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Whoever avoids sensual desires — as he would, with his foot, the head of a snake — goes beyond, mindful, this attachment in the world. —Buddha, Kama Sutta, 4.1
I have not yet met someone who loves virtue as much as sex! —Confucius, The Analects, 15:13
~0~
From the first time Woon kissed Dong-soo, Dong-soo felt, along with the anticipated lust and delight, his rational thoughts playing a back and forth game of neolttwigi. One thought would stand on the end of a long straight plank, then jump off and let the other one fly; then the other thought would jump on, and set the previous thought off with its weight:
This is bad.
This is good.
This is bad.
This is good.
After a few days, many kisses, and a surging happiness that went as far as Dong-soo’s eye could see, beyond the peaks of the Bukhansan and further than Hanyang and straight into the heavens, Dong-soo’s mind settled in the middle of the plank.
This is natural.
Dong-soo assumed that Woon, too, had been wobbling back and forth on the rightness of it all; there was nobody Dong-soo knew who was as self-reproaching as Woon. Maybe nobody in all Joseon was as truly concerned with virtue; not even Buddhist monks and Confucian scholars beat themselves up like Woon over making choices.
There had been that one moment-–had it been the second night? When more clothes were off than the night before, hands were reaching for more intimate places, baji were pulled way past knees, and Woon’s mouth had been kissing a path down Dong-soo’s abdomen. Woon suddenly pressed both palms on Dong-soo’s thighs, lifted his head, looked up with the saddest eyes (did anyone have eyes that mourned the world like Woon’s?) and asked, “Are you sure? I might be an abomination.”
And Dong-soo had chuckled lightly. “If you’re an abomination, let’s be cursed together.”
Maybe Woon had taken those words to heart. Woon’s outlook didn’t seem as happy as Dong-soo’s in the early days. He seemed sated, yes, more relaxed than Dong-soo had ever seen him. And he actually smiled, actually took locks of Dong-soo’s curls in his fingers as he rested against him, twirled the curls like flower-stems between his fingers, and looked impossibly young–like a boy who knew nothing of the world. Not the young man who, as the Sky Lord of Heuksa Chorong, had killed so many men and schemed with nobles and criminals across the continents. But Woon’s eyes still held a troubled look; Dong-soo knew it well now: is he afraid that some darkness in him is going to contaminate me? But he wants to touch me that much. Desire is a crazy thing.
Truth was, both Dong-soo and Woon had always known about desire, as healthy, carefree boys and then as disciplined young warriors, but they had known close to nothing about acting on desire.
Dong-soo had hugged a woman once; Yoo Ji-sun had felt like a fragile doll in his arms. Dong-soo had wondered if Woon hadn’t visited gisaeng or tasted this or that perversion while serving in that strange assassin place, but Woon had said he’d never kissed anyone before Dong-soo, and although Woon had a history of lying, there was no reason for him to lie about that.
Kissing Woon isn’t a perversion.
Men who took homeless young boys to inns and sent them off with money. The noble with two wives who kept a pretty boy around the house for no reason–the boy wasn’t a slave, but everyone knew what he was. Dong-soo and Woon weren’t like that, were they?
We’re best friends.
We’re the same age.
I love him.
The desire itself was still scary, though. Dong-soo and Woon, as martial artists, had trained themselves to control every nerve in their bodies, to measure every breath, but when it came to touching one another, that training became unhinged; there were new lessons to be learned; the game was wide open, and Dong-soo’s weaknesses had never felt so exposed.
Don’t kill me, Woon-ah. Another breath from you against my cheek, and I’ll surely die. My lungs will collapse. My heart will burst.
Woon was more assertive than Dong–soo; in quiet moments, Dong-soo wondered why. Was it because Woon had some familiarity commanding men? Was it because as a child, Woon had experienced so little control over his own life that he needed to take control whenever he could? Woon hadn’t become his brutal father or anything like the even more brutal mentor who led him as a gullible twelve-year-old to Heuksa Chorong, but Woon had sharp edges, an assassin’s skills, a willingness to leap into the unknown.
Woon-ah, you are exacting about what you want, never hesitant. Are you really not afraid of all this new touching stuff?
And yet Woon, who Dong-soo had always known as a quiet, restrained person, would struggle through pleasure like a man crawling out of a grave, making little choking sounds, his fingers scrambling, nails often clawing Dong-soo’s flesh. Dong-soo would watch with awe as Woon’s mouth opened wide; Dong-soo would listen with his pulse racing as Woon made strange, resounding, low moans; in the end, Woon would cry out like some wild bird. It was all so arousing, and Dong-soo couldn’t get enough of those cries–that was scary in and of itself. It was never enough.
It soon occurred to Dong-soo that it wasn’t desire that scared Woon; it was love. They were outdoors. A fishing trip. An excuse to fuck because, really, since when did new lovers have hours to sit around and wait for fish to bite? The sesame oil had been used mostly for a purpose other than seasoning grilled fish.
The full moon was high and bright. They were both exhausted from non-stop indulgences, and Dong-soo was catching his breath, languidly tracing his finger down the middle of Woon’s nude chest, down to his bellybutton, down the barely perceptible fine fuzz of hair that led to the bump of his pelvic bone, up again, this way, that way. Dong-soo’s finger was rolling over each of Woon’s ribs.
Woon had closed his eyes and was looking enraptured. As happy as if Dong-soo were full-on fucking him and slamming that magical nub. But Woon’s cock was soft; it was Dong-soo’s loving touch itself that was sending Woon into an otherworldly bliss.
Dong-soo moved his hand away. Woon’s eyes opened. He looked startled and embarrassed.
He hasn’t been loved enough. He’s scared of being loved.
“Are you all right?” Dong-soo hadn’t meant to ask; the words just came out.
Woon assumed a haughty expression. “Do you think I’m made out of buckwheat flour and honey? Like a cookie? You act like you’re afraid to kiss me too hard because I might melt in your mouth.”
Dong-soo laughed. “You do melt in my mouth.”
“And how many times now have you apologized for calling me a boy prostitute when we were twelve? By the gods, you say it almost every time you’re about to fuck me. Apologies are stupid between us now–” Woon’s eyelashes batted away something else he didn’t want to say. “Anyway, why the guilt? It’s not like you’re paying for me.”
Dong-soo laughed again. “I haven’t said it that often. Maybe twice? And I’m going to start calling you cookie. ”
Woon gave Dong-soo a look like if he ever did that, Woon would kick Dong-soo in the face.
Aish, his face. It’s always been this beautiful, right? I knew that. Even the scar on his cheek is beautiful. I’m not guilty about anything, not about putting the scar there. The past is the past. I did stupid things years ago, and I’ll do more stupid things tomorrow. What I don’t want… is to hurt you now, Woon-ah. You’ve been hurt so much in your life. By me, by everyone. I want to be the one who never hurts you.
“What are you looking at?” Woon sounded genuinely suspicious.
“What do you think?” Dong-soo was surprised at how hoarse his voice was. He cleared his throat. The moment felt awkward; the warmth in his belly was too familiar, too warm.
Woon looked away. His smile was barely there, and his voice was the slightest bit sad, the slightest bit happy. “You were looking at me like you love me.”
I’m right. He’s scared of being loved.
Dong-soo’s throat made a faint raspy noise. “Hey.” He coughed. “Ha, that’s nothing new.” There was no hiding his new, full arousal. “I’ve always loved you since we were little kids. Love? Yeah, love. I love all my friends. What’s new is … I want to fuck you so bad.”
It’s true. He’s scared of being loved, and I’m scared of how much–I am scared of my own desire for him, yes.
Woon’s face was suddenly closer to Dong-soo’s neck. Woon brushed his hand over Dong-soo’s cock. The word was a hot breath: “So?”
“We’re out of oil,” Dong-soo said.
“I know,” Woon said. “We did it a lot.”
“And then someone left the top off the bottle, and someone knocked the bottle over with his foot–”
“That was you, Baek Dong-soo.”
“We can do other stuff. That’s fine too.”
“No, it’s not. Not if you really want to fuck me that bad.” Woon’s lips had gently taken hold of Dong-soo’s earlobe now and were tugging it.
“I–I–” Dong-soo felt his neck and chest break out into a sheen of cold sweat. “No, you wouldn’t like that. It’s supposed to be uncomfortable–”
Woon’s lips dropped the earlobe. “Improvise then,” he whispered. “Spit into your hand. That should work.”
That sounded good.
And it was that night, next to the flowing moonlit water, while the campfire crackled and the breeze carried away the lingering smell of grilled fish, when Dong-soo discovered that love and desire were powerful forces but that there was no more an insatiable well in human beings than loneliness.
~0~
Water is wet, but kissing is wetter. Dong-soo loved to kiss Woon until the whole world steamed up. As he kissed Woon’s mouth, Dong-soo felt his own body moisten with perspiration, and his arousal pressed against Woon’s began to dribble a bit. There was such a delicious, viscous quality to kissing, to pulling away, pushing back, plunging deeper past those warm lips.
Sometimes Dong-soo thought it was all he might ever want–he could kiss Woon forever. He cherished Woon’s face, and kissing felt like saying I love you without having to speak the embarrassing words. Not that the words embarrassed Dong-soo; they embarrassed Woon, who wouldn’t say them. Woon would look flushed and pleased whenever Dong-soo said them; then right away, he would kiss Dong-soo. Deeply. Woon’s kisses were like Dong-soo’s and formed the same words.
I love you, I love you. Here, on your lips, on your throat, this nipple. Dong-soo couldn’t help but make mmmm sounds as his mouth loved Woon’s body; Woon tasted clean in places, like rosewater and pine, and his saltier places tasted like a light summer soup. All of him was delectable–and Dong-soo hadn’t tasted every part yet.
You love this?
Woon loved his nipple inhaled, his abdomen laved, his hipbone sucked. Dong-soo loved watching Woon’s chest rise, loved hearing that chest exhale sighs.
Kissing is nice, but it’s not enough.
“Turn around,” Dong-soo whispered.
Woon was on his hands and knees right away; bright moonlight shone on his pale back.
“Do it.” Woon could be so bossy sometimes. “Don’t wait.”
But Dong-soo did like to wait. To admire his lover’s heavenly shoulder bones and fleshy ass–
“Dong-soo-yah!”
Damn it, Woon-ah, it’s not like I’m going to get up and wander away. Now, wasn’t I supposed to… wait, what? Spit on my hand?
Dong-soo was still possessed by a kissing euphoria; he decided against the hand-spitting thing. He clenched Woon’s two buttocks and parted them. The rosy puckered circle was perfectly visible in the moonlight, and Dong-soo kissed it.
Woon’s entire body flinched.
I’m going to kiss every part of you eventually. Every strand of your hair. Didn’t you know that, Woon-ah?
Dong-soo kneaded Woon’s buttocks and pushed them towards his face, meanwhile licking gently around the hole that had just clenched.
Dong-soo’s kisses became wetter; his hands massaged Woon’s skin with more pressure. The flesh under Dong-soo’s tongue relaxed.
There had been a picture in a book long ago, and it hadn’t made any sense to Dong-soo then. Dong-soo had rifled through the pages to get to the drawings of naked lady breasts. Now, the strange drawing of the man with his face between a woman’s butt-cheeks made more sense.
Spit isn’t as slippery as oil, but it’s good.
Dong-soo pushed his tongue through as if he were kissing Woon’s mouth, finding warm, tender places no one else in the world would ever touch. Dong-soo was feeling a little heady and self-congratulatory about being the first one to touch Woon this way. Mainly, though, he wanted to make sure there was enough spit in there. He didn’t expect Woon to like it–
“Ah… ahhh… ahhh…” Woon’s little exhalations of pleasure were shaky.
Dong-soo didn’t know what he’d done, but he tried to do more of it. Swirled his tongue around, pressed it hard here, there–
He pushed his tongue deeper inside, his face smashing Woon’s sweaty skin. He heard Woon’s elbows collapse as his bottom rose higher. Dong-soo moaned, straining his tongue to reach for that spot he knew was a hot target, but he didn’t think his tongue was long enough. Dong-soo’s moan made Woon moan. Woon’s moan made Dong-soo crazy.
His hands were holding Woon’s thighs now; Dong-soo could feel their sinews bracing; in another moment, Woon would be trembling. Already, Dong-soo was learning the rise and ebb of Woon’s sensitivity to new touches. All his life, Woon had acted as if he would kill anyone who dared to pat him on the shoulder at the wrong time.
You were dying to be kissed. I was dying to kiss you.
There was a fog of not thinking, only reaching. A taste like no other place, muskier, a hint of cloves. Woon’s pushing into Dong-soo’s face. Woon’s helpless, staggering breaths--Dong-soo wanted to hear them better, but blood in his ears was pounding too noisily. Then Woon backed into Dong-soo too hard. Was that his tailbone that hit Dong-soo’s nose? Dong-soo’s tongue fell out, and Woon’s hole rose high out of reach. There was no stopping Dong-soo now, though. He kept kissing other parts: the crease below, slick with saliva; the dangling sack where a long lick discovered the slightest fuzz of hair. Dong-soo licked another delicate area and–
“Noooo.” Woon’s voice was a low breath.
Dong-soo was too crazy to understand the meaning of the word. What was Woon saying? He was making another yummy sound, right? What was this no?
“Don’t stop,” Woon breathed.
Don’t stop what? Licking this place? Or should Dong-soo go back to the other place? Woon’s ass was rubbing Dong-soo’s face like a starved cat begging the fisherman, and Dong-soo found the hole again and, because he just felt like it, started fucking it with his tongue. In, out, like a playful finger.
You scared me, Woon-ah. You and your no.
Woon was a mess. Dong-soo was holding him by the hips, perfectly aware of how intoxicated Woon was; he could sense from Woon’s shaky body that he was trying to masturbate himself into a sense of control. Dong-soo kept tongue-fucking Woon until he was crazy for the real thing.
Dong-soo retracted his tongue with the intention of using it to speak, and he found that his tongue hurt a little. He licked his lips and took a deep breath. It was all going to be fine–Woon wouldn’t be sliced in half or anything. He was a warrior, and there were rivers of slobber everywhere. Everything was fine, just fine.
“Why aren’t you telling me to just do it ?” Dong-soo whispered into Woon’s hole. “Am I taking too long again?”
Dong-soo expected a brittle “shut up” at the very least, but Woon’s answer was a faint whimper, followed by an incoherent mumble of curses.
Dong-soo rose to his knees, hoisted Woon up to the right angle, and pushed inside.
He started with a slow, rocking rhythm he knew he couldn’t maintain for long; his desire to pound into Woon fast and hard was right there, under the thinnest layer of sanity. He attempted to calm himself, but his heart was wild; he felt a little dizzy.
Aish, don’t be scared. You won’t kill him.
Woon had grounded himself right where he wanted to be, one palm flat on the grass, the other pumping his cock. Dong-soo kept thrusting forward, faster, faster, and the sight of Woon’s black hair undulating over that moonlit back to the increasingly frenetic beat of Dong-soo’s fucking… was mesmerizing.
Gods, Woon-ah. When we were kids, I thought all I wanted to do was beat you at something, anything. And here I am, just beating and beating you, but you still win. You make me so crazy.
It was not going to be one of those times when Dong-soo had any way to hold back; the taste of Woon was still pungent in his mouth, and flushes of soul-smothering heat kept overtaking him. Because of the dense storm of blood in his head, Dong-soo couldn’t hear Woon’s little pleasure noises at all, so he remembered them— Woon had liked being licked there so much.
Then Dong-soo could feel Woon’s spine moving up and down faster than Dong-soo was fucking; Dong-soo leaned over, kissed the slick surface of Woon’s back with a wide open mouth, pumped like a crazy person, noticed something strange about the way Woon’s back was heaving–was he finishing? Yes, that was the final throes of it for Woon, but…?
Dong-soo squeezed his eyes tight, and it was like his ears popped. What’s that sound?
No, no, ah shibal! He’s–he’s crying?
Something like sanity broke through Dong-soo’s sex-haze, and he remembered that they were doing it without any oil. He pulled out immediately, and for one long horrible moment, as he leaned on Woon’s back and felt and heard Woon’s sobs, Dong-soo shuddered, enduring wave after wave of gratification. Then he emptied himself on what felt like the whole history of Woon’s grief.
Panting, Dong–soo wrapped his arm around Woon’s belly. Woon’s face was turned sideways, covered by long hair, and his hands were curled into tight fists on either side of his head. He was crying, not that loudly at all. The sobs were all in the motion of his back, which Dong-soo’s body still covered. The sounds were barely there–-mere wet breaths. Woon didn’t cry hard. Dong-soo had never heard Woon cry hard.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Dong-soo didn’t know what else to say. He felt like an utter criminal. “I should’ve known spit wouldn’t work.”
“It didn’t hurt.” Woon stifled a sob. His fists clenched tighter. “You’re such a dumb-ass.” Dong-soo could hear the snot in his voice. “You’re such a dumb-ass. Even if my leg were torn off, do you think I’d cry?”
Dong-soo was confused. “Then why are you crying?”
The body beneath Dong-soo stopped heaving. Dong-soo was about to roll over Woon over and demand an explanation when Woon started to shake again, harder this time, and when he spoke, his voice sounded desperately weepy: “Why did you pull out? Why? Why do you care that much?”
Dong-soo grabbed Woon, flipped him over and pulled him to a sitting position. The moon shone on Woon’s moony face, lit every tear streak and every tear still standing in eyes or holding onto his long bottom lashes. Dong-soo shook Woon’s shoulders. “You’re scaring me. Tell me the truth. It didn’t hurt?”
“It didn’t hurt.” Woon stared at Dong-soo with those terrible, wet eyes.
“Tell me.”
Woon didn’t say anything.
Dong-soo shook Woon hard. “Tell me anything . Was it good? Did you like it?”
Woon nodded.
Dong-soo didn’t let go of Woon's shoulders. He had to ask again, even though Woon hadn’t been talking that much more since he and Dong-soo became lovers. A little, not much more. Maybe there were some things he would never tell. Dong-soo heard the desperation in his own voice when he repeated: “Tell me anything.”
Woon blinked. That motion let loose one giant tear that went gliding down his face and lingered, lit by the moon like a jewel, on his jaw.
Why do you have to be so beautiful? It makes me feel like I’m a very bad person. Like I’ve offended one of the gods’ favorites or something. There’s no other reason for you to be this beautiful–you’re part god, right?
Woon parted his lips.
The gorgeousness of that notwithstanding, Dong-soo got hugely frustrated. He shook Woon again. “Say it.”
Woon looked as if he were about to speak, but his eyes began to bloom fresh tears.
Another shake, rough this time. “Say it.”
“You love me,” Woon spat out.
Of course. But Woon knew that. What? The realization and its implications had hit Woon with full force in the middle of fucking? Because Dong-soo licked his ass? Because Dong-soo pulled out and didn’t want to hurt his precious ass? What kind of lover did Woon think Dong-soo was? Didn’t Woon know that–
Woon doesn’t know anything about how people are supposed to love each other.
Dong-soo’s hands loosened their grip on Woon’s shoulders, slid down his upper arms, thumbing little circles into Woon’s skin.
I don’t know, I don’t know. I’ll show him how. He was so lonely all his life. Even when I was there. I know that now. I feel that now. I can’t even imagine how lonely it must have been….
“I know what you want me to say,” Woon said quietly. “You want me to say that I love you too, but that is something that should go without saying. We both know it’s true. What I don’t understand, what I may never understand is why you love me. You love me.” Woon looked away. “I–I need to get used to it, I guess.”
Dong-soo reached for Woon right away, and then Dong-soo’s large hand was covering as much of the back of Woon’s head as it could, holding that precious head against his shoulder. “There’s so much to get used to.” Dong-soo was blinking back his own tears now. “It’s new. It’s all new. It will be alright.”
Will it?
But Woon had been crying.
This is good.
This is bad.
Can someone who’s been through all that Woon’s been through ever be alright? He hasn’t even told me the half of it. I’m scared. The responsibility–can I bear it? Of loving him enough? What if it’s not enough?
Woon was limp for a while, but then his melancholy seemed to evaporate, and his muscles came to life in Dong-soo’s embrace. Woon’s arms pressed against Dong-soo’s back, and each individual finger sought to touch Dong-soo in its own way. Woon lifted his head and kissed Dong-soo’s mouth.
Dong-soo felt love and fear both in that kiss. He also tasted loneliness. That insatiable well of loneliness that so desperately needed Dong-soo’s kisses.
Dong-soo kissed Woon back as hard as he could. Deeper. He made a little weeping sound in his throat, and Woon answered him. Woon’s fingers were combing through his curls now; Dong-soo felt slight tugs of pain when Woon would fist his hands in his hair. They kept kissing as if kissing were the only thing left to do until the moon rolled out of the sky.
If it’s not enough, Woon-ah, then it’s not enough. But I can promise you one thing–I’ll give you all I have. All of me.
Woon shifted forward. The vibration in his throat was lower, sounded more soothed and soothing.
This.
Keep saying you love me this way.
No.
Don’t stop.
Don’t ever stop.
End