Desires Chapter 8.2 - The Losing Game

Wiping away the tears that had become a mess with the cuff of his sleeve, Song Yeongin was horrified by the physiological reaction.

Just moments ago, as if reenacting the way he had violated him in dreams over the past year, the rough and coercive touch of that man left the space between his thighs rigid and painfully tingling.

At a single glance from that man, he had become aroused as if by a lie, with blood rushing downward. Toward his deranged, filthy, and lascivious body, he spat out vulgar curses too obscene to utter aloud.

He couldn’t remember anything about what had happened. Only one truth pierced through, lodging like a dagger in his torn and aching heart.

Cha Woojin no longer loves me. He no longer desires me.

Returning to the hotel room, Cha Woojin, upon entering the bedroom, immediately tore off the black cap that had been covering his face.

His excessively gaunt and sharp jawline, a face so keen and fierce it seemed as if it could cut like a blade, was revealed. Beneath his high nose bridge, his cool, jet-black eyes, steeped in melancholy, and the impeccable dignity that formed him remained undeniably unique.

The ultra-luxurious room in the skyscraper hotel, located between Madison Avenue and Park Avenue on 57th Street, offered a panoramic view of Manhattan through its floor-to-ceiling windows.

Soon, the tight schedule of the annual New York tech forum awaited Cha Woojin. Park Sung-jae had already finished preparations and was waiting for Cha Woojin’s departure.

Tossing aside the black leather rider jacket he had been wearing, the sturdy, quintessentially masculine frame and sharp, muscular sensuality of his body were fully exposed. Cha Woojin swiftly stripped off the thin T-shirt that revealed his silhouette.

Completely naked, Cha Woojin promptly retrieved a suit from the closet. As if nothing had happened, he slipped a crisp, new dress shirt onto his bare body. With precise and practiced movements, he began tying his tie. However, unlike his habitual and skilled hands, the knot he tied, trembling and misaligned, was uncharacteristically sloppy.

Cha Woojin violently yanked off the tie that had been wrapped around his neck.

“Ha, damn it… damn it all!”

Cha Woojin immediately reached for the nightstand beside the bed. He swallowed a pill, prescribed by his longtime friend and physician, Dr. Jo Seung-yeon, without water.

It had been a long time since he started taking the medication. Without methylphenidate or sedatives, he couldn’t suppress his impulses and anger, and it greatly hindered his ability to focus or work.

In his unbuttoned shirt with the tie undone, Cha Woojin languidly slid onto the bed. Lying on the bed, he exhaled roughly, his face contorted as he swept back the hair that had fallen over his straight forehead.

Lying on the bed, Cha Woojin extended his large, prominently jointed hands toward the ceiling. His outstretched fingertips were faintly trembling.

He recalled the sensation of Song Yeongin’s long, delicate neck, which he had gripped in his hands just moments ago.

The trembling convulsions and the pitiful goosebumps that sharply arose traveled through the soft, smooth skin into Cha Woojin’s hands. The fine, downy hair was as soft as a child’s. With these large, rough hands, calloused and veined, if he applied force, that fragile, delicate throat seemed as if it would snap in an instant.

“Do you know me?!”

Cha Woojin had smelled the frail, gentle scent of a young animal in the nape of the neck he gripped with both hands. The faint, precarious freshness that wafted from the fragile, innocent body that burrowed into his embrace like a child. The red flush that pitifully clung to the teary eyes and full lips tickled his lower abdomen into a frenzy.

…It had already been a year.

He had hoped that when he reunited with Song Yeongin, he would feel nothing at all. He wished that, like the countless disposable things he had ruthlessly discarded, a sense of filth and physiological disgust would surge through his body like an obsession with cleanliness.

It should have been cold contempt for something dirty. Or, at the very least, anger, despair, rage, or shame. But just moments ago, what Cha Woojin felt as he looked at Song Yeongin was foolish recklessness and a heart-wrenching tenderness.

The tenderness irresistibly seized his limbs and engulfed his entire body like a tidal wave. The tenderness that drenched him spread through his blood to the peripheral nerves of his body. In an instant, a burning desire flared up in his rigid extremities.

It happened in a flash. The prim, buttoned-up appearance sparked a blaze of impulse like a raging fire. Cha Woojin, in an instant, was blinded by reckless jealousy, like a madman.

In one motion, he savagely tore apart the neatly buttoned shirt. Cha Woojin frantically searched for traces of James Han etched into the white body revealed beneath the torn shirt. He scoured every mark of sadistic exploitation and violation left on this fragile, pitiful young creature.

The transparent, lascivious skin that easily bore deep marks of lust from even the slightest suction or pressure always tested Cha Woojin’s sadistic urges and possessiveness.

When he first saw Song Yeongin’s shirt buttoned up to the collar, Cha Woojin was certain that, just like the day Song Yeongin had turned away from his final cry, he was disguising last night’s lurid traces of lust with primness, hypocritically buttoning up to the top.

But there were no traces of James Han, or of any other man who had coveted Song Yeongin, to be found anywhere. The neck and chest of Song Yeongin, which had never been unmarred even for a single day when they had been entangled, were now flawlessly white and clean.

A hollow self-mockery escaped him.

Yet, he couldn’t let go of the collar of the shirt he was clutching. Trembling with the blazing jealousy and the flickering anger before his eyes, he gripped Song Yeongin’s collar. The slender body couldn’t hold itself up in his grasp.

Seeing the nipple, red as a flower petal, peeking through the torn shirt, Cha Woojin wanted to bury his nose in that chest and suckle like a man crazed with thirst. He wanted to lick and bite the delicate skin until it was ruined, to trap that tender, soft body beneath him and possess it.

Even in the moments of intense violation and relentless torment, the faint, pitiful smile that Song Yeongin directed at him, folding the corners of his eyes, pierced his heart.

A man who had learned both love and despair simultaneously was gripped by a life-or-death desperation, consumed by deep regret and remorse to his very bones.

Raising his imposing, sharply honed body beneath the tightly fitted dress shirt, Cha Woojin tied his tie once more with a cold, composed face.

The man, now dressed in a pristine classic suit, was checking a video that James Han had sent him some time ago on his phone.

In the video James Han had sent to Cha Woojin, Song Yeongin was like a vibrant, crimson peach blossom.

His clear, childlike face, marked by excitement, convulsed lasciviously from time to time. Song Yeongin’s white, obscene body, stripped bare without a thread of clothing, was fully exposed.

His ragged, precarious breaths came vividly through the speaker. The lascivious, sultry sounds made his entire body feel as if it were melting with heat. The beautiful, lustful flush of excitement on the boy’s face melted his senses, as if his brain were turning to semen, ready to surge like lightning from the tip of his erection.

The slender waist, the plump, round buttocks, and the lewdly spread white thighs revealed a pretty, pink hole quivering with excitement. It was exactly as Cha Woojin remembered Song Yeongin, writhing in the throes of lustful arousal.

The intent was clear. James Han had sent this video to show Cha Woojin that Song Yeongin, writhing in excitement and spreading his legs like a whore, was doing so of his own will, as if to prove it blatantly.

As Cha Woojin stared at the video, his erection rose like Pavlov’s dog, growing wet. Against his will, the heavy, blood-filled erection surged so hard it seemed it would burst through his suit pants. Thinking of the smooth, white skin he had touched earlier, the erection of his large organ deepened to the point of breaking.

When Cha Woojin first saw the video James Han had sent him, he was blinded by destructive rage and wretched jealousy, consumed by the thought of killing James Han.

He wanted to rip open James Han’s stomach, pull out his entrails, and throw them to the stray animals on the street. Cha Woojin’s eyes rolled back with murderous madness and sinister jealousy.

No, that wasn’t enough. Perhaps only by strangling Song Yeongin, who had betrayed him and gasped like a whore beneath James Han, would his anger be sated. Nothing satisfied Cha Woojin.

However, it didn’t take long for Cha Woojin to realize that, consumed by rage and shame, he had lost his composure and kept making reckless mistakes.

The seemingly coincidental encounter was meticulously planned.

But upon facing Song Yeongin after a year, Cha Woojin was certain. The sacred, pure aura, the untainted innocence that could never be sullied by greed or lust. Seeing Song Yeongin’s lively, transcendent eyes, Cha Woojin found the answer to his doubts.

In the video, Song Yeongin had no control over his senses.

Blinded by rage and jealousy, Cha Woojin had failed to see it. Even to Cha Woojin, who had spent countless nights fiercely and obsessively entwined with that boy, the Song Yeongin in the video seemed foreign and unfamiliar.

If he had been in his right mind, Song Yeongin, who would clench his teeth and restrain himself as if ejaculation were an unforgivable sin, would never have appeared like that.

He was a boy who considered seeking pleasure and ejaculation a sin, a blasphemy, and a shame. A boy so pure he forbade even masturbation and couldn’t bring himself to touch his own rear.

It was clear James Han had used drugs.

Song Yeongin was hallucinating. He had lost his reason. He was in a state of extreme arousal, unable to distinguish between reality and dreams, consciousness and unconsciousness.

Over the past year, Cha Woojin had used every means to bring down James Han. But no accusations of corruption or weaknesses could topple or subdue him.

James Han had been able to evade Cha Woojin’s cunning political, diplomatic, and business sanctions, as well as physical attacks, because his stage of operations was the United States, beyond Cha Woojin’s sphere of influence.

In this country, the pinnacle of capitalism where freedom of the press was guaranteed, a vast amount of political issues, indiscriminate information, and various social accusations poured out daily. Unless one was a top-tier celebrity or a politician with significant fame, the minor scandals and societal injustices of obscure elites or powerholders rarely made headlines and remained outside the interest of the public and media.

The fact that James Han made massive donations to private institutions and public social projects, combined with the tacit mutual interests he had established, served as an expensive indulgence. Corruption and flaws were easily overlooked and tolerated in this vast land by his wealth, public authority, and massive cartels.

Over the past year, James Han hadn’t even set foot in Korea, where he used to come and go frequently. It was a wise choice for someone who knew that being caught by Cha Woojin in Korea would mean the end.

“What’s the influence of a Korean conglomerate supposed to mean to me? That kind of thing only matters to small-time domestic businessmen like you. I’m not in that category.”

Cha Woojin had to face the reality of his power and position. As James Han had said, he was nothing more than a mere heir to a Korean conglomerate.

Several assassination attempts through professional hitmen had also been futile. To neutralize and destroy James Han, who was tightly allied with American gun companies, the mafia, and Mexican drug lords in a massive cartel, Cha Woojin had to lure him to Korea, his own sphere of influence.

Absolute power without interference, punishment within the legal system, invisible interests and authority at the pinnacle, arrests, and investigations—all of these were only possible in Korea, under the control of Cha Woojin’s Woosung Group.

Every time, Cha Woojin reached the same conclusion.

“There’s no other way but to kill him.”

He had to follow through with the repeatedly postponed arranged marriage with Shin Hwayeon to the very end. Even to the point of using the trick of bribing Yoon Jioh with shares of Hajung Group to intentionally hand over Song Yeongin’s work, <The Dead Mother’s Ear>, to James Han….

Cha Woojin had to make James Han believe completely that he was no longer looking for Song Yeongin. He had to wait for the right time, until the day the entire board he had designed perfectly took shape before his eyes.

For a moment, as he gripped the slender, delicate neck, Cha Woojin almost forgot his plan. He was seized by an insane impulse to take Song Yeongin back with him right then and there. He was tormented to the point of madness. However, Cha Woojin had to whip himself into shape.

‘It is too soon. It is not yet time.’

He could not repeat the same mistake he had been making for the past year due to a rash impulse. He could not let all of his plans fall apart. It was not enough to just get Song Yeongin back.

He had to kill James Han.

Only then would the game come to an end. In the end, Cha Woojin had to deceive Song Yeongin and turn away from him heartlessly.

“Haah….”

The man’s sexy lips, with the corners turned up, let out a cloudy, low moan. Between the tightly fitted white dress shirt and the dark colored silk tie, his firm and broad chest rose and fell repeatedly in a rough manner.

I do not care if it means we are star-crossed….

Cha Woojin gripped his own ferocious member, veins standing out on it, with the large hand that had held the small face and stroked the soft skin.

The pitiful and sensual scent of youth, which held a fragile warmth, lingered at the tip of the man’s sharp, blade-like nose. The two hands that had clutched the long and delicate, deer-like neckline were still hot like a flame.

It was a cruel time that had dried up all the blood in his body with rage and jealousy. Facing Song Yeongin again after a year, he was once again shaking the very axis of his inner world. The dried-up blood vessels and their bundles began to throb hotly, making the taut veins dance.

I still wanted you this much.

He had confirmed clearly with his own two eyes that nothing could defile or trample the sacred purity and the clear, noble soul that you held.

I had to beg you to wash away my sin for dragging you, who had no greed, into this.

How much more must I lose, to be able to get you back.

For Cha Woojin, who was born with everything, there was nothing left anymore.

‘…Yeongin, after losing you, I keep losing everything I hold in my hands…. So, unless I kill that bastard and get you back, it seems my foolish downfall will simply never end.’