Work Text:
Jihoon had heard versions of this story before, but the details were always different. He sat with his pen resting against the legal pad, the edge of it pressing faint dents into the margin where his notes had started to form. Across from him, the woman spoke in a tone caught between exhaustion and fury, her hands tight around the strap of her bag like she was holding herself steady with it.
“He doesn’t come home on time. When he does, he’s already been drinking. The kids—” She stopped, swallowed, and forced her voice into control. “The kids are scared of him. My daughter doesn’t even want to be in the same room anymore. He tells her she’s weak. He tells my son he’ll never be good enough. That’s not parenting, that’s cruelty.”
Jihoon gave her the silence she needed. He didn’t rush to fill it. The pause was where clients decided whether they trusted him enough to keep going. She did. She told him about the arguments, the bruises that weren’t on her body but on the way her children flinched when voices got loud. She told him about the night she locked her bedroom door because she wasn’t sure if he would break it down or pass out in the living room. She told him how he always promised to change, and how it always lasted less than a week.
Jihoon’s notes stayed short—dates, witnesses, key words that would matter in front of a judge. The rest he kept in his head, sorted into categories: custody leverage, financial support, credibility points. He would build it into a strategy later, but now the important thing was letting her know someone was on her side who could do more than just nod.
“You want primary custody,” he said finally, his voice calm, measured. “You’re prepared to show that his environment is unsafe, unstable, and not in the best interest of the children. You’ll need proof. Documents, testimony, a clear timeline. The court won’t take your word over his—they’ll take facts. And that’s what I’m going to get for you.”
Her grip on the bag loosened, just a fraction. “So you think—”
“I think you have a case,” Jihoon cut in smoothly. “And I don’t say that unless I mean it. My job isn’t to tell you what you want to hear. My job is to make sure you win.”
For the first time since she walked in, her eyes steadied. Not relief, not yet anyway, but something close to it. She nodded once, sharply, like they had sealed a contract without needing to touch a pen.
“I’ll do my best,” Jihoon said, standing. “And my best is usually enough.”
She managed a tired smile and left his office with a quieter step than she had entered. Jihoon set the pad down, straightened the papers already on his desk,and let the silence settle back in. He exhaled once, long and even, before reaching for the file folder.
The phone buzzed against the wood surface, breaking the moment. He glanced at the screen. Soonyoung. His name in bold, familiar letters, the kind Jihoon never ignored.
Jihoon let the phone ring until the second buzz, then swiped to answer. He didn’t bother softening his tone. “Soonyoung.”
“Jihoon.” The reply came quick, casual, threaded with the same grin Jihoon could hear even when he wasn’t in the room.
There was no small talk. “I booked us dinner tonight. Eight o’clock. The new French place downtown. Don’t argue—you’re not cooking and I’m not watching you fall asleep over reheated noodles.”
Jihoon leaned back in his chair, running a thumb along the edge of the legal pad still open on his desk. “I was planning on going home and straight to bed,” he said, voice clipped. “Especially after getting about three hours of sleep last night because a certain someone doesn’t recognize the concept of moderation.”
On the other end, Soonyoung chuckled, unashamed. “Moderation doesn’t suit you.” A pause, deliberately baiting. “Tell me—did you even walk in a straight line today, Counselor?”
Jihoon exhaled through his nose, more sigh than laugh. “You’re lucky I don’t bill you for recovery hours.”
“Please,” Soonyoung said. “You’d still owe me.”
Jihoon shook his head even though Soonyoung couldn’t see it. He reached for his pen again, spinning it once between his fingers. “Dinner sounds late. I have work.”
“It won’t be that late,” Soonyoung countered, unbothered. “Dinner, wine, conversation where you pretend not to enjoy yourself. You’ll be home before midnight, and I promise not to keep you awake again—unless you ask.”
Jihoon let the silence hang for three beats. It was his style, even on the phone: make the other side wonder if they’d gone too far, then decide when to break it. “Fine,” he said at last. “But only because I never say no to a good meal—on your account.”
“On my account,” Soonyoung repeated. “Objection—leading the witness. I never said I was paying.”
Jihoon leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “Overruled. You booked the restaurant, you’re footing the bill.”
Soonyoung’s chuckle was soft, deliberate. “Fine. But I’m reserving the right to cross-examine you about dessert.”
“Whatever” Jihoon said then ended the call before Soonyoung could argue.
The phone went flat against the desk, screen down. Jihoon stared at the pad of notes waiting for him, the client’s words still hanging in the room. Divorce, custody, a broken house. And yet his husband had a reservation under their name at a place with wine lists longer than some settlements. The two worlds pressed against each other, never fully separate.
He picked up his pen, wrote one more line at the bottom of the page, and closed the file. Dinner at eight. Work could wait until morning.
—
The night air was cool enough to bite at his collar when they stepped out of the restaurant. Jihoon adjusted his coat, hands in his pockets, and let Soonyoung steer the conversation down the quiet stretch of sidewalk toward the car. Something about the wine list, about how overpriced Bordeaux always tasted the same when Jihoon drank it too fast. Jihoon let him talk. He gave back the occasional dry remark—enough to keep Soonyoung entertained, not enough to concede ground.
The car unlocked with a chirp. Soonyoung slid behind the wheel, Jihoon dropping into the passenger seat with the weight of a man who had already decided sleep was the only thing left worth doing tonight. The city blurred past in streaks of light and shadow, Soonyoung humming under his breath to music low enough that Jihoon couldn’t place the song.
He felt his head dip once, twice. Not intentional, just gravity pulling harder after a full day in court prep and a dinner that ran longer than it should have. His eyes closed without asking permission.
A hand landed on his thigh—warm, steady, deliberate. A squeeze, firm enough to pull him back to the surface. Jihoon’s eyes opened, unfocused at first, then narrowing toward Soonyoung.
“We’re lmost home, baby.” Soonyoung said lightly, his hand drifted away only to come up, fingers brushing Jihoon’s hair, combing through it once, slow and careless.
Jihoon didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The weight of the touch settled him back into the seat. He let the window lights pass over him, let the rhythm of Soonyoung’s driving take the shape of silence he could rest in.
By the time they pulled into the garage, Jihoonwas already halfway gone. He went inside without a word, shoes off, jacket abandoned on a chair, straight down the hall to the bedroom. He pulled the sheets back and dropped into the mattress with the precision of someone who had measured the exact distance from standing to sleep.
Minutes later, the mattress dipped beside him. A warm figure slid close, the quiet rustle of fabric giving way to the steadier sound of breath. Jihoon didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t need to. The heat at his back and the familiar weight against his side were confirmation enough.
He let it pull him under.
—
The morning started the same way it usually did. Jihoon moved through the kitchen on autopilot, grinding beans, filling the machine, waiting for the hiss and steam that meant coffee was minutes away. Two cups sat ready on the counter, one for himself, one for Soonyoung, because habits ran deeper than alarms.
Arms slid around his waist from behind, solid and sure, pulling him back against a chest that radiated warmth. Lips pressed against the nape of his neck, his jaw, the soft curve of his cheek in unhurried sequence. “Morning,” Soonyoung murmured into his skin, voice still rough with sleep.
Jihoon hummed, a quiet acknowledgment, and turned enough to hand him the first poured cup. Soonyoung took it reverently, eyes still half-closed. “God, I love you,” he muttered after the first sip, like the words belonged to the coffee and to Jihoon equally.
Jihoon only shook his head, already moving toward the bedroom to get dressed. His mind had begun its shift, pulling away from warmth and touch and back toward the case file waiting for him at the office. The woman from three weeks ago. Custody hearings, documentation, testimony lined up neatly in his head. Enough, he believed, to give her the justice she had been too tired to imagine for herself.
Fifteen minutes later, Jihoon stood by the door with his briefcase, coat over one arm. Soonyoung was back in the kitchen, muffin in one hand, a second coffee in the other, tie tucked into his shirt but not quite straight. They had a pattern: sometimes leaving at the same time, sometimes only minutes apart, but always orbiting the same schedule.
Soonyoung crossed the room, put the muffin down, still holding his coffee, and caught Jihoon by the front of his jacket before he could reach for the handle. The kiss was sudden, deep, pressing him back against the door. Jihoon let out a sigh against it, one hand instinctively splayed against Soonyoung’s chest, not pulling closer but not pushing away fast enough either.
He broke it before it could go further, palms firm against Soonyoung’s sternum, pushing just enough space to catch his breath. “Work,” he said, low, like the word explained everything.
Soonyoung grinned, unbothered. Jihoon slipped through the crack of the door, already halfway gone, when the voice called after him, loud enough to follow down the hall: “Love you too!”
The door shut behind him, final and sharp.
The bakery smelled like butter and sugar and everything Jihoon didn’t have time for. He’d agreed to ten minutes—enough for his client to sit down, breathe, and not pace herself into a panic before the hearing. He told her he’d be back, coffee in hand, files ready. Strategy didn’t require constant proximity; sometimes it required space.
He stepped out into the narrow side street, adjusting his tie, already rehearsing the order in which he’d present exhibits A through D. The rhythm was steady in his head until a voice cut across it.
“Jihoon?”
He turned. Seungkwan stood there, bright-eyed and out of place in the crisp gray suit that almost made him look older than he was. He held a binder against his chest like it was a shield.
“What are you doing here?” Seungkwan asked, tone a mix of surprise and suspicion.
Jihoon’s mouth thinned into a line. “Same thing you’re doing,” he said. “Work.”
Seungkwan blinked, then huffed out a small laugh, disbelieving. “You’re kidding. You have a case here? Today?”
“Thirty minutes,” Jihoon said flatly.
The younger man tilted his head, lips twitching. “So does Soonyoung.”
For a moment, the words didn’t land. They just hung there, suspended. Jihoon’s brain stalled the way an engine does when it misses a gear.
Seungkwan kept going, oblivious to the sudden silence. “He’s representing his client in custody—”
Jihoon stopped listening. The only thing he heard was the sudden, precise click in his chest: this was the day. The one he hadn’t imagined, hadn’t let himself imagine. Against his husband. In court.
“Where is he?” Jihoon asked, sharper than he intended.
Seungkwan blinked again. “Uh—bathroom. Said he’d be right back.”
Jihoon didn’t waste another word. He pivoted, steps clipped, cutting through the corridor toward the courthouse entrance with a speed that made people step aside. The file in his hand felt heavier than it had five minutes ago.
Soonyoung. Opposing counsel.
It was going to be a different kind of fight.
The courthouse bathroom smelled faintly of disinfectant and damp tile. Jihoon pushed the door open without hesitation, the file still under his arm, his pulse steady only because he forced it to be.
Soonyoung was at the sink, sleeves rolled once, water running over his hands. He looked up at the mirror, then turned at the sound of the door. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second.
“Jihoon?”
Jihoon didn’t waste time. “I’m representing the wife.”
The words landed in the space between them like a gavel. Final. Irrefutable.
Soonyoung stood there, motionless, his expression unreadable. For a moment it was just silence, the drip of the faucet, the echo of air vent hum. Then—slow, unexpected—he let out a short, choked laugh.
“Of course you are,” Soonyoung said, shaking his head once, like the universe had played a joke only he understood. “You know, I’m not going to lie—I’ve fantasized about this. Being against you in court.” His eyes sharpened, mouth quirking. “Finally getting to see my husband in action, without the bedroom being involved.”
Jihoon’s grip on the file didn’t shift, but the muscle in his jaw did.
Soonyoung watched him, waiting for the reaction, still laughing, caught between disbelief and something dangerously close to excitement.
Soonyoung’s laugh hadn’t fully faded before his hand caught Jihoon by the tie. The motion was quick, deliberate, the silk pulled tight between them as Soonyoung leaned back against the sink. The gesture dragged Jihoon forward until the space between them disappeared, until his knees pressed against Soonyoung’s thighs.
Jihoon’s palms went flat to his chest, a steady push that did nothing to move him. “This is work,” Jihoon said, clipped, his breath more uneven than he wanted it to be. “We can’t. Court is in less than thirty minutes.”
Soonyoung only hummed, the sound low, like agreement that wasn’t agreement at all. He tilted his head down, lips brushing the line of Jihoon’s neck. A slow trail upward—over the tendon that jumped under Jihoon’s skin, along the cut of his jaw, grazing the hollow of his cheek. He stopped just shy of Jihoon’s mouth, close enough that Jihoon could feel every exhale, every pause. Not a kiss—just the suggestion of one, the temptation of it hanging there like a dare.
Jihoon’s fingers curled into Soonyoung’s jacket, not pulling him closer, not pushing him away. His pulse beat too loud in his ears. He could almost count the inches, the moments.
Then Soonyoung’s free hand slid lower, dragging over Jihoon’s hip, down to the curve of him. The grip was sudden, hard, squeezing his ass until Jihoon startled forward, weight tipping onto the balls of his feet, breath caught in his throat.
“Don’t—” Jihoon’s voice cracked, more raw than sharp. He shoved himself back, breaking the hold, stumbling one step until the tie fell slack between them. His finger came up fast, jabbing the air in front of Soonyoung’s face, his own chest rising too quickly. “No.” The word was final, breathless, more command than plea.
The silence barely had time to settle before Soonyoung moved. His hand shot out, catching Jihoon’s wrist, and in one motion he pulled him across the tiled floor, back toward the row of empty stalls. Jihoon barely had time to draw breath before the metal door swung shut behind them, the lock sliding with a clean snap.
Then Soonyoung’s mouth was on his. No preamble, no space to think. It was rough, certain. Jihoon’s back hit the partition, papers slipping from under his arm and scattering at their feet. His protest never made it past his lips. He melted into it faster than he would ever admit, his body yielding even as his mind screamed the countdown—twenty minutes, nineteen minutes, court waiting.
Soonyoung’s hand pressed against his thigh, sliding upward, then wrapped firm around his waist. The pull was sharp enough to lift Jihoon, and instinct overrode hesitation. His other leg came up, hooking around Soonyoung’s hip, his body caging itself closer without command.
The kiss broke just long enough for Soonyoung’s mouth to drop lower, tracing the line of Jihoon’s throat. Heat bloomed where teeth grazed skin. When lips caught against the vulnerable spot under his jaw, Jihoon’s breath broke into a sound he couldn’t hold back. The moan escaped raw, loud in the hollow space.
Instant regret flared. His hand shot up, palm clamping over his own mouth, muffling the sound that had already betrayed him. His chest heaved against Soonyoung’s, heart racing faster than reason could catch.
Soonyoung didn’t stop. His free hand held Jihoon tight at the waist while his mouth worked lower, against the collar of his shirt, the edge of his shoulder. Jihoon’s hips shifted almost on their own, searching for friction, pressing down against the hard line he felt through both layers of fabric. The contact was sharp, electric, not enough but too much all at once. His body moved again, a slow grind, desperate for more.
The thought of where they were—what they were minutes away from doing in front of a judge—only made it worse. Jihoon’s head dropped back against the metal, eyes half-shut, teeth sinking into the inside of his cheek to keep quiet.
Jihoon’s hips betrayed him again. Small movements at the start, just enough to catch friction, then more, grinding in slow, desperate circles against Soonyoung’s body. The heat built fast, sharp, with hunger. His breath came out unsteady against his own palm, muffled in short, ragged bursts.
Then the bathroom door opened. The creak cut through the air like a blade. Both of them froze, bodies locked, breath caught in their throats.
The sound that followed was muffled, uneven—small sobs pressed down into silence. Jihoon’s eyes snapped open. He knew that voice. That rhythm of quiet crying, the shaky inhale followed by a pause too long. It was her. His client. The woman who had sat across from him in his office weeks ago, entrusting him with her children’s future. She was on the other side of this wall, trying to hold herself together. He frowned, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face. What was she even doing in the men’s restroom? Then again, she probably hadn’t noticed—too focused on trying to steady her breathing to realize where she was.
Jihoon’s chest constricted. He forced his body to still, every nerve wired to the sound. But Soonyoung leaned in again, lips pressing back to his neck, soft, hungry kisses that climbed higher, ignoring the world outside the stall. His hips began to move again, rolling forward, slow thrusts that dragged Jihoon back into the heat whether he wanted it or not.
A sharp whimper almost escaped Jihoon. His hand flew back to his mouth, palm clamping tight to keep it locked in. His eyes snapped to Soonyoung’s, wide, frantic—pleading without words. He shoved a hand against Soonyoung’s chest, a push meant to stop him, a warning that this was too much, too close to exposure.
But Soonyoung only smirked, only pressed harder. His hips drove forward with more force, the friction sparking white behind Jihoon’s eyes. Each thrust pushed Jihoon higher against the partition, his leg tightening around Soonyoung’s waist for balance even as his mind screamed no.
Jihoon’s head fell back with a dull thud against the metal. His eyes rolled shut, breath tearing through his throat. The sound of muffled crying and a door being closed blurred, distant now, drowned out by the pounding heat in his veins. His hand stayed clamped over his mouth, every muscle in his arm taut with the effort of holding the sounds in.
Soonyoung’s breath was hot against his skin, his mouth tracing another line along Jihoon’s jaw, lips catching against the corner of his cheek. The rhythm of his hips didn’t falter, only grew steadier, deeper, pressing Jihoon into the stall wall like they had all the time in the world, when in truth they had none.
Jihoon was so close. His body arched without asking, hips chasing the rhythm Soonyoung was forcing against him. His pulse thundered, his throat burned from holding back every sound, and he knew—seconds, maybe less, and he’d lose every ounce of control he still clung to.
Then the bathroom door swung open again, the noise sharp against the tile.
“Get the fuck out, you horny shits,” Seungkwan’s voice rang out, blunt, unfiltered, echoing off the walls. “You’ve got a case in less than fifteen minutes, and if either of you think I’m explaining to a judge why opposing counsel was getting it on in the men’s room, think again.”
Jihoon’s entire body went rigid. His eyes snapped shut, fury and humiliation washing through him in equal measure. He let out a low groan into his palm, every nerve screaming in frustration.
Soonyoung only chuckled. He lowered Jihoon carefully, setting him back onto his own feet. Jihoon’s glare cut sharper than a cross-examination, eyes narrowing into a look that said everything: ‘Really?’ Not just anger, but the kind of sharp disbelief reserved for moments when he had been pushed too far. He could feel the tremor still running through him, the unfinished edge of what Soonyoung had left undone.
“Really?” Jihoon bit out, his voice low, dangerous, breath still uneven.
Soonyoung grinned like it was all entertainment. He leaned in just enough to brush a teasing kiss against Jihoon’s cheek, light and infuriating, before straightening and unbolting the stall.
“Better fucking hurry, Lee,” Seungkwan’s voice fired again from the other side, as though he had no intention of leaving without getting the last word.
Jihoon stayed where he was, jaw tight, listening to the footsteps fade and the bathroom door shut behind them both. The silence that followed confirmed it—his husband had left him standing there, unfinished, frustrated, and angrier than he had been in years.
He straightened his tie with hands that shook from more than adrenaline, picked up the scattered papers at his feet, and forced his composure back into place.
He wanted to rip Soonyoung’s throat out. And in less than ten minutes, he’d get the chance—in front of a judge.
The courtroom was already humming when Jihoon stepped inside, the kind of low, restless noise that came from shuffled papers and muted whispers. He moved through it with purpose, shoes striking clean against the polished floor, his briefcase swinging once at his side.
Soonyoung was already there. Sitting at counsel’s table with the husband—her ex-husband—beside him. Jihoon’s eyes caught on him before he meant to. For the briefest second, Soonyoung’s face was carved into concentration, serious, unreadable. Then it shifted—just slightly, the edge of a smirk breaking through like light between blinds. It was gone in a heartbeat, but Jihoon had seen it.
Jihoon didn’t react. He didn’t give him the satisfaction. His gaze moved on, sharp and professional, like he hadn’t noticed at all. He crossed to his table, set down the file he had collected from the bathroom floor less than ten minutes ago, and spread the pages with the same deliberate care he used in every trial. Order was its own weapon.
Only then did he look at his client. She was seated, hands twisted in her lap, shoulders tight. He gave her a small smile, enough to steady her without drawing attention, a reminder that he was here, that she wasn’t alone. She returned it faintly, the tension in her jaw loosening by degrees.
Jihoon straightened, eyes shifting to the bench as the judge entered. His back was straight, his face a mask of calm competence. He glanced once more to the side, a sharp, almost invisible turn of his head.
His husband. His rival.
At this table, across the aisle, Soonyoung was nothing else.
The bailiff called the room to order. Papers stilled, chairs shifted back, and all the restless noise cut to silence.
Jihoon rose as the judge entered, spine straight, hands clasped at the edge of his table. Across the aisle, Soonyoung mirrored him, face composed, unreadable save for the sharp glint in his eyes. The game had begun.
“Counselors,” the judge said, settling behind the bench. “We are here to hear the matter of custody in the divorce of Mr. and Mrs. Han. Both sides will have an opportunity to present evidence and argument. Mr. Lee, Ms. Han’s counsel, you may begin.”
Jihoon stepped forward. His tone was even, clipped, every word chosen for weight. “Your Honor, my client seeks primary custody of her two children, ages eight and eleven. We will demonstrate that the environment in the father’s household is unsafe, unstable, and not in the children’s best interests. We will present documentation of his drinking, testimony from neighbors and teachers regarding erratic behavior, and a timeline of incidents that establish a consistent pattern of neglect and verbal abuse.” He paused, letting the words settle, his gaze steady. “This case is not about punishing a man for his personal choices. It is about protecting two children from harm.”
He sat, the file already open in front of him.
“Mr. Kwon,” the judge said, turning.
Soonyoung stood. His voice carried the same precision, but warmer at the edges, measured with care. “Your Honor, my client disputes these allegations. We will show that while there were marital difficulties, there is no evidence that Mr. Han presents a danger to his children. In fact, we will provide testimony from his employer and colleagues that he has maintained steady work, as well as statements from extended family who can attest to his parenting. Divorce is painful. But a parent’s role is not dissolved because of conflict in a marriage. My client has the right to remain in his children’s lives—not as a visitor, but as a father.”
A faint murmur moved through the gallery, hushed quickly.
The judge looked between them. “Mr. Lee, you may proceed with your first exhibit.”
Jihoon rose again. “Exhibit A—police report from August 12th. Filed after a noise complaint, noting my client’s husband was intoxicated while the children were present in the home. Officers observed open containers and noted the children were unattended for over an hour.” He handed the file to the bailiff, his tone flat, clinical. “This is not an isolated occurrence. It is one of several.”
Soonyoung was on his feet before the judge had finished flipping through the file. “Your Honor, we will not dispute the police report. What we will dispute is the conclusion Mr. Lee wants you to draw from it. The report does not claim the children were harmed. It does not claim they were in danger. It is a record of noise and alcohol—unflattering, yes, but not disqualifying. If occasional drinking were grounds to lose custody, this courtroom would be overrun with cases.”
“Objection,” Jihoon cut in smoothly. “Counsel is editorializing. The report is evidence. His commentary is not.”
The judge lifted a brow, but gestured. “Sustained. Mr. Kwon, stick to facts.”
Soonyoung inclined his head, unbothered, and sat back down. His lips twitched—the barest hint of a smirk that Jihoon caught and promptly ignored.
Jihoon continued, his voice steady. “We also submit Exhibit B—medical records from the children’s pediatrician, noting missed appointments on three separate occasions when the father was scheduled to take them. This demonstrates neglect of basic care. It is not isolated. It is pattern.”
Soonyoung was up again. “Your Honor, those missed appointments coincide with weeks where Mr. Han was traveling for work. Documentation from his employer will confirm this. And on each occasion, the mother rescheduled promptly. The children received care. There was no harm.” He let the words hang, his gaze cutting briefly toward Jihoon before returning to the bench. “This is not neglect. This is logistics in a strained marriage.”
The judge leaned back, tapping his pen against the desk. The weight of the room pressed in, balanced on the edge of two narratives.
Jihoon sat, unflinching, his expression unreadable. He knew the facts were leaning toward him. He also knew Soonyoung saw the same tilt—and was determined to drag the scales back by force if he could.
Soonyoung stood again, file in hand, and delivered his counterpoint with the kind of calm authority that belonged to him when he wanted to prove he was just as sharp, just as unshakable as anyone else in the room.
“Your Honor,” he said, “the children’s teachers will testify that their father has been present at school functions, from recitals to parent-teacher conferences. Attendance logs confirm this. My client’s record of involvement is clear. This is not a man who abandoned his children. This is a man who—despite difficulty in his marriage—remains an active parent.”
The words were precise, persuasive, and Jihoon hated the warm pull that ran low through his body as he watched him. He knew this side of Soonyoung—the relentless advocate, the one who could take the barest scrap of a defense and spin it into steel. Jihoon had admired it across dinner tables, across quiet nights in their bed, but never from the other side of the courtroom. And standing here, with a judge listening and clients watching, it lit something in him he did not want to name.
Jihoon shifted in his chair, one hand dropping to his lap, fingers tugging subtly at the crease of his trousers as though smoothing fabric. The movement was calculated, covering the small problem Soonyoung had left in him from the bathroom and was now making worse. He forced his eyes back to the file in front of him, back to the neat notes he had prepared, but Soonyoung’s voice kept drawing him away.
“…we will also submit evidence,” Soonyoung continued, “that Mrs. Han has—at times—spoken to the children in ways that could be considered disparaging of their father. Statements from the children’s school counselor will show that they have repeated negative comments. This raises concern about bias and parental alienation.”
Jihoon’s grip on his pen tightened. He cleared his throat once, trying to shake the haze. The judge turned toward him. “Mr. Lee, response?”
For a fraction of a second, Jihoon stalled. The courtroom blurred at the edges, his body still caught in the heat of watching his husband perform like this. It lasted no longer than a blink, but it was enough to shake him. He drew in a breath, straightened, and forced his voice to steady.
“Your Honor,” Jihoon began, his tone sharp again, “the counselor’s notes also include direct statements from the children describing their father’s drinking and behavior. They are not simply repeating their mother’s words. They are expressing their own experiences.” He handed the transcript forward. “Bias is not the issue here. Safety is.”
From the corner of his eye, he caught it: the twitch of Soonyoung’s mouth, the quick flash of a smirk like he’d noticed everything—Jihoon’s half-second delay, the way he had to reset before speaking.
Jihoon ignored it. He kept his gaze locked on the judge, his voice clipped, professional, every sentence another nail in the case.
But under the table, his hand pressed harder into his thigh, a silent war waged between the man presenting evidence and the husband who couldn’t stop remembering the weight of Soonyoung’s body against his ten minutes ago.
The back-and-forth dragged into rhythm: Jihoon presenting exhibits, Soonyoung countering with precision. Each objection was met with a counter, each fact with context. The room felt like a scale rocking between them, never fully landing on one side for long.
Jihoon stood again, voice steady. “Exhibit C—statements from neighbors who overheard shouting late at night. Several report children crying during these incidents. This is not speculation; it is corroboration.”
“Your Honor,” Soonyoung said smoothly as soon as the papers changed hands, “neighbors are not reliable sources of what happens inside a home. Noise through walls is not evidence of abuse. We will provide testimony that no physical harm has ever been documented. Arguments—unpleasant, yes—do not equate to danger.”
“Objection,” Jihoon cut in. “Counsel is minimizing the emotional trauma of children who live in fear. This is not about bruises. This is about safety.”
The judge held up a hand. “Enough. Both of you—facts, not speeches.”
The words cut, but Jihoon caught the slight tilt of the judge’s brow toward him. He knew. The facts were leaning. The judge knew it. And Soonyoung—Jihoon could feel it in the way his husband’s jaw tightened between lines—he knew it too.
Still, Soonyoung pressed on. “Your Honor, the father is not without faults. But the law does not strip a parent of rights for imperfection. We will argue shared custody is in the children’s best interests.”
Jihoon didn’t flinch. He rose one more time, his voice low but cutting. “Your Honor, imperfection is not the issue. Instability is. These children deserve a safe, consistent environment. My client provides that. Mr. Han does not.”
Silence followed. The kind that weighed more than noise.
The judge set his pen down, looking from one table to the other. “Both sides have presented thorough arguments. We will recess for the afternoon. The court will reconvene once I have reviewed the evidence and prepared a ruling.” He rapped the gavel once. “Until then, counsel, your clients are dismissed.”
Chairs scraped back, murmurs swelled. Jihoon gathered his papers into neat stacks, hands steady, expression blank. He didn’t look across the aisle, didn’t give Soonyoung the satisfaction of catching his eye again.
The hallway outside the courtroom buzzed with the low hum of voices—footsteps echoing toward the elevators, the scrape of benches as people shuffled during recess. Jihoon kept his pace brisk, intent on finding space away from the small crowd. He didn’t need to look behind him to know Soonyoung would follow.
He turned down a quieter stretch, past vending machines and framed photos of past judges, until the corridor curved out of the main line of sight. It was quiet enough there to hear his own breath even out. And then, of course—
“Jihoon.”
Soonyoung was there, steps unhurried, face lit with the grin he should’ve left at counsel’s table. “I can’t believe it,” he said, voice pitched low and dangerous, “I’ve been married to you all this time and never had the chance to see this—” he gestured vaguely toward him, eyes running over the set of Jihoon’s shoulders, the sharpness of his suit, the precision in his posture. “My husband, looking so fucking hot while dismantling someone in court.” He leaned closer, smirk widening. “Makes me think we should start adding a little more foreplay to—”
Jihoon’s hand hit his chest hard, flat against the fabric of his jacket, stopping him mid-sentence. His eyes were cold, his voice cut like a blade. “Shut your fucking mouth. This isn’t the place.” His finger jabbed once against Soonyoung’s tie for emphasis. “And you’re going to pay for leaving me like that in the bathroom.”
Soonyoung’s grin only deepened, hunger flickering in his eyes like a lit match. But Jihoon didn’t give him more. He stepped back, adjusting his jacket with crisp movements, and turned on his heel.
He walked past the benches where his client sat trying not to look up, hands tight in her lap. A few feet away, her ex-husband sat stiff, eyes narrowed at nothing in particular. Jihoon didn’t pause for either of them. His stride was sharp, deliberate, carrying him away from Soonyoung’s gaze still burning into his back.
When the court reconvened, the room settled into silence again, all the restless energy drawn tight. Jihoon sat still, hands folded over his file, his expression carved into calm. Across the aisle, Soonyoung mirrored him, posture relaxed but eyes sharp, the faintest curl still ghosting at the corner of his mouth.
The judge cleared his throat. “Having reviewed the evidence and testimony presented, the court finds that the children’s best interests are served by awarding primary custody to their mother. Mr. Han will retain visitation rights under a structured schedule. This decision is final.”
The gavel struck once. Finality in a single sound.
Jihoon exhaled slow through his nose, the only outward sign of release. He turned, met his client’s wide eyes, and gave her a small, contained smile. She murmured a soft “thank you,” barely audible, as though afraid the word might break if she said it louder. Jihoon nodded once, steady. It was enough.
They gathered their things in silence and stepped into the aisle. Jihoon walked her toward the doors, his briefcase heavy in one hand, the rhythm of his stride measured. He could feel the presence behind him before he even heard it—the weight of eyes, the echo of footsteps too close together to be coincidence.
Soonyoung. And the ex-husband.
They followed, a few paces behind, through the double doors and out into the brighter corridor. The difference in air felt immediate, but the tension didn’t lift. Jihoon kept his head forward, his client at his side.
Jihoon walked his client as far as the steps outside the courthouse, exchanged a final word of reassurance, and watched her disappear into the crowd. Only then did he turn toward the lot. His briefcase felt heavier than it should, the weight of the win settling but not softening him.
Across the way, Soonyoung was doing the same—shaking hands with his own client, words quiet and unreadable, before heading for his car. Their eyes caught for half a second. Nothing more. Two men in the same business, leaving the same building. No one watching would have guessed they were bound to the same home.
Jihoon slid into his seat, shut the door, and gripped the wheel. He let out a breath, sharp, before starting the engine. The drive was routine—lanes familiar, traffic predictable—but his body wasn’t calm.
The image wouldn’t leave him: Soonyoung at counsel’s table, voice steady, presence filling the room like it belonged there. Jihoon had always known his husband could talk, could charm, could argue—but seeing him like that, cutting precise lines through the air with every word, had been something else. Seeing it in real time had made his chest burn and his skin itch with heat.
He shifted in his seat, one hand tightening on the wheel, the other pressing discreetly at his thigh. His trousers pulled against him, tight in a way he couldn’t ignore. No matter how much he tried to deny it, the thought circled back, sharper each time.
God, he needed Soonyoung. Needed him against him, around him, dragging him under until the courtroom was forgotten. The thought of it gnawed at him, burned through him, left him gripping leather and clenching his jaw.
Four years of living together, four years of knowing every side of the man—but this, today, had undone him in a way nothing else had.
And if he didn’t get Soonyoung soon, he was going to lose his mind.
The house was quiet when Jihoon unlocked the door. Too quiet. He stepped inside, set his briefcase down by the entry, and listened. No sound of shoes on the floorboards, no rustle in the kitchen, no music humming from another room. For a moment he thought maybe he’d beaten Soonyoung back.
Still, habit made him cautious. He moved through the living room, the hallway, each corner of silence sharpening the anticipation in his chest. It wasn’t until he pushed open the bathroom door that it broke.
Soonyoung was there. Naked, skin still damp from the shower, hair pushed back carelessly. He stood easy, unhurried, like he had been waiting. His mouth curled into a smirk the second their eyes met.
Jihoon froze, breath stalling for a fraction of a second. Then Soonyoung closed the distance. One hand slid up, catching Jihoon at the nape of his neck, fingers threading slow through his hair. The touch was firm, claiming, drawing him closer.
Jihoon didn’t resist. He couldn’t. Their mouths collided in a kiss that was all hunger, hours of tension pressed into seconds. Jihoon’s hands came up instinctively, framing Soonyoung’s face, fingers digging in as though to hold him there, to anchor the pull that was already tearing through him.
Heat, sharp and undeniable, rolled between them. Neither gave ground. Neither wanted to.
The kiss broke only so Soonyoung could breathe against his mouth, words slipping out low and rough. “You have no idea how hot you looked in there.” His fingers tightened at Jihoon’s nape, the other hand dragging down the front of his jacket. “Arguing like that. Cutting me down like it was nothing. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
Jihoon let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as the jacket slid from his shoulders. Soonyoung took his time, unfastening each button of his shirt like he had all the hours in the world.
Jihoon hands stayed pressed to Soonyoung’s jaw, holding him in place as if that would keep him steady while the rest of him burned.
The shirt was pushed open, tugged down his arms, left to fall. Soonyoung leaned in again, kissing down the edge of Jihoon’s jaw.
His belt came next, the slow slide of leather unthreading, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Jihoon’s chest rose faster, his eyes shutting tight for a moment as Soonyoung’s fingers traced deliberate lines down his side.
Piece by piece, Jihoon was stripped bare. Shirt, trousers, everything undone by hands that worked slow enough to taunt but sure enough to leave no space for second thoughts. By the time the last fabric hit the floor, the air felt heavier, his skin prickling under the weight of Soonyoung’s stare.
Then Soonyoung moved. Strong arms caught under Jihoon’s thighs, lifting him in one motion. Jihoon’s breath hitched, his legs wrapping instinctively around Soonyoung’s waist. The world shifted with each step as he was carried through the hall.
The bedroom door swung open, and Soonyoung set him down on the mattress—not gently, but not rough either. Just decisive, like the outcome had been inevitable. His mouth was back on Jihoon’s in an instant, claiming, demanding, swallowing the breath Jihoon had barely caught. Jihoon’s hands found his shoulders, nails biting in, pulling him closer even as the kiss broke again.
“Turn around,” Soonyoung said, voice low, edged with command.
Jihoon did. No hesitation, no argument—he shifted onto his front, the sheets cool under his skin. He felt the weight of Soonyoung settle behind him, the first kiss pressed against the back of his neck. Then another, lower, deliberate. Each one mapped a path down his spine, slower with every inch, burning a line straight through him.
Jihoon’s eyes closed, his fingers twisting in the sheets as heat coiled tighter in his gut. Every kiss, every pause, drove him higher, the restraint in Soonyoung’s touch only feeding the hunger clawing up through his body.
Soonyoung’s mouth lingered at the base of his spine, each kiss slower than the last, the pressure deliberate, dragging heat through every nerve in Jihoon’s body. Then lower still, a shift that made Jihoon’s breath catch before he could stop it as he felt soonyoung’s mouth on his rim.
The sound that tore from him was raw, louder than he intended. His back arched hard, muscles tightening as though his body wanted to offer him up, wanted to give Soonyoung more space to do exactly what he was doing. Jihoon’s hand shot into his own hair, gripping tight, before falling back—finding Soonyoung, fingers curling against the back of his head, holding him there, guiding without words.
Another sound slipped from him, muffled into the sheets this time, his chest rising too fast, his throat open with each breath. Heat coiled tighter, dragging him under, leaving him helpless against the way Soonyoung devoured every response.
Jihoon squeezed his eyes shut, the pressure in his body rising until his own control felt like glass—thin, fragile, ready to shatter. His hips pressed back before he realized it, chasing, desperate for more.
Jihoon was close—his whole body had wound tight, every sound pulled from him without his permission, until he thought he would break from it. And then, just as the edge loomed, Soonyoung stopped.
The shift was deliberate, cruel in its timing. Jihoon groaned into the sheets, frustration biting through his teeth as he felt Soonyoung’s mouth leave him, only to rise back up with a trail of slow, taunting kisses. Each one landed higher—along his spine, across his shoulder blades—until warm breath touched the shell of his ear.
Jihoon shivered when Soonyoung kissed just behind it. Then the weight settled heavier on him, Soonyoung’s body pressing down in a way that made escape not only impossible but unthinkable.
There was the faint scrape of a drawer, the rustle of movement beside the bed. Jihoon turned his head slightly, breath uneven, and heard the small, unmistakable click of a cap twisting open. A second later, slick fingers brushed his rim, coaxing another sharp gasp out of him.
Soonyoung’s voice came low, teasing but edged with something darker. “You know,” he murmured against his ear, “sometimes I wish you’d changed your lawyer name to Kwon.”
Jihoon’s eyes snapped shut. He hated the way the words dug into him—professional pride against personal truth. Four years legally bound, and still the plaques and the papers read Lee. He’d told himself it was for simplicity, for continuity, for the image. But hearing Soonyoung say it here, now, with fingers sliding where he was weakest—it cracked something he didn’t want to admit.
His breath stuttered out, half a curse, half a sound he couldn’t hold back.
Soonyoung didn’t give him space to breathe. Two fingers at once, pushing deep before Jihoon’s body had even processed the stretch. The shock ripped through him, his back arching, his chest pressed harder into the mattress. His mouth fell open, silent at first, then breaking into a rough sound that filled the room.
The sheets dragged against him as his hips rocked down, his body chasing relief he couldn’t control. Friction built where his dick ground into the fabric, every shift sparking heat that doubled with the press of Soonyoung’s fingers inside him.
Then three. The third finger slid in without warning, and Jihoon cried out, the sound raw, his whole body jolting forward. His thighs trembled, his hips thrusting back against the pressure, desperate, reckless. The burn of it sharpened into pleasure that pulled him apart at the seams.
Soonyoung’s mouth was at his shoulder, his breath steady while Jihoon’s fell apart. Each movement of his hand sent Jihoon higher, made his body clench and push, made his voice spill out without care for volume.
When Soonyoung finally drew back, Jihoon gasped at the sudden loss. He barely had time to register the emptiness before Soonyoung replaced it with his dick, hot, thick, filling him in one long push that stole every breath from his lungs.
Jihoon’s fingers clawed at the sheets, his head snapping back, eyes squeezed shut as a cry tore free from his throat. His body rocked helplessly, already molding to the rhythm Soonyoung set.
Soonyoung’s rhythm was relentless, driving Jihoon into the mattress until the sheets pulled under his grip. Jihoon’s body moved with it, forced into the pace, breath breaking into short, uneven gasps he couldn’t bite back.
Soonyoung’s mouth stayed at his nape, breath hot, words caught between low groans. “You in court today…” Another thrust, harder, dragging a sound from Jihoon’s throat. “Was the sexiest thing you’ve ever done.”
Jihoon’s hands curled tighter into the sheets. His answer was a muffled sound, pressed into the fabric, his whole body arching as Soonyoung pushed deeper.
“You think I’m letting that be the last time?” Soonyoung’s voice dropped rough against his ear, almost a growl. “No chance.” His hips snapped forward again, pace unbroken.
Jihoon squeezed his eyes shut, a sharp groan tearing free as his back bowed, offering more space, more friction. His control frayed with every word, every movement. The heat of Soonyoung’s breath, the weight of him pressing down, the force of his rhythm—Jihoon couldn’t separate any of it anymore.
Jihoon tried to keep control, to bite down on every sound, but his mind betrayed him. Images flashed without mercy—Soonyoung at counsel’s table, sleeves straight, voice steady, eyes sharp on the judge. The way he stood, commanding the room, refusing to yield. Jihoon had felt the heat then, hidden it under a mask of professionalism, but here, with Soonyoung’s body driving him into the mattress, it burned through him.
The thought alone was enough to tip him. His breath broke into a ragged cry as his body gave out, release tearing through him in a rush that left his chest heaving and his fingers twisted hard in the sheets.
Soonyoung didn’t slow. His pace turned brutal, short and fast, each thrust forcing Jihoon higher even as his body trembled from the aftershock. Jihoon could barely breathe before he felt the shift—the sudden, urgent rhythm of Soonyoung losing his own control.
A groan tore out against his neck, hot breath spilling over his skin as Soonyoung drove into him one last time, sharp and deep, before his body went rigid above Jihoon’s. The sound he made was raw, pulled from the bottom of his chest, as he finally gave in.
The room went still, only their breathing left, rough and uneven, filling the silence like confession.
For a long minute, the only sound in the room was breathing—fast, uneven at first, then slower, heavier, settling into something closer to calm. Jihoon lay half-sprawled across the sheets, his chest pressed against the mattress, every muscle still vibrating with the aftershocks. Behind him, Soonyoung stayed close, weight anchoring him, their skin damp where it touched.
Jihoon closed his eyes, letting the silence stretch, just enough to start pulling himself back into control. It never lasted long.
“You know I was serious,” Soonyoung said at last, voice still rough, lips brushing the edge of his shoulder. “There’s no way that will be the last time I watch you in a courtroom.” He shifted, pressing a kiss to Jihoon’s nape, slow and distracting. “You looked too good in there. Too—” he broke off with a low chuckle, “—too fucking sexy not to see again.”
Jihoon let out something between a laugh and a groan, his face pressed into the pillow. “That’s what you took from today? That it turned you on?” He twisted slightly to glance back at him, his voice dry but his mouth pulling at the corner. “Not the judge ruling in my favor, not me winning the case—just that you liked the view?”
Soonyoung grinned, unashamed. “The judge made the decision. But me? I’m already planning how to get you back across from me. Same courtroom. Same suit. Maybe a bigger case.”
Jihoon shook his head, rolling onto his side so he could see him fully. His eyes narrowed, but the heat in them hadn’t cooled. “You want to lose again? Because that’s how this ends. You know that.”
Soonyoung’s hand slid up, brushing damp hair off Jihoon’s forehead. “Doesn’t matter. Worth it. Every second.”
Jihoon let the silence hang just long enough to make his point, then smirked faintly. “Careful, Kwon. Keep talking like that, I might start thinking you’re only married to me for the thrill of competition.”
Soonyoung’s laugh was quiet, pressed right against his skin as he leaned in. “Competition just happens to be my favorite foreplay.”
Jihoon rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him with another small curve upward. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you love me for it,” Soonyoung said, soft but certain, brushing another kiss against Jihoon’s temple.
Jihoon didn’t answer right away. He let the warmth settle, let the calm return. Then he sighed, long and slow, before finally conceding. “Yeah,” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear. “I do.”
The weight between them shifted into something steady, grounded, as the night closed in.