Chapter 9: Sweet Interrogation
The laughter eventually subsided into a comfortable quiet, broken only by the soft scrape of the plastic fork against the paper plate. Donghae’s finger, still slick with white frosting, traced absent circles on the dip of Hyukjae’s hipbone, exposed where the sheet had slipped low. The touch was casual, proprietary in a way that made Hyukjae’s skin buzz.
“So,” Donghae said, his voice a low hum. “A corporate wellness brochure.”
Hyukjae groaned, covering his face with a pillow that smelled irrevocably of them. “It was a very flattering photo! You were demonstrating proper lumbar support!”
“And you taped it under your desk.”
“For inspiration.”
“Inspiration,” Donghae repeated, the word rich with amusement. He hooked a finger under the pillow and tugged it away. Hyukjae squinted up at him, flushed and crumb-dusted. “What exactly did my posture inspire, Hyukjae?”
The air shifted. The playful glint in Donghae’s eyes deepened into something hotter, more intent. The alpha scent in the room, already thick, seemed to concentrate, pushing against Hyukjae’s senses until his own omega instincts rose in a sweet, eager fog of lavender. The bond between them, that new, living wire, tightened in his chest.
“You know,” Hyukjae whispered, his throat dry.
“I want to hear you say it.”
The command was soft, but it was there. An alpha’s cadence, wrapped in velvet. Hyukjae shivered. He’d fantasized about this voice in the dark, about this man, a thousand times. The reality was so much more.
“It made me think about your hands,” Hyukjae admitted, the confession torn from him. “On the small of my back. Pushing me down over that very desk.” His courage flickered, then surged, fueled by the stark hunger on Donghae’s face. “I thought about you pulling my hips back and fucking me stupid while I clutched the laminate edge.”
A sharp inhale. Donghae’s pupils blew wide, the dark swallowing the brown. “Fuck.”
In one fluid motion, he moved. The cake plate was swept aside, a faint clatter ignored. He loomed over Hyukjae, caging him with his arms, his body a wall of heat and tension. The sticky sweetness of frosting clung to them both.
“All that time,” Donghae murmured, bending to scrape his teeth along Hyukjae’s jawline. “All those times I watched you in that studio, bending and stretching, laughing with your students… and you were thinking the same filthy thoughts.”
He kissed him, deep and consuming. There was nothing gentle in it now. It was a reclamation. Hyukjae opened for him eagerly, tasting vanilla and the dark, essential flavor of Donghae himself. His hands came up to tangle in Donghae’s hair, pulling him closer, needing to erase every millimeter of space.
Donghae broke the kiss, trailing his mouth down Hyukjae’s throat, over the throbbing bond mark, making him gasp and arch. “Show me,” Donghae growled against his skin.
“W-what?”
“The poster. I want to see it.”
A fresh wave of mortification crested, but it was drowned instantly by a hotter flood of arousal. Naked, slick already beginning to gather between his thighs, Hyukjae slithered out from under Donghae and onto the floor. The carpet was rough against his knees. He could feel Donghae’s gaze like a physical weight on his back, on the curve of his ass.
He crawled the short distance to his small, cluttered desk, heart hammering against his ribs. He fumbled beneath it, his fingers finding the torn piece of glossy paper taped to the particleboard underside. With a soft ripping sound, he pulled it free.
Before he could turn, a large, warm hand landed on his spine, pressing him down. He went willingly, his chest meeting the cool floor, the poster crumpling under his fingers. Donghae’s body covered his, not fully, just enough to pin him.
“Let me see,” Donghae murmured, his voice directly in Hyukjae’s ear. He plucked the paper from Hyukjae’s grip.
A beat of silence. Then a low, dark chuckle. “My god. I look so serious.”
“You—” Hyukjae started, but the words dissolved into a moan as Donghae’s free hand slid between his thighs from behind, fingers slipping through the slick warmth there. “Oh.”
“Shh.” Donghae dropped the poster. His fingers played over Hyukjae’s entrance, rubbing, spreading the wetness, but not pressing in. “This is what you wanted? At your desk?”
“Yes,” Hyukjae panted, pushing back against the teasing touch.
“Not like this, though. You wanted it from behind. Like animals.” His tone was matter-of-fact, brutally erotic. “You wanted my cock stretching you open on this cheap floor while you stared at a fucking brochure.”
The explicit words, the crude scenario, lit Hyukjae up from the inside. He was trembling, his body begging. “Please, Donghae.”
The plea did it. A growl, raw and alpha, rumbled from Donghae’s chest. He shifted, the sound of his own arousal – the slide of skin, the tear of a foil packet – unbearably loud. Then the blunt, insistent pressure was there, nudging against him.
Donghae pushed in.
It was a slow, brutal invasion. Hyukjae was open, slick, but the fullness was staggering, a breathtaking stretch that stole the air from his lungs. Donghae seated himself to the hilt with one relentless thrust, his hips flush against Hyukjae’s ass.
“Fuck,” Donghae hissed, his body going taut. “You’re so fucking tight. Even after last night.”
He didn’t move for a long moment, letting them both feel it, the intimate joining. Hyukjae felt owned, split open, completed. He whimpered, pushing back minutely, a wordless demand.
Donghae began to move. It wasn’t gentle. It was hard, precise, each thrust punching a choked sound from Hyukjae’s throat. The angle was deep, punishingly so. Donghae leaned over him, one hand bracing on the floor by Hyukjae’s head, the other wrapping around his waist, holding him in place.
“This is it,” Donghae grunted, his rhythm becoming faster, more frantic. “This is what you dreamed about. My cock in you, fucking you raw on the floor. You’re dripping for it. So fucking wet.”
Hyukjae could only nod, his forehead pressed to the carpet, his fingers scrambling for purchase. Pleasure coiled tight and white-hot in his gut. With every drive inward, Donghae’s scent washed over him, mixing with his own, branding him all over again.
“Gonna come,” Donghae warned, his voice strangled. “Gonna fill you up. Mark you inside. Let everyone know who you belong to.”
The possessive words, the filthy promise, tipped Hyukjae over the edge. His orgasm ripped through him violently, a silent scream shaking his frame as he clenched around Donghae, spasming.
The sensation pulled Donghae under. He drove in one last, deep time, hips stuttering, a raw groan torn from his lips as he spilled inside the condom, his body shuddering in release.
They collapsed together on the floor, a heap of sweat-slick limbs and ragged breaths. The only sounds were their panting and the distant hum of the refrigerator.
Slowly, Donghae eased out and rolled onto his back beside him. He reached out, his hand finding Hyukjae’s in the space between them, their fingers lacing together stickily.
After a long while, Hyukjae whispered, “The brochure is ruined.”
Donghae turned his head. A slow, sated smile spread across his face. “Good.” He lifted their joined hands, kissing Hyukjae’s knuckles. “You don’t need a picture anymore.”
The reality of it – the stickiness on his thighs, the soreness deep within, the man beside him – settled over Hyukjae like a weighted blanket. It was terrifying. It was perfect.
Donghae sat up, then stood in one fluid motion. He looked down at Hyukjae, a naked, debauched painting on the floor, and his expression softened. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.” He extended a hand.
Hyukjae took it. As Donghae pulled him to his feet and led him toward the shower, he knew the outside world would come crashing in soon. Questions. Consequences. The life he’d known, reshaped.
But for now, there was only the steam, the gentle wash of water, and Donghae’s hands, soaping away the evidence, only to map his skin all over again.