Page 99 of The Way Back Home

I lower Seyeon onto one of the plastic benches. He slumps, knees together, arms folded across his chest against the chill. I turn the shower on and hold my hand under the stream, waiting for the water to heat. The pipes in this building are ancient and take their time. When the temperature finally shifts from cold to tolerable I reach back, grip Seyeon’s arm and pull him in with me.

The spray cascades over my shoulders first and I duck my head under it, letting the warmth run down the back of my neck, loosening some of the stiffness in my muscles. I step aside, giving Seyeon room. He moves under the water and tips his face up, eyes closing, and for a second I just watch the way the spray sheets down his chest, the water carving paths over his collarbones, between the faint ridges of muscle on his stomach. The pink marks I left on his skin bloom brighter under the heat. I can count them. The one on his neck. Two on his chest. One just above his hip that’s shaped unmistakably like my mouth.

I look away. Turn to grab the soap.

When I look back over my shoulder Seyeon’s turned around, one arm bent behind him at an awkward angle, his fingers trying to reach between his own legs. His face twists with the effort and the discomfort and I watch him struggle with it for three seconds before I close the gap between us.

“Here.” I put my hands on his hips and pull him back against me. The gruffness of my voice is beyond my control. “Let me do it.”

I steer him to face the wall, press gently at the center of his back until he gets the idea and puts both palms flat against the wet tile. His head drops between his arms. His shoulders are tight with tension, the muscles along his spine pulled tight. I place one hand on the curve of his hip to hold him steady and reach down with the other, using my thumb and fingers to spread him open.

Seyeon makes a small, clipped sound as I find his hole. Even under the running water I can feel the swelling, the slight give of skin that’s been used too hard. I angle the shower head so the spray runs between his cheeks, rinsing, warm water washing away the mess. He holds still for me, his breathing getting shorter. When I push two fingers inside to scoop out what’s collected deeper, his whole body jerks and he sucks air through his teeth.

I can feel him shaking beneath my hand. Fine tremors running through the muscles of his thighs, up through his hips where I’m gripping him. His knuckles are white against the tile. I try to concentrate. Try to focus on what I’m doing and not the feeling of his body hot and clenching around my fingers. Not the sounds he’s trying to muffle. My cock is so painfully stiff between my legs it’s hard to think, bobbing against my thigh every time Seyeon’s body tightens. Priorities, I think, grinding my teeth.

“That’s enough,” Seyeon says quietly, his voice tight. He reaches back and tries to pull my wrist away. I catch his hand, guide it back to the wall.

“Shh.” I press him closer to the tile, steady him as I crouch down behind him, lifting one of his legs by the knee to prop his foot on the low ledge of the shower. He lets me, though I hear his breath hitch. “Need to make sure it’s all properly cleaned out or you’re going to be uncomfortable later.”

Seyeon looks back at me over his shoulder. My heart slams into my ribs.

His eyes are half lidded, pupils blown in the steam. His cheeks are flushed. His teeth are sunk into his bottom lip, pressing a crease into the soft skin. The look on his face is devastating. The blood roars in my ears and my cock pulses against my thigh hard.

I make myself focus. I use my thumbs to spread him open again, leaning close so that I can see clearly. His rim is puffy and swollen, flushed a deep pink, tender from the abuse. I hold him open and check inside, the tissue hot and flushed but no tearing that I can see, just overworked soreness from three rounds without enough lube because we were too busy trying to consume each other to think. I let go carefully and stand.

Seyeon lets out a long breath as his leg comes down, his posture loosening by fractions. His forehead rests against the tile between his braced arms. The water runs over both of us, fogging the tiny bathroom in steam.

I can’t help it.

I lean forward and press my lips to the back of his neck, right at the top of his spine where his hair is plastered down in dark wet strands. His skin is hot from the water and impossibly soft. I let my mouth linger there for a beat too long, breathing him in.

Seyeon turns his head. His hand lifts from the wall and reaches back, fingers finding the side of my face, my jaw, pulling gently. I let him turn me and then his mouth is on mine, unhurried this time, nothing like the ferocity of last night. His lips are warm and slick from the water, parting, and his tongue slides over mine slow and searching, and I feel it unravel something in my chest that I’ve kept knotted for years. My hand comes up to cup the back of his head, holding him in place, tilting into it as his tongue curls against mine and the taste of him floods my mouth and I want to drown in this, want to stay here in this shitty little bathroom with the bad pipes and the cracked tile and kiss him until the rain stops and the world outside forgets we exist.

I make myself pull away.

It takes a massive amount of self control. Peeling my mouth from his feels like tearing tape off skin. I lean back, put a few inches of steam-filled air between us, and watch his eyes open, glassy and flushed, giving me a look that makes my stomach drop.

I reach past him and adjust the shower head so it’s hitting the wall instead of us.

We stand there for a second not touching anymore but close enough to feel the heat coming off his body. If I leaned forward even slightly I’d be back against him and then this shower would go a very different direction and I need, desperately, for that not to happen right now because if I put myself inside him again this morning I don’t think I’ll be able to convince myself to stop.

We towel off in the cramped bathroom. I grab one of the towels I brought from my apartment and toss it at Seyeon’s chest. He catches it, presses it against his face first, then starts working it over his hair. I watch the motion of his arms, the flex of his shoulders, before I catch myself and look away.

“Ready?” I nod toward the door.

Seyeon peers out at the courtyard where rain is still sheeting down, the few meters between the bathroom and the back door of the house looking like a gauntlet. He sighs. I count to three and we both bolt, bare feet slapping wet stone, Yuro scrambling up from where he’s been lying under the kitchen overhang to charge in after us. We stumble through the back door dripping and cursing, Yuro shaking himself off so vigorously he sprays us both and I have to shove him away with my knee, laughing.

We dry off properly inside. I dig through the dresser and pull out a pair of my sweatpants and a t-shirt, hold them out to Seyeon without comment. He takes them, looks at the shirt for a second. It’s going to be loose on him. Broader in the shoulders, longer in the torso. He pulls it on anyway and again I have to turn away because the sight of him in my clothes makes my blood hot.

We wander out into the shop. The roll up doors are still open from yesterday, the morning air damp and warm, rain turning the street into a river. I stand at the threshold and watch it pour for a minute, the gutters overflowing, the road below the hill already starting to flood. Nothing’s moving out there. No cars, no people. The whole town is sealed indoors.

I shake my head and turn back. “Come on. I’ll make us breakfast.”

Seyeon follows me into the kitchen without protest. It’s a narrow space, the ceiling so low that I have to duck slightly when I pass under the beam near the stove, the old yellow tile on the walls and the worn wooden counter all unchanged from when I used to sit here with my legs dangling while Mrs. Nam chopped garlic. The sunken floor puts us a step below the main hall.

I crouch in front of the fridge and pull out the leftover chicken I bought at the market two days ago. Hand a piece to Seyeon along with a spare bowl. “Here, give this to him.” I jerk my chin toward Yuro, who is already planted in the doorway, ears pricked, tail going, eyes on the chicken with the intensity of a missile guidance system.

Seyeon takes the bowl and the chicken, tears the meat into pieces and sets it down for the dog. Yuro dives in, wet sounds of enthusiastic gobbling filling the kitchen. I turn back to the fridge, start pulling things out. I set a pan on the burner and turn the gas, the blue flame clicking to life with a familiar whup as I crack eggs into a bowl and start beating them with chopsticks.