#dubious

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 mike is a vampire in the apartment. you’ll be in the kitchen at 2am, thinking you’re alone, only to turn around and find him sitting at the dark dining table, just..watching you. he doesn't turn the lights on. when you jump, he just gives a slow, lopsided smirk and says, "did i scare you?" in a voice that’s way too calm.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’s helpful to a fault. you’ll come home to find your laundry has been moved from the washer to the dryer, but it’s the way he folds it that’s off. Your personal items, especially the more delicate ones, are always at the top of the pile, perfectly smoothed out. if you mention it, he just shrugs and says he didn't want your things to get wrinkled.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 mike has a habit of "forgetting" you’re in the bathroom. he never knocks. even after you’ve started locking the door, you’ll see the handle jiggle, followed by a long silence where you know he’s still standing right on the other side of the wood, waiting for you to come out.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 you start noticing small things missing. a hair tie, a single earring, a hoodie you haven't seen in a week. then, you’ll catch a whiff of your own perfume or detergent coming from his room. when his door is cracked open, you can see he’s got a shrine of sorts on his desk, mostly polaroids and scraps of paper, and you’re terrified to look close enough to see what’s on them.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 the worst part is the feeling of being watched while you sleep. you’ve woken up a few times to the sound of the floorboards creaking right outside your bedroom door. once, you saw his shadow under the door, perfectly still for twenty minutes. when you finally gathered the courage to call out his name, the shadow just drifted away without a word.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 the wall between your rooms is paper thin. you’ll be in bed, just trying to sleep, and you’ll hear the rhythmic, slow creak of his bed frame. he doesn’t try to be quiet. in fact, sometimes he whispers your name just loud enough for it to carry through the drywall, a low, wet sound that makes your stomach flip in the worst way. he wants you to know exactly what he’s thinking about.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’s a cleaner but only for your things. you’ll come home to find him in your room, always with a flimsy excuse like “the window was leaking”, but he’s usually hovering by your bed. he’ll be sitting on your mattress, his hand slowly smoothing over your pillows, and he won't get up when you walk in. he just watches you with his big brown eyes and asks if you’ve changed your sheets recently because they “smell like you.”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 the bathroom situation is a constant power play. he likes to leave his door cracked when he’s showering, knowing you have to pass it to get to the kitchen. if you catch a glimpse of him through the steam, he doesn't cover up, he just stares back, tracing the water droplets down his own chest while holding eye contact until you’re the one who has to look away.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 you find a folder on his laptop that isn't password protected, almost like he wanted you to find it. it’s filled with candid shots, but they aren't of your face. they’re highres closeups of your hands, the curve of your waist when your shirt lifts, your bare feet under the coffee table. the file names are just dates and timestamps of when he took them while you were alone…or at least you thought you were.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he talks about your body like it’s something he owns or is studying for a final. if you’re wearing something even slightly revealing, he’ll comment on it with clinical perversion. “that bra doesn't fit you right,” he’ll say, his eyes fixed on your chest, “the straps are digging in. do you want me to adjust them for you?” he says it so casually, like it’s a perfectly normal thing for a roommate to offer.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 the sleepwatching takes a darker turn. you’ve started waking up to the smell of his specific cigarette smoke(🤤) or his cologne in your room, even though you locked the door. you’ll find small gifts on your nightstand that he definitely shouldn't have been able to place there, a ring you thought you lost, a single flower, or a note in his messy scrawl that just says “you look so peaceful when you aren't fighting me.”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’s techsavvy, and it shows in the worst ways. you’ll find your laptop or phone has been moved slightly, or the battery is drained. he doesn't just look through your photos, he installs remote access.. just in case you lose it, of course. he likes to sit in his room with his headphones on, watching the green light on your webcam flicker to life, just so he can watch the way you bite your lip when you’re focusing on homework.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’s obsessed with your reactions. he’ll "accidentally" spill water on your shirt just to watch the fabric turn translucent, and he won't look away. he’ll stand there with a paper towel, offering to help pat it dry, his eyes burning into you as he moves his hand dangerously close to your skin. he wants to see you flustered. he wants to see you scared.he wants to see you want it.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he uses logic to gaslight you. “it’s efficient to share a blanket while we watch this, the heating bill is too high,” he’ll say, pulling you flush against his side. he’ll tuck his cold nose into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. if you try to pull away, his grip tightens just enough to be a warning. “don’t be difficult,” he’ll mutter, his voice dropping an octave. “i’m just trying to keep you warm.”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 you finally find it, a hidden partition in his closet or a locked digital drive. it’s not just photos, it’s everything. recordings of your voice when you’re talking on the phone, a list of your favorite meals, even a calendar marking your cycle.(so romantic honestly.) when he catches you looking, he doesn't apologize. he just closes the door behind him, locks it, and says, “now you know exactly how much i think about you. do you have any idea how exhausting it is, keeping all this inside?”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he uses his height and his slim, deceptively strong build to pin you against the wall of his cramped room. he doesn't go straight for your clothes, he goes for your head. he’ll cup your face with both hands, his thumbs digging into your cheeks just enough to force you to look at him. “stop shaking,” he’ll whisper, his eyes blown wide and dark. “you’ve been playing this game with me for months. don't pretend you're scared now.”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he narrates every single reaction your body has. he’ll press his face into your hair and describe the exact way your breathing has changed, the way your heart is hammering against your ribs, the way you’re "leaking" through your clothes. he makes it feel like he’s inside your skin, knowing your body better than you do. it’s a mental overload that makes it impossible to think, leaving you with nothing but the feeling of him.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’s a master of making you feel like the aggressor. when he finally puts his hands on you in a way that’s undeniably sexual, he’ll stop at the most agonizing moment. he’ll pull back just an inch and wait. “tell me to stop,” he’ll challenge, his voice a low, raspy command. “tell me you hate it. tell me you want me to leave you alone and never touch you again.” he knows you can't, and the silence that follows is your "yes" in his eyes.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 when you finally stop fighting, when your body goes soft and you lean into him because the tension is just too much, his demeanor changes. he becomes almost worshipful in a sick way. he’ll sink to his knees, his hands roaming over your hips with a desperate, shaky reverence. “there she is,” he’ll murmur against your stomach. “i knew you were in there.”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’ll pull your clothes off slowly, not with romance, but with the focused intensity of someone finally opening a package he’s been staring at for months. he’ll make you stand there under the harsh bedroom light for a minute, just so he can take you in, his eyes roaming over every inch of you.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 there’s a specific kind of suffocation he likes. pressing his chest hard against yours so your heartbeats have to sync up because there’s no room for anything else. he likes to feel you struggling for breath beneath him, your lungs working double time as he whispers about how small you feel in his hands.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’ll get you right to the edge, where you’re arching off the sheets and your head is back, and then he’ll just... stop. he’ll hover there, his weight braced on his elbows, watching you fall apart. he won't move another inch until you say his name, until you admit that you’re begging for him.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he’s handsy in a way that feels like he’s trying to memorize your texture. one hand is always anchored, wrapped in your hair to pull your head back, or clamped firmly around your waist, while the other explores with a terrifyingly slow precision. he’ll find the exact spots that make you lose your mind and he’ll stay there, watching your face transition from shock to total, mindless bliss with a smirk that says “i knew it.”

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 he wants the world to know what happened, even if it’s a secret. he’ll leave souvenirs all over your body. dark bruises on your inner thighs where his fingers dug in, or a row of neat, stinging teeth marks along your collarbone. he’ll spend the last few minutes just admiring his work, tracing the marks with his tongue, making sure you’ll be sore enough to remember him with every step you take the next day.

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 once it’s over, he just stays draped over you, watching you try to catch your breath. he’ll reach out and wipe a stray tear or a bit of sweat from your forehead with a thumb, his expression terrifyingly calm. “that wasn't so bad, was it?” he’ll murmur, his voice completely back to normal. “i told you we’d be good together.“

Even so, you smoked anyways, because it reminded you of when you were still " human "- back when simple pleasures could still influence you. 

A small laugh left your lips, bitter and hollow, and you shake your head, "human..." you scoff before taking another long drag on the cigarette, eyes trained on the glowing ember that lit up your face. 

Due to the overwhelming power S-ranker had compared to A-ranks and even normal people, they were seen as monsters than anything else. Without fear resistance skills, or even a good poker face, being in the vicinity of an S-ranker would put someone into fight or flight- their bodies instinctively thinking of them as a predator. 

A memory of working in the lab flickered in your mind, unfortunately sharp and clear despite the years that had passed. You were a toxicologist before the gates opened onto the world, spending your days in a sterile environment while studying the effects of various compounds on living things. 

Scientists had been researching for two years now as to why the gates appeared, why their world had suddenly been thrust into this horrifying new reality. 

But nothing concrete had emerged from their studies. Not explanations that could satisfy anyone's questions. 

The only thing they managed so far was to figure out that someone's skills and rank were based on what they were doing at the time of the appearance of dungeons and how badly they needed strength to defeat something. 

This revelation led to the speculation about S-rankers, and what the hell they went through if they needed that much power to survive.

Obviously, something traumatic that none of the S-rankers have discussed with the public. Even you kept your own experience locked away, buried beneath layers of guilt and memories that you hoped would overshadow the bad ones. 

Despite being strong now, you weren't back in your lab two years ago.

The memory threatened to surface, making your skin prickle with an uncomfortable sensation that was making your stomach churn. A sense of overwhelming dread crashed over you, trying to pull you under into the dark depths of your mind.

Your hands tremble slightly as you held the cigarette, some ash free-falling to the pavement with your unsteady grip. You swallow thickly, feeling the pressure build in your throat. You almost start trembling before a voice cut through your spiraling thoughts.

"Can I have one?" 

Your eyes widened as you look over quickly, your enhanced sense failing you for the first time since your awakening. No one's ever managed to sneak up on you like that, when your guard was down.

You swallow again, trying to sooth the burning sensation that took residence in the back of your throat. Your eyes narrow as they fall on Yoon-Ho's imposing figure at the entrance of the alley.

"Do you even smoke?"

His silence stretched between them. No, he didn't. 

He then walks over, hands buried in his pockets in a casual pose that somehow still couldn't mask his natural predatory grace. His orange eyes glance at your face, staring at you with an intensity that would make most others uncomfortable. 

Yoon-Ho could've sworn you had looked panicked not a second ago. He didn't ask about it though, knowing that he could probably guess why.

Some demons were better left undisturbed.

Instead, he followed your gaze up to where the moon hung in the sky. After a moment of shared silence, he sighed heavily, running a hand down his face as if trying to wipe away his behavior from earlier. 

"I'm sorry," his voice came out slightly muffled by his hand, which made him drop it to his side with a soft thud against his thigh. You glance over at him, genuine surprise flickering over your features. You had never expected Yoon-Ho to ever apologize for yearning .

"I uh.. don't mean to always come on so strong," Yoon-Ho mumbles, a small blush coloring his cheeks that seemed out of place on his usually cocky face.

You look down to your cigarette, studying it intently as you flick the end, watching the ash fall once again to the pavement below. 

Yeah, you definitely didn't expect him to apologize. Especially with sincerity which made something twist uncomfortably in your chest. You didn't even know how to respond. 

"I don't want to bother you, but please," he breathes, and you could already sense the shift in his tone, could feel that he was about to beg. 

You almost wanted to laugh at the irony- what happened to the "not coming on so strong" declaration from mere seconds ago?

"One kiss, just this once is all I'm asking, and I'll never bother you ever again..." 

You pause mid-motion, cigarette halfway to your lips, and blink rapidly as you process his words. 

Wait- what? 

"Huh, why?" you blurt out, your face contorting with confusion as you scrutinize his expression. Your eyes search him, looking for any sign of mockery or deceit, any indication that this was just another one of his games. 

But his face remained earnest, almost vulnerable. 

"You already know why really.. and I promise to give up pursuing you if I get a kiss, just one, I swear," Yoon-Ho coaxed as he turned his full body towards you, the movement bringing him closer. The moonlight caught his features at a new angle, making him look impossibly attractive. 

For a minute, you actually consider it. And you don't want to admit it but you are slightly curious. So, you stare off into space, the seconds ticking by as you weigh your options. 

The deal sounded too good to be true, almost suspiciously so... but Yoon-Ho also doesn't seem the type to break a promise. His honor, at least, had never been in question.

"...Just one?" 

His heart pounds in his chest so loud he's sure you must be able to hear it with your enhanced sensed.

"I promise," he affirms, his voice carrying the weight of the vow. 

"And you don't care that I'm smoking a cigarette," your words came out flat, more of a state of fact rather than a question.

"I don't, no. I just want to taste you," the words tumbled out before he could think about them, honest in a way they made you both cringe visibly. 

"Don't say stuff like that," you felt your face warm with a mixture of embarrassment and slight flattery despite the weirdness of his statement. 

Looking up at him, your eyes briefly flicker to his lips before meeting his gaze, the action involuntary. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you realized he caught your glance and momentary slip in composure. 

It wasn't like you were going to tell him, but the most you remember doing with a guy was a chaste kiss and light handholding, both experiences so mediocre that they barely qualified as romantic encounters. 

You were in your mid-twenties yet deathly afraid of going any further with a man, a fact that sometimes kept you awake at night, wondering if there was something fundamentally wrong with yourself. I mean, yes, you had your reasons, which were more than justifiable, but still... it was different. 

Of course, you've watched videos of people having sex before and it doesn't really (at all) seem enjoyable to you, each viewing leaving you more confused and slightly disgusted rather than horny. It just looks uncomfortable and extremely fake, like the actors were performing something choreographed that they'd rather not be doing.

Hell, if you feel even a bit aroused, the mere thought of the act of pleasuring yourself makes you squirm, your entire body tensing with discomfort. 

It's just too messy and tiring, too intimate and embarrassing.

And maybe you've been lying to him this entire damn time, each denial feeling heavier than the last on your tongue. 

"I'm not interested," 

It was somewhat of a lie. But the truth was far more complicated than you cared to admit or even explore. 

Denial, that's what you were chin deep in, drowning in a sea of your own making.

Yeah, maybe you did find certain aspects of him attractive and endearing, sometimes interesting. Like the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled genuinely, or how soft his voice was when he spoke to you. 

But that was it!

It wasn't like you wanted to sleep with him, or date him for that matter. You just found him slightly-... a miniscule intriguing. And you weren't an idiot either, far from it.

No, you knew it was something when your heart would beat a little faster when he gave you his attention, flattery, and even when he gets a little sappy. You knew it was something, something significant enough to make your pulse race. 

But it was your own personal choice to leave it unlabeled and ignored, to push it down into the depths of your consciousness where it couldn't trouble you. 

Attraction between a male and woman was normal, you reminded yourself, like a mantra you desperately needed to believe. 

The attraction you felt towards Yoon-Ho was just like that, normal.

Nothing special, nothing extraordinary, just basic human biology at work... or so you kept telling yourself.

After waiting for too long- thirty seconds that felt like eternity- Yoon-Ho moved in front of you, hesitantly sliding his hand onto your waist, the touch making you feel electric even though your clothing.

His lips parted with shock even though he was the one who put his hand there in the first place, as if he couldn't believe his own boldness.

Gods... your waist so perfect... his whole hand seemed to fit perfectly in the spot, like it was made to rest there. He liked the way you felt in his hand, the warmth of your body seeping through your shirt. He squeezed your waist slightly, pulling you an inch close as an urge to feel you nearer got stronger. 

You flinched at the increased pressure and glanced down to his hand quickly before glaring up at him with warning, "watch it-" you hiss, and he feels his heart skip a beat.

You didn't push his hand away though, he noticed, hope blooming in his chest. 

Yoon-Ho then put his other hand into action, grabbing your chin and lifting your head while leaning his own down. His touch was gentle but firm, giving you the opportunity to pull away if you wanted.

Your heart pounded in your ears when you realized he was leaning in for a kiss, the sound drowning out anything else. 

There's no way you're actually going to let this happen... right?

Your eyes flicker to his lips again, betraying your inner turmoil, and your mouth watered involuntarily. 

They looked soft though, didn't they? Perfectly shaped and slightly parted, promising things you weren't sure you were ready for but couldn't stop thinking about. 

And again, it's not like you weren't slightly curious to kiss him. The thought had crossed your mind a couple times, usually late at night when your defenses were down and your imagination ran wild. 

If it was bad, you'd pull away, simple; if it was good then... you hadn't really thought that far ahead. The uncertainty of it all made your stomach twist with nerves, a million thoughts flooding your head and he got closer and closer. 

Would his lips be as soft as they looked?

Would you even know what to do?

What if you messed up somehow?

The lowering of his head probably lasted about a second, but due to your anxiety it stretched the moment and made it feel like you'd been standing there for hours.

Yoon-Ho closed the gap between you, angling his head to press his lips against your own in a way that seemed so natural, as if he'd rehearsed this moment a million times. 

In all honesty, you were expecting him to pull away right after your lips touched; he did promise only one kiss after all. But then he did the complete opposite.

He moved his lips slowly, too absorbed in the moment and not even caring that you weren't doing the same due to being in shock. His eyes were shut, brows pulled together with pleasure as he reveled in the fact that he was kissing the woman of his dreams, the one who had occupied his thoughts for so long. 

His hand slipped from your chin, wrapping around the back of your head to tangle in your hair and pull your head closer, desperate to deepen the connection. Your eyes only went wide in response, your hands shotting up and grabbing at his forearms with a silent gasp.

Yoon-Ho only used the parting of your lips to eagerly slip his tongue inside, taking advantage of your momentary pause. 

Your mind went blank, as you were totally unprepared and to be dealing with this type of situation. The sensation of his tongue against yours was foreign, yet somehow thrilling. 

"ah.." a small, guttural noise came from your throat as he pressed forward, hungrily devouring your lips while tasting your tongue with his own. Needless to say, the sound surprised both of you.

Your face was flushed by this point, so you shut your eyes tightly, your tongue- almost nervous- darting out to meet him in the now wet kiss. 

You could feel as his body practically trembled from head to toe as if he wasn't expecting you to kiss back in the slightest. Yoon-Ho then pressed forward, his hand grabbing the back of your neck and holding you in place as the two of you swapped spit. 

The sound of your kissing was odd to you, and so was the taste- a mixture of alcohol, mint, and something uniquely him you couldn't quite place. 

You thought you'd be disgusted if this had ever happened to you. 

A make out.

All those times you'd seen it in movies or read about it in books; you would wrinkle your nose in awkwardness. But rather, it was a little enjoyable, surprisingly so. 

You even noticed the temperature rising, sweat forming under your clothes which made you feel restricted, and your face seemed lot like you had a fever, burning with embarrassment and arousal. 

Was it bad you were enjoying this? 

The question came accompanied by guilt and confusion. This wasn't like you at all, letting someone get this close. 

Was it bad that the unwelcomed but familiar feeling of arousal swarmed your lower stomach?

The sensation was frightening, making you want to pull away. You didn't like not being in control of yourself, not like this. 

Yoon-Ho groaned softly into your mouth as he moved his head to the other side, a new angle in which to shove his tongue deeper into your mouth. The sound he made was primal, almost desperate, revealing just how much he'd wanted this, how long he'd dreamed of holding you like this. 

He was loving this, every second of it, every tiny response from your body only encouraging him to keep pushing. You tasted so good- like a mix of sweetness and you that just drove him wild. 

Those little noises of surprise and confusion from your mouth, soft whimpers and gasps, were spurring him on even more. Yoon-Ho could feel his cock swelling painfully in his jeans, straining against the fabric. 

He wanted so desperately to press it against you, to rub it along your soft thighs, to grind it against your stomach. 

Fuck, he wanted to push you down to your knees right here in this alley and shove his throbbing cock so fucking deep down your throat until you gagged around him-

"mn!?" your eyes shot open abruptly when you felt something unmistakably stiff press against your lower stomach, the hard length tickling the already sensitive area. 

But you couldn't keep them open, couldn't bring yourself to look down and confirm what you already knew was there.

Now stronger than before, a wave of arousal hit you so hard you felt light-headed and a bit nauseous, your knees threatening to give out beneath you. 

Did you actually want him?... Did you want to have sex with this man?

The questions swirling in your mind made you dizzy with their implications. Your body was certainly responding as if you did, betraying you with every heated touch and needy sound. 

Your hands instinctively reached up and grabbed at his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric. You wanted to push him away, to stop this before it went too far, but you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. 

Because deep down, past all your hesitation and uncertainty, you maybe wanted this.. wanted him. The understanding terrified you. 

His hand on your waist then slid down torturously slow, his fingers leaving prickles in their wake until stopping right above the curve of your ass. Yoon-Ho rutted his hips against you with desperate need while swallowing your gasps.

He pressed you harder against the rough brick wall, effectively trapping your frame as he pressed his prominent bulge into you, frantic for any kind of friction against his aching cock. He then took his hand off of your lower back and quickly grabbed one of your trembling ones, lowering it deliberately to his groin and pressing his hips forwards so you were grabbing his dick through his jeans. 

The heat of him burned through the denim. You froze completely, breath catching in your throat as reality crashed over you. 

There was no fucking way this was happening, and in an alleyway for gods sake- 

Wait.

Your thumb twitched slightly as you felt him up through his pants, the impressive size of him making your palm tingle. 

There was no fucking way... why was it so big?-

Before you could take your hand back and pull away from this dangerous situation, he put his much larger hand over yours. Yoon-Ho then forced your hand to squeeze his cock, guiding your movements as he groaned deeply into your mouth, rolling his groin purposefully into your palm. 

The heat in your stomach dropped lower at the noise, the action, the everything- and pooled between your legs as something embarrassingly wet your underwear.

You even tried pulling away from the increasingly sloppy kiss to voice your objections, to regain some semblance of control, but as if he predicted what you were doing, he pressed his head forward insistently, keeping you trapped in the passionate kiss. 

Yoon-Ho breathed heavily into your mouth, seemingly forgetting how to kiss properly as his mind went blank with pleasure and a visible shudder moved through his body. 

He was rutting against your hand like a fucking dog in heat, all- all pretense of control abandoned in his desperate chase for more. 

"fuck.." he moans your name into your mouth before hastily unzipping his jeans, the sound unsettlingly quiet in the empty alley. He pulls away from your mouth only to kiss down your jaw, leaving a trail of wet kisses.

"touch me," he breathes against your heated skin, nipping at your jaw while guiding your shaky hand to slid into his boxers. 

His cock twitched eagerly at your light touch.

"what-what are you doing?" you ask, a bit of panic in your wide eyes, glancing down to see your hand disappear into his blue boxers. The sight was surreal, making your heart beat even faster. 

You could feel the warmth radiating from him, feel the way his cock jumped against your palm, demanding attention. A sharp inhale escaped Yoon-Ho's lips as your shaking fingers lightly grabbed at the shaft.

It was hot, too hot, and throbbing in your hand- the velvety skin felt impossibly smooth against your hand. You could feel each pulse of his heartbeat through his length, making it twitch against your fingers in an almost hypnotic rhythm.

"I'm so fucking hard.." he whined and you, mind blank, nodded in agreement, "for you, all you- touch me, please.." Yoon-Ho's voice was strained and desperate, cracking slightly on the last word.

Your jaw hung open in disbelief. Your mind reeling of what was actually happening. The brick wall behind you was the only thing keeping you grounded as sensations overwhelmed you- his hot breath on your neck, the weight of his length in your hand, the way his body trapped you against the wall.

Was this really happening?

Didn't you just agree to a single kiss- how did it turn you jerking him off in a fucking alleyway?!

The absurdity of it all hit you full force, making your head spin with conflicting emotions- desire, shame, and fear. Though, despite your mental warfare, you closed your mouth, swallowing the thick saliva in your mouth as you hooked your hand under his cock and pulled it out. 

Yoon-Ho choked at the sudden exposure, his whole body shuddering once again at the contact of cool air on his heated flesh, but he just kissed down your neck sucking your skin into his mouth and leaving long-lasting hickies. 

His teeth grazed the sensitive spots, making you flinch and inadvertently tighten your grip on his cock. The hand on the back of your neck seemed to detach itself and somehow slip under your shirt without you noticing. 

That is until he squeezed your left breast over the padding of your bra. 

You quickly shut your eyes, not wanting to watch any of it. 

Not wanting to watch the way his cock twitched as you slowly moved your hand from the base to the rotund head again and again, the skin sliding easily under your grip. Or the way he pawed at your tit, his fingers noticeable under the fabric of your shirt.

Yoon-Ho moans your name again, the sound vibrating against your pulse point as his drool smearing over your neck, "shit- ah.. f-faster," and obeying his wants, your other hand grabbing onto his slightly curved shaft, stroking him faster. 

The sound was so lewd to your poor virgin ears, making your face burn with humiliation. 

It was a gross wet schlick of a sound due to the pre-cum leaking from the tip of his flared head, the sticky substance coating your fingers with each stroke. Thick veins pulsed up the side of it and he jerked his hips forward as if craving more, fucking into your hands with increased desperation. 

"..Yoon-Ho," you mumble in an uncertain, shaky voice, barely recognizing how breathy you sounded. 

He only sucked in a breath as more of the sticky white fluid seeped out of him and dribbled down the side of his shaft. As your hands moved up and down it smeared the slick across his cock, making it glisten horribly in a way that you couldn't tear your eyes away from despite your earlier resolution to keep them closed. 

"feels so good," he whines your name, "-so f'king good-" he groaned into your neck, voice rough with pleasure as his hand slipped under your bra and squeezed your tit directly. You winced at the intensity of his grip, a bit of pain shooting through your chest.

He then reached down, grabbing your hands and squeezing his own hard on as well as quickening the pace. His hips started moving erratically, losing their rhythm.

Yoon-Ho's breath grew heavier and hotter and he drooled mindlessly onto your neck, completely lost in the pleasure you were giving him. The wet heat of his mouth combined with the occasional scrape of his canine's sent shivers up your spine. 

And a few more sloppy thrusts of his hips and the moaning of your name, his cum shot out in spurts. White ropes of his seed coating your hands in hot pulses, even getting on your shirt. 

His whole body tense against yours, pressing you hard into the wall as he rode out his orgasm, hips jerking with each wave of ecstasy that wracked his frame. 

You slowly looked down, completely flabbergasted as to what just happened. 

Your hands glistened with his ejaculate, and it dripped onto the pavement below, creating small white puddles between your feet. The reality of what you just did in public started to sink in, making your face burn with renewed embarrassment as you realized anyone could've walked by and seen them.

"I.. I came.." Yoon-Ho whined breathlessly, his eyes heavy-lidded and glazed with post-orgasmic bliss as he lifted his flushed face from the crook of your neck. 

His lips found yours in a messy, uncoordinated kiss, his tongue sliding lazily against yours with lingering desire.

"I want- wanna' fuck you-" Yoon-Ho whimpered, his voice still thick with need as he rolled his hips forward again, pressing his still-hard length against your thigh. 

You blink, glancing down, absolutely lost. 

"I.."

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