luhan is a businessman to the core, every little action pre-planned and perfectly thought out with payoffs and personal gain in mind.

results, results, results.

everything from his impeccably tailored brioni power suit to his perfectly coiffed, immaculately styled hair, it all just screams methodical thinking and professional judgment, an analytical man with a proficiency-based agenda.

even luhan’s marriage was more of a business transaction, organized and built upon the foundations of paperwork and contracts, ending in ostentatious, curvy signatures signed by his father-in-law’s favorite mont blanc ballpoint pen with the flick of a wrist.

the outcome of years of hard work and effort, blood, sweat, and tears, luhan is finally at the highest tier of the conglomerate food chain, positioned just beneath the top boss himself, ready to take over at the first signs of weakness and ill health.

all his hopes, his dreams, everything he’s ever fought for.

and one day, in the blink of an eye, it all comes crashing down around his glossy tanino crisci loafered feet in the form of an explosion of mixed clothes strewn all over the plush five-star hotel carpet.

the first time luhan meets minseok is at a bar he usually frequents after work, luhan’s time alone to unwind and relax the tension in his muscles before heading back to a home that is less like a home than his office space, a mansion up in the hills where he and his wife will sleep with their backs turned toward each other, a few inches of space between them that seems wider than the breadth of the pacific ocean.

luhan is slowly making his way through his fourth glass of whiskey when a gentle cough catches his attention.

“is this seat taken?”

surprised, luhan glances over his shoulder to find a man standing behind him, casually dressed in a white button-down shirt, rolled up at the arms to just below his elbows.

luhan can’t help but stare at the creamy, exposed skin when the stranger repeats his question. awkwardly clearing his throat, luhan invites him to sit down.

the stranger introduces himself as xiumin, wrapping his warm, slender fingers around luhan’s hand in a shake that lingers a few moments longer than is necessary for appropriate social protocol, leaving luhan’s skin burning like it’s about to spontaneously combust at any given moment.

and luhan is captivated by the other’s large brown eyes that tilt just so at the corners, the pretty curve of his full, rosy bottom lip, the soft sweep of his rounded cheeks. everything about him is so alluring, so intoxicatingly inviting, he can’t help but subconsciously lean in closer as xiumin makes small talk in a soft, lilting voice that does nothing to calm luhan’s already frazzled nerves.

xiumin orders a drink, slowly sipping on his cocktail as he continues to speak. but luhan can’t really process anything the other is saying, because he’s too preoccupied with the way xiumin’s pink lips curl around the two, thin straws, luhan’s heart jolting erratically out of control.

they continue to make conversation, talking about nothing in particular, and luhan is unwilling to go home, reluctant to separate from this beautiful creature before him. luhan doesn’t understand why he feels so desolate at the thought of tearing himself away from xiumin’s company, but doesn’t question it. instead, he orders drink after drink, prolonging their separation, delaying the moment he’ll have to walk away from this perfect human forever.

because, let’s be real. nothing about this relationship fits into the impeccably molded life that luhan has created for himself. luhan can’t, absolutely won’t, see himself in the embrace of another man, and not have to face the consequences of his actions.

nothing about this will ever work.

but luhan is drunk.

and luhan is malleable.

luhan willingly follows xiumin back to a hotel where their clothes are stripped off without much pretense, luhan’s skin scorching everywhere xiumin’s fingers touch.

with xiumin’s legs wrapped around luhan’s lithe waist, luhan digging his fingernails into xiumin’s thighs so hard to the point of breaking skin, little crimson beads dripping onto the cream colored sheets, the man below him wraps his fingers into luhan’s hair, drawing luhan’s sweaty forehead against his own.

xiumin presses their mouths together, and whispers something against luhan’s lips.

“my real name is minseok.”

a little slow on the uptake, luhan’s confused brain tries to straighten out the information he just received. but “minseok” clenches hot and tight around his cock, and all other thoughts seep away from his mind except for the suffocating warmth squeezing him for all he’s got, the ball of electricity sparking in the pit of his stomach, sizzling all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes.

luhan murmurs the foreign name over and over again into the curve of minseok’s neck, riding out his orgasm as minseok follows right after, coming sticky and hot across their chests.

luhan later learns that “xiumin” is a topnotch, highest ranking escort working for an extremely low profile company that deals with a high end, private client base of very important people who could be put in very compromising positions were their files to be released into the general public.

luhan is staggered, completely astounded by what he’s done.

minseok punches his private number into luhan’s cell phone, flashing a quick smile as he takes it upon himself to fish luhan’s wallet out of the back pocket of his slacks tossed carelessly into a corner of the room.

pulling out a few bills, minseok pockets the crisp greens after hunting down his own clothes, slowly, deliberately sliding them on as luhan watches blankly.

minseok places a chaste kiss on his lips before padding quietly out the door, luhan staring frozen to the spot for hours before finally thawing.

fully clothed and back in his extravagant, bright red ferrari f12berlinetta, luhan sits for another two hours, fingers struggling to delete the contact information from his phone.

in the end, luhan tucks his cell back into his pocket, pulling out of the parking lot with a sigh and heading back home where he already has his well-rehearsed arsenal of excuses prepared on the tip of his tongue.

luhan contemplates drowning himself in the steaming hot shower, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to empty his brain of the fleeting, silky caresses, the low whispered words, the soft, heady moans echoing loudly in his ears.

and when he steps out of the bathroom, there’s a text message waiting for him on his phone.

‘come see me.’

demand, not request.

in a sudden surge of frustration and inner turmoil, luhan nearly hurls his phone against the wall. but he can’t, shoulders slumping in defeat as he buries his face in his hands.

dropping his phone on the bed, he makes his way downstairs to spend some time with his daughter in their expansive backyard garden, a text message on it’s way to sending.

'later, tonight.’