Before..
"Condoms… we're out."
White teeth ground together, the sound slipping through clenched jaws. The heated length in the elder man's hand throbbed violently, rigid from being stroked and tugged moments ago. Clear fluid welled from the tip, damp and viscous, stretching in thin strands without pause.
The mischievous one moaned against his ear, voice thick with arousal, rolling his hips as he pressed his long fingers inside from behind—two knuckles deep at the very least.
"N-no… don't. Don't use it."
"…Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Just forget it!"
"That's not what I mean… If Minjun gets pregnant…"
"So what? Don't you want a baby?"
"It's not that. We're not even married yet."
"Old-fashioned like your mother, huh, little one? .."
.
.
A while later—
The hot-headed young DJ climbed astride Chef Kim's body with reckless determination after the chef had almost put an end to the passion that had already been ignited.
All that irritation was vented onto the precious son of that heavily made-up middle-aged woman.
Today, men from Kim Gaon had come to inspect the shop, enforcing a strict curfew—otherwise there would be fines. Lately, regulations had tightened again out of fear that the virus might spread as severely as before.
Who in their right mind would go out partying that early in the evening?
The more he thought about it, the more it stung.
Chef Kim was usually strict about hygiene, but in a moment of carelessness he provoked his hot-tempered lover and ended up being "taken" as expected. That so-called assault merely meant being dragged by the hand into the bedroom and pushed onto his back on the mattress. Just a mouth and that hardened length were enough to leave the chef melting, with nowhere to escape.
Tonight, his younger lover was so fired up that he could barely keep up. One climax passed, then another, yet the dancer still controlled the game by staying on top, refusing to yield. He rode him relentlessly, hips circling and snapping down in quick, repeated thrusts against the rigid flesh beneath him like tireless machinery.
A deep, husky voice groaned in raw pleasure unlike ever before. Skin against skin sent shivers racing without pause.
The well-proportioned body tensed as he pounded in rapid rhythm squatting, grinding, kneeling to arch and bounce as though possessed. Even when his legs trembled, his dancer's hips flaunted their stamina shamelessly. Two consecutive releases still weren't enough. The chef couldn't help worrying when his lover refused to calm down and lie still, even after more than an hour had passed.
"Ah—!"
Chef Kim finally let him vent his heated frustration until he was panting hard, then flipped the strong body over and knelt behind him, pulling both arms back. The slick passage was filled completely, soaked and swollen around him.
Deep, forceful thrusts drove the hot-headed man to cry out, his voice competing with the sharp slap of skin against skin. The long, thick length plunged heavily, striking and grinding against the sensitive spot inside again and again, drawing another unstoppable release from him.
"Ahhh—… sss—"
Bare skin slid against bare skin, nothing between them. The unfiltered contact made the tight heat inside clamp down and pulse differently from every time before.
The strong shaft drove in and out of the burning passage, release spilling and trailing down Minjun's pale thighs. He loved it when it thrust hard and deep. Each powerful stroke made his older lover's legs tremble, mouth falling open, alternating between sharp gasps and breathless moans as he bucked his hips back in defiance, meeting the relentless pleasure head-on.
"Ah—ahh, Chef… right there—i-it's—ahh—"
"Yes… there. Feels good, doesn't it?"
"Ahh—ss—i-it's… so good—"
Thud.
Something pushed deeper than ever before, penetrating into the young dancer's core. The solid length pressed against a sensitive spot far inside, reaching a place it had never quite touched. The restless one's mouth fell open, eyes unfocused, overwhelmed and unable to form words.
Pleasure fused them together without even the thin barrier of latex between them. Their first time without protection—born from impatience and lingering irritation toward his lover's mother—turned into a climax so intense it felt as though it might surge straight into his womb. Nothing spilled back out this time, even though Sungjoo had released fully inside him.
Minjun was guided onto his back while they were still intimately joined, filled to the brim. Chef Kim lowered himself over the slimmer body, spooning him close, arms wrapped tightly around his back as he bent down to scatter countless sweet, fevered kisses.
His swollen lips were bruised from eager sucking. Chef Kim used his mouth and teeth with the same skill as his hands in the kitchen, sharp teeth grazing and tugging at firm flesh along the pale body.
The older man's skin flushed red, marked with nails and teeth. Together, they plunged back into pleasure once more… and again… and again.
"My mother is coming to the shop tomorrow."
"So I'm not allowed to come?"
"Well…"
"Okay."
"Minjun… in three days it'll be the long Korean holiday. Should I take you to Nami Island?"
"I'll think about it."
"Minjun… are you mad at me?"
"Even if I am, I still love you. If I could stop loving you, that would be better."
"Don't say that."
"Didn't I tell you before? You're like my father, and I'm going to marry someone like him. If we can't get married, then I don't know why I should keep sleeping with just one person."
"Minjun—"
Bang!
People say a mother's love is greater than any other love in the world.
..
I wouldn't know. I don't have any warm memories worth cherishing with my mother. All I have are memories of my father.
My mother was a modern woman. She had her own social circle, her friends, and work that kept her busy all the time. The responsibility of raising her only son therefore fell to my father, who sacrificed his career to take care of me.
I don't know how my parents met because they never told me. As far as I can remember, it was always my grandmother complaining about my mother whenever she took me to stay at her house. Grandmother never spoke of her kindly. She often lamented my father's education—how highly he had studied, how he had worked at a good company with a high salary—only to resign and stay home to look after a wife who suffered severe morning sickness and had a volatile temper.
Grandmother said my mother never wanted to raise a child. I even heard that she never wanted to have one in the first place. Perhaps it was my father who insisted on keeping me. Maybe that is why I never felt attached to her or wanted to stay with her after my father passed away.
Lee Minjun. A name that means outstanding. A name my father gave me.
My father died from a severe food allergy… from something my mother cooked. I was furious with her—furious to this very day. That is why I never go home unless it is absolutely necessary.
My father paid attention to every detail for everyone in the family, while my mother could barely manage anything on her own. She lived like a princess because my father did everything for her from the moment they started dating—even though she was the one who pursued him first.
One day, out of nowhere, she decided to cook. My father ate every bite, unaware that it contained an ingredient he was allergic to. Not long after finishing the meal, his skin turned crimson, his body convulsed, foam gathering at his mouth. I came home from school and saw that scene. It has never left my mind. My grandparents were so furious they nearly reported her to the police, accusing her of deliberately plotting to kill her husband.
A mother-in-law and daughter-in-law rarely get along to begin with. It had been that way ever since my father introduced her to the family—at least, that's what Grandmother told me. As long as I can remember, they were always arguing, no matter the issue. And the one who patiently and gently tried to mediate between them was always my father.
My father's funeral almost turned into a war. It was chaotic and exhausting. I admit that sometimes I think perhaps it was better that he was freed from all of it because the two women he loved behaved as though they didn't love him at all. Each of them cared only about herself, placing her own thoughts and desires above everything else.
After that, my mother, my grandmother, and I went our separate ways as if we had never been a family. Each of us lived our own life until I moved out and started working as a DJ at a club—because loud music is very good at drowning out loneliness.
One day, I left the club late in the morning after celebrating a birthday with my fellow DJs and the staff. The hangover made my head spin, and I staggered as I walked.
Snow… white, icy flakes fell in abundance, covering the streets and everything else in sight, turning the world into a dreamlike white. Beautiful… but painfully cold.
I kept walking along the road. Koreans are used to walking long distances; it's normal. It was just colder than usual today. I'm rarely alone since I'm usually surrounded by friends, but today I wanted to sleep by myself. I hadn't slept properly in days.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
The slow sound of footsteps pressing into the snow echoed beneath me. Shops were gradually opening for business. From a small café, the soft sound of a piano drifted out, playing a classical piece.
White flakes settled over my black hair. The subzero cold stung my nose, turning it slightly red.
The white snow reminded me that another season had changed. This year, I was turning thirty—thirty-two by Korean age. No boyfriend. Just people I slept with once, almost every night, because I'm the top DJ at ICE club.
A committed relationship is boring… painfully boring.
The tangled mess of past connections I've experienced made me wary of attachment. But I've set one firm rule for myself if I ever meet someone like my father, I'll marry him immediately.
While I stood there admiring the winter sky, thinking of how my father used to buy me warm drinks, a small paper cup of hot black coffee was suddenly held out to me, white steam curling from its rim. Along with it stood someone holding a white umbrella.
"You'll get sick if you stand in the snow too long. Have some hot black coffee—it'll warm you up. You look like you're hungover too, don't you?"
"…"
It felt as if the entire world had stopped turning.
A man in a long gray coat stood before me, his neatly trimmed black hair framing a sharp, refined face. A straight nose suited his narrow, captivating eyes. Gentleness radiated from his gaze—it suited the umbrella and the cup of coffee perfectly.
One hand held the white umbrella tilted slightly to cover my head. The other extended the coffee toward me. The scent of coffee blended with the fragrance he wore, creating something new clean and refreshing, like inhaling mineral water high atop a mountain peak.
Calm… refreshing… like a scent I had long been missing.
Another thing I became aware of was this—he was handsome. Not just ordinarily handsome. Beneath those dark eyes that looked at me, goodwill radiated outward, wrapping the air around him in warmth. Even though our builds were not that different, standing beneath that small umbrella with a tall man beside me made me feel smaller… as if I were being protected. My dizziness worsened to the point that the image of the man before me overlapped with that of my gentle father.
…Thud…
Long legs stepped closer to the kind stranger. We were already close, but now only inches remained between us. My pale, freezing hand reached toward the warm coffee in his large hand… but I didn't take the cup.
I took his hand instead and lifted it to my lips.
Sharp eyes accentuated with dark-toned makeup—enhancing a dangerously handsome face—lifted to meet the coffee owner's gaze, holding it for a long moment.
My pale lips tilted back as I swallowed the bitter brew slowly. He did not resist. He did not pull his hand away, allowing a stranger to clasp his hand and drink from the cup several times before finally letting go.
"It's cold… want to continue drinking at my place?"
Sometimes having a quick tongue—something I clearly inherited from my mother—can be irritating.
"…Pardon?"
It sounded like he was asking me to repeat myself, but instead he leaned closer and spoke near my ear. Standing this close, I realized we differed slightly in height.
"Alright."
Like a romantic scene from a drama, beneath the falling snow, two people stood close together under a clean white umbrella.
It was almost amusing how completely different we smelled. One of us carried the heavy scent of alcohol and cigarettes, dark circles under his eyes, dressed in designer brands yet exuding a blatant playboy aura.
The other…
…looked like a prince.