Chapter 11: Dawn's Dirty Secrets
The champagne’s buzz had softened to a low hum in their veins, a pleasant static that made the world seem edged in soft focus. They’d found their way to the balcony, drawn by the cool pre-dawn air, a single silk robe shared between them, hanging open and doing little to ward off the chill or hide anything at all.
Hyukjae leaned against the wrought-iron railing, looking out at the sleeping city. Donghae stood behind him, a solid wall of heat, his chin resting on Hyukjae’s shoulder, his hands splayed possessively over his stomach.
“We should probably sleep,” Hyukjae murmured, his voice rough.
“Probably,” Donghae agreed, his lips tracing the shell of Hyukjae’s ear. His hands didn’t stop their slow, circling motion. One drifted lower, fingertips brushing the thatch of coarse hair. Hyukjae’s breath hitched.
“But you don’t want to.”
“I want you right here,” Donghae breathed. “Where the whole city could see, if they were looking. See who you belong to.”
A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold raced down Hyukjae’s spine. The old, nervous flutter in his chest was instantly smothered by a surge of pure, liquid heat. He pushed back against Donghae, feeling the hard line of his cock even through the silk.
“Prove it,” Hyukjae said, the challenge clear.
Donghae’s answer was a low, dark laugh. He guided Hyukjae away from the railing, turning him, and sat back in a wide, cushioned lounger. He pulled Hyukjae down onto his lap, facing away, so Hyukjae’s back was against his chest. The robe fell completely open.
“Ride my leg,” Donghae commanded, his voice a gravelly promise. He spread his own thighs, hiking the silk of his robe up to his hips. “Go on. Grind on me like you need it. Because you do.”
Hyukjae, his face burning with a mix of shameful desire and thrilling audacity, shifted forward. He straddled Donghae’s muscular thigh, the coarse hair a delicious friction against his sensitive inner skin. He hesitated for only a second.
“That’s it,” Donghae encouraged, his hands gripping Hyukjae’s hips. “Fucking ruin my thigh, baby. Get yourself off on me.”
With a choked sound, Hyukjae did. He began to move, a slow, rolling grind that dragged his aching cock against the hard muscle. The pressure was insane, indirect and maddening, and it pulled a broken groan from his throat. He dropped his head back against Donghae’s shoulder, his eyes slipping shut.
“You’re so fucking desperate for it,” Donghae whispered, his mouth hot on Hyukjae’s neck. One of his hands left Hyukjae’s hip and snaked around, fingers trailing through the mess of pre-come smearing his thigh before moving lower. “Always so ready for me. Even after I filled you up, you’re still greedy.”
The first touch of a slick fingertip circling his hole made Hyukjae jolt. He was still loose, still sensitive from earlier, and the contact was electric.
“Please,” Hyukjae gasped, his grinding becoming more frantic, less rhythmic.
“Please what? Use your words, my clean, perfect husband. Tell me what you want my fingers to do.”
“Inside,” Hyukjae panted, beyond dignity. “Fuck, Donghae, put them in me. Now.”
With a grunt of satisfaction, Donghae pushed one finger in, deep to the knuckle in a single, smooth stroke. Hyukjae cried out, his back arching, his body clamping down around the intrusion. The dual sensations—the rough friction on his cock and the deep, filling stretch—threatened to short-circuit his brain.
“That’s one,” Donghae murmured, working his finger in and out, the sound obscenely wet. “You can take more. You were made to take more.”
He added a second finger, scissoring them, stretching him wider. Hyukjae was babbling, a stream of “yes” and “more” and “right there” falling from his lips as he rutted mindlessly against Donghae’s thigh. The sky was beginning to lighten, a pale blush of pink and gold bleeding into the indigo, gilding the sweat on their bodies.
“Look,” Donghae growled, his own breathing ragged. He turned Hyukjae’s face toward the horizon. “Watch the sun come up while you fuck yourself on my hand.”
The visual was too much. The breathtaking beauty of the dawn, the sheer deviance of their act, the relentless curl of Donghae’s fingers inside him, hitting that perfect, devastating spot with every thrust. Hyukjae’s climax ripped through him without warning, a silent, screaming explosion that turned his vision white. His body seized, his release streaking across Donghae’s thigh and the silk robe in hot, pulsing stripes as he clamped down viciously on the fingers buried inside him.
Donghae held him through it, his own groan harsh in Hyukjae’s ear, his fingers working him gently through the aftershocks. As Hyukjae went boneless, shuddering, Donghae slowly withdrew his hand and brought his glistening fingers to Hyukjae’s mouth.
“Taste,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. “Taste how good we are together.”
Hyukjae, spent and pliant, opened his mouth without hesitation. He sucked Donghae’s fingers clean, the taste of himself and salt and sex flooding his senses, a raw testament to what they’d just done.
Donghae turned him then, crushing their mouths together in a kiss that was all possession and shared triumph. When they broke apart, foreheads resting together, the sun had cleared the horizon, casting their tangled forms in stark, golden relief.
“They saw,” Donghae said quietly, nodding toward the waking city.
A slow, satiated smile spread across Hyukjae’s lips. The fear of being seen, of being too much, was gone. Burned away by the dawn.
“Let them.”