Divorce Contract C40(NSFW)

Chapter 40(NSFW)

“What else… needs to be prepared?”

Seated at the dining table, Go Igyeol stirred the beef and radish soup before him and asked shyly. He hoped it wouldn’t sound like he was too curious, though it probably did. His cheeks warmed, and he rubbed them lightly, letting out a small cough.

Kwon Heekang quickly stir-fried marinated bulgogi over the hot flame, sprinkled a generous amount of sesame seeds on top, set it down before him, and then took the seat opposite.

“For now, you’ll need baby clothes and handkerchiefs. Since male omegas don’t produce milk, you’ll need a breast pump, formula, bottles, a sterilizer, that sort of thing. And shouldn’t a nursery be set up too? A crib, maybe even a babysitter. Young people these days arrange for that in advance, I’ve heard. Haven’t you talked it over with the executive director?”

“…Not yet.”

The longer Heekang spoke, the more Igyeol’s face filled with dismay. He hadn’t realized such things were necessary. But thinking more realistically, even if he gave birth, he wouldn’t be raising the child, so weren’t all these items meaningless?

“Baby undershirts and handkerchiefs should be washed well in advance. You wouldn’t believe how small and precious they are. My niece just had a baby, so I often stop by after work. That tiny thing makes such adorable gestures that it makes me not want to leave.”

“…Baby undershirt?”

“The very first clothes you put on a newborn. About the size of a palm—maybe a little larger. They’re so cute, just seeing them makes you happy, even when it’s not your child.”

Heekang’s broad smile showed how much joy the thought gave him. He said he couldn’t even imagine how beautiful Igyeol’s baby would be, especially if the child resembled the two of them. He even added that he felt more excited than anyone, leaving Igyeol to simply smile faintly in silence.

“It really won’t be long now. Once you prepare the baby clothes, let me know. I’ll handle the washing.”

Baby undershirt—the very first garment a newborn wears. Surely he could at least prepare that much? If he asked, perhaps Seo Dohyeon would allow it? Even if he gave birth and was never permitted to see the child again, surely they would let the baby wear something he had prepared.

“The baby will be born soon. Please, speak with the executive director about it.”

As Heekang slid the dish piled with meat toward him, Igyeol bowed his head in thanks, his face unreadable.

Lately, Dohyeon came home late more often. When Heekang left at four, Igyeol was alone from then until night. Not long ago, he would have retreated to the bedroom as soon as Heekang left, but because Dohyeon’s return was delayed, he now spent longer hours in the living room.

It was summer, the days long. At six o’clock, the sun still blazed as if it were midday. These hours of solitude were his only peace, when he could truly relax. Sprawled across the sofa, his gaze followed the rustling leaves in the occasional breeze until his eyelids drooped and, at last, closed. He did not open them again.

As dusk sank and darkness settled, only the steady sound of his breathing filled the quiet living room. Near nine o’clock, Dohyeon returned from work. A faint smell of alcohol clung to him as he approached, sitting carelessly on the table to look down at Igyeol’s sleeping face.

Aside from his thinner frame, aside from his swollen belly, he looked the same. Perhaps Dohyeon had grown used to his gauntness, seeing and holding him daily. He couldn’t discern the change from yesterday to today.

Unconsciously, Dohyeon reached out. His fingers smoothed the furrowed brow as if easing a bad dream. Igyeol’s lashes lifted slowly, drowsy eyes appearing. They remained hazy, as though still trapped in a dream. Dohyeon’s hand lingered, sliding from his brows down to cup his cheek. Igyeol’s head tilted, leaning into that palm.

“Why did you do it.”

“….”

The damp murmur came from Igyeol’s lips, and his eyes drifted shut again. The gentle hand had seemed like a dream, but the reproachful voice told him this was reality.

“The baby…”

“You still want to say it’s mine?”

“….”

His voice broke and then stopped. He already knew that even if he said otherwise, Dohyeon would not believe him. Instead of pleading again that it was his child, he shook his head.

“It’s not your baby, Dohyeon. It isn’t. I don’t think it is.”

“….”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”

“At last… you’ve spoken honestly.”

At the confession, Dohyeon felt strangely hollow. He couldn’t hide the bitterness. His palm left the hollowed cheek, and Igyeol sat upright. His unwavering stare became unbearable, and Igyeol averted his eyes, then rose to his feet. But before he could leave, his wrist was seized.

“Where are you going? The night is long.”

The low voice made Igyeol grimace. The grip on his wrist tightened, promising another bruise. With his free hand, he covered his face and exhaled shakily.

“…Just… I want to ask something. When you do this to me… does it make you feel better, even a little?”

“My feelings?”

“….”

“No. They’re the same. Every day is still shit, just as much as before.”

Dohyeon yanked him back, forcing him onto the sofa, and stripped off the loose pajamas. His gaze fixed on the round belly, swollen with life, and the darkened nipples that had enlarged in preparation for birth.

“This isn’t for me to feel better. It’s to make your heart crumble, Igyeol.”

“….”

“What we do isn’t sex. Every time I show you what I’m doing to you, it looks like your heart breaks a little more.”

His damp breath reeked of alcohol as he gripped the fragile shoulders, dragging him down beneath him.

“That’s why I ruin you every night.”

“….”

“Do it properly. Unless you want to be torn again.”

His long fingers tapped at Igyeol’s lips. Trembling, Igyeol wrapped his arms protectively around his belly and opened his mouth. At that moment, movement stirred from within—the baby. Why now, of all times? Or perhaps it was a relief, the child reassuring him it was still there.

His expression froze briefly, then he closed his eyes and took Dohyeon’s cock into his mouth. Just as he had said, it was the beginning of another long night. With him drunk, climax would be delayed, making tonight even harsher, more grueling. Igyeol clenched his lips tightly, hoping to bring it quickly to an end, stroking the thick shaft with both hands.

Wet, obscene sounds filled the room as he shallowly took it in, then deeper, bit by bit. Still, Dohyeon grew impatient, pressing down on the back of his head, forcing himself into his throat.

“Ugh… kehk, cough—hhk…!”

Igyeol gagged, spittle stringing from his lips, but opened his mouth again. The slick head pushed past his lips once more, and this time Dohyeon gripped the base himself, pumping.

“Open your mouth. Stick out your tongue. I’ll finish there.”

The squelch of skin on skin and the crude rhythm drew Igyeol’s unwilling gaze downward. He obeyed, opening his mouth and extending his tongue. Dohyeon’s hand moved faster, harder, until with a groan, he spilled across his face. The hot, sticky seed clung to his eyelids, nose, philtrum, and tongue.

“It suits you—filthy as you are.”

Long fingers scooped the mess from his chin and pushed it between his lips. At the command, Igyeol swallowed blindly, sticky liquid burning down his throat.

If only it ended there. But he knew better. When he turned onto his stomach to avoid the still-hard length, laughter came from behind.

“Look at you. Now you even know to lie down on your own. Once, you flushed with shame—you mean to say that was all an act?”