It was in that moment atop Jin that Hwoarang carved warmth from the flurry, putting devoted definition to each line and curve of skin between the Japanese's nourishing lips and coveted neck with his tongue. He began to push the clothes from what he remembered, drawing tenuous fabric from Jin's muscled chest and arms, and coarser shielding from his legs. Hwoarang reduced Jin to stark nakedness with starving gentleness, and when there was only the black on his own body that stood between them, he suspended himself up by an arm, and ate with his eyes. A hand came to a resting stroke against Jin's jaw, as if it were less tangible than the gaze rubbing over every inch of him. The Korean's whisper defined that gaze, punctuated with breathlessness.

"You're .. so .. beautiful ... "

With cotton and denim piled to the side, lying naked under Hwoarang's ministrations, Jin felt as though he had returned to the one place that was home. Hwoarang was his home; the place to which Jin belonged, and the place where everything was instantly made right. He cupped that doting hand within his own and brought it to his mouth, kissing the wrist, the palm and each of the fingers. He brought it to his chest and pressed it there, against his pounding heart, his gaze resting on Hwoarang's face, as intense in its darkness as it was its love.

Jin was alive more than he had ever been before. He pulled himself closer, easing onto Hwoarang, his hands eager to find and savor all of the changes that the two years had wrought on his body. They pressed into his stomach, and squeezed his chest and shoulders and arms. Dissatisfied with the clothed imitation, they pulled his shirt free from the belt to slide the cloth away and touch the genuine thing. He eased down, pressing their bodies together, his face hovering just above Hwoarang's.

"You're even more perfect than I remembered."

"Do you remember everything .. ?" Hwoarang asked, shrouding the naked shoulders hulking above him in his covered arms, wondering with a sincere and anxious curiosity even as he reveled in the friction of Jin's flesh on his, the rise of his shirt against his chest, clinging. His mouth touched Jin's lips, as if this would encourage and assure, because even if the Japanese didn't want to discuss what Hwoarang knew took him away, Hwoarang had to know. His right leg rose at the knee, and he dropped a hand to cup in it one perfect hemisphere of flesh, harboring Jin within him.

Jin's smile was just barely not a grimace.

"Yeah..." He nuzzled Hwoarang's ear and sampled his earlobe with a nibble. "We have a lot of catching up to do." Later, Jin hoped. The tip of his warm tongue trailed over the inner ring of the ear and he teased it with his balmy breath, as he meanwhile pressed his hips firmly against Hwoarang's. Some of his weight was propped on his elbows, each flat against the floor on either side of Hwoarang's chest.

From the sounds of that moan, later was just fine. Hwoarang's mouth was on what he wanted to touch, and his hand on what he wanted to taste; and so his fingers mimicked a salacious lap through the divide he held, sliding back and forth over Jin's hot, wrinkled opening; and Hwoarang's lips felt out Jin's neck and face with unmediated lust.

" .. a lot," he agreed in a heavy voice that came from his heart, not his throat.

Jin's breath broke quietly; he rose up both to push himself against those fingers and to free the way for his fingers to seize Hwoarang's belt. They nimbly pulled it loose, following it immediately with his fly, and then finally he rose up enough to curl his fingers about the layers of cloth and shuck them off of Hwoarang. Jin felt accomplished.

He kissed Hwoarang's mouth and then whispered, "Let's move to the bed."

Without waiting for a reply, Hwoarang was scooped into Jin's arms and carried there, laid delicately on the smooth, freshly ironed comforter only to be covered by Jin himself.

In unhindered anatomy, Hwoarang's gain and Jin's tightening seemed to have put their bodies on equivalent measures; there were still those long, muscular legs that made Hwoarang so lethal, and the solid, hard waist that imbued Jin with an almost supernatural fortitude, but they were fit to one another like molds tempered over time to hold true forever.

Despite being prone and impassioned, the Korean reached for and locked himself around the Japanese, burying his face in Jin's neck. It was a tight, pressured embrace, and with his legs winding around the body on his, Hwoarang seemed to lose all other desires at that moment: nothing was more important than this.

Jin was unsure whether or not it was the tightness of the hold that made him hold his breath, but either way, a heady, wonderful feeling settled over him. He gathered Hwoarang's back in his arms again and mirrored his cling, squeezing his eyes closed as he buried his nose and mouth into the welcoming flames of hair, sucking in their perfume. The smell returned a history memories, laden with a void that at this moment just came to an end.

"I love you," Hwoarang said again, because such words could never be said enough to accurately reflect the sentiments in his being.

There was only breathing and heartbeats struggling together, and then in an instant there were Hwoarang's possessive hands stroking Jin's back, reassuring himself of the reality. He loosened his thighs slightly, the part allowing Jin in even more firmly. Some unfinished utterance of sound left the redhead's upturned mouth as the waves of contact trickled through him. He could never imagine anyone else doing this to him but Jin.

Ever.

As Hwoarang's body opened to his, Jin swallowed every inch of offered space, sinking almost languidly down against him as he caught his footing on the bed, spreading his own knees to part Hwoarang's even further. A thick, humid voice trailed from his throat before he reopened his gaze. He needed to make up for those lost years; he needed to give Hwoarang all of the tender, devoted looks that he had been forced to harbor. He would not shut his eyes again in the face of this pure and concrete bliss.

"I love you... Joon," he said almost without breath, his shoulders and arms tensing as he urged himself forward, joining them to the core.

The air catching in Hwoarang's throat erupted, touching every corner of the room. Thereafter, in silence, his brows clenched with the same tightness that the neglected, ravenous place of entry did. Clenched teeth refused words and gasps laced with the pain that seared through Hwoarang, because he knew he wanted it this way; he needed to feel Jin inside him again with the intense, tearing and spasming pain of remembrance -- any easier way would have been artificial.

Jin's gaze was soft but unwavering on Hwoarang's face, although the swell of sensation with him -- racing from the center of his being to seemingly the tips of his fingers and toes -- came dangerously close to breaking his sight once again. He licked his lips, halting to give both of them time to find air, and continuously tensed himself within the long-dormant opening. The lubrication his own body offered would ease the harshness of their connection soon enough. He eased back gradually and delicately, helping to smear the fluid further as his mouth doted again on Hwoarang's ear, suckling and tickling with whispery moans and litanies.

It was narrow, more constricting; it never wanted to let Jin go again. The gradual ease induced Hwoarang to breathe again, and as Jin's careful urgings pushed against him with growing repetition, Hwoarang's elbows bent around the Japanese's neck in full, and he sought to share himself with Jin's mouth at the same time. Each hard kiss was random, torn away by some sudden moan but never totally dislodged, never letting up a steady steam of air on Jin's lips, chin and jaw. When Jin glazed himself over a private and intimate nexus deep in Hwoarang he yelled. Loudly.

Jin stole the sound in the vacuum of a kiss, hard and all-engrossing. Now that he had found that most private region, he would thoughtfully and unrelentingly ravage that territory to drive Hwoarang to the brink along with him. As he felt the first hints of defeat in the diligent barrier, his long, even thrusts grew shorter and more frequent, the humming current of pleasure condensing and intensifying, an outright electric force possessed each of their most sensitive hubs.

Hwoarang wanted to wait, but he couldn't. He had waited for so long, and now he could not check the deluge of ecstatic moans, paroxysms and tears. Wave after wave came while he locked his hands around Jin to keep from drowning in the forming ocean. The sudden burst of damp and sticky hot between their fused bellies only weakened the Korean for seconds; he was soon pressing himself back against Jin, his glassy eyes opened, his face as flushed as his open lips.

Jin buried his face in Hwoarang's sweaty neck, panting against it as he pistoned himself towards his own release. He cooed something hoarse between his shallow breaths, drunk on the thick, sweaty heat that radiated from Hwoarang. He was overcome in a warm, blinding flash, crying out before he was swallowed by a raging tide, frothy bullets holding him captive as they were forged and pounded out of him; but once they had all gone ahead he followed them, shivering, penetrating weakly until he was finally forced to admit defeat, hastily propping himself on his arms so that he brunt of his limp weight wouldn't fall on Hwoarang.

Hwoarang wanted the weight; he wanted everything. So he pulled Jin down atop him, encountering little resistance in the other's spent body.

Pressed into the bed, Hwoarang whispered into Jin's ear, " .. stay inside me."

He still breathed in irregular bouts, and his heart mirrored a hummingbird's frantic resolutions, but he drew a calm from the mass securing him down.

The frantic pulse of the body beneath the Korean was so like his own, and the passionate chaos was ebbing into serenity.

"I don't ever want to leave," Jin replied towards the mattress, and cracked an dazed, genuine smile. He turned his face enough to kiss Hwoarang's neck, and it was good that his eyes had already drifted shut, because he would have been dismayed to find the tattoo beneath his lips. He pulled an arm to life long enough to find one of Hwoarang's; he unfolded it, trailed his fingers over bicep and elbow and forearm and wrist, and then mingled their fingers in a soft but secure hold, content.

Hwoarang's soft spikes of burgundy hair still gleamed, but each strand was slickened with slight damp, and veered away from his face. In the interstice between afterglow and slumber the countenance revealed an alarming clarity; a solid resolve; and for minutes he watched Jin fall asleep, felt him soften inside him. There was a sudden spark in burnt sienna eyes, dangerous and touched with a mild irrationality. It sought to wield Jin to him like metal to metal, before lashes lowered to cover it.

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