Hong’s thoughts:

He’s letting me in.

The thought trembled through Hong as much as his hands did. Every movement was cautious, reverent, as if Nut’s body was a sacred space he was only just being trusted to step inside. He wasn’t nervous because of the mechanics — it was the meaning. The weight of Nut’s quiet surrender.

I don’t want to hurt him. I just want to love him.

He watched the way Nut closed his eyes, the way his breath caught and released in shallow rhythms. Hong leaned down, pressing his lips to Nut’s shoulder as if in apology for every ounce of hesitation, every silent fear.

I’ve never seen him like this. Never felt him like this. And I don’t want to forget any of it.

It wasn’t about control. It wasn’t even about desire in the usual sense. It was a kind of prayer, an offering of everything he was. He wanted Nut to know — this is how I feel when I’m holding you. This is how serious it is for me.

And when Nut whispered his name, barely audible, like a secret meant only for him, Hong swore he would carry that sound in his heart forever.

Nut’s thoughts:

He’s so careful with me.

Nut had always held the reins, always known the rhythm, the way to guide them to safety, to pleasure. But now, with Hong above him, inside him, everything was reversed — and astonishingly, it didn’t feel like giving up control. It felt like… breathing.

I trust him. I didn’t know how much until now.

There was something exquisite in the vulnerability, in the way Hong trembled as if he were the one being undone. Nut could feel the effort in every motion, the silent asking in every gaze: Is this okay? Are you okay?

I’ve never seen him this open. Not even when he cried in my arms.

And with every slow, careful thrust, Nut felt something anchoring in his chest. Hong wasn’t taking anything from him. He was giving. Love, devotion, promise. Something permanent and invisible blooming between their bodies.

He reached up to cup Hong’s face, eyes locking.

You have me. You always have. This is just me showing you.