Chapter 9 Hidden Message

Arka’s world collapsed onto a small, neon-yellow memo slip tucked between page 142 of his Calculus textbook. The handwriting was messy, typical of Bima who was always in a rush, but the content was enough to make Arka’s blood boil instantly.

‘Ka, your shirt that you left on my bed still smells so much like you. I wore it to sleep last night while imagining your hands were everywhere. Want to hear the details or should I demonstrate it live when Radit is at futsal practice this afternoon?’

Arka crumpled the paper until it was crushed completely in his fist. His jaw tightened, creating a terrifyingly sharp line on his usually stoic face. Arka didn't wait a single second. He snatched his motorcycle keys, entirely ignoring the lecturer who had just stepped into the classroom, and walked out with the predatory aura of a wolf tracking its prey.

The third floor of their building was dead silent. Radit wasn't around, exactly as written in that cursed note. Arka opened their unit door with a rough, violent jerk. His eyes swept the room and immediately found Bima lounging face down on the living room sofa, wearing nothing but basketball shorts and—sure enough—Arka’s black shirt, which looked incredibly oversized on his slim frame.

"Bima."

Bima jolted, nearly rolling off the sofa. He turned, his eyes widening at the sight of Arka standing in the doorway, his breathing ragged and his eyes flashing dark. Instead of being afraid, Bima smirked—a mischievous, provocative smile that always succeeded in breaking down Arka's defenses.

"Wow, you got here fast. Is Calculus done, Mr. Class President?" Bima teased, his voice intentionally drawn out. He deliberately yanked at the shirt's collar until his smooth shoulder was entirely exposed, showing off his collarbone.

Arka didn't answer with words. He took long, aggressive strides, closing the distance between them in three steps. Before Bima could react any further, Arka seized both of Bima's wrists and pinned them ruthlessly above his head, locking the boy's body flat onto the sofa.

"You think this is funny, Bim?" Arka growled, his voice low, husky, and vibrating with an explicit threat.

Bima looked up, his breathing starting to quicken as he felt the heavy heat of Arka’s body pressing against his chest. "Funny? No. I'm very serious about the details of my dream last night. Want to hear them now?"

"I don't need to hear your nonsense," Arka leaned his body closer, forcing his knee sharply between Bima's thighs, compelling the boy's legs to spread wide. "I need a physical explanation of why you dared to write something like that in my book. Did you deliberately want to make me lose my mind on campus?"

"What if I did?" Bima challenged. He intentionally rubbed his nose against Arka's jaw, inhaling Arka’s masculine musk. ‘Go crazy, Arka. Lose your mind over me so you don't see the trap closing in,’ Bima’s inner voice whispered in cold contrast to his flushed face. "You're too slow to act, Ka. I'm bored of waiting for you to make the first move."

"Oh, so this is what you want?"

Arka released one of Bima's hands only to grip the boy's chin in an iron hold, forcing their eyes to meet. The intensity in Arka’s gaze now wasn't just protection; it was pure passion that had breached its boiling point. Arka leaned down, crashing his lips against Bima’s in a kiss that was rough, demanding, and utterly ravenous.

There was no gentleness. Only the sharp clash of teeth and tongues tangling wildly. Bima groaned into Arka's mouth, his free hand creeping up to grip the back of Arka’s hair, pulling him closer to deepen the searing sensation.

Arka broke the kiss for a fraction of a second, only to savage Bima’s neck. He bit down hard on the sensitive skin, intentionally leaving a heavy crimson bruise that would last for days.

"Arka... slow down..." Bima whispered, his voice breaking into a low moan as Arka’s large hand slid beneath his shirt—Arka’s shirt—mapping his burning skin.

"You said you wanted a demonstration, didn't you? Don’t ask me to go slow now," Arka rasped against Bima’s ear. He yanked the shirt off in one rough motion, tossing it onto the floor until Bima was completely bare-chested beneath him.

Arka devoured the body beneath him with a hungry gaze. Bima’s pale skin contrasted sharply against Arka’s darker, veined hands. Arka lowered himself, kissing every inch of Bima’s chest, giving special attention to the sensitive spots that made Bima arch his back, eyes squeezed shut.

"What were the details, Bima? Where were my hands in your dream last night? Here?" Arka gripped Bima’s waist so tightly his fingers left immediate marks.

"Or here?" Arka moved his hand to Bima’s inner thigh, sliding upward in a highly provocative friction.

Bima could only moan in total surrender, his head lolling back against the cushions. Arka’s dominance today was far more intense than usual. It was as if Arka wanted to prove he held absolute, totalitarian control over every inch of Bima’s body. Every touch felt like an undeniable claim of ownership.

"Everything, Arka... your hands... your mouth... I want everything," Bima whimpered.

Arka let out a faint smirk, the expression of a predator satisfied to see his prey completely yield. He stood up briefly to shed his own shirt and pants, revealing a solid, tense, athletic physique. Bima swallowed hard at the sight—Arka was the definition of raw physical power.

Without wasting time, Arka pinned Bima down again, ensuring not a single thread of clothing came between their skin. The heat from their sweat became a natural lubricant for the heavy friction of their bodies on the narrow apartment sofa.

Arka lifted one of Bima’s legs and draped it over his shoulder, a position that was incredibly exposed and intimate. He looked Bima straight in the eye, ensuring the guy saw the overflowing passion before he provided the "explanation" Bima had demanded.

"Listen to me, Bima. Don't you ever challenge me in writing again if you're not prepared to be unable to walk tomorrow morning," Arka whispered, just before he joined their bodies in an intense, rhythmic motion.

The apartment was filled with the sound of ragged breaths, stifled moans, and the heavy slap of skin against skin. Arka gave Bima no room to breathe. Every thrust was an affirmation of the hidden message he had found earlier. He made sure Bima felt every inch of his presence, ensuring that after today, Bima would never dare doubt how dangerous Arka could be when provoked.

Time seemed to slow as they reached the peak. Bima gripped Arka’s muscular shoulders, his nails leaving long scratches across his back—a sign that he possessed Arka too. In a blinding explosion of passion, they both fell into a blissful exhaustion, clinging to each other amidst the chaos of the wrecked sofa.

Arka buried his face in the crook of Bima’s neck, his heart still thumping wildly against Bima’s chest. He gently kissed the bite mark he’d left earlier.

"Satisfied?" Arka asked, his voice steadying though it still sounded incredibly husky.

Bima chuckled, though his breath was still shallow. He stroked Arka’s sweat-dampened hair. "More than satisfied. I think I should leave memos in your books more often."

Arka lifted his head, meeting Bima’s gaze with a look that had returned to cold but was full of a playful, dark threat. "Just try it. I won't use the sofa next time. I’ll drag you straight to the bed before you even have a chance to say hello."

Bima smiled widely, pulling Arka’s face down for one last sweet kiss. In the silence of the apartment, the tension ended with an absolute physical pact. The hidden message had been delivered, and the answer was far more satisfying than any words in the world.

Suddenly, the front door swung open and Radit’s loud whistling echoed from the hallway outside.

"Hey! I'm back early, the futsal match was canceled because of the rain! Arka? Bima? Where’s that martabak you promised this morning, Bima?"

Bima and Arka froze. Within seconds, they both scrambled for their clothes scattered across the floor, trying to get dressed as fast as lightning before Radit reached the living room.

Arka sat on the sofa with the world’s most deadpan expression, opening the Calculus book that had been tossed aside, while Bima tried to cover his bruised neck with a sofa pillow, his face flushed red as he fought back a mixture of laughter and frantic nerves.

"Oh, you guys are here?" Radit appeared with his futsal bag, looking at them suspiciously. "Why are you sitting in the dark? And... Bima, why are you wrapping a pillow around your neck? Did you pull a muscle again?"

Arka cleared his throat, his voice instantly turning ice-cold again. "Shut up, Radit. We’re studying Calculus. Go shower, you stink and you’re breaking my focus."

Radit scratched his head, thoroughly confused by the sudden tension and the... strange, heavy scent in the air. "Studying Calculus until you’re sweating like that? Engineering students really are something else."

Radit headed to the bathroom, leaving Arka and Bima to glance at each other. Bima stuck his tongue out at Arka, while Arka reached under the table to stealthily pinch Bima’s thigh. Their business might have been over for the afternoon, but that hidden message was only the beginning of many more heated afternoons they would share without Radit ever knowing.