Chapter 3: Dawn's Early Light
Hyukjae swam up from a depth of dreamless, satiated sleep. His first conscious sensation was warmth—a solid, breathing warmth draped across his chest and stomach. His second was a profound, intimate fullness. He shifted slightly, a groan catching in his throat as the movement sent a slow, delicious thrum through his lower body.
Donghae was still there. Inside him, soft but present, a connection that had lasted through the night. In the pearly grey light of dawn, he could see the top of Donghae’s head, his hair tousled against Hyukjae’s collarbone. He felt the steady, deep rhythm of Donghae’s sleep-slowed breath against his skin.
As if sensing his wakefulness, Donghae stirred. A soft, unintelligible murmur escaped him. His hips shifted minutely, a subconscious, sleepy roll that changed the pressure, and Hyukjae felt himself respond, a lazy, thickening ache that made his breath hitch.
Donghae’s eyes fluttered open. They were dark, unfocused with sleep, then clearing as they found Hyukjae’s face in the dim light. A slow, wicked smile spread across his lips, creasing the corners of his eyes.
“Morning,” Donghae rasped, his voice rough with sleep. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he pressed closer, the movement deliberate now, a sinful, grinding roll of his hips that made them both gasp. Hyukjae was hardening inside him, the sensation surreal and intensely carnal. “I think,” Donghae continued, whispering the words against Hyukjae’s neck, “we missed our alarms on purpose.”
Hyukjae’s hands came up to cradle Donghae’s back, his fingers tracing the knobs of his spine. “We don’t have an alarm,” he managed, his own voice thick. “Schedule’s clear until tonight’s radio recording.”
“See?” Donghae nipped at his earlobe. “Fate.”
Their bodies, still joined, began a slow, tentative rediscovery. The urgency from the night before was gone, replaced by a heavy, luxurious sensuality. Hyukjae moved his hips in a shallow counterpoint to Donghae’s gentle rocking, a lazy push and pull that felt less like sex and more like a deep, primal conversation. The sheets whispered softly with their movements.
“You’re still here,” Hyukjae murmured, awed by the simple, profound fact of it.
“Where else would I be?” Donghae breathed, kissing a trail along Hyukjae’s jaw. His hand slid between them, brushing over Hyukjae’s stomach, tracing the line of hair that led down. “I like this. Waking up like this. With you… in me.” He said it plainly, without artifice, and the raw honesty of it made Hyukjae’s heart clench.
Their pace increased incrementally, a gradual building of heat and friction. Hyukjae clutched at Donghae’s shoulders, his head tipping back into the pillow as sensation coiled deep in his gut. This was different. Softer, deeper, somehow more devastating. He could watch every nuance of pleasure on Donghae’s face, could feel every clench and flutter around him.
When release came, it washed over them in a warm, languid wave rather than a crashing breaker. Hyukjae bit down on a groan, his body arching as he spilled inside Donghae, the pulses feeling endless. Donghae followed with a choked sigh, his own release spilling hot between their pressed stomachs. He collapsed onto Hyukjae, a boneless weight, their shared breath loud in the quiet room.
For a long time, they just breathed. Sticky and spent and utterly intertwined.
Finally, with a soft sigh, Donghae shifted, separating them. He flopped onto his back beside Hyukjae, one arm thrown over his eyes. “We’re disgusting,” he stated, a laugh bubbling under the words. “We need, like, three showers.”
“You first,” Hyukjae said, staring at the ceiling, a stupid grin plastered on his face.
“We’ll both fit.”
“Your shower is a coffin.”
“So we get cozy.” Donghae turned his head, his grin matching Hyukjae’s. “Come on. Before we glue ourselves to the sheets.”
The bathroom was small, steam quickly fogging the mirror as the hot water beat down. They did fit, just barely, shoulders brushing under the stream. Hyukjae watched the water sluice down Donghae’s back, over the faint marks his own fingers had left hours before. He reached for the body wash, squirting a dollop into his palm.
“Let me,” he said softly.
He started with Donghae’s shoulders, working the soap into a lather with slow, circular motions. His touch was clinical at first, then it slowed, becoming something else. He traced the contours of Donghae’s shoulder blades, the dip of his spine, the swell of his hips. He was worshipping him. Cleaning the evidence of their night from his skin felt like a sacred act.
Donghae leaned back into his hands, his head resting against Hyukjae’s shoulder. “Feel good,” he mumbled, eyes closed.
Hyukjae’s hands stilled on his waist. He bent his head, pressing his lips to the wet skin of Donghae’s neck. “I love you,” he whispered into the steam, the words swallowed by the sound of the water.
Donghae turned in his arms, water streaming down both their faces. He looked into Hyukjae’s eyes, his expression open and unbearably tender. He didn’t say it back. He didn’t need to. He just kissed him, a slow, steam-drenched kiss that tasted of water and forgiveness and home.
Dressed in soft, clean sweatpants and borrowed t-shirts, they gravitated back to the rumpled bed, pulled by a gravity they couldn’t resist. They ended up cross-legged facing each other, a container of cold leftover japchae between them, chopsticks clicking as they stole noodles from each other’s grasp.
“So,” Donghae said around a mouthful, his knee nudging Hyukjae’s. “Macau.”
Hyukjae nearly choked on a bean sprout. “What about it?”
“You. Me. ‘I love you.’ In a hallway.” Donghae’s eyes twinkled. “Very dramatic. Very… K-drama. Were you practicing?”
“Shut up,” Hyukjae grumbled, his ears growing hot. “It just… came out.”
“It was good,” Donghae said, his tone softening. He poked Hyukjae’s thigh with his big toe. “Scared the hell out of me. But it was good.”
Hyukjae put his chopsticks down. “Why did it scare you?”
Donghae looked at him, a strand of noodle dangling comically from his lip for a second before he sucked it in. “Because it meant everything was about to change. And if it went wrong…” He shrugged, but the gesture was heavy. “I couldn’t lose you. Not even a little bit.”
The simple truth of it hung between them. Hyukjae reached across the container and took Donghae’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Their hands were sticky from the sauce. He didn’t care.
“You won’t,” Hyukjae said, his voice firm. “Not ever.”
Donghae squeezed his hand. “The guys,” he said after a moment, switching gears with whiplash speed. “What do we tell them?”
The question was a bucket of ice water. Hyukjae felt his stomach tighten. Super Junior wasn’t just a group; it was a family. A loud, nosy, insanely perceptive family. Leeteuk would know from one look. Heechul would have already deduced it from cosmic energy patterns or something. Kyuhyun would make a joke that cut a little too close to the bone.
“We don’t have to tell them anything,” Hyukjae said carefully. “Not right now. This… this is just ours. For a while.”
Donghae studied him, his head tilted. “You’re scared.”
“I’m practical.”
“You’re scared.”
Hyukjae deflated. “Yeah. A little. It’s… a big thing. For us. For the group.”
“It’s us,” Donghae said simply, as if that answered every possible complication. He pulled his hand back and picked up his chopsticks, attacking the japchae with renewed vigor. “Okay. Our secret. For now.” He pointed a chopstick at Hyukjae. “But I’m not hiding. I’m not gonna stop touching you.”
The thought sent a thrill mixed with terror through Hyukjae. Donghae’s casual, constant touch was as natural as breathing. To suddenly police it would be a confession in itself.
Before he could respond, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. Then Donghae’s buzzed, a synchronized vibration. Then Hyukjae’s rang, the caller ID flashing Leeteuk Hyung.
They looked at each other. The bubble popped.
Hyukjae answered, putting it on speaker. “Hyung?”
“Ya, where are you two?” Leeteuk’s voice, cheerful and loud, filled the room. “We’re at the company for the radio prep meeting. You’re both late. And don’t tell me you’re together, I already checked Hyukjae’s apartment security log—Donghae keyed in at 7 PM last night and never left.”
Donghae mouthed ‘oh shit’, his eyes wide.
Hyukjae cleared his throat. “We’re… just finishing up some choreography. At my place. Lost track of time.”
A beat of silence on the other end. Too long.
“Right,” Leeteuk said, his voice suddenly dripping with a knowing, benign slyness that was far more dangerous than anger. “Choreography. Well, ‘finish up’ and get your butts over here. You have thirty minutes. And, Hyukjae?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell Donghae his shirt is inside out.”
The line went dead.
Hyukjae looked at Donghae. Donghae looked down at his chest, at the tell-tale seam running across the front of Hyukjae’s t-shirt. A slow, deep blush crept up his neck.
“Well,” Donghae said, scrambling off the bed. “We’re screwed.”
But he was grinning. A wild, exhilarated grin that Hyukjae had seen a thousand times before a performance, when the adrenaline kicked in. It was the grin that said bring it on.
Hyukjae felt the anxiety in his chest unravel, replaced by a defiant warmth. He stood up, pulling Donghae into a quick, hard kiss.
“Let’s go,” Hyukjae said against his lips. “Our secret’s on borrowed time anyway.”
As they rushed to gather their things, the normalcy of it—the scattered clothes, the search for Donghae’s missing sock, the bickering over who used the last clean towel—was laced with something new. Every brush of fingers, every shared glance, carried the electric charge of the night and morning. The weight of Leeteuk’s knowing tone hung over them, but it felt less like a threat and more like an inevitable horizon they would face together.
In the elevator down, Donghae grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together. He didn’t let go as the doors opened to the parking garage. He held on tight, his grip a silent promise, a challenge, a claim.
Hyukjae held on just as tight. The world outside awaited with its questions and its eyes. But here, in the dim garage, their joined hands hidden between their bodies, they had this. It was messy, and terrifying, and more real than anything he’d ever known. And it was theirs.