look at you, look at you, 느낌이 나지

“That’s right,” you confirm, “and for every wrong answer, you strip for me. Simple.” You give Jungkook the widest grin you ever have, possibly too wide, because he only hunches further into his seat. 

And it finally bursts your bubble.

“I mean… I’m just–you don’t have to do this, okay?” You scramble up from your seat, opening the distance between you two – placing yourself a good few feet away from the boy. “I was just… having fun with the idea—” With stumbling haste you continue to comfort him, “I jus–isn’t this like classic nerd porn that you’d watch?”

And you remember that comforting a fellow human being isn’t really your forte. You’re ready to gather all your belongings that are spread across the table, run away, change your name and hope like hell he doesn’t file you up for harassment. 

Thankfully, your shabby attempt at damage control does ease Jungkook, and his back straightens a little bit as he brings himself to look at you.

“Not wrong,” he gives you a grin, “I–I really like that, umm, idea. Yes, let’s do it.”

He trails off, but not without a smile of burgeoning confidence – apparently not enough to finish that sentence with, but enough to give you one strong nod – and you have the affirmation you need. More affirmation is given by his not-so-subtle shift in his seat, that shows you something was making its presence known in the confines of his pants.

“All right, let’s start this. International Law and Relations is pretty easy, and actually has very interesting sub-topics – you can take subjects on this topic when you move to the next semester,” you pause flipping through the textbook and give your tutee, “if you move to the next semester. Thankfully, this year you have multiple choice questions, so… You better fucking pass, you hear me?!”

Jungkook only gives you a sheepish grin, his hands fiddling with each other.

“Okay, we’ll go through chapters randomly. Your first one – what is a country’s exclusive economic zone?”

On completing the question, you look up and await an answer – but the doe eyes that greet you back showcase that behind them, there is a lot of emptiness. Jungkook’s eyebrows are raised as he tries his best to push out any answer, any words, just anything from his brain. Alas, after two minutes, you give up.

“Okay, you’re going first then,” your voice breaks his intense thought process, and he flashes you a wide grin. 

“Socks count right?” He pulls off the socks on both his feet, and wiggles his toes against the fresh air. 

“Why you wear socks in this weather, it’s beyond me,” you huff an exasperated sigh, “but okay. One down. Exclusive economic zones are the sea-areas where coastal states have the right to exploit resources for economic gains. Think fisheries, mining, construction, artificial islands, and other endeavours. Capisce?”

“Got it. Next!”

“Love the enthusiasm,” you grin at his eager look, and open the textbook to a random page again, “okay, same chapter, what are the three international air laws?”

“Oh, I know this! I read thi–uhh, Public International Law, Private International Law…”

“Yesss? And?”

“Why is my brain saying Supernatural Law?”

One look at his bamboozled face and you burst out laughing. “Supranational Law! Not Superna—” Your persistent giggles have you dropping the book onto your lap, hands rushing to wipe a tear that makes its way down your cheek. You can see a bleary Jungkook, following suit in your snickers, his shoulders rising up – it’s a very cute view. 

No, Jungkook is not your type of guy – and you will not make him. 

You’re actually supposed to wrap up this session with Jungkook earlier than usual – because a party doesn’t wait for anyone – and last night Baekhyun told you he’d pick you up. When you asked him whether the party was, he only sent you a smirking emoji as a response. 

Rude boys are your standard, and Baekhyun fits it to the tee. Jungkook, not so much.

But now you’ve started something that can’t possibly end soon. 

“Okay, next item!” You aim to be loud, to quell that finagling thought in your mind.

“But—” Jungkook sputters out, “but I got that right?! Come on, it was close enough!”

You shake your head. “A hundred, or nothing. Chop chop,” you wave a gratuitous hand at his torso – and he obliges with a sigh.

God damn. 

The gamer nerd, who probably doesn’t see the light of day – his body is way too beautiful for his character arc. You scan his whole chest with your glaring beam, pecs ogling back at you – totally unaware of how Jungkook is doing the same to you – it takes considerable effort for you to rip your eyeballs out and get them to focus back on his face. 

You take a large, audible gulp to facilitate speech, “Okay, didn’t know that’s what would greet me – moving on—”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean absolutely nothing, you closeted hottie,” you attempt to close that argument with that sole compliment – after all, you do have a tutoring responsibility – but Jungkook’s singular raised eyebrow makes you wonder if that party is really worth it.

Oh no, you need to make him pass this.

“Let’s move on now, or else you won’t ever move on from college,” you deflate whatever ego-ballooning Jungkook has – his bare shoulders slumping back to his hunched posture – and you internally grin. 

Picking up the thick textbook, you flip through to find a new page laced with information.  “Name three international hybrid tribunals, and their subject matter.”

“Okay okay, I just did this,” Jungkook starts off with confident, “the Special Tribunal for Lebanon, which is for the the prosecution of the people responsible for the assassination of the Lebanese Prime Minister, Special Court for Sierra Leone—” he pauses to take a deep breath and you watch his chest heave with an intent gaze, “which was for the Sierra Leone civil war, and finally… What was the–uhh– for the Kosovo War… Yes! Yes! Kosovo Specialist Chambers! The Kosovo Liberation army was put on trial,” he ends with a gleeful smile.

“There you gooo! See, you can totally do this,” you give him an encouraging nod, “what do you want me to take off?”

“O-oh, umm, your top?”

“Sure,” setting the book on the table, you slip out of your camisole, shaking your head to send your hair back to their place, “shall we move on?” 

But moving on gets tougher when he eyes you like that. The air gets denser within your space, the room feeling too small to escape the tension, and too big to act upon it. You remind yourself multiple times – this chocolate boy isn’t going to be the end of your night – your night ends on Baekhyun’s unspoken promise – but the eclipsing eyes that follow your neon bralette are pushing your brain to reconsider how you write this evening. 

“You–uh–you are really hot,” Jungkook’s fumbling words finally reach you.

You chuckle, stifling the urge to egg him on. “Thank you,” is your quiet response, and you both do well to stifle the snowballing tension.

“Okay, now I’m way more motivated to get my answers right,” he exclaims with vigour, and the two of you trudge forward, keeping up this charade of studies. 

Many questions down, and you’re at quite the standstill. 

Jungkook sits on his chair, not an inch of clothing on his body, stark naked – and you are about to lose your bra. 

Apparently he can apply himself real well when there are lewd incentives at the end of the rainbow. You circumvented the inevitable, counting riddance of jewellery and accessories as stripping – but now you’re out of options. Jungkook’s lips – pulled into a tender smirk that isn't racy – don’t threaten to sweep you off your feet – but fuck, they still get to you. Supple, with the slightest hint of moisture making his waterline glisten… you ache to taste them, to run your fingers over them, to drip honey all over them and watch them turn sweeter than ever. 

You need to get on Baekhyun’s dick. ASAP.

“Go on, I know that was right!”

Breaking out of your reverie with a demure huff, you smile your way out of your bra, and you can fully hear the deep inhale that your tutee has to take to this new view. With a brazen look of gloating, you cross your arms, letting your eyes and your cleavage do all the teasing – lest your tongue stumbles over the words and lands in his mouth. 

“Shi–yo–you’re—” Jungkook’s words falter as well, giving you an extra boost of pride. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn hot – I’m sorry, is this the fifth time I’m saying this?”

You laugh with him. “Yeah, probably. Could use a thesaurus.”

“I don’t think my brain will process anything on it. This keeps coming out because I got practice. Said it about a hundred times in my head.”

With your head thrown back, your whole body jiggles in laughter, filling the room with mirth and joy to replace the leaden lust in the air. You bend forward to flick his forehead, knowing full well that the movement just makes your breasts look more enticing; if that was even a possibility. His cock is stiff as iron, and you can fill a drying lake with your current rate of salivation. Both of you clearly recognize that words are flowing slower than before, movements are more calculated than before, and most importantly, eye contact lasts way too long for either of you to ignore. 

“Okay, umm, last question, then I need to be off.” You attempt to bring a close to this increasing strain in your throat, no matter how badly your body wants to delay your departure. “What years did the Hague Conventions take place?”

“I hate these questions,” murmurs Jungkook, “I remember the subject matters of it – it’s not like knowing the exact dates and times will help me avert war.” His pout makes you falter, like there isn’t a fully grown naked man in front of you, like he isn’t testing your limits right now.

“So… No answer?” 

Jungkook shakes his hung head, having given up on finding an answer. “What now, I can’t peel my skin or something,” he starts, a very innocent tone for this ambiance.

“Yeah, I mean, I gotta g—”

“And I’m out of jewellery, too, so—”

“Yeah, it’s cool, I’m gonna head out anyw—”

“You wanna tie me up or something?”

Silence. 

Too long of a silence. 

“I mea—”

“Jeon. Jung. Kook.” Your staccato of words work as a beat, your legs moving in its sync. You bend down for a brief moment to pick up his discarded t-shirt, but the rest of your movement wastes no time in finding a seat on his lap.

His dick presses against your clothed core, imbuing the ache that he currently feels, and goody – you both are in serious pain. And when you lean ahead to gather his hands into a knot on his back, he takes a sharp inhale – your breasts doing everything his dick-led-brain has been wanting for the whole session – pressing against his chest to feel every throb that races through your body.

“You have no filter,” you whisper into his ear, making sure he feels your damp lips move, “do you?”

“N–N–I, me–nngghh,” Jungkook labours through this ordeal, his hips going the extra mile to close the gap between you two. 

When you feel his hardness work against your pulsing clit, it only eggs you further, and the rudderless ship of your resolve yaws out of its lane, finding its anchor in the parted lips in your view.

If your surroundings could combust at the spark that you set off with the kiss, you’d be sitting in a castle of embers, licks of flames being innocent bystanders to the heat that your kiss generates. Your fingertips dig into the nape of his neck, and you swallow his groan with an eager tongue. Without a break, the kiss turns feral. 

You push into his mouth. He returns in kind – although there’s nothing kind about the way he digs his teeth into your lip. The hiss you attempt to release never makes it out to the world – Jungkook is intent on ending this kiss only when the last breaths in your bodies threaten to leave, carrying along with them your consciousness. 

And when that point comes, you part – your head is thrown back, and your hand carded in his hair pulls his back as well. Brisk, shallow breathing is the tune to which you gather your bearings. Your thighs burn for relief, the ache of holding your body in place settling in as the dopamine dies. From your awkward position, you flit an eye towards your partner in crime – and any dopamine that was dying, comes rushing back.

Your hands are still in the lush strands of his hair, and his lidded eyes are bouncing between many areas of view. Your libidinous eyes, your wet lips, your heaving breasts, or the junction of your thighs that give his hardness teasing touches. Maintaining this position, you dig into his cock, your flimsy underwear allowing your arousal to caress against his hot and awaiting length. He groans – it’s animalistic, it’s uninhibited, it’s none of the shy gamer nerd who cowered under the weight of your knowledge. His eyes, fervid, shuttle between all of your exposed skin, finding an anchor, but failing to stop.

“Look at you, is this what you really wanted?” It shocks you how far your voice shakes – what caused it – the kissing, the breathing, or the rock hard cock currently against your throbbing pussy? Who knows. 

“I mean… We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want this,” Jungkook bites out an answer with great difficulty, “I—I definitely wan—ungh!”

You just can’t resist. His neck. His clavicles. His bobbing Adam’s apple. His chest. His restrained arms making a tireless effort to feel you. You leech onto his sparkling skin, and drag your tongue in the confines – Jungkook’s words transform into unintelligent warble, just the way you like. 

Sliding downward, and acknowledging the slight ‘fuck’ that Jungkook exhales with a smirk, you lodge yourself directly in front of his broad, heaving chest. The position is awkward — a lot of your body weight lays on your hands that balance you on the chair’s seat – but your current view makes any pain go away. 

“Could this be the reason,” you land a soft peck in the middle of his chest, “why your grades are like this,” trailing your path with your nose, you move left, “we could have just gotten this over with,” you end the sentence with a swirl of your tongue around his already pebbling nipple. 

He hisses a string of unintelligible curses, arching into your ministrations, “Yo–you’d have d–done tha—” His train of thought ends with an audible gasp when you engulf the nipple in your mouth.

“For my tutee,” you release his nipple with a pop and look back up at his eager-to-please-face, cupping a cheek, “anything.”

“Can y—can you get rid of thi–this?” He shakes his bound hands from behind, his shoulder muscles bulging in the movement.

You simply shoot him an innocent look. “But you asked for it, didn’t you?”

“I thought that was the best thing that could happen to me,” Jungkook huffs with a light pout, “right now, I’m regretting it so hard.” As he speaks, you move to trail a soft line of kisses across his chest, reaching his other, neglected nipple. With your eyes locked in with his, you lick around the nub again, enjoying his restrained groans from your vantage.

“You don’t like it? What would you do if you… could touch me?”

“Fuck, I would—I wo—God, I would wrap myself around you… take a big piece of that ass, tear off your fuckin’ underwear… Grab your tits and dig my face into them till it’s time to execute my will—”

You chortle, still busy teasing his chest and making it hard for him to make his words flow. “You don’t need your hands for the last one baby.” 

Your skin rumbles against the loud groans of pleasure that come out of Jungkook when you press his face into your chest, and you feel him frantically lick and suck at your skin, tongue lolling at whatever it could catch a taste of.

“Ahh, this is—making me want some very bad things,” you chuckle at the throes of pleasure he is pushing you under, but are surprised at yourself how much your voice quivers as well. Jungkook makes a show of fighting his restraints; you very well know that you don’t have a sailor’s knot guide on you, and the fight he’s putting up is not more than the fight you had been putting up throughout this evening.

“Bad things?” Jungkook’s breathy whisper brings you back to his lips, and you drop back on his lap, grinding yourself just enough to let your wetness cover his twitching length. “You’re my tutor, I–I’m sure you only want the best for me.”

With your show of repress finally curtained, you drop to your knees, arching your back until you’re face-to-face with his member – tip leaking copious amounts of precum, owing to the hours of tension that you put him through. Jungkook’s thighs tighten under your enrapt gaze, and his staccato breathing is music to your ears. 

“Well, since I am your tutor,” you preen before you drag your tongue around the base of his dick, “and since I want only the best for you,” you drag your tongue up his muscle in one long stroke, “let me give you the best that I have.”

You wrap your lips around him thinking about how sweet he looks. You draw figures with your tongue thinking about how he's absolutely not your type. You suck more of his length into you thinking about how his moans differ from your average partner. So sweet. So pure. So untainted. 

So, so not for you.

Perhaps sweet is what you nee—

“I’m gonna cu—” 

The shrill ring of your phone pierces through Jungkook’s uncontained moans as he empties into your mouth recklessly. With your eyes closed, you try your best to savour the crisp, salty taste, letting your tongue cheekily lap at his member until you feel him shudder under your stimulation. Satiated, you get to your feet, looking eye to eye with the doe-eyed monster – who has the gall to look so pure even now, hands tied, balls empty.

“I should… Get that.” 

Unsurprisingly, Baekhyun is pissed that you kept his premium cock waiting at your doorstep, and you appease his injured ego while finding your clothes and bearings. Jungkook relieves himself of the ‘restraints’, eyes following your disrobed body as it finds its modesty back, piece by piece. 

“Okay… my phone, my book, my jewellery… I think I got everything,” you announce to the small, overheated room. “Jungkook. Good luck, this is the one thing you gotta pass, make sure you reread chapters 8 to 11, don’t blindly mark something because it sounds reasonable because nothing in this world is, make sure you have eno—”

“But! Listen—” His voice, still so sweet, not a hint of demanding assertion in his tone, just plain and beautiful pleading. “Wh–when can we… Umm when can we m–meet again?”

Ugh, your heart. 

“Listen, I’m going away on vacation, my exams are over,” with a mildly heavy heart you try to explain to him without rushing, “that’s why this was our last class. And after that, I’ll be moving away. But!” With a spring in your step you open his door to let yourself out. “Keep in touch! Keep texting me, okay?” With your second shoe on, you stand at the stairs leading you out of his apartment, and look at him for one last word.

And you see his beautiful body and almost crumble back into his apartment. 

“Yeah… Will do, bye!” He pulls himself together and grants you a bright, guilt-free smile.

So sweet, even when you’re blowing him off. So, so sweet. 

But you don’t do sweet. So accepting his goodbye, you run like a deer being chased by the hungriest predator, towards the spice that awaits at your door.

Damned professional attires. Why can’t they look good without having to be tended to every fucking day? 

You curse yourself for the cup ramen breakfast that ruined your only good shirt, owing to which you have this stainless but wrinkled shirt on you. It is very out of place, the lush lobby walls making you feel like every crease on you is magnified by a thousand. 

It’s obviously not the shirt that is making your stomach gurgle. It is the upcoming meeting that is creating turmoil in your insides, part dread and part excitement.

“He will see you now.”

This guy has a receptionist and an assistant. Why is he so boujee? One look at his office door and you already know – this meeting will not go as per plan.

And when you push the heavy-set mahogany door, and take the man sitting at the baroque desk, silhouette highlighted by the clear night sky behind him – you’re certain this night was made for trouble. 

“Ah, look who it is.” 

That voice. So different from the last time you spoke. Gone is the tender, dulcet voice of his, gone are his soft, vulnerable eyes, and gone is the benevolent disposition that he carried around with pride.

As he takes a good, slow look at you, assessing you from top to bottom, gleaming with mischievous confidence, you shuffle in discomfort at all this directed display of interest. The million twinkles in eyes have coagulated to turn into a ball of inferno. With that blaze, he drags his eyes all over you, tracing your contours with the pens of his gaze, making you feel nails and needles through your spine. Unabashed. Doesn’t care that you’re waiting to take a seat, doesn’t care about your obvious discomfiture, just holding you at your place like a puppet to his watchful leer. The black-on-black suit fits his body like a dream, and the things you want to do to him are straight out of a nightmare.

“Please, why are you still standing?” His assessment complete, he waves an arm to the plush leather seats at your disposal. “Have a seat.”

Moments of uncomfortable silence pass by you, but only you seem bothered by it. You hate how fidgety you are right now, showing your cards so plainly. But truth be told, you have no cards to show. You’re here for his help, and there’s no game to be played with him.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” you offer, making a general gesture to show his entire office space. You could fit nineteen of your cubicles in here, and still have space to waltz around. Your incessant jumping from one firm to another, attempts at finding footing wherever you land but ultimate dissatisfaction with whatever was presented to you led to a not-so-stellar career, and tonight, to this office. 

“Thanks.” He offers nothing more. And his lack of words definitely stings. 

How did someone who breezed through law school end up like this?

More importantly, how did someone who was barely passing subjects under you end up in a position of such power?

And most important of them all, how did you end up being at his mercy?

"So tell me,” he begins once again, bursting your bubble of self-detestation, “how can I help you?"

You take a deep, rich breath and start. "I'm assuming you read my email, so I just nee—"

"You're gonna have to pause right there. I didn't." A simple response, with a simple smile, and you simply want to crawl into a hole and never see sunlight ever again. Jungkook doesn’t even try to explain himself out of this – no excuse or reasons given as to why the email remains unread. And as happenstance would have it, you are in no position to ask him why.

"Very well." You tap the file ahead, taking a deep breath and starting again, "This file should have it all. It’s better if you read through it, I might miss details." 

Jungkook’s extended, bejewelled hand accepts the file, and leafs through the bundle of papers you’ve prepared for him. But that is not what you’re internalising. You're too busy furtively eyeing his bedecked office, the wooden panels offering a private divide between the office space and a separate seating area. The ritzy furniture establishing the space, the lavish lighting giving more depth to the space, the skyline flaunting its glory above it all – you're fraught with uncontrollable envy.

A call to your name jolts you, moving your eyes to him. 

“So do you need me as co-counsel? I hardly think you need the help.”

“Please, don’t patronise me,” you chide him, the repressed irritation showing its face. “I know I’ve not had the best set of years in this field. And I know I fucked up on this one, pardon my French.”

“Well,” he pays no heed to your agitated tone, pushing the file back to you – just enough, so you are forced to get up to reach, “you’re right about that. You fucked up. I can definitely look into this, but I have a heavy workload as it is.” He simply shrugs, a mock-saintly frown on his lips.

What happened to your sugar-cookie boy who would do anything to make you proud? 

Who is this man?

“I know, but I’m—” You swallow everything in you that stops the words, “I’m desperate. This meeting was clearly out of desperation. I know you knew what this was about. Why would you accept an appointment this late if you weren’t going to take on the job?”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you. Maybe I was curious what my tutor was doing, after leaving me high and dry that fateful night.”

He says it with such a harmless smile, like he just announced what he had for dinner. If you weren’t shaken yet, you now are. 

“If I remember correctly, that was not the case. But for now, I’m asking for your help. That’s how I’m doing.”

“Yeah well,” with a smooth move, he gets out of his charcoal seat, and glides towards the tasteful couches placed on the other end of this palatial office, your heartbeat picking up pace from a gentle jog to a frantic pace, “I think I’m entitled to something in return.”

You follow him to the couch across the room, seating yourself on it – and taking a second to enjoy how comfortable it feels. “I literally swallowed your load that night. If anything, I’m the one entitled to this.”

“I’m sure your boy-toy that night gave you everything you needed, didn’t he?”

Deep breath. He remembers the night very well. Too well.

Did you expect that? No. 

Did you want to find out?

Well, why else did you choose his name from a catalogue of high-end lawyers who could have saved your ass in this case?

What’s that saying… Curiosity kills your pus—

“Listen,” you interrupt your own reverie, “you will receive remuneration for your work, my boss is ready to—”

“Nuh–uh,” he tuts, “come on now, we really don’t need to play this cat and mouse game, do we?”

A deep exhale calms your nerves against this burgeoning yet desired situation, and you leave your seat to accept the glass of whiskey he’s offering you. After returning to the couch and gulping the hootch, you meet his accursed, biting gaze. “What can we even wager on like that night? It’s not like I have test questions to ask you anymore,” you throw the ball back into his court, desperately hoping he finds a good enough solution.

“Oh, no, no, no,” he teases you, sliding into the seat – it’s unbearable how good he looks with this confidence. He gets in your space, still holding his undrunk glass of whiskey, peering into your eyes as he makes his proposal. “I think a bit of role reversal will do us good,” he smiles back at you. “Do you good.”

“My definition of good, or yours?”

He smiles at your attempt at feigning confidence. “I don’t think they differ by much.”

In this quietude, the frenetic beating of your heart rings all the way up in your ears. It is a testament to how agog this transformed man leaves you; by the way he speaks, the way he looks, the way he commands your entire being. Words fail you, so you whisper a small ‘yeah’ and nod – you definitely knew where this night was going the moment you called his office, even if your ego strives hard to say otherwise.

“Let’s start simple,” he begins with a slap to his thigh, seating himself comfortably, “where did you go that night?”

What tactic is this? You’re baffled that this man – looking like a Michelin-star-seven-course-meal – cares about that one immaterial night.

Was it really immaterial, though?

Youngling Jungkook was probably offended, you posit to yourself, by the way you left things hanging (pun very much intended). 

“How would you know if I lie?”

“I’ll decide that.” His eyes add “and you’ll follow.” No room for discussion is provided.

“Right.” You sip on your refilled glass, clearing your throat before you answer, “I don’t know if you know him, Byun Baekhyun.” You look in his eyes for recognition, but you can’t read anything, anything at all. “I had to meet him.”

“To fuck?”

“Well, yes. Drinks and then that.” 

“Okay, I’ll take that.” 

And you’ve passed question one – all your clothing fully intact.

“Next question,” his eyes filled with sensual mirth, “was he any good?”

“Oh my God,” you throw your hands up, ready to leave the seat in a show of exasperation, “are you—is this insecurity? After all these years?”

“Well, I’m asking the questions, so I don’t owe you an explanation,” Jungkook leans into the cushions, his confident manner growing with each passing second, “but you might say, I’m curious.”

A moment of silence passes. 

“Yes.”

“Ahh…” He tuts at you, inching closer until you feel the microfibres of his coat against you, “Wrong answer.”

Of course it’s the wrong answer. 

Byun Baekhyun might have been one of the best fucks of the campus, and you might’ve had a lot of fun with him on erstwhile rendezvouses, but that night wasn’t either of your nights, with him being pissed of at you for making his dick wait, and you having your mind glued on a totally different dick to his. The lie might have been obvious, but the fact that you’re having to accept it right now is making your ears heat up.

You don’t really need to do this.

Oh, but you do.

“Go on,” Jungkook coaxes you with his honey-dripping voice, lidded eyes tormenting you, “you know the rules.”

In the tense air, you take off a bracelet, the fake diamonds leaving a chill on your wrist. After dangling it in his face, you drop it onto the couch seat. 

“Good…” Jungkook teases, wondering which deviation of his brain to follow next. “Next. Did you think about me while getting your mediocre pounding from Baekhyun?”

“Oh my God, no!” Your rude tone is extra sharp, like you didn’t even want to entertain the thought that Jungkook would think – Jungkook would know – that that’s what happened. 

To this date, you do not remember anything of Baekhyun – your memories of that day have been painted with Jungkook and Jungkook alone.

“Come on now,” his smug visage turns ungodly, eyebrow cocked up, “a white lie. Off,” is all he says. 

You bend down to reach for the buckle of your shoe. Owing to Jungkook sitting fairly close, your line of sight is delicious – his taut suit pants defining the thighs that he’s clearly worked for; basically ogling at his thighs and crotch in close proximity. With shaky hands, your shoes finally come off – no thanks to the burst of anticipation flooding your veins. 

“Have you ever thought about us on lonely nights?” The closer he moves, with each syllable of utterance, the farther you feel from a sense of control. 

“No…” Your words stammer, and you mentally give the point to Jungkook. Looking up, you find him smirking at your shrinking stature.

“Ahh… You make it too easy,” he just chides you, and you start slipping out your rings.You’re well aware that you are the one dragging this out – but the “yes” just does not want to grace your lips. 

Maybe because you actually like this game. 

Maybe you’re enjoying this end of the show. 

And maybe, you finally want to see this game to completion. 

“Just so you know,” Jungkook purrs into the shell of your ear, leaving you wondering when he moved so close, “I think about your slick on my cock a lot.”

The desperation in your countenance is so visible, it’s pathetic. You wait in silence for the next question, eager to jump to the finale, but the path to the end is far too enjoyable to skip.

“Do you want to continue where we left off?”

“No.” Your answer is straight, to the point, no embellishments. 

Instead, you let your hands do the talking.

In one smooth action, you unzip your skirt and pull it down, without a prompt from the dastard ogling at you. Every move you make, you feel his stare burn into your skin, countering the chilly air filling the room. You sit back with your legs tightly closed – not out of any false sense of modesty, that has never been your strong suit – but the unceasing throbbing of your clit needs temporary relief or else it will jump out and land into his mouth.

The distance between you two has steeply decreased, and you can’t tell who’s at fault anymore. In any case, this proximity is most welcome, as per the anticipatory goosebumps that decorate your skin. Swirling his yet-unfinished drink in his hand, ice cubes clattering against each other, Jungkook takes your exposed legs in that are only barricaded by your pantyhose. It’s not the best material – you’ve been wearing the same one for a week now, displaying many scratches and tears – but Jungkook’s eyes don’t even seem to register it. 

But what is with this speed? He is fully intent on making every second of your horny existence miserable. In a desperate attempt to get a fraction of his touch, you bring your leg up – making the move as slow and deliberate as possible – landing it on his thigh. The best begging you can do without actually voicing it out.

Jungkook, however, is a man of many talents – ignoring your direct needs being a prime one. After a light sip, he brings his glass down to your leg, the bottom rim touching under your toe – and you hiss at the ice-cold feeling that spreads across your foot, as the condensate spreads its influence. 

“I have so many questions for you…” Jungkook whispers to you, watching you twitch, “but I’m having too much fun right now.”

Just when you begin to ask whether his dictionary reads ‘fun’ differently, he drags his cold glass upward, painfully slow, traversing your foot, then along your shin bone, letting the precipitate draw a path of icy chill on the map of your body. Meeting your eyes to just plant a cheeky wink into your brain, he continues forging ahead – until he can reach mid-thigh. He stops there long enough to hear you hiss – only then do you feel the glass move away. 

If you weren’t already panting, you are now. Very audibly so. It is all you can hear in the room, in fact. 

That is, of course, until Jungkook assaults all your senses by dragging you awfully close to him, extracting a gasp from you – his grip on your thigh is tighter than the band in your stomach begging for a release, and you relish the feeling. 

“Do you, want me,” he says into the miniscule space that’s left between your lips, “to kiss you right now?”

You can’t decide what demands your spotlight; is it his gaze boring holes into your skin, or his lips that are now glistening deliciously?

“No.”

“Hmmn,” Jungkook turns away from you, and you almost rise in alarm – until you register his next actions, “thought so.”

One second to completely sip all of his whiskey. Another second for his lips to land on yours.

Finally.

The fantasies of this night blend into reality, and instead of doing the rational thing – thinking why you ended up like this – you give into the kiss.

Not only does he kiss you hard, like the future of his world depends on it, he also pushes in his undrunk whiskey into your eager mouth. The liquid swirls between the colliding tongues, some leaking out of the corners of your mouth – the rest coating the insides of your cheeks with a lush, rich and robust flavour – flavours that didn’t pop when you drank it from your own damn glass.

You kiss until the whiskey gets drunk – by whom, is a mystery – and before you can tend to the stray drops down your face, Jungkook’s hand grabs your chin to keep you still. 

God, your last kiss was nothing like this. The blood buzzing in your ears is thunderous, reacting to the contradiction between the soft, tender kisses exchanged all those years ago, and the jagged, raw conquering of your lips happening right now. Your roughened lips burn under the remnants of alcohol, but it’s nothing compared to the searing you feel when Jungkook lets his tongue languidly glide against your gnawed skin.

“Now, since it was the wrong answer…” He husks, his fingers moving inward, closer and closer until they land just below your collar, “I have no choice but to—”

One mighty sharp tug – and all the buttons of your shirt have popped, flying all around the two of you. His hands, still clutching the buttonless seams of your shirt, harshly pull you back into him. Lips firmly sealed back onto yours, he sends his hand roaming.

“This is what you needed that night, eh?” With one hand back to digging in your jaw, he mouths the words into your cleavage, teeth digging deep into whatever they can grab, “Sweet boys just don’t cut it for you.” He moves up to the nook of your neck, his other hand slotting between your thighs, “For all the attitude you had back then, all you want then is to be treated like a street slut. And you’re still the same. Whores don’t change.”

Rude boys are still your standard, and Jungkook has become just that.

“Ow—fuck, don’t leave mar–marks, man,” you attempt an angrier voice while avoiding his truth bomb – because yes, aren’t you knocked out, over the moon right now? The voice that emanates is feeble, with no brawn to be found. 

He too, doesn’t pay you any heed – teeth tugging the flesh in his clamp until he can hear you hiss, then letting it go, letting his tongue soothe the sting.

“You can pretend to hate it,” he sneers at you, his low tone whisper sending shivers like a snowy night, “your lips can lie, but your body? From the moment you walked in, I know your pussy’s been screaming to be filled. Just thank your stars I’m generous, huh?”

You’re drunk. On just two fingers of whiskey? That can’t be it. Definitely, it’s the heady concoction of the alcohol and Jungkook’s very able hands – one of which is enjoying the feel of your perking nipple. 

While one hand goes back up to roughly dig into your neck, the confines of your throat feeling the heat of his lust, his other arm wraps holds your back, making sure you don’t lean too back and lose your balance. It’s sweet.

What’s not sweet, however, is how long this is taking.

He pushes you until you’re balancing your head on the armrest, with one knee digging into the cushion beside you, the other firmly planted on the carpeted floor. Within a wink of an eye, he’s moved down – and you feel his tongue play over your bra, teasing your nipples, reminding you of a forgotten (but not really) past – a harsh suckle under your boob releases the trapped moan, but it sounds battered; perfectly showcasing your state of mind.

“How about this,” he whispers, looking up from his actions, “you think I can get you to come without taking anything else off?”

Do you have the mental fortitude to deal with the consequences of your bratty answer? 

“No.”

The fingers fiddling with your bra hooks halt – instead, he descends onto your clothed breast, biting over the fabric, fully knowing that your sensitivity was through the roof. You cuss and moan, growing frustration urging for more, but you do not beg.

“Funny how life changes,” he coos, shifting attention from one boob to the other, “today you’re the one tied down. And lucky for you,” with not a hint of weariness in his voice, “I don’t have to be anywhere, anytime soon.”

No ties, no ropes, no chains – hell, not even that overworn, oversized tee of his – and he’s still so right about it. Not a part of you wishes to move away, your pathetic self just wrapped around his agile fingers. 

Said fingers now hold your cheeks, squeezing until your quivering lips give an opening – and he drops a ball of spit right over. You lay there, entranced, taking what he has to give, your writhing less prominent now. Anything that falls outside the outline of your lips is gathered by his thumb, massaged over your mouth, then inserted for you to suck to your heart’s content. Which you do.

“You’ve shanghed sho mush,” you speak past his thumb; he definitely doesn’t try to make it easier on you, pushing his digit further inside, putting your tongue through a test of endurance.

“So have you,” is his simple response, dragging his wettened thumb across your cheek.

“Not as much as you, for sure.”

“I don’t think the mouthy bitch years ago would suck spit off of my thumb.”

“You don’t know that.” With his eyes widening ever so slightly, you continue, “But surely, the geek from years ago wouldn’t have spit in my mouth in the first place.”

“You don’t know that either.” 

Just when you think you’re done seeing stars with the roof on, Jungkook hooks the band of your bra in his teeth – like the primitive animal that he is – and pulls at it, just to let it snap back at your skin. The unannounced action makes you squeal, even though it didn’t really hurt – he’s got your body so alive, a feather could hurt you if he wielded it.

With the odd, oafish position of yours; one leg on the couch, the other hanging off loose, head balanced precariously on the armrest with your arms dutifully out of his way – you try to get him where you need him, knee nudging his thigh while your hips wriggle under an invisible spell. Finally, he acquiesces, settling down at the couch with your legs unwrapped on either side for his viewing pleasure. His palms squeeze the flesh of your thighs, a small tsk falling off his lips at the touch of your pantyhose.

“Tearing doesn’t count as taking off, right?”

“What?”

You don’t get a response – not in words, atleast. The loud rip that follows is the only answer he graces you with, your worn down pantyhose having its last wear forever. But his easy access only brings you gratitude when two fingers enter the tear in a split second, pushing your underwear inside your sopping core.

“Mmmhh—Fuck!”

Jungkook just laughs at your helpless body writhing beyond control as he explores everything he didn’t have a chance to before. Fingers travelling down, then up, inside, then outside, around and about – everything, only egging you further on. 

“After all these years…” Jungkook purrs, not directly to you, eyes only connected to the juncture of your thighs, “you deserve a good fucking. What should I do, huh? Should I make you come, then drop off the face of the earth?” His tongue swipes the length of your crevice, sending shudders down your thighs. “Or should I spend this whole night doing all the things I’ve been meaning to? Cover you in my jizz and parade you across the office? Show everyone what an excellent tutor you were, and your very innovative teaching methods.”

Your brain has no filter when exposed to the horny, and his last words made it do just that – you latch onto whatever words best serve your purpose. 

“You–you’ve been meaning… To?” 

“Meaning to fuck you against every possible surface of this room,” is what Jungkook says, but with his fingers entering your cunt and exploring about, you don’t register anything. “As a thank you, you know? Meaning to see you fall apart on my fingers, just like this—” He pushes in hard, your pussy throbbing around his digits. “Meaning to cum inside you, over and over again, and have you crawl around this space, dripping everywhere while I sit and watch your sullied body prepare itself to take more.”

Well, the last one is oddly specific. Even more odd is how much more aroused the thought makes you.

“Wow, umm—w–well—” Swallowing the wad of spit accumulating in your throat, you offer, “Since you clearl–ooh, clearly, know how to make me come,” you look him in the eye, tears of desire pooling in the corners of your eyes, “so fucking do it. S–Stop playing around.”

“But with a plaything as sweet as you,” he moves to kiss your clothed pussy, his fingers still playing imaginary music inside your walls, “with a toy as slutty as you,” another kiss, so delicate it hurts you, “hard to not play around.”

Hands unfettered from the mental shackles that Jungkook put on you, you pull him back up to you, lips smushing together once again – your other hand wraps around his wrist, grinding onto whatever surface his palm offers, using him like a glorified sex toy. He grunts hard into you, a vague attempt made at bringing you back under control, but your tongue is beguiling, and he stays under your hold. 

Until he isn’t. 

“A—w—fuck!”

Jungkook’s sadistic streak continues when he frees his wrist from your clutches, and smacks your clit once, twice, thrice – in quick succession. Your nub would buzz if it could, and a string of expletives release from you when he does it again – this time, with a greater backswing. 

With a sharp tug to his still-on blazer, you pull him up. “Fucker,” you sputter, making your first and last request of the night, in a desperate attempt to get the ball rolling, “let me suck your dick.” Your hands already flounder around his crotch, until he pulls them away, back to their previous confinement. In the background, you can hear his belt jingle; but all you can see is his arresting face.

A deep-throated laugh emerges from him, “Wasn’t last time enough?” He coos at your cock-hungry plea, pushing you back down and fiddling with your legs. “Next time, okay?”

“Next ti—uungghh!”

Barely able to complete your showcase of surprise, because this is the way he announces his acceptance – he pushes into your core, without warning, but he receives a warm welcome in the walls of your pussy. 

“We have a lot,” he emphasises with a thrust, “a lot of work to do, don’t we?” He pulls out just enough to leave you whining, then pushes back in with a grunt of satisfaction; his moves are calculated enough to leave you wanting while maverick enough to leave your spine tingling. “And a lot of catching up as well.” He hovers over you after positioning you better, both of your bodies lying along the length of the couch, before getting right back into your gushing entrance.

One particular thrust has you arching up, the shock of pleasure stagnating in your body for a hot second, making your head lag and voice wane. Jungkook sheaths himself completely, before slotting his face in the nook of your neck, heavy breaths licking at your heated skin. Not one to miss an opportunity, you take the lobe of his ear between your lips, letting your teeth graze over the skin.

“Mmmh, yes,” he keens, tilting into your touch, “make it hurt, baby.”

Whether it is the words he uttered, or the way his whisper travels down to your cunt, you dig your teeth into the flesh, immediately rewarded with a mouthwatering flurry of cusses stuttered into your neck. 

“It’s,” Jungkook pulls out of you in an instant, turning you around by your waist, “not,” he pushes your head back onto the headrest, your cheek bulging as you try to get a look at him, “enough.”

And the way he slams back into you, you feel your soul fight your body to escape. You mewl into the deathly quiet, his dogged jackhammering hurtling you towards your most awaited high of the day – hell, the most awaited all these years. He pistons into you, covering every inch of your skin in a sea of flames. Your orgasm finds you like a river in spate, gushing through its path, fighting boulders in its wake, carving its way through your entire body. 

Sounds of the room start feeling like echoes, slapping balls, grunty exhales, a weirdly long cloth rip that does not belong – but your ears are ringing, your mouth is drooling, and your brain is ready to shut down. Being jostled like a muppet feels like home, and you only start waking up when spurts of liquid coat all of your ass, thighs, and slit. 

In true asshole fashion, Jungkook tore all of your pantyhose, fabric loosely hanging on the sides, seams split until all of your ass and thighs were open for his pleasure. 

In truer asshole fashion, Jungkook left you a mess, cum trickling down your glutes, pooling at the bend of your knee.

And in truest asshole fashion, he is wiping his unsullied fingers clean, without a second thought about your current dishevelled disposition.

Ugh. You love to put yourself in a position you can’t get out of.

How the fuck will you get home? This jerk won’t give you a ride. 

Also, none of your bones work. 

You lay your head on the armrest, finding feasible ways out of this situation. It's going to be nice riding the bus with dried cum itching your ass. There must be a washroom in this boujee office, of course. You finally gather the strength to raise your head and look for one – but interception comes sharp and swift.

“Already done, huh?” Jungkook’s fingers press into the nape of your neck, pushing you back down, your tendons feeling the pressure of his stronghold.

“I—” You stutter and stumble again, just like the start of the night, “I thought we—”

“Don’t you remember?”

“What?”

“Hmmmn,” he sponges kisses over your clothed back, making his way downward, “stupid girl said I couldn’t make her come without taking anything off.”

Ah.

Stupid girl did say that.

Stupid girl also has her speaking right revoked right now, because Jungkook is collecting the half-dried cum on your ass with his tongue, awakening your dying senses once again. His final move is a start to the next chapter of your night, as he pushes his tongue into your velvet heat, depositing the cum where it belongs.

“Guess we keep playing, huh?”

Thank you for making it to the end! For more of my writing, find my masterlist here. As always, thoughts and feedbacks are greatly appreciated!