Chapter 3: Three Times Denied
The silence after was a different creature than the one in the kitchen. This one was soft, worn at the edges, filled with the slowing drumbeat of their hearts and the distant, drowsy hum of the city. Hyukjae lay boneless, every nerve quiet, his mind a blank, contented slate. Donghae’s release was a warm, sticky presence between his thighs, a physical testament that felt more binding than any promise.
Donghae’s thumb was still drawing circles on the small of his back.
“You’re thinking about cleaning up,” Donghae murmured, his voice a gravelly vibration against Hyukjae’s ear.
“I’m not,” Hyukjae lied, the words muffled against Donghae’s skin. The itch was there, faint beneath the satiation—the awareness of the drying mess on his stomach, the damp sheet beneath them.
“Liar.” Donghae pressed a kiss to his hairline. “Five more minutes. The world won’t end if we’re sticky for five more minutes.”
“Says the man who isn’t a human glue trap.”
Donghae’s chest shook with silent laughter. He shifted, pulling Hyukjae more firmly against him. “My glue trap. My gorgeous, overthinking, slightly sweaty glue trap.”
Hyukjae pinched his side, but there was no force behind it. He breathed in the scent of them—sex, salt, Donghae’s simple soap. The earlier panic over the misplaced book felt laughable now, a distant memory scoured away by the sheer physical reality of this man. Still, a sliver of that vulnerability lingered. “You really don’t care?About the mess? About… my mess?”
Donghae went still for a moment. Then he moved, rolling Hyukjae onto his back and looming over him, bracing himself on his elbows. His expression in the lamplight was utterly serious. “Your mess is part of the package. The stacked books, the compulsive rearranging, the way you get quiet when you’re scared.” He leaned down, brushing his lips over Hyukjae’s. “Especially the way you get quiet when you’re scared. I want all of it. Every fucking piece.”
The words seeped into Hyukjae, warmer than any blanket. He reached up, tracing the strong line of Donghae’s jaw. “You have a terrible bedside manner, Doctor. All this swearing.”
A wicked grin spread across Donghae’s face. “You love it.” He dipped his head, catching Hyukjae’s nipple between his teeth in a sharp, teasing bite before soothed it with his tongue. Hyukjae arched with a sharp gasp. The sensitivity was intense, a live wire straight to his groin.
Donghae noticed. Of course he did. His eyes darkened, that playful glint shifting into something hotter, more intent. He slid down the bed, his mouth blazing a trail down Hyukjae’s sternum, over his abdomen. He avoided the spend cooling on Hyukjae’s skin, instead nuzzling into the crease of his thigh, breathing him in.
“Still so responsive for me,” Donghae mused, his voice thick. He watched, fascinated, as Hyukjae’s cock, which had begun to soften, twitched and filled again under his gaze. “Beautiful.”
He didn’t take him into his mouth. Not yet. He leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe up the inside of Hyukjae’s thigh, his stubble scraping the sensitive skin. Hyukjae shuddered, a moan catching in his throat. Donghae moved to the other thigh, his hands firm on Hyukjae’s hips, holding him in place. He was mapping him again, but this time with a lazy, possessive hunger.
His mouth found the hollow of Hyukjae’s hip bone, sucking a mark that would bloom purple by morning. His tongue delved into Hyukjae’s navel. Then, deliberately, he turned his head and pressed his face into Hyukjae’s armpit. The action was so intimate, so raw, it stole Hyukjae’s breath. Donghae inhaled deeply, then licked a hot, wet path through the fine hair there.
Hyukjae jolted. “Donghae—what are you—”
“Tasting you,” Donghae growled against his skin. “All of you. You have no idea what you do to me.” He did it again, licking and then placing a soft, open-mouthed kiss on the sensitized skin. “You smell like home. Like mine.”
The filthy, possessive words, paired with the utterly vulnerable act, sent a jolt of pure lightning to Hyukjae’s core. His cock was fully hard now, aching and leaking onto his stomach. Donghae finally, finally moved lower. He blew a cool stream of air over the wet tip, making Hyukjae whimper and thrust his hips helplessly.
“Please.”
“Please what?” Donghae asked, his breath ghosting over the sensitive head. He looked up, meeting Hyukjae’s desperate gaze. “Use your words, baby.”
“Suck me. Please, just… God, suck me.”
With a low hum of approval, Donghae opened his mouth and took him in, down to the root in one smooth, devastating motion.
Hyukjae cried out, his hands flying to tangle in Donghae’s hair. The heat was phenomenal, wet and tight and perfect. Donghae set a relentless rhythm, his head bobbing, his tongue working miracles along the underside of Hyukjae’s shaft. He cupped Hyukjae’s balls, rolling them gently in his palm, his other hand pinning Hyukjae’s hip to the mattress.
The pressure built swiftly, a tight coil in the base of Hyukjae’s spine. He was already so close, oversensitive from his last orgasm. “Donghae, I’m gonna—I can’t—”
Just as the crest was about to break, Donghae pulled off with a wet pop. He replaced his mouth with his hand, gripping the base of Hyukjae’s cock tightly, stopping the climax dead.
The denial was a physical pain. Hyukjae sobbed, thrashing his head on the pillow. “No, fuck, why—”
Donghae crawled back up his body, kissing the protest from his lips. His own erection was a heavy, hot brand against Hyukjae’s thigh. “Not yet,” he whispered. “I’m not done with you.”
He repeated the torment twice more. He would bring Hyukjae to the very brink with his mouth, with the clever twist of his wrist, with the dirty, whispered promises of what he was going to do next. Each time, just as Hyukjae was about to shatter, Donghae would stop, holding him in that agonizing, blissful space just short of release. Hyukjae was a wreck, tears of frustration and pleasure leaking from the corners of his eyes, his body strung tight as a bowstring.
“Please,” he begged, hoarse and broken after the third denial. “Donghae, please, I need to come. I need you inside me. Please.”
Donghae was breathing hard, his control visibly fraying. He reached for the lube on the nightstand, his movements hurried now. He slicked himself quickly, then poured more over his fingers. He pushed two inside Hyukjae almost immediately, finding him still loose and slick from before. He scissored them, watching Hyukjae’s face.
“Tell me what you need.”
“You.Just you. Now.”
Donghae positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging against Hyukjae’s stretched, eager entrance. He pushed in slowly, an inexorable, breathtaking stretch that had them both gasping. He seated himself fully, then stilled, dropping his forehead against Hyukjae’s.
“Look at me,” Donghae breathed.
Hyukjae opened his eyes, swimming with unshed tears. Donghae’s face was a mask of raw need, his love and his lust completely indistinguishable.
Then he began to move. Not with frantic passion, but with slow, deep, rolling thrusts that sank into Hyukjae’s very core. Each stroke was deliberate, a claim carved into muscle and nerve. He hit that perfect spot with every roll of his hips, a relentless, building pressure that made Hyukjae see stars.
“You feel that?” Donghae grunted, his voice strained. “You feel how deep you take me? How perfect your tight fucking body is for me?”
Hyukjae could only nod, his mouth open in a silent cry. He was wound so tight, every nerve ending screaming. He wrapped his legs high around Donghae’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him deeper, harder.
The pace remained maddeningly, perfectly slow. Donghae was fucking him with the intent to brand, to memorize. The slap of skin was a wet, rhythmic counterpoint to their ragged breaths. Hyukjae’s cock, trapped between their sweat-slicked stomachs, rubbed with each thrust, the friction a sweet, torturous tease.
“Whose are you?” Donghae ground out, his hips snapping forward with a particularly deep stroke.
“Yours,” Hyukjae gasped.
“Say it again.”
“Yours! God, Donghae, I’m yours, I’m yours—”
The confession broke the last of Donghae’s control. His rhythm fractured into something more urgent, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, faster. The bed rocked violently. Hyukjae clawed at his back, his own climax roaring up from the depths, unstoppable this time. It crashed over him with a force that bordered on violence, wrenching a shattered cry from his throat as he came, untouched, between their bodies.
The intense, clenching heat of Hyukjae’s orgasm tipped Donghae over the edge. With a ragged shout, he buried himself to the hilt and pulsed, hot and deep. Hyukjae could feel every thick, molten pulse, a flood of possession that seemed to go on forever.
Donghae collapsed, his full weight a crushing, welcome anchor. For long minutes, the only sounds were their gulping attempts for air and the faint groan of the bedsprings settling.
Slowly, Donghae softened and slipped out. He shifted just enough to pull the soiled sheet from underneath them and toss it vaguely toward the foot of the bed before gathering Hyukjae against his chest. The night air was cool on their damp skin.
Hyukjae felt hollowed out, purified. The last clinging shadows of doubt had been fucked right out of him. He traced the droplets of sweat on Donghae’s collarbone.
“The book can stay on the shelf,” Hyukjae whispered into the dark.
Donghae’s arms tightened around him. A soft laugh rumbled in his chest. “I know,” he said. His voice was smug, tender, and absolutely certain. “I know.”