Chapter 25: Morning Devotion
The first sensation was warmth. A solid, living heat along Hyukjae’s back, an arm like an iron band across his ribs, holding him close. The second was the insistent, thick press of an erection against the back of his thigh.
Donghae stirred behind him, a low, sleep-rough groan vibrating through Hyukjae’s spine. His hips gave a minute, unconscious roll, grinding his hard length against Hyukjae’s skin. “Mmmf.”
Hyukjae smiled into the pillow, a lazy, private curl of his lips. He could feel every pulse of the alpha’s cock, a heavy, demanding presence. He let Donghae rut against him for another slow, delicious moment, savoring the evidence of his desire in the stark light of morning.
Donghae’s breathing changed, shifting from sleep to wakefulness. He stilled. His arm tightened marginally. “Shower,” he murmured, his voice a graveled scrape against Hyukjae’s ear. It was a statement, but it lacked conviction.
“In a minute,” Hyukjae whispered. He shifted, turning within the circle of Donghae’s arms until they were face to face. The sheets whispered between them. Donghae’s eyes were dark, hooded, pupils blown with sleep and immediate, naked want.
Hyukjae pushed. A gentle pressure on Donghae’s shoulder. The alpha went willingly, collapsing onto his back with a soft whump, looking up at him with a mixture of surprise and raw anticipation. Hyukjae held his gaze as he slithered down the bed, the cool sheets gliding over his skin. He nudged Donghae’s thighs apart with his knee and settled in the space between them.
The smell of him here was potent, musky, uniquely Donghae. Hyukjae breathed it in, his own stomach tightening. He wrapped his fingers around the base, feeling the heat, the weight, the prominent vein throbbing under his thumb. He licked a slow, teasing stripe from root to tip.
Donghae’s abdomen clenched, a sharp hiss escaping his teeth. “Fuck, Hyukjae.”
Encouraged, Hyukjae opened his mouth and took the head inside, swirling his tongue around the smooth crown, tasting the faint, salty pre-come beading there. He worked his way down, taking more, his jaw stretching. He relaxed his throat, focusing on the rhythm, on the wet, sucking sounds that filled the quiet room, on the way Donghae’s hips twitched upwards, seeking deeper.
“Jesus,” Donghae gasped. His hand found Hyukjae’s hair, not forcing, but fisting in the soft brown strands, a silent anchor. “Your mouth… shit, just like that.”
Hyukjae increased his pace, bobbing his head, hollowing his cheeks. He used his hand in tandem, twisting on the upstroke. He could feel Donghae beginning to lose his legendary control, his thighs trembling, his breaths coming in ragged pants. He was close. Hyukjae pulled off with a wet, obscene pop, saliva shining on his chin and on Donghae’s slick, hard cock.
Before Donghae could protest, Hyukjae was moving, crawling back up his body. He straddled Donghae’s hips, positioning himself. He reached between his own legs, guiding the blunt, eager head to his entrance. He was still loose and wet from the night before, but the initial stretch was always a breathtaking shock.
He looked down, meeting Donghae’s burning gaze. Then he sank down.
It was a slow, devastating impalement. He took him inch by torturous inch, a low, broken moan escaping his lips as he was filled, stretched, completed. He bottomed out, their bodies flush, and paused, panting, overwhelmed by the sheer fullness.
Donghae’s hands flew to his hips, grip bruising. “Move,” he commanded, voice shredded.
Hyukjae obeyed. He rose up until only the tip remained inside, then sank back down with a rolling, desperate grind. He set a punishing rhythm, riding him with a focused, carnal hunger, his own neglected cock bouncing, leaking onto Donghae’s taut stomach. Each downstroke punched a choked sound from his throat.
“Look at you,” Donghae growled, his eyes raking over Hyukjae’s body—the heaving chest, the glistening skin, the blissful ruin on his face. “Fucking yourself on my cock. So greedy for it.”
The filthy words, so at odds with Donghae’s usual reserve, sent a jolt straight to Hyukjae’s core. His rhythm faltered, pleasure coiling wire-tight. “Donghae… I’m gonna…”
“Come.” It was an alpha order, deep and guttural. “Come all over me. Now.”
It shattered him. Hyukjae cried out, back arching, as his orgasm ripped through him without warning. Stripes of white painted Donghae’s skin as his inner walls clenched and fluttered around the thick invasion.
The violent squeezing was all it took. Donghae roared, his hips slamming up off the bed to bury himself impossibly deep. Hyukjae felt the hot, frantic pulse of his release, the swell of his knot beginning to lock them together. Donghae held him there, impaled, through the last waves, his growls softening into ragged breaths.
They collapsed together, a tangled, sticky mess. The knot held, a persistent, intimate anchor. Donghae’s hand came up, stroking Hyukjae’s damp hair back from his forehead. “Shower,” he said again, but this time his voice was soft, satiated.
“You said that before,” Hyukjae mumbled against his chest, boneless.
“I was distracted.”
The shower was a slow, steamy ritual. They soaped each other, traded lazy, sucking kisses under the spray, rinsed away the evidence of the morning. Donghae carefully washed Hyukjae’s hair, his fingers massaging his scalp until Hyukjae was practically purring.
Wrapped in towels, they padded to the kitchen. Hyukjae, feeling buoyant, pulled ingredients from the fridge. “Pancakes. My turn.”
Donghae leaned against the counter, a cup of black coffee in hand, just watching. His gaze was a physical weight, a soft, possessive scrutiny that tracked every movement—the flip of a wrist as Hyukjae mixed batter, the way he bit his lip in concentration, the shake of his hips to a silent beat only he could hear.
When the stack was golden and steaming on a plate, Donghae pulled him close before he could sit. He kissed him, deep and lingering, tasting of coffee and maple syrup. “I’ll be home by seven,” he said, his thumb tracing the slight swell of Hyukjae’s bottom lip.
“Board meeting,” Hyukjae remembered, the proposal, the “sexy, angry robot” voice.
“Don’t miss me too much,” Donghae said, a faint, almost imperceptible curve to his mouth. He grabbed his briefcase, the formidable executive armor clicking back into place, but his eyes lingered on Hyukjae standing barefoot in his kitchen.
The door clicked shut. The sudden silence of the penthouse was profound. Hyukjae cleaned up, the key cool against his damp chest. He danced a little, a silly, shuffling movement in the empty living room, his body humming with a pleasant ache.
He was pouring himself more juice when a sharp, cramping twist low in his abdomen made him gasp, gripping the counter edge. It wasn’t pain, exactly. It was a deep, internal clench, a sudden, slick warmth between his legs that had nothing to do with Donghae.
No.
He counted the days in his head, a cold dread seeping through the morning’s warmth. It was too soon. Weeks too soon. The faulty suppressants—the ones that had been barely keeping his cycle manageable—were failing. His body, perhaps triggered by the intense, repeated bonding, was rushing headlong into a heat.
It wasn’t due for another three weeks. He had a fresh prescription to pick up… tomorrow.
He sank onto a stool, the pleasant ache turning ominous. The heat wouldn’t be the slow, sweet climb of last night. It would be a raging, mindless inferno. And Donghae would be in a board meeting, then at the office, utterly unaware.
Hyukjae reached for his phone, his hands unsteady. He had one person to call.
Ryeowook answered on the second ring. “If you’re calling to describe the phallic symbolism of your breakfast sausages, I swear to god—”
“Ryeo,” Hyukjae interrupted, his voice thin. “My heat. It’s coming. Now.”
The line was silent for a beat. “What? Hyuk, no. You’re not due. You have your new pills tomorrow.”
“I know.” Hyukjae closed his eyes as another cramp, hotter this time, seized him. A trickle of slick dampened his towel. “It’s the old ones. They’ve finally shit the bed. I can feel it… it’s like a engine turning over. It’s starting.”
“Okay. Okay, don’t panic.” Ryeowook’s voice shifted into practical, crisis-mode. “Where’s Ice Prince?”
“Board meeting. Then work. He won’t be back until seven.”
“Seven? Hyuk, you’ll be climbing the walls by noon. You need to tell him.”
“I can’t.” The panic was a live wire now. “He’s presenting. This is a huge deal for him. I can’t… I can’t call him and say ‘come home, my biology is exploding.’” He thought of Donghae’s focused intensity, the weight he carried. “Not for this.”
“For this? Hyukjae, it’s a fucking heat! An unexpected, full-blown omega heat! You think his board meeting is more important than you going through that alone in his sterile museum of a penthouse?” Ryeowook sighed, loud and frustrated. “Fine. I’m closing the shop. I’m coming over. I’ll bring supplies. Juice, towels, those disgusting protein bars you like. We’ll figure it out.”
“You can’t be here for a heat,” Hyukjae said miserably.
“I’m not going to join you, you idiot. I’m going to make sure you don’t dehydrate and die on his stupid expensive rug until we can get your Alpha on the phone. Lock the door behind you. I’ll use the code. See you in twenty.”
The call ended. Hyukjae sat in the humming silence, the cramp subsiding into a low, ominous throb. The clean, citrus scent of the penthouse air seemed to sharpen, curdle. He could already smell the first, faint, sweet trace of his own rising pheromones cutting through it.
He looked at the clock. 9:17 AM.
Donghae’s meeting started at ten.
He had a few hours of lucidity, maybe less. He thought of the key around his neck, the whispered “stay,” the vulnerable tears of the night before. All that tender, hard-won closeness was about to be consumed by a primal, screaming need. A need that demanded his Alpha, now.
He hugged himself, suddenly shivering in the sunlit kitchen. The home he’d just started to believe in was about to become a gilded cage for a beautiful, terrifying animal. And he had no idea if the man who held the key would—or could—come home in time to handle what was about to be unleashed.
The cramp that followed was a vicious clamp and release deep in his gut, pulling a choked gasp from his throat. Slick, warm and insistent, soaked through the towel wrapped around his hips. Hyukjae gripped the cool marble of the kitchen island, knuckles bleaching white, as the world tilted on a new, terrifying axis. His body was a traitorous engine revving too high, too fast, the mechanics of it grinding against his will.
He stumbled to the penthouse door, fumbling with the lock to disengage the deadbolt for Ryeowook. The simple action felt monumental. Each movement stirred the heat simmering in his blood, a low-grade fever spreading under his skin. He retreated to the bedroom, the site of that morning’s slow, satiating sex now feeling like a taunt. This would be nothing like that.
By the time the electronic lock chimed and Ryeowook’s voice called out a tentative “Hyuk?”, the room already carried the cloying, sweetened scent of ripening peaches and salt—omega in pre-heat.
“In here,” Hyukjae managed, his voice already tighter, thinner.
Ryeowook appeared in the doorway, arms laden with bags. He took one look at Hyukjae curled on the edge of the disheveled bed, saw the sheen on his skin, and his face sobered completely. “Oh, baby. Okay. It’s moving fast.”
“Too fast,” Hyukjae panted, a shiver wracking him despite the heat. “Ryeo, it hurts.” It wasn’t the pain of injury, but the ache of profound emptiness, a raw, screaming hollow his bones.
Ryeowook was a whirlwind of efficient comfort. He unpacked electrolyte drinks, cool packs, setting them on the nightstand. He piled extra towels from the ensuite. His chatter was a lifeline. “I brought the sugar-free grape stuff you pretend to like. And listen, when this passes, we’re suing the pharmaceutical company. This is unacceptable. You’re basically a human science experiment gone wrong here.”
Hyukjae tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. Another wave crested, tearing a whimper from his throat. His back arched off the bed, a slick stain spreading beneath him on the linens. The hollow wasn’t just an ache now; it was a yawning, desperate void, and his mind began scrubbing itself clean of everything but the scent embedded in these sheets—cedar, ozone, Alpha.
“He’s not… he can’t…” Hyukjae mumbled, clutching a pillow to his face, inhaling deeply.
Ryeowook watched him, his omega instincts bristling with protective sympathy. He checked the time. 11:43 AM. Donghae’s board meeting would be in full, unbreachable swing. He sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Hyukjae’s damp hair. “You need to call him.”
Hyuk-jae shook his head violently, face still buried. “Can’t. He’s… the deal. The sexy robot thing.”
“Fuck the deal, Hyuk!” Ryeowook’s voice was sharp. “Look at you. You think you can white-knuckle this for another seven hours? You’ll tear yourself apart.” He waited, but Hyukjae just shuddered, lost to the building storm. Resolve hardened in Ryeowook’s eyes. He couldn’t watch this.
He stayed until Hyukjae’s pleas became fragmented, wordless sounds, until his thrashing needed to be gently restrained to keep him from harming himself. He made sure Hyukjae sipped some fluid, wiped his forehead with a cool cloth. Then, with a final, worried glance, he gathered his things. “I’m going to fix this,” he whispered, though Hyukjae was beyond hearing.
The door sealed shut behind him, locking Hyukjae in his scented, private hell.
Out in the bright, normal hallway, Ryeowook pulled out his phone. He scrolled past Hyukjae’s name to the one listed simply as ‘Donghae (The Alpha)’. He took a deep breath and tapped the call button. It rang four times before connecting.
The voice on the other end was clipped, polished, distant. “Kim Ryeowook. This is not a good time.”
Ryeowook could hear the faint echo of a large, quiet room behind him, the rustle of paper. “Yeah, I figured. Listen, I just left your place. Hyukjae’s in trouble.”
A beat of silence. The background noise vanished, as if Donghae had covered the receiver or stepped away. “Explain.”
“His heat. It hit. Now. His suppressants failed completely.” Ryeowook spoke fast, blunt. “He didn’t want to tell you. Didn’t want to disturb the big important deal. He was willing to try and wait till seven, Donghae, but his body isn’t. I was just with him. He’s already in the thick of it, and it’s going to get violent. I don’t think he can wait that long. Not safely. Not without… without hurting.”
The silence that followed was total, cavernous. Ryeowook imagined he could feel the temperature drop through the phone.
“How bad.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand for inventory.
“He’s non-verbal in the waves. He’s burning up. Slick and sweat, the whole devastating show. He’s alone in that big empty box of yours, and he’s scared, and his body is begging for what it needs.” Ryeowook’s voice softened, just for a moment. “He needs you. Not at seven. Now.”
Another pause, shorter this time. Then the sound of movement, a door opening, distant murmurs suddenly cut off. Donghae’s voice, when it came again, was different. Stripped of polish. Low and rough, vibrating with a frequency that made Ryeowook’s own omega instincts sit up. “Is he secure.”
“The door’s locked. He’s in your bedroom. I left supplies by the bed.”
“I’m on my way. Do not call anyone else.” The line went dead.
Back in the penthouse, time had dissolved into a syrup of torment. Hyukjae was adrift on the bed, the plush linens now twisted and damp. He’d stripped naked, his skin fiery to the touch, every nerve ending screaming for a pressure that didn’t exist. He was hard, his cock leaking incessantly onto his stomach, but that was a peripheral nuisance.
The core pain was deeper, internal, a frantic, rhythmic clenching around nothing. He fucked himself with his own fingers, three, then four, scissoring them desperately, but it was a insulting mimicry. It did nothing to soothe the primal shrieking in his cells. He needed to be filled, stretched, owned. He needed the weight, the bite, the brutal completion only his Alpha could provide.
He sobbed, grabbing the pillow Donghae used, rubbing his face against it, inhaling the fading scent until his lungs burned. “Hae… please. Alpha, please.”
He was breaking. The rational, cheerful dance instructor was a ghost in the corner, watching the animal he became writhe. Saliva coated his chin. His world had narrowed to scent, heat, and an all-consuming, degrading need.
The distant, singular sound of the front door’s lock disengaging was a seismic event.
Hyukjae froze, mid-thrash, his entire body going taut. Footsteps. Not Ryeowook’s quick, light steps. These were purposeful, heavy, rapid strides that echoed on the polished concrete, coming closer. The air in the penthouse changed, pressure dropping, the sweet miasma of his distress suddenly cut through by a new, dominant scent.
Cedar. Ozone. Storm.
A low, involuntary keen ripped from Hyukjae’s throat. He scrambled to his knees on the bed, body trembling violently, eyes wide and wild, fixed on the bedroom doorway.
Donghae appeared.
He’d shed his suit jacket. His tie was loosened, the top buttons of his crisp white shirt undone. His hair was slightly disheveled, as if he’d run his hands through it repeatedly. His expression was not the soft possession of the morning, nor the cold focus of the executive. This was something raw, predatory, eyes blazing with a dark, possessive fire as they locked onto the naked, debauched omega on his bed.
He took in the scene: the tangled sheets, the supplies untouched, the glisten on Hyukjae’s heaving chest, the utter desperation in his posture. His nostrils flared.
“Hyukjae.” His name was a guttural roll, an acknowledgement and a claim.
Hyukjae whimpered, spreading his thighs wider in abject submission, back arching, presenting himself. Words were gone. Only need remained.
Donghae crossed the room in three strides. He didn’t gentle him. He didn’t ask. One large, hot hand fisted in Hyukjae’s hair, yanking his head back to bare his throat. The other grasped his hip, fingers digging in, pulling him forward to the edge of the mattress. The growl that rumbled from Donghae’s chest was pure, undiluted alpha response to a mate in distress.
“You waited,” Donghae snarled, not a question but an accusation against the world. He freed his cock from his trousers with a rough, quick motion. He was already fully erect, thick and heavy, the head purpling with his own rushing blood. The sight of it made Hyukjae sob with relief.
There was no preparation, no gentle guidance. Dong-hae notched himself against Hyukjae’s dripping, fluttering entrance and slammed home in one savage, bottoming thrust.
The scream Hyukjae let out was pure catharsis. Finally. The brutal stretch bordered on pain, a searing, perfect fullness that speared through the hollow and shattered it. Dong-hae didn’t give him a second to adjust. He pulled back and drove in again, setting a relentless, pounding rhythm that shook the bed frame.
“This,” Donghae grunted, each word punctuated by a deep, driving plunge, “is what happens. You call. You always call.”
Hyukjae could only nod, choked cries punched out of him with every impact. His hands scrambled for purchase, finally locking behind Donghae’s neck, clinging as he was fucked into the mattress. This was nothing like the morning. This was claiming, branding, a violent realignment of the universe. The slick, obscene sound of their joining filled the room, mixed with Donghae’s ragged breaths and Hyukjae’s shattered moans.
“Mine,” Donghae growled, bending to sink his teeth into the juncture of Hyukjae’s shoulder, not quite breaking the skin, but promising it. “Fucking mine. In heat, in sleep, in your stubborn, self-sacrificing head. Mine.”
The knot began to swell at the base of his cock, catching with each withdrawal, stretching Hyukjae even wider. The intense pressure tripped Hyukjae’s orgasm, a convulsive, endless peak that ripped through him with silent, breathless intensity. His vision whited out, his body clamping down hard on the invading flesh.
The sensation tore Donghae’s release from him. He roared, driving his knot deep and locking them together as he came, hot pulses flooding Hyukjae’s core. He collapsed forward, catching his weight on his forearms, his body sheathing Hyukjae completely, a living cage of heat and completion.
The feverish tension bled from Hyuk-jae’s muscles all at once. The screaming need quieted to a profound, sated hum. He was full, claimed, anchored. Tears of relief leaked from the corners of his eyes. Donghae nuzzled into his damp neck, his own breathing gradually slowing from a gallop to a heavy rhythm.
Outside, the city pulsed on, unaware. Inside, the storm had found its eye.
Donghae shifted them slightly to the side, still knotted, still joined. He brushed the sweat-soaked hair from Hyukjae’s forehead. His voice, when he finally spoke, was wrecked, but softer now. “Never wait for me again.”
Hyu-kjae, floating in a haze of endorphins and profound relief, touched the key resting on his own chest. He managed a weak, hazy smile. “You… left your board meeting.”
Donghae’s lips brushed his temple. “Let them vote without me.”