Page 99 of Felix

I check the analog clock on my nightstand. “Ten.”

He makes a rumbly sound, stretching slightly, even though he never lets me go. “Would you help me make songpyeon before we leave?”

“Um,” I say slowly. “Make what now?”

Christian chuckles, looking so damn beautiful I have trouble not kissing him. “It’s a Korean rice cake. They’re my grandma’s favorite and about the only thing I know how to cook.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’d love to help.”

Christian’s smile is like the sun, and I give in, leaning down to catch his lips. They’re soft, and he’s warm, and when his cock presses up against me, I shift quickly downwards.

His chuckle is raspy. “You’re in a mood, Specs.”

“I’m always in a mood around you,” I admit, tugging his sleep shorts past his hips.

Christian doesn’t complain. His cock stands proud, and I take it in my mouth, humming around him as he hardens fully.

“Fuck, Specs,” he says hoarsely, hand sifting through my hair. “Jerk yourself off. Let me see you.”

I shiver, pushing my pants down and getting a hand around my cock.

“Later,” he says breathily, “when we get home, you’re going to show yourself off for me. You’re going to fuck yourself with your fingers or one of your toys, and I’m going to watch.”

Yes.

I suck harder, stroke myself faster.

“And then, before you come, you’re going to take what you need from my cock, and you’re going to show me how beautiful you look with my name spilling off your tongue.”

I come across Christian’s leg before I can utter a word, my moan reverberating around his dick. He swears, pumping his hips up, fucking my mouth. I’m still shaking when his release coats the back of my throat.

“Jesus, Specs,” he mutters. “Get up here.”

I do, climbing up Christian’s body and fitting my mouth to his. It takes a while before we make it over to his place, but neither of us seems to mind.

“So explain to me what these are?” I request as Christian leads me into his kitchen. “What’d you call them again?”

“Songpyeon,” he answers, pulling a few items out of his pantry. The sun filters in through the small kitchen window, lighting Christian as he stands in front of the counter. “They’re a traditional Korean food made during the autumn harvest festival. Think sweet, chewy…basically a dessert dumpling.” He grabs a bowl next, setting it down on the countertop. “I already bought the rice flour and sesame seeds, but I don’t have pine needles, unfortunately.”

“Pine needles?” I ask in surprise.

“You don’t eat them,” he says, chuckling. “They get steamed with the rice cakes. It makes them smell nice.”

“Ah.”

“My grandma would make these in different colors. Pink and green and yellow. She made her own rice flour, too, but I don’t have the patience for that.”

I chuckle as Christian opens the bag of flour.

“Ready?” he asks.

I give him a firm nod. “Show me how it’s done.”

Christian mixes up the dough for the rice cakes with quick efficiency, and we let it rest while making the filling. Roasted sesame seeds, sugar, honey, a pinch of salt. When the dough is ready, he breaks off sections, showing me how to roll them into balls and then press a well into the center. Once the filling is inside, the dough gets crimped to look like a half moon. Christian’s look much neater than mine.

We steam the songpyeon in his grandmother’s bamboo steamer. After they’re done, Christian drops them in a cold water bath. He gives me one to try, and I moan around the honeyed seeds and soft, chewy dough.

“Fuck,” I manage. “We should make these every year.”

---