Chapter 2: Midnight Phone Sex
The hotel room in Taipei held a different kind of silence. It wasn’t the hollow echo of their empty apartment; this was a dense, expensive quiet, muffled by thick carpet and sealed windows that kept the city’s hum at a respectful distance. Donghae hated it. He’d taken the work—a brand shoot, a few interviews—to fill the time, but it just felt like a fancier version of waiting.
He was tangled in sheets that smelled only of bleach and linen spray. Hyukjae’s scent had faded from his skin hours ago, washed away by a shower that felt more like an erasure. He’d slept in the middle of the bed, as instructed, and it had been a poor comfort.
A sharp, insistent buzz shattered the dark. His phone, facedown on the nightstand, lit up the room with a cold, blue glow. 3:17 AM. The screen showed a single name: Hyukkie. Not a call. A video message.
Donghae fumbled for it, heart hammering against his ribs. He tapped the screen.
The video was dark, shot in what looked like a hotel bathroom. The camera was close, unsteady. Then it focused.
Hyukjae was there, leaning against a tiled wall. He was wearing nothing but the red hoodie. The zipper was down to the base of his sternum, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbones and a flush creeping up his chest. The fabric pooled around his hips, but it was tented unmistakably, straining over the hard, defined outline of his erection. The hood was up, casting his face in shadow, but Donghae could see the glint of his eyes, the familiar curve of his mouth, slightly parted.
Hyukjae’s hand came into frame, his fingers splaying over the red cotton where his cock pressed against it. He gave a slow, deliberate rub, his head tipping back against the wall with a soft thud Donghae could almost hear. He leaned into the camera, his voice a raw, whiskey-rough whisper in the quiet Taipei night.
“Your turn,” Hyukjae murmured, his gaze searing through the lens. “Make me come through the phone like I did for you. Show me.”
The video ended.
Donghae’s breath left him in a rush. Every nerve ending fired at once. The flight fatigue, the loneliness, the sterile room—it all combusted into a single, burning point of need. He was painfully hard in seconds, a throbbing ache that matched the frantic rhythm of his heart.
He didn’t think. He thumbed the video call button.
It connected after one ring. The screen resolved into the same dim bathroom. Hyukjae was exactly as he’d been in the video, but now he was moving, his hand working slowly over the hoodie-clad bulge. A faint, smug smile played on his lips.
“Fast,” Hyukjae said, his voice low.
“You can’t do that to me and expect me to sleep,” Donghae hissed. He propped the phone against the pillow next to him, angling it down his body. He shoved the duvet aside. The cool air hit his feverish skin. “Take it off. The hoodie. I want to see you.”
Hyukjae’s smile deepened. He didn’t rush. He slowly pulled the zipper down further, the sound abnormally loud in the quiet connection. He let the hoodie slide off his shoulders, pooling around his elbows, trapping his arms loosely. His chest was bare, heaving slightly. He kept the fabric draped over his hips, a teasing barrier.
“You first,” Hyukjae said, his eyes drinking in the image on his own screen. “Let me see what I did.”
Donghae wrapped his hand around his cock, a hiss escaping his teeth at the contact. He gave a long, slow stroke, his own precome slicking the way. He saw Hyukjae’s gaze drop, his tongue dart out to wet his bottom lip. “Like this?” Donghae growled. “Is this what you wanted? Woke me up to watch me jerk off for you like some fucking…”
“Like mine,” Hyukjae cut in, his voice dropping, losing its playful edge. “Yes. Exactly like that. Faster.”
Donghae obeyed, his fist moving in a punishing rhythm. The pleasure was acute, sharpened by the illicit distance, by Hyukjae’s dark, hungry eyes watching him from a different country. “Your turn. Now. Show me.”
With a ragged exhale, Hyukjae finally shrugged the hoodie off completely. It fell to the floor in a red puddle. He was fully exposed, flushed and leaking against his own stomach. He mirrored Donghae’s grip, his own hand moving in tight, practiced pulls.
For a minute, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the soft, wet friction of skin on skin transmitted through tinny speakers. They watched each other, a silent, desperate communion.
“I can’t,” Hyukjae gasped suddenly, his movements becoming jerky, less controlled. “Hae, I’m gonna… I can’t wait.”
The sound of his voice, stripped bare and aching, was the final trigger. “Do it,” Donghae commanded, his own orgasm coiling tight at the base of his spine. “Come for me. Mark the fucking floor. Let me see.”
Hyukjae’s back arched, his free hand slapping against the tiles for support. A choked, strangled sound was torn from him as he came, stripes of white painting the pristine bathroom floor. The sight, the raw, unvarnished sound of it, shattered Donghae’s control. His release followed, hot and violent, spurting over his own stomach and the hotel sheets as he bit down on a curse.
The aftermath was a heavy, breathing silence. Donghae stared at the screen, at Hyukjae slumped against the wall, head bowed, chest still heaving. A profound, desperate tenderness surged through the post-coital haze.
“Two days,” Donghae whispered, his voice wrecked.
Hyukjae lifted his head. He looked exhausted, wrecked, beautiful. “One day and seventeen hours now,” he corrected, a weak ghost of his earlier smile returning. “My flight lands at 7:35 PM.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Wear the hoodie,” Hyukjae said, pushing himself upright with a grimace. He glanced down at the mess on the floor, a faint look of distaste crossing his features. “The clean one.”
“It’s the only one.”
“Then wash it.” Hyukjae reached for a towel, his movements languid. “I want to smell you when I walk in. Not just… that.”
Donghae laughed, a hoarse, tired sound. “Demanding.”
“You started it.” Hyukjae’s face softened. “Go back to sleep. Actually sleep.”
“You too.”
They lingered for another moment, just looking, the pixels on the screen a poor substitute for presence. Hyukjae reached forward, his finger hovering over the disconnect button. “See you tomorrow.”
The screen went black. The room felt emptier than ever. But this time, the loneliness had a countdown. Donghae lay in the dark, the sticky drying on his skin, and for the first time since Hyukjae left, he felt the heavy pull of genuine sleep. The 3 AM ache had been answered, violently and thoroughly, and all that was left was the patient, quiet wait for the door to open.