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The world beyond the window was still trapped in thick darkness, the silence beginning to feel oppressive. Beneath the heavy blanket, Gawin’s body tensed, caught between the cold stillness and the burning turmoil inside him. He hadn’t woken because of any noise, but because of a throbbing sensation spreading from his chest—a massive pressure that felt like a slab of heated stone forced beneath his skin. His breath caught at the base of his throat, short and uneven, as he tried to keep it steady enough not to make the bed creak.
Gawin tilted his face slightly, looking at his husband who was still asleep beside him. The soft sound of Wayar’s breathing was the only melody in the room, a quiet sign of how exhausted he was after a long day. Gawin’s trembling fingers lifted for a moment, wanting to touch that solid shoulder and whisper about the pain he was in—but he stopped himself. He knew how much Wayar needed the rest, and he didn’t want to become another burden in what little remained of the quiet night.
With what strength he had left, he slipped out from the warmth of the bed. Dragging his steps, Gawin made his way to the bathroom connected to their bedroom, seeking refuge behind the tightly closed door. In the damp, cool space, he turned on the shower, letting warm steam slowly fill the room. He stood beneath the water for a long while, allowing the heat to wrap around his tired shoulders. His slender fingers lifted, attempting small, circular massages over his swollen chest. He kept trying, pressing with quiet hope, even as every touch sent sharp pain radiating deep into his nerves. Nothing. There was no relief—only that same pressure, as if it were locked tightly inside him.
Weak steps carried him out of the bathroom, his body still damp. Gawin glanced back toward the bed, seeing his husband still unmoving in deep sleep. He then slipped into a mint green linen shirt, loose enough to conceal his discomfort, before carefully stepping out of the room.
He paused briefly in front of the nursery door. Opening it just slightly, he peeked through the narrow gap. In the dim glow of the nightlight, he could see the chubby figure of his son sleeping soundly, just like his father. For a moment, Gawin hoped the little one might already be awake and wanting to feed—something that would ease the tightness in his chest. But when his eyes flicked to the clock on the corridor wall, its hands still pointing to an hour far too early, he held himself back. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb Guinzly’s peaceful sleep just to relieve his own discomfort.
Instead of returning to bed to lie there and endure the pain, Gawin chose to head toward the kitchen. Even though dawn was still far off and the morning air cut sharply to the bone, he decided to start preparing breakfast. Keeping his hands and mind busy at the stove might help distract him from the heat building inside him now—one that had begun to seep through, dampening the thin linen fabric clinging to his body.
✧✧✧
The kitchen light, glowing in a soft yellow hue, became the only source of warmth daring to push back the lingering darkness outside. Gawin moved almost silently between the cold marble counters, pulling out simple ingredients from the refrigerator. The faint clink of a spatula against the pan echoed like a heartbeat through the still-sleeping house. The aroma of sautéing onions slowly filled the air, blending with the rising steam from the water he had set to boil for Wayar’s coffee.
Every movement of Gawin’s arms triggered a sharper pulse of pain. Several times, he had to pause, squeezing his eyes shut as he leaned his weight against the edge of the counter. His breathing remained heavy, and the mint green linen over his chest had darkened slightly, dampened by a leak that wouldn’t stop. Still, he forced his hands to keep moving—chopping vegetables slowly, flipping eggs—trying to lose himself in the routine.
“Hey, Love? Why are you already up? It’s still really early.”
The low, rough voice of someone freshly awake broke the silence, making Gawin flinch so hard he nearly dropped the knife in his hand. At the kitchen doorway, Wayar stood, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He was still in his T-shirt and long pajama pants, the casual look doing nothing to hide the broad shoulders Gawin usually leaned on.
Gawin didn’t turn right away. He took a short breath, trying to swallow the pain before glancing back with a forced smile. “I just couldn’t go back to sleep. Thought I’d make breakfast instead.”
Wayar stepped closer, his footsteps silent against the wooden floor. He stopped right behind Gawin, close enough for Gawin to feel the warmth radiating from his body. Wayar didn’t answer immediately; he simply watched Gawin’s unusual movements before slowly wrapping an arm around his waist.
“You don’t usually cook this early,” Wayar murmured, resting his chin on Gawin’s shoulder. He inhaled the faint scent of fresh soap—but something felt off. Gawin’s body was stiff, not as relaxed as usual. “Why do you feel so warm?”
Gawin tensed. His heart pounded, afraid Wayar would notice the dampness beneath his shirt. “I’m fine,” he replied softly, gently trying to pull away to turn off the stove. “Go sit. I’ll make your coffee, okay?”
Wayar didn’t let him go. Instead, his large hand held Gawin’s shoulder, turning him so they faced each other. “Look at me first,” he said, his voice still gentle but more serious now.
Gawin had no choice but to look up, meeting his husband’s gaze, now filled with quiet scrutiny. The kitchen light revealed Gawin’s pale expression and the cold sweat forming along his temples. Under Wayar’s sharp gaze, the walls Gawin had built since dawn began to crack.
He tried to look away, but Wayar’s fingers settled under his chin, holding him in place with a firm gentleness. In the tightening silence of the kitchen, the sound of water boiling violently inside the electric kettle felt like the only heartbeat left.
“What’s wrong, Love? Are you sick?” Wayar asked quietly, his voice laced with unmistakable concern. He could feel Gawin’s uneven breathing, the faint tremor running through his tense shoulders.
Gawin’s face flushed deeply, the heat spreading to his ears. He lowered his head as far as he could, letting strands of his hair fall to hide his eyes, now wet with tears that finally slipped free. His tongue felt heavy, but the growing, unbearable pressure forced the truth past his trembling lips.
“It hurts..” The words came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper swallowed by restrained sobs. “It really hurts..”
Wayar leaned closer, studying Gawin’s tired, glassy eyes. His thumb brushed away the tears on Gawin’s cheek, and when he spoke again, his voice was deeper, softer. “Where does it hurt, Love? Show me.”
Gawin could only point weakly to a spot beneath his linen shirt, his finger trembling violently. Even that slight touch was enough to make his body jolt.
His fingers tightened around the hem of his mint green shirt, unable to imagine the expression on his husband’s face. “I didn’t want to wake you.. but it’s so tight—feels like it’s going to burst.”
Hearing his husband’s strained admission—so unlike someone usually so composed and rarely one to voice discomfort—Wayar’s gaze softened instantly, filled with empathy and a deep sense of guilt. He took Gawin’s cold, damp hand into his own, holding it tightly as if trying to pass some of his strength into him.
With slow, careful steps, Wayar guided Gawin toward the dining table near the kitchen. Gawin followed weakly, already assuming Wayar would sit him down and prepare the breast pump. But he was completely wrong. Instead, Wayar pulled out one of the heavy wooden chairs and sat down calmly. Then, with a firm yet very careful tug at Gawin’s waist, he brought his husband down to sit on his lap.
Gawin jolted, both hands reflexively bracing against Wayar’s shoulders to steady himself in such an intimate position. His eyes widened when he saw Wayar crossing his hands at the hem of his T-shirt. There was a slow, masculine ease in the movement as he pulled the fabric over his head, revealing his broad chest and defined abdomen under the soft dining room light.
“W–Why are you taking your shirt off?” Gawin asked, his voice trembling—confused and panicked at the sight of his husband now bare-chested in front of him.
Wayar didn’t answer with anything poetic. He only gave a small, calm smile as his fingers moved to the top button of Gawin’s linen shirt. “Don’t want it getting soaked with your milk..” he said casually, his voice low and rough, vibrating through the quiet morning air. “..and while Guinzly’s still asleep, I’ll drink first.”
The silence in the kitchen thickened, leaving only the sound of Gawin’s unsteady breathing as Wayar’s fingers moved to the next button of his loose shirt. The dining light cast shadows of those movements across Wayar’s firm chest, creating a contrast that made Gawin’s nerves spiral further.
“W–Wait, Wayar..” Gawin whispered shakily, his trembling hand trying to stop his husband’s wrist—but his strength seemed to vanish. His body jolted sharply, breath catching, when the back of Wayar’s hand brushed against the sensitive surface of his chest, sending a surge of pain mixed with a sharp, electric sensation through his nerves.
Wayar continued without rushing. There was an almost cruel patience in the way he ignored Gawin’s weak resistance and finished the last button. When the mint green linen finally fell open and slipped from Gawin’s shoulders, the cool dining room air immediately touched his overheated skin. Wayar paused for a moment, his sharp gaze taking in the sight before him.
Gawin’s chest was visibly swollen, the skin stretched tight and almost glossy under the light, flushed with a clear redness of inflammation. Pale droplets had already soaked through the fabric and now trailed slowly over his skin. The sight was striking—painfully real, yet fragile in its beauty.
Wayar drew in a slow breath, a faint, teasing grin forming on his lips, laced with affection. “Look at this.. you’re completely soaked,” he murmured, his voice low, stirring the air between them. “Next time, just wake me up, Love. You don’t have to carry something this heavy on your own. I’d be more than happy to be woken up for.. this.”
Gawin’s face flushed deeply, and he buried it in the curve of Wayar’s neck, unable to meet his gaze. Wayar moved immediately, not giving that embarrassment room to grow.
One of his hands circled Gawin’s waist, rubbing in slow, soothing motions, while his head lowered. Without further warning, his warm lips closed around one of Gawin’s hardened nipples.
“Ngh—!” Gawin jerked violently, his head snapping back, his mouth falling open as a stifled sound escaped him, thick with shock. Wayar’s pull was strong and deep—far more forceful than the gentle suckling of their child. He seemed like a man who had just found water in the middle of a desert, drawing in every drop of warmth with desperate hunger.
“Ah—Wayar.. i–it hurts..” Gawin whimpered softly, but the sound quickly broke into a trembling breath as the hardened, painful pressure began to be drawn out.
The sensation was agonizing and relieving all at once. Wayar’s other hand rose to Gawin’s chest, kneading the neglected side. He pressed into the hardened tissue with just the right pressure, helping the blocked flow release. Gawin clutched at Wayar’s shoulder, his nails digging into his skin as the sharp pain slowly melted into a numbing comfort.
“Aah—ahh..” Gawin let out a hoarse sound as Wayar sucked harder, draining the pressure that had been driving him nearly insane.
Each strong pull from Wayar gradually reduced the overwhelming tightness in his chest. The burning heat faded, replaced by a deep pulling sensation that made Gawin’s whole body tremble in his lap. He could only let out broken breaths, surrendering as his husband quenched that urgent need, the pain dissolving into a pleasure that rippled through every nerve.
The quiet of dawn was now filled with the sound of deep, heavy sucking. Wayar seemed to lose what little restraint he had left; he was no longer just helping relieve the pain, but had become something consumed by every drop of warmth flowing from his husband’s body. His movements grew stronger, rhythmic and greedy, sending shivers racing up Gawin’s spine.
The flow became heavier, more than Wayar could swallow at once. The warm white liquid began to slip from the corners of his lips, trailing slowly down his jaw before dripping onto Gawin’s flushed chest. Gawin could only stare down weakly, watching his husband suck harder, his movements growing more unrestrained by the second.
“W–Wayar.. slow down..” Gawin whimpered, his voice nearly swallowed by his broken breaths. His fingers tangled into Wayar’s hair, tugging lightly—only to be met with an even stronger pull.
What had once been hard as stone had now softened completely, leaving behind an overwhelming sensitivity. Sensing that one side had eased enough, Wayar pulled back briefly, revealing his chin and lips slick with warm, sweet milk. Without giving Gawin a moment to breathe, he shifted immediately, closing his lips around the other untouched nipple—still tight and heavily swollen.
“Ngh—ahh!” Gawin let out a sharp, soft cry as the sudden contact struck straight through his nerves.
One of Wayar’s hands, still resting at Gawin’s waist, tightened its grip around his hip—more possessive now, keeping him firmly seated in his lap. His other hand worked at Gawin’s chest, kneading more boldly, pressing into the remaining tension trapped inside. The liquid spilled in small bursts, coating Wayar’s fingers, the quiet room filled with the soft, wet sounds of it.
Gawin felt like his world was spinning. The burning pain had fully melted into something intoxicating. Every time Wayar sucked harder, his body would jolt, his legs trembling violently at the sides of the chair, toes curling uncontrollably. The overflow kept spilling, pooling between their chests, the warm, sweet scent filling the air around them.
Wayar had completely lost the line between helping and indulgence. He fed greedily, letting the warmth spill across his own chest and down onto Gawin’s sensitive skin. His focus was absolute—driven to drain every last bit of pain, turning each pulse of suffering into a drawn-out string of breathless sounds. Gawin squeezed his eyes shut, his back arching helplessly as Wayar continued, pulling them both deeper into that overwhelming relief.
There was no sign of Wayar stopping. If anything, his rhythm only grew deeper, more consuming—as if he wanted to draw everything out of Gawin completely. The wet sounds echoed faintly against the kitchen walls, wearing down what little restraint Gawin had left.
Gawin shuddered hard when Wayar’s tongue brushed over the sensitive area before sucking again with force. His body trembled, caught between weakness and tension all at once. He could feel the hardened pressure inside him finally breaking apart, replaced by a spreading warmth that traveled lower, igniting something unexpected.
“W–Wayar.. ahh..” Gawin breathed out, his head now falling weakly against his husband’s shoulder.
Wayar pulled away for a moment, watching how flushed and slick Gawin’s skin had become. There was a sharp, consuming hunger—tinged with something almost playful—in his gaze as he pinched the sensitive peak between his fingers, applying just enough pressure—rolling it slightly in a slow, teasing motion.
“Ngh—!” Gawin jerked, his back arching instantly as a small spurt escaped, dampening Wayar’s fingers and bare chest.
The sudden sensation made Gawin tremble uncontrollably. What had started as pain had now dissolved into something purely overwhelming. Wayar treated him like an endless source, something he had no intention of letting go. A low chuckle slipped from Wayar, his voice rough, deep, and dangerously enticing.
“Making this much of a mess, hm?” he murmured, tongue brushing the corner of his lips before his gaze lifted back to Gawin’s dazed expression. “Did you do this on purpose.. so I wouldn’t stop?”
Gawin couldn’t answer. His body did it for him—trembling harder, breaths growing more uneven. The embarrassment that once held him back faded, replaced by the need for more of that contact. Wayar’s hand pressed into his chest again, drawing out an even heavier flow.
Wayar went back without hesitation, taking him in again with the same greedy intensity until Gawin let out a long, helpless sound. It felt like everything inside him was being drained away—yet he wanted more.
Wayar’s lap remained steady beneath him while Gawin felt like he might fall apart. His fingers clutched at Wayar’s dark hair, letting his body respond instinctively to every pull and every firm, grounding touch. The growing warmth, the scent thick in the air, made him let out small, restless sounds as he pressed himself down more firmly against Wayar, overwhelmed by something he could no longer contain.
He pushed Wayar’s head, urging him closer, deeper—his movements pleading without words for it not to stop.
Gawin had completely lost himself. The pain that once consumed him had vanished, replaced by a burning, restless need that spread through every inch of his body. Wayar’s relentless rhythm only fed it further, making his breathing grow heavier, more desperate.
A broken sound finally slipped from his throat when Wayar applied firmer pressure, drawing another sharp reaction from him. His fingers, once tangled in Wayar’s hair, shifted restlessly—sliding down along his neck, then settling over the arm that held him so tightly in place.
“Wayar.. ahh—nghh..” Gawin whimpered hoarsely, his own voice sounding unfamiliar to his ears—thick with longing and surrender.
He guided Wayar’s large hand from his hip, urging it lower. Gawin pressed his husband’s warm palm until it settled over the tense curve of his ass. His breath hitched as he pushed Wayar’s hand to squeeze, pressing himself deeper into that touch.
Wayar didn’t refuse. He broke the suction for a moment, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His fingers went to work immediately—gripping and kneading with firm, hungry intent—drawing a long, helpless exhale from Gawin as his eyes squeezed shut.
“So you want more than just being emptied, huh?” Wayar murmured low, his voice vibrating close to Gawin’s chest, which still pulsed with warmth under the pressure of his other hand.
Gawin could only answer with a weak shake of his head and a soft, rising whine. He pushed Wayar’s head back to his chest, as if afraid that if the pull stopped, everything would vanish with it. The white overflow now soaked across both of them, slick between their bodies as Wayar’s hands continued to knead and work his sensitive skin in a rhythm that grew harder to control.
The kitchen—once the most ordinary place in the house—had turned into a silent witness to Gawin’s complete surrender. He let himself fall apart in his husband’s hold, giving in to every pull, every grip, every draw that made this dawn burn brighter than the sun yet to rise.
Gawin grew bolder in his surrender. The heat coiling low in his body sent any remaining sense scattering. He guided Wayar’s hand again—this time forcing it past the thin fabric of his shorts, pressing those fingers directly against the sensitive skin beneath.
Wayar answered with a low sound pressed against Gawin’s chest. His hand now moved freely, kneading without barrier, gripping with a force that made Gawin jolt again and again. His fingers began to drift lower, teasing dangerously close to where the tension gathered, while his mouth never left Gawin, still drawing out that relentless release.
“Ngh—Wayar.. ahh..” Gawin whimpered, head tipped back, eyes shut tight.
Just as Wayar was about to push further—and Gawin hovered on the edge of losing himself completely—a loud cry shattered the quiet of dawn. It came from the nursery, sharp and insistent.
Gawin jolted as if torn out of a deep dream. His eyes snapped open, pupils trembling as awareness crashed back in. The racing in his chest shifted instantly—from heat to pure, instinctive panic.
“W–Wayar, wait..” Gawin gasped, pushing weakly at his husband’s shoulders. “Guinzly—Guinzly’s awake..”
Wayar stilled, his breathing still heavy, lips slick and damp. Reluctance flickered across his face, but the cries only grew louder, demanding attention.
Gawin tried to climb off his lap, movements clumsy, legs still weak and shaking. He nearly stumbled, catching himself against the edge of the table to steady his balance.
Gawin's face burned—shame clashing with urgency. He grabbed his soaked linen shirt, throwing it back on without bothering to button it. Hair disheveled, body still trembling, he didn’t stop to fix anything—he rushed toward the nursery, nearly tripping over himself in the hallway.
Wayar was left behind in the quiet, disordered kitchen. He slumped back against the wooden chair, bare chest exposed to the cold morning air, breath still uneven as he tried to come down from what had been cut off too soon.
One hand dragged through his hair in frustration. His gaze fixed on the nursery door at the end of the hall. A faint, heated smirk tugged at his lips despite it all.
There was one thing he couldn’t deny this morning—no matter how much he tried to claim Gawin, there was one rival he would never beat.
Guinzly.