Chapter 9: Love in Any Form
The silence after the bathroom door locked was absolute, a solid thing pressing on Donghae’s eardrums louder than the storm. He sat on the floor, the rough carpet fibers imprinting on his knees. The stains on the couch were dark in the flickering lightning. He could still feel the ghost of her shape against him, the echo of her voice in his head. Breed me.
He couldn’t stay on the floor. He got up, his movements stiff, and went to the door. He didn’t knock. He just stood there, listening. No sound of water. No retching. Just… nothing.
"Hyukjae," he said, his voice low against the wood.
No answer."Talk to me. Please."
He heard a shift, a soft rustle. A breath, shaky and controlled. "Go away, Donghae."I can't."
A bitter, wet laugh from the other side."Why not? Got a thing for watching your buddy fall apart?Mission accomplished. I’m back. You got your friend back. Let’s just… let’s pretend the last few days didn’t happen."
"It did happen," Donghae said, his forehead resting against the cool door. "And you’re not my buddy. You’re you."
"Who the fuck is that?" Hyukjae’s voice cracked. "Who am I right now? I feel like I’m wearing a costume of my own skin. I can feel… god, I can feel where you were.Inside me. And my brain can’t… it can’t map it. It’s a memory that doesn’t fit the body it’s in. It’s like having a phantom limb that got fucked."
The raw, crude truth of it tore through Donghae. He understood. The dissonance was a living thing in the room, touching them both. His own desire felt like a crime scene now, the evidence all wrong.
"Open the door," he said, not pleading. Stating."No."
"I’m not asking." He turned the handle. It was locked, but the bolt was flimsy, an old thing meant for privacy, not security. He leaned his shoulder against it, testing. "Open it, or I break it down."
"You wouldn’t."I would." And he meant it. The need to see him—not her, him—was a physical pain. "Five seconds."
He heard the lock snick back.
The bathroom was small, steam from their earlier shower still clinging to the mirror, hazing the glass. Hyukjae sat on the closed toilet lid, a towel wrapped hastily around his waist. He was hunched over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The lean muscles of his back, the familiar tattoo on his shoulder blade, the short, damp hair—it was all Hyukjae. But the posture was one of utter defeat, a vulnerability he’d rarely shown even at his most hungover or stressed.
Donghae stepped in, closing the door behind him. The space shrank. He could see the vague smears on the mirror where Hyukjae had tried to wipe it clean, to see himself clearly.
"It just stopped," Hyukjae said, voice muffled by his hands. "The pull, the weird pressure in my bones. It just… let go. Like Heechul turned off a switch from across town."
"The storm," Donghae said softly. "It was centered on the lab. Maybe it caused a surge, messed with whatever machine was holding the change."
"Maybe." Hyukjae finally lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, but dry. He looked exhausted, haunted. He looked at Donghae, and a flush crept up his neck. "We fucked."Yeah."
"I asked you to… to do things."
"You did."
"I remember it. All of it. The feeling. It was…" He searched for a word, failed, shook his head. "It was real. And now it’s a fucking ghost story in my own head."
Donghae took a step closer. The tile floor was cool under his feet. "It wasn’t a ghost. It was you."
"Don’t," Hyukjae snapped, looking away. "Don’t do that. Don’t give me the ‘it was still you’ philosophy bullshit. It doesn’t help. She’s gone. And you…" He gestured vaguely at Donghae, his hand trembling. "You wanted her."
The accusation hung in the humid air.
"I wanted you," Donghae said, the words falling like stones.
Hyukjae laughed, a harsh, ugly sound."Right. That’s why you’ve been climbing the walls for years. Because you wanted me. You just needed me to turn into a girl first to finally make a move."
"Shut up." Donghae’s voice was low, dangerous. He was across the tiny space in one stride, his hands coming down on Hyukjae’s bare shoulders, forcing him to look up. "You have no idea what you’re talking about. You have no clue what it’s been like, loving you every day and knowing it could never happen. And then it did happen, and it was a nightmare, because it wasn’t supposed to be like that. It wasn’t supposed to be an experiment or a deadline or a… a fucking farewell tour. I was losing you twice over. So yes, I took what I could get. I memorized you. Every version."
He was breathing hard. Hyukjae stared up at him, shock replacing the bitterness.
"And you know what?" Donghae continued, his grip tightening."The body? It was a surprise. A beautiful, terrifying surprise. But the want? That was always for you.The mind. The laugh. The stupid jokes. The way you bite your lip when you’re thinking. That never changed. That’s what I was kissing. That’s what I was inside of. It was always you."
Hyukjae’s defiance crumpled. He sagged under Donghae’s hands, a tremor running through him. His gaze dropped to Donghae’s mouth, then away, then back. Confusion and a dawning, terrifying hope warred in his eyes.
"I don’t know how to be this," he whispered. "With you. After that."
"Then don’t be anything," Donghae murmured. He loosened his grip, his thumbs rubbing slow circles on the tense muscles of Hyukjae’s shoulders. "Just be here."
He leaned down, his movement slow, giving Hyukjae every chance to pull away. He didn’t. He watched, mesmerized, as Donghae’s lips approached his own.
The kiss was nothing like before. It wasn’t hungry or frantic or desperate. It was a question. A soft, searching pressure, lips meeting lips that were familiar yet newly strange in this context. Hyukjae’s mouth was softer than Donghae had imagined it would be over the years. It was hesitant, then yielding.
A small, broken sound escaped Hyukjae, a vibration against Donghae’s mouth. He kissed back, awkwardly at first, then with a gathering focus. His hands came up, fingers curling into the fabric of Donghae’s shirt, not pushing him away, but anchoring himself.
The towel around Hyukjae’s waist loosened.
Donghae pulled back just an inch, their breaths mingling. He searched Hyukjae’s face. "Tell me to stop."
Hyukjae shook his head, a minute, frantic movement. "Don’t you dare."
That was all the permission he needed. He kissed him again, deeper this time, coaxing his mouth open. The taste was different—toothpaste, stress, the unique, musky essence of Hyukjae. It was electrifying. He’d dreamt of this taste for years.
His hands slid from Hyukjae’s shoulders down his back, feeling the ridges of his spine, the defined muscles of his lats. The skin was hot, damp from the earlier steam. He pulled him up from the toilet, the towel falling away completely to puddle on the floor.
Hyukjae stood naked before him, fully hard, his cock flushed and curving slightly upward. The sight, in this stark, white-tiled light, was more intimate than anything they’d done before. This was the truth he’d hidden for years.
"See?" Donghae whispered, his hand sliding down Hyukjae’s flank, over his hip. "It’s you. All you."
He turned him gently, pressing his chest against the cool, wet tiles of the shower wall. The residual moisture soaked into Donghae’s shirt immediately. He kissed the back of Hyukjae’s neck, his shoulder, the familiar tattoo. His hands swept over the plains of Hyukjae’s back, down to the firm curves of his ass.
Hyukjae shuddered, his forehead resting against the tile. "Donghae…"
"Yeah?" He mouthed the word against his skin.
"I don’t… I haven’t…"
"I know," Donghae said, understanding. He kissed the knob of his spine. "I’ve got you."
He reached around, his hand wrapping around Hyukjae’s length. It was thick and hot in his palm, the skin velvety. He stroked once, a firm, smooth pull.
Hyukjae jerked, a gasp punching from his lungs. "Fuck."
Donghae stroked again, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm, his thumb smearing the bead of pre-come over the slick head. With his other hand, he reached for the bottle of generic body wash on the shower caddy. He squirted a liberal amount, working it into a lather between his fingers.
He dropped his hand from Hyukjae’s cock. Hyukjae whimpered at the loss, his hips pushing back involuntarily. "Don’t stop…"
"Shhh," Donghae soothed. He pressed one soap-slick finger against Hyukjae’s tight entrance. The muscles clenched fiercely, a reflexive resistance."Relax. Just breathe."
He pressed, gently but insistently, circling. Hyukjae was trembling, his knuckles white where he braced against the wall. Donghae leaned in, kissing his shoulder blade, murmuring nonsense words against his skin. "It’s me. Just me. Let me in."
The tension broke. The ring of muscle gave way, and the tip of Donghae’s finger slid inside. Hyukjae groaned, a long, low sound of shock and overwhelming sensation.
"It’s okay," Donghae whispered, working his finger slowly, carefully, feeling the incredible heat and tightness grip him. "You’re okay."
He moved his finger, a slow in-and-out, scissoring gently when he was fully buried. He added a second, slicking it thoroughly. The stretch was more. Hyukjae hissed, his body bowing.
"Too much?"
"No… just… full. It feels so… full."
Donghae crooked his fingers, searching. When he brushed over the small, firm knot of nerves, Hyukjae’s whole body spasmed. He cried out, the sound echoing off the tiles. "Oh my god! What was that?"
"That’s the spot," Donghae said, a dark, possessive pleasure curling in his gut. He did it again, a deliberate press."Fuck! Donghae, please…" Hyukjae’s voice was shattered, lost.
"Please what?" He scissored his fingers, stretching him wider, preparing him, relentlessly stimulating that spot with each pass.
"I… don’t know… something…"
"You want more?" He added a third finger.
The sound Hyukjae made was pure desperation. His knees buckled. Donghae held him up, his fingers buried deep, fucking him open with a steady, torturous rhythm. Hyukjae was a writhing mess against the wall, sweat and condensation sheening his back, his cock dripping onto the shower floor.
"More," Hyukjae begged, the word torn from him. "I need more, please, I need you, fuck, don’t just finger me, I need you inside me, please, Donghae, I need it now, I need to feel you—"
That was it. The raw, unfiltered begging. Donghae withdrew his fingers, the emptiness making Hyukjae sob. He fumbled with his own sweatpants, shoving them down just enough. He was painfully hard, aching. He took himself in hand, guiding the broad head to Hyukjae’s slick, stretched entrance.
He paused, pressing just the tip against him. "Look at me."
Hyukjae twisted his head, looking over his shoulder, his face wrecked with tears and need.Their eyes locked.
"This is you and me," Donghae said, his voice rough. "No one else. No ghosts."
Hyukjae nodded, frantic."Yes. Now. Fucking now."
Donghae pushed.
The breach was slow, agonizingly so. He watched his own cock disappear into Hyukjae’s body, inch by impossible, tight inch. Hyukjae screamed, a raw, beautiful sound of pain and pleasure, his head falling back against Donghae’s shoulder. He was impossibly tight, hotter than anything, clenching around Donghae like a vise.
"Breathe," Donghae gritted out, holding himself still when he was fully seated, balls-deep. He was shaking with the effort of control. The feeling was transcendent, a completion so profound it bordered on holy. This was the real secret he’d wanted. This right here.
"Move," Hyukjae gasped. "For god’s sake, move."
Donghae pulled back almost all the way and slammed back in. The impact drove the air from Hyukjae’s lungs. He set a punishing pace from the start, no tenderness left, just a fierce, driving need to claim and be claimed. Each thrust was a jolt that shook Hyukjae’s body against the wall. The wet slap of skin on skin, the slick sounds of penetration, filled the tiny room.
Hyukjae was incoherent, a stream of filthy, begging praise. "Yes! Right there!Harder! Fuck me harder, you feel so fucking good, so deep, I can feel you in my throat, don’t stop, don’t ever stop, please—"
Donghae reached around, gripping Hyukjae’s weeping cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was too much. Hyukjae’s begging became a wordless howl, his body tightening impossibly around Donghae.
"Come for me," Donghae growled into his ear, biting the lobe. "Come all over the wall. Show me you’re mine."
The command, the possession in the words, shattered Hyukjae. He came with a broken shout, his release painting white stripes across the pale blue tiles, his body convulsing in rhythmic clenches that milked Donghae ruthlessly.
The feeling tore Donghae’s own orgasm from him. He drove in one last, deep time, burying himself to the hilt as he emptied himself inside Hyukjae. The pulses were endless, a claiming as profound as any biological act could be. He held himself there, pulsing, as Hyukjae shuddered through the last waves of his own climax.
They slumped against the wall, a tangled, slick mess of limbs and spent breath. The showerhead dripped slowly, the only sound besides their ragged panting. Donghae softened inside him, but didn’t pull out. He just kept him pinned there, his arms wrapped around Hyukjae’s chest, his face buried in the sweat-damp hair at his nape.
Hyukjae’s hand came up, covering Donghae’s where it rested on his stomach. His grip was weak, but it held on.
The storm outside had quieted to a distant rumble. The relentless rain had softened to a patter.
HYUKJAE BEGS MORE.