Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Soobin was born into wealth. He realised his own superiority when he turned six years old. He still remembers the day precisely - it was on his birthday. The fifth of December. The sky was grey, the cloud ceiling laid low. He wanted to see snow, but all he got was a windy London air, as he walked down the street with his father, firmly holding his hand with his own palm covered with the fluff of the mittens. It was near evening, so the boulevard was filled to the brim with warm yellow from the street lamps. Soobin could see their golden shine reflecting in the many puddles left from yesterday’s rain. The boy wanted to step into one of those puddles so so bad, but he knew that his father would be pissed, so he never did.
It was on that evening when he saw a boy, standing in front of the toy store’s window, looking through it. Looking as if he wished for that window to magically vanish and let him into the store. Soobin didn’t get that. The door was right there, after all.
Soon Soobin was shaking on his father’s hand, calling for his attention, silently pointing at the store. Soobin rarely asked for anything, so his father was seemingly endeared by this sudden behaviour, chuckling softly and opening the door to the toy heaven.
Actually, the boy didn’t want anything. It was his birthday, after all. He already got too many presents to count. But he eagerly grabbed the big wooden house situated right next to the window. It was clearly a toy for rich kids - the varnished wood was painted red and was shining prettily under the gas lamp’s light. As his father was practising the exchanging of courtesies with the store owner, Soobin rushed outside.
The same boy was still in his previous position - body too close to the window, one hand touching the glass. Soobin knew that boy was avoiding looking at him. Soobin didn’t understand exactly why that boy couldn’t get the toy from the store, but just the notion of him not being able to get it was enough. Soobin was suddenly feeling so much better and it wasn’t the change of the weather. He just loved to possess things nobody else could.

***

Another thing Soobin loved since a young age was reading. He didn’t care too much for playing with his brothers and sisters, as they all seemed sweet but a little tiring to him. He would much rather spend time in the tranquillity of his room, lying on the bed, head deep in the book, feeling safe and comfortable and happy. Written words brought him more happiness than his own family somehow. His mother thought that her son was a smart and well-mannered little gentleman, but in reality, Soobin was just utterly bored with everyone he knew. At least every new book told him something different. Soobin was sure that he will get tired of books one day. It was partly true. He was also hoping that he will appreciate the gift of a family just a little bit more one day. It wasn’t meant to ever happen.

He went to the school for the rich boys. The one where they made you wear these embarrassingly ugly shorts. ‘I hope that whoever invited our school uniform shorts will die in the ditch.’ was the thing Soobin wrote one day on the napkin in the school’s dining hall. Later he threw it into the toilet. He didn’t need any problems.
He was ten years old when he started writing his occasional thoughts on whatever got under his arm. He was writing on paper (that’s the obvious one), on the bricks of the school walls, on the ugly cracking wood of windowsill, pretty much everywhere within his reach. He didn’t care too much about the things he wrote though, it was something akin to the therapeutic exercise to him. He thought about something, wrote about it and let it go forever.

Until there was something he wanted to battle up through his writing.
It was his fifteenth birthday, and his mother telephoned him all the way from London to wish him the same things she always wished him. He waited for her to ask about how he was doing. To ask what he was thinking about before he went to sleep every night. To ask about his current favourite pastry. Or maybe about his favourite colour, even though he never really had one.
But she didn’t. His sweet ma stayed exactly the same as he always remembered her. Her quick ‘How are you doing, my darling’ was lucking a question mark at the end and left no space for an answer, as she started to rant about the father’s work, neighbours new dog (this thing has the most horrendously sounding bark, Soobinie, you can’t even imagine!), her most recent purchase in the jewellery store. It all sounded like a giant pile of good old nothingness to Soobin, as he hurried to remotely kiss her goodbye and walk back to his dorm room. He suddenly realised that what he needed was a diary. He didn’t have anything fitting for the role momentarily , so he grabbed the first piece of paper he managed to find and quickly wrote on it with wide, bold letters.

‘There are some people we won’t ever understand. When you listen to them it feels as if someone is piercing your neck with a giant needle. Piercing until it reaches all the way through. But while you listen to them, you should really be listening to yourself instead. Those people will help you to understand yourself.’

It was the moment Soobin realised he wants to be a writer.

***

He never told his parents - he never told them anything of importance, really, as he knew it wasn’t worth it. He went to the university, as any decent man should. He entered the university as an absolutely unmotivated man and graduated as an absolutely unmotivated History scholar. He spent way too many nights blowing the dust from the never-ending carousel of historical events and was highly determined to never ride that carousel again. ‘The Roman empire is dead and there is a good reason to it’ was his favourite answer to any question ever, and it was absolutely shallow, childish and silly. However, Choi Soobin liked to think about himself as of synonym for self-indulgence. It’s funny how one could think that the acknowledgement of his own escapist tendencies could make them seem any less pathetic.

He decided long ago that he needs his first novel ready before he leaves the University. However, school walls must not be the most powerful form of inspiration, as he only got a rough idea in his head and a few drafts in his portmanteau when he headed back to Choi’s London residence.
As he was to find out later, living under the same roof with his family (he gently called them all insufferable people) actually was a great source of creativity, as he was ready to sell one of his organs just to never see them ever again.
This is how his first - ‘Freya’- was born. She was born behind the firmly shut door of his bedroom. It took him three months and about three hundred rum shoots to finally bring his firstborn to the publisher. It took six more endless months to finally see his creation displayed on the shelves of the book stores all over London. His parents were surprisingly unaffected by the sudden reveal of his hidden talent. He didn’t really care, as the talent wasn’t really hidden from the start - they simply never paid any mind to any of his business. However, he got to hand it to his family - they never paid any mind in the most positive way. Their reactions always were shallow, but rather friendly and supportive. They never read the book though. Soobin didn’t mind at all.

‘Freya’ was his song to the writer he aspired to be. It was a story about a young Parisian man, living the life of his dreams as a famous novelist. The said life was cut short but filled with all kinds of human pleasures. He went through all those things every writer should- beautiful women, prostitutes, beautiful women who are prostitutes, an ungodly amount of alcohol and an even bigger amount of lies. But it was thanks to neither of these things to end his life. Freya is a goddess of both love and war. Soobin always imagined her as a guardian angel to all these people who love to fetishize their problems and make their own lives way harder than they were meant to be. Of course, Soobin was one of those people himself. But in his eyes, being this way was about a hundred times nobler, than being one of those fools killed by a beautiful woman.

His writing was raw and vulgar, the kind you will never mention in the company of respectful people. No wonder, it was selling like hotcakes. People loved that type of stories filled with sex and unspeakable behaviour. Soobin loved the money. Not because he was in any need of it - he really wasn’t. But he always was a possessive type and craved for nothing more but making things his own. Having things felt orgasmic. Having his name written on the pretty dark green cover in golden letters. Having money to spare and not owning a single thing to his lovely insufferable family. Having a dream was what kept him going since he was a little boy writing nonsense on the school walls. And his dream was always Paris.

***

Soobin liked beautiful things. Beauty saving the world was one of his form beliefs. He was yet to find anything more beautiful than the words in his dull life. Words give you the way to make absolutely anything even more beautiful, that is what he thought. Never in his life had he ever encountered the power of beauty quiet as the one words possessed. But if you ask him what he could imagine being beautiful outside of the ever-changing flow of empty moments, he would say Paris without even thinking.
He felt the urge to go see, feel and live Paris the very first time he took the Rimbaud’s ‘Une Saison en Enfer’ in his hands. He was ten, it was a Christmas present from his father. The one and only worthy present he had ever received.
He was quick to decide, that if he was meant to live all his life without seeing Paris he would rather die. He needed to see what Rimbaud once saw.
Rimbaud himself was a poet, not a writer. He left Paris for Africa. It was absolutely beside the point.
So Paris was where he went, right after he celebrated his twenty-second birthday. His mother was ecstatic. Apparently ‘My son is a writer and he lives in Paris’ was a wonderful sentence to drop in the middle of pretty much any conversation on planet Earth.

***

Life can be wonderfully romantic even without any romance present in it. Take a stroll through le Jardin des Tuileries in the dusk and you can go half a year without anyone touching your dick. Soobin truly believed it, no silly little lies needed.
It was his first spring in France and it was magnificent. Nothing really compares to the air you breathe in the city that you always dreamt of. Soobin could pass literal hours just standing on one of the bridges over Sena river, looking into the dark waters, feeling complete.
It might seem somewhat masochistic to some, as the man who was born into the world of silk sheets and foie gras became the man who finished his every day with the ritual of returning to the small dark Appartement located in the attic of a three-storey building. The building was wonderful, really, it looked exactly like the ones Soobin saw on the postcards from Paris when he was just a child. He could've afforded the fancier housing, but he felt the urge to live this way. If you were not born a poor writer by nature, you always can become one by choice. The existence of rich maman and papa back in London, ready to suffocate you with comfort and support at any given moment was the little nuisance Soobin preferred to ignore. This was his life now: his bedroom made of a single bed with crisp white cotton sheets, a little bedside table and a rather unimpressive cabinet. He had a lovely kitchen. He didn’t care about the furniture, as he pretty much never ate there. What’s even the point of owning a kitchen if you have no idea how to cook and live in Paris, for God’s sake.

The one should be completely out of mind, insane to the point of no return to believe that someone will come to Paris to stayinside. Soobin was proud of qualifying as not an insane man. He spent most of his days and nights out, Dans le rues - on the streets. He made sure to meet as many people as possible. That’s the thing that writers do while in Paris. He also made sure to listen to their stories, make mental notes and then never see those people ever again. That’s what writers do everywhere on earth. And Soobin was great at the art of being a great listener and even greater drinking companion. Alcohol made the flow of his french impeccable. Alcohol made stories of others sound a few hundred times more poetic.

Most of the stories were about love. Most of the love stories were about infidelity. Most stories about infidelity ended up in Soobin’s own mental rubbish bin. He wasn’t even into relationships, to begin with, and he truly could not comprehend the point of not being devoted to the person you chose yourself. If you gifted yourself a burden of being tangled up with another human being, at least have some decency to do it right.

Undoubtedly, Soobin was no stranger to the world of sensuality. No writer could be. If anything, he started exploring the wonders of human flesh and heat at a rather early age.
He was thirteen when his first intimate encounter had occurred. It was a mere handjob, given by a farm girl (name long forgotten). (name long forgotten but her long pale fingers won’t be, ever).
His first sexual intercourse happened exactly on his fourteenth birthday. A lovely present from a friend of his cousin’s cousin. She was older than him, older by many in his eyes. In reality, she was eighteen. He thought of her as of a blossoming woman back then, being struck with fear and afraid to move while she was sitting on his laps - on his cock - riding him right in their library. He thought of her every time he took the book of that shelf. He didn’t remember her name.

He didn’t do it on purpose, the name thing. He was just too immersed into the action, flow of life itself, to care whatever the things that flew by him were called. Kinda funny, considering his obsession with words.
His absolute disregard for names and relationships between people was not exclusively the sex thing. Talking to people was exactly the same. As of right now, Soobin was seated in the bar, next to the not so slightly drunken man, whose name he won’t remember even with the trigger right next to his head. All he knew was that the man was an alien to Paris, much as Soobin himself, but he came not from misty London, but all the way from Prague. It was the most interesting thing about him, so what’s the point of names anyway. The second most interesting thing was the fact of him being an insufferable company, but a right kind of it. The one that keeps you entertained with the number of bullocks produced per minute.

‘So you are saying you don’t do love.’ The man took another sip of his beer. ‘That makes you a pretty shitty writer.’

‘Next time you have your name written on a book please remind me of your opinion très précieux.’

‘Don’t try to act all smart on me, boy. And don’t play that French card, every dog in this city owns this card’ he looked at Soobin with his bright blue eyes full of humour and something weirdly close to determination, ‘Besides, all I am trying to do is help. Do you know what you need? Feelings. Passion. Heart freshly broken.’

‘I absolutely do not.’

‘Or either way all of this…’ Man did a vague gesture with his palm. ‘doesn’t mean shit.’

Soobin guessed that by ‘all of this' the man meant his writing. It would’ve been offensive if only Soobin wasn’t in a rather blossoming mood. Few glasses of Sovinion blanc can do wonders to a tired man.

‘So what are you offering?’

‘A brothel.’ Soobin almost choked on his wine. ‘Well, not quite. It’s more like a commune where charming creatures nest.’

'Nest’ Soobin repeated dumbly, as if he was hoping his ears were betraying him.

‘Women, men. Something in between.’ the man let out a happy giggle. He was seemingly pleased with Soobin’s dumbfounded reaction. Soobin was here solely for the entertainment but became an attraction himself. He didn’t like that.

‘I’m afraid that love for money doesn’t sound that appealing to me.’ he said coldly.

‘Oh boy, it’s not it. It’s not love for money. It is an experience for a reasonable price. Emotions for a slender sum. ’ he hummed. Must’ve felt like a writer himself while saying all of this nonsense. ‘Only in between the sheets of a prostitute you can see a side of you you have never seen before. It’s not for sex as it is, it is all for finding yourself through the carnal world.’

Oh. This. Soobin quite liked this.

‘Do you happen to remember the address of the nest?’

***

This is how Soobin found himself in front of the big house of brown bricks. Un Maison de tolerance called le Cristal. Soobin snorted. What a pretty name for a brothel. French tends to make everything prettier, that’s why he fell in love with it in the first place.
He entered the place, the hills of his shoes making a loud knocking sound against the marble of the floor. Soobin was so stunned by the beauty of its ornament - the alternation of rombile tiling of ivory and teal- that he procrastinated for a good fifteen seconds, before finally getting his eyes off a floor.

The foyer was big but empty. The decorations were telling the story of the past days filled with luxury, now serving as mere dust holders. They reminded Soobin of his mother somehow.
There wasn’t much furniture in the room. Few tables for two. A bar, but no bartender. Most of the bottles on the shelves were half empty. Dust was swirling in the rays of light coming through small windows, located rather high up under the ceiling. The floor rug was comically too small and way too burgundy for Soobin’s liking. It clashed horribly with the teal parts of the tiling making the writer shiver in aesthetical discomfort. He didn’t even know he had one, until this day. ‘Maybe I already found out something new about me. Maybe it’s time to take a leave.’
The whole atmosphere reminded Soobin of nothing but loneliness and dread. ‘How do people come to this place for any sort of emotions other than disgu-…

‘Comment puis-je tu aider?’
Soobin turned his whole body to the sound of man’s voice that was interrupting his thoughts.

The man who just came out of the dark hallway was short, rather flabby. He didn’t look that old but his receding hairline was saying bonjour very obviously, disregarding the way owner tried to comb his thin hair over it. When he took a better look at Soobin, the expression on his face changed dramatically. Soobin couldn’t quite grasp what the sudden change meant.

‘Hello, my dear!’ the man was smiling widely now, grabbing Soobin by his shoulder surprisingly quickly despite his size. His hold on the writer was strong and he was leading him to one of the tables confidently. ‘Please take a seat. What is your drink, mon cher?’

‘I already had my daily dose of intoxicating pleasure, thank you very much, kind monsieur.’ Soobin suddenly was in a mood for a little bit of nonsense. He didn’t even feel like himself anymore. More like he was watching himself as if he was a character in the play.

‘So you came here in the search for another kind of pleasure’ the man nodded in approval. That’s funny, how Soobin started to like him. He liked people who acted as if they got lines from that play inside of his head mailed to them the day before he even met them. It was weirdly satisfying.

Suddenly, their lovely little chat was interrupted by the sound of a bell, door opening and closing.

‘Bonjour Yeonjun. Got what you wanted?’

‘Oui.’

Soobin never in his life moved so fast. He still doesn’t know to this day, what made him turn around in his chair so rapid he almost felt dizzy from that act alone. Maybe the name, just like Soobin’s, being so clearly out of place in this city. So alien, that it ringed loudly as it was not a name, but glass being thrown on the floor. Maybe the tone of voice, the very sound of it, so high and nasal and so so wonderful. Maybe it was Sovinion still speaking in his blood. But he did turn around to look at him, and that’s all that mattered.

Alfred de Musset once wrote about love- je vous vois, c’est assez - I see you and that’s enough.
Alfred de Musset clearly didn’t know shit about love. Neither he ever saw Yeonjun. Soobin had no time to pity the old stupid man. All he knew, that if he doesn’t speak to the beautiful stranger, his life can officially be called a waste.

Yeonjun was tall. Fine-boned. The skin of milk and honey - not too pale, but clearly not exposed to the sun a lot. Chestnut hair, bangs stubbornly trying to get into his eyes. He wore something absolutely insane in Soobin’s eyes - a white undershirt and black pants that were sitting on his frame a little bit too low and hugged his legs a little bit too tight. The pair of black backless loafers on his feet let Soobin see the silver of the man’s ankles. The writer felt as if he was about to faint. Faint because of someone else’s ankles, Lord this was new.
Yeonjun’s stance was radiating gentle confidence. Still standing near the door, smiling brightly, one hand up showcasing his fresh purchase - the pack of cigarettes. His feline eyes were squinted slightly, as he gave Soobin one single look before turning his attention back to the man (the owner of the place - Soobin assumed).

‘If you need me, Abadie, I’ll be in my room.’

Was the last Soobin heard before the beautiful man passed right beside him, heading to the hallway in a rather hurried manner. All Soobin was left to do is to watch his dashing figure in silence. And he watched, watched till the last drop, watched until there was nothing to watch.

‘He is stunning, huh?’

The writer suddenly felt too tired to answer. The little play that occurred earlier lost all its charm.
He just nodded weakly, still watching the hallway as an absolute moron.

‘And so wonderfully exotic, just like you, sir.’

Soobin liked the man less and less with every second now.

‘Fancy un rendezvous with him?’

Well, maybe all the disliking can wait. Now Soobin was preoccupied with the newly born problem of finding a non-embarrassing answer to that.
Yes, please. Million times yes. I would die to see him. And the worst one.How much.

‘Ehm, sure… How do I-’

Soobin must’ve looked really pathetic, as his pleading was interrupted with a gentle chuckle from the man.

‘Don’t need to worry, be our guest. Or even better - be our friend. You can call me Leo. Leo Abadie is my full name. The boy you just saw is our dearest Yeonjun. A real treasure, if you ask me. He is clean, no need to worry. We are very strict about that. All our darlings go through monthly checks. You can see the proof if you want to.’

Soobin nodded. He didn’t want to.

‘Our friends also don’t need to busy themselves with talking about money with our darlings’ Soobin felt so overwhelmed he could feel his head spinning slightly. ‘You just come here, find me on the first floor, ask about a rendezvous, leave money on the table. Since you are our friend I believe that you will respect our working schedule and leave on time. If you don’t - again - no need to worry. I will send un garcon to knock on the door couple of times.’ Another chuckle escaped Leo’s full lips. ‘So what would you say my friend? Should we inform Yeonjun about you?’

A sudden panic. As if he was fifteen again. ‘Can I maybe see him tomorrow? I already made some plans for today.’

‘Absolutely not a problem. And how should I call you, our dear friend?’

‘Soobin Choi.’

‘Magnifique. So at what time shall we expect you, Soobin Choi?’

***

It was horrendous. Soobin most definitely wasn’t fifteen anymore. Yet here he was - in the dim lights of his bedroom, looking in the full-length mirror, sweating like a fucking middle schooler. He didn’t like the way his hair keep falling on his forehead in a little curl, making him look young, broke and lost. Blaming his pathetic state on hair was one of his favourite games. He was a pro.
‘Look at you, getting all dolled up for a prostitute.’
He didn’t like the way it sounded in his head. Mentally decided to never say it ever again.

The wall clock was currently showing half past three (no, he absolutely did not ask for a date with the stunning man at an embarrassingly early hour of a day just because he was too eager to see him again) and le Cristal was a good twenty-minute walk from his Appartement, so he needed to go right now. And still, he was hesitating, folding and unfolding his sleeves, trying to imagine the way he would greet Yeonjun in the nearest future. His mind was suddenly word-less.

He finally made it out of his house, walking down the stairs and feeling the way every step reverberates in his chest. Stepping outside was a short-lived pleasure. The stroll that usually took up to thirty minutes became a fifteen-minute race walk.
Soon he could see a familiar sight of the brown brick building. Was the doorknob always so cold to touch?

Leo must be sensing his nervousness from five yards away, as he was waiting for him sitting at the table right next to the door.

‘Bonjour, Soobin-e. Punctual, I see. We appreciate it here.’ He sent a gentle smile to the writer and Soobin was fast to return it. Anything to make his heart beat just a tiny bit slower.

They shared small talk. Soobin didn’t hear the word he was saying. Finally, he took the money he prepared beforehand out of his picket and placed it on a table.

‘Yeonjun resides on the third floor. Room 35. Do you need a convoy to get there?’

‘I think I could manage to find it myself, merci.’

‘Don’t forget that you have to kiss him goodbye in one hour.’

Soobin hoped Abadie wasn’t able to see him blushing hot red at this minuscule remark.

He practically jumped over the steps as he was getting to the third floor, meeting a surprisingly short hallway of only six white doors. The hope of getting a few more minutes to find the right door was crushed brutally. Two seconds later he was standing in front of the needed door, but as he raised his hand to knock, it opened.

He was met with a toothy smile. Two teeth on the front were slightly longer than the others. Cute bunny teeth.
Not so cute anymore, as they bit on the flesh of Yeonjun’s lower lip. Feline eyes looking straight at Soobin. No surprise, no fear.

‘Come in’

He felt Yeonjun grabbing his arm, wrapping cold slim fingers around his wrist and avidly dragging him into the small sunlit room.

‘Your hands are cold.’

Here they come. His first words to Yeonjun. All of the phrases he was diligently preparing in front of the mirror ended up being useless. His brain went completely blank as soon as he entered the same air as his beautiful date.

‘I was smoking minutes before you came in. See? ’ Yeonjun was moving again, fast. Soobin noticed how he was always fast. He dashed to the open window - simple white curtains blowing in the chilly April wind - and closed it. ‘Sorry for the smoke. I hope you don’t mind. I’m Yeonjun, but I suppose you already know that. You can call me whatever you like. Jun, Junie. Past lover’s name.’ his nose scrunched as he let out a happy little giggle.

Soobin thought that the introduction will be accompanied by a handshake, a triple-kissing the air beside your cheek - thing, a nod, - anything really. But instead, Yeonjun just smiled wider and quickly proceeded to sit himself down on the bed. Soobin settled for a nod.

‘I know. And yes I don’t mind. Not you - the smoke. I’m Soobin. You can call me just Soobin.’ Lord, he did sound like his typing machine. Monotone, short, ready to break down at any given moment.

‘What do you want for today, just Soobin?’ Yeonjun gave him another gentle smile. The writer wanted to know if he smiles that much on a daily basis.
Does he smile like that just to anyone?
He really didn’t want to know that.

Seeing his new guest being hesitant, Yeonjun tilted his head to the side, looking like a curious brown kitten.

‘Is it your first time in a place like this?’

Soobin gave him a short nod, trying to keep his face unreadable.

Yeonjun started unbuttoning his white shirt.

‘Then let’s take things slowly, shall we?’

***

They did.

They changed positions. Now Soobin was seated on the bed, Yeonjun kneeling on the floor between his legs, slowly working himself down on writer’s cock. It wasn’t Soobin’s first time on the receiving end of oral pleasure, but it felt different. Usually, he would close his eyes, let his head fall back and just concentrate on the warmth of the mouth-hole that was currently serving him. Now he was sitting almost too straight, watching Jun’s every move like a hawk on a hunt.
And Yeonjun was nothing if not beautiful. Trying to maintain eye contact as much as he could, helping himself with one hand, circling it around the base with confident wrist movements. He didn’t take Soobin all the way down his throat just yet. He was drooling with saliva, Soobin could see it bubbling in the corners of Jun’s red mouth. Yeonjun caught him watching, getting off his cock for a few seconds, spitting out some more into his own palm before covering Soobin’s cock with it. It should have been disgusting. It felt like literal heaven. Yeonjun looked straight into his eyes as he was sinking down on the thick cock once again. He let out a gurgling sound. Soobin wished it was possible to put it down on paper the way he felt it. To bottle it up forever. And to reread it later that day.

Suddenly, the way Jun kept his feline eyes on him became an unbearable thing. The thought of him looking into other people’s eyes with the same ardent expression almost made Soobin go soft. He didn’t like it. He wanted to feel different to Yeonjun. He needed to do something to make him feel different.
So he stretched out his arm and softly guided Yeonjun off his cock. The beautiful creature with lips dripping with spit gave him a look of surprise. His eyes were full of Did I do something wrong. Soobin gave him a reassuring smile. He took Jun’s cold hand and pulled him onto the bed. Honey milk skin tone looked oh so lovely on the white cotton sheets.

‘Let me do you while you are doing me. Soixante-neuf.’

Yeonjun gave him a nod, still visibly surprised by the client’s sudden boldness. He quickly positioned himself atop of Soobin - on his elbows and knees aligning himself to the writer’s leaking cock that was still shining with spit and precome. Then Yeonjun looked back at Soobin as if asking for his approval, before finally moving back and bringing himself closer to the writer’s face. Soobin quickly grabbed onto the pillow under his head with one hand, adjusting it the right way so he could reach Yeonjun’s pretty little cock with more ease. Then he grabbed the man’s smooth hips and made Jun straddle his head with his thighs even more. Yeonjun just let himself be drugged around and adjusted to any position his guest wanted, slowly stroking Soobin’s cock as he waited to suck on him again. Soobin finally was satisfied with their position, marking his content with an open mouth kiss on the Yeonjun’s perineum. He could hear Yeonjun letting out a soft ‘Ah’ to that. Music to the writer’s ears, that quickly was accompanied by familiar wet warmth around his dick. Yeonjun didn’t take it lightly this time, bobbing his head a few times before taking Soobin’s length down all the way. Soobin hoped that Jun could feel him smiling into the skin of his ass cheek that the writer was currently kissing. The skin was smooth and unblemished. It smelled like rose soap. Soobin bit on it and then caressed slightly reddened place with his fingers, slowly dragging them into the direction of Yeonjun’s entrance. It was his first time seeing a male’s ass hole up-close. Or at all, to be honest. It was pretty, just like the rest of Yeonjun. It all smelled like nothing but rose soap and salty skin, so Soobin licked on the man’s hole without any hesitation. Still wasn’t disgusting. He tried to control the movement of his tongue, keeping it flat as for now, while bringing his hand to Yeonjun’s cock. Soobin’s hand was big enough to gently wrap around it, covering it whole. The thought of it alone made the writer dizzy. Yeonjun let off of his length to let out another moan, a long one, this time. Soobin could hear him panting for air a little, before landing an open mouth kiss on the top of Soobin’s cock.
He realized it only now while trying his best to masturbate Yeonjun’s dainty dick, how he completely forgot about his own pleasure. He was too busy with handling all of Yeonjun at once, pleasuring him with all that he owned. If not for Jun’s little whimpers, tickling the wet skin around his pelvis, he won’t even come back to the realisation of him actually being in the midst of pleasure himself. This sudden revelation made the heat of Yeonjun’s mouth one thousand times more intense. Soobin felt the knot at the lower part of his stomach tightening, bringing all his might not to falter and keep pumping on Jun’s cock while kissing the most intimate part of him. To postpone the upcoming orgasm, Soobin decided to take his dirty kissing one step further, slipping his tongue inside of Yeonjun, making the latter shake a little. The writer liked that, the feeling of power over others’ pleasure, so he processed to shove his tongue deeper, swirling it around in the tight heat. He nuzzled the skin of the man’s perineum with his nose, slightly moving his head side-to-side. He could feel his own hand getting all wet with the amount of precum leaking from the tip of Yeonjun’s cock. This and the muffled moans escaping from his mouth still full of Soobin, gave latter the hint that Yeonjun was close. Few more pumps - and Soobin could feel Yeonjun spilling all over his palm, warm cum covering his fingers with stickiness. Soobin felt the urge to bring the fingers to his mouth and lick, so he did. It felt dirty good.

He hummed with pleasure and gave the lovely ass still perked right before his eyes another kiss, feeling it shivering under his lips. Soobin grabbed on man’s thighs once again, pushing them lower, so he could see Jun - his skinny wide back, his hunched shoulders moving with every fast and shallow breath he took, the back of his head that was tilted forward. Soobin couldn’t see his face, but he somehow knew that his eyes were shut tight, chestnut hair covering his face all the way to the cheekbones. He really wanted to see that with his own two eyes, so he started to move under the man, indicating the want to change positions. Yeonjun gave him a half-lidded look over his shoulder.

‘But you didn’t come yet.’

Soobin didn’t. It was the last thing on his mind.

‘Everything is fine, come here.’

He sat up on the bed, guiding the man right onto his lap.

‘Ah, you want me to ride you.’

Well, it wasn’t the Soobin’s first intention, he just wanted to feel Yeonjun’s feline eyes on him again. Having those eyes looking back at him as Yeonjun bounces on his dick will do.

‘I stretched myself before, but you are tres grand, Soobin. Won’t you…’

Soobin just pulled the man further into his chest, grabbing his back with one hand, immediately bringing another to his waist with the clear intention of travelling lower. He looked up at Yeonjun, who was towering over him a little, his slim arms hugging Soobin over his neck. Strands of hair wet with sweat were falling into his eyes just the way Soobin was imagining earlier. But his eyes weren’t shut, he was looking at Soobin with an unreadable expression. His eyes looked cold but he was biting his lips, so the writer decided to take it as a good sign. He gave the man a wide smile, one that showed his gums on full display, as he circled Yeonjun’s entrance with his middle finger.

Yeonjun’s teeth suddenly stopped bothering his lower lip, as he spitted down ‘Stop playing and give it to me’ rather roughly.

‘I hear and obey, you Majesty.’

He shoved his finger all the way down the second knuckle, stealing another long moan from Yeonjun. He really wanted to taste that moan but decided against it. He wasn’t sure if he had the right to do so. He kissed the man’s collarbone instead.

‘Fuck, even your fingers are big.’

Soobin smiled at that. Well, it wasn’t a lie.

He proceeded to fuck into the tight heat with his finger, preparing him for the second, that came soon after. Yeonjun’s breath was tickling his hair as he heard him saying ‘Mon Dieu, it already feels like I have a dick inside.’ It made the writer grind his hips impatiently. It didn’t go unnoticed by Yeonjun.

‘I think you prepared me just enough.’ he said as he reached behind himself, grabbed Soobin by his wrist and made him pull the fingers out.
Then he gently aligned Soobin’s cock to his entrance, took a deep breath, and started to lower himself down on it.

Soobin never felt anything being so tight around him in his life. Entering Yeonjun was pure heaven. No exaggeration. It was hot, silky, and yes, mind-blowingly tight tight tight. The type of good that can make you go insane. Soobin suddenly felt the urge to find something to hang on to, something that will help him stay present in the reality. The writer could feel his own forehead finding its safe haven in the act of pressing against Yeonjun’s chest. He could hear the latter’s heart beating slow and heavy. Soobin finally raised his eyes to look at Yeonjun.

Yeonjun’s head was thrown back at the point where all Soobin could see was his pointy chin, his lower lip, once again hiding behind Jun’s front teeth as he bit on it, and his nostrils flaring as the man was taking deep breaths. Yeonjun hugged Soobin tighter while sinking on him lower. He started little circular motions with his hips, trying to take more of Soobin inside.

‘Does it hurt?’

The man shook his head eagerly. Soobin could feel the beads of sweat dripping from Yeonjun’s skin right onto his.

‘It doesn’t hurt at all. Nothing I can’t take, you'll see.’ Soobin decided not to argue with that blatant lie. He just raised his hand and pushed Yeonjun’s hair out of his eyes. He looked down, not being surprised at all by the sight of Yeonjun’s flaccid cock. He decided not to address it right now. At least he made the man come once today.

Yeonjun continued with the circular motions for a little, almost taking all of Soobin’s length in. It took a few more heavenly minutes before he finally started bouncing on his lap. Soobin let the man set the comfortable pace by himself and Yeonjun, ever fastmoving, settled for a rather rapid one. He continued to hug Soobin with one arm, stretching the other one out to grab on the sheets beside him.

The writer was pleased to notice his companion starting to enjoy the process just as much as he did. Being buried inside Yeonjun completely, Soobin tried his best to stay still and not grind too much, too scared to hurt him. He was more than content with the role of the human dildo of a sort, providing Yeonjun with a nice thick length that he could fuck himself onto. And Yeonjun did just that, moving up and down, finally feeling something wonderful judging by the blissed-out expression on his face.
‘Yes, yes that’s right. Right here.’ Yeonjun was whispering into Soobin’s ear as if it wasn’t Yeonjun who did all the work by himself. ’Fucking hell, it feels so good.’ He moaned again, low and guttural. Then he moved the hand previously hugging Soobin’s neck to the writer’s face, cupping it gently, as he whispered breathless ‘Ah, I’m so close.’ right into Soobin’s parted lips.
Soobin wanted to kiss him.

He didn’t, watching Yeonjun’s ecstatic expression with wide eyes and open mouth, watching the man of his dreams chasing the orgasm, watching him finally coming undone on his dick. Yeonjun was shaking as if the electric current was coursing through his whole body. The waves of his pleasure squeezed Soobin so tight inside of him it was almost painful. Almost painful yet so fucking good. Soobin felt his own orgasm building up. He finally let himself fuck into Yeonjun with full power, causing the latter to scream from the shock of overstimulation. He bit on the man’s shoulder as he was filling him up with his seed, still thrusting shallowly. Yeonjun honest to god meowled, trying to catch his breath, letting himself fall onto Soobin’s chest.

‘That one bite hurt,connard.'

‘Don’t swear at your guest’ was the best answer Soobin could muster still feeling light-headed.

They were lying on the bed, two tangled up bodies too lazy to move. Soobin watched cracks on the white ceiling for good five minutes before turning back to Yeonjun. The latter’s eyes were on the clock wall.

‘We still have fifteen minutes left.’ his voice was hoarse, it was the first time Soobin heard him like that, it sounded all foreign. ‘Do you want a massage?’

‘May I ask you something?’

‘You sure can, Soobin.’

‘What is your favourite colour?’

Yeonjun looked at him with wide eyes. He looked surprised, but not the bad kind.

‘It’s yellow.’ Yeonjun giggled. ‘What’s yours?’

It didn’t matter.

***

Suddenly all Soobin could see, was yellow.

He saw a little yellow canary the very next day while enjoying his morning coffee. On his way to buy a weekly newspaper, he passed the flower shop, and the only flowers his brain agreed to notice were daffodils. To Soobin they looked beautiful to the point of understanding what Narcissus did back in his days - he was ready to kiss the delicate petals.

Everything reminded him of Yeonjun, his body and his mind both ached with longing. He walked by le Cristal minimum of five times, always finding an excuse to pass near it while running his errands. It was harder to find an excuse not to rush inside and straight to the third floor. But that would be pathetic and needy - Soobin hated both words with passion. Even though he was both of them. Even though deep in his soul he knew it.

‘Will we meet again?’ was the last thing Yeonjun said to him that day, putting his white button-up on.

Soobin was searching for the smart sexy answer, but nothing came around.

‘I will.’ he nodded. ‘But I’m not quite sure when. I’m quite busy these days.’ why would you add that, you brainless waste of space.

Yeonjun just smiled and nodded, before kissing the air beside Soobin’s ear. His expression was unreadable. Maybe he believed Soobin’s words. Or maybe he thought that it was his last time seeing him ever. Either way, he didn’t seem to care. He just smiled again and walked him to the door.

It was Friday, the day they had sex for the first time. Saturday went in a daze. On Sunday Soobin didn’t want to leave his bed, so he didn’t. When Monday approached, Soobin finally realised, that he was ill. Not body-ill, but rather his mind was sick. He reached to the bedside table in search of his diary.
‘Every second when I don’t touch you is a mistake.’
He wrote that in a manner he usually wrote down things to use in his future work, but he knew that this one will never leave his diary. He’d never write something so disgustingly sweet to bring it to the publisher later. It wasn’t him as a writer. Soobin wasn’t sure if it was him as a person, even. He liked to think of that ill-minded Soobin as a phenomenon that existed separately from the rest of the Soobin somehow. Of course, he didn’t, but the thought itself was rather calming.

He missed the man terribly, but he decided to wait till Wednesday to finally let himself meet Yeonjun again. There was no point, really, for Soobin to make himself suffer like that, but somehow it felt like a thing that has to be done. He made a call to the brothel, making an appointment. He told them he wanted to see Jun at six in the evening when in reality he wanted to see him at nine in the morning. When in reality he wanted to see him right now.

The whole Tuesday he tried to get Yeonjun out of his head. He busied himself with writing - he did occasional work as a writer of the literal column in one local newspaper. They didn’t pay a big coin there, of course not. Neither did his column have any impact on society at all. But it was enough to keep the writer’s boredom at bay.
It was enough, usually.
Right now he was writing about Keats and Lord knows, he loves Keats, but right now John Keats can go an fuck himself up in the ass.

He spent two honest hours being irritated at Keats for no particular reason whatsoever. Then Soobin decided to search for help in the only trusted source he knew - ungodly amounts of liquor and poetry. He poured some in the heavy glass, before making himself comfortable in his bed with the one and only Rimbaud, opening the book in a random place.

Je voudrais vous casser les hanches
D’avoir aime.

I’d like to break your hips
For having loved you.

Soobin growled and dropped his head on the pillow.
For the first time in his life, Rimbaud wasn’t fucking helping.

***

The first half of the Wednesday was fast forgotten, as he was standing in front of the Yeonjun’s bed.

Yeonjun was wearing a robe of blue silk. He looked like a literal angel, seated on the bed and shaking his leg in excitement.

‘Why do you look so stiff. You can talk to me, you know. We can smoke, drink, discuss your job. You can seat wherever you want without asking me first. Feel yourself at home’ Yeonjun sounded genuine, but Soobin couldn’t shake off the wondering thought of how many of his clients heard the exact same words.

‘But this is your home. I don’t want to disrespect.’ he said and felt dumb immediately.

‘Good point.’ Yeonjun nodded. ‘I do appreciate some respectful ass fucking, merci.’ he laughed shortly but it didn’t sound fake. Every time the man said something vulgar he seemed to be extremely pleased with himself.

That day Soobin took him from the back. He didn’t want to. He wanted to see his face, analyse his expressions, try to read those indifferent looking eyes. But he was too scared to actually read there something he wouldn’t like.

So there they were, Yeonjun on his elbows and knees, beautiful back on full display. And Soobin, kneeling on the bed right behind him, hunching to kiss every protruding bone of Yeonjun’s spine. Bones aren’t made to be beautiful, but when in love, they always are.
Yeonjun prepared himself better this time, allowing Soobin to go right inside. Ever hard-working, he was meeting Soobin’s thrusts halfway, moaning into the air with no shame. His arms were shaking. With each particularly hard thrust from Soobin, he let out a short but loud scream. The writer didn’t know if Yeonjun was faking the pleasure, but if he was, the man must have been a genius actor.
Soobin held on Yeonjun’s hips tight, making him meet his pelvis, slapping his balls against man’s hot slick skin. The sound their bodies produced together was unbearable. It was too hot to control himself, so Soobin completely lost his mind, shoving his cock into Yeonjun like an animal. The latter failed on holding his body upright properly, as his arms gave in and let their owner fall face-first into the mattress. He let out another scream that continued for too long, turning into a muffled cry. Looking at the way his shoulders were shaking Soobin knew that he just orgasmed. Soobin was too far gone to stop himself from being selfish and go gentler. He proceeded with the rough thrusts, feeling Yeinjun’s tight walls slightly shaking around him. It all felt too good not to come soon. And Soobin did, shoving his dick up to the hilt, filling Yeonjun up with his semen. He could hear the man whimpering, his hand holding onto the bed sheet so tight his knuckles turned white. His breathing was uneven. But so was Soobin’s.

They were done in twenty minutes this time, both completely spent. Soobin - because of all these days fantasising about their meeting. Yeonjun - for the reasons unknown. The man was lying beside Soobin, catching his breath, eyes closed, face angelic. Soobin stole this opportunity to watch his face closely. A prominent scar under his right eyebrow, a pretty mole located just a little bit lower, wrinkles near his mouth corners, rich texture of his lips - Soobin noticed it all, trying to remember it as clear as he could, to worship it later in his own mind or on the paper.

Yeonjun opened his eyes and lifted himself from the bed so abruptly it startled Soobin quite a bit. Obviously, Jun decided that it was enough resting, so he has to do something to keep his guest entertained. He looked at Soobin with a cheeky grin, lowering himself onto writer’s legs, nuzzling the skin of his thighs like a big brown cat. Yeonjun was dangerously close to his dick, licking his lips and reaching his hand out to touch it when Soobin grabbed his hand in the mid-air.

‘I think I’m fine for today.’

Yeonjun sent him an understanding smile, his head still on Soobin’s lap. ‘May I offer you a drink then?’

Soobin didn’t want a drink, he wanted to have Yeonjun’s head on his laps forever. But lying like this without anything to do felt rather awkward, so he simply said yes to the drink. The heat of Yeonjun’s body was gone in no time, as he already dashed to the small kitchenette area.

‘Is Gin all right with you? I don’t have anything else in here, but I can call to the bar and ask them to bring whatever you like.’

‘Gin is perfect, actually.’

So now they were seated in surprisingly comfortable silence, resting their backs against pillows on Yeonjun’s bed.

‘What do you do for a living?’ Yeonjun was first to put the silence to the end, as always.

‘I’m a writer.’

Yeonjun looked at him unamused.

‘Of course, you are.’ He nodded to himself more than to Soobin, ‘Paris is full of writers.’

‘I am the authentic one. My ‘Freya’ is pretty famous in Europe at the moment.’

‘Haven’t read it.’

Soobin was ready to bombard him with so many questions. Who is your favourite poet? What is your favourite book’s title? Did you see that newly opened book store down the street?

‘I hate books.’

All of these questions left in his throat like a deadweight.

‘Mon Dieu it sounded harsh. Excuse-moi’ Yeonjun waved his hand in the air with- I’m cancelling what I’ve just said- gesture. ‘I didn’t mean to disrespect your job. I’m sure it’s magnificent.'

‘Now tell me what you really wanted to say.’

‘I think books are boring as hell.’

Soobin liked this Yeonjun better. He wasn’t the character from one of the plays inside Soobin’s head. He was impossible to predict. He was so open yet so guarded, like a garden in front of the Monarch’s castle. Like a garden in front of the Monarch’s castle with a hedge maze. Soobin ached to possess more knowledge about him as he walked straight into that maze.

***

The drunk from the bar was right, after all, Yeonjun did help Soobin to realise many things about himself.

May was in its full swing and Soobin never felt himself more alive. Yellow flowers inside his chest continued to bloom and something was telling Soobin that they won’t stop even in midst of cold December.

He settled for seeing Yeonjun once every week. It felt like a reward every time. He could have seen him every two days…hell, every other day, even, if he really wanted to - he had all the assets to do so. And he really wanted to. But the tiny voice inside his head recommended keeping Yeonjun as a desert, like a delicious cake after what felt like a whole month of fasting. Sugar in the cake can’t hurt your teeth, if you eat it once in a while, can it?

That May Soobin learned peculiar facts about both his mind and his body.
First - sex with a clogged nose felt like heaven.

That week Soobin caught a cold, carelessly forgetting to put on his scarf while promenading under the fresh spring breeze. He hesitated if he should still go see Yeonjun, but was too selfish to deprive himself of..anything at all, really.

So there he was, sniffing pathetically loud as he was taking off his coat and putting it on Yeonjun’s hanger.

‘Oh did you catch a cold?’ Soobin nodded silently, scared that Jun will send him back home. ‘That’s wonderful!’

Soobin looked at him with shock. Maybe the writer misinterpreted Yeonjun’s attitude towards him entirely. Maybe the man secretly wanted Soobin dead all along. He couldn’t think of another reason why Yeonjun was suddenly so excited to see him suffering.

‘Did you know that orgasm feels ten times more intense when you are sick?’

‘Stop fooling me.’

‘I’m doing none of that.’ Yeonjun pouted so cute Soobin was ready to devour him whole. ‘Come here.’

Soobin was happy to obey. He came closer to Yeonjun, who was seated on his bed, wearing his favourite white undershirt and a pair of simple white cotton shorts. Yeonjun reached out to him, hugging his thighs, as Soobin was still standing in front of him, feeling a little shy all of the sudden. Having a runny nose wasn’t helping him to feel more desirable. But his angel didn’t seem to care. He was too busy pressing his cheek right into Soobin’s clothed cock. Yeonjun raised his eyes. ‘I’m going to prove it to you.’

‘I’d love to watch you trying.’

Soobin bounced when Yeonjun suddenly threw him onto the mattress. The writer let out a surprised giggle, but nothing was funny anymore the second Yeonjun crawled over, straddling him. One look at the face hovering above him reminded Soobin why he decided to come to Paris in the first place. He longed to wrap his hands around the beauty and devour it whole while knowing damn well it cannot ever be done. There was a sense of immensity to all the things Soobin truly liked. Words, art, beauty and Yeonjun.
There was a sense of immensity to the way Yeonjun was riding his dick that day. The way he rode him in the broad daylight, his skin looking as perfect as of those statues in the Louvre. The way he rode him while Soobin was laid across the bed, his long legs touching the floor. When Soobin let his head fall over the side of the bed he saw Yeonjun’s lean figure reflecting in the window glass. In the end, it didn’t matter where he looked, he saw the same thing everywhere.

Yeonjun didn’t lie, the orgasm that hit Soobin that day was like no other. His whole body went through the spasm so hard he could feel his feet taking off the ground, shaking in the air.

‘Good God thank you I am not a woman.’ Soobin felt like he was hearing Yeonjun’s voice from under the water. ‘I think this one would have made me a baby for sure.’

‘So did you lie.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘About the cold and the orgasm.’ Soobin still felt too overwhelmed to move, so he didn’t.

‘Huh, it’s up to you to decide.’

That was the second thing Soobin learned that May. Sometimes it is all up to your interpretation.

***

In June Soobin kissed him for the first time.

It was one of the Wednesdays, Soobin remembers because he marked the date in the calendar as soon as he reached home that day. It was embarrassing, but he was smiling while doing it so what’s the matter.

The day was bright and hot, windows left wide open for everyone to see two moving figures near the small kitchen table.
They were fucking on the kitchen chair. Sex always came easy between them somehow. Soobin liked to call it perfect, even though not out loud. After the first month of somewhat cautious fucking, all boundaries were left aside to make up the room for the world full of pleasure and comfort. The type of comfort when you can stop at any given moment. To fall asleep in the process with neither of the parties feeling mad about it. That one type where sex can be long and lazy, without the ultimate aim of reaching the climax constantly flickering in front of your eyes. It was what lovers sex looks like to Soobin. The absolute perfection of drawing pleasure solely from the feeling of skin on skin.

Just a few minutes before Yeonjun was bouncing shamelessly in his lap, while Soobin was busy muffling his screams by showing two fingers inside his mouth, fast and rough - the way Yeonjun enjoyed it the most. He made the man choke on his own spit, cough a little and drool all over his pretty whorish mouth. Soobin saw the way Yeonjun’s eyes began to roll backwards and sadistically grabbed his thighs stopping all his movements altogether. Yeonjun looked at him unamused, with his tongue still protruding, pupils slightly shaking. Soobin stood up from the bed and marched straight to the kitchen, still holding Yeonjun’s body as if it was nothing. The latter laughed, quickly hugging Soobin’s waist with his ridiculously long legs. Soobin sat on the chair, still holding Yeonjun and helping him to adjust to the new position. Was it particularly comfortable? With Soobin’s hard cock still being completely buried inside of Jun’s tight warmth - it was the best place on Earth.

Soobin reached for the bottle of Gin left on the table and made a few big gulps. He passed the bottle to Yeonjun. He took it, raising an eyebrow. ‘You seriously want to drink while fucking me?’

‘We are not fucking right now, you are just keeping me nice and warm.’ Soobin said in between peppering the kisses on Jun’s shoulder.

‘Don’t tell me we are going to have a small talk.’

‘Not small, big.’ Soobin paid for two hours and he had nowhere to run.

‘Ahaha, Oh my God, Soobin!’ the writer could feel Yeonjun’s body starting to shake beneath his lips. He placed another open mouth kiss on the skin before leaving the man’s shoulder alone and finally looking at his face.

What started as a small giggle now was akin to hysterical laughter. Yeojun was covering his mouth with one hand while hugging Soobin tighter with another. Soobin gave him a minute to calm down, looking at the man with slight amusement.

‘This is amazing.’ Yeonjun said, still giggling. ‘You want to drink and talk while still being inside of me. This is new.’ his smile was so wide, it made his cheekbones shine high and pretty under the sunlight.

Soobin wasn’t thinking when he grabbed his face and kissed him, right into Yeonjun’s still open mouth. The kiss was awkward and full of teeth at first, but soon enough became the full-blown madness, full of tongue, saliva and moans of need. Yeonjun started bouncing on his lap again, making Soobin’s softening cock hard again. Jun reached behind himself, placing one hand on Soobin’s thigh for better leverage. He arched his back to the point when they could not kiss anymore, so Soobin just leaned back in the chair, watching the pretty angel on his lap with sultry eyes. Suddenly Jun stuck his tongue out, stopping the movements of his hips. Soobin gave him a pissed look.

‘Now I am the one in the mood for talking.’ Yeonjun winked adorably. Whenever he winked, he did it with all his face somehow. It was absolutely impossible to stay mad at him. Soobin never tried. ‘I thought you don’t kiss.’

‘You never kissed me either.’

‘I thought you were married.’

‘I told you I’m not.’

Yeonjun tilted his back to the side. ‘You could’ve lied. Everyone lies to the prostitute!’

Soobin tried really hard not to flinch as this word was spoken into the air. He never said it even in his head.

‘I cannot believe I was deprived of kissing you all this time for nothing!’ Jun sing-songed, placing his arms on Soobin’s shoulders and kissing the tip of the writer’s nose.

Soobin decided not to deprive him any longer, as he kissed him again. He didn’t know what was better - kissing Yeonjun or being inside of him. He chose not to choose.

***

The summer was full of bliss. Soobin even hesitated to allow himself to have so much euphoria, scared of being incapable of writing. He has been there before - too busy with the life not flowing around him, but actually happening to him. In days like these Soobin haven’t produced a single written word.

Now was a lot different. Yeonjun filled his existence with meaning and endless joy, yet was a completely autonomic phenomenon of Soobin’s life. It was almost as if the second he opened door number 35 he was welcomed into another reality, where even time and space acted differently. How else would you explain the fact that Yeonjun was bigger than life itself, yet looked so tiny in between his white sheets? Must be a power of the magic hour.

Soobin was perfectly fine with keeping things this way. His life as a writer was so much more superior in his own eyes compared to other people, yet it was pretty much insignificant when he was lying next to Yeonjun’s body.

He never wrote a word of him aside from his personal diary. It was surprising even to the writer himself. Yeonjun was nothing, if not inspiring, but all these words that were created by his muse Soobin preferred to keep close to his own heart. He wrote about things around Jun, though. Even Monsieur Abadie himself made un grand debut in Soobin’s newest work of juvenile literature. It was a story about the man in the magic shop, who offered people things that they wanted, but not quite the things they needed. The story made a huge success, but Soobin felt way more indifferent about it compared to his firstborn baby Freya.
He saw the book in Abadie’s hands once, as he was crossing the dark hallway of Le Cristal. Even if Leo recognised himself as the main character, he never addressed it. Soobin doubted that he did. People never do.

***

In October Soobin took Yeonjun out on a date for the first time. He would’ve done it earlier if he knew that Yeinjun was actually fine with it.

He figured out that Yeinjun was fine with it by the accident. They were both lying on their sides, Yeinjun’s back pressed deep into Soobin’s chest. Soobin was kissing Jun’s neck, slothfully telling him the story of whatever unpleasant encounter he experienced recently while having dinner in the nearby restaurant.

‘... You should’ve seen her face, Jun. She turned such an impeccable shade of red when I shut her up. This place is full of contemptible little buffoons, I swear. They make an excellent boeuf bourguignon though. I wish I could take you there.’

‘I mean. You could?’ Yeonjun turned his head to look directly into the writer's eyes, looking dead serious as he did. ‘Why can’t you?’

‘I…I don’t know.’

‘You seriously think I am not allowed to leave my glass castle?’ Yeonjun snorted, throwing his head back, almost breaking Soobin’s nose. ‘I can go out whenever I have a resting day, you stupid shmuck.’

‘I didn’t know you have one.’

‘Soobin, I am serving tired men pleasure with this hole, I am not defending the country with it. Of course, I have some days exclusively for myself.’

‘You never told me.’

‘You never asked.’

‘Touche.’ Soobin agreed simply, resting his chin atop Yeonjun’s shoulder.

‘So, where are we going this Tuesday night?’

Yeonjun was looking completely out of place in the restaurant Soobin brought him to. The lights were too dim, people’s chatter too loud and even the table cloth suddenly looked cheaper than Soobin remembered it to be. Luckily, Yeonjun didn’t seem to mind, happily devouring his meat. When he took a sip from the tall wine glass, he spilt some - a narrow line of red running down his chin and lower, lower straight to the clavicle. Jun just shrugged, wiping his chin with his fingers and putting them slowly into his mouth. There still was plenty of red glistening near his collarbones. It will stain his light blue shirt later. Yeonjun leaned forward with all of his body, practically pressing himself onto the table. Soobin could already see the blue of his collar being penetrated by red as if there was blood spilt on it.
Suddenly, Yeonjun put one of his fingers into the glass, wiping the rest of the wine with it and bringing it straight to Soobin’s lips.
Soobin took his finger inside without a second thought. He took it deeper, bobbing his head a little bit while doing so.
Yeonjun looked immensely pleased with it, falling back into his chair with loud laughter. He scanned their surroundings, hoping to find any shocked faces in the process. Frankly - nobody cared. Everyone was either too immersed in their own conversations, or too drunk to give a shit. It was funny to look for the people who acted all prim and proper in Paris of all places, but Yeonjun clearly did. Soobin always noticed how much pride and joy the man took in his own level of liberation and sensuality. ‘You must come back to London with me someday’ Soobin thought. ‘Everyone has sticks up their asses down there.’

They didn’t talk much that evening. Soobin was content with looking at Yeonjun looking at people. His eyes were so bright, brighter than anything in this shit-hole of a restaurant.

Soobin couldn’t wait to take him out of this place.

Yeonjun beckoned him to lean over the table to meet in the middle. His hot mouth was pressed to Soobin’s ear as he whispered
‘I wish you were eating my ass right now.’

So Soobin did take him out into the autumn evening.

They were back to le Cristal in no time. Yeonjun practically danced his way to the brothel, spinning around the street lamps as a very drunk and very broad-shouldered ballerina.
Walking back into the brown brick building was like walking back home, except for the one little nuisance. Leo was sitting on his usual spot, head in hands while he was doing some sort of calculation in his accounting book. He raised his head and made a surprised expression.

‘Mon cher, I thought you don’t work today.’

‘I met Soobin on the street. The man is desperate for the good fuck so who am I to refuse?’

‘Fair enough, you worker bee.’

Soobin felt a wave of sadness, as the little conversation seemed to ruin the atmosphere they were so carefully building up before. Not a single word said by Yeonjun bothered him, just the fact that they had to make this necessary step of talking to Abadie and for Soobin to pay him for the night.
The owner of the place must have noticed Soobin reaching for his portmanteau in a rather awkward manner, as he shook his hands in the air violently.

‘It is okay my friend, pay me on your way back from Yeonjun. I will remember that you came around at eight.’

Soobin nodded at him with a silent thank you, as Jun grabbed him by the hand and they both hurried to the room.

‘So where were we?’
Soobin was pressing Yeonjun into the door as soon as it was shut behind them. His companion lost no time, already releasing Soobin from the warm prison of his beige autumn coat. Soobin tried the best he could to simultaneously undress while licking on Yeonjun’s collarbone. Thank Lord it didn’t taste like wine at all, it tasted like Yeonjun.

‘I remember something about you wanting my tongue deep inside your ass.’

‘Ah, right!’ Yeonjun pushed Soobin back a little, making him move and let Yeonjun walk into the room.
He walked straight to the window.

‘What are you doing.’

‘What does it look like.’ Yeonjun opened the window letting the chilly autumn wind enter the room. He was still fully clothed himself, so it didn’t affect him at all. Yeonjun leaned out of the window, letting the wind play with his hair. ‘What are you doing, Soobin. Come here.’

Soobin obeyed, coming closer and hugging the man from his back. He placed a gentle kiss atop Yeonjun’s head.

‘On your knees.’

‘Huh?’ Soobin mused, but then slowly realised what his angel wanted from him. An angelic demon, to be more precise.
Soobin dropped to his knees so abruptly it hurt. He moved Yeonjun’s long coat out of his way holding it with one hand while pressing his face into the inner part of the man’s thigh still hidden under the dark fabric. He reached the other hand to find the buttons on Yoenjun’s trousers, quickly undoing them one by one. It was surprisingly easy but maybe Soobin was just too eager. He helped Yeonjun out of his trousers, throwing them away to the side. Yeonjun hold onto the long part of his coat to get it out of the way but still stayed unmoving. He acted as if he was really interested in what was going on in the streets of Paris at this very moment. He continued to watch, propping his chin with his free hand. Soobin sucked on the skin of his ass cheek, massaging gentle circles into the dimples on Yeonjun’s lower back. He could not see them in the dark, but he knew where to find them.

Soobin finally moved his big hands lower, parting Jun’s cheeks apart and giving his hole a generous swipe of his tongue.
Yeinjun screamed into the autumn air.
Soobin smiled.
He knew that Yeonjun liked to be seen and heard. The writer will never deprive him of that. Yeonjun was made to be appreciated. Soobin was ready to show him just how much he appreciates him. He decided to start with worshipping right on the spot.

***

In November Soobin said.

‘Sometimes I wonder if I made you up inside my head.’

They were seated on the bench in le Jardin de Luxemburg. Soobin bought Yeonjun a single golden aster - the only not sickeningly looking yellow flower that was available in the flower shop that morning. Yeonjun kept it on his knees while hiding his hands in the warmth of coat pockets.

‘Should I be offended?’ Yeonjun scoffed, but his eyes were gentle.

‘I don’t know. It’s for you to decide.’

Yeonjun sniffed, then put one hand out of the pocket, picking up the aster and holding it to his nose. ‘You spend too much time with me Soobin.’

‘Is it a problem?’

‘I haven’t decided yet. This flower smells like nothing.’

That one stung. Soobin didn’t allow it to ruin his perfectly dimpled smile.‘It is hard to find the aster that survived past October.’

‘So why would you pick this one?’

‘Because yellow is your favourite colour.’

‘Oh, is it.’ Yeonjun mused over it for a little. ‘Right, I guess you are right.’

‘How can one forget his favourite colour!’ Soobin didn’t know why he suddenly was getting all worked up over nothing.
Of course, he knew why.

‘Because there are too many things to like, Soobin.’ Yeonjun winked at him again. Both of his eyes closed and opened. Cute as a duckling, impossible to resist. ‘Life is way more fun when you don’t put limits on it. Try it sometime. Allow yourself to like more than one colour, you silly thing.’

Soobin just nodded. Yeonjun made sense, he always did. However, Soobin still thought that yellow flowers were the prettiest.

***

December is the month of Soobin’s birthday.

Yeonjun knew that - Soobin made sure to tell him more than once. He told him the story about the boy and the toy-store one day, when they were smoking, leaning out of the window together - Soobin not eating Yeonjun’s ass that time. He told him about the birthday party and his first sexual intercourse the other day when Yeinjun was lazily sucking him off, signalling with his eyes that he was actually listening.

So Soobin was sure he remembered, as he was putting on his favourite suit, one of sapphire blue velvet. He bought the bottle of the pricey champagne in advance, anticipating the look at Yeonjun’s face when he would see the brand name written on it in bold golden letters. Yeonjun liked pricey things and Soobin usually could afford them without any concern.Especially on his own damn birthday. It was his special day - regardless of the age he was turning he felt as he was the same six-year-old boy, buying the most expensive toy in the store just for the sake of it.

He walked through the doors of le Cristal at ten in the evening, ready to pay for full four hours. Spending his birthday lying beside Yeonjun, maybe even inside of Yeonjun. Smoking the cigarette and sipping on both Jun’s essence and champaign - it all sounded like heaven on earth. Soobin walked to the bar, searching for someone to settle up payment with. The bartender called Abadie, who came out of the dark hallway in no time.

‘Soobin, mon ami, we didn’t expect you today! I don’t remember you calling in for reservation.’

‘Yeonjun knew I would show up.’

‘Did he.’ Leo said, friendly face unreadable. ‘Well, at what time to expect you later?’

Soobin didn’t understand the question. It didn’t sink in right away.

‘Our dear Jun is with the client right now, sweetie.’ Abadie sent him an apologizing smile. ‘He will be busy until midnight. Give him another twenty minutes to clean up afterwards and I believe he will welcome you with open arms.’

Soobin nodded, not hearing a single sound of what Leo had just said. He felt stupid, stupid to the point of crying. The bottle of champaign wrapped in the thick brown paper was burning his hand. He made a few deep breaths, in and out in and

‘So will you wait for him down here or will you go out and come back again later?’ Abadie was still bombarding him with meaningless questions. Soobin was too overwhelmed to give him an appropriate answer. Or any answer at all.
He just nodded one more time, let out weak ‘I’ll be back at midnight' and left the room.

He spent two hours till midnight in the nearest park. It was the single stupidest decision of his life, as he was freezing his ass off on the bench under the cold winter air. He was so incredibly sad. He knew damn well that he couldn’t go to the bar or any other people-infested place as he simply won’t be able to withstand it. He will do something crazy, something absolutely insane, worse than freeze-drying his ass on a wooden bench. Soobin knew that in this state of mind he could hurt himself or other people. He shut his eyes so tight it hurt and imagined Yeonjun’s face. Thank Lord, he wasn’t able to hurt Yeonjun. He imagined his face. His morning face. His scrunched-nose face. His I just woke up and I hate you face. His freshly fucked face. His freshly fucked by another man face. Soobin wanted to hate it, but he was ready to take Jun’s face into his hands. His emotionless face, no smile, no winking, no anything - he was ready to hold it into his hands and say to himself - this is the face of life and I will take it as it is. I will love it as it is and it has nothing to do with anything. No seasons, no clients, no flowers or stupid colours.

He spent two hours outside, his sorrow filling him up like a summer night heat. He was thinking of Yeonjun, and the more he thought ‘I will give you my heart, summer and winter' it was harder to think ‘You don’t have to give me anything in return, you really don’t.’

He walked back to le Maison de tolerance and the first thing he did was look at the clock on the wall. It was five minutes before midnight. Soobin took a seat beside the bar, eyes never leaving the clock.
He heard Abadie’s voice calling him from the back.

‘Ah, Soobin! The client wrapped it up earlier with Yeonjun. Give him a few more minutes to get ready, he said he will come downstairs to pick you up.’

Maybe, just maybe, magic did exist.

When Yeonjun finally appeared in front of Soobin, walking out of the hallway like a vision in blues and reds of the flowers on his silk robe, it was five past twelve. It was no longer the fifth of December. Yeonjun grabbed Soobin by his cold hand. It was the first time in his memory when Yeonjun’s hand wasn’t colder than his.

When they walked into Yeonjun’s room the first thing Soobin did was putting the bottle of champagne on the bedside table. Perhaps he could have frozen to death back in that park. Maybe it would have been better if he did. He didn’t mind dying, but he won’t open that bottle without Jun being near to see it.

‘It’s my birthday today.’ Soobin said absent-mindedly. Well, actually yesterday, but to hell with that.

‘Well lucky you, birthday boy.’ Yeonjun hugged him from the back. His arms were so tiny compared to Soobin’s broad body. ‘Tonight you can get inside without any prep.’

***

Soobin went back home for Christmas. He spent two infinitely long weeks with the people he didn’t care about. At least there was one good thing to it - it cemented Soobin’s will to never come back home for Christmas ever again.

He roamed through the streets of his home town, trying to pick a perfect Christmas present for Yeonjun. He made a few stops near jewellery stores. He liked the idea of a golden ring shining on Jun’s pretty finger a little bit too much. It even gave him that familiar sense of tickling in his lower stomach. He shook his head in the end. Any ring is a band. Bands are akin to border lines. Yeonjun would hate it. He will give Soobin a smile, a gentle soul he is. He may even wear it while stroking Soobin’s dick, but he will absolutely despise it.The ring is a big no written in a bold font.

Soobin was passing a bookstore with a strong dedication of just passing it. He won’t find anything to Jun’s liking there anyway. However, ever hedonistic, Soobin could not deny himself of taking a peek at the front window where they usually put current bestsellers. ‘Encyclopedia for a merry young gentleman’ was laid right in the middle of the display case, cover so painfully red it made Soobin’s eyes hurt a little. Oh, Yeonjun would certainly adore this one. It will undoubtedly make him laugh, Soobin could already see his cute imperfect nose scrunching. At this point, the writer wasn’t even sure, if he was searching for a present for Yeonjun. Maybe he was just being selfish all over again. Maybe that's all he knew how to do.

***

January first was the day when Soobin realised he may never see Yeonjun again.

He rushed through the door of le Cristal at nine in the morning, bringing crisp winter air into the room. The book was neatly wrapped in the pretty green paper, he was carrying it together with the bunch of Algerian irises. The flowers were of yellow and blue and they smelled like spring itself - Soobin checked thoroughly before buying them.

Abadie was seated with a company of rather noisy men. As soon as he saw Soobin he stood up to hug him with affection. ‘Bonee anee, mon cher!’

Soobin returned the hug. ’Happy New Year, Leo.’

‘Ready to start it all over, fresh and clean?’

‘As always.’ Soobin gave him a wide dimpled smile. He didn’t want to waste any more time in the lobby, but the man was genuinely sweet, so Soobin had no choice but to participate in the meaningless small talk.

‘Already have in mind who you want to meet today?’

Soobin most definitely didn’t expect that question. He never saw anyone else, not once. He was a loyal man and Leo knew it better than anybody. Soobin couldn’t help but frown his eyebrows, feeling uneasy. ‘Yes. Yeonjun.’

‘Oh honey, but Yeonjun is no longer here.’

Every atom in Soobin’s body shut down and went numb for a second. He felt light-headed, as his mind was quick to draw vivid pictures right before his eyes. A car accident. Ice falling from the roof. Blood on the snowy white pavement. Rapidly growing tumour.

‘He didn’t tell you? He went to Florence last week.’

Soobin was suddenly able to breathe again. ‘Oh, I see. Maybe he mentioned something of a kind. When shall he be back?’

‘Oh no no, mon ami, I don’t know if he is coming back. He said he wants to see what life is like in Italy.’

‘So you just let him go?’ It wasn’t a good question, it lacked both manners and tact.

‘Of course, I did! I am not the one to tell him what to do with his life, my friend.’ Even if Abadie was offended by Soobin’s tasteless word choice, he didn’t show it. ‘We are not here to lock people up in this place, my dear. Liberté, égalité, sexualité.’

‘Of course.’ Soobin nodded, still feeling numb. Pain always came late to his heart.

‘So do you want to meet someone else or do you need time to weep over our travelling bird? ’ Leo’s voice was full of humour, but his eyes told Soobin that he already knew what the answer was. ‘See you again. Hopefully. Take care, my friend.’ He patted Soobin on the back a few times, before returning back to the table.

Soobin walked out of le Cristal knowing that it’s for the last time. He didn’t look back, because Yeonjun wouldn’t.

His first urge was to walk straight to the park where he spent two tormenting hours waiting for Yoenjun and leave his present on that exact same bench. It would’ve been very dramatic. A little bit too much. Maybe Soobin was freshly heartbroken but he wasn’t pathetic. He shook off the urge by breathing in the cold air. A million needles going through his lungs felt weirdly good. Perhaps Soobin had a thing for cold when he was sad. He threw Yeonjun’s present into the closest garbage can. The act itself felt strangely good. Everything felt strangely less painful than Soobin had anticipated.

He was walking through the streets with no aim. He just needed to move. His mind was giving him some new pictures to look at. Him writing a book. It will do good, it will be a really great book. There won’t be a single word about Yeonjun. There will be Soobin’s address on the last page. With no context, no side note, nothing. Yeonjun is smart. And he will find him if he ever wants to.
It was all for him to decide.

It was all a load of bollocks.
Soobin will do none of that. His mind went back to the train station, images of faded timetables above the cashier’s office. In his mind, he was already buying a one-way ticket straight to Rome. Maybe Rimbaud was right for not staying in Paris.

In the end, it was his life and it was all for Soobin to decide.