Chapter 3: Riding Together
The horse moved at a slow walk, the rhythm of its steps a gentle rock that pressed Ryuzo back into the solid warmth of Jin’s chest. The forest air was cool, but the space between them was not. Jin’s arms were rigid around him, holding the reins in white-knuckled fists. “You’re riding better than you did at twelve,” Ryuzo said, his voice low and rough against the night. “That pony threw you into the creek.” A memory, offered like a peace offering.
Jin’s breath hitched, his forearms tightening for a heartbeat. “You pushed me.” “You dared me.” The old, easy cadence of it hung between them, fragile as glass. Jin didn’t answer, but his posture softened incrementally, his chin nearly brushing Ryuzo’s hair. He could feel the heat of Jin’s body all down his back, a brand through their thin layers. The blush on Jin’s neck was visible in the moonlight, a flush of warm color against his skin. Ryuzo’s own throat tightened. “You always sat a horse like you were part of it,” he murmured, the words leaving him before he could stop them. “Never stiff. Just… ready.”
Jin’s exhale was a shaky thing against the shell of Ryuzo’s ear. The horse ambled on, but the world had narrowed to that point of contact. Jin’s head dipped, his nose almost touching the exposed skin where Ryuzo’s collar gaped. It was an unconscious lean, a drift toward a familiar scent. Ryuzo felt it—the warm puff of air, the slight scratch of Jin’s loose hair—and a shiver ran through him that had nothing to do with the cold. His own hands, lying limp on his thighs, curled into fists. Every nerve was awake, screaming. This was worse than the hiding place. This was a slow, deliberate torture of closeness. Jin was silent, but his body was screaming too.
Jin was silent, but his body was screaming too.
Ryuzo felt the shift, the slight loosening of Jin’s iron control in the saddle. “Your hands,” Ryuzo murmured, leaning back just a fraction. “They were always so steady holding a bow. Even when everything else was shaking.” He let his head tilt, his temple almost resting against Jin’s jaw. The heat there was immense.
Jin’s breathing changed, becoming something measured and deliberate, a warrior trying to steady his heart before a charge. “Stop talking,” Jin said, but it lacked force, his voice thick. The command was a plea. Ryuzo smiled a little, a sad, knowing thing. “Or what?” he breathed. “You’ll throw me in another creek?” He felt Jin’s stomach muscles clench against his spine.
It was an electric jolt. Jin’s head bowed lower, his lips hovering so close to Ryuzo’s neck that the phantom touch was agony. The reins went slack in Jin’s hands. Every part of him was focused on the man in his arms, on the decade of want condensed into this single, impossible point of contact. The horse, sensing the distraction, slowed to a stop beneath a canopy of whispering pines.
“Ryuzo.” Jin’s voice was raw, a fracture in his carefully maintained composure. It was all he could manage, a name that meant both everything and nothing. Ryuzo turned his face then, his scruff brushing Jin’s clean-shaven cheek. Their eyes met in the deep shadow, inches apart. Jin’s were wide, dark pools of conflicted hunger.
Jin’s mouth found his, clumsy and desperate. It wasn’t genteel. It was a collision of teeth and shared breath, a raw confession after years of silence.
Ryuzo met it hungrily, every ounce of his shame dissolving into the taste of Jin. He hummed, low in his throat. “See?” he managed against Jin’s lips, his voice wrecked. “Still lets me.”
Jin made a pained, vulnerable sound, his hands finally loosening from the reins to fist in Ryuzo’s tunic. He pulled Ryuzo tighter, his body surrendering its rigid posture. It was the same way he’d always given in, a silent, physical acquiescence that spoke louder than any agreement.
Ryuzo’s hands came up, trembling, to cradle Jin’s jaw, his thumbs brushing the high sweep of his cheekbones. Jin pressed into the touch, his eyes closed, every line of his face etched with a profound relief. He turned his head, just enough to press a feverish kiss to the calloused palm.
"Tell me to stop,” Ryuzo breathed, even as he traced the line of Jin’s bottom lip with his thumb. Jin shook his head, a minute, stubborn movement. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
The forest watched, holding its breath.
Jin’s forehead dropped to rest against Ryuzo’s shoulder, his whole body shuddering. “This is a mistake,” he whispered into the fabric, the words muffled and hot. Ryuzo’s fingers threaded into Jin’s hair, loosening the tie holding his top knot. “Probably.” A dark cascade fell around them.