Chapter 9: The Reckoning on the Rink
The walk from the penthouse to Hyukjae’s apartment felt like crossing a border into a different country. The air changed from sterile and filtered to the familiar, slightly damp scent of the older building’s hallway. Hyukjae fumbled with his keys, acutely aware of Donghae leaning against the wall beside his door, watching him with a soft, proprietorial smile.
“What?” Hyukjae grumbled, shoving the door open.
“Nothing. Just looking.”
“Stop it.”
“Can’t.”
Inside, the contrast was almost funny. Where Donghae’s space was a museum, Hyukjae’s was an archive of a life in motion. A hockey bag spilled tape and sweatbands onto the floor. A few clean dishes sat in the drainer. A worn team jacket was slung over the back of a chair. It was small, lived-in, warm.
Donghae stepped in and took a deep, obvious breath. “Yeah,” he said, satisfied. “This is it.”
“Shut up and grab my bag from the bedroom,” Hyukjae said, heading for the bathroom to get his toothbrush. He could hear Donghae moving around in his room, the quiet rustle of his drawers being opened. A part of him bristled at the intrusion, but a larger, more terrifying part felt a profound sense of rightness. This was the sound of another person in his space. Donghae in his space.
When he came out, Donghae was holding a faded black sweatshirt Hyukjae hadn’t worn in years. “Can I have this?”
“It’s too small for you.”
“That’s the point.” Donghae brought it to his face, inhaled shamelessly, and then stuffed it into his own duffel.
Hyukjae felt his ears burn. “You’re insane.”
“For you? Absolutely.”
The drive to the academy was shorter than usual, the silence between them now comfortable, charged with anticipation rather than dread. Donghae parked, and as they walked toward the athletic complex, his hand brushed Hyukjae’s. Then, deliberately, his fingers linked with Hyukjae’s. Hyukjae stiffened, a bolt of pure adrenaline shooting up his spine. He glanced around the nearly empty parking lot.
“Donghae.”
“Hmm?”
“People.”
“I see them.” Donghae didn’t let go. He swung their joined hands lightly. “Let them look.”
And they did. A group of freshmen heading for the early swim practice froze, their eyes widening. A murmur passed between them. Hyukjae focused on the ground, his heart pounding against his ribs. He could feel the stares like physical touches. This was different from the rink, from the controlled chaos of a game. This was a statement, plain and simple.
Donghae squeezed his hand before releasing it at the players’ entrance. “See you on the ice, princess.”
The old nickname, dropped so casually in public, made Hyukjae’s head snap up. But Donghae was already pushing through the door, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. The freshmen were still staring.
It begins, Hyukjae thought.
By the time he’d changed and stepped onto the rink, the news had metastasized. The usual pre-practice chatter was subdued, replaced by sidelong glances and not-so-subtle elbow jabs. The team was already lacing up, their eyes darting between him and Donghae, who was casually stretching by the boards as if he hadn’t just upended the entire social ecosystem of Silver Ice Academy.
Coach blew his whistle, his gaze lingering on them for a beat too long. “Scrimmage. Blues versus Whites. Hyukjae, you’re with Blues. Donghae, Whites. Let’s see some sharp plays.”
The moment their skates hit the ice, the dynamic shifted. It was no longer a cold war. It was a live wire connection. Donghae pursued him with a focused intensity that had nothing to do with rivalry and everything to do with possession. They weren’t just playing hockey; they were having a conversation only they understood.
Donghae stole the puck from a defenseman, his movements liquid and fast. Hyukjae cut across the ice to intercept him. They met at the blue line with a sharp clash of sticks. Instead of pushing past, Donghae leaned in, his body crowding Hyukjae’s against the boards. The impact vibrated through Hyukjae’s shoulders.
Donghae’s breath was warm against his ear, his voice a low, private rumble under the general noise of the scrimmage. “You’re mine now. Deal with it.”
Then he was gone, weaving around him and taking a shot that sailed neatly into the top corner of the net. He didn’t celebrate with the team. He turned, skated backwards, and just looked at Hyukjae, his expression blazing.
Hyukjae shoved off the boards, a current of pure, undiluted fire racing through his veins. He didn’t try to hide his smile.
The rest of practice was a masterpiece of controlled chaos. Passes that were a fraction too hard, meant to be caught only by someone who anticipated the sender’s every thought. Checks that lingered. Glances that carried across sixty feet of ice. Donghae called for a pass once, not by name, but by a sharp, “Here, sweetheart!” The defenseman passing to him choked, and the puck skittered away. Donghae just laughed, his eyes finding Hyukjae’s.
Everyone knew.
The locker room after was a cacophony of steam and noise. The team’s initial shock had worn off, replaced by a buzzing, curious energy. They didn’t ask questions, but the space around Hyukjae and Donghae seemed to widen, giving them a wide berth. Hyukjae was at his locker, pulling off his sweat-soaked practice jersey, when he felt a presence behind him.
“You’re blocking my locker,” he said, not turning around.
“Am I?” Donghae’s hands landed on his bare hips, warm and sure. Then he was being spun around and pressed back against the cold metal. Donghae’s mouth was on his before he could utter a protest, deep and claiming, one hand cradling the back of his head to soften the impact with the locker.
The room didn’t fall silent. If anything, the chatter spiked, followed by a few whoops and a loud, “Get a room, you two!”
Donghae pulled back, just an inch. His lips were slick, his eyes dark. “They can watch,” he murmured, and went in for another, softer kiss.
That’s when the locker room door swung open.
Hyohyeon stood there, holding a neon green water bottle, her keyring dangling from her finger. She’d clearly come to return what her brother had forgotten. Her eyes took in the scene—her brother pinned against the lockers, Donghae’s body crowding his, the entire team staring. A slow, dazzling smile spread across her face.
“Oh,” she said, her voice cutting through the noise. She dropped the water bottle into an open equipment bag with a thud. “Called it.”
She turned on her heel and left, the door swinging shut behind her with a definitive click.
Donghae rested his forehead against Hyukjae’s, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “I like her.”
“She’s a menace,” Hyukjae breathed, his own laughter bubbling up, helpless and free.
Later, walking through the main academic hallway, it was clear the gossip had leaked beyond the team. Students whispered behind their hands. Smirks were exchanged. A girl from Hyukjae’s economics class gave him a thumbs-up.
Donghae, of course, reveled in it. His arm was a constant, heavy weight around Hyukjae’s shoulders. He’d stop to adjust Hyukjae’s scarf, his fingers lingering at his jaw. He’d whisper something that made Hyukjae shove him, only for Donghae to catch his hand and press a kiss to his knuckles right there under the trophy case.
“You’re making a scene,” Hyukjae muttered, his face hot.
“I’m making sure,” Donghae corrected, his tone light but his eyes serious. “No doubts. No questions. You’re not a secret.”
They stopped at Hyukjae’s locker. As Hyukjae spun the combination, Donghae leaned against the adjacent one, his gaze a physical caress. “Come to my place tonight. We’ll order terrible food. I’ll let you choose the movie.”
“Your place is depressing.”
“It has me in it. And your sweatshirt.” Donghae reached out, hooking a finger in the belt loop of Hyukjae’s jeans to pull him closer. “Say yes, love.”
The new nickname, softer, landed right in the center of Hyukjae’s chest. He’d been called ‘princess’ and ‘sweetheart’ a dozen times today in front of everyone, but this one, quiet and sincere, felt like the most public declaration of all.
“Yeah,” Hyukjae said, closing his locker. “Okay.”
As they walked out the main doors into the late afternoon light, the last thing Hyukjae heard was a voice from an open window above, laughing and saying to a friend, “—told you! He looks at him like he invented the sun or something.”
Donghae heard it too. He didn’t look up. He just smiled, small and private, and tightened his arm around Hyukjae.
EVERYONE IN SCHOOL KNOWS ABOUT THE CAPTAIN HOCKEY’S REUNION WITH DONGHAE. DONGHAE IS TOUCHY AND FEELING, HE MADE IT OBVIOUS HE CRAVES HYUKJAE DAILY, ALL THE SWEET NICKNAMES WERE USED EVEN IN THE RINK.
The weight of the day—the stares, the whispers, the unbearable lightness of Donghae’s hand constantly finding his—coiled tightly in Hyukjae’s stomach.It was a live wire of exposure and exhilaration. By the time they pushed into the familiar, cluttered sanctuary of his apartment, the coiled spring was trembling, ready to snap.
“Okay,” Donghae said, kicking the door shut with his foot. He didn’t turn on the light.The fading dusk through the windows painted everything in deep blues and long shadows. “Now.”
He backed Hyukjae against the nearest wall, not with the brutal force of the rink boards, but with an inexorable, singular purpose. His hands framed Hyukjae’s face, thumbs stroking the sharp line of his cheekbones. “Now I don’t have to share you with anyone.”
His kiss was a consummation of every glance stolen across the ice, every possessive word murmured for an audience.It was deep, wet, and hungry. Hyukjae met it with equal ferocity, his hands scrabbling under Donghae’s jacket, pushing it off his shoulders.It fell to the floor with a heavy thud.
They stumbled through the dim living room, a tangle of grasping hands and urgent mouths. Hyukjae’s calf hit the edge of his couch, and they tumbled onto it, Donghae landing half on top of him. The air left Hyukjae’s lungs in a rush, replaced by the overwhelming scent of Donghae’s skin, his sweat, his cheap cologne from the morning now faded to something intimately his.
“Fuck,” Hyukjae gasped, arching up into the solid weight of him. “Donghae—”
“Say it again.” Donghae mouthed along his jaw, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin below Hyukjae’s ear. “Say my name like that.”
“Donghae.” It was a plea, rough and wanting.
Donghae shifted, sliding down the length of Hyukjae’s body until he was kneeling between his legs on the floor. He pushed Hyukjae’s shirt up, baring his torso to the cool, shadowed air. He stared for a moment, his breath hot on Hyukjae’s skin. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Then he bent his head and licked a broad, wet stripe up the center of Hyukjae’s stomach.
Hyukjae jolted, a sharp, electric shock of pleasure zipping through his nerves.His head fell back against the couch cushion with a dull thud. “Jesus.”
Donghae didn’t rush. He mapped the tense planes of Hyukjae’s abdomen with his tongue, tracing the lines of muscle earned from a thousand sprints on the ice. He kissed the slight divot of his navel, his hands sliding under Hyukjae’s back to hold him in place.It was worship, slow and deliberate. Hyukjae could only writhe under it, his fingers tangling helplessly in Donghae’s soft hair.
When Donghae’s mouth finally closed over his left nipple, Hyukjae cried out. The sensation was absurdly intense—hot, wet suction, the clever flick of a tongue against the hardened nub. Donghae sucked deeply, lazily, while his other hand came up to roll and pinch the opposite nipple between his fingers.
“Oh, god,” Hyukjae choked out, his hips bucking off the couch. Pleasure, sharp and bright, radiated out from the point of contact, pooling low and hot in his gut. He’d never felt anything like it.It was obscene.It was perfect. “Don’t stop, don’t—”
Donghae switched sides, lavishing the same attentive, filthy devotion on his right nipple. He bit down gently, making Hyukjae gasp, then soothed the sting with his tongue. He was hard, so hard, the evidence of it a thick, urgent pressure against Hyukjae’s inner thigh where Donghae knelt between his legs. The reality of it, the sheer physical intent, finally pierced the haze of pleasure clouding Hyukjae’s mind.He froze.The next wave of sensation curdled in his veins, turning to ice.
Donghae sensed the change immediately. He released Hyukjae’s nipple with a soft, wet sound and looked up, his lips swollen and glistening. His eyes were dark pools of desire, pupils blown wide. “What’s wrong?” he breathed, his hand still splayed on Hyukjae’s stomach. “Did I hurt you?”
Hyukjae couldn’t speak.His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. He pushed himself up on his elbows, his gaze dropping from Donghae’s face to the prominent bulge straining against the front of his jeans. A wave of pure, undiluted panic crashed over him.He scrambled back on the couch, pulling his shirt down with trembling hands. “I can’t,” he blurted out, the words tasting like fear. “I’ve never—shit.I’ve never even had sex. Not… not with anyone.”
Donghae stayed on his knees, his expression shifting from concern to careful neutrality. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Hyukjae laughed, a brittle, hysterical sound. “It’s not fucking okay!You’re… you’re hard. You want to… and I don’t know how.What if I’m terrible? What if I—” He couldn’t even say it. The mechanics of it, the vulnerability, the idea of Donghae seeing him like that, taking him like that.His voice cracked, small and desperate.“Bottoming for a man? I don’t… I can’t even imagine it.”
Silence hung between them, thick and charged.Donghae looked down, taking a slow, deliberate breath. When he looked up again, there was no trace of frustration in his face. Only a profound, aching tenderness that somehow terrified Hyukjae more than lust ever could.
“Hey,” Donghae said softly, reaching out to take one of Hyukjae’s shaking hands. He didn’t pull him closer, just held it. “Look at me.”
Hyukjae forced himself to meet his gaze.
“First,” Donghae said, his thumb stroking Hyukjae’s knuckles. “There is no ‘terrible.’ There’s just you and me, figuring out what feels good. Second, I don’t give a single fuck if we never do that specific thing.Ever.” He said it with absolute conviction.“I want you.Not a performance. Not a conquest. You.”
Hyukjae stared, his panic ebbing slightly, replaced by a confusing rush of emotion that tightened his throat. “But you’re… you want to.”
“Yeah, I’m hard,” Donghae admitted, a faint, self-deprecating smile touching his lips. “Because you’re breathtaking, and tasting you like that was the best thing I’ve felt in months.It doesn’t mean we have to go any further than you want. Right now.Or tonight.Or… whenever.”
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against their joined hands. His next words were muffled, fervent. “Having you here, letting me touch you, trusting me enough to say you’re scared… fuck, Hyukjae. That’s everything. The rest is just details we can figure out later.”
Hyukjae’s breath hitched, the raw honesty in Donghae’s words disarming him more completely than any physical advance ever could. The panic, cold and sharp just moments before, thawed into a vulnerable ache. He looked at their joined hands, at the protective curve of Donghae’s shoulders, and something within him simply… unlocked.
“I want to,” Hyukjae whispered, the admission dragging itself from a place deep and long-guarded. “I just… I need slow. Painfully slow.” He met Donghae’s gaze, his own fierce with a newfound resolve.“You can’t just… take. You have to show me.”
A shudder ran through Donghae, a visible ripple of restraint and desire. He brought Hyukjae’s hand to his mouth, pressing a fervent kiss to his palm. “However slow you need,” he vowed against the skin. “I’ll show you everything.”
He stood then, pulling Hyukjae up from the couch. They didn’t speak as they moved to the bedroom, the only sound their breathing and the soft shuffle of socks on hardwood. Hyukjae’s room was darker, the only light a faint streetlamp glow carving lines around the window blind.The familiar scent of his own laundry soap and worn cotton was a comfort.
Donghae stopped him beside the bed, his hands returning to Hyukjae’s face. This kiss was different. It wasn’t the drowning desperation of the academy hallway, or the claiming victory of the locker room.It was a question, an offering. Hyukjae opened for it, letting his tongue slide tentatively against Donghae’s. A low groan vibrated from Donghae’s chest into his own.
“Touch me,” Donghae murmured, breaking the kiss to nuzzle along his jawline.“Anywhere you want. My neck, my back, under my shirt.” He guided Hyukjae’s hands to the hem of his own t-shirt. “It’s your pace. Your rules.”
Hyukjae’s fingers trembled as he slipped them under the soft cotton, gliding over the heated skin of Donghae’s stomach. The muscles fluttered under his touch. He pushed the fabric up, and Donghae hurriedly pulled it over his head, tossing it aside. The sight of him, bare and waiting in the dim light, was a punch of sheer want. Hyukjae traced the lines of his torso, learning the landscape of him—the dip of his navel, the trail of fine hair leading downward, the powerful cut of his hips where his jeans sat low.
Donghae’s patience was a physical force. He let Hyukjae explore, his own hands resting lightly on Hyukjae’s waist. When Hyukjae’s thumb brushed over a nipple, Donghae inhaled sharply, his head falling back.“Yeah,” he encouraged, his voice rough. “Just like that.”
Emboldened, Hyukjae leaned in and licked the same spot, tasting salt and skin. Donghae cursed softly, his fingers digging into Hyukjae’s hips. “Fuck, your mouth…”
They sank onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and gathering urgency. Hyukjae found himself on his back with Donghae hovering over him, supporting his weight on his elbows.The kissing became deeper, messier. Hyukjae could feel the hard line of Donghae’s erection pressing against his own through their jeans, a relentless, hot pressure that sent shocks of pleasure straight to his core. He rocked up against it, seeking friction, and Donghae moaned into his mouth.
“Hyukjae,” Donghae panted, pulling back.A string of saliva connected their lips for a second before breaking. “I need… I need to taste more of you.” His eyes were wild, pleading. “Can I?”
Hyukjae nodded, unable to form words. Donghae made quick work of his jeans, pulling them and his boxers down in one rough, desperate motion. The cool air hit Hyukjae’s overheated skin, followed by the searing heat of Donghae’s mouth.It wasn’t gentle.It was hungry, obscene, and breathtakingly direct. Donghae took him deep, his tongue working the sensitive underside of his cock before swallowing him to the root. Hyukjae’s back arched off the bed, a broken sound tearing from his throat. His hands flew to Donghae’s hair, not to push him away, but to hold on as the world narrowed to that wet, suctioning heat.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” he chanted, his hips stuttering upwards. The coil of pleasure wound impossibly tight, a frantic, pooling tension in his belly. Donghae bobbed his head, his own muffled groans sending vibrations through Hyukjae’s entire body. He used his hand to stroke what his mouth couldn’t take, his thumb swiping over the leaking tip with filthy, slick sounds.
Hyukjae was close, so close, the edge a white-hot precipice. But it was the image flashing in his mind—Donghae buried inside him, that same focused intensity in his eyes—that pushed him over. He came with a sharp cry, pulsing into Donghae’s welcoming mouth. Pleasure, blinding and total, erupted through his nerves, leaving him boneless and gasping.
Donghae swallowed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before collapsing beside him, his own body taut as a bowstring. He was achingly hard, the bulge in his jeans straining visibly. He made no move to touch himself, just lay there breathing raggedly, staring at the ceiling.
For a long moment, the only sound was their shared, ragged breathing.The aftermath hummed in the air, sticky and intimate. Hyukjae turned his head on the pillow to look at him. Donghae’s jaw was clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. The wanton scene from moments before had crystallized into a painful-looking need.“Donghae,” Hyukjae said, his voice hoarse.
“It’s okay,” Donghae interjected quickly, still not looking at him. “That was perfect. You were perfect.”
Hyukjae’s hand drifted down, his fingers brushing over the denim covering Donghae’s erection. Donghae flinched as if burned, a violent tremor racking his frame.“Hyukjae, don’t. I’m right on the fucking edge. Any touch and I’ll come in my pants like a teenager.”
“So?” Hyukjae whispered, the ghost of a defiant smirk on his lips. He was floating in a post-orgasmic haze, brave and curious.
Donghae finally turned his head, his eyes black with need. “So, I want my first time inside you to last longer than two seconds.” He groaned, rolling onto his back and dragging a hand over his face.“Christ, I need a cold shower. A very, very cold one.”
He started to get up, but Hyukjae’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Wait.”
Donghae paused, every line of his body screaming with tension.
Hyukjae looked at him, at the beautiful, desperate mess he’d made of the boy who tormented him, who loved him. The fear was still there, a faint echo, but it was now wrapped in a thick, warm blanket of trust. “This… prep thing,” he started, his cheeks flushing anew.“Is it… can we start that?Not the main event. Just… getting me ready.Slowly.Like you said.”
Donghae’s breath left him in a rush. He searched Hyukjae’s face, finding only earnest, nervous determination. He leaned down, capturing his lips in a kiss that was heartbreakingly soft. “Yeah,” he murmured against his mouth.“We can start that.Next time. I promise.” He kissed him once more, then forced himself upright. “Right now, I really, really need that shower.”
He walked stiffly out of the room, and soon Hyukjae heard the hard spray of water hitting the tub walls, followed by a sharp, guttural curse that was probably meant to be stifled. Hyukjae lay back in the quiet dark, listening to the water run, his body humming and his mind surprisingly, peacefully clear. The details, it seemed, were already beginning to arrange themselves.