Hihi

The air in Net’s apartment was thick with the scent of stale whiskey and the lingering echoes of the council’s laughter. The party had wound down an hour ago, leaving the space in a disarray of empty cans and half-eaten snacks. Keng and Namping had practically carried a snoring Ohm out the door, while Kim and Latte trailed behind, still debating the logistics of the next semester’s orientation.

Now, it was just the two of them. The President and the Vice President. The duo that everyone joked would eventually kill each other—or burn the campus down in the process.

JJ sat slumped on the sofa, his head tilted back against the cushions. His eyes were glazed, the alcohol stripping away his usual sharp-tongued composure. Net stood by the kitchen island, gripping a glass of water so hard his knuckles were white. The silence was worse than their usual screaming matches. It was heavy, pregnant with the words JJ had let slip earlier.

"It would never happen," JJ had said, laughing off Namping’s teasing about them being an old married couple. "Me and Net? I’d rather date a cactus. At least a cactus doesn't talk back. It’s impossible. Never in a million years."

Net set the glass down with a sharp clack that made JJ flinch. He walked over, his movements slow and predatory, stopping only when his knees hit the edge of the sofa where JJ’s legs were sprawled.

"Never?" Net asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

JJ looked up, trying to summon a smirk, but it came out as a shaky twitch of the lips. "Don't get your panties in a twist, Net. It was a joke. Everyone knows we’re... we’re us. Friction. That’s our brand."

Net leaned down, hands planting on either side of JJ’s head, trapping him against the fabric. The smell of alcohol and Net’s expensive cologne swirled together. "I’m tired of the brand, JJ. Why were you so certain? Why did you sound so disgusted at the thought of me touching you?"

JJ’s heart hammered against his ribs. The proximity was overwhelming. He could see the flecks of gold in Net’s irises, the intensity there that usually manifested as anger but now felt like something far more consuming. He felt exposed, his armor of sarcasm melting under Net's heat. He did what he always did when he felt cornered: he bit back.

"Because you're exhausting!" JJ snapped, pushing at Net’s chest, though his hands lacked their usual strength. "You’re possessive, you’re stubborn, and you make everything a goddamn competition. I hate you, Net. I actually hate you."

The air left the room. Net didn’t flinch. Instead, a dark, resolve settled over his features.

"You hate me?" Net whispered, his thumb catching JJ’s lower lip and pulling it down to reveal the slick pink interior. "Let's see if you can still say that by morning."

Before JJ could process the threat, Net’s mouth crashed onto his. It wasn't a soft kiss; it was a reclamation. It tasted of bitterness and years of repressed longing. JJ let out a muffled protest, but Net’s tongue forced its way past his teeth, dominating the space with a desperate, hungry rhythm.

Net hauled JJ up, dragging him toward the bedroom. JJ stumbled, his head spinning, his body betraying him as he felt a sharp spark of arousal ignite in his gut. Net threw him onto the mattress and followed him down, pinning his wrists above his head with a single hand.

"Net, wait—" JJ gasped, his eyes wide as Net reached into his bedside drawer, pulling out a silk tie.

"No more running, JJ," Net said, his voice devoid of its usual vice-presidential restraint. He wound the silk around JJ’s wrists, binding them to the headboard. The tightness was firm, a physical manifestation of Net’s refusal to let him go.

"Net, this is... you're crazy," JJ breathed, his chest heaving.

Net ignored him, stripping JJ’s clothes off with efficient, trembling hands. He didn't stop until JJ was shivering and bare, his skin flushed pink under the dim lights. Net moved down, his mouth finding JJ’s nipples, biting and sucking until JJ was arching off the bed, a high, thin moan escaping his lips.

"You hate this?" Net murmured against his skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak. "Tell me you hate how my mouth feels on you."

JJ couldn't answer. His mind was a fog of alcohol and sudden, sharp pleasure. Net moved lower, his hands parting JJ’s thighs. He didn't go straight for the main event. Instead, he flipped JJ over, the bound wrists forcing JJ to bury his face in the pillow.

Net’s tongue was suddenly there, swirling against the tight entrance of JJ’s heat. JJ let out a choked sob, the sensation of being rimmed—of Net being so thorough and clinical in his worship—sending shocks through his nervous system. It was humiliating and intoxicating all at once.

"Look at me," Net commanded, flipping him back over but keeping his legs pinned high.

Net entered him in one forceful thrust, the lack of preparation making JJ gasp, his eyes flying open. It was rough, the friction intense as Net began to move, his hips slamming against JJ’s with a rhythmic, punishing pace.

"Look at me, JJ," Net growled, his hand coming up to cup JJ’s jaw, forcing their eyes to lock. "I want you to see exactly who is doing this to you. The man you hate. The man who’s never going to let you go."

JJ’s vision blurred. The pleasure was too much, a tidal wave that threatened to drown him. He felt himself reaching the edge, his body tensing, but just as he was about to break, Net’s hand clamped down on the base of JJ’s length, squeezing tight.

"No," Net whispered, his eyes dark and obsessive. "Not yet. Not until you admit it."

"Net... please," JJ begged, his voice breaking. "I can't... let me go, please."

"Do you still hate me?" Net asked, his pace increasing, the sound of their bodies colliding filling the room. He leaned down, whispering into JJ’s ear, "Say it. Say you don't hate me, and I'll let you come."

JJ shook his head, tears of overstimulation pricking his eyes. Net was relentless, edging him over and over, his own movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. He was hunting for a truth JJ had spent four years burying.

"I don't... I don't hate you!" JJ finally cried out, the words ripped from his throat. "Net, please, I don't hate you!"

Net released his grip, and JJ shattered, his body convulsing as he reached a peak so intense it left him sobbing. Net followed shortly after, burying his face in the crook of JJ’s neck, his entire body shuddering as he claimed what he had wanted since their freshman year.

But Net didn't stop there. The night became a blur of multiple rounds, of Net’s possessiveness manifesting in every touch, every bite, every overstimulating stroke. He treated JJ’s body like a map he was finally allowed to memorize, ignoring JJ’s pleas for a break until he was satisfied that JJ was thoroughly, undeniably his.

---

The morning sun was a cruel intruder.

JJ woke up with a pounding headache and a body that felt like it had been run over by a freight train. The memory of the night hit him in a sudden, violent rush—the silk tie, the look in Net’s eyes, the way he had begged.

Panic, cold and sharp, seized his chest. He looked at Net, still asleep beside him, looking far too peaceful for a man who had just dismantled JJ’s entire reality.

JJ didn't think. He scrambled out of bed, his legs shaking, and gathered his clothes. He dressed with trembling fingers and practically fell out of the apartment, running toward the campus. He needed noise. He needed the council room. He needed to be the President again, not the man who had been broken open in the dark.

When Net woke an hour later to an empty bed, he didn't cry. He didn't even look surprised. He felt a cold, hard resolve settle in his gut.

"Coward," Net muttered, his voice raspy.

He showered, dressed in his vice-presidential best—sharp slacks and a crisp shirt—and headed to the university. He wasn't going to apologize. He was going to finish what he started.

The campus was bustling. JJ was trying to hide in plain sight, darting between the library and the faculty buildings, his eyes darting around like a hunted animal. He bumped into Keng and Latte near the fountain.

"Whoa, Prez, you look like you saw a ghost," Keng laughed, leaning against a pillar. "And where’s your shadow? Net’s usually three inches behind you."

"I... I have a meeting. Busy day," JJ stammered, his eyes catching a glimpse of a familiar tall figure turning the corner.

Net was walking toward them, his gait steady and purposeful. JJ turned and bolted toward the North Hall.

"What the hell was that?" Latte asked, watching the President sprint away.

Net arrived a second later, not even winded. "Did he go that way?"

"Yeah, but Net, what’s going on? You guys having a spat again?"

Net didn't answer. He just took off after JJ. For the next hour, the student council watched in bafflement as their two leaders played a high-stakes game of cat and mouse across the quad. Net didn't yell. He didn't throw things. He simply tracked JJ down with a terrifying, silent efficiency.

Finally, he cornered JJ in the empty archives room behind the library. JJ backed into a shelf of old yearbooks, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

"Stop running," Net said, closing the door and locking it.

"I have work to do, Net. Move," JJ tried to use his 'President' voice, but it cracked.

Net stepped into his space, forcing JJ to look at him. "Why did you run? Was it the 'hate' you mentioned? Or was it the fact that you liked it?"

"Net, stop it. Last night was... it was the alcohol. It was a mistake. We’re teammates. We’re friends who fight. That’s it."

"No," Net said, his voice dropping to a tone of absolute sincerity that JJ had never heard before. "I’ve loved you since the day you tripped over your own feet during the freshman orientation. I’ve fought with you for four years because it was the only way you’d look at me without running away. Last night wasn't a mistake. It was the first honest thing we’ve ever done."

JJ froze. The teasing comeback died in his throat. The "armor" he had worn for years—the sarcasm, the cruelty—crumbled. He looked at Net and saw not the rival he pretended to despise, but the man who had held him through the night.

"It’s terrifying," JJ whispered, his eyes welling up. "If we do this... if I admit it... everything changes. We won't be 'Net and JJ' anymore."

"We’ll be something better," Net promised, stepping closer until their foreheads touched. "Just say it. Without the games."

JJ took a shaky breath. "I don't hate you. I... I think I’ve been terrified of how much I don't hate you."

Net kissed him then—a soft, lingering promise that was the polar opposite of the night before.

They walked out of the archives twenty minutes later, JJ’s hair slightly mussed and Net’s hand firmly gripped around JJ’s. They headed toward the council room where the rest of the group was waiting.

Keng, Namping, Kim, and the others were huddled around a laptop. They looked up as the door opened. The room went silent. They looked at Net’s hand, then at JJ’s flushed face.

"Okay," Namping said, breaking the silence. "I’ll ask. Are you two... finally not trying to kill each other?"

"We’re dating," Net said immediately, his voice clear and proud.

JJ jumped, trying to pull his hand away. "Net! Shut up, we don't have to—"

"Dating?" Kim choked on his coffee. "Like, for real? Not as a prank to get out of the budget meeting?"

"For real," Net confirmed, pulling JJ closer to his side.

JJ covered his face with his free hand, his ears turning bright red as the room erupted into cheers and catcalls.

"I knew it!" Latte shouted. "Pay up, Ohm! I told you they’d crack by graduation!"

JJ groaned, leaning his head against Net’s shoulder. "I hate you all. I really do."

Net leaned down, whispering so only JJ could hear, "You’re a terrible liar, Mr. President."

JJ didn't argue. For once, he just let himself be held.