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The plastic of the water bottle crunched loudly in Nicholas’ grip when he tilts it back and squeezes, chasing the last few drops. The sound makes Euijoo flinch and grimace. “You don’t have to do it so loud,” he scolds. He’s sitting in this half-reclined pose, gym shorts riding up his thigh, loose tank top hanging low on his chest. It’s a very K-hyung outfit or a Fuma outfit. Not a Euijoo outfit. It kind of makes Nicholas feel sick.
“I’m not doing it on purpose,” Nicholas snaps back. Osaka in August is a death sentence, even in the comfort of their hotel room. The air conditioner is no match for the muggy air, the oppressive heat that presses through the windows and walls and renders Nicholas an irritable and sweaty puddle of boy.
The others are out exploring the city. Having fun. Nicholas thought he was going to die if he set foot out there so he opted to stay back and for some reason, Euijoo decided to stay back with him.
His lower lip is still kinda swollen. Whenever Nicholas looks at it, his stomach turns.
He looks instead at Euijoo’s nose. At the sweat beading on his philtrum. “Pass me another bottle,” he says, only because Euijoo is the one right next to the fridge. He’d prefer not to speak to Euijoo at all. But his mouth is a fucking desert.
Euijoo doesn’t move. “I need some water too. You’re drinking all of it.”
“It’s water. We can get more.”
“It’s too hot to do that.”
Nicholas breathes slowly through his nose. “Euijoo-ssi,” he says in Korean, very carefully. Euijoo sits up straight, brows knitted together. “Please give me some water.”
Conveniently, his voice rasps right at the end of the sentence, the last bit of moisture leaving his mouth. Nicholas tries to wet his chapped lips with a sandpaper dry tongue. He can’t tell if Euijoo tracks the motion at all. If Euijoo cares.
Euijoo just stares at him. And then he says, “Come here and get it.”
Again, there’s that challenge. That same challenge that he used last night, right before Nicholas went and ruined everything. Expectation, challenge, want— what has Nicholas done to deserve it? To earn it?
“Well?” Euijoo asks, head tilted. He opens the fridge. Pulls out the water. “Aren’t you thirsty?”
Nicholas wants to be the type of boy who can parch himself to prove a point. But his mouth is so dry, and so empty. He does not have the willpower to go without water. The dehydration will drive him mad, it will make him do something that he regrets.
He crawls to Euijoo’s side. It’s too hot to waste energy on standing, even if the heat of Euijoo’s gaze is worse. Nicholas keeps his head bowed. Ashamed. Right up until he crawls to Euijoo’s side where he folds his legs underneath him, puts his hands on his lap, and says, “Please.”
Euijoo’s breath hitches and his eyes get very big. It’s only then that Nicholas remembers that Euijoo never told him to beg. Just to come there.
He tries to jerk back but Euijoo’s hand is there, suddenly, catching him by the chin. His other hand holds the open bottle. “Drink,” he says. When the fuck did he open it? Has Nicholas finally lost his mind. “Nicho, drink.”
He sounds worried. Nicholas doesn’t like that tone, so he opens his mouth. He forgets to swallow at first and sputters up most of the water that Euijoo feeds him. But he laps at the rim of the bottle before it can be pulled away, insistent, seeking—the noise he makes when Euijoo pushes the rim firmly against his lips is obscene. If Euijoo’s face weren’t already so red from the heat, it’d be flaming.
“Where are you, Nicho?” Euijoo asks, whispering, a sound that rests under the screaming cicadas. He looks baffled, which makes sense. Hardly ten hours ago, he tried to kiss Nicholas and got bitten to shit in return, Nicholas’s teeth clamping down on Euijoo’s lower lip in panic. He hadn’t even apologized. He just ran, and then picked a fight this morning when Euijoo came to sort things out.
Euijoo continues, pleading, “I thought I scared you away, but you’re right here. I came here to talk to you, and to clear things up, but talking seems…”
wrong, Nicholas finishes, in his head, swallowing and swallowing and swallowing what he’s given. I wish I was born without teeth, so that I couldn’t talk at all. Taking my tongue would be easier, but I need that to suck cock. Maybe if you took my teeth, then I’d be able to stop hurting you.
“Let me suck you off,” he says, too soon, the last of the water spilling onto the floor. He mumbles it and it’s almost unintelligible. He’s not even sure what language he’s speaking, but miraculously, it’s one that Euijoo seems to understand. He sputters, baffled. Nicholas surges forwards to get between Euijoo’s knees and insists saying, “Talk after. Promise.”
There’s not enough liquid in his body to cry, but the way his breath hitches is something like a sob. Euijoo looks so confused, and almost scared—not of Nicholas, for him, thank God, because scaring Euijoo means that they’re back to square one, and it’s one of Nicholas’ worst nightnares—but he nods.
“Talk after,” he echoes, and then he pulls down his shorts.
Euijoo’s dick is unremarkable. Soft, it looks totally average in every way. Length, girth, curve—he’s uncut, but that’s nothing. Nicholas clenches his hands on his lap and waits for Euijoo to kick his shorts off entirely. He slowly moves in. He doesn’t lunge like an animal, no matter how primal this need of his is.
Nicholas sucked his first dick at fifteen years old, right before he left for Korea—a parting gift from a boy he wished he could simply call a friend. He almost threw up doing it, too eager and not nearly experienced enough, but he soldiered on. The boy rewarded him with a split lip for his troubles, and a wheezy babbled ramble of monologue that kind of all amounted to, delete my phone number, and if you come back, don’t try to find me.
Get punched in the face. Move to Korea. Barely learn the language. Get thrown into the forest and hunted for sport. Be dragged out of the wilderness, still bleeding from the bullet buried below his Adam’s apple, and handed a Japanese textbook before they’ve even let his windpipe close.
Somewhere in the middle of all of it, Nicholas found the time to get really good at giving head, and to love doing it.
He’s louder than Euijoo is when his tongue presses against the slit. Euijoo’s cock is salty from sweat. It kinda fucking stinks, but not in a bad way. It’s not dirty, just musky, and Nicholas whines around it, letting the scent clog his nostrils, letting Euijoo glide over his tongue. The pressure is quieting, comforting. For the first time in almost twelve hours, something in Nicholas’ head goes still.
This is familiar, and safe, like his childhood bed. Nicholas is well-versed in the art of oral. It turns out, when you’re a trainee, that there’s so many boys and so much desperation that sex is a foregone conclusion. Nicholas got more than ample practice in dorm bathrooms and in the dark corners by their practice rooms. He learned how to use his lips, and teeth, and tongue. He learned how peaceful it is to be between someone’s legs.
The thing that he never got the hang of, though, was being touched in turn. It was too sudden, and violent. Too close. It’s much safer on his knees. It’s peaceful down there. No one expects him to say anything. No one expects him to be anyone.
Euijoo’s hand in his hair feels like free-falling. He jerks and whines but he can’t pull off, even though he’s barely on to begin with. He’s still lapping around the head, wetly kissing the seam of Euijoo’s foreskin. “Fuck, Nicho,” Euijoo pants. His touch is so gentle but so firm. A brick on the back of a bird, keeping it from flying away. His fingers don’t pull at all, but it feels like an act of violence regardless.
Maybe it is. When Euijoo says, “I never thought you’d be this good,” Nicholas thinks that it should be.
He closes his eyes. He doesn’t look at Euijoo. He wants to, but he shouldn’t. Also, he’s long since memorized Euijoo’s face. He’s sucked enough cock with his eyes closed, imagining how Euijoo would look instead. This is different, now that he can hear it for real—aborted whimpers and gaspy little breaths. Euijoo is whiny, that’s no surprise, but it’s the way that he whines that’s maddening. Like he’s trying to choke the sounds down, but can’t quite do it.
Nicholas wants to look. God, he wants to. That’s his problem. He’s always gorged himself without hesitating, whether it’s his mother’s cooking or broken glass or cock or blood or otherwise. Nicholas is bad at knowing when he’s full. When he’s had enough. When he’s had more than he should.
Sometimes Nicholas wonders if the insides of his cheeks have weathered into scar tissue. If he’s gouged out the soft from the inside of his mouth. If all the cock he’s swallowed has gored him, ruined him. If that’s what’s made his mouth barren, and dry, cracked land in an endless drought.
Euijoo’s cock is full and fat on his tongue, steadily spitting pre. It’s so wet. Nicholas swallows hungrily, reaching a hand down to cup Euijoo’s balls. “Shit,” Euijoo grunts, fucking up a little. His voice is rough and kind of deep. Still breathy and needy, but fuck, if that isn’t a nice surprise.
Nicholas moans, swallowing deeper. He’s got his nose pressed to Euijoo’s groin. It smells like sweat down here too. The entire room smells awful. It’s the smell of heat, of unwashed bodies, of sex, of desire, of shame, of stagnant water.
The hand in Nicholas’ hair starts to tug. “I’m gonna-“ Euijoo warns, trembling, but he lets go when Nicholas doesn’t budge. He laughs instead. Euijoo’s laugh has always sounded like rain, to Nicholas. “God, you’re insane, s-shit-!”
The nature of their positions suddenly hits him. Euijoo, sitting up, legs spread, bare ass on the carpet of their hotel room. Normal, for the most part. Nicholas prostrated between his thighs, flat against the floor. Fully clothed. Sweating like a fucking pig.
Nicholas sobs as he cums, rutting against the ground—has he been grinding down like that the entire time? How embarrassing. The vague shame that floats through his brain makes the orgasm feel that much better-worse. It’s so hot. He might die.
He pulls back a little to tongue under the frenulum. Euijoo chokes out a sound, his thighs closing on either side of Nicholas’ head. Soft, sweaty flesh, smothering him completely. Hot, salty cum spilling into his mouth. Cicadas screaming in the streets, the sun a deadly fucking laser that’s trying to kill them all. Nicholas should die like this, right here, absolution at the altar, or whatever the fuck. Penance. Punishment? Pittance—that’s not that word means. Oh man, he’s really fucking dizzy.
Nicholas opens his eyes. Blinks away tears. Looks up at his lashes. Lets the limp cock fall out of his mouth. Euijoo’s round cheeks are so pink, and his rounder eyes are so wide and pretty. He’s bitten through his swollen lower lip. He’s bleeding.
“Hey,” Nicholas slurs, cum kinda spilling out of his mouth. He reaches up to swipe at some of the blood at the corner of Euijoo’s lip, but then the world becomes a smear of colours, and then it’s all black.
He comes to in cold darkness. It’s scary, but what’s scarier is the way the world moves around him when he shoots up straight. “Euijoo-kun!?” Nicholas calls, terrified, teeth chattering. His voice echoes.
But he doesn’t even get the time to be afraid, to feel abandoned. A scalding hot hand grabs the back of his neck. Nicholas blinks again eyes finally adjusting to the dark—Euijoo’s gaze is concerned and searching.
“I should’ve given you the water sooner,” is the first thing that he says, guilt-ridden and small. Still, he’s firm and certain in his touches. “I don’t think it’s heat stroke, but I put you in a cold bath to be safe. You passed out. I was really worried. I’m sorry.”
Nicholas blinks and then blushes so hard that the water might be boiling around him. “You carried me to the bathroom?” He rasps. “You ran me a bath and put me in it?”
Euijoo kind of stares at him. “You passed out from the heat.” His hand moves, nape to shoulder, shoulder to cheek. “I was really worried.”
“We have to talk,” Nicholas says. It feels like there’s a thought for every single tooth in his mouth. He really should get at least a few pulled. “We said that after- I’m sorry about yesterday- Was that good for you-“
So much talking makes his mouth run dry. Silently, Euijoo pulls him into a kiss. It’s warm. It’s wet. It’s sloppy, Euijoo’s lips working against his, pressing spit onto his palette.
Nicholas gasps, half rising out of the tub, tilting his face up and into it. Like a wilting flower being watered. Like his petals have unfurled, like he’s about to bloom.
Euijoo’s tongue swipes against the scar tissue of Nicholas’ cheek. A storm rumbles on the horizon.