Something is strange. Something is… off.
Han’s palms, sweaty and tentative, stay on Kim’s waist as twin supports. He does what he always does: stays put and steadies the other’s weight until he’s allowed to move too. But something is off about today. Something is weird. There’s none of the usual rush. Kim didn’t barge into his apartment and throw all his stuff to the ground in a frustrated huff. He didn’t wrest Han’s attention or twist his clothes or wordlessly tip them onto the sofa. He moved slowly, meticulously, like he’d planned this for a while.
That can’t be right, Han thinks to himself.
It’s difficult for him to concentrate today. He can’t keep his thoughts switched off like he always does. He can’t be Kim’s usual de-stressing tool, there are too many questions swirling in his head. He can’t shut his brain up, can’t close his mind off, can’t squeeze the flesh of Kim’s ass and let him ride out the vague pressures of a high-strung lifestyle.
Kim’s hair drips with sweat. His breath shivers and sighs. His eyes rove over Han’s face. Usually, the ceiling holds his interest. Usually he’s quick and efficient. Usually he doesn’t press his fingers into Han’s neck or lean their foreheads together or even so much as bunch up his shirt. But today he does. Today he peels the clothes off them and hugs Han’s head to his naked, damp, racing chest. Today he coils his arms around them in a delicate hold and presses his mouth to the crown of Han’s head. Today his thighs shudder and falter as he lifts and drops in place.
The beat under Han’s ribs bounces in time. Something is weird. Something’s not right. He tightens his hold around the other, and for a moment Kim can’t move. He’s held in place, pinned and sobbing.
“Breathe,” Han murmurs. “Just breathe a minute.” They both do, inhales and exhales eventually falling in step with each other until Kim can lean away and peer down between them.
“… should I stop?” he gulps.
“If you want to.”
Kim shakes his head. “What do you want?”
“You,” he answers for the moment, and Kim shifts them onto his back to allow it. He lets Han bury himself into modest wishes and uncomplicated desires. He lets Han sate his plain hunger. He lets them be consumed by the simplicity of being here, being together, being unbound by the complexities of wanting more.
What do you want: The real, sincere answer will always be missing. Han will never know what to say. He will never know what he wants. He will never reach the resolution to his ambitions, his longings, his constant itch. Because Kim barges into his apartment whenever he pleases. Because Kim wrests his attention and twists his heart and tips him over with the smallest, most innocuous of suggestions. Han will always be lost. He will always be adrift. He will never be disentangled from himself, because in the intervals between Kim’s entries and exits, he will choose to wander aimlessly.
Kim clamps his legs around them, closing the cage of his body and leaving Han trapped under the weight of his endless gravitation. He welcomes Han to the nothings of this confluence, to the trifles of their meetings and partings, to all the unimportant importances he assigns to this moment. With a quiet groan against the shell of Han’s ear, Kim makes certain that all the exits remain ignored and the only door Han chooses is the one that leads to this. To them.
Something is strange. Something is off. Something is weird. Something doesn’t sit right in the hollows of his heart. But Han won’t think about it. Not now, not later. He will think of what Kim feels like under steamy incoherencies, what he tastes like in every kiss, what his fingers and toes do at every push. He will think of Kim’s tired texts to meet in the middle of the night. He will think of Kim’s radiant stare when they are separated by no more than skin. He will think of Kim’s insistent teeth and demanding nails when he’s pressed long and deep, only to be breached longer and deeper.
Han will think of nothing else, endlessly lost, endlessly indisposed, endlessly Kim’s.
