Two Disguised Heirs, One Heated Floor novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: One Quilt

Under one quilt the cold excuse wears thin: the first kiss, glasses off, a quiet mutual hand job, and a note that says midnight, bathhouse.

Neither of them moved.

The quilt held the heat of two bodies now, and it smelled of ink and woodsmoke and Ju-an.

"It's the cold," Ju-an said again, to the ceiling.

"You said."

"It's a normal reaction to cold."

"I know."

"Then why are you hard too?"

Tae-gang had no answer to that.

He was hard enough to hurt, and Ju-an's hip was pressed right against him, and the whole thing was ridiculous.

"Because you're warm now," Tae-gang said. "And you smell nice."

Ju-an made a small sound, half a laugh and half a breath.

"I smell like ink."

"That's what I said."

For a while there was only the dark, and the tick of the cooling stone under them.

Ju-an's cold hand crept across the quilt and rested on Tae-gang's wrist.

Then it slid down to cover his hand.

Tae-gang turned his palm up and let their fingers lace.

Ju-an's thumb stroked once across his knuckles.

"Dae-sik."

"Mm."

"If I do something stupid, tell me to stop."

Tae-gang's heart slammed.

"Tell me to stop," he said back, "and I'll stop. But I won't."

"Good," Ju-an breathed.

He rolled half onto his side.

His face was so close that Tae-gang felt the words on his lips.

"I've wanted to do this since the yard."

"Since I fell on you?"

"Since you fell on me," Ju-an corrected. "You were the one who didn't fall. I was the one on top."

"Right. You were."

"You looked so guilty."

"You had your hand on my stomach!"

"I did," Ju-an said, and kissed him.

It was soft for one second.

Then Tae-gang's hand came up into Ju-an's hair and pulled the cord loose, and Ju-an groaned into his mouth.

His lips were cold and then very quickly not.

He kissed, neat and quick, with a precise little tilt of his head.

Tae-gang kissed wholeheartedly and a little too hard, and Ju-an gasped.

"Slower," Ju-an whispered.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. Just slower."

He licked the seam of Tae-gang's mouth and slid inside, slow and thorough.

Tae-gang's whole body arched toward him.

His arms went around Ju-an's thin back without asking permission.

The long hair spilled over both of them, cool and silky, smelling of camellias.

Ju-an's spectacles dug into Tae-gang's cheek.

"Off," Tae-gang mumbled.

"They're part of my face."

"They're stabbing mine."

Ju-an laughed, a short breathy huff against his jaw, and took them off.

He set them on the floor beside the quilt.

Tae-gang looked at him in the dark.

Without the round glass, Ju-an's eyes were long and black and bare.

The mole by the corner of his mouth stood out.

He was the most beautiful person Tae-gang had ever seen.

It was a very bad time to find that out.

"What?" Ju-an said, uneasy.

"Nothing. You're." Tae-gang's voice cracked. "You look different."

"Worse?"

"No."

Ju-an stared at him a second longer.

Then he pushed him onto his back and kissed him again, deeper, with the heavy weight of his thigh across Tae-gang's.

Tae-gang's cock jumped against it.

He heard Ju-an hiss.

"You're so big," Ju-an said, almost to himself. "All of you."

His hand slid down the quilt, down Tae-gang's chest band, over his stomach, and into the waist of his sleeping trousers.

Tae-gang's breath came out in a rush.

The hand closed around him.

It was cold, and then it was wonderful.

"God," Tae-gang whispered.

"Quiet," Ju-an said against his ear. "The walls here are paper."

He stroked once, slowly, from root to tip, his thumb smearing the wet at the head.

Tae-gang bit his own lip and pushed into his fist.

"Do me too," Ju-an said. "Please."

It was the first time he had said please.

Tae-gang's hand dove into his trousers so fast that Ju-an laughed, and then the laugh turned into a gasp.

He was slim and hot and as hard as Tae-gang was, silky and wet at the tip.

Tae-gang's big hand wrapped all the way around him.

"Like this?"

"Yes. Just. Yes."

They worked each other under the quilt, awkward and breathless.

Ju-an's hand was quick, and sure, and it twisted at the head in a way that made Tae-gang's toes curl.

Tae-gang's hand was slower and heavier, and he found out, stroke by stroke, that Ju-an loved the slow.

Every time he squeezed on the downstroke, Ju-an's hips hitched.

Every time he dragged his thumb over the wet tip, Ju-an shuddered and pressed his forehead into Tae-gang's neck.

"Dae-sik," he breathed. "Dae-sik, don't stop."

"I won't."

"Harder. You can."

Tae-gang tightened his grip and picked up the pace.

The quilt shifted and rustled.

Ju-an's mouth found his throat, and sucked.

It was a warm, sharp pull, and it went straight to Tae-gang's cock.

"Ju-an," he groaned.

"Quiet."

"You're sucking my neck."

"Yes," Ju-an said, unrepentant. "I'm going to leave a mark. Tell me to stop."

"Don't stop."

Ju-an's teeth closed on the skin, a quick, hard nip, and Tae-gang lost all his air.

He came so hard that stars went off behind his eyes.

He spilled hot over Ju-an's fist and his own belly, and he moaned through his teeth, as quietly as he could.

Ju-an went on stroking him through it, gentle and slow.

"That's it," he whispered. "Good. Look at you."

Tae-gang was still shaking when his own hand started up again, clumsy with aftershock.

He sped up on Ju-an, rough and sure.

Ju-an's whole body drew tight.

His breath hitched, and he turned his face into the pillow to muffle a cry.

"Dae-sik, I'm."

"I know. Do it."

Ju-an came with a long, shuddering sigh, hot and wet over Tae-gang's knuckles.

He sagged on top of him, boneless, and for a while neither of them said a word.

The ondol ticked.

Somewhere down the hall, someone snored.

"There is a cloth in my bag," Ju-an mumbled, without moving.

"I'm not moving."

"Then we're sticky till morning."

"Fine."

Ju-an laughed softly into his collarbone, and then he did something Tae-gang had not expected.

He kissed the sore spot on his neck, gently.

"I've never," Ju-an said. "Not with someone who looked at me the whole time."

Tae-gang's chest ached.

"I looked the whole time because you're worth looking at."

Ju-an said nothing.

But his arm tightened around Tae-gang's waist, and he fell asleep first.

In the morning, the bell was a thin brass clang that dragged them both upright.

Ju-an had his spectacles back on and his hair tied up in a knot before Tae-gang had even found his socks.

There was a dark red bruise on Tae-gang's neck, right under the ear.

Ju-an looked at it and went pink to his ears, and then he handed Tae-gang a high collar without a word.

They went out into the yard together.

A crowd of freshmen stood around a notice board, and an instructor was pinning up a long sheet.

Tae-gang read it over their heads.

Blood Registry Day. Twentieth day of the eleventh month. All students will lay a palm upon the Registry Stone. No exceptions.

Beside him, Ju-an had gone completely white.

"Ju-an?"

"It's nothing."

"You look sick."

"I said it's nothing."

Tae-gang looked at the sheet again.

A scholarship scholar from the provinces had no reason to fear a census.

Neither did a farm boy.

Neither of them said anything more.

But when Tae-gang pushed through the crowd to the dining hall, something small and folded slipped into his sleeve.

He opened it under the table.

Four words, in a neat brush hand.

Midnight. Bathhouse. Come alone.

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