🍒Cheoli's Cake Café🍒

"It looks good. The color is a little ehh." he lifts his hand and shakes it lightly back and forth.

Valid because you were thinking the same thing, because even though you loved this color, it didn't look the best on you.

"And you're positive I don't look like a busted can of refrigerated biscuits in this?"

If anyone would tell you the truth, it would be your best friend. Your ride or die. That's what they're there for, to love you even when the truth hurts. You take in a tiny inhale and wait because, frankly, the dress was a bit tighter than most of the clothes you wore. You weren't into overly baggy clothes, but tight clothes made you a smidge uncomfortable, and body con dresses? Absolutely sent straight from hell. Like, why do you need a sticky, second layer of skin?

You weren't super self-conscious, but stepping out of your comfort zone always warranted some hesitancy. You weren't one to fit the world's standard of beauty. You were soft in all the right places. You had thick, squishy thighs. A little note of love handles. hip dips. Ample breasts. a plushy belly that pudged over the top of your mid-rise jeans when you wore them and had a few little rolls when you sat down. The body of a goddess, really. You had to learn to love it in a world that loved to scream at you about how unhealthy it was. You were only human, and you only had one body. Why did you want to spend any more time hating it than you already had?

Kihyun rolls his eyes so hard you are sure he saw God behind them at your question. Then he glares at you and says nothing. You release your breath with a full-body sigh. You knew the answer before you asked the question, but still, if anyone would be honest with you, it would be Kihyun.

"Damn, a simple no would have sufficed. Drama king. " You make a face at him before disappearing back into the dressing room. You tug the dress as you begin to take it off.

"Hey, so, I met someone the other day."

The other day, aka anytime between last night and the day you were born, basically.

"Another one?" Kihyun asks you almost disapprovingly through the door. You tug the dress off and hang it back on the hanger, then place it on the hook to your right.

"Yeah, DJ Khaled. Another one. He's really nice. I kind of like him."

You grab the next dress, one by the brand you love, and tug it on, then open the door, turning your back to him, where the zipper is unzipped. You pull your hair up as you hear him stand up. His fingers grab the zipper carefully and pull it up in a swift motion. You drop your hair as you turn around.

"We've met twice already. He's a good guy. Nice job. Head of his department. You know I love a leader. Active. Works out consistently. Talented. He has THE cutest fucking lips I've ever seen and — what do we think about this one?"

You pause long enough to do a little spin for him. When he approves, you continue.

"He has his own place. He knows how to dress himself. We know the last one was wild… lived in the same dingy-ass sweatpants and ten-year-old shirts. I still can't believe he showed up to the company event in those raggedy ass clothes..."

"I can," Kihyun replies dryly. You click your tongue as you close the dressing room door behind you and roll your eyes. This bitch.

"Anyway, he's hardworking. Good at what he does. A dog dad. You know we love a man good with animals. He's kind of pouty sometimes. It's cute. He's funny…." You tug the dress off. "I don't know, Ki. You can't help but be drawn to him. It's like the whole room shifts when he walks in, like he commands its attention by just being there. I would follow him anywhere, and he wouldn't have to ask me."

You begin to put your pants back on, sliding one leg in and tugging it until your foot pops out of the bottom.

"Yeah, nah. I don't like him."

You put your other leg in your pants and tug them up before buttoning and zipping them, rolling your eyes.

"You hate every guy I like, Kihyun. What else is new?"

"Yeah cause they're men."

You open the dressing room door as you tug your shirt over your head, pulling it down and adjusting it.

"You do realize that you are also a man, right?"

He's so fucking annoying because he doesn't miss a beat when he replies.

"I'm built different."

Now it was your turn to not miss a beat.

"Yeah, fucking wrong."

You grab the items you don't want and place them on the rack to the left, leaving the ones you do hanging in the room and the door open, planning to grab a few more items to try on before ending your shopping trip.

"Why are you like this? It feels like jealousy if you ask me. It's giving "no one is good enough for her because I secretly love her" type shit. The book girlies would eat you up if you were single."

You tease as you adjust your clothing. He doesn't say anything, just shrugs and sips his drink. You scoff and laugh.

"This is where I would offer you one chance to let you get me out of your system, but you are very obviously a taken man. Plus, that one time in our early 20's should have been enough for you. Pretty sure that's why you're so fucking stupid now. I may have fucked a few brain cells straight out of your head that night."

Kihyun was very taken. He had been dating Alex for years now. The relationship had been pretty solid from the start. They moved at their own pace and seemed to orbit each other inside their own little universe. It made you happy to see your friend so happy. You weren't particularly close with Alex, but close enough that you would occasionally go out with them for things. You've even had a few friend-cations where they came with Kihyun, while you brought whoever you were dating at the time or your sibling.

Your relationship with Kihyun was a lot different than your others. Yes, there had been times when you were very, very willing to throw yourself at him because, like, look at him. And you did once. Your ability to compartmentalize was, quite frankly, award-winning because the next morning after you turned him every which way but lose, it was as if nothing happened, and there were no issues in your friendship after. Full emotional detachment. Crazy work.

You take two full steps away from him when he finally speaks up.

"I mean, are you offering?"

You stop instantly and turn back to face him, a look of confusion painted on your face. You just stare at him like he grew three extra heads in the very moment, because what the hell did he mean by that? Like, WHY would he want to know if you were offering him a chance? You've been friends for so long; there's no way he's that type of person. He couldn't be. Could he? Your brain is firing on all pistons and then some. You cock your head to the side before you finally open your mouth.

"No? Because I… have morals, Ki. I'm not about to play homewrecker, and I am really worried you're about to hurt my feelings by saying you cheat. Would you take up the offer if I made it?"

He stays silent as he lifts his hand and moves it towards you as if signaling he's waiting for your answer to his question about said offering. You know him well enough to know that this is a yes to yours. You sigh heavily and rub your forehead a little, disappointment flooding your system. This was your oldest, closest friend, but you couldn't just be friends with someone who has zero problems cheating. You open your mouth but can't form a single coherent sentence, and you stutter around for a moment.

"Kihyun, are you fucking serious? You're telling me that if I gave any indication I was interested, you would take it? You would just… not give a fuck?"

"Yeah, well, you're my hall pass, so…" he responds, unfazed by your mini crashout. A crashout he successfully derails in that very moment.

"Wait, what?" You spit out cause hello, what the fuck? Did you actually hear him correctly? He shrugs his shoulders a little too nonchalantly for the conversation, at least for you.

"Alex and I had the hall pass discussion a long time ago. We revisit it every so often, keep it current."

Again, your brain is malfunctioning, having a cute little meltdown trying to process what the hell he just said to you, and he just added to that list of things you're trying to wrap your head around.

"And, somehow, I am yours, and they're just…okay with that? How-…wha-…huh?"

You sputter for a second before reigniting the crashout.

"So, they have no problem. Zero issues in real life. Like not fantasy, kiki'ing together for funsies like fangirls or something? and given US…..like you and me?.."

You waved a finger back and forth between the two of you.

"They know about that night at that frat party, right? Are you fucking insane? Like, do you have a legit diagnosis that I don't know about? Like, proper crazy? Certifiable?" you ramble out, practically word vomiting at him at this point.

"Listen, there's delusion, and there's reality. We have an option for both."

"I'm sorry, what?"

Yeah, cause that was going to make everything better. Delusion. Reality. You were starting to question if you somehow got dropped off in a parallel timeline. Why does this conversation feel like a funhouse mirror?

"God, I can't fucking stand you, y\n." He scoffs, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees.

"I left my crayons at home, so I'm gonna need you to be a big fucking girl and pay attention while I explain this."

You glare at him as you rear your arm back, fist curled up softly before dropping it. Fucking insufferable ass.

"Alex and I have a phenomenal relationship. Comfortable. We trust each other. Yes, they know about that one time. Yes, they still okayed you as my real-life option… aht aht…shut up."

He holds a finger out as you take a breath in to ask more questions, stopping you before you can even open your mouth.

"We know you. We know how last time went. There are no problems between us. No one caught feelings. Nothing. It was strictly sex."

Every word that comes out of his mouth is more insane than the last, but as you guessed, the logic worked. You wouldn't know. You hadn't been in a relationship that comfortable. All of yours had been pretty shitty, honestly. You had the vaguest idea of how healthy relationships worked. You just knew they were never a 'one size fits all' and more a “Your Mileage May Vary” thing.

You don't respond. You didn’t know how. You were sure that if you opened your mouth, more questions would fall out, and frankly, none of them were helping you at all right now. You just take a little breath and let it go.

"K, so what exactly do I do with this information?"

You look at him. He's still leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands dangle towards the floor before he turns them over and shrugs a little.

"Me."

Fucking shithead. He thinks he's funny. You click your tongue again.

"I'm retracting the hypothetical offer because your mouth is ruining the mood, like always. Every time you speak, I cringe so hard my clit shrivels up so far inside me, it sends me back to my fetal developmental days."

You pivot around to head back towards the store for more items to try on. You get maybe five steps away when Kihyun's hand catches your wrist. He tugs lightly to stop you before pulling you back.

"My mouth, huh? But that smart ass mouth of yours though?" He grits out, voice low enough only you can hear.

"It drives me fucking insane. You always have something smart to say, and some days I just really, really want to shut you up."

Now, what you were going to do was absolutely ignore the effect that had on you. Not just your brain but your body. That tone? What he said? It was like a fucking thrill. Your stomach, heart, and pussy fluttered. If Kihyun were to shift his fingers just a bit, he could probably feel your pulse beating like a madman under your skin.

Normally, this would have been the absolute perfect time to have something smart to say back, but your brain was totally blank. You were practically frozen, processing the entire thing while also actively trying to ignore the fact that you were suddenly hyper aware of him. His touch. His breathing. His cologne. His body is so close to yours. The energy radiating off of him. The tension. It was so thick, not even a butcher's knife would cut through it.

He drops your wrist without a word and steps back, putting space between the two of you. He nods towards the sales floor before returning to the chair he was sitting in. You flip through the racks slowly. It looked deliberate as you stopped occasionally to lift an item off and hold it up before placing it back. Your mind was half there now, too preoccupied with replaying the events from moments ago.

You try to avoid looking his way. You almost felt like his eyes were on you now, burning a hole in the side of your head or your back. You could see him in your peripheral vision, but not well enough. You move to a different clothing rack, one that places him in an almost clear front view. You lift a top from the rack, holding it out and up as you use inspecting it as a ruse to divert your attention to Kihyun. He's not looking at you but at his phone instead. You let out a heavy breath and place the top back on the clothing rack.

You continue your browsing, your mind everywhere all at once, when you come to a rack full of dresses. Bodycon dresses. God, they were cute, but again, the second skin thing, but something inside you stirred at the sight of them. You flip through them like you aren't really considering them until you see one. You take it off the rack with a smirk to yourself. You may not have had anything to say verbally, but you would have something to say. You grab a few more things and tuck the dress between them to keep it out of sight and head to the dressing room.

You play it safe, trying on a few tops and casual bottoms before you grab the dress. It was probably the prettiest shade of blue you had ever seen, honestly. Elegant, but also demanded your attention. It had a V-neckline with a tie around the neck, a low open back, and the bottom stopped mid-thigh. It hugged every curve like cling film, accenting every little squishy spot on your body. It felt weird to be wearing something like this. You felt exposed, vulnerable almost, and you were almost too chickenshit to open the dressing room door and step out in it, but the brat in you will always, always win. You tug the dress some more to adjust it, then step out.

"This is a pretty color, but I don't know about the style."

You say it so calmly, brushing your hands down the front of your body out of habit. Kihyun doesn't look up from his phone immediately, but when he does, his whole body goes stiff. Something flashes across his features before he schools them, his face going neutral. He doesn't take his eyes off you as he locks his phone with the thumb of the hand it's in.

He stands slowly, fucking deliberately. So much so that it gives you a thrill and you take a step back instinctively. You'll never know the thrill that gave him because he keeps his face schooled. He keeps moving forward, and you keep moving backwards until you're in the dressing room. He stops in the doorway, a hand on the door and the other on the frame. He takes his eyes off you just long enough to look around the store before stepping in as well. The speed at which he closes and locks the door, then has you against the dressing room wall, is almost incomprehensible. You gasp under your breath without thinking, and you swear he boxes you in even more.

"You think you're funny, think you're smart…"

He's gritting his words again. His voice almost rumbles like thunder, echoing the roar of your heart in your chest. His phone vibrates. His eyes never leave you as he fishes in his pocket for it.

"You're not gonna pull out a little pass or something, are you?" you tease, half on purpose and half in an attempt to break the tension because the way his gaze was locked on you was stealing the air from your lungs, and you did NOT want to admit it. He diverts his attention only long enough to speed type out a reply with one hand and then lock his phone. He doesn't pocket it again; instead, he tosses it on the bench where your purse is sitting. It lands with a soft clack. It could have landed on the moon, and he wouldn't have noticed because his focus was back on you.

"No, but I am about to pull this dick out for you to try on. See if it still fits as well as it did a few years ago."

And that was All.She.Wrote. If your brain had the chance to function, he would have ruined it because his mouth was against yours. It wasn't gentle or timid. It was deliberate and hard. His lips move, not rashly and not listlessly, but with intent. You freeze for a split second before you return it, immediately matching his energy. Your hands come to his waist while he still has you caged against the wall. He presses his body against you firmly, the wall hard against your back as a hand comes to your throat. It doesn't grip, just holds you there, the same way yours held his that night years ago. He pulls his mouth from yours but just barely.

"You're so cocky, you know that? Ever since that frat party, you walk around here like you run shit, and maybe you do, but right now? Better buckle up because I have had quite a few things I wanted to say to you since that night."

When he speaks, his lips brush the plush skin of your lips, and it sends a warm wave through you that mixes with the electric prick of his words. They combine under your skin like a stout cocktail. You hated how easily your body was reacting. A firm voice. Some control. A hand on your neck. It was pissing you off. You knew he could feel the way your pulse hammered wildly under his fingers. He smirked at your silence, lips grazing yours as he did.

"Cat got your tongue? Good," He nips your lip slowly before letting it go.

"You knew exactly what you were doing when you tried this on. My favorite color. revealing. A bodycon. You walk around like you aren't built like a fucking goddess, like men didn't start wars, didn't travel to the ends of the earth, didn't sacrifice themselves to worship women…"

His hands begin to slide down your body, tracing the outline of your curves as he speaks. He drags them down hard and slow, hands sticking in the dips occasionally as they descend. When he reaches your hips, he moves down just a bit more to the dips below and lets his hands rest there before gripping you abruptly. He tugs you against him in a quick, rough motion, causing you to gasp. He scoffs an unamused laugh.

"And then you throw it in my face, and I have to just accept it, let you get away with it instead of teaching you a lesson. All because you think I can't do anything about it, like a fucking brat. God, you really are such a fucking brat. I can't stand it."

He keeps his hand on your throat and brings the other one down to your leg, hooking it under your knee to wrap around his waist. He lets his hand rest on your hip when you tighten your leg around him, pressing his hips forward against you, giving you a feel of just exactly what you were doing to him, like a glimpse at evidence in a case he was building against you. The feeling of him hard against you made you take in a sharp inhale, a sound he enjoyed very much, almost as much as the sheer heat blazing against him. His hand tightens the slightest bit around your neck.

His fingers began to walk down your hip to your thigh, slipping under the hem of the dress you were still wearing. He tugs it up towards your hips roughly, and he brings his other hand down to the opposite side to do the same. He moves so quickly, so efficiently, that you don't have time to do much of anything, and honestly, that was perfect because you were still too dumbfounded by the entire thing to participate more than you already were. He slips a hand between your thighs, rubbing against your clothed pussy antagonizingly slow. Your panties were damp, and for a half second, you were embarrassed. Not because they were wet, but because they were raggedy.

You weren't exactly expecting to be turnt out in a dressing room on a shopping trip with your best friend, so you just wore your reliable, comfortable underwear. They didn't even match your bra. You were literally Frankenstein'ed under your clothes. That little twinge of embarrassment only lasted about half a second, a brief flash before his fingers were teasing you through the cotton. Your hips shift and press towards his fingers instinctively as they dance cruelly over you. You bit your lip to stifle the little whine you wanted to let out, and he smirked.

"Funny how responsive you are. Is it for everyone or just me?"

You have a small moment where your inner brat recovers.

"Bold coming from a man I had a whimpering, crying mess between me," you bite out.

"There it is again. God, you have no idea how fucking lucky you are that we are in public because I swear to fucking god…." he pauses, swallowing roughly and taking in a deep inhale.

"You like to bring that up like it's your biggest accomplishment, like being buried between your thighs while you fuck me stupid enough I could catch a check is a bad thing, y\n….it's just real bold of you to be talking your shit while pinned against me, leaking like you have a plumbing issue.."

No, he's absolutely right, but that doesn't make you want to give in or submit any faster because, honestly, your body and brain are still in different spaces. Your brain is trying to figure out how you got here while your body is trying to figure out how to get filled faster. The traitor.

His fingers dance across your panties so gently it's like a ghost as they trail, a tickle that only sends electricity through you, a breeze against the flame. His fingers run in these antagonizing trails over and over and over. It's torture, honestly. Each slow graze of his fingers down and then back up is a battle, a war almost. It's difficult to keep your breathing even and your hips still, but you were managing. It was a victory you were taking, but one easily lost if he continued. It didn't help how close Kihyun was either. The scent of him wafted around you, engulfing your senses. It was heavy on your brain, weighing down your ability to focus on anything other than the smoky citrus of his cologne. It was an unexpected offense. He smelled delicious, and that was a problem because it made it harder to resist.

What's worse is the fact that he's grinning because, of course, he is. Of course, his cocky ass is smiling ear to ear. You hate it. You always have. It was so smug, so fucking smug, and it was just oozing off of him and making everything worse because how was it also attractive? The whole thing was a threat; the cologne, the fingers, the arrogance, the authority, the dominance that was suddenly radiating. You were three seconds away from being a goner.

"Is this what it felt like having me like putty in the palm of your hands?" his question rolls off his tongue, low and smooth like thunder.

The feeling the simple question brings is probably equivalent to a good shot of whiskey. It's a warmth that burns as it goes down, then spreads like an invisible flame. You don't answer. You weren't entirely sure you could form a coherent sentence at the moment, but honestly, this probably was what it felt like. Something was intoxicating about it, the control, knowing you were the reason someone was feeling these things and enjoying them. You were the accelerant and the spark for the flame. You. It was probably just as intoxicating as being on the receiving end. That ache, even while leaving you desperate, was delicious.

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth and gnaw at it as you watch him, absolutely transfixed. For as affected as you are, he is equally affected. You can't gauge the entirety of it because he's schooled his features, zoned in on you while masking anything he's feeling. His breath shakes slightly. Something about that sends little prickles of arousal through you, almost like electricity but not as sharp. It washes and rolls like a wave along the shoreline. He drags his fingers back to the top of their path and stops just at the top, just over your clothed clit, and begins to dance his fingers along the fabric. Your breathing hitches, and you choke back a little whine. He was right where you wanted him to be, but he still wasn't giving you what you needed. He huffs a laugh at your reaction, the sound nothing more than a puff of air escaping from his nose.

The word torture was starting to feel like it was the wrong descriptor for this. It felt like it was falling a little short, especially when his fingers kept that feather-light touch even as they began to circle. You manage to stifle a small moan, but your hips are a lost cause. They pushed towards his hand, and you squeezed your thighs together like that would force him to add more pressure to his touch. It was almost unbearable. Your whole body ached at this point. Your chest was desperate for touch, for his free hand to find it, squeeze and knead it, to tease your nipples, which were pebbled in anticipation for even a phantom of a touch. Your mouth craved his, the taste of him on your tongue. It was making everything worse, but you were too stubborn to admit it. Too stubborn to make any sort of move, to direct him or take what you wanted because it felt like letting him win, but what exactly was he winning? Did it matter when part of you liked this torment just as much as you didn't?

He was enjoying this in more ways than one. His breathing was growing jagged now; sharp and shaking as his dark eyes hazed. They danced in satisfaction as he watched you. His body was the most obvious sign of enjoyment. He had somehow managed to keep himself in check, but what you didn't know was that the ache he was inflicting on you was mirrored inside him. Shit, it could probably be worse, honestly. It was taking all his willpower not to press his body against yours right now. He craved friction, but he knew he wouldn't be able to control himself if he got it, and so, in some weird retaliation, he denied you the same friction. You started this thing, he rationalized, so you would take the teasing and torment even if it only fueled his desire more. The feeling of you under him was intoxicating. Knowing he was responsible for every twitch, every little squirm you tried to hide as a shift in footing, your breathlessness…it was maddening, and the most intoxicating part of it all was he hadn't even really touched you yet.

He got it finally, understood it, the way you handled him that one night years ago. The greed you carried, coaxing and pushing him for just a little more. You cooed and praised and petted him while continuously stimulating him even after he swore he was empty. You had fucked him a few seconds shy of being stupid. Proper stupid at that. He couldn't think or speak. Fuck, he felt like he couldn't breathe. All he knew was you and the sensations you created when you were on top of him. It was dangerous to realize that what you felt then was what he was teetering on the edge of feeling right now. That feeling of being so far gone that you were practically dumb for whatever was happening, that's where he was, and maybe he was a lightweight because he had been gone since he pressed you against this dressing room wall and felt the heat radiating from between your thighs. It ignited something inside him, a parasitic need to pick you apart, to bury inside you and see all the ways he could turn you out. Fucking pussy drunk before he was even sheathed inside you. It was kind of pitiful, he thought, but who really gave a fuck? Not him, obviously, especially not now that he was slipping his hand underneath the cotton of your panties.

He took a sharp and, hopefully, silent inhale when his hand made contact with your bare skin. The damp spot on your panties was cool against the top of his hand, a sharp contrast to the warm wetness that surrounded his fingertips. His fingers stilled where they were as he fought to keep his brain from short-circuiting and defaulting to primal settings because fuck, he could ruin you. It was an itch begging to be scratched. You. You were practically begging through your body. You were wet enough to drown in. Your breathing was heavy and shaking, and you were failing at controlling it. He could tell you were still trying because you were pushing the thick exhales through your nose, because there was no way you trusted your mouth. You were vocal and not just with words. Sounds ebbed and flowed through you like a coursing river. Volume was not your friend, not right now in this very public space, at least. Small trembles laced your movements, the way you swallowed thickly, the way your fingers curled into his shirt. Your chest rose and fell rapidly. He knew your heart was no doubt pounding against your ribcage like you were running a marathon because his was doing the same.

His fingers begin to work your clit with purpose. The teasing strokes are now replaced with a more deliberate movement. Your fingers curl into his sides as he works you. Your hips rocked towards his hands almost desperately, and you couldn't stop them even if you wanted to at this point. God, it was inebriating, watching you like this. Every muscle in his body ached from restraint. He craved all you were giving him and then some. The little noises, the gasps, the pleasure, just anything he could lure from your depths, but he couldn't work you the way he wanted for those little rewards. Not here and not ever. He had called in his hall pass, his one-time-only exception, in a lapse of rational thinking. You just got under his fucking skin somehow. All he wanted was to teach you a goddamn lesson, to shut you up, to just -…

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound. A whimper, a whine, a moan, whatever it was, it didn't matter. It was muffled behind your mouth, which you had clamped closed, and was mostly a huff of hair from your nose, but it snapped him back nonetheless. Indecision filtered in then, pouring in like water through a crack and filling his already troubled head. He felt rushed, torn between the options in his head. Did he let you go and pull you off the edge and into the chasm of pleasure below with his hands before he nestled himself inside you and took what he wanted? Did he stop now and do his best to break you in the small time he had with you? The world was tipping on its axis inside the dressing room, the tension stifling and suffocating.

A noise outside shatters through the thick atmosphere. The edges of his thoughts clear, vision pulling out of the tunnel that is you. The latter it was then. His fingers still over your clit and you let out an involuntary whine as your hips chase the lost touch. His fingers twitch as he leans in closer; his breath is warm as it billows over the shell of your ear.

"I'd love to toy with you a little longer, but time isn't really on our side. I don't want to waste any more of what little bit we have," he hums smugly, even though his voice is thick with desire. It shimmied on your skin as he exhaled and, as if to drive the point home, someone walked by. A voice filters into your little bubble from somewhere across the shop, muffled by the distance. It was all you needed to snap you out of the trance you had been in.

His fingers hook under the band of your panties, and you drop your leg from his waist long enough to let him tug them down. Your hands are on his pants, unfastening the belt and closures as quietly but as quickly as you can. You fumble with the button, and his hand pushes yours away to take over. You take that moment to tug your panties down completely. As soon as he has freed himself from the confines of his bottoms, he hoists you up and presses you against the wall. Your legs wrap around his waist instantly, and you cross your ankles as they rest on his lower back. Your mouth finds his as he guides himself inside you. A low groan vibrates in his throat, and it transfers into your mouth as you gasp. He fills you in one motion. There's no pausing, no time to adjust. There's just him filling and stretching you deliciously despite the ache and the overwhelming fullness he brings.

The pace he sets is quick, frenzied almost, and much like how his mouth moves over yours in a kiss that's more teeth than tongue that pairs with nails in his skin that bite like the edge of a blade. The pricks of pain send a jolt straight through him, but also straight to his brain. It's a small pocket of clarity amidst the haze. There were only two rules to this pass: no marks and wrap it up. He was already fucking it up halfway, and it was a sinking feeling to have to lose the edge that the prickle of your nails gave him. You let up when he asks you to, without question or second thought. He could have asked you to lobotomize yourself on his dick, and you would have gladly done so with gusto. The way you felt was reminiscent of the same insurmountable desire that threatened to burn you alive and drown you simultaneously, that coursed through you that night. It was too much for your body to hold, and even before it peaked, it smothered it. It was undeniable as it filled every inch of you like air in a balloon, but it didn't stop even when you were in danger of bursting. You were always just one breath away from bursting under his gaze, his touch, just under him.

Time had somehow frozen inside that dressing room. What felt like hours had been mere minutes, intense minutes. Your hips continued to rock with his in a feverish waltz as you chase the end of the coil twisting low in your stomach. His teeth nipped at your lips before he grazed the points of them across your neck. You both begin to lose the rhythm you'd set, that fierce, persistent pacing towards a shared goal. The threat of the building pressure as it crested was overwhelming as you worked in tandem to throw yourselves into its sea. He cursed under his breath, but the sound was loud in your ear. He was fighting a losing battle, one he couldn't afford to lose just yet. He needed you to tip first before he could forfeit control and let the sensations win.

He slips a hand between your bodies, pressing his fingers back against your clit. You bury your face into his neck when his fingers begin to move again, using his skin to muffle the small moan you couldn't catch in time. It was building so quickly. Hot and fast. Your face was getting warm, and your head was heavy and clouded as his fingers circled you at nearly the same desperate pace as your hips. He whispers your name like a lifeline. It felt like a tether to the world, a link to the ground, when you had been shrinking into a tunnel where all you could do was feel his body as he thrust into you over and over and over. You were right there, seconds from the edge, when he whispered again.

"Need you to let go. I got you. Come apart for me."

That was all you needed. It was the final push that sent you tumbling over the ledge. Your eyes roll back before you squeeze them shut, but that doesn’t stop the stars that explode on the edge of your vision. You pressed your face harder into the crook of his neck, hands grasping at his back and sides before curling your fingers into his shirt. You clenched around him almost like a vice as you cum much harder than you have in a while. That was his undoing. In one swift but frantic motion, he pulls out of you. A hand comes around his cock as he pumps furiously, pressing his tip against the soft, squishy skin of your inner thigh. Your eyes are still closed, face still buried in his neck, but you can feel the warmth of the spurts as the sticky ropes land. His hand slows as his release subsides, only stopping once he is sure that he has milked every last drop and left it on you.

You both stand there in the aftermath, breathing in shallow pants that mingle in the space between you. Your legs tremble softly from the exertion of holding them around him, but you don’t unlock them from his waist just yet. Neither of you makes any effort to move, not until a door closes nearby. Only then do you untangle yourself from around him. He keeps you pressed between him and the wall as he reaches to his right for your purse. You watch as he digs into it one-handedly. He roots in the bottom of it and frowns slightly when he doesn’t feel the pack of travel tissues you always carry. He settles for a random, stray receipt instead and brings it to the mess on your thigh. He wipes at his spend and does a horrible fucking job of cleaning it up. You let out a chuffed laugh as he crinkles the paper after successfully smearing everything around instead of wiping it off. You eye him, and he gives you a small shrug. He tried at least. 

He keeps the paper balled in his fist as he pulls his boxers and pants back up. He adjusts his clothing, then pockets the paper. You pull your panties up and tug the dress off your body, having almost forgotten you had it on. He takes it from you in exchange for your clothes. You watch as he hangs the dress back on its hanger, and he watches you get dressed out of the corner of his eye. He helps you with your hair, finger-combing it alongside you. His fingers stop mid-comb, and he looks at you in the mirror you were standing in front of now. He brings his fingers the rest of the way through your hair before placing a soft kiss on your crown. You can’t help but smile a little at it or at the way he’s always smiling smally. You blame it on the post orgasm haze. You were full, warm, and satiated; that’s all. 

The tires crunch softly over the concrete as the car moves down the driveway and onto the road. He stops and switches to drive before carefully maneuvering through your neighborhood. He has the air conditioner going, and it blows frigid air around the cabin that’s much too cold for the approaching night. You lean forward and turn it off, trading it for the outside air as you roll your window down. You watch as he does the same. A cool summer breeze wafts through the windows, whipping your hair softly as he continues to drive.

The houses that line the streets slowly begin to grow scarce as the streets bleed from residential into the outskirts of town. The streetlights flicker on as the sun sinks a little lower, the sky painted in hues of bright orange, pink, and splashes of peach. You sigh but more dreamily than heavily, a relieving sigh that leaves your body empty of the weight of the world as you sink into your seat. You rest your head against the door, closing your eyes and hanging your hand out of the open window. You hold it out, turning it slowly, feeling the force of the wind as it rushes by the car.

There was no rush. No destination. There was only the cool breeze that danced wildly through your hair and kissed your warm skin like an apology for the warm summer heat the day had placed on you. It’s relaxing, a calm feeling that causes you to sink even further into the seat if that's even possible. You can feel as Changkyun reaches over towards you before you feel his hand slide against yours. He threads his fingers through yours, and his thumb almost instinctively begins to caress the top of your hand. It’s quiet in the truck but comfortable. Sometimes you didn’t need words, just presence.

The town fades in and passes by, every traffic light turning green almost on cue. The sound of the turn signal breaks the silence, but it’s only momentary as Changkyun switches lanes before merging onto the ramp for the interstate. The car picks up speed as he drives and eventually merges onto the seemingly endless stretch of road. The accelerated speed increases the wind. It’s louder, and it whips around you harder, but it's still just as nice. You open your eyes and shift a little, turning your head as it rests against the headrest to look at Changkyun. You don’t realize you’re smiling as you take him in. He had the most beautiful side profile. It was almost criminal. His hair flapped softly in the breeze, not quite long enough to be an issue. It framed his face, his bangs long enough to reach below his eyes and feathering back into the rest of his hair. It grew down the back of his neck like a mullet, almost. It was just enough for you to play with if you wanted, and you did. His eyes are locked on the road when you turn your body more towards him, leaning slightly as you prop your elbow on the back of his seat. You bring your fingers to the back of his neck and begin to absentmindedly run them through it in a motion that is almost like opening and closing your fingers.

You take two full steps away from him when he finally speaks up.

"I mean, are you offering?"

You stop instantly and turn back to face him, a look of confusion painted on your face. You just stare at him like he grew three extra heads in the very moment, because what the hell did he mean by that? Like, WHY would he want to know if you were offering him a chance? You've been friends for so long; there's no way he's that type of person. He couldn't be. Could he? Your brain is firing on all pistons and then some. You cock your head to the side before you finally open your mouth.

"No? Because I… have morals, Ki. I'm not about to play homewrecker, and I am really worried you're about to hurt my feelings by saying you cheat. Would you take up the offer if I made it?"

He stays silent as he lifts his hand up, motioning it towards you as if signaling he's waiting for your answer to his question about said offering first. You know him well enough to know that this is a yes to yours. You sigh heavily and rub your forehead a little, disappointment flooding your system. This was your oldest and closest friend, but you couldn't just be friends with someone who has zero problems cheating. You open your mouth but can't form a single coherent sentence, and you stutter around for a moment.

"Kihyun, are you fucking serious? You're telling me that if I gave any indication I was interested, you would take it? You would just… not give a fuck?"