Chapter 1: The Bet That Burned
Seunghoon adjusted the frilly maid outfit, the black lace scratching against his toned thighs as he shot Byeongju a glare sharp enough to cut glass. 'This is humiliating. I look like a discount burlesque act,' he growled, arms crossed over the tight bodice that barely contained his broad chest. The skirt flared just enough to tease the edge of his boxers underneath, and he hated how much he noticed Byeongju’s eyes lingering.
Byeongju, sprawled on the couch in his apartment, smirked, a beer in hand. 'Hey, a bet’s a bet, soldier. You lost the pole dance challenge fair and square. And honestly? You’re rocking that outfit. Makes me wanna subscribe to your channel myself.' His voice dripped with mockery, but there was a heat in his gaze that hadn’t been there during their YouTube shoot earlier.
Seunghoon scoffed, stepping closer, the cheap stilettos clicking on the hardwood floor. 'Keep talking, hotshot. I could still kick your ass in this getup. Don’t test me.' But even as he said it, his pulse quickened. The air between them was charged, electric, like the moment before a mission when adrenaline spiked and every sense sharpened. How the hell had a dumb prank turned into… whatever this was?
Byeongju set the beer down, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. 'Oh, I’m testing you alright. Question is, are you gonna keep bitching, or are you gonna show me what those hips can do off the pole?' His grin was all challenge, but his eyes—damn, those eyes—were hungry, raking over Seunghoon like he was a prize to be claimed.
Seunghoon’s jaw tightened, but a smirk tugged at his lips. He wasn’t about to back down. Never had, never would. 'You’re playing a dangerous game, Byeongju. You sure you can handle me?' He stepped even closer, towering over the other man, the skirt swishing with the movement. He could feel the heat radiating off Byeongju, could smell the faint musk of his cologne mixed with the beer on his breath.
Byeongju stood, closing the last inch of space between them, his chest brushing against the lace of Seunghoon’s outfit. 'Handle you? Babe, I’m about to wreck you.' His voice dropped low, rough, and before Seunghoon could fire back, Byeongju’s hand gripped the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was sloppy, desperate, teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance, like they were still sparring, still proving who was tougher.
Seunghoon growled into the kiss, his hands fisting in Byeongju’s shirt, yanking him closer. 'You’re such a cocky bastard,' he muttered against his lips, but there was no venom, just raw, unfiltered want. He could feel Byeongju’s smirk, could feel the hard press of him through their clothes, and it lit a fire in his gut he hadn’t expected. How had they gone from laughing on a pole to this—panting, sweating, and clawing at each other on a couch?
Byeongju’s hands slid down, gripping Seunghoon’s ass through the flimsy skirt, squeezing hard. 'And you’re a tease in that outfit. Gonna make you beg for it,' he rasped, his breath hot against Seunghoon’s ear. Seunghoon laughed, sharp and biting, shoving Byeongju back onto the couch and straddling him in one fluid move.
'Beg? Dream on. I don’t beg for anyone,' Seunghoon shot back, grinding down just enough to make Byeongju groan, his eyes darkening with lust. The tension was unbearable now, the room thick with it, and as their mouths crashed together again, hands roaming and fabric tearing, it was clear neither of them was backing down tonight.
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