Page 97 of Hamartia
“Are you trying to get us arrested in a foreign country?” I ask against his lips.
“Mmm,” he says. “Maybe.”
We kiss for what feels like hours, our breathing turning fast and shallow, teeth and lips sliding over each other, hungry and then lazy, fast and then slowing down. I’m fully hard by the time he separates our mouths to lift his head and look down at me. Eyes scanning my face.
“What happened here?” he asks in a roughened tone, lips wet and red from kissing me. The tips of his fingers skim over the bone of my cheek circling towards the bridge of my nose.
“Can we talk about it later?” I turn my head to kiss his fingers and Jae nods, though doesn’t look away from the bruise for a long moment. Then he sighs and presses his head into my shoulder, snuggling.
“Fuck, I really missed you.”
“My hole?” He smiles against my neck, voice like honey. “Or something else.”
“All of you. I missed it all.”
I grip him tight to me, an ache deep in my chest that feels like a lot more than just lust, just desire.
I can only stand and stare out at the view in front of me, mouth open and eyes wide.
Jae’s apartment in New York was nice. Spacious and stylish. But this is something else altogether. For a start, it’s on the 28thfloor of what has to be one of the tallest buildings in the city. I’m looking down at other skyscrapers from here. I can see their helipads, for fuck sake. The huge open aspect lounge looks out onto a river, the clustered buildings of the city framed by mountains in the farther distance behind it. Boats move slow down the wide expanse of water that appears to cut through the center of Seoul, restaurants and bars dotted along the riverbank.
As we were driven toward Seoul, he’d sent a link to my phone for an app that he told me to install. Then he’d taken my phone, typed something into the app, scanned his fingerprint, and told me to hold it to the small white box on the door to his apartment. I could only blink and nod, dumbstruck. The car had pulled up in the circular promenade of a group of modern towers made of glass and chrome, the frontage more like a five star hotel than an apartment block.
“I will be home around 7 p.m. Hopefully earlier.” Jae looked apologetic.
“No worries, I told you, I can entertain myself.” I still had to get him a Christmas gift, so that was first on my list. I had been working on a gift of sorts for a few weeks, but I wanted to give him something I could watch him unwrap. “I’m sure you’ve a lingerie drawer I can jerk off over or something.”
His laugh had been low and embarrassed. When he leaned in to kiss me goodbye I’d felt the outline of something half hard between his legs. It made me grip him a little tighter.
“See you later,” he said. “If you have any issues with the door, call me.”
I hadn’t had any issues. The app had worked for the lift and the door both and now I was standing in his condo, which had to be worth upwards of $10 million easy.
At one side of the lounge is an open wood and chrome kitchen which looks unused, a small library that doubles as a dining area with a solid table that seats ten. Between the window and a wall holding a moderate sized TV, there’s a wide sliding door to another room. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to find behind it, but it isn’t a large mirrored space the same size as the kitchen and lounge combined that must be his dance studio? Curtains drape from the tall wall of windows, white and sheer, and it hits me—it’s the room from the video I must have watched a hundred times or more. I walk to one end and pull up the video in question on my phone and hold it at the right angle, smiling when I see I’m right.
Back out, I wander a few other rooms; a small office, a gaming room, a small-ish bedroom. I open another door, a utility room of sorts, and feel a slight pressure against my ankle. The cat is small and short-haired, pure white with big blue eyes that peer up at me in question. Crouching down, I reach out a hand to let it sniff my fingers, which it does. It’s not wearing a collar, but I remember his name.
“Hey buddy. It’s Shiro, right? I’m Rapha,” I say, letting him bump his nose on my knuckles. He purrs softly so I count it as a win. “Which one of these is your dad’s bedroom, huh? Do you sleep with him in there? Lucky lucky, Shiro.”
There are two more doors I haven’t opened and one is a huge bathroom, half-egg bathtub and dark grey tiles. Double shower on the other side. The last door, at the very end of the long hallway is a paneled sliding door, Japanese style, which glides open so smoothly I wonder if it’s on water.
Jackpot.
Jae’s bedroom is sunken, a few steps leading down from the door into the large calming space. The sunken floor should give the room a higher ceiling but it looks like it’s been artificially lowered; a warm wooden slatted thing that carries through the shelving and bed frame. More books on low shelves that run along the bottom of the bed and above the headboard. There are a lot of plants in here. Dotted around on shelves and above the bed. Some on the floor next to unhung art which leans purposely against white walls.
As I come down the steps into the bedroom, Shiro makes a soft noise behind me. He’s sitting on the top step watching, big eyed and curious. To my right is an entrance to what looks like his closet.
A look inside has my mouth falling open again. It looks like a designer store in here. Camille has a closet in our house, but this is insane. It’s pristine. Shirts coordinated by color, jeans too, sweaters of the softest-looking material folded in rows. Shoes and boots polished and lined up on shelves. Sneakers below—of which there are considerably few pairs—looking brand new. Jackets and coats, all immaculately pressed.
In the center of the room is a display cabinet with watches and jewelry laid out in shiny twinkling rows. It’s frighteningly organized, almost compulsive. But some part of me also finds it incredibly…hot. Like, it tracks. Of course, he has a closet that looks like this. Out there he wears clothes like armor. Never a hair or stray eyelash out of place. Never a crease in sight. Never a step or note missed. It’s clinical in here. Like the way he performs is clinical. There’s a practiced sort of perfection to everything Jae does.
Something goes off in my brain looking at this closet and it’s the understanding that this,this, is why watching him come apart under me is so fucking fascinating. Why watching him covered in sweat and come is so insanely hot. I feel myself getting turned on just thinking about it. I shake it off and go to inspect the jewelry stand in the center.
He owns a lot of it. Both silver and gold, both simple and extremely decorative, feminine and masculine. Earrings, rings, necklaces, bracelets, a dozen watches at least, jeweled pins and silk scarves with gems sown into them. There’s a dressing table too with make up; brand names Camille used to use, others I haven’t heard of. Women’s perfume and men’s cologne are arranged neatly on a small trolley next to it. At the end of the closet is a door leading into another bathroom. This one is all white marble, no bath, just a shower. More plants and products laid out neatly around the sink.
Since the other bathroom looked a lot less used, I decide to sit my shower bag and toiletries in here. Then I take a shower, wash the flight off, dress in clean sweats and t-shirt before having a look in his fridge for something resembling a snack. I find a cupboard full of all kinds of ramen and some beer in the fridge and I take both to the sofa and bring up Netflix, shoving some anime on until I feel my eyes turn heavy. Shiro comes up at some point, tiptoeing along the back of the sofa to peer at me for a bit before finding a spot close to my feet.
I wake up to the sound of Jae’s voice, low and quiet, so that I think at first it’s a dream, but when I blink around he’s in the kitchen with Shiro in his arms and is kissing him softly on the nose. He’s talking in soft Korean to the white cat that stretches his head up to nose at Jae’s face. Jae’s hair is wet and pushed back—the silver darker than it had been in the car earlier—and he’s wearing dark pajama pants and his usual relaxing attire of a long sleeved t-shirt at least three sizes too big. He sets the cat down on the floor in front of a small white box that makes a gentle beeping noise and opens before dropping some kibble into the tray below. As Shiro eats, he goes to the fridge and opens it, stares, then closes it again a moment later.