#anashobirthday

His hand is warm on your back as he guides you through the party. Your progress is slowed by the coworkers who stop you, congratulating you again on the award you’d won earlier that evening, sending you off with well wishes and hopes for a happy holiday.

You’re quiet on the ride home. Social gatherings exhaust you, run your introvert battery down to zero, and Hoseok knows it. So he hums along with the Christmas carol softly playing over the radio, letting you relax and recharge in peace.

“Ahhh,” you sigh as you cross the threshold of your apartment, kicking off your heels. “That’s better.”

Hoseok is already heading for your bedroom. He disappears into his walk-in closet. You don’t make any moves to undress, instead sitting on your bed and rubbing your feet through your silky stockings.

He reappears sans jacket, tie, and vest. As you watch, he twists his cufflinks, removing the shiny fastenings. You can’t help but admire the distinctly masculine motion. He sets them on the dresser and rolls the sleeves of his sharply pressed white shirt halfway up his toned forearms.

“Sore?” he asks, one perfect swoop of jet black hair falling into his eyes as he nods towards your feet.

“Yeah. Heels are torture devices. I don’t know why I keep wearing them.”

“If you’re doing it for my benefit, I deeply appreciate it,” he replies, eyebrows waggling. You giggle and keep working on the knots.

Hoseok sits beside you and wordlessly gestures. Turning to face him, you place your feet in his lap.

“Ahhhh,” you sigh again as your husband’s skilled hands carefully knead down the arch of your left foot, massaging the pain away. You lie on your back, eyes closing in bliss, feeling your stress melt away with every caress. “Thanks, baby.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Sorry we stayed so late tonight. Jin’s a great boss, but he has a tendency to go on and on and on when he talks sometimes. I didn’t know he was going to make me give a speech, either.” You glance at your husband’s back as he repeats his soothing rubbing with your right foot. “I know these company parties are always so boring for you. I’m sorry.”

Hoseok huffs out a laugh. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

He shifts, looking at you over his shoulder. “Act like it’s some sort of chore attending these events with you.”

You bite your lip. “Well, I’m sure there are other things you would’ve rather done tonight.”

He gently slides your legs off his lap and crawls up the bed to lie next to you, propping himself up on one elbow. “Baby. Do you know what I did tonight?”

Confused by the question, you shake your head.

“I got to watch my amazing wife be celebrated by the company she works her ass off for. I witnessed one coworker after another praise you for everything you do - not just for your job, but for them. I saw everyone recognize you for being the incredible person I’ve always known you are. You shone so brightly tonight, baby.” He brushes away the tear that rolls silently down your cheek. “Why wouldn’t I want to be a part of that?”

It takes a few seconds for you to speak. “How are you so supportive all the time?”

He shrugs, lifting your hand to his lips. “Because I always have you holding me up. You got me, I got you, right?”

No words can express how you feel. So you don't try. Your fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, tugging him down for a kiss. He molds his body against yours, chest to chest, hip to hip. You unbutton his shirt slowly, like unwrapping a gift long desired, savoring the reveal. His hands dip below your dress, rolling your stockings down, taking your panties with them.

One quick unzip and he’s springing free. One quick thrust and he’s burying himself inside you, plunging deep into your welcoming heat. Still no words are spoken. None are needed. After all this time, he knows your body as well as his own. Knows how to touch, how to move, to make you come undone.

Afterward, you lie together, a tangle of limbs and clothes. “Thank you,” you finally manage to say, running your fingers through his soft hair as his head rests on your stomach.

Hoseok just hums, mouth vibrating against your skin. “You got me. I got you.”

You should get up, remove the rest of your party outfit, wash your face. But neither of you seem to want to move. Instead, you fall asleep, wrapped around one another, clutching tight, as outside, the stars shine brightly.

“Wait, no!” Hoseok cries as he prevents you from dropping your arms, reaffixing them to his waist. His hips fall flush to yours, his hardness pressing into you and stealing the air from the room. He rolls his eyes with faux frustration, his radiant grin giving him away. “What question am I answering again?”

“The one where I asked why you told the whole entire planet that you take a shit before you start your day.”

His answering laughter is loud, head thrown back as it consumes him, and your heart thrums painfully in your chest. God, you had missed him.

Hoseok leads you towards the bed, dropping to sit at the edge as you hover between his open legs. 

“You’re the one who told me I needed to be more open and honest with my feelings,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press his lips to the curve of your collarbone. “I was just following your advice. The interviewer seemed to like it.”

His sinful mouth continues its trek across your skin, slowly sliding up your shoulder towards the pulse of your throat. Moaning, heat pools low in your belly, your core clenching at his touch.

He bites down and you gasp, hands digging in his hair. “I believe what I told you was that you need to cut the Aquarius bullshit,” you breathe, pushing him flat to the mattress. Moving on top of him, you slide your legs to straddle him fully, lips curling as his hands squeeze at the flesh of your hips. “But I’m glad to know you listen to me.”

Hoseok peers up at you, his dark eyes mirroring the need in your own.

Camila sniggers into her drink. “Told you so,” she mouths. 

Normally you’d be on the dancefloor by now, liquid courage in hand. But the idea of getting closer to him is daunting. It’s not that you’re such a terrible dancer, but it’d be hard to keep up with someone that good. 

He flashes bright smiles at his friends and anyone who comes near, but between those moments, he seems immersed in the music. A laser-sharp focus, visible in the slight tension between his brows and the downturn of his mouth. 

It’s a little intimidating. 

And really, really hot. 

You wave down the barman—trying to ignore the heat that has crept up your neck, focusing on ordering your drink instead—when you feel someone sliding in next to you. They brush against your shoulder and you turn your head. 

“Sorry,” the man apologises, and your eyes widen in surprise. 

It’s him, and from up close he’s even more stunning; a face composed of sharp angles, with a contrasting softness in the shape of his lips and his warm eyes. 

“English?” he asks, and you nod. He smiles. “Hi. I’m Hoseok.”  

You’re pressed into his side by the people around you, close enough to see the light sheen of sweat shimmering on his forehead. He’s bending down to catch your name over the thrum of the music, and the scent of his cologne fills your nose. There’s a hint of sweet vanilla and something fresh and sharp, just enough of an edge to keep it from being overpowering. 

“Want a drink?” you shout, and he puts his thumbs up. It’s hard to hear each other and you have no idea what to get him so you order the same drink twice; one for him and one for you. He seems happy enough when you hand it to him, clinking his glass against yours while wearing a brilliant smile. 

His teeth are perfect, you muse, and mentally slap yourself for sidetracking this fast. Come on, get yourself together. He won’t bite. Or maybe he will. I hope he does—

The man takes a sip of his drink and you watch the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. You cough and straighten your shoulders, forcing yourself to look at a spot somewhere over his left shoulder. “Are you on a holiday?” you ask, gaze briefly fluttering back to meet his.

He nods, then raises his eyebrows questioningly in an exaggerated expression. “I’m visiting relatives,” you laugh. 

Behind you, Camila stirs, waving her now full glass around dangerously. “Hi!” she yells. ”I’m Camila!” She holds out her hand and Hoseok grabs it, his long slender fingers engulfing hers. 

“Care to introduce us to your friends?” She winks at him, then not-so-subtly widens her eyes at you in the universal o shit he’s hot, go get ‘em tiger-sign. 

Hoseok tilts his head with an amused expression and bends over, lips close to your ear. You shiver when you feel his breath ghost over your skin. “Let’s dance.”

You let him lead you to the dancefloor—it’s too noisy to have a proper conversation anyway, and you’re practically vibrating at the thought of dancing with him. His hand stays firmly clasped around yours as he manoeuvres you through the crowd. 

“You didn’t get us anything to drink?” a dark-haired man stops him, pouting, but then his face lights up at the sight of you and Camila. Hoseok introduces you to the man and his other friends, shouting names you’re barely able to hear and likely to forget in a drink or two anyway—then twirls you around, catching you by surprise. 

You laugh, quickly taking a few sips of your drink to avoid it spilling over. 

It doesn’t take long for Camila to be wrapped up in a tangle of limbs, sandwiched between the dark-haired guy and his smaller friend with the pink hair who moves his lithe body in the most gracious and riveting way. 

Your eyes, however, are glued to Hoseok—who turns out to be a lot less intimidating up close, all shoulder shimmies and loud whooping noises as he hypes up his friends. You let the familiar rhythm of the music take over your body, swaying your hips in time with the beat. 

The music switches to something a little slower, a little dirtier—and suddenly Hoseok is a lot closer, too. His hand travels down your back, settling on your hip as you slide your own hand up his chest to rest it right under his collarbone. You’ve put down your empty glass long ago, too preoccupied with dancing to care about getting another drink. 

Hoseok’s smile is gone, his dark eyes fixed on yours. It’s a silent question, one you answer by moving closer. You follow his lead, bodies aligning until you are one with each other and the music. 

Suddenly, he turns you around, firm chest pressed against your back. He tightens his grip on your hips as you roll them into his front. You feel a little delirious—high on his scent, the feeling of his body against yours, the alcohol and the rhythmic push and pull of the crowd around you.  

Encouraged by the fingers playing with the hem of your skirt, you grind your ass into him a second time, smiling at the curse that escapes his lips. He holds you close, guiding the roll of your bodies with his hands. 

The people around you blend into a vague blur. All that matters is Hoseok, and the burning need to feel his hands all over you, skin on skin. 

Winding an arm behind his head, you pull him impossibly closer—his lips are at your neck now, kissing and licking the soft skin right behind your ear. With every roll of your hips you can feel him grow harder, pressed into your ass, his teeth nibbling at your earlobe. 

The music changes and you turn, wrapping your arms around his neck. He slides a leg between yours and grabs ahold of your hips again, assisting them as you grind on his thigh. The friction awakes a dull throbbing in your core and you bury your face into his chest in an attempt to muffle your whimpers. 

He must feel them resonate across his body, if the glint in his eyes is anything to go by, and you’re starting to regret your choice of dress—the short hem riding up higher and higher, your panties rubbing directly on his trousers. At this rate, he’ll have to leave the club with a wet spot on his thigh. 

“You like that?” he asks, kissing the shell of your ear before pulling back. In the dim lighting, his eyes are dark; pupils blown wide, trained on your face. You’re so close your noses are almost touching, and your gaze drops to his lips. 

Hoseok’s hands travel upwards slowly, thumbs skating the curve of your breasts. He leans in closer, and you expect him to kiss you, but before your mouth can press against his he brushes his tongue along your bottom lip and flexes the muscles in his thigh. The sudden pressure catches you off guard and you moan into his mouth. 

“Hoseok,” you start, fisting your hands into his shirt. He cuts you off with a kiss—it’s messy and hungry, all tongue and teeth, stealing the air from your lungs. 

Both of your hands have started to wander, only fleetingly passing over the places you need them most. His touch is becoming unbearable, setting all your nerves alight and fuelling the flames of arousal. 

You break the kiss and he brings a hand up to your face, gently tugging at your bottom lip. “Sweet,” he grins, and then that serious look is back, eyes narrowing in thought. Your breath hitches in your throat. “Like azúcar.” 

You smile at him and grab his hand. This time, it’s you who leads the way through the crowd. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

Thank you for reading!

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A little earlier: 

“I think I wanna be more than just your friend.” Hoseok’s voice says over the sound of the movie you’re watching. He’s not moving his head, not stopping the movie. There’s an explosion on the screen.

“Why?” you answer, also not turning your head. A car makes a sharp turn, almost crashing into a wall.

He turns his head, you don’t. “Because I do.” 

“But we’re friends. That’s not enough for a relationship. I need more.”

“What more?” he asks. 

“I don’t know,” you answer, as the main character stops the bomb’s timer just as the last seconds run out. “We’re friends, we work so well as friends. Why should we change this? We should be friends.” 

“I think you should probably leave.” You press your lips together at the cold sadness seeping through his voice. 

 You skip the song. Maybe it’s just this song that makes you all emotional. It’s a love song after all. Another love song, another skip. This one reminds you of Hoseok putting a blanket over you when you were falling asleep when you went stargazing last summer. You had wondered for a second, if he’d kiss your forehead, but he had just brushed a strand of hair from your face. A shiver had run through you, and you had thought it was from the cold.

You think that you might have been terribly wrong about that. 

You go back to the first track of the mixtape, and just listen and think. And listen, and think. And brick after brick hits you right in the face.

Hoseok presses skip again. This song is too much for him to bear right now. It carries the sound of your giggle, the smell of your hair.

Another skip. He used to love this song, but now it’s just another song he can’t listen to without thinking of you.

A knock on the door.

“I think,“ you start, voice almost a whisper. You clear your throat and start anew, your gaze directed at the ground. “I think we should be more than friends.”

He doesn’t trust his voice, but he tries nevertheless. He kind of hates that his voice is raspy and sounds like tears.

“I thought you needed more?”

“We already were more, you already gave me more, I was just not ready to see it.”

“And now you just can?” He can’t keep a tiny bit of cynicism out of his voice. 

“How could I not?” You hold up the CD-case. “It’s all spelled out.” You bite your lip. “It’s not your fault that I wasn’t able to read it till now. I’m sorry.” 

There’s a pain in your chest, a sting. You want to cross the distance and wrap him in your arms, you want to make the pain go away. Yours. But more importantly his. 

He looks at you with a frown, his arms crossed over his chest. That’s not a person who wants to be hugged right now. You might be in pain, but you know what consent looks like. This is not it.

“You’ve had this mixtape for how long?” 

Another sting to your chest. He’s not wrong. He gave it to you when the flowers were just about to start blooming and now they’re buried underneath a tiny layer of snow.

“They weren’t love songs till now,” you whisper, cheeks heating up.

“What?” Hoseok moves a step closer, uncrossing his arms. 

You sigh, and try again. Louder, a little bit stronger. “They weren’t love songs before. Every single song is now a fucking love song. Every line reminds me of you.”

“So, where do we go from here?” Your voice is tiny and it takes all your strength to look up. He’s closer than you thought he’d be with an unreadable look on his face.”Is there still somewhere we can go from here?”

He holds out his hand, slowly and hesitant. As if this were a figment of imagination and as if you could vanish any second. 

Unbelieving you look at it, unbelieving that after you hurt him, he’s willingly offering up his heart for you to take. And this time you want it. You’ve never wanted anything this much before.

You reach out to take it, and the second you do you’re propelled against the hard planes of his chest with oompf. He pulls you into an embrace and you’re fastening your arms around his neck to regain balance. Your hands find the hair in the nape of his neck in an instant, as if they’d never belonged anywhere else.

A slow smile starts to stretch over his face, making your toes tingle. You want to tattoo that smile into your brain, and you want to see him smile like that for a long time.

 You want to be the one who puts it there, again and again.