Chapter 9: Birthday Feast
The city outside the penthouse was a muted, dawn-blue canvas, the neon signs now ghostly in the early light. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and cherry blossoms tracked in from the balcony. Hyukjae lay sprawled across the rumpled sheets, one hand absently tracing the bite marks on his shoulder, the other intertwined with Donghae’s. The matching rings felt heavy and perfect on their fingers.
“I meant it, you know,” Hyukjae said, his voice hoarse from screaming. “Always yours.”
Donghae turned his head on the pillow, his dark eyes soft. “I know. I’ve always been yours, too. Even when you were an idiot.”
A grin split Hyukjae’s face, bright and real. He nudged Donghae with his foot under the sheets. “Hey. Your birthday’s tomorrow.”
“So it is,” Donghae murmured, shifting to drape an arm over Hyukjae’s waist, pulling him closer. “Don’t need anything. Have everything right here.”
But Hyukjae was already planning, a familiar, mischievous spark in his eyes that Donghae had learned to both cherish and fear. He said nothing, just pressed a kiss to Donghae’s temple and filed the idea away.
The following evening, Donghae returned to the penthouse from the library to a curious silence. The usual clutter was tidied, the puzzle was—miraculously—nearly complete, and the only light came from a trail of candles leading from the front door to the bedroom. His heart began a slow, heavy thump against his ribs.
Pushed open the bedroom door.
The sight stopped the air in his lungs.
Hyukjae knelt in the center of the vast bed, naked save for a single, wide red satin ribbon tied in a lavish bow around his neck. The tails draped down his sternum, a stark contrast against his golden skin. The candlelight danced over the defined planes of his stomach, the lean muscle of his thighs. But it was his eyes, wide and dark, pupils already blown, that told Donghae everything.
“You didn’t,” Donghae breathed, shutting the door softly behind him.
“I did,” Hyukjae said, his voice already a tremulous, wanting thing. The same aphrodisiac from that first, desperate night was coursing through him, but this time there was no panic, no shame in his gaze. Only a heated, open offering. “Happy Birthday, Hae. Your present.”
“You’re insane.” Donghae crossed the room, his scholarly reserve incinerated by a surge of pure, possessive love. He stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at the beautiful, willing creature before him. “You took it all?”
“Wanted to feel it again,” Hyukjae panted, his body beginning to tremble as the drug truly took hold, firing his nerve endings, making his skin hyper-sensitive. “But this time… this time I know it’s you. Only you. Please.”
That last word, raw and pleading, shattered any last pretense of control. Donghae climbed onto the bed, his knees sinking into the duvet. He didn’t kiss him. Not yet. Instead, he reached out and took the end of the red ribbon, pulling it slowly, until the bow unloosened and the ribbon slithered from Hyukjae’s throat.
“My present,” Donghae said, his voice thick. “I get to unwrap it how I want.”
He started with his mouth. He kissed the hollow of Hyukjae’s throat where the ribbon had lain, then licked a hot, wet stripe up the column of his neck to his ear, biting down gently on the lobe. Hyukjae whimpered, his head falling back. Donghae moved lower, his lips and tongue charting a path down Hyukjae’s chest. He circled one nipple with the tip of his tongue, then sucked it into his mouth, biting just enough to make Hyukjae arch off the bed with a choked-off “Fuck!”
“So sensitive,” Donghae murmured against his skin, moving to the other nipple, giving it the same torturous attention. His hands slid down Hyukjae’s flanks, gripping his hips, holding him still as Donghae continued his descent. He kissed over the quivering abdomen, licking into the dip of his navel, his own desire a hard, aching pressure in his pants.
Hyukjae was writhing now, his cock full and leaking onto his stomach, a shiny pearl of pre-come at the tip. “Hae… please, touch me…”
“I am touching you,” Donghae said, blowing a cool breath over the wet trail he’d left. Then he moved lower, nuzzling into the coarse, dark hair at the base of Hyukjae’s cock. He didn’t take him into his mouth immediately. Instead, he gripped Hyukjae’s thighs and pushed them apart, spreading him wide.
“Oh, god,” Hyukjae gasped, understanding dawning.
Donghae looked at him, at the flushed, wanton face of the boy he’d loved for years. “Every part of you,” he said simply. Then he leaned in.
His tongue, broad and wet, swiped from the tight furl of Hyukjae’s hole all the way up to his perineum. Hyukjae screamed, his hands flying to tangle in Donghae’s hair, not to push him away but to hold him there. Donghae did it again, slower this time, lapping at him like he was something precious and sweet. Then he zeroed in, pressing the flat of his tongue hard against the pucker, feeling it give, before spearing inside with a quick, firm thrust.
Hyukjae’s hips jerked off the bed. “Yes! Right there, fuck, your tongue…”
Donghae ate him with a single-minded devotion that was both tender and filthy. He licked, he sucked, he fucked him with his tongue, curling it, digging deep. He held Hyukjae’s ass cheeks wide open, his thumbs applying just enough pressure to drive him wild. The sounds were obscene—wet, sloppy, hungry—and Hyukjae’s incoherent begging was a constant, ragged soundtrack. He was babbling, about love, about how good it felt, about how Donghae’s mouth was going to make him come untouched.
When Donghae finally pulled back, his lips glistening, Hyukjae was sobbing with need.
“Turn over,” Donghae commanded, his own voice ragged. “On your knees.”
Hyukjae scrambled to obey, presenting himself, his back arched, his face buried in the pillows. Donghae took a moment just to look, to sear the image of Hyukjae offered and waiting into his soul. Then he leaned forward again, his tongue delving back into that heat, fucking him with it deeper now, his nose nudging against Hyukjae’s balls.
Hyukjae was pushing back against his face, rutting against the sheets, completely lost. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come from your mouth, please, Hae, let me…”
Donghae pulled away, slicking two fingers with his own saliva and the mess he’d made. “Not yet,” he said, and pushed one finger inside, curling it.
The cry Hyukjae let out was pure pleasure. A second finger joined the first, scissoring, stretching, finding that spot inside him that made his legs shake. Donghae worked him open, his own cock straining painfully in his jeans, but he ignored it. This was for Hyukjae. His birthday gift to himself was the wrecked, beautiful sounds falling from Hyukjae’s lips.
When he finally added a third finger, Hyukjae was clawing at the sheets, his body trembling violently. “Now… fuck me, Donghae, please, I need you inside me, I need to feel you…”
Donghae withdrew his fingers, wiping them on the sheet. He hurriedly shucked his jeans and briefs, his cock springing free, thick and flushed. He leaned over Hyukjae, blanketing his back, kissing his shoulder, his neck. “Look at me,” he whispered.
Hyukjae turned his head, his eyes glassy with lust and love. Donghae positioned himself, the blunt head of his cock nudging against Hyukjae’s soaked, loosened entrance.
“You’re mine,” Donghae said, not a question, a declaration as he pushed inside in one long, relentless stroke.
“Yes!” Hyukjae screamed, taking every inch, his body accepting him perfectly. “Yours, always, fuck, yes…”
Donghae began to move, setting a deep, punishing rhythm born of years of pent-up longing. Each thrust was a claim, each snap of his hips a promise. He wrapped a hand around Hyukjae’s throat, not squeezing, just holding, feeling the vibrations of his moans. His other hand reached around to fist Hyukjae’s dripping cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts.
The slap of skin, Hyukjae’s broken pleas, the creak of the bed—it was a symphony of them. Donghae leaned down, biting Hyukjae’s shoulder as he pistoned into him, his own climax coiling tight in his gut.
“Come for me,” Donghae growled into his ear, his thumb swiping over the slick head of Hyukjae’s cock. “Come on my cock, show me.”
It was all Hyukjae needed. With a ragged shout that was mostly Donghae’s name, he came, hard, his release striping the sheets beneath them, his channel clamping down on Donghae’s cock in relentless, milking waves. The intensity of it dragged Donghae over the edge immediately. He slammed home one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled deep inside, his own cry muffled against Hyukjae’s sweat-slicked skin.
They collapsed together, a tangled heap of limbs and spent desire. Donghae carefully pulled out and gathered Hyukjae into his arms, turning them onto their sides. Hyukjae was still trembling, aftershocks wracking his frame, but he nestled his back into Donghae’s chest, their fingers finding each other’s rings again.
The drug’s fever was slowly fading, leaving behind a bone-deep satiation. Hyukjae lifted Donghae’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, right over the silver band.
“Happy Birthday,” he whispered, his voice used up.
Donghae held him tighter, his face buried in the nape of Hyukjae’s neck, breathing him in. The candles were guttering, casting long, dancing shadows. Outside, Seoul glittered, indifferent. In here, in this mess of a room that now felt like the only real place in the world, they had everything.
In here, in this mess of a room that now felt like the only real place in the world, they had everything. For a long while, they just breathed, the sweat cooling on their skin, Donghae’s spend trickling from between Hyukjae’s thighs. The chemical fire had burned out of Hyukjae’s veins, leaving a clean, hungry ember in its place. He stirred, turning within the circle of Donghae’s arms to face him, their noses almost touching.
“Still your birthday for,” Hyukjae glanced at the digital clock, its red numbers bleeding into the dark, “another forty-seven minutes.”
Donghae’s laugh was a soft puff of air. “You’ve already given me everything.”
“Not everything.” Hyukjae’s smile was a wicked, knowing curve in the near-darkness. He disentangled himself and slid from the bed, his body a pale, graceful shadow. He walked, with a deliberate sway, to where Donghae’s discarded jeans lay, fishing his phone from the pocket. A few swipes, and low, thrumming bass filled the room, a slow, possessive beat that vibrated in the floorboards.
“What are you doing?” Donghae asked, propping himself up on his elbows.
Hyukjae didn’t answer with words. He approached the bed, the music a physical presence. In the candle-flicker, every movement was a study in deliberate seduction. He ran his hands up his own torso, over the marks Donghae had left, his head lolling back. Then his eyes locked on Donghae’s, and he crawled onto the bed, not towards his face, but towards his lap.
“You said I was your present,” Hyukjae murmured, his voice roughened by their earlier cries. He positioned himself astride Donghae’s thighs, but didn’t sink down yet. “Gotta unwrap me all over again.”
He began to move. It wasn’t a dance from any club; it was a slow, fluid, private undulation meant for one viewer only. He rolled his hips in a deep, circular grind against Donghae’s stomach, his own semi-hard cock leaving a wet smear. He brought his hands up, carding them through his own hair, arching his back so the lines of his throat and chest were thrown into sharp relief. Every motion was timed to the pulsing beat, a visible, carnal echo of the music.
Donghae could only watch, his mouth dry, his blood roaring south again impossibly fast. He saw the focused, slutty intent in Hyukjae’s half-lidded eyes. He saw the sheen of renewed sweat glossing his skin. Hyukjae leaned forward, bracing his hands on Donghae’s shoulders, and brought his mouth to Donghae’s ear.
“You like watching your present move for you?” he breathed, then sucked Donghae’s earlobe between his teeth.
A groan tore from Donghae’s chest. “Fuck, Hyuk.”
“Gonna ride you,” Hyukjae whispered, the words a hot, damp promise against his skin. “Gonna take every inch of that hard cock until you forget your own name.” He pulled back, his gaze burning, and spat into his own palm. He reached between them, taking Donghae’s cock in his hand, stroking him to full, throbbing hardness with the slick of his saliva and Donghae’s own pre-come. The touch was proprietary, rough, and perfect.
Donghae’s hands flew to Hyukjae’s hips, his fingers digging into the muscle there. “Do it,” he commanded, his voice cracking. “Take it.”
Hyukjae rose up on his knees, aligning himself. He didn’t look away from Donghae’s eyes as he began to sink down, the head stretching him, pressing into the hot, used, willing clutch of his body. His mouth fell open in a silent gasp, then a sharp, broken moan as he impaled himself slowly, taking Donghae deeper, deeper, until he was fully seated, his ass pressed against Donghae’s thighs.
“Oh, god,” Hyukjae panted, his head dropping forward for a second before he forced it back up, his eyes blazing. “So fucking deep.”
Then he began to move. He rolled his hips, a sinuous figure-eight grind that made Donghae see stars. He rose almost all the way up, the tight drag unbearable, then slammed back down, his own cock bouncing. The pace was relentless, a desperate, driving rhythm. Hyukjae’s hands were on Donghae’s chest, nails scraping.
“Ungh, Donghaeeee…” he moaned, the name drawn out into a plea. “Fuck me, yeah, just like that. Feel you… everywhere.”
Donghae’s control snapped. He thrust upward, meeting Hyukjae’s descent, driving into him with a force that shook the bed. His grip on Hyukjae’s hips was bruising, guiding him, fucking up into him. “You feel that?” he grunted, his words coming in harsh bursts. “Taking me… so fucking good…”
“Harder!” Hyukjae screamed, his body bouncing, slapping against Donghae’s. “Deeper, please, I need it—breed me, Donghae, fill me up again!”
The filthy demand unleashed something primal. Donghae slammed into him, over and over, the angle perfect, hitting that spot inside Hyukjae with every brutal thrust. Hyukjae was sobbing with pleasure, his cock leaking a steady stream against Donghae’s abdomen. “Yeah, right there, right fucking there! I’m yours, I’m your fucking slut, just for you—”
“Hyukjae!” Donghae roared, the name a raw, torn thing from his throat as his orgasm ripped through him, a convulsive, endless surge. He held Hyukjae down, grinding up into him as he pulsed, spilling inside him with a force that felt possessive and final.
The sensation of being filled, the heat, the sheer animal claim of it, pushed Hyukjae over the edge. His own climax tore through him without a hand on his cock, a sharp, dry, shuddering wave that locked his spine and wrenched a soundless scream from his lips. He collapsed forward, onto Donghae’s heaving chest, their sweat-slick skin sealing them together.
The music played on, the bass thumping against the quiet of their spent bodies. Donghae’s hands, still trembling, came up to cradle Hyukjae’s head against his shoulder. The candle finally guttered and died, plunging them into the blue-gray dawn light seeping around the curtains.
Hyukjae nuzzled into the damp hollow of Donghae’s neck. “Happy Birthday,” he mumbled, his voice utterly ruined.
Donghae turned his head, his lips finding Hyukjae’s temple. “It is.” He could feel his own spend leaking from between Hyukjae’s thighs, a warm, intimate mess. He didn’t move to clean it. Not yet. The phone’s battery died, killing the music mid-beat. In the sudden, profound silence, broken only by their slowing breaths, Donghae knew the shape of his world had permanently, irrevocably changed. The puzzle was complete.
The puzzle was complete. Its cardboard Parisian skyline sat framed on the dresser, a silent witness to the night. Hyukjae shifted, a wince flashing across his face as he felt the sticky, cooling evidence of Donghae’s claim seep between his thighs. He made no move to clean it.
“Still leaking,” he murmured, voice a raw scrape. A statement, not a complaint.
Donghae’s arm tightened around him. His own body felt hollowed out, spent in a way that went deeper than muscle. The third climax had been a seismic event, leaving his nerves singing a dull, post-eruption hum. He turned his head, his lips brushing the shell of Hyukjae’s ear. “Good.”
Silence settled, but it was a new kind. Not the tense, watching quiet of the balcony or the painful, secret-keeping quiet of the years before. This was the quiet of a field after a storm, ravaged and peaceful. Hyukjae’s fingers found Donghae’s hand where it rested on his stomach, tracing the silver band, then the veins on the back of his hand.
“I should clean up,” Donghae said, not moving.
“Don’t.” Hyukjae’s grip tightened. “Not yet.”
He finally turned, the movement causing a fresh, intimate trickle. He wanted to see Donghae’s face. The dawn light was stronger now, revealing the deep shadows under his eyes, the bite mark purpling on his collarbone, the utterly satiated looseness of his mouth. He looked ruined. Hyukjae felt a surge of possessiveness so violent it stole his breath. I did that.
“My turn,” Hyukjae whispered.
Donghae’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“You worshipped me.All night. My present.” Hyukjae pushed himself up, wincing at the pleasant ache in his lower back. He looked down at Donghae sprawled on the damp sheets. “Now I worship you. A birthday… nightcap.”
He didn’t give Donghae time to protest. He kissed him, a deep, languid exploration of his mouth, tasting themselves. Then he began moving down, his lips charting a reverse course of Donghae’s earlier pilgrimage. He kissed the sternum, the flat planes of his stomach, ignoring the hard line of his cock that was already, impossibly, filling again against Hyukjae’s cheek. He went lower, nuzzling the coarse hair at the base, breathing in their combined scent.
Then he moved sideways. He took one of Donghae’s nipples into his mouth, sucking gently, then with more pressure, his tongue circling the tight bud.
Donghae gasped, his back arching slightly. Hyukjae sucked harder, flicking with his tongue, before pulling off with a soft pop. He looked up, a mischievous, exhausted glint in his eyes.
“Nothing is coming out when you suck there,” he said, echoing a line from a drunken, stupid comedy they’d watched years ago.
The unexpected callback broke a tension they hadn’t known was left. A choked laugh burst from Donghae’s chest. It felt alien and wonderful.
Hyukjae grinned, a real one, the one Donghae had fallen for under the library stairs freshman year. Then the grin softened into something more intimate, more hungry. He began to move down Donghae’s body again, his intentions clear. He bypassed his cock, which stood thick and eager, and went lower, spreading Donghae’s legs with gentle but firm hands.
Donghae’s breath hitched. “Hyuk, you don’t have to—”
“Shut up,” Hyukjae said, his voice warm. “Birthday rules.”
He didn’t tease. He dove in, his tongue finding the tight furl of Donghae’s body with an unerring, devoted aim. The sensation was electric, shocking in its intensity. Donghae cried out, his hands fisting in the sheets. It was different from receiving a blowjob—this was vulnerability offered and accepted, a reciprocity that unmoored him. Hyukjae licked with a focused fervor, like he was learning a new language, his tongue flat and wet, then pointed and probing.
“Fuck… Hyukjae…” Donghae’s hips twitched upward, seeking more.
Hyukjae pressed his face deeper, his nose nudging against Donghae’s balls, his tongue spearing inside. The sounds were filthy, obscenely intimate. He sucked gently at the rim, then fucked him with his tongue in short, rapid strokes. He was merciless, a scholar applying himself to a new subject with devastating focus.
Donghae was unraveling, his mind white with a pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. His cock leaked profusely onto his stomach, untouched. Just as he felt his orgasm begin a dangerous coil in his gut, Hyukjae pulled away.
He moved up Donghae’s body in a fluid slide, his own face glistening. He positioned himself between Donghae’s legs, guiding Donghae’s cock to his entrance with a steady hand. He looked down, meeting Donghae’s dazed, desperate eyes.
“Face you when you reach your bliss,” Hyukjae said, the words a solemn promise.
He sank down.
It was slower this time, an excruciating, exquisite stretch. Hyukjae’s body, used and tender, accepted him with a hot, clinging grasp that made Donghae see stars. Hyukjae seated himself fully, letting out a long, shuddering sigh. He began to move, a gentle, rolling rhythm of his hips, his hands planted on Donghae’s chest for balance.
The eye contact was unbreakable. Donghae watched every flicker of pleasure on Hyukjae’s face—the bitten lip, the fluttering eyelids, the faint tremor in his jaw. He watched the sweat bead on his brow and trace down his neck. He was being allowed to see it all, the raw, unguarded mechanics of his own giving.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Donghae breathed, his hands coming up to cradle Hyukjae’s face. “Mine. All mine.”
“Yes,” Hyukjae gasped, the pace of his hips increasing, the slide becoming smoother, wetter. “Always. Fuck me, Donghae, touch me…”
Donghae slid one hand down between them, his thumb finding Hyukjae’s nipple, rolling the hardened nub. Hyukjae cried out, his rhythm faltering. Donghae pinched it, just enough, and Hyukjae’s back arched beautifully.
“What about here?” Donghae growled, his other hand joining the first, twisting both nipples between his fingers.
The reaction was instantaneous. Hyukjae screamed, a sharp, broken sound, and his body clamped down on Donghae’s cock in a vicious, milking spasm. It wasn’t a full orgasm, but a devastating dry climax, wringing him empty, his cock jerking against Donghae’s stomach without release.
“Killing you dry, baby,” Donghae snarled, driving upward into that convulsing heat.
The sensation of Hyukjae coming apart around him, from his touch alone, was the final trigger. Donghae’s own climax seized him, a deep, full-body surrender. He pulled Hyukjae down hard onto him, grinding up as he emptied himself in long, pulsing jets, his cry swallowed by Hyukjae’s open mouth as they kissed.
They held there, locked, until the last shudder passed. Hyukjae collapsed onto Donghae’s chest, a dead weight. He was trembling violently, tears leaking silently from the corners of his eyes, mixing with the sweat on Donghae’s skin.
For a long time, there was only the sound of their struggling lungs. The sun had properly risen now, painting the room in a pale, forgiving gold. It lit the empty champagne bottles from the party, the discarded red ribbon, the completed puzzle.
Donghae’s hand, heavy and slow, came up to stroke Hyukjae’s hair. Hyukjae nuzzled into the touch, his breathing gradually evening.
“The puzzle,” Hyukjae mumbled into his skin.
“Yeah.”
“Took us long enough.”
Donghae’s chest moved with a silent laugh. He looked past Hyukjae’s head to the window, to the waking city. The night was over. The birthday was over. Something else, something vast and terrifying and real, had begun.
He held the man in his arms—the social butterfly, the party boy, his best friend, his secret, now his everything—and knew that the real work, the beautiful, mundane, difficult work of tomorrow, was just waiting for the sun to climb a little higher.