Underpainting Chapter 11.13 - Side Story: Found Object (3)

Though Professor Wightman’s days were more often filled with displeasure than joy, today he felt particularly unsettled. A tightness in his chest, a nagging feeling of having forgotten something important, and a restless tingling in his fingertips.

‘It’s the weather. Or maybe it’s because the lounge is closed and I can’t play poker.’

Wightman stared out the window at the overcast sky. While the gloomy weather might have been a factor, the poker excuse was flimsy. After being soundly beaten by that Asian kid and having his poker strategy book ridiculed, he’d lost all interest in the game.

It had only ever been a casual hobby, a way to distract himself. He wasn’t particularly good at it, and he couldn’t even say if he’d ever enjoyed playing.

‘So, what now?’

He shuffled into the living room, where his cat, Violet, sat gracefully by the window, her luxurious fur on full display. Wightman beckoned her with his hand.

“Come here, Violet.”

But Violet simply stared at him with intelligent eyes, then turned her head away dismissively, as if aware that his mind was elsewhere.

Wightman sighed and rubbed his face. He feared that if he allowed himself to be consumed by the emptiness of the day, the desires he’d been suppressing would resurface.

‘I should go for a walk. No point staying cooped up here.’

He quickly got ready and left his apartment. He wandered through the streets, browsed novels in a small bookstore, and had a coffee in a quiet cafe, but nothing seemed to lift his spirits.

‘It’s to be expected. I was just momentarily unsettled by that strange kid. Nothing has actually changed.’

Sitting at an outdoor table at the cafe, Wightman stubbornly reiterated his resolve. He tried to read the book he’d just bought, but he barely made it through a few pages before his coffee went cold.

The boy he’d seen yesterday, and his drawing, kept replaying in his mind. The seemingly indifferent yet intense gaze. The delicate and precise, yet raw and untamed lines.

‘This is driving me crazy.’

He clicked his tongue and looked up from his book, his face contorting further as he saw the heavy rain pouring down outside.

At first, he waited for it to stop, but the downpour showed no signs of letting up. His restless mood persisted.

He decided he’d be better off at home, feeding Violet treats and stroking her fur. He got up and headed back to his apartment.

Like many New Yorkers, Wightman was accustomed to walking in the rain without an umbrella. But the rain, which he’d initially dismissed as insignificant, grew increasingly fierce. Within minutes, he was soaked to the bone.

“Damn it!”

He cursed as he missed his footing in a puddle while crossing the street. His shirt grew heavier with water, his pants and shoes soaked through. He was cold and clammy.

‘I shouldn’t have gone out. It’s just one of those days. I should’ve stayed home.’

All he wanted was to get back to his apartment, take a hot shower, and dry off. He reached into his pockets for his keys, but they weren’t there.

Panicked, he searched the paper bag containing his book and his back pockets, but to no avail. He remembered now. He’d almost grabbed his keys before leaving, but then he’d gone back inside to refill Violet’s water bowl and left without them.

‘This is just great.’

He pressed the buzzer repeatedly, but there was no answer. It seemed the concierge staff was off duty, probably due to the heavy rain and the building’s cleaning day. He was about to explode with frustration.

“Excuse me.”

A deep voice spoke from behind him, and a large hand suddenly appeared, inserting a key into the building’s entrance lock. Relieved at the prospect of getting inside, Wightman turned to see a tall Asian man opening the door.

‘Wait, isn’t that the guy Ms. Wood was talking about?’

Haley, in her fascination with Dawon, had apparently done some digging and had filled Wightman’s ears with gossip about the man Dawon lived with. She suspected he was controlling and manipulative.

Wightman didn’t usually care about other people’s relationships, but the man certainly had a formidable presence. He was surprisingly large for an Asian man, with an intimidating gaze, a stark contrast to Dawon’s delicate and seemingly fragile appearance.

“Did you forget your key?”

Startled by the man’s sudden question, Wightman realized he’d been silently judging him.

“I seem to have misplaced it. Thanks for letting me in.”

Disliking small talk, he would have left it at that and gone on his way, but he realized he had nowhere to go. The concierge desk was empty, so he couldn’t ask for a master key, and the residents’ lounge was closed.

“Would you like to borrow a towel?”

The man’s low voice startled him again. Sensing his wariness, the man added calmly,

“Professor Wightman, right? Dawon has told me about you. I’m Kim Taehan. I recently moved into the third floor.”

“…Ms. Wood has told me about you as well.”

“Ah, yes. Haley Wood. I met her recently at the gallery.”

At the mention of Haley, the man’s eyes crinkled in a smile. He seemed aware of Haley’s animosity towards him but unconcerned by it. Wightman wondered what this man did for a living.

He’d heard at the residents’ meeting that he was an investor, but even that seemed questionable. ‘Investment business’ was the kind of vague term people used to embellish their resumes.

His stern and somewhat suspicious demeanor, as if he were hiding something, seemed more befitting a mafia boss, as Haley had suggested, rather than a businessman.

“You must be cold standing out here. Why don’t you come up to my apartment and dry off? We don’t know when the staff will be back.”

Despite his suspicions, Wightman was shivering. He reluctantly nodded. As they walked towards the elevator, Taehan made an effort to be friendly.

“Dawon will be happy to see you. He’s painting right now. He was so impressed by your paintings at the Lumiere Gallery, he decided to use paints for the first time in a while.”

Wightman doubted Dawon would be happy to see him, but he was curious about the painting. When the elevator reached the third floor, Taehan left him at the entrance and returned with a large towel.

“Here. Will a towel be enough? Should I get you some clothes to change into? Or would you like to take a shower…?”

“Ah, no. A shower is not necessary. But do you have any old clothes I could borrow?”

He’d wanted to refuse the offer of clothes as well, but he was completely drenched. Taehan returned with a set of clean clothes and a laundry basket, gesturing towards a small sitting room near the entrance.

“These are Dawon’s, but they should fit you.”

Wightman changed awkwardly. He rarely had guests over or visited other people’s homes, and he certainly hadn’t expected to be changing clothes at a stranger’s apartment.

As Taehan had said, the clothes were new and crisp. As he buttoned the shirt, Wightman felt a sense of unease. He was surprised that Dawon’s clothes fit him so well. Come to think of it, Dawon always wore loose clothing, as if trying to hide his body.

The stereotype of Asian men controlling their partners’ attire flashed through his mind. He’d heard Haley talk about it so much that his imagination was running wild.

Shaking off the thought, he stepped out of the sitting room. Taehan was nowhere to be seen, and he found himself absently looking around the apartment. The newly decorated interior was neat and cozy.

His eye was drawn to a door adorned with a small bird ornament. As he lingered near it, a large shadow suddenly emerged from the hallway.

“You can’t go in there.”

“Oh, I’m, I’m sorry.”

Startled by the firm voice, Wightman apologized, his tone unusually meek. He stepped back and turned to see Dawon slowly emerging from behind Taehan. He was relieved to see a familiar face after feeling so tense.

“You really came.”

“Not intentionally. I locked myself out.”

“Anyway, it’s good timing. I have something I wanted to ask you. Can you come in here?”

Dawon led him towards a room that seemed to be his studio. Taehan, who had claimed Dawon would be pleased to see him, now wore an expression of undisguised displeasure as they entered the room.

‘What the hell. Is he really a control freak, like Haley said?’

Filled with suspicion, Professor Wightman entered Dawon’s studio, his brow furrowed. Dawon tilted his head, asking,

“Is something wrong?”

“No. It’s just…that room near the entrance, the one with the bird ornament on the door. I didn’t mean to pry, but I seem to have offended your…partner.”

Flustered, Wightman fumbled for an explanation. Dawon’s response was unexpected.

“Oh, that room? I’m not allowed in there either.”

A room in his own home that he couldn’t enter? How strange. Was that man forbidding him? Did he think he was Bluebeard? As Wightman puzzled over this, Dawon placed a canvas from his easel before him.

“Can you look at this painting?”

It was a painting of a single flower in a garden. A summer flower with yellow petals shading to dark amber towards the center, and black stamens. He’d thought Dawon was talented from his sketches, but the finished painting held an even stronger allure.

He could almost see the petals swaying gently in the breeze, the pollen’s delicate texture perfectly rendered. The level of detail and skill suggested years of experience.

Haley probably thought Dawon’s style was similar to Wightman’s, though she likely wouldn’t have said so directly for fear of upsetting the old painter in his slump. Wightman himself had thought so too.

But looking at the single flower standing tall amongst the foliage, he realized that Dawon’s painting was both similar to and completely different from his own.

Wightman had painted similar subjects many times, but his work always carried a pessimistic, cynical undertone, despite his aim to depict subjects objectively. Dawon’s painting, however, exuded a sense of hope and optimism that didn’t feel forced.

He was intrigued. He wondered what kind of paintings this boy would create as he grew older and experienced more of the world. And for the first time in a long time, he wondered if he himself were to pick up a brush again, would his perspective on the world remain as jaded and dark, or would something have changed?

A surge of passion coursed through him, and he felt compelled to offer some advice. He pointed to a section at the edge of a petal that remained unpainted.

“Why is this part left blank?”

“That’s actually what I wanted to ask you about. What color should I use?”

It was a surprisingly basic question for someone who could produce such a painting.

“It’s where the light hits, so you should use a bright yellow. Something with a bit of translucency. Cadmium yellow would be good. Don’t mix it with any other colors.”

“I thought so too. But I’m not allowed to use that color.”

Wightman frowned, confused.

“Not allowed? Who said so? Him?”

He gestured towards the door where Taehan had gone, and Dawon nodded. Wightman was shocked. Interfering with the colors he could use? That stern-faced man was definitely a control freak.

He felt he should do something, but he had no experience intervening in other people’s lives, let alone offering advice. Flustered, he finally managed to ask,

“That man, Taehan, was it? Are you having any problems…living with him?”

Dawon’s expression, serious as he’d been studying the painting, grew even graver.

“Problems… I guess… It’s just that I’ve been feeling a bit strange lately. It’s hard to explain…”

Dawon’s troubled response infuriated Wightman. ‘It’s not you who’s strange, it’s him! Don’t be afraid to ask for help!’ He was about to yell when the man in question knocked on the studio door.

“Professor Wightman. I’ve contacted the management office. They’re sending someone with a master key to open your door.”

His tone was polite, but there was an underlying dismissal. Moments ago, Wightman had been desperate to get home, but now, feeling unwelcome, he hesitated.

“Oh? Well then, these clothes…”

“You can keep them.”

“And my wet clothes…”

“I’ll wash them and return them to you.”

Feeling pressured, Wightman allowed himself to be ushered to the entrance. Taehan, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, opened the door and gestured outwards.

“Have a good day.”

He felt like an unwelcome guest who’d overstayed his welcome, despite having been invited in. As he stared at the closed door, Wightman’s thoughts were filled with concern for the young man trapped inside.

‘That man is definitely strange. I need to talk to Haley about this.’

Taehan was unpacking new deliveries from the department store in the baby’s room. Each item was small and adorable, guaranteed to bring a smile to anyone’s face, yet Taehan’s expression remained somber.

The reason was simple: Dawon seemed unhappy. Taehan’s sole purpose in life now was Dawon’s happiness. Dawon deserved to enjoy life, to learn and experience the best things it had to offer. Taehan was prepared to do whatever it took to make that happen.

That was his intention, but despite his resolve, he kept making mistakes. Worry, guilt, and a sense of inadequacy weighed heavily on him, darkening his expression.

‘Why did I do that?’

He’d been rude to Professor Wightman. He’d made the same mistake he’d made with Haley Wood. While firing Dawon’s tutors had been an embarrassing overreaction, those people were crucial to Dawon’s future.

Even though he knew logically that nothing would happen, he felt a surge of possessiveness whenever someone, male or female, Alpha or Omega, got close to Dawon. He was blinded by jealousy.

By now, Dawon must realize how inept Taehan was. He’d been withdrawn ever since Taehan had sent Professor Wightman away. Actually, Dawon had seemed unhappy since that morning.

‘Right. Last night was the real problem.’

The memory of the previous night filled him with a deep sense of unease. Though Dawon was acting as if nothing was wrong, Taehan was tormented by the thought that he might have triggered some of Dawon’s past trauma. What hurt him the most was the knowledge that he, too, had hurt Dawon.

The last time he held him, Taehan’s demeanor could only be described as agonizing. Fully aware of his transgressions, he was desperately suppressing his writhing desires. He didn’t want to risk shutting down Dawon’s heart, which had only just begun to open.

Every hug, every goodnight kiss, was a battle against the urge to lick, touch, spread, and penetrate that small body. He had gritted his teeth and endured, believing he could wait for the right moment.

‘What was the point of holding back? I’ve already ruined everything.’

The dark desires he had suppressed exploded last night. The sight of Dawon, inexplicably aroused, had driven him over the edge.

Knowing full well Dawon’s shame, he had stared at the glistening body, grabbed the hands that tried to cover it, and kissed him without restraint. He should have stopped there. But the moment their tongues touched, his reason crumbled completely.

He couldn’t clearly recall if his touch had been rough as he parted Dawon’s legs, or if he had laced his actions with unnecessary spite. By the time he came to his senses, the deed was done and Dawon’s eyes were rimmed with red.

The thought of forcing himself on Dawon, of nearly making him cry, blanketed Taehan’s mind in white. While his head quickly regained control and salvaged the situation, his shameless cock remained stubbornly erect throughout the night.

‘I should have made sure he had nothing to worry about today. Instead, I chased away the professor I brought for him.’

He couldn’t remember ever being so subservient to anyone. Desperate to appease Dawon, Taehan diligently studied books about Omega pregnancies. He researched and implemented everything he could to ensure the physical and mental well-being of a pregnant Omega.

He procured anything Dawon craved or that was considered healthy, and they visited the gallery together every day. He remembered reading that he should be supportive of the physical changes pregnancy brought, so whenever Dawon said things like, “I’m going to look funny with a belly,” or “Does this outfit look weird?”, Taehan would reply, “No, you’re beautiful.”

Just a moment ago, when Dawon had asked with a worried expression, “Don’t I smell?”, Taehan had answered “No” without a second’s hesitation. It wasn’t just flattery; Dawon smelled nothing but sweet and pleasant to him.

But perhaps due to the string of recent mistakes, despite his quick reassurance, Dawon’s expression had darkened. His lips had jutted out, and he’d retreated into his studio with a curt “I’m going to paint,” leaving Taehan no room to intervene.

‘Is he feeling better now? Should I go see him…?’

His mind still preoccupied, Taehan shoved the remaining boxes into a corner and left the nursery. He felt he needed to apologize for his mistakes. He paused outside the studio to compose himself, then knocked gently.

“Baby. Are you finished painting?”

There was no response. He hesitated, wondering if he should leave Dawon alone, but the approaching dinner time spurred him to knock again. Still silence.

It wasn’t just the lack of a verbal response; there seemed to be no sound at all from within. A sudden premonition gripped him, and he opened the door. The studio was empty. The sight of the vacant room sent Taehan’s heart plummeting.

He vividly remembered the despair of Dawon’s previous disappearance, the agonizing search that had yielded nothing.

“Baby. Where are you? Dawon!”

Pale-faced, Taehan hurried back down the hallway. Thankfully, he didn’t have to search long before he detected Dawon’s presence. A rustling sound came from the bedroom. He rushed towards it and flung open the door. The scene before him left him speechless.

“Oh, baby…”

For some reason, all of Taehan’s clothes from the closet were piled on the bed. Dawon was curled up on top of them, his eyes red-rimmed, just like last night.

Last night, when their eyes had met, Taehan had thought Dawon looked tearful. Now, he understood the true nature of that expression. The scent emanating from Dawon, the heated gaze, conveyed his arousal.

“Hng, h, Mister…”

His head spinning, Taehan froze. He knew if he approached now, he wouldn’t be able to control himself and would ravage Dawon. His brief hesitation seemed to distress Dawon, who, with a contorted expression, began to stammer out bewildering words.

“Why, why aren’t you touching me? Am I not good enough anymore? Is it because I don’t smell good?”

“What?”

“I, I…. Why haven’t you marked me? I’m, yours.”

“……What?”

The intensely stimulating scene robbed him of his sense of reality. Dawon buried his face in Taehan’s clothes, inhaling deeply, then writhed, his arousal intensifying.

“Haah, uh. I want to, I want you to do it. Do it to me.”

“…….”

“Here, you’re supposed to bite here. Bite me.”

The sight of Dawon’s hand fumbling at his own white nape shattered Taehan’s remaining restraint. Regret for his past actions, the intention to apologize, vanished completely. He strode towards the bed. Still oblivious to the charged atmosphere, Dawon continued to whine.

“I, I know what marking is, you know? Why, why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“…….”

“I want to, when I think about it. Hngh. I can’t stop thinking about it. It keeps, making me feel strange…”

“Baby, baby. Wait a minute…”

Only after Taehan spoke did Dawon stop and look at him. Jaw clenched, Taehan scooped up the scattered clothes and flung them across the room. A thick, potent pheromone, far more intense than what clung to the clothes, began to emanate from him.

“I, I need to take care of myself first… Otherwise, I’m going to be too rough with you.”

As Taehan tore off his own clothes and threw them aside, his engorged penis sprang up, hard and defiant. Its dark, menacing form and the potent scent it exuded were both alluring and intimidating.

Dawon blinked rapidly, eyes wide at the sight of Taehan’s body, a sight he hadn’t seen in a while. Taehan, gazing intently at Dawon’s adorable face, wrapped his hand around his cock.

Even in his current state of mind, the thought of hurting Dawon remained. He knew he had to release himself at least once beforehand, lest his excitement drive him to do something he’d regret.

“Haa, uh…”

As Taehan’s hand stroked up and down his cock, Dawon’s eyes darted nervously. He seemed flustered by his lover suddenly masturbating in front of him. Yet, his gaze remained fixed on Taehan with an almost obsessive intensity.

He watched, as if licking and savoring, the rippling muscles of Taehan’s arm, the stark veins on his lower abdomen, the tautly swollen penis, and even the sharp eyes that met Dawon’s with brazen directness.

Perhaps aroused by the sight of Taehan, the front of Dawon’s pajama pants was slightly damp and bulging, just like last night. Taehan, making no effort to hide his greedy expression, shifted his knee towards Dawon’s groin.

As if by accident, he subtly brushed against Dawon’s arousal with his knee, causing Dawon to writhe as if on the verge of orgasm. Taehan reached his own limit just as quickly. Watching Dawon tremble beneath him, he climaxed in an instant.

“Kuh…”

A thicker, whiter than usual semen gushed forth. He felt a sense of satisfaction at the sight of Dawon’s clean pajamas stained with his cum. Dawon gasped, seemingly embarrassed, yet subtly inhaled Taehan’s scent.

“Haa, baby.”

He felt a pang of frustration. Despite having come once, his heat hadn’t subsided; it continued to boil. Taehan’s hands, now even more insistent, reached for Dawon’s body. Even through the clothes, he could feel the vibrant warmth and trembling.

Dawon squirmed, as if even that thin layer of fabric was too constricting. Without a word, Taehan sensed Dawon’s desire mirrored his own. He ripped open Dawon’s shirt as if tearing off the buttons, and pulled down his pants and underwear in one swift motion.

Just as Dawon had done, he inhaled deeply, taking in his mate’s scent. Even weakened by the pregnancy, Dawon’s aroma captivated him completely.

“Hng, Mister, uh, uhhn…!”

Dawon’s cock, standing proudly erect and leaking precum, looked ready to erupt. Taehan wanted to engulf it, suck it until Dawon cried, but seeing Dawon’s already tearful expression, he restrained himself.

Instead, he began to stroke it with his hand. As he caressed the warm, hard flesh, Dawon thrashed pitifully before finally climaxing. The flushed skin was lovely, and the mingled scent of pheromones and semen was intoxicating.

Dawon, too, seemed unsatisfied with just one release. His half-lidded eyes, looking up at Taehan, continued to urge him on. Taehan carefully pulled Dawon’s reclining upper body closer, until it rested against his own.

The sight of the twitching little hole, the slick buttocks and perineum glistening with precum, all tempted him. Taehan’s cock, as if forgetting its recent climax, was already hard again.

He wanted to thrust into him right then and there, but he knew he had to prepare Dawon first. He swallowed hard and brought his fingers to Dawon’s entrance. Just the pressure of his fingers pressing against the opening caused Dawon’s lower abdomen to tremble. The hole quivered, exuding more slick fluid.

‘I can’t hurt him. Gently…’

Gritting his teeth, repeating this mantra, Taehan pushed his knuckle into the tightly closed opening. Though wet, it was tightly constricted from disuse.

The way it gripped even one finger so tightly made him fear he would draw blood if he tried to enter. Lube would have been helpful, but he hadn’t kept any in the house, fearing it would only fuel his own impulsive desires.

Hesitating, Taehan used his fingertip to gather the precum and spread it around the entrance. When the friction lessened, he slowly inserted another finger.

“Ugh, hngh…”

Dawon gasped in pain as his entrance stretched. Despite his small face contorting in discomfort, his eyes continued to plead with Taehan.

“Ah, hn, Mister. Just, ha, just, hurry…”

Taehan irritably pulled his fingers out of the still unprepared opening. He wanted to thrust inside more than anything, but he knew he could never forgive himself if he hurt Dawon again.

Torn between the need to prepare Dawon further and the overwhelming urge to devour him whole, Taehan arrived at a solution he never would have considered before.

He placed a pillow under Dawon’s lower back and gently lifted his knees. As Dawon’s hips rose, he closed his eyes in anticipation of penetration. But instead of his cock, Taehan brought his lips to Dawon’s entrance.

He knew Dawon would be startled if he realized what was happening, but the moment he inhaled the intoxicating scent up close, he couldn’t resist any longer. He extended his tongue and licked over the wet opening.

“Uh, ah, Mister…! Why, hn, uhhn…!”

As expected, Dawon began to struggle the moment his tongue made contact. But Taehan held Dawon’s thighs apart, refusing to retreat. He teased the entrance with the tip of his tongue, and when it opened slightly, he pushed inside.

“Ah, no. Hng, that’s dirty… Hee, uh…!”

Dawon whimpered, but the act didn’t feel dirty at all. Taehan was surprised at his own lack of aversion. He only felt the sweetness of the fluids and the aroma that gushed from within.

He pushed his tongue deep inside, then withdrew it, rubbing his lips against Dawon’s perineum. With his hands, he kneaded and pressed Dawon’s buttocks, then stroked and scratched. He found it endearing how Dawon’s inner thighs trembled with each touch.

“Haah, Mister. Hng, uhhn…”

Dawon’s whimpers gradually morphed into drawn-out moans. They were definitely closer to cries of pleasure than cries of pain. His tense entrance slowly relaxed, and with each movement of Taehan’s tongue, wet, yielding sounds filled the air.

“Haa…”

When Taehan finally lifted his face from between Dawon’s legs, his lips were glistening with fluids. Dawon turned his head away, as if unable to bear the sight, but his toes instinctively rubbed against Taehan’s thigh.

Resisting the urge to thrust his cock inside and ravage him, Taehan leaned down and supported Dawon’s back, carefully raising his upper body and positioning him to sit astride his thigh.

“Baby. Let’s do it…like this. So it won’t go too deep.”

Only after they were positioned facing each other, their lower bodies intertwined, did he remember that he had neither lube nor condoms. But they had come too far to stop now.

As their legs tangled together, both Taehan and Dawon instinctively began to rock their hips, rubbing against each other. Taehan wrapped his arms around Dawon’s waist, and Dawon naturally lifted himself slightly. The moment their tips touched, Dawon’s carefully prepared entrance yielded softly, accepting Taehan inside.

“Ha, ahhh…”

“Haa, good job, baby.”

The very feeling of being joined sent a light tremor through them both. Even fully prepared, Dawon was still tight, gripping Taehan completely.

Moreover, it had been a while since they had been intimate, and, to use Dawon’s words, this was their first time making love since they had become “a couple who loved each other.”

Though the pleasure was intense enough to bring him to the brink of orgasm, Taehan was more captivated by a strange, poignant emotion that filled his chest.

He hadn’t realized how blissful, how fulfilling and joyous, it could be to be joined with someone he loved. The mere fact of their connection made him feel like he possessed the whole world.

“Haa, Mister…”

Dawon whimpered, clinging to Taehan’s shoulders. Taehan stroked Dawon’s delicate back, gently thrusting his hips upward.

“Baby, haa, are you, alright?”

“Yes. Hng, it feels, uhhn, good.”

The slow rhythm of their joining and parting continued. Despite the unhurried pace, Taehan felt a dizzying pleasure. The sensation of filling that tight space, the feeling of the inner walls clinging to and releasing his cock, heightened the experience.

Dawon’s arousal was escalating just as quickly. Though Taehan tried to avoid deliberate stimulation, the sheer size of his engorged member filled Dawon completely, leaving no part untouched. Even the shallow movements seemed to rub against sensitive spots, causing Dawon to gasp.

“Haa, ha, Mister. Ah, what should I do. Already…”

Dawon’s precarious, breathy voice sent shivers down Taehan’s spine. As if spurred on, he quickened his pace.

The sound of wet flesh connecting and parting echoed repeatedly. Their breaths grew hotter, and Dawon’s fingertips, gripping Taehan’s back, dug in sharply. The moment of climax arrived quickly.

“Mister, ahh, I’m, hngh, I’m going to. Hng, I’m going to… haah!”

Dawon’s head snapped back, his small body trembling delicately. His lower body, still gripping Taehan, convulsed rapidly. The milking motion pushed Taehan over the edge as well.

Pulling Dawon’s waist flush against his own, burying himself as deeply as possible, Taehan came. A throbbing pleasure, so intense it made his head spin, washed over him.

“Uh, kuh…”

Having been deprived for so long, Taehan released an unprecedented amount of thick semen into Dawon, filling him to the point that Dawon’s already stretched walls seemed to swell even further.

“Haa…”

“Haa, haa.”

They exchanged heated breaths. Their intertwined lower bodies were a mess of sweat, fluids, and semen. The sticky, damp feeling wasn’t unpleasant at all. The afterglow was so intoxicating that neither could speak.

“Haaa, Mister.”

After a long moment of shared warmth and scent, Dawon called out sweetly. His body was limp, his voice languid.

But Taehan wasn’t ready to let him go yet. Not only was his feverish excitement still burning, but there was something he still needed to do.

“Yes, baby.”

He turned Dawon to face him. As they shifted positions, still connected, Taehan’s semen, which had filled Dawon to the brim, leaked out through the small gap between his cock and Dawon’s entrance.

Though Dawon’s entrance was still tightly clenched around him, the spilled semen made their skin slick, causing them to slip against each other. Dawon, who had seemed to have calmed down, began to gasp again at the renewed friction.

“Hng, hng… wait, uh, wai, wait…”

Holding him firmly, Taehan thrust his hips upwards.

“Uh, ugh!”

Having already climaxed once, Taehan’s body was beginning to slip beyond the control of his reason. It was inevitable; everything about the situation was fueling his arousal.

Dawon’s now prepared inner walls clung to his cock, soft and yielding, and Dawon’s small body, nestled perfectly in his arms, trembled with each thrust, his reactions endearing.

The sight of the whitish fluid clinging to his cock as he pulled back was unbearably arousing. It was a mixture of Taehan’s semen, Dawon’s fluids, and the froth created by their repeated movements, all combining to create a unique scent.

Lost in the overwhelming ecstasy, Taehan buried his face in Dawon’s neck, inhaling deeply. More than anything, he was driven by the anticipation of what he was about to do.

“Ah, hng, Mister. Mister…”

Dawon whimpered repeatedly, as if pleading for something. He flinched visibly when Taehan nuzzled his nose against his neck, and squirmed even more when Taehan’s lips followed.

“Mister. Bite me. Please? Hng, uh, quickly…”

The urging words sent a surge of desire through him. It was something Taehan longed for as well. Ever since he had realized his feelings for Dawon, he had been consumed by the desire to bite that pale, slender neck and bind Dawon to him forever.

He had refrained until now partly out of caution, but more importantly, because it was impossible. During pregnancy, hormonal changes prevented a mark from taking hold, even if an Alpha bit an Omega.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell the already self-conscious Dawon this truth. Since Dawon was so aroused he was begging to be bitten, Taehan decided to oblige, postponing the explanation.

A false marking. It was a ridiculous notion, but Taehan, his face devoid of humor, licked and nuzzled Dawon’s neck. Even knowing it wouldn’t take, he couldn’t help the rising heat in his body.

“Baby, Dawon.”

He whispered Dawon’s name, and Dawon placed his hand on Taehan’s arm, clinging to him. Feeling the warmth of that touch, Taehan sank his teeth into Dawon’s neck, hard enough to break the skin with his canines.

“Ah, ahhh…”

In that instant, Dawon climaxed again. Even if Dawon hadn’t reacted with trembling shudders, Taehan would have felt it. The same current flowed through their connected bodies. A blinding ecstasy spread through them both.

Licking the bead of blood that welled up on Dawon’s neck, Taehan felt a thrill even deeper than orgasm. The thought that one day he would truly be able to leave such a mark on Dawon made his heart race.

Wanting nothing more than to stay connected like this forever, Taehan tightened his embrace, rubbing his cheek against Dawon’s. He felt a dampness on Dawon’s face, perhaps tears.

“I love you, Mister. I love you…”

Dawon whispered with aching tenderness. Some words held an undeniable power, capable of gripping and shaking a person to their core. “I love you” was one of those phrases. And hearing it from the person he loved held even more power.

Dawon’s voice, confessing his love, was frail and delicate, yet at the same time, incredibly strong. Though it wasn’t the first time he’d heard those words, something swelled warmly within Taehan’s chest.

Until now, he had believed his hesitation stemmed solely from consideration for Dawon. But now he realized that a part of him hadn’t fully trusted Dawon’s love.

He had been plagued by anxieties: Would Dawon be happy by his side? Would he regret his choice? Dawon’s presence in his life felt like a dream, and he hadn’t dared to hope for even greater happiness.

“I love you too, baby. So, so much…”

He vowed to stop doubting. To accept everything Dawon offered without reservation. To love him with all his might, every single moment.

Whispering sweet nothings, he grasped Dawon’s hips and shifted their joined bodies slightly. Dawon, thinking Taehan was about to withdraw, tried to push his hips forward. But Taehan had no intention of stopping. In fact, he felt like this was just the beginning.

Before Dawon could escape, Taehan grasped both his ankles and rolled him onto his back. Simultaneously, he lowered the arm that had been supporting Dawon’s back, so that Dawon now lay flat on the bed, facing him.

They were still connected, the fullness inside Dawon undiminished. Fueled by his overflowing love, Taehan swelled even larger inside Dawon.

“Mister…?”

Dawon’s eyes widened in confusion, but the runaway train had already left the station. Taehan lifted Dawon’s ankles one by one to his shoulders, kissing his feet and the tops of his feet, his overwhelming love and lust on full display.

Dawon instinctively squirmed, sensing danger. But Taehan’s large hand gripped his waist tightly, pulling him closer. At the same time, Taehan arched his back, then slammed back against Dawon.

“Uhhn…! Ah, Mister.”

Though trembling with the sharp jolt of pleasure, Dawon couldn’t hide his bewildered expression. He seemed to be desperately searching for a way to stop Taehan.

But Taehan, blinded by love, saw nothing. He simply held his beloved close, pouring out his fervent love.

“Yes. Dawon. I, haa, love you too.”

“No, that’s, not, haah, ahhn…!”

Dawon shook his head in alarm, but soon he could only release high-pitched moans, overwhelmed by the love and passion that enveloped him.

That night, or rather, until the following morning, the sounds of feverish moans and the bed creaking as if about to break echoed continuously from the bedroom of the newlywed couple who had moved into Graham Place a month prior.

Professor Wightman and Haley Wood sat in the Graham Place residents’ lounge with grave expressions. Professor Wightman, his characteristically nervous eyes narrowed, muttered,

“I don’t think he’s coming.”

“Ha… Do you think he’ll come tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? Don’t be so complacent. This is an emergency. He came here every day.”

“But, the lounge was closed yesterday, so maybe he’s taking another day off today as well.”

“No. You should have seen the look in that big guy’s eyes when he kicked me out yesterday. He definitely suspected something.”

They were waiting for Dawon. After visiting Dawon’s home, Professor Wightman had immediately contacted Haley. They had agreed that Taehan was suspicious and decided to help Dawon in any way they could.

They had planned to talk to Dawon calmly, but no matter how long they waited in the lounge, he didn’t appear. There was no sign of him even as evening approached, the time Dawon usually returned home.

“Well, he did seem like a sharp guy. Bad boys usually are.”

“That’s right. I’m worried about how timid that little guy looked yesterday. The big one seemed furious when I left. What if he did something to the little guy…?”

Their imaginations ran wild, conjuring up frightening words like confinement and assault. Unable to bear it any longer, Haley blurted out,

“Let’s just go to his house! You know the address.”

“Now? Me?”

Professor Wightman was not the type to barge into someone’s home uninvited. He was more likely to cancel an invitation at the last minute, even if he had been invited.

“I’ll go with you. We’re Dawon’s friends.”

“Friends? What kind of friendship can there be between a milk-smelling brat and an old geezer like me?”

“You said you two talked about art yesterday. Aren’t all artists friends?”

Professor Wightman pretended to be disgusted, but he seemed intrigued. Having reached an agreement, they set off for Dawon’s home.

They rang the doorbell with trepidation, but there was no response for a long time. Just as they were convinced something was wrong, the door finally opened. Dawon, looking tired, greeted them.

“Oh, Haley. Professor Wightman. What brings you here?”

“Dawon. You were home. We were worried because you didn’t come to the lounge. The professor wanted to talk to you more about art. Right, Professor?”

Nudged by Haley, Professor Wightman nodded. Dawon hesitantly ushered them inside.

“Come in. Uh. Should I offer you some tea? My husband is out, so I don’t know where the guest teacups are…”

“Mr. Kim Taehan, where did he go?”

Haley’s question made Dawon look even more uncomfortable.

“Uh… He’s not far. He went to see his doctor.”

“His doctor? Is he sick?”

“He’s sick, not you?”

“Well, I’m really fine, but my husband thought I would get sick because of him. So he said he would go see the doctor by himself…”

As Haley scrutinized Dawon, she noticed a bruise-like mark on his neck, where his shirt was buttoned all the way up. Startled, she took his hand and saw what looked like finger marks from a tight grip on his wrist. Haley gasped dramatically.

“Oh my god. What did that brute do! Dawon. He’s abusing you, isn’t he?”

“You have to be honest about this sort of thing. We can help you.”

“Huh? I don’t understand what you mean.”

Sadly, Dawon merely tilted his head, seemingly heavily gaslighted.

“That man, he’s controlling you, isn’t he? He won’t let you see anyone, or go anywhere without him. Telling you what to wear is one thing, but interfering with the colors you use in your paintings is a serious problem.”

“That’s right. Does it make sense that there are rooms in your own house you can’t enter? Don’t twist our words and think about it carefully. People our age develop good judgment. That man is very calculating, always scheming, and seems like the type who will stop at nothing to get what he wants!”

Just then, they heard the front door open. Professor Wightman and Haley, who had been badmouthing Taehan, jumped and turned around.

“What’s going on here?”

It was the man in question, Taehan. As expected, he looked at Haley and Professor Wightman as if they were his sworn enemies. Professor Wightman was flustered, but Haley, much braver, clenched her fists and retorted,

“We were talking to Dawon. We’re his friends. Everyone has the right to meet and talk with their friends.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Actually, we were talking about you. Mr. Taehan, Dawon is an adult. Even if you’re married, is it right to interfere with every single thing he does? Especially when you refuse to mark him, yet try to control his life…”

“Um, Haley.”

Dawon, who had been listening, interrupted Haley’s impassioned speech.

“I don’t understand what you mean by the other things, but it can’t be helped that we’re not marked.”

“Huh?”

“I’m pregnant. They say you can’t be marked when you’re pregnant.”

“Oh, pregnant. Wait, what? Uh… what?”

Haley and Professor Wightman stared at Dawon in astonishment. While male Omegas often don’t show much, this was completely unexpected. It instantly explained why Dawon always wore loose, concealing clothing.

Taehan walked past the dumbfounded pair and approached Dawon. Dawon’s face lit up at the sight of the cupcake box in Taehan’s hand, and Taehan, with a familiar gesture, stroked Dawon’s hair.

They gazed at each other, murmuring incomprehensible words, presumably Korean. Stripped of their preconceptions, the scene was simply a couple sharing a moment. It was strange to see such tenderness in the eyes of the intimidating man, and a shy blush coloring Dawon’s usually indifferent face.

As if prompted by Taehan, Dawon bowed slightly to Haley and Professor Wightman, then retreated to the bedroom, clutching the cupcake box with evident delight. Taehan, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he watched Dawon go, turned abruptly to face his uninvited guests, his expression changing instantly.

“Now, would you care to explain why you’re here?”

With a cold but polite demeanor, Taehan led them to the living room and served them tea. Caught red-handed, Haley broke out in a cold sweat. But she also felt a sense of injustice. She had been the first to suspect Taehan, but it was Professor Wightman who had cemented their misguided conclusions.

Her suspicions had been based on speculation, or could have been attributed to the behavior of a slightly jealous Alpha. However, the information Professor Wightman had uncovered painted a picture of a controlling, almost paranoid husband.

She glared at Professor Wightman, urging him to salvage the situation. He, looking dazed, muttered, “So that’s why he wouldn’t let him use Cadmium Yellow. Because of the pregnancy.” Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he looked up at Taehan and asked,

“What was that room, anyway? The one with the bird decorations on the door. Dawon said he wasn’t allowed in there, why…?”

“That’s the nursery. We’re decorating it, but Dawon doesn’t want to know the baby’s gender yet.”

That was a perfectly reasonable explanation. Fearing they would be judged guilty, Haley risked another question.

“Then, why did you go to see the doctor today? Dawon said you had to see a doctor because you’d hurt him.”

“Ah, well. A-hem. I, um, overdid it a bit last night…”

Taehan’s uncharacteristic blush made the situation clear. Embarrassment aside, this confirmed Haley and Professor Wightman’s guilt completely. Cornered, Haley put her exceptional networking skills to use, forcing a bright smile and chattering nervously,

“Oh, right. The baby! Hohoho. Congratulations, I should have said that sooner. You’re both so handsome, I’m sure the baby will be absolutely beautiful. If you’re planning a gender reveal party, I’d love to help. And the baby shower too! I’m very close friends with the most famous party planner in New York.”

“Thank you. I’ll consider it.”

Taehan’s expression, which had momentarily softened, returned to its usual unreadable mask. Haley felt increasingly trapped. Almost desperately, she searched for something to offset her rudeness.

“Oh, you asked why we came today? I wanted to talk more about the tutoring I mentioned earlier. Dawon is preparing for art school, right? I can help him with other subjects, and Professor Wightman offered to mentor him with his art.”

Taehan’s eyes narrowed, a thoughtful expression on his face, as if considering the enticing offer. It was understandable. Professor Wightman was a giant in the contemporary art world, a tenured NYU professor, currently on sabbatical. The opportunity to study under him was priceless, even with money.

“Really?”

Taehan’s question shifted the focus to Professor Wightman. Haley, who had made the offer without consulting him, nudged him insistently, urging him to play along. But Professor Wightman was not one to be coerced into saying things he didn’t mean.

‘Teach art… huh.’

He had stopped painting a long time ago. He loathed tedious tasks and had even quit his job because he was tired of teaching youngsters. Yet, despite the unexpected, unconsulted proposal, Professor Wightman’s heart pounded in his chest.

He briefly recalled the sketch of the garden, the bright yellow petals, and the intelligent eyes that seemed to pierce through their subject. To his own surprise, Professor Wightman readily nodded.

“Of course. Dawon is exceptionally talented. Teaching him would be a great inspiration for me as well. There’s no reason to refuse.”

Professor Wightman wasn’t one for flattery. The fact that he had spoken so naturally suggested that, perhaps unknowingly, he had harbored such feelings for Dawon all along.

While Taehan’s smile was expected, the sight of Haley beside him, her expression not just satisfied but almost overwhelmed with gratitude, suggested that perhaps Professor Wightman had been manipulated by the younger generation’s schemes.

But it didn’t matter. His heart felt light, as if he had emerged from a long tunnel, and his fingertips tingled pleasantly. For the first time in five years and six months since he had put down his brush, Professor Wightman felt the urge to paint again.

As Dawon finished his third cupcake and reached for a fourth, the baby in his belly gave a strong kick. It wasn’t just his imagination; the baby was unusually active today.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that this was happening the day after particularly passionate sex. Dawon sighed softly. He didn’t usually talk to the baby much, but today, he felt compelled to offer an explanation, driven by guilt.

“You know, baby. Adults… they do things… It’s hard to explain, but the doctor said it’s okay… so please understand. Okay?”

As he patted his belly, the baby responded with another kick in the same spot, as if answering him. He marveled at the feeling of communication, when a knock interrupted him, and Taehan entered the room.

“Where are the two of them?”

“They left.”

“Really? I should have gone out to say goodbye.”

“It’s okay. You shouldn’t overexert yourself.”

Taehan sat beside Dawon as carefully as if he were handling a glass figurine. It was a stark contrast to the way he had ravenously devoured Dawon throughout last night and into the morning.

“Although… I was the one who overexerted myself the most.”

Dawon found his self-awareness amusing. He looked up, intending to glare at Taehan, but their eyes met, and he burst out laughing.

He couldn’t bring himself to scold Taehan, imagining him visiting the doctor and asking embarrassing questions like, “We had very intense sex, will the mother be okay?”

“Well, the doctor said it’s okay. What did I tell you? I said you didn’t need to ask.”

“He still told me to be careful next time.”

“Next time, I won’t be so impatient. I didn’t even know we couldn’t… because you’re not marked.”

Still not used to such intimate conversations, Dawon blushed again. Taehan chuckled, finding him adorable, and conceded,

“That’s right. And I didn’t tell you beforehand either. I was wrong again, wasn’t I?”

“Exactly! Ahem. But, did they say anything else? They seemed to have some strange misunderstandings.”

Dawon had already heard them laughing in the living room before Taehan returned, so he knew the conversation had ended amicably. He asked simply to change the subject, embarrassed by the previous topic.

“Oh, it’s fine. That part is all sorted out. Haley Wood will be tutoring you starting next week. And Professor Wightman agreed to mentor your art.”

“Really?”

Dawon’s already flushed face brightened even further at the unexpected offer, his delight evident.

“He’s going to teach me how to paint?”

“He said there’s probably not much to teach. Just… he’ll give me advice if he notices anything while we’re working together.”

Dawon’s eyes sparkled like stars. He’d even set aside his half-eaten box of cupcakes, which he usually devoured in one sitting, completely absorbed in Taehan’s story.

“You’re that happy?”

“Yeah. He paints amazing pictures. And I’ve never properly learned art, so I’m curious what it would be like to learn from someone like him.”

“Well, he is an NYU professor. Haley said it would be good for you to get your high school diploma and prepare a portfolio while she tutors you, so you can formally study at a university.”

“University… Do I really have to go to university? The thought of taking classes in English gives me a headache.”

“It’s not like we’re going right away. There’s plenty of time to prepare. The baby has to be born first. And, Dawon.”

Taehan looked at Dawon with intense eyes.

“You can live your life however you want. If you don’t want to paint, you don’t have to. If you prefer painting just for yourself, that’s fine too. But if that’s not what you truly want… I want you to live a life where you can fully utilize your talent. You were born with such a remarkable gift, but you’ve been deprived of everything you deserved.”

The seriousness of his tone, reminiscent of the day they reunited, made Dawon feel strangely shy. He knew Taehan was more serious about his future than he was himself. Dawon simply painted because he enjoyed it, but Taehan seemed to be considering so much more.

“I don’t know. Like you said, there’s plenty of time, so I’ll think about it. I might not even be able to get my high school diploma, I’m not good at studying.”

“Right, right.”

Taehan nodded casually. He had the expression of someone who says “right,” but inwardly thinks, “There’s no way that will happen.” Dawon pouted and picked up the cupcake box again.

“And even if I go to university, it doesn’t mean I’ll become a great artist like Mr. Wightman. I heard at a gallery the other day that art isn’t just about who paints the best. Connections, critiques, trends… those things are important too.”

“Right, that’s true.”

Taehan nodded, his tone identical to before. Dawon, chewing on a pumpkin cream cupcake, suddenly felt a sense of unease. Even with Taehan’s unwavering belief in his talent, it was strange for him to respond with such certainty to this statement.

Though it had happened unexpectedly, Dawon was now being mentored by a master of contemporary art and had befriended the owner of a prestigious gallery in Chelsea. Even if his skills hadn’t changed, his circumstances certainly had. But had it really happened unexpectedly?

Dawon recalled Professor Wightman’s description of Taehan: “A very calculating man, always scheming, and seems like the type who will stop at nothing to get what he wants.” An old man’s insight couldn’t be dismissed.

“Mister, by any chance…”

“Yes?”

“Did we move into this apartment… because Professor Wightman lives here?”

Taehan smiled enigmatically, wiping a smudge of cream from Dawon’s lips. That smile alone caused several pieces to fall into place in Dawon’s mind.

Gwangwoo’s comment about Taehan being extremely picky about their new home in New York, and the way Taehan had scrutinized the Graham Place resident list even before their departure.

And most importantly, he remembered that it was Taehan who had suggested he sketch the courtyard garden visible from the lounge, shortly after they moved in, praising its beauty.

‘Wow, that Mister.’

Dawon’s poker skills stemmed not only from his exceptional memory but also from his ability to calculate past hands and future possibilities. He was confident in his ability to strategize, but it seemed he had unwittingly wandered into a game Taehan had already set up.

He wasn’t upset. It wasn’t like anyone was being harmed, and Taehan had done it all for him. However, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of competitive spirit.

“Mister. Want to play poker with me sometime?”

“Poker?”

“Yeah. You know the rules, right?”

At Dawon’s innocent question, Taehan chuckled, then tilted his head.

“But is it good for the baby?”

Oops. The baby. He’d certainly not been thinking about prenatal care when he was hustling Professor Wightman and his cronies in the residents’ lounge. As Dawon rolled his eyes, he felt another kick from within.

“He said it’s okay, just now.”

Dawon said cheekily, pointing to his belly. Taehan responded playfully,

“Maybe he kicked you because he doesn’t like the idea.”

“No way! He likes me better. We’re together all the time.”

As they bantered back and forth, Taehan suddenly wrapped his arms around Dawon’s waist and whispered in his ear,

“Dawon. If you say things like that, I’m going to start getting jealous of the baby. What should I do?”

Here we go again. If jealousy were a disease, Taehan had a chronic case. Dawon, determined to glare at him this time, narrowed his eyes, but the moment their gazes locked, he burst out laughing. Facing each other, they smiled radiantly, as bright as the New York summer sun.