Page 49 of Hamartia
He downs his rye and then he’s gone. I lift my glass and do the same. Then grab the bottle and take it with me to the bedroom, sipping as I go.
The bed is freshly made, different sheets to what I saw last night. I move to turn the lamps on, and wander towards the window to stare out at the city below.
He wants me to fuck him. I agreed.
Now it feels like I’m just waiting here, like some kind of gigolo, to service him. The thought shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does. I should probably be googling ‘how to fuck a guy’ while he showers because I’m still certain I’ve no clue how to go about this, where to start. I’ve thought about it a lot, but that isn’t the same. One night when I was particularly wasted, I’d even ventured so far as to watch some gay porn. I’d gotten four minutes in before I’d had to turn it off. Not disgusted, just not particularly turned on either. There’s a part of me that thinks maybe once we get down to it, the actual bread and butter act of it, my body will refuse to do it. Like it’s gonna know it’s not programmed that way and that will be that.
But I mean, I’ve done anal, and that’s what it is at its core, right? I’ve already had his cock in my mouth and that’s the same kind of hurdle as this. A hurdle I made, cleanly. I made him come. If all else fails maybe I can just do that again? Otherwise I’m gonna need to learn real fucking fast.
I’d learned guitar in about eight months. This couldn’t be much harder than guitar, surely? Except, I don’t have eight months to learn how to do this. I don’t have hours alone in my bedroom making mistake after mistake in order to master this. I likely have about eight seconds of Lee Jaehyun on all fours in front of me before I blow my load all over his fucking ass.
And what if there’s something entirely innate to sex with a guy that I don’t know? What if I do it, or don’t do it and I fucking hurt him or something? Or what if it’s just the worst sex he’s ever had and he spends the rest of his life cringing over it? The thought of either of those realities makes me want to bolt. Or throw up. Or both.
This is the most important performance of my life, and my body knows it.
I turn to bolt for the bathroom and find him standing at the bedroom door watching me. Towel wrapped around his slender hips and his hair dripping wet onto his chest. All thoughts leave my head, and the need to throw up my Shake Shack from earlier disintegrates as I focus on staying upright. Because my knees almost buckle from how good he looks.
It’s crazy that he’s real,I think again. That he’s made of the same matter that I am. That beneath all that flawless skin he’s just blood and muscle and bone like I am. And I get to have him. He wants me to have him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, dude,” I say. “Like, it’s seriously fucking distracting.”
His cool expression cracks, and he smiles. It’s fucking breath-taking. “You’re so fucking American.Dude.”
“You don’t likedude? I can find something else to call you.” I move toward him slowly. “What else would you call me?”
I study him as I get closer. His lean body and sharp elegant features, his high cheekbones and pretty mouth. Then I think about how he moves. Graceful and fluid. Precise and smooth. I almost don’t say it because it’s too fucking cheesy. But then I think about how he might smile at me if I do and so I can’t not say it.
“Kitten?”
He laughs loud. This fucking beautiful musical thing that bubbles out of his throat and makes his eyes almost close. “Kitten,” he repeats. “It is ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well, I’m ridiculous.”
His eyes turn serious. “No, you’re not ridiculous. You are…” He thinks about it, hard, as I hold my breath and wait. “Teug-ihan, nollaun.Unusual. Surprising.”
“I really hope that’s a good thing in Korea,” I smile.
His face is soft as he reaches out to take the bottle from my hand, warm fingers grazing mine gently. He doesn’t look away from me as he drinks. I watch his throat move as he swallows, feeling every single nerve of my body come alive. I’m aware of everything. My eyelashes, the soles of my feet, my fingernails, every inch of skin buzzing with awareness.
Jae lowers the bottle and leans in. Our height different seems more noticeable then, as he stretches up on his toes to press our mouths together. The sweet burn of the rye stings my lips and tongue, but his are there to soothe it away. He does that thing where he licks into my mouth, then kisses around my lips, tender presses of his mouth above and below, before sucking on my lip. I reach a hand up and hold the back of his damp head, pressing our lips harder together. He smells of whatever expensive shower gel he used, sweet and spicy, and tastes like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. Like heaven probably. The wet kiss turns heavy quickly, tongues and teeth and lips, and though I can feel the wetness of his body start to soak through my t-shirt and jeans I couldn’t care less, because my body is hot. So fucking hot.
He pulls back so that we’re just panting into each other’s mouths. I want to lick the water still dripping down his cheeks from his hair, and so I do. Reaching in to catch it on my tongue, licking up towards his temple. Then towards his ear. And he purrs. Actually fucking purrs. My dick, half way there, goes rock hard in the same instant.
I pull back to look down at him. His eyes are closed but he blinks them open and looks up at me, lust-drunk.
“I want you so fucking much,” I tell him.
He licks his lips. “I want you too, Raphael.”
“Will you show me? Show me how to make you feel good?”
Something so fucking fond moves into his eyes, a small smile tugging the side of his perfect fucking mouth. “Yes. I will show you.”
My thumb stroking close to his mouth, I lean in to kiss him again. Slow this time. Soft. The inside of his mouth is so warm. Wet and soft and hot and it’s driving me insane thinking about how his body is gonna feel around my cock. The groan leaves my mouth and melts into his.
He pulls back and gives me a look of intent before moving towards the bed. He sets the bottle down and unwraps himself from the dark towel. I can only gape at the full sight of him, uncovered, bare as the day he was born. Wide-ish shoulders, sculpted back, small waist, round ass leading down into lean muscular thighs. Miles of pale smooth skin. I think of that marble sculpture of David again.
He takes his time removing the rings from his fingers and setting them on a ceramic bowl thing on the bedside before he pulls open the drawer. He retrieves the bottle of fragrant oil and climbs onto the bed to settle his body upright against the headboard, legs spread. His cock is pink and hard and lying flat against his toned stomach.