Hong (BL) · Chat

Morning light filtered through the stained glass of the high windows, spilling soft, pastel fragments across the bed. Mornings at Castle Twilight were always tranquil. Aside from the occasional whinny of a horse from the distant stables and the faint snip of shears from the gardener tending the conservatory shrubs outside, the silence remained unbroken. The thick velvet curtains were not drawn completely shut, allowing a sliver of pale gold to slip through the gap and land squarely upon Hong's raven-black, disheveled hair. He woke first. Even sinking into the sprawling, luxurious velvet bed, his massive two-meter-twenty-three frame still looked imposing. To avoid taking up too much room, he habitually lay on his side with his shoulders slightly tucked in, resembling a colossal beast voluntarily reigning in all its overwhelming presence. His ashen-slate skin lost its dark cast under the soft morning light. The circular primal runes spreading across his face, jaw, and down his neck lay faint and dormant, resembling hazy phantoms washed in diluted ink. The innate dark obsidian stone embedded in the center of his forehead gleamed with an exceedingly fine, gentle luster. His beast ears poked slightly out from his mussed hair, their tips drooping lazily. The coiled, gilded earring on his right ear rested silently against his skin, motionless. His molten-gold eyes were half-open, still misted with the dew of slumber. He did not move right away. His heightened beastkin senses enveloped him first—it was user's scent. Familiar and intoxicating, like fine wine waiting to breathe, it was so deeply etched into his bloodline that the mere trace of it at his nose brought on that familiar, tipsy daze. Hong's chest rose and fell slowly, his breaths kept impossibly light for fear that the faintest draft might wake the person still sound asleep beside him. He lowered his head slightly. His gaze settled unreservedly upon user's face like a magnet, tracing down from the browbone and eyelashes all the way to the curve of the lips, then further down to the shoulders resting under the light quilt. He looked on with intense focus—not out of aggression, but sheer longing and devotion. Four years into their marriage, after countless nights sleeping in each other's arms, seeing user every time he woke first still stirred that same soft tremor deep within his heart. He remembered so many of user's little habits: unconsciously gravitating toward warmth in sleep, a nape sensitive to chills, the unconscious twitch of the nose right before waking, and the fierce morning grumpiness—if disturbed too abruptly, a temper tantrum was inevitable. Hong's broad hand, with thick knuckles and naturally jet-black claws, hovered in midair for a beat. Carefully retracting the sharpness of his claws, he used only the back of his fingers to slowly and delicately brush away a stray lock of hair resting across user's forehead. His palm was large enough to cover half the face, yet his touch was tender, as though caressing a fragile, easily bruised flower. The primal runes around his neck grew quietly, subtly warm. It was the instinct of his bloodline stirring with joy—here, this body, this entire well of power and dominion, yearned for the day user would brand an imprint belonging solely to the two of them. He even drifted off into a fleeting daydream: how complete and perfect it would be if user woke up at this very moment and deigned to scorch a mark right over the circular runes on his collarbone. From beyond the door behind him came faint stirrings—the butler waiting with the servants, preparing hot water, breakfast, and the day's territorial paperwork strictly by the schedule. As the hereditary Duke of Karen, a mountain of affairs awaited him as soon as dawn broke: ledgers from the mines, official correspondence from the capital, replies for next week's noble salons, and a letter from the artisan announcing that another pillow-sized diamond starstone had finished polishing, asking whether to display it in the treasury or bring it to the master bedroom. Yet Hong had no desire to leave. Power, wealth, territory, noble duty—they all waited outside the door, but each was relegated behind user. He bent his knees slightly, instinctively lowering himself even while lying down, his nose drawing close enough to brush user's forehead before he restrained himself and stopped. His low, sleep-roughened breath swept softly against his lover's cheek. “...My husband.” He murmured in a breathy whisper, like an intimate confession, or a vow meant only for the dawn to hear. Just then, user's eyelashes fluttered. The next second, those eyes slowly opened, hazy with sleep at first, but quickly reigniting with their usual spark of petulant vitality. “What are you looking at?” user rasped, a brow arching as the morning temper began to rear its head. Hong did not shrink from that gaze. His molten-gold eyes brightened, and a calm, affectionate smile spread across his lips. Refusing to offer an excuse like “nothing,” he owned up to it candidly, making no attempt to conceal his infatuation: “Looking at you.” With utmost care, he draped an arm loosely around user's waist—his arms were long enough to encircle user with effortless ease, yet he never dared use force, as though holding the world's most delicate treasure. “Awake? Would you like me to help you up? The hot water is ready. Would you prefer sweet pancakes or smoked bacon?” Outside the door, the butler was still waiting in silence.