The Loneliest Place to Be (1/2)
Title: The Loneliest Place to Be
Pairing: Kaisoo
Genre: friendswithbenefits!au, sliceoflife!au
Rating: Hard R
Length: 13,800 words
Summary: On a business trip to promote his new book, Kyungsoo discovers that no-strings-attached is no longer a possibility.
Warnings: Sex, open relationships, bad poetry
Notes: The idea was sparked by this video. I love the sound and the vibe of it, and the lyrics kind of match the story <3 Title taken from a Lang Leav poem: “Sometimes the loneliest place to be is in love.”
The woman at reception smiles with her entire face. “Welcome to Manila.” She’s pretty, and her English is perfect. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us, sir. Please don’t hesitate to dial the front desk if you need anything.”
Kyungsoo takes the sleeve of keycards she holds out to him, dipping his head out of habit. “Thank you very much,” he replies, tongue thick over unfamiliar vowels and consonants. “Good night.”
This is the fanciest hotel Joonmyun has ever booked him into. High ceilings drip with crystal overhead, and marble whispers beneath Kyungsoo’s feet as a personal butler leads him to the elevators. He never thought it could be like this-certainly not when he was starting out. That he, Do Kyungsoo, jobbing writer-turned-Internet poet, would be touring Asia on the backs of his words.
Good thing his editor had taken a chance on the Tumblr generation.
The butler is pressed into a sleek black suit and has the professional bearing of a grown man. But his hair is trendy-an Instagrammable coif-and that’s what gives his age away. Twenty-three, maybe twenty-four at most. Right in Kyungsoo’s readership.
“Excuse me, sir,” the young man says as the elevator rises to the twentieth floor, where the executive suites are. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m a big fan.”
“Oh, wow.” Kyungsoo forgets, once again, not to bow. “Have you gotten a chance to read the new book?”
“Certain Secret Things.” The butler nods. His nametag reads Paolo. “I’m halfway through it and loving it so far. The title, too.”
“Thank you.” Kyungsoo’s expression turns sheepish. He’s not great with compliments. “I hope the other half doesn’t disappoint.”
The butler shakes his head, congenial to a fault. “Not at all, sir. You’re very good. My girlfriend thinks so, too, and she works at a magazine.” His eyes brighten with a sudden realization. “She’s attending your event here at the hotel in a few days, actually. She’s really excited to meet you.”
Kyungsoo finds himself smiling again. “In that case, I’ll be sure to ask for her professional opinion.”
“You won’t be disappointed, sir.”
“Thank you, Paolo.”
The suite is enormous-a good fifty percent larger than Kyungsoo’s one-bedroom back in Seoul. They’ve furnished it in safari chic, all white and airy, with antique fixtures and opulent linens. The tub in the bathroom rests on iron-carved lion’s feet, with a wooden tray resting over it. “You can put your wine here while you soak,” Paolo had said as he toured Kyungsoo through the facilities. “Even a book.”
Kyungsoo will probably do both later.
When Paolo leaves, he ambles over to the windows and parts the gauzy curtains for a look. It’s only seven o’clock, but already the sky is dark. The hotel is in the heart of Makati, the financial district, which is congested with traffic. Cars, buses, and colorful jeepneys line the streets outside, lights flashing red and gold. Horns blare in the distance to create an ambient hum. Kyungsoo surveys the shared gleam of the buildings, the vehicles, the LED billboards-a marriage of glitter and grime, just like Seoul.
It’s his first time in this city, but everything is familiar.
He’s not sure how long he’s been staring out into the skyline when he hears a knock at the door. It’s three knocks, actually, in quick and quiet succession, followed by the bell. Almost like a code.
Kyungsoo knows what that means.
It takes him ten steps to cross the room from the windows to the foyer (it would have taken twelve if he weren’t moving so quickly). Just as he gets the door open, a hot, urgent mouth connects to his.
Strong arms wrap around Kyungsoo like a vice; one hand sliding between his shoulder blades, another curving over his ass. He sighs, more relieved than he cares to admit, as the door bangs shut and his back is pressed firmly against it. He lets the kiss deepen by parting his lips, and immediately his tongue is sucked, as if it were a piece of candy. He tastes cigarettes and peppermint and the salt of desire, and that’s all the prompting he needs.
Deftly, Kyungsoo pops a button, unzips a fly, and sinks his hand into a pair of Calvin Kleins. His fingers circle flesh, and his pulse quickens at a groan.
“Want you,” the man coaxes-and yes, his lover is a man, and Kyungsoo has been entirely seduced by him. “Get me off, Soo.”
“Right here?” Kyungsoo feels his throat and his jeans tighten simultaneously.
Plush lips graze his jaw. “Yeah.” There is some quick work underneath his belt, and Kyungsoo finds himself unzipped (and held) in a similar fashion. “I’ll race you to it.”
Kyungsoo’s chuckle transforms into a moan as a hand begins to stroke him in his underwear. He does the same, tight and fast, remembering that he started it. Soon they’re just panting into each other’s mouths, lapping up heated encouragements. Kyungsoo’s free hand tugs at the hairs behind a long nape. There is a tongue tracing his ear, and a palm kneading his ass. The room swells with the quiet, desperate sounds of pleasure.
Release comes with a choked-off cry, a sagging against the door, and a sliding down to the expensive carpet. Bodies slump together in sticky ruin. Outside, a siren echoes like a dream.
“Jongin.” Kyungsoo’s voice is husky because he’s tired, and he hasn’t spoken in a while, and he’s just gotten laid. “Hi.”
He can tell someone likes it. “Are you sexy-talking me right now?” There is mischief mixed with lethargy in Jongin’s tone. “Go on.”
Kyungsoo keeps his grin to himself. “I’m glad you came.”
“You came, too,” Jongin replies lewdly, even in his post-coital haze. “Glad to see I haven’t lost my touch after four months.”
His cheek is warm and stubbled where it rests against Kyungsoo’s neck. Kyungsoo slaps it lightly. Jongin starts, then laughs.
“Real mature,” Kyungsoo says. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m kidding,” says the man with the magic hands and silken tongue, laughing again.
His mirth peters out gradually, as though a spell has fallen over him. The soft overhead lighting hits his face just right, and Kyungsoo watches it glow like the sun behind a cloud. Jongin’s skin is a little toasty, a little rosy. The space between his collarbones is flushed.
“Missed…” He brushes his thumb over Kyungsoo’s knuckles. “This.”
Kyungsoo murmurs, “I know,” noting the pause but saying nothing of it.
Jongin cranes up. Their mouths meet like two slices of the same fruit. “Nice to see you.” His voice is as soft as a summer plum.
“Welcome to Manila,” Kyungsoo says simply. He pulls Jongin in, and a siren sounds again.
When we sleep, we do not sleep.
I touch you (high).
You kiss me (deep).
Your lips are made of gin and lime,
and drunken over me they sweep.
My hands will keep us both in time;
our figures fall into a heap.
The stars awaken at my sigh,
and through the windowsill they peep.
We shall not pay them any mind
and to our pillowcases keep.
Because to me,
you are the brightest
in the sky,
and in the deep.
When we sleep, we do not sleep,
we never, ever sleep.
- “Sleepless,” Do Kyungsoo
They meet at one of Joonmyun’s parties, where every creative worth knowing meets, because Joonmyun knows everybody. Kyungsoo is the wide-eyed newcomer to the inner circle, freshly plucked from Internet obscurity. His first book, an anthology of sixty-two tiny poems he’d posted on Tumblr, is still in press. It will launch five months later to staggering acclaim that shocks even Joonmyun, the publishing wünderkind.
But at this particular party, Kyungsoo is a nobody.
Jongin, on the other hand, is a fixture at these things. Kyungsoo distinctly remembers the word “trouble” coming to mind when the younger man strides into the VIP section. Jongin is lean and long and louche, with a tilt to his brow and mischief in his mouth. Model, of course. His is an effortless beauty that intrigues Kyungsoo more and more as Jongin weaves through the crowd; a dressed-down standout.
Little does he know that Jongin has seen him first.
Joonmyun introduces them at the bar, where Kyungsoo has taken up residence, at Jongin’s request. Then they are left alone.
“I’ve seen you somewhere,” is Jongin’s opening line. His features are softer up close, and his voice strangely deferential. “Haven’t I?”
Kyungsoo shakes his head. “I just write,” he says. “I’ve seen you, though.”
“Where?”
“There’s a Giordano billboard of you outside my apartment.”
That is the first time he makes Jongin laugh. “I can’t write for shit,” the model replies, pivoting. “Joonmyun-hyung says you’re the next Lang Leav.”
“I don’t know about that.” Kyungsoo toys with his wine, then brings it to his lips. Jongin’s eyes linger on their shape longer than they should, even after Kyungsoo puts the glass down. “I’m not sure how replicable a runaway hit is.”
“You just need good word of mouth.” Jongin licks his lips and smiles all crooked. “Somehow, I got this”-he draws a circle in the air around his face-“on that billboard outside your building. Word of mouth.” He maintains eye contact the entire time, lids a touch too heavy to be innocent.
It is flirtation at the very least, seduction at the very best. Kyungsoo isn’t about to miss either opportunity. “You’re beautiful, too,” he points out, nice and easy. The wine helps him do it. “That must count for something.”
The compliment is an open door, and it draws Jongin in like a magnet. Not enough to crowd him, but enough to make a point. “Funny,” Jongin murmurs, lashes close enough for Kyungsoo to count. “That’s exactly what I was telling hyung about you.”
By the end of the night, Kyungsoo finds himself well inside Jongin’s apartment, sitting on Jongin’s Tempur mattress, his pants around his ankles and Jongin’s beautiful face between his thighs.
“No promises,” he tells Jongin in the morning, when Jongin asks if they can do this again. “No strings attached.”
That was three years ago.
Kyungsoo has published two more anthologies of his poetry and started touring for each book. Jongin has appeared in two music videos, twelve more billboards, countless magazines.
They’ve been sleeping together, without ever being together, ever since.
They pieced you from sun-sand-and-sea and created
the glue:
beauty.
I have never met anyone who looked better naked
than you
(on me).
- “Beach Born,” Do Kyungsoo
Brunch comes with a white tablecloth and chilled rosé.
“I ordered it,” Jongin explains from the edge of the bed, still naked inside his bathrobe, “because we forgot to last night.”
Kyungsoo has just pulled on a shirt and boxers. He bites the side of Jongin’s neck. “You used to hate rosé.”
“It’s too sweet.” Jongin tugs Kyungsoo between his legs to hold him. “But I’m used to it now.”
He doesn’t say, “Because you like it,” but Kyungsoo will pretend that’s what he meant.
Jongin hooks his chin over Kyungsoo’s shoulder, reaching for a piece of fruit. He munches on it contentedly, his free hand at rest over Kyungsoo’s tummy. Kyungsoo has never quite figured out if Jongin does this consciously or unconsciously: the compulsory way he clings whenever they are together.
Kyungsoo butters a piece of toast. “How’ve you been?” His tone is light, but there is hesitance tiptoeing through the question. It’s been months. “We haven’t talked-”
“-because the sex took too long,” Jongin puts in jauntily. His nails scratch over Kyungsoo’s faint abs, and Kyungsoo’s stomach jumps. “Where did you pick up that thing you did with your mouth? You know, the-” Jongin mimes something obscene, his tongue flicking in the air. “Someone teach you that?”
Kyungsoo elbows him, hard. “Quit it.” He’s already turned on, though. It’s embarrassing. He’s glad that Jongin’s the one sitting behind him, and not the other way around.
Jongin is completely unfazed. The hand over Kyungsoo’s stomach slides down, down, down, until it has Kyungsoo gently cupped. “Have you been sleeping with someone else these past few months? You can tell me.” His breath smells like melon. “I don’t mind.”
No, Kyungsoo thinks to himself clearly, even in the fog of arousal. I just wish you did.
In thinly veiled frustration, he tosses his bread back into its basket. Jongin manages to lick his cheek before Kyungsoo is rearranging them both, straddling Jongin’s lap and pushing him into the mattress.
“I meant,” Kyungsoo says, undoing Jongin’s robe so that it falls away, “we haven’t talked much since I started the book tour.” He nips Jongin’s bottom lip. “I haven’t had much time to sleep, much less sleep around.”
Jongin hums pleasantly, chasing Kyungsoo’s mouth to give it the same treatment, and more. “So you don’t have another me.” His kisses are deep and deliberate; completely intoxicating, like the rest of his body.
“I don’t want another you,” Kyungsoo hears himself say. The surprise in Jongin’s eyes is mild, but Kyungsoo sees it and regrets his candor. So he adds, “I’m fine fucking just you,” and hopes the dirty talk buries his moment of weakness.
It does. Jongin bites his lips, eyes dark. He hooks his legs around Kyungsoo’s waist. “Are you going to fuck me now?”
Kyungsoo is still wearing his boxers. They pose the flimsiest of barriers to Jongin’s warm, taut body. He presses their foreheads together, shutting his eyes. “Do you want me to?”
“If you aren’t too hungry,” Jongin tongues the seam of Kyungsoo’s lips, “then, yes, please.”
They do it hard yet slow, in the familiar tango of old lovers. Kyungsoo manages to keep a conversation going, as though his thrusts and Jongin’s gasps were more for sport than seduction.
“I saw your Casio ad in Thailand,” he grits out, as Jongin groans hotly into his ear. “It was a big one, on the highway.”
“How did I look?” Jongin asks, eyes fluttering with lust.
“Pretty.” Kyungsoo kisses him.
“Prettier than right now?” The effervescent pink in Jongin’s face is like the rosé Kyungsoo loves to drink. Jongin smolders at him, sexy as hell, and in an instant, Kyungsoo is pulled deeper into a tight heat.
“Shit,” he sputters, driving in harder. “Almost. Not quite.” He dips to suck a nipple into his mouth, licking it pert, and Jongin keens. “You’re the prettiest like this, when you’re with me.”
“Because you fuck me so well,” Jongin says breathily. He grabs one of Kyungsoo’s ass cheeks for emphasis, giving it a bruising squeeze. “You give me exactly what my body wants.” He’s smiling, somewhat, and his teeth are white and perfect.
Kyungsoo wants that smile all to himself. “Yeah,” he mutters, setting a relentless pace that makes Jongin’s top lip curl over his teeth. A part of him feels incredible. Another part of him aches. “I’ve spoiled you rotten.”
Kyungsoo finishes first, spilling into the condom they’d rolled over him together. Then he puts his mouth on Jongin, just the way Jongin likes it, until his entire body melts over the tip of Kyungsoo’s tongue.
It doesn’t feel as good as it usually does. Not for Kyungsoo, at least-because he’s thinking about something else. Something more meaningful than the pursuit of his own pleasure in the body of someone beautiful. Something he’s been thinking about for a very long time.
“Enough, Soo,” Jongin begs when Kyungsoo shows no sign of pulling off. He pushes Kyungsoo’s face away and hauls him up to eye level. “Kiss me.”
The moments after sex are usually spent mouthing at each other, tasting the remnants of their desire and staying impossibly close. Today, Kyungsoo stares down into face of his lover-fuck buddy-and doesn’t feel like lying.
He clears the cobwebs from his throat. He bends to peck Jongin on the mouth. There is no sensuality in it; only solemnity and obedience. He slides off the bed, thighs like jelly, and makes for the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” Jongin calls after him, spread out on the bed like a starfish, put-out.
“Gotta pee,” Kyungsoo calls back, even though he doesn’t. He does have to take a cold shower and get his feelings back in check. “Eat without me.”
You’ve been sleeping in my bed for weeks.
I would change the sheets
if I weren’t so weak
to your smell
and to your heat.
- “Sheets,” Do Kyungsoo
On the fourth month of their relationship-arrangement?-Jongin asks Kyungsoo the question he’s been dreading.
“Can I see some of your poetry?”
They’re in Kyungsoo’s apartment in Namdaemun, sitting out on the small balcony because Jongin wants to smoke. It’s past midnight, and they’ve just had sex. Kyungsoo’s bedroom reeks of it.
He shifts in his chair. “Seriously?”
“Why not?” A long ribbon of smoke escapes Jongin’s lips. French exhale. “I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable, I could just ask Joonmyun-hyung for an advance copy.” He grins, and Kyungsoo knows it’s an attempt to put him at ease.
The Smell of Your Hair will be available to the public in two weeks, both online and in stores. Joonmyun’s company is being really savvy about their marketing strategy-seeding the most poignant poems to social media influencers in the form of typography.
(“It’s the millennial way,” Joonmyun had quipped, showing Kyungsoo an Instagram post that went viral in a day. Seven-thousand likes, too many comments to count. It had blown Kyungsoo’s mind, especially when he saw most of the commenters were asking, “Where is this from?”)
So it isn’t the attention that makes him so guarded about his work. It’s the subject matter. The poems in The Smell of Your Hair-all sixty-two of them-are about a longtime boyfriend who’d abandoned him for marriage to a woman, and whose loss had left Kyungsoo stripped and raw. He’s not sure if he’s ready to let Jongin see him any more naked than the guy already has.
A chuckle pierces Kyungsoo’s reverie. “Forget it,” Jongin says generously. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” There isn’t a trace of displeasure in his tone, because Jongin’s kindness surpasses even his sensuality. “Sorry I asked, Soo.”
Of course, that’s exactly what changes Kyungsoo’s mind. “No,” he says, contemplative at first, and then more adamantly, again. “No, that’s not it. I want to.”
The light in Jongin’s face mimics the moon’s-bright and dreamy. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Kyungsoo nods, bashful all of a sudden. His chair creaks as he gets up to retrieve his own advance copy. It’s the one he’d planned to give Jongin at his book launch in two weeks. Just to be nice. “Be right back.”
Kyungsoo’s follow-up to The Smell of Your Hair is released in a year’s time. This one’s got a hundred poems, flat. The title for it is pulled from his favorite one.
Our Last Nights as Lovers.
Kyungsoo tells Joonmyun it’s a reflection on several past relationships coming back to light, now that he’s on the last year of his twenties. Joonmyun smiles beatifically; tells him to say the same thing to the press, because it’s a lovely sentiment.
They both know he’s written every poem with Jongin in mind.
Kyungsoo just never expected them-this-to outlast the book.
You are a mystery to me.
I know nothing of you;
nothing more than your kiss.
But I miss you, Mysterious,
deliriously.
- “Fever Dream,” Do Kyungsoo
“They’re holding a dinner for me tonight,” Kyungsoo says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. When he swallows, the flat, sticky sound of it is audible. “The Manila event people, I mean. Do you want to come?”
Jongin stands head and shoulders above everybody else in this queue. They’re at a Starbucks a few blocks from the hotel, and it is packed. They’d spent all morning in bed, and all afternoon at the Ayala Museum, lingering at the Yee I-Lann exhibit because Jongin loves her lines. Now Kyungsoo is all museumed out, and Jongin wants a Passion Tango Tea.
He looks over at Kyungsoo, mouth curled up curiously. “Am I allowed to?”
The expression in his eyes is questioning, disguised as nonchalance. Kyungsoo is acutely aware of how big of a deal this is. He’s only invited Jongin to attend something with/for him twice: the respective launches of The Smell of Your Hair and Our Last Nights as Lovers. All other times, Kyungsoo’s invitations have extended as far as his bedroom.
(It should have been thrice. Only, Jongin was scheduled for Paris Fashion Week when the new book launched this year. Kyungsoo knew this ahead of time and decided, at the last minute, it would be best not to say anything at all. Joonmyun tutted when he showed up to the party alone. Kyungsoo’s bestfriend, Baekhyun, who’d come with a date, called him a pussy. If Jongin found out-and Kyungsoo is certain he did-he never made a fuss.)
Jongin has never asked him to come to anything. Not one show. Not one little shoot.
“Of course.” Kyungsoo is embarrassed again. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“But isn’t that, like…” Jongin scratches the side of his face. It’s darkened by a five o’clock shadow. “I don’t know. Crossing the line?”
Kyungsoo cocks a brow. “What line?”
“The line that you draw,” Jongin says, “between what happens with me and what happens in your regular life.”
Kyungsoo feels a knot in his stomach, sharp and tight. It’s unlike Jongin to be so straightforward about their situation. Kyungsoo himself only references it obliquely (“I’m not dating right now,” he’d told his brother when Seungsoo offered to set him up. “It’s complicated.”). Jongin doesn’t discuss it all. He just shows up when Kyungsoo texts him to.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Kyungsoo mutters, helplessly, even though he does, perfectly. “It’s just a dinner.”
The long look Jongin levels at him does not waver, even as they move up the line. Kyungsoo’s feet are like lead, and there’s a bitterness in the back of his mouth. It mingles with the taste of the last kiss Jongin had given him.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Jongin’s voice is low and sweet. His eyes look cautious, like a child’s. “It’s just that you’ve-we’ve-never done anything like that before. I don’t want to mess anything up for you.”
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo reiterates, “it’s just a dinner.” He forces a smile. His stomach is roiling with acid. “You couldn’t possibly.”
“Okay.” The Korean version rolls off of Jongin’s tongue with care. A-ra-seo. “Then I’d love to come, if you want me to.”
The stroll back to the hotel is a silent one. The ice cubes in Kyungsoo’s Americano slosh in time with the ones in Jongin’s tea. They’re in an empty street; Kyungsoo can hear the soles of his sneakers scraping against the asphalt of this sidewalk. It’s a balmy afternoon. The breeze is overly affectionate, running its fingers through Jongin’s bangs.
Jongin catches him looking. His smile is genuine. Kyungsoo releases the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“I was surprised, you know, to hear from you.” Jongin takes a small sip of his drink. “Before I got your email a few days ago, I hadn’t heard from you in a while.”
“I know you’ve been travelling for Fashion Week.” Kyungsoo tries to put conviction in his tone. “You’ve been working so much. I didn’t want to disturb you. I just heard through Joonmyun-hyung that you were going to be in Manila the same time I was.”
“My show here was a week ago,” Jongin is looking down at him, skin backlit. “I just extended to see you.”
“Oh.” Kyungsoo didn’t know that. The sudden admission spreads over his skin before it sinks in, velvety. “I…”
“We’ve been through Fashion Week before, though.” Jongin doesn’t miss a beat. “You always used to call me, no matter what country I was in.” There’s that telltale mischief threatening at the corners of his mouth. “Remember last year when I was in Milan, and we were trying to have phone sex?”
So many emotions, mixing in a dangerous cocktail. Kyungsoo’s response is completely on autopilot. “I was talking about going down on you. Baekhyun yelled at me to stop from the other room. I didn’t know he was over.”
“I fell off the bed laughing. Cracked my phone screen.” Jongin chuckles vaguely. “Why didn’t we do that this year?”
“You walked forty-odd shows across six cities,” Kyungsoo reasons, the knot in his gut connecting to another, and another. “And I had the new book to take care of.”
Jongin’s lips are wet from his tea. He wipes away the excess on the back of his hand. The movement obscures his face. “Were you angry with me?”
Kyungsoo whips his head in Jongin’s direction. His coffee is sweating in his hand. “What?”
Jongin has his eyes locked on him like a target. “That’s how it felt, at least.” His voice lowers a degree, and his eyes soften in color, infinitesimally. “Were you?”
Angry, Kyungsoo internalizes, is different from jealous. “I just wanted to give you space after what happened at hyung’s birthday.” He mops the moisture hugging his cup with the hem of his shirt. It allows him to break eye contact. “You know we never talked about it,” he says. “And I didn’t hear from you either, Jongin.”
He’s not sure if Jongin’s exhale is bemused or frustrated. It’s certainly jagged, and sounds like a bit of both. “You know I just follow your lead.” Jongin finally turns away, and the warmth of his gaze is lost. “Ever since.”
When I was young
I was never told
of the way sorrow clung
to memories old.
I pray when I’m old
I’ll remember the fun:
the songs sung,
the fears flung,
the lips pressed,
you, undressed-
not the sadness
from when I was young.
- “When I Was Young,” Do Kyungsoo
Soojung is not Jongin’s girlfriend, just like Jongin is not Kyungsoo’s boyfriend. But she is Jongin’s, and Kyungsoo finds that out completely on accident.
He’s been seeing Jongin-seeing him naked, at least-for a year and a half. The sex is sensational. It’s the intensity of their body chemistry, more than the audacity of it (neither of them are particularly adventurous). Still, Kyungsoo can now count on both hands the number of times they’ve hooked up outside an apartment or hotel room. And that’s saying a lot for his square ass.
Jongin likes cars. Likes undoing Kyungsoo, with all their clothes still on, by putting his hands on him in deserted parking lots. Likes Kyungsoo doing the same, as they sit next to each other in the backseat; slick sounds, glistening sweat, skin strobed by streetlamps. Likes keeping Kyungsoo in the driver’s seat to climb all over him, pushing slow, riding fast, keening high, kissing dirty.
Kyungsoo likes anything Jongin likes.
(In retrospect, that should have been a warning sign.)
One night, when Jongin has stayed over much too late to call an Über or take the subway, Kyungsoo offers to drive him home. Jongin has an early call time, and his place is closer to the shoot than Kyungsoo’s is.
Jongin resists. “I can just walk…”
Kyungsoo insists. “You’re across the river, Jongin.”
Even when he’s already in the passenger’s seat of Kyungsoo’s sedan, Jongin still feels the need to ask. “You sure you don’t mind?” His phone and his cigarettes are in his lap. They’re the only things he’d brought when Kyungsoo called him over. “I’m on the other side of town.”
“No big deal.” Kyungsoo’s already backing out of his parking space. “Fasten your seatbelt.”
It takes only ten minutes to get from Namdaemun to Apgujeong, where Jongin’s ritzy apartment complex is. It helps that it’s four in the morning and there’s zero traffic. On foot it would have taken an hour, or more.
Kyungsoo mentions this, with yawning amusement, as they pull up to Jongin’s place.
Jongin thanks him by slipping his tongue through the heart shape of Kyungsoo’s lips and snaking a hand underneath his shirt. “You’re so hot,” Jongin murmurs, rubbing a nipple, “when you try to act smug.”
Kyungsoo forgets how tired he is, pulling Jongin into his lap so they can make out a little more. It’s not so much to get off as it is to stretch their last minutes together. Jongin rocks against him every time they latch lips: left side, right side, back and forth.
The buzzing of Jongin’s phone, left face down on the passenger seat, disrupts this dance. Kyungsoo pries his lips away from the suction of Jongin’s kiss, staring at the phone, then at his dashboard clock.
“Who calls this early?” Kyungsoo’s brows knit together. “Is it your shoot?”
Jongin’s lips are swollen pink. “My call time’s at six,” he says huskily, shaking his head. “I’ve got two hours to go. Hold on.”
He crawls over Kyungsoo, flopping back into his seat. He picks up without checking the caller ID, adjusting his semi in his sweatpants. “Hello?”
Kyungsoo’s already hard, so he just pulls his flimsy sleep shirt over his crotch and hopes for the best. He flips his hazard lights on, in case someone pulls up behind them.
“Soojung, slow down,” Jongin says, with sudden urgency in his voice. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, and Kyungsoo watches as they sharpen to full alertness. “Are you drunk?”
“Everything okay?” Kyungsoo whispers. The way Jongin glances at him, pausing before he nods and mouths a yes, is far from convincing. It prompts a familiar echo in the pit of Kyungsoo’s stomach.
“You always drink too much with Sehun. I don’t like it.” Jongin shakes his head. It’s obviously a recurring issue. Kyungsoo files this information away without a word. “Are you at the usual place?” Jongin turns his face towards the window. “All right. Stay there. I’m coming to get you both.”
Discreetly, Kyungsoo presses the button that unlocks Jongin’s door.
The dull click gets Jongin’s attention. He’s looking at Kyungsoo again, and his eyes speak in a foreign language that Kyungsoo cannot interpret.
“I just got home,” Jongin murmurs into his phone.
The echo takes on the sound of a clatter. Kyungsoo recognizes hollowness when he feels it, because he’s felt it so powerfully in the past. He feels hollow, and the depth of it resonates, especially when Jongin says, “I was just with a friend.”
Jongin will explain later on that Soojung is his bestfriend. That they dated back in college. That he’d been unfaithful to her with a man. That they aren’t together anymore, even though they never really broke up. That they live in the same apartment building and see each other every day. That they still sleep together, every once in a while, when either of them feel lonely. That eventually, Soojung would sleep with the same man, Sehun, who’d fallen in love with her after she’d befriended him. That Sehun lives a stop away, and Jongin has dinner with them on weekends. That sometimes, when they’re drunk, they kiss. That Jongin knows it’s bizarre, a baffling mess, but that’s just how magnificent Soojung is.
That Jongin “loved her, a lot.”
Kyungsoo thought he only loved men.
“Do you mind it at all?” Jongin asks, soft-eyed, after he’s told Kyungsoo the whole sordid story. “I know I should have told you sooner.”
“There was quite a lot to tell,” Kyungsoo answers lightly, like his words are small stones skipping over a lake. He will use those same stones to build a wall around the truth.
He’s in love, again, and it’s terrible, because it’s doomed before it can even begin.
Jongin’s grin is a perfect crescent. He thinks Kyungsoo is only teasing. “I didn’t think you’d care, the way we’ve been carrying on.” Then Kyungsoo’s words are quoted back to him: “No promises. No strings attached.”
Kyungsoo produces half a smile and a whole shrug. The less he says, the better. The more he says, the bigger the chance that he’ll lose this.
“So you don’t mind?” Jongin presses on, determined on getting the go-signal. “I’ve already told Soojung about you.”
Soojung is not Jongin’s girlfriend, just like Jongin is not Kyungsoo’s boyfriend. But she is Jongin’s-and Kyungsoo doesn’t know what he is.
“No,” he says. “I don’t.”
She has
honey hair,
milky thighs,
sugar lips,
syrup eyes,
caramel
in her smell,
butterscotch
in her touch,
chocolate-
covered breasts.
Sweet tooth,
taste test.
She has you,
candy man,
in the palm
of her hand.
- “Sweet Tooth,” Do Kyungsoo
Jongin has picked out a buttondown, jeans, and suede loafers for dinner. He looks relaxed but expensive. Model off-duty.
In contrast, Kyungsoo’s navy blue suit makes him feel stuffy. He’s already switched out the dress shirt for a white tee after seeing Jongin’s outfit, but he still can’t manage that jetsetter je ne se quoi. It’s because he’s not really that fancy, he concludes, shoehorning himself into a brown monk strap.
“Look at you,” Jongin says when he emerges from the bathroom, freshly shaven. He didn’t bother to do so in his own room-just came back to Kyungsoo’s, dressed and pressed, and ripped open the kit by the washbasin. The towel he was using to wipe his face is discarded on the bed. “Straight out of GQ.”
“Look at you,” Kyungsoo parrots, tugging on his jacket sleeves. “Giorgio Armani.”
Surprise is an exclamation mark stamped over Jongin’s face. “How’d you know that?”
“I keep up with your work.” Kyungsoo crosses his legs, going for casual. “I’m very observant, you see.”
Jongin’s smile spreads slow and steady, like the stained-glass skies of dusk. “Is that so?”
It only takes a second for him to peck Kyungsoo’s cheek, feather-light and lingering. It is intimate, not sexual. It conveys affection, not seduction. It is the kind of kiss he imagines Jongin has given Soojung many times over.
When Kyungsoo realizes this-that Jongin has caressed him like a real lover, not a recurring conquest-he freezes.
Jongin does, too.
Before Kyungsoo can even recover, Jongin is kneeling in front of him and taking the shoehorn out of his hand.
“Let me,” Jongin says, expression hidden underneath his fringe. Kyungsoo can only see the crest of his cheekbones and the sculpture of his nose. “They taught us how in Tokyo.” He slips the horn behind the heel of Kyungsoo’s bare foot, then eases it smoothly into the other shoe. “You’ll preserve the leather better this way.”
“Thank you,” Kyungsoo tells him, eyes focused intently on Jongin’s hands. They remain, without explanation, around his ankle.
The pad of Jongin’s thumb strokes over his anklebone. Kyungsoo twitches, and he is released. Jongin exhales evenly. Kyungsoo can feel the stream of breath through his thin dress pants.
When Jongin finally glances up, he is smooth-faced-still smiling, like nothing out of the ordinary has happened. “You’re welcome.”
“What exactly did they teach you in Tokyo?” Kyungsoo mumbles before he can stop himself. His frustration simmers beneath his skin, and his mouth is moving faster than his mind. “How to give people the boyfriend experience?”
He’s not sure what he was expecting, because it happens so fast-but it’s certainly not the way Jongin’s face shutters, like Kyungsoo has just called him something foul.
“Wait,” Kyungsoo backtracks, lungs flooding with panic. “I didn’t mean to-”
Jongin rises to his feet in one fluid movement. “It’s fine,” he says, waving Kyungsoo off. His smile has been buried by an impenetrable smirk, sharp around the edges. Bulletproof. “No harm done.”
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo pushes, unwilling to let go of his fumble. “That was stupid of me to say. I don’t know why I said it.” Jongin’s hand is dangling by his side. If Kyungsoo just reached up, five, six inches, he could lace their fingers together. He doesn’t. “I’m sorry.”
“Good.” There is a glimmer of tenderness in Jongin’s dark pupils. Faint and glassy expectation. A chink in the proverbial armor. Then his mouth pulls into the wicked shape he reserves for the cameras, and all vulnerability vanishes in a wink. “Time for dinner.”
You have dueled to the death:
tooth and nail,
blood and sweat.
You say you’ll soon enough forget
the hot love/hate that you regret.
I’ve been fighting a cold war:
silent mouth,
icy heart.
I say I’d rather have the heat
of the love/hate you won’t repeat.
- “Fire and Ice,” Do Kyungsoo
Like so many people his age, Jongin doesn’t put a name to what he has with Soojung, or what Soojung has with Sehun, or what Sehun has with him. He has learned, over the years, to be honest about who he is, what he likes, and how even that can change.
This is why Kyungsoo knows exactly how attracted Jongin is to him, and how unique their arrangement is in comparison to everyone else in Jongin’s sex life.
It’s a sweltering summer afternoon, the kind that makes Kyungsoo’s eyes sting from the endless perspiration. Over two years have passed since he and Jongin started what they started. They’re both in Jongin’s shower today, taking turns soaping up and groping south. Jongin ends up on his knees, palms flat on the backs of Kyungsoo’s thighs, getting his fill of Kyungsoo’s flavor.
The melody of their moaning bounces against the tiles. “Fuck,” Kyungsoo gasps. “Don’t make me come, Jongin.”
Slippery heat is abandoned for cool air. “You want me?” Jongin is all beestung lips and wrecked eyes. “You want to be inside me?”
Instead of saying yes, Kyungsoo drags him up by the back of his neck and kisses him forcefully. “You have a filthy mouth,” he growls, tasting the salt of his own skin as Jongin kisses back.
“Stop stalling,” Jongin entices him, fingernails scratching over Kyungsoo’s back. “I’m ready.” The model spins around to face the wall, and his body bends for Kyungsoo’s taking.
This is not the first time Jongin’s asked for it today. Kyungsoo doesn’t even have to do much before he slips in, and they make the most toe-curling, mind-blowing sound together.
Sex-copious amounts of it-is how Kyungsoo copes with his tragic, twisted, unrequited love.
When it’s all over, and they’ve sudsed up again to actually get clean, Jongin lets something slip.
First, he has Kyungsoo answer an unexpected question. “Do you see anybody else besides me?”
They’re face to face under the spray, naked as babies. Kyungsoo keeps a poker face. “Why do you ask?”
“Do you?”
No. “None of your business.” Kyungsoo allows himself a smile to match his joking timbre. It seems risky to tell Jongin he is the only one.
Jongin clicks his tongue. “You’re a tough one to crack. I told you all about my shit.”
Kyungsoo’s hum is noncommittal.
Jongin huffs out of his nose. “Fine, don’t answer. I was just curious if you’ve ever-” he looks almost shy, “-bottomed for anybody.”
It’s such a strange thing to bring up. Kyungsoo willingly takes the bait. “Never.” He chews on the inside of his cheek. “I wouldn’t be good at it. Too…stiff. Not like you.”
Jongin blinks. His gaze shines with appraisal. “You’re not stiff.”
“How about you?” Kyungsoo pivots, blood pumping to his face. “Ever top?”
Jongin rakes his bangs off his forehead. “Always.” Tiny rivulets of water dribble down his face. “I prefer it.” And then, the confession: “You were my first.”
Kyungsoo feels himself step away from the stream of the shower, just to put distance between them, even though he’d rather be close. He’s only half-aware of what’s happening, and he doesn’t know what to say, except, “Why me?”
Jongin thinks it’s a game, like he always does. He steps through the spray, dripping wet, and gently cages Kyungsoo against the cool tile.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs, and he kisses Kyungsoo once. Twice. Thrice. It’s passionate but simultaneously delicate. The roof of Kyungsoo’s mouth tingles and the centers of his palms prick and the left side of his chest aches, especially when Jongin says, “I just can’t resist you.”
A week after the incident, Kyungsoo is out buying groceries. It’s the FamilyMart near Joonmyun’s office in Gangnam, not his usual place-but they’re organized pretty identically, so it’s a non-issue.
Kyungsoo is by the refrigerators, pulling out a six-pack of Hite beer, when he hears a familiar laugh. Rich and mischievous. Just a touch nasal.
He already knows it’s Jongin before he twists to look.
There he is on the opposite side of the store, standing with his hip cocked in a loose shirt and jeans. His back is turned, but Kyungsoo could identify every inch of Kim Jongin’s body, naked or clothed, from the amount of time he’s spent touching it.
There’s a girl with him. A very beautiful girl. It is her face Kyungsoo sees over the broad span of Jongin’s shoulders. Her eyes are almond-shaped and inquisitive. Her hair is dark and long, with soft bends in it that her fingers have probably twirled. Her mouth is a miniature bow-not the round rosebud that would make someone like Baekhyun swoon. Rather, it is a curious, mysterious, perpetual smirk that the poet in Kyungsoo could probably write pages about.
She’s neither voluptuous nor pin-thin. Neither too small, nor too tall. Not too pale and wan, either-just healthy and fresh, like she’s just come from the gym. She has on pretty much the same thing Jongin does: loose shirt, light pants. Kyungsoo’s no expert, but he can’t detect a lick of makeup on her.
She’s chatting to Jongin animatedly; hands interpretive, brows expressive. Kyungsoo can’t quite make it out-but by the sound of Jongin’s laugh, he is thoroughly amused.
Jongin just lets her talk. A nod here and there. Another melodious chuckle. Once, he ruffles her hair into her face, mid-sentence. She only pauses to whine at him, then blows out her lips. The puff of air clears a path through the strands crisscrossing over her eyes.
“Are you doing aegyo?” Kyungsoo hears Jongin tease. “It doesn’t suit you.”
She punches him in the chest. “Jerk.” It can’t have done much damage. Still, Jongin responds with an exaggerated oof belied by the fact that his body doesn’t move an inch.
“Just kidding.” Jongin reaches for her, pulling her into his chest. “C’mere, Soojung.”
If Kyungsoo hadn’t come from a meeting with Joonmyun to discuss his third book; if he had written all the poems before he’d thought of a title to run by his editor, as usual; if he’d woken up early enough to do his groceries in Namdaemun, instead of here in Gangnam; if he’d done one thing, anything, differently today, then maybe he wouldn’t have had to be privy to certain secret things in the liquor aisle of this FamilyMart.
Soojung lets herself be held, just for a moment. With the grace of a gazelle, she pushes up on her tippy-toes and stamps a kiss into Jongin’s forehead. “I just can’t resist you,” she declares with feigned reluctance, mini bow mouth like a bright crescent moon.
That’s the smile, Kyungsoo thinks, of someone in love.
His heart drops to his feet.
Jongin texts him later that evening.
Hey. You busy?
It’s their code for: Are you free to have sex with me?
Just imagining Jongin with Soojung, doing the same intimate things he does with Kyungsoo-plus things beyond the bedroom that Kyungsoo will never, ever experience-makes him lie.
Working on the book tonight, he texts back. Sorry Jongin.
How do I make you think of me,
when you have thought
of only one
since love was worth a thought?
I thought I would not think of you
after I learned
of your one love,
but I suppose I have not learned.
- “Hard-Headed,” Do Kyungsoo
Part 2
Pairing: Kaisoo
Genre: friendswithbenefits!au, sliceoflife!au
Rating: Hard R
Length: 13,800 words
Summary: On a business trip to promote his new book, Kyungsoo discovers that no-strings-attached is no longer a possibility.
Warnings: Sex, open relationships, bad poetry
Notes: The idea was sparked by this video. I love the sound and the vibe of it, and the lyrics kind of match the story <3 Title taken from a Lang Leav poem: “Sometimes the loneliest place to be is in love.”
The woman at reception smiles with her entire face. “Welcome to Manila.” She’s pretty, and her English is perfect. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us, sir. Please don’t hesitate to dial the front desk if you need anything.”
Kyungsoo takes the sleeve of keycards she holds out to him, dipping his head out of habit. “Thank you very much,” he replies, tongue thick over unfamiliar vowels and consonants. “Good night.”
This is the fanciest hotel Joonmyun has ever booked him into. High ceilings drip with crystal overhead, and marble whispers beneath Kyungsoo’s feet as a personal butler leads him to the elevators. He never thought it could be like this-certainly not when he was starting out. That he, Do Kyungsoo, jobbing writer-turned-Internet poet, would be touring Asia on the backs of his words.
Good thing his editor had taken a chance on the Tumblr generation.
The butler is pressed into a sleek black suit and has the professional bearing of a grown man. But his hair is trendy-an Instagrammable coif-and that’s what gives his age away. Twenty-three, maybe twenty-four at most. Right in Kyungsoo’s readership.
“Excuse me, sir,” the young man says as the elevator rises to the twentieth floor, where the executive suites are. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m a big fan.”
“Oh, wow.” Kyungsoo forgets, once again, not to bow. “Have you gotten a chance to read the new book?”
“Certain Secret Things.” The butler nods. His nametag reads Paolo. “I’m halfway through it and loving it so far. The title, too.”
“Thank you.” Kyungsoo’s expression turns sheepish. He’s not great with compliments. “I hope the other half doesn’t disappoint.”
The butler shakes his head, congenial to a fault. “Not at all, sir. You’re very good. My girlfriend thinks so, too, and she works at a magazine.” His eyes brighten with a sudden realization. “She’s attending your event here at the hotel in a few days, actually. She’s really excited to meet you.”
Kyungsoo finds himself smiling again. “In that case, I’ll be sure to ask for her professional opinion.”
“You won’t be disappointed, sir.”
“Thank you, Paolo.”
The suite is enormous-a good fifty percent larger than Kyungsoo’s one-bedroom back in Seoul. They’ve furnished it in safari chic, all white and airy, with antique fixtures and opulent linens. The tub in the bathroom rests on iron-carved lion’s feet, with a wooden tray resting over it. “You can put your wine here while you soak,” Paolo had said as he toured Kyungsoo through the facilities. “Even a book.”
Kyungsoo will probably do both later.
When Paolo leaves, he ambles over to the windows and parts the gauzy curtains for a look. It’s only seven o’clock, but already the sky is dark. The hotel is in the heart of Makati, the financial district, which is congested with traffic. Cars, buses, and colorful jeepneys line the streets outside, lights flashing red and gold. Horns blare in the distance to create an ambient hum. Kyungsoo surveys the shared gleam of the buildings, the vehicles, the LED billboards-a marriage of glitter and grime, just like Seoul.
It’s his first time in this city, but everything is familiar.
He’s not sure how long he’s been staring out into the skyline when he hears a knock at the door. It’s three knocks, actually, in quick and quiet succession, followed by the bell. Almost like a code.
Kyungsoo knows what that means.
It takes him ten steps to cross the room from the windows to the foyer (it would have taken twelve if he weren’t moving so quickly). Just as he gets the door open, a hot, urgent mouth connects to his.
Strong arms wrap around Kyungsoo like a vice; one hand sliding between his shoulder blades, another curving over his ass. He sighs, more relieved than he cares to admit, as the door bangs shut and his back is pressed firmly against it. He lets the kiss deepen by parting his lips, and immediately his tongue is sucked, as if it were a piece of candy. He tastes cigarettes and peppermint and the salt of desire, and that’s all the prompting he needs.
Deftly, Kyungsoo pops a button, unzips a fly, and sinks his hand into a pair of Calvin Kleins. His fingers circle flesh, and his pulse quickens at a groan.
“Want you,” the man coaxes-and yes, his lover is a man, and Kyungsoo has been entirely seduced by him. “Get me off, Soo.”
“Right here?” Kyungsoo feels his throat and his jeans tighten simultaneously.
Plush lips graze his jaw. “Yeah.” There is some quick work underneath his belt, and Kyungsoo finds himself unzipped (and held) in a similar fashion. “I’ll race you to it.”
Kyungsoo’s chuckle transforms into a moan as a hand begins to stroke him in his underwear. He does the same, tight and fast, remembering that he started it. Soon they’re just panting into each other’s mouths, lapping up heated encouragements. Kyungsoo’s free hand tugs at the hairs behind a long nape. There is a tongue tracing his ear, and a palm kneading his ass. The room swells with the quiet, desperate sounds of pleasure.
Release comes with a choked-off cry, a sagging against the door, and a sliding down to the expensive carpet. Bodies slump together in sticky ruin. Outside, a siren echoes like a dream.
“Jongin.” Kyungsoo’s voice is husky because he’s tired, and he hasn’t spoken in a while, and he’s just gotten laid. “Hi.”
He can tell someone likes it. “Are you sexy-talking me right now?” There is mischief mixed with lethargy in Jongin’s tone. “Go on.”
Kyungsoo keeps his grin to himself. “I’m glad you came.”
“You came, too,” Jongin replies lewdly, even in his post-coital haze. “Glad to see I haven’t lost my touch after four months.”
His cheek is warm and stubbled where it rests against Kyungsoo’s neck. Kyungsoo slaps it lightly. Jongin starts, then laughs.
“Real mature,” Kyungsoo says. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m kidding,” says the man with the magic hands and silken tongue, laughing again.
His mirth peters out gradually, as though a spell has fallen over him. The soft overhead lighting hits his face just right, and Kyungsoo watches it glow like the sun behind a cloud. Jongin’s skin is a little toasty, a little rosy. The space between his collarbones is flushed.
“Missed…” He brushes his thumb over Kyungsoo’s knuckles. “This.”
Kyungsoo murmurs, “I know,” noting the pause but saying nothing of it.
Jongin cranes up. Their mouths meet like two slices of the same fruit. “Nice to see you.” His voice is as soft as a summer plum.
“Welcome to Manila,” Kyungsoo says simply. He pulls Jongin in, and a siren sounds again.
When we sleep, we do not sleep.
I touch you (high).
You kiss me (deep).
Your lips are made of gin and lime,
and drunken over me they sweep.
My hands will keep us both in time;
our figures fall into a heap.
The stars awaken at my sigh,
and through the windowsill they peep.
We shall not pay them any mind
and to our pillowcases keep.
Because to me,
you are the brightest
in the sky,
and in the deep.
When we sleep, we do not sleep,
we never, ever sleep.
- “Sleepless,” Do Kyungsoo
They meet at one of Joonmyun’s parties, where every creative worth knowing meets, because Joonmyun knows everybody. Kyungsoo is the wide-eyed newcomer to the inner circle, freshly plucked from Internet obscurity. His first book, an anthology of sixty-two tiny poems he’d posted on Tumblr, is still in press. It will launch five months later to staggering acclaim that shocks even Joonmyun, the publishing wünderkind.
But at this particular party, Kyungsoo is a nobody.
Jongin, on the other hand, is a fixture at these things. Kyungsoo distinctly remembers the word “trouble” coming to mind when the younger man strides into the VIP section. Jongin is lean and long and louche, with a tilt to his brow and mischief in his mouth. Model, of course. His is an effortless beauty that intrigues Kyungsoo more and more as Jongin weaves through the crowd; a dressed-down standout.
Little does he know that Jongin has seen him first.
Joonmyun introduces them at the bar, where Kyungsoo has taken up residence, at Jongin’s request. Then they are left alone.
“I’ve seen you somewhere,” is Jongin’s opening line. His features are softer up close, and his voice strangely deferential. “Haven’t I?”
Kyungsoo shakes his head. “I just write,” he says. “I’ve seen you, though.”
“Where?”
“There’s a Giordano billboard of you outside my apartment.”
That is the first time he makes Jongin laugh. “I can’t write for shit,” the model replies, pivoting. “Joonmyun-hyung says you’re the next Lang Leav.”
“I don’t know about that.” Kyungsoo toys with his wine, then brings it to his lips. Jongin’s eyes linger on their shape longer than they should, even after Kyungsoo puts the glass down. “I’m not sure how replicable a runaway hit is.”
“You just need good word of mouth.” Jongin licks his lips and smiles all crooked. “Somehow, I got this”-he draws a circle in the air around his face-“on that billboard outside your building. Word of mouth.” He maintains eye contact the entire time, lids a touch too heavy to be innocent.
It is flirtation at the very least, seduction at the very best. Kyungsoo isn’t about to miss either opportunity. “You’re beautiful, too,” he points out, nice and easy. The wine helps him do it. “That must count for something.”
The compliment is an open door, and it draws Jongin in like a magnet. Not enough to crowd him, but enough to make a point. “Funny,” Jongin murmurs, lashes close enough for Kyungsoo to count. “That’s exactly what I was telling hyung about you.”
By the end of the night, Kyungsoo finds himself well inside Jongin’s apartment, sitting on Jongin’s Tempur mattress, his pants around his ankles and Jongin’s beautiful face between his thighs.
“No promises,” he tells Jongin in the morning, when Jongin asks if they can do this again. “No strings attached.”
That was three years ago.
Kyungsoo has published two more anthologies of his poetry and started touring for each book. Jongin has appeared in two music videos, twelve more billboards, countless magazines.
They’ve been sleeping together, without ever being together, ever since.
They pieced you from sun-sand-and-sea and created
the glue:
beauty.
I have never met anyone who looked better naked
than you
(on me).
- “Beach Born,” Do Kyungsoo
Brunch comes with a white tablecloth and chilled rosé.
“I ordered it,” Jongin explains from the edge of the bed, still naked inside his bathrobe, “because we forgot to last night.”
Kyungsoo has just pulled on a shirt and boxers. He bites the side of Jongin’s neck. “You used to hate rosé.”
“It’s too sweet.” Jongin tugs Kyungsoo between his legs to hold him. “But I’m used to it now.”
He doesn’t say, “Because you like it,” but Kyungsoo will pretend that’s what he meant.
Jongin hooks his chin over Kyungsoo’s shoulder, reaching for a piece of fruit. He munches on it contentedly, his free hand at rest over Kyungsoo’s tummy. Kyungsoo has never quite figured out if Jongin does this consciously or unconsciously: the compulsory way he clings whenever they are together.
Kyungsoo butters a piece of toast. “How’ve you been?” His tone is light, but there is hesitance tiptoeing through the question. It’s been months. “We haven’t talked-”
“-because the sex took too long,” Jongin puts in jauntily. His nails scratch over Kyungsoo’s faint abs, and Kyungsoo’s stomach jumps. “Where did you pick up that thing you did with your mouth? You know, the-” Jongin mimes something obscene, his tongue flicking in the air. “Someone teach you that?”
Kyungsoo elbows him, hard. “Quit it.” He’s already turned on, though. It’s embarrassing. He’s glad that Jongin’s the one sitting behind him, and not the other way around.
Jongin is completely unfazed. The hand over Kyungsoo’s stomach slides down, down, down, until it has Kyungsoo gently cupped. “Have you been sleeping with someone else these past few months? You can tell me.” His breath smells like melon. “I don’t mind.”
No, Kyungsoo thinks to himself clearly, even in the fog of arousal. I just wish you did.
In thinly veiled frustration, he tosses his bread back into its basket. Jongin manages to lick his cheek before Kyungsoo is rearranging them both, straddling Jongin’s lap and pushing him into the mattress.
“I meant,” Kyungsoo says, undoing Jongin’s robe so that it falls away, “we haven’t talked much since I started the book tour.” He nips Jongin’s bottom lip. “I haven’t had much time to sleep, much less sleep around.”
Jongin hums pleasantly, chasing Kyungsoo’s mouth to give it the same treatment, and more. “So you don’t have another me.” His kisses are deep and deliberate; completely intoxicating, like the rest of his body.
“I don’t want another you,” Kyungsoo hears himself say. The surprise in Jongin’s eyes is mild, but Kyungsoo sees it and regrets his candor. So he adds, “I’m fine fucking just you,” and hopes the dirty talk buries his moment of weakness.
It does. Jongin bites his lips, eyes dark. He hooks his legs around Kyungsoo’s waist. “Are you going to fuck me now?”
Kyungsoo is still wearing his boxers. They pose the flimsiest of barriers to Jongin’s warm, taut body. He presses their foreheads together, shutting his eyes. “Do you want me to?”
“If you aren’t too hungry,” Jongin tongues the seam of Kyungsoo’s lips, “then, yes, please.”
They do it hard yet slow, in the familiar tango of old lovers. Kyungsoo manages to keep a conversation going, as though his thrusts and Jongin’s gasps were more for sport than seduction.
“I saw your Casio ad in Thailand,” he grits out, as Jongin groans hotly into his ear. “It was a big one, on the highway.”
“How did I look?” Jongin asks, eyes fluttering with lust.
“Pretty.” Kyungsoo kisses him.
“Prettier than right now?” The effervescent pink in Jongin’s face is like the rosé Kyungsoo loves to drink. Jongin smolders at him, sexy as hell, and in an instant, Kyungsoo is pulled deeper into a tight heat.
“Shit,” he sputters, driving in harder. “Almost. Not quite.” He dips to suck a nipple into his mouth, licking it pert, and Jongin keens. “You’re the prettiest like this, when you’re with me.”
“Because you fuck me so well,” Jongin says breathily. He grabs one of Kyungsoo’s ass cheeks for emphasis, giving it a bruising squeeze. “You give me exactly what my body wants.” He’s smiling, somewhat, and his teeth are white and perfect.
Kyungsoo wants that smile all to himself. “Yeah,” he mutters, setting a relentless pace that makes Jongin’s top lip curl over his teeth. A part of him feels incredible. Another part of him aches. “I’ve spoiled you rotten.”
Kyungsoo finishes first, spilling into the condom they’d rolled over him together. Then he puts his mouth on Jongin, just the way Jongin likes it, until his entire body melts over the tip of Kyungsoo’s tongue.
It doesn’t feel as good as it usually does. Not for Kyungsoo, at least-because he’s thinking about something else. Something more meaningful than the pursuit of his own pleasure in the body of someone beautiful. Something he’s been thinking about for a very long time.
“Enough, Soo,” Jongin begs when Kyungsoo shows no sign of pulling off. He pushes Kyungsoo’s face away and hauls him up to eye level. “Kiss me.”
The moments after sex are usually spent mouthing at each other, tasting the remnants of their desire and staying impossibly close. Today, Kyungsoo stares down into face of his lover-fuck buddy-and doesn’t feel like lying.
He clears the cobwebs from his throat. He bends to peck Jongin on the mouth. There is no sensuality in it; only solemnity and obedience. He slides off the bed, thighs like jelly, and makes for the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” Jongin calls after him, spread out on the bed like a starfish, put-out.
“Gotta pee,” Kyungsoo calls back, even though he doesn’t. He does have to take a cold shower and get his feelings back in check. “Eat without me.”
You’ve been sleeping in my bed for weeks.
I would change the sheets
if I weren’t so weak
to your smell
and to your heat.
- “Sheets,” Do Kyungsoo
On the fourth month of their relationship-arrangement?-Jongin asks Kyungsoo the question he’s been dreading.
“Can I see some of your poetry?”
They’re in Kyungsoo’s apartment in Namdaemun, sitting out on the small balcony because Jongin wants to smoke. It’s past midnight, and they’ve just had sex. Kyungsoo’s bedroom reeks of it.
He shifts in his chair. “Seriously?”
“Why not?” A long ribbon of smoke escapes Jongin’s lips. French exhale. “I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable, I could just ask Joonmyun-hyung for an advance copy.” He grins, and Kyungsoo knows it’s an attempt to put him at ease.
The Smell of Your Hair will be available to the public in two weeks, both online and in stores. Joonmyun’s company is being really savvy about their marketing strategy-seeding the most poignant poems to social media influencers in the form of typography.
(“It’s the millennial way,” Joonmyun had quipped, showing Kyungsoo an Instagram post that went viral in a day. Seven-thousand likes, too many comments to count. It had blown Kyungsoo’s mind, especially when he saw most of the commenters were asking, “Where is this from?”)
So it isn’t the attention that makes him so guarded about his work. It’s the subject matter. The poems in The Smell of Your Hair-all sixty-two of them-are about a longtime boyfriend who’d abandoned him for marriage to a woman, and whose loss had left Kyungsoo stripped and raw. He’s not sure if he’s ready to let Jongin see him any more naked than the guy already has.
A chuckle pierces Kyungsoo’s reverie. “Forget it,” Jongin says generously. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” There isn’t a trace of displeasure in his tone, because Jongin’s kindness surpasses even his sensuality. “Sorry I asked, Soo.”
Of course, that’s exactly what changes Kyungsoo’s mind. “No,” he says, contemplative at first, and then more adamantly, again. “No, that’s not it. I want to.”
The light in Jongin’s face mimics the moon’s-bright and dreamy. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Kyungsoo nods, bashful all of a sudden. His chair creaks as he gets up to retrieve his own advance copy. It’s the one he’d planned to give Jongin at his book launch in two weeks. Just to be nice. “Be right back.”
Kyungsoo’s follow-up to The Smell of Your Hair is released in a year’s time. This one’s got a hundred poems, flat. The title for it is pulled from his favorite one.
Our Last Nights as Lovers.
Kyungsoo tells Joonmyun it’s a reflection on several past relationships coming back to light, now that he’s on the last year of his twenties. Joonmyun smiles beatifically; tells him to say the same thing to the press, because it’s a lovely sentiment.
They both know he’s written every poem with Jongin in mind.
Kyungsoo just never expected them-this-to outlast the book.
You are a mystery to me.
I know nothing of you;
nothing more than your kiss.
But I miss you, Mysterious,
deliriously.
- “Fever Dream,” Do Kyungsoo
“They’re holding a dinner for me tonight,” Kyungsoo says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. When he swallows, the flat, sticky sound of it is audible. “The Manila event people, I mean. Do you want to come?”
Jongin stands head and shoulders above everybody else in this queue. They’re at a Starbucks a few blocks from the hotel, and it is packed. They’d spent all morning in bed, and all afternoon at the Ayala Museum, lingering at the Yee I-Lann exhibit because Jongin loves her lines. Now Kyungsoo is all museumed out, and Jongin wants a Passion Tango Tea.
He looks over at Kyungsoo, mouth curled up curiously. “Am I allowed to?”
The expression in his eyes is questioning, disguised as nonchalance. Kyungsoo is acutely aware of how big of a deal this is. He’s only invited Jongin to attend something with/for him twice: the respective launches of The Smell of Your Hair and Our Last Nights as Lovers. All other times, Kyungsoo’s invitations have extended as far as his bedroom.
(It should have been thrice. Only, Jongin was scheduled for Paris Fashion Week when the new book launched this year. Kyungsoo knew this ahead of time and decided, at the last minute, it would be best not to say anything at all. Joonmyun tutted when he showed up to the party alone. Kyungsoo’s bestfriend, Baekhyun, who’d come with a date, called him a pussy. If Jongin found out-and Kyungsoo is certain he did-he never made a fuss.)
Jongin has never asked him to come to anything. Not one show. Not one little shoot.
“Of course.” Kyungsoo is embarrassed again. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“But isn’t that, like…” Jongin scratches the side of his face. It’s darkened by a five o’clock shadow. “I don’t know. Crossing the line?”
Kyungsoo cocks a brow. “What line?”
“The line that you draw,” Jongin says, “between what happens with me and what happens in your regular life.”
Kyungsoo feels a knot in his stomach, sharp and tight. It’s unlike Jongin to be so straightforward about their situation. Kyungsoo himself only references it obliquely (“I’m not dating right now,” he’d told his brother when Seungsoo offered to set him up. “It’s complicated.”). Jongin doesn’t discuss it all. He just shows up when Kyungsoo texts him to.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Kyungsoo mutters, helplessly, even though he does, perfectly. “It’s just a dinner.”
The long look Jongin levels at him does not waver, even as they move up the line. Kyungsoo’s feet are like lead, and there’s a bitterness in the back of his mouth. It mingles with the taste of the last kiss Jongin had given him.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Jongin’s voice is low and sweet. His eyes look cautious, like a child’s. “It’s just that you’ve-we’ve-never done anything like that before. I don’t want to mess anything up for you.”
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo reiterates, “it’s just a dinner.” He forces a smile. His stomach is roiling with acid. “You couldn’t possibly.”
“Okay.” The Korean version rolls off of Jongin’s tongue with care. A-ra-seo. “Then I’d love to come, if you want me to.”
The stroll back to the hotel is a silent one. The ice cubes in Kyungsoo’s Americano slosh in time with the ones in Jongin’s tea. They’re in an empty street; Kyungsoo can hear the soles of his sneakers scraping against the asphalt of this sidewalk. It’s a balmy afternoon. The breeze is overly affectionate, running its fingers through Jongin’s bangs.
Jongin catches him looking. His smile is genuine. Kyungsoo releases the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“I was surprised, you know, to hear from you.” Jongin takes a small sip of his drink. “Before I got your email a few days ago, I hadn’t heard from you in a while.”
“I know you’ve been travelling for Fashion Week.” Kyungsoo tries to put conviction in his tone. “You’ve been working so much. I didn’t want to disturb you. I just heard through Joonmyun-hyung that you were going to be in Manila the same time I was.”
“My show here was a week ago,” Jongin is looking down at him, skin backlit. “I just extended to see you.”
“Oh.” Kyungsoo didn’t know that. The sudden admission spreads over his skin before it sinks in, velvety. “I…”
“We’ve been through Fashion Week before, though.” Jongin doesn’t miss a beat. “You always used to call me, no matter what country I was in.” There’s that telltale mischief threatening at the corners of his mouth. “Remember last year when I was in Milan, and we were trying to have phone sex?”
So many emotions, mixing in a dangerous cocktail. Kyungsoo’s response is completely on autopilot. “I was talking about going down on you. Baekhyun yelled at me to stop from the other room. I didn’t know he was over.”
“I fell off the bed laughing. Cracked my phone screen.” Jongin chuckles vaguely. “Why didn’t we do that this year?”
“You walked forty-odd shows across six cities,” Kyungsoo reasons, the knot in his gut connecting to another, and another. “And I had the new book to take care of.”
Jongin’s lips are wet from his tea. He wipes away the excess on the back of his hand. The movement obscures his face. “Were you angry with me?”
Kyungsoo whips his head in Jongin’s direction. His coffee is sweating in his hand. “What?”
Jongin has his eyes locked on him like a target. “That’s how it felt, at least.” His voice lowers a degree, and his eyes soften in color, infinitesimally. “Were you?”
Angry, Kyungsoo internalizes, is different from jealous. “I just wanted to give you space after what happened at hyung’s birthday.” He mops the moisture hugging his cup with the hem of his shirt. It allows him to break eye contact. “You know we never talked about it,” he says. “And I didn’t hear from you either, Jongin.”
He’s not sure if Jongin’s exhale is bemused or frustrated. It’s certainly jagged, and sounds like a bit of both. “You know I just follow your lead.” Jongin finally turns away, and the warmth of his gaze is lost. “Ever since.”
When I was young
I was never told
of the way sorrow clung
to memories old.
I pray when I’m old
I’ll remember the fun:
the songs sung,
the fears flung,
the lips pressed,
you, undressed-
not the sadness
from when I was young.
- “When I Was Young,” Do Kyungsoo
Soojung is not Jongin’s girlfriend, just like Jongin is not Kyungsoo’s boyfriend. But she is Jongin’s, and Kyungsoo finds that out completely on accident.
He’s been seeing Jongin-seeing him naked, at least-for a year and a half. The sex is sensational. It’s the intensity of their body chemistry, more than the audacity of it (neither of them are particularly adventurous). Still, Kyungsoo can now count on both hands the number of times they’ve hooked up outside an apartment or hotel room. And that’s saying a lot for his square ass.
Jongin likes cars. Likes undoing Kyungsoo, with all their clothes still on, by putting his hands on him in deserted parking lots. Likes Kyungsoo doing the same, as they sit next to each other in the backseat; slick sounds, glistening sweat, skin strobed by streetlamps. Likes keeping Kyungsoo in the driver’s seat to climb all over him, pushing slow, riding fast, keening high, kissing dirty.
Kyungsoo likes anything Jongin likes.
(In retrospect, that should have been a warning sign.)
One night, when Jongin has stayed over much too late to call an Über or take the subway, Kyungsoo offers to drive him home. Jongin has an early call time, and his place is closer to the shoot than Kyungsoo’s is.
Jongin resists. “I can just walk…”
Kyungsoo insists. “You’re across the river, Jongin.”
Even when he’s already in the passenger’s seat of Kyungsoo’s sedan, Jongin still feels the need to ask. “You sure you don’t mind?” His phone and his cigarettes are in his lap. They’re the only things he’d brought when Kyungsoo called him over. “I’m on the other side of town.”
“No big deal.” Kyungsoo’s already backing out of his parking space. “Fasten your seatbelt.”
It takes only ten minutes to get from Namdaemun to Apgujeong, where Jongin’s ritzy apartment complex is. It helps that it’s four in the morning and there’s zero traffic. On foot it would have taken an hour, or more.
Kyungsoo mentions this, with yawning amusement, as they pull up to Jongin’s place.
Jongin thanks him by slipping his tongue through the heart shape of Kyungsoo’s lips and snaking a hand underneath his shirt. “You’re so hot,” Jongin murmurs, rubbing a nipple, “when you try to act smug.”
Kyungsoo forgets how tired he is, pulling Jongin into his lap so they can make out a little more. It’s not so much to get off as it is to stretch their last minutes together. Jongin rocks against him every time they latch lips: left side, right side, back and forth.
The buzzing of Jongin’s phone, left face down on the passenger seat, disrupts this dance. Kyungsoo pries his lips away from the suction of Jongin’s kiss, staring at the phone, then at his dashboard clock.
“Who calls this early?” Kyungsoo’s brows knit together. “Is it your shoot?”
Jongin’s lips are swollen pink. “My call time’s at six,” he says huskily, shaking his head. “I’ve got two hours to go. Hold on.”
He crawls over Kyungsoo, flopping back into his seat. He picks up without checking the caller ID, adjusting his semi in his sweatpants. “Hello?”
Kyungsoo’s already hard, so he just pulls his flimsy sleep shirt over his crotch and hopes for the best. He flips his hazard lights on, in case someone pulls up behind them.
“Soojung, slow down,” Jongin says, with sudden urgency in his voice. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, and Kyungsoo watches as they sharpen to full alertness. “Are you drunk?”
“Everything okay?” Kyungsoo whispers. The way Jongin glances at him, pausing before he nods and mouths a yes, is far from convincing. It prompts a familiar echo in the pit of Kyungsoo’s stomach.
“You always drink too much with Sehun. I don’t like it.” Jongin shakes his head. It’s obviously a recurring issue. Kyungsoo files this information away without a word. “Are you at the usual place?” Jongin turns his face towards the window. “All right. Stay there. I’m coming to get you both.”
Discreetly, Kyungsoo presses the button that unlocks Jongin’s door.
The dull click gets Jongin’s attention. He’s looking at Kyungsoo again, and his eyes speak in a foreign language that Kyungsoo cannot interpret.
“I just got home,” Jongin murmurs into his phone.
The echo takes on the sound of a clatter. Kyungsoo recognizes hollowness when he feels it, because he’s felt it so powerfully in the past. He feels hollow, and the depth of it resonates, especially when Jongin says, “I was just with a friend.”
Jongin will explain later on that Soojung is his bestfriend. That they dated back in college. That he’d been unfaithful to her with a man. That they aren’t together anymore, even though they never really broke up. That they live in the same apartment building and see each other every day. That they still sleep together, every once in a while, when either of them feel lonely. That eventually, Soojung would sleep with the same man, Sehun, who’d fallen in love with her after she’d befriended him. That Sehun lives a stop away, and Jongin has dinner with them on weekends. That sometimes, when they’re drunk, they kiss. That Jongin knows it’s bizarre, a baffling mess, but that’s just how magnificent Soojung is.
That Jongin “loved her, a lot.”
Kyungsoo thought he only loved men.
“Do you mind it at all?” Jongin asks, soft-eyed, after he’s told Kyungsoo the whole sordid story. “I know I should have told you sooner.”
“There was quite a lot to tell,” Kyungsoo answers lightly, like his words are small stones skipping over a lake. He will use those same stones to build a wall around the truth.
He’s in love, again, and it’s terrible, because it’s doomed before it can even begin.
Jongin’s grin is a perfect crescent. He thinks Kyungsoo is only teasing. “I didn’t think you’d care, the way we’ve been carrying on.” Then Kyungsoo’s words are quoted back to him: “No promises. No strings attached.”
Kyungsoo produces half a smile and a whole shrug. The less he says, the better. The more he says, the bigger the chance that he’ll lose this.
“So you don’t mind?” Jongin presses on, determined on getting the go-signal. “I’ve already told Soojung about you.”
Soojung is not Jongin’s girlfriend, just like Jongin is not Kyungsoo’s boyfriend. But she is Jongin’s-and Kyungsoo doesn’t know what he is.
“No,” he says. “I don’t.”
She has
honey hair,
milky thighs,
sugar lips,
syrup eyes,
caramel
in her smell,
butterscotch
in her touch,
chocolate-
covered breasts.
Sweet tooth,
taste test.
She has you,
candy man,
in the palm
of her hand.
- “Sweet Tooth,” Do Kyungsoo
Jongin has picked out a buttondown, jeans, and suede loafers for dinner. He looks relaxed but expensive. Model off-duty.
In contrast, Kyungsoo’s navy blue suit makes him feel stuffy. He’s already switched out the dress shirt for a white tee after seeing Jongin’s outfit, but he still can’t manage that jetsetter je ne se quoi. It’s because he’s not really that fancy, he concludes, shoehorning himself into a brown monk strap.
“Look at you,” Jongin says when he emerges from the bathroom, freshly shaven. He didn’t bother to do so in his own room-just came back to Kyungsoo’s, dressed and pressed, and ripped open the kit by the washbasin. The towel he was using to wipe his face is discarded on the bed. “Straight out of GQ.”
“Look at you,” Kyungsoo parrots, tugging on his jacket sleeves. “Giorgio Armani.”
Surprise is an exclamation mark stamped over Jongin’s face. “How’d you know that?”
“I keep up with your work.” Kyungsoo crosses his legs, going for casual. “I’m very observant, you see.”
Jongin’s smile spreads slow and steady, like the stained-glass skies of dusk. “Is that so?”
It only takes a second for him to peck Kyungsoo’s cheek, feather-light and lingering. It is intimate, not sexual. It conveys affection, not seduction. It is the kind of kiss he imagines Jongin has given Soojung many times over.
When Kyungsoo realizes this-that Jongin has caressed him like a real lover, not a recurring conquest-he freezes.
Jongin does, too.
Before Kyungsoo can even recover, Jongin is kneeling in front of him and taking the shoehorn out of his hand.
“Let me,” Jongin says, expression hidden underneath his fringe. Kyungsoo can only see the crest of his cheekbones and the sculpture of his nose. “They taught us how in Tokyo.” He slips the horn behind the heel of Kyungsoo’s bare foot, then eases it smoothly into the other shoe. “You’ll preserve the leather better this way.”
“Thank you,” Kyungsoo tells him, eyes focused intently on Jongin’s hands. They remain, without explanation, around his ankle.
The pad of Jongin’s thumb strokes over his anklebone. Kyungsoo twitches, and he is released. Jongin exhales evenly. Kyungsoo can feel the stream of breath through his thin dress pants.
When Jongin finally glances up, he is smooth-faced-still smiling, like nothing out of the ordinary has happened. “You’re welcome.”
“What exactly did they teach you in Tokyo?” Kyungsoo mumbles before he can stop himself. His frustration simmers beneath his skin, and his mouth is moving faster than his mind. “How to give people the boyfriend experience?”
He’s not sure what he was expecting, because it happens so fast-but it’s certainly not the way Jongin’s face shutters, like Kyungsoo has just called him something foul.
“Wait,” Kyungsoo backtracks, lungs flooding with panic. “I didn’t mean to-”
Jongin rises to his feet in one fluid movement. “It’s fine,” he says, waving Kyungsoo off. His smile has been buried by an impenetrable smirk, sharp around the edges. Bulletproof. “No harm done.”
“Jongin,” Kyungsoo pushes, unwilling to let go of his fumble. “That was stupid of me to say. I don’t know why I said it.” Jongin’s hand is dangling by his side. If Kyungsoo just reached up, five, six inches, he could lace their fingers together. He doesn’t. “I’m sorry.”
“Good.” There is a glimmer of tenderness in Jongin’s dark pupils. Faint and glassy expectation. A chink in the proverbial armor. Then his mouth pulls into the wicked shape he reserves for the cameras, and all vulnerability vanishes in a wink. “Time for dinner.”
You have dueled to the death:
tooth and nail,
blood and sweat.
You say you’ll soon enough forget
the hot love/hate that you regret.
I’ve been fighting a cold war:
silent mouth,
icy heart.
I say I’d rather have the heat
of the love/hate you won’t repeat.
- “Fire and Ice,” Do Kyungsoo
Like so many people his age, Jongin doesn’t put a name to what he has with Soojung, or what Soojung has with Sehun, or what Sehun has with him. He has learned, over the years, to be honest about who he is, what he likes, and how even that can change.
This is why Kyungsoo knows exactly how attracted Jongin is to him, and how unique their arrangement is in comparison to everyone else in Jongin’s sex life.
It’s a sweltering summer afternoon, the kind that makes Kyungsoo’s eyes sting from the endless perspiration. Over two years have passed since he and Jongin started what they started. They’re both in Jongin’s shower today, taking turns soaping up and groping south. Jongin ends up on his knees, palms flat on the backs of Kyungsoo’s thighs, getting his fill of Kyungsoo’s flavor.
The melody of their moaning bounces against the tiles. “Fuck,” Kyungsoo gasps. “Don’t make me come, Jongin.”
Slippery heat is abandoned for cool air. “You want me?” Jongin is all beestung lips and wrecked eyes. “You want to be inside me?”
Instead of saying yes, Kyungsoo drags him up by the back of his neck and kisses him forcefully. “You have a filthy mouth,” he growls, tasting the salt of his own skin as Jongin kisses back.
“Stop stalling,” Jongin entices him, fingernails scratching over Kyungsoo’s back. “I’m ready.” The model spins around to face the wall, and his body bends for Kyungsoo’s taking.
This is not the first time Jongin’s asked for it today. Kyungsoo doesn’t even have to do much before he slips in, and they make the most toe-curling, mind-blowing sound together.
Sex-copious amounts of it-is how Kyungsoo copes with his tragic, twisted, unrequited love.
When it’s all over, and they’ve sudsed up again to actually get clean, Jongin lets something slip.
First, he has Kyungsoo answer an unexpected question. “Do you see anybody else besides me?”
They’re face to face under the spray, naked as babies. Kyungsoo keeps a poker face. “Why do you ask?”
“Do you?”
No. “None of your business.” Kyungsoo allows himself a smile to match his joking timbre. It seems risky to tell Jongin he is the only one.
Jongin clicks his tongue. “You’re a tough one to crack. I told you all about my shit.”
Kyungsoo’s hum is noncommittal.
Jongin huffs out of his nose. “Fine, don’t answer. I was just curious if you’ve ever-” he looks almost shy, “-bottomed for anybody.”
It’s such a strange thing to bring up. Kyungsoo willingly takes the bait. “Never.” He chews on the inside of his cheek. “I wouldn’t be good at it. Too…stiff. Not like you.”
Jongin blinks. His gaze shines with appraisal. “You’re not stiff.”
“How about you?” Kyungsoo pivots, blood pumping to his face. “Ever top?”
Jongin rakes his bangs off his forehead. “Always.” Tiny rivulets of water dribble down his face. “I prefer it.” And then, the confession: “You were my first.”
Kyungsoo feels himself step away from the stream of the shower, just to put distance between them, even though he’d rather be close. He’s only half-aware of what’s happening, and he doesn’t know what to say, except, “Why me?”
Jongin thinks it’s a game, like he always does. He steps through the spray, dripping wet, and gently cages Kyungsoo against the cool tile.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs, and he kisses Kyungsoo once. Twice. Thrice. It’s passionate but simultaneously delicate. The roof of Kyungsoo’s mouth tingles and the centers of his palms prick and the left side of his chest aches, especially when Jongin says, “I just can’t resist you.”
A week after the incident, Kyungsoo is out buying groceries. It’s the FamilyMart near Joonmyun’s office in Gangnam, not his usual place-but they’re organized pretty identically, so it’s a non-issue.
Kyungsoo is by the refrigerators, pulling out a six-pack of Hite beer, when he hears a familiar laugh. Rich and mischievous. Just a touch nasal.
He already knows it’s Jongin before he twists to look.
There he is on the opposite side of the store, standing with his hip cocked in a loose shirt and jeans. His back is turned, but Kyungsoo could identify every inch of Kim Jongin’s body, naked or clothed, from the amount of time he’s spent touching it.
There’s a girl with him. A very beautiful girl. It is her face Kyungsoo sees over the broad span of Jongin’s shoulders. Her eyes are almond-shaped and inquisitive. Her hair is dark and long, with soft bends in it that her fingers have probably twirled. Her mouth is a miniature bow-not the round rosebud that would make someone like Baekhyun swoon. Rather, it is a curious, mysterious, perpetual smirk that the poet in Kyungsoo could probably write pages about.
She’s neither voluptuous nor pin-thin. Neither too small, nor too tall. Not too pale and wan, either-just healthy and fresh, like she’s just come from the gym. She has on pretty much the same thing Jongin does: loose shirt, light pants. Kyungsoo’s no expert, but he can’t detect a lick of makeup on her.
She’s chatting to Jongin animatedly; hands interpretive, brows expressive. Kyungsoo can’t quite make it out-but by the sound of Jongin’s laugh, he is thoroughly amused.
Jongin just lets her talk. A nod here and there. Another melodious chuckle. Once, he ruffles her hair into her face, mid-sentence. She only pauses to whine at him, then blows out her lips. The puff of air clears a path through the strands crisscrossing over her eyes.
“Are you doing aegyo?” Kyungsoo hears Jongin tease. “It doesn’t suit you.”
She punches him in the chest. “Jerk.” It can’t have done much damage. Still, Jongin responds with an exaggerated oof belied by the fact that his body doesn’t move an inch.
“Just kidding.” Jongin reaches for her, pulling her into his chest. “C’mere, Soojung.”
If Kyungsoo hadn’t come from a meeting with Joonmyun to discuss his third book; if he had written all the poems before he’d thought of a title to run by his editor, as usual; if he’d woken up early enough to do his groceries in Namdaemun, instead of here in Gangnam; if he’d done one thing, anything, differently today, then maybe he wouldn’t have had to be privy to certain secret things in the liquor aisle of this FamilyMart.
Soojung lets herself be held, just for a moment. With the grace of a gazelle, she pushes up on her tippy-toes and stamps a kiss into Jongin’s forehead. “I just can’t resist you,” she declares with feigned reluctance, mini bow mouth like a bright crescent moon.
That’s the smile, Kyungsoo thinks, of someone in love.
His heart drops to his feet.
Jongin texts him later that evening.
Hey. You busy?
It’s their code for: Are you free to have sex with me?
Just imagining Jongin with Soojung, doing the same intimate things he does with Kyungsoo-plus things beyond the bedroom that Kyungsoo will never, ever experience-makes him lie.
Working on the book tonight, he texts back. Sorry Jongin.
How do I make you think of me,
when you have thought
of only one
since love was worth a thought?
I thought I would not think of you
after I learned
of your one love,
but I suppose I have not learned.
- “Hard-Headed,” Do Kyungsoo
Part 2