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Yohan pulls the robe tighter against his shoulders. The sound of the rain lashing against the glass panes beat at a steady staccato.
He feels cold and clammy; Yohan shakes his head a little.
He hates these nights, a recipe for nightmares brewing underneath his skin when age-old scars twitch and turn like witches potions grotesque, bubbling and churning away.
The nights that make him feel less like the cultivated monster and more like the weak flesh and blood human, he wants to discard.
He turns around, shoving the ethology book away on his side table, and then rises to stand by the ancient French window.
The gauzy curtain sways at the bottom, kkomi curls around his leg. The loyal stray never far away. He bends down, stroking the downy fur, and the little pet purrs. Yohan picks the kitten up and holds her as he gazes out of the window into the stormy night.
The acres of well-manicured lawns layout in the dull dimmed night lights like an abyss of absolutely nothing; the lashing raindrops invisible except for their incessant splattering against the windows and the subtle sound of the wind howling like an abandoned banshee.
He drops kkomi on the warm bed and sighs; his relationship with religion is more complicated than he could care but for a moment he wishes he could pray to someone to not dream tonight. To not see Isaac burning in that hellfire, to not witness his father ripping the skin off his back, to not see the swimming faces of the countless victims and their abusers in his courtroom, drowning and floating in his consciousness.
He pillows his head in his hands, wanting to cry, to scream but nothing comes out… Like always, he stays stone cold.
The only sound, the pitter-patter of the cold raindrops, fills up his hauntingly empty room.
The house is dark, always has been dark. It’s easier to navigate that way; the countless unbearable sins hid away in forgotten corners.
Yohan pads across the darkened hallways, towards the inevitable door. He is not brave enough to knock, the singular key in his pocket stays heavy against his fingers. He needs to enter that room.
Slowly, he turns the metal knob, and it opens easily with a slight catch. Yohan releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
The room is warmers than his; a faint orange bulb glows on one of the tables casting a soft glow. The inhabitant lays on the bed, his body rising and falling with his gentle snores.
Ga-on, innocent righteous Judge Ga-on sleeps soundly not a worry on his young face.
Yohan steps closer, watching. A want, like a monstrous gluttonous black hole, craves to touch that beautiful face, trace the faint laughing lines he has just started accumulating. Smooth out the brows, draw the edges of his full lips.
It’s the stupidest thing Yohan has ever wanted. There is no grand scheme behind his desire, it's not for revenge, not for anger, not for aiding anyone.
Like the most basic of human vices, it's simply a selfish wish to be loved, understood, saved.
Yohan almost stumbles, trying to catch the self-deprecating laughter that threatens to spill out of him.
What a ridiculous thought, to be saved, to crave a savior, a lover…. From a man, he plans to only use as a pawn in his grand twisted ploy!
He fists his hands wanting to slap himself, dousing himself in cold water… But he does nothing, instead just sits down gingerly on the edge of the bed watching the man sleep blissfully unaware of the demons circling him.
It must have been the movement that pricks through Ga-on’s slumber, he tosses, and then slowly opens his eyes landing them straight on Yohan.
Surprisingly, Ga-on doesn’t panic, as Yohan watches.
He simply opens his eyes wider taking him in, his hands rub at his face, and then with his sleep mixed voice, he asks, “What time is it? What happened?”
Yohan tilts his head, marveling at how effortlessly sexy his junior judge is. The nightshirt strains across his broad shoulders, the bed hair adorably falling across his face like a picture frame, and his voice soft, low like a quiet rumble.
“It’s only past midnight… I wanted to check if you were having trouble sleeping in this stormy night.”
It’s a very flimsy lie and Yohan knows it's pathetic.
He sees through the moment, when Ga-on’s pupils widen at his words, a smile playing on his lips. He pushes the covers down, and offers without a hint of malice, “Want to share the bed?”
Yohan has survived, thrived, by reading people, manipulating their emotions, ruthless, cruel, deliberate, in dealing with lesser individuals and it doesn't take more than a fraction of a moment for him to realize that Kim Ga-on understands him too. In a frightening, nonverbal, intimate way.
And the moment he crawls into that bed, Ga-on becomes a liability. A weakness.
He hesitates, uncharacteristically.
Using humans has never been a moral chore, but tonight feels as if a guillotine of conscience is hanging down his neck. He thinks of refusing and scurrying away like a mouse, allowing Ga-on a chance.
For a better future, for a safer destiny. Without him.
Unbeknownst Ga-on watches the myriad of thoughts play across his stark face. Kim Ga-on is not any less of a thoughtful intelligent man. He nudges with his foot, hitting Yohan right between his ass cheeks, “It’s cold and late, get under the covers.” Ga-on's face pouts a little.
Yohan purses his lips in a straight line, and then stoically settles down beside Ga-on slipping under the warm blanket. A little persuasion goes a long way.
His robe lies discarded at the bottom of the bed.
Moments pass, words unsaid. It’s a companionable silence though, steady breathing, a gentle heat emanating from a solid body against him.
He doesn’t remember when the last time was, he slept beside another human. Sexual encounters in Yohan’s life only ever last for a few hours in exchange for mutual favors monetary or otherwise. Sleeping or cuddling had never been on the cards.
He tries not to turn sideways and fidgets instead, a first time in their acquaintance.
“Why do you refuse to date So-Hyun?” He asks finally, hoping his voice doesn’t waver.
Ga-on turns towards him, one of his hands folded beneath his head. He looks at Yohan through the curtain of his ebony lashes, the puppy fat of his cheeks slightly squished.
“She’s my family,” He says, his eyes steady, “My only friend. I can never hurt her.”
Yohan scoffs, “Such a coward!”
“I don’t love her; there is no point in hurting someone with fake affection.” Ga-on breathes deeply, sleep no longer softening his tone.
He looks hurt, and Yohan cannot honestly, tell why. He squints his eyes and says, “Ga-on ah, if people only date those who they love, I think half the country would never have kids…”
No matter how much he tries, Yohan fails miserably to stop mocking the upright view Ga-on has, and he bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t want to fight with him, not tonight, not now.
Ga-on doesn’t reply, instead just looking at him. Again and not for the first time, Yohan squirms a little under the gaze.
Tonight he doesn’t have his battle armor on, and still, he desperately searches for it... He has always been calm, levelheaded, never overcome with ‘human’ emotions, and tries his best to right his malfunctioning brain. There must be a reason, he feels off skewed by this man beside him.
“If you loved someone, would you date him?” Ga-on’s soft words break Yohan out of his reverie.
He glances at him and rolls his eyes, “Love is cumbersome, and dating is a waste of time. If I needed someone for something I would probably only date then…”
“Ahh…” he hears Ga-on sigh, a slight sneer mixed with it.
Yohan feels a light shuffling, as Ga-on scoots a little closer, still not touching, “Hyung, I think,” A calm lilt envelops Ga-on's voice, “It’s okay to love someone just a little even if only you need
something from them…”
Yohan sharply inhales, turning around, a kind, open face stares back at him. The night light paints light and shadows across his silken skin, Ga-on’s eyes shine like burning coals in the middle of coldest nights.
He is close, so close, that Yohan can count the number of lashes he has, can smell the slight intoxicating aroma wafting from him.
A heady mix of smells just like his own body wash his laundry detergent, his shampoo, and but blended uniquely with a scent belonging only to Kim Ga-on.
Yohan feels the insane urge to crash into the man next to him, swallow him whole, hold him, cradle him, adore him until he had, had his fill. The crazed want to possess Ga-on scares the lights out of him.
He cannot love the man he wants to use. The rules of the game do not allow that.
He rises to get out of the bed, it's too hot, the sweat beads on his brows, age-old feelings of when he was only a child, just needing someone to call his own cloud his mind, nausea flowing up and down his bowels.
But a hand, cool, strong, and broad, catches across his wrist.
“Stay, please.”
He looks down, Ga-on’s face is flushed too...
“I’m not a nice man, Kim Ga-on.”
Ga-on nods.
“If I have to, I will use you.”
Ga-on only blinks at him and nods.
“I can hurt you, it’s never safe with me.”
Ga-on nods again.
“I’m too old for you.”
It doesn't matter, he realizes a little too late as he watches, crazily, as Ga-on rises, sitting eye-level at him and says coolly, “I know, and I love you too…”
The kiss happens in slow motion, the gentlest of all kisses Yohan has ever had in his life, just a touch and it ignites his blood.
He captures Ga-on’s face between his palms, deepening it, and revels at the tiny mewling noises Ga-on makes when his tongue touches his.
He wonders belatedly if this is Ga-on’s first kiss, and a primeval beast in him roars at the thought.
Yohan’s hands wander down, slowly encircling Ga-on neck; he nips at the tiny hairs on his nape, luxuriating in the furry feel of them.
He feels Ga-on smiling in the kiss, and pulls away slightly, offended at some unknown joke on his behalf.
“Ah, it's nothing,” Ga-on says, his lips red and slicked in spit, plump like stung by a bee, “It’s just the first time you have held my neck and not tried to kill me!”
Yohan tries and fails to stop a smile from breaking on his face. He feels Ga-on run his hands across his face, curving out the slants of his cheekbones, the breadth of his shoulders, the sinew muscles of
his arms, and down the scars of his back…
“Kiss me again,” Ga-on says, settling himself against Yohan; his voice deep, dark, and inviting, “Yohan, hyung-ah love me as you’ve always wanted to.”
His name on his lips sounds like salvation, Yohan thinks.
He stares at him, his hands embraced around his face, his body pressed against Ga-on. Muscle for muscle, rock hard and burning like a forest fire.
He pushes away the baby hair from around Ga-on's face and asks, “Have you done this before?”
Ga-on, bites his lip, shifts eyes before answering in a small voice, “Not really… You…”
“Never with a man?”
“Never with anyone.”
And for a moment, Yohan finds himself at a loss for words. The very few times in life.
He lets out a breath, placing a sloppy kiss on Ga-on’s forehead, and says, “It’s a first for me too if you must know… With someone, I care about. Ga-on ah, promise me something…”
Ga-on nods and places a small kiss on his nose. “Go ahead.”
“Promise to tell me, you love me every day.”
“What happens if I miss a day?”
Yohan shakes his head, an unknown, unfathomable happiness churns up in his empty soul like a finely aged wine, flooding every nook and cranny of his existence.
He nuzzles Ga-on’s neck and whispers, “I don’t know, the devil in me might go crazy from wanting you…”
Ga-on laughs, encircling him in his arms, and whispering like the sweetest sound, “I love you, my devil Kang Yohan.”
Yohan closes his eyes, burrowing himself further in the warmth; the promise of salvation has never sounded sweeter.