Page 73 of Doubts of the Egoist
“Yugo…”
“I won’t repeat myself. Scram or drive.” When Greg still didn’t move, Yugo slammed his palm down on the roof of the black car. “Greg!”
“Whatever,” Greg muttered under his breath and took the driver’s seat.
Yugo got outof the car before it had even come to a full stop. He climbed down into the ditch and yanked open the front passenger door of the crashed car. The cabin was dark, cold, and empty. A key protruded from the ignition, and a deflated white airbag hung from the steering wheel. Yugo turned the key, switched on the lights, and inspected the steering wheel and windows, but found no traces of blood. He got out and circled the car, searching the muddy ground with his cell phone light forfootprints, leaving more as he did so.
“He’ll come around? Let him cool off? He’s fucking barefoot!” He ground out, shooting his subordinate a lethal glare. Then he hollered, “Kuon!”
He pressed a hand to the hood but found it cold.
“Where the fuck did he go?” he muttered under his breath, then followed Kuon’s footprints out of the ditch.
He was about to shout again, when Greg said, “This way, Boss.”
Greg’s flashlight scanned the road, illuminating a trail of muddy footprints on the dry dust.
“Bloody fool,” Yugo cursed, then slid into the driver’s seat. Greg silently took a place by his side. The door slammed shut a second before the car lurched into motion.
It was impossible to follow the dusty footprints while driving. However, Yugo didn’t miss long, smudged tire tracks suggesting that a car had come to a sudden halt here, in the middle of nowhere. A brief stop for inspection made him grind his teeth as he followed the turn of the car and Kuon’s footprints, which soon vanished.
CHAPTER 20
Gently, too gently.Rick kissed him the same way Kuon used to kiss women. Like someone fragile. It discouraged and fed his insecurities, making him wonder with what eyes Rick looked at him.
A knee wedged between his thighs, and a powerful thrust of taut hips shrank Kuon’s attention to the thin layers of soaked fabric separating their lower bodies, where something hard and hot pressed against his pubis. Something Kuon couldn’t bear thinking about.
Rick licked the seam of Kuon’s mouth, begging him to put some passion into the kiss. Kuon replied with a twitch of his jaw, but even that felt awkward.
He wasn’t sure how to react or where to put his hands. His nails clawed helplessly at the grout lines on the wall behind him. His gaze settled on a three-light vanity lamp mounted above the mirror as wet, eager kisses crept down his neck. Impatient fingers moved to his shoulder blades, counting scars and kneading sore muscles.
It was strange how the same caresses could evoke completely different feelings. Yugo’s palms were smooth, cold, and confident. Rick’s warm, rough-skinned hands remained uncertain, as if he touched something that didn’t belong to him, or maybe he was still afraid of rejection. Even the kiss felt different—gentle and unobtrusive, compared with Yugo’s omnipresent, possessive kisses.
Rick was half a head taller, so Kuon had to tilt hishead back to meet the right angle for a kiss. The insignificant inch that separated Kuon from Yugo barely strained his neck, allowing him to believe in the illusion of equality. If kissing Yugo made him shed his morals, dignity, and pride, Rick’s height and ropes of taut muscles made Kuon’s hang-ups flare. With Rick’s massive body blocking out the light, Kuon felt oppressed.
A wild, rough, animalistic coition might distract him from thinking about Yugo, or so he hoped. This tenderness, bordering on adoration, only fixated him on the unfamiliar, imperceptible sensation that wasn’t enough, or maybe was too much. Kuon didn’t know, but Rick’s caresses didn’t ignite a single spark of warmth in his core.
Has sex always been so boring?He couldn’t remember.Or does gender matter, after all?
He wasn’t disgusted, but a lingering sense of wrongness haunted him. He gritted his teeth, refusing to feel immoral or guilty because fighting fire with fire shouldn’t be wrong. This should bring relief, liberation, so Kuon grabbed Rick’s neck and kissed back with grim determination, as if each kiss, every clash of teeth, tore the invisible thread that stitched his life to Yugo’s.
Encouraged, Rick’s hands gained confidence. They slithered up and down Kuon’s back, then outlined his hips and buttocks, before moving up to his neck and sliding down again.
One of Rick’s hands separated from Kuon’s lower back, and the water cut off. Magnified by the thick silence, Rick’s rapid panting sounded deafening as it bounced off the walls and Kuon’s lips. Without pulling back, as if even a hair’s breadth could break the spell of the kiss, Rick led Kuon out of the shower. He grabbed the nearest towel from the hook and draped it over Kuon’s head. Dabbing his face, Kuon felt rather than saw Rick shed his soaked sweatpants, remaining in his boxers.
Kuon didn’t fight the strong hand that took his wrist and pulled him out of the bathroom and into the living room. The water cooled on his skin, making it tingle, as a trail of footprints and puddles stretched behind them. The long car ride and the quick shower had failed to banish the ice from his marrow, and his teeth began to chatter again. Or was it nerves? He couldn’t say, but the fire of hate no longer fueled him, leaving behind an icy ash of melancholy.
A high-pitched howl from the far corner of the living room drew his attention to the dogs locked in the cage. One of the puppies clawed at the bars, the other chewed on a toy, but they fell out of sight when the bedroom door closed.
The air-conditioned darkness enveloped his damp form. Kuon’s fingers spasmed and clenched into fists, trying to keep the warmth inside. In a room like this, one would either sleep or cuddle up, preferably under a blanket. Kuon didn’t want to cuddle. He needed to burn with acute sensations, so that all thoughts of Yugo would go up in flames until nothing remained. Tenderness was in the way. Yet, he had no idea how to ask for what he needed, because in the unlit room, Rick’s cheeks glowed, and his fingers trembled for an entirely different reason. Kuon tensed, acutely aware that his head was a solid block of ice compared with Rick’s.
The disturbing thought vanished as the man, half a head taller than him, put one knee on a low, wide platform bed and pulled him along. Kuon didn’t resist even when Rick’s hand pressed gently into his shoulder and turned him over.
The mattress barely dipped under his back, surprising with its hardness. It was no softer than a military bunk and gave the impression that Rick couldn’t relax even in his own bed.
Kuon sneered, unable to stop comparing.Yeah, unlikeYugo’s “fuckadrome”, this bed is probably still a virgin.
Kuon’s gaze wandered around the Spartan room. The walls, painted dark gray on one side, were paneled with chestnut wood on the other, and there was no furniture except for the bed and a matte gray wardrobe. Thick blackout curtains of the same gray framed the single window, milky sky clouding behind. It was simple and cold—the perfect place to rest.
