Chapter 5: Dessert First
The peace that followed was a living thing, soft and sprawling. It lasted three days. They moved through the apartment in a synchronized, sleepy orbit—sleeping late, cooking elaborate, pointless meals, watching old films until the dialogue blurred into the rhythm of their breathing. The suitcase was unpacked. The travel weariness slowly leached from Hyukjae’s bones, replaced by a domestic languor that felt like a luxury.
On the fourth morning, a Thursday, Donghae was in the kitchen. Hyukjae watched from the doorway, leaning against the frame. Donghae was making tea, his movements economical and sure. He heated the water, measured the leaves, his focus absolute. The morning light caught the line of his neck, the slope of his shoulder where Hyukjae’s t-shirt gaped. A simple, profound hunger stirred—not the frantic, travel-starved kind, but a deeper, more possessive ache. He wanted to unravel that focus, to be the only thing in Donghae’s universe.
He walked up behind him, pressing his body along Donghae’s back, his arms snaking around his waist. He nuzzled the sensitive spot beneath Donghae’s ear. “What’re you doing?”
“Making tea,” Donghae said, a smile in his voice. He leaned back into the contact.
“Seems like a waste of time.” Hyukjae’s hands slid under the t-shirt, palms flattening against the warm, firm planes of Donghae’s stomach. He could feel the slight tremor that went through him. “I can think of better uses for your hands.”
“The water’s just boiled.” But Donghae was already turning in his arms, the kettle forgotten. His eyes were dark, his lips parted.
Hyukjae kissed him, slow and deep, walking him backward out of the kitchen. They didn’t make it to the bedroom. They collapsed onto the living room couch in a tangle of limbs, the old, soft blanket bunched beneath them. Hyukjae lay back, pulling Donghae on top of him. He gripped his hips, grinding their hardening cocks together through the thin fabric of their sleep pants. The friction was delicious, maddening.
“Want you in my mouth,” Hyukjae growled, his hands sliding down to clutch Donghae’s ass. “Now. Get up here.”
A sharp, wanting gasp escaped Donghae. He scrambled up, kneeling over Hyukjae’s head, one hand braced on the back of the couch for balance. He shucked his pants down his thighs. Hyukjae didn’t give him time to think. He pulled him down, his mouth latching onto him with voracious intent.
It wasn’t gentle. Hyukjae ate him out like a man starved, his tongue a blunt, wet force spearing into him. The obscene, slick sounds filled the sunlit room. Donghae cried out, his thighs clamping around Hyukjae’s head, his fingers fisting in his hair. “Fuck, yes,” he chanted, his voice breaking on a moan. “Eat me out like you fucking mean it.”
Hyukjae growled, the vibration shooting through Donghae’s core. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue fucking into him in rough, rapid strokes, then flattening to lap broad, sloppy stripes over his hole and perineum. He used his stubble as a weapon, scratching the tender skin of Donghae’s inner thighs, making him jerk and whimper. He was claiming, devouring, painting him with spit.
Donghae was mindless, rutting back against Hyukjae’s face, chasing the relentless, wet pressure. The coil of pleasure in his gut was wound impossibly tight. “There, right there, don’t you dare stop,” he babbled, his knuckles white where he gripped the couch. He was close, so close, his cock dripping onto Hyukjae’s chest.
Then, Hyukjae pulled away.
The sudden loss of sensation was a physical shock. Cold air hit Donghae’s wet, exposed skin. He groaned, a sound of pure frustration. “What—why did you stop?”
Hyukjae looked up at him, his lips swollen and slick, his eyes blazing. “Because I want to hear you beg for it.”
Donghae shuddered, his whole body trembling with unmet need. He was strung out, aching, hovering on the precipice. Pride evaporated. Dignity was a distant memory. There was only the raw, yawning emptiness and the man beneath him who could fill it.
“Please,” Donghae breathed, the word torn from him.
“Please what?” Hyukjae’s voice was a rough caress.
“Please… make me come. Use your mouth. Finish what you started.”
“Not good enough.” Hyukjae’s hands were still on his ass, kneading the flesh. “Beg for more. Beg for my tongue in your ass. Be specific. Be filthy.”
Donghae’s head dropped forward, a sweaty strand of hair clinging to his forehead. The words felt like fire in his throat, humiliating and unbearably erotic. “Please,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Please, Hyukjae. Fuck me with your tongue. I need it. I need you to lick me open and make me come all over myself. Don’t stop. Give me more. I’ll do anything, just… please. More.”
A satisfied, dark smile spread across Hyukjae’s face. “Good boy.”
He pulled Donghae down again, his mouth searing hot and demanding. This time, his tongue plunged deeper, fucking into him with a brutal, rhythmic intensity. He added a finger, then two, crooking them relentlessly against Donghae’s prostate.
It was too much. The combined assault of filthy words and filthier deeds destroyed him. Donghae came with a ragged, broken shout, his release spurting in thick stripes across his own stomach and Hyukjae’s chest. The convulsions of his climax clenched around Hyukjae’s invading fingers, milking them through the waves of pleasure.
He collapsed forward, his body boneless, sliding off Hyukjae to land half on the couch, half on the floor. He was panting, wrecked, covered in his own spend. Hyukjae shifted, looming over him, his own erection straining painfully against his pants. He looked down at Donghae’s dazed, satiated face.
“You,” Hyukjae said, his voice thick with his own unslaked need, “are a fucking masterpiece.”
He leaned down and kissed him, deep and slow, letting Donghae taste himself on his tongue. Outside, the city’s ordinary Thursday morning carried on, oblivious. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of sex and spilled tea, and the only sound was the slow, syncing beat of their hearts.