Chapter 10: Research and Reward
The week that followed was a study in excruciating anticipation. Practice was different now—the tension had sublimated into something quieter, heavier. When Donghae checked him into the boards, his hand would linger on Hyukjae’s hip, a hidden promise under layers of padding. When they skated laps, Donghae would match his pace, their synced breathing more intimate than any kiss in front of their teammates. The entire academy knew they were together, and the normalization of it left Hyukjae with a strange, buzzing energy with no public outlet. It all funneled inward, into a single, focused thought: next time.
He researched. Methodically, the way he studied game tapes. His search history was a monument to frantic, clandestine curiosity. He closed his bedroom door, plugged in headphones, and watched videos that made his face burn. He read articles with clinical detachment until the clinical descriptions morphed into vivid, unwelcome imaginings of Donghae’s face contorted in pleasure. He took notes on his phone, then immediately deleted them. It felt absurd and necessary.
On Friday night, he stood outside Donghae’s penthouse door, his heart slamming against his ribs. He’d told Donghae he was coming over to study. The lie was flimsy; they both knew it. He rang the bell.
Donghae opened the door, hair damp from a shower, wearing low-slung sweats and nothing else. His smile was warm, then it faltered as he took in Hyukjae’s rigid posture, the determined set of his jaw. “Hey. Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Hyukjae shouldered past him into the sterile, cool air of the living room. The city lights sprawled below them like a spilled circuit board. He dropped his backpack on the sleek leather sofa with a thud, unzipped it, and pulled out his laptop. He opened it, turned it toward Donghae, and sat down, his expression deadly serious.
On the screen, a dozen browser tabs were open. How to Give a Blowjob. Gay Sex Tips for Beginners. What Does Cum Taste Like? Preparing for Anal Sex: A Step-by-Step Guide.
Donghae stared. A choked sound escaped him, part laugh, part groan. He dragged a hand over his mouth. “Hyukjae, what—”
“I’m not fucking around,” Hyukjae interrupted, his voice tight. “You said slow. Slow doesn’t mean ignorant. I don’t like not knowing things.” He gestured at the screen as if it were a defective play diagram. “Some of this is contradictory. A lot of it is… graphic.”
Donghae’s shoulders began to shake. He was laughing, silently, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re incredible. You actually— you researched?”
“Shut up.” Hyukjae stood up, the frustration and pent-up nerve combusting into action. He crossed the space between them, grabbed Donghae’s face, and kissed him hard. It was all teeth and desperate intent, a preemptive strike against the humiliation. Donghae’s laughter died in his throat, replaced by a low hum of surprise that melted into instant, pliant hunger. He kissed back, his hands settling on Hyukjae’s waist.
Hyukjae broke the kiss, breathing heavily. “I want to practice the first part,” he stated, his gaze dropping pointedly to the front of Donghae’s sweats. “The oral… technique.”
Donghae’s breath hitched. The amusement in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a dark, swirling intensity. “Practice,” he echoed, the word rough.
“Yes. You’re the… subject.” Hyukjae pushed him backward toward the couch. Donghae went willingly, sinking into the black leather, his eyes never leaving Hyukjae’s face.
Hyukjae knelt on the floor between his spread knees. The position felt unnervingly submissive, but the look on Donghae’s face—reverent, ravenous—flipped the script. He was in control here. This was his experiment. His hands trembled only slightly as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Donghae’s sweats and briefs, pulling them down in one movement.
Donghae’s cock sprang free, already half-hard and thickening rapidly under his direct gaze. It was different like this, in the unforgiving clarity of the penthouse’s ambient light. Hyukjae studied it—the deep ruddy color, the prominent vein running along the underside, the way the head flushed a darker purple as he watched. Real. Donghae.
“Fucking hell, the way you look,” Donghae whispered, his voice strangled. He was gripping the edge of the couch cushion, knuckles white.
Hyukjae leaned in. The musky, clean scent of him was overwhelming. He remembered a tip from a video: use your hand too. He wrapped his fingers around the base, feeling the jump of heat and pulse under his palm. Then, before he could overthink it, he licked a broad stripe from root to tip.
Donghae jolted as if electrocuted, a shattered groan ripping from his chest. “God.”
The taste was salty, skin, uniquely male. Hyukjae did it again, slower, flattening his tongue against the underside. He circled the head, feeling the slit, the dampness there. Donghae was chanting something under his breath, a stream of filthy, reverent curses. “Just like that, fuck, your tongue…”
Emboldened, Hyukjae opened his mouth and took the head inside. The stretch was strange, foreign. He went deeper, using his hand to guide, remembering to relax his jaw. The sensation of Donghae hitting the back of his throat made his own cock ache in his jeans. He pulled back, saliva slicking his chin, and glanced up.
Donghae was wrecked. Head thrown back against the couch, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut. A sheen of sweat coated his torso. “Look at me,” Hyukjae commanded, his voice garbled.
Donghae’s eyes flew open, black with desperate need. Seeing that raw, unraveled look gave Hyukjae a surge of power. He sank down again, taking more this time, bobbing his head in an awkward, earnest rhythm. His other hand cupped Donghae’s balls, rolling them gently the way an article had suggested. Donghae cried out, his hips twitching up off the couch.
“Sorry—I’m sorry—” Donghae gasped, trying to stay still.
“Don’t be,” Hyukjae said, pulling off with a wet pop. He was panting. “I want to feel you.” He dove back down, hollowing his cheeks, sucking hard. The noises were obscene—guttural moans from above, the slick, spit-soaked sounds of his mouth working. He could feel Donghae trembling, the muscles in his thighs locked and shaking.
“Hyukjae—I’m gonna—” Donghae’s warning was a broken thread of sound. His hand flew to Hyukjae’s hair, not forcing, just holding, fisting in the dark strands.
Hyukjae doubled his efforts, using his tongue relentlessly on that sensitive spot just below the head. He wanted this. He wanted to feel Donghae lose control because of him. He swallowed him deep and held.
Donghae came with a choked-off shout, his body bowing off the couch. Hot, bitter pulses flooded Hyukjae’s mouth. He swallowed instinctively, the act shockingly intimate, before pulling off, coughing slightly, strands of saliva and cum connecting his lips to Donghae’s spent cock.
For a long moment, the only sound was Donghae’s ragged, dying gasps. He looked down, his expression dazed, utterly shattered. “Come here,” he slurred, tugging weakly on Hyukjae’s arm.
Hyukjae crawled onto the couch, straddling Donghae’s lap. Donghae kissed him deeply, tasting himself on Hyukjae’s tongue, a low groan vibrating between them. “You…” he breathed against his lips, “are a fucking natural disaster.” He kissed him again, slow and languid now, his hands smoothing up and down Hyukjae’s back. “I don’t need experience. I just need you.”
Hyukjae rested his forehead against Donghae’s, their breath mingling. The metallic taste was still on his tongue, a brand. “I want to do that again,” he murmured, his own arousal a painful, neglected throb. He shifted in Donghae’s lap, grinding down on the softening flesh beneath him.
Donghae laughed, a breathy, spent sound. “Give me five minutes. Maybe ten.” He reached between them, palming Hyukjae through his jeans. “Let me take care of you.”
“No,” Hyukjae said, catching his wrist. A new idea, terrifying and solid, had crystallized. The research, the taste of Donghae in his mouth, the feel of that powerful body coming apart under his ministrations—it had burned away the last of his abstract fear, leaving only a specific, sharp desire. “I want the next part. Tonight. The… prep. The real thing. I’m ready.”
Donghae went very still. “Look at me.”
Hyukjae did. His eyes were clear, certain.
“Are you sure?” Donghae asked, every word measured. “I meant what I said. There’s no clock on this.”
“I’m sure. I need to know. I need you.” He leaned in, his lips brushing Donghae’s ear. “Show me. Like you promised.”
A shudder ran through Donghae. He stood, lifting Hyukjae with him as if he weighed nothing, and carried him down the hall to the bedroom. He laid him on the bed with a reverence that made Hyukjae’s throat tight, then disappeared into the ensuite. Hyukjae heard water running, the click of a cap.
When Donghae returned, he placed a small bottle of lube and a foil packet on the nightstand. He knelt on the bed, caging Hyukjae beneath him. “We stop anytime. A word, a look. You understand?”
“Yes.”
“This first time,” Donghae said, kissing his neck, his shoulders, peeling off Hyukjae’s shirt, “is just about feeling. It’s not about performance.” He undid Hyukjae’s jeans, pulling them and his boxers down his legs. The cool air hit his skin, followed by the scorching heat of Donghae’s full attention. He kissed his way down Hyukjae’s chest, his stomach, bypassing his aching cock, and settled between his thighs.
Hyukjae tensed. “What are you—”
“Shh.” Donghae spread him open, his breath a warm caress on a place no one had ever touched, let alone seen. “The best prep starts here.” And then his tongue, flat and wet, licked a slow, deliberate stripe over his hole.
Hyukjae saw stars. A shocked, mangled cry tore from him. The sensation was indecent, unbelievable, a direct line of pure, shocking pleasure that made his toes curl. Donghae did it again, circling the tight muscle, lapping at him with a focused, filthy dedication. His fingers kneaded the flesh of Hyukjae’s ass, holding him open. “Donghae—oh my god—fuck—”
Donghae hummed against him, the vibration making Hyukjae’s legs shake. He felt looser, wet, aching in a completely new way. When a slick, lubed finger replaced Donghae’s tongue, pressing gently at his entrance, he was panting, pushing back against it instinctively.
“Breathe out for me, love,” Donghae murmured, watching his face.
Hyukjae exhaled, and the tip of Donghae’s finger slid inside. It burned, a sharp, stretching fullness. He froze, his nails digging into Donghae’s shoulder.
“Okay?” Donghae’s voice was strained with the effort of holding perfectly still.
“Yeah. It’s… a lot.” He breathed deeply, willing his body to relax. The burn subsided, replaced by a profound, strange fullness. “Move.”
Donghae did, slowly, crooking his finger, searching. When he brushed over a spot deep inside, Hyukjae’s entire body jerked, a bolt of electric pleasure shooting up his spine. “There!”
“Found it,” Donghae whispered, his eyes dark with wonder. He worked his finger in and out, rubbing over that spot with each pass, until Hyukjae was a writhing, begging mess beneath him, his own cock leaking untouched onto his stomach. A second finger, with more lube, stretched him further. The burn returned, sharper, but it was inextricably mixed with the blinding flashes of pleasure from Donghae’s relentless strokes. Hyukjae was crying out with each movement, past shame, past thought.
“Now,” he begged, tears pricking his eyes from the overwhelming sensation. “Please, Donghae, now. I need you in me.”
Donghae withdrew his fingers, fumbling for the foil packet. Hyukjae watched through hazy eyes as he sheathed himself, pouring more lube into his palm, slicking himself with rough, hurried strokes. He was huge, flushed, terrifying. Beautiful.
Donghae positioned himself, the blunt head pressing where his fingers had been. He looked down at Hyukjae, his expression raw, vulnerable. “Look at me. Stay with me.”
Hyukjae locked his eyes on Donghae’s, anchoring himself. He nodded, breathless.
Donghae pushed forward.
The stretch was immense, a rending, burning pressure that stole the air from Hyukjae’s lungs. He cried out, a sharp, pained sound, and Donghae froze, buried just an inch inside, his body trembling with the strain of stopping.
“Hurts,” Hyukjae gasped.
“I know. Breathe. Just breathe. It’ll pass.” Donghae’s voice was a soothing murmur, though sweat dripped from his brow onto Hyukjae’s chest.
Hyukjae focused on the feeling of being filled, on the panic in Donghae’s eyes, on his own need to have this, to have all of him. The burn began to recede, morphing into a deep, stretching fullness that was almost… satisfying. He flexed experimentally, and Donghae groaned, a ragged, desperate sound.
“More,” Hyukjae breathed. “Slow. But more.”
Donghae obeyed, sinking deeper with an excruciatingly gradual push. Each inch was a negotiation of pain and pleasure, a claiming. When he was finally fully seated, hips flush against Hyukjae’s ass, they both stilled, panting. Hyukjae felt impaled, speared, utterly possessed. He could feel every throbbing inch of Donghae inside him, a presence so profound it blurred the lines between their bodies.
“You feel…” Donghae began, his voice wrecked. “I can’t even describe it. You’re so tight, so hot. Fuck.”
“Move,” Hyukjae pleaded, clawing at his back.
Donghae withdrew almost all the way, then slid back in. The second thrust was easier, the friction igniting that bright spot inside him. Hyukjae moaned, long and low. Donghae set a rhythm, slow and deep at first, each stroke brushing over that bundle of nerves. The pleasure built, coiling, eclipsing the last remnants of discomfort. Hyukjae’s world narrowed to the slap of skin, the wet, driving sounds of their joining, the choked, filth-ridden praises falling from Donghae’s lips.
“You take me so well, fuck, you’re perfect, my perfect, tight hole—god, Hyukjae—“
Hyukjae wrapped his legs around Donghae’s waist, pulling him in harder, deeper. The thrusts became harder, faster, losing their measured pace. Donghae was fucking him in earnest now, the bedframe knocking a steady rhythm against the wall. Hyukjae was mindless, meeting each drive with his own hips, chasing the sensation that was building to an impossible peak. He reached between them, fisting his own cock in a few frantic strokes.
“Come for me,” Donghae growled, his pace turning punishing, brutal. “I wanna feel you clench around me when you come.”
The command, the raw possession in his voice, tipped Hyukjae over the edge. He came with a silent scream, stripes of white painting his chest and stomach, his body convulsing, his inner muscles milking Donghae’s cock in rhythmic pulses.
The sensation was too much for Donghae. He slammed in one last time, buried to the hilt, and shouted Hyukjae’s name as he emptied himself, his own release a hot flood inside the condom. He collapsed on top of him, shuddering, their sweat-slick skin merging.
Time bled. The only sounds were their labored breaths and the distant city hum. Hyukjae felt raw, used, completely remade. The pain was a memory; a deep, satiated ache lingered in its place, a physical record of what they’d done.
Donghae finally rolled off, disposing of the condom before gathering Hyukjae against him, tangling their limbs. He pressed a kiss to his damp temple. “Okay?”
Hyukjae nodded into his shoulder. His voice, when it came, was rough, scraped raw. “Yeah.” He paused. “The articles… they didn’t really cover that.”
Donghae’s chest vibrated with a quiet laugh. “Good.”
They lay in silence, the aftermath settling around them like dust. On the nightstand, Hyukjae’s phone buzzed. Once. Then again. He ignored it, sinking deeper into Donghae’s embrace.
The phone buzzed a third time, insistently. With a grunt, Donghae reached for it. “It’s Hyohyeon.” He read the screen, his eyebrows climbing. “She says, ‘If the walls of your apartment were this thin, I would have known about your weird hockey obsession years ago. Also, tell your boyfriend he has a nice… shot.’” Donghae snorted. “She included a winking emoji.”
Hyukjae groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “I’m going to kill her.”
Donghae dropped the phone and pulled Hyukjae back into his arms, his laughter gentle. “Too late. You’re stuck with us both now.” He kissed his shoulder, his lips soft. “How do you feel?”
Hyukjae considered. The soreness was real. The memory of the pain was sharp. But beneath it, humming in his veins, was a profound, unshakable certainty. He turned his head, meeting Donghae’s tender, searching gaze.
“Like I want to do that again,” he said, and meant it.
The silence stretched, a thick cord of contentment humming between them. Donghae’s fingers traced the bumps of Hyukjae’s spine. “We should shower. You’re sticky.”
Hyukjae grunted, pressing his face deeper into the pillow. “Everything’s sticky. Everything hurts.” He shifted his leg, a sharp ache radiating from his inner thigh. “And you’re heavy.”
“Complaints already?” Donghae chuckled, nuzzling his neck. “I thought you wanted to do it again.”
“I do.” Hyukjae’s voice was muffled but firm. “Just not right now. My body feels… reassembled incorrectly.”
Donghae finally rolled off, the cool air hitting Hyukjae’s skin where their bodies had been fused. He stood, a silhouette of lean muscle against the city-lit window, and walked to the bathroom. The shower started, a steady hiss of steam.
Hyukjae watched him. The casual nakedness, the ownership of the space, the unselfconscious way Donghae moved in his own domain. It felt more intimate than the sex. He forced himself upright, a groan escaping him as the soreness bloomed anew. He padded to the bathroom, every step a reminder.
Donghae was already inside, the glass door fogged. Hyukjae slid it open, stepping into the hot spray. The water sluiced over his shoulders, washing away the sweat, the evidence. Donghae turned, pulling him into an embrace under the waterfall, his hands smoothing over Hyukjae’s back, his hips.
“You’re really okay?” Donghae murmured into his wet hair.
“Yes.” Hyukjae leaned against him, letting the water and the heat and the solid presence of Donghae soothe the raw edges. “It hurt. Then it didn’t. Then it was…” He couldn’t find the word. He reached back, his hand finding Donghae’s hip, gripping it. “It was everything.”
Donghae kissed his temple. His hands moved lower, circling the sore muscles of Hyukjae’s ass with a gentle, kneading pressure. “Next time will be easier.”
“Next time,” Hyukjae agreed, turning within the circle of his arms. He looked up, water streaming down his face. “I want to know… everything. All the things I read about.”
“We have time.” Donghae smiled, a real smile, no smirk, no challenge.Just warmth.
They dried off, the towels rough on sensitive skin. Hyukjae borrowed a pair of Donghae’s sweats, too long in the leg, smelling like his expensive detergent. They moved to the kitchen, and Donghae made tea, a quiet, domestic ritual.
Hyukjae sat on a stool, watching him. The penthouse was too quiet, a museum of luxury. “Your place feels like a hotel.”
“It’s not a home.” Donghae placed a mug before him. “It’s a space. Until now.”
Hyukjae sipped the tea. It was bitter, herbal. “Hyohyeon’s text.”
“She’s observant.”
“She’s a menace.” Hyukjae stared into his mug. “She’ll want details. She’ll use them against me.”
“She loves you.” Donghae leaned against the counter opposite him. “She just loves chaos more.”
The familiar dread of his sister’s meddling coiled in his stomach, but it was tempered now, diluted by this new, overwhelming reality. Donghae. The sex.The belonging. He set the mug down. “What happens Monday? At practice.”
Donghae’s expression shifted, the softness retreating into the cool, confident mask he wore on the ice. “Nothing changes. We’re still teammates. We still compete. But now,” he said, a slow grin spreading, “when I check you into the boards, I’ll know exactly how you sound when you come.”
Heat flashed through Hyukjae, a mixture of anger and desire. “You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re mine.” Donghae’s grin didn’t fade. “We’ll keep it professional. As professional as two people who can’t keep their hands off each other can.”
Hyukjae stood up. The soreness was a dull throb now, a constant reminder. He walked to Donghae, his steps deliberate. “Prove it.”
“What?”
“That you can’t keep your hands off me.” He stopped inches away. “Now.”
Donghae’s eyes darkened. The mask shattered. He reached out, one hand curling around the back of Hyukjae’s neck, the other sliding into the borrowed sweats, grasping him. Hyukjae was already half-hard, the simple touch electrifying.
“You’re sore,” Donghae whispered, his thumb circling the head of Hyukjae’s cock.
“I don’t care.” Hyukjae’s breath hitched. “Use your hand.Use your mouth. I don’t care. Just do something.”
Donghae dropped to his knees on the cold kitchen tile. He pushed the sweats down, exposing Hyukjae fully. He didn’t hesitate. He took him in, deep, his mouth a hot, wet vise.
Hyukjae cried out, his hands fisting in Donghae’s hair. It was different from before—no hesitation, no research, just pure, practiced skill. Donghae’s tongue worked him, his throat opening to take him deeper, his hands gripping Hyukjae’s thighs to hold him steady. Hyukjae’s head fell back, a string of curses dripping from his lips. “Fuck, yes, just like that—don’t stop—”
Donghae pulled off, his lips glistening. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want to come in your mouth.” The words were filthy, alien in his own voice. “I want you to swallow it.”
A low groan vibrated from Donghae. He nodded, a hungry, obedient gesture, and dove back down. His pace increased, a ruthless, sucking rhythm that stripped Hyukjae of all thought, all pain, all memory. There was only this rising crest of sensation, the visual of Donghae on his knees, serving him.
Hyukjae’s climax ripped through him, violent and fast. He shouted, his body buckling, his release surging down Donghae’s throat. Donghae took it, swallowing convulsively, milking him with his lips until he was dry, oversensitive.
He stood up, wiping his mouth. His eyes were wild, triumphant. “Professional enough?”
Hyukjae, panting, pulled his sweats up. “You’re a fucking addict.”
“For you.” Donghae kissed him, the taste of Hyukjae still on his tongue. “Only for you.”
They slept tangled, the vast bed finally feeling occupied. Hyukjae woke before dawn, the city still dark. Donghae was asleep, his arm thrown over Hyukjae’s waist. Hyukjae studied him—the softened brow, the relaxed mouth. This was the face no one else saw. The predator off the ice.
A thought, clear and urgent, cut through the haze. He wanted that taste again. The bitter, salty taste of Donghae’s control, handed over to him. He wanted to reclaim the power he’d felt on his knees, but from the other side.
He slid out of bed. Donghae stirred but didn’t wake. Hyukjae went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth meticulously, then returned. He stood by the bed, watching the sleeping form. Then he knelt.
He peeled the sheets back slowly. Donghae was naked, his body a landscape of shadows and planes. Hyukjae’s mouth watered. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over Donghae’s stomach. Donghae’s cock lay against his thigh, soft. Hyukjae took it in his hand, feeling the weight, the potential. He licked the tip, a tentative stroke.
Donghae’s eyes flew open. He didn’t move, just watched, his gaze hazy with sleep and immediate, dark arousal.
“Morning,” Hyukjae said, his voice rough.
Donghae’s response was a low, gratified hum. His cock began to fill in Hyukjae’s hand, thickening, rising. Hyukjae closed his mouth over the head, sucking gently. He remembered the motions, the pressure points. He worked him with a newfound confidence, his own desire a live wire in his gut.
“You learn fast,” Donghae breathed, his hands coming to rest on Hyukjae’s head, not guiding, just present.
Hyukjae went deeper, taking more. The taste was stronger now, musky and clean. He lost himself in the rhythm, in the feeling of Donghae hardening in his mouth, in the soft, ragged moans above him. This was control.This was ownership. He owned this moment, this pleasure.
Donghae’s hips began to move, tiny thrusts. “I’m close,” he warned, his voice tight.
Hyukjae pulled off, looking up. “Not yet.” He stood up, pushing Donghae back against the mattress. He straddled him, his own arousal pressing against Donghae’s stomach. “I want you inside me again. Now.”
Donghae’s eyes widened. “You’re sore.”
“It’s a good sore.” Hyukjae reached for the lube on the nightstand. He coated his fingers, then reached behind himself, pressing against his own entrance. The stretch was familiar, a welcome ache. He prepared himself quickly, watching Donghae’s face contort with need.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Donghae choked out.
Hyukjae took the condom, rolled it onto Donghae with clumsy, determined hands. Then he positioned himself, lowering his body onto Donghae’s. The penetration was smoother this time, a stretching fullness that burned less, pleasured more. He sank down fully, taking a shuddering breath.
“Move,” Donghae said, his hands gripping Hyukjae’s hips.
Hyukjae moved. He rose and fell, controlling the pace, the angle. Each descent brushed that spot, each ascent made Donghae groan. The power was dizzying. He rode him hard, his own cock bouncing, untouched. Donghae’s hands moved from his hips to his chest, pinching his nipples, dragging nails down his stomach.
“Come for me,” Hyukjae commanded, his voice a strained gasp. “Let me feel it.”
Donghae obeyed. His body tightened, his thrusts becoming erratic, upward lunges that speared Hyukjae deeply. He cried out, a raw, unfiltered sound, and his release flooded into the condom. Hyukjae felt the pulse, the throbbing, and it triggered his own. He came without a touch, his orgasm ripping through him from the inside out, a searing contraction around Donghae’s still-hot cock.
He collapsed forward, onto Donghae’s chest. They were both slick, spent. Donghae’s arms encircled him, holding him close.
The sun began to rise, painting the room in pale gold. Hyukjae’s phone buzzed on the nightstand.Again. He knew who it was.
Donghae reached for it, squinting at the screen. “Hyohyeon. ‘Bring him for breakfast. I’m making pancakes. And I have questions.’” He dropped the phone. “She’s relentless.”
Hyukjae sighed, the sound vibrating against Donghae’s skin. “She’s my sister.” He lifted his head. “And she’s your problem now, too.”
Donghae smiled, a genuine, easy smile. “I like problems.” He kissed Hyukjae’s sweaty forehead. “Especially when they come with you.”
Hyukjae closed his eyes. The soreness was there. The memory of the taste, the feel, the power, was there. And the day ahead, with its public face and private secrets, loomed. He didn’t move. For now, in this sliver of dawn, he was exactly where he wanted to be.