Full Homo

Jiyong examines himself in the mirror, using his fingers to comb his bangs into place. He’s in the bathroom of the vaguely-fancy Italian restaurant he and Sam are having their Valentine’s Day dinner in. They just finished dessert – a piece of flourless dark chocolate cake that they split – and when Jiyong comes out they’ll pay the bill and go back to Sam’s apartment and Jiyong will spend the night.

Which he’s done before. But what makes tonight different is that tonight, for the very first time, they’re going to make love.

Have sex, Jiyong corrects himself sternly. They’ve only been together for eight weeks (it’ll be eight weeks and one day as of about ten o’clock tonight, but who’s counting), which means it’s way, way too early to use the L word. Even if that’s what Jiyong feels. Which he does. But he’s not going to fuck this relationship up by getting too serious too soon.

He runs his fingertips under his eyes, making sure none of the liner has smudged, then pulls out the little tube of lip balm that's specially formulated to react with your pH level and enhance the color of your lips. It makes Jiyong's mouth look amazing, but it's expensive, so he only uses it on special occasions.

They decided to do this last week – the sex part, anyway. Jiyong has had the reservation here since January, although he only brought it up the Wednesday before last so as not to appear to be jumping the gun. The sex part was decided last Friday (their eleven-week anniversary, not that anyone's keeping track), when Sam, in his bumbling and painfully endearing way, asked if Jiyong didn't think they were ready to "take the next step".

"It's about if you feel ready," Jiyong said. "I'm, you know...ready."

"Well...I think I am too," he'd said.

Mostly Jiyong wanted to jump him right then and there, but he made himself be calm, if only because they were at Sam's place and Jiyong knew he didn't have lube. So he'd suggested Valentine's Day, which would give Sam just over a week to back out if he wanted to (Jiyong made him thoroughly aware he had that option), and – not that Jiyong would ever admit this – so that if in the future Sam is celebrating Valentine's Day with someone else, he'll still always think of Jiyong and his first time having sex with a man on this day.

Jiyong has never been the first guy someone slept with. Initially it made him nervous, since it seemed like a lot of pressure, but now, the appointed hour having almost arrived, he finds himself surprisingly calm. But even though he doesn't need to, he still takes out his phone to do the thing he's been doing the last several weeks to relax himself when he gets nervous about Sam.

For what was technically their third date, Jiyong invited Sam over for dinner. (It was takeout, but he'd plated and garnished the food himself, and presentation is half of cooking anyway.) Jiyong's car was in the shop after damaging something on the wheel going over an especially nasty pothole, which meant Sam had to make the whole journey from Queens to the Kappa house via public transportation. So it only made sense that he sleep over, rather than be stuck waiting for trains all night. Jiyong had engineered this partially in the hopes that it would prompt something more intimate between them than making out and partially just because he missed Sam and didn't want to wait for his car to be fixed to see him.

Even though Jiyong told Sam that they didn’t have to do anything and he could sleep in Abe's bed, they wound up tangled together, rediscovering the simple pleasure of a good handjob from someone you really like. And then the next morning, Jiyong sleepily made the impulsive decision to give Sam a blowjob for the first time. After they had breakfast, Sam wanted to return the favor. Which Jiyong thought was okay at first (well, much better than okay), but right before he came he panicked that this was too far – Sam had just realized he liked guys and now all of a sudden Jiyong’s dick was in his mouth and what if he hated Jiyong for making him feel like he needed to do this? – and everything was weird after that and they fumbled the goodbye kiss. So that night, hoping to clear the air and salvage what had been, up until Jiyong’s freak-out, a very pleasant relationship, Jiyong texted Sam.

Hey, this is awkward but I just wanted to put it out
there…I know this morning was fast so I just want to let
you know you don’t have to do that again. I had a really
good time with you and I don’t want to mess this up over
you feeling pressured to do stuff you don’t want to do.

k
but i didn’t feel pressured
i liked it

Reading it again now, Jiyong still gets a thrill of excitement. Sam likes sucking his cock. He’s not some straight guy who got tricked. He’s not going to bolt. He likes guys, and he likes Jiyong, even though Sam’s so obscenely handsome and cool and funny that it doesn’t seem like both those things could possibly be true.

Jiyong smacks his lips at himself in the mirror, then turns around to check out his ass over his shoulder. (It’s decent.) Satisfied that there’s nothing majorly wrong or embarrassing in his appearance, he takes one last look at his phone before turning off the screen and slipping it back into his pocket. He’s overwhelmed first with a longing to kiss Sam, and then with the joy of knowing that he can.

So, when he walks out of the bathroom and finds Sam waiting for him, he does.

“What was that for?” Sam asks, smiling.

Jiyong shrugs. “‘Cause I like you,” he says.

Sam’s cheeks go slightly red, his dimples creasing them deeply. "Here," he says, holding open Jiyong's coat.

Jiyong turns and shrugs into it, relishing the sweetness of this small gesture. "What about the check?" he asks.

"I took care of it," Sam says. "Let's go."

Jiyong likes that gesture too. Usually they split things, but occasionally they treat each other and it always makes the day feel extra special. Jiyong enjoys paying for Sam, but he really enjoys Sam paying for him. He knows that sounds shallow, but it's not about the money; it's how it makes him feel cared for. Like Sam wants Jiyong to know he’s worth it.

Back at Sam’s apartment, they linger in the kitchen, sampling the chocolates they bought each other. It’s quiet; Sam’s roommate is at some singles’ poker night party thing.

“These are really good,” Jiyong says. “I’ve only ever gotten Russell Stover’s on Valentine’s Day before.”

Sam makes a face. “You’ve been cheated,” he says. “People like the boxes and everything, but Russell Stover’s is really shitty chocolate. Imported’s the way to go.”

Jiyong has been cheated – this could’ve been his third Valentine’s Day with Sam instead of his first. (He knows, rationally, that sophomore-year Sam probably wouldn’t have been ready for a relationship with freshman-year Jiyong, but he still pouts to himself over the lost time.) “Are yours okay?” he asks, turning his attention back to chocolate. He bought Sam a box from the fancy chocolate place at the mall. He’s pretty sure they’re imported from Germany or somewhere.

“Mine are great,” Sam says. “Thank you.” He pops a truffle into his mouth and his eyes immediately fall shut, a terrifically lewd moan sounding from his throat. “Oh my god, you’ve got to try this,” he says. He find an identical one in the box and holds it out to Jiyong.

He’s not holding it out at the height to hand it to Jiyong, though. With the way Jiyong’s leaning his elbows on the counter, Sam’s hand and the chocolate are level with his mouth. Carefully, deliberately, watching Sam the whole time, Jiyong leans forward and eats the truffle from Sam’s fingertips, lips lingering on his skin.

It’s like something out of a movie. Sam swallows hard and stares at him, mouth slightly open, hand hovering in the air.

“Would it be all right if we went to the bedroom now?” Jiyong asks.

Sam nods, and Jiyong takes him by his floating hand and leads him to the room he’s come to know so well. They stand in front of Sam’s bed for a moment; Jiyong figures he should let Sam regroup. And anyway, he likes this. He doesn’t feel nervous anymore. This is something he’s good at, and if Sam’s ready for it, he’s going to enjoy it. A lot. Jiyong watches Sam’s face closely, trying to decide if his expression is showing more anxiety or lust. Before he can decide, Sam leans down and kisses him.

When they first got together and Jiyong gushed to all his friends about what a great kisser Sam is, they all laughed and told him to enjoy it while he could, because it’s never as good as it is those first few times. But they were wrong. Jiyong feels just as swept away as he did that first night, almost exactly fifty-seven days ago to the hour. (If you insist on being precise.)

He basks in it for a while, enjoying it, and then he gets to work. He knows this part is going to be tricky, but he starts easy, fingers creeping under Sam’s sweater and gradually pushing the material up. He’s wearing a button-down underneath, so Jiyong thinks this should be okay. After a moment, Sam gets the hint and breaks away to pull the sweater over his head. He wastes no time in freeing Jiyong of his blazer and slouchy t-shirt after that. Jiyong tugs at Sam’s belt before he can get any more clothing off Jiyong, but Sam isn’t bothered about that, either – for all his hang-ups about exposing his skin (and he has a lot of them), Sam has had no issue shedding his pants in front of Jiyong since he found out what happens when he does.

Soon they’re both in their underwear and socks, but Sam still has on his button-down. “You don’t need to take it off if you don’t want to,” Jiyong says, fingers lingering at the top button. He’s seen every part of Sam’s body, but he’s never seen him completely undressed. It’s his chest in particular that he has difficulty exposing; the few, fleeting times Jiyong’s been allowed to see it, he hasn’t found a single flaw, but Sam’s anxieties run deep. Jiyong isn’t interested in pushing him on it, especially not tonight.

But Sam surprises him. “It’s okay, I’ll… Just – uh – let me.” He moves his hands up to replace Jiyong’s, takes a deep breath, and begins, clumsily, to unbutton his shirt.

Jiyong withdraws to the bed, careful not to watch Sam too closely. He lays back, propping himself up on his elbows, and tries to think of a way to make Sam more comfortable.

“Do you like my socks?” he asks. (He doesn’t have much to work with.) Jiyong’s wearing light pink knee-high socks – partially because it’s pretty cold out, but more because he thinks he looks cute in them and he’s hoping Sam will agree.

“Very much,” Sam says as he gingerly removes his shirt and immediately hunches over to take off his own socks, which are just the boring short black kind. “Can I take them off?” Sam asks. He doesn’t quite straighten up; he’s still half-hunched when he gets onto the bed.

Jiyong is keeping his gaze on Sam’s face to show him he’s not going to gawk at his chest (much though he wants to), and he’s surprised by the amount of interest he sees over what Jiyong has long considered the least sexy part of undressing. “Please,” Jiyong says, offering up a foot and wiggling his toes.

Sam peels each sock off slowly, with great intention, one hand following the other to feel the smooth skin of Jiyong’s calf, ankle, and heel. (Jiyong congratulates himself on the decision to shave and moisturize his legs this morning.) When he finishes, he blinks and looks slightly surprised at himself; he’s even dropped his shoulders a bit.

“Come here,” Jiyong says, nodding towards the space on the bed beside him. Sam slides happily into place and they lay on their sides, kissing almost as gently as the first time they were intimate in Jiyong’s bed at the Kappa house. Don’t rush, Jiyong reminds himself. There’s no need to. They have all night to do this; tomorrow is Sunday and they can sleep late and spend all day lazing around.

But Jiyong’s patience only extends so far. Eventually he pulls away to turn on his back, lift his hips, and remove his bright red briefs. He’s never been particularly embarrassed to be naked, and it doesn’t bother him now, but he does find himself a bit shy about what comes next.

“I have to get myself ready,” Jiyong says, almost apologetic. He’d considered going to the bathroom to do this part by himself, but he’d decided against it. He’d thought it was important for Sam to be aware of the process; to know exactly how different it is than with a woman. Now he’s regretting that – what if this is too much for Sam? What if he thinks it’s gross?

“Can I –?” Sam’s voice gives way, but clearing his throat doesn’t seem to solve the problem. “Can I, um…”

“What?”

“Um...help, maybe?” Sam asks. Jiyong can’t help but suck in his breath in surprise. “Is that weird?” Sam asks, instantly fretful. “If you don’t want me to, that’s fine, but when we talked about it before you said it was usually part of it, the prepping, I mean, that it was something people did, like, together, so, I don’t know, I didn’t think you’d do it by yourself, but if you want to –”

Jiyong had explained the finer details of gay sex a month ago or so, when Sam expressed curiosity about how it would work when they eventually took that step. (That was also when they talked about who would top and who would bottom and came, with a great deal of awkward stuttering, to the conclusion that Jiyong would bottom at first, and Sam would see how he felt about it “down the road”.) Jiyong had indeed told Sam that prepping, while a practical necessity, was also a form of foreplay, like fingering a woman first. Still, Jiyong hadn’t expected Sam to want to do this their very first time. He has to swallow hard to make sure his voice doesn't tremble when he speaks. “Of course,” he says, squeaking a bit despite his best efforts. “Of course, if you want to – I would love that.” He winces at himself for using the word “love”, but covers it up by reaching across Sam to the bedside table where he'd surreptitiously placed a bottle of lube the day before when he was here for lunch. He hands it to Sam and lies back.

For a moment Jiyong feels impossibly vulnerable lying there flat on his back with a larger man above him, but it quickly passes, because it’s Sam. Sam makes him feel safe. And then Jiyong catches sight of Sam’s expression – the anxiety with which he examines the clear plastic bottle – and Jiyong’s feeling of an instant before flip. Sam is the vulnerable one here, and it’s up to Jiyong to make him comfortable. He reaches out and gently squeezes Sam’s arm. “Don’t worry, okay? I'll walk you through it.” Sam nods, eyes locking on to Jiyong’s with such intensity that Jiyong feels himself flush. “Put some on your fingers,” he murmurs. “Get them slick.” When Sam’s done that, Jiyong puts his hand over Sam’s greased one and guides it down between his legs. “Kiss me,” he says. Sam does this too.

Mouths occupied, Jiyong carefully presses Sam’s finger against his opening, letting him feel the heat. Sam has surrendered complete control of his hand to Jiyong and Jiyong runs Sam’s finger up and down, back and forth, as easily as if it were his own. When he pushes the tip of Sam’s finger into that tight ring of muscle it’s Sam, not Jiyong, who breaks their kiss with a gasp.

“Shhh,” says Jiyong, instinctively soothing. “It’s okay.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Sam whispers, sounding terrified.

“No,” Jiyong says truthfully. “It’s just – pressure, you know?” Sam, of course, doesn’t know. “It’s okay,” Jiyong says again. “I would tell you if it hurt, I promise.”

“I want you to tell me before it hurts,” Sam says urgently.

Jiyong laughs, and he feels like crying at how sweet Sam is. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll tell you the second I’m even slightly uncomfortable, okay? But I promise you, one finger is not going to hurt me. Keep going.”

Sam swallows. “Keep going,” he repeats. “As in –”

“Push it in,” Jiyong says patiently, “as far as you can. In and out, okay? Fuck me with your finger.” Sam swallows again, nostrils flaring, and Jiyong, feeling powerful, tangles his fingers in the hair on the back of Sam’s head. “And kiss me again,” he adds, the one hand pulling Sam’s mouth closer and the other pushing at Sam’s finger.

They take their time, as Jiyong promised himself they would. When Jiyong finally coaxes Sam into inserting a second finger and whimpers slightly at the feel of it, Sam looks terrified and pulls both fingers out. “No, no, no –” Jiyong says quickly. “I like it. That was a positive sound, I promise. Put them back.” Sam does, but very slowly; he’s clearly reluctant to believe Jiyong until several minutes later, when he pulls away and looks down. Jiyong’s scared for a moment that Sam will find what he sees too odd, too different from his past sexual experiences, but apparently his fingers moving in and out of Jiyong’s ass are not what catch his gaze.

“You’re getting hard,” Sam whispers, amazed.

The fear leaves Jiyong as quickly as it seized him. “Yeah,” he says, almost snorting with laughter. “It feels fucking good.”

That, more than any of Jiyong’s previous assurances, calms Sam about the whole thing. He hardly hesitates at all when Jiyong tells him to put in a third finger. At some point Jiyong wonders if Sam’s forgotten all together that he’s supposed to put his dick in Jiyong, but finally Jiyong remembers he has to be explicit.

“I’m ready,” Jiyong breathes. He kisses Sam’s cheek sloppily. “You can stop. I’m ready.”

“Are you sure? That didn’t take very long.”

Jiyong can’t help but smile. They seem to be experiencing the passage of time very differently. He plants a more careful kiss firmly on Sam’s lips. “Yes,” he says. “Here, scoot up.”

Jiyong positions Sam sitting against the wall, their pillows cushioning his back, and settles between his legs. He’s pleased – very pleased – to see Sam’s got a semi just from kissing him; touching him. Jiyong’s mouth brings Sam to full hardness in short order, and then – oh my god, it’s finally going to happen – he’s taking a condom from the table and rolling it over Sam’s cock.

They probably don’t need a condom. Jiyong hasn’t hooked up with anyone but Sam since he was tested last December, and based on what he knows about Sam’s sexual history, he doubts Sam managed to pick anything up. But Jiyong’s never been with anyone without using a condom; the idea of it feels crazy; too risky and intimate for a first time. And anyway, Jiyong feels a sense of duty, as the person introducing Sam to gay sex, to encourage good habits. Just because Sam’s not going to put a baby in Jiyong doesn’t mean they don’t have to be safe.

Jiyong runs his fingers over himself to mop up a bit of excess lube (‘overdoing it’ seems to be the theme of their prep) and smears it over Sam’s cock. “Okay,” he says, straddling Sam’s hips. Jiyong sinks down to kiss Sam and his cock slides against the slick cleft of Jiyong’s ass. Goosebumps break out over his skin. They’re so close to it. Finally. Jiyong has many reasons to want to sleep with Sam – the heightened intimacy, the deepening of their bond, the cementing of his position in Sam’s life – but the most base and primal is that he loves to be fucked. He loves to be split and filled and sated in that deep way that can only truly be satisfied by a cock up his ass. And now, after all those months of fantasizing about Sam in class, after one-thousand three-hundred sixty-nine hours of dating, after a solid three months of teasing that for the first time ever Abe’s been getting it on the regular and Jiyong hasn’t, at last it’s going to happen. With Sam. Who is borderline perfect.

Hopefully it’s going to happen. “We’re just about at the point of no return here,” Jiyong says to Sam. “You definitely want to do this?” He’ll probably cry with frustration if Sam backs out now, but Jiyong would hate himself forever if he thought he’d pressured Sam into this. Sam’s practically a virgin, and he deserves a perfect first time.

Jiyong doesn’t even notice that he’s holding his breath. “Yes,” Sam whispers. “Me, definitely, for sure, one-hundred percent.” His eyes dart to Jiyong’s. “Yes. Please. If you still want to.”

Jiyong can’t answer; he just smiles into the kiss he lays on Sam’s forehead. And then, and then, and then, Jiyong reaches behind himself to find Sam’s cock, rises a little, and positions the tip against his entrance. He’d spent a great deal of time imagining making pointed, sexy eye contact with Sam for this illustrious event, but now, in the moment, Jiyong just does what he wants to do most, which is kiss Sam fiercely as he at last sinks down on his cock.

Initially it’s a little clumsy, but not as bad as it might’ve been if Jiyong hadn’t had the foresight to put himself in control of their rhythm. Sam clearly doesn’t know what to do with his hands at first, so Jiyong places them on his waist, and Sam’s a little shy, so Jiyong leans his cheek against Sam’s temple so they don’t have to watch each other’s faces.

“Ji?” Sam says quietly. “Is it okay?”

“Mmmm,” Jiyong purrs. He sits up so Sam can see him now; can see how good this feels. “It’s much better than okay.” He bounces more forcefully on Sam’s cock, getting himself a little out of breath. “What about you –” he asks, “you like it?”

Sam looks up at him and nods, his own breathing getting labored. His large, dark eyes have grown even wider and his mouth is slightly parted; he’s looking at Jiyong with awe, and it’s thrilling. Ji speeds up, drunk on the attention the beautiful man below is paying him.

“Ji –” Sam chokes out.

“Yeah?”

“I – uh – I don’t know,” Sam admits, and his laughter moves his body in a way that sends waves of pleasure through Jiyong, who can’t help but laugh too. He leans down to kiss him again, taking Sam’s perfect jaw in his hands. His back arches and he slows down and rolls his hips to slide Sam in and out, in and out. To his excitement he feels Sam’s hands move, of their own volition, to feel Jiyong’s gyrating ass.

This strikes Jiyong as a good point to initiate some dirty talk – he can think of a few filthy things Sam’s making him think right now – but that hasn’t gone over big with Sam in the past, so Jiyong resists. He moans softly into Sam’s mouth, pleased when this spurs Sam to lift his hips to meet Jiyong’s. Sam seems to be more visceral than verbal, so he does his best romance-novel-heroine impression, wishing his hair was long as he tosses his head back dramatically.

He keeps it up with that sort of stuff for a while – moans, neck exposing, fluttering lashes – until he looks down to gauge Sam’s reaction and is so struck that he stops dead. Sam is beautiful. He is so wildly, outrageously handsome and he is looking up at Jiyong all sweet and earnest and gentle, like Jiyong’s the most amazing thing he ever saw, and it’s so overwhelming that for a second Jiyong is sure it can’t be real.

“Are you all right?” Sam asks, one hand reaching for Jiyong’s face.

“I’m –” Jiyong’s voice cracks. He clears his throat and starts moving again, slower this time. “I’m wonderful. Actually – you’re wonderful.” He turns his head to kiss Sam’s palm.

“Ji,” Sam says bashfully, and they giggle.

This, Jiyong thinks as the move together, is how it will be. They’re sharing breath and kissing and touching, and saying silly, inconsequential things to each other and smiling and making so much eye contact that somehow doesn’t feel strange, and Jiyong’s pretty sure that their heartbeats have synched up. They’ve gone past the awkward first-time stuff and Jiyong’s self-conscious attempts to be sexy and Jiyong is pretty sure this is what making love is. Even though they’ve only been dating two months and one day and it is entirely inappropriate to use that term.

Not that Jiyong would say it out loud. But deep down, in his heart, there’s no other way to put it.

Sam’s hand moves to Jiyong’s half-hard, bobbing cock, and Jiyong tries to bat it away. “Not yet,” he says, “not ’til you’re close.” He wants to make sure Sam comes first; he wants to have control of this situation until the last possible moment.

“I am,” Sam says, “I’ve been close this whole time.” He pumps away and Jiyong lets him, shivering at the thought of Sam’s desire. The friction amplifies the dull pleasure that’s been uncoiling from the base of his gut and he moans again, loudly, and squeezes down on Sam and Sam moans too, deep and resounding.

“Shit,” Sam gasps, “Jiyongie, oh my god.”

Jiyong forgets to breathe for a moment. He never knew how much he wanted to be called that while making love. To be called by his name; the name that feels closest to capturing the complicated expanse of his identity. He’s been mostly Ji for seven years and he likes it because it’s his American name and he loves it here, that’s why he chose to stay here, but hearing Sam rumble out his proper name feels like peeling off a face mask; like his skin can finally breathe.

“S–” Jiyong sputters, wanting very much to return Sam’s call but not sure how. Because ‘Sam’ is how he refers to him, but it’s not quite who he is; not to Jiyong. And ‘Seunghyun’ is closer but it doesn’t feel exactly right either. Jiyong can’t get it out of his mouth. He’s distracted, anyway, by the waves of pleasure racing all through him. “S– oh! – Fuck.”

Sam is panting and Jiyong knows he’s about to come. “Come on, baby,” he coos – it comes out in Korean; he’s not quite sure why, but he ignores that – “Come on, come on –”

Sam thrusts up into Jiyong hard and a filthy moan escapes him and he’s coming and he somehow still looks gorgeous. He slumps against the wall, but he only breaks the rhythm of his hand on Jiyong’s cock for a moment or two.

Jiyong says all the stupid, boring things people say during sex – “Oh god – yes – fuck, you feel so good” (he’s back in English, now) – and he means them, because Sam does feel so, so good buried inside him, and before long Jiyong has come too, hard and messy.

They stay joined for a bit as they regain control of their breathing. When Jiyong eases off Sam, he’s still in a haze. Their sweaty skin sticks together as Jiyong lies against Sam; he feels blank; he feels delightful.

And then, abruptly, Jiyong remembers the condom. He can’t explain why it makes his anxiety rear its ugly head again, but it does. So Jiyong crawls over Sam and out of bed, carefully removes the condom, ties it off, and tosses it in the trash basket; then he scurries across the room for some tissues to mop himself up.

“Hey,” Sam says thickly, “come back.”

“Just a second,” Jiyong assures him. He returns to the bed with more tissues and dabs at Sam’s chest. “Sorry,” he says reflexively.

“What for?”

Jiyong glances up to meet Sam’s eyes for a moment, then goes back to cleaning, unsure what Sam is thinking. “I made a mess,” he says as he wipes up the last of his cum.

Sam takes hold of his wrist. “I like messes,” he says when Jiyong looks up at him again. He leans in and kisses Jiyong, who can’t help but smile a big, dopey smile. He tumbles back into bed and they kiss and cuddle until Jiyong forgets his bout of self-consciousness.

“So,” Jiyong says, running a finger up and down the valley of Sam’s chest as he has long wanted to, “what’s the verdict on gay sex?”

Sam laughs brightly. “Um – amazing. I don’t know. Really really good.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely. Can we…do it again?”

“Right now?” Jiyong looks down at Sam’s drooping cock.

“Well, maybe not right this second. But, like...tomorrow?”

Jiyong buries his face in Sam’s shoulder, grinning. “Yeah. Whenever. We can do it whenever.”

The air feels heavy, important, lovely; Jiyong is tempted to say something stupid, something too mushy and serious, so he forces himself to say, “Hey, you wanna use the bathroom first?”

“Hmm?” Jiyong feels the warmth of Sam’s breath on his scalp. “Oh, sure, thanks.”

Jiyong sits up to watch Sam get dressed, greedily taking in his last glimpses at Sam’s naked form. When Sam’s padding off in his plaid pajama set to the bathroom, Jiyong fishes his phone out of the pocket of his discarded jeans and messages his sister – just heart eyes. They’re very close, so she knows what tonight is, but they’re still brother and sister, so they don’t talk specifics.

Dami responds almost immediately: Good. Happy for you~, and Jiyong smiles to himself. His sister is the thing he misses the most about Korea, even more than his parents. Talking to his parents on the phone a few times a week is about enough to feel connected to them, but his relationship with his sister has always thrived with physical closeness: When he’s in Korea, they often wind up on the couch together watching TV in the middle of the night and painting each other’s toenails; they eat together and feed each other bites; they go shopping together and do fitting-room fashion shows. Even messaging each other several times a day about what they’re doing, as they do when in the same country, is hard to replicate with twelve hours between them.

What’s Sunday gonna be like? Jiyong sends Dami. One of their running jokes is that she lives not in a different time zone, but in the future.

Pretty good, Dami replies. There are waffles.

Jiyong’s still chatting with her when Sam returns. “My sister says hi,” he says in his best casual voice. She didn’t actually; he just wants Sam to know he shouldn’t be threatened by who he’s messaging.

“Tell her hi back,” Sam says, climbing onto the bed next to Jiyong. He kisses the side of JIyong’s head affectionately, and Jiyong’s heart flutters like a teenager with a crush instead of a grown man who just had this person’s dick up his ass.

He gets out of bed and pulls on his underwear. “Is Dave around?” He didn’t hear Sam’s roommate come in, but he wasn’t in a position to listen too closely.

“Didn’t see him,” Sam says. Jiyong’s long been famous at Kappa for walking around in shorty-shorts and tank tops – he’s just comfortable that way – but since he’s started dating Sam, he’s felt the impulse to hide his skin from everyone else. He likes the idea of only Sam – not his roommate, not Jiyong’s brothers at Kappa, not whatever people they might’ve brought into the house – gets to see Jiyong’s thighs and chest. That they only share their bodies with each other.

Still, if Dave’s not in the living room, Jiyong can’t be bothered putting on more than his underwear. He’s going to the bathroom, not a fashion show.

When Jiyong gets back, face washed and teeth minty fresh, he crawls onto the bed and takes his spot between the wall and Sam, pulling the covers up with him and snuggling against Sam’s side. “I don’t understand how you can go to bed in just your underwear in the middle of February,” Sam says.

“It’s ’cause I’ve got you to keep me warm,” Jiyong replies. He tugs at Sam’s arm to lift it and rest his head on Sam’s chest – their usual pose for going to sleep – but Sam keeps his arm at his side.

“Wait a sec,” Sam says. He turns on his side and wiggles until they’re face-to-face, the lamp on the table behind him casting a warm glow on his skin. “Um…I just wanted to…” He leans forward and kisses Jiyong softly, catching him quite by surprise. “Thank you,” he says quickly when they break apart.

“What for?” Jiyong asks. He’s not sure what’s going on, but his heart’s gone all flippy again.

“You know…for tonight.”

“For…sleeping with you? You know I enjoyed that too, right?”

Sam squirms, adorably uncomfortable. “No, I know, but I mean – you – you were really…nice. To me. And patient. And I know I was…kind of weird, or whatever; nervous and stuff – but you made me feel comfortable. So thanks.”

Jiyong’s heart swells and at first he can’t reply; he’s too happy. He kisses Sam’s nose. “Okay,” he says when he finds his voice again.

Sam turns on his back then, and Jiyong gets into his spot curled against his side, tucked under his arm, and he decides he should be brave. Sam said something that was hard to say, and Jiyong’s going to do the same. He’s not going to tell Sam he thinks he’s in love with him (he’s not a complete idiot), but there’s something else that’s been brewing in the back of his mind, and tonight brought it to the front.

“Hey um…Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“You – uh – you called me ‘Jiyongie’ before.”

Jiyong can feel Sam wince. “Oh...yeah, um – sorry, it just sort of came out. Was that…okay?”

“Yeah,” Jiyong says. “It was – I really liked it, actually. I mean, you can call me “Ji’, or ‘Kwon’ or just ‘J’ or ‘hey you’ or whatever, really, but…I like ‘Jiyongie’. I – I like it.” He wants to say ‘I like how it sounds when you say it’, but he doesn’t. That feels a step too far, and he still has another hurdle to jump.

“Okay,” Sam says softly.

“And, um –” Jiyong says, trying to get it out before he loses his nerve. “I was thinking, would it – would it be okay if I called you ‘hyung’?” The silence in the moment after Jiyong says it is agonizing, and he rushes to fill it. “I mean, not all the time or anything; I wouldn’t say it in front of other people, you know, just like, um, for us, just sometimes, if you don’t think it’s weird –”

“I don’t think it’s weird,” Sam says, and Jiyong breathes again. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” Jiyong has been trying to figure out what to call Sam for ages, and ‘Hyung’ just feels right. It’s not something too sweet that might embarrass him, like ‘babe’ or ‘darling’, but it connotes an intimate relationship, both in Korean and because it’s Korean; because it’s a little speck of the place they were born in the place they live now.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “You can call me ‘hyung’ whenever you want.”

And just like that all that worrying and wondering Jiyong was doing is settled. “Okay,” he says. He feels Sam – his hyung – press a kiss to his head, and Jiyong nuzzles his chest in return.

Sam turns out the lamp. “Good night, Jiyongie,” he says.

“Good night, Hyung.” It feels good in his mouth.

“Sleep well,” Hyung adds in Korean.

“You too,” Jiyong replies.

Jiyong’s pretty sure he’s too excited to fall asleep any time soon, but that’s all right, because it’s nice to lie here in his hyung’s arms and feel his breathing and smell his scent and to know, even though it’s too soon, even though it’s big and scary and serious, that they are at the edge of something vast and spectacular, and soon they’ll be calling it by name.

Notes