this precious night, lit by lamplight is, at least, enough.

As the month dwindles down to the last few days, the palace sparks with a happy fire, glowing brightly from all the court residents that anticipate merry Chuseok festivities. For the duration of the night, at least, troubles can be temporarily set aside, and trade flourishes in the name of celebration. But on this occasion, there is an additional reason for the cheerful atmosphere within the palace.

And you are infinitely lucky that the reason is not news of jeonha's impending marriage.

"Preparations for the reduced banquet tomorrow are completed, jeonha! And we have received no further information of movements from the East."

On his throne, the king receives the final reports of the night with a satisfied nod. "Then you are dismissed."

"Yes, jeonha!"

Currently, you stand outside the audience room in wait for your king, holding your hands close to your chest as you silently thank the heavens that there promises to be some peace. For the last few months, the rumored marriage and all talks of that kind were forced to give way to the threat of invasion. Tensions with the neighbouring countries have always remained fraught but lately, shifting political landscapes within those countries' own ranks always seem to manifest in some outlandish plans to prove their military might by attempting to seize Joseon. Your king was ready for them this time though. By now, experience has refined his instincts.

(And... selfishly, you are glad it has bought you some more precious time. Delayed the proceedings, but not indefinitely. Never indefinitely.)

The opening of the door startles you out of your thoughts, making your head snap up. But it is only the very man you've been so eager to see; you receive him with a smile.

"To my rooms?" He asks, softly mirroring your grin.

"Anywhere you wish, jeonha."

Side by side, you cross the grounds, you burying your hands in the bundle of fabric you clutch to stave off the chill from the wind.

He doesn't touch you, but you can feel his heat as he leans in closer and lightly lifts his chin to indicate what's caught his curiosity. "What is that you're holding?"

"A surprise," you hum, knowing he'll forgive your playing coy soon enough.

His innermost bedroom is already warm when you walk inside, no doubt a courtesy of the ever-attentive head eunuch.

"Allow me a few minutes?"

"Not too long," he says casually, beginning to undo his belt.

"It won't, I promise." You clutch the fabric and slide behind the partition screen, leaving only your head unhidden as you watch him take a seat on the bed.

It doesn't take long to prepare, not when you are too excited to begin, too full of anticipation for how he might react when you show him another side of yourself that he has never seen before, even after all these years.

"Jeonha," you call. "Please close your eyes."

He makes a sound of affirmation.

You wait another few beats before you step from the screen, the long sleeves of the yellow aengsam costume dragging at your sides. There are two pieces of extra fabric wrapped around your wrists, essential pieces of the outfit. The colors, red, blue, white, are much more vibrant than anything you would normally don, but today is a special occasion. You shuffle until you are directly in front of him, imagining that there is the usual rectangle of fabric on the floor.

"Jeonha, please open your eyes."

You let a smile slip out at the open shock on his face when he is finally allowed to look at you. It's completely obvious that whatever he was expecting, it was not you dressed like one of the palace performers, bowing to him to signal the beginning of a dance. He stays absolutely silent as you start to hum a quiet rendition of the Chunaengjeon song.

"One of the dancers taught me this," you murmur, answering his unasked question as you bundle your arms together, taking slow steps towards him with socked feet.

Bending at the knees, you let the skirt hem drag on the wooden floor, the slow, controlled movement much more difficult than anticipated. You are unused to this kind of movement and to be wholly honest, you feel awkward to be imitating the grace of the impressive Chuseok performers. But so many years ago, when he was still seja-jeonha, he had confessed this Dance of the Spring Nightingale to be his favorite out of them all. So, you push forward, letting the notes fall from your slightly parted mouth as you lift your arms into the air and begin the slow spin.

"Beautiful."

His eyes track you as you shift to the quiet tune, trying desperately to seem smooth when it is taking all of your mind to remember which steps come next. A step back, a shift forward. Do you go down here, or is it a backwards sweep of the sleeves...? You must at least make it to the highlight of the dance, right?

But when you move to what would have been the top of the dance mat, closest to your king, he lets a warm smile spread across his lips.

"Come closer." He reaches out for you only for you to slip playfully back, out of his grasp.

"Jeonha, the dance is not yet finished!" You laugh, struggling to keep your posture, but your thoughts are becoming so full of his expression of open desire that there's little room left for anything else.

"I want to touch you," he confesses, so startlingly honest that you can't help but give in.

It's an easy tug, his hand on the outstretched wrist you offer him that brings you onto his lap. His mouth captures yours, hot and needy as he nips at your bottom lip. The impatience in his kiss threatens to make you lose control over yourself in favor of want. Perhaps that's exactly what he aims to do. He seems to enjoy it all too much when that haze robs you of rationality and all you can do is to cling onto him.

Impatiently, the king's fingers peel back what you have carefully prepared for him, pushing aside each layer like he would the unfurling petals of a precious blossom. The folds of your clothes have always been as pliable as your affections as you let him take everything away until you are bare. Completely his, his eyes say as they drink you in. And you want him just as much.

"Might I help you too, jeonha?" You murmur, letting your fingers drag along the thin white fabric covering his shoulders. He nods, half-lidded eyes never taking leave from your face. All he's doing is making you more nervous, since you've never really done this before, undressed him like he has you, but the expanse of his firm chest is too alluring to ignore.

His breath stutters when you slip your hands inside the gaping nightclothes, pressing your palms to his skin. You can hear his heartbeat like this; it's unmistakeably quick. Running at a pace that mirrors your own. Still, he allows you to take your time, giving you complete autonomy in a way he definitely should not.

Now you feel like the impatient one, the compelling sense of emptiness between your thighs making your entire body warm. This visceral, physical need for him is so different from what you are normally accustomed to and the strength of it makes you feel... vulnerable, even though he is the one giving you power over him in this moment.

Finally, you manage to push the fabric away, throwing it to the floor until you are both exposed to the other. Two bodies lit by dim lamplight.

"Beautiful," Yoongi repeats again, raising his hand to push aside the strands of hair that have fallen from your bun with all this movement. But his fingers continue to trail down your body even when the lock is safely tucked behind your ear, only stopping when they cup the swell of your breast. A man mesmerized, he runs his thumb over the nipple once, twice, thrice until it peaks obediently for his touch.

Then, somehow, you are on your back, and his mouth is doing something completely unfair.

"A-Ahn...!" You bite back a moan when his tongue flicks against the nipple. He is aggressive with it, as if displeased that you've hidden your noises and he is determined to get that reward. In the meantime, his fingers grope down the rest of your body, stopping only briefly to praise the softness of your belly with a fond stroke. He is so uncharacteristically light, gently drawing lines down your inner thighs as if he is utterly mesmerized by just being able to touch you. You wish you could save this look on his face, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration as his tongue traces pleasure into your veins.

"Mmn."

If this were any other situation, it would almost be amusing to hear such a whimper from the all-imposing king, but you are too distracted by the heat that flows through you when he buries his face in the dip between your breasts. Kisses everywhere he can reach.

Inevitably, it's when he dips two fingers into your cunt that he breaks composure. "Fuck," he groans when he feels how slick you are for him, every syllable of his curse dripping with open lust. "Fuck, I must be inside you."

You could likely come from the growl in his voice alone. Just what has he done to you?

"Turn around for me."

Your heart jumps at the prospect of what he implies. Really, it's proof of how well he has you trained, how even your body knows power lies in his grasp. Still, even with that power, he returns as much pleasure to you as he takes, and so you are no longer afraid of these kinds of nights. But if you think about it, have you ever been afraid of him? Afraid of losing him. Afraid of what he might decide for the kingdom. Afraid of who he might become. But those things... are not the same as fearing the man himself. Even when he was at his worst, you remembered and hopelessly searched for the boy you knew. You feel a faint smile on your mouth as you shift onto your knees, revealing even more of yourself to suit his whims.

Maybe you're just a fool.

Maybe that's just what love is.

His fingers cup your ass, squeeze. You've long learned that he likes to watch your cunt spread apart, wetness clinging to your folds. He likes this physical evidence that you are his, as if every cell in your body is not already proof enough. As if he can't see how you are literally quivering with anticipation of being fed his cock. He uses it against you, letting you feel how hard he is by nudging the head of his cock against your skin. He edges himself closer and closer, making your poor heart's throbbing double, then triple.

Except what he pushes inside you is merely a thumb.

"Jeonha!" Your tone is so indignant it makes him laugh.

"Do you want me so desperately?" He asks, and you can hear how he smiles in his tone.

"What do you think?"

And well, that first slide, the first few inches of his cock inside you, banish all room for ambiguity when you keen. Push back against him, searching for more. He just feels right here, next to you, inside you. You want him as deep as he can go immediately, even if it will hurt come morning. Even if it hurts for the rest of your life.

"Patience," he whispers, the word dripping honey. "We have time." And for tonight, you let yourself believe it.

Then he's panting through his low groans when you squeeze him tight, pulling him closer to his breaking point. That edge when composure becomes as scattered as the clothes on the floor and he's no longer of afraid of hurting you, but only wants to make you his. Only on those nights, when he's given in, does he leave mark after mark and you, in turn, let your nails prove you are still the sole woman who has shared his bed.

"Oh—"

When his crotch finally smacks against your ass, you echo each other's exhale of bliss. He doesn't move, never can, for the first few moments because everything is so fucking wet and soft and you, you, you are so beautiful, trembling from pleasure on your knees.

The first thrust is languid and steady, but doesn't hesitate to push against the deepest ache in you. The second goes further, faster, paired with his startlingly loud moan, a noise so cruelly seductive you feel yourself get wetter. "Does it hurt? Should I go slower?" He asks, but you can barely form words because he's dragging his shaft across every nerve at your entrance at the same time.

"N-No," you manage, "don't stop..."

And he obeys. Thrusts himself back into you with such haste that pleasure comes as suddenly and relentlessly. He amplifies it with every subsequent pump, re-inscribes bliss over and over again by the second. You have to curl your hands into claws around the silk beneath you, needing something to hold onto when it feels like you will soon give him every part of yourself in this frenzied, delicious mess. Still, you crave him more.

And this position, one he seldom puts you in, continuously reminds you of your first time. Except how could it ever be the same? Nothing has ever been like that winter's night, nearly two years ago. When you were just bodies meeting, used for release. Now his hands are unafraid to keep your skin warm, unable to keep from showing you just how addicted he is to the feel of you. Now he asks your feelings, listens so attentively to how your words and your body answers him.

Yoongi bends forward, loose hair sweeping delicately against your back as he kisses your shoulder blade, your spine. As his lips press affection to you, his hand reaches around to touch between your legs, to coax you into unraveling around his cock. "Jeonha... Jeonha, I—"

His fingers stutter when you get tighter around him. His hot breath breaks over you in lapping waves, sounding much like the precious syllables of your name. You can't focus on anything else. Why would you want to? "Come," he murmurs, the pressure of his fingertips insistently, infuriatingly perfect, "come."

The sharp bliss makes you dissolve, but you get your revenge soon enough. You clamp down around him inside, squeeze your muscles with what remains of your strength and hear him choke out a groan.

"Don't wanna... outside..." He gasps, the words barely audible as if he's not even aware he's saying them and you almost tell him he shouldn't. That you have long wanted to accept this from him too, if only he would let you have it.

But a moment later, his seed splatters hot between your legs, barely an inch from where he was buried. It ruins the silk blankets beneath you as it trails down your inner thigh. You begin to shiver as it begins to cool in the air, but not for long. He takes the fabric, cleaning the cream from you as he gently turns you onto your back.

Yoongi looks like he wants to say something, so you wait. Hold your own tongue, to let him formulate. When once before, you might have pressured him, but now you know he shares much more freely without your coaxing.

"Stay with me tonight."

Your eyes widen. He knows very well that such a thing is strictly forbidden by the Confucious ideals that bind your lives to strict, gendered tenements. It would go against everything to think of such a thing, much less put it into practice. (As if you haven't already done just that, and so much more.)

"I—"

He steps close. He looks at you through the fallen strands of his light hair, still messy from proving how much he needs you.

"Don't leave me," Yoongi whispers.

So you let him take your hand in his, warmth pooling over your skin. You let him lead you back to bed, your heart melting into his touch.