Chapter 10: Morning After Claiming
The first thing Hyukjae felt was the warm, damp stroke of a tongue along the seam of his lips. He smiled before he even opened his eyes, the taste of last night’s champagne and Donghae’s distinctive, clean scent flooding his senses. Morning light, honeyed and soft, painted the room in streaks of gold across the rumpled duvet.
“Good morning, husband,” Donghae whispered, his voice rough with sleep. He was propped on an elbow, already watching him, his dark eyes holding a depth of possession that still made Hyukjae’s heart stutter.
“Mm. It is now,” Hyukjae mumbled, stretching. The movement made the sheet slip lower on his hips. Donghae’s gaze followed it, heating instantly.
“I’ve been thinking,” Donghae said, his fingers tracing idle patterns on Hyukjae’s bare shoulder.
“Dangerous.”
“About how you taste.” His hand drifted down, over the dip of Hyukjae’s waist, circling the prominent hip bone. “Everywhere.”
A slow, warm thrill crept up Hyukjae’s spine. Donghae’s touch was a promise. It always had been, from that first hesitant coffee date to the moment he’d slid the ring onto his finger. The fear that usually nibbled at the edges of such moments—the old ghost whispering this is too much, you don’t deserve this—was silent. Drowned out by the solid reality of the man beside him.
“Show me,” Hyukjae said, the challenge quiet but clear.
Donghae’s answering smile was all teeth and dark intent. He moved with a fluid certainty, his hands turning Hyukjae onto his stomach with a gentle force that brooked no argument. The sheets were cool against Hyukjae’s flushed skin. He felt exposed, the morning air and Donghae’s gaze like a physical touch on the backs of his thighs, the curves of his ass.
“I worship this,” Donghae murmured, his voice a low thrum against Hyukjae’s skin as he leaned down. His hands spread Hyukjae apart, not rough, but utterly definitive. “Mine.”
The first hot, flat stroke of his tongue made Hyukjae jerk, a sharp gasp punched from his lungs. It wasn’t teasing. It was deliberate, wet, and obscenely thorough. Donghae licked a broad, firm path from his perineum all the way up, burying his face between Hyukjae’s cheeks with a hungry groan that vibrated through Hyukjae’s entire body.
“Fuck… Hae,” Hyukjae choked out, his fingers clawing at the sheets.
Donghae didn’t answer with words. He answered with the relentless, rhythmic pressure of his tongue, circling and probing, fucking into him with a soft, wet persistence that drove all coherent thought from Hyukjae’s mind. It was filthy and intimate beyond measure, a claiming that went deeper than skin. Hyukjae could hear the slick, erotic sounds, could feel the scratch of Donghae’s stubble against his tender skin, a delicious counterpoint to the wet heat of his mouth. His hips moved of their own accord, pushing back against that glorious tongue, seeking more, deeper.
Donghae’s hands held him firm, fingers digging into the flesh of his hips. He was murmuring against him now, the words muffled and hot. “So good for me. You taste fucking perfect. My perfect, pretty husband.”
The praise, raw and vulgar, unspooled something tight in Hyukjae’s chest. He was panting, reduced to a shaking, wanton thing, fully at the mercy of Donghae’s mouth. Just as he felt he might shatter from the building tension, Donghae pulled away.
Before Hyukjae could protest, he was being flipped onto his back again. Donghae loomed over him, his face gleaming, his eyes black with need. He looked utterly debauched, and Hyukjae’s cock, hard and leaking against his stomach, gave a painful throb at the sight.
“Now,” Donghae stated, reaching for the lube on the nightstand. “I’m going to fuck you so deep you feel me for days.”
But as Donghae slicked himself, his gaze locked on Hyukjae’s entrance, Hyukjae found a surge of his own will. He placed a hand on Donghae’s chest, stopping him. Donghae looked up, a question in his eyes.
“No,” Hyukjae breathed.
Donghae stilled, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. It was so rare to see it that Hyukjae almost laughed.
“I want to see you,” Hyukjae clarified, his voice gaining strength. He pushed at Donghae’s shoulders, guiding him onto his back. “When you come. I want to watch your face when you let go inside me.”
Understanding, and a fierce, bright love, flooded Donghae’s expression. He yielded, lying back against the pillows, his cock standing thick and eager against his abdomen. “Then take what you need, baby. Take me.”
Hyukjae straddled him, his knees sinking into the plush mattress on either side of Donghae’s hips. He reached behind, taking Donghae’s length in his hand, guiding it to his hole. The head, slick with lube, nudged against him, and he sank down slowly, agonizingly, his breath hitching as he was stretched open.
“Christ, look at you,” Donghae gritted out, his hands flying to Hyukjae’s thighs, his thumbs pressing into the muscle. “You’re fucking beautiful.”
Hyukjae took him all, seating himself fully until their bodies were flush, feeling so impossibly full he could only sit still for a moment, head bowed, adjusting. Then he lifted his gaze, locking onto Donghae’s. He began to move, lifting himself up until just the tip remained inside, then sliding back down in a smooth, torturous rhythm.
He set the pace, controlling the depth, the angle. But the power was an illusion, and they both knew it. Every roll of Hyukjae’s hips was dictated by the pure, unadulterated need he saw blazing in Donghae’s eyes. He rode him hard, his own pleasure coiling tight, but his focus remained on Donghae’s face—the parted lips, the flutter of his eyelids, the way his brows drew together in exquisite tension.
“Harder,” Donghae commanded, his voice shredded. His grip tightened, helping to slam Hyukjae down onto him. The slap of skin grew louder, more frantic.
Hyukjae could feel the telltale tightening in Donghae’s body, the way his thrusts grew shallower, more desperate. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on Donghae’s chest, never breaking eye contact.
“Let me see,” Hyukjae panted. “Come on, Hae. Give it to me. I want it all.”
It was the permission, the raw demand, that shattered Donghae’s control. His mouth fell open in a silent cry, his entire body arching off the bed as he drove up one final, grinding time, burying himself to the hilt. Hyukjae felt the hot, pulsing release flooding into him, and he watched, captivated, as Donghae’s face transformed—ecstasy, vulnerability, and utter surrender flashing through his features in rapid succession. It was the most private, unfiltered look he had ever seen on the man, a gift more profound than any ring.
The sight tipped Hyukjae over the edge. His own orgasm ripped through him, stealing his breath, making him clench hard around Donghae’s still-throbbing cock as he spilled between their sweat-slicked stomachs.
He collapsed forward, drained and boneless, his forehead resting against Donghae’s collarbone. Donghae’s arms came around him, holding him close, their hearts hammering a frantic, slowing rhythm against each other.
For a long time, the only sound was their ragged breathing. Then Donghae turned his head, his lips brushing Hyukjae’s ear.
“You saw?” he asked, his voice whisper-soft.
“Everything,” Hyukjae answered, the word thick with emotion.
Donghae held him tighter. “Good. That’s yours, too. Always.”