Chapter 17: Territory Marked
The bathwater had cooled to a tepid pool around him, but Hyukjae hadn’t moved. He watched the door, listening to the quiet sounds of Donghae moving just outside. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum against the warm, heavy lethargy in his limbs. The decision felt both immense and simple.
The door clicked open. Donghae stepped back into the steam-softened air, the damp, crumpled sarong in one hand. He smiled, a little weary, utterly content. “Mission accomplished. Though it’s seen better days.” He tossed the fabric into the hamper.
Hyukjae watched him. He saw the love-bite he’d left on Donghae’s shoulder, purpling now. He saw the way Donghae’s shorts hung low on his hips, the towel from his shower already discarded. He saw the man who had just cleaned up the mess they’d made, who had asked for everything without demanding it.
“Come here,” Hyukjae said, his voice low.
Donghae’s smile softened, curious. He approached the tub, kneeling on the mat beside it. He reached out, brushing a wet strand of hair from Hyukjae’s forehead. “Water getting cold? You’re all pruned.”
Hyukjae captured his wrist. His skin was damp and cool from the night air outside. “You said you wanted to see.”
Donghae’s eyes darkened. The playful light in them banked, replaced by a slow-burning intensity. His gaze dropped to Hyukjae’s mouth, then back to his eyes. “I did.”
“I’m ready.” The words were barely a whisper, but they hung in the humid air, solid as stone.
For a long moment, Donghae just looked at him, searching his face. Then he nodded, once. “Okay.”
Hyukjae stood, water sluicing off his body in rivulets. He stepped out of the tub, not reaching for a towel. The air was cool on his wet skin, pebbling his flesh, tightening his nipples. Donghae rose with him, his eyes never leaving Hyukjae’s body, a visual caress that felt more intimate than touch.
Without a word, Hyukjae took Donghae’s hand and led him, dripping, back through the dim villa. The terracotta tiles were cool under his feet. The night breeze, fragrant with lavender and distant rain, whispered through the open doors to the terrace.
Outside, the world was washed in monochrome blues and the soft, orange halo of the single lantern. The sea was a vast, murmuring darkness. Hyukjae led him to the wide, padded sun lounger. He turned, facing Donghae, the lantern light gilding one side of his body, leaving the other in shadow.
“Sit,” Hyukjae instructed.
Donghae obeyed, lowering himself onto the lounger, his expression one of rapt, waiting wonder. He leaned back, propped on his elbows, his gaze hungry.
Hyukjae climbed onto the lounger, not into his lap, but directly over him. He placed his knees on either side of Donghae’s head, then slowly, deliberately, lowered himself until he was crouching over Donghae’s face. The position was dominant, vulnerable, filthy. He heard Donghae’s sharp intake of breath, felt the warm gust against his still-sensitive skin.
“You wanted to see,” Hyukjae murmured, looking down the length of their bodies to Donghae’s wide eyes. “So watch me fucking wreck you.”
He didn’t wait. He sank down.
The first touch of Donghae’s tongue, hot and wet and knowing, was an electric jolt. Hyukjae gasped, his head falling back. The star-scattered sky wheeled above him. He didn’t close his eyes. He focused on the sensation, the obscene, slick noise that filled the quiet night, the feel of Donghae’s mouth on him—not just kissing, but devouring.
Donghae’s hands came up to grip his thighs, fingers digging in, holding him open, holding him in place. There was no finesse now, only hunger. Donghae ate at him like a starving man, his tongue spearing inside, lashing against tender flesh, then flattening to swirl and press. It was messy, primal. Hyukjae could feel his own wetness, could smell the scent of their sex mixed with the lavender.
“Fuck,” Hyukjae groaned, his voice breaking. He began to move, a shallow, rocking grind against Donghae’s face. “Right there…god, just like that.”
Donghae’s answer was a muffled, guttural sound, a vibration that went straight to Hyukjae’s core. His tongue worked relentlessly, pushing him higher, teasing the tight, furl of muscle before delving deep again. Spit dripped down, slicking the crease of Hyukjae’s ass, coating Donghae’s chin.
Hyukjae looked down. The sight was devastating. Donghae’s eyes were squeezed shut in concentration, his face a mess, glistening in the lantern light. He was lost in it, worshipping with a fervor that bordered on violence. Hyukjae reached back, one hand tangling in Donghae’s hair, fisting it, guiding the rhythm of his mouth. “Yes. Use that tongue. Get me ready for you.”
He was already ready, loose and aching from the morning, but the words were a dirty promise. Donghae moaned, the sound trapped against Hyukjae’s skin, and doubled his efforts. His nose pressed tight, his mouth sealed around him, sucking now, pulling desperate, shuddering gasps from Hyukjae’s lungs.
The pleasure was a coiling wire, hot and tight in his gut. His cock, hard and neglected, jerked against his belly. He was using Donghae’s face, riding it without mercy, and the power of it, the sheer deviance, was as potent as the physical sensation. This was a surrender, but it was his surrender, on his terms. He was giving Donghae exactly what he’d asked for: a front-row seat to his own undoing.
“I’m close,” he panted, the words shredded. “You gonna watch? You gonna see me come on your fucking tongue?”
Donghae’s grip on his thighs tightened to the point of pain. He opened his eyes, looking up. Their gazes locked. Hyukjae saw his own wrecked reflection in Donghae’s dark, glazed pupils. He saw the utter devotion, the hungry, blissful ruin.
That was the final trigger.
Hyukjae’s body snapped taut. A raw, guttural cry was torn from his throat, echoing across the empty terrace, swallowed by the sea’s sigh. He came, shaking, his vision whiting out at the edges, but he forced his eyes to stay open, to hold Donghae’s agonized, adoring stare as the spasms ripped through him. It was endless, wrenching, a release that felt like it scraped his soul clean.
He collapsed forward, catching himself on his hands, trembling violently. Beneath him, Donghae was still lapping softly, gently, coaxing him through the last shocks. Finally, Hyukjae rolled off, collapsing onto his back on the lounger beside Donghae, both of them breathing in ragged, broken syncopation.
The night air was cool on his sweat-slicked skin. After a moment, Donghae turned his head. His face was shining, his lips swollen. He looked utterly debauched. He smiled, a slow, sated, triumphant thing. “Saw you,” he rasped.
Hyukjae laughed, a breathless, punched-out sound. He reached over, wiping his own mess from Donghae’s chin with his thumb. “Yeah. You did.”
Donghae caught his wrist, licking his thumb clean without breaking eye contact. Then he shifted, rising on one elbow to look down at Hyukjae. His own arousal was evident, straining against his shorts.
“My turn?” he asked, his voice hope and gravel.
Hyukjae nodded, still catching his breath. He spread his legs in invitation. “Yeah,” he said. “Your turn.”