A Transmutation of Pain

Jongwoo is too out of it to protest when Moonjo takes him back to the clinic. When Moonjo says get up he tries to get up; Moonjo has to support him out the taxi, but he can’t complain. He’s the one who gave him the sedative, after all.

He brings Jongwoo inside, and Jongwoo becomes more attentive – he stops in the doorway, and won’t move, even though it’s only the reception area.

‘Scared of the dentist?’ Moonjo asks him. Jongwoo’s eyes catch on him, and slide off. He begins to back away. Moonjo grabs him by the shoulder, and Jongwoo lets out a huff of pain.

‘Don’t be a child,’ Moonjo says. ‘I’m trying to get you patched up.’

‘It hurts,’ Jongwoo says, cringing. Moonjo only tightens his grip and drags Jongwoo into the consulting office. Jongwoo makes a whining noise, and he looks at the dentist’s chair like an enemy.

Moonjo steers him toward it anyway. ‘Sit down,’ he says firmly. ‘I’m going to give you something for the pain.’ That’s a lie – Jongwoo might notice the pain less under heavier sedation, but Moonjo has no intention of numbing him to it altogether.

He’s not sure if Jongwoo believes him or if he’s just done with fighting. He looks away when Moonjo delivers the injection; Moonjo, with his fingers on Jongwoo’s skin, can feel his pulse like the fluttering of a bird’s wings.

‘You can relax now,’ Moonjo says, when he sets the needle aside. He lowers the back of the chair so that Jongwoo is forced to lie down.

‘Can’t relax,’ Jongwoo mutters. But Moonjo hasn’t given him a choice. And when Moonjo straps his arms down, he doesn’t resist.

‘Tell me when something hurts,’ Moonjo says, although he doesn’t expect Jongwoo to remain coherent. He begins to pat him down, checking for injury – at this point he would have noticed if Jongwoo were bleeding, but he can determine from the noises Jongwoo makes where those kids got their hits in.

‘You did well,’ Moonjo says. Jongwoo won’t remember what he says, but it’s important to set the mood. To make the patient feel at ease, even when you’re causing them distress.

Jongwoo looks as if he could be falling asleep now. He whimpers when Moonjo presses down on a sore spot, but it’s reflexive – the sound an animal might make, not a man.

Moonjo catalogues Jongwoo’s pains, just for the sake of knowing them. For the sake of being able to press his fingers into Jongwoo’s flesh and see his eyes flicker beneath his eyelids, hear the catch of his throat and the whine he makes there.

It’s self-indulgent, of course. Moonjo didn’t bring him here for this. But he’s fascinated by the way Jongwoo twitches away from Moonjo’s touch. How his fingers curl themselves, although he doesn’t have the sense to tug against his restraints.

How when Moonjo brushes the hair back above Jongwoo’s temple, Jongwoo turns his head against Moonjo’s hand, like a cat might.

It’s a curious thing, that Jongwoo reacts only to what’s immediately in front of him, and not to the context. It makes Moonjo wonder how far he can push it.

He skims his hand down over Jongwoo’s chest again – not for the sake of cataloguing pain, but to see how Jongwoo reacts when he slips his fingers under the hem of Jongwoo’s shirt. Will that contact reflect in the tremor of Jongwoo’s breath, the murmur of his lips? Moonjo slides his fingers over Jongwoo’s hipbone and toward his back, lightly brushing the bruises forming on his side. Like a lover might, and not a physician.

Moonjo strokes Jongwoo’s skin, and he watches his face. He should really be doing something about Jongwoo’s face right now, but Jongwoo won’t notice the delay. And Moonjo likes seeing him like this: the blood still on his face, his fragility exposed. As well as that more admirable part of him, that fought.

Moonjo brings his hand back round to Jongwoo’s stomach, where his organs are palpable, vulnerable beneath his skin. There’s a part of Moonjo that wants to catalogue those too – to build an image of not just his pain but of the very components of his flesh, the animal construction that gives life to him.

Moonjo brings his hand down further, to Jongwoo’s groin, and Jongwoo responds to his touch there as well. It would be easy to hurt him like this, but that’s not what Moonjo is intrigued about. There should be a line, Moonjo thinks, between the touch that registers as pain and the touch that registers as pleasure. But where is it?

Being stroked and petted – in Jongwoo’s current state it doesn’t matter how he feels about the person laying hands on him, his body takes it for pleasure. The evidence now is not subtle at all, as Jongwoo’s erection becomes not just palpable but visible through his clothing.

Moonjo puts his other hand under Jongwoo’s shirt, finding the place where the muscle was tender and pressing his fingers down there.

Jongwoo whimpers in the back of his throat, but his erection is unaffected. Moonjo makes a soothing motion over Jongwoo’s skin, before he presses down again.

That pressure should be pain. It should be a threat; but right now, Jongwoo’s body registers it differently. He pushes his hips up into Moonjo’s touch, the sensation transmuted into something sexual.

Moonjo wants to hurt him more. He wants to hurt him, and see that pain become something else, see it transformed in Jongwoo and see it transform him.

How would Jongwoo feel, if he came round and discovered that Moonjo had undone him like that?

Moonjo smiles to himself. He removes his hands from Jongwoo’s body.

And then he begins the work for which he brought Jongwoo here.

Putting him back together, to break him down again.