our trail of gold ; jeongcheol

Chapter 7

The cold air diffused within his bedroom brought a contexture of shivers and bad omens. The fair coloured curtains were slanted, and the hue of gold and sunshine forced his theory on the hour having yet to pass vaguely nine. Jeonghan drew his legs closer, sheets a sea of desolate white, and breathed in the natural frost.

He almost hated the cold. The only time when coldness did not infiltrate the core of him and freeze the remaining emotions shimmering and flitting was when Junhui was around, the warmth of the composer so vividly red and perfect. It was then almost perfectly normal for him to ponder on his unhealthy need for the other man, bordering on insanity and crystal droplets of hope.

In a daze of sleepy limbs and misted vision, Jeonghan stripped, darkness meeting him as he slammed the glass door to the shower. Black sparkled with the flesh of his lids resting, and without sight the milk protrusions of his hands enclosed the left knob and turned, gripping cold steel and rogue lettering.

Water sprinkled, the shower hot and steaming battering the pale of his skin, turning pink in the sudden heat. A fire seeped through his lethargic self, ridding the cold imbedded deep in his blood. His hand reached up to rub softly at his shoulders, touching his collar bones and shivering.

His insides were as numb as his chilled skin. Images had battled his hopes of a dreamless sleep, coming out the victor as memories blurred through the serene darkness of night. It was memories of him and Seungcheol that had tormented him, taking him back to a time where everything was beautiful, pliable, and faultless. The memories had also caused a latent emotion to override his pain, bringing a new feeling that hadn't bothered him in the past few years.

Arousal.

Jeonghan flushed under the heat of the spray and didn't dare lower his head to sight between his legs. Not even when he had tried dating other men did he even feel an ounce of arousal and lust. And yet, with only a mere dream of his countless rendezvous with Seungcheol, his supple body desecrating and overwhelming his, heat flared and pooled in the one place no longer frequented by his pale fingers.

With teeth gnawing at the flesh of his lips, Jeonghan raised the power of the water hammering down. It didn't matter if his body still reacted to Seungcheol– only reacted to Seungcheol. He was no longer with his ex-husband, the prefix ex sounding out just how improbable it was for his dreams and memories to replay and take form in the actual world.

But even so...even so...

He whimpered and closed his eyes. Ebony stuck to his ears and matted the frame of his face, and Jeonghan let sin win over whatever resistance he tried to push forward. Memories clouded the rattling in his head, the matchmaker allowing his fingers to trail the contours of his abdomen and to the sink of his hipbone. He shuddered at the sensitive touch of his own extremities, almost afraid to allow the pads to swipe the area surrounding the erected organ.

An image of Seungcheol came alive, the taller man pulling him into the darkened bedroom of their mansion like house. He was tanned, toned and naked, and Jeonghan breathed in a short raspy choke as his past self scanned the splendour that stood before him. It was he who had pushed Seungcheol on the bed, just coming home from the café and seeing Seungcheol towelling off.

It was automatic actions, practiced back to when sex was as a necessity such as breath was to man. Seungcheol's skin touched his, pale to tan, his husband's fingers already pushing away his dress shirt, buttons ripped and rattling as it touched the hardwood floor. The feel of Seungcheol's cock was too vivid, the brush of a weeping tip on his stomach as lips sought his and claimed the wetness of his cavern. Inside his mouth Jeonghan tasted cream and bitter goodness, a pungent odour that one couldn't quite wash away with sweet and liquid. It burned his tongue as the still frames of Seungcheol's kiss flashed, his own fingers scraping along his hardened organ like an ingrained masochist.