By the scornful way he refers to the second explanation, you can tell he views the latter as sorry and sad and only suitable for those who have no heart. Yujun is the man who gave me a jade duck on a red cord and said that ducks mate for life or die. He’s a romantic. Who likes cheese on his ramyeon.
“The dragon is our most mythical creature because it is virtually indestructible. Its body is covered in scaled armor. It has claws and horns. It can fly, jump, climb, and no one can escape its wrath. The king’s throne is yongjwa, or ‘chair of the dragon,’ and his clothing was known as yongpo, ‘the clothing of the dragon.’ Any sign of the dragon is revered. Almost all of the subway station names reference some part of Korean history. Like Seongsu means ‘Holy Water.’ There was a stream in that area that was so pure you could drink directly from the source, so it became the town with holy water.”
I shove my bowl aside and lean back against the base of the sofa. “That’s it? Is that all you know?” I tease.
He launches into a full etymological discussion of the other subway stops. Banghak is for a crane and Nokcheon is for a deer that bathed in a stream after a natural disaster. Dolgoji means skewer made of stone and represents the black rocks on the range of Mount Cheonjang. And as he talks, I explore—not the apartment or the recesses of his medicine cabinet—but him. I test the steel of his thigh, the warmth of the skin of the back of his hand, the tender region along his collarbone exposed by the open neckline of his shirt.
He pauses after Boramae, the falcon that represents the air force, whose academy used to be situated at the current Boramae Park.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper against the shell of his ear.
He goes on, but I don’t hear him over the swell of desire that has filled my head and infused my body. His hand comes up to hover at my waist, as if he’s unsure if he moves whether I’ll stop, but I won’t. I’m learning him. I’m learning that licking the curve of his inner ear makes him shudder and that his pec will jump under my palm. I’m learning that his eyelashes are longer than I recall and that his thick hair is kept in check by a slight undercut, unnoticeable unless you brush the outer strands aside. I’m learning that his smell is like sunshine and forest and comfort and need, all of it wrapped up in one heady scent. I’m learning that his patience can be snapped.
He stands abruptly and scoops me into his arms. Two strides and I’m on the bed. He slaps his hand on a button near the nightstand and the soft whirring of a motor engages as the curtains slide shut.
“Fancy,” I murmur.
“Necessary,” he replies.
I have a fleeting thought about who else he’s had on this bed making those curtains necessary but shove that out of my head because it doesn’t matter who he’s had in the past. I’m here now. I twine my arms around his neck and pull him to me. His hand on my waist, his mouth on my neck, his heavy frame pressing me into the mattress—those are the meaningful things.
This moment is different from the others. We’ve had sex in an Airbnb room, a frantic near coupling in an office restroom, a forbidden encounter in his mother’s—my mother’s—house, but here there is no time limit, no worry about interlopers, no heavy thoughts, just him and me, skin to skin, mouth to mouth.
I sink deeply into the feelings, into him. When there is only Yujun and me, the outside world and its constraints and rules and expectations do not exist. I open my legs and pull him into my body, matching his urgent strokes with thrusts of my own. He kisses me or I kiss him. It’s hard to say. Neither of us lasts long, not this first round. Our hunger is equal and our need is unquenched. It’s been too long and so almost before we descend from the mountaintop we begin the climb again, our limbs never untangling, our skin never separating. We moan and laugh and sigh, fingers digging deep into thighs and shoulders. His mouth is everywhere, from my jaw and my breasts and my knees and the soft spot on my inner thighs to the even softer spot between my legs.
His tongue does wicked things that curl my toes and I repay him a thousandfold, taking his length into my mouth, swallowing him deep. I lose all my inhibitions and ride him mercilessly, until he’s the one begging for release. I kiss his dimples, the ones that grow deep enough to drown in when he’s at his happiest. We collapse onto the mattress full of sweat and tender feelings. As I drift into neverland, he whispers in drowsy, deep Korean that he missed me, that he loves me, that he’s home.