Hit by a Pitched Ball Chapter 12

The deep furrow between his brows, looking almost fierce, was a crack caused by focusing on the kiss with him—thinking that gave him a strangely complex feeling, so he chose to close his eyes instead. When the flesh digging under his tongue licked up in a teasing way, the tip of his tongue tensed.

The suction that stole every bit of pooled saliva and sucked in his entire tongue along with it made his tongue follow out past his lips on its own. The tongue that pushed between Ha Taebeom’s lips was wrapped in slick, thin skin and sucked hard. The kiss continued, so dense it made the surrounding air feel hot. Then, with a breath swallowed wrong, their noses touched and their lips parted for just a moment.

His tongue inadvertently stuck out. Noticing, Yunjae flinched and shrank back. But before he could feel embarrassed, Taebeom twisted his head again and sucked his tongue in with force.

The kiss that resumed was almost combative. By now, Yunjae’s body was leaning back, sprawled against the backrest. Taebeom stood braced on one knee on the sofa. Pinned beneath him, Yunjae labored to receive his lips.

Taebeom kept stroking the spot where his nape met the base of his skull, attacking as if to devour the inside of his mouth. Over his closed eyelids, he vaguely felt an arm plant itself beside his head. The thought that Taebeom had fully put his weight into it and was focusing on the kiss sent a chill down his spine.

The movement made it clear he had no intention of ending it quickly—Yunjae wondered if this was really okay, but he couldn’t push him away. The pleasure Ha Taebeom gave him was simply too good for that. His scalp tingled, and even his fingertips, barely wrapped around his back through his sides, felt the blood rush.

Every time he breathed deeply, the hardness of their chests pressing together made his fingertips tingle. The tongue and hands that charged in relentlessly like an animal were the same. Perhaps this was a desire close to an impulse he wouldn’t easily experience again for a while, so inwardly, he didn’t mind it. Even though his memories were hazy, he had an instinctive feeling that sex with Ha Taebeom had been quite satisfying.

The kiss, which was willful yet certainly delivered on pleasure, only ended after a long while, when the doorbell rang. Huff, huff—rough breaths passed hotly between their parted lips, as if reluctant. When he opened his eyes, the dizziness told him it had been a long time.

Taebeom, looking down at the panting Yunjae with regretful eyes, wiped his wet lips with his thumb and then stepped back. He didn’t even wipe his own lips. After exhaling a large breath, Taebeom rubbed his face dry with his hands and headed for the front door.

Yunjae, his legs weak from the prolonged stimulation, was half-reclining on the sofa. A moment later, Taebeom returned carrying a pizza box. Yunjae looked at Taebeom’s still-warm face with a somewhat exasperated expression.

Taebeom’s ears were so red they looked like they might fall off—which was more astonishing than the strangely bulging front of his pants, and absurdly enough, the urge to undress him faded instead.

He was the one hard, so why did he feel like the one who’d been reduced to trash?

∞ ∞ ∞

“Is it no good?”

“…No. Whatever. Pizza is all the same anyway.”

“You look like you don’t like it.”

“…”

Without dragging it out, he checked the outside of the pizza box—thankfully, it was still warm. Relieved inwardly, he sat down and handed over a slice, but the one who brought it had a face dark enough to feel uneasy.

Just as his outstretched hand started to feel awkward, Taebeom took the pizza with a grumpy air, wolfed it down in two bites, and cracked open the last beer can, gulping it down.

Then a second slice. While Yunjae was barely finishing one slice, Taebeom easily cleared two and casually wiped his greasy hands with a wet wipe. He kept glaring sullenly at the TV, which was all about his own story.

“What’s so displeasing about it? It’s all praise.”

“…Better to turn it off.”

The remark he’d made to lighten the mood seemed to have hit a nerve with Taebeom. Frowning immediately, Taebeom silently stared at Yunjae.

“It’s interesting, though. Why? Ah, did you do an interview?”

“…”

At the mention of the interview, Taebeom’s face turned pale in an instant, and he quickly snatched up the remote. Yunjae hadn’t even thought of stopping him, but he couldn’t help being surprised at Taebeom’s quick reflexes in turning it off in a flash. It was an unexpected side. If he counted the number of times he’d done post-game interviews, it would be more than two handfuls. Slowly rolling his eyes to look at the flustered Taebeom, he let out a long, involuntary sigh.

What’s there to be embarrassed about? Some people would kill to see that. Damn…

Lost in unpleasant thoughts, Yunjae sighed repeatedly and took a sip of the little beer that remained. Taebeom, reaching for the leftover pizza, let his gaze fall on Yunjae’s bobbing Adam’s apple.

Completely unaware of Taebeom’s eyes, Yunjae just smacked his lips regretfully. If I’d known, I should’ve bought a few more.

Shaking the little remaining beer and setting it on the table, Yunjae noticed Taebeom staring at him with a subtle gaze and tilted his head. Why? At his questioning look, Taebeom let out a light laugh and answered.

“It’s just funny how you’re making an effort not to drink from the same spot even though we’ve already swapped tongues, hyung. Seriously.”

“Seriously what?”

“You’re interesting. More than I thought.”

“More?”

“Unexpectedly.”

After honestly correcting himself, Taebeom finished off the pizza he’d torn apart in a couple of bites and closed the box. He said it wasn’t good, and I guess he meant it. Watching Taebeom clean up without a trace of regret, Yunjae also lost the urge to eat more, cleared the table, and washed his hands in the sink.

I’ll deal with the rest tomorrow. Letting his laziness win, he roughly covered things and moved away.

“Can I use one of your toothbrushes?”

“Ah. Hold on.”

Taebeom stood in front of the sink without even closing the door and opened the cabinet. Looking at the towels neatly arranged enough to make one suspect someone had tidied up for him, he let out a small exclamation of admiration. Then he stared intently at Yunjae, who was pulling out a new toothbrush from the adjacent cabinet, with interest.

“Use this. There’s a towel there, right?”

“Yeah. Are you sure you live alone, hyung?”

“Who else would be here? If there were, how would Ha Taebeom be here right now?”

“I told you not to call me so formally. Just say my name.”

That’s exactly why I can’t, because it doesn’t come naturally.

Even though the other person was six years younger, there was a psychological distance that made it hard to drop the formal speech easily.

Besides, setting all that aside, Yunjae had never been the type to easily open up and get close to people.

His naturally introverted personality was partly to blame. But more than that, ever since he became aware of his sexual orientation, he had consciously kept a distance from others, and over time, it had become a habit.

The memory of being outed in an unfair situation also played a part. It was the reason he had abandoned even a decent—if not perfect—job, and after a long period of seclusion, had taken the path of a freelancer.

What happened at the crossroads where he and a partner he’d been seeing for quite a while drifted apart was not something that could be dismissed as a simple incident—it was an event and an accident.

After cutting off that relationship, he spent years pruning branches and pulling out weeds. His social circle had never been very wide to begin with. Inside his narrow fence, he couldn’t even fill both hands with people. Whatever overflowed, he bailed out.

For Yunjae, already introverted and fearful, a sexual orientation that deviated from the norm was bound to be an environment that isolated him all on its own. Still, it was something that wouldn’t change.

What his blood relatives chanted day and night was, “Let’s fix it. You can fix it.” But he knew better than anyone that this was simply an orientation, not a problem to be fixed or not.

Above all, even if it were supposedly fixable, Yunjae had no intention of fixing or changing what he was drawn to. Being alone was better.

Of course, with a closed-off and taboo social atmosphere, someone with his personality found it even harder to meet someone compatible. But that didn’t mean it was a reason to change or suppress himself.

In the end, Yunjae chose to be alone. He was sure it was the better path, and that conviction remained solid. They felt sorry for him, but he felt just as sorry for them.