Chapter 2: The Alcohol and the Proposal
The elevator ride up to the penthouse was a study in silence, broken only by the soft hum of machinery and the occasional ping of passing floors. Jensen leaned against the polished brass railing, his gym bag slung over one shoulder, watching Leonid's reflection in the mirrored walls. The other man was still flushed from the game, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt, curling those dark locks against his forehead. He looked fucking edible.
"Nice place," Leonid said, finally breaking the quiet as the doors slid open onto the private foyer. His voice carried a note of genuine appreciation, the kind that came from someone who had fought for every square foot of his own cramped dorm room. "You weren't kidding about the view."
Jensen stepped out first, keying in the security code with practiced ease. "My parents bought it years ago. Thought it might be useful for when I needed to entertain."
"Entertain." Leonid chuckled, kicking off his sneakers at the door. "Right. Student council business meetings, I'm sure."
"Something like that."
The penthouse opened up before them, all floor-to-ceiling windows and sleek Italian furniture. Seoul sprawled below like a circuit board of light, pulsing and alive, the distant hum of traffic a constant heartbeat beneath the silence. Jensen flicked on a few lamps, casting warm pools of gold across the dark marble floors, and made his way to the bar.
"Whiskey?" he called over his shoulder, already reaching for the crystal decanter.
"Hit me."
Jensen poured two generous measures, the amber liquid catching the light as he swirled it. He could feel Leonid's presence behind him—that familiar weight of another body in his space, filling the penthouse in a way no amount of expensive furniture ever could. It made his skin prickle with awareness.
He turned, holding out one of the glasses. Leonid took it, their fingers brushing in the exchange. Jensen felt the contact like a brand.
"To a good game," Leonid said, raising his glass.
Jensen clinked his against it, watching over the rim as Leonid tilted his head back and drank. The column of his throat worked as he swallowed, and Jensen's own throat went dry. "To good company."
They settled onto the leather couch—Leonid sprawling with that easy, masculine grace, one arm draped across the back, legs spread wide. Jensen sat at the opposite end, curling one leg beneath him, nursing his whiskey. The distance between them was deliberate. A precaution. He needed the space to keep his hands to himself.
"So." Leonid swirled his drink, watching the liquid spin. "You never told me why you were really at the café today."
Jensen's heart skipped a beat. His face betrayed nothing. "I told you. Studying."
"Studying." Leonid's lips quirked. "In a café that's twenty minutes from campus, when you have a penthouse with a library and a view like this?"
Shit. Jensen had underestimated him. He recovered quickly, offering a shrug that felt almost natural. "The ambiance. Jazz records. Good coffee." He paused, letting his gaze drift to Leonid's face. "Good company."
The words hung in the air between them, weighted with something Leonid couldn't quite read. He just laughed, shaking his head, and took another drink. "You're a strange one, Jensen Kim."
"I've been told."
They fell into comfortable silence. Or rather, Leonid was comfortable. Jensen's mind was racing, calculating, planning. He could feel the whiskey warming his blood, loosening the tight leash he kept on his impulses. Now was the moment. The careful choreography he'd been rehearsing in his head for days.
"Actually," Jensen said, his voice casual, almost bored, "there was something I wanted to ask you."
Leonid raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"
Jensen set down his glass, leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees. The movement drew Leonid's attention, those dark eyes fixing on him with lazy curiosity. Jensen let his lips curl into a knowing smile—the smile he'd perfected in mirrors, the one that made people lean in closer.
"You know Hana Lee? From the business faculty?"
Leonid's brow furrowed. "Blonde hair? Big..." He gestured vaguely at his chest. "Lots of Instagram followers?"
"That's the one." Jensen's heart was pounding now, a drumbeat in his ears. He kept his voice level, conversational. "I've been talking to her lately. She's, ah, interested in exploring some things."
Leonid's expression shifted, curiosity giving way to something more guarded. "What kind of things?"
"Sexual things." Jensen let the words land, watching Leonid's reaction through hooded eyes. "Specifically, she mentioned an interest in being with two men at once."
The silence that followed was thick enough to cut. Leonid set down his glass, slowly, deliberately. His jaw worked, a muscle ticking beneath the skin. Jensen watched every micro-expression, cataloging them, analyzing them.
"You're asking me to have a threesome with you and Hana Lee?"
"Just a thought." Jensen shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "You're the only guy I trust not to make it weird. We're friends. We're comfortable with each other. And God knows you've got the experience to show her a good time."
Flattery. Always a safe bet with Leonid's ego.
Leonid was quiet for a long moment. His fingers drummed against his thigh, a rhythm Jensen knew well from years of watching him at practice. Thinking mode. Processing.
"Are you serious?" Leonid finally asked.
"As a heart attack."
Leonid let out a low whistle, leaning back against the couch. His eyes swept over Jensen's face, searching for something—the punchline, the joke, the hidden camera. Jensen held his gaze, expression open, friendly, utterly innocent. The mask was seamless.
"Shit, man." Leonid ran a hand through his curls, a gesture of amused disbelief. "I didn't peg you for the type."
"Everyone has their secrets." Jensen's voice was smooth, layered with double meaning. "Mine just happen to be more interesting than most."
There was a beat of silence. Then Leonid's grin spread across his face, slow and wolfish. "Fuck it. Why not? When were you thinking?"
Jensen's blood sang. He kept his reaction contained, offering an easy shrug. "Tonight, if you're up for it. She's already on her way."
Leonid's eyebrows shot up. "You called her already?"
"I took a calculated risk." Jensen picked up his whiskey, taking a slow sip. "Seems it paid off."
Leonid shook his head, laughter rumbling in his chest. "You're something else, Kim. You know that?"
"I've been told."
They finished their drinks, the atmosphere shifting into something charged and electric. Jensen excused himself to the bathroom, needing a moment to compose himself. He braced his hands on the marble sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright and hungry. The predator emerging from behind the mask.
He could do this. He had done this before—three times now, each time with a different woman, each time carefully orchestrated so he could feel Leonid's hands on him, his breath on his skin, under the guise of group sex. The first time had been an accident. A drunken night, a mutual hookup, and Jensen had discovered that Leonid got generous with his partners. That he touched without hesitation, without reservation, giving equal attention to everyone involved.
Jensen had become addicted to that touch.
The doorbell rang. Jensen straightened, schooled his features, and went to answer it.
Hana Lee stood in the doorway, a vision of porcelain skin and honey-blonde hair. She wore a dress that left little to the imagination, heels that made her legs go on forever, and a smile that said she knew exactly what she was getting into. Her eyes flicked past Jensen, finding Leonid on the couch, and her smile widened.
"Jensen," she purred, stepping inside. "You didn't tell me Leonid would be here."
"Surprise." Jensen closed the door behind her, his gaze fixed on Leonid's reaction. The other man had risen, offering Hana a smile that was equal parts charm and heat. He crossed the room with that easy stride, extending his hand.
"Hana. Good to see you again."
She took his hand, but didn't shake it. Instead, she pulled him closer, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. "I've heard good things about you."
"All true." Jensen moved past them, toward the bedroom, his voice drifting back over his shoulder. "Why don't we continue this somewhere more comfortable?"
He didn't look back to see if they followed. He knew they would.
Jensen led them into the master bedroom, a space of dark silks and moody lighting. The king-sized bed dominated the room, its black silk sheets rumpled from Jensen's restless sleep the night before. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panorama of the Seoul skyline, city lights twinkling like earthbound stars.
Hana let out a soft whistle. "Jesus, Jensen. This is..."
"Excessive?" He smiled. "I've been told."
Leonid lingered by the door, arms crossed, watching Jensen with an expression that was impossible to read. Jensen felt that stare like a physical weight. Even here, in this context, with Hana shedding her dress and dropping it to the floor, Jensen's focus was singular, obsessive.
It had always been Leonid. It would always be Leonid.
Hana climbed onto the bed in black lace and stilettos, beckoning them closer with a crook of her perfectly manicured finger. Jensen crossed to her, letting his own hands trace up her thighs, but his eyes found Leonid across the room.
"Are you going to join us?" His voice was low, inviting, crackling with suggestion. "Or just watch from the door?"
A beat of silence stretched taut between them. Leonid's gaze flickered to Hana, half-naked and wanting, then back to Jensen. Something shifted in his expression—a decision made, a door opened.
"Fuck it." Leonid crossed the room, his hands finding Jensen's shoulders, pulling him into the bed's dark embrace.
And Jensen let himself fall.