Rating/Warning : M (I guess?) for implied . Implied Haehyuk. and there will be no on this chapter.

Inspired by "Don't Wake Up' from the album Devil

Don’t Wake Me Up

Hyukjae woke up to fingers lightly running up and down his back. He sighed in contentment and turned around slowly. Donghae greeted him with a small smile; his fingers had moved to caress Hyukjae’s pale neck and clavicle.

Donghae’s eyes were so full of love, Hyukjae immediately understood. It was one of those days.

Once in a while, Donghae would demand that they stay in bed, work be damned. He liked to spend it not talking at all. Instead he would shower Hyukjae with love that dripped from every pore of his body. He’d let his fingers ran across Hyukjae’s skin, palms pressed up against sensitive spots, while his eyes worshipped Hyukjae and his lips and tongue trace the constellations of mole on the pale skin.

On days like these, Hyukjae would reach for his phone, sent a text to his secretary stating that he won’t be available all day long and turned the device off and placed it inside the drawer of the night stand. Kyuhyun had worked for him long enough to understand what the text meant.

On days like these, Hyukjae would also keep his silence. He would lie on the bed, prone and docile under Donghae’s ministrations. He’d let Donghae rubbed the sole of his feet against his leg, let Donghae bit that bit of skin on his waist where the words ‘Hyuk + Hae’ was tattooed in black ink. He’d let Donghae left purplish mark on his favorite places; on his nape, the spot just below his left clavicle, near the mole on his back and the insides of his thigh where Donghae’s fingers would rest whenever he spread Hyukjae’s legs apart.

Sometimes Donghae would softly sang the lyrics of their wedding song to Hyukjae’s ear, or whispered some lines from one of the many love poems he wrote for Hyukjae. Other times he would chant Hyukjae’s name onto the stretch of skin between Hyukjae’s belly button and his manhood. More often than not, Donghae would rub his nose against the angular jawline before running his fingers through Hyukjae’s hairs, pulling lightly at the soft strands before dipping down to kiss the corner of Hyukjae’s lips.

Donghae was a hopeless romantic, a talented writer and a great painter, though the last one wasn’t known to anyone else. He painted secretly inside their closed bedroom. Love was his paint. His fingers, mouth, tongue and eyes were his brush. Hyukjae’s heart and skin were his canvas. He would swipe gentle across Hyukjae’s cheeks, dip his brush into Hyukjae’s navel, dotted heart shaped devotions to the small of Hyukjae’s back, drag bold lines across Hyukjae’s forearms with his fingernails. Behind his closed eyelids, Hyukjae could clearly see the multitude of colors that Donghae bathed him in.

On days like these, Donghae didn’t want to have . He just wanted to explore Hyukjae’s body, reacquainting himself with the many secrets and wonders Hyukjae’s lean frame had in store for him, dripping and swirling his emotions into a tangled web of soft flittering touches and whispered endearments, creating yet another masterpiece only the two of them could see. And that was enough for them; it was more than enough for them.

When he was satisfied with his newest work of art, Donghae would lie flushed against Hyukjae’s body, his head buried on the crook of Hyukjae’s neck and he’d whispered softly. “If this is a dream, don’t wake me up.”