the dark in five years, and he found he liked it very much.

He let his hand drop onto Seung-ho's chest, over the heart.

It was pounding as hard as his own.

"Faster," Ha-jun begged.

"Say please."

"Please, Manager. Please."

Seung-ho stroked him faster, in firm rough pulls, and the wet sound in the quiet van was obscene.

Ha-jun bit down on his shoulder again, and the pleasure climbed his legs and gathered low in his belly.

"I'm going to," he gasped.

"Then do it. Come for me."

Ha-jun came with a choked cry into the folded cloth of Seung-ho's collar, hot and long, over Seung-ho's fist and his gray shirt.

Seung-ho held him through every pulse, and his other arm locked around Ha-jun's back.

When it ended, Ha-jun was limp and shaking against him, and Seung-ho's mouth was pressed to his temple.

"Good," Seung-ho said into his hair, so quietly it was almost not a word.

Ha-jun felt it in his knees.

Then Seung-ho lifted him off his lap and set him back on the seat, gently.

He wiped his hand on a handkerchief.

He was still hard.

Ha-jun could see the shape of it, and he looked at it and then at Seung-ho.

Seung-ho put his glasses back on.

"This did not happen," he said.

"It happened. I'm sitting in it."

"It cannot happen again."

Ha-jun grinned in the dark, wrecked and happy, with his jeans open and his hair stuck to his forehead.

"Then do it again, Manager Moon."

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