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In his lifetime, Xu Minghao has read plenty of untruths about himself in the news. ‘Crown Prince skinny dips in the palace pond!’ ‘Crown Prince spotted in Jeju with a secret lover!’ ‘Crown Prince expecting a fourth child out of wedlock!’ ‘Crown Prince responsible for Queen Ruoxi’s allergic reaction: an attempt to poison?’ And the most recent: ’Crown Prince marries best-friend and multinational-conglomerate heir Kim Mingyu in secret Las Vegas Wedding!’
Oh.
Okay so maybe the last one was true.
But not entirely. For one, the journalists didn’t mention (or know) that the entire wedding party actually only consisted of two drunk grooms and three extremely reluctant bodyguards as witnesses. Even the ‘secrecy’ of it all had more to do with the fact that it took place at 2AM and not because of any attempt at privacy made by the two of them.
Maybe out of all the times they’ve been wasted, this is the one that went too far. But Minghao spends the entire plane ride back to the Korean residence of the royal family (a deviation to avoid the frenzied Chinese media) clinging desperately to the hope that his mother will see that this is the only scandal he and Mingyu have ever been in.
At the palace, the office wing is ominously busy, a chorus of hushed voices behind the mahogany doors and the sound of heels clicking hurriedly across the marble floors. Minghao nervously rolls the wedding band around his finger. There’s a matching ring on Mingyu’s finger, and he’s surprised neither of them has bothered to take them off. Minghao had bought the rings the night before last, drunk out of his mind as he dragged Mingyu to the closed Cartier store on Las Vegas Boulevard, fingers tucked together as he called a friend of a friend of a friend who could get the store to open especially for them at 1AM.
“We’re getting married and that means we need RINGS!” He had shouted to the empty street, pulling an unsteady Mingyu out of the chauffeured car.
“Cannweget’em tomaroh?” Mingyu had slurred out, fingers gripping tightly onto Mingyu’s hand as the pavement moved around them.
“What?”
Mingyu had inhaled, steeling himself. Words were hard, why couldn’t he catch them in his mouth? “Can-we-get-them-tomorrow?” He spelt out carefully.
Then he had stumbled up the steps after Minghao, his arm wrapping warmly around Minghao’s waist. He was warm and sweaty against his back, every bit the overgrown puppy. Minghao was slightly steadier somehow, but only by a little.
“No,” Minghao had explained exasperatedly, tugging open the sleek glass doors of the boutique to lead Mingyu inside by hand. “We have to put them on each other when the officiant marries us.”
Minghao had watched as the understanding dawned in Mingyu’s eyes, leaving him sleepy sweet and smiley as he nodded. “Okay pick whatever, but we have to hurry. I’m getting sleepy.”
They had managed to wrangle a pair of rings from the poor store assistant that had been summoned at this ungodly hour for them, leaving a generous amount of change in her palms as Mingyu swiped his black card through the store machine.
The rest, as they say, is history. And now Minghao has a valid marriage certificate, a husband, and a very, very, irritated mother.
“Both of you are well versed in what constitutes appropriate behavior, and what does not,” Her Highness Xu Ruoxi begins sharply, ruby lips pursed tightly in derision. “What you’ve done is decidedly inappropriate.”
Minghao slumps lower in his seat, chin tilted low. Mingyu squirms beside him, equally guilty and uncomfortable.
“We’re—” Minghao begins, voice cracking horribly. He clears his throat when he catches Mingyu’s wince. “Sorry, it was an accident.”
Ruoxi turns around swiftly, manicured hands resting on her hips, “an accident which is front page news in eleven different countries, if not widely reported everywhere else. Do you know how irresponsible this makes you look?”
Behind her Wu Muchen, the man in-charge of the palace’s media relations, presses his fingers to his temples. He’s been working with the royal family since before Minghao was born, and Minghao isn’t sure if he’d seen the royal publicist look so stressed before.
Mingyu sits up suddenly beside him, stiff with contrition.
“I am deeply, deeply sorry your Majesty. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you-” he turns his sincere gaze to Mr. Hwang “-manage the situation.”
Minghao looks on in pleasant surprise. He’d been convinced that Mingyu would be no help, and that Minghao would have to manage negotiations with his mother all on his own. But he watches as his mother’s gaze turns less severe; she’s always had a soft spot for Mingyu.
Minghao nods vigorously, trying to preserve the momentum Mingyu had given them. “Exactly! Whatever you need, Muchen ge.”
The room is quiet for a moment, filled with partly anticipatory-partly contemplative silence. Ruoxi exchanges a look with Muchen, before turning back to the pair.
“You’ll have to stay married.”
Minghao blinks vacantly at his mother. Mingyu is quicker to recover between the two of them.
“I’m sorry? You,—us—stay married?”
The queen nods briskly. “You’ll stay married and stay here in the townhouse for Muchen has arranged for you. The tabloid photographers we have on contract will make scheduled visits to photograph you leaving and coming home together. As far as the rest of the world is concerned-” she narrows her eyes at them, “-you got married for good, and not because you couldn’t hold your liquor.”
“Of course this means that, eh, romantic liaisons with anyone else for the time being would be highly, highly frowned upon,” Muchen adds from behind the Queen.
Ruoxi hums in agreement. “You will also attend all official events together for the foreseeable future, and perhaps once the media frenzy has died down, we can look into divorce proceedings. If that’s something you’re still interested in pursuing?” She arches a neat eyebrow.
Minghao nods, “of course.” He clears his throat, resolutely avoiding Mingyu’s gaze, “where is this townhouse exactly?”
“They gave us your parents’ honeymoon home,” Mingyu deadpans.
Minghao pushes him into the intimidating residence. “It’s not like that, all the tabloids on contract know this house. Muchen ge bought this back when the news kept alleging that mum and dad were getting divorced. He thought it would be a good idea for the public to see the royal couple taking time for themselves.”
“And now he’s trying to do the same thing with us,” Mingyu falls onto the couch, long limbs starfishing outwards, “like I said, it’s a honeymoon home.”
“It’s not that bad-”
“Speak for yourself,” Mingyu waits for him to settle on the couch before dropping his head onto Minghao’s lap. “The company is a 30-minute drive away for me.”
Minghao shrugs, hand automatically coming to comb through Mingyu’s hair, “good, maybe it’s time you took a break.”
Mingyu snorts, “for my honeymoon?”
“You were the one that wanted to get married. I was drunk off my ass, but I wasn’t the one down on one knee,” Minghao reminds him.
Mingyu laughs and Minghao doesn’t have to look down to know there’s a flush spidering out across his cheeks. “It felt like a good idea—you should have stopped me, not agreed!”
“And broken my best friend’s heart? I could never,” Minghao gasps dramatically, his fingers still loosely tucked in Mingyu’s hair. They sink into the couch, finally comfortable after hours and hours spent on the hastily chartered midnight jet they had taken to Korea.
Minghao is surprised by how easily they slip into ‘married life.’ Every morning, Mingyu and he leave their home, polished loafers walking alongside each other as they head to their respective cars. There’s a horde of photographers stationed outside by 7AM, and Mingyu is endlessly indulgent with how he wraps his arm around Minghao’s waist or holds his hand as he leads him down the cobbled pavement.
As expected, the news is sensational. The public can’t get enough of the young couple, so ‘madly in love’ that they abandoned propriety and married in secret. So crazy about each other that they escaped to Las Vegas to do it. One of the news websites even manages to get security footage of them walking down the Las Vegas strip at 1AM. It’s far too grainy and dark to be too revealing, but Minghao is still pleasantly surprised by how much they look the part. Two figures walking hand-in-hand, lilting against each other under the amber streetlights, looking every bit young and in-love.
Even Muchen is pleased, chin sitting proudly over his starched collar while he beams at a crisis well-managed. The newsstands are a collage of their pictures. Bright yellow headlines emblazoned across pictures of Mingyu’s hand on Minghao’s hip, his waist, his back, them laughing together, talking together, smiling together.
Mingyu—as the heir to Kim Corp—and Minghao—as the heir to, well, the country—have been in the public eye for long enough that the attention isn’t particularly damaging, or even bothersome. But the renewed interest in their relationship is odd, especially because Minghao finds that they play this role a bit too well. Even when they’re at home in their pajamas with all the blinds drawn shut, Minghao can’t remember when his fingers found Mingyu’s, or when Mingyu’s chest pressed against his back.
On most nights they sleep in the same bed, bodies a polite distance apart. It had been easy at first, thoughtless—they’d shared a bed plenty of times, at Soonyoung’s house parties, in Jisoo’s fancy ski cabin, on Hansol’s yacht—and this was nothing out of the ordinary. But as one month melts into the next, Minghao finds himself sleeping a careful distance away, aware of each breath that Mingyu takes and each turn of his body between the sheets. Even Mingyu stops leaning over to cuddle him playfully, instead his movements are hesitant, considering.
The change is slow, delicate. It meanders carefully across the distance between friends who are tactile and something more. Something new and tentative, and something Minghao is too afraid to put a name to. He’s never thought twice about reaching for Mingyu, but now every move he makes is preceded by a montage of tabloid pictures in his head. HD shots of their interlaced fingers, of their touching shoulders, and it makes Minghao oddly shy. Makes him feel lost in the space between the friends they used to be, and the lovers that the world thinks they are.
Between them, Minghao has always been more self-assured, a calm facade in the face of Mingyu’s more tumultuous emotions. But Minghao slips up too. He catches himself sometimes, fingers reaching for Mingyu’s, tilting into him when Mingyu presses his body a little too close on the couch.
Minghao loses track of the days, lost in the limbo of ill-acquired domestic bliss and whatever this new electric thing between them is. He doesn’t realize it’s been weeks since they last saw their friends, until an incensed Seokmin arrives at their door one Friday evening. He’s wearing a buttery new leather jacket and has eyeliner smudged around his eyes, and Minghao already know what’s coming even before he opens his mouth to say—
“You’re both coming to HIT with me, and I won’t take no for an answer. We haven’t seen you two for weeks, it’s like you’re honeymooning for real.”
And protest as they might, a determined Seokmin is an impossible force to reckon with. Less than an hour after Seokmin’s arrival, they find themselves in his sleek black Audi.
“So what’s the deal?” Seokmin asks, smoothly turning off the main street, “I know you guys are together for the papers or whatever, but does that mean you can’t take anyone else home tonight?”
It’s an innocuous question, almost predictable, but it fills Minghao with dense, muted panic. He can’t imagine wanting to take anyone home, not when his head has been filled with nothing but Mingyu for weeks now. And the thought of Mingyu being okay with hooking up with someone from the club has his stomach turning into a sack of sand.
“No. We can’t,” is what Mingyu says instead. “It’s too risky.”
When Minghao turns to him from the front seat, Mingyu’s gaze is piercing and unwavering in the dark, and it steals the breath from Minghao’s lungs. Makes his heart race in the too-small space of the car as an oblivious Seokmin shrugs and steers towards the valet parking.
HIT was one the most exclusive clubs in the city. Entry required multiple background checks, and capped at 60 people. Even if one of them were to dance with someone else, the chances of it getting out were fairly low. But that’s not what stops Minghao.
Instead he stays at their table with Mingyu, matching him shot-for-shot with clammy palms and heavy breaths. From the outside, it’s no different from how they used to be, drinking and playing. But where there used to be playful pinching and shoving, now their hands stay firmly at their sides, and Mingyu’s eyes don’t stray to the dance floor even once.
They leave early.
The air feels thick as Minghao tries to press the key into the lock to their front door. His breaths are loud in his ears and his hands get more clammy as Mingyu presses in closer, his chest warm against Minghao’s back. Minghao fumbles uselessly, frustration mounting as Mingyu steps even closer—presumably to help.
“Fuck it,” Minghao swears, dropping the keys and turning swiftly to slam his lips against Mingyu’s.
Mingyu kisses back instantly, mouth hot and insistent as his hands find Minghao’s waist. His fingers dig into Minghao’s hips, pushing him back against the door as his teeth graze against Minghao’s lower lip.
Minghao let’s his fingers sink into Mingyu’s hair, pulling and combing through the soft strands as Mingyu presses closer, licks into his mouth fervently. It’s so easy to fall into him, melt into the hard lines that make Mingyu. Minghao could stay here for hours, sandwiched safely between Mingyu’s body and the door, and tucked away from view of the cameras that were still lurking across the street.
Let them see, Minghao thinks, smiling into the kiss. He was well within his rights to kiss his husband.
Fortunately, Mingyu is still clear-headed enough to get them inside, pushing Minghao into the wall by their coat hanger when the door slams shut behind them. His fingers drop to the button on Minghao’s pants, making Minghao mewl into his mouth when Mingyu’s knuckles drag deliberately against his bulge.
“Fuck-” Mingyu gasps, “fuck Minghao--the way you sound-”
He doesn’t finish, lips finding Minghao’s again, as he yanks off Minghao’s jeans and underwear in a single, fluid motion. His fingers wrap around Minghao’s cock, and Minghao’s knees threaten to buckle as he steps out of his fallen trousers and leans against the wall. Mingyu is relentless through it all, tugging at the length, once, twice, catching the soft sounds that Minghao makes between his teeth.
Minghao tries to help, fingers latched uselessly into the waistband of Mingyu’s jeans as he gasps sweetly into Mingyu’s open-mouthed kisses. But Mingyu gets the message, haggardly pulling down his own trousers and dragging Minghao closer so their hips align. Minghao moans with Mingyu when he first puts his hand on Mingyu’s cock, whines desperately against Mingyu’s throat as he feels the size of him, the thick warm weight of him in his palm. His own cock jerks in Mingyu’s hands as Minghao feels him up, fingers reverent as they smear precum down from the tip to the root.
They’ve hooked up before, nothing more than drunk making-out and frotting against each other when they couldn’t be bothered to find someone else. But it’s different now, layered with the scorching intimacy of spending weeks and weeks together, eating on the same table, sleeping in the same bed but not touching. Never touching.
And then suddenly touching everywhere.
Mingyu pushes him harder against the wall, his warm weight blanketing Minghao as he pants roughly into his throat. Two big hands squeeze his ass, fingers moving shyly towards the crease and Minghao feels nearly feverish, wet and needy against the promise of how big Mingyu is. They rut together, the slide made slicker by sweat as Mingyu guides their hips together again and again and again, rough and reverent and everything Minghao wants.
“Want you--” he verbalizes the thought into Mingyu’s throat, moans when Mingyu lifts him away from the wall with his hands under Minghao’s thighs. “Give it to me Mingyu, please.”
He wakes up the next morning with his lower back pulsing and Mingyu wrapped around him like an octopus. It’s hot and their bare skin sticks together in the heat, but Minghao can’t think of a single place he’d much rather be.
There’s a single text from his mother, with an attached tabloid scan showing Mingyu and him kissing fiercely on their doorstep.
Shall we begin looking into bespoke rings and a more formal ceremony?