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The broth has barely cooled when the first raindrops tap on the hotpot restaurant windows, but neither of them notice.
Zhang Hao is too busy rolling his eyes while lifting a slice of marbled beef into the bubbling pot. “That’s your third tray.”
“Third tray of beef,” Hanbin corrects, unbothered, slumped comfortably in his seat. “Not including the lamb. Or the shrimp balls. Or the udon.”
“You’re a machine,” Hao mutters.
Hanbin beams, mouth full. “Thanks.”
It is warm inside the hotpot place. Their cheeks have long gone pink, half from the steam, half from the subtle kick of spice that lingered on their tongues. Hanbin’s hair clings to his forehead. Hao’s hoodie is already damp at the neck from leaning over the pot too many times.
They could’ve left earlier. But they didn’t. They’d stayed through dessert, through mindless commentary about the other tables, through a solid thirty-minute debate over which songs on Hao’s playlist were “objectively overrated.” They never seemed to know when to say goodbye.
Not when things felt like this—ambiguous but comfortable in the way that made other people think ah, they must be dating, even if neither of them had officially crossed that line.
“It’s pouring.” Hao pauses under the restaurant awning, staring at the sheet of rain blanketing the pavement in front of them.
“No shit,” Hanbin says. “When did it even start?”
“Probably while we were inhaling our fifth skewer.”
Hanbin ignores that. “Did you bring an umbrella?”
“Did you?”
Hanbin turns his pockets out like a magician performing a trick. “Ta-da.”
“Wow.” Hao lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Genius.”
“We’ll make a run for it.”
“To where? Our car’s, like, three blocks away.”
“Two and a half.”
The rain is thick now, glistening under the lamplight. It is that kind of dense, early-summer downpour that smelled like pavement and clean leaves, like heat meeting water all at once. The kind that could drench you to the skin in under a minute.
Hanbin glances at him sideways. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Do you wanna stay here all night?”
Hao opens his mouth and then closes it. He looks down at his drenched sneakers and then back at Hanbin’s face, too smug. “Fine. Let’s go.”
“Race you.”
“You’re five.”
“You’re running from your emotions.”
“And you’re running your mouth—let’s go!”
Hao takes off first into the rain after shoving his phone into his pocket with a prayer, jeans slapping wet against his thighs, shoes squeaking on the concrete.
Hanbin catches up soon, huffing laughter, arms spread for balance, shouting nonsense like “Left! No, right! Shorter alley!” until Hao shouts back, “You have no sense of direction!”
Their hair clings to their faces. Their sleeves stuck to their skin. Thunder cracks somewhere in the distance, and Hanbin whoops at the sky like it was daring him. Hao nearly slips on a puddle.
“You okay?” Hanbin shouts back.
“I’m suing you if I fall and break my tailbone!”
They make it to Hanbin's little second-hand hatchback, breathless and soaked, parked crooked under a flickering streetlamp at the edge of a quiet neighborhood block. The silver Hyundai i30 had never looked more like a lifeboat.
Hao immediately yanks open the passenger door, shaking his head like a dog. “I’m getting in—I’m freezing—”
“Wait.” Hanbin grabs his wrist. “Backseat first.”
“What?”
“You’re soaked. We’re not sitting on the front seats like this.”
“I don’t care—”
“I care,” Hanbin says, pulling him toward the rear door. “I’m not scrubbing mildew out of my upholstery for a month just because you didn’t want to towel off.”
“Towel off with what, genius?” But he lets Hanbin guide him anyway.
Hanbin pops the back door open. “We’ll sit on our jackets. Just chill for five minutes, Jesus.”
“You are so controlling,” Hao mutters, but he climbs in.
The door shuts with a soft thump, cocooning them inside.
Immediately, the sound of the rain doubles in volume. It pings against the roof like drumming fingers. The interior fogs up fast with warm breath on cold windows, two bodies dripping onto synthetic leather seats.
Hanbin twists in place to take off his jacket, laying it flat beneath him. His shirt had gone semi-transparent, clinging to his chest. Hao catches himself staring and quickly turns his head toward the window.
His own hoodie is stuck to him unpleasantly, making squelching noises when he pulls it off. “You owe me for this,” he says. “This thing was new.”
“I’ll buy you two more.”
Hao scoffs, “I don’t want your charity.”
They sit there, backs arched awkwardly to avoid squishing too hard into the sticky seats. Their knees touch again, then stay touching. Neither move away. The air between them shimmers faintly with tension, like the inside of a soap bubble.
Hao clears his throat. “So. Now what.”
“Dry off.”
Hanbin pulls his shirt away from his stomach and wrings out the edge slightly. Drops hit the car floor.
“Gods,” Hao mutters. “We’re going to turn this place into a sauna.”
“It’s already a sauna,” Hanbin replies. “Welcome to Car Hotpot 2.0.”
“You’re such an idiot.”
The silence settles in again. Outside, the thunder rolls again. The world beyond the windows blurs into smears of lamplight and rain. Inside, it is damp warmth and shared breath.
“You think we’ll get sick?” Hao asks, quieter now.
Hanbin shrugs, voice soft. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You always get sick when it rains.”
“I always get sick when you make us run in the rain.”
Hao let out a soft snort. “You’re blaming me?”
“You started running first.”
“You suggested it!” Hao throws his hands in the air incredulously.
Their eyes meet. There was something tired in Hao’s expression or maybe it was just resignation. Maybe it was the fact that every time they did this pushing and pulling, this too-close-to-admit-it limbo, it felt like they were on the verge of something and neither of them wanted to tip first.
But maybe they didn’t need to anymore. Not when Hanbin’s gaze was already lowering to his mouth, sending a jolt of electricity down Hao's spine. Not when the car was already fogging up with things unsaid.
“So,” Hanbin murmurs. “We’re soaked. Cold. In the backseat of a car parked in an alley. Kind of romantic.”
“Kind of stupid.”
“Stupid’s a kind of romance.” Hanbin beams instead, not discouraged despite Hao's dry retorts.
Hao exhales slowly. “You’re going to kiss me, aren’t you?” he asks, almost like a sigh.
Hanbin's eyes flit to Hao's lips once again. They look so soft and almost irresistible to anyone, especially a man who had harboured a crush for months “Should I not?”
Zhang Hao doesn't answer. Instead he moves, not by much but just enough to press forward, his forehead brushing against Hanbin’s, noses grazing, the breath between them folding in on itself. There’s still a moment of suspension, of quiet terror, like if they move too fast, this will snap—this taut, trembling line between friendship and something entirely irreversible.
And then Hanbin tilts his head and their lips meet.
At once, the kiss skips over the softness and hesitance of first kisses and lands directly in the middle of urgent and devouring. It’s not soft, or shy, or the kind of first kiss you tell people about. It’s a reckoning—a culmination of months of glances, half-truths, lingering touches, and late-night texts that should have ended at goodnight but didn’t. It’s the kind of kiss that comes with teeth, and groans, and hands fisting in wet shirts like they’ve both been holding back for too long.
Zhang Hao gasps against Hanbin’s lips and tries to pull back for a breath but Hanbin chases Hao's lips like a man possessed, mouth opening wider, tongue slipping past lips slick with rain and want. It’s sloppy and messy—their noses bump, Hao’s teeth catch against Hanbin’s lip, but neither pulls back. If anything, it spurs them on.
“Why did you wait this long?” Hao mutters into Hanbin’s mouth breathlessly.
Hanbin doesn’t answer. He just kisses him again, rougher this time, one hand sliding behind Hao’s neck, the other pressing flat against his thigh.
“Say something,” Hao pants. “Tell me—tell me this isn’t just the rain and being trapped in this stupid car talking.”
“It’s not,” Hanbin whispers. “It’s you talking. It’s always been you.”
Hao doesn't need any more validation than that. He immediately claws at Hanbin’s soaked shirt, yanking it up over his torso. The fabric clings and refuses to budge, so Hanbin lifts his arms to help, laughing a little between kisses that never quite stop. The shirt peels off with a wet smack and is discarded somewhere near the car floor.
“Better,” Hao says, palms flat against Hanbin’s warm, naked chest now, fingers splayed like he wants to memorize the shape of him. “So much better.”
“You too,” Hanbin rasps. “Off.”
Hao smirks against his mouth, but obeys, reaching to pull his tee over his head, shaking out his wet hair like a dog as he does. The shirt is thrown over the seat, and for a second, they both just look at each other.
Hanbin’s chest rises and falls in uneven, hungry breaths. His skin is flushed, marked in places by droplets, pink from the cheeks down to the collarbones where his unique tattoo of celestial bodies stands in sharp contrast against Hanbin's skin.
And Hao—he’s radiant. Rain-slicked, eyes lidded, lips red, collarbones sharp.
Hanbin cups his jaw and murmurs, “You’re so fucking pretty,” before dragging their mouths together again.
It’s messier now. Hanbin kisses like he’s starving, like he’ll never get another chance again. Hao kisses like he wants to be ruined. Their legs tangle awkwardly in the small space. Hanbin’s hand slips down to Hao’s hip, pulling him forward until he’s nearly straddling him across the backseat, thighs pressed tight on either side.
“Hanbin—fuck, this seat is—”
“Small?” Hanbin gasps against his mouth.
“Criminally so,” Hao laughs breathily but it quickly turns into a moan as Hanbin rolls his hips up, pressing against the unmistakable bulge in Hao’s soaked jeans.
“God—” Hao’s head drops to Hanbin’s shoulder, voice shivering. “You’ve wanted this? Wanted me?”
“Since the second week we met,” Hanbin admits, voice hoarse. “When you sat beside me in that stupid stats lecture and bit your pen for a full hour and I couldn’t focus the whole time.”
“That's an awfully long time ago,” Hao says, teeth grazing Hanbin’s jaw.
Hanbin tilts his head, lets him mouth at his neck and bite him as he pleases. “I know. And it only got worse.”
Their hands move in tandem now. Slipping over ribs, dragging down soaked skin. Hanbin’s fingers find the button of Hao’s jeans, but he hesitates. Just a breath. Just long enough to ask, quietly:
“Can I?”
Hao nods, frantic. “Yes. Yes, please—just—touch me.”
The words are a match to dry kindling. Hanbin undoes the button in a hurry, tugging the zipper down, and Hao helps shimmy out of them, half-falling back against the car door as he kicks the jeans off one leg, then the other. His underwear stays on but the outline pressing against it is undeniable.
Hanbin can’t help the low groan that tears out of his throat. “You’re—” he starts, but doesn’t finish. Instead, he just leans in and kisses Hao again. This time it’s more languid and luxurious.
Meanwhile, their hands remain busy mapping skin, their mouths moving together like they were always meant to fit. Hao’s fingers dig into Hanbin’s hair, tugging him closer until Hanbin’s gasping into his mouth, his grip on Hao's hips tightening. Their bodies move in sync—grinding, searching, chasing that high, friction growing between soaked fabric and bare skin. The windows have fogged entirely, the storm outside forgotten. The only sound is rain against metal, and breath against breath.
Hao pulls back, eyes half-lidded. “You’re so warm,” he murmurs.
Hanbin hums and kisses the corner of Hao's mouth. “Let me make you feel better.” Hanbin says it like a vow, but Hao is already laughing breathlessly as he shifts on Hanbin’s lap—shaking a little, shivering not from the cold but from how stupid this all is.
“God, I can’t believe this,” he mumbles, forehead pressed against Hanbin’s shoulder. “We had our first kiss—like five minutes ago, and now I’m half-naked in your backseat.”
Hanbin huffs, chest moving beneath Hao’s bare skin. “You’re more than half-naked, Zhang Hao.”
“And whose fault is that?” Hao grumbles, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious that Hanbin is still wearing his pants while Hao has been stripped down to just his boxers.
Hanbin lifts his head and meets Hao’s eyes, smiling at him with an expression that makes Hao feel like he’s being lit up from the inside out. “You think I’ve got any self-control left? You’ve been tormenting me for months.”
Hao exhales, voice caught between a groan and a laugh. “You’re insane.”
“I’m in love with you,” Hanbin corrects, just barely above a whisper.
That brings them both to a halt. Silence except for the sound of the rain on the roof— soft and steady, like it’s been listening all along.
“I didn’t mean to drop that now,” Hanbin says quickly, one hand resting awkwardly on Hao’s bare hip. “But I—” He breathes out, almost like a laugh. “Okay. Maybe I did. Just didn’t plan to say it while we're both half-naked and your ass is on my thighs.”
“I’ve been in love with you since before we even got close,” Hao blurts. “Since you made me that stupid honey lemon tea when I had a sore throat. Since you started sending me goodnight texts with stupid memes.”
“You never responded to those.”
“I reread all our messages every night,” Hao says. “I just didn’t want to mess things up. I thought you wanted to stay friends.”
“I did.” Hanbin swallows. “But it was so fucking hard. I couldn’t touch you the way I wanted to. Couldn’t say half the things that went through my head.”
Hao leans in until their noses brush again. “What kind of things?”
Hanbin slips his hand lower. Just enough to thumb at the waistband of Hao’s underwear. “Things like how much I wanted this.”
Hao’s eyes flutter shut. Hanbin kisses him—slow and deep this time, with so much unspoken it feels almost sacred. They melt into it, wet skin and soaked boxers forgotten. Every press of their mouths says what they’ve been dying to admit. Every slide of Hanbin’s hands down Hao’s sides says: You’re mine. I wanted you. Still want you. Always.
They break apart only when their lungs start screaming.
“I’m going to get stuck in here,” Hao groans, pulling back just enough to look around. “Your stupid car is too small for this. I have no legroom.”
“You’re sitting on me. My legs have even less space.”
“I’m almost six feet tall.”
Hanbin grins and plants a kiss on his shoulder. “I’ve noticed.”
“Not in a good way! Your knees are literally jammed against the back of your front seats and mine against the back seats!”
“It adds to the ambiance.”
“The what?”
“The desperate, car-sex ambiance,” Hanbin says, mouthing at Hao’s neck again. “We’re wet, half-naked, and doomed if anyone walks past.”
“God, don’t say that,” Hao says, but he’s laughing—breathless and slightly delirious.
Hanbin leans back just far enough to appreciate him like this—cheeks flushed, hair damp, eyes glowing like he’s never been happier in his life.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, dragging his hands up Hao’s spine. “I’ve wanted to say that since forever.”
“I knew,” Hao says, smug. “You used to stare.”
“You liked me staring.”
Hao shrugs. “I liked the attention.”
Hanbin rolls his eyes, fond and exasperated at Hao's unending confidence. “You’re so annoying.”
“And you’re too good at holding yourself back,” Hao retorts, one hand slipping down to tug at Hanbin’s unfastened jeans. “That ends now.”
Hanbin groans, hips twitching. “Please.”
But they both pause again—because pulling jeans off in a car this cramped is borderline comical.
“Okay,” Hao says, lips twitching. “You gotta lift.”
“I’m trying. There’s like an inch between your head and the ceiling.”
“I can’t bend this way. My thigh’s cramping.”
“This is the most unsexy foreplay ever.”
“Speak for yourself,” Hao mutters, struggling to tug Hanbin’s jeans down past his hips. “I’m still insanely turned on.”
“Same.” Hanbin lifts his hips again, wincing as his shoulder knocks into the window. “I might pull something doing this.”
Hao laughs but he finally manages to drag Hanbin’s jeans down enough to expose his underwear, which is already tented obscenely with need.
He pauses, gaze darkening. “Hanbin.”
“What?”
“Fuck, you’re big.”
Hanbin lets out an embarrassed chuckle. “You’re literally sitting on it. Did you just realize?”
“I was trying not to think about it,” Hao hisses, face heating up. “But now I’m thinking about it. A lot.”
Hanbin bites his lip, pupils blown wide. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to die in this car,” Hao says, looking heavenward. “Death by cock. Death by bad legroom.”
“Your funeral’s going to be so confusing.”
“Shut up and kiss me again.”
Hanbin obliges eagerly, grabbing Hao by the hips and pulling him forward until their chests press, skin against skin. Their lips meet once again. The air between them is humid, the windows fogged over completely now. There’s nowhere else in the world but here.
And then Hao’s rocking into him, grinding down slow, friction hot and unbearable through damp cotton. They groan into each other’s mouths, the back of Hanbin's head meeting the headrest of the backseat with a thump.
“You fantasized about this?” Hanbin asks, voice so wrecked it’s barely a whisper.
Hao nods, eyes squeezed shut. “Almost every night.”
“What’d you imagine?”
“Your mouth on me. Your hands. The way you’d look at me when I let you take control.”
Hanbin shivers, rolling his hips up. “I used to imagine you underneath me,” he breathes. “Begging.”
Hao keens, teeth sinking into his plush bottom lip. “Hanbin—”
“I wanted to ruin you so gently you’d cry.”
Hao whines, body shaking. “You’re—fuck, you’re so mean.”
“You’re the one grinding on me like that.”
Hao gasps, but doesn’t stop. Their underwear is drenched, sticking to their skin in all the worst and best ways. The rhythm between them is desperate now, messily synchronized. Hanbin mouths down Hao’s throat, pressing kisses to his collarbones, his chest, following the curve of skin like it’s sacred scripture.
“You were so hard to stay friends with,” he murmurs between kisses. “Every time you fell asleep on my shoulder. Every time you licked sauce off your fingers. Every time you called me Binnie in that bratty voice—”
They’re both panting now, heat and friction building between them like a slow, relentless wave. Hanbin’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of Hao’s briefs again, bolder this time, thumb dragging over damp, sensitive skin.
“Can I take these off?” he asks, voice husky.
Hao nods, breath hitching. “Yes. Please. Hanbin, please.”
He lifts his hips—but the cramped space of the backseat makes it clumsy. His knee hits the seatbelt buckle, and Hanbin huffs out a breathless laugh as he awkwardly wrangles the briefs down around Hao’s thighs, getting stuck halfway for a second.
“Shit—sorry,” Hanbin mutters, trying not to elbow Hao in the ribs as he fights the tight fabric.
“It’s fine,” Hao whispers, flushed and squirming, breath catching as Hanbin finally manages to slide them down far enough. Hanbin tries not to react too hard when Hao’s cock springs free — flushed and already leaking but his throat works and his jaw clenches. He feels himself throb at the sight.
“I need—” Hanbin breathes, and then doesn’t finish the sentence.
“Yeah?” Hao drawls, smug again, even as his chest rises and falls too quickly. “Need what, Binnie?”
Hanbin doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs Hao by the hips and pulls him close, the fabric of the car seats squeaking wetly beneath them. And just as quickly, Hao’s hands slide down to Hanbin’s waistband.
“Fair’s fair,” Hao says, breath still shaky. “Yours off too. Now.”
Hanbin exhales a laugh, more nervous than amused. “You’re really bossy, you know that?” But he lifts his hips as much as the cramped backseat allows, thighs tightening beneath Hao. It’s awkward—he bumps the door, Hao nearly slips off his lap trying to help, and they both end up breathless for all the wrong reasons for a second.
“God—okay, wait—” Hanbin mutters, shimmying his boxers down inch by inch while Hao holds onto the seat behind him for balance.
They finally manage to pull all the clothes off somehow. The fabric of his underwear pools at Hanbin’s knees, and suddenly there’s nothing between them.
Hao stills as his eyes drop and widen. “Holy shit,” he whispers, blinking.
Hanbin groans, his face burning, “Don’t say that. Not like it’s a plot twist.”
“Why not? You’re huge. I’m— I was not prepared.”
Hanbin ducks his head, flushed. “Stop staring.”
“No,” Hao says, bold now. “I’ve wanted to stare for so long.”
Hanbin looks at him then and he knows Hao means it. He’s not just saying things to fluster him. Hanbin's eyes soften. “I’ve wanted this for so long too,” Hanbin admits again, quieter.
Hao smiles and leans in to kiss him again. This one’s not frantic like before. It’s slow and earnest like a thank you, a yes, a promise. They’re pressed together now, entirely bare. Rain-slick skin against skin. Their legs tangled, knees hitting the front and backseats, hips shifting awkwardly for room. Hanbin’s hand knocks into the door again, and they both groan.
“This is such a bad place to have sex,” Hao laughs breathlessly.
Hanbin’s eyes crinkle as he kisses him again. “Top ten worst ideas of my life.”
“And yet here we are.”
“I blame you.”
“You’re the one who said we had to dry off in the backseat.”
Hanbin presses his forehead against Hao’s and groans. “I just wanted to keep you warm.”
“You’re succeeding,” Hao deadpans, then jerks slightly when their hips shift and their cocks slide against one another.
Hanbin inhales sharply. “Shit.”
“See?” Hao mutters. “Warm.”
The laughter tapers off, replaced with a tense silence. One that makes Hao’s eyes go heavy-lidded again, lips parting as Hanbin’s hand cups the back of his neck. Their foreheads are still pressed together, noses brushing.
“Can I touch you?” Hanbin asks.
“You’re already touching me.”
“I mean—” Hanbin swallows. “Like really touch. Take my time. Make you feel good.”
Hao’s breath stutters. “Yes.”
That’s all Hanbin needs. He kisses him again — mouth open. His hand moves between them, fingertips brushing the length of Hao’s cock before wrapping around both their lengths together, pressing them against one another.
Hao gasps into the kiss, hips stuttering forward.
“Fuck,” he whines. “Hanbin—”
“I’ve got you,” Hanbin whispers, pumping him slowly. “Tell me what feels good.”
“Everything.”
“Specifics.”
“Your hand,” Hao pants. “Your cock. Your mouth earlier. The way you’re looking at me. Like you want to eat me alive.”
Hanbin lets out a guttural noise, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Hao’s neck as he strokes them together — slow and rhythmic, dragging his thumb over their tip to smear the precome gathering there.
“You’re unreal,” Hanbin murmurs again, worshipful. “I want to remember all of you. How you sound. How you move. How you taste.”
Hao trembles against him, every breath catching like he’s trying not to fall apart too fast. The car creaks faintly beneath their shifting weight, metal protesting, windows fogged with the heat of them. Rain drums softly on the roof above, distant and unreal, like the world outside doesn’t matter. Hanbin wraps an arm around Hao’s waist, pulling him closer until there’s no space left, their bodies flush and slick. His hand doesn’t falter—stroking them both together with aching precision—but his other one slips up Hao’s spine, fingers splayed wide like he’s trying to memorize every inch. Hao leans into it helplessly, lips parted, eyes glazed, riding the slow, perfect friction like it’s the only thing anchoring him. He’s never been touched like this before.
“Fuck,” Hao pants, his nails digging into Hanbin’s shoulder. “Fuck, that’s—god.”
“You feel good,” Hanbin whispers into his ear, breathing hot against his skin. “You’re so warm, so hard—fuck, Hao—”
They grind against each other like that, bodies slipping and pressing, muscles tightening, lips brushing but never settling into another kiss. Hanbin’s grip tightens a little, not too much, just enough to make them both stutter, and Hao makes a sound that’s halfway between a groan and a whimper.
“If only,” Hao pants, “there was lube. Just—fuck, 'bin—”
Hanbin freezes. Hao blinks, breathless and pink, eyes flicking open to see Hanbin staring at him with a peculiar expression.
“…What.”
Hanbin coughs. “I, uh. There is.”
Hao’s brows lift, suspicious. “There’s what?”
“…Lube.” Hanbin jerks his chin toward the front seat. “Dashboard.”
Hao just blinks at him. And then, slowly, incredulously—“You’re kidding.”
Hanbin groans. “Don’t make it weird.”
“You keep lube in your car?”
“It’s not like that!” Hanbin rushes, ears visibly reddening. “I—I sometimes crash at Matt’s and forget stuff and—and also maybe I—”
Hao narrows his eyes, grin slowly forming. “Also maybe you what?”
Hanbin rubs a hand over his face. “Maybe I thought… if we ever… you know… if things went that way—”
“Oh my god.” Hao’s already laughing, head tipping back as his bare shoulders shake. “You brought lube because you thought we might hook up in your car?”
“Hope is not a crime!” Hanbin protests, hiding behind his hands.
Hao cackles, practically folding over himself, and then pushes up on his knees. “Alright, alright, desperate boy. I’ll go get your emergency supplies.”
It’s a ridiculous effort. The backseat is barely roomy enough for one of them, let alone two half-dressed, flushed men still slick with rain and arousal. Hao grunts as he folds himself over the center console, ass raised, legs splayed awkwardly across Hanbin’s lap. The steering wheel honks softly when his shoulder bumps it.
“This is a disaster,” he mutters, yanking the glove compartment open and rifling through it. “You have like—fifteen gum wrappers and no organization.”
“Less judging, more grabbing,” Hanbin grumbles. But his voice falters halfway because the view is doing things to him. Hao’s back is arched beautifully, his thighs spread just enough to tease, and Hanbin can’t stop staring at the wet curve of him.
“Found it!” Hao declares, holding up the bottle triumphantly—only to pause. “Oh?”
He reaches in again and comes out with a small foil packet between two fingers and then another. He turns around slowly, waving both the lube and two condoms at Hanbin like evidence. “So. You just happened to forget these too, huh?”
Hanbin’s face goes crimson. “They’re just… in case!”
“In case what?” Hao grins, climbing back onto Hanbin’s lap. “In case your long-time friend-with-undeniable-sexual-tension finally decided to jump you in the backseat after hotpot?”
“…Maybe.”
“You are one romantic, premeditated slut,” Hao says fondly. He places a chaste little kiss on hanbin’s pouty lips. “And lucky for you—I’m into that.”
Hanbin lowers his hands just enough to glare. “Are you done gloating?”
“Not even close,” Hao says, tossing the condom packet onto Hanbin’s chest with a smug grin. He crawls back over to settle beside him on the backseat, flushed and still a little breathless. “Now. Let’s put your overachieving to good use.”
They fumble a little as they rearrange—elbows knocking, skin sticking slightly from the heat—but neither of them cares. Between half-laughed curses and open-mouthed kisses, they manage. Hanbin helps guide Hao down, gently easing him to lie back across the seat, knees drawn up slightly, thighs parting around him with an unspoken invitation.
The smirk on Hao’s lips softens as Hanbin leans over him. His chest rises and falls quickly, eyes following every movement—no less confident, but touched now with anticipation, a quiet sort of reverence. The air in the car is thick with it, steamy and electric, fog curling over the windows like a curtain.
Hanbin slicks his fingers with lube, rubbing them together for a second to warm it up. Then he looks down at Hao, eyes dark but tender.
“Tell me if anything’s too much, yeah?”
Hao opens his mouth to make another teasing remark—but it doesn’t come. His breath stutters as Hanbin’s hand brushes the inside of his thigh, and his expression flickers and turns more vulnerable. “Hanbin… I’ll tell you.” His voice dips lower. “I want it.”
That’s all it takes. Hanbin slides one hand under Hao’s thigh, lifting and adjusting, while the other moves with reverence. His finger teases over Hao’s rim, just brushing, watching the way Hao’s breath hitches and his eyes flutter closed.
“Fuck,” Hao whispers. “Cold.”
“Sorry,” Hanbin says, but he’s smiling, and so is Hao.
He rubs in gentle circles first, letting Hao get used to it, before pressing in — slow and deliberate. Just one finger, carefully worked in, easing past tight ring of muscle with coaxing patience.
Hao gasps softly, hips twitching. “Yeah—yeah, like that.”
“You’ve done this before,” Hanbin says, not quite a question, more like wonder.
“Not in cars,” Hao mutters, laughing breathlessly. “And not with someone who looks at me like you do.”
Hanbin presses a kiss to Hao’s knee. “How do I look at you?”
“Like I’m something you’ve been starving for.”
“You are,” Hanbin whispers, working the finger in deeper now. “Been starving for you for months.”
Hao moans softly, his back arching slightly as Hanbin curls his finger inside him.
“God,” Hao pants. “Another—give me another.”
Hanbin obliges, adding a second finger with even more lube. Hao’s walls clench around him, and Hanbin stills to give him time, eyes flicking up to check.
Hao nods, breath shaky. “I’m okay. I like the stretch.”
The second finger sinks in fully. Hanbin moves them slowly, gently scissoring, pressing in deep and crooking to brush over Hao’s sweet spot and Hao gasps suddenly making Hanbin throb so hard it hurts.
“There?” Hanbin asks, blood flushing into his ears.
“Fuck—Hanbin, again—”
Hanbin kisses him as he does it again, and again, until Hao is trembling and breathless, clutching at his shoulders and murmuring half-broken curses.
“Want you,” Hao whispers into his mouth. “Want you inside me, please.”
Hanbin groans low in his throat. “You sure?”
“Do I look unsure?” Hao grinds up against his hand, messy and wrecked. “I want to feel you, Hanbin. I want everything.”
Hanbin removes his fingers gently, and Hao whines at the loss.
More lube. More fumbling. The space is too tight, their bodies sliding together, limbs tangling awkwardly, knees hitting the door and Hanbin knocking his head on the ceiling.
“This is ridiculous,” Hao pants, laughing breathlessly as Hanbin tries to maneuver between his thighs.
“We should’ve gotten a hotel.”
“We didn’t even know we were going to kiss tonight.”
Hanbin drops another quick kiss to Hao’s knee before reaching for the condom where Hao had tossed it earlier. The foil is damp from their bodies, a little crinkled, but intact. He tears it open with shaking fingers, biting down on a curse when it almost slips from his grip. Hao watches him through half-lidded eyes, flushed and still catching his breath, the earlier laughter lingering faintly at the corners of his lips.
“You're nervous,” Hao murmurs, softer now, not teasing—just noticing.
“Yeah,“ Hanbin admits with a short laugh. “Little bit.“
Once the condom’s on, Hanbin strokes over himself with a fresh dollop of lube, then shuffles lower. The backseat creaks beneath them. There’s barely enough room—his knee hits the door again, and Hao has to shift, lifting one leg up awkwardly against the window.
Somehow, through the mess of limbs and breathless anticipation, they find their rhythm. Hanbin leans over him, foreheads nearly touching.
“You ready?” he whispers.
Hao nods, lips parted. “Yeah.”
Hanbin presses in, slow and steady, lube-slick cock catching briefly before the head pops past that first tight ring of resistance. Hao hisses instantly, a sharp inhale, chest arching, hand flying to Hanbin’s bicep in a white-knuckled grip.
“操—操！” he spits in Mandarin, voice ragged.
Hanbin freezes immediately, halfway in, heart thudding. “Too much?”
Hao’s head tips back against the foggy window, eyes squeezed shut, his thighs trembling against Hanbin’s ribs. “No, no, just—fuck. It’s a stretch.”
Hanbin leans down, brushing damp hair away from Hao’s flushed face. “Sorry, sorry. I can stop—”
“Don’t you dare,” Hao grits out, eyes snapping open, glaring with a ferocity Hanbin didn't expect. “I’ve waited too long for this. Just—give me a second.”
Hanbin nods, sweat dripping down the side of his temple despite the cool air of the rain. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.” He keeps himself perfectly still, buried just an inch inside, while one hand rubs slow circles on Hao’s hip, then he drops his head into the crook of Hao’s neck and starts laughing—softly at first, then more fully, shoulders shaking.
“What?” Hao pants, still trying to breathe through the fullness. “What are you laughing at—?”
“You cursing in Mandarin,” Hanbin chuckles, voice muffled. “It’s hot. It’s so hot. But you also sounded like Ricky's mom yelling at her TV while watching survival shows.”
“Hanbin!” Hao smacks his back. Which, unfortunately, makes Hanbin’s hips jerk a little. Which, even more unfortunately, drives him just a touch deeper.
Hao yells, voice caught between pained moan and affronted gasp. “Don’t laugh inside me, you asshole!”
Hanbin is dying, wheezing into Hao’s skin. “You’re the one who hit me—”
“I wouldn’t have if you didn’t start giggling like a teenage boy—”
“Okay okay okay,” Hanbin says, still wheezing, pressing frantic kisses as apologies to Hao’s jaw, his cheek, his temple. “Sorry. Sorry. You feel so good, I got delirious.”
Hao grumbles, but it dissolves into a fond laugh too.
It takes another minute for the giggles to fade, for the sting of the stretch to settle. Hanbin’s hands are reverent the entire time, never still—thumbing over Hao’s hip, stroking his thigh, caressing the dip beneath his ribcage. He murmurs small, quiet things—you’re gorgeous, doing so well, I’ve got you—until Hao finally exhales.
“I’m good,” Hao says, voice hoarse. “You can move.”
Hanbin lifts his head, their noses brushing. “Sure?”
“Yeah. Give it to me.”
Hanbin groans softly, shifting his weight as he begins to move—just a slow, careful thrust forward, a few more inches sinking in.
“Fuck,” Hao breathes. “God, you’re big.”
“I can go slower—”
“No,” Hao gasps, “don’t. Just—fill me up. Please.”
So Hanbin does, kissing him through every push, every trembling stretch of Hao’s body giving way until he’s finally fully seated, buried to the hilt. They both stay like that for a second, panting into each other’s mouths, forehead to forehead.
It’s not just the tight fit. It’s everything. The months of lingering looks and almost-confessions. The ache of holding back, of staying ‘just friends’ when their bodies screamed otherwise. Now, with Hao wrapped around him and their legs tangled and the world outside the car completely forgotten, Hanbin feels something inside him finally click into place.
“You feel like home,” Hanbin whispers softly. Hao exhales shakily and stares up at him, his eyes glassy and lips parted. It’s as if he was robbed of any words in the moment.
Hanbin kisses him again before beginning to move. It starts slow. A lazy rut of hips, inching in and out, every drag of his cock making Hao gasp and arch, his back bumping the car door with each soft thrust.
“Gods,” Hao breathes, clinging to Hanbin’s shoulders. “Feels—so good.”
“Yeah?” Hanbin pants, voice dropping. “You take me so fucking well.”
He sets a rhythm, not fast because there isn’t enough room for that, but deep. Every stroke is timed to hit just right, dragging delicious friction over inside Hao again and again until Hao’s voice is wrecked, moaning freely in the heat-thick air. Their skin is slick, rain drying slow against heated flesh, the humidity making everything cling. The windows are long fogged over, the only light a blur of orange from the alley streetlamp outside.
Hao’s head falls back as Hanbin sucks a bruise onto his neck.
“This is so fucked,” Hao mutters, eyes rolling. “We’re in your car, Hanbin.”
“You complaining?”
“No. Just—fuck, harder—just saying I didn’t expect my spine to crack on a Toyota seat tonight—ah—”
Hanbin’s laugh is breathless. “It’s a Hyundai.”
“You’re a Hyundai.”
That absolutely stupid insult makes Hanbin snort mid-thrust, and it ruins the rhythm for a second because now they’re both laughing again—giddy and wet and so stupidly in love.
It doesn’t last long, though, because then Hanbin shifts, angling his hips, and the next thrust punches a broken gasp out of Hao.
“Oh—god—right there—”
Hanbin locks in on it instantly, driving in with careful, punishing precision, rubbing their bodies together, his cock grinding into that sweet spot over and over. Hao’s legs tighten around his waist, dragging him closer. “Hanbin, 'bin—don’t stop—”
Hao’s cock is leaking, caught between their stomachs, smearing wetness over both their abs with every grind. Hanbin slides a hand down, wrapping his fingers around Hao's length again. It’s messy, filthy, loud. The wet slide of skin on skin, the slap of their hips in too-cramped space, the desperate noises Hao makes every time Hanbin bottoms out inside him.
Hao can barely keep his eyes open. Every nerve ending is on fire, every inch of him burning with sensation. He’s so full, and the drag of Hanbin’s cock feels like it was meant for him. Hanbin’s voice is right in his ear, whispering filth and reverence like they’re the same thing.
“Always wanted to do this,” Hanbin murmurs. “Always imagined how tight you’d be. How hot. How you’d moan my name.”
“Hanbin—” Hao whimpers, the pleasure cresting fast now.
“Wanted to fuck you so bad, but not just for this. I wanted you. All of you.”
Their foreheads press together again, and Hao nods, panting. “You have me. You—fuck—you already have—”
“I know,” Hanbin says. “I know, baby. Come for me.”
It takes one more grind of Hanbin’s hips, one more stroke of his fist, and then Hao shudders violently—eyes rolling back, muscles clenching tight, come spilling between their bodies in hot, messy streaks. His cry echoes off the car walls, so loud it could scare a pedestrian.
Hanbin groans low, feeling Hao clamp around him like a vice.
“Fuck—fuck—” he gasps, pace stuttering as he chases his own end. “You’re so tight—can’t hold on—”
“Come in me,” Hao whispers, dazed and wrecked. “I want it.”
That’s all it takes. Hanbin slams in once, twice, and then freezes, whole body going taut as he spills inside Hao, burying his face in his neck with a broken moan.
For a moment, they lie there, soaked and sweat-slicked and tangled like some beautiful catastrophe. Hanbin stays buried, cock still twitching faintly inside the condom. His chest is pressed to Hao’s, sticky with Hao's release. Hao’s hands twitch occasionally where they rest at Hanbin’s shoulders, like he’s still processing the waves of pleasure that wracked through him. His legs are still splayed open around Hanbin’s hips, twitching at random from the overstimulation.
It should be gross, humid and simply too warm. The leather under their skin is squeaking faintly every time either of them exhales. But Hao just lets out a breathless, wrecked laugh. Hanbin feels it first, his body heaving slightly with Hao’s chuckle, and then he lifts his head, chin propped up on Hao’s sternum.
“You laughing at me again?” he mutters, lips pink, eyes hooded.
“At us,” Hao corrects, flushed all the way to the roots of his hair. “I don’t think this is how I thought our first time would go.”
“Yeah?” Hanbin smiles, lazy and fond. “Did you picture, like… candles? Bedsheets? Soft music playing?”
“I pictured not nearly breaking a window with my foot,” Hao shoots back, then wiggles said foot which had indeed wedged against the door at one point, cramping badly mid-thrust. “Also, not being folded like laundry.”
Hanbin hums, dragging his nose down the damp slope of Hao’s collarbone. “You folded beautifully. 10/10 flexibility. Might sign you up for a gymnastics program.”
“Hanbin.”
“Yes?”
“Your cock is still inside me.”
Hanbin blinks. “Oh. Right.”
He stills, suddenly a little too aware of the tight heat he’s still sheathed in—even if it’s technically dulled by latex. And Hao is still just as warm around him, even as he’s softening.
“Want me to stay like this a bit longer?”
“Mm,” Hao hums thoughtfully. “I like the fullness. But also, my ass is going numb.”
Hanbin laughs softly. Then with a final kiss to Hao’s jaw, he slowly pulls out.
The hiss Hao makes is immediate and sharp and Hanbin pauses mid-motion. “Shit, sorry—!”
“No, it’s fine,” Hao groans, grabbing Hanbin’s shoulder as he winces through the overstimulation. “Just—wow. That’s definitely gonna hurt tomorrow.”
Hanbin helps him adjust, whispering soothing things as he rolls onto his side beside Hao. The condom, thankfully, doesn’t leak as he carefully slips it off and ties it. There’s no garbage bin, so he reaches forward and drops it into a paper takeout bag near the front. The movement alone—climbing awkwardly over the console to deposit it—reminds both of them just how small the car is.
When Hanbin turns back, Hao is trying to stretch his legs in the cramp of the backseat.
“Seriously,” Hao mutters, eyeing the ceiling, “how did we fit like that?”
“It’s my dancer hips,” Hanbin says smugly, leaning over him to open the glovebox. “Also we’re bendy when desperate.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Hanbin tosses a pack of wet wipes at his face. “I was inside you for ten full minutes,” he says, voice overly polite. “I will spank you if you sass me.”
“I will bite you if you try.” Hao smiled back, all teeth.
Hanbin’s grin only widens. “You already did. Left a mark, too.”
Hao flushes again, this time all the way to his ears. “Show me.”
“Later.” Hanbin wipes himself off and hands Hao a bottle of water from the side of the front door. Mid clean-up, Hanbin clears his throat. “Hey… Earlier. What did you say? In Mandarin?”
Hao shoots him a sideways glance. “You mean when you made me curse?”
Hanbin grins shamelessly.
“I said ‘fuck.’ Loudly.”
Hanbin perks up. “Was it like—‘oh fuck you’re so hot’? Or more like, ‘fuck this hurts’?”
Hao turns slowly. “Yes.”
“Oh.” Hanbin blinks. “Which one?”
“Yes.”
They spend the next few minutes shifting around slowly, gathering their clothes with tired fingers. Every movement is followed by a hiss or a groan or a ridiculous complaint about muscle strain and car design. Putting on pants in the backseat of a compact Hyundai should be considered an Olympic sport.
By the time they’re both halfway decent again—boxers, loose t-shirts—they collapse side by side onto the sticky seat, limbs tangled, heads bumping against the window glass.
“So,” Hanbin says.
“So,” Hao echoes.
“We had sex.”
“We did.”
“In my car.”
“Mmhm.”
“After eating a horrifying amount of hotpot.”
“Truly disgusting amounts,” Hao nods solemnly. “We’re horrible people.”
Hanbin chuckles, turning to look at him. “You okay?”
Hao tilts his head, eyes meeting Hanbin’s in the dim, post-rain streetlight glow. He’s tired, sore, spent and so utterly, completely content that it hurts a little.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m really okay.”
Hanbin nods slowly, his expression softening. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”
“I know,” Hao whispers. “Me too.”
They sit in silence for a while, the rain outside reduced to a light drizzle. Their shoulders brush. Hanbin’s hand finds Hao’s and twines their fingers together.
“I used to rehearse in my head,” Hanbin murmurs. “What I’d say. If I ever got the guts.”
Hao smiles faintly. “I used to write texts and delete them before sending.”
“I thought you didn’t want more than friendship.”
“I thought you didn’t.”
“You’re so fucking confusing,” Hanbin groans.
“You’re worse,” Hao argues, but he’s smiling too. “You’d flirt and then disappear the second I got close.”
“You’d ignore me for two days after holding my hand for no reason!”
They fall quiet again. This time, it’s warm. Comfortable. A silence that feels like sinking into a soft bed. Eventually, Hao shifts closer, resting his head against Hanbin’s shoulder. Hanbin leans into him, cheek brushing his hair.
“I don’t want to go back to before,” Hao says quietly.
Hanbin turns slightly, just enough to press a kiss to his temple, lips lingering there. “Me neither,” he says. “We’re past that now, right?”
Hao hums. “I think so.”
“So for now, you're here to stay?”
“Where else would I go? I can’t feel my knees.” Hao deadpans.
Then two minutes later, Hao spoke again, “I can't find my sock.”
The Next Day.
Gyuvin opens the car door and immediately gags. “Why does it smell like wet towels in here?”
He climbs into the driver’s seat of Hanbin’s beloved, beat-up Hyundai with a backpack slung over his shoulder and a suspicious frown on his face. He has plans—big ones. A trip to the store. Some ramen. Maybe even a solo drive with sad music. He’s earned this after his professor literally tortured him over the 'integrity of a hanging bridge’.
He adjusts the seat and immediately something soft hits his foot. He reaches down and pulls out a sock. Damp. Unpaired. Not his.
“…Okay,” he says slowly. “Gross, but okay. Maybe laundry mishap—”
Then, reaching for the aux cord, his hand brushes something lodged between the seats. It’s shiny. It’s gold foil. Gyuvin freezes and then very slowly pulls out the unmistakable, horrifying shape of an opened, empty condom packet.
There’s a beat of absolute silence and then—
“OH MY GOD—” he screams, jerking back so fast his head smacks the ceiling. “MURDER! CRIME! I’M CALLING THE VATICAN—”
Across campus, Hanbin’s phone buzzes once. Then again. Then five times in rapid succession. He picks it up, blinking sleepily from the pillow where Hao is curled against him, hair still damp from the shower they desperately needed.
BRO
HANBIN
I FOUND A CONDOM IN YOUR CAR
AND A SOCK THAT IS NOT YOURS
YOU DID THE NASTY IN THE BACKSEAT?????
I’M NEVER DRIVING IT AGAIN
YOU SOILED MY SANCTUARY
THAT WAS MY SAFE SPACE
Hanbin groans and buries his face in the pillow.
“Gyuvin?” Hao mumbles sleepily. “He mad?”
“He found your sock,” Hanbin mutters.
Hao snickers into the sheets.
The phone buzzes again:
there are GHOSTS in the car now
SEX GHOSTS
I HOPE THE TIRES GO FLAT
I HOPE THE COOLANT LEAKS