Little Secret - MOTTE tour
SYNOPSIS: Traveling the world with Kwon Jiyong as his personal stylist means seeing him at his highest highs and his lowest lows. But when a rare day off during the grueling M.O.T.T.E tour leaves him completely spent, Y/N decides to play caretaker. What starts as comfort food and a friendly massage quickly spirals into a blurred boundary neither of them was prepared for.
WARNINGS: Explicit sexual content, mild dub-con elements (purely due to crossing professional boundaries/panic), heavy angst, mutual panic, running away from feelings, Jiyong is deeply exhausted.
A/N: Im SO sorry for taking so long wiith the next chapter of Private Match! take this one shot I wrote a while ago as my "sorry" pls pls
---------------------------------------
The moment your eyes scanned the frantic, color-coded spreadsheet of the M.O.T.T.E itinerary and hit today's date, you didn't even think twice.
Two words that felt like a myth on a tour this grueling.
Being Kwon Jiyong’s personal wardrobe stylist meant your life was tethered to his chaos, but being one of his closest friends meant you knew exactly what that chaos was doing to him. Normally, he only got a few stolen hours between soundchecks and red-eyes, or maybe a single day off if the universe was feeling kind. And normally, you’d quietly slip into his hotel room to keep him company.
The rest of the crew probably knew. Maybe they didn’t. Or maybe they just chose to look the other way because they knew he needed a safe haven, and for some reason, that was you. But today, you weren't just going to sit there and watch him stare blankly at the wall. Today, you were going to spoil him like crazy.
You balanced the heavy plastic bag of takeout on your forearm and knocked softly on the heavy oak door.
One second passed. Then five. Then ten.
When no answer came, you didn't even hesitate. You slid your keycard into the slot, waiting for the little green light to beep before pushing the door open into the dimly lit suite.
The heavy blackout curtains were drawn tight, casting the room in a perpetual twilight that smelled faintly of expensive cologne and hotel linen.
On the massive king-sized bed, a solitary figure was buried beneath a mountain of white blankets, completely still.
"Jiyong?" you called out softly, setting the plastic bag down on the desk.
"Hm." A muffled, gravelly sound came from beneath the sheets. He didn't even move.
"I knocked," you said, stepping closer to the edge of the bed, your voice automatically dropping to a gentle murmur.
The blankets shifted slightly, revealing a flash of dyed hair and a pair of exhausted, dark eyes blinking up at you. "Sorry," he rasped, his voice rough from sleep and weeks of screaming into microphones. "Didn't hear."
He looked incredibly small in the center of that huge bed, stripped of the flashing stage lights, the heavy makeup, and the Chanel wardrobe. This was just Jiyong. The boy who was running on fumes, pushing his body to the absolute limit for a tour that was draining him dry.
"Well, lucky for you, I have a key," you smiled softly, sitting on the very edge of the mattress. "And I brought gifts."
A low groan vibrated from somewhere deep in his chest, and he pulled the duvet over his face like a stubborn toddler. "Gifts? Nooo," his muffled voice whined. "Now I feel bad. I have nothing for you."
You let out a soft chuckle, standing up to walk back over to the desk. "You don't need to give me anything, Ji. Just eat."
The sharp, crinkling sound of plastic bags echoed in the quiet suite as you began unpacking the containers. Instantly, the rich, savory aroma of hot, spicy regular Ramyeon topped with thick slices of spam and melted cheese bloomed into the air, cutting through the sterile hotel scent.
On the bed, the blankets flew down in an instant. Jiyong sat up, his messy, unstyled hair sticking up in every direction as his dark eyes locked onto the steam rising from the desk.
"Oh..." He blinked, his nose twitching as his mouth instantly watered. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Your favorite," you smiled, setting a pair of chopsticks down beside the steaming container.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, moving toward you like a moth to a flame, but just as he reached the desk, he hesitated. His eyes darted from the glorious, carb-heavy meal to you, a sudden flash of conflict crossing his face. The grueling M.O.T.T.E tour demanded peak physical condition, and his managers were always hovering, monitoring every calorie.
"Can I..." he started, his voice small, pointing a tentative finger at the spam. "Am I allowed to eat this?"
You rolled your eyes playfully, stepping closer and forcing the wooden chopsticks into his hand.
"Jiyong, look at me," you said, your voice softening as you caught his gaze. "Your managers aren't here. There are no cameras, no scales, and no one is tracking your macros today. You are running yourself ragged on this tour, and your body needs fuel. Real fuel. You deserve to eat whatever you want today."
He stared at the chopsticks in his hand, then up at you, a grateful, boyish smile breaking across his tired face. "You're a bad influence," he muttered, but the teasing tone gave him away.
Without another second of hesitation, he dove in. You watched with a fond smile as he shoved a massive bite of noodles and spam into his mouth, making a soft, blissful sound that let you know you’d made the right call.
For the next twenty minutes, the quiet room was filled only with the sound of him happily eating and the two of you exchanging quiet, easy banter about nothing in particular. He even finished the iced Americano down to the last drop.
"Ah, I feel like a human again," Jiyong groaned, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his stomach contentedly.
"See? I told you so," you said, standing up to clear away the empty containers.
But as he tried to stretch his arms over his head, a sharp wince crossed his face. He let out a ragged hiss, his hand instantly flying to his shoulder blade. He slumped forward, letting his forehead rest against the edge of the desk with a heavy, dramatic sigh.
"Everything hurts," he whined, his voice muffled against the wood. "My shoulders feel like blocks of concrete, Y/N. The choreo from the last three shows completely wrecked my lower back. I feel like I'm eighty years old."
You paused, looking down at his slumped shoulders. The thick fabric of his oversized t-shirt couldn't hide the tension held tightly in his frame.
"Where does it hurt exactly?"
Jiyong rolled his head on the desk, pointing a lazy, trembling finger over his shoulder. "Here," he groaned, tapping the base of his neck, "and all the way down here, near my lower back. Why?"
"Well," you said, a small, confident smirk playing on your lips, "I happen to know how to get rid of back pains."
Jiyong lifted his head, a skeptical, teasing glint in his dark eyes. "You?"
"Okay, rude," you shot back, rolling your eyes.
He let out a genuine, raspy laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Sorry, sorry! But really? Since when do you do massages?"
"Since I realized my best friend runs around on stage like a madman for three hours straight and then comes back looking like a broken folding chair," you teased, stepping closer and gently nudging his shoulder. "Seriously, Ji. Go lay face down on the bed. Let me take care of it."
His teasing smile softened into something deeply grateful, the exhaustion pulling at his eyelids again. "Fine," he murmured, pushing himself up from the desk. "If you paralyze me, I'm telling Mr. Yang it was your fault."
He climbed onto the massive king-sized bed, crawling to the center before collapsing face down into the plush pillows with a dramatic, muffled sigh of relief.
You took a slow breath, trying to ignore the sudden, inexplicable thump of your heart against your ribs. It’s just Jiyong, you reminded yourself. You’ve styled him a thousand times. You’ve adjusted his shirts, zipped his pants, fixed his collars. This is no different.
You climbed onto the mattress, kneeling right beside his hip.
You hesitated, your thumbs pressing tentatively into the rigid muscle before you pulled your hands back slightly. "Actually... it would probably be best if you took off your shirt. The fabric is too thick, I can't really get to the knots."
The quiet room suddenly felt a little too quiet.
"Oh," Jiyong murmured into the pillow, his voice dropping an octave. "Um..."
Sensing his sudden hesitation, a flash of panic hit you. You didn't want him to think you were crossing a line. "It's fine! I can just do it with it on, forget I said anything—"
"No," he interrupted softly, lifting his head just enough to look at you over his shoulder. "No, it's okay. You see me without a shirt everyday backstage anyway. It’s fine."
But as he sat up to pull the oversized black cotton over his head, you noticed the slight drag in his movements. Jiyong wasn't usually modest, but the grueling tour schedule had taken a massive toll on him.
He had lost so much weight, his ribs showing prominently beneath his pale skin, his collarbones sharp enough to cut. He felt fragile, and you knew he was deeply insecure about how small he had gotten.
When the shirt was tossed to the floor, he didn't look at you. Instead, he immediately laid back down, hiding his face in the pillows, his shoulders hunching slightly as if trying to shield himself from view.
Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. The urge to protect him, to soothe him, completely overtook any awkwardness you felt.
You crawled a bit closer, straddling his thighs to get a better angle, and gently placed your bare hands onto his exposed skin. He was burning hot, a sharp contrast to the air-conditioned room.
The moment your palms met his bare shoulders, Jiyong let out a sharp, ragged breath, his entire body shuddering under your touch.
"Is the pressure okay?" you whispered, your voice sounding breathless even to your own ears.
"Yeah," he choked out, his voice muffled, but his fingers gripped the bedsheets tight.
You focused all your attention on his shoulders, determined to ease the tension that had been building up for months. Your hands moved rhythmically, your thumbs tracing the curve of his shoulder blades and applying just the right amount of pressure to work out the stubborn knots.
"Ji, you need to breathe," you coaxed softly, leaning forward so your voice was a gentle murmur right above him. "Stop holding your breath. Just relax. You're safe."
At the sound of your voice, a long, shaky exhale finally left his lips. His rigid frame began to give in, melting beneath the warmth of your hands.
He buried his face deeper into the plush pillows, letting go of the tension he’d been carrying like armor.
A soft, low hum of pure contentment vibrated from his throat—a cute, completely unbothered sound that made a fond smile tug at your lips.
For a moment, the heavy atmosphere lightened, returning to the easy comfort the two of you always shared.
"Good?" you asked softly, shifting your weight slightly to work on a particularly tight muscle near his neck.
"Hell yeah," Jiyong mumbled, his voice thick with bliss and half-asleep relaxation. "Don't ever stop. I'm paying you double for this."
You let out a quiet laugh, your fingers sliding smoothly over his warm skin, smoothing out the last of the tension in his upper back. He was so completely relaxed now, entirely malleable under your touch, trusting you implicitly.
"You also said your lower back hurt?" you murmured, your hands pausing at the midpoint of his spine.
Jiyong hummed in response, a drowsy, heavy sound. "Yeah, like... here."
He reached a hand back, his fingers blindly tapping the sensitive dip right above the waistband of his sweatpants before his arm dropped limply back onto the mattress.
You nodded to yourself, even though he couldn't see you. "Okay, let me take a look."
You shifted your weight on the mattress, sliding a little further down his thighs to get a better leverage. When you placed your hands flat against his lower back, the skin there felt incredibly warm, almost feverish against your palms.
At the first tentative touches, as your fingers gently pressed along his spine to locate the source of the strain, you noticed Jiyong had gone awfully quiet. The cute, contented hums from before had completely vanished.
"Am I hurting you?" you asked, instantly softening your pressure, worried you had hit a bruised muscle.
"Hm? No—no, no," Jiyong rasped quickly, his voice suddenly sounding tighter, strained in a way that had nothing to do with pain. "Keep. Keep going."
You kept going, entirely oblivious to the sudden shift in his breathing. Focused purely on fixing him up, your thumbs traced the lean curve of his lower back, sinking into the tight muscles running parallel to his spine. You found the exact spot where the knot was clamped down hard, and you leaned your body weight into it, applying a firm, deep pressure.
The moment your thumbs hooked into the muscle, a sharp, choked whimper escaped Jiyong’s lips.
The sound cut through the quiet bedroom like electricity. It wasn't a groan of relief, and it wasn't a cry of pain.
It was high, breathless, and intensely vocal. Jiyong's fingers instantly clawed into the white hotel bedsheets, bunching the fabric tightly in his fists as his hips gave a involuntary, subtle twitch against the mattress.
You froze, your thumbs still pressed against his skin, your breath catching in your throat. The heat in the room suddenly felt suffocating. The easy, friendly boundary you had been standing behind just fractured completely, leaving both of you suspended in a heavy, dizzying silence where the only sound was the ragged pace of Jiyong's breathing.
"Fuck, I’m—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I—fuck," Jiyong choked out, a breathless, nervous laugh slipping past his lips. He buried his face entirely into the pillow, his ears flushing a deep, brilliant crimson that crept all the way down his neck. The sheer embarrassment radiated off him in waves.
You sat frozen on his thighs, your palms still resting flat against the heated skin of his lower back, your own heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
"Um... it's okay," you stammered, trying desperately to find your professional voice and failing miserably. "It's completely normal to let those sounds out while... you know, getting a deep tissue massage. Yeah. It's totally fine. And especially you, since... um—"
"Since no one has touched me in a while? Yeah, thanks," Jiyong mumbled into the mattress, his voice laced with a self-deprecating, raw edge that made your chest ache.
"No! I didn't mean it like that, I—" You cut yourself off, the lie dying in your throat.
Because the truth was, the room had just become a pressure cooker. Your bare hands were still resting right above the waistband of his sweatpants. You could feel the frantic rise and fall of his chest, the tremor running through his muscles, and the sudden, undeniable heat pooling between the two of you.
Jiyong slowly turned his head to the side, his dark eyes looking up at you through the messy strands of his hair. He looked completely undone—flushed, breathless, and intensely vulnerable. The defensive walls of 'G-Dragon' were entirely gone, leaving just a lonely, exhausted boy who was starving for affection.
"Maybe this wasn't a great idea," Jiyong mumbled, his voice so quiet it was barely a whisper. He shifted his head on the pillow, looking away from you for a second before his dark eyes flicked back up. "Like—thank you for helping me with my shoulders, but... I don't want this to get weird. Or uncomfortable between us."
Your heart was beating so loud you were certain he could hear it, but you forced yourself to take a slow, steady breath. You didn't move your hands from where they rested on his bare lower back.
"I'm not uncomfortable," you said softly.
Jiyong looked up at you, his brows furrowing slightly as if he was trying to process your words through the thick fog of his exhaustion.
"Like I said..." you continued, your voice gentling as you looked down at him. "It's completely normal to react like this. And... I told you I would help you out today. It's fine if you want to keep going... or if you want to stop."
Jiyong swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the white sheets. He bit his lower lip so hard it lost its color, his fingers tightening in the fabric of the bed again. You could practically see his brain fuming with thoughts, a chaotic war raging behind his eyes as he weighed the comforting, dangerous warmth of the moment against the strict professional line you both lived by.
The silence stretched between you, heavy and thick with tension.
"Jiyong," you called out quietly, wanting him to look at you.
He lifted his head again, his dark eyes locking onto yours, completely vulnerable.
"Do you want me to go," you asked, your voice dropping to a breathless murmur, "or keep going?"
He stared at you for a long, agonizing beat. His chest rose and fell in a sharp, ragged breath. He didn't say a word, but the answer came when his hand reached back, his fingers trembling as they wrapped around your wrist. He didn't pull your hand away. Instead, his fingers gripped you gently, guiding your hand back down to the very base of his spine, pressing your palm firmly against the heated skin right at the elastic waistband of his sweatpants.
His eyes closed tightly, a soft, defeated sigh escaping his lips. "Don't go," he whispered.
You took a slow, steady breath to steady the trembling in your own hands.
"Okay," you whispered, the word sounding more like a confession than a promise. "I'm not going anywhere."
His fingers finally uncurled from your wrist, his arm dropping heavily back onto the mattress, a silent surrender.
You didn't rush. You let your palms settle fully against the burning skin of his lower back, molding to the lean, sharp curve of his waist. Slowly, deliberately, you began to move.
Your thumbs pressed back into the tight, roped muscles running parallel to his spine, sliding down toward the dip right above his waistband.
The moment you applied pressure, a sharp, ragged gasp tore from his throat.
"Ah—fuck," Jiyong choked out, his shoulders bunching instantly as he buried his face sideways into the pillow.
"Shh, it's okay," you murmured, your voice dropping into a low, soothing rhythm. You leaned forward, your chest hovering just inches above his bare back, letting him feel the steady, grounding weight of your presence. "Just breathe through it, Ji. I’ve got you."
But Jiyong couldn't seem to help himself. The months of isolation, the crushing weight of the tour, and the utter deprivation of gentle, intimate touch had left him entirely raw. As your thumbs hooked into the stubborn knots near his hip bones, applying a deep, rolling friction, his hips gave a slow, involuntary roll against the mattress.
A high, breathless whimper vibrated through his chest, sounding painfully sweet in the quiet room.
Hearing that sound again didn't shock you this time. Instead, a sudden, vicious spark of heat flared hot and low in your own stomach. Your pulse spiked, a heavy thrumming between your thighs where you still straddled him.
Seeing him like this—this global icon, this terrifyingly brilliant artist, reduced to a trembling, pliant mess beneath your hands—was intoxicating.
You wanted to soothe him, yes, but weirdly, deeply... you were completely turned on by it. You wanted to hear him make those sounds again. You wanted to be the one to drive every ounce of tension from his body, even if it meant pushing him over the edge.
"Y/N..." he gasped, his fingers clawing desperately into the sheets, bunching the white fabric tightly into his fists. He squirmed slightly, trying to shift away from the intense, pleasurable ache of your thumbs, his lower back arching up into your touch. "Wait, it's—it's too much..."
The sudden, desperate tension in his voice snapped the spell. The heavy, intoxicating haze that had been building in your chest evaporated in a split second, replaced by a cold spike of panic.
Your hands flew off his skin as if you’d been burned, and you scrambled backward, unstraddling his thighs. The sudden loss of your weight made the mattress shift violently. You dropped to your knees on the mattress beside his hip, your chest heaving as you looked down at his trembling, flushed back.
"Did I hurt you?" you breathed out, your voice laced with sudden, acute worry. "Ji? I’m sorry, did I press too hard?"
Jiyong didn't answer right away. He was breathing hard and unevenly, his ribs expanding sharply against the mattress, his skin still radiating an intense, feverish heat. He remained completely face down, his fists still white-knuckled in the bunched-up sheets.
Slowly, hesitantly, you reached out and gently touched the back of his neck, your fingers resting against his damp nape. The moment your cool hand made contact, a full-body shiver ran through him. Jiyong instinctively raised his head, his neck arching backward as he leaned blindly into your palm like a starved cat seeking warmth, desperate for the contact.
But the moment he did, his dark eyes opened.
For a fraction of a second, they were completely glazed over, dark and swimming with a raw, dazed vulnerability. Then, reality seemed to crash back into him all at once. His pupils dilated in pure horror. The realization of how he was reacting, of what he was leaning into, seemed to hit him like a physical blow.
He wrenched his head away from your hand and dropped his face violently back into the pillow, burying himself so deeply it was a wonder he could even breathe.
You stayed there, frozen on your knees, your hand hovering uselessly in the empty air. The silence in the room became absolute, suffocating and incredibly heavy.
"Jiyong?" you tried again, your voice cracking slightly, reaching out to touch his shoulder.
The words were muffled by the plush fabric of the pillow, but they were sharp, clipped, and completely devoid of the warmth he had treated you with just minutes before. It felt like a slap to the face.
"What?" you whispered, your heart sinking into your stomach. "Ji, if I hurt your back, let me at least get you some ice, or—"
"Just leave, Y/N. Please," he interrupted, his voice tighter now, trembling with an emotion you couldn't quite pin down. He curled inward slightly, pulling his knees up just enough to alter the angle of his body against the mattress, his shoulders hunching defensively.
You stared at the tense line of his spine, your brain scrambling to understand the sudden, drastic shift. He wasn't moving. He was actively hiding. And then, your eyes caught the way the heavy white duvet was draped over his lower half, the awkward, rigid way he was holding his hips away from the mattress, and the burning, brilliant crimson that had consumed his ears and the back of his neck.
The pieces clicked together in your mind, a sudden wave of understanding washing over you.
"Is this because you got hard?" you asked softly.
The question was barely a murmur, but in the dead quiet of the suite, it sounded like a thunderclap.
Beneath you, Jiyong froze completely, his entire body going entirely rigid as if he had stopped breathing altogether.
Your hand came out gently, your palm settling against the rigid, burning muscle of his shoulder. He flinched slightly at the contact but didn't pull away, remaining buried face-down in the plush white pillow.
"Please," you whispered, the word thick with an honesty that made your own throat tighten. "Look at me. You—you are my best friend here. I don't want to fuck this up."
The confession hung heavily in the dim, twilight air of the hotel suite. Your fingers twitched against his skin, feeling the frantic, hard thud of his pulse. You felt utterly exposed sitting there on the mattress, the sudden boundary shift leaving you completely unmoored. You cared about him too much—valued the rare, safe sanctuary you had built together on this grueling tour too much—to let a moment of physical vulnerability ruin everything.
For a long, agonizing beat, Jiyong didn't move. The only sound was the ragged, uneven catch of his breath against the fabric of the bed.
Then, with an agonizing slowness, he shifted.
He didn't sit up, and he didn't put his shirt back on, but he turned his head to the side, letting his cheek rest against the pillow so he could look up at you. His messy, unstyled hair fell across his forehead, partially shadowing his eyes, but you could still see the raw, exposed emotion swimming in them. The brilliant crimson flush was still painted across his high cheekbones and his ears, making him look devastatingly young, stripped of every ounce of the fierce 'G-Dragon' mystique.
He looked at your hand where it still rested on his shoulder, then slowly tracked his gaze up to meet your eyes.
"You didn't fuck anything up," he rasped, his voice so quiet, so completely wrecked and dry, that it was barely a breath. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply. "I did. I'm... fuck, Y/N, I'm just so embarrassed."
He let out a short, self-deprecating breath that was supposed to be a laugh but sounded closer to a choked sob. He closed his eyes tightly for a second, his fingers blindly reaching out to squeeze a handful of the white bedsheets, as if grounding himself.
"I don't want you to think..." Jiyong trailed off, his voice cracking. He opened his eyes again, looking up at you with a desperate, pleading sincerity. "I'm just so tired. And having someone—having you—touch me like that, when it's been so long since anyone just... cared... my body just reacted. I couldn't control it. I'm sorry. I don't want things to be weird between us either. You're the only person I have left who feels real."
Your heart practically broke at the raw honesty in his voice. Seeing him so defenseless, stripped of the armor he wore for the rest of the world, made any lingering awkwardness fade into a fierce wave of affection.
"Ji, look at me," you said softly, your hand sliding from his shoulder up to the side of his neck, your thumb gently brushing over his burning cheekbone. You waited until his dark, anxious eyes locked onto yours. "You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. Seriously. You’re human. You’re exhausted, you’re starved for comfort, and your body just reacted to being taken care of. I don't think any less of you. I promise."
Jiyong let out a long, shaky breath, his shoulders visibly dropping an inch as your words sank in. The harsh, defensive tension in his frame began to bleed out, replaced by a heavy, pliable warmth. He leaned his face slightly into your palm, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheek as he drank in the simple comfort of your touch.
"Really?" he murmured, his voice incredibly small.
"Really," you smiled gently.
Your fingers trailed down the side of his neck, tracing the delicate slope of his collarbone before resting flat against his chest. The skin there was hot, his heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm right beneath your palm. As you kept your hand there, radiating a steady, grounding warmth, Jiyong completely melted. He let out a low, defeated sigh, his body going entirely lax against the mattress, completely at your mercy.
You looked down at him—at the flush on his cheeks, the dark, dilated depths of his eyes, and the sheer vulnerability radiating from him. The electric heat that had filled the room earlier hadn't actually gone away; it had just been waiting.
Your own pulse quickened, a familiar, dizzying thrill pooling low in your stomach. You wanted to give him the comfort he was so desperate for, but more than that, you wanted to hear those sweet, breathless sounds again.
You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a breathless, conspiratorial whisper. "This can be... our little secret."
Jiyong blinked up at you through the messy strands of his hair, his chest rising and falling in a sudden, sharp breath. "Secret?" he repeated, his voice raspy and thick.
"Yeah," you murmured, your fingers lightly tracing a slow circle over his chest, making him shiver. "Just... just this once. No boundaries, no overthinking. Just you and me, right here. No one ever has to know."
He stared at you for a long, agonizing second, his mind clearly racing as he processed the dangerous, intoxicating offer. He bit his lower lip, a sudden flash of intense, burning desire cutting through the fog of his exhaustion. He knew the line they were crossing, but looking up at you, he didn't care anymore. He was too weak, too hungry for you, to say no.
"Just this once," he breathed, a low, desperate groan escaping him as his hand came up to wrap tightly around your wrist, pulling your hand lower down his stomach.
Your palm slid over the smooth skin of his lower stomach, tracking lower and lower until your fingers brushed against the thick, elastic waistband of his sweatpants.
You paused for a fraction of a second, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes locked onto his. Jiyong was staring back at you, his dark eyes wide, completely dilated and heavy with a desperate, unblinking focus. He swallowed hard, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to urge you forward.
Slowly, tentatively, you slid your hand down, pressing your palm flat over the soft fabric of his sweatpants.
The moment you cupped his length, Jiyong’s head snapped back into the pillow.
"Ah—f-fuck..." he gasped out, a high, completely uninhibited sound that vibrated straight through his chest. His hips gave a sudden, involuntary jerk upward into your hand, his body reacting instantly to the heavy, targeted warmth of your palm.
Hearing that sharp, raw sound cut through the quiet twilight of the room sent a fierce, electric jolt straight to your core.
A deep, heavy thrumming bloomed between your own thighs, and you could feel yourself getting incredibly wet, your panties dampening instantly at the sheer intensity of his reaction. It was intoxicating. The knowledge that you—and only you—could reduce him to this trembling, breathless mess made your mind race.
You didn't pull away. Instead, you let your fingers flex slightly, gently squeezing him through the soft gray cotton, exploring the rigid, pulsing weight of him.
Jiyong let out a ragged, choked sob, his fingers instantly flying up to grip the white hotel bedsheets again, bunching the fabric tightly in his fists as a violent shiver ran down his spine. His toes curled, his entire frame tightening as he tried to absorb the overwhelming rush of friction.
"Good like this?" you whispered, your voice dropping into a low, breathless murmur as you leaned down closer to him, the scent of his expensive cologne and heated skin filling your senses.
"Yeah—yes... fuck, Y/N," he rasped out, his voice completely wrecked, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as a brilliant crimson flush spread all the way down his neck to his collarbones. He rolled his hips slightly against your palm, a subtle, begging motion that told you exactly how desperate he was.
You let out a soft, shaky breath, your thumb tracing the long, hard ridge of him through the fabric, feeling the frantic, rapid pounding of his heart mirrored in the pulse point beneath your hand. The sheer vulnerability of his body pressing into yours made you want to push him completely over the edge.
"I can touch you more if you want," you murmured against his skin, your fingers sliding right up to the elastic waistband, hovering at the edge of his sweatpants.
"You'd be fine with that?" Jiyong whispered, his voice trembling as his eyes fluttered open to search yours. There was a fragile, lingering trace of anxiety in his gaze, a silent plea for reassurance that he wasn't pulling you into something you'd regret.
You offered him a soft, grounded smile, your fingers resting steadily at the edge of his waistband. "I think so. I will stop if anything feels wrong, and you can stop me for the same reason."
Jiyong went completely still, your words hanging in the warm space between you. He looked down at your hand, his chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths as he processed the safety of the boundary you had just drawn. It was a lifeline. For a man whose entire life was dictated by schedules, managers, and the intense demands of the public, having total control over his own body in this moment was a rare, beautiful freedom.
A moment of quiet thinking passed, the tension in his jaw finally melting away. Slowly, deliberately, Jiyong nodded.
"Sounds... sounds good," he breathed out, a heavy, raspy exhale escaping his lips.
He shifted slightly on the mattress, turning his body fully toward you. His dark eyes flicked from your face down to the front of your shirt, a sudden, burning curiosity coloring his expression. He swallowed hard, his hand reaching out tentatively, his fingers hovering just an inch away from your hip.
"Shall I...?" Jiyong paused, his voice dropping to a low, breathless murmur that sent a violent shiver right down your spine. "Touch you too?"
The question hung in the air, thick and heavy, sending a fierce wave of heat crashing directly into your core. Hearing him ask for permission—his voice so low, so gravelly and laced with a hesitant, burning desire—made your knees go completely weak where you knelt beside him.
"Yes," you whispered, the word escaping you before you could even think to filter it. "Please, Ji."
At your verbal confirmation, a dark, intense focus settled into Jiyong’s eyes. The nervous, boyish hesitation vanished, replaced by the raw, instinctual intensity of a man who had been starved for a long, long time.
His hand, warm and slightly trembling, slid firmly onto your hip. Even through the fabric of your clothes, his grip felt possessive, anchoring you to him. Slowly, his fingers tracked upward, the palm of his hand smoothing over the curve of your waist, sending goosebumps breaking out across your skin. He didn't pull your shirt up yet; instead, he just pressed his hand flat against your stomach, letting his thumb rub slow, heavy circles against you, feeling the frantic, rapid pace of your breathing.
"You're shaking," he murmured, his voice a raspy, beautiful friction against the quiet of the room. He lifted his head slightly from the pillow, his gaze locking onto yours as his hand slid lower, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. "Are you sure? Tell me to stop if..."
"Don't stop," you interrupted, your voice breathless and desperate.
To prove it, your own hand finally moved. You gripped the elastic waistband of his gray sweatpants and slid them down, letting your bare palm cup him directly.
Jiyong’s head fell back instantly, a loud, ragged hitch catching in his throat.
Skin-to-skin, he felt incredibly hot, smooth, and pulsing hard against your fingers.
As your thumb lightly stroked over the sensitive tip of his length, catching the slick moisture gathering there, Jiyong let out a high, breathless whimper that ended in a low moan.
His free hand blindly reached up, gripping the back of your neck to pull you down into a deep, bruising kiss.
His mouth tasted like the sweet iced coffee from earlier, but the kiss was all heat and desperation. He parted your lips with his tongue, groaning directly into your mouth as your hand closed firmly around his length, beginning a slow, steady stroke.
Beneath your hand, Jiyong’s hips began to move in earnest, meeting the slide of your palm with a heavy, rhythmic roll. Every time your thumb grazed the underside of his shaft, his body shuddered violently, his tongue tangling deeper with yours, his breath coming in short, needy gasps against your lips.
While your hand drove him crazy, Jiyong’s fingers finally slipped beneath the fabric of your underwear. The moment his fingers brushed against your sensitive flesh, finding you completely drenched and slick for him, a low, triumphant growl vibrated deep in his chest.
"F-fuck, Y/N," he panted, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against yours, his dark eyes looking at you through a heavy, dazed fog of pure pleasure. "You're so wet for me..."
His fingers stayed shallow, gently caressing the slick, sensitive area between your thighs as his thumb migrated upward. Slowly, tentatively, he began to brush his thumb over your clit, applying a light, circling pressure that sent a sharp, electric jolt straight to your core.
Your hips gave a sudden, helpless twitch against his hand, a breathy moan escaping your lips.
Hearing your reaction, Jiyong paused for a fraction of a second. He looked up at you through the messy strands of his hair, a familiar flicker of doubt crossing his face. Even in the middle of this intense, overwhelming fog, the insecurity that plagued him backstage—the constant need to know if he was doing enough, if he was pleasing the person in front of him—reared its head.
"You like it like this?" he whispered, his voice trembling and vulnerable, searching your face desperately for any sign of hesitation. "Am I... is it okay?"
You didn't answer with words. The sheer sweetness of his concern, paired with the unbearable, delicious ache building between your legs, was too much to handle.
You leaned forward and shut him up by burying your lips against his.
The kiss was deep, possessive, and entirely reassuring, your tongue tangling with his to cut off any further apologies or doubts. At the same time, your hand closed firmly around his length again, restarting a steady, heavy stroke that drew a muffled, ragged groan directly into your mouth.
Jiyong’s body completely surrendered to the gesture. The insecurity vanished, melted away by the heat of your lips and the deliberate, rhythmic friction of your palm. His thumb on your clit grew bolder, pressing down with a firmer, more confident stroke that matched the needy, desperate roll of his hips against your hand.
He whimpered into the kiss, his fingers gripping your hip so tightly it would leave marks, completely lost in the private, intoxicating world the two of you had built inside the quiet room.
When the deep, bruising kiss finally broke, both of you panting heavily as you rested your foreheads together. The space between your faces was filled with the hot, rapid syncopation of your breaths. Jiyong’s dark eyes were completely uncovered now, fixed entirely on your face, tracking the flush on your cheeks and the slight tremble of your lips.
Slowly, his thumb kept up its agonizingly perfect rhythm against your clit, keeping you balanced on the edge, before his middle finger curled and gently pushed all the way into your tight, soaking heat.
Your eyes snapped shut, your fingers instantly digging into the smooth, tense muscles of his bare shoulders as your hips bucked helplessly into his hand. The sudden fullness was overwhelming, a delicious, searing friction that made your head tilt back, a high, broken whimper tearing from your throat.
Jiyong didn't move his finger right away. He kept it buried deep inside you, hooking slightly, completely mesmerized by the way your body clamped down around him.
He watched your expression change in real time—the way your brow furrowed with pure pleasure, the breathless, needy sounds slipping past your lips, the sheer vulnerability of your surrender to him.
A soft, deeply emotional exhale left his lips; looking at you right now, he was just a boy utterly captivated by the person who had saved him from his own chaos.
"Why are you so beautiful?" he whispered, his voice cracking slightly with an intensity that went far deeper than just physical desire.
His thumb stroked over your clit again, and his finger began to move inside you with a slow, agonizingly deep slide, pulling another breathless gasp from your chest. "Look at me, Y/N. Please. Let me see you."
Your eyes fluttered open, heavy and glazed, locking onto his. Jiyong was looking up at you with an expression that made your breath catch—he was tracking every twitch of your facial muscles, every hitch in your breathing, drinking you in as if trying to commit this exact second to memory.
His finger stroked deep inside you again, twisting slightly, and you let out a weak, shaking whine, your forehead dropping back against his collarbone. You could feel his length pulsing rigidly against your thigh, rock-hard and slick, practically begging for release.
Jiyong’s breathing hitched. He stopped his hand for a moment, leaving his finger buried deep within your heat, anchoring you both in the suffocating quiet of the room. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply against your forehead.
"Y/N..." he whispered, his voice incredibly thick, strained to the absolute limit.
"Ji?" you murmured against his hot skin.
He shifted beneath you, his hands moving to cup your waist, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned white. He looked up at you, his dark eyes burning with a sudden, fierce intensity that made your heart hammer against your ribs.
"Since... since this is a one-time thing," he started, his voice cracking slightly as he struggled to find the words. He bit his lower lip, a raw, desperate vulnerability bleeding into his expression. "Our little secret... just for today..."
He trailed off, his gaze flicking down to where your bodies were joined, then back up to your eyes. The unsaid request hung in the air, heavy and electric. If this was the only night they would ever have, the only time the boundaries would blur before the crushing weight of the tour snapped them back into reality... why hold back? Why leave anything unsaid?
"Ji," you breathed, your thumb lightly tracing the sensitive ridge of his length, making his hips twitch involuntarily. "Tell me what you want."
"I want to go all in," he rasped, the confession tearing out of him like a prayer. "I don't want to just use my hands. I want to feel you. All of you. Please... can I?"
The words seemed to hang suspended in the dim twilight of the room, heavy and absolute.
The intoxicating haze that had been clouding your brain suddenly cleared just enough for reality to crash back in, cold and sharp. All in. That was a massive step. It wasn't just a blurred line or a temporary lapse in professional boundaries anymore—it was crossing a point of no return.
Your mind raced, a sudden panic flaring in your chest as your eyes darted around the quiet suite. There were no condoms here. No protection. Nothing packed in your bag or lying on his nightstand.
The only thing you actually had was this weird, consuming, and deeply intoxicating feeling that had been quietly building between the two of you for months, hidden beneath the guise of late-night fittings, shared jokes, and quiet backstage sanctuaries.
Neither of you had seen it coming, but now that it was out in the open, it felt completely undeniable. It was a gravitational pull, rendering any logical argument completely useless.
Jiyong felt the sudden stillness in your body. The intense, burning heat in his eyes immediately softened into a look of quiet apprehension. His finger stopped moving inside you, though he kept his hands resting gently on your waist, waiting, completely willing to back down if you panicked. He didn't push. He just watched you breathe.
You looked down at him—at the raw, desperate hope written across his face, the way his body was practically trembling with the effort of holding back, and the profound trust he was placing in your hands.
You didn't want to think about tomorrow. You didn't want to think about the tour, the managers, or the strict reality waiting outside that heavy oak door. You just wanted him.
Slowly, deliberately, you moved.
You pulled away from his hand, the sudden absence of his finger leaving you with a cold, aching emptiness. Jiyong let out a low, questioning whimper, but before he could speak, you shifted your weight.
Dragging your knees across the plush mattress, you moved up his body, officially straddling his lap.
The transition brought your core directly over the rigid, pulsing length of him. Even through the thin barrier of your underwear, the heat of him pressed right against your soaking center, making a sharp, needy gasp catch in your throat.
Jiyong’s breath hitched violently. His hands flew up from the mattress, his fingers digging firmly into your hips to steady you as he looked up at you, his dark eyes wide and completely blown out with a mixture of shock and sheer, unadulterated desire.
Your hands slid down his chest, your fingers hooking into the elastic waistband of your underwear and pushing it down your thighs until you kicked it away completely.
Jiyong didn't waste a single second. With a low, desperate growl, his hands moved to his own sweatpants, shoving them down his lean legs along with his boxers until there was absolutely nothing left between you but the suffocating heat of the room.
The sudden, stark reality of being completely naked beneath you hit him all at once. As you sat squarely over his lap, the smooth, weeping tip of his length brushed directly against your soaking wet entrance.
Under the intensity of your gaze, Jiyong suddenly blinked, a flash of acute self-consciousness piercing through the daze of his pleasure.
He felt so fucking seen. Without the oversized clothes to hide behind, his ribs, his sharp collarbones, and his fragile frame were completely on display. Panic flickered in his eyes, and he instinctively reached out toward the floor where his discarded black t-shirt lay, his body tensing as if to pull it over himself, to shield his insecurity from the person he cared about most.
Your hands caught his wrists, gently but firmly pinning them down against the white sheets on either side of his head. You leaned down, your hair falling around both of your faces like a curtain, shutting out the rest of the world.
"You are so beautiful, Jiyong," you whispered, your voice thick with a fierce, unwavering sincerity.
Jiyong froze beneath you, his hand dropping the fabric of the shirt. He looked up at you, his chest heaving as his dark eyes searched yours, desperate to find any hint of pity or lie. But there was none. There was only pure, unadulterated adoration, a deep reverence for the boy lying exposed beneath you.
A ragged, trembling breath escaped his lips, his throat bobbing as he swallowed down a sudden rush of emotion. The rejection of his own body, the exhaustion, the harsh criticisms of the industry—it all seemed to wash away under the warmth of your words.
He let his head fall back into the pillow, a soft, completely defeated sigh parting his lips.
"Y/N..." he choked out, his fingers curling upward to tangle tightly with yours, locking your hands together against the mattress. He arched his lower back slightly, pressing his rigid, pulsing heat directly against you, a silent, pleading invitation. "Please."
You let out a breathy, trembling gasp, guiding his length to align perfectly with your center. Slowly, deliberately, you began to sink down.
The feeling of him stretching you open, smooth and incredibly thick, made your eyes snap shut. You let out a high, fractured cry as you took him in, inch by agonizing inch, until your hips met his with a soft, heavy thud.
Jiyong’s entire body went rigid. A loud, raw groan tore from the very depth of his chest, a sound of pure, unbridled relief and overwhelming pleasure that echoed in the quiet suite. His hips gave an involuntary, desperate upward thrust, burying himself as deeply inside your slick warmth as he could possibly go.
"F-fuck," he gasped, his eyes tightly shut, his knuckles turning white where they were locked with yours. "You feel... so tight... so warm, Y/N. It's too good."
You couldn't even answer. The sheer fullness of him inside you, the intense, dangerous friction of skin against skin without any barriers, sent a wave of dizziness crashing through your brain. You began to move, lifting your hips and sliding down him in a slow, agonizingly perfect rhythm.
Every time you dropped back down, Jiyong let out a needy, breathless whimper, his head rolling helplessly on the pillow.
He was holding onto your hands so tightly your knuckles were numb, his entire upper body trembling with the sheer effort of keeping himself from unraveling right then and there. But even in the dead center of all this overwhelming pleasure, his mind was still looking for you, still desperate to make sure he wasn't alone in the deep end.
"Y/N..." he whined, the sound high, needy, and utterly stripped of any pride. He lifted his head slightly, his dark, glazed eyes locking onto yours with a pleading intensity. "Tell me it's good to you too, please. Tell me what to do."
Hearing that raw, vulnerable plea—seeing this brilliant, untouchable man begging for reassurance while buried so deeply inside you—made something shift inside your chest. The heat between your thighs flared dangerously hot.
"Ji, it’s so good," you breathed out, your voice cracking as you lifted your hips and slid down him again, harder this time. A sharp, needy groan tore from his throat at the sudden depth. "It’s perfect. You’re perfect."
You unlocked your fingers from his, sliding your hands up to cup his face, your thumbs wiping away the sweat beaded on his high cheekbones. You leaned down, pressing your forehead against his, letting him feel the frantic, ragged pace of your own breathing.
"Don't hold back," you whispered against his lips, your hips initiating a faster, rolling rhythm that made him gasp. "Just move with me, Ji. Right there... do that."
At your command, a low, guttural sound vibrated deep in his chest. Jiyong didn't need to be told twice. His hands flew to your waist, his long fingers digging firmly into your skin to anchor you as his hips began to lift off the mattress, meeting every single one of your downward strokes with a heavy, desperate upward thrust.
"Ah—f-fuck..." he choked out, his eyes squeezing shut as the frictionless heat of skin on skin became too intense to bear.
He was completely matching your pace now, his movements growing bolder, hungrier, driven by the knowledge that this was their one, fleeting night.
Every time his hips slammed up against yours, the sensitive crown of his length clipped your sweet spot, pulling a high, broken cry from your lips that only made him push harder. The quiet suite was filled with the heavy, rhythmic sounds of your bodies colliding, the slick friction of your heat, and the ruined, breathless noises Jiyong was making into the crook of your neck as he chased the edge.
"Ji—ah!" you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the pace grew more frantic. You forced your eyes open, looking down at him through the hazy twilight of the room. He looked ¡ right back at you, his face completely flushed, sweat dampening the messy strands of hair clinging to his forehead.
"Look at me," Jiyong panted, his hands shifting from your waist to grip your hips, guiding your movements as he kept up that deep, heavy rhythm. "Y/N... look at me. I'm right here."
"I am," you whimpered, your voice shaking as a wave of intense friction rolled through your lower stomach. "I can't... I can't think straight, Ji."
A small, breathless smile broke through his dazed expression—a flash of the boyish Jiyong you knew so well, even in the middle of all this heat.
"Don't think," he murmured, his chest heaving as he thrust up against you again, eliciting a sharp cry from your lips. "Just... stay with me. Tell me you're not going to regret this tomorrow."
"Never," you breathed out, leaning down to press your lips against his jaw, before trailing down to the sensitive skin of his neck. You kissed him there, right over his racing pulse, your teeth gently grazing the warm skin.
Jiyong let out a loud, ragged groan into the pillow at the sensation, his entire body shuddering. "Fuck... okay," he wheezed, his fingers tightening on your hips. He wanted to give you everything, to make sure you were just as undone as he was.
Slowly, deliberately, he let go of one of your hips. His hand slid up your thigh, tracking through the slick moisture gathering where your bodies met, until his fingers found your highly sensitive clit.
The moment his thumb brushed against it, your head snapped back. "Ji! Stop—wait, that's too much—"
"No, let me," he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly command right by your ear as he kept his thumb moving in small, firm, devastating circles. He didn't stop thrusting either, his hips rolling up to meet you in a rhythmic, agonizingly perfect syncopation with his hand. "I want to hear you. Make those sounds for me, Y/N."
The dual stimulation was overwhelming. With him buried deep inside you and his thumb driving you absolutely crazy on the outside, the tension in your lower stomach coiled tight, pulling like a string ready to snap.
You buried your face into the crook of his neck, your breath coming in hot, ragged pants as you kissed his skin frantically, trying to muffle the needy, broken cries tearing from your throat.
"That's it," Jiyong encouraged, his own breathing completely wrecked now, his hips moving faster, hitting that sweet spot over and over again. "Come for me. Let it go, right here."
The tension coiled in your lower stomach snapped like a rubber band, sending a violent, white-hot wave of pleasure crashing through your entire body.
Your eyes rolled back as your hips locked against his, your inner muscles clamping down around his length in a series of intense, desperate spasms. A high, shattered cry tore from your throat, echoing loudly in the quiet room as you completely unraveled, your fingers digging so hard into his shoulders that your nails practically bit into his skin.
"Fuck, Ji!" you sobbed out, your body trembling violently as the orgasm took over, waves of pure, dizzying release pulsing through you.
Hearing your undone cries and feeling your tight heat squeeze him so fiercely drove Jiyong straight to the absolute brink. A loud, guttural groan tore from his chest, his hips giving a few heavy, uncoordinated thrusts upward into you as he tried to absorb the sheer intensity of your climax. He stopped his thumb, his hand flying back to your hip to hold you firmly against him as his entire frame went rigid, his muscles straining to the point of pain.
He was right there. One more movement would push him over, but through the blinding, heavy fog of his own impending release, he forced his hips to freeze. He lay panting beneath you, his chest heaving violently, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he literally trembled from the effort of holding back.
"Y/N..." he choked out, his voice completely wrecked, a low, desperate whine vibrating in his throat. He lifted his head slowly, his eyes dark, completely blown out, and swimming with an agonizing mix of pleasure and restraint. "Y/N, please..."
You could feel him pulsing inside you, rock-hard and leaking, begging for the final friction. You blinked through your dazed, post-orgasmic fog, looking down at his beautiful, flushed face.
"Ji?" you breathed, your voice shaking.
"Can I?" he whispered, the question raw and breathless, a final, desperate check-in before he crossed the point of no return. He bit his lower lip, his fingers twitching on your hips. "Can I finish inside you? Please... tell me it's okay."
The sheer vulnerability of him asking—even when he was entirely undone, even when his body was screaming for release—made your heart ache with an overwhelming surge of affection.
"Yes," you whispered, leaning down to press a soft, reassuring kiss to his sweat-dampened forehead. "Yes, Jiyong. Do it. Come inside me."
The verbal permission snapped the last thread of his control.
With a loud, broken cry, Jiyong’s hips arched up violently, burying himself into you as deeply as physically possible.
He threw his head back into the pillow, his jaw clenching as he came, a thick, heavy release pulsing deep inside your warmth. He let out a long, ragged, ruined groan that sounded like a surrender, his fingers clawing into your hips as his body shuddered through the intense, blinding waves of his climax.
He held himself deep inside you for several long, breathless seconds, his chest expanding sharply against yours as his pulse slowly began to steady. Finally, the tension left his frame entirely. His grip on your hips loosened, and he let his head fall forward into the crook of your neck, his entire body going completely, beautifully lax beneath you.
For a long, suspended minute, neither of you spoke. There was only the sound of two ragged heartbeats gradually slowing down, trying to find a shared rhythm in the aftermath of the storm.
Slowly, Jiyong let out a long, weak sigh against your skin, the warm puff of his breath sending a lingering shiver down your spine. He shifted slightly, his long fingers trailing lazily up from your hips to the small of your back, his touch light and completely devoid of any remaining urgency.
He lifted his head from your shoulder, his dark eyes fluttering open. They were still deeply glazed, heavy-lidded and swimming in a dazed, post-coital fog. A soft, breathless smile tugged at the corner of his lips—a look of pure, unadulterated relief that made him look younger, stripped of the heavy crown he had to carry outside this room.
"Y/N..." he murmured, his voice incredibly raspy, the sound scraping beautifully against the silence.
You didn't answer with words. You couldn't. Your mind was still spinning from the sheer, overwhelming weight of what had just happened, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your own release. Instead, you leaned down, your face hovering just inches from his.
Jiyong reached up, his thumb gently catching the line of your jaw, guiding you the last fraction of an inch until your lips met.
The kiss was entirely different from the frantic, desperate heat of before. It was sloppy, wet, and beautifully lazy. Your mouths slid together with a slow, uncoordinated friction, heavy with the taste of each other and the faint sweetness of the iced coffee from earlier. Jiyong parted your lips with a soft, sluggish swipe of his tongue, letting out a faint, contented hum directly into your mouth. It was a completely relaxed, comfortable kiss—the kind shared between two people who knew each other's contours by heart, entirely stripped of any pretension.
He tilted his head slightly, trying to deepen it, but his movements were heavy, his muscles completely spent. Your lips lingered against his, trading slow, damp presses that felt less like passion and more like a quiet anchors grounding you both in the warm twilight of the mattress.
But as the kiss slowly stretched out, growing lazier and lazier, the heavy, suffocating fog of pleasure began to thin.
From the nightstand, your phone began to vibrate violently, the aggressive buzzing rattling against the wood. The screen flashed bright white, illuminating the tangled sheets and the flush on Jiyong’s face.
Jiyong let out a soft, disappointed groan against your jaw, his long fingers tightening on your waist to hold you in place. "Ignore it," he mumbled, his voice thick and sluggish with sleep. "Just... stay."
You glanced over his shoulder at the screen. The caller ID read Lead Manager, but looking down at Jiyong—at the soft, completely relaxed look on his face and the way he was holding onto you like a lifeline—the panic didn't make you run. Instead, you reached over, swiped the screen to silent, and flipped the phone face down.
Tomorrow's problems could wait. Right now, he needed this. You needed this.
Slowly, you eased yourself down beside him on the mattress. Jiyong didn't waste a second; he immediately shifted, pulling the heavy white duvet over both of your naked bodies to shut out the rest of the world. He tangled his legs with yours, his long arms wrapping securely around your waist as he pulled your back flush against his chest. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, letting out a long, deeply contented sigh that vibrated right against your skin.
For the first time in months, his body wasn't tense. Held in the quiet warmth of the room, tucked away from the cameras and the screaming stadiums, both of you drifted off into a deep, heavy sleep.
