Chapter 7: Sealing the Deal
The words hung in the air between them, a delicate, seismic thing. Hyukjae’s breath hitched, stopped entirely. For three heartbeats, the world narrowed to the feeling of Donghae still buried inside him, to the weight of the question etched on Donghae’s vulnerable, open face.
Then Hyukjae moved.
He crushed their mouths together in a messy, desperate kiss. It was all teeth and clashing lips and a raw, shuddering inhale. He bit Donghae’s lower lip, a sharp, claiming punctuation, before pulling back just enough to speak, their breath mingling.
“Fuck yes,” he growled, the words ragged. “You reckless, beautiful bastard. Yes.”
He didn’t let Donghae reply. He rolled them, a fluid, possessive motion that left Donghae on his back against the rumpled sheets. Hyukjae straddled him, knees pressing into his sides, his own body glistening with a fine sweat. He reached between them, guiding Donghae’s softening cock back to his entrance. He was still loose, still slick from their last union.
Hyukjae sank down onto him in one slow, deliberate slide, a low sob escaping his throat as he took every inch. He braced his hands on Donghae’s chest, his head falling forward, dark hair brushing Donghae’s collarbones. He felt impossibly full, stretched and sensitized, the physical echo of Donghae’s proposal a hot, bright thing in his core.
“You feel that?” Hyukjae whispered, his voice thick. He began to move, a slow, deep roll of his hips that made Donghae’s eyes slam shut. “That’s my answer. You feel me taking you? That’s my ‘fuck yes’.”
Donghae’s hands flew to Hyukjae’s waist, gripping hard. “God, Hyukjae…”
“Look at me.” The command was soft, undeniable.
Donghae forced his eyes open. Hyukjae was watching him, his gaze burning with an intensity that was beyond passion. It was vow-making. He rode him with that same deliberate, penetrating rhythm, each rise and fall a sealing of the promise. The golden morning light caught the sheen on his skin, the tendon standing out in his neck.
“They’ll never know,” Hyukjae breathed, his pace incrementally increasing. “When we’re out there. When you’re singing your heart out and I’m right there next to you. They’ll see the performance.” He leaned down, his lips brushing Donghae’s ear. “They won’t know I’ll be full of your come. They won’t know I’m yours. Officially.”
The vulgarity, the sheer possession in the words, coupled with the tender claim, ignited Donghae anew. He felt himself hardening even further inside the tight, clutching heat. His hips jerked upward to meet Hyukjae’s descent, earning a sharp, gratifying gasp.
“Say it again,” Donghae demanded, his thumbs digging into the sharp bones of Hyukjae’s hips.
Hyukjae sat up straight, his back arched, a portrait of abandon. “I’m going to marry you,” he said, loud and clear into the sunlit room. Then his voice dropped to a filthy, intimate whisper. “And you’re gonna fill me up right now. Like you promised. Three times. I want to feel it for the encore. I want to walk on that stage your fucking fiancé, dripping with you.”
That did it. The final tether of Donghae’s control snapped. With a raw, guttural sound, he bucked up violently, driving deep. He flipped them over in a tangle of limbs, pinning Hyukjae to the mattress. The position was deeper, more invasive. Hyukjae’s legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back.
Donghae fucked him with a frantic, driving pace. Each thrust was a punctuation to the promise. Mine. Officially. Forever. The bed slammed against the wall in a steady, frantic rhythm. Hyukjae chanted beneath him, a stream of broken curses and pleas, his nails raking down Donghae’s back.
“Close,” Donghae grunted, the pressure coiling, unbearable.
“Do it,” Hyukjae gasped, his eyes wild, his body arching to take him even deeper. “Mark me. Make it real.”
Donghae came with a shout that tore from the depths of his chest, a release that felt like an exorcism of every lonely fear. He pulsed into him, wave after wave, collapsing forward as the last tremor shook him.
He lay there, buried to the hilt, panting into the curve of Hyukjae’s neck. Hyukjae held him, hands stroking his sweat-damp hair, his own body still convulsing with tiny aftershocks.
After a long while, Donghae slid out and rolled onto his back. They lay side by side, staring at the ceiling, their breathing slowly syncing. The sunlight had climbed higher, painting the room in bright, ordinary detail.
Hyukjae turned his head on the pillow. “You meant it.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah,” Donghae said, his voice scratchy. “I meant it.”
A slow, triumphant smile spread across Hyukjae’s face. It was dazzling. “Good.” He reached out, linking his pinky finger with Donghae’s where their hands lay on the sheet between them. A childish, profound gesture. “We’ll figure out the how. Later.”
Donghae nodded. The immensity of it should have been terrifying. The logistics, the secrecy, the sheer audacity. All he felt was a bone-deep certainty. He lifted their linked fingers to his lips, kissing Hyukjae’s knuckle.
Hyukjae’s smile softened. He sat up, wincing slightly. “I’m starving. And we have rehearsal in,” he glanced at the clock on the nightstand, “two hours.” He swung his legs out of bed, standing with a fluid grace that belied the ache Donghae knew he had to feel. He looked back over his shoulder, nude and magnificent in the morning light. “Shower. Then I’m making kimchi fried rice. You need carbs before you dance.”
He padded out of the room, leaving Donghae sprawled on the bed, the scent of sex and commitment heavy in the air. Donghae watched him go, a strange, buoyant lightness filling his chest. The anxiety that had been his constant companion for months was gone. In its place was a thrilling, terrifying clarity.
The encore was tonight. The thought should have brought a fresh wave of nerves. Instead, he felt a shiver of anticipation. He pushed himself up, his body complaining pleasantly. He could still feel Hyukjae on him, in him. The promise.
In the kitchen twenty minutes later, clean and dressed in soft sweatpants, Donghae leaned against the counter, watching Hyukjae move. He wielded the spatula with a focused aggression, the sizzle of rice and kimchi filling the space. The domestic normalcy of it, after the raw intensity of the morning, was its own kind of surreal.
Hyukjae scraped a generous portion onto a plate and handed it to him. “Eat.”
Donghae took the plate, their fingers brushing. “What about the… three times?” he asked, the question clumsy.
Hyukjae served himself and leaned against the opposite counter, shoveling a bite into his mouth. He chewed, thoughtful. A wicked glint entered his eye. “You filled me twice. Once in the kitchen, once just now.” He took another bite. “The third time is for the encore. I told you. I want to feel it when we perform.”
“You’re insane.”
“You proposed.” Hyukjae shrugged, as if that was the perfect counter-argument. He pointed his chopsticks at Donghae. “Focus on your dancing today. Hit every mark. Save the energy for me tonight.” He said it so casually, as if discussing the weather. “After the show. In my dressing room.”
Donghae stared at him, a piece of rice halfway to his mouth. The stage, the lights, the thousands of fans… and all the while, this secret burning between them. A performance within a performance.
Hyukjae finished his food and placed his plate in the sink. He walked over to Donghae, cupped his jaw, and kissed him, deep and lingering, tasting of kimchi and certainty. “Let’s go to work, fiancé.”
The word, spoken so easily in the bright kitchen, was a key turning in a lock. Donghae followed him out, the ghost of the promise a palpable presence between them, waiting for the cover of darkness and the roar of the crowd to make it real.