Chapter 41: The Midday Devotion
The house was quiet, a sacred, hollowed-out silence that felt both fragile and immense. The twins were down for their afternoon nap, their soft, synced breathing a faint rhythm through the baby monitor on the nightstand. Jisung was at school, his absence a palpable space in the air. The late afternoon sun slanted through the bedroom blinds, painting tiger stripes across the rumpled duvet and over Hyukjae’s bare back.
Donghae traced the raised, darkened mark on his own neck with careful fingers. It was tender, a persistent, warm ache. A brand. A promise. He could still feel the ghost of Hyukjae’s teeth, the shocking intimacy of that deliberate bite. He could feel, deeper, the residual fullness, the pleasant soreness between his legs from where Hyukjae had taken him apart and meticulously put him back together just hours before.
He watched Hyukjae sleep. The alpha’s face, in repose, lost its sharp edges. The worry line between his brows softened. He looked younger, vulnerable in a way he never allowed himself to be while awake.
Donghae slipped from the bed, the cool hardwood floor a shock to his bare feet. He pulled on a pair of Hyukjae’s discarded sweatpants, rolling the waistband several times. The bite throbbed in protest at the movement. He padded to the kitchen, his body moving with a new, weighted awareness. Every step echoed the earlier, relentless rhythm Hyukjae had set inside him.
He made tea. The simple ritual of boiling water, choosing chamomile, letting the bag steep—it grounded him. He stood at the sink, looking out at the city. Their city. Their life. The tea steamed, forgotten, as the memory of Hyukjae’s voice, guttural and raw, washed over him. ‘You’re mine.’
A floorboard creaked behind him.
He didn’t turn. He knew the weight of that presence, the unique disturbance in the air. Hands slid around his waist, palms flattening against his abdomen, pulling him back against a solid, warm chest. Hyukjae’s nose pressed against the fresh bite mark, inhaling deeply. A low, satisfied rumble vibrated through Donghae’s spine.
“You smell different,” Hyukjae murmured, his voice sleep-rough. “More. You smell like mine.”
“I am,” Donghae said simply, leaning his head back against Hyukjae’s shoulder. The truth of it was a quiet fire in his belly.
Hyukjae turned him around, his gaze intense, searching. His thumbs brushed over Donghae’s hip bones. “Does it hurt?”
“The bite?A little. It’s a good hurt.” Donghae met his eyes. “The rest of me hurts, too. In the best ways.”
A dark, possessive smile touched Hyukjae’s lips. “Good.”
He kissed him then, not with the devouring hunger of before, but with a deep, lingering sweetness that was somehow more devastating. It was a kiss of confirmation. When he pulled back, his eyes were serious. “I have a conference call in twenty minutes. Can’t reschedule it.”
“Okay,” Donghae said, running a hand through Hyukjae’s tousled hair.
“I don’t want to take it.” His hands slid down, cupping Donghae’s ass through the sweatpants, squeezing. “I want to get you back in that bed and feel you come around my cock again. I want to hear you say it again.”
A shiver ran through Donghae. “Later,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Hyukjae’s collarbone. “The twins will be up soon. And Jisung comes home.”
Hyukjae groaned, resting his forehead against Donghae’s. “Real life.”
“Our real life,” Donghae corrected softly.
The call lasted an eternity. Donghae moved through the apartment, picking up toys, folding a small laundry load of tiny socks and onesies. The domestic sounds were a counterpoint to the low, professional timbre of Hyukjae’s voice from the home office. Every time he passed the open door, Hyukjae’s eyes would flick to him, the intensity in them completely at odds with his calm discussion of load-bearing walls and municipal codes.
The twins woke just as the call ended. Donghae was changing Jeno on the living room floor when Hyukjae emerged. He looked agitated, the professional cool shed like a skin. He watched Donghae’s efficient hands, the gentle way he tickled Haru’s foot to make her giggle.
“They need a bath,” Donghae said, snapping a fresh onesie closed. “They’re sticky from lunch.”
“I’ll do it,” Hyukjae said, his voice tight.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” He scooped up both babies, one in each arm, with effortless ease. “You made tea earlier. Drink it. Sit down for five minutes.”
There was an edge to his voice. A restlessness. Donghae recognized it—the alpha energy, coiled and seeking an outlet after being constrained by civility. He nodded, sipping his now-lukewarm tea as Hyukjae carried the twins toward the bathroom.
The peaceful sounds of splashing and Hyukjae’s low, silly baby-talk bubbled down the hall. Donghae finished his tea. The quiet felt charged. He stood, drawn toward the bathroom not by need, but by a pull he couldn’t name.
The scene was tender. Hyukjae, sleeves rolled up, was kneeling by the tub, supporting Haru’s head with one large hand while pouring warm water over her belly with a cup. Jeno splashed happily beside her. Hyukjae’s focus was absolute. But his jaw was clenched. The muscles in his forearms were corded. He was holding onto his control by a thread.
Donghae leaned in the doorway. “You’re good at that.”
Hyukjae’s head snapped up. His eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide. “They’re clean,” he said, his voice a rough scrape. He lifted the babies out, wrapping them in soft towels with hurried, efficient motions. He diapered and dressed them with a speed that bordered on frantic, then deposited them both in the playpen in the nursery.
He turned, blocking the nursery doorway, his chest heaving. The air between them crackled.
“Hyukjae?” Donghae whispered.
In two strides, Hyukjae was on him. He backed Donghae across the hall, into the master bedroom, kicking the door shut with his heel. The click of the lock was definitive.
“I listened to that man drone on about steel reinforcements,” Hyukjae hissed, crowding Donghae against the wall, “and all I could think about was this.” He pressed his hips forward, his hard cock obvious through his trousers, grinding against Donghae’s thigh. “I could smell you from my office. That new scent. My scent on you. It was driving me fucking insane.”
He captured Donghae’s mouth in a violent, claiming kiss. It was all tongue and teeth, a conquest. He ripped at the sweatpants, yanking them and Donghae’s underwear down in one furious motion. His hands gripped Donghae’s bare thighs, hiking them up around his waist.
“I need you,” Hyukjae growled against his lips. “Right now. No gentle. No slow. I need to be inside you.”
Donghae’s heart hammered against his ribs. He hooked his ankles behind Hyukjae’s back, bracing himself. “Then do it.”
Hyukjae fumbled with his own zipper, shoved his pants down just enough. He didn’t prepare him. There was no teasing, no testing. He positioned the blunt, weeping head of his cock at Donghae’s entrance, still loose and slick from earlier, and shoved in with one brutal, deep thrust.
The air punched from Donghae’s lungs in a sharp cry. It burned for a second, a stunning, full stretch, then gave way to a consuming, overwhelming pressure. Hyukjae was buried to the hilt, his pelvis slamming against Donghae’s ass.
“Fuck,” Hyukjae snarled, his forehead dropping to Donghae’s shoulder. He didn’t move, letting them both feel the incredible, tight heat. “Every time. It feels like the first time every fucking time.”
Then he began to move.
It was a relentless, punishing pace. He fucked Donghae against the wall, each powerful drive of his hips jolting Donghae up, the friction brutal and perfect. His hands clutched Donghae’s ass, fingers digging into the flesh, spreading him wider, taking him deeper.
“You take it so well,” Hyukjae grunted, his breath hot and ragged in Donghae’s ear. “My perfect omega. Taking my cock like you were made for it.”
Donghae could only cling to him, his back scraping the wall, his moans torn from him with every impact. The pleasure was sharp, almost painful in its intensity, building from his core with terrifying speed. Hyukjae’s cock was hitting a spot inside him that lit up every nerve ending.
“Hyuk—ah! Right there, alpha, right there!”
“I know,” Hyukjae panted. He bit Donghae’s shoulder, not breaking the skin, but a sharp, possessive warning. “I know exactly where it feels best for you. I know your body better than you do.”
He slid a hand between them, his fingers finding Donghae’s clit, already swollen and aching. He rubbed it with a rough, circular pressure that was perfectly aligned with his thrusts.
It was too much. The dual assault, the raw possession, the scent of their combined arousal thick in the air. Donghae felt his orgasm detonate, a white-hot seizure that clenched his entire body. He screamed, his cunt spasming wildly around Hyukjae’s driving cock.
Hyukjae swore, his rhythm faltering. The feeling of Donghae pulsing around him pushed him over. With a final, deep, grinding thrust, he came, his knot swelling rapidly, locking them together. He emptied into Donghae with a choked, guttural roar, his body shuddering violently.
They slumped against the wall, a tangled, sweat-slick mess. Hyukjae’s knot held them fast, his weight pressing Donghae into the drywall. Their breathing was the only sound, harsh and synchronised.
Slowly, Hyukjae turned his head, nuzzling Donghae’s jaw. His voice, when it came, was wrecked. “I’m sorry. I was… I lost it.”
Donghae shook his head, his lips brushing Hyukjae’s temple. “Don’t be. I needed it, too.”
They stood there, locked together, for long minutes until the knot began to subside. Hyukjae softened, slipping out, followed by a trickle of warm evidence. He gently lowered Donghae’s legs, holding him upright when they wobbled.
He looked at the wall, then at Donghae’s back. “I marked the wall. And you… your back is red.”
“It’s okay,” Donghae said. He felt boneless, claimed, and utterly at peace.
Hyukjae guided him to the bed, laying him down on his stomach. He fetched a warm washcloth, cleaning him with a tenderness that contrasted starkly with the previous frenzy. He smoothed salve onto the faint abrasions on Donghae’s back.
From the nursery, a twin fussed. Then the other. The real world was calling.
Hyukjae finished, his hand resting on the small of Donghae’s back. He bent, pressing a kiss to the fresh bite on his neck, a silent reaffirmation.
“I’ll get them,” Donghae said, starting to sit up.
“No.” Hyukjae pushed him back down gently. “You rest. I’ve got them.” He pulled on his pants, his movements fluid now, the restless energy spent. He paused at the door, looking back. His expression was soft, saturated with a love so profound it hurt to look at. “I’ll start dinner. Jisung will be home soon.”
He left, closing the door softly behind him. Donghae heard his low, comforting voice in the nursery, the fussing settling. He curled onto his side, hugging a pillow. The ache between his legs was a sweet reminder. The bite on his neck pulsed in time with his heart.
Down the hall, the chaos of their family resumed—the clatter of pots, the gurgle of babies, the imminent return of a gap-toothed, energetic boy from school. It was the soundtrack of a life he’d ached for, fought for, and was now, irrevocably, living. He smiled into the pillow, the scent of his alpha thick on his skin, a permanent claim in a wonderfully imperfect, noisy, and real world.
He smiled into the pillow, the scent of his alpha thick on his skin, a permanent claim in a wonderfully imperfect, noisy, and real world. The distant clatter of a pan, the melodic nonsense of Hyukjae talking to the twins, was a lullaby. He drifted, sore and sated, in the golden haze.
The bedroom door clicked open again.
Donghae didn’t open his eyes. He recognized the footfall, the shift in air pressure, the focused heat of the gaze now on his bare back. He heard the soft snick of the lock re-engaging.
“They’re down for another twenty,” Hyukjae’s voice came, low and stripped of all earlier calm. It was a blade wrapped in velvet. “Jisung’s bus is forty minutes out.”
A hand, warm and broad, settled on the crest of his hip. The touch wasn’t gentle. It was a declaration. Donghae’s breath hitched. He turned his head on the pillow, one eye opening. Hyukjae stood beside the bed, already shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low. His eyes were black pools, his expression stark with a need that hadn’t been sated against the wall. That had only been a venting of steam. This was the root of it.
“You’re still wet,” Hyukjae stated, his fingers sliding down from Donghae’s hip, tracing the inner seam of his thigh. “I can smell it. My come. Your slick. All mixed together.” He inhaled, a sharp, audible drag through his nose. “It’s all I’ve been able to smell since I walked out of here.”
“Hyukjae—” Donghae began, voice thick.
“Quiet.” The word wasn’t harsh. It was final. Hyukjae’s hands gripped him, flipping him onto his back with effortless, unnerving strength. He pushed Donghae’s thighs apart, his gaze raking over the flushed, used evidence of their earlier joining. A low groan vibrated in his chest. “Look at this. Look at what I did to you.”
Donghae was exposed, utterly. He felt the cool air on his tender flesh, saw the dark, obsessive hunger etching Hyukjae’s features. This wasn’t about pleasure. Not primarily. It was about consumption.
Hyukjae knelt between his legs. His hands framed Donghae’s hips, pinning him to the mattress. He didn’t kiss his thighs. He didn’t tease. He lowered his head and, with a devastating, open-mouthed hunger, he licked a brutal, wet stripe from Donghae’s entrance all the way up to his clit.
Donghae arched off the bed, a shocked cry tearing from his throat. The sensation was electric, filthy, direct.
Hyukjae did it again. And again. Broad, lapping strokes like a man dying of thirst found a desert spring. He was ravenous. He ate at him with a singular, driven purpose, his tongue thrusting inside, curling, tasting deeply before flattening to sweep over the swollen bundle of nerves. He moaned against Donghae’s flesh, the sound one of pure, greedy gluttony.
“Fuck, you taste—” he snarled, his words muffled, then dove back in.
His nose pressed against Donghae’s pubic bone. His stubble scraped the delicate inner skin. He was relentless, his tongue a cruel, wonderful instrument that left no part of Donghae untouched. He sucked Donghae’s clit into his mouth, applying a rhythmic, pulsing pressure that had Donghae seeing stars, then released it to spear his tongue inside the aching, empty channel.
“You’re dripping,” Hyukjae growled, lifting his head for a second, his chin glistening. His breath panted hot against Donghae’s wetness. “For me. Still. After everything.” He seemed furious with the need, incensed by his own desperation. “I can’t get enough. I’ll never get enough of this taste.”
He descended again, but this time his approach was different. It was devouring. He sealed his mouth over Donghae’s entire cunt, his tongue plunging deep while his lips created a vicious suction. He ate him out like he was starving, like Donghae was the only source of sustenance in a years-long famine. It was messy, obscene, the sounds wet and slapping and shameless.
Donghae fisted the sheets, his hips rolling helplessly, chasing the maddening friction. He was sobbing, begging, words without coherence. “Please—ah, God—right there, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop—”
Hyukjae’s hands slid under his ass, lifting him, tilting his pelvis to offer himself up deeper. He took the offering without mercy. His tongue fucked into him, a rapid, insistent mimicry of sex. The pressure built, a coil of white-hot wire tightening in Donghae’s gut.
“I’m gonna come,” Donghae warned, voice shattered. “Hyukjae, I’m gonna—”
Hyukjae redoubled his efforts. He sucked hard on Donghae’s clit, flicking his tongue over the peak while two of his fingers finally, finally pushed inside, crooking and stroking that devastating spot.
It shattered Donghae. The orgasm ripped through him, violent and convulsing. He screamed, his body bowing off the bed, his cunt clenching around Hyukjae’s invading fingers. Hyukjae rode it out, his mouth still working, drinking down every pulse, every shudder, until Donghae collapsed, boneless and shaking, into the mattress.
Hyukjae rose over him. His face was a mess. His lips were swollen, his chin slick. He looked feral, triumphant, and still, endlessly hungry. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving Donghae’s wrecked face.
“Again,” he commanded, his voice raw from the abrasion. “You’re going to come again. On my tongue. On my face. And then you’re going to come on my cock.” He leaned down, his lips brushing Donghae’s ear. “I’m not done. I’m just getting started.”
From the nursery, a monitor crackled with the sound of a single, disgruntled baby cry. Real life. Their life. It was a timer set in another room.
Hyukjae’s eyes snapped toward the sound, then back to Donghae. A complex calculation flickered in his dark gaze—duty, desire, the relentless pull of the claim he himself had made. The hunger won. It deepened.
He lowered his head again.