Chapter 12: Animalistic Takeover
The candle flame flickered, painting slow shadows on the wall. Hyukjae floated in the warm, heavy silence, his body a map of pleasant aches. Donghae’s breath was steady against his neck, his arm a leaden weight across Hyukjae’s waist. For long minutes, there was only the hum of the city far below and the gradual cooling of sweat on their skin.
Then the arm tightened.
It was subtle at first, just a fractional increase in pressure. Then Donghae’s hand began to move, tracing idle patterns from hip to navel, drifting lower. His fingertips brushed through the sticky mess on Hyukjae’s stomach.
“Still wet,” Donghae murmured, his voice sleep-roughened yet intent.
“You just… we just…”
“I know.” Donghae’s hand cupped him, not stroking, just holding. Hyukjae’s soft flesh stirred minutely in the heat of his palm. “You think a wedding night ends with one round?”
Hyukjae’s laugh was a weak puff of air. “I think my legs might.”
“Your legs aren’t in charge tonight.”
In one fluid, shocking motion, Donghae pulled out from behind him and rolled him onto his stomach. The silk sheet was cool and damp beneath him. Before Hyukjae could even gasp, strong hands were on his hips, yanking them up, arching his back into a deep, presenting curve. Pillows tumbled to the floor.
The air hit his swollen, sensitized hole. He felt exposed, flayed open.
“Donghae, wait.” The plea was automatic, a whisper.
“No.” The denial was soft, final. Donghae’s thumb pressed against his rim, rubbing slowly, feeling the puffy, loose give of him. “Look at you. My cum’s already leaking out of you. Gonna plug you up again. Gonna fill you so deep you taste it tomorrow.”
The words were a filthy promise that coiled hot in Hyukjae’s gut. He dropped his head between his shoulders, a shudder wracking his frame. He was sore, oversensitive, completely spent. And he wanted it again with a desperation that felt like madness.
He heard the rip of a condom wrapper—pragmatic, even now—then the slick, wet sound of Donghae slicking himself. The head of his cock, blunt and hot, pressed where Donghae’s thumb had been. It wasn't a question. It was an alignment.
Donghae drove in.
There was no slow sheathing this time. It was a single, brutal snap of his hips, burying himself to the root in the still-slick channel. The invasion was breathtaking, a stunning reclamation of territory.
“Fuck!” Hyukjae cried out, his fingers clawing at the sheets.
Donghae didn’t pause. He set a punishing, piston-like rhythm, pulling out until just the tip caught, then slamming back in with enough force to jolt Hyukjae forward each time. The angle was unforgiving, each thrust grinding directly into his prostate, a relentless overstimulation that bordered on pain.
The obscene acoustics of it filled the room: the wet squelch of Donghae’s cock pistoning into his used hole, the sharp slap of flesh meeting flesh with every impact, the ragged symphony of their breathing. Donghae’s balls swung heavily, smacking against Hyukjae’s taint with every forward drive.
“Take it,” Donghae grunted, his voice strained with the effort of his pace. His hands were vises on Hyukjae’s hips, sure to leave bruises. “You’re so fucking open. Like you were made just to get railed by me.”
Hyukjae couldn’t answer. His world had narrowed to the savage penetration, the brutal fullness, the electric shockwaves radiating from his core. His own cock, hard again and trapped beneath him, leaked a steady stream of pre-come onto the silk with every jarring thrust. Pleasure was a sharp, serrated edge, cutting him open. He was sobbing, his tears darkening the fabric beneath his cheek.
Donghae leaned over him, his chest plastered to Hyukjae’s sweaty back. His mouth found Hyukjae’s ear. “That’s it. Cry for me. Let me hear how much you need it.”
The pace became frantic, desperate. Donghae’s control was fraying, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, harder. Hyukjae felt the coil in his own gut tighten unbearably. He didn’t need a hand on his cock. The sheer, brutal friction inside him was enough.
“I’m gonna… Donghae, I’m gonna come!”
“Do it.” The command was a snarl. “Come on my cock while I fuck you raw. Make a mess.”
The permission, the crude instruction, shattered him. Hyukjae’s orgasm ripped through him silently, a violent, full-body convulsion that clamped his channel down in rhythmic spasms around the dick spearing him. He spurted into the sheets beneath him, his vision whiting out.
The sudden, viselike tightness tipped Donghae over the edge. With a guttural roar that was pure possession, he hammered home one last time and held, his body going rigid as a board. Hyukjae could feel the hot, urgent pulse of him through the latex, a phantom completion.
They collapsed together, a ruin of tangled limbs and ragged breath. Donghae slumped over him, his weight both crushing and comforting. For a long time, the only sound was the struggle of their lungs.
Slowly, carefully, Donghae pulled out. He disposed of the condom, then returned, his touch transforming from demanding to gentle. He gathered Hyukjae, turning him, pulling him against his chest. He didn’t speak. He just wiped gently at the tear tracks on Hyukjae’s face with his thumb.
Hyukjae nuzzled into the hollow of Donghae’s throat, his body buzzing, utterly wrecked. The city lights blurred outside the window. The candle from the night before had burned low, a silent witness.
Donghae’s lips brushed his forehead. “Sleep,” he whispered.
And Hyukjae did, tumbling into a dark, dreamless void, anchored by the steady heartbeat against his ear. In the last lucid moment before unconsciousness, a thought drifted through the haze: the contract was ashes. What remained was this—a possession so total it felt like peace.