Page 99 of Hamartia
It seems weird to me now how I assumed I wasn’t attracted to men. How such a thing had ever entered my mind. But I hadn’t been. I’m not, even. I’m sure, in fact, that my sexuality is defined entirely by him alone.
He redefined me completely that night in Paris.
He moves now, with all the grace of a ballet dancer walking on stage to perform, towards the far side of the bed and presses a button on the wall to draw a light colored blind down over the window. Behind him the lights of Seoul blinker, the boats meandering down the narrow river like slow-moving fireflies.
“Leave it open a little,” I say, as I kneel on the bed.
The blind stops moving about halfway and he turns to me. Framed as he is by the view of the city behind him, lean muscular body pale in the low light, he looks like some kind of mystical creature that I’ve dreamed up halfway to a deep sleep.
I crawl toward him on my knees and reach up to skim my hands over his narrow waist. His chest rising and falling quickly as I lean in to kiss it, then up, mouth skimming over his nipples before they find his collarbone. I kiss here, softly, at odds with what I really want to do, which is bite and pull and suck hard until it turns red and purple. Until I can see my marks on him. I tug gently at the waistband of his pajamas and boxers and pull them down his thighs.
When I look down, I see his cock is half hard and jutting out towards me in invitation. He takes it in his hand and jerks it slowly, other hand drifting lazily through my hair as he looks down into my eyes with some dreamy expression on his face. Soft smile and soft hair.
When I lower my head towards his cock, his movements stall but his hand stays gripped around the base. He doesn’t angle it toward my mouth, just waits for me to take it.
Which I do. On my tongue first. I stick it out and let him run his cock against it for a few moments, curling it around the head to lap up the precome here. I keep my eyes fixed on his and he bites down on his lower lip to stifle his moan. Then I close my mouth around it and suck it inside, as far as I can take it until my lips meet his hand, which he then moves to my cheek.
I turn my head so he can feel his cock press against it from the inside. I know he likes it when I tongue the head, and so as I pull back I focus on that, rimming it with the tip of my tongue around my open mouth for a bit before taking it back into my throat. His hand clutches at my hair tighter, fingers digging into my scalp.
When he starts to thrust a little, not forcefully just purposefully, I groan around him. I’m hard. Fully. Because, perhaps startingly, I really fucking love the feeling of his cock in my mouth. The weight of hard, wet skin on my tongue, the sweetly bitter taste of his precome, the smell of his skin where my nose pushes right up against his shaved hair. All of it.
“Raphael…” He groans, pulling himself all the way out of my mouth to trace the head over my lips. “I want to come.”
“So come,” I say and take him back in.
He works his hand over it as I curl my tongue around the head, flicking it, sucking in the salty sweetness that’s leaking out of the slit. When his movements get clumsy and his head falls back, I take over with my hand, gently knocking his own out of the way. Twisting my wrist, I move my head up and down the slick hard skin. His thighs quiver, his grip on my head changing and then he’s fucking my mouth. When he stops moving his hips and instead starts pulling my head on and off his cock, I have to grip my dick tight in my fist so I don’t come all over myself.
He says my name again, a choking half-sob, and then he’s coming, spurting hot and thick into my mouth. His balls draw up under my chin as he falls forward, gripping me to him as he empties his load down my throat. I swallow most of it, warm and almost tasteless, before sitting up on my knees to pull him in for a kiss. What I haven’t swallowed I push past my lips into his mouth, scraping his tongue with mine so there’s no way he’s not tasting himself. It only seems to turn him on more. He climbs on top to straddle me, naked and rutting the aftershocks of his orgasm against my dick.
“I really need to be inside you,” I tell him, flipping our positions so that he’s beneath me on the bed. “Can you take me right now?”
“Yes.” He pants, reaching above him. “Fuck me. I need to feel you inside.”
Above the bed is a functional headboard with shelves built into the structure. With a practiced move, he pumps something from a large expensive-looking bottle into his hand before reaching between his legs. I sit up and strip out of my t-shirt and sweats, while he preps himself, though when I’m back between his legs I push his hand out of the way again and slide my own fingers into the hot space instead. He’s as tight as I remember, my finger pushing into his body, meeting some resistance.
It hits me suddenly. We’re both clean. He saw my status. I saw his. Did that mean…? I glance up at him to find him looking fucked out but turned on at the same time, eyes flitting from where my hand is pushing inside him to my face and back again.
How I haven’t blown yet is a fucking mystery, frankly.
“So…did you want to use a condom or…?”
He shakes his head. Bites his lip. “No. But if you want to then we can…”
My voice comes out hoarse and pulled tight. “I really want to feel you without. If you’re sure…if you’re okay with it.”
“I want that too,” he says, spreading his legs a little wider for me.
I kiss him hard before pulling back to look down at where my middle finger, palm-up, is disappearing in and out of his body. On the next instroke, I push my index finger inside him too and he gasps and groans, before settling down. His breathing is so fast and his soft spent dick looks so fucking pretty sitting against his inner thigh.
My mind is loud in the quiet of his bedroom, the wordsfuck fuck fuckandcome come comeechoing over and over like some kind of war drum.
“Raphael…” It sounds raw, like purest need. And I want to give him whatever it is he needs but…
“Fuck,Jae, you’re still so tight.”
“I don’t care, just fuck me, Raphael.”
And then he’s grabbing his knees and pulling them up to his chest, presenting himself to me like something from one of my wildest wet dreams. He pulls a pillow from near his head and slides it under his hips and then he’s there, glistening wet and desperate and I don’t need him to ask me again.
