Chapter 37: The First Time Again
The clean, quiet house held its breath around them. The faint scent of lemon cleaner still lingered in the air, a sharp counterpoint to the deeper, familiar smells of home—warm milk, baby powder, the lavender fabric softener Donghae insisted on. Hyukhae’s hand was still curved around the back of Donghae’s neck, his thumb tracing the prominent vertebra there.
Donghae turned his face into the touch, his eyes closing. The fatigue was a vast ocean inside him, but beneath its surface, a different current had begun to stir, warm and insistent. It had been weeks. Since before the hospital. Since before his body became a vessel first, and his own second.
He opened his eyes. Hyukjae was watching him, his dark gaze intense, searching. Donghae saw the question there, saw the habitual restraint tightening the alpha’s jaw. Hyukjae’s hands, which could assemble a crib or steady a double stroller with fearless confidence, now seemed to hover, afraid to claim.
Wordlessly, Donghae stood. He took Hyukjae’s hand, pulling him up from the couch. The puzzle of Seoul lay completed between them, a miniature city they now navigated around. He led him down the short hallway, past Jisung’s slightly open door, past the nursery where the soft, rhythmic sound of two infant breaths whispered through the monitor.
Their bedroom was washed in the cool blue of streetlight filtering through the sheer curtains. The king-sized bed, usually a landscape of hastily pulled-up covers, looked strangely formal in the neatness left by the cleaners. Donghae didn’t turn on a lamp. He stopped in the middle of the room and faced Hyukjae.
Hyukjae’s hands came up, cupping his face. His thumbs stroked the arches of Donghae’s cheekbones, a touch so reverent it bordered on painful. “Hae,” he breathed, the single syllable thick.
“I’m not made of glass,” Donghae whispered. His own hands came up, covering Hyukjae’s, guiding them down. He placed Hyukjae’s broad palms firmly on his hips, through the soft cotton of his sweatpants. “Touch me. I need you to touch me.”
A low sound escaped Hyukjae, part growl, part sigh. The restraint snapped. His grip tightened, possessive and sure, yanking Donghae against him. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a hungry reclamation. Hyukjae’s tongue pushed into his mouth, tasting of mint and the dark coffee he’d drunk hours ago. Donghae met it with his own desperate need, his fingers fisting in Hyukjae’s shirt.
They broke apart, breathing ragged. Donghae’s hands went to the hem of his own shirt. He pulled it over his head, let it drop to the clean floor. The cool air touched his skin, pebbling his nipples. He saw Hyukjae’s eyes drop, saw the flash of something like anguish in the dim light.
His body was different. Softer. The lean lines of his pianist’s frame had eased into new curves. His stomach, which had stretched taut and round, now bore the gentle, sloping proof of what it had held. Silvery lines, like lightning strikes, traced paths across his lower belly and hips.
Hyukjae didn’t look away. He sank to his knees right there on the floor, his hands sliding from Donghae’s hips to cradle the softness of his belly. He pressed his forehead against it, his breath hot.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Hyukjae murmured, his voice wrecked. “My Donghae. Look what you did.” He turned his head, pressing his lips to one of the silver marks. Then another. His kisses mapped the new geography of Donghae’s body, each one a seal of worship.
A shudder ripped through Donghae. The touch ignited him, the tenderness piercing deeper than any frantic groping ever could. He tangled his hands in Hyukjae’s hair. “Hyuk. Bed. Now.”
Hyukjae stood, stripping his own shirt off, his belt clinking as he undid it. They shed the rest clumsily, a tangle of sweatpants and boxer-briefs kicked into the shadows. Then they were on the bed, the crisp sheets cool against Donghae’s back, Hyukjae’s heavy, heated weight settling between his thighs.
Hyukjae braced himself on his elbows, caging Donghae in. He was fully hard, his cock lying thick and heavy against Donghae’s hip. The ache between Donghae’s own legs was a deep, throbbing pulse. He was slick, had been for an hour, his body remembering, demanding.
“Slow,” Donghae breathed, arching up. He wrapped his legs around Hyukjae’s waist, his heels digging into the tense muscles of his ass. “But god, I want all of you. Don’t hold back.”
Hyukjae reached between them, his fingers finding Donghae’s entrance, sliding through the wetness there. He pushed one finger in, then two, crooking them, making Donghae gasp and push down onto his hand. “You’re so wet for me,” Hyukjae groaned, his forehead dropping to Donghae’s shoulder. “So open.”
“For you. Always for you.” Donghae guided Hyukjae’s cock to his hole, the blunt head nudging against him. “Now. Please.”
Hyukjae pushed in.
The stretch was exquisite, a perfect, burning fullness Donghae had dreamed of. He cried out, a broken, guttural sound. Hyukjae’s own gasp was sharp in his ear. He sheathed himself to the hilt in one long, relentless glide, their bodies locking together.
For a moment, neither moved. They just breathed, fused. Hyukjae’s whole body trembled with the effort of stillness. Donghae could feel the brutal hammer of his heart against his own chest.
“Fuck,” Hyukjae whispered, his lips moving against Donghae’s temple. “Hae… fuck.”
Then he began to move. Withdrawing almost completely, then driving back in with a deep, rolling thrust that stole Donghae’s breath. It wasn’t fast. It was deliberate, profound. Each stroke reached a place inside Donghae that felt untouched by anything else, a primal core that recognized only this alpha, this claiming.
Hyukjae’s rhythm was a building wave. He kept his thrusts long and deep, his hips piston-precise. The wet, filthy sound of their joining filled the room. Donghae’s moans were punched out of him with every impact. He raked his nails down Hyukjae’s back, earning a hissed curse and a sharper snap of hips.
“Right there,” Donghae begged, his head thrashing on the pillow. “God, right there, don’t stop.”
Hyukjae shifted his angle, drove in harder, and Donghae saw stars. Pleasure, bright and coiling, tightened low in his belly. His cock, trapped and leaking between them, rubbed against Hyukjae’s sweat-slicked abdomen with each thrust.
Hyukjae’s mouth was everywhere—sucking a bruise into his neck, biting the swell of his pectoral, finally capturing his lips in a messy, breathless kiss. “I love you,” he growled into Donghae’s mouth, the words tangled with their tongues. “I love every part of you. This body. This heart. Mine.”
The words, raw and possessive, tipped Donghae over the edge. His orgasm crashed into him not as a sharp peak, but as a deep, rolling quake that started in his core and radiated outward. He came with a choked, sobbing cry, his body clamping down hard on Hyukjae’s cock, pulsing around him.
The sensation tore Hyukjae’s control to shreds. With a ragged shout, he drove in one last, brutal time and froze, his knot swelling rapidly, locking them together as he emptied himself inside Donghae in hot, endless spurts. They shuddered in unison, a frantic, clinging mess of limbs and shared breath.
Gradually, the world reassembled. The frantic pounding of blood in Donghae’s ears subsided, replaced by the sound of their harsh, slowing breaths. Hyukjae’s weight was a welcome anchor, his knot a deep, fulfilling ache. Hyukjae carefully rolled them to their sides, never pulling apart, and pulled the rumpled sheet over their cooling bodies.
His hand found Donghae’s belly again, splayed wide over the soft skin. Donghae traced the hard line of Hyukjae’s forearm, feeling the fine tremors of spent adrenaline there.
He shifted minutely, felt Hyukjae’s cock, still mostly hard, twitch inside him. A slow, wicked smile touched his lips. He tilted his head back to look at Hyukjae, whose eyes were closed, lashes dark against his cheeks.
“Again?” Donghae asked, his voice hoarse.
Hyukjae’s eyes flew open. He stared, incredulous. A groan, equal parts exhaustion and pure lust, rumbled from his chest. He was already hardening again, the knot beginning to recede only to make room for a fresh, relentless swell. “Christ. You’ll be the death of me, babe.”
This time, Hyukjae moved. He gripped Donghae’s hip and thigh, rolling them so Donghae was straddling him, still impaled. The new position made Donghae gasp, the angle breathtakingly deep. He braced his hands on Hyukjae’s chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart.
“Move,” Hyukjae commanded, his voice rough. His hands settled on Donghae’s hips, guiding, then pushing. “Ride me. Take what you need.”
Donghae did. He lifted himself, the stretch delicious, and sank back down, setting a slow, grinding rhythm. He threw his head back, his neck a long, vulnerable line. He was in control, yet utterly claimed. Hyukjae watched him, eyes black with hunger, his hips meeting every downward slide with a sharp upward thrust.
“You look perfect like this,” Hyukjae gritted out, his thumbs digging into the flesh of Donghae’s ass. “My omega. So greedy for my cock. Fucking take it.”
The filthy words, so unlike Hyukjae’s usual quiet control, sent a new jolt of heat through Donghae. His rhythm broke, became frantic. He rode Hyukjae hard, chasing a second climax with a single-minded desperation. Hyukjae’s fingers slipped between them, rubbing tight, swift circles over Donghae’s swollen clit.
It was too much. The overstimulation, the deep fullness, the rasp of calloused fingers on his most sensitive flesh. Donghae came apart with a raw, broken moan, his body convulsing, clamping down in rhythmic pulses. Below him, Hyukjae gave one last, powerful thrust, his back arching off the bed as he came with a guttural cry, his second knot swelling and locking them together once more.
Donghae collapsed forward, his sweat-slicked chest meeting Hyukjae’s. They were a wreck of sensation, stuck together, breathing in the shared, pungent scent of sex and satisfied claim. Hyukjae’s arms came around him, holding him close, his lips finding Donghae’s damp hairline.
Minutes bled into one another, marked only by the gradual softening of Hyukjae’s knot and the slowing of their hearts. Finally, with a soft, wet sound, they parted. Hyukjae didn’t let him go. He pulled the sheet back over them and gathered Donghae tightly against his side.
Donghae’s eyelids were leaden. He nuzzled into the hollow of Hyukjae’s throat, inhaling the salt-and-skin scent of him. A deep, contented peace settled in his bones, deeper than any sleep.
“I love you, my Donghae,” Hyukjae whispered into the dark, his voice a rasp of utter certainty. “Always.”
From the nursery monitor on the nightstand, a soft, fussing sound emerged—Haru, shifting in her sleep. Then silence. The city outside their window hummed its endless, indifferent song. Inside, in the warm tangle of sheets and limbs, their world was complete, and finally, quietly, theirs.
Inside, in the warm tangle of sheets and limbs, their world was complete, and finally, quietly, theirs.
Donghae’s breathing had evened into sleep’s slow rhythm, his forehead still pressed to Hyukjae’s damp collarbone. Hyukjae traced the notches of his spine, feeling the residual tremors that echoed through the omega’s slender frame. He’d missed this—the heavy, satiated stillness, the weight of a trusted body relying completely on his own.
A different need, sharper than fatigue, pricked at him. It was the scent, subtle and sweet beneath the musk of sex and sweat. It curled from Donghae’s skin, from the soft swell of his chest. Milk. Hyukjae’s mouth watered with a sudden, visceral hunger that had nothing to do with food.
He shifted slowly, careful not to wake him. He nudged Donghae onto his back. The omega murmured, eyes fluttering but not opening, compliant in his exhaustion. The streetlight caught the pale gleam of his throat, the darker nipples pebbled against his chest.
Hyukjae lowered his head. He nosed along the junction of Donghae’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. His tongue darted out, tracing a path to the soft curve of his pectoral. Donghae sighed, a whisper of sound.
“Hyuk…?”
“Shhh,” Hyukjae murmured, his lips closing over a nipple. He sucked, gently at first. The taste was faint, a ghost on his tongue. Then he applied more pressure, drawing deeper. A warm, sweet tang flooded his mouth, thin and rich all at once.
Donghae gasped, his back arching off the mattress. His hands flew to Hyukjae’s head, not pushing away but tangling in his hair. “Oh god.”
Hyukjae drank, sucking in slow, deliberate pulls. His other hand kneaded the full flesh, feeling the liquid heat just beneath the surface. It was intimate beyond sex, a primal claiming of nourishment, of life he’d helped create. A low rumble vibrated in his own chest, a purr of pure alpha satisfaction.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he muttered, switching to the other side. His tongue lapped at the taut nipple before drawing it deep. He could feel the letdown, the subtle rush against his palate. He swallowed greedily. “So fucking sweet. All this good milk. My milk.”
Donghae was writhing now, breath coming in short hitches. The sensation was a lightning rod to his exhausted nerves, a shocking erotic current. “Hyukjae… that’s… people don’t…”
“I do,” Hyukjae growled, releasing his breast with a wet pop. He looked up, his chin glistening. His eyes were dark pits of want. “I fucking do. This is mine. You’re mine. Every part.” He dipped his head again, sucking harder, a filthy, wet sound filling the room. His hand slid down Donghae’s quivering belly, fingers pushing through slick folds. “You’re getting wet again from this. Aren’t you?”
Donghae could only nod, overwhelmed. His hips jerked against Hyukjae’s searching fingers. It was true. The pull on his sore, sensitive flesh, the sheer taboo of it, coiled heat low in his belly all over again. He was embarrassingly, impossibly aroused.
Hyukjae’s fingers worked him open, shallow thrusts that made Donghae cry out. He finally released Donghae’s breast, rising up on his knees between Donghae’s splayed thighs. His cock was already hard again, thick and impatient.
“Look at you,” Hyukjae breathed, staring down at the mess he’d made. Donghae’s chest shone wet in the low light, nipples reddened and erect. “My perfect omega. Dripping for me up here,” he thumbed a nipple, making Donghae jerk, “and dripping for me down here.” He pressed two fingers deep inside him.
He pulled his fingers free and guided his cock to Donghae’s entrance. He didn’t wait, didn’t tease. He shoved in with one brutal, reaming thrust, burying himself to the root.
Donghae screamed, his body bowing. It was too much, too soon, a glorious invasion. Hyukjae set a punishing pace immediately, each drive rocking the bed frame against the wall. His hands pinned Donghae’s hips, holding him open, taking.
“You taste like heaven,” Hyukjae grunted, his rhythm relentless. “You gonna come for me again? Just from my cock? After I drank from you?” He leaned down, his breath hot on Donghae’s ear. “Come on. Squirt that sweet milk all over me and come on my dick like the good little fuck you are.”
The crude words, laced with that overwhelming possession, shattered Donghae’s last semblance of control. His climax tore through him with silent, breathless violence, his cunt clamping down in rhythmic spasms that milked Hyukjae’s thrusts.
Hyukjae followed with a choked roar, pumping deep, his knot swelling to lock them together. He collapsed forward, catching his weight on his elbows, their sweat-slicked chests pressing together. He nuzzled into Donghae’s neck, panting.
Long moments passed. The only sound was their ragged breathing and the soft, wet sound of Hyukjae’s softening cock still nestled inside him. Finally, Hyukjae lifted his head. He looked dazed, utterly wrecked.
He brushed the damp hair from Donghae’s don, his touch now impossibly tender. “You ruin me,” he whispered, his voice raw with awe. “Completely. I’m a fucking goner for you. A whipped, pathetic alpha who gets hard tasting you and comes undone feeling you shake.” He kissed Donghae’s swollen lips, softly. “My entire world starts and ends right here in this bed with you. You know that?”
Donghae smiled, a slow, tired, utterly satisfied curve of his lips. He pulled Hyukjae’s head down to rest on his chest, over his heartbeat. Outside, the first grey light of dawn began to bleed into the edges of the sky. A twin’s hungry cry pierced the monitor’s silence. Their world was calling.
Hyukjae sighed, the sound fond and resigned. “I’ll get them,” he murmured, not moving.
“We’ll get them,” Donghae corrected, his fingers still carding through Hyukjae’s hair. Together. It was the only rhythm that mattered now.
It was the only rhythm that mattered now.
The cry came again, sharper. Hyukjae rolled away with a groan, the cool air hitting the place where their bodies had been fused. He pulled on a pair of discarded boxers and padded out, his broad shoulders slumping slightly with fatigue. Donghae lay still, listening to the low murmur of Hyukjae’s voice from the nursery, the subsequent soft gurgles. The deep, satiated ache in his muscles was a pleasant thing. For a few minutes.
Then it shifted.
It began as a low pulsing in his gut, a sudden tight coil of heat that had nothing to do with the recent climax. It spread outward, a swift, invasive bloom under his skin. His scent, already layered with sex and milk, thickened, sweetened dangerously. It flooded the room—cloying, undeniable. He threw the sheet off, his skin suddenly feverish and too sensitive. Every nerve ending lit up.
When Hyukjae returned, a twin tucked in the crook of each arm, he stopped dead in the doorway. His nostrils flared. The sleepy softness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a stark, instant alertness. “Hae.”
“It’s here,” Donghae whispered. He was sitting up now, knees drawn to his chest. He felt wild inside, a cage of wanting. “My heat. It’s… now.”
Hyukjae moved with efficient calm, settling Haru and Jeno into their bassinet. He turned, his gaze scanning Donghae’s flushed face, his trembling hands. “Okay. It’s okay. We knew it could come early.” His voice was a forced steadiness, the architect assessing a problem. “The suppressants… the birth messed with your cycle.”
Donghae shook his head, a frantic motion. “It’s not just early. It’s angry. It feels… different.” He looked down at his own body, the body that had just grown and delivered two lives. “It’s like it knows. It’s pissed we’re empty. The body wants to make babies, Hyuk. It wants you to breed me. Right now.”
A muscle twitched in Hyukjae’s jaw. He came to the edge of the bed, crouching down. He didn’t touch him. Not yet. “We can’t. You know we can’t. The twins are two months old. Your body needs time.”
“I know that!” Donghae’s cry was sharp with frustration. The logical part of his brain, the music teacher who planned lessons and burped infants, was still there. It was just being drowned out by a tidal wave of pure biological imperative. “I know it in here.” He tapped his temple. “But everywhere else? It’s screaming for it. For your knot. For your come. To be full again.”
Hyukjae stood. He went to the dresser, pulling open a drawer. The sound of rustling foil was obscenely loud. He came back with a strip of condoms, tearing one off. “Then we’ll do this. We’ll take the edge off. Safely.”
Donghae watched him sheath himself, the latex a dull gleam in the dawn light. The sight should have been a relief. It wasn’t. It felt like a betrayal. A barrier. His heat-brain recoiled from it. “That won’t satisfy it,” he said, his voice dropping to a husk. “You know it won’t. The heat wants you. All of you. It wants the real thing.”
“It’s all you’re getting,” Hyukjae said, his tone final. He climbed onto the bed. His own scent, now sharp with a protective alpha-edge, collided with Donghae’s pheromones. It was maddening. He pushed Donghae onto his back, not with his earlier passion, but with a grim determination. “We’re not risking you. Not for anything.”
He settled between Donghae’s thighs, which fell open eagerly. Donghae was soaked, slick leaking onto the sheets. The condom felt wrong. Hyukjae pressed the head against him and pushed in. The stretch was there, the familiar shape of him, but the sensation was muffled, distant. Like hearing a symphony through a wall.
“Fuck,” Donghae moaned, but it was a moan of anguish. He wrapped his legs around Hyukjae’s waist, pulling him deeper. “It’s not enough. I can’t feel you right. Hyuk, please.”
“I’m right here,” Hyukjae gritted out. He started to move, a steady, deep rhythm. His hands braced by Donghae’s head, his biceps corded. He was working, performing. “Just feel this. Come for me. Take the edge off.”
But Donghae couldn’t. The heat was a feedback loop, screaming that the act was incomplete. The latex was a lie. His body convulsed around Hyukjae’s cock, trying to milk a sensation it couldn’t fully grasp. Pleasure flickered, taunted, but refused to catch fire. He clawed at Hyukjae’s back, sobbing with frustration. “Take it off. God, just take the fucking thing off. Breed me like you mean it. Fill me up for real!”
Hyukjae’s rhythm stuttered. His control was a visible wire pulled taut. Sweat dripped from his chin onto Donghae’s chest. “No.” The word was a punch. “I won’t. I can’t.” He drove in harder, faster, trying to brute-force a climax for either of them. The bed slammed against the wall in a frantic, jarring tempo.
Donghae felt his own orgasm approach—a shallow, unsatisfying thing. It crested and broke with a weak shudder, leaving him emptier than before. Hyukjae followed seconds after, his groan stifled against Donghae’s neck. He collapsed, his weight heavy.
They lay there, stuck together by sweat and the wet barrier of the condom. The raging heat in Donghae hadn’t dulled. It simmered, furious, cheated. Hyukjae softened, slipped out. He disposed of the condom silently.
He returned to bed, gathering Donghae against him. Donghae was trembling, a continuous, fine vibration. His skin burned.
“It’ll pass,” Hyukjae murmured into his hair, but his voice lacked conviction.
“It won’t,” Donghae whispered back, the truth a hollow stone in his gut. The heat had just begun. It had days to run. And it wanted what it wanted. It wanted a claiming it was being denied. He turned his face into Hyukjae’s chest, inhaling the scent of his alpha, a scent that now promised a torment of restraint. The twins began to fuss in unison, a hungry duet.
The real world, with all its necessary limits, was calling. But inside Donghae, a primitive world was screaming, and it refused to be placated.