Chapter 9 #2
Voices echoed from somewhere down the main corridor. Our moment of privacy was ending.
Rune straightened slightly, pulling the performance mask back into place.
"Thank you," he said. "For telling me the truth."
"You always deserve the truth."
He smiled slightly. Barely. "Most people don't think so."
***
The hotel lobby was too loud for 1:00 AM.
Staff clustered near the elevators, still riding the adrenaline of a successful sold-out show. Someone from production was already talking about finding a bar that stayed open late.
I remained on the periphery, watching. Rune threaded through the crowd with the same careful distance he maintained everywhere. A handler asked if he needed anything.
"I'm tired," Rune said simply. "I need to sleep."
No one questioned his exit.
I maintained my position, close enough to observe and far enough to avoid drawing attention.
We followed as Rune approached the elevator. He pressed the call button. I stood three feet behind him, scanning the lobby out of habit.
The elevator arrived. It was empty. We stepped inside together.
The doors closed, and the lobby noise ended abruptly. The quiet hum of the elevator ascending mingled with our breathing in the enclosed space.
Rune didn't look at me. He watched the floor numbers climb. He looked tired in a way that went deeper than physical exhaustion.
The elevator stopped on his floor, and we walked to his room without speaking. He stopped at his door and pulled out the key card. His hands were steady as he waved it over the lock and waited for the green light.
I stayed where I was as he pushed the door open. He turned back to me.
The hallway was empty. Quiet. "Stay," Rune said quietly. It was his choice.
I could have said no, citing protocol and professional boundaries. His request was strategically unsound.
Instead, I checked the hallway once more before stepping inside and closing the door behind me. The lock engaged with a quiet click.
For a moment, we both stood there. I was near the door, where I always positioned myself. Rune a few feet away, key card still in his hand.
He moved first, deliberately, crossing the distance between us. He reached out and brushed my jaw with his fingertips.
His hand came up slowly, fingertips brushing the side of my jaw. The touch barely landed. It was a question, not a claim.
I didn't move.
His eyes searched mine, making sure we were both choosing this openly, without hesitation.
I leaned in and kissed him.
His lips parted immediately, and a soft, unfinished breath slipped out of him. His fingers trailed from my jaw to the back of my neck, pressing firmly, and the kiss deepened.
He tasted like the honey tea he'd been drinking backstage. Warm and slightly sweet. His lips were as soft as I remembered, which meant I hadn’t stopped thinking about them.
I backed him toward the bed slowly, one hand at his hip, claiming the lean muscle under thin fabric. He moved with me, trusting my direction without question. His other hand flattened against my chest, and I wondered whether he could feel how hard my heart was pounding.
The backs of his knees hit the mattress, and he sat, pulling me down with him. His thighs bracketed mine, and he wrapped his arms around my shoulders, his mouth still on mine.
I pulled back slightly, breathing harder.
"We don't have to—" he started.
"I know."
"I just wanted—"
"I know."
This wasn't about escape. It was about choosing something real before the ground gave way, before three more days elapsed. It was about being together in the moment before everything got harder.
It was about trust.
I kissed him again, slower this time. I was learning the shape of his mouth and how he responded when I changed angle or pressure. His breath caught when I traced my tongue along his lower lip.
He was responsive in a way that suggested he rarely got to surrender to sensation. Most of his life was performance and control, managing how he appeared to watching eyes.
Here, in the dark, with the door locked and no cameras, he could finally be himself.
I wanted to give him that gift. Space to be honest, without consequences.
I pulled his shirt over his head. He raised his arms and let me remove it, then immediately reached for mine.
Rune's hands burned softly against my skin as he pushed my shirt up and off. He looked at me, palms flat against my bare chest.
"You're so careful," he murmured. "Even now."
"Old habits."
"I don't want you to be careful with me. Tonight, I want honesty."
I understood. He wanted to be treated like someone who could handle intensity.
I kissed him harder. He responded immediately. His mouth opened wider, and he gripped my shoulders, pulling me closer. I caught his lower lip between my teeth, and he lost control of his breathing.
As I pushed him back onto the bed, I followed him down, my weight settling over him. He wrapped one leg around my hip, pulling our bodies flush together. He was already hard through the thin barrier of clothing between us.
I ground against him, watching his face. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. I kissed down the length of it as his pulse raced under my lips, tasting salt and a faint sweetness.
His fingers worked at my belt with intent. We shed the rest of our clothes in silence, skin to skin..
"Griffin," Rune said quietly.
I kissed him again, slower now, taking my time. I slid a hand down his side, exploring the structure of his ribs and hip bone, the places where taut muscle gave way to softer skin. He was lean and more solid than he appeared onstage.
When I wrapped my hand around his cock shaft, a sound slipped out of him, soft and unplanned, and he pushed up into my grip. With his hand, he guided me, demonstrating the pressure and rhythm he wanted. He actively took part in his own pleasure.
I watched his face as I touched him. His eyes squeezed shut and his mouth fell open. Every careful mask he wore dissolved into something raw and unguarded.
Mine.
The word arrived without permission. It wasn't possessive. It acknowledged what we shared, if only for a moment.
"Wait," he said suddenly, breathless. "Wait, I want—"
He pushed my shoulder, and I moved immediately, giving him space. He repositioned himself so that we were lying side by side, facing each other.
Rune reached out for my stomach, fingers tracing muscle and scar tissue with careful attention. He gripped my cock, and I stopped breathing.
"I want to see you when I do this," he said.
We moved together, hands learning rhythm and pressure, breathing synchronizing. His eyes were wide open , watching my reactions.
We were two people choosing honesty when everything else in their lives required careful management.
Rune's breaths were faster and shallower. His hand tightened around me, and the inevitable sensation surged inside me.
"Yoon-jae," I said.
His name. His real name.
I saw the moment it hit him, the intimacy of being called that here, like this, by someone who knew the difference between the name the world used and the one that belonged to him.
He came with a sharp inhale, his whole body tensing, and I followed seconds later, throwing my head back as a raw growl tore out of me.
For a few seconds, we just breathed. Then he shifted his position, reaching for tissues on the nightstand, and we cleaned up with practical efficiency.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, breathing gradually slowing. The room was dark except for the ambient light from the city filtering through the curtains. Somewhere outside, life in Portland continued without us.
Rune rested with one arm slung across my body. He raised his head with his chin resting on my chest. "What do we do?"
"We document everything. Make sure there's a record of what's happening they can't quietly erase." I paused. "And we don't separate. They'll try to isolate you. Create distance. Make it look natural."
"The way they tried today."
"Yes."
"What if they succeed?"
"Then we make sure everyone knows it wasn't an accident."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "That won't bring me back."
"No. It won't."
The honesty sat between us, dark and necessary.
"I'm not trying to be morbid," he said. "I just need to know you understand what we're risking."
"I understand."
He turned his head and pressed a kiss against my chest. Then another. Slow and deliberate. Touching me because he could.