Chapter 26: Breakfast in Bed
The ruined towel lay crumpled on the floor, a stark, damp testament on the pale oak. Hyukjae stared at it from the bed, a faint curl of disgust warring with a profound, simmering satisfaction. The disgust was old, ingrained—a relic of a life where such messes were unthinkable. The satisfaction was new, and it was winning.
Donghae’s breathing had evened out beside him, but his eyes were open, watching Hyukjae watch the towel. A slow smile touched his lips. “I can see the gears turning. ‘Organic cotton, seventy-thread count, now stained with…’ what would the archaeological term be? Organic residue?”
“Don’t be a smartass,” Hyukjae grumbled, but he couldn’t fight his own smile. He nudged Donghae with his foot. “You’re cleaning it.”
“Absolutely not.” Donghae shifted, winced slightly at the stickiness between them, and rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand. His gaze was fond and unbearably knowing. “It’s a relic. We should frame it. ‘The Towel of Unification.’ First contact, 21st century.”
Hyukjae snorted, shoving at Donghae’s shoulder. “You’re disgusting.” The affection in his voice bled the word of all meaning.
“Yours,” Donghae said simply, and the word hung there, heavier than any declaration.
Hyukjae’s throat tightened. He looked away, toward the open window where the evening air was slowly diluting the scent of sex and sandalwood. “I should shower.”
Before he could move, Donghae’s hand closed around his wrist. The grip was gentle but unyielding. “Not yet.”
The command, soft as it was, sent a fresh current of heat straight to Hyukjae’s groin. He was spent, sore, yet the look in Donghae’s eyes promised a second wind. A worshipful, devastating kind.
“You’re insatiable,” Hyukjae whispered.
“For you? Always.”
Donghae moved with a sudden, fluid grace that belied his earlier lethargy. In one smooth motion, he flipped Hyukjae onto his stomach. The linen sheets were cool against Hyukjae’s flushed skin. A thrill, sharp and electric, shot through him. This was different. The power had shifted again, not with a contract or a silk restraint, but with a single, decisive action.
“Donghae—” he started, his voice muffled by the pillow.
“Shhh.” Donghae’s weight settled over his thighs, not pressing down, just present. His hands slid up Hyukjae’s back, over the faint scratches from the night before, a possessive map. “My turn.”
Hyukjae turned his head to the side, breathing hard. He felt Donghae shift lower, his warm breath ghosting over the small of his back, then lower still. The first touch of Donghae’s lips on the crest of his ass was a soft, reverent press. Then another, lower. A trail of open-mouthed kisses along the curve.
Anticipation coiled, tight and aching, in Hyukjae’s belly. He knew what was coming. The thought of it—of Donghae’s mouth there—made him buck weakly against the mattress. Donghae’s hands spread him, held him open. The cool air of the room kissed a part of him that was still slick and sensitive from their earlier joining.
Donghae let out a low, filthy chuckle, the sound vibrating against Hyukjae’s skin. “Perfect. So fucking perfect for me.”
Then his tongue laid a long, wet stripe from his taint up to his hole.
Hyukjae gasped, his fingers twisting into the sheets. It was an obscene, wet sound, and Donghae did it again, slower this time, savoring. His tongue was broad and hot, laving him with a focused, shameless adoration that had Hyukjae seeing stars behind his clenched eyelids.
“Taste like us,” Donghae murmured, his voice thick. “Taste like me.”
The words were a brand. Before Hyukjae could process them, Donghae’s mouth sealed over him. Not just licking, but feasting. His tongue pushed inside, a relentless, spearing invasion that had none of the tentative teasing of earlier. This was raw, hungry claim. Donghae ate him out like a starved man, his nose pressing hard against Hyukjae’s perineum, his tongue fucking deep into the tight, clutching heat.
Hyukjae shattered. A broken, guttural sound was torn from his throat. He pushed back against that mouth, against that unbelievable, wet friction. “Fuck—Donghae-ah—!”
Donghae’s response was to grip his hips tighter, digging his fingers into the bone, and redouble his efforts. His tongue plunged and curled, his lips sucking at the rim, his stubble providing a harsh, delicious contrast to the softness of his mouth. The sounds were lewd, wet slaps and desperate groans—Hyukjae’s own, high and ragged, mingling with Donghae’s low, satisfied hums.
The pleasure was a live wire, straight from his core to his already-hardening cock, which was trapped beneath him, leaking relentlessly onto the mattress. Every flick of Donghae’s tongue felt like it was unspooling him, rewiring his very nervous system. The intensity was beyond anything he’d prepared for, a surrender so complete it bordered on obliteration.
“Please, please,” Hyukjae sobbed, not knowing what he was begging for—more, mercy, an end to the terrifying climb.
Donghae pulled back for a second, breath heaving. “You want me to stop?” The question was a dark, rough caress against his skin.
“No! God, no, don’t you dare—”
The laugh was pure sex. Donghae’s tongue dove back in, deeper, messier. One of his hands slid under Hyukjae, wrapping around his dripping cock, stroking him in a rough, disjointed rhythm that matched the frantic thrusts of his tongue.
It was too much. The dual assault, the base carnality of it, the sheer devotion in Donghae’s every movement. The coil in Hyukjae’s gut snapped. He came with a scream that ripped through the quiet villa, his body seizing as he painted the sheets beneath him in hot, violent stripes. The orgasm felt endless, wrenched from the deepest part of him, wracking through him until he was limp, trembling, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.
Donghae worked him through it, his mouth gentle now, lapping softly, worshipfully, until Hyukjae whimpered from overstimulation. Only then did he pull away, rising up on his knees. Hyukjae felt him, hard and aching, press against his spent body.
“Turn over,” Donghae rasped, his voice wrecked.
Hyukjae, boneless and pliant, managed to roll onto his back. Donghae was a sight above him: lips swollen and glistening, eyes black with want, his cock jutting thick and angry-red from his body. He didn’t wait, didn’t ask. He spat into his own hand, slicked himself roughly, and pushed Hyukjae’s trembling thighs apart.
The penetration was a blunt, burning stretch. Hyukjae was loose, slick from Donghae’s mouth, but he was still sensitive, raw. He cried out, a sharp, breathy sound, as Donghae buried himself to the hilt in one fierce, relentless drive.
“Mine,” Donghae growled, the word a vow against Hyukjae’s throat as he began to pound into him. The pace was brutal, primal, a claiming with no finesse, just raw, driving need. Each thrust jolted Hyukjae up the bed, his oversensitive nerves singing a chaotic anthem of pain and blinding pleasure. He wrapped his legs around Donghae’s waist, clinging to him, nails biting into the sweat-slicked skin of his shoulders.
“Yours,” Hyukjae choked out, the only word he could form. “Always, fuck, always yours.”
It was what Donghae needed. His rhythm faltered, his breath coming in shattered gasps. He drove in one last, deep time, his body bowing as he came with a sound like a sob, spilling hot and deep inside the very heat he’d just worshipped with his mouth.
He collapsed, his full weight a welcome anchor, his face buried in Hyukjae’s neck. They lay like that for long minutes, a tangled, sticky, breathing mess. The scent of sex was now overwhelming, layered with sweat and sandalwood and salt.
Eventually, Donghae softened and slipped out. He didn’t move far, just curled onto his side beside Hyukjae, one arm thrown possessively across his waist.
“The study floor,” Hyukjae mumbled into the silence, his voice hoarse. “Tomorrow. You promised.”
Donghae’s laughter shook through both of them, a warm, rumbling sound of pure, unadulterated joy. He kissed Hyukjae’s shoulder, a soft, closed-mouth press.
“Anything,” he whispered. “Anything for you.”
The quiet that followed was thick with the aftermath, a tangible thing clinging to their skin. Hyukjae’s heartbeat slowed from its frantic gallop to a heavy, steady thud against his ribs. He became acutely aware of the cooling mess on his stomach, the slick release still seeping from within him, and the profound weight of Donghae’s arm anchoring him to the bed, to this moment, to this man.
Sunlight had shifted across the floorboards, carving longer shadows from the dresser’s legs. The neglected lavender candle had finally guttered out, leaving a faint, waxy scent that couldn't hope to compete.
“I’m a mess,” Hyukjae said, his voice a ragged scrape.
“My mess,” Donghae countered softly, his lips moving against the damp skin of Hyukjae’s temple. His thumb stroked a slow, idle arc on Hyukjae’s hipbone. “And I happen to like my things well-used.”
A weak, incredulous laugh bubbled out of Hyukjae. He turned his head, nuzzling into the crook of Donghae’s neck, breathing in the singular, complex scent of him—antiseptic soap from the hospital, clean sweat, sex, and something uniquely, fundamentally Donghae. It should have been overwhelming. For once, it just felt like home.
The peace was a fragile vessel. With every passing second of stillness, the old ghosts stirred in the corners of his mind. The cool detachment of past lovers, the clinical exchanges, the silent, judgmental recoil at any hint of need. He had just been split open, consumed, and filled in the most vulgar way imaginable, and Donghae looked at him like he’d hung the moon in their oak-beamed ceiling.
The contradiction was a live wire. His body felt triumphant, glowing with a deep, satiated ache. His mind, however, began its familiar, treacherous whisper. Too much. You let him see too much. You screamed. You begged. The vulnerability curdled, turning from sacred to shameful in the silence.
“What’s that look for?” Donghae murmured. He’d been watching, always watching. His fingers stopped their tracing.
“Nothing.” The lie was automatic, brittle.
“Hyukjae.” The name wasn’t a question. It was a gentle, unyielding request for the truth. Donghae shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. His gaze was clear, free of the earlier predatory heat, but no less intense. “Talk to me. Or I’ll start licking you again, and we both know you can’t think when I do that.”
The threat, playful and deadly serious, loosened something in Hyukjae’s chest. He looked away, focusing on a whorl in the oak beam above them. “It’s stupid.”
“Try me.”
“It’s just… no one’s ever…” He faltered, frustration knotting his words. “You had your mouth there. And then you… you just took me. Like I was… I don’t know. A thing to be used.”
Donghae went very still. Not with anger, but with a focus so absolute it felt like the air was being pulled from the room. He cupped Hyukjae’s jaw, forcing his gaze back. “Is that what that felt like? Being used?”
Hyukjae swallowed, the truth a jagged pill. “No. God, no. It felt like… like you were trying to crawl inside me and stay.”
A slow, devastating smile broke across Donghae’s face. “That’s because I was.” He leaned down, kissing him with a shocking tenderness that burned hotter than the feverish clash of teeth and tongues from before. “You are not a thing. You are the fucking altar, Hyukjae. And I will worship there every chance I get, in every filthy way I can dream up.”
The words unspooled the last of the tension in Hyukjae’s spine. The raw honesty in them, so starkly contrasted with the obscene acts they described, left him dizzy. A different kind of heat began to pool low in his belly, a lazy, insistent thrum. The soreness between his legs was already fading into a memory, replaced by a fresh, hungry awareness of Donghae’s body so close to his.
He felt Donghae’s cock stir where it lay heavy against his thigh. A mirror of his own traitorous interest. The peace was over. The desperate, hungry need was a cycle they were both powerless to break, and in that moment, Hyukjae didn't want to.
His hand slid down Donghae’s flank, over the dip of his waist, fingers threading through the coarse hair at his groin. Donghae’s breath hitched.
“Already?” Donghae’s voice was rough with disbelief and a dizzying hope.
“You’re the one who’s hard,” Hyukjae pointed out, his own voice dropping to a husk. He gave a soft, experimental tug.
“Fuck.” Donghae’s eyes fluttered shut for a second. When they opened, the black desire was back, a banked fire roaring to life. “You’re sore. We should… shower. Eat something.”
“Later.” Hyukjae pushed, rolling Donghae onto his back. He straddled his hips, feeling the solid length of him press against his ass. The position made him acutely aware of the residual wetness, the stretched, open feeling. A fresh shiver ran through him. “I’m not done.”
Donghae’s hands flew to his hips, holding him steady, his gaze dark and worshipful. “What do you want?”
Hyukjae leaned forward, bracing his hands on Donghae’s chest. He rocked back, a slow, deliberate grind that made them both gasp. The friction was exquisite, a blunt promise. “I want you to ruin me again. Properly.” He dipped his head, his lips brushing Donghae’s ear. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember my own name. Until all I know is your cock splitting me open.”
A groan was torn from Donghae’s throat. His hands tightened, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Hyukjae’s ass. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Then die happy,” Hyukjae whispered, and he reached between them, taking Donghae in hand. The skin was hot velvet over iron. He guided the blunt head to his entrance, slick from their earlier joining and his own renewed arousal.
He sank down.
It was a slower, more controlled burn this time. He felt every brutal inch stretch him, fill him, a piercing fullness that stole his breath. His head fell back, a guttural sound wrenching free from his chest as he seated himself fully, sheathing Donghae to the root.
“Jesus Christ,” Donghae rasped, his hips jerking up involuntarily. “You feel… you feel like heaven’s own vice.”
Hyukjae began to move. It was an awkward, sinuous roll of his hips at first, learning the new angle, the profound depth. Each rise and fall dragged Donghae’s cock against that swollen, sensitive place inside him, sparking bright, blinding licks of pleasure up his spine. His own cock, trapped between their sweat-slicked stomachs, leaked steadily.
“Harder,” Hyukjae breathed, losing the rhythm. His thighs began to tremble. “Don’t… don’t be gentle. I don’t need gentle right now.”
That was all the permission Donghae needed. With a snarl that was all animal need, he planted his feet on the mattress and drove upwards, meeting Hyukjae’s descent with a brutal, piston-like thrust. The careful motion shattered into a frenzied, pounding rhythm. The bed slammed against the wall with a solid, rhythmic thud-thud-thud that would surely annoy the neighbors.
Hyukjae couldn’t have cared less. He was reduced to sensation, a vessel for this relentless, driving pleasure-pain. He clung to Donghae’s shoulders, his cries pitched high and desperate, each punishing drive punching the air from his lungs.
“That’s it,” Donghae grunted, his own control fraying. His hands scrambled from Hyukjae’s hips to his ass, spreading him wider, holding him open to take every last millimeter. “Take it. Take all of me. Fuck, your hole is so greedy for it, look at you…”
The filthy praise, the sheer carnal truth of it, coiled the spring in Hyukjae’s gut tighter. He was close, so close, the pressure building to a screaming point. But it wasn’t enough. He needed to break. He needed to be unmade.
“Donghae, please,” he sobbed, the words torn from a place of raw, frantic need.
“Please what?” Donghae demanded, never breaking his devastating pace. Sweat dripped from his chin onto Hyukjae’s chest. “Tell me. Use your words.”
“I can’t—!”
“Tell me!”
The command cracked through the haze. Hyukjae met his eyes, saw the feverish love and wild demand there, and shattered. “Fuck me harder! I need it, I need you to wreck me, please, I’m begging you, more!” The plea was a ragged scream, stripped of all pride, a pure, unfiltered surrender.
A sound like a wounded animal escaped Donghae. He flipped them with a savage grace, pinning Hyukjae to the mattress, hooking his legs over his shoulders. The new angle was devastating, a direct, brutal assault on his core. Hyukjae screamed, the sound raw and broken, as Donghae pounded into him with a final, frenzied abandon, his own climax tearing through him with a hoarse shout as Hyukjae clenched around him, his untouched cock spurting hot between their bodies.
The collapse was total. Donghae slumped over him, his weight a crushing, welcome anchor. Their harsh breaths were the only sound in the wrecked room, mingling in the space between their lips. The sun had moved again. A long, golden beam cut across the floor, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air and the undeniable, gleaming proof of their abandon on the pale linen.
HYUKJAE BEGS MORE.