Chapter 38: The Heat's Relentless Demand
The false dawn bled into a grey, suffocating morning. The twins, fed and changed, had fallen back into an uneasy sleep in their nursery. The townhouse was silent, but the silence was a living thing, thick with pheromones and frustration.
Donghae paced. The soft carpet beneath his bare feet did nothing to muffle the restless energy crackling through him. His skin felt two sizes too small, every nerve ending raw and screaming. The condom. The fucking condom. Its ghost was a taunt in his veins, a barrier his heat-soaked biology rejected with every cell.
Hyukjae stood by the window, a silhouette against the pale light. He was holding onto his control like a man gripping a cliff edge. Donghae could smell it on him—the alpha’s own desire, a dark, potent counterpoint to his sweet, cloying scent, warring with a fear so sharp it was almost medicinal.
“You need water,” Hyukjae said, his voice strained. He hadn’t turned around.
“I need you,” Donghae shot back, the words scraping his throat. “Not the plastic version. You.”
“It’s not safe.” Hyukjae’s shoulders were rigid. “The doctor said—”
“I don’t care what the doctor said right now!” Donghae’s shout was ragged. He stopped pacing, facing Hyukjae’s back. “My body is on fire, Hyuk. It’s burning me up from the inside because it knows what it needs and it’s being denied. It’s not asking. It’s demanding.”
Hyukjae finally turned. His face was a mask of anguish, his eyes black. “And if I get you pregnant again? Now? Your body hasn’t healed. It would be a risk. I can’t… I won’t risk you. Not for this.”
“It’s not ‘this’,” Donghae whispered, tears of sheer fury and need welling in his eyes. “It’s us. It’s you claiming me. It’s my body wanting yours so completely it wants to make life with it. Can’t you understand that? It’s the most real thing I’ve ever felt.”
He watched the war play out on Hyukjae’s face. The protector. The planner. The architect who built safe, stable structures. Wrestled with the primal alpha whose omega was in distress, begging for his claim. Donghae saw the exact moment the first brick in Hyukjae’s wall crumbled. It was a flicker in his eyes, a faint tremble in his hands before he clenched them into fists.
Donghae didn’t wait. He crossed the room in three strides. He shoved Hyukjae hard in the chest. It wasn’t a gentle push. It was a challenge. Hyukjae stumbled back, falling onto the edge of the bed with a grunt of surprise.
Before Hyukjae could react, Donghae was on him. He straddled his lap, knees digging into the mattress on either side of Hyukjae’s hips. He could feel the hard line of Hyukjae’s cock through his sweatpants, already thick and eager. The scent of his own slick filled the air between them, bitter and sweet.
“Donghae, don’t—” Hyukjae began, his hands coming up to grip Donghae’s wrists.
Donghae leaned down, his face inches from Hyukjae’s. His pupils were blown wide, leaving only a thin ring of warm brown. “You’re mine,” he snarled, the sound unlike anything that had ever come from his gentle mouth. “And I’m taking what’s mine.”
He released one of his wrists from Hyukjae’s grip and fumbled for the waistband of Hyukjae’s pants. He yanked them down, just enough. Hyukjae’s cock sprang free, fully erect, the head flushed and wet. Donghae stared at it, a starving man looking at a feast. Then he looked at Hyukjae, held his gaze, and lowered his head.
He didn’t kiss it. He took the head into his mouth, his tongue flattening against the slit, tasting the salty pre-come. A broken groan ripped from Hyukjae’s throat. His hands, which had been restraining, now fisted in Donghae’s hair.
Donghae sucked, hard. He took him deeper, his throat working, until his nose was buried in the coarse hair at the base. He pulled off with a wet pop, his lips slick and swollen. He kept his eyes locked on Hyukjae’s as he reached down between his own legs. He was dripping, the slick coating his inner thighs. He gathered it with his fingers, his movements crude and desperate, and smeared it over the length of Hyukjae’s shaft, coating him in the evidence of his own need.
“The condom,” Hyukjae gritted out, but the protest was weak, his hips bucking up into Donghae’s slick hand.
In answer, Donghae bent his head again. He wrapped his lips around the base of Hyukjae’s cock, where the skin was thinnest. He sucked hard, his teeth scraping delicately, then bit down. Not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to claim, to brand. Hyukjae shouted, his body bowing off the bed.
Donghae released him. He moved back, positioning himself over Hyukjae’s lap. He guided the slick, broad head to his entrance. He was so wet it slid against him, a maddening tease.
“Look at me,” Donghae commanded, his voice trembling with the force of his need. “Watch me take you. All of you.”
He sank down.
It was a slow, excruciating, perfect impalement. The stretch was glorious, a burning fullness that his heat-clenched muscles welcomed with a vice-like grip. There was no barrier. Just skin on feverish skin, the hot, solid reality of Hyukjae spearing him open. He took him inch by torturous inch, his head falling back, a ragged moan tearing from his lips as Hyukjae bottomed out inside him.
“Fuck,” Hyukjae breathed, the word shattered. His hands flew to Donghae’s hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “Hae… god…”
Donghae began to move. He rose up, almost letting him slip free, then slammed back down, taking him to the hilt. The impact jarred through both of them. He set a brutal, punishing rhythm, riding Hyukjae with a feral abandon that was nothing like the elegant musician. This was something older, something raw. Slick gushed from him with every downstroke, soaking Hyukjae’s groin and the sheets beneath them. The wet, slapping sounds of their joining were obscenely loud.
“Is this what you wanted?” Hyukjae gasped, his own control unraveling thread by thread. His hips snapped up to meet Donghae’s frantic descents. “This raw cock fucking you open? Huh?”
“Yes,” Donghae sobbed, his rhythm faltering as sensation overwhelmed him. “God, yes. More. Breed me. Please, Hyuk, fill me up. Make me yours. Do it. Do it now.”
The words were the final trigger. With a guttural roar, Hyukjae surged up. He wrapped his arms around Donghae and flipped them, throwing the omega onto his back without ever slipping out. He drove Donghae’s knees back toward his shoulders, folding him almost in half, exposing him utterly.
The angle was devastating. Hyukjae slammed into him, each thrust a direct, brutal assault on that deepest, most desperate place inside him. The bedframe shrieked in protest. Donghae screamed, his nails raking bloody tracks down Hyukjae’s forearms.
“You want me to breed you?” Hyukjae growled, his face a mask of unleashed alpha ferocity. He pistoned into Donghae, his balls slapping wetly against his ass. “You want my fucking come in your womb? This what you need?”
“Yes! Yes!” Donghae chanted, his vision spotting. The heat, the terrible demanding void, was finally, finally being met. It coiled tighter, a spring wound to breaking.
Hyukjae’s thrusts became shorter, harder, more focused. Donghae felt the base of his cock begin to swell, the knot forming, stretching him even wider. The pressure was immense, incredible.
“Gonna knot you,” Hyukjae panted, his movements turning into deep, grinding rolls of his hips as the knot swelled, locking them together. “Gonna lock my cum inside you. Where it belongs. Take it. Take every fucking drop.”
The first pulse of his orgasm triggered Donghae’s own. It wasn’t a wave; it was a detonation. White-hot pleasure erupted from his core, flooding every nerve ending. He came with a silent, open-mouthed scream, his cunt clenching and milking the knot in violent, rhythmic spasms.
Hyukjae shouted, his body rigid as his own release tore through him. He emptied himself in hot, endless jets, pumping deep into Donghae’s welcoming heat. The knot pulsed in time with each eruption, tying them together, ensuring not a drop was wasted. He collapsed forward, catching his weight just in time, his forehead pressing against Donghae’s, their panting breaths mingling.
The fever broke. The frantic, clawing need receded like a tide, leaving behind a deep, liquid warmth. Donghae went boneless beneath him, the tension bleeding from his muscles. The heat was sated. The silence now was different—heavy, spent, fragrant with sex and completion.
Hyukjae’s face was buried in the crook of Donghae’s neck. Donghae could feel the wetness there that wasn’t sweat. Hyukjae was shaking.
Slowly, carefully, Hyukjae shifted them to their sides, still knotted. He pulled the ruined sheet over them. His hand came to rest on Donghae’s belly, his touch unbearably gentle now.
“I’m sorry,” Hyukjae whispered, his voice raw. “I lost control. I couldn’t… you were right there, needing me, and I just… broke.”
Donghae turned his head, pressing a soft kiss to Hyukjae’s temple. “Don’t be sorry.” His own voice was hoarse. “That’s what I needed. You. Not your control. You.”
They lay in the quiet for a long time, until the knot subsided and Hyukjae slipped out, followed by a slow trickle of his release. Donghae winced at the intimate spill, but the heat was gone, replaced by a profound, weary peace.
Hyukjae got up wordlessly. He returned with a warm, damp cloth and cleaned Donghae with a tenderness that made his throat tight. He disposed of the cloth, then slid back into bed, pulling Donghae tightly against his chest.
“We’ll talk to the doctor,” Hyukjae murmured into his hair. “About better suppressants. Or… other options. For next time.”
“Next time,” Donghae echoed, the concept feeling distant. For now, there was only this: the solid beat of Hyukjae’s heart under his ear, the clean scent of his skin cutting through the musk, the distant, contented gurgle of a twin on the monitor. The crisis had passed. The love, weathered and strained, remained.
It had to be enough. For now, it was.
For now, it was.
The peace held for perhaps twenty minutes. The grey light strengthened, outlining the dust motes dancing over the rumpled bed. Donghae floated in a warm, weightless haze, his limbs heavy, his mind quiet. Hyukjae’s breathing had evened out behind him, his arm a solid band across Donghae’s waist.
Then a deep, internal tremor started. It began low in his gut, a faint pulse that echoed the fading throb between his legs. His skin, which had cooled, prickled hot again. He tried to ignore it, pressing back against Hyukjae’s solid warmth. The twins would need feeding soon. He needed rest.
The pulse intensified. It became a slow, grinding ache. His breath hitched. No. Not again. Not so soon. The doctor had warned the post-partum heats could be erratic, violent in their resurgence.
“Hyuk?” His voice was a thin scrape.
“Mmm?” Hyukjae nuzzled his shoulder, still mostly asleep.
“It’s… it’s coming back.” The confession was a sob waiting to happen. The emptiness was returning, a yawning, frantic void that the previous claiming had only temporarily filled. His body wasn’t satisfied. It wanted more. It wanted completion, a fullness that went beyond a single knotting.
Hyukjae went still. The sleepiness vanished from his embrace. “Donghae.” His name was a sigh, weighed down with dread and unwanted arousal.
Donghae rolled to face him. Tears were already tracking through the sweat drying on his temples. The placid omega was gone, burned away by the fresh wave of chemical fire. “I can’t. It hurts. It hurts, Hyukjae. It feels like I’m being hollowed out all over again.” He grasped Hyukjae’s hand, pressing it against his lower belly. The skin was fever-hot, muscles quivering. “Please.”
Hyukjae’s eyes were dark pools of conflict. He saw the logic, the risk, the exhaustion. He also saw his omega fracturing before him. “We can’t. Your body needs to recover. I can’t… I can’t keep taking from you like this.”
“You’re not taking!” Donghae cried out, the sound jagged. He pushed himself up, kneeling on the bed. The sheet pooled around his hips. His chest heaved. “I’m giving. I’m asking. Can’t you see? It’s all I have to give you right now. My body. What it needs. What I need.” He was begging now, words tumbling out between gasps. “Please, alpha. Please. I need you inside me. I need you to fill me. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.”
He took Hyukjae’s hand again and dragged it higher, to his chest. His breasts were full, heavy, tender from the twins’ last feed. A traitorous, dark part of his heat-addled mind seized on it. A new offering. A different kind of intimacy. Before Hyukjae could pull away, Donghae guided his fingers to a nipple. It beaded tightly under the touch, and a small, warm droplet of milk welled up, pearling against Hyukjae’s skin.
The effect was electric. Hyukjae’s breath stopped. His entire focus narrowed to that single point of contact—the hot, wet proof of Donghae’s motherhood, offered not to a child, but to him. His alpha instincts, already rubbed raw, short-circuited. The protector, the rational man, was vaporized by a wave of possessive, carnally explicit hunger.
“Fuck,” Hyukjae whispered, the word torn from somewhere deep and savage.
He moved. He surged forward, capturing Donghae’s mouth in a consuming kiss as he pushed him back down into the mattress. This wasn’t the tender lover from the night before, or the frantic alpha from an hour ago. This was something else entirely. He broke the kiss, his mouth trailing down Donghae’s throat, his chest. He paused, his hot breath ghosting over the wet nipple.
Donghae writhed beneath him, a broken stream of pleas falling from his lips. “Please, please, just… anything. Use me. Fix it.”
Hyukjae’s tongue lashed out, flattening against the taut peak. He lapped at the droplets, then closed his lips over it and sucked. Hard. The sweet, rich taste of milk flooded his mouth, mingling with the salt of Donghae’s skin. Donghae screamed, his back arching off the bed, not in pain but in shocking, unparalleled sensation. It was a direct line to his core, a white-hot pull that made his cunt clench around nothing, gushing fresh slick.
Hyukjae lost it. The last vestige of his control snapped. He reared up, his eyes wholly black, feral. He flipped Donghae onto his stomach with a rough pull. He dragged his hips up, positioned himself, and shoved in. There was no gentleness, no preamble. Just a single, brutal thrust that buried him to the root in Donghae’s sopping heat.
Donghae cried out, the sound muffled by the sheets. The stretch was immense, overwhelming, perfect. Hyukjae didn’t wait for him to adjust. He set a punishing, animalistic rhythm, each drive of his hips slamming Donghae forward. The room filled with the wet, meaty sounds of their collision.
“This what you need?” Hyukjae growled, his voice guttural. One hand anchored on Donghae’s hip, the other fisted in his hair, pulling his head back. “You need your alpha to fuck you raw on your milk? To pump another baby into you?”
“Yes! God, yes!” Donghae sobbed, pushing back against him, meeting each thrust. The pain- pleasure was a tight coil in his belly, winding impossibly fast. He was babbling, mindless. “Breed me. Knock me up. Do it. Fill me with it. I want it. I want your fucking cum!”hyukjae saying sorry
Hyukjae’s rhythm stuttered. His knot began to swell, an aggressive, rapid thickening that stretched Donghae’s rim to a stinging burn. The sensation tipped Donghae over the edge. His orgasm ripped through him violently, a seizure of pleasure that clamped his cunt in vise-like pulses around the invading knot.
The fierce milking triggered Hyukjae’s own release. With a roar that shook the windows, he buried his knot to the base and came. It was a torrent, a seemingly endless flood of hot seed jetting deep into Donghae’s womb. He ground his hips in tight circles as he pulsed, ensuring every last drop was deposited where Donghae had begged for it. Where his body had demanded it.
Donghae trembled beneath him, shattered. The all-consuming fire was abruptly doused, replaced by a flooding warmth that started at his core and radiated outward. The tension vanished, leaving his muscles like liquid. A profound, heavy silence descended, broken only by their ragged, syncopated panting.
Hyukjae collapsed over him, his weight a solid anchor. The knot held, binding them. Donghae’s eyes fluttered. The world softened at the edges, bleached of color and sound. The deep, satiated warmth pulled him down, a thick, velvety blackness rising from his toes to his head.
He passed out before Hyukjae’s knot had even begun to soften, his body finally, utterly sated.
Hyukjae came back to himself in slow, viscous waves. The animal receded, leaving a man shaking with adrenaline and horror. Donghae was a dead weight beneath him, utterly still. The scent of sex and milk and primal fear—his fear—choked the room. His knot was still lodged inside that pliant, abused heat, and the reality of what he’d just done, what he’d said, crashed into him with physical force.
He whispered, “Hae?” but got no response. Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through the aftermath haze. He carefully extracted himself, the slip of his softening cock followed by a fresh trickle of his own spend mixed with slick. The sight of it, leaking from Donghae’s reddened, swollen entrance onto the ruined sheets, made his stomach turn. Donghae didn’t stir.
“Fuck. Fuck, no.” Hyukjae scrambled off the bed. He fetched a fresh cloth and warm water, his hands trembling. He cleaned Donghae with a touch so gentle it felt like a mockery. He wiped the sweat from his brow, the tears from his cheeks, the evidence of his own violent claiming from between his thighs. Donghae breathed steadily, deeply asleep. Exhaustion, not unconsciousness. Hyukjae clung to that distinction.
He arranged Donghae on his side, pulled clean blankets over him. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched the rise and fall of his chest. The silence was a judgment. His words echoed in his skull. Knock me up. Fill me with it. And his own growled response. A promise he had no right to make, a threat he’d enacted with brutal precision.
An hour passed. The grey light turned to gold. A thin, reedy cry echoed from the nursery monitor—one of the twins, early for a feeding. Hyukjae moved on autopilot. He changed Minji, fed Soojin a bottle of expressed milk from the fridge. His mind was elsewhere, trapped in the bedroom. He rocked Soojin, her tiny head a warm weight against his shoulder, and felt like a fraud. A protector who had just ravaged the one he was meant to protect.
When he returned, Donghae was awake. He was lying in the same position, staring at the wall. His eyes were open, clear, and utterly vacant.
“The twins?” Donghae asked. His voice was flat, scraped hollow.
“Fed. Changed. Soojin’s back down. Minji’s just staring at her mobile.” Hyukjae set the monitor on the nightstand. He didn’t know how to exist in this space. “Donghae.”
“Don’t.” Donghae closed his eyes. “Just… don’t talk yet.”
But Hyukjae saw it. A faint tremor in Donghae’s hands where they rested on the blanket. A slow, deep flush rising from his chest back up his neck. The heat wasn’t done. It was coiling again, a serpent in the warmth of the bed. Donghae’s breath hitched, betraying him.
“It’s coming back,” Hyukjae said, not a question. Dread was a cold stone in his gut.
Donghae nodded, a barely perceptible movement. A single tear escaped, tracing a path through his temple and into his hairline. “It’s… less. But it’s there. A thrum. It won’t let me go.” He opened his eyes, finally looking at Hyukjae. The devastation in them was boundless. “I can’t do that again. The way we just… I can’t.”
Hyukjae’s heart shattered. He reached out, hesitated, then placed his hand over Donghae’s. “I know. I’m so sorry. I lost myself. I became something… I hated it. I hated me in it.”
“I asked for it,” Donghae whispered. “I begged for it. That’s what’s worse. My body wanted that… violation. It still does.” He turned his hand, lacing his fingers weakly with Hyukjae’s. “I need it to stop. Can you… can you just make it stop? Not with that. Not with claiming. Just… make the edge go away.”
Hyukjae understood. A ceasefire. A act of service, not possession. He nodded, a lump in his throat. “Tell me what to do.”
“Touch me,” Donghae breathed, his gaze slipping away, ashamed. “But not inside. Not yet. I feel… raw. Everywhere else. Please.”
Hyukjae moved as if navigating a minefield. He peeled back the blanket. Donghae lay exposed, his body a map of their frenzy—love bites on his thighs, the ghost of grip marks on his hips. Hyukjae started at his ankles, pressing his thumbs into the arches of Donghae’s feet. He worked his way up, kneading the tension from calf muscles, the tight cords of his thighs. He worshiped the soft, striped swell of Donghae’s belly with his lips, a silent apology pressed into each stretch mark.
Donghae sighed, a shuddery release of breath. His body began to soften under the attentive hands. But the low, hungry thrum remained. Hyukjae could smell it, that returning sweetness laced with desperation. He moved higher, his mouth trailing over Donghae’s hip bone, along the sharp line of his pelvis.
He nudged Donghae’s thighs apart. Donghae went pliant, allowing it. The scent here was strongest, musky and profound. Hyukjae saw the swollen, glistening folds, pink and tender from overuse. He didn’t breach. He lowered his head and breathed him in, then pressed his mouth to the very top, to that sensitive bundle of nerves.
Donghae jerked, a sharp gasp escaping. Hyukjae lapped at him, slow, broad, wet strokes. Not demanding. Offering. Donghae’s hands fisted in the sheets. His legs fell open wider, an unconscious surrender. Hyukjae worked him with a focused tenderness, listening to every hitch and moan, learning the rhythm that soothed rather than incited. He felt the tight coil of Donghae’s heat begin, slowly, to loosen.
“There,” Donghae panted. “Just like that. Oh, god.” His hips lifted in a shallow, seeking rock.
Encouraged, Hyukjae slid lower. He pressed a kiss to Donghae’s perineum, then lower still. He spread him with careful thumbs, exposing the tight, furled entrance beneath. He leaned in and traced the rim with the very tip of his tongue.
Donghae cried out, his whole body tensing. “Hyuk!”
“Shhh,” Hyukjae murmured against his skin, the vibration drawing another broken sound. “Let me. Let me take care of you here.” He said it into the heart of him, his breath hot. “I’m sorry. For before. For the way I was. For scaring you.” He licked a firm, flat stripe over the clenched ring of muscle. “I’m so fucking sorry, Donghae.” He sealed his mouth over it, sucking gently, then pushed his tongue past the initial resistance.
The sensation was blinding, foreign, exquisite. Donghae shattered into a million pieces, but quietly this time. A tension he hadn’t even named released in a rush. Hyukjae worked him open with his tongue, slow and thorough and impossibly intimate, fucking him with it in a gentle, persistent rhythm. Each lap was an apology, each soft penetration an act of contrition. Donghae sobbed, his hands now in Hyukjae’s hair, not pushing him away but holding him close, anchored to this shocking, merciful pleasure.
“That’s it,” Hyukjae whispered, pulling back for air, his lips wet and glistening. He looked up the line of Donghae’s trembling body. “You taste like heaven. Let me make you feel good. Just good.” He dipped his head again, his tongue delving deeper, as Donghae’s cries climbed higher, losing their edge of distress, transforming into pure, overwhelming sensation.