Chapter 2: The Morning After, Slow and Sweet
The lavender scent was faint now, buried under the musk of sleep and sex. Hyukjae watched the slow rise and fall of Donghae’s back in the honeyed light, his own fingers tracing the dip of his spine without thought, following the trail of a freckle he knew like a constellation. Donghae’s skin was warm, impossibly soft under his calloused touch.
“Babe,” Hyukjae murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep. He leaned in, pressing his lips to the knob of a vertebra. “You’re so good for me.”
Donghae made a small, unconscious sound, shifting deeper into the pillow. A soft sigh escaped him.
Hyukjae’s hand slid lower, over the curve of his ass, palm warm and possessive. He squeezed gently, then trailed his fingers through the cleft, a feather-light pass that made Donghae’s breath hitch even in his sleep. Hyukjae did it again, less gently this time, a deliberate, waking touch.
Donghae’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked, disoriented, then focused on Hyukjae’s face so close to his. A slow, sleepy smile spread across his lips. “Hey,” he rasped.
“Hey.” Hyukjae kissed his shoulder. “Was watching you sleep.”
“Creepy.”
“Adoring,” Hyukjae corrected, his fingers circling lower, teasing at his entrance, still loose and sensitive from the night before. Donghae’s body clenched automatically around the nothingness, a beautiful, reflexive pull. Hyukjae felt a jolt of pure heat in his gut. “So fucking responsive. Even half-asleep.”
Donghae arched back into the touch, a silent plea. “You’re insatiable.”
“For you? Absolutely.” He increased the pressure, his middle finger pressing in just the first knuckle. Donghae gasped, his hand fisting in the sheet. Hyukjae watched his face, the way his lips parted, his eyes going hazy. “Remembered something while you were out.”
“What?” The word was a breath.
“That shirt you folded. The grey one.” Hyukjae pushed his finger in deeper, a slow, smooth invasion. Donghae moaned, his hips canting back. “You folded it so perfectly. Like it was something sacred. It made me wanna fuck you over the kitchen table right then.”
“You were… you were miles away last night,” Donghae managed, pushing back against his hand.
“I was. And then I was here. And you were folding my clothes.” Hyukjae added a second finger, stretching him, the slide easy and wet. He scissored them gently, watching the stretch. “It undid me. You, doing something so simple. Taking care of me. I came in here and all I wanted was to wreck you. To make you feel how fucking precious you are.”
He curled his fingers, searching, and found the spot. Donghae cried out, his back bowing off the mattress. “Hyukjae!”
“There it is.” Hyukjae pumped his fingers steadily, ruthlessly targeting that bundle of nerves. “That’s the sound. The one I hear in my head on every goddamn plane ride.” He leaned over, biting the shell of Donghae’s ear. “You gonna come just from my fingers? Hmm? You gonna be that easy for me this morning?”
Donghae was trembling, his knuckles white on the sheets. “Please. Please, I need—”
“What do you need? Say it.”
“You. I need you inside me. Now.”
Hyukjae withdrew his fingers, eliciting a whimper. He grabbed Donghae’s hip, rolling him onto his stomach. He manhandled him up onto his knees, ass in the air, with a firm, commanding grip. Donghae went willingly, pliant, his head buried in the pillow.
“Look at you,” Hyukjae breathed, running a hand over the perfect, offered curve. He was already hard, aching. He spat into his palm, slicking himself roughly. He didn’t reach for the lube; he wanted it like this. Raw. Needy. A little filthy. “Presenting yourself for me. Like a fucking dream.”
He notched the head of his cock at Donghae’s entrance and pushed in without ceremony.
The gasp Donghae let out was punched out of him, sharp and loud. It was a tight, burning stretch, not enough preparation, and Hyukjae groaned at the intense, almost painful clutch of him. He sank in to the hilt in one relentless thrust, bottoming out, his hips flush against Donghae’s ass.
“Fuck. Oh, fuck, Donghae.” Hyukjae’s vision blurred for a second. He stayed there, buried, both of them panting, adjusting. He bent over Donghae’s back, blanketing him, his mouth at his neck. “You feel… you feel like heaven and hell at the same time. So fucking tight.”
“Move,” Donghae begged, his voice muffled. “Please, move.”
Hyukjae pulled out almost all the way, then drove back in. A hard, deep stroke. Then another. He set a punishing pace from the start, each thrust a claim, his balls slapping against Donghae’s skin. The bed rocked, the headboard tapping a frantic rhythm against the wall.
“This what you needed?” Hyukjae gritted out, one hand anchoring on Donghae’s hip, the other fisting in his dark hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat. “This what you think about when I’m gone? Me fucking you like this? Using you?”
“Yes!” Donghae shouted, beyond coherence. “Yes, god, yes!”
“You belong to me. Every part of you.” Hyukjae’s thrusts became erratic, losing rhythm, driven by a need that was visceral, bordering on violent. He released Donghae’s hair, his hand snaking around his waist, finding his cock, hard and leaking. He jerked him in time with his thrusts, a rough, merciless friction. “Come on. Come for me. Let me feel you.”
The dual sensations, the deep, brutal penetration and the tight, urgent stroke of Hyukjae’s hand, tore the climax from Donghae. He screamed, his body locking, convulsing around Hyukjae in pulsing waves of pure, white-hot pleasure. Hyukjae felt the exquisite milking pressure and lost the last shred of his control.
With a ragged, broken shout, he plunged in one final time, slamming home as he came, his own release flooding hot and deep inside. He collapsed forward, his weight driving Donghae flat into the mattress, his face buried in the sweaty nape of his neck.
For long minutes, the only sounds were their heaving breaths and the distant cry of a gull outside. Hyukjae softened inside him, still unwilling to separate. He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to Donghae’s shoulder.
“Jesus,” Donghae whispered, his voice shattered.
“Yeah.” Hyukjae carefully rolled off, pulling Donghae with him, tucking him back against his chest. They were a sticky, exhausted mess. He nuzzled his nose into Donghae’s hair. “Too much?”
Donghae shook his head, his fingers linking with Hyukjae’s where they rested on his stomach. “Never. It’s just… a lot. When you get like that.”
“Like what?”
“Intense. Like you’re trying to… I don’t know. Brand me.”
Hyukjae was silent for a moment. He stared at the sunlight on the far wall. “Maybe I am.” He squeezed Donghae’s hand. “Every time I leave, a part of me is terrified I’ll come back and you’ll have remembered you don’t need this. Don’t need me.”
Donghae twisted in his arms, his brown eyes searching Hyukjae’s face. “Are you kidding me? After that? My legs might not work, but my memory’s just fine.”
A laugh burst out of Hyukjae, sudden and real. He kissed him, slow and sweet, tasting salt and sleep. “Good.”
The coffee was cold by the time they shuffled into the kitchen, showered and wearing clean sweats. Hyukjae poured the stale brew down the sink and started a new pot. Donghae stood at the counter, slicing fruit with a meticulous focus.
“So,” Donghae said, not looking up from the strawberry under his knife. “When’s the next trip?”
Hyukjae leaned against the counter, watching his hands. He’d been waiting for the question. “Tuesday.”
The knife stilled for a fraction of a second. Then the slicing resumed. “Singapore again?”
“London. Then possibly Frankfurt. It’s… a big deal. A series of mergers. Could be two weeks. Maybe three.”
Donghae nodded, arranging strawberry slices on a plate. “Three weeks.”
“I know.” Hyukjae’s voice was quiet. “I hate it.”
“You love it,” Donghae corrected softly, finally looking at him. There was no accusation in his eyes, just a weary understanding. “The chase. The deal. You love the fight.”
“I love coming home to you more.”
“I know that, too.” Donghae offered him a small, genuine smile. “I’ll fold your shirts. I’ll make stew. You’ll call when you can. And you’ll come back…” He trailed off, the smile turning a bit wicked. “Intense.”
Hyukjae crossed the space and pulled him into a hug, a real one, not a prelude to anything else. He held him tight, his face buried in the clean scent of his hair. “I’m a lucky bastard.”
“You are.” Donghae hugged him back, just as fiercely. “And don’t you forget it.”
The rest of the day passed in a comfortable, slow-moving bubble. They ate the fruit. They reheated the stew for lunch and Hyukjae ate two full bowls, keeping his promise. They watched a mindless action movie on the couch, Donghae’s feet in Hyukjae’s lap, his thumbs rubbing absent circles over his arches.
But a thin wire of tension had been strung between them. It hummed quietly beneath the domestic calm. Tuesday. Two, maybe three weeks. The specter of separation had slipped into the sunlit rooms, sitting in the empty chairs, reflected in the shiny surfaces.
As dusk painted the sky in shades of purple and orange, Hyukjae stood by the living room window, a glass of water in his hand. He saw his own reflection superimposed over the city lights beginning to wink on. The successful man. The devoted partner. He felt the split inside him, the permanent seam between the two.
He felt Donghae come up behind him, slip his arms around his waist, and rest his chin on his shoulder. They stared out together, a single silhouette in the darkening glass.
“I’ll miss you,” Donghae whispered.
Hyukjae covered Donghae’s hands with his own. He didn’t say I’ll miss you more. It wasn’t a competition. It was just a fact, heavy as a stone in his chest.
“It’s only a trip,” he said, to the window, to himself.
Donghae held him tighter. Neither of them believed it was just a trip. It was another stretch of days to be folded away neatly, another emptiness to be endured, another homecoming to be violently, beautifully reclaimed.
The wire of tension hummed a little louder.
The wire of tension hummed a little louder, a vibration felt in the base of the spine, in the held breath between heartbeats. Hyukjae turned within the circle of Donghae’s arms, his movement slow and decisive. He looked at him, really looked, at the soft worry in his eyes, at the mouth he’d kissed a thousand times. The domestic peace of the day shattered under a sharper, more urgent need.
“I don’t want to wait until I’m gone to miss you,” Hyukjae said, his voice low.
He captured Donghae’s mouth. This kiss wasn’t like the one from that morning, all brutal possession. It was deep, searching, a liquid melding of tongues that spoke of a different kind of hunger. It tasted of strawberry and regret. Donghae moaned into it, his hands coming up to frame Hyukjae’s face, his thumbs stroking the sharp lines of his jaw.
Hyukjae walked them backward, never breaking the kiss, until the back of Donghae’s knees hit the sofa. He pushed him down, following him, a controlled descent into the soft cushions. He loomed over him, caging him in. “I’m going to memorize you,” Hyukjae murmured against his lips. “All over again.”
He started at his throat, kissing the frantic pulse there, sucking a mark that would blossom purple and green. Donghae tipped his head back, offering more. Hyukjae took it. He moved down, pulling the soft fabric of Donghae’s sweatshirt up, exposing his stomach. He traced the lines of muscle with his tongue, dipping into his navel, biting gently at the tender skin of his hips where they curved.
“Hyukjae,” Donghae breathed, his hands tangling in Hyukjae’s hair.
“Shh. Let me.” Hyukjae pulled the sweats and briefs down in one rough tug, freeing his cock. It lay hard against his stomach, flushed and leaking. Hyukjae leaned down, his breath hot, but didn’t touch it. Instead, he nuzzled the crease of his thigh, kissing the sensitive skin there, then lower, to the heavy weight of his balls. He took one into his mouth, sucking gently, rolling it with his tongue.
Donghae cried out, his hips lifting off the couch. “Fuck, please.”
Hyukjae ignored him. He was a cartographer of flesh, mapping every erogenous zone. He kissed the insides of Donghae’s wrists where the veins stood blue and delicate. He sucked each of his fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the knuckles. He trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down his ribs, across the smooth plane of his chest, lingering to lap at his nipples until they were pebbled and aching.
He moved back down, his lips brushing the trail of dark hair leading south. Finally, he took the head of Donghae’s cock into his mouth, a slow, torturous slide. He worked him with his tongue, humming, applying pressure in just the right way. Donghae was a writhing mess beneath him, his back arched, pleading noises falling from his lips.
Hyukjae sucked him deep, his throat relaxing, taking him all the way until his nose pressed into coarse hair. He pulled off with a wet pop, his hand taking over, stroking him fast and tight. He could see the tension coiling in Donghae’s abdomen, the telltale clench of his thighs.
“I’m gonna… Hyukjae, I’m gonna come!”
Hyukjae stopped instantly, his hand a firm, still ring at the base of Donghae’s cock, denying the release. Donghae sobbed, a raw sound of pure frustration. His body shuddered violently, hovering on the agonizing edge.
“Not yet,” Hyukjae said, his own voice ragged with want. He released him, watching the angry, throbbing flesh twitch. “I want to see you when I’m inside you.”
He stripped his own clothes off, his erection jutting hard and impatient. He grabbed the lube from the side table drawer, slicking himself with a few rough pumps. He positioned himself between Donghae’s legs, pushing them up and apart. He wanted his face in clear view.
He pressed in, a slow, inexorable invasion this time, his eyes locked on Donghae’s. He watched every flicker of sensation—the initial stretch, the full-bodied shock of being filled, the dazed, pleasure-drunk surrender. Hyukjae bottomed out, holding still, letting Donghae adjust, letting him feel every inch.
“See me,” Hyukjae commanded, his voice thick. “See who’s fucking you.”
Donghae’s eyes, glazed with unshed tears of denied climax, focused on Hyukjae’s face. A profound, adoring recognition lit them up. He reached up, tracing Hyukjae’s lips with a trembling finger.
Hyukjae began to move. It was a deep, rolling rhythm, each thrust grinding against that perfect spot. He leaned down, kissing Donghae desperately, swallowing his moans. He pistoned into him, the slick, filthy sound of skin on skin filling the room. Donghae’s expressions were a masterpiece—bliss, ache, rapture, love—playing across his features.
“Touch yourself,” Hyukjae grunted. “Get yourself close again.”
Donghae’s hand flew to his own cock, stroking in frantic time with Hyukjae’s thrusts. His breath came in ragged gasps. “I’m close, I’m so close again, please.”
Hyukjae watched, mesmerized, as that familiar tightening began again in Donghae’s body. Just as his strokes became frantic, just as his mouth fell open in a silent scream, Hyukjae grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away.
“No.”
“God, no!” Donghae wailed, thrashing beneath him.
Hyukjae fucked him through the denial, his own control fraying. He slammed into him, over and over, chasing his end now. “Come with me. Only with me.” His orgasm ripped through him, a blinding, brutal wave. He shouted, pumping into Donghae as he came.
Spent, he collapsed atop him, both of them slick with sweat. He was still hard, still inside him. He kissed Donghae’s shoulder. “Again,” he whispered.
The second time was against the cool glass of the bedroom window, Donghae’s front pressed to the pane, his breath fogging it. Hyukjae stood behind him, one hand splayed on Donghae’s stomach to pull him back onto each thrust, the other curled around his throat, holding his gaze in their reflection. He kissed the nape of his neck, the shell of his ear, the sharp line of his jaw reflected in the dark glass.
“Watch yourself take me,” Hyukjae growled. He drove into him, his pace relentless. He brought Donghae to the edge with a ruthless hand on his cock, then stopped, his fingers a vise at the base. He denied him as Donghae whimpered at the city lights below. Only when Donghae was sobbing his name did Hyukjae allow him to finish, his own release following seconds after, painting stripes across the cold glass.
The third time was on the floor by the bed, a tangle of limbs on the discarded rug. Hyukjae laid Donghae on his back, draping his legs over his shoulders. He fucked into him with slow, devastating depth, leaning down to suck a bruise into the inside of Donghae’s knee, to bite the tendon of his ankle. He worshipped every inch he could reach with his mouth. He brought Donghae to the trembling peak with his thumb rubbing insistently over the head of his cock, then pressed down hard, stalling the orgasm, leaving Donghae shaking and begging.
“Please, Hyukjae, I can’t… I need…”
“You can.” Hyukjae resumed his deep, grinding strokes. “You’ll take everything I give you.” He finally let him come when his own thighs were trembling with fatigue, watching the ecstasy break over Donghae’s face like a dawn, before following him over.
The fourth time was in their bed again, on sheets stained and damp. The moonlight had replaced the sun. Hyukjae was achingly hard again, a persistent, primal need that would not be sated. Donghae was beneath him, beautifully wrecked, his body pliant and receptive even in its exhaustion.
Hyukjae sank into him with a groan that was mostly pain. This was slower, almost tender, a viscous, deep rocking. He kissed Donghae’s eyelids, his cheeks, his swollen lips. He licked the salt from his throat, sucked gently on his bruised nipples. He mouthed along his collarbone, his hip bones, the delicate skin of his inner thighs, leaving a trail of faint, possessive marks.
“You are… everything,” Hyukjae panted, his rhythm faltering. He was close, so close, but he held on. He wrapped a hand around Donghae, his touch feather-light, a ghost of friction. Donghae was oversensitive, whimpering with each slow stroke. He hovered there for an eternity, on that knife-edge of pleasure-pain.
Donghae’s eyes were wide, locked on Hyukjae’s. He was beyond words, reduced to raw sensation. A single tear tracked through his temple into his hair.
“Now,” Hyukjae whispered.
He applied the faintest pressure, twisted his wrist just so, and at the same moment, thrust home one final, perfect time.
Donghae came with a silent, shattered gasp, his body seizing, pulsing around Hyukjae in a final, endless contraction. The sight of it, the absolute, ruined beauty of his bliss, tore Hyukjae’s own climax from him. He emptied into him with a broken sigh, his weight finally, completely surrendering.
He didn’t pull out. He stayed buried, softening inside him, their hearts hammering against each other’s ribs in a gradually slowing syncopation. The room smelled of sex and sweat and them. Donghae’s hands came up, weak, to rest on Hyukjae’s back.
Hyukjae nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “I see you,” he mumbled, his words slurring with exhaustion.
Donghae’s fingers stroked his damp hair. Outside, the city glittered, indifferent. Tuesday was still coming. But here, in this ruined bed, they had carved a space out of time. It would have to be enough. For now, with their bodies woven together, it was.