Chapter 10: The Two-Week Temptation
Day three of forced celibacy felt like someone had peeled back his skin and wired his nerve endings directly to a live current.
Jensen lay on his back in Leonid's narrow bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster like a monk counting prayer beads. Beside him, Leonid slept with the boneless abandon of the truly exhausted, one arm thrown across Jensen's chest, his breath warm and even against Jensen's shoulder.
The antibiotics were working. The swelling had gone down, the redness faded to something almost normal. Leonid had stopped wincing when he walked, had stopped taking those sharp, hidden breaths that made Jensen want to kill every lake in the country. He was healing.
Which meant Jensen was dying.
Through the thin fabric of Leonid's sleep shorts, Jensen could feel the shape of him—the heavy weight of his cock, soft and warm and utterly, devastatingly present. His own erection pressed insistently against his jeans, painful and relentless, a constant reminder of everything he couldn't have.
He'd lost count of the cold showers. Twelve? Fifteen? He'd lost count of the number of times he'd started to reach for Leonid, only to snatch his hand back like he'd touched a hot stove. His student council work had suffered. He'd snapped at the vice president yesterday for breathing too loudly, and the poor girl had fled the office in tears.
Leonid, meanwhile, seemed to be thriving.
Jensen turned his head, watching Leonid sleep. His features were slack, peaceful, his lips slightly parted. His dark curls were a mess against the pillow, and his skin held a hint of color now, a healthy glow that Jensen hadn't realized had faded until it returned.
He's getting better. That's what matters.
The words felt hollow, even in his own head.
Leonid stirred, a soft sound escaping his throat, and his eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he looked disoriented, blinking at Jensen like he couldn't quite place him. Then a slow smile spread across his face, lazy and warm.
"Morning," Leonid mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.
"It's two in the afternoon."
"Morning."
Jensen snorted, but the sound caught in his throat when Leonid stretched, his back arching, his arms reaching above his head. The movement pulled his shirt up, exposing a strip of pale stomach, that dark trail of hair disappearing into his waistband. His sleep shorts tented visibly, morning wood making itself known with shameless enthusiasm.
"You're doing that on purpose," Jensen said, his voice strained.
Leonid's smile widened. "Doing what?"
"That."
"I'm just stretching. It's not my fault you're perverted."
"You're not just stretching. You're stretching like a cat in a cartoon. All slow and deliberate."
Leonid's eyes gleamed with mischief, and Jensen felt his heart stutter. This was the Leonid he knew—playful, teasing, secure in the knowledge that he had Jensen exactly where he wanted him. The past few weeks had been so heavy, so clouded with worry and pain. Seeing light return to Leonid's face was almost enough to make the celibacy bearable.
Almost.
"I'm going to take a shower," Jensen announced, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "A cold one."
"Again?" Leonid's voice was innocent, but his grin was anything but. "That's the third one today."
"And it won't be the last, thanks to you."
"Me? What did I do?"
Jensen shot him a look that could have stripped paint. Leonid laughed, a low, warm sound that traveled down Jensen's spine and settled somewhere dangerous. He sat up, running a hand through his curls, making them stick up at impossible angles.
"You know," Leonid said thoughtfully, "the doctor said no sexual contact. But he didn't say anything about, like. Hand stuff."
"Leonid."
"I'm just saying. There's a loophole."
"We're not exploiting medical loopholes for your amusement."
"Whose amusement? Yours or mine?"
Jensen's jaw tightened. He stood, his body moving toward the bathroom with mechanical precision, but Leonid's voice stopped him at the door.
"Jen."
Something about the softer tone made him turn. Leonid's expression had shifted, the playfulness replaced by something more tender, more vulnerable. He patted the space beside him on the bed.
"Come here. Just for a minute."
Jensen hesitated, every instinct screaming at him to put distance between them, to protect himself from the torture of proximity. But Leonid's eyes were warm and inviting, and Jensen had never been able to deny him anything.
He crossed back to the bed, sitting on the edge. Leonid shifted behind him, wrapping his arms around Jensen's waist, resting his chin on Jensen's shoulder. The contact was gentle, chaste, but Jensen felt it everywhere.
"I know this is hard for you," Leonid said quietly. "I know you're struggling."
"You have no idea."
"I think I do. Because it's hard for me too. I want you just as much as you want me. Maybe more."
Jensen turned his head, meeting Leonid's gaze. "That's not possible."
"It is. I've been thinking about all the things I'm going to do to you when this is over. I've made a list."
"A list."
"Things like, I'm going to kiss you until you can't remember your own name. And I'm going to touch you in ways that make you forget about things like time and space and gravity."
Jensen swallowed hard. "You're not helping."
"I know. That's kind of the point."
He should pull away. He should put space between them, go take that cold shower, bury himself in work until the urge passed. But Leonid's arms were warm around him, and the steady beat of his heart was a comfort Jensen didn't want to give up.
Instead, he leaned back into Leonid's embrace, letting himself have this small moment of peace. Leonid's lips pressed against the side of his neck, feather-light, barely there.
"I love you," Leonid murmured against his skin. "I've loved you since we were five years old and you kissed me behind the jungle gym. I'm going to love you until the day I die. Probably even after that."
Jensen's heart clenched. "That's morbid."
"It's true. You're my person, Jensen. You've always been my person."
The words settled over Jensen like a balm, soothing the raw edges of his frustration. He turned, pulling Leonid into a proper hug, burying his face in the curve of his shoulder. Leonid held him back, just as tightly.
"I love you too," Jensen whispered. "More than anything. More than I should."
"There's no such thing as more than you should when it comes to us."
Jensen wanted to argue, but he couldn't find the words. Because Leonid was right. Their love had never been conventional, had never followed the rules that applied to other people. It was messy and volatile and sometimes destructive, but it was theirs.
And he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
The next few days passed in a haze of longing and restraint.
Jensen threw himself into his student council work with a fervor that bordered on manic. He organized three events, mediated two disputes, and wrote a comprehensive proposal for campus sustainability that earned him a standing ovation from the board. His classmates looked at him with a mixture of admiration and confusion. His professors praised his dedication. His father called to congratulate him on his academic performance.
None of it helped.
Because every night, he returned to Leonid's dorm. Every night, he climbed into that narrow bed and wrapped himself around Leonid's warm, sleep-soft body. Every night, he lay awake, counting the hours until he could finally have him again.
Leonid, for his part, seemed to be enjoying Jensen's suffering far too much.
He would stretch in the morning, arching his back and letting his shirt ride up. He would leave the bathroom door open while he showered, letting steam and the scent of soap drift into the bedroom. He would bend over to pick things up, giving Jensen an unobstructed view of his ass in those annoyingly tight sweatpants.
On day five, Jensen finally snapped.
They were in the kitchen, Leonid reaching up to grab a mug from the top shelf. His shirt rode up, exposing the small of his back, and Jensen felt something inside him break.
He crossed the room in three strides, grabbing Leonid by the shoulder and spinning him around. Leonid's eyes widened, the mug slipping from his fingers and shattering on the floor between them. Neither of them looked down.
"You're doing this on purpose," Jensen growled. His voice was low, dangerous, rough with barely restrained hunger.
Leonid's expression shifted, the surprise fading into that infuriating smirk. "Maybe I am."
"He told you no sexual contact for two weeks."
"He told me that. He didn't tell you anything."
"You're impossible."
"I'm just saying. The rules are for me. If you decide to do something, that's your choice."
Jensen snarled, slamming his fist against the wall beside Leonid's head. The drywall cracked, dust raining down on Leonid's shoulder, but neither of them flinched. Leonid's smirk widened, his eyes darkening with a familiar hunger. "But we both know you're too much of a good boy to break the rules."
The words hit Jensen like a physical blow. He stood there, chest heaving, his body trembling with the effort of not kissing Leonid senseless. He could feel the heat of him, smell the clean scent of his skin, see the pulse beating in his throat.
Jensen had never thought of himself as a good boy. Growing up, his teachers had called him a handful. His parents had called him headstrong. His classmates had called him a lot of things, none of them polite. But when it came to Leonid, he'd always been careful, always attentive to his needs, always willing to put his own desires aside if it meant keeping Leonid safe and happy.
He loved Leonid. He loved him so much it was like a sickness, a fever in his blood that never broke. And that love meant he couldn't cross this line. Not even now, when Leonid was standing there with challenge in his eyes, daring Jensen to prove him wrong.
With a growl of pure frustration, Jensen dropped to his knees.
Leonid's eyes widened, panic flaring in them. "Jen, wait—"
But Jensen didn't stop. He pressed his forehead against the flat of Leonid's stomach, his hands gripping Leonid's hips with a desperation that bordered on violence. Through the thin fabric of Leonid's shirt, he could feel the heat of his skin, the trembling of his muscles.
"I can't," Jensen said, his voice muffled against the fabric. "I can't—you're still healing, and if I do anything—if I hurt you—I'll never forgive myself."
Leonid's hands came up to rest on Jensen's shoulders, his touch light and uncertain. "You wouldn't hurt me. You never hurt me."
"Not intentionally. But I'm not exactly known for my restraint when it comes to you."
Leonid was quiet for a long moment. Then Jensen felt his fingers threading through his hair, gentle and soothing. "Hey. Look at me."
Jensen shook his head, pressing his face harder against Leonid's stomach. "I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because if I look at you, I'm going to want to kiss you. And if I kiss you, I'm not going to want to stop."
"That sounds like a problem future Jensen can deal with."
"Leonid."
"I'm serious." Leonid's voice was soft, tender. "I trust you. Do you trust me?"
Jensen lifted his head, meeting Leonid's eyes. They were warm, sincere, glinting with a love that made his chest ache. No one had ever looked at him like that before—like he was the center of the universe, like nothing else mattered.
"I trust you," Jensen said. "More than anyone."
"Then trust me when I say we're going to get through this. Two weeks is nothing. We've been through worse."
"We have."
"Remember when you broke your collarbone and I had to help you shower for a month?"
Jensen winced at the memory. "That was humiliating."
"It was kind of funny, actually. You kept trying to hide your boner behind a towel."
"I was seventeen! I couldn't help it!"
Leonid laughed, bright and genuine. Jensen felt the sound vibrate through his body, chasing away some of the tension that had been coiled in his muscles for days. He leaned into Leonid's touch, letting himself be grounded by the warmth of his presence.
"I love you," Jensen said again, because he never got tired of saying it. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes."
"I know. I love you too."
They stayed like that for a long moment, Jensen on his knees with his arms wrapped around Leonid's waist, Leonid standing over him with his hands in Jensen's hair. It wasn't sexual, not really. It was something deeper, something more intimate.
It was home.
Eventually, Jensen pulled away, getting to his feet. He glanced at the shattered mug on the floor, then back at Leonid. "I'll clean that up."
"I'll help."
"You should rest. Doctor's orders."
"The doctor also said no sexual contact, and you're already failing at that."
"I'm not failing. I'm succeeding. Barely."
Leonid grinned, stepping over the broken ceramic to press a kiss to Jensen's cheek. It was innocent, chaste, but Jensen felt it everywhere. "I need to get to my shift at the café."
"I'll drive you."
"I can take the bus."
"You'll take the drive." Jensen's voice was firm. "I'm not letting you out of my sight until the doctor clears you."
"You're going to follow me to work?"
"If I have to."
Leonid rolled his eyes, but there was affection in the gesture. "You're impossible."
"Learned from the best."
They cleaned up the broken mug together, a silent partnership forged by years of familiarity. Jensen swept while Leonid held the dustpan, their movements synchronized with the ease of a couple who had done this a thousand times before. When they finished, Jensen took Leonid's hand, leading him toward the door.
The café was bustling when they arrived. Leonid's boss, a middle-aged woman named Mrs. Choi, greeted him with a warm smile that faded when she saw Jensen hovering behind him.
"Leo, you're supposed to rest," she said, her voice filled with maternal concern. "You've been out sick all week. You should be recuperating."
"I feel fine, Mrs. Choi. Honestly."
"You look pale. Are you eating enough? Drinking enough water?"
"He's eating three meals a day," Jensen interjected. "I'm making sure of it."
Mrs. Choi looked at him, raising an eyebrow. Her gaze traveled over Jensen's school uniform, to his expensive watch and meticulously styled hair. "And you are?"
"I'm his—" Jensen hesitated, the words catching in his throat. In public, they had to be careful. They'd learned that lesson the hard way. "I'm his roommate. And his best friend."
Leonid shot him a quick, unreadable look. "He's Jensen. He's been taking care of me."
Mrs. Choi's expression softened. "Well, that's very kind of you." She turned back to Leonid. "I'm not going to turn down the help, but if you feel even a little unwell, you go home. No arguments."
"Yes, ma'am."
Leonid moved behind the counter, tying on an apron. Jensen took a seat in the corner, positioning himself so he could watch Leonid work. He ordered a coffee he didn't really want and nursed it for hours, watching Leonid move through the café with an ease that Jensen found mesmerizing.
Watching Leonid at work was always a pleasure. He was graceful, efficient, his hands moving with a practiced dexterity that Jensen found endlessly appealing. When a customer had a question about the menu, Leonid gave them a warm, patient smile that Jensen wanted to bottle and sell.
He's good at this, Jensen thought. He's good at so many things, and he doesn't even realize it.
Leonid caught his eye across the room, offering a small smile that made Jensen's heart skip. Jensen smiled back, hoping his expression conveyed everything he couldn't say in public.
I'm not going to let you out of my sight again. You're safe here. You're always safe with me.
The hours passed slowly, but Jensen didn't mind. He was content to watch Leonid, to be in his presence, to breathe the same air. It was enough. It was more than he'd ever hoped to have.
By the time Leonid's shift ended, the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Jensen waited outside, leaning against his car, watching the café door. When Leonid emerged, his apron gone, his jacket slung over his shoulder, Jensen felt his heart do that familiar skip.
"How was work?" Jensen asked as Leonid approached.
"Good. Mrs. Choi gave me a free pastry for coming in." Leonid held up a paper bag with a triumphant smile. "Chocolate croissant."
"You deserve it."
"I know." Leonid's grin was cheeky, boyish. Jensen wanted to kiss it off his face.
They climbed into the car, settling into the familiar rhythm of driving through Seoul's evening traffic. Leonid chattered about his day, about the irritating customer who'd demanded decaf espresso, about the woman who'd spilled an entire latte on herself during a first date. Jensen let his voice wash over him, a soothing balm after days of tension.
Back at the dorm, they ate dinner together—takeout from the noodle place down the street, eaten cross-legged on the floor because Leonid's desk was too small. They talked about nothing, everything, their voices overlapping in comfortable banter.
"Remember when you tried to cook rice and set off the smoke alarm?" Jensen asked, forking a mouthful of noodles.
"I was eleven!"
"You burned water, Leo. You literally burned water."
"The rice was one of those instant packages! The instructions were unclear!"
"The instructions said 'add water and microwave for two minutes.' That's pretty clear."
Leonid threw a napkin at him. Jensen caught it, adding it to the pile of trash accumulating beside them. "I'm never going to let you live that down."
"I know. You've been bringing it up for eleven years."
"And I'll bring it up for eleven more. And then when we're old and gray, I'll bring it up at our—" Jensen stopped, the words catching in his throat.
Leonid's eyes met his, knowing and gentle. "Our what?"
Jensen swallowed. He'd almost said wedding anniversary. They were both business students, both practical about the future, but there were certain things they couldn't have. Not because they didn't love each other, but because the world wasn't ready to accept them. His parents had made that painfully clear.
"Nothing," Jensen said, looking away.
Leonid reached across the space between them, taking Jensen's hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding. "It's okay. You can say it."
"I almost said something stupid."
"It's not stupid." Leonid squeezed his hand. "I think about it too, sometimes. About what we would do if things were different."
"If things were different, I'd marry you tomorrow. I'd take you to the courthouse and make it legal and then I'd spend the rest of my life making sure you knew exactly how much I love you."
Leonid's breath caught. His eyes shimmered, and Jensen recognized the tell-tale sign of tears gathering. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Leonid's.
"I'm not going anywhere," Jensen promised. "I'm never going anywhere. Whatever it takes, however long it takes, we're going to make this work."
Leonid nodded, blinking back the tears. "I know. I trust you."
They finished their dinner in comfortable silence, their hands never quite touching but always hovering close. When the food was gone and the trash had been bagged, Jensen led Leonid to the bed. They lay facing each other, too close to be casual, too far to be proper.
Jensen traced the lines of Leonid's face with his eyes, memorizing every detail like he was afraid it would change. The arch of his brows, the sharpness of his jaw, the fullness of his lips.
"Two more days," Jensen whispered. "Two more days and this is over."
Leonid smiled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Jensen's forehead. "And then?"
"And then I'm going to make you forget your own name. And I'm going to make you scream so loud the whole building hears it. And then I'm going to make you come so hard you see stars."
Leonid's smile widened. "That's a tall order."
"I've never been one to shy away from a challenge."
"I know something that's a challenge."
"What?"
Leonid's eyes flickered down to Jensen's lips. "Not kissing you for two more days."
Jensen felt his heart stutter. He leaned closer, their lips almost touching. Then he heard Leonid's soft laughter and pulled back, shaking his head.
"You're evil."
"I know." Leonid's voice was a satisfied purr. "But you love me."
"I do." Jensen pressed a kiss to Leonid's forehead, then pulled away before he could be tempted further. "I love you so much it scares me."
"Good. Let it."
There was a weight to his words, something unspoken beneath them. Jensen didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to acknowledge the cracks he could feel forming in their carefully constructed world. So instead, he reached out, pulling Leonid closer, breathing him in until he couldn't tell where one of them ended and the other began.
Tomorrow, they would face the world again. Tomorrow, Jensen would have to pretend to be just a friend, just a roommate, just another face in Leonid's life. But tonight, here in the quiet dark of their hideaway, they were just two boys in love, waiting for the storm to pass.
Jensen pressed his face into Leonid's chest, letting himself be held. He could feel the steady beat of Leonid's heart beneath his cheek, a reminder that he was alive, that they were both alive, that they had survived this.
"Two more days," Jensen repeated, as if saying it aloud could make it true. "Two more days, and then everything is going to change."
And as he drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the arms of the only person who had ever truly understood him, Jensen let himself believe that promise.