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At seventeen, Oh Taejoon stopped tasting. Perhaps because he grew tired of the sweet caramel coating of kouign-amann, the saltiness of rice crackers, the sourness of a glass of lime juice, the spiciness of fire chicken, and the bitterness of the painkillers he swallowed every time he had a headache at two in the afternoon.
He couldn’t taste any of those flavors even though he chewed each one of them slowly and savored them for a few seconds longer until they completely melted on his taste buds. It was still disappointing in the end, though, because he would end up grimacing from the tastelessness. He knew the scent of the sizzling Red Lady burger ground meat, once his favorite, was now a mere illusion. He knew that no matter how appetizing a dish smelled, it would lose its flavor the moment the first bite touched his tongue. The second bite and the rest of it would be just as bland.
He started tasting again years later, when a man with dark lock came into his life without warning, through a cigarette he shared. The sweetness of his lips lingered at the tip of the cigarette and at the corner of Taejoon’s lips. It made him want to take another drag; another so he could savor it over and over again, and worship it if necessary.
Shin Youngwoo was more likely to put on a solemn face than to bother with a friendly smile, but when he did, he gave the most captivating smile. Sweet as a buttery pancake. Crunchy as an almond. All the most mouthwatering delicacies served on a single antique porcelain plate, one that could undoubtedly lead anyone to death with greed and lust.
And the sweet Shin Youngwoo was now completely naked, panting, sprawled on the dining table while Oh Taejoon knelt devoutly, in the most sincere manner, before him.
People say the head is the most sacred part of a human body. That holiest part can only bow down to something even more sacred. That’s why humans should kneel before nothing but God. Oh Taejoon, on the other hand, kneel before the God he believe in, who was now lying on the dining table.
Youngwoo reached for Taejoon’s hands. He let his fingertips brushed against his hips, waist, and shoulders, guiding him wherever he wanted, while Taejoon offering him a sacrifice of praise with whatever fragments of holiness remained. God’s name escaped Youngwoo’s lips; as red as a chalice of sacramental wine.
Oh Taejoon pressed a smile on to the soft skin of Shin Youngwoo’s trembling thigh, then slowly lifted his head to observe his flustered face, saying, “You know, Shin Youngwoo, I will never believe in the God that you, or anyone else, believe in.”
Because I will only devout myself to worship you. Only you.
Youngwoo didn’t answer, as the bite mark Taejoon left on his inner thigh caused him shuddering. He, the Great One, shimmered under the moonlight just like a stained glass window depicting the Virgin Mary from a recently restored church.
He commanded him to touch, to bite, to kiss all over his sweat-slicked body and as if seduced by a revelation, Taejoon was completely tempted. It was what he always did, so he complied. He rose from my knees. He touched him. He kissed him. He bit his skin.
“Touch me there. Fuck me ‘til I pass out,” he commanded again. His voice trembling as Taejoon stroked his skin and began to slide in, just as his brain was contemplating about what kind of face Shin Youngwoo would make if he bit and left some marks on his shoulder.
Taejoon was overwhelmed by the need to have every inch of Shin Youngwoo in his mouth, to swallow every breath, every uncontrollable moan before it even left his mouth. The abundance of the banquet was scattered all over Shin Youngwoo’s body: on his chest, across his pale skin, between his slender legs. Taejoon made love to him as if he was experiencing it for the first time.
Isn’t it only God who can work miracles? For example, the miracle to taste again after years of tasting nothing? Shin Youngwoo gave it to me, and thus, he is God for me.